In 1991, Nicole Kidman was nominated for Best Supporting Actress by the Golden Globes. Interestingly, though it marks the first time she wever scored a major precursor, the film that did it, Billy Bathgate, is a somewhat forgotten stop in the star's Hollywood journey.
After the splashy box office results from Days of Thunder, the actress was a hot commodity, some beautiful import from Australia whose persona was still malleable for American audiences. Moreover, her true powers remained untapped, perchance untested. In that context, Robert Benton's Doctorow adaptation is a chance to test Kidman's talents, an attempt at transitioning from popcorn cinema into prestige fare. After all, haven't we seen similar projects elevate a starlet's profile? In a cast dominated by men, she's the only important woman, the linchpin of the protagonist's arc and an alluring sight that sings a silent siren song. She's the Hollywood Golden Age brought back from the dead for one more gangster movie…
The year is 1935, the place is New York, and a gangster moll emerges from an expensive car. Drew Preston is her name, a woman who's made having dangerous boyfriends into something of a profession. As for the actress playing her, Nicole Kidman is a vision of panic in spangles and furs, a sparkling blood diamond who immediately strikes the viewer as more iconography than character. A prop, perhaps? No, there's too much juice in the part for it to be so, though Benton never seems to realize it. In the early 30s, she'd have been portrayed by a slightly miscast Norma Shearer if MGM was inkling for an Oscar. Later in the decade, with big bucks rather than honor in sight, Jean Harlow might have secured the gig.
But Kidman is neither of those women nor does she try to be. The most significant signal that the actress's strategy relies on something other than such referential plays is her speech. We don't get to hear the woman's voice this early – Billy Bathgate starts in media res for no apparent reason – but there's nary a hint of period pastiche. Revealed in demure whisper, her vocal register is soft as silk, a tad breathy but not too much. It's also flatter than one might expect from this genre type. Considering her spotty history with accents, it's probably a wise choice for Kidman. What little effort she puts on that front isn't convincing, manifest when talking to the little-seen Mr. Preston. At least it's not a Mid-Atlantic mess.
Back to the movie's chronology – on that foggy night when we meet her, Drew is witness to her boyfriend's tragic end at the hands of big boss Dutch Schultz. Taken into a boat on the Hudson, she's made to watch as goons fit some concrete shoes for her paramour, later thrown overboard into his watery grave. Through most of it, the woman looks spooked to the bone, almost non-reactive in her frozen state. Whether or not one gets much psychological nuance from that is slightly irrelevant. Picture-wise, it transmits a broad idea, nice and strong, immediate like a slap to the face, and the effect is much the same. You end up dazed, seeing stars swirl with closed eyes. You end up intrigued despite yourself.
When we next see her, as the narrative goes back in time, Drew is spinning in her beau's arms, with no concrete in sight and no worries either. She's on top of the world, happy or acting that way, unaware it's all about to end. Yet, when pushed into Schultz's car and into his nightmare, notice how quickly Drew changes gears. Sure, she might be scared later on, but the soon-to-be-bereaved girlfriend is a survivor through and through. In these scenes, Kidman recognizes the realist hiding within the bombshell and makes the spectator see her, too. By the time the characters are back on land and the river's got a new corpse to treasure, Drew has made her choice. She's got a new man in Schultz and a new lackey in the form of young, impressionable Billy Bathgate.
In this chapter of a boy's downfall into the criminal underworld, Kidman's desperate woman acclimates to being a part of the gangster lord's entourage with well-oiled ease. On the drop of a hat, grief is concealed with hollow cheer, birdlike chirps, and a coquettish flair. There's even some goofiness in between morose episodes. The camera doesn't prod into what goes on beneath the façade of Mrs. Preston as her surface-level loveliness is enough to quench its thirst. In this and other regards, Benton seems to have heard the saying "curiosity killed the cat" and taken it to heart - he shows little to no interest in his characters' interiority. Drew is the biggest victim, but it's a transversal issue for the cast as a whole. And sadly, Kidman wasn't at a point in her career where she could withstand such mistreatment.
Well, not mistreatment per se. It's more akin to directorial carelessness. The actress sometimes shines when the text forces an inquisitive spirit into the proceedings, regardless of how she's framed. Take the forest-set interlude when finding herself alone with the boy, Drew allows him to see how much her lover's murder still weighs on her. But even then, the thousand-mile stare lacks some direction. Apologies for the unfair comparison, but Kidman's Drew Preston is no Garbo's Queen Christina when it comes to faraway looks. She's also less coherent, and can make a 360-degree change of character just like that. It's as if movie and actress can't make up their mind on who Drew is. One never knows which version of the character they'll get or if Kidman will excel above expectations or fall into Billy Bathgate's general failure.
Is she a prudent survivor or a reckless train wreck flirting with disaster by getting too drunk too often? Is she open with her affections or secretive, a sly manipulator or nakedly resentful of the position she's been given? As the story unfolds, scenes that find Drew in control, mostly when she's playing with Billy's puppy love, are where Kidman brings the fire. Only then can we glimpse what a better film this could have been if only the structure privileged her autonomy over the men's will. Her obstinance is electric and Kidman looks like she's having fun. Perchance she's inviting us along for the ride. The only issue is that the fire colors whatever earnestness waits near the end of Drew's time on screen. In the moment and retrospect, those passages look like they should be gently bittersweet. However, the mouthfeel is barbed insincerity. If Kidman was trying to portray genuine infatuation... well, let's not dwell on that.
All that said, all those misgivings accounted for, Drew's inconsistencies make her the most exciting thing in Billy Bathgate. Even trapped in a dysfunctional characterization, Kidman is magnetic, a Hollywood star waiting for her moment. If the actress can't solve the mystery of this woman, she'll, at least, make you fascinated by the puzzle. Projecting an enigma rather than a filmmaker's indecisiveness does the trick. Is it good drama? No, but it's engaging. And it worked to a certain degree, as plenty of critics were impressed, while Kidman scored herself that Golden Globe nomination. The stage was set for greater achievements later on, and it wouldn't take long for Nicole Kidman to find a vehicle worthy of her talent and directors capable of seeing the greatness standing in front of them.
Tomorrow, say goodbye to the moll's Marcel waves and welcome back Kidman's curls. It's time for some erotic thriller fun and filth. Oh yes, Malice is upon us.