FEUD

Dateline: Hollywood, California.

Tinseltown readies itself for its grandest of nights.

The Academy Awards.

This year's Oscars promises to be an absolute nail-biter

between favorites Lawrence of Arabia

and The Music Man.

But the real trouble in River City,

and the race everyone is talking about

is the contest to see

who will be crowned Best Actress.

Here's icy beauty Lee Remick,

nominated for her turn as Jack Lemmon's boozy bride.

Skipping the wine and sticking to roses, Lee?

Kooky Anne Bancroft,

who brought her inimitable Annie Sullivan to the screen

in Arthur Penn's The Miracle Worker,

will be working a miracle herself

to make the curtain in her latest Broadway triumph.

Golden Globe winner Geraldine Page out walking her pooch.

Will Oscar follow the Globe's lead

and give Tennessee Williams' latest muse

Hollywood's highest honor?

With her ninth nomination,

screen legend Katharine Hepburn

will not be making a Long Day's Journey

to the West Coast this year,

as she plans once again to sit out the festivities

in her Connecticut hideaway.

But all the Vegas oddsmakers

say the smart money is on Bette Davis.

It's an honor just to be nominated... again.

Miss Davis, do you have any comment on the Academy

snubbing your costar, Joan Crawford?

Define "snub." Next question.

One thing's for sure...

no matter who wins, history will be made

in three weeks when Frank Sinatra

hosts the 35th Academy Awards.

The 1963 Oscars.

I have to say that's when things took such an ugly turn.

Not that everything

was sunshine and lollipops up until then,

but it was the Academy Awards that year

when it became the point of no return

for both Bette and Joan.

I truly believed that the ladies

would put aside their natural personal enmity,

but there were so many people who profited

from them being at each other's throats.

The studio, the publicity people,

and of course, the columnists.

I know firsthand.

Unscrupulous reporters did everything they could

to sow hatred

between myself and my own sister.

The actress Joan Fontaine is your younger sister.

Well, she's not that much younger, but yes.

So there is no feud

between you two?

A feud implies

continuing hostile conduct

between two parties.

I can't remember an instance

where I instigated hostile behavior.

You refused to speak to her backstage

after your 1947 Oscar win.

You're referring

to that photo of me in Photoplay magazine.

I wasn't turning my back on my sister in that photo.

I just didn't see that she was there.

It's hard to imagine

the pressure the Academy Awards puts on one.

Which brings us back

to Bette and the other Joan.

Well, it all started, I remember,

with the nominations.

And understandably, Joan was hurt,

because she was snubbed.

Unfortunately, dear Bette,

wasn't about to offer her any solace.

But Joan, being a fighter,

wasn't about to let one tiny detail

like not being nominated push her out of the limelight.

The very day of the nominations,

Joan marched herself down to the Motion Picture Academy

and demanded to see Mr. Wendell Corey,

the president of the Academy.

Mr. Corey.

Joan Crawford's headed this way

and she's not slowing down.

Joan, I can promise you,

the vote tally is beyond reproach.

The people at Price Waterhouse are honest to a fault.

Wendell, I'm confident under your stewardship

that everything here at the Academy is above board.

I wish all the worthy nominees

good luck and Godspeed.

I'm here to offer my services.

As it turns out, I'm available to present this year.

Either Best Picture or Best Director.

You decide which.

Oh, well, that's...

that's very generous.

Of course I'm going to require a few things.

I'd appreciate it

if the Academy could pay for my hair and makeup.

And, of course, provide a car and a chauffeur.

Well, we don't do that for presenters.

You will for me.

I believe if Bette had said

to even one reporter

that she regretted Joan not getting a nod,

all that unpleasantness would have gone away.

She came across as cold

and unsympathetic to some,

but really she was nervous.

Terribly so.

Bonsoir. I have a person-to-person call

for Mademoiselle de Havilland from Mademoiselle Davis.

Oh. Yes, of course, operator.

Bette.

Livvie. I have no idea what time it is there.

Did I wake you?

No, not at all. I was just reading

what passes as a script for a new movie they've offered me.

Anything in it for me?

Not unless you want to play a wino or a hoodlum.

The title alone makes me want to shudder.

Lady in a Cage.

Just sounds so awful.

Awful!

And if you don't snap it up, I will.

I doubt very much indeed

that it will bring you your fourth Oscar.

Don't jinx me, I haven't won the third one yet.

You will.

In only a few weeks time, too.

You know I'll be pulling for you.

Pulling for me? You're going to be sitting right next to me.

Oh, you can't really expect me to travel all that way

for an award show.

You bet your ass I can.

Oh, Livvie, you have no idea what they've been saying

about me in the press.

About you and Joan, you mean.

Christ, is it in the French papers, too?

In any language, all they want

is a catfight.

You have to stop giving it to them.

I know.

I should be kinder, I want to be,

but she sets me off.

I know the impulse well.

But two words:

"No... comment."

Easy for you to say; my Joan is far worse than your Joan.

Not possible.

You know what my bitch sister has taken to telling the press?

That I broke her collarbone when we were children.

Can you imagine?

And the press...

just gobbles it up.

Monsters.

Livvie, you have to come.

The goddamn Hollywood press,

they won't be able to say shit about me

if there's another woman of comparable stature

supporting me.

Comparable to Joan's stature, you mean.

What else would I mean?

Bette was never easy.

But I know she respects me.

We both have two Oscars,

and she knew that winning another one

didn't matter that much to me,

so I wasn't competition to her, I suppose.

I was never a threat.

In her mind, I was always Melanie Wilkes

to her Scarlett O'Hara.

Of course, I really was Melanie Wilkes.

Her third Oscar.

You always did stink at math, Joanie, not a third Oscar.

Her tenth nomination, her eighth loss.

That's the way you got to think of it.

But she is the odds-on favorite.

Well, that's because this town loves nothing more

than to bestow titles.

And they're just itching

to give that old nag the triple crown.

But we're going to see she doesn't get it.

How?

Mm. Easy.

There are, as of now, 655 Academy members

in your peer group that'll be casting a vote for Best Actress.

We just have to get to, say, a hundred of them,

and we can tip this thing.

You mean actually lobby the Academy members

to vote against her?

Why not?

Well, because it will be seen as