Shirley Booth, Come Back, Little Sheba

Won: Academy Award - Best Actress • New York Film Critics Circle - Best Actress
Golden Globe Award - Best Actress in a Drama • Cannes Film Festival - Best Actress

1952's slate of Best Actress contenders has gained a bad rap. I had read insinuations that the year is particularly poor on the actressing front, and yet, based on what I've seen so far, I'd conclude that it's largely an imperfect lineup with performances and films that hit a murky gray: be that Susan Hayward's questionably saintlike performance in a run-of-the-mill biopic, Joan Crawford's emoting in a sensationalized B-movie, Bette Davis' wild hysterics in a Sunset-Boulevard-on-bath-salts camp picture, or Julie Harris' pubescent hysterics in a stagey stage-to-film adaptation, this is not a field of contenders that strikes wide-range appeal to the modern masses. That being said, I don't think either are awful, though they do challenge you to conclude otherwise.

This also rings true for Shirley Booth, the victor of this pack: she and her performance in Come Back, Little Sheba are easily more forgotten and receive significantly less share of voice than the likes of fellow winners Judy Holliday, Vivien Leigh, Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly. This is in spite of the fact that Booth was a juggernaut during her respective year, picking up nearly every major Best Actress prize available (it should be noted that no other actor that decade, male or female, received prizes from Cannes, the National Board of Review, the New York Film Critics Circle, the Globes and the Academy for a sole performance).

Similar to Harris in The Member of the Wedding, Booth also played Lola Delaney on stage before bringing her to life on celluloid. Both Wedding and Sheba debuted within a month of each other in 1950, with Booth nabbing the Tony Award later that year (and, with her Academy Award victory, she'd become the first-ever actress to win both prizes for the same role). But whereas Harris may seem as though she's acting for the very last row in the balcony when the camera is not intimately closed up against her face, Booth carries herself in a less jarring manner.

That said, Lola is far from a subtle character - carrying on 1952's theme of flamboyance amongst its nominated actresses, Booth is still quite affected and bolstered with mannerisms - see how Lola wobbles ever-so-slightly whenever she walks or runs, how she sways a bit when she's standing upright, or how she cranes her neck and back whenever she speaks to another character. Listen as she aggressively chatters away from scene-to-scene with her nasally accent. There's a gaudiness to Lola that'd be befitting when housed in a supporting role and served out in small dosages - Lola is, of course, not a supporting role, and the persistence to which Booth operates might register to some as being excessive.

So on face value alone, you either have a decent tolerance for Booth and Lola or you don't. I find myself within the former group.

My parents are old enough to be my grandparents (my older brother is in his forties, for reference). As such, I've been acquainted with a fair share of adults much older than I throughout the course of my life. Booth is strikingly close to home in her characterization of Lola: I've known people around her age (or older) express how they no longer care to tend to their appearance. I've seen them chatter on and on and on and on as though their lives somehow depended on it. I've experienced firsthand how "meaning well" can still be causation for annoyance, and how one can be blissfully unaware throughout it all. I've heard tales of past regrets. I've witnessed and heard of couples staying together purely on the virtue of values despite their years of unhappiness. I've seen and heard of how loneliness can afflict one's life as they grow older. Booth's performance, as exasperating as it may register, is emblematic of all of this. Whether or not that that was her exact intent as she developed Lola I cannot confirm. But I can't help but feel a profound sense of sincerity and truth in her performance. Every time I became annoyed with Lola, it felt personal. Every time I watched her desperately try to connect with another individual, it struck as real.

It helps that Booth crafts a flawed yet undeniably wholesome character. There's a naivety to Lola that was highly endearing for me - she'll plaster on a smile and run after someone, latching on to them with an unwavering faithfulness and inquisitiveness as though she were Sheba the dog herself. There're undertones that suggest Lola to be a woman-child, (she and Doc nickname each other "Baby" and "Daddy," and there're hints of Lola's highly strict upbringing) and it seems as though she never really grew up; that lends credence to the viewer's affinity toward her, and paves the way for a final act that is built to force compassion out of you toward Booth. It's the last half hour of the film that likely secured Booth her Oscar, and I found it to be terribly heartbreaking.

It should be noted that Booth's second husband, William H. Baker Jr., died in 1951. She never remarried, and she hadn't any children from her marriages. How close Baker's death was to the filming of Come Back, Little Sheba, I could not conclude - but I can't help but feel as though the gut-wrenching sadness that Booth projects towards Lancaster in that last act of Sheba, and her delivery of "You're all I got, Doc...you're all I ever had," was coming from a real place of heart ache. I could watch these scenes over and over again, and each time I'll be struck by Booth's honest-to-God authenticity and kindness.

For those who dislike this performance due to its affected nature - I can't agree. To me, this is a highly poignant performance from an underrated actress. It's a success story of a theater actress bridging a gap between Broadway and Hollywood, and reaping up all the riches. It's a performance that lives as a cocktail of traits from my aunts, uncles, dad and mom. This is a performance that deserves more recognition from the general public than it has, a sweet and tender little highlight delivered on a divisive (but admirable) year.