The last gala event in this catch-up of The Lonely Life is another award evening in my honor. For this event, Kath and I traveled to San Sebastian, Spain. The San Sebastian International Film Festival each year gives a special award called The Donostia, the city’s name in the Basque language. It is presented to an actor or actress for lifetime achievement in the motion picture industry—a most prestigious award. I felt doubly honored when I was told I would be the first woman to ever receive it.
Kath and I had less than three weeks to make all the necessary preparations—a very short notice for all the work that goes into planning my appearances, interviews, and press conferences, not to mention clothes, makeup and the award evening itself. I decided to telephone Gregory Peck who was a past recipient of this distinguished award. He assured me the festival was superbly organized.
On September 13, 1989, Kath and I left California for Spain on M.G.M. Grand Air with our first destination New York. Making the headline news that day was whether or not the Senate would pass a bill to ban smoking on all domestic flights. Needless to say, the outcome had not yet been decided and I was overjoyed and relieved. Kath and I couldn’t help but wonder, Would this be the last time I’d be allowed to smoke on a U.S. flight? We laughed as I took out my cigarettes and thoroughly enjoyed our five-hour flight.
We stayed over in New York at the charming Plaza Athene Hotel. The next day, we were leaving for Paris when it started to rain. I adore the rain and have always felt it brings me good luck. “We’re off to a good start,” I told Kath. It was an evening flight and since I’ve never been able to sleep on planes, we spent the night going over final details. Two weary travelers arrived at Paris’ Residence Maxim’s knowing that makeup sessions would begin at six the next morning.
From Paris, we boarded yet another plane and flew to Biarritz. There are easier ways to travel to Spain; however, the festival insisted my first appearance in their country be in San Sebastian. The only way to get there is either via England or France and then drive over the border. We chose France.
When we arrived at the tiny airport in Biarritz, to my utter amazement I was greeted by a small marching band from the Basque region. They all wore their traditional Basque costumes. A small gathering of town folk greeted me, and some of the children and mothers presented me with flowers. I was deeply touched. I went over to thank each and every band member before leaving to embark on a beautiful hour drive through the Basque countryside into the stunning seaport of San Sebastian.
After three days of traveling we had finally reached our destination: the lovely Victorian-style Hotel Maria Christina. I was overcome by the mobs of people and press waiting in ninety-degree weather to greet me. I was later told they had waited more than two hours as there seemed to be a confusion about my arrival time. I felt horrified they had waited so long. I am proud of the fact I have a reputation for not being late—usually I’m always a few minutes early. It’s partly from my Yankee upbringing—showing good manners—and from my theatre training. You could never be more than five minutes late, or you were fired.
For three days I was not seen by the press. They were puzzled as to what I was doing up in my room. Although Kath had prepared everything in California, it was important now to see the actual setup and make the necessary changes—which she did. We also had to meet with the director of the festival, Diego Galan, the stage director for the award evenings, my translator, my makeup man, and the Secretary General, Pilar Olascoaga, a most efficient woman.
The press conference was held at the Hotel Maria Christina in their grand salon “excelsion” for two hundred members of the international press. I was asked some unusual, interesting, and, at times, stimulating questions from the press. Here are some excerpts from my free-for-all press conference:
“Miss Davis, rumor had it that a few years ago, you were offered a part where you had to be naked on the screen.”
I replied, “A few years ago, Mon Dieu! I am now in my eighties, a few years ago, I was in my seventies. I don’t think anybody would want to see me naked at seventy years old. [The audience laughed.] No. Never in the ’40s, ’50s, or ’60s were we asked to be naked on the screen. Today’s actresses are often asked and I think it’s horrible.”
“Miss Davis, where have you been naughtier: on the screen or in real life?”
“Na-ugh-tier?” I replied. After taking a long pause, I said, “fifty-fifty,” and the audience roared.
“Miss Davis, you’ve given a good part of your life to the cinema. What do you expect from the cinema?”
“Well, on the practical side,” I said, “to make a good living is very good. And I expect and hope for good scripts. I hope also that I may always be acting. I love my work. That’s what I get from the cinema, always the love of it.”
“What is your opinion about the director William Wyler?”
“William Wyler, in my opinion, was, will be for all time, the greatest director Hollywood ever had. I owe my career in great part to his direction of me in Jezebel, The Little Foxes and The Letter. I would have had a much less career without having been directed by Mr. Wyler. No question about it. I also think his film The Best Years of Our Lives is truly one of the greatest films ever made.”
“What was the atmosphere like on the set of All About Eve? ”
“It was a completely joyous film to make. Everybody in the cast was ‘so right’ for their characters. We all had a great feeling that we were doing something ‘special.’ I was very fortunate to play Margot. Originally, Claudette Colbert was cast to play Margot Channing. I was sorry for her that she hurt her back. I was most fortunate to be her replacement. It was a marvelous experience.”
“What effect did the blacklist have on Hollywood in the fifties?”
“They were the most horrible and tragic years. It was a disgrace. All our talented writers were gone. We had no scripts. They [the writers] were all in prison and not all of them were party members. It was like Hitler, Germany. You could not believe it was America. The Hollywood Ten. It was a disastrous thing. After they came out of prison, they all took new names. Some of them even won Oscars and nobody knew who they were because they could not use their own names. They weren’t allowed to. It was just a terrible disgrace.”
“What advice would you give today to someone who wants to become an actor or actress?”
“Well, I think the first step is to be so sure themselves that this is what they want to do. Know that it is not an easy profession—one of the most difficult there is—and to not ask for advice. Just decide that is what they want to do. That is the first advice I always give to anyone who asks me this question.”
The next question was asked to the director of the festival.
“Why has it taken the festival so long to give Miss Davis this award?” the reporter asked.
“Big dreams take a long time in coming true and this year we’ve reached the tops,” the director replied, flattering me.
“Muchas gracias,” I said. “Time was getting short and I’m glad they invited me when they did, otherwise I might never have been around to come.”
“Miss Davis, out of all the famous people, which one would you like to accompany you on stage when you receive your Donostia Award?”
“Well, regarding famous actors—I have to be very blunt and say I am very honored to be going on that stage alone. Yes. Very honored.”
The audience then screamed with laughter, shouting, “Bravo, Bravo!”
“Miss Davis, in your career, have you been in a similar situation as Margo Channing? And in all the characters you have played, which character is most like you personally? And which character was the hardest for you to play?”
“Three questions. Tres preguntas. Well, as for Margot Channing, no,” I responded. “She was a totally different kind of actress than I. Her frenzy about her age—I have never gone through this at all. I would have liked to stay young but even at a young age I played old parts. Queen Elizabeth, for example. I was thirty playing a character of sixty. No, Margot and I were totally different types of actresses. The character I feel that is most like me in real life was Kit Marlowe in Old Acquaintance. No question about it. We were definitely the same kind of woman. The character I feel which was the hardest to play—Aggie Hurley in The Catered Affair. She was a housewife from the Bronx. Without doubt, she was one of the most against-type characters I ever attempted. The Catered Affair will always be one of my proudest efforts as an actress.”
“Miss Davis, out of all the films you’ve made, who was your favorite actor to work with?”
“I never really had a favorite actor. In the early pictures, I made many with Leslie Howard, George Brent. Both very fine actors. I always felt privileged to work with Claude Rains. He was truly a great actor. I wish I could have also made a great film with Spencer Tracy, but he was Metro Goldwyn Mayer, and I was Warner Bros. The studios at that time never really let us work with actors from the other studios. I think he was our greatest American actor for variety. I feel Hollywood’s greatest American personality actors were, of course, John Wayne, Clark Gable, Gary Cooper. Mag-ni-fique, all of them, wonderful personalities, but Tracy, the greatest American actor, I think.”
“Miss Davis, a great many people feel the most important thing in life is love or the absence of love.”
“What kind of love?” I asked. “There are many kinds of love—love of family, marriage, friends.”
“Love between a man and a woman,” the reporter clarified.
“Well, I have to admit, that was not my most successful area in life, not at all. But I have to add to that, it is not easy for a famous woman to have a successful marriage. A man may think beforehand that being married to a famous woman would not be difficult and he would not mind. But he does, and it cannot be helped. In my case my marriages were not successful.”
“Miss Davis, because you have won two Oscars and were nominated for eleven, what is your opinion on giving prizes and what are their purposes?”
“I call my awards my blood, sweat, and tears. If you are admired enough in your work to receive an award and to be given a lifetime achievement award, it is, of course, a great honor. One never does get over that. Never. I am very grateful and have been very fortunate to have received many during my long years.”
“Miss Davis, what do you think of the colorization of films today?”
“Colorization is breaking the hearts of many of us today. I saw Dark Victory with colorization. All the good taste in clothes, the good taste of the set decorator, are all gone. It just breaks your heart. I don’t know if it will ever be stopped. One could really cry to have the modern generation see a film colorized like Dark Victory. Some films are made only to be in black and white. You can change the whole story, the impact it might have, the scoring of the music might have been different if we knew it was going to be colorized. I think it’s terrible that we have no protection from this. Truly breaks your heart.”
On Friday, September 22, I was presented with the Donostia Award by the mayor of San Sebastian, Xavier Albistur. The evening started at 9:00 P.M. There were heavy thundershowers all day. I felt sorry for the people who had worked so hard on this festival. They had planned an enormous screen to be set up in the plaza square for the public, who could not get into the theatre, to watch the evening’s event. I started to feel that maybe no one would show up. Kath reassured me they would. I have always felt this way before any public appearance of mine because the responsibility to draw a crowd is virtually on me.
When Kath and I left the hotel for the Victoria Eugenia Theatre, I was in disbelief at the many hundreds of people waiting in the pouring rain to see me. The crowds went for blocks on all sides of the streets, even the plaza square was filled with people. I was overwhelmed. I had them stop our car so that I could get out and shake hands with people along the route. Pouring rain be damned. If they could take it, so could I. A Basque marching band started to play as Kath and I entered the gorgeous old theatre. There was a line of Basque guards on both sides with their touching swords forming an arch for us to walk through.
Many of the people threw flowers at my feet. Never have I seen or had this happen to me. It truly was incredible. We were then greeted by the city’s mayor, Senor Albistur. We stood as they had an excellent Basque dancer perform for me.
The ceremonies began with the director of the festival saying a few words, followed by the famous Spanish actor Fernando Rey, and then the mayor. The curtain rose to my standing at the podium smoking a cigarette and saying, “Buenas noches.” The audience went wild and gave me a long standing ovation before the mayor presented me with the Donostia Award. I must say, it is a very handsome award, crafted in silver and it looks very old-world European.
The next night, the closing evening of the festival, took place at the same gorgeous theatre. La Concha de Oro, the best picture award, is the last one presented. As I opened the envelope to name the winner, it was a tie between the film from Bolivia, La Nación Clandestina, and from the United States of America, Homer and Eddie.
Receiving the award from Bolivia was Jorge Sanjines and from America was Andrej Konchalovski. When Mr. Konchalovski came up to receive his award, he got down on both knees and knelt in front of me. I was flabbergasted, and the audience went crazy with applause. It truly brought the house down and was a fabulous way to end this incredible festival.
As Kath and I close this chapter now, we are looking out of our window from the Hotel Maria Christina on to the Bay of Biscay. And so ends an account of the happenings and highlights in my life since the writing of my autobiography The Lonely Life in 1962, until now. I will now voyage forth. Having the stars, no need to ask for the moon.