Yes, it's a rude and extremely un-PC moniker, but that's what the stars of the '30s and '40s became in the '60s. Too long in the tooth for romantic leads, too stylized in appearance and performance to blend in with the mainstream entertainment of the time, these actresses took the roles that were offered them—and more and more, these roles were in the realm of horror.
Joan Crawford and Bette Davis had both been superstars at their respective studios (MGM and Warners), but by 1962 they were taking bit parts or making occasional television appearances when director Robert Aldrich approached them to star in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?, the grandmother of the Horror Hag genre. Davis stars as Jane Hudson, a former child star ("Baby" Jane) who has impossible aspirations of reviving her long-faded career. Crawford is Blanche, Jane's reclusive, invalid sister, who had become a famous star in the '30s after Jane's career had ended. Wheelchair-bound and totally dependent on Jane, she must tolerate her drunken, delusional sister's abusive treatment day after day.
A prologue, set in the teens, shows young Blanche watching jealously in the wings while Jane struts onstage, singing treacly songs and being nauseatingly cute. Then, in the '30s, Blanche becomes a famous movie star while Jane is laughed off the screen by movie executives who groan over her lack of talent. An automobile "accident" results in Blanche's paralysis, and the guilt-ridden but hostile Jane becomes Blanche's unwilling caregiver. Aldrich takes full advantage of the longstanding feud between the two volatile actresses and gives Davis some wonderfully choice lines which have since become iconic:
Blanche: You wouldn't be able to do these awful things to me if I weren't still in this chair.
Jane: But you are, Blanche! You are in that chair!
Davis fearlessly tore into her character, creating a garish white makeup because she reasoned that "Jane never washed her face—just kept adding a new layer of makeup every day." Crawford, meanwhile, refused to let herself look bad and is consequently the most glamorous invalid you've ever seen. Aldrich also casts Davis' own daughter, B.D., in a small role as the next-door neighbor, whose mother asks her if she's ever seen the glamorous Blanche Hudson, to which she replies, "No, all I ever see is that fat sister."
Davis persuaded her pal Olivia De Havilland to take Crawford's role, and the result is still a good film. Davis is Charlotte, a faded and off-her-rocker Southern belle who refuses to leave her plantation home when the state wants to build a highway through her property. De Havilland plays her sweet-seeming but scheming cousin who arrives to persuade Charlotte to leave. It doesn't have the high-camp histrionics of Jane, settling instead for a decent story and solid performances from Davis, De Havilland, Joseph Cotten, old-timer Cecil Kellaway and especially Agnes Moorehead as Charlotte's slatternly maid. In this film, Another old Davis nemesis, Mary Astor (The Old Maid), appears in the film too, but Aldrich wisely avoided putting her in any scenes with the explosive star.
As she did in all of her subsequent "horror hag" roles, Crawford delivers a heartfelt performance, giving the "B" material some class. But please don't think it's a sincere character study—it's a riot. The hatchet murders are surprisingly brutal for their time (apart from some extremely obvious rubber heads which only add to the fun), and there's a scene where Lucy, persuaded by Carol to dress in her old trampy clothes (guess she used to be the Town Pump and daughter loved it), meets Carol's fiance for the first time and rubs her hands all over his face, even sticking her fingers in his mouth. And she lights her cigarette with a match that she strikes on the grooves of a phonograph record.
Meanwhile, Davis appeared in Dead Ringer (1964), directed by her former costar Paul Henreid (remember the two cigarettes in Now, Voyager?). It's not really a horror film, but Davis plays a dual role as twin sisters, one of whom murders the other and assumes her identity. If you are a fan of Davis' trademark quirky acting, it's a must-see. She smokes so much that you can barely see her behind the perpetual cloud. Her hands are always twitching, reaching for things and moving around.
Dead Ringer also boasts an appearance by the perpetually old actress Estelle Winwood (Bert I. Gordon's The Magic Sword), who lived to 102 and was 79 or 80 when this film was made. She plays the twin sister's dead husband's aunt or mother or something...anyhow, she always wants to make Davis go and pray whenever she pops onscreen. Hilarious.
While Davis was shooting Charlotte, Crawford continued her collaboration with Castle, albeit in a bit part, with his heckuva lot of fun I Saw What You Did (and I Know Who You Are). Two teenage girls make prank phone calls, repeating the titular line, and draw the ire of newly-minted murderer John Ireland, who has just offed his wife in a shower stabbing scene that Castle intended to be even more extreme than Psycho. Crawford appears in a few scenes as Ireland's lover, purring and rubbing up against him. It's disturbing. By this time, the 60-year-old actress was feeling delicate about how she photographed, so she insisted that her cameramen cast her wrinkly parts in shadow. Check out the makeup tests below. Of course, by the time she made her last Horror Hag movie, she had great swashes of darkness cast across most of her body except her eyes. But that story is to come...
Not campy or really very fun, it earns marks for its progressive sleaziness, but it's unpleasant to see the elegant De Havilland put through the paces that Davis would handle with chain-smoking aplomb. Of course, Davis would never play the victim. Ironically, when I was child, my family would go to my grandparents' house after church on Sunday and this film would often be showing on television—uncut—on the daytime movie matinee (along with The Birds and I Saw What You Did)!
End part one. In the meantime, check out these makeup tests for Joan Crawford in Strait-Jacket...