Eventually he confessed to feeling suicidal again. Several times, he told me that he had actually attempted to take his life, but didn’t have the guts to go through with it, which made him feel even worse about himself. He spoke of an episode in which he had been on our bluff with a razor blade in hand. Our dog had placed a ball in his lap and begged him to play with her so insistently that he decided it wasn’t the right day to end his life. When he stood up, he accidentally stepped on the razor blade and cut his foot. He relayed this to me with a degree of humor, as if it were a scene from one of his black comedies, but I found it horrifying.
I was at a loss as to what to do. I began to keep a discreet vigil, trying to make sure Blake was never alone, without his realizing it; while protecting the family from knowing the true depths of his despair. Often, after the worst days, he would apologize and ask for my continued patience and support.
I saw my own analyst frequently. I even had sessions with Blake’s analyst, who, without breaking patient confidentiality, encouraged me to stay calm. Dr. Wexler suggested that Blake was at the crux of something very important in his psychoanalysis. It was utterly baffling to me. I wondered if it had something to do with our marriage, or me personally, but Wexler’s words resonated, and since I cared for my troubled spouse, I hung in there.
In hindsight, it seems obvious that Blake was having some kind of nervous breakdown. Yet with all the doctors involved, it amazes me that no one diagnosed it as such. No one suggested he be admitted to a hospital or clinic, or that any other measures be taken beyond what he was already doing.
Somehow, in spite of his despair, Blake managed to complete filming A Fine Mess, and begin postproduction. One day, when Jennifer was visiting the house, he suddenly said to us both, “You know what I’d really like to do? I’d like to make a very personal film, about a guy confronting his mortality who puts his family through hell. I’d cast just our friends and family members, and shoot it cinema verité–style—nonunion, very low-budget, like a John Cassavetes film. We could do it here at the house. God knows, I’ve abided by unions all my life. I think I’m owed one independent film at this stage in my career.”
I thought to myself, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Eight weeks later, an entire film crew was assembled on our property, the union was picketing outside our gates, and shooting was under way for That’s Life!
Blake’s screenplay was indeed personal. With Dr. Wexler’s help, he wrote a thirteen-page outline about a successful architect named Harvey Fairchild who is facing his sixtieth birthday and is in emotional crisis. His wife, Gillian, is a singer who, unbeknownst to anyone but her doctor, has just had a biopsy on her vocal cords, and has to cope with her fears alone through the birthday weekend while waiting for the results. During this time, Harvey seeks solace through doctor’s visits, medication, confession, and psychic readings, along with attempts at adultery and suicide.
The whole idea was immensely creative, yet I felt it was a dangerous thing to attempt. I hoped it meant that Blake was finally confronting his demons and, as he had done with 10 and S.O.B., was attempting artistic alchemy.
Jack Lemmon played Harvey Fairchild, who was essentially Blake, and I played his wife. Jack’s real-life son, Chris Lemmon, played our son, and Jennifer and Emma played our two daughters. Everyone in the film family is absorbed with their own problems—the son is almost as narcissistic as his dad; the eldest daughter is pregnant, and her husband has a wandering eye; and the youngest has just split from her boyfriend.
The other cast members were mostly close friends—Sally Kellerman, Robert Loggia, Cynthia Sikes, and Jordan Christopher among them. Jack Lemmon’s wife, Felicia Farr, had a character role as a seductive psychic.
Before shooting commenced, I went to visit my ear, nose, and throat specialist to consult with him as to what my character might be dealing with; how a singer would sound after a biopsy, and what kind of operation and future she might be facing if the diagnosis was bad. Feeling oddly superstitious about playing a character facing the loss of her voice, I asked my analyst if investing emotionally in the role could put me at risk of some psychosomatic manifestation. He assured me I had nothing to worry about.
On the first day, Blake assembled all the principals at our house and explained the process by which we would be filming. Working from his outline, we would begin by improvising a scene for which he had given us the dramatic through-line. Our script supervisor would take notes on the dialogue we came up with, and Blake would “set” the scene based on what he decided to keep or discard. We would then rehearse what had been developed, and finally commit the scene to film.
The responsibility placed on us actors was enormous; any one of us could have indulged our ego and attempted to enlarge our role. To the contrary, we became a disciplined ensemble, everyone relishing the creative license we were given, and being wholly generous with one another.
Jack was marvelous in the role of Harvey. He was brilliant at improvisation, giving Blake umpteen variations on a theme. Having worked together on Days of Wine and Roses and The Great Race, the two men had a mutual ease and trust; in fact, Blake often said that Jack was one of his favorite actors to work with.
It was simply mind-boggling to watch Blake give direction for a character based on himself. He would act things out for Jack with such openness and honesty that it took my breath away. He knew so much about himself, but he seemed better able to admit it all on-screen than in real life. It amazed me how he could just “turn on” grief and rage in a demonstration for Jack, suddenly becoming the way he had been in real life so many times over the past year—and then turn it off again as he handed the emotional baton back to his leading man. Blake confessed that his depressive behavior had often been manipulative, and I sensed that he was experiencing a kind of catharsis as he watched Jack portray him. Viewing the film today, I am struck by Blake’s honesty about his own failings, and seeming compassion for what his illness cost the family. It even strikes me as an apology of sorts—but perhaps that’s wishful thinking on my part.
Two days after filming commenced, we celebrated my fiftieth birthday. Blake said that he had an early gift for me, and he led me outside while shielding my eyes. When I opened them, Dad and Win were standing in front of me. I came apart with joy, and they stayed for several weeks while filming continued, which was simply wonderful.
Though the work for the most part was happy and productive, the film itself was beset by challenges, not the least of which was the union picketing noisily outside our gate and on our beachfront every day. They set off sirens, banged drums and garbage cans, and sent up a “union rat” balloon and searchlights, forcing us to move certain shots to different locations on the property and shoot at different hours of the day. The disruptions were hard on the neighbors as well as our crew, and our wonderful director of photography, Harry Stradling Jr., was forced by the union to leave the project. Thankfully, a British cinematographer by the name of Tony Richmond took over, and he turned out to be excellent.
There was also a period when the dry Santa Ana winds caused massive fires to erupt across Malibu, perilously close to our house, necessitating that we stop filming for several days. In addition, it was a challenging time for Amelia and Joanna. They weren’t involved in the film, and they had to continue attending school and living life as usual, despite the fact that there were people, trucks, and trailers around at all hours.
These challenges notwithstanding, That’s Life! was a joy to make. It was lovely to work with Emma and Jenny, and I was immensely proud of the authenticity they brought to their roles. Emma had to play the saxophone in the film, and she took lessons with Joe Lopes, who had headed up the woodwinds section on my Japanese and American tours, and who also appears in the film.
To a person, the cast and crew were warm, loyal, and tireless. One morning, after a very late night of shooting, I woke to find that our cameraman and some members of his crew had never gone home, and were setting
up for the next day’s work. Because we were filming in our own house, I often found myself being “Mum” to everyone, making scrambled eggs and cups of tea for predawn breakfasts or middle-of-the-night snacks. On evenings when we shot in our own bedroom, Blake and I sometimes found ourselves preparing for bed while crew members were still removing cables and lights. At any given time of day or night, there were bodies parked on sofas and chaises, or sacked out on our carpet.
One day, the company was filming on location at a church adjacent to a school. I wasn’t in the scene, but I was visiting the set and apparently word got out that I was there. Children kept coming over for autographs, and most of them seemed disappointed that I didn’t look more like Mary Poppins. Eventually their visits began to interfere with the filming. One boy leaned directly across me and asked Tony Adams, “Have you seen Mary Poppins?”
“She’s gone,” Tony fibbed.
“Damn!” the boy said, and turned away.
Later, an elderly parishioner came up to me and said, “You do nude movies, don’t you?” She then proceeded to lecture me on the sins of money and fame. Bizarrely, the pastor of the church was a member of the Screen Actors Guild, and had copies of Variety and the Hollywood Reporter on his desk.
We shot That’s Life! more or less in sequence, which meant that near the end of the filming, we finally arrived at the challenging scene where my character confronts Jack’s, and tells him that unless he changes his attitude and begins to appreciate all that is under his nose—“a loving family, a wife who thinks he’s the best thing since chopped liver”—she will leave him.
I wish I could say it was art imitating life, but in fact, these were not words that I had ever said to Blake, although I’d sometimes imagined doing so. I’d seen so much conflict in my childhood that my instincts as an adult were to avoid confrontation whenever possible. In addition, after most of Blake’s digressions, he apologized, which always gave me fresh hope that things would improve, and that he would eventually return to being the loving and generous man that I married. Now, because the film was so autobiographical, my husband was giving me free rein to tap into all my frustrations of the past year and vent them. It was surreal, and cathartic, and the words simply poured out of me.
After just one take, Blake said, “Print it.”
When I questioned him, he smiled tenderly and said, “Trust me.”
ONCE THE FILM was edited, Blake hosted a screening for family and friends. Geoff came, since shortly after filming had concluded, Blake and he had happily arrived at a rapprochement. Amelia and Joanna were also in attendance, as were Nina Foch, Joe Lopes, Henry Mancini, and most of our cast and crew. I worried that the film might seem self-indulgent—nepotism run rampant—but instead, it knocked me out.
Afterward, I wrote:
I recognized tonight how much better Blake is now, in every way. He looks fit, he’s not morbid, and he’s made a powerful little film. Our lovely home is immortalized forever, and the work speaks for itself. It’s moving, honest, sweet, funny . . . and all about love.
So, what had happened with Blake? I’m not sure to this day. He was indeed a serious hypochondriac. Had he simply exhausted the list of things that could have been wrong with him? Had making That’s Life! rid him of his demons? Was there some dark secret he had kept from me that he’d finally worked through, or was there something about true depression that I didn’t fully understand? Had the reunion with Geoff helped set him back on his feet? I only know that I was grateful for the reprieve—and despite the dramas, the transgressions, the ups and downs of our marriage, I still loved him deeply. We remained married for another twenty-five years before he passed away at the ripe age of eighty-eight.
WHEN IT PREMIERED in September of 1986, That’s Life! received generous reviews. The New York Times said the film was “full of sunlight, warm feelings and wonderfully rude gags . . . Yet That’s Life! may be this singular director’s most somber comedy to date.” The Los Angeles Times wrote: “This is one of the funniest, and perhaps the most life-embracing, movies Edwards has made . . . The currents of despair give the humor a deeper bite. [It’s] a film that took considerable courage, love and craft to make.”
That’s Life! was the last film that I made in Hollywood for many years, and coincidentally it was Blake’s and my last film together, before we headed to New York to embark upon the next big chapter of our lives—adapting and preparing Victor/Victoria for the stage. I would later return to Hollywood, and there were other creative ventures along the way, but for now, Broadway was beckoning once again.
Epilogue
THE MANY PATHS my life has taken continue to astound me. I am often asked how I feel about the success I have enjoyed. Am I proud of my work? What informed my choices? Did I know I would be a success?
But what is success?
Is it the pleasure in doing the work, or the way it’s received afterward? The latter is ephemeral. The doing is everything.
THE TRUTH IS, I never anticipated any of it. I just took the opportunities that were in front of me and waded in. I wobbled, and I waffled, and there were certainly challenges along the way. But so many people helped—nudged, encouraged, pushed me out of my comfort zone.
Was I scared? You bet. Did I feel inadequate? All the time. Did I want to overcome those feelings and succeed? Absolutely. Thankfully, I was willing to pay my dues, and to learn. And I never took anything for granted.
When we were touring, my mum would drill into me:
“Don’t you dare complain about anything . . . not the cigarette smoke in the theater, not having a cold, or waiting long hours. It won’t do a thing for you, and nobody cares. Don’t pull rank, or boast. There’s always someone who can do what you do better than you. Get on with it, and you’ll be respected so much more.”
So I began to build a work ethic, which gave me a solid foundation from which to fly.
Today, when asked what advice I might give to aspiring performers, my answer is always this:
“Learn your craft. Do your homework. Opportunity will come along when you least expect it, as it did for me. You may not even recognize it at the time. Your job is to be as ready as possible when that good fortune comes your way.”
THERE AREN’T MANY truths of which I am certain, but writing this book, I was reminded over and over again of one that I am rock-solid sure about:
I have been lucky.
To have been given the gift of song—and to recognize that it was a gift; to have been mentored by giants, who taught, influenced, and shaped me; to have gained resilience from hard work; to have loved, and been loved; and to have sometimes felt an angel on my shoulder, a reassuring presence that helped center and guide me when I needed it most . . . actually, that’s more than luck.
I am profoundly blessed.
Acknowledgments
As with my first memoir, this book would not have been possible without the immeasurable contribution of my daughter, Emma Walton Hamilton. Throughout the many years of putting this together, Emma has been at my side both figuratively and literally. A fine writer herself, she subjugated her own life, needs, and talent to assist me. She listened, encouraged, researched, transcribed from my diaries, organized, assembled, edited—without bias or reproach, and with all the gentle wisdom that an adult daughter who has shared so much of my journey can offer. It wasn’t always easy to open up and reveal certain truths. I didn’t want to reawaken old wounds, or inflict new ones. But she remained steadfast, nonjudgmental, curious, compassionate, loyal, and unafraid. Thank you, my darling Emma.
Leslie Wells edited my first memoir, Home, and it was unthinkable to attempt this second book without her. We are so grateful that she agreed to come aboard once again. Ever astute, honest, and kind, she steered Emma and me clear of many pitfalls and cheered us on when we needed it most. I recall with pleasure the hours we spent poring over photographs spread all over my dining table and floor, and the fun of being “just gals” together, while in the face of deadlines
that seemed all but impossible.
Mauro DiPreta, founder and former VP and publisher of Hachette Books, served as our senior editor and stayed the course with us even after relocating to a new publishing home. We begged him for so many deadline extensions that he must have despaired of ever seeing the finished manuscript, but he was always patient and supportive.
Brant Rumble, executive editor at Hachette, came aboard seamlessly and has been a joy to work with as well. Our most sincere thanks also to Susan Weinberg, SVP/publisher at Perseus Books, and Mary Ann Naples, VP/publisher at Hachette.
Steve Sauer, my longtime manager and friend, was steadfast in protecting us from distractions, and helping us navigate the many other obligations, professional and personal, that threatened to derail the project from time to time. Thank you, dear Bubba, and thanks also to Jane McKnight, Steve’s indefatigable assistant.
Boundless gratitude to Amy Slack, my personal assistant, whose tireless efforts on Emma’s and my behalf encompassed everything from organizing files, photos, and supplies, to embarking on research, all while keeping my home and life in order and ensuring always that we were well fed and supplied with bottomless cups of tea. Amy’s cheerful, gentle, and loving presence kept our spirits up every day. Thanks must also go to her patient husband, Michael Cinque, who never complained about how busy Amy was or how much we asked of her.
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