Poison Pen
When I posted a few of Louise Brooks’ letters a while back, I decided against posting this one. I thought it was just too mean, too angry.
And it is. But what the hell, take a look.
The first paragraph refers to the autobiographical novel she labored over for years, before she finally destroyed it—- and despite her expressed intentions here, she didn’t get far in re-writing it.
The furious blast of ill wind gusting through the third paragraph is directed at James Card, film archivist at the George Eastman House, who more than anyone else prompted Brooks’ rediscovery.
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Sten Sture said,
January 28, 2011 at 9:30 am
“Moviemaking was nothing and should have been relegated to the middle-years”.
I assume she means her 1925-1929 Hollywood career?
Eric Stott said,
January 28, 2011 at 10:48 am
I am SO glad I never had the opportunity of meeting this woman. I admire her on screen, but equally fine actresses with MUCH nicer personalities have fallen into obscurity while Brooks is in the pantheon as a goddess. She wasn’t appreciative for the admiration either, but she took the money.
I’d rather have spent time with Dorothy Mackaill