Gregory Peck- A Charmed Life

by Lynn Haney

  ‘It’s about as funny as pushing grandma downstairs.’

  ‘Well, Marilyn loves it.’

  ‘Well, I’m hardly surprised!’

  The script ended up completely rewritten and Greg backed out of the deal. French movie star and cabaret singer Yves Montand assumed Greg’s part and it was released under the title Let’s Make Love (1960).

  Montand went into the project knowing full well it was a dud. But, unencumbered by Greg’s set of ethics, he gingerly set about making the most of a small opportunity. To wit: he charmed Marilyn Monroe into bed. When the picture wrapped, he started packing for Paris. Suddenly, he heard someone knocking at the door of his Beverly Hills Hotel bungalow. Hedda Hopper breezed in uninvited just as the phone rang and the hotel operator told him he had yet another call from Miss Monroe. As Montand was telling the switchboard operator to refuse all calls from Monroe, Hopper fixed him a drink. ‘I stirred up one hell of a martini to get him talking.’

  ‘You deliberately made love to this girl,’ provoked Hedda. ‘You knew she wasn’t sophisticated. Was that right?’

  ‘Had Marilyn been sophisticated, none of this ever would have happened,’ Montand replied. ‘I did everything I could for her when I realized that mine was a very small part. The only thing that could stand out in my performance were my love scenes. So, naturally, I did everything I could to make them good.’

  Montand returned to his wife Simone Signoret. And Monroe made The Misfits (1961), with the script written especially for her by Arthur Miller. She co-starred with Clark Gable who died shortly after its completion. By the time the film went into production Monroe’s mental health was in steep decline. Her frequent illnesses and depression contributed to the film going far over budget. As the tensions grew, she upped her dosage of sleeping pills and started mixing them with liquor. On 21 January 1961, a week before the opening of The Misfits, she divorced Arthur Miller. On 5 August 1962, her housekeeper discovered her body nude and lifeless on her bed.

  Greg emerged from the experience with little sympathy for Monroe’s problems. Speaking of Hollywood’s capacity to destroy people, he said: ‘Monroe may have been a bit of an extreme example, but she was given the best stories to suit her talents, she was stroked and cared for and treasured and treated like a little princess, treated as a valuable, talented person. What it was that led her to drink and take pills, I don’t know. I don’t think anyone can put it all together, but it’s too easy to say that Hollywood wrung her out and exhausted her, strained her nerves and destroyed her. I think she’d have gone to pieces even sooner without the adulation and the care she received at the hands of her directors and producers and the big studios.’

  Greg’s next project had the hallmarks of a top box-office attraction. The Guns of Navarone (1961) was based on a book by Alistair MacLean, a storyteller whose novels played out like motion pictures. Costing an unprecedented $6 million, Navarone started a vogue for all-star international action adventure pictures that continued for about 20 years. It featured Gregory Peck, 44, David Niven, 50, Anthony Quinn, 45, and Anthony Quayle, 47. One critic described the film as ‘an elderly gang goes to war.’

  The Guns of Navarone marked a comeback for writer and producer Carl Foreman. His screenwriting credits included The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957) and High Noon (1952). But Foreman had refused to cooperate with the House Un-American Activities Committee, causing him to be blacklisted. So, for a long stretch during the 1950s, he had been forced to write under an assumed name.

  The script of The Guns of Navarone was a bright feather in Foreman’s cap. It has a strong story and a credible attempt at realism. And it has depth. He lifted the story from being just an ordinary adventure/thriller into something that was far more sophisticated. ‘He really brought up all these moral and ethical issues,’ said Greg. ‘It was really very well written. A lot of people thought it was this great, rousing war film, but it was really very anti-war.’

  The plot focused on a single, seemingly impossible mission – the taking of an enemy arsenal. To accomplish this feat, the regular fighting unit was banished, replaced by a specially selected team of men, each with his own particular craft to enlist for the mission, and each a fairly well-defined character. As a movie format, it was basically sound, for it could showcase a pantheon of male stars.

  The six members of the British team are Greg, the captain who takes over command when Anthony Quayle, the major, breaks his legs; David Niven, the explosives expert; Anthony Quinn, veteran resistance fighter; Stanley Baker, telegraphist; and a young Greek –

  American James Darren, who is ‘schooled in juvenile crime.’ The two partisans are portrayed by Irene Papas and the perhaps too pretty Gia Scala.

  Even the planner of the mission, the head of British military intelligence for the Middle East (James Robertson Justice), doesn’t see much hope for its success. He laments to his aide: ‘It’s a waste of six very good men, although I don’t suppose that matters much, considering how many have been wasted already. Still, who knows? Maybe they can get there, and maybe they can hold off. Almost anything is possible in a war. Smack in the middle of absolute insanity, people seem to find the most incredible resources – ingenuity, self-sacrifice, nobility, courage . . . ’

  ‘Getting there’ is getting on to the Greek island of Navarone, occupied in 1943 by the Nazis. ‘Pulling it off ’ is blowing up two giant cannons, mounted in a seemingly impregnable fortress cave, with which the Germans have been blasting British warships and the channel between Navarone and a nearby island. However, the mission is doomed unless two enormous German guns are destroyed, allowing Allied troops to arrive by boat.

  To pull it off, however, requires walking a tricky tightrope. ‘We played half a dozen commandos somehow able to perform miracles,’ explained Greg, ‘outwitting a whole German regiment, getting right into the middle of them, stealing their uniforms and masquerading as Nazis. Well, to do that you’d have to do with the Nazis what Mack Sennett did with the Keystone Cops. There were 550 chances for them to kill all of us.’

  All location filming was done in Greece, on the island of Rhodes and some of it in Athens. Undoubtedly receiving word about the epic, the no-expense spared scale on which The Guns of Navarone was to be cinematized, the Greeks embraced cast and crew with open arms. Greg arrived on 7 March 1960. He recalled: ‘They even removed the scaffolding from the Parthenon for us. It has been under repair since 1832, kind of a long job.’ The King of Greece and his family even paid a visit to the set.

  On Rhodes, the company settled in for several months of shooting. With remote locations, donkeys were used to transport equipment and personnel. The base of operations was the Hotel Miramar. The film was supposed to wrap in July of 1960, so Greg rented a place in Cap Ferrat for the summer. As it happened, the shoot went over schedule and he could only fit in a few weekends. Greg’s first exposure to this earthly paradise had been when he was filming Captain Horatio Hornblower. Reminiscent of an F Scott Fitzgerald novel, it is one of the loveliest places on the Mediterranean coast.

  A surprise setback occurred when the film’s director, Alexander Mackendrick, was fired. Carl Foreman quickly hired British director, J Lee Thompson. With only ten days before he was to start shooting, he approached the cast, according to Greg, ‘frightened to death.’ Greg added, he was a ‘highly strung individual’ who required the medication of stiff drinks to keep himself calm.

  Still, Thompson was very excited to be given a chance to direct his first American picture. He said: ‘And they immediately liked my way of directing, which was to rehearse the whole scene that we were about to shoot, and explain each setup that we were about to do, before we actually shot anything. Sometimes the rehearsals would take two or three or four hours, and we’d go a whole morning without having got a shot. But then in the afternoon, we’d get 10 or 11 shots done and complete the scene, because everyone knew exactly where they were going and knew exactly what setup was going to follow the previous one. And it became a
delight for the actors – they really liked this technique and they were supportive to the hilt. Many of the actors had theater backgrounds. That kind of rehearsal method is very common in that world and it must have very much put them at their ease.’

  As shooting got underway, the actors jostled for position. They were afraid one might get the advantage over the other. Greg felt threatened by Anthony Quinn – and the feeling was reciprocal. (Admitted Quinn: ‘We all wished we looked like Gregory Peck and sounded like him.’) Knowing that the wily Mexican-American was a natural born scene-stealer, Greg didn’t want him running away with the movie.

  Quinn was a roughneck who played by the rules of the street. The earthy peasant with the tanned, craggy face was born poor in Chihuahua, Mexico. He got himself into movies in the most humble of ways, as an extra, having already worked at colorful macho jobs that added to his mystique: hod carrier, construction worker, boxer, taxi driver and so forth. But he was gaining ground fast and audiences loved him.

  ‘To see him was not particularly to love him or to fear him or to hate him; it was to feel him,’ observed journalist Stephen Hunter. ‘Quinn’s specialty was the almost wordless projection of temperate masculine force, a father’s gravitas, a brother’s loyalty, a boxer’s stamina, a gladiator’s courage, a saboteur’s guile and will to violence.’ No wonder Greg considered him competition.

  Fortunately for all concerned, Quinn got the cast playing chess, which bonded the group and kept them out of Thompson’s hair. It also helped relieve boredom. One can only drink so many glasses of ouzo and smash so many plates.

  Playing the ‘lean-limbed, laconic mountain climber,’ as the New York Times described his role, Greg was to emerge as the film’s leader, partly because of the plot, partly because he was the most prominent star in the cast, and partly because he kept sending notes of script changes to Carl Foreman that improved his part.

  Greg’s personal favorite among the cast was David Niven. He called him ‘the most wonderful male companion I’ve ever had.’ The durable star possessed an abundance of urbane wit and dapper charm, plus he was an elegant gossip. Although he had proven himself on several occasions an accomplished dramatic actor, he lacked confidence in his ability. Rather than grabbing the spotlight, he preferred instead to portray himself as an untalented but happy-go lucky adventurer who took a chance on Hollywood and by a fluke became a star. What Greg admired – and perhaps envied – about Niven was that he parlayed his picaresque escapades into two of the best-selling autobiographies of all time: The Moon’s a Balloon and Bring on the Empty Horses. Balloon alone sold more than five million copies worldwide.

  Most of the film was shot at Shepperton Studios in London. There, the guns themselves were constructed. At the time, it was one of the biggest sets ever built for a film in England and all did not go smoothly. ‘We had a storm one day,’ explained Thompson, ‘and the whole set collapsed. A torrential rain beat down upon it, and the cave portions of the set started to crumple. It was all just plaster. And it took three weeks to rebuild.’ Fortunately, they had plenty of other scenes to shoot in the meantime.

  The boat that transported the fighters was built and placed on rockers in a huge water tank. Explained Thompson: ‘This water would hit the artists with such force that some of them would get knocked right out of the boat. Then there was the danger of slipping underneath the boat, which was rocking. Of course, the water could not be warmed very much. It was a very tough sequence, but the actors were absolutely magnificent. They never complained and went back into the tank for shot after shot. And I think that is still one of the best storm sequences on film.’

  With his leavening touch of humor, Niven recounted the experience from the actors’ point of view: ‘A lot of the scenes were shot waist deep in freezing water, from nine in the morning until six in the evening. To ward off chills and cold, there was an abundance of brandy and rum in flasks, handed out between shots. Greg’s capacity for drinking and working was astounding. By noon, all the rest of us would be roaring, or close to it. But not Greg. He matched us drink for drink but none of us saw him so much as stagger or muff a line. Really quite disgusting to see a man able to handle liquor like that. What was even more annoying was his humorous, superior attitude toward us.’

  Despite the setbacks, The Guns of Navarone was a smash hit. It was nominated for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Screenplay from another source, Best Sound, Best Scoring for dramatic picture, Best Editing, and Best Special Effects at the Oscars. Polls of critics by Film Daily and the Hollywood Foreign Press Association both tabbed it as the best film of 1961.

  Greg received $2 million from his share of The Guns of Navarone. It was his biggest hit until he starred in The Omen in the 1970s. In 1960, he purchased a splendid vacation home for his family in Cap Ferrat on the Cote d’Azur, far from the hothouse of Hollywood.

  Situated approximately ten kilometers from Nice to the west and Monaco to the east, verdant Cap Ferrat is reachable by the Basse Corniche, the low road that hugs the sea. Its tranquility and warm climate have long made it a favorite holiday destination for European aristocracy and international millionaires who have built large estates on the water, including one which formerly belonged to the King of Belgium, Leopold II.

  The Pecks’ house was planned by Veronique’s architect father. It opened up a new chapter in Greg’s personal life. Here Greg could protect himself and his family from the relentless curiosity of the public; he could relax for protracted periods of time. ‘We golf, swim, lie in the sun, have a few friends in – it’s all very casual and idyllic. I spend a lot of time gardening, because that’s one of my favorite hobbies. Veronique cooks while I garden. We are a great combination. She makes great fish casseroles, marvelous salads and my favorite of favorites, Boston cream pie.’

  They could wander along the port or drop in for casual dining at the restaurants along the wharf with their shady terraces. Through David Niven, the Pecks became friends with Princess Grace and Prince Rainier who frequently invited Tony and Cecilia Peck to come over and swim at the palace.

  One day, Tony socked Prince Albert on the nose. Fretting about it, Greg called Grace. ‘Don’t be silly!’ she insisted. ‘It was the best thing that ever happened to him! It was the first bloody nose he’s ever had, and the first time anyone has ever punched him!’ Over time, the boys became friends and studied at Amherst together. There, Tony introduced Prince Albert around campus as ‘Big Al.’

  Despite his royal blood, the effects of rubbing elbows with movie stars had an effect on Prince Albert. He recounts that when he was a teenager, he became aware that men like Greg were luminaries. ‘It really amazed me who I was meeting and that I could interact with them. I used to think, hey, I may be the only 14-year-old in the world who could pick up the phone and ring Frank Sinatra or Gregory Peck or Cary Grant and actually get them on the phone.’ Fresh from the triumph of Navarone, Greg launched into making

  Fresh from the triumph of Navarone, Greg launched into making a movie with his own company, Melville Productions. His choice, Cape Fear (1962), looked intriguing because it had the straight construction of a horror movie. ‘I thought this was quite good, quite tight,’ said Greg. ‘As for what made it so frightening, that was Bob Mitchum. He was so excellent. He was reptilian and subtle and very threatening. That piece of casting was essentially my idea. I thought of Mitchum because I remembered The Night of the Hunter (1955). I knew what Bob was capable of doing in a good part.’

  An ex-con named Max Cady (Robert Mitchum) arrives in a Southern town in search of the man he holds responsible for his imprisonment, the lawyer Sam Bowden (Peck). The bluntly effective thriller shows the effect a devious psychopath can have on a middle-class family – husband, wife (Polly Bergen) and teenage daughter (Lori Martin). Their pet dog is poisoned, the daughter is tracked and narrowly escapes assault, and the wife is continually threatened over the phone by the vicious avenger.

  Cape Fear reunited Greg with several familiar talents. S
y Bartlett and James Webb had written and produced screenplays for earlier Melville Productions: The Big Country and Pork Chop Hill, and J Lee Thompson had just directed The Guns of Navarone. The script for Cape Fear was adapted from a John D MacDonald pulp novel called The Executioners.

  Max Cady’s character was the juicy part in the movie. However, it took some enticing on Greg’s part to get Mitchum to agree to play the part. The two men were neighbors when Greg and Greta first arrived in Hollywood and lived in a little gray house up in the canyons off Mulholland Drive. In the years that followed, Greg carefully acquired the polish and cosmopolitan tastes necessary to hold his own in international circles while Mitchum went in the other direction and merrily exploited his hipster edge.

  On the first day on location, Mitchum sang: ‘How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood, when fond recollections presents them to view.’ This puzzled J Lee Thompson until Mitchum reminisced further about ‘scenes from his childhood.’

  His part Native American father was killed in a train accident when he was just two, and after 12 years of living with his mother and then his aunt, Mitchum ran away from home and wandered the roads. He made ends meet by stealing from bums he came across, and while strolling through Georgia, he was picked up for vagrancy and forced to be part of a chain gang.

  Obviously not wanting to spend his days splitting rocks with hammers, Mitchum escaped after two weeks and headed out West, an instant real-life fugitive. There he continued his roughneck ways by becoming a professional boxer and fought in 27 fights. An unexpected bonus of his boxing career was the acquisition of his most pronounced physical feature – sleepy eyes – which, coupled with chronic insomnia, produced the world-weary look that set female hearts pounding. But beneath the half-closed lids and bored exterior was an enormous reservoir of angry energy that made him fascinating to watch.

  By the time Greg became drinking buddies with him, Mitchum was already a popular actor with a large teenage following, and his credentials as a sexually irresistible cynic were well established. In the late 1940s he was busted for marijuana use and spent 60 days in prison. (‘Just like Palm Springs,’ he said, ‘but without the riff-raff.’) This only seemed to strengthen his appeal.