Just finished watching Hard, Fast and Beautiful (RKO 1951), and yes, it's natural to think that it's the story of my life, but no, turns out to be just one of the many examples of  Claire Trevor's naturalness at playing complicated women. I absolutely love and adore her. In this particular movie she plays the ambitious mother of a budding tennis star played by Sally Forrest, who looks oddly like Ida Lupino, the film's director, in a 2nd-cousin-y sort of way. 

[Speaking of Ida Lupino, she and Robert Ryan just appear out of nowhere as spectators during one of the tennis matches played by Sally Forrest's character. It was a little unnerving. I mean, you expect Robert Ryan to sock somebody, right?] It's not a really good movie, but worth it for the sports angle and the sweetness of the boyfriend and father figures.

There's nothing Claire Trevor couldn't do, in my humble opinion. She could be cutting, sympathetic, damaged, scheming, bad, mean, sexy, and tired — but always real, human, and female. Ugh. Nobody writes for actresses like her and it's criminal. Granted, I still haven't seen her in the episode of Murder, She Wrote that Netflix tells me I can see for free, but I'm guessing she's marvelous. I'll certainly let you know.

She does show up in an episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents (the Murder, She Wrote of the late 1950s), as an American journalist who finds herself caught up in Cold War intrigue with a hot young Jacques Bergerac, and old enemy stand-bys, Werner Klemperer (Col. Klink) and John Banner (Sgt. Schultz). Don't take my word for it; just watch for yourself.

Meanwhile, Happy 101st Birthday, Claire Trevor. There was and is no one like you.