Fed up, I went to a nearby drugstore one day at lunchtime, to purchase a jockstrap for him, hoping to help him contain his enthusiasm.
“Give me the biggest jockstrap you carry,” I told the clerk. “An extra-extra large.”
He looked at me, puzzled.
“I have an extra large size,” he responded, “but the only color it comes in is black.”
Perfect. I bought it.
Back at rehearsal, I placed my present in Bobby’s locker. He got the message and never poked me again.
The “Balloon Dance” that Bobby and I do on the roof of a skyscraper is pretty terrific. It looks easy, but it was tricky and dangerous to produce. It took at least two days to film because of the balloons and falling confetti and other special effects. In the finished film, some of the footage is played backward, causing popped balloons to reappear and Bobby and me to slide upward on ramps. Very clever.
And once again, Stanley’s fascination with Bobby is on prominent display. The number starts with a large close-up of Bobby, with a miniature Debbie singing “Give a Girl a Break” as he looks around, lovestruck. The only other time I personally witnessed a director so smitten with the talent was when George Sidney directed Ann-Margret in Bye Bye Birdie. Janet Leigh was very upset that all the close-ups were going to A-M.
Many years later, I attended a charity event at the Beverly Hills Hotel. It was the first time I was in the same room with Bobby since we’d made this movie. He came over, embraced me, pulled me into a huddle in the corner, and told me how sorry he was for his past behavior. He said he realized how young I’d been, that he’d truly just been playing around and didn’t mean to upset me. He hoped we could be friends.
From that moment on, I said good-bye to all the bad memories. I was happy to accept his apology. I’d always respected his amazing talent. When I think of Bobby now, I remember all he did to revolutionize dance during his lifetime. He was truly a genius.
Give a Girl a Break showcased Bobby’s emerging talent. But the fact remains that, wonderful and cheerful as the finished movie is, it holds no happy memories for me.
The Actress
(MGM, 1953)
The Actress was being made around the time that I was working on I Love Melvin and The Affairs of Dobie Gillis. I mention it because it represented a deep disappointment in my young life. This was the part I didn’t get to keep.
I was delighted when I was cast in the film. Ruth Gordon had written a script, based on her autobiographical play Years Ago, about a young New Englander who wants to be in the theater but knows she will never get her father’s approval. George Cukor was directing, and Spencer Tracy was cast as the father.
After my screen test, George Cukor wrote to Ruth Gordon:
Sept. 16, 1952
DEAREST RUTH:
I’ve just come from the stage, where we shot the test with Debbie Reynolds. We did the opening scene of the play, and the big Telling-Papa scene, complete with Viola and Juliet. I’m keeping my fingers crossed. . . . I think we’ve got our girl. She has real charm (a mighty rare commodity among younger actresses), temperament, individuality, pathos and humour. What the hell else do you want? Her speech is still more Glendale than New England, but I’m sure that the good Miss Fogler could correct that. You can gather from all this that I have the highest hopes for Debbie. . . .
Cukor continues, telling Ruth how he pulled John Gielgud into the rehearsal to help me with the Shakespearean passages. Gielgud worked with me and said that I was “damned good—in Shakespeare!”—and that, within my limits, I’d played those speeches “most movingly, and with real power.”
Rehearsals, costume fittings, and hair and makeup tests were all done with me. I was excited to be working on a great script about a young girl who wanted to act. I knew it would be a wonderful experience.
And then Dore Schary called me into his office and informed me flatly, “You’re not going to do the picture. Don’t be upset. Jean Simmons is doing the part. It’s all set. You’re out.”
Simple as that. He stood up to indicate that it was time for me to leave. Waiting in the outer office was Ida Koverman, who had been Louis B. Mayer’s secretary until he was fired. She was crying.
“He’s a mean man,” she said, trying to console me.
I was stunned. I couldn’t understand why they’d done this. Of course Jean Simmons was a fine British actress with a background in theater. She knew more about the Shakespearean parts the actress deals with in the script. But would she be better at playing a girl from New England than a girl from Burbank?
Studios made decisions regardless of what the director or the actors wanted. Mr. Mayer had put me in Singin’ in the Rain without asking Gene Kelly. Mr. Mayer and Arthur Freed both wanted me for that part, so there was no discussion. MGM did the same thing to Lena Horne. Lena was originally going to play the role of Julie LaVerne in the remake of Show Boat. But the studio got nervous about casting an African American as a lead. It was the early 1950s, and Lena was not a big enough star by box office standards to make it worth the risk. So they replaced her with Ava Gardner, who was a very big star.
Lena was deeply hurt and remained bitter about it for many years. She wanted that part so badly, and she would have been spectacular in Show Boat. But she was passed over because of her color. The irony was that Julie LaVerne is a character whose life is destroyed when it is discovered that she is half black.
George Cukor’s letter to Ruth Gordon about my audition for The Actress. I was very excited—until Dore Schary told me I no longer had the part. Courtesy of the Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences
I knew and loved Ava. She was so down-to-earth. And she was wonderful in the film. But she didn’t especially want the part. Lena didn’t blame Ava, just as I didn’t blame Jean—who, as it happened, fit into the costumes that had been made for me. We were all contract players and had to do as we were told. But that didn’t make my disappointment any easier to swallow. I knew I could have done a good job in The Actress. To prove it, I did Ruth Gordon’s original stage version in summer theaters in 1953 and 1954.
Susan Slept Here
(RKO, 1954)
After I made Singin’ in the Rain, RKO approached MGM about casting me in a movie entitled Susan Slept Here. Howard Hughes wanted me to play the teenage ward of a Hollywood screenwriter, played by Dick Powell. Dick was almost thirty years older than me, but that didn’t matter to Mr. Hughes.
He asked to meet me before he gave me the part. After a short interview, he walked me to my car, a 1932 Chevy that Daddy bought for $50 and gave me when I started at MGM. Mr. Hughes held open the car door, which was hanging from its hinges, and told me that I had the part even though I was jailbait. In fact, I was twenty-one, but Hughes was fond of very young girls with big breasts. I found him to be an interesting, polite, and brilliant man with a quirky side. One of America’s richest men, he once left an airplane hangar where he was designing the Spruce Goose to travel back to RKO to work on a design for an underwire bra for the busty Jane Russell. The bra stayed up a lot better than the Spruce Goose did. Hughes flew the huge plane for one very short trip before it was retired to a hangar in Long Beach, California.
Hughes put Jane under contract and loved looking at her. She told me that she never let him touch her—and still Jane got a check from Mr. Hughes every week until he died in 1976.
Dick Powell and I became friends while making the film. At the time he was married to June Allyson, another MGM star. I hadn’t yet met her. Before marrying Dick, June had dated many men, including John F. Kennedy, who happened to be the brother-in-law of Peter Lawford, June’s costar in Good News.
While we were filming, Dick invited me to their ranch in Mandeville Canyon, just outside Los Angeles. Dick was a very good businessman who owned a production company with David Niven in addition to his other enterprises. Dick loved that ranch; they even had cattle. During my visit, Dick went out with the horses while June took me on a
tour of the house. As we climbed up to the second floor, she stopped by a window in the hallway and instructed me to look at the view—hundreds of acres of beautiful land, a breathtaking vista. When I turned back to her, June had taken about four roses out of a bud vase and was drinking the contents of the vase before replacing the flowers. Apparently the clear liquid was vodka. She had it stashed all over the house, in various containers.
June went to great lengths to hide her drinking, which was strange to me, as Dick was also a big drinker. Every afternoon at five-thirty, no matter what scene we were filming, a tray with two large glasses of milk would appear on the set. Dick and the director, Frank Tashlin, would enjoy their milk, which was half whiskey.
I didn’t understand why all these grown-ups went to such lengths to hide their habits. But then, I was a kid who only drank Coca-Cola.
June Allyson and Jimmy Stewart were Daddy’s favorite stars. June sweetly signed a picture for Daddy. He was so touched and delighted. She charmed men, young and old, to the end.
Athena
(MGM, 1954)
Probably the most memorable thing about making this movie was meeting Eddie Fisher. Eddie was then a famous singer with his own TV show, and he was constantly being interviewed. When asked by a reporter what young lady he would most like to meet, Eddie had answered, “Debbie Reynolds.” So Joe Pasternak brought Eddie to the set one day and introduced us. We had our pictures taken, then ate lunch in the commissary. The next day Eddie called my house to invite me to his opening at the Cocoanut Grove, a popular nightclub at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. Johnny Grant, a mutual friend of ours, had given Eddie my phone number. Mother was thrilled—she was a fan of Eddie’s TV show.
What can I say about Athena? It might have worked in the 1960s or ’70s, but it didn’t do much for audiences in 1954. The subject was astrology and health foods. Jane Powell plays one of my seven sisters; we frolic with bodybuilders in the health food store owned by our parents. Vic Damone and I do a song called “Imagine” that is definitely not John Lennon’s anthem (which, come to think of it, might have fit in this
film).
Joe Pasternak threw pages from the script into the air in frustration. So I guess it’s no surprise that the audience wasn’t crazy about the finished movie.
Hit the Deck
(MGM, 1955)
In Hit the Deck, Russ Tamblyn and I do a number called “The Devil’s Fun House” that took three days to shoot and left us battered, beaten, and black and blue all over. Rusty plays a sailor trying to save his sister Susan’s virtue with the help of two of his sailor friends. Janie Powell plays Susan. The big danger? She wants to be in a show called—what else?—Hit the Deck.
When we were courting, Eddie visited me on the set of Hit the Deck. Licensed by Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. All rights reserved
Rusty was a doll, the best dancer and tumbler in the movie, and it was great to work with Janie again. Joe Pasternak threw great people into the film, and it turned out fun and wonderful. Ann Miller was a kick in the pants—so funny and silly. We became great friends afterward. She was a great gal.
This was the studio system at its best. We showed up, learned our songs, rehearsed our dances, and had a great time. As the finale says, “Hallelujah!”
The Tender Trap
(MGM, 1955)
My costar in this comedy about a womanizer and the gal who finally lands him is Frank Sinatra. Frank was a great kisser. I really enjoyed the scenes where we made out in his apartment or mine. He was also a taskmaster on the set.
In the recording studio with Frank Sinatra doing The Tender Trap soundtrack. It was so much fun to sing with Frank. We became friends, even though I ignored his advice to break my engagement to Eddie Fisher. Licensed by Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. All rights reserved
Frank was the king in Hollywood, both on and off the screen. He would come to work ready to go, but only wanted to do one take. He was very definite about getting everything right the first time. Our director, Chuck Walters, worked hard to accommodate Frank, making sure that we all knew our lines by the time Frank showed up. Frank kept us on our toes, and the shooting went fast.
There are so many fine actors in this film. Like David Wayne (who was also fun and adorable and so kind to me). I’ve always thought Celeste Holm was underrated in her career. She was equal to Bette Davis in All About Eve, a standout in every movie she did. She lived to be ninety-five and still went out and enjoyed her life.
We didn’t shoot much on Mondays because Frank needed to recover from his weekend activities. Frank idolized Humphrey Bogart. Every Friday after work, Frank would join Bogart and his buddies on Bogie’s boat. Betty Bacall was the only lady on board for those booze cruises. I would have loved to be invited, but I never was.
One day Frank took me to lunch and asked me a lot of questions about my feelings for Eddie Fisher. I told Frank that I loved Eddie and wanted to marry him.
“You should think twice about this, Schweetie,” he warned me. “Schweetie” was his nickname for me, said with a lisp. “It’s a hard life, marrying a singer. I know.”
Frank’s earnest attempt to keep me from heartbreak was very touching. I could tell he was sincere, and I appreciated that he wanted to spare me from a difficult choice. But I really was in love.
Meet Me in Las Vegas
(MGM, 1956)
This movie was released a few months after The Tender Trap, and honestly, I don’t remember doing it. I was pretty much kept busy going from one film into another, and this was the thirteenth movie I’d done for MGM since arriving at the studio. After a lifetime, I hope I’m entitled to forget a bit performance lasting thirty seconds that I did over half a century ago!
Meet Me in Las Vegas is another Joe Pasternak romp, this one about a cowboy (Dan Dailey), a ballerina (Cyd Charisse), and their magical romance in Vegas. When Dan gambles with Cyd by his side, he can’t lose.
Vic Damone and I have uncredited cameos. Dan and Cyd rush past us in the showroom during the rehearsal for Cyd’s act, momentarily stopping me from drinking my Coke. I imagine this was a reference to my boyfriend’s television show on NBC—Coke Time with Eddie Fisher. Dan and Cyd also brush by Frank Sinatra as he stands next to a slot machine in the casino.
At MGM we were always on call, even when we weren’t working on a film. When someone had an idea or needed an extra, we were told to report for work. I was often in the MGM short films that were produced to show in movie theaters with features. Typically, MGM management would inform you: “You’re in a movie today. Here’s the script. Go to wardrobe, hair, and makeup. Report to the soundstage when you’re done.” And we did.
Such was the life of a contract player—even for a major star like Frank Sinatra.
The Catered Affair
(MGM, 1956)
This was my first real dramatic role at MGM. After being taken off The Actress, I wonder if I was cast in this film because of my increased popularity as one of “America’s Sweethearts.” No matter. It was a great part with a terrific cast.
I was happy for the opportunity to work with Ernest Borgnine, Bette Davis, and Barry Fitzgerald in this story about a family in conflict over their daughter’s wedding. The only trouble was the director. Richard Brooks didn’t want me. He called me “Little Miss Hollywood” and made no attempt to hide his disdain for me.
Every day Richard was rude to me. Bette noticed and took me into her dressing room. “He’s a prick,” she said. She told me that if I needed someone to talk to, or help in any way, to come to her.
Brooks’s abuse didn’t sit well with the rest of the cast or crew either, and they found ways to show their support for me. Once he slapped me across the face in front of everyone. I don’t know what I’d done to anger him that time. I was always professional. As he lifted his arm to wallop me again, the assistant director, Hank Moonjean, stepped in front of me to stop him. Later that day, a camera “accidentally” ran over Richard’s foot, breaking it. He was in obvi
ous pain. Everyone took their time removing the heavy piece of equipment.
There was no reason that I could see for Richard to treat me the way he did. I was just a young girl. Like my character, I was engaged to be married. I’d been told that he was a very good director, yet he was so difficult with me.
Bette Davis and Ernie Borgnine play my parents. They took extra time to coach me for my scenes, rehearsing with me to make sure I was doing well. They taught me to be as natural as possible. I learned so much from them. Sometimes Bette would call me into her dressing room and say, “I think you’re overplaying this. Just do it easy and relaxed.” Ernie would say the same thing: “Just play it naturally.” Richard would say, “Do it any way, your way. You’re not doing it my way, so I don’t care.”
Bette always referred to me as “Daughter,” her booming voice caressing those two syllables as only she could. She was happy to share her tricks and technique. We became lifelong friends. I adored her. Ernie also became my friend for life.
When I wasn’t being coached by Bette or Ernie, I “sat about” with Barry Fitzgerald, who plays my favorite uncle. What a thrill it was to spend every day with my quirky and fantastic pal Barry. Knowing how keen I was on doing impressions, he taught me how to imitate him—by pushing out my lower lip and wheezing in a lilting Irish brogue, with eyes twinkling. When I did my impression of him on my 2011 United Kingdom tour, it brought the house down every time I mentioned his name.
Finally there was Rod Taylor, who is so wonderful as my fiancé. I’ve always felt that he was underrated as an actor.
I’m very proud of the work we did in this movie. The National Board of Review voted The Catered Affair one of the year’s best films in 1956. They also gave me their Best Supporting Actress Award. Except for my problems with Richard Brooks, I have only happy memories of making it.
With Ernest Borgnine and Bette Davis during The Catered Affair. They taught me so much, and became my lifelong friends. Licensed by Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. All rights reserved
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