JIM BAWDEN

JOE PASTERNAK "STAR-MAKER"     At left, producer Joe Pasternak in his studio office. Above, the poster for "100 Men and A Girl," his memorable hit with Deanna Durbin.

His long career making top
films also made many stars

By JIM BAWDEN
of TheColumnists.com

 

 

When I first met legendary film producer Joe Pasternak in 1985, I asked him how he'd like to be remembered best--as a studio executive or a producer?

“Starmaker --if you please,” was the reply he quickly spat out.

It was a warm but stormy July afternoon in July when I arrived by taxi at his lovely Beverly Hills mansion. The one-time ace MGM producer was by then a rather wizened figure, seated unsteadily in a wheelchair. He may have been physically frail from battling Parkinson’s disease, but for the next three hours he regaled me with choice anecdotes of his outstanding career.

Here are highlights of our conversation as I recorded them in 1985.

BAWDEN: What kind of family did you grow up in. I understand you were born in Transylvania on Sept. 17, 1901.

PASTERNAK: Well, I was the middle son and there were five daughters, too. It was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire then. My father was the town shammas which was equivalent to a sexton. The village of Szilagy-Somlyo was about 7,000 souls, equally divided between Jews and Hungarians. A most beautiful spot. We were poor but my mother held us together.

My father’s duties included the opening of the ‘schul’ at dawn and the selling of a locally made depilatory. Jewish men in the town were forbidden to touch their faces with razors. When he was mobilized (for the armed forces) in 1914 I took over his duties. I figured that would be my life. But secretly I longed to go to America. We had relatives, particularly dear Uncle Geza in Philadelphia. And after my father returned from the Great War, conditions toughened. Inflation ate up every penny. We’d all troop off to the public baths and I’d dream of America–and my own bathroom.

JB: And you did get there in 1921?

JP: Oh, yes. I had saved up enough money for steerage to Philadelphia–one way. And my uncle got me a job in a belt factory. And then came my first pay packet and I tore it open: a heavenly $12.85.

Then I became a toothpaste salesman. Finally, (I was hired as) a dishwasher at the Paramount commissary at Long Island’s Astoria studios. Even as a waiter I liked to keep things very clean. I graduated to bus boy and got to serve all the stars there: Tommy Meighan, Gloria Swanson. I got to know their like. Rye bread for (director) Allan Dwan’s lunch and so on. (Dwan directed Douglas Fairbanks Sr. in his 1922 "Robin Hood") I was off one day with flu and Mr. Dwan bellowed for his rye. But I’d been getting it out of my own pocket. No rye for Mr. Dwan that day. We became friends and I became his assistant director. He called me his chairman.

JB: Then you moved to Los Angeles?

JP: Yes, in ’26. Roomed with Billy Wilkerson, who later founded The Hollywood Reporter. I thought I’d make movies, too, and I tried a short with (comedian) El Brendel that was so bad Mr. Dwan had to come and redo it for me. Then I became (director) Wesley Ruggles’ assistant. (Ruggles directed the Oscar-winning "Cimarron") When he moved to Universal, I moved with him. The studio head, Carl Laemmele, saw me around, discovered I could speak German, and sent me to Berlin to be the assistant to producer Paul Kohner, who oversaw European operations.

JB: You met Marlene Dietrich around that time?

JP: Before she made "The Blue Angel." She was singing in night clubs. Such personality! I cabled "Uncle" Carl to sign her and he cabled back, “Germans I got already”. I wound up staying six years, but in 1933 I had to flee because I heard the Gestapo were after “this Jew”. I went to London, auditioned for a job with Alexander Korda, and was turned down. So I returned to Budapest and for several years made movies starring Francesca Gaal. But by 1936 Hungary was becoming pro-Nazi. And Laemmle offered me another job back in L.A. and I brought with me my favorite director, Henry Kosterlitz. We renamed him Henry Koster.

Pasternak tried to get Universal interested in Marlene Dietrich at the start of her career, but the studio wasn't interested. But he produced her "comeback" movie at Universal in 1939: Here she is in his "Destry Rides Again" with James Stewart. a huge hit that restored her box office fame.

Dad refused to leave his village, he just wouldn’t go. We kissed goodbye and that’s the last I saw of him and my youghest sister Helen. Both perished in the camps a few years later.

JP You arrived at Universal on a bad day?

JPO: Uncle Carl was deposed (as studio chief) that day. Out. Just like that. I had a solid contract that could not be broken. The new powers tried every which way to harass me. No office. Fine, I set up camp on one of the lawns. They ordered the sprinklers turned on. So we went to another lawn–without sprinklers--and then I found a room in the horse stables. They finally asked if I could do (something) with an MGM reject Universal had signed–a young girl of 17 named Deanna Durbin. She’d done a musical short at MGM with Judy Garland and MGM picked Garland and Universal got Durbin.

She was singing on Eddie Cantor’s radio program and I knew instantly we had a rival for Shirley Temple. She came to the first meeting in a white cotton dress and white socks, holding her mother’s hand. I’d found the superstar who would save the studio from financial ruin.

JP: How much training did she need?

JP: Three weeks. Koster went to her home every day because there was no room at the studio. Universal dumped every contract player they were trying to get rid of into my movie, which was titled "Three Smart Girls." Ray Milland, Mischa Auer, Binne Barnes. But something magical was happening on the set. Henry and Deanna bonded. The rushes were magical. This girl could act as well as sing like an angel. The story would not have worked with anyone but Deanna. It cost $600,000 and made $3 million profit and I had a new contract and so did Deanna. She got $400,000 for two pictures a year.

JB: It turned out your second film with her was even bigger, didn't it?
.
JP: Yes, "100 Men And A Girl." I told them I wanted a symphony story to star (conductor) Leopold Stokowski with double the budget. These days with a title like that it would be a pornographic movie. But its sheer simplicity awed Americans. Stokowski had just been in "The Big Broadcast of 1937" and with those swinging arms and face it was awful in close ups. When he met Deanna he was truly in awe of her talents but she treated him like an older brother. She’d say something like ‘Mr. Stokowski, the brass is flat’ and he’d perk right up and she’d be right. This whole thing was a fairy tale served up sumptuously. I still laugh at that line when Deanna rushes by shouting, ‘I’ve got 100 men waiting for me in a garage’. Today it would mean something else.

JP: You brought her along very slowly, didn't you?
.
JP: Very slowly. No strain. No overworking as MGM overworked Garland. We were a family. We did two films a year. "That Certain Age" and "Mad About Music" in ’38. In ’39 I presented Deanna in "Three Smart Girls" and "First Love." Robert Stack was in that one, aged 20. And just to make sure, Universal developed a Deanna Durbin sound alike in "The Under-Pup" (1939). That was Gloria Jean. In 1940 I did "It’s A Date" with Deanna and "A Little Bit of Heaven" with Gloria. I don’t think they ever really met. My last year at Universal I had Deanna in Nice Girl? And then "It Started With Eve," which presented her in her first real grown up role. Charles Laughton once told me she was the only genius he ever met in L.A. They truly bonded.

JB: In 1939 you gave Marlene Dietrich her comeback vehicle, "Destry Rides Again."

JP: I hated the Dietrich image that (director Joseph) Von Sternberg gave her. She’d just pose. It became very boring. Exhibitors had labeled her box office poison. I thought she’d be great rough house style and I tracked her down to Monte Carlo. She hadn’t filmed in almost two years. I can still hear the crackling of the long distance wire as she sighed, ‘Oh, Joe! A western!” I picked her up at Pasadena's rail station, There were no photographers as she was truly forgotten. She really got into the part. That fight with Una Merkel was a real catfight. We pulled them apart totally exhausted.

Next I put her into "Seven Sinners," a spoof of South Seas pictures. We were lunching in the studio commissary when big John Wayne walked by. “Mommy wants that for Christmas!” she shouted, but they never had a romance. The Duke was too smart for her, although they made two more pictures. Once she got so naughty on set he put her over his knee and gave her a big spanking. The last I did with her was too static. "The Flame Of New Orleans." She reverted to Von Sternberg posing. And with the war on all the he-men had gone to battle. I had to settle for Bruce Cabot, who was one big drunk. Dietrich hated him and when I left she only made a few more Universal movies.

JB: How did you get to MGM?

JP: (MGM Studio Boss) Louis Mayer heard my contract was up and offered me $100,000 for seven years, two pictures a year. You do the math. And he also offered me my own unit and told me I’d be in charge of developing new talent. Consequently, I never worked with Gable, Tracy, Hepburn, Crawford etc. They were all too pricey –and too old. I had to start from scratch.

JB: What was your very first movie at MGM?

JP: "Seven Sweethearts" (1942), which I saw as a star-building vehicle for Kathryn Grayson. I got Frank Borzage to direct. He was leaving the studio and needed one last assignment he could finish quickly. Then I put Kathryn into a very tiny musical "Thousands Cheer." Mayer got enthusiastic and it ballooned into a gigantic showcase for all the MGM stars of the time. (Director) George Sidney did such a herculean job I got him back for "Anchors Aweigh" (1945) –Kathryn, Gene Kelly and Frankie Sinatra. Frankie had a month working with Gene to see if he really could keep up in the dance department and he really did so. Just before release George comes by and says Gene’s dance with Tom the cat didn’t work because it looked too much like a cartoon. He insisted we go back to the art department so they could paint in shadows on the ballroom floor when Jerry (the mouse) was dancing with Gene. And the sequence then worked--but that addition cost six figures.

Singer Frank Sinatra, left, was coached as a dancer by Gene Kelly, right, in Pasternak's "Anchors Aweigh"-- and did quite well.

JB: The first big star you created at MGM was June Allyson, correct?

JP: Only half correct. I didn’t discover her, she had already been in "Best Foot Forward" and "Girl Crazy" in specialty numbers when Mayer asked me to try to develop her. Audience reaction was strong but he wasn’t impressed. So he insisted I put June and another newcomer Gloria DeHaven in one picture together with Van Johnson as the boy who must choose between them. It was called "Two Girls And A Sailor" (1944) and Mayer said audiences would chose who’d be the next "girl next door." Well, Gloria was prettier, could sing better, had cuter legs but audiences took to June. It was her overall package; she just radiated warmth. I’d intended it as a small black and white musical, then we started adding specialty numbers from the likes of Gracie Allen, Harry James, Xavier Cugat and it ballooned and became MGM’s most profitable musical of the year. "Meet Me In St. Louis" made more dough, but it had huge production costs.

Pasternak tho;ught Gloria DeHaven, right, was cuter, but it was June Allyson, left, who became a big star.

And Mayer told me to continue with June and we put her into "Music For Millions" (1944) where she moons all over the place, tearing up at every mention of her fiance who is overseas. Little Margaret O’Brien was such a scene stealer. She’d ask how far down her cheeks did I want the tears to go, and she was always acting up in long shots so people would focus on her and not June. Koster directed it and I felt he’d gone too far in the tears department. But I let him make "Two Sisters From Boston" (1946), which didn’t do too well at all. It was in black and white and had Grayson and Allyson and they weren’t too fond of each other and it showed. It also was too long. Audience response was negative and June got out of musicals after that.

JB: Did you discover Jane Powell?

JP: Oh, no, she had done a few bad films for United Artists. But I convinced Mayer to sign her and promised I’d develop her into a teen rage like Durbin. Her voice was almost but not quite in Durbin’s range but she was very tiny and very cute. She was 17 when I used her first in "Holiday in Mexico" (1946), which had Walter Pidgeon as her dad, Roddy McDowell as the requisite puppy love and Jose Iturbi for the classical fans. It was drenched in Technicolor and George Sidney really did it all up nicely and we had a new star, one very unpretentious, no star temperament there.

Then Mayer told me he’d hired Jeanette MacDonald back and we had Jane cast as one of her daughters in "Three Daring Daughters" (1948). I argued Nelson Eddy should come back as the singing capon but Mayer vetoed that idea and Iturbi was not realistic as the would-be love interest. He lived with his sister and was very silly in scenes without his piano. Audiences stayed away, as I feared. Mayer then asked me to co-star Jeanette and Lassie in something that did get made ("The Sun Comes Up," 1949), but I wasn’t going near that one.

JB: Most Jane Powell musicals were huge grossers, weren't they?
.
JP: "Luxury Liner" (1948) had Jane playing 16, but she was 19 by then and on a liner with George Brent as her captain dad. He grumbled about playing a father but the hairdresser told me he dyed his locks every week. It was always a stretch to get these stars playing with Jane. Ann Sothern made the same stink with "Nancy Goes To Rio." Basically we used the same story but different setting and always a single parent. The shots of Janie, who is teeny-weeny, with Lauritz Mekchior, who was huge, got unintentional laughs from audiences. It was so incongruous. But that one made money and so did "A Date With Judy" (1948), although Wally Beery as her dad! He looked like her granddad! One of his last pictures. Years of drinking had rotted out his carcass, he told me. Everybody sang in that one, even Liz Taylor, who was three years younger than Janie, but was already quite the coquette on the set. And that whole mix made buckets of dough for MGM.

That's Robert Stack with Jane Powell at left in "A Date with Judy." Though Elizabeth Taylor, at Powell's right, was much younger than Jane Powell, she was already a sex kitten in the movie.

"Nancy Goes To Rio" (1950)? That was my own remake of "It’s A Date," which I’d done at Universal with Deanna. It was a case of self plagiarism. Then we did "Rich, Young and Pretty" (1951) and it was Jane searching for her real mother who turned out to be Danielle Darrieux, of all people! She was all of 12 years older than Jane. Danielle was not that amused when I told her.

JB: How about your work with Esther Williams?

JP: Esther was not a find (of mine), but she said she preferred making her pictures for me. After all, the plots were very similar. "Easy To Wed" (1946) wasn’t mine, but "Easy To Love" (1953) was. Both feature Esther and Van Johnson and can you tell them apart? I also did "Thrill of A Romance" (1945) with Esther and Van. He was her fave leading man because he could swim quite well. "This Time For Keeps" (1947) wasn’t as big–too much Jimmy Durante, too little Esther, "The Duchess of Idaho" (1950)--that was another with Esther and Van and we added some musical numbers from Lena Horne and Eleanor Powell. "Skirts Ahoy" (1952) was about three WACS and because it was just a little different, it sort of tanked. Esther always announced on the first day of shooting she’d just found she was pregnant but that was frequently a ploy to get the picture finished as quickly as possible. We had choreographers right in the tank with her devising those numbers. Which took longer to shoot than the dialogue sequences.

Swimmer Esther Williams preferred working with Pasternak as her producer.

JB: You had an on and off relationship with Judy Garland?

JP: The first movie handed to me by Louis Mayer was "Presenting Lily Mars" (1943) and that was because of my success with Durbin. He thought I could work with Judy, too, but she hated the premise. Lily was a young girl who didn’t have what it takes to be a Broadway star–yet. We see her ripening talent, understand how experience is so very necessary. Judy just wouldn’t play the character as written. There were clashes with director Norman Taurog, who is the nicest guy around. And finally Judy went behind my back to Mayer and convinced him the picture needed a socko ending and that put the entire story off kilter. So (director) Roy Del Ruth was brought in over my objections and many old standards were added.

After that I refused other Garland assignments. Talented? Of course. The Best. But so highly strung it was too much for me. If I saw her on the lot I’d curtly nod, that’s all. I watched in fascination her bizarre rise and then the fall. But in 1949 Mayer came to me and begged me to find something for her. Her career was careening off course big time. She was slated for "The Barklels of Broadway" but had a breakdown. Could I find something not too demanding. And we came up with "In The Good Old Summertime," very light and funny, a musical version of "The Shop Around the Corner." I built in breaks in the schedule so she wouldn’t be hard pressed. Van Johnson kept her spirits up at all times and (director) Robert Z. Leonard made sure she looked so very beautiful.

Then she was ready for "Annie Get Your Gun." Another breakdown. Mayer phoned me again. She’d be suspended if she couldn’t work. And we came up with a very featherweight musical "Summer Stock." The title says it all. But this time she had plunged into gloom and hysteria. Her weight was 40 pounds over normal. She’d lock herself in her dressing room all day. Or come out and shout at Gene Kelly, who adored her. It took twice as long to film as anticipated, but it did pull in a big profit. So MGM scheduled her for "Royal Wedding" and she had her last breakdown at MGM. She was fired. Imagine! The little girl who’d made them millions treated like that! It was the new regime. They eventually fired Gable, Tracy, even old L.B. (Mayer) himself. It was produce money-makers or get out. I was still making huge profits for them, so I was safe. But the old MGM had disappeared by 1955.

JB: Around this time you even produced a non-musical or two, didn't you?

JP: Are you referring to "Song of Russia" (1943)? Was ordered by Mayer to do it. Audiences jeered,. Nobody believed life in Russia was like that. It could have gotten me into a lot of trouble later when Bob Taylor started denouncing it at those HUAC hearings. But the plain truth is nobody saw it. Nobody!

Then there was "Her Highness and The Bellboy" (1945), a Hedy Lamarr vehicle, about the last she made before exiting the studio. Gorgeous, yes. Temperamental, and how. Turned down "Casablanca" and "Gaslight," which is how I wound up with her, Bobby Walker was our leading ma--nice by day, drunk by night. June Allyson was his true love but he temporarily ditches her for Hedy. Nobody believed it.

My biggest bomb was "No Leave, No Love" (1946). I was introducing my next big star–a delightful gal from Britain, Pat Kirkwood. Nobody came. She was delightful but the audience makes those decisions. And they decided "no." Pat was packed off to Britain and never made another American movie. Van Johnson was her co-star and he just couldn’t understand it.

JB: Did you pick stories?

JP: Yes. I did casting and that included directors, set designers, locations, the works. After I vacationed in Hawaii, I told my favorite script writer, Dorothy Cooper, to write up "On An Island With You." A Sun Valley ski vacation produced my idea for "The Ducess of Idaho." I took in Mardi Gras in New Orleans and ordered it incorporated into "The Toast of New Orleans."

The mistakes were all mine. My worst ever picture was "The Kissing Bandit" (1949) –it was horrendous. What was I thinking of? Frankie (Sinatra) had to make a big comeback after that one.

JB: Didn’t you discover Mario Lanza for MGM?

JP: Don’t pin that lout on me! Mayer had already signed him and told me to try to develop him slowly. Old Louie had a real thing for opera, thought it was so classy. So Mayer’s secretary, Ida Koverman, brings this kid over and we test him. He was already too pudgy. But he did have a voice that recorded beautifully. Could he have made it in the real opera world? Doubtful. He lacked discipline from the beginning. My job was to try and tame him and I guess I failed at that. He was brought up to believe he could do anything. He used stevedore’s language on the set, was so brutish to Kathryn Grayson that David Niven threatened to clobber him. Behind the furniture, curtains he did what dogs do. He binged on food and sex. A light lunch to him was a gallon of cheap Italian wine and a whole roast turkey with the trimmings. MGM wanted to make him and Grayson into the latest MacDonald and Eddy. But that first one, "That Midnight Kiss," barely made back costs.

Mayer ordered all stops out on the second--" The Great Caruso," but he had already coarsened. What an ego! As far as he was concerned it should have been re-titled "The Great Lanza." Did we play fast and loose with the basic facts? You betcha! We had Caruso die in the wings of the Met for effect. He never really did. He never married a society dame. Mayer wanted that put in. Ann Blyth. As production went on, Mario added something like 40 pounds. We put him in a girdle, used special lighting, the camera guy Joe Ruttenberg was going crazy. But he got away with it. The movie was a hit. What can I say?

By the time we did "Because You’re Mine" (1952) he was completely out of control. How we finished that one I don’t know. Alexander Hall directed it and said the experience was akin to working for Harry Cohn, the strain was horrible on all of us. Because Mario’s moods changed by the hour. But since it was profitable we plunged on with "The Student Prince."

MARIO LANZA was an impossibly egotistical star, who binged on food and ballooned in weight during filming until he had to be fired.

I finally got my revenge with "The Student Prince" (1954). It was a Lanza film without Lanza. He had pre-recorded the sound track, but kept binging and within a few weeks was 50 pounds heavier and no film had as yet been shot. So I fired him. Mayer was no longer at the studio. And I put in Edmund Purdom and he lip-synched to Mario’s glorious voice. It was heavenly revenge and the film did make money. Mario stormed over to Warners where he made that dreadful stinker ("Serenade") and Jack Warner phoned and said I should have warned him he was getting such an s.o.b. But why not let Jack share some of my sorrows!

JP” You did three films with Lana Turner.

JP: Completely without ego. Interested in her gowns, makeup. Never asked about character motivation, that was beyond her range. I knew I had to have her for my remake of "The Merry Widow." (Director Ernst) Lubitsch got away with more in 1934 than we could 18 years later. It was awash in color and of course we dubbed Lana. She didn’t care. Was carrying on with Fernando Lamas then. I called him "Lame-ass" because he was so full of himself. Look at the dancers and you’ll spot Gwen Verdon doing a great can-can. And I used Una Merkel as good luck because she’d been in the ’34 edition –but in a different part.

It was Mervyn LeRoy who asked me to produce "Latin Lovers" (1953). He was rushing to wind up his MGM contract. Truly despised (new studio boss) Dore Shary. And I did all the administrative and technical stuff to free Merv for directing. Every one of his MGM movies carried the credit “a Mervyn LeRoy production” but here we shared that billing. Just before we started Lana kicked Fernando out and we needed a new Latin leading man. I begged Ricardo Montalban to step up. He’s a family man and was impervious to Lana’s seduction schemes, much to her disgust. MGM was so rich in talent we had back up Latin Lovers.

LANA TURNER in "The Merry Widow," one of three pictures Pasternak produced with her.

And the third (with Lana Turner) was "The Flame and The Flesh"(1954), which I hated doing. But the studio was getting ready to dump Lana, so I tried, I really tried. She was a brunette, which her fans hated. The story was thin and we shot it in London and Naples–some Brit stars like Bonar Colleano and Eric Pohlmann are in it. Did you know Lana Turned down "Mogambo" to make this stinker. Just two more films and she was out of MGM.

JB: Your big hit during this period was "Love Me or Leave Me" (1955).

JP: Oh, that was all Jane Powell’s fault! She was already 26 and still playing teens and she says get me a mature part. So I bought Ruth Etting’s life story for her. But it was also the story of Marty Snyder, who was the small time gangster who built her into a star. And we had to pay him for rights, too, and one of his conditions was Jimmy Cagney had to play him. Jimmy wanted to do it. Jimmy was then 55ish and stuck beside Jane still looking like a teen the pairing was incongruous. So I had to substitute Doris Day, who was looking to toughen up her image and she really got into the role. Jane cried for a week. It was a huge hit. I was stunned Doris did not get an Oscar nomination, but she wasn’t liked in the industry. Jimmy makes you feel the cruelty of his character, but you also understand his rage as he starts losing his girl. And it was my biggest hit of the Fifties.

Pasternak's biggest hit of the 1950s was "Love Me or Leave Me" wiht Doris Day," a film he originally had in Mind for Jane Powell.

JB: It was time to say farewell at MGM to both Jane Powell and June Allyson.

JP: Jane had one big hit left in "Hit the Deck" (1955). I packed that with all the Vincent Youmans numbers I could find. We staged them lavishly on Metro soundstages. It was deliberately an old fashioned musical. I had Debbie Reynolds and Russ Tamblyn for the teenaged set, Walter Pidgeon and Gene Raymond for the older gals, Tony Martin for one generation, Vic Damone for the next. (Director) Roy Rowland did it very briskly. We came in a few days under schedule and it packed them into those downtown Loews theaters. Just before that I’d done Janie’s biggest bomb, a failed satire of health foods and that sealed her fate. She finished "Hit the Deck" and left the studio by the back door.

A survey around then found that many of MGM's stars were considered too old by movie audiences. But really June’s audience had aged along with her. They were now not teens but wives and mothers living out in the suburbs and not inclined to travel downtown to a Loews to see a new Allyson movie. Her last was a musical version of "The Women" called "The Opposite Sex" (1956). It wasn’t much, the songs were bad except when she sang "Young Man With A Horn" with Harry James to accompany her. She told me she’d made three remakes in a row, including remakes of "My Man Godfrey" and "It Happened One Night" and was then going over to Universal to remake an Irene Dunne picture (released as "Interlude").

JB: You switched to comedies?

JP: Whereas Arthur Freed kept making musicals until "Gigi" (1958), a wonderful picture, but far too expensive for the tastes of the new regime. Freed ceased production in 1962 and I nabbed (director) Vincente Minnelli (to do) the comedy "The Courtship Of Eddie’s Father." I’d go on set every day to tell him to hurry up. He’s apt to get caught up by decor problems. I did do that Dean Martin stinker ("Ten Thousand Bedrooms," Martin's first film after his breakup with comic Jerry Lewis) but it was pretty tame. I did a black and white comedy with Jean Simmons, "This Could Be the Night" (1957) and it was a big grosser –we didn’t have the budget to male it in color. I know "Party Girl" (1958) doesn’t seem like one of my own, Robert Taylor wasn’t forceful enough.

"Ask Any Girl" (1959) was with Shirley MacLaine on loan out from Hal Wallis –a standard sex comedy that Charles Walters did quickly. And that got him the nod from Doris Day to direct her in "Please Don’t Eat The Daisies" (1960). In both these comedies David Niven was the male co-star. Doris played a mother in it, then she makes "Pillow Talk" at Universal and she’s a virgin. Go figure.

JB: It was time to discover new talent.

JP: I took a bunch of young stars and made "Where the Boys Are" (1960) and it was MGM’s biggest profit maker of the year: Dolores Hart, George Hamilton, Yvette Mimieux, Jim Hutton, Paula Prentiss, Connie Francis in her film debut. Then I put Hutton and Prentiss together in "The Horizontal Lieutenant" –I was trying to start a new team. But by the time of "Looking For Love" (1964) these kids had grown up—Connie, Hutton, Hamilton, Prentiss. The returns were thinner than anticipated. This is Johnny Carson’s only movie appearance. Did you know that?

JB: Your last big musical was "Billy Rose'sJumbo" (1962).

JP: Doris Day came to me with this project. She hadn’t done a musical in years. Still seethed about losing "South Pacific." But she was 40 and she insisted on all those fuzzy close-ups. After a few day’s shooting she comes to my office saying she felt our camera man, Joe Ruttenberg, was getting too long in the tooth And I said, “Could be. After all, Doris, we know you haven’t aged a bit.” She picked her leading man, Stephen Boyd, but he lacked basic personality appeal. He looked lost without his chariot (from his role in "Ben-Hur"). We used an old Joan Crawford gimmick to make Doris look younger. We hired Martha Raye and Jimmy Durante as comedy relief and next to these two old buzzards she was dewey and fresh faced! I thought Charles Walters directed it very nicely. But it was Doris’s last movie musical.

This is one of two Elvis Presely features Pasternak produced. He said Elvis was "prudish" and often turned down leading ladies if he thought they were "sluts."

JB: You also did some Elvis Presley pictures.

JP: "Girl Happy" (1964) and "Spinout" (1966). Shelley Fabares was the girl in both of them. Elvis often nixed potential leading ladies if he thought they were sluts. He was very prudish. I had no trouble with him. Maybe if he’d been a bit more forthcoming the pictures might have been better. Every Presley flick ran about 90 minutes. We knew how much each would make before we shot them. The premises were virtually identical save for the settings–on the beach gave way to motor races. The Colonel did all the bartering. I’d plop in scene stealers like Una Merkel or Jackie Coogan but Elvis didn’t know who they were anyway. And then a few years later he was unemployable in movies anymore. Middle age was creeping up on him.

JB: You stopped after "The Sweet Ride" at Fox in 1968?

JP: The business had changed. People no longer went to the movies every week. It’s all spectaculars these days. I couldn’t make a spaceship picture if my life depended on it. I was getting older. Audiences were getting younger. I was getting older. At Fox the front office kept complaining Jackie Bisset’s bikini should be even skimpier.
I couldn’t make a problem picture if I tried. As a critic said, a Pasternak opus was always as buttery as the popcorn sold in the movie foyers. And I’m still proud of that.

(Joe Pasternak died of the effects of Parkinson’s on Sept. 13, 1991, just six days short of his 90th birthday.)

-©2011 by Jim Bawden. This column first posted July 18, 2011

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