Film Femme Fatales
Sherry Galeazzi
The term originates from the French phrase femme fatale, which means 'deadly woman' or 'lethal woman'. A femme fatale tries to achieve her hidden purpose by using feminine wiles such as beauty, charm, or sexual allure. In many cases, her attitude towards sexuality is lackadaisical, intriguing, or frivolous. In some cases, she uses lies or coercion rather than charm. She may also make use of some subduing weapon such as sleeping gas, a modern analog of magical powers in older tales. She may also be (or imply that she is) a victim, caught in a situation from which she cannot escape.[3]
The femme fatale archetype exists in the culture, folklore and myths of many cultures.[5] Ancient mythical or legendary examples include Inanna, Lilith, Circe, Medea, Clytemnestra, Lesbia, Tamamo no Mae, and Visha Kanyas. Historical examples from classical times include Cleopatra and Messalina, as well as the biblical figures Delilah, Jezebel, and Salome.[6] An example from Chinese literature and traditional history is Daji.
The femme fatale was a common figure in the European Middle Ages, often portraying the dangers of unbridled female sexuality. The pre-medieval inherited biblical figure of Eve offers an example, as does the wicked, seductive enchantress typified in Morgan le Fay. The Queen of the Night in Mozart's The Magic Flute shows her more muted presence during the Age of Enlightenment.[7]
The femme fatale flourished in the Romantic period in the works of John Keats, notably "La Belle Dame sans Merci" and "Lamia". Along with them, there rose the gothic novel The Monk by Matthew Gregory Lewis, featuring Matilda, a very powerful femme fatale. This led to her appearing in the work of Edgar Allan Poe, and as the vampire, notably in Carmilla and Brides of Dracula. The Monk was greatly admired by the Marquis de Sade, for whom the femme fatale symbolised not evil, but all the best qualities of women; his novel Juliette is perhaps the earliest wherein the femme fatale triumphs. Pre-Raphaelite painters frequently used the classic personifications of the femme fatale as a subject.
In 1891, Oscar Wilde, in his play Salome: she manipulates her lust-crazed stepfather, King Herod, with her enticing Dance of the Seven Veils (Wilde's invention) to agree to her imperious demand: "bring me the head of John the Baptist". Later, Salome was the subject of an opera by Strauss, and was popularized on stage, screen, and peep show booths in countless incarnations.[10]
She also is seen as a prominent figure in late 19th- and 20th-century opera, appearing in Richard Wagner's Parsifal (Kundry), Georges Bizet's "Carmen", Camille Saint-Sans' "Samson et Delilah" and Alban Berg's "Lulu" (based on the plays "Erdgeist" and "Die Bchse der Pandora" by Frank Wedekind).
Mrs Patrick Campbell, George Bernard Shaw's "second famed platonic love affair", (she published some of his letters)[11][12] and Philip Burne-Jones's lover and subject of his 1897 painting, The Vampire, inspired Burne-Jones's cousin Rudyard Kipling to write his poem "The Vampire", in the year Dracula was published.[13][14][15][16] The poem, which began: "A fool there was ...",[17] inspired Porter Emerson Browne to write the play, A Fool There Was.
The poem was adapted to become a 1909 Broadway production. This was followed by The 1913 film The Vampire by Robert Vignola, containing a "vamp" dance.[18] Protagonist Alice Hollister was publicised as "the original vampire".[19][20][21] The 1915 film, A Fool There Was, starring Theda Bara, as "The Vamp" followed.[22][23][24][25][26][27][28] The short poem may have been used in the publicity for the 1915 film.[citation needed] 1910s American slang for femme fatale was vamp, for vampire.[29][30][24]
Another icon is Margaretha Geertruida Zelle. While working as an exotic dancer, she took the stage name Mata Hari. She was accused of German espionage during World War I and was put to death by a French firing squad. After her death she became the subject of many sensational films and books.
Femmes fatales appear in detective fiction, especially in its 'hard-boiled' sub-genre which largely originated with the crime stories of Dashiell Hammett in the 1920s. At the end of that decade, the French-Canadian villainess Marie de Sabrevois gave a contemporary edge to the otherwise historical novels of Kenneth Roberts set during the American Revolution.
Film villainess often appeared foreign, often of Eastern European or Asian ancestry. They were a contrast to the wholesome personas of actresses such as Lillian Gish and Mary Pickford. Notable silent-cinema vamps include Theda Bara, Helen Gardner, Louise Glaum, Valeska Suratt, Musidora, Virginia Pearson, Olga Petrova, Rosemary Theby, Nita Naldi, Pola Negri, Estelle Taylor, Jetta Goudal, and, in early appearances, Myrna Loy.
During the era of classic film-noirs of the 1940s and 1950s, the femme fatale flourished in American cinema. The archetypal femme fatale is Phyllis Dietrichson, played by Barbara Stanwyck (who was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Actress for this role) in the 1944 film Double Indemnity. This character is considered one of the best femme fatale roles in film noir history.[31] The character was ranked as the #8 film villain of the first 100 years of American cinema by the American Film Institute in the AFI's 100 Years... 100 Heroes and Villains.[32] In a classical film noir trope, she manipulates a man into killing her husband for financial gain.
The archetype is also abundantly found in American television. One of the most famous femmes fatales of American television is Sherilyn Fenn's Audrey Horne of the David Lynch cult series Twin Peaks. In the TV series Femme Fatales, actress Tanit Phoenix played Lilith, the host who introduced each episode Rod Serling-style and occasionally appeared within the narrative. In the Netflix TV series Orange Is the New Black, actress Laura Prepon played Alex Vause, a modern femme fatale, who led both men and women to their destruction.
Femmes fatales appear frequently in comic books. Notable examples include Batman's long-time nemesis Catwoman, who first appeared in comics in 1940, and various adversaries of The Spirit, such as P'Gell.
This stock character is also often found in the genres of opera and musical theatre, where she will traditionally have a mezzo, alto or contralto range, opposed to the ingnue's soprano, to symbolize the masculinity and lack of feminine purity.[citation needed] An example is Hlne from Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812.
One of the oldest, most clichd fashion rules in the book tells us not to wear white after Labor Day, summer's unofficial end. With that in mind, it's a good time to revisit some of the finest white ensembles ever seen onscreen. Earlier this season, a tweet I posted about women wearing white in erotic thrillers of the 1980s and '90s became surprisingly popular, and my crowded notifications convinced me that these women have truly created a stylish legacy.
In The Last Seduction (1994), Linda Fiorentino, scheming and delightfully rotten to the core, pretty much only wears black-and-white ensembles. Her outfits are smartly tailored and businesslike, in a subtly old-fashioned way. A woman in a sharp white collared button-down and coordinated blazer is clearly not one to be messed with.
An all-white ensemble is perfect for seducing an unwitting man in sweltering heat. In Body Heat (1981), everyone's always talking about how hot it is, and Kathleen Turner saunters into the night in her crisp white outfit, ready to get what she wants.
There are other examples of white-clad women in erotic thrillers, but no exploration of these modern-day femmes fatales would be complete without a nod to their forebears in the films noirs of the 1940s and '50s.
In Double Indemnity (1944), in the role that launched a thousand scheming women, Barbara Stanwyck wears an elegant white jumpsuit, designed by Hollywood legend Edith Head, with a perfectly '40s trouser cut and a nipped waist. Wearing this kind of chic lounge look while up to no good is the ultimate power move, and, of course, an all-white outfit looks particularly fabulous shot on black-and-white film.
The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946), like Double Indemnity based on a novel by James M. Cain and featuring a similar plot, offers its first glimpse of Lana Turner in a white turban, a white crop top and high-waist shorts, and white shoes. Each element is perfectly meant to go together, and while her smoldering expression is serious, her outfit feels somewhat leisurely.
The over-the-top Technicolor but spiritually noir drama Leave Her to Heaven (1945) features Gene Tierney in a number of white ensembles, most memorably a draped, robe-like coat she wears while committing an unforgivable act. Tierney cuts an imposing figure, and the dramatic shape of the jacket wouldn't be out of place in an erotic thriller some 40 years later.
It seems Cain himself was wary of the trope. In two of his novels, The Root of His Evil and The Cocktail Waitress, he told the story from the perspective of women who were viewed as femmes fatales. Both of these novels are first-person narratives that read like a man writing a woman character. The unconvincing narrative voice aside, both protagonists are complex characters with complex emotions. Both are struggling to deal with class prejudice while suffering under men who objectify them. Neither portrayal is perfect, but both show a man writer wrestling with his own internalized sexism.
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