Hollywood Studio Magazine (March 1970)

CELEBRITY AUDIENCE - Jack Benny, producer Arthur Jacobs and his wife, attended one of the many glittering premiere's of "Goodbye, Mr. Chips" now hailed as one of the outstanding pictures of 1969. O ne approaches film classic remakes in much the same way as petting a porcupine - gingerly. It was with some trepidation therefore, adrenaline galloping through my veins by the quart, that I went to see the new “Chips”. Being practically word perfect on the 30’s script I was determined to pick outsize holes in everything and everyone. I need not have wasted my nervous energy — Arthur Jacobs has pulled it off. By the grace of God and Lord knows who else he managed by a series of happy accidents (about which more later) to land the just-right cast. Everyone is good, but Peter O’Toole is superlative. If anyone at all had the temerity to try to follow the incomparable Robert Donat, I’m glad it was as successful as O’Toole is. There are ‘stars and there are actors — not necessarily occupying the same skin; in Mr. O’Toole they are. What is most amazing is the fact that he was choice number three for the role, numbers one and two being Rex Harrison and Richard Burton. I don’t think it would have come off with No. 1; he can be wistful, unsure, in fact all of the things Chips is, but that old irascibility would have popped out all over the place and what he would have done with that school full of snot-nosed boys is a joy to contemplate but not what James Hilton had in mind. Terence Rattigan wrote the screen-play with Rpx in mind so that provided a few difficulties before they even got in front of the cameras; in addition to which, Lee Remick who had been earmarked as Rex’s Mrs. Chips was not the right Mrs. for Chips No. 2 Richard Burton, for whom Samantha Eggar was cast. Are you still with me, Mabel?? After much cogitation Richard Burton turned down the role onaccountabecuz the taxes would kill him and much tearing of hair ensued until some bright spark came up with Peter O’Toole. Audrey Hepburn, approached for Mrs. No. 3 turned it down for ditto reasons when lo and behold — someone waved a clip of Pet Clark in Finian’s Rainbow under Arthur Jacobs’ nose and they were off and running. This racket, dear gentle reader, is worse than any crap game - with loaded dice yet. M.G.M., ever the gracious hosts, tossed a splendid luncheon at the Beverly Hills Hqtel for the press to meet the V.I.P’s of the Chips production. Bloody Marys flowed like todays tomato juice might become tomorrows cyclamate!! The ever ravenous (and dry) Fourth Estate was treated most handsomely and the luck of the draw landed Petula Clark and husband-manager Claude Wolff at our table for the first round. Having met her many years ago when she was in ankle socks, singing sentimental ballads for my generation, it was interesting to observe how she has so successfully made the transition to idol of the present generation without losing the affection of mine. A pint-sized girl with a tun-sized talent indeed. She is the first to give her husband credit for her international success — and girls — she really means it! She says she was busily singing her heart out getting nowhere when he hove into view. They obviously are deeply attached to one another and not afraid to show it and most importantly - HE WEARS THE PANTS! Now there’s a refreshing change. As a sometime member of the F. Estate I sat back and listened to the questions they were asked. I should have been charged entertainment tax. Pages flew, pencils scribbled furiously and curious I peered over one shoulder and there on an otherwise virgin page was the word ‘pleased’. One gent engaged the ear of Claude Wolff in what must be assumed was French. To Mr. Wolffs ever-lasting credit he didn’t bat an eyelash and everyone knows what fractured French does to the French. I caught the drift of ‘being at the Sorbonne’. G.I. French taught at the Sorbonne????? If so, Charles deGaulle is depressingly correct - France has indeed gone to the dogs! Another question: What does a performer do when a co-performer has bad breath? So help me, that was the question. They then got around the James Hilton, or tried to. They obviously had no idea who he was but were trying to hide the fact. I sat and tried to keep from splitting my sides, ‘Would he be classified as a writer of classics?’ Trying to be helpful I threw in ‘shades of Ronald Page 7