alice in the looking glass or the mirror stage as formative brought to you by RKO and Pandro S. Berman

apparently when Katharine Hepburn was collaborating with George Stevens on the set of Alice Adams both wanted the ending of film to reflect the reality of class politics in small town america in the late teens/early twenties. rather than have Fred MacMurray (who I still think of as The Happiest Millionaire)proclaim to Kate that he loves her and thus provoke the movie's closing line, "Gee whiz!", both Stevens and Hepburn wanted the film to end with alice awakening to the reality of the class system in small town usa and realizing that she could fulfill herself by going out, getting a job, and thus building a future for herself that ranges outside of the picket fences of alice's neighbourhood, or the iron gates of the society she so longs to be a part of. in an interview in which she discussed this unfilmed ending, you can see Hepburn's face light up as she describes it. Fred MacMurray is no where in this scripted future for alice. after the horrors of the dinner at her parents' house, he was meant to leave and never look back at the dusty porch swing and dying fern on the verranda.

the bosses at RKO felt differently, and knew the movie would sell better with a happy ending. Alice is not chastized for her social climbing and her dreams for the future, of elegant parties (what her more earthy brother refers to as "frozen face parties"), many dresses, and dinner out at restaurants where her beau has enough cash on hand to keep tipping the orchestra to play the same song over 5 times are destined to come true.

this somehow seems a fitting movie to watch on the last night that i'm going to spend in this house. as the credits were rolling across the screen, i was attempting to ascertain exactly what the nagging feeling was that i had, and that i couldn't quite place. by the time Alice was picking violets from the public garden (the entrance to which is marked by a giant sign that says "do not pick the flowers")to snag herself a cheap corsage for the society dance she's wrangled an invitation to, i had identified it, but i didn't want to admit it to myself. when alice defends her father's honour in a spat with her father's boss over the origins of his secret recipe for superglue (don't laugh, it's quite a touching scene), and promises to work to pay off her brother's gambling debts, i knew that i could no longer hide from it; it was time for me to go home.

i don't just mean returning to my attic apartment, i'm happy to go back there (though sad that i have to leave behind the brand new stereo receiver on the bookshelf in the living room), but i also mean that i think it's time for me to stop being ashamed of my origins. it's difficult, especially in a place like graduate school, to own up to the fact that you've been dealt a short hand when it comes to cultural capital. why is admitting that you don't know something such a sin in an environment where a love of learning is supposed to be the motivation for discovery? gee whiz. i'm not sure i can answer that.