Louise Brooks, an American who went to Germany to become a star
(her Lulu is said to be wonderful) described Marlene Dietrich in her
autobiography as `that contraption'.
And it is true that Marlene had recourse to
tricks - even in the early days in Hollywood it was said a special gold dust
was flown from Paris for her to sprinkle in her (then titian) hair; later an
entire figure of latex to wear under the famous Jean Louis stage gown, a cloak
of swansdown, the lighting, the makeup, the skin taped so taut she could hardly
talk ... Believe what you will but remember, she was a professional beauty.
In army uniform, touring during the Second
World War, she hardly looks so glamorous. She approaches the microphone, smiles
and her eyes shine as she looks around,`Hello boys,' she says. And she is, with
just a hint of irony (for she is in her forties) what they want. On a troop
ship, she lets them lift her up so all can see when she waves her lovely legs
at them. There is no evidence of strain, she has grasped the spirit of the
occasion. She gives them glamour, a motherly sexiness. They are far from home.
They have Betty Grable to pin up.
`All things become themselves in her'.
Whore, mother, aristocrat, clapped out cabaret
performer, goddess.
She had a range of approximately seven notes
but sang very affectingly; Noel's `Just a Gigolo' in her last film is
infinitley touching.
She knew, as much as an artist can, what she
was doing. She calculated her effects. The result was something one couldn't
quite account for.
I saw her in Sydney in the late sixties. I sat
in the gods of the old Theatre Royal. During the performance, tears ran down
the face of the very butch woman in army uniform sitting next to me. During the
applause at the end, she suddenly leapt to her feet and shouted her approval, radiant.
We of course waited at the stage door to see
Marlene emerge. Let me tell you it was quite a crowd.
She finally emerged, dressed in a pale suit.
She was indeed heavily madeup. We expressed our enthusiam, we were so happy to
see her in dull, dull Australia. And Marlene was happy to see us, she
instructed the cop standing near her American limousine to make a stirrup with
his clasped hands, then she stepped back, ran a little in her high heels, put
her foot into the stirrup and was on the white limousine, laughing and waving
and throwing little cards with her picture and signature into the crowd. I
still have mine. We chased her car down the street.
It was quite a show.
She spent her last years in seclusion; she was
a professional.
Some thugs broke into her apartment, took her
diaries and photographed the near ninety year old Marlene, alarmed and
confused, in bed.
Her grandson, a literary agent in New York,
accused gay adulators.
I don't think so.
He says he got the negatives and destroyed them.
There's something about the whole story I don't believe. I wonder if her
diaries will be on the market soon. Her grandson said he got them back.
Marlene was very much loved by Lesbians and
gay men. Whether she was herself is hardly a question - she was, for us.
She was very glamorous and real, sexy and
loving.
The contraption was lit from within by
something not at all mechanical.
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