Original subtitles

And if it weren't... If... Now, if I weren't

- in this chair... - Oh, Miss Crawford, I'm so excited!

I'm going to be playing your neighbor right next door.

So close.

Can I please have your autograph?

It's for my grandmother. She's loved you since she was a kid.

Thanks.

Wow.

Sometimes you need to hit it square in the jaw.

You know, Bob, I was thinking.

We need to pack the bags of the girl next door.

She's moving out.

Wh... Oh, Joan, I-I don't have time to recast.

We're shooting tomorrow.

I have co-star approval.

She's not a co-star.

That's right.

And she never will be.

What?

You wanted to see me?

Yeah. Forget the little daily gifts, Lucille.

I'm going to be much too busy working to shop for anything in return.

Whatever you say. Only let's not fight.

We have to support each other, Bette.

I'm worried our director isn't taking care of us,

so we have to take care of each other.

What the hell does that mean?

You're the one that hired the goddamn director.

I'm going to be blunt, Bette.

Aldrich is a lady-killer.

He likes young blondes.

The cookie that's playing the neighbor.

I saw her. She's no threat.

Well, not now, of course.

But what happens when he starts sleeping with her?

Suddenly she has more lines and scenes than you do.

Now, I've asked him to replace her with someone less showy,

less likely to pull focus,

but he refused.

Course, you have more scenes with her than I do, so...

perhaps I'm being out of line.

You know, Bette,

I just wanted to say...

I think what you're doing with this part

is incredibly brave.

Bette?

Bette, where are you going?

Your big scene's up next.

I'm going home sick, Bob.

You don't look sick.

I am. I'm sick to my stomach because of you.

I thought you wanted to work with Crawford and me

because you respected us.

Because you wanted our opinions. But clearly, you don't.

And that just makes me want to vomit.

What are you talking about?

Crawford wants that woman that's playing the neighbor gone,

and I have to agree.

You're casting with the wrong head, Bob.

She's not an actress,

she's not going to elevate the material.

I mean, look at her.

Her audition was wonderful.

I want her gone.

I won't do it.

Then I'm going home sick.

I forgot my purse.

Goddamn it!

- sync and corrections by Mr. C - - www.addic7ed.com -

I think I'm alright. Is that a mirror? Thank you.

- You're in my light, honey. - Oh.

Did you see that... What was it? Coming Home?

Mm-hmm, yeah.

Some kind of Vietnam War thing. Oh, God.

Talk to me about the origins of the feud.

Hell, those two?

They didn't actually need a reason to hate each other.

It was chemical.

But things didn't start to boil over until the '40s...

when they were in their 40s.

Bette's star was rising at Warner's,

and over at MGM, Joan's was starting to dim.

Cut!

I'm sorry.

Can someone ask an executive

to come down to the stage, please?

I'm so confused.

We... We're on our honeymoon.

We're recruited by the British Secret Service

to stop the Nazis. Right?

Does this make sense to anyone?

Can someone explain it to me?

Now that Garbo and Shearer had packed it in,

Joan wanted roles with dignity.

She'd had it up to here

with the slatterns and shopgirl roles

that had made her a star.

She fought tooth and nail for the role of Marie Curie.

Listen, Louis.

Either I play that egghead dame,

or I walk.

Then I suggest you start walking.

Two weeks later, Joan signed with Warner's.

Thank you, Daddy.

Oh, come on, Joan.

Let's cut the "Daddy" shit, all right?

Might have worked for that fat fuck over at MGM,

but you're working for me now.

Tchin tchin.

Warner picked up the former MGM glamour girl

at closeout, everything must go bargain-basement rates.

And he still thought he was paying too much.

Cancel my appointments for the rest of the afternoon.

Warner brought Crawford in for one reason:

to use as a cudgel against his problem child, Bette Davis.

Bette was the undisputed

queen of the lot...

playing one Oscar-nominated role after another.

Addie.

She was difficult. Expensive.

- Addie, quick. - And far too powerful,

especially for a woman.

Joan was Jack's message to Bette:

You're not the only bitch in the kennel.

And Joan wasn't too proud to take Bette's scraps.

You've never spoken of your people.

Who you came from.

Maybe that's why Father...

Wasn't long

before she found her comeback role.

A role that Bette never would have passed on

had she realized it was Oscar-worthy material.

What?

Sir, Bette Davis is here.

She's demanding to see you.

Shit.

I know what you're doing, Jack,

giving Crawford all my roles to control me,

make me insecure.

You said you were offended that I offered it to you.

I didn't want to play the mother of a teenager.

All right, well, then, there's a lesson in all this,

isn't there, chickie?

Next time, you got to fucking trust big daddy.

But aren't you even just a little excited

about that pip of a script I sent you?

Where I play a neglected wife in a black fright wig

who tries to abort her child by throwing herself down a hill

and then dies?

Fine. Don't do it.

Crawford loves it.

If you'll excuse me,

- I'm late for my lunch now. - Let me guess, Lana Turner?

Nope.

- Judy Garland? - Nope.

Ava Gardner?

Joan Crawford.

Poor Bette.

While Joan now got the best parts

for women of a certain age, it was Bette

who had to play the shopgirls and the slatterns.

What a dump.

And it was Jack Warner who, through it all,

made millions off both of them.

And probably always would.

Ain't that just the way?

Oh, there's my star.

I hate the breakfast scene.

- I love that scene. - Too much exposition.

No, she's rubbing Blanche's nose in it.

She stole her limelight. You got to use that underneath.

I don't need subtext, Bob, I need good text.

Bette, it's today's work, it's a good scene,

and Joan likes it.

I never said that.

I agree with Bette.

The writing doesn't begin to capture

how women get under each other's skin.

The intent is there,

but the execution is lackluster.

You work on that, Bob.

See what you can do.

We'll anxiously be awaiting a rewrite.

How do you like that... "anxiously" awaiting?

Isn't that a pretty picture?

They're finally getting along.

Yeah, and to think only last week

they were wishing each other dead.

Bette is just amazing.

Oh, she's going to win all the awards this year.

Hedda.

Are you two gals really getting along together?

Come on, you can tell Hedda.

Hedda, we told you before,

we're getting on like a house on fire.

I haven't seen this much shit since my last bowel movement.

What year was that?

1932.

You know the good thing about scotch, Bob,

is it only gets better when it ages.

Broads...

they just get sour.

So I hear that these two bitches are

really busting your balls, huh, Bobby?

Aw, typical stuff, you know.

Bette's always fighting me for another close-up,

Joan's always fighting me to take it out.

But they're burning up the screen, Jack.

You should have paired them years ago.

No, thanks.

Two world wars were enough.

But there's something I want to talk to you about, Bobby.

The front office tells me that you're behind schedule,

and I don't like that.

Well, j-just by one day. We just started.

- I'll make it up. - Okay.

And also, I'm not gonna release the picture

the way I said I would.

I'm gonna open it bigger.

The way no one's ever done before.

A wide release. 400 screens.

Ha ha!

Did I get you? I got you!

- Oh, you got me. - I got you.

400? Are you crazy? What... why?

Why? 'Cause you're right.

They're burning up the screen together.

Bobby, their scenes are fucking electric.

They are fucking electric!

And let's face it, after Psycho,

horror's the future, and we got it.

Okay, now here's what we got to do.

There's got to be buzz.

Yeah, yeah, we can keep the publicity machine going.

I'll give your PR people full access to the set.

No, no, no, there's got to be more than that, bubbie.

You got to keep 'em at each other's throats.

You have to.

I'll make sure their names are in the papers.

That's not a problem.

But if you do this, you'll be able to

write your own ticket in this town.

L'chaim, bubbeleh.

Well done, Bobby. Come on!

Let's go see what they're doing.

It's not just about morale,

it's also about respect... I've lost both.

Ever since I fired that tomato

who was playing the neighbor girl,

the whole crew knows that I was pushed into it.

The whole crew knows Crawford and Davis

are running the show... they double-teamed me.

I'm telling you, Harriet, Jack Palance and Lee Marvin

would have never pulled this shit.

Yeah, they don't have to. They're men.

Yeah, well, that makes them half as cunning

and nowhere near as ruthless.

I'd think you'd be happy

that both your stars are getting along.

Yeah, they're not getting along.

They're just teaming up.

It's like the Hitler/Stalin pact.

You know, maybe Warner's got the right idea.

He wants to leak some dirt to the gossip columns, you know,

get a little catfight going.

Bob, that's terrible.

Well, it could get a lot of pre-release publicity that way.

Anyway, pitting them against each other

might be just the way to control them.

Bob, don't you dare. It's too cruel.

They need to feel secure and supported.

But not by each other. I can support 'em both.

Well, don't fool yourself.

Even you're not man enough to satisfy two women.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Why don't you ask your little strudel, Gretchen?

Harriet, where are you getting this from?

Gossip on a set is poison, Bob,

and spreads fast.

It's a small town,

and everybody finds out everything.

Even your wife.

Well, it's bullshit.

Maybe, but it hurts just the same.

And you should consider that

before you start spreading gossip of your own.

Hi, Bill.

Oh, Roger, hi.

Nancy, you look beautiful.

Barbara, how are you?

Hello, Bob.

And let me just say again

what a thrill it is for me to be directing

these two legends of the screen.

Mm. Really, Bob?

- That's it? - That's it.

I'll leave it up to you to spruce up the adjectives.

Oh, I think you've got me confused

with Adela Rogers St. Johns.

I came here for red meat, not pabulum.

No one wants to read about how those two battle-axes

make nice with each other.

Well, what can I tell you, Hedda?

They're both consummate professionals.

You know who you remind me of?

Not John Ford.

Now, there's a man who commands

not only a movie set,

but his own press.

He knows how to play the game.

Which is why he's as vital now

as he was before talkies.

Where are you, Bob? Three bombs.

You want to go back to directing television?

This picture could make you relevant again.

I have too much dignity to get into the gutter with you, Hedda.

Well, I hope dignity

pays your gas bill.

All right, wait, wait.

I might have something, but you didn't hear it from me.

Blind item, my specialty.

Well, it...

This is about... Crawford's tits.

- Oh, I'm all ears. - Well, that's just it.

Crawford's all tits.

Davis has been complaining that they're too perky.

Perky?

Fake.

- She wears falsies? - Yeah.

You know, Davis is a real artist.

She says she can't play to them.

And she says she's scared of falling onto them

in the beach scene because she thinks she'll chip a tooth.

- Ha! Says those things are hard as rocks.

Oh, that's great.

Yeah.

"Chip a tooth."

Yeah, that's great.

Miss Crawford...

Miss Crawford, do you have any response

to the comments made by Miss Davis in Hopper's column?

Oh, I certainly do,

but nothing I'd let my children read

in a family newspaper.

All right, Blanche Hudson,

Miss Big Fat Movie Star!

Miss Rotten Stinking Actress!

- Bob, I have to talk to you. - What?

- Cut! I'm in the middle - of a fucking take!

- What is it? - Have you seen

Hedda's column this morning?

- Oh, for Christ's sake! - Okay, take a break, everybody.

No, I haven't. Why, does she mention us?

Us? Oh, no, no.

Not us. Me? Yes.

Would you like me to read it to you?

"The woman is crazy.

"I always suspected she had a false front,

"and now I know for sure.

And they're 34 double Ds."

Are you going to let her get away with this?

Get away with what? I said no such thing.

Joan, I'm sure Bette's comments

were taken out of context.

Who gives a shit, Lucille?

Everybody knows you pad your bra.

You've been doing it for years.

Bob, will you please tell Miss Davis

that I will sue her

if she continues to make comments

that are injurious

to my ability to earn a living.

Ha! Earn a living?

Every time you belch, Pepsi gives you ten grand.

How dare you mention Pepsi!

Unlike you, it's good and pure.

It's pure, all right. Pure vodka!

Betty, Joan, come on, ladies, please.

Let's just...

She's jealous of me.

She has always been so jealous of me.

Joanie, who wouldn't be? Look at you.

You're beautiful, talented.

You're a legend.

And I understand that you're upset.

But put all that passion, all that anger

into your performance.

Forget about her. Forget her.

Listen to me.

I am the only opinion that matters.

Oh!

I'll make you proud of me,

I promise.

Years later, when I heard what was going on,

I was furious.

I mean, at the time, we didn't know

that these two great screen legends, friends of ours,

were being manipulated so cruelly by the men around them.

Well, not that we could've done anything about it.

You know how much power women had back then?

zippo.

Well, you have to remember,

this was before the modern women's lib movement.

Which I admire very much, by the way.

Me, too.

But imagine a studio today

tried to pit Miss Jane Fonda against Miss Dyan Cannon.

I mean, the girls would revolt.

Oh, horseshit.

Nothing's changed.

No matter how liberated, women'll do

what they always do when they're cornered:

eat their own and pick their teeth with the bones.

Louella, darling.

Joan here.

Listen, I'm calling about the article Hedda wrote today.

I have a rebuttal.

No, but for you.

Are you writing it down?

Good.

Miss Davis looks old enough to be my mother.

One look at her face and you'd think

she hasn't had a happy day, or night, in her life.

Yes, you can quote me.

I'm counting on it.

Miss Davis, care to comment on the fact

that Miss Crawford says you look old enough to be her mother?

What's your name, sweetheart?

Sylvia.

Fuck off, Sylvia.

Oh! Come on.

Go to my room and read a goddamn book.

Come in.

Let's have a little talk.

I'd love that.

Although I know you prefer chewing the fat

with gossip columnists.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Louella Parsons, today.

You're quoted on the record, Lucille.

Oh, yes. That.

Let me just cut through the movie star bullshit

you cling to when the waters get too deep for you to stay afloat

and explain something to you.

I can't wait to hear.

You seem to have forgotten that the unflattering makeup

I'm wearing in this picture is a choice

designed to create a character. I'm not interested

in vanity, I'm not interested in gossip.

I'm interested in the work.

That's what I want to do, so I suggest you stop

fitting in calls to Parsons between your morning coffee

and taking a shit of butterflies and moonbeams

and whatever else comes flying out of your ass.

If you don't, it's your funeral.

Are you threatening me?

You'll kill me?

Worse. I'm gonna steal this picture right out

from under your nose and you know I can do it.

I am doing it.

Says who?

The crew, the director.

Everybody.

Mr. Aldrich says he loves my performance.

Interesting.

After all those years, I'm still in this chair.

Doesn't that give you some kind of responsibility?

Jane, I'm just trying to explain how things really are.

This is fantastic footage, Bob.

It's fantastic.

I-I mean, you can literally feel the hate

steaming off the screen. It's... It...

Are you sure it's not the acting you're responding to?

Uh, Hank, turn the sound down.

What, are you kidding me? There's so much ham up there

I'm gonna have to go to my rabbi this afternoon and atone.

No! I'm talking about what's underneath

all that scene chewing.

Pure, naked rancor.

I love it. I want more.

- More? - Yeah.

Come here, come here.

You've got to make each one think

- that you like the other one more. - Oh, Jesus, Jack.

The atmosphere on set's frosty enough as it is.

You sure you want me to stir that pot?

What are you, red all of a sudden?

You got something against capitalism? Huh?

Look, Bob, come here, look.

What we're looking at right there

is a raw display of the free market.

That's vigorous competition.

That's the American way.

The more that they despise each other,

the more that each one tries to crush

the other one,

the better they get!

But they're already good.

No, they're great. Great, but they can be greater still.

Do you think that Wellington was such a hot general?

He wasn't. He was a piker,

until he had to go up against Napoleon.

And why?

Because he hated Napoleon's guts.

He hated him.

It was his hatred that made him great.

Jack, that was war.

So is this.

Turn it up!

You wouldn't do all these awful things to me

if I weren't still in this chair.

Ha! Look at that, look at that!

But you are, Blanche.

You are in that chair.

- Cut. - Fantastic.

Fantastic, Bob.

- Bob, sorry I'm late. - Two hours late, Bette.

You asked me to be here at noon and on a Saturday.

It's unforgivable, I know. I overslept.

I... I was in a panic last night, I had a drink.

I...

This week has been murder for me.

Yeah, it's been tough on everybody.

I have no idea

if what I'm doing is working at all.

Is it a brave choice,

or is it just in reaction to her?

She infuriates me,

I just want to smother her with my performance.

And Jane wants to smother Blanche. It's perfect.

Is it?

I don't want to end up a joke, Bob.

I feel I need to get control,

and I don't know if I can do that

when I'm seeing red all the time.

Maybe I should invite her to dinner.

No. No.

No, no, no.

You know, there's such a thing as alchemy, Bette.

You don't mess with alchemy.

My advice, you just keep doing what you're doing.

Muscle out the next few weeks.

Stay in your own lane,

because that road is gonna get you to your next Oscar.

Trust me.

I do trust you.

You won't let me look ridiculous.

Of course not.

All right, let's look at the scene.

"I've Written a Letter to Daddy,"

frankly, scares the shit out of me.

I'm not a singer, never was.

Oh, come on, Bette, you sang with the U.S.O.

That's why I want you to perform the number live, on the set.

You just said you wouldn't let me look ridiculous.

And I won't, but it's all about the pathos, Bette. The loss.

Jane just wants to be that adored

eight-year-old girl again.

It's her selling the number, not you.

Come on.

Why don't we give it a whirl, huh?

Come on.

♪ I've written a letter to Daddy. ♪

- No, you don't need that. You know the words. - Ugh...

You need your hands,

Jane is open.

Big, theatrical gestures.

Remember, she's vaudeville.

♪ I've... ♪

♪ I've written a letter to Daddy ♪

♪ His address ♪

♪ Is heaven above ♪

♪ I've written "Dear Daddy, we miss you" ♪

♪ And wish you were here with us to love ♪

♪ Instead of a stamp I put kisses ♪

♪ The postman says that's best to do ♪

♪ I'm writing a letter to Daddy ♪

♪ Saying ♪

♪ "I love you." ♪

You got plans for dinner?

I feel like I owe you something

for having you cool your heels all morning.

I promised Harriet I'd take her to Perino's.

Bring her.

I want you to take all the costumes

and just lay them out in the dressing room

and that way, I can go through them and determine which...

I said, okay, how about...

The crew is abuzz.

About my performance?

About their relationship.

Apparently, they've been working

on her scenes all weekend long.

So, you like the tie?

Mm. I do.

Hello?

Hmm?

It's Joan Crawford.

Joan?

It's fucking midnight.

Bob, he left me.

Who?

Peter.

Oh, we had a terrible row.

He said this picture meant more to me than he did and he left.

He was drunk.

Oh, God.

I have to quit the picture, Bob. I can't continue.

A-All right, uh, j-just, just give me a few.

I'll put, I'll throw some clothes on. I'll be right over.

- You promise? - Yeah, yeah, I promise.

Okay.

Who is it? Who's there?

Who the hell do you think it is, Joan?

It's Bob, you called me here.

Oh, Bob. No, I thought for a moment

maybe Peter had come home.

Yeah, I'm sorry about Peter, Joan.

You know what I'm sorry about?

I'm sorry I gave up a wonderful relationship with a man

who truly cherished me, a doctor no less,

for you and this picture.

Really, it's just too much.

What are you talking about?

You know goddamn well

what I'm talking about.

You and Davis, cavorting behind my back.

- Oh, you're being ridiculous. - Am I?

Weekend rehearsals my ass.

How long have you been sleeping with her?

I'm not sleeping with her.

I won't be made a fool of.

I'm out, but don't worry,

I won't stand in your way.

I'm sure Warner will let you recast.

We're not recasting, Joan. Jesus.

This picture's only happening because of you.

Well, I'm glad you remember that.

What else do you remember, Bob?

- Joan. - Hmm?

Bob, do you remember

our private rehearsals on Autumn Leaves?

Come on.

Rehearse with me now, Bob.

Take me through a love scene.

There is no love scene in the picture.

Then I want a rewrite.

Oh, goddamn it, Joan. Will you knock it off?

You think I don't know what this is?

What, you think you're gonna get me into bed,

I'm just gonna hand the picture to you?

That's exactly what happened on Autumn Leaves.

You saw me having coffee with Cliff Robertson,

next thing I know your hand's down my pants.

Screw you.

No, not this time, Joan.

Listen to me.

I'm trying to hold onto my marriage for Christ's sakes.

Good, well...

Peter?

What are you doing here?

I thought you were in Palm Springs.

Yeah, the road got washed out.

I'll see you on the set, Joan.

You want to explain that?

Explain? To you?

I don't have to explain a goddamn thing to you.

You're the one who left me this weekend,

leaving me here all alone.

I think it's time to recast.

Recast?

Recast you.

Your lines are stale.

You delivery's predictable.

I'm going downstairs.

When I come back, I want you gone.

It's a relief!

Where is she?

What the hell is this?

I'm sorry, Miss Joan.

She's small, but she's quick.

Why that looks like an exclusive.

In The Examiner, in Louella's column.

You deliberately called up

that incontinent cow just to scoop me.

Thank you, Sven. That'll be all for now.

No, Sven's staying put.

I want this young man to bear witness.

He should know whose carcass it is he's been handling,

and just how many others in this town

could identify it in the dark.

That column has already been written.

"Joan Crawford's Early, Tawdry Years."

And it's been locked away in my desk drawer since 1946,

the last time you went to Louella behind my back.

Oh, I told you then, Hedda, I didn't go to Louella

about my divorce from Philip.

No, she came to me.

And you confirmed it. And after I gave you your career back.

Box Office Poison.

That's what they called her,

until I started promoting her in my column

because I felt sorry for her.

Well, she is right about that.

When I was down on my luck,

Hedda is the only person in this Christless town

to extend a hand in friendship,

to show some human decency.

She didn't have to,

and I have always been truly grateful to her for doing it,

truly, truly grateful.

Well, then why would you go to my mortal enemy?

Because it was the only way

I could get your attention.

Thank you, Sven, I'll see you on Friday.

Hedda, Hedda.

Yes.

Let's go down to the pool, soak up some vitamin D.

Listen, we have to talk.

Okay.

Give me a moment to change.

Oh.

I'll just say it, Hedda.

I'm in trouble.

What kind of trouble?

No, no, no. This isn't for publication.

I'm appealing to you as a friend.

All right. Closed.

Shoot.

I'm broke.

- Up to my eyeballs in debt. - No.

No. You practically own Pepsi-Cola.

Pepsi-Cola owns me.

Or it owned Al, at any rate,

and when he died, his debts became mine.

Two million dollars.

Hedda, that's what I owe.

Two million dollars.

Joan, I had no idea.

No, nobody does, and-and they mustn't.

Look, I'm a single mother

working in Hollywood.

I've got three children whose schooling is not yet complete.

Cocktail time.

Come on, I need a drink.

All right.

Look at this, Hedda.

All of this could be gone in an instant,

everything I've worked for my entire life.

I mean, where, at my age, am I going to find

another rich man to save me?

You've never needed a man.

Neither one of us have.

And yet we've always been at their mercy.

- Hmm. - At least I have.

You don't know how lucky you are, Hedda,

that being an actress didn't work out for you,

that you were never a star.

I mean, you're the one who has real power in this town.

Yeah, well, this town, it's in decline.

It's becoming base and common.

You know, pretty soon,

I won't even be able to shock it anymore.

The whole thing's gonna blow away,

and all that'll be left is the desert it's built on.

Oh, thank you, Mamacita.

Thank you, darling.

A few more years.

That is all I wanted, just a few more years,

but I've been undermined, sabotaged.

No, it's just not fair.

- Davis, she's never been one of us. - No.

She's never been a part of this town, not like you have.

And she doesn't need the work. Woman lives like a Yankee.

I just don't know what I'm going to do.

Don't you dare. No tears.

Hedda is here.

You want a few more years?

What about five more?

- Because that's what another Oscar will give you. - Oh!

Yes.

A down payment on five more years.

No, no, no, that is impossible.

That'll never happen.

Bette has the showier role.

Well, that's a matter of opinion.

And my opinion is the only one that matters.

Cheers.

- Tchin-tchin, my darling. - Mm.

Well, good morning, Miss Davis, I am such a fan.

Doughnut?

No, coffee,

black, in my dressing room.

Oh, I'm not craft service.

I'm your leading man on this picture.

Beg your pardon?

I'm Victor Buono.

I'll be playing your love interest.

I was expecting someone...

Thinner?

Less... homosexual?

Mm. Mm.

Thanks for the great day, fellas.

- Say good night, B.D. - Oh.

Good night, fellas.

Ah!

Christ, this song!

You don't like it

because you can't wear one anymore.

Pack your bags, B.D.

Why? Are we going somewhere?

Not me, you.

To Maine for the entire summer.

You can't do that.

Watch me.

Christ, tonight I see you posing

and laughing in front of the grips like a streetwalker.

You're jealous.

I'd smack you across the face for that

if your braces hadn't cost a fortune.

You're jealous because men don't look at you anymore

and they look at me.

You can't take it

that your turn is over, so you're punishing me.

What a joke.

For years when I was growing up, all I ever heard from you

was "Christ, when is that old buzzard

"Claudette Colbert gonna retire?

When is Norma Shearer gonna realize the ship has sailed?"

I am not going to apologize for having ambition!

I am not going to apologize for being a working mother

who has to have opportunities

so she can put food on the table for her family.

You know what those women had that you don't, mother?

Dignity.

They moved aside with class

after their spin on the carousel was over,

and that's something you refuse to do.

And now look at you.

You're single, lonely and doing this ridiculous role

because you can't live without being in the spotlight.

Well, guess what?

Nobody wants you anymore.

Nobody's watching you anymore.

You see me out there having fun and being young

and taking my turn, and you can't take it.

So fine.

I'll go, gladly.

Anything to get away from you and your sadness.

Hello?

Is it one of the kids?

One of yours.

Bette Davis.

Oh.

Bette?

Well, here I am, Bette.

What could you possibly need

that couldn't wait till tomorrow?

A friend.

Oh...

She'll be back.

She's a teenager.

You can't take anything they say to heart.

You should hear the way my kids talked to me

when they were teenagers.

Hell, they still do.

But she's right, Bob. That's the trouble.

My time has passed.

Oh, that's horseshit, Bette.

There's a scene in Eve from the back of the car

when Margo's talking about the long climb up

and all the things you drop along the way

that you forget you're going to need later.

I just turned 40 when we did that scene

and I remember thinking,

"Thank Christ that will never be me."

But it is.

That's exactly what happened.

All my failed marriages, my own daughter hates me.

And for what?

For the work.

Mm.

The goddamn work.

My one true love,

and now that's going to leave me.

You're a star, Bette.

Just as much of a star now as you were ten years ago.

20 years ago.

A star whose leading man is a chubby homosexual.

Ah, now we get to it.

Is this what it's come to?

What do you mean, "Is this what it's come to?"

Bette, he's a brilliant artist.

You say Crawford's no actor, well Victor Buono is.

He comes from Broadway,

for Christ's sakes. I am not gonna fire him.

I don't want you to fire him.

I don't want you to fire him. I don't know what I want.

Bette, listen.

I understand everything you said.

You've had a brilliant career.

Me, I'm still on the B-list.

I'm working like a dog to keep a roof over my family's head.

I missed my kids growing up,

and my wife now wants to give me the heave-ho.

At least you've got an Oscar.

Two.

Two. I beg your pardon.

I think maybe we both mucked things up.

Oh, you haven't mucked up anything.

You're a fine director, Bob.

A really fine director.

You should be very proud.

And you, you started from nothing.

Look at all you've accomplished.

My grandfather was a U.S. Senator.

My cousin is Nelson Rockefeller.

And you overcame all that.

- sync and corrections by Mr. C - - www.addic7ed.com -