Vivien Leigh

by Anne Edwards

  The Sunday following the tests was Christmas, and Cukor invited Vivien and Larry to a cocktail party he was having that afternoon. Toward the end he took Vivien aside. “A decision has finally been made,” he told her, his expression serious, his voice controlled.

  Vivien, thinking the worst, interpreted this as meaning someone else had been cast. Cukor eased her fears.

  The announcement was not immediately made, as Selznick now had to get Korda to agree to loan her services to his company. Korda was in Hollywood pursuing his romance with Merle Oberon (they were married six months later in Antibes), and at first was quite difficult to deal with, not being convinced that the American public would accept an English actress as Scarlett, and concerned that it might end disastrously for Vivien. But he was also a good enough businessman to make sure he would benefit in some way if he was wrong.

  Selznick in a confidential letter to John Hay Whitney (his major private investor) on January 4, 1939, writes:

  Korda is going to wind up with the choice of having the second picture beyond Gone With the Wind—in other words we would have Gone With the Wind and one picture, then one to Korda, then one to us. The lucky Hungarian has fallen into something, and we’re going to make a fortune for him. However, if she is really as good as we hope, I suppose we’re lucky too, and shouldn’t be greedy that someone else gets something out of it.

  But before they could make an announcement to the press, another problem presented itself. It was thought Vivien needed Leigh’s permission before she could file for an American work permit. Vivien cabled him right away, and to her dismay he refused. His consent turned out to be unnecessary. She could, after all, file for a permit and remain in the country without his approval. She cabled him back that she was glad he had said no, explaining in a letter that followed that she now had a better deal, which she was certain had been made because of his refusal, adding in the letter:

  You know I understand your reasons for not consenting entirely, Leigh, but cannot help hoping also that it may mean you are beginning to feel a little more reconciled to the thought of a divorce later on. But I am sorry for having put you in such an awkward position.

  And then she goes on about how she “loathes” Hollywood and how

  one hears terrible rumors of war all the time here, and the Americans are very vehement about the cowardice of the English and do nothing but show films full of anti-British propaganda—it is quite infuriating. With my loveliest love to you Leigh darling. Vivien.

  Makeup tests, costume fittings, and lessons in Southern diction were begun, but it was three weeks after Christmas before Selznick finally was able to issue a release to the press saying that Vivien Leigh had been signed to play Scarlett O’Hara. Typical of Selznick, it was 750 words long and cleverly avoided all the issues by referring to her “recent screen work in England,” her “French father and Irish mother,” and her education in England, France, Austria, and Italy. Nowhere did the release mention she was English. Nor was her relationship with Olivier even hinted at. Selznick referred to her as “Mrs. Leigh Holman, the wife of a London barrister.”

  But it was not the public release that disturbed Vivien. As soon as she had signed her contract, David Selznick met with her and Olivier. He explained to them that one of the reasons Paulette Goddard’s casting had been held up (she was very close to being signed for the film before Vivien entered the contest) was her ambiguous relationship with Charles Chaplin (no one knew if they were or were not married) and that the American public was sensitive to such unorthodox arrangements. He went on endlessly, stressing that the reason he had taken so long to notify her that she had been chosen (meaning the five days between the test and her meeting with Cukor at his cocktail party) was the company’s fear that her love affair with Olivier could present a difficult problem if the public learned about it. He recognized that theirs was a deep and genuine love, but they were still married to other mates, and there was a child involved on each side. Both of them were famous now, he reminded them, and though their liaison was common knowledge in England, it was not in the United States. He impressed upon her that scandal at this time—particularly a sensational divorce suit on either side—would ruin him, her career in the States, and the chances of a grand success with the film.

  To bring the point home to them he added that Gable and Lombard were having an affair and Gable was married, though they did not share a house. But before he announced that Gable would portray Rhett Butler, he (Selznick) and his father-in-law, Louis B. Mayer, had made an arrangement with Rhea Gable to file suit for a divorce of an amicable nature against Clark.

  Then, before they left his office, he begged them not to be seen alone together in public and to use discretion at all times.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Sunday morning after the burning of Atlanta, Vivien and Cukor met for the first time in his office. The famous director reacted instantly to what he called “something exciting in her presence.” There was a tenseness about her, a glow in her eyes—just as Scarlett would have possessed. He handed her a scene to read to him. A quizzical smile spread across her face. “Hail Mary, full of grace!” she said to his surprise and then glanced down and quickly thumbed through the loose pages. It was the scene at Twelve Oaks when Scarlett waits for Ashley in the darkened library to tell him that she loves him and wants to marry him, knowing that he is already betrothed to Melanie. For a moment there was silence in the room, and then Vivien began in a very clipped, self-conscious manner.

  Cukor stopped her. “You sound like someone’s got their finger up your ass,” he said rudely.

  She roared with laughter and then, glancing away, fell silent for a few moments. Suddenly she appeared to be trembling.

  “What is it?” Cukor asked, his words happening to be the opening lines of the scene.

  She seemed suddenly charged with electricity, possessed of the devil, as her declaration burst from her mouth. “I love you!”

  Cukor immediately answered her with Ashley’s next speech. “Isn’t it enough that you’ve collected every other man’s heart here today? Do you want to make it unanimous? Well, you’ve always had my heart, you know. You cut your teeth on it.”

  Vivien’s eyes left the paper and she stared passionately, somewhat wildly at him. She appeared to have memorized the scene instantaneously, never once having to refer to the script. “Ashley, Ashley, tell me—you must. Oh, don’t tease me now! Have I your heart? Oh, my dear, I love you. I tell you I love you and I know you must care about me because ...” She paused, and a look of abandon leaped into her eyes. “Ashley, do you care? You do, don’t you?”

  Cukor was more than impressed. For months he had listened to girls read those lines, but this was the first time he had ever been moved by them. He sat back and studied Vivien as she continued. On the outside she was exquisite, graceful, and perfectly mannered; underneath there was something neurotic, something driven—two women, really, and he doubted if she was even conscious of it.

  When she had finished the reading he apologized for the early hour of the meeting when he knew she had been up late the previous night.

  “That’s all right.” She smiled sweetly. “I’ve never slept much, ever. Since I was born, I haven’t slept much.”

  They parted without him giving her any idea of how he had reacted to her reading, but he noted that her nervousness seemed to have left her and that she appeared quite sure of herself as she politely thanked him for his time. She immediately confided to Myron Selznick that she trusted Cukor instinctively and felt they were on the same wavelength. He was after all, like Olivier—first of the theatre. He had directed Florence Eldridge in The Great Gatsby, Ethel Barry-more in The Constant Wife, Laurette Taylor in Her Cardboard Lover and The Furies, Dorothy Gish in Young Love, and Bette Davis in Broadway. Not to mention films like The Royal Family, A Bill of Divorcement, Dinner at Eight, Little Women, and Camille, all films with great women’s roles. But quite apart from his impressive credits, Vivien was
mesmerized by his instant and great magnetism, for he was a man charged with contained but constantly flowing energy. His movements and gestures were sure and quick, and as he spoke his eyes probed, his hands struck out at the air, he was in constant motion.

  Vivien spent the next week working on her interpretation of the three scenes that were to constitute her film test. It was not an easy week, as Olivier was having his own problems on Wuthering Heights. By Wyler’s own admission, there was a lack of communication and articulation on his part. On Olivier’s part, he was still not ready to leave behind his theatre technique, which Wyler knew would be disastrous to the final outcome of the film. The days were long and difficult, still Olivier found time nights to work with Vivien on her scenes (two were to be with Ashley, a third with Mammy). Since he was filming, she was alone much during the day. The old guilts returned to haunt her. She had sent Leigh sweaters from on board the Queen Mary and purchased books for Suzanne for Christmas as soon as she arrived in Los Angeles. The truth was she had never intended to remain five days, and that truth was gnawing uncomfortably at her.

  She noted (and told Olivier that night) that when she put on her costume for the test, it was still warm and “there could hardly have been time for the previous actress to get out of it.”

  Cukor adjusted his glasses and stood looking at her with amazement as she began her scene with Leslie Howard, deciding she should not attempt a Southern accent. That morning he had put Joan Bennett through the same scene. She had been sentimental and tearful. In contrast Vivien was striking in her passion. “There was an indescribable wildness about her,” Cukor thought. She was never coy, never a young girl with a crush; she was instead a young girl with a fully matured sensuality, direct in her desire, and dangerously— threateningly—impatient. She was Scarlett as Margaret Mitchell conceived her and as he had always hoped she could be played. She ended the scene with a high hysterical laugh that was so effective that Leslie Howard flinched as if struck hard emotionally.

  The rushes were shown to Selznick that night, and he agreed with Cukor that Vivien was absolutely startling in her likeness to the character as they envisioned her. He was only concerned about her ability to master the Southern accent.

  The following morning Vivien was called in to meet Susan My-rick (the film’s expert on Southern speech and manners), who was to work with her on acquiring the accent. Three days later Vivien was called back to shoot the third test scene—Scarlett and Ashley toward the end of the war. She was quite disappointed that Leslie Howard, whom she admired greatly, was not available to do the final test with her. She had to play it with a rather wooden Douglas Montgomery, but it hardly seemed to matter. Cukor held the camera on her, and the underlying panic and desperation, the fierceness of her disturbing appeal to Ashley, were even more striking than the earlier reactions between the same two characters. More impressive, though not yet perfected, was her accent, which was natural-sounding and convincing, not one trace of the English inflection marring its believability.

  Vivien signed a seven-year contract with Selznick (she was paid about $30,000 for Gone With the Wind, but her salary was to rise yearly). Her commitment was to one picture a year. The first (as in his letter to Whitney) to follow Gone With the Wind for Selznick, the second to Korda, and then the third back to Selznick, and she was also permitted stage appearances but with Selznick’s approval only. It appears it was never her intent to honor the contract, though, for she wrote Leigh after signing it:

  My agent here [Myron Selznick] assures me that if the picture is a success I can make demands to get my contract altered. ... I will never make a fuss about the financial side but am determined to ask for more time for the theatre, etc. I know perfectly well, I could not stay here half the year.

  Korda, who knew her a great deal better than Selznick, was positive this was the truth. That she would, in fact, not stay anywhere six months without Olivier. He spoke to Vivien about it; and facetiously quoting Scarlett and smiling like a Cheshire cat, she replied, “Dear Alex, I will think about that tomorrow.”

  Principal photography began January 26, 1939, with the opening scene of Scarlett as a young girl flirting coquettishly on the front porch of Tara. She wore a low-necked flowered muslin dress designed by Walter Plunkett. (Later the scene was reshot because Selznick preferred a white high-necked ruffled dress, which was to make Scarlett look more virginal.)

  In the next two weeks Cukor filmed the birth of Melanie’s child, Scarlett’s shooting of the Union deserter at a sacked Tara, and Rhett’s gift of a Parisian hat to Scarlett. Vivien was deliriously happy with Cukor’s direction and also his loyalty to the original book, dialogue from which he would often substitute on the set for that on the script pages given to him by Selznick. Had Vivien known of the battle being waged off the set and in Selznick’s executive offices, there is little doubt that she would have entered it herself, for there were now heated discussions and strong pressure on Selznick to have Cukor replaced on the film.

  Clark Gable lacked confidence in himself as a dramatic actor, although he was quite aware of his impact as a great screen personality. As each day passed, his own fears mounted that Cukor was devoting too much attention to Scarlett’s and Melanie’s roles and not enough to his own, and that his performance would therefore suffer appreciably. He wanted a director who understood his film appeal and could get the most from it, and it did not seem to him that Cukor was that man. He had his agent call Selznick with daily complaints and threats, and when that did not work he brought Louis B. Mayer into it. Selznick could hardly ignore this. It did not help Cukor that though Selznick liked Cukor’s work it had been done with script pages he had not authorized. He began to come down on the set, a thing he had never done before, to oversee Cukor.

  On February 8, exactly two weeks after the commencement of photography, he dictated the following memo to Cukor:

  Dear George:

  You will recall that before we started the picture we had a long discussion concerning my anxiety to discuss with you in advance the points that I personally saw in each scene. We had both hoped that we would have a . . . chance to see the whole script rehearsed. This, for many reasons, was impossible. Then we discussed seeing each scene rehearsed, and this idea was in turn lost sight of in the pressure of many things.

  Now the idea becomes more important than ever, because we have little or no opportunity in most cases even to discuss each rewritten scene before you go into it. I therefore would like to go back to what we discussed, and to try to work out a system whereby I see each block scene rehearsed in full before you start shooting it.

  Cukor never would abide such an arrangement, and the two men continued their argument for several days, Cukor steadfastly fighting for the right to be his own man and admitting to Selznick that he might make mistakes but insisting that if the film was to carry his name it must be his work.

  Selznick replied, “If this picture is going to fail, it must fail on my mistakes, not yours.”

  And on February 13 he issued the following statement to the press:

  As a result of a series of disagreements between us over many of the individual scenes of Gone With the Wind, we have mutually decided that the only solution is for a new director to be selected at as early a date as is practicable. . . . Mr. Cukor’s withdrawal ... is the most regrettable incident of my rather long producing career, the more so because I consider Mr. Cukor one of the very finest directors it has ever been the good fortune of this business to claim.

  I can only hope that we will be so fortunate as to be able to replace him with a man of comparable talents.

  Cukor was almost as shocked by this as Vivien was, and all the cast speculated that it had been Gable’s doings, but Cukor felt that might or might not be true. “Perhaps Gable mistakenly thought that because I was supposed to be a ‘woman’s director’ I would throw the story to Vivien—but if that’s so, it was very naive of him and not the reaction of a very good or professional actor. It’s no
t the director who throws ‘things’ and puts the emphasis the wrong way. That would be like singing a song and singing certain notes very loudly or heavily to divert attention from the others.”

  It seemed more likely to Cukor that his removal from the film had to do with Selznick’s overwhelming need to identify himself with Gone With the Wind, which he considered the supreme effort of his career.

  Vivien was stunned when the news of Cukor’s dismissal reached her, and deciding to take matters in her own hands, she persuaded Olivia de Havilland to go with her to see Selznick in his office. Costumed in their “widow’s weeds,” they begged and pleaded with Selznick to retain Cukor, to no avail. Vivien contemplated refusing to go back on the set until he reversed his decision, but that night Myron and Olivier convinced her that she would risk harsh legal consequences if she did so.

  Shooting was suspended for several days, during which time Robert Z. Leonard, Jack Conway, King Vidor, and Victor Fleming (all MGM contract directors) were mentioned as possibilities, but there obviously had been no doubt in Selznick’s mind who Cukor’s replacement was to be, because the day following Cukor’s exit (the final scene being the Atlanta Bazaar sequence), Victor Fleming, Gable’s old friend, and his choice to take over for Cukor, was taken off the completion of The Wizard of Oz and signed to direct Gone With the Wind.

  On February 20, Selznick sent a memo to his production manager, Raymond Klune, that read:

  We will start shooting again on Monday. Please get together with Mr. Fleming immediately in connection with the opening scene. We should start with the twins [Tarleton] and then go to Gerald [Scarlett’s father] and Scarlett to permit you to change the condition of Tara. It would be my preference, if there is no reason against it, and if Fleming is agreeable, to then jump into retakes in the Bazaar, followed by Rhett and Scarlett on the McDonough road.