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Brooke Shields: "Pretty Baby"

 One thing I like about Brooke Shields is that she pounds the pavement for work. It's not clear to me that she has substantial acting talent; she has been nominated for many Razzie ("Worst Actress") Awards, and in fact she once had a nomination for "Worst Actress of the Century." But she keeps going--in "SVU," in "Grease," "Wonderful Town," "Chicago," in "Lipstick Jungle." She likes to work.


(Shields herself has charming candor when she discusses her career. She says that Malle's "Pretty Baby" is "the one and only good movie I've ever been in.")

The new Shields documentary makes a surprising argument. The script suggests that the idea of "Lolita" (young Shields, Britney Spears, Natalie Portman) wasn't all that "popular" before the 1970s. In the 50s and 60s, sex symbols were adults; they were in the tradition of Rita Hayworth and Marilyn Monroe. In the 70s, Gloria Steinem said, "Women aren't going to be treated like toys anymore." And popular culture disagreed. Popular culture just turned to actual children to fill the sexualized roles that had once been assigned to Hayworth and Monroe.

An interesting tactic in the new Shields documentary is the choice to resist stereotypes. We might imagine that Shields's mother was like Rose, in "Gypsy"--frantic for the spotlight. But in fact Teri Shields didn't really drum on doors and wave her arms in front of directors; she coolly assumed that the world would take an interest in Brooke, and she was right. The movie also challenges the world's response to Louis Malle. It's standard to say, "Malle is a brilliant, provocative director." But if we all feel queasy about Teri's decision to lend Brooke to "Pretty Baby"--shouldn't we also feel queasy about Louis Malle's decision to "accept the loan"?

Another fascinating feature is the character of Brooke herself. Brooke Shields talks about working on a set with Keith Carradine; the Carradine character was going to kiss Shields's character, and understandably, Shields didn't know how to manage the scene. (Shields was eleven years old.) Carradine helped Shields to feel at ease by saying, "This is pretend. It doesn't count. It's not your first kiss. None of this counts." It seems to me that Shields took Carradine's words and applied them to the entirety of her career. Every time young Shields appears in front of a camera, fielding inappropriate questions, discussing blue jeans, there is a sense of disassociation: "This is not real. None of this counts."

It's fascinating to observe someone who is so tough and so smart--and still so young.

I'm joining the chorus to say "two thumbs up."
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