MARCH 8, 1962
The papers today had a story that Burton would never marry Liz. He was quoted as saying he has no intention of divorcing Sybil.
The timing was perfect—we were filming the scene in which Cleopatra finds that Antony has deserted her. She enters his bedroom, takes a dagger and stabs all his clothes. Then she slashes the drapes. She ends up cutting the bed to ribbons and collapses in sobs on it.
It was a difficult, strenuous scene, but Liz did it all with only a few takes. She really went so wild and lashed out in such frenzy that she banged her hand. We had to send for Dr. Pennington.
MARCH 9, 1962
Another heartbreaking day.
Elizabeth is in the hospital for X-rays of her hand and cannot work until Monday. She was too violent when she played the scene yesterday.
Eddie Fisher called, upset over a story by Louella Parsons saying he and Liz will dissolve their marriage as soon as a property settlement is worked out, which is why her agent, Kurt Frings, is in town. Not true—Kurt is her agent, not her lawyer.
The Rome newspapers instantly took up the cry, using Louella as a source, and are headlining the story all over again.
Until the “bully-beef episode” and Burton’s “denial” we had managed to convey to the world press our enthusiasm for the greatest picture ever made. For the most part we had only very favorable publicity for the film. In the past few weeks, however, the publicity has not only been embarrassing but inaccurate and dishonest, as well as voluminous.
James Lawn, the Associated Press man, told Brodsky he has a deskful of wonderful copy on the movie which he can’t send out. “Newspapers want only one thing—the Burton-Taylor romance,” he told Brodsky. The AP has requests from all over the world for stories on Burton and Taylor. They say it is the biggest story ever handled from Rome, of only slightly less world-wide interest than the death of a Pope.
Sid Rogell came back from a session with the accountant with the news that the picture will have cost $27 million by July 1st. At least that’s a more realistic figure than any we have had in the past.
MARCH 10, 1962
Skouras arrived in Rome today on the same plane with Jackie Kennedy. He was most excited, since she asked him to come down and talk with her on the flight.
Otto Koegel, who has been chief legal counsel for Fox for the past thirty years, arrived with Skouras, and we all assembled in my room for the customary conference.
Everyone was smiling and friendly, like duelists before a bout. An hour was wasted in verbal fencing—with no blood drawn, just some deft parrying and occasional ripostes. I still don’t know why they came to Rome, but I suspect it will be (a) budget and (b) Elizabeth and Burton. Only one point was agreed upon: There would be no more secret meetings which left out a few of the top people on the picture. We are to work all together as a team from now on in!
We all had dinner with Simonetta, her husband, Fabiani, Princess Alliata, Princess Aldobrandini, and my daughter Stephanie at George’s Restaurant. It was a miserable evening, complicated by Skouras’ unpredictable behavior. Sometimes he can be the most gallant man imaginable. On this evening he embarrassed me. He got into an argument with Simonetta and before I knew it he put his hand over her mouth to stop her from talking to him. This to a woman he had never met before. Simonetta was shocked by him, as was everyone else.
MARCH 11, 1962
Although it had been decided just last night there would be no more secret meetings, this morning when I called Doc Merman, our production manager, to invite Skouras for breakfast, he told me Skouras, Sid Rogell, and Leon Shamroy were in his room instead of mine, where we were all supposed to meet.
When they came down to my room, JLM, who had arrived for the meeting in my room, sailed into the others for meeting without us.
Doc Merman and Sid Rogell said they weren’t discussing the picture.
“Why do you boys say that?” said Skouras. “You know we were.”
During the all-day meeting we were told that there were some minority-stockholder suits being filed against the company. The minority group was charging negligence—Fox had lost between $60 and $75 million in the past two years, according to rumor, and Skouras was disturbed.
The meeting ended when Liz and Eddie, hand in hand, came to get Skouras to take him to their villa for dinner. After dinner he returned to my room and we continued our talks.
Only one good thing emerged from the meeting: Skouras is now talking quality rather than budget when he speaks of Cleopatra. He realized only a great picture can save his situation with the Board of Directors.
He berated me constantly for insisting on having Burton who, he said, is responsible for “all this trouble.” I protested that Burton would emerge as a big star when Cleopatra is released. “He will never be a big box-office star!” said Skouras.
I said I would like to put that statement down in my diary, which I did—in Skouras’ presence. Someday he’ll have to admit he was wrong.
“All Burton has done is cause trouble, and you can’t understand a word he says,” Skouras charged.
MARCH 12, 1962
Skouras, Otto Koegel, and myself looked at two hours and 40 minutes of the picture. They are wildly enthusiastic and say Burton is superb, as are Liz and Rex.
Burton bought us drinks at lunch and Skouras told him how wonderful he was, adding, “I understood every word you said.”
“That’s more than I can say about you, Mr. Skouras,” quipped Burton.
Skouras ended the conversation by offering Burton two more pictures to star in after this one.
MARCH 13, 1962
On the way to the studio today Skouras talked constantly, trying to prove that he, and not the minority group, is in control of the studio. “JLM can have anything he wants—as long as he cuts the script and speeds up shooting,” Skouras said. An impossible proposition.
MARCH 14, 1962
I was due to go to London at noon, but at the airport the plane taxied out and then returned without taking off. I’m not very superstitious, but I took that as a sign I should get off the plane. My bags went on to London without me.
I returned to the studio and found Skouras had come in without warning. He said yesterday he didn’t intend to go to the studio again. The cast was finished at 3:30 and Liz and Burton were having cocktails with Hume Cronyn. Liz complained of a chill so I called for a doctor.
MARCH 15, 1962
Liz ill.
I went to the Lion Book Shop and bought her some books. Liz is the most voracious reader I know—at least one book every two days. She reads everything: memoirs, historical novels, plays, and the current best sellers.
Then I went out to the villa on the Appian Way to see how she was feeling. One of the servants directed me to her bedroom—the most beautiful room in the villa, carpeted with a three-inch-thick white sheepskin carpet.
Liz and Eddie were in bed reading, the spread covered with magazines and papers. They seemed happy as two birds in a nest. Eddie had just had an accident with his Rolls-Royce—a gift from Liz. Fortunately, he wasn’t hurt, though the car was damaged.
I gave Liz a fairly detailed report on the progress of the picture up till now and an idea of the work still to be done. I always regarded Liz as a partner in the enterprise, and despite the unconventional setting, our relationship at meetings like this tended to be very businesslike.
She has sound ideas about script and dialogue and a remarkable insight into production problems. It is at meetings like these that I feel close to Liz. I’m very fond of her, but I chiefly respect and admire her as a tremendously talented person—as a fellow professional.
We are both deeply convinced that Cleopatra could be great and determined that it would be great, regardless of weather, illness, or emotional upheavals.
It was this “agreement” between us that enabled us to present a unified front when faced with studio pressures. Liz saw her role as Cleopatra as the ideal woman’s role—and she was deter
mined to be great.
MARCH 16, 1962
Once more I had to speak to Burton about his secretary bringing drinks on the set.
MARCH 17, 1962
Went to London yesterday and returned with a planeload of press people who were converging on Rome to cover Cleopatra.
This enterprise seems to be so appealing to the world that there is something in the papers every day—its truth or untruth is immaterial.
MARCH 19, 1962
Eddie Fisher to New York.
I think he is ill-advised to leave now. He didn’t ask me for advice, however, which is just as well. I was no expert in solving a similar problem myself.
MARCH 20, 1962
Looked at rushes. Was overjoyed with the action and quality.
When I went on set to tell JLM of my enthusiasm for what I had seen, he said Liz hadn’t slept the night before and told him she was not up to working today. Eddie’s departure has obviously upset her. I called Dr. Pennington and sent Liz to her dressing room.
At ten tonight Dr. Pennington said that Elizabeth cut her eye with a glass spangle while removing her make-up, and he doubts she will be able to work tomorrow.
Elizabeth’s make-up, conceived and designed by her, consists of one of the most glamorous eye-dos I have ever seen. To achieve the effect she wanted she stuck a lot of spangles on her lids, which created a wonderful appearance, but it took two hours for her just to put on the make-up.
MARCH 22, 1962
Rex Harrison married Rachel Roberts, a marvelous actress, in Genoa today. We gave them permission to honeymoon for a few days.
Doc Erickson called to say that John Lee, who is Dick Hanley’s assistant, called him to say Elizabeth left word not to be disturbed today, as she is not working. A very roundabout way to get the news, I must say.
Skouras called to say he plans to send Liz and Burton letters requesting them to be more circumspect in their behavior.
From my point of view the situation here has improved. Eddie left, relieving much of the tension. Burton seems to have a good effect on Elizabeth’s work, which is what must concern me as a producer. Now she’s ahead of time and stays around after her scenes are finished. She knows her lines letter-perfect. Most of her scenes are with Burton, and he insists on rehearsals on their own time so that the scenes will play perfectly in front of the cameras.
“You’re not acting in the best interests of the picture to send such a letter,” I told Skouras. Just when I thought I had saved the day, Burton called me. He was furious. The letter had already been sent.
I telephoned Otto Koegel in New York and told him if we wanted the picture finished he had better withdraw the letter to Burton. “Do not send one to Liz.”
MARCH 23, 1962
Eddie Fisher called me from New York. “I miss my wife,” he said.
Was stopped by a reporter for one of the Italian papers. “Any new denials today, Mr. Wanger?” he asked me. Very funny.
MARCH 24, 1962
Liz told me if she gets the same letter that Burton received she will quit the picture. “I won’t take that kind of nonsense,” she said.
MARCH 25, 1962
Kurt Frings is also in town. He complained to me about the letter Burton received from the studio, said he would not stand for such a letter being sent to Liz. I explained my position: their private behavior is not my business as long as it doesn’t interfere with a full day’s work.
Hugh French, Burton’s agent, had dinner with Elizabeth and Richard Burton. When he saw me at the hotel later in the evening he became very excited and emotional about the romantic couple. He wants to make another picture deal for them to work together. He realizes that Burton is now a top personality and important property, thanks to the publicity given the “romance,” and he intends to capitalize on it.
MARCH 26, 1962
The news weekly Gente, of Milan, published a photo of Liz and Burton kissing on the Cleopatra set.
They were wearing three-quarter-length bathrobes over their costumes, and from the fuzziness of the picture it was obvious that it was taken by a paparazzo with a long-lens camera.
The paparazzi, that raffish group of photographers so well portrayed in Fellini’s La Dolce Vita, have been the bane of our existence since we came to Rome.
Fellini called the intrusive and ubiquitous photographers in his film paparazzi—and the name soon was applied to all of Rome’s free-lance photographers, who usually travel in a pack and consider all celebrities fair game.
The paparazzi are incredibly patient and well informed. When Eddie and Liz chose a villa, they quickly discovered that the trees by the pool afforded good observation posts. The paparazzi were already installed with their cameras before the lease was signed. They obviously had established contacts with the household help. Every time anything happened at the villa, no matter how private, the paparazzi were informed.
They scoot out from Rome on Vespas or in the fastest sport cars—or drop out of trees onto the front lawn—but they are always on hand.
Although the paparazzi are free lancers who compete against each other in selling their pictures all over the world to the highest bidder, they have a remarkable esprit de corps. In Rome they are tolerated with amusement and a perverse kind of pride since Fellini saw fit to take notice of their existence.
Their ingenuity is equaled only by their nerve. One day two priests knocked on the door of the Burtons’ villa asking for a donation. Fortunately the housekeeper was shrewd enough to ask them what charity they were asking alms for. She checked with the authorities, found out there was no such organization and threw them off the place—paparazzi!
They even invaded our own publicity department. One of our employees who visited sets frequently always wore her hair in a high coiffure. We soon discovered the reason for it—she had a small camera concealed in her hair-do. Some of the pictures sneaked on set were undoubtedly taken by her. The American crew members try to protect Liz, but we are working with 7,000 extras on some days, and our production is too big for us to use any effective security measures.
Because the paparazzi deal in pictures it is impossible to issue a denial. The photos, presumably, speak for themselves. Unfortunately, Liz and Burton have not always been too discreet, and at times they seem to be working for the paparazzi themselves.
Today we hired nine plain-clothes police to prevent the paparazzi from snatching any more candid photos on set; we have probably given one or two paparazzi a steady job.
MARCH 28, 1962
A new crisis. The Harrisons vs. Italy.
Rex Harrison went to the airport to meet his wife, Rachel Roberts, who was returning from England after a few days of working in a picture. Rachel was not traveling with luggage, just a handbag. When the customs officials insisted she open the bag for inspection, she became incensed, as did Rex.
They said some things which were not flattering to the Italian government and the Italian people—something one cannot do in Italy. They would have been jailed for the night except for the consideration of the Italian officials.
MARCH 29, 1962
Eddie Fisher is reported in the hospital in New York with a nervous breakdown. Liz called the hospital and found he had the flu.
The “breakdown” story is getting a big play, with Burton emerging as “the other man.” All the European newspapers are sending photographers and reporters here to cover Burton, who is the talk of Europe and America.
MARCH 30, 1962
Rex Harrison apologized in court and the case was dismissed, thanks to the British Embassy and our press department.
MARCH 31, 1962
Early today while on set Liz got a telephone call from Eddie, who was in New York holding a press conference. She was busy and didn’t take the call.
When the day’s shooting was over, Liz and Burton told me they are so annoyed with the paparazzi chasing them every minute of the day that tonight they are going out to chase the paparazzi!
APRIL 1, 1962<
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Liz and Burton “found” the paparazzi.
This morning’s newspapers are full of pictures of them walking arm in arm down the Via Veneto, Elizabeth smiling and chic in a leopard-skin coat and cloche hat. The papers report, “They held hands, danced and kissed many times.” There are no pictures of them kissing, however.
Despite their late night, they were on set this morning for the Bacchus scene. Liz wears a figure-hugging green gown with a low neckline and a slit skirt. Burton wears a Roman toga. They eat, drink, and are merry with a rollicking cast of hundreds of seductive slave girls who dance around them while they gorge themselves on boars’ heads, whole sides of beef, jugs of wine, and grapes and fruit.
APRIL 2, 1962
First warm Sunday of the year. Burton and Liz went on a family-style picnic with Elizabeth’s children. The paparazzi went along, too, as uninvited guests.
APRIL 3, 1962
Elizabeth under fire of the Vatican.
Without mentioning her name outright, a Vatican radio commentator condemned the “caprices of adult children,” which he described as “an insult to the nobility of the heart which millions of married couples judge to be a beautiful and holy thing.” The Fox New York and Hollywood offices are wild.
This kind of criticism can hurt the picture as well as Elizabeth personally, so I went on set to see her about putting out a statement concerning the marriage. She said she had been in touch with Louis Nizer, her lawyer in New York. He is to issue a statement saying, “Elizabeth and Eddie Fisher announced that they have mutually agreed to part. Divorce proceedings will be instituted soon.”
Perhaps now we can all concentrate on our principal project—finishing a great motion picture.
APRIL 4, 1962
Just when everything seemed to be quieting down, Burton cabled his wife in London. The message, written in Welsh, said, “Love to all. Everything fine.” Although Burton thinks he’s the only one in Rome who speaks Welsh, the message was instantly translated and put into headlines here.
My Life with Cleopatra Page 14