The Genius and the Goddess

by Jeffrey Meyers

  The rodeo and round-up were difficult and dangerous to shoot, and both Gable and Clift were injured in these scenes. Directors almost never allowed movie stars to do their own stunts – the risk was far too great. If an accident occurred, the actors would not be covered by insurance and the costs would be catastrophic. But both Huston and Gable were swaggering machos. Despite his illness and the warnings of his fifth wife, pregnant with his son, Gable insisted on doing some of his stunts in the exceptionally fierce heat. Though it seemed in the picture as if the wild stallion was dragging him across the dry lake bed, he was actually holding on to a rope attached to a moving camera truck. When the driver asked Huston how fast he should go, Huston – enjoying the spectacle of Gable's discomfort and testing his strength – replied, "About thirty-five, the speed of a horse, or until Clark begins to smoke." Gable was covered with an armor of "chaps, shoulder pads, gloves and a sort of all-over corset to be worn underneath . . . to protect him from bruises and sand burns." But it was extremely tough work, and he was cut and bruised.

  The horses were vital actors in the film, in which they are meant to look terrified and traumatized. When the film came out a number of people complained about their cruel treatment. Huston, who himself took the trouble to write a long, angry and abusive response to one of them, declared, "I have received low-minded letters before and misinformed letters – occasionally even vicious letters, but never have I seen one single missive contain all of these qualities – and in such abundance." In his review of The Misfits J.M. Coetzee noted the cruelty to the animals, and lamented the "exhaustion and pain and terror one sees on the screen." But officials were on the scene to make sure the animals were treated properly; and the mustang captured at the end by Gable was a trick horse, specially trained by the studio to rear up in Hollywood movies.

  There was, however, one unfortunate accident when the 1939 Meyers biplane was driving the mustangs through the narrow canyon to be captured on the desert lake. The cameraman asked the daredevil pilot "to keep the plane as close as possible to the horses" and he "buzzed them with a foot or so to spare. But one of the mares heard the plane at the last moment and raised her head. The left wing . . . struck the mare, breaking her neck, and causing [the plane] to veer sharply off to the left. [Ken] Slater found himself flying ninety degrees from his original course and barely recovered the controls without crashing."5 Though Huston regretted the accident, he loved this kind of daring and danger.

  The drama off the set of The Misfits was as great as the drama portrayed in the film. The searing heat and arduous drives, forest fires and power cuts, difficulties with shooting the rodeo and the wild mustangs, reckless pilots and fragile planes were external factors that Huston could not control, and he handled them as best he could. But he also had to deal with the actors, always on the edge of a crisis. Gable's health was a serious concern, Montgomery Clift indulged in lethal drinking bouts and Paula Strasberg constantly interfered with Huston's direction. Marilyn caused frequent delays and huge cost overruns, and her wrangles with Miller led to endless revisions of the script. Despite all the chaos, Huston's intuitive understanding of his cast as well as his own commanding presence and creative temperament kept the whole show together. He extracted brilliant performances from all the actors and created a superb film.

  Huston believed in taking advantage of every film location to lead a risky way of life. He gamely rode in an exciting Labor Day camel race. He often stayed up all night gambling in the casinos, losing as much as $10,000 in one session; Marilyn stayed up all night with insomnia. Huston turned up on time for work the next morning (his stylish clothes always neatly pressed); Marilyn, still in a drugged state, did not. But Huston sometimes fell asleep on location. When he woke up and forgot what scene he was directing, he'd say, as if still in control, "now we'll shoot scene twelve." Angela Allen would whisper, "we've already done that one" and he'd casually declare, "Fine, then we'll do the next one."

  Marilyn thought Huston was the only director who gave her the proper respect and treated her like a serious actress. He did not discuss motivation and provided minimal direction, but was always gentle – the only way to deal with her – and encouraged her by saying, "that's okay, darling." The photographer Eve Arnold recalled, "in the love scene on a bed with Gable, when he, fully dressed, woke her with a kiss, she, nude and covered only in a sheet, sat up and dropped the sheet, showing her breasts. . . . Huston let her finish the scene her way, didn't say 'Cut' to the cameraman until she was through, but he did cut it in the editing. And when she looked at him for approval, all he said was, 'I've seen 'em before.'" Truman Capote, with some exaggeration, declared, "My old friend John . . . he hated Montgomery Clift. And he hated Marilyn Monroe. But if you ask him, he'll just say (imitating Huston's deep voice): 'Oh, I just love Marilyn, I put her in her first picture and in her last.'" But Huston was actually more sympathetic than hostile. "There was something very touching about her," he observed, "one felt protective about Marilyn. . . . You felt that she was vulnerable and might get hurt, and she damn well did."6 Her four best films – The Asphalt Jungle, All About Eve, Some Like It Hot and The Misfits – were all shot in black and white.

  Frank Taylor, the unflappable producer of the film, was an old friend of Miller and shared his intellectual interests and political views. From a Catholic family in upstate New York, near the Canadian border, he'd graduated from Hamilton College in 1938. He'd been an editor at Reynal & Hitchcock, where he hired Miller's first wife as his secretary, and published Focus and Situation Normal. In 1948 he was invited to become a Hollywood producer by Louis Mayer, who wanted to bring some class and intellectual prestige to MGM. Taylor later moved to Fox to work for Darryl Zanuck, but during the McCarthy era he was blacklisted for his political activities and forced to leave Hollywood. He returned to publishing, founded Dell Books, and brought out both classics and serious contemporary works. Producing The Misfits united his love of literature with his interest in film. Miller, who admired Taylor's style, taste and intelligence, called him "a gaunt, sophisticated man of great height, an imaginative mixture of aggressive entrepreneur and aficionado of literature."

  In 1957, three years before appearing in The Misfits, Montgomery Clift smashed up his handsome face in a near-fatal car crash and had to have it rebuilt. In the film, the scars from his plastic surgery fitted his character, and seem to have come from his frequent falls and fractures in the rodeos. He reassures his mother, on the telephone, that she'll still recognize him after all his injuries. A covert homosexual and heavy drinker, with a tortured personal life, the fragile Clift was delicately balanced on an emotional high wire. Huston said, "he was a mess; he was gone," and called him "the male counterpart of Marilyn – of that thing in her that touched people . . . a sense that she was headed for disaster."7 Nevertheless, his performance was perfect.

  The rough-hewn Eli Wallach, a distinguished stage actor and leading exponent of the Method, had known Marilyn in New York. He'd made his screen debut as the unscrupulous seducer in Elia Kazan's Baby Doll and had been the bandit leader in The Magnificent Seven, a popular western based on the Japanese Seven Samurai. The raspy-voiced, Brooklyn-born Thelma Ritter, who played Roslyn's friend Isabelle, was twenty years older than Marilyn. She appeared as Bette Davis' maid in All About Eve and was greatly valued as a cynical, wisecracking character actress.

  A revealing group photo was taken during the shooting of The Misfits. Marilyn – shoulders thrown back, breasts thrust out and wearing a white dress patterned with red cherries – sits at the center of a triangle. The three main male characters – Clift, Gable and Wallach – are placed around her. With one hand on her hip and the other on Clift's shoulder (who's also wearing white), Marilyn suggests their emotional bond. Gable, his booted foot on a crate, leans possessively toward her. Wallach, sitting sideways, hints at his outsider's role in the film. Huston, Miller and Taylor, all unusually tall and slim, form a second triangle around the actors. Huston, the presiding genius, is cent
ered above Marilyn. Miller, balding and with thick spectacles, stands outside the charmed circle. Taylor, looking rather apprehensive, grips the edge of a high triangular ladder that seems to trap him under it.

  III

  Marilyn's mental state had a greater impact on the making of The Misfits than all the other problems put together. Often sick and depressed, drinking heavily and addicted to prescription drugs, she was usually four or five hours late. After the assistant producer had picked her up at the Mapes Hotel in Reno, he'd drive ahead of her chauffeured car to announce her imminent arrival. But the cast and crew were astonished to find that after she got to the site she needed yet another hour to get ready to appear. They were forced to wait patiently and never dared utter a word of criticism. Marilyn's coming late, forgetting her lines and needing infinite takes cost the studio a great deal of money (though it was no longer Marilyn's money), and her entire entourage was on the payroll. She had, a journalist satirically noted, "ten people to take care of her: a masseur for her body; a drama coach for her psyche; a make-up man for her face; a makeup woman for her limbs; a secretary for her affairs; a maid for her convenience; a lady to comb her hair; three wardrobe women for her clothes."

  Her masseur, Ralph Roberts, four years older than Marilyn, was a big, gentle, slow-moving Southern gentleman. He'd studied the Method, was a friend of the Strasbergs, massaged Susan, and became Marilyn's close friend and confidant. He played a bit part as the ambulance attendant at the rodeo. Her secretary, the petite, mild-mannered May Reis, had worked for both Kazan and Miller before being annexed by Marilyn. Intelligent, well-organized and capable, a great supporter of liberal causes, she had no family and (like Roberts) was absolutely devoted to Marilyn. Besides this extensive support group, she had Miller, Huston and Taylor, who tried to please her on location, as well as Lee Strasberg and Dr. Ralph Greenson, who were on call to solve dramatic crises and nervous attacks.

  Ignoring all the difficulties, caught up in the excitement of making the movie and seeing his words come to life on film, Miller sent some optimistic bulletins to Saul Bellow. He said that he stood behind Huston all day and was exhausted at night; felt as if he were in a surrealistic state as his dreams materialized before his eyes; and praised Marilyn's fabulous acting, which broke everyone's heart. Marilyn, however, was filled with her usual fears, doubts and insecurities. Like a boxer tensed up in the corner between rounds, she waited nervously to be called for the next scene.

  Marilyn's notes on the script repeated the principles of the Method. She prodded herself to achieve her goals, described her character in the film and explained her motivation:

  Nightclub – I'm not ashamed of that / hold onto . . . that / as Lee says of my acting / say it to myself . . . don't act results / let it occur . . . observe / react / let it happen. . . .

  The important thing – The dance [around the tree near the unfinished house] – I can do it. How will I start it? That's all – I've done it before so I can. . . . Do things that have not been done on the screen. . . .

  [Roslyn has a] strange lovely quality / not bitter / not blaming / realizing / no pressure now / I hoped so much that things would be different. . . . She kisses [Gable] because she could say that she's lonely – then, when he doesn't seem to respond, she's hurt, then glad for the interruption.8

  Paula Strasberg, now on the payroll at $3,000 a week, dressed entirely in black in the torrid climate. Puffed up with self-importance and secure in her position, she always rode to the set in Marilyn's limousine so they could rehearse her lines en route. To enhance her prestige, Paula also demanded and got her own chauffeured but empty limousine that pointlessly followed them through the desert. As she constantly sought direction from Paula and relied entirely on her judgment, Marilyn's conflicts with Huston and Miller intensified. Paula would hold up bizarre, simple-minded signs, meant to guide her disciple, which said, "You're a branch on a tree. . . . You're a bird in the sky." When Marilyn did something as simple as walking down a staircase, she looked to Paula (not Huston) for approval. If Paula didn't like the way she walked, they'd have to shoot the scene over and over again. When the conflicts became insoluble, Lee Strasberg was summoned from New York to sort things out. In contrast to Paula and her funereal costume, Lee, the Jewish greenhorn trying to fit into the Nevada desert, appeared in a ludicrous western get-up. The guru, Miller wrote, "was dressed in a stiff brand-new cowboy outfit – shiny boots, creased pants, ironed shirt with braided pockets and cuffs – but with the same whitish intellectual face and unexercised body."9

  When Lee failed to encourage Marilyn and solve the disputes between Paula and Huston, Marilyn sought refuge in drugs. She asked the young Irish doctor who worked for the film company to provide her with pills and he had the guts to refuse. After trying to fire him for insubordination, she eventually got her supply from a doctor in Reno. She took Benzedrine or speed for uppers, Nembutal or tranquilizers (a strong dose of four pills a night) for downers. Angela Allen recalled, "She ate pills like children eating candy. She built up such a tolerance for them, they didn't do much good, and then she would take more. It had affected her mind. No one really resented her lateness or her behavior . . . they all understood she had problems." Huston confirmed, "Often she would not even know where she was. Her eyes had a strange look. She was definitely under the influence. She had apparently been on narcotics for a very long time. . . . It seemed so hopeless."

  Blaming Miller for Marilyn's addiction, Huston told him that it was irresponsible, even criminal, to allow her to take any drugs. But he soon realized that that she wouldn't listen to Miller and he couldn't control her. One morning, Frank Taylor's wife, Nan, went to their hotel suite "and found Arthur sleepless, his nerves raw. He was shaking with fatigue. He'd been up all night with Marilyn. Marilyn was in no better shape, but everyone was very protective toward her, very considerate. . . . We watched those two tearing themselves to bits." Marilyn was so high in one scene that Huston, after trying a few takes, gave up.10

  In late August 1960, suffering from complete physical exhaustion, Marilyn had a nervous breakdown, took an overdose of sleeping pills and collapsed on the set. Huston sent for medical help and took personal responsibility for getting her off the drugs. She was rushed to Westside Hospital in Los Angeles, and while there, saw her psychiatrist every day. She also tried unsuccessfully – by telephone and telegram – to revive her affair with Montand, who'd returned to France. The film shut down for ten days, with everyone on full pay, and tensions continued to mount. The doctors managed to reduce her dependence on barbiturates, but she was experiencing withdrawal symptoms and still taking Demerol when she returned to Reno. Miller later realized that "she was very badly ill a lot of the time, as she was for most of her life. . . . More ill than I knew." But the press ignored her tragedy. Emphasizing her happiness after her release from the hospital, a reporter made a grotesque attempt at black humor. He jokingly wrote that he'd phoned the film's publicity office and said, "We're just calling to check a news flash that Marilyn Monroe has committed suicide." They replied, "That's impossible! She has to be on the set at 7:30! . . . Besides, Paula Strasberg would never stand for it!"11

  IV

  Marilyn's marriage to DiMaggio had broken up just after The Seven Year Itch and she knew that Miller would leave her at the end of The Misfits. Their anxiety and conflict were palpable. Wounded, bitter and still obsessed with Montand, Marilyn took out her anger and frustration on Miller and often humiliated him in public. When he brought the English journalist W.J. Weatherby back to their suite, she coldly exclaimed," 'Thank goodness you've brought someone home. . . . You never bring any company. It's so dull,' and she disappeared into the bedroom." Weatherby noted that "Miller looked as if he'd been struck. I felt sorry for him." Marilyn also became absurdly jealous of Angela Allen, who had to work closely with Miller. "I hear you're Arthur's girlfriend now," she said. "Are you enjoying it?" She constantly sent Miller on degrading errands and, if he objected, called him "Old Grouchy Gru
mps." Miller admitted that he'd become "a guardian who 'slept [next to] her and counted her pills.'"12

  Huston, tough with women and allied with Miller in their struggle against Paula and Marilyn, squirmed when Marilyn used her tyrannical power to insult Miller in public:

  She'd talk out against Arthur Miller right in his presence, to me, and with others around. And say things that embarrassed me, and certainly must have made him cringe. He would pretend he wasn't listening. And all my sympathies were with him. . . . I didn't like what she was doing to him. . . . I saw him humiliated a couple of times, not only by Marilyn but by some of her hangers-on. I think they hoped to demonstrate their loyalty to Marilyn by being impertinent to Arthur. On these occasions Arthur never changed expression. One evening I was about to drive away from the location – miles out in the desert – when I saw Arthur standing alone. Marilyn and her friends hadn't offered him a ride back; they'd just left him. If I hadn't happened to see him, he would have been stranded out there. My sympathies were more and more with him.

  Angela Allen called her behavior "despicable."

  Even if he couldn't help Marilyn, Miller understood her better than anyone else. Half-apologizing for her ferocious temper, he called it "slashing, out to destroy. She didn't remember later the kind of fury she would project, and she would be sweet to the same person, Billy Wilder, for instance, and they [like Miller himself] would be puzzled and surprised."13 Seething within but unwilling to provoke her, self-controlled, disciplined and determined to complete the film, Miller swallowed the toad and remained outwardly quiet and calm. But his very tranquility enraged her.