Bette Davis: “What Hollywood Has Given Me—What It Has Taken From Me”

In 1935, Bette Davis was on the verge of eclipsing all other actors in Hollywood. Fans such as Gordon Sellett of New Jersey sensed she was something special. He wrote a letter published in the June 1935 edition of Picture Play that praised Davis for her performance in Of Human Bondage and called for her to take home an Academy Award (she was nominated but did not win). He concluded by calling her “all too magnificent for mere words.” A few months later, Davis herself seemed to pause and take stock of her life as it was about to change forever. She published this thoughtful and revealing evaluation of celebrity. I hope you enjoy it! Please comment below and find previous articles on the right. To subscribe, email angela.firkus@gmail.com. Thanks for reading!

Motion Picture (May 1935)

Four years in the movie capital have wrought a complete change in Bette Davis. To deny it, she says, would be to admit stagnation.

Hollywood has given me added courage, a capacity for hard work, and taking it on the chin. I have never known better health, and I’m not rapping wood when I say it, either, for I’m not superstitious or a fatalist. I do believe in destiny. If I ever doubted Hollywood’s guide to the famous ones has removed that doubt. Here, where there are geniuses who are never recognized for their ability and talents, never given a chance, while other less gifted are lifted to the skies and are given everything.

I could cite many instances of those who undeservedly are at the pinnacle of fame and fortune. Some call it luck. I call it destiny. But even destiny works in partnership with hard work.

I went to Hollywood four years ago this December. I expected nothing but failure. I can truthfully say, “Veni, vidi, vici.” (I came, I saw, I conquered.)

I was appearing in a play, “The Solid South,” in New York with Richard Bennett when Universal discovered me and invited me to go to Hollywood. I remained with that studio a year and was on the verge of packing up and returning to New York when Warners offered me a role with George Arliss in “The Man Who Played God.” I’ve been with them ever since.

At first, Hollywood judged my acting solely by my appearance—the clothes I wore—both on and off the screen. That judgment came very near to sending me back to New York branded a failure. And all because I was getting too many goody-goody roles. I rebelled.

I conquered after a prolonged argument with studio officials to become a bad woman, cinematically speaking. The roles of “Mildred” in “Of Human Bondage” and “Marie” in “Bordertown,” two hateful characterizations, turned the wheel in my favor.

I have learned that the biggest insult Hollywoodians can pay you is to say, “Isn’t she a ‘nice’ girl?” Another thing, never be laughed at in Hollywood. Laugh first, then she laughs with you, but not at you. I’ve had to cultivate and maintain a sense of humor. I’ve learned to ask for things that I think I should have. 

Hollywood has given me the terrific satisfaction of doing something I wanted to do.

I have learned that the biggest insult Hollywood can pay you is to say, “Isn’t she a nice girl?”

I have learned to ask for things that I think I should have.

I have never known better health.

Hollywood has given me added courage, a capacity for hard work and taking it on the chin.

It has given me a philosophy which amounts to a creed. Yesterday is gone and there is no to-morrow. In other words, every day is a fresh beginning. To-morrow, if it comes, will be different. What if things go wrong? What if the world seems arrayed against me? Do I have the dumps, drip with self-pity, and give up in despair? I do not. I say to myself, “This, too, will pass away!” Yesterday is gone and we can’t recall it. Nothing is certain except change.

I came into this world twenty-six years ago at exactly fifteen minutes to nine in the morning to the accompaniment of an April shower. Rain has been music to my ears ever since, besides bringing me luck.

It rained when I signed my first contract with Warners. After my marriage in Yuma, Arizona, several years ago, in crossing the desert back to Hollywood with my husband and our party, we were greeted by one of the most glorious rainbows I have ever seen.

It rained the night I made my first appearance at the Provincetown Theater in “The Earth Between.” The show went to New York, giving me my first opportunity to play on Broadway. It poured the night “Broken Dishes” opened at the Ritz Theater in New York. The author and director had harbored misgivings about me, but after the first performance the author came back stage to tell me how delighted he was that I had remained in the cast.

On another occasion, Warren William and I were making a personal appearance tour and as we dashed into the Earle Theater in Washington in the pouring rain, I said, “This means good luck.” Our tour was a success.

 

Picture Play (Sept. 1935)

 

I was a most normal child; at least my mother says so. I had a temper. Was fastidious about my appearance. I was determined, but disliked fighting and still do for that matter. Yet I can’t bear to fail.

When I entered the Cushing Academy in Ashburnham, Massachusetts, there were seventy-five students. When the term ended there were only four and in order to finish my training I turned waitress.

My mother and father were divorced and the burden of supporting and educating my younger sister, Barbara, and myself fell upon mother’s shoulders. I thought it only right that I should lift the load. Later, when my first engagement with a stock company at the Cape Cod Playhouse in Dennis, Massachusetts, came to an abrupt close at the end of the first week, I worked as an usher in the same theater.

I have never been a martyr. The biggest doubter there ever was, I always have a feeling I’ll win in the end. I’ve always analyzed everything and am beginning to think I always will. I’ve never thought about dying. Have never been to a funeral, never a death in the family. In the face of tragedy I become hysterical.

Cried? Many times. I almost cried my eyes out after the preview of “Of Human Bondage.” I thought I was terrible. I had fought for three months for the part before I convinced the powers-that-be that I had a winning chance. They wanted an actress with a big name, but those with a “name” rejected it because it was unsympathetic.

Hollywood has given me a certain sense of values as far as money is concerned. I don’t believe in investing heavily and would rather take a low rate of interest in a sure thing than take a chance on risky investments. I believe in thinking twice before spending. I own no property. I live in a small, rented house, attractive but unpretentious. I think it easier to economize in a small house, there being less space in which to accumulate possessions. I employ three servants, chauffeur, cook, and personal maid, the latter for studio work.

My mother and sister live in a separate establishment, but I see them daily. My husband’s vocation, singer and pianist, necessitates that he remain in other cities a good part of the year. I spent my six weeks’ vacation with him last February in San Francisco. Other times we have gone on long motor trips when both of us had a holiday. On these occasions we preferred staying at tourist camps. I would do all the cooking and housework.

I’ve not only studied but perfected myself in a business course in case my career should end in some unforeseen way. I believe every one should have a second string to his or her bow. The plight of former “big money” stars who are working as extras, or not at all, has served as a warning.

Hollywood has given me added poundage both in flesh and money. When I arrived I weighed 112 pounds. To-day I tip the scales at 118. I have taken out a policy with Lloyds of London insuring me against reaching 121 pounds. On the other hand, if I drop to 113, I must submit to instructions and regulations as to diet, exercise, et cetera, from the insurance company.

Hollywood has given me the terrific satisfaction of having done something I wanted to do. It has given me a philosophy which amounts to a creed. Yesterday is gone and there is no tomorrow. In other words, every day is a fresh beginning. To-morrow, if it comes, will be different. What if things go wrong? What if the world seems arrayed against me? Do I have the dumps, drip with self-pity and give up in despair? I do not. I say to myself, “This, too, will pass away!” Yesterday is gone and we can’t recall it. Nothing is certain except change. I’ve learned all this in Hollywood.

 

Hollywood has taken from me all my ideals of acting.

You are silly to believe that you can have friends in Hollywood. I have three, but they are not of the professional world.

You lose all your illusions about fame and become just another worker earnestly endeavoring to do a fascinating job well.

About the worst thing Hollywood does to you is to mess up your mental storehouse with silly things that change your ideas of life and the scheme of things becomes a confused pattern.

I vowed I wouldn’t bleach my hair. I did so shortly after my arrival. I also vowed I wouldn’t wear trousers, but I did, and continue to wear them.

Before going to Hollywood I was supersensitive. It has taken that out of me, for which I am thankful.

Don’t think because it is called the land of the silver screen that all of the clouds have a silver lining.

I’ve changed. To say I haven’t would be admitting stagnation.

Things don’t come easy in Hollywood. It’s a rhythm of ups and downs, bouquets and brickbats. What is one man’s meat is another man’s poison. Fame becomes an empty fantasy, but a profitable one. You lose all your illusions about fame and become just another worker earnestly endeavoring to do a fascinating job well.

I’ve been asked to define Hollywood. I’ve looked at it with questioning eyes and thought about it, but never attempted to define it.

During my first year in the cinema capital I mussed up my thoughts by trying to analyze Hollywood. First: I decided too much importance is given to trivial things. Second: Your appearance both on and off the screen is deemed more important than a true performance.

I tested it in my first role, that of “Laura” in “Bad Sister.” She was a small-town girl, a wallflower type. I dressed her as such and what was the result? Carl Laemmle, Jr., refused to give me roles, saying I was the funniest kind of girl and as difficult to cast as Slim Summerville.

I still think you don’t have to be a good actress in Hollywood. One good gag is all you need and you’re over the top. Yes, Hollywood has robbed me of my ideals of acting. Here, the star is glorified, whereas the writer should be. He represents the brains of the business besides being the basis of the story, and the story is what counts.

Before going to Hollywood I saw “Once in a Lifetime.” I didn’t think much about it at the time, but now I am of the belief that it doesn’t even begin to tell the truth.

You’re silly to be fooled into believing that you can have friends in Hollywood. I have three, but since they are not professionals I prefer not to mention their names. It isn’t so much that picture people are undesirable. They have to be absorbed in their individual careers, and this forces them to become self-centered. 

Dangerous Press Book (Warner Brothers 1935)

 

Screen people are no different from stage people in one respect. They gloat over another’s failure. The way to play safe is to admit your faults. Pretending to criticize oneself has become one of Hollywood’s most popular pasttimes.

About the worst thing that Hollywood does to you is to mess up your mental storehouse with silly things that inadvertently change your ideas about life, and the scheme of things becomes a confused pattern. My mental mechanism has done a flip-flop. “Nothing succeeds like success” is especially true in Hollywood, and in order to succeed you have to play politics. I can’t play politics, and under no circumstances would I mix my social life with business. I’m never seen publicly with studio executives. It just isn't my policy.

I vowed on going to Hollywood that I wouldn’t bleach my hair. I did so shortly after my arrival. I also vowed I wouldn’t wear trousers, but I did, and continue to wear them. One thing I didn’t do and that was to change my name “after” I had become known on the screen. When I was a little girl I had stage ambitions and didn’t think much of my real name. One day a friend called and my name became the subject of discussion. She suggested “Bette,” Balzac’s heroine in “Cousin Bette.”

Before going to Hollywood I was supersensitive. It has taken that out of me, for which I am thankful. I used to be hurt by everything unkind and untrue that was published about me. Soon I learned that it was impossible to live three hundred and sixty-five days without being insulted by the press. I also discovered that what appears to-day is forgotten to-morrow.

The actor who complains that he can’t live his own life in Hollywood is babbling rubbish. Players complain, among other things, of being mobbed when they appear in public. What of it? So are kings and presidents, and so are freaks.

I don’t hesitate to say what I think except when asked by interviewers to discuss certain subjects—for instance, motherhood. I simply refuse.

I advise every girl or boy who aspires to become a screen player to stay away from Hollywood unless he or she has had previous stage experience. The competition is too great. Talent and beauty without experience are a total loss, and you will grow old and weary waiting for a chance. Don’t think because it’s called the land of the silver screen that all the clouds have a silver lining.

Since going to Hollywood I’ve changed. To say I haven’t would be admitting stagnation. But Hollywood has given me much more than it has taken from me.

 

Sources and Further Reading

Davis, Betty and Dorothy Wooldridge. “What Hollywood has Given Me—What it has Taken from Me.” Picture Play. (Sept. 1935): 28-29, 56-57.
https://lantern.mediahist.org/catalog/pictureplay4143stre_0690

Meares, Hadley Hall. “’Whatever I Did, I Did’: The Obstinate Life of Bette Davis.” Vanity Fair (Nov. 2020). https://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2020/11/bette-davis-autobiography-feud

Sikov, Ed. Dark Victory: The Life of Bette Davis. New York: Holt, 2007.

“What the Fans Think.” Picture Play. (June 1935): 6.
https://lantern.mediahist.org/catalog/pictureplay4143stre_0416