The Legend of Lizzie Borden

 One of the weirdest—and most physically unusual—things Elizabeth Montgomery had to do for a role occurred during her portrayal of Lizzie Borden in the 1975 television movie *The Legend of Lizzie Borden*. To authentically depict the infamous accused axe murderer, Montgomery insisted on performing a chilling reenactment of the alleged crime herself, including the repetitive, rhythmic swinging motion of an axe. Though no actual weapon was used during filming, she spent hours rehearsing the precise, almost trance-like movements to convey Lizzie’s psychological unraveling. The scene was shot in near silence, with only the sound of her breathing and the imagined thud of the blade, creating an eerie, documentary-like realism that unsettled even the seasoned crew.

Adding to the strangeness, Montgomery chose to stay in character throughout much of the shoot, adopting Lizzie’s reserved, watchful demeanor both on and off camera. She avoided socializing with cast and crew during breaks and kept to herself in her trailer, immersing herself in the mindset of a woman suspected of brutally murdering her father and stepmother. This method-like approach was unusual for Montgomery, who typically maintained a warm, collaborative presence on set—especially during her *Bewitched* days. Her commitment to the role’s psychological depth made the experience not just weird, but emotionally taxing.
Another odd demand of the role involved period-specific physical transformation. To accurately portray Lizzie in 1890s Fall River, Montgomery wore tightly laced corsets for hours each day, which restricted her breathing and movement—a stark contrast to the comfortable, stylish wardrobe of Samantha Stephens. She also had to maintain a rigid, upright posture and subdued facial expressions, suppressing the expressive charm that had defined her earlier career. Even her voice was modulated to sound flatter and more restrained, reflecting Lizzie’s repressed Victorian persona. These physical and vocal adjustments, while subtle to viewers, required constant, conscious effort.
Perhaps the weirdest aspect, however, was the public reaction. After the film aired, Montgomery received letters from people convinced she had somehow “channeled” Lizzie’s spirit—or worse, that she sympathized with a double murderer. The performance was so convincing that it blurred the line between actress and character in the public imagination. For Montgomery, this role was a deliberate break from typecasting, but its uncanny realism left a lasting impression—not just on audiences, but on her own sense of what acting could demand. It remains one of the strangest, most haunting chapters in her otherwise luminous career.