I Love the Illusion: The Life and Career of Agnes Moorehead (38 page)

In the fall of 1961 Agnes delivered
a lecture in Dayton, Ohio that delved
into something she normally didn’t
— politics and current events.
“Theater is the best ambassador of
peace I know of — but we don’t use
it,” Agnes asserted. Agnes argued for
a representative theater, one which
the government, thru tax payers,
would “subsidize,” but “people are
repulsed by that word. We subsidize
libraries, roads and everything else, if
the spirit of mankind is moved to
something worthwhile that will make
a difference.” Agnes emphasized the
need to “love mankind, rather than
killing mankind . . . people say why
fight city hall? Join it. I won’t do it,
but I’m in the minority. I would try
to benefit the heart of mankind.
Mankind wants to be needed and
loved. What does mankind have
without love?”

To finish out the year Agnes made
a quick cameo as a judge in the Bob
Hope sex comedy,
Bachelor in Paradise,
and went to Italy at the invitation
of her old friend director Jean Negulesco to appear in the comedy
Jessica,
based on a novel
The Midwife of Pont Clery,
starring Angie Dickinson. The
scenery was nice and the money good — $4,000 per week for a six-week
shoot, but the film did nothing to enhance anyone’s film career.

Director and playwright James Clavell wrote to Agnes in February 1962,
offering her a part in his film
The Sweet – The Bitter.
“There’s a part that I
wanted to offer you. You’re just about the only person who could do it —
and why not, as I wrote it for you in mind? In fact, come what may if you’re
available, I have to find a carrot to tempt you with . . . as far as I’m
concerned you’d bring the role what I need; in fact — quite openly — I’
VE

The same month theatrical producer Anthony Lyons wrote to Agnes
offering her the role of Mary Chestnut in a one-woman show based on Mrs.
Chestnut’s published journals she kept during the Civil War. These journals
were later quoted from extensively in Ken Burns’ massive documentary on
the Civil War which aired on PBS in 1990.

III
Prescription Murder
was the story of Dr. Roy Fleming who murders his wife,
Claire, so that he can eventually marry his mistress, Susan Hudson. It is the
story of an almost perfect murder especially since the detective assigned to
the case, Lt. Columbo, seems incompetent. Agnes was cast as the wife with
her old friend Joseph Cotten cast as the murderous doctor and his real-life
wife, Patricia Medina cast as the mistress. As Lt. Columbo, Gregory cast the
veteran character actor, Thomas Mitchell. Paul’s intentions with this play
were to make money, pure and simple, and he felt that a suspense-mystery
with an all-star cast would be profitable. Historically this play is important
since it was the first time the character of Lt. Columbo was introduced to
audiences — six years before Peter Falk would immortalize the role on
television. Agnes thus had the distinction of playing the first victim of
murder investigated by Columbo.

The cast would be well paid for their talents. Cotten, the leading man,
received $4,000 per week and 10% of the gross. He would be billed first.
Thomas Mitchell would receive $2,000 per week and receive 7.5% of the
gross and be billed second above the title. Agnes, who appears in only the
first act of the play, would receive $1,750 per week with no percentage but
billed in the same type as Cotten in third position above the title. Medina
would receive $1,000 per week and be fourth-billed. Rehearsals began just
after Christmas, 1961, with the show opening on January 15 at the Curran
Theater in San Francisco, where Paul Gregory traditionally opened all of
his shows. If Agnes was upset over the relatively small role she had in
Prescription Murder,
she didn’t let on. “It never bothered Aggie that she was
only in the first act because she completely dominated that act,” says
Gregory, “and the audience always expected she would return which, of
course, she never does, but it added to the mystery and the suspense.”

The play opened to strong box office, but poor reviews in San Francisco.
Joseph Cotten would recall that the opening night audience “made us feel
welcome to the Golden Gate,” but that the critical reception the next day
“made us feel like hurling ourselves off it (The Golden Gate Bridge).” So
outraged by the critical reception was Gregory that he vowed that he would
break tradition and never open another of his shows in San Francisco — a
vow he would keep. Still, the good box office reception more than made up
for the slings and arrows of the critics and the actors enjoyed working
together. Agnes particularly liked the Cottens. Joe Cotten would note that
Agnes’ love of touring “justifiably earned her the title of Queen of the
Road,” and that “she had truly become everyone’s idol, from Eau Claire to
Pensacola, from Raleigh to Scottsdale.” Agnes felt no competition with Pat
Medina and, in fact, Medina would refer to Agnes as “Sis.” Still, according
to Paul Gregory, it was during the tour of
Prescription Murder
that Agnes
exhibited a troubling side of her personality, one he had seen all too often.
It was after a performance, which Paul had flown in for, and he, Cotten,
Medina and Agnes were bantering in a dressing room. Paul and Cotten
were deep in a discussion, as were Agnes and Medina. Suddenly both Paul
and Cotten interrupted their discussion and turned their attention toward
the ladies as Agnes was describing for Pat Medina the pains of labor she had
experienced when she delivered Sean — as if Medina had no idea that Sean
was not Agnes’ biological child. It was a stunning performance and shortly
after it Agnes excused herself from the room and Paul and the Cottens
shook their heads and laughed, “Poor, Aggie.” Gregory came to feel that
Agnes felt a need to attract attention to herself at times even if it meant she
had to invent a story to hide behind; she had trouble just being herself.

Despite the good box office Medina would describe the production as
“jinxed.” Gregory had used a revolving stage which allowed the actors to go
from scene to scene without having to close the curtains. During dress
rehearsals, just prior to opening in San Francisco, Medina, who was
unfamiliar with revolving stages, caught her left leg in the doors as it went
around and had to be rushed to the hospital to treat the gash. It was
painful, but she was determined not to limp. “I was playing Jo’s mistress
and Agnes Moorehead was his wife. Between us, we had decided that Jo
would choke her to death and run away with me. Therefore, no limping
mistress seemed very helpful in planning a murder.” Medina would also
recall a comical situation on opening night: “Jo murdered Aggie just before
my entrance and he pulled her behind the sofa where she lay dead. Enter
‘the mistress.’ I look behind the sofa and sway in horror (quite easy for me
with my gimpy leg). Rushing to Jo, my lover, to hide my face, from behind
the sofa came the loudest sneeze I’ve ever heard (the carpet was new and
Aggie was allergic to it).” The perils of live theater.

Following the San
Francisco run the cast and
crew took a train to
their next engagement in
Denver, Colorado and
happened to be appearing
on stage while at a neigh
boring stage under the
same roof the classical
pianist Van Cliburn was
presenting a concert.
Joseph Cotten would
recall: “I was slowly
pulling on my gloves,
about to choke my wife.
She was standing, face to
the window, back to the
audience. The end of
Tchaikovsky’s third move
ment was approaching.
The crescendo was not
only building in volume,
it was creeping across the

hall that separated the two auditoriums and becoming a distinct and clearly
audible accompaniment to the action on our stage. I hurried with the
gloves, but before my hands could reach Aggie’s throat, Van Cliburn ended
the concerto with nothing less than an atomic eruption. This was followed
immediately by thunderous applause, not only from his audience, but also
from ours. Aggie, whose throat was yet untouched, immediately and
correctly dropped dead.” She figured how she could top Van Cliburn. The
dramatic flourish was there and Agnes took advantage of it.

While in Denver, Agnes attended an after-show party and was able to
renew her friendship with the author, William Barrett, who had written the
bestseller
The Left Hand of God,
which was made into a 1955 film which
Agnes appeared in. Barrett decided to offer Agnes a critique of the show
which he wrote up in a letter and sent to Agnes: “There is no hatred in it,
and the drama of murder, even when coldly planned, is suspended upon
hatred. Joseph Cotten, excellent actor that he is, seemed uncomfortable in
the role at times.” As for Agnes, “Everyone deplored the fact that an actress
of your stature should be killed in the first act . . . you are far too likeable
and attractive as the wife. You can be attractive but not likeable. The
murder of such a woman as you portray is a cold thing and we do not feel
emotions that we should feel.” His wasn’t the only review which commented
that Agnes was being under utilized in such a minor role. When the tour
came to Toronto, the critic of the
Toronto Globe
stated, “It is a pity that
Agnes Moorehead was killed at the end of the first act of P
RESCRIPTION
M
URDER
. . . The play, which was creaking even with her magnetic presence,
expired with her.”

When the tour reached Miami, Agnes created a minor storm when she
declared in an interview with the
Miami Herald
that the U.S. didn’t have
the same level of culture and regard for the theatre as Europe did; adding
salt to the wound she mentioned that Sean was attending school in
Switzerland so that he could get a better education than was offered in the
U.S. She received many outraged letters, one of which was especially
scathing: “I have news for you. Your dear little boy in Switzerland may turn
out to be a real failure and a snob. There is more art, music and I refer to
symphonies in every town and village in America than any place in the
cockeyed world . . . You don’t know what you are talking about and that
goes for a lot of your type who shoot off the hip at these crummy interviews
. . . Bring your boy back. He is liable to end up with a pack of deviates
in Europe.”

The jinx, which Patricia Medina believed the show had, came to a climax
in Philadelphia when Thomas Mitchell became seriously ill and had to
leave the show. His understudy, Howard Wierum, who had been playing a
small part in the play, took over. But, according to Cotten, Wierum was
“able and professional, but the play seemed to lose its spine without
Tommy, and we abandoned all plans to take it into New York.” Which, in
Agnes’ case, was just as well, since according to her contract she was obligated to leave
Prescription Murder
if
Lord Pengo,
a co-starring vehicle with
Charles Boyer, opened that fall on Broadway as seemed increasingly likely.

Agnes’ friend Gavin Lambert
wrote her in July while she was on the
road with
Prescription Murder,
keeping
her up to date on the Hollywood
scene. “There’s not much going on
here, that’s for sure. The whole
atmosphere is a little spooky, with all
those huge stages at the huge studios
idle, just a few people furtively doing
a little TV on what remains of the
back lot.” The motion picture industry
was in a doldrums at this time,
particularly Twentieth Century-Fox,
which was hit by a double whammy
— Elizabeth Taylor, in the very costly
and way-behind-schedule shoot of
Cleopatra
in Rome, and Marilyn
Monroe’s problems on the set of what was to be her last (uncompleted
film),
Something’s Got to Give.
“No doubt you heard of poor Jerry Wald’s
sudden death,” Lambert continued. “When you think of all the dodos
doddering on, it seems a waste that one of the few people actually doing
things should have to go. I’m in the middle of a script for him and have no
idea whether Fox (what’s left of it) will take over all of his projects or not . . .
Otherwise I finished my new novel, which I think is good, and will be out
around the end of the year. It’s called
Inside Daisy Clover
.” This novel would
indeed be a big success and also be made into a motion picture
starring Natalie Wood and Robert Redford in 1966. “In the meanwhile,
there’s a depressing lack of anything going on here, even scandal. And I
miss you. Much love, Gavin.” Such a letter must have made Agnes happy.
She was steadily employed for the next several months — on the stage.