For all intents and purposes, I should have absolutely no idea who you are. However, you’re in luck. I just happen to be one of those teens who’s actually interested in stuff like film history, hollywood scandals and personality disorders. Maybe not in that order.
So the reason I’m writing to you now is that I’ve been suffering from terrible insomnia lately. I suppose I could get a machine that radiates soothing ocean sounds. I could try to get my hands on some of that yummy codeine-infused pineapple-flavored cough syrup that made my aunt pass out in her spaghetti squash last summer. But, no. I just HAD ro turn on Turner Classic Movies the exact moment your movie, Autumn Leaves, started.
How is it that I can get bored watching summer blockbuster trailers, but instantly sucked in by your relentlessly unnatural eyebrows and voice which strains to be soft, but can’t. My Mom and I watched Faye Dunaway’s take on you in Mommie Dearest probably a dozen times. It was one of her favorite movies. We bonded over it. My mom’s sense of humor is awesome that way.
Anyway, Ms. Crawford, back to the movie. Man, if there was a way to capture the 1950s pathos of a self-loathing single woman, this is it. Your character sure knew how to pick ’em. And, given what I know about you, you never would have allowed yourself to play this part (and very convincingly I might add) if there wasn’t just the tiniest part of you in there… somewhere.
So, let me get this straight. You loved this script about a lonely woman in her 40s (I think) who works from home as a typist. You go to a movie alone and then wander into a diner where a chatty younger man convinces you to date him. You spend a majority of the movie doubting yourself and not understanding why this guy would be into you. Um, he has no job, then he’s a tie salesman, then he lies about it, he shoplifts, he forgets to tell you that he was married, he lies about his military service, his father and ex-wife are having an affair and trying to shake him down, then he has a psychotic break, slaps you (hard) and practically crushes your hand (one of the money-making typing ones). You have no choice but to get him committed. By the end of his sanitarium stay, you’re convinced he’s been “cured” of his need for you and so you decide to let him run out on you even though you’ve been nothing but patient, loving and supportive. Huh?
That is ALL kinds of crazy.
Between that and roles like Mildred Pierce, you seem to really like to play the pious, sensitive lady who’s been wronged. But that’s why you were a great actress. Only really great ones can put on a show like that. I’m not sure if I was riveted by your performance or the sheer nuttiness of this kooky mid-20th century boy/girl dynamic.
Ms. Crawford, what sort of mother, wife, friend, starlet would be if you had born in 1980, not 1908? Who would you be without lights on you? Would you disappear, or finally come to life? I’m torn between admiring your clear ambition, and sort of wondering what it was all for. You were not the characters you played. None of us are, I guess.
Always,
Capra
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