In the first chapter of My Way of Life, Joan Crawford’s 1971 tome intended (according to its dust jacket) “for every woman who wants to live beautifully and successfully,” Crawford pontificates on the idea of regret.
“People are always asking me if there’s anything I regret, or would change,” she writes. “The answer is no! Not a thing. If I hadn’t had the pain I wouldn’t be me. And I like being me. Everyone should.”
What it meant to be Joan Crawford is the question at the center of Joan Crawford Goes to Hell, currently being revived in an excellent production by Hell in a Handbag at The Clutch, 4335 N. Western Ave.
As the play opens, an older Joan (Playwright David Cerda, but outstandingly understudied by Handbag regular Ed Jones the evening I saw the show) arrives in Hell and is subjected to a This is Your Life-ish retrospective of her adult years, with a particular emphasis on her relationship with long-suffering daughter Christina. Jones interestingly debuted with the ensemble playing Carol Ann in the original production of Joan Crawford Goes to Hell.
The audience is guided along two narrative through-lines unpacking Joan’s life: Various aphorisms and bon mots culled from My Way of Life and narration by Christina, played by TJ O’Brien with a demonically flat riff on Diana Scarwid’s original performance that sounded at times as if Christina was Regan O’Neill as portrayed by Eric Cartman.
Other actors (Gretchen Greear, Nicholas “Nickie” Ian, Jennifer Engstrom and Coco Sho-Nell) portray Joan at various stretches her life, mostly re-enacting variations of scenes from the Mommie Dearest film. Joan watches the scenes play out with characteristically little embarrassment. Indeed, she only stops the action once to say the players have it wrong; following Joan’s famous attack over the wire hangers and dirty bathroom, the older Joan mentions that they’re using the incorrect brand of scouring powder.
Some scenes are pure gems: Christina getting her pent-up aggression out on Joan as the two practice a scene from Mildred Pierce and Joan’s explaining to a reporter how Christina got thrown out of boarding school are particular standouts. There’s even a terrific reference to Joan’s 1964 schlock-classic Straight Jacket, which played in Chicago a few weeks prior to Joan Crawford Goes to Hell’s run.
Jones, who regularly plays Rose in Handbag’s The Golden Girls: The Lost Episodes, gave off an interestingly more vulnerable variation on Joan at the performance I saw. His version of the actress certainly had no fucks left to give, but he approaches her death and prospective damnation with a wide-eyed trepidation that seemed appropriate for an older woman, even one as thick-skinned as Joan. I’ve seen Cerda play Joan in other shows, most recently in the prologue to the aforementioned Straight Jacket screening; Jones contrasted nicely with Cerda’s haughtiness and knack for intimidating scowls.
Other standouts in the cast included O’Brien and Greear as perhaps the most aggressive incarnation of Joan. Greear pops up whenever Joan’s proving herself athletically or terrorizing chorus boys onset at MGM, among other moments. Haley Gillman was also quite good as the younger incarnation of Christina.
As usual with Handbag shows, the direction and sets were both good; Director Cheryl Snodgrass and Scenic Designer Marcus Klein made good use out of The Clutch’s storefront space. I was also pleased that Cerda’s dog Walter showed up for yet another cameo, even if his owner was not able to make it that night.
Joan Crawford Goes to Hell runs through Oct. 4 at The Clutch, 4335 N. Western Ave. Click here for tickets and information.