New on DVD

Celebrating the great lady's first DVD box set and her centennial, we count down Barbara Stanwyck's best

By Kim Morgan
Special to MSN Movies

Most all of the classic movie stars have their impersonators -- we've seen them so much that, after time, they become just too easy. There's the Bette Davis camp in all their bitchy, clipped speech, swirling cigarette glory. There's loads of Katharine Hepburns, ranging from comedic Martin Short routines (as Hepburn's "cousin" running a hot dog stand) to Oscar winning Cate Blanchett performances ("The Aviator"). And, of course, there's the overdrawn Joan Crawfords with their requisite (and rather unfair) battle cry of, "No wire hangers!" But where, pray tell, are the Barbara Stanwyck vamps? Considering her exhaustive, genre-hopping career; her iconic performances; her sexy, clever, plain-speaking glamour; and her sheer brilliance as an actress, surely the great lady has earned a few.

But I've only seen one stab at Babs, hilariously and appropriately in Robert Altman's "The Long Goodbye." It's by a male Malibu gatekeeper, who screws his face into a perplexed Phyllis Dietrichson (from "Double Indemnity") and repeats: "I don't understand it. I just don't understand it." Watching that, I realize one reason why Miss Stanwyck isn't aped with frequency: She is, fittingly, one tough babe to crack.

The actress, whose birth centennial is this year (she died in 1990), had such singular style while exhibiting an expansive range that moved through melodrama, screwball, noir, Western and television with seeming effortlessness. A rare blend of leading lady and character actor, Stanwyck possessed something usually reserved for men like James Stewart or Jack Nicholson: an offbeat sex appeal that was as recognizable as it was mysterious. And yet, aside from devoted cinephiles, we hear less of Stanwyck than the ladies mentioned above. Hopefully that will start to change. With the release of her first DVD box set ("Barbara Stanwyck: The Signature Collection") we're honoring the woman's career with her greatest performances, a difficult task because, well, we can't find a performance that isn't great. With that, here's 10 (OK, 11) that are not only brilliant, but also make us, like Henry Fonda in "The Lady Eve," a little cockeyed.

10. "The Strange Love of Martha Ivers" (1946)
Looking at Barbara Stanwyck's long, impressive career, I realize how tough it is to choose 10 of her greatest performances. From tense thrillers like "Jeopardy" to her fine work with Frank Capra ("Meet John Doe" and "The Miracle Woman" among them) to her less discussed movies (like her wonderfully tortured turn in "Crime of Passion"), I feel guilty leaving so many out. But I will say that Stanwyck's tormented, dominating performance in Lewis Milestone's noir "The Strange Love of Martha Ivers" is one of my favorites. Stanwyck plays the title role opposite a studly Van Heflin and a wimpy Kirk Douglas, and she's almost alarmingly powerful. As the domineering Martha, a wealthy woman married to a recently elected district attorney (Douglas), Stanwyck seethes with a sick viciousness that, as ugly as it becomes, never appears entirely inhuman. Her marriage is loveless, resulting in extensive cheating and a rage she takes out on a milquetoast drunkard Douglas. She also harbors a secret that Heflin, whom she's still in love with, is privy to, and both she and Douglas spend the picture scheming, fighting and experiencing a series of stinging nervous breakdowns. Stanwyck has a field day displaying neurotic bitterness with a deep sadness that's so intense it becomes fascinatingly sick.

9. "Sorry, Wrong Number" (1948)
As proven by this enthralling picture, Stanwyck could be physical and fascinating even while lying in a bed and simply talking on the telephone. Of course it helps that she's desperately attempting to save her life in a dangerous telecommunications scenario involving both a nefarious husband and the unending bureaucracy of the telephone company, but I'm certain Stanwyck would be gripping even if she was merely chatting with a girlfriend. As Leona Stevenson, an invalid heiress, Stanwyck gives us a masterfully complex vision of fear and dread without being shrill or one-note about her situation. And that situation is terrifically frightening. After picking up a phone call with crossed wires, Leona overhears two men discussing a murder plot. She's frightened, obviously, but becomes absolutely terrified when she realizes the mark is (gulp) her. Via elaborate flashbacks we learn more about her situation, chiefly Leona's estranged, shady husband (played by Burt Lancaster), who's gotten in so deep with gangsters that he has resorted to this murderous plan. And Stanwyck's performance is complicated, vulnerable and endlessly fascinating.

8. "Clash by Night" (1952)
What makes Stanwyck tick? That's a continual question regarding the actress who played, among other characters, tramps and heiresses, wives and writers, scammers and showgirls. So it's especially electric to watch Robert Ryan attempt to figure her out in the Fritz Lang melodrama "Clash by Night" (written by Clifford Odets). As a woman returning to her hometown of Monterey, Calif., we learn that her life hasn't worked out the way she hoped for. She yearns for a more substantial life and, as she admits to a young Marilyn Monroe, a man to help build her confidence. The man she chooses is a worshipful Paul Douglas, but he's not the one she wants, and she struggles with feelings for her husband's best friend, the probing hothead Ryan. Stanwyck gives one of her tour de force performances -- brittle, poignant, tragic and strong while being simultaneously down to earth and superior. You absolutely get why she would think better for herself, and then, in her wounded moments, why she couldn't quite succeed. But, true to her mystery, you never really understand why. Though Ryan spits, "Don't kid me, baby. I know a bottle by the label," he and the viewer never can put their finger on what that label reads. Barbara was never that easy.

7. Tie: "The File on Thelma Jordon" (1950) / "There's Always Tomorrow" (1956)
As the saying goes, the woman could tempt a saint. In the case of these two different performances, Stanwyck tempts two married men: one quite aggressively and with criminality ("The File on Thelma Jordon"); the other without premeditation but as a consequence of confining 1950s matrimony ("There's Always Tomorrow"). As the title siren of Robert Siodmak's noir "The File on Thelma Jordon," Stanwyck lures nice, married Wendell Corey into an affair to further her criminal plans and, though committing many misdeeds, comes out sympathetic (albeit not off the hook) in the end. Showing her range within the archetype of femme fatale, Stanwyck's Thelma is a woman consumed by guilt. So much that even had she not sacrificed herself after ruining Corey's life, you'd sense her doomed conflict regardless. Similarly moody, guilt ridden (though a positive influence) and ultimately sacrificial, Stanwyck's accidental temptress in Douglas Sirk's "There's Always Tomorrow" shakes up bored Fred MacMurray's claustrophobic life with a "perfect" wife and three selfish kids. In his indictment of middle-class complacency, Sirk rightly cast previous collaborator Stanwyck as the woman who inspires MacMurray's desires -- not only because she's alluring, but also because, among the cookie cutter fakes, she's real. This realness was an intriguing element to Stanwyck -- it was something that would cause many of her characters deception, pain and suffering. Stanwyck may have aged to play mother roles, but damned if she was going to tie on an apron and call it a day.

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