A Man's Woman

Was there ever a more tantalizing description of a certain kind of Eve, the type who is most popular with men and sought after by men?

 Who is this nebulous conqueror of male hearts?

 Sometimes she appears to be an ideal worth attaining, at others a being slightly to be dispised. What does she look like? What are her qualities?

 Does she exist in flesh and blood or is she purely a fantasy conjured up by the masculine brain?

 As a medium where the ideal and the real woman are uniquely blended and are accessible to a large majority of men one turns for an answer most readily to the screen.

 Thence is projected an image of a live individual. By knowledge acquired of the one and by images of her various moods transmitted in the course of different roles, a personality is built up which a man can recognize as his friend.

 The number of feminine personalities today is legion. When attempting to decide who among the myriad of stars are first favourites with men one looks for them who they criticize.

 Men do not trouble to register complaints, especially on paper, about an actress who is of no interest for them.

 That is why I claim that Irene Dunne, who has been from time to time the object of masculine criticsm as well as unstinted praise in these pages, is one of the stars they most admire.

 In a letter one reader complains that Irene Dunne is unsuited to heavy roles, such as she played in "Back Street" and "Magnificent Obsession."

 He demands for her the witty and racy script of "The Awful Truth" and "Theodora Goes Wild" and no more tears than she needs to shed in "A Guy Named Joe."

 On the other hand, W.H. Mooring, in an article, takes her to task for over-coyness as the journalist's wife in "Over Twenty-One," and wishes she would stick to worthwhile dramatic parts.

 This tribute to Irene's sense of humour and depth of character pegs down two qualities which endear her to the masculine mind.

 Others apparent in herself and her portrayals may help establish the elusive creature whom men prefer.

 First beauty: never surely was there a plain woman whom the man in love with her hasn't at some time thought beautiful; so deeply engrained is the ideal of feminine form in the male conscious.

 Full marks for Irene for physical attractions, from the sun-shiny hair to the "understandings" which she frankly says won her her first job with Ziegfeld as Magnolia in "Show Boat."

 Notice the long, tapering fingers seen to such advantage emerging from the Victorian tight sleeve in "Anna And The King Of Siam."

 

But pass from these to that which lies behind the engaging smile - that sense of humour which no partner in the affairs of men can afford to ignore.

 It rippled from her in "My Favourite Wife"; with Charles Boyer in "Together Again"; with William Powell in "Life With Father." And do you remember her hint of a comedy sparkle again with Charles Boyer in "Love Affair"?

 It opened with sequences of pink champagne, but developed on tenderly romantic lines.

 Irene played the piano and sang. In real life the star has kept up her studies with the Chicago College of Music where not so long ago she received a doctorate.

 Of wisdom, another essential weapon in the gentle's sex armoury, she gives convincing proof.

 Being endowed with looks and conspicious dramatic leanings doesn't keep a top-ranking star through upwards of fifteen years. Through this long career Irene has steered her own course with intrepid judgement.

 

It was she who decided when, having made a hit in "Back Street," she felt herself in the doldrums of minor pictures for Radio, to quit and become a freelance.

 It was she who, after appearing in "Stingaree" and "Roberta," decided to forsake musicals and return to tear-evoking drama, as in "Penny Serenade."

 Late as 1946 we find her gracefully and without rancour retiring from Columbia because of dissatisfaction with her scripts, adding a promise to return on their finding a suitable story.

 Versalitiy may be her forte in one direction. In another she shows a constancy which, despite easy divorce, I believe is still very much a part of masculine ideal of womanhood.

 Married in 1927 to a dental surgeon,  a New York practitioner, by allowing time to join him at intervals until he could join her in Hollywood, she has sustained a happy marriage. The affections of both are centred on an adopted daughter, Missy.

 Being, as she says, "very much a gal who knows her own mind," Irene, who is convent-educated, would like to play a nun and missed with regret the chance of the part fulfilled by Ingrid Bergman in "The Bells Of St.Mary's."

 One role she has played in the eyes of the Adam comes to its fullest expression in motherhood; fact to which the torso of the Venus de Milo sculpture of one who has known childbirth, is one proof.

 In the first film to give her notoriety, Irene travelled from girl to grandmotherhood in her course of her chracterization of Sabra Cravat, pioneer woman of the Edna Ferber novel "Cimarron."

 In "The White Cliffs Of Dover" she enacted with emotional depth and restraint a British wife and mother under the ordeal of war.

 For her latest lead she turns to "I Remember Mama," story of a Norwegian-American family, and the story grave and gay, but chiefly the latter, of a sensitive and wise mama who directs her children's destinies by the help of frequent references to a nest-egg, actually non-existent, at the bank.

 

The charm of her performance in "I Remember Mama" is not lessened by the bright hair in a plait worn above the brow, the look of oncoming years but no wrinkles, and the hands, fine as ever as they manipulate the tea kettle.

 One time Irene, who is of gentle birth, was called in the world of film publicity a lady. Except for addressing the committee the word is now dead.

 For the future therefore wish her good hunting for roles which will further dignify and enhance our conception of the term "a man's woman."

 

(Picturegoer, August 14. 1948)