Lauren Bacall - By Myself and Then Some

Working with Nicole, as opposed to just being in the same movie with her as in Dogville , was really very special. She is a wonderful actress – always concentrated and focused on the work and giving to me in our scenes together. Our friendship was cemented during this period to a degree that we felt almost related. The movie is complicated but fascinating and I was very grateful to have been a part of it. It’s hard to describe but having been in this business for sixty years (unbelievable as it seems, especially to me) and to find that there are members (one or two perhaps) who still might want me in their films is more than gratifying. As work is what drives me – gives me a life and a continued goal despite my advancing years – the excitement goes on and the fact that there are still possibilities gives me that extra push to get up in the morning.

On Birth there was not a morning that I did not look forward to the day’s work. Jonathan’s head was so filled with ideas that arriving on set I knew there would be a surprise or two in the offing. Though I didn’t always agree with some of his changes, I knew he was a man of vision who knew what he wanted in a scene. Yet he never failed to answer my questions and listen to my (what I thought were reasonable) doubts. I was never bored – he was non-stop interesting and intelligent. His process was new territory for me to explore as an actress so I had to be on my toes – always alert. That, plus an often fourteen – to sixteen-hour day, made a nap at lunch almost a necessity. Amazing what a twenty-minute snooze will do for you in the energy department. Though I didn’t do it on a daily basis, I highly recommend it.

No matter what the outcome, it was a happy experience for me and for Sophie, who loved every aspect of the shooting, from early morning pick up to arrival at the Silvercup studios. She trotted down the hall, stopping to say hello to wardrobe and make-up before stopping completely at the door of my dressing room. She owned the place and everyone in it. I have never had a dog who so completely left her mark wherever she might be. I continually marvel at her behavior and continually wonder what goes on in the brain of that tiny head.

T hrough the years I have become aware that aimlessness does not suit me. Having a purpose does, be it going to the bank, the market, the gym, wherever – it’s a goal. In my subconscious from the beginning. Living in a city filled with activity does that. It’s one of New York’s main attractions. As I sit here confronting myself after roughly sixty years of New York living, this seems to be it. As they say, ‘I’ll never get out of here alive.’ I always loved this city. You might say it was in my blood through my entire family, we belonged here. Even during the fifteen years I lived with and loved Bogie in California, I always wanted a small pied à terre here where we had many friends, I had family and there was life – theatres to go to, restaurants, nightclubs, coffee shops, endless variety. Then it was a city to walk in, day or night.

In my early teens, the fun I had window shopping, looking sometimes longingly into shops filled with lovely clothes I could never afford. And years later, I was still window shopping on Madison Avenue, Broadway, many streets East side and West side, only this time I could walk into these shops and I could buy what I yearned for sometimes. Before and after, New York remained a city of excitement filled with dreams that might be fulfilled. So much was possible whether you were rich, poor or medium. I was medium. But it never stopped me from dreaming. Even though the city has changed so much, I hope there are still those who have hope for the future, who feel the beat of the city. In a way it’s still there, but you have to seek it out.

In 2003 – the first year in the last fifteen that I did not see Paris but once at the end of the year – I walked the streets of New York with my Sophie and I came to realize how this city of my childhood and my childhood dreams had changed. Dramatically and drastically. It was and still is a great city in what it has to offer educationally, historically, entertainment-wise and varied-neighborhood-wise, but it has become a city whose streets have been taken over by enormous trucks and buses (mostly empty) traveling two and three abreast. Dodging bicycles that you mostly cannot see or hear on sidewalks (against an unenforced law) – crosswalks marked for pedestrians and instead overrun by cars and taxis and vans extending their front halves into them – all in all it is hell trying to walk in this city now. It seems almost impossible to cross the street without being run into or being sideswiped by a car or taxi.

Yet I remain. Were I ten or more years younger, I would probably move. But I’ve lived in the same place for more than forty years – it is my home – my roots are here – many friends are here – theatre is here – even when I sit in my kitchen and look at only my endless cups and saucers, I know I can never move. I decry the fact that there are no manners anymore – is it the times? Cell phones – deafening noise on the streets, in the cars – blasting boom boxes – people walking towards you, not seeing you, never giving way so you can pass – not allowing you to get out of the elevator before they push themselves in – I began to notice this quite a few years ago and each year it all has grown and grown. Until it is almost bursting at the seams. Is it anger and if so, why to such a degree? There are not too many smiling faces. Where has all the humor gone, or was it never there? Did I just wish it?

Thank God some of my childhood haunts still exist. There is still nothing that can beat Zabar’s, the New York delicatessen of my childhood that I shop in now. I love going there and choosing my own cream cheese with scallions, my own smoked salmon. There is an endless assortment of fresh food – coleslaw, egg salad, herring, chopped chicken liver, cold cuts and more. I am never disappointed with their offerings. And another thing that exists in New York that one does not readily find in Los Angeles and other cities is fresh and delicious takeout. As I live alone, I don’t often cook for myself. What saves me are the specialty shops, William Poll, for example, with freshly cooked meals daily with different items every day, plus an assortment of fantastic soups, dips, chips – all homemade. And they deliver. And there are great markets – large and small. So I’m grateful for all that and miss it when I’m away from it for too long. So finally, I guess I’m stuck. The tough side, the noise, the bad traffic, the other obstacles will not go away. But when I am safely in my glorious apartment overlooking Central Park with all my things, my life of sixty years around me, I am quite content. Nothing’s perfect, but I have my friends, my Papillon, my books, my music – so I’m lucky. Children a phone call away, work still there for me.

As I look outside my window on Central Park West in the afternoon sun, I see trees, all sizes, full and green (I never realized how many shades of green there are) being backed up by tall buildings – too tall – cement shutting out light. And I think how lucky I am to live where I do so that just by looking out the window I can almost feel I am in the country and how lucky to live where I live instead of being completely closed in by cement.

In the United States the focus has always been on success, on making it, which of course is followed by making money which in turn will buy you the biggest house on the block – the most expensive car – entrance to the corporate America club – the good old boys’ club – the golf dates – the private planes and on and on. Unhappily quality does not count as number one, because with the accent on things, tables, chairs, tangibles – creativity, imagination and standards fall to the bottom of the ladder or off it. I really hate to see that this country – that once was about ideals, about people, about the land, about enriching the spirit, about accomplishment because you love what you do – has more and more become about corporate America – money, buying power, greed. It’s all so cold, so humorless, so dead.