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For years, they remained two ships in the night, sailing silently by one another in trajectories that practically mirrored the other’s. One, a dancer turned actress by way of Texas, and the other a Broadway refugee who enjoyed a liberal upbringing in New England. The two women couldn’t be any more different — or more alike.
The paths of Joan Crawford and Bette Davis finally converged in 1962, long past the golden years of their careers: the intrigue was a little low budget vehicle entitled Whatever Happened To Baby Jane? Little did both women know that the film would go on to achieve critical success and become a camp classic that forever espoused their names and legacies. It also birthed a legendary rivalry that grew to epic proportions thanks to heavy embellishment from surrounding parties and the media. Much has already been written about the feud, and much more could still be said: it is a fascinating tangle of truth and fiction, of pretense and vantage. While it is intriguing and certainly relevant to the lives of both women, it will remain only an overarching film in this study. I don’t seek to answer questions, but rather to provoke thought and encourage the reader to explore the roots that lay hidden beneath the surface.
Davis and Crawford in publicity for Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962)
This feud, though often embellished to the point of fictionalization, did manage to capitalize on one theme which will lend itself a great importance to this series. At every given opportunity, both Crawford and Davis — as well as the press, naturally — took it upon themselves to define themselves, often strictly by means of contrasting their behavior. Joan maintained vehemently that Bette was the aggressive one on set, while, on her own account she “sat knitting a scarf from [here] to Malibu.” Bette, on the other hand, claimed very much the opposite, citing Joan as the difficult one “reluctant to give up her makeup and nails,” thus painting herself as a compliant and earthy individual by comparison. There are several points upon which they both agreed, interestingly enough: one, that both were professional and timely; and two, that Joan was far more glamorous than Bette, both onscreen and off. The latter statement draws a stark divide between the two, which is exactly what they would have wanted: in no way did they want to acknowledge any such similarities. They also adopted quite different attitudes toward each other: while Joan continued to admire and praise Bette, Bette’s hostility only continued to grow — thanks, in part, to the controversy surrounding the 1963 Oscars — a very important marking in the timeline of the feud. While momentous, it was hardly the start — or the end — of what would emerge a lifelong entanglement. In fact, it all begins long before both women would ever be aware of the other’s existence, back when stardom was something inconceivable and intangible to both.
I intend to use this introduction as the preface of a series of writings exploring the similarities and differences between Joan and Bette, drawing upon certain moments in their lives, selected films, and other shared experiences in order to paint and provide a thorough and nuanced examination of the extraordinary relationship they shared. In these reflections, I hope to uncover and touch upon some of the lesser examined parallels and junctions in the lives of both women. It is a project I am undertaking to further expand upon their legacies, driven and fueled by my own passion and admiration.
The similarities begin practically from the womb, Joan was born Lucille Fay LeSueur on March 23rd, 1906* in San Antonio, Texas. Two years later Ruth Elizabeth Davis made her debut on April 5th, 1908 in Lowell, Massachusetts. Both women were Aries, and both often brought up the fact when describing their personalities. Aries, the cardinal fire sign, is known for being headstrong, temperamental and driven; full of drive, energy, and a lust for life. Little Lucille — otherwise known as Billie– and Bette fit the description to a T. Both women would even go on to frequently reference how aligned they felt with their zodiac sign, even at times bringing up the other as a reference point. “We were both Aries women,” Bette writes of Joan in The Lonely Life, musing over the shortcomings of their love lives. Certainly they were, each with four marriages to prove it.
Both girls enjoyed early exposure to the dramatics of theatre. Billie’s introduction was by way of her stepfather, Henry Cassin, who ran the local drama troupe where they lived in Lawton, Oklahoma. She often watched the performers from the sidelines and eventually convinced Henry to let her stage her own little performances in her backyard. There, on her first stage — and one of the only ones she ever graced — Billie sang, danced, and acted for her local community. Despite her obvious fervor for the arts her ambitions continued to be ignored in favor of her brother, Hal, who was the favorite child. At the age of six, she jumped off her porch and landed on a piece of glass, severing a tendon in her foot. She was never expected to walk again, but defied the odds by stubbornly refusing to stay in bed. She developed a newfound gratitude and appreciation for movement, and before long dancing eclipsed both singing and acting as her dream career trajectory.
Lucille Fay LeSueur as a little girl, circa 1910
Bette also had her first dalliance with theatrics when she was young, taking an instant liking to as a little girl. While attending the Crestalban school as a little girl, she made her first big break by way of playing Santa Claus. Bette transformed was originally a mundane role into a suspenseful affair when she accidentally set her beard on fire, and then, in turn, pretended to be blind. The affair only grew from there, reaching a fever pitch when she went into Boston one day to see a production of The Wild Duck. Peg Entwistle played the leading role, Hedvig, and Bette writes of how that particular experience was what ultimately persuaded her to pursue acting. Of the experience, she wrote, “ It seemed as though everything in my life fell into place and I was in focus for the first time. There had been a glimmer here and there; but this was the vision … I knew now that more than anything—despite anything—I was going to become an actress.“ She would go on later to play that very same role with which she so strongly identified, marking the first rung on the ladder she’d go on to climb in order to reach her dream of being a famous, established actress.
Ruth Elizabeth “Bette” Davis as a young girl
The parallels that followed were startling: Billie had her entire world shattered when Henry left the family without so much as a word or warning, thanks to surreptitious money laundering. His absence marked the second father figure that young Billie had lost and thrust her into a deep, long depression. The rest of her childhood — if one could even call it that — was one of an unhappy nomad, following her mother before eventually taking up grueling labor at various Kansas City schools and convents. Bette was also abandoned by her father — when she was seven he took off without another word. While he remained in contact with the family through occasional correspondence, he never returned to the family. Bette took it rather nonchalantly, whereas sister Bobby was the one who was devastated by the loss. Like Billie, Bette also embarked on a transient life — she moved around Massachusetts and even to New York City at one point while her mother pursued photography as a means to provide for the family.
Ostensibly there were also myriad differences between both girls in regards to their formative years. Bette enjoyed the luxury of having a fine education, studying under John Murray Anderson in New York for acting before later graduating from Cushing Academy in her home state of Massachusetts. Joan, on the contrary, never made it past the fifth grade — and while she did manage to gain admittance to Stephens College, she struggled to keep up with the pacing and had a dreadful time fitting in with the other students. Even with the support of headmaster James “Daddy” Wood, Joan ultimately ended up leaving, returning temporarily back to Kansas City before setting off to pursue her dream of becoming a dancer. This journey took her to Chicago where she fought tooth and nail for work, eventually landing gigs in the general midwestern before opportunity brought her to New York in 1924. The opportunity in question was a chorus dancer role for the renowned J.J. Shubert, who noticed her talents during a show in Detroit*. She made her debut on Broadway in Innocent Eyes, and was later discovered by MGM scouts during another Shubert production. The result landed in a screen test, and eventual career offer that came her way Christmas of 1924. She set off the very first day of 1925 for LA, beginning what was to become a momentous and lucrative career, rivaled in length and notoriety only by one other actress — who, at the time, was just graduating from high school without a set future in mind.
Joan, then still known as Lucille LeSueur, as she appeared in Innocent Eyes, 1924.
Once this bright, young girl — none other than Bette Davis — had made up her mind for certain that she wanted to be an actress, the gears were quickly set in motion. Despite a handful of rebuffs, she assiduously sought out auditions before finally landing her first notable gig in Rochester with George Cukor, who was also none too impressed by her talents. It was enough of an opportunity, however, to birth a career: and from Rochester, Davis went on to perform in Cape Cod, Boston, and Philadelphia before finally achieving her first Broadway role in 1929, in a production titled Broken Dishes. While she enjoyed moderate success on stage, she knew the real money and work was to be had in film. Thus, she ventured out to California in 1930 with Ruthie and Bobby in tow in order to make a screen test for Universal pictures. Much like her first ventures with the theatre, she found little success. Her first screen test proved to be a failure, but the studio kept her on anyway for menial work.
Bette’s Broadway debut in Broken Dishes, 1929.
Both Joan and Bette labored for several years before landing their big breaks — Joan’s coming easier than Bette’s by way of Our Dancing Daughters. In the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald himself, she “ [was] doubtless the best example of the flapper, the girl you see in smart night clubs, gowned to the apex of sophistication, toying iced glasses with a remote, faintly bitter expression, dancing deliciously, laughing a great deal, with wide, hurt eyes. Young things with a talent for living.” Bette’s was not a direct nor steady climb upward, but her iron will paid off when she burst onto the scene with her rapturous performance in 1934’s Of Human Bondage, achieving critical acclaim. As Bette began her slow conquest of the screen, Joan was enjoying what would ultimately be her last few years of success before her momentum at MGM began to falter. While still in their separate orbits, their paths would soon cross for the first time — thanks to a man by the name of Franchot Tone.
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