Barbara Stanwyck: Movie star glamour with a touch of earthiness

Among movie actresses of her generation, when melodrama was an accepted currency and bigger often meant better, Barbara Stanwyck was somehow earthier, less glamorous, far more real than most.

There was – and still is – such a thing as a “Stanwyck performance,” where beneath the artifice of the acting is a sly, driven and knowing presence that somehow connects to real life in ways the Hollywood dream factory could never dream up.

That quality made Stanwyck a unique actress in her time and contributes to her steadily growing status since her death in 1990, and it’s largely the focus of Dan Callahan’s sharp, new, career-oriented biography, “Barbara Stanwyck: The Miracle Woman” (University Press of Mississippi, $35).

With so many details of Stanwyck’s childhood and early career lost to time – the actress was loathe to talk about her upbringing – Callahan’s book looks most acutely at her movies, her career choices and what they might reveal about the woman herself. A certain amount of speculation and biographical license might enter the equation, but largely Callahan’s insights and instincts about his subject ring out as sympathetic, reasonable and well founded.

He neatly lays out the biographical facts we know: Stanwyck was born Ruby Stevens in 1907 in Brooklyn. Her father disappeared early on and her mother was run over by a streetcar when Ruby was 3. Afterward, she was cared for by her older sister and later lived in a series of foster homes.

There’s some evidence that she suffered from abuse, even after she was grown and married to vaudevillian Frank Fay, an alcoholic and anti-Semitic perhaps best known as the original Elwood P. Dowd of Broadway’s “Harvey.” She also apparently had unhappy dalliances with certain gangsters during her days as a chorus girl and later with star Al Jolson, whom she referred to as “a real son of a bitch.”