said.
According
to everybody who saw the audition film, Audrey won the role of Princess Anne in
that brief moment, exuding charm and playfulness and a regal regard for
propriety.
The
test was flown to
California
and shown to
Paramount
executives, who, down
to a one, fell in love with the impish Audrey.
“Exercise
the option on this young lady,” they wrote to their
London
representative. “The test is
certainly one of the best ever made in
Hollywood
,
New York
, or
London
. Hearty congratulations on behalf of
Paramount
.” It was
signed by Barnett Balaban, Frank Y. Freeman, and Don Hartman, the studio’s
president, vice president, and production chief, respectively.
In
that one short missive, Audrey was welcomed into the big time.
Designer
Edith Head was dispatched at once to meet her and begin preliminary discussions
about what a movie princess would wear. It was a smart move. Audrey salivated
at the prospect of discussing clothing with anyone, let alone the preeminent
Hollywood
costumer.
She
and Head quickly discovered they had similar tastes: simple lines, little
ornamentation, superb materials. Audrey candidly discussed what she perceived
as her physical shortcomings, and Head made copious notes about “scrawny
arms, no breasts, and a neck that stretched on forever.” But that was
Audrey’s assessment, not Head’s.
The
designer delighted in the possibility that she might be conceiving a wardrobe
for this lithe creature, and immediately decided to incorporate Audrey’s own
schoolgirlish look—rounded collars and tailored suits—for the commoner side
of Princess Anne. When Head showed her several sketches and samples of rich
brocade to help clothe the character’s regal persona, Audrey lamented her lack
of curves.
“You
should wear falsies,” Head told her.
“What
are they?” Audrey asked.
But
she was not actually the shy little innocent in which the studio delighted.
Executives at
Paramount
had hoped to turn Audrey into an indentured servant for seven years, the length
of the contract they wanted her to sign. The feeling was that there always
would be a role for Audrey in any movie, even if not a lead. With her splendid
emaciation, she could play young or old, high fashion or virginal waif.
“She
knew exactly how to highlight her good points,” Head said. “What’s
funny is that her best look was as a sophisticated naif. What I liked best
about her is that she calculated all her business decisions, but made it look
as if she didn’t have a clue.”
Audrey
steadfastly refused to sign the
Paramount
contract. Despite the fact that the studio tried to call her bluff and
pretended it was going to give the role of Princess Anne to someone else,
Audrey would not back down.
“I
have Mother to thank for that maneuver,” she said.
“Once
I started to become popular, Mother continuously tried to impress upon me that
the ball was in my court, that I could call the shots. And since I really
didn’t care too much about whether I got the film or not, it did me no harm to
follow her advice. After I listened to her for a while, I saw that she was
right. The less accessible I was, the more people wanted me. I was never
intentionally difficult, but I did decide up front what I required and I stuck
by my guns.
I
remember when [
Gigi
producer] Gilbert
Miller asked me to change my last name so that I wouldn’t be confused with
Katharine Hepburn. My name! I had no trouble getting rid of Edda, but Hepburn
was my blood. I had to say no. In the end, I was respected for knowing what I
wanted and not wavering.“
Her
personal life was another story. The more that agents and directors and
producers sought her out, the more James Hanson became insecure about his
status as her beau. He even went so far as to announce their wedding plans in
the
London Sunday Times
without
Audrey’s permission.
He
must have intuited that he was losing her. He began doing everything in his
power to change the course of events.
According
to everybody who saw the audition film, Audrey won the role of Princess Anne in
that brief moment, exuding charm and playfulness and a regal regard for
propriety.
The
test was flown to
California
and shown to
Paramount
executives, who, down
to a one, fell in love with the impish Audrey.
“Exercise
the option on this young lady,” they wrote to their
London
representative. “The test is
certainly one of the best ever made in
Hollywood
,
New York
, or
London
. Hearty congratulations on behalf of
Paramount
.” It was
signed by Barnett Balaban, Frank Y. Freeman, and Don Hartman, the studio’s
president, vice president, and production chief, respectively.
In
that one short missive, Audrey was welcomed into the big time.
Designer
Edith Head was dispatched at once to meet her and begin preliminary discussions
about what a movie princess would wear. It was a smart move. Audrey salivated
at the prospect of discussing clothing with anyone, let alone the preeminent
Hollywood
costumer.
She
and Head quickly discovered they had similar tastes: simple lines, little
ornamentation, superb materials. Audrey candidly discussed what she perceived
as her physical shortcomings, and Head made copious notes about “scrawny
arms, no breasts, and a neck that stretched on forever.” But that was
Audrey’s assessment, not Head’s.
The
designer delighted in the possibility that she might be conceiving a wardrobe
for this lithe creature, and immediately decided to incorporate Audrey’s own
schoolgirlish look—rounded collars and tailored suits—for the commoner side
of Princess Anne. When Head showed her several sketches and samples of rich
brocade to help clothe the character’s regal persona, Audrey lamented her lack
of curves.
“You
should wear falsies,” Head told her.
“What
are they?” Audrey asked.
But
she was not actually the shy little innocent in which the studio delighted.
Executives at
Paramount
had hoped to turn Audrey into an indentured servant for seven years, the length
of the contract they wanted her to sign. The feeling was that there always
would be a role for Audrey in any movie, even if not a lead. With her splendid
emaciation, she could play young or old, high fashion or virginal waif.
“She
knew exactly how to highlight her good points,” Head said. “What’s
funny is that her best look was as a sophisticated naif. What I liked best
about her is that she calculated all her business decisions, but made it look
as if she didn’t have a clue.”
Audrey
steadfastly refused to sign the
Paramount
contract. Despite the fact that the studio tried to call her bluff and
pretended it was going to give the role of Princess Anne to someone else,
Audrey would not back down.
“I
have Mother to thank for that maneuver,” she said.
“Once
I started to become popular, Mother continuously tried to impress upon me that
the ball was in my court, that I could call the shots. And since I really
didn’t care too much about whether I got the film or not, it did me no harm to
follow her advice. After I listened to her for a while, I saw that she was
right. The less accessible I was, the more people wanted me. I was never
intentionally difficult, but I did decide up front what I required and I stuck
by my guns.
I
remember when [
Gigi
producer] Gilbert
Miller asked me to change my last name so that I wouldn’t be confused with
Katharine Hepburn. My name! I had no trouble getting rid of Edda, but Hepburn
was my blood. I had to say no. In the end, I was respected for knowing what I
wanted and not wavering.“
Her
personal life was another story. The more that agents and directors and
producers sought her out, the more James Hanson became insecure about his
status as her beau. He even went so far as to announce their wedding plans in
the
London Sunday Times
without
Audrey’s permission.
He
must have intuited that he was losing her. He began doing everything in his
power to change the course of events.
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