
One of my favorite anecdotes about Joan Fontaine, one of my cherished golden age of celluloid greats, involves an opinion given by her only sister and bitter rival, Olivia de Havilland. After Fontaine published a memoir called No Bed of Roses in 1978, de Havilland supposedly sniffed, “No Bed of Roses? More like No Shred of Truth!”
That assessment is perhaps not surprising, though. Years before, in her only Hammer Horror film, Fontaine certainly proved that being an unreliable narrator was one of her cinematic strengths. As the vulnerable Gwen Mayfield in 1966’s The Witches, this Academy Award winning performer is filled with a whispered hesitancy. Naturally, the slight skittering in her tone indicates the fear that Mayfield has of losing hold of her sanity, post-nervous breakdown.

Cunningly, this underlying dread is taken advantage of by a powerful familial branch in a small English town. Hired as the head mistress of the local school, Mayfield is actually being manipulated for their nefarious means. Of course, as is the game plan, no one believes her once she tries to reveal the truth and it is back to the rubber room for her.
Thankfully, as ever resilient heroines before her, Mayfield grows sharper as the runtime expands. As waves of black magic mist around her, she eventually stops all rituals and pert sacrifices – just in the nick of time.
Nicely, as a bookend to Fontaine’s compelling presence here, there is famed British actress Kay Walsh as bestselling author and possible nemesis Stephanie Bax. Understanding this type of potential antagonism well, Fontaine is at her best when these two distinguished femme thespians go throat-to-throat.

One hopes that even Olivia might have recognized the beautiful symmetry in that.
Until the next time, SWEET love and pink GRUE, Big Gay Horror Fan!

