*
JOAN (as Miriam): They say places you knew as a child
seem smaller when you see them again.
It's not true.
It's just as I left it.
Keep the change.
ROBERT: Cut. (bell rings)
Beautiful. Ladies and gentlemen,
Miss Joan Crawford, our one-take wonder. (chuckles)
(applause)
Okay, next set up. Wait, Bob,
don't you want me to try it again?
No need, Joanie. You nailed it.
Are you sure? Absolutely.
Well done.
(both laugh)
(sighs)
There's nothing as exciting
as the first day on a set, is there?
It's my fifth day, but sure.
(Robert and Bette laugh)
JOAN: They're like bunny rabbits.
It's past midnight. They've been at it
since we got home from dinner.
Miss Joan, you have an early call tomorrow.
You must rest.
Well, how can I sleep
when my director and co-star
are engaged in some tawdry bacchanal
30 feet away?
Have a nightcap.
I told you, Mamacita,
I am not drinking on this production.
I need a clear head.
I could sing a lullaby.
I'll call the front desk.
Go to sleep, Mamacita.
I don't care what they do in private,
but staying up partying like teenagers
can only detract from the quality of their work
and, by extension, mine.
And that I cannot abide.
No, no, no, no.
I'll simply go over there and politely ask
them to consider the labors that lie ahead
and encourage them to make more responsible choices.
Should I wait up?
(rock music playing) VICTOR: Oh!
AGNES: Oh, my, my, Bette. Oh, you've caused a terrible...
BETTE: Ready? This is the one.
VICTOR: Yeah. Okay.
BETTE: This is it. Here we go.
(laughter)
VICTOR: Oh!
BETTE: And keep the change.
ALL: Oh!
(laughter)
VICTOR: Take it.
BETTE: Stop teasing me.
(Victor laughs)
BETTE: Ow. Damn it.
Give it up, Bette.
You're never gonna be able to do it.
I don't know how she managed to do all that business
in one take. Oh, my goodness.
If I didn't know better, I'd think you admire her.
JOSEPH: Well, why shouldn't she? It's no accident
Joan's been a star since the silents.
She's an artist.
Between the sheets. VICTOR: Oh!
My, my, Bette.
I thought your rivalry was put on for the press.
I don't know what you're talking about. What rivalry?
I got to hand it to you, Bette.
After all you've been through,
giving Joan the Oscar bait this go-around?
It's mighty white of you.
The picture is called
Hush... Hush, Sweet Charlotte.
AGNES: There you go. I play Charlotte.
Oh, well, then, let me congratulate you
on your divine work in All About Margo Channing.
(laughs) VICTOR: Joan's playing the villain,
and villains always have the meatier roles.
She's the mastermind.
JOSEPH: That's true.
AGNES: You guys, stop teasing her now.
JOSEPH: Nobody's teasing anyone.
Agnes, shouldn't you be giving me your...
AGNES: Sweetheart, it's fabulous.
*
(seagulls chirping, waves crashing)
*
I hope you had a good breakfast.
I do wish you'd give me a crack at those brows, Joan.
The brows are mine. And the mouth.
Let's get started on the lashes.
No.
Yes.
I'll just take... Mmm! Don't.
JOAN: "Why wouldn't I
"tell him that his...
"his pure, darling little girl
was having a dirty little affair with a married man?"
MAMACITA: "You're a vile, sorry little bitch."
Freshen me up, Mamacita.
BETTE (Southern accent): Well, God bless your heart.
Here's Cousin Miriam
all dolled up from tip-top to her toenails.
Welcome. (chuckles)
Well, I wanted to make sure
that my look would survive the humidity.
I didn't realize you were in this scene, Bette.
I'm not.
JOSEPH: Often at night,
she sits up, dressed...
as if she was still young,
expecting a beau.
I seem to remember
once expecting something like that myself.
You gonna be all right here?
I could stay over.
You've been content
to let me get by on my own all these years.
Another night won't kill me.
You're not gonna let her do it that way, are you? Cut.
(bell rings)
What? What happened? Nothing. Nothing.
We'll get... We're gonna go again straightaway, Joanie.
Maybe you don't even need this scene. I mean, it seems like
it might not be necessary.
You have something to say about my performance?
Then say it to me.
All right.
This scene isn't really necessary,
and you're telegraphing that Miriam is up to no good
when the audience, at this point,
has to think she's a saint.
This is my performance.
I have worked very hard
on this. Joan, can we just shoot the scene?
Let's worry about cutting and changing later on.
Can you do it this time
as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth.
Good idea. Okay.
Reset.
I need to process your note, Bob.
In my trailer.
JOAN: What the hell is she doing on this set
during my scene? Running off at the mouth
about my performance?
And you, you just sitting there
like a wet dog.
Where the hell are your balls?
Bette can say whatever she wants.
She's a producer.
What?
I made her associate producer. It was the only way
to get her to sign on. She was holding the picture hostage.
No, I don't want that!
Goddamn it.
Go on, Mamacita.
Leave us alone.
You made her a producer?
Joanie, the title's meaningless.
Bette just needs to feel she has authority.
I have been working day and night
to prepare for this role.
Nothing's changed. You're still gonna be great.
You have no idea how much harder
I have to work to be taken seriously as an actress.
I didn't get my start
in the theater, like Miss Bette Davis.
I broke in shaking my fringe in nightclubs.
I'd come home after a gig
with scotch on my dress,
and I'll always have that stain on me
and I'll always have to prove them wrong, and I can't...
do it on Charlotte
because she won't let me. Joanie, you have to let go
of that anger to her. You can't give her the fight.
I am not angry with her!
I'm angry with you.
God, I must have been such a fool,
thinking that you were paying me this great tribute
by promising me top billing.
And all the while,
behind my back, you were promising her
exactly what she deserved: producer.
Well, Bob...
...do you think I deserve it, too?
Joanie, don't put me on the spot.
You know what I'm going to enjoy?
I'm going to enjoy watching you learn
just how meaningless
Bette thinks this title is.
(indistinct chatter, laughter)
Where's Joan?
Oh, she's out catching groundhogs.
To replenish her wig supply.
You have to catch them in the dead of night.
Why do you keep saying that?
It's not nice.
It's hard for a woman.
Losing her hair.
Her femin-in...
Femin-in-inity.
(laughs) You should be nice.
It's a joke, Victor.
Oh, my God.
Stop drinking. It's making you soft.
Oh, you should have seen
how the most beautiful woman that ever lived
treated me back in the day.
And I remember thinking then,
"Beauty fades.
Just wait."
And it did.
Well, I remember seeing her in Humoresque.
Shunned by John Garfield,
marching into the ocean,
every hair in place.
Beauty, dignity and death,
all in one exquisite pose.
She marched into the sea to her death...
(chuckles) ...and never got her hair wet.
Well...
It meant a lot to me.
ROBERT: Turndown service, Miss Davis?
I wish I had known for a single day
what it feels like to walk into a room
and knock them out without a single word.
Bette, you don't even know yourself.
You've been too long in this business.
Oh, you have no idea what it's like
to be a woman in this business,
with the constant scrutiny
and competition.
Ah, do we have to go through this melodrama right now?
Fuck you, Bob.
All right, tell me. Then tell me.
No. You tell me, Mr. Director Man.
Have you ever been rebuffed
by a woman because of how you look?
I'm betting no.
I'm guessing that your success was enough,
that they fucked you despite your beer gut
and your middle-age sag.
(laughing): Am I right?
(chuckles) I don't make up the rules.
(laughs)
My first screen test with Jack Warner,
I stuck around and I hid behind a door
because I wanted to hear his reaction.
Did he see my talent, my humor, my intelligence,
my brave attack on the scene?
But he wasn't interested in any of that.
Guess what he said. What did he say?
He said I had zero sex appeal.
He said, "Who would want to fuck that?"
I was 22.
And nobody ever had.
You should go to bed.
(Bette laughs)
(laughing): Guess who he said he wished I looked like?
Joan Crawford.
*
Why wouldn't I tell him that his pure, darling little girl
was having a dirty little affair with a married man?
You vile, sorry little bitch.
How did I know it was going to end in murder
with John being butchered?
Cut. Fantastic, Joanie, fantastic.
Okay, turning around on Bette.
You all right?
No. I'm fine. It's just so hot.
Yeah. It's a little different down here
than the freezing cold soundstage.
Bob. Bob. Where do you want me
for Bette's off-camera? BETTE: You know, I don't think I need you.
It's tight. I can have the script girl give me your lines.
But it's our scene.
I mean, don't you want me here
to give you something to build on?
You already have. Why don't you find
a dark air-conditioned spot and lie down?
(equipment thuds)
(gasps, exhales)
Ooh.
(groans)
*
(insects trilling)
Hello?
Hello!
Lucille.
This entire production
is an elaborate opportunity
for you to humiliate me, isn't it?
What are you talking about? You, Bob,
the whole fucking crew abandoned me
out at that plantation.
Mamacita had to find
a phone and call a city cab Jesus, Joan.
to bring us back. I had no idea.
No, I don't believe you.
The proclaimed alliance back in Los Angeles,
you never had any intention of honoring.
That is not true.
Christ, what a fool I was
to sign up for this picture.
And a bigger fool to think I could ever trust you.
I need you to be brilliant.
I'm just trying to help you get there.
Oh, you're giving me a hand up?
Because you're the superior talent.
Well, I don't want your help.
You've always been overrated.
I guess that explains my 11 Oscar nominations.
The Academy doesn't reward you for your talent,
for Christ's sakes, Bette.
They reward you
because they see how hard you sweat.
They don't see the character, they see the acting.
And they don't see you at all
because of all your glamour makeup.
Well, let me give you a tip.
The answer to feeling unattractive
isn't to make yourself even uglier.
(thunder rumbles in distance)
I'm a character actress.
Well, I said what I came to say.
I'm going to bed.
Joan.
How did it feel to be the most beautiful girl in the world?
It was wonderful.
The most joyous thing you could ever imagine.
And it was never enough.
Well, what about you?
How did it feel to be the most talented girl in the world?
Great.
And it was never enough.
(thunder crashes in distance)
From Mr. Aldrich.
Oh, thank you, driver.
Well, at least he remembered to send a car this time.
Maybe now that we are back in Los Angeles
things will go more smooth.
Call sheet for Monday.
Let me see.
Report to 20th Century Fox,
stage seven,
scene 42, 6:00 a.m.
Scene 42.
Oh, that's my scene with Mr. Cotten.
The seduction scene, it's a wonderful scene.
And Bette's not in it.
What's this?
Script revisions?
For what?
Where is my monologue?
What? It's all been cut.
This is her doing.
And Bob is colluding with her.
That's why he sent the car.
To soften the blow.
Driver.
I'm not going to Brentwood.
Take me to Cedars-Sinai Hospital.
I'm suddenly feeling very, very ill.
Well, according to her doctors,
it's respiratory.
Respiratory?
What a load of shit.
She's faking it.
She's mad because we trimmed a few of her lines,
so she's holding up production.
I used to play the same tricks
when I was at Warner's under contract.
We can't let her get away with it.
Mother, Jeremy and I need to speak to you.
Say hello to Mr. Aldrich, B.D.
Yeah. Hello, Mr. Aldrich.
And this is her elderly playmate, Jerome.
It's Jeremy, actually.
He's got an accent.
What is it, B.D.?
I'm managing a crisis.
Your whole life is managing a crisis.
I just need you to sign these consent forms.
Consent for what?
For Jeremy and I to get married.
Don't be ridiculous; you're 16 years old.
And wise quite beyond her years.
And that's a credit to you as a mother.
Ah, don't sweet-talk me, bub.
That English accent might thrill the little girls,
but it does nothing for me.
I played Elizabeth I, twice.
You're not marrying a 40-year-old man.
I'm 29, actually. You're twice her age.
Old enough to give your daughter everything she deserves.
Protection, affection and financial stability.
I give her all that.
We're in love, Mother.
And we're getting married,
whether it's now or two years from now
when we won't need your permission.
You don't want my permission, you want my attention.
Now you have it, and the answer is no.
Fine! Force your daughter into a life of sin,
if that's what you want. It is what I want.
In fact, march yourself up those stairs
to my bedroom and grab my copy of The Feminine Mystique,
and read it before you ruin your life.
What life? I have no life.
Come on, Jeremy.
A pleasure to have met you.
Christ. I thought we had reached
some kind of détente, but it's always a battle.
But she's not going to win, not this time, Bob.
Jesus, Bette.
It's not a competition, she's your daughter.
No. I meant Crawford.
She's not going to shut down production.
Not for one single day.
HEDDA: Dateline: Hollywood, California.
Production on 20th Century Fox's lavish Gothic drama
Hush... Hush, Sweet Charlotte, continues despite rumblings
that the back of a stand-in is doing the work of a star.
DIRECTOR: Action!
Miriam?
(chuckling): I just can't believe it.
You look marvelous.
What is it you can't believe, Drew?
That I'm here or that I look the way I do?
Ah, come on, Miriam.
Don't make fun of an old man.
DIRECTOR: Cut!
HEDDA: Whispers of a production shutdown
have been dogging the project in recent weeks.
And not far away, one of the picture's stars, Joan Crawford,
recovers from what her doctors are calling a mystery ailment.
Insiders say that Joan
may just have a bad case of the B.D.s,
as in Bette Davis.
Rumors are that Bette's new role
as a producer on the picture
have made her even more demanding than ever.
And after a string of lackluster follow-ups
to the triumph of Baby Jane,
Bette really needs this one to work.
Nobody should be praying harder
for Joan's speedy recovery than Bette Davis.
JOAN: Hedda, darling,
tell your readers this:
I am bedded here with the script, making notes
and coming up with all sorts of wonderful ideas
for improvements.
And, as a result of my convalescence,
Charlotte is sure to be a much better picture
once I recover.
* I don't tell you what to say *
* I don't tell you what to do * (door opens)
Well, Bob, what a lovely surprise.
Mamacita, turn that off.
* That's all I ask... *
Uh, c-could you give us a few moments, please?
Seeing you is a tonic.
Has it really been 12 days? (door closes)
I would have come sooner, Joanie, but...
I've been busy trying to keep a train on track.
Well, I'm touched you could find a spare moment.
I have nothing but spare moments.
I've run out of material to shoot.
If I don't roll cameras on you tomorrow morning,
the studio's threatening to close us down.
I need you to come back to work, Joanie.
Bob, you know that's all I want.
Great.
Now, Bette's agreed to behave herself.
So, tomorrow: 7:00 a.m. on set.
Otherwise the show's off.
Or is that what you want?
Perhaps now would be a good time
to discuss some of my thoughts about the script.
I've given it a very close read
and I have a few suggestions that I think
could make all the difference.
First of all, Bob,
we know so little about Miriam.
Wouldn't it be wonderful to see her in the bloom of her youth?
Is it really believable
that Miriam has only one suitor?
Shouldn't she have more beaus?
How many more beaus?
Two.
A politician and an attorney.
And, really,
her entrance into the picture?
Oh, it's all wrong.
A taxi cab, Bob? No.
Well, how about a flying carpet?
(laughs)
Oh, Bob.
No, but it is the South.
She should be greeted back home
with a big Southern ball.
I mean, just think of the production value.
Think of the money.
But, of course,
I'm not a producer.
I'm only an actress.
But it would be money well spent.
Charlotte's a recluse.
She wouldn't be hosting a ball
in a decaying mansion.
I'm not suggesting she host it.
She can be there, of course.
In a corner, hidden.
Under the stairs, watching.
All we see are her big eyes.
You know, Joan,
the last time I let an actor call all the shots,
I made 4 for Texas.
I can't afford another bomb.
If Charlotte doesn't work, I'm back making crap TV.
So I suggest you put down your fucking script
and pick up your fucking contract
and give that a close fucking read.
Tomorrow morning, 7:00 a.m.,
and not a minute later.
(door slams)
(indistinct conversations)
Oh, Jake, how great to see you.
Thank you.
Oh, Sonny, nice to see you again.
Christ on a crutch.
(applause)
She thinks we're still doing the last picture.
Oh!
This is good here, dear.
Oh, yes, thank you.
Oh, thank you, thank you all so much.
I can't tell you what it means to me to be back here.
I guess this old workhorse is only really happy
when she's out in the field.
(laughter)
Welcome back, Lucille.
I removed the thorns.
ROBERT: And... action.
Oh, come on, Miriam.
Don't make fun of an old man.
You know I never was any good at expressin' myself.
Well, that's not so at all, Drew.
You were always very quick with your compliments.
It was your intentions that sometimes were a little vague.
We used to slide down this banister,
the three of us, and I was
always the champion.
Oh, we just let you win
'cause you were the youngest.
Stop it. Cut.
(bell rings) What?
I'm sorry, it's too long. I mean, she's here
to see Charlotte, she should just get on with it.
No, I have another page of dialogue
with Mr. Cotten.
Yes, we should cut that.
(gasps) You okay, Joan?
No, I just felt a little dizzy, I'm sorry. I...
I had a rather light breakfast.
Oh...
I can't breathe.
I can't believe you let her get away with it.
You know I was right about the scene.
You know what, Bette? Being right doesn't mean shit
if you're driving talent off the stage.
You want to be a producer? Well, a producer gets results.
You want to be a lion tamer? Great.
Go tame the goddamn lion.
That's a wrap!
MAN: You won't have to bother now.
WOMAN: Oh, yes, I do. My share...
Fine.
You can get married,
but I'm in charge of everything.
(coughs)
Better, Joan? (weakly): Thank you.
Ray, is there some reason we're not getting started?
It's very taxing
for Miss Crawford to be out of bed in her condition.
Bed is the last place that woman gets any rest.
Gentlemen. Miss Davis,
please remember what we discussed.
Gentlemen.
There's now been 29 days since Miss Crawford completed
a full day's work on Charlotte, resulting in
expensive delays and cost overruns for this studio.
Our insurer, to this point,
has covered those losses on the basis
of Miss Crawford's diagnosis
of a rare form of pneumonia.
But her health does not seem to be improving.
That's because her condition is mental.
LAWYER: Is Miss Davis' presence
in this meeting constructive or necessary?
I'm a producer on this picture. I'm in all the meetings
whether your client likes it or not.
According to Bob, it's a vanity title.
It was. And that was my fault.
But not anymore.
From now on, my stamp is on everything.
As I was saying, given that Miss Crawford's condition
does not seem to be improving,
the studio would like to give her the freedom to devote
all her energy to getting well again.
In that spirit, we're offering to release her from all
contractual obligations.
Mr. Aldrich is ready to start looking
for somebody else to play Miriam.
Ray, we all know there is no
Hush... Hush, Sweet Charlotte
without a reteaming of Crawford and Davis.
Wrong. This is not a sequel to Baby Jane.
And there will be no need to resort to a poor substitute.
Miss Crawford is following all her doctor's instructions
to the letter, with the genuine intention
of returning to work as soon as possible.
Well, Leonard, I'll be candid.
Our insurer has doubts
about how genuine those intentions are.
They insist that your client
submit to an independent medical exam.
Tiny Tim over there isn't going to let your doctors
get anywhere near her.
She's gassing us all with her VapoRub for show.
She's not sick. She's on strike.
Until Bob accepts all her loony script changes
and makes her the star of Charlotte.
Miss Davis, if you're incapable of restraining yourself,
I'll have to ask you to leave.
I would be perfectly happy
to submit to an independent exam.
Very well.
But before you reject our initial offer,
know that if our doctor
clears Miss Crawford to return to work
and she fails to do so, we will sue her
to recoup every cent of our losses.
Splendid. And I want chimes to ring
the moment they become man and wife.
Just as their lips touch. Can that be arranged?
We have bells at the church. They toll.
Oh, I don't want a funeral bell.
I want a glorious, joyful chime.
Uh...
what do you think of that, B.D.?
Sure.
Do you like it or not? It's your wedding.
Whatever you think's best.
Could you all please go into the dining room
and give us a moment? Thank you.
Darling, I want you to answer me truthfully,
and don't for a second worry about the consequences.
Are you having second thoughts
about marrying Jeremy?
What? No. I just don't see
why we have to make such a big production out of the wedding.
Well, I'll tell you why.
A wedding is a big, special party because
everything after that is hard work and repetition.
It's work to keep a house.
It's work to fix him the same goddamn glass of scotch
every night and feign interest while he rants about his boss.
It's work to tolerate
his forgetting to ask you about your day,
and your feelings, and your thoughts.
And it's work to feel like a staging ground
for someone else's ambitions.
You just described my life with you.
(short chuckle)
Well, then I've prepared you to be a good wife.
And I'm gonna miss you terribly when you're gone.
This wedding is something I can give you.
And if you want it,
I want it to be perfect.
Your first wedding is the one that you remember the most.
My first wedding?
Jeremy and I are forever.
Of course, darling, I...
Of course.
And however long that forever lasts,
I want you know that you will always
have a place to come home to.
Christ, is that why you agreed to this--
because you thought I'd come running back?
No, no, no, no, no, no... No, Mother.
I'm leaving.
I'm going to be Jeremy's wife, not yours.
Oh, and guess what--
for your information,
my first wedding was perfect.
It was Saturday.
At City Hall.
We did it the minute you signed the consent form.
And there were no chimes for our first kiss
and it was beautiful.
So all of this--
you're not doing it for me.
You're doing it for you.
(door opens, closes)
Just a slightly elevated temperature.
Really? I feel so warm. Feverish.
Do you suppose it's neurological?
What other symptoms are you experiencing?
Well, light-headedness and...
dizzy spells in the most inopportune moments.
Breathe in.
Deeper, please.
(inhales, coughs)
Oh. (coughing)
Excuse me.
Lately I've only been able to manage the...
shallowest of breaths.
Bob can call me if he needs, but there's really not much to it.
Officially, she's completely clear.
PAULINE: You've got to be kidding me.
Good luck with her. Thank you.
Well, he says you can come back to work, Joan.
Said he'll clear you for a marathon, if you want.
He's the studio's doctor.
What did you expect him to say?
He also said you tried to seduce him.
That is ridiculous and offensive.
Mamacita, take me to the car.
This whole experience has been very fatiguing.
(sighs) I'm asking you as a fan.
Do not do this to yourself.
And what is it you imagine I'm doing?
Losing every ally. They are going to sue you.
No one will stop them. You're ending your career.
How dare you? You're a secretary.
Stop following me around, nipping at my heels,
impugning my integrity.
The moment I get home, I'm calling Bob
and demanding you be taken off of Charlotte.
Don't bother. I've already told Bob that I am done after this.
I came out here to work.
That seems to be the last thing that anyone cares about.
I don't know if this town attracts narcissists
or actually creates them.
But I have no intention of sticking around
to find out.
(elevator bell dings)
Good luck, Joan.
BLONDELL: What did I think
of what Joan did?
I thought it was pretty great.
ADAM: You didn't think it was... undignified?
Faking sick?
Let me tell you something.
At a certain point, a woman becomes invisible.
You get fat or old--
people don't even see you anymore.
Oh, come on, think of it this way:
you've been eating in a restaurant your whole life.
You're a great customer.
Good tipper. Staff loves you.
You spend all your money there.
And then one day, they won't serve you.
Won't take your money.
Won't even let you see the menu.
Well, who could blame you
for wanting to stand up and rip the tablecloth off?
(doorbell rings)
Mamacita?
Will you get the door?
Tell them I'm in the bath.
(doorbell rings)
Mamacita!
(knocking at door)
(groans)
(knocking continues)
Yes?
Good morning, ma'am. Are you Miss Joan Crawford?
(chuckles) They make me ask that.
(chuckles) Please sign for documents
from 20th Century Fox.
What is it? That's above my pay grade.
I just make sure you can't deny receipt in court.
Have a happy day, ma'am.
(gasps)
(whimpers)
*
ANNOUNCER: Wearing a $100,000 sapphire necklace
over a hospital gown by Dior,
Joan Crawford is the most glamorous and popular patient
in the celebrity wing of Cedars-Sinai Hospital.
Each day, doctors and nurses line up for the privilege
of taking care of the ailing movie queen.
Meanwhile, production on her latest picture,
20th Century Fox's Hush... Hush, Sweet Charlotte
has been halted indefinitely.
And with cast and crew still on full salary,
Charlotte's shaping up to be one of 20th's priciest pictures
this year.
What can you possibly hope to gain by delaying production
any further?
You'll get no concessions.
Concessions? Oh, no.
We're way beyond that. I don't want concessions.
I want blood. I want to shut this picture down.
Oh, Joan.
I'll lose hundreds of thousands of dollars
but so will Bette.
And I can live happily and frugally just knowing that.
And Bob Aldrich can shutter his production company
and end his career directing shitty television.
Fuck them both.
You were always ambitious.
But when did you become so vindictive?
I've always been valued for my beauty.
And more times than not,
nothing else.
But now the only bed I can find any power in
is this hospital bed. (chuckles)
Well, why don't you free yourself from all this?
Tell 'em you're too ill to continue.
Let them recast the role.
Oh, they've already tried. I know that.
They've gone out to Loretta Young, to Stanwyck.
Both dear friends of mine. No, there isn't an actress in town
who would take food out of my mouth.
That's because most of them don't eat.
(chuckles)
Don't fool yourself, Joanie.
You watch and see, George.
Next week at this time,
that picture will be canceled,
and Joan Crawford will make a sudden
and remarkable recovery.
Tell Zanuck no. Absolutely not!
I am not going to do this slice of Americana
with the very British Miss Vivien Leigh.
Who would believe her as a Southern belle?
She played Scarlett O'Hara.
Unconvincingly.
Do you want to make this movie, Bette,
or don't you? I don't want to just make it.
I want to make it properly. And it's got to be
someone I can work with. Someone I trust.
Someone who's right for the goddamn part.
Now call her!
(chuckles) Darlings,
I'm so flattered you thought about me.
But it's impossible.
I've only just aired out my Swiss chalet for the season.
And, besides, I've done my turn at Grand Guignol already.
* (screaming)
Help!
Please help!
I'm trapped in a small private elevator!
The whole experience just left me feeling... humiliated,
and I'd rather not repeat it.
ROBERT: Oh, no, Olivia. This is completely different.
This time you're not the victim.
You'd be the villainess.
Oh, no. I don't do bitches.
They make me so unhappy.
You should call my sister.
OLIVIA: So you can imagine my surprise
two days later when I opened my door
to a very disheveled Mr. Robert Aldrich.
He had taken three planes, a train,
a taxi up a goat trail, just to get to see me.
So of course I heard him out.
And, what do you know, he had a very different image
for Cousin Miriam.
(music playing on radio)
ANNOUNCER: News from Tinseltown!
It looks like 20th Century Fox's beleaguered production,
Hush... Hush, Sweet Charlotte is back on again.
The studio is saying bye-bye, Joan Crawford,
and hello to Miss Olivia de Havilland!
Miss de Havilland, another two-time They can't do that.
Academy Award-winning actress,
joins her old pal, Bette Davis. No!
The pair last worked together in 1942 on In This Our Life. No! No!
They played sisters whose lives are destroyed...
(sobs) Oh, no!
(sobbing)
No! No.
(panting) Wait, what are you doing?
Mamacita. Leaving.
I told you the next time you throw something at my head,
I leave.
Now I leave.
No! No, wait!
No. Mamacita, wait!
Please.
You can't leave me now!
Not after what they've done to me.
You have done this to yourself.
No!
* Hush, hush, sweet Charlotte *
(sobbing): No!
* Charlotte *
* Don't you cry *
* Hush, hush, sweet Charlotte *
* He'll love you till he dies *
BETTE: Livvie!
* Oh, hold him, darling *
* Please hold him tight * Livvie! Oh, my darling.
* And brush the tear from your eye *
ADAM: And do you feel guilty at all
about ending Joan Crawford's career?
Time did that all on its own.
As it does to us all.
* You dreamed that he said good-bye *
* Hush, hush, sweet Charlotte *
* He'll love you *
* Till he dies. *
*
Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH