by James Garner
I was thrilled to play opposite Jimmy in Health—I had so much fun doing scenes with him. He was on my television show not long after that and he was very funny. Doing comedy in front of an audience can be intimidating if you’re not used to it, but Jimmy has great comedy chops, as we say in the business. I was a little surprised at how comfortable he was, because he’d talked about his stage fright. If he was nervous, it didn’t show. His timing was perfect and the audience ate him up.
— CAROL BURNETT
I was surprised and pleased to learn that Jim was working on a memoir. I never thought he would, because he’s a very private person. He never talks much about himself, and you never felt you could ask him a bunch of questions. That’s irritating, because you can’t get any information on how he really feels about stuff, so he’s very hard to figure out. Which, I guess, makes him more attractive in a way.
Jim is one of the most worthwhile people I’ve ever met. Everybody who ever worked with Jim is crazy about him. You can’t not be. He’s a most appealing creature: an adorable man and a funny and terrific actor. I don’t think people realize that. Those of us who worked with him did, but I don’t think he got the kind of attention his talent deserved, and he was kind of passed over as a leading man. But his legacy will not be forgotten because his talent is really big. As an actor, he knows exactly how to behave in every scene. He can make you feel what he’s feeling. That’s a great gift.
—LAUREN BACALL
I met my now ex-husband, Rick Tschudin, in 1981, when we were both working on Bret Maverick. I got the job after I’d been seriously injured in a car accident. Jimmy said, “Just do what you can on the set and make some money so you can get the physical therapy you need.”
Rick was a second assistant director of photography, and when I told Jimmy we were getting married, he said, “You’re engaged to a second assistant? You’re marrying below the line?” I explained the backstory: Rick was my best friend’s brother and I’d always had a crush on him. Had it not been for Jimmy’s generosity in creating a job for me, I wouldn’t have met Rick again. Without Jimmy, I wouldn’t have my beautiful daughters, Hannah and Ashley. So to speak.
— CLAUDIA MYHERS
Jim has quietly supported many people over the years. When my partner died in 2001, his family owned the condo that we lived in and unfortunately I didn’t get along with them, so I was going to be out on the street if I didn’t buy it. MaryAnn [Rea, Jim’s longtime assistant] called and said, “Jim assumes you’ll want to buy the condo and said he’ll do whatever you need to make it happen.” My father had died two years earlier and I’d inherited money, so I was able to buy the condo myself. But Jim didn’t know that, and the thought of his offer reduced me to tears.
—KEVIN RITTER
I met Jim when I was offered “The Kirkoff Case,” the first episode of The Rockford Files. I read the script and thought it was great. This was the time of your career when getting the lead guest star on a series was a big deal. Plus I thought, Ooh, James Garner, that’s my guy! I’d been a big fan of Maverick when I was a kid—it was my favorite TV show when I was ten.
He didn’t disappoint me. We worked well together and I had fun playing a villain, a spoiled rich kid who plans a murder. Jim and I just hit it off and that was that.
Years later, I’d just done Salvador and my career was on fire— Oliver Stone offered me Platoon and there was talk about doing Wall Street. My agent called and said, “You’ve been offered the part of some retard in a TV movie. I’m gonna pass on it.”
I was curious, so I said, “What do you mean, some ‘retard’?”
“Oh, you know, it’s a psycho part.”
“Is it an offer? If it’s an offer, I should be polite enough to read it.”
“You’re not gonna do a TV movie, okay?”
“I’m gonna read it anyway.”
So he sent me the script.
Of course, it was Promise, written by Richard Friedenberg, one of our greatest writers.
I called my agent back and told him, “I’m doing this movie. No discussion. Just make the deal for whatever they offer and let’s go. I wanna do it!” (This particular agent made another mistake, which finally caused me to fire him: he turned down Reservoir Dogs without consulting me.)
People ask me, “What’s the favorite thing you’ve ever done in your life?” and I always say Promise because it was a perfect part for me and a perfect experience with Jim.
—JAMES WOODS
Late in 1987, I published The Portable Curmudgeon, a small book of humorous quotes, anecdotes, and interviews with a modest first printing. A few months later, my telephone rang and it was James Garner. He’d gotten my number from the phone book.
“This is Jim Garner, I’m an actor,” he said.
“I know!” I said. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. What kind of curmudgeon has a listed number?”
Jim told me that a fan, Donna Ismond, had sent him a copy of my book while he was recovering from heart surgery, and he was calling to thank me because, he said, the book had helped cheer him out of post-op depression. (Bob Newhart and Dick Martin had also sent a copy; Jim said he wasn’t thrilled that they had to chip in.)
One Friday night a few weeks later Jim was a guest on The Tonight Show. He talked with Johnny Carson about his heart surgery, and then he brought out my book. He told the story of how he got it, then read from it until the first commercial, after which he handed it to Johnny, who read from it until the next commercial. The audience laughed and it put the book on the map: to date The Portable Curmudgeon is still in print and there are four sequels. I’ve been allowed to publish a couple of dozen other books, all, I’m convinced, on the strength of that Tonight Show appearance, without which I’d probably be selling real estate instead of collaborating with James Garner on his memoirs.
—JW
Films
Toward the Unknown (Warner Bros., 1956) C-115 min. D: Mervyn LeRoy. William Holden, Lloyd Nolan, Charles McGraw, Virginia Leith.
My big-screen debut, all about the pioneering days of supersonic flight. I had only seven lines and got killed early, but they talked about me afterward, which was nice.
The Girl He Left Behind (Warner Bros., 1956) 103 min. D: David Butler. Tab Hunter, Natalie Wood, Jim Backus, David Janssen.
The Girl with the Left Behind. A romantic comedy in an army setting. It was awful and I was awful, but it was the best I could do at the time.
Shoot-Out at Medicine Bend (Warner Bros., 1957) 87 min. D: Richard Bare. Randolph Scott, Angie Dickinson.
It was always fun working with Dick Bare, and Randy Scott was an old pro, but the movie isn’t worth a damn. I was under contract, so I had to do what they put in front of me.
Sayonara ½ (Warner Bros., 1957) C-147 min. D: Joshua Logan. Marlon Brando, Ricardo Montalban, Miiko Taka, Miyoshi Umeki, Red Buttons, Martha Scott.
A big-budget movie about an important issue, it was the first “serious” film I’d ever done. The highlight for me was working with Marlon. (See pages 46–48.)
Darby’s Rangers (Warner Bros., 1958) C-121 min. D: William Wellman. Etchika Choureau, Jack Warden, Stuart Whitman, David Janssen.
I was originally cast as a young captain, but Chuck Heston dropped out and I was under contract, so the studio bumped me up to the role of Major William O. Darby, commander of the 1st Ranger Battalion in World War II.
“Wild Bill” Wellman ( Wings, The Public Enemy, The Ox-Bow Incident) didn’t take any guff. He had a short fuse and always gave better than he got. He’d been in the Lafayette Escadrille in World War I and ran his set like a military outfit. (Wellman, Raoul Walsh, and John Ford were considered the tough directors. If you could work with them, you could work with anyone.)
I don’t think Wellman wanted to make the picture in the first place: he was doing it as a trade-off so he could do a personal film about his war experiences. I don’t think he wanted me in the part, either, and I don’t blame him: I was too young
for it and he deserved a bigger star. But we got along fine because we respected each other.
Cash McCall (Warner Bros., 1959) C-102 min. D: Joseph Pevney. Natalie Wood, Nina Foch, Dean Jagger, E. G. Marshall.
Not much of a movie, but I liked Natalie. She was a sweet girl, and we had a good working relationship even though her husband, Robert Wagner, would come down to the set and watch us do love scenes and tell her how to act. I don’t think she knew it herself then, but I thought Natalie was a lost soul.
Up Periscope (Warner Bros., 1959) C-111 min. D: Gordon Douglas. Edmond O’Brien, Andra Martin, Alan Hale.
Up Your Periscope for the FBI or Lieutenant Merriweather at Sea. Another piece of crap that Warner Bros. stuck me in while I was under contract.
The Children’s Hour (United Artists, 1961) 107 min. D: William Wyler. Audrey Hepburn, Shirley MacLaine, Miriam Hopkins, Fay Bainter.
My first experience working with a great director. (See pages 69–71.)
Boys’ Night Out (MGM, 1962) C-115 min. D: Michael Gordon. Kim Novak, Tony Randall, Howard Duff, Janet Blair, Patti Paige, Zsa Zsa Gabor, Howard Morris.
A little farce about midlife crisis. Kim was beautiful and she had a wonderful quality that audiences liked, but she didn’t know how to act. I think she was insecure, because she was always running off the set to fix her face. She was more interested in her makeup than the script.
Move Over, Darling (20th Century-Fox, 1963) C-103 min. D: Michael Gordon. Doris Day, Polly Bergen, Chuck Connors, Thelma Ritter, Don Knotts, John Astin.
The best part of this remake of the 1940 screwball comedy My Favorite Wife is Doris Day. I’d been slated to make it as Something’s Got to Give with Marilyn Monroe, but I did The Great Escape instead, so Dean Martin took my part. Twentieth fired Marilyn for chronic tardiness and stopped production, retitled it Move Over, Darling, and made it with me and Doris.
Doris didn’t play sexy, she didn’t act sexy, she was sexy. And then she could take a sexy scene and make you laugh. Which is better in the bedroom than a lot of things. And Doris was a joy to work with. Everything she did seemed effortless. She’s so sweet and so professional—she made everyone around her look good.
The Wheeler Dealers (MGM, 1963) C-106 min. D: Arthur Hiller. Lee Remick, Jim Backus, Phil Harris, Chill Wills, Louis Nye.
A broad comedy in which my character is a lot like Bret Maverick: a Texas con man, only this time in New York City. I guess audiences liked it, because for years people came up to me and quoted lines from it.
The Great Escape (United Artists, 1963) C-168 min. D: John Sturges. Steve McQueen, Richard Attenborough, Charles Bronson, James Coburn, Donald Pleasence, James Donald.
A classic from a great action-adventure director. (See pages 71–83.)
The Thrill of It All (Universal, 1963) C-108 min. D: Norman Jewison. Doris Day, Arlene Francis, Reginald Owen, ZaSu Pitts.
Better than it should have been, again because of Doris.
In one scene, I drive a convertible into a swimming pool and the car begins to sink. I started floating up and out of the seat, so I had to grip the steering wheel, hold myself under water, and act at the same time! Now you know why we make the big bucks.
The Americanization of Emily (MGM, 1964) BW-117 min. D: Arthur Hiller. Julie Andrews, Melvyn Douglas, James Co-burn, Joyce Grenfell, Edward Binns.
An antiwar film at a time when we were at war in Vietnam. Brilliant script by Paddy Chayefsky, marvelous direction by Arthur Hiller. And as for Julie, well, I just love her. Emily is my favorite film that I’ve ever seen or been involved in, and Charlie Madison is my favorite character, probably because I share his views. (See pages 83–92.)
36 Hours ½ (MGM, 1964) BW-115 min. D: George Seaton. Eva Marie Saint, Rod Taylor, Alan Napier.
I play an American intelligence officer who has knowledge of the impending Normandy invasion. The Germans drug me and fool me into believing the invasion has already taken place so they can find out what I know. The movie doesn’t work because there’s no suspense: everybody knew that in real life the D-Day invasion was a success, and that we’d won the war.
I loved working with Eva, a wonderful actress and a sweet lady, and with George Seaton. I remember driving on the freeway one morning to the set, rehearsing my dialogue to myself. By the time I got to the studio I had it all worked out in my mind. It was a tough scene that took all day to shoot. Driving home, I went through the dialogue again and realized I hadn’t done a single line the way I’d intended. George had changed everything and I never knew it. That’s a good director.
The Art of Love (Universal, 1965) C-99 min. D: Norman Jewison. Dick Van Dyke, Elke Sommer, Angie Dickinson, Carl Reiner, Ethel Merman.
I enjoyed working with Norman again, Dick Van Dyke is as nice as he seems, Carl Reiner is a good actor and a terrific writer, and there are some funny bits. (Mae West was originally cast in the Ethel Merman role, but she couldn’t remember her lines.)
Grand Prix (MGM, 1966) C-175 min. D: John Frankenheimer. Eva Marie Saint, Yves Montand, Toshirô Mifune, Brian Bedford, Jessica Walter.
In my opinion, still the best picture ever made about auto racing. (See pages 101–11.)
A Man Could Get Killed ½ (Universal, 1966) C-99 min. D: Ronald Neame. Cliff Owen, Melina Mercouri, Sandra Dee, Anthony Franciosa.
Disappointing, though I did have fun playing backgammon on the set with Melina and her husband, Jules Dassin. Didn’t enjoy working with Tony Franciosa, who kept abusing the stunt men. He purposely wasn’t pulling his punches in fight scenes, and he kept doing it despite my warnings to stop . . . so I had to pop him one.
Duel at Diablo ½ (MGM, 1966) C-103 min. D: Ralph Nelson. Sidney Poitier, Bibi Andersson, Dennis Weaver, William Redfield.
I loved working with Sidney and my old pal Dennis Weaver. Everybody did stunts in that picture, even leading lady Bibi Andersson. Sidney had to learn to ride—he didn’t know anything about horses and I think he was a little afraid of them.
Mister Buddwing 0 (MGM, 1966) 100 min. D: Delbert Mann. Jean Simmons, Suzanne Pleshette, Angela Lansbury, Katharine Ross.
I’d summarize the plot, but to this day, I have no clue what it is. Worst picture I ever made. What were they thinking? What was I thinking?
Hour of the Gun (United Artists, 1967) C-100 min. D: John Sturges. Robert Ryan, Jason Robards, Albert Salmi, William Schallert, Michael Tolan, Monte Markham.
My agent called and said Sturges was doing a sequel to Gunfight at the O.K. Corral and I agreed to do it without seeing the script. I trusted John that much. It’s a different kind of Western than I’d done; my character, Wyatt Earp, is the most steely-eyed of all my roles, and the movie is about Earp’s obsession with revenge.
Great cast: Jason Robards as Doc Holliday, Robert Ryan as Ike Clanton, and a newcomer named Jon Voight as a baby-faced gunslinger.
We filmed on location in Torreón, Mexico, a little farming village that doubled for Tombstone, Arizona. Jason was a terrific actor and a good guy, but he was never on the set when you needed him. Fortunately, Sturges always knew where to find him, because Torreón had only one bar and one whorehouse. When Jason didn’t show up for an 8:00 a.m. call until late that afternoon, Sturges dressed him down in front of the entire crew. Jason was contrite and his behavior improved after that.
How Sweet It Is! ½ (Warner Bros., 1968) C-99 min. D: Jerry Paris. Debbie Reynolds, Paul Lynde, Terry-Thomas.
Loved Debbie Reynolds. Loved Paul Lynde. Loved Terry-Thomas. Hated the movie.
The Pink Jungle ½ (Universal, 1968) C-104 min. D: Delbert Mann. George Kennedy, Eva Renzi, Nigel Green.
Hunting diamonds in South America, or something. I made this thing for the money and I’m lucky it didn’t wreck my career.
Support Your Local Sheriff ½ (United Artists, 1969) C-93 min. D: Burt Kennedy. Joan Hackett, Walter Brennan, Jack Elam, Bruce Dern.
For a long time after it came out, when people came up to me in public, this is the movie they talked about, and whe
n it’s on TV, I’ll sit and watch a little of it. (See pages 187–89.)
Marlowe (MGM, 1969) C-95 min. D: Paul Bogart. Gayle Hunnicutt, Caroll O’Connor, Rita Moreno, William Daniels, Bruce Lee.
Paul Bogart did a wonderful job with Stirling Siliphant’s adaptation of Raymond Chandler’s novel The Little Sister. Paul is a total pro, having directed scores of live programs during the Golden Age of television and countless episodes of series before moving on to feature films.
In one scene, I’m in a restaurant with a date and someone sends over a bottle of wine. The waiter opens it and pours a little for me to taste. Gore Vidal had just referenced my butt in his novel, Myra Breckinridge, referring to it as “impertinent” and “baroque.” (One of the two would have been sufficient.) I ad-libbed those two words, “impertinent” and “baroque,” to describe a glass of wine in the scene and Paul kept it in.
I was in good company playing Raymond Chandler’s legendary private eye, following in the footsteps of Humphrey Bogart, Dick Powell, and Robert Montgomery. Plus, I got to beat up Bruce Lee. (Only in the movies!) Bruce showed me some martial arts moves between takes.
A Man Called Sledge ½ (Italian, 1970) C-93 min. D: Vic Morrow. Dennis Weaver, Claude Akins, John Marley.
Sludge. One of the few times I’ve played a heavy, and one of the last. I wish I could remember why I let Dino De Laurentiis talk me into this turkey. The poster says, “Not suitable for children.” It should say, “Not suitable for human consumption.”
Support Your Local Gunfighter (United Artists, 1971) C-92 min. D: Burt Kennedy. Suzanne Pleshette, Jack Elam, Harry Morgan, John Dehner, Joan Blondell.
Not as good as Support Your Local Sheriff and not really a sequel.