The fun of the film for me was the unfolding discovery of the story. I had never heard of it before yet it was familiar to most elementary school children. In the television production, the two young actors were particularly good. Child actors are often difficult to work with for many reasons – usually parents who hover over them during work hours – coach them – push them. There are few parents who handle their children’s careers as Shirley Temple’s mother did. Somehow, while being the biggest star in the Hollywood firmament from the age of four or five to her entering the awkward ages and pulling away a bit, Shirley managed to have a sane, private, totally un-Hollywood childhood. I have worked with child actors on several occasions. Studying the parents’ behavior on set taught me a thing or two in my scenes in this movie. Some of the kiddies are very spoiled – not their fault – but not the ‘Frankweiler’ children. Despite the fact that, practically on arrival in L.A., I was standing in the shower at four o’clock in the morning washing my hair – heading for my first day of shooting – it turned out to be fun. A happy experience with the Sam connection very much in the foreground of my sense it would be a plus for many a child. And something for the grandchildren to enjoy.
Paris would come again at a later date. After L.A., I headed to New York – home – an almost impossibility for me. I wanted the theatre, to be on stage, but in what? Where was the play? Imagine my delight when my old friend, Duncan Weldon, called to invite me to Chichester on the south coast of England for the 1995 summer festival. He suggested The Visit, a Frederic Durenmatt play that I had seen many moons ago with the great Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne. They made even the most feeble play look like a masterpiece. The Visit is far from feeble, but it is a very difficult piece that many an actor does not like. Not because it’s challenging but because it is dark, diabolical, interesting though slightly depressing. However, I jumped in with both feet. It sadly turned out not to be my favorite experience onstage.
Bogie had introduced me to the Lunts on a trip to London in the early Fifties. I was in awe of them in every play I saw them in – they were true theatre magic. Because of my unreal memory of the Lunts’ brilliance, it was my fantasy to have Paul Scofield (the number one actor of his generation, and perhaps all those that followed) play the Alfred Lunt part. He graciously declined, saying he never liked the play. That slowed me down a bit. One of my many faults – and a major one – is to read into a play qualities that perhaps are not there once I’ve said ‘yes’ to it. I tend to trust the wrong people at times and my instinct goes awry.
Being in completely new theatrical surroundings, though I’m quick at adjusting, I still had to learn how to work physically on a thrust stage. Most stages are elevated from the audience with a curtain separating them, thereby keeping the actors in a play in their own special world. A thrust stage has no such curtain, rather it juts out into the audience creating a sense of immediate contact with the actors and the play. In the case of Chichester, the space was large with many seats, which generally works well with that size audience. Having seen many Chichester productions, I think I only had the sense of it being real, wonderful theatre. I also think in some ways, as it was so new to me, I was in awe of the past – the British actors I admired more than many American actors. I had had the privilege of seeing the classics, like Shakespeare, all acted by Olivier, Richardson, Gielgud, Guinness, Scofield. And I could never live up to them or the women – Vivien Leigh, Maggie Smith, Joan Plowright, Edith Evans. Jumping over these hurdles – not necessarily clearing them – I struggled.
The cast was good, all experienced in the thrust venue, the director too. We did not communicate well, unhappily. I think he thought of me too much as a movie star, so did not direct me to a large degree. I, in turn, was a fish out of water. I became quite frustrated and did not know who to go to for help. The director is so much the key to an actor’s performance for guidance, the giving of confidence, the support. When that fails, I withdraw, playing it safe. That’s never a good thing to do, neither for a performance nor for emotions. Finally my performance was, I think, quite uneven. Good in some scenes, not so in others. Once committed to a project, though, you’re stuck, aren’t you? The result, unfortunately, was that the fun (and even in a grim play such as The Visit, there can be moments of fun) wasn’t really there. Thank heaven for Johan Engels, a brilliant top-rated costume and scenic designer of world operas and ballets as well as theatre. He became my friend and my tower of strength.
My spirits did not soar, which was my first and only experience with that. Usually there is some saving grace in the theatre – usually the theatre itself. Just being part of it is enough. With a shaky self-confidence, it was uphill for me for a good part of the run. It’s experiences like this one that make me wish I am as tough as I’m sometimes thought to be. The company was fun. Though I never really got very close to them, there was a sense of general camaraderie. I almost always have had a positive feeling among the actors in all the plays I have been in. This was no exception. It was different, but it doesn’t take away from the work that we all did to play the play and give the audience its money’s worth. Looking back, the rough edges have worn down to some degree and though not a professional landmark for me, it was still the theatre, part of a well-known festival in England where I love to live and to work. The final judgment is I am glad I did it. I learned a thing or two and I was out there, not necessarily functioning at my best, but definitely functioning – I was out there. I was working.
The perks were that Harold Pinter was appearing in another theatre at the Festival at almost the same time so I could spend some time with him and his wife, Antonia Fraser, two people I became very attached to in 1985 during our Sweet Bird of Youth months together. Sweet Bird of Youth was a great high for me – first because I was able to speak the words of Tennessee Williams – a great poet and playwright – and because I was directed by Harold Pinter – another great playwright. Harold, being an actor – a good one – himself, was a marvelous director – great and articulate with actors. We hit it off immediately. The entire experience, from our six weeks out of town – in England, that meant Bath, Brighton, Plymouth – all new theatres to me, all enthusiastic audiences – to ending up in London at the Royal Haymarket Theatre inhabiting the dressing room of Gielgud, Olivier, Ralph Richardson, Alec Guinness – all theatre greats – very exciting for me. The play was well received, as was the company. We had a sold-out run of more than six months in England and then went on, this time with an Australian cast, to play four and a half months in that country. Though it was a difficult role, unlike any I’d had before, it was bliss from beginning to end. It was the beginning of a lifelong friendship between Harold and Antonia and myself and I am more than grateful for that. Happy times then and ever since.
On returning to New York, my career took an unexpected turn. Barbra Streisand was going to direct and star in a movie called The Mirror Has Two Faces. I was called to go to her apartment and read a scene with her, playing her mother. You see that for actors auditions never cease. You still never make it. No matter what you call it, I was still being tested, judged. And the time had come – face it – you are a character actress, which actually I always had been anyway, not a leading lady. Well, if I could have more parts as good as the one in The Mirror Has Two Faces, it was fine with me. I was very excited at the prospect of working with Barbra and being directed by her – my first time to be directed by a woman. I had known Barbra since her Funny Girl opening night when she took my breath away with her singing, acting, funny, touching magical self. So I went to her apartment on the appointed day at the appointed hour, as nervous as when at seventeen I had had my first audition.
It was to be my first visit to her private home and I had no idea what to expect. As Barbra is a perfectionist, I knew it would be filled with lovely things – fairly uncluttered and very neat. It was all of that, mostly English furniture, much white upholstery. One thing I did notice was her affection for dolls and doll china – mostly
antique and expensive. She herself was dressed in white, all comfortable, at home kind of clothing – pants, scarves hanging loosely. She took me around the apartment, all attractively done, all Barbra’s taste and a bit more formal than I anticipated. After the tour, during which I watched myself carefully – when would we get to talk about the movie? – how many actresses was she considering? – finally she said, ‘Let’s go into the library and read a couple of scenes.’ She said she just wanted a sense of how our voices balanced with each other. I have never been at my best during a reading. She may not have thought of it as an audition – I, however, did. So, we read and I hadn’t a clue how it sounded. I only knew, coming back into the living room, I was not in a social mode. I was talking to a director and a producer. I was in a business mode.
I knew auditions were not me at my best. Some actors thrive on them. I do not. Barbra asked me to wait a few minutes while she met with her partner and producer, Cis Corman. I was a nervous wreck, of course. I was finally called back to the living room. I’ll never forget the setting. Barbra and Cis were seated on a small sofa, Barbra pointing out some of her beautiful and valuable antiques. She said, ‘You were very good. We’ll be in touch.’ It was time for me to leave. I said something on leaving, ‘Thank you. Good to see you again.’ As I headed for the door, Barbra said, ‘So, you think you could play my mother?’ I replied, ‘Yes, I can play your mother.’ (Though come to think of it, I would have had to be a teenage mother to qualify.) And out the door I went, able to take my first big breath in the elevators taking me to the lobby and air. Did I think I was too young to be her mother? Or did she think I was too young to be her mother? Had I read the scene as an older woman? These questions are perfect ways to torture yourself. I found myself shaking and wondering yet again why, at this point in my life, with my years of acting successfully in movies and the theatre, why was I still so low on self-confidence? Childhood anxieties, childhood fears never disappear entirely. They fade, but not away.
After a week or so of biting my nails, bugging my agent, I finally got the word. I had got the part. What a joyous moment that was. I was truly happy, thrilled at the prospect. A really good part, a funny character, the best I’d had in years. I had seen movies that Barbra had directed and knew how good she was. The movie was to be shot in New York, which was ideal for me as I could be at home and sleep in my own bed. Jeff Bridges was the leading man in the movie, my first time working with him – a really wonderful actor and lovely guy. Everyone in Mirror was hand chosen by Barbra, as the custom is with directors. It was a good company.
When we started shooting, I saw firsthand how Barbra functioned. It was very odd for us at the beginning because she would be directing the scene behind the camera, then come around in front of the camera and act in the scene. How she did it, I’ll never know, but she did and she does and she can. She is meticulous in her direction – both visually and in the playing of the scenes. Every detail is as important to her as the words. I remember her telling me that she woke up at four o’clock in the morning and sketched exactly what the cape I wore should look like. Then she couldn’t go back to sleep.
She is so concentrated that many days were many hours long. She had the drive that a good director needs, she knew what she wanted in a scene and she wouldn’t quit until she got it. Many days we worked fourteen and sixteen hours – fatigue entered the picture from time to time, but never took over. Barbra was so focused, so concentrated, she lost track of time. She controlled every aspect of the film – wardrobe colors – every detail. Yet no matter how many hours she had worked the day before, she was on set early every morning. Amazing stamina. I marveled at her ability and though I had some frustrating moments, it was my feeling that it was her movie and she was entitled to every bit of it being the way she wanted it.
Her attention to detail was sometimes frustrating but, again, it was her movie, it’s her way, she’s the boss. As I’ve said, movies are a director’s medium, not an actor’s. We got along well. She is not a schmoozer on set. All professional. I like that – I am a professional. Between takes, I tend to loosen up with a laugh or two. Between takes, Barbra’s thinking of what shot comes after and what came before, how many shots she needs for each scene. And, with all of that, she takes her time when her close-ups are shot. She knows every light, where it should be and what it should do. I’ve never been able to know all that. I’ve left it to the cameraman and to the director, often to my detriment. Her best side is her left side. That happens to be my best side as well. Guess who won? Those are the breaks. Without her, there would have been no movie and that’s a fact.
Barbra is many faceted. To take on the job of directing a movie is not an easy task. It takes full commitment, total concentration, the willingness to have no other life until the movie is completed. Barbra enjoys all that and does it. I admire all of the above and I respect her choices even when I don’t agree with them. I love her talent, God-given and amazing. I love her looks and she makes me laugh. I recognize her frailties and the self-involvement which has enabled her to have the incredible career she has had. I have heard the gossip about her, mostly negative, mostly untrue. She’s been called difficult, tough, etc. So have I. All she wants is for whatever she is working on to be better than it is on the page. My sentiments exactly. What you hear normally comes from people who don’t know her, plus that old time emotion – jealousy! Barbra has a good heart and is very, very smart. In other words, I think she’s terrific. She impresses me and I’m filled with admiration and affection for her. Long may she wave! Finally we went a few weeks over schedule. And, finally, we were finished.
I was very happy with my character in The Mirror Has Two Faces, had some truly funny lines, some really good scenes. I felt good about my work. Barbra was satisfied and so was the studio. They kept talking about my being nominated for an Academy Award. As I’d never been nominated, much less received any acting award in all my years of work in motion pictures, I put no stock in the talk. There are some actresses who are always nominated and some who always win. I have never been in either category. So, imagine my shock when I was nominated for the Screen Actors Guild Award, the Golden Globe, the Broadcasters’ Award and the Academy Award for Supporting Actress. I couldn’t believe it, but I still had no illusions about winning.
Award season in Hollywood gets crazy – all P.R. people working overtime, taking ads in all the trades, pushing, pushing – it’s nerve-racking and much too competitive. The heat was on and I was in the middle of it. I had no – nor have ever had – a concentrated P.R. team working for me. I tried it once for a short time and found it uncomfortable. Also one must attend every event, every lunch, one must talk to the press endlessly and answer idiotic questions like, ‘How does it feel to be nominated?’ ‘Where were you when you heard the news?’ ‘How did you like working with and being directed by Barbra Streisand?’ and on and on, getting sillier and sillier. The word was that I was the favorite to win all four. All my friends were convinced I was a shoo-in. I did win the SAG Award and the Golden Globe Award and the Broadcasters’ Award. It was an exciting time. I was getting more and more jittery. I had to accept these awards and say a few words – that always makes me nervous. Except for various Lifetime Achievement awards, which I found very flattering and nerve-racking in their way, and my two Tony Awards in the theatre, it was new territory for me – and the movie scene was different. After all, I began my career on the screen. But the Academy Awards were much more public, with much more stress attached to them. Also, it was the year of The English Patient, a Miramax release, and Harvey Weinstein was known for being a master at pushing his movies.
There was a dinner the night before the awards. I attended, of course, with all of my children and in-laws. Steve and his wife Barbara had flown to California for the big event, Sam and his wife Sidsel, and Leslie and her husband Erich Schiffman, they were all my escorts. Kevin Spacey sat with us for the dinner. He was sure that I would win. My old crush and special friend Kirk
Douglas and his wife Anne were there. Kirk delivered a most flattering and sweet toast to me. They all said I was a shoo-in. I said, ‘Beware of shoo-ins. They often are the losers.’ But they would have none of it. ‘You deserve it – it’s about time.’ All those words were repeated by many. ‘You can’t lose.’ My New York friends, city and country, gathered, also certain I would win.
The following day, you have to start getting ready for the Big Event at three o’clock in the afternoon. You must be headed downtown by around five to do the red carpet walk before entering the Shrine auditorium. My children arrived in my suite at the Bel Air Hotel along with my then agent, now manager, Johnnie Planco, and into the car we proceeded. It was hot – would my hair hold up? Make-up? They were all excited, sure we would be celebrating at the after Oscar party. On arrival, disembarking from the car, the long walk down the red carpet began. First my old friend Army Archerd, also sure I would win. He is always first with microphone and camera at the ready. He and I started in Hollywood at roughly the same time. All the while, and from the time you step out of your car, there are batteries of cameras from all over the world and hundreds of screaming fans. Your face cracks from smiling – waving. Every time another famous actor – star – appears, the roar goes up and you can hardly hear the questions being asked of you. Some of the interviewers are very busy while talking to you – looking past you to see who’s coming up behind. If it’s a big, huge star, you have the feeling you are being dismissed. Their attention span is not very long. The whole experience is torture and it is an endless day.
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