JAMES STEWART REMEMBERED
– from 1997
I had the good fortune to interview James Stewart
on a number of occasions, and to be with him in a variety
of surroundings. But one day in particular will live
with me for the rest of my life.
In 1988, Entertainment Tonight decided to mount a birthday
tribute to the great director Frank Capra, and Stewart
agreed to host it. My boss asked me to write it, and work
with director Bob Heath to put it together.
Oddly enough, writing the script came easily. I'd talked
to the actor before, and had enough sense of his rhythms
and cadences to feel confident as I typed away. But at
one point I had to stop myself and stare at the computer
screen. “I'm writing for Jimmy Stewart!” I
said to myself with a feeling of awe.
We prepared for the day of shooting with great care. Our
art director tried to create a living room set that would
be reminiscent of It's a Wonderful Life. We called
Mr. Stewart's friend and publicist, John Strauss, to see
if he was comfortable working with a teleprompter, and
if there were anything special he wanted on the set. He
had no demands or requests whatsoever. (Just like today's
stars, right?)
Came the day, we sent a limo to pick him up, and he arrived
right on time, of course. Strauss told me that he wasn't
feeling 100% that day, and wished he had been able to
shoot the day before. But he seemed fine to us.
Then we made a horrifying discovery. He'd never worked
with a teleprompter before; he thought we'd meant cue
cards. Bob and I looked at each other with frozen panic,
and said that we'd be happy to write it all out. “No,
no,” he said, “Let me give it a try.”
He did, and within minutes he felt comfortable.
Now for the first take. He rehearsed his read once or
twice, and on the last read everything seemed perfect.
Bob called for tape to roll, and I noticed, with fascination,
that Stewart wasn't quite as good; when it was “real,”
he froze up ever so slightly, wasn't as natural in his
delivery.
But how on earth were we to tell him that? How do you
ask Jimmy Stewart to do it again?
Bob had the answer. He asked the star if he wanted to
watch himself on a video playback. “Can we do that?”
he inquired. Certainly, we said. So he watched his first
take, and said simply, “Let's try it again.”
We didn't have to tell him it wasn't the best he could
do. He knew it. And that's how the rest of the afternoon
went. He always knew when he'd nailed it.
Between setups, he went to a chair and buried himself
in the script. (My script!) John Strauss explained that
he'd learned long ago not to bother the actor on the set
at times like this. He considered himself a slow study,
and always wanted to bone up when he had the chance.
At the end of the shoot, we had an idea. My assistant
had found a newel post just that morning on the Paramount
lot, and we placed it at the foot of the balustrade on
our make-believe living room staircase. Would he be willing
to have the newel knob come off in his hand, just as it
had so often in It's a Wonderful Life? He furrowed
his brow. How and why would that happen? I suggested that
as he was coming downstairs, he could start to sign off
the piece (“I'm Jimmy Stewart…”) and
then place his hand there casually.
“I
was going upstairs in the film,” he corrected. Of
course. With that, he agreed to give it a try. We did
one run-through, and he caught the idea perfectly, lending
it a charm that only he could. We loved it, and he seemed
to enjoy it, too.
By the time the shoot was over, it seems as if half the
staff of ET had gathered on the stage, to say hello, shake
his hand, or ask for an autograph. And he sat patiently
to meet every request.
So, how do you sum up a man like that?
A gentleman. A professional. A star.
If only there were more like him. But then again, if there
were, we might not be mourning as we are the passing of
this towering individual.
Because Jimmy Stewart was one of a kind. |
