(edited a bit for the internet)
Joan sat in the rear of a New York taxi with costar Gig Young. The front of the car had been sawed off so they could face several lights, a microphone and camera. It was her second car scene for the movie.
“What's taking them so long?” Joan asked. “I'm ready to do my scene and this coat is awkward. When Helen made it for me I wonder if she knew how long I’d be stuck in a taxi in it. I'm glad it's a brief scene. I don't think this is one of Helen's best creations, at least in a taxi. I wish I could walk around and really work it - let the fabric just swoosh around a bit to show it off. Could you imagine how glorious it would look if I was just stomping through the streets of New York on a good tall pair of f####-me pumps in this coat? Then the picture would have some excitement without me having to yell at somebody.”
Gig grinned. “You look great.”
“Bless you. I do look great. That's because I take care of myself and have discipline and just did a hundred sit-ups before the scene. How many did you do?”
Gig mumbled, “I forgot.”
Joan shook her finger at him. “You'll remember that it wasn't enough when your career is failing. You’ll only be left holding your belly instead of your b###s.” She elbowed him playfully.
“Yes, Miss Crawford.”
“Call me Joan. After what you and I have done to each other on that bearskin rug, I think we can cut the formality.”
"Sure, Joan.”
“Now what's taking so long?”
Gig asked, “You in a hurry?”
She chuckled. “Funny. I'll stand for eight hours to get a hem just right to show off my gorgeous ankles, but this seems like utter incompetence and a waste of time. Has MGM fallen to the low standards of Republic? Everything in the world has gotten so shoddy. Do you know what's going on?”
Gig answered, “We have to see New York in the back window. For nighttime.”
Joan turned to look out the back window, being careful her fur-collared robe didn’t wrinkle, or she didn’t pop her face tapes that were strung tight under her wig. All she saw behind them was a blank rear-projection screen. “Did the bulb burn out? Did the print scratch? I was once in front of a screen and they had to stop production until a new print could be called up from the lab. Because I was acting in front of a scratch. And I was supposed to be in Paris. I was mortified. All that work ruined by a scratch. I suppose that's better than when all the film prints could not only scratch but also burst into flames, for no reason, and burn everything down. That was the old film. It always burned the theater down. That takes the relaxation out of a person’s night out. This new safety film at least doesn't do that. God#### are we modern in the 50s!”
Gig said, “You sure know a lot about film.”
“It's my life. My blood. I'm nothing if I'm not an image on film! And a lot of copies of it dubbed around for everyone! Just think of how many of me there are. Everybody wants to see a Joan Crawford picture.”
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