--Blanche Devereaux
She was flirtatious. She was outrageous. She was vain and egotistical. She was profoundly selfish and sublimely unaware. Most of all, she was full of life - which makes her passing feel like an even greater loss. She was, of course, the divine Rue McClanahan, who died last week. Of her fellow players, Estelle Getty passed in relative obscurity. Beatrice Arthur went swiftly and quietly too, and somehow her death didn't seem to have quite the same impact. Why is that? Was it because Bea, in her sublimely detached, "I couldn't care less if I were dead" demeanor, seemed to be one step away from the grave anyway? Not so Rue/Blanche. So full of piss and vigor; so brazenly excited by the sybaritic offerings life had to offer. It seems almost incomprehensible that anything could extinguish that bacchanalian torch.
Blanche Elizabeth Devereaux's initials spelled "BED". By creation, she was sister to
Blanche DuBois, cousin to Maggie the Cat, perhaps even distant relative of Sebastian Venable (knowing the penchant both had for younger men). She was the comical answer to every oversexed, delusional, psycho-neurotic Southern belle that Tennesee Williams created and cliched. But the writers of The Golden Girls, along with the gifted actress who played her, did more than simply view the archetype through a comic prism. They brilliantly took all the cliched attributes of those deluded dames and turned them on their heads. Blanche Devereaux (pronounced "Dever-oh". It was only pronounced "Dever-ux", as Dorothy pointed out, in limericks) may have had some of those qualities on the surface, but it was in the layers beneath that the demarcation was established.
Rue McClanahan often liked to point out that she and her alter ego were very dissimilar; unlike the single-wed Blanche, she stated with a twinkle in her eye, McClanahan married six times, and hailed from Oklahoma, not Georgia. She toiled on stage and daytime television for years, before landing the role that would
prove to be the portal to greener theatrical pastures: Vivian Harmon in Maude, opposite her future Golden Girl co-star, Bea Arthur. On that show, she and Arthur had a chemistry that likened them to a 1970's Lucy and Ethel, so the opportunity to reunite with Arthur in The Golden Girls seemed like a foregone conclusion. Well, the opportunity may have been, but appearing opposite her as Blanche was not. It is now television lore that McClanahan was originally slated to play the divine simpleton Rose Nylund; the role of the libidinous Blanche was to go to another former co-star of McClanahan's (from Mama's Family), Betty White. Assigned to direct the pilot, it was esteemed director Jay Sandrich who 
suggested that perhaps the roles assigned should be switched, sensing that each actress had "been there/done that" before. It proved to be not only a stroke of genius from Sandrich, but a boon to both actresses--particularly McClanahan, who was able to soar beyond what anyone had ever suspected of either the actress or the part (Betty White, always the gracious professional, often remarked that she would never have found the remarkable things in Blanche that her co-star did). The role eventually secured the actress four consecutive Emmy nominations, and one win in 1987.
Like her infamous antecedents, Blanche Devereaux dealt in illusion -- or more aptly, delusion: about everlasting youth, beauty, and sex appeal. But Blanche Devereaux had two qualities those women did not possess: humor and self-awareness. In McClanahan's hands, Blanche blew the cobweb's off the cliched stereotype and became as original and memorable a character as television had ever seen. The actress did this by focusing not on the the obvious sexual elements of the woman, but her love and humanity...opening doors through which the writers ran. Thus, beneath the brazen exterior, Blanche becam
e a character possessing not only vulnerability, but humor, self-depreciation, as well as sharp self-awareness. Watch her sometime when Sofia compares her to a loin of pork, or when she is referred to by any number of nicknames from "Slut-puppy", to "Shore Leave", to "a tramp with a airbag in her headboard". Nine times out of ten, she laughs off the put-down. This was the choice of the actress to go for the love, and not the more obvious, darker emotion...and it was a choice that not only endeared her to audiences, but diffused the invective (and usually the director of it) and made it seem playful instead of mean-spirited.
More than her humor, however, it was Blanche's self-awareness that set her apart from her literary doppelgangers. Sure, she could be superficially and supremely unaware (Blanche: For the first time in my life, I feel over forty. Dorothy: You know why that is honey? Because you're over fifty). But there was always the sense that this subterfuge was just a diversion; when it really mattered, Blanche knew the score. In a landmark (and hysterical) scene, she advises the girls -about to head on a romantic cruise with their respective boyfriends - that they need to bring "protection". In the drugstore, after comical misunderstandings occur, Blanche grabs the loudspeaker and sets the judgement
al onlookers straight. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6kOewRGhtx8) Later, we see more of this characteristic when she counsels Rose, anxious while awaiting the results of an HIV test. Confessing that she was concerned by her checkered sexual history, she had secretly undergone the testing process, and dealt with the anxiety of waiting for the results by acting "like a real bitch" to everyone around her ("No wonder we never knew" a surprised Rose answers). This all seems tame today, but in the late 1980s it was groundbreaking. Most telling, however, were the moments when she confessed that her tall tales of myriad sexual conquest were just that: tales she told to help deal with the loneliness she often felt since her husband died. (In contrast, octogenarian Sophia was caught in flagrate delicto more times than any other character on the show). For Blanche, the the implication of being a wanton was all that was needed.
These moments of touching self-analysis were naturally set up to contrast the other, less astute observations she often made about herself (I was once told I bore a striking resemblance to Cheryl Ladd... but my bosoms are perkier) which were usually deflated by a non-plussed Dorothy (Not even if you were hanging upside down on a trapeze!) which leaves Blanche humorously unfazed. Because, most importantly, the character of Blanche was imbued with great humor...about herself, as well as others. And it is in those classic moments, that Blanche will live forever:
Blanche: I do love the rain so. It reminds me of my first kiss
Dorothy: Your first kiss was in the rain
Blanche: No, it was in the shower
It's like when I say 'Men are blinded by my beauty'. They're not really blinded. They get their sight back in a day or two.
It's a curse. My beauty has always been a curse. I'm sorry, Dorothy, but like the fatal blossom of the graceful Jimpson weed, I entice with my fragrance but can provide no suckle.
Blanche DuBois, cousin to Maggie the Cat, perhaps even distant relative of Sebastian Venable (knowing the penchant both had for younger men). She was the comical answer to every oversexed, delusional, psycho-neurotic Southern belle that Tennesee Williams created and cliched. But the writers of The Golden Girls, along with the gifted actress who played her, did more than simply view the archetype through a comic prism. They brilliantly took all the cliched attributes of those deluded dames and turned them on their heads. Blanche Devereaux (pronounced "Dever-oh". It was only pronounced "Dever-ux", as Dorothy pointed out, in limericks) may have had some of those qualities on the surface, but it was in the layers beneath that the demarcation was established.
Rue McClanahan often liked to point out that she and her alter ego were very dissimilar; unlike the single-wed Blanche, she stated with a twinkle in her eye, McClanahan married six times, and hailed from Oklahoma, not Georgia. She toiled on stage and daytime television for years, before landing the role that would
prove to be the portal to greener theatrical pastures: Vivian Harmon in Maude, opposite her future Golden Girl co-star, Bea Arthur. On that show, she and Arthur had a chemistry that likened them to a 1970's Lucy and Ethel, so the opportunity to reunite with Arthur in The Golden Girls seemed like a foregone conclusion. Well, the opportunity may have been, but appearing opposite her as Blanche was not. It is now television lore that McClanahan was originally slated to play the divine simpleton Rose Nylund; the role of the libidinous Blanche was to go to another former co-star of McClanahan's (from Mama's Family), Betty White. Assigned to direct the pilot, it was esteemed director Jay Sandrich who 
suggested that perhaps the roles assigned should be switched, sensing that each actress had "been there/done that" before. It proved to be not only a stroke of genius from Sandrich, but a boon to both actresses--particularly McClanahan, who was able to soar beyond what anyone had ever suspected of either the actress or the part (Betty White, always the gracious professional, often remarked that she would never have found the remarkable things in Blanche that her co-star did). The role eventually secured the actress four consecutive Emmy nominations, and one win in 1987.Like her infamous antecedents, Blanche Devereaux dealt in illusion -- or more aptly, delusion: about everlasting youth, beauty, and sex appeal. But Blanche Devereaux had two qualities those women did not possess: humor and self-awareness. In McClanahan's hands, Blanche blew the cobweb's off the cliched stereotype and became as original and memorable a character as television had ever seen. The actress did this by focusing not on the the obvious sexual elements of the woman, but her love and humanity...opening doors through which the writers ran. Thus, beneath the brazen exterior, Blanche becam
e a character possessing not only vulnerability, but humor, self-depreciation, as well as sharp self-awareness. Watch her sometime when Sofia compares her to a loin of pork, or when she is referred to by any number of nicknames from "Slut-puppy", to "Shore Leave", to "a tramp with a airbag in her headboard". Nine times out of ten, she laughs off the put-down. This was the choice of the actress to go for the love, and not the more obvious, darker emotion...and it was a choice that not only endeared her to audiences, but diffused the invective (and usually the director of it) and made it seem playful instead of mean-spirited.More than her humor, however, it was Blanche's self-awareness that set her apart from her literary doppelgangers. Sure, she could be superficially and supremely unaware (Blanche: For the first time in my life, I feel over forty. Dorothy: You know why that is honey? Because you're over fifty). But there was always the sense that this subterfuge was just a diversion; when it really mattered, Blanche knew the score. In a landmark (and hysterical) scene, she advises the girls -about to head on a romantic cruise with their respective boyfriends - that they need to bring "protection". In the drugstore, after comical misunderstandings occur, Blanche grabs the loudspeaker and sets the judgement
al onlookers straight. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6kOewRGhtx8) Later, we see more of this characteristic when she counsels Rose, anxious while awaiting the results of an HIV test. Confessing that she was concerned by her checkered sexual history, she had secretly undergone the testing process, and dealt with the anxiety of waiting for the results by acting "like a real bitch" to everyone around her ("No wonder we never knew" a surprised Rose answers). This all seems tame today, but in the late 1980s it was groundbreaking. Most telling, however, were the moments when she confessed that her tall tales of myriad sexual conquest were just that: tales she told to help deal with the loneliness she often felt since her husband died. (In contrast, octogenarian Sophia was caught in flagrate delicto more times than any other character on the show). For Blanche, the the implication of being a wanton was all that was needed.These moments of touching self-analysis were naturally set up to contrast the other, less astute observations she often made about herself (I was once told I bore a striking resemblance to Cheryl Ladd... but my bosoms are perkier) which were usually deflated by a non-plussed Dorothy (Not even if you were hanging upside down on a trapeze!) which leaves Blanche humorously unfazed. Because, most importantly, the character of Blanche was imbued with great humor...about herself, as well as others. And it is in those classic moments, that Blanche will live forever:
Blanche: I do love the rain so. It reminds me of my first kiss
Dorothy: Your first kiss was in the rain
Blanche: No, it was in the shower
It's like when I say 'Men are blinded by my beauty'. They're not really blinded. They get their sight back in a day or two.
It's a curse. My beauty has always been a curse. I'm sorry, Dorothy, but like the fatal blossom of the graceful Jimpson weed, I entice with my fragrance but can provide no suckle.
But perhaps it was in the show's penultimate two-part episode, that Blanche showed her true, loving heart...and humor. As Rose is readied for open heart surgery, Blanche makes a heartfelt prayer for her friend's survival, offering up the ultimate sacrifice:
Dear God. You have given me a lot to be thankful for...my wonderful children, my health. A beautiful body, legs to die for...a face that is stunningly sexy and yet has the innocence of a child...anyway, Dear God, I do have a favor to ask. If you could please spare my friend, Rose. Now I know I haven't been perfect, but if you could just let her live, I will try and be a better person...and I promise, I will not have sex with anyone...unless they really--REALLY need it. Amen
Rue McClanahan
(1934 - 2010)