Bette Davis

Bette Davis was an incredible stage and screen actress. Probably the most outstanding of her generation. Best known for playing feisty parts, I’ve always admired her strength. Thoroughly believable, it’s hard to separate the personality traits of the characters from the actress. So much so that I found her quite intimidating when I was a child. Born in New England she acted in school plays and obviously showed promise from an early age. Fiercely independent, she was one of the earliest actresses to take control of her career by challenging the studio system.

 

Bette’s particularly thrilling in 1950’s All About Eve, portraying the middle age star Margo Channing, whose position is usurped by Anne Baxter’s Eve Harrington. The characters are written to perfection, it’s a well observed, behind the scenes piece. This film’s told in flashback and opens with a voiceover by George Sanders’ Addison DeWitt. I know I’m in for a treat when Eve begins her thank-you speech for the Sarah Siddons award she’s received.

 

In turn the camera cuts to Margo, Gary Merrill’s Bill Simpson, Hugh Marlowe’s Lloyd Richards, and Celeste Holm’s Karen Richards. Their facial expressions are priceless, all looking less than impressed. Immediately we’re hooked and wonder what Eve did to evoke such reactions. Bette delivers iconic lines in her trademark cutting style such as “Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy night” and  “We’re all busy little bees, full of stings, making honey day and night, aren’t we honey?”

Bette’s deliciously mean as the title role in 1962’s gothic Whatever Happened To Baby Jane, alongside Joan Crawford playing her sister Blanche. It’s a larger than life performance. She wasn’t afraid of making physical transformations to reflect a character as written. Most actresses of that era wanted to appear glamorous at all times, and wouldn’t lend that level of authenticity to their roles.

Baby Jane’s fans desert her once she grows up, while her plain sister Blanche blossoms into a glamorous star until a car accident leaves her paralysed. The sisters live together in a grand mansion, leading an increasingly insular lifestyle. Although Jane’s her carer, jealousy and resentment towards her sister’s success eat away at her mental stability. She’s deluded to the extent that she prepares a comeback, hiring a pianist to rehearse with. Jane’s signature song from her child star days; I’ve Written A Letter To Daddy is striking. Thick garish make-up covers her face, her blond hair’s in curls, and she does a little dance, like a much older grotesque version of Shirley Temple.

 

Jane shuffles around in fluffy slippers, exercising her power to torment Blanche mercilessly, “but you are in that chair Blanche”. Jane makes Blanche a prisoner in her own room and attempts to starve her, by serving her pet bird as a meal on a platter. Blanche needs something edible but Jane refuses because “you didn’t eat your din dins”. The abuse escalates until Jane loses all connection to reality and takes Blanche to the beach. Ostensibly it’s a family day out but because she’s succumbed to madness, she covers Blanche, seemingly leaving her to die.

Although some of her films have dated, Bette’s charismatic performances always feel fresh and vibrant to me. Her appearances always make an impact, which is why she’ll be remembered as long as her films are available. Perhaps Bette’s longevity lies in her versatility for playing dramatic, romantic, wicked, ambitious, and sympathetic leads, all with equal competence.

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