Read Twitch Upon a Star Online
Authors: Herbie J. Pilato
Twitch Upon a Star (12 page)
And in Lizzie's jubilant and advantaged youth, acting made her the happiest, although it was merely first on her list of four main potential career choices. The remaining three were: a jockey, a criminal lawyer, or an artist for Walt Disney. Of the last, she mused in 1989, “For some reason he never asked me. Can you imagine? The poor thing ⦠certainly ruined his career.”
As
Modern Screen
magazine pointed out in May 1965, the walls of Lizzie's dressing room were lined with some quick sketches of a child named Anna-belle about whom Elizabeth was writing a book. Annabelle had pigtails with polka dot bows but she also had ragamuffin eyes, “round, listening eyes, full of warmth and love like Elizabeth's.”
Today, her friend Sally Kemp says Elizabeth was very serious about her artistic endeavor:
She always wanted to draw for Disney. She drew all the time. We would get in trouble in class at the Academy because she was always drawing little creatures and caricatures, and she'd sometimes get caught. I knew she was talented, but I didn't know how seriously she thought about it. We never talked about it. That was just one of the things that Elizabeth did ⦠was draw charming pictures. I pretended to be a ballerina. And Elizabeth would draw pictures.
Soon, Elizabeth would be
starring
in
moving
pictures, including
Bewitched
, the opening animated credit sequence of which featured the cartooned caricatures of her first with Dick York and then later with Dick Sargent. But she wasn't impressed. As she explained in 1989:
I didn't like
those things
. They were real
stick-figury
. They didn't look right to me. It was a cute idea. If that had been a basic storyboard, I would have said, “Great! Now, where can we go from here to make it a little more
snappier
and sophisticated” because I thought (the way it was) was too simple.
She said the
Bewitched
animation didn't have to be as elaborate as in the 1988 animated feature film
Who Framed Roger Rabbit
but, in another nod to Walt Disney, she smiled and suggested, “I'm talking
Bambi
, maybe.” Meanwhile, her own artwork looked right to
Bewitched
director R. Robert Rosenbaum, who was later crowned Head of Production for Lorimar Television (which produced shows like
Falcon Crest
, starring Lizzie's future husband, Robert Foxworth). But while still guiding
Samantha's
live-action adventures, Rosenbaum praised not only Lizzie's on-screen abilities but her off-screen artistic talents. “One gift I'll always treasure,” he said in 1988, “is the painting of a man in a director's chair that Elizabeth created for me.”
As was detailed in
TV Guide
, May 13, 1967, Lizzie had dabbled in watercolors and in quite effective pen-and-ink sketches. Her art had a fetching quality. “I'd love to do watercolors like Andrew Wyeth,” she said, but added firmly, “I know I never can.” A friend then theorized, “Liz is not sure of herself artistically. She is not willing to put herself on the line until she is damn sure she is the best artist in the whole world.” The friend likened all this to
Bewitched
. “The show is fun, but no challenge. Liz is too happy being
Samantha
to try anything truly difficult.”
All of that would later change with her post-
Bewitched
TV-movies like 1972's
The Victim
and 1974's
A Case of Rape
, both of which explored the darker themes that Lizzie had experimented with in pre-
Samantha
TV guest appearances like
Kraft's Theatre '62
rendition of “The Spiral Staircase” (NBC, October 4, 1961) and the
Alcoa Premiere
episode, “Mr. Lucifer” (ABC, November 1, 1962).
According to the August 1967 edition of
Screen Stars
magazine, Lizzie once said, “My art belongs to Daddy.” And although she was an artist of many colors, she wasn't referring here to her painting and drawing ability, but to her talent as an actress. In her heart, she knew she inherited her theatrical abilities from her father. She appreciated that talent and she ultimately credited him for helping her to hone it, whether that guidance took the form of general advice over the years, for example, by his insistence that she attend the New York American Academy of Dramatic Arts, or actual hands-on experience during early TV performances on
Robert Montgomery Presents
. Either way, Lizzie received formal dramatic training, although sometimes
melodramatic
training by way of
Presents
. As she told Ronald Haver in 1991, that show became an outlet for her dad's need for “control ⦠the desire to thin-line.” She wasn't sure how well-liked her father was as a person, but
Robert Montgomery Presents
was liked by the audience. It became one of television's pioneering live dramas.
Her initial performances on
Presents
elicited excited responses from various producers. So much so, she eventually made her Broadway debut as the ingénue in
Late Love
, which ran from October 13, 1953 through November 7, 1953 at the National Theatre (today known as the Nederlander), and from November 9, 1953 to January 2, 1954, at the Booth Theatre, for a total of 95 performances.
Love
also starred Arlene Francis, and Cliff Robertson who, after prolonged failing health, died at age eighty-eight on September 10, 2011 (the day after his birthday and two weeks following his interview for this book).
In his prime, Robertson was a handsome actor with a stellar resume and even more fascinating life, one worth noting if only because it peaked and somewhat mirrored Lizzie's life.
Born on September 9, 1923, in La Jolla, California, he was two years old when he was adopted by wealthy parents who named him Clifford Parker Robertson III. After his parents divorced and his mother passed away, he was reared by his maternal grandmother, whom he adored. He later gained attention for his second marriage to actress and heiress Dina Merrill, daughter of financier E. F. Hutton and Marjorie Merriweather Post, heiress to the Post Cereal fortune and one of the world's wealthiest women. (The two would periodically work together, notably in a two-part episode of the ABC/Screen Gems 1960s camp series,
Batman
, in which he played a villain named “Shame” to her “Calamity Jan.”)
In 1963, he portrayed John F. Kennedy (who was good friends with Lizzie via Bill Asher) in the feature film
PT-109
, and would go on to win an Oscar for his lead performance in
Charly
, the 1968 feature film in which he played a mentally challenged man who undergoes an experiment that temporarily transforms him into a genius. Although never elevated to the top ranks of leading men, Cliff remained popular from the 1950s into the twenty-first century with roles such as the kindly “Uncle Ben” in the first
Spider-Man
feature film (released in 2001).
Like Elizabeth, he did not shun controversy or tolerate injustice. In 1977, he blew the whistle on a Hollywood financial scandal. He discovered that David Begelman, president of Columbia Pictures, had forged his signature on a $10,000 salary check, and contacted the FBI and the Burbank and Beverly Hills police. Hollywood insiders were none too pleased with the unattractive publicity and Robertson said that neither the studios nor the networks would hire him for four years.
But decades before, in 1953, he worked with Lizzie in
Late Love
, an experience he recalled in 2011 if only for the appreciation she had for their co-star Arlene Francis:
Arlene was a big TV star at the time, and she had been in the theatre in her earlier days. She brought a humanistic element to the play. She was also a very down-to-earth person, who was bright, quick, and witty. And Elizabeth admired and respected that. Liz was very young and, therefore, not too experienced. But she was quite ambitious and very professional. She had that respect for her craft that she garnered from her father, I'm sure. He was from Brooklyn, but as he got older he went into theatre and then on to Hollywood, where he became quite a successful film star. From there, he went into television.
Cliff's relationship with Lizzie never waxed romantic, but as he said, they became those “good pals.” Meanwhile, her sophisticated family, particularly on her mother's side, took a shine to him, partially due to his Southern roots and possibly due to his cosmopolitan upbringing.
“Her family was very nice to me,” Robertson said. “They used to invite me up to their place in New York. She had an elderly aunt, a wonderful lady who lived in Beverly Hills. And I used to see (Becca) for a number of years, and then she passed away.”
But her maternal relatives were not particularly fond of her father or his profession. “I don't think the Southern tier of her family was completely impressed by Robert Montgomery, or any actor.” As Robertson acknowledged, Lizzie still became enamored with acting, but with provisions.
She was determined not to be thought of as just a social actress, and she was also determined to be recognized as a professional. She knew she had to work hard to earn that respect. She was well aware that her father was a fine and respected actor, and a well-known producer. And she knew and respected that difference as well. She in no way ever wanted to be treated special because she was his daughter. She was very democratic that way, and I don't mean (just) politically.
The “political” relationship between the liberal Lizzie and her Republican father may have at times proved a challenge, but Robertson described the association as “very good,” with reservations:
“I would say Elizabeth was always politically aware, not oriented. And I suspect her marriage to Bill Asher had something to do with that, at least later on. I don't know that for certain, but I suspect that.” When reminded that it was Asher who directed President Kennedy's birthday celebration at which Marilyn Monroe sang a breathy “Happy Birthday, Mr. President,” the near-ninety-year-old Robertson exclaimed, “Yes, of course. Because he knew JFK. That fits!”
Equally surprised to learn that
Bewitched
began rehearsals on November 22, 1963, the day President Kennedy was assassinated, Cliff went on to explain how much Lizzie's particularly bright appeal contributed to the success of that series during what became a very tumultuous and dark time in American history. “She was most certainly the main ingredient that was brought to that show. What you saw on the screen was pretty much who she was ⦠that was her personality. She was delightfully up. She was smart. But she wasn't smart-ass.”
In the
TV Guide
article, “Like Dad, Like Daughter,” published July 24, 1953, Lizzie expressed hopes of one day finding fame by way of her famous father. Although she refused to ride that road on his name only, he sought to simplify her path as much as possible. That summer she became a member of his select acting company and, despite the nepotistic boost, they both insisted that she, then only twenty, would ultimately have to make it on her own.
“I have a standing offer with Liz,” Robert Montgomery said. “Any time she wants to discuss her career with me, I'm available. But the decisions are hers.”
“I grew up with Dad's acting, which probably raised my hopes of becoming an actress,” she added. “But I think I'd have wanted that even if Dad had never acted.”
She had looked forward to winning a role in
Eye Witness
, a 1950 film her father was making in England. She asked for a screen test and Robert consented. “The only trouble with that,” she said dolefully, “was that another actress (Ann Stephens) got the part.”
The following year, she finally won her father's approval for that now famous
Montgomery Presents
episode, “Top Secret,” the last line of which Robert called “the best one in the script. It was originally to have been mine,” he said. “But Liz wanted it, so I had to give in. What else could I do?” Fall prey to her charms, it would seem; just as her mother did on many an occasion. As Lizzie explained in 1965:
They were both sweet enough to point out some of the difficulties of a show business life, especially for a girl. The difficulty is actually the matter of exposing yourself to a series of rejections. It isn't like any other business. You're selling yourself, offering yourself, and if you don't get a part, it's you who are being rejected. It's something you have to learn to live with if you're really serious about acting.
She was clearly very serious about her theatrical pursuits and her parents, specifically her father, were willing to support the task at hand. He promised her when she was fourteen years old that she could make her professional debut with him, and with the “Secret” episode on
Presents
, he kept that promise. “He knew me well enough to know that being an actress would never interfere with me,” she said in 1953. “Actually working with him gave me an enormous respect for the business.”
