David (left) and Albert
Maysles on the set of Grey Gardens,
1976
GREY GARDENS A
USA (94 mi) 1976
d: Albert and David Maysles co-directors:
Ellen Hovde and Muffie Meyer
I'm sure you've been
asked this many times, but what do you say of critics who dismiss Grey Gardens as an exploitation of the
two women?
I feel very strongly
about that sort of thing. They're way off course and the irony of it is that
they make these claims to protect these two women from the
camera...(laughing)--these two women don't need any protection. The underlying
notion in claiming exploitation is that they're just crazy. So it's all in
attempting to defend these women from exploitation that they're really
undermining the beliefs that viewers have that these are really healthy people.
When we finished the film, we showed it to a group of some 500 psychotherapists
and even they didn't quite get it. They went off into all this hocus pocus
language of their profession. I see it as an act of great courage for the two
ladies to open their doors in such a way that we had total access to them.
People who claim exploitation say: "Only crazy people do that sort of
thing." But we gave honor to their openness.
The peculiar
thing--but not so peculiar when you understand it fully--is that my
understanding of their whole psychology is that they couldn't quite take the
life of American aristocracy and the Bouviers. The only way they could fully be
themselves was to seclude themselves--to sing and dance and to fashion their
clothes. All of these creative efforts they could do and do fully and love each
other. So along come these two guys with a camera who offer them a chance to
come out into society--it was the greatest boon for them. They could still be
themselves and gain access to the whole world. They didn't have the kinds of
ill health that characterized the population around them. Instead, they had
each other. So in a way, they're models of a good relationship.
I went to two cocktail
parties [in East Hampton] to stop the gossip about my being a recluse. Most of them looked at me like I was from
Mars. I shouldn’t have gone; I don’t
drink. If you don’t do what everybody
else does out there, if you don’t go to the Maidstone Club or join the Garden
Club, you’re written off as crazy.
─Edith "Little Edie" Bouvier Beale
As much as The Great
Gatsby, Tennessee Williams’ or Truman Capote’s stark depictions of the tattered
remnants of Southern Gothic aristocracy, GREY GARDENS veers behind the scenes
of American wealth and power and reveals an untold story, the skeletons in the
closet of one of the great American families, that suggests, at least according
to F. Scott Fitzgerald, that rich people really are different, perhaps because
of an innate self-preservating ability to delude themselves, continuing to see
themselves as the center of the universe even as all evidence suggests
otherwise. While Tennessee Williams
created Blanche Dubois, a fictional character forever haunted by her past,
which is an utter fantasy, always embellished to make her look good, and Truman
Capote created aging aristocrats living in decaying Southern gothic plantations
filled with the lost memories of their lives, the Maysles brothers have the
Beales, where much of the notoriety of the film comes from the Beales’ relationship
to Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis, as Jackie was Edith Wing Bouvier Beale’s
niece and her daughter’s (known as “Little Edie”) cousin. Edith (born in 1895) was an American
socialite that lived through the Roaring Twenties as a young debutant, pursuing
an amateur singing career until abandoned by her husband at age 35. By then a mother of two sons and her daughter
Edie, Edith’s settlement included Grey Gardens, a 28-room mansion in one of the
most affluent communities in America overlooking the beach in East Hampton, New
York. Edie was 14 when her parents
separated and worked as a fashion model in her youth, living independently in
New York from ages 30 to 35 as she attempted to pursue a dancing career, but
returned in 1952 to live with her aging mother in Grey Gardens for the next 37
years. Originally commissioned by Lee
Radziwell, Jackie Onassis’ sister, to film a “family album” that would involve
meeting and shooting various friends and relatives, the Maysles instead discovered
unwanted family castoffs, a reclusive mother and daughter tucked away in a
dilapidated, flea-ridden mansion on East Hampton, as if stuck in a time warp
where the past and the present continuously merge, living with raccoons in the
attic and dozens of cats roaming freely around the premises. Eccentric and reclusive, it was in the 1960’s,
following the death of their longtime handyman Eugene Jiskevich, allegedly
Little Edie’s suitor, who came one night and stayed for ten years, that they
lost much of their personal wealth and their descent into their current
decrepit state began, where they began living among piles of undiscarded
garbage. By 1971, they were cited for
numerous safety and sanitation violations that were brought to the public’s
attention, where they were introduced to the Maysles brothers only after Jackie
Onassis removed several thousand pounds of garbage, saving Grey Gardens from
government seizure. Spending six weeks
with the Beales in the fall of 1973, the Maysles brothers used portable 16mm hand
cameras to follow them around the house as they go about their day-to-day
routines, often interjecting themselves into the dialogue and/or the picture,
as it’s clear both women have a uniquely comfortable relationship with the
camera, where there is a sense of mutual trust and affection that comes through
every frame.
Listed as #9 from the BFI
Sight and Sound, September 2014 poll of greatest documentaries of all time,
Critics' 50
Greatest Documentaries of All Time - BFI, GREY GARDENS is one of the first
documentaries to venture into the private space of a household, previously seen
as off limits, ironically paralleling a similar public invitation by First Lady
Jacqueline Kennedy leading a televised guided tour of the White House A TOUR OF THE WHITE HOUSE
WITH MRS. JOHN F. KENNEDY ... YouTube (10:12), which aired on CBS to
enormous TV ratings on February 14, 1962.
The contrast between the two households couldn’t be more pronounced, with
Little Edie acting as the Grey Gardens tour guide, where the Beales have lived
for several decades in near-poverty, their lives descending into a state of
squalor, but rather than see themselves as victims, the Beales actually cozy up
to the camera, grateful to have an audience, like Gloria Swanson preparing for
her close-up. Even if there was no
camera, these women are true originals, seeing themselves as budding artists
and entertainers, willing to make any sacrifice for their singing and dancing
careers, waiting to be appreciated by someone who would listen to them. Using the cinéma vérité style of Gimme
Shelter (1970), this is one of the first documentaries to add elements of a
fictional style of melodrama, where certainly part of the film’s appeal are the
enormous personalities on display, where the Beales argue, dress up, sing,
dance, complain about the life that got away and how much they sacrificed for
each other, while constantly reminiscing about their earlier experiences in New
York’s social elite, memories that seem to provide a grounding relevance to
their lives. One of the best lines of
the film comes from Little Edie, “It’s very difficult to keep the line between
the past and the present, do you know what I mean?” Like ghosts swirling around the cobwebs of
her mind, Edie’s life is filled with regret and missed opportunities, as well
as complicated and frustrating relationships with men, who, like Blanche DuBois,
she continues to rely upon, from her absent father, a piano-playing accompanist
stepfather, to the handyman that wanted to marry her, but her mother refused
and sent him away, thinking he wasn’t “good” enough for her. While it’s hard to know whether it actually
happened that way, it’s clear she is still haunted by the memory. When a new teenage handyman named Jerry
appears, his presence triggers all the regrets and past failures, where he
seems to personify all the men that have wronged Edie, where she even calls him
“Marble Faun,” a 19th century Nathaniel Hawthorne novel inspired by a naked Greek
marble statue, the Faun of Praxiteles, or the Resting
Satyr, that she claims he resembles.
While Jerry remains anonymous throughout, never even acknowledging the
camera, Edie remains fascinated by the idea that he would want to have sex with
her, “But he’s not gonna get it, I can tell you that right now,” where she’s
unable to distinguish this guy (who revealed in interviews afterwards that he’s
gay) from all the other men in her life, as they are all somehow merged into
one. The film is a love letter to people
stuck in time, where these women are still living in the 1930’s, an era where
they were first learning to speak their minds and express themselves, but also
develop the social values where women were taught that marriage was the
ultimate dream, to be living and supported by an appreciative man. No one ever prepared women for the man that
died or got away, where you’re left on your own.
The film came under critical attack at the time of its
release with claims of exploitation, calling it a cruel and cringeworthy depiction
of women who clearly have mental health problems, with one critic calling them
a “circus sideshow,” where one might grow concerned that the two women are
being laughed at and reduced to spectacle, certainly thoughts that cross one’s
mind while watching the film, but what’s also clear is the transparency, the
lack of self-consciousness that is present throughout, along with the
non-judgmental quality of the film itself, where the Beales are perfectly aware
of their oddness and social peculiarities and are not hiding anything. The same questions are asked in Jonathan
Caouette’s portrayal of his mother in Tarnation (2003), someone who had
undergone extensive electric shock treatments, where some viewers felt
uncomfortable that he was demeaning or ridiculing her, while others felt she
was lovingly portrayed “as she is.” When
watching Little Edie’s performances where she choreographs various dance
numbers throughout the house, literally putting on a production number for the
camera, obviously enjoying herself, creating a camp atmosphere that’s dizzyingly
bewildering in the bizarre outfits and sheer amateurishness of the dance moves,
yet it generates jealousy from Big Edith, who is constantly competing with her
own daughter for camera time and special attention. In one scene Edie retreats to the attic,
where she’s often seen leaving a box of dry cat food and a loaf of white bread
for the everpresent raccoons, yet here she voices her concerns that someone has
been stealing things and removing them from the mansion, a troubling revelation
that one senses may be delusional. The
Maysles themselves rejected the idea that Edie was a schizophrenic, claiming
she is “eccentric, non-conformist, but definitely not schizophrenic.” It’s significant to recall that only two years
earlier the American Psychiatric Association removed homosexuality from its
official list of mental disorders, ratified by the American Psychological
Association two years later in the same year the film was released, where the
film extends the boundaries of what is commonly perceived as normal or
crazy. The women have clearly rejected the
suffocating societal restrictions of their aristocratic upbringing, perhaps
involuntarily removing themselves from that world, choosing instead a
purposeful non-conformity, where Edith, who is virtually bed-ridden throughout,
spends much of her time in various states of undress. Not to be outdone, Little Edie is never seen
without a turban, choosing daring ensembles ranging from a bathing suit with
fishnet stockings and white high heels to wearing towels, curtains and
tablecloths, a neverending one-woman fashion show, always seen wearing a
signature heirloom brooch. “My costumes?
That’s a protest against having worked as a model for the Establishment,
believe it or not. A lot of models feel
that way. Sometimes their lives are
protests against having worked as models. Besides, I didn’t have time taking care of
mother to get out and buy any clothes. So
I used what was left of mine and mother’s in the attic.” Despite their disagreements and personal
spats that seem to erupt out of nowhere, it’s their buoyant optimism and sense
of self-assurance that defines who they are, two distinct personalities who are
both very comfortable in their own skin.
Big Edith lived alone for 30 years, proud of her independence, and while
Little Edie thinks she moved in to take care of her invalid mother, it’s just
as likely the reverse is true. Looking
back on her life, Big Edith recalls, “I was a very happy woman all my
life. I had an extremely successful
marriage…I had my cake, loved it, masticated it, chewed it and had everything I
wanted.” While they’ve chosen a less
traditional path, emblematic of the Robert Frost poem The
Road Not Taken by Robert Frost : The Poetry Foundation that Little Edie
misquotes, this may as well define the essence of their outsiderist
spirit.
This is a highly complex and frequently ambiguous story, told
in a fragmented structure that prevents the audience from getting a clear view
of either woman, mostly revealed in passing conversations, where the shared
overriding desire seems to have been to remove themselves from the harshness of
reality, where they have literally created for themselves their own Glass Menagerie protected from the
outside world. The nature of the women’s
lives was frequently repetitive, even obsessive, where one day was very much
like the next, so in editing the material, which amounted to 70 hours of film
(with two of the editors given co-directing credits), scenes could be fluidly
interchanged, where there is a looseness with time, which appears to be
constantly shifting even in their own minds.
Edie’s primary defense against her mother’s overcontrolling behavior
revolves around performance, where every day she eagerly greets the cameras
with the announcement of her “costume for the day,” concerned about her looks,
her hair, her weight, her figure, all discussed openly with her mother, where
as long as she continually talks about herself her mother can’t get a word in
edgewise. As if lobbying for the costume
design credit for the film, she then reminds the filmmakers “I have to make
these things up.” In the editing rooms
of Gimme
Shelter, the Maysles relentlessly pit Mick Jagger’s manufactured stage
version of himself against his real self, both hugely at odds with one
another. With Little Edie Beale, her
everyday life represents a healthy amount of self-expression, often seen
mugging for the cameras, but this natural inclination is part of her persona as
a would-be performer, where she constantly reminds us about having abandoned
her dance career in Manhattan to care for her mother, assuring us she’d be much
happier living in any New York rathole, “even on 10th Avenue.” What’s intriguing about this thought that
reoccurs throughout the film, like a regular theme, is that this traumatic
event happened twenty-three years earlier, yet it’s still as fresh in her mind
as if it happened yesterday. Twice she
choreographs a march to the Virginia Military Institute’s fight song, The VMI Spirit - YouTube
(1:38), while on another occasion she describes her outfit as a “staunch woman
dressed for battle” while also discussing a family run-in where she felt they
were trying to take advantage of her.
“The relatives didn’t know they were dealing with a staunch character
(who won’t) weaken no matter what.”
Clearly, when playing a role, particularly when dressed accordingly,
Little Edie feels happiest and most liberated.
Big Edith constantly undermines her daughter’s artistic inclinations
throughout, resorting to her own professional singing career where she boasts
about her classical training and actual stage experience, viewing herself as
the consummate professional while belittling Edie’s mocking performances. While they continually resort to
psychological warfare, they are both connected by their marginalized position
in their family as well as the community, both feeling a mutual disdain for the
upper crest society that ostracized them and drove them away. Having few options left, they circled the
wagons at Grey Gardens, becoming united in their final stand against the
world. Perhaps their most tranquil
shared moments together involve food, mostly taking place while sitting atop
Big Edith’s bed, which becomes the default room of the household, seen spreading
liver pâté on crackers out of tin cans or using plastic forks to eat ice-cream
directly out of quart containers.
Despite its strangeness, their rendition of the family mealtime is the
closest they come to normalcy, even when seen sharing food and space with cats
roaming around the premises. Spending
close to $50,000 on film and equipment, offering an advance of $5000 dollars
each for both of the Beales, also 20% of future profits (which amounted to a
big fat zero, though it didn’t stop Little Edie from scouring Variety each week to check on the anticipated
profits), the filmmakers practically lived at the mansion during the shooting
where the bugs were so prevalent they were forced to wear flea collars around
their ankles. A musical version opened
on Broadway in November 2006 called Grey
Gardens: The Musical!, having a successful run through July 2007, winning
three Tony Awards, including best performances by a leading actress (Christine
Ebersole) and featured actress (Mary Louise Wilson), while also winning best
costume design. HBO released a film version
in 2009 starring Jessica Lange (who won an Emmy for best actress) and Drew
Barrymore, winning six of the seventeen nominated Emmy Awards. Big Edith died in 1977 from complications of
a fall, while less than a year later Little Edie had an unsuccessful debut as a
Manhattan cabaret singer at the now defunct Reno Sweeney’s where she perfomed
songs, danced, told stories and even took questions from the audience before
selling Grey Gardens in 1979 and living a relatively secluded life in Bal
Harbour, Florida where she died in 2002 at age 84, discovered in her apartment
an estimated five days after succumbing from an apparent heart attack.
