In the Company of Legends Page 2

  Fred Was First

  “Mr. Astaire is furious. He thought he made it clear to that man that he does not want a program done about him and will not co-operate.”

  The response from Fred Astaire’s agent, Michael Black, was not a surprise. “That man” was Jac Venza, one of our executive producers, who’d recently been in Los Angeles, managed to meet with Astaire, and received a similar polite, but firm, reaction to his proposal. Even so, we knew we had to try again, and had written a letter of our own. It had done no good.

  JK Previously, I had been responsible for booking Rudolf Nureyev twice on The Dick Cavett Show, and during one of his appearances he said, “So many people have taken Fred Astaire’s dreams and put them in their own pockets.” He confided in me that he hoped they could meet one day, and wondered if I might be able to come up with a plan to make it happen.

  Joan Kramer escorting Rudolf Nureyev to taping of The Dick Cavett Show.

  New York, 1974. Authors’ collection.

  By then, Joanne Woodward and I had become friends1. We shared a love of ballet, and a mutual admiration for Nureyev. And she knew Fred Astaire. So together we came up with the concept of a television special in which she would interview both of them. Nureyev leapt at the idea. Astaire turned it down flat.

  DH That was before Joan and I met. However, when we produced Nureyev on Nijinsky for Skyline2, she told me about the idea and I thought it was worth trying again. Once more, it never got off the ground. So we came up with a different approach: a documentary about Astaire and his career as a dancer. However, just as our boss, George Page, the head of Arts and Sciences, was about to submit the proposal to PBS for funding, a small turf war broke out. It turned out that Jac Venza, head of Great Performances, was also about to submit a similar proposal. It was resolved by George and Jac agreeing to be co-executive producers of the project.

  Amazingly, no program about Fred Astaire had ever been produced for American television. In fact, the biography/profile format was almost non-existent, with the exception of an occasional segment in news magazines such as 60 Minutes.

  However, many public television stations had had considerable success a few years earlier with a documentary devoted to Edith Piaf, originally made for British television. So PBS saw the potential in our show and agreed to finance it using a pool of money put aside for special programming during the two or three times a year when stations ask viewers to send in their pledges of financial support3. Most of the profiles we produced for PBS would be broadcast during these fund-raising periods.

  JK and DH Unlike our own dismay over the “Astaire is furious” phone call, Jac Venza’s attitude was, “He’s a public figure; just go ahead and do the show.”

  What none of us knew was that he had the power to stop us. In the 1930s, when his lawyer negotiated his contracts with RKO, he inserted a clause giving Astaire approval of the use of excerpts from his films. This was very unusual at that time. To the best of our knowledge, the only other performers who had similar deals were Cary Grant and Myrna Loy. It’s a good thing we didn’t know, or we would almost certainly have given up. In our ignorance, we pressed on.

  Our research had revealed that Astaire particularly disliked “tributes,” of which there seemed to be a growing abundance; the format usually had the subject sitting either at a table or on stage while friends and colleagues lavished him or her with praise. We could understand why he might feel uncomfortable with that, but our program would be in the form of a documentary retrospective, which would have no resemblance to a tribute. So we felt we had a valid excuse to contact him one more time.

  DH A few days later my phone rang. It was Michael Black.

  “Mr. Astaire received your latest letter. Didn’t I already tell you that he doesn’t want a program done?”

  We’d laid out all our arguments, and I couldn’t think of any more. I had resigned myself to this being a “don’t ever contact him again” phone call, when he said, “But because of your tenacity, he has agreed to let you proceed.”

  “Please thank him for me,” I said in a low-key tone of voice, as I was thinking, “That’s very nice, but we don’t need his permission.” I had no idea what a breakthrough this was.

  Then he added, “And Fred owns his last television special and wonders whether you’d like to use a number from it.” Then he added a rider, “And he’s chosen the one he’d like you to consider. It’s ‘Oh, You Beautiful Doll,’ a duet with Barrie Chase.” She, of course, was his television partner in the 1960s.

  JK and DH A few weeks later, we flew to Los Angeles to shoot interviews, and went to Michael Black’s office to pick up the videotape. He was very cordial and wished us well with the production. Then, as we were about to leave: “One last thing. When you have a rough-cut, why don’t you show it to Fred? He might have some useful suggestions for you. And who knows? At that point, he may even give you a short statement on camera.”

  So that was the quid pro quo, the bombshell after all the good news. Fred Astaire was known to be a perfectionist; he had once insisted that RKO pull back all prints of one of his films after he saw it in a theater and noticed something he did not like. We could not imagine that we’d come through a screening unscathed. This could be a terrible trap, but how could we say no?

  JK However, there were other issues we had to deal with first.

  Since it was becoming evident that Astaire would not appear in the program, we knew we had to have Ginger Rogers. Their partnership in the series of films they made together for RKO in the 1930s is perhaps the most famous in the history of motion pictures. The problem was that Ginger was fed up with talking about Fred. After she’d won her Best Actress Oscar for Kitty Foyle, she felt she’d proven she was a star in her own right; but every interviewer always wanted to ask about her work with Astaire.

  I discovered that she spent much of her time at a ranch she owned on the Rogue River in Oregon. Rather than calling her “cold,” I found the address of the ranch and wrote her a letter. An answer soon came back from her assistant: “No.” I wrote again. A few days later, the same response. That’s when I said, “David, this needs another voice. You should call her.” While I usually acted as the talent booker, my instincts told me that his British accent—plus the fact that he’s a man—might turn the tide.

  DH I can make myself take on that role when I have to, but unlike Joan, it’s not one I relish, and I know it’s not one of my strong points. I took a deep breath and dialed the number. We spoke for about forty-five minutes, about what I cannot remember, but she made it very clear that she didn’t want to be interviewed. Then she mentioned that she was being honored in a few weeks by the Masquers Club in Los Angeles. I didn’t know what that was, although it obviously was important to her. So I said, “I’d like to film the event and perhaps we can use an excerpt in our show.” Where we were going to get the money to shoot it, I had no idea; the budget was tight with no spare filming days. There was a pause. Then, “That sounds interesting,” she said. “Let me think about it.” I had a foot—actually just a toe—in the door, so I pushed further.

  Joan and I had decided that the only way to persuade Ginger to co-operate would be to ask her to talk specifically about her experiences in the making of those famous films with Astaire.

  “We want to know what it was like for you to make those pictures. How were you able to dance on the shiny floors? Can you tell us about the rehearsals? And how did you manage in those long gowns and high heels?” It was a barrage of questions.

  Eventually I paused to catch my breath, when I heard, “Hmm. Let me think about it.” Followed by, “Call me back in a few days.”

  JK At one point during that second call, I saw him blush. She had not only agreed to the interview, invited us to shoot it in her home just outside Palm Springs, and said she’d do her own hair and makeup, but somewhere in the middle of all this good news, she added, “You’re British, aren’t you? Quite charming.”

  DH We set the date and Ging
er walked into the room spot on time at 2 pm. I’m sure that was a result of her Hollywood training; almost without exception we found that the actors and actresses who had been a part of the old studio contract system were very disciplined, and never late. Ginger Rogers was not only completely professional, but she was also friendly and easy to work with.

  Ginger Rogers after being interviewed for Fred Astaire: Puttin’ On His Top Hat.

  Palm Springs, CA, 1979. Authors’ collection.

  She did ask to see the questions ahead of time, and the only one she didn’t want to answer was “Can you tell us what sort of formal dance training you had?” The truth was she didn’t have any. She wasn’t a formally trained dancer. Which makes it all the more remarkable that she more than held her own with Fred Astaire.

  Of course we had to ask her about the often-reported rumor that the two of them didn’t get along. “We never fought,” she said. “But do you think I can get anyone to believe me?”

  JK and DH It may be true that they never fought, but memos in the RKO files reveal that Fred was not happy with the partnership; he didn’t want to make any more pictures with Ginger. It was not that he disliked her. It was that he did not want to be part of another team after so many years spent performing with his sister, Adele, prior to his career in the movies.

  Pandro Berman, the RKO executive in charge of production, granted his request and put him in a film with Joan Fontaine, George Burns, and Gracie Allen, A Damsel in Distress. But the “distress” extended to the box-office returns, making it clear that it was the Astaire and Rogers team that brought audiences into the theaters. So they were reunited in Shall We Dance, Carefree, and The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle, their last three pictures together for RKO.

  But, of course, there were some disagreements between them. The most famous was over the gown Ginger wore in “Cheek to Cheek.” It was made almost entirely of feathers, which had a tendency to shed as the two of them danced, getting all over Fred, much to his annoyance. It’s not difficult to see the flying feathers in good prints of the film, Top Hat. Another problem dress was created for “Let’s Face the Music and Dance” in Follow the Fleet. She told us that it was made of hand-sewn bugle beads, and weighed close to forty pounds. Unfortunately, the loose sleeves, which looked so beautiful, slapped Astaire across the face when she did a turn near the beginning of the sequence. He later said to us, “I was groggy throughout the rest of the number. We did several re-takes. But the first was the best, and the one we used in the finished film.” If you look carefully you can see him subtly flinching when the sleeve hits him.

  DH We did keep our promise to Ginger Rogers. Her comments in the program are all about her pivotal contributions to the making of those iconic movies.

  JK Another reluctant partner was Astaire’s sister, Adele. They started out as children in vaudeville, and became stars when they performed in the 1923 production of Stop Flirting in London. She was the more famous of the two, until she retired in 1932 to marry a British Lord, leaving her brother to continue his career alone. Getting her to take part in the program would be a coup, since she never appeared on television and hated being interviewed.

  After a bit of sleuthing, I learned that she had moved back to the United States following the death of her husband, and now lived in Arizona. It did not take too much more detective work to find her telephone number. But again, I knew that this was a job for David.

  DH She must have retained a soft spot for the British, because she allowed me to make some small talk even though she stated from the beginning that she had no intention of appearing in the program. When I mentioned the dates we had put aside for filming, she said, “Well, that certainly counts me out; I won’t be here. I’m planning to visit my brother.” I told her that wouldn’t be a problem because we’d be doing most of our interviews in Los Angeles, and would be there at the same time as she would. But as we continued to chat, I was beginning to sense that her biggest concern was appearing on-camera, so I said, “How about doing it just voice only?”

  “You little devil; you’re talking me into this, aren’t you?” she said. “But you mustn’t call me at my brother’s house. He’ll kill me if he finds out.”

  It dawned on me that she was probably enjoying the conspiracy.

  “I’ll call you,” she said. “Give me the number of your hotel.”

  JK I was as amazed as David by her turn-around. However, the letdown came when we’d been in Los Angeles for three days and she had not called. It was an early December whirlwind trip, and there were only two days left before we had to return to New York. I knew that we had to take the initiative, and suggested that David take the plunge and call her again. Luckily Fred was out, and Adele picked up the phone.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll do it. But remember, voice only. And tell Barrie to pick me up.”

  Of course, she meant Barrie Chase, whom we’d interviewed the day before.4 Astaire had plucked her out of the chorus of one of his movies to be his co-star in the four television specials he made for NBC, and he clearly admired her as a dancer. In fact, the number he wanted us to use from the special he owned showcased her talents more than it did his own.

  While Barrie had made us feel as though we’d known each other for years, it was a little embarrassing for me to ask her to play chauffeur for Adele. But when I did, she just laughed. “Leave it to Dellie,” she said. “Okay. I’ll pick her up and you can do the interview at the new house my husband and I just bought. It has a beautiful, quiet yard that should work for you.”

  What we didn’t know at the time, and only learned much later, was that she and Adele hadn’t been on speaking terms for a number of years. So Adele asking me to ask Barrie to pick her up was a test to see if she’d actually do it. Unwittingly, I had become the bridge to their reconciliation.

  DH It’s a shame that Adele Astaire wouldn’t allow us to film her. She looked beautiful, was full of beans and very funny. She told us that Fred had been a perfectionist from the start, always wanting to rehearse, while she preferred to go to parties.

  “But a girl has to get married,” she added. “My brother was very gracious about it. And I noticed he did better after I left him.”

  When the interview was over, I realized that sitting on the bench in front of us were Fred Astaire’s first and last partners. And even though Adele had said, “If I see a camera anywhere, I’ll strangle you,” by then she was very comfortable and clearly having a good time. I told her I had a still camera in my bag and asked if she would mind my taking a picture of her and Barrie together.

  “Oh yes. What a good idea!” she said.

  As far as we know, that was not only the last photograph ever taken of Adele Astaire, but the audio interview is the only one of her extant.

  Sadly, she died in January, 1981, just thirteen months after we met her.

  Adele Astaire and Barrie Chase.

  Sherman Oaks, CA, 1979. Authors’ collection.

  JK Among the other interviewees was Hermes Pan, the choreographer and dancer who’d worked with Astaire on almost every film he’d made. They were also very good friends. While David was setting up with the crew, Fred happened to call Hermes to confirm dinner with him the following evening. Of course, Hermes told him what he was doing at that moment, and also mentioned some of the other people who were participating in the program. Apparently Astaire said, “Maybe at the end I’ll give them a sentence or two on camera, if they still want it.” Hermes shared that with me in confidence, and said he thought that maybe Fred was beginning to feel a bit left out. But he also said he didn’t envy us showing him a rough-cut because he could be devastating if he didn’t like something.

  Although I was never able to arrange for Rudolf Nureyev to meet Fred Astaire, we did fly to Paris to film Nureyev for the program. And while we were there, we also interviewed Leslie Caron and choreographer, Roland Petit.

  JK and DH During one of our trips to Los Angeles, Joanne Woodward and Paul Newman invited
us to a party at their home, and Joanne took us aside and said, “I want to be part of your show.” We were stymied. She wasn’t a dancer and, even though we’d originally wanted her to interview Astaire and Nureyev, our program had evolved into something quite different. All those taking part in it were Fred Astaire’s partners, his choreographers, such as Hermes Pan, Roland Petit, and Eugene Loring, as well as luminaries in the dance world, including Jerome Robbins and Bob Fosse, who could analyze his technique, and dancers who were the top in their fields, like Nureyev, Honi Coles, and Gene Kelly. It was hard to see how Joanne could fit in.

  Then we came up with a solution. We asked her to narrate the program and she immediately accepted.

  DH The day we were dreading finally came in late January, 1980. We’d completed our rough-cut and rented a screening room in Los Angeles to show it to Astaire. What we had was extremely rough technically. It had my voice-over as a scratch track, temporary film clips that were not very good quality, black holes where still photos would eventually be, and only the crudest sound mix. Looking back on it now, I wonder how we had the guts to let him see it.

  In addition, I wasn’t feeling too well when I left New York, and by the time we landed in California, I had either the flu or a very bad cold and was barely functioning.

  So when he walked in that morning with Michael Black, I was already feeling dreadful, and I remember thinking to myself, “If he gives us a hard time, I don’t know how I’ll be able to deal with him.”

  JK He was as debonair as I expected him to be; about five feet eight inches, wearing a sport jacket, a tie, and plaid pants, with burgundy leather shoes. I remember he said, “I’m not going to say too much. I’m just interested in seeing how you’re coming along.”

  I thought, “Really? Not based on what Hermes Pan told us.”

  He took a seat just a few feet away from the screen, and we were careful to position ourselves just behind, where we could see him without turning around. And we braced ourselves for the worst.