Hollywood loves a good comeback story. But in 1963, the town was more interested in a bloodbath. If you look at the Bette Davis 1963 Oscars saga, you aren't just looking at a trophy race; you’re looking at a masterclass in psychological warfare, professional jealousy, and the kind of petty behavior that modern PR teams would have a meltdown over today.
It was nasty. Honestly, it was iconic.
Bette Davis was nominated for Best Actress for her role as "Baby Jane" Hudson in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? She was 54. She was supposed to be washed up. Instead, she had just starred in a massive hit that practically invented the "hagsploitation" subgenre. She was poised to become the first person ever to win three Best Actress Oscars. Everyone thought she had it in the bag. Everyone, that is, except Joan Crawford.
The Feud That Wasn't Just for the Cameras
People always ask if the Davis-Crawford rivalry was a marketing stunt. It wasn't. While they certainly leaned into the animosity to sell movie tickets, the friction during the filming of Baby Jane was palpable. Crawford was the polished, glamorous star who cared about lighting and angles; Davis was the "actor’s actor" who didn't mind looking like a decaying doll if it served the character.
When the nominations for the 35th Academy Awards were announced, Davis was on the list. Crawford was not.
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Imagine being Joan Crawford. You’ve shared top billing in a film that is revitalizing your career, yet your co-star—the woman you can’t stand—is the only one getting the Academy's nod. Joan didn't just get mad. She got busy. She contacted the other nominees in the category—Katharine Hepburn, Lee Remick, Geraldine Page, and Anne Bancroft—and offered to accept the award on their behalf if they couldn't attend the ceremony.
It was a brilliant, villainous move.
Why the Bette Davis 1963 Oscars Loss Still Stings
The night of April 8, 1963, at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium was thick with tension. Davis arrived, reportedly feeling confident. She had the momentum. She had the critical acclaim. She was wearing a dress that screamed "winner."
But behind the curtain, Crawford was waiting.
She had successfully convinced Anne Bancroft, who was in New York performing in Mother Courage, that she should be the one to walk on stage if Bancroft won. Crawford spent the night backstage, acting like she owned the place. When Maximilian Schell opened the envelope and announced Anne Bancroft as the winner for The Miracle Worker, Davis reportedly gasped.
Then came the kicker.
Crawford, draped in silver and looking like she was the one being honored, coolly brushed past Davis. She whispered, "Excuse me, I have an Oscar to accept," and sauntered onto the stage. It is one of the most brutal moments in Hollywood history. Davis later remarked that she almost dropped dead from the sheer audacity of it.
The sting wasn't just about the loss. It was about the public humiliation.
The Strategy Behind the Sabotage
How did this happen? How did Bette Davis lose an Oscar that seemed so certain?
Some historians, like Shaun Considine in his book Bette and Joan: The Divine Feud, suggest Crawford actually campaigned against Davis. She reportedly called Academy members, urging them to vote for anyone else. She supposedly told people that Davis was "difficult" or that her performance was "caricature."
Politics. Pure and simple.
You have to remember that the Academy in the early 60s was a much smaller, more insular group. Personal phone calls from a legend like Joan Crawford carried weight. If you were a voter sitting on the fence between Davis's high-camp performance and Bancroft's grounded work in The Miracle Worker, a nudge from Joan might be all it took.
A Different Kind of Legacy
In the end, Davis didn't need that third Oscar to prove she was a titan. What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? remains a staple of American cinema, far more culturally relevant today than many of the films that actually won big that night.
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But the 1963 ceremony changed the way we look at Oscar campaigns. It proved that the awards aren't just about the work on the screen. They are about narrative. They are about who wants it more—and who is willing to burn the most bridges to get it.
Davis was devastated. She told reporters later that she would have been the first person to win three, and Crawford took that away from her. The bitterness didn't fade; it fermented. They tried to pair them up again for Hush... Hush, Sweet Charlotte, but the trauma of 1963 was too much. Crawford eventually pulled out, or was pushed out, depending on who you ask.
Takeaways for Film History Buffs
If you're looking to understand the real impact of the Bette Davis 1963 Oscars moment, you have to look at it through the lens of power.
- Publicity is a double-edged sword. The very feud that made the movie a hit is likely what cost Davis her trophy. The Academy often shies away from "undignified" behavior, even if they're the ones feeding on the gossip.
- The "Hagsploitation" impact. This era proved that older women could lead box-office hits, even if the industry was determined to pit them against each other for the few scraps of recognition available.
- The Bancroft Factor. We shouldn't overlook that Anne Bancroft gave a legendary performance. While Crawford's interference was the headline, Bancroft's win wasn't a fluke. She was incredible in The Miracle Worker.
To truly appreciate this era of Hollywood, watch the 1963 ceremony footage if you can find it. Look at the body language. Look at the way Crawford carries herself on that stage. It’s a performance better than anything she’d done in years.
Moving Forward with Classic Hollywood
If you want to dig deeper into this specific moment in time, your next steps are pretty clear. Start by watching The Miracle Worker back-to-back with What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? It's the only way to objectively see if the Academy made the right choice, independent of the Crawford drama.
Next, track down a copy of the 1962/1963 trade papers if you can access digital archives. Seeing the "For Your Consideration" ads from that year puts the desperation into perspective. You can also look into the career of Victor Buono, who was also nominated for Baby Jane and had a front-row seat to the chaos.
Finally, recognize that the 1963 Oscars wasn't the end for Davis. She worked until the very end, proving that while she lost the battle that night in Santa Monica, she arguably won the war for longevity and respect. She remained "The First Lady of the American Screen" regardless of what Joan Crawford did with Anne Bancroft's trophy.
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Actionable Insights for Movie Enthusiasts:
- Analyze the "Camp" Element: Study how Davis's performance in 1963 paved the way for modern character acting that isn't afraid to be "ugly."
- Contextualize the Vote: Research how the shift from the old studio system to independent productions influenced who got nominated in the early 60s.
- Audit the Campaign: Compare Crawford's "anti-campaign" to modern-day Oscar lobbying. You'll find that today's tactics are surprisingly similar, just better hidden behind publicists.