I make no bones about it: I love Myrna Loy. I think she was beautiful, charming and witty. And she had a sweetness and honesty about her that I admired. But when I say I love her it's not what you think. What I mean is, I love her like you love your mom. And if she had been my mother I would've nominated her for at least half the movies she made. Which of course puts me in direct opposition to the Academy, because you see, they didn't nominate her even once. Not once. For anything. She got an honorary Oscar in 1991 for all those performances the Academy didn't seem to care for at the time. That's something I suppose but honorary Oscars are like those doctorates they hand out to Roger Staubach after he's made a commencement address at his daughter's college where he compares life to playing in the Super Bowl against the Steelers. It doesn't really mean anything (the address or the doctorate). *1*
Early in her career she played the femme fatale until Hollywood realized she could play loving patience to a pain in the ass husband better than anybody (Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House, Best Years of Our Lives, The Thin Man series). One moment of hers has always stuck out for me. It comes in The Best Years of Our Lives. She is in the kitchen doing dishes and hears the door open. Her husband, played by Fredric March, has just returned home from the war. She asks her children who it is. They don't reply. And then, beautifully, her face tells us that she realizes who it is. What a wonderful moment played by such a wonderful actress.
Often times we project what we want to believe about an actor onto them. It reassures us perhaps or helps confirms biases we have for or against them in our own minds. I admit I do this with Myrna. I imagine that her friends and family would console her after the yearly nominations were announced and her name was always absent. And then I like to imagine that within minutes she would be comforting them, telling them the awards meant nothing and she was happy with all that she had and stop worrying about such pointless things. She was a great actress and a great lady. It would've been nice if at least once the Academy had let her know they thought so too.
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*1*
Roger Staubach's daughter did indeed graduate from the University I attended and he gave the commencement address. It was insufferable. If given the choice between sitting through it again and being forced to smell the unwashed underwear of a hobo, I'm telling you, I'd have to think about it.
