Paris and Hooligans

Greetings! At last the Siren manages to corral the computer and post some random thoughts from Paris. The city has had wonderful weather. We are going every day to the local park, which has a carousel the kids are obsessed with. At this point the price of all their rides adds up to several visits to EuroDisney, but when the sun is shining and you just watched your son smell roses and your daughter chase a pigeon right under a bench occupied by two canoodling, then very startled Parisians, you can't really get stingy with the Manege.

Twin-wrangling being what it is, the Siren hasn't done much moviegoing, but she did take in one film last week, Hooligans (or Green Street Hooligans, as it was called when released in the States last October). The Siren expected this to be a dark meditation on the nature of male violence, in the vein of Raging Bull perhaps, though she didn't expect that film's genius from relative novice director Lexi Alexander. It is something much odder, though--a sort of London-set Western. It embodies what the Siren considers the universal theme of Westerns, namely, "who's the man here?"

In this case, unfortunately, the evolving man is supposed to be delicate, ghost-eyed Elijah Wood, a good enough actor but about as physically potent as the Siren's aforementioned rose-sniffing three-year-old. So when, late in the movie, Wood gets clocked with a set of brass knuckles, and gets back on his feet, it is a bit of a strain on the old willing suspension of disbelief.

The movie concerns Wood, a Harvard-educated journalist who, via a series of wholly unbelievable events, becomes involved with a "firm," or gang of English soccer hooligans, and becomes a part of this testosterone-fueled band of brothers. Fused by the camaraderie of violence as well as incipient alcoholism, they run around London finding other firms to fight. Handsome Charlie Dunnam, a new face to the Siren, plays the leader of the Green Street firm, and has a strong presence and charisma in a role that requires some dizzying pace changes. In fact, all of the actors acquit themselves pretty well, even Wood, who makes you believe that he starts to enjoy all this fighting. (What you don't believe is that the firm doesn't end each engagement by wiping him off the pavement with a sponge.)

And the movie seems to give a fairly accurate picture of the world of the firms, or so the Siren assumes. She isn't very familiar with this scene, hasn't seen Alan Clarke's The Firm and holds a grudge against soccer anyway, since the French victory in the European Cup put a damper on her honeymoon. (Although she did get to see a police formation charge a group of particulary rowdy fans, so it added a bit of sociological interest.)

The main trouble with the movie is that it wants to romanticize the deep bonds between these men, while simultaneously condemning the waste and pain that are natural byproducts of spending your free time beating up people for a remarkably silly reason. Alexander wants the Green Street guys to be the hard-fighting, essentially decent Sons of Katie Elder, but the scene that rings most true to what these guys are really like plays more like something from Romper Stomper. It's a truly frightening moment, when the leader of another firm smashes a man's face repeatedly into a table, because the guy's girlfriend was laughing too loud.

All in all, not the greatest choice in cinematic outings, but it was playing close and at a time that worked well with jet lag and toddler bedtimes. The French subtitles added a lot, however, and I don't mean just the discovery that French doesn't have quite as many variations on a single four-letter word as English does. Now I know the French word for the English "grass" (or snitch), "mouchard." And "find out what's happening?" Mettre quelq'un au parfum. Another entry for my perfume at the movies series, alors!

Perfume at the Movies V: Crime in a Bottle

Lugosi shows off his granite-moving technique.


The Siren watched The Devil Bat (1940) while folding laundry, and it was pretty much ideal for that purpose. It is cute, it requires little mental involvement and if you miss a shot while smoothing out the fitted sheets, oh, what the hell. Bela Lugosi seems to be a kindly village doctor, but in reality, he is a maniac who has formulated an aftershave that attracts large bats. These bats he fattens up in his house (complete with many papier-mache secret doorways) using electromagnetic impulses, which means little light-bulb rays like in Frankenstein. He trains the bats to loathe "thees strange Oriental scent" (why, it's Thierry Mugler Angel, 50 years before its time!). The bats smell it and go for the jugular (Angel, I'm telling you).

The rest of the cast of future unknowns charges about trying to figure out where the giant bats are coming from. The ingenue, Suzanne Kaaren, was vaguely familiar to the Siren from a run-in the former actress had with Donald Trump in the 1980s. She was a rent-control tenant, and Trump wanted her to move, but she wouldn't. The Donald lost that one, so obviously Suzanne was a much tougher cookie than she seems while emitting little shrieks over the bats.

One by one, all the vacuous young men innocently splash on Bela's version of Aqua Velva and get chomped. Of course, Bela won't try any himself; "I haff a violent deeslahk of perfumes," he says forcefully to someone who wants him to sample.

The Devil Bat made the Siren a little sad, too. Less than ten years after Dracula made him a star, Lugosi was in this Poverty Row production, still giving it his all despite costars whose acting rarely rises above the high school spring musical level. It would make an interesting and rather poignant curtain-raiser for a revival of Ed Wood.

The Man on the Eiffel Tower (1949)

The Man on the Eiffel Tower was made during what most describe as a bad time in Charles Laughton's career. The Siren says if this was Laughton's lowest ebb, he did much better than other fine actors with bumpy careers (see Richard Burton). This movie ultimately doesn't work, due largely to a novice director who made some bad choices. But it is a fascinating failure.

This was on another DVD in my Mystery 50-pack, and as I mentioned before, the print is atrocious, with poorly synchronized sound in the first reel, lousy sound overall, splices and washed-out color that fades in and out. It was shot using a process called "Ansco Color" that might have been interesting when it was released but now is sheer horror. The film has plenty of historical and artistic interest and absolutely deserves better treatment. Here's hoping someone cleans it up before releasing it to the world again.

The print quality detracts from what might otherwise be strong points. The Man on the Eiffel Tower was shot on location, and the look, feel and street noises of postwar Paris are incredible. (The city even gets its own credit line in the title sequence.) The movie also showcases the drop-dead designs of Robert Piguet, the Swiss-born couturier best remembered for launching the classic perfumes Fracas and Bandit under his name. Both those concoctions are notice-me-now-damnit scents, and judging by the costumes here that was Piguet's dress-design ethos as well. You would have to go back to Adrian's prewar glory days at MGM or Travis Banton at Paramount to find such extravagance. The gowns don't really suit the female characters' station in life, personalities or anything else, but they look so divine you don't care. Seeing these dresses through the fog of this awful print could drive a vintage-fashion lover batty.

I have read only one of George Simenon's Inspector Maigret books, and that was a long time ago. I don't think Laughton's characterization is especially true to the book. Simenon's Maigret is detached and methodical. Laughton's Maigret makes faces, makes mistakes, charges around in an excitable manner. It works perfectly well within the world of the movie, but I am not surprised that Simenon fans take a dim view of this adaptation. Laughton's rendition of Maigret's famous moustache is much fuller than the ratty little thing he sported in The Big Clock, thank goodness. One movie with that monstrosity was enough.

This thriller has a simple plot. Bill Kirby (Robert Hutton) is faced with a grasping mistress and a wife who won't go away for cheap (those ladies get the spectacular Piguet frocks). Kirby hires a medical student to dispatch his wealthy aunt. The medical student is played by a wonderfully psychotic Franchot Tone, who looks far more drawn and ill in this movie than he did as the dying President years later in Advise and Consent. Tone really gives the standout performance here, refraining from scenery-chewing but managing to convey Radek's suave, remorseless and intelligent personality as well as his barely hidden desire to be caught. The Siren found herself reflecting on Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal Lecter, and thinking how hammy the Brit seemed in comparison. The interplay between Laughton and Tone gives the movie its best scenes.

Alas, all of this good stuff is undone by Burgess Meredith, both as an actor and as a director. Meredith plays a student whom Radek tries to frame for the murder. His performance is a twitching mess of indication and obviousness, compounded by a shock of carroty hair that seems to be the only thing on the print that hasn't faded. Narrative coherence withers in many places and the viewer starts to get a touch of vertigo from all the disjointed, oddly placed and bizarre shots. By the time Meredith's character unaccountably joins in on the final chase across the titular landmark, the Siren was kind of hoping he would fall off so she could concentrate on Tone and Laughton once more.

The invaluable IMDB tells me Irving Allen was the original director of The Man on the Eiffel Tower, but was replaced by Meredith at Laughton's insistence. I cannot fathom why Laughton thought that would be a good idea. Maybe he wanted someone he could push around.

And Laughton directed Meredith's scenes, which are uniformly the worst in the movie. So let us reflect on that a moment. In 1949, Laughton was a demonstrably lousy director. In 1954 and 1955 Laughton screened D.W. Griffith's movies over and over again as he prepared to direct The Night of the Hunter. The Siren relishes yet more evidence backing up her belief that watching a great movie does more for us than we even dare hope.

Perfume at the Movies Goes Off-Screen

Having covered movies where perfume figures in the action, the Siren now turns to perfume in the audience. Today is Top 10 Scents of Summer Day for the Siren and some of her Magnificent Fellow Obsessives (links above). The big summertime movie-season is almost over, but I am grabbing my chance to talk about summer perfumes as they should be worn by the moviegoing public. I confine myself to perfumes for women, but I hope this isn't altogether without interest for a man. If it is, stroll around the archives. This won't take long.

Let's start with a general observation about which perfumes are suitable for wearing to a movie, and which are not. Above all, you want subtle application and low sillage. (Sillage, for those who don't speak perfumefreak, is the trail of scent left by a perfume.) And when I say low, I mean LOW. Does your date lean close to sneak another handful of Junior Mints, close his eyes and murmur, "Mmmm," then continue? Good job. That's low sillage. You aren't bothering anybody. On the other hand, did you just hear someone two rows back ask loudly, "What the hell are they putting on the popcorn these days? It smells like chocolate," then that is high sillage. Off to the restroom for a good scrub. Furthermore, if it's chocolate, you're wearing Thierry Mugler Angel, which should never, ever be worn in closed spaces, period. There are other perfumes like that (Coco Mademoiselle, I am talking to you), too strong to ever be suitable for any theater unless applied in amounts measurable only with nanotechnology. With one exception, discussed below, save those super-wafters for that charity ball you're attending next month.

The Siren's Top 10 Perfumes for Summer Movie-Viewing:

1. For an evening at an art house, watching the revival of The Conformist or a Mizoguchi film: Guerlain Apres L'Ondee, a refined blend of violet and anise.

2. For venturing out to the corner video store, to cut through the heat and humidity during the walk: Serge Lutens Fleurs de Citronnier, a clean and slightly soapy floral.

3. & 4. For snuggling under the air conditioning with your man of the moment, watching a Sergio Leone flick solely to make him happy: The soft jasmine seductiveness of Chantecaille Frangipane, or the smoky-sweet warmth of Serge Lutens Daim Blond. With any luck you'll distract him and won't have to sit through all three hours.

5. & 6. For an evening watching The Aristocrats: Annick Goutal Petite Cherie or L'Artisan Parfumeurs La Chasse aux Papillons. At least something in the theater will be sweet and innocent.

7. & 8. For an outdoor screening of a classic--say, a film noir like Double Indemnity: Yves St. Laurent In Love Again or Annick Goutal Les Nuits d'Hadrien. Citrus and patchouli don't attract flying insects, and both these slightly tangy, sexy scents work well on a summer evening.

9. For that big, sold-out summer blockbuster: Robert Piguet Bandit. I know, I know, I said subtle, but here is the exception. If you are seated next to one of those awful people who talk to the screen, a big whacking dose of Bandit might get rid of him. Marlene Dietrich wore this. Bandit doesn't mess around.

10. Any movie, any time, any place: Caron Tubéreuse. It's that perfect.

Turkey Trot: The Naked Jungle (1954)

Mathematicians are often huge movie buffs, did you know that? The Siren didn't, until she worked for a number of them as a secretary in the late 1980s. One professor in particular (a genius with his name on many theorems) loved to drop by and have a chat or lob a trivia question at me. He came in one day to tell me his cable company had added American Movie Classics. This was, of course, back when that was still something to celebrate. "That's great," I said, "now you have a chance to see so many old movies."

"I'll tell you what I've discovered," he said. "A lot of old movies are dreadful."

Which brings us to The Naked Jungle.

Oy. Where to start? I bought the DVD for a famous perfume scene (a minor obsession of mine) and because it had the underrated, underdiscussed (and still living) Eleanor Parker. She got an Oscar nomination for her role in Caged as an innocent corrupted by a hideous prison system, and in the classic, beloved Scaramouche she played the sultry paramour of Stewart Granger. Obviously she had splendid range, but what happened here? She seems to have confused being ladylike with ramrod posture, swishing your skirts around as much as possible and confining yourself to three facial expressions (sympathy, indignation, and startled unease, the last being used to react to both marauding ants and Charlton Heston's attempts at lovemaking).

Parker plays the mail-order bride (yeah, right) of Charlton Heston. The year is 1901, and Heston has a plantation in a vaguely Amazonian region of South America. Here he merrily mows down the rainforest and grows who knows what, whilst bringing civilization to the aboriginal inhabitants lucky enough to toil in his fields. Now, the Siren does make allowances for time period. You just have to, or you wind up watching nothing made before about 1965. But some movies are easier to allow for than others. This flick's attitude toward the natives makes Gunga Din look like Cheyenne Autumn.

Anyhow, Heston has been here making a fortune since he was 19, and what with building a big villa and taming the Naked Jungle and all, by his own account he never got around to taming any Naked Wimmin. Now, male readers, ponder this question from the Siren. You have been more than a decade in darkest South America. You scorn to make whoopee with the local women. ("They have a name for the white men who go into the villages at night," snarls Heston. He doesn't elaborate, but that must have been some name.) Finally, your lawfully wedded wife arrives, and what a dish she is, in fact, she's Eleanor Parker. She greets you in her lace-trimmed period nightie, snowy bosom heaving. At that point, you

A. Hang out the "Do Not Disturb" sign and let your newly civilized native workers take care of the farm for oh, about a month.
B. Introduce yourself politely, then proceed as above.
C. Eye her suspiciously, clench your jaw, call her "Madam" about a hundred times, interrogate her about her past, pitch a total hissy fit when you find out she's been married before, and stalk off into the night.

If you answered "C," congratulations. You're ready for that Charlton Heston film festival.

This was the part where I decided to go ahead and finish watching the thing, because obviously we had left Reality Station and things could only get funnier. I did enjoy the rest of it, though I have might have a different attitude if I hadn't bought it on sale at Amazon.

So when Heston finds out that Parker is a widow, his jaws start working more furiously than ever while he talks about the piano he had brought up the river. It's a special piano, doggone it, nobody has played it before, he was SAVING IT and he wanted his woman to be the same way. Parker puts on her indignant expression and tells him, "If you knew anything about music, you would know that the best piano is one that's been played." Having delivered the best line in the movie, she swirls those skirts around and sweeps up into the bedroom.

The next few scenes are a lot of to-ing and fro-ing betwixt Parker and Heston. Heston gets more and more hot under the collar when Parker is around, until one night he asks her what perfume she's wearing. Is it one of the ones he brought upriver for her? "It's my own," she informs him. Swirl, swirl, exit. Heston drinks some brandy, clenches (even his temples get in on the act this time), then busts open Parker's doors a la Rhett Butler. "Why don't you wear the perfume I bought you?" he yells. He grabs a bottle and dumps about half of it on Parker. IMDB informs me that this was Heston's own bit of improvisation and Parker didn't realize he was going to do it. That must be why she pulls away from his embrace in a manner far more suggestive of a woman trying to avoid someone's halitosis than one who fears she's about to be ravished.

Chuck comes to his senses and leaves. Next day he announces that Parker has to go. He plans to take her to the riverboat himself. Unfortunately, when they embark on this journey they start encountering evidence that "marabunto," or soldier ants, are on the march and headed right toward the old homestead. The local commissioner (played by a positively svelte William Conrad) tells Heston, "You're up against a monster twenty miles long and two miles wide! forty square miles of agonizing death! You can't stop it!"

Of course, what a sensible person could do is get the hell out of the way, but this is a movie, and our man Chuck abruptly shifts gears from Charlton Heston, Man of Repressed Passion, to Charlton Heston, One-Man FEMA Squad. He has to stick around, you see, for the sake of the natives. If Heston abandons them, "they'll go back to the jungle and be just as they were when I found them!" he says. Gracious, we can't have that. Why would you want to be running around a tropical paradise practising native folkways when you could be picking crops?

After this we're in standard disaster-movie mode, and the dialogue and motivations get more ridiculous, and I don't want to post spoilers but is there anyone on the planet who thinks a studio is going to let Charlton Heston get eaten by ants in the final reel? No, not even if the producers have had enough of watching him act in the dailies.

At this point in his career, Heston was supernally handsome, and the cinematography was pretty. More than anything, however, The Naked Jungle gave the Siren even more respect for the genius of William Wyler and Orson Welles. The performances they got out of Charlton Heston in The Big Country and Touch of Evil are not disappointments at all; they're miracles.

Perfume at the Movies Strikes Back

The Siren progresses to the modern era as she wraps up her survey of scent at the cinema.

Paper Moon, 1973

A simple, lovely moment from this Depression-set movie illustrates perfectly what perfume can do for us. The mother of Tatum O'Neal's character, Addie, has died. That leaves Addie to hook up with a Bible-selling con man, Moses Pray, played by Tatum's real-life father Ryan O'Neal. (It's strongly implied in the movie, but never stated outright, that Ryan's character is Addie's father). Addie's one link to her past is a cigar box that she's filled with objects that are precious to her. Alone in her room one day, she takes them out one by one and inspects them. She comes to a bottle of scent, opens it, and inhales deeply. Without a single word of dialogue, you know it belonged to her mother. Addie dabs on a little bit, likes it, puts on some more. A lot more.

Cut to the next scene--Addie in the car with Pray. Pray develops a choked expression, as of a man suffocating. He looks over at Addie, who smiles back, inexpressibly pleased with herself. Silently, he lowers the windshield of the car.

See No Evil, Hear No Evil, 1989

A bad movie, but a classic perfume plays an important role. Richard Pryor plays a blind man (geddit? See No Evil? no, audiences at the time didn't find it all that funny, either). Pryor still manages to recognize femme fatale Joan Severance, however, because she's wearing (drum roll) Shalimar. "Damn, that woman smells good," he mutters at one point. Wonder if he'd feel the same way about Guerlain's proposed reformulation? (The Siren doesn't forgive easily.)

The Talented Mr. Ripley, 2002

Matt Damon's sociopathic character, Tom Ripley, presents Gwyneth Paltrow with a bottle of perfume from Santa Maria Novella.

Perfume Goof: Far From Heaven, 2002

A meticulous period piece with an anachronism many fragrance mavens noticed. In the scene where they show Julianne Moore's dresser, an Annick Goutal bottle is clearly visible. Lovely
though the bottle is, Annick Goutal was not making perfume in the 1950s.

More Bonus Trivia: Paris When It Sizzles, 1964

Hubert de Givenchy received a screen credit for Audrey Hepburn's perfume--presumably L'Interdit, though I haven't watched it again to check. And I probably won't, since this is one of Audrey's few turkeys.

Great Perfume Quotes

Double Indemnity, 1944
Fred MacMurray: You'll be here too?
Barbara Stanwyck: I guess so, I usually am.
MacMurray: Same chair, same perfume, same anklet?
Stanwyck: I wonder if I know what you mean.
MacMurray: I wonder if you wonder.

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, 1947
Anne Rutherford (as fiancée Gertrude): Walter, what's that awful smell?
Danny Kaye (as Walter Mitty): It's that cologne you gave me for Christmas.
Rutherford: It's lovely, isn't it?

A Streetcar Named Desire, 1951
Marlon Brando (as Stanley Kowalski): Do you know that I've been on to you from the start, and not once did you pull the wool over this boy's eyes? You come in here and you sprinkle the place with powder and you spray perfume and you stick a paper lantern over the light bulb--and, lo and behold, the place has turned to Egypt and you are the Queen of the Nile, sitting on your throne, swilling down my liquor. And do you know what I say? Ha ha! Do you hear me? Ha ha ha!

Night of the Hunter, 1955
Robert Mitchum (as the psychopathic Rev. Powell): There are things you do hate, Lord. Perfume-smellin' things, lacy things, things with curly hair.

Stardust Memories, 1980
Charlotte Rampling: Mmm. You smell nice.
Woody Allen: Yeah?
Rampling: That aftershave. It just made my whole childhood come back with a sudden Proustian rush.
Allen: Yeah? That's 'cause I'm wearing Proustian Rush by Chanel. It's reduced. I got a vat of it.

Love in the Afternoon, 1957
Gary Cooper: What does he export and what does he import?
Audrey Hepburn: Oh, he, uh, he exports perfume and imports bananas. There's a fortune in it. Do you realize that for one bottle of perfume you get twelve bananas?
Cooper: Twelve bananas for one bottle of ... doesn't sound like such a hot deal to me.
Hepburn: It's a tiny bottle of perfume and very large bananas.

Diamonds Are Forever, 1971
James Bond: The wine is quite excellent. Although for such a grand meal I would have expected a claret.
Mr. Wint: But of course. Unfortunately our cellar is poorly stocked with clarets.
James Bond: Mouton Rothschild IS a claret. And, I've smelled that aftershave before, and both times I've smelled a rat.

When Harry Met Sally, 1989
Billy Crystal (as Harry Burns): I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.

Wonder Boys, 2000
Frances McDormand (smelling perfume on Michael Douglas): Is that Cristalle?
Michael Douglas: Mm.
McDormand: My God, I wear the same scent as a transvestite.

The Siren Knows These Movies Mention Perfume, but She Didn't Like Them

Scent of a Woman, Silence of the Lambs, Hannibal.

The Siren Hasn't Seen These Movies, but They Involve Perfume, Too

The Devil Bat, Tunnel Vision, Le Divorce, Our Man in Havana, The Naked Jungle. If I see them and they are worth the time, I will write them up as well. I definitely want to see The Devil Bat and The Naked Jungle. Also, IMDB reports that Marjorie Morningstar has a credit for the perfume worn by the cast. I need to see the movie again to see what that could be.

Perfume at the Movies Rides Again

The Siren moves into the post-World War II era with her survey of fragrance in films.

My Darling Clementine, 1946

One of the greatest Westerns--heck, greatest movies--of all time. This gorgeous, brooding take on Wyatt Earp and the gunfight at the OK Corral is almost entirely lacking (some would say mercifully) in the slapstick humor beloved of its director, the incomparable John Ford. But it has funny moments and perfume is involved in them.

Wyatt Earp (Henry Fonda, in one of his best performances) goes to the barber to get gussied up on Sunday because, we surmise, he wants to please the ladylike girl he's fallen for, Clementine Carter. As Earp is leaving the Bon Ton Tonsorial Parlor, the barber chases after him with an atomizer that looks suspiciously like the Tin Man's oil can left over from the set of The Wizard of Oz. "Sweet-smelling stuff, Mr. Earp" he coos as he spritzes Earp's coat and trousers.

Earp goes out to join his two brothers on the porch; they watch as the townsfolk of Tombstone, which Marshal Earp has spent the movie cleaning up, drive out to go to a church social.
"It's wonderful!" says Tim Holt, who plays Virgil Earp. "Why, you can almost smell the honeysuckle!"

"That's me," says Earp, in a voice that dares his brother to be amused. “It’s the barber."

The brothers go off, Clementine appears and Wyatt diffidently makes conversation with her. "I love your town in the morning, Marshall," says Clementine; "it's so fresh, and clean. And the scent of the desert flower..." "That's me," corrects Wyatt. "It's the barber."

That must have been one girly-smelling cologne, but it's enough to help Earp take the lady of his dreams to the church social.

Black Narcissus, 1947

Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger's exquisite film about nuns in the Himalayas (yes, you read that right). Sabu plays one of the nuns' pupils, the Young Prince, who douses himself in perfume. When he arrives and pulls out his handkerchief, the nuns are nearly overcome. As they're trying not to cough, he mistakes their expressions for interest, and says eagerly, "Do you like it? It's called Black Narcissus." Of course they call him "Black Narcissus" from that moment on. Later, the Young Prince encounters Jean Simmons, as a beautiful Indian beggar girl; fascinated, he lets her sniff his handkerchief. Simmons smells it, closes her eyes, and with the most hungry, sensual expression she breathes in the scent as though she can draw in the Young Prince along with it. I always wondered if Caron's Narcisse Noir was named after this film, or the other way around. It's certainly strong enough for the Young Prince!

An American in Paris, 1951

If you've set out to make a movie that conveys every glorious enticement of Paris, you must have perfume in it. Leslie Caron's character works in a perfume shop. Because this is a Vincente Minnelli movie, the shop is stupendous, with a curving staircase you could swear shows up later in "Stairway to Paradise." Lining the walls and cases are the most exquisite bottles you've ever seen. (The Siren adores this movie in any case, but confesses that part of the reason she bought the video was to hit "pause" and get a better look at those bottles. As far as she can tell, none of them are actual perfumes of the time.)

Gene Kelly, determined to get a date with the reluctant Leslie, barges into the shop and smoothly gets rid of her customer so he can talk to Leslie alone. American matron Edna from Milwaukee can't decide between "Escapade" and "Nuit d'Amour." Kelly takes a stopper in each hand (stoppers! those were the days), sniffs, and tells her Nuit d'Amour is the one. "You wear that and the Frenchmen will never let you get back to Milwaukee," he says. When the smitten Edna finally exits, Kelly gets to flirt a bit with Leslie. He makes some funny gestures with a couple of enormous perfume bottles (here the Siren pauses the tape again, realizes she still doesn't recognize the perfumes, sighs, and proceeds) and that's all it takes. Leslie finally agrees to meet him. Life is good when you're Gene Kelly.

Speaking of Leslie Caron; if anyone out there in the 'Net world knows whether Leslie is related in any way to the Caron perfume house, I would be delighted to hear from you.

Bonus Trivia: The Shop Around the Corner, 1940

This movie was based on a Hungarian play called Parfumerie, in which the characters worked in a perfume shop. Ernst Lubitsch's take on a perfume shop would have been lovely to see, but the Siren finds this film absolutely perfect as it is.

Perfume at the Movies Meets Joan and Bette

More in the Siren's continuing series about fragrant scenes from classic films.

The Women, 1939

I don't care what anyone says; Joan Crawford at her best was a treat, and this movie proves it. She plays a sales assistant at a perfume counter, back when they called them "girls." Perfume plays a huge role in this flick from the beginning. Hard as nails and ambitious as Lucifer, Joan has Norma Shearer's husband in her clutches; the poor sap went to buy Norma a bottle of perfume, and never knew what hit him. Two of Norma's so-called friends, Rosalind Russell and Phyllis Povah, visit the perfume counter to get a better look at the perfume-pushing Other Woman, Crystal (Crawford). Of course Crystal figures out what they're up to almost from the minute they arrive, and gives as good as she gets. One of the best catty lines in the movie comes as Ros Russell picks up a bottle from the counter and begins sniffing. Crystal says silkily, "Oh, I shouldn't think that suggested your personality at all. It's called 'Oomph.'" Check out the perfume Crystal is selling, "Summer Rain," and the amazing, umbrella-bedecked bottle it comes in. And some things never change; earlier in the movie it's revealed that Crystal is supposed to push Summer Rain no matter what the customer is looking for. Later on, as Crystal's fortunes rise, check out the bath oil bottles in her huge, vulgar bathroom. "Well, I guess it's back to the perfume counter for me," she says ruefully at the end. But I don't think anyone who's seen The Women thinks there's a counter in all of Manhattan that can hold back Crystal for long.

The Letter, 1940

A William Wyler masterpiece, which boasts an opening as jolting today as when the film was released (I refuse to spoil it), as well as one of Bette Davis' most subtle and brilliant performances. As Leslie Crosbie, the wife of a rubber planter in Malaysia, she is as impeccably, crisply correct as she is corrupt. And the tightly controlled Leslie doesn' wear perfume on her skin. She places her scarf over her perfume bottle and turns it over to apply the scent. You watch her walk about, trailing her scarf, and know she is trailing that scent as well. The gesture is just another small, splendid detail that bit by bit gives you a complete picture of her complex character. I'd love to know if it was in the script, or came from Davis and/or director Wyler. (Thanks to my dear friend Sissi for pointing out that well-bred 19th century ladies frequently confined their perfume to their handkerchiefs or scarves.)

Meet Me in St. Louis, 1944

If you are one of those people who ask, "Why do some gay men have a thing for Judy Garland?", your answer is right here in Vincente Minelli's peerless musical. They have a thing for her because they have taste. She was a superb singer and a gifted and versatile actress.

But I digress. In this movie, Judy's character has figured out an excuse to get Tom Drake, a.k.a The Boy Next Door, to stay behind after an evening party: She asks him to help her lower the gaslight. As they go from room to room, dimming the lights, Drake leans in close and says, "Wow, that's nice perfume." Judy flutters, "Do you like it? It's Essence of Violet. I only take it out on special occasions." Drake replies, with a nostalgic sigh, "Exactly the kind my grandmother wears." Judy's expression is priceless.

The Corn Is Green, 1945

Probably the Siren's favorite perfume scene. Bette Davis is a teacher in a poor Welsh coal-mining town, and John Dall plays her star pupil, Morgan Evans. Joan Lorring is Bessie, the trampy, no-good daughter of Davis' housekeeper. (In a funny scene, the housekeeper confesses she can't stand her daughter: "Never liked her. Even when she was born, I took one look at her and said, 'No.'") One day, when Morgan is feeling frustrated and rebellious, Bessie decides to seduce him. Her come-on line, in its entirety, spoken in broadest Cockney: "I've got some scent on my hands. Would you like to smell it?" She holds out both her hands, palms down. Morgan takes a deep whiff, and immediately (and wordlessly) goes upstairs with her. Next thing you know, Bessie is pregnant. I have no idea what she was wearing. It was probably cheap, like Bessie. But few can boast that their signature scent gets such instant results.

Perfume at the Movies I

I came late to my love for perfume. Movies I fell in love with long ago. A couple of years ago I started collecting perfume references in movies. There aren't as many as you might think. Most screenwriters and directors have barely scratched the dramatic possibilities with fragrance. Possibly that's because it is something the audience must imagine; possibly it's because some people (poor, lost souls) don't quite get the fascination of perfume.

Take Hitchcock's film of Rebecca, and the famous scene where Joan Fontaine explores her predecessor's bedroom. We scan the dressing table and find - no scent bottles! A painful oversight. Of course the beautiful, evil Rebecca de Winter must have worn perfume, and expensive stuff too, I'll bet. Do you suppose Mrs. Danvers stole the bottles so she could be reminded of her beloved Rebecca? Maybe. I think, however, that this was one detail Hitchcock (or his set decorator) just neglected. As Wile E. Coyote once said, "Even a genius can have an off day."

Still, some filmmakers have used perfume in plots and dialogue in creative ways. So my next few posts will be devoted to my (far from complete) run-down of perfume's role in some film and film-related moments.This section is called

Don't Try This at Home

Dangerous Stunt One: Easy Riders, Raging Bulls by Peter Biskind

The creative folks aren't the only ones in the movie business given to odd behavior. This story concerns the first meeting between director William Friedkin and Charles Bluhdorn, head of the Gulf + Western conglomerate, which owned Paramount Studios at the time. The reasons I am opening with this one will be obvious once you've read the quote.

Friedkin, who had never met Bluhdorn, was the first one to arrive at his suite in the Essex House. Bluhdorn opened the door, leaned over and sniffed Friedkin's neck, asking, "Friedkin, vat's dat shit you're verink?
"Guerlain."
"Guerlain? Come here!"
He led Friedkin to his bathroom, where he had every aftershave in the world, including a cut glass Baccarat bottle of Guerlain. He opened it up, saying, "Dis is vat I do to Guerlain," and poured it on his shoes.
"That was my introduction to Charlie Bluhdorn, and he never got any saner as long as I knew him," Friedkin recalls.

The first time I read this anecdote, I was horrified. After yesterday's cataclysmic announcement from the house of Guerlain (scroll down) my sympathies are entirely with Bluhdorn. Perhaps he was clairvoyant.

Dangerous Stunt Two: Gone with the Wind, 1939
Remember the famous scene where Scarlett gargles with Eau de Cologne to keep Rhett from noticing the brandy on her breath? As a Scarlett-obsessed preteen I tried this, minus the initial brandy. I do NOT recommend it. And please, remember, it didn't even work; Rhett caught on almost as soon as he arrived.

Dangerous Stunt Three: Dinner at Eight, 1938
Scent overkill in the heat of the moment. Jean Harlow hears her paramour is about to arrive, picks up what must be the world's largest atomizer, pulls out the two-foot-long bulb sprayer and sprays, sprays, sprays all over herself, her negligee and her platinum blonde 'do. Unless your man's got a cold, I think this maneuver is best left to the pros like Jean. (Harlow wore Mitsouko, by the way.)

Dangerous Stunt Four: Life Is a Banquet, by Rosalind Russell and Chris Chase
Yet another example of why wearing perfume solely to attract a man is an exercise in futility. It was 1936, and Russell was filming Under Two Flags with British heartthrob Ronald Colman. They had come to a love scene set at a desert oasis. After some trouble learning to dismount a camel in a manner that looked suitably passionate, Russell found herself having a problem with her two-legged costar:

He wouldn't kiss me on the mouth. Between takes I'd go in and swallow half a bottle of Listerine and spray myself with perfume. It started to get late. Finally the director said, 'Maybe we'll just have to put this off until
tomorrow morning.'

Oh my God, I thought, I won't sleep. By now I'm reeking of Arpege and mouthwash, and I'm desperate. I finally just grabbed Ronnie, clung to him, would not let him go, and kissed him until he was purple in the face and the director was yelling, 'Cut! Cut! Cut!'

What Russell didn't realize that was that an off-center kiss looks better on camera than a full-on smackeroo, and the director was using a dissolve. The camera wasn't even on the couple for most of the shot. But, as Russell put it, "all the time they're shooting the camels and the sunrise, [Colman's] had this maniacal female clutching him to her fevered lips."

"He was very nice about it," she added.