We found the script for Staying Together, written by Monte Merrick, and went to John Daly, a formidable, good-looking Brit who was making big inroads in Hollywood producing independent films. Suddenly he showed up in New York, we had lunch, and the movie was a go—just like that. We cast Sean Astin, Dermot Mulroney, and Tim Quill as the boys. Melinda Dillon played their mom; Jim Haynie was Dad. Levon Helm was in it, and Stockard Channing. Daphne Zuniga played Dermot’s love interest. My very own Dinah, as Sean’s first sexual encounter, was a waitress in the family’s fried chicken restaurant in their small town, in our case Ridgeway, South Carolina. It was a happy set, a happy movie. Happy Joey, happy Lee, happy, cute, sweet adorable actors.
Catherine Keener was Dermot’s girlfriend then, hanging around the set in a short skirt, leather jacket, and beautiful long legs. Catherine became a fascinating actress and a leading lady of independent films.
Levon, Melinda’s love interest, was and is a music icon. Dermot is a cellist. Music filled our days and nights.
On the last day of shooting, Joey led the mayor of Ridgeway and the businessmen of the community on a drunken golf foray, supplying each golf cart with a beautiful girl serving piña coladas. Joey was a favorite of the Good Old Boys.
John Daly was a generous and easy man to work for. I handed over a cut of the film to him after we worked on it for months in New York. He changed nothing. We were relieved and grateful. The Academy was giving us a big screening, so we hopped to California and stayed with Brenda Vaccaro and her new husband, Guy Hector.
The day of the screening, I put a tape of the film on just to check it. Our musical score had been removed, replaced by a tinny carousel tune, repeating and repeating itself throughout the movie. I burst into tears. My beautiful movie was wrecked. It was shocking. Every film needs the right music to sustain it, particularly a romantic comedy. And the talented composer who wrote our score, Miles Goodman, had written especially charming music, loving and moving.
I phoned John Daly. He was adamant. He loved his carousel sound. I was literally on my knees begging. I’d do anything he wanted if just for tonight, for the industry screening about to take place in a couple of hours, we could restore the music written for the film.
There was a silence. Tears were streaming down my face. “I’ll put it back if you bring me five thousand dollars before five this afternoon.”
“Five thousand before five?”
I called our business manager, Hersh Panitch. “This is life-and-death,” I told him. “Can you deliver the cash to him?”
“It’s done!” Hersh said.
I called John. “The five thousand is on its way. Please, John, promise me we’ll have our music in it for tonight!”
“I’ll see,” he said.
So Joey and I went to the Academy screening not knowing what we’d find when the lights went down.
It was our music, thank God. John was given accolades for producing such a charming piece. We smiled and nodded at each other. “I couldn’t have done it without John,” I said.
“I couldn’t have done it without Lee,” he said.
But the Los Angeles Times review was lukewarm, and John had completely run out of money. With nothing left in the till to promote or distribute our lovely film, the whole charming experience folded in on itself like a big wilting parachute.