Books

Echoes of modernity

A book reflects on the influence of Hollywood movies in the lifestyle and in the change of attitudes of women in the twenties and thirties

In an ar­ti­cle in the June 6 1922  issue of the mag­a­zine Cine-Mundial ti­tled “Pre­sen­tando a la flap­per”, the au­thor, Jose­fina Romero, de­fined her as a “capri­cious crea­ture” with “short and ex­tremely curly hair.” It is the fe­male model  Amer­i­can writer F. Scott Fitzger­ald de­scribed so well in his sto­ries about the twen­ties, most prob­a­bly in­spired by his wife Zelda. The writer Vicenç Pagès Jordà, in an ar­ti­cle about Vicenç Coma (1893-1979), in de­scrib­ing the same at­mos­phere as Scott Fitzger­ald, said that flap­pers “drink Pom­mery cham­pagne, dance the shimmy and the fox­trot and enjoy in­tense and ephemeral re­la­tion­ships “; in ad­di­tion to the aes­thet­ics, Pagès Jordà high­lights the flap­pers as “rep­re­sent­ing the first lib­er­ated women.”

Flap­pers were the icons of these “echoes of moder­nity”, rep­re­sented in films such as It (1927, re­leased as Ello in Spain), star­ring Clara Bow, and that some­how served as a mir­ror for the Span­ish woman in the 1930s, even though half the fe­male pop­u­la­tion could nei­ther read nor write. But in the thir­ties, the Sec­ond Re­pub­lic (1931-1936) brought about po­lit­i­cal and so­cial de­vel­op­ments that would con­tribute to a changes in re­la­tions be­tween men and women, epit­o­mised by the right to vote (1933 ) and the first di­vorce law (1932). In the cul­tural sphere, women be­came more vis­i­ble, with plat­forms such as the Lyceum Club (1926). How­ever, these ad­vances would come to an abrupt end fol­low­ing the Civil War and es­pe­cially dur­ing the dark­ness that spread over forty years of the Franco dic­ta­tor­ship.

The dis­cov­ery of an old box filled with close-ups of ac­tresses col­lected over the years by José Romero Sampe­dro, a reg­u­lar of the Granada's Col­iseo Olympia cin­ema (where his cousin was pro­jec­tion­ist) is al­most some­thing out of Cin­ema Par­adiso (1988). It has served as an ex­cuse to gather these pho­tographs of Hol­ly­wood ac­tresses, along with news­pa­per clip­pings of the time, and pub­lish them in a lux­u­ri­ously pre­sented book, in both Span­ish and Eng­lish. Pub­lished by the Agen­cia Española de Co­op­eración, the book was edited by Eu­ge­nio Fontaneda Berthet, who in his pro­logue thanked Romero Sampe­dro's son for hand­ing over the legacy of his fa­ther, which made the pro­ject pos­si­ble. The aim of Mu­jeres de cine. Ecos de Hol­ly­wood en España. 1914-1936, ex­plains Fontaneda, is to pre­sent the women in the his­tor­i­cal per­spec­tive of those “tur­bu­lent years”, but also to re­flect on the im­pact that film, and es­pe­cially the image pro­jected by ac­tresses in the roles of “dar­ing” and “ lib­er­ated” women had on the viewer. More than a mere per­cep­tion of the char­ac­ters, the cin­ema was also “ a pro­moter of de­vel­op­ment and change of the role of women in Spain dur­ing the first third of the twen­ti­eth cen­tury.” To this end, texts by jour­nal­ists, his­to­ri­ans and ex­perts in il­lus­tra­tion ac­com­pany the pho­tographs gath­ered by the col­lec­tor from Granada.

The film­maker Is­abel Coixet also “hap­pily” con­tributed a pro­logue  which em­pha­sizes that the book “has the abil­ity to equally se­duce lovers of his­tory and lovers of the cin­ema.” Coixet says that “through the dif­fer­ent ap­proaches” taken, “the reader can un­der­stand the role of the star sys­tem, how it in­flu­enced the change of habits of women of the time, and showed cul­tural cur­rents  which dom­i­nated over two decades.” Coixet con­tin­ues: “Some­where be­tween the fic­tion Hol­ly­wood  pro­posed  and the re­al­ity that they lived, women were able to con­quer small el­e­ments of free­dom that often had their glory in the eighty min­utes that a film took.” The di­rec­tor also em­pha­sised that the book in­cludes “an in­ci­sive analy­sis of films that, for var­i­ous rea­sons, had been for­got­ten, which gives us a glimpse of Hol­ly­wood be­fore the Hays Code far less sweet and rosy than we might sup­pose. “ The Hays Code, in force from 1934 to 1967, is the self-cen­sor­ship that pre­vailed in stu­dios, dic­tat­ing what could be seen on the screen as morally ac­cept­able.

TVE jour­nal­ist and film buff Moses Rodríguez in one of the texts, re­calls that the first woman who ap­peared in a silent film is the dancer Car­men Dauset. Ar­tis­ti­cally known as Car­mencita, in March 1894 she vis­ited the first film stu­dio of an in­cip­i­ent in­dus­try, New Jer­sey's Black Maria Stu­dio, to per­form a dance rou­tine. Thomas Edi­son filmed the scene, which al­though only last­ing 21 sec­onds, was used to pro­mote the “kine­to­scope”, the fore­run­ner of the mod­ern pro­jec­tor. Rodríguez uses the anec­dote to re­late the im­pact of the Amer­i­can cin­ema on women and in Span­ish so­ci­ety in gen­eral: “The cin­ema was very cheap and not all that pop­u­lar [...] right up until the thir­ties the the­ater was still the main source of en­ter­tain­ment and means of pro­pa­ganda used by trade union and po­lit­i­cal move­ments around the coun­try.“ The jour­nal­ist adds that “at  the end of the Primo de Rivera dic­ta­tor­ship (1923-1930), the au­di­ence was still not well versed in the cin­ema.” Films were ad­ver­tised a week in ad­vance so that the pub­lic, mostly women in cities and in some vil­lages, would book tick­ets, and the pro­grammes ad­ver­tis­ing the films fea­tured young women dressed in Manila shawls to at­tract view­ers.

The pe­riod cov­ered by the book co­in­cides with the most os­ten­ta­tious dis­play of fem­i­nine aes­thet­ics and for this rea­son ad­ver­tis­ing for films star­ring the likes of Glo­ria Swan­son or Joan Craw­ford put more em­pha­sis on the glam­orous cloth­ing and adorn­ment of the ac­tresses rather than the ar­gu­ment of the film. This was the key fac­tor in the pop­u­lar­ity of film mag­a­zines of the time. In some Span­ish news­pa­pers such as La Lib­er­tad in 1932, there are sec­tions ti­tled (in Eng­lish) “Talk­ing Pic­tures” with as­pir­ing movie stars and pho­to­genic ac­tresses talk­ing about their dreams along with gos­sip about their love lives. It was an in­for­mal style aimed at in­volv­ing the read­ers; a re­flec­tion of the im­pact that the star sys­tem began to have on the coun­try. But be­yond aes­thet­ics and the im­ages, just what in­flu­ence did the roles the ac­tresses played in the most pop­u­lar movies have?

The truth be said, the pro­to­types were even rev­o­lu­tion­ary for re­pub­li­can Spain: sex­u­ally ag­gres­sive, as Mae West in I'm No Angel (1933) and Jean Har­low in The red­head (1932). Oth­ers were more pro­gres­sive, yet with­out flaunt­ing them­selves but nei­ther ashamed of them­selves, like Norma Shearer in The Di­vorcee (1930) and A free soul (1931), a very sig­nif­i­cant title. This model wife was more “human and re­al­is­tic” seek­ing a change in their role in so­ci­ety and in re­la­tion­ships with men, with a greater im­pact “on urban and ed­u­cated classes.”

The Hays Code was a major set­back. It was in­tro­duced in 1934, but in the four years be­fore­hand there was a se­ries of films in which the pro­to­types of the tra­di­tional fe­male char­ac­ter de­vel­oped into a mod­ern hero­ine, who man­aged her life freely, ig­nor­ing the pre­vail­ing male-cen­tred rules. Writer Guillermo Bal­mori em­pha­sises that the book shows “the truly lib­er­at­ing ef­fect for women” of film in the pre-code pe­riod. Women are de­ci­sion mak­ers, they break taboos, and take con­trol of their des­tiny with­out pay­ing a price.”

'Vamps' and 'flappers'

Hollywood projects female stereotypes. There is the wicked woman, the misogynistic vamp, a term that implies that the woman has a vampiric effect on the male, a direct antecedent of the “femme fatale”. In contrast, is the traditional heroine, the wife in the films of DW Griffith, the Mary Pickford styled “American girlfriend.” And there is the  flapper seen here as  actress Clara Bow, representing women as an “independent hedonist and lover of jazz.”

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