Most of the men in 1945’s “Mildred Pierce,” starring Joan Crawford, are “heels” as Mildred’s friend Ida (Eve Arden) puts it. But they could all learn a few things from Mildred’s venal and grasping daughter Veda (Ann Blyth), who enjoys taunting her mother in French and taking what she thinks should be hers – pretty much anything that’s not nailed down.
Maybe Veda was misunderstood in the stoic, stiff-upper-lip era of post-World War II America. If she’d come of age in the ’80s or later, she’d be a classic material girl, albeit with a few little boo-boos that warrant a criminal record. And it’s entirely possible that as child she was terrorized by Mildred’s ubiquitous and intimidating shoulder pads. Couldn’t we cut Veda a little slack?
I chose Veda as a nickname for my impossibly demanding and sometimes vicious cat whom I rescued from a shelter. Try as I might to shower her with attention, cater to her every need and lavish her with the finest cat food, treats and toys, she’s quite likely to lash out and give me a scratch for no reason at all. She’s just a natural-born bitch.
So, à la director Jim Jarmusch who founded the Sons of Lee Marvin Club for tall, deep-voiced dudes who like to watch Westerns, my kitty and I launched the Daughters of Veda Pierce Club, for women and pets who keep their claws sharp and aren’t afraid to use them. We’re designing a line of T-shirts, clothes, jewelry, toys and accessories for our members, except we don’t want to do any of the actual work or put up any of our own money.
Ce serait terrible, no?