Ingenues, Peek-a-boos, and Bombshells: My Favourite Blondes

Neither an Ingenue, nor a Bombshell, or a (real) Blonde

Musings on Bette Davis and her 1935 film ‘Dangerous’

Written by  Vuk Winrow

Part of my revelling in my own contrarianism includes trying to make totally conflicting ideas fit into the boundaries I’ve myself created. Somewhat ironically, the same was done (albeit on a larger scale) to the subject of this column. It’s important to establish, for anyone unfamiliar, that Bette Davis is someone who has lived multiple lives. Born in 1908 in Massachusetts, she made her debut as a star in 1934 (although she had worked unsuccessfully prior to that), with her stardom shining brightest in the late 1930s to early 40s. Although, perhaps, she never fit the category of ingenue, bombshell, or even a real/true blonde, she is in every sense of the phrase ‘one of my favourite blondes’ for the very fact that she was none of these.

            Throughout her career Bette Davis was always herself. What makes her such an attractive locus for the modern viewer to consider Hollywood’s ‘Golden Age’ is her longevity in being Bette Davis. I’ve always rebuked the idea that Bette Davis was unattractive; a misogynistic critique levelled to crush her independent spirit which threatened the perceived natural order of old Hollywood. Beyond being beautiful, she was incredibly compelling, having a spirit which transfixed the viewer’s gaze. She hypnotised you to the point where you’re held visually until she eventually lets you go, always wanting more of her. She was literally larger than life; not merely her physical presence on the cinema-screen but her stardom, her personality, and her impact on image-making approaches immortality. (Not least in the 1980s soft rock song Bette Davis Eyes which Julia Fox can be found dancing to a karaoke version on Instagram).

            I would like to however, turn attention to the lesser-known media of her career, away from the cult classic Whatever Happened to Baby Jane, and in my opinion the greatest film of all time All About Eve, and towards her career in the 1930s. More specifically, I would like to talk about the visual aesthetics of 1935’s Dangerous. Overpowered by her star-making turn in Of Human Bondage, after a string of (largely) flop) glamour-girl parts in various dramas, Dangerous has often been brushed aside in Davis’s career. I have always been drawn to her performance in Dangerous, however, due to this very desire to make it something taboo. Pushing something to obscurity has only made me want to ponder it more, even if after years of searching (it’s impossible to find in the UK), Dangerous remains not a very good film.

            I think, however, that Dangerous really epitomises the conclusion to the first visual half of Davis’s career – a culmination of her penchant for melodrama along with the beginning of her imbuing humanity and nuance into otherwise one-note female characters. Moreover, by 1935, she had begun to come into roles which better reflected the multiplicity of women’s lived experiences, with Dangerous providing a neat bookend to this. When asking ChatGPT to summarise the plot of Dangerous (I’m writing at overdue short-notice), it regurgitated something quite poignant. It described Davis’s portrayal of a ‘washed-up’ Broadway star (my words not theirs) as haunting – a talent eclipsed by self-destruction, with Davis’s character remaining shackled to her own dark past. In the end of Dangerous, Davis finds redemption through sacrifice with the film ending on a meditative contemplation on lost talent and second chances. I wish the film did this AI-generated description justice. Bette, however, manages to be every bit of this description and more.

            Afred E. Green (the director of Dangerous) seldom gets enough credit as a film-maker and there are two visuals from Dangerous which sit in my memory – not because they are revolutionary (or even well-shot) – but they capture the almost visceral beauty of Bette Davis at this time. Ninety years on, these images still stir me. The first is a scene of Bette Davis donning a studio-stock costume and out-of-place hat designed to make her look dishevelled, seated at a bar drunk. I always liked Davis as a blonde, and seeing her unkempt and distant from her glamorous star image creates an alluring allegory to the proximity with which stardom can easily break down. I find it quite poignant that this mass of fiery talent and blonde hair has to finally confront her character’s own inner vices. She rocks back and forth in her chair, not only conveying her character’s drunken state, but also her discomfort and fall from grace.

            The second visual from Dangerous which is burned in my memory is evocative of a far more sensual Bette Davis. She lays back – permanent cigarette in hand, her platinum hair neatly combed down as her eyes gaze into the distance. She wears a silk polka dot dress with her bare shoulders exposed. She seems almost statuesque here, a relic of a glamour which has long past, but it’s the first time that Bette Davis really becomes the star we know her as. She exudes an uncertainty in her total control, but its coupled with an image that feels both sensual and incredibly still. Whenever I come across this image, I always stop and stare (or screenshot). The nuance of the emotional potential carved into this stillness writes Bette Davis’s early genius onto her star image. Her ability to elevate her source material is uncannily reflected in the complex, almost unreadable gaze she casts not at the viewer, but to something much larger. What could be a moment’s contemplation is transformed into a permanent transfixion not at her audience, but at her craft, and at the monument which is Bette Davis herself.

            I always struggle to write coherently about Bette Davis, which might explain the somewhat rapid and jumpy prose, but talking about her comes incredibly naturally to me. As I can’t help but turn back the subject onto myself, I want to relay a short anecdote which might explain where this writer’s paradox comes from. Upon noticing my poster of Bette – blue-tacked onto my first-year university bedroom’s cork-board (the same 1935 Dangerous image described above), my friend asked how I could sleep with Bette Davis’s eyes staring at me. I find it quite a neat testament to the image’s power that amidst a whole host of postcards on that cork-board however, my friend’s eyes had drifted up to that very picture of Bette Davis. I answer her question, however, much in the same way I find it difficult to write about Davis – that in having this image or this writing, I can always keep her close by me. I might not always understand how best to frame her, or how best to write about her, but I’m able to slowly get to the bottom of what draws me to her so often and so consistently.