The Tragic Downfall of Frances Farmer: A Hollywood Starlet's Struggle with Mental Health
Frances Farmer was once a rising star of the silver screen, known for her striking beauty and intense performances. But behind the glamour, she battled inner demons that led to one of Hollywood’s most tragic downfalls. Her story is not only one of stardom but also a stark reflection of how mental illness was misunderstood and mistreated in the mid-20th century. What drove this talented actress to the brink? And how did the treatments of her era do more harm than good?
Born in 1913, Frances Farmer was a woman ahead of her time. Her outspoken nature, combined with her refusal to conform to Hollywood’s standards, marked her as rebellious. However, these traits, which would be celebrated today, led her to be labelled as difficult in an industry notorious for silencing those who didn’t fit the mould. The pressures of fame, her strained relationship with her controlling mother, and her struggle with personal identity all contributed to her mental health decline.
The Untold Months of 1942
Little is known of Farmer's life during the first nine months of 1942. In her purported autobiography, published two years after her death, she reflects on this period as one of isolation and bitterness. Alone and adrift, she felt herself "beginning to slip away" and turned to writing her memoirs in an attempt to "purge" her mind through self-examination. However, this introspection did little to slow her downward spiral.
During this time, she became increasingly dependent on alcohol and amphetamines. Worried about her weight, she began taking Benzedrine, which was widely available and often prescribed by doctors as an appetite suppressant. The dangers of amphetamines were not understood until much later, but they can mimic the symptoms of schizophrenia when abused. Whether Farmer was truly mentally ill or simply a victim of substance abuse remains uncertain, but by late 1942, her erratic behaviour made headlines.
The Arrests and Public Unravelling
On October 19, 1942, Farmer’s decline became public when she was arrested in Santa Monica for driving with her headlights on in a wartime "dim-out" zone. After an altercation with the arresting officer—during which she reportedly told him, "You bore me"—she was charged with drunken driving and other offences. Although her jail sentence was suspended, her behaviour marked the beginning of a series of public outbursts.
Shortly after, Farmer travelled to Mexico to work on a film, but she returned home after just two weeks, broke and disillusioned. By January 1943, she was cast in a low-budget melodrama titled No Escape, a title that eerily reflected her life at that point. On her first day of filming, she slapped a hairdresser, which led to a police investigation. A warrant for her arrest was discovered due to an unpaid fine from her previous drunk-driving charge. Her arrest and defiant appearance in court made headlines, with reporters noting her dishevelled appearance and sarcastic attitude. She openly admitted to using Benzedrine and drinking heavily, leading the judge to sentence her to 180 days in jail. In a fit of desperation, she caused a violent scene in the courtroom, screaming, "Have you ever had a broken heart?" as she was dragged away.
Institutionalisation and Inhumane Treatment
Following her breakdown in court, Frances Farmer was moved to the psychiatric ward of Los Angeles General Hospital. Diagnosed with "manic depressive psychosis," she was soon transferred to a sanitarium in La Crescenta. This would be the beginning of a harrowing series of institutionalisations. Over the next decade, Farmer was in and out of psychiatric hospitals, subjected to the crude and often brutal treatments of the time.
At Western State Hospital in Washington, she endured insulin shock therapy, which involved inducing comas with insulin injections—a treatment considered both dangerous and inhumane today. Electroconvulsive therapy (ECT), in its early and unrefined form, was also used on Farmer, further contributing to her mental and physical deterioration. There were even rumours of her being lobotomised, though this was never confirmed. Her time in these institutions was marked by isolation, mistreatment, and a lack of understanding from both her doctors and the public.
The Final Years
By the late 1950s, Frances Farmer was released from the psychiatric system, but she was a shell of the woman she had once been. She attempted to revive her career, taking on minor roles in theatre and television, but the spark that once made her a star was gone. Farmer moved back to her hometown of Seattle, where she lived a quiet and reclusive life. Her later years were marked by a return to the spotlight through a ghostwritten autobiography, Will There Really Be a Morning?, published in 1972, two years after her death. The memoir provided insight into her harrowing experience with mental illness and her time in the psychiatric system, but it remains unclear how much of it was truly her own words.
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