Vivien Leigh

by Anne Edwards

  Fairbanks switched off the radio. There was a yawning, agonized silence. The slap of the water as they rocked gently at anchor sounded like the ticking of a time bomb. Each was concerned with his own thoughts. Fairbanks, to break the oppression, raised his glass in a victory toast. Larry, quite unlike himself, began to drink heavily. Vivien and Gertrude could only talk about going back as soon as possible to England. Ernest was alone and not well, and she feared he might get it into his head to join the forces. Then there were Suzanne and Leigh. Vivien suggested they all return, but that, of course, was impossible, as Larry’s legal commitment for Rebecca would mean a delay of three months at least.

  Mary Lee Fairbanks came to the cabin looking for Larry. They had all just realized he had slipped out of the lounge, and as he was as “smashed as a hoot owl,” they were concerned. Suddenly there was a great commotion in the Yacht Club harbor. Larry had managed to take one of the yacht’s dinghies and had rowed himself to the stern of another good-sized anchored yacht. Then, standing unsteadily and shivering in only a pair of swimming trunks, he bellowed in a thunderous Shakespearean voice, “This is the end! You’re all washed up! Finished! Enjoy your last moments! You’re done for! Doomed!” Then he rowed himself to the next boat to shout out the same prophecy.

  Ronald Colman’s yacht, Dragoon, was anchored next to theirs. Somehow the other yacht owners thought it had been Colman who had disrupted the harbor, and they demanded an apology. Fairbanks and his guests immediately returned to the mainland.

  Early the next morning Larry and Vivien began work on reservations for Gertrude’s return trip. David Niven was the one close friend who they knew would be called up to return to Britain for active service immediately, since he was a former Regular Army officer and in the reserve. Olivier would have liked to have gone with him. He contacted the British Consul in Los Angeles for advice and was told to stay put and not to panic, but at thirty-two, and in good health, he could not conceive of acting in films abroad while his country was at war. He called the British Embassy in Washington and was advised that it was no good returning until his call-up was due.

  They managed to book passage home for Gertrude, and she promised to keep them constantly alerted to the true conditions she found and to the safety of the children. Then Olivier reported to the studio for his first scenes as Max de Winter in Rebecca and Vivien for the retakes on the opening sequence of Gone With the Wind.

  The scene with Vivien in the newly designed white gown was first reshot before she and Olivier had left for their holiday. Vivien sat on the porch of Tara, a girl of sixteen, and said, “Everyone is talking of war, war, war.”

  Selznick took one look at the rushes and told Vivien, “You look too old and too ill for the scene.” The ordeal of the five harsh months of working sixteen hours a day, six days a week had taken its toll. Selznick told her to take a vacation with Olivier and then come back the first week in September to shoot the scene over again. And, indeed, as she walked onto the set she looked younger and gloriously happy—which she was. Despite the war news, fears for Gertrude, Ernest, Suzanne, and Leigh that plagued her, and worry over the knowledge that Larry would eventually be called up, at the same time she was more certain than ever of his love and more optimistic that they would soon be able to marry.

  Leigh was called up shortly after the outbreak of war. Gertrude took over the full-time care of Suzanne, and the house on Little Stanhope Street was rented. But England seemed far away as Vivien was swept into all the preparations for the premiere of Gone With the Wind, now fixed to take place in Atlanta on December 15. Howard Dietz (who with Arthur Schwartz had written the great song hits “Moanin Low,” “Dancing in the Dark,” “You and the Night and the Music,” and “I See Your Face Before Me”) had become the publicity director of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, and to this gentleman, who possessed the epitome of charm and wit, went the thankless job of handling all the arrangements for the giant premiere, an affair that was meant to place the collective talents of Barnum and Bailey, Cecil B. De Mille, and perhaps Sherman’s Raiders in the shade. Dietz was sent down to Atlanta to set the wheels in motion. Daily telegrams arrived from Selznick. One, a record four feet high, read in part:

  I WANT YOU TO BE VERY CAREFUL OF THE PAPER YOU SELECT FOR THE PROGRAM STOP SOMETIMES THEIR CRACKLING MAKES IT DIFFICULT TO HEAR THE DIALOGUE STOP PROMISE YOU WILL ATTEND TO THIS.

  Dietz telegraphed back, reassuring Selznick he need not worry about the crunching of popcorn either.

  HAVE MADE TIEUP WITH GONE WITH THE WIND PEANUT BRITTLE COMPANY ASSURING EACH PATRON OF THE PICTURE A BOX OF PEANUT BRITTLE AS HE ENTERS THE THEATRE.

  As the opening drew closer, the demand for tickets approached madness. Dietz was deluged with requests. One elderly lady practically staged a sit-in at Dietz’s hotel headquarters.

  “But you don’t understand,” she kept repeating. “I am president of the local chapter of the DAR.”

  At the end of his patience, Dietz replied, “But you don’t understand, madam. This picture is about another war.”

  The day of the premiere was declared an official state holiday by the Governor; the Mayor of Atlanta arranged three days of parades and celebrations. Period costumes were to be worn by all celebrating Atlanta residents, and the facade of the Grand Theatre, where the premiere was to be held, was made over to look like Twelve Oaks. Tickets for the 2500-seat theatre were ten dollars each, but scalpers were demanding as much as two hundred dollars a ticket.

  Leslie Howard had returned to England. Clark Gable was now married to Carole Lombard, but Olivier’s presence in Atlanta was feared to present a problem. Vivien was asked to come alone, but she refused to do so. As it was imperative that Scarlett O’Hara attend the premiere, Selznick, aware that Vivien was not one to make idle threats, created a story for the press. He explained his plan to Kay Brown.

  I checked with Larry Olivier this morning, and it is satisfactory with him if we announce that he is coming to Atlanta as a trailer [a preview of a coming attraction] for Rebecca. We will arrange today to send photographs of Olivier and stories concerning him in Rebecca . . .

  And in another part of his memo he says:

  I would like you to consider whether it wouldn’t be a smart thing to have the arrival in town a complete secret from the public, with a dramatic entrance of Gable and Leigh at the ball, where they would be seen for the first time in Atlanta with all the glamour that we can surround them with. It seems to me this would be much better showmanship, especially since there will be plenty of festivities the next day . . .

  In all this I haven’t mentioned Miss Leigh. No mention is necessary. You know her as well as I do, and she’s not going to be exactly Pollyanna about what we put her through. But in her case I feel that she owes it to herself, and to the picture. In Clark’s case I feel that whatever he does for us is in the nature of a great favor, and that we should regard it as such. He doesn’t need these idiotic festivities. He is the biggest star in the world, and any time he wants to show his face for three minutes, he can get a fortune for it.

  True, Vivien was no Pollyanna, and she was not too pleased about just being cast in Waterloo Bridge opposite Robert Taylor when the role had been specifically written with Olivier in mind, and this after the disappointment of not appearing together in Rebecca. To compound her unhappiness, Greer Garson (newly arrived from Britain) had been given the lead opposite Olivier in Pride and Prejudice, and she considered the part of Elizabeth Bennet, unlike the timid second Mrs. de Winter in Rebecca, a natural and good role for her. Still, the publicity junket to Atlanta was to be a fine chance for her and Larry to be together before reporting for work on their next films. Therefore, she was more cooperative than Selznick anticipated.

  They arrived in Atlanta on the same plane with David and Irene Selznick, Myron Selznick, and Olivia de Havilland. The Gables flew in a private chartered DC-3 passenger plane that MGM paid for, but Vivien did not seem to feel slighted by Gable’s special treatment.

  Se
lznick’s initial plea for a secret arrival had been overruled. Both contingents, arriving within a few minutes of each other, were greeted by a forty-piece band splendidly uniformed, their brass shining brilliantly in the Southern winter sun. As Vivien and Olivier stepped down on the red carpet from the plane ramp, Howard Dietz met them and the band blasted out the opening bars of “Dixie.”

  “Oh,” said Vivien, “they’re playing the song from the picture.”

  The remark was overheard by a reporter from the Atlanta Journal, though he had not been sure who said it and asked Dietz whose quote it was. Dietz, thinking fast, and certain anything was better than the remark being attributed to Scarlett O’Hara, replied, “Olivia de Havilland.”

  “Dixie” appeared to be the only song the band knew. They played “Dixie” as the group walked across the field to their open-topped cars, “Dixie” as the parade marched into the center of town, and “Dixie” as they paused when the stars got out of their limousines and disappeared into the Georgian Terrace Hotel, where hundreds of fans crushed around them for autographs.

  The Atlanta Bazaar set had been re-created for a charity ball that evening to which Gable was compelled to escort the Governor’s daughter and Vivien to vote for the Atlanta belle who best fit a gown she wore as Scarlett. All the film’s principals were dressed in costumes from the film, and the attending guests wore ante-bellum attire. The following day there was a grand luncheon with visiting Southern governors. Vivien met the diminutive Margaret Mitchell for the first time, and both women appeared to be mutually charmed. Later in the afternoon the Governor entertained the visiting celebrities for tea at the Governor’s Mansion. Vivien was one Englishwoman who disliked tea, but she sipped it politely. Next there was a cocktail party for the press and then the procession of celebrities into the theatre through a blazing, incandescent tunnel of light. They were met in the forecourt by dozens of reporters and radio announcers behind microphones. It was Vivien’s first experience of American publicity, and it startled her.

  She wore a diaphanous chiffon gown, a jeweled clip held a soft veil in place on her loose center-parted hair, and a full-length white ermine coat, loaned to her by the studio, dusted the floor as she swept inside. White orchids were pinned to her evening bag. With one arm she clung quite desperately to Olivier. The audience was emotional and sentimental, and the applause and ovations were overwhelming. There were screams of “Author! Author!” and the reticent Margaret Mitchell was led by Carole Lombard to the stage, where she thanked everyone on behalf of “me and my poor Scarlett.”

  Vivien complained privately that the length of the film was “hard on one’s ass,” but seemed otherwise pleased with it. Her favorite scene was Scarlett at Aunt Pittypat’s home hitting the bottle and accepting Rhett’s proposal of marriage between burps.

  A party followed the premiere, and then the next day a farewell luncheon was hosted by Miss Mitchell at the Riding Club for all the film people. By nightfall the plane with Gone With the Wind emblazoned on its side rose in a star-filled sky. Vivien clutched Olivier’s hand. She was terrified and could not look down, nor did she care to look back. Four days before Selznick had cabled Kay Brown:

  HAVE JUST FINISHED ‘GONE WITH THE WIND’ [meaning the final cut]. GOD BLESS US ONE AND ALL. DAVID

  But for Vivien the time had not yet come, and perhaps never would, when she was finished with Scarlett.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The New York Times said, “Viven Leigh’s Scarlett is so beautiful she hardly need be talented, and so talented she need not have been so beautiful; no actress, we are sure, was as perfectly suited for the role.” For a second time in her life Viven experienced a sudden rush of fame, but it no more swept her off her feet than it had the first time. She was twenty-six and the most famous female star in English-speaking films. “I’m not a film star, I am an actress,” she told reporters. “Being a film star—just a film star—is such a false life, lived for fake values and for publicity. Actresses go on for a long time and there are always marvelous parts to play.”

  Privately she and Olivier were hoping to star in and produce Romeo and Juliet (with Olivier also directing). In order for the control to remain in their hands, they decided to invest their own capital. This impelled both of them to accept immediate film work. Olivier went directly from Rebecca to Pride and Prejudice, and Vivien accepted the role of the ballet dancer who becomes a prostitute and decides to end it all by jumping from Waterloo Bridge in the film of the same name. She was loaned by Selznick to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer for the film, obviously an attempt by Selznick to repay Mayer for his help and backing on Gone With the Wind. Selznick must have believed that the role of the wide-eyed innocent turned prostitute would give her a chance at a performance of star stature, but it was hardly the role to follow Scarlett.

  On January 17, 1940, Vivien wrote Leigh (the letter was addressed to Leigh Holman, Esq., Bath Club, Dover, and readdressed to Sub-Lieut. Holman, R.N.V.R., Ramsgate):

  I have to have ballet lessons for this film [Waterloo Bridge] and have asked to be between two strong girls who can prop me up! Robert Taylor is the man in the picture and as it was written for Larry, it’s a typical piece of miscasting. I am afraid it will be a dreary job but I won’t think about it, and just concentrate on Romeo and Juliet.

  I am knitting Balaclava helmets which they seem to want at home. Would one be of any use to you and would you like it? I do wish you could tell me a little more exactly what it is you do, but I suppose you can’t. With all my fondest love, darling—and looking forward to hearing from you again. Vivien.

  No mention was made in her letter of their divorce petition, which had been filed by Leigh in London on January 5 and in which Olivier had been named as corespondent. A curious and enigmatic pattern had been formed with Leigh before their marriage: Never discuss, uncover, or reveal any disruptive, vulnerable, or disturbing issues. She wrote Leigh that she wanted to send canned butter and bacon to Suzanne, but never asked how the child was affected by a separation from both mother and father. She commented on how adorable the little girl looked in photos that he sent, but never asked about any emotional problems that she might be having. And she continued to write Leigh loving letters without ever mentioning the rejection, the loss of pride, and the pain that she must have inflicted on him by her open love affair with Olivier. Yet she knew well that his refusal up to this time to give her a divorce and his refusal to sign the permission for her to work in the States was his own dignified way of fighting to retain the marriage.

  On January 29, Jill was granted a divorce in London, naming Vivien as corespondent and winning full custody of Tarquin; and on February 19, Leigh went to court to seek his divorce. On the witness stand he said his domestic life had been happy until three years previous when Vivien had gone to Denmark to join a Shakespearean company of which Olivier was a member. On her return, Leigh testified, they had separated after she told him she and Olivier were in love. Jill had told a similar story. Larry had come to her after the Denmark engagement, confessed his love for Vivien, and left. Leigh was granted the divorce and Suzanne’s custody. The path was clearing for Vivien and Larry to marry, but it would still be six months until their divorces became final.

  It was no longer secret from the public that Scarlett O’Hara and the Prince of the English Theatre were lovers. Larry leased a house on San Ysidro Drive next door to Sylvia and Danny Kaye, and Vivien moved in to share it with him. Their lives were consumed with plans for Romeo and Juliet. Olivier would spend all his film breaks during Pride and Prejudice in fierce concentration on the playscript, while Vivien devoted all her lunch periods on Waterloo Bridge to conferences with Dame May Whitty, cast to play Juliet’s nurse, and who was helping her with her voice.

  She wrote Gertrude:

  I am having voice lessons four times a week and Larry has suddenly started to compose music and nothing will stir him from the piano. He is extremely proud of his achievements and writes them out and signs them! When I say
“them” I mean “it”—so far, but still, it’s very good! It’s his own entrance music for Romeo. Now he’s going to compose mine for Juliet—unless I can do it for myself.

  It was George Cukor who first suggested the idea of their doing Romeo and Juliet together as a last fling in the theatre before leaving the States for Europe and war. Olivier wrote Ralph Richardson asking for his advice, and Richardson wrote back that Romeo and Juliet sounded “a bit too luxurious for wartime.” Olivier did not heed the advice, however, and as soon as both of them had completed their film assignments they rented the old Vitagraph studio in Hollywood, investing their entire combined savings of $30,000. Construction began on an intricate revolving stage set. Olivier’s intent was “to stress . . . the tight, driving tragedy that catches the characters like straws in a whirlwind and drives them on to their inevitable destinies,” and he believed that a set that moved swiftly from one of the play’s twenty-eight scenes to the next was part of the answer.

  The press was calling them “America’s most famous lovers,” which was curious, since they were both English. Both were frank in their expression of love for each other. No interviewer could talk to Vivien without her mentioning “Larry.” The idea of these two world-known lovers playing Romeo and Juliet was a publicity man’s dream. And at twenty-six, Vivien was to be one of the youngest Juliets of recent times. Once it had been a tradition in the theatre that no one should play Juliet until she was old enough to play Juliet’s nurse. Vivien was going to break that tradition.