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The Craft had its premiere in Los Angeles OTD in 1996!

In honor of this hallowed occasion, here's a throwback to my Nancy cosplay from A Century of Glamour Ghouls!

A Century of Glamour Ghouls: 1990s

Nancy Downs in The Craft (1996)

The Movie

The Craft (1996) is widely thought of as a guilty pleasure for women who came of age in the 90s but in recent years its cult following has grown considerably and its reputation is being reconsidered. It’s a more complicated movie than most give it credit for despite its faults.

Sarah (Robin Tunney) moves to LA from San Francisco with her father and stepmother following a suicide attempt. As she gets the lay of the land at her new Catholic high school, a fledgling coven of witches at the school recognize her natural talent for witchcraft and set their sights on her. Sarah’s new sisters all have struggles of their own and use witchcraft as a coping mechanism and as a means of empowerment. Nancy (Fairuza Balk), the de-facto leader, is deeply depressed and poor. Rochelle (Rachel True) is the only black girl in school and her teammates’ overt racism is holding her back from pursuing her passion for diving. Bonnie (Neve Campbell) is disfigured with burn scars covering much of her body. With the addition of Sarah to their coven, their witchcraft begins to produce real results. At first, their problems seems to be solved. The boy who spread rumours about Sarah after she turned him down for sex is now hopelessly obsessed with her. Nancy’s abusive father is dead and she and her mother now have a better lifestyle living on insurance money. Rochelle’s most violent tormentor starts to go bald. The painful treatment for Bonnie’s scars is suddenly successful. It doesn’t take long for things to spiral out of control though. Intra-coven conflict and a misunderstanding of the nature of magic(k) have dangerous consequences for all four of them.

The Craft is one of the more interesting pieces of fiction to emerge from the ashes of the satanic panic of the 1980s. In the 1980s a moral panic was created around a number of later discredited stories about satan worship. While the initial panic focused mainly on child abuse and day care centers, once it settled into the cultural zeitgeist, satanism (and by extension witchcraft) became the scapegoat for all sorts of social issues. It’s a bit difficult to convey to anyone who didn’t live through it how pervasive this fear was in certain communities in the US. But honestly, if you go back and watch some episodes of the first seasons of Unsolved Mysteries, you’ll be a bit flabbergasted at how often parents and husbands tack satanism and witchcraft onto straight-forward crimes & missing-persons stories. The Craft was released in the aftermath of the panic just as it was receding. (As someone who was way into Marilyn Manson in the late 1990s, I can tell you for a fact that it didn’t die.) Quite cleverly, the film took the worst fears of gullible parents and realized them while simultaneously presenting a realistic depiction of the practice of witchcraft and Wiccan beliefs. Funnily enough, The Craft definitely encouraged a whole generation of kids to try out spells or witchy games at slumber parties across the country.

The Look

Nancy Downs is a very mid-90s Southern Californian goth. She rocks a whole mess of styles throughout the film, some of which are very inappropriate for the weather (desert goth life), all of which are very inappropriate for Catholic school attendance. So, there are a lot of styling options for a Nancy cosplay.

The Clothes

The base for many of Nancy’s outfits is her school uniform; white button up shirt and blue-and-green kilt. At school, she’s usually bare-legged and mixes up the uniform pieces with black undershirts or black mesh and a black leather jacket. More often later in the film, she goes full 90s goth witch with a long black jacket with flared sleeves and big flowy black and dark red skirts. Nancy’s ever-present accessories are rosaries worn as jewelry, a dog-collar choker, upside down cross earrings, a nose ring, and pointy lace-up ankle boots.

I went the simple route: a play on the school uniform. I don’t own anything resembling a uniform kilt because I went to Catholic school myself for 16 years and will never own a skirt like that again. I also don’t own any black mesh, but I do have a pair of fishnets that I put on as sleeves. If you want to add color to a Nancy look, I’d recommend blood red in your accessories.

The Makeup

Nancy’s makeup is harsh though the face makeup is rarely very heavily applied. Nancy’s eyebrows are sharp and thin and her eyes are smoky and smudgy, later in the film her eye makeup gets deeper and less shimmery.

It seems that is every scene, even if it’s directly contiguous with the scene prior, Nancy has reapplied her lipstick in a different shade. I love this because it subtly reinforces the notion that she exhibits compulsive behaviors and also suggests that perhaps her “five-finger discount” attitude extends beyond the magic shop to makeup counters and drug stores.

Start with a neutral base and set it lightly with powder a shade lighter than your skin tone to get a California-goth pallor I concentrated some extra light powder under the hollows of my cheekbones to make my cheeks look fuller, more like Balk’s and more like a teenager’s.

Deconstructing Nancy’s eye makeup was fun because I realized for the first time that it’s actually a pretty standard late-90s smoky eye with heavier liner. (1.) Start with a neutral gray shade as a blending base. (2.) Take a darker gray shade to build up the outer V of the eye concentrating the pigment at the crease and lashline. (3.) Take a black shadow (I went cool black with this, but you can go warm instead) and build up the deeper areas of shadow, take an angled brush and bring it along your lashline. Take what’s left on the brush and bring it under your eyes. (4.) Next take black liner and draw a thick line all around your eye with very little flaring at the outer edge. (5.) Go back in with your black shadow to set the liner and smudge the line a bit. Basically try to make it look like you didn’t wash off yesterday’s makeup and just reapplied more in the morning. (6.) For the highlighted parts of the eye, silver would be perfect. I don’t have any silver shadow, so I went in with white shadow and a pearl-colored highlighter to get the shimmer. Concentrate the silvery shade on the inner and middle part of the mobile lid and on the browbone. (7.) To finish off the eye, tightline your eyes with black liner and load up your eyelashes with black mascara.

For the brows, go in with black powder on a wet brush so it’ll be easier to correct mistakes. The head is a lot fuller than the tail, which tapers dramatically. It’s a more natural shape than the sperm brow that was starting to take over at the time.

For my Nancy look, I chose to go with a brownish lip because most Nancy cosplayers gravitate toward the bright red and black combo. The same method applies, just choose the colors you like best. Take a brown, black, or burgundy liner and fill out your bottom lip and line your upper lip to be just a touch smaller than your lower lip. Fill in the center of your lips with a nude brown or red lipstick and blend it into the liner. Don’t blend too much though because you want to keep the liner distinct.

With your liner brush at the ready, draw a small beauty mark on your right cheek an inch or two from your mouth. I already have a beauty mark here, so I just filled it in.

The 1910s | The 1920s | The 1930s | The 1940s | The 1950s | The 1960s | The 1970s | The 1980s | The 2000s

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"The Lady from Shanghai (1947) directed by Orson Welles [...] was actually filmed in San Francisco's Chinatown but is edited in such a way that the space feels very confusing. There are Dutch angles, there are shots that take place through windows. It's difficult to tell where you stand in relationship to what. Why is this trope of being lost, or spatially disoriented, associated with East Asia?" Homay King, Staging the Orient

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Salomé (1922)  

[letterboxd | imdb]

Director: Charles Bryant & Nazimova

Cinematographer: Charles Van Enger

Performer: Nazimova

Art Director & Costume Designer: Natacha Rambova (inspired by Aubrey Beardsley's Salomé illustrations)

[fibula-rasa]

Salomé (1922)  

[letterboxd | imdb]

Director: Charles Bryant & Nazimova

Cinematographer: Charles Van Enger

Performer: Nazimova

Art Director & Costume Designer: Natacha Rambova (inspired by Aubrey Beardsley's Salomé illustrations)

[fibula-rasa]

Cosplay the Classics: Natacha Rambova

My closet cosplay of Natacha Rambova’s signature look from the 1920s

It’s unbearably common for people who have written  about Natacha Rambova to emphasize that her “real” name was “Winifred Hudnut.” In reality, Rambova had about a half dozen names she went by (or could have gone by). Natacha Rambova was the name she took when she began her working life as a teenager with Theodore Kosloff’s ballet company—hence the Russophone name. And, as Rambova was a person who first and foremost lived to work, sticking with her professional name seems true to her character, Slav or not. You see, the primary reason Rambova was (and is) subjected to this passive-aggressiveness is part of a lingering effort to delegitimize her and her work. Sometimes that takes the form of calling her Winifred Hudnut and sometimes “Mrs. Valentino.” While there are valid reasons to criticize Rambova and her work, the aspersions typically lobbed at her fully miss their mark because they’re motivated by the desire to belittle a woman who knew the value of her work and her art and had the necessary privilege to fight for it.

"Natacha Rambova seems to belong most to me, the individual I think I am, but of course, I wasn’t born that way."

—“Wedded and Parted” by Ruth Waterbury, Photoplay, December 1922

Collage of portraits of Rambova from the 1920s

READ ON below the JUMP!

To begin at the beginning, Rambova was born as Winifred “Wink” Shaughnessy in Utah in 1897. Her father, who was significantly older than her mother, was found lacking as a parent and a spouse, and the Shaughnessy’s divorced when Rambova was young. Her youth was spent bouncing between her mother’s home in San Francisco, boarding school in England, and her aunt’s villa in France. Early on Rambova discovered two of the great passions of her life, ballet and mythology. The latter became an enduring fascination that guided Rambova’s varied pursuits throughout her life.

At first, her family encouraged Rambova’s interest in ballet. However, around 1914, when Rambova was 17, the shady nature of Rambova’s relationship with Kosloff was discovered by her mother, who tried to have Kosloff deported. At the time, Kosloff was supporting a wife and child back in England while keeping house with Rambova and another of his dancers, Vera Fredova (who was also legally named Winifred and also a teenager btw). Mom called off the lawsuit, and for years Kosloff, Rambova, and Fredova ran the ballet company together.

The company relocated to Los Angeles where Kosloff entered into a contract with Cecil B. DeMille. The company would provide art and costume designs for DeMille’s films and Kosloff himself would appear in the films. While Kosloff’s name is found in the credits for most of these films, it’s now widely accepted that Rambova was doing most, if not all, of the research and design work.

Theodore Kosloff in his costume from The Woman God Forgot (1917) on the left with Rambova (who does not appear in the film)

In this creatively productive period, Rambova shifted her focus away from dance toward historical research and costume and set design as her primary endeavor. For DeMille, Rambova contributed designs for The Woman God Forgot (1917), Why Change Your Wife? (1920), Something to Think About (1920), and also designed the Cinderella fantasy sequence of Forbidden Fruit (1921).

from the Cinderella sequence of Forbidden Fruit [more gifs here]

The work caught the eye of Nazimova, who was still working at Metro at the time. Once Nazimova realized that Rambova was the one doing the work, she engaged her directly to work on her now lost film Billions (1920). Rambova would receive on-screen credit for her art direction on Nazimova’s final film for Metro, the deco-bonanza Camille (1921).

from Camille [more gifs here]

Camille features designs verging on the bizarre, using circles and half-circles as a consistent symbolic motif throughout the film. One of my personal favorite touches however, is the sequence taking place at Armand’s country cottage. Where the Paris sets are oversized and characterized by rounded edges, the cottage is excessively square and feels almost claustrophobic. At this point in the story, Marguerite is conflicted, she feels happier and freer than ever before in her love with Armand, but is also haunted by the notion that she’s dooming him given her past and her illness. The interior of the cottage feels more artificial because of its realism, almost like a doll house, in comparison to the more heavily designed Paris settings. This highlights the feeling in Marguerite that she’s just playing pretend at a happy, heteronormative fantasy.

country house setting from Camille

Influenced by the highly stylized visuals of ballet but also preoccupied with historical research and symbology, Rambova’s designs stand out from anything else produced in this period, especially in the US. The more I study her designs and think about how young she was when she created them, the more impressed I am by them. Faced with challenging assignments, Rambova balanced accuracy and perceived authenticity with her penchant for larger-than-life symbolism. On top of all that, they photograph beautifully! Being able to create interesting and appropriate costume and set designs with a demonstrated understanding of how they would register on film is a sophisticated skill set which Rambova deserves significant credit for.

When Nazimova went independent following Camille, she brought Rambova with her. The first two projects Rambova would work on for Nazimova’s company were A Doll’s House (now a lost film, which I profiled on my Lost, but Not Forgotten series) and Salomé (1922). The latter has become regarded as Nazimova’s magnum opus on film and often referred to as America’s first art film. For Salomé, Rambova translated illustrations made by Aubrey Beardsley into three-dimensional sets and costumes and character designs for film. If you’ve seen Beardsley’s illustrations and you’ve seen the film, you know this was no simple task and that Rambova did a phenomenal job of re-working the illustrations into wearable costumes and weaving elements of Beardsley’s illustrations into the set design.

from Salomé [more gifs here]

Taking a second to emphasize Rambova’s range, her work on Why Change Your Wife?, Something to Think About, and A Doll’s House (which we can only judge by surviving stills) are contemporary settings with more realistic, grounded set and costume designs. Rambova executes the designs for these films with just as much skill, although as she admitted herself, with less gusto because they didn’t scratch the historical-research/symbology itch.

production still from A Doll’s House

It was in this same period of creative growth that Rambova split from Kosloff (and he shot her in the leg on the way out) and she started seeing her future husband, Rudolph Valentino. Valentino, however, was still legally married to another woman. This would lead to significant trouble for the couple in the first few years of their relationship. 

Perhaps too much time has been spent picking apart the nature of the Valentino-Rambova pairing—most of it spent trying to characterize her as a Svengali type and Valentino as too immature or unintelligent to have any opinions of his own. Now, having read most of what Rambova has written about Valentino, both before and after their divorce, she often takes a paternalistic attitude toward Valentino, but one tempered by real affection. And, given how close Valentino became with her family (and remained close after the divorce, even leaving a significant part of his estate to her aunt), to doubt the legitimacy of their partnership feels willfully disingenuous. Valentino shared Rambova’s desires to elevate the artistic qualities of film, oftentimes beyond their means. Together they crafted the romantic idol of Valentino. Together they challenged the studios for underpaying him.

“Some producers find an unusual personality. They use up thousands of dollars to exploit it. They put that personality into a picture and the picture goes over and makes a million. Then, instead of letting the actor who does fine work go on doing it, they give him cheap material, cheap sets, cheap casts, cheap everything. The idea then is to make just as much money from that personality as possible with the least outlay. “Isn’t it short-sighted? Isn’t it unwise? Yet they do it again and again. But they can’t keep it up forever. The fans are beginning to wake up. They refuse to take second rate products even when a big personality is exploited. They are doing the one thing that will affect the producer—when poor pictures are offered them, they are staying home.”

—from “Wedded and Parted” by Ruth Waterbury, Photoplay, December 1922

Something I mentioned in the last installment of “Lost, but Not Forgotten” was that in this period,  a number of film artists in Hollywood were recognizing the true value of their work and going independent of the emergent studio system. Studio heads saw no problem in curtailing the creative freedom of their artists to further pad their overflowing wallets. For the founders of United Artists, the system was usually able to be bent in their favor, with their films getting wide releases with decent promotion budgets. For a number of other independent artists, the road was rockier as distributors and exhibitors were reluctant to offend the increasingly powerful studios. Nazimova was one of those who eventually ran out of funds to produce their own work. Valentino’s star rose precipitously after The Sheik (1921) and Blood and Sand (1922) was a massive box-office hit, but Valentino’s salary did not match that bankability. This financial dispute, complicated by negative press around his relationship with Rambova, left Valentino out of work in film for a year. In turn, Valentino and Rambova went on a dancing tour of the country, which raised her profile as a public figure while bolstering his star image despite not appearing in any new films.

Valentino and Rambova in a promotional photo for their dance tour

Unfortunately, crossing the studio system as they did resulted in a coordinated campaign to take them down a notch. Reading film magazines from the period will give you whiplash. Many of these magazines had established relationships with studios and ran news items in keeping with whatever narratives the studios wished to push. However, the stars and their managers (if they had them) had their own relationships with the magazines. So, occasionally, you’ll find items deriding Rambova as some kind of artsy-fartsy manipulative phony and then a profile piece of her or Valentino that’s sympathetic to their business woes. This is the period where the narrative emerges of Rambova as a calculating climber, using Valentino to build her own career. This talking point is often repeated today, despite the fact that Rambova had already been working on big productions for DeMille and Nazimova for years before meeting Valentino. While Rambova was certainly a key figure in developing Valentino’s star image, the plain facts make it apparent that they were working as a team—hardly abnormal. Unfortunately, neither member of said team had much in the way of business sense.

As I mentioned earlier, Rambova fashioned her life around her work. Something I didn’t mention earlier is that she was an heiress. At this point in her life, Rambova was determined to live off her own labour and not touch her inheritance. When they were battling the studios, the couple continued to not touch Rambova’s inheritance. And, both desperate to return to filmmaking, they were subject to the studio’s will. While their split is often framed as Rambova abandoning Valentino when she was denied the ability to control his career, a slightly different scenario emerges upon closer inspection. Both Valentino and Rambova were highly dedicated to their work and their work was intertwined with their relationship, a similar dynamic to Rambova’s relationship with Kosloff and later with her second husband Álvaro de Urzáiz, with whom she restored villas. With Urzáiz, their relationship degraded when they no longer had a shared project to work on. (In this case due to the Spanish Civil War.) It’s neither sensational nor romantic, but following Valentino’s reconciliation with Hollywood, after a few films, the pair was intentionally separated creatively. (This was at least partly due to the machinations of their new business manager, George Ullman, who we now know was manipulating Valentino’s finances after litigation regarding the disposition of Valentino’s estate.)

“What I desire personally is simply to be known for the work which I have always done, and that has brought me a reputation entirely independent of my marriage.” 

—“Natacha Rambova Emerges” by Edwin Schallert, Picture Play Magazine, August 1925

Rambova worked on one film independently from Valentino before their divorce, What Price Beauty? (1925), starring mutual friend (for the moment) Nita Naldi. The film is now lost and its production and release seems awfully sus, so I hope to cover that for “Lost, but Not Forgotten” soon. Regardless of the film’s success or failure, the whole endeavor soured Rambova on Hollywood.

Nita Naldi in a promotional photo from What Price Beauty?

In her book about her life with Valentino, Rambova opined:

“Hollywood—all the joys of the petty community life of ‘Main Street’ with an additional coating of gold dust thrown in for good measure!… it is merely an imitation gilded hell of a make-believe realm. Nothing but sham—sham—and more sham. “Hollywood—one continuous struggle of nobodies to become somebodies, all pretending to be what they are not.”

Through their divorce and Valentino’s untimely death the year following, Rambova never stopped working. Rambova operated boutiques selling her original designs in New York and then in France. Around this same time Rambova also got more deeply involved in spiritualism. In an odd move, she published Rudy with the final third of the book “dictated” by Valentino’s spirit. I won’t say that I don’t find that pretty distasteful, but having read the book, it reveals two key things: Rambova’s genuine affection for Valentino, patronizing as it may be, and a sincere belief in the spiritualism movement that she and her mother had been drawn into. There have been critics who have framed the book as some sort of cash-in or vengeful act against Valentino for excluding her from his will, but the facts do not support that. Rambova, to reiterate, was an heiress who did not need to work for a living. She also states directly that it is Rambova’s spiritual leader who encouraged her to publish the book as a way to promote spiritualism. That’s not necessarily any better than the false narrative, but the truth has value (and is more interesting in this case!)

In the 1930s, Rambova relocated to Spain where she finally began using that inheritance to develop rental properties on Mallorca with her aristocrat husband. If you know anything about 20th century European history, you may know what happened next. Urzáiz joined the fascists in the Spanish Civil War, and despite her abiding fear of Communists, Rambova stuck around in Spain for as long as she could before fleeing to France. Of course, it wasn’t long before the Nazi Germany invaded France, so Rambova relocated back to the United States.

During her time abroad, Rambova’s preoccupation with symbology was reignited by a trip to Egypt. This sparked the next big passion of her life, which she would pursue for over two decades: Egyptology. 

Rambova in Egypt

Rambova became a writer, researcher, and lecturer on symbolism and cosmology in Ancient Egypt (as well as spiritualism). Much of Rambova’s work was done in collaboration with Alexandre Piankoff and the French Institute for Oriental Archaeology in Cairo (IFAO). With various grants, Rambova travelled to Egypt to document important sites, via photography and illustration. Rambova also used much of her inheritance to source objects from Egypt, which she donated to museums and universities in the US. (There’s a huge discussion about that to be had, which, as an archivist myself, I am drawn to explore. But, it falls outside the purview of this blog, so it’ll have to stay a discussion for another time and place.) These collections are still accessible to researchers and the public today. Rambova continued this work until her death in the 1960s.

Without doubt there are meaningful reasons to criticise Rambova and her work. Some of her design work is appropriative at best, overtly racist at worst. She had ignorant and arrogant attitudes toward class politics bred from her uber-privileged upbringing, which occasionally bled into her work and interfered with her ability to collaborate with other artists. She definitely lacked the social skills and business sense that were very necessary for artists working in a mass-media format like film. It’s typical, but disappointing still, that so much effort has been put into demonizing Rambova for reasons that were either completely fabricated, or rooted solely in the fact that she was a woman who knew her value, but by society’s standards, didn’t know her place. All that said, maybe we are due to spend a bit more time as film enthusiasts genuinely engaging with the art Rambova created and recognizing how much of a force she was in standing up for artistry in the American film industry.

☕Appreciate my work? Buy me a coffee! ☕

Postscript: This piece was a monster, so excuse me for not diving into rumours about Rambova’s potential queerness, as it eventually fell out of the scope of the essay. But, for those in the know: my personal take is that she likely was queer, though probably not romantically entwined with Nazimova, but maybe with Fredova. I also think her marriage with Valentino was not lavender. And, even if Rambova wasn’t queer, I appreciate what a keen collaborator she was with queer colleagues and what a good friend she apparently was to queer people in her social circles and her family, despite how often her detractors would try to use accusations of lesbianism as a weapon against her. IMO if someone were of weaker character, those types of aspersions would have driven a wedge between the object and their friends and colleagues.

Bibliography/Further Reading:

Madam Valentino: The Many Lives of Natacha Rambova by Michael Morris

Rudy: An Intimate Portrait of Rudolph Valentino by His Wife Natacha Rambova

Valentino As I Knew Him by George Ullman

Picture Play Magazine, August 1925

Photoplay Magazine, December 1922

Mythological Papyri – Texts by Alexandre Piankoff & Natacha Rambova

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Salomé (1922)  

[letterboxd | imdb]

Director: Charles Bryant & Nazimova

Cinematographer: Charles Van Enger

Performers: Nazimova, Earl Schenck, & Arthur Jasmine

Art Director & Costume Designer: Natacha Rambova (inspired by Aubrey Beardsley's Salomé illustrations)

[fibula-rasa]

Salomé (1922)  

[letterboxd | imdb]

Director: Charles Bryant & Nazimova

Cinematographer: Charles Van Enger

Performer: Nazimova

Art Director & Costume Designer: Natacha Rambova (inspired by Aubrey Beardsley's Salomé illustrations)

[fibula-rasa]

Salomé (1922)  

[letterboxd | imdb]

Director: Charles Bryant & Nazimova

Cinematographer: Charles Van Enger

Performer: Nazimova

Art Director & Costume Designer: Natacha Rambova (inspired by Aubrey Beardsley's Salomé illustrations)

[fibula-rasa]

Salomé (1922)  

[letterboxd | imdb]

Director: Charles Bryant & Nazimova

Cinematographer: Charles Van Enger

Performer: Nazimova

Art Director & Costume Designer: Natacha Rambova (inspired by Aubrey Beardsley's Salomé illustrations)

[fibula-rasa]

Cosplay the Classics: Natacha Rambova

My closet cosplay of Natacha Rambova’s signature look from the 1920s

It’s unbearably common for people who have written  about Natacha Rambova to emphasize that her “real” name was “Winifred Hudnut.” In reality, Rambova had about a half dozen names she went by (or could have gone by). Natacha Rambova was the name she took when she began her working life as a teenager with Theodore Kosloff’s ballet company—hence the Russophone name. And, as Rambova was a person who first and foremost lived to work, sticking with her professional name seems true to her character, Slav or not. You see, the primary reason Rambova was (and is) subjected to this passive-aggressiveness is part of a lingering effort to delegitimize her and her work. Sometimes that takes the form of calling her Winifred Hudnut and sometimes “Mrs. Valentino.” While there are valid reasons to criticize Rambova and her work, the aspersions typically lobbed at her fully miss their mark because they’re motivated by the desire to belittle a woman who knew the value of her work and her art and had the necessary privilege to fight for it.

"Natacha Rambova seems to belong most to me, the individual I think I am, but of course, I wasn’t born that way."

—“Wedded and Parted” by Ruth Waterbury, Photoplay, December 1922

Collage of portraits of Rambova from the 1920s

READ ON below the JUMP!

To begin at the beginning, Rambova was born as Winifred “Wink” Shaughnessy in Utah in 1897. Her father, who was significantly older than her mother, was found lacking as a parent and a spouse, and the Shaughnessy’s divorced when Rambova was young. Her youth was spent bouncing between her mother’s home in San Francisco, boarding school in England, and her aunt’s villa in France. Early on Rambova discovered two of the great passions of her life, ballet and mythology. The latter became an enduring fascination that guided Rambova’s varied pursuits throughout her life.

At first, her family encouraged Rambova’s interest in ballet. However, around 1914, when Rambova was 17, the shady nature of Rambova’s relationship with Kosloff was discovered by her mother, who tried to have Kosloff deported. At the time, Kosloff was supporting a wife and child back in England while keeping house with Rambova and another of his dancers, Vera Fredova (who was also legally named Winifred and also a teenager btw). Mom called off the lawsuit, and for years Kosloff, Rambova, and Fredova ran the ballet company together.

The company relocated to Los Angeles where Kosloff entered into a contract with Cecil B. DeMille. The company would provide art and costume designs for DeMille’s films and Kosloff himself would appear in the films. While Kosloff’s name is found in the credits for most of these films, it’s now widely accepted that Rambova was doing most, if not all, of the research and design work.

Theodore Kosloff in his costume from The Woman God Forgot (1917) on the left with Rambova (who does not appear in the film)

In this creatively productive period, Rambova shifted her focus away from dance toward historical research and costume and set design as her primary endeavor. For DeMille, Rambova contributed designs for The Woman God Forgot (1917), Why Change Your Wife? (1920), Something to Think About (1920), and also designed the Cinderella fantasy sequence of Forbidden Fruit (1921).

from the Cinderella sequence of Forbidden Fruit [more gifs here]

The work caught the eye of Nazimova, who was still working at Metro at the time. Once Nazimova realized that Rambova was the one doing the work, she engaged her directly to work on her now lost film Billions (1920). Rambova would receive on-screen credit for her art direction on Nazimova’s final film for Metro, the deco-bonanza Camille (1921).

from Camille [more gifs here]

Camille features designs verging on the bizarre, using circles and half-circles as a consistent symbolic motif throughout the film. One of my personal favorite touches however, is the sequence taking place at Armand’s country cottage. Where the Paris sets are oversized and characterized by rounded edges, the cottage is excessively square and feels almost claustrophobic. At this point in the story, Marguerite is conflicted, she feels happier and freer than ever before in her love with Armand, but is also haunted by the notion that she’s dooming him given her past and her illness. The interior of the cottage feels more artificial because of its realism, almost like a doll house, in comparison to the more heavily designed Paris settings. This highlights the feeling in Marguerite that she’s just playing pretend at a happy, heteronormative fantasy.

country house setting from Camille

Influenced by the highly stylized visuals of ballet but also preoccupied with historical research and symbology, Rambova’s designs stand out from anything else produced in this period, especially in the US. The more I study her designs and think about how young she was when she created them, the more impressed I am by them. Faced with challenging assignments, Rambova balanced accuracy and perceived authenticity with her penchant for larger-than-life symbolism. On top of all that, they photograph beautifully! Being able to create interesting and appropriate costume and set designs with a demonstrated understanding of how they would register on film is a sophisticated skill set which Rambova deserves significant credit for.

When Nazimova went independent following Camille, she brought Rambova with her. The first two projects Rambova would work on for Nazimova’s company were A Doll’s House (now a lost film, which I profiled on my Lost, but Not Forgotten series) and Salomé (1922). The latter has become regarded as Nazimova’s magnum opus on film and often referred to as America’s first art film. For Salomé, Rambova translated illustrations made by Aubrey Beardsley into three-dimensional sets and costumes and character designs for film. If you’ve seen Beardsley’s illustrations and you’ve seen the film, you know this was no simple task and that Rambova did a phenomenal job of re-working the illustrations into wearable costumes and weaving elements of Beardsley’s illustrations into the set design.

from Salomé [more gifs here]

Taking a second to emphasize Rambova’s range, her work on Why Change Your Wife?, Something to Think About, and A Doll’s House (which we can only judge by surviving stills) are contemporary settings with more realistic, grounded set and costume designs. Rambova executes the designs for these films with just as much skill, although as she admitted herself, with less gusto because they didn’t scratch the historical-research/symbology itch.

production still from A Doll’s House

It was in this same period of creative growth that Rambova split from Kosloff (and he shot her in the leg on the way out) and she started seeing her future husband, Rudolph Valentino. Valentino, however, was still legally married to another woman. This would lead to significant trouble for the couple in the first few years of their relationship. 

Perhaps too much time has been spent picking apart the nature of the Valentino-Rambova pairing—most of it spent trying to characterize her as a Svengali type and Valentino as too immature or unintelligent to have any opinions of his own. Now, having read most of what Rambova has written about Valentino, both before and after their divorce, she often takes a paternalistic attitude toward Valentino, but one tempered by real affection. And, given how close Valentino became with her family (and remained close after the divorce, even leaving a significant part of his estate to her aunt), to doubt the legitimacy of their partnership feels willfully disingenuous. Valentino shared Rambova’s desires to elevate the artistic qualities of film, oftentimes beyond their means. Together they crafted the romantic idol of Valentino. Together they challenged the studios for underpaying him.

“Some producers find an unusual personality. They use up thousands of dollars to exploit it. They put that personality into a picture and the picture goes over and makes a million. Then, instead of letting the actor who does fine work go on doing it, they give him cheap material, cheap sets, cheap casts, cheap everything. The idea then is to make just as much money from that personality as possible with the least outlay. “Isn’t it short-sighted? Isn’t it unwise? Yet they do it again and again. But they can’t keep it up forever. The fans are beginning to wake up. They refuse to take second rate products even when a big personality is exploited. They are doing the one thing that will affect the producer—when poor pictures are offered them, they are staying home.”

—from “Wedded and Parted” by Ruth Waterbury, Photoplay, December 1922

Something I mentioned in the last installment of “Lost, but Not Forgotten” was that in this period,  a number of film artists in Hollywood were recognizing the true value of their work and going independent of the emergent studio system. Studio heads saw no problem in curtailing the creative freedom of their artists to further pad their overflowing wallets. For the founders of United Artists, the system was usually able to be bent in their favor, with their films getting wide releases with decent promotion budgets. For a number of other independent artists, the road was rockier as distributors and exhibitors were reluctant to offend the increasingly powerful studios. Nazimova was one of those who eventually ran out of funds to produce their own work. Valentino’s star rose precipitously after The Sheik (1921) and Blood and Sand (1922) was a massive box-office hit, but Valentino’s salary did not match that bankability. This financial dispute, complicated by negative press around his relationship with Rambova, left Valentino out of work in film for a year. In turn, Valentino and Rambova went on a dancing tour of the country, which raised her profile as a public figure while bolstering his star image despite not appearing in any new films.

Valentino and Rambova in a promotional photo for their dance tour

Unfortunately, crossing the studio system as they did resulted in a coordinated campaign to take them down a notch. Reading film magazines from the period will give you whiplash. Many of these magazines had established relationships with studios and ran news items in keeping with whatever narratives the studios wished to push. However, the stars and their managers (if they had them) had their own relationships with the magazines. So, occasionally, you’ll find items deriding Rambova as some kind of artsy-fartsy manipulative phony and then a profile piece of her or Valentino that’s sympathetic to their business woes. This is the period where the narrative emerges of Rambova as a calculating climber, using Valentino to build her own career. This talking point is often repeated today, despite the fact that Rambova had already been working on big productions for DeMille and Nazimova for years before meeting Valentino. While Rambova was certainly a key figure in developing Valentino’s star image, the plain facts make it apparent that they were working as a team—hardly abnormal. Unfortunately, neither member of said team had much in the way of business sense.

As I mentioned earlier, Rambova fashioned her life around her work. Something I didn’t mention earlier is that she was an heiress. At this point in her life, Rambova was determined to live off her own labour and not touch her inheritance. When they were battling the studios, the couple continued to not touch Rambova’s inheritance. And, both desperate to return to filmmaking, they were subject to the studio’s will. While their split is often framed as Rambova abandoning Valentino when she was denied the ability to control his career, a slightly different scenario emerges upon closer inspection. Both Valentino and Rambova were highly dedicated to their work and their work was intertwined with their relationship, a similar dynamic to Rambova’s relationship with Kosloff and later with her second husband Álvaro de Urzáiz, with whom she restored villas. With Urzáiz, their relationship degraded when they no longer had a shared project to work on. (In this case due to the Spanish Civil War.) It’s neither sensational nor romantic, but following Valentino’s reconciliation with Hollywood, after a few films, the pair was intentionally separated creatively. (This was at least partly due to the machinations of their new business manager, George Ullman, who we now know was manipulating Valentino’s finances after litigation regarding the disposition of Valentino’s estate.)

“What I desire personally is simply to be known for the work which I have always done, and that has brought me a reputation entirely independent of my marriage.” 

—“Natacha Rambova Emerges” by Edwin Schallert, Picture Play Magazine, August 1925

Rambova worked on one film independently from Valentino before their divorce, What Price Beauty? (1925), starring mutual friend (for the moment) Nita Naldi. The film is now lost and its production and release seems awfully sus, so I hope to cover that for “Lost, but Not Forgotten” soon. Regardless of the film’s success or failure, the whole endeavor soured Rambova on Hollywood.

Nita Naldi in a promotional photo from What Price Beauty?

In her book about her life with Valentino, Rambova opined:

“Hollywood—all the joys of the petty community life of ‘Main Street’ with an additional coating of gold dust thrown in for good measure!… it is merely an imitation gilded hell of a make-believe realm. Nothing but sham—sham—and more sham. “Hollywood—one continuous struggle of nobodies to become somebodies, all pretending to be what they are not.”

Through their divorce and Valentino’s untimely death the year following, Rambova never stopped working. Rambova operated boutiques selling her original designs in New York and then in France. Around this same time Rambova also got more deeply involved in spiritualism. In an odd move, she published Rudy with the final third of the book “dictated” by Valentino’s spirit. I won’t say that I don’t find that pretty distasteful, but having read the book, it reveals two key things: Rambova’s genuine affection for Valentino, patronizing as it may be, and a sincere belief in the spiritualism movement that she and her mother had been drawn into. There have been critics who have framed the book as some sort of cash-in or vengeful act against Valentino for excluding her from his will, but the facts do not support that. Rambova, to reiterate, was an heiress who did not need to work for a living. She also states directly that it is Rambova’s spiritual leader who encouraged her to publish the book as a way to promote spiritualism. That’s not necessarily any better than the false narrative, but the truth has value (and is more interesting in this case!)

In the 1930s, Rambova relocated to Spain where she finally began using that inheritance to develop rental properties on Mallorca with her aristocrat husband. If you know anything about 20th century European history, you may know what happened next. Urzáiz joined the fascists in the Spanish Civil War, and despite her abiding fear of Communists, Rambova stuck around in Spain for as long as she could before fleeing to France. Of course, it wasn’t long before the Nazi Germany invaded France, so Rambova relocated back to the United States.

During her time abroad, Rambova’s preoccupation with symbology was reignited by a trip to Egypt. This sparked the next big passion of her life, which she would pursue for over two decades: Egyptology. 

Rambova in Egypt

Rambova became a writer, researcher, and lecturer on symbolism and cosmology in Ancient Egypt (as well as spiritualism). Much of Rambova’s work was done in collaboration with Alexandre Piankoff and the French Institute for Oriental Archaeology in Cairo (IFAO). With various grants, Rambova travelled to Egypt to document important sites, via photography and illustration. Rambova also used much of her inheritance to source objects from Egypt, which she donated to museums and universities in the US. (There’s a huge discussion about that to be had, which, as an archivist myself, I am drawn to explore. But, it falls outside the purview of this blog, so it’ll have to stay a discussion for another time and place.) These collections are still accessible to researchers and the public today. Rambova continued this work until her death in the 1960s.

Without doubt there are meaningful reasons to criticise Rambova and her work. Some of her design work is appropriative at best, overtly racist at worst. She had ignorant and arrogant attitudes toward class politics bred from her uber-privileged upbringing, which occasionally bled into her work and interfered with her ability to collaborate with other artists. She definitely lacked the social skills and business sense that were very necessary for artists working in a mass-media format like film. It’s typical, but disappointing still, that so much effort has been put into demonizing Rambova for reasons that were either completely fabricated, or rooted solely in the fact that she was a woman who knew her value, but by society’s standards, didn’t know her place. All that said, maybe we are due to spend a bit more time as film enthusiasts genuinely engaging with the art Rambova created and recognizing how much of a force she was in standing up for artistry in the American film industry.

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Postscript: This piece was a monster, so excuse me for not diving into rumours about Rambova’s potential queerness, as it eventually fell out of the scope of the essay. But, for those in the know: my personal take is that she likely was queer, though probably not romantically entwined with Nazimova, but maybe with Fredova. I also think her marriage with Valentino was not lavender. And, even if Rambova wasn’t queer, I appreciate what a keen collaborator she was with queer colleagues and what a good friend she apparently was to queer people in her social circles and her family, despite how often her detractors would try to use accusations of lesbianism as a weapon against her. IMO if someone were of weaker character, those types of aspersions would have driven a wedge between the object and their friends and colleagues.

Bibliography/Further Reading:

Madam Valentino: The Many Lives of Natacha Rambova by Michael Morris

Rudy: An Intimate Portrait of Rudolph Valentino by His Wife Natacha Rambova

Valentino As I Knew Him by George Ullman

Picture Play Magazine, August 1925

Photoplay Magazine, December 1922

Mythological Papyri – Texts by Alexandre Piankoff & Natacha Rambova

[fibula-rasa]

Salomé (1922)  

[letterboxd | imdb]

Director: Charles Bryant & Nazimova

Cinematographer: Charles Van Enger

Performer: Nazimova

Art Director & Costume Designer: Natacha Rambova (inspired by Aubrey Beardsley's Salomé illustrations)

[fibula-rasa]

Salomé (1922)  

[letterboxd | imdb]

Director: Charles Bryant & Nazimova

Cinematographer: Charles Van Enger

Performer: Nazimova

Art Director & Costume Designer: Natacha Rambova (inspired by Aubrey Beardsley's Salomé illustrations)

[fibula-rasa]

Salomé (1922)  

[letterboxd | imdb]

Director: Charles Bryant & Nazimova

Cinematographer: Charles Van Enger

Performer: Nazimova

Art Director & Costume Designer: Natacha Rambova (inspired by Aubrey Beardsley's Salomé illustrations)

[fibula-rasa]

Salomé (1922)  

[letterboxd | imdb]

Director: Charles Bryant & Nazimova

Cinematographer: Charles Van Enger

Performer: Nazimova

Art Director & Costume Designer: Natacha Rambova (inspired by Aubrey Beardsley's Salomé illustrations)

[fibula-rasa]

Salomé (1922)  

[letterboxd | imdb]

Director: Charles Bryant & Nazimova

Cinematographer: Charles Van Enger

Performer: Nazimova

Art Director & Costume Designer: Natacha Rambova (inspired by Aubrey Beardsley's Salomé illustrations)

[fibula-rasa]

Salomé (1922)  

[letterboxd | imdb]

Director: Charles Bryant & Nazimova

Cinematographer: Charles Van Enger

Performers: Arthur Jasmine, Nigel De Brulier, Nazimova, Mitchell Lewis, & Rose Dione

Art Director & Costume Designer: Natacha Rambova (inspired by Aubrey Beardsley's Salomé illustrations)

[fibula-rasa]

Twilight Q / トワイライトQ (1987)  

segment: "Time Knot: Reflection / 時の結び目 Reflection"

[letterboxd | imdb]

Director: Tomomi Mochizuki

Animation Director: Masako Gotō

Art Director: Shichirō Kobayashi

Key Animators: Hiroki Takagi, Kazunari Kume, Kazuya Takeda, Michitaka Kikuchi, Takayuki Goto

Studio: Ajia-do Animation Works