In memoriam: Asha Bhosle

Asha Bhosle. Image source: MumbaiMirror

The great playback singer Asha Bhosle (née Mangeshkar) died last Sunday at age 92. Born into a musical family, she recorded 12,000 songs (according to the Guardian's obituary) for over 2200 movies (according to the Internet Movie Database), outpaced perhaps only by her older sister Lata. If Lata became famous mainly for songs of romantic yearning and sorrow, Asha often represented youth, flirtatiousness and pleasure. (Of course, this division of labor wasn't absolute by any means.)

Asha's career as a playback singer began in the 1943 film Maze Baal (My Child), when she was was 10, and continued into the 21st century. Below I've selected some of my favorite Asha performances spanning the decades, linking to the videos on YouTube when they can't be embedded.

Aaiye Meherbaan from Howrah Bridge (1958): Many of the films for which Asha Bhosle sang playback in the 1950s became classics, such as Raj Kapoor's Shree 420 (Mr. Trickster, 1955), Bimal Roy's Devdas (1955), and Guru Dutt's Kaagaz Ke Phool (Paper flowers, 1959). In Howrah Bridge she voiced the seductive "Aaiye Meherbaan" (Come, my dear one), in which cabaret-singer-with-a-heart-of-gold Edna (Madhubala) practices her allurements on handsome stranger Prem (Ashok Kumar). Ultimately she will help him bring his brother's killer to justice. The music is by O.P. Nayyar and the lyrics by Qammar Jallalabadi. (Song ends at 43:16.)

Incidentally, in the video of this song linked above the young dancer in the cap and checked shirt is Saroj Khan, the subject of another "In memoriam" post.

Koi Kehde from Baharen Phir Bhi Aayengi (Spring will come again, 1966): The final production of Guru Dutt Films, Baharen Phir Bhi Aayengi features a love triangle between newspaper publisher Amita (Mala Sinha), her younger sister Sunita (Tanuja), and crusading journalist Jitendra (Dharmendra). In a classic plotline borrowed later by many other films, each sister decides to sacrifice her love for her sibling's happiness. But we can hardly blame Jitendra for being unable to resist the combination of Tanuja and Asha in "Koi Kehde" (Go tell the world). The music is by O.P. Nayyar and the lyrics by Sheven Rizvi.

koi kehde kehde kehde zamaane se jaa ke ke hum ghabraa ke mohabbat kar baithhe haaye mohabbat kar baithhe koi kehde kehde kehde ab jalta hai jale zamaana banaaye fasaana nahin ghabraayenge hum dil ka sauda kiya hai khushi se daren kyun kisi se ke hum to abhi se hain thaame jigar baithhe haaye mohabbat kar baithhe koi kehde kehde kehde kyun na raahon mein kaliyaan bichha den jahaan ko dikha den mohabbat ki jaadugiri aaj dil ko jabaan mil gayi hai dil ki kali khil gayi hai ye dunia nayi hai jo karna thha kar baithe haaye mohabbat kar baithe koi kehde kehde kehde

Go, tell, oh tell, tell the world, That in fear love we unfurled, Oh, love we unfurled. Go, tell, oh tell, tell. Let the world burn, let tales be spun, We shall not tremble, not be undone. We exchanged our hearts, a joyful trade, Why fear anything? We're unafraid. Joining our hearts in this embrace, Oh, love we embrace. Go, tell, oh tell, tell the world, Why not scatter blossoms on the way, And show the world love's magic play? The heart now speaks, the bud has bloomed, This world is new, our hearts consumed. What had to be, we now have done, Oh, love we have won. Go, tell, oh tell, tell.

Phur ud chala from Tere Mere Sapne (Our dreams, 1971) is an example of the spectacular songs that Asha sang in films such as Teesri Manzil (Third Floor, 1966) and Anamika (1973), which take place in Busby-Berkeley-like fantasy spaces or in nightclubs as big as airplane hangers. Anand (Dev Anand) is an idealistic doctor who chooses to practice among poor villagers instead of treating the complaints of the rich in the big city. In the coal-mining town where he goes to treat black lung, he meets schoolteacher Nisha (Mumtaz), and the two fall in love. On their day off they go to the village fair, where Bombay Touring Talkies has set up a screen to show the latest movie of the biggest Bollywood star, Maltimala (gorgeous and glamorous Hema Malini, voiced by Asha). The music of "Phur ud chala" (Where does the heart take flight?) is by S.D. Burman, with lyrics by Neeraj:

https://youtu.be/UcdORTx6CBU

Piya Tu Ab To Aaja from Caravan (1971): Asha made something of a specialty of drunken songs, many picturized on dance legend Helen. "Piya Tu Ab To Aaja" (Oh my beloved, come to me) is a paradigmatic example from Caravan. Helen plays Monica, a cabaret performer in thrall to the villain Rajan (Krishen Mehta), who is trying to steal the inheritance of heroine Sunita (Asha Parekh). The music is by R.D. Burman, with lyrics by Majrooh Sultanpuri.

Dil Cheez Kya Hai from Umrao Jaan (Beloved Umrao, 1981): Amazingly, although she'd been singing in films for nearly forty years, Umrao Jaan is the first film for which Asha sang the entire soundtrack, and it was also the first film for which she won the National Film Award for best female playback singer. It is a classic, probably the finest work not only of Asha, but of its star Rekha, writer/director Muzaffar Ali, and composer Khayyam. Set at the time of the 1857 Uprising, Umrao Jaan is the story of the impossible love between the tawaif (courtesan) Umrao Jaan (Rekha) and the Nawab Sultan (Farooq Shaikh). "Dil Cheez Kya Hai" (What is my heart?) is the moment when the Nawab Sultan, hearing her singing from his passing carriage, becomes enraptured by her voice—as are we. The music is by Khayyam and the lyrics by Shahryar:

https://youtu.be/5sYHweBM4L4

This post was inspired by a memorial re-watch with my partner of Umrao Jaan, a film that gets richer with every viewing.

Zara Sa Jhoom Loon Main from Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (The Brave Heart Will Win The Bride, 1995): DDLJ, one of the biggest blockbusters in Bollywood history, is the film that made Shah Rukh Khan a superstar. The brash Raj (SRK) and the demure Simran (Kajol, Tanuja's daughter) meet on a summer Eurail tour, and despite Raj's relentless teasing of Simran, opposites attract and the two fall in love. But soon Simran reveals her secret: she is betrothed to a man she's never met, the son of her father's friend back in his home village in India. "Zara Sa Jhoom Loon Main" (Let me dance a little) displays the special onscreen chemistry between SRK and Kajol, a jodi that would ultimately appear in a series of superhit films. It's another drunken song: Simran has her first taste of alcohol, and enjoys it a little too much. The music is by Jatin-Lalit, with lyrics by Anand Bakshi; Abhijeet Bhattacharya sings playback for SRK.

https://youtu.be/96YVQBjrtWE

Radha Kaise Na Jale from Lagaan (Land Tax, 2001): Asha Bhosle was ageless; her voice retained its purity and range for decade after decade. In "Radha Kaise Na Jale" (How can Radha not burn with jealousy?), Asha, approaching 70, sang the playback for Gracy Singh, who had just turned 20 and was appearing in her first starring film role. Singh plays Gauri, a young woman who has long been in love with her village's leader Bhuvan (Aamir Khan). Bhuvan has accepted the challenge of the captain in charge of the nearby British military outpost (Paul Blackthorne): if Bhuvan's villagers can beat his soldiers in a game of cricket (a game the villagers have never played), they will be spared the ruinous land tax for three years. The captain's sympathetic sister Elizabeth (Rachel Shelley) decides to help the villagers prepare for the match—and discovers her own growing love for Bhuvan. 

In "Radha Kaise Na Jale" Gauri's suspicions are enacted as she and Bhuvan adopt the ritual roles of Radha and her wayward lover Krishna. Will the ragtag villagers set aside their caste prejudices and romantic rivalries to overcome impossible odds and defeat the crack British military team in the Big Match? And will Bhuvan be tempted by the British beauty or stay true to his village sweetheart? The music is composed by A.R. Rahman, with lyrics by Javed Akhtar; Udit Narayan sings playback for Aamir Khan. 

https://youtu.be/qNnvL0ztJhA

Asha received the International Indian Film Academy Award for Best Female Playback Singer for this performance, and the Filmfare Lifetime Achievement Award in the year of Lagaan's release. With her passing, an era has ended.

Update 20 April 2026: Dustedoff, far more expert than I in the Indian films of 1950s and 1960s, has written a wonderful tribute to Asha, "Ten Composers, Ten Solos: The Magic of Asha Bhonsle." (Asha was sometimes credited under different English spellings of her name; in Umrao Jaan she is credited as Asha Bhonsale.) It's a complement to her earlier post "Asha in Ten Moods"; I now have a list of Asha films I'll need to track down.

Tristan und Isolde at the Met

Michael Spyres as Tristan and Lise Davidsen as Isolde in Tristan und Isolde at the Metropolitan Opera. Image credit: Karen Almond/Met Opera. Image source: Playbill.

On Saturday 21 March, The Met Live in HD series livestreamed the matinée performance of Wagner's Tristan und Isolde to theaters around the world. The casting generated a huge amount of advance interest, most of it focusing on the Norwegian soprano Lise Davidsen as Isolde. The theater I went to in San Francisco, the AMC Kabuki 8, was sold out. The Met production is only the second time Davidsen has sung Isolde, her debut in the role occurring only two months earlier in a different production at the Teatre del Liceu in Barcelona.

I can attest that Davidsen has an exciting voice, especially live. In a recital I attended at Zellerbach Hall in Berkeley 13 months ago (see "Lise Davidsen in recital"), Davidsen displayed a soprano that was rich and full, tonally accurate and pure, with substantial volume in its upper range. One of her encores in that recital was her first public performance of the Liebestod (Love-Death), Isolde's final aria, accompanied on piano by Malcolm Martineau. Although Martineau is a superb recital accompanist, the performance made me (and probably everyone else in the hall) want to hear her perform the aria with a full Wagnerian orchestra. We'd all have to wait, though: on 1 June 2025 Davidsen announced the birth of twin sons, and only returned to the operatic stage this past winter for the Barcelona run of Tristan und Isolde.

This Met production is the first time tenor Michael Spyres has attempted the punishing role of Tristan, and is also the debut of the commanding bass-baritone Ryan Speedo Green in the role of King Marke.

Ryan Speedo Green as King Marke in Tristan und Isolde at the Metropolitan Opera, with Lise Davidsen (Isolde), Ekaterina Gubanova (Bragäne), Tomasz Konieczny (Kurwenal) and Michael Spyres (Tristan). Image credit: Karen Almond/Met Opera. Image source: Playbill.

Conductor Yannick Nézet-Séguin, the Met's music director, was also conducting Tristan und Isolde for the first time, and stage director Yuval Sharon had never before grappled with the work's fundamental unstageability or directed an opera on the vastness of the Met stage. The only seasoned veterans in the production were mezzo-soprano Ekaterina Gubanova as Isolde's lady-in-waiting Bragäne and bass-baritone Tomasz Konieczny as Tristan's loyal knight Kurwenal (Green, Gubanova and Konieczny were all excellent, by the way; see "Favorites of 2016: Nonfiction Books" for a review of Daniel Bergner's compelling biography of Green, Sing For Your Life: A Story of Race, Music, and Family (Little, Brown, 2016)).

So perhaps not surprisingly the Live in HD experience was a mixed one. First, there were technical glitches in the movie theater, the second time in two tries this season that we've experienced such issues (they also plagued Strauss's Arabella last fall at the AMC Metreon). The image and sound cut out abruptly for the first ten minutes, erasing the all-important Prélude, which introduces the Tristan chord that will finally resolve five hours later at the end of the opera. Then about two-thirds of the way through Act I, the voices in the house-right speakers cut out, making all the vocalists seem like they were standing at our extreme left, no matter where the image suggested they were appearing on stage. (Weirdly, the orchestral aural image seemed to remain centered, suggesting that this might have been a problem with the stage mics at the Met.) Finally, of course, it has to be remembered that I was hearing the opera sung and played into microphones and mixed at the Met before being transmitted to and issuing from the speakers in the movie theater, so I was not hearing what an audience member in the house would have heard, and the aural quality of the voices was changed.

But even taking all the tech issues into account, I had a few hesitations about the performances. Davidsen has a gleaming upper range, but her low notes often got swamped in the orchestral wall of sound. While this might have been a problem with Nézet-Séguin's conducting or the amplified audio mix, I also detected more of a vibrato in her voice; it seems to have lost some of its former purity. Fundamentally, it felt like her voice is on the lyric side of "lyric-dramatic soprano." While the most lyrical moments of the role were wonderfully sung, including the "Liebestod," I was left wondering whether the role of Isolde was perhaps not a perfect fit for her substantial gifts.

Lise Davidsen as Isolde in the Act III "Liebestod" of Tristan und Isolde at the Metropolitan Opera. Image credit: Karen Almond/Met Opera. Image source: Playbill.

This seemed an even bigger question with Michael Spyres. His voice has a lovely timbre and wide range—he calls himself a "bari-tenor"—and is always a pleasure to listen to. (We saw him perform live in a jaw-dropping recital of largely Baroque arias at Wigmore Hall in May 2023; see "Music in London and Boston"). However, Tristan and other Wagner tenor roles require a voice that also has what I've seen referred to as "metal" (a steely, stentorian quality) and "thrust" (the ability to cut through the sound of an orchestra at moments of high drama). I'm hardly an expert on the fach system, but Spyres seems more of a lyric tenor or Jugendlicherheldentenor (youthful-sounding heroic tenor) than the mature Wagnerian Heldentenor for which the role of Tristan was written. I will say that he made it to the end of this vocal marathon with beauty of tone intact and without sounding fatigued, which demonstrates incredible stamina.

Michael Spyres as Tristan with dancers in Tristan und Isolde at the Metropolitan Opera. Image credit: Karen Almond/Met Opera. Image source: Playbill.

I just hope that if Davidsen and Spyres are planning to take on more Wagner roles they don't sacrifice their voices' innate beauty and appeal to do so.

Don't get me wrong: I was grateful for the lyrical leanings of the two leads, which resulted in a love duet in Act II that was especially ravishing. And this was also the moment when the direction and design of the production worked best: the singers seemed to float in the air like the lovers in a Chagall painting as they sang of their night of rapture. And this is also where Nézet-Séguin's tendency to favor lyrical flow over urgency worked very well indeed.

Lise Davidsen as Isolde and Michael Spyres as Tristan in the Act II love duet of Tristan und Isolde at the Metropolitan Opera. Image credit: Karen Almond/Met Opera. Image source: Playbill.

In a between-acts interview, Nézet-Séguin talked about the score's oceanic feeling. On the podium he evoked that quality beautifully, and the seascapes that sometimes appeared in Ruth Hogben's video projections matched the surging and ebbing of the music. However, Nézet-Séguin also said that although the score is four hours long, it suspends time. His stately approach to tempi ensured that I was aware of every minute of the performance's four hours (plus two 30-minute intermissions). Not that I didn't appreciate the chance to wallow in some of the most gorgeous music ever written, but I was never swept away into a state of timelessness.

And a key reason I remained generally earth- and chronologically bound throughout the performance was Sharon's direction. He introduced modern-dress doubles for the characters of Tristan and Isolde, who spent much of the opera at a center-stage table below an elevated portal in which most of the action happened. As is almost always true of character doubles, these figures were distracting and entirely unnecessary, as were the dancers added to some scenes. (Did Sharon not think that the drama of the main characters would hold our attention?)

Lise Davidsen as Isolde, Michael Spyres as Tristan and their doubles in Tristan und Isolde at the Metropolitan Opera. Image credit: Karen Almond/Met Opera. Image source: Metropolitan Opera.

Set designer Es Devlin's "portal" playing space was limiting and (except in the love-duet scene) not particularly evocative, and apart from their effective seascapes Hogben's video projections often literalized and trivialized the imagery of the libretto. (A moth drawn to a flame? A broken relationship symbolized by a broken plate? Giant closeups of the singers? Blood spraying in slow motion during the Act III violence? Please.) Finally, Sharon changed the ending: Isolde is shown to have become pregnant during her night of passion with Tristan, and dies in childbirth (like Tristan's mother). This is a Nietzschean eternal return rather than the moment of transcendence and resolution Wagner's "Love-Death" music evokes.

So (technical issues aside) The Met Live in HD production offered a chance to relish Wagner's great music and the wonderful voices of the cast, but all too often I found myself closing my eyes to block out the annoying stage images. You'll probably have a chance to come to your own conclusions: this Live in HD production will presumably appear on video and may even be broadcast on PBS (though likely not on the San Francisco PBS station, KQED, which seems afraid of all things opera).

Anne Lister's first love: Learned by Heart

Cover of Emma Donoghue's Learned by Heart. New York: Little, Brown and Company, 2023. Image source: BookPage

Anne Lister, a member of a landowning family in Yorkshire, was born in 1791 and died in 1840. She is known to history because she kept a diary, ultimately totalling 4 million words, that described her daily life. (For comparison's sake, four million words is roughly the combined length of Charles Dickens' 15 novels.)

'"I propose from this day to keep an exact journal of my actions and studies, both to assist my memory and to accustom me to set a due value on my time." Introduction to Mr. Gibbon's Journal. A. Lister.' Inscription to Anne Lister's diary preceding the entry for Friday 21 March 1817. Image source: West Yorkshire Archive Service

A substantial portion of the diary was written in a secret "crypt hand"; when decoded, these sections were discovered to detail her sexual relationships with the women in her Yorkshire social circle, as well as connections she'd made when travelling. Her diary has become a key document of 19th-century same-sex relationships. The story of the discovery of the hidden diary by a male relative nearly five decades after Anne's death, its decoding, and how it came into the possession of Halifax town library is told in the first post of my series on Anne Lister, "I only love the fairer sex." The diary is now held at the West Yorkshire Archive Service in Calderdale.

Anne Lister has been the subject of several nonfiction books and an excellent (though not entirely history-based) TV series, Gentleman Jack, starring Suranne Jones as Anne. Thanks to funding from Sally Wainwright, the writer and producer of Gentleman Jack, Anne Lister's diaries have been digitized, transcribed and decoded by an army of online volunteers.

Anne started keeping her diary in 1806. One of its motivations seems to have been to record her correspondence with her former schoolmate Eliza Raine. Between 1806 and 1810 Anne noted receiving more than 130 letters from Eliza, and 82 survive, along with Eliza's diary from 1809 to 1810.

"Sunday Feb[rua]ry – 1st [1807] – Wrote to ER [Eliza Raine] –
Tuesday – 3d – Had a Letter from ER
Sunday – 8th – Wrote to ER –
Monday 9th – Went again to Mr K[night, Anne's tutor] after having
Holidays since December Saturday 27th –
Tuesday Febry – 10th – Had a Letter from ER –"
Excerpt from Anne Lister's diary. Image source: West Yorkshire Archive Service

Eliza had been Anne's roommate at the Manor House School in York, a boarding school for the daughters of well-to-do Yorkshire families. Anne had been sent there from her parents' home in Market Weighton in 1805 at age 14. The school occupied King's Manor, originally built in the 13th century to house the abbots of St. Mary's Abbey. The abbey was suppressed and largely destroyed by King Henry VIII in 1539, but the Manor largely survived the destruction and was renovated during Elizabeth I's reign. In the first decades of the 1600s it hosted the Stuart monarchs James I and later his son Charles I when they travelled north to Scotland, and later was the residence of the Governor of York. But after the Glorious Revolution of 1688 it was leased out to a series of tenants until the Manor School took possession in the late 1700s. It is still standing, and is now part of the University of York.

King's Manor, University of York. Image credit: Emma Donoghue. Image source: Pan Macmillan

At Manor School Anne was assigned to an attic room, "The Slope," which she shared with 14-year-old Eliza. Eliza had been born in the British settlement of Madras (now Chennai), India, and was the daughter of East India Company surgeon William Raine and his Indian common-law wife. A 6-year-old Eliza and her elder sister Jane had accompanied Raine's surgeon colleague William Duffin and his (English) wife as their wards when the Duffins left India to return to York. William Raine died as he was travelling to back to England in 1800; it is not known what happened to their mother.

As is suggested by their attic room—attics were where servants were lodged—both young women must have been seen as outsiders. Eliza's mixed-race parentage would have set her apart, as would Anne's lack of conformity to conventional standards of feminine dress and demeanor. (As an adult she would regularly wear a black greatcoat and boots, would regularly walk long distances, travelled widely, and inherited and ran a family estate; she has been described as "gender non-conforming.")

But if their attic room separated them from the rest of their schoolmates at night, it also drew them together and gave them privacy. They fell in love and began a passionate sexual relationship, likely to have been the first for both of them.

"With this di[a]mond I cut this glass / With this face I kissed a lass." Graffito on a window in the Huntingdon Room in the King's Manor. Image credit: Emma Donoghue. Image source: Pan Macmillan

Although Anne left the school in 1806 while Eliza remained, they continued as a couple for another five years or so, sustaining their connection through frequent correspondence and occasional visits. In Eliza's diary and letters, which used the same code as Anne's, Eliza referred to Anne as her husband. Anne later said that the two had planned to live together as life companions when they both came of age. But in 1810 at age 19 Anne began a relationship with 25-year-old Isabella Norcliffe, the eldest daughter of a family Anne had met through Eliza's guardians, the Duffins. This new relationship clearly distressed Eliza; in her own diary she recorded arguments with Anne during a visit in 1810 that "left me e[x]ceedingly ill."

"How can I refuse my darling husband's solicitude to hear the events of Isabella's visit? Nothing glaringly strange took place my love but what happened may amuse and please you as it may illustrate most clearly the near resemblance that dear creature has arrived at [?] to you." Transcription of a coded letter to Anne Lister from Eliza Raine in Anne Lister's diary, date unknown. Image source: West Yorkshire Archive Service

Eliza's unhappiness was only increased when in 1814 Anne pledged life companionship with another woman, Mariana Belcombe, whom she had met through Isabella. Around this time Eliza was committed to an asylum in York run by Dr. William Belcombe, Mariana's father. As I wrote in "It was all nature: Anne Lister, part 2," "It's not clear to what extent suspicions of Eliza's sexuality figured in her diagnosis, but women who were considered sexually disordered, emotionally unstable, or simply inconvenient could be diagnosed with 'hysteria' or 'lunacy' and confined." And, of course, Eliza's "black blood" (as described by Duffin's stepdaughter Mary Jane Marsh) may have been seen as giving her a propensity for "wildness." Eliza would remain institutionalized until her death 45 years later.

Emma Donoghue's Learned by Heart (2023) is a fictionalization of Anne and Eliza's real-life first love, from the point of view of Eliza. The first sentence of Learned by Heart is "My dear Lister, Last night I went to the Manor House again." The echo of Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca—"Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again"—is entirely intentional. Like Rebecca's unnamed narrator, Eliza returns to the site of her first love only in her imagination. By 1815, when this letter is written, Eliza is confined in Dr. Belcombe's asylum. [1]

Donoghue's novel fills in the largely blank historical record of Eliza and Anne's relationship with richly imagined incident. Some of its scenes are drawn from Anne's later diary. After their nightly sexual encounters begin,

A whole week passes before they broach the subject. (Eliza's been afraid to break the spell by speaking—burst the bubble of their bliss. And whenever they're alone together, it seems as if their lips are used most eloquently for kissing.) Finally, one mild afternoon, strolling along the Manor Shore and eyeing the pair of swans, she demands, "Who taught you?"

A half-laugh. "Nature, I suppose. Who taught you?" (219-220)

This dialogue is adapted from a passage in Anne's diary. The entry for Monday 8 October 1832 describes a day Anne spent with her neighbor Ann Walker kissing and "pressing" on Ann's sofa:

When dusk [fell] she asked (I had said I was at no time likely to marry—how far she understood me I could not quite make out), "If you never had any attachment who taught you to kiss?"

I laughed and said how nicely that was said, then answered that nature taught me. I could have replied, "And who taught you?"

Anne Lister's diary entry for Monday 8 October 1832 (excerpt). Image source: West Yorkshire Archive Service

Later in the novel, Anne and Eliza are in their room recovering from scarlet fever:

Lister goes on at length about a pair of Irish cousins she's read about in a magazine. Refusing to be married off or put in a convent, the ladies ran away together twenty-seven years ago, and have been sharing a cottage in Wales ever since.

Eliza's surprised to hear that they didn't get dragged back and locked up; instead, their escapade made them famous. (233)

This allusion to the Ladies of Llangollen is also derived from Anne's diary. Both Mariana Belcombe (in 1817, after her marriage to Charles Lawton) and Anne (in 1822) travelled to Wales and visited the home of the Ladies, Sarah Ponsonby and Eleanor Butler. In her diary entry of Tuesday 23 July 1822, Anne wrote: "I am interested about these 2 ladies very much. There is something in their story & in all I have heard about them here that, added to other circumstances, makes a deep impression. Sat musing on the sopha, wotting what to do, inconsolate & moody, thinking of M—. Low about her." By 1822 the Ladies had lived openly as a couple for more than four decades, and were a model of the kind of life to which Anne aspired, first with Eliza, then with Isabella, and finally with Mariana. By 1822, however, Anne had begun to despair of ever being able to realize her dream. [2]

Eliza and Anne's time together at the Manor School culminates in a ritual that sacralizes their love:

A sort of wedding, then? A private one, like Juliet and Romeo's. To make good on all that Lister and Eliza have said in the dark; to make their union right, and settled, in the eyes of heaven.

The next Saturday the two of them ask permission to take a walk on their own. They huddle on the porch of St. Olave's until they're quite sure it's empty. In they venture, down the nave that's so chilly all year round, with its grubby hangings. They kneel together in a pew, gripping each other's icy fingers. They're not wearing any special clothes, and of course there's no music, nor any minister or witnesses. But the church feels so old and holy, Eliza's almost sick with excitement.

What would Dr. Duffin think of her (not yet fifteen) taking such a solemn step as this marriage—vowing herself, for life, without his permission, without even his knowledge?. . .This is something beyond the reach of her guardian's comprehension. He'd call it playacting, absurd, sacrilegious. Little he knows. (254)

Their private ceremony echoes Anne's actions with at least two later lovers, Mariana Belcombe and Ann Walker. In her diary entry of Sunday 7 May 1826, Anne wrote,

We went to the old church. Got there just after the service had begun. . .Mariana & I staid the sacrament—the first time we ever received it together in our lives.

Taking communion together had deep symbolic meaning for Anne. With Ann Walker she exchanged rings, and three weeks later shared communion. From her diary entry of Sunday 30 March 1834:

At Goodramgate Church at 10 35/"; Miss W— and I and [Anne's servant] Thomas staid the sacrament. . .The first time I ever joined Miss W— in my prayers—I had prayed that our union might be happy. . .

Donoghue is very knowledgeable about Anne and her world, and that understanding infuses Learned by Heart. Perhaps she is almost too close to the material; in 2010 Donoghue published an article in The Guardian entitled "My hero: Anne Lister." [3] Unfortunately in a few instances she allows her characters to become over-explanatory, with the too-obvious purpose of conveying information to the reader rather than to each other. Some examples, mainly from the early part of the novel:

• Anne describing to her schoolmates her family's place in the social hierarchy of Yorkshire: "'Mine is the Halifax branch of the ancient county lineage. Shibden Hall's been in the family for two centuries—a timber-framed manor house, built five years after Agincourt,' she says fondly. 'The Listers were once the greatest landowners in the district.'" (20) Although Anne was inordinately proud of her family estate, this speech seems improbable coming from anyone but a modern-day Shibden Hall tour guide.
• Eliza asking about Anne's family, and Anne's response: "'Both your parents are still living, are they?' A nod. 'And two brothers, Sam and John, at school near Pickering. Also a sister of eight, Marian, a great annoyance. That makes four of us still standing, out of six—our first John was before my time,' Lister adds, 'and little Jeremy died when I was eleven, though I barely knew him, as he was put out to nurse ten miles away'" (35). Almost everyone in Anne's acquaintance would have had siblings who died in infancy or childhood; it seems unlikely that in introducing herself Anne would go into such detail about brothers now deceased that she had never or hardly known. [4]
• Eliza talking to Anne about her father, William Raine: "'My father was a prisoner for four years, in India'. . .'Four years!' Lister marvels. 'Which war was this?'. . .'Our Company's, against Mysore, a southern kingdom whose ruler was in league with the French.' 'The East India Company, this is?' 'Those of us born into it simply call it the Company. The most powerful firm the world's ever known,' Eliza boasts, 'with its own coinage and taxes.' According to Dr. Duffin, the Company's composed of two hundred clerks in a small office in London, backed by a hundred and fifty thousand soldiers abroad: We hold two-thirds of India already, and rule her better than her princelings ever have. But she's meant to be telling the story of Father's captivity" (84–85). Which she goes on to do, at a level of historical, military, and gruesome physical detail that it seems unlikely would have been conveyed to a child by the adults around her. And could anyone approaching adulthood in Britain while belonging to Anne's social class need an explanation of the East India Company?

There's also the occasional dash of orientalism. Here's Eliza recalling memories of her home in India:

• "Walls flecked in places with red from spat paan, and the warm scent of joss sticks. In her mind's eye she conjures the shimmer of lacquered brass lamps. Low hum of conversation and snores at night, tom-toms in the distance." (28) This sounds like a description taken from the screenplay of Black Narcissus rather than the memories of a young child growing up in an English doctor's house in India during the British Raj (walls flecked with spat paan?). Despite his taking an Indian wife, William Raine seems hardly to have been a "White Mughal"; he was returning to England when he died.

But these are rare instances of clunkiness in Learned by Heart, which in the main succeeds admirably in creating a credible and engaging picture of the young Anne Lister and Eliza Raine; the confusing, overwhelming and thrilling sensations of first love and first sex; and the pain of learning that life and love rarely conform to our passionate wishes and ideals.

---

1. No letters from Eliza to Anne after 1814 have survived; Eliza's letters in Learned by Heart are Donoghue's convincing inventions.
2. A dozen years later Anne would finally manage to have her lover Ann Walker move in with her at Shibden Hall. Although the couple had to face both the fierce opposition of Ann's relatives and Ann's own deep feelings of sexual guilt, they lived together at Shibden for five years, until their extended trip to Russia that resulted in Anne's death. For more, see "Captain Tom: Anne Lister, part 5"
3. Women's history scholar Jill Liddington writes that "Many readers—coming to the Anne Lister writings hoping for a heroine, an empowerer of other women, an inspirational feminist icon—will be disappointed." See "No historical interest whatever: Anne Lister, part 6"
4. By 1815, when the novel ends, both of Anne's real-life brothers had died, and she (rather her still-living father) became the heiress of Shibden Hall.

In memoriam: Sly Dunbar and Robbie Shakespeare

Sly Dunbar and Robbie Shakespeare, 1980s. Image credit: David Corio. Image source: The Guardian

On Tuesday The Guardian carried an obituary for the drummer Sly Dunbar, who together with his bassist partner Robbie Shakespeare made up the rhythm section Sly & Robbie. Both men had been mentored by members of Bob Marley's Wailers: Sly by drummer Carlton Barrett, and Robbie by Carlton's brother, bassist Aston "Family Man" Barrett, who gave him his first bass, a Hofner. Aston also helped Robbie get gigs. That's a 19-year-old Robbie playing bass on "Concrete Jungle," the first track on the Wailers' 1973 breakthrough album Catch A Fire.

Sly & Robbie were a key element in the dark, spare sound of Black Uhuru's hugely influential Showcase album, released in 1979; over the solid kick-drum and bass foundation, Dunbar added distinctive accents on the off-beat. The songs were released in various versions; the extended dub mixes put the rhythm section at the forefront. Which was a good thing: some of Michael Rose and Duckie Simpson's lyrics were misogynistic ("Shine eye gal is a trouble to a man") or anti-abortion (in "Abortion" they call the procedure "first-degree murder"). But "General Penitentiary" was their masterpiece ("Cause the food that you take to save your life can let you lose it the same. . .General Penitentiary, it's a warehouse of human slavery"):

https://youtu.be/RDstxZ1JiGA

Lyrics aside, sonically Showcase felt somewhat like the reggae equivalent of Joy Division's Unknown Pleasures (particularly tracks like "Candidate"). The spareness of Showcase also clearly influenced the sound of Gang of Four ("Paralysed") and the Au Pairs ("Headache (for Michelle)," which has never felt more relevant). But Sly & Robbie's music wasn't only dark and dread. They also backed the duo Althea & Donna's cheeky 1978 dancehall hit "Uptown Top Ranking," name-checked on the Psychedelic Furs' "We Love You" from their debut album just a few months later. (The Furs lyric had been a mystery to me until my girlfriend pulled the Althea & Donna album out of her collection and gave it a spin to dispel my ignorance. Dispelling my ignorance is a task my girlfriend and now life partner continues to this day.)

https://youtu.be/VE-A5JULvRM

A few "Uptown Top Ranking" lyrics (written by Althea Forrest & Donna Reid):

See me in mi heels an' ting Them check so we hip an' ting True them no know anyting We have them going an' ting Nah pop no style I strictly roots Nah pop no style I strictly roots See me 'pon the road, and you no call out to me True you see me in mi pants an' ting See me in mi halter back Say me give you heart attack Give me little bass, make me wind up mi waist Uptown top ranking Love is all I bring Inna mi khaki suit an' ting

Sly & Robbie quickly became in-demand session musicians and producers. Working at Island Records' Compass Point Studios, they provided the rhythm section for Grace Jones' Warm Leatherette (1980) and Nightclubbing (1981), her re-imaginings of songs by The Normal, Roxy Music, Tom Petty, Iggy Pop, Marianne Faithfull, and The Police, among others. Jones' version of The Pretenders' "Private Life" is definitive:

https://youtu.be/yvLn_qC7QAs

I'm clearly not the only person to hear a Joy Division connection in Sly & Robbie's sound; the B-side of the "Private Life" single was a non-album cover of "She's Lost Control." (That cover, though, deliberately subverts Unknown Pleasures' original. I find the arrangement to be too busy and the vocals too declamatory. A rare misfire.)

Sly & Robbie continued performing and recording together for decades, backing musicians as disparate as Gwen Guthrie ("Padlock"), Gwen Stefani ("Underneath It All"), and Bob Dylan (Infidels). Their collaboration ended only with Robbie Shakespeare's death from kidney failure in 2021 at age 68. Now Sly Dunbar has followed him at age 73. Not to take anything away from their later work, but it is the indelible music they created as the late 1970s shaded into the early 1980s for which they will always be remembered.

Let's give Althea & Donna the last word. "No More Fighting":

https://youtu.be/drY8NndCsGE

No more fussing and fighting We want no more, we want no more No more stealing and back-biting We want no more, we want no more Alone I sit in deep meditation Wondering why the wicked still survive Killing and stealing is part of their daily life I wanna know, I wanna know, I wanna know When it's all gonna end

The Strange Love of Martha Ivers

The Strange Love of Martha Ivers. Starring Barbara Stanwyck (Martha Ivers), Van Heflin (Sam Masterson), Lizabeth Scott (Toni Marachek), and Kirk Douglas (Walter O'Neil). Screenplay by Robert Rossen, after the short story "Love Lies Bleeding" by John Patrick; directed by Lewis Milestone. Produced by Hal Wallis, distributed by Paramount Pictures, 1946.

Poster for The Strange Love of Martha Ivers. Image source: imdb.com

Film noir is often portrayed as an urban genre: the noir classics The Maltese Falcon and The Lady from Shanghai are set in San Francisco; The Big Sleep and Double Indemnity are set in Los Angeles; Call Northside 777 and Undertow are set in Chicago; and Phantom Lady and Laura are set in New York, to mention just a few examples of many. There was even a post-WWII trend of noir films that announced their urban locations in the title, such as The Naked City, Cry of the City, Dark City, and Night and the City.

But in the world of noir, evil is not confined to cities—it saturates the whole of American society. In movies such as Shadow of a Doubt, The Postman Always Rings Twice, Out of the Past, and The Big Heat, suburbs and small towns are not havens of tranquility and safety, but sites of corruption, murder, blackmail, and betrayal.

Which brings us to The Strange Love of Martha Ivers. In 1928 in Iverstown, a Pennsylvania steel town, a teenaged Martha Ivers (Janis Wilson) is being raised as the ward of her strict aunt (Judith Anderson, the domineering housekeeper Mrs. Danvers in Hitchcock's Rebecca). The aunt owns the town's mill, which she runs with an iron fist with the aid of her fawning factotum O'Neil (Roman Bohnen). Martha hates her aunt and tries to run away with bad boy Sam Masterson (Darryl Hickman), but she is caught and brought back (for what we learn is the fourth time).

Janis Wilson (young Martha), Judith Anderson (Mrs. Ivers) and Roman Bohnen (Mr. O'Neil) in The Strange Love of Martha Ivers. Image source: listal.com

When later that same night Martha tries running away with Sam again, her aunt hears a noise and comes to investigate. Their encounter ends with Martha wresting her aunt's walking stick from her hand and striking her in the head, causing a fatal fall down the stairs.

When O'Neil bursts in, Martha blames the assault on a nonexistent intruder. O'Neil's son Walter (Mickey Kuhn) has witnessed it all, but under the questioning of his father corroborates Martha's story. O'Neil immediately suspects the truth, and under the guise of solicitous concern for Martha's welfare seizes the opportunity for blackmail: "You poor child; you'll be all alone in the world now. . .But you needn't be afraid. We'll always be with you, Walter and I. We'll never leave you." Indeed. An alcoholic ex-millworker who'd been fired by Mrs. Ivers is picked up, and—thanks to the testimony of Martha, supported by Walter—is swiftly convicted of the murder and hanged.

Flash forward 18 years to 1946. On her aunt's death Martha inherited the mill, which over time she has hugely expanded, from 3,000 workers to 30,000. "I did it all by myself," the adult Martha (Barbara Stanwyck) says. (We don't doubt that Martha is a supremely competent corporate executive—she's Barbara Stanwyck, after all—but wartime demand for steel may have played a part.) Her money was used by Walter's father to send his son to Harvard; although Martha despises Walter, their shared guilt binds them together, and they are now married. The adult Walter (Kirk Douglas, in his first film role) tries to quiet his conscience and soothe the miseries of his unreciprocated love for Martha with drink.

Kirk Douglas (Walter) and Barbara Stanwyck (Martha) in a publicity still from The Strange Love of Martha Ivers. Image source: Crooked Marquee

Sam left Iverstown the night of the murder and has grown up as a drifter and a gambler, but he's his own man and lives by his own moral code. Discharged from the army and driving west, the adult Sam (Van Heflin) has an accident on the road outside of Iverstown (paging Dr. Freud!) and is stuck in town until the car is repaired.

When he stops by his childhood home, now a women's rooming house, he meets Toni Marachek (Lizabeth Scott), who has "been away for awhile"—in jail for theft. She's out on parole and is supposed to catch a bus back to her hometown, but sees a chance for a fresh start out west with Sam.

Lizabeth Scott (Toni Marachek) in The Strange Love of Martha Ivers. Image source: Wikipedia.com

She's not the only woman in Iverstown imagining a future with Sam; when he inevitably encounters Martha, her teenaged feelings for him are reawakened. The stage is set for a love quadrangle, with both women vying for Sam, and Walter justly perceiving Sam as a rival for Martha. He also recognizes Sam as a threat to reveal the truth about that fatal night almost two decades ago, a threat that must be dealt with. Revelations about the past, betrayal, and death will soon follow.

At times The Strange Love of Martha Ivers feels almost as claustrophic as Luis Bunuel's The Exterminating Angel. All the characters are trapped. Most obviously, Martha and Walter are inextricably tied to one another by their mutual guilt. But neither Sam nor Toni can escape Iverstown: the bus somehow always leaves without Toni, while Martha makes sure that the repairs on Sam's car make no progress. 

There's also no escape for Sam and Toni from the power of Martha and Walter. When Martha surprises Toni and Sam together in their connecting hotel rooms, Sam snaps, "Even a crummy hotel like this has a switchboard." "I have special privileges this hotel, Sam," Martha replies. "I own it." But Martha, rich and alluring as she is, represents the past for Sam; Toni is the future.

Van Heflin (Sam Masterson), Lizabeth Scott (Toni Marachek), and Barbara Stanwyck (Martha Ivers) in The Strange Love of Martha Ivers. Image source: Feminéma

Even when Walter orders some goons to beat up Sam and dump him 25 miles out of town, Sam must return to settle the score. Only when the past has been confronted and everything is out in the open can any fresh starts be made. But Martha and Walter are trapped together in a web of lies from which there is no escape.

Director Lewis Milestone (All Quiet on the Western Front, Ocean's 11) heightens the sense of confinement through the tight framing of the characters in medium shots and close-ups or isolating them against dark backgrounds, while cinematographer Victor Milner (who worked extensively with both Ernst Lubitsch and Preston Sturges) effectively employs silhouettes and shadows to create sense of mystery. (It always seems to be night in Iverstown, and raining more often than not.) The one misstep is the sometimes overwrought score by composer Miklós Rózsa (Double Indemnity, Spellbound), which can seem mis-matched to the gritty mise-en-scène.

The Strange Love of Martha Ivers is full of surprises. For me the first was Van Heflin's standout performance as the morally ambiguous but sympathetic Sam. Until I saw this movie Van Heflin's name in the credits was not an inducement to watch, but I'll have to explore more of his filmography.

Barbara Stanwyck (Martha Ivers) and Van Heflin (Sam) in a publicity still from The Strange Love of Martha Ivers. Image source: The Cinematheque

This is even more true of Lizabeth Scott. During filming she was just 23, and The Strange Love of Martha Ivers was only her third film. But she completely inhabits the character of Toni, a woman who has been crushed by circumstances. Although she looks and sounds like Lauren Bacall, Toni doesn't share her strength: any bravado she might once have possessed has been beaten out of her by life. Lizabeth Scott made a specialty of roles in noir films, and beyond this movie so far I've only seen Dark City. I definitely want to see more.

John Kellogg (Joe), Lizabeth Scott (Toni), and Van Heflin (Sam) in The Strange Love of Martha Ivers. Image source: Heart of Noir

Kirk Douglas is totally convincing as the conscience-ridden, alcoholic Walter. Just a year later he played the suave mobster Whit Sterling in Out of the Past, and soon thereafter became a top-billed star. But in his first role he shows that he is not only a movie star, but an actor of surprising range.

And what is there to say about Barbara Stanwyck that hasn't already been said? Martha Ivers is amoral, selfish, willful, ruthless and brutal, but also indomitable, independent, and smart: she knows what she wants and goes after it. She recognizes that Sam represents her last chance of happiness, but ultimately that it's impossible for them to be together—a realization that has tragic consequences, and not only for her.

Kirk Douglas (Walter), Van Heflin (Sam), and Barbara Stanwyck (Martha) in The Strange Love of Martha Ivers. Image source: Daily Motion

Many thanks to the dear friends who invited us to see The Strange Love of Martha Ivers on the big screen (at Berkeley's Pacific Film Archive), as it and all films should be seen.