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Torch Song, at face value, is easily overlooked as a run of the mill, low budget MGM musical production. Metro was in their golden era of making musicals — portentous, as it would be their last stand and thus, final avenue of success before the studio system collapsed entirely only several years later. Torch Song is no grand production by any means — it features all of three numbers, and is woven together through a patchy melodramatic story line full of witty and bitchy quips. Though originally intended as a vehicle for Lana Turner, it in turn was handed to Joan Crawford, marking her return to the studio after an entire decade. There was heavy emphasis on advertising, and Crawford, at forty-seven-years old, looked better than ever. Sporting tight leotards that showed off her ever famous legs, she defiantly proclaims at one rather memorable scene “And spoil that line?” She showcases her dancing skills, a nice callback to her career beginnings as a chorus line dancer. The year was 1953: ten years after she’d made her last Metro film, which was 1943’s Above Suspicion.
Joan featured in a promotional publicity still for Torch Song, 1953
The timing of this production yields a more interesting detail, particularly when juxtaposed with the film’s themes and focus. Joan portrays Jenny Stewart, a legendary Broadway star who is introduced as being a short-tempered perfectionist who is virtually impossible to please. She puts herself above everyone around her, ruthless in her march to uphold her image and status as a star icon. As the film unfolds, the viewer learns there is more than what meets the eye to this mercurial woman: she is terribly lonely, depending on a limited social circle composed of her associates for validation and entertainment. There is no man in her life, and she soon finds herself pining for the new blind pianist, whom she treats contemptibly.
All of this still sounds more or less hackneyed from a standard point of view. It plays out like any formulaic melodrama, weaving in character growth and romance in order to concoct a happy, feel good ending. It’s pure fodder, and if it weren’t for the presence of a bombastic leading actress (in this case, Crawford), the film would likely have never made it past the drawing table. While all of this is true, it’s important not to overlook Crawford’s performance. It is a masterful mockery in disguise, veiled by glamour and technicolor, and upon closer inspection it only grows all the better.
Joan as Jenny Stewart and Michael Wilding as Tye Graham, pictured in a still from Torch Song
A year prior, in 1952, Bette Davis made The Star, a film born strikingly of the same vein as Torch Song. It is a not so subtle swipe at the fading allure — and troubled behavior — of former glamorous movie queens. Davis portrays Margaret Elliot, a fading screen legend who struggles to come to terms with reality and falls upon hard times. She is a pitiful, unlikable character, egocentric and unforgiving in many ways. Much like Jenny Stewart in Torch Song, Margaret puts herself front and center at every given opportunity. Her career holds more importance than those around her — this is only drilled home further when interactions with her family are depicted.
Promotional film poster for The Star, 1952
Despite the fact that this film was likely born from Sunset Boulevard’s shadow, it distinguishes itself as a melodrama rather than a noir by choosing to entirely focus on the star persona (as opposed to an outside character and their respective relationship with said star). The parallels to Crawford in particular are unmistakable, bolstered only further by the fact that her former friend, Katherine Albert, had written the screenplay. Further fuel was added to the fire when Davis scored an Oscar nomination for her performance. Ironically, Joan had been nominated as well, for Sudden Fear. It was the only time both women were ever nominated at the same time. Both also lost to Shirley Booth, a newcomer to the screen who swept audiences away with her performance in Come Back, Little Sheba. Ironically, it was a role Bette herself passed up upon — and of course later regretted.
Still of Bette Davis as Margaret Elliot from The Star
Davis’ performance, save for her frequent lapses into overacting, is scathing to a degree which feels intensely personal. The inconsistency of her tone, however, weakens this alleged character massacring, often bringing the film into camp territory. She screams and thrashes and cries, breathing terrifying vigor into what would otherwise be conceived as a trajectory that is, more realistically speaking, a banal and predictable slow burn. Still, she is effective in her portrayal, able to evoke and elicit unfavorable reactions from the viewer in regards to Margaret’s character. In fact, perhaps her daring choices to venture into such territory (a tactic that would solidify itself as a Davis staple in her later career) is what helps to drive that point even further home.
With motive on both the writer and the actor’s end, The Star was largely fueled by spite and catharsis, both of which were implicitly driven by Joan. While Torch Song has no such documented notation, a careful eye is quick to derive a great many details that give plausibility to the fact that the portrayal of Jenny was inspired by Davis. For one thing, Davis was actively performing on Broadway and had more-or-less made the shift from film star to stage star. After the acclaim she’d garnered with Eve, her next two vehicles — Payment on Demand and Another Man’s Poison — were horrible disappointments, prompting Bette to return to her original roots on the stage. While there is no evidence to suggest that Jenny ever partook in film, she certainly holds the gravitas and presence of a long accomplished and beloved star. Digging deeper, we come to find that she has a younger sister and mother, both of whom comprise her core remaining support group. She supports both of them financially, providing them residence, clothing, and any other amenity they would desire.
One needn’t dig too deep to find out that Bette’s own life very closely mirrored this setup. The two most important people in her life — aside from her children (at that time only BD and Margot) and lovers were her mother, Ruthie, and her younger sister, Bobbie. Both Bobbie and Ruthie lived with Bette well into the 1940s and even after they moved out Bette continued to provide for them. While it is a small detail and a stretch of a comparison, its specificity begs to question whether its inclusion was more than just mere coincidence. The argument only strengthens when one makes the final step in equating Jenny Stewart to Bette Davis, piecing together a less subtle (but just as harsh) critique on Bette’s persona, much like she had done a year earlier with Crawford in The Star.
The timing here is of critical importance. Given the space between the two releases, one can draw the conclusion that Joan was well aware — and perhaps a firsthand witness — to the existence of The Star and its ever present suggestions that the character onscreen was representative of her persona. Adding insult to injury, the role was played — and actively sought out — by Bette Davis, who had continually rebuffed her myriad attempts to become friends. It was very much a slap in the face, a more or less public declaration that Davis held open contempt for the other woman. Coupled together, these things likely left a bitter taste in Joan’s mouth, particularly given the bumpy history they shared.
When compared to Jenny Stewart of Torch Song, many similarities immediately arise. Both women are single and struggle to find companionship. They are also incurably vain, prioritizing career preservation and perfection over everything else. Dominance comes naturally to them, and they have no reservations about being the center of attention. Jenny, like Margaret, is swamped by delusions of grandeur, leftover from a bygone era. The veil is barely held up by a few threads, namely fear mongered assistants who find it easier to sympathize and appease their masters as opposed to deal with the backlash of contradiction.
Film still from The Star
The depictions of both these women — who are not inherently bad, nor intentionally rude — is intentional and effectively paints a jarringly subjective portrait of the intersection of aging and fame in women, especially relative to the conservative climate of 1950s America. Even despite the heavy efforts employed to portray both Jenny and Margaret as unlikable, one can easily sift through and ultimately uncover, at the core, a fractured woman who is hopelessly lost, too scared and proud to seek help and accept failure. There are two sides to every coin, to every story.
Sound familiar? Life imitates art. Back then, in 1952, both Davis and Crawford were already established as two women with unfavorable dispositions. Each had over twenty years of film experience under their belt, making them ancient relics as far as the industry was concerned, and each one had developed a reputation for being headstrong, dominant, and stubborn, particularly when they had their eyes set on a part. Even now to this very day these associations remain firmly betrothed to both women. An entire decade before these two women forever cemented their bond with Baby Jane, they were already entwined thanks to their strong ambition in a time where women were still expected to be subservient and permissive.
Unfortunately, society is not the only culprit in pitting powerful women against one another: it was more or less inevitable that another conflict would arise between the two actresses: despite the two of them never having to share a studio until the mid 1940s, both women were powerful and popular box office draws that were always vying for the best of parts. The two women’s diverse backgrounds didn’t exactly set them up in an ideal position for camaraderie, either: they were polar opposites when it came to the acting arena. Bette had formidable experience on the stage and had studied acting professionally in New York City — however, the studios found her severely lacking in sex appeal. Crawford, on the other hand, had come to Hollywood as a dancer, learning everything she knew about acting as she went along. By the time she rose to prominence, she had established herself not only as screen beauty, perhaps the best example of 1930s glamour incarnate.
Joan photographed by George Hurrell in 1932 for Letty Lynton
Though each woman was incredibly talented in her own right, they wanted what the other had. Joan worked relentlessly in hopes of building up her reputation as a serious actress, a gargantuan task given the sorts of roles into which she’d been carefully pigeonholed. Achieving fame first as a flapper, MGM then re-branded her into the Cinderella of the Depression era. Joan played shop-girl after shop-girl, climbing from rags to riches in the majority of her vehicles from the 1930s — that, or she was cast as an already wealthy society girl. She fought to prove herself capable by taking on roles that were daringly against her type, most notably prostitute Sadie Thompson in the 1932 production of Rain. Still, MGM never allowed her to truly flourish and instead ignored her every attempt to break free of the shop-girl image. Even after her competitors Garbo and Shearer left in the early 40s, Joan was still losing the roles she wanted to newcomers like Greer Garson. Even outside of her studio, the Academy failed to recognize her as a serious actress: it wasn’t until Mildred Pierce that she was ever nominated, and after her win only secured two more nominations in her career for a grand total of three all together.
Joan as Sadie Thompson, publicity for Rain (1932)
While Bette had a decidedly more tumultuous start in Hollywood, her acclaim came quickly and with an inundation of accolades. She arrived in 1931 at Universal, unable to make much of an impression in bit roles the studio allotted to her. It was George Arliss who set her career into motion, fatefully calling her to play opposite him in 1932’s The Man Who Played God, thus altering the course of her career forever. As Davis herself put it, she and her mother, Ruthie, had already bought tickets with the intent to leave Hollywood. After favorable reviews, she continued working at Warner’s until she hit her breakthrough — ironically, on loan to RKO — by undertaking a very similar endeavor that Joan had two years prior, fighting to play the unappealing “electrifying bitch,” Mildred in 1934’s Of Human Bondage.
Bette Davis as Mildred in Of Human Bondage, the role which shot her to stardom
Interestingly enough, OHB and Rain were both films derived from Maugham stories. The difference, however, lies within the outcomes of both films. Joan received harsh reviews from critics — something she never recovered from, and that temporarily set her back in her pursuit for meaty roles. Bette, on the other hand, received roaring acclaim. Her performance immediately thrust her into stardom and though not officially recognized, landed itself an honorary write-in nomination. The next year she went on to win for Dangerous — thought by many to be a consolation Oscar — and by 1939 had two Oscars under her belt after having only been in Hollywood for a little over eight years. While the 1930s certainly weren’t without obstacles for her, Davis certainly came out on top by the decade’s end, dethroning Kay Francis as the top female star at Warner Brothers. By the time her career finished, she’d scored a lifetime total of eleven nominations.
Bette Davis in 1932
Dangerous was the first instance where their paths crossed– albeit indirectly — for the first time. It happened by way of Davis’ costar Franchot Tone, then husband of Joan Crawford. Davis, by her own admission, fell in love with him during filming — but never was able to reap any benefits, since he was far too infatuated with his wife. Naturally, Davis was envious, and that envy was likely bolstered by the reputations that preceded both her and Crawford. It was one thing to be jealous of a man’s wife for having him, but an entirely different realm entirely when said wife was someone as impeccably gorgeous, glamorous and immaculate as Joan.
Bette and Franchot, as featured in the trailer for Dangerous (1935)
Joan, on the other hand, had always admired Bette greatly and spoke highly of her talents. She perceived her arrival at Warner’s in a totally different light: instead of viewing Bette as her adversary, she was more than eager — and honored — to finally be working alongside her in the same studio, very much in the same vein as how she viewed Garbo. By Bette’s account, she requested the dressing room adjacent to hers, and sent bouquets of roses upon her arrival as a generous display of admiration: taken none too kindly by the competitive Davis, who also viewed such a gesture as having “lesbian overtures.” The two unfortunately never produced a film together while at Warner’s, save for the community effort that was 1944’s Hollywood Canteen, when Joan was brand new to the studio.
While photographs prove their paths crossed at least once, no friendship or alliance ever grew between the women. At one point, they were both slated to headline a women’s prison picture — for a handful of reasons, including Bette’s reluctance to make a “dyke picture,” the opportunity was instead shelved. It was eventually made in 1950 with Eleanor Parker in the lead role, earning her an Oscar nomination in one of the most contentious Best Actress races in history: also up for the win were Gloria Swanson for Sunset Boulevard, Anne Baxter and Bette Davis both for All About Eve, and finally Judy Holliday, who won, for Born Yesterday.
Bette, actor Jean Hersholt, and Joan, pictured in 1944
That brings us back to the era of Sudden Fear and Torch Song, spanning the 1952 to 1953 period. As already mentioned, both women were in uncharted and unstable territory in regards to their careers, which had more-or-less been stable up until that very point. Joan made her final film with Warner Brothers in 1952, the very same year in which The Star was released. The favorable success she’d enjoyed after her Oscar winning performance as Mildred had at last died out, leaving her directionless. She was no longer in demand — the newest crop of stars included fresh faces such as Debbie Reynolds, who was sixteen years her junior. Despite garnering the Oscar nomination for Sudden Fear, Joan very much found herself at a career crossroads. Nearing her fifties, she was not only faced to come to terms with her aging — which she handled with grace — but also was supporting and providing for four children as a single parent.
While not rock bottom, it was certainly an unprecedented nadir for both women. Thus, the arrival of Torch Song and The Star — two vehicles that provided potential to resurrect their careers — both women went into said projects with renewed enthusiasm and drive. This was just one of many ways in which their lives mirrored one another, even if said mirrors were better explained as distorted projections occupying two different planes of reality. It is nearly impossible to adequately describe through words alone how great of a contradiction their lives were. How two people could simultaneously be so similar, yet so different at the same time to the point where it almost defies the very nature of logic itself, leaving one grappling aimlessly for some way to explain and encapsulate it.
Recall the character comparisons made earlier between Margaret, the ailing actress in The Star, and Jenny, the insufferable Broadway legend of Torch Song. Both women are very much exaggerated, unflattering caricatures of older women who are trying to desperately cling to their stardom through aggression and oft misplaced self-assuredness. In doing so, they ostracize those who were closest to them, and are then forced to confront the reality of the situation in order for the film to resolve and come to a close. Boiled down to a very basic summation, it’s uniquely a woman’s plight against fate and mortality, something that was raw, real, and more or less a new frontier in the age of film.
On the set of Torch Song
Characters like Jenny and Margaret grew up within and alongside show business — much like Crawford and Davis did, respectively. However, while the film industry continued to garner more acclaim for its growth and maturity, Davis and Crawford faced a threat specifically impervious to women. It was one thing for actors to age in the industry, but it was worse yet for actresses. Not only were they up against the clock in terms of their own mortality — both career and literal life — but against their youth and image as well. Glamour and beauty was what had sold them at the beginning of their careers: now, well into their 40s, both were fleeting and hard to maintain. There was little demand for aging women. It was often a cruel and merciless fight which only proved to be more difficult as time bore on.
Today’s climate is hardly better, though there has been marked improvement in the breadth and variety of roles available for older women that exist today. Older actresses now at least have the security of a career, whereas back in 1952, many of Crawford and Davis’ contemporaries had either already stopped making films (Garbo, Shearer) or were well on their way out. Both women were remarkable anomalies in the sense that they pushed their career far longer than most actresses, no doubt thanks to discipline, drive, and a desire to continually improve upon their craft. The older they grew, the harder they had to fight — not only for the role, but to prove themselves worthy and still capable of drawing an audience.
Still from The Star
It’s jarring how similar Margaret and Jenny are, especially when viewed through a lens that suggests both characters were not only based upon vapid and sexist stereotypes, but additionally fortified by Davis and Crawford. Both women took it a step further to transform an otherwise hollow leading role into an exaggerated vision of how they viewed the other. The result, of course, being two nearly identical domineering leads, both marked by streaks of generously contributed camp. Every emotion becomes a production, and even the home is a stage where both women can continue to exercise their outlandish behavior. Both performances were born from a pivotal point in both their careers, after both women had reached their zenith. Realistically, they likely knew it would be impossible to top their Oscar winning performances, particularly with the odds of the rapidly evolving film industry turning increasingly against them. Thus, both these films carried unprecedented weight and pressure — what once may have been perceived as an archetypal studio picture now possessed the power to make or break what was left of their careers. Enduring box office popularity in their prime had ensured that a flop (or many) was easily permissible — now was not the case.
The context of both Torch Song and The Star are both entirely reborn when one considers that critical period in which they were produced.. Much as light stumbles upon and illuminates hidden objects, these intricacies are unveiled one pauses to consider the sheer amount of both external and internal demands that plagued both women. Like riptides, these films are veiled by a deceptive sense of calm — yet beneath are storms born of violence, the result of too many powerful and conflicting currents converging at once. To examine each and every one would be impossible, but following a few ultimately reveals patterns of unexplored and unvoiced truths.
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