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tcm · 5 years

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The Quiet Strength of Dorothy McGuire By Theresa Brown

Today’s entry for TCM’s celebrated programming feature Summer Under the Stars is new to the series, although she’s not new to me. I first saw Dorothy McGuire when my mother took my sister and me to see OLD YELLER during its original release back in 1957; but what’s a five-year-old kid know, anyway? Thirty years later when (I thought) I was grown up, I’d seen her films, but I found I liked volcanoes, bombshells and obvious measures of acting a bit more. But now, a little more than 60 years after OLD YELLER, I might just be ready for Dorothy McGuire. I might just be mature enough to handle her nuance, subtlety, grace and internalized acting. I might almost be ready for her strength and etherealness.

Strength and etherealness...that’s a wild combo isn’t it? Very few actresses can simultaneously pull that off. I find that McGuire embodies opposites that attract...and sometimes mesh. But then again, she WAS a Gemini (born June 14th, 1916). She can survive prairie living or have a martini in a night club. Her face is pure Americana (Omaha, Nebraska), open... plain even. But you’re not really looking if you don’t see more. Look again my fine buck-o. She is simply...beautiful. Gorgeous. Smart. Sure, you can be va-va-va-voomed by the hourglass figures of Marilyn, Jayne and Mamie. But the promise in McGuire’s softly hushed velvet voice speaks volumes.

Looking over the spate of films TCM will air today, you can see McGuire plays single gals, spinsters, servants, sophisticates, girlfriends, wives and mothers. In her role as ‘Mom’ she faces head on the blindingly sun-kissed, blue-eyed blondeness of Connie Stevens / Troy Donahue / Sandra Dee (in two romantic melodramatic films from the late 50’s early 60’s – good fun) and steadfastly holds the screen...without blinking. Referencing these films with Stevens, Donahue and Dee, I find as I’ve gotten older I’d rather spend time with McGuire and Richard Egan (in A SUMMER PLACE, ’59) and her A TREE GROWS IN BROOKLYN (’45) star Lloyd Nolan in SUSAN SLADE (’61).

She’s plain, down home, common sense in FRIENDLY PERSUASION (’56), then sophisticated and upper crust in GENTLEMAN’S AGREEMENT (’47). She does a very good balancing act...on a razor blade, keeping us unsure on what side of Semitism she lands...for or against. Perfect acting chemistry with co-star Gregory Peck. Her poignancy is heartbreaking in THE ENCHANTED COTTAGE (’45) as a maid who desperately wants to be loved, or as Van Johnson’s wife who discovers her father has paid him to marry her in INVITATION (’52). I envision other actresses going over the top with that discovery...but not Dorothy McGuire. She even fearlessly stares down the Mighty Roman in this one...Ruth Roman.

I finally saw A TREE GROWS IN BROOKLYN (from beginning to tear-soaked end) and what a great performance McGuire gives in her fourth movie. I should have seen this movie at least 77 million times already as long as I’ve been enjoying classic films; but I piece-mealed it. I saw it recently, and this is one tough movie; maybe one I can only see once. The turns of events and reversals of fortunes broke me down. In this film, McGuire plays Katie Nolan and has to be both mother and father to her children (played by Peggy Ann Garner and Ted Donaldson) since her husband is basically an irresponsible dreamer. Someone has to put food on the table and teach the kids survival skills. No time for fun or nurturing because husband Johnny Nolan (winning a well-deserved Academy Award for actor James Dunn) is a dreamer full of whimsy, blarney, Peter Pan and drink. Among the many good scenes McGuire has when no one in her family can see her conflict, there’s one when she lets down her hair (literally) and becomes her girlish self again smiling, laughing, getting swept up in her husband’s stories. We see her crash when she can no longer stomach the fantasy and lets reality wash over her. It’s all in her face. She can’t stand the lies anymore.

Dorothy McGuire is a consummate actress and infinitely watchable. And hey, Norman Lloyd likes her:

“It’s been 72 years since I started in theater. I’ve known a lot of people in this business, but none as warm, as welcoming, as...lovely, as admirable a human being. None more so than Dorothy.”

Don't be like me and skim over her career. I'm playing catch up now. TCM is showing some great films today. Dorothy McGuire has gravitas, sincerity, believability, loveliness. There are no tricks up her sleeve. She looks you squarely and unwaveringly in the eye. She’s not heavy-handed. Her acting is quiet...still. She floats in the air...and stays grounded.

#Dorothy McGuire #Tree Grows in Brooklyn #TCM #Summer Under the Stars #Turner Classic Movies #Summer Place #Invitation #Old Yeller #Theresa Brown

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xoxoendoh · 6 years

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Close to Lost

A leaf of cartography, an inkwell upturned… He’d stained the land, he’d blotted out the verdant life around him.

SasuSaku Month 2018, Day 4: Burn

A/N: No content warnings for this fic, and I apologize for being a whopping twenty-four days late! For whatever reason, this one took forever and a half.

Jukebox: "You Are the Moon" by The Hush Sound

FF.net link

Sakura had been wandering through the secluded training grounds, eyes downcast; her troubling ruminations as much to blame as the glare of the sinking sun. There was something about the place that kept her coming back, something reassuring.... Ever since the start of the chunin exams, she had been unable to quiet her mind. Sleepless nights strung together, wakeful worries interwove: she couldn’t shed the net tangled about her.

And through some frayed string of fate, she found the object of her rumination that evening. She caught him in a moment of weakness, shortly after he’d fallen to Sabaku no Gaara and the beast within him, a time near the cruel anniversary of his clan’s demise.

And he was sending up flares.

The gradual transition to twilight was the perfect showcase for his fireballs, their red flames churning upward to lick at the weary sun in spite, in envy.

They were her beacon, drawing her into the trees.

Under the canopy, the woods were dense and shadowy green—and just as they should be. Yet with every stride, the foliage grew more glaucous; the acerbic smell on the air strengthened, it burned…. And she began to hear the silence as she went deeper. There was nothing. No chirping, no scurrying. No cicadas humming their nightly crescendo, their exaltation of the rising moon. Not even cries warning of her intrusion. Just the sound of her footsteps and breath and the heavy quiet… Her instincts, however, beckoned her onward.

And all at once, she found his fury.

It could have been beautiful. Perhaps it was….

She saw downy dandelion parachutes suspended in spring; she saw windswept sakura petals, lilting and languid at the height of hanami….

Yet she knew she stood in summer. Her hands leapt to cover her mouth, her heart.

Fine motes cast a strange veil to compound the dusk. Tufts of ash drifted sedately, buoyant on the dense air; wispy embers, flickering orange and gold, floated along the heated murk. The incinerated terrain below hissed and sputtered in despairing protest.

A leaf of cartography, an inkwell upturned… He’d stained the land, he’d blotted out the verdant life around him.

The unfurling fumes thwarted her attempt at a calming breath, turning it into a muffled wheeze against her palm. Her fingers tightened at her collar, releasing the steam of perspiration; she shook her head, repelling the flecks as they sifted down. One footfall disturbed the chalk of the forest floor; the next created a small cloud. Uneven as they were, her steps took her through the ruin, the temperature climbing as the sun fell, until she stood a few feet away from the boy she loved. The origin of the blaze…

Her tiny frame trembled faintly in the wafting grey, in the orange glow of smoldering coals. She could feel the heat of his destruction radiating into her skin. And she knew she should look him in the eyes, but she couldn’t—not when his gaze had been so blank, so hollow only moments before…. He’d just stood there, among the scattered cinders and flames, the brittle charcoal, the blackened remnants of a vernal woodland. He could have been a child witnessing his first snowfall, dazed, unable to fathom it all. He hadn’t said a word. Perhaps he’d been unable.

"S-Sasuke-kun,” Sakura began hoarsely, sure in the need to break the silence, to tell him…yet so uncertain in the method, in the phrasing. “The day we became genin…” she trailed off, unable to deny her eyes the scene around him.

The burnt foliage above had come apart at the seams, falling so bright in the maturing darkness. Spores seeking to take root, nascent sparks popped and rocketed skyward to compete with those descending from the treetops. Flurrying and whirling, they clashed. Yet it was a futile rivalry, for even fire was failing: the last of the withering flames lusted after the unburnt traces at his feet; blindly, they reached and stretched and groped the scorched earth for virgin kindling to burn, to consume….

But there’s nothing left….

The notion tugged her from her odd reverie, sent a shiver to shake her spine. She’d seen enough. Sakura bit down on her lip. The grainy dust—the arid, acrid taste of smoke and wrath—lingered on her tongue as her lips parted.

The weight of her words and the pain in the memory sucked the remaining oxygen from the haze around her, forcing her to speak too quickly: “That day, you told me solitude is the worst sort of pain! I-I see it so clearly now, Sasuke-kun! I…” She felt weighted, so heavy. Her short hair shielded her face as she hung her head lower, eyes closed to the irritants and toxins around her. “I…” she tried again, in a whisper, “I didn’t back then, I had no idea…” Her voice was stronger: “But I think, maybe now, I understand what the pain of loneliness is. I have family and friends…but…”

She tentatively lifted her head to search for his eyes in the dim. She found them, dark and distant…and waiting. Hers shone and stung with tears to be—from the intensity of his regard; from the airborne debris in the sudden gust. The sparks floating around them flared and billowed on the wind. It whipped their hair; it reanimated the once-settled charred remnants…. Watching the displaced pall subside around her still feet, she waited for the words to come.

When they did, they were frail, fraught: “You feel so far away….”

Come back to me, hung unspoken.

Recovering herself, Sakura quietly cleared her throat and took a soft step forward. She kept her tone gentle, free of judgement: “It-it breaks my heart, Sasuke-kun, seeing you...like this.”

Eyes now keen, now wary on hers, he was still panting from the exertion of forging his own inferno. Singes dotted the skin around his mouth, where he’d exhaled fire. Like hers, his inky hair was dappled. Trickles of sweat streaked through the fine layer of grey on his face, stripping away the corruption, to reveal slivers of the boy she recognized, the boy she loved.

But as she examined the rest of him, she found myriad of scorch marks. He’d been reckless. His dominant arm hung forgotten at his side, the last vestiges of electricity convulsing through his fingers. So reckless...

She clenched the fabric of her dress; she felt her skin cool and prickle, felt the tiny hairs stand on end—like his current had somehow reached her.

Burning through your chakra like this—you could have killed yourself! You could have…

Despite the chill gripping her body, a drop of her own perspiration slid from her temple to her chin. The feeling, though slight, was enough to break her train of thought. For the briefest moment, she wondered what he saw in the vein of clarity it left on her…. She wondered if he could he see anything at all….

The droplet left her skin to disappear in the dust, and her mind centered. Somehow, she knew it was time for honesty. Somehow, she knew he needed to hear it:

“Because…you mean everything to me. Everything.”

The words had nearly caught in her throat, suspended like the ash in the sweltering air. I will not cry, she told herself. I won’t weep for him. He’s never wanted that, he never will—and he deserves more than my tears.

As tentative as it was instinctual, her hand reached out for his shoulder. Eyes flitting between his and her target, she braced for an adverse reaction upon the moment she made contact, she expected it. Though he stiffened, he didn’t swat her away or shrink back: he just stood there and allowed her featherlike touch; watching the dust settle to further mute her bright hair, questioning her with his dubious silence.

Her eyes rose from his shoulder to scrutinize the three black tomoe etched into his neck, as they so often did, and she silently cursed the Snake. Beyond the singes, the malicious, black mark was the only blemish on his body—the only visible manifestation of his suffering! Unless, of course, he set the coal of his eyes aflame…

And she’d seen the frightening power of both.

Is that what you were thinking, Sasuke-kun? ...Is that why you did this?

The fingers at the red of her collar clamped down, she moved to bite her lip again—but she stopped herself. She couldn’t give in to such a childish habit when she’d come this far, when he was listening. Determined, the verdure of her eyes returned to his.

“You don’t have to be alone, Sasuke-kun,” she spoke soothingly, careful to avoid a patronizing tone. “You’ll always have me.” As a shy smile formed around her last word, she felt blood rush to her flame-flushed cheeks. Sakura ignored the sensation and forced her lips to loosen: this wasn’t the time to give in to girlish whimsy; she’d make her body obey. She bent her elbow to step solicitously closer, close enough to smell the earthy scent she knew to be his through the miasma. One hand on him, the other on her heart, she swore: “Always.”

I love you so much…with all my heart, she thought, but I don’t think I can tell you that, not yet.

She gingerly traced his shoulder, nails collecting the fine, gritty precipitate there. She could feel the dexterity in the muscle, the power in the sinew…. And he didn’t flinch under her light touch, he didn’t avert his eyes. She moved nearer, preparing to see alarm or revulsion appear in his expression, until her forearm was flush against the length of his bicep, only a few inches of smoke separating the rest of them. She couldn't blink, she couldn't breathe for fear of dispelling the moment, her chance to reach him….

A branch snapped behind him; coils of red outlining its remaining leaves, faux fireflies swarming and twinkling in its wake. The fallen limb rippled through the powdery soot at the forest floor, sending it aloft once more.

Yet neither noticed, their senses entirely focused on the other.

Sakura was transfixed. She could see the suffering, the perpetual ache, the torment in the ink of his eyes—and it was dizzying. She’d known it was there, but she’d never seen its full extent…. She’d never seen it so close, so unconcealed. And just beneath, there was the acidic fury she’d tasted in the ashes. Tonight, his anger had burned too hot for his body to contain. The devastation around them, she realized, had been a momentary lapse in control, a flare of his temper. A mere glimmer of the roiling, lambent blaze inside him…

Hatred.

Its conflagration eclipsed the flicker of him that existed beyond loathing and vengeance—the flicker the Snake had tried to snuff out, the flicker she’d managed to sustain when his darkness burned black through his skin. She saw it so clearly then, for in that moment, he was living only for the past, only for the promise of retribution….

But they both knew the inevitability in fire….

One tear escaped to flow down her face: she could feel desperation coming on the night.

...They’d known it long before witnessing the aftermath of his arson.

Ignoring the shriek of warning she heard in the back of her mind, she stood on pointed toes and flung her arms around him. The impact of her embrace released a plume of ash to envelop them. She pressed her face to his neck, her lithe body to his, the muck on his skin coloring hers.

“I won’t let you be alone anymore,” she promised in a murmur to his ear, eyes shut to the despair around them. “Never again.”

She waited, stunned at her own audacity.

His heart thudded into hers; his chest expanded as he inhaled. The blue-black fringe at his nape stroked her forehead.

The last traces of tree sap crackled and bubbled in the dimming embers, crystalizing as the surviving coals waned to a low gleam….

Her eyes flew open, dilating in panic, in the umbrage: she felt the muscles in his hanging arms spasm and contract, considering motion. But she didn’t dare let go—not when he felt so close to lost.

So, eyes agape, she froze, not risking a breath….

Over his shoulder, she could see the world turn to shadow as the sun finally vanished. At last unobscured, sweet silver streamed down to mottle the earth, to temper the remaining hues of red and orange and yellow. The shimmering perigee of moonrise... The beginnings of a familiar nocturne hailed its coming: the warble of a songbird announced its proximity; insects revved and stammered, grappling toward their usual thrum; an owl called out, wistful and clear.

And then—haltingly, devoid of his usual grace—he bowed his head until his cheek rested on her hair.

Unsure if she was imagining it, afraid to dissolve the mirage, she held her gasp in her chest.

She felt the low rumble of his voice before she heard it, smoky on the clearing air:

“Sakura… Thank you…”

His breath, his words were soft on her skin…. They were warm.

So, what do you think? I'm still feeling so rusty when it comes to writing, particularly something like this…. Spent so much time second-guessing myself and nitpicking, and I really hope I got it right. Believe it or not, this actually has a Part II. PII was meant for Day 8: Flowers...but it will be a while before I get around to it!

And a huge shout out to @thepiestperson! Thank you for all your help with this lil' ficlet—you're a doll! Not sure when I would have finished this one without your input and encouragement. :)

My other SSM18 submissions:

☀ No content warning: Gravitation, Day 2: Side by Side

☾ Barely NSFW, then very NSFW:

Umbra, Day 11: Eclipse | The Cherry Wood Armoire, Day 31: Free

If you’re interested, you can read my other SasuSaku and ItaSaku work on FF.net.

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