Read Online Audrey Hepburn: An Intimate Portrait by Diana Maychick - Free Book Online
Authors: Diana Maychick
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work and housing in a
foreign country, sacrifice her own life for yours, and then find the bubble has
burst! As much as I loved the art and discipline of the dance, it didn’t love
me!”
But
as so often was the case, the situation was not as desperate as Audrey had
initially feared. Just when she had accepted the fact that ballet was not her
metier, a regional troupe invited her to join it for an extended tour.
Simultaneously, she received word that she was one of ten chorus girls chosen
from among three thousand who’d auditioned for roles in the Jule Styne musical High Button Shoes.
The
antic story of the adventures of a 1913 con artist, Harrison Floy, had enjoyed
a long and successful run on Broadway before being brought to the
West End
.
Choreographer
Jerome Robbins, today considered a genius of the stage, had arranged a number
of extremely difficult, beautiful sequences for his “Bathing Beauty
Ballet,” the climax of the show.
“I
remember going home after the audition and crying on my bed,” Audrey said.
“I had no idea about jazz dance steps and I had to remain stiff as a board
just to get the sequences right. It’s not that I even liked what I was doing!
There was no comparison to ballet, which is an art form. But I thought it might
mean money, which is something we desperately needed. I cried because I was
sure I didn’t have a chance.”
She
may have lacked expertise in the fields of jazz dance and musical comedy, but
what Audrey was missing in technique, she made up for with personality.
Coproducer Jack Hylton captured her spirit at the time. After seeing her
tryout, he wrote on a slip of paper: “Lousy dancer. Great verve.”
Verve would always carry Audrey when her mere mortal talents let her down.
Hylton
signed her up on the spot. “He bellowed that I had the job,” Audrey
said. “He was so forceful that I didn’t dream of telling him I had another
offer in my real field. Besides, I finally accepted that I wasn’t going to be a
great big ballet star. I was being given an opportunity to try something
new.”
A
few weeks into the run of
High Button
Shoes,
British impresario Cecil Landau attended a performance and “was
captivated by a girl running across the stage,” he said. “It’s hard
to explain. It wasn’t much. Just a pair of big dark eyes and a fringe flitting
across the stage.”
Anyone
who saw Audrey in her earliest performances had a similar reaction. Here was a
live wire, a broad-smiling, long-legged imp who just dripped with good
breeding. Her effect was infectious; she got under people’s skins and made them
feel happy. She, too, was in a good mood. Hearing laughter every night from a
packed house raised her spirits.
At
nineteen, she had so far lived a frighteningly somber life, and this injection
of levity was a real boon.
It
was time for a change.
“Life
as a chorus girl was a revelation,” she recalled. “The ten of us
shared a dressing room and I discovered for the first time in my life that I
was a cutup. I loved to mimic people with funny accents and I had the girls
laughing all the time. I was modeling for soap ads in my spare time. [Fellow
chorine and future wife of Rex Harrison] Kay Kendall and I became friends. It
was a wonderful time.”
Audrey
was on a roll. Cecil Landau offered her a part in his new 1949 revue, Sauce Tartare. She accepted the offer
before even asking what she had to do.
The
international musical travelogue, a kind of parade of nations on stage,
required Audrey and four other dancers to cavort through a host of foreign
capitals in skimpy costumes. The cast was international as well, and Audrey got
to know performers from
South
Africa
,
Spain
,
Russia
,
Norway
,
Scotland
,
Portugal
, and
the
United States
.
But their differences, and the often-impenetrable language barriers, slowed
down rehearsals considerably. Landau, notorious for being blunt and often
nasty, couldn’t even lash out at many in his cast because they
foreign country, sacrifice her own life for yours, and then find the bubble has
burst! As much as I loved the art and discipline of the dance, it didn’t love
me!”
But
as so often was the case, the situation was not as desperate as Audrey had
initially feared. Just when she had accepted the fact that ballet was not her
metier, a regional troupe invited her to join it for an extended tour.
Simultaneously, she received word that she was one of ten chorus girls chosen
from among three thousand who’d auditioned for roles in the Jule Styne musical High Button Shoes.
The
antic story of the adventures of a 1913 con artist, Harrison Floy, had enjoyed
a long and successful run on Broadway before being brought to the
West End
.
Choreographer
Jerome Robbins, today considered a genius of the stage, had arranged a number
of extremely difficult, beautiful sequences for his “Bathing Beauty
Ballet,” the climax of the show.
“I
remember going home after the audition and crying on my bed,” Audrey said.
“I had no idea about jazz dance steps and I had to remain stiff as a board
just to get the sequences right. It’s not that I even liked what I was doing!
There was no comparison to ballet, which is an art form. But I thought it might
mean money, which is something we desperately needed. I cried because I was
sure I didn’t have a chance.”
She
may have lacked expertise in the fields of jazz dance and musical comedy, but
what Audrey was missing in technique, she made up for with personality.
Coproducer Jack Hylton captured her spirit at the time. After seeing her
tryout, he wrote on a slip of paper: “Lousy dancer. Great verve.”
Verve would always carry Audrey when her mere mortal talents let her down.
Hylton
signed her up on the spot. “He bellowed that I had the job,” Audrey
said. “He was so forceful that I didn’t dream of telling him I had another
offer in my real field. Besides, I finally accepted that I wasn’t going to be a
great big ballet star. I was being given an opportunity to try something
new.”
A
few weeks into the run of
High Button
Shoes,
British impresario Cecil Landau attended a performance and “was
captivated by a girl running across the stage,” he said. “It’s hard
to explain. It wasn’t much. Just a pair of big dark eyes and a fringe flitting
across the stage.”
Anyone
who saw Audrey in her earliest performances had a similar reaction. Here was a
live wire, a broad-smiling, long-legged imp who just dripped with good
breeding. Her effect was infectious; she got under people’s skins and made them
feel happy. She, too, was in a good mood. Hearing laughter every night from a
packed house raised her spirits.
At
nineteen, she had so far lived a frighteningly somber life, and this injection
of levity was a real boon.
It
was time for a change.
“Life
as a chorus girl was a revelation,” she recalled. “The ten of us
shared a dressing room and I discovered for the first time in my life that I
was a cutup. I loved to mimic people with funny accents and I had the girls
laughing all the time. I was modeling for soap ads in my spare time. [Fellow
chorine and future wife of Rex Harrison] Kay Kendall and I became friends. It
was a wonderful time.”
Audrey
was on a roll. Cecil Landau offered her a part in his new 1949 revue, Sauce Tartare. She accepted the offer
before even asking what she had to do.
The
international musical travelogue, a kind of parade of nations on stage,
required Audrey and four other dancers to cavort through a host of foreign
capitals in skimpy costumes. The cast was international as well, and Audrey got
to know performers from
South
Africa
,
Spain
,
Russia
,
Norway
,
Scotland
,
Portugal
, and
the
United States
.
But their differences, and the often-impenetrable language barriers, slowed
down rehearsals considerably. Landau, notorious for being blunt and often
nasty, couldn’t even lash out at many in his cast because they
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