On my way back from the tvättstuga (communal laundry room) early this morning, I got to thinking about femme fatales. As one does! You wouldn’t believe the number of doe-eyed, slinky, seductive sirens with a strong foreign accent that I have had to fend off while doing the family washing.
My fellow washers, who this morning were a gaggle of shy, rather taciturn Swedish chaps, were surprised to walk in and find me listening to Nico and the Velvet Underground. What a contrast between the sturdy Scandinavian functionality of the row of Electrolux washing machines and the smoky, late night NY decadence of that remarkable song.
”She builds you up to just put you down
What a clown.”
And all that got me to thinking: is there a male equivalent? There are some who use the term “homme fatale” but it sounds very stilted to me. I far prefer cad, bounder or rotter. The sort of rakish ne’er-do-well that Terry Thomas played so well.
My question to you today is: who are your favourite femmes fatales and charismatic cads?
From fiction, the movies, TV, comic books, pop music….Feel free to think outside the box.
Children’s culture, for example, is full of them.
And for an actor, they are a dream gig. From Barbera Stanwyck in Double Indemnity in the glory days of the film noir, to Glen Close’s bunny boiler and Killing Eve’s Villanelle.
From Charles Boyer in Gaslight, Sean Connery as James Bond and then there’s the duplicitous Prince Hans in Frozen.
Why my sudden fascination? Well, this week things got seriously flaky on the Afterword.
So flaky, that I’m really not sure what happened and what I imagined. I’ve Googled frantically but can find no evidence of the events to which I will now refer to.
But I did hear a very credible rumour about two black-clad Afterword operatives in a large limousine, escorting a mysterious person to a private plan at Stanstead.
A sultry Slavic temptress? A fat bald bloke in a wig?
Destination? Vancouver? Bangkok? Stockholm? We will never know.
Anyway, I was just starting my most recent thread on post-modern rebootings of Bach, when suddenly a competing thread was favourite of the week, by a long chalk.
Entitled, “I’m new here..” within hours, this newbie, a “person of the female persuasion”, had soon received enough comments to land two Chicken Corsair Hampers. And I’ll confess, I too fell victim to her charms and playfully flirted with her.
It was bonkers. It wasn’t just stopping either. Bloggers we have not heard from for years were reappearing to wish her welcome. An article in the Guardian commented on how the Chicken Corsair factory had had to take on new staff to cope with all those extra hampers.
And then suddenly….. silence.
What really happened? Where had she vanished, this slinky surfer girl who had made usch waves?
I don’t want to know the truth. Some questions are best unanswered……
My favourite femme fatale? Well it’s got to be Mrs Goggins in the Greendale Post Office. A flirtatious floozy, a shameless hussy, a scheming minx, an audacious Cumbrian coquette.
She’s got that Postman Pat wrapped around her little finger. The female of the species is deadlier than the mail!
Film noir and the world of the femme fatale is a dangerous, unpredictable one for pets. If I was Jess the Cat, I would be very worried indeed.