Last Man Standing: Tales from Tinseltown

by Moore, Roger

  We all joined up for dinner at a restaurant one evening and I guess there were about six of us. Throughout the evening I felt rather guilty about Rex having to move and I decided that the least I could do was to get the bill for dinner, at which Harry Belafonte and his wife and James Baldwin had joined us, at my invitation. When we had finished, I proffered my American Express card and Rex came up from behind me, tore the card from my hand and threw it on the floor.

  ‘I don’t want your damned plastic!’ he shouted.

  ‘But I want to get dinner,’ I reasoned.

  ‘No! I don’t mind paying for YOUR friends,’ he snapped.

  The next morning I was having breakfast in a pagoda in the garden at Leslie’s home, when Rex came across the lawn, sat down and looked at me, ‘I’ll get breakfast this morning ...’ I said, with a smile.

  Curiously, Rex and David Niven just didn’t get on and Rex was always rather pissed off with Niv, saying, ‘He’s been on the Cap long before I arrived, yet he’s never invited me for dinner or a drink.’

  Rex could be a rather mean-spirited man, to put it mildly and, unfortunately, a lot of people in the business had been treated badly or spoken to nastily by him at some point or other, which was underlined when I joined Kirk and Anne Douglas, along with Greg and Veronique Peck, to see a play in LA one night. Claudette Colbert was co-starring in it with Rex. Afterwards, we went round to see Claudette and took her to dinner at Chasen’s Restaurant. But we didn’t ask Rex, I always felt a bit sniffy about that, but I’m afraid the Douglas’s had no time for him. I never needed to ask why.

  Rex’s next wife was Elizabeth (Liz) Harris – she was the fifth of his six wives. I, of course, knew Liz through my sometime co-star Richard Harris, and she lived with Rex in a big house off Belgrave Square in London. She once told Richard (who told me) of their lifestyle. Rex would dress immaculately before taking the lift down from his bedroom to the first-floor dining room for breakfast. In fact, he’d take a good thirty minutes to dress, and would put on his cape and newly polished boots even if he was just popping to the corner to post a letter. After breakfast, he would call the butler in to discuss the wine list for lunch, then go upstairs to change, only to re-emerge a few hours later in his tweeds for his meal and to sample the wine. The shout would invariably go up, ‘How dare you serve me corked wine!’

  Rex always sent the wine back in restaurants – and is the only person I ever knew who did the same at home too.

  The butler, in what must have been a well-worn and quite frustrating routine, would have to ensure there were buckets of ice available at 11.45 a.m. and 5.45 p.m. in three different rooms in case Rex wanted a drink in any one of them. He insisted Liz dress for dinner every night too, even if they were eating in alone, and was of the firm belief that children should be seen and most definitely not heard, which made life a little tricky for Liz and her three sons. It might not surprise you to hear the marriage was short-lived.

  Rex wasn’t regarded very warmly by those who knew him (or even knew of him) but I will say the one very decent thing he did do was look after my lovely friend Kay Kendall when she became ill. Kay and Rex had become an item in the mid-50s, when he was still married to Lilli Palmer, and when he discovered from her doctor that she was suffering from terminal myeloid leukaemia, he arranged a divorce from Lilli in order to marry Katie (as we all knew her) and care for her, on the understanding he’d remarry Lilli after Katie’s death. In the event, Lilli was also having an affair with Carlos Thompson and married her lover, so she and Rex never got back together.

  Rex kept the illness from Katie, who believed she was suffering from an iron deficiency, and cared for her until she died aged just thirty-two. He often said one of his greatest pleasures was to ‘simply sit and admire Kay’.

  Quite how Katie put up with him I’ll never know, but when Rex was starring in My Fair Lady on Broadway she used to have to stand at the side of the stage for every performance when he sang ‘I’ve grown accustomed to your face’ as he point blankly refused to sing it to his co-star Julie Andrews, whom he hated with a passion. He in fact suggested the song should be dropped, but the producers wouldn’t hear of it and so Rex said the only compromise would be if he could sing it to Kay.

  Ironically, when he won the Oscar for the film version in 1964, he smiled widely as he dedicated it to his two fair ladies – Julie Andrews and Audrey Hepburn.

  I got on very well with Peter Sellers and I knew three of his wives quite well, too. He was a solitary character though, always preferring to hide behind a mask, and consequently you never really got to know the real Sellers. This was, after all, the man who said, ‘To see me as a person on screen would be one of the dullest experiences you could ever wish to experience’.

  Don’t ask me why Peter Sellers was attempting to paint my toenails at Cubby Broccoli’s house – I simply can’t remember.

  Although a star of comedy films, Peter very desperately wanted to be a romantic lead, though knew he wasn’t classically good-looking. Sadly, he humiliated his first wife, Anne, when he told her about a great affair he was having with Sophia Loren, which was actually all in his head as there never was any romance with Sophia whatsoever. After divorcing Anne he met Britt Ekland at the Dorchester, as she was in London for a PR junket having signed a contract with 20th Century Fox. They married two weeks later. The marriage only lasted four years, as Britt couldn’t live with Peter and his violent mood swings any longer. A couple of years later he married Miranda Quarry and, though I didn’t go to the wedding, I was there for the honeymoon.

  They were staying on the Cap Ferrat in the South of France, and I was staying at the same hotel while filming The Persuaders!.

  One day Leslie Bricusse was bringing Johnny Gold around the Cap to the bay of Villefranche in his Riva and I was on Sellers’ yacht. Sellers and I spoke with one of the customs patrol boats and, having supplied them with a few hundred cigarettes and a couple of bottles of Scotch, we suggested they pull Leslie over on the pretence of him coming into the bay too fast. From a safe distance aboard Sellers’ yacht we cried with hysterics as their boat was indeed pulled over and we could see Leslie’s face turning red with embarrassment as the officials produced this cargo of illicit contraband (supplied by us) from down below. Protesting his innocence, Johnny started waving a large white envelope around, which was addressed to Sellers from his London tailor.

  ‘We’re here to see Peter Sellers!’ he shouted, evidently hoping that this information would be enough to secure their release.

  Finally, when we couldn’t bear watching them any longer, we waved to the customs men to let the errant ‘pirates’ off. When they arrived on shore, Johnny gave the envelope to Sellers, who opened it only to reveal a big bag of some white powdered substance, together with a note saying it was a ‘gift for the honeymoon’.

  That’s the closest I’ve ever come to being arrested, let me tell you.

  That evening, back at the hotel, Sellers called us down to his room, and he was – shall we say – rather ‘far gone’ on the contents of his envelope, telling us his bed was a flying carpet and he was going to fly around the harbour – and asking if we would like to go with him ...

  Talking of things potent, one of Peter’s good friends was Graham Stark. I worked with Graham on The Sea Wolves but he is most probably more fondly and famously remembered for his many appearances in the Pink Panther films with Peter, they were old mates and loved working together. In The Pink Panther Strikes Again Graham played an old Austrian innkeeper, and had the most wonderful – and often quoted – scene where Clouseau walked in to book a room and looked down at a little dog in the reception area.

  ‘Does your dog bite?’ asks Clouseau.

  ‘No,’ replies the old innkeeper, at which point Clouseau lowers his hand to stroke the ‘nice doggie’ and it attacks him.

  ‘I thought you said your dog does not bite?!’ exclaims Clouseau.

  ‘That is not my dog,’ replies the innkeeper.


  Anyhow, filming the scene, director Blake Edwards announced, ‘Graham, Peter and I think that you’d look good if you smoked a Meerschaum pipe when we do this scene.’

  Graham had never smoked in his life, but happily agreed to go along with the request. The only problem being that they didn’t load it with tobacco, but hash.

  Graham dutifully puffed away on the pipe but every time he opened his mouth to speak, only gibberish came out. Edwards, Sellers and the entire crew couldn’t stop laughing. Graham, meanwhile, thought it was the best day of his comedy life as he’d never had this amazing comedic effect on anyone before. Poor Graham.

  In later years, like me, Sellers lived in Gstaad and he had the most wonderful chalet there. After divorcing Miranda in 1974, he married a young actress named Lynne Frederick – she was twenty-three, he was fifty-two. Many of his friends felt that marrying the much-younger Frederick was a mistake and regarded her as an opportunist who married Sellers for his money. Just before his untimely death in 1979, Peter had made arrangements to see his lawyers to change his will and exclude Frederick, whom he was on the verge of divorcing. The night before he was due to sign the papers he suffered a massive heart attack and died, leaving Frederick, his widow, to inherit almost his entire estate, which was estimated at £4.5 million, plus all future royalties from his films. Meanwhile, he left his children £800 each in a calculated and deliberate move to make them find their own way in life. It is thought that the feeling of rejection ultimately led to his son Michael’s early death. Very sadly, Michael died at fifty-two, exactly twenty-six years after his father’s death.

  Of course, Frederick continued to profit from the estate and even sued Blake Edwards and United Artists, the producers of Trail of the Pink Panther, which was made after Sellers’ death and used out-takes of the late actor. She was awarded $1.475 million in damages for ‘insulting the memory’ of her late husband.

  After a very brief marriage to David Frost, she married a surgeon named Barry Unger, by whom she had a daughter, Cassie. Aged just thirty-nine, Frederick died in 1994, and her mother Iris inherited the estate until Cassie came of age. Which is how it came to pass that a person whom Sellers never knew now controls his estate and owns all of his belongings, while his own natural children remain disinherited.

  As for my own experiences of Lynne Frederick? It was around 1977 or 1978 when Peter called me at my home in Tuscany, saying he was coming into the port nearby with his yacht and had Dr Christiaan Barnard (his heart surgeon, who had performed the first human heart transplant) and Lynne Frederick on board, and asking, ‘Could we meet?’

  I drove down to the port and found Peter leaning against a rail on the deck of his boat while Lynne was busy massaging his member, which in turn was popping out of his swimming shorts to say hello.

  ‘Uh-oh!’ I thought. ‘She’s trouble!’ And I think I was right.

  Gstaad and The Pink Panther feature heavily in a story Victor Spinetti told me. Victor was the most wonderful raconteur and larger-than-life character. I first met him when he guest-starred in The Saint, though of course he more famously went on to appear in several of the Beatles’ films – as he would often tell anyone who happened to be in earshot.

  A year or two before I moved to the Swiss ski resort, Victor decamped there to film The Return of the Pink Panther, which my old friend Lord Lew Grade funded. Peter Sellers had been lured back to play Clouseau a decade after his last outing, due, no doubt, in part to him needing to re-establish his box office appeal following a few not very successful films. Victor had a few very funny scenes as a hotel worker, which left Peter in hysterics on set as it happens. A good thing, surely? No, I’m afraid not, as in the rushes screening Victor got more laughs from the crew than Peter did, and the editor was ordered to move in with his scissors.

  Quite oblivious to this, Victor later accepted the invitation from Lew Grade to attend the star-studded premiere in Gstaad and to take part in the various press junkets. It was only when he arrived in Gstaad that he was told that most of his screen time had been left on the cutting-room floor. Meanwhile, all the posters in the town proclaimed welcome to the stars ‘Peter Sellers, Christopher Plummer, Catherine Schell and Victor Spinetti’ in huge four-foot-high lettering. Victor realized he could hardly back out and return to the airport, so he agreed to do whatever they wanted.

  Victor Spinetti was a fantastic raconteur. His fund of stories was legendary and he told them with great humour and warmth.

  The one line Victor had left in the film was when Clouseau asked Victor’s hotel manager character, ‘Do you have a rheum?’ and Victor responded with, ‘A rheum?’ That was it.

  Dreading that the press might ask him how he prepared for his role in the film, Victor called his old mate Richard Burton, who was then also resident in Gstaad, with his sometime wife Elizabeth Taylor, and confided in them that he was feeling rather uneasy, particularly about having to attend the big post-film party afterwards, where he was sure he would feel a bit of a sham celebrating his role. Richard, having not been invited, decided that he and Liz would support their old friend by turning up and – of course – the photographers went mad. Peter Sellers’ face dropped and Liz Taylor proceeded to wind him up even further by saying things like, ‘Why did you choose this place for the party?’ and ‘What’s that awful music the band’s playing?’ (it was ‘The Pink Panther Theme’) and so on. Then, director Blake Edwards introduced his wife, Julie Andrews, to sing, at which Burton leaned over to Victor and said, ‘Anything you can do to follow, old love? The world’s press are here and might discover you all over again.’

  Victor suggested he could do his monologue of ‘When Alec Guinness was fucked by the Turks’, to which Burton enthusiastically agreed, and as soon as Julie Andrews completed her song, Richard stood to his feet and said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, and now my great friend Victor Spinetti ...!’

  Sellers leapt up and shouted ‘NO!’

  Burton smiled, ‘Of course, Peter, I’m sorry. Come Victor. Come Elizabeth,’ and they swept out, only stopping momentarily for the blinding series of camera flashes.

  ‘We’ll get you in the bloody papers yet, Victor!’ said Burton.

  The next morning, Burton arrived at Victor’s hotel to take him back home for lunch with Elizabeth. On the way back they picked up the European newspapers and found their three faces plastered across most of the front pages.

  ‘Success!’ cried Richard. Only on closer inspection they discovered the captions all read, ‘At the premiere of The Return of the Pink Panther Richard Burton, Elizabeth Taylor and Mel Ferrer …’

  That’s show business, folks!

  Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis in the early days. One of the greatest-ever comedy pairings.

  CHAPTER 6

  The Rat Pack

  FUNNILY ENOUGH, I KNEW SOME OF THE ORIGINAL RAT Pack from the 1950s … David Niven was one, as were Frank Sinatra, Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, Swifty Lazar, Cary Grant and Rex Harrison among others. You see, it was a moveable feast then, ‘visiting members’ were allowed and the name was actually coined by the lovely Bacall when she gazed upon the very motley crew of revellers returning from a show in Las Vegas.

  Niv told me the story that Frank Sinatra had invited a few friends to join him at the Desert Inn in Vegas, where Noel Coward was opening in a show. There were about fourteen of them, so they took the overnight train, in a private coach, of course, for the overnight trip. It was champagne and caviar all night. Next day, they partied in the day and then watched Coward’s triumphant first night, before partying some more. This went on for four days and four nights, and I remember Niv remarking that towards the end of those four nights, Frank was the only member of this merry band who seemed able to cope with it. It was at this point that Lauren Bacall made her famous remark, ‘You lot look like a goddam Rat Pack!’

  Humphrey Bogart was always hailed as the head of the Rat Pack, but Frank Sinatra was the President, and after Bogie’s death he assumed the mantle. The Rat Pack c
ontinued to have a ‘fluid’ membership until the sixties, when it was used – by the press – to refer to Frank, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr, Peter Lawford and Joey Bishop. I came to know Frank, Dean and Sammy in later years.

  I first met Frank in the 1950s at a club called Moulin Rouge in Hollywood. I was then under contract to Warner Bros. and was invited, as a very minor celebrity, to attend a Thalian Society charity fundraiser that was themed around ‘Cowboys and Indians’. At the dinner, my first memory of Frank is of him having a rather public confrontation with the most famous cowboy of all, John Wayne. The unpleasantness stemmed from the fact that Jack Warner, the head of Warner Bros., bid $1,000 to have a Warner Bros. contract artist, Gordon MacRae, sing at the event … only for John Wayne to bid $2,000 for him not to sing.

  Frank felt The Duke had insulted his friend and made a point of it. Seeing the tall-framed Duke face up to Frank – who was a lot shorter, thinner and, with his gaunt cheeks, certainly appeared less formidable – was something I’ll never forget.

  But Frank stood up for his friends. He was fiercely loyal. That was just one of the qualities that endeared him to me.

  There had been history between Frank and The Duke going back some years, but eventually they patched up their differences – enough that when an All-Star Tribute to the great Wayne was produced in the mid-70s, Frank agreed to host the show. It’s said that even The Duke was surprised to see Frank hosting, but the evening went well and the stars – including Maureen O’Hara, Jimmy Stewart, Lee Marvin, Angie Dickinson, Sammy, Bob Hope and the like – all shone bright. Towards the end of the show, after all the songs and tributes, John Wayne stole the show when he rose to address his guests, ‘Tonight you’ve made an old man and an actor very happy. You are happy, aren’t you, Frank?’