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251 D Chapter Seventy-Four d hoLLYwood “Pay attention—look here, pass uff, watch me, dis is de way I want you to do it!” The lively little Hungarian-born man with the director’s hat spoke an amusing mixture of American English, Berlin slang, and Viennese. Jumping up from his chair, he proceeded to perform a regular dance in front of the young actress to show her exactly what he wanted her to do. “OK? OK!” He returned to his chair and let himself fall back into it. Even though everybody was laughing, there could not be any doubt that, from star to cameraman, they were all paying the close attention that Hollywood’s uncrowned king, Billy Wilder, demanded. He seized the megaphone and shouted,“All quiet on the set! Roll ’em—silence—action—shoot!” On the slate, I deciphered the chalk-scribbled title of the movie that was being shot in front of me, The Apartment, a story about a little employee, played by Jack Lemmon, who rents out his apartment to couples and, consequently, finds himself confronted with unforeseeable difficulties. Wilder, notorious for not tolerating outsiders on the set when directing a movie, had nodded his head in silent approval when Ross whispered his request that I be permitted to watch. “Wat, aus Berlin biste?”he addressed me in his best Berlin slang. So, you are from Berlin ? “Just sit and behave yourself,” he added, turning back to his work. The headlights went on and, with cameras buzzing, I watched a scene between Shirley MacLaine and Jack Lemmon in a bedroom being shot over and over,constantly interrupted by Wilder. Between endless takes, make-up girls fell all over the actors, lights went on and off, and on again until, after the fifteenth take, the vivacious little man was finally satisfied. “Wrap it—cut—print.”A sigh of relief reverberated through the set. The morning having passed, it was time for lunch, and I was cordially invited to come along to the commissary for some soup,a salad,or a sandwich.Over the frugal meal,Wilder, who never stopped talking, developed fascinating theories about the superior quality of films shot in black and white over those in color. Color, he said, being the natural enemy of drama and dramatic photography, had no real future in movies or in television—very likely none at all! Not only most of the actors, but everybody else on the set, had lunch at the studio commissary. It offered the opportunity to talk about problems, and only a few ParT Three 252 stars preferred the splendor of their private trailers.Nobody had ever heard of Greta Garbo lowering herself to mingling with ordinary people. Our home away from home in Hollywood was the sugar-pink Beverly Hills Hotel, the “Pink Barn,” as I called it, situated in a park with bungalows. It had more than style; it had real class. “Call for Pheeleep Morreees!” a little man screamed. With profound shock, upon my arrival for the first time, I realized that the beautiful plants climbing all over the walls in the hotel were artificial. Plastic, make-believe plants in the land of plenty, with the sun shining in this glamorous world of fantasy? Among the celebrities we met were some whom I would never forget. Stan Laurel, his face bloated from a severe heart ailment, received us in his modest apartment, where wife number six,the only one he had married twice,took care of him.On top of the television set stood the only Oscar statuette that he ever received. He had named the trophy“Mr. Clean.” Before we left him, he handed me a priceless photograph of himself with Oliver Hardy, signed by his partner before his death, and with a pen he added the words,“With warmest regards to Ross and Mrs. Donaldson and every good wish, Stan.” One night, Ross introduced me to a short, elderly man with a big cigar, who informed him that Gracie, his wife, had taken ill. I could not believe that I was standing in front of George Burns,who was,to me,along with Stan Laurel and Jack Benny,the greatest of all comedians .Looking me over between puffs,he expressed his hope to Ross that,even though I was probably not Jewish, I was at least able to prepare Jewish dishes. Like, for instance, pastrami sandwiches? He could not remember me or my name but, from that day on, whenever he...

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