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Conflicting Images of Women in Hollywood 1930s Cinema

Raphaëlle Costa de Beauregard
p. 263-272

Abstract

L’étude de A Star is Born (William Wellman 1937), de son ‘remake’ par George Cukor (1954), et de la biographie de Frances Farmer : Frances (Graeme Clifford, 1982), permet de mettre en lumière l’image de la femme dans l’industrie hollywoodienne des années 20. Au premier degré, ces trois films élaborent une fiction qui repose à la fois sur la gloire et sur la destruction. Cette fiction chez Wellman est à la fois une critique du "star-system" et une représentation de la soif de pouvoir, chez les stars comme dans l’industrie cinématographique elle-même. Chez Cukor cette critique prend un ton moins satirique et plus mélodramatique. Mais Frances reformule le sujet en adoptant un ton résolument féministe. Les trois films interrogent également le cinéma en lui-même : cet art qui vient au monde au moment de l’épanouissement de l’ère industrielle emprunte à celle-ci ses formes de discours, tout en donnant lui-même naissance à un nouveau discours sur la femme et la société moderne.

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1The three films mentioned in the abstract focus on a discussion of the image of women in the 1920s Hollywood film industry. They do so by the construction of a fiction both of glory and destruction, a theme which is at the core of the very ontology of cinema itself, as will be seen. The three protagonists arc in a paradoxical situation in which they dream of asserting their persona by becoming famous stars but are forced to realize in the process that stars are entirely dependent on the public’s taste, a relationship which introduces insecurity into their lives, due to its ever-changing nature. Moreover, while mediating between audiences’ dreams and their own dream of happiness as celebrities, they arc also the preys of two powerful economic forces: the media, on the one hand, and, on the other hand, the film industry and its organization by the Majors. Their understanding of cinema, and ours, thus moves from a thrill as spectators of the film stars’ empowerment whom they dream of imitating, to their disempowerment due to the loss of their own body image, with the psychological trauma this experience causes.

2In William Wellman’s 1937 very early Technicolor film, A Star is Born, which he co-authored as well as directed, provincial Esther Blodgett (Janet Gaynor) is fascinated by film stars to the point of wishing to be one herself. The opening sequence of the film shows her poring over magazines which refer to Motion Picture Story Magazine (from 1911 onwards) and Photoplay (see Rolf Armstrong, Wikipedia). The general economic context of the 1920s is also one of post-war excitement, as is well-known. The excitement provided by Hollywood life is depicted in Wellman’s film by a swiftly edited succession of shots of a bus, a train and a plane, each of which rushes at us at full speed. One can see these three shots as an homage to one of the first Lumière films (1895) which shows a train speeding from the background straight into the foreground. The time of action is ten or fifteen years earlier than the time of production of the film, and the time gap allows for an ironical look at the Hollywood film industry.

3But cinema is not only a series of thrilling numbers in a vaudeville show, it is also the art of story-telling. The opening sequence of Wellman’s film shows the heroine Esther Blodgett inventing her own destiny, so to speak, by rejecting the model of the housewife which awaits her and dreaming instead of a life of adventure in the pictures. The public of the 1920s had become increasingly knowledgeable about the private lives of the stars due to fan magazines, a fashion which encouraged the birth of star-fans. As a result, by the 1930s, audiences were growing more interested in seeing the "true" image of the stars’ own lives in the screen characters they played. Appropriately therefore, Wellman’s 1920s heroine is blind to the true life of the stars and a victim of the glamorous tales conveyed by the 1920s press, and her story derives much of its thrill from bringing the public backstage, i.e. in the wings, to suit the new taste of the 30s for a "true" life. The parallel between the three films shows how this "truth" is itself the subject of much myth-making, or "mythologizing" as Roland Barthes says (Barthes 193-247).

4The star as a cultural construct thus inspired idealistic desires as well as ambitions of power. But when one examines the neologism "star system": its creator Carl Laemmle actually spoke of the manufacturing of stars as a pivotal element in film industry. He was independent from the MPPC (Motion Picture Patents Company or Edison Trust, 1908) and used star promotion to fight the MPPC’s monopoly. He is known to have initiated the process by manipulating public opinion: having lured Florence Lawrence from Biograph, he spread a rumour that she had been killed and then combated the rumour by saying she was well and would be starring in an up-coming movie produced by his own company, the IMP (Independent Moving Pictures Company) (Wikipedia 10/09/2009). But he was struggling against a trust which united all the major American film companies, the leading distributors and the biggest supplier of raw film. The MPPC was indeed the first American organization of film production which adopted the hierarchy initiated earlier by French Producers Gaumont and Pathé; it had ended the domination of foreign films such as Gaumont’s on American screens, standardized the manner in which films were distributed and exhibited and created internal competition, while it also encouraged the status quo instead of innovation. All this is common knowledge but is relevant to the topic of this paper insofar as it provides the 1982 biography of Frances Farmer, Frances, which will be discussed below, with a reference for its historical background.

5As Edgar Morin writes (Morin 99), in the period between 1910 and 1920, Victorian archetypes of femininity: the innocent virgin (Mary Pickford, Lilian Gish), and the egotistic femme fatale, arc embodied on the screen, but a third stereotype was invented by Greta Garbo, a blend between the suffering romantic idealist and the dangerously fascinating vamp. In Wellman’s film Esther Blodgett’s motto is "I want to be somebody"; she rejects the earlier model of the housewife and mother of a large family, but she fails to see the implicit contradiction between these two romantic images of woman, the innocent virgin and the dangerous vamp whom she will have to impersonate. Instead, she is intoxicated with the idea that happiness goes hand in hand with fame: her naïve joy is shown when she is mistaken by guests in a restaurant for Mae West. The 1930s audience could not but see the men’s ignorance, since Mae West "eyed a man from head to foot" and was a sex symbol (to the point of causing the enforcement of the 1930s Hays code), a role for which the slight and girlish figure of Janet Gaynor is an obvious miscast (sec her roles as the childish young girl growing to adulthood in Frank Borzage’s film Lucky Star, 1929).

6The tensions between career ambition and studio interests which are manifest in the signing of contracts, the loss of one’s name—Esther becomes Vicky Lester while her childhood is twisted for fan-magazines into a tale of poverty and immigration—are more strongly underlined in Wellman’s film than in Cukor’s, whose satire of the star-system is milder; however, in Frances, on the contrary, these tensions are made more explicit by the conflict between Broadway (to which she is drawn by its artistic achievements) and Hollywood (which she cannot escape from, having signed a contract).

7Moreover, increased realism in the 1930s audiences’ tastes was also brought about by the 1929 economic crisis. The film characters became more complex, nearer to everyday truth, while, paradoxically, more dependent on a narrative structure in which the resolution was usually idealised. In Wellman’s film the hardships of the economic crisis of the 30s are rendered by details such as a poster warning the numerous would-be stars of the very small number of jobs available in Hollywood. The 1930s audience would have been reading it along with the 1920s Esther. In Frances, the social problems of the unemployed are part of the background, which makes Frances more deeply aware of the gap between the characters she must impersonate and the reality of the poor. Conversely, when she decides to leave Hollywood despite her seven year contract to be an actress in Clifford Odets’ company, she is asked to impersonate a "homeless vagrant", a figure who stands for "reality".

8Another source of tension in Wellman’s and Cukor’s films stems from the above quoted two contradictory conceptions of cinema which characterise the expectations of film audiences, the film as a source of thrills and the film as a narrative. Esther Blodgett as Vicky Lester (Janet Gaynor in 1937 and Judy Garland in 1952) is depicted with the additional thrill of two major technical innovations: and the advent of sound, in the 1930s, which added imaginary voices to the images of the characters, and the parallel advent of Technicolor which arguably made the pictures literally more exciting. George Cukor remembers this when he shoots a sequence in which Vicky Lester is being introduced to a producer by her friend Norman Maine: he opens the window and makes us—and the unwilling producer—overhear her voice singing on a show in the distance; the thrill of the famous "catch" in Garland’s voice works wonders on both diegetic and extra-diegetic listeners. As to the need for stories in the type of entertainment which the Hollywood films catered to, it takes on the form of the American ‘from rags to riches’ story in both films.

9However, more than the economic urge, the conflict between the two desires of the audience, i.e. a greater thrill in their appropriation of the ‘true’ flesh and blood of the screen star by sound and colour, and a greater promise of happiness (melodrama as a dominant genre), is rendered in Wellman’s narrative in a mythologizing manner. The narrative hinges on the conflict between the would-be star’s own ideas about her natural talent, her own conception of her happiness, and sequences screening what the studios wanted their hired actress to act and look like, arguing that they wished to meet the public taste (i.e. the fan mails, and the press). The myth of the individual struggling against the empowered production industry is at the core of Wellman’s film, and becomes not only pivotal in Cukor’s melodramatic version, but absolutely central to Frances, the 1982 version of the story. Esther is shown performing numbers in Wellman’s film to show off her talent as an actress, and in Cukor’s film, she has to take odd jobs to make a living and speaks of being "discovered by a talent-scout" as an unlikely dream, thus mythologizing the success story. On the other hand, Cukor’s film features so many numbers that it threatens the subtext melodrama of the rise and fall of the Hollywood star by nearly making the film into a musical comedy. But Frances, as will be seen presently, recalls the struggles between Marilyn and Hollywood for the control of her screen image.

10The studios are shown in these films as struggling under the tensions of the contradictory desires of the public, but there is more than the superficial dichotomy to the star’s own story: as suggested above the audience’s taste also encourages a complexification of the character by introducing the type of the "strong woman" (the Greta Garbo type). Esther Blodgett remains true to her initial persona as a strong-willed woman who is capable of ruling her own life, which is demonstrated in her final declaration to the public on the radio as Miss Vicky Lester, making the public statement that she is Mrs Norman Maine. She thus answers the expectations of the public for the ultimate truth: her genuine love for her husband, despite his addiction to alcohol and his suicide. The conflict between her career as a star and her married life is thus resolved by again changing her name, though this time her name is associated with that of a "fallen" star. In Cukor’s version, the struggle between the two personae is more dramatized because we see her performing the part of a street artist with great excitement but she suddenly breaks into uncontrollable tears when her manager Oliver Niles (Charles Bickford) asks about Norman Maine’s condition: the effect is to make us see the truth about her private emotional life while she is performing in public. In both films, her image on the screen remains a careful construct which she shows she can control: in Wellman’s film, the image of the strong-willed woman is mirrored by the picturesque character of her grandmother, who gives her all her savings to help her make a start in Hollywood, and whose humorous declaration brings the film to its conclusion, thus blending together the happy end motif and the image of the strong woman. In Cukor’s film, it is Norman Maine himself who acts as a self-constructing mirror as he tells her about her talent, but it is her old flame, pianist Danny McGuire, who helps her to react and meet her public once more after Maine’s tragic fall and suicide. In Frances, a film in which the protagonist is both Vicky Lester and Norman Maine, as will be shown, the part of the mirror establishing the (mythologized) strong woman is given to an admirer and friend, Harry York, a fictional addition to the biopic.

11As to the studios’ "manufacturing" or "stream-lining" Vicky Lester’s image, it is a source of comedy in the first film and in the second, but a source of tragedy in the 1982 film. The mise-en-scène of the studios is already well developed in Wellman’s film, as we are shown the confusion between the "new" intention of using the natural gifts of the actress (as the producer tells her) and the feverish work of the technicians who examine her features and attempt to redesign them by make-up; the journalist’s fictionalising of Esther’s childhood is comic. In Cukor’s version, the comic effect is enhanced as Norman Maine laughs at Vicky’s make-up and forces her to wipe it off, thus recovering her "natural" (i.e. Judy Garland) looks; the journalist is given a more threatening role: his pursuit of the lovers for the purpose of making yet another good paper on the "happy pair" becomes harassment, an ominous note which turns into cruelty when the same journalist insults Norman Maine and enjoys giving him a beating. In the case of the unsuccessful star, the tone of the film turns to tragedy because the star is shown as vulnerably human. Tragedy in the wings thus contrasts more vividly with comedy on the stage in Cukor’s melodrama than in Wellman’s earlier film.

12In Cukor’s 1954 film, the emphasis on emotions is generally greater. The star’s vulnerability is interpreted by James Mason in the role of Norman Maine with greater sensitiveness. Due to a great variety of expressions, Mason is more convincing than Fredric March who is expressionless and given a romantic appeal by the use of cast shadows: acting is opposed to cinematography in this case and produces a heightening of the sense of presence on the screen. As for Judy Garland, she too is given much greater presence on the screen: a strong bodily presence by her performances singing and dancing, but also a more forceful characterisation of the "strong woman" type by scenes in which she struggles fiercely with Norman Maine, or with her own emotions. The contradiction between the star of the show and the sensitive human being, a scene in which both actresses arc wearing glamorous and colourful costumes while they shed tears of unhappiness at the news of Norman Maine’s arrest for drunkenness, is emphasized to greater effect in Cukor’s remake by heightened colours and a more forceful use of sound effects to express suffering.

13From a technological point of view, Wellman’s film was both a very early Technicolor film advertising the new chromatic achievements of Technicolor, and a sound film showcasing the advent of sound. The make-up scene and the naming scene both have strong reflexive connotations. For example, Vicky Lester’s name is chosen by putting it to the test by asking the studio members to say it in turn, and in various intonations. As to Cukor’s version, both sound technology with various types of recording of Garland’s voice and Technicolor in its fully acknowledged style is put to full use (Le Cainec) in the make-up scene in Oliver Niles’s studios and in the bright colours of her outfit (maybe also as some kind of response to All About Eve by Mankiewicz in black and white in 1950).

14Frances (Jessica Lange as actress Frances Farmer in the 30s and 40s) picks up the threads of the fiction of the star but this time the interest of the public for the true life of the star is addressed by the autobiographical form, while the suffering of the well-meaning young heroine is brought to a climax: the role of public opinion is made more prominent by the references to the rising suspicion about "reds under the beds" as she goes on a trip to Russia but is suspected when she comes home—she has already been attacked by public opinion for reading aloud an essay on her religious doubts as a graduating student. The audience eventually vanishes behind another form of spectatorship: the therapist in the mental home with painful scenes of confrontation between a deeply ironical and self-aware Frances and her therapist who sees her as hysterical and neurotic, until she eventually is no longer a person at all but a mere body who is robotised and "stream-lined" in order to fit, not a Hollywood screen idol image, but the image of woman in a well-to-do WASP American society. The motif of the Hollywood star struggling against producers and managers obsessed with the taste of audiences vanishes as the criticism of Reagan’s conception of America and his followers comes to the fore.

15Regarding the motif of the conflict of the would-be star with her family, it is more complex in this 1982 biopic than in Wellman’s film. The family had been divided between rejection of Esther and support by her grandmother; in Frances it is the mother’s role which is gradually shown in a sinister light, as she projects upon her daughter her own unsatisfied Hollywood dreams of a career as a star. She is seen using her daughter’s fame as an opportunity to become famous herself even when it is at the expense of her daughter’s mental sanity. At the beginning of the film, when her young daughter wins a prize, she supports her for her sincerity, but we understand later that it is in fact the spectacle of her daughter as a star which she supports rather than her independence of opinion. When Frances eventually makes up her mind not to go back to Hollywood anymore she is disowned by her fast-aging mother in an extremely upsetting family scene.

16The motif of a romance with Harry York—which is not documented—was added in the film, suggesting in a rather unnecessary and even contradictory way that, though she is the type of the "strong woman" with political opinions and involvement of her own free choice, yet she has been betrayed so tragically by those nearest to her that she needs the support of a man to free herself from Hollywood’s claws as well as from her own mother’s persecution. In parallel with this effort to echo the original romance of the earlier narrative, the film depicts Hollywood producers in a much more gruesome light, a truth which is well documented (Staiger 1995). Frances having met Clifford Odets, she follows him to Broadway but she has signed a seven year contract with her manager (or talent-scout) who has loaned her to Paramount. When Odets reminds her that he has used her fame as a Hollywood star only to attract Broadway audiences—this reminds us of an earlier scene when she tells her Hollywood studio manager that she has gone into the pictures in order to join Broadway later, a mark of her strong determination as well as of her mistaken appraisal of the studios. But Clifford Odets then tells her that now that he is famous he can go back to his wife and the motif of the star as a victim of show business takes on another more sinister hue.

17Utterly crushed by the betrayal of her lover and artistic and professional ideal, she goes back to Hollywood. However, she is then cruelly punished for her "betrayal" of the studios by being compelled fourteen times to act the same humiliating scene, a sequence in which she has to sprawl in a quagmire, each time wearing an impeccably white suit. The perverse cameraman tells her that they want it to be perfect, being "artists", and we sec her manager, who has spoken of "teaching her", who is now watching. The satire of directors compelling the actors and technicians to shoot a high number of takes of a single scene is turned into a sadistic scene of sheer torture. Once again the satire of the Hollywood star-system is subverted into an attack against male empowerment: only men are seen behind the cameras and other implements, and when we see a woman in charge of costumes, she is heard to repeat in a servile manner the orders which have been given to her to "make the star bright and shiny" on the screen through her costume.

18A close parallel between the way these three films screen the excesses of the star-system in the 1920s and early 30s shows a major evolution in the way the conflicts between the actress and the studios were dealt with during this period. We see that a growing importance is given to the star’s name as only the 1982 version shows France Farmer’s name on the theatre façade: in Cukor’s film, the name of Norman Maine is shown as equal to the title of the story, and no name of a Major is given; in Wellman’s film we enter the movie-theatre and see that Vicky Lester’s name is added under the caption "introducing". The three sets of the preview illustrate the competition between the three sources of power: the stars, the stories and the producers.

19Conflicting desires arc brought to a climax in scenes of increasing violence from one film to the next. With sound film and Technicolor and, later, cinemascope and stereo sound (for Frances), greater appropriation of the star’s sound-image was promised to fans but the private lives of the stars told a different tale: loss of identity (name, physique, aspirations), rise and fall in the public’s desire, and the loss of freedom which the harassment of the media caused. As Pam Cook writes of the predicament of the female star in the Hollywood star system: "She can only attempt to assert herself as subject through the exploitation of a fetishized image of woman to be exchanged within circulation of money" (Pam Cook 22).

20Such implicit violence is, surprisingly, naturalized in Wellman’s film by a boxing-match which Vicky and Norman attend and which they seem to enjoy equally. Norman chooses to offer marriage during the match and he has to promise to stop drinking meanwhile, which suggests Vicky’s power and control over him, though she is finally defeated. In Cukor’s film, Norman’s final confrontation with the journalist Mr Libby is a displacement of the earlier boxing-match scene, since Maine is drunk and cannot hit back. Things stand very differently in Frances. The fist-fight motif is now used to show Frances’s desperate struggle. As she rebels against the studio’s violent "punishment", she gradually slips into frightful fits of schizophrenic terror. In a scene in which the police arrest her for breaking her contract after having actually beaten up her handmaid (who was bullying her) we see pills and drink on her bedside table as she is roused out of her slumber by violent knocking on her door. The scene is an homage to both Broken Blossoms and The Shining, and scenes of violent treatment and near murder: actually in Broken Blossoms the girl is eventually murdered by her father, and in The Shining the threatened wife escapes; but in Frances, while we recognize these film quotations, the scene of pathos is heightened because she is afraid of being murdered while it is "only" the police squad.

21The parallel between Frances and the two versions of A Star is Born is mostly enlightening because it makes us realize that Frances has now taken on the part of Norman Maine. Strikingly enough, it is now Frances herself who impersonates the figure of the star’s collapse through alcohol, drugs, desertion and harassment. However while Norman is only an alcoholic, we see that Frances is made into a drug-addict by pills fabricated by the studio itself under the label "vitamins": since she uses alcohol and tobacco while she is under the influence of the intoxicating "vitamins", the effect of the mixture of the three is a complete breakdown. This incriminates Hollywood producers explicitly because one is reminded of tragedies such as Marilyn’s or other female stars whose lives were actually destroyed by male power. Like Maine, she ends up in utter solitude, but unlike him, instead of committing suicide, she symbolically commits another form of suicide by agreeing upon a television contract. The parallel between the three films shows Frances to be wholly appropriate to the 1980s audiences by being a politically explicit feminist film.

22Because the film was shot in 1982, it can be seen not so much as an indictment of the women’s subjection to the star system in the 1920s, but rather as a more general statement on the absence of civil rights for women. But the film goes as far as subverting the cliche of the star’s face being re-modelled by the studio technicians into a picture of the remodelling of her persona, imagination and emotions, by a gory scene of lobotomy. The monstrous surgeon explains he can suppress dreams and imagination, in a scene that comes close to science-fiction. One must bear in mind that the film was produced and distributed within the context of films such as Blade Runner which came out the same year. If, visually, the scene seems to be re-writing the shots in the studios showing the technicians at work on the actresses’ faces—a motif already ironically caricatured in Billy Wilder’s 1950 black and white noir film Sunset Boulevard, yet, because in this film, the star is given the part of Norman Maine from the middle of the film to the end, it might be suggested that, with Frances, the motif of the feminine character who is destroyed by the power of the show business has come to replace the earlier Wellman image of the strong woman. This irrevocably metamorphoses her initial persona as a strong woman into that of TV imitation of Hollywood stardom, an image which is cruelly suggestive of a grey automaton and a mere ghost of her former self. Image and subject arc welded into one TV cultural construct, i.e. the mythologizing of the Hollywood star, while we are shown that the subject has been utterly crushed. We finally see her on television and though she declares she was never ill and was only declared ill by the people around her, she is seen leaving the television studio with a totally inexpressive wooden face and she utters a few conventional sentences which suggest she has at last been robotized.

23However these three films also have to do with the ontology of cinema itself and its links with the rise of the consumer society. Arguably, they can be seen in such a light when one examines the historiography of early cinema: as Charles Musser writes, the comparison between the star-system and "taylorism" in factories, or rather the industrialisation of the image of the star stems from Max Horkheimer and Theodor W. Adorno (and of course Walter Benjamin) who gave a Marxist analysis of cultural production on the industrial model: the reproduction of the same object, the planification of the production, both in the media biographies of stars and in the film studios, was from their point of view a transposition of the model of the worker’s own limited and fragmented way of life. As late as 1985, Rudy Belmar (Musser 58) was writing about Warner Bros that the studio system was comparable to the manufacturing of automobiles, an idea which is actually voiced by Frances Farmer’s manager within the Paramount premises, saying that he sees himself as a member of the Ford industry. This shows that within the 1980s period, when Frances was produced, the mythologizing of what might be called the manufacturing or "stream-lining" of the star image had reached a climax among historians and accordingly in mainstream feature films about stars. The metamorphosis of the natural features of the star, which is the central focus of William Wellman’s irony, is also the butt of much irony in Cukor’s version. But in Frances, the high angle on Frances’s lobotomised face is a gruesome re-writing of the Gothic sequence in which the dead ape’s face is unveiled in Billy Wilder’s satirical Sunset Boulevard of the 1950s.

24The parallel between the three films brings to light the fiction of reification as a narrative form allowing for much emotional display on the part of the audience, reaching the limits of gore in such shots: as suggested above, Frances Farmer is shown on the TV screen from then on till the end of the film, and this framing enhances the destruction of her personality and the manufacturing of a TV image persona for the TV marketing of beauty products which she advertises on the small screen in black and white. In Frances, the re-appropriation of the talc of the star-system in its early years in the 1920s as an indictment of the consumer society of the Reagan era could not be more explicit. How far consumerism itself was an appropriate subject for a melodrama of the subconscious in the 1980s can be discussed in the light of the box office success of the film.

25More generally, however, it seems that such mythologizing serves the purpose of myths, i.e. to give a narrative form to irreconcilable opposites. Just as Jupiter’s love for Danae is a narrative associating the violence of sex (rape) and the beauty of love (gold in her lap), the screening of the industrial production of stars is a narrative that associates the violence of urban practices (industrialisation) and the beauty of nature (the youthful would-be star), but with a duplication of the model: success (Vicky Lester) vs destruction (Norman Maine) while it is dramatized into a single destiny with Frances. As to a historiographic approach, it serves to emphasize the myth-making power of such films which were devoted to the screening of the star-system and its anxiogenic backstage business and suggests that the view of Hollywood as a "dream-factory" is in itself part of Hollywood mythology in the making. Is it then that even the fabrication of dreams is part of the dreams we want to have?

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Bibliography

Barthes, Roland, Mythologies, Paris: Edts. Du Seuil, 1957.

Bordwell, D., Kristin Thompson, Janet Staiger, The Classical Hollywood Cinema: Film Style and Mode of Production to 1960, London: Routledge, 1985.

Cerisuelo, Marc, Hollywood à L’Ecran, Paris: PSN, 2000.

Cook, Pam, Claire Johnston, "The Place of Women in the Cinema of Raoul Walsh", 1974, Issues in Feminist Film Criticism, Patricia Erens ed., Bloomington: Indiana U.P., 1990, 19-27.

Le Caïnec, Yola, "Une couleur est née: l’abandon du noir et blanc par George Cukor dans les années cinquante", in R. Costa de Beauregard, ed. Cinéma et couleur—Film and Colour, Paris: Michel Houdiard Editeur, 2009, 237-245.

Morin, Edgar, Les Stars, 1956, Paris: Edts. Du Seuil, 1972.

Musser, Charles, "Le cinéma américain des premiers temps et ses modèles de production", Vingtième siècle—revue d’histoire, n°46 Avril-Juin 1995, 45-65.

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Staiger, Janet, Interpreting Films: Studies in the Historical Reception of American Cinema, Princeton, N.J.: Princeton U.P., 1992.

Wikipedia and Imdb October 2009.

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References

Bibliographical reference

Raphaëlle Costa de Beauregard, « Conflicting Images of Women in Hollywood 1930s Cinema », Caliban, 27 | 2010, 263-272.

Electronic reference

Raphaëlle Costa de Beauregard, « Conflicting Images of Women in Hollywood 1930s Cinema », Caliban [Online], 27 | 2010, Online since 13 December 2016, connection on 07 December 2019. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/caliban/2170 ; DOI : 10.4000/caliban.2170

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Caliban – French Journal of English Studies est mis à disposition selon les termes de la licence Creative Commons Attribution - Pas d'Utilisation Commerciale - Pas de Modification 4.0 International.

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