Bette and Joan The Divine Feud (24 page)
"She called across as I was passing," he said.
"Mister Sherry?" said Joan.
"Yes," said Bette's groom.
"I'm Joan Crawford and I wanted to meet you," said the star, taking his hand in hers. "I want you to come to my home, for dinner."
"Well, thank you, I'll tell Bette," Sherry replied.
"Oh, I don't want Bette," said Joan, "just you. Come
alone."
At home, when he relayed the message to his wife, she laughed. "Joan does that all the time," said Bette. "She always invites the husbands and not the wives."
"That struck me as kind of strange," said Sherry, "and I didn't go."
"Joan Crawford weeps openly
when the violinist at L'Aiglon
plays her favorite classical piece.
Lana Turner likes torch songs;
Rita Hayworth prefers gypsy
songs; and Hedy Lamarr likes
waltzes. But Bette Davis has the
strangest favorite of all.
Recently married, she wants to
hear 'Kiss me once again' before
she even looks at a menu—and
she asks for several repeats
during the evening."
—ELSA MAXWELL,
HOLLYWOOD, 1945
While the newlywed Bette was enjoying the physical and artistic charms of husband number three, Joan Crawford announced that
her
third marriage, to actor Philip Terry, was kaput. The breakup, in December 1945, irritated the fanzine writers who were preparing their annual update on the couple's happy marriage.
On their first anniversary,
Modern Screen
reported that Philip had given Joan an expensive wristwatch, decorated with rubies and diamonds, set at the exact hour she met her husband, but with no works inside. On their second anniversary, at Ciro's, Joan was all dolled out in prewar glamour—a white fox coat, a backless white dinner gown, and magnificent sapphire earrings—a gift from Phil, "who seems to have more confidence and a bigger chest expansion," said Sheilah Graham. On their third year of wedded bliss,
Photoplay
reported that Joan got more jewelry—a gold bracelet encrusted with Siberian amethysts and diamonds. The enclosed card read, "Dearest, This is the third step on our bridge you have built so well. Love you, forever and a day, Philip. July 21, 1945."
Eight months later the suspensions to the bridge began to snap. With Joan's comeback in
Mildred Pierce
secured, Philip's career had declined. Despite good reviews as the supportive brother of Ray Milland in
The Lost Weekend,
the actor found himself relegated to playing leads in such lightweight B pictures as
Torpedo Boat
with Jean Parker. He also made the mistake, it was said, of objecting to Joan's harsh discipline in raising their adopted children.
In
Mommie Dearest
daughter Christina told of the awkward position she was put in at age six, when during her parents' arguments she was forced to choose which movie, his or hers, they should watch on a Sunday evening. Christina, no dunce, picked Joan Crawford's and shortly thereafter, Philip Terry left home. He had been a nice man and Christina did miss him. But her mother did cruel things he couldn't seem to prevent. Like the time she tied the girl up in the shower with the door closed. And another time when "Mommie locked me in a linen closet with the lights off as a punishment."
"I have no recollection of any of that," said Philip Terry from his home in northern California in 1988. "It was a very long time ago."
"It's my house! My money! My kids! If you don't like the way I run things around here, then get the hell out," Christina distinctly remembers her mother saying, and the actor left—with bad timing. His departure from Joan's Brentwood mansion came two weeks before Christmas, upsetting her publicity plans for the family Christmas portraits.
"Yes, he's gone," she told Louella Parsons one hour after he abandoned her, "but, Louella dear, I am too upset to talk about it right now."
She spoke up in court, however. Mr. Terry had kept her a virtual prisoner and criticized every script that was sent to her, she told the judge, who granted the star a no-fault divorce because of the physical and mental anguish she endured. Leaving the courthouse, when asked if she ever intended to hear the wedding march again, Joan had a quick reply. "Maybe
that's
the trouble," she said pensively. "I never had any music at my weddings."
"The hottest, most popular girl
in Hollywood is Joan Crawford.
With her Oscar, her new hair-
do, her jewels and fabulous
wardrobe, she has all the wolves
in town howling."
—ED SULLIVAN
With the war over, and being a single girl again, Joan Crawford felt it was all right to throw a few gala parties in her home. Her reemergence as a popular hostess was enthusiastically hailed by Hedda Hopper. "Her parties were the best," said Hedda. "With Joan's flair for the dramatic she would make a production number of tea for two. She'd have gowns flown in from Hattie Carnegie in New York and spend two or three hours on her 'toilette.' When all the guests were assembled downstairs, you'd hear her voice at the head of the stairs, cooing to her dogs. And down she'd float—'Oh! Are you all here?—Do please forgive me.' When told how marvellous she looked she'd twirl her new gown and say: 'This? Oh, do you like it?'—as if it were a little thing she stitched up before dinner."
At Warner's, Joan proceeded to tackle Bette in a popularity campaign with the studio's employees. When she won the award for Best Actress, she gifted all the members of the
Mildred Pierce
crew with Oscar pins and money clips. She also wrote 127 notes of thanks to the rest of the studio's Academy members, assuming they had all voted for her.
When actress Viveca Lindfors arrived from Sweden, she recalled her first day at the studio. Making the rounds of the soundstages, she was introduced to Gary Cooper, then Bette Davis. "She came over to me and said 'Welcome,' with no competition, only generosity," said Viveca.
A visit to Joan Crawford's set was next, and Joan outdid Bette in her welcome. She told the talented newcomer she wanted to give her a party.
"A party for me?" Lindfors thought. "I was stunned, hoping secretly that she was kidding."
Joan never kidded about such serious social matters. A week later her secretary called Lindfors and said that the party would be the following Sunday afternoon at three-thirty, and that a limousine would be sent to pick her up. Having nothing to wear, Lindfors was told to go to wardrobe and borrow some clothes. She was outfitted with "a ghastly blue suit." On the day of the party a chauffeur arrived punctually at 3:30
P.M.
and drove the nervous young actress to Joan's home. A maid in black and white opened the door to the ivy-covered English Tudor mansion, and Viveca was shown to the outside garden, where she saw the pale blue-green pool and the enormous pink tent, installed for the occasion, "with individual tables laid all in pink for at least a hundred people." As the waiters rushed about, setting tables with candles and silver, the hostess appeared "out of the poolhouse like a goddess, exquisitely beautiful, with her white skin and red flaming full hair; dressed in a black chiffon dress and elegant satin shoes."
Lindfors said her stomach turned over at the sight of Joan. She felt dull in her dowdy suit. She wanted to run.
"Hundreds of people are coming to meet you," said Joan. And, one by one, they arrived. Spencer Tracy, Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant, Bob Young, Gary Cooper, Rex Harrison, Lilli Palmer, Jimmy Stewart, Betty Hutton, Claudette Colbert, Joan Bennett, Ida Lupino, Joan Blondell, Mike Todd, and a twenty-piece orchestra for dancing, with Tony Martin crooning in person.
After saying "How do you do?" for two hours, and feeling slow and ill at ease, Lindfors sought out Joan and said, "I want to go home."
"She looked at me with those enormous eyes of hers, bigger than Garbo's," said Lindfors, "and said 'Impossible! We are having supper in the tent in a few moments, and you are the guest of honor.'"
Enduring "a few more deaths," the actress stayed. Years later she said she could still not understand the situation. "Was it just a generous gesture by Joan? Or was it a clever move to give a party for a young Swedish star? Or maybe she was just looking for an excuse to give a party."
Two Queens on One Throne
"Let's Gossip:
There's a new First Lady out on
the Warner lot these days, and
she's really getting the red carpet
treatment. Name? Joan
Crawford. Since her comeback
all she has to do is ask and her
wishes are granted. She walked
off with the lead in
Humoresque,
right out under
Bette Davis' nose. Bette really
wanted that part!"
—MOTION PICTURE,
APRIL 1946
"Bad manners, Mr. Boray. The
infallible sign of talent."
—CRAWFORD TO JOHN
GARFIELD IN
HUMORESQUE
Advancing her popularity and success at Warner Brothers, in 1946 Joan Crawford appeared in a second Jerry Wald film. The script came from Clifford Odets, who two years earlier had worked on the life of George Gershwin for
Rhapsody in Blue.
Little of his material wound up in that biomusical, so producer Wald decided to combine his material with the theme and title of a previous Fannie Hurst best-seller,
Humoresque.
In preproduction, ethnic changes were requested by the front office. Sensitive "about putting the real Jew on the screen the way they put the Irish Catholic on the screen in
Going My Way
," Wald told his writer, Barney Glazer, to transform the main Fannie Hurst characters—a dominating "yiddisha momma" and her genius violinist-son ("an out-and-out little son of a bitch") to those of an Italian-American family living on the Lower East Side of New York. "In this outline I am going Italian," Glazer told Wald in an interoffice memo, "but do not blame me too much if the Jewish creeps in. It is more a choice between serving spaghetti or gefeulte fish; the ingredients I have to cook are Jewish, as Hurst and Odets contrived them."
A third lead, that of a bored Park Avenue patron of the arts who drinks and preys on young men, was added, making it "not only the old story of a pushy mother and an artistic devoted son, but the story of a mother, a son, and a dipsomaniac."
With John Garfield cast as the son, and Anne Revere set as the mother, the role of the alcoholic socialite who seduces the Italian prodigy was coveted by a few of the leading ladies at Warner's. "Barbara Stanwyck was preferred and Bette Davis was a possibility," said Garfield's biographer, Larry Swindell, "but then Joan Crawford established her interest in the role and that was that."
Joan saw the character not as an alcoholic nymphomaniac but as "a woman with too much time on her hands and too much love in her heart." Nor did she mind if the part was small, "as long as it was strong, and the billing was large (and first)." Her wardrobe of twenty-five lavish gowns would be designed by her old M-G-M couturier, Adrian; for research on her character's extensive drinking, Joan said she intended to study some of her friends. "I won't be any competition for Ray Milland [in
The Lost Weekend],"
she told columnist Harrison Carroll. "This girl is a nipper. She drinks for security. She doesn't like to face herself when she's sober. I am borrowing some things from a couple of girls I've observed."
"What a humble, sweet person she is," said director Jean Negulesco on day one of production. "It's just like this is her first picture."
John Garfield was not as cordial in his introduction to Joan. The talented but moody young actor was a good friend of Bette Davis. They had worked together on one of his first Warner films,
Juarez,
in which he played a "Mexican schlemiel," and later the two were close buddies, "both swearing like sailors," when they ran the Hollywood Canteen. When Bette heard that Garfield was going to work with her rival, Crawford, she coached him on how to behave with the star. "She thinks she's a real big deal," said Bette, "so treat her accordingly."
"So you're Joan Crawford, the big movie star," said Garfield upon meeting Joan, who held out her hand in introduction. "Glad to meet ya," said Garfield, ignoring the hand and pinching her breast.
"Why you insolent son of a ... ,If Joan began, then stopped and smiled. "I think we're going to get along just fine," she said, dropping her voice two octaves.
Robbie Garfield, the actor's wife, told
Modern Screen
she wasn't jealous of Bette Davis, Ida Lupino, or Lana Turner, who had recently worked with her good-looking husband on the steamy James M. Cain movie,
The Postman Always Rings Twice.
"Only one actress worrries me," said Mrs. Garfield, "and that's Joan Crawford. To me she is the most exciting woman I've ever seen. For a man to work with Crawford all day—and come home to plain me at night—must be an awful let-down."
To alleviate Mrs. Garfield's fears, Bette Davis called and assured her that Johnny had no interest in "that mannequin from M-G-M" (as she still referred to Joan); for safety, she would be on the Warner's lot to keep an eagle eye on the working pair. But Crawford soon won over both her costar and his wife. When she learned that Mrs. Garfield was having problems decorating her new California home, Joan sent her friend Billy Haines to help with the furniture and drapes, and she picked up the tab for his fee.
On the set, Joan also endeared herself to her costar, by insisting that two of Garfield's big scenes be reshot with more favorable lighting for the actor. "I wasn't being generous, believe me," said Joan. "In the Carnegie Hall scene, they were supposed to cut from the close-ups of my face and eyes to a full shot of Garfield playing onstage. My lighting, thanks to Ernie Haller, was wonderful, but the frames of Mr. Garfield were not as dramatic. He looked like just another member of the orchestra standing onstage, playing his violin. In the editing, the dramatic balance wasn't there. I suggested they black out the entire orchestra, giving the illusion he was alone onstage. Then they should close in to a tight shot of his upper body, and his face, as he played. When they intercut the new shots with mine, it worked much better. In the dubbing, they also raised the level of the music, which intensified the power and the attraction between the two characters."
After that Garfield became Joan's number-one fan, describing her to one reporter as "a smart tomato." She told Louella that upon completing a sweater for director Jean Negulesco, she would begin to knit something in yellow for Johnny. When Joan became ill and returned to the set after a week's leave, Garfield went to her dressing room and welcomed her back with a kiss, in front of the unit's publicity photographers. She also showed her serious side to the talented actor. Having been married to a founding member of the company, Joan told Garfield that she had some knowledge of his Group Theater training. She drew him out further on his dramatic techniques and theories. He showed her his copy of the newly translated Stanislavski handbook,
An Actor Prepares,
which inspired Joan to go out and buy six copies, one of which she gave to Bette Davis' close friend Olivia de Havilland. "When Olivia later won an Oscar, Joan was pleased," said Sheilah Graham.
Bette and John Garfield
Joan and "Johnny" Garfield
One weekend Joan invited Johnny to play tennis at her club in Beverly Hills. It was here that a friend of Bette's came across the couple leaving one of the private courts, late on a Saturday night. Crawford looked fresh and spry, but Garfield was beat and wilted. "I was giving Johnny a lesson," said a jolly Joan. "Without a tennis racket?" the friend asked with scorn, before dashing off to the nearest phone to advise Bette.
"Oh, Johnny, not you
too,"
said Bette when she cornered Garfield the next day at the studio, and her friendship with the actor cooled considerably after that.
And then there was the tale told often by Rosalind Russell. Not long after, she and Davis were on the Super Chief, bound for New York, when it stopped in Pasadena to pick up more passengers. Spotting a familiar face boarding the train, Bette rushed into Russell's compartment. "Guess who just got on the train?" she gasped. "The cocksucker! Joan Crawford."
"The hottest feud to hit these
parts since they thought up
'Technicolor, is the one between
Joan Crawford and Bette Davis
at Warner Brothers. Since Joan's
Oscar victory for
Mildred
Pierce,
she's been getting pretty
much of anything she wants at
the studio. All of which leaves
Davis sizzling."
—MOTION PICTURE,
MAY 1946
Crawford, now referred to by Davis as "that whore from M-G-M," would soon forfeit her cameraman on
Humoresque.
Returning to Warner's for her next film,
Deception,
and brandishing her royal prerogative, Bette demanded that Ernest Haller, Crawford's cinematographer, be removed from
Humoresque
and assigned to her. "There was a terrible row," said
Deception
director Irving Rapper. "I wanted to use our usual cameraman, Sol Polito, who had worked on Bette's last two pictures, but she insisted on Haller."
"I was not as young anymore," said Bette. "Thirty-nine, to be exact, and I needed special lighting."
It was sheer spite, said Joan. "Ernie had worked with me on
Mildred Pierce,
and again on
Humoresque.
When she heard of the wonderful work he was doing with me on
Humoresque,
she said she wanted him too, right away. She went to Jack Warner about it, and Ernie was asked if he could work on both pictures. It put a terrible strain on him, but Bette didn't care. In her contract she had a clause that said she could preempt any role, or avail herself of cast or crew member. And certainly if that entailed making my work suffer, she would do it."
The dueling of the divas continued throughout the filming. In her dressing room, between scenes on
Humoresque,
to sustain the mood of her tragic character, Crawford had been in the habit of playing classical records by Isaac Stem. Her reverie was abruptly shattered one day when Bette, next door, began playing loud boogie-woogie records on her machine. The "war of the Victrolas went on for days, giving everyone a headache," said
Humoresque
costar Oscar Levant, until one afternoon, when both stars were on the set, someone (rumored to be Levant) sneaked into their trailers and cut the wires to their machines.
In
Deception,
Bette would also try to compete with Joan on looks and wardrobe. Playing a New York classical pianist kept by a rich man, Davis had a wardrobe designed by Bernard Newman. She had fifteen costume changes, with "the addition of a sable cape, a fully let-out mink, and a floor-length white ermine evening coat." Her hairstyles—"a casual bob and a sophisticated hair-parted-in-the-middle-with-a-chignon-at-the-nape coiffure"—were designed by Maggie Donovan.
Deception
was conceived as a romantic drama to reunite the three stars of
Now Voyager
with the same director, Irving Rapper. Bette as a serious pianist did her usual thorough research. She learned how to play each classical piece and she insisted on recording some of her piano solos, which weren't used. Paul Henreid, adept at lighting two cigarettes at once in
Now Voyager,
was a clod as a cellist in
Deception.
"His efforts were so crude and hopeless we had to tie his hands behind his back," said Rapper. "Then two hands belonging to a professional instrumentalist came out from behind him and played." The shot took hours to complete, because Henreid couldn't keep from bobbing his head or raising his eyebrows in what he considered to be "artistic timing."