Released near the end of WWII, THE ENCHANTED COTTAGE (’45) thoughtfully presented a timeless tale of love and the true nature of beauty to a war-weary nation. But it also dives below the surface, imparting sensitive commentary on society’s standards of attractiveness and belonging, matters of which always seem to remain relevant even as the world changes. 

In THE ENCHANTED COTTAGE, “homely” Laura (Dorothy McGuire) works as a housemaid at the cottage where handsome Oliver (Robert Young) and Beatrice (Hillary Brooke) plan to spend their honeymoon. However, WWII interrupts those nuptials, and a year later, Oliver gets discharged from service with visible battle scars. Bitter and almost driven to suicide, he shuts himself out from the world in that same cottage, where he befriends Laura and blind WWI veteran John (Herbert Marshall). Out of loneliness and convenience, Oliver and Laura marry, but something magical happens once they do: their physical imperfections melt away, but only to them, as love grants them the gift to see each other as they want to be seen.  

Sir Arthur Wing Pinero penned the source material in 1922 in part to provide a confidence boost for injured WWI veterans. His play first hit the screen in 1924, and two decades later, WWII offered a timely background to update the story with similar effect; in fact, Variety predicted the picture would inspire tolerance and “make rehabilitation of the boys easier.” Almost a century after the story’s debut, The Enchanted Cottage’s themes continue to endure. 

WWII expanded women’s roles, making it more acceptable for them to trade, to an extent, elegance for practicability and comfort, especially those who worked in factory jobs vacated by men. Even so, media and pinup photography highlighted beauty and desirability, confirming both genders “assigned great importance to female attractiveness,” as Susan M. Hartmann wrote in The Home Front and Beyond. Indeed, women’s magazines continually emphasized traditional femininity and glamour, while publications that men flipped through accentuated the same – and more overt sexual appeal, too. 

As evidenced by her perceptive reaction to the shattering rebuffs she receives from servicemen at a dance, Laura does not fit the traditional modes of rouged-up style. Growing up in the internet age with similar pressures of glamour and perfect bodies everywhere I clicked, I identified with the humble and thoughtful Laura. Sure, society at large may not label her as physically attractive, but her appeal lies in the way she defends her worth and lives life on her own terms. The film presents her as more of a plain Jane, and viewers are privy to her compassionate character, which makes us root for her. That said, there has always existed a stark difference between the fantasy served up in media and women’s experience in the real world. Just like WWII opened up opportunities, modern women have access to a breadth of possibilities that have also altered how we live and look. Even though more diverse images of beauty are disseminated today, we still constantly consume meticulously crafted physical representations few can actually attain. The weight of 1940s societal pressures obviously left Laura with emotional scars, as such unreasonable demands still have the ability to do today. 

Many soldiers returning from WWII also faced unrealistic expectations. As Mark D. Van Ells reported in To Hear Only Thunder Again, self-help books counseled veterans’ families to show patience, support and encouragement in difficult situations, which Oliver’s support system obviously didn’t do as he seeks to come to terms with his injuries. “Sensitivity seemed in short supply,” Thomas Childers remarked in Soldier from the War Returning when commenting on the stares and whispers disabled veterans regrettably encountered in public, which made many reluctant to venture out. That same social stigma and lack of empathy and kindness for one another, especially those who look different, sadly continue for too many today through bullying. In fact, internet anonymity seemingly gives people carte blanche to act much more cruelly online. 

As Oliver despondently admits to John, he just wants his old life back. John W. Jeffries observed in Wartime America that post-war magazines and newspapers focused on getting back to normal, like going on trips and picnics. For disabled veterans, though, their new normal necessitated a completely different existence. Today, people feel similarly as we’ve lived with the COVID-19 pandemic for over a year. Many grapple with re-entering a society that looks unlike the one we left, and many more deal with tremendous loss and life-changing repercussions from the virus.

The outsider status imposed on Laura and Oliver draws them together in their own secluded world where they fit in. In the modern day, those who feel ostracized from society can find a sense of belonging with like-minded friends and companions around the world through online groups, social media and, of course, dating apps. Then as now, we just want to connect with others – and sometimes, as THE ENCHANTED COTTAGE reminds me, we have to look past the surface and embrace the true self that lies just beneath.

On January 1, 1945, actress Susan Peters’ life was forever changed. Peters was on a duck hunting trip with her husband, then actor and later director Richard Quine, and a few of her in-laws. As they were heading back from their hunt, Peters reached for a .22 caliber rifle that was hidden in some bushes. The trigger caught on a twig and sent a round into her stomach with bullet fragments lodging into her spine. She was rushed to the hospital. As a result of the accident, Peters was paralyzed from the waist down. Despite this setback, she persevered. She was hopeful that she could walk again, and when it became clear that her paralysis was irreversible, Peters forged ahead with her life, determined to continue with her still fledgling acting career.

Susan Peters didn’t start off wanting to be an actress. In fact, when she was studying in Hollywood High School, drama was her worst subject. But it was there that she caught the eye of talent scout Lee Shoelm, who invited her to do a screen test for the upcoming MGM film SUSAN AND GOD (’40). Peters had plans to become a doctor but decided to give acting a shot. If it didn’t pan out in a couple of years, she figured she would go to medical school instead. Peters was cast in bit parts in a variety of films for Warner Bros. and RKO. Warner Bros. gave her a contract, and Peters studied with Max Reinhardt to develop her craft.

After appearing with Humphrey Bogart in THE BIG SHOT (’42), Warner Bros. dropped her from their studio roster. Warner Bros.’ loss soon became MGM’s gain. Director and producer S. Sylvan Simon saw something in Peters: she was charming and photogenic. Her delicate features and gentle nature made her perfect for the roles she was cast in. As historian Kirk Crivello once wrote, “fawnlike Susan Peters’ face had the perfection of a fragile porcelain doll.”

Simon recommended Peters to director Mervyn LeRoy who eventually cast her in the part of Kitty in RANDOM HARVEST (’42). This role would be the pinnacle of her career. Cast opposite matinee idol Ronald Colman, Peters was in acting heaven. She received an Academy Award nomination for her performance, and she seemed destined for greatness. MGM began grooming her for stardom. She got plum roles in WWII films like ASSIGNMENT IN BRITTANY (’42), SONG OF RUSSIA (’44) and KEEP YOUR POWDER DRY (’45).

Peters and Quine had planned to raise a family, but a particularly bad miscarriage landed her in the hospital and required her to take an extended break from acting. Her spinal cord injury meant that natural birth was out of the question, so she and Quine looked into adoption. In 1946, they adopted an 11-month-old boy they named Timothy Richard Quine. Actress Laraine Day threw a baby shower for her, and the adoption was celebrated by fellow actresses Anne Shirley, June Allyson and Eleanor Powell. Peters’ mother didn’t live to see the adoption as she tragically died of a heart attack 12 months after Peters’ injury.

Peters had a strong network of supportive friends. One of her closest allies was Lucille Ball, who encouraged Peters to get back to work. MGM kept Peters under contract, paying her $100 a week and sending her scripts for consideration. In an interview Peters said, “Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer kept sending me Pollyanna scripts about crippled girls who were sweetness and light, which I kept turning down. Two years after my accident, I gave up and broke my contract. I won’t trade on my handicap.” If Peters was going to return to the silver screen, it had to be worth it. It had to be a role that would challenge her as an actress. Peters found that role in THE SIGN OF THE RAM (’48).

According to a New York Times article from 1947, Peters’ friend, actor Charles Bickford, brought her a copy of Margaret Ferguson’s best-selling novel THE SIGN OF THE RAM. In the novel Peters found her villain character, a wheelchair-bound poet who exhibits manipulative and possessive tendencies that threaten to destroy her family. Peters brought the novel to the attention of her agent Frank Orsatti, who in turn negotiated with then retired director Irving Cummings. Cummings started a production company with his son Irving Cummings Jr. called Signet Productions and clinched a deal with Columbia Pictures to produce and distribute the film. Orsatti negotiated for Peters to receive 33% of the film’s profits. THE SIGN OF THE RAM was Peters’ moment to prove herself. She shined as the film’s villainess. Even when the film got mixed reviews, critics praised her performance. Peters needed constant help on the set, and her husband, as well as her aunt, a trained nurse, were on hand to assist. According toThe Hartford Courant, a wheelchair was specially built for Peters and cost the studio $450. It was upholstered to match her Jean Louis-styled wardrobe.

THE SIGN OF THE RAM would be Peters final film, but it wouldn’t be her last acting project. She traveled East and appeared in off-Broadway productions of The Barretts of Wimpole Street and The Glass Menagerie (she received permission from Tennessee Williams to play the character Laura from a wheelchair). In an interview Peters said, “I never would have had the guts to go on the stage if I hadn’t been paralyzed… But I knew I had to find new ways of earning a living — or starve.” 

The now divorced Peters was determined to make it on her own to support herself and her son. She continued to suffer from complications from her injury and the medical bills were piling up. Peters kept busy by performing in Lux Radio broadcasts and writing articles for Photoplay magazine. She was contracted by NBC to star in a 15-minute afternoon show, televised live, called Miss Susan. On the show she played the title character, a small-town lawyer, and her disability was a prominent part of the story. The show kicked off in March 1951. It ran for 210 episodes, but by the end Peters had to be written out of several episodes due to her deteriorating health. After the show was canceled, Peters found herself in a dire situation. She traveled back to California to live with her brother. She kept her physical and mental health struggles to herself. She died on October 23rd, 1952 at the age of 31. The official cause was kidney failure and pneumonia and complications from anorexia nervosa, but her doctor was famously quoted as saying that “she had lost the will to live.”

Despite all odds, Susan Peters persevered. In the end, her health struggles overwhelmed her, and she just simply let go. In THE SIGN OF THE RAM, audiences get a glimpse of her potential as an actress, and we will always wonder about what could have been had Peters’ life followed a different trajectory.