What Baby Jane Taught Me About Writing

(And Why the Canary Belongs on a Silver Platter)

(Stick around for a sneak peek of Chapter 3 of The Skin Man, dropping October 15)

One of the scariest movies I’ve ever seen has no ghost, ghoul, or goblin — just two grand dames of cinema devouring each other with gruesome delight.

Hollywood loves to eat its young — but What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? shows what happens when the meal claws its way back up the throat. The 1962 classic isn’t just a horror story about two broken sisters marinating in their own fame rot; it’s a masterclass in narrative tension, psychology, and decay. Beneath the greasepaint and gin breath, there’s a writer’s goldmine if you’re brave enough to dig through the debris of the House of Hudson.

As always: these are my takeaways. You’re free to agree, disagree, or flee the scene like poor Edwin Flagg once the screaming starts.

1. Character Isn’t a List—It’s a Slow Burn

Baby Jane doesn’t wake up a monster. Yes, she’s a brat with a spotlight problem who wants her ice cream, but she is not a canary-cooking ghoul. The brilliance of Baby Jane lies in watching her become a monster. The cracks spread slowly; loneliness, bitterness, ego—until the mask caves in and what’s left is pure rot.

Takeaway: Don’t hand readers a dossier. Hand them a match. Let them watch what burns first.

2. The Setting Is a Weapon, Not a Backdrop

That crumbling gothic mansion isn’t just atmosphere; it’s Jane’s (and Blanche’s) psyche made visible. Every curtain, every shadow, every wilted rose hums with denial. The walls aren’t just closing in; they’re keeping secrets.

Takeaway: Your setting should breathe and brood. Make it complicit in the story’s madness.

3. The Sharpest Conflicts Are Personal

The real horror here isn’t the violence (though there are moments) — it’s the history. Every venomous word between Jane and Blanche carries decades of resentment and lost applause. When the cruelty lands, it’s loaded. It hurts because it’s earned.

Takeaway: Don’t chase noise. Chase inevitability. The best monsters know you by your first name.

4. Tone Is a Tightrope, Not a Straightjacket

Baby Jane dances on a razor’s edge between tragedy and grotesque comedy. You laugh, then you hate yourself for laughing. That unease? That’s the trick. Good stories don’t pick one flavor; they choke the audience on a mix.

Takeaway: Let the tone wobble. Unease keeps readers leaning in.

5. Glamour Makes the Decay Sing

Bette Davis’s cracked makeup isn’t just grotesque—it’s poetry. Horror thrives on contrast: beauty gone rancid, nostalgia spoiled. Jane still believes she’s America’s sweetheart, even as her smile curdles under the lights.

Takeaway: Beauty means nothing without rot. Contrast is the lifeblood of horror.

6. The Real Monster Is Irrelevance

Baby Jane endures because it’s not about madness—it’s about invisibility. The terror of being forgotten. Every writer, every artist, every has-been understands that ache. Jane’s cruelty is just desperation in drag.

Takeaway: Write the fear that haunts you. Truth outlasts jump scares every time.

7. Endings Should Echo, Not Explain

The scene on the beach — Jane dancing in the sun while the truth bleeds out beside her — is perfect narrative cruelty. No speeches. No closure. Just delusion basking in daylight.

Takeaway: Don’t tie the bow. Leave the ribbon frayed. The silence after is where it hurts most.

Final Cut

What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? isn’t just a horror film—it’s a mirror held too close. It reminds us that the monsters don’t live in the cellar. They live in the spotlight, praying someone still remembers their act. And maybe that’s the real curse of the artist — we all want one more curtain call before the lights go out.

Agree, disagree? Let’s talk about it.

###

Tony Sarrecchia

And now, a sneak peek at Chapter 3 of The Skin Man…

Chapter 3: Without their Names

Part 1: On the deck

Saffron swung the ax into the chest of the geriatric she’d seen playing shuffleboard two days ago. Blood sprayed across her bikini top and sarong, splattering her like the final girl on a bargain-bin slasher movie poster.

Of course, if horror movie logic held true, she wouldn’t be the final girl—more likely, she’d die naked in the woods, mid-scream. She knew what she looked like. And so had the old man, leering behind his knockoff sunglasses at every opportunity. His wife—a sweet, petite thing who was currently chewing through the purser’s chest while the poor bastard screamed—had probably spent decades pretending not to notice.

The old man shambled closer, slower now. Saffron gritted her teeth and yanked the ax free.

A wet squelch, then the rip of something tearing—like an orange being peeled. A flap of his chest came loose with the blade, and his Hawaiian shirt draped from it like a flag at half-mast for the cruise from hell.

Her arms ached, but she lifted the ax high and brought it down, crushing the side of his skull. It caved in like a Halloween mask packed with raw chicken. He dropped instantly.

“It’s their heads—bash in their heads!” she shouted.

Cassie, mid-swing at the gnawing wife, rolled her eyes. Duh, Mom. We’ve all seen the movies.

Of course, being fifteen, her daughter could’ve watched her punch out God himself and still wouldn’t have been impressed.

Saffron slipped in the old man’s blood but caught herself just shy of falling, then staggered over to Cassie. “Nice job,” Saffron said, glancing at the pulp that had been the old woman’s head. “You’re on watermelon duty at the next cookout.” Saffron grabbed Cassie’s arm and pulled.

“Where are we even gonna go, Mom? We’re on a ship. In the middle of the damn ocean.”

“I know, Cassie. But if we can find a lifeboat, maybe we don’t have to die on a floating morgue.”

“Great. So we either rot here or get eaten by sharks out there. Love this for us.”

~~~

The Skin Man: A Serial Novel

Next Episode drops: October 15

Exclusively at patreon.com/tonysarrecchia

Read the first two episodes free at https://www.tonysarrecchia.com/p/the-skin-man-chapters-1-and-2