Crawford, by a huge margin. I have never been among the throngs who worship at the altar of "the divine Garbo;" she had an annoying tendency to be extremely hammy which was no doubt a holdover from her days in silent films when overacting was actually a necessity because the actors had to communicate without words.
Here, Garbo is simply miscast. Tall, lanky, and frankly rather clumsy, I did not believe her for a minute as a star ballerina. In fact, in that one scene where she dances around her hotel room for love of the baron, I couldn't help thinking that any minute she would knock something over or trip over her own klutzy feet. She wasn't the least bit graceful, and when she said, "I want to be alone," I couldn't help wishing they would let her.
Crawford, on the other hand, is a revelation. Flaemmchen, the saucy stenographer, is a broad on the make in a city that is beginning to drown in its own corruption. Crawford may have won an Oscar for her noble and self-sacrificing mother in MILDRED PIERCE, but I have always enjoyed her most when she played ladies whose virtue was somewhat less than perfect, like Flaemmchen here and her delightful turn as Crystal Allen in THE WOMEN.
Crawford herself admitted quite frankly that she knew nothing about acting when she arrived in Hollywood. But her filmography shows that she was willing to learn, and learn she did.
Never mess with a middle-aged, Bipolar queen with AIDS and an attitude problem!
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