by Joan Kramer
I tried to reason with her. “Miss Bacall, we had agreed to this schedule and we don’t have the time or money to go to London.”
“No, I never agreed to these dates. How dare you threaten me?”
I had had enough. I got up and started walking towards the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked.
“I resent the way you’re talking to me,” I said. “I’m leaving.”
JK I saw David walk out of the recording booth and followed him as he headed for the elevator. I said, “What are you doing? She’ll leave.”
He said, “She won’t. Just leave her alone. She’s accusing me of lying.”
It takes a lot to make David angry, and this was the first—and last—time I saw him walk out on anyone.
As we got off the elevator, we bumped into Jac Venza, who knew we were working with Bacall that day.
“Have you finished already?” he asked.
“No, she’s being very difficult. I just left her in the narration booth,” David told him.
“What? Why?”
“It’s a long story, Jac. I’ll tell you later. Right now I have to look for a piece of paper.”
Fortunately Jac trusted David enough not to ask any more questions, but he must have been concerned. David found the letter in which Bacall had agreed to the schedule, and a few minutes later was back downstairs.
DH Bacall had remained in the booth, reading the script. When I went in, she said, “Sometimes when I’m nervous and under stress, I don’t always handle things very well. I’m sorry. Let’s get on with it.”
She was now co-operative, professional, and even funny from time to time. The session went extremely well and I never needed to refer to the letter.
JK and DH That stand-off was an even bigger turning point than we could have hoped for. We broke for lunch and the three of us ate together on paper plates with plastic forks. By then we were chatting amiably and once again we saw the Lauren Bacall we’d first met months before in California. She talked movingly about her life after Bogart’s death, her children and grandchildren, and how she was struggling to stop smoking. And while we knew some of the stories from our research, hearing them directly from her made us realize that her reputation as “difficult” was the armor she used to protect herself from being disappointed, hurt, or taken advantage of by others. She was only thirty-two when Bogart died, leaving her a widow with their eight-year-old son, and four-year-old daughter. Then she was engaged to Frank Sinatra, only to be publicly humiliated by him when he ended their relationship abruptly. Several years later, she married Jason Robards, Jr., and had a son, Sam. But Robards was a heavy drinker then, and it took a toll on their marriage. By the time they were divorced, she was almost forty-five years old, and alone again—this time with three children. She even talked about her need to keep working. She said, “Everyone thinks I’m a rich widow and divorcée who is secure financially. It’s not true. I’ve been on my own for a long time and I need to pay the rent like everyone else.”
JK Bacall was in Europe when the show premiered nationally on PBS. But she had heard that it had received great reviews. She sent us a postcard, and signed it “B. Bacall.” That was the closest she came to using “Betty” with us—the name by which she’s called by all her friends. And even though she hadn’t seen the finished program, she agreed to help publicize it. She was interviewed by The New York Times for a Sunday feature article about David and me, and she appeared on Good Morning America by satellite from London.
When she was back in NY, we learned that Bacall On Bogart had been nominated for an Emmy. As host, she was also a nominee. We didn’t win, but she told us she’d never before been nominated and was thrilled that it happened for this program.
She suggested we get together for lunch to celebrate. We took her to the Russian Tea Room, where she insisted on being given Table Number 1 at the front. That was the so-called “status” table, where the restaurant always seated well-known personalities.
We arrived just a few minutes after she did. As we entered, she was near the cloakroom not far from the door. When she saw us, she opened both arms wide, embracing David and me.
“You see, we made it,” she said. “And no one killed anyone.”
David said, “We came close.”
JK and DH It was at that lunch that she asked us, “Who are you going to do next?” And before we could answer, she said, “I think you should do a profile of Bobby Kennedy. He was a friend of mine, and I think audiences would be fascinated by the man behind the politician. I remember being invited to his home in McLean, Virginia, not long after one of his children was born. I don’t remember which one because he and Ethel had eleven altogether, but I asked to see the new baby and he took me upstairs to the nursery. The sun was pouring in through the curtains, the baby was beautiful, and it felt idyllic. I said quietly, ‘What a life.’ He looked at me somberly and said, ‘Yes, but what a world.’ I’ll never forget that afternoon, how deeply he felt about his children’s—and everyone else’s—future, and how much he hoped to help make a difference in people’s lives.
“I think you should seriously think about doing a profile of him and I’ll help you in any way I can.”
We did write a proposal, and sent it to the series, American Experience. But it never went any further.
Over the years, we had remained friendly with Lauren Bacall. For our 1993 program, Katharine Hepburn: All About Me, she again let us use her home movie footage shot in Africa. The old wounds were not deep and they had healed easily. And the more we got to know her, the more we liked her. It’s just a shame we had to go through so much to get there.
Bacall on Bogart cast and crew.
Burbank, CA, 1987. Photograph by Mitzi Trumbo.
Joanne Woodward with Group Theatre members Eunice Stoddard and Ruth Nelson. Cinematographer Rick Malkames at left and David Heeley on right.
Brookfield Center, CT, 1987. Photograph by Don Perdue.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Joanne and The Group
It is sometimes a shock to look back and realize the depth of ignorance we had before starting a project. The most striking example involves a program that took the longest to produce, was the most difficult and contentious, yet in the end was one of the most satisfying.
JK It began in February, 1982, with a phone call from Joanne Woodward.
“Did you see today’s obituary for Lee Strasberg?” she asked me. “We’re losing our theatrical heritage. I’m realizing there aren’t many members of The Group Theatre left, and we have to capture their memories before it’s too late. Let’s make a documentary about it for PBS.”
David and I both had some limited knowledge of theater history. I knew that Lee Strasberg was most celebrated for his teaching at The Actors Studio, where several generations of actors, among them Marilyn Monroe, Al Pacino, and Paul Newman, learned his technique called “The Method.” Strasberg’s method was revered by many, and scorned by others. Although controversial, he was without doubt one of the most influential forces in American theater. But I didn’t know anything about his background.
“What’s The Group Theatre?” I asked.
Joanne was horrified. “Are you telling me you don’t know anything about The Group? It was the seminal force in the history of the American theater, and all of us who work in movies, television and on the stage are its descendants, because the original members of The Group went on to become some of the most important acting teachers and directors in this country. I studied from Sandy Meisner; Paul [Newman] studied from Lee Strasberg; Marlon Brando studied from Stella Adler; and Gadge [Elia Kazan] is still directing today. I’m sending you a book by messenger. It’s The Fervent Years by Harold Clurman, and it tells the whole story of The Group Theatre. Harold was one of its three founding directors along with Strasberg and Cheryl Crawford, and now Cheryl is the only one of them still alive. Read it right away and give me a call.”
The book arrived. I re
ad it. David read it. We both had the same reaction. Clurman sounded like an egomaniac, and the members of The Group Theatre a bunch of 1930s radicals. I called Joanne.
“Who did Harold Clurman think he was? He was convincing working actors to give up their jobs in the middle of the Great Depression. That’s irresponsible. And The Group sounds like some sort of commune—everyone living together, and hoping to create some newfangled form of theater. Clurman was just a play reader for the Theater Guild—a nobody, really. He comes across as a bit crazy and so do those who went along with him.”
Joanne listened quietly to my outburst and then said, “Joan, you and I share a love of the ballet. By your way of thinking, George Balanchine would never have gotten the support of Lincoln Kirstein, and there would never have been a New York City Ballet. They wanted to revolutionize ballet in America just as the members of The Group wanted to revolutionize the American theater. They did it by putting on plays that reflected the times in which they were living, and by developing a new approach to acting. They were brave and dedicated pioneers and we really have to do this program. Talk to Jac.”
DH Unlike us, Jac Venza knew plenty about The Group Theatre. “It’s an interesting idea,” he said. “But what is there to show? We can’t just have talking heads. The Group only lasted ten years and I don’t think any of their performances were ever filmed. There have been revivals of some of their plays, but not with the original casts. I don’t see the elements for a program here.”
That sounded like a definite “No” to me, but not to Joanne.
“When can I come over to talk to Jac?” she asked.
She presented her case to him with passion. “I’ll become Barbara Walters,” she said. “I’ll interview everyone, and then we’ll persuade famous Group descendants to re-create scenes from Group Theatre productions. I’ll get Paul, Al Pacino, Dustin Hoffman, Ellen Bustyn. And we have to move fast before it’s too late. We’ve already lost Lee Strasberg and Harold Clurman—and the rest of the original members still alive are in their eighties. When can we start?”
She’s not an Oscar-winning actress for nothing, and by the time we all left Jac’s office, she had a commitment to do the show. It was the beginning of a five-year saga. The project became her obsession and, for a time, our albatross. It almost cost us a friendship.
JK The National Endowment for the Arts gave us a $15,000 Research and Development grant. As soon as the money came in, we began to film interviews.
The first were in November, 1983, with Ruth Nelson, Sanford Meisner, Sylvia Sidney, Morris Carnovsky, Phoebe Brand, Cheryl Crawford, Sidney Kingsley, Margaret Barker and Gerrit Tony Kraber. They were still passionate about their days with The Group and were often moved to tears remembering the successes and the conflicts they lived through. Joanne found it easy to talk with them. But it was interesting to see that she sat bolt upright when she interviewed her own teacher, Sanford Meisner. There was still the strong boundary of respect between her, the student, and him, the teacher she revered, and at one time feared.
Joanne Woodward and Sanford Meisner.
New York, 1983. Photograph by Don Perdue.
Joanne Woodward and Sylvia Sidney.
Westport, CT, 1983. Photograph by Don Perdue.
Sylvia Sidney had an entirely different view. She was already a famous movie star when Harold Clurman invited her to star in The Group’s 1939 production of The Gentle People. The year before, she’d married Luther Adler, and in so doing, she also became a sister-in-law of Stella Adler, both original members of The Group. When I first contacted Sylvia by phone she said, “It was like a cult. They were all crazy—completely brainwashed. It felt like Jim Jones in Guyana1.” Unfortunately, she wouldn’t repeat that on camera. But she did say that The Group fell apart because “everyone began sleeping with everyone else.”
During a break in filming, Joanne whispered to me, “Can we use that?” Yes, we could, and did.
DH Another actress who was critical was Luise Rainer, an MGM star of the 1930s. She was romantically involved with Group actor/playwright, Clifford Odets, and although they didn’t marry until 1937, she was an eyewitness during the company’s formative years and we wanted to hear what she had to say about it. She was living in Switzerland when we wrote her a letter asking for an interview. In her hand-written reply, she said that she never quite understood what the members of The Group were so excited about, because she grew up working in European theater ensembles, such as Max Reinhardt’s, where reflecting the world through the theater was the norm. So she didn’t feel The Group Theatre was all that impressive. Nor did she feel that her comments would be appropriate for our program. We wrote back immediately and said we indeed would welcome her views because it was our aim to present a portrait of The Group that was not just a puff piece. Unfortunately, that was the last we heard from her; repeated letters never received any replies.
JK The money was dribbling in slowly, but we grabbed every chance to do more filming whenever there was an opportunity. On a trip to California for a program we were making about Judy Garland, we managed to squeeze in interviews with Group members Martin Ritt, Robert (Bobby) Lewis, Michael Gordon and Virginia Farmer.
In New York, at the end of a day of shooting with Katharine Hepburn for the show we were producing about Spencer Tracy, while the camera was still rolling, I asked her about a story we’d thought was apocryphal. However, she confirmed that it was true.
In late 1930, she was still an unknown, having never made a movie, when she was invited by a friend, Eunice Stoddard, to attend one of Harold Clurman’s early meetings, where he laid out his plans for The Group Theatre.
Hepburn told us, “I listened about what a wonderful thing it was going to be, and that everyone was going to play little parts, and they were going to do wonderful plays. I thought, ‘They’re all going to be rather invisible.’ After the meeting, when Clurman asked me if I’d be interested in joining, I said, ‘I’m going.’ He said, ‘You’re what?’ And I said, ‘I’m leaving. I don’t want to be a member of a group. I want to be a great—big—star.’ And I left.”
DH As Joan pushed her to give us her opinions on The Group’s actors, “The Method,” etc., I saw that Kate was becoming increasingly irritated, even though she continued to give polite, but not very meaty answers. I couldn’t believe that Joan wasn’t seeing the warning signs or was choosing to ignore them. I was getting more and more uncomfortable while she persisted in asking more questions. Until Hepburn finally said, “I have nothing more to tell you. You’ve now gone too far.”
I wondered if she was going to throw us out of her house.
JK We knew that we had to do everything possible to get an interview with Elia Kazan, a renowned stage and film director, who’d started out as an actor when he joined The Group in 1932. He also became its most controversial member. During the Communist witch-hunts of the 1950s, Kazan “named names” when called as a friendly witness before the House Committee on Un-American Activities. Among those he named were several of his former colleagues in The Group Theatre, ruining their careers—and their lives. In the years since then, he never capitulated, never apologized, and many Group members refused to speak with him or even be in the same room.
Elia Kazan and Joanne Woodward.
Westport, CT, 1984. Photograph by Don Perdue.
Joanne Woodward, Morris Carnovsky, and David Heeley, about to shoot a scene from Awake and Sing.
New York, 1986. Photograph by Don Perdue.
When I approached him, he adamantly turned us down: “I’m writing a book and don’t want to give it away in a television program.” I told Joanne we had hit a brick wall and asked if she would call him. It would be harder for him to say “No” to her. Finally he relented, although his lawyer created a special release that stipulated how many minutes of his interview could be used in the finished show.
DH Joanne came up with a number of good ideas. We shot a Master Class with Bobby Lewis guiding her, Anne Jackson, Ken Howar
d, Austin Pendleton, and Glynnis O’Connor through some acting exercises. And we filmed Morris Carnovsky re-creating scenes from Awake and Sing, one of The Group’s most famous plays. Carnovsky had been cast as the grandfather in the original 1935 production when he was in his thirties, and had to wear makeup to appear much older. Now in his eighties, he looked the part without any help.
We found the site in Brookfield Center, CT, where The Group members spent their first summer together in 1931, and we filmed Ruth Nelson and Eunice Stoddard there while they reminisced.
JK and DH Early on, we had contacted Helen Krich Chinoy, the leading expert on The Group Theatre. She was a theater scholar, recently retired as head of Drama at Smith College and had published a collection of interviews with some members of The Group, who all knew and respected her. Thank God for Helen. She became our invaluable consultant, collaborator and sounding board. She understood instinctively that while a television program about The Group had to be accurate and on sound scholarly ground, it also needed to be entertaining.
As time went on, and the hours of footage continued to mount, we had the growing sense that there was no end in sight. It felt as though we were shooting elements almost randomly, catching who and what we could. It was not the way to make a documentary, and we knew it. We often said to each other half-jokingly, “How can we get rid of this?” But Joanne was our friend and we could not let her down. Nor could we give up on the commitments to Jac, PBS, or Helen.
JK Then there was Paul Newman. On more than one occasion, he asked me, “When is this program getting out of my house and my hair? Joanne has just told me she doesn’t want to go on a summer vacation because she wants to work on The Group.”
I remember saying, “Paul, please take her on vacation. We don’t know when or how we’ll finish it. We have hours of footage and no more money.”
JK and DH One summer, the Newmans’ old friend, Stewart Stern, came to stay with them in Connecticut. He was a brilliant writer (Rebel Without A Cause; Rachel, Rachel; The Ugly American), but at that time was struggling with writer’s block. Joanne thought that he, having been a member of The Actors’ Lab, an offshoot of The Group, could make significant contributions to the program. So she enlisted his advice, hoping that it would also help him get back to writing.
