Zoë was positively bubbling throughout the trip as well. She visited the Noh and Kabuki theaters, and went shopping with Mum, who alternated between great bouts of chat and giggles, and long, contented silences. After the final concert, I took my gang to a disco. Our producer, Mr. Sakata, danced with Mum and she really cut loose, which everyone loved.
On our return to Los Angeles, Mum went off to a little apartment that I had found and set up for her. I had managed to persuade her to stay on for a few months in an attempt to see what living in L.A. might be like. As usual, the house in Malibu was overrun with people, but it was wonderful to see Blake, and Amelia and Joanna, who were in good form. As I was tucking Amelia into bed that night, she said, “Don’t forget to say I love you as you go out the door . . .”
“But I always say that,” I replied.
“I know,” she said. “But this time I might want to say it back.”
At breakfast the next morning, Jo said, “I’ve got a present for you!” then hugged and kissed me fiercely. Then she said, “. . . and here’s another present!” five more times, and hugged and kissed me again.
FILMING FOR S.O.B. commenced two weeks after my return from Japan. At the first read-through, it was a delight to see William Holden, Robert Preston, Richard Mulligan, and Robert Webber going through their paces. They were all so consummate in their work, and picked up on Blake’s suggestions so effortlessly. Stories were swapped, and laughter and affection abounded.
Blake seemed nervous, but I knew he would be—so much rested on this film. It was his most personal project to date, and he had waited more than six years to get it off the ground. Now it was a reality, and in our own backyard: the film crew swarmed all over our property, and trucks, trailers, port-a-potties, and generators were parked everywhere. Our dream house had been built, furnished, and was now functioning on our beachfront—yet it was merely a film set, and would be demolished as soon as we were done.
The esteemed designer Theadora Van Runkle, who had done Bonnie and Clyde, Mame, and The Godfather: Part II, among many others, was creating the costumes for the film. Her designs were spot-on for every character; you knew exactly what Hollywood stereotype each one represented by what they wore.
Blake had written my character of Sally Miles as a comic send-up of my own Hollywood image. Sally is a singer/actress, most famous for her Oscar-winning performance in Peter Pan. Her latest film, produced by her husband, Felix Farmer (played by Richard Mulligan), is a disastrous flop, and Felix conceives the idea of reshooting it as an erotic musical in which Sally will bare her breasts.
Obviously, I was nervous about this, but I’d had six years to prepare, and the scene was character- and plot-driven, rather than gratuitous. Blake promised to shoot it on a “closed set”—no press, no visitors—and I knew he would handle it tastefully, despite the satirical nature of the film.
Since the scene is an erotic nightmare of sorts, Theadora had designed a red chiffon gown with multiple layers of fabric, to swirl around me as I moved past wind machines and mirrors. The bust was made to break away at the appropriate moment, revealing, as Theadora called it, my “belle poitrine.”
During the first fitting at Western Costumes, Blake came over to see how the effect would work. I was already mortified, in that a number of seamstresses and assistants were in attendance.
Blake said, “OK, show me.”
I screwed up my courage and ripped open the breakaway top, which was intended to reveal just one breast.
Blake waved his hands in front of his face as if erasing chalk from a blackboard. “No, no, no!” he declared. “It won’t do. It has to be both boobs.”
“BLAKE!” I gasped.
“Sorry, honey, but it really doesn’t work otherwise.”
The dress was remodeled to reveal the entire poitrine. Thankfully, by the time we actually shot the scene, we had rehearsed so much that I hardly thought about it.
S.O.B. was one of the most enjoyable films to make, and I believe that everyone involved felt the same way. The film was such a send-up of the industry, and we all took wicked pleasure in the mischief-making, tilting at Hollywood instead of conforming to its standards. The cast—which also included Loretta Swit, Shelley Winters, Robert Loggia, Robert Vaughn, Marisa Berenson, and Larry Hagman, plus Blake’s daughter Jennifer and Rosanna Arquette as two starstruck hitchhikers—became a repertory company of sorts. Actors who weren’t scheduled to work would come down to the set just for the camaraderie and shared laughter.
When the film had finally finished shooting, we held a screening of the first rough cut for the company.
I wrote:
The film is not yet scored or dubbed, just an assemblage, but it is all there. It is so funny, and brilliantly shot. The lead-up to the “belle poitrine” is tasteful and scary and creative . . . all done with mirrors. I was so proud of Blackie, I could have burst. Good comments afterwards. My only fear is that the public won’t fully appreciate the film. It is such an unusual animal.
Prior to filming S.O.B., Blake had seen a small German film from the thirties by Reinhold Schünzel entitled Viktor und Viktoria, about a female singer who impersonates a man impersonating a woman. Blake was intrigued, and thought it could be a marvelous role for me. Although I found the idea of playing with gender daunting, when I saw the original film myself, I was able to imagine how stylish it could be in Blake’s hands, and what an interesting comment it might make about true love. By the time S.O.B. had concluded, he had obtained the rights, had begun working on the screenplay, and had secured the go-ahead from Lorimar to begin production.
A decision had to be made as to where the film would be shot. The story was set in Paris, so we initially thought that filming there would be the obvious choice. But it quickly became clear that, as had been the case with Darling Lili, there were too many problems with shooting it on location—modern equipment on rooftops, variable weather, and so on. Blake suddenly remembered that Pinewood Studios in England had two large soundstages that were connected to each other. They shared a sliding door, and for big projects, such as the James Bond films, they often accommodated a single set spanning both stages. It occurred to Blake that he could shoot the entire film indoors, creating Paris in the 1930s as he needed it to be. That way, he would have total control over every aspect, and given that Pinewood also offered preproduction and editing facilities, it would be far more economical. We began to make plans to base ourselves in London once again in the following year.
IN JUNE, I traveled to New York to attend Emma’s graduation from Trinity School. She had been accepted into Brown University, and I was unbelievably proud. We made plans for her to come back to L.A. for a brief visit, since my dad and Win would also be there, and I was hoping to take them all on a trip to British Columbia on Impulse.
When Emma arrived, Blake wasn’t home, but I could tell that she was very nervous about seeing him, as this was their first reunion since she had moved to New York. I was nervous, too, but Blake made it easy for us. Emma and I were sitting in the Jacuzzi together when he got home, and he walked straight into the water with all his clothes on and gave her a big hug. Emma spent a day or two catching up with her friends from Brentwood, then she and I traveled to join Dad and Win on the boat for a few days.
It was wonderful having Emma with me, but she was quiet and a little withdrawn; probably sorting out all that had happened and the unknowns that lay ahead.
We did some salmon fishing, and enjoyed the magnificent scenery—the waterfalls, the bald eagles, and of course our beloved boat. All too soon, Emma was heading back to New York, Dad and Win were heading back to England, and I was on my way to Washington, DC, to host an episode of The CBS Festival of Lively Arts for Young People called “Invitation to the Dance,” with Rudolf Nureyev, Ann Reinking, and other guests.
I danced a nerve-wracking waltz with Nureyev, whom I’d known in my London days through Svetlana and Zoë. He was gracious, and I managed to not trip over my feet.
While I was in DC, I heard the terrible news that Peter Sellers had died of a massive heart attack. I phoned Blake immediately, and he was very unglued. Despite their differences in recent years, their friendship had been long, and they had shared so much laughter together. His loss came as a real shock. We’d known for a long time that Peter had a weak heart, but we had come to take it for granted somehow, never imagining that he would die so soon. He was only fifty-four.
A month later, Blake’s and my good friend Gower Champion passed away at the age of sixty-one. The two events hit Blake hard. He flew to New York for Gower’s funeral, and returned in bad shape. I knew he was grappling with his own mortality after the loss of his two good friends, but he became severely depressed and confided in me that he had been having suicidal thoughts. This disturbed me greatly. I tried to be understanding, and prayed he would eventually work through it, since he was still in analysis.
Having been married to Blake for eleven years, I was aware that he suffered bouts of depression, and he had told me early in our relationship that his mother had been suicidal at times in his youth. The only other time I had worried that he might do himself harm was during The Carey Treatment and the James Aubrey debacle, when he had nearly broken the hotel room window in his despair. Thankfully, he was writing the script for Victor/Victoria, and having a creative project always helped. Over the ensuing weeks, his mood began to lift.
Despite the decision to control costs by shooting in the studio, the film still had a very substantial budget. The Lorimar executives began to balk. They threatened to pull out unless Blake could bring everything in at a more reasonable price. For a day or so, it seemed the whole movie was canceled. Then Blake opted to defer his salary and take a larger portion of the “back end,” if the film were to be successful. This did the trick, and production was back on track.
We would need to be based in England for at least six months starting in the New Year, so we began looking for another place to live in London, plus a school for Amelia and Joanna. Fortunately, we found both in fairly short order: a large apartment on Hampstead Heath, with the American Community School just down the road.
I traveled to Rhode Island to visit Emma at Brown, where she seemed relatively happy, but admitted she was waiting for something to really inspire her there. As always it was hard to say goodbye, but we made plans to meet up in Gstaad over Christmas.
Over the next few weeks in L.A. I did looping for S.O.B., and tried to put in as much time as possible with Amelia and Joanna.
There was a second drama with the Lorimar execs when they suddenly announced that their company was having serious financial problems and they needed to withdraw from Victor/Victoria. They gave Blake permission to shop the film elsewhere, but said they would stay on until a new home was found, since preproduction had already begun. After a few days of frantic phone calls and meetings between Blake, Tony Adams, and various agents, producers, and lawyers, MGM—no longer led by James Aubrey—finally came on board. But its decision-makers stipulated that they wanted a two-picture deal, one of which would be a new Pink Panther. With Peter Sellers now gone, Blake initially resisted the idea, but eventually he accepted the terms and decided to cross that bridge when he came to it, so that work on Victor/Victoria could continue.
Because of my visa limitations, I had to return to Gstaad in November, and Amelia, Joanna, and Charley joined me there. Near the end of the month, I wrote:
Two lovely things happened today. Henry Mancini phoned and played three songs for me that he had written for Victor/Victoria. They are just great. All different, nice textures, and one super-beautiful ballad. It has no lyrics as yet, but it is the prettiest melody, another great waltz, and I know from its style and the way the melody climbs what it ought to say. Hank was funny and dear, and I sat listening with the phone to one ear and fingers in the other, since he was none too handy with the microphone on his end and there was an almighty banging coming from workmen hammering in the room above me. At one point, when the music climbed especially high, I said, “That’s a bit range-y, isn’t it, Hank?” He chuckled, and said, “Piece of cake for you, Jools.” I hope I can prove him right.
Then Blake called at about 1 PM my time, which was 5 AM for him. He had just finished the script for Victor/Victoria and phoned to tell me so. He was weary and happy, having worked on the final pages for about fourteen hours straight. I said to him, “So, we have a new baby.” And it is like welcoming a new life into our family. A new creative venture.
Rehearsals began at Pinewood in early January. We settled into our new apartment, and Amelia and Joanna began attending the American Community School. Unfortunately, Charley was leaving us once again, which meant the girls had to adjust to yet another new nanny. It was tough on them, as always, and I did everything I could to boost their spirits. But it was difficult, as I was also busy with fittings and rehearsals for Victor/Victoria.
I had expressed doubts to Blake that I would be believable as a man. Even though my character is only masquerading as one, she passes as male to her audience, and therefore I thought I needed to do the same.
Blake said, “Honey, your audience will believe that Victor is a man because the audience on-screen believes it. It’s poetic license.”
This helped, but I knew I had to do my homework. I started to watch every man that crossed my path, and began to find a few clues as to how to behave. I noticed that men tend to be less “fussy” in their movements. They often sit with legs apart, rather than crossed, for example, and put their hands in their pockets rather than gesturing with them. Their facial expressions can be less animated than women’s. I decided that aiming for “stillness” was my best bet.
I found the layers of men’s clothing somewhat claustrophobic—the starched collars, dickeys, vests, suspenders, and cravats that the period called for. Then there was the question of what to do with my hair. We decided that a vibrant red would make both Victor and Victoria stand out best. My own hair was cut and dyed with three different layers of red for Victor’s “natural” hair. This required regular visits to the hairdresser every ten days to preserve the richness of the color. For Victoria, and for all of Victor’s performances in drag, I wore a variety of wigs and headpieces.
Makeup tests were extensive, but thankfully my British makeup man was superb. After one exhaustive session, I wrote:
Amazing how one face suddenly becomes a vast terrain of lumps, bumps, cracks, crevices and hollows, to be discussed and disguised. Oh my!
There were daily rehearsals with Paddy Stone for the dance numbers, and of course, we had to prerecord the songs. I attempted to change my voice in a subtle way, pitching it lower, warmer, and huskier as Victor, so as to sound somewhat masculine and less recognizable. For the big production numbers, I suggested climbing two octaves to a high note at the end, so it would sound like I had a female impersonator “gimmick.” I doubt I fooled anyone, but Blake’s words about believability saw me through.
After work and on weekends, I did my best to put in quality time with Amelia and Joanna. I took them to the zoo and the ballet. I made them breakfast each day before school, and read them bedtime stories at night. It was hard to find time to study my script, and, once filming began, to learn my lines, but I was aware of the stress that Blake’s and my work hours and the new nanny were creating for our girls.
In spite of my efforts, they both began to act out. Eventually, I voiced for them how hard it must be to cope with Charley’s departure and my busy schedule. I reinforced how much we loved them, wanted them, and said that we would never leave or let them down. I promised that I would be home every evening, and would carve out special time to listen to stories of their day and have cuddles. I said that no matter who came and went in our lives, or how busy we sometimes were, Daddy and I would always be constant, and there for them. It seemed to help for a while, though I sensed these issues would probably come up again.
FILMING FOR VICTOR/VICTORIA began on March 2. Rodger Maus, our pr
oduction designer, had worked wonders with our two-stage set. The Paris streets were so realistic that it was easy to forget we were actually indoors. There were real drains for snow and rain runoff, and the buildings and storefronts had myriad authentic details, like letter boxes, glass windows, lamps, and street signs. One side of the street was more “up-market,” and the other more run-down. Cars could literally drive along the roads. Most of the interior sets had been built in their designated spaces behind the building façades—the hotel lobby, the restaurant, the patisserie, the seedy bar. The nightclub and hotel rooms were separate sets, and they glowed with Art Deco flair. The lamps were genuine antiques from the period, as were many of the wall hangings and other decorative items. The authenticity was staggering, and it made it so much easier for us actors to do our work.
Our cinematographer, Dick Bush, showed me postcards of Montmartre and other areas of Paris, painted by Maurice Utrillo. Dick said, “Even though the story takes place in winter, I don’t want the film to look cold. So I’ve borrowed Utrillo’s idea of throwing color onto the snow, warm reflections from the storefronts, street lamps, and so on.” It was a great lesson in the importance of the cinematographer’s contribution, and how subliminally the audience can be influenced.
“The Shady Dame from Seville” was the first musical number we shot. It was also my first opportunity to pull the wig off and reveal Victor beneath. I tried to remain expressionless as I did so. It was always difficult to know whether to focus on being masculine, even when in a dress, or to show hints of the woman beneath the male façade, depending on the scene. I struggled to remember which one was leading at any given moment. It felt like patting my head and rubbing my stomach at the same time.
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