Bette Davis. Some of us only recall her as the huffing and cigarette puffing Margo Channing or beastly Baby Jane, or all her colorful remarks about Joan Crawford and Marilyn (I love you, Bette.) But she’s so much more to me. So much more important than a caricature, so much more important, even, than her film persona.
Let me first say that the feeling of adolescent aloneness is not so unusual. Rather, it’s the response and resolution that is unique. So when I remark that I spent many years being very timid and very guarded, it’s not a revelation. But I think what follows might be:
I was, most likely, born eccentric. And for a long time it was inhibiting. And now it isn’t.
There are a lot of Bette Davis movies. I’ve seen most. In 1939 alone, four of her greatest films were released. Just that small sample was enough: what started on Turner Classic Movies, grew to renting out the entire oeuvre of her films from our video store (in one weekend). I learned that being an individual was so powerful, not to intimidate others, but to embolden myself. Her wit, outspokenness and intensity, proved to be the serum I needed to survive shyness.
The actresses I really gravitate toward are the singing stars, tap dancers, and style icons: Judy, Ginger and Audrey. They inspire my wardrobe, eternal embrace of heavy eyeliner and energetic imagination. But before all that, Bette made me brave. She gave me the confidence to live in my own skin.
Acknowledging this connection is even amusing. I’m not brazen or commanding or cunning. My aesthetic and demeanor don’t really resemble much about Bette Davis. And yet, she is the impetus for all of it.
Kept Woman Wednesday selection:
The truth is, I haven’t seen Bette’s 1941 film “The Great Lie,” a surprising blip in a filmography to which I am most dedicated. But with tonight's Turner Classic Movies programming, I could amend that.
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