DH That night in early December, as I lay in my bed at the Beverly Hilton Hotel, I was not sure that I’d be able to get any sleep. I’d been a television director for over twenty years, having started back when I worked for the BBC in London, but the next morning was to be my first time directing Katharine Hepburn, and I didn’t expect to get through it unscathed.
It could be argued that my debut had come three months earlier in New York at her 49th Street townhouse, when we had taped a protection interview1. But that could hardly count as “directing Katharine Hepburn.” That test was to come early tomorrow at The Riviera Country Club, where MGM had once filmed scenes for the Tracy/Hepburn comedy, Pat and Mike.
Our writer, John Miller, had adapted easily to Kate’s style, and we had gone over the script many times with her in New York before we left for Los Angeles. She always had some comments and suggestions—never anything major, and always improvements. It had been at one of our script meetings that she and I had our first difference of opinion. I knew this was going to be a new experience for her, and therefore possibly a challenge. Despite her more than sixty years as an actress, she had never hosted a television program, so I tried to make it seem as easy as possible. I reassured her that she would not have to memorize her lines.
“Do you need glasses to see at a distance?” I asked.
“No. I may be falling apart, but so far my eyes are fine. Why?”
“There’ll be a teleprompter on the camera, so that when you look into the lens you’ll see the script right there, and it will run at whatever pace works for you.”
“Hmmm,” she said. “Why don’t you stand next to the camera, and I’ll just talk to you?”
“No, Miss Hepburn. It’s important that the viewers feel that you are speaking directly to them. You have to talk to the camera.” I felt very strongly about this, and would have fought her hard if she had resisted.
“Oh,” she said. And that was that. Or so it seemed.
Somehow I did get some sleep that night in Los Angeles, and was up well before dawn for our shoot on the golf course at The Riviera Country Club. There had been storms the previous couple of days, and we’d seen reports on television of high winds knocking down trees and power lines. Fortunately the weather had calmed down somewhat overnight and the sun was trying to peek through as we drove to the location, but it was a brisk, chilly morning.
Kate knew her golf, and had already warned me that we had to get our shot before the first player of the day teed off. “It’s dangerous out there, and we’ll be like sitting ducks,” she said, referring to some of the less than expert golfers who might be up early. “If a ball comes our way, we’ll all get killed.”
We had a small crew: our cameraman, John Sharaf, and his assistant, who also helped with the lights; a soundman, John Vincent, who had worked with us many times before; a prompter operator; and our production team: Cindy Mitchell, our associate producer; Mary Bell Painten, our West Coast co-ordinator; and Don Shump, who had been hired by Cindy as a runner/production aide. We all met at the clubhouse, and then made our way to the spot a few hundred yards away where we could get the shot we needed, planned to match a scene in Pat and Mike.
David Heeley and crew setting up on The Riviera Country Club golf course.
Los Angeles, CA, 1985. Authors’ collection.
JK The first thing that comes to mind when I remember that day is how cold and windy it was. Both of us hate the cold, though I think that I’m even more sensitive to it than David is. But serious golfers don’t seem to mind it. In fact, as we were setting up, I noticed Dean Martin, one of the club’s many famous members, walking towards the main building. It wouldn’t be long before he appeared on the course, ready to play eighteen holes with some friends.
Soon after we arrived, Cindy and I went back to the clubhouse to wait for Hepburn. Only a few minutes later, she came through the door of the lobby, followed by her makeup artist Michal Bigger; Ray Gow, her hairdresser; and her driver, Hilly.
As I greeted them, Michal said to me, “The family always travels together.” However, Phyllis Wilbourn, Hepburn’s assistant, had been left behind to “guard” Hal Wallis’ house and art collection.
Kate was wearing the tan raincoat, red scarf, black sweater and beige slacks that would be her outfit for all the exterior shots. She said “Hello” to everyone, and then turned to her makeup artist.
“I need a mirror, Michal,” she said. “You only have a small one, don’t you? I need something bigger.”
Cindy and Michal and Ray ran into the ladies’ room, the men’s room, the locker room, frantically searching for a large, yet portable mirror. In the meantime, Hepburn noticed the round marble table in the center of the lobby, holding a very big vase filled with fresh flowers. Under it was a circular mirrored top. Before anyone could blink, she began to try moving the vase in order to get to the mirror.
“This’ll be fine,” she said.
“Miss Hepburn, you can’t take that,” said the flustered receptionist.
“Don’t worry. I’ll bring it back when we’re finished.”
At that moment, the Riviera Golf Club manager suddenly appeared carrying a large mirror.
Kate yelled, “Bravo. Bravo! I’ll use that one instead.”
She took the mirror from the manager, and walked through the back door of the clubhouse, down the steps, and onto the golf course. Cindy ran after her and offered to carry it.
“No, no. I can do it myself. Don’t worry. I’ve got a good grip,” she insisted.
It was reminiscent of when she was filming The African Queen in the Belgian Congo. She wore a period costume for that picture and knew she had to have a way of seeing how she looked before the camera rolled. So she found a full-length mirror, and carried it with her throughout the entire location shoot. When it broke, she kept what was left of it, propping it up against the nearest tree.
DH We’d been setting up for about forty-five minutes when I saw Kate heading towards us. I was to discover that whatever time she was scheduled to start, she’d be there early, wondering why everyone else was not ready yet. I went over to say “Good morning,” and told her we only needed a few more minutes, then excused myself to go back and work with the crew.
I’d just finished lining up the first shot, when I saw Joan walking towards me. And she had a very worried look on her face.
“David, we have a problem. You’ve got to come and talk to Hepburn. She’s very upset.”
I found Kate haranguing poor John Vincent.
“If I’d known I had to wear one of these I would never have agreed to do this.”
“OK, this is it,” I thought to myself. “The first test.”
“What’s wrong, Miss Hepburn?” I asked.
“It’s this,” she said, holding up the wireless microphone that John was trying to put on her. “They work in Spain, but they’re no good here. Never work. I don’t know why. They’re just useless.”
It wasn’t the time to ask what was special about the microphones in Spain, but I’ve always wondered.
“Unfortunately we have to use the radio mic to get the shot we need here,” I told her. “Can you just try it? If it doesn’t work, we’ll find some other way.” I had no idea what that other way would be, but I knew the most important thing was to bring some calm to the situation.
“Well, just this once. But I don’t like it.”
She then let John fit the battery pack and transmitter around her waist and hide the small microphone just inside her raincoat. She probably was also upset that the battery would protrude and make her look bulky, but I knew we could frame the shot in a way that it would not be seen.
Moments later she was ready.
“Where do you want me?”
“Over here,” I told her, as we walked together towards her opening position. “You’ll start with the golf course in the background and then walk over here so that we can see the clubhouse behind you, just like the shot in Pat and Mike.”
She seemed a bit more relaxed. But it was to be only a brief respite.
“Before we try a run-through, let’s make sure that you can read the prompter from this position,” I told her.
“Are you set?” I shouted to the prompter operator.
“Ready when you are,” he replied.
“OK, let’s go,” I said, and threw a cue to Katharine Hepburn.
She peered at the camera which had the prompter screen mounted in front of the lens, paused and then peered again, this time with her hand extended above her eyes as though shielding them from the sun.
“I can’t see a thing.”
I knew I couldn’t move the camera, or I’d lose the shot of the clubhouse I needed. The only choice was to move her.
“Try a few steps closer,” I said.
“How many?”
“You can come a good six feet; it’ll still work.”
“Okay.”
She walked a couple of paces forward, and I told the prompter operator to reset to the top of the script. She squinted towards the camera again. A pause.
“It’s hopeless. I still can’t see a thing.” And this was the same person who had told me back in New York that she had no problem with her eyesight.
It was the first set-up of our first day of shooting, and she couldn’t read the script. I was standing next to her, rather than at my usual position by the camera, and I knew I had only seconds to find a solution. We had spent much of the last three years trying to raise several hundred thousand dollars to make this program, and PBS had finally come through. Now it was looking as though everything could fall apart—including our careers. I had to get that, and other thoughts racing through my mind, out of the way, calm down Kate, and come up with something that was going to work. Frankly, there weren’t too many choices, and it was the most obvious one—perhaps the only one—that came to mind first.
“Miss Hepburn, we can do this without the prompter. We’ve been through this part of the script many times already, and it doesn’t have to be word perfect. You are making two points here: this is the Riviera Country Club, where you and Spencer shot scenes for Pat and Mike, and you need to describe the characters the two of you played, so that we can get into a clip from the film. Just tell the story to the camera. You start here and walk over to the spot over there,” I told her, indicating her finishing mark.
“Yes, but when I talk about what he and I played, you want me to say ‘You know the old cliché about opposites attracting.’ Now, is that meant to be a ‘double entendre?’”
“No,” I said. “I just need enough words for the shot to reveal the clubhouse behind you. But if you’re not comfortable with the line, we can change it.”
“OK,” she said. “Let’s try it.”
“Quiet, everyone. Ready for rehearsal,” I said.
I didn’t tell John Sharaf to roll tape, as this was to see if Kate could hit her marks as well as tell the story, and had only just reached my spot next to the camera when I realized that she had already started—without waiting for a cue from me. I turned to see her walking and talking, her stride deliberate and her voice strong.
“This is the Riviera Country Club,” she said, pointing to the golf course. “It’s where Spence and I shot the picture, Pat and Mike…”
She was full of confidence. And I noticed she used the line about opposites attracting, but changed the word “cliché” to “adage.” I wished we’d taped the rehearsal, not knowing that John Sharaf had indeed done so.
“Cut!” I said. “That was great. Let’s do one more rehearsal,”
“Go ahead and waste the film,” she said. “Why not just shoot it?”
“Fine,” I said. “Let’s do it. Everyone set? Roll tape and… Cue!”
She reached her final spot about halfway through, so I asked her to walk more slowly.
“Why don’t you just make me walk further?” she said. She finished three takes, getting better each time. We completed the last one just as the golf balls started whizzing by.
Now she was in great spirits. And the mood on the set had definitely changed.
“How was it?” she asked me.
“It was excellent,” I assured her. “We can do all the scenes like this. You did a terrific job.”
It was only later that I realized what had gone on that morning. Hepburn was very nervous, probably even more than I was. She was doing something she had never done before: host a show. I was also asking her to break one of the golden rules she had learned early in her career; I wanted her to look directly into the lens of the camera, something she’d been taught never to do. Then add the teleprompter, which was something else new. Too many “firsts” all at once. In trying to overcome her nerves, she was giving everyone around her a hard time. Once she regained her confidence, we never looked back.
We’d escaped death by flying golf balls, so we packed up, returned the borrowed mirror, and headed to our next location, which was outside Susie Tracy’s house, not very far from the Riviera Country Club.
As we were unloading the equipment, I noticed that John Vincent had commandeered our production aide, Don Shump, to work as his assistant. John had found a broom handle and taped a microphone to the end, improvising a boom. Don was going to be his boom operator. Now there was no need for Hepburn to wear a wireless mic.
By this time in the morning the sun was shining brightly, but there was still a chill in the air. Don was wearing a shirt and jeans, holding the new makeshift boom, just a few feet away from Kate, waiting for the shot to be lined up.
“Young man, aren’t you cold?” she asked.
“I’m really OK, thank you Miss Hepburn.”
“No, you must be freezing,” she said. “Give me that thing,” as she grabbed the broom handle. “Go and get yourself a jacket. It’s awful to be cold.”
JK It was a moment that few people noticed, but I had seen this aspect of her character previously in New York. We had brought a crew to survey her house in preparation for taping there, and were all crowded into her second floor living room to discuss the practical aspects of the lighting, loading in equipment, etc. Everyone had found a seat except for one of the stagehands, who was standing near the door.
Kate noticed, and said, “Just a minute.” She went to the next room, and a few seconds later, came back carrying an upholstered chair, which she placed within the circle among the rest of us, motioning to him to sit down.
He said, “Thank you, Miss Hepburn, but you didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did,” she said. “No one should ever be uncomfortable in this house.”
DH Once we had overcome the problems at the Riviera Country Club, Kate was nothing but supportive and helpful. She never balked at doing multiple takes. If a member of the crew said something to me that she couldn’t hear, she’d say, “What’s wrong? If something didn’t work, let’s do it again.” And when we were shooting a sequence that included both her and Susie Tracy, Susie asked if she could watch a playback of it.
“No, Susie. Don’t do that,” Kate said. “They have to be ruthless. They’re looking for things you and I won’t see. You must trust them.”
She had told us that early in her career, she always went to the “dailies” (the ritual screening of the previous day’s filming) until she realized that she was concentrating on such things as whether her collar was high enough to hide signs of her own aging, rather than looking at the bigger picture of whether the scene was working as a whole. From that point on she decided not to watch herself, and trust the director.
David Heeley and Katharine Hepburn discussing her first scene on the MGM lot. Culver City, CA, 1985. Photograph by John Bryson, courtesy Bryson Photo.
JK The second day of taping was at MGM in Culver City. The studio gave her a dressing room, just one floor below the one she’d had back in the 1940s. We decorated it with red roses, a bottle of champagne, fresh fruit and Godiva chocolates.
The crew met us shortly after dawn, and we were setting up in front of the famous Thalberg building when Hepburn arrived—early again, of course.
“What are you going to do when it rains?” she asked.
Unlike the day before, there was no blue sky to be seen, and the weather forecast promised showers.
“It wouldn’t dare rain on you, Ms. Hepburn,” I said. I hoped I was right, since all the shots we had planned were exteriors.
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” she said. “So let’s get going.”
As it turned out, there was only one brief shower in Culver City that day, and it happened while we were all inside having lunch.
DH She went off to her dressing room, and ten minutes later, was back and ready to shoot. But then John Vincent told me, “David, I can’t use the boom mic here. You’re taking such a wide shot there’s nowhere I can hide it. I don’t see any way around using the wireless mic again.”
“OK, John. I’ll tell her,” thinking to myself that I wanted to get over this hurdle as quickly as possible.
“Ms. Hepburn, we have a problem with this first shot.”
“Yes, what is it?”
“Well, it’s so wide that we can’t use the boom. The only way I can get it is with a radio mic.”
She looked at me, but didn’t reply. Instead she walked over to John Vincent, who was standing just a few paces away.
“Young man, you didn’t have the courage to tell me yourself, did you?” she said with a laugh. “If it’s better with that other microphone, you have to be mean to me.”
We got the shot in two takes, just before the office workday started. Moments later, it would have been impossible to stop the traffic of executives and others entering the building.
JK People at the major Hollywood studios are used to seeing actors—big stars, television series cast members, character actors, and extras galore; it comes with the job. But when word spread that Katharine Hepburn was shooting on the lot, many of them found a reason to come by our set; we even noticed that some were hanging out of windows to try to catch a glimpse of her. To ensure there were as few interruptions as possible, the studio assigned two security guards to be with us at all times.
Around 10 am, not long after we had the first shot in the can, crews from Entertainment Tonight and CNN showed up. Suddenly there was a battery of lights, cameras, and microphones aimed at Hepburn, reminding me of old Hollywood. She had agreed to give them a brief statement about Spencer Tracy, but then the reporters started asking questions, and she was answering them. I was getting concerned that the questions could become too personal, and she might get upset.
So was the MGM publicist, who told them, “OK. That’s it. We have to go now.”
“Go where?” asked an annoyed Kate. I didn’t realize that she would have preferred to keep talking to them. But by now the publicist had already begun to usher them all away.
Katharine Hepburn being interviewed by news crews.
Culver City, CA, 1985. Photograph by John Bryson, courtesy Bryson Photo.
Soon after the press had left, I received a message from our office in NY; a vice president of programming at HBO had called and left her number. I found a phone and returned the call.
“Oh, Joan. Thank you for getting back to me. I know you pitched a show about Spencer Tracy to my head of programming here, and that we passed on the idea. I’d like to revisit it now. I assume Katharine Hepburn is still planning to host it.”
I know I took perhaps an unreasonable amount of pleasure in telling her that it was now too late. “The ship has sailed,” I said. “We’re doing the program for PBS and Hepburn is indeed hosting it.”
DH While the crew and I were moving to the next location, I saw Kate with Joan and about six others disappear through the big glass doors of the Thalberg building. It was only later that I found out where they were going.
JK “I want to see L.B. Mayer’s office. C’mon,” said Hepburn.
Like a mother duck leading her ducklings, we followed her inside and into the elevator. When it stopped on the executive floor, she marched into what used to be Louis B. Mayer’s office, now occupied by Frank Rothman, the Chairman and CEO of MGM. What happened next sounds like a scene from an old movie. As she continued to lead the charge, we passed Rothman’s secretary, whose mouth dropped open at the sight of this sudden invasion. Valiantly she tried to play gatekeeper, jumping to her feet, one arm outstretched, following the flow of the parade, as her voice faded while saying, “Oh, Miss Hepburn. I’m sorry but you can’t go in there.”
It was too late. Kate had already burst through the door of Frank Rothman’s office, arm extended to shake his hand. “Hi, I’m Kate Hepburn. Where’s the table—the mahogany table that L.B. had in his office?”
Understandably, he was startled, but quickly recovered his composure as he stood up behind his desk, shook her hand, and said, “Welcome back to MGM, Miss Hepburn. The table is right over there in the conference room.” He led us all in and asked us to sit down.
She began to reminisce: “I remember four of us sitting around this table. Greta”—(I realized she had to be talking about Greta Garbo)—”sat there; I sat here; George Cukor sat next to me; and L.B. sat at that end. We were trying to sell him on the idea of letting Greta and me star in Mourning Becomes Electra2, which George would direct. Well, we didn’t get very far. We could tell right away that we were not heating up the room. So George nodded to me and Greta, and we got up and left. That was the end of that idea.” Katharine Hepburn and Greta Garbo in a movie together? Not the only time a studio head would miss a golden opportunity.
Then, turning to me, she said, “Do you think David is ready? We’d better get back down there.” She shook hands with Rothman and his still-shell-shocked secretary, and back we all went into the elevator.
DH She came down, but had to go right back up again, because our next shot was on the roof of the Thalberg building, where the only access was through an office on the top floor. When we did our technical survey, the office was empty. However, on this day, we discovered that it was occupied. And the occupant was another high-level executive, David Gerber, the head of MGM Television, who hadn’t been warned that we were about to invade his space. We and our crew, all the equipment, Hepburn, her assistant, Phyllis (who’d been temporarily allowed to abandon her post as guard of Hal Wallis’s art collection), her makeup and hair artists, and our MGM executive producer, George Paris, had to walk through David Gerber’s office, past his desk and out of his window as he was trying to conduct business as usual.
JK Each time, Gerber was on the telephone, and each time he saw Hepburn, he said to the person he was talking to, “Please hold on a moment,” and then politely stood up to greet her as she walked by. It was almost a comedy routine, but he didn’t seem at all surprised or annoyed by the scene playing out in front of him. Then, about forty-five minutes later, after we finished shooting, the same thing happened all over again, as our small caravan walked past him on the way out.
Months later, I asked George Paris if he ever talked to Gerber about that day and what he’d said to the people he’d put on hold.
George said, “Oh yes. I saw him at the studio’s Christmas party and when I asked him that very question, he said, ‘I told them all the truth…Katharine Hepburn was climbing through my window.’
“So I said, ‘What was their reaction?’
“And he said, ‘No one believed me. They all thought I was pulling their legs.’”
DH The shot I’d planned from the Thalberg building’s roof gave us a view of 20th Century Fox, where Spencer Tracy had been a contract player before he was hired by MGM. However, there was no fence or guardrail at the roof’s edge, just a low wall. And, not having a very good head for heights myself, I wasn’t going to ask Hepburn to get any closer to it than was comfortable for me, so I suggested she stand about three feet in. But as we were setting up, she said, “Wouldn’t it be better if I sat on the ledge?”
“Possibly,” I said. “But I don’t want to risk losing the star.”
“Oh, nonsense,” she replied dismissively, perching herself on the narrow parapet. “I can see tomorrow’s headlines: ‘Star Falls Off Roof of Thalberg Building—Or Was Pushed!’” she laughed.
Katharine Hepburn on the roof of the Thalberg building.
Culver City, CA, 1985. Photograph by John Bryson, courtesy Bryson Photo.
JK Phyllis didn’t see any humor in the situation or in Kate’s cavalier attitude. She reacted with alarm: “Miss Hepburn, that’s dangerous. Be careful!”
In fact, it was Katharine Hepburn who was concerned for the safety of Phyllis.
“She’s got tunnel vision,” she told us. “We have to make sure she doesn’t fall over the cables.”
DH There were two more set-ups before we broke for lunch. The first was a tracking shot along the side of the Thalberg building, leading into the second set-up, at a side entrance where Kate first met Spencer Tracy in 1941. She had requested him as her co-star in the movie, Woman of the Year, but had never actually met him until that day. She spotted him leaving the commissary with producer Joseph L. Mankiewicz, and made sure she ran into them. It’s a famous story that has been mis-told many times. This was her chance to set the record straight.
Mankiewicz introduced them to each other, and the exchange that followed was about her height. She was about five-feet-seven inches, but appeared even taller because she was very slim and was wearing shoes with heels. Tracy was actually about five-ten and a bit stocky.
“Sorry, I’ve got these high heels on,” she said. “But when we do the movie I’ll be careful about what I wear.”
Tracy said nothing, just looking at her.
It was Mankiewicz who responded: “Don’t worry, Kate. He’ll cut you down to his size.”
“I didn’t know what to say,” Hepburn told us. “I just stood there like a goof.”
She then walked out of the frame. But she had forgotten to tell the final part of the story. Instead of stopping the camera and asking for another take, I motioned for her to go back, silently mouthing to her the words “dirty nails.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” she improvised, popping back into the frame. “When they had departed, I rushed to Mankiewicz’s office.” She was eager to hear what Tracy had thought of her. Mankiewicz told her that Spencer’s only comment was, “Kate Hepburn has dirty finger nails.” She then held up her hands in front of the camera and said, “I still have.” It was typical of her to make fun of herself. But what I liked most was the way she turned a mistake into a moment that felt so natural and genuine. We did, of course, use that take in the show.
JK The Directors Guild had contacted David to ask if he could persuade Hepburn to tape a brief statement for a tribute to the late Dorothy Arzner, one of the few women directors in the Hollywood of the 1930s, who’d directed Hepburn’s second film, Christopher Strong. Both of them raised eyebrows back then by wearing slacks instead of dresses.
Kate told us, “I don’t want to disappoint the Directors Guild, so I’ll say something I hope they can use.” She ad-libbed the piece, praising Arzner, and did it in one take, ending with, “So you see that women weren’t always considered to be silly.”
DH PBS also had a request: for Hepburn to do a Pledge spot, urging viewers to send donations to their local public television stations. I was reluctant to ask her, but she willingly agreed.
Again ad-libbing most of it, during a rehearsal, she said, “It’s been my privilege and honor to do this program.”
“Miss Hepburn,” I said to her. “That was very nice, but I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to say, ‘It’s a privilege and honor.’ We’re the ones who are privileged and honored that you’re doing this show.”
“No, no,” she replied. “I want to say that because I really am privileged and honored, and the people watching should help support more programs like this.”
We then rolled tape, and she used exactly the same words.
That was the end of the day, and the end of our California shoot.
I said, “Cut. That’s a wrap, everyone. Thank you very much.”
JK Before the crew started packing up the equipment, we all gathered around her for a photograph, which we call the “graduation shot.” I gave her a red sweatshirt that had the MGM lion logo printed on the front, and she shook hands with each crew member, as we began a spontaneous round of applause.
She did a curtsy and said, “You’ve all been very sweet to me. Thank you.”
“Graduation photo” after shoot with Katharine Hepburn on the MGM lot.
Culver City, CA, 1985. Photograph by John Bryson, courtesy Bryson Photo.
The following morning, Hepburn called George Paris and asked if she could bring her friend, Cynthia McFadden, onto the lot to show her around. (At the time, McFadden was still a budding journalist; now she is the Senior Legal & Investigative Correspondent for NBC News, and also a co-executor of Katharine Hepburn’s Estate.) George Paris told us that he accompanied them to each location we’d used, and that Kate relived the previous day saying, “Here’s where I said….” and then recited portions of the script. We didn’t meet Cindy until some three months later, when she gave us her own recollections of that day, and told us that Kate had clearly enjoyed every minute of the shoot at MGM.
JK and DH Soon after we returned to New York, Hepburn called and said, “Come to lunch.” While we were there, we asked her if she’d be willing to do some more publicity for the program.
“I’m not dumb,” she said. “Of course, I’ll do press. I want people to watch.”
What we didn’t know then was how cleverly she was already hatching her own plans for the publicity campaign.
She said, “Even though Spencer’s been gone for almost nineteen years, I’ve recently written a letter to him and wonder if you think it might be interesting enough to use at the end of the show. Here it is. I’ll read it to you.”
We sat there silently. It was so personal, so moving that by the end, we could hardly speak.
“What do you think?” she asked. “Does it work for you?”
“It’s wonderful. And yes, we’d very much like you to read it as the finale to the program.”
“Good,” she said, matter-of-factly. “And I’ve already read it to the editor of TV Guide, who’s a friend of mine. He wants to use it as the cover story the week of the show’s premiere.”
We were stunned, but had to think clearly. We knew how valuable it would be to have the cover of a national magazine, and certainly a major coup for any public television show. But there was a downside to it: by publishing the letter a few days prior to our airdate, TV Guide would steal the thunder from the end of the program.
As we shared our thoughts with her, she said, “Hmm. You’re right. It’ll take the surprise out of it. So I’ll call the editor and tell him I’ll write a different piece about Spence.”
We realized that it would be like pulling candy away from a child. Anything else would pale in comparison. And we were right. She did write another piece, the title of which appeared as a blurb on the TV Guide cover that week, but it was not the cover story itself. 3
DH The material we’d shot in Los Angeles was inserted into the rough-cut, and now we needed one more day of taping with Hepburn doing scripted, timed links to camera. I explained to her that, unlike the shoot in California, where she often ad-libbed and the timings weren’t all that critical, the sequences she was about to do now had to be exact or they wouldn’t fit into the spaces we had allowed for them.
She thought for a moment and then said, “What was that contraption you wanted me to use in California?”
“Do you mean the teleprompter?”
“Don’t know what it’s called, but why don’t we try it again?”
I realized that this was now an opportunity for her to master a leftover challenge from California. And I was ready to give her advice on how to do it. But it turned out to be completely unnecessary. So often, people unused to a prompter are afraid to look away; their eyes are glued to the script, moving left to right—a dead give-away that they are reading. But Kate took to it like a fish to water—looking down from time to time, as though gathering her thoughts—using the prompter as a tool, rather than as a crutch.
JK While the crew was setting up, Phyllis came into the room and sat on a chair not far from the camera.
Kate said, “Go away from there. You’re in my eye-line.”
I happened to be on the floor below at that moment, so when I came back upstairs and saw that nobody was using that chair, I sat down, waiting for the taping to start. A few seconds later, Hepburn noticed me and said, “You’ll have to move; you’re in my eye-line.” As I was standing up, she said, “Oh, wait a minute; you can stay where you are. I know you have to be there.”
After about twenty minutes, the camera needed re-loading. During the break, she said, “David, why don’t you just say ‘revolve?’”
I stared at her, not having a clue what she was talking about. And I was even more confused when he, without missing a beat, replied, “Oh, I realize that you’re used to film. So I’ll just say ‘Action.’”
Clearly, I was missing something here, or else both of them had suddenly gone insane at the same time. Her question made no sense and neither did his answer. A few minutes later, when the camera was ready again, David indeed said, “Action,” and she did the next piece.
During another break, I said to him quietly, “Will you please explain that crazy exchange you had with her earlier?”
“Well,” he said, “when she asked me why I don’t just say ‘revolve,’ it hit me that over the past few months, in all our previous tapings with her, she thought I was saying ‘rotate,’ when in fact I was saying ‘roll tape.’ And I also realized that she wasn’t familiar with the terms often used for television productions, so instead of ‘Cue,’ I should have said ‘Action’ when I wanted her to start talking.”
I still laugh whenever I think of that story. And I’m still flabbergasted that David, under fire, came up with the right answer in less time than it takes to blink.
DH Her reading of the letter had to be the final shot of the day. Just before I asked the camera to roll, she said to me, “If something goes wrong before the end, stop me.”
“Okay,” I said, knowing exactly what she meant: she didn’t want to use up her well of emotions if there was a technical glitch. Fortunately, there wasn’t, and by the time she’d finished, everyone in the room, including the crew, was so overwhelmed by its intensity that nobody moved for several minutes after I said, “Cut.”
I then asked her if she could do another take, just for protection. She said, “Okay.” It was good, but I felt that her second reading was a bit more like a performance. She thought so too. At the end, she said, “I think the first one was more interesting, but use whichever you want.”
JK When the show was completed and delivered to PBS, David went on a trip to England. Publicity cassettes had been sent to newspapers and magazines and full-page ads appeared in various publications. A few days after I sent Hepburn one of the press kits, my phone rang.
“It’s Kate. Where did you get that title? I never approved it. The Spencer Tracy Legacy? It sounds like he left me money.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. We’d spent hours going through title choices with her long before and she had, indeed, approved this one.
“We never would have used a title we hadn’t discussed with you and that you didn’t like,” I replied.
“Never. Never heard it before. You have to change it.”
“Miss Hepburn, we can’t do that. The master tapes have been duplicated and distributed to every public television station in the PBS network.”
“Well, get them back. I’ll pay whatever it costs.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s impossible to do that.”
“So I’m done in. Is that what you’re telling me? You’ve driven a nail into my coffin.”
“Miss Hepburn, you have no idea how upset I am that you feel that way. I have tears rolling down my face.”
“Stop trying to convince me you’re noble,” she retorted. “Tears are easy.”
“Maybe for you, but not for me,” I said in a choked voice.
“Well, this whole thing is shocking,” she said. “And why am I listed as the ‘host’ who ‘remembers’ Spencer Tracy? It should be ‘narrator.’ And it all sounds sentimental.”
It was going from bad to worse by the minute. But I knew I had to stand my ground.
“You are the ‘host’ because you’re seen on camera. If we only heard your voice, you’d be credited as ‘narrator.’ And you’re ‘remembering’ Tracy by talking about him to the viewers.”
“Idiotic. ‘Host’ sounds wrong. Find another word and change it on the show,” she said in her most commanding tone of voice. “And if you don’t think the word ‘remembers’ sounds overly sentimental, you’re naïve.”
“I’m really sorry but there isn’t another word for ‘host’ and we can’t change anything even if there was,” I said, now shaking.
“Well, if you can’t find another word, then I will,” she said, and hung up abruptly.
I was a basket case of nerves by then, and David was on his way to England.
Two minutes later, Hepburn called back.
“I just checked the thesaurus and you’re right. There isn’t another goddamn word for ‘host,’ except ‘master of ceremonies,’ and that certainly won’t work. So I guess I’m stuck with ‘host,’” she said—and hung up again. But this time, she said, “Goodbye.”
I then composed a letter to her and sent it immediately by messenger. In it, I told her how badly I felt—that after all this time, she obviously didn’t trust David and me, that we were honored that she’d asked us to produce the program, and were convinced that it would bring a new audience to Tracy’s movies.
An hour later, she called me again. Furious.
“Never, never write a letter like that to me. If I didn’t trust you, do you think the two of you would have ever made it through the front door of this house?”—and hung up.
Moments later, my phone rang yet again.
“I’m going to send this goddamn thing back to you right now.”
“No, please don’t do that,” I replied. “Just tear it up and throw it away, and this whole episode will become ancient history.”
“Deal,” she said. “Call me tomorrow.”
Then, even though I knew I’d received what amounted to a “Hepburn apology,” I called David.
DH It was after midnight; I’d just checked into my hotel in Bristol, when the phone rang. Needless to say, I was upset by the story Joan told me, and knew that I had to speak directly to Kate. When she heard my voice, and I said I was calling from Britain, she said, “You didn’t have to call me and spend all that money on long distance.” Sweet as pie, she listened patiently as I reiterated that the title of the program was made with her input and final approval, and that she’d done an incredible job as its “host.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you’re happy with the result. Let’s hope everyone else is too,” she said. “And by the way, I’ve decided to throw a small cocktail party at my house next week and, of course, you and Joan are invited. Let me know who else should be asked. And now you should go to sleep. It must be the middle of the night where you are.”
JK When David called me to report on his conversation with her, I had to laugh. First, she was impressed by him calling her from England; then she willingly and calmly accepted the same explanation I had given her during her tirade; and now she was inviting us to her party.
The next day, I called her—hesitantly—to suggest who else should be included on the guest list. She said, “Sounds fine. You and David can ask them for me.” She was back to her old self, without any lingering hint of the anger I had experienced less than twenty-four hours earlier.
Katharine Hepburn preparing to read her letter to Spencer.
New York, 1986. Photograph by Len Tavares.
AADA invitation (note the incorrect title for the documentary).
New York, 1986. Authors’ collection.
Our tickets.
New York, 1986. Authors’ collection.
