I’ve heard the 1945 film noir Mildred Pierce called “anti-feminist” by some critics. This in itself is not surprising–the noir genre is notoriously woman-unfriendly, populated mainly by harridans, manipulative shrews, and sly seductresses, all depicted with broad, stereotypical strokes by a cadre of male directors. But the title character of Mildred Pierce is much more complex than her fellow noir-ish sisters in that she fulfills both masculine and feminine roles in the film, subsequently obliterating the boundaries inherent to her gender–and, as a result, serving as the implicit cause for all of the events that would follow. Because Mildred dares to construct a life separate from the home, separate from the values that define her gender, she must be brought back down to size through the most unceremonious–and tragic–of means.
The story of a hard-working, middle-class woman (played by Joan Crawford in the defining role of her long career) who sacrifices her own happiness for the well-being of her self-involved, conniving daughter, Veda (Ann Blyth), Mildred Pierce is an exercise in melodrama tempered by a genuine aura of suspense. The story is framed by Mildred’s narrative; she is interrogated by the police after her second husband, Monte Beragon (Zachary Scott), is found dead in their seaside home. The police suspect Mildred’s first husband, Bert (Bruce Bennett), of the crime, but as Mildred slowly reveals, the truth is much more complicated than it initially appears.
Mildred Pierce is a blame game of a film, laying much of the fault for the characters’ actions solely on the protagonist’s padded shoulders. Like other women who “forget their place,” Mildred must be schooled through tragedy and ill fortune. In other words, because she moves outside of the typical female role–leaving the home to provide for her family–she must be punished for blatantly disrespecting the rules of the patriarchy.
Mildred casts out first husband Bert because he can no longer provide for the family. Bert is not the only one lacking in his duty to his family, however; it is implied that Mildred has not been conducting her “wifely duties,” to the point that her perceived frigidness has driven her husband into the arms of another woman. When Bert leaves, therefore, Mildred not only loses a husband, but a part of her femininity; she becomes the de facto “man of the house,” taking on the role of mother and father to Veda and Kay and thoroughly stripping her husband of his masculinity–and his authority–in the process.
Initially, it seems as though Mildred has bucked the trend: instead of being punished for her shortcomings, she becomes wildly successful, starting a chain of restaurants that allow her to keep Veda in the high-class style to which the selfish girl aspires. But this unchecked success cannot be allowed to continue. The recently-divorced Mildred pushes the boundaries of gender conformity even more when she begins an out-of-wedlock affair with Monte. Having now gone too far, the wayward woman must be schooled punitively … and her subsequent punishment is the death of her younger daughter. And when Mildred later marries Monte–not out of any sense of love, but solely for Veda’s social benefit–further punishment comes in the form of financial ruin (as Monte’s playboy ways serve to significantly drain her wealth) and the affair that develops between Monte and stepdaughter Veda.
Mildred’s role as the sacrificing mother-figure is complicated by the film’s perception of her as a typically-noir femme fatale, particularly in her manipulation of Wally Fay (Jack Carson) as she attempts to the lay the blame for Monte’s murder on him. Knowing full well that her husband’s corpse lies in the parlor, Mildred entices Wally to the beach house through the implied promise of sexual gratification. This move can be construed as (perhaps somewhat justified) revenge for Wally’s takeover of Mildred’s restaurant chain–a takeover aided and abetted by Monte’s abuse of Mildred’s checkbook. But the history of film–and noir in particular–tells us that the woman seeking vengeance on the men who have wronged her will rarely be satisfied, for the construct of patriarchy doesn’t allow women to seek redress against men–well, successfully, anyway.
Therefore, the film tells us, Mildred is the cause behind every character’s actions. Because she abandons her marriage and neglects to prioritize her role as wife and mother, one daughter dies and the other commits murder. When Veda, after killing Monte, tells her mother, “It’s your fault as much as mine,” she may as well be speaking for the patriarchy that implicitly places the blame for Kay’s and Monte’s deaths–and Veda’s own selfish transgressions–solely at Mildred’s weary feet. The only resolution is for Mildred to accept that role–to fully shoulder the blame–and seek redemption through reuniting with Bert and re-donning the mantle of respectable womanhood. Then, and only then, can the natural order of things be restored.
The only female character in the film who does not adhere strictly to the inherent rules is Ida (Eve Arden), Mildred’s boss and eventual employee. The smart-mouthed, quick-witted Ida provides a great deal of the movie’s comic relief while serving as a direct counterpoint to Mildred. Here is a woman who shuns the binds of patriarchy, forging a career and foregoing the “hearth and home” path. Yet Ida is given a pass largely because she lacks Mildred’s abounding femininity. Ida is “one of the boys,” not even considered marriage material by the men in the film: as she quips at one point, “When men get around me, they get allergic to wedding rings.” Because she is not seen as a feminine threat, she is allowed a certain level of freedom that Mildred is not. This is emphasized in her styling throughout the film; her hair and clothing are less pronouncedly feminine than Mildred’s, and Ida even carries herself more self-assuredly.
I am hesitantly looking forward the upcoming HBO miniseries adaptation of Mildred Pierce, starring Kate Winslet as Mildred and Evan Rachel Wood as Veda. Winslet is one of my favorite actresses, and one of the few I can think of who could actually handle the material. She’s no Crawford, but I think she has the potential to make this role her own. Wood … well, not so much. But if this version, directed by Todd Haynes (best known for directing 2002′s phenomenal Far From Heaven), adheres more closely to the original novel, fans of the film may be in for a bit of a treat. At the very least, the five-hour running time of the miniseries will allow more development of both the characters and the plot, though it remains to be seen if this will actually be of some benefit to the story. Let’s just say that, even though I’m typically opposed to remakes (I’m looking at you, Baz Luhrmann–keep your grubby mitts off The Great Gatsby!), I’m cautiously optimistic that Haynes and company will do this material justice. And I have to admit, I’m curious to see if a more feminist-friendly spin is put on the film in an effort to “freshen up” the original.
Regardless, nothing and no one can ever replace the sheer brilliance of Crawford’s performance. This is what ultimately makes Mildred Pierce an indelible piece of film history: Crawford fully commits to a balls-to-the-wall, all-out performance the likes of which we rarely see in cinema anymore. After all, at this point in her career, when she had been labeled “box-office poison” and relegated to less-than-stellar roles, Crawford had nothing left to lose, and this freed her to deliver one of the best female characters to ever be put on the screen, period.
Even while you may be gnashing your teeth at the injustice of it all–even while you may be aching to reach through the screen and slap the crap out of Veda–there’s nothing quite like Mildred Pierce. It’s showing on TCM three times in the next three months (check their schedule for details), so if you’ve never seen it, take advantage of the opportunity to catch a damn good classic.
