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Not too many actors or actress can claim TWO Academy Awards: her first for what is considered one of the greatest roles an actress can have as the immortal Scarlett O'Hara in Gone With The Wind (1939, MGM) and her second for her mesmerizing performance as another southern belle as Blanche DuBois, A Streetcar Named Desire (1951, Warner, Brothers). Vivien Leigh had two strikes against her: she was Bi-polar and she suffered bouts of Tuberculosis throughout her life and she would eventually die from the disease on July 8, 1967 at the age of 53. Can you imagine any other actress then Vivien Leigh in the role of Scarlett or Blanche? Most probably not, I cannot see another actress giving a better performance than Vivien did. In all of her portrayals of her film characters she was: unsentimental, detached, and never giving or asking or expecting any for sympathy. Perhaps she was predestined to make her mark in a film so sprawling, so epic as Scarlett O'Hara in Gone With The Wind. Scarlett was not a character that was likeable but she was tenacious, she was determined and she was strong-willed but you wanted her to see her come out on top. She was the center of it all when filming Gone With The Wind. Vivien's interpretation of Scarlett O’Hara is perfect – she never hits or makes a false note. We never see acting, we only see the character, as close to a real, living person to any actor could ever create for the screen. Vivien had the unique power of intimacy which kept her performances fresh long after many of her commentaries have faded away. With the possible exception of Paulette Goddard, the other leading contenders for the part would have had difficulty articulating One also has to give Vivien credit for being the main reason why Gone with the Wind is the most famous movie ever. She is in 99% of this 3 and a-half-hour epic, she has to carry this massive production on her shoulders. And boy, does she succeed! Another very interesting aspect of the film is Scarlett's friendship with Olivia de Havilland's role as Melanie Hamilton, they both have great chemistry between the two of them, Vivien is perfect in showing her mixed feelings towards Melanie, her dislike and admiration at the same time. I remember reading this quote and I could not agree more, "It is such a natural performance of a truly larger-than-life character that “Fidlee-dee-dee” seems to be the only word to describe it…I really give a damn!" In 1951 Vivien Leigh would receive her second Academy Award for another Southern Belle in A Streetcar Named Desire (Warner Brothers). While Streetcar was a professional triumph for Vivien, playing Blanche took its toll on Leigh’s mental health. Portraying and identifying with someone so near insanity was overwhelming for Leigh as she absorbed Blanche’s psychology in a way that was hard for her to let go of. Later, when she was ill, she would often recite lines from the play. As she put it, “Blanche is a woman with everything stripped away. She is a tragic figure and I understand her. But, playing her tipped me into madness.” The fact that both of Vivien Leigh’s Oscar-winning portrayals are some kind of Southern Belles would make it easy to see Blanche DuBois as an alter ego of Scarlett O’Hara but where Scarlett O’Hara had the strength to adjust herself to a new life, to new circumstances and situations, Blanche DuBois is exactly the opposite as she cannot leave the past behind, lets it haunt and torture her, influence her actions and finally breaks her. Vivien Leigh gave a performance that dug so deeply in this character’s mind and portrayed such unforgettable moments, that it is one of a few movie performances that can truly be called a work of art proofing once and for all the greatness of her talent and standing as a symbol for movie acting at its finest.

Vivien Leigh in Caesar and Cleopatra (1945)

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Paulette Goddard was a keen individualist with striking good looks, she progressed from Ziegfeld girl to cinema leading lady with amazing agility and success. She is best remembered for a saucy insouciance on screen which highlighted her flair as a light comedienne and as a decorative addition to costume dramas. Off screen she employed her wit and looks to dazzle and marry an assortment of twentieth-century's men of genius, ranging from Charles Chaplin to Burgess Meredith to Erich Maria Remarque, proving that cinema fame could be parlayed nicely into social prominence and financial security. Paulette's initial years in Hollywood (1929-1932) as a walk-on, Goldwyn chorus girl, and Hal Roach cheesecake contractee, afforded little indication of her future glory. When Paulette Goddard married Chaplin she was something of a match for him - strong willed, independent, a lover of life - her very personality was an influence itself on the characters Charlie wrote for her in their two films. She became his third wife, but unlike the previous two, was strong enough to survive the experience and part company without bitterness or sensationalism. While under Chaplin's tutelage she refined her acting techniques and personality to make a successful comeback as the gamin leading lady in Modern Times. One of Paulette’s powers was fending off men’s advances without alienating them. As Anita Loos said, “Many ladies know how to say no, but to do so without offending or making an enemy was a definite talent.” She was also known for her wit, charm and intelligence which attracted intellectuals and straight-up geniuses that included: Diego Rivera, John Steinbeck, H.G. Wells, Mervyn LeRoy, Artie Shaw, James Hilton, Jean Cocteau, Jean Renoir, William Saroyan, Igor Stravinsky, Sergei Rachmaninoff, Andy Warhol and Aldous Huxley. Paulette Goddard was well known for her jewelry collection in which she kept her favorite pieces in a jewelry box which she carried to all of her movie sets. She would show them off to fellow actors and the production crew in between takes. Like many actresses in those days, she wore most of her own jewels in the films in which she starred. She claimed that she never once purchased a piece of her extensive jewelry collection for herself. Every gem was given to her by a friend or husband. During the 1970's and 1980's Paulette was energetic, articulate and intelligent and had a close friendship with artist Andy Warhol. She was independently wealthy, initially from her first husband, then from investing the money that she made in Hollywood. In later years she sold many valuable artworks at auction, including her collection of Impressionist art, which was sold in 1979 for $2.9 million. In 1972, she permanently retired from acting and was living in Ronco, Switzerland when she died of heart failure on April 3, 1990, she was 79 years old. Goddard left more than twenty million dollars to New York University upon her death. The school named one of its residence halls after her. In addition, New York University's Tisch School of the Arts renamed its main staircase after her and created a number of scholarships in her honor.

Summertimenoir's 1k followers celebration - My top 10 Old Hollywood actresses

7. Paulette Goddard

Nobody onscreen fascinates me as much as Paulette Goddard. I'm probably her greatest fan, bar none. I see my own pictures six or seven times. I also take in my own pictures to see what I do wrong or what I do right.

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The definition of what "Movie Stardom" comes down to is, "It isn't what you do, but how you do it. It isn't what you say, but how you say it. And how you look when you do it and say it." A good example of how easy it was for audiences to notice this was exhibited by Ava Gardner in the film She Went To The Racers (1945, MGM). Gardner was cast as the second lead actress while the lead was played by the lovely Frances Gifford, who was being heavily groomed for top-ranked stardom at Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer that year. Gifford had talent, beauty, charm, everything she needed to achieve it - but she was NO Ava Gardner. The audience witnessed the truth in a revealing scene in which Gifford and leading man James Craig are seen arguing just outside an elevator in a hotel hallway. Suddenly the elevator doors open and out steps Gardner. She moves into the frame, delivers her line or two in her low husky voice, and then walks off. It's not much, but its everything. From the minute that Gardner appears, she takes it all away from both Gifford and Craig. It's not just that she's stunningly beautiful. So are they. It's not that she's been costumed and made-up. So have they. It's not just because of the careful lighting, the framing of her in a medium close-up. No, its the "WOW!" factor. Gardner's got that something extra - and alot of it - and its fully on display. Gardner's got "STAR" written all-over her, and within a year she was one.

Ava Gardner

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From the film Yield To the Night aka Blonde Sinner.

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Gown by costume designer Vera West.

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In the annals of Hollywood's Golden Era there was one actress who proved to be very versatile and who later became a gracious screen luminary her name was Irene Dunne. Irene Dunne on camera was the epitome of regal beauty, her trim figure topped by a classic, delicately dimpled face, with a patrician nose, cool dark eyes, a flow of dark brown hair and with her well-modulated voice, which could imply so much with just the slightest inflection. If you were going to use the title, "First Lady of Hollywood" no one more rightly deserved it than Irene Dunne. Dunne could play almost every genre of film: Drama - Cimarron (1931, RKO), Soap Opera - Backstreet (1932, Universal), Romantic Drama - Love Affair (1939, RKO), Mad Cap Comedy - The Awful Truth (1937, Columbia), or Tear-Jerker - The Secret Of Madame Blanche (1935, MGM) or Period Piece - I Remember Mama (1948, RKO).

Irene Dunne

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When we first looked upon Jane Russell she appeared surly laying on a pile of straw. Her eye's were scornful giving the viewer a truculent stare but inviting, her was lips were set petulantly and ever so slightly parted, her blouse had been pushed off to one side of her shoulder so that it stretched against what were thought to be the largest breasts in the movie business. The Outlaw (1943) was a film that took a long time in coming and when it did arrive - five years - it arrived carrying with it Censorship problems. Thus, Jane Russell acquired a name in film history that was unjustified by what happened onscreen. But when she played comedy she - and we discovered that she could deliver funny lines with verve, plus she had a warm, knowing and a likeable personality and she even sang beautifully. As a result of all this publicity, Jane's photos were quite popular as a World War II pin-up, and in the Korean War it was reported that a hill was named after her (Jane Russell Hill). Jane Russell's introduction to Hollywood at first marred her but then made her.

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What is stardom? The deliciously seductive name "Lah-na," is still famous almost 25 years after her death and even longer since she made her last film or television appearance. Tuner's stardom was not of the moment. Born a star, she died a star. This is particularly significant since her fame was based on glamour and sex, which means that she had to be very much of her time. She was and is, yet she endured. Lana Turner is the epitome of Hollywood at its best in creating stars. Turner got to the top of the heap at a time in the motion picture industry when there were many beautiful young hopefuls to triumph over, but she entered the Hollywood system and rose up through it like a rocket. After her first few years the young girl became a glamour queen, wise to the world, even a little cynical. She became the kind of woman whom man most desired, dangerous yet in a thrilling way, but safe and companionable, too, women liked her too for her fashion sense and camaraderie with fellow actresses. In Lana Turner the public found the thing they liked best in a movie star: ambivalence, a mysterious mixture of good and bad. Her image was undeniably one of glamour, satin, furs, and diamonds, but it was found sitting on a drugstore stool. She was the perfumed boudoir, but also of the ice cream parlor. She was glamorous, but yet also girlish. She was a tigress, but also a kitten with a hint of impish humor. At first, she was wholesome and good, with just a hint of femme fatale. Later, she wasn't all that bad; she had a hint of the good and decent. In the beginning she came from nowhere and nothing, but in the end she got it all and more.

Lana Turner

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Lana Turner

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When Veronica Lake arrived in Hollywood in 1939 she came in with the decade but was gone by the end of it. But at least Lake and the public did have a good time while it lasted. For a time Lake held some sway over some cinema circles. When Joan Bennett went from blonde to brunette her hair color changed the course of her career. Bennett went from sweet leading lady to dangerous femme fatale overnight while her career soared higher than before lasting until the 1980"s. But, poor Veronica Lake possibly no candidate for the pantheon of cinema love goddess was admitted on such a gimmicky whim, whose sulky but beautiful face was character-artistically is half-obscured by her tossed locks of her blonde hair which became known as her "Peekaboo Bang" hair style. Her initial cinema popularity was extended by a fortuitous teaming with stone-faced Alan Ladd. They created a new brand of screen lovers: calculating, conscienceless, and as self-possessed individuals. Their love scenes together were the epitome of restrained sexuality, filled with non-sequitur conversation, wisps of cigarette smoke, and bristling icy stares. Ah, the tension which would build up in a film as one waited for the invitation in that strangely husky voice, in the provocative swing of of the sequinned box shoulder, to reach its consummation at a moment of cilimctic abandon when the face-obscuring hank of blonde hair would be swept aside in a embrace and reveal the full glory of her large, lustrous eyes, the slightly sunken cheeks, and then her heavily made-up lips which mark the true essence of the 1940's floozy.

Veronica Lake

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Leave Her to Heaven (1945) dir. John M. Stahl

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Gene Tierney was one of the most underrated actresses of Hollywood's Golden Era – Gene was certainly much more than a pretty face and was never afraid to show a dark, off-putting and arrogant side to her characters. And the words "more than a pretty face" not only refer to her talents as an actress but also to the fact that the word "pretty" doesn’t even begin to describe her riveting and transcendent beauty which made it difficult for her to get the credit as an actress she so richly deserved. In 1945, both the critics and the public agreed that Leave Her To Heaven (1945, 20th Century Fox) was a Tour-De-Force for Gene Tierney. She had never looked so ravishing onscreen before. Tierney has this other worldly quality about her that makes her performance as Ellen Berent who loved a little too much all the more real. The success of Leave Her to Heaven belongs foremost to Gene Tierney. She had this preternatural ability to be both alluring and icy at the same time. Her appeal which intrigued from the start never totally disappeared. Leave Her To Heaven is Tierney's finest two hours it was a role and a film that suited her to perfection. Tierney underplays the role of Ellen Berent understandably giving us a chilling portrayal of evil on film like no other for it contains one of cinema’s greatest monsters, Tierney is driven to destruction with such a single-minded, inhuman ferocity that it seems downright supernatural.

Technicolor loved Gene Tierney showcasing not only her enchanted and flawless beauty but also the currents of thought and passion pulsing behind that exquisite mask. In black and white, Gene Tierney glows and shines even in the darkest settings, but in Technicolor she looks like a painting come to life. Whenever she is given one of Leave Her to Heaven’s long, wordless close-ups, the strong, rich colors of the film make her appear like a creature out of a fairy-tale – an ethereal being. Gene Tierney’s face also knows a certain hardness and bitterness that helped her to always show the danger and rage hiding behind her eyes. Her beauty, despite its elegance and style, never appears innocent or soft – instead, she could explore various shades and layers in her characters, turning her face more than once into a window to her inner feelings and this way extend the women she played beyond her own beauty.

This unlikable quality along with Tierney's feeling of constant superiority helped her immensely in her characterization of Ellen Berent, a woman who slowly, step by step, reveals her obsessive nature and having the right to sacrifice the existence of others for her own happiness. Gene Tierney was certainly the right choice for the role as her unique, fascinating beauty and ability to be so completely engaging from the first moment on helped to make the sudden romance between Ellen and Richard Harland (Cornel Wilde) believable and also created the following tone of the story in which Ellen more and more showed her true nature but still possessed enough appeal and charm to keep Richard close to her. But its her knowing mother played by Mary Phillips that sums up Ellen with this quote, “There’s nothing wrong with Ellen." "It’s just that she loves too much."

The title of the novel (written by Ben Ames Williams), its a quotation that comes from Shakespeare's Hamlet, in Act I, Scene V, the Ghost urges Hamlet not to seek vengeance against Queen Gertrude, but rather to "leave her to heaven, and to those thorns that in her bosom lodge to prick and sting her." Most of all, Tierney's Ellen is not a psychopathic mastermind – rather she crafts her as a women who doesn’t know when to stop, who is unable to see the world beyond her obsessive love and is therefore mostly a pitiful creation, dangerous as she may be. She never seems to be truly satisfied with her deeds but doesn’t regret them either. This way, she perfectly manages to make the viewer wonder and shiver at the same time. And when Ellen finally decides for herself to take a tragic step to have Richard all for herself, Gene Tierney creates the most unforgettable scene of 1945 – the scene depicts Ellen in a row boat as she watches her husband’s crippled brother Danny drown just a few feet from her. In a trance like state, she becomes a pure object–she's as cold, and frozen as a marbled statue. It’s impossible not to notice the smooth, planes of Tierney’s face and the clothes she wears. The absence of background music and the natural sounds of the outdoors makes the sequence feel even more realistic. Ellen’s deviance is monstrously frightening, because she commits murder by taking an active inaction rather than engaging in an act of a violent killing. Her blank expression and statue-like posture are underlined by her heart-shaped sunglasses, which conceal not only her eyes but also her soul. It’s the wonder of Gene Tierney’s beauty that she is able to look so completely off-putting in this scene, displaying her hate on her face without ever losing her classic elegance. But instead of turning Ellen into a symbol of evil, Gene Tierney more than once finds the child-like innocence in Ellen again, making it visible how desperate, lost and lonely she feels and she cannot find an escape from her own obsessions. Gene Tierney thankfully doesn’t use these moments to try to evoke sympathy for Ellen or for her actions but instead tries to give reason to unreasonable deeds. She even seems to regret her own doings before she started them, trying to convince Richard’s brother to leave them alone and almost showing a feeling of regret when she does not succeed – regret not for herself but even more for him.

In the following scenes, Gene Tierney again underlines the child-like nature of Ellen as she is unable to connect to Richard again after what happened – nor can she stop her ever increasing jealously from further alienating herself from everyone around her. Gene Tierney manages not to turn Ellen into the kind of stereotypical villain that deserves the audiences’ hate but rather creates her as a victim of her own obsessions, unable to keep control over herself, acting more out of fear than anything else. But even in the child-like innocence, Gene Tierney also finds an almost shocking amount of truth when she lets Ellen speak so malevolently about her unborn child. Gene Tierney intensifies both Ellen’s desperation for her own situation and open disdain for everything that is not Richard and constantly lets these emotions clash with each other to further and further destroy the balance in Ellen’s life and mind. The look on her face just before she throws herself down a flight of stairs to rid herself of her unborn child is the perfect combination of determination, doubt, hatred, seclusion – and madness.

Leon Shamroy won an Academy Award for Best Color Cinematography for Leave Her to Heaven. With eighteen Academy Award nominations and four wins, Shamroy was among the most celebrated cinematographers of the Hollywood studio era, admired for his meticulous craftsmanship, technical virtuosity, and especially for his mastery of color. He was the reigning Director of Photography at 20th Century-Fox for three decades. Shamroy’s other Academy Award wins were for: The Black Swan (1942, 20th Century-Fox), Wilson (1944, 20th Century-Fox), and Cleopatra (1963, 20th Century-Fox). The decision by 20th Century-Fox to film Leave Her to Heaven in color indicates the prestige of the source novel, a 1944 best-seller by Ben Ames Williams, and the studio’s desire to showcase Gene Tierney’s beauty.

The film was made by one of the melodrama genre’s greatest directors, John M. Stahl, who directed the original versions of Imitation of Life (1934, Universal) and Magnificent Obsession (1935, Universal), both films were later remade by another melodrama maestro, Douglas Sirk. In many of Stahl’s features, the heroines are super - real individuals, frustrated by their dull surroundings and unimaginative men. Society might see these women as unnatural and mentally ill, but Stahl perceives them as strong, provocative, and unfulfilled.

Leave Her to Heaven (1945) dir. John M. Stahl

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Susan Hayward as Harriet Boyd in I Can Get It For You Wholesale (1951, 20th Century Fox)

In the late 1940s 20th Century-Fox was going a through a transition. Many of their stars' contracts were ending and many were leaving the studio. Darryl F. Zanuck was interested in signing Susan Hayward to a contract because she had two qualities he desired in any actress: "she has beauty and she can act." I Can Get It For You Wholesale was directed by Michael Gordon. The screenplay was by Abraham Polonsky which was based on Vera Caspary's loose adaptation of the 1937 novel of the same title by Jerome Weidman. There was one major change from the novel to the film: the main character originally in the novel was named Harry Bogen, for the film the main character now is female and her name is Harriet Boyd. Harriet Boyd (Susan Hayward) is a model with a burning ambition to be a dress designer and of course, being Susan Hayward, she is going to let nothing stand in her determined way. Shortly after the film was released, screenwriter Abraham Polonsky was called to testify before the House Un-American Activities Committee. Although he refused to deny or confirm affiliation with the Communist Party, he found himself blacklisted. He continued to write under pseudonyms, but it was not until Madigan in 1968 that he received screen credit under his own name. Unfortunately, director Michael Gordon also fell prey to the paranoia-driven blacklisting of the era and did not return to feature films until the end of the decade. When he did come back, it was with one of his most popular and well-remembered efforts, "Pillow Talk" (1959), starring Doris Day and Rock Hudson. Gordon followed this enjoyable sex farce with other equally successful sex comedies, including "Boys' Night Out" (1962), "Move Over, Darling" (1963) and "A Very Special Favor" (1965). His career as a director ended around 1970, but he later came back as a member of UCLA's theater arts faculty. The technical competence and smooth, intelligent control of Gordon's best films, though, made one wish that his professional peak had not been so abruptly interrupted. Hayward is really a pleasure to watch because her acting is so intense and yet so natural. She is at times an unlikable character, but we understand who and why she is what she is, and though her personality is strong, the only time she appears histrionic is when she’s obviously faking it to hatch a plot. Her only tender relationship appears to be with Sam Jaffe. All in all, this 90-minute character study is an entertaining look inside the garment industry that I suspect is still relevant.

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David O. Selznick gave roles to a number of women that made them spectacular stars: Vivien Leigh and Olivia de Havilland in Gone With The Wind; Joan Fontaine in Rebecca; and Ingrid Bergman, who started her American career under his guidance, in Intermezzo. Such lesser but still very popular players as Guy Madison, Rhonda Fleming and Rory Calhoun also began with him. He wanted to make a young actress named Phyllis Isley, whom he renamed Jennifer Jones, his greatest success. As Pearl, the half-breed heroine of his wild and beautiful masterpiece Duel In The Sun, she was a marvelous overwrought minx, and the star he had hoped for: they were married. A neurotically self-obsessed, other worldly quality about her fitted her perfectly for Flaubert's Madame Bovary and King Vidor's Ruby Gentry, and opened a host of possibilities to her: as a candidate for sainthood in one film, a troubled ghost in another, a tormented bride in the third, and a string of sexually frustrated, frustrating women who tantalized but never bored their audience. She was too complex to be bottled, her quirky mannerisms and unusual beauty retained their ability to keep one guessing and hoping for the role that would bring all the strands together, and produce the movies' most absorbing case study of twentieth-century womanhood.

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Ann Sheridan nevertheless conveyed a kind of attitude to audiences that comes with having had to fight through all kinds of situations. She seemed confident, unhesitant, and she wore her experience of having fought off men as if it were a Girl Scout badge. Delivered in a low, husky voice, her "Oh, yeah, buster?" was tough but also kind-hearted and warm. She never seemed genuinely hard, only cheerfully realistic. She had a sense of humor about herself, a permanently amused quality. Though she was tough, she was never mean or nasty. Sheridan could dance some and her singing voice, for instance, was a warm contralto. She could play in musicals as well as comedies and dramas, and she was built to wear the clothes of the 1940's. She was one girl who could carry off any crazy getup, no matter what was stuck on her -- feathers, chunky jewelry, or some hat perched on her head sideways looking like it was falling off her head. As with Lana Turner no outfit ever wore Ann Sheridan. Today, Ann Sheridan does not get the credit she deserves. Actresses who had a hard edge to them or a hint of the backroom experience were seldom leading ladies unless they were Mae West or Jean Harlow. (Both West's and Harlow's approach to this backroom experience was comic.) Female stars like Sheridan were usually female sidekicks: Una Merkel, Eve Arden or feisty like Veda Ann Borg, or ditzy blondes like Marie Wilson or Toby Wing. Sheridan elevated this type, moving it above the title. She represented something real, and the Warner's roster of stars needed her to match its very grounded leading men. Like them, she seemed to have been there and back and lived to laugh about it. Sheridan was definitely talented she had a wonderful combination of her singing, her glamorous looks (she was definitely made for Technicolor), and her ability to deliver a tough line with humor making her the perfect studio contract player.

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The lady in the photo is Kristine Miller

Ann Richards, 1948 🎞