CHAPTER NINETEEN
1965

Early in July, a young actress Paul had flown to Montreal to meet came down the path to Desjardins, a restaurant on Guy Street considered to have great seafood in a city of fine dining. Emma Hodgson, Radio Canada’s casting director, had warned Paul (through Eva Langbord) to meet Geneviève Bujold in a proper environment; she was used to the royal treatment.

Anouilh had updated Romeo et Jeanette to contemporary France: the Montagues come from an upscale bourgeois family, and the Capulets somewhat lower class. Paul had explained all this to his supervising producer. “It’s a terrific play, Bob. Passion! Torment! Free-will, idealism, all that stuff.” He’d waited till they’d had their obligatory chat about current events, including the Canada Pension Plan passed earlier. Now everyone in Canada, not just the high earners, would have an income after they retired. And of course, they talked about the much debated new flag, a red maple leaf on white with red side bars.

Bob said nothing, brown eyes just watching, fingers tapping the desk.

“So let’s update it to Canada now: make the Montagues English, from boring old Toronto and the Capulets, French from Quebec. What do you think?” Bob’s cherubic features hardly changed, and then, as was his habit, he puffed and leaned forward. “You think you can find a Jeannette?”

“Montreal’s crawling with beautiful young actresses. Won’t it be great to have a fresh face? I’ll check with Eva Langbord.”

“Montreal! You mean, pay board and lodging?”

“Oh Bob, come on! Yes, only for Jeannette and her family. Let’s break out, let’s get something going here...”

Bob had finally agreed, so now, Paul was sitting by a Desjardins window, awaiting Emma’s find: “She’s tops, Paul, the best theatre actress for her age. She made a wonderful film with Michel Brault: Entre la mer et l’eau douce with Louise Marleau, who’s busy right now. She’s just back from a hard tour all over Europe and Russia with the Théâtre du Rideau Vert. Before that, she never stopped: theatre at night, acting on radio by day, rehearsing television — she’s worn out. She’s taking the whole summer off. She told me, ‘Don’t offer me anything, Emma! And not even this autumn.’ She does need a rest, Paul. So... well... good luck!” That challenge had only quickened Paul’s interest and determination.

He saw through the window a slight but clearly determined young woman stride up the path, swinging her purse as if nothing in the world could stop her. In she came and scanned the room. A deferential waiter directed her to Paul’s table. She came forward and they shook hands firmly. His preeminent position in English television needed little introduction. But could Geneviève speak English?

Paul soon found she did, albeit poorly, but enough for conversing. She quickly corrected Paul’s pronunciation of her name – Junn-veeyev. Her pixie face, frank brown eyes and slightly tousled hair, and especially her confidence, all impressed him. Before they had even ordered, he knew he had his Jeannette.

Now, convince her to come to Toronto. They began the main course, Paul having chosen a light pasta, Geneviève a salad. Paul told her about the play and something of his other Anouilh productions: Eurydice (Point of Departure in London) and Antigone. He was a fan of the great French playwright.

Nothing was decided at lunch, as she’d think it over. Paul flew back to Toronto, worried. All through lunch, an unstoppable desire had grown — he wanted so much to direct this dynamic and fiery actress. But would she get back to work this soon? And come to Toronto? No clear sailing ahead. And while they waited, Bob could not announce the play.

Finally Emma let Paul know that she had agreed. He bounded into Robert Allen’s office full of cheer, but Bob stopped him by saying they’d have to audition her.

“Bob! She’s known all over Quebec. Even in Europe.”

“But not in Toronto. She’ll have to fly in.”

Paul felt crestfallen.

“You see, if she’s any good, then we’ll have to pay accommodation for all the French Canadians.”

“Only Jeannette’s sister, brother, and father. Three. Come on Bob, let’s do another first for the old Corp. Time we got our two solitudes together, eh?”

The morning she flew in, Paul met her and brought her straight to the Festival offices. While driving, he told her which scenes he’d like her to read. But she seemed oddly nervous. “I’ve never been to Toronto. I hate coming. And I’ve never had to audition.”

“Yeah. Usually, nobody asks me to audition actors, either. But it is kind of special — we’ve never imported a whole French cast. Damn well time, of course, but still... Let’s just go along with it. Afterwards, I’ll take you to a nice lunch and you can fly right back.”

Geneviève shrugged.

“Then maybe next week, I’ll come to Montreal, stay out in Mount Saint-Hilaire, and together we’ll find the rest of Jeannette’s family.”

That seemed to reassure her. But when they entered Bob’s office and saw Eva, Geneviève quailed. He even got nervous himself, which didn’t help.

She started to read nervously, with Paul feeding her Romeo’s lines (not very well). She began to lose what little English pronunciation she had, and even forgot what was going on in the scene. In spite of himself, Paul was surprised: was this Montreal’s greatest actress? He even noticed Bob and Eva exchange glances.

Oh Lord! All over but the shouting? What would he do now?

He was still convinced she’d be terrific, once she got into the role. But how to get that far?

The next few days, Paul made his case to Eva and eventually got her on board. Then they both worked on Bob. Finally, thanks mainly to Paul’s decade of directing successful dramas, he prevailed. But would it be worth it? How many risks could he take and still come out on top?

Paul flew to Montreal and stayed at Apple Barrel. He and his new actress struck up quite a partnership. With Emma, they met other French performers. Paul was amazed at the yeast bubbling up in Quebec culture, in theatre, film and dance. Geneviève’s young but distinguished director Michel Brault and his wife Marie-Marthe invited them to dinner. Michel with Pierre Perrault had won Best Film at the Canadian Film Awards of 1964 for Pour la suite du monde. They spent time with Claude Jutra, also a winner for his À tout prendre.

Paul was only too aware that he himself had never made a motion picture. He certainly had been trying. “So try harder,” Geneviève told him. “The result counts!” — as she would often repeat.

They selected a pretty blonde actress, Nathalie Naubert as the sister, Julia, Jean Doyon as the brother, Lucien, and finally as the father, Georges Groulx, one of the great comedians of Quebec theatre.

Paul found another newcomer in Montreal, Michael Sarrazin for Romeo. Tall, skinny, with a wistful countenance and soft brown eyes, he would make a complete contrast to the fiery Geneviève. An ideal cast.

***

“Quite a challenge you set yourself!” Leo Orenstein, remarked as he passed Paul in the corridor.

“Really? How so?” Paul fell into step with his director friend.

“Bringing in all those French Canadians. I’ve heard they’re all great theatre actors. But have any been on television?”

“Oh sure, on Radio Canada, I think. But I guess you’re right,” Paul replied. “They’ve never done English television.”

“Ever since I did Marcel Dubé’s Zone, I wanted to bring in more of them.”

“Zone, with Gloria Rand? She was terrific, Leo, so beautiful! Yeah, I loved that show. Now she’s married to Bill Shatner, did you know?” Leo nodded, and they went into his office and sat down. “I have my first read-through at Sumach Street at two today.” Paul shook his head as Leo offered a cigarette. “There’s such a wonderful energy in Montreal right now. Geneviève introduced me around. Marvellous actors, lots of theatre, they’re even making films — how come we aren’t doing that? They’re bursting with energy.”

“Well, I still think you’re a bit of a pioneer.”

The word “pioneer” rang in Paul’s ear for some reason. “It’s hardly a risk, these actors. I think Geneviève is doing us a favour.”

“Bob Allan doesn’t think so.”

Paul raised his eyebrows. “Oh, what have you heard?”

“The word is she reads so badly, he is worried. So is Eva. Doesn’t that make you nervous?”

“Not really.” Had he ever been nervous before rehearsals? Certainly not. Too much self-confidence? Who knows? He loved all the excitement, the live shows, why be nervous? “Well, we’ll all know in ten days. You going to watch?” Paul got to his feet.

“Oh yes, I’ll be watching!” Leo smiled. “I’d really like to use French performers myself. We all would.”

“Well,” said Paul, as he left, “it could be a beginning...”

***

During rehearsals Paul kept working on a shooting script. He would scrawl thick pencil lines across the page of dialogue to mark the cuts from one shot to another. As actors grew into their roles and adjusted their movements, cutting points changed. The movement, as organically dictated by the play’s emotions, had to rule — let it all flow was Paul’s viewpoint: camera work must grow organically from the emotional sweep of the performers and script.

In the evenings, he would transcribe his rough line-scribbled script into a second with neater ruled lines, and often go to a third. Dramas usually had three cameras, sometimes four: at the end of each line, the camera number was written. Below the line in the margin, the shot was described: CU Geneviève; W2S (wide two-shot) Georges and Nathalie. He wrote notes in the margins for special lighting, or sound effects that Bill McClelland would provide. Also cues for Johnson Ashley, his favourite studio director.

Later, the script assistant numbered these shots and after the last run-through sat up well after midnight typing separate “shot lists” which each cameraman attached to his mount.

Too busy to socialize with her new director, Geneviève spent evenings coaching George Groulx with his lines: he couldn’t speak a word of English, The Quebec cast ate together, talking, laughing, having fun.

Finally, ten days of rehearsals, standard for a ninety-minute show, ended with a run-through in Sumach rehearsal rooms. Bob Allen came, with Rudi Dorn and other art department members. Bob, an observant and perceptive executive producer, gave Paul notes privately while the actors took a break. Most of his suggestions were helpful, though by no means orders, as in American television.

Shooting in Studio Four went well: Geneviève turned out to be terrific and the rest of the cast matched her. Romeo and Jeannette had introduced Geneviève Bujold and Michael Sarrazin to English Canada. Afterwards, English and French mingled at Briar Hill Avenue for a bang-up party.

The next morning, Paul drove his lead to the airport, both of them weary but happy. Being so involved in the play, they’d had no time to look ahead. But underneath it all, Paul felt that they had reached beyond the simple relationship of director-actress.

But now she was off to Montreal.