In the pantheon of 1960s television, two women left an indelible mark on pop culture: Elizabeth Montgomery and Julie Newmar. One embodied the wholesome suburban sorceress Samantha Stephens in Bewitched, while the other defined feline seduction as Catwoman on Batman. But few remember the brief yet fascinating moment when their worlds collided on the set of Bewitched.
By the time Bewitched premiered in 1964, Elizabeth Montgomery was already an established name in television and the daughter of screen legend Robert Montgomery. She brought a mix of charm, wit, and sophistication to the role of Samantha Stephens—a witch trying to live a normal life with her mortal husband, Darrin. With her twitching nose and quick spells, she cast a spell over audiences and quickly became one of the most beloved stars of the decade.
Montgomery was not only the star but also closely involved in the creative direction of the show, especially after her husband, William Asher, took over as producer and director. She was known for her professionalism, her strong opinions, and her desire to elevate the show beyond typical sitcom fare. She also took great care in shaping the portrayal of Samantha as intelligent, strong, and independent—a progressive character for the time.
Julie Newmar was something entirely different. Statuesque, exotic, and wickedly funny, she was a standout in whatever role she played, whether in My Living Doll or later as Catwoman. She possessed a unique combination of physical grace—thanks to her background in dance—and razor-sharp comedic timing. She made one of her most unexpected TV guest appearances in a 1965 episode of Bewitched, titled “The Eight-Year Itch Witch.”
In that episode, Newmar played a seductive witch named Miss Kilmanagh, who attempts to lure Darrin away from Samantha. It was a role tailor-made for Newmar’s sultry brand of humor, and her presence introduced a different kind of tension to the show—one that had more to do with rivalry than the usual domestic magic mishaps.
There were no reports of animosity between Montgomery and Newmar during filming, but sources from the time describe a palpable contrast in energy. Montgomery, meticulous and elegant, approached her character with grounded realism. Newmar, meanwhile, played Miss Kilmanagh as a flamboyant, mystical temptress, commanding every scene with flair. Their different styles may have been part of the reason why their scenes together sizzled.
However, behind the scenes, there was a quiet tension. Montgomery was known to be cautious about guest stars who might overshadow her role—especially glamorous women who might steal the spotlight. Though never unkind, she was reportedly cool during Newmar’s brief time on set. Some crew members recalled that Montgomery preferred to keep her distance, maintaining a level of authority and focus on her work.
To her credit, Newmar didn’t overstep. She played the role with her signature panache and left a memorable impression, but she didn’t try to dominate the episode. Still, her presence was so strong that some viewers remember the episode more for her performance than anything else that season.
It’s important to understand that while both actresses were iconic, they were operating in different orbits. Montgomery was America’s sweetheart, tied to the domestic fantasy of the American housewife—with a twist. Newmar was closer to the fringes of fantasy, a woman whose roles often flirted with danger, mystery, and surreal sensuality. While Montgomery anchored Bewitched, Newmar’s cameo added a dose of unpredictability that made her episode unforgettable.
Their careers also reflect these differences. Montgomery would go on to use her fame for political activism and serious roles in TV movies tackling social issues. Newmar, ever the enchantress, remained a cult favorite, embracing eccentric parts and eventually becoming a symbol of female empowerment in LGBTQ+ communities.
Though Julie Newmar only appeared in a single Bewitched episode, her interaction with Elizabeth Montgomery was a moment when two worlds—glamour and domestic fantasy, drama and camp—briefly overlapped. The episode remains a fan favorite, not just for the humor and magic but for the quiet clash of two powerful screen personas.
There are no detailed behind-the-scenes tell-alls or major confrontations to report—Montgomery was far too professional for that, and Newmar too poised to provoke. But for fans of classic television, the brief moment they shared on-screen is pure gold. It was a time when one of television’s most elegant witches faced off with a mischievous rival, both played by women who understood the power of charisma, control, and timeless beauty.
In the grand tapestry of 1960s TV, this encounter may have been brief—but like all good spells, its effect lingers long after the magic ends.