Shirley Temple was what Charles Dickens jocularly called an "infant phenom," but in her case the world took the evaluation seriously. She herself was less impressed. "I class myself with Rin Tin Tin," the grown-up woman said. "People were looking for something to cheer them up. They fell in love with a dog and a little girl."
John F. Kasson's "The Little Girl Who Fought the Great Depression" seeks to analyze the reasons for her popularity and speculates on her relationship to the 1930s Depression. A cultural historian, Mr. Kasson links Temple to Franklin Delano Roosevelt through their use of media (her movies, his radio and newsreels) and their shared ability to flash their famous smiles. Roosevelt himself acknowledged her importance. "It is a splendid thing that for just 15 cents, an American can go to a movie and look at the smiling face of a baby and forget his troubles."

The Little Girl Who Fought the Great Depression

By John F. Kasson 
Norton, 384 pages, $27.95
Shirley Temple ca. 1934 Getty Images
Mr. Kasson devotes an entire chapter to Temple as an American commercial commodity, discussing mainly the popular Shirley Temple doll and the line of relatively expensive dresses that carried her name. There was in fact much more: sheet music, coloring books, cream pitchers, bookends, a costly playhouse with 7-foot walls and a porch, and the "Shirley Temple permanent," guaranteed to twist even the most stubborn little-girl hair into adorable corkscrew curls.
Shirley Jane Temple was born April 23, 1929, or so everyone believed, including her. She had actually been born in 1928, but one year was shaved off her age for publicity's sake. Unlike other young stars, such as Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney, Temple was not "born in a trunk." Her father was a Santa Monica bank teller, and her family lived in a modest California home. When Shirley was 3, Gertrude Temple enrolled her at a nearby dance studio, where she was spotted by scouts for a company that produced dubious one-reelers starring small children. Between 1931 and 1934, Temple made eight "Baby Burlesks," in which she danced, pouted, sang and sashayed around in costumes that were half-adult, half-child: tops that featured feather boas, hats, gloves, furs and jewelry, and bottoms that were diapers secured with gigantic safety pins.
By 1934, Temple was a 6-year-old veteran. Her big break came when she was given a small role in Fox Film's "Stand Up and Cheer!," a movie designed to reassure the public during the darkest days of the Depression. (The plot concerned the appointment of a "Secretary of Amusement.") Temple's showstopper includes an army of chorus girls, James Dunn singing "Baby Take a Bow" and Art Deco décor. When it's time for her entrance, Temple taps out onto the stage in a starched polka-dot dress, her golden curls bouncing and her dimples flashing. She smiles, she's confident, she's adorable and she can dance. Over the next six years, Temple was the most popular star in America, though once in a while someone dared speak critically: Adolphe Menjou, who played opposite her in "Little Miss Marker" (1934) said: "This child frightens me. She knows all the tricks."
Although Mr. Kasson's book is written to place Temple in the Depression-era context, he does not neglect her remarkable career. He presents an accurate picture of Hollywood's star system of the 1930s and her place in it, making the point that, although children on screen were often imitating adult behavior, their primary goal was to "perform childhood." Mr. Kasson is also droll about her acting style, which, he says, was learned in the Baby Burlesks, where she was taught to "arch her eyebrows, round her mouth in surprise, thrust out her lower lip, and cock her head sideways with a knowing smile." (She was also inspired by her mother's directive: "Sparkle, Shirley, sparkle!") Mr. Kasson credits 20th Century Fox head Darryl F. Zanuck, for fashioning a formula designed to appeal to Depression audiences: simple stories to lift spirits and promise happiness. "Keep her skirts high," he instructed. "Have co-stars lift her up whenever possible. . . . Preserve babyhood."
Seen today, the Temple films, unexpectedly, can deliver what they originally delivered. They are (and were) sentimental, child-worshiping stories with slight premises. What they have is what they had: Shirley Temple. She's feisty, funny and sassy. She has instructions for rule-bearing grown-ups ("oh, lay off me") and opinions on everything ("nix on that"). When things get too treacly, they are undercut by a wonderful song-and-dance number created specifically for her: "On the Good Ship Lollipop" ("Bright Eyes," 1934), "Animal Crackers in My Soup" ("Curly Top," 1935), the lovely "Goodnight, My Love" ("Stowaway," 1936).
During her dance down the streets of a fishing village (with Buddy Ebsen in "Captain January," 1936), she taps over rain barrels, stacked boxes and various stair levels, singing "At the Codfish Ball." In "Bright Eyes," which many feel is her best overall movie, the canny studio created a perfect foil for Temple's perfection in Jane Withers, who played a (very rich and very mean) little brat who menaces Shirley—a possible surrogate for anyone who wasn't buying the sweetness.
Inevitably, Shirley Temple faced what all child stars do: a short shelf life. When her 1940 "Blue Bird" fared poorly at the box office, her mother bought out the rest of her contract from Fox, declaring it was time for her daughter to lead "a normal life"; she was only 12. Although she was an exceptionally pretty teenager and had not lost her talent, Temple was no longer unique. She had a brief career in prestige films such as David O. Selznick's "Since You Went Away" (1944) and John Ford's "Fort Apache" (1948) and co-starred with Myrna Loy and Cary Grant in "The Bachelor and the Bobby Soxer " (1947). She made her final film, "A Kiss for Corliss," in 1949.
Mr. Kasson's chapter "What's a Private Life?" outlines what it meant for a child—and her family—to become a nation's obsession: the weird fan mail, kidnapping threats, mob scenes, lack of privacy and desperate fight to maintain some sort of normalcy. Gertrude Temple stoutly rejected the label of "stage mother" and always acted as if Temple's career were a larkish sideline to their regular lives. The Fox studio created a version of Temple's rise to fame that made it seem almost accidental, an inevitable result of an irrepressible talent. The public bought this myth. It gave them hope for their own lumpkin offspring and reassured them that Temple was not being exploited.
The question of whether any child star can ever lead an ordinary life is open to debate. One of the most insightful books about child stardom, "Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star (But Don't Have Sex or Take the Car)" (1984), was written by Dickie Moore, who began work in movies at the age of 5, became "a has-been at the age of 12" and later married another former child performer, Jane Powell. Mr. Moore identified common themes in the post-stardom life of Jackie Coogan, Margaret O'Brien, Natalie Wood and others, including Donald O'Connor and Temple herself. "I felt guilty and isolated; very shy," Natalie Wood told him. "There was no grown-up I could confide in." 
Temple's own autobiography, "Child Star" (1988), is cheerfully upbeat yet surprisingly clear-eyed. Unlike other child stars, she seemed able to handle the fame and was a wry observer of her own phenomenon: "I stopped believing in Santa Claus at an early age," she recalled later. "Mother took me to see him . . . and he asked me for my autograph." As she worked day to day, there were no nervous breakdowns, no tantrums, and later in life no pills and booze. True, her first marriage was a disaster: In 1945, at age 17, she married actor John Agar, whose drinking became problematic. She divorced him on Dec. 5, 1950, and on Dec. 16 she married San Francisco businessman Charles Black, whom she'd met on a Hawaiian vacation. She was still only 21, and Black was wealthy and successful, so she no longer had to support herself and her family. Temple moved away from Hollywood, raised her family and kept busy with civic activities. She suffered no tragedies except for breast cancer, which she faced bravely and publicly. After a short venture into television in 1960, Temple left show business forever. In 1967 she entered another arena that some might call a variation on show business: politics.
Shirley Temple Black died in February of this year, age 85 (for real). Behind her were three successful careers: child star; wife and mother; and U.S. ambassador. A phenomenon as a child, she had also become a phenomenon as a woman, managing to accomplish the thing most people feel is impossible: having it all.
—Ms. Basinger is chairwoman of the department of film studies at Wesleyan University.