LETTER from PARIS: A brief encounter with the Designing Woman

Published August 31, 2014
LAUREN Bacall and Gregory Peck in a scene from the 1957 movie Designing Woman.
LAUREN Bacall and Gregory Peck in a scene from the 1957 movie Designing Woman.

NEWSPAPER column writers who go for the first person singular usually fall into a deadly trap. Instead of passing on interesting facts in an interesting way, they end up talking a lot about themselves and, unintentionally perhaps, boring the reader to death. It is precisely out of this fear that I am, as a rule, noticeably absent from my articles. But this time, given the unusual theme, I am requesting your special permission to be around just a bit. Will I also end up being boring? It’s up to you to decide.

I remember it was 1976 and the month was July, though the exact date escapes my memory. I happened to be in London for three days on a short-term assignment for the BBC, thanks to my late friend Athar Ali.

1976 happened to be the year when Agatha Christie’s murder mystery The Mousetrap was approaching its 10,000th performance in a West End playhouse. It was by far the longest running show in the history of theatre anywhere in the world. I went to St. Martin’s to see it but was told at the box office that the hall was fully booked for the whole week. “However, there is a special performance tomorrow afternoon and a few seats are available,” the lady at the window informed me. I didn’t hesitate and bought a ticket.

Next day was a beautiful weather in London. Birds chirped in the trees, there was not a shred of cloud in the sky and the sun was bright. A lovely breeze blew softly as I took a long walk to the West End. I was told at the theatre the show would begin somewhat late because of a technical problem.

The management was kind enough to offer all of us a drink of our choice and a small crowd stepped into the sunshine to reach the cafe in front. As I was crossing the street I casually looked at the lady walking next to me and literally froze!

“Are … are you Lauren Bacall?” I managed to stammer, at the same time mechanically extending my right arm. By the time I realised the foolishness of my gesture it was too late. “Yes I am,” she said, warmly shaking my hand. “Pleased to meet you, but you didn’t tell me who you are.”

We had already reached our destination. We took a table and ordered our drinks. A number of people had obviously recognised Lauren Bacall, as the smiles on their faces evidenced but we were in the West End and this was not the Twitter-Facebook era of today.

I introduced myself and told her how much I admired her. “But not because of The Big Sleep,” I insisted, my courage coming back following the first sip. “Your film that I loved most was Designing Woman. I think you were wonderful in it. You were both wonderful, yourself and Gregory Peck.”

“Why didn’t you like The Big Sleep?” she asked. “I loved you in The Big Sleep, Key Largo, Written on the Wind, How to Marry a Millionaire and all your other films. But I found The Big Sleep a bit foggy, storyline wise. One understands the plot better when one reads Raymond Chandler’s book.”

“I know what you mean. Many people told me the same thing. But the film nevertheless turned into a myth, initially owing to Bogey’s presence,”she said. “…and because of yours!” I added hastily.

Following a moment of silence I looked up at the sky and said, “It feels bizarre watching a stage show on such a magnificent afternoon. I am doing it because I am leaving London tomorrow and there was no choice.”

“Strange coincidence!” she answered, “I have come for the same reason. I am leaving this evening.”

“Back to Hollywood?”

“Hollywood? No, I don’t live in Hollywood. I never liked Hollywood. I was born in New York and that’s where I live.”

Our conversation was cut short by the announcement that the show was about to start. We said goodbye and wished bon voyage to each other and went to our seats. The suspense of the play and its unexpected ending were so gripping that I was unable to think of anything else as I came out of the hall after the curtain dropped.

The Mousetrap continued playing to packed houses year after year after year. It was staged for the 25,000th time in November 2012 and is still running today, six decades following the maiden performance in 1952. The actor who had then played the detective, by the way, was Sir Richard Attenborough who died last week.

It was not until 1993 that I thought of my chance meeting with Lauren Bacall in London after seeing a film on TV called The Portrait. She was teamed in it with, guess who? Gregory Peck! He now with snow-white hair and beard, but she practically unchanged in her late sixties. It was a brilliantly funny movie, as funny as Designing Woman almost forty years earlier.

My brain once more slipped the West End episode into a file and placed it on some rear shelf for possible future use. Now, three weeks ago, I heard of Lauren Bacall’s death in New York on August 12, and memories came flooding back, this time with sadness, of my brief encounter with the Designing Woman.

— The writer is a journalist based in Paris.

(ZafMasud@gmail.com)

Published in Dawn, August 31th, 2014

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