You may remember the vogue in the sixties for casting ageing Hollywood stars in
horror-thrillers; "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane" is the best, but also worthy of note
are "Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte", "What's the Matter With Helen" and "Frantic AKA Die Die
My Darling". Some call this the worst sort of exploitation, while others note that Bette
Davis revived her career by playing a shrieking hag, when no other offers of work were
forthcoming. Shelley Winters featured in a couple of the films, while even Debbie Reynolds
popped up as a murderess.
But the saddest story has to be that of Joan Crawford, whose appearance in "Whatever
Happened to Baby Jane", should have resurrected her career, especially since she gives a
much better performance than Ms. Davis. For reasons that I can't explain, she ended up in
yet more, and much worse, horror films, going increasingly down market until she ended up
in the travesty of "Trog", giving, in the circumstances, a wastefully committed
performance.
It's therefore oddly appropriate that the film of her life, "Mommie Dearest", should be a
camp horror story about an old witch, hiding behind the guise of a respectable biopic.
Based on the first, and best, revenge book, by her daughter, Christina, it is one of the
trashiest films ever made, and also a lot of not-so-innocent fun.
Faye Dunaway, whose career seems to have gone into even more of a tailspin than
Crawford's, gives a stunning performance in the title role, but it's clearly not a
realistic interpretation of the woman. No, this is a truly nasty villainess, making
Cruella DeVille seem a model of calm responsibility in contrast. The story concerns a
beautiful little girl called Christina, all blonde hair and perfect teeth, who is adopted
by a nasty old witch called Joan Crawford, who proceeds to make her life a misery. On her
birthdays, Christina is only allowed to keep one present, while the rest go to the
orphanages. This is the first sign that all is not well in the Crawford household, and the
hysteria that ensues when Christina puts on her mother's make-up and pretends to be
accepting an award, only confirms the fact that Joan might not be making the running for
the mother of the year award.
Two scenes are etched in the memory of anyone who has ever seen this film. The first takes
place after Joan loses her contract at MGM. That night, she starts pulling up her famous
rose-bushes, and she calls the children out of their beds to come and help clear up.
Surely, we think, Joan isn't mad enough to go any further. But her sights are set on her
daughter's beloved little rose tree. In one of the great moments of gothic-camp, she
intones to her daughter, "Christina, fetch me.. the axe !!!". She then attempts to hack
the tree to pieces, while her crying children can only watch, helpless to stop this
maniac.
The second occurs when Joan, clearly off her rocker, finds a ... gasp ... wire hanger in
her daughter's closet. To say she throws a fit would be understating. She screams at her
sleeping eight year old daughter, "NO WIRE HANGERS", and proceeds to beat the poor child
with the hanger. All of Christina's clothes are then strewn across the floor, after which
Joan orders her to clear up the mess. But, she isn't finished. Going into the bathroom,
Joan decides that the floor isn't clean enough. She announces to her daughter that "We
will clean this together", throws soap on the floor, and then beats her daughter with the
soap box. If this scene isn't a classic of camp, I don't know what is. The thing is, you
see, it's played dead-straight. Joan, made up in white cream, looks like a monster from a
child's fairy tale, while Christina is every inch the innocent victim of this creature's
wrath.
The irony is that the audience aren't on the side of Christina, who is irritatingly
idealised. No, we're on the side of Wicked Queen Joan, and we can't wait for the next
explosion to come and liven up the film. Later, as Christina turns into the very lovely
Diana Scarwid, Joan tries to strangle her, after Christina has accused her of trying to
ruin her life. Luckily, a showbiz journalist is on hand to stop anything too serious
happening - the said journo is played by Marlon Brando's sister, who looks very much like
him, but only in latter day porker mode, sadly.
This really is a very, very silly film, and Faye Dunaway's superb performance is much
better than the movie deserves. However, it is consistently watchable, not least for a
number of excellent one-liners. Upon assuming control of Pepsi-Cola in the sixties, Joan
runs rings around the board, yelling "Don't fuck with me fellas, this ain't my first time
at the rodeo".
However, for horror fans, it assumes interest as, perhaps, the last of the "Great Lady"
horror movies, and it certainly can't be accused of being boring. The film's version of
Crawford is a sort of cross between Baby Jane and Countess Dracula, which does nothing for
verisimilitude, but does make it very watchable. I gather the film became something of a
cult in America at the time, with audiences wearing clothes-hanger earrings, and shouting
along with the more quotable lines.
Mike
"Me and the elephant ....
We still remember you."
My mom would tell us you think you are abused watch this
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