What Ever Happened to Baby Jane (1962)

 

What Ever Happened to Baby Jane (1962)

 

“Whatever Happened to Baby Jane,” is easily the greatest Heir to one of the most groundbreaking dramas in our cinema, “Sunset Boulevard” (1950). It takes the earlier film’s core Themes but shifts the style of telling away from the Noir and into straight-out Gothic Horror.

 

Both films treat Celebrity and the Business of Illusion as sick Addictions, it is taken to greater extremes here as the Cultural Addictions are treated like what Chemical Dependency should be viewed -- more a Disease than a Moral Failing, and once Infected you can enter a permanent recovery process but never be wholly cured.

 

This film gives us not one, but two Characters who, like “Sunset Boulevard’s” Character Norma Desmond (played by Gloria Swanson), couldn’t be farther from recovery, and this pair eat each other’s souls away in toxic mixture of Codependence and out-right Sadism. Though “Whatever Happened to …” first half is full of deliberately-excessive Camp, the second half Humanizes those afflicted, and it’s a rare bit of Camp that manages to achieve something more serious the closer you move to the final curtain call.

 

The film opens in the days of Vaudeville, with an exaggeratedly Sentimental act by Child-Star Baby Jane (at this point in the film played by Julie Allred). She’s so beloved on stage that her dad (Dave Willock) can interrupt her act to hawk by creepily realistic life-size dolls of her, available at the box office after the show (these dolls will be popping up throughout the film). Jane’s hit song, “I’m Sending a Letter to Daddy” concerns a child who has lost her father, and though he’s alive in this scene, for bulk of the running-time of the film, he’s long dead, and that hangs over everything that unfolds.

 

 

Jane also had a sister, Blanche (at this point in the film played by Gina Gillespie), literally waiting in the wings, stewing in a broth of jealousy.

 

In a few quick scenes, Vaudeville gives way to talking pictures, and Blanche’s star eclipses that of Baby Jane. We stop seeing either girl’s faces while their characters are on screen, but quick cuts to publicity stills and a movie playing on wall marks their progress through the years. Finally, there’s the terrible accident, if it was really an accident, which ends Blanche’s career and leaves her trapped in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.

 

All this was before the title-credits roll, and interestingly for a Horror with so many Gothic trimmings, these are the majority of the scenes that take place at night, indulging the deepest shadows. The Noir-ish “Sunset Boulevard” was all about deep shadows, and likely its aesthetic was influenced by still older films from Producer Val Lewton. This film is about the bad stuff that happens when the sun comes up and the dream is over (cinematography by Ernest Haller).

 

 

When we rejoin the sisters in the early 1960s (the title announces the date as “Yesterday,” a warning about how fast the circumstances will go from Bad to Hellacious). Both women are aging and isolated. Blanche (now played by 56-year-old Joan Crawford) retains her beauty, but younger Jane (now played by 54-year-old Betty Davis) has become a grotesquerie, a wild-looking Witch of a woman a thousand years more ancient than chronological years, but still perversely dressing like a child.

 

Blanche is trapped on the second story of their mini-mansion because of useless legs and a staircase that Critic Roger Ebert proclaimed, “should be billed along with the stars,” because it is so central to so much of the action.  

 

Jane is an Utter-Nutter, and we are informed she started drinking too much and behaving erratically decades before, but has been deteriorating exceptionally fast over the last year. The next 24-hours will be the time where the bill comes do for Blanche’s hiding from the truth for most her life, and Jane’s final descent into the abyss of madness.

 

Blanche has two connections the outside world: her telephone and the family Maid, Elvira (Maidie Norman). Jane, enraged that Blanche has been secretly planning to sell the house and have her put in a Sanitarium, deftly arranges that neither are available during this vital period.  And Jane has had her own secrets, she’s learned to both imitate Blanche’s voice on the phone and forge her signature, and is putting in motion a plan for a Show Business Come-Back that is completely, pathetically, Delusional.

 

 

The film is most famous for three meals that Jane serves Blanche after the Maid leaves, each ratcheting up the Psychological Cruelty. When Blanche lifts the silver dome covering on the first night’s dinner and sees what’s underneath, she is rightfully horrified (and worse for us, because we know what will be revealed before it is). When breakfast comes, Blanche is afraid to look beneath the cover and timidity complains to her sister/jailer that she’s hungry; Jane demonstrates complete and total control over Blanche’s world, "You're not gettin' your breakfast because you didn't eat your din-din," then she lifts the dome, there’s a scrumptious meal beneath which she smugly eats it right in front of Blanche. And the third time, lunch time, and under that dome – well, oh my.

 

Blanche: "You wouldn't be able to do these awful things to me if I wasn't in this chair."
Jane: "But ya AAH Blanche, ya AAH in that chair!"

 

Both Actresses are wonderful, but because she’s so flawlessly OTT, Davis completely upstages Crawford, and the film desperately needed her to. Sympathetic Crawford is a designated Victim -- had she been stronger, she’d never gotten into this pickle in the first place, and her attempts to escape during the film wouldn’t have been so ineffectual. Crawford wisely underplays her part, letting Davis act the shrill Gargoyle, and the contrast between them is hugely effective.

 

 

But Davis deserves special credit for her courage, because both Actresses were once known as Great Beauties and both had reputations of being hugely Vain, but in service to the part Davis abandons all Vanity to capture a character who is the embodiment of Self-Degradation. The turning point in the film comes when Jane puts her hopeless come-back plan into motion, hiring a Musician as her Accompanist and performing for him that same saccharine song from the first scene, “I’m Sending a Letter to Daddy.” It’s an awful choice for a woman her age, made worse by a voice ruined by booze and legs too old to dance. It’s a striking scene, reminding me what a number of actors, dancers, and stage-managers have told me, doing it well is hard, but faking a screw-up, executed perfectly on que, is harder. Davis turns an Absurd scene into a Macabre one, and this moment is almost as famous as the Meal Tortures.

 

 

The musician is an especially interesting character, Edwin Flagg (Victor Buono, this is not his first film, but his first credited role in a feature). In a lesser script, he’d be a contrivance but here his fraudulence is more akin to Jane’s, his Self-Delusions trump his Premeditations. Pompous and feeling life owes him far more than it provided, he introduces himself as the son of a famous Musician who was ground-up and spit out be Hollywood, but in a short scene with his mother (Marjorie Bennett) demonstrates their relationship is only a little less dysfunctional than Jane and Blanche’s and we learn he was a bastard child, so who knows who his dad really is.

 

 

Jane flatters herself that Edwin is attracted to her, failing to see the hints that he’s gay; he plays into her desperation and (just barely) pretends to be impressed by Jane’s embarrassing musical performance. He’s near the end of his rope, he’s willing to kiss anyone’s ass to find a meal ticket – but he doesn’t seem to be trying to steal from her, he’s only looking for a steady job.  He’ll also prove to be an alcoholic, just like Jane, but an even sloppier drunk than she.

 

The script is mean to him, but there is a surprising goal behind that meanness. Jane and Blanche’s world is so isolated that the script only allows two people the realistic possibility of intervening on Blanche’s behalf: The maid Elvira is the only truly admirable person in the film, but she makes the mistake of turning her back on Jane at exactly the wrong moment. Then there is Edwin, who ultimately does the right thing and calls the cops, setting in motion the film’s finale, but the film does not want him credited for his good deed, its misanthropy is near perfect in the way it makes him look bad even when he does that one good thing.

 

Jane showing that she is desperate to be loved is when this film sheds most of its Camp and becomes a true Psychological Horror story. She’s gotten a taste of a possible, happier, future; but all her machinations start to crumble in almost the next scene. We start to feel for her as much as we have for Blanche, and then, when Jane knows she can’t escape the consequences of her actions, she demonstrates how dependent of Blanche she always was. There’s scene where she crawling to Blanche, asking for help, begging that Blanche fix everything, make everything the way it used to be, that is the perfect blend of pathos and sardonics, because Jane is kneeling before a woman she has already tied and gagged and is unable to move or speak.

 

And then there’s the finale, which takes place on a sunny beach instead of a darkened room. There’s a deftly conceived revelation of a family secret that answers a question that has lingered from the beginning of the film – that very first scene had you convinced that Blanche, not Jane, would be the Villain, then Jane becomes then Villian after the opening credits, and then … well … oh, just watch the damned thing.

 

This also becomes most potent of the film’s several explicit references to “Sunset Boulevard” as Jane has her final break from reality, and at this point, complete madness is probably a mercy to her. In “Sunset Boulevard,” Character Norma’s final walk down the staircase is chilling, but laughable when taken out-of-context: "All right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up." Here Jane regresses completely into a childhood, pirouetting as she ignores the police imploring her as to where Blanche is, there’s nothing to mock, it’s just tragic.

 

Both films deliberately courted the Hollywood Scandal Sheets with their casting, using faded Hollywood stars in the roles of faded Hollywood stars who have gone Twisted and Perverse, tapping into the Audience’s Memories to make the films more powerful with a false sense of Biography. As it happens, “Whatever Happened to …” was the more legitimately gossip-worthy of the two.

 

Actresses Crawford and Davis had been bitter rivals going back to the 1930s, and their feud was famous enough to inspire multiple, innuendo-driven, dual-Biographies, the most famous being, “Bette and Joan: The Divine Feud” (published in 1989, and no, I didn’t read it).

 

Apparently, Davis was wanted for Jane from the very beginning, but her hope was to cast her opposite Tallulah Bankhead, with whom she apparently had an even more toxic feud. But Crawford secured the rights so Bankhead’s role was hers. In a move that was brilliant, but seemingly contradicts the many legends surrounding the two Actresses, Crawford then offered Jane’s role to Davis as was originally hoped, and this came at a good time for Davis, who wanted a way out of a Broadway production of “Night of the Iquana” (it opened in December of 1961, Davis was gone in a mere four months). Davis commanded a larger salary but Crawford, who had gained some Corporate experience while her acting career had declined, asked for a larger percentage of the gross, and low-and-behold, Crawford’s bet paid off better.

 

 

Despite the interesting facts in the above paragraph, the Feud was public enough to make everyone abuzz during the production. The film got a really gifted Director, Robert Aldrich, whose whole career was defined by better-than-average scripts (in this case by his frequent collaborator Lucas Heller) for Genre films (and by that I mean all the Genres, SF,F&H, plus War, Western, Crime, Prison, Sports, etc) but very few top-shelf dramas. His achievement was the exceptional performances he drew from his Casts, and he shared with Director Alfred Hitchcock the distinction of being was one of the first mainstream Directors to insist on autonomy in selecting stories, Actors and Crew. Here, he said early on that he wasn’t sure if he was "going to direct a motion picture or referee a title fight."

 

The tension on the set had to be real, but the stories about the on-set antics, which are pretty fabulous, are unlikely to have much truth to them. The most famous concerns a scene where Jane viciously kicks Blanche who is lying helpless on the floor -- it claims Davis kicked Crawford so viciously she needed medical attention.

 

No way. And given that that one is clearly untrue, the one about Crawford’s retaliation must be equally false. There’s a scene where Davis has to carry Crawford, and allegedly Crawford weighted-down her dress so when Davis had to, she got back injury.

 

Other stories might not have been bogus: Davis bitched to Aldrich about Crawford's drinking (even though both were alcoholics) and that she padded her brassieres. Crawford insulted Davis's daughter, Barbara, who appeared in a minuscule part. Etc, etc, etc…

 

My guess is that these two notoriously touchy stars probably behaved like professionals, they both knew what they were getting into and what was at stake.

 

 

But after the film was released, the Feud re-emerged fiercely, and with greater verification. Crawford was angry that Davis was Nominated for an Oscar while she wasn’t. Davis claimed that Crawford lobbied against her among Academy voters. Crawford also told the other Nominees that should any of them be unable to accept their award, she would happily take the stage for them.

 

 

Actress Anne Bancroft, who beat Davis, was preforming on Broadway so couldn’t attend the Academy Awards. Crawford got pick up Bancroft’s Oscar, the one Davis was denied. Davis wrote in memoir, "That year, each nominee sat in a separate dressing room backstage, equipped with a TV monitor ... When Anne Bancroft's name was announced, I am sure I turned white. Moments later, Crawford floated down the hall, past my door. I will never forget the look she gave me. It was triumphant. The look clearly said, ‘You didn't win and I am elated!’ … It would have meant a million more dollars [in box office] to our film if I had won.”

 

 

By that as it may, the film was an extraordinary and instant hit, and gathered an impressive number of nominations with various award committees, though not nearly as many wins:

 

·      Academy Award for Best Actress (Bette Davis, nominee)

·      Academy Award for Best Actor in a Supporting Role (Victor Buono, nominee)

·      Academy Award for Best Costume Design, Black and White (Norma Koch, winner)

·      Academy Award for Best Cinematography, Black and White (nominee)

·      Academy Award for Best Sound (Joseph D. Kelly, nominee)

·      BAFTA Award for Best Foreign Actress (Crawford, nominee)

·      BAFTA Award for Best Foreign Actress (Davis, nominee)

·      Golden Globe Award for Best Actress - Motion Picture Drama (Davis, nominee)

·      Golden Globe Award for Best Supporting Actor - Motion Picture (Buono, nominee)

·      Laurel Award for Golden Laurel for Sleeper of the Year (Winner)

·      Golden Palm - 1963 Cannes Film Festival (nominee)  　

 

 

The film's success led to the birth of the "Psycho-biddy" sub-Genre concerning violently insane older women; as this film was based on a novel by Henry Farrell, it is notably that two of the standouts of the subgenre are also based on his works, “Hush... Hush, Sweet Charlotte” (1964) and “What's the Matter with Helen?” (1971). “Hush…” was intended as “Whatever’s…” direct follow up, again directed by Aldrich, written by Lucas, with both Bruno and Davis in leads. It had been hoped that Crawford would also be part of the project, and for this film Davis and Crawford’s roles were cleverly near-reversed, but there was another Scandal emerging from the Feud and Crawford got fired.

 

Instead, Crawford got her own Psycho-Biddy the same year, “Straight Jacket,” where she plays a recently paroled axe-murderess who may, or may-not, be reformed (screenplay by Robert Bloch, Author of the novel on which Hitchcock’s “Psycho” (1960) is based).

 

 

In the article concerning Psycho-Biddies, the website Wikipedia cruelly includes “Mommy Dearest” (1981), a notably unflattering biopic of Crawford (played by Faye Dunaway) as a boozing child-abuser, on its list. That film was based on the memoir of her embittered adopted daughter Christina Crawford (first published in 1978).

 

 

Crawford was dead before the book came out, Davis was not so lucky; she was still alive and working, but also recovering from a stroke, when her daughter Barbara, same one who had a bit part in “Whatever Happened to …” but now a Born-Again Christian Pastor known publicly as B. D. Hyman, published a similarly hostile memoir of their relationship, “My Mother’s Keeper” (first published 1985).

 

 

Crawford’s film career lasted 47 years, it was glorious, but ended on a sour note with a stupid Monster movie called, “Trog” (1972) which made a number of “Worst Ever” lists. As the New York Times savaged it, they did concede, "There is, however, a rudimentary virtue in ‘Trog’...in that it proves that Joan Crawford is grimly working at her craft. Unfortunately, the determined lady, who is fetching in a variety of chic pants suits and dresses, has little else going for her."

 

 

Davis lived longer, and had a remarkable 58 years in pictures. Most list “The Whales of August” (1987) as her beautiful swan-song, an exquisite drama about the relationship between two elderly sisters (the other was played by Lillian Gish). It featured one of the finest performances of Horror Icon Vincent Price, though “Whales of August” is about as far from a Horror movie as you can possibly get. But there’s a problem with saying Davis went out on such a good note though, because that wasn’t her actual very last film. Her really last film was a disaster more embarrassing than Crawford’s “Trog” and deserves special note.

 

The great Horror Director Larry Cohen secured Davis in the lead in “The Wicked Stepmother” (1989) about two grown children faced with the dilemma that their father suddenly marrying elderly, Evil, Supernatural, Monster -- that’s Davis, 91 years old at the time. After several days of shooting, she quit, throwing the production into chaos, and the completely rewritten patchwork-job that, when it was finally released, made all the “Years Worst” lists, though it was too quickly forgotten to earn the greater negative accolades of “Trog.”

 

Davis said she objected to the script, but Cohen later stated that was just a cover-story for her being too sick to continue. Watching her few scenes the latter version of this story seems more likely, as she looks like she’s dying in front of our eyes, and was in fact dead before the picture’s release.

 

 

Trailer:

 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qFYjkFCxiE