Crawford, played here with the intensity of an evangelical preacher by Faye Dunaway, was one of the biggest stars of the studio system era. She had everything her heart desired except a child (Crawford was unable to carry one to term). So she stumbles on the idea of adoption, but California law of the time did not allow single mothers to adopt and, what’s more, the adoption agency finds her unfit as a parent. They’re absolutely right, but why should that deter a big movie star? She gets a child anyway, thanks to her connections and power (in Hollywood, even child bearing is all about who you know).

Things seem perfect at first, but don’t they always. With the formalities like character introduction out of the way, MOMMIE DEAREST uses its remaining screen time to chronicle a series of degradations Christina and her sibling Christopher were forced to endure. There isn’t much of a plot, merely a parade of increasingly pathetic displays of bad parenting and bad acting. No attempt is made to rationalize Joan’s outbursts, or to give Christina the voice for her rage that this film alleges to be. This is simply a laundry list, and the Crawford family has some very dirty laundry.

Nearly any situation can turn ugly under the stern eye of Crawford. Playing in the pool turns into a mother-daughter race in which Crawford wins again and again, forcing her exhausted child to keep racing. Christina pretending to accept an acting award, becomes a harsh lesson in grooming, as Joan bellows at the child while brushing out and then cutting off her hair. In the movie’s most disturbing scene, Crawford wanders her children’s closet while they sleep and comes across a dress placed on a wire hanger. She flies into a rage, screaming “NO WIRE HANGERS!” and then proceeds to beat Christina with the hanger. When she tires of that, she drags the child into the bathroom, and forces the child to clean the floor, which she has deemed unclean. “NOTHING IS CLEAN!” she exclaims. “CLEAN UP THIS MESS!” I forgot to mention that Dunaway is covered in gooey white makeup during this scene, so she looks sort of like a psychotic, drug-addicted kabuki dancer.

This ugly movie is not like most that I cover. It has excellent production design, and handsome costuming and cinematography. But it is so utterly bizarre, so intensely repulsive, that it is uniquely fascinating to watch. Dunaway’s performance is, on paper, phenomenal. She looks the part, ages with her character, is fearless in portraying an unlikable character, and becomes downright scary when she has to. But on screen, her performance is so screechy and so frequently despicable in a movie that has nothing to say or show other than its message of “That Joan Crawford was a real bitch” that the entire enterprise becomes almost laughable. There’s only so much punishment we as an audience can stand before it becomes overkill. That a real person endured these hardships is sad, but the fact remains, the entire situation’s over-the-top treatment in this way is sort of mesmerizing. Some of the less abusive moments are quite humorous. Call me heartless, but Faye Dunaway, covered in fake blood screaming “TINA, BRING MOMMIE THE AX!” in the middle of the night, is funny. A sixty-year-old woman taking over her daughter’s role on a soap opera and pretending she’s twenty is even funnier. And it really happened!

Once again, a film reveals its own philosophy and shortcomings through its own dialogue. When Christina gets in trouble at her private school, Crawford scolds the headmaster for a lax punishment. “I think you are overreacting Ms. Crawford!” the headmaster responds. “I think you’re UNDERreacting!” barks Crawford. You can’t argue with that logic. In its perversely enthralling way, MOMMIE DEAREST is the epitome of a guilty pleasure: revenge served warm, with a side of wire hangers.