By Myself and Then Some

by Lauren Bacall

  After my first meeting with Katie when I was filled with fear – when I saw the many facets of her character, she was only once unkind to me. And even that once was not really her fault. A few years before she died, she said one day, ‘I’m not spending any more money.’ And on another occasion, ‘Don’t ask me any questions. I can’t remember anything.’ I suppose that was a slight indication of how her life would alter. The unkindness came one night as we were having dinner in her house on Turtle Bay. As usual, the two of us. Norah had cooked her customary delicious meal. Conversation was not exactly flowing. I was telling her of my activities, of Sam’s – it was pretty much a one sided conversation. Some silence followed then she looked at me and said, ‘What do you want?’ I was stunned by that, not understanding until she said again, ‘What do you want?’ – then once more followed by an impatient letting out of breath. That made me so nervous, I was at a loss. After saying, ‘I don’t want anything, Kate’ – which did not sit well with her, as she was still staring at me – I felt so uncomfortable. I finally said, ‘I must be going. Thanks for dinner. I’ll see you soon.’ I then made for the kitchen where Nora was cleaning up. I told her what had transpired and how I never wanted to go through that again. Nora said, ‘You know she doesn’t mean that, Miss Bacall.’ I said I hoped not but I was at a loss and very upset. That clearly indicated the major change that had come over Kate.

  Not long after, she went to her house in Connecticut and that was where she would spend the last years of her life. I never went back to Turtle Bay. I continued to visit her in Connecticut. The visits were obviously not as often as in New York. It was a good two and a half hours to get to the Connecticut house so after allowing a solid two hours to spend with Kate and another two and a half hours back, it was a day gone. I called frequently and visited when I could. By then Katie’s ability to recognize had visibly altered. I would enter the living room. She would be seated in her favorite chair. At the beginning, she would give me a blank look that would change to a flicker of an eye as she realized she knew me. As I talked on about Bogie and Africa – about Spence – our trip to Paris – mutual friends – Olivier – Vivien Leigh – George Cukor – Ethel Barrymore – she seemed to connect me, them and her. She did not verbalize it. Nora said she knew, the young woman tending her would know. I’d ask, ‘Do you want to go outside?’ She’d say an emphatic, ‘No.’ She would sit in her chair, lost in her own thoughts. I would sit with her. Finally when it was time for me to leave, I would give her a hug. She would either say, ‘Stay’ or give some indication, couldn’t I stay longer? For dinner? – I would say, ‘Next time.’ It was always sad to see her like that – though she did not seem unhappy – and it was always sad to leave her. She was ninety-three or -four then and had had a full life, a life of her choice. Even so, I had hoped she would live forever.

  The very last time I saw her, I walked right over to her in her chair in the living room, sat next to her, kissed her. She seemed to know me a little. There were two large picture books – one with a shot of Bogie from The African Queen – one of Spence. As I showed each to her and spoke to her of these two men who meant so much to her, she miraculously seemed to brighten and understand. Television journalist Cynthia McFadden, who had driven me over, said she was sure Katie had connected and understood. Cynthia and Katie had become friends some years before. I think Katie almost thought of her as a daughter. Anyway, they were close and Cynthia had seen enough of Kate to know when she responded and when she didn’t. That day when I was about to leave, she said, ‘Please stay.’ After I had stayed for a half hour longer, I leaned over and kissed her cheeks many times after which she looked at me and whispered, ‘Thank you.’ So touching – so sweet. I wondered how much she knew. It mattered not. She knew something.

  There have been far too many in the losses column in 2004, but there is one that meant a great deal to me personally by the name of Alistair Cooke. Our friendship began in 1952 with Adlai Stevenson. Alistair was reporting on him, Bogie and I were appearing at various rallies and whistle stops with him. All very exciting, all great fun. Bogie and I and Alistair and Jane Cooke hit it off immediately. Alistair was a man who seemed to know a great deal about everything, wrote pieces for the Manchester Guardian, and delivered a Letter from America on radio. There was not an American or a Brit who did not tune in every Sunday morning to hear Alistair’s resumé of the past week in the United States. He had become a U.S. citizen and traveled the country filming and writing a book on Alistair Cooke’s America. He was very visible on TV, in book form, endlessly interesting and inventive, with charm, good looks, wit and mind-boggling braininess. He also hosted two brilliant shows – Omnibus and Masterpiece Theatre. The four of us had great times together on both East and West Coasts. He and Jane contributed so much to my life after Bogie’s death. Excellent at spirit lifting – both of them – and clarifying for me things I might feel cloudy or fuzzy about. And we would turn up at different locations with many of the same friends: me in London when he was there, him in San Francisco when I was touring in Woman of the Year and he was touring with Alistair Cooke’s America, him in California when Bogie was surrounded by people telling him how to write his will, an eerie experience for all with me in complete denial. So many memories throughout those many years, they give you such a solid base – built in connections – conversations witty and informative with the extra perk of his piano playing of show tunes. At least there is so much to draw upon with all my losses – those friends who enriched my life – gave me pause – gave me thought – enlightened me.

  In a way, friendship was my family. It was my good luck to have such an array of friends – all different – all talented – all intelligent – all complicated – all witty. And lucky I am that there are more still who are laughing on along with me – not by a thread, but hanging on nevertheless. So there is reason to be grateful and to be able to laugh and even enjoy one’s quirks, qualms and quackiness.

  My need to work remained my focus and necessity. Without warning, a script arrived with an offer for a movie called Birth to be made completely in New York. Hooray! I get to sleep in my own bed! No suitcases adorning the room to pack and unpack, no goodbyes to Sophie. How lucky can you get? The director was to be Jonathan Glazer, whose first effort was a marvelous movie called Sexy Beast and, as if that weren’t enough, which it most certainly was, Nicole Kidman was the star and I would most happily be her mother. I was thrilled beyond words. Not only because I love Nicole and admire her talent and mind but also because being her mother was such a good part in a terrific, original script written by Jonathan. So here it was – another adventure – this British director’s second movie and at a time when there is little work for women of any age, how lucky for me to be wanted by this very talented young man.

  The part was really first rate. I thought, my God at this time in my life and career to be in a movie like this, with this major director – an independent movie – little money of course – but that’s the way it is in the movie business these days. If it’s not a studio movie, salaries are small – and that is a gross understatement. However, I’d still rather work with talented, new people any day, than do some of the big, high-paying mediocre movies that are too often made in Los Angeles. I have nothing against high paying, mind you. I would love to be the recipient of high pay in a good studio movie. It’s always a plus to be able to pay the rent. Unfortunately, I have not been chosen by either Steven Spielberg or Martin Scorsese or Woody Allen to appear in one of their films. I have tried to convince Martin Scorsese that I would be a perfect Mafia member. Why does it always have to be a man? He smiles sweetly, ‘Yeah, great idea.’ He’s such a terrific director but I know it will never happen.

  I didn’t know what Jonathan would be like. He called me from London to make a date for dinner on his arrival. One must never have preconceptions – they are almost never right. First of all he’s young – early forties – second, he’s attractive, third, he’s smart – knows exactly what
he wants. No airs. Our dinner was great, at one of my favorite restaurants. Having just arrived from London, he kept apologizing for his clothes – jeans and shirt. (The jeans, by the way, were seen regularly during the shoot.) He openly talked about his life. Save for his exhaustion – plane ride and it being five hours later for him – he got through it. We talked of the movie, he explained his concept clearly and told me who he’d cast – the major one being John Huston’s son, Danny, who had directed me in a movie called Mr North in 1988. Since then, he had turned actor and is absolutely terrific. Talk of ‘six degrees of separation’. Proof positive once again that our lives go full circle and we are all connected, just as John Guare stated so clearly in his play of the same name. Danny was to play opposite Nicole. Zoe Caldwell was to play my best friend – what could be better? Thrilling to have Zoe with me, and Danny who was like family – so great to spend time with him, grown up and with a baby. I was really excited about the entire set-up, couldn’t wait to start.

  The Birth experience was in some ways diametrically opposed to Dogville. No location, for instance. I could stay home for the entire movie. That does not often happen. Being picked up every morning at 6:00 or 6:30 a.m. or thereabouts and driven to the studio in Queens, home of Silvercup, the popular white bread found in all the markets of my childhood. Upon arrival, being greeted by an assistant director and by Michael O’Connor, an assistant assigned to me who turned out to be great. Then being led to my dressing room which was next to the sound stage that all closely resembled the studio system of my young years. As a result, the day started off being much cozier – all working actors each day in the same building, walking on to the same sound stage, having the same Kraft Service coffee in paper cups and then on to the set where director, crew and cameraman were ready to get going. Somehow that system creates a more intimate feeling – though in the case of Birth, most of the cast were part of a family so familiarity was almost built in.

  The role in Birth gave me more room to move emotionally and mentally than had Dogville. Nicole and I, having developed a friendship of great mutual affection, had a built-in feeling for one another that brought an extra dimension to our scenes together. Mind you, not knowing how Jonathan has cut the movie, what scenes are in, what are out, plus my not having seen the dailies, I can’t guarantee the result on screen. Anyway, the feeling was there and I hope it shows. It’s the doing of it that counts. It’s the doing of it that I truly love. I do not go to the dailies during the shooting of the film. I learned very early on in my career that I do not like watching myself on screen. I am hypercritical and see only negative moves, awkwardness, wrong attitudes. That being said, I do not consciously think of how I look in a scene, vanity not being in the forefront of my self-perceptions. I have never spent extra time looking in the mirror, as I have never been enamoured of my face, which of course is magnified umpteen times on screen. Truly, it is the work that must come first; it is the work that gives the personal rewards, the sense of exercising all that I have learned from the beginning. The years of study, observation, practicing my craft, remembering Bogie’s first teaching of the necessities of thought, awareness, concentration and focus. Of preparing. As his acting career began in the theatre, his own learning as an actor totally became an automatic part of him with each character he played, be it stage or screen. The basic necessities are the same even though the presentation and final rendition in performance may not be.

  Working with Nicole, as opposed to just being in the same movie with her as in Dogville, was really very special. She is a wonderful actress – always concentrated and focused on the work and giving to me in our scenes together. Our friendship was cemented during this period to a degree that we felt almost related. The movie is complicated but fascinating and I was very grateful to have been a part of it. It’s hard to describe but having been in this business for sixty years (unbelievable as it seems, especially to me) and to find that there are members (one or two perhaps) who still might want me in their films is more than gratifying. As work is what drives me – gives me a life and a continued goal despite my advancing years – the excitement goes on and the fact that there are still possibilities gives me that extra push to get up in the morning.

  On Birth there was not a morning that I did not look forward to the day’s work. Jonathan’s head was so filled with ideas that arriving on set I knew there would be a surprise or two in the offing. Though I didn’t always agree with some of his changes, I knew he was a man of vision who knew what he wanted in a scene. Yet he never failed to answer my questions and listen to my (what I thought were reasonable) doubts. I was never bored – he was non-stop interesting and intelligent. His process was new territory for me to explore as an actress so I had to be on my toes – always alert. That, plus an often fourteen – to sixteen-hour day, made a nap at lunch almost a necessity. Amazing what a twenty-minute snooze will do for you in the energy department. Though I didn’t do it on a daily basis, I highly recommend it.

  No matter what the outcome, it was a happy experience for me and for Sophie, who loved every aspect of the shooting, from early morning pick up to arrival at the Silvercup studios. She trotted down the hall, stopping to say hello to wardrobe and make-up before stopping completely at the door of my dressing room. She owned the place and everyone in it. I have never had a dog who so completely left her mark wherever she might be. I continually marvel at her behavior and continually wonder what goes on in the brain of that tiny head.

  Through the years I have become aware that aimlessness does not suit me. Having a purpose does, be it going to the bank, the market, the gym, wherever – it’s a goal. In my subconscious from the beginning. Living in a city filled with activity does that. It’s one of New York’s main attractions. As I sit here confronting myself after roughly sixty years of New York living, this seems to be it. As they say, ‘I’ll never get out of here alive.’ I always loved this city. You might say it was in my blood through my entire family, we belonged here. Even during the fifteen years I lived with and loved Bogie in California, I always wanted a small pied à terre here where we had many friends, I had family and there was life – theatres to go to, restaurants, nightclubs, coffee shops, endless variety. Then it was a city to walk in, day or night.

  In my early teens, the fun I had window shopping, looking sometimes longingly into shops filled with lovely clothes I could never afford. And years later, I was still window shopping on Madison Avenue, Broadway, many streets East side and West side, only this time I could walk into these shops and I could buy what I yearned for sometimes. Before and after, New York remained a city of excitement filled with dreams that might be fulfilled. So much was possible whether you were rich, poor or medium. I was medium. But it never stopped me from dreaming. Even though the city has changed so much, I hope there are still those who have hope for the future, who feel the beat of the city. In a way it’s still there, but you have to seek it out.

  In 2003 – the first year in the last fifteen that I did not see Paris but once at the end of the year – I walked the streets of New York with my Sophie and I came to realize how this city of my childhood and my childhood dreams had changed. Dramatically and drastically. It was and still is a great city in what it has to offer educationally, historically, entertainment-wise and varied-neighborhood-wise, but it has become a city whose streets have been taken over by enormous trucks and buses (mostly empty) traveling two and three abreast. Dodging bicycles that you mostly cannot see or hear on sidewalks (against an unenforced law) – crosswalks marked for pedestrians and instead overrun by cars and taxis and vans extending their front halves into them – all in all it is hell trying to walk in this city now. It seems almost impossible to cross the street without being run into or being sideswiped by a car or taxi.

  Yet I remain. Were I ten or more years younger, I would probably move. But I’ve lived in the same place for more than forty years – it is my home – my roots are here – many friends are here – theatre is here – even when I
sit in my kitchen and look at only my endless cups and saucers, I know I can never move. I decry the fact that there are no manners anymore – is it the times? Cell phones – deafening noise on the streets, in the cars – blasting boom boxes – people walking towards you, not seeing you, never giving way so you can pass – not allowing you to get out of the elevator before they push themselves in – I began to notice this quite a few years ago and each year it all has grown and grown. Until it is almost bursting at the seams. Is it anger and if so, why to such a degree? There are not too many smiling faces. Where has all the humor gone, or was it never there? Did I just wish it?

  Thank God some of my childhood haunts still exist. There is still nothing that can beat Zabar’s, the New York delicatessen of my childhood that I shop in now. I love going there and choosing my own cream cheese with scallions, my own smoked salmon. There is an endless assortment of fresh food – coleslaw, egg salad, herring, chopped chicken liver, cold cuts and more. I am never disappointed with their offerings. And another thing that exists in New York that one does not readily find in Los Angeles and other cities is fresh and delicious takeout. As I live alone, I don’t often cook for myself. What saves me are the specialty shops, William Poll, for example, with freshly cooked meals daily with different items every day, plus an assortment of fantastic soups, dips, chips – all homemade. And they deliver. And there are great markets – large and small. So I’m grateful for all that and miss it when I’m away from it for too long. So finally, I guess I’m stuck. The tough side, the noise, the bad traffic, the other obstacles will not go away. But when I am safely in my glorious apartment overlooking Central Park with all my things, my life of sixty years around me, I am quite content. Nothing’s perfect, but I have my friends, my Papillon, my books, my music – so I’m lucky. Children a phone call away, work still there for me.