Modern Screen (Jan-Nov 1951)

the arrangements for its filming in Rome — to repair the bomb damaged Cinecitta, Rome's only motion picture studio, to transport the necessary modern equipment from Hollywood, to locate and secure the lions and other animals, to design and make the thousands of costumes, to build the enormous sets, including the gigantic reproduction of the Circus Maximus, etc., etc., etc! No wonder Missy broke her unbreakable rule and took a "postman's holiday" by watching Bob and Deborah Kerr, Leo Genn, and Peter Ustinov at work. T^HEY weren't doing a very spectacular scene the first of her visiting days. Only shooting a section of the Circus Maximus. The principals arid only 3,000 extras were working that day. It was hot. Rome-hot. The day before 132 people had fainted. On this day only three had to be revived. How Bob stood it, wearing pounds of metal armor; how Peter Ustinov, playing Nero, survived the long hours in the sun wearing the heavy velvet, ermine-boimd robes becoming an Emperor, I'll never know. But Mervyn LeRoy, Bob and Peter had been working every day since May and, obviously, aside from the loss of weight and a good solid "bushed" tiredness at the day's end they seemed to be bearing up nobly. Noble is the word for everything about Quo Vadis. From Bob's noble Roman mien to the proportions of the entire spectacular production. Quo Vadis will not be ready for release for a long time but when this magnificent Technicolor presentation of the story of the early Christians is released it will take its high place among the enduring classics of the screen. "D UT whether Barbara went to Cinecitta or shopping, 5:30 was Rosati-time. Rome's sidewalk cafes are always crowded. Donati's is the mecca for tourists intent upon watching each other and upon watching the Romans pass by. Rosati's is more relaxed — it is where the Romans go to sip tea or consume the giant dishes of ice creani, topped with gobs of syrupy fruit, which they seem to relish. Barbara went to Rosati's every day wearing her customary spotless white blouse, dark skirt and Roman sandals. The Romans did not stare at her while she sat there. Not tmtil Bob joined her on one of the few days he finished working early enough to do so. Barbara exaggerates when she says she never is" recognized unless she is with Bob, but there certainly is a different kind of recognition when they are together. This day when Bob joined us there was instant excitement. The teasippers stared frankly, the passing pedestrians stopped, stared and talked excitedly to each other. Clerks and customers popped out of adjacent shops, passing cars stopped. Everyone was smiling and bowing and chattering about the "love couple" as the Taylors were called in Italy. It was at the Lido in Venice that I first heard them called that. When Bob got a weekend off, with Tullia Picella, his Italian secretary (a Wellesley graduate) as interpreter, we flew to Venice on a Friday morning. Venice is gorgeous from the air — Venice is gorgeous period. Venice is the proof that travel folders don't lie. The Venetians must have primitive telegraphic powers. As Bob and Barbara's gondola moved through the Grand Canal every bridge across the Canal was lined with applauding fans. They applauded as the Taylores' gondola approached the bridge, then moved across the bridge to applaud as the gondola came under the bridge. Around St. Mark's Square Bob and Barbara did a window-shopping tour. A happy 78 crowd of about a thousand fans followed them for a full hour. Venetians, like Romans, are avid photographers. Several such asked if they might take pictures, but none asked for autographs, none shot a picture without asking permission. Courtesy in the best Italian tradition. The unforgettable greeting was at the Lido. Our speedboat docked at the Hotel Excelsior landing in front of the long, redcarpeted corridor under the bridge, which leads up to the hotel lobby. As Bob stepped from the boat the Saturday night crowd, lined across the bridge, recognized him and applauded. He turned to help Barbara from the boat and the cheering started. Full and strong, "Viva Bob and Barbara!" they cried, "Viva Bob and Barbara!" and something else in Italian. Ttdlia translated quickly. "They say 'our love couple'," she said. And had to shout to be heard above the noise of the crowd. By the time Bob and Barbara reached the lobby the crowd on the bridge had increased and moved against the lobby windows. Inside the lobby all the guests had gathered to welcome them too. The applause crackled, growing in volume and "Bravo, Bob and Barbara" was called out it's a royal treat — with jane powell on the february cover of modern screen on sale january 9 over and over. This greeting from exquisitely gowned and bejewelled women and formally dressed men, was more restrained but quite as sincere and spontaneous as that of the crowd outside. With enthusiasm and frankly evident admiration the guests followed Bob and Barbara to the terrace. That terrace was a fairyland, its trees drenched with multi-colored lights, shell-pink tableclothes, gold-backed chairs, a golden throne outlined against the dark, moon-bearing sky. The throne was there because tonight was the Cinderella Gala. As Bob and Barbara stepped onto the terrace the orchestra recognizing them played "You Are My Lucky Star." Tt was an evening of enchantment. BarA bara's eyes glowed, Bob's smile flashed. On our return to Venice, as our speedboat neared the Gritti Palace, from a half-dozen lantern-lighted gondolas moving abreast of each other, came the music of violins and accordions in accompaniment for some unknown baritone arid soprano. I was sure it wasn't real. I was just dreaming myself into a Jeanette MacDonald-Nelson Eddy operetta. It was hard to leave Venice. Bob and Barbara went again to the Lido for the opening of the Venice Film Festival with Mervyn LeRoy, Jean Simmons, Maria Montez, et al. Their enthusiastic reception was even greater than it had been the night before. Yes, it was very hard to leave Venice. The only way you can leave is by promising yourself that, somehow, someway, some day — you will return. Of course Barbara insists she still doesn't believe it. "I've spent so much time in 'Venice' on process stages that I never stopped expecting someone to yell 'cut' and the grips to move one of the side walls away. I'm sure I was only on Paramotmt's Stage 12." Barbara's great accomplishment in Rome was— resignation. The Romans are calmly superior to the stress and strain of pvmctuality. It's taken them centuries to achieve their civilization and what the centuries have done clocks and schedules can't tondo. After a while you stop expecting them to be on time and, if an appointment made for three on Tuesday materializes that same week you really think you're getting places. So a giant and gentle resignation cast an aura of calm about Miss S. Except for the day she wanted to go to the zoo and some American newspapermen were an hour and a half late for an 11 o'clock appointment. "You're late," said Barbara, and the gentle resignation wasn't evident. "This is Rome," the spokesman for the group thus capsuled apologies and explanations. "But we're Americans," said Missy. That gave the lady the last word. Subsequent appointments with our countrymen were kept with solemn punctuality, as though on some lonely outpost, we were faithful to a distant tradition. Inevitably, in every city, Barbara visits the zoo. If, of course, there is one. Her zoo visiting started years ago, when David Belasco said to her, "Any woman who wants to know how to walk will go to the zoo, watch the animals walk. Watch the panthers walk. Watch and watch until she can walk as they do." It's a long time now that Stanwyck has known how to walk. But she still goes to zoos. At the zoo in Rome Barbara made friends with George, the brilliantly trained chimpanzee and his infinitely gentle, feminine and appealing mate, Catherine. Catherine is quite a personality. We were all enamored and put up no resistance to her affectionate demonstrativeness. Even though we knew there was more valor than discretion in permitting her embraces. Afterward, as we itched and scratched, we wondered if she really was as adorable as we had thought she was. Tj^ ONTANA, the Rome Coutourier, sent word through Bob's secretary, Tullia, that she'd like to arrange a private showing of her collection for Signora Tay-lore. The Signora was not impressed — ^no foreignmade wardrobe for her, she said. But, the third time she received the gentle suggestion she capitulated. Bob got off early that day and went along. Fontana's gowns are lovely. She uses superb materials, exquisite embroidery. Her formal gowns are breathtakingly feminine. We all oh'd and ah'd over every model, unanimously decided each one should be worn by Loretta Young. Fontana has yet not succvmibed to high price-tag fever prevalent among top designers in America and France. 175,000 (lira) for a formal evening govra sounds like a lot of money, but $280.00, which is a lot of money, is a comparatively modest price. The Paris ateliers blandly put 90,000 francs, or $260.00 on their tags for just a simple daytime street dress. Even respecting Fontana's sane prices, we just oh'd and ah'd, wished Loretta could see Fontana's collection, and drifted away from there. Next day Barbara had Tullia phone to order one street dress.