American Prince (19 page)

Bob Raines, who was now running the casting department at Universal, was a nice guy, a little bit older than I, and he could see I was having trouble. He suggested that I go see a psychiatrist, and when he told me the insurance would pay for it, I went along.

I would lie on a couch in the middle of the day, and Dr. Frym would analyze me. I don’t know if it helped me, but I certainly liked the attention. He’d say, “Tell me how you’re feeling,” and I would rattle on about myself. I rather liked it. At first I’d randomly hit on something useful to explore, but soon I discovered that all I had to do was talk about my family in order to hit something worth digging into.

By the end of 1955, Universal had cranked up its publicity machine to make Tony Curtis a household name all over America. Having gotten me in all the fan magazines, the studio now tried to get me on as many TV shows as it could. TV was becoming very popular, so I would fly to New York and go on talk shows. I never talked very much on those shows. The host would say, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Tony Curtis.” I’d come on, they’d applaud, and the host would say, “Hi, Tony. So, your new film is
The Square Jungle.
How did you like making it?”

“I liked it a lot. I got to do my own boxing scenes.”

“Who else is in it?”

I’d rattle off the names of my costars.

“And what’s it about?”

“Well, it’s about a grocery clerk whose father is a drunk and whose girlfriend doesn’t think he’s going to amount to anything. So he becomes a boxer, finds out he’s a natural, and becomes the challenger in a big title fight. Like I said, it’s a boxing movie.”

“That’s great. Tony Curtis, ladies and gentlemen.” And off I went. There was nothing subtle about television interviews in those days. You get on, you plug the movie, and you get off.

I was a guest on
What’s My Line?,
hosted by John Daly, and I appeared on one of TV’s biggest hits,
The Ed Sullivan Show.
When I appeared on his show, Ed said, “I want you to meet the new bright star at Universal: Tony Curtis.” He knew the response he was going to get, and he got it: the girls in the audience all began screaming. I didn’t want the applause and the yelling to ever stop. Now that I was making movies in Hollywood I didn’t want to be known as a mere actor. I wanted to feel like a
star.

“The Cat’s in the Bag, and
the Bag’s in the River”

M
y agent
, Lew Wasserman, had an uncanny instinct for making the right move at the right time. Lew’s job was to provide my career with direction; my job was to put on some makeup and a costume and act. Early on Lew told me that the way to become successful was to take whatever parts came my way and not to give the studio a hard time. That’s what I did. And it worked.

In fact, any advice he gave me always worked out the way he said it would. One time I signed to do a picture called
Lady L
for MGM. Orry-Kelly, the clothes designer, showed me some sketches he’d made of me in costume, and I was really excited about the part. But when the time came for me to shoot the movie, MGM wasn’t ready to proceed, and they wouldn’t pay me.

I went to Lew and told him how MGM was screwing me over. He said, “Go to MGM, ask where the stage for
Lady L
is, walk over there, and look for someone to tell you what to do.” I did that, and of course there was nothing to do, but I stuck around for half a day. Lew encouraged me to keep going back. I did that for seven or eight days. My contract was guaranteed, and with me showing up ready to work day in and day out, Lew was able to say that I was holding up my end of the contract. He made them pay me, even though they weren’t going to make the movie. They wound up dropping the project, although the studio revived it a year later with Paul Newman.

I did very well just by having Lew’s advice in my ear—and following it. With him guiding me, I couldn’t go wrong. It was like talking to an older brother.

Lew got along well with just about everyone in Hollywood. He loved Alfred Hitchcock, and Hitch loved Lew. I remember being at a party one evening and watching the two of them sitting in a corner talking. Lew was sitting there in his horn-rimmed glasses with his long legs crossed, while Hitch was perched on his seat—all five feet seven inches of him in that famous pear shape. To look at them, these two men couldn’t have been more different, but they were bonded by the power of their remarkable intellects.

Lew loved to hear me talk about my life. He was fascinated by stories about my childhood, because he came from such a different background. Lew came from money and was well educated, articulate, and comfortable with power. He could handle things. He was also very kind. Whenever I reached out to Lew, he always responded. It always meant a tremendous amount to me when someone really enjoyed my company. Lew obviously did.

One day Lew called and asked me to meet him at his office. When I got there, he said, “I’m not sure whether we can swing it, but United Artists is making a movie with Burt Lancaster called
Trapeze.
Harold Hecht is producing it. They’re going to shoot in Paris, and they want you to play the younger guy, the ‘flyer,’ who gets flung around by the bigger guy.”

“I love it already,” I said.

“I knew you would,” Lew said. “I’m trying to arrange it with Universal.”

When Lew spoke to Ed Muhl, who was running Universal, at first Ed refused to let me go. “We’re doing great with Tony now, and I don’t think we want to loan him out anymore,” Muhl said.

Lew, who ran one of the most powerful talent agencies in Hollywood, wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He told Muhl, “Listen, you need to put Tony in that picture. Look how important he’s going to be for you when he finishes making it. You have to consider that.” But Muhl still wasn’t convinced. So Lew had Burt Lancaster talk with Ed Muhl. Burt was a very energetic and imposing fellow, and with a few suggestions from Lew, Burt found a way to get Ed to say okay.

The director of
Trapeze
was Carol Reed, the Englishman who’d directed
The Third Man.
The producers were Harold Hecht, Burt Lan caster, and Jim Hill. Harold had discovered Burt on Broadway and brought him to Hollywood, and the two became partners in an independent production company. But after six or seven years Burt and Harold no longer got along. Burt felt Harold was imposing himself too much and he wanted to replace him, but they had a contract, so Burt hired Jim Hill to serve as a buffer between himself and Harold.

Of the three leads, Burt was an established star, Gina Lollobrigida was a certifiable Italian dish, and I was the up-and-coming kid. (Gina had come to Hollywood only a couple of years earlier and had starred in a movie called
Beat the Devil. Trapeze
was to be her second American-made picture.) So Burt got top billing, and I got second billing everywhere but in Italy, where Gina Lollobrigida wanted it. I didn’t mind; I was happy just being in the picture. The only time I got upset was when Gina wanted me to cut my hair. She talked to Burt and Harold about it, so they came to me and asked me if I would mind going to the barber. I grudgingly went along. Gina was some dish, but after that I lost my appetite for her. Every time I saw her on the set I couldn’t help but think about how much I missed my hair. If it sounds petty, I can’t argue with that. I’m just reporting events as I experienced them.

I had expected Janet to join me in Paris, but she had signed to do a picture called
Safari,
which was going to be filmed in Africa. What’s more, she had to go to England right away to do wardrobe and other pre-filming preparation. It had been too long since Janet and I had spent any good time together, and I found myself missing her, so I flew to London for three days before Janet left for Africa. My arrival in London made all the news papers, which always made me feel good. And Rex Harrison and Marlene Dietrich hosted a dinner party for me. Rex, later the star of
My Fair Lady
and
Dr. Dolittle,
had a crazier married life than I did. Marlene, the star of
The Blue Angel,
had a heartbreakingly beautiful singing voice. When she sang “Falling in Love Again,” men wept.

After dinner Janet and I went to a party with a lot of English celebrities, and Marlene was there too, leaning on a mantel with a drink in her hand. We started talking, Janet wandered off somewhere, and Marlene said, “How do you like London?”

I said, “I like it fine, but I’m going back to Paris in a couple of days.”

She said, “I’m in Paris a lot, and I stay at the George Cinq. Why don’t you call me when you’re there?” I didn’t know what to say. Janet was just in the other room, and Marlene was about fifty-five. I must have paused a little too long, because she said, “Don’t be concerned.”

I said, “Why would I be concerned?”

She said, “I’ll treat you well.”

Marlene Dietrich was a huge star, and I loved the way she talked and sang, but she was too old for me. I didn’t have many firm rules, but not dating my mother (much less marrying her) was inviolable. Okay, Freud might argue that every man dates his mother in some form, but this was getting much too close.

I pleaded with Janet not to go and do the film in Africa. With Bob Fosse’s note still lingering in my mind, I was afraid that we were drifting so far apart that our marriage was becoming irreparable. It was far from a perfect union, but for some reason I didn’t want to let it go.

“Why are you doing this picture in Africa?” I asked her. The reason was simple: she wanted to work. It was a modest opportunity, but she liked acting. I was hoping she’d take this chance to choose me over her own work, but she refused. Here I was in this important movie, which gave her an opportunity to join me in a beautiful, romantic city, but she was running off to Africa. But there was no moving her. I understood Janet’s choice only too well, but it was still painful when we went our separate ways and got to work.

During the evenings in Paris I was very lonely. Sometimes I’d go out to dinner with the movie crew, and the emptiness I felt was unbearable. There were also evenings when I sought out the company of beautiful French girls. They didn’t mean anything to me, but for the short time we were together they managed to keep my mind off my loneliness.

Burt Lancaster and I stayed at the George Cinq, and Burt had the suite directly above mine. I would step onto my balcony, climb a lattice up to his balcony, and knock on his window. Burt would open his window and let me in. We’d talk and get loaded, and I’d stagger downstairs to my room. One night, after I returned to my room from dinner, Burt leaned over his balcony and called down to me: “Come on up here, Tony.”

I climbed up, and there he was with two French girls. When my head came over the balcony railing, one of the girls screamed—not because she was scared, but because it was me!

Despite these diversions, I really missed Janet during my stay in Paris. She was in Africa, and there were only certain times during the day when I could call her because she had to travel from wherever they were shooting to where there was a phone. Janet’s costar in
Safari
was Victor Mature. Janet later told me about a scene when she was in the Congo River, and she had to swim across to the other side. The script read:
A crocodile swims by.

When they were discussing the scene, Mature said, “Where will I be?”

The director said, “You’ll be in the water.”

Mature said, “No, I won’t.”

The director said, “You don’t have to worry. The crocodiles will swim around you.”

Mature said, “No, they won’t.”

The director said, “I’m telling you, don’t worry. I’ll have a propman out there with a gun, and when you step into the water, he’ll fire it, and the crocodiles will scurry away.”

Mature said, “What if they’re hard of hearing?”

B
efore we began
filming
Trapeze,
I spent two months in Paris training with a fine company of acrobats attached to the Cirque d’Hiver. I had learned how to tumble before, but their routines were a lot more elaborate than anything I’d ever done. I also got some training from Burt, who had worked as a circus acrobat when he was a young boy, and from Fay Alexander, my stunt double. I was the flyer, and Burt was the catcher. I learned to swing on the trapeze and time my release so that my momentum would carry me to the point where Burt was on his trapeze, his arms extended to catch me. I also learned to throw my feet out when I swung to help my momentum carry my body across the space it had to travel.

The professional acrobats also showed me how to land on the net, thirty feet below. It was called a safety net, but you could still get hurt on it if you weren’t careful. I’d hang from the trapeze, and Burt would yell, “Now!” Then I’d let go of the trapeze and lie flat, fall straight down onto the net and bounce. Fay taught me not to change the direction of my body as I was falling, not to look over my shoulder, not to do anything—just let go and wait.

There was only one serious injury during the making of
Trapeze.
We had some circus lions on the set, and everybody was nervous about them—with good reason, as it turned out. The girl who stunt-doubled for Gina Lollobrigida was in the pit with the lions when they started fighting with each other. She stood stock-still and waited for them to calm down. She wasn’t attacked, but a little later on, when one of the custodians went into their den to feed them, one of the cats attacked him, bit him, and dragged him around. He didn’t die. He was ripped up pretty badly, but he recovered. By the end of
Trapeze
I was a skilled flyer.

Alone in a strange land, I did what I could to keep myself busy when I wasn’t making the movie. I’d always had a deep love of art, so while I was in Paris I looked up all the places where Modigliani had lived. Modigliani was loaded with talent, but he drank a lot, did lots of drugs, and came to a sad end. I went to his studio and stood at the spot where his mistress had jumped out of a four-story window the day after he died. I wasn’t depressed enough to follow her example, but I was lonely enough to relate to how she’d felt.

Dean Martin happened to be in town while I was there, so I went to see him, and we palled around a little. He was in town to make
The Young Lions
with Marlon Brando and Monty Cliff. Dean was staying in the hotel right next to the George Cinq. Another day I spent some time with Billy Wilder and his wife, Audrey. They were in Paris making
Love in the Afternoon
with Gary Cooper and Audrey Hepburn.

I hated being separated from Janet at this difficult time in our marriage, but she hadn’t been willing to give up her work to spend time with me, and I wasn’t willing to make that sacrifice for her, either. I knew that doing this movie was definitely the right thing for my career. When I appeared on screen wearing white tights, my body hard and fit from having trained so much on the trapeze, my professional stock took a big jump up. After
Trapeze,
I could do no wrong. The big joke in town was that young ladies weren’t the only ones I was attracting; gay men were supposedly lining up to see me in the picture. I remember a newspaperman who said to me, “I just came back from a prison up north, and you’re their favorite actor. The inmates have got you all over their cell walls.”

I got about a hundred and fifty thousand dollars for making that picture, which was a ton of money in those days. I made more from that one picture than I would make in a year at Universal. So you can see why Universal didn’t want to let me make the film. They didn’t want me to get a taste of the money and the stardom that lay outside the walls of Universal. But now the genie was out of the lamp.