“I don’t really have to direct anyone or write down that somebody’s getting drunk; all I have to do is say that there’s a bottle there and put a bottle there and then they’re going to get drunk.”
John Cassavetes forged one of the most unique careers in the history of cinema, capitalizing on his success as a character actor in traditional Hollywood pictures to direct a series of revolutionary, personal films that set the course for modern American independent filmmaking. A fixture of television in the 1950s, he made his feature debut with Sidney Poitier in Edge of the City (1957), a drama about interracial relationships. Cassavetes returned to that same subject matter with his first directorial effort, Shadows (1959), a largely improvised, low-budget affair shot with handheld cameras on the streets of New York. He was hired to direct two Hollywood features, Too Late Blues (1961) and A Child Is Waiting (1963), but frustrations with studio interference inspired him to swear off the traditional system for all future endeavors. As a means of financing his own work, Cassavetes took roles in such movies as The Killers (1964) and The Dirty Dozen (1967), for which he received an Oscar nomination as Best Supporting Actor. His next film as a director, Faces (1968), was nominated for three Oscars: Best Screenplay, Best Supporting Actor (Seymour Cassel), and Best Supporting Actress (Lynn Carlin). Gena Rowlands and Cassel, along with Peter Falk and Ben Gazzara, made up the core stable of actors Cassavetes would utilize throughout his singular and influential career. At the time of his death, he had written more than forty unproduced screenplays.
HE REALLY WANTED HER TO WIN. He knew how much it would mean to her. It was morning at the Beverly Hills Hotel, and later that night, the 1974 Golden Globes ceremony were taking place not far away, at the Beverly Hilton.
Cassavetes and his wife, Gena Rowlands, had both been nominated for A Woman Under the Influence: her for acting, him for writing and directing. The night before, at the Polo Lounge, Cassavetes had thrown a few back with Richard Harris, who was in town as a scheduled presenter. What they had talked about, Cassavetes couldn’t precisely recall, but here this morning was Harris again, in a slightly more sober state, to refresh his memory. Unfortunately.
It seems that when Cassavetes found out Harris was presenting the award for Best Actress, he’d drunkenly let slip just how badly he wanted his wife to win. The conversation had gone something like this:
Harris: “You want her to win it?”
Cassavetes: “Of course”
Harris: “Okay then, she’s won it. I’ll just pull the envelope out of my pocket, open it, and say she’s won. You want me to do it?”
Cassavetes: “Yes … definitely.”
Presumably they then celebrated with another round.
But now, in the harsh light of day, Cassavetes wanted to take it back as quickly as possible. He begged Harris not to go through with it. “Don’t worry, it’s no big deal,” Harris said. “They won’t find out until it’s over, and then I can just say I made a mistake, or I couldn’t read, or I’m dyslexic, or something.”
Hours later, during the ceremony, Cassavetes and Rowlands were seated at a table right in front of the stage when Harris came out to present the Best Actress award. Cassavetes immediately started shaking his head, “No no no.” Harris opened the envelope, smiled and announced the winner: “Gena Rowlands.”
Afterward, Cassavetes asked who really won the award.
“Faye Dunaway,” Harris replied, “for Chinatown.” The director spent the next few hours in a spiral of guilt and shame. Imagining his friend’s state, Harris decided to help. In the wee hours of the morning, a huge floral arrangement and a bottle of champagne were delivered to Cassavetes and Rowlands at their hotel room. They were from Harris. And there among the flowers was the card he’d read from during the ceremony. The name on the card: Gena Rowlands.