Queen Bee (1955)

Yawn. Poorly Filmed Snooze Fest.

Touches You

I wanted to but couldn't!

It is neither dumb nor smart enough to be fun, and spends way too much time with its boring human characters.

It started with Eve, and it will probably end with another female named Eve, but somewhere in the middle came Joan Crawford's Eva. The dominating figure of a Southern estate, she is a modern day Regina, the antagonist of Lillian Hellman's play "The Little Foxes". All sugar on the surface, she is a combination of Regina, Lady MacBeth and "I Claudius's" Livia underneath. When distant relative Lucy Marlowe arrives, she is instantly fooled but soon learns the nasty truth. Another relative (Betsy Palmer) suffers dearly at the hands of the Queen Bee, and Barry Sullivan, as Crawford's drunken husband, plots his wife's downfall with an unexpected conclusion. There are many interesting analizations along the way, but none more revealing than those by Crawford herself. Eva is not a one dimensional bitch, and Crawford makes the viewer see every side of this walking tragedy in heels. "There's a bit of me in every woman:, she admits in a particularly vulnerable moment, but is compelled by some force stronger than herself. Marlowe, Palmer, Sullivan and paramour John Ireland all offer their own observations about her but the simple truth is that Eva is as crazy as any other power hungry male or female who has had the desire or need to control others. While the temptation to compare this film to "Mommie Dearest" may become an obsession for some, it really calls into question the truth of Christina Crawford's claims (both in the book, as well as the fact that the movie version of her book was nothing more than "another Joan Crawford movie") and solidifies Joan's place as one of Hollywood's most legendary stars.

A badly done movie, though the acting is competent by all. Joan Crawford plays herself very well and I can easily believe that her daughter had to leave the theater half-way through because it was too much for her. The best part of the movie was the spectacular Jean-Louis gown Ms. Crawford wore at the end of the movie. The dress was so beautiful it would be perfectly acceptable and raved over NOW on the red carpet! I should mention that the blonde actress who played Carol was quietly very good in her part and the only one who bothered to speak in a Southern accent.

I remember stumbling on this several years ago and admiring Barry Sullivan's dialogue, both the dialogue itself and the way Sullivan delivered it. Although one line that stayed in my mind appears to be missing I still get a kick out of Sullivan's dialogue and even John Ireleand, a graduate of the Charlton Heston Redwood School Of Acting, weighs in with a half decent performance and handles a couple of Sullivan left-over zingers with something approaching style. They are, of course, merely the hors d'ouevres, setting up the palate for the caviar that is Joan Crawford and arguably the best example of late-blooming Crawford on celluloid. Although we're smack dab in the middle of decaying magnolia country no one makes much of a stab at a Southern accent but almost everyone makes a decent fist of this out-and-out meller.

And you're not, Joan, in this Gothic 1955 soap. Joan's a Northerner who married into Southern aristocracy and rules the Tara-like mansion with threats, sarcasm, deceit, and in one memorable take, a quite real-looking slap at a prettier young actress. That's Lucy Marlow, who actually has what's probably the lead role in terms of length. But the focus is Joan, Joan, Joan, and while her evil-bitch persona is always entertaining--at this point in her career, she'd determined it was the way her fans wanted to see her, and she wasn't shy about pouring on the acid--it's not a very energetic or convincing movie. The children, for one thing. Aside from the fact that they're at least 20 years too young to be Joan's children (and Tim Hovey is an unusually annoying '50s kid actor), their relationship with the parental units isn't spelled out at all. What's their father (Barry Sullivan)'s attitude toward them, and vice versa? And is the ending meant to be, like, happy? And how are we supposed to feel about Jud (John Ireland)--hero or heel? It's like writer-director Ranald MacDougall just wanted to paste together a medley of evil-Joan moments and didn't really care whether the continuity made any sense. There are some memorable images, though, and a bevy of ugly '50s fashions, and the usual fawning over how lovely La Crawford is even though she isn't. That ought to keep you amused through the lulls.