by Joan Kramer
He looked directly at me without smiling and said, “No.”
That was it. No explanation. Just one word: “No.”
David Heeley interviewing Jimmy Stewart.
Beverly Hills, CA, 1986. Authors’ collection.
JK The firmness with which he refused to answer that question was not surprising. In doing research, I talked to many people who knew him. One was producer/director Hal Kanter, who’d worked with him on the 1971 television series, The Jimmy Stewart Show. Everyone with whom I’d spoken before told me what I’d expected to hear: he was a very good actor, thoroughly professional, well-educated, and a perfect gentleman. Nobody had a negative word to say about him. I wasn’t looking for negatives, but I did want a full picture of this man whose image was “aw shucks” and “just one of the folks.” Were the image and the real person one and the same?
I asked Hal Kanter, “What was it like to work with him on a daily basis? Was he always as easygoing as he appears?”
“Yes, he’s wonderful to work with, and yes, most of the time he’s quiet and gentle,” he said. “But don’t fuck with him. He knows exactly what he’s doing, has strong opinions, and can dig in his heels when he wants to. Remember, he’s remained a staunch Republican in a town where most of his friends are Democrats. He’s been a star in Hollywood, where divorce is rampant, but he’s been married to the same woman for almost forty years, with never a breath of scandal. And most importantly, never forget that he served in World War II and was the lead pilot in over two dozen bombing missions. Something got him through that war; something made him choose to stay in the Air Force Reserves for years, finally retiring as a Brigadier General; something made him support the Vietnam War even though one of his stepsons was killed in it; something makes him stand by what he believes in no matter what. There’s a toughness, a stick-to-your-guns kind of courage and strength underneath that genuine niceness. People sometimes think because he’s that nice, he’s easy to manipulate. Believe me, the best advice I can give you is don’t mess with him. Don’t ever try pulling the wool over his eyes and you’ll get along fine.”
DH At about 3:30, John Strauss whispered to me, “I think you should wrap it up soon. Jim’s running out of steam.” I didn’t see any sign of it, but I trusted John’s instincts.
The day had gone better than we’d dared to expect and we went back to our hotel happy and relieved. Jimmy Stewart was more than able to hold his own, and “Plan A” was now securely on track.
JK Once Johnny Carson confirmed that we were “stuck” with him, we knew he wouldn’t back out. What we didn’t know was that he was such a movie buff—and especially a Jimmy Stewart movie buff. We asked if he wanted any research materials or tapes of any films. He said, “I don’t need anything. I was a fan of his from the time I was a teenager in Nebraska, and I’ve seen all his pictures.”
DH We scheduled the shoot with Jimmy and Johnny together on the Universal backlot where Stewart had made many films, including Harvey and several westerns. Another advantage of shooting there was that both he and Carson were good friends of the studio’s Chairman, Lew R. Wasserman, who at one time had also been Jimmy’s agent. It was undoubtedly as a result of their friendship that Universal had not only agreed to let us use the lot, but didn’t charge us a dime in rental fees.
JK Then I got one of those calls from John Strauss.
“Joan, we have a problem. Jim doesn’t want to shoot at Universal.”
“Why? He thought it was a good idea a few weeks ago. What happened? It’s all been arranged.”
“I don’t know. He just called and told me he doesn’t want to shoot there. He wouldn’t give me a reason.”
By then John had become a trusted ally. So after delivering the “official” message from Stewart, he felt comfortable enough to share his personal opinion. “Jim can be stubborn once he makes up his mind about something. And my guess is that he thinks going to Universal will be an inconvenience for Johnny Carson.”
“But I know that Johnny’s more than happy to shoot there. He’s always been crazy about movies, and about Stewart’s in particular, so going to a studio backlot where Jimmy made some of his films will be a real kick for him. He certainly doesn’t see it as an inconvenience. In fact, he told us to be sure to schedule it for a Monday because that’s his day off from The Tonight Show.”
John said, “Let me talk to Jim again. I’ll get back to you.”
A few hours later, he called. “Well, I was right. Jim says if you’re sure it’s okay with Johnny, then it’s okay with him.”
At 8 am on Monday, December 15th, 1986, two limousines drove onto the Universal backlot: one carrying Jimmy Stewart from his home in Beverly Hills, the other with Johnny Carson from Point Dume. We’d asked them both to bring additional wardrobe, and Jimmy also had his favorite cowboy hat, which he’d worn in almost every one of his westerns.
Not long after they arrived, Johnny came up to me and said, “If Jim tells me one more time how nice it is of me to be doing this, I’m going to strangle him. Doesn’t he know who he is?”
“No. He thinks you are the only star here today.”
A few minutes later, Jimmy said to me, “Isn’t it wonderful of John to be doing this?”
I smiled and said, “Yes, it sure is.”
And a few minutes after that, I overheard Stewart thanking him again, which in turn led to Johnny telling me, “He’s still at it, even though I’ve told him so many times how much fun this is for me. Maybe he doesn’t believe me.”
DH The weather was near perfect. After a chilly start, the sun burned off most of the clouds and it became comfortably crisp with just a slight overcast.
Johnny Carson, Jimmy Stewart, and David Heeley between takes.
Universal City, CA, 1986. Authors’ collection.
It was to be full day of shooting on one of the shortest days of the year. We knew that we’d lose the sun at about 4:30 and, since all our shots were exteriors, there was no time to waste. The Universal backlot spreads over many acres, so we were lucky that the locations we needed weren’t too far apart. However, by documentary standards, our crew was enormous, with two cameras, a dolly, a crane, tracks to lay, a generator and a truck full of lighting equipment. Thus every move required a good deal of time and effort to break down, pack the trucks, and reassemble everything at the new site.
Although the crew was fast and efficient, our two stars always had time to kill between shots. Having made movies for so many years, Jimmy was used to sitting and waiting. But Johnny worked in a television studio with a permanent set, and so for him the waiting must have seemed interminable. He was used to taping what was essentially a live, unedited program for broadcast later the same night. Here he was putting himself in an unfamiliar situation, venturing outside his usual comfort zone. He wasn’t used to multiple takes or being on location and, at the beginning of the day, I could sense that he wasn’t completely at ease despite his calm demeanor. But he was a real pro, and I was impressed by how quickly he adapted once we were under way and the cameras were rolling.
Between set-ups, he sat in one of the director’s chairs and often talked with us quietly about the upcoming scene. For example, he said, “I think we should take it in small pieces so Jim can concentrate on one story at a time. If we try to cover too much at once I think we may run into trouble.” He was concerned about Stewart’s stamina and wanted their conversation to feel as relaxed as possible.
Much of it was ad-libbed and unscripted, although based on topics and a general structure we had all decided upon earlier. However, there were a few scripted pieces we needed Johnny to do alone to camera. And since he was used to working from cue-cards, and preferred them to a teleprompter, we hired the same cue-card man who worked with him on The Tonight Show.
Jimmy sat nearby watching him and was very supportive.
“That’s great, John,” he’d say.
Johnny was clearly pleased and I could see that he’d settled into the routine and was
indeed having a good time. Once or twice he blew his lines and said, “Bullshit. How did you like that one, Jim?” And there were other times when he wasn’t pleased with his own performance. “I didn’t like that. Let’s do it again. Sorry. My fault.” Then, when he did it to his satisfaction, as well as mine, I’d hear, “When are the Emmys? This is definitely Emmy material, isn’t it?”
For one shot, I asked Stewart and Carson to walk down the western street while talking about the film, The Cheyenne Social Club. The camera was tracking alongside them on a dolly, and I’d drawn a line on the ground near the end of the camera’s tracks to indicate where I needed them to stop walking. In the first take, Jimmy was only halfway through describing the plot of the movie when they reached the finish line. But, without the slightest hint in his voice or change in his facial expression, he continued, “So my friend and I go up from Texas to Cheyenne and then—uh—now we’ve come to the end of the road.” His ad-lib was so natural that it caught Johnny off guard and, for a second or two, he just continued looking at Stewart, waiting for him to go on with his story. Then, realizing what had happened, he suddenly broke up.
“When Jim hits his mark,” he said laughing, “that’s it. It’s over. Over and out.”
Of course, the solution was to have them pause during the walk. Jimmy timed the next take perfectly, and that’s the one we used in the show.
During another set-up, coming through the swinging doors of a saloon, Jimmy was carrying his old cowboy hat.
Johnny said, “That hat belongs in the Smithsonian.”
Stewart replied, “I tried to give it to them, but they turned it down.”
JK and DH The catered lunch was served outdoors at tables with red-checked tablecloths. Very simple food—chicken, potato salad, fresh vegetables, and brownies for dessert. Jimmy and Johnny stood in line at the buffet table along with us and the crew, and then sat across from each other on folding chairs. Both of them were rather quiet. They did talk about flying their own planes when they were younger, but the conversation was low-key. It seemed as though neither one wanted to encroach on the other’s free time.
Jimmy shows Johnny the cowboy hat that he wore in over twenty westerns.
Universal City, CA, 1986. Authors’ collection.
Most of the afternoon was spent on the “Colonial Street” section of the Universal lot, where Desperate Housewives would be shot some twenty years later. This is where the façade of the Harvey house still stands.
DH Harvey was one of Stewart’s most popular films about an enormous rabbit who’s invisible to everyone but Jimmy’s character, Elwood P. Dowd. They were best friends, spoke to each other and went everywhere together, much to the embarrassment of the rest of the family.
We filmed a brief sequence in which Jimmy and Johnny come out of the front door of the house.
Johnny says, “You did promise you’d introduce me to Harvey.”
Jimmy turns and says, “Harvey, come out here,” looking up, since the rabbit is apparently taller than he is. “I want you to meet a very good friend of mine, Mr. Johnny Carson.”
After greeting the invisible rabbit, Johnny ad-libbed, “Big mother, isn’t he?” Unfortunately, by the old rules of what was considered proper language on television, that take was left on the cutting room floor.
Jimmy Stewart and Joan Kramer in front of the Harvey House.
Universal City, CA, 1986. Authors’ collection.
Johnny asked how Jimmy’s association with Harvey started. Stewart began to explain, but lost his train of thought and tried to cover with his usual “um”s and “uh”s as he made several attempts to get back on track: “It’s a strange thing, uh, I’ve wanted to do, uh, when I first, uh.” He eventually gave up and said, “Uh, I’ve just run out of talk.” Without missing a beat, Johnny looked at me and said, “Do you want to cue Harvey?”
I had read that the author of the original story, Mary Chase, had considered making Harvey an imaginary canary, not a rabbit, and I thought it might be interesting to have Jimmy talk about that. The minute I suggested it he said, “No. That would be very bad. Talking about a canary would be too confusing and it would ruin the image of Harvey. Everyone knows that this particular friend of mine is a rabbit.”
He said it nicely, but there was a determination in his voice that made me realize immediately that the decision was final. Just as he’d flatly refused to answer the question about the bombing missions he’d led during the war, here was another instance where we saw him stand his ground over something he didn’t want to discuss.
JK He was obviously a complex character, which is probably part of the reason he was able to be so believable in such a wide variety of roles. And he aged well on the screen, playing parts that were appropriate for him as he matured. I remember the film scholar, Jeanine Basinger, telling me on the phone, “I think there are four main directors who shaped Stewart’s career, and each of them used his image in a different way. In Frank Capra’s pictures, Jimmy was the small-town, all-American who faces problems and stands up for what he believes. Then he did all those westerns with director, Anthony Mann, who took the Stewart image and made him a quintessential cowboy, always on the right side of the law. Alfred Hitchcock took the ‘every man’ in Stewart and put him in impossible, suspenseful situations. And John Ford made him a cowboy again, but this time he was not always the good guy.”
DH In one of the last shots of the day, Johnny asked Jimmy how he’d like to be remembered. Stewart said he hoped it would be as “a guy who believed in hard work and decent values, love of country, love of family, love of community, and love of God.”
Johnny said, “Well, I think you embody all of those things. And thank you for your wonderful life from all of us.” And they shook hands.
I said, “Cut. That was terrific. But I need another take because an airplane flew over while you were talking.”
Johnny said to me quietly, “Oh. How can you ask him to do it again? It came out so pretty the way he said it. And I don’t think you’re ever going to get the same feeling a second time. Can’t you live with the sound of the plane?”
Stewart had obviously overheard some of this conversation and said to me, “Just put music over it so it’ll drown out the plane.”
I thought for a few seconds and then agreed not to insist on a second take. I knew that Jimmy could have repeated his performance, but realized that it was Johnny who didn’t want to do it again. He’d been genuinely moved by Stewart’s answer and would have felt awkward trying to re-create his own emotional response.
Thinking back on that day, I remember a conversation with Carson in his dressing trailer when he told me that over the years, he’d received offers to star in feature films. He said, “I always turn them down. I know what I do best, and if I tried acting in movies, the critics would just be waiting to attack me. And they’d be right.” Years before, he had appeared in a few not very memorable pictures and even in some episodes of television series, but mostly in cameo roles in which he played himself. I thought it was interesting that this star, who obviously had an ego, knew how to keep it in check. He had a clear understanding of his weaknesses as well as his strengths, and was sensible enough not to venture into areas where he knew he was likely to fail.
We finished the last shot just as the sun was going down. But Joan and I had a tradition to keep. We always had a “graduation picture” taken at the end of a major shoot, so we asked the crew and our staff to gather around Jimmy and Johnny in front of the Harvey house. We sent a copy of the photo to Stewart, Carson, and every member of the crew.
Nice memories.
The end of the day.
Universal City, CA, 1986. Authors’ collection.
Johnny Carson on the Lorimar (former MGM) lot. Note the cue-cards on the left.
Culver City, CA, 1987. Authors’ collection.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“I Can’t Work Without The Bells”
A month or so after shooting at Universal, we
were back in LA to film Johnny doing some scripted links and recording the narration.
We’d planned to leave New York on a Friday, meet him at his home on Saturday to go over the final script, do the narration on Sunday morning, and shoot with him on Monday, his usual day off from The Tonight Show. However, that Friday morning we could hardly see out of our windows. During the night, New York had been hit by a powerful Nor’easter, which resulted in cancelled flights at all three airports.
JK I called Johnny.
“You’re snowed in, aren’t you?” he said. “That’s why I moved to California.” I told him that now we’d be leaving New York early on Saturday and would get to Los Angeles in time to come to his house in the afternoon and go over the script together. He said he was comfortable with the way it was written, so it wasn’t necessary to meet; he’d see us on Sunday at the recording studio. He also reminded me to bring along the photos from the shoot at Universal; he was eager to see how they’d turned out.
As luck would have it, a stomach bug hit me late in the afternoon on Friday and kept me up most of the night. The next morning, I tried to convince myself that I was well enough to travel, but soon realized I couldn’t spend five hours on an airplane. David left as planned, but I went back to bed and made a reservation to leave early the next day. With the three hour time difference, I’d arrive at LAX early enough to get to the narration session.
My alarm went off before sunrise on Sunday morning, and I was on the first flight out of New York. We landed on time and I took a taxi straight to the recording facility, where the receptionist directed me to Studio B. But when I opened the door, the room was strangely quiet and empty. Finally I found a sound engineer in the control room.
“Isn’t this where Johnny Carson is supposed to be recording narration for a show about Jimmy Stewart?” I asked.