When I put those clothes on...
something happens to me.
Something...
frightening.
Oh, God, no!
Strait-Jacket mounts to a crescendo
of electrifying suspense.
Sinister. Frightening.
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.
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!
The author of the famed novel Psycho,
the director of the wildly acclaimed chiller Homicidal,
the co-star of What Ever Happened to Baby Jane,
join forces to create a frightening classic
of shock and suspense.
Direct from Hollywood,
that master of suspense, Mr. William Castle!
Good evening, my murderous minions.
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.
Oh, no.
Don't panic, but-but a madwoman is loose in this theatre!
No.
No, no, please.
Miss Joan Crawford!
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.
What the hell is this?
You said no more gimmicks.
Well, do you want a hit, Joan, or don't you?
Home again, home again, jiggedy jog,
we put you to bed.
I need a drink.
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?
No offers in nine months.
Huh?
I had to take it just to keep the god damn lights on.
Look, Miss Joan.
- 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!
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.
Careful going up the stairs.
You are blotto.
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. - 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 mum 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. - God damn 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.
Right.
Nice to meet you, Bart.
Great. Yes, sir, such a pleasure.
- Thank you so much. - Mm-hmm.
Please be brief.
She must conserve her energy for Albuquerque.
Is she crossing the desert on foot?
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 god damn Lizzie Borden routine.
You're not having a gay old time greeting fans coast to coast?
Does a Ringling Brothers elephant
have a gay old time?
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?
Oh... hmm.
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.
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?
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.
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.
And I am sorry that it has so weakened
your ability to distinguish truth from lies.
All right, Joan.
But just remember.
It's always better to cooperate.
Oh, god damn 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.
I'm glad you finally came to your senses, Bobby.
How do you mean?
Well, I sent you out of here 6 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?
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 god damn 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 5 years.
Yeah. And what happens in 6 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 god damn 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?
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.
Thanks.
Now get out of here.
Joanie.
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.
Now, Charlotte's nothing at all like Jane.
Charlotte's a victim. But she's also a fighter.
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.
And I suppose you want Bette
to play Cousin Charlotte.
Who else?
And she's agreed?
How could she say no?
Are you out of your mind?
I wouldn't piss on Crawford if she were on fire.
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... - I know she expected all sorts
of offers after her nomination,
but they never really materialised, did they?
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 god damn grand, you want to vomit.
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.
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.
Really?
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.
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.
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 cheque 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.
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.
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?
Nice dress, Lucille.
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?
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 co-stars
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.
"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."
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 god damn oil painting.
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.
Ladies, can we just get through it once?
Victor, from wherever you left off.
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."
"Listen,
"I'm gonna tell you something.
Your daughter ain't a little girl anymore."
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.
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.
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.
Well, I'm not traipsing around the country
chopping off heads.
No one would ask Brando to do that.
Brando isn't begging
for a recurring role on Wagon Train, either.
Maybe we'll find
a solution in reading the whole story aloud.
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."
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.
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 8 hours
to wait for you to put your face on.
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 tranquillise the both of you!
No, Bob, until you put some more thought into this script,
you are just wasting our time.
And change the god damn title!
I'd be happy to read both parts.
Shall we begin again?
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.
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 favour, please.
Call City National first thing in the morning when they open
and cancel a cheque 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.
All right, everybody, take 5.
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
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.
Adell'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 4 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.
Delta 39 confirmed
for transpo to Secure Facility 2.
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? - Oh, relax, Joan.
This is Baton Rouge, not Beverly Hills.
Oh, my ice is melting.
See you on the set.
She is enjoying this.
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.
Yes, hello, this is Joan Crawford.
Could you connect me
with Bob Aldrich's suite, please?
Hello?
Mm. Bob? It's Joan.
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.
Bob, hang up.
The champagne's going flat.
Well, that's great, Joan.
You get some rest.
- We'll see you tomorrow on set. - Bye-bye.