Rarely did we ever produce more than one profile about the same subject. An exception was Fred Astaire, about whom we actually did three. The first two in 1980, when we had the opportunity to meet Astaire, celebrated his dancing1, and received almost unanimously positive reviews. However, John J. O’Connor, the television critic for The New York Times, while praising the shows, mentioned “more effort might have been made to highlight Astaire, the singer.” We never forgot that comment, and in 1991 decided to produce The Fred Astaire Songbook.
As usual, it had a wobbly beginning.
By then Astaire was no longer alive, so the first step was to get the co-operation of his widow, Robyn Smith Astaire. She had developed a reputation for trying to stop the use of any excerpts from her husband’s films or even photos of him without her permission2, which came with a large price tag attached. And she trusted very few people. Among the few she did trust was Roger L. Mayer, the head of Turner Entertainment Co. (TEC), which held the majority of Astaire’s films. Roger had made a deal with Robyn that allowed him to license excerpts, and in return, she received a percentage of the fee. The deal also included his agreement to tell her in advance of any such usage.
We already had asked TEC to be a co-producer of the program, along with WNET (Turner provided whatever elements they owned in return for future distribution rights following the PBS broadcast window), so Roger was one of our executive producers. He suggested we come to LA to have dinner with him and Robyn. The date was set, and she suggested the restaurant in the Bel Air Hotel. We arrived on time, as did Roger. But no Robyn. After waiting fifteen minutes, he decided to call her. No answer. Another twenty minutes later, he called her again, only to reach her answering machine. After another half-hour, he said, “I don’t think she’s going to show up, so let’s order.”
The next morning, he reached her.
“What happened to you last night? I even called you the day before to re-confirm.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I thought it was meant to be tonight. Let’s all have dinner this evening at L’Hermitage; my treat.”
Once again we and Roger met at 6:30 pm, and were led to a corner table. The maitre d’ told us that Robyn always wanted to sit facing the wall, apparently in an effort not to be recognized.
At 6:45 Roger said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she stood us up again.”
Five minutes later, the head waiter came with a message: “Mrs. Astaire called from her car. She’s on her way and asked that you order appetizers and drinks.” She finally arrived shortly after 7. She was pretty, wearing a pair of slacks, a blouse and a jacket. We all shook hands, and then she began talking to Roger. It was as though we were not there.
At one point, she asked him, “Are you wed?”
Always composed, he replied, “Yes, Robyn, I’ve been ‘wed’ for many years.” Then, still focusing only on him, she asked, “Why do film companies like yours think they deserve to keep making money from my husband’s films?”
He was beginning to show a bit of impatience, but responded calmly, “Robyn, studios don’t make movies to just keep them hidden on shelves. And, by the way, that brings us to the project we’re planning, so why don’t we let Joan and David tell you about it.”
DH We reminded her of the 1980 programs, and had brought along a copy of the letter of congratulations we received from Astaire after they had been broadcast. And we mentioned the John O’Connor comment.
“So now we’re making good on it and doing a show about your husband’s singing. And we’d greatly appreciate your co-operation. Do you have any materials that we might use, such as sheet music or any of the original scores for the songs he wrote?”
She smiled and said, “I know how much Fred liked your earlier programs and because he loved to sing and write music, I’ll be happy to help with this show in any way I can.”
“Good,” said Roger. “And while they’re in Los Angeles, why don’t you let them have a look at what you have in the house?”
“Of course. Can you come tomorrow afternoon? How about 2 pm?”
JK This was going smoother than we had expected. Until the next morning. I hadn’t left my hotel room, and the phone hadn’t rung, but at around 10 am I saw the light on it blinking. Robyn had left a message with the front desk: “Can’t confirm this afternoon until about noon.”
12 o’clock came and went. When we hadn’t heard from her by 12:30, I called. The answering machine picked up. Another half-hour went by. I called again and left another message.
DH I was going stir-crazy waiting in my room for news, so I told Joan I was going out for a walk. When I came back, she still hadn’t heard from Robyn.
Finally, at 1:45, fifteen minutes before we were supposed to have arrived at her house, Joan received another message through the front desk: “Can’t see you today. I’m out flying my plane cross-country.”
JK I called Roger. “We’ve been stood up again. Since when has Robyn become a pilot?”
“I think she told me a while back that she was taking flying lessons,” he said. “She wants to fly for FedEx or DHL or one of those delivery services. But why she made an appointment with you, and why a housekeeper didn’t answer when you called, and why she left messages at the front desk instead of talking to you directly, are all mysteries.”
About a week later, after we’d returned to New York, Robyn eventually did call me. And she delivered a bombshell: she wanted to host the program.
DH Our next surprise was when our executive producers, Roger and Jac Venza, told us they didn’t think it was such a bad idea, since many people knew that Astaire had married a former jockey and might find it fascinating to see her.
I was skeptical. She was not an actress or performer, and had no on-camera experience. (I had had to deal with inexperienced hosts in the past, never with very satisfactory results.) And she hadn’t given us any reason to trust that she’d keep to our schedule and budget. Jac listened to all my reservations.
“Give it a try,” he said.
Our lawyer sent her a contract, which she signed and returned. She then asked us to send tapes of our shows, so she could study some of our other hosts.
JK And then another bombshell: a call from her attorney to say that she didn’t want to host the program and, worse, she was withdrawing her permission for us to produce it.
Knowing that she was litigious, what followed was a round of phone calls between attorneys at WNET in New York, PBS in Washington, Turner Entertainment Co. in LA, and Turner Broadcasting in Atlanta. There were conference calls, faxes, and more calls. The production schedule was tight, so David and I had to cross our fingers and proceed on the assumption that it would all be worked out. We were scheduled to leave for another trip to LA the day after Labor Day to start shooting interviews.
The Friday afternoon before the long weekend, we finally heard from WNET’s general counsel: “Everyone has agreed. You should go ahead as planned. Just find someone else to host the show.” The decision was based on the fact that we had a fully-executed contract with Robyn Astaire, that a check for her first payment had been sent, and that she was now in breach of that contract. “So if she tries to sue us, she doesn’t have a legal leg to stand on. And we’ve informed her attorneys that we’re going ahead without her.”
DH Actually it was a great relief, based on my original concerns. And we never heard another word from Robyn or her lawyers.
Of course, we now were facing the challenge of finding another host. We made a list of people who had worked with Fred Astaire and our top choice was Audrey Hepburn. However, she lived in Switzerland and we’d had no success getting her to appear in our original Astaire shows ten years earlier. But this time we got lucky. I happened to mention her name to a colleague, John Heminway, who worked in the next office to mine at WNET, when he said, “I know one of her best friends. If you’d like, I can make a call and see if I can put the two of you together.”
JK His friend was Jacqueline Blanc, who lived in Lausanne, not too far from Audrey Hepburn. And within a few days, I found myself talking with Robert Wolders, Audrey’s long-time companion. He asked some general questions, and seemed interested in our plans for the program. The following week, in the middle of our third conversation, suddenly he said, “Hold on, Audrey would like to speak with you.”
Like so many other people, I was a great admirer of Audrey Hepburn’s beauty, her movies, her voice, and the fact that she put aside a lucrative career as an actress to become a Goodwill Ambassador for UNICEF, traveling to some of the most difficult places on earth where she tried to comfort sick and dying children—using her fame to raise awareness of their plight. She was someone I had always hoped to meet. So when I heard that voice on the phone for the first time, I was thrilled. She was easy to talk to, straightforward, and wanted to be part of the show.
There was only one catch: our timetable was in conflict with hers; she couldn’t come to the United States when we needed to film her. So it was agreed that we’d go to Switzerland.
DH I had some mixed feelings about her hosting our program. In theory, she fit the bill perfectly, but I’d seen her in the role of host recently and, while she looked beautiful and elegant, to me she came across as somewhat cool and distant. I certainly didn’t want that feel for our show.
The solution came out of a conversation that Joan had with one of her close friends, Leonard Gershe. He wrote the screenplay for Funny Face, the only film that Audrey made with Astaire.
Joan told him of my concern. He said, “The problem is that every time she agrees to appear on television, producers ask her to wear a formal gown. They’re trying to make her look even more elegant than she already is. And it’s a big mistake because she then feels she has to play the part of ‘super-elegant’ and it doesn’t work. She doesn’t need any help being elegant. My advice, for what it’s worth, is to get her to wear a pair of slacks and a shirt or a sweater, and let her sit on a chair or in the corner of a sofa with her feet curled up under her. That’s the Audrey I know. She loves to dress casually, and while the elegance is still there, she’s completely down-to-earth.”
JK We flew to Switzerland and stayed at the Hotel de la Paix, overlooking Lake Geneva. It was early November, and cold, but beautiful. Our first order of business was to survey the suite at the Intercontinental Hotel, which our UNICEF contact, Christa Roth, had suggested we use as a location for filming.
It was my first time in Geneva, so after the survey, we walked over a bridge and into the old town, where we had a snack at a small café. By then we were tired and chilled, so we returned to our hotel. I stopping briefly to buy—of course—some Swiss chocolates and a small cuckoo clock.
The next morning, Audrey and Robert Wolders arrived at the Intercontinental in their own car and I met them in front of the hotel. She was wearing a red coat and slacks and no jewelry. She was as beautiful as I had expected her to be, and I felt comfortable with her immediately. I led her and Rob up to the suite where David and the crew were setting up.
DH She had brought several shirts and sweaters from which to choose. One was a simple blue and white striped blouse. Another was a pale pink sweater, which I thought suited her perfectly.
She said, “I was surprised and so happy that you want me to dress casually.”
I thought, “Thank you, Leonard Gershe.”
And I had decided to take the rest of his advice too. I asked her to sit in the corner of the sofa. And she instinctively curled her legs under her. She looked as though she could have been relaxing in her own home.
Our art department had made a prop for the shoot: a fake book with the title, The Fred Astaire Songbook. Audrey held it in her lap and occasionally turned a page, as though reading it. After the program aired, we received many requests from viewers wanting to know where they could buy a copy.
JK During our phone conversations, I had asked Robert Wolders what to order for Audrey’s lunch.
He said, “She likes pasta, tomato juice, bananas and chocolate. Believe it or not, she loves to eat.” It certainly didn’t show, because she was even thinner in person than she appeared in photos and on film.
Later in the afternoon, I asked her to sign about twenty copies of a lobby card for Funny Face. She willingly agreed, and inscribed each one personally. Then, to allow the ink to dry, she spread them out on the bed—and every other available surface in the bedroom. She pointed out that the lobby card shows her wearing a blue scarf when it was actually yellow in the film itself.
Rob had gone out to a business meeting. When he returned, there were autographed lobby cards everywhere and no place to sit!
DH The shoot was very smooth. We had sent Audrey the script ahead of time, so there were no problems—until the last page. It had her saying, “If perfection is what we strive for, then certainly he succeeded.” And ended with, “… I was the object of that perfection.” She had crossed out the entire last paragraph, because she objected to that final phrase, feeling that it sounded as though she was putting herself in Astaire’s league. I knew that the end of the program would be lame without it, but understood her concern. After a brief discussion we both agreed to a subtle but significant change in the final sentence. Now she says, “And for one brief moment, in our world of film fantasy, I was allowed to be a part of that perfection.” She delivered the line with understated emotion that provided a perfect coda.
After the on-camera sequences, we set up for the voice-over recording. And that’s when we discovered her sense of humor. Realizing I was originally from Britain, she suggested that she do the narration with a Cockney accent, the way she spoke in My Fair Lady. And the first time I asked her to do another take, she said, “Willie Wyler; he thinks he’s Willie Wyler”—a reference to the director of her first film, Roman Holiday. Wyler was legendary for always wanting numerous takes.
JK During one of our breaks, we had a conversation about her fan mail. She told me that most of it comes from women, requesting advice about fashion, makeup, etc. “And over the years, I’ve also received letters from people who were furious when I cut my hair in a film, such as in The Nun’s Story. And I also had a lot of people angry at me when it was announced that I’d play Eliza Doolittle in the film version of My Fair Lady. They accused me of stealing the part from Julie Andrews, who played the role on the stage. I was upset by those accusations, but the fact was that Julie Andrews hadn’t yet made a name for herself in the movies, and the producers weren’t going to give her the part even if I turned it down. It was a plum role, the script was terrific and so I accepted the offer. If I hadn’t, they’d have given someone else the part.”
I then asked her about her work for UNICEF. “When you travel to third-world countries, do you take your own food and water?”
She said, “UNICEF makes sure we have drinking water, but often there was not enough water for a bath.”
I thought, “Here’s the meticulous, beautiful Audrey Hepburn. It’s hard to think of her not being able to bathe whenever she wants.”
DH When we had finished, she and Rob asked us to spend the following day at her home in Tolochenaz, just outside Lausanne. Joan and I hated to turn down the invitation, but we had to catch a plane to return to New York, since our production schedule was very tight and we had a firm airdate.
JK Even before we’d met her, Audrey had agreed to be the host of a series called Gardens of the World. It was scheduled to be broadcast around the same time as the premiere of our Fred Astaire Songbook3. So we spoke to the producers of the Gardens series, and our publicist and theirs agreed to cross-promote both shows. That meant that whenever she appeared on a program to talk about either one of them, she would try to mention the other. But we could hardly expect her to publicize ours without having seen it. So, once again, we broke our rule of not letting participants see a program before it airs, and sent a cassette to her in Switzerland.
A few days later, David and I received a telegram:
“Dearest Joan and David,
Just saw your Fred Astaire Songbook and I cannot tell you how pleased and impressed I am. Congratulations to you all.
Gratefully with love,
Audrey.”
JK and DH We saw her and Rob again the following year in New York when she was being honored by Cartier, and she made sure that we were invited. She seemed as happy to see us again as we were to see her. After that, we continued to stay in touch by phone.
JK A side-story here: during Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait, news broadcasts were filled with statements by the Iraqi spokesman, Tariq Aziz, and we noticed that in some of them he was taped in the room at the Geneva Intercontinental Hotel that we had used for our shoot with Audrey. I called her to ask if she’d recognized it too. She said, “I’m so upset by the news, and how dare he sit in the exact same place that I sat…on our sofa?”
JK and DH In the fall of 1992, reports began to appear that she was ill. At first, everyone thought she had come down with a gastrointestinal infection after a UNICEF trip to Somalia. But as the months and weeks went by, the reports became more ominous.
On January 20th, 1993, David and I were in our office, watching Bill Clinton’s Presidential Inauguration, when we heard a news bulletin that Audrey Hepburn had died. We felt as though we’d been punched in the stomach. And to this day, we can kick ourselves for not delaying our trip back from Switzerland so that we could have spent some time with her at her home.
But we’re lucky to have known her and to have had the opportunity to work with her. And we’re still friends with Rob Wolders.
David Heeley, Audrey Hepburn, and Joan Kramer.
Geneva, Switzerland, 1990. Authors’ collection.
Joan Kramer and Henry Fonda.
Bel Air, CA, 1980. Authors’ collection.
