(with apologies to Anne Sexton, Bette Davis, and All About Eve)
“Directors, playwrights, ‘Eves’: all rats!
Producers, critics—bloodsuckers—they live
off of me! They’ll whine, ‘The show must go on.’
Bullshit. Who do they take me for? Little no-
toothed Tammy from the country? This Theater of Evil
need not necessarily be a place for me—the Star!
I’m lied to behind my back—me—the Star!
After all, it’s my fame that entices these rats—
I’m the goddamned Pied Piper! I’m accused of reading evil
into Lloyd’s Holy Gospel! I’m the one who’s forced to live
her life in a petrified, ageless state—no
wrinkles or gray hair—I’m never to put weight on.
And Bill—my lover, for Christ’s sake—standing there, hard-on
no doubt, salivating over Eve. Does he see a future star
and therefore want to ‘do’ her? There will be no
sex for him tonight” … oh, right … this is just a part. Rats!
I’d love to see Gary Merrill naked. I can picture us living
together someday—yes, in sin—doing all sorts of evil!
I’ve got an eerie feeling (mostly good, but tinged with evil)
that I’m slowly becoming Margo Channing, on
stage and off. My own life is such a mess these days. I live
with the same fear as Margo—I’m an aging star
in search of true love in an industry full of smelly rats.
I’ve lasted all these years, a standard of artistry. No
one has approached my greatness—no
woman or man—not even ambiguous Joan Crawford, that evil
bitch. And even she loves me like a rat
lusts after cheese. But I wouldn’t piss on her if she was on
fire! In ‘44, she was a washed-up MGM star,
and she came crawling over to Warners—couldn’t live
without me I guess—sent flowers, perfume, notes. If I live
until I’m 54, and my figure is shot to hell, she’ll still have no
clue, wear her stiletto falsies (like aggressive star-
fish in her blouse) to “seduce” me. She won’t be overtly evil,
until she doesn’t get any, like a dykey schoolgirl with a crush on
the boobs and twat at the next desk. How I’d love to feed her rats.
That’s it! A film where I serve the bitch roasted rats, and we live
in isolation, so I can carry on and beat the shit out of her and no
one will stop me! We’ll call it What Ever Happened to That Evil Star?