In the Company of Legends

by Joan Kramer

  “You mean, let’s do it before I’m dead. But I don’t need Jane to host it. I like her, but I’m alive and can speak for myself. Isn’t that simpler, less contrived? And how long do you think the thing should be?”

  “The show we just did about Henry Fonda is an hour. And so are all the others TNT’s done.”

  “This has to be longer—different from the rest. I don’t want to be part of a series.”

  JK Breaking the news that Hepburn did not want Jane to host the show had to be done with finesse. Our first call could not be to anyone at TNT. Clearly, it had to be to Jane Fonda.

  “Katharine hosting her own show is a terrific idea,” she said. “And besides, I’m really busy planning my wedding [to Ted Turner], so I was worried how I’d find the time to do this.”

  “And she wants it to be longer than an hour.”

  “She’s right. You can’t do justice to her amazing life and career in an hour.”

  “But it’ll be breaking TNT’s mold,” I said.

  “Don’t worry. Just say you’ve talked to me and I’ll tell Ted.”

  With Jane’s support, it didn’t take long for the project to get a green light.

  JK and DH We already knew that Hepburn had her own collection of home movies, dating back to the 1920s and 30s. Some of it had been shot by her ex-husband, “Luddy,” whose full name was Ludlow Ogden Smith. When they married in 1928, she insisted that he change his name to Ogden Ludlow. She told us, “I never wanted to be Kate Smith.” Not only did that sound too ordinary, but it was also the name of a well-known singer.

  “I can have all the film sent to you, and you decide if there’s anything interesting.”

  What arrived were cans and cans of 16mm film—most of it unlabeled.

  She agreed to watch some of it with us, to help identify where the footage was taken and who was in it, especially the rare shots on the sets of her early RKO pictures.

  “There she is with George Cukor when we were doing Little Women,” she said. “There she is diving off the pier at Fenwick. Not bad. Strong swimmer.” It was always “she,” and we realized it was as though she were looking at a completely different person. However, she seemed to get bored when she wasn’t on the screen, perking up when someone else was behind the camera and she was the main attraction again.

  DH We were pleased when she suggested that we shoot at her home in Fenwick, a section of Old Saybrook, CT, which had been the family’s private retreat for over sixty years. She had never before allowed anyone to film there.

  “Come and take a look,” she said.

  JK The house was large, and very rustic. It felt more cluttered and eclectic than her townhouse in New York. In the entrance hall was a large wooden barrel containing the family’s golf clubs. A couple of old canoes were hanging upside down from the ceiling, tied by ropes to the rafters. Painted wooden birds stood on the mantel over a fireplace, and on the walls were several of Hepburn’s own paintings. A few low tribal chairs and small benches, which she’d brought back from Africa after making The African Queen, were in the enclosed sun-porch and living room. And throughout the house were embroidered pillows and painted signs that read, “Listen to the Song of Life,” which she told us was the motto by which her parents had lived. Her bedroom on the second floor had large windows on three sides, giving her a breathtaking view of the water, and in the corner was a wooden rack holding the various hats she used to protect herself from the sun.

  DH We decided to shoot for two days at Fenwick in early November. But the weather reports were ominous. The East Coast was bracing for the biggest Nor’Easter of the year, and it was headed straight for Connecticut. The powerful winds coincided with what were already high tides and brought the Long Island Sound crashing into the Hepburn house—forty-eight hours before we were due to arrive.

  She called me before I had a chance to call her. “What do you want to do?” she asked. “You can come and film us bailing out the water. Or you can juggle the schedule and wait until next week. I can drive into the city tonight and we can shoot some of what we want to do in New York.”

  I was torn. The sight of her and the Fenwick household dealing with a flood would have had its own fascination. However, I realized that the prudent thing to do was to have the crew report to her East 49th Street townhouse the following morning.

  Crew and Katharine Hepburn, setting up the first shot.

  New York, 1991. Photograph by John Bryson, courtesy Bryson Photo.

  JK The first shot had her sitting in her favorite chair and answering the phone. She’d ad-lib a short conversation, turning down an invitation to make a personal appearance. David told Norah, the housekeeper, who was downstairs, that he’d cue her to dial Hepburn’s number, using the second line in the kitchen.

  DH I called, “Roll film” and “Action,” and was about to cue Norah, when the phone rang. Kate picked it up.

  “What? When? No I couldn’t possibly do that. Sorry. Goodbye.”

  I said, “Cut,” wondering what was wrong with Norah; why hadn’t she waited for my cue?

  Hepburn started laughing. “That was a friend of mine. He must think I’m gone in the head—feeble-minded. I’d better call back later and explain that we were making a movie here.”

  JK and DH Early in the planning stages, she’d said, “You have to shoot what goes on every time we leave to go to Fenwick for the weekend. It’s like a circus. We take enough stuff for a month—food, clothes, and all the flowers. I never leave the flowers behind.”

  DH So we shot it that day, and she was right—it was quite a scene. Her assistant, Phyllis, was the first to walk out of the house, carrying a bottle of Scotch, followed by Norah with bundles of clothes, then Jimmy, Kate’s driver, with boxes of food he piled into the trunk, and finally Hepburn came out, carrying flowers. She handed them to Phyllis in the back seat, before getting into the car herself next to Jimmy. They went for a short trip around the block, and then came back to do another take.

  As they headed into the house, Kate said to me, “When you’ve finished this shot, don’t let me forget to return the plant.”

  “What plant?” I asked.

  “My neighbor’s,” she said. “All the flowers I have are pink and white—and they’d look rather dull on camera. No contrast. So I picked up this pot of red geraniums from next door. Stephen Sondheim lives there. And his assistant came out and said, ‘Why are you stealing our plant?’ I said, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll give it back. We’re shooting a movie, and I need a bright color.’ So, David, make sure I remember.”

  Three takes later, she did indeed return it.

  Katharine Hepburn with Stephen Sondheim’s plant.

  New York, 1991. Photograph by John Bryson, courtesy Bryson Photo.

  JK Our production assistant had made notes of where everything was in the trunk, knowing that when we shot in Fenwick, we’d be filming the unpacking of the car and all the items had to be in the exact same place for continuity.

  The following week, when everyone really was taking off for Connecticut, we went to 49th Street to be sure that they hadn’t forgotten anything. Once again, Hepburn took Sondheim’s plant and, for the second time, his assistant saw her and opened the door.

  “Kate, what are you doing now?”

  She said, “I’ll bring it back next week. I need it for the film when we unpack the car in Fenwick.” True to her word, she returned it several days later.

  DH We then took off ourselves and checked in to The Old Saybrook Inn, right on the water.

  But the next morning when I looked out of the window, I couldn’t see a thing. A thick coastal fog obliterated what had once been a beautiful view—and all the scenes we’d planned were exteriors. However, when the crew and I set out to film establishing shots of the house from across the pier, I had a glimmer of hope that the fog might be lifting. And eventually it did, giving us a clear picture by the time the camera rolled.

  JK I went directly to Hepburn’s house. As usual, she was read
y long before she needed to be. I’d been there only a few minutes when her makeup artist, Michal Bigger, came downstairs.

  “Kate wants to talk to you.”

  “Uh-oh,” I thought. “Something’s wrong.”

  I climbed the stairs to her room and found her looking out of the window.

  “We can’t do the first shot of me spreading my laundry on the grass. There’s no sun. Idiotic.”

  I tried to sound reassuring, “Don’t worry, we have lights and reflectors. It’ll work.”

  “Where’s David?”

  “He’s out there with the crew,” I said, pointing towards the pier.

  “Get him,” she said.

  DH I saw a car heading towards us and realized Hepburn must be ready. “She‘s probably itchy to start,” I thought.

  As soon as I walked through the door, I could tell from the look on Joan’s face that trouble was brewing.

  “David, we have a problem. Kate doesn’t want to do the laundry shot because there’s no sun.”

  “Let me go up and talk with her,” I said.

  JK What felt like a split second later, he came down the stairs, walked straight past me to Michael Barry, our cinematographer, and said, “Let’s set up for the laundry shot.”

  I couldn’t believe it.

  “What did you say to her?” I asked incredulously.

  “I just told her not to worry. It will be fine.”

  “But that’s exactly what I told her.”

  He shrugged and went outside with the crew. She needed to hear it from the director, not me.

  David, Kate, and crew preparing for laundry shot.

  Old Saybrook, CT, 1991. Photograph by John Bryson, courtesy Bryson Photo.

  DH Hepburn walked out of the house with her arms full of wet sheets, but obviously felt she needed to acknowledge the gray sky.

  “I hope it’s not going to rain,” she ad-libbed, looking upwards, before spreading everything out to dry on the grass.

  Then she suddenly shouted, “Norah!” And her housekeeper came running out to help. Now, Kate had never mentioned to me that she wanted Norah to be a part of the scene, but it didn’t seem like a bad idea. I’d already learned to roll with the punches, knowing that I would get the best out of her by allowing her plenty of leeway, so I didn’t say “Cut.” When I finally did, she started to laugh.

  “No. Don’t come out,” she said to a very confused Norah. “I don’t need you. I’m just trying to make it more interesting.”

  We did two more takes; Norah stayed inside; and it didn’t rain.

  JK and DH She had taken cold showers every day from the time she was a child. Her father, Dr. Thomas Hepburn, told her it was good for her character. For most of her life she also swam daily at Fenwick, even when there was snow on the ground. Maybe she’d built up an immunity to cold water over the years. Or maybe she believed she was still improving her character.

  She volunteered to let us film her going in for a swim.

  DH Even though the sun was out by late afternoon, all of us still were wearing sweatshirts and jackets.

  Kate was on her way upstairs to change into a swimsuit, when Phyllis became very upset. “Miss Hepburn, it’s too cold. You shouldn’t go into the water today.” I knew there had to be a good reason for her concern. But her protest was having no effect. So she took me aside and asked if I would talk Kate out of it. What I only found out later was that, after several bouts with the flu, Hepburn had cut back on her swims, especially in cold weather.

  I knocked on her door. “Come in.” She was already in her swimsuit, looking out of the window onto Long Island Sound. I knew I couldn’t say, “It’s too cold to do this today.” But suddenly a plausible argument came into my head, although I was not sure she’d buy it.

  “Miss Hepburn, the tide is going out. I don’t see where we can get a decent shot of you. The water’s too shallow.”

  “Hmmm. Yes, you’re probably right,” she said. “Let’s do it tomorrow. I owe you a shot.”

  The weather the next day was about the same, perhaps a few degrees warmer. However, no one brought up the idea of the swim. Not even Katharine Hepburn. Perhaps she forgot, or perhaps she thought we forgot. My own belief is that she allowed me to let her off the hook gracefully, and once off it, she was happy to stay off—and so were we. An eighty-four-year-old woman swimming in ice cold water was not a good idea, whether or not she was used to it. Had we insisted, undoubtedly she would have done it. And Phyllis would have never forgiven me.

  JK It had turned into a pleasant, sunny afternoon. I suggested to David that he might want to consider filming Hepburn lying on the beach at the back of the house.

  Joan Kramer, Katharine Hepburn, and crew. During second day’s filming at Fenwick.

  Old Saybrook, CT, 1991. Photograph by John Bryson, courtesy Bryson Photo.

  DH The light was just right and I could visualize a beautiful image with the lighthouse in the distance. I mentioned it to Kate.

  “I don’t do that. I’m allergic to the sun. I never lie on the beach. Absolutely not.”

  Instead we set up for a shot in her canoe. The water was calm, and the results were quite striking, both visually and symbolically. (She’d told us, “I always took charge of my life; always ‘paddled my own canoe.’”) After we’d finished, and we were walking up the beach together, she said, “Why don’t I lie down over there on the sand and read a newspaper. Would that work for you?”

  “That’s a great idea,” I told her. “Let’s do it now.”

  Undoubtedly, she’d needed time to think about it and come up with her own twist: the newspaper as her prop.

  JK She still often rode a bicycle, which David and I wanted to include in the program. As she took off on her bike for the starting point he’d chosen, I snapped a picture, which shows him running behind her. He always tells people, “There it is—a perfect example of me directing Katharine Hepburn.”

  JK and DH After she and Spencer Tracy made the movie, Pat and Mike, director George Cukor gave her a golf cart, so we suggested filming her driving it around Fenwick.

  “Oh, that was a long time ago. I don’t have it anymore,” she said. So that was crossed off the list of things to do.

  But as we were shooting a scene outside, where she was gathering logs for her fireplace, we heard the sound of crunching gravel on the driveway. Looking up, we saw a man approaching in a golf cart.

  “Here it is,” he said to her. “Just call me when you’re done with it.”

  Once more, she’d thought about it, and decided it was too good an idea to pass up.

  David and Kate.

  Old Saybrook, CT, 1991. Authors’ collection.

  DH I hadn’t ordered a dolly or any way to shoot a moving golf cart. It was time for a quick conference with Michael Barry. “We can pan as she passes the camera, but that will be boring. How can we do this?” I asked him.

  Mike was calm, as always, and he had a solution. “We can put the camera on baby legs (a very small tripod) in the back of my van with the rear doors open. Just tell her to follow us and let’s see what we get.”

  JK There was no room for me in the van, and the small caravan was gone for almost an hour.

  Several days later, when I saw the footage for the first time, I noticed that while she was driving along, she turned her head a few times and waved. I asked David, “Who was she waving at? Did crowds gather along the way?”

  “No, there was nobody there,” he said. “The place was deserted. So instead of just staring straight ahead, she decided to add a little variety to the scene.”

  It’s no accident that Katharine Hepburn was, and still is, the only four-time winner of the Academy Award for Best Actress1.

  DH We needed one more full day of filming in New York—a single set-up with her sitting in her favorite leather chair in the upstairs living room. However, at around 4 in the afternoon, Joan took me aside and said, “Why don’t we shoot her on the stairs? It would be the perfect lead-in t
o the scene of her packing the car and driving off to Fenwick.”

  I knew that Kate was getting tired at this point, and she was expecting dinner guests at 6. So I was reluctant to move to another location in the house, but Joan was right.

  I said to Hepburn, “We just have one last shot. And I’d like to do it on the stairs, with you putting on your shoes, getting ready to leave for the weekend in Connecticut.”

  It was a tight space, and she didn’t object. But as we were preparing for the first take she said, “David, when we’ve finished this scene, you’re going to tell me why you decided to stage it this way.”

  I simply nodded, but I knew that she was getting more antsy by the minute.

  Then she added, “And this might be the last shot I ever do in my life.”

  “Well then, we’d better get it right, hadn’t we?” I said.

  The words had come out of my mouth before I could stop myself. And suddenly there was a dead silence. No one moved.

  Kate burst into laughter—the deep snorting laugh that we’d come to know so well.

  “OK, everyone,” I said. “Let’s do this. Roll film.”

  We did three takes—each one better than the last.

  “That’s a wrap. Thank you, everybody.”

  By the time the crew had packed up it was just after 5:30—a close call, but still time for Hepburn to get ready for her dinner guests.

  JK However, as we were about to leave, she said to me, “Go get your cameraman. He’s been an angel. I want to talk to him.” I found Mike Barry, who was taken aback for a moment, but went upstairs to her living room, where he found her pouring scotch into two glasses.

  He recently wrote to us, recalling his memories of that day:

  “After a long, hard shoot, I was totally spent. We did not have a large crew; in fact we had no lighting crew at all. My gaffer, Mark Chamberlin, and I did it all ourselves, and we were sweaty and dirty, loading the equipment into the truck, when Joan told me that Miss Hepburn would like to have a few words with me. We had worked her quite hard that day, and she was anxious to get rid of us. I was very nervous. Was she going to take me to task about my lighting? Can you imagine how stressful it was to light the great Katharine Hepburn? I tentatively entered her living room, and she said, ‘Come and sit down. Let’s have a drink together. We deserve it.’ I hate scotch, but I wasn’t about to tell her that.