Authors: Barbara Leaming
The rest of the week was no better. Sometimes Marilyn didn’t appear at all. Other days she came in but didn’t work. By October 19, Cole was no longer sure he could have even one number ready to be filmed on November 3. And he was beginning to wonder if he really wanted to work on this picture after all. He was sufficiently alarmed to urge Twentieth to send someone to New York immediately to sort out the problems with Marilyn. Something was definitely wrong.
In Los Angeles, Jerry Wald grew nervous. At their last meeting,
Marilyn had given every indication that she was going to be the soul of cooperation. She had loved the story. She had gushed over the Cukor–Peck–Krasna package. What had changed in three and a half weeks? Wald had no idea that in that time John Huston had given the green light to
The Misfits.
From first to last, Twentieth would fail to grasp the degree to which
The Misfits
complicated both Marilyn’s and Arthur’s actions with regard to
The Billionaire.
On October 24, George Cukor arrived in New York to talk to Marilyn and to select locations for three days of unit work. He held court at the Plaza. Cukor had a reputation for being “an actor’s director.” “He thought like an actor,” recalled Tony Randall. “He knew what you were thinking when you were working. He knew what your problem was. He just got inside you. He was especially effective with women. He was all sympathy.” With Marilyn, however, Cukor was prepared for the worst, being well-versed in Larry Olivier’s and Vivien Leigh’s horror stories. Hero-worshipping the Oliviers as he did, Cukor might actually have been disappointed had Marilyn behaved any other way. When she bitterly complained about the script, it became apparent that shooting might be held up until the story was revised to her satisfaction.
Arthur Miller signed up to do two weeks of rewrites. John Huston had announced an April start date and nothing must be done to force him to postpone. So it was in Miller’s interest, every bit as much as Twentieth’s, to get
The Billionaire
in the can. For once, Arthur Miller and Spyros Skouras found themselves on the same side. Miller met with Cukor and Jerry Wald, and a letter of agreement was prepared.
For a $15,000 fee, Arthur agreed to develop Marilyn’s role. He did not, however, want any credit on screen or off. He wanted there to be no publicity about his involvement. Obviously, the news that he had been working on Cukor’s picture would make it impossible to bill
The Misfits
as Arthur Miller’s screenwriting debut, as well as the first work he had written expressly for Marilyn. By contract, Miller was to complete his work on
The Billionaire
by November 14.
He had reason to be excited about
The Misfits.
Huston was close to a deal with Clark Gable. In the beginning, Huston had been particularly keen on Robert Mitchum as Marilyn’s co-star. When Mitchum was shooting
The Night Fighters
in Ireland, Huston suddenly appeared with Miller’s screenplay. Mitchum read
The Misfits
and was baffled. The first
draft made no sense to him. But Huston would not take no for an answer.
“If John Huston calls,” Mitchum jestingly declared, “tell him I died.” That didn’t deter Huston either. Hardly had Miller completed a second draft when a copy was put in Mitchum’s hands as he was boarding a plane to Australia. The second draft made no more sense to Mitchum than the first.
At the suggestion of Lew Wasserman, Huston shifted his sights to Clark Gable. Huston sent the script and a personal note to Gable in Rome, then flew in for a follow-up chat. On October 31, Huston wired Miller that he believed Gable was theirs. The actor would not commit, however, until he returned to Los Angeles and talked it over with his agent.
Arthur’s revisions on
The Billionaire
were well under way when Marilyn reported to the Fox lot on November 9. Though she was consistently late to rehearsals, and though on the third day she inexplicably failed to return after lunch, Cukor and Wald weren’t worried. Everyone seemed to be patting everyone else on the back about the brilliant decision to hire Miller. On Friday, November 13, he delivered his pages a day early. Wald rushed the script over to Gregory Peck.
The production was plunged into crisis when Gregory Peck, dismayed by the extent to which Marilyn’s part had been built up, asked to cancel his contract. Peck was willing to return a $100,000 advance if Twentieth would release him. Buddy Adler reluctantly approved. The casting department called frantically all over town for a replacement. The candidates included Charlton Heston, James Stewart, Kirk Douglas, Cary Grant, Peter Lawford, Tony Curtis, and Rock Hudson. But nothing could be arranged. For a moment, with Twentieth scrambling to replace Peck, it looked as though the April start date on
The Misfits
was about to have to be put off. Once again, however, Arthur Miller saved the day. He recommended Yves Montand. Montand’s one-man show had been a triumph in Los Angeles as it had been in New York. He was now performing in San Francisco.
In order to hire Montand, Twentieth would have to overlook the fact that the comedy of
The Billionaire
was based on the notion of a man who can’t sing or dance pretending to be a song-and-dance man. That’s why Gregory Peck had been cast. Montand, by contrast, was well known
precisely as a song-and-dance man. Twentieth would also have to overlook the fact that Montand had very little English. And Spyros Skouras would have to overlook that Montand and his wife, Simone Signoret, were leftists.
In the interest of starting principal photography, all these drawbacks were instantly forgotten. Signoret, currently enjoying immense success as the sad older woman in the film
Room at the Top
, spoke fluent English. She took the call from Twentieth’s casting department. She indicated that they planned to return to France for Christmas. Montand was to tour Japan after that. Signoret would, however, read the screenplay on her husband’s behalf. A script was rushed to San Francisco and Montand nervously said yes. An opportunity to appear in a Hollywood film with Marilyn Monroe was a major incentive, of course. But no less important, apparently, was Miller’s participation.
Montand deeply admired Miller both for his politics and his art. In 1953 Montand and Signoret had read a translation of
The Crucible
and decided it must be performed in Paris. The couple appeared in the highly successful French adaptation,
Les Sorcières de Salem
, as well as in a film version. The role of John Proctor, caught between his wife (played by Signoret) and his lover, was widely regarded as Montand’s breakthrough as an actor.
Soon, Montand and Miller were to be seen exploring the residential streets near the Beverly Hills Hotel. They passed gated, meticulously landscaped Spanish and Tudor-style mansions. On one occasion, a policeman stopped them to inquire what they were doing there. They usually walked while Marilyn was rehearsing with Cukor. Montand, who had a loping stride, welcomed the chance to strike up a friendship with his hero. These walks also served as impromptu English lessons, Montand having discovered that for some reason he understood every word Miller said. Montand was one of those rare individuals with whom Miller seemed to open up. The men talked about politics, their families, Hollywood.
Miller said it was impossible to think of this place as a city. “It doesn’t smell like anything,” he insisted. “In Europe, you can smell everything—cooking, garlic …” As he had been when he came here to sell
The Hook
, Miller was ambivalent. He both disdained and desired success Hollywood-style. He took pains to distance himself from the wealth and
glitter even as he dreamt that
The Misfits
would be released as a road show—screened only at prestigious theaters with reserved seats and a high ticket price.
Hardly had Miller provided Twentieth with Montand when
The Misfits
lost its leading man. Clark Gable, upon returning to Los Angeles, changed his mind. Out of range of Huston’s charm, Gable, like Robert Mitchum, decided the script didn’t make sense. He read it several times, then told his agent he didn’t want to do it. Huston urged Miller to talk to Gable. They were already acquainted, having met at Charlie Feldman’s in 1951. Huston knew from Miller’s letter of October 5 that he was confident his screenplay was a major work of art and
The Misfits
was going to be a great movie. Perhaps Miller’s enthusiasm would convince Gable he’d be missing the boat if he turned this project down. As it happened, Miller’s pitch was convoluted. He earnestly described
The Misfits
as an Eastern Western about the meaninglessness of life. But the gobbledegook seemed to work. Gable reread the screenplay and decided to take the part of Gay Langland after all. The offer of a $750,000 salary (excluding overtime) may also have influenced his decision.
Eli Wallach and Thelma Ritter having agreed to play Guido and Isabelle, one major part remained to be cast. For Perce, Miller thought of Montgomery Clift. Miller asked to see some of the footage of
Wild River
which Kazan had sent back to Twentieth. Later, he called Kazan in Tennessee to find out when he expected to finish. Kazan said Clift would be free by early January. Miller indicated he was going to send
The Misfits
to Clift, and asked Kazan to read it when Monty was done. On December 4, Miller offered Clift the role, adding that Marilyn was excited by the prospect of working with him. The start date, Miller announced, was now March 24. Clift accepted and the cast was complete.
John Huston swept through Los Angeles. He approved the casting. He wanted to cut the script. United Artists would not consider distributing a picture longer than two hours and ten minutes. Miller, however, seemed to believe that length was an advantage for roadshowing. Huston, it became clear, didn’t see the film that way at all. He certainly didn’t think it should be roadshowed. That, he pointed out, was for spectacles.
Huston, evidently, had a more realistic view of what Miller had actually written. He saw
The Misfits
as essentially a small picture. He
argued it should be as modest and unpretentious as they could make it. Miller wanted to shoot the script as it was, then cut it down later. Huston was appalled. That kind of thinking, he said firmly, led to an atmosphere of waywardness and uncertainty that could prove fatal to a picture. He always found it to be a grave error to shoot scenes and speeches he wasn’t certain were going to be in the film.
Nothing had been decided when Huston left in time to spend Christmas at St. Cleran’s, his Georgian manor house in Galway. He invited Arthur and Marilyn to join him there as soon as she was finished at Twentieth. That Huston extended the invitation suggests he had no idea Cukor had yet to start filming
Let’s Make Love
, as
The Billionaire
had been renamed.
Between November 9 and December 4, Marilyn’s late arrivals, recorded at the studio gate, cost Cukor more than twenty-seven hours, or approximately three and a half days, of rehearsal time. The week of December 7, she kept Cukor waiting more than twelve hours. In the early part of the following week, nearly ten hours were lost.
Wilder, once he had settled the delicate matter of who was boss, had been known to rely on Paula Strasberg to reason with Marilyn. Cukor did not have that luxury, Marilyn having temporarily decided that she distrusted Paula. Paula sensed that Marilyn had begun to confuse her with her own mother. Gladys remained at Rockhaven Sanitarium in Glendale, where there were constant problems. Gladys insisted that the hospital staff wanted to poison her. She fought with her fellow patients. She tried to escape. She tried to kill herself. Paula, who had often played a mother’s role with Marilyn, was the beneficiary of a good deal of Marilyn’s anger at Gladys. That anger came to a head in November. Marilyn, in Los Angeles for the first time since her miscarriage, filed a petition in Superior Court appointing Inez Melson, her business manager, Gladys’s conservator. Fearful that in killing her baby she had become just like Gladys, she pushed the mad mother away.
Marilyn finally consented to do the first wardrobe and makeup tests on Tuesday, December 15. Two days later, Buddy Adler, George Cukor, Jerry Wald, various studio executives, and Marilyn herself settled themselves in a screening room to look at the tests. The day began a new phase in her career.
When the tests for
The Sleeping Prince
were shown at Pinewood
Studios in 1956, three years previously, the relief and delight in the room had been palpable. Whatever Marilyn may have looked like in person—and initially Olivier had been horrified by her appearance—she was enchanting on screen. She had an extraordinary ability to project. She had what cinematographers call “flesh impact.” The naked eye might not perceive it, but the camera certainly did. But on Thursday, December 17, 1959, when Marilyn appeared on screen, Buddy Adler was shocked and dismayed. The color tests were disastrous. Marilyn, it seemed, could no longer be relied on to be utterly magical on camera. Her makeup was peculiar. Her hairdo was unflattering. Her blue gown didn’t work. She didn’t look like herself. How was Marilyn supposed to look? Certainly not ordinary.
Adler advised Wald and Cukor to run a scene from
Bus Stop.
He instructed them to view
The Seven Year Itch
as an even better example of what he had in mind. Above all, he urged them to study any reel of
Some Like It Hot
to see Marilyn Monroe “as she should be.”
What did Marilyn think? Before anyone had a chance to ask, she had vanished. On Friday, Marilyn called in sick. On Monday, she called in sick. On Tuesday, she called in sick. On Wednesday, she called in sick. On Thursday, Christmas Eve, a half-day, she called in sick. Marilyn’s opinion of the tests was clear.
Meanwhile, Twentieth had once again brought in Arthur to work on the script. On December 23, he officially began a second set of revisions, for which he was to be paid an additional $5,000. The pages were due on January 4. That day, Marilyn reported for a wardrobe fitting, leaving after only twenty minutes, and a physician called Twentieth to say she was ill. In her bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel, Marilyn had been feasting on a suicidal smorgasbord of drugs: Demerol, sodium pentothol, Amytal, phenobarbital. Her speech was slurred. She could barely carry on a conversation.