The Pure, Sublime Joy of Betty White

The late actress allowed us all to see the good in the world--and in ourselves.

There are some stars whose presence burns brighter than everyone around them, and there’s no doubt that Betty White was one of those. When she passed away on December 31, 2021, just a few weeks shy of her birthday, it truly felt as if we were witnessing the passing of an era. For many of us, she was synonymous with her role as Rose Nylund, for others she was the sassy grandma figure that stole the show in the 2009 film The Proposal and dazzled during her hosting of Saturday Night Live. And, as Emily VanDerWerff rightly observes at Vox, her death became particularly meaningful because, “when the people we loved for their work on television die, we’re not just grieving their deaths but also the ways in which those characters became a part of particular parts of our lives.”

I have to admit that I had some misgivings about going to see the special celebration of Betty White’s life that the Regal theater chain was holding–entitled Betty White: A Celebration–originally in honor of her birthday but later in homage to her life. However, I knew that if I didn’t go that I would come to regret it, and so I decided to brave the potential threat of Omicron to attend it in-person.

I am very glad I did.

I am one of those people whose interest in visual media–whether film or TV–largely stems from stars. Sure, I enjoy and appreciate The Golden Girls because of its snappy writing and its social conscience, but I love it because of the four leads, each of whom brought out something special about their character. Of  the four, there’s no question that Betty White most fully embodied simple, sublime joy. Rose was the kind of person that you could imagine being friends with, someone that you could count on no matter what happened, who would always provide you a shoulder to cry on and a St. Olaf story to exasperate you and make you laugh in equal measure. That was true from the first episode to the last and, as the years would reveal, there was more than a little bit of Betty White herself in her character (as is almost always the case with the true greats).

I write a lot here at Omnivorous about joy. It’s a sensation–or a feeling, or a sensibility, perhaps–that is notoriously hard to pin down and equally notoriously individualistic. What brings one person joy or pleasure may be like nails on a chalkboard to others. With Betty White, however, there was never any doubt; she simply radiated happiness and charisma. She was, by her own admission, an inveterate optimist, and she noted many times that it was her ability to always look on the bright side that was responsible for her remarkable longevity.

That ability to summon forth joy–and to engender it in the audience–was obvious throughout Betty White: A Celebration, both in terms of White herself and in the testimony of those who spoke about her life, her loves, and her career. It was there in the earliest days in Life with Elizabeth, it was there in her catty persona as Sue Ann Nivens, and it was there in her marriage to her husband, Allen Ludden. And, of course, it was also present in White’s relationship to the other great love of her life: the animal kingdom. I dare you to watch this video of Betty White feeding a giant bear and not smile. 

Some time ago, I wrote about the joy embodied by another star, the late Doris Day. Like White, Day was widely lauded as being “America’s sweetheart,” and no wonder. With her “good girl” persona, her dazzling smile, her soaring, and her powerful voice, she was everything that America seemed to want to believe about itself. At the same time, however, there was also something intangible about her, something that kept her from being just like we mortals here on Earth. As White herself describes the phenomenon in A Celebration, there’s something intrinsically distancing about film stardom, in that people leave their houses (or did, once upon a time) to see stars brought to larger-than-life on the big screen. With TV stars, however, there’s a different dynamic, especially since that medium, unlike film, has always been tied in with the domestic and the home (though obviously this has dramatically changed in the era of prestige television and streaming). 

Betty White’s stardom, unlike Day’s, has always been intrinsically connected to television, the medium in which she got her start and with which she will always be most identified. She was the kind of person that you felt like you actually knew, and hers was a presence that you always welcomed. Many people who were interviewed for Betty White: A Celebration noted that there was almost no period in which she wasn’t beloved. Given how ephemeral stardom and relevance are in the media world, that is no small accomplishment. 

If there’s one bright side to the sadness of losing such an exemplary and unique talent, it’s that we now live in an era where even much of White’s early work is now visible and accessible in a way that would have been unthinkable just a short time ago. For a while now we’ve had The Golden Girls streaming on Hulu, and now The Golden Palace has joined it, allowing both new and old fans to experience this effort to keep a good thing going. Whatever its other failings, there’s no question that Betty White is having the time of her life on the show, and her effervescent charm continues to shine in every scene (even the ones that are the most heartbreaking). Even though, as I’ve written elsewhere, I’m no fan of the spinoff, I still enjoy seeing Betty White on the screen. 

Indeed, one of the best things about attending the screening of Betty White: A Celebration is what came after the documentary itself, i.e. an episode of White’s short-lived sitcom Date with the Angels. It’s a fascinating little time capsule, in which White plays two different roles: one a sexy lounge singer and the other a regular housewife. Since they are practically identical, all sorts of misunderstandings and mishaps ensue. It’s not an especially funny show, though it does have its charms, and one gets the feeling that with a few cast changes and some tighter, punchier writing it could have really gone somewhere. 

What really stands out about the episode, however, is unsurprisingly White herself. Though she hasn’t often been talked about in terms of glamor or beauty, as the lounge-singer Honey she exudes the sort of sultriness one would expect in a film noir. Just as importantly, however, she also dazzles as the housewife, Vickie Angel. Though the episode fails to really land in terms of its comedy, it nevertheless shows just how adept White was as an actress in both straight and comedic roles. Any time that she flashes that dazzling smile, whether as Honey or as Vickie, it’s impossible not to smile with her. She owns every minute that she’s on the screen, and I can’t help but feel grateful that we got to spend a little more time with her. 

Don’t get me wrong. There were many times during the documentary when it was all I could do to hold myself together: the opening segment, in which we heard from her fans who mourned her death; when she spoke of her enduring love for Allen, sending a kiss heavenward; when we saw some of the recent videos, in which it was clear that age was starting to take its toll. At the same time, however, I found myself transported into the magical world that only White could create. Even when she was playing a foul-mouthed widow (Lake Placid) or a cantankerous caretaker (Hot in Cleveland), it was so clear that she loved what she was doing that you couldn’t help but smile along with her (only Betty White, after all, could call Ryan Reynolds an “ab-crunching jackass” and somehow make it seem endearing, or tell a man that “if I had a dick this is where I’d tell you to suck it” without seeming hopelessly crass). 

When you get right down to it, she gave us a gift whose value only continues to grow. She showed us, both on the screen and off of it, that there are such things as beauty, happiness, and sublimity in the world around us. She had the rare genius of allowing us to see these things through her. Even the last photo of her, which her assistant shared on Facebook, shows her smiling and radiant, that unmistakable twinkle in her eye and that infectious joy seeming to light up the frame around her. It’s bittersweet, to be sure, but there’s no mistaking the happiness that she felt, and that she wanted us to feel as well.

While she might have left us, I have no doubt that, wherever she is, she’s smiling.