by Marc Eliot
The writing too was formulaic. Very little was ever revealed about the lead characters’ backstories. Eventually it did come out that Rowdy had been in the Confederate army, spent time in a northern prison, and was starting a new life as a herder. But there was never a lot of information given about any of the characters because, the producers felt, it wasn’t germane to the self-contained week-to-week story lines of the show.
While the network held firm and did not let Clint take any movie work (or appear on any other CBS shows as a guest in contemporary clothing, such as The Jack Benny Show), Universal did manage to hire him out to play live rodeos, along with Sheb Wooley (substituting for Fleming, who refused to do them), who had had some rodeo experience in his years before becoming an actor, and Paul Brinegar. Together they put on a little skit with some singing and dancing. Both Wooley and Clint could sing well enough to pull it off, and they were quickly able to master the dancing, mostly some fake rope twirling. Audiences, mostly kids, flocked to see Rowdy Yates (not Clint Eastwood) in person. Clint and Wooley each received $1,500 per show.*
The other thing Clint was allowed to do was to make a 45-rpm single recording. A lot of the stars of 1950s and 1960s shows made records, and perhaps the most successful was Edd “Kookie” Byrnes of 77 Sunset Strip, who had an improbable hit with “Kookie, Kookie (Lend Me Your Comb),” at once the high-water mark and the drowning point of Byrnes’s relatively short-lived stardom. In 1961 Clint recorded “Unknown Girl” (backed with a cover version of a 1950s pop tune, “For All We Know”). The recording did well enough to get Clint an album deal, Rawhide’s Clint Eastwood Sings Cowboy Favorites. Recorded on the Cameo Records label, the album featured Clint in a cowboy outfit on the front and back, without identifying his character as Rowdy Yates. The breathless back liner notes read in part:
The folk song that truly represents a branch of American culture is the western cowboy song. Ever since courageous Americans crossed the prairies, western songs have been popular. And there is no better prototype of that “cowboy” than Cameo/Parkway’s recording artist, Clint Eastwood, a “native” westerner and a “natural” performer.
This album represents a collection of songs closely identified with the spirit of America. Here, then, Cameo/Parkway’s talented vocalist Clint Eastwood, and America’s most popular “cowboy favorites” … an unsurpassed combination that spells “entertainment.”*
Audiences bought it in fairly good numbers, a testament to Clint’s popularity rather than to his singing. Most of the money went to Universal and Cameo, but Clint was less concerned about the profits than about what the gimmick might mean to his career. He wasn’t a pop country tune singer and didn’t want to be—his musical interests remained firmly rooted in jazz. When Cameo, with Universal’s enthusiastic approval, wanted to follow it up, Byrnes-style, Clint flatly rejected the notion. To avoid becoming the next “Kookie,” he brought his potential teen idol career to a screeching halt.
In February 1962 the show’s by-now-worldwide popularity led to a personal PR tour of Japan that featured Fleming and Clint in full-dress cowboy outfits. They were mobbed everywhere they went. Maggie did not accompany Clint on the tour, and many suspected that he simply did not want to take her, preferring to enjoy the fruits of his stardom unencumbered by a wife.
So Maggie stayed home, either oblivious to or unconcerned by Clint’s philandering, playing tennis with her new upscale friends that included William Wellman’s daughter, Cissy Wellman (whom she had met and become close to when Clint appeared in Lafayette Escadrille), Bob Daley, and other neighbors and acquaintances.
More offers for starring roles in films came from both England and Rome; Clint wanted to take them but had to turn them down. In April 1963, his fourth year on the show, CBS sensed they needed to loosen the reins just a bit and allowed Clint to make an appearance on another network TV hit series. One reason may have been that, for the first time, Rawhide had dropped in the ratings against some new and formidable competition. International Showtime on NBC managed to knock Rawhide out of the top twenty-five. Believing the show needed some fresh publicity, the network asked Clint to guest-star on an episode of its highly rated hit sitcom, Arthur Lubin’s Mr. Ed, based on a short story, “Ed Takes the Pledge,” by Walter Brooks.
Although it wasn’t exactly the type of stretch Clint was looking for, he agreed to do it as long as he did not have to appear as Rowdy Yates or wear cowboy clothing. The network readily acquiesced.
One of that show’s writers was his friend Sonia Chernus, who had helped arrange the meeting with Warren that led to his being cast on Rawhide. For this episode she wrote “Clint Eastwood Meets Mr. Ed.” The episode’s plot was as idiotic as the talking-horse premise of the sitcom: Mr. Ed is jealous of Clint’s horse on Rawhide, Midnight, because she’s been having affairs with other horses in the neighborhood. Clint remained above it all, did the episode dressed in the contemporary So-Cal style of sweater and slacks, smiled amiably, collected his fee, and went on his way. Nonetheless, by playing himself he had officially earned the status of “big television star.” Only upper-echelon celebrities such as Bob Hope, Jimmy Stewart, John Wayne, and Frank Sinatra could regularly make appearances on programs as themselves. Clint may not have particularly enjoyed the experience, playing, in effect, a horse’s ass, but that week’s numbers for Mr. Ed were huge, and afterward Rawhide’s ratings ticked up—but not enough to return it to the top twenty, a ranking it would never again attain.
Clint’s troubled marriage took a potentially disastrous turn when he became involved with a twenty-nine-year-old statuesque brunette by the name of Roxanne Tunis. A stuntwoman, dancer, and occasional actress, Tunis had appeared in Robert Wise and Jerome Robbins’s 1961 West Side Story and as an extra in Alfred Hitchcock’s 1963 horror film The Birds. She now showed up fairly regularly on Rawhide, where she met Clint. Separated from her husband, she and Clint began an intense and highly sexual affair. Tunis was openly affectionate to Clint on the set, as if she wanted the world to know what was going on. She cared for him constantly, openly massaging his neck, listening to his problems, and putting absolutely no pressure on him for anything more than what she already had.
Often in the evenings, when shooting was through, he would go with Tunis to her place, stay awhile, and then leave for his home. No matter how late he arrived, Maggie never said anything and never complained. That he often may have smelled of another woman was something she tried to avoid dealing with, even though Rawhide had very little romance in its script and virtually none for Rowdy Yates. Everyone on the show knew about the affair, and if it bothered Clint or made any difference to him, he didn’t seem to care. If everyone knew, everyone knew.
Then one day Tunis was noticeably absent from the set. No one knew why; they may have just assumed that Clint had decided she was becoming too much of a distraction. That was not the case. Tunis was pregnant with Clint’s child, and they both decided it might be better if she stayed out of sight for the duration of her pregnancy.
A more immediate problem for Clint was Fleming’s increasing absences. Fleming was worried that he was becoming too typecast in his role and that as he got older, fewer and fewer parts would be offered to him once the series ended. He was unable to come to terms with the network about other offers he wanted to take and was looking for a hefty increase in salary. In 1964, as in almost every season of Rawhide, he dramatically walked off the show.* This time Charles Gray, who had been on the show since 1961, compensated for Fleming’s absence and was now elevated to the larger role as the primary scout. Guest stars became increasingly prominent in the show’s plot lines. Both actions infuriated the always short-fused Fleming.
Then late in 1964 Fleming was offered a starring role in a Mexican-based western to be shot in Italy called El magnifico stragnero (The Magnificent Stranger). Henry Fonda, Rory Calhoun, Charles Bronson, James Coburn, Henry Silva, Steve Reeves, and Richard Harrison had all previously turned it down because of director Sergio Leone’s low
ball offer of $15,000. Fleming thought about it for a while but ultimately said no.
Clint was now represented by the venerable and powerful William Morris Agency (but he still retained the financial management and industry clout of Irving Leonard for some deals, including anything that came out of Rawhide and anything else Leonard found on his own. Leonard was one of Clint’s most trusted associates; in the vernacular of The Godfather, his “consigliere”). One of its agents stationed in the Rome office, Claudia Sartori, had the idea of offering the Leone film to Clint. She screened an episode of Rawhide for Leone and his producers, Jolly Films, which was financing the movie.* Miffed that Fleming had turned him down and increasingly desperate to find an American actor, Leone was pleasantly surprised at Clint’s ability to take the focus off of Fleming in virtually every scene they were in together. By the end of the screening, Leone was interested in Clint.
Sartori then took the script of The Magnificent Stranger back to America, to give to Clint, via Irving Leonard, to make sure all proprietary representation claims were honored. Leonard assigned a recent young protégé, Sandy Bressler, to personally deliver the script to Clint and gently urge him to take it. This was no easy task, as Clint, like Fleming and all the others, was firmly against appearing in something that sounded as absurd as a European-made western.
“I knew I wasn’t a cowboy,” Clint said later on. “But if you portray a cowboy and people think you’re a cowboy, that’s fine. … I was asked if I was afraid of being typed when I started Rawhide … but in reality everyone is typed for something.”
Clint offered little resistance to Bressler’s arguments because, as he discovered, the script wasn’t all that bad. It was, in fact, reminiscent of the great samurai films of Kurosawa and other classic Japanese filmmakers (whose movies, in turn, had been inspired by American westerns of the 1930s and 1940s). Clint was familiar with Kurosawa’s films because he had often shown them during his projectionist stint at Fort Ord. Besides, he’d never been to Italy before, and he could pick up a quick $15,000 (plus all expenses for the eleven-week shoot, including a round-trip coach ticket for one) for the few weeks’ work during Rawhide’s hiatus. He told Leonard he would take the deal if CBS allowed it. Leonard told him not to worry—pending Leone’s approval, he would convince the network to agree.
According to Clint, “Sergio Leone had only directed one other picture, but they told me he had a good sense of humor … [Besides] I had the series to go back to as soon as the hiatus was over. So I felt, ‘Why not?’ I’d never seen Europe. That was reason enough to go.”
At least that was what he told the public. Privately, he may have had an even more urgent reason for wanting to make the movie. He was about to become a father for the first time. Tunis was scheduled to deliver while he was in Spain, and that was one climactic event he wanted to be as far away from as possible.
*Clint did get permission to play a navy lieutenant in a 1958 segment of Navy Log and appeared in an episode of Maverick, a top-rated TV western. The episode, “Duel at Sundown,” was directed by Lubin, who pulled some strings at CBS to get them to let Clint appear.
*Reports vary as to the actual amount. Schickel, who presumably heard it directly from Clint, reported it as $1,500. Patrick McGilligan said $15,000. Considering that rodeo money has always been notoriously modest to performers, Schickel’s figure is more likely the correct one.
*The tracks are: “Bouquet of Roses,” “Sierra Nevada,” “Don’t Fence Me In,” “Are You Satisfied,” “Santa Fe Trail,” “Last Roundup,” “Mexicali Rose,” “Tumblin’ Tumble-weed,” “Twilight on the Trail,” “Searchin’ for Somewhere,” “I Love You More,” and “San Antonio Rose.”
*Fleming’s first walk-off happened during the second season, when he was unhappy with Warren’s having been replaced by Endre Bohem. This was the first season that entire episodes appeared without Fleming, but it wouldn’t be the last.
*She watched Episode 91, “Incident of the Black Sheep,” which originally ran November 10, 1961. (Up to and including the show’s sixth season, when new producers were brought in, all episodes of Rawhide had “Incident” in their title.) In it battling herders settle a dispute with a knife-fight between Rowdy and hostile sheepherder Tod Stone (Richard Basehart). Stone “falls” on his knife, and the dispute ends.
FIVE
As the Man with No Name in A Fistful of Dollars, 1967
What struck me most about Clint was his indolent way of moving. It seemed to me Clint closely resembled a cat.
—Sergio Leone
Clint left for Rome the first week of May, the day after Rawhide’s 1964 hiatus began, without Maggie but with his one-time neighbor and friend Bill Thompkins. Clint had helped Thompkins land the small part of Toothless on Rawhide, and he now hoped to pick up some work on Leone’s film as Clint’s stunt double and stand-in, something he also occasionally did on the show.
At the Leonardo da Vinci Airport they were met by a small entourage that consisted of the film’s publicist, Geneviève Hersent; assistant director Mario Cavano; and dialogue director Tonino Valerii, who offered Clint Leone’s apologies for not being there himself, saying he was unfortunately tied up with preproduction. In truth, Leone did not speak a word of English and did not want to be embarrassed by it in public, especially since a handful of dependable paparazzi were sure to be there to photograph the arrival of the famous American TV cowboy.
Leone was thrilled that Clint had agreed to be in the film. Leone loved Hollywood films and actors. In his early, struggling years he had worked as an assistant to various American directors who occasionally shot abroad and needed some native help. Among those Leone had worked for were Raoul Walsh, William Wyler, Robert Aldrich, and Fred Zinnemann, mostly for their sandals-and-robes ventures such as Wyler’s 1959 production of Ben-Hur.* Wyler, like the others, had used Leone to help organize and stage the big outdoor scenes, such as the famed chariot race.
When he finally got the chance to direct his own movie, it was Il Colosso di Rodi in 1961 (released in the United States as The Colossus of Rhodes), with American actor Rory Calhoun in the lead. The film did surprisingly well internationally as well as in Italy, briefly resurrected Calhoun’s Hollywood career, and put Leone in a position to choose his own next project.
He had had it in mind as early as 1959, when he was still a screenwriter on Mario Bonnard’s 1959 Gli ultimi giorni di Pompei (The Last Days of Pompeii), filmed on location in Pompeii and Naples and starring Steve Reeves, of Hercules fame. (Reeves seriously dislocated his shoulder during the film; the injury eventually forced his acting career to end prematurely.) Bonnard had fallen ill the first day of shooting, and with no one else available, Leone stepped in and “finished” it, directing all but the first day’s footage. Working closely with Duccio Tessari, his co-writer, Leone managed to turn out a respectable film that made money. He was determined now to direct his own films.
In between working on other directors’ movies, he and Tessari went to see as many as they could. One day in 1961 they saw Yojimbo, and Leone was blown away as much by Kurosawa’s directing style as by the film’s story. (Kurosawa had co-written Yojimbo with Hideo Oguni and Ryuzo Kikushima.) Leone contacted Kurosawa and asked for permission to adapt Yojimbo as an American-style Italian-made western. He already had a title that was in itself an homage to another favorite film, if not an outright steal: The Magnificent Stranger was a play on The Magnificent Seven, John Sturges’s smash 1960 western adapted from Kurosawa’s 1954 classic Seven Samurai (Shichinin no samurai), the film that had made Kurosawa’s reputation in the United States.
However, Kurosawa, perhaps weary of his films being “borrowed” by other directors, asked for an upfront $10,000 rights fee. Leone was confident he could get the money from Jolly Films, the production company that had agreed to back the first acceptable script he brought them; but to his surprise and dismay, Jolly said no, even though the entire proposed budget for the film, including Kurosawa’s fee, was only $200,00
0. When it appeared that no deal could be reached, Jolly Films producers Harry Colombo and George Papi managed to work out a tentative deal with Kurosawa that bypassed the upfront $10,000 in exchange for 100 percent of the film’s gross profits in Japan. Colombo and Papi thought it was a good deal for Kurosawa because Rawhide was a big hit on Japanese TV and Clint Eastwood was considered a major star. But in the end Kurosawa said no, a decision that would later come back to haunt Leone.
Nonetheless, early that June location shooting began in Spain, before moving on to Rome for interiors at the famed but underused and relatively inexpensive Italian studio Cinecittà.
Within days of his being on the set, Clint realized that the film Leone was making was far different from the more conventional script he’d read back in the States. The story was familiar enough—a stranger comes to town, watches bad guys bully good people, is reluctant to take sides, gets drawn in to it, is nearly killed and left for dead, and then comes back and takes revenge against impossible odds to emerge victorious. Westerns in every decade of Hollywood filmmaking had elements of this scenario, including John Ford’s My Darling Clementine (1946) and his The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962), Howard Hawks’s Rio Bravo (1959), Raoul Walsh’s The Lawless Breed (1953), Fred Zinnemann’s High Noon (1952), and George Stevens’s Shane (1953), to which Leone’s film also bears an especially strong resemblance in plot and visual stylistic touches; the Man with No Name, in poncho and sheepskin vest, vividly echoes Alan Ladd’s mysterious stranger, gloriously costumed in buckskins.
