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Introduction
Publicity poster advertising STOLEN HOLIDAY, 1937
It’s a common theme in Kay Francis movies to see her enter a loveless marriage or platonic partnership. The motivations differ vastly, and run the gamut from pity and obligation to maximizing advantageous opportunity in favor of personal gain. Of course, the latter is the most fun, as it provides the viewer a glimpse into the conscience of a morally compromised woman and the inner workings of her psyche. Oftentimes, the implication of disregarded principle possesses connotations far deeper and greater than what appears to the undiscerning eye. Even with the Code in place, certain relegations of amorality feel unjust or too severe a punishment for the alleged perpetrator at hand. It calls limits and opinions into question — what are the variables that engender such a phenomenon? How much does it take for one to supersede that proverbial boundary to be labeled ignominious, and why? STOLEN HOLIDAY perhaps stands as the best encapsulation of such a phenomenon in the canon of Francis’ filmography. She unapologetically partakes in and reaps the benefits of a crooked financier’s exploits, admirably rebuffing his advances because she has no interest. Her wealth affords her the opportunity to grow her own career as a businesswoman, and along the way acquire a lofty and venerable reputation. Even more compelling is the unusual romance arc that finds her listlessly resigning to marriage as a means of last resort. Her lack of enthusiasm at the union is prominent and palpable, and its consummation is continually deterred and delayed because of her blatant prioritization of her business. Kay’s Nicole is a force of nature, effortlessly chic and self-assured in her every movement. Her atypical approaches to conventionality set her apart from the typical heroine of the era, particularly novel given the Code’s enforcement.
It’s clear that the thoughtlessness attributed to the bulk of the movie’s production was not applied in the conception of Nicole. The role itself, while well suited to her range and capabilities, is broad enough in the sense that it’s easy to visualize any of her contemporaries (ie Davis, Sheridan, Crawford) in her place. However, Kay transcends character in her portrayal of Nicole. It’s a different sort of transcendence than the one often achieved (and consequently associated with) Bette Davis — earmarked not by aggressive pantomime, but rather a latent, earthy vulnerability that occasionally manifests during an evocative closeup, or even a discerning distance shot. Whether it was a conscious mechanism or not, it certainly adds dimension and gravitas to an already well rounded personality.
— Foundational Similarities
In many ways, Francis’ approach to acting unmistakably mirrors Joan Crawford’s. A large part is likely attributed to their similar beginnings and relative inexperience in their professions. While both women harbored different ambitions, they both ultimately pursued acting,compensating for lack of familiarity with their innate emotionality. Joan described her own practice as being guided by the heart foremost, rejecting method and perfunctory structure in favor of playing to intuitive hunches. Such a style is arguably more personal in its revelations, as the resulting manifestation, while tangibly separate from the actor, still incorporates large swathes of their most unadulterated and aspects.
This unintentional display of authenticity plays a critical role in this particular analysis, lending credence to an intricately woven queer subtext that dances just out of sight throughout the film’s entirety, though even still it must be taken at face level. It is, without a doubt, significant to note that Kay Francis in her own words self-identified as someone who slept with both men and women — but equally important to recognize that while it offers some vindication, it must not be unfairly exploited and overextended in its influence.
1937 Warner Brothers publicity promoting Kay Francis
Writing queer theory perches upon this careful precipice, the oft disputed divide that separates reality from fiction. It’s a tricky thing, because it lacks consistency and depends entirely on subjectivity. At some points, the line is thick and easy to discern — at others, it’s so faint that one may entirely overlook its presence. An inherent relationship exists between all artists and their art, but it is important to note that each one vastly differs in its strength, origin, and influence. My goal is to not in any way try to speak for Kay or her sexuality, but instead consider it as one of many variables that ultimately contribute to a queer reading of STOLEN HOLIDAY, one that relies on far more than just the suppositions of an actress’s sexual exploits.
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The Unconventional, Anomalous Woman
I’d like to present a more critical examination of Nicole, and what her ambitions, profession, and relationships signify on a larger scale — that is, how they contribute to her originality and persona on an individual level, but also in the greater machinations of the film. Her most distinctive qualities both serve to aid and inhibit her depending on the debacle at hand. It’s important to consider the varying contextualizations of her character as well: while in today’s day and age we laud the hardworking, independent self-made woman, she was often viewed as a threat and a menace to the fabric of traditional society. It is easy to celebrate these qualities, easier still for someone like myself who has enjoyed the privilege of growing up in a very liberal and forward-minded environment, and because of this it is essential to continually pause, reflect, and consider what such a character represents to the facets of other communities.
She is introduced to the viewer in decisive ambiguity, played up by her masculine self-assuredness and slicked back coiffure. In temperament she is cool, level headed, and confident, very much at odds with the girlish demeanor demanded of her job. There’s a distinct difference in temperament when she is presented on stage and off: when prompted, she leans into her role as a performer and transforms into the feminine ideal, flaunting provocative loungewear. Offstage, however, nestled comfortably from the public sphere, she dons square-shouldered suits that conjure an air of androgyny, particularly when matched with her bobbed hair. Her image and its paradoxical presentation resounds overwhelmingly with her layered and incongruous persona, marrying the two aesthetically. Interesting enough, her appearance does change given the situational context: at times, she appears more feminine, like when she elopes with her diplomatic love interest, Anthony. These shifting reflections, while not conclusive, are certainly worthy of note and piquant in their harmonious alignment to the themes that are being displayed.
Nicole (Francis), as she appears in the opening scenes of STOLEN HOLIDAY
On account of the Depression, it is true that many American women in the 1930s dabbled in the job economy with more agency than they were ever allotted beforehand. Most of this work was molded around typical female conventionality — that is to say, if a woman was working at all, she was most likely working as a caregiver, assistant, or boarding matron — all professions that fit comfortably within the definition of what it meant to be a woman in that given period. Younger women, unbound by familial obligation, enjoyed a slightly wider variety, oftentimes taking up work as a model or stenographer. True diversity would only emerge as a last resort in the years to follow, as the mandatory drafting of men for WWII meant that women had no other option than to pick up the slack.But in 1937, at the time when STOLEN HOLIDAY was released, this was still very much a distant fever dream that few could conceptualize.
Nicole falls into the latter category — as a young woman free of commitment, she has the autonomy to take up a career as a dress model. Her introduction is orchestrated brilliantly, evoking cacophony in order to richen her character. An opening sequence features a bevy of well-dressed women, beaming magnificently as they waltz across the showroom floor in a bid to stir interest in these fanciful garments. In tow is Nicole, who delivers a picture perfect performance, before taking refuge in the dressing room to express how she really feels. She’s in it for the money and tires of the mindless redundancy of the work. She’s keen and eloquent in expression, painting a stark contrast to the flippant, careless persona that moments ago was gliding buoyantly across the room.
Nicole, donning the gown Orloff requested.
This opening shot alone already alludes to the startling similarities that Nicole shares with Kay Francis herself. Like Nicole, Kay benefitted from her physical beauty, grace and stature, effortlessly earning her a reputation as being one of the finest clotheshorses in Hollywood despite her evident lack of interest in such a venture. She was also profoundly vocal when it came to her career ambitions, repeatedly reminding the press that she cared more about her paycheck than any other aspect of her profession. Kay Francis was very much out of her element in Hollywood, an adventurous free-thinker who possessed an intelligence deemed all but irrelevant in the glamour capital of the world. Her frankness is admirable — she made no secret of her intention to weaponize her assets in order to profit from the system. Stature was the least of her concerns, seemingly just a consequence of her financial success that proved to be more of a hindrance than an aid. Throughout the course of the two movies, she entertains two love affairs — both of which lend considerably critical insight into the different ways in which the movie presents and plays with her sexual ambiguity.
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The Lavender Marriage
Nicole inadvertently stumbles across an opportunity when she encounters the suave yet surreptitious Stefan Orloff (Claude Rains), who offers her wealth, status and agency in exchange for representation of his business — an front contrived to masquerade to cover his illicit sales of false bonds.. Though initially hesitant, Nicole readily signs on. She harbors minimal qualms in regards to potential moral repercussions and takes comfort in knowing that all Orloff requires of her is her image, in order to boost the reputability of his questionable dealings.
The scheme evolves into a roaring success, establishing Nicole as a society figure through its cumulative efforts. She heads and operates a successful, state-of-the-art fashion house on her own merit. Unscrupulous practices, though present, are conducted outside of her arena — and just like the old adage goes, Nicole virtually ignores these happenings since no proof of their actuality is ever presented to her. She enjoys the fruits of her labor so much that she’s willing to overlook any covert underdealings in favor of her career trajectory.
Orloff and Nicole discuss the prospect of a transactional marriage.
What’s even more fascinating is the strange and unprecedented nature of her partnership with Orloff. Nicole is candidly upfront about her aspirations and terms. She expresses soundly that she has absolutely no romantic interest in him, setting a precedent to which she strictly adheres in their relationship. She does warm up to him by the film’s conclusion, and even prioritizes him over her supposed romance — though strictly in platonic terms. Their camaraderie is far from perfect, marred by his relentless attempts to change her mind, but still conveys a fresh and forward attitude in regards to female equality that was far ahead of its time. Brewing in the background all the while is the formative pairing of diplomat Anthony and Nicole, whose increased companionship breeds a new stage of intimacy, inhabiting the indescribable space between friends and lovers like a liquid mold. This relationship will be examined in greater detail in subsequent sections; for now, I’ll return the focus to Orloff.
A notable point of intrigue arises during the film’s frantic climax that reinforces Nicole’s sexual ambiguity. At this point, she and Anthony have acknowledged their relative attraction for one another, jeopardizing her stake in Orloff’s crumbling scheme. Realizing he is on the brink of run, Orloff pleads Nicole to marry him in a final bid to protect his image through her integrity. Given the story’s direction and the introduction of a potential suitor, one would logically assume that Nicole would reject his offer. Instead, she subverts this expectation and does just the opposite, forsaking her potential tryst with Anthony at the expense of Orloff. It’s strangely counterintuitive, dissonant to her staunch and continual denouncement of his flirtations — but at the same time lends a great deal of insight into her motivations. Even if she does feel indebted to Orloff for her success, sacrificing her right to a relationship seems a bit extreme for a woman who has consistently (and may I add, with great flair) rejected the conventional morals expected of her. It certainly speaks volumes about her relative attitude toward Anthony, particularly when the attraction seemed tenuous and stilted from the start. It doesn’t take too much deliberation on her end for Nicole to cast aside her beau, and she expresses minimal regret in regards to this blatant prioritization.
Orloff and Nicole’s lackadaisical wedding ceremony
The wedding itself serves as the perfect farce, recalling the ubiquitous phenomenon of ‘lavender marriages’ that dominated Hollywood society, malevolence guised and repackaged as “protection” for queer folk whose identities posed considerable threat to the carefully curated image of stardom achieved by the studios. Many of these marriage claims remain unsubstantiated at best, but a few proven examples have arisen from the annals of history, most notably the union of Lilyan Tashman and her husband, both of whose sexuality was considered an open secret in the echelon of the Hollywood elite. Afterall, such fabrications were the closest thing to secondnature as queer actors could get: in addition to their craft onscreen, they continually were forced to epitomize the role of the happy, compliant heterosexual if they wanted to retain their career. Those who went against the grain were met with harsh ostracization that more often than ended their stardom. Billy Haines faced such a treatment when he refused to leave his partner, Jimmy Shields, for a superficial lavender union. Fortunately, such attitudes weren’t entirely punitive — in fact, he went on to achieve remarkable success as an interior decorator, with many stars (composed of allies and fellow queers) rallied behind him to support his endeavors. Kay herself was friendly with both Haines and Shields amongst other queer folk.
In a stroke of genius, intentional or not, Curtiz builds upon this symbolism by effectively preventing the marriage’s consummation. Before the newlyweds are even able to enjoy a moment to themselves, bedlam erupts in the streets and their sanctuary is compromised by swarms of angry mobs. Such an interruption almost feels unnecessary, as the film goes to considerable length to affirm that the two maintain a dynamic that is strictly pragmatic and cordial.
Orloff scouts Nicole in their initial encounter. Notice how she stands out amongst the other models.
I’d like to take a deviation here to briefly address and contextualize Orloff’s character. The sexual ambiguity is not unique to Nicole, and shrouds Orloff’s persuasion as well. It is worth clarifying (and briefly revisiting) their initial encounter. Orloff, guised as a potential customer, requested that the models line up together in order to scout his partner– which inevitably leads to his choosing Nicole. Touching briefly back on appearances, this scenario takes on a new slant: Nicole, at the time of their introduction, was garbed in traditionally masculine attire. Though no correlation is soundly established, it’s most entrancing to note that her presentation of gender identity may have played a role in Orloff’s motivations. Despite the fact that he openly courts her in the beginning, his motivations take on a new air of intrigue following their marital union. It marks a turning point in their relationship, as his behavior ascribes to an increasingly platonic fashion, mirroring the attitude that Nicole has always held toward him and bringing balance to the dynamic. This is particularly showcased in the film’s penultimate scene, in which Kay answers his desperate plea and goes to where he is hiding, awaiting his inevitable death.
The two reconcile, and the ensuing scene is unique in staging, dialogue, and direction. The claustrophobic, shadowy room sutures off the rest of the world to create an intimate and temporal microcosm, one shared by only the two of them. Nicole is airing her grievances, most of which stem from the duplicitous nature of their wedding. She claims to have been in the dark in regards to his honest intentions, and accuses him of never once having been genuine, which prompts Orloff to counter back with a curiously casual declaration of his love for her. It unfolds as follows:
“But it wasn’t entirely a trick, Nicki. I have always loved you.” “What sort of a love was that?” “A love apart … apart from the love of success, and money, and power, a love that will meet the most exacting standards of sincerity. I ask you to believe that.” “Oddly enough, I do. I’m beginning to understand that you are a strange man, Stefan. It’s only natural that you should have strange ideas about right and wrong.”
Nicki’s acceptance of the sincerity of his sentiments is firmly rooted in the way in which she perceives him — “strange,” by her own admission. The word choice is particularly interestingfrom a semantic standpoint: while “queer,” was used to denote deviant displays of sexuality and gender, it was also a common and acceptable synonym for “strange” in the lexicon of the 1930s — thus, Nicki not only accuses her partner of being idiosyncratic in his ways, but additionally raises speculation about his orientation. She attempts to paint him as the other, the morally wayside wanderer as a subconscious means to protect herself. It’s a classic call to defense on Nicole’s behalf: as much as she dismisses her involvement and thus, concomitant awareness of his exploits, it’s hard to believe that such a total and unadulterated withdrawal could have possibly occurred, given her understanding earlier in the film when she first agreed to help Orloff with his plans. By that same token, it also represents her willful blindness to her own potential queerness. There are a generous sampling of moments offered in STOLEN HOLIDAY that would easily strengthen the argument for Orloff being queer himself, but as my primary focus is on the psyche of the queer female and therefore, Nicole, I will conclude my conjecture here and redirect my focus back to Nicole, and how her relationship with Anthony yields an contradictory but appropriately intricate exhibition of how identity intersects all facets of life.
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The Paradoxical Nature of the Queer Identity
The most astounding contrast lies in the antithetical pairing of Nicole and Anthony, for it transcends standard logic and reason. In certain aspects, it resonates sympathetically with the queer experience by evoking classic elements of an exclusive safe space that provides refuge and fleeting happiness, allowing for the couple to freely interact despite the forbidden nature of their relationship. It also, however, inverts this rhetoric by the film’s end by the shift in his character that sees him transform into an oppressive, insurmountable force that ultimately inhibits her personal sovereignty. The relationship that previously lent its favor to the queer experience instead becomes the very thing that impedes it. The intentionality matters little, but the surrounding context adds an entirely new dimension to the pre-existing narrative.
Nicole and Anthony thrive in the protective, tranquil bubble of their weekend getawat
Anthony and Nicole’s relationship is also peppered with deliberate equivocation, helmed foremost by her reticence toward his eagerness. The relationship is extraordinary in the sense that it both champions and disavows the queer experience. About halfway into the film, Nicole agrees to take a weekend getaway jaunt with Anthony, with platonic intentions. After commiserating over car trouble, the two convalesce at a quaint country cottage. The scenes that follow are intriguing, for the two fall into a sort of matrimonial lull in their routine, with each stepping up to fill the preassigned gender roles of husband and housewife. They quite literally play house, creating a fantasy world of their own to which only they are privy. It’s their shared secret, unperturbed by outside influence, yet there’s a sobering element present as well, an underlying sense that such a union could never see the light of day. The sanctity of their impermissible paradise is epitomized when Anthony catches two birds that he intends to prepare for dinner. But he and Kay cannot bring themselves to harm the creatures, as they are a mirror for their own experiences. Instead, they free the birds and watch them fly off together. It strengthens the irony of Anthony cajoling her into marriage in the end, as his presence here helps to supplement and support a queer-coded experience — a far cry from that he comes to embody by the film’s end.
Publicity depicting Nicole with one of the aforementioned birds
It is around the time when she returns from her whirlwind sabbatical that things undergo a marked shift. Orloff asks her to marry, and she agrees, as detailed earlier in the piece. However, her marriage — despite it being merely transactional — triggers a change in her attitude and approach, which in turn prompts her to dismiss whatever feelings she held for Anthony. Hitherto this point in the story, Nicole never once paused to hesitate on account of her morals. Why should it change now, particularly when her union is a loveless one? Why does she feel a sudden sense of obligation? Nevertheless, Kay stands by her vows, and assumes the role of the loyal yet physically aloof wife, content enough to dismiss her supposed affair with Anthony as “a friendship, a flirtation is all.”
The context surrounding this quote alone begs for thorough extrication, proposing an entirely new spin and angle on its permanence. Despite its overt heterosexual connotations, the relationship feels restrained and wanton in nature, hallmarks of the archetypical queer relationship. In fact, the evasive, fraught energy that permeates the encounter could easily be interpreted as the broad, inspirational foundations of the pivotal conflations that would ultimately emblemize queer cinema. Nicole’s denial of her own potential affections for Anthony are curiously echoed in Wyler’s THE CHILDREN’S HOUR, when Audrey Hepburn, mired by confusion, tersely discards any notion that she could be complacent in Shirley MacLaine’s queer attraction.
Just before departing to console Orloff, she emphatically ignores Anthony’s supplications for her to stay back. The interaction becomes momentarily prickly when he scorns her, insinuating that she favors the company of her sleazy husband as opposed to him. Nicole immediately attempts to placate him with an impulsive kiss, and rather unconvincingly affirms her love for him — she is rigid and perfunctory in her ministrations. When Anthony once again implores her to take up with him, she firmly refuses, citing his reputation as an ambassador as the primary reason. She tricks his acceptance of her departure by using his pride as leverage, insisting that he would be tainted by association. He ultimately relents, and this grants Nicole the window of escape she so desperately needs. Although the two ultimately end up together by the film’s end, it is only on account of his unabated and deleterious pursuit of Nicole. After she makes a fortuitously quiet escape from Orloff’s ruin–thereby clearing her of potential blame — she finds an impish Anthony waiting on her doorstep, who trails her invasively once more with his proposition of love. It’s imperative to point out that Nicole remains unfazed by his efforts. There is not a trace of vulnerability or concession to be found in her facial expressions or body language. She remains tense, unamused, and unbothered, impervious to his charm. He finally corners her into a taxi cab and more-or-less forces her acceptance by using deceptive chicanery. The film concludes on a dubious note, and at best suggests a level of uncertainty in regards to the future of their relationship, exemplified by the following final exchange of dialogue:
“Nicki, will you marry me?” “For the last time, no.” “Nicki, will you marry me?” Before she can speak, he interjects further: “You said it was going to be for the last time. This time it’s gotta be yes. Don’t you want to? Don’t you?” He pauses, and the ghost of a smirk plays upon her lips — but it reads as bemusement more than anything else. “If you don’t, I’ll yodel again!”
To this, Nicki gives an emphatic “no,” which is curtailed by a victoriously smug Anthony who smooches her on the lips. Not only is this in itself suggestive of a lack of desire, but in addition the employment and context surrounding her refusal invokes further investigation. It is never elucidated as to whether or not she answers “no” to the marriage proposal or to his threat of yodeling; it could very well apply to one or both. As this is never rectified, it serves to reinforce the vague, open-ended tone exuded by the movie’s rather abrupt conclusion, making Nicole’s acceptance feel like an acquiescence more than anything else.
The final scene, in which Anthony beseeches Nicole to marry him
The tumultuous relationship shared by Nicole and Anthony wields a cutting duality that contradicts itself by way of mixed signals. On one hand, it assumes the role of the tortured queer couple through metaphor, which allows it to address such a plight headon without stirring any overt controversy. On the other, it stands as a cold finality, representing a life of societally imposed servitude that squelches any semblance of freedom in regard to identity and expression. In other words, it’s a cruel and unforgiving rejection of queer existence that suggests that survival is truly only possible through assimilation.
Though this encompasses two opposite ends of the alleged spectrum, both are sympathetic to the queer experience. Regardless of the framework, Nicole remains the victim — either she must sacrifice her fondness for Anthony because it is imprudent, or she must marry him in order to preserve her integrity.
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The Big Picture: Queerness In the Background & Foreground
Additionally contributing to the film’s queer inclinations is the inclusion of two supporting characters — one queer-coded, the other not. Together, they help to strengthen the prevalence of pre-existing queer discourse and provide additional intonations that enrich and expand. One such figure is eccentric tarot card reader who is continually invalidated by her contemporaries and written off as “kooky.” She has two pivotal scenes in which she reads Nicole’s cards, both times correctly predicting her future. Again, there’s a lot to unpack in such a seemingly minimal bit part: psychics are often indiscriminately delegated as the unfavorable Other, serving to strengthen the herd mentality of normative society. Her inclusion in the film (and subsequent negative reception) could easily be interpreted as a synedoche for the treatment of queer parties.
Nicole and her assistant, Suzanne (Alison Skipworth).
Standing in direct opposition to the psychic is Suzanne, Nicole’s personal assistant and confidant. The only purpose she serves throughout the film’s entirety is to goad Nicole into pursuing a romance with Anthony, urging her at every turn to abandon her pact with Orloff for her own good. While her intentions could be read as noble and even well-meaning, they instead come off as indigestible, incessant nagging that’s continually crammed down Nicole’s throat. Her assiduous gripes persevere in the sense that Nicole eventually does end up with Anthony, but greater questions remain unanswered. Why would Suzanne take such a personal stake in Nicole’s affairs, particularly when Nicole herself is relatively immune to any danger concerning her partnership? Going further, is she even concerned for her at all, or rather is she trying to push her own agenda? Of course, the interpretation is contingent on the reading of Nicole and Anthony’s relationship, but regardless of context her behavior translates as self-serving, brusque, and manipulative.
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Conclusion
For a film that comes across as overwhelmingly artificial in every facet, STOLEN HOLIDAY is a treasure trove that’s bountifully lined by scintillating prisms of existence and identity that occasionally command attention for an ephemeral moment with their splashes of brilliance. Although far from a crowning achievement as far as technical devices go, it deserves to be critically reassessed for the clever and abundant cross-sections it presents in quietly confronting and exploring the intersection of queer identities through a heteronormative and performative charade. It remains overlooked, deftly ahead of its time in the way that it grapples with gender and sexuality. Despite the ubiquitous omnipresence of complementary contradictions in theme, character, and identity, its cast and strong direction provide a harmonious, cohesive experience.
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