Tuesday, September 5, 2017

'The Hard Way' is Marvelous Melodrama, Warner Bros. Style

I watched The Hard Way, a 1943 Warner Bros. showbiz saga, for the first time recently.  Starring Ida Lupino, the Vincent Sherman-directed drama is a surprisingly tough film for Hollywood’s golden era. Perhaps that hardness is why it's not as well remembered as Mildred Pierce or other “women's pictures.”

De-glamourized WB dolls Lupino and Leslie plotting their way out of poverty.
The opening flashback scenes are gritty and authentic. “Greenhill” is a stand-in for every USA Midwestern industrial town. No MGM version of poor folk at working class WB in The Hard Way. As sisters Helen and Katie, Ida Lupino and Joan Leslie are make-up free and dressed-down dowdy in the film’s early scenes. Helen’s harried husband Jack is a decent man, burnt out as a miner, with no patience for their dreams of better things. Guess how long he’s in the picture?

Jack Carson and Dennis Morgan, teamed for the first time here, are travelling entertainers Albert Runkel and Paul Collins. Carson’s Albert comes off nearly as green as starry-eyed Katie, while Morgan’s Paul is the slick-talking player. Albert is taken both by Katie both professionally and personally; Collins does not want any souvenirs from their tour stops. This time, however, the easy-going Runkel prevails. Katie, with older sis Helen as manager, joins their act. And that’s when The Hard Way truly earns its title.

The film’s framing of the successful but suicidal woman's tale, told in flashback, was later lifted by Mildred Pierce. The older woman, who projects her ambitions onto the younger woman, is also echoed in Pierce. The Hard Way, based on a short story by Irwin Shaw, came out the same year as the James M. Cain novel, Mildred Pierce.

Ida Lupino is fierce as Helen, the working class woman who claws her way up.
WB queen bee Bette Davis turned down the role of Helen, which she later regretted. As Lupino was a decade younger than Davis, this was better casting, since Bette was 17 years older than Joan Leslie. If the roles were mother-daughter, Davis or especially, Joan Crawford, would have been great as the grasping Helen. Storywise, it might have made sense if they had, since it was rumored that the characters were based on Ginger Rogers and her legendarily scary stage mother, Lela. Ida Lupino and Joan Leslie were well-suited for the roles. Both came from theatrical families, so they were familiar with stage life. Lupino’s family had roots in theatre that dated back centuries. Leslie, starting as a child, was part of a vaudeville sister act. Joan sang, danced, did impersonations, and even played the accordion.

As the ruthless stage sister, Ida Lupino is just as no-holds-barred as Bette Davis at her best. But during the war years, the Academy Awards seemed to prefer uplift. Much was made of the fact that Lupino got a New York Film Critics Circle award but no Oscar nomination. Considering that perennial WB nominee Davis didn’t make the cut that year for her hits, Old Acquaintance or Watch on the Rhine, Lupino should have been a shoo-in. However, that year's Oscars lauded Jennifer Jones, Greer Garson, and Ingrid Bergman, all starring in glossy uplift: The Song of Bernadette, Madame Curie, and For Whom the Bells Toll. Joan Fontaine and Jennifer Jones, both in their mid-20s, played dreamy-eyed 14-year-olds in Bernadette and The Constant Nymph. (Jean Arthur’s comedic The More the Merrier was the fifth nominee). No room for Ida's gritty, unsentimental performance in this group!

Joan Leslie was only 17 when she played Katie, from schoolgirl to great star.
Usually ingénues who played sweet in Hollywood’s golden age were gooey. Joan Leslie is warm and sympathetic, a dramatic contrast to Ida’ Lupino’s lone wolf sister. Noteworthy too, in these showbiz sagas, a starlet is usually played by a well-established star. I recently commented on this, in the various A Star is Born remakes, where the rising stars Gaynor, Garland, Streisand, and Lady Gaga are already in their early 30s. Watching teenager Joan Leslie blossom into a star is striking, especially as Leslie starts going all Lindsay Lohan, rebelling against Lupino’s controlling character.

The Hard Way also features one of Jack Carson's great dramatic performances. In his serious roles, Carson had a laughing on the outside, crying on the inside quality. In The Hard Way, Mildred Pierce, 1954’s A Star is Born, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and The Tarnished Angels, Carson is both funny and sad. Carson’s suicide scene, after his character is given the brush-off by his now-bride Leslie, is both genuinely shocking and moving.

The climb to the top leaves a few casualties along the way. L: Dennis Morgan.
As the ladies man turned one-woman man, this is one of Dennis Morgan's better acting efforts. Harboring a secret crush on Katie, Paul gradually becomes more vocal in his feelings toward her, and in his disdain for hell-on-wheels Helen. One of The Hard Way’s most striking scenes is when Lupino’s Helen lets down her guard and admits her own attraction to Morgan’s Paul. He sarcastically flings his standard pick-up line at her, causing hard-bitten Helen to revert to her stone-cold self.

Gladys George is great as the boozy star egged on by Lupino.
Gladys George has a great cameo as washed up stage star Lily Emery. George has only a few scenes, but she runs the gamut as the drunken diva mowed over by Helen, who offers up starlet sister Katie in her place.

Though The Hard Way has a following for Lupino’s performance, I've noticed certain critics and film fans still knock this movie. Specifically, the criticism is directed at the hardness of Lupino’s character/performance and Joan Leslie's perceived lack of talent.

I think Lupino is fantastic in The Hard Way, but this criticism may tie in with my question: Why didn’t Ida Lupino become a bigger star? She seemed lovely, charismatic, talented, intense, and more. But was Lupino a little too real, rather than larger than life, like Crawford and Davis? Was Lupino to Davis akin to Robert Mitchum when compared to Bogart? Excellent, yet earthbound, rather than mythic? Lupino had Davis’ intensity, but perhaps needed a few hits playing sympathetic roles, like Bette’s Now Voyager and The Great Lie. And Ida’s hard-boiled persona didn’t get the redeeming soft side that Crawford’s hard-edged characters usually did. The Hard Way is like Mildred Pierce, but without the mother love gloss.

Lupino as Helen, when she becomes successful as starmaker.
I think Ida’s second best status to Bette couldn’t have helped matters. The big problem perhaps was that Jack Warner seldom did well by his actors. Bette became the studio’s top female star—and film fans know what a battle Davis pitched to get good roles. Also, top star Barbara Stanwyck had a part-time contract with Warner Bros. Then, along came Joan Crawford, making a comeback from MGM. So, popular leading ladies Lupino, Olivia de Havilland, Jane Wyman, and Ann Sheridan were first up for the leftovers. And WB mostly wasted the next tier of younger actresses like Eleanor Parker, Alexis Smith, Lauren Bacall, Patricia Neal, Janis Paige, Dorothy Malone, etc.

So, here’s my shout-out for Joan Leslie, an actress I only knew by name until recently. Detractors of The Hard Way have labeled Leslie as a no-talent. Well, she ain't Judy Garland, but she's a decent musical performer and her acting is just fine. What armchair internet critics don’t realize is that one, Leslie was only 17 here, and second, Joan actually was a popular vaudeville performer. What seems corny today was entertaining back in the day. Think of the more typical musical stars of the time—Ginger Rogers, Eleanor Powell, Ruby Keeler, etc. Or even great Broadway legends like Ethel Merman, Mary Martin, or Carol Channing. They were hugely popular, but not versatile talents. (Yes, I know I’m opening a can of worms here!) What I found most striking about Leslie’s Katie was her vulnerable, appealing performance, with hints of steeliness as she soars to stardom.

Joan Leslie, as Katie, achieving her dreams of stardom.
Off-screen, Joan Leslie showed some steel, too. Leslie was the third actress to sue Jack Warner in a contract dispute. Bette Davis famously sued Warner Bros. in 1936 to get out of her contract—over bad roles. Davis lost the battle, but won the war, finally getting great parts. Olivia de Havilland sued Warner Bros. in 1944, for having suspensions from turning down roles added on to her contract. Olivia won, and though she didn’t work for two years, soon won two Oscars as an independent actress. Joan Leslie also won her suit with Warner, citing that she was a minor when she signed her contract. However, despite her popularity, her status as a starlet instantly ended. Like Olivia, Leslie claimed Warner blackballed her with other studios. Not unlikely, since Jack Warner was notoriously petty. Yet another popular starlet, Teresa Wright, more trained and versatile, and seven years older, found her expiration date as ingénue was also1946. Wright’s star swiftly diminished after The Best Years of Our Lives.

Looking back at Leslie’s film credits, it’s easy to see why Joan was getting fed up with WB. Joan Leslie started off with such films as High Sierra with Bogart, Sergeant York with Gary Cooper, Yankee Doodle Dandy with Cagney, followed by The Sky’s The Limit with Fred Astaire, The Hard Way with Ida Lupino, and The Male Animal with Olivia de Havilland and Henry Fonda. But by 1946, she was stuck playing characters in frothy comedies with names like Judy Jones and Sally Sawyer. Still in ‘46’s Two Guys from Milwaukee, teamed with Hard Way co-stars Morgan and Carson, Leslie’s appeal was still intact.

When writing movie reviews, I am often reminded of how often film stars, particularly from the golden era, seldom got happy endings off-screen. Well, Joan Leslie did. In 1950, Leslie married a doctor, and had twin daughters. She became a full-time wife and mother, and a part-time actress. Joan enjoyed a 50 year marriage and was proud of her daughters, who became college instructors. Joan Leslie lived to be 90, passing away in 2015.

Jack Carson, who only has eyes for Leslie. Lupino keeps an eye on Carson!
Vincent Sherman, whose tour of duty as a Warner Bros. director included wrangling Bette Davis and Joan Crawford, considered The Hard Way his most personal work. Sherman felt the story, on the toll that climbing the ladder of fame takes, was a cautionary tale. Viewers of The Hard Way find it either strong stuff or a bitter pill—I think it’s a great example of studio era filmmaking, with both style and substance.
Heaven help the mister, who gets between these sisters!




Thursday, August 17, 2017

Barbra Streisand's 'A Star is Born': Still Cheesy After All These Years

Streisand and Kristofferson are two rockers in love in 1976's 'A Star is Born.' No, this isn't a science fiction flick!

Way back when I was a teenager, before 24-7 media and the Internet, the making of 1976’s A Star is Born was still a major showbiz scandal. Barbra Streisand and her hairdresser-turned boyfriend-turned producer Jon Peters received reams of unflattering publicity for turning A Star is Born into an expensive ego trip. Though a typical Streisand commercial success, the reviews were scathing. As a junior old movie buff, I stuck with the ‘54 Judy Garland version and never saw Streisand’s Star until this summer, 2017!

At least Kris LOOKS the part of a rock singer. Barbra, in hippie chick mode.
The leap of faith it takes to believe country songwriter/croaking singer Kris Kristofferson as a legendary Jim Morrison-type rock star seems reasonable when later faced with Barbra Streisand as an aspiring rock star. I will keep calling them Kris and Barbra, because they pretty much bring their own personas to the film. Not to mention that their characters have the most non-musical star names ever: John Norman Howard and Esther Hoffman. The ’76 version was supposedly striving for realism, but they sound like people who work in an office cubicle.

The opening scenes of Kris’ huge concert, pre-CGI era, are awe-inspiring. The buildup of the impatient fans, the frantic entourage, and the late-arriving superstar is a promising start. But when Kris' starts caterwauling, it's all over.

Gettin' down with her bad self. As 1/3 of The Oreos, guess what part Babs plays?
After a debacle performance, Kris decides on an afterglow at a club where Barbra performs. Streisand at 34 is the world's oldest up-and-coming singer, following in the footsteps of a 32-year-old Judy Garland (looking far from fresh) as a singing starlet, and similarly aged Lady Gaga in the upcoming remake. Odd that A Star is Born always picks huge, established stars to play showbiz newcomers. In this 70’s version, Streisand as Esther is part of a trio, flanked by two black chicks, called The Oreos! After a fight caused by a fan of Kris’ breaks up the show, the two flee in his limo. Not wanting to be a one-night stand, Streisand invites him to breakfast.

We only get one look at Esther's apartment, but it’s divine, as those voice-over jingles and nightclub gigs must really provide plenty of dough for a 1930’s era pad with plenty of antiques. Streisand's never-ending wardrobe changes run the gamut, straight from her closet, according to the credits. Some are shabby chic, the tailored suits are Ralph Lauren, while others look like Laura Ingalls meets Frida Kahlo, with one hippie getup that makes her look like Luke Skywalker.  And Streisand, a huge fan of that ‘70s backlighting trend, often looks like she’s either sporting a halo or is on fire.

Streisand Skywalker in a wardrobe test from 'Star.'

At least Babs didn't have a light saber!
The oft-filmed A Star is Born story gets the Cliff Notes version here: Kris and Babs fall immediately in love for no apparent reason, but their careers and fame thwart their happiness. Kris literally flames out, and Streisand musically soars without him.

'A Star is Born' remake is about an addicted southern rock star
and his pop star wife, who wants to rock...hey, that's us!
Even worse, is when he later pushes Streisand onstage to sing at an Indian fundraiser. Expecting to rock out to Kris, Streisand wins the unruly crowd over with her over-emoting power ballad. Rock and pop didn’t exactly work in real life for Cher and Gregg Allman, when they attempted to tour together in the ‘70s. But in Barbra’s movie reality, a star is improbably born.

With the exception of the undeniably catchy superhit Evergreen, Star’s music ranges from elevator variety to cringe-worthy. Streisand's endless power ballads don't exactly rock, and Kris' rock anthems are anemic, even more so when Streisand sings his signature tune Watch Closely Now at the finale. Babs rocking out is like watching a drunk mom at karaoke night.

Like most Streisand movies, Babs is surrounded by big talent, but they are often reduced to background scenery. Kris seems there only for Streisand to obsess over. The motivations for Kristofferson character’s behavior are barely explored. Why does his character drink so much? Habit? Boredom? Insecure? Why didn’t somebody just ask Kris, who was still drinking and drugging at this point? His alcoholism is used only to set up dramatic confrontations for Streisand to show off in.
Kris Kristofferson was the real star that was born in this movie.
 Kristofferson actually gives a naturalistic, charismatic performance. It would be easy to say Kris is just playing himself, but he’s not just going through the motions. Kristofferson is the anchor to reality here. Ultimately, it's all about Barbra: her mugging, her rapid-fire line delivery, her tears, her singing, etc. Even during Kris' death scene, the camera’s focus is on her, with her face and hands obscuring him.
At the end, she comes out and rouses the audience with a seven-minute take of two songs, ending with Watch Closely Now, Kris’ signature song. Tribute, or Barbra’s version of Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better?

Who's death scene is this, anyway? Look hard and you might see Kris!
Don’t get me wrong. While I am not a huge Barbra Streisand fan, I respect her great talent and versatility. Streisand is in great voice here and her musical finale, sung live, is technically a musical marvel—especially in our current era of lip-synching and auto-tune. Certain singers are natural actors—and this includes Barbra. Streisand won an Oscar for her debut in Funny Girl. I think Barbra should have won her second for a great dramatic turn in 1973’s The Way We Were. By the time Streisand filmed A Star is Born, less than a decade after Funny Girl, she had already become an over-acting and over-singing egomaniacal movie star.

'A Star is Born' was Barbra's first bonafide vanity project.
In an unprecedented move, Pierson wrote a blow by body blow account of the making of Star BEFORE the movie was released, for New West and New York magazines—which infuriated everyone involved. Streisand later claimed to feel professionally betrayed. The article actually praises Streisand’s talent to the heavens and Pierson is glowing when the star is aligned with the rest of the production. Unfortunately, this didn’t happen often and he was worn down by Streisand’s ego, temper, self-centeredness, constant meddling, indecision, and stubbornness. 
READ HERE: http://barbra-archives.com/bjs_library/70s/new_west_battles_barbra_jon.html

Ego maniac? Who, me?
And it wasn’t like Barbra was working with hacks here: Kris went on to become a popular movie star for the next decade. A platoon of well-regarded writers came and went. Director Pierson won an Oscar for his Dog Day Afternoon screenplay during Star’s production. Streisand complained that cinematographer Robert Surtees was too old (a three-time Oscar winner, 16 times nominated) and ran roughshod over highly-regarded Polly Platt’s production design. Numerous songwriters were subjected to Streisand’s “collaborating” on their songs, including the late, great Leon Russell.

Robert Englund aka Freddie Krueger, as Kris #1 fan!
Here’s some amazing Barbra Streisand’s Star Wars trivia… I mean A Star is Born trivia: Revered essayist Joan Didion had a hand in writing this, with husband/author John Gregory Dunne. I bet that Didion’s contributions were buried early on, given the flurry of rewrites and “contributions” courtesy of Streisand and Peters. Director Paul Mazursky acts, and gives one of the film’s best performances as Kris’ manager. There are some cool, uncredited cameos. Robert Englund aka Freddie Krueger, is the unruly fan who hassles superstar Kristofferson during Streisand’s show. And Maidie Norman, Baby Jane's antagonist/housekeeper Elvira, is the Justice of the Peace presiding over Kris and Babs’ wedding!

Is this version of A Star is Born watchable? Hell, yes—especially if you have low expectations or enjoy high camp. Bab’s A Star is Born is not like buttah…it’s like Velveeta.
No! Watch ME Closely Now!

Monday, August 7, 2017

'The Long, Hot Summer': Long, But Not So Hot

Paul Newman is the main reason this 'Summer' is so hot!

I love sexy Southern melodramas, so it’s amazing that I somehow missed 1958’s The Long, Hot Summer. Based on several William Faulkner stories, the film features an all-star cast: Paul Newman, Joanne Woodward, Orson Welles, Angela Lansbury, Lee Remick, and Tony Franciosa. I guess when I wanted to watch Paul Newman sneer and swelter Southern-style, I put Cat on a Hot Tin Roof on instead.

A great cast--with one notable exception--makes 'The Long, Hot Summer' bearable.
Legendary wheeler dealer Jerry Wald was always ahead of the curve in Hollywood. When everyone thought Joan Crawford was washed up, Wald actually hyped that she was making a comeback with Mildred Pierce. Wald repeated the same feat with Lana Turner a dozen years later, with Peyton Place—see Lana as a mother for the first time! Wald saw that MGM snapped up screen rights for Tennessee Williams’ Pulitzer-prize winning Cat on a Hot Tin Roof for a record sum. So, the wily Wald bought several stories by Faulkner, played up similarities to Cat, and called it The Long, Hot Summer.

Like Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, there’s a crude, fearsome Big Daddy type, Will Varner (Welles.) Ditto Cat’s Brick, there’s a man-child son, Jody (Franciosa.) Jody’s wife is a sexy Maggie the Cat type, Eula (Remick.) Will is a widower, so he doesn’t have a Big Mama to mistreat, but he does have goodhearted town whore to selectively ignore, Minnie Littlejohn (Lansbury.)

Paul and Joanne made beautiful music together--on camera and off!
A minor character in the Faulkner pieces is Ben Quick, elevated to every insolent stud that Paul Newman played. And Joanne Woodward is Clara Varner, Will’s daughter, considered an old maid at 23. Yes, there will be chemistry between the two!
Like Big Daddy Pollitt in Cat, Will Varner comes home from the hospital, but arrives one better—by ambulance, sirens blaring. Unlike Cat’s patriarch, Will Varner gets a clean bill of health. As with Big Daddy, Will wants to pick the perfect offspring to run the family business, and a favored child to produce some grandchildren.

This is where comparisons to Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and The Long, Hot Summer end.  And there are two big reasons why Summer doesn’t sizzle like Cat.
First, The Long, Hot Summer’s story is a warmed-over mishmash that doesn’t go anywhere. Cat’s plot structure isn’t perfect, either.  Yet, Williams’ themes of family, love, mortality, greed, and sexuality are woven well in the Pollitt family’s fighting over their fortune. In The Long, Hot Summer, Jody keeps disappointing daddy Will with his juvenile behavior, Clara refuses to marry just to produce an heir, and Minnie wants Will to marry her. That’s it. There are no overriding themes as with Cat, to elevate Summer above a southern soap opera. Summer’s ending is so ridiculous and rushed, that I hooted in disbelief at the climactic scene which brings about Will and Jody’s reconciliation. And the finale, with all three couples laughing merrily, felt like a southern sitcom.

Welles may be big, but he's no Big Daddy!
Orson and Paul, only a decade a part in age.
The second strike that really sinks The Long, Hot Summer is Orson Welles as Will Varner. Burl Ives created an indelible portrait as Big Daddy in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, first on Broadway, then in the 1958 film version. Welles feared being upstaged by the young Actors Studio cast members—so he decided to upstage them. Welles wears such heavy tan makeup that his co-star Angela Lansbury compared it to Orson’s famed Othello. Welles wore a false nose, at times obvious onscreen, plus an unruly, grey wig. With his Halloween film costume and already pumpkin-like physique, I was shocked that Welles was only 42 when making of The Long, Hot Summer. Consider this when watching Summer: Orson Welles was only ten years older than Paul Newman!

Orson Welles certainly set himself apart from the rest of the cast--in every way! With Franciosa, Remick, & Woodward here.
Mocking Method actors and their alleged “mumbling,” Welles mush-mouthed southern delivery sounds like he’s recovering from a stroke. The great Orson Welles gives such a gawdawful performance that he pretty much stinks up this Summer. Will Varner is a character who all the others’ fates depend upon—and Welles plays him as such a cartoon villain. Who cares if he approves of them?

Joanne Woodward and Lee Remick as Southern sister-in-laws.
On the plus side, the young cast is capable. After a few years of getting called a second-rate Brando, Newman gives audiences their first taste of the cool hand Paul persona. Joanne Woodward, often cast as the old maid, is spirited and smart, the hallmark of her screen work. This was Paul and Joanne’s first collaboration together, and with director Martin Ritt, as well. Lee Remick, a year before her breakthrough in Anatomy of a Murder, is mostly decorative—but has moments that show she should have played Maggie the Cat sometime in her career. Tony Franciosa is intense in the thankless son role. Angela Lansbury is fun as good-time girl Minnie, who for some reason loves Will Varner. Richard Anderson, later famous for The Six Million Dollar Man and The Bionic Woman, plays Alan, Clara’s suitor—until Newman’s own Ben Quick comes along. Alan is referred to as a “sissy” and “mama’s boy,” and much is made of the fact that he has dated Clara for six years without proposing—what do you suppose that means?!
Richard Anderson: the suitor who has "courted" Woodward for six years! Hmm!



For the record, while Jerry Wald got the jump on Cat on a Hot Tin Roof by about six months, The Long, Hot Summer only did modestly well at the box office. The main reason I’d recommend The Long, Hot Summer is for the scenery: both the Louisiana locations, (subbing for Mississippi,) and the up-and-coming cast, especially Paul Newman, in their youthful prime.
Paul Newman, when he was cool and fresh as a slice of watermelon!

Wednesday, August 2, 2017

Movie-Making & Myth-Making: Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?


Leave it to Mad Magazine to sum up the stakes as to why Dick and Liz were chosen to play middle-aged academics George and Martha in the film version of Broadway shocker "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?"
Audiences eagerly accepted an invite for an evening of fun and games with those hosts from hell, George and Martha. On June 22, 1966, when Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? was unleashed. Public curiosity was at a peak, since its highly-publicized filming the summer before. Social media makes today’s moviegoers instantly in the know regarding behind the scenes film drama. Back then, columnists and critics mostly clucked about Edward Albee’s shocking play and Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor’s unflattering film roles. Directed by novice Mike Nichols, filming went seemingly smooth, though a closed set helped insure that image. What was reported on the making of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? has been repeated so much that it is the stuff of myth—yet there are many less known facts that are equally fascinating.
A closer look 50 years after Virginia Woolf’s production, with most of the participants gone, the stakes for each read like the start of an Agatha Christie mystery. No corpses turned up on the set, but some egos suffered bodily harm. There’s been a subtle but sizable amount of myth-maintenance and real-life tensions before, during, and long after the shooting was over.

Some Goddamn Warner Brothers Epic
Bette Davis circa the "Virginia Woolf" era.
Studio head Jack Warner had just been raked over the coals for “box-office” casting, choosing A-list Audrey Hepburn for Eliza Doolittle over stage “Eliza” Julie Andrews, for the movie version of My Fair Lady. The movie mogul stuck his neck out again in casting the Burtons as the alcohol-fueled, acerbic academics. Warner paid Albee $500,000 for the film rights, a then-record for a Broadway non-musical.
According to Albee, Warner envisioned his former top star Bette Davis as Martha and James Mason as George. As Albee wrote Martha with Davis in mind, my guess is Warner merely placated the playwright while negotiating the movie sale. Davis had made a recent dramatic comeback in Warner’s Whatever Happened to Baby Jane after a dozen years in cinema Siberia since All About Eve. And Mason did memorable work with Judy Garland a decade before in Warner’s epic A Star is Born. Albee was excited about this, but blinded by theatrical convention, where the stage was more forgiving about age. Mason was 56 at the time, 10 years older than George. Davis was 57 when Virginia Woolf was filmed, certainly closer to 52-year-old Martha than Taylor, then 33. But Davis liked her scotch and smokes, and without makeup wizard Gene Hibbs’ skin tapes and magic marker makeup, Bette looked a decade older. Had Bette been cast, would she have dropped the Davis drag? Her ‘60s films indicate no. And how would audiences react to Baby Jane-era Bette rubbing up against a 30-ish campus stud? Virginia Woolf’s producer had another proposition. Studio head Warner was tough, but not afraid to listen.

Martha, Martha, Martha
Warner hired West Side Story screenwriter Ernest Lehman for his first time out as producer, who had a canny casting idea: Elizabeth Taylor as Martha. Lehman recalled: "I started getting very, very excited about the idea, which I kept a deep, dark secret, because everyone in town was playing the game of casting this picture."
Studio head Jack Warner "jokingly" choking Liz!
The names bandied for the prize role of movie Martha recalled the search for a silver screen Scarlett O’Hara—and some were the very same! Except the plum role wasn’t from a crowd pleaser like Gone with the Wind, so an actress with talent and box office clout was crucial to attract movie audiences to the bleak story. Quirky Geraldine Page blew her chance when she turned down Woolf on Broadway. Susan Hayward was now better suited to Valley of the Dolls’Broadway battleaxe, Helen Lawson. Vivien Leigh might have repeated her success in A Streetcar Named Desire, but mental and health issues made her risky business. Patricia Neal was not really box-office, despite a recent Oscar win, plus a stroke sidelined her in 1965. Even Rosalind Russell was mentioned, though her criticized casting in Warner’s (again!) 1962’s screen version of Gypsy didn’t reap awards. Who else was on the Hollywood scene back then? Lauren Bacall? Great at playing comic bitches, but Bogie’s baby was now cast in supporting parts. After playing Bette Davis’ part in the film of Night of the Iguana, Ava Gardner might have been a contender. But when Nichols met Gardner the next year about playing Mrs. Robinson in The Graduate, he was put off by Ava’s diva act. Speaking of Mrs. Robinson—Anne Bancroft—potentially a great Martha, was probably not considered, since she was only a year older than too-young Elizabeth Taylor.
 "Every actress wanted to play the role," Lehman said at the time. "People know how Uta Hagen played it. They certainly know how Bette Davis would do it, but they wonder how Elizabeth Taylor will do it."

Aside from more sensuality, Lehman wanted an actress less of a bulldozer than Bette Davis. After Uta Hagen, the original Martha that roared, other whiskey-and-cigarette powerhouses like Mercedes McCambridge and Elaine Stritch followed, setting a template. Lehman felt that underneath Martha’s scathing hatred was heartache. He saw that vulnerability in Taylor, in her two best Tennessee Williams roles, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and Suddenly Last Summer. So Lehman sent Liz the script.

Hey, George!
In casting sessions, Broadway’s original George, Arthur Hill was mentioned to re-create his role, with the idea that Hill would bring stage prestige and Elizabeth, movie marquee value. Henry Fonda was offered the stage role first, but his agent turned it down without telling him. Fonda’s name resurfaced, but he would be 60 when filming started, opposite a Martha nearly 30 years younger. Glenn Ford, 50-ish and dull-ish, was considered, but mercifully declined. Jack Lemmon, 40, showed dramatic chops as an alcoholic in The Days of Wine and Roses—a possibly powerful George. Reports vary on whether Lemmon was actually offered the role. Cary Grant’s name came up—can you imagine Grant spouting George’s lines in his best “Judy, Judy, Judy” voice? Montgomery Clift, Taylor’s close friend and frequent co-star, was famous for his introspective roles and in a perfect world, a perfect fit as the henpecked professor. In reality, Monty, called Hollywood’s “slowest suicide,” died before reuniting with Taylor in Reflections in a Golden Eye. All of this was moot, once Elizabeth chimed in on Burton’s behalf.

Burton on Board
George reflecting on Martha...
I’m not sure why Burton was considered such a stretch for George, when he had already played beaten men in Night of the Iguana and The Spy Who Came in from the Cold. Off-camera, his critics were already saying Burton was under his real-life Cleopatra’s thumb. Talk of how strong Richard was, like Lehman saying Burton had four sets of balls onscreen, seems like the same ego-stroking for Elizabeth’s much-ballyhooed “weight gain” as Martha. During filming, Burton, in full George drag, told Lehman: “I am George. And George is me.”

Broadway’s Boy Genius
Mike Nichols in bed with the Burtons.
On the revealing 2006 DVD commentary for Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, Nichols says, “It was my idea that I should do it.” He told director Stephen Soderbergh that he was friends with Burton and Taylor in Rome and shared the same publicist, John Springer. Nichols asked Springer to convey his strong interest in Virginia Woolf to Elizabeth. Long after, when writer Tom Fontana asked how you get to direct such a huge film, Nichols said, “I sucked up to Elizabeth Taylor.”
Regarding the controversy around Elizabeth Taylor’s casting—too young, too pretty, too much the movie star—it’s important to remember that Burton and Nichols came on board later, at her request. Taylor could have asked for a proven past director, like Richard Brooks or Joseph Mankiewicz, with stage star Arthur Hill as her lesser-known co-star. Though Taylor knew Martha would be a challenge, she took a chance on Nichols and was unafraid to be pitted against Burton.
Nichols told Vanity Fair in 1994 that he shot the film in order, and “claims that you can see him becoming a better director as it goes along.” For a first-time film director learning his trade and making his reputation, Nichols squeezes a few sour grapes while looking back: “They gave me $250,000 for making it, and there were no points left after Richard and Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth especially wanted Nichols, calling him a genius, though Mike needed permission from producer Lawrence Turman, with whom he was under contract to do The Graduate. “I couldn’t get to first base with the studios with Nichols,” Turman told film writer Mark Harris. “They didn’t care about Barefoot in the Park—he had never directed a movie before.”
"Elizabeth and I both suggested we get a fresh, young director," said Richard Burton, "because it's a young play, though it's about middle-aged people."
Timing paid off in Turman’s favor, since the Burtons wanted Nichols for their film first. Turman told Harris, “Let Mike do all of his learning on Virginia Woolf and then he can do my picture second.”
Nichols’ contract gave him three months to learn directing prior to the production’s start in March 1965. Nichols admitted, “I wasn’t entirely sure how a camera worked.”

The New Couple on Campus
To play simpering Honey, Nichols hired Sandy Dennis, who was a consecutive two-time Tony award winner for her roles in A Thousand Clowns and Any Wednesday, though she only had one small role in Splendor in the Grass to her film credit.
Redford turned down George & Martha's invite.
Robert Redford turned down shallow stud Nick, who “even then didn’t want to play schmucks,” according to Nichols. Though Redford called Albee “magnificent,” he thought the roles of George and Martha were best, and that Nick “just died in the text. I felt he started powerfully, but the author didn’t know what to do with the character, and so he trailed off after the first half.”
That’s hardly the case, since Nick and Martha have sex at the end of Act II, fueling George’s revenge. At the beginning of Act III, Nick is humiliated by Martha, then George, for being too drunk to “deliver.” Potential leading men were much more conscious of protecting their image back then. Redford’s agent was shocked, as was friend and director Nichols: “I thought he could have invested some real magic in that role.”
Nichols settled on George Segal, whom he had directed off-Broadway in The Knack.

The Burtons
In 1965, the press and the play’s fans were skeptical of the dynamic duo playing aging academics. After the fact, it’s long been a kneejerk reaction to say they were just playing themselves, but as George and Martha reply to guest Nick’s accusation that they can’t distinguish truth or illusion, “Maybe. Or maybe not.”
Early makeup and wardrobe Liz as Martha.
Not quite there yet.
Taking Richard and Elizabeth from the bedazzling Burtons to gorgons George and Martha was a journey that required tact from everyone who dealt with them. Lehman met with Taylor and Burton in Paris, in November of 1964, where they were filming interiors for The Sandpiper. On hotel stationary, Lehman took notes. Richard was working on ways to suggest “weakness” through costume, such as eyeglasses, and wanted to test different kinds. At this stage, Taylor was planning on playing Martha at age 38. She was thinking of a wig with relatively short hair, and wanted hair and makeup tests.
Talk of aging up Liz seemed secondary to Richard’s top priority—a cameraman who would keep his face from looking obviously pock-marked. Lehman notes say that Burton could not perform to his utmost ability unless he felt absolutely secure about this. Milton Krasner and James Wong Howe were brought up. Lehman wrote, “Elizabeth said, ‘Don’t rule Krasner out,’ but she did feel that my description of Haskell Wexler’s filming methods were important.”
“Martha is 108...years old. She weighs somewhat more than that," zings George to Nick. In the play, Martha is described as 52, large and boisterous, looks somewhat younger, and George teases that he is six years younger, but their ages are not mentioned in the film version. Taylor was 33 and Burton turned 40 during the shoot—my guess is that they are both supposed to be between 45 and death.
There, that's better!
Regarding Taylor’s figure, there was a publicity field day over Taylor appearing fat on film. But the press releases were also a bit overblown. All you have to do is watch her prior films, The V.I.P.s and The Sandpiper, to see an increasingly plump Liz. The difference was that those movies accentuated Taylor’s assets and disguised her debits.
La Liz was well-schooled by her alma mater, MGM, and their publicity machine. “Listen, Ernie,” Lehman claimed Taylor told him before shooting. “You must be sure to tell the press tomorrow that you and Mike ordered me to get fat for this picture. I don’t want them to get the idea that I’m overweight and sloppy simply because I don’t know any better.”
Taylor, kidding on the square, asked Haskell Wexler not to use a wide angle lens to make her look even rounder. But it’s a credit to Elizabeth that she allowed herself to be photographed flaws and all in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
The men of Virginia Woolf also got in the act over onscreen appearances. "In the beginning when we were shooting wardrobe tests," editor Sam O'Steen said in his memoir, Cut to the Chase, "Mike Nichols had Burton try on glasses but Ernest Lehman was whining, 'I don't like his glasses.' Mike said he did, that they fit Burton's character. So Ernie said, 'Well, what if it comes down to the last day and we have to go one way and I don't want him to wear glasses.' 'Well,' said Mike, 'I'll kill you.' End of conversation."

Bang! You’re Dead: Shooting “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf”
Nichols revealed on the Virginia Woolf DVD commentary that a colleague advised him to fire someone on the first day of production to establish his authority on the set. The unlucky person was the first assistant director. When Nichols overheard him say after the first shot of the first day, "Oh well, it's just another picture," he was so angry that he fired the guy on the spot.
Nichols was Elizabeth Taylor’s first director who was her contemporary—they were just several months apart in age. However, in film experience, this was Taylor’s 35th film to Nichols’ first. On the DVD commentary, Nichols talks at length about Taylor’s innate movie skill and how stage-based actors like Burton, Sandy Dennis, and George Segal closely watched Liz at work.
Set photographer Bob Willoughby noticed that the Burtons didn’t automatically take Nichols direction at first, but came to trust his judgment.
Willoughby had snapped Taylor a number of times before, but was shocked when he saw her in Martha mode for the first time. More shocks came, as Willoughby recalled: “The dialogue “was like a slap in the face…and some of the crew just said ‘no thanks’ and left—something I had never seen happen before and never saw again on any film.”
One reason why Virginia Woolf was filmed in B&W:
Liz still looked too young and pretty.
Warner was adamant that Virginia Woolf be filmed in color, even though for the first half of the ‘60s, black-and-white signified drama when used in a big budget film. The studio head was hedging his bets with color as added box office allure, but his insistence also shows how swiftly black-and-white films were on the way out. Director Nichols held firm, feeling that black-and-white would enhance the bleak and boozy late night story, that Elizabeth Taylor would look too young, and her “age” makeup too artificial in color. Ironically, 1966 films were the last year the Oscars offered categories in black-and-white, andVirginia Woolf won three: costumes, set decoration, and Haskell Wexler’s cinematography.
"We shot makeup tests 'til they were coming out of our ears," said O'Steen of Taylor. "First they put lines every place, and she looked old enough, but you saw the pencil lines. Mike sweated that out quite a bit, but in the end they didn't put much make-up on her. She did gain weight for the part, and had a double chin, which helped...She really didn't care about how bad she looked, she was a pro."
"Mrs. Burton, are you trying to seduce me?"
Nichols was already irritated by Woolf’s first cinematographer Harry Stradling, asking why he put “all those ravishing shadows on Elizabeth’s neck.” When Stradling suggested that they shoot the film in color and print it in black and white, Nichols fired him, suspicious that Warner would weasel out and demand a color print.
Nichols then selected Haskell Wexler, who had several documentaries as well as Elia Kazan’s America, America and Gore Vidal’s The Best Man under his belt. Nichols knew Wexler and his family from Chicago while in college, and felt he could trust him.
 "Every day Mike would learn more than some directors learn in years of shooting," said Wexler, though the two battled to the point where Nichols later referred to Wexler as “my nemesis.”
Woolf was Sam O’Steen’s first film as full editor and the two new guys bonded over their affinity for overlapping dialogue. O'Steen recalled that Nichols requested someone from the outside to cut the film, but Warner demanded he use an in-house editor. "The reason he picked me," O'Steen said, "was that most of the Warner editors were 65, 70, and I was the youngest. But he was still dead set against me."
The cast and crew arrived at the Smith College campus in Northampton, Massachusetts to shoot the opening title sequence, and the few exterior shots: the yard and the roadhouse parking lot. Incredibly, this took a month. "Mike ended up being thirty days over schedule and doubling the budget," said O'Steen. "The studio thought about kicking Mike off the movie. They tried, but they knew if they fired Mike, the Burtons would both walk."
Nichols later saw that his insistence on location shooting at an actual college campus was a waste. All of the location scenes could have easily been recreated on the studio back lot and audiences would have not noticed the difference. "I was a New York theater director," he said. "I was cocky and I was afraid of Hollywood. They tried to tell me I could have done it right on the back lot. But I didn't know anything about movies."
On the DVD commentary, Nichols lists the delays: rain and fog; shooting so far from the studio, the Burtons’ long lunches; Wexler’s perfectionism, and his own inexperience.
He further mentions that Richard couldn’t work every day, surprising, since he was at his career peak. “Richard had his black days,” Nichols recalled. “During the production, he had 8 or 10 of those days, and they took various forms.”
Burton wigs out like Martha, while Liz rocks go-go boots!
Nichols was nervous when it came time to shoot George’s famous “bergin” monologue, recalling that “Richard was not so great at remembering long things at this point.” However, it was a perfect take—at least by Richard. Nichols said that Haskell had miscalculated by 8 stops of exposure. He let Wexler know that Burton was never going to give another great take, and ordered him to fix it.
Ernest Lehman had already hired respected composer Alex North to create the music for Virginia Woolf. However, Nichols wanted to use Andre Previn instead and fought with Warner Bros. executives over it. Over schedule and over budget, the studio was at the end of its patience with Nichols. "So he kept fighting and that was the last straw, that's what finally did it," said Sam O'Steen. "That was just before Warner threw him off the lot. Mike and I were working in the cutting room, we'd just finished shooting a couple weeks before, when they told him he had four more days to finish the movie...he yelled about it, but there was nothing he could do."
“Then they wouldn't even let Mike [do the sound] mix,” O’Steen said. “I mixed the picture and at the end of each day I'd call Mike and hold the phone up so he could listen. We did that every day for about a month."

Nichols and Lehman
Nichols once told Vanity Fair, “I’m somebody who wears things—and people—out.”
Mike Nichols was incredibly beloved by actors and writers, evidenced by affectionate tributes at various lifetime achievement awards in recent years. Upon Nichols passing, his gift for friendship became even more apparent. However, early in his career, despite his stage success, Nichols was not yet comfortable in his Hollywood skin. By his own admission, the young director did not “have the patience” to compromise with either Stradling or Wexler, and especially Lehman. On the Virginia Woolf DVD commentary, Nichols admitted, “I started out as a prick on the set. Not to the actors much, but by and large to everybody. I don't know who I was then or what was happening. And I got nicer as time went by. But I was a prick.”
All smiles on the first day of rehearsals: producer/screenwriter Ernest Lehman,
director Mike Nichols, and their star, Elizabeth Taylor.
The turning point for Nichols’ and Lehman’s relationship was when Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, once considered an Ernest Lehman production, became a Mike Nichols film. Still, Lehman got top billing, which probably rankled Nichols. A decade later, Lehman told American Film that he became a producer with Virginia Woolf for more creative control, “and Mike Nichols promptly took over my baby.” To some showbiz insiders, Lehman’s reputation went from a hit screenwriter to high-priced hack, and Nichols, from a boy wonder to beloved director.
One critic was Richard Corliss, who derided Lehman in Talking Pictures for abandoning original scripts to become "Curator-in-chief of the Hollywood Museum of High-Priced Broadway Properties."
"He is meticulous and particular in the extreme," says Robert Wise, director of four Lehman screenplays, told Movieline. The same could be said of Mike Nichols.
A colleague later said, "If you looked up the term 'passive-aggressive' in a psychoanalytic dictionary, you'd find Ernie's picture."
When Nichols came along, Lehman had written several drafts. Included were such changes as making George and Martha’s imaginary son real, who committed suicide on his eighteenth birthday. Lehman admitted toAmerican Film a decade later: “I hate to tell you some of the ideas some of the awful ideas I had which I then thought were good.”
Nichols goal was to rightly return to Albee’s text, and edit—not change. The task was to cut Albee’s 3 hour play to a reasonable film running time—the movie Virginia Woolf clocked in at 2 hours and 11 minutes. Did director and producer/screenwriter collaborate at this point, or did Nichols just take over? It’s not clear, though one senses the later.
Some of the changes Nichols did agree with were taking the two couples out of the living room and to different parts of the house, the yard, and the roadhouse.
Lehman career was just as varied as Nichols. Ernest Lehman was a publicist, a short story writer, and also wrote original screenplays, but he didn’t have Nichols’ confidence and stamina for the long haul. After Virginia Woolf, Lehman’s career became sporadic, totaling little over 20 years. Lehman said, "I would never see anyone as if I were auditioning. It would have been too painful for me to be turned down."
Even recently as 2006, Nichols dismissed Lehman, who died in 2005, as “the so-called writer-producer who was neither producer or writer.” One senses that sides were drawn, Lehman aligned with the studio, and Nichols with the Burtons. What if Lehman had called Nichols on his reasons for firing some of the crew or spending a month filming on location for a handful of scenes? Or taking five months on a film about four characters? For a director with little directing background, Nichols was accorded much power. Would the new director have respected Lehman for exerting his own new power as producer? I doubt it.
"Ernie, where's my present?!"
The Burtons lavished praise on Nichols in interviews but were conspicuously silent regarding Lehman. Except for hinting/hectoring the producer for her end-of-film gift of jewelry, I could not find one quote from Liz on Lehman. Taylor’s taste in men, professionally as well as personally, seemed to run from gruff alpha males like George Stevens, Mike Todd, and Richard Brooks to acidic wit and intellects like Joseph Mankiewicz, Richard Burton, and…Mike Nichols.
Jack Warner fell in the former category, though as a studio head, was not especially loved by La Liz. Perhaps this Warner quote helps explain: “I’m paying her a million and one hundred thousand, plus ten percent of the gross. Let her by her own goddamned brooch!”
Martha…Decency Forbids!
Who's afraid of the censors? Not Elizabeth Taylor as Martha!
How was Warner going to get vitriolic Virginia Woolf past the censors? My guess is that Warner knew in his gut that the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA) wasn’t going to halt a screen version of a Broadway smash from a major studio showcasing Hollywood’s biggest star. Especially when the star was Elizabeth Taylor, who managed survive both Cleopatra and condemnation from the Vatican’s newspaper.
TCM host/historian Robert Osborne later wryly noted times had changed since Warner Brothers filmed the Broadway hit Life with Father 20 years prior with a young Elizabeth Taylor, and movie censors had nixed the famous curtain line, “I’m going to be baptized, damn it!”
At Nichols’s insistence, no “cover shots”—frames without profanity or prurient content as a safe substitute—were filmed during production. Intentionally, there wasn’t much room for negotiation with the censors.
So, there was no surprise when the Production Code office refused to give Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? their seal of approval, citing its content and language as too vulgar. Warner Bros. appealed, but the decision was upheld. The Catholic Church's censorship group had passed the film with a rating of "Morally unobjectionable for adults, with reservations."
Nichols ditched Nick's "hump the hostess" scene.
Often seen as a merely mercenary mogul, Jack Warner stood behind the film, saying "The play was undoubtedly a play for adults and we have gone ahead to make Virginia Woolf a film for adults. I don't believe a controversial, mature subject should be watered down so that it is palatable for children. When that is done, you get a picture which is not palatable for children or for anyone else."
Warner announced that all contracts with theaters would include a clause prohibiting anyone under 18 from seeing the film unless accompanied by an adult. It was the first time Warner Brothers had released a film for adults only. The MPAA ultimately decided to grant the film an unprecedented exemption as "a special, important film" which was not considered to "exploit language for language's sake." Four months after Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? opened, the MPAA announced a less rigid Production Code.

The Sweet Smell of Success
The gang's all here at the roadhouse! Waiting for the reviews to come out?
Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? was not only controversial, but costly, the most expensive black and white film ever made. Everyone involved had a lot riding on its success: aging mogul Warner; superstars Burton and Taylor, seeking artistic redemption after Cleopatra; novice film director Nichols; first-time producer Lehman; film newcomers George Segal and Sandy Dennis; and cinematographer Haskell Wexler and editor Sam O’Steen, their first time at the helm in such a prestige production.
Jack Warner’s dramatic reaction in Life—“My God, we’ve got a $7.5 million dollar dirty movie on our hands!”—seems more like showbiz savvy than shock, since the old studio shark knew exactly what he was buying.
Taylor won her second Oscar as Martha; Burton should have
as George. You think that didn't create some off-camera tension?
The reviews were mostly raves, except for a few that praised Burton and patronized Taylor, similar to a few critics on Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh’s stage work. But as Taylor once famously said about surviving in showbiz: “There’s no deodorant like success!” Virginia Woolf was the third highest-grossing film of the year, next to epics The Bible and Hawaii.
 Albee has run hot and cold regarding the film adaptation of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? When he is interviewed about the movie for tributes, he is usually measured in his praise. "It's the best work Elizabeth has done on film," Albee said in an interview for the 2006 two-disc DVD of Virginia Woolf, "and Richard did his usual splendid professional job." Of the film, he added, "I felt very, very fortunate that it was as good as it was, and it's pretty damn good."

After Virginia Woolf
"I was astounded by the size of the guns that were suddenly trained on me," Lehman told Movieline in 1990 about his then new role as producer, and his collaborators on Virginia Woolf, "who fought back in ways I wasn't used to."
Lehman found out the surviving stars were still not afraid of him when he let portions of his production diary be printed in the April 2000 issue of Talk magazine. The publication followed up with a letter by Mike Nichols, co-signed by Taylor and Segal, which tore into Lehman with a wrath worthy of any Virginia Woolfcharacters. Some choice excerpts from the letter: “Do you ever check anything? Do you print strange and sour attacks on people without giving the targets a chance to comment?” “There are people, lots of them, who could have told you the diary is full of fictions.” And that Lehman’s script was “hooted into the wastebasket.”
Nichols then strikes a nerve about hypersensitive Lehman, saying he was “included in a group that in fact had little to do with him.” Did Nichols ever consider that if Warner hadn’t backed producer Lehman’s controversial casting of Elizabeth Taylor, she would have never been remotely thought of for Martha, nor husband Burton as George, and their friend Mike Nichols would not have been specially requested as director?
Lehman, asked by Talk for comment, caved, apologizing “for all the pettiness and inaccuracies apparently made in my diary 35 years ago. It was Mike’s genius and all others concerned that gave Virginia Woolf its power and lasting life.”
 “Clearly he saw the point, he couldn’t defend it,” said a satisfied Nichols.  
I got my hands on that issue of Talk via Amazon and eagerly speed-read through the article. All I can say is, in this era of internet celebrity feud du jour, where’s the gossip shock and awe? A mention that Mike Nichols seemed mildly intoxicated once while location scouting. Shocking. Or that new director Nichols was touchy about his status in the production’s hierarchy. No kidding. Or that George Segal had a hissy fit about the size of his dressing room. That must have really hurt Georgie, because Nichols actually brings the subject up in the film’s DVD commentary 40 years later! And the final shock, that Nichols had doubts whether Taylor could pull off the role of Martha. Who didn’t, besides Ernest Lehman? He says Nichols worried that asking Taylor to play Martha was “like asking a chocolate milkshake to do the work of a martini.” That sounds like Nichols to me, and apt, as Elizabeth loved both equally.
Lehman gave his own eulogy at the end of the Movieline interview: “Who was that guy who stood up to Billy Wilder, dealt with Hitchcock, Jack Warner, Taylor and Burton, Mike Nichols, Bob Wise, Gene Kelly, and spent two hours nightly on the phone with Barbra Streisand all through Hello, Dolly? I'd have to go into training before I could face that kind of thing again.”
The reality? Lehman was easily defeated in the face of combative egos.

The Woolf Pack Moves On
Despite an Oscar, Dennis never made it as a leading lady.
 Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? was a victory lap for some of its participants and a launching pad for others. After their triumph, Taylor and Burton’s careers swiftly became secondary to their lavish lifestyle. Warner soon retired. Despite his backing the groundbreaking Virginia Woolf, Jack Warner disdained the new way of filmmaking. Lehman next labored over Hello, Dolly!, which proved more lackluster than blockbuster. After a few more disappointments, Lehman said goodbye to showbiz. Despite an Oscar win, mainstream audiences quickly tired of Sandy Dennis’ quirky acting style and attempts at making her a leading lady ended with the ‘60s. However, George Segal found his niche as a comedic leading man for the next decade, later segueing into character roles. Haskell Wexler’s cinematographer career was launched, lensing some of the most memorable films of the ‘60s and ‘70s, with the distinction of winning two Oscars, one for black and white cinematography, Virginia Woolf, and one for color,Bound for Glory. Sam O’ Steen’s editing career was equally distinguished, winning three Oscar nominations, and editing such influential movies as The GraduateRosemary’s Baby, and Chinatown.
Mike Nichols and Haskell Wexler didn't always see eye to eye.
Newcomer Nichols fared best of all, but not without a tough learning curve. The next year, Mike Nichols won his first and only Oscar for his second film, The Graduate. And this time, the opening credits listed his name over the producer’s. Then came some serious film setbacks: the costly dud Catch-22, the panned Day of the Dolphin, and likewise, The Fortune. This was capped by the shelved Neil Simon film, Bogart Slept Here, later directed by Herb Ross as The Goodbye Girl. Nichols returned to Broadway and didn’t direct another film until 1983’s Silkwood. After that, Nichols found his prolific groove, mixing screen and stage work. Nichols’ diverse directing resume ran from highbrow fare like Death and the Maiden onstage to HBO’s Angels in America to crowd-pleasers like his stage and screen versions of Biloxi Blues and the movie smash, The Birdcage. Before Nichols died in 2015, he was still directing top-drawer projects like Charlie Wilson’s War and a rave revival of Death of a Salesman, with Philip Seymour Hoffman.

Just out on Blu-Ray
Fifty years later, of the main cast and crew ofVirginia Woolf?, George Segal is today’s sole survivor—but film is forever. Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? captures this collaboration of talent at their peak, making a hell of a movie, and Hollywood history, too.