by Mark Griffin
While virtually all of the reviews were jeers, one of Rock’s champions paid tribute to his efforts. The Hollywood Reporter’s Robert Osborne wrote that “Hudson makes a good yell-into-the-telephone tycoon, and his presence adds an importance to the project it otherwise wouldn’t have had.” Despite the show of support, the writing was on the wall. Twenty years earlier, Rock Hudson had been an Oscar-nominated leading man, headlining a prestige picture like Giant. Now he had been relegated to a low-budget disaster film in which he was sharing the screen with a leading lady twenty years his junior and blue snow.
Avalanche was released and immediately vanished from theatres. Depression set in and Hudson’s drinking increased to such a degree that a few close friends suggested that both Rock and Tom Clark might benefit from checking into a rehabilitation facility. All of this well-intentioned advice would not be heeded. Instead, Rock did what he always did, which was to seek refuge in his work. Even if the movies didn’t want him anymore, television certainly did.
JUST AS THERE had been several failed attempts to reunite Rock Hudson and Doris Day on-screen, a small battalion of producers, directors, and screenwriters had been batting around ideas for projects that would bring Rock and Elizabeth Taylor back together. For a brief moment, it looked as though Robert F. O’Neill, who had won an Emmy for producing Columbo, had succeeded.
O’Neill had Hudson and Taylor in mind for a sweeping ten-hour NBC miniseries based on Arthur Hailey’s 1971 bestseller, Wheels. The New York Times had described the novel as both “an exposé, and a salute to the auto industry.” In the tradition of Hailey’s Airport and Hotel, Wheels was also an intricately plotted soap opera. This time around, the setting was 1960s Detroit, which the author characterized as “more of a gambling center than Las Vegas, with higher stakes.”
Adam Trenton, a senior executive at National Motors, is totally immersed in the development of “The Hawk,” the “miracle of a modern automobile,” which comes complete with such revolutionary innovations as out-of-view engineering and an onboard computer. Feeling ignored by her workaholic husband, Trenton’s beautiful wife, Erica, carries on a torrid affair with a debonair young race car driver. Meanwhile, the Trentons’ youngest son, Greg, becomes embroiled in a blackmail scandal before volunteering for active duty in Vietnam.
“Not on your life!” was Rock’s initial response when Wheels was offered to him. After six seasons of McMillan, the last thing Hudson wanted to do was to shackle himself to an elaborate television production—and for the same network that he had just escaped from. After Tom Clark went to work on him, Rock eventually changed his mind and signed on.
While they had succeeded in snagging Rock Hudson, the producers weren’t as fortunate with Elizabeth Taylor. Even after dangling a $1 million payday in front of her, Taylor passed. While she loved Hudson, the protracted shooting schedule for a miniseries didn’t appeal to her. Lee Remick, whom Hudson had long wanted to work with, agreed to step in as Erica Trenton. Future Broadway star Howard McGillin, twenty-four at the time, was cast as Rock’s troubled son. Despite the fact that he was nearly six foot three, McGillin was handed a pair of high-top Converse sneakers specially outfitted with wedges so that he’d appear even taller and more believable as Hudson’s son.
At the time he was cast in Wheels, McGillin was in the same kind of Universal stock training program that Hudson had been enrolled in nearly thirty years earlier. “I remember Rock told me that when he was loaned out to do Giant, he was making $300 a week as a contract player. So, he had been down that road, too,” McGillin says. “In the first scene we shot together, I remember we had to walk around and talk and there I was in my platform Converse sneakers and I just remember how incredibly kind Rock was. He did everything he could to make me feel comfortable.”
Sixty-one different locations throughout southern California doubled for Detroit. There would be a few days of shooting in South L.A. before the company packed up and moved on to Hancock Park. McGillin recalls that during a rare moment of relaxation, he had an opportunity to spend time with not only one Rock Hudson but two:
“I remember one day, we were sitting in his trailer, waiting for them to set lights for a scene. And what turns up on the TV in his trailer but Pillow Talk. It was surreal for me and also kind of thrilling as I was watching him watch his younger self. When it cut to a commercial, Rock said, ‘Do you think it still holds up?’ And I just thought that was both sweet and revealing. I guess every actor is insecure but he just wanted to know that the stuff he had done really mattered and that it stood the test of time. Which it certainly did.”
When it aired in May of 1978, Wheels pulled in huge ratings and generally favorable reviews, including Howard Rosenberg’s in the Los Angeles Times: “It takes a while for Wheels to get rolling, but once it does, what wonderful rubbish, the kind of stupid and trashy stuff that’s fun to watch if you don’t take it all seriously.”
ROCK MAY HAVE charmed audiences in I Do! I Do! and received some of the best reviews of his entire career for John Brown’s Body, but he knew there was still a major mountain left to climb: Broadway. Was he ready? Robert Fryer thought so. The producer, who had given “The Great White Way” some of its biggest hits, including Auntie Mame and Chicago, invited Hudson to audition for his latest Broadway-bound musical, On the Twentieth Century. Fryer’s offer almost seemed too good to be true. If cast, Rock Hudson—otherwise known as “Joe Movie Star”—would now be working with some of Broadway’s most acclaimed artists.
Hal Prince, who was responsible for such landmark American musicals as Cabaret, Company, and Follies, would be directing. Cy Coleman, who had Sweet Charity under his belt, had written the score. Betty Comden and Adolph Green, who had racked up countless stage and screen credits, including Singin’ in the Rain, had supplied both book and lyrics. Rock was, of course, elated to be included in such magnificent company, but that exhilaration quickly turned to despair when John Cullum, a seasoned veteran of many Broadway productions, was cast instead.
As a consolation prize, Hudson was offered the national tour. While he wouldn’t be making his Broadway debut, he’d be headlining performances everywhere from Detroit to San Francisco. True, On the Twentieth Century wasn’t nearly as well-known as Camelot, but Rock would be starring in a musical with an undeniably classy pedigree that had recently won five Tony Awards. Really, how could he lose?
Before fully committing to the tour, Hudson thought he should see what he was getting himself into. Tom Clark told Fryer that he and Rock wanted to attend a performance of On the Twentieth Century, which had opened to mixed reviews in February of 1978. Unlike the critics, Hudson was completely sold on the show. He was in awe of John Cullum, impressed with rising star Judy Kaye, and especially taken with Imogene Coca’s scene stealing turn as the lovable religious fanatic Letitia Primrose.
Tom Clark, on the other hand, was nowhere near as enchanted. At intermission, he didn’t hold back when he delivered his characteristically blunt assessment: “It’s terrible, Rock. And it’s definitely not for you.” Despite Clark’s disapproval, Hudson had already made up his mind. He may have been denied the opportunity to make a splashy Broadway debut, but he wasn’t going to miss out on touring with a Hal Prince show.
While initially intimidated by his latest undertaking, Hudson decided that the best way to get through the tour was to view the show as “a 2½ hour Carol Burnett sketch.” That approach helped ease his anxiety, as did fully immersing himself in the preparation process. “I had the luxury of having the script for a long time beforehand,” Hudson said. “I kept reading it over and over. I didn’t learn it; I absorbed it.” At a press conference, he told the assembled reporters that he considered Comden and Green’s book, “Damned near perfect . . . They took one of the best backstage comedies of all time and gave it a whole new spin. It’s no wonder this story has had so many lives.”
On the Twentieth Century had started life as an unproduced play entitled Napoleon of Broadway, which in turn formed th
e basis for Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur’s own 1932 Broadway hit, Twentieth Century. The riotous comedy concerned a megalomaniacal producer named Oscar Jaffe, who has suffered a string of flops and is now in dire need of a hit. Having transformed lingerie model Mildred Plotka into screen goddess Lily Garland, Jaffe hopes her star power will turn his new production of The Passion of Mary Magdalene into a smash.
The down-on-his-luck impresario relentlessly pursues his “Hoboken Cinderella” with contract in hand. Jaffe’s hot pursuit isn’t strictly business as Garland is not only a former protégée but also an old flame. When both board the luxurious locomotive of the title, Oscar uses all of his wiles (and other people’s money) to entice his “baby Bernhardt” into starring as “the wickedest woman of her age.”
Two years after its initial Broadway run, Twentieth Century was transferred to the screen by director Howard Hawks and it became one of Hollywood’s finest screwball comedies. John Barrymore had a field day playing Oscar Jaffe. The hammy showman proved to be the perfect role for the actor known as “The Great Profile.” In the shadow of Barrymore, could Rock Hudson pull off his own Oscar Jaffe?
“I salute him for taking it on,” says Hudson’s Twentieth Century costar, Judy Kaye. “It was hard for him. A big musical wasn’t his bailiwick by any manner or means, although the acting part certainly was. But a show like that is very demanding and I’ve never seen anybody work as hard as Rock did. He took it on with both fists and really committed himself.”
Hudson could barely contain his enthusiasm when he learned that he had landed the tour. “I was excited as hell. Dizzy as a matter of fact,” Rock told journalist Michael J. Bandler. “I can’t wait to get to the theatre . . . I’m like a child with a new toy. [It’s] a little gift-wrapped present, and I treat it as such—with reverence.”
Judy Kaye, who replaced star Madeline Kahn when she left the Broadway production early in the run, was also excited, though for entirely different reasons. “When I heard that Rock Hudson was going to take John Cullum’s part for the tour, I thought, ‘I’m doing this for all the women in America.’ . . . Seriously though, it’s nice to find out, after admiring him from afar, how talented, honest, and giving he is. It’s a lovely discovery.”
If Tom Clark had immediately expressed his concerns about Rock’s involvement, all of his fears seemed to be coming true once rehearsals started. The production team had assured Hudson that changes would be made to tailor the role to his personality and that the songs (which Rock termed “killers”) would be carefully rearranged to suit his limited range. According to Clark, none of these changes were made.
What’s more, the stormy Svengali-Trilby dynamic of the story seemed to be replayed in the early rehearsals Hal Prince had with Hudson. “[Hal] was very difficult and hard on him,” recalled actress Leslie Easterbrook, who understudied leading lady Judy Kaye. “Hal’s not a particularly easy person to work with, and he was giving Rock very harsh instructions.” According to Easterbrook, there were never any retaliatory displays of temperament or star tantrums. Rock just sucked it up and pressed on. “He never showed any kind of anger or pouting, things that actors—especially stars—will do when a director really takes them to task,” Easterbrook says. “My main reaction was, boy, he’s a real actor. He really wanted to learn, to work hard.”
Judy Kaye recalled the working relationship between director and star altogether differently: “I never saw Hal give Rock a really hard time and Hal certainly could have if he had wanted to. Actually, I thought Hal Prince was very supportive because he really wanted that tour to happen. That tour was not going to happen if Rock wasn’t there . . . so they both knew that they needed one another to get that show on the road.”
As Prince was getting ready to take on Sweeney Todd, his rehearsal time with Hudson was limited. The Twentieth Century tour would actually be overseen by Prince’s longtime associate, Ruth Mitchell, of whom Tallulah Bankhead once said, she would have been “the most perfect person in the world if she could only play bridge.”
Tom Clark may have been a boozy, pampered prima donna at times, but even so, he was still Rock’s most perceptive career advisor. Early on, Clark recognized that On the Twentieth Century, with its operetta-inspired score, rapid-fire dialogue, and screwball pacing, played away from most of Rock’s strengths. Sure, Hudson had managed a respectable King Arthur in Camelot, but the very grandiose Oscar Jaffe was so far removed from his own low-key personality, that he may as well have been playing the alien transvestite Dr. Frank-N-Furter in The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
The Twentieth Century tour got underway in June of 1979. In Chicago, there were raves for the female leads: “Judy Kaye is the life and Imogene Coca the spice,” pronounced J. Linn Allen in the Chicago Reader. The leading man, meanwhile, was paid the ultimate left-handed compliment: “Rock Hudson is not as bad as you would expect, which seems to be his fate in life: he never is. He has no natural talent for singing, dancing, or comedy, but, that accepted, he does remarkably well.”
As the tour moved on, Rock was continually reminded that he had been miscast. “Hudson is the most likable fellow on earth, but he’s about as flamboyant as Jell-O pudding,” wrote Dan Sullivan in his Los Angeles Times review. “As for his songs, he carries them—just. Weep for Hudson’s tameness. He couldn’t be wronger.” While Tom Clark could have easily gloated and said, “I told you so,” he instead told veteran reporter Dick Kleiner, “The critics were actually kinder to him than I expected but the reviews were still poor. For once, I felt the critics were justified in these raps.”
A FEW DAYS after the release of the first Star Wars movie, producer Charles Fries and his business associate, Malcolm Stuart, found themselves in a meeting at NBC with the network’s development director, Deanne Barkley. “We talked about the impact of Star Wars and sci-fi projects,” Fries recalls. “Then, we looked at each other and said in chorus, ‘Ray Bradbury’s The Martian Chronicles!’ Deanne said, ‘I’ll have to get approval but I’m recommending a six-hour mini-series on the project.’ And that was it.”
The first important challenge fell to scriptwriter Richard Matheson. Could he establish a sense of narrative continuity that could somehow link Bradbury’s episodic tales? “You had to find a central character like Rock Hudson’s to run through the material and pull it all together so that there was something unifying the three episodes,” Fries says. To that end, Matheson beefed up the character of Colonel John Wilder. The expanded role would not only provide the necessary connective thread but also justify the reported $750,000 the producers were paying Hudson. The large supporting cast included Roddy McDowall, Bernadette Peters, and Fritz Weaver.
After determining that a thoroughly convincing Mars could not be created on a soundstage, the search was on to find a location that could double for “the Red Planet.” “Malta was perfect because the island was treeless, just like Mars,” Fries says. “They also had the largest water moat, to my knowledge, in existence at that time. So we built the Martian community over the moat.”
When The Martian Chronicles aired over three consecutive nights in January of 1980, the ratings were high and reviews were mixed. In The Hollywood Reporter, Gail Williams said that NBC’s miniseries “could use a lot more Martians and a lot less ignorant human beings,” though she gave director Michael Anderson high marks for “managing to convey a sense of wonder” in the opening scenes on Mars. Producer Fries agrees that in terms of the completed Chronicles, there are some plusses and minuses to be considered: “On the one hand, I was very pleased that we were able to accomplish this very difficult feat. On the other hand, a feeling of ‘could we have done more?’ existed.”
* * *
It may not have been Rock Hudson’s most important movie, but The Mirror Crack’d was certainly one of his most entertaining efforts. Based on Agatha Christie’s 1962 mystery, The Mirror Crack’d from Side to Side, director Guy Hamilton’s adaptation concerned a Hollywood film company invading the quaint English village of St
. Mary Mead. While shooting a remake of the creaky costume drama, Mary, Queen of Scots, the film’s stars bring glamour, intrigue, and murder to town.
When a local woman is poisoned, several members of the company become prime suspects, including director Jason Rudd (Hudson), the fifth and final husband of the pill-popping Marina Gregg (Elizabeth Taylor), a fading screen queen desperate to make a comeback; the crass, flask-toting producer Martin N. Fenn (Tony Curtis); and Marina’s nemesis, the vulgar starlet Lola Brewster (Kim Novak). Scotland Yard assigns their best man, Inspector Dermot Craddock (Edward Fox), to the case. Craddock in turn consults with his elderly aunt, Miss Jane Marple (Angela Lansbury), an amateur sleuth who has “an uncanny knack of being always right.”
Producers Richard Goodwin and John Brabourne graced The Mirror Crack’d with the kind of chic stylishness and all-star sparkle that was in short supply in movie theatres by the 1980s, a cinematic era dominated by Ghostbusters, Rambo, and Molly Ringwald.
Screenwriter Barry Sandler, who would stir things up a couple of years later with his screenplay for the gay-themed Making Love, not only “Americanized” Agatha Christie’s dialogue but he supplied The Mirror Crack’d with some of the bitchiest zingers this side of All About Eve. “Chin up, darling. Both of them,” Novak’s Lola chirps to Taylor’s Marina. The kind of fierce rivals known to grind glass in one another’s cold cream, Marina and Lola trade put-downs as freely as air kisses.*
An inveterate movie buff, Sandler was thrilled to be working with a cast composed of screen legends. One of which he had already seen up close. “I had known Rock socially a bit,” says Sandler. “Jon Epstein, who was a producer at Universal and a close friend of Rock’s, was notorious as a party giver. They were all gay parties. A mix of producers and executives and twenty-one-year-old boys. Nothing orgiastic but it was typical gay Hollywood. Rock would always show up and was always very friendly and the life of the party. He’d have a few drinks and get very flirtatious with everybody. He was just very out and open. There was nothing closeted or repressed about him at these parties. He was very friendly, let me put it that way.”
