Bette Davis was never supposed to be a star. Not by the standards of 1930, anyway. When she first arrived at the train station in Hollywood, nobody from Universal Studios even recognized her because she didn’t "look like an actress." She was small, had these intense, bulging eyes, and lacked the polished, soft-glow beauty that the studios were selling to a Depression-era public.
Honestly, she looked more like a librarian than a legend.
But that was the thing about Bette Davis. She didn’t need the soft lighting. She didn’t need to be liked. In a town built on vanity, she was the first woman to realize that being interesting was way more powerful than being pretty. She survived because she was tougher than the men who signed her checks, and she stayed relevant for sixty years because she wasn’t afraid to look ugly, old, or outright insane if the script called for it.
The Fight for "Of Human Bondage" and the Write-In Oscar
If you want to understand the sheer grit of Bette Davis, you have to look at 1934. At the time, she was stuck at Warner Bros., playing "the girl" in forgettable programmers. Then she read the script for Of Human Bondage. The character, Mildred Rogers, was a vicious, illiterate, and physically decaying waitress who destroys the life of a decent man.
Every other actress in Hollywood turned it down. They were terrified of playing someone so unsympathetic.
Davis begged Jack Warner to let her do it. She didn't just play Mildred; she became a creature of pure malice. When Mildred dies of syphilis at the end of the film, Davis insisted on looking like a corpse—no makeup, just sallow, deathly skin. It was a revelation.
The industry was so shocked that she wasn't even nominated for an Oscar that year. The outcry was so massive—literally, actors and critics were rioting in the trades—that the Academy allowed the only write-in vote in its history. She didn't win that night (it went to Claudette Colbert), but she had effectively broken the system.
A year later, she won her first Best Actress Oscar for Dangerous. Most people, including Davis herself, considered it a "consolation prize" for the previous year's snub. But she took that statue and named it "Oscar" because she thought the back of the golden man looked like her husband, Harmon Oscar Nelson. The name stuck.
Why the Bette Davis and Joan Crawford Feud is Misunderstood
We’ve all seen the Ryan Murphy shows and the campy memes. The "Bette and Joan" rivalry is the stuff of Hollywood legend, usually framed as two aging divas fighting over leftovers. But if you look at the reality of Bette Davis and Joan Crawford, it wasn’t just about ego. It was a clash of philosophies.
Crawford was the ultimate product of the Studio System. She was MGM’s "creation," always perfectly coiffed, always a Movie Star. Davis was an Actress with a capital A. She looked down on Crawford’s glamour, famously saying, "Miss Crawford is a movie star, and I am an actress." Crawford, for her part, found Davis’s lack of vanity to be a performance in itself.
The "Baby Jane" Chaos
By 1962, both women were considered "box office poison." They were over 50 in an industry that usually discarded women at 35. They had to team up for What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? because no studio would fund them individually.
The set was a psychological war zone.
- Davis installed a Coca-Cola machine in her dressing room just to spite Crawford, whose late husband was the CEO of Pepsi.
- In the scene where Davis’s character kicks Crawford, Joan claimed Bette actually hit her so hard she needed stitches.
- In return, Crawford put lead weights in her pockets during a scene where Davis had to drag her across the floor, knowing Davis had a bad back.
The real kicker? Davis got an Oscar nomination for the film, and Crawford didn't. On Oscar night, Crawford actually campaigned against Davis and then arranged to accept the award on behalf of Anne Bancroft (who won and couldn't attend). When Bancroft’s name was called, Crawford swept past a stunned Bette Davis to take the stage.
It was the ultimate "f*** you." Yet, through it all, they respected each other's professionalism. They were the only ones who knew what it felt like to be at the top and have the world try to push you off.
The "Fourth Warner Brother"
For nearly two decades, Davis was so essential to Warner Bros. that she was nicknamed "The Fourth Warner Brother." But she wasn't a happy employee. In 1937, she did something insane for the time: she sued the studio.
She was tired of "junk" scripts. She wanted better roles. She fled to England to make a movie, and Warner Bros. blocked her. She lost the court case, but she won the respect of the industry. When she returned, the studio started giving her the heavy hitters: Jezebel, Dark Victory, The Letter, and The Little Foxes.
She was the first actor to earn five consecutive Academy Award nominations. Think about that. From 1938 to 1942, there wasn't a single year where Bette Davis wasn't the best in the business.
That "Bette Davis" Style
You’ve seen the impressions. The clipped voice. The way she used a cigarette like a weapon. The "Bette Davis eyes" that seemed to take up the whole screen. She was "mannered," sure, but it was intentional.
She once said, "Until you're known in my profession as a monster, you are not a star." She leaned into the intensity. She would fidget, move her hands constantly, and use her entire body to express neurosis. While other actresses were trying to look graceful, Bette was trying to look real.
All About Eve and the Second Act
By 1949, the industry thought she was done. Her last few movies had flopped. She was 41, which was ancient in 1950s Hollywood. Then came All About Eve.
The role of Margo Channing—an aging Broadway star dealing with a young interloper—was originally for Claudette Colbert. Colbert got injured, and Davis stepped in. It is arguably the greatest performance in the history of American cinema.
"Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy night."
That line wasn't just a movie quote; it was her life's motto. She played Margo with a mixture of vulnerability and acid-tongued wit that no one else could touch. It earned her another nomination and cemented her as the queen of the "comeback." She didn't just survive the 1950s; she redefined what an older woman could be on screen.
How to Watch Bette Davis Like an Expert
If you're just getting into her filmography, don't start with the horror stuff. Save Baby Jane for later. To truly see why she changed acting, you have to watch her in this specific order:
- Of Human Bondage (1934): Watch for the moment she stops caring about being a "leading lady" and decides to be a villain.
- Now, Voyager (1942): This is the ultimate "transformation" movie. Her chemistry with Paul Henreid is legendary, and the "two cigarettes" scene is still the height of cinematic cool.
- All About Eve (1950): This is the peak. Pay attention to her voice; she had a cold during filming, which gave Margo Channing that famous raspy, whiskey-soaked growl.
- The Little Foxes (1941): She plays Regina Giddens, a woman so cold she watches her husband die without moving a muscle. It’s terrifying.
Davis once remarked that her success came at the expense of her personal life. Four marriages, three divorces, one widowhood, and a famously fractured relationship with her daughter, B.D. Hyman, who wrote a "Mommie Dearest" style tell-all book. Bette’s response? She disinherited her and kept working.
She worked until she literally couldn't anymore. Her final film, Wicked Stepmother, was released in 1989, the same year she died. She was 81, ravaged by cancer and strokes, but she was still Bette Davis.
The Legacy of the Eyes
We see her influence everywhere now. Every time an actress like Meryl Streep (whom Davis personally wrote a fan letter to) or Cate Blanchett takes on a "difficult" or "unlikable" role, they are walking through a door Bette Davis kicked open.
She proved that a woman’s value on screen wasn't tied to her youth or her ability to be a "love interest." She was a professional, a fighter, and, in her own words, a "tough broad."
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She never asked for permission to be great. She just was.
Next Steps for the Classic Film Enthusiast
- Audit her "lost" years: Check out The Star (1952), where she plays a washed-up actress remarkably similar to her real-life rival, Joan Crawford.
- Explore her TV work: Her Emmy-winning turn in Strangers: The Story of a Mother and Daughter (1979) shows her adapting her "big" style for the intimacy of the small screen.
- Read her memoirs: The Lonely Life is surprisingly honest about the price of her ambition.