Tonight I attended an after hours event at
the Whitney Museum. While I did check out the new exhibits, I probably enjoyed the
gallery with selections from the Whitney’s permanent collection the most.
In one section among works by Edward Hopper, Man Ray, and Joseph Cornell is the painting “Cocktail” by Gerald Murphy (1927).
During the 1920s, Americans Gerald and Sara Murphy lived a
charmed life on the French Riviera. Cultured and stylish, they swam, sunbathed, danced, and dined with their circle of friends who
included the likes of Fitzgerald, Hemingway, and Picasso. It was also the decade that saw an artistic outpouring from Gerald who produced 14 paintings in
the Cubist-style, which were well received. Tragedy struck the Murphys in 1929 when their son, Patrick,
became ill with tuberculosis; Patrick and his brother, Baoth,
would both die a few years later. Gerald never painted again.
Today, only eight of his paintings are known to
still exist including “Cocktail.” It is a perfect painting for the Jazz Age.
Titled after what one drank in a speakeasy, it features a martini glass and
cocktail shaker along with a corkscrew and an all-important lemon for a twist.
There’s also a large box of cigars. Devoted to his family, Gerald included five
cigars to represent him and his family members. The collection of items, lined
up in an orderly fashion, is modern and sophisticated, just like its painter.
During the 1920s and 30s ballerina Harriet Hoctor, dubbed the "Pavlova of America” by showman Florenz Ziegfeld, charmed audiences with her graceful and unique dancing. Double-jointed, she was able to bend her
body backwards and execute a perfect question mark, as seen in this photo, and incorporated her backbend into many of her dances.
Born on September 25, 1905 in Hoosick Falls, New York, she made her Broadway debut at just 15 in the chorus
of the Ziegfeld produced musical Sally (1920) starring
Marilyn Miller. After dancing on the vaudeville circuit, she was asked by
the Duncan Sisters (huge vaudeville stars at the time) to join the cast of Topsy and Eva, a musical version of Uncle Tom's Cabin, which toured the country
before opening on Broadway in 1924. After a 20-week run, Hoctor went on tour
again before returning to Broadway for A
La Carte (1927).
Harriet Hoctor in The Three Musketeers (1928), Photo by Maurice Goldberg. While Hoctor was lovely as a blonde, I like the bob and general flapper attitude in this photo.
Having made an impression on Ziegfeld, she was cast in three of his productions: The Three
Musketeers (1928), Show Girl
(1929), and Simple Simon (1930). During
this time Hoctor also participated in recitals, showing off her dance skills in
various pieces including one based on The
Raven by Edgar Allan Poe for which Hoctor tapped out of the sounds of the
bird. This was accomplished by toe tapping en pointe, which is exactly what it
sounds like— dancing en pointe with taps attached. Although not the only dancer to utilize this style of dance, Hoctor was one of the best.
In 1932, she travelled to London to perform at the
Hippodrome in Bow Bells where she
received huge ovations from the audience. Returning to New York, she appeared
in a series of productions including Earl Carroll’s Vanities (1932) before she turned to film. She played herself in The Great Ziegfeld (1936) and danced
with Fred Astaire in Shall We Dance
(1937) for which George Gershwin wrote a number specifically for her titled
“Hoctor’s Ballet.” Back in New York, she was a member of the Ziegfeld Follies of 1936 along with Josephine Baker and Fannie Brice.
She spent the rest of the decade and the war years dancing on
stage, including performing and choreographing dances at Billy Rose's nightclub the Diamond Horseshoe, after which she retired and ran the Harriet Hoctor Dance School in Boston for many years.
She passed away on June 9, 1977.
Her appearance in Shall
We Dance comes at the end of the film. She's in the first part of this clip (before the dancers with the creepy Ginger Rogers masks appear). Notice her name on the marquee in the opening shot? Look at how beautiful and effortless her movements are and how perfectly paired she is
with Astaire. It was rumoured that Ginger Rogers didn’t want to make this film
at first and that Hoctor was going to replace her. Rogers decided at the last minute
to take the part. At least Hoctor got her own ballet, and we get to see it. Enjoy.
Beatriz Costa (1907-1996) was a huge
Portuguese theatre and film star who, unfortunately, is not very well known
here in the States. I became intrigued from the moment I first saw her image.
Portuguese, dark bob, only five feet tall, that could be a description of me! (Sadly though, I can neither sing nor dance.) Of course, I wanted to find out more about her. Most of the
information I did find was in Portuguese so apologies in advance for anything
that I've translated poorly.
She was born Beatriz da Conceição in Mafra,
Portugal on December 14, 1907. As a young girl she helped her mother who took in sewing and taught herself how to read at the age of 13. Enamoured with the stage, she used a connection of her stepfather’s to get a letter of introduction to a theatre manager in Lisbon and at age 15 she made her professional stage debut
as a chorus girl in Tea and Toast
(1923). She was shortly after renamed Beatriz Costa by Luis Gallardo.
Beatriz Costa from a studio session in Rio (1929)
The following year the theatre company travelled to Brazil where Costa earned raves from the public and the press, especially for her performance of the song “Mademoiselle Boy.” She returned to Portugal two years later where she continued to star in a variety of musical shows. In 1927, she made her screen debut in The Devil in Lisbon followed the same
year by Fátima Milagrosa in which she
danced a tango with the future director Manoel de Oliveira. She also began
sporting bangs, which would become her trademark. Although she was successful
in film, she continued to perform on stage in a series of productions before going on another tour of Brazil. When she returned, she met with Paramount’s European representative and won the lead in Her Wedding Night, a remake of a Clara Bow picture and one of the first
Portuguese talkies. Filmed in Paris, it brought Costa even more accolades.
By the 1930s, Costa’s bubbly personality and
comedic talents had made her incredibly popular and she was given the nickname,
“the Sweetheart of Lisbon.” In 1933, she starred in her biggest film yet, A Song of Lisbon. Billed as the “first
Portuguese film made by Portuguese people,” A
Song for Lisbon ushered in Portugal’s Golden Age of Cinema. In 1937, Portuguese moviegoers voted her the “Princess of
Portuguese Cinema.”
She ended the decade by making her last film, The Village of White Clothes, and returning to
Brazil where she stayed for ten years, performing at the Casino da Urca; she
would later refer to this time as “the best years of my life.” It was there in
1947 that she wed the Brazilian writer and sculptor Edmundo Gregorian. But the marriage didn't last, and they
divorced two years later.
In 1949, she made a triumphant return to
Portugal where she starred in a series of successful plays including Play the Music and Carry On. After her performance in Está Bonita a Brincadeira in 1960, she retired from the stage and
travelled the world, attending theatre festivals and visiting with various
celebrities. When she returned to Portugal, she moved into the Hotel Tivoli in Lisbon where she would
live for the rest of her life. There she began a second career as an author,
writing successful books about her career and experiences. I’m happy to report, she sported a bob with her trademark bangs even in old age. Although she received many
requests to return to the stage she refused, citing the decline in the quality
of theatrical shows. Costa passed away on April 15, 1996.
Song of Lisbon is one of her few films to survive. Watch this clip where Costa awkwardly dances around and cannot hit a high note. She's funny and adorable in this scene and throughout the rest of the film; no wonder she was called the Sweetheart of Lisbon.
Yesterday was the first snow of the season. In honour of the
occasion, I’m taking a look at a favourite winter painting.
When I lived in Boston, I spent many
hours at the Museum of Fine Arts. “At Dusk (Boston Common at Twilight)” by the
American Impressionist Childe Hassam was one of my favourite paintings. Today, looking at it instantly conquers up a
nostalgic mix of memories of both Boston and winter snow.
Here we see a mother with her two children
feeding the sparrows on the Tremont Street Mall in Boston Common (a handy
location for Hassam as it was across the street from his studio). This wide promenade
in the Common, lined with elm trees on one side and Tremont Street on the
other, was created for Bostonians to have a place to take a stroll, perhaps in
the afternoon or on a Sunday dressed up in church finery. So refined.
While the site looks different today—the
promenade was broken up with the addition of two subway entrances—it’s still
recognizable as the Boston Common I’ve walked through so many times. What’s
interesting to note is that the Common Hassam painted reflected changes that had occurred during
his time as well; by the mid-1880san increase in commerce in the area had resulted in new buildings and streets crowded with trolley cars and
carriages.
I particularly love the light in the
painting from the pink warmth of the setting sun behind the trees to the orange
glow from the windows in the buildings. As for the snow, Hassam painted a very
accurate depiction of snow that’s been walked upon. Looking at that path, I
know all too well that by the next day it would have turned into a sheet of ice
to be traversed at your own risk. Oh, winter in Boston. How beautiful (and dangerous) you could be.
