What constitutes a feminist icon? Simone de Beauvoir? Germaine Greer? Madonna? Soon after this Instagram message appeared,
madonna: Thank you Margaret Thatcher!
#unapologetic# - rebelheart
the sender deleted it. Reports say she had received a barrage of complaints from many of her gay fans – or at least, people whose reaction the entertainer may not have thought of when she 'liked' the photograph of Britain's first (and so far only) woman prime minister. The image of Margaret Thatcher was headed by a quote (presumably) from the so-called Iron Lady herself. At any rate, the words read straight from the horse's mouth,
“If you set out to be liked, you would be prepared to compromise on anything at any time, and you would achieve nothing.”
which is possibly what the singer known as Madonna was really responding to by her Instagram message. Apart from being a great fillip for Instagram - that must be grating on Twitter - what have either of these women done for women? Are either of them feminist icons?
It was when just finishing off Lauren Bacall's autobiography “By Myself” when the above story broke. The news came on BBC's Radio Four and though the details were somewhat sketchy, it sounded like Madonna had been hailing the Prime Minister at the time of Clause 28 as someone women should be looking up to. Now, most of us who got through the Thatcher years did so without compromising ourselves over her gender. The fact that she was a woman made no one on the Left love her. Nor did feminists publicly express delight over her ascendency. The most feminine solidarity Mrs Thatcher got was from women who rode to hounds, from yuppie women striving to make it in the male dominated world of capitalism, from housewives indelibly blue-rinsed in the tweed, and – one supposes – from those silent majority women who may simply not have denied voting for her. Thatcher, btw, was a near contemporary of Lauren Bacall. On Thatcher, The New Look must have worn thin before it became old fashioned. Yet The New Look, as embodied by The Look (Bacall's seminal own contribution to post-War fashion) never went out.
Bacall's autobiography, “By Myself”, is a book by a real feminist icon. The image projected through her was of a strong woman in control. From the first film, “To Have And Have Not” onwards, age and sex would be no bar to her. Though she was a mere eighteen year-old unknown when she left her native New York and went off to Hollywood to star alongside Humphrey Bogart – the biggest box office star of the day – she comes across as an all-knowing, wisecracking tomboy who just oozes sex. As well as this, The Look was created around her and, though she was actually somewhat angular, gawky and (in her own words) flat-chested, she instantly became the bombshell that knocked Rita Hayworth off her pedestal.
Bacall's was a high-shouldered, manly image which perfectly suited the position many women had been thrust into by the war. Working in factories or in uniform huge numbers of women had been recruited into the war effort and achieved a sudden independence. Her role in the film, and the off-set romance between her and Bogart – which the script was rewritten to trade off – was appealing to male and female audiences alike. She was admired by women for her style and confidence, while men couldn't help dreaming they should have Bogart's luck.
The way she tells it, Betty Perske (her real name) didn't have to struggle to get to the top. An only child, her mother was abandoned by her father when she was small, though she was lucky to come from a well-connected, Jewish family who sent her to private schools. From her first acting lessons at the age of sixteen to top Hollywood billing just three years later, she must have led a charmed life. And in fact, she admits as much, for this is not quite a dishonest book. She devoted all of her twenties to Bogart and their children, with her acting career taking second or third place. Bogart's early death, which takes approximately seventy pages, also took its toll on her. We cannot doubt her devotion to him, and she does not doubt ours. Bogart, sixty years on from his death, is still an icon (though not quite a feminist one).
There is always important stuff missing from biographies and autobiographies and we pour over them struggling to fill up the gaps, to add local colour. Film stars, in my book, usually win out over politicians as their stories are mirrored many times over in their performances. What's missing here, though, is on two levels. The first, and most obvious, is that although we get impressions of what it was like in Hollywood in the Forties and Fifties, and later on Broadway and London's West End in the Seventies, the roar of crowd and smell of greasepaint passages don't quite draw us in (though the smell of Bogart's decaying body is put somewhat pungently). I think that's down to Bacall's somewhat prosaic writing. She did write it “by herself”, so what you get is what you read; little is edited out or in.
The other thing missing is some (and not all) of the truth. Bogart is portrayed as a saintly husband (if very much the sinner when it comes to booze). Bacall does not mention the on-off affair he had with his long time assistant, which elsewhere has been documented. If it's true, the way Betty extracted a shopping spree from him in revenge points to a very different kind of marriage than she would have us believe. Also, airbrushing out Katherine Hepburn – Spencer Tracy's lover – and replacing her with his estranged Louise (died 1983) – is simply private politics. All those visits by Spencer and his 'wife' – especially as (his best pal) Bogart lay dying (a twelve months' gig) is an example of such doublespeak.
So don't come here for the truth, come here for a 1979 version, one that needs to be read in context. As a self portrait of an icon it's just a part of the jigsaw. Lauren Bacall was created by the auteur Howard Hawks and – like Pygmalion's creation – whatever Betty Perske was like in private, her public story is all the reader may count on her to tell.