Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1958)

IT CAN BE LONELY Continued from page 56 had a Hollywood screen test, after all! I think this is a helpful thing to think when you feel as I did. Just say to yourself, when you feel frightened in some situation: “Look, you are just one person in a world full of people and others have had to go through this same thing. They’ve lived through it, so who are you to drop dead or anything?” It helps. Well anyway, I wished that somebody would show up so we could get it over with. Waiting is so hard. It’s like when you go to the dentist and somebody is inside making little moans and you hear the drill and you know your turn is next. But there wasn’t anybody. Just those Martians overhead, laughing and talking to each other and not seeing that there was this scared kid on the stage, which I was me. !i How can they laugh, I said to myself, i when I’m simply dying? I started to say my lines out loud, because my throat felt dry, like it needed oiling. My voice sounded so small and shaky. I knew I had to speak up when the time came, so I tried it louder. Then one of the men called down, “You’re OK, Blondie.” “Hello,” I said, as if he was an old friend. “I’m kind of practicing.” Another man said, “Just don’t give a darn. Go get a drink of water,” and his companion added, “Just go get a drink!” We all laughed. It seemed to break the ice that was in my veins. Friendly people. How much that can mean at a time like that. At any time. I made up my mind then and there that I’d always try to say a friendly word to anybody who was scared about having a screen test — that is, if I ever got into a movie studio again. I wondered if my “career” might be over before it began. I got the drink of water, and when I came back, the others had arrived. I made an “entrance” by tripping over a cable cord. That was because I caught a glimpse of Johnny Saxon. He was going to make the test with me. I think that test lasted longer than any in history. You know why? I had to kiss Johnny. Sound easy? Every time it came to the place in the script where I was supposed to kiss him I flunked out. I evaded that kiss like it was the kiss of death. I just couldn’t do it. I was so embarrassed. He was so patient with me and so was Ross Hunter, who was producing the picture. Then after we’d gone through it about a couple of dozen times, I happened to look up, and one of my friends gave me a wink. If there is any such thing as a wink of encouragement, that was it. “You’re OK, Blondie” kept repeating in my mind. But I wasn’t acting OK. I was failing because of my stupid shyness. Ross Hunter said I was doing just fine, and to let’s try the whole scene once more. Once more. He was giving me one more chance. I think it was at that moment that I really was sure I wanted to be an actress. Well, I kissed Johnny. I got the part. After the test for “The Wonderful Years” they weren’t ready to start the picture, so Universal, who has signed me to a contract, lent me to M-G-M for “Until They Sail,” my first picture. Here I was playing an important role with such wonderful people as Jean Simmons and Joan Fontaine. They were so nice to me. I used to watch all their scenes, because I knew I needed to learn. Sometimes I have spurts of confidence and sometimes I feel so shy I want to go and hide. I had one of my confident feelings when I first went to see the picture. I said to myself, “I’m going to walk in like a big movie star. My picture is playing on Hollywood Boulevard.” I wore dark glasses and no makeup, and I went slithering in by myself. Nobody paid any attention to me. So I said to myself, “Well, maybe it wouldn’t hurt if they recognized me a little bit,” so the second time I went I took my hair down a little and wore a little lipstick, but I still wore the dark glasses. I hung around the lobby after it was over and somebody said, “Who was the little blonde girl in the picture?” and somebody else said “I don’t know,” and I looked at them and grinned. Then I went down to the ladies’ room and heard the women talking about how they liked the picture, and I stood there smiling, and nobody noticed me. The third time I went, I got all dressed up and had my hair done at the studio and I talked real loud in the lobby, about Jean Simmons and Joan Fontaine, but nobody noticed. When I sat down, there were two boys next to me, and they were trying to guess my age in the picture, and I sat up, looking at them and sort of smiling, and after about ten minutes of this, one of them turned and said: “Here, kid, do you want some popcorn?” The only person who ever recognized me was the usher, but then he’d seen me come in and out about three times. But after the picture had been playing around a while some people did recognize me. Some didn’t. Like when I went to a preview one time some people asked me for my autograph. One girl asked for it and then asked who I was. I had a nice little bunch of girls and boys around me when the manager came up and said I must go inside now because the picture was starting. But I wanted to stand outside talking to these kids. Even when they are nice enough to want your autograph though, you keep wondering what they’re really thinking. Maybe they’re thinking, “What a crummy looking thing. Why did they ever take her in Hollywood?” Or — “She’s dressed too old for her age — or too young.” You never know. So I feel kind of funny. It’s the same way in a restaurant. The other day I went with Mama to Sardi’s, that famous place in New York where the stars go. When I was a little girl in my “actress wishing” days, I used to pretend I was Elizabeth Taylor or Janet Leigh. I’d go around every day being somebody else. I’d put on Mama’s house coat and high heels. And now, here I was sitting in the midst of real actors and actresses, and then I suddenly thought “Why I’m an actress too!” Only now I don’t want to copy anybody. I want to be an individual. People looked at me. They looked at everybody there because everybody is likely to be “somebody.” This, in spite of the fact that I wanted to be recognized that time at the theater, usually gets me down. I guess I’m self-conscious all the time. I hate myself for it. And I haven't overcome it yet. I think I was trying to when I acted like that at the theater. Mama says I’m a perfectionist. Anyway I never feel I do well. I actually have gone home from the studio and cried. I can’t believe I can be good. I’m never satisfied. Well, anyway, at Sardi’s, a man came up I knew from my modeling days, and he said, “How does it feel to be a star?” Now really — when you’ve only made three pictures, two of them still to be released then, you don’t go around thinking you’re a star. A starlet maybe. Cheer up... 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