FILMING OF THE interior scenes began with Mary Poppins’s interview of (rather than with) Mr. Banks, played by the wonderful David Tomlinson. One of several British actors in the film, he had a comically expressive face, with what I call “upside-down eyes,” in that his eyebrows slanted upward, while his eyes slanted downward. He himself thought he resembled “a disappointed spaniel.” He’d had an illustrious stage and film career, and his portrayal of Mr. Banks captured exactly the right mixture of disdain and dismay needed for the role. He conjured a kind of glassy-eyed, blank stare that suggested he didn’t fully comprehend what was going on. I often found it hard to keep a straight face when working with him.
Mrs. Banks was portrayed by Glynis Johns, another Brit. She was pretty, and despite seeming sweetly dotty at times, she was a fine and versatile character actress. Like me, she had been a child performer, and by this time in her career she was well established. In fact, the Sherman Brothers wrote “Sister Suffragette” especially for her, in the hopes that giving her a solo song would entice her to accept the role.
The opening long shot of Mary flying down from the clouds and arriving at the Banks’ front doorstep was actually done by my stand-in, Larri Thomas. She was a wonderful dancer and accomplished stuntwoman, and we did look somewhat alike. I discovered that being a stand-in requires incredible patience and skill. Whenever there is a new scene to set up and to light, a stand-in saves the actor’s energy by taking his or her place, usually wearing an equivalent costume or similar color palette that helps the director of photography do the lighting job. It’s backbreaking work, because you are mostly on your feet for great lengths of time, standing very still. Larri became a good friend, and later was my stand-in on The Sound of Music.
Every flying sequence was conjured at least six different ways so as to distract the audience from how it was achieved. I had read the Mary Poppins books and script, so I knew I would be flying in the film. What I hadn’t bargained on was how many different tricks it would take to pull it off on-screen. Sometimes I was suspended on wires; other times I sat on a seesaw or atop a ladder, depending on the camera angle. In the tea party scene with Uncle Albert—played so adorably by the legendary comedian Ed Wynn—we shot some takes with the set completely turned on its side. When the film was ultimately righted to match everything else, no wires were apparent.
Many of my costumes needed duplicates in a larger size to accommodate the harness I wore when flying. This was a thick elastic body stocking, which started at my knees and ended above my waist. The flying wires passed through holes in the costume and were attached to steel panels on either hip. I literally did a lot of “hanging around” between takes, and when I was suspended, the steel panels pressed on my hip bones, which became very bruised. Sheepskin was added, which helped, although it was barely enough, since I couldn’t look too bulky.
My most dangerous flying sequences were saved for the end of our filming schedule, presumably in case of an accident. In one of my last takes, I’d been hanging in the rafters for quite a while, waiting for the tech team to be ready. Suddenly I felt my supporting wires drop by about a foot. I became extremely nervous, and called down to the stage manager below:
“Could you let me down very gently, please? I felt the wire give a little. It doesn’t feel safe.”
I could hear the word being passed along the full length of the studio, to where the man who controlled my wires and counterweights was standing.
“Let her down easy, Joe!”
“When she comes down, take it realllly gently . . .”
At which point, I fell to the stage like a ton of bricks.
There was an awful silence, then Joe’s disembodied voice from afar called, “Is she down yet?”
I have to admit, I let fly a stream of colorful expletives. Fortunately, I wasn’t harmed because the balanced counterweights did their job and broke my fall, but I landed hard and was quite shaken.
It is amazing to me that, even now, one doesn’t see the technical difficulties in Mary Poppins that were ever-present while shooting. In those days, there were no computers to assist with the special effects. Every single scene had to be storyboarded, and these hand-drawn renderings created the visual road map for the film. Bob Stevenson worked hard to make sure that each shot faithfully followed those designs, and that no one could spot the brilliant technical work behind the Disney “magic.” So often, the film called for something that had never been achieved before in terms of special effects. It was up to Walt’s brilliant technical crew to figure out how to make it happen.
In the scene where I sang “A Spoonful of Sugar,” I worked with a mechanical robin, which was one of the Walt Disney Studios’ first Audio-Animatronics. It was attached to a ring on my hand, and the wires that manipulated the bird went up under my sleeve to my shoulder, then down the back of my dress to an operator, who was crouching on the floor beside me. The wires were painted with black shoe polish to minimize any bounce from the lights, but I also participated in the camouflage, hiding them with my thumb, or by stroking the robin’s chest with my other hand. Bob Stevenson had originally hired a professional bird whistler to voice the robin, but it didn’t sound right. I’ve been a good whistler all my life, so I ended up trying it myself and it somehow worked better. Filming this scene was all about the robin, who received a good deal more attention and direction than I did.
As for the carpetbag, and my pulling all those impossibly sized items out of it—the standing lamp, mirror, etc.—there was a hole in the table and in the bottom of the bag. All the items were actually under the table, so that I could just reach through and grab them. After the scene was shot, the rectangular space under the table was spliced out and replaced with a separate piece of film featuring Michael crouching down to see where everything was coming from.
For the tidying-of-the-nursery sequence, in which it appears that clothing is folding itself and, along with the toys, jumping into open drawers and cupboards which then shut themselves—the Disney magicians simply filmed everything in reverse. Drawers were pushed open from the back and folded clothing expelled out of them . . . and the footage was later run backwards.
One of my favorite scenes to film was “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.” The song so resembled the patter songs I’d heard in my vaudeville days, and I instantly embraced it. Marc and Dee Dee came up with fancy footwork to match the tongue-twisting lyrics, incorporating elbows, knees, toe-taps, and bounces in response to the tambourine slaps of the animated Pearly band—all of it performed at breakneck speed. We were in the middle of filming the sequence when my Tony suddenly suggested that Mary might show off a bit by saying the long word backwards. I ad-libbed the dialogue, and it worked. I also had great fun voicing one of the Pearlies myself, drawing on my old Cockney skills from My Fair Lady to sing the “Um-diddle-iddle-iddle, um-diddle-ays.”
The “Step in Time” musical sequence was the most arduous to shoot. Having rehearsed it for six weeks on the back lot, we now filmed sections of it day after day for a full week, the dancers racing up and down the angled roofs, dancing on chimney tops, jumping in and out of them, suspended on wires, some of it quite dangerous. Again, the music was played at breakneck speed, and once Mary Poppins was “invited” into the dance, I galloped and spun my way around the soundstage, trying breathlessly to keep up with the dynamic energy of the chimney sweeps.
A series of trick shots had been prepared for me during the sequence, ending with my being strapped to a pole on a lazy Susan and whipped around like a spinning top. I tried to focus on one spot, as per my ballet training, but still ended up feeling extremely queasy.
One unexpected bonus of this number came from the makeup department. The chimney soot needed for the rooftop sequence was actually a kind of mineral-rich clay compound known as fuller’s earth. It was often used in Hollywood films to create effects involving dirt and dust. For years, I had been plagued by a wart on my thumb, which I had attempted to treat in a number of different w
ays. It had become large enough for me to want to hide it by any means possible; mostly by clasping my hands, one thumb over the other. After several days of shooting “Step in Time,” I noticed that the wart was shrinking. As the days passed it became smaller and smaller, until finally, to my delight, it vanished altogether, leaving my thumb smooth and unblemished. It has never returned. I can only attribute it to some magical ingredient in the fuller’s earth.
The great skyscapes and vistas of London surrounding the rooftops were added later, by a process called glass shots, or mattes. These were designed by the brilliant artist Peter Ellenshaw—a lovely, unassuming Englishman. He had done the matte work for Spartacus, Treasure Island, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, and many other important movies. Peter and his team of fellow artists created these matte shots by painting on glass, leaving a blank or clear space in which the live-action film could then be inserted. The glass and film were put together and re-filmed as a composite. So, for the great shots of St. Paul’s in “Feed the Birds,” for instance, the Bird Woman sat on a limited set with nothing much around her. The matte painting of St. Paul’s was added later, and was supplemented with special effects like animated pigeons and mist. Apparently, there was only one camera in existence at the time that could combine the matte shot and live film, and of course it was conceived, owned, and operated by Disney.
Another aspect of filming that I had to learn about was continuity work. I didn’t know that all films have a script supervisor whose job it is to make note of every detail in any scene, so that all the shots—wide angles, close-ups, etc.—match in terms of gestures, arrangement of costumes, objects, and so forth. We didn’t have instant replay in those days, so that continuity person was the eyes and ears of the entire film.
Our supervisor would say, “No, Julie, you picked your handkerchief up on the third beat,” or “You sipped from that glass before you spoke,” or some such reminder.
Initially I was irritated by all the interruptions, because it felt as though I were being picked on. Eventually, I came to appreciate the value of continuity work, and began to pay closer attention to those details myself.
TONY AND I had promised P. L. Travers that we would keep in touch with her during the process of filming Poppins. I was aware that there had been tensions between her and Walt Disney. She had originally tried to control everything, wanting to cut out songs and even the animation. Walt finally gave her a firm understanding of her boundaries, and she returned to England. My letters were an attempt to mollify her and improve the situation to whatever extent I could. In a way, I understood where she was coming from. After all, Mary was her creation, and she’d protected her for so many years. I tried to keep whatever I wrote positive and focused on what I thought she’d like to hear, such as how well the film was coming along and how talented the cast and crew were.
Walt visited the set from time to time, and when he did, everyone was thrilled to see him. He was always very encouraging and full of bonhomie—I never heard him critique what he saw. He was clearly very excited about this new project. I got the feeling that he would have liked to visit more often, but he wanted to be tactful and not appear concerned or be intrusive. There was always a special aura when he was on the set; that charismatic sparkle that he conjured so well.
One day, he and I did some publicity shots together. A tea table was placed on the set, dressed with good china and all the trappings of an English tea. Even though we had to pay attention to our photographer, I think Walt enjoyed sitting down and chatting as much as I did. Although I don’t recall what we discussed, I do remember thinking how pleasant it was to spend time with him.
Occasionally, Tony and I were invited for a weekend at the Golden Oak Ranch, in Santa Clarita. The ranch was owned by the Disney family, and used for location filming when needed. There was a lovely lake, an abundance of American oak trees, and the whole place was extremely rustic. Although Walt was never there when we were, it was always a welcome respite for us—despite the live peacocks that sometimes let loose piercing screams during the night, causing us to bolt upright in bed, ears ringing and brains reeling.
Tony and I tried to socialize when we could, but it was mostly accomplished by inviting friends to dinner at our house, including members of our film company, such as David Tomlinson, Irwin Kostal, and Marc and Dee Dee, and friends like Carol Burnett and Roddy McDowall. Dick Van Dyke and I were never able to socialize, alas. He had a large family, and a television show to get back to, but we remain fond of each other to this day.
In addition to his work on Mary Poppins, Tony was designing two operas—Benjamin Britten’s The Rape of Lucretia for the Edinburgh Festival, and Prokofiev’s The Love for Three Oranges for the Coliseum Theatre in London. These required that he make several trips back and forth to the UK during production for Mary Poppins, and at the end of June, roughly halfway through our shooting schedule, he returned to London full-time. His work for the film was complete, and all his sets and costumes were up and functioning. He was also preparing the transfer of A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum from Broadway to London, and was serving as coproducer of that as well as designer. Needless to say, it was not easy being apart for such a long period of time, especially since Emma was growing and exhibiting new and delightful personality traits almost daily. We did our best to write letters and make long-distance phone calls whenever possible.
Principal photography for Mary Poppins finished shooting in August, yet there was still a ton of postproduction work to be done, including all my “looping” on the film. I discovered that sound defects often disturb a scene—an airplane flying overhead, wind blowing across a microphone if we were outdoors, a camera being bumped, a body mic rubbing against clothing or being brushed by a hand, and so forth. The smallest flaw necessitates re-recording that piece of dialogue in a sound booth. Sometimes, it’s actually possible to improve a performance, with better emphasis on a word here or more nuance there. Between looping and all the animation and special effects that still had to be added, it was several months before I saw any part of the film assembled, and another year of editing, color-correcting, and sound balancing before Mary Poppins was finally completed.
In retrospect, I could not have asked for a better introduction to film, in that it taught me so much in such a short period of time. The special effects and animation challenges alone were a steep learning curve, the likes of which I would never experience again. I had as yet no idea how to assess my performance, or how the film might be received, but I did know that the hard work had not precluded my enjoyment of the process. From the kindness and generosity of Walt Disney himself, to the camaraderie on set, the pleasure of performing the songs, and of course, the creative collaboration with my husband, it had all been an unforgettable experience.
One day, during my last weeks in Los Angeles, I happened to be driving across the valley toward the Hollywood Bowl. I passed the Warner Bros. Studio, where the film of My Fair Lady had just commenced shooting, with Audrey Hepburn playing the role of Eliza Doolittle opposite Rex Harrison and Stanley Holloway, both of whom had been in the stage production with me on Broadway. Though I totally understood why Audrey had been chosen for the role (I’d never made a movie, and was a relative unknown compared to her worldwide fame), I felt sad that I would never have the chance to put my version of Eliza on film. In those days, archival tapes of an original stage production were still a thing of the future.
As I was driving by the great Warner gates, an impish feeling came over me. I rolled down my window and yelled, “Thank you very much, Mr. Warner!” I was being facetious, but at the same time genuine; so aware of how extremely lucky I was that Jack Warner’s choice of casting for Eliza had rendered me available for Mary Poppins.
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AT SOME POINT during the Poppins shooting schedule, Walt Disney very generously screened some of the film-in-progress for two gentlemen who would become responsible for casting me in my next two films: producer Martin Ransohoff
and film director Robert Wise. I was told that it was highly unusual for Walt to allow anyone to see footage from a film in progress, and I considered it the utmost courtesy that he did that for me.
Ransohoff was producing a film in partnership with MGM called The Americanization of Emily, and Bob Wise was embarking on plans to direct a film adaptation of The Sound of Music, to be shot the following year. I understood that Bob was considering me for the role of Maria von Trapp, but in the meantime, to my surprise, Ransohoff offered me the title role of Emily, which was to commence shooting in England almost immediately. Needless to say, the prospect of making my next film at home was very appealing.
The film had been loosely adapted by the great screenwriter Paddy Chayefsky from a novel by William Bradford Huie. The story is centered on Lieutenant Commander Charlie Madison, an American “dog robber”—a general’s aide who procures anything needed to keep his boss happy, from booze to cigarettes to pretty ladies—and Emily, an English girl with strong values who falls in love with him. The film takes place in World War II London in the weeks leading up to D-Day.
Marty Ransohoff was a stocky fellow with a wispy comb-over. His reputation for using objectionable language and the casting couch preceded him, but I experienced none of that. He teased me good-naturedly, and I found him to be rather lovable. I learned that originally the film was to have been directed by William Wyler. Mr. Wyler wanted to make some changes to Paddy’s script. Ransohoff refused, and replaced him with Arthur Hiller—a newer, younger face in Hollywood. It was unusual for a producer to support a screenwriter over a director of such esteem.
I felt that I was a rather odd choice for Emily. Certainly, I didn’t feel sophisticated or experienced enough to show all the nuances I sensed in Paddy’s marvelous screenplay. This was only my second venture into filmmaking, and I still had so much to learn. While I was very nervous, I simply couldn’t turn the role down. I recognized that it would be a wonderful contrast to Mary Poppins, and perhaps help me to not be typecast if Poppins were successful and if I were later cast as another nanny in The Sound of Music. So I told my agent to accept Marty’s offer.
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