MIND IF I SMOKE?”
“Yes!” Audrey, lifetime smoker, answered emphatically, and totally credibly. It was an exchange of dialogue between her and Robert Wagner in the big-budget movie-for-television they were making in 1986, Love Among Thieves.
She’d decided to go back to work; the last few years had been tough indeed. There had been good news in the summer of 1982, when her divorce decree became final. But after that, a series of unhappy events: dear friend George Cukor had died in 1983; the death of her mother, the following year, was devastating. Audrey felt lost without her. Although their relationship had not been smooth, it was always supportive and, in its own way, loving.
Work was a godsend. She didn’t mind that it was television. Mel had struck financial gold as one of the stars of the hit series Falcon Crest, which was going strong at the time. And Audrey was not exactly a stranger to the medium. Mayerling, with Mel, had been produced at the very peak of her stardom, and that had been done “live.” Other top stars and directors were doing movies for the small screen, including Katharine Hepburn, Laurence Olivier, Paul Newman, and Joanne Woodward (Newman as director). Love Among Thieves, a romantic adventure comedy, was a project tailored for Audrey.
Robert (“R. J.”) Wagner would be her leading man. He was riding the crest of his TV fame, thanks to Hart to Hart, the series co-starring Stefanie Powers. Back in 1981, barely two weeks after Holden’s death, Wagner had suffered his own experience from hell: his wife, Natalie Wood, drowned in the waters off Catalina Island. The circumstances were as chilling as they’d been with Bill.
Five years had passed. Love Among Thieves was designed to be a romp for Wagner and Audrey. He was thrilled to be starring with her; she had no greater fan. He’d known her for years, and liked and respected everything about her—her lifestyle, her personal style, but most of all her loyalty to her friends.
Their mutual friend Capucine, with whom Wagner had co-starred decades earlier in The Pink Panther, was at a low ebb. Bill’s death, and Charlie Feldman’s, had hit her hard. Her protectors were gone. Audrey was always there for her, and always tried to help. Her gentle pep talks brought some stability into her life. And, fortunately, Cap was active professionally. There had been featured roles in Pink Panther sequels, appearances on Hart to Hart; Murder, She Wrote; and other TV work. But she was terrified of growing old.
Love Among Thieves was filmed on locations all over the West Coast. Audrey certainly brought out the best in Wagner as an actor; he’d never been so open and direct. He grew a scruffy beard for his role. His fans, and, no doubt, his network bosses, were accustomed to a clean-shaven, sartorially perfect Wagner.
Audrey was nervous about doing the film. She had been offscreen for over five years, and getting back into the routine at the age of fifty-seven was a daunting process. Film acting, for her, was not emotions, but thinking, and required intense concentration. There was a lot of dialogue to memorize, and the pace of shooting a movie for TV was fast. Legendary ballet dancer Mikhail Baryshnikov, who’d made the transition to film actor at the age of twenty-nine, said he found acting exhausting because of the need to hold the emotional level all day long. He said it was easier to do a full-length ballet than to sustain emotionality during the waiting hours of a shooting day.
Audrey’s insecurity made itself known when she confided to director Roger Young that she was relying on his help, because Wagner was such an experienced television performer. She looked good. Her walk, at times, seemed to have taken on a slightly irregular stride, which many former ballerinas, at Audrey’s age, had to contend with. Comparisons with Audrey’s younger self were always inevitable. Before long, however, studio executives were insisting that she play this role à la Holly Golightly. Breakfast at Tiffany’s had been made twenty-five years earlier. This was not a welcome development.
Audrey was faced with a variation of the situation Cary Grant had had to contend with when they had made Charade. In that instance, he didn’t want to look foolish opposite a much younger leading lady. Coincidentally, Audrey was now close to the age Grant was when they’d done the film. Audrey and Wagner were virtually the same age, so that wasn’t the problem; it simply seemed as through the front office wanted a twenty-five-year-old Audrey to play opposite him. The demand placed additional pressure on her and didn’t enhance what should have been a memorable working experience. She rose to the occasion, as always, and hit all the right notes as a glamorous, sophisticated thief, a classical pianist and baroness. This would be the first time Audrey played a titled character. Some of her clothes, usually timelessly contemporary, reflected the times: the exaggerated broad-shoulders-look characterized several of her dresses. Only her evening gowns were by Givenchy.
The final scene in Love Among Thieves was memorable, an homage to Audrey’s famous fashion-shoot sequence in Funny Face, where, with the awe-inspiring “Winged Victory” sculpture as her backdrop, she descended the stairs of the Louvre, breathtakingly gowned, arms outstretched, telling photographer Astaire, “Take the picture! Take the picture!” In this case, it wasn’t the Louvre but a suitable American look-alike (minus “Winged Victory”). Givenchy had created for her a stunning red sheath gown, a work of art, pure Audrey. Red might have been her least favorite color, but she couldn’t have looked more fantastic as she walked down those stairs.
Audrey obviously could successfully be made to look as she did in her youth—or close to it—if all elements were in place to present her properly. It was too bad a deal had fallen through for Ross Hunter to produce a picture with her. He was a master at showcasing female stars who had reached a certain age. There would have been many scenes like the final one in Love Among Thieves, and Hepburn fans, and possibly Audrey herself, would have been ecstatic. “I adore Audrey,” Hunter had said, on many occasions, over the years. But obviously, both producer and star had waited too long to get a project underway.
Love Among Thieves was not the end of the professional road; Audrey would soon make her final big-screen appearance. But a new passion had taken the prominent position in her life. It assumed an importance that, as far as she was concerned, totally eclipsed any show-business venture.
Her new calling was a humanitarian endeavor. Audrey once said, “For me, the only things of interest are those linked to the heart.” Her sons were now adults, so she was free to travel. With Rob by her side: “He’s so good to me, he takes great care of me, and it’s a wonderful feeling to love somebody, to be loved.” She would travel extensively as an International Goodwill Ambassador for UNICEF (United Nations International Children’s Emergency Fund). Movies would have to step aside for yet another passion in her ever-changing universe.
She was thrilled that she had found a constructive use for her fame. People paid attention to what Audrey Hepburn had to say, and her message was clear: “It’s that wonderful, old-fashioned idea that others come first and you come second. This was the ethic by which I was brought up. Others matter more than you do, so ‘Don’t fuss, dear, get on with it,’” as her late mother used to tell her.
She’d assumed the UNICEF post in 1988, at a salary of $1 per year. At the age of fifty-nine, she applied the same focus, discipline, and determination to this task as she had when, as a young girl, she’d trained vigorously to become a ballerina, then an actress. Ballet had been a world of physical pain. She’d experienced that; and she’d seen firsthand the physical and psychological pain suffered by the poor and displaced children of the world. “I’ve known what it is to be hungry and afraid,” she said.
“Personally, I can do very little, but I can contribute to a whole chain of events, and that’s a marvelous feeling. It’s like a bonus to me towards the end of my life. It gives me a voice.” She addressed special assemblies of the United Nations and world parliaments, and was totally involved in preparing the speeches, which were written out in large print so she could avoid wearing her glasses. She was ill at ease speaking in public. “Acting is quite different from getting up in front of people,” she explained, and to calm her nerves, she would have a cup of coffee; sometimes, a shot of bourbon.
Manfred Faridi, who worked at the UN, recalled attending one of her speeches, and he was impressed. “She had a very expressive manner, you knew she was speaking sincerely, from the heart. Many speakers were stiff, and unconvincing, they were just reading words. With Ms. Hepburn, it was exactly the opposite. I suppose it was a big help that she was a professional actress.”
In fact, it wasn’t—she had no character to inhabit or interpret; she was totally on her own, presenting herself. It was an ordeal. Her aim was simple and straightforward: to make a difference, and Rob made it clear that Audrey “was not trying to be Mother Teresa, or vying for sainthood.” Rob coordinated Audrey’s activities and ran interference, and Audrey said she couldn’t have done it without him. He was functioning just as Mel had—without any of Mel’s drawbacks.
Her travels took her to dozens of UNICEF-assisted projects in Sudan, El Salvador, Honduras, Mexico, Venezuela, Ecuador, Bangladesh, Vietnam, Thailand, Ethiopia, Sudan, Eritrea, and Somalia. She wore no makeup, but she always flashed that Hepburn smile, and photographs of her with the children appeared all over the world.
Travel was difficult, no-frills at best, usually highly uncomfortable, and conditions at their destinations were often “a living nightmare.” This was no case of a movie star disembarking from a limo, making a fast appearance, and dashing off to the next photo opportunity. In addition, Audrey and Rob had had to have a series of painful immunization injections; infectious diseases were rampant in many territories. It was risky, especially for a couple who had their own health concerns.
She not only posed for pictures; on occasion, she was permitted to vaccinate babies. The children, to quote one account, “followed her like the Pied Piper,” and in their faces, she saw something of herself. Her own face often betrayed her fatigue, one journalist noting that she was “clearly ragged with exhaustion.” But she was having an impact and felt revitalized. She experienced a new sense of purpose. She said that she had little interest in making any more films. The fun had gone out of it.
Stanley Donen, recalling how focused she’d once been on her career, “and its gratifications,” observed quite a change in Audrey—she’d grown up, “she’s come of age and entered another stage of life.”
She agreed to be a presenter at the Oscars with Gregory Peck—a great reunion, and an equally great opportunity, during interviews, to talk about UNICEF. Peck was now seventy-two; his formerly very young co-star was now fifty-nine, and they still looked wonderful together. Presenting the writing awards, amid the current crop of stars, she moved critic Janet Maslin to write that she and Peck stood out like “visiting royalty.”
Around this time, Audrey received an offer to return to the screen; it turned out to be one she couldn’t possibly turn down. The offer came from director Steven Spielberg. The forty-three-year-old Wonder Boy had been the auteur of a series of staggeringly successful films, including Jaws, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Raiders of the Lost Ark, E.T., The Color Purple, and Back to the Future. Spielberg wanted Audrey for an important cameo role in his new film, Always. It was a World War II romantic drama, a remake of the classic 1943 film A Guy Named Joe, one of Spielberg’s favorite movies, which had starred Spencer Tracy, Irene Dunne, and Van Johnson. The director had been the great Victor Fleming, whose triumphs included Gone with the Wind.
Richard Dreyfuss, Holly Hunter, and John Goodman were among the stars of the Spielberg version, although Spielberg himself was the biggest drawing card. Audrey would be portraying an otherworldly being, an angel, “Hap.” During the course of the story, she explains to Pete (Dreyfuss), a slain pilot, that he must provide Spiritus (“the divine breath”) to others. “They hear you inside their own minds as if it were their thoughts,” she tells him. “You’ve had your life, and anything you do for yourself is a waste of spirit.”
Her scenes would be shot in less than two weeks, for which she would be paid a reported $1 million. The film, unlike Spielberg’s previous big-budgeters, was produced on a smaller scale but was still a fantasy—one that subsequently inspired a slew of similar genre films, including Ghost. The Hepburn persona would provide an added touch of gentle dignity, and a jolt of superstar power, especially in foreign markets. She’d be dressed in white, with a cowl-necked, long-sleeved top worn over tailored slacks. Her hair was smoothed back from her face, just as she always wore it in those days. She would be carefully photographed. She seemed fragile and tired. But her voice was vintage Hepburn, no trace of coarseness even after decades of smoking. And on-screen, her characterization as always came to proper life.
Dreyfuss, Hunter, and Goodman were big names at the time and were prominently featured in the posters. Audrey, on this occasion, was the extra added attraction.
As she approached her sixtieth birthday, an inner serenity seemed to counterbalance her hectic life. She was still asked the usual, non-UNICEF-related questions: did she know how wonderful-looking she was? From teenagers of her own generation, to opera singer Maria Callas, to Barbara Walters, to teenagers of today, the Hepburn “look” remained—and remains—sought after. She patiently replied that she never looked in the mirror and thought to herself, “How wonderful I look!” What she did see were many imperfections, features she was still not thrilled with (she wished she had a smaller nose), and in order to compensate and correct, “I did make an effort!” She was aware that people didn’t want her to age. They wanted her to be the eternal ingenue. But how, she asked, could one survive the chaos of life, its mountains of difficulties, and remain an ingenue? One thing Audrey was adamant about: she didn’t believe in exercise—that was too much like school: “I like to be free. There are too many musts in life without adding exercise.”
By this point, she was uncomfortable talking about her personal life. “My mother wouldn’t approve!” she exclaimed. And there was that other perennial query: why was she so thin? Her current weight, at age sixty, was 110 pounds. She was born thin, she said, and pointed out that she always ate hearty meals and denied herself no particular food; in fact, she loved chocolate.
No, she had no regrets about the films she had turned down that went on to become big hits. “That wouldn’t make any sense,” she said. “That’s the way my life went. I don’t regret giving up the movies for my children. If it went the other way around, I’d be miserable today. If I had only movies to look back on, I’d never have known my boys.” There was never a question: “I couldn’t take the stress of being away from my sons,” she explained. “I missed them too much. I became emotionally unhappy. Some people can deal with that. It is not easy.” She had great admiration for those women who could seemingly have a big career while at the same time taking care of their husbands and children. As far as Audrey was concerned: “I cannot deal with too many emotions.”
She had no thoughts of retirement. “I don’t think I’ll retire ‘til I die.” She didn’t care that people knew her age. What was important to her was that she not feel old. “When you can’t contribute anymore, that’s when you start feeling old and that is the beginning of the end.”
Sadly, that end wasn’t far off. Everything had been going along beautifully. Gregory Peck presented her with the Cecil B. DeMille Award at the 1990 Golden Globes ceremonies. “Elegant, radiant, incandescent—there aren’t enough adjectives to describe her,” Peck said, in his most sonorous tones, in his introduction.
That evening she looked sensational in a cream satin, high-necked, long-sleeved sheath, and her makeup, for a change, was not pastel-hued. Despite her aversion to the color red, her lipstick was crimson and it was extremely flattering. She looked younger and more vibrant at this public event than she had in years. The speech she gave was interesting—all her recent experience as a public speaker had paid off. She touched on her beginnings (“Years ago, I got a great start . . . “), and without mentioning UNICEF, she thanked the media for calling attention to the plight of others, then said there wasn’t enough time to thank all those who had made her career possible.
She proceeded to rattle off the names of all her directors, including the most recent, and her leading men, Bill included, of course (she called him William on this occasion), concluding with “Fred Astaire,” who had died two years earlier. Her diction was crystal clear and every name came through. The speeded-up delivery was clearly intentional, and she smiled when she received the response she had hoped for—laughter and applause. It was a light note in what was otherwise a serious speech. She also thanked her agent of thirty-five years, Kurt Frings.
During her remarks, the camera cut away to Rob in the audience, bearded, very handsome, and intense in black tie, sipping champagne. The on-screen graphic incorrectly identified him as: Robert Wolders (Audrey Hepburn’s Husband).
Looking the way she did that night, producers and directors must have scurried to contact Frings to see which of their projects she might fit into. Audrey wasn’t tempted.
That year, another tragedy: Capucine had reached her breaking point. How many times had she wept and said her life was over? But the pain had finally become too much, and she jumped to her death from the window of her eighth-floor apartment in Lausanne, where she and Bill had once spent so much time together. To Audrey, and those who loved Cap, it was a heartrending blow.
Audrey’s humanitarian interests assumed more importance than ever. In addition to her UNICEF commitments, she agreed to headline a special project: Gardens of the World, an eight-part documentary series for PBS. Like the late Princess Grace, Audrey adored flowers and gardening (a tulip was named in her honor). The series would require three months of travel.
Behind the scenes, an unexpected scenario took place: Audrey did her own hair (“All I need is a hair dryer,” she said), makeup, and wardrobe. It would save production costs, although the producers had already factored in the cost of a personal hairdresser, makeup artist, wardrobe person, and secretary. And Audrey donated her entire fee, plus thousands of dollars of her own, to UNICEF.
In the spring of 1991, she was honored by the Film Society of Lincoln Center. In her speech, her voice betraying a hint of nervousness, she got the laugh she was hoping for when she said: “I think it’s quite wonderful that this skinny broad could be turned into a marketable commodity. . . .”
A year later, fund-raising for UNICEF in Europe, she didn’t feel quite right, and she didn’t look well. It was assumed that she had picked up some virulent bug during her extensive travels. Her doctors prescribed medication; she experienced bad side effects and afterward didn’t feel any better. Further tests were performed, producing no specific diagnosis. But more tests, unfortunately, did: in November, she learned she had cancer, and it was widespread. Rob was literally stunned. It was Audrey’s son Sean who told her the news. She seemed to have anticipated it, and there were no hysterics.
She underwent chemotherapy treatments, then rallied, but soon her condition worsened. She underwent two surgeries. She was disappointed that a third would not be possible. Rob later revealed that neither he nor her sons could acknowledge that she was dying.
Only a few years earlier, Audrey had been asked if she was happy. She said she was very happy. “Took a while,” she laughed, “but I got there.” She recognized the incredible good fortune she’d enjoyed: “My own life has been much more than a fairy tale,” she said. “I’ve had my share of difficult moments, but whatever difficulties I’ve gone through, I’ve always gotten a prize at the end.” She was the first to note: “I probably hold the distinction of being one movie star who, by all laws of logic, should never have made it. At each stage of my career, I lacked the experience.”
Director Billy Wilder had outlived Bill Holden and virtually all the other stars he’d worked with. And he would outlive Audrey. He’d been particularly fond of Hepburn and Holden. Late in life, he said: “They both had great careers, but unhappy private lives.” Holden’s, indisputably; but, in love with Audrey, he had hoped that maybe she could have rescued him from his more harmful inclinations.
Audrey’s private life—that was another story. She’d never ended her search for what she described as that light at the end of the tunnel. Based on her correspondence and the many conversations she had with friends, relatives, and, of course, the press over recent years, she’d truly felt she’d found it.
She died on January 20, 1993, at her beloved home in Tolochenaz. It was not a soft-focus exit; quite the opposite. She was surrounded by family. Sons Sean and Luca; her devoted “Robbie”; and Mel and Andrea were on hand. Givenchy came to see her; he’d arranged for the private plane that had flown Audrey and her family to Switzerland, where she wanted to spend her last days. It was an indescribably sorrowful and painful ordeal for all concerned. Sean later noted, “She wasn’t angry . . . she felt at peace with it. She felt that death is a natural part of life.”
For Hollywood historians, it is an interesting coincidence that Audrey and Bill each died at the same age: sixty-three. Their personas, in the prime of their lives when they were deeply in love—the days when all seemed possible—live on in Sabrina. For Audrey’s new generations of fans, that film remains, even more than Roman Holiday, the signature film of her early career. Her iconic image was formed in Sabrina—the way she looked, dressed, and the chemistry between the stars. These were timeless.
Bill Holden’s impact influenced succeeding generations of actors, and for some he was among the most admired actors of Hollywood’s Golden Age. Alec Baldwin has noted: “There’s three things: there’s masculinity, there’s intelligence, there’s sensitivity. You’ve got to bring those three things to a leading man’s role: masculinity, sensitivity, intelligence. In some people there’s a little too much in the mix of one or the other. With Holden it was always the perfect mix.”
From the beginning, Audrey and Bill were wildly successful in their profession. Later, both found deeply meaningful avocations that brought them great satisfaction, Hepburn with UNICEF, Holden with wildlife preservation.
Both possessed, in abundance, “that little something extra” that defines star quality. Although they both died relatively young, and their love story came to an end, thanks to Sabrina, we will always have the romance.