IT’S NOT OVER, DECIDED AUDREY. FOR THE SAKE OF THEIR child, and a horror at joining her mother in the ranks of divorcées, Audrey would continue to be Mrs. Mel Ferrer; she would not give up on the marriage. They would somehow work things out. There was still something left in him that she loved, and she yearned for another baby.
She took great joy in their new home, located in Tolochenaz, a municipality in the canton of Vaud, on the shores of Lake Geneva in western Switzerland. The French-speaking population numbered under 2,000. The Ferrers christened their new domicile La Paisible (the peaceful place). The sixteenth-century, two-story, nine-bedroom stone farmhouse would be transformed by Audrey into a subtly luxurious and comfortable oasis of peace and tranquillity for her family. It would remain her permanent residence.
For Mel, there were few requests for his services as actor, writer, or director. Although offers for Audrey were always plentiful, Mel remained on the hunt for uniquely suitable projects for her. The idea to team her again with Cary Grant, for a remake of Goodbye, Mr. Chips, fell through. Audrey as Peter Pan came close, but legal complications over rights to the title prevented it from moving forward. Other projects remained possibilities, including an original script by novelist Frederic Raphael, Two for the Road; and a film of Wait Until Dark, the suspense play by Frederick Knott.
There was no longer any threat from Hedda, Louella, Sheilah, Confidential (which had gone out of business), or any other journalistic enterprise with the power to shatter careers. Extramarital affairs were now not only tolerated but, in some circles, celebrated. At thirty-six, Audrey was not immune to a new relationship, if the right opportunity presented itself. When times were tough, she was vulnerable. Late in his life, Billy Wilder reflected on this aspect of Hepburn’s persona: “Audrey was something entirely different on the screen than what she was in real life. Not that she was vulgar—she wasn’t . . . But there was so much inside her and she could put the sexiness on a little bit and the effect was really something.”
For Audrey, her safest habitat remained the screen, and once again she went back to the protective cocoon of big-time moviemaking.
William Wyler had called. Her last picture with him, The Children’s Hour, had failed. But Willie had discovered her, made her a star. It was under his direction that she had won her Oscar. She trusted him and would always be grateful to him. She would never turn down an opportunity to work with him, and there was always that possibility they would come up with another Roman Holiday. Willy’s new project sounded great. How to Steal a Million, a caper film, would combine theft, romance, glamour, suspense, and fun—not unlike Charade, which is undoubtedly how the package was sold to 20th Century-Fox. Wyler, at sixty-five, was still at the top of his profession; he would soon direct Barbra Streisand in the film version of Funny Girl. But the toll on mind and body was profound. Wyler’s wife, Talli, later recalled how when making a film her husband thought of nothing else.
How to Steal a Million would be made in Paris, with Audrey portraying the daughter of a successful art forger. Her leading man would be Lawrence of Arabia himself, Peter O’Toole, in the role of a suave burglar who falls in love with her. O’Toole’s acting pedigree was impeccable. He had attended the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts on a scholarship and was besotted with the theater. Very tall, slim, Irish, classically handsome, and sexy, in an aristocratic way, he would undoubtedly look great paired with Audrey on-screen. O’Toole knew all of Shakespeare’s sonnets, considered himself a romantic, and was nervous at the prospect of being Audrey’s leading man. From what he’d heard, she was aloof and formal.
Her trusted cameraman, Charles Lang, and Alberto and Grazia De Rossi, in charge of makeup and hair, would ensure that Audrey looked wonderful. Givenchy would be creating her wardrobe. At one point, for plot purposes, Audrey would be outfitted as a scrubwoman. “That does it,” says O’Toole, in character, observing Audrey’s discomfort. “Does what?” she asks. “It gives Givenchy a night off,” he replies.
The $6-million budget guaranteed top-of-the-line production values. George Bradshaw and Hollywood veteran Harry Kurnitz wrote the script for what all anticipated to be a big hit. The supporting cast was stellar—Hugh Griffith, Eli Wallach, and Charles Boyer. There was chemistry between Audrey and O’Toole. Aloof and formal Audrey was not—his riveting blue eyes, cultured voice, and skill as an actor were irresistible. He was certainly attracted to her. But during production, in the fall of 1965, she learned she was pregnant. Against the advice of her doctors, she told no one, including director Wyler. She felt a new affection for Mel, who was very loving and attentive during this period.
The visual impact of Audrey, in a scene in which she wears a ravishing black-lace cocktail dress (with matching mask!), spark-lit by Cartier diamond earrings and glitter on her eyelids, was mesmerizing and memorable. The way she looked was “a veritable definition of star quality,” wrote one critic. The film was a visual feast. Audrey—and Paris—had never been more beautiful, and Hepburn looked a decade younger than her thirty-six years. Only the script was routine and predictable.
In advertising, publicity, and promotion on the picture, Audrey’s wardrobe was treated as one of the stars. The marketing strategy for the film was not all that different from Paris When It Sizzles, bursting with innuendo: the preview trailer begins with a shot of O’Toole asking Audrey: “You really want it that much?” “More!” she replies. The announcer chimes in: “Only Audrey Hepburn could make him do it! Only Peter O’Toole could do it! Only three-time Academy Award–winning director William Wyler could show Hepburn and O’Toole, the screen’s greatest new romantic team, how to do it!” The public was interested, but not overwhelmingly so. The screen’s “greatest new romantic team” did not make another film together.
Sean would have a sibling at last, an answered prayer for Audrey after her tragic miscarriage a few years earlier. But, sadly, in December she suffered another miscarriage, and it left her desolate. The only thing to do was to return to work.
Audrey’s new leading man reminded her in many ways of a another co-star. Without any overt physical resemblance to Bill Holden, Albert Finney did possess his qualities of virility, sensitivity, sense of humor, and sense of fun. She was ready for another Holden, and there was no Mrs. Finney to contend with—he was divorced.
Finney, along with Peter O’Toole, was among the hottest young actors on the international film scene (the two actors had been classmates at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts). Charles Laughton had labeled Finney “a genius.” Producer-director Stanley Donen had scored a coup by signing him to be Audrey’s leading man in Two for the Road. He’d been a sensation in the title role of Tony Richardson’s ribald Best Picture Oscar winner, Tom Jones. For the moment, Finney was a sex symbol as well as a respected actor. Audrey and “Albie” made a slightly odd-looking couple. Finney was five feet nine, barely two inches taller than Hepburn (O’Toole had been well over six feet). O’Toole was three years younger than Audrey; Finney, seven years.
Two for the Road would be Audrey’s third film with Donen (after Funny Face and Charade). To her delight, her beloved Paris would be their home base, with partial filming to take place in the South of France. The script, by novelist Frederic Raphael, was very European in flavor. It was his follow-up effort to Darling, which had garnered two 1965 Oscars—Best Screenplay for him, and Best Actress for Julie Christie as the title character.
Two for the Road was an ambitious, fiercely contemporary story that, for Audrey, struck close to home. It followed one couple’s love, marriage, and infidelities over the course of a twelve-year period. A little too close, perhaps; it took a lot of convincing from Donen and Raphael for her to feel comfortable with it. There was an additional, major drawback, which did not seem to concern anyone: the two leading characters were rather unlikable, just as Raphael’s characters in Darling had been.
Audrey’s character would run the gamut from the late teen years to her current age. Makeup and hair gurus Alberto and Grazia De Rossi would once again be invaluable in helping her to achieve her various looks for this film. Although she looked younger than her age, it was difficult to make the scenes where she was supposed to be in her late teens convincing.
Audrey would not have the “protection” of a Givenchy wardrobe, a major concern for her; again, a lot of discussion was required. (Mel was not unhappy; he was still not a Givenchy fan). Although Donen had memorialized Audrey as a fashion icon in Funny Face, he had no intention of revisiting that territory in the same way. A fashion revolution was underway, and he wanted Audrey to be in the forefront. The turning point had been recent. To quote society chronicler William Norwich, “there’s a New Look in town, and her name is Barbra Streisand. . . .” At the beginning of her career, Streisand had been strongly influenced by Audrey’s look in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Now, the twenty-three-year-old singer, and the way she dressed, was, to quote Norwich, “a big idea whose time has come.” “Throwaway Chic” was the future.
Donen wanted Audrey totally “real” in this film. It would be ridiculous for the character she was playing—a touring choir girl when she first meets her aspiring architect future husband—to wear Givenchy couture. Audrey finally agreed, worked diligently with fashion coordinator Ken Scott, and literally wore him out with her surgeonlike dedication to assembling her “off-the-rack” costumes. When Lady Clare Rendlesham came aboard, it was exhausting for her, too; in fact, exhausting for all but Audrey, who was totally committed to familiarizing herself with the boutique fashions of the “in” designers, including Mary Quant and Paco Rabanne. She was to wear bathing suits on-screen for the first time and that made her nervous, reluctant to put her body, with all its perceived flaws, under that kind of scrutiny. Donen was a very persuasive man. There was a discreet nude love scene, in which Donen did not want Audrey to wear a flesh-colored bodysuit; once again, he prevailed.
The structure of the film was unlike anything she had ever appeared in, with continual intercutting between past and present. It was a thoroughly daunting but challenging project that required all of Audrey’s attention and sparked her enthusiasm.
Especially for her leading man.
Albert Finney later said that he met Audrey in what he described as a “seductive ambiance” in “a very sensual time in the Mediterranean.” It was as though he were channeling Bill Holden when he recalled, “We got on immediately. After the first day’s rehearsals [with Holden, too, it had been the first day], I could tell the relationship would work out wonderfully.”
Certainly, Audrey’s anxieties over Mel seemed to fade. There was more than an echo of her early Holden days as she and Finney, dressed as two ordinary young people, laughed and held hands while walking along the shores of the Loire. They took drives to out-of-the-way cafés and boîtes (small nightclubs) where they could dine, dance, and enjoy each other. Except for the fact that these forays took place not in the hills of Hollywood but in the South of France, it was Holden redux. Exactly as she had with Bill, Audrey permitted herself to be a “girl” again, unencumbered by the worries and cares that came with being Mrs. Mel Ferrer and Audrey Hepburn. Director Donen was delighted with this “new” Audrey—she was open to any and all ideas on how to play her role.
It was an intoxicating time for her. Her spirits soared again. She hoped “Albie” felt the same intimacy. With Bill, she’d had no doubt—of course, she was only twenty-five then. A lot of life had happened in the interim.
When the production schedule permitted, she flew to Switzerland to spend time with six-year-old son Sean. The Ferrers were both present when the boy performed in a school play, his parents nervously anticipating his debut as they sat together in the audience. Audrey was tickled when Sean followed her advice to the letter and spoke confidently in a loud voice so he would be heard—the same advice she had undoubtedly been given by Mel, over and over, during the runs of Gigi and Ondine.
As to future projects, Mel would be producing Wait Until Dark. After the success of My Fair Lady, Warners was eager to have Audrey in another film; it would be made in Hollywood, despite her protestations. Mel had not the slightest intention of letting the deal slip away, as his career was otherwise dormant. Hepburn would be paid in excess of $1 million, plus a percentage of the gross.
Although Mel was aware of reports linking Audrey and Finney romantically, he was the last person who could complain about anyone, least of all Audrey, having an affair. If industry scuttlebutt was accurate, he was currently having one with Marisol. Finney’s commitments would keep him in Europe, though that did not have to mean the end of his love affair with Audrey. But there was another, crucial element influencing Audrey’s decision to call it quits: her relationship with her son would be threatened if she didn’t.
On-screen, oddly enough, Finney wasn’t a perfect leading man for Audrey, although their attraction to each other certainly brought out an openness in her performance that was refreshing. But his voice and accent didn’t complement hers; they seemed to be from different worlds. And both appeared to be working very hard at creating their characters (whereas, in a brief scene with young femme fatale Jacqueline Bisset, Finney was effortlessly on target). There was a reason Audrey had come off so well opposite Holden, Bogart, Peck, Grant, Harrison, and O’Toole. These men matched what she had to offer. It made sense that she was attracted to them, even if they, with the exception of O’Toole, were older. And in terms of men more her age, she was a good match, on-screen, with George Peppard in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, as well.
In Two for the Road, Audrey was too innately poised and refined for her role, although many critics regarded it as her best work to date. Some of her friends, for example, Audrey Wilder, thought it was a genuine breakthrough, that Audrey had never been less guarded on-screen. But not only was the character Joanna not really likable, she was supposed to be an “ordinary” woman. Try as she might, Audrey simply wasn’t ordinary, any more than she was a Cockney. And Finney, often described as the incarnation of the British working-class hero, was mis-cast as an architect.
The dialogue was ultracontemporary. For the first (and last) time, she said the word “bastard” on-screen (she says it, with a smile, to Finney); and Finney was the first man to call Hepburn a “bitch” on-screen. Nudity, foul language, and moral ambiguity were becoming commonplace in films. The drugs-and-sex generation was in the forefront. “Those days were all about youth, youth, youth,” recalled Hepburn’s contemporary and fellow Britisher Joan Collins. There were no Sabrinas to be discovered in this discontented group.
Audrey’s willingness to enable a production to realize its full technical potential was never more evident than on this film. Henry Mancini was the number-one choice to write the score, but there was doubt whether his commitments would permit it. Audrey made a personal appeal to Mancini via telegram to be a part of their “wonderful project.” She even included a telephone number where she could be reached. “Can you imagine Elizabeth Taylor doing something like that, giving a contact number?” laughed MCA executive Herb Steinberg, who had been at Paramount during Hepburn’s Holden days. Audrey’s telegram to Mancini accomplished its purpose. He wrote the score for Two for the Road.
A couple of years earlier, after Elizabeth Taylor had starred in a highly rated network television special, “Elizabeth Taylor in London,” Audrey received a telegram from an independent producer asking if she would be interested in her own TV special, “Audrey Hepburn in Switzerland.” The telegram outlined exactly what the producer had in mind, which would be to include brief clips from her films, and he included a list of those he wanted to use. He promptly received a reply from Audrey herself, thanking him but politely declining his proposal. In her telegram she pointed out: “But you forgot Gregory Peck and Roman Holiday.”
There was shocking news about Bill Holden. To Audrey, Capucine, and the others who had known him over the years, it seemed sadly inevitable that eventually he would have an accident and either kill himself or somebody else. He did the latter, driving under the influence (he said he’d had only two glasses of wine) at over one hundred miles per hour, in an automobile accident in Italy. Two young women, sisters, were with him in the car.
The accident occurred, ironically, at a time when Bill was striving to improve his health. He had checked into a favorite resort, the beautiful La Pace Spa in Montecatini Terme, Tuscany. There, under the supervision of doctors, he’d embarked on a fitness program that included a strict, supervised diet, hot baths, the works. At the spa, Bill had met the young women who were with him in the car. They were reportedly granddaughters of the noted American writer Anita Loos. They wanted to visit friends in a nearby village, not far from the spa. “I’ll drive you,” volunteered Bill. En route, his Ferrari collided with a small Fiat coming from the opposite direction. The driver of the Fiat was rushed to the hospital but died in the ambulance. Bill and the women were unharmed.
Holden was charged with vehicular manslaughter. It took over a year to settle the case, but in the end, an eight-month suspended prison sentence was the court verdict. “Oh, Bill,” had become “Poor Bill.” He was devastated, overwhelmed with guilt, and the feeling never went away for long. Fortunately, friends in high places liked and respected him. It was not public knowledge, and Holden would never discuss it, but during his extensive travels he had done work for the Central Intelligence Agency. Strategic strings were quietly pulled behind the scenes. Bill kept a very low profile during this period, and eventually fallout from the scandal dissipated, then disappeared.
The preceding couple of years had been very rough. Bill suffered a terrible loss when his brother, Dick, a pilot, was killed in a flying accident. His parents, living in retirement in Palm Springs, California, were bereft; he did his best to console them, and himself.
Thankfully, a new woman had entered Bill’s life. At a New Year’s Eve party at the home of screenwriter and close Billy Wilder pal Charles Lederer, he introduced himself to a comely blonde with a “Hi, I’m Bill.” He was delighted to learn that she was not an actress. That fierce, ruthless drive, that sense of purpose, that all-consuming concern about career was not the prime factor in her life. Like Audrey, Patricia Morgan Stauffer had an upper-class background. Her family was socially prominent, and her father was a successful Los Angeles stockbroker. She had attended the finest schools, and at one point was a pre-med student at the University of Southern California. A former Anne Klein model, Pat was not a stranger to luminaries from the entertainment world. She was the fifth wife of Swiss-born restaurateur Teddy Stauffer, a former musician and bandleader, a man noted for being a connoisseur of beautiful women (two of his wives were famous actresses, Faith Domergue and Hedy Lamarr). “Teddy was quite a character,” recalled Pat Gaston Manville. “He certainly knew how to have a good time.” Teddy was the entrepreneur who had put Acapulco on the map as a jet-set attraction, hence his nickname, “Mr. Acapulco.” He and Pat had a two-year old daughter, Melinda, but were in the process of getting a divorce.
Pat would be a part of Bill’s life for the next seventeen years. Holden’s travels and film work continued, and Pat often accompanied him on location and on his trips to Africa. In many ways Bill was lucky; besides his looks and talent, he always connected with a beautiful, intelligent, loving woman who did her best to help him overcome his addictions.
In 1967, Bill was appearing on-screen as one of the all-star cast of a James Bond film that didn’t star Sean Connery, Casino Royale.
“Make Something Wonderful About Being Alive!” was the ad line for Audrey’s Two for the Road. The public was interested, but not overly so; the film played Radio City Music Hall in New York City, and the combination of Hepburn and Finney, and Donen, was an international draw.
Audrey would have to fight two major battles regarding the upcoming Wait Until Dark. She was determined to get the film made in Europe, and although she would be playing a blind woman, she was determined to avoid wearing the incredibly uncomfortable contact lenses necessary to simulate the look. She felt she could accomplish that through her performance alone. She certainly had a powerful ally, or so she assumed, in Jack Warner, who was producing and had personally selected her to star in the film. Audrey had wanted Sean Connery for the leading man, but the role went to Efrem Zimbalist Jr., who was completing his Warner Bros. contract.
A question had arisen over whether the studio could secure proper insurance on Hepburn. Her health at this point was not robust, although no specifics were revealed. The situation was resolved.
Audrey’s one and only choice to direct Wait Until Dark was the dashing Terence Young, with whom she had a unique personal connection.
During World War II, the Hepburn family had hidden him from German occupiers during the Battle of Arnhem in the Netherlands. Audrey had been fifteen at the time, and Young almost thirty. He was very tall and handsome, and was the son of the commissioner of the Shanghai Municipal Police. He had attended Cambridge. During the war he was a tank commander in the Irish Guards.
He had encountered Audrey at the very beginning of her film career in England and was impressed even then. He directed the initial James Bond films—Dr. No; From Russia, with Love; and Thunderball—and had been instrumental in fashioning Sean Connery’s on-screen image as James Bond: “Terence was James Bond,” wrote Bond-film biographer Robert Cotton. Young was sophisticated, impeccably dressed, witty, an expert on wines, and a person seemingly comfortable in any circumstance.
Audrey knew she would have Young’s unqualified protection and support. When his current film commitment encountered production difficulties, it seemed he wouldn’t be available to direct Wait Until Dark. Other suggestions were offered. Audrey’s response: “We’ll wait for Terry.”
Just as Warners had insisted on with My Fair Lady, the studio was adamant that Wait Until Dark be made in Hollywood, where costs and production could be closely monitored (though there would be some location work in New York). Audrey seemed intransigent on this point, and the studio subsequently informed the Ferrers that not only would Warners not make the film in Europe, but, if she withdrew, there would be a lawsuit for costs to date—a huge sum, and Audrey’s and Mel’s agents would be included in that lawsuit. As a producer, Mel had let his star/wife down; however, there were major victories. Terence Young would direct, and filming hours would be European-style, noon to 8:00 p.m. (later adjusted, at Jack Warner’s insistence, to 11:30 a.m. to 7:30 p.m.).
Warners made one additional concession to keep Audrey happy: an artificial English garden was created on the soundstage, where cast and crew could enjoy daily tea breaks. Tea breaks were Hepburn’s—and Terence Young’s—way of lessening the day’s tensions. “It was either that or have a star on the rampage,” wrote one columnist. But these weren’t the 1950s; it didn’t much matter what was written now, even about Audrey Hepburn. It mattered to her, of course, but she knew they were not paying her for anything other than her box office clout. She’d proven to be a champion in that arena for nearly fifteen consecutive years and had no desire or intention to continue indefinitely.
Audrey was determined to prove that contact lenses weren’t necessary for her to portray the blind girl. With Young’s encouragement, she studied harder than ever and consulted experts, as did he, to ensure an accurate portrayal of a woman who could not see.
Again there would be no Givenchy wardrobe. Audrey was portraying a woman of limited means who lived in a tiny Greenwich Village apartment. Warners assigned a strict budget for Audrey’s boutique-bought clothes, and when costs went beyond that, Mel had to contend with the studio’s refusal to pay. Furthermore, his own expenses came under scrutiny.
Production finally began, in New York City, during a numbingly cold January in 1967. The first rushes showed that, expert as Audrey’s attempts were, those famous Hepburn eyes still appeared to the camera to be “seeing.” She would have to wear the contact lenses. It was an enervating physical ordeal—putting in, taking out, and wearing those eye-irritating contacts for hours on end, day after day, while keeping her energy level where it had to be to play the scenes. It was almost as hard as getting through My Fair Lady. Tension between Audrey and Mel intensified. At least she had Terence to guide her and keep her spirits up on this difficult journey.