The allure of Audrey

With Audrey Hepburn, you have to begin with the eyes. They were large and velvety brown and slightly tilted up at the outer corners (an effect she would enhance, in the '60s, with exaggerated cat's-eye makeup), and they always seemed to get the joke before anyone else in the room. In comedies, they sparkled like the diamonds in the window of Tiffany's; in dramas, they quietly glowed, occasionally flickering with tears but never wavering in their gaze. There was something steely about Hepburn, despite the delicateness of her appearance, and her eyes were the first clue.

Though Hepburn died 13 years ago, her presence is still very much among us. Every doe-eyed, slender young brunette on screen gets compared to her (recently, Audrey Tautou and Natalie Portman); every season brings a fashion trend (oversized sunglasses, little black dresses) that we connect to her.

As the Seattle Art Museum film series "Earth Angel: The Films of Audrey Hepburn" brings her to the big screen once more (see box at left), we're reminded yet again why she remains the most vivid of stars.

Her screen legacy, in numbers, is relatively modest: less than 30 films, from the early '50s to the late '80s. But nobody who saw her ever forgot her. From her first leading role in the enchanting "Roman Holiday" (which opens the SAM series), she demonstrated the qualities that would become her screen trademark: beauty, playful charm, vulnerability and a regal yet heartbreaking sweetness.

In that film, she plays a young European princess visiting Rome. Watch the scene in which she learns that, thanks to medication that has made her temporarily ditzy, she's just spent the night (chastely, of course) with an American reporter (Gregory Peck). Sitting up in bed, her back ramrod-straight, she's at first horrified. Then the eyes begin to dance, and an elfin giggle slips out of her mouth. She looks terribly young, and impossibly lovely. Despite the giggles, she promptly remembers her perfect manners: A slim hand is extended to Peck, with a polite "How do you do?" He, despite himself, is thoroughly charmed — as, of course, are we.

"Roman Holiday" also showed off another element of Hepburn's allure: her ability to transform whatever she wore. A trained dancer, she wore her clothes with breezy elegance, making the simplest outfit — such as the plain blouse and skirt worn for much of "Roman Holiday" — look like high fashion. (She shared this quality with an eventual screen partner, Fred Astaire.) By midcareer, Hepburn had become a fashion icon; Givenchy designed much of her film wardrobe. You noticed the clothes — how could you not? — but first you noticed the woman.

Hardship, then fame

The daughter of a baroness, Hepburn wore a tiara with ease. Born in 1929 in Belgium, Audrey Kathleen Ruston (her father would later add Hepburn to the family surname, in homage to a noble ancestor) was the only child of a Dutch aristocrat and a charming British/Austrian ne'er-do-well. After her parents' divorce, Audrey attended boarding school in England, then moved to Arnhem, The Netherlands, where she and her mother spent World War II under German occupation.

Money and food were scarce; Hepburn would later remember eating flower bulbs in a desperate attempt to ward off starvation. Later during the war, Audrey and other children of the city were helped by parcels of food delivered by the United Nations forerunner of UNICEF — a kindness which she returned, late in life, by her tireless work for that organization on behalf of poor and displaced children.

After the war, Audrey and her mother returned to England, where the slender teenager hoped to make ballet her career. When it became clear that her height (5 feet 7 inches) and her talent were not ideal for a prima ballerina, she looked elsewhere for work, finding jobs modeling and dancing in the chorus of musical productions. Soon she began playing small roles in British films, including a don't-blink-or-you'll-miss-it role in "The Lavender Hill Mob."

From there, her career seemed to have a fairy-tale trajectory. Audiences immediately adored her on stage (she played the title role of "Gigi" on Broadway in 1951) and on the screen. "Roman Holiday," for which Hepburn would receive the first of her five Oscar nominations (and her only win), was quickly followed by the sparkling "Sabrina," and a star was born.

For the next two decades, Hepburn had her pick of films, ranging from bouncy musical comedies ("Funny Face") to emotional dramas ("The Nun's Story") and costume epics ("War and Peace"). But after a flurry of activity in the mid-'60s — "My Fair Lady," "How to Steal a Million," "Two for the Road" and "Wait Until Dark" followed in rapid succession — her life entered a different phase. From the late '60s on, Hepburn would devote herself to children, raising her two sons and later working on behalf of UNICEF. She made infrequent film appearances in the '70s and '80s; her final role, as a white-clad angel, was in Steven Spielberg's 1988 drama "Always." In 1993, Hepburn died of colon cancer at her home in Switzerland. She was 63 years old.

Complex beauty

A phrase I once heard used to describe the ballerina Margot Fonteyn (whom Hepburn resembled, both in looks and manner) applies equally well to Hepburn: She had the curious quality of making one want to cry. Perhaps it's the way her voice sometimes catches, as if there's a lump in her throat. (Her accent, delivered in low, girlish tones, was slightly British, slightly European, and entirely her own.)

Even in her happiest of movies, there's something a bit melancholy about those dark eyes, something knowing in that almost too-wide smile. And perhaps that's why she fascinated, and still does. So many starlets are uncomplicated beauties: They're lovely to look at, but interchangeable with the next pretty girl. Though Hepburn's was one of the most ravishing faces to grace the screen, she was not just a sunny ingenue, but something infinitely more complicated.

Watch the way she sashays through "Breakfast at Tiffany's," crooning "Moon River" in a voice so tiny it seems meant for our ears alone, holding her chin high as she munches that pastry in front of Tiffany's window. This seemingly fragile being, with her hair piled high as if presenting a strong defense, wouldn't be easily broken.

Star quality is, by its nature, indefinable — often you can't pin it down, but you know it when you see it. When we see Hepburn, we're drawn to her beauty, to her resolute quality, to the way that she seemed to soften and charm everyone around her. While she worked with the greatest of leading men — Peck, Cary Grant, Humphrey Bogart, Peter O'Toole, Fred Astaire — her films will always be remembered as "Audrey Hepburn movies." Revisiting them feels like another chance to meet an enchanting creature, too soon gone.

Moira Macdonald: mmacdonald@seattletimes.com