The only thing I regret about my past is the length of it. If I had to live my life again, I’d make the same mistakes, only sooner.
~Tallulah Bankhead
Uninhibited. Indefatigable. Cutting. Obsessive.
Words hurled at Tallulah Bankhead. She wore them like medals.
Her final coherent words? “Codeine… Bourbon.” Says it all. Tallulah made decadence a calling and turned moxie into an art form.
I first encountered Tallulah on The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour as a wide-eyed kid, and holy hell was I gobsmacked. That voice! That signature “dahling” that could strip paint off walls! One dose of Bankhead, and I was hooked for life.
Hollywood tried to rein her in — bless their hearts. You can’t stop a force of nature. Part temptress, part provocateur, part mad genius. She didn’t push boundaries; she set them on fire and danced in the ashes.
Think I’m overselling? Watch Lifeboat. Try taking your eyes off her. Hitchcock knew exactly what he had on his hands: an actress who could steal a whole movie while stranded on a raft with death itself.
They say it’s the good girls who keep diaries. The bad girls never have the time. Me, I just wanna live a life I’m gonna remember even if I don’t write it down.
Born in 1902 into Southern political royalty (daddy was Speaker of the House; grandpa and uncle, Senators), Tallulah Bankhead was supposed to be a perfect Southern belle.
She had other plans.
“Difficult” was the polite term used for young Tallulah. At 15, she ditched debutante balls for New York’s theater lights. By the time she conquered London’s West End and sauntered back to the States in the 1930s, she was a walking legend.
On stage, Tallulah didn’t just act; she detonated. As Regina in The Little Foxes, she wasn’t a mere ruthless Southern aristocrat. She was ambition and cruelty incarnate, each line honed to a weapon. Her presence was electrifying as if every breath was life or death. Tallulah didn’t follow the script; she torched the rulebook and dared anyone to look away.
Off stage? She’d show up to rehearsals hungover, naked, or both. Even a brush with death couldn’t dim her fire. In the thirties, a raging case of gonorrhea led to a brutal five-hour hysterectomy that nearly put her in a grave. Did it humble her? Think again. She looked her doctor dead in the eye and drawled, “Don’t think this has taught me a lesson!”
Lifeboat (1944) showcased her power on screen. Hitchcock’s close-quarters set was a tight squeeze for Tallulah, who famously refused to wear underwear, making camera angles a daily challenge. “I was never meant to be in a lifeboat,” she quipped. “I don’t do discomfort.”
But here’s the thing — beneath the drama, beneath the smoke, was raw, uncontainable talent. She could slice someone to ribbons with a line about her 5,000 lovers and then bring an audience to tears with a monologue. Her genius was in her unpredictability; every moment was a high-wire act.
Bankhead lived by the philosophy that you shouldn’t just perform — you should dominate. And boy, did she. Sometimes, it feels like a tragedy that she isn’t remembered as one of the greatest actresses of her time. That people, myself included, don’t always see past the spectacle. But for those who do look behind the curtain, they find an artist who makes them feel something — whether it’s admiration, shock, or that inexplicable urge to light a cigarette.
She’s too damn talented to be ignored.
And yes, I honor the hell out of that.
My father warned me about men and booze but he never said anything about women and cocaine.
It’s easy to see why Tallulah Bankhead became synonymous with scandal and excess. The woman claimed to smoke 120 cigarettes a day, downed bourbon like water, and regularly boasted about her 5,000+ lovers — men, women, it never mattered. She flaunted her wild side, unapologetically thumbing her nose at the conventions of polite society. This was a woman who casually dropped at a wedding, “I’ve had them both, dahling, and neither is any good.”
But she had a revolutionary heart. She couldn’t conform or keep quiet about what she believed, even when it defied expectations. She raised hell for the Scottsboro Boys — nine black teenagers falsely accused of rape. Tallulah didn’t just write checks; she leveraged her platform to condemn the deep-seated racism of her beloved South.
She devoted herself to other often overlooked causes, including supporting children within the foster care system, using her resources and influence to provide for those in need of a stable home. Her efforts stretched across borders — she assisted people escaping the brutalities of the Spanish Civil War and, during WWII, worked to aid refugees fleeing the front lines.
Tallulah also worked alongside the NAACP and was vocal about her disdain for segregation. Her background only made her activism more radical; she chose to be a force for change in defiance of her heritage. These aren’t the actions of someone who only cared about decadence and debauchery.
To flip the script, we have to see Tallulah beyond her tabloid persona. Yes, she lived larger than life, but why is that all we remember? What if the real scandal is how we reduce people to their “worst” moments? Tallulah was a woman who loathed pretense and hypocrisy. She pushed back against societal constraints, especially those placed on women, and championed total freedom. Her remorseless attitude toward her desires and her life was extreme for the time, showing a kind of autonomy people still strive to claim today.
And behind closed doors, she was known for her quiet generosity, though she’d sooner flash the press than brag about her good deeds. She lived authentically, burning bright even when it burned her. And maybe that’s why we remember her the way we do. But there’s something deeply enviable in that fearlessness.
Yes, Tallulah Bankhead left scorch marks on history. But focus on the flames, and you’ll miss the revolution she sparked.
I’m as pure as the driven slush.
As much as I admire Tallulah’s reckless defiance, I have to admit: I’m more of an Arlene Francis at heart (read more here). You know Arlene – the “never make waves” goddess of good behavior. Like her, I calculate every move, weighing judgments, trying desperately not to ruffle feathers. It’s safer in these shallow waters. Comfortable. Predictable.
And then there’s Tallulah.
Tallulah, who didn’t just make waves – she created tsunamis. Who treated every day like a cosmic dare, living as if tomorrow was a rumor and reputation was someone else’s problem. Her life blazed across the sky like a comet, brilliant and devastating. But comets fizzle out. Her health crumbled, relationships shattered, and that meteoric career eventually crashed to earth. The price of living without limits is that eventually, those limits find you.
Do I envy her freedom? God, yes. Could I survive it? Not a chance.
Maybe this isn’t really a “Flippin’ the Script”… Maybe it’s just me trying to reconcile the fact that I lionize a woman I’m painfully different from. I’m not Tallulah. I worry about consequences. My idea of rebellion is leaving dishes in the sink overnight; hers was showing up naked to work.
But there’s something about her that pulls at me, like a moth to her ever-present cigarette flame. Her defiance makes my own caution feel less like wisdom and more like handcuffs. When I watch her films or read her quips, something stirs – a what-if whisper, a might-have-been that tastes like possibility.
And I guess what I’m really after is that sweet spot between Arlene’s perfectly polished restraint and Tallulah’s bumpy blaze. I want to make waves without going under, to live boldly without torching everything around me. I want to both raise hell and keep my health insurance. To shock without scandalizing. Rebel without regret.
I want to find that elusive space where I can be both wild and wise.
Tallulah Bankhead lived a life that reads like a fever dream – intoxicating, terrifying, and impossible to look away from. And while I’ll never be her (my liver thanks me), it’s natural for me to be in awe, to want to follow parts of her playbook. That middle finger to convention. That unapologetic zest. But maybe keep my clothes on at parties.
And I’ll borrow a bit of Arlene’s grace too, because sometimes the strongest move is knowing when to hold back. (Funny enough, these two opposites had one thing in common: they both worshipped Willie Mays. Maybe that’s the real sweet spot, finding what brings the saint and the sinner to the same ballgame.)
After all, it’s not about becoming Tallulah or Arlene — it’s about figuring out how to make my own script work.
PS — Today, Tallulah’s portrait holds court at the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, DC. I visit her whenever I need a dose of courage. And somewhere, I like to think she’s cackling with delight knowing my family’s stubborn little dachshund is waddling around with her name, stirring up trouble in her own four-legged way.
PPS — Everything I know about Tallulah I learned from her memoir and Lee Israel’s biography. AND next month’s Flippin’ the Script star is Carmen Miranda!!
Love this ! I’ve alternated between good and bad girl too. It’s impossible to please everyone so I try to just make a living and please my cat.
"On stage, Tallulah didn’t just act; she detonated."
Yes.
Thanks for the great portrait of Bankhead and reminding me to watch Lifeboat again