Feud (2017–…): Season 1, Episode 6 - Hagsploitation - full transcript

When I put those clothes on...

something happens to me.

Something...

frightening.

(screaming)

(dramatic orchestral music playing)

Oh, God, no!

NARRATOR: Strait-Jacket
mounts to a crescendo

of electrifying suspense.

- Sinister. Frightening.
- (gasps)

Joan Crawford in a
shattering screen portrayal.



Leave me alone!

You let go of me!

You listen to me!

Just call me, Lucille.

I wouldn't like my little girl to think

I was trying to take her
fella away from her.

Carol and Michael are
going to be married,

and nobody's gonna stop it.

NARRATOR: Ingeniously designed
to shock and startle,

Strait-Jacket may go beyond the limits

of your ability to endure suspense.

Mother!

He's gone.

Oh, my God!



NARRATOR: The author of
the famed novel Psycho,

the director of the wildly
acclaimed chiller Homicidal,

the costar of What Ever
Happened to Baby Jane,

join forces to create
a frightening classic

of shock and suspense.

(suspenseful music playing)

(crowd cheering)

ANNOUNCER: Direct from Hollywood,

that master of suspense, Mr.
William Castle!

CASTLE: Good evening,
my murderous minions.

(crowd cheering)

I'm William Castle,

the director of the picture
you're about to see.

Be warned, Strait-Jacket contains

the most realistic portrayal

of axe murders in
motion picture history,

made all the more vivid by
the powerful performance

of a screen legend.

Ladies and gentlemen, the
star of Strait-Jacket,

Miss Joan Crawford.

(crowd gasps, murmurs)

CASTLE: Oh, no.

Don't panic, but-but a madwoman
is loose in this theater!

(crowd gasps, cheers)

(cheering continues)

CASTLE: No.

(crowd gasping)

No, no, please.

(laughter, cheering)

(crowd gasps, shrieks)

(crowd cheering)

Miss Joan Crawford!

(crowd cheering loudly)

- (microphone feedback hums)
- Thank you.

I hope you will approve
of our little picture,

and please, enjoy a refreshing

Pepsi Cola at the concession stand.

A-And now, before the show begins,

a little something to
protect all of you.

Ladies? Ladies? Come on.

(crowd whistles, cheers)

JOAN (quietly): What the hell is this?

You said no more gimmicks.

Well, do you want a hit,
Joan, or don't you?

(cheering continues)

♪ ♪

(cheering fades)

MAMACITA: Home again,
home again, jiggedy jog,

we put you to bed.

JOAN: I need a drink.

MAMACITA: Don't you think you had

enough to drink on the plane?

Hey, you are not my keeper.

You're a servant; don't
ever forget that.

I don't think I can do
it anymore, Mamacita.

New Mexico this weekend,

then the tour is done.

Oh, New Mexico. Jesus Christ!

Why did I say yes to any of this?

Why did you?

(groans)

No offers in nine months.

Huh?

I had to take it just to
keep the goddamn lights on.

Look, Miss Joan.

(lighter clicks)

- Flowers.
- Yeah?

From who?

Mr. George Cukor.

"Congratulating you on
your latest success."

My latest success, what a joke.

He's five years older than me,

and he's hotter than he's ever been.

He's winning awards for My Fair Lady,

I'm pimping myself out
to William Castle.

The picture is doing very well.
People are coming to see you.

People are coming to see blood and gore

and heads being chopped off!

They're not coming to see
me, you stupid croak!

(sobs)

(sobbing): Oh, God.

I'm sorry, Mamacita.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

I am sorry!

You're always sorry!

You're crazy,

but you do it!

I tell you now this:

the next time you throw
something at my head,

I leave you. Then you will have nothing!

Good night.

(Joan cries softly)

Careful going up the stairs.

You are blotto.

(whimpers)

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

(seagulls chirping, waves crashing)

Box office numbers, Mr. Warner.

What's with the guard?

Are you afraid I'm gonna
kill the messenger?

- Oh, I'm not security, sir.
- DENNIS: This is Bart,

our new trainee. He
forgot his sport coat,

so they gave him a loaner at the gate.

Ah. Uh-huh.

Well, your parents must be very proud.

Son of a bitch.

Strait-Jacket did 2.5 million?

- Is that not good?
- Yeah, it's great

if you're Harry Cohn.

It's Columbia Pictures.

And Lady in a Cage is on track

to do even better.

I heard that's supposed to
be an excellent picture.

That's Paramount.

Quick, Biff...

Bart.

What is it about these hag
movies that people love?

I don't know, my-my mom says
that they're kind of degrading.

Bingo. Degradation.

That's what it is.

You take some movie queen of yore,

who was once too beautiful to screw us

and you make her suffer.

Tearing down your idols.

It's very satisfying for an audience.

Don't you think, Bob?

- Bart.
- Goddamn it!

I created this genre!

Hagsploitation! It
even has its own word!

And you know who came up with that?

- The New York Times.
- No! Me!

Get me Bob Aldrich in my office.

Are you sure?

Am I sure? What the...

You banned him from the lot.

Switch jackets.

Sir?

You take off your jacket
and you give it to Bart,

and then you put on his.

Now, show Bart how to dial Bob Aldrich,

then go down to the front gate

and tell them that you are
the new security guard.

DENNIS: Right.

Nice to meet you, Bart.

Great. Yes, sir, such a pleasure.

- Thank you so much.
- Mm-hmm.

(doorbell rings)

Please be brief.

She must conserve her
energy for Albuquerque.

Is she crossing the desert on foot?

JOAN: Oh, Hedda, darling.

I don't have a quiet minute today.

I have to convert this dust
bowl look to a desert look

and work out this awful
crick in my neck, and then

back on the road for that
goddamn Lizzie Borden routine.

You're not having a gay old time
greeting fans coast to coast?

(chuckles)

Does a Ringling Brothers elephant

have a gay old time?

(chuckles)

Hedda?

Hedda, what is it?

Did you skip lunch? Do you want...

- No.
- me to get Mamacita to boil you an egg?

No, no, just-just sit with me.

Hedda,

are you all right?

(sighs)

Oh... hmm.

(sighs)

Last week...

I was on the phone with Frances Marion,

deploring the demise of
the tender love story,

when my arm went dead.

Limp like a stewed noodle.

Oh...

It was a heart attack.

I have a defect, apparently.

And the doctor says it won't be
long before another one hits.

Come on, Hedda.

Get up. Let me...

We'll sit somewhere more comfortable.

Thank you, darling.

Why, why, why didn't you call me?

Oh, no, I used the time to reflect.

(laughs softly)

If I am finished, and the sum
of my life's work is tallied,

am I satisfied?

With reams of gossip?

Oh, how can you say that?

(laughs)

Look at all the careers
that you have launched.

Mine included.

I didn't muse on the
careers I'd nurtured.

I thought about the ones I destroyed.

The reds, the queers, the whores,

the cheaters and dopeheads.

The ones who cursed me,
sued me, offed themselves.

And I felt...

good.

That I'd contributed
to our moral economy.

And so you have.

You have been nothing short of a bulwark

against the tide of smut
crashing over this culture.

But I can't stop it
lapping at your door.

What are you talking about?

Somebody's been shopping a stag picture

in which you allegedly
appeared, in your youth.

(laughs)

Well, that is ridiculous.

It must be someone who resembles me.

I know Louella's been sniffing around.

So has Confidential.

Bastards.

Can I sue?

Not if there's a film.

Is there, Joan?

Why would you ask that?

Because if there is, I'll find out.

I always find out.

And you would write about it.

It's what I do.

I'm offering you the opportunity
to add your voice to the story.

By telling the tale of shame yourself,

you can turn it into a
story of redemption.

Not a bad way for
either of us to go out.

The perfect final scoop for my readers.

I am sorry about your ill health, Hedda.

(chuckles)

And I am sorry that it has so weakened

your ability to distinguish
truth from lies.

(sighs)

All right, Joan.

But just remember.

It's always better to cooperate.

(Robert and Harriet moaning, grunting)

(groans)

(sighs)

Oh, goddamn it.

I think I drank too much.

All right.

Time to talk.

I don't think talking about it
improves its performance any.

I'm not talking about "it,"
I'm talking about you.

You're morose.

You've been morose.

You wear slippers to lunch.

And you smashed all of
my Sinatra records.

Yeah, I thought it'd make me
feel better, but it didn't.

You know, I knew 4 for
Texas was gonna stink,

even before Sinatra shit all over it.

Then what'd you go through with it for?

Because Jack Warner thought
it was a bad idea,

and I didn't want to give that prick

the satisfaction of being right.

You know what I think?

All this gloom isn't
about your last flop.

It's about your last hit.

What?

I think the fact that Bob Aldrich

had his biggest success
with a woman's picture,

well, I think it's
knocked you off-balance.

Ah, Harriet...

You have to stop moping
around the house.

It's not good for you.

It's time to decide what
it is that you want to do,

and then do it.

Even if Jack Warner does
think it's a good idea.

Where you going?

Carson's on.

JACK: I'm glad you finally
came to your senses, Bobby.

How do you mean?

Well, I sent you out
of here six months ago

with a stack of premium hag scripts.

Please tell me that you picked one.

Well, no, Jack, I didn't.

You're killing me, Bobby. Really?

(sighs) Look, I know you think I'm like

a dog with a bone with this thing,

but let me explain something
to you, all right?

Goldwyn is finished, Mayer is dead,

and Selznick is just one
pastrami sandwich away

from a coronary.

But Jack L. Warner

still runs Warner Brothers.

And incidentally, how many brothers

do you see standing in this room?

You're the only one, Jack.

That's right. I'm the
last goddamn dinosaur.

And I am up to my tits in tar.

What are you talking about?

The end.

Talking about the end, Bobby.

Oh, come on, Jack.

My Fair Lady's the biggest
hit in the last five years.

Yeah. And what happens in six months

when I don't have anything
to follow that up?

I'll admit it, Bobby.

I'm scared.

I used to make the culture.

And today I'm lost in it.

I am in the twilight

of my days, Bobby.

I know that.

But I would... just like to keep

the sun from going down
a little bit longer.

Sure.

I need a miracle.

I need another goddamn Baby Jane.

And it's called What Ever
Happened to Cousin Charlotte?

That's a great title. I love this title.

Because it'll remind people

- of What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?
- Mm-hmm.

- Right?
- (chuckles)

All right. Go ahead, hit me.

What do you got?

Okay, so, it's about an
aging Southern belle

- Yeah.
- who's living all alone in one of those

- scary Louisiana plantation mansions.
- Uh-huh. Good.

And she's got a city slicker
cousin who comes to visit.

- Uh-huh. Mm-hmm.
- Huh?

Drives her crazy, gaslights her.

So you got dismemberment...
there's a hatchet murder.

Fantastic.

So I was thinking. For Cousin
Charlotte, Bette Davis.

And for the city slicker cousin,

Ann Sheridan.

No, no.

It's got to be Crawford.

Crawford and Davis together,
that's the winning formula.

This is my one condition, Jack.

I am not working with them
again together, never again.

You can't work with them? Wha...

They hate each other.

Besides, they'd never agree to it.

Bobby, if you think
it's twilight for us,

it is midnight for them.

They are gonna do your
Charlotte picture.

And you know what? They're
gonna do it for less.

And you know what else? So are you.

All right, I want you to get

those two harpies' signatures
on the dotted line.

You got it?

Got it, Jack.

- (pounds desk)
- Thanks.

Now get out of here.

(exhales)

Joanie.

(knocking on door)

Bette.

Another horror picture, Bob?

I wouldn't classify it like that.

Weren't you the one that
said we shouldn't be

repeating ourselves?

This is completely different.

This time, you get to
kill the cleaning lady.

ROBERT: Now, Charlotte's
nothing at all like Jane.

Charlotte's a victim. But
she's also a fighter.

JOAN: Tell me about Miriam.

Miriam. Elegant, calculating.

But with a certain warmth.

It needs an actress

of real skill.

And who do you see as Miriam?

Uh, Joan, of course.

JOAN: And I suppose you want Bette

to play Cousin Charlotte.

Who else?

And she's agreed?

How could she say no?

BETTE: Are you out of your mind?

I wouldn't piss on Crawford
if she were on fire.

JOAN: I think she secretly blames me

for her Oscar loss.

I don't think that's true.

She actively lobbied against me,

and then she wormed her way into
accepting Bancroft's award,

which I understand

Bancroft hasn't even laid eyes on.

- Well...
- JOAN: I know she expected all sorts

of offers after her nomination,

but they never really
materialized, did they?

BETTE: And have you gotten a load

of the interviews that she's been

giving lately for that stinker,

Lady with the Axe, or whatever
the hell it's called?

So goddamn grand, you want to vomit.

JOAN: And now she's doing television?

I mean, really, is that
a face America wants

in its living room at dinnertime?

I don't think so.

BETTE: She wouldn't promote our picture.

But she has no problem taking
her cow town carny act

on the road with Bill, Bill...

Castle.

Yes. What I don't understand is why

you would want to work with her again.

Well, let's be honest, Bette,
working with either of you

wasn't exactly a picnic for me.

But we did some good work
together, the three of us.

Did we?

I'm not so sure.

What do you mean?

I'm seen as a joke now.

A white-faced ghoul.

I let myself be overshadowed,

pushed aside.

A grotesque caricature.

That's the way I'm going
to be remembered.

I outlasted Garbo, for Christ's sakes.

Now I'm going out as a dowdy matron?

The answer's...

No.

Bette.

Come on.

There is no movie without you.

Just tell me what you want.

I want top billing,

my name before hers.

I want creative control.

(laughs)

Really?

JOAN: I want a big signing bonus.

Jack Warner cooked the
books on Baby Jane.

I want my payday up front.

Every time I agree to a back end,

that's exactly where
I end up getting it.

I'm through getting pushed around.

I know exactly what you mean.

Five bucks, to handle your bags.

(bell chiming)

Cruise the parking lot, Teddy.

Here.

Get lost.

Checking in, Miss Crawford?

Presidential suite's taken.

You know why I'm here, Hal.

Someone has been calling
every rag in town

claiming they have
possession of a blue movie,

in which I supposedly appear.

Geez, Billie.

That's awful.

You bastard, I know it's you.

You threatened to tell the world
about me and Daddy Cassin.

I kept my mouth shut
on all that, didn't I?

A very expensive silence.

Hey, it's an expensive town.

Why do you do this to me?

When you came to Hollywood,
I found you work.

As an extra, playing a clown.

Nobody starts at the top.

Yeah, guess you're proof of that.

Christ, why don't you show some decency?

This girl, whoever it is,
must have been desperate.

Needed the money for food or rent.

Whatever it is you have,
you should burn it.

I ain't in the habit of burning money.

No, you're not.

(scoffs) This is half what
Lolly Parsons is offering.

That's all I've got to spare.
I'm strapped.

You? Strapped?

Queen Pepsi, USA?

Miss Big Fat Movie Star.

You saw Baby Jane?

I see all your pictures.

I'm proud of my kid sister.

That check is all

you'll get for now.

I'm at the end of my career.

You want to call Lolly Parsons?

Go ahead, ruin me.

I don't care.

I just want you to remember
where you came from, Billie,

and how lucky you are.

I have never been lucky.

JACK: L'Chaim, Bobby.

I told you it would all work out.

Help yourself.

Every studio is struggling

to find their own hag horror picture.

And we got the two original hags.

The winning combination.

I know.

You know, I think

that What Ever Happened to Sister, uh...

Cousin. Cousin Charlotte. - What?

You changed it?

No, it's always been Cousin Charlotte.

All right, it's gonna be
even bigger than Baby Jane.

- Yeah, I think so, too.
- I do.

- And you know who else thinks so?
- Who?

Darryl Zanuck.

Why are you speaking
that betrayer's name

in my presence, Bobby?

Oh, come on, that's a
little harsh, isn't it?

I don't think he betrayed you.

I think he felt creatively stifled here,

so he just left.

Yeah, to form another studio.

Well, he always wanted
to work with Bette

after All About Eve,

and now that he's back at 20th,

I mean, it's a perfect fit.

What? This?

What are you saying?

You shopped my picture
around to other studios?

It's my picture, Jack.
And now, Zanuck's.

You can't work for Zanuck.
We have an agreement.

No, no, we don't.

But I do have a contract with Zanuck.

Oh, and I'm not working
for him, we're partners.

I have full autonomy, final cut,

and some respect.

Respect is cheap.

And you tell Zanuck I'll sue.

Fuck you!

This is my genre.

That's bullshit, Jack.

I brought Baby Jane to you.

I had to convince you to do the picture.
I was the one

- that had the vision. I was
the one that knew - Come on.

these two women still
had something to offer.

And what did you do all that time?
What did you do?

You questioned me, you berated me,

you underestimated me, to the point

where I was questioning and
underestimating myself.

And all this talk about twilight

and end of days... oh, my God.

Well, it might be
twilight for you, Jack,

but it's not for me.

From where I'm standing,
this twilight is a new dawn.

(chuckling): Oh, my God. You know what?

If the speeches in Charlotte
are all as shitty as that one,

Zanuck can have it.

You fu... give me...
give me back my cigar.

I didn't come here for your cigars.

No, what'd you come here for?

I came here to get my balls back.

You hear 'em clanking?

(engines turn off)

Nice dress, Lucille.

(chuckles) Well, when I see
how casually you're attired,

I guess my enthusiasm for
our little table read

must have run away with me.

Oh, not at all.

You can go straight from day
to night in that getup.

You probably have plans after this

to accept another award.
Maybe the Nobel Prize

on behalf of Dr. King?

(chuckles wryly)

(whispers): Give it to her.

Matches. Goodie.

I remembered your charming habit

of striking matches on
the sole of your shoe.

So, I found those for you.

Can I use them to set you on fire?

- How ungrateful.
- Shh.

I meant it as a symbolic gesture, Bette.

I think we should burn
the pages of our past

up until now and start afresh.

I know you need to hear it from me,

so here it is.

I'm sorry if what happened
on Oscar night offended you.

I don't want your half-assed apology.

I want a promise from you.

What?

When we go in there, we
present a united front.

Bob, Zanuck, our costars

are going to try to push us around.

The only way we're going
to get what we want

is to speak with one
voice, preferably mine.

I'm your sworn ally.

Good. It serves us both.

Shall we?

After you.

No, please, you first.

- Ladies first.
- I insist.

- No, please.
- (groans)

PAULINE: "Big Sam approaches

"the painting of his
daughter, Charlotte,

dressed in virginal white."

"I fought to keep this house
and to bring it back up.

"I don't have a son to give
it to, only Charlotte.

And she ain't gonna give it to you."

BETTE: No, Victor,

I'm gonna pause you there.
This can't possibly be

the opening of our film.

- What's wrong with it?
- A couple of guys arguing in a study?

We have an illicit love affair,

we have a Louisiana
plantation to play with,

and our introduction to Charlotte

is a goddamn oil painting.

JOAN: I agree with Bette.

And I was also wondering,

do we really need all these ellipses?

"Only Charlotte," dot, dot, dot.

I mean, wouldn't a comma
be more appropriate?

Even a semicolon.

We're not submitting it to the
Library of Congress, Joan.

ROBERT: Ladies,

c-can we just get through it once?

Victor, from wherever you left off.

VICTOR: Yeah.

"I ain't watched over my girl
all these years to have some...

to have some creature
like you take her away."

"Big Sam lunges at John,

but John shields himself behind a desk."

BRUCE: "Listen,

"I'm gonna tell you something.

Your daughter ain't a
little girl anymore."

BETTE: What the hell is this?

"A severed head bounces
down the staircase

and rolls to a stop
at Charlotte's feet"?

Why are you jumping ahead?

Because I'm looking for the changes

that we discussed and
I'm not finding them.

- (Robert sighs)
- What I see is...

is chopped off hands
and bloodied stumps.

But where are the good character scenes?

Where are the meaty monologues?

Yes, and does the syntax concern
anyone else here at the table?

I mean, Louisianians

speak with a kind of

music all their own.

BETTE: Don't get me wrong.
I am not opposed

to blood and guts, all right?

I mean, Shakespeare, for Christ's sake,

he had a woman eat her sons in a pie,

but there is a fine line

between art and trash, and
that line is plausibility.

- Well, let's keep our notes until...
- So, if you have a head

bouncing down the stairs, and

to all the world it looks
like a rubber prop,

well, then, my reaction
isn't scary, it's a joke.

You know what I'm talking about, Joan.

I mean, that thing that you
just came off of, right?

Well, I don't know, Bette.

I think you sell the believability

with your performance.

And granted, I mean, we didn't have

the most realistic looking
severed heads on Strait-Jacket,

but the picture did

a robust business.

We drew a very young, a very hip crowd.

BETTE: Well, I'm not
traipsing around the country

chopping off heads.

No one would ask Brando to do that.

JOAN: Brando isn't begging

for a recurring role on
Wagon Train, either.

VICTOR: Maybe we'll find

a solution in reading
the whole story aloud.

(chuckles)

That's right, thank you.
Uh, uh, Pauline,

pick it up from where we ended.

"Big Sam grips his cigar box

"as if to smash in John's skull,

"but then takes out a stogie to smoke.

"He laughs at the fear

on John's face."

(Victor laughs)

(camera snapping)

BETTE: Oh, for Christ's sake,

you said there was to be no photography.

He's up in the catwalk.

He's not gonna bother us.

(laughing): Oh, I didn't
even see him there.

Didn't you?

I'm sorry you're not
camera-ready, Bette,

but we don't have eight hours

to wait for you to put your face on.

BETTE: Do you think that matters to me?

He's disrupting our rehearsal.

Do you think anyone cares to see
you mooning over a Pepsi-Cola?

We are gonna get through
this if it kills us!

Even if I have to tranquilize
the both of you!

No, Bob, until you put some
more thought into this script,

you are just wasting our time.

And change the goddamn title!

(door closes)

I'd be happy to read both parts.

Shall we begin again?

(indistinct announcement over P.A.)

HAL: If you're here

to smother me with a pillow,

wait till I fall asleep.

Why bother? You're dead to me already.

What do they say is wrong with you?

My appendix. They want to take it out.

Oh, well, that's a minor matter.

But before you call around town

with more lurid lies about me, here.

To cover your medical expenses.

If you've any decency, you'll agree.

There's enough there to
purchase whatever it is

you think you have.

You mean my personal
copy of Velvet Lips?

Oh...

So much for the great Joan Crawford

being cash-strapped.

I got an advance on my next picture.

I'm going to star with some of
my Oscar-nominated colleagues

from Baby Jane, so the
studio is optimistic.

(laughing): Jesus, Joan.

I'm lying here like a beached fish

and you still need to show off.

Hey, I get it.

I was the golden boy everyone loved,

you were the runt

Mother didn't want.

That's how you're always
going to see yourself.

Do you think I actually give a shit

who kissed your sorry ass
back in Kansas 40 years ago?

You think you're better
than me, but you're not,

with your queen's English and your furs

and your martyr routine.

Underneath, you're rotten trash,

- like me.
- Then maybe you don't want...

I'm keeping it as repayment

for your shameful treatment of Mother.

Ready for the O.R., Mr. LeSueur?

Shameful treatment!

What, bringing her out
here to California

so she could decline in luxury?

You made her use the service entrance.

You refused to let her take meals

with your kids, for Christ's sake!

I didn't want her poisoning
them with her junk.

I didn't want them to end up like you.

Let's go.

Come on, Hal. The film.

There is no film, Billie.
You said so yourself.

Chops were nice.

The fish was dry.

What time is your flight leaving?

6:00 a.m.

I want you to come with me.

- To the airport?
- Baton Rouge.

Oh, Louisiana this time of year?

No, thank you.

Why not?

Harriet.

Let's just go home.

What's the matter?

Nothing. I'm sorry,

you have to leave early in the morning,

and we can talk about
it when you get back.

Why don't you want to
be part of my movie?

Because I don't want to
be part of your life.

What?

Because I haven't been
for quite some time.

And I never am when
you're making a picture.

And you're only happy when
you're making a picture,

going into battle.

If you'd ever fought as hard
for me in this marriage

as you do for one of your stars,

I wouldn't be saying this.

And I hadn't planned
on saying it tonight,

but I want a divorce.

Harriet.

And I have to believe the only person

who wants it more is you.

Oh, please, don't say that.

Oh, Christ, Bob, somebody has to.

And you won't.

Maybe because you never
stopped having a life.

I'm not sure when mine ended,

but I'm gonna get it back,

but not with you.

Mamacita, here,

nude hose for the twins.

I'm afraid, in those cotton
tights they're beginning to look

like overgrown toddlers.

Please join me in the living room.

Why?

I have difficult news.

No, now what is it? Just tell me.

The hospital called.

Your brother died in surgery.

His appendix exploded.

Huh.

Just like that.

Sometimes, when the
emotions are too many,

we cannot cry.

Jerry,

hello, this is Joan Crawford.

Yes. I'm sorry to bug you after
hours, but I was wondering,

are the payments for Charlotte
coming in all right?

Wonderful.

Jerry, listen, do me a favor, please.

Call City National first thing
in the morning when they open

and cancel a check for me.

Yes, I wrote it to my
brother, Hal LeSueur,

dated today.

No, he won't be needing
a loan after all.

Yes, thank you, dear.

Oh, and my best... my best to Anita.

There is a bright side.

You do not need the surplus
to pay for your brother,

so you are not forced to do the movie

with that terrible Miss Davis.

I'm not pulling out of Charlotte now.

It has potential.

It has potential to ruin your life.

What do you want me to do, Mamacita?

What, sit here by myself

toasting my memories, hmm?

There are many pleasures still to enjoy.

New friends.

You are invited to parties all the time.

I can't show my face without
having a picture to discuss.

If I'm not working, I
might as well be dead.

Get some sleep.

It's a long flight to Baton Rouge.

MAN: All right, everybody, take five.

(indistinct chatter)

I can't play a schoolmate of
these children, it's obscene.

Well, I hate to break it to you, Bette,

but you're the one who insisted

on playing young Charlotte yourself.

You're just going to have
to shoot me from the back.

We can't, because we need

- to capture the evidence.
- Oh.

Well, then, cast one of
these girls as a lookalike,

put her face in the shadow,
and I'll do the voice.

Where the hell is Bob?

Taking a nature break. Uh, maybe...

All right, the wheels are
flying off the scene in there,

and you're out here

watering the daffodils.

Wha...

Are you crying?

I can't do it, Bette. I
can't make this picture.

What the hell are you talking about?

Harriet and I are over.

Christ.

Is it final?

Seems to be.

She doesn't feel like
she's part of my life.

The crazy irony is
that we were all going

to be together on this picture.

You know, the kids have all got parts.

Adele's working on
helping with the script.

Harriet was supposed to be
here enjoying it with me.

Now I'm just looking
around and I'm thinking...

this has ruined my marriage.

I'm not going to candy-coat it.

Harriet is a wonderful woman.

Losing her is going to be bad.

It always is.

I know, I've been through it four times.

But I survived... and so will you.

24 years, Bette.

I don't know how to be alone.

We'll be alone together.

Come on.

MAN (over P.A.): Delta 39 confirmed

for transpo to Secure Facility 2.

(continues indistinctly)

Well, perhaps our driver
is waiting for us

at the baggage claim.

We are checking in.

Oh, I'm sorry, we're all full up.

They're shooting a movie.

We are part of this movie.

- Joan.
- Bette.

Finally, a friendly face.

When did you get in?

Well, hours ago, but there was no one

at the airport to greet us.

Oh, no.

But you made it. What a trooper.

And now she's saying there's
no room here for us.

Nonsense, Frannie.

Miss Crawford has a
reservation for a suite.

She's part of the production.

Well, of course, Miss Davis.

You just have a seat.

We're gonna get that ready for you.

Won't take but an hour.

- An hour?
- BETTE: Oh, relax, Joan.

This is Baton Rouge, not Beverly Hills.

Oh, my ice is melting.

See you on the set.

She is enjoying this.

MAMACITA: You would think
there would at least be

a complimentary gift
basket waiting for you.

Well, we're here now, and it's
not so terribly bad, is it?

It stinks! They have put
us next to the garbage.

It's Louisiana... everything
has the sweet smell of rot.

I've made a decision, Mamacita.

We are going to put this
dreadful day behind us,

and I'm determined to
enter into this project

with the proper spirit.

In fact, I think I'll call Mr.
Aldrich now,

tell him we've arrived safely,

and perhaps give him a
couple of the notes

that I made on the plane.

(line ringing)

Yes, hello, this is Joan Crawford.

Could you connect me

with Bob Aldrich's suite, please?

ROBERT (chuckling): Hello?

Mm. Bob? It's Joan. (chuckles)

I just wanted to let you
know that we have arrived,

and we're tucked away snuggly
in our little bungalow.

A bit of a snafu at the airport,

but we're here, and I am raring to go.

BETTE (laughing): Bob, hang up.

The champagne's going flat. (laughing)

ROBERT (laughing): Well,
that's great, Joan.

You get some rest.

We'll see you tomorrow on set.
Bye-bye. (hangs up)

♪ Of mine ♪

♪ Don't break this heart. ♪