Unceremonious

In the spirit of the interminable political season, when several shopworn presidential candidates are being refashioned, buffed, rebranded and peddled as a fresh bill of goods, I have similarly returned from the wilderness -- sans beard, by the way -- to reintroduce myself to my devoted reading public. Uh, Let the Conversation Begin.

At the risk of singling her out -- there's enough disappointment, disgust and outright enmity to go around, after all -- Hillary Clinton, a known quantity laden with baggage (carpet baggage?), can't convincingly pull off her own extreme makeover. She doesn't possess the political and social instincts of her husband. Or the chameleon-like talents of a truly great actress like Barbara Stanwyck, who eluded typecasting and pigeonholing over the years and whose would-be centenary is being celebrated this year. (She died in 1990.) Although Ms. Clinton is undoubtedly busy, dividing her time between senatorial duties and a nationwide campaign, she might benefit in terms of believability from one or more of the offerings being screened (here and here) in recognition of Ms. Stanwyck's singular contribution to American film. In the course of her career, Stanwyck delivered a host of indelible performances, most notably those in The Lady Eve and Double Indemnity, that stand as a collective testament to her defining traits of consummate professionalism and brilliant versatility. When Stanwyck hesitated in taking on the role of Phyllis Dietrichson, Indemnity's scheming femme fatale, thinking she had perhaps moved on from such disreputable characters, director/co-writer Billy Wilder reportedly confronted her: "Are you an actress or a mouse?" She was an actress. She is Phyllis. She's every woman. Yet there's no one like her. She deserves a happy 100th.

I wonder if the junior senator from New York would accept a campaign contribution in the form of movie tickets.