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| Faye Dunaway as Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest |
I also viewed it as sadly derailing the career of one of my favorite actresses, Faye Dunaway (Bonnie & Clyde, Chinatown), which also left a sour taste in my mouth.
But after viewing it a second time I've come to appreciate the movie -- which is based on a controversial tell-all about actress Joan Crawford written by her adopted daughter -- for what it is, a certifiable camp classic.
A couple scenes from the film are well known even by people who've never seen it. They both typify why the movie and Dunaway's performance are an undeniable hoot. The first features a completely deranged Dunaway, in a crumbling, Kabuki-like face mask, berating and then beating her daughter over her use of wire hangers. And the other, which I've heard is a favorite in gay bars, features Dunaway dressing down a board of directors for Pepsi, warning them that this isn't her first time at "the rodeo."
Both these scenes show the full spectrum of Dunaway's infamous, Razzie-winning performance. Instead of showing Crawford's alleged mental disintegration subtlety or realistically, she decides to go for broke almost from the beginning, whipping around to face the camera to deliver the hammy line: "Let's go."
She gives an intensely physical performance, complete with exaggerated eyebrows, costumes and make-up to create a larger than life parody of an already over-the-top conception of Crawford, created by her daughter. This version of Crawford is both a self-obsessed perfectionist and a vindictive misanthrope.
For instance, after seeing her daughter somewhat innocently imitate her in the mirror, she decides to violently cut off huge swaths of her hair while shaking uncontrollably. Keep in mind, this is not really a film about anything. It's not trying to say something about the price of fame or provide insights into abusive mother-daughter relationships. It is just salacious for the sake of salaciousness. And once you embrace the film on those terms, it's undeniably entertaining.
The part of the film that remains icky is the source material. Crawford had been dead for a few years when the book and film were released, so she never got to tell her side of the story. And what is presented on screen is so virulently unsympathetic and extreme, it's hard to take seriously.
Did Crawford really choke her own daughter with an apparent intent to kill just a few feet away from a reporter trying to profile her? And even if she did leave her adopted children out of her will, was it truly done for spite? These questions will perhaps permanently go unanswered.
The reason to see the film is to delight in Dunaway's scenery chewing. She had gone over the top before, most noticeably in her Oscar winning performance in Network, but those performances were always controlled. Even Dunaway herself has since lamented that the director of Mommie Dearest didn't rein her in more.
She would work in Hollywood again, but she was so associated with her nutty version of Crawford that she fell from the A-list, and sadly she is one of many performers that is mostly forgotten by modern audiences.
At least she will always have Mommie Dearest, one of the most memorable "bad movies" ever made.
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