Post by Doghouse6 on Dec 19, 2017 0:06:31 GMT
Skipping over the part about beauty (for which everyone has their own standards), I can't find any disagreement with what you say about Bremer...or Charisse, for that matter. What I saw in Charisse that I didn't in Bremer, however, was screen presence, or "star quality," if you like. Not only is that also subjective, it's indefinable. As Katherine Hepburn said about the subject, "I have no idea what it is, but whatever it is, I've got it."
As a personality, the word I'd apply to Bremer is "gossamer," which she tended to overcome only when doing the thing she did with the most authority: dance. Otherwise, she exhibited a wispiness onscreen that gave an impression that she'd vanish in a strong breeze.
Meet Me In St. Louis really gave her very little to do, and only an actress possessing the hard-to-come-by combination of innocence and subtle comic ability encompassing both farce and satire could have pulled off the impossibly naive and gullible nature of her Yolanda role. Perhaps that's the reason I found her non-dancing work in Till the Clouds Roll By, as Van Heflin's daughter (or was she his niece; I can't recall) with the star complex who expected instant success, to be her most compelling. It was a role that had some fire and spirit to it.
No other studio's star-making apparatus reflected the volume MGM's did at its height, when they could afford the half-dozen unsuccessful attempts to each one that clicked. As the leaner years of the mid-late '40s descended, that ratio decreased, rendering misfires like Bremer's or Tom Drake's more notable (and those rumors about Arthur Freed's "special personal interest," to put it delicately, in Bremer persist).
In an unusually philosophical mood late one night, Columbia founder Harry Cohn mused to writer-director Garson Kanin, "Only the public can make a star." To which Kanin sympathetically replied, "Only God can make a tree."
Cohn thundered, "What?!?"
"It's from a Joyce Kilmer poem," Kanin told him. "Poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree."
"Bullsh&@," Cohn exploded. "My studio can make the best goddam tree you ever saw!"
Waiting a moment, Kanin then said gently, "But not a star."
Turning pensive again, Cohn shook his head and repeated quietly, "But not a star."
As a personality, the word I'd apply to Bremer is "gossamer," which she tended to overcome only when doing the thing she did with the most authority: dance. Otherwise, she exhibited a wispiness onscreen that gave an impression that she'd vanish in a strong breeze.
Meet Me In St. Louis really gave her very little to do, and only an actress possessing the hard-to-come-by combination of innocence and subtle comic ability encompassing both farce and satire could have pulled off the impossibly naive and gullible nature of her Yolanda role. Perhaps that's the reason I found her non-dancing work in Till the Clouds Roll By, as Van Heflin's daughter (or was she his niece; I can't recall) with the star complex who expected instant success, to be her most compelling. It was a role that had some fire and spirit to it.
No other studio's star-making apparatus reflected the volume MGM's did at its height, when they could afford the half-dozen unsuccessful attempts to each one that clicked. As the leaner years of the mid-late '40s descended, that ratio decreased, rendering misfires like Bremer's or Tom Drake's more notable (and those rumors about Arthur Freed's "special personal interest," to put it delicately, in Bremer persist).
In an unusually philosophical mood late one night, Columbia founder Harry Cohn mused to writer-director Garson Kanin, "Only the public can make a star." To which Kanin sympathetically replied, "Only God can make a tree."
Cohn thundered, "What?!?"
"It's from a Joyce Kilmer poem," Kanin told him. "Poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree."
"Bullsh&@," Cohn exploded. "My studio can make the best goddam tree you ever saw!"
Waiting a moment, Kanin then said gently, "But not a star."
Turning pensive again, Cohn shook his head and repeated quietly, "But not a star."