The Echo of a Distant Time: July 2026

Monday, July 20, 2026

Remembering Jennifer Finch, 5 August 1966 to 18 July 2026

A dynamic concert photograph captures Jennifer Finch performing live with infectious energy, singing into a microphone while playing a black electric bass guitar. She wears a sleeveless black satin top, layered silver necklaces and colourful red-and-blue wristbands, her hair blown dramatically by stage fans as she smiles mid-performance. Warm red stage lighting bathes the background, creating a vivid contrast with her dark clothing and instrument. The close composition emphasises her animated expression, confident stage presence and vigorous musicianship, while the blurred backdrop and microphone stand reinforce the immediacy and excitement of a live rock performance before an unseen audience.

Getty Images

Rest in Peace, Jennifer Finch: L7 bassist dies at fifty-nine. {Billboard 19 July}

https://www.billboard.com/music/rock/jennifer-finch-l7-bassist-dies-1236297297/

L7 were a breath of fresh air in the early 1990s, one of a wave of intelligent hard rock bands who — however briefly — found a degree of success after years of gutter-trash hair metal dominating the airwaves. ‘Pretend We’re Dead’, their signature ‘hit’ song (not a commercial chart hit, but it received a reasonable amount of MTV exposure and airplay on rock stations such as WAAF here in Massachusetts), is far darker, heavier, and more lethal than anything any of the pretty boy cock rockers ever produced. They were a band that embraced the label of ‘punk rock’, but, really, the style of music they, and similar bands such as Babes in Toyland or even Hole, produced was in no way identical to the stereotypical three-chord tripe made by dudes with mohawks and safety pins sticking out of their noses. Informed by those punk rockers, certainly, but equally so by ‘60s garage rock and psychedelia, and delivered with a pointedly metallic sheen that owed an obvious debt to Black Sabbath.

I do not remember exactly, but I believe I may have owned the record that produced ‘Pretend We’re Dead’ (Bricks Are Heavy) and perhaps one or two other L7 discs at some point. At one time, I had upwards of 1,200 CDs in my collection. It was ridiculous. I cannot honestly proclaim I kept much track of the women of L7 in the decades since — along with scores of other bands and artists from those halcyon days — but Godspeed to a woman who was part of a much-needed revolution in rock music, back when such things still mattered.

linktr.ee/arthurnewhook

🪐💔 #QueSeraSera 𓅨 🕈

Copyright 2026, Arthur Newhook.

Friday, July 17, 2026

Remembering the great vaudevillian James Cagney, born 17 July 1899

A black-and-white publicity still from the 1931 Warner Bros. crime film The Public Enemy, featuring James Cagney and Jean Harlow. Cagney sits in the foreground wearing a tuxedo and bow tie, his expression stern and determined as he loosely grips a revolver resting across his lap. Behind him, Harlow stands elegantly in a satin evening gown with a flowing shoulder drape, holding a long cigarette holder while gazing coolly towards the camera. One hand rests lightly upon Cagney's shoulder, reinforcing their dramatic partnership. A small table with an ashtray, cigarettes, and an ice bucket completes the sophisticated Art Deco setting, emphasising Hollywood's glamorous yet dangerous vision of the Prohibition-era underworld.

Warner Brothers

“I still think of myself essentially as a vaudevillian, as a song and dance man. The vaudevillians I knew by and large were marvelous people. Ninety percent of them had no schooling, but they had a vivid something or other about them that absolutely riveted an audience's attention. Those vaudevillians knew something that ultimately I came to understand and believe - that audiences are the ones who determine material. They buy the tickets.” — the Hollywood god James Cagney, reflecting on his ‘schooling’ in the world of entertainment. (source: https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000010/quotes/)

Seen here with the goddess Jean Harlow in a promotional shot for The Public Enemy (1931, WB).

linktr.ee/arthurnewhook

🪐💔 #QueSeraSera 𓅨 🕈

Copyright 2026, Arthur Newhook.

Wednesday, July 15, 2026

Facebook: apparently this violates something

A candid indoor photograph shows a woman posing on a bed in a bedroom. She is kneeling on white bedding and looking directly towards the camera with an intense expression. She wears black lace lingerie with matching garter straps and sheer thigh-high stockings. Her shoulder-length light brown hair falls partly across one side of her face. The room is softly lit by a floor lamp, with a window covered by blinds, framed wall decorations, and everyday household items visible in the background. The informal setting and direct camera engagement create the atmosphere of a personal glamour photograph taken in a private residence.

photo: source unknown

No firm decisions have been made, but I am about this close to shutting down the Broken Dolls and Fallen Angels Facebook group. Too much hassle.

Facebook, in its infinite wisdom, is presently not allowing yours truly to post in groups, not even in the one I created and operate, and offers scant details as to why. The sort of posts I see in all sorts of other groups and pages are somehow being removed from Broken Dolls and Fallen Angels. I am infuriated; traffic in the group hath been steady, and I am still moderating… for now. Thank you to those who are posting, but consider this notice that this group is an endangered species.

I have sought to make Broken Dolls and Fallen Angels one of the top groups of its kind on Facebook — and The Echo of a Distant Time, as it stands, is not too far from 10K followers — but if it never happens, it will not be for lack of effort on my part, or because I did anything wrong. It shall be because Facebook/Meta is a garbage company where customer support is non-existent and ever-shifting guidelines are enforced capriciously and unfairly.

So, kiss my ass, Facebook… and I highly encourage any and all reading this to begin to gradually wean themselves off this bloody platform. For I want off this infernal thing, but most of my readers are here and not on the other sites, and I would like to take as many as possible of them with me once I finally do shut this Facebook thing — not just the group, but everything — down for good. Am currently aiming for on or around 1 July 2027… an operation such as this must be wound down carefully. And if I do remain beyond that point, it will be very grudgingly and only because it remains the primary driver of all of my overall web traffic.

Make no mistake, I am beyond fed up and I strongly desire at this point for Facebook to go the way of Myspace. Not even Elon’s playground gives me a quarter of the troubles Zuckerberg’s does. F**k you and your harassment over NOTHING!

linktr.ee/arthurnewhook

🪐💔 #QueSeraSera 𓅨 🕈

Copyright 2026, Arthur Newhook.

England’s World Cup dream comes to an end

Argentina 2, England 1. {ESPN 15 July}

https://www.espn.com/soccer/match/_/gameId/760515

Another dream in life dies, I shall never see my ancestral homeland win a World Cup. #ENGLAND fell to Argentina in the World Cup semi-final, 2-1. Argentina will face Spain in the World Cup final on Sunday. Massive respect to Lionel Messi, but I cannot possibly root for the Argentinians now.

linktr.ee/arthurnewhook

🪐💔 #QueSeraSera 𓅨 🕈

Copyright 2026, Arthur Newhook.

Monday, July 13, 2026

Ally Sheedy: the quiet rebellion

Actress and writer Ally Sheedy poses in a contemplative studio portrait against a dark backdrop. Dressed in an oversized black sweater that slips from one shoulder, she sits with her knees drawn close to her body, creating an informal and introspective composition. Her dark hair is loosely styled, framing a serious, direct gaze towards the camera. White athletic socks and light-coloured trainers provide a casual contrast to the otherwise minimalist image. Soft, subdued lighting emphasises her facial features while allowing the dark clothing and background to merge into a moody, understated aesthetic. The portrait conveys vulnerability, intelligence, and quiet self-possession, qualities often associated with Sheedy’s most memorable screen performances during the 1980s and beyond.

Universal Pictures

Actress and writer Ally Sheedy in a promotional photograph for what is, arguably, her most celebrated role: the enigmatic Allison Reynolds in the 1985 coming-of-age classic The Breakfast Club. Born on 13 July 1963 in New York City, Sheedy brought remarkable depth to a character who might otherwise have remained a stereotype. In a film built around teenage archetypes, Allison emerged as the most complex figure of all — a young woman whose silence concealed intelligence, vulnerability, and a profound sense of alienation. One who hath always favoured emotional depth over glamour, Sheedy hath spent decades building a career spanning film, television, theatre, and writing, and today serves as a professor at the City College of New York.

linktr.ee/arthurnewhook

🪐💔 #QueSeraSera 𓅨 🕈

Copyright 2026, Arthur Newhook.

Tuesday, July 7, 2026

Waiting for a reply

A glamour portrait shows Shay Laren standing beside a tiled bathroom counter bathed in bright morning sunlight streaming through a large window behind her. She wears pale pink lingerie consisting of a bra and matching shorts trimmed with delicate lace. Turning partially towards the camera, she rests both hands upon the countertop while gazing directly at the viewer with a composed, slightly inquisitive expression. Her long auburn hair falls in soft waves across her shoulders, illuminated by strong backlighting that creates a warm, radiant halo effect. Seashells arranged along the windowsill and a softly lit interior contribute to the intimate domestic setting. The image emphasises natural light, gentle pastel tones, and a relaxed, fashion-oriented glamour aesthetic.

model Gabbriette Bechtel in Vogue

Modern loneliness does not always look lonely.

It may wear fashionable clothes. It may possess beauty, youth, money, popularity, or thousands of followers. It may appear in magazines and accumulate admirers by the score.

Yet it remains loneliness all the same.

The great irony of our age is that we have never been more connected, and never found it so difficult to truly reach one another.

A century ago, a young woman waiting to hear from someone might have stood at a window, listened for footsteps, or watched the postman's approach. Today she stares at a glowing screen.

The technology has changed.

The feeling has not.

The anticipation.

The uncertainty.

The silent hope that a particular name will appear.

Perhaps that is why photographs such as this resonate. Beneath the fashion, beneath the glamour, beneath the carefully composed aesthetic, there exists something recognisably human.

A moment of waiting.

And if there is one thing every generation understands, it is that.

linktr.ee/arthurnewhook

🪐💔 #QueSeraSera 𓅨 🕈

Copyright 2026, Arthur Newhook.

The things we remember

A glamour portrait shows Shay Laren standing beside a tiled bathroom counter bathed in bright morning sunlight streaming through a large window behind her. She wears pale pink lingerie consisting of a bra and matching shorts trimmed with delicate lace. Turning partially towards the camera, she rests both hands upon the countertop while gazing directly at the viewer with a composed, slightly inquisitive expression. Her long auburn hair falls in soft waves across her shoulders, illuminated by strong backlighting that creates a warm, radiant halo effect. Seashells arranged along the windowsill and a softly lit interior contribute to the intimate domestic setting. The image emphasises natural light, gentle pastel tones, and a relaxed, fashion-oriented glamour aesthetic.

photo: Penthouse Pet Shay Laren

Most of life is not composed of great events.

History books concern themselves with wars, elections, scandals, disasters, and triumphs. Yet when people grow older and look back upon their lives, they rarely find themselves dwelling upon such things. Instead, they remember fragments.

The way sunlight fell through a kitchen window on a summer morning.

A certain song playing from another room.

The scent of coffee. The sound of laughter. A glance over a shoulder.

Moments that seemed utterly ordinary at the time.

Perhaps that is why old photographs possess such power. They remind us that every era, no matter how distant, was once someone's present. Every faded image captures a moment that appeared no more remarkable than today does to us.

And yet, somehow, those are the things that endure.

Not the headlines.

Not the controversies.

Not the noise.

Only the light, and the memory of how it felt to stand within it.

linktr.ee/arthurnewhook

🪐💔 #QueSeraSera 𓅨 🕈

Copyright 2026, Arthur Newhook.

Waiting for the exit

photo: source unknown

Facebook, in its infinite wisdom, is presently not allowing yours truly to post in groups, not even in the one I created and operate, and will not tell me why. I am infuriated; however, traffic in the group hath been steady, and I am still moderating. Thank you to those who are posting.

I do want to make Broken Dolls and Fallen Angels one of the top groups of its kind on Facebook — and The Echo of a Distant Time, as it stands, is not too far from 10K followers — but if it never happens, it will not be for lack of effort on my part, or because I did anything wrong. It shall be because Facebook/Meta is a garbage company where customer support is non-existent and ever-shifting guidelines are enforced capriciously and unfairly.

So, kiss my ass, Facebook… and I highly encourage any and all reading this to begin to gradually wean themselves off that bloody platform. For I want off the infernal thing, but most of my readers are there and not on the other sites, and I would like to take as many as possible of them with me once I finally do shut this Facebook thing down for good. Aiming for, let us say, 1 July 2027… an operation such as this must be wound down carefully. And if I do remain beyond that point, it will be very grudgingly and only because it shall remain the primary driver of all of my overall web traffic.

Make no mistake, I am beyond fed up and I strongly desire at this point for Facebook to go the way of Myspace. Not even Elon’s playground gives me a quarter of the troubles Zuckerberg’s does.

linktr.ee/arthurnewhook

🪐💔 #QueSeraSera 𓅨 🕈

Copyright 2026, Arthur Newhook.

Virginia Rappe: the star she might have become

lack-and-white studio portrait of a young woman with dark, wavy bobbed hair, smiling and looking to the side. She wears a strapless, satin evening gown with a floral corsage at the waist, a dark ribbon belt, and a long fringed, patterned shawl draped over one shoulder and arm. She stands against a plain dark backdrop, one hand resting on her hip. The photograph bears a label reading 'RAPPE' and a negative number in the upper corners.

George Grantham Bain

Model and silent film actress Virginia Rappe: born 7 July 1891 and died under horrible circumstances, officially as a result of a ruptured bladder, 9 September 1921, four days after a Labor Day party in San Francisco, held in the hotel suite of one of the silver screen’s most famous and beloved actors of the day, Roscoe ‘Fatty’ Arbuckle. Arbuckle was tried three times on charges of rape and manslaughter in connection with Rappe's death, but was unanimously acquitted by a jury at the third trial. Though Arbuckle’s public reputation was salvaged, his career was hampered to a great extent by the scandal, and he himself would die relatively young (though, realistically, not especially young for a man of his size and habits), of a heart attack, aged 46.

As for Virginia Rappe, unfortunately she was not a particularly prolific model and actress, only beginning in earnest when she moved to Los Angeles in 1917, then already 26 years old. Most of the films on her thin résumé are considered lost, leaving the question of what might have been very much unanswered. We simply do not know what kind of actress she was, or what she might have become. Regardless, she was a human being, and it is unfortunate that she is remembered chiefly for a scandal which, in the end, may not have been much of a scandal at all.

After all, the jury in Arbuckle's third and final trial went so far as to issue him a formal apology.

linktr.ee/arthurnewhook

🪐💔 #QueSeraSera 𓅨 🕈

Copyright 2026, Arthur Newhook.

Sunday, July 5, 2026

A masterclass in controlled exasperation: Glenda Farrell

Actress Glenda Farrell, seen in 1934’s Hi, Nellie (WB). The expression of a woman who has been patient for a very long time and has simply — finished. No dramatics, no Crawford-style theatrics. Just a clean, elegant, utterly final withdrawal of the will to perform contentment. Yours truly doth relate.

linktr.ee/arthurnewhook

🪐💔 #QueSeraSera 𓅨 🕈

Copyright 2026, Arthur Newhook.

Watching the world depart: broken dolls, broken platform (looking at thee, Facebook)

A striking black-and-white photograph by André de Dienes depicts a nude woman reclining at the edge of a calm shoreline. Seen from behind and photographed from a low angle, she lies partially in the shallow water with her body stretched diagonally across the foreground. Gentle waves ripple around her as sunlight glints upon the smooth surface of the sea. In the distance, a large ocean liner sits on the horizon, accompanied by several small sailboats that emphasise the vast scale of the open water. The minimalist composition contrasts the organic curves of the figure with the expansive geometry of sea and sky, creating a mood of solitude, freedom, and quiet contemplation. Soft tonal gradations, reflective water, and the immense negative space contribute to the photograph’s dreamlike and lyrical quality, characteristic of de Dienes’s celebrated mid-century glamour photography.

photo: model Mickey Jines by André de Dienes

#KissMyAss Suppose I am going to have to do this on a daily basis now, as Facebook will not stop playing games with my page — The Echo of a Distant Time — and group — Broken Dolls and Fallen Angels (18+ ONLY, https://www.facebook.com/groups/886318992990373) when I have not done a damn thing wrong or broken any actual rule (as if algorithms should be enforcing anything above human beings).

Facebook, in its infinite wisdom, is presently not allowing yours truly to post in groups, not even in the one I created and operate, and will not tell me why. I am infuriated; however, traffic in the group hath been steady, and I am still moderating. Thank you to those who are posting.

I do want to make Broken Dolls and Fallen Angels one of the top groups of its kind on Facebook — and The Echo of a Distant Time, as is, is not too far from 10K followers — but if it never happens, it will not be for lack of effort on my part, or because I did anything wrong. It shall be because Facebook/Meta is a garbage company where customer support is nonexistent and ever-shifting guidelines are enforced capriciously and unfairly.

So, kiss my ass, Facebook… and I highly encourage any and all reading this to begin to gradually wean themselves off this bloody platform. For I want off it, but most of my readers are here and not on the other sites, and I would like to take as many as possible of them with me once I finally do shut this Facebook thing down for good. Aiming for, let us say, one year from now… an operation such as this needs to be wound down carefully. And if I do remain beyond that point, it will be very grudgingly and only because it shall remain the primary driver of all of my overall web traffic.

Make no mistake, I am beyond fed-up and I strongly desire at this point for Facebook to go the way of Myspace. Not even Elon’s playground gives me a quarter of the troubles Zuckerberg’s does.

(see linktr.ee/arthurnewhook for my full list of socials… then follow me in those places)

🪐💔 #QueSeraSera 𓅨 🕈

Copyright 2026, Arthur Newhook.

Saturday, July 4, 2026

Drawn like a moth to flame: a prayer to Aphrodite

A contemporary glamour photograph depicts two blonde women posed indoors in a brightly lit modern setting. One woman stands beside a light-coloured partition, wearing a cropped maroon top with white trim and a short white pleated skirt. Her long straight hair falls past her shoulders as she looks toward the camera. The second woman kneels beside her, partially obscured, with wavy platinum-blonde hair and visible tattoo work on one arm. The standing woman lifts the hem of her skirt while the kneeling woman leans toward her upper thigh. Soft neutral tones, shallow depth of field, and smooth lighting emphasise the polished commercial-photography aesthetic. The composition centres on an overtly erotic interaction between the two subjects, presented in a stylised and provocative fashion typical of adult glamour imagery.

photo: source unknown

JOIN TODAY: Broken Dolls and Fallen Angels group on Facebook (18+ ONLY) - https://www.facebook.com/groups/886318992990373

Facebook, in its infinite wisdom, is presently not allowing yours truly to post in groups, not even in the one I created and operate, and will not tell me why. I am infuriated; however, traffic in the group hath been steady, and I am still moderating. Thank you to those who are posting.

I do want to make Broken Dolls and Fallen Angels one of the top groups of its kind on Facebook, but if that never happens, it will not be for lack of effort on my part, nor because of any of our group members. It shall be because Facebook/Meta is a garbage company where customer support is nonexistent and ever-shifting guidelines are enforced arbitrarily and unfairly.

To put it more succinctly: Facebook, thou mayst kiss my arse.

linktr.ee/arthurnewhook

🪐💔 #QueSeraSera 𓅨 🕈

Copyright 2026, Arthur Newhook.

A postcard from lost America: the country we naïvely thought would last forever

When America was great: Playmate of the Month for May 1963 Sharon Cintron. Photographed by Mario Casilli, and what an enviable profession that must have been. Were it possible to go back to another time and start all over in life, free of the ailments and baggage that hath plagued me from day one in this timeline, perhaps I would be a photographer in mid-20th-century America. Another ‘what should have been’ in a long line of them.

linktr.ee/arthurnewhook

🪐💔 #QueSeraSera 𓅨 🕈

Copyright 2026, Arthur Newhook.

Friday, July 3, 2026

Remembering Susan Peters, 3 July 1921 to 23 October 1952

Colourised portrait of Susan Peters in the early 1940s. Dressed in a light blue short-sleeved blouse and a dark skirt, she stands beside a bicycle on a seaside promenade lined with palm trees. Leaning lightly against a stone railing, she gazes thoughtfully towards the bright horizon, her face illuminated by soft sunlight. Her dark hair is styled in loose curls and tied with a ribbon, while the bicycle rests between her and the walkway stretching into the distance. The composition conveys youthful elegance, optimism, and quiet contemplation. The sunlit setting, pastel colours, and relaxed pose create an atmosphere of carefree serenity, reflecting the wholesome screen image that helped make Peters one of Hollywood’s most promising young actresses of the early 1940s.

Steven Rea, c. 1943; colourised

Hollywood hath had its share of tragedy through the decades — lives cut short in various manners, from Carole Lombard to Marilyn Monroe to Sharon Tate, and many more in between and beyond. One of the very saddest tales is that of Susan Peters. One of the most promising young actresses of the early 1940s — first at Warner Bros. and later, more successfully, at MGM — she already had an Academy Award nomination under her belt (for 1942's Random Harvest) when a duck-hunting accident on New Year's Day 1945 left her permanently confined to a wheelchair.

Amazingly, she made a courageous comeback as the wheelchair-bound villainess Leah St. Aubyn in 1948’s The Sign of the Ram (Columbia Pictures), a film that I am fairly certain I have seen at some point in the distant recesses of my memory, and may even have enjoyed, in spite of the fact it did not receive good reviews and was a box office flop. More critically successful was her turn as Laura Wingfield in a production of Tennessee Williams’ The Glass Menagerie, and she also appeared as Elizabeth Barrett Browning in a production of The Barretts of Wimpole Street. In 1951, she starred in a live daily half-hour drama (not an uncommon practice in the early days of television) named Miss Susan for NBC, but this ended after about nine months as her health declined.

By 1952, abandoned by both her former husband and a fiancé, and suffering profoundly from clinical depression and the effects of her paralysis, Susan Peters appeared to lose the will to live (apparently telling a doctor as much) and largely stopped eating and drinking. Compounded by the effects of her paralysis, she developed pneumonia and a chronic kidney infection, which ultimately killed her, only thirty-one years old.

The universe is indifferent, and why such tragedy befalls innocent people and creatures I shall never understand. It certainly damages my faith in God whenever I hear a story such as this one, or witness needless cruelty and suffering in the world. Yet I do pray, and hope not in vain, that Susan Peters ultimately found the peace and happiness that so cruelly eluded her in life.

linktr.ee/arthurnewhook

🪐💔 #QueSeraSera 𓅨 🕈

Copyright 2026, Arthur Newhook.

Thursday, July 2, 2026

Remembering Lee Remick, 14 December 1935 to 2 July 1991

Publicity still of Lee Remick in Days of Wine and Roses (1962). Wearing a satin slip with lace trim, Remick stands indoors holding a drinking glass while resting one arm against her head. Her eyes are downcast and her expression conveys exhaustion, melancholy, and emotional strain. Strong light streams through slatted windows behind her, casting dramatic highlights and shadows across the black-and-white composition. The glass in her hand and her withdrawn posture underscore the film’s central themes of alcoholism, dependency, and personal decline. The intimate framing and stark lighting create a powerful portrait of vulnerability, reflecting the tragic emotional journey of her character, Kirsten Arnesen.

Warner Bros.

A lauded star of stage and screen, at some point the esteemed Lee Remick got frustrated with Hollywood, and was rather blunt about it:

“I make movies for grownups. When Hollywood starts making them again, I'll start acting in them again.”

(source: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/lee_remick_211415)

Sadly, the world lost one of its great thespians on this day in 1991, another life cut short by cancer. Seen here in Days of Wine and Roses (1962); though amid the extraordinary heatwave afflicting the eastern half of the former United States, one could be forgiven for thinking this photograph was taken only moments ago. But I digress.

linktr.ee/arthurnewhook

🪐💔 #QueSeraSera 𓅨 🕈

Copyright 2026, Arthur Newhook.

Wednesday, July 1, 2026

Mary Pickford: dreams of Sunnybrook Farm

Publicity still of Mary Pickford in Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm (1917). Seated on a patterned Victorian sofa, Pickford portrays the youthful Rebecca in a frilled dress, dark stockings, and a small hat. Her long curled hair falls over her shoulders as she gazes forward with a plaintive, wide-eyed expression. She holds a closed parasol upright beside her while a travelling bag rests on the floor nearby, suggesting a recent arrival or impending journey. The black-and-white image emphasises the innocence and vulnerability associated with Pickford’s celebrated “little girl” screen persona. Ornate furnishings and period costume reinforce the film’s rural late-nineteenth-century setting and sentimental tone.

Canada Day: Toronto-born Mary Pickford, seen in Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm (1917, Aircraft Pictures).

At the time of this photo still, she was the richest and most famous actress in the world, described by a contemporary writer as ‘the best known woman who has ever lived, the woman who was known to more people and loved by more people than any other woman that has been in all history’.

Virtually forgotten today, partially due to having become a recluse later in life and partially due to the simple passage of time, which is sinful given that she was more than a mere actress, but a pioneer in the young film industry, co-founding United Artists in 1919 alongside (future husband) Douglas Fairbanks, Charlie Chaplin, and D.W. Griffith. All household names of the time themselves, though — best I can tell — only Charlie Chaplin might be recognised by a majority of folks today, and even then maybe only a majority of older people, as very few younger ones would know or care.

I sometimes wonder whether that contributed, among many other factors, to Miss Pickford's depression in later life: knowing that even the most beloved public figures are eventually forgotten by the audiences that once adored them.

linktr.ee/arthurnewhook

🪐💔 #QueSeraSera 𓅨 🕈

Copyright 2026, Arthur Newhook.

Norma Shearer: dreams between dictation

Publicity still of Norma Shearer from His Secretary (1925). Seated at an office desk beside a large typewriter, the young actress rests her head gently against her clasped hands and gazes thoughtfully to one side. Her dark hair is neatly styled and swept back, complementing a fitted long-sleeved dress typical of the mid-1920s. A vase of flowers stands beside the typewriter, while a wire paper tray filled with documents occupies the foreground. The softly lit black-and-white composition conveys a mood of quiet reflection, contrasting the practical surroundings of clerical work with an air of romance and daydreaming. The image exemplifies the polished elegance and expressive subtlety that characterised Shearer’s early silent-film screen persona.

On this Canada Day, it is only fitting that we honour Montréal-born screen goddess Norma Shearer. Forever my favourite Canadian siren, and forever the face of The Echo of a Distant Time and Broken Dolls and Fallen Angels. Seen here in a promotional still from the pre-talkie His Secretary (1925). Even at this young stage, she was on a clear trajectory to becoming the Queen of MGM.

linktr.ee/arthurnewhook

🪐💔 #QueSeraSera 𓅨 🕈

Copyright 2026, Arthur Newhook.

Margot Kidder: notes from Metropolis

Studio portrait of actress Margot Kidder seated upon a white stool against a plain pale backdrop. She wears a light blue blouse with gathered sleeves, a cream-coloured skirt, and dark heeled sandals. Holding a notepad and pen loosely in her hands, she appears poised between observation and reflection, as though preparing to interview a subject or record a thought. Her dark hair falls to her shoulders with soft bangs framing her face. The minimalist composition, gentle lighting, and restrained palette draw attention to her calm expression and direct gaze. The photograph emphasises intelligence, composure, and quiet confidence, presenting Kidder in a natural, unpretentious manner rather than through the glamour typically associated with Hollywood publicity portraits of the era.

Columbia Pictures

Wishing one and all a very happy Canada Day. Celebrating with Yellowknife native Margot Kidder, known to the world as the definitive Lois Lane, seen here in a promotional still for the first Superman film from 1978.

linktr.ee/arthurnewhook

🪐💔 #QueSeraSera 𓅨 🕈

Copyright 2026, Arthur Newhook.

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