#Agent Garbo

[cultivating-wildflowers]

2024 Reading - July

Finally, things are turning around! I managed to pick some good books to read this month; even the printed books weren't the trial they have been for me lately.

Total books: 10  |  New reads: 8   |   2024 TBR completed: 6 (1 DNF) / 26/36 total   |   2024 Reading Goal: 44/100

June | August

potential reading list from July 1st

#1 - All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy - 5/5 stars ('24 TBR, audio)

mild content warning for language and some sexual content

McCarthy's writing is some of the most gorgeous and atmospheric writing I've ever read. It's also incredibly depressing. I want to continue with the rest of the trilogy but I'm in such a mental funk after finishing All the Pretty Horses that I'm scared to keep going.

More like this: McCarthy's writing reminds me of Wendell Berry in some ways. They both have a soothing, melancholic style that is deeply immersed in the period and setting of their chosen stories. But where Berry tends more towards righteous anger, McCarthy tends toward bleak inevitability.

#2 - The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared by Jonas Jonasson - 5/5 stars ('24 TBR, audio)

Not at all what I was expecting from this long-time resident of my TBR. Thoroughly enjoyed. Absolutely would not recommend to most people, but I DID recommend it to Kenzie:

#3 - Shadows in Flight by Orson Scott Card - 2/5 stars (audio)

Possibly the worst missed opportunity in this series yet. We could have had so much fun with this one. It could have destroyed me emotionally. ANYTHING could have happened. Instead we had the most dull, drawn-out little episode where Bean is basically a vegetable (heh) and his bratty children argue for 200-odd pages. The discoveries aren't incredible, the revelations fall flat, the emotions don't exist, the characters are artless caricatures, and near the end I was yelling in frustration because Card had to go and get snotty and superior in the name of writing a "realistically hyper-intelligent person". All of the little things I dislike about Card's writing? All here.

Side note: I got the actual, physical audiobook CDs for this one and when I went to pick up my holds, the librarian looked at me, looked at the CD case, and said, "You know these are CDs, right? Some people don't realize that." Hoopla didn't have this one on audio and I was already physically reading two books with two more fresh from the library, so I was kind of desperate. The downside is that I can't speed up an audiobook when it's physical CDs.

Second note: The part that had me yelling in frustration had to do with Card's prediction of why artificial wombs might be outlawed in most places in a futuristic world, and why his characters thing most places are unreasonable. His take: "Because they're unnatural. Or they deprive surrogate mothers of a livelihood. Lots of reasons, but it comes down to the real reason: artificial wombs suggest that women aren't necessary, and that really bothers a lot of women." Your Mormonism is showing, Orson.

#4 - Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens - 4/5 stars ('24 TBR)

the usual content warnings apply

This book, something I probably never would have picked up on my own, came to me as a recommendation. There was some content I didn't care for (easy to skim), but the writing grabbed me from the first page and the pacing, characters, and setting were incredible. I haven't finished a printed book this quickly in ages.

#5 - The Vanderbeekers of 141st Street by Karin Yan Glaser - 4/5 stars ('24 TBR, audio)

Simply adorable.

More like this: I've only seen the movie, but it immediately reminded me of "Ramona and Beezus". The description also says it's in the tradition of "The Penderwicks", which I haven't yet read.

#6 - A Morbid Taste for Bones by Ellis Peters - 4/5 stars (audio)

Tumblr rec time! Some of y'all have been chatting about this one, so I snatched it up.

It was a fun, cozy sort of read. I definitely enjoyed it for the most part, though I felt like the ending kind of dragged. Not particularly interested in pursuing this series.

More like this: I'm not a huge fan of Father Brown (personal taste), but this had the same tone that I recall from the Father Brown collection I've read.

#7 - Network Effect by Martha Wells - 5/5 stars (reread, audio)

As good as ever.

#8 - The Food Explorer: The True Adventures of the Globe-Trotting Botanist Who Transformed What America Eats by Daniel Stone - 5/5 stars

What a treat!!! I was recommending this to people before I even finished it. Quick, fun, engaging, and informative; one of the best nonfics I've read all year. Now I want a buddy adventure film about Fairchild and Lathrop.

More like this: "Salt: A World History" by Mark Kurlansky.

#9 - Agent Garbo: The Brilliant, Eccentric Secret Agent Who Tricked Hitler and Saved D-Day by Stephan Talty - 5/5 stars ('24 TBR, Top 5 Anticipated Read)

"There are three kinds of people," [Pujol] wrote later, "those who make things happen, those who watch things happen, and those who wonder what happened."

Ahhhhhhhhh this one was fantastic. Like many, I was first introduced to Agent Garbo via tumblr, and I was really hoping this book would do his story justice; it absolutely does. It is expertly compiled and written. An adventure from start to finish.

Side note: I read excerpts of this to my dad on our drive to church and already have him interested in it.

More like this: "Agent Zigzag" by Ben MacIntyre. <- also shared this one with my dad (he read it in two days) and he loved it and others from MacIntyre.

#10 - System Collapse by Martha Wells - 4/5 stars (reread, audio)

Still not quite sure exactly how I feel about this one, but I enjoyed it overall.

DNF

On Death and Dying by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross ('24 TBR) - Either I'm dense or this (at least in the first chapter) is another case of someone with a highly specialized field of study interpreting the larger world through that lens, combined with some historical nuances that I'm completely missing. Possibly it's a worldview conflict and I ought to have pressed on for my own edification, but every page was a fresh slog.

The subject matter itself is fascinating, as is the viewpoint of someone in the medical field in the 60's. (Hello, common practice of fully sedating women during childbirth. I hate you.) The delivery is dry and academic. (Side note: I didn't realize until browsing reviews that THIS BOOK is where THE five stages of grief comes from.)

The Last Shadow by Orson Scott Card - Gave up within the first chapter after rolling my eyes every other paragraph. Hot garbage, which the good folks in the Ender subreddit confirm. I don't care how the series officially ends. Children of the Mind was a good enough conclusion for me.

The Geography of Bliss: One Grump’s Search for the Happiest Places in the World by Eric Weiner - Not my style at all. The man took his self-ascribed title of "grump" way too far.

Updraft by Fran Wilde - Somehow I didn't really pay attention to the fact that this was YA fantasy until I started reading. That's on me. But between an incoherent opening action scene and over a dozen Special Words introduced in the first chapter alone, it quickly became obvious that this wasn't for me.

Currently Reading:

Disorderly Knights by Dorothy Dunnett - As expected, I'm still working through this one.

Hamnet by Maggie O'Farrell - I just started this one.

[todaywecelebrate]

Happy birthday, Joan Pujol i García!

My bros I have been doing a lot of reading about Wacky WWII Hijinks lately and I want to tell you a story because I love it okay

once upon a time there was a dude in Spain named Juan Pujol Garcia. Pujol was a chicken farmer. Pujol hated him some goddamn fascists.

See Spain had recently ended its civil war, with the fascists taking power. So when WWII broke out in Europe, Spain technically remained neutral but in practice was buddy buddy with the Nazis. Juan Pujol Garcia thought this was pretty bullshit

so soon after war breaks out Pujol travels to his local British embassy and goes “hey I wanna spy on the Nazis for you”

“who the fuck are you?” say the British, and kick him out

but Pujol is not deterred! He still wants to dunk on some fascists, so now he goes to his local German embassy instead. “hey” he says, “I wanna spy on the British for you, I sure do hate them”

“yeah okay” say the Germans “that seems pretty legit”

and just like that Pujol now officially works for the Abwehr, the German intelligence agency. They hand him some spy gear (invisible ink and such) and instruct him to travel to Lisbon, and from there make his way into the UK. So Pujol heads to Lisbon, and a little while later writes to his German handlers telling them he’s made it to England

Pujol had not made it to England. He had, in fact, made it to the Lisbon public library, where he checked out a number of English guide books and set about just wholesale making shit up

this is slightly complicated by the fact that, for example, he completely did not understand British currency and all his expense reports were basically gibberish. He also reported things like bribing Scotsmen, because the people of Glasgow would “do anything for a litre of wine” (an actual quote) because, hey, people in Spain like wine so that’s probably the same right?

Here is where it starts to get really crazy, because the Abwehr loves this. “wow this dude is a great spy” they say, because apparently none of them had ever been the England either. In fact, they are so pumped about this new awesome spy that the British start to get worried

you see, by this time the British had cracked German’s supposedly unbreakable Enigma code and were totally dunking on the Nazis by reading basically all of their ~super top secret~ radio transmissions. And, crucially, they’d become so good at breaking and reading traffic that there were literally no German spies in England. The Germans would set up a spy drop (usually dropping dudes in by parachute in the middle of the night), the British would intercept the message and then just scoop the dudes up as soon as they landed in a move that must have been SUPER embarrassing to the spies

so there are no German spies in the UK because they’re all sitting in a prison run by MI5 (although some are being run under supervision as double agents, feeding Germany bullshit). But suddenly MI5 is picking up all this traffic from the Germans talking about their super great spy- a spy the British do not have in their jail

“oh shit” says MI5, and starts rereading all the transmissions they have to and from this mysterious super spy.

“hey wait” says MI5, upon actually reading the shit the spy was sending. “someone is playing silly buggers, pip pip cheerio”

At this point, Pujol, still in Lisbon, had actually been approaching the British embassy again, repeatedly, but apparently “I am literally an Abwehr agent and would like to offer you my services” wasn’t interesting enough, because he was repeatedly turned away, again. It wasn’t until MI5 started asking around that one of the embassy staff was like “oh yeah we know that guy”

so in 1942 the British finally make contact with Pujol and he officially becomes a spy for MI5. They move him to London and assign him a case officer so he can start making up even better bullshit

and he does. Once actually in London, Pujol reports to the Abwehr that he’d recruited a whole slew of informants- from a bunch of Welsh Aryans to disaffected army officers. He ends up with a network of 20+ sub-spies, all feeding him information from around the UK

none of these people actually exist

Pujol just straight up invented like 20 people, keeping careful track of their fake personalities, names, and activities. With the help of MI5, the information he sends becomes even better- a mix of true but ultimately useless facts and actually important intel timed to arrive in Germany just slightly too late to be of any use. He and his “spy network” become the Abwehr’s most trusted agents

Pujol, now codenamed Agent Garbo (for his acting skills), ends up playing a huge role in the run-up to D-Day, where the Allies mounted a huge intelligence campaign to convince Hitler that the planned site of attack was going to be Calais and not Normandy (this was Operation Fortitude and you should absolutely look it up for more Wacky WWII Adventures). Obviously you know how this ended

crazily enough, the Abwehr never figured out that Pujol was a double agent. After the war he received both the Iron Cross Second Class (which require personal authorization from Hitler), and a Member of the Order of the British Empire (from King George VI)

unable to resist being totally fucking ridiculous, Pujol turned down MI5’s post-war offer to continue spying, but this time against the USSR. “no,” he said “just help me fake my own death and then I’m moving to Venezuela”

and that’s exactly what he did. Juan Garcia Pujol died in 1988, at the age of 76

[ihatetbrlists]

The Reading Diaries #12

Agent Garbo: The Brilliant, Eccentric Secret Agent Who Tricked Hitler and Saved D-day, by Stephan Talty

From my TBR? No.

A biography of a Spanish double agent working for the British during WW2.

I learned about Garbo thanks to a Tumblr post, of all things. It was interesting to see how his story was much more put together and intentional than what the post makes it seem. For example, he wasn't a random kitchen farmer: he was the son of a wealthy industrialist, he fought in the Spanish civil was to try and escape the war (if that makes sense), he was a terrible chicken farmer for a while and then he became a terrible hotel manager. This probably sounds even more chaotic but trust me, read the book and there is fil rouge.

I must say that some of the spy plots went over me. All that double crossings... I don't know if it was me or if it was explained badly (probably me).

I've been reading a lot about the WW2 as seen by the British lately so this will be my last read on the topic for a while, I think.

[hotvintagepoll]

What are some screwball comedy pairings you wish had been a thing? Can definitely be gay ones :)

Okay finally!

One of the reasons I made this blog in the first place is that few things bring me as much blinding rage as imagining the movies we could have gotten, if old Hollywood had stopped being racist/homophobic/anti-everyone for ten fucking seconds. There were so many talented hotties working through our tournament era who only got cameo spots or no-budget movies! for no reason beyond white supremacy! there were so many stories that didn't get told because heaven forbid we acknowledge gay people! If this blog has a mission statement, a big chunk of it would be about highlighting all the amazing hotties who never got what they deserved in their heyday.

So! Let's tear Louis B. Mayer a new one and make some better movies.

Diamond Eyes (1946)

Harold Nicholas, the bored but fabulous son of a Manhattan millionaire, decides to take himself off on a transatlantic cruise to recover from the boredoms of socialites, constant martinis, and west side glamor. When working girl Rita Hayworth snags him into a fake dating scheme to throw off a jealous ex (Cesar Romero), he doesn't mean to fall in love with his false fiancé—or to set the ex up with his scheming accountant (Tyrone Power).

To the Tune of Millions (1945)

Ann Miller and Lena Horne are conwomen besties who use a fake dance act to get into casinos, which they then promptly rob. Unfortunately, an over-enthusiastic talent agent (Gene Kelly) sees the act and thinks they're legitimate, hiring them on the spot as the lead number in a newly opened but already failing musicale review. Who can they hustle at a theater that's barely bringing in a dime? The two ex-cons fall in love with show business, Kelly and Horne smooch at the grand finale, and Miller has an intense will-they-or-won't-they sparring relationship with the hot stage manager (Ethel Waters—and they will).

Untitled Three's-a-Crowd Film (1942)

Cary Grant, Jean Arthur, and Ronald Colman are running interference on a corrupt justice system while trying to keep up the act that they are all simply cohabitating in a shared AirBnB and definitely not falling in love with each other. Wait. This is actually The Talk of the Town. This movie actually exists and does veer this hard into polyamorous romance.

Tomatoes and Toast (1928)

Anna May Wong and Greta Garbo eat sandwiches for three hours. It's riveting.

One Soul, Two Bodies (1948)

Farley Granger and Vincent Price star as Alexander the Great and Hephaestion in this sword-and-sandals period piece. Though clearly made on a studio backlot with a budget of $3, the dashing romance grounds the chariot races and cardboard sword battle sequences.

Grand Central Station (1931)

Interconnected narratives of Josephine Baker, Joan Blondell, Dolores del Río, and Fredric March all vying for the last seat on the 5:45 train out to Poughkeepsie. When they realize they're jostling to sit next to the same sugar daddy who's been stringing all of them along, the four decide to unionize. Pre-code thrills; the four-in-a-bunk Pullman car scene remains notable for a reason.

I have more but I think I've gone a bit delirious.

[sophieinwonderland]

Sophie…Anti-lies is so clearly you it’s not even that funny girl (it is, it is that funny)

I sure wasn't exactly subtle. Besides that I've talked about it a few times here openly, I also dropped some pretty big hints on the anti-lies blog.

Such as when I was banned that last time, was sure I would be unbanned again shortly, but wanted anti-endos to know about my banning just so they could give their hopes up to make sure it would hurt when I was unbanned again.

I just slapped that right in the middle of the list on the fake parody blog to see if anyone would notice.

Also, fun fact for anyone who doesn't know, anti-lies' system name, The Garbo System, is a reference to a double agent codenamed Garbo who infiltrated the Germans in World War 2. Make of that information what you will but I expect someone is going to find a way to be extremely offended by this fact. 😛

[zombeesknees]

#it’s a darcy vs darcy cock-off in the corridors of badly-heated basement espionage   #and the winner is us the viewer   #haven’t seen so many stiff upper lips since the last time i was at a terrence rattigan play   #special mention to johnny flynn’s voiceovers   #also you just KNOW by the way jason isaacs plays cranky and impatient so well he’s probably the most laid-back dude irl - he has to be   #no reflection on the movie but heartbreaking that all the main characters have wiki pages except the women   #these rooms had so many women in them and their names were not recorded   #i mean i know when the bletchley secrets act expired most of the women were like ‘mind your own business’ anyway and didn’t go on record   #so one might assume a similar situation in other branches of the service    #but still there’s a lost world there   #of biographical hyperlinks i should be able to rabbithole and can’t   #anyway bonkers that the main embellishments were to the interpersonal scenes - the operation was just that insane as-is

Operation Mincemeat (2022)

[247reader]

Day 23: Elvira de la Fuente Chaudoir

It was 1941, and Helmut “Bibi” Bleil, a Nazi agent in southern France, couldn’t believe his luck. A beautiful woman - none too bright, perhaps, but beautiful - the socialite daughter of a rich Peruvian, had been flirting with him for days. And, better yet, he’d finally broached to the topic, over dinner, of going into “business” with her - sending her into Britain as an Abwehr spy. He went home satisfied with a good week’s work - and Elvira Chaudoir went back happy, too.

Because Elvira already was a spy - a spy for the British - and she’d finally hit paydirt.

Elvira really was most of what she’d presented herself as. Her father had been rich, and she’d grown up at a boarding school before leaving an unhappy marriage to bounce around Europe, gambling away her fortune and romancing both men and women. But she was also keenly intelligent and fervently opposed to Nazism. British intelligence brought her on as part of the Double Cross system, feeding information to the Axis - some false, some worthless, and some true but just a little too late. In the greatest deception of the war, she and her fellow agents - including Juan “Garbo” Pujol Garcia - helped convince the Nazis that D-Day was aimed at Calais, not Normandy.

Elvira retired to France, where, chronically short of money, she eventually opened a gift shop. She died in 1996 - nine years before the files on her heroism would finally be made public.

[bluwiikoon]

(Late) Day 4 of drawing Splatoons until I feel more confident in my art! Late because I am sick rn; more "Hotel Marina" when I feel less garbo.

I really like how Agent 8 canonically thinks Li'l Judd is cute.

[manderley]

I love the era of pre-code actresses that struggled to survive into the 40s.. Kay Francis, Sylvia Sidney, the Bennett sisters, even Claudette Colbert fizzled out by the mid 40s, Greta Garbo and Norma Shearer retired early, truly a change of era. Stanwyck managed to survive this shift (perhaps being an independent agent helped her — and maybe Stella Dallas had a part in that, too) but not many of the poster women of this era continued. Crawford, too, but I’d argue her fame and persona shifted so dramatically in the 40s that you could call her a different actress.

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 26 Part 2

(Ch. 26.1) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: With the Gestapo on high alert and a bounty on her head, the stakes are only getting higher for Alix as the night of her mission fast approaches. But luckily, she and Captain Nixon have some help.

WARNINGS: War, Death, Espionage, Survivor's Guilt, Nix's functional alcoholism, the usual

A/N: All disguises mentioned are actual techniques used by the OSS, SOE, & CIA! Also, Cisco is based heavily on SOE spy Juan Pujol Garcia (aka Agent Garbo) & several other Spanish Maquisards who fought the rise of fascism in Europe for years before WW2 began!💖

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @bellewintersroe @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @sleepisforcowards @suugrbunz @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @eightysix-baby @ithinkabouttzu

Contemporary: December 2nd, 1944. Resistance Safehouse, Signy-l’Abbaye, France.

Alix awoke to the sound of hushed voices in the hall.  

Cracking a reluctant eye open, she reached for her knife just as the mantle clock chimed.  

4 o'clock in the morning. 

Splendid.

She must've dozed off waiting for their asset's arrival.

Silently easing herself off the couch, she crept towards the adjacent wall, her path just barely illuminated by a cool sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtains. 

The voices were getting closer…

Alix relaxed instantly as she recognized her handler’s voice, dry bemusement drizzled over his every word like syrup.

"That’s all you brought, Picasso? One bag?"  

There was a hearty chuckle from the darkness and then a second voice replied simply:

"They tell me pack light, I pack light." 

The speaker's voice had a rather airy, almost nasal quality she hadn't heard before and a pleasant, rolling accent she couldn’t quite place. 

Sheathing her knife, the spy subtly retreated to the sofa, managing to be seated just as the two men entered the room. 

“Sorry we’re late, Runt,” Nixon remarked as he threw himself into his usual chair and propped his boot-clad feet up on the coffee table.

His gaze flickered over to their visitor and playfully raised his voice just loud enough for the other man to hear. 

“Seems like the Spanish can’t keep to a schedule!”

"Next time, you hike the Pyrenees then, chaval," the diminutive newcomer retorted, a toothy grin appearing from underneath his scraggly beard as he removed a faded leather jacket and placed it delicately on the coat rack.

"And I will be the one to drink and complain. Besides, 'Más vale tarde que nunca', as my abuela always said." 

As the asset dragged a chair from the kitchen and into the living room, Alix watched him blearily and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

He was supposed to be here at midnight, she thought with a pang of irritation. What had taken him so long?

The visitor-- Picasso, Nixon had called him-- was in his early thirties, disheveled in ill-fitting black fatigues covered in dirt and twigs, a dark cotton shirt nearly swallowing his frame whole. 

Even in his beaten-in combat boots, he couldn'tve stood more than an inch taller than her and he was so slight that his clothing seemed to hang off him like the rucksack he had slung off one shoulder.

Noticing Alix's scrutinizing gaze, the visitor's smile only widened and the American spy observed a barely-visible gap between his two front teeth that reminded her vaguely of her baby cousin.

"You must be La Mariposa Negra," he noted brightly as he sat down, placing the canvas rucksack onto his lap with care.

"There is a poem in my country called that! Perhaps you have heard of it?”

“Unfortunately not,” Alix responded stiffly, still trying to figure out who on Earth this man was working for, why he was late, and why he was now sitting so casually in the living room of the safehouse as though he were part of the furniture.

“Ah, qué pena,” the Spaniard commented easily, still seeming far too cheery for the hour.

“But probably it will lose something in translation anyway." 

From his chair, Nixon yawned lazily before gesturing to his protégé. 

“Agent Martinelli, meet Cisco León Estrada of the Cantabria Maquis. He’ll be in town for a few days on special assignment.” 

The Spaniard extended a gloved hand and they exchanged brief pleasantries before he began unpacking the canvas rucksack on his lap.

“We hear much about you on the radio, Mariposa,” he gushed as he placed two detail brushes onto the coffee table.

"How you make the Germans afraid. It will be an honor to work on you.” 

Alix was instantly alert.

“On me?!”

"Correct,” Nixon commented from his place to her right, popping a caramel block into his mouth before going on:

"Cisco is a master of disguise. The SOE calls him Picasso for a reason." 

“You are too kind, my friend," the Spaniard replied with a modest wave of his hand. “I have had much practice.” 

"Donovan called him in for you personally, Runt,” her case officer garbled through a mouthful of candy.

“He’s going to get you– Well, ‘Tanya’ – ready for her big debut.” 

A small vial of dark liquid was placed onto the wooden table top with a plink. 

"Is that iodine?" Alix asked as she eyed the antiseptic nervously. “Somebody performing surgery?”

The two men exchanged glances.

"Yes" Nixon deadpanned at the same time Cisco answered with a light "No". 

"Well as long as we're all in agreement," Alix snorted as the shorter man rose from his seat, scrutinizing Alix with a pensive gaze.

The former model recognized that look and remained still, patiently allowing the artist to work. 

Mumbling to himself in Spanish, the Maquisard plucked absentmindedly at the bush of his beard for several minutes as he paced and studied her features, clearly trying to decide where to begin. 

After a moment, he snapped his fingers.

"The eyes,” the Spaniard stated with a decisive nod. “Then teeth. Then hair.”

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Breaking an ankle during jump training hadn't been as miserable. 

It had been one flash of pain when she'd collided with the ground and that was it. Mercifully, the bone had gone numb. Alix wished she could go numb now. 

But instead, it felt like her scalp was being flooded with lava, each strand of hair being personally seared to the root by the peroxide Cisco was using.

She'd been sitting on the edge of the tub in a robe they'd pilfered for what felt like half an eternity, letting her stinging eyes wander the cramped bathroom. 

The Spanish asset, Cisco, was standing by the counter, a needle-thin brush in hand as he painstakingly dabbed each pearly tooth of the mold with a thin film of iodine just dark enough to discolor them. 

Every good agent knew the devil truly was in the details.

Eating with the wrong fork, a discontinued brand of cigarettes, a discarded receipt with a traceable bank number, even wearing a certain color too frequently could all spell disaster for an agent undercover behind enemy lines. 

They couldn't afford to overlook anything; Alix's life would depend on it. 

But even with Captain Nixon firing questions at her about her cover from his spot on the tile, all she could think about was the torturous burning sensation of her head and the dark blue colored contact lenses making her vision blur.

"Madonna mía, can I rinse it out yet?" she burst out finally, her fingers clenching onto the side of the tub as she tried to distract herself from the sizzling sting of the liquid seemingly seeping into every open pore. 

"Please? Jesus Ch-"  

"Only if you are wanting to lose half your hair," Cisco responded, his sharp eyes never wavering from his work.

"And I do not think you are wanting that." 

"Where did you go to school, Tatiana?" Nixon quizzed her as he reached the third page of her cover's dossier. 

Alix ignored him. 

"How much longer?" she inquired and the Maquisard took a quick glance at his watch. 

"Thirty more minutes, tía." 

"Am I talking to myself?” Nixon complained loudly. “I said, 'Where did you go to school, Tati-'" 

"It's Tanya," Alix snapped finally, dropping her voice to a lower, throatier pitch with a thick Russian accent. 

"Only my mother calls me Tatiana. And I was trained at the Bolshoi Ballet Academy." 

Her case officer didn't miss a beat. 

"And your mother? Where did she train?" 

A trick question.

"This is joke, yes?" the spy asserted, crossing her arms in front of her chest with an imperious toss of her head as she imagined a spoiled collaborationist socialite like Tanya would. 

"We only train with the best. And the best have always been at the Bolshoi." 

Captain Nixon gave a silent, grudging nod and Alix could see him fighting a smile at her performance. 

"And your dad?" he prompted. "What's your old man do?" 

"He is dignitary," she responded, the smoky quality of her lowered voice adding an extra layer of flippancy. 

"That is all you need to know." 

Nixon nodded his approval and drew a check mark in the margins of her dossier just as Cisco put the finishing touches on her false teeth and sat them on the counter to dry. 

"I must get the, ah como se dice…El tinte– " He gestured frantically as he tried to summon the English term.

"Hair dye," Nixon supplied and the Spanish Maquisard nodded enthusiastically, scooting the large box toward himself.

"Sí, yes–" he said between grunts as he tried to pry the tightly-sealed packaging apart. "The dye! Hostia–"

With a huff of irritation, Cisco flicked a knife out from his boot and began to carve the box open to get to its contents. 

“You would think–” he muttered in between laborious saws. “– they are hiding gold in here, when really, this– ” 

With a final, swift cut, the Spanish operative was able to dip his hand inside and pull out a small package of Auburn Allure buried within layers of cardboard.

“– is all.” 

“Dye’s hard to find these days,” Nixon commented as he shifted from the sink to the wall so Alix could finally rinse the peroxide from her hair.

“With shortages and all. Kathy’s always on about it.”

The cool rush of water on her scalp sent a shiver of relief washing through but when she flipped her hair back and looked into the mirror, Alix let out a yelp of horror at the ashen creature staring back at her. 

“What did you DO?!” she shrieked as she clutched at the limp strands of her now ghastly-yellow hair.

Skip and Don were going to have a field-day with this.

“Hostia, I told you not to look yet,” Cisco scolded, swatting her hand away from her face.

“You will only scare yourself. Captain Nixon, the scissors porfa.”

Alix opened her mouth to respond but suddenly thought better of speaking sharply to a highly-trained operative with scissors now in hand.

“Not. One. Word." She growled in Nix’s direction and even though it obviously pained him, her case officer made a sarcastic zipper motion across his lips and turned back to her dossier while Alix continued to violently pantomime slitting his throat. 

“Ignore him,” Estrada uttered sympathetically, swiping a portion of her bleached hair to the side and clipping it.

“We are not even halfway finished. You must trust me, vale?”

Alix sighed hopelessly and rubbed her stinging eyes again as the operative took the scissors to her beloved hair.

“Vale.” 

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Within a couple hours, Alix had gotten used to the contact lenses and even the uncomfortable dental façade that shifted her jawline but she was still getting used to the overall person staring back at her in the mirror. 

The haircut and bangs suited her face surprisingly well but being a bleach blonde did not. Luckily, the Spanish operative had a plan to fix that too.

“Damn Cisco,” Alix remarked in a tone tinged with envy as she watched him combine ingredients like an expert chemist.

"You can do hair, you can paint, you can take a dental impression, you can kill a man in probably at least 5 different ways, is there anything you can’t do?” 

The Spaniard contemplated the question as he vigorously shook the bottle of dye.

“Maths,” he declared after a moment’s pause. 

“When I was in university, I always struggle in Maths. Painting a scene from memory, no problem, but you ask me to solve a complicated equation? This I cannot do.”

“What did you end up studying while you were in college?” Alix inquired curiously as he began to apply the deep burgundy dye into her hair with patient strokes.

“Art,” was the wistful reply, his hand faltering slightly with his fading smile. 

“But I leave university when the Guerra Civil starts… My little brother and I, we fight in the war. I make it out…Diego does not.”

“I’m so sorry,” Alix whispered, instinctively reaching to touch her rosary. 

She knew the ache of that loss all too well. 

“How did you end up in the intelligence game?” Captain Nixon asked, finding his voice.

In the mirror, she could see a shadow cross Cisco’s face.

“I go home to Cantabria. I see what Franco has done to mi pueblo…mi gente… mis amigos… Everywhere you look, there is death."

He swallowed hard.

“That is why I no longer go by my first name... Francisco.” He spat the word like a bitter curse. 

“After what I have seen…All of the things he has done to good people, all of the things he is doing to mi amada patria…I cannot stand –” 

His voice broke and he cut himself off, lapsing into a tense silence.

After a moment, he gritted his teeth and soldiered on.

“So I put down my brushes… I pick up my guns and I go to the mountains, I join the Maquis. Then the SOE, they reach out to me. They hear of my background. They want to train me in disguise and–” 

He finished brushing in the dye and made a half-hearted gesture with the brush as if to say Voila, here I am.

“Bueno, what about you? Why intelligence? I am curious.”

Alix took a deep breath and shifted anxiously in her seat.

What reason could she give? There was only one reason she had stuck with the OSS for so long, only one reason she hadn’t quit the spy game long before.

This operative had just poured out his whole life story to her and she couldn’t even say a name? 

“M-My brother,” she forced out, surprised at how brittle her voice sounded as the words tumbled out. 

“He, um…He was a Navy lieutenant. He shouldn’tve been there that morning, on the ship, but –” 

She took a shuddering breath, the words feeling like sawdust in her mouth as she slowly continued.

“– But he'd stayed the night to mediate some stupid squabble. So he was with his men that morning on the Arizona when…when–”

She shook her head, unwilling to give voice to the awful words, but she didn't have to.

"Entiendo por lo que estás pasando," Cisco intoned sympathetically as he began painting dye onto another section of her hair. "We have both lost much and it drives us here, to make a difference."

"Definitely. I tried to join the Women's Army Corps first," she admitted. "But I don’t take orders well. So suffice it to say, my superiors and I didn’t exactly get along.” 

She looked over at Captain Nixon, expecting some sort of quip but he appeared to be studying the pristine white tile, so she went on:

"Luckily, Director Donovan was looking for the headstrong type and knew my father personally, so he asked if I would be interested. And--” 

She shrugged, trying and failing to keep her tone light.

 “Here I am.”

"Bueno," Cisco chuckled. “My wife, Yessenia, has a favorite saying: 'Pan con pan, comida de tontos'.”

Alix's brows knit in confusion.

“‘Bread with bread'…?”

“A ver, it loses something in translation,” the Spanish operative expressed with another breezy laugh. “Es como...all the same is boring, no? It is good to be different.” 

Captain Nixon was strangely quiet throughout the course of the conversation and Alix stole another furtive glance in his direction. 

The intelligence officer was taking a sip from his flask with a hollow stare straight past her, at the wall. 

He was the odd one out, she realized, and he knew it. 

The only one of them who hadn’t lost anything…or anyone. 

It suddenly dawned on Alix that she had never known why he had joined the Airborne to begin with or why he had agreed to become a case officer. She never knew why he was so strict with her but lackadaisical when it came to everyone else. 

To be frank with herself, Alix realized she had never thought to ask. Even if she had, she reasoned, would he have given her a real answer? Probably not.

But now that everyone else was opening up too, perhaps he just might.

"Hey Nix--" she started and it was almost like her case officer sensed that she was about to inquire seriously about a topic he was loath to discuss because he hurried to cut her off.

“Say, you two mind if I turn on the radio?”

“Madonna mia, you’ve got to be kidding,” Alix groaned, throwing her hands up in exasperation before adopting a gruff, mocking tone.

“What happened to ‘no radio for the month, Runt. It's not safe’?!” 

“Well first of all," Nixon noted dryly, already exiting the bathroom to retrieve the contraband. "That impression of me could use some work!"

Moments later, he reappeared, radio in hand, and plopped it onto the bathroom counter.

"And second of all," he finished with a self-satisfied smirk at the look of indignance on Alix's face. "Since we’re leaving tonight, HQ gave the okay." 

Before the young agent could respond, the saccharine voice of one of Germany's most notorious propagandists came wafting over the crackling airwaves.

“–the Andrews Sisters singing ‘Pistol Packin Mama’. GIs sure love girls and guns, don’t you? Is that why some of you are lending your aid to The Black Butterfly?" 

Axis Sally let out a girlish giggle so malicious that it made the spy’s blood run cold and she exchanged worried glances with Nixon, whose expression had darkened instantly.

How did Berlin know she was getting help from American soldiers?!

Where were they getting such detailed information?

Even Cisco blanched as the announcer’s words set in, the dye brush slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor, deep red splattering across the tile.

“You are smart men," Sally purred coquettishly, somehow sounding more threatening than if she had been yelling.

"Surely you realize you’re backing the wrong horse. After all, do you know how easy it is to kill a butterfly?”

There was a brief pause and then another chime of haunting laughter as the infamous announcer answered her own query:

“All you have to do is catch it.”

[cultivating-wildflowers]

note to time travelers visiting England: ALWAYS have a copy of the railway timetables

[galaxyseclipse]

wouldn't be a Splatoon fanartist without agent ocs right? been drawing them for a while and finally was able to (somewhat)solidify their designs

hopefully I can make full reference sheets for them before too much longer, but for now this'll have to do

here's hoping y'all can read my garbo handwriting lol

commissions are OPEN

[byneddiedingo]

Marlene Dietrich in Dishonored (Josef von Sternberg, 1931)

Cast: Marlene Dietrich, Victor McLaglen, Warner Oland, Gustav von Seyffertitz, Lew Cody, Barry Norton. Screenplay: Josef von Sternberg, Daniel Nathan Rubin. Cinematography: Lee Garmes. Art direction: Hans Dreier. Costume design: Travis Banton. Film editing: Josef von Sternberg. Music: Karl Hajos, Herman Hand. 

Of the seven films Josef von Sternberg made with Marlene Dietrich, Dishonored is probably the weakest. Dietrich is not to blame: Photographed by Lee Garmes and dressed by Travis Banton, she looks as good as she ever did, and the movie gives her a chance to show her talent for comedy for the first time, when she pretends to be a rather bumptious girl from the country. But the story concocted by Sternberg and co-scripted with Daniel Nathan Rubin, a not particularly distinguished playwright, lacks wit and tension. Sternberg's direction allows the pace of the film to go slack, and his decision to edit the film himself doesn't help: His lap dissolves, for example, linger too long on the old scene as the new one fades in, causing visual confusion. Moreover, Dishonored features Victor McLaglen, of all actors, as the romantic lead. McLaglen was skilled as a heavy or a clumsy goof, and John Ford directed him to an Oscar for The Informer (1935), but he's out of place as the Russian spy who gets entangled with Dietrich's Austrian spy. For some reason, he spends a lot of the film flashing a rictus-like grin. Sternberg's story is based on the career of Mata Hari, about whom MGM made a competing movie starring Greta Garbo and Ramon Novarro the same year. Dietrich plays a war widow who has turned prostitute to survive, and is recruited for the Austrian Secret Service by its chief (Gustav von Seyffertitz) when she proclaims, "I've had an inglorious life. It may become my good fortune to have a glorious death." Through her career as Agent X-27 she is accompanied by a cat who is so faithful -- she even carries it in the open cockpit of an airplane -- that it suggests a witch's familiar. She's also a pianist, who encodes secrets in musical notation. (Not that she's a good pianist: At one point she plays the usually quietly serene opening of Beethoven's "Moonlight" sonata as if it were the "Appassionata.") Dishonored is no sillier than most of the Sternberg-Dietrich movies, but it doesn't wear its silliness with style the way the best of them do. 

[arte-e-homoerotismo]

Cecil Beaton

Sir Cecil Walter Hardy Beaton CBE (14 de janeiro de 1904 – 18 de janeiro de 1980) foi um fotógrafo britânico de moda, retratos e guerra, diarista , pintor e designer de interiores, bem como figurinista e cenógrafo para palco e tela. Seus elogios incluem três Oscars e quatro Tony Awards .

Início da vida e educação

Beaton nasceu em 14 de janeiro de 1904 em Hampstead , norte de Londres, filho de Ernest Walter Hardy Beaton (1867–1936), um próspero comerciante de madeira , e sua esposa, Esther "Etty" Sisson (1872–1962). Seu avô, Walter Hardy Beaton (1841–1904), fundou o negócio familiar de "Beaton Brothers Timber Merchants and Agents", e seu pai seguiu para o negócio. Ernest Beaton era um ator amador e conheceu sua esposa, a mãe de Cecil, Esther ("Etty"), quando interpretava o papel principal em uma peça. Ela era filha de um ferreiro de Cumbria chamado Joseph Sisson e veio a Londres para visitar sua irmã casada. 

Ernest e Etty Beaton tiveram quatro filhos – Cecil; duas filhas, Nancy Elizabeth Louise Beaton (1909–99, que se casou com Sir Hugh Smiley, Baronete ) e Barbara Jessica Beaton (1912–73, conhecida como Baba, que se casou com Alec Hambro); e um filho, Reginald Ernest Hardy Beaton (1905–33). Uma Rolleiflex padrão de 1932 , um tipo de câmera usada por Beaton

Cecil Beaton foi educado na Heath Mount School (onde foi intimidado por Evelyn Waugh ) e na St Cyprian's School , Eastbourne , onde seu talento artístico foi rapidamente reconhecido. Tanto Cyril Connolly quanto Henry Longhurst relatam em suas autobiografias que ficaram impressionados com a beleza do canto de Beaton nos concertos da escola St Cyprian.

Quando Beaton estava crescendo, sua babá tinha uma câmera Kodak 3A, um modelo popular que era conhecido por ser um equipamento ideal para aprender. A babá de Beaton começou a lhe ensinar os fundamentos da fotografia e do desenvolvimento de filmes. Ele frequentemente fazia suas irmãs e sua mãe posarem para ele. Quando ele era suficientemente proficiente, ele enviava as fotos para revistas da sociedade de Londres, muitas vezes escrevendo sob um pseudônimo e "recomendando" o trabalho de Beaton. 

Beaton frequentou a Harrow School e, depois, apesar de ter pouco ou nenhum interesse acadêmico, mudou-se para o St John's College , em Cambridge , e estudou história, arte e arquitetura. Beaton continuou sua fotografia e, por meio de seus contatos universitários, conseguiu um retrato representando a Duquesa de Malfi publicado na Vogue . Na verdade, era George "Dadie" Rylands - "um instantâneo ligeiramente desfocado dele como a Duquesa de Malfi de Webster, de pé na luz subaquática do lado de fora do banheiro masculino do Teatro ADC em Cambridge." Beaton deixou Cambridge sem um diploma em 1925.

Carreira

Depois de um curto período no negócio de madeira da família, ele trabalhou com um comerciante de cimento em Holborn . Isso resultou em "uma orgia de fotografia nos fins de semana", então ele decidiu começar por conta própria. Sob o patrocínio de Osbert Sitwell, ele fez sua primeira exposição na Cooling Gallery, em Londres. Isso causou um grande rebuliço.

Acreditando que encontraria maior sucesso do outro lado do Atlântico, ele partiu para Nova York e lentamente construiu uma reputação lá. Na época em que partiu, ele tinha "um contrato com a Condé Nast Publications para tirar fotografias exclusivamente para eles por vários milhares de libras por ano durante vários anos".

De 1930 a 1945, Beaton alugou a Ashcombe House em Wiltshire, onde recebeu muitas figuras notáveis.

Em 1947, ele comprou a Reddish House , situada em 2,5 acres de jardins, aproximadamente 5 milhas (8,0 km) a leste em Broad Chalke . Aqui ele transformou o interior, adicionando quartos no lado leste, estendendo a sala para o sul e introduzindo muitos novos acessórios. Greta Garbo foi uma visitante. Ele permaneceu na casa até sua morte em 1980 e está enterrado no cemitério da igreja paroquial. 

Fotografia

Beaton desenhou capas de livros e figurinos para matinês beneficentes, aprendendo a arte da fotografia no estúdio de Paul Tanqueray , até que a Vogue o contratou regularmente em 1927. Ele montou seu próprio estúdio, e um de seus primeiros clientes e, mais tarde, melhor amigo foi Stephen Tennant . As fotografias de Beaton de Tennant e seu círculo são consideradas algumas das melhores representações dos Jovens Brilhantes dos anos vinte e trinta.Retrato de Sir Roy Strong , Diretor e Secretário do Victoria and Albert Museum

A primeira câmera de Beaton foi uma Box Brownie . Ao longo de sua carreira, ele empregou câmeras de grande formato e câmeras Rolleiflex menores . Beaton nunca foi conhecido como um fotógrafo técnico altamente qualificado e, em vez disso, se concentrou em encenar um modelo ou cena atraente e procurar o momento perfeito de liberação do obturador.

Ele era um fotógrafo da edição britânica da Vogue em 1931, quando George Hoyningen-Huene , fotógrafo da Vogue francesa , viajou para a Inglaterra com seu novo amigo Horst . O próprio Horst começaria a trabalhar para a Vogue francesa em novembro daquele ano. A troca e a polinização cruzada de ideias entre esse círculo colegial de artistas do outro lado do Canal e do Atlântico deram origem ao visual de estilo e sofisticação pelos quais os anos 1930 são conhecidos. 

Beaton é conhecido por suas fotografias de moda e retratos da sociedade. Ele trabalhou como fotógrafo da equipe da Vanity Fair e da Vogue, além de fotografar celebridades em Hollywood. Em 1938, ele inseriu algumas frases antissemitas minúsculas, mas ainda legíveis (incluindo a palavra ' kike ') na Vogue americana ao lado de uma ilustração sobre a sociedade de Nova York. A edição foi retirada e reimpressa, e Beaton foi demitido. 

Beaton retornou à Inglaterra, onde a Rainha o recomendou ao Ministério da Informação (MoI). Ele se tornou um importante fotógrafo de guerra, mais conhecido por suas imagens dos danos causados ​​pelo Blitz alemão . Seu estilo se aprimorou e seu alcance se ampliou, a carreira de Beaton foi restaurada pela guerra. 

Beaton frequentemente fotografava a Família Real para publicação oficial. A Rainha Elizabeth, a Rainha Mãe , era sua modelo real favorita, e uma vez ele embolsou seu lenço perfumado como lembrança de uma sessão de fotos de grande sucesso. Beaton tirou as famosas fotos do casamento do Duque e da Duquesa de Windsor (vestindo um conjunto de alta costura do famoso estilista americano Mainbocher ). Ele fotografou a Princesa Margaret em um vestido creme Dior em seu 21º aniversário em 1951, que se tornou um dos retratos reais mais icônicos do século XX. Rainha Fawzia Fuad Chirine com o Xá Mohammed Reza Pahlevi e sua filha, a Princesa Shahnaz Pahlavi em Teerã durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial. Foto de Cecil Beaton.

Durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial , Beaton foi inicialmente designado para o Ministério da Informação e recebeu a tarefa de registrar imagens da frente doméstica. Durante essa tarefa, ele capturou uma das imagens mais duradouras do sofrimento britânico durante a guerra, a da vítima do Blitz, Eileen Dunne, de 3 anos, se recuperando no hospital, segurando seu amado ursinho de pelúcia. Quando a imagem foi publicada, a América ainda não havia se juntado oficialmente à guerra, mas imagens como a de Beaton ajudaram a pressionar os americanos a pressionar seu governo para ajudar a Grã-Bretanha em sua hora de necessidade. 

Beaton teve uma grande influência e relacionamento com Angus McBean e David Bailey . McBean foi um retratista bem conhecido de sua época. Mais tarde em sua carreira, seu trabalho é influenciado por Beaton. Bailey foi influenciado por Beaton quando eles se conheceram enquanto trabalhavam para a Vogue britânica no início dos anos 1960. O uso de imagens em formato quadrado (6x6) por Bailey é semelhante aos padrões de trabalho do próprio Beaton. 

Em 1968, a National Portrait Gallery em Londres montou sua exposição fotográfica inaugural Beaton Portraits 1928-68 . Além disso, foi a primeira vez que uma retrospectiva do trabalho de um fotógrafo vivo foi exibida em um museu nacional britânico. A exposição, que foi vista por mais de 80.000 pessoas, apresentou salas temáticas com fotografias da família real, heróis de guerra, autores, compositores e celebridades. A exposição viajou para os Estados Unidos e foi exibida como 600 Faces by Beaton 1928-69 no Museu da Cidade de Nova York em 1969. Uma semana antes da abertura em Nova York, Beaton fotografou Andy Warhol e membros de sua Factory como uma adição de última hora à mostra.

Vida pessoal e morte

Beaton teve relacionamentos com vários homens e mulheres , incluindo o ex-esgrimista olímpico e professor Kinmont Hoitsma (seu último amante), as atrizes Greta Garbo e Coral Browne , a dançarina Adele Astaire , a socialite grega Madame Jean Ralli (Julie Marie 'Lilia' Pringo), e a socialite britânica Doris Castlerosse .

Ele foi nomeado cavaleiro nas honras de Ano Novo de 1972. 

Dois anos depois, ele sofreu um derrame que o deixou permanentemente paralisado do lado direito do corpo. Embora tenha aprendido a escrever e desenhar com a mão esquerda, e tenha tido câmeras adaptadas, Beaton ficou frustrado com as limitações que o derrame havia imposto ao seu trabalho. Como resultado do derrame, Beaton ficou ansioso sobre a segurança financeira para sua velhice e, em 1976, entrou em negociações com Philippe Garner , especialista responsável por fotografias na Sotheby's .

Em nome da casa de leilões, Garner adquiriu o arquivo de Beaton – excluindo todos os retratos da Família Real e as cinco décadas de impressões mantidas pela Vogue em Londres, Paris e Nova York. Garner, que quase sozinho inventou o leilão fotográfico, supervisionou a preservação e a dispersão parcial do arquivo, de modo que os únicos ativos tangíveis de Beaton, e o que ele considerava o trabalho de sua vida, lhe garantiriam uma renda anual. O primeiro de cinco leilões foi realizado em 1977, o último em 1980. ]

No final da década de 1970, a saúde de Beaton havia piorado. Ele morreu em 18 de janeiro de 1980 em Reddish House , sua casa em Broad Chalke , Wiltshire, quatro dias após seu 76º aniversário.

Cecil Beaton:  Theatre of War. (1940s)

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Greta Garbo (Camille, Anna Karenina, Queen Christina)—Enigmatic and alluring and made me bisexual. The perfect example of the eroticism in silent films that literally transcends text. Could literally not change anything about her expression but you knew by looking at her eyes what she was thinking. She’s so gorgeous.

Kay Francis (Jewel Robbery, I Loved A Woman, British Agent)— kay francis was an icon of glamor in her time and a top star of the 30s - she was the highest-paid actress at warner bros from 1930 to 1936. she tended to play characters who were charming, sophisticated, and elegantly dressed, and starred in at least one legitimate masterpiece, the sublime 1932 comedy trouble in paradise. her first big role was in the marx brothers movie the cocoanuts in 1929, and she and william powell made seven movies together between 1930 and 1932. even in her sillier movies she always elevates the material with her charm and presence - she never phones it in and there’s a sort of warm, knowing wittiness about her. a really good short promo from a retrospective of her movies that i think really gets her Vibe across

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Kay Francis:

Jewel Robbery clip

"From 1932 through 1936, Francis was the queen of the Warner Bros. lot, and, increasingly, her films were developed as star vehicles. By 1935, Francis was one of the highest-paid actors, earning a yearly salary of $115,000, dwarfing the $18,000 Bette Davis – who would one day occupy Francis's dressing room – made. From 1930 to 1937, Francis appeared on the covers of 38 film magazines, second only to child sensation Shirley Temple's 138." Source: Wikipedia. Kay Francis is like the MOST FAMOUS Actress from the 1930s you've never heard of--and it was her and Norma Shearer who wore and made classic the 1930s tall, slim, bias cut silhouette. She ALSO has a WHOLE PODCAST episode devoted to her life and career in Hollywood--it's fascinating! She is both tough and a total wet cat.

One of the TALLEST Warner Brother stars at 5’9” and known as a “clothes horse” for her glamorous roles wearing the height of 1930s fashion. She fell out of popularity in the 40s, but her 30s work sizzles. The scene with her and Herbert Marshall in Trouble in Paradise where she says she doesn’t care about his reputation (because she’d rather sleep with him?) HAWOOGA

melted my gay heart with her butch look in stolen holiday

"My life? Well, I get up at a quarter to six in the morning if I'm going to wear an evening dress on camera. That sentence sounds a little ga-ga, doesn't it? But never mind, that's my life ... As long as they pay me my salary, they can give me a broom and I'll sweep the stage. I don't give a damn. I want the money ... When I die, I want to be cremated so that no sign of my existence is left on this earth. I can't wait to be forgotten." —From Kay Francis's private diaries, c. 1938

Garbo:

A cold-ass Swedish WLW Sphinx. Had plans to murder Hitler that she never got around to. "She will remain always a child of vikings, moved about by a snowy dream."

First of all, she's on the money; that's how much of a treasure she is. She's beautiful in such a distinct way you need very few lines to draw her. (Drawing by Einar Nerman) She managed to be mesmerizing in both silent and sound films. She kissed a woman in Queen Christina (and probably several more in real life). She was super dry and really funny in Ninotchka. She got the hell out of Hollywood and stayed out, living for almost 50 years after her retirement.

Garbo is one of the many reasons why I'm gay. If you haven't seen Queen Christina please do, She is so gender in that film. Also her accent makes it sound like she's always talking in cursive and it's so hypnotic (or at least I think so).

She's a gay introvert, like all of us here on Tumblr.

Mysterious and aloof, charismatic and enigmatic, with beautiful androgynous characteristics, Garbo is undoubtedly the most eccentric and unique Hollywood vintage star. Her aversion to fame and stardom makes her even more desirable to the audience, and her insane chemistry with the camera, an actress one of a kind! Her particularity and her oddity is what discerns her strongly from her hollywood co workers at the time, noone was like her and would never be like her. I think, to the utmost extent, that she deserves the title of the hottest vintage star, even though that would be an understatement of what she is!

SO gorgeous, her thick Swedish accent makes will turn your brain into pudding

Probabaly a lesbian, absolutely a mood when she retired

[sophieinwonderland]

@quincy-clover

🤣

It was a fun ride! I thought I might be able to sneak a few nuggets of knowledge past their mental defenses before they caught on. I don’t think it took though. It was worth a shot anyway. 🤷‍♀️

You know... now that this is out there, I did want to share something else about the system name...

https://www.mi5.gov.uk/history/world-war-ii/agent-garbo

Because if you're going to pretend to be a bigot, you might as well use the code name of a guy who was famous for infiltrating Nazis.