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There has been plenty written up about BUtterfield 8 since it first hit theatres in 1960. Daring for its time due to its unabashed allusions to sex and vulgarity, it roused interest and reactions of all sorts from the moment of its inception. It was a precursor to what would dominate the theatres by the end of the decade, part of a string of sex-fueled films that dared to break from convention — American had a reckoning in the midst of the ‘50s: like two tectonic plates, the conservative values of pre-war collided with more modern attitudes brought about more liberal thinkers, particularly fueled and encouraged by the fear-mongering reign of the Red Scare.
The appeal lay in its shock value — the more scandalous the plot, the more attention it garnered, both for better and for worse. Films of this nature embraced any and all publicity and particularly profited by exploiting any negative press. Surely, human curiosity would inevitably work its course — even those most opposed to sex-ridden productions would eventually crumple under the sheer desire to know.
MGM advertising promoting BUTTERFIELD 8
Typically, when examined critically, BUtterfield 8 evokes conversation around feminism and sexism, particularly given its treatment around Taylor’s glamorous yet troubled protagonist Gloria Wandrous. The film opens on a daring note that not only paradoxical to the plight and direction of the story: Taylor, in an act of defiance, refuses a proposition from a wealthy customer: in bold red lipstick she quite literally spells it out, NO SALE — and strides out of the very room that dictates her life. It sets up the exact opposite expectation for what actually plays out: in the end, when she finally decides to up and leave to pursue a new life, the control she has is yanked from beneath her and she dies in a fiery crash.
“NO SALE!” Elizabeth Taylor as Gloria Wandrous in BUTTERFIELD 8
A lot has been written examining how, by presenting Taylor as a pseudofeminist of sorts, the work stands as a testament to dated sexism. What I found more interesting, however, was how, whether intentionally or not, the film lends itself to a pro-queer narrative. Quietly unfolding in the background of Gloria’s bombastic saga is the curious dynamic of Mrs. Annie Wandrous and her longtime friend and neighbor, Fanny Thurber. In fact, it hides in plain sight: if one were not seriously invested in the film as a whole, it’s quite easy to overlook. Mrs. Wandrous isn’t allotted much screen time, but the few scenes in which she appears present a powerful background story that is just as curious and perverse in its own right as Gloria’s is.
For starters, Mrs. Wandrous vehemently denies her daughter’s profession, psychologically choosing to ingrain herself in the false belief that Gloria works as a fashion model, and not a prostitute. She’s a woman mired in denial, and clings to it in protective desperation as if it were a blanket. She invents a world and narrative in which she feels safe, contented and secure. One can only wonder how long she’s been entrapped by her own pedantry. Did it start when Gloria took to walking the streets, or did it exist before, latent and lying in wait?
We learn little about Gloria’s father — as far as the film is concerned, his premature death simply acts as a catalyst in the tragic backstory of Gloria. His death removes the sense of authority and control, and thus allows for a sleazy friend of Mrs. Wandrous’ to slither into the picture, who grooms and rapes the teenaged Gloria. That’s the first and last time he is mentioned in the story. We never get a name, nor a face — just an absence that ultimately exempts him from any responsibility in the events to come.
There’s a particularly visceral scene between mother and daughter toward the middle of the film in which Gloria finally manages to crack the protective shield of her mother’s fantasy world. Mrs. Wandrous, for once, is alone in her home. Gloria, riding high off what she believes to be true love, arrives home in a fog of joy. Mr. Liggett, her married lover, has just professed his feelings for her. For the first time in her life, Gloria feels wanted and desired as a person. She is exuberant. No longer is she just a body and vessel for men to use as they please, but she is a Somebody who means something to someone. Feeling repentant, she decides to confront her unsavory past with her mother as chief witness.
“-Mama?
Darling.
I’ve been so worried about you.
-I know you have been, darling,
and I’m sorry.
Are you hungry?
– No.
Mama, I want to tell you
what I’ve been doing.
– No, dear, you don’t have to.
– I do.”
Gloria forces her mother to come to terms with her reality
Note how Mrs. Wandrous is held captive by her own mind. The only role she knows how to play is that of a mother, even if she doesn’t do it well. Her life is simple and unbothered. When Gloria tries to undermine that by speaking her truth, Mrs. Wandrous’ becomes superfluously reactionary. The scene comes to a fever pitch when Gloria grabs her mother and forces her to listen, head-on, as she proclaims she was the “slut of all time.” The illusion is shattered — for the moment, anyway. Mrs. Wandrous admonishes her daughter with a slap, before finally dissolving into sobs.
The pillars of the Wandrous household are all female: Gloria, her mother, and the quietly authoritative yet everpresent Frances “Franny” Thurber, Mrs. Wandrous’ best friend. She is introduced early on in the film — Gloria, after a day’s work, quite literally comes home to find her lounging. She is comfortably seated in the Wandrous apartment, chatting away with her friend.
Eschewing her daughter on grounds of Freudian disgust masquerading as delusion, Mrs. Wandrous is lonely and in need of companionship — in need of some tangible relationship that can give construct and semblance to her world. Franny Thurber does just that: by continually spending time with Mrs.Wandrous, she bridges the thresholds of her two different realities. All the more fascinating is her inherent cynicism. From the start, she’s presented as a foil of sorts to Mrs. Wandrous: whereas Annie Wandrous radiates doe-eyed naivete, Fanny instead is earthy, world-weary, and vocal. When Mrs. Wandrous uses the occasion to lapse into praise for her daughter, the following exchange ensues that speaks volumes about both women.
Mrs. Wandrous and her constant companion, Franny Thurber. Their close connection suggests something more than just friendship.
“The model agency sent some dresses. One of them they want you to wear to three different places.
The Salvation Army, the public library and the PTA in Brownsville.
-Frances, don’t joke
about Gloria’s work.
It’s very important to her.
She’s one of the few girls
of her kind in the city.”
Franny is not fooled by Gloria, and never has been. Yet, she goes no further than a few facetious remarks in trying to convince her friend otherwise. It lends itself well to my theory: the two women explicitly have a close rapport. If Franny does truly love and care for Mrs. Wandrous — platonically or not — it makes complete sense that she would, in a way, protect her. By that same token she does not betray or forsake her own moral code by making a claim (that Gloria is a high paid model) that she does not believe. She walks the thin and somewhat greyscale line between these stances, a generous offering from a woman of her character.
After a few more derisive cracks, Mrs. Wandrous pleads Franny to be kind to her daughter. In her exact words, “My daughter and my best friend should appreciate each other.” Franny does indeed back down, though not without a couple additional underhanded comments. Gloria cryptically remarks:
“Mama, don’t be upset.
Every time I’m separated
from Mrs. Thurber…
…I learn to appreciate her
a little bit more.”
Further still, when Gloria is settling in for the evening, Franny quips, “Oh, just act like I’m not here” to which Gloria, ever so coolly answers: “You mean I haven’t been?” The longevity and intimacy of the two women’s relationship is corroborated by the most important witness.
In the majority of scenes that feature Mrs. Wandrous, she is shown alongside Franny Thurber, emphasizing the close nature of their relationship. At times in the film, Franny even addresses Gloria so familiarly that it feels maternal. This gives all the more credence to the theory that Franny has been a longtime establishment of this fractured household, having witnessed Gloria’s upbringing.
Franny’s only other prominent sheds light on her softer side, which before only existed through conjecture based upon observation. Here, the friends have reconvened. Gloria has been missing without a word for six days, and Annie is a wreck. Dialogue in this scene provides tangible, textual evidence that she does indeed care for both Annie Wandrous and her daughter, even if it’s often manifested through tough love.
In spite of everything, Gloria makes it clear that she loves and appreciates Franny as if she were her own mother. As the film nears its fiery denouement, Gloria is shown one last time in her mother’s apartment. She’s packed and leaving, moving on and forward with her life. Mrs. Thurber, predictably, is present. She emerges from the kitchen as if she lives there, entirely comfortable and natural in an environment that is very much hers by association.
Gloria asks verbatim for Franny to take care of her mother after she departs. This can be read as more than a simple acknowledgement: because Gloria has lived her life outside of societal conventions, perhaps she is more sympathetic to other outliers. If she does recognize that a relationship exists between her mother and Franny, why would she decry it? She’s walked the same, choppy pathway. She knows how painful it is to harbor a romance that can never truly see the light of day. From the beginning, she’s presented as someone who leads with their heart, and there’s no question she’d feel empathy toward her mother’s situation. Mrs. Thurber answers with ‘Oh, I got plans for her ..’” before rattling off about how she sees a potential match for her friend in a cousin. This could be viewed easily as deflection — whether Mrs. Thurber is aware of her sexuality and/or comfortable is a matter of mere abstraction and speculation.
Annie Wandrous, on the contrary, presents an interesting possibility. it is never explicitly hinted that she harbors feelings for women, and by that same logic, that she’s aware of it. Given the mechaniatons of her mind, it can be argued that the stigma of homosexuality disappears alltogether in her alternate reality, which is why she is so openly dependent on Franny without ever questioning her behavior — or feeling the need to defend and explain it.
The very nature of this alleged relationship is right on par with wanton nature of the film: like Gloria’s tightrope act between model and harlot, the given perception of Mrs. Wandrous — and her queerness — is an ever changing balancing act hinging on the precarious. Thus, it can never truly be proven outright that Gloria isn’t a model, but by her own admission it can be proven that she does engage in sex work. It’s a viscous duality, never truly taking a definitive shape. In the case of Mrs. Wandrous, it can’t be conclusively proven that she is queer: but explicit context in the script give reason for one to, at the very least, ponder her sexuality.
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