The Golden Age of Hollywood — Garbo, Brooks & a Dash of the Subversive

Louise Brooks

Louise Brooks, the darkest sylph of silent sensuality. It isn’t merely her beauty that makes modern film buffs still pine, nor is it the bob — “that radical, chirpy cut, which carried with it the dizzying innuendo of casual intimacy.” It’s the way her entire personality permutes through her body: the screw of her features when she is perplexed, the delighted smile, the strange tantrums, the soft curling of impishness upon the purse of her mouth. It’s one of the reasons why it’s hard to understand her beauty merely from pictures: Louise Brooks is a siren only in motion.— Wired magazine

“Let imagination be a form of memory allowing, by denying time, two beauties to caress, celluloid lovers in a room — it actually took place one night — a whispering detente with two Hollywood exquisites, a world above even A-list types, never mind lesser actresses…(so) who was the matchhead, who the match? when potassium chloride whipscratched red phosphorus, was it Greta caressing Weezie’s legs like beathing a beech bowl or Louise spoonroasting lovely Greta’s pale cheeks with her wimbling tongue?” — Novelist Alexander Theroux in the Yale Review



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