Katharine Hepburn

by Anne Edwards

  Kate threw up her hands. “Do anything you want,” she said in a tone of foreboding. “Throw your money away.” (At this stage, Kate had already recouped her ten-thousand-dollar investment.)

  From the start, Kate had wanted and obtained Van Heflin as Mike, the young newspaperman who falls in love with Tracy Lord, and Joseph Cotten* as her ex-husband, C. K. Dexter Haven. But Kate liked all her fellow players in The Philadelphia Story and, perhaps because the play was so close to her, a family atmosphere developed during rehearsals and remained throughout the tour and the long run. Rumors abounded that she and Heflin were having an affair. They were particularly close during the early part of their association; but when the run of the play continued into the second year, he returned to Hollywood to make The Santa Fe Trail.

  As March 28, 1939—opening night—approached, Kate grew increasingly nervous. Because of The Lake she regarded New York as “the enemy.” The evening before the opening, she checked into the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel accompanied by her dresser-secretary­good friend, Em Perkins, having been seized with a terror of failure “so keen it was a kind of death.” No one knew where she was. No calls reached her. The shades were drawn so that day and night had no meaning. Pacing the room endlessly, she kept repeating, “This is Indianapolis, this is Indianapolis,” in an effort to convince herself that New York would be no different from the cities she had toured. In the car on the way to the theater, she repeated the chant, eyes sealed closed, over and over again.

  The house was packed but silent as the curtain rose on the first New York performance of The Philadelphia Story. Kate had no entrance, being onstage at curtain, and she was greeted with polite applause. Her terror returned. She claims she was then certain of failure. She could not have been more mistaken.

  “The radiant Miss Hepburn brings a loveliness to our stage such as has not been seen hereabouts in years,” wrote John Mason Brown of the New York Post, adding, “Her fine chiseled face is a volatile mask. If it is difficult to take one’s eyes off of her, it is because she is also blessed with an extraordinary personality. Slim and lovely as she is, Miss Hepburn likewise possesses a voice which in her emotional scenes can be sheer velvet.” His colleague, Brooks Atkinson at The New York Times, on the same day, March 29, 1939, was even more explicit:

  “A strange, tense little lady with austere beauty and metallic voice, she has consistently found it difficult to project a part in the theatre. But now she has surrendered to the central part in Mr. Barry’s play and she acts it like a woman who has at last found the joy she has always been seeking in the theatre. For Miss Hepburn skips through the evening in any number of light moods, responding to the scenes quickly, inflecting the lines and developing a part from the beginning to its logical conclusion. There are no ambiguous corners in this character portrayal. Dainty in style, it is free and alive in its darting expression of feeling.”

  At last Kate had won over New York critics. One, Richard Watts, Jr., of the New York Herald Tribune, even found “something particularly pleasant about the triumph she has made in Philip Barry’s new comedy. Few actresses have been so relentlessly assailed by critics’ wit [a reference to Dorothy Parker], columnists, magazine editors and other professional assailers over so long a period of time and, even if you confess that some of the abuse had a certain justice to it, you must admit she faced it gamely and unflinchingly and fought back with courage and gallantry.”

  Kate’s greatest triumph came at the party on opening night. All the Hepburns were there and for the first time Kate discerned respect and admiration in her parents’ attitude toward her. With this performance they had finally taken her career seriously. Their movie-star daughter was a fine stage actress. “I still grin to myself when I think of the party Kate gave [that night],” Helburn recalled. “As long as her family was there she served beer; when they had gone she brought out the champagne.”

  Kate had always been at her best in roles that were familiar to her, characters in which her own personality could be unleashed to their benefit. The role of Tracy Lord allowed those things to take place. But more, Kate’s sexuality—and she had tons of it in The Philadelphia Story—that elusive something that made a performer real and vulnerable, shone forth.

  Broadway’s 1939 spring season had the most glittering stage stars to appear in many a year: Judith Anderson in Family Portrait, Katharine Cornell and Laurence Olivier in No Time for Comedy, Tallulah Bankhead in The Little Foxes, Sophie Tucker in Leave It to Me, Raymond Massey in Abe Lincoln in Illinois, Fredric March in The American Way, Frances Farmer in Golden Boy, Bill “Bojangles” Robinson in The Hot Mikado, and Ethel Merman and Jimmy Durante in Stars in Your Eyes, to name some. Yet, The Philadelphia Story played every night to full houses.

  The stage success of the Barry play mellowed rather than changed Kate. Howard Hughes—tired of pursuing her—had turned to a succession of other women but was still a close friend and business partner. Her life during the run of the play was much as it would have been had she not been appearing in a smash hit. Laura remained nearby and Luddy was close-at-hand to be called upon whenever she needed friendship. She played tennis for two hours every day at Joe Sawyer’s East Side Tennis Courts, studied with Frances Robinson-Duff, and took singing lessons at home with a Dr. Isaac Van Grove, who had been recommended to her by composer Kurt Weill. She slept for an hour in the late afternoon, ate a healthy dinner and arrived at the Shubert Theatre an hour before curtain. Van Heflin accompanied her to various of her activities and could be found at the house on Forty-ninth Street most of the time that they were not at the theater.

  Whenever she was not supervising Fenwick’s reconstruction, Kate spent the weekends at Laura’s estate in New Jersey. “I’d find Kate out picking little flowers that nobody else would have picked,” Laura recalled. “She loves nature and she loves streams and she loves rain. She’s really very Scotch in her love of mist. I used to find her . . . having breakfast under a tree that I’d never sat under. . . . She’s friends with all of it and sees things and makes something of it that nobody else would.”

  Fenwick was completed in time for the summer and Kate spent every free hour there. Neighbors and friends noted that while “still boyishly awkward,” she had “learned to move with grace.” The strident voice was “slower and richer,” its old stridence returning only with her frequent use of profanity. She gave off a feeling of more assurance. The clothes she wore were still unique but less bizarre. She used no jewelry and no offstage makeup except for lipstick “which emphasized the droop of her mouth and the fact that her upper and lower lips are exactly alike.”

  Within a few days of opening night, Kate had received an offer from Metro of $175,000 for film rights of The Philadelphia Story. Negotiations were set in motion but not concluded for nine months, when an additional $75,000 for her to star in the film was added.

  “Louis B. Mayer tried to make a tricky deal with me,” Kate remembered, “wanting to put Norma Shearer or somebody else in it, and I said: ‘Look, Mr. Mayer, I know you are deliberately trying to charm me, and yet I’m charmed,’ and he came to a very fine arrangement, with me getting my own way. . . . After Mr. Mayer and I worked out my contract, I [went] downstairs to his lawyer and said, ‘You couldn’t very well cheat me, because you’re Louis B. Mayer’s lawyer. That would be a terribly dishonest thing to do.’”

  Since 1938, when she had broken with R.K.O., Hayward remained as her representative, but she had made all her deals herself. She did not expect sainthood from men like Louis B. Mayer or Harry Cohn, but she admired their sense of the romance of the film industry and was struck by Mayer’s “scrupulous honesty.” She didn’t have the same illusion about the business of making films and found it at times “personally humiliating because you are, after all, in the position that the common prostitute is in. You’re selling yourself, and if everybody begins to say, ‘Oh boy, we’ve had enough of that’ . . . then it becomes a little embarrassing. Then it’s up to you to say to them: ‘Just a minute
, fellows. Here’s something you haven’t seen yet.’”

  Kate wanted, and got, choice of director (always Cukor), co­stars, and “reasonable script supervision.” Her heart was set on Spencer Tracy playing C. K. Dexter Haven, the Joseph Cotten role, in the film. Metro had released four Tracy films in a period of six months and all of them had been tremendous commercial successes.* Kate had still not met her idol, but she respected him as an actor perhaps more than she did any other film star and she thought that his particular projected personality—the masculine stubbornness, the steady, skillful, quietly humorous character he most often played (and which could only be assumed to be part of the man as well as of the actor)—would make a perfect foil for her Tracy Lord. Apart from that, on screen Spencer Tracy was the kind of man who attracted her most, a man’s man like her father, not willing to take any gulf, proud and strong—stronger than most women. She even mentioned to Cukor that the name Tracy Lord appealed to her at the time because of her admiration for Spencer Tracy.

  Tracy was free when shooting was to be scheduled for The Philadelphia Story, but Metro refused to cast him in deference to his need for time off. Their second-biggest box-office star,† in fact the country’s as well, Tracy had never licked his alcohol problem. In 1940, with each succeeding film, more and more days had been lost in production when he had been unable to face the cameras. Cukor suggested Cary Grant and Kate agreed with certain reservations. Grant was all charm, slick and romantic, and possessed a wonderful sense of comedic timing. They were a proven team and she had enjoyed working with him. But Grant lacked an element of rugged individuality, of physical virility that would give more depth and reason to the character of C. K. Dexter Haven, a man who loved his boat and the water almost as much as he loved Tracy Lord, and who could be content devoting his life to his True Love (his boat’s name) with Tracy onboard with him. Grant looked as if he would be a good deal happier aboard an ocean liner’s first-class quarters.

  Cary Grant, however, was under contract to both R.K.O. and Columbia and concessions had to be made to borrow him. His salary demand of $137,500 was finally met.‡ What took longer to agree upon was the matter of billing. Grant insisted upon—and received—star billing above Kate. Both his studios believed in the future success of The Philadelphia Story (as did Grant) and wanted to be sure that they would benefit accordingly. The matter of billing was a major clause in all Hollywood contracts, a name above the title and/or above the other stars in a film indicating greater status and allowing the studio to demand larger loan-out fees.* Kate had balked at the billing clause for a long time in the negotiations. After all, in The Philadelphia Story, Tracy Lord was the central and star character. Finally, Kate, with the attitude of “what-the-hell—let’s-get-on-with-it,” accepted Grant’s terms and took the lesser billing along with James Stewart, who had been signed for the Van Heflin role (Heflin was always to feel bitter about this “betrayal”).

  Despite Grant’s top billing, The Philadelphia Story—stage and screen—belonged to Kate. As the Life critic wrote of her performance in the film: “The Philadelphia Story fits the curious talents of the red-headed Miss Hepburn like a coat of quick-dry enamel. It is said to have been written for her. Its shiny surface reflects perfectly from her gaunt, bony face. Its languid action becomes her lean, rangy body. Its brittle smart-talk suits her metallic voice. And when Katharine Hepburn sets out to play Katharine Hepburn, she is a sight to behold. Nobody is then her equal.”

  During the making of The Philadelphia Story, Kate lived in the old John Barrymore house near the top of Tower Grove with a marvelous view of Beverly Hills and a great deal of privacy. Laura came out and spent some time with her, as did her old beau, Bob McKnight. One evening when Garson Kanin had come for dinner, Kate looked as though she might be in pain and he asked if anything was the matter.

  “I got too much sun today—sat out in the garden with no clothes on like a fool,” she explained.

  “What do you mean ‘with no clothes on?’” he asked.

  “I mean in the nude. . . . I had to. I was posing. . . . Bob McKnight is here . . . he wanted to do a little figure of me and so there we were—what are you looking so peculiar about?”

  “Nothing,” Kanin answered, but he was certain she must be stretching the truth. Three weeks later, the naked truth sat on a plinth in the living room.

  The Philadelphia Story was filmed in eight weeks and, astonishingly, no retakes were required. The entire experience was an exhilarating one. For once Kate had some control over a film and she felt secure, able to trust her best instincts. Her sense of fun returned, the collegiate humor for which Cukor had always chastised her. She had had a friendly but running battle with Jack Greenwood, the script clerk on the film, whose task it was to correct the performers whenever they missed a line or forgot a prop. One day on her way to the studio, she passed a small dead animal—which turned out to be an opossum—on the side of the road and backed up and got it. She then obtained a small, garlanded box lined with satin, put the corpse in it and presented it to Greenwood—who did not find it as amusing as she thought he would.

  Joseph L. Mankiewicz* produced The Philadelphia Story. Mankiewicz, whom Richard Burton once called “an Oxford don manqué’” had great wit and intellect. Possessed of a “superhuman poise” he maintained a well-oiled harmony on the set, and he had been responsible for the major changes in the film adaptation: the fusion of the two roles of C. K. Dexter Haven and of Tracy Lord’s brother (which gave more body to Grant’s character), and the silent prologue (which showed the end of the Tracy Lord–C. K. Dexter Haven first marriage). Mankiewicz was known for his seductive ways with women, but he preferred women over whom he could exert his “Svengali powers” and Kate was not his type.

  Kate returned to New York in September and then took the play back out on the road. Her last performance, appropriately enough, was in Philadelphia, on February 15, 1941. Arrangements had been made with the stagehands not to lower the curtain at the end; and after several minutes of enthusiastic applause with the cast frozen in their final attitudes, Kate walked down front and raised her hand for silence. She thanked the audience humbly and brought out the entire crew. Then she said a few words:

  “When I started this play, these people knew I was on the spot. They could have treated me as a climber and a phony. Instead, they treated me as an actress and a friend.” Then she turned and pointed to a fire screen and a green vase on the set and asked in her strident voice, “See those? I’ve had my eye on them for two years, and now I’m going to get them.” She walked over to pick them up and could not lift them; they were fastened to the floor. She gave them a tug. The audience laughed. She pulled harder. The audience roared, then applauded boisterously. Kate threw a regal wave to the gallery and made her exit.

  Footnotes

  * Gertrude Lawrence (1898–1952) was returning from the West Coast where she had been on tour with Noël Coward’s Tonight at 8:30.

  * The tuition at Bennington College in 1938 was $1,675 a year, making it one of the ten most expensive colleges in the United States. The enrollment was 276.

  * Garson Kanin (1912– ) made his Broadway debut as an actor in 1933. He directed his first play in 1937 and went to Hollywood the following year, working at R.K.O. just at the time of Hepburn’s troubles there. They met briefly then but became close friends later. Kanin became a screenwriter in 1946, and his play Born Yesterday, made into a film starring Judy Holiday, has become a film classic.

  † Kanin wrote, “There were Shubert Alley [Broadway] rumors about the play and a false report that Kate had bought it to keep it from being produced.”

  ‡ Hepburn wore almost this identical outfit in the wedding scene of The Philadelphia Story.

  * The Philadelphia Story played 415 performances in New York, grossing $961,310.37, of which Hepburn took her 10 percent ($96,131.03) as salary plus 25 percent of the net in return for her investment of $10,000. It played 254 performances on the road, grossing $753,538.50
. Screen rights were sold to Metro for $175,000, plus Hepburn’s acting fee of $75,000. Hepburn made over $500,000 from The Philadelphia Story.

  † On November 21, 1938, David O. Selznick sent a memo to Daniel O’Shea (secretary of Selznick International), “. . . I think we should make it clear to Katharine Hepburn, Jean Arthur, Joan Bennett, and Loretta Young that they are in the small company of final candidates. . . . The final choice must be made out of this list plus [Paulette] Goddard and our new girl [Doris Jordan] plus any last-minute new girl possibility that may come along.” (Doris Jordan, renamed Doris Davenport, had a brief film career. She appeared opposite Gary Cooper in 1940 in The Westerner.) Hepburn was alerted by the Selznick office of her status.

  * Selznick met Vivien Leigh (1913–1967) for the first time on December 10, 1938, when the first scenes of the burning of Atlanta were being filmed. On December 12, 1938, he wrote his wife, Irene, “. . . Not for anybody’s ears but your own: It’s narrowed down to Paulette, Jean Arthur, Joan Bennett and Vivien Leigh.” Hepburn was out as of this date but was not informed.

  † Robert B. Sinclair (1905–1970) had previously directed stage versions of Dodsworth, Pride and Prejudice, The Postman Always Rings Twice, Life Begins, Babes in Arms and The Women before The Philadelphia Story. His stylish direction of The Women convinced Hepburn and the Theatre Guild of his ability to direct Barry’s urbane comedy. Sinclair went to Hollywood directly after. Except for Mr. and Mrs. North, none of his films was noteworthy. He and Hepburn subsequently worked together on the stage production of Without Love.

  * Joseph Cotten (1905– ) had been a member of Orson Welles’s famous Mercury Theatre. He became an immediate film success after co-starring with Welles in Citizen Kane (1941). His most memorable film performances were early in his career. Among them were The Magnificent Ambersons and Journey Into Fear (1942) and The Third Man (1949). In 1973, he and Hepburn were reunited in the film adaptation of A Delicate Balance.