Susan Hayward didn't just play Lillian Roth. She possessed her. When you sit down to watch the I'll Cry Tomorrow movie, you aren't getting some sanitized, Golden Age version of a "cautionary tale." It’s raw. It’s ugly. Honestly, for a film released in 1955, it’s a miracle it got past the censors at all given how unflinchingly it portrays the total disintegration of a human being.
Most people today know the name Lillian Roth as a footnote, if they know it at all. But in the 1920s and 30s, she was a supernova. A Broadway star at eight. A film star by her teens. Then, the alcohol took over. The 1955 biopic, directed by Daniel Mann, captures that freefall with a level of grit that makes modern "gritty" reboots look like Saturday morning cartoons. It isn't just a movie about a celebrity who drank too much. It’s a horror story about the loss of identity.
The Shocking Reality of Lillian Roth’s Downfall
Hollywood loves a comeback, but it usually likes them clean. Lillian Roth’s life was anything but. The I'll Cry Tomorrow movie was based on her 1954 autobiography, which she wrote with Gerold Frank. That book was a sensation because it broke the "hush-hush" culture of the time. People didn't talk about female alcoholism in the fifties. Not in public. Certainly not in the pages of a bestseller.
The film follows Lillian from her childhood, pushed relentlessly by her stage mother, Katie Roth (played with a terrifying, suffocating intensity by Jo Van Fleet). You see the seeds being sown early. It’s that classic "stage parent" dynamic where the child’s success is the parent’s only oxygen. When Lillian’s fiancé, David Tredman, dies suddenly, the emotional vacuum is filled by a bottle.
It’s a fast slide.
One minute she's the toast of the town, and the next, she’s waking up in fleabag motels with men she doesn't recognize. There’s a specific scene where Hayward’s Lillian is trying to find a drink in a cluttered room, her hands shaking, her eyes darting like a trapped animal. It’s uncomfortable to watch. It should be. Hayward actually did her own singing in the film, which added another layer of authenticity. She didn't have the polished, studio-perfect voice of a professional singer; she had the voice of a woman who had seen too much.
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Why Susan Hayward’s Performance Changed Everything
Hayward won the Best Actress award at Cannes and nabbed an Oscar nomination for this role. She lost the Oscar to Anna Magnani, but many film historians argue Hayward’s work here was the more influential performance. Why? Because she refused to be "pretty" while suffering.
In the mid-fifties, female stars were expected to maintain a certain level of glamour, even in tragedy. Hayward threw that out the window. She sweat. Her hair was a mess. Her makeup was smeared. She showed the physical bloating and the grey, sallow skin of a chronic drinker. This wasn't "movie drunk." This was "end-stage alcoholism."
The chemistry—if you can call it that—between Hayward and Jo Van Fleet is the dark heart of the movie. Van Fleet, who actually won an Oscar that year for East of Eden, plays Katie as a woman who genuinely thinks she’s doing what’s best for her daughter while systematically destroying her soul. It’s a masterclass in psychological codependency. You realize that Lillian isn't just addicted to booze; she’s addicted to the approval she’s never going to get from her mother.
Breaking the Taboo: Alcoholics Anonymous on Screen
Perhaps the most significant part of the I'll Cry Tomorrow movie is its depiction of Alcoholics Anonymous. Today, we see AA or 12-step programs in movies constantly. In 1955? It was revolutionary.
The film doesn't treat AA as a magic wand. It shows the grueling, day-by-day, minute-by-minute struggle of staying sober. Richard Conte plays Burt McGuire, the man who helps Lillian through the program. Their relationship isn't a standard Hollywood romance. It’s built on the shared wreckage of their lives.
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- The film was one of the first to use the term "alcoholic" so bluntly.
- It depicted the "DTs" (delirium tremens) with terrifying visual accuracy.
- It showed the social stigma—how friends and industry peers vanish the moment you become "difficult."
There is a visceral sense of shame that permeates the second half of the film. Lillian has to hit a rock bottom that involves literal homelessness and contemplating suicide before she can even begin to climb out. It’s heavy stuff. But it’s also weirdly hopeful in a way that feels earned, rather than forced.
The Production Context You Probably Didn't Know
MGM took a massive risk with this. They spent over $2 million on it, which was a hefty sum for a black-and-white drama at the time. They were worried that audiences would find it too depressing. Instead, it became one of the highest-grossing films of the year. People were hungry for the truth.
Interestingly, Lillian Roth herself was very involved. She wanted the world to see the reality of her struggle. She had returned to the spotlight after 16 years of obscurity, appearing on the TV show This Is Your Life in 1953. That appearance was what sparked the book and the subsequent movie. She was one of the first celebrities to "go public" with her recovery, paving the way for people like Betty Ford or Elizabeth Taylor decades later.
The cinematography by Arthur E. Arling is stark. He uses shadows to hem Lillian in, making the luxurious apartments of her early career feel just as claustrophobic as the jail cells and back alleys of her later years. The lighting doesn't favor Hayward; it exposes her.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Ending
A common criticism of biopics from this era is that they have "tidy" endings. Some viewers think the I'll Cry Tomorrow movie ends on a too-perfect note of redemption. But if you look closer, the ending is actually quite haunting.
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Yes, Lillian finds sobriety. Yes, she finds a partner. But the movie makes it clear that the scars are permanent. She has lost years of her life. Her career will never be what it was. The "tomorrow" she cried for has arrived, but it’s a quiet, fragile tomorrow. It’s not a return to the glitz of the Ziegfeld Follies. It’s just the simple, monumental achievement of being alive and sober.
Lillian Roth actually lived until 1980. She continued to perform, but she never regained the heights of her youth. Her life remained a series of ups and downs, but she stayed active in the recovery community until the end. The movie serves as a monument to that resilience.
Actionable Insights for Classic Film Fans
If you’re planning to watch or re-watch this classic, keep a few things in mind to get the most out of the experience:
- Compare it to The Lost Weekend: Watch this alongside the 1945 film The Lost Weekend. While that film is excellent, notice how I'll Cry Tomorrow handles the female perspective on addiction, which was a much steeper social climb in the 1950s.
- Listen to the Lyrics: Pay attention to the songs Lillian sings. The transition from the bright, youthful "Happiness Is a Thing Called Joe" to the more weathered performances later in the film tells the story better than the dialogue sometimes does.
- Watch the Supporting Cast: Don't just focus on Hayward. Watch Jo Van Fleet’s hands and eyes. The way she "manages" Lillian is a terrifyingly accurate depiction of a narcissistic parent.
- Research the Real Lillian Roth: After the credits roll, look up her 1953 This Is Your Life episode on YouTube. Seeing the real woman stand there after the harrowing journey you just watched on film is incredibly moving.
The I'll Cry Tomorrow movie remains a powerhouse because it doesn't blink. It stares directly into the sun of human frailty and asks what happens when you’re burned. Even 70 years later, that’s a question worth asking. It isn't just a "black and white movie"; it's a blueprint for every addiction drama that followed, from A Star is Born to Requiem for a Dream.
To truly appreciate the film's impact, look at how the industry changed afterward. The Motion Picture Production Code began to lose its grip shortly after, partly because films like this proved that "adult themes" handled with honesty were what the public actually wanted. It didn't destroy morality; it invited empathy. That’s a legacy very few movies can claim.