Feuding superstars Bette Davis and Joan Crawford came together for this, their only shared screen credit, a good decade-plus past their respective peaks. In it, they play faded showbiz sisters sharing a crumbling Hollywood mansion. While the youngest (Davis) experienced child celebrity and then fell on hard times, her elder sibling (Crawford) enjoyed a successful adult movie career before an untimely auto accident rendered her paraplegic. Now, she depends on little sis to deliver her meals and interact with the world on her behalf, a weakness that the bitter, jealous former Baby Jane relishes and abuses.

There isn’t much more to the story. Jane’s a crazy person who’s allowed years of disillusion and resentment to irreparably crack her while Blanche, the older sister, has no choice but to appease her tormentor and eat punishment. This drags on for quite a while, a cruel monotony that’s only broken by occasional visits from the housekeeper. But that’s not really what this show is all about. Most audience members came out to see the spectacle of Davis and Crawford’s cohabitation, and on that front we get plenty of fireworks. The only thing these two despised more than each other was the thought of having their scenes stolen. There’s a frosty, constant chill between the pair that extends well beyond the typical dramatic fare, like they’re always on the verge of scratching each other’s eyes out. That, plus Davis’s preposterous makeup job (caked at least twenty layers deep) add unusual amounts of authentic, unsettling tension to a picture that would’ve, otherwise, been rather shallow.

Well, it’s still shallow. Hammy and drawn-out, too, but at least there’s something more to it than all that. A film that’s more about the squabbling starlets than the story they’ve set out to tell, _Baby Jane_ aims to be a dark, Hitchcockian thriller, but it hasn’t got the brains to deliver. Instead, it’s more akin to a mad, morbid sideshow.

For this particular review, I have chosen to render my critique - in description of this timeless masterpiece - with a word from each letter of its title: What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?

An opus of epic proportions, the tour de force performances in this cinematic icon relay what is:


Warped. Hellish. Atrocious. Tumultuous.

Evil. Vile. Envious. Ruthless.

Hostile. Abhorrent. Perverse. Paranoid. Enraged. Nightmarish. Erroneous. Depraved.

Terrifying. Ominous.

Brutal. Apprehensive. Backstabbing. Yucky.

Jealousy. Abominable. Nefarious. Egotistical.


...And there you have it, folks. A single word from every letter of the title to describe the ice-cold spirit of the one and ONLY What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?

This Robert Aldrich-directed, old era silver screen jewel is a phenomenal feature of cinematic art, and a legendary masterwork of prestige. Superb performances by the real-life archenemies, Davis and Crawford. Absolutely superb!

Way beyond worthy of its 5 of 5 stars rating.

Now then, settle down - turn off the phone, grab some Malbec and be prepared for one of the finest examples of character-driven cinema you are ever likely to encounter. Bette Davis is the former, rather petulant, child star "Baby Jane" who rather grudgingly looks after her sister - the more critically acclaimed actress "Blanche" (Joan Crawford) as their dotage approaches in their Hollywood home. "Blanche" is largely confined to a wheelchair, so is entirely dependent on her increasingly alcoholic, flaky and downright nasty sibling. Thing is, though, it's Blanche who has the money - and when she starts to discuss selling their house this riles her sister who soon has some pretty menacing thoughts about thwarting this "betrayal". Luckily for "Blanche" - their maid "Elvira" (Maidie Norman) starts to become aware of this rather menacing change in attitude, and well... Crawford and Davis are very much at the top of their games here, and somehow you can't help but wonder if they were really acting their socks off, or whether there was a serious bit of professional "loathing" going on on the set of this deftly directed Robert Aldrich classic. There is a positive sense of venom here from Davis, and her counterpart portrays the traumatised victim with great aplomb. Neither woman is afraid to ditch their more traditional glamour. Davis looks truly demented in her part as the woman with one hand on the bottle and the other on the door handle of the sanatorium - and she excels in the part. It's almost 2¼ hours long and it positively flies by. The pace is perfect, the DeVol score ebbs and flows with the frequently pithy and powerful dialogue and the photography - often tight and intimate makes this a superb example of the ultimate cinema sibling rivalry. Big screen if you can - but either way, this is just about as good as it gets.