Home Work

by Julie Andrews

  EMMA AND I flew back to London to join Tony at the end of August. Our little flat in Eaton Square seemed to have shrunk. Emma’s arrival had forced Tony to surrender the second bedroom, which had been his studio, to Emma and Wendy, so he had begun working in the living room. Now, his design projects having tripled, his work was spread all over the apartment. Costume sketches, ground plans, elevations, and renderings were stashed behind curtains and under our bed, leaning up against chairs and spilling over his giant drafting table. Realizing we desperately needed more space, I spent the next few weeks looking at houses and larger apartments.

  We found an estate agent who showed me various places around London. Nothing was size- and price-right. Everything was either too tight, too dark, without a view, or too expensive. Finally, our agent said, “I know this isn’t as central as you’d like, but there’s a wonderful house on Wimbledon Common that’s been divided into apartments.” Wimbledon is about seven miles southwest from the center of London, and half an hour’s drive from Walton-on-Thames, where Tony’s and my families still lived. The apartment had been tastefully converted, and more than suited our needs. We bought it at the end of September, and began making plans to move in.

  A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum opened on October 3, 1963, at the Strand Theatre (now the Novello Theatre). In those days, as often as possible, I would search for an opening-night outfit that in some way complemented Tony’s designs for the play. Just before I left Hollywood, I bought a velvet suit with an orange, red, and purple pattern that directly corresponded to the riotous colors in Tony’s sets and costumes for Forum. I was pretty smug about having found something so appropriate, and Tony was tickled by my choice.

  Forum was as big a success in London as it had been on Broadway, and it remains one of my favorite musicals. Tony’s designs once again received accolades, and more job offers began to flow in for him, both in New York and in London.

  NOT LONG AFTER I had arrived back in London, Marty Ransohoff said, “I want to show you a guy who I think would be perfect for the lead in Emily.” He arranged a screening of a comedy starring Doris Day. The leading man was attractive and a fine actor; there was no doubt that he’d be spectacular in the role of Commander Charlie Madison. His name was James Garner, and I was delighted when he agreed to play the part.

  Arthur Hiller had been a prolific television director on stellar series such as Ford Playhouse 90, Perry Mason, Gunsmoke, The Barbara Stanwyck Show, and Alfred Hitchcock Presents, to mention but a few. He was Canadian, small in stature, with a black mane of hair and a gentle voice, which reflected his nature. He was also very smart, with a good sense of humor. He was relatively new to feature films, and he’d lobbied hard to get this job. Arthur made a bold, creative decision to shoot the movie in black-and-white, as he felt it best suited the subject matter and the period.

  Just prior to our first day of shooting, I received a charming and thoughtful letter from Walt Disney:

  I thought you might be consoled to know a little something about Arthur . . . His first movie, as you may know, was our Miracle of the White Stallions. I think you will like him. He’s an understanding guy . . . not the shouting type, by any means. As a matter of fact, the only thing I can think of that isn’t in his favor is that he doesn’t have the experience and background of Willie Wyler.

  As to James Garner, well, he’s an up and coming young actor, and has done very well for himself over here.

  I think you may find that this is going to turn out alright in the long run.

  I was very touched that Walt had taken the time to reach out to me. Clearly, he’d sensed my anxiety about making the right choice in terms of a film that would follow Mary Poppins. I was still so naïve about the ways of Hollywood, and his fatherly kindness meant the world to me.

  AFTER OUR INITIAL read-through at MGM’s studio at Elstree, we filmed some exteriors, and I shot two small scenes. Once again, I felt I understood from the script what was required of the character, yet I lacked the acting skills to put it into practice. In those days, it never occurred to me to find an acting class or coach. I foolishly thought it a sign of weakness to do so, and that I was supposed to draw from an innate talent and instinct. It’s a horrible feeling to know that you understand a role, but don’t know how to get there. As with my first days on Poppins, I simply opened my mouth and said the words as best I could. Happily, Paddy’s brilliant dialogue did a lot of the heavy lifting for me.

  Ten days into filming, Marty Ransohoff suddenly announced that he intended to pull the entire production and take it back to Hollywood to shoot there, where he could better manage costs and union regulations.

  This came as a big shock to me, because I had been looking forward to the pleasure of being home for a stretch. Having been away in Hollywood for so long, I was keen to be with Tony again, and to spend time with my family. Though the situation in Walton with my parents had calmed down, I was anxious to keep an eye on Mum, and also Auntie Joan, who was by now divorced from her husband. Donald had recently joined the British South African Police Force in Rhodesia, and Johnny had earned his pilot’s wings earlier that year, while Chris was still at school. Tony and I were also in the middle of moving into our new apartment—but suddenly I was being called back to Hollywood. Since I had started shooting already, there was nothing I could do about it. Tony was understanding, as his next projects were taking him back to New York. Nevertheless, it was not easy for either of us.

  Tony, Emma, Wendy, and I packed up once again, and before we knew it, we were getting our bearings in a small, Spanish-style rental house on Bowmont Drive, off Coldwater Canyon, in Beverly Hills. Poor Tony spent the next few weeks flying back and forth between L.A. and New York, where his latest show, Jean Anouilh’s The Rehearsal, opened. He was also coproducing the transfer of the musical She Loves Me from Broadway to London.

  One day, as I was driving to the MGM studio at an ungodly early hour, I was pulled over by a policeman. He told me that I’d just driven through a stop sign. I had been completely unaware of it. When he asked to see my license, I rummaged in my glove compartment and pulled it out with a flourish. “It’s an English license,” I said cheerfully. “But I understand I’m allowed to use it here temporarily.”

  He looked at it, then looked at me. “Ma’am, are you aware that this license expired five years ago?”

  “WHAT?!” My jaw dropped. “What can I say, Officer? I had no idea. I am so sorry.” I thought back to the hours I’d spent driving back and forth to the Walt Disney Studios for months on end, never realizing my license was invalid. I was appalled.

  He must have sensed that my words were genuine, because he said, “Listen. Will you promise to apply for a license by the end of the day?” I swore on my honor that I would . . . and I did.

  ON FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 22, we were filming a party scene at MGM when we received the devastating news that President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas. All work ground to a halt, and a pall descended over the entire studio. Tony was away, and I was alone with my feelings of sadness and confusion. I remained glued to the television, trying to make sense of it all.

  Four days after the assassination, we resumed filming. Over the next few weeks, our company formed a special bond; not only because of the shared grief, but also because our script dealt with the folly of man. Most of the men in the company had done military service, including Paddy Chayefsky, Arthur Hiller, Melvyn Douglas (who had served in two wars), James Garner, and James Coburn. They all knew the truth of what they spoke, and they threw themselves into Paddy’s substantive characters with relish.

  The role of Charlie Madison seemed tailor-made for James Garner. He was so perfectly chiseled and square-jawed—so leading-man handsome, with his dark hair, flashing eyes, and devilish smile—and the thoughtful nuances in his performance were eye-opening to me. I learned a lot from simply observing the natural ease he brought to the role.

  James Coburn, who played Lieutenant Commander “Bus” Cumming
s, was fairly new to the film scene. He was an instinctive actor, and quite unique with the stiff walk and rigidity of stance that he adopted for the role, along with his toothy grin and earnest manner. Arthur Hiller commented that his was the most dangerous character in the film. Bus was an Annapolis man, and his total dedication to duty and honor is such that he becomes fanatical. Jimmy Coburn’s larger-than-life approach to Bus’s extremism was seriously funny, and unsettling at the same time.

  When Melvyn Douglas was on the set, the entire company was reverential. Even if we weren’t in the scene, we flocked to the set, riveted by his every move. One only has to remember Captains Courageous, Ninotchka with Garbo, or Hud with Paul Newman to know how accomplished he was. He went about his work with such quiet authenticity, it was breathtaking. Despite his fame, he was a team player, and never pulled rank.

  The English comedienne Joyce Grenfell played my mother in the film. I had worked with her once or twice in my teens. She was a headliner in radio and the music-hall variety shows of the early 1950s. Her forte was playing oddball roles with a vacant, eager-to-please air, which made her hugely popular with the British public. Offstage, she was professional and gracious, and we got on like a house on fire.

  Paddy Chayefsky visited the set from time to time. Stocky and somewhat unkempt, as though he’d slept in his suit, he had tousled hair and a faraway gaze that belied his brilliance for observation. The cast would gather around him, hoping for pearls of wisdom. I didn’t get to know Paddy well, but his easy presence made me feel totally accepted.

  One of the more memorable scenes I shot early in the film was the first love scene between Charlie and Emily. This was certainly outside my experience of Mary Poppins. I had never played a love scene before, and I had no idea how to approach it. How “authentic” was a kiss supposed to be, for instance? Should I fake it, or do it for real?

  The scene takes place in Charlie’s bedroom. Our first kiss was very respectful.

  “Oh! So that’s the way it’s done!” I thought.

  However, the script called for some seriously steamy passion, which took most of the afternoon to shoot. Sometimes I was on top of Jim, other times he was on top of me. The camera crept ever closer. We were rolling one way or the other, talking, tearing at each other’s clothing, but mostly, we were just kissing, and kissing—and kissing.

  I began to think, “It’s getting a bit hot in here . . . ,” followed by: “I can handle this. I’m a professional.”

  Hours later, after multiple takes, Arthur called a wrap. When I got up off the bed, my legs literally buckled beneath me. I suspect the scene got to Jimmy, too. As we headed back to our respective dressing rooms, I tried to appear nonchalant. Walking beside me, Jimmy suddenly gave me a big hug and one last kiss on the head, as if to say, “That was fun.”

  The goodbye scene in which Emily and Charlie stand in the pouring rain, battling their emotions and each other, was a challenge of a different sort. It’s a heartrending scene. You know that these two are crazy for each other, but suddenly everything tilts and the conflict in their values and ideals rises to the surface. We shot the scene at night on the tarmac at the Santa Monica Airport. Huge rain machines were brought in, and the downpour was driving and incessant. I learned that in order for rain to register on camera, it has to be twice as heavy as it might be in real life. Despite wearing plastic linings under our raincoats, we became soaked to the skin. Having a monumental fight about morality in war, and showing the pain of loving someone with opposing values, becomes even more challenging when water is dripping off your nose and trickling down your neck.

  Shooting for Emily ended the day after Christmas. Tony joined me in L.A. on Christmas Eve, and we saw a very rough cut of the film on January 2. Being a dramatic black-and-white war film, it was quite a contrast to the vibrant color and musicality of Mary Poppins. It was difficult for me to assess my performance, although I enjoyed reliving the experience of working with such a fine group of people. Today, it is one of my favorite films, and I know that James Garner felt the same way.

  TONY, EMMA, WENDY, and I headed home to London to resume the task of readying the long-awaited flat in Wimbledon. We also needed to find a replacement for Wendy, since she was getting married. I knew that once again it would be a fleeting visit. Robert Wise had offered me the role of Maria von Trapp in The Sound of Music, and we were to begin shooting in L.A. at the end of February.

  While we were home, Tony and I received devastating news: T. H. White had died. Tim had remained a beloved friend since the days of Camelot, and Tony and I had visited him at his home on the Channel Island of Alderney many times. He had inspired us to buy our own little cottage there, and he’d stayed with us on numerous occasions in London and New York.

  We traveled to Alderney for Tim’s memorial service, but our time there was short and bittersweet. As I headed to the States to begin rehearsals for The Sound of Music, I wondered how I could continue to balance a home life in England with the professional opportunities that were increasingly pulling me back to Hollywood.

  3

  T​ONY AND I had seen The Sound of Music on Broadway, and I’m ashamed to admit that at the time we weren’t wildly impressed. We loved the music, but the show seemed rather saccharine to us—so much so that Carol Burnett and I did a spoof of it called “The Pratt Family Singers” in our 1962 television special. Who could have predicted then, as we gleefully indulged in satire, that I would be invited to help bring this now-classic musical to the screen?

  Bob Wise, who was directing the film version, and Saul Chaplin, his producer, explained to me that they intended to take a less sentimental and more substantive approach to the material. This helped allay some of my anxieties, but all my life I have struggled with making decisions—which I blame on being a true Libra—and I still had lingering doubts about accepting the job. It would be my second nanny role, almost on the heels of the first. I worried that I might need to affect an Austrian accent, and also it was going to be a long haul, with a lot of time away from home. However, Bob Wise and his team were reassuring and persistent. My British manager, Charlie Tucker, had introduced me to a respected Hollywood agent named Arthur Park, in hopes that he could assume some of the responsibilities that Charlie couldn’t handle long-distance. Arthur very much encouraged me to accept the job, and I’ll be forever grateful for the nudge over the fence that he and Bob gave this nervous and insecure young woman.

  Tony and I had managed to hold on to the same rented house in L.A. that we had used during Emily. Kay, Emma’s delightful new nanny, traveled from London with us, and Emma took to her immediately. Tony helped us to settle in, but a week later he had to return to London, where he was now working on a stage production of Caligula and preparing for the opening of She Loves Me. As we always did when we were apart, we spoke on the phone a lot, but it never seemed enough.

  I had expected 20th Century Fox to be bustling with activity, but it seemed eerily quiet. The studio had just produced Cleopatra, starring Richard Burton, Elizabeth Taylor, and Rex Harrison, at enormous cost, and as a result Fox was virtually bankrupt. When we arrived, very little else was happening there, but I enjoyed the feeling of having the place to ourselves.

  Marc Breaux and Dee Dee Wood were choreographing The Sound of Music, and Irwin Kostal was our music director. Having so loved our collaboration on Mary Poppins, I was delighted that we were all working together again.

  For the better part of March, we rehearsed and prerecorded most of the musical numbers for the film. Bob, Saul, and our phenomenal production designer, Boris Leven, had already been to Salzburg for a “recce” to scout shooting locations. They had brought photographs and dimensions back to Marc and Dee Dee, so they could begin working on the movements for each song. Elements of those locations, such as steps or the rim of a fountain, were marked out with colored tape on our studio floor.

  The seven “von Trapp” children had already been rehearsing for a week when I arrived. They greeted me enthusia
stically, and I hoped that I could live up to their expectations. They were learning the choreography, working with a dialogue coach to affect a “mid-Atlantic” accent, absorbing the songs and harmonies, and keeping up with their schoolwork. My heart warmed to each one for different reasons.

  Gentle Charmian Carr (playing the eldest child, Liesl) was trying to navigate being both the teenager she’d been cast as and the young adult she really was. Shy and handsome Nicholas Hammond (Friedrich) grew six inches during the shooting schedule, necessitating some creative framing when others were in a shot with him. Freckle-faced Heather Menzies (Louisa) had an endearing gravitas about her; she was circumspect and shy. Huggable Duane Chase (Kurt) was all boyish exuberance and dimpled charm. Beautiful Angela Cartwright (Brigitta) was the most seasoned actress of the group, with a natural ease and authenticity on camera. Sweet Debbie Turner (Marta) kept losing her teeth, but bravely soldiered on with prosthetics that gave her an adorable lisp. Cuddly Kym Karath (Gretl), the baby of the bunch, was a pint-sized force of nature in her energy and confidence.

  We learned the choreography, running around singing our heads off and marching up and down the supposed steps. We were taken out to the back lot to practice our bike-riding skills, and to time our pedaling to the tempo of “Do-Re-Mi,” pushing forward and pulling back rhythmically on certain music cues.