Lauren Bacall - By Myself and Then Some

A couple of years ago I almost went a full year with no Paris. That is major for me. I have decided that I need to be there. It feeds my spirit. Not only the brandy, but because I have many friends there and know the city so well, especially the Left Bank. I feel very comfortable there, that I belong there. Call it escape if you like but it truly isn’t. I am attached to Paris, the good, the bad, the beauty. And over the years – the days, weeks, months I’ve spent in all kinds of weather – the city has never let me down. I have never been disappointed – it has always lived up to my expectations, my remembrance of times past (to steal a phrase). The new illumination of monuments and buildings of the past few years – its artistry and the sense of pride that Parisians take in their city – has surpassed anything I might have imagined. And yet, with my familiarity with the streets and squares of Paris, I am still discovering corners, small cafes, gardens – it still surprises – it still makes my heart beat faster.

I n the spring of 1995 , I had just arrived in Paris – was sitting snugly in my bed looking forward to two weeks in my favorite city when my agent called. A script was on its way – From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler – a movie for television – to start shooting in two days. I had to answer immediately, say ‘yes’ or they had to get somebody else. Typical. Nothing convenient about my profession. So I read the script and liked it. My son Sam mentioned that From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler happened to be his favorite book in his younger years. I said “yes” and started repacking my unpacked clothes and headed for Los Angeles. They had to turn in the product by a certain date and all was in readiness – that’s the nature of the business. My late friend John Schlesinger described Hollywood as being ‘a temporary place, buildings disappear like fortunes and reputations, the instant dispensability of all of us working in movies. Underneath the facade of promises is all the frustration. At the studio, people dress to prepare for fantasy but they are treated like commodities.’ That was a profound and ultimately sad analysis of the movie business to a large degree. John was a brilliant director – deeply intelligent, sensitive and interesting – another witty and loyal friend.

The fun of the film for me was the unfolding discovery of the story. I had never heard of it before yet it was familiar to most elementary school children. In the television production, the two young actors were particularly good. Child actors are often difficult to work with for many reasons – usually parents who hover over them during work hours – coach them – push them. There are few parents who handle their children’s careers as Shirley Temple’s mother did. Somehow, while being the biggest star in the Hollywood firmament from the age of four or five to her entering the awkward ages and pulling away a bit, Shirley managed to have a sane, private, totally un-Hollywood childhood. I have worked with child actors on several occasions. Studying the parents’ behavior on set taught me a thing or two in my scenes in this movie. Some of the kiddies are very spoiled – not their fault – but not the ‘Frankweiler’ children. Despite the fact that, practically on arrival in L.A., I was standing in the shower at four o’clock in the morning washing my hair – heading for my first day of shooting – it turned out to be fun. A happy experience with the Sam connection very much in the foreground of my sense it would be a plus for many a child. And something for the grandchildren to enjoy.

P aris would come again at a later date. After L.A., I headed to New York – home – an almost impossibility for me. I wanted the theatre, to be on stage, but in what? Where was the play? Imagine my delight when my old friend, Duncan Weldon, called to invite me to Chichester on the south coast of England for the 1995 summer festival. He suggested The Visit , a Frederic Durenmatt play that I had seen many moons ago with the great Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne. They made even the most feeble play look like a masterpiece. The Visit is far from feeble, but it is a very difficult piece that many an actor does not like. Not because it’s challenging but because it is dark, diabolical, interesting though slightly depressing. However, I jumped in with both feet. It sadly turned out not to be my favorite experience onstage.

Bogie had introduced me to the Lunts on a trip to London in the early Fifties. I was in awe of them in every play I saw them in – they were true theatre magic. Because of my unreal memory of the Lunts’ brilliance, it was my fantasy to have Paul Scofield (the number one actor of his generation, and perhaps all those that followed) play the Alfred Lunt part. He graciously declined, saying he never liked the play. That slowed me down a bit. One of my many faults – and a major one – is to read into a play qualities that perhaps are not there once I’ve said ‘yes’ to it. I tend to trust the wrong people at times and my instinct goes awry.

Being in completely new theatrical surroundings, though I’m quick at adjusting, I still had to learn how to work physically on a thrust stage. Most stages are elevated from the audience with a curtain separating them, thereby keeping the actors in a play in their own special world. A thrust stage has no such curtain, rather it juts out into the audience creating a sense of immediate contact with the actors and the play. In the case of Chichester, the space was large with many seats, which generally works well with that size audience. Having seen many Chichester productions, I think I only had the sense of it being real, wonderful theatre. I also think in some ways, as it was so new to me, I was in awe of the past – the British actors I admired more than many American actors. I had had the privilege of seeing the classics, like Shakespeare, all acted by Olivier, Richardson, Gielgud, Guinness, Scofield. And I could never live up to them or the women – Vivien Leigh, Maggie Smith, Joan Plowright, Edith Evans. Jumping over these hurdles – not necessarily clearing them – I struggled.

The cast was good, all experienced in the thrust venue, the director too. We did not communicate well, unhappily. I think he thought of me too much as a movie star, so did not direct me to a large degree. I, in turn, was a fish out of water. I became quite frustrated and did not know who to go to for help. The director is so much the key to an actor’s performance for guidance, the giving of confidence, the support. When that fails, I withdraw, playing it safe. That’s never a good thing to do, neither for a performance nor for emotions. Finally my performance was, I think, quite uneven. Good in some scenes, not so in others. Once committed to a project, though, you’re stuck, aren’t you? The result, unfortunately, was that the fun (and even in a grim play such as The Visit , there can be moments of fun) wasn’t really there. Thank heaven for Johan Engels, a brilliant top-rated costume and scenic designer of world operas and ballets as well as theatre. He became my friend and my tower of strength.

My spirits did not soar, which was my first and only experience with that. Usually there is some saving grace in the theatre – usually the theatre itself. Just being part of it is enough. With a shaky self-confidence, it was uphill for me for a good part of the run. It’s experiences like this one that make me wish I am as tough as I’m sometimes thought to be. The company was fun. Though I never really got very close to them, there was a sense of general camaraderie. I almost always have had a positive feeling among the actors in all the plays I have been in. This was no exception. It was different, but it doesn’t take away from the work that we all did to play the play and give the audience its money’s worth. Looking back, the rough edges have worn down to some degree and though not a professional landmark for me, it was still the theatre, part of a well-known festival in England where I love to live and to work. The final judgment is I am glad I did it. I learned a thing or two and I was out there, not necessarily functioning at my best, but definitely functioning – I was out there. I was working.