Now that the script was finished, the Millers spent most of their time in the city, driving to Connecticut on weekends in a Jaguar. In letters to Brooks Atkinson and John Huston, Arthur made a point of cheerfully mentioning Marilyn as if nothing had changed. Norman Rosten, at work on a screenplay based on A View from the Bridge, often stayed with the Millers in Roxbury. He could see that the image of marital harmony had become a façade.
When the couple fought in town, Marilyn sometimes spent the night at the Strasbergs. Paula would give her a soothing cup of tea and rub her shoulders. Lee, in striped pajamas and a decrepit bathrobe, would perch on the edge of Marilyn’s bed. He was not known for being warm or affectionate, yet he abundantly provided the physical and emotional comfort she missed at home. Marilyn rested her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her. He stroked her hair. He tenderly sang a lullaby. She closed her eyes and smiled.
Strasberg was feeling rather needy himself lately, having been rejected for a top post at the new repertory theater at Lincoln Center. The Actors Studio had been conferring with the Lincoln Square Project (as Lincoln Center was then known) since 1956. Elia Kazan, Lee Strasberg, and Cheryl Crawford had offered their ideas for the theater that would be part of a cultural complex housing the Metropolitan Opera, the New York Philharmonic, and the New York City Ballet. Strasberg assumed the Actors Studio would be the resident company, and believed a leadership position his rightful place. Instead, Robert Whitehead, appointed to set up the theater, invited Kazan to be his partner.
Kazan, for his part, wasn’t so sure he wanted the job. Tennessee Williams urged him to say no, reminding him that he was an artist, not an administrator. Whitehead, who had co-produced A View from the Bridge in New York, arranged a meeting between Miller and Kazan. They talked. They enjoyed each other’s company. They both refrained from mentioning why they had been at odds since 1952. Miller agreed he would like to write for the new theater. For Kazan, a chance to work with Arthur Miller again was a major incentive to take the job at Lincoln Center.
Though Kazan would never forgive Miller for having walked past him that day with Kermit Bloomgarden, there could be no denying that Miller remained the playwright to whom he felt closest. In the past, Kazan had had occasion to think that he and Miller were actually the same person. He often felt he could share things with Miller that he could not with Williams. Kazan believed that in the aftermath of HUAC, Williams had been his most faithful friend, but it was Miller to whom Kazan, still admittedly tense, was ineluctably drawn.
Miller viewed Kazan as the best possible director for his autobiographical work-in-progress. Perhaps Eric Bentley had been right; perhaps Miller really did need a Kazan. At a deeply troubled moment in the Williams–Kazan collaboration, Miller stepped into the breach. At a deeply troubled moment in Miller’s own marriage to Marilyn Monroe, he renewed his passionate friendship with the man he once called brother. Miller agreed to give his plays to the new company. Kazan, as in the old days, would direct.
On October 14, Kazan left to shoot Wild River, the film he was originally to have done with Marilyn. Seven days later, there was an official announcement that he had accepted a post as “an associate in the development and direction of the Lincoln Center Repertory Theater.” Neither the reunion of Miller and Kazan, nor Miller’s plans, was announced publicly. Even in New York theatrical circles, few people were aware that the momentous reconciliation had occurred, or had any inkling that one of the great creative teams of the modern American stage was due to be revived.
On October 14, Jack Cole arrived at the Dance Players Rehearsal Hall in New York City. He had a slight, bony physique, with a finely-lined, cadaverous face, a large, hooked nose, and a cast in one eye. He wore baggy blue jeans and a gray sweatshirt, the sleeves hiked up above his elbows. The dance director had first worked with Marilyn on Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. At her request, he had also been brought in on River of No Return and There’s No Business Like Show Business. More recently, he had done uncredited work on Some Like It Hot.
Three and a half weeks previously, Marilyn had informed Jerry Wald that she wanted Jack Cole on The Billionaire. Twentieth, eager to please, went to considerable lengths to hire him. As a choreographer, he was very much in demand. He had television and Broadway commitments and would only be able to work on the picture a few weeks at a time. But in light of the fact that Marilyn believed she needed him, he was willing to squeeze her in.
Today, Cole waited at the rented rehearsal space in anticipation of working on “My Heart Belongs To Daddy.” Thus far it was the only musical number definitely chosen for the film. Others were soon to follow. Gregory Peck’s requirement that he be finished by February 1 meant George Cukor would be working on a tight schedule. Jerry Wald thought it best for Marilyn’s numbers to be fully rehearsed before she arrived in Los Angeles. At this point, the plan was to shoot the musical numbers before anything else.
Cole knew that Marilyn was not a skilled dancer. He also knew she was a perfectionist. So they would need plenty of time to develop her first big number. He intended to go over the music with the rehearsal pianist and the drummer before Marilyn arrived. Knowing Marilyn as he did, he was certainly not surprised that she didn’t appear on time. He was astonished, however, when she failed to show up altogether. The entire day was squandered. Cole, known for a hot temper and a foul mouth, was not amused.
The rest of the week was no better. Sometimes Marilyn didn’t appear at all. Other days she came in but didn’t work. By October 19, Cole was no longer sure he could have even one number ready to be filmed on November 3. And he was beginning to wonder if he really wanted to work on this picture after all. He was sufficiently alarmed to urge Twentieth to send someone to New York immediately to sort out the problems with Marilyn. Something was definitely wrong.
In Los Angeles, Jerry Wald grew nervous. At their last meeting, Marilyn had given every indication that she was going to be the soul of cooperation. She had loved the story. She had gushed over the Cukor–Peck–Krasna package. What had changed in three and a half weeks? Wald had no idea that in that time John Huston had given the green light to The Misfits. From first to last, Twentieth would fail to grasp the degree to which The Misfits complicated both Marilyn’s and Arthur’s actions with regard to The Billionaire.
On October 24, George Cukor arrived in New York to talk to Marilyn and to select locations for three days of unit work. He held court at the Plaza. Cukor had a reputation for being “an actor’s director.” “He thought like an actor,” recalled Tony Randall. “He knew what you were thinking when you were working. He knew what your problem was. He just got inside you. He was especially effective with women. He was all sympathy.” With Marilyn, however, Cukor was prepared for the worst, being well-versed in Larry Olivier’s and Vivien Leigh’s horror stories. Hero-worshipping the Oliviers as he did, Cukor might actually have been disappointed had Marilyn behaved any other way. When she bitterly complained about the script, it became apparent that shooting might be held up until the story was revised to her satisfaction.
Arthur Miller signed up to do two weeks of rewrites. John Huston had announced an April start date and nothing must be done to force him to postpone. So it was in Miller’s interest, every bit as much as Twentieth’s, to get The Billionaire in the can. For once, Arthur Miller and Spyros Skouras found themselves on the same side. Miller met with Cukor and Jerry Wald, and a letter of agreement was prepared.
For a $15,000 fee, Arthur agreed to develop Marilyn’s role. He did not, however, want any credit on screen or off. He wanted there to be no publicity about his involvement. Obviously, the news that he had been working on Cukor’s picture would make it impossible to bill The Misfits as Arthur Miller’s screenwriting debut, as well as the first work he had written expressly for Marilyn. By contract, Miller was to complete his work on The Billionaire by November 14.
He had reason to be excited about The Misfits. Huston was close to a deal with Clark Gable. In the beginning, H
uston had been particularly keen on Robert Mitchum as Marilyn’s co-star. When Mitchum was shooting The Night Fighters in Ireland, Huston suddenly appeared with Miller’s screenplay. Mitchum read The Misfits and was baffled. The first draft made no sense to him. But Huston would not take no for an answer.
“If John Huston calls,” Mitchum jestingly declared, “tell him I died.” That didn’t deter Huston either. Hardly had Miller completed a second draft when a copy was put in Mitchum’s hands as he was boarding a plane to Australia. The second draft made no more sense to Mitchum than the first.
At the suggestion of Lew Wasserman, Huston shifted his sights to Clark Gable. Huston sent the script and a personal note to Gable in Rome, then flew in for a follow-up chat. On October 31, Huston wired Miller that he believed Gable was theirs. The actor would not commit, however, until he returned to Los Angeles and talked it over with his agent.
Arthur’s revisions on The Billionaire were well under way when Marilyn reported to the Fox lot on November 9. Though she was consistently late to rehearsals, and though on the third day she inexplicably failed to return after lunch, Cukor and Wald weren’t worried. Everyone seemed to be patting everyone else on the back about the brilliant decision to hire Miller. On Friday, November 13, he delivered his pages a day early. Wald rushed the script over to Gregory Peck.
The production was plunged into crisis when Gregory Peck, dismayed by the extent to which Marilyn’s part had been built up, asked to cancel his contract. Peck was willing to return a $100,000 advance if Twentieth would release him. Buddy Adler reluctantly approved. The casting department called frantically all over town for a replacement. The candidates included Charlton Heston, James Stewart, Kirk Douglas, Cary Grant, Peter Lawford, Tony Curtis, and Rock Hudson. But nothing could be arranged. For a moment, with Twentieth scrambling to replace Peck, it looked as though the April start date on The Misfits was about to have to be put off. Once again, however, Arthur Miller saved the day. He recommended Yves Montand. Montand’s one-man show had been a triumph in Los Angeles as it had been in New York. He was now performing in San Francisco.
In order to hire Montand, Twentieth would have to overlook the fact that the comedy of The Billionaire was based on the notion of a man who can’t sing or dance pretending to be a song-and-dance man. That’s why Gregory Peck had been cast. Montand, by contrast, was well known precisely as a song-and-dance man. Twentieth would also have to overlook the fact that Montand had very little English. And Spyros Skouras would have to overlook that Montand and his wife, Simone Signoret, were leftists.
In the interest of starting principal photography, all these drawbacks were instantly forgotten. Signoret, currently enjoying immense success as the sad older woman in the film Room at the Top, spoke fluent English. She took the call from Twentieth’s casting department. She indicated that they planned to return to France for Christmas. Montand was to tour Japan after that. Signoret would, however, read the screenplay on her husband’s behalf. A script was rushed to San Francisco and Montand nervously said yes. An opportunity to appear in a Hollywood film with Marilyn Monroe was a major incentive, of course. But no less important, apparently, was Miller’s participation.
Montand deeply admired Miller both for his politics and his art. In 1953 Montand and Signoret had read a translation of The Crucible and decided it must be performed in Paris. The couple appeared in the highly successful French adaptation, Les Sorcières de Salem, as well as in a film version. The role of John Proctor, caught between his wife (played by Signoret) and his lover, was widely regarded as Montand’s breakthrough as an actor.
Soon, Montand and Miller were to be seen exploring the residential streets near the Beverly Hills Hotel. They passed gated, meticulously landscaped Spanish and Tudor-style mansions. On one occasion, a policeman stopped them to inquire what they were doing there. They usually walked while Marilyn was rehearsing with Cukor. Montand, who had a loping stride, welcomed the chance to strike up a friendship with his hero. These walks also served as impromptu English lessons, Montand having discovered that for some reason he understood every word Miller said. Montand was one of those rare individuals with whom Miller seemed to open up. The men talked about politics, their families, Hollywood.
Miller said it was impossible to think of this place as a city. “It doesn’t smell like anything,” he insisted. “In Europe, you can smell everything—cooking, garlic …” As he had been when he came here to sell The Hook, Miller was ambivalent. He both disdained and desired success Hollywood-style. He took pains to distance himself from the wealth and glitter even as he dreamt that The Misfits would be released as a road show—screened only at prestigious theaters with reserved seats and a high ticket price.
Hardly had Miller provided Twentieth with Montand when The Misfits lost its leading man. Clark Gable, upon returning to Los Angeles, changed his mind. Out of range of Huston’s charm, Gable, like Robert Mitchum, decided the script didn’t make sense. He read it several times, then told his agent he didn’t want to do it. Huston urged Miller to talk to Gable. They were already acquainted, having met at Charlie Feldman’s in 1951. Huston knew from Miller’s letter of October 5 that he was confident his screenplay was a major work of art and The Misfits was going to be a great movie. Perhaps Miller’s enthusiasm would convince Gable he’d be missing the boat if he turned this project down. As it happened, Miller’s pitch was convoluted. He earnestly described The Misfits as an Eastern Western about the meaninglessness of life. But the gobbledegook seemed to work. Gable reread the screenplay and decided to take the part of Gay Langland after all. The offer of a $750,000 salary (excluding overtime) may also have influenced his decision.
Eli Wallach and Thelma Ritter having agreed to play Guido and Isabelle, one major part remained to be cast. For Perce, Miller thought of Montgomery Clift. Miller asked to see some of the footage of Wild River which Kazan had sent back to Twentieth. Later, he called Kazan in Tennessee to find out when he expected to finish. Kazan said Clift would be free by early January. Miller indicated he was going to send The Misfits to Clift, and asked Kazan to read it when Monty was done. On December 4, Miller offered Clift the role, adding that Marilyn was excited by the prospect of working with him. The start date, Miller announced, was now March 24. Clift accepted and the cast was complete.
John Huston swept through Los Angeles. He approved the casting. He wanted to cut the script. United Artists would not consider distributing a picture longer than two hours and ten minutes. Miller, however, seemed to believe that length was an advantage for roadshowing. Huston, it became clear, didn’t see the film that way at all. He certainly didn’t think it should be roadshowed. That, he pointed out, was for spectacles.
Huston, evidently, had a more realistic view of what Miller had actually written. He saw The Misfits as essentially a small picture. He argued it should be as modest and unpretentious as they could make it. Miller wanted to shoot the script as it was, then cut it down later. Huston was appalled. That kind of thinking, he said firmly, led to an atmosphere of waywardness and uncertainty that could prove fatal to a picture. He always found it to be a grave error to shoot scenes and speeches he wasn’t certain were going to be in the film.
Nothing had been decided when Huston left in time to spend Christmas at St. Cleran’s, his Georgian manor house in Galway. He invited Arthur and Marilyn to join him there as soon as she was finished at Twentieth. That Huston extended the invitation suggests he had no idea Cukor had yet to start filming Let’s Make Love, as The Billionaire had been renamed.
Between November 9 and December 4, Marilyn’s late arrivals, recorded at the studio gate, cost Cukor more than twenty-seven hours, or approximately three and a half days, of rehearsal time. The week of December 7, she kept Cukor waiting more than twelve hours. In the early part of the following week, nearly ten hours were lost.
Wilder, once he had settled the delicate matter of who was boss, had been known to rely on Paula Strasberg to reason with Marilyn. Cukor did not have tha
t luxury, Marilyn having temporarily decided that she distrusted Paula. Paula sensed that Marilyn had begun to confuse her with her own mother. Gladys remained at Rockhaven Sanitarium in Glendale, where there were constant problems. Gladys insisted that the hospital staff wanted to poison her. She fought with her fellow patients. She tried to escape. She tried to kill herself. Paula, who had often played a mother’s role with Marilyn, was the beneficiary of a good deal of Marilyn’s anger at Gladys. That anger came to a head in November. Marilyn, in Los Angeles for the first time since her miscarriage, filed a petition in Superior Court appointing Inez Melson, her business manager, Gladys’s conservator. Fearful that in killing her baby she had become just like Gladys, she pushed the mad mother away.
Marilyn finally consented to do the first wardrobe and makeup tests on Tuesday, December 15. Two days later, Buddy Adler, George Cukor, Jerry Wald, various studio executives, and Marilyn herself settled themselves in a screening room to look at the tests. The day began a new phase in her career.
Marilyn Monroe Page 41
