The “Harbinger”

That past sorrows and joys have merged into an elegance that permeates her presence, that “something in the air” that indicates class and courage and composure. Though she now rigorously guards her privacy, her free spirit surfaces easily, and her thoughts come crystal clear. A figure of her time, our history, Lee is her own harbinger for an iconic future. Ours, and hers. (From Nicky Haslam, Ny Times Blogs 2013-02-07)

And there you have the answer to the question, how do you flatteringly describe the narcissistic and pointless life of a true celebrity?  Nauseous yet?

Those words were written in reference to Lee Bouvier Radziwill, Jackie Kennedy’s younger sister by five years. (As admired as Jackie Kennedy was, she too was nothing more than a celebrity. If you think that inviting well-known, if serious, poets and singers to the White House or being a book editor later in life means you actually had a real life, think again: a book editor is exactly what you do if you really aren’t up the far more lugubrious task of writing. It’s not like, say, building houses with Jimmy Carter. )

What is a “celebrity”? In the real world, useless people wither and die because they are incapable of producing anything of value in order to sustain an affluent lifestyle. A celebrity is simply someone who gets the lifestyle anyway.

You get why Sofia Coppola, who made “Marie Antoinette” with Kirsten Dunst, (and a better movie, “Lost in Translation”) would be interested in her. “Marie Antoinette” did for the title subject what that paragraph above tries to do for Lee Radziwill: recast the life of a sheltered, uninteresting, unaccomplished but affluent woman into something more dramatic and significant. Next, of course, we find out why these women are victims, in a way, so we can empathize with them, so something will mitigate that feeling of privilege. So we can say they have “overcome” something, like not being born rich.

She tried. Yes, she tried to actually produce something of value and when you can’t really produce anything of value– she couldn’t– but you want to create the illusion of it, you become an actress, or, god help us, a model. She tried acting. She appeared in at least two plays. Both attempts elicited scathing reviews and she gave it up.

She was a hanger-on, with the by then artistically impotent Truman Capote, on the Rolling Stones 1972 tour, for which I don’t think she even earned a mention in Keith Richards’ “Life”. She has received France’s Légion d’honneur which astonishes me. That sounds so meaty and substantial. I’ll have to wiki that one day to find out what exactly it means. Remember– France thinks Jerry Lewis is a brilliant comedian.

The most astounding comment is the reference to a portrait of Radziwill “at the height of her astonishing beauty”.  Have a look.  I could almost let anything else by Haslam pass but it is one thing to ask us to tolerate celebrities coasting among us, parasitical (almost always acquiring wealth through inheritance or marriage), intrusive, boring, but to then insist that we recognize them as beautiful as well goes far beyond the pale. There’s her picture to the right, her coarse face, the ridiculous hair and earrings, and that vacuous sedentary expression in fervent acknowledgement of the wisdom of keeping your mouth shut if you don’t have anything particularly interesting to say.

Unless, of course, you are a “harbinger”.

Here’s an excruciating passage from Haslam’s interview:

“Were you always aware of your beauty?”
“From the word go,” she answers simply and honestly. “But no one else was, then…”

The transmutation of Radziwill’s coarse, rather weird face– Jackie Kennedy had a bit of the same odd arrangement of eyes – nose – mouth– into this “astonishing” beauty is worth a book. How we manufacture illusions.

Given Radziwill’s life and connections and wealth, any face with all of the core elements in it would eventually elicit this “astonishing” tag from a celebrity interviewer some day. Because that is precisely how you describe a woman who is really quite homely if she is rich and famous and a celebrity and obviously not beautiful at all and you have been absolutely dying to meet her and make a big point of describing how she seemed to like you. And then you use her first name. With the money you will have the teeth and the make-up and what passes for hair style, and clothing. Usually the breasts. But no amount of money can fix the flaws in the arrangement of that face. They eyes are too wide set, the nose too long, the forehead like a plateau. And that awful, awful dress.

In 1974 she and Jackie published “One Special Summer,” a memoir of their European trip, written originally as a gift to their parents.

But really, this is so good. So beautiful. This is so amazing! You should publish this! People would love to read about your life. I must insist on sending a copy to my friend over at Harper-Collins… He’s a tough editor. I’m sure he’ll give his real opinion. Let’s see what he thinks. Let’s not tell him who wrote it. No– no! That would be cruel.

And so it goes. Oh my goodness– we were astonished at the demand for our book. Who would have thought it? But after all, I have such good taste. It would surprise no one to know that I can do a bit of it myself.

As for “harbinger for an iconic future”, I don’t even know what Ms. Nicky intended with this preposterous line. I can’t figure it out. How can a future be “iconic”? Does she mean our future will be full of icons? And that Lee Radziwill will astonish young people in the future with her good looks and her savoir faire? Will they want to hear stories of her hanging around the Rolling Stones in 1972 and meeting many interesting people, like, oh Truman Capote, Joe Namath, and Olivia Newton-John?

Afterthoughts

Is Eva Peron one of these? Not entirely– she was so deeply — and disastrously– involved in the politics of Argentina that she might be more accurately regarded as a dictator rather than a celebrity. She did things– bad things, generally– but she did actually do things.

Though… now that I think about it… isn’t what happened in Argentina under the Perons precisely the kind of thing that happens when you give a celebrity real power? Things go bad. Offences to vanity become treason. The government not only insists that you obey them, but that you also love them.

Mary Badham in “To Kill a Mockingbird”

“To Kill a Mockingbird” is, in many ways, a very likeable undistinguished film.  The music by Elmer Bernstein saves the film: it coats the events in the beautiful nostalgic gauze of melancholy and revelation.

Gregory Peck– regardless of the adoring ministrations of thousands of fans–and the Oscar for “Best Actor”  was a wooden actor of limited range. Pauline Kael says, “Peck was better than usual, but in that same virtuously dull way.”  He won the Oscar for the role, not the performance.

That his performance almost perfectly suited the tone of “To Kill a Mockingbird” was an accident, or the result of a director’s choice to leave well enough alone. Brock Peters was very good as Tom Robinson, and most of the supporting cast was adequate. Philip Alford as Jem was okay.

But Mary Badham as Scout was actually quite awful. She was stiff and awkward and had no sense of timing at all. Look at the scene in which a dinner guest pours syrup all over his plate of food:  it is hacked to pieces.  It looks like they tried desperately to save it in the editing but I can’t imagine that the director was ever happy with the end result.

There is a story that Philip Alford (Jem)  became irritated with her because he was forced to eat the same food over and over again while she tried to get her lines right in the syrup scene.  He and and John Megna (Dill) took their revenge when they later filmed a scene in which she gets into a car tire and rolls  down the street.   The two boys pushed her so vigorously she was almost injured.

It is quite believable that the director and casting crew thought they had the right girl after an audition and then discovered, gradually, that she was really not very good.  It would have been difficult and expensive to replace her once footage had been shot.  I suspect they tried to make the best of it.

The scene with Boo Radley at the end makes me cringe.  Scout just snuggles right up to this strange frightening recluse without the slightest reserve.  In fact, that whole plot sequence, of Bob Ewell trying to assassinate Scout, is ridiculous and here is once case when they should have abandoned the book.

It is a mistake.

Incidentally: why did Harper Lee never write another novel?  I believe she couldn’t.  She had one book in her, a pleasant combination of memory and social activism, and she knew, better than anyone else, her own limitations, that anything she tried to put out afterwards would be a terrible disappointment.

[Edited 2022-05-06]

By the way, did you know that the character of “Dill” was inspired by the young Truman Capote?  Yes, young Capote and Lee lived in the same town for a time, and they continued their friendship through the 1960’s when she helped him write “In Cold Blood”.