Starlets, The Runway, and The Tabloids
In exploring the costume codes of Hollywood classical realism, Gaines left me with some questions as to what exactly her grievance or proposed alternative would be, or if she was even lamenting the hegemony of the era. Her discussion of naturalization (like most cultural studies-inflected uses of the term) suggests that there was an ideology at play that negated, refused, or suppressed other options—for a while I wondered what exactly she was advocating (if anything) i.e. if classical cinematic realism missed out on opportunities of unfettered aesthetic invention in favor of codes of continuity, legibility and harmony, “Thus it is that costume is eclipsed by both character and body at the expense of developing its own aesthetic discourse. Bound to character and body, it is socialized, conventionalized, tamed…In the ecosystem of classical cinema, telling the story requires subordinating an especially evocative aesthetic to narrative designs” (193-194).Would she have preferred discord and stark or antinomic juxtapositions? By page 203 I realized she was simply proposing spectacle-for-its-own-sake costuming as seen in the melodrama, but I’m still not entirely sure I’m clear on her argument, and if she prefers these instance of stylistic extravagance and excess, or if she is simply giving them context as anomalies (I felt Berry was a bit clearer on this point).
Since I’m still unclear on that score, I’ll move on to the idea of star creation and star persona and the tandem function of fashion. I found Gaines’ discussion of the mentality shift from silent to sound fascinating and especially relevant for today’s industry. She cites the initial assumption that screen style should be unobtrusive and pedestrian, matching what would be worn in real life, which was later upended as screen stars developed carefully cultivated personas that required consistency of image-management both in their roles and their off-set appearance “The earliest view of costuming, the silent film dictum that motion picture costumes for ‘true=to-life’ characters should be no different from street clothes was then reversed. The off-screen wardrobe now had to be similar to the onscreen costume in its exaggerated qualities and had to carry over a definitive style” (200).
This stratagem remains especially true in today’s tabloid culture, where were have access to essentially every moment of a star’s day, from getting Jamba Juice, to shopping on Robertson, to attending a red carpet event—every event is photographed and chronicled from the quotidian to the glamorous, so we have complete access to the star’s looks, and there is a new (unprecedented?) level of scrutiny and attention paid to star’s off-duty style. It’s entirely possible that our vicarious interest is the same as it was for classical era audiences, but our media coverage has expanded beyond the limits of paper publications like star mags, so that may have caused an amplification of the already existing interest. Hyper-aware of the constant paparazzi presence and the transmissibility of their image, stars (still armed with stylists but not necessarily star costume designers) have a new level of self-consciousness that any outfit they wear for even the most mundane activity will be photographed, publicized in an internet forum, and correspondingly judged. Some actors clearly don’t care and wear whatever they please (often landing them on worst dressed list and mocking sniping blogs—which seems so cruel, since they were just picking their dog up from the vet). Other stars however take the opportunity to cultivate and expand their image, eliding their projected persona even more inextricably with their fashion, leading to the creation of a “style star” whose fashion savvy has actually superseded her acting talents and careers.
Two such actresses are Rachel Bilson and Kate Bosworth, both winsome twenty -somethings, both poised on the edge of starlethood in the early 2000s, and while they have had some decent roles, their careers are what would be considered rather stultified. However they both have managed to maintain Hollywood currency and media coverage by parlaying their fashion and recognizable styles into fame. Bosworth has become a fashion show and red carpet darling, garnering praise for her ease and nonchalance with evening wear; Bilson similarly has become an improbable fashion icon for her unaffected street style, often cited as the queen of denim—from her shorts, floral rompers, straws fedoras and oversized scarves, magazines and websites heap adulation.
http://www.people.com/people/rachel_bilson/photos/0,,,00.html#20860509
Obviously she is quite aware of her created reputation for street style, so that must effect her choice of what to wear any given day (she was given official recognition by being made a contributing editor of InStyle with a monthly advice column). Incongruously, if you look at pictures of her on-line almost all of them are on the street with very few red carpets, and even when she is attending a movie premier, she is not in the film--she barely has what you would consider an acting career; she has instead morphed into a signifier, known for her look more than for her art, and in this case we have a extreme version of the star persona—she is now all style, as the person recedes behind the clothes. Incidentally, she often comes in to eat at the Cheesecake Factory, and the first time I saw her (in denim shorts, strappy sandals, a button down, aviators, intentionally rumpled ombre hair) I thought “Who’s this chick trying to dress like Rachel Bilson?....Oh”)
People.com’s style section is particularly interesting (and the source of many many wasted internet hours) Its sections include “Last Night Look: Hit or Miss?”, and while this user-generated poll is usually for glam events, the pictures include something as trivial as a coffee run, legitimating the idea of stars being “on” at all times. “Would You Wear These Trends?” is another section where they have a triptych of pictures, usually all street style and attempting to classify a few observations in to a coherent trend e.g. three actresses wearing purple shoes constitutes a trend. Another section of note is the “I Really Love My..”” , which is essentially a visualization of fetish objects as it tracks a star’s oft-worm or repeatedly seen accessory e.g. Gwen Stefani sporting the same coat three times:
http://www.peoplestylewatch.com/people/stylewatch/gallery/0,,20053264,00.html
These databases and comparisons and the attendant judgment and valuation (through voting) can only be achieved through today’s digital archives that make it possible to amass a huge volume of images. Tying into Berry’s work on stars occasionally having to refashion their image to remain fresh, E!.com is particularly virulent when it comes to identifying and then sanctioning an actress who has become too staid in her routine and expected style. In the Fashion Police section, each new acerbic picture commentary also contains links to previous photos, creating a visual archive and style history of specific infractions, so not only does an actress face criticism for her most recent look, but she will be called out for previous missteps or repetitions
http://www.eonline.com/fashion/fashionpolice/index.jsp#81373
http://www.eonline.com/fashion/fashionpolice/index.jsp#77999
http://www.eonline.com/fashion/fashionpolice/index.jsp#76578
I was intrigued by Berry’s exploration of the symbiosis between Paris runways and the Hollywood screen, especially her suggestion that this relationship was often unidirectional, with Hollywood more productively influencing high fashion than couture making incursions on the screen. Given the growing importance of remaining contemporary and in vogue, I would have thought that the runways might have a had a greater influence, so it was interesting to read about instances of failed collaboration or high fashion's cinematic incompatibility (Chanel). This ties into the idea of clothes needing to register and “act,” which is not synonymous with couture, despite the lavish and meticulously crafted artistry. Of course there are been profitable alliances such as Audrey and her famed relationship with Givenchy, who costumed most of her films and designed her “look” that has become absurdly iconic.
More recently, Natalie Portman requested and encouraged the designers from Rodarte (who already had a established a relationship with the actress for her red carpet appearance) to design for Black Swan, resulting in the avant garde reinterpretation of the 19th century standards we are so accustomed to seeing. The ballet costumes were, for me, the only memorable part of the film and undeniably exquisite, so here we have a case of the couturiers importing the theatricality of their art to the screen in a manner than read perfectly and was intensely evocative. Of course this successful alliance may have to do with the fact that they were designing actual costumes, not just simulated daily wear but hyperbolic ultra-stylized tutus which may have lent itself to the textural excess that Gaines and Berry talk about—they don’t have to be subservient or quietly harmonize with the performance and the rest of the mise en scene—they can be that commandeering virtuosic solo that Gaines references; they can and in some cases should speak for Natalie, as dance is akin to silent film.
Steel Magnolias is in fact painful for me to watch. I hadn’t seen it in a while, and all I could remember was a) the cacophony of unconvincing and inconsistent southern accents (why do they all sound like they’re from different regions?) b) Sally Fields cracking an obscene amount of eggs in the kitchen-confession scene (what they hell is she making?) and c) some pretty good one-liners from Dolly Parton, who incidentally comes across as the most authentic and comfortable in this film. Aside from being one of the pinkest films I’ve ever seen (the whole “blush and bashful” wedding colors monologue falls flat, since the entire film, from their skin tones to the mise en scene is insanely rosy), I can’t quite decipher the intended tone of the director, or the original intention of the playwright—is this a loving if sometimes bemused portrait of southern life and southern women? It is mean satirically for more jaded, coastal viewers to get a sort of ethnographic view of souther excess? Is it a celebration of the unique mix of tenacity and delicacy that fetishisizes southern women? Certain jokes seem to be at the southern women’s expense (especially in scenes that detail the often garish extravagance of Annelle and Truvy) which suggests that we are laughing at the women, but other moments allow us to laugh with them and their canny self-awareness of the signifiers and stereotypes about southern women (Ouiser has some illustrative lines like the one about old southern women planting vegetables). So ultimately I don’t know who the joke is on, if there is a joke at all, and in terms of reception I’d be curious to know how this film is received in the south—is it rejected or embraced?
Conversely, I love love love Gone with the Wind (and I’m prepared to defend it). Moving on the costumes, Gaines raises important directorial and design issues in terms of how to costume a star actress for key climactic scene and ones of intense emoting or vital plot development—should the costumes subtly undergird the emotion as to be almost invisible? Should they incorporate the tonal elements of the scene, but with out foreshadowing or telegraphing what will happen? etc.
The most famous and instantly recognizable dresses in Gone with the Wind also serve central narrative and thematic functions—the famous barbeque dress with its springtime pallet of frilly green and whites communicates Scarlet's fiddly-dee unconcern and girlishness—it shows her as a coquette and more importantly, one that is completely unaware of the larger issues going on in her world that is about to collapse; the green velvet curtain dress gets elevated to the level of character as the scene becomes about its construction and her ”moonlight and magnolias” performance that attempts to regain a semblance of her former southern grandeur; the fantastic red “fallen women” dress is similarly a self-conscious construction, as Rhett wants her to “look the part” in the low-cut, bejeweled column topped with marabou feathers—even the dialogue refers to the idea that clothes indicate and create the personality, and he uses this gorgeous but provocative dress as her punishment, branding her to the town as a brazen woman. All three of these looks (besides being beautiful) were clearly resonant in the public imaginary, because they are the ones that are most referenced and have even been memorialized in the Scarlet o Hara Barbie.
http://dollsaga.wordpress.com/2009/03/19/barbie-as-scarlett-ohara/
However my personal favorite look, the one that has inspired over-present narcissistic female identificatory pleasure in me, is the charming riding outfit she wears in the mill scene with Ashley when they are caught in an embrace. The white dress, with its nipped-in waist and lace overlay is cinched by a blue velvet bolero, both with a high neck and a low portrait color, topped by a peaked white hat that she references as her new bonnet. I love the silhouette of this look, which is more tailored and streamline that most of her antebellum gowns (post-marriage Scarlet’s fashion is more at the vanguard thanks to her European trousseau) and there a jauntiness and sportiness to it, an independence that reinforces her presence there as a business woman and entrepreneur—the mill, after all, is her venture, separate from Rhett’s money.
I think this costume is also an interesting choice given the potentially disastrous end to this scene when India catches them. Although Scarlet is presumed guilty and the rampant rumors begin, in this scene, for once in her life, she actually is innocent and unjustly accused—unlike other instances where she has consciously created her appearance for a desired effect or waited for Ashley “like spider”, here she was legitimately comforting him and adjuring him not to dwell in the past. Her disavowal of the past and her advice not to look back is subtly reinforced by her wardrobe—she is fashion-forward, moving on, decidedly not dressing like the old Scarlet who didn’t have a care in the world—her outfit represents modernity at that particular moment, and she is not moving back to the crinolines and massive skirts and silhouettes of her girlish past. Similarly, the delicacy of the color palate with the innocent sky blue and white, both colors that covey purity, honor etc ,might suggest that she is actually on the right side of morality at this moment. As the audience, we are privileged here to know what really happened and that there was no actual transgression, so I believe the costuming decision was meant to reflect that on some level.
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