My Life with Cleopatra Read online

  WALTER WANGER and JOE HYAMS

  MY LIFE WITH CLEOPATRA

  Walter Wanger, the producer of Cleopatra, attended Dartmouth, served as a reconnaissance pilot with the Signal Corps of the U.S. Army in Italy in WWI, was appointed attaché to the American Peace Mission headed by President Wilson, and attended the Paris Peace Conference. In the early 1920s, Wanger worked at Paramount Studios where he acquired the novel The Sheik, which was made into a successful film starring Rudolph Valentino. After a brief hiatus in England, Wanger returned to Paramount where he was general manager of production from 1924 to 1931. He was president of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences from 1939 to 1941, for which he received an Honorary Academy Award in 1946. The producer of more than sixty motion pictures, including the first outdoor color film and Queen Christina, Scarlet Street, Stagecoach, Foreign Correspondent, I Want to Live, and The Invasion of the Body Snatchers, he worked with such directors as John Ford, Alfred Hitchcock, George Cukor, Victor Fleming, Fritz Lang, and Don Siegel; and such stars as Ingrid Bergman, the Marx Brothers, Henry Fonda, Charles Boyer, Cary Grant, Claudette Colbert, Fredric March, Susan Hayward, and Greta Garbo. He married Justine Johnson, a Ziegfield Girl, and later the actress Joan Bennett with whom he had two daughters. He died in 1968.

  Joe Hyams was a Hollywood columnist, former movie editor of This Week magazine, and Hollywood correspondent for the New York Herald Tribune. He was the author or co-author of over two dozen books, many of which are bestselling biographies of Hollywood stars. He died in 2008.

  FIRST VINTAGE BOOKS EDITION, JUNE 2013

  Copyright © 1963 by Walter Wanger and Joe Hyams

  Afterword copyright © 2013 by Kenneth Turan

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Vintage Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. Originally published in paperback in slightly different form in the United States by Bantam Books, Inc., New York, in 1963.

  Vintage and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  The Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file at the Library of Congress.

  eISBN: 978-0-345-80406-8

  www.vintagebooks.com

  Cover design by Mark Abrams

  Cover photograph: © Silver Screen Collection/Moviepix/Getty Images; © Keystone-France/Gamma-Keystone via Getty Images

  v3.1

  To my daughters

  Stephanie and Shelley

  who wanted to know

  what a producer does

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  About the Authors

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  PROLOGUE

  BOOK I

  Beginnings

  BOOK II

  Fiasco in London

  BOOK III

  Intermission in Hollywood

  BOOK IV

  Cleopatra and Caesar

  BOOK V

  Cleopatra and Mark Antony

  EPILOGUE

  AFTERWORD

  PROLOGUE

  What I have to say in this book may shock some hypocrites and offend some moralists. This is not to imply that my book is a deliberate attempt to provoke controversy. The controversy was already there.

  I have been told by responsible journalists that there was more world interest in Cleopatra, which I produced, and in its stars—Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, and Rex Harrison—than in any other news event of 1962.

  Cleopatra is not only the most written about motion picture in history, but it was also the most talked about. As you will discover, never have so many people known so little about a subject which, obviously, intrigued them.

  What emerges in these pages is my story of the most expensive and perhaps greatest motion picture in film history. As the producer, I had a bird’s-eye view of the whole operation, plus a certain degree of detachment. I must add here, however, that I saw the happenings of the four hectic years the film was in production only through the eyes of the producer. I am neither a journalist nor a moralist. My concern was always that of a man who measured everything against one yardstick—how will this affect the picture and Elizabeth Taylor, who is the picture?

  Making a motion picture about Cleopatra had always been a dream of mine. I first became aware of the Egyptian queen, so beautiful and wise that she almost ruled the world, when, as an undergraduate at Dartmouth almost half a century ago, I read Théophile Gautier’s story, “One of Cleopatra’s Nights.” That started me reading everything I could find about her—from Plutarch’s Life of Antony in North’s excellent translation to Shakespeare’s classic, one of the great tales of human love.

  My interest continued long after I became a motion-picture producer in Hollywood. During the next forty years and sixty pictures I cherished a hope that I could one day make a film about Cleopatra.

  But there was one major problem. Who could play Cleopatra? I visualized her as more than just a great actress. She had to be the quintessence of youthful femininity, of womanliness and strength.

  I saw Eleonora Duse, Sarah Bernhardt, and Ellen Terry, but by the time they had reached stardom they were too old to play Cleopatra. Then, some years ago, I saw Elizabeth Taylor in A Place in the Sun. I was overwhelmed. Despite the modern clothes and dialogue, she came through to me as the one young actress who could play Cleopatra. She is the only woman I have ever known who has the necessary youth, power, and emotion.

  Here was my Cleopatra. From then on I never lost sight of my goal. A while later, I bought The Life and Times of Cleopatra, a book by Carlo Maria Franzero, for $15,000—a modest beginning for the most expensive picture of all time.

  Eventually I moved to 20th Century-Fox. My first project to go into work was Cleopatra. As you will soon see, the studio executives were opposed to the kind of large-scale motion picture I wanted to make and to Elizabeth Taylor as its high-salaried star.

  The lack of enthusiasm did not deter me. As I see it, the most important function of an independent producer such as myself is to find material that he believes will interest the public all over the world. Like any creative artist, he must be prepared for and even expect opposition when he wants to do something different and important. As my own experience proves, a producer must be ready to battle for what he believes in.

  I remember that when I first proposed The Sheik to Paramount they were shocked, as a love story between a white woman and an Arab was considered too radical. The movie not only made a star of Rudolph Valentino, but it made millions.

  There was studio opposition when I bought An American Tragedy from Theodore Dreiser for $90,000 at a time when every film had to have a happy ending, and the word “tragedy” in a title was anathema.

  The Paramount sales department was in an uproar when I purchased Beau Geste, which had no love story and was, to boot, a French title.

  The Technicolor Corporation warned me they would not be responsible for the result if I took a Technicolor camera out of the studio to film The Trail of the Lonesome Pine, because they couldn’t control the light. This first outdoor color spectacular was so successful it opened up a multi-million-dollar market for Technicolor, who were so grateful they gave me stock bonuses.

  Another case in point is I Want to Live! my last picture before Cleopatra. I made it in opposition to pressures from police, politicians, and press, as well as the studios. Nevertheless, Susan Hayward received an Academy Award for her brilliant portrayal of Barbara Graham.

  During the making of Cleopatra, however, I received more than my anticipated share of opposition. Certainly, no novel I have ever read about Hollywood had as many fantastic crises, hairbreadth escapes, personal melodramas, and as
much executivesuitesmanship as can be found here.

  I began writing this book some time ago with Joe Hyams. Day after day for many weeks we studied the reams of newsprint and millions of words written about Cleopatra. Together, we interviewed many of the people who worked in the film. Then, Joe’s probing questions, based on his own research and interviews in Hollywood, helped me reconstruct all the pertinent events of my life with Cleopatra.

  Although the book is in journal form and we have attempted to be accurate with all the dates, some events could not be pinpointed. The majority of the dates are, however, as accurate as my memory allows.

  Why did Cleopatra cost so much and take so long to film?

  These were our basic problems.

  We were forced to try to produce the film without being properly prepared—before we had a script or a well-thought-out and practical production plan or organization. These factors alone cost us millions of dollars in wasted time, in scrapped sets, in false starts and costly commitments.

  There was a continuing problem brought on by the fact that the studio had lost more than $60,000,000 in the past few years. Consequently, the jockeying for power among the incumbent Board of Directors and minority stockholders resulted in conflicting, expensive, on-again, off-again decisions from on-again, off-again groups in power.

  In addition to being the star of the picture, Elizabeth was also a partner in the enterprise. People who read fan magazines may be surprised to learn of the Elizabeth Taylor who is a real professional concerned with every aspect of picture making. She will receive over two million dollars for her role, but she is worth every penny of it.

  I don’t believe the general public is aware of what a star brings to a movie in addition to a great box-office following. When you deal with a star like Elizabeth or the late Marilyn Monroe or Marlon Brando or William Holden, you get what you pay for: an extraordinary talent who brings something to a movie in terms of experience and intelligence that you cannot get otherwise—if you treat them properly.

  When Elizabeth Taylor walks onto a movie set, you know she is a great artist; not just in the acting sense, but in her sense of values. She not only knows her lines letter-perfect, but she has a built-in radar that divines problems in art direction or costumes or a headdress or a set.

  She is honest. You always know where you stand with her. There are no games to play, no hedging, no subterfuge. She speaks directly and in a vocabulary that allows no confusion as to meaning.

  People have asked me why studios tolerate the special problems that arise through dealing with such special people. The answer to that was best expressed by director Billy Wilder. After finishing a Marilyn Monroe picture that was plagued by Marilyn’s illnesses and lateness, he said, “I have a healthy aunt in Vienna who would come on set on time, know her lines, and always be ready. But no one would pay to see her at the box office.”

  A motion picture can be conceived by a genius; the lines may be written by a spellbinder and delivered by great actors. But what is usually forgotten is the contribution made by the film technicians who are responsible for getting the image and sound and background on the screen. Cleopatra is a monument to the imagination and devotion of hundreds of technicians from Hollywood, London, and Rome who, despite continual crises, regularly accomplished the impossible.

  In this account I have been severe on the studio executives who made my job as producer of the picture an obstacle race. I am bitter indeed about what I consider to be their bungling interference.

  In retrospect, however, I can say that I understand that they were operating, for the most part, out of insecurity and fear. They were desperate, nervous men, trying to protect the studio from further losses, and Cleopatra soon became their scapegoat.

  Despite our woes, the anger, the backbiting, the small personal tragedies and the enormous pressure from the studio as well as the press, the making of Cleopatra was an incredible adventure.

  I feel that the film which 20th Century-Fox once complained was going to destroy the studio is probably what will save the studio. I am convinced Cleopatra will be a success—a great motion picture to be seen not just this year, but a classic to be seen by succeeding generations.

  BOOK I

  BEGINNINGS

  [1958–1959]

  — NEW YORK —

  SEPTEMBER 30, 1958

  Had my first meeting about Cleopatra with Spyros Skouras, president of 20th Century-Fox.

  “Cleopatra was one of the best pictures we ever made,” he said in his thick Greek accent, an expansive smile radiating good will and confidence. “Just give me this over again and we’ll make a lot of money.”

  I was surprised. The picture he was referring to was the old silent film with Theda Bara. My face must have disclosed my feelings, because a circlet of amber beads—Greek worry beads—suddenly appeared in his left hand. They began to click-click like knitting needles. The warmth left the smile, though the mouth held the pose.

  His right hand, which always hovers near the switches on the intercom adjoining his desk, punched a switch. The box enables him to make direct contact with anyone in the 20th Century-Fox operation on either coast. It is the lifeline of the operation of which he is president. Not only did he have direct contact to both coasts, but he had a passion for telephoning all over the world; picking up the phone and talking to Cairo or London or Zurich.

  I heard a buzz in the reception room. “Bring me the Cleopatra script,” he whispered. Skouras generally whispers in his office, where he is supreme commander. He sometimes bellows on the telephone. It is as though he is not as sure of the mechanical device as he is of the power of his own voice, developed when he was a child herding sheep in the Greek hills.

  A secretary brought the script in, handling it gingerly—and with good reason. It was almost old enough to be made of parchment.

  “All this needs is a little rewriting,” Spyros said, waving me out of the office.

  I examined the script while leaving Fox’s old West Side quarters, which look so much like a car barn. It was only a few pages long and, since it was a silent film, the dialogue was for subtitles. Most of the writing was concerned with camera setups.

  Joseph Moskowitz, executive vice-president of the studio, a dapper, cold, right-hand man to Skouras, drove uptown with me. “Who needs a Liz Taylor,” he said. “Any hundred-dollar-a-week girl can play Cleopatra.”

  — HOLLYWOOD —

  OCTOBER 20, 1958

  My first day at the studio. Lunched with Lew Schreiber, general production manager.

  It has been almost twenty years since I had worked as a producer at a major studio which still operated like Fox. At one time or another I had been with nearly all of them—MGM, RKO, Paramount, Eagle-Lion, Universal, and United Artists. However, I functioned as an independent producer in charge of my own company with autonomy.

  At lunch in the studio’s executive dining room, Lew Schreiber reminded me of the rules for operating within an old-fashioned studio operation.

  Don’t talk directly to agents about anyone or anything.

  Talk only with Schreiber or Buddy Adler, the studio head; if they approve my ideas, they will take them up with New York where final decisions are made.

  Don’t talk with writers without first going to David Brown, studio story editor, for his opinion.

  Don’t talk to actors without going to the casting department first.

  In short, a very different operation from my last independent production, I Want to Live! It was my idea, and I hired the writers to develop the story, engaged the star and director and most of the staff, was responsible for the budget, and acted as consultant on merchandising, advertising, and publicity.

  I was not an employee of Fox—technically, I was on loan from my own production company—but I was soon made painfully aware that even the so-called independent producer at a major studio must be prepared to accept committee rule and interference. I wasn’t looking forward to the struggle ahead but knew it w
as inevitable.

  OCTOBER 22, 1958

  Buddy Adler told me at lunch today we can make Cleopatra for about a million or a million-two, with Joan Collins.

  I protested that if the picture was going to be done properly—I visualized it as a picture with great scope—it would have to have locations and would cost at least two million dollars.

  “All right, if you don’t want to make it, I’ll get somebody else to produce it for eight hundred thousand,” he said testily. “This type of picture isn’t my cup of tea anyhow.”

  With a heart like mine, getting angry is one luxury I can’t afford. What I wanted to produce was a “blockbuster.” To Buddy, Cleopatra sounded like just another sex-and-sand epic.

  The only thing that appealed to him was the possibility it offered of using some of the contract stars—Joan Collins, Joanne Woodward, or Suzy Parker. And, if it was made on the lot, it would keep some of the other contract people busy: cameramen, grips, electricians. The problem Buddy had was a big studio with a lot of people under contract and many stages which he had to keep full. He had to feed his distribution organization with film. That was the old plan the major studios functioned under, and that was what Skouras kept pressing him to do. That’s why the quicker the picture was started and finished and the cheaper it was produced, the better it was for all concerned—except the creators and the audience.

  I was more than willing to discount Buddy’s testiness. He was a good friend and a good picture maker, but I had heard rumors that he was a very sick man. In fact, when my contract was negotiated, it was taken to him in the hospital for approval.

  NOVEMBER 1958

  Made an appointment with Liz Taylor, to see if I could revive her interest in Cleopatra.

  I had first approached Liz when she was married to Mike Todd. To me, she is one of the most amazing women of our time—really a modern Cleopatra. She was enthusiastic, said Cleopatra had always fascinated her. But she was letting Mike make decisions because she didn’t want to take an assignment that would separate them, and I planned to make the movie on location.