Social psychologists and anthropologists were employed by several of the major studios to help them find a hero like Valentino, a man who could be all things to all women. Women accepted Valentino in any role: costumes merely added to his height, boots contributed to his swagger, and dancing pumps gave him feline grace. When he kissed a woman's hand he was Sir Charles Lovelace or Don Juan, the Earl of Rochester or Casanova, Launcelot or D'Artagnan, never a lounge lizard. When Valentino kissed a woman's hand her body juices heated and she shuddered down to her darling pink toes.
The studios were aware of the specifications; the task was to find the man who fitted them, a man who could persuade a woman to free herself from the inhibitions of the Protestant ethic. Here she was, trapped in a trackless desert without friends or family, by a booted man who carried a whip. What could she do, except submit gracefully . . .
