A Star Is Born: The Making of the 1954 Movie and Its 1983 Restoration (53 page)

Publicity continued to build, and we began doing interviews with selected members of the press. Jim Brown and a camera crew from the "Today" show did a piece on how we were working with the stills; Leonard
Maltin put together a segment for "Entertainment Tonight'"; and Stephen
Harvey from the Museum of Modern Art came out to do a Sunday piece
for The New York Times. And as the New York opening drew closer, the
Academy made arrangements for Liza Minnelli and Lorna Luft to attend,
along with James Mason (who had just lost a Best Supporting Actor award
for his role in The Verdict). The presence of Lillian Gish would add a grace
note to the event-not that it needed one; but Miss Gish, the only surviving great actress from the birth of the movies, was enthusiastic about
anything to do with film preservation. With her, the evening became more
than just the repremiere of an outstanding film from the 1950s; it now had
a continuity with the past, with the very beginnings of film history. With
these personages as part of the event, the evening became more ambitious.
A premium price ticket of fifty dollars entitled the bearer to attend a
prescreening party in the lounge of the Music Hall; as soon as this was
announced, there was a stampede for tickets that gave the lie to the legend
that New Yorkers are blase and indifferent to celebrity gawking.

As an added fillip for the evening, Craig and I put together a compilation of newsreel footage of the original 1954 premiere at the Pantages in
Hollywood. I'd found the material in the stock footage vaults-ninety
minutes of coverage in black-and-white and color, showing just about
every major star in Hollywood getting out of limousines, stopping to say
a few words, then going into the theater. We cut it down to approximately fifteen minutes, keeping the high spots and the recognizable
greats: James Dean was in the crowd, unknown and unrecognized; Clark
Gable briefly flashed by. This was newsreel footage shot by the studio.
The live television coverage was much more detailed, but there was no
way we could make the existing kinescopes of the event match up to our
35mm footage, so we lost shots of several major stars of the time. The
compilation ended with the tumultuous reception given Garland as she
made her way into the theater.

In these same stock footage vaults, I had also found the first CinemaScope version of "The Man That Got Away," which later had been rethought and reshot by Cukor. I thought it might be interesting to screen
this earlier version before the film, showing the way the creative process
worked; but it was decided that this would detract from the actual performance in the film. Also, Cukor hadn't liked it, and the sequence failed to
show Garland to her best advantage. (When the restored A Star Is Born was given a theatrical reissue, the Warner Classics Division added this
sequence to the beginning of the picture, and it indeed worked against the
song in the film itself.)

At this point, we agreed that the picture should be presented with an
intermission. According to studio records and the recollections of everyone
involved, it had been designed to have one; the only reason it didn't was
exhibitor resistance. A Star Is Born builds to a first-act finale with "Born
in a Trunk," which ends on such a rousing note that a break is mandatorythe audience needs to "blow off steam," so to speak. Moreover, it is here
that the story shifts gears. The first half, detailing the struggle, the excitement, and the glamour of the star-building process, has reached its climax.
The second part now moves into the darker, more tragic aspects of the love
story. Without a break, the shift is too jarring. And the length of the film
itself demands a breather, for, as George Cukor himself commented,
"neither the human mind nor the human ass can stand three hours of
concentration."

We were now less than two weeks away from the scheduled New York
opening and began working out the details of the presentation itself. We
would be showing the dye-transfer Technicolor print that I'd found unopened in the studio vault. This, of course, was the short version, but the
quality of the image was so extraordinary that we decided against making
a new print, as it could not match the beauty of this original. It had, in
the words of one critic, "Technicolor that you could eat with a spoon." Our
reconstructed sections could easily be spliced into this print, and the picture
would be run in synchronization with the new four-track stereo masterwhat the engineers call "double system." Picture and track on separate reels
meant that the possibility of mistakes in the presentation would be increased; it meant, too, that expensive equipment would have to be installed
in all the theaters showing the film. It also meant extra expenses for
transportation, rehearsals, stagehands, extra projectionists, and myriad
other problems and stumbling blocks.

Doug and his assistant, Ric Robertson, were scheduled to leave for New
York on June 30 to arrange all the details for the press conferences, the
party, and the premiere itself. But so far no one had seen the completed
film in a theater with our new stereo track, and Doug in particular was
anxious to see what we'd finally done, as it was the most vital component of his organization of the tour. So on the morning of June 30, Doug and
I, Fay, Gene Allen, Craig, Lize, and an invited group of about one hundred
Academy staff and friends gathered in the Goldwyn Theatre, where the
project had begun almost two years ago. A short introduction that was
appended to the beginning of the film read: "The Academy of Motion
Picture Arts and Sciences dedicates this film to the cause of preserving the
world's motion picture heritage. We particularly thank Warner Bros. for
their help in locating missing material and for its generous support during
the reconstruction of this motion picture."

Three hours and one intermission later Doug was a self-proclaimed
"emotional mess." To see the film almost restored to the way George had
always envisioned it, to see it looking and sounding so splendid, and to know
that he had had an important part in "repolishing the gem" made that
morning's screening a highlight of his entire A Star Is Born experience.

To be truthful, I don't recall anything about that screening except
Doug's reaction. The audience was small, and they were all involved in the
project in one way or another, so whatever their reaction, it must have been
favorable. In fact, I don't have any recollection of the next few days until
I arrived in New York the day before the Music Hall opening. There was
a press reception at the Quo Vadis restaurant, and I remember finally
meeting Sid and Lorna Luft and Kitty Carlisle Hart, but even that is vague.
What does stand out in my memory is seeing the picture in its first
runthrough at the Radio City Music Hall. There in that empty, echoing
palace, watching it come to life on one of the biggest screens in the world,
hearing it as I've never heard it before or since, it became entirely my
movie-everything and everyone else faded away, and I just gave in to the
selfishness of the moment-proud, happy, and pleased to know that later
that night six thousand people would have an equally memorable experience that I'd helped create!

The evening's festivities were scheduled to start at six-thirty with a
cocktail reception in the downstairs lounge of the theater. I took my time
walking down Sixth Avenue from my hotel; arriving at the Music Hall, I
stood for a while across the street near the Time-Life Building, watching
the crowds throng around the theater and looking at the marquee: "The
Academy Foundation Presents A Star Is Born. " Approaching the stagedoor entrance on Fifty-first Street, I passed a mass of photographers, fans,
limousines, and other accoutrements of big-time premieres; but once inside I was stunned by the number of people who were jammed into the grand lobby. I couldn't recall ever seeing so many people in one theater.

And there suddenly was James Mason, gracious, unflappable, every bit
as charming and as handsome as he was in the film. He and Liza Minnelli
and Lorna Luft were kind and generous in their warmth and praise as we
all posed for the photographers.

Then it was time for the show. The theater was filled to its art deco
rafters. We all took our seats. The lights dimmed, and on the screen
came the newsreel footage of the original premiere. I doubt whether anything could have stirred the crowd up more than seeing that parade of
glamorous figures. It was nostalgic, funny, foolish, and ultimately touching as you realized how many of these well-loved personalities had made
an impact on all of us there. At the end of the newsreel, Fay walked on
stage to an ovation and proceeded to put the entire evening in context by
saying, "It was an exciting event then, and twenty-nine years later it's still
an exciting event." Then she introduced Gene Allen and me; the
applause for us was gratifying, but it was nothing compared to that
for "someone who embodies everything about the movies-the legendary
Lillian Gish." She received a standing ovation, as did Lorna Luft and
Liza Minnelli. It was a touching moment when Lorna introduced her
father, Sid Luft, sitting in the audience, and said, "All my life I've
wanted to see this movie the way my mother and father made it, because
it's the only film they made together." Liza recalled seeing the original
version when she was very young; she remembered the "nutburger" scene
and her mother's hurt at learning that "Lose That Long Face" had been
cut from the film. Finally, Fay introduced James Mason, who almost
shyly walked on stage to an ovation that rivaled that for Lillian Gish. He
seemed a bit taken aback at the clamor and the cheering but warmed to
the occasion, and, gentleman that he was, paid tribute to "three names
seldom mentioned in connection with stories about this [film]: Charles
Bickford, Jack Carson, and Tom Noonan." He then thanked "another
bunch of human beings, who come under the heading of film buffs, especially the film buffs of New York. These are the people who go up to the
theater manager and complain loudly and bitterly if a film is cut or badly
shown-and especially this film. These people," he said, "I think contributed greatly to this evening."

After Mason finished, Fay concluded her remarks by saying: "The rebirth of A Star Is Born is a testament to the enduring artistry of our
colleague and friend George Cukor. For twenty-nine years, this uncompro mising artist refused to look at the cut version of his masterpiece. On the
night before he was to see this reconstructed version, he died. Tonight's
screening has a very special meaning for all of us, for tonight would have
been George's eighty-fourth birthday." Suddenly, I felt cheated. I wanted
George to walk out onto that stage and get the kind of screaming, whistling,
hat-throwing standing ovation that would have let him know how much
everyone there loved his work, and especially this particular aspect of it.
For, as Fay said, "what's so wonderful about movies like this is they fill the
theater with magic."

And that's exactly what happened that night, for as soon as the lights
went down and the image and the sound of A Star Is Born filled the stage
and the theater, the audience was electrified. I was so excited that I had
to leave my seat and paced back and forth in the back of the theater with
Craig, who was as nervous as I was. I had no doubt that the audience would
love the movie. There was ample proof of that-applause began almost
immediately at the credits and reached a sustained crescendo at the conclusion of "The Man That Got Away." What was worrying me was whether
or not they would accept the stills sequences. As the first reconstructed
sequence flashed on the screen, I stood in the back watching as the audience quieted down in-what? Rapt attention? Appreciation? Puzzlement?
It was the quietest audience I'd ever encountered ... until Garland had
sung the "Trinidad Coconut Oil Shampoo" commercial. Then, laughter
and applause. More laughter at the "nutburger" scene; and as the stills
sequence ended on the rooftop of the rooming house, there was applause
loud and sustained. I suddenly had chills up my spine "and some thrills I
can't define," to quote Ira Gershwin.

The rest of the first half of the film played beautifully, and at the end
of "Born in a Trunk" there was pandemonium. It was exciting, gratifying,
vindicating, and during intermission the crowds and the enthusiasm were
extraordinary. Standing in the back of the theater, I saw Doug and other
Academy and Music Hall staff hard pressed to keep the fans from deluging
Lorna, Liza, Lillian, and James. Looking around, I caught glimpses of Andy
Warhol, Helen Hayes, Candice Bergen, Patricia Neal, Betty Comden, and
Adolph Green.

Once the second half started, I walked all over the theater, in and out
of the mezzanines, the loges, and the balconies, watching the audience
watching the movie. It was the most exciting night of my adult life, and
it's impossible to explain why in any rational, unemotional manner. David Denby in New York magazine summed it up as well as anyone could when
he called the premiere

the most stirring event of the summer movie season.... What made the
evening extraordinary, apart from the movie itself, which in any version is
devastating, was the all-round film savvy and fervor of the audience. Walking
around the sold-out hall, one felt gratified by the presence of a true film
community. These were not people merely latching onto a glamour occasion;
they were people still capable of being moved by the emotional qualities of
a favorite movie ... six thousand adults concentrating on a thirty-year-old
film that meant something to them emotionally.

And when the two restored musical numbers came on in the second half,
these six thousand adults responded like opera lovers at a Callas concert.
Those who knew the film well began applauding as soon as these unknown
scenes faded in. When Garland walked out onto the sound stage in her
ragamuffin costume to do "Lose That Long Face," the audience went
crazy. It was several seconds into the number before they stopped applauding; when she began tap-dancing and when the number ended, the applause again was frenetic. It quieted down for the dramatic dressing-room
scene, then began again with the tag reprise of "Lose That Long Face."
(After this number, which evidently was all some individuals wanted to see,
we lost several dozen people, which surprised and irritated me.)