Old movies are are like thrift store finds. Vintage treasures lurk within detritus, and the discovery of a jewel feels like an achievement.
I recently watched, for the first time, Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte, a 1964 film noir that had a half-dozen Academy Award nominations (but no winners). It’s a topical film because of the ongoing discussion about the dearth of woman characters in film, epitomized by the Bechdel Test*, which was actually designed not as an aspirational goal but to highlight the abysmal way Hollywood treats women.
Sweet Charlotte meets the Bechdel Test and more: it could be classified under the rubric of films revolving around strong female characters. That this could even be conceived as a special category, with women more than half the population, says something. Even more interesting, the stars of Sweet Charlotte, female as well as male, are over fifty (okay, de Havilland was 48). Hollywood, like the rest of corporate media, has long embraced the notion that a woman can be strong, interesting, and intelligent only as long as she’s young and pretty. The double standard is staggering when you consider that around the time Sweet Charlotte was made, an aging Jimmy Stewart put his foot down about the studio casting him as the romantic lead opposite twentysomthing actresses, rightfully complaining that he felt ridiculous.
So what is Sweet Charlotte about? It’s a Southern-gothic crazy horror thriller flick, categories that have always favored girl victims, lady villains, and psychotic dames. Maybe I shouldn’t say it revolves around the women characters, because the heart of the story is the man one of them murdered, played by Bruce Dern, who makes a brief appearance at the beginning. Other stars are Bette Davis (as Charlotte), Olivia de Havilland, Agnes Moorehead, Joseph Cotton, and Mary Astor. The screenplay was written for Bette Davis and Joan Crawford (not in the film; long story) to sortof reprise the success of What Ever Happened to Baby Jane. Hence the many torrid scenes between the women focusing on their fears, jealousies, and recriminations. I have a penchant for car scenes, so I particularly liked the part where Davis and de Havilland are driving off to dispose of the body.
The solid acting is the strength and the downfall of Sweet Charlotte. Director Robert Aldrich could not bring himself to pare down the stellar performances of his cast, and the movie ends up being way too long, even tedious in places. The near-miss of a movie that could have been great, but ended up only being very good, got me thinking about the primacy of story. There is something primal, perhaps even sacred, about narrative. Sweet Charlotte could be dismissed for its violent themes, but violence and betrayal permeate the Odyssey or the tales of King Arthur or the plays of Shakespeare. These are elements of the narrative, exciting or deplorable depending on your values, but at core narrative is something else. It’s axiomatic that entertainment promoted by American media highlights violence, sex, and celebrity to the detriment of quality, but even “serious” movie-making gets sidetracked by the elements that propel a narrative, forgetting the narrative itself. It’s not about the acting or the cinematography or the costumes or the special effects: it’s about the story.
This is a lesson that can be carried over to fiction as well. Writers can get bogged down in description, experimental prose, characters, or rules (no adverbs!), forgetting that they’re supposed to be telling a story. Even ideology – even feminist ideology – can fall over itself by overshadowing the narrative. It has to come through the story or it damages the work, rendering itself useless. Callie Khouri has said that she never envisioned Thelma and Louise as any feminist statement when she wrote the screenplay; her point of view shaped the story but was not her focus.
Story is a basic human need. Women have all-too-often been written out of story, but story is not about us: we are a part of story.
*Bechdel Test: A movie must have at least 2 female characters who talk to each other about something other than a man.