This has been Grey Gardens’ most influential year yet, with a festival
in honour of the film, a new book and an Emmy-nominated HBO dramatisation
starring Jessica Lange and Drew Barrymore. But what is the key to the film’s
appeal? Their status as belated fashion icons is almost all down to Little
Edie’s outfits, a selection of makeshift turbans (her hair is never seen in
the film), upside-down skirts, and bathing suits with high heels; but it is
the relationship between mother and daughter that is the real key. The pair
behave like two Tennessee Williams characters coming to life on screen,
scattergunning one-liners and barbed, witty comebacks. If you are Big Edie,
you don’t have your cake and eat it, for instance—"you love it, chew it
and masticate it". If you are Little Edie, you call your gardener the Marble
Faun after a Nathaniel Hawthorne character, and refer to your favourite
costume as your "revolutionary outfit". But how did these women end up as
"high-society dropouts", their lives so far from that of their cousin in the
White House? The biographies give us some clues.
First, we have Big Edie, born Edith Ewing Bouvier in 1895. She was the third
of five children born to John Vernou Bouvier, a major in the US Army and
successful lawyer, and Maude Sergeant, the daughter of a wealthy paper
manufacturer. Her father was obsessed with the family’s position in society,
going so far as to invent a royal crest, which said, "The hallmark of
aristocracy is our responsibility". Big Edie, an artistic and eccentric
child, was less enthused by this showiness. She pursued her interests in
singing, theatre and photography instead, before marrying Phelan Beale, a
lawyer in her father’s firm, in 1917. Her eldest child, Little Edie, arrived
later that year, and two more sons—Phelan Jr and Bouvier—followed,
although they were never as close to their mother as her first-born.
Then, in 1923, her husband bought Grey Gardens, the home that changed her
life. This house, designed by Joseph Greenleaf Thorpe in 1897, was named
after the colour of the nearby dunes, the cement garden walls, and the sea
mist that surrounded it. But as Big Edie fell in love with this strange,
characterful house, she fell out of love with her conservative husband and
the couple separated in 1931.
The details are scant after this point. We know that she arrived halfway
through her son’s wedding in 1942, dressed as an opera star, and that her
embarrassed father reacted by cutting her out of his will; that she had eye
operations around the same time that damaged her sight and required her to
wear bottle-top glasses from then on; that Little Edie moved in with her in
the 1950s; and that articles in New York magazine and The National
Enquirer in 1972, by Gail Sheehy and Roger Langley, revealed their
terrible living conditions. With little money in the bank, Big Edie’s
quality of life deteriorated materially, but with the support of her
daughter her life flowered in other ways. Grey Gardens, the film,
shows us this in excelsis, what all of the new projects aim to do is unravel
the strange story of the Beale women’s history, few aspects of which are
explained in the original film.
Writer/director Michael Sucsy was a director of commercials, but after he saw Grey
Gardens, in 2003, he was inspired to make a movie about how the women
had reached that point in their lives. "I loved the way the film showed the
women as they were, and not how they got there," he explains, his voice full
of warmth. "I also liked the film’s boldness and its braveness. But it also
concerned me that no one had filled the gaps in these women’s lives since,
and I felt like we owed it to them."
And so, the next morning, Sucsy took this project on himself. He trawled
through boxes of microfiche in public record libraries, tracked down Little
Edie’s surviving friends, and even found her attorney, who gave him a box of
her journals. He quickly found out two things: that Edie wore headscarves
because she had lost her hair when she was young, and later pulled it out,
and that she had also had an eight-year affair with Julius Krug, the US
Secretary of the Interior under President Truman.
"Big Edie and Little Edie were women being themselves, at all costs, despite
the situation they found themselves in, so the script took shape very
quickly," Sucsy says. "They were such rich subjects."
He had firm thoughts about the cast, too, and wasn’t initially impressed by
Drew Barrymore saying that she would love to play Little Edie. When he met
her, however, she won him over with her passion for the role, and during the
making of the film she corresponded with friends only by landline and
letter, and watched only films that she thought Little Edie would like.
Sucsy loves the way in which his film has pushed the appeal of the Beales to a
wider audience. "It’s about the story of two survivors going against
society, and recognising how that fight is more important than conforming,"
he explains. "As society appears to be more accepting, the Edies will get
only more influential, you know?"
Sara Maysles, who edited the new book and arranged the festival, Staunch!,
knew she was also in a good position to answer some of the questions as
daughter of the filmmaker, Albert. She knew that Albert, her father, and his
brother first went to Grey Gardens as part of a family history project
commissioned by Jackie Onassis’s younger sister, Lee Radziwill, who was a
fan of the Maysles brothers’ classic 1970 film about the Rolling Stones, Gimme
Shelter. She also knew that the project was abandoned on Radziwill’s
request because she was so shocked at their living conditions, though she
did provide the necessary funds to repair the dilapidated building. Still,
the brothers couldn’t resist going back to the house, simply because they
were drawn to the women within it.
"My father and uncle were just like the Beales themselves, in some ways,"
Maysles says. "They were complete hippies, real nuts, doing things that
rebelled against society." Her father had motorcycled behind the Iron
Curtain in the 1950s and always took risks, so this project came naturally
to him, she says. She also knows that he enjoyed their eccentric behaviour.
He loved the way Big Edie sat in bed every day, teasing out her wild, silver
hair, singing popular songs from the 1920s, and how Little Edie would dance
for the camera—especially in the film’s greatest scene in which she
parades up and down the family staircase with an American flag. She had also
been aware of her father constantly defending his decision to make a film
from his material—as he had been since the release of Grey Gardens
in 1975 when Walter Kaufman, The New York Times film critic, called
the movie "exploitative".
"But it wasn’t," Maysles argues. "It was made with the Beale women’s
blessing, and every scene was shot with respect. What’s more, they really
loved the results." She brings up a letter that Little Edie sent to The
New York Times in response to Kaufman’s review, in which she criticised
him for making cruel comments about her body, and wrote glowingly about her
and her mother’s unconventional relationship: "We love each other, and is
that love so hard to take? So we don’t live conventionally; so what?"
Maysles says the camera was always turned away when the Beales wanted
privacy, and that Little Edie wrote affectionate letters to her father until
her death in 2002. It was this emotional connection that prompted Maysles to
go into her father’s archives in the first place. She found hours of audio
outtakes, unedited film stock, and mounds of research—her father’s own
literary litter, she says—and she then went with her sister to a lonely
house northeast of Grey Gardens to sift through them. "We didn’t really make
the connections between us and the Beales until we went out there."
The book reveals fresh facts, particularly about the ways in which the women
often made up stories to cope with the past. In one interview with Albert,
for example, Big Edie said that her brother William died in the Second World
War. Sara learnt that he died of alcoholism in 1929. It is, Sara Maysles
says, as if the women were trying to invent their own fictions to cope with
their situation. Appearing in a film, therefore, would mean everything to
them, because it meant that their own stories—the ones they had written
for themselves—would become gloriously real.
As the mysteries behind the front porch of Grey Gardens start to unravel,
however, what do the people think who actually spent time behind its doors?
Jerry Torre, the Grey Gardens gardener named the Marble Faun by Little Edie,
is particularly happy about the growing cult of the film. He attended the
Staunch! festival, signed autographs, and spoke glowingly about his time in
the house as a 19-year-old gay runaway who was himself in the closet. "Grey
Gardens was my refuge," he says on the phone from New York. "I was isolated
from my family, like the Edies were, for being who I was, but they gave me
such strength to be who I was. I can never thank them enough for that."
He says that his employers would have loved being well known today—after
all, they were aspiring performers, and fame, on their own terms, was
something they dreamt about. He loved the 2006 Broadway musical that turned
their story into song, and admired Barrymore’s attempts to capture Little
Edie’s mannerisms: "She got it about 80 per cent right, and you’ve got to
admire her for her effort."
Still, his voice aches with tenderness as he tries to sum up how he remembers
the real Edies now. "You know, it’s a real funny thing. I’d been tortured by
my memories of that time for so long, and thought no one else would care. So
to see it become a fascination to many... it’s incredible. It makes me sad
that they aren’t around to see everyone love them so much."
This is a sentiment with which Albert Maysles, the man who brought Grey
Gardens to the world in the first place, agrees. He has also been involved
in all the 21st-century Grey Gardens projects—giving advice to the makers
of the musical, and to Sucsy, who asked for Maysles’ advice to make his film
as realistic as possible. He is happiest, however, about the book that his
daughters made together, because to him it continues the legacy of the
Maysles as much as the Beales. This has a particular poignancy, he says,
when he remembers his brother David, who died in 1987, and who would have
loved the Staunch! festival more than anyone.
Albert also wishes that David was alive to see people finally grasp how
heartfelt their intentions were when they were making Grey Gardens.
"Things are changing for the better, though," Albert says. "There used to be
the idea that if you allowed people the chance to open up, they were going
to get hurt. This is nonsense, of course. It’s healthy to open up; it’s
healthy to be yourself." There is no crime either on the director’s part, he
says, by trying to humanise humanity, and people are recognising that at
last—from the celebrities who clamour around his film and try to recreate
it, to the ordinary people who will love the HBO movie and buy his
daughters’ book.
He wishes only that the Beales were around to see their legacy. "For this to
happen to two people who were never accepted, and didn’t leave their home
for 20 years, is something properly magical—and it’s all to do with them
being themselves. How wonderful it is that they have finally left their home
in the most beautiful way."