Why gentlemen (ladies, too) prefer Jane Russell
The Criterion Channel celebrates a star who was anything but plain
Here’s one path Hollywood stardom can follow.
A receptionist in a chiropodist’s office is signed to a contract by a film producer. That producer, Howard Hughes, makes her the centerpiece of a movie. Well, more accurately, he makes her bosom the centerpiece. That movie, “The Outlaw” (1943), is so scandalous censorship issues delay its release for two years. She goes on to become a major star in the ’50s, holding her own onscreen with the likes of Marilyn Monroe, Robert Mitchum, and Clark Gable. Later, as a television spokeswoman for the Playtex’s Cross-Your-Heart Bra, she earns possibly even more renown uttering the tagline “For us full-figured gals.”
The woman in question is Jane Russell (1921-2011), and that paragraph leaves out such details as her marriage to Bob Waterfield, a future Hall of Fame quarterback for the Los Angeles Rams — yes, Jane and Bob were the Giselle and Tom of their day, right down, alas, to the marriage going pffft — and her replacing Elaine Stritch in the original Broadway production of Stephen Sondheim’s “Company.”
Howard Hughes. Cross-Your-Heart Bras. The NFL. Stephen Sondheim. You could say that they just don’t make careers like that anymore — except that they never did, other than Russell’s. Hers was a stardom template of one.
This month the Criterion Channel pays tribute with “Starring Jane Russell,” a four-movie mini-festival. That it’s running during Women’s History Month is a nice bonus, since hers was also a persona of one. To think of her as a feminist ideal might seem a stretch, but it would be even more of a stretch to think of her as any kind of pushover. Each of the four movies bears that out.
In “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes” (1952), Russell’s Dorothy manages to keep Monroe’s Lorelei out of trouble (“Remember, honey, on your wedding day it’s all right to say ‘yes’”). That is no small accomplishment. In “Macao” (1952), she lifts Mitchum’s wallet. That’s an even bigger one. In the western “The Tall Men” (1955), she handles a Winchester with ease and aims a sixgun at Gable. “If there’s any trouble,” she announces to him and Robert Ryan, “I’ll handle my share.” You can count on it. In “The Revolt of Mamie Stover” (1956), she tells Richard Egan, “Some people can afford to be respectable. But I can’t.”
Illusioned Jane Russell was not. Those big shoulders did more than just accentuate her curviness. They also indicated her strength. As an actress, Russell didn’t have much range. She didn’t need any. She had something harder to come by: presence.
Born in rural Minnesota, Russell grew up in Southern California and had the unfussy vowels to prove it. The lack of fussiness extended to her name. It’s as homespun as calico and buttermilk. None of that fancy-pants Ava Gardner or Lana Turner or Grace Kelly. It’s basically impossible to imagine Russell paired with Kelly, as she was with Monroe, let alone as effectively.
Yet she was no plain Jane. “You’re not the only one around here with hidden talents,” she says to Monroe. Russell, who sings in all four of the movies (even the western), had a good voice. Casting her in a Sondheim musical was no stunt. The voice was deep and throaty, nearly a contralto. It was as sexy as her figure.
Russell wasn’t a classic beauty. She had a rectangular face, with a markedly high forehead, and a slightly witchy nose. Neither was she a traditional sex symbol. She certainly had va-va-voom curves. “Culture is the ability to describe Jane Russell without moving your hands,” joked Bob Hope, who starred in three movies with her. But think of Russell as dumb or naive or vulnerable at your peril. The standard Hollywood sex symbol is a “girl,” regardless of age: in the grammar of stardom, always object, never subject. No one’s object, Russell was a capital-W woman.
“It’s not that I mind bein’ stared at,” she says to Ryan in “The Tall Men.” “That’s part of bein’ a female. But I don’t like bein’ weighed, measured, and counted.” She also says to him, “I wear a size 7½ boot. You can guess about the rest.” Those boots really are made for walking. Also note that in the movie Russell does not ride sidesaddle.
The contrast with Monroe in “Gentlemen” speaks for itself. Russell is like a knowing older sister, or a Butch Cassidy to Monroe’s Sundance (it’s as much female buddy movie as musical). Never taking herself at all seriously, Russell’s in on the joke, the joke being desirability, stardom, glamour — all of the above. Underscoring that self-awareness is a scene where she gets to impersonate Monroe. It’s hard to say who’s having more fun: Russell or the audience.
Being in on the joke was an onscreen constant. It’s one thing to appear sullen, and Russell did it very well. Few actresses have better understood the relation between sullen and sultry. It’s quite another to have one of the all-time “You must be kidding” expressions. Comehither looks from her were a lot harder to come by than oh-go-away ones.
There’s a reason she and Mitchum were so good together. He probably had the most relaxed onscreen manner of any star in movie history. Russell gave him a stroll for his money. Unfortunately, they made only one other movie beside “Macao.” It’s called “His Kind of Woman” (1951). Not just his, either.