The Painted Lady

The Painted Lady (1912) - Well, this is a bizarre and sadistic little fable - and I call it a "fable" because there seems to be some underlying, yet incomprehensible, moral about the evils of wearing makeup hidden in the subtext. I could quite be wrong here, however, and the pathos of the heroine’s descent into madness could quite be associated with her sense of low self esteem, and makeup is simply a poetic metaphor for a projection of herself onto a different plane of perception.

If I sound confused, it’s because I am. At the very bottom of The Painted Lady is a meaning that seems quite elusive to me. Perhaps I am trying to over-read the film. Perhaps it should best be taken for what it apparently is - a mean little melodrama that gives a talented young film actress plenty of space to act with her face.

This is certainly an actor’s vehicle. Blanche Sweet, who we saw kidnapped and placed in danger of a gang rape in The Lesser Evil, suffers a more severe, inward, psychological damage in this film. Sweet, all of sixteen years old here, looks more mature than she is putting on - this is definitely one of the early screen’s most talented and assured actresses. (Sweet would later go on to play the title role in Griffith’s first "feature" film, Judith of Bethulia [1914], which in very unfortunately not currently available on DVD.)

Sweet portrays the unnamed "Older Sister" in a household of four. Her "Younger Sister," portrayed with aplomb by the delightfully coquettish Madge Kirby, powders and paints her face to perfection in order to get the fellows to dote on her. She tries to get big sister to loosen up and paint up herself. But sweet Blanche is having no part of it. The result? Little sis gets all the attention at the church social while poor, plain Blanche gets the cold shoulder.

This is a puzzling situation, simply because we do not know Blanche’s reasoning here. Yes, her father (Charles Hill Mailes) is a stiff old gruff with a beard, but parental repression does not seem to faze Little Sister. Just what is making Blanche such a wallflower? Is it guilt from sexual repression - or perhaps just shyness? Blanche is certainly pretty enough, but she keeps her hair knotted up and her face as plainly blank as it can be.

What is going on underneath all this, we’d like to know? The film really doesn’t give evidence of exactly what Blanche’s dilemma is - all we do is see her react. And it is clear that, for whatever reason, this young lady is a fragile package already - and we are all the more ready to accept her subsequent crumbling.

Getting on with the plot, two "plotters" are sizing up the rich old man’s house. One of them, Joseph Graybill, looking affable in his straw hat and mustache, is greeted by the kindly minister, and is introduced around, arriving eventually with Blanche, who has gone off to suffer in self pity. The stranger ingratiates himself with Blanche, who is stunned and flattered by this newcomer’s interest in and apparent attraction to her.

We can see the transformation occurring on Blanche’s face, and her beauty is drawn out as she is coaxed from her shell by this handsome flatterer. Later, she escapes out her window for a secret rendezvous with the young fellow, where he flatters her some more.

However, it is all a subterfuge. All the stranger really wants is information about her father’s "business," which Blanche eventually provides. Here, the narrative breaks down - what information on earth does this man want from Blanche. He’s a burglar - is she going to give him the safe combination? Even if she knew it, wouldn’t such a question make her a tad suspicious?
At any rate, this detail proves unimportant to the psychological drama.

The new "boyfriend" dons a heavy coat, hat and masks his face and sneaks into the house. Blanche, left alone, realizes that there is an intruder and enters to confront him with a gun (!!!) (Where did this silly girl get a gun? Surely Griffith was not making a gun-control argument, but it certainly works as one here.) The burglar overpowers her, however, and in a struggle, the gun discharges, killing the intruder dead.

It is when Blanche has realized what has happened that she begins her terrifying descent into madness, beginning with a very effective display of hysterics. One can easily imagine most anyone reacting with emotional horror in such a situation, though. It is only when she has regained her control enough to look at the man’s face - and see that it is her new love that she has inadvertently killed, that she really begins to lose it. There are no histrionics here - she simply goes blank.

Father and Sister arrive home and discover the circumstances. Father takes Blanche into the hall to recover, but she has slipped into a kind of unbelieving catatonia. Sweet’s underplaying of the character here is very effective - and disturbing.

What is much more disturbing, however, is Blanche’s behavior later, after some time has passed. Obviously, still remaining in a mental fog, Blanche rises and surreptitiously exits the house to return to the little arbor where she had met with her "boyfriend" before. Here, she enters, relaxed and lovely as can be, and chats lovingly with the thin air, believing him still to be there. This has to be one of the most chillingly bizarre scenes ever shot in cinema up to this point - and it still holds its power today, nearly a century later.

The idea for the shot is spooky enough - it is Sweet’s magnificent portrayal of complete delusion that sells the scene, however. Sweet is so naturally charming and flirtatious in her utter madness that it is a bit overwhelming to watch. Once again, it is by underplaying the strange part that makes the performance so powerful, and we must assume that Griffith had a great deal to do with that, as that is one of his great trademarks.

The creepiness compounds as Blanche’s mother (Kate Bruce), noticing her missing, shows up to find her daughter in this condition. Sweet does not blink, but simply introduces her mother to her invisible beau. Mother plays along and greets the invisible gentleman.

I believe that if the film simply faded out and ended here, we would have a strange and satisfying conclusion to the film. Yet there is another scene to come.

Later, back at home, Blanche picks up the powder puff belonging to her sister, and moving to the mirror, uncertainly powders her face for another meeting with her "boyfriend." Moving back to the arbor, she greets him again. However, for some reason, she pauses to look at herself in a small mirror. When she sees that she is "painted," she is horrified, and collapses, presumably dead, into her arriving father’s arms. The mother soon joins them in this tableau, and it is here that the film ends.

Just what has happened here? Are we to interpret Sweet’s derangement as somehow related to the "false face" of the makeup - and if so, just how? What hidden force persuades her to powder her face - and why does her recognition of it exact such a profound jolt as to apparently kill her?
Lord knows exactly what Griffith had in mind here. Unless I am missing something either terribly obvious or something terribly obtuse, there seems to be a major flaw in the story telling of the film.

Does makeup somehow create Sweet’s downfall? Or are we simply watching the haphazard cues which gradually overwhelm an already vulnerable and overly sensitive girl? Just what is this film attempting to get at anyway?

I am afraid I just cannot quite crack this nut. But the film is definitely worthwhile for Sweet’s extraordinary performance and the psychological subtleties of the drama itself, difficult as they are to decode. But I have to admit that this is a cruel film, and quite difficult to watch. Cruelty to women will be a major theme in cinema, from Griffith on up to our own day. This is as good a place as any to begin to ponder it and its aesthetic/moral implications.