In that film, Davis' Sally, a hypercritical bitch and scourge, is a somewhat uncharitable view of a middle-aged priss, but Davis makes the character more truthful and more indelible the further she goes into dizzyingly self-protective aggressiveness. This is the most memorable version of Davis' righteous toughness: when Mia Farrow tries to interest her in Liam Neeson by saying that he cried at a party, Davis' Sally scathingly asks, "He weeps?", as if she could never date such a weakling.
Aside from her Woody Allen shrews, Davis is mainly known for liking to play real women, mainly for TV. She's an entirely believable, earthy young Golda Meir in (1982), gives one of the great modern comic performances as George Sand in the amiable (1991), won lots of acclaim and an Emmy for a bold but uneven Judy Garland, and less acclaim for a drag-queen evisceration of Nancy Reagan. This is a haughty woman who's always up for a dare, a strange project, an untouchable emotion.
Sometime she fails. I'll never forget whispering to a friend, "Greatest actress of her generation," when Davis made her entrance in Allen's (1997), only to sink low down into my seat as she proceeded to cartoonishly chew the scenery for what felt like a five-minute take. To her credit, nor will I forget the way she recklessly tests the waters with her abusive husband in (2003), a decent, little-seen Australian movie that Davis lyrically anchors with her authority.
These five films I've picked focus mainly on her TV work, and some things that might be lesser known, or underappreciated. Rocket to the Moon : This HBO recording of a half bad/half inspired Clifford Odets play is buoyed by Davis' masterful portrayal of Cleo, a skinny, pretty, nervous flirt and pathological liar who dreams of being a dancer. Cleo is an impossible role that calls for old-fashioned personality playing and theatrical technique; everyone in the play has to fall in love with her, so if Davis isn't completely fascinating every moment she's on, the story won't even make sense.
She runs with the part at a galloping pace, as if she were stimulated by the challenge of making it believable, and she fills every moment like an action painter splattering a big white canvas (watch the way her hands fly to her face when John Malkovich calls her out on her flighty bullshit). Paradoxically, Davis is at her most believable when she's lying here, which adds dimension to the film. This is the kind of acting that calls attention to itself constantly, but the artifice is extremely exciting, and it displays Davis' raw, self-conscious talent better than any other performance she has given.
In that film, Davis' Sally, a hypercritical bitch and scourge, is a somewhat uncharitable view of a middle-aged priss, but Davis makes the character more truthful and more indelible the further she goes into dizzyingly self-protective aggressiveness.
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