My Life with Cleopatra (2 page)

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]

S
EPTEMBER
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.”

O
CTOBER
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 was inevitable.

O
CTOBER
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.

N
OVEMBER
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.

I went to see Mike at the old Chaplin Studios where he was finishing
Around the World in Eighty Days
. He took me into the projection room to see the first cut of the picture. I never got an answer from him about
Cleopatra
, but I gave him the book
The Life and Times of Cleopatra
to give to Elizabeth to read.

Soon after my meeting with Todd he died in the tragic plane crash. The only time I had seen Elizabeth since was once when I was flying to La Jolla taking my daughter to school and she got on the plane with her brother. I almost didn’t recognize her. She was in mourning and looked miserable. We spoke for only a moment.

When I telephoned Liz today, she said she would be at the Polo
Lounge of the Beverly Hills Hotel, having a drink with Arthur Loew, Jr. I dropped by for a brief moment, chatted with her and Arthur, who is the son of an old friend of mine, and left the book for Elizabeth to read. Evidently Mike had never given it to her.

Then I returned to my office and called her agent, Kurt Frings, and her lawyer, Martin Gang, to tell them I wanted her for the picture and had given her the book.

N
OVEMBER
1958

Told Lew Schreiber I had given the book to Elizabeth Taylor. He was upset.

I think Schreiber feels that my independence is somehow a threat to the studio—maybe he thinks it might influence other producers to get out of line. He said I had no right to go over his head and approach a star directly. The studio wouldn’t have Elizabeth Taylor in a picture.

D
ECEMBER
1958

First steps.

David Brown approved my request to start someone writing a script of
Cleopatra
. Ludi Claire, an actress turned writer, is going to assemble material and do a rough script, the least expensive way to start a project.

I have asked John DeCuir, an excellent art director, to do some sketches and models of the Forum and the palace, in the hope that the studio executives will see some of the possibilities in size and scope of the picture.

F
EBRUARY
1959

Although Skouras thinks Joanne Woodward is the biggest female attraction in the movies, thanks to
Three Faces of Eve
, Adler is insistent we use Joan Collins, who is physically right for the role and is dying to play it. Dance director Hermes Pan is working
with Joan, trying to improve her posture and walk so she will have the grace and dignity of Cleopatra.

F
EBRUARY
14, 1959

John DeCuir’s sketches and models were finished, and I had a display set up on one of the test stages behind the art department. All the executives were invited over after lunch to look them over.

The plaster model of the Forum took up almost an entire table top, the sketches and models were beautiful. I’m continually amazed at the great skills of the artisans on the Hollywood back lots.

For the first time, I think Adler and Schreiber see what I really have in mind for
Cleopatra
.

It can be the last word in opulence, beauty, and art—a picture women will love for its beauty and story. After all, it is the story of a woman who almost ruled the world but was destroyed by love. With the right cast and production values, the right director and script, this can be a sensation. The material is fantastic. The more of it I read, the better I like it.

F
EBRUARY
16, 1959

Still testing.

The casting department has compiled a list of possibilities for each role. Submitting these names is their job. The function of a producer is to argue out and prove to the casting department why some individuals don’t fit the picture and why certain combinations aren’t good. My first team is Liz Taylor as Cleopatra, Sir Laurence Olivier as Caesar, and Richard Burton as Mark Antony. The ideal box-office team, according to them, would be Cary Grant as Caesar, Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra, and Burt Lancaster as Mark Antony.

Other actors submitted by casting for Caesar are Sir John Gielgud, Yul Brynner, and Curt Jurgens.

For Cleopatra, they have listed Brigitte Bardot, Marilyn Monroe, Jennifer Jones, Kim Novak, Audrey Hepburn, Sophia Loren, Gina Lollobrigida, and Susan Hayward. Some contract actresses being recommended seriously are Joan Collins, Dolores Michaels, Millie Perkins, Barbara Steele, and Suzy Parker.