Dame Judith Anderson’s had enough of everyone’s crap in Lady Scarface.

Judith Anderson’s reputation as a titan of the stage didn’t always translate to her film work, as Lady Scarface demonstrates. Released a year after her Oscar-nominated turn as Mrs. Danvers in Hitchcock’s Rebecca, Scarface, an RKO production, was B-list all the way. Screenwriters Arnaud d’Usseau and Richard Collins struggled to fill its 66-minute runtime, but it has a few sweet moments, and best of all, Anderson’s given the bulk of its hardboiled dialogue.

Her Slade, the ruthless head of a crime gang, distinguishes herself early, during a heist at the Chicago Securities Building. “You gonna leave this guy here to yap to the police?” one of her associates asks about the hostage forking over the safe’s combination. “When we leave here, his yappin’ days are over!” she replies. True to her word, he’s shot. During their escape, a disguised Slade is literally run into by Lt. Bill Mason (Dennis O’Keefe), who takes a moment to apologize — after all, she is a lady.

Judith Anderson’s a gun-wielding crime boss in Lady Scarface.

Behind the wheel of their getaway car, she listens grimly as a radio APB describes one of her men, Matt Willis (Arthur Shields). “What did you do, give the guy your picture when you slugged him?” asks an associate. Sneers Slade: “I’d like to give you a picture of yourself. Lying in a ditch by the side of the road.” Vowing to eliminate anyway who “gets too hot to carry,” she blows through a police blockade.

The gang must travel from Chicago to New York City in order to claim its loot. Cohort Mullen (Horace McMahon) had forwarded it to a hotel there, so a flashy moll (Marion Martin) could pose as the recipient, Mary Jordan, and collect it. Unbeknownst to them, Mullen was busted by Mason, who follows the money to NYC. Apprehending the elusive Slade would be a feather in his cap.

Judith Anderson is the boss of the Slade Gang in Lady Scarface.

All manner of wacky hijinks await at the hotel, complicating Mason’s pursuit of these coldblooded killers. The first is Ann (Frances Neal), a newspaper photographer who also follows the Slade gang. “Fifteen-hundred detectives in Chicago and they had to assign this case to you,” she gripes when he seizes her camera. (She was there to capture the moment he collided with Slade, though she, too, was oblivious to her identity.)

Ann wants in on the investigation, but Bill blocks her: “A dame will do it every time.” They strike a playful bet about whether she’ll snap a picture of Slade before Bill gets his man. Their flirtation continues in New York, where Ann intrepidly applied for a hotel mailroom job (the better to surveil the mysterious Mary Jordan). Which brings us to a second, larger complication, involving another Mrs. Jordan.

Dennis O’Keefe with Frances Neal and Judith Anderson in Lady Scarface.

Glowing newlyweds Jimmy and Mary Powell (Rand Brooks and Mildred Coles) have just checked into the hotel for their honeymoon. Jimmy’s expecting a check from an uncle back home, which he impulsively used to buy a lavish gift for his bride. They collect an envelope addressed to Mary’s maiden name, Jordan, at the front desk. Its contents are shocking: $8,000 cash. Adjusted for inflation, that’s over $156k in 2022.

Mason, who has bugged their room, listens next-door with Ann. The snappy banter shared by the jaded Chicagoans softens ever so slightly in response to the Powells’s sweetness. O’Keefe and Neal share an easy, comic chemistry, but Brooks makes a deeper impression. A smitten man of simple tastes, his Jimmy beams with pride while treating Mary to champagne and hamburgers.

The two Mary Jordans of Lady Scarface have little in common.

Love is in the air at the hotel, but the prevailing mood of the Slade gang is something else entirely. “You always trusted me, ain’t you, Slade?” asks Lefty (Marc Lawrence). His connection to Ruby, the other Mary Jordan, has become a minor source of contention. “No,” Slade responds. “Not when you’ve been mixed up with dames, I haven’t.” She orders henchman Sem (Harry Burns) to watch them, and things inevitably go sideways.

There’s little in Frank Woodruff’s direction to distinguish itself or Lady Scarface, but let’s accentuate the positive. Where else can you see Judith Anderson pistol-whip a detective and sneer “You and your stakeout. You dumb flatfoot! You stepped in over your head this time, copper.” It’s an uninspired performance in a mediocre film, but the hardened Slade is good for some laughs. My favorite was her parting shot at Mason’s masculinity: “You’re through, copper. They shoulda put a man on this job!”

Streaming and DVD availability

Lady Scarface is available on DVD as part of the Warner Archive Collection. If you’re hard of hearing, please note that this release lacks subtitles.

Disclosure: As an Amazon Associate I earn a small commission from qualifying purchases.

… But wait, there’s more!

For nearly 15 years, Internet search combinations of Anderson’s name and the word “lesbian” have directed curious readers to this site. I’ve had the occasional fun with Anderson, but the fact remains that if she had affairs with women, she was unfailingly discreet about it. It leaves us with little to discuss besides our hunches, and of course that’s a thornier issue.

Do I think there was more to the gay lore than her performance in Rebecca? Possibly, sure. However, her inclusion in the (many) histories of gay Hollywood I’ve read has been unsatisfactorily sourced. Personally, I would not classify her as a lesbian or bisexual actor. “Rumored to be lesbian or bisexual” is how I’d phrase it.

Nancy Kulp looks positively scandalized.

Anderson’s interview with Boze Hadleigh often figures into this conversation. Interpretations of her answers vary, but I think it’s acceptable to leave Hadleigh out of the equation, on account of his dubious reputation. (If I ever tackle his original Hollywood Lesbians, it will be in its own post, or series of posts.) What I’d rather focus on here is an amusing excerpt from Desley Deacon’s Judith Anderson: Australian Star, First Lady of the American Stage.

While Deacon’s biography contains little about the filming of Lady Scarface, it rehashes some worthwhile Jane Bowles information. (If you’re unfamiliar with her, this New Yorker piece is a good place to start.) As Deacon explains: “Jane Bowles was the lesbian wife of the homosexual writer and composer Paul Bowles — an eccentric couple who were part of the expatriate community in Tangier.” She wrote a play that opened in late 1953, starring Anderson.

This arresting image of Jane Bowles was on my refrigerator for years; she went unrecognized by visitors.

Anderson’s performance in In the Summer House earned rapturous reviews. Writes Deacon:

“In the Summer House” was an adventure for Anderson. The character of Gertrude was a challenge that she felt she never adequately conquered, despite the glowing reviews; and she found Jane Bowles captivating and perplexing, possibly because Jane fell in love with her. Richard Coe noted that “Mrs. Bowles’ respect for Judith Anderson, her star… is something close to reverence”; and “Mademoiselle” editor and gossip columnist Leo Lerman noted in his diary of the closing night party, “Judith Anderson playing Herodias and Jane yearning at her.”

desley deacon, judith anderson: australian star, first lady of the american stage

Bowles, who was no stranger to unrequited love, seems not to have gotten anywhere with Anderson. Deacon continues: “After two failed marriages, Anderson was not about to become embroiled in another risky relationship.”