The infamous, irresistible story of Hollywood’s… | Little White Lies

In Praise Of

The infa­mous, irre­sistible sto­ry of Hollywood’s most bit­ter feud

09 Mar 2017

Two women with elaborately styled hair and dramatic make-up, standing behind teal and gold patterned curtains.
Two women with elaborately styled hair and dramatic make-up, standing behind teal and gold patterned curtains.
Bette Davis and Joan Crawford’s anti-chem­istry is pal­pa­ble in What Ever Hap­pened to Baby Jane? from 1962.

Fred Astaire and Gin­gers Rodgers, Katharine Hep­burn and Spencer Tracey, Paul New­man and Robert Red­ford: Hol­ly­wood cin­e­ma is filled with exam­ples of mem­o­rable star pair­ings, with one tal­ent draw­ing the best out of the other.

But there’s also some­thing to be said for act­ing duos famed for their dishar­mo­ny, where the mag­net­ism of their per­for­mances togeth­er is based not on how each com­po­nent attracts the oth­er, but rather the ten­sion caused when they repel.

One of the most noto­ri­ous cas­es of two Hol­ly­wood icons known for despis­ing each oth­er is Bette Davis and Joan Craw­ford, whose fall-out is the sub­ject of the FX TV dra­ma Feud. Yet when they worked togeth­er for the first (and sub­se­quent­ly only) time in their careers, the result was the glo­ri­ous­ly camp, deli­cious­ly nasty melo­dra­ma that is 1962’s What Ever Hap­pened to Baby Jane?

Both play exag­ger­at­ed ver­sions of the screen per­sonas they had respec­tive­ly cul­ti­vat­ed dur­ing the height of their fame sev­er­al decades ear­li­er. Davis is the tit­u­lar Baby Jane, a for­mer child star who has grown into a grotesque über-bitch who jeal­ous­ly tor­ments her sis­ter and wheel­chair-bound house­mate, Blanche (played by Craw­ford), out of jeal­ousy for her more pro­longed suc­cess in show busi­ness. This mir­rors Davis’ own envy of Craw­ford, which stemmed from the latter’s mar­riage to the actor Fran­chot Tone.

As Blanche, Craw­ford adopts the famil­iar guise of a dig­ni­fied woman who remains sto­ic in the face of suf­fer­ing, which reach­es absurd degrees when she is left almost comatose after her men­tal­ly dete­ri­o­rat­ing sis­ter shuts her off from the out­side world and starves her of food.

Each appears to rev­el in the oppor­tu­ni­ty to get one over on the oth­er. Upon being approached to star in the film along­side Craw­ford, Davis agreed only on the con­di­tion that she would play Baby Jane, pre­sum­ably to ensure she would be the one dish­ing out the unpleas­ant­ness, from scorn­ful one-lin­ers to actu­al phys­i­cal attacks. And in Crawford’s qui­et­ly judg­men­tal glances, you can sense not just her character’s dis­gust but also the actor’s own con­dem­na­tion of Davis’ van­i­ty-free, shame­less­ly over-the-top performance.

Inevitably, ten­sions boiled over when the cam­eras stopped rolling. Davis was appar­ent­ly overzeal­ous dur­ing a scene in which she strikes Craw­ford; Craw­ford was pur­pose­ful­ly dif­fi­cult dur­ing a scene which required her to drag Davis around; and the pair con­stant­ly exchanged insults – pas­sive aggres­sive­ly in Crawford’s case and down­right active aggres­sive­ly in Davis’. Things became even more strained between them when Davis was nom­i­nat­ed for an Oscar, prompt­ing the snubbed Craw­ford to arrange that she would accept the award on behalf of absent nom­i­nee Anne Ban­croft should her name be read out, while simul­ta­ne­ous­ly rev­el­ling in her rival’s rejection.

It’s this tense anti-chem­istry that is so smart­ly exploit­ed in the film. These were two huge yet strik­ing­ly dif­fer­ent movie stars: Davis came from an esteemed the­atre back­ground and rel­ished unflat­ter­ing, grit­ty roles, where­as Craw­ford embraced her sta­tus as an oth­er­world­ly Hol­ly­wood icon and sex sym­bol. To bring out and exac­er­bate these con­trasts, direc­tor Robert Aldrich con­spires to make them as awk­ward­ly and dia­met­ri­cal­ly opposed as pos­si­ble, with Davis dressed in all-white and Craw­ford for­mal­ly clad in all-black.

Davis speaks uncouth­ly where Craw­ford speaks with prim proper­ness. And while Davis exudes a rest­less ener­gy, Craw­ford remains most­ly sta­t­ic in her wheel­chair. There’s isn’t a two-han­der designed to play out in per­fect syn­chronic­i­ty like Astaire and Rogers, but one ren­dered equal­ly irre­sistible because of the gen­uine fric­tion at its heart.

There is so much to dis­cuss the­mat­i­cal­ly in rela­tion to What Ever Hap­pened to Baby Jane? – the astute, cyn­i­cal satire of the dan­ger­ous ele­va­tion of child stars, for instance, is typ­i­cal­ly scathing from a direc­tor skilled at dou­bling down on the dark-side of Hol­ly­wood tropes. Or the play­ful, tongue-in-cheek appro­pri­a­tion of the sex­ist cliché of the spent, hys­ter­i­cal state which glam­orous actress­es fall into as they get old­er. And at the cen­tre of all this is a plot that is nev­er less than gripping.

Above all, though, it is the bit­ter feud between the film’s leg­endary leads that means it stands out to this day as a feisty, fun melo­dra­ma of female rivalry.

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