What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?
The door opens slowly. Joan Crawford, her eyes bulging as only Joan can bulge them, huddles in her wheelchair helplessly and stares in horror atgood grief, what is it? Its body looks like an outsize Christmas stocking stuffed with oranges, flashlights and toy trucks. Its hair suggests bleached Brillo. Its eyes might be bloodshot golfballs. Its mouth, enlarged by lipstick, looks like a greasy old bow tie that somehow rode up over its chin.
Holy smoke, it's Bette Davis. "I've brawchoo yaw dinnah," she drawls as only Bette can drawl, then smiles like an unsanitary crocodile as...
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