By Myself and Then Some (87 page)

I didn’t know what Jonathan would be like. He called me from London to make a date for dinner on his arrival. One must never have preconceptions – they are almost never right. First of all he’s young – early forties – second, he’s attractive, third, he’s smart – knows exactly what he wants. No airs. Our dinner was great, at one of my favorite restaurants. Having just arrived from London, he kept apologizing for his clothes – jeans and shirt. (The jeans, by the way, were seen regularly during the shoot.) He openly talked about his life. Save for his exhaustion – plane ride and it being five hours later for him – he got through it. We talked of the movie, he explained his concept clearly and told me who he’d cast – the major one being John Huston’s son, Danny, who had directed me in a movie called
Mr North
in 1988. Since then, he had turned actor and is absolutely terrific. Talk of ‘six degrees of separation’. Proof positive once again that our lives go full circle and we are all connected, just as John Guare stated so clearly in his play of the same name. Danny was to play opposite Nicole. Zoe Caldwell was to play my best friend – what could be better? Thrilling to have Zoe with me, and Danny who was like family – so great to spend time with him, grown up and with a baby. I was really excited about the entire set-up, couldn’t wait to start.

The
Birth
experience was in some ways diametrically opposed to
Dogville
. No location, for instance. I could stay home for the entire movie. That does not often happen. Being picked up every morning at 6:00 or 6:30 a.m. or thereabouts and driven to the studio in Queens, home of Silvercup, the popular white bread found in all the markets of my childhood. Upon arrival, being greeted by an assistant director and by Michael O’Connor, an assistant assigned to me who turned out to be great. Then being led to my dressing room which was next to the sound stage that all closely resembled the studio system of my young years. As a result, the day started off being much cozier – all working actors each
day in the same building, walking on to the same sound stage, having the same Kraft Service coffee in paper cups and then on to the set where director, crew and cameraman were ready to get going. Somehow that system creates a more intimate feeling – though in the case of
Birth
, most of the cast were part of a family so familiarity was almost built in.

The role in
Birth
gave me more room to move emotionally and mentally than had
Dogville
. Nicole and I, having developed a friendship of great mutual affection, had a built-in feeling for one another that brought an extra dimension to our scenes together. Mind you, not knowing how Jonathan has cut the movie, what scenes are in, what are out, plus my not having seen the dailies, I can’t guarantee the result on screen. Anyway, the feeling was there and I hope it shows. It’s the doing of it that counts. It’s the doing of it that I truly love. I do not go to the dailies during the shooting of the film. I learned very early on in my career that I do not like watching myself on screen. I am hypercritical and see only negative moves, awkwardness, wrong attitudes. That being said, I do not consciously think of how I look in a scene, vanity not being in the forefront of my self-perceptions. I have never spent extra time looking in the mirror, as I have never been enamoured of my face, which of course is magnified umpteen times on screen. Truly, it is the work that must come first; it is the work that gives the personal rewards, the sense of exercising all that I have learned from the beginning. The years of study, observation, practicing my craft, remembering Bogie’s first teaching of the necessities of thought, awareness, concentration and focus. Of preparing. As his acting career began in the theatre, his own learning as an actor totally became an automatic part of him with each character he played, be it stage or screen. The basic necessities are the same even though the presentation and final rendition in performance may not be.

Working with Nicole, as opposed to just being in the same movie with her as in
Dogville
, was really very special. She is a wonderful actress – always concentrated and focused on the work and giving to me in our scenes together. Our friendship was cemented during this period to a degree that we felt almost related. The movie is complicated but fascinating and I was very grateful to have been a part of it. It’s hard to describe but having been in this business for sixty years (unbelievable as it seems, especially to me) and to find that there are members (one or two perhaps) who still might want me in their films is more than gratifying.
As work is what drives me – gives me a life and a continued goal despite my advancing years – the excitement goes on and the fact that there are still possibilities gives me that extra push to get up in the morning.

On
Birth
there was not a morning that I did not look forward to the day’s work. Jonathan’s head was so filled with ideas that arriving on set I knew there would be a surprise or two in the offing. Though I didn’t always agree with some of his changes, I knew he was a man of vision who knew what he wanted in a scene. Yet he never failed to answer my questions and listen to my (what I thought were reasonable) doubts. I was never bored – he was non-stop interesting and intelligent. His process was new territory for me to explore as an actress so I had to be on my toes – always alert. That, plus an often fourteen – to sixteen-hour day, made a nap at lunch almost a necessity. Amazing what a twenty-minute snooze will do for you in the energy department. Though I didn’t do it on a daily basis, I highly recommend it.

No matter what the outcome, it was a happy experience for me and for Sophie, who loved every aspect of the shooting, from early morning pick up to arrival at the Silvercup studios. She trotted down the hall, stopping to say hello to wardrobe and make-up before stopping completely at the door of my dressing room. She owned the place and everyone in it. I have never had a dog who so completely left her mark wherever she might be. I continually marvel at her behavior and continually wonder what goes on in the brain of that tiny head.

T
hrough the years I have
become aware that aimlessness does not suit me. Having a purpose does, be it going to the bank, the market, the gym, wherever – it’s a goal. In my subconscious from the beginning. Living in a city filled with activity does that. It’s one of New York’s main attractions. As I sit here confronting myself after roughly sixty years of New York living, this seems to be it. As they say, ‘I’ll never get out of here alive.’ I always loved this city. You might say it was in my blood through my entire family, we belonged here. Even during the fifteen years I lived with and loved Bogie in California, I always wanted a small pied à terre here where we had many friends, I had family and there was life – theatres to go to, restaurants, nightclubs, coffee shops, endless variety. Then it was a city to walk in, day or night.

In my early teens, the fun I had window shopping, looking sometimes
longingly into shops filled with lovely clothes I could never afford. And years later, I was still window shopping on Madison Avenue, Broadway, many streets East side and West side, only this time I could walk into these shops and I could buy what I yearned for sometimes. Before and after, New York remained a city of excitement filled with dreams that might be fulfilled. So much was possible whether you were rich, poor or medium. I was medium. But it never stopped me from dreaming. Even though the city has changed so much, I hope there are still those who have hope for the future, who feel the beat of the city. In a way it’s still there, but you have to seek it out.

In 2003 – the first year in the last fifteen that I did not see Paris but once at the end of the year – I walked the streets of New York with my Sophie and I came to realize how this city of my childhood and my childhood dreams had changed. Dramatically and drastically. It was and still is a great city in what it has to offer educationally, historically, entertainment-wise and varied-neighborhood-wise, but it has become a city whose streets have been taken over by enormous trucks and buses (mostly empty) traveling two and three abreast. Dodging bicycles that you mostly cannot see or hear on sidewalks (against an unenforced law) – crosswalks marked for pedestrians and instead overrun by cars and taxis and vans extending their front halves into them – all in all it is hell trying to walk in this city now. It seems almost impossible to cross the street without being run into or being sideswiped by a car or taxi.

Yet I remain. Were I ten or more years younger, I would probably move. But I’ve lived in the same place for more than forty years – it is my home – my roots are here – many friends are here – theatre is here – even when I sit in my kitchen and look at only my endless cups and saucers, I know I can never move. I decry the fact that there are no manners anymore – is it the times? Cell phones – deafening noise on the streets, in the cars – blasting boom boxes – people walking towards you, not seeing you, never giving way so you can pass – not allowing you to get out of the elevator before they push themselves in – I began to notice this quite a few years ago and each year it all has grown and grown. Until it is almost bursting at the seams. Is it anger and if so, why to such a degree? There are not too many smiling faces. Where has all the humor gone, or was it never there? Did I just wish it?

Thank God some of my childhood haunts still exist. There is still nothing that can beat Zabar’s, the New York delicatessen of my
childhood that I shop in now. I love going there and choosing my own cream cheese with scallions, my own smoked salmon. There is an endless assortment of fresh food – coleslaw, egg salad, herring, chopped chicken liver, cold cuts and more. I am never disappointed with their offerings. And another thing that exists in New York that one does not readily find in Los Angeles and other cities is fresh and delicious takeout. As I live alone, I don’t often cook for myself. What saves me are the specialty shops, William Poll, for example, with freshly cooked meals daily with different items every day, plus an assortment of fantastic soups, dips, chips – all homemade. And they deliver. And there are great markets – large and small. So I’m grateful for all that and miss it when I’m away from it for too long. So finally, I guess I’m stuck. The tough side, the noise, the bad traffic, the other obstacles will not go away. But when I am safely in my glorious apartment overlooking Central Park with all my things, my life of sixty years around me, I am quite content. Nothing’s perfect, but I have my friends, my Papillon, my books, my music – so I’m lucky. Children a phone call away, work still there for me.

As I look outside my window on Central Park West in the afternoon sun, I see trees, all sizes, full and green (I never realized how many shades of green there are) being backed up by tall buildings – too tall – cement shutting out light. And I think how lucky I am to live where I do so that just by looking out the window I can almost feel I am in the country and how lucky to live where I live instead of being completely closed in by cement.

In the United States the focus has always been on success, on making it, which of course is followed by making money which in turn will buy you the biggest house on the block – the most expensive car – entrance to the corporate America club – the good old boys’ club – the golf dates – the private planes and on and on. Unhappily quality does not count as number one, because with the accent on things, tables, chairs, tangibles – creativity, imagination and standards fall to the bottom of the ladder or off it. I really hate to see that this country – that once was about ideals, about people, about the land, about enriching the spirit, about accomplishment because you love what you do – has more and more become about corporate America – money, buying power, greed. It’s all so cold, so humorless, so dead.

I know what you’re thinking. Yes, money bought me my apartment, but it was money that came from years of work, hard work – doing what
I love to do, not to acquire. I like money as much as most people – more because it gives me independence and as long as I keep working enables me to live here and go where I wish to go. I loved the America of Franklin Roosevelt, of John and Robert Kennedy – I grew up on that, had pride in it – but I do not love the administration of now. Now is not about people or ideals, ideas – it’s about C.E.O.s – Bush buddies – Texas – oil secrecy – gun lobbying – anti-immigration corporations – all wrapped up in the American flag making this a pure Aryan (sound familiar?) country – a Christian country. Why don’t people realize this country was built by immigrants? One of the great basics and selling points of the United States was that anyone from anywhere in the world could come here, make a life and prosper in freedom. We’re all immigrants. I am an immigrant – my mother was born in Rumania. The glory has gone and, most devastatingly, the humor – the laughter has gone.

W
hile I’m on the subject
of non-functioning situations, here’s one more example. While I was actually writing this passage – with a low bow to Joe Heller, Something Happened. The lights went out. At first I thought it was a fuse – until I discovered that all the lights in my apartment were out, then that all lights everywhere were out. I picked up the phone to see if it was something in my building that had gone awry. My phone was dead. I tried to reach my children on my cell phone – could not get through to anyone. All of New York City was doing the same thing. It was the total blackout. It was eerie to look out across Central Park and see only black buildings of different heights with nary a light in sight. On Central Park West there was not a streetlight, traffic light, even flashlight to be seen. Once in a while a police car showed up with headlights on full blast and the red and blue lights atop the cars twirling around. There were only people, stranded for the most part, hoping a bus would appear. One finally did in the wee small hours with all lights shining inside and out – a stark picture against the pitch darkness. Luckily, I had flashlights and many candles, this time not for the romantic setting candles usually convey.