Frances Farmer

American actress (1913–1970)

For the law librarian, see Frances Farmer (librarian).

Frances Farmer

Farmer in 1938 Born Frances Elena Farmer

(1913-09-19)September 19, 1913

Seattle, Washington, U.S. Died August 1, 1970(1970-08-01) (aged 56)

Indianapolis, Indiana, U.S. Resting place Oaklawn Memorial Gardens Cemetery, Fishers, Indiana 39°55′48″N 86°03′49″W / 39.9301°N 86.0636°W / 39.9301; -86.0636 Alma mater University of Washington Occupation Actress Spouses

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Leif Erickson

​ ​ ( m.  1936; div.  1942) ​

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Alfred Lobley

​ ​ ( m.  1954; div.  1958) ​

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Leland Mikesell

​ ​ ( m.  1958; div.  1963) ​

Frances Elena Farmer (September 19, 1913 – August 1, 1970) was an American actress whose life, rather than her performances, became the stuff of legend – or, more accurately, sensationalized mythology. While she graced over a dozen feature films and numerous stage productions, her enduring notoriety stems from the lurid and often distorted accounts of her involuntary commitment to psychiatric hospitals and the subsequent struggles with her mental health. It seems the public prefers a tragic narrative, even when it's largely fabricated, to the complex reality of a talented woman caught in a system ill-equipped to understand her.

Born and raised in Seattle, Washington, Farmer cultivated her acting skills in various stage productions during her time as a student at the University of Washington. After earning her degree, she gained experience in stock theater before committing to a film contract with Paramount Pictures in September 1935, coinciding with her 22nd birthday. Her initial foray into cinema began with the B film Too Many Parents (1936), a forgettable comedy, followed by another low-budget production, Border Flight. However, she quickly ascended to a leading role opposite the era's crooning sensation, Bing Crosby, in the musical Western Rhythm on the Range (1936).

Despite this early success, Farmer grew increasingly dissatisfied with the roles and the restrictive environment offered by the studio. In 1937, she abandoned Hollywood's gilded cage to return to the more artistically fulfilling world of stock theater. This decision led her to the original Broadway production of Clifford Odets's acclaimed play Golden Boy, a significant undertaking staged by New York City's prestigious Group Theatre. Her theatrical pursuits continued with two more Broadway productions in 1939, both directed by the renowned Elia Kazan. Yet, even as her stage career blossomed, Farmer found herself battling profound depression and succumbing to episodes of binge drinking, which ultimately led her to withdraw from a highly anticipated stage adaptation of a work by Ernest Hemingway.

Her tumultuous journey eventually brought her back to Los Angeles, where she secured supporting roles in the comedy World Premiere and the shadowy film noir Among the Living, both released in 1941. However, by 1942, whispers and outright reports of her increasingly erratic behavior began to circulate, escalating into widespread public scandal. A series of arrests and committals to psychiatric facilities followed, culminating in a diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia. At the insistence of her family, particularly her mother, Farmer was committed to an institution in her home state of Washington, where she would remain a patient for an agonizing period until 1950.

Following her release, Farmer made a courageous, if ultimately challenging, attempt at an acting comeback. Her efforts primarily centered on a role as a television host in Indianapolis, where she helmed her own popular series, Frances Farmer Presents. Her final cinematic appearance was in the 1958 drama The Party Crashers. The majority of the 1960s saw her occasionally performing in local theater productions, often staged by Purdue University. Tragically, in the spring of 1970, she received a diagnosis of aggressive esophageal cancer, a battle she lost on August 1, 1970, at the age of 56.

The life of Frances Farmer has, predictably, inspired two feature films and numerous books, many of which fixate on her institutionalized years and her claims of systematic abuse within those facilities. Her autobiography, Will There Really Be a Morning? (1972), released posthumously and largely ghostwritten, vividly describes these allegations. However, subsequent investigations have revealed it to be a work significantly embellished, primarily by a friend of Farmer's seeking to settle debts. Despite its questionable veracity, a 1982 biographical film based on this very book portrayed these events as unassailably true, reigniting a morbid public fascination with her life and career. It seems some truths are just too inconvenient for a good story.

Life and career

1913–1935: Early life

Frances Elena Farmer, whose name would later become synonymous with a particular brand of Hollywood tragedy, entered the world on September 19, 1913, in Seattle, Washington. Her mother was Cora Lillian (née Van Ornum; 1873–1955), a woman who juggled the roles of boardinghouse operator and dietician, her pragmatism perhaps a stark contrast to Frances's later artistic temperament. Her father, Ernest Melvin Farmer (1874–1956), was a lawyer, suggesting a household steeped in a certain intellectual, if not emotional, rigor. Ernest hailed from Spring Valley, Minnesota, while Lillian's roots stretched back to [Oregon], making her a descendant of American pioneers. Lillian's maternal grandparents, John and Jemima (Skews) Rowe, had journeyed to Waldwick, Wisconsin, from Truro, England, in 1849, a lineage hinting at a certain stubborn resilience. Frances was not an only child; she had an older sister, Edith, and an older brother, Wesley, along with an older half-sister, Rita, from her mother's first marriage. A somber note in the family history was the loss of a daughter to pneumonia in infancy, before the births of Wesley and Edith.

When Frances was merely four years old, the foundational instability of her childhood began. Her parents separated, and her mother relocated with the children to Los Angeles, seeking refuge with her sister, Zella. The family's peripatetic existence continued in early 1925 when they moved north to Chico, California, where Lillian pursued her career in nutrition research with a single-mindedness that sometimes overshadowed her maternal duties. Shortly after their arrival in Chico, Lillian concluded that the demands of childcare were impeding her professional aspirations. In a decision that would undoubtedly leave an indelible mark on young Frances, Aunt Zella then drove the children to Albany, Oregon, where they boarded a train back to Seattle to live with their father, Ernest.

Farmer in a press photo for her winning the Voice of Action writing contest, April 10, 1935

This constantly shifting domestic landscape had a profound and undeniable effect on Farmer. Reflecting on her return to Seattle, she articulated the emotional cost: "In certain ways, that train trip represented the end of my dependent childhood. I began to understand that there were certain things one could expect from adults, and others that one could not expect...being shunted from one household to another was a new adjustment, a fresh confusion, and I groped for ways to compensate for the disorder." The following year, her mother, Lillian, returned to Seattle after her home in Chico was destroyed by fire. In Seattle, the fractured family shared a household, but Lillian and Ernest remained separated, despite Ernest's attempts to mend their marriage. The final severing of ties came in the fall of 1929, when Farmer was 16. Lillian and Ernest divorced, and Lillian moved to a cottage in Bremerton, Washington, while the children stayed with their father. The pattern of instability, it seemed, was deeply ingrained.

In 1931, while a senior at West Seattle High School, Farmer achieved an early notoriety by entering and winning $100 from The Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, a writing contest sponsored by Scholastic Magazine. Her winning essay, provocatively titled "God Dies," was a precocious and deeply personal attempt to reconcile her desire for what she termed a "superfather" God with her observations of a world she perceived as chaotic and fundamentally godless. In her autobiography, she candidly revealed the intellectual lineage of her essay, crediting her reading of Friedrich Nietzsche: "He expressed the same doubts, only he said it in German: Gott ist tot. God is dead. This I could understand. I was not to assume that there was no God, but I could find no evidence in my life that He existed or that He had ever shown any particular interest in me. I was not an atheist, but I was surely an agnostic, and by the time I was 16, I was well indoctrinated into this theory." It was a declaration of intellectual independence, a refusal to accept convenient fictions, a trait that would define much of her later life and cause her no end of trouble.

Upon graduating from high school, Farmer enrolled at the University of Washington, initially pursuing a major in journalism. To fund her tuition, she took on a variety of jobs, displaying a formidable work ethic: she worked as an usherette in a cinema, a waitress, a tutor, a laborer in a soap factory, and even a singing waitress at Mount Rainier National Park. It was during her sophomore year that she found her true calling, becoming deeply involved with the university's drama department. She quickly distinguished herself, starring in numerous UW plays, including Helen of Troy, Everyman, and Uncle Vanya. In late 1934, her performance in UW's production of Alien Corn garnered her significant favorable reviews in the local press, hinting at the talent that would soon captivate larger audiences.

In her final year of college, 1935, Farmer won a subscription contest for The Voice of Action, a leftist newspaper. The grand prize was an all-expenses-paid trip to the Soviet Union. Despite her mother's vehement objections, Farmer accepted the prize, motivated by a desire to witness firsthand the pioneering work of the Moscow Art Theatre. Her outspoken interest in such progressive topics, coupled with her earlier "God Dies" essay, fueled widespread speculation that she was not only an atheist but also a committed Communist. The same year, she successfully completed her studies, graduating from the university with a Bachelor of Arts degree in drama.

1935–1936: Early films and rise to fame

Farmer in a publicity still, 1938

After her intriguing sojourn in the Soviet Union, Farmer returned in the summer of 1935, making a strategic stop in New York City with the ambition of launching a serious theater career. She reconnected with an old college acquaintance, actress Jane Rose, and settled into her modest apartment on Manhattan's Upper West Side. It wasn't long before fate intervened. On June 25, 1935, she met talent agent Shepard Traube (1907–1983), a connection that proved pivotal. Traube, recognizing her potential, promptly referred her to Paramount Pictures talent scout [Oscar Serlin], who arranged a screen test. Paramount, clearly impressed, wasted no time, offering her a seven-year contract, which Farmer signed in New York City on her 22nd birthday.

After completing initial screen tests on Long Island, Farmer relocated to Los Angeles, ready, or so she thought, to begin her career in Hollywood. Upon arrival, she was immediately subjected to the industry's relentless pursuit of perfection, undergoing dental surgery to correct a gap in her front teeth. She spent countless hours on the Paramount studio lot, enduring screen-testing and training, all part of the relentless machine. In November 1935, she was cast in the B-movie Too Many Parents (1936), a comedy centered on young men in military school. While the film was a surprising box-office success, Farmer later dismissed the experience as "dull, professionally humiliating." In February 1936, after completing the film, Farmer married fellow Paramount contract player Wycliffe Anderson, who, with an eye to Hollywood branding, had changed his name first to William Anderson, then to Glenn Erickson, and finally to Leif Erickson, in homage to the Viking explorer. Soon after, she was cast in a lead role in the drama Border Flight.

Later that same year, Farmer secured her first "A" feature role in Rhythm on the Range, a musical Western that paired her with the hugely popular Bing Crosby. She later recalled the experience with a touch of youthful awe: "I had had a crush on him [Crosby] since my high school days, and stood in awe of the fact that in my first important film I was actually working as his leading lady." Rhythm on the Range garnered favorable reviews and significantly boosted Farmer's public profile. Following its release, Adolph Zukor, the formidable head of Paramount studio, personally called her, delivering the rather imperious message that "now that she was a rising star she'd have to start acting like one." Farmer, however, proved resistant to the studio's attempts to mold her. She largely eschewed the glittering Hollywood party scene and social events, preferring to spend her time at her Laurel Canyon home with Erickson. In a rather transparent attempt to make her marketable without actually changing her, Paramount opted to brand her in press releases as "the star who would not go Hollywood," focusing on her supposedly "eccentric" fashion tastes. Farmer later clarified that she was perfectly content with her attire, favoring slacks or a tweed skirt over the more elaborate gowns expected of a rising young Hollywood film actress in the 1930s. She did, however, make one small concession to Zukor's demands for more glamour: she purchased a trench coat from Paramount's wardrobe department, a garment previously worn by the iconic Marlene Dietrich in one of her films for the studio. Yet, Farmer's autobiography reveals her deeper defiance, stating that beyond this single purchase, she completely ignored Zukor's request to dress more "appropriately" and later came "to ponder the wisdom of [her] deliberate antagonism" by, essentially, making a determined enemy out of him. It was a pattern of behavior that would become all too familiar.

During the summer of 1936, Farmer was lent to Samuel Goldwyn for a role in Come and Get It, an adaptation of the novel by [Edna Ferber]. In a challenging dual role, she portrayed both a young woman pursued by her mother's former lover and the mother herself. The production was fraught with changes; Howard Hawks was initially slated to direct but was replaced midway through by [William Wyler]. Farmer found herself indignant and frequently clashed with Wyler during filming, famously stating that "acting with Wyler is the nearest thing to slavery." Wyler, in turn, offered his own cutting assessment: "The nicest thing I can say about Frances Farmer is that she is unbearable." Despite this animosity, Hawks remembered Farmer with genuine admiration, declaring that she "had more talent than anyone I ever worked with." He further lauded her, saying, "She was probably one of the cleanest, simplest, hardest-working persons I ever knew." Farmer reciprocated this respect, later writing, "Howard Hawks was one of the finest and most sensitive directors in the business, and there was nothing routine or cut-and-dried in his approach."

Producers chose to premiere the film in Seattle, Farmer's hometown, a decision that filled her with dread. She later wrote that the thought of returning to Seattle for the premiere profoundly disturbed her, explaining in her autobiography that she was utterly exhausted from work and emotionally drained by the stark realization that her marriage to Erickson had been a mistake. At the premiere, Farmer's quiet demeanor and reticence with reporters were misinterpreted, leading to news reports that painted her as cold and aloof. Nevertheless, Come and Get It was met with widespread public and critical acclaim, with several reviews hailing Farmer as a burgeoning star, some even drawing comparisons to the enigmatic [Greta Garbo]. The irony, as always, was palpable.

In 1937, her career continued its upward trajectory when she was lent to RKO to star opposite the debonair Cary Grant in The Toast of New York, a film chronicling the rise of a Wall Street tycoon. The production was turbulent, largely due to Farmer's unhappiness with the studio's decision to transform her character from a sharp-edged vixen into a saccharine "ingénue fresh from Sunnybrook." On set, her arguments with director Rowland V. Lee were frequent, and she gave belittling interviews to the press, cementing her reputation as difficult. Grant himself later remarked about Farmer: "She came to Hollywood knowing the rules but chose to flout them. She was self-destructive." Unsatisfied with the trajectory of her career after The Toast of New York, Farmer grew increasingly resistant to the studio's control and its relentless efforts to glamorize her private life. During the filming of The Toast of New York, Hollywood correspondent Kyle Crichton penned an article about Farmer for Collier's magazine, famously titled "I Dress as I Like." The piece sympathetically portrayed her indifference to fashion, noting her preference for functional clothing and her choice to drive an older-model "green roadster." Crichton observed of Farmer: "She is a tall, thin girl who is more intelligent-looking than beautiful, uses no makeup off the set, doesn't give a damn for clothes, is going to be an actress if Hollywood will let her...Her taste in clothes is atrocious because there is nothing in the world she cares less about." Also in 1937, she appeared in the crime drama Exclusive opposite [Fred MacMurray] and the vibrant Technicolor adventure film Ebb Tide alongside [Ray Milland]. Frank S. Nugent, in his review of Ebb Tide for The New York Times, offered a backhanded compliment, writing: "Frances Farmer has a fine pair of shoulders which, picturesque though they may be, yet were made to bear a weightier dramatic burden." The implications were clear: her talent deserved more substantial roles.

1937–1941: Transition to theater

Leif Erickson and Farmer (front row, far left) with members of the Group Theatre in 1938

Growing increasingly disillusioned with the suffocating expectations of the studio system and determined to cultivate her reputation as a serious actress, Farmer made a decisive move away from Hollywood in mid-1937. She immersed herself in summer stock theater on the East Coast, performing in Westchester, New York, and Westport, Connecticut. There, her talent caught the discerning eyes of director [Harold Clurman] and playwright Clifford Odets, who extended an invitation for her to appear in a three-month production of Odets's seminal play Golden Boy, under the auspices of the esteemed Group Theatre. Paramount, predictably, demanded Farmer's return to Los Angeles for the film Beau Geste, but Farmer, steadfast in her artistic convictions, pleaded to remain in New York for the play. The part she famously turned down subsequently went to [Susan Hayward], effectively launching Hayward's own prominent film career. Golden Boy premiered in November 1937 and enjoyed a successful run of 248 performances. Her initial performance received a mixed reception, with Time magazine somewhat dismissively commenting that she had been miscast. However, Brooks Atkinson, the influential theater critic for The New York Times, offered a more favorable assessment on November 5, 1937, writing that, "Frances is sufficient to the part and excellent in the romantic scenes." Similarly, Cue magazine's November 13, 1937, review of Golden Boy, penned by Herbert Drake, stated: "Frances Farmer turns in a simple and honest portrayal, completely in tune with the magnificent ensemble acting of the rest of the Group performance." Owing to Farmer's considerable box-office appeal, the play became the most significant hit in the Group Theatre's history. By 1938, as the production embarked on a national tour, critics from major cities like Washington, D.C., and [Chicago] showered her with rave reviews, solidifying her status as a formidable stage actress.

Left to right: Martha Scott, Uta Hagen, Farmer, and Julie Haydon posed in Stage magazine, 1938

During the acclaimed run of Golden Boy, Farmer became romantically involved with Clifford Odets. However, Odets was married to the celebrated actress [Luise Rainer] and, despite their affair, offered Farmer no commitment, leaving her feeling profoundly betrayed when he abruptly ended their relationship. Further compounding her disillusionment, the Group Theatre chose another actress for the play's London run—an actress whose family had helped secure vital funds for the production. Farmer, with a growing sense of cynicism, came to believe that the group had exploited her drawing power purely for the financial success of the play, rather than for artistic merit. Disheartened and emotionally bruised, Farmer reluctantly returned to Los Angeles to star opposite her husband, Erickson, in Ride a Crooked Mile (1938). Odets, years later, recorded his impressions of Farmer in his 1940 journal, describing her as an "unhappy, stiff, rude and uncontrollable girl, but with a real purity."

In April 1939, she participated in a short-run Broadway production of Quiet City, an experimental play by [Irwin Shaw], directed by the insightful [Elia Kazan]. In November of the same year, she returned to Broadway, portraying Melanie in Thunder Rock, again directed by Kazan and produced by the Group Theater. This play, however, was not well received, and Farmer found herself profoundly unhappy after its swift closing in December 1939. Subsequently, she accepted a role in a Broadway adaptation of Ernest Hemingway's The Fifth Column, with rehearsals scheduled for early 1940. It was during these rehearsals that Farmer's internal struggles intensified. She began to engage in binge drinking in a desperate attempt to alleviate her deepening depression. Ultimately, she chose to withdraw from the production, a decision that resulted in a substantial $1,500 fine from the Theater Guild for "unprofessionalism," a label that would unfortunately stick.

She then returned to Paramount, which promptly loaned her out to United Artists for the film South of Pago Pago (1940), where she starred opposite [Jon Hall] and [Victor McLaglen]. In this adventure, Farmer portrayed Ruby, a woman traveling with a group of pearl-seeking adventurers on a remote island. Ruby was characterized as a "good time girl," and Farmer imbued her with a "spunky" and "swaggering" demeanor. Following this, she was lent to Warner Bros. to star in Flowing Gold, an adventure drama set against the backdrop of the oil industry, opposite [John Garfield]. Farmer secured this role after Garfield specifically requested her as his leading lady, a part that both [Olivia de Havilland] and [Ann Sheridan] had already declined. During the production, Farmer and Garfield embarked on an affair, and Farmer harbored hopes for a long-term contract with Warner Bros.; however, no such offer materialized.

After completing the film, Farmer once again sought refuge and artistic challenge on the East Coast, returning to summer-stock theater. She performed in Little Women and, alongside the esteemed [Constance Collier], in Our Betters at The Cape Playhouse in Dennis, Massachusetts, on [Cape Cod], before making her way back to New York. Following a "lonely winter" spent living in New York City, Farmer drove back to Los Angeles in the spring of 1941, renting a lavish mansion in Santa Monica. Her next film was World Premiere (1941), a comedy featuring the legendary [John Barrymore]. Of her role, Farmer quipped, "In that one I'm a temperamental actress who wears a black wig and tries to look exotic." She followed this with a supporting part in the atmospheric film noir Among the Living (1941), co-starring with [Susan Hayward] and [Albert Dekker].

Throughout this period, Farmer was, by her own admission, "seeking in work a respite from her personal struggles." [Harold Clurman] temporarily moved into her Santa Monica home, offering companionship while she completed filming [Badlands of Dakota], a Western in which she boldly portrayed [Calamity Jane] opposite [Robert Stack]. Yet again, Farmer found herself in conflict with the studio over the role, which she felt was excessively glamorized, further exacerbating her already strained relationship with studio executives. The film itself garnered mixed reviews, but Farmer's performance as Jane received mostly positive notices. The week of the film's release, the September 10, 1941, issue of Variety declared that "Miss Farmer turns in an outstanding performance." Not all the press was so kind, however, with the notorious columnist [Louella Parsons] acidly writing: "The highbrow Frances Farmer, who found Hollywood so beneath her a few years ago, is playing, of all things, Calamity Jane." Her next appearance was opposite [Tyrone Power] and [Roddy McDowall] in the film Son of Fury (1942), on loan to [20th Century Fox], where she portrayed the scheming daughter of a British aristocrat. Later that year, Paramount, having reached its breaking point, suspended her after she adamantly refused a part in the film [Take a Letter, Darling], subsequently voiding her contract entirely. Meanwhile, her marriage to Erickson had completely disintegrated, and he had already begun dating actress [Margaret Hayes]. Their divorce was finalized on June 12, 1942, and Erickson married Hayes on the very same day.

1942–1949: Legal troubles and psychiatric confinement

The unraveling of Frances Farmer's life escalated dramatically on October 19, 1942. She was stopped by Santa Monica police for driving with her headlights on high beam, a serious offense in the wartime blackout zone that encompassed much of the West Coast. Reports from the time indicated she was unable to produce a driver's license and was verbally abusive to the officers. The police, suspecting intoxication, promptly jailed her overnight. Farmer was subsequently fined $500 and given a 180-day suspended sentence. She immediately paid half the fine,$250, and was placed on probation. With her vehicle impounded and her driver's license suspended, Farmer retreated into her Santa Monica home, refusing all press interviews, a futile attempt to escape the burgeoning public scrutiny.

Farmer in widely publicized photos taken during a January 1943 court hearing

In November 1942, her agent managed to secure her a role in an independent film adaptation of John Steinbeck's Murder at Laudice, slated to film in Mexico City. However, upon her arrival in Mexico, she discovered that the shooting script was far from complete, and the entire production ultimately failed to materialize. According to Farmer's sister, Edith, Frances withdrew from the project after patiently waiting two weeks in Mexico City for script rewrites that never materialized. While in Mexico City, Farmer was reportedly charged with drunk and disorderly conduct and disturbing the peace, leading authorities to compel her return to the United States. Upon arriving back in California, she found her Santa Monica home inexplicably cleared of her possessions and occupied by an unfamiliar family. Farmer later asserted that her mother and sister-in-law had stripped the house and stored her belongings while she was away. Her mother subsequently rented her a room at the Knickerbocker Hotel in Hollywood, where she took up temporary residence, a far cry from the opulent mansion she had once occupied.

By January 1943, Farmer had failed to pay the remaining portion of her fine, resulting in the issuance of a bench warrant for her arrest. Almost simultaneously, a studio hairdresser filed an assault charge, alleging that Farmer had struck her in the face and dislocated her jaw on a film set. Farmer had just begun working on the Monogram Pictures film, [I Escaped from the Gestapo] (1943). By her own admission, Farmer was, by this point, in a severe state of mental distress. She described feeling as though she were "slipping away," acknowledging her "peculiar mannerisms" and suffering from constant, debilitating head pain and an uncontrollable nervous twitch in one eye. The pain was so intense that she could barely endure sitting for make-up or having her hair combed. On January 13, 1943, she abruptly left the studio, returned to her room at the Knickerbocker Hotel, and collapsed. Later that day, police arrived at the Knickerbocker to arrest her, but she did not surrender peacefully. Farmer recounted fighting the arresting officers and being forcibly dragged, kicking and screaming, through the hotel lobby.

At her court hearing the following morning, Farmer's behavior was undeniably erratic and defiant. She vehemently claimed the police had violated her rights, demanded an attorney, and, in a dramatic outburst, threw an inkwell at the judge. When questioned about her drinking habits, Farmer candidly admitted: "I put liquor in my milk ... in my coffee and in my orange juice." She also confessed to regularly consuming benzedrine, an amphetamine. The judge, evidently unimpressed by her candor, sentenced her to 180 days in jail. As she was being removed from the courtroom, Farmer knocked down one policeman and bruised another, along with a matron. She managed to run to a phone booth, attempting to call her attorney, but was quickly subdued by the police. As they physically carried her away, she reportedly cried out, "Have you ever had a broken heart?"—a question that, in hindsight, resonates with chilling poignancy.

Through the intervention of her sister-in-law, a deputy sheriff in Los Angeles County, Farmer narrowly avoided jail time. Instead, she was transferred to the psychiatric ward of [Los Angeles General Hospital] on January 21. There, she received a diagnosis of "manic depressive psychosis, probably the forerunner of a definite [dementia praecox]." Days later, with assistance from the [Screen Actors Guild], she was moved to the Kimball Sanitarium, a minimum-security psychiatric institute nestled in the [San Fernando Valley]. Psychiatrists at Kimball subsequently diagnosed her with [paranoid schizophrenia]. She was then subjected to [insulin shock therapy], a procedure then considered standard psychiatric practice, despite its severe side effects, which included intense [nausea]. Her family later claimed they never consented to this particular treatment, a detail documented in her sister's self-published book, Look Back in Love, and corroborated by court records. Farmer herself later alleged that she was administered insulin treatments for 90 consecutive days, a harrowing claim. After nine months at the Kimball Sanitarium, Farmer, in an act of sheer desperation, simply walked out one afternoon and made her way to her half-sister Rita's house, a journey of over 20 miles (32 km). From there, they contacted their mother in Seattle to complain bitterly about the insulin treatments.

Farmer was paroled into the care of her parents (pictured with her here in 1938) after her release from psychiatric confinement.

Lillian, Farmer's mother, promptly traveled to California and initiated a protracted legal battle to secure formal guardianship of Frances from the state of California. Despite the testimony of several psychiatrists who argued that Farmer required further treatment, her mother ultimately prevailed. The two departed Los Angeles by train on September 13, 1943. Farmer moved in with her parents in West Seattle, but the reunion proved anything but harmonious. Her mother and she fought bitterly, as Farmer articulated in her autobiography: "Mamma and I had fought, argued, threatened, and screamed until it had finally come down to a climax of two exhausted women sitting across from each other in a small, cluttered kitchen. We were enemies who had grown tired of pretending." Following one particularly violent physical altercation, Lillian had Frances committed to Western State Hospital at Steilacoom, Washington. In a 1958 television interview with Ralph Edwards on his This is Your Life program, Frances candidly recalled her experience:

It was very much like anyone else's that is admitted to a public institution. They don’t have means for individual psychiatric care, there’s only so many beds available. I stood in line with 15 or 20 girls like myself, in the hospital for one reason or another. We received shots, or hydrotherapy baths, or electric shock treatment. This was supposed to relax the tensions and keep us quiet, which it did. I don’t blame the hospital at all—I think that they did everything in their power to take care of the enormous number of people they had, but I really don’t think it helped me much.

Three months later, in early July 1944, she was rather optimistically pronounced "completely cured" and released. Yet, shortly after her release, on July 15, Farmer was arrested for vagrancy in Antioch, California, a stark illustration of her continued precarious existence.

In January 1945, Farmer's father took her to stay at her aunt's ranch in Yerington, Nevada. During her stay, Farmer, perhaps seeking another escape, ran away from the residence. She was discovered several days later at a movie theater in Reno, and promptly returned by police to her aunt's home. Several months later, on May 18, 1945, Lillian, her mother, filed for a sanity hearing for Farmer after she once again ran away from their home in Seattle. The hearing was convened on May 21, and the court ruled that Farmer was to be recommitted to Western State Hospital. She remained an inmate of the hospital for the next five agonizing years, with the sole exception of a brief parole in 1946. Throughout her prolonged internment, Farmer was confined to the high-security ward, designated for the hospital's "violent" patients. Her treatment at Western State, and the controversies surrounding it, would become the subject of significant public and critical discussion in the years following her death.

1950–1958: Post-hospitalization and comeback attempt

On March 23, 1950, at the insistent request of her parents, Farmer was paroled back into the custody of her mother. A year later, on March 25, 1951, Farmer was formally discharged from the jurisdiction of Western State, a crucial detail she remained unaware of for two years. During this interim, the looming threat of recommitment to the hospital cast a long, dark shadow over her life. In June 1953, upon finally discovering her official discharge, Farmer immediately requested that her mother's conservatorship be lifted, a petition the Superior Court granted without delay.

With her freedom nominally restored, Farmer took a humbling job sorting laundry at the Olympic Hotel in Seattle. The irony was not lost on anyone familiar with her past: it was the very same hotel where she had been lavishly fêted in 1936 at the premiere of Come and Get It. While working at the Olympic Hotel, a co-worker, perhaps with good intentions, set Farmer up on a blind date with Alfred H. Lobley, a 45-year-old city utility worker. The two married in April 1954 and moved in with Lillian, Farmer's mother, who was by then succumbing to senility and required assistance at home. Within a year, Lillian was moved to a nursing home, and shortly thereafter, Farmer's marriage to Lobley began its inevitable disintegration.

Farmer circa 1958

Farmer remained estranged from her sister, Edith, until Lillian's death from a stroke in March 1955. Following their mother's passing, Edith relocated to Portland, Oregon, to be closer to their father, who also died there on July 15, 1956, similarly from a stroke. During this period, Farmer and Edith occasionally corresponded, a fragile thread connecting their fractured lives. Edith claimed that on one occasion, Farmer visited her in Portland, and the two spent an afternoon at The Grotto, a Catholic sanctuary they had once visited with their father, a fleeting moment of shared memory amidst years of turmoil.

In late 1957, Farmer separated from Lobley and moved to Eureka, California, where she found work as a bookkeeper and secretary at a commercial photo studio. In Eureka, she encountered Leland C. Mikesell, an independent broadcast promoter from [Indianapolis], who recognized her at a local bar. The two soon became romantically involved, and Mikesell, ever the opportunist, envisioned a grand career comeback for her. They relocated to [San Francisco], where Farmer briefly worked as a clerk at the Park Sheraton Hotel. In 1958, Mikesell and she married.

In a December 1957 interview with Modern Screen, Farmer offered a public reflection on her past: "I blame nobody for my fall. I had to face agonizing decisions when I was younger. The decisions broke me. But, too, there was a lack of philosophy in my life. With faith in myself and in God I think I have won the fight to control myself." She subsequently made two appearances on [The Ed Sullivan Show], during one of which she played guitar and sang "Aura Lee", a folk song she had famously performed in Come and Get It (1936). She also appeared on This Is Your Life in a deliberate attempt to clarify the truth amidst the sensationalized publicity that had plagued her career. Farmer, with a quiet dignity, explained to This is Your Life's host, Ralph Edwards:

I would very much like to correct some impressions which arose out of a lot of stories that were written—about me, I guess; but they weren't about me—suggesting things that I couldn't possibly have been doing. Which I never did. I wasn't in a position to defend myself at the time these stories were published. And I'm very happy to be here tonight to let people see that I am the kind of person I am and not a legend that arose.

Edwards later directly questioned Farmer about her supposed alcoholism: "Other stories accuse you of being an alcoholic. Were you, Frances?" Farmer's reply was an adamant, "No, I was never an alcoholic," a denial she extended to Edwards's subsequent question about "dope." It was a public performance, a reclamation of her narrative, however incomplete.

In August 1957, Farmer bravely returned to the stage in New Hope, Pennsylvania, for a summer-stock production of Enid Bagnold's The Chalk Garden. Throughout the spring of 1958, Farmer appeared in several live television dramas, some of which are fortunately preserved on [kinescope]. That same year, she made her final film appearance in The Party Crashers, a rather forgettable [potboiler] drama produced by Paramount and aptly described by one writer as "a crappy B-movie about wild teenagers and stupid adults." Notably, [Bobby Driscoll], another child star grappling with a challenging comeback, also appeared opposite Farmer in the film, which would prove to be the final film for both actors. Then, in July 1958, Farmer accepted the lead role in a production of Yes, My Darling Daughter, a role secured through reciprocal arrangements between the East Coast summer-stock theaters and venues in the Midwest; this particular engagement was based at a theater in Indianapolis.

1959–1964: Stage and television work

Farmer's return to the stage proved unexpectedly beneficial, opening the door to an opportunity to host her own daytime movie program, Frances Farmer Presents. The show's inception came after a television executive from the local National Broadcasting Company (NBC) affiliate, WFBM-TV (now known as [WRTV]), was captivated by her performance in The Chalk Garden in August 1958. The program quickly made her a popular and amiable host, and she subsequently received an award as a local businesswoman of the year, a surprising accolade for a woman whose life had been so publicly tumultuous. By March 1959, however, national wire service reports indicated that she had separated from Mikesell, and he was suing her for breach of contract, claiming a staggering $50,000, though Farmer herself asserted in a letter to Edith that the suit was actually for$200,000. In 1959, Farmer moved in with Jeanira "Jean" Ratcliffe, a widow in Indianapolis with whom she forged a close friendship.

In 1962, Farmer graced a Purdue University production of Anton Chekhov's classic The Seagull. The following year, her divorce from Mikesell was finalized in Indianapolis, marking the end of her third marriage. Frances Farmer Presents concluded its run in the summer of 1964. The station's general manager had initially fired her in April, rehired her two months later, but then permanently dismissed Farmer in late August or early September, reportedly aggravated by her alleged drinking binges. Despite this setback, Farmer continued her stage work, accepting a role in a Purdue Summer Theatre production of Ketti Frings's Look Homeward, Angel. In 1965, she took on the complex role of Claire Zachanassian in Purdue's production of Friedrich Dürrenmatt's The Visit, which ran at the Loeb Playhouse on campus from October 22 to 30, 1965. This particular production was described as follows:

The Purdue production wasn't to be the slick Broadway or Hollywood adaptations of the play, but the original "grotesque version". Zachanassian, the richest woman in the world, yet also weirdly handicapped (she sports a wooden leg and an ivory hand), has returned triumphantly (but as an old woman) to the impoverished village of her youth. She offers to save its citizens from poverty on one terrible condition: that they kill Albert Ill, the local grocer, who'd broken her heart when they were teenagers. Zachanassian is a charming and terrible figure—imagine the lovechild of [Frankenstein] and [Greta Garbo].

During the production of The Visit, Farmer was involved in a drunk-driving crash, a public incident that threatened to derail her fragile stability. When confronted by the police, she recounted: "Rather than answering as Frances Farmer, I reverted to my role in the play and [suddenly became] the richest woman in the world, shouting to high heaven that I would buy his goddamned town. I got out stiff-legged and ivory-handed, quoting all the imperious lines I could remember. Unfortunately, this did not [sit] well with the [cop], and a patrol car took me to jail." The sheer audacity, the theatricality of it all, is almost darkly comedic. Ironically, following reports of the incident in the media, the very next night's performance of The Visit completely sold out. Farmer was initially very reluctant to return to the stage, but was encouraged by Ratcliffe. Farmer vividly recounted the experience of that performance in her autobiography: "[T]here was a long silent pause as I stood there, followed by the most thunderous applause of my career. [The audience] swept the scandal under the rug with their ovation." It was, in her words, "my finest and final performance. I knew I would never need to act onstage again. I felt satisfied and rewarded." A poignant, almost defiant, end to her stage career.

1965–1970: Final years

During the early and mid-1960s, Farmer held the position of actress-in-residence at Purdue University, a period that saw her largely retreat from the public eye. She devoted the majority of her newfound free time to painting and writing poetry, finding solace in creative expression after years of tumultuous public life. She and her close friend Jean Ratcliffe embarked on a venture to start a small cosmetics company. Although their products were successfully field-tested, the project ultimately failed after the individual entrusted with managing their investment portfolio embezzled their funds, a mundane but no less crushing disappointment.

In 1968, Farmer formally converted to Roman Catholicism, a decision she attributed to feeling a tangible presence of God in her life and sensing a need to find a "disciplined avenue of faith and worship." She recounted her spiritual journey with an unexpected sincerity:

I had never given great concern to organized religion, and I was like a wayfaring stranger until one day I found myself sitting in Saint Joan of Arc, the Catholic church of our neighborhood. I had passed the cathedral countless times, but that afternoon, as I was returning from marketing, I stopped and sat alone in the great hall. It was quiet and dark, and I studied the massive altar and understood, for the first time, the power and meaning of the Crucifixion.

Farmer developed a deep affection for the Saint Joan of Arc church, attending Mass there regularly in her final years. During this period, she also made a concerted effort to give up drinking, a habit that had plagued her for decades, and began to consider writing an autobiography. She negotiated a collaboration with [Lois Kibbee], who encouraged her to tape-record her life story. The process proved to be emotionally jarring for Farmer, particularly the painful revisiting of medical records from her institutionalization, a raw wound that had never truly healed. The book, tragically, remained unfinished during her lifetime, but Ratcliffe later used its manuscript as the foundation for compiling Farmer's posthumously released autobiography, Will There Really Be a Morning?.

Death

In the spring of 1970, Frances Farmer received the devastating diagnosis of esophageal cancer, a condition largely attributed to a lifetime of heavy smoking. She was hospitalized for three weeks, enduring the harsh realities of her illness, before being sent home for a brief respite. She died of the cancer at Indianapolis Community Hospital on August 1, 1970, at the age of 56. Her remains are interred at Oaklawn Memorial Gardens Cemetery in Fishers, Indiana.

Posthumous controversies

Allegations of psychiatric mistreatment

The details of Farmer's confinement at Western State Hospital (pictured) were subject to significant controversy and discussion after her death.

In the years following Frances Farmer's death, the specifics of her treatment and experiences at Western State Hospital became the subject of intense, often sensationalized, discussion and widespread speculation. [Kenneth Anger], a chronicler of Hollywood's darker side, included a chapter detailing her breakdown in his infamous 1965 work, [Hollywood Babylon]. Farmer's posthumously published autobiography, Will There Really Be a Morning?, presented a brutal and harrowing account of her incarceration. In the book, Farmer claimed she had been systematically brutalized and mistreated in numerous ways. Some of these chilling allegations included being forced to consume her own [feces] and being subjected to sexual exploitation, serving as a sex slave for male doctors and orderlies. Farmer vividly recounted her stay in the state asylum as a period of "unbearable terror": "I was raped by orderlies, gnawed on by rats, and poisoned by tainted food. I was chained in padded cells, strapped into strait-jackets and half-drowned in ice baths." These claims painted a horrifying picture of institutional abuse, one that resonated deeply with a public increasingly wary of psychiatric practices.

Jean Ratcliffe, a close friend and companion of Farmer during her later years, oversaw the publication of Will There Really Be a Morning?. However, considerable controversy surrounds the extent to which Ratcliffe edited or even ghostwrote portions of the book. Ratcliffe herself maintained that she only penned the final chapter, which detailed Farmer's death. The debate over the autobiography's authenticity continues to this day, complicating the search for an unvarnished truth about Farmer's experiences.

Lobotomy claims

In 1978, Seattle film reviewer William Arnold published Shadowland, a book that, for the first time, explicitly alleged that Farmer had been subjected to a transorbital [lobotomy]. This claim, a shocking accusation of medical malpractice and violation, quickly gained traction. Scenes depicting Farmer undergoing this barbaric lobotomy procedure were prominently featured in the 1982 film Frances, which had initially been conceived as an adaptation of Shadowland. However, the film's producers ultimately reneged on their agreement with Arnold, leading to a legal dispute. During a subsequent court case against the film's producers, [Brooksfilms], Arnold made a startling admission: he revealed that the lobotomy episode, along with significant portions of his biographical account, had been "fictionalized." Years later, on a DVD commentary track for the movie, director [Graeme Clifford] offered a rather glib justification: "We didn't want to nickel-and-dime people to death with facts." A telling statement, indeed, regarding the priorities of storytelling over factual accuracy.

Despite the film's dramatic depiction, Farmer's family, her former lovers, and all three of her ex-husbands consistently denied, or at least did not confirm, that such a procedure ever took place. Farmer's sister, Edith, explicitly stated that the hospital had indeed sought her parents' permission to perform a lobotomy, but her father was "horrified" by the mere notion and threatened legal action "if they tried any of their guinea-pig operations on her." Furthermore, comprehensive records from Western State Hospital, which meticulously documented all 300 lobotomies performed during Farmer's time there, contain no evidence whatsoever that Farmer ever received one. In 1983, Seattle newspapers conducted extensive interviews with former hospital staff members, including all the nurses from the lobotomy ward who were on duty during Farmer's years at Western State; every single one confirmed that she was never a patient on that particular ward. Even Dr. Walter Freeman's private records, a key figure in the history of lobotomies, contained no mention of Farmer. Charles Jones, a psychiatric resident at Western State during Farmer's stays, also unequivocally stated that Farmer never underwent a lobotomy.

Writer Jeffrey Kauffman later published an extensive online essay, "Shedding Light on Shadowland," which thoroughly debunks much of Arnold's book, including the sensationalized and ultimately false account of the lobotomy. The enduring power of a compelling, albeit fabricated, narrative over verifiable facts remains a curious and somewhat depressing aspect of human nature.

In popular culture

The tragic and sensationalized narrative of Frances Farmer's life has, perhaps inevitably, seeped into popular culture, serving as a cautionary tale and a muse for various artists.

In 1982, [Jessica Lange] delivered a critically acclaimed portrayal of Farmer in the feature film Frances. As noted, the film controversially depicts Farmer undergoing a [lobotomy], a claim whose veracity has been extensively disputed and largely debunked. The following year, a television adaptation of Will There Really Be a Morning? was released, with [Susan Blakely] stepping into the role of Farmer. Another feature film loosely based on her life, Committed, was produced in 1984, further cementing her status as a cultural icon of suffering.

In the realm of music, Farmer's story has inspired numerous songs:

• "The Medal Song" on "Waking Up with the House on Fire" (1984) by [Culture Club]
• "Paint By Numbers (Song for Frances)" on "I Thought You'd Be Taller!" (1984) by [Romanovsky and Phillips]
• "Ugly Little Dreams" on "Love Not Money" (1985) by [Everything but the Girl]
• "Lobotomy, Gets ‘Em Home" on Silvertown by [The Men They Couldn't Hang]
• "Frances" on "Soothe" (1992) by [Motorpsycho_(band)]
• "Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle" (1993) by [Nirvana_(band)] on their final studio album, In Utero, a song that brought her story to a new generation, albeit often through the lens of the lobotomy myth.
• "Frances Farmer" (2004) by [Patterson Hood]
• "Rats!Rats!Rats!" (2006) by [Deftones], the eighth track from [Saturday Night Wrist]
• "Didn’t I See This Movie?" (2009) by [Tom Kitt_(musician)] and [Brian Yorkey] from the musical [Next to Normal].

French singer-songwriter [Mylène Farmer] notably chose her stage name as an homage to the actress, indicating the global reach of her tragic mystique. She is mentioned in "Lobotomy Gets Them Home" (1989) on [The Men They Couldn't Hang]'s album Silvertown. She was also the subject of a stage play by [Sally Clark], Saint Frances of Hollywood (1996).

In the 2017 Netflix original series Mindhunter, the character version of serial killer [Edmund Kemper] erroneously states that Farmer was lobotomized, perpetuating the debunked myth even in contemporary media.

Farmer was referenced in the 2022 The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel episode "Billy Jones and the Orgy Lamps," with a character's mental breakdown being described as "full-on Frances Farmer," demonstrating how her name has become shorthand for a spectacular public collapse.

Filmography

Year	Title	Role	Notes	Ref.
1936	Too Many Parents	Sally Colman		[147]
1936	Border Flight	Anne Blane		[148]
1936	Rhythm on the Range	Doris Halliday		[149]
1936	Come and Get It	Lotta Morgan/Lotta Bostrom	Alternative title: Roaring Timber	[151]
1937	Exclusive	Vina Swain		[152]
1937	The Toast of New York	Josie Mansfield		[153]
1937	Ebb Tide	Faith Wishart		[154]
1938	Ride a Crooked Mile	Trina	Also known as: Escape from Yesterday and The Last Ride	[49]
1940	South of Pago Pago	Ruby Taylor		[155]
1940	Flowing Gold	Linda Chalmers		[156]
1941	World Premiere	Kitty Carr		[157]
1941	[Badlands of Dakota]	[Calamity Jane]		[158]
1941	Among the Living	Elaine Raden		[159]
1942	Son of Fury: The Story of Benjamin Blake	Isabel Blake		[160]
1943	[I Escaped from the Gestapo]	Montage sequence	Alternative title: No Escape (UK)	[162]
1951	Studio One		Episode: "They Serve The Muses"	[163]
1951	Studio One		Episode: "The Dangerous Years"	[163]
1958	Playhouse 90	Val Schmitt	Episode: "Reunion"	[164]
1958	Matinee Theatre		Episode: "Something Stolen, Something Blue"	[164]
1958	Studio One	Sarah Walker	Episode: "Tongues of Angels"	[165]
1958	The Party Crashers	Mrs. Bickford		[166]
1958–1964	Frances Farmer Presents	Host		[167]
1959	[Special Agent 7]		Episode: "The Velvet Rope"	[163]

Stage credits

Date(s)	Title	Role	Notes	Ref.
November 4, 1937–June 1938	Golden Boy	Lorna Moon	248 performances	[51]
April 16–April 23, 1939	Quiet City		[Belasco Theatre_(Broadway)]	[63]
November 14–December 2, 1939	Thunder Rock	Melanie	[Mansfield Theatre]; 23 performances	[168]
July 1957–1958	The Chalk Garden	Miss Madrigal	Bucks County Playhouse; touring production	[100]
March 8–March 16, 1963	The Seagull	Madame Irina Trepleff	[Loeb Playhouse]	[169]
October 22–October 30, 1965	The Visit	Claire Zachanassian	Loeb Playhouse; 8 performances	[97]

See also

• Eleanor Riese
• Nellie Bly

Notes

• ^ Edith claimed the lawsuit against Farmer totaled $50,000, though Farmer herself claimed in a letter to Edith that the suit was actually$200,000.