Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
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Monday, July 29, 2013
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Sunday Styles
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| Parure of necklace and earrings by Coppola e Toppo for Valentino |
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| Mirella Petteni in Valentino and Coppola e Toppo for Valentino |
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Friday, July 26, 2013
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Monday, July 22, 2013
Sunday, July 21, 2013
On This Day...
June 21, 1983.
For once in her life, Miss Ross discovered that she did NOT need the wind machine.
Friday, July 19, 2013
Make Me Rainbows
Peter Allen explodes into a big, sparkly rainbow at the 1:36 mark.
We would expect, and accept, nothing less.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Her Shining Hour
"Mimi Hines Is A Happening!"
So proclaimed the title of her 1967 Decca album; and, last night at 54 Below, the little lady with the big voice proved it so once more, knocking a sophisticated, jaded audience out of their collective seats.
How sophisticated and jaded, you may query? How's this for starters: Lucie Arnaz. Joyce Breach. Jim Caruso. Fran Drescher. Donna Mckechnie. Jerry Mitchell. Liliane Montevecchi. Faith Prince. LeRoy Reams. Billy Stritch. Julie Wilson.
All of them rapt, attentive, spellbound one moment; then screaming, banging the tables, clamoring for more, the next. Strutting on stage to the strains of "Nothing Can Stop Me Now!", Ms. Hines -- making a rare appearance, in celebration of her 80th birthday -- demonstrated just that for the next hour plus. Looking fabulous with mile-long false eyelashes and a swath of blue eyeshadow, Mimi the magnificent belted out "Chicago," crooned "Till There Was You," and had us all in the palm of her hand.
The one-time Funny Girl (she took over for Streisand on Broadway when Barbra took the show to London) paid homage to that career highlight by singing "I'm the Greatest Star," making it clear in the process that she's no Streisand clone. She's 100% Mimi Hines, and she makes the material her own. Hines also sang the lovely ballad, "Who Are You Now," which was cut from the film version of the musical, and a treat to hear.
Mimi Hines has always been a brassy, belting broad; she still possesses a rapid-fire show biz wit and delivery when recounting some of her backstage tales, but time and experience have mellowed her singing voice. She still has reserves of power, to be sure, but remarkably, who she reminded us most of throughout the evening, was the inimitable saloon singer, Sylvia Syms. Big ballads that, in other hands (and, perhaps, Hines', too, once upon a time) would be overwrought and overdramatic -- "Who Can I Turn To?" and "Yesterday I Heard the Rain" -- were heartbreaking, devastating in their intimacy. Any lowered keys and skillfully sidestepped high notes were more than compensated for by powerful connection with the lyrics.
To that end, in a completely unexpected, stunning feat of acting, this quintessential "mensch" (as Jule Styne called her in the liner notes to that 1967 album) transformed herself completely into Madame Armfeldt for a stunning rendition of "Liaisons" from A Little Night Music. It was a revelation, not only for the total surprise of hearing and seeing Hines become that character, but for the sheer brilliance of her interpretation.
For us, though, the highlight of the evening was the seldom-revived "I'll Only Miss Him When I Think of Him" from Skyscraper; Hines recorded it for her debut album in 1966. Full disclosure: Hines' recorded rendition has never curried favor with us, in spite of the song being one of our all-time favorites. But last night, Mimi Hines sang it as its never been sung before, with such longing and tenderness, that we immediately realized that she wasn't singing about an unfortunate love affair; she was experiencing the pain and ache that only true loss can bring. And, sure enough, as the last notes drifted to the heavens, Hines whispered, "I miss ya, Phil." (The late Phil Ford was her long-time spouse and musical partner.) It was an almost painfully personal moment, and there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Cannily, Hines segued almost immediately into an upbeat arrangement of "It Only Takes a Moment" from Hello, Dolly!, with Ford still clearly on her mind.
Although the rapturous audience -- who visibly moved Hines with their unabashed appreciation and adoration -- would have gladly let her stay all night and sing 'em all, every good thing must come to an end. Fittingly, Hines closed her set with a beautiful, touching version of Johnny Mercer's "My Shining Hour." And when she wrapped up with his lyric: "This will be my shining hour/Till I'm with you again," truer words could never be spoken. Or sung.
Mimi Hines is a happening.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Remember...
On your birthday, it's expected and accepted that you will be Queen For The Day.
GINGER ROGERS
July 16, 1911 - April 25, 1995
Shhh...
Missy would just as soon not be reminded of another birthday.
MISS BARBARA STANWYCK
July 16, 1907 - January 20, 1990
Monday, July 15, 2013
A Fellow Needs A Girl
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| Montgomery Clift and Marilyn Monroe |
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| Roddy McDowall and Elizabeth Taylor |
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| Cesar Romero and Joan Crawford |
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| Rock Hudson and Judy Garland |
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| Mart Crowley and Natalie Wood |
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Have You Heard?
We've been made an honorary Ethel Mermaid!
We can't tell you what a thrill it was to be interviewed for Mermania by the fabulous Miss Corinna.
Bless you, darling!
Friday, July 12, 2013
Thursday, July 11, 2013
More Head
As we toil away, darlings, we hope that you're entertained by this post from the archives. We recently were involved in a spirited debate about Head, which made us think of this fondly remembered post. Enjoy!
A recent, marvelous post over at Poseidon's Underworld, detailing the costumes Edith Head created for the all-star Ross Hunter epic, Airport (1970), started us ruminating about the fabled, eight-time-Oscar-winning designer. During the early phase of her 42 year run at Paramount (1925-1967), the untrained Head was dwarfed by the staggeringly chic creations being turned out by head designers Howard Greer and, later, Travis Banton. When called upon, though, Head could supply the fireworks, as with the spectacular emerald sequined gown she designed for Mae West in She Done Him Wong (1933).
More often, though, Head took a practical, workman-like approach -- which, it must be admitted, gave many of the costumes she worked on an undated, timeless look. There was a minimum of adornment on her dresses and gowns, most of which were made in either neutrals or subdued tones. Her no-fuss ethic was in direct contrast with the fantastical, glamorous, almost otherworldly creations that other designers like Adrian (MGM), Orry-Kelly (Warners), René Hubert (Fox), Kalloch (Columbia), Walter Plunkett (RKO) and Paramount's Banton were turning out.
To be fair, during this period, Banton, as head designer, was in charge of the plum assignments, and therefore, the most important films and biggest stars. More often than not, little Edie was left to toil in B-unit productions like Jungle Princess (1936), Her Husband Lies (1937) and Dangerous to Know (1938).
Whether it was due to the smaller budgets on these films, Head's own minimalist approach, or a combination of the two, these stills illustrate both the designer's career-long fondness for simple lines with a minimum of frills, and a certain uneasiness when pressed to do something more outré: the sequined gown for Dorothy Lamour seems sleazy, especially compared with the clean, uncluttered look she gave Gail Patrick and Anna May Wong (more successful was the sarong that Head designed for Lamour in the same film!). But Head was acutely aware of her own limitations, and, when she was made head designer after Banton left Paramount in 1938, Head took pains to ensure that she rarely stepped out of her self-imposed boundaries again. She also set to work at making herself a household name.
The dark glasses. The crisp white blouse. The tailored suit. The bangs and chignon. The look, adopted in the late 1930's, would remain in place for the rest of Edith Head's life. "I knew I could never be the greatest costume designer," she once remarked, "but I knew there was no reason I couldn't be the smartest." Brilliantly, she copyrighted and branded herself, making her image nearly as famous as the movie divas she designed for. What Head wasn't so brilliant at, was fashion. Let us be very clear here: we respect Ms. Head as a very talented costume designer. That was her job, and she not only did it tremendously well, but she took it very seriously. She conferred not just with the director and actors on creating looks for the characters, but also with the art director and set designers, to ensure perfect harmony of line and color in every scene. The idea was for the costume to enhance and compliment the scene and character, not to overpower for mere effect.
Consequently, many of Head's best-remembered costumes were worn by some of the most celebrated, tempestuous women in Hollywood -- precisely because it took enormous presence and strength of character to bring many of Head's designs to life. Do you recognize either of these rather drab, uninteresting gowns?
How about now? They are, of course, the iconic dresses worn by Bette Davis and Elizabeth Taylor, respectively, in All About Eve (1950) and A Place in the Sun (1951).
It could be said, then, that Edith Head's greatest strength was knowing exactly what would work for the actress at hand, and the character she was playing. The clothing itself wasn't the star of the scene: it became a seamless, almost subliminal part of it. Indeed, it's difficult to imagine Margo Channing tossing off her "Fasten your seat belts" sally without that brown satin dress; but seeing it on its own hardly conjures up such delicious glamour. The clothes may not make the woman, but in many cases in Head's career, they helped make the character.
Perhaps Edith's greatest collaboration with a star was with Barbara Stanwyck. Stanwyck had a reputation among Hollywood designers as being difficult to fit; her long-waisted torso seemed to stymie them. The look Head perfected for Stanwyck -- wide waistbands, narrow backs -- gave Stanwyck a new identity, and the closest thing to a designer/star partnership (a la Adrian/Crawford, Banton/Dietrich) that the free-lancing, studio-hopping star would ever have. The two women remained close friends, with Head not only designing for Stanwyck's films, but also her personal wardrobe.
That Head and Stanwyck got on famously was no fluke; Edith Head was trusted and beloved by almost every actress she worked with. She not only knew how to accentuate and camouflage as needed (as in Stanwyck's case), she also knew better than to spill gossip about her clients' private lives or, worse, their figure flaws to the press. Edith may have lacked the talent of a true couturier, but she could very well have been a diplomat.
There were, of course, a few bumps along the way. Most famously, as Paramount's head designer, she refused to allow young French designer Hubert de Givenchy's name to be included in the credits of Sabrina (1954) -- in spite of the fact that he had designed all of the haute couture gowns for the film's star, Audrey Hepburn, at Hepburn's request. Adding insult to injury, Head won an Oscar for the film (her second for a Hepburn picture; she had won the previous year for Roman Holiday)! To Head's credit, she did thank Givenchy in her acceptance speech for his "contributions." History almost repeated itself three years later, when Givenchy designed the spectacular couture gowns for Hepburn in Funny Face (1957), while Head was relegated to Kay Thompson's gray suits and the sad-sack outfits worn by Hepburn prior to her transformation from duckling to swan. This time, however, Givenchy rightly demanded, and received, screen credit.
Her ambitions to do high fashion designs for Audrey Hepburn thwarted, Head found her 1950's muse in Hepburn's sleek blonde counterpart, Grace Kelly. For the future princess, Head designed some of her loveliest, most fashion-forward creations, particularly for Rear Window (1954) and To Catch a Thief (1955). These two films also cemented a long, fruitful relationship with Alfred Hitchcock, who was not only impressed by how Head's designs looked on his treasured cool blondes (Head would also dress Kim Novak for Vertigo [1958] and Tippi Hedren for The Birds [1963]), but how effectively they complimented his vision and direction.
The 1960's saw Head responding to the ever-changing times in a surprising fashion: she took the plunge into the outrageous, and her designs for such mid-1960's fare as What a Way to Go! (1964) with Shirley MacLaine and Love Has Many Faces (1965) with Lana Turner are eye-popping, jaw-dropping -- and not always in a good way. But they demonstrate Head's determination to remain not only relevant, but newsworthy and attention-grabbing. Much was made of the costume budgets for these two films, in particular; Lana's costumes alone were reportedly worth $1 million!
In 1967, after her Paramount contract expired, Head jumped ship to Universal. Though much of her work for Universal was minor, she did manage to win one final Oscar, for The Sting (1973). In an echo of the earlier Givenchy debacle, however, she was sued by the sketch illustrator who worked on the film (Head herself didn't, or couldn't, sketch), claiming that he had, in fact, designed the costumes. This sort of controversy started Edith Head's career -- she had conned her way into Paramount's costume department by displaying a portfolio padded with sketches by her fellow art class students -- and would continue to the end. When, in the 1970's, she began holding "fashion costume shows" purporting to feature her classic film gowns, many whispered that the gowns were, in fact, reproductions, and that some weren't even originally designed by Head in the first place.
Still, when Edith Head died on October 24, 1981, she was mourned not only by Hollywood but, thanks to Head's unrelenting publicity drive, the world. Obviously, Edith Head's supporters far outnumber her detractors; and, whatever her shortcomings as a designer may have been, her massive influence and sheer force of personality are such that they override any deficincies. In any case, if the unflattering designs she created for Mary Martin, Hedy Lamarr and Claudette Colbert (three of the very few stars with whom she shared a mutual dislike) are any indication of the kind of retribution she would dish out to those who dared cross her, we'd rather stay on her good side!
Thank you, Poseidon3, for getting our creative juices flowing! Frankly, in spite of her legend and her undeniable longevity, we've never been a big fan of Head. (And we never thought we'd have that phrase coming out of our, er, mouth.) Her work always struck us as a little bland and a lot derivative. And yet, contradictorily, she's the woman behind some of the most iconic costumes in film history, a few of our favorites among them. In the end, we simply have to give the lady respect and credit for all that she achieved in her nearly-sixty year career. And it goes without saying that we heartily endorse the always entertaining, always educational Poseidon's Underworld. Visit him today, and tell him that Big Edie sent you.
A recent, marvelous post over at Poseidon's Underworld, detailing the costumes Edith Head created for the all-star Ross Hunter epic, Airport (1970), started us ruminating about the fabled, eight-time-Oscar-winning designer. During the early phase of her 42 year run at Paramount (1925-1967), the untrained Head was dwarfed by the staggeringly chic creations being turned out by head designers Howard Greer and, later, Travis Banton. When called upon, though, Head could supply the fireworks, as with the spectacular emerald sequined gown she designed for Mae West in She Done Him Wong (1933).
Mae West in She Done Him Wrong (1933, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Designer: Edith Head
More often, though, Head took a practical, workman-like approach -- which, it must be admitted, gave many of the costumes she worked on an undated, timeless look. There was a minimum of adornment on her dresses and gowns, most of which were made in either neutrals or subdued tones. Her no-fuss ethic was in direct contrast with the fantastical, glamorous, almost otherworldly creations that other designers like Adrian (MGM), Orry-Kelly (Warners), René Hubert (Fox), Kalloch (Columbia), Walter Plunkett (RKO) and Paramount's Banton were turning out.
Joan Crawford in Dancing Lady (1933, MGM)
Designer: Adrian
Kay Francis in Mandalay (1934, Warner Bros.)
Designer: Orry-Kelly
Gloria Swanson in Indiscreet (1931, Fox)
Designer: René Hubert
Irene Dunne in The Awful Truth (1937, Columbia)
Designer: Kalloch
Lupe Velez in Strictly Dynamite (1934, RKO)
Designer: Walter Plunkett
Marlene Dietrich in Desire (1936)
Designer: Travis Banton
Designer: Adrian
Kay Francis in Mandalay (1934, Warner Bros.)Designer: Orry-Kelly
Gloria Swanson in Indiscreet (1931, Fox)Designer: René Hubert
Irene Dunne in The Awful Truth (1937, Columbia)Designer: Kalloch
Lupe Velez in Strictly Dynamite (1934, RKO)Designer: Walter Plunkett
Marlene Dietrich in Desire (1936)Designer: Travis Banton
To be fair, during this period, Banton, as head designer, was in charge of the plum assignments, and therefore, the most important films and biggest stars. More often than not, little Edie was left to toil in B-unit productions like Jungle Princess (1936), Her Husband Lies (1937) and Dangerous to Know (1938).
Dorothy Lamour in Jungle Princess (1936, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Gail Patrick in Her Husband Lies (1937, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Anna May Wong in Dangerous to Know (1938, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Designer: Edith Head
Gail Patrick in Her Husband Lies (1937, Paramount)Designer: Edith Head
Anna May Wong in Dangerous to Know (1938, Paramount)Designer: Edith Head
Whether it was due to the smaller budgets on these films, Head's own minimalist approach, or a combination of the two, these stills illustrate both the designer's career-long fondness for simple lines with a minimum of frills, and a certain uneasiness when pressed to do something more outré: the sequined gown for Dorothy Lamour seems sleazy, especially compared with the clean, uncluttered look she gave Gail Patrick and Anna May Wong (more successful was the sarong that Head designed for Lamour in the same film!). But Head was acutely aware of her own limitations, and, when she was made head designer after Banton left Paramount in 1938, Head took pains to ensure that she rarely stepped out of her self-imposed boundaries again. She also set to work at making herself a household name.
The dark glasses. The crisp white blouse. The tailored suit. The bangs and chignon. The look, adopted in the late 1930's, would remain in place for the rest of Edith Head's life. "I knew I could never be the greatest costume designer," she once remarked, "but I knew there was no reason I couldn't be the smartest." Brilliantly, she copyrighted and branded herself, making her image nearly as famous as the movie divas she designed for. What Head wasn't so brilliant at, was fashion. Let us be very clear here: we respect Ms. Head as a very talented costume designer. That was her job, and she not only did it tremendously well, but she took it very seriously. She conferred not just with the director and actors on creating looks for the characters, but also with the art director and set designers, to ensure perfect harmony of line and color in every scene. The idea was for the costume to enhance and compliment the scene and character, not to overpower for mere effect.
Consequently, many of Head's best-remembered costumes were worn by some of the most celebrated, tempestuous women in Hollywood -- precisely because it took enormous presence and strength of character to bring many of Head's designs to life. Do you recognize either of these rather drab, uninteresting gowns?
How about now? They are, of course, the iconic dresses worn by Bette Davis and Elizabeth Taylor, respectively, in All About Eve (1950) and A Place in the Sun (1951).
Bette Davis in All About Eve (1950, Twentieth Century Fox)
Designer: Edith Head
Elizabeth Taylor (with Montgomery Clift) in A Place in the Sun (1951, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Designer: Edith Head
Elizabeth Taylor (with Montgomery Clift) in A Place in the Sun (1951, Paramount)Designer: Edith Head
It could be said, then, that Edith Head's greatest strength was knowing exactly what would work for the actress at hand, and the character she was playing. The clothing itself wasn't the star of the scene: it became a seamless, almost subliminal part of it. Indeed, it's difficult to imagine Margo Channing tossing off her "Fasten your seat belts" sally without that brown satin dress; but seeing it on its own hardly conjures up such delicious glamour. The clothes may not make the woman, but in many cases in Head's career, they helped make the character.
Barbara Stanwyck in Ball of Fire (1941, RKO)
Designer: Edith Head
Designer: Edith Head
Perhaps Edith's greatest collaboration with a star was with Barbara Stanwyck. Stanwyck had a reputation among Hollywood designers as being difficult to fit; her long-waisted torso seemed to stymie them. The look Head perfected for Stanwyck -- wide waistbands, narrow backs -- gave Stanwyck a new identity, and the closest thing to a designer/star partnership (a la Adrian/Crawford, Banton/Dietrich) that the free-lancing, studio-hopping star would ever have. The two women remained close friends, with Head not only designing for Stanwyck's films, but also her personal wardrobe.
Barbara Stanwyck in The Lady Eve (1941, Paramount) and Ball of Fire (1941, RKO)
Designer: Edith Head
Designer: Edith Head
That Head and Stanwyck got on famously was no fluke; Edith Head was trusted and beloved by almost every actress she worked with. She not only knew how to accentuate and camouflage as needed (as in Stanwyck's case), she also knew better than to spill gossip about her clients' private lives or, worse, their figure flaws to the press. Edith may have lacked the talent of a true couturier, but she could very well have been a diplomat.
Edith Head and Gloria Swanson, in costume for Sunset Blvd. (1950, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Designer: Edith Head
There were, of course, a few bumps along the way. Most famously, as Paramount's head designer, she refused to allow young French designer Hubert de Givenchy's name to be included in the credits of Sabrina (1954) -- in spite of the fact that he had designed all of the haute couture gowns for the film's star, Audrey Hepburn, at Hepburn's request. Adding insult to injury, Head won an Oscar for the film (her second for a Hepburn picture; she had won the previous year for Roman Holiday)! To Head's credit, she did thank Givenchy in her acceptance speech for his "contributions." History almost repeated itself three years later, when Givenchy designed the spectacular couture gowns for Hepburn in Funny Face (1957), while Head was relegated to Kay Thompson's gray suits and the sad-sack outfits worn by Hepburn prior to her transformation from duckling to swan. This time, however, Givenchy rightly demanded, and received, screen credit.
Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday (1953, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face (1957, Paramount)
Designer: Hubert de Givenchy
Designer: Edith Head
Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face (1957, Paramount)Designer: Hubert de Givenchy
Her ambitions to do high fashion designs for Audrey Hepburn thwarted, Head found her 1950's muse in Hepburn's sleek blonde counterpart, Grace Kelly. For the future princess, Head designed some of her loveliest, most fashion-forward creations, particularly for Rear Window (1954) and To Catch a Thief (1955). These two films also cemented a long, fruitful relationship with Alfred Hitchcock, who was not only impressed by how Head's designs looked on his treasured cool blondes (Head would also dress Kim Novak for Vertigo [1958] and Tippi Hedren for The Birds [1963]), but how effectively they complimented his vision and direction.
Grace Kelly in Rear Window (1954, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Grace Kelly in To Catch a Thief (1955, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Designer: Edith Head
Grace Kelly in To Catch a Thief (1955, Paramount)Designer: Edith Head
The 1960's saw Head responding to the ever-changing times in a surprising fashion: she took the plunge into the outrageous, and her designs for such mid-1960's fare as What a Way to Go! (1964) with Shirley MacLaine and Love Has Many Faces (1965) with Lana Turner are eye-popping, jaw-dropping -- and not always in a good way. But they demonstrate Head's determination to remain not only relevant, but newsworthy and attention-grabbing. Much was made of the costume budgets for these two films, in particular; Lana's costumes alone were reportedly worth $1 million!
Lana Turner in Love Has Many Faces (1965, Columbia)
Designer: Edith Head
Shirley MacLaine (with Robert Mitchum) in What a Way to Go! (1964, Twentieth Century Fox)
Designer: Edith Head
Designer: Edith Head
Shirley MacLaine (with Robert Mitchum) in What a Way to Go! (1964, Twentieth Century Fox)
Designer: Edith Head
In 1967, after her Paramount contract expired, Head jumped ship to Universal. Though much of her work for Universal was minor, she did manage to win one final Oscar, for The Sting (1973). In an echo of the earlier Givenchy debacle, however, she was sued by the sketch illustrator who worked on the film (Head herself didn't, or couldn't, sketch), claiming that he had, in fact, designed the costumes. This sort of controversy started Edith Head's career -- she had conned her way into Paramount's costume department by displaying a portfolio padded with sketches by her fellow art class students -- and would continue to the end. When, in the 1970's, she began holding "fashion costume shows" purporting to feature her classic film gowns, many whispered that the gowns were, in fact, reproductions, and that some weren't even originally designed by Head in the first place.
Edith Head and models at one of her costume fashion shows, 1970's
Still, when Edith Head died on October 24, 1981, she was mourned not only by Hollywood but, thanks to Head's unrelenting publicity drive, the world. Obviously, Edith Head's supporters far outnumber her detractors; and, whatever her shortcomings as a designer may have been, her massive influence and sheer force of personality are such that they override any deficincies. In any case, if the unflattering designs she created for Mary Martin, Hedy Lamarr and Claudette Colbert (three of the very few stars with whom she shared a mutual dislike) are any indication of the kind of retribution she would dish out to those who dared cross her, we'd rather stay on her good side!
Mary Martin in Love Thy Neighbor (1942)
Designer: Edith Head
Hedy Lamarr in The Strange Woman (1946, United Artists)
Designer: Edith Head
Claudette Colbert in Zaza (1939, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Designer: Edith Head
Hedy Lamarr in The Strange Woman (1946, United Artists)Designer: Edith Head
Claudette Colbert in Zaza (1939, Paramount)Designer: Edith Head
Thank you, Poseidon3, for getting our creative juices flowing! Frankly, in spite of her legend and her undeniable longevity, we've never been a big fan of Head. (And we never thought we'd have that phrase coming out of our, er, mouth.) Her work always struck us as a little bland and a lot derivative. And yet, contradictorily, she's the woman behind some of the most iconic costumes in film history, a few of our favorites among them. In the end, we simply have to give the lady respect and credit for all that she achieved in her nearly-sixty year career. And it goes without saying that we heartily endorse the always entertaining, always educational Poseidon's Underworld. Visit him today, and tell him that Big Edie sent you.