Showing posts with label Bette Davis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bette Davis. Show all posts

Saturday, October 11, 2025

Bette Davis: satin, suggestion, and a single exposed truth

Bette Davis reclines against a striped sofa, poised between languor and challenge. The photograph, from around 1938, captures her in sculptural chiaroscuro—hair a cascade of marcelled curls, eyes half-lidded but alert, lips precise as punctuation. She wears a fitted white knit bodice with delicate straps and twisted cord detail, its simplicity countered by the bold opulence of her jewellery: a pendant of dark stones ringed in light, twin cuffs studded to match, a ring glinting like a withheld remark. The composition balances warmth and hauteur—one arm draped over the cushion, the other resting lightly near her lap—suggesting both repose and readiness. The lighting isolates her against a field of shadow, drawing the gaze to her shoulders and throat, where elegance becomes eroticism. She embodies her own credo: that the merest glimpse of satin or skin carries more charge than overt display.

“I often think that a slightly exposed shoulder emerging from a long satin nightgown packs more sex than two naked bodies in bed.”Bette Davis, rather proving the point in this image, circa 1938 via the Everett Collection.

Copyright 2025, Arthur Newhook. FULL LIST OF LINKS - linktr.ee/arthurnewhook. DONATIONS GRATEFULLY ACCEPTED on Cash App ($ANewhook).

Monday, October 6, 2025

The incomparable Bette Davis—granted merciful release from this ungrateful world thirty-six years ago today (6 October 1989)

Bette Davis in In This Our Life, 1942 WB

Lately I find myself wondering whether the titans of Hollywood—Bette Davis and her contemporaries—would have bothered at all, had they foreseen how fleeting their immortality would prove. Would the great jazz musicians of the mid-twentieth century, or the ballplayers, or the novelists, have poured their souls into their craft if they had known how quickly posterity’s light would fade from them? More to the point, how little the generations to come would cherish their names, or even care to learn them.

In another few decades, even the brightest constellations of the twentieth century—Monroe, Ali, Ruth, The Beatles—will glimmer only faintly, their brilliance dimmed by forgetfulness as the last who remember them pass from the world. Worse still, in an age when artificial intelligence and digital manipulation have placed the machinery of history in the hands of the least scrupulous, what remains may not merely be forgotten but rewritten—or erased altogether.

It falls, then, to those of us who love these figures to keep their memories alive, however humbly. Yet few will trouble themselves, and those who do will never be appreciated. Such is the fate of those who remember in a world that no longer values remembrance, basic decency, and human dignity. —Arthur Newhook, 6 October 2025.

{alternate text for the above image} A black-and-white studio still of Bette Davis captures her seated languidly in an upholstered armchair, exuding both vulnerability and defiance. Dressed in a soft, ruffled blouse and a flowing skirt that reveals one bare leg, she leans back with an expression of distracted contemplation, her luminous eyes lifted slightly upward as if lost in thought or irony. Her hair, styled in loose 1940s waves, frames a face poised between weariness and will. The soft contrast and domestic setting evoke the mood of post-war disillusionment—Davis embodying the archetype of the complex woman: elegant, disenchanted, and indomitable, caught between repose and rebellion.

Copyright 2025, Arthur Newhook. FULL LIST OF LINKS - linktr.ee/arthurnewhook. DONATIONS GRATEFULLY ACCEPTED on Cash App ($ANewhook).

Saturday, May 4, 2024

Quotable 4 May 2024: Bette Davis reflects on 'boys' competing for renowned women, the male ego, love culminating in marriage, and the distinction between the anguish and joy of love

Bette Davis by Jack Freulich, circa 1930

I was never very interested in boys - and there were plenty of them - vying with one another to see how many famous women they would get into the hay’.

The male ego with few exceptions is elephantine to start with’.

Brought up to respect the conventions, love had to end in marriage. I'm afraid it did’.

The secret of marriage is: separate bedrooms and separate bathrooms’.

Once the love bug wears off, as it inevitably does, you are shocked to discover that you really didn't know the object of your affections at all. We know this to be so, even as we repeat the same mistake over and over and over’.

Pleasure of love lasts but a moment, Pain of love lasts a lifetime’.

Quotes via https://www.azquotes.com/author/3703-Bette_Davis

Copyright 2024, Arthur Newhook. @Sunking278 and @FloydEtcetera on X, and at the same handles on FACEBOOK. MASTODON - @ArthurNewhook@mastodon.world, BLUESKY - @arthurnewhook.bsky.social, and @arthurnewhook on POST. DONATIONS GRATEFULLY ACCEPTED at https://tinyurl.com/ArthurNewhook.

Friday, April 5, 2024

Born #OTD 1908: Bette Davis

Bette Davis appears on the beach in the star-studded 1932 crime drama 'Three on a Match'. Photo: Warner Bros.

Attempting to determine the greatest motion picture actor or actress of all time is a futile endeavour. There are myriad intangibles to ponder, a vast array of talent and achievements, and decades of film history to reckon with. Yet, any who contend that Bette Davis was not among the very best in her craft clearly hath not beheld her acting prowess. Countless volumes have been penned by individuals far more versed than I to argue the point, and I bid those with interest to peruse them. Better yet, view any one of her films, and any doubt shall be dispelled.

Copyright 2024, Arthur Newhook. @Sunking278 and @FloydEtcetera on X, and at the same handles on FACEBOOK. MASTODON - @ArthurNewhook@mastodon.world, BLUESKY - @arthurnewhook.bsky.social, and @arthurnewhook on POST. DONATIONS GRATEFULLY ACCEPTED at https://tinyurl.com/ArthurNewhook.

The dream before the river

Fay Wray , in the guise of Shakespeare’s tragic beauty Ophelia; photographed for Vanity Fair magazine by Edward Steichen, August 1930. The ...