Hollywood Gays (42 page)

A: Well, Jane Russell (MM’s costar in
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
). Barbara Stanwyck. Just the tip of the iceberg.

Q: Is that why Marilyn turned to liquor and pills, to cope?

A: The pills began ‘cause she had to fall asleep to get up early to go to the studio and work. The alcohol came later…. Lemme say something about Tony Curtis, he can’t really sue me for this. See, unlike Marilyn, he really thought that having good looks meant he had all the acting talent he needed.

Q: As a male star, though, he could keep get leading roles for decades longer than Marilyn, had she survived.

A: Yeah. Unchallenging roles, but leads, sure, and even I had a crush on Tony’s looks. It’s his voice gives me the creeps…that Bronx rasp. And now that damn vinyl toupee, or whatever it’s made of.

Q: Do you agree that losing one’s looks is more of a tragedy for the person—like Marilynor Tony—whose youthful looks are spectacular?

A: Well, of course! It’s like the opposite of earning interest on your money. It’s like a rich man who every single day he gets a little bit poorer and poorer. Me, I’ve aged gracefully. I didn’t have much looks to lose. You can say the same about a lot of other actors and actresses. ‘Course, what I haven’t lost is my libido.
That
would worry me. And I try not to drink so much that it doesn’t…you know. But no need to worry. No, sir. (Winks.)

Q: You were lucky, having created the male lead in the play, to be cast in the movie version of
The Seven Year Itch.
 

A: That’s what I know. The play was a hit, and I played and perfected the shmo through near-endless repetition. But that was no guarantee I’d even be considered for the movie. But thanks to Marilyn…smart girl (taps the side of his head with forefinger).

She and Fox were always at war. They treated her shabby, underpaid her, everything. But first she did a couple of roles she didn’t want to do so she could play The Girl—her character had no name, ya know (via playwright and co-screenwriter George Axelrod)—in
The Seven Year Itch
.

She knew that role and that picture would put her over the top. And she was so right for the role, apart from being such a hot commodity, and all the pre-publicity, especially the up blown white dress there on the streets of New York. They blew it up into a 50-foot (52 feet) poster and she and her legs and the dress and sometimes me next to her appeared on the covers of practically every newspaper and magazine in the world. (Smiles dreamily.) That movie was practically guaranteed to be a smash worldwide’s-worth (sic) hit, so Fox could afford to have yours truly below Marilyn Monroe. I’m talking about billing, kid.

Q: Hmm. I think that a movie star for the male lead would have detracted.

A: And be an unnecessary expense, in Fox’s ever-cheap estimation. I once read that Marilyn was the most underpaid movie star ever in Hollywood.

Q: Do you read a lot?

A: Not books, usually.
She
did. Marilyn was no dumb bunny. She had lists of books to read, and she read ‘em. She was usually on some kind of self-improvement kick.

Q: Fox was clever about usually pairing her with ordinary-looking men rather than, say, a Rock Hudson or a Tyrone Power.

A: Yeah, smart ‘cause it gave the average shmo the fantasy that he could wind up with Marilyn Monroe. So it was me, that time, and a lot of times it was David Wayne, a good actor but no prize pan. In fact, don’t you think I’m cuter? (Tilts head sideways and smiles.)

Q: I do, but also you have a sense of humor, and at least on screen David Wayne comes across as rather dour.

A: I’m not dour. (Winks.)

Q: Let’s see…after Marilyn’s walk-out on Hollywood and after New York, she did which movie?

A:
Bus Stop
. She did the movie, from the (William) Inge play.

Q: Some people have wondered how could a gay man write such a sexist play? I found the plays and films of his
Picnic
and
Come Back, Little Sheba
much more interesting.

A: I’ll buy that. ‘Course, Don Murray (in
Bus Stop
) was awful cute.

Q: And terribly sexist. He treats Cherie (MM’s character) like a heifer he’s determined to, and thinks he has a right to, capture.

A: Inge and Tennessee Williams were lovers. Didya know that? It’s common knowledge.

Q: Except among the general public. Such a shame Inge killed himself (in 1973).

A: And so young.

Q: How young? I thought—

A: About 60. (Stares, then laughs.) That’s young when you’re past 70!

Q: Inge’s work was no longer popular, but to—

A: He couldn’t come up with any more (stage) hits. So he tried writing books, then teaching, and he got real depressed over some article that some vicious critic wrote about him—an “anti-gay,” you know…it got reprinted all over the place.

Q: Then why not kill the critic instead of himself?

A: Or both, if he was so unhappy.

Q: That’s too typical of gay suicides. Homophobia is the problem, and some kill themselves because of it, instead of either fighting it or—yes—killing the, or a, homophobe.

A: If he’d killed just the critic, he’d be in jail. ‘Course, there’s plenty of time in jail to write plays and stuff.

Q: Your sense of humor is wry.

A: It has to be.

Q:  At the time, did you find it ironic or frustrating that in the movies you so often played what one critic called “inept women chasers”?

A: You mean ‘cause I might often prefer the non-opposite sex?

Q: Yes, the non-opposites. (Both snicker.)

A: It was funny. I mean the roles were funny. Written to showcase the impossible dream of the average real heterosexual guy who fantasizes about women who’re impossible to attain unless the poor shnook has power or money or both.

Q: What happened to “shmo”?

A: I want to dazzle you with variety.

Q: Of course—the spice of lingo.

A: Cunnilingo, no way.

Q: Hmm. If you’d been offered a gay role, would you have taken it?

A: There was…a real limited number of…Franklin Pangborn roles then.

Q: And they were too small for you.

A: Too small after
The Seven Year Itch
. Before we return to that wonderful but inevitable movie, I forgot to say that my friend from Wales that called me T.E. and had no known love life, he was wrong about my initials. I wasn’t born Tom Ewell. I like you, so I’ll save you the trouble of looking it up. From starters, I was
Samuel Yewell Tompkins
. So my initials, by birth, are S.Y.T. Can
you
think of anything that might stand for?

Q: S.Y.T.? Save Your…Tangerines? I don’t know.

A: I like Save Your Testosterone. For when it counts. (Winks.)

Q: As in a bird in the hand?

A: Hands aren’t everything.

Q: Did you and Marlon…?

A: But
off
the record. He’s still a powerful guy in the movie industry. I offered…more than once. He kindly…declined. But Marlon and his noble tool—as he called it—were in demand and in use. By a lot of people. If I told you some of the names that you’d never guess…wanna hear? Don’t write this down. Just a few names. (Leans in very close, lips at my sideburn, and whispers, “Monty Clift…Ty Power…Lenny Bernstein.) Get the picture?”

Q: Cream of the crop.

A: You chose them words, mister. Now, if someone Marlon didn’t decline was willing and Marlon—some people called him Bud—didn’t have to make a lot of effort, which he didn’t often have to…or if they were lookers and sexy, then he’d make the effort anyway. Does this make sense? Okay. If you wanted Marlon and you didn’t act too phony or conniving, you could get some Marlon. Of course, being Marlon, Marlon got everything his way. If you wanted some Marlon, you did it his way.

Whether it was worth it to everyone, I can’t say. Not everyone came back for seconds. There were a few complaints. But…leave it at that. Accentuate the positive.

Q: He was gorgeous. Why has he been eating his looks away?

A: (Shrugs.) Why do people drink?

Q: You don’t think Marilyn would have gotten fat?

A: Nah. Actresses are more vain.

Q: Besides, there’s the double standard. An overweight Brando can still get hired and even play leads. An overweight Marilyn Monroe would be out of work or playing minor parts.

A: Marlon never thought that much of acting. He’s a restless spirit. Has…personal demons. He came from alcoholics, had a tough childhood.

Q: Marilyn had a tough childhood.

A: Marilyn died very young. If Marlon had died young, he’d still be forever young and beautiful, not fat or anything else.

Q: Like James Dean.

A: Yeah, he’s one.

Q: One what?

A: I don’t mean just one of the club; he died really young, and soon enough not to get repetitious. I think Marlon has more to offer than Jimmy Dean ever did. I think Dean became self-destructive much earlier than Marlon. Not just from driving insanely, though he knew that could easily kill himself off.

Q: Brando of course never returned to the stage.

A: The greed took over…and…some laziness there. But being he’s alive and I still consider him a friend, I don’t want to go on about him. If Marilyn was alive, I wouldn’t about her either. You know, I’ve been asked about writing a book, with a ghost writer, about shooting
The Seven Year Itch
and “telling all” about Marilyn. But what’s there about her that hasn’t been said? And if there was some secret and she didn’t want it told and I knew it, I wouldn’t tell it. For a book or for the money.

Q: You have integrity. And discipline. That’s why you returned to the stage, isn’t it?

A: But I’ve also been greedy. Television got its hands on me, and I’ve dug into the little screen’s deep pockets. I had my own series…early 1960s:
The Tom Ewell Show
. Guess what I played?

Q: What profession?

A: Profession’s not important, unless you play a doctor. What I played in my show was what I played in
The Seven Year Itch
. A hubby and a daddy.

Q: Without Marilyn Monroe.

A: So it lasted, uh, 1960 to 1961. Television’s the biggest gamble of all. Movies can go on to other countries and then to television and now videotape. But most TV series, they fall right into limbo end of the first season, or even before.

Q: Yet you lasted longer on TV in a much later series….

A: Ah.
Barretta
. Starring Mr. Robert Blake, as he’d prefer it. Nothing against the guy, on my part. Kind of insecure, hard-driving…par for the course for a lead actor. A lot less pressure on me. Supporting’s a comfortable place if your star’s not a total monster. You do your part, get paid regularly and well, it lasts some years, you have each hiatus to go back to the stage or do a small movie part. It’s a comfortable, well-padded routine.

Q: Is it a challenge? Or fun?

A: Acting and life, they’re not supposed to be fun. Or fair. You figure that out soon enough. Not when a guy can make a career out of his good looks that he didn’t choose or earn. Ya get what you come with, then you push that to the limit, and if you’ve got training, then when your break comes, you make the most of it. From
The Seven Year Itch
I got to do a buncha movies with fairly first-rank people, but they knew they wouldn’t be hits on the order of
The Seven Year Itch
, and I knew my sleigh ride wouldn’t last on and on—soon enough I’d be back to slogging uphill again. Then later, once you’re an old shmo, it’s small-potatoes parts for the rest of your life—if you’re lucky. Anyone who’s not a looker that goes into acting, knowing what I know, they’re either insane optimists or just insane, period.

Q: Was it at all fun doing
Baretta
?

A: Fun enough. It was fun to go to the bank with a check. It was a challenge to “make chicken salad out of chicken shit,” quoting Mr. Blake.

Q: I just remembered, when Blake was on the Emmy Awards—probably co-hosting—for some reason he said something about picturing himself in a hot tub with Liberace, then he added, emphatically, that he didn’t
want
to picture himself in a hot tub with Liberace.