When in Disgrace

WHEN IN DISGRACE

by

Budd Boetticher

NEVILLE SANTA BARBARA CALIFORNIA 1989

Copyright ~ 1989 by Budd Boetticher Preface copyright © 1989 by Robert Stack Introduction copyright © 1989 by Barnaby Conrad Foreword copyright © 1989 by Bill Krohn Copyright © 1989 by Neville Publishing Inc. Filmography copyright © by Chris Wicking. Title page illustration by Barnaby Conrad. Arruza Memorial drawing by John Fulton. Photos of Arrul~ provided by Lynn Sherwood. Other photos appear courtesy private collection of Budd Boetticher. Photos of Lucien Ballard provided by Chris Ballard~ Special thanks to Nick Beck, Shaun Doole, Charles Hansen and Robert Dagg for their assistance

NEVILLE PUBLISHING, INC. PO Box 5056 Santa Barbara, California 93150 First trade edition limited to 1000 copies 300 deluxe copies signed by the author also available

PREFACE Robert Stack Budd Boetticher is an Academy Award-nominated screenwriter, gifted director, ex-boxer, bullfighter, superb horseman and raconteur. He is also a Don Quixote who has battled the windmills and windbags of Hollywood to do it his way. He spins his autobiography from the high dranla of Mexican bullrings to the sound stages of Hollywood with ironic humor and a screenwriter's skill. As my director in Bullfighter and the Lady, he took me on some of the wildest adventures of my life. He'll do the same for the reader-

INTRODUCTION Barnaby Conrad Everyone in the world-at least everyone in the cinelnatic, equine and taurine world-seenls to know Budd Boetticher and has a story about hinl. "Do I know Budd?" a faInous writer said the other day. "Hell, I knew hill1 way back when he spelled his naIl1e with one 'd!' He's a guy that attracts incidents like dandruff to blue serge. He has always had an unequaled zest for living. At the risk of sounding like a beer cOlnIl1ercial, I'll state that where there's Budd, there's life." And Iny neighbor, Robert Mitchulll, lllused not long ago: "Life around Budd was always exciting. I rClnelnber once, about twenty years back, he and I are walking down this T'ijuana street and along COllle three of the toughest tequilaed-up yokels you ever saw. Budd happened to be in a feisty lllood and out of the blue says, 'You take the one in the Iniddle and I'll take care of the other two.' I cleared out, slunk away, melted into the background and left hiIll to work it out with all three. I felt sorry for theIn. \\That a character!" Everyone seelns to end up any anecdote about Budd sll1iling "lnd with the phrase, "\\That a character!" And, of course, he is-one of the genuine ones, one of the legendary ones and, alas, one of the last of an endangered species. But the word "character" suggests a less-than-serious person, and Budd, underneath his jaunty, anecdotal, always slniling countenance, is a serious person. He is serious about the 37 feature filnls he has Inadc and the art of filnll11aking to which he has devoted his life. He is serious about bullfighting, and was long before 1110st of the AI11erican public became aware of it. He is serious about his horses and the njoneo he practices so well and so assiduously and so joyfully every day. He is serious about his beautiful wife Mary who shares his love of fine horseflesh and the training of their schooled 1~ejol1eo horses. He is serious about his friendships and fiercely loyal to thenl. He is serious about the mernory of his friend Carlos Arruza and the lllan's enonnous talent. Has anyone else devoted altnost a decade to Inaking a cinelnatic tribute to another hUlnan? Why did he do it? Why did he Ulrn his back on I-Iollywood plus a lucrative European offer to go through the nightIllarish ordeal of Inaking Arrllztl? A student in Mexico once put that question to hilll.

Vll

"I--Ie asked Ine how I could leave everything in the world to film the story of one 1l1an. I had never thought of the answer before. At first I thought it was a 1110ral issue. Then I thought it was a financial thing. Then I thought nlaybe I was fighting I-Iollywood, and doing what I wanted to do artistically with a little-well, in Spanish, the word is categoria-I guess you'd say integrity. And then, in one second, it caine to ll1e. I said to hiln, 'Wouldn't it have been a wonderful thing if the director of The Agony lind the Ecstasy had had Michelangelo instead of Charlton I leston? '" Now he has written the story of that unique experience. It's a remarkable saga, a nlind-boggling picaresque tale. In outline it goes something like this: In 1960 Budd Boetticher, product of a well-to-do Midwest fanlily, amateur bullfighter, highly successful director of fillns starring such popular actors as Randolph Scott, Jan1es Coburn, Richard Boone, Lee Marvin, Joseph Cotten, Rock Hudson, Anthony Quinn, Glenn Ford, et alios-went to Mexico to film a documentary. It was to be about his great friend, Inatador Carlos Arruza, probably Latin AInerica and Spain's greatest hero. Seven years later he returned to Hollywood with the cOlnpleted footage. During that tilne he went through a divorce, a passionate love affair with a top Mexican star, near starvation, a jail sentence, a Kafkaesque stint in :.In insane asylum, an ahnost fatal lung ailnlent, the near-loss of his project, chicanery and treachery at every turn, the death of Inost of his technical crew, and finally, devastatingly, the sudden death of the star and subject, Arruza himself. A lesser 111an would have given up 111any times along the way. But eight 1l10nths after Arruza's death Budd was filtning shots of the star's widow reacting to the 111atador in scenes of hin1 I1lade six years before! The alnazing thing is how Budd caIne through the ordeal seelningly unscathed and with his natural ebullience intact. He has always had a protective sense of hUl11or, can always laugh at hilnself, and it has stood him in good stead. (I-Ie likes to tell the story, for eX31nple, of the hurtful critique of his first filtll: "'rhis filIn wasn't released," snarled the reviewer. "It escaped!") l~his book tells far 1l10re than a recitation of the difficulties of Inaking a film; it is the story of a rnan's will to overCOllle insurnl0untable obstacles to reach a goal with not just one 1l101l1ent of truth but a dozen. I t also gives us glinlpses of an Arruza that aficionados nlight never know about-that wild, taut, unpredictable, charnling contradiction, Mexico's greatest Inatador and Manolete's only rival. I was lucky enough to be in Spain during the two glory years of the Manolete-Arruza historic competition, 1944-1945, and I was frequently asked who I thought was the better matador. I would weasel thusly: "If they were appearing in different plazas on the same day in the saine town, I would declare IVlanolete the greatest in the world-as I hurried off to watch Arruza." I've been seeing bullfights since I was 13 and never have I seen a nlore versatile,

VIIl

consistent and cOl1lplete lllatador. I knew Carlos in Spain, drove with hin1 to his fights around the country (l08 corridas in 1945!) and, as an arnateur tm-ero, appeared on the Sal11e prognll11 with hirll in two festivals. Ten years later I worked with hiln on his autobiography, saw hiITI in San Francisco and Mexico ITIany tilnes, dined with hin1 two weeks before his death, and phoned hinl the very 1110rning of the day he was killed. Budd knew hinl before Carlos beC31TIe a superstar, worked with hilll, fought bulls with hinl, and knew hinl far better than lover those years of 11laking Bullfighter and tbe Lady, The MO .rJ;71ijiCCllt Alatfldor, and Al'Tllza. In the pages of this book Budd has captured that Inercurial Ina11-.15 well, that is, as one is able to capture quicksilver through cupped fingers-and, in addition, Budd has given us a picture of a sealny Mexico that the tourists at Sanborn's will-menos 'Inal-never see. He's also given us a portrait of a l11an in tlln110il and crisis-himself. I first nlet Budd in "'ashington, D.C. I was just returning frol11 Spain, separating froIl1 the State Departtnent's Foreign Service, on Iny way to Peru following Manolete and Arruza; and Budd, Alnerica's nurnber one aficionado, was being 1l1UStered out of the Navy, and about to reSUlne his highly successful fillll career. We've been friends and kept up with each other ever since, yet I had no real idea of what went on during those seven tllll1ultuous years in Mexico; I just heard, as 1113ny of us did, rUlllors of "Budd's having a few problelns in Mexico with the Arruza picture." That bit of understatelllcnt ranks with: "Listen, ()edipus, so okay, you 111urdered your father and slept with your 1l1other, but don't go getting a cOITIplex about it." Aficionados of bullfighting, or fiiIns, or just those who love adventure will be grateful that Budd interrupted his daily riding ritual, has cantered out of his dangerous rejolleo arena, and disll10unted long enough to record this unique and valuable saga. And thanks to Maurice Neville for seeing it to this special edition.

Ole, dos O1-ejnJ J' rnbo, dinnns, vueltlls-y brrllcillJ!

IX

FOREWORD

Bill Krohn For Budd Boetticher, Holly,vood filnl11laking has been just one episode in a life of adventure. "'ben he \vas 18, toughened by his exploits as m had the

12

,V 11 F \:

I~

DIS C R :\ C F

American-nlacho habit of "kiss and telling," but that was about his only tlaw, so I always figured I could live with that. Ruth was right. 'rhe visit to The Palace of Fine Arts was a \\'onderful experience. We spent four of the late afternoon's hours there, enjoying every lninute of our personally guided tour. I was cOll1pletely enchanted by the Inagniflcent paintings and sculpture, rfOll1 equally enchanted by the bevy of great-looking young lady tourists. He lnade four dates for the following week during the tlrst hourand-a-half. Senor \!;l11ina, our str~lngely obsequious host, inf()rtncd liS th~lt El Palacio de Bellas Artes \vas slo\vly sinking into the volcanic ash ::lnd lava over which it \\',lS constructed. And, facing it, we had noticed that the Inagnificent structure was listing a bit to port, but TOln explained to our curator friend that so was the Leaning Ibwer of Pisa, and people 'were still flocking to see it. I kicked at his shin, but he had already turned to wave 'good-bye' to next-YVednesday's date. ()n the Wel}' out, I bought two books, "Art of the Mayans" (lnd "Pre-C:olulllbian Art." 'li)]n \vas genuinely ilnpressed with the latter, enthusing th,lt: ""All those ch.lractcrs ever thought of was screwing." Senor \Tallina was inclined to agree, but he In~lnaged to change the subject. "You two young gentielnen are very fornlnare to have .1 friend like Senora 1)'Laurage. She has been ,1 great contrihutor to Bellas Artes-fin~ln­ cially and artistically. Perhaps, aside frol11 the wife of our esteenlcd 'Presidcntc,' she is the lllost fanl0us lady in all of Mexico." Youthfully, I figured IllY ne\\.' friend Ruth really "got around." At 9 p.l1l. sharp RaIllon strode into the lobby of the Ilotd Regis ilnd spotted us waiting by the fountain. "Listos?" he inquired, .1110 'l()ln, who had l11;l1hroo In to open it. "What do you Inean-' last week? '" I quickly gulped half the bottle as I crossed the rO()lll to Illy c+uir. H( )ne d~l~',

151

C HAP 'I' F R S I X

Joseph, 1'111 going to write a book entitled 'The Anatolny of a Business Manager.'" I caught Paul Golden's smile. "You've lost Ine," Joe said. Eddie looked, unusually blank. I took another unhealthy swallow. "Looks to nle like I've lost everybody except Paul. I think he knows what PIn tallcing about." "Well," Joe said, "I'm willing to learn." I finished off the Corona and opened a second bottle. "Joe, that two-hundred thousand you've got is Jeff's lnoney, isn't it?" "He says it is." "Well, as usual his timing is bad." "1'111 still listening." "J oe, listen real good. Jeff let us beat our brains out for weeks and now he sends the money-six days too late." "Too late!" I nodded. "There's a strike on down here, or didn't the boss tell you? If we had started A177lZIl officially before the strike, we would have been pennitted to finish it. Now, Jeff figures we'll use the 'all-American dollar' to break the strike and be heroes, but he's wrong. Not through me, Buster." "But it will be a Hollywood company ... !" "Joe, 'Hollywood cOlnpanies' have becolne two dirty words in Mexico. I'm here to help clear up that situation-not to make it worse." "But ... " "There are no 'buts,' Joe. rIll going to sweat it out like the Mexicans, not try to buy Iny way through a tough period like the usual 'gringo.' Hell, I've been soapboxing about things like integrity and self-respect. 1'In the one guy who can't

yell' king's x, '" "M r. M artln . sal'd to ... " "What did Mr. Martin say, Eddie?" Eddie flushed. "Well, I'm only reporting what Jeff said. He said to take the check and use it-or conle honle." I reached across to Joe and held out Iny hand. He gave me the check. I studied it again to be certain it was for real, then moved to the bar and opened a third beer. "Eddie," I said slowly between gulps, "tell Jeff thanks, but tell him to use it for sOlnething else Of, better still, hang onto it until the strike is over." I handed the check to Eddie, then, beer in hand, walked out of the rOOlll. As I waited for the elevator, I heard Joe's voice. "\Vhat did I tell you?" "Well," Paul laughed, "he's restored Iny faith in srubborn bastards." "He's worse when he's sober." "I think we're in real trouble," said Eddie Fare.

**********

152

\VIIFi\'

Ii'

DISC;R.\CF

I was listing Inore than slightly as I entered dle Banlcr, and Jerry was illuncdiatcly by my side. "Are you all right, sir?" "I'd be a damned liar if I said I was, Jerry, but I'll Illakc it." I stepped into the elevator. As I reached for the doorknob to our suite, Debra's luggage suddenly CllllC into view. The five bags were placed together just outside the door. I picked one up. The weight assured Ine that it was packed. The hall door was pilrtially open, so I pushed Iny way into the roonl. Debra was sitting in the hig chair by the window. She wore a red print silk dress, a hat and white gloves. "Did the boys have sonlething worthwhile to offer?" "A couple of beers." I sat on the bed. "Going sonleplace, honey?" "1 thought if you saw Ine really packed, you lllight get S0l11e sense into your head and cut it out." "Debra, I've got to level with you. There's a ITIotion picture strike on down here." Her voice was caltn. "1 know that," she said Inatter-of-factly. "Well, you've got to go hOIne." She stood. "There's only one thing that could Inake Inc leave." I studied Iny wife for a long beat. Maybe it would have been different if I'd been sober. Perhaps I would have thought differently. I'll never know. I reached for the phone. "Rooln service. Hello, this is 507. Please send up lVt'O douhlevodka martinis." Tiny as she was, she spun l11e around. There were tears bursting frO]l1 her eyes. "How can you say that you love Ine and act like this? How can you sadistically tear me to pieces? Doesn't our lnarriage l11ean anything? I've changed t()r yOll. Can't you give a little for Ine?" I weaved into the bathroolTI and stuck Iny head under the cold water. She was right behind Ine. "Why do that after you've already ordered Inartinis?" "Why do anything?" "But you're not a quitter! 1 fell in love with you and Inarried you because you were such a man. Now look at yourself!" She swung Ine around to face the Inirror. "You've turned into a drunken, sodden bUill!" There was a knock on the door. I staggered out to open it, signed the check and carried the two double lllartinis back into the bathroolll. I handed a glass to Debra. "Salud," I said, and drained Illy glass in one giant gulp. l~he iciness of her drink hit Illy face. I wiped the sting out of ll1y eyes and heard the hall door slanl. I turned around and vomited into the wash basin. I retched for what seeITIed an eternity, then realized that the phone had heen ringing for some tinle. I swayed across the bedrooln, rnissed the telephone by two

153

CHAPTER

SIX

feet and picked it up on the second try. "Bueno ... Oh, hello, Jerry. Yes, I knuw she is. No, she's ... she's going home. Santa Anita's gonna open, an' InaI1Una's gonna put her Ii'l filly back on the racetrack. Of course, I love her, Jerry. \Vhy in the hell do you think ... ?" I dropped the phone back onto the hook. "Jesus," I mumbled, "nobody in the world is ever going to understand what I just did, and here I am trying to explain it to a bellboy."

154

CI-IAPTER

SE\TEN

"S

IR-SIR~"

I didn't open Iny eyes, but slowly struggled awake. l\ly thoughts w~re Inuddled and sluggish and I sensed that I had been very drunk-tor how long I didn't knuw. Raising up on Illy pillow I turned toward the light cOllling frolll the lanlp on the bed table. I guessed that it was night. 'rhe rOO]l1 W;lS spinning when I was able, painfully, to open Iny eyes. Before Inc by the lalnp was an elnpty vodka bottle and two, 1l10Stly elnpty, quarts of orange juice. UI~lijo~" I suffered aloud and reached over to assure 111yself that the vodka bottle was eJnpty. It W~lS. "Excuse Ine, sir." I focused Iny attention in the general direction of the voice. Pepe stepped into the circle of light. In the background I could distinguish shadowy figures. "Oh hello, Pepe." l-Ie s111iled uncolnfortably. "Sir, there are S0l11C gentlclllcn here to see you." ~'Well, let thenl see Ine. Turn on the light. Easy." Instead, SOllleone in the back of the hedroolll pulled open thc drawn drapes, and sunlight tlooded the rOOlll. Standing at the foot of the bed were J\lanolo Montes, the BaIner's assistant Inanager, four broken-nosed thugs in white Hintern" jackets, and another stranger in a gray business suit. I lookcd thCl11 ovcr as hest I could, then turned to Iny chauffeur. "Pepe, what tiIllC did lHy wife le~l\'e?" "At eleven-thirty, sir." "Today?" "V J.esterd ay." "What tinle is it now?" "N"Ine-seventeen, " P epe answere d , ".III t h C rllornlng. ." Now, at least 1 had Illy days in order. "Well, Pepe, what do these gentlelnen wish to see Inc about?"

155

CHAPTER

SEVE:\"

Manalo Montes moved closer to the bed. "These ... gentlelllen would like to take you to a sanitariulll ... for a rest." "To a sanitarium! Is this the hotel's idea, Manolo?" "Of course not!" Manalo sounded shocked at my question. "I am here to protect you. If you refuse, these ... these people intend to take you by force." I sat straight up in bed. Fortunately I was naked and looked in a lot better shape than I was. The room was whirling, I was truly on the spot, and I had to bluff. "Well, I'll be God dalnned, Manalo! If it isn't your idea, whose the hell is it?" Eddie Fare appeared from behind the latticework separating the bedroom from the suite's office section. "Jeff thought it might be a good idea ... with your wife gone ... and the strike ... and all your problems. After all, you've had two whole bottles of vodka." "\Vhere's Joe? \\!hat does he think about all this?" "He-he left yesterday afternoon. Jeff needed him in Hollywood." "I'll bet he did." I forced a smile. Joe didn't want any part of a mess like this. "So what are your plans, dear boy?" "Well," Eddie stammered, "Jeff just suggested that ... " "Oh, he just suggested, eh? And you're following through on your own? Eddie, where did you find these punks, 'Stillman's Gym?'" "No," Eddie hedged, "they're just the doctor's helpers." "Doctor! Edward, this time you've really got yourself into trouble. Jeff didn't caIne down here because he knew I'd belt him. Now you're 'it,' and I'll have to hit you with my purse." I turned to the "doctor." "I'm not going to ask you to show your credentials because I wouldn't believe them any more than I believe your 'interns.' You can save yourself a lot of lumps if you speak English." The "doctor" was suddenly extremely uncomfortable, and I watched his rnedical degree evaporate in the vodka-tinted atmosphere of the bedroom. "I speak English, sir," he said, uncertainly. I cast a hard "Bogart" glare around the room and turned back to the "doctor." "Now you listen to me very carefully, Buster. Then pass the word on to your boys. You see, doctor, I stage these kind of scenes. I'm going to clobber your first 'helper' with that," I said, nodding toward the telephone. "Then I'ln going to work over nUJnber two with this lalnp. Your third 'intern' is going to get kicked right in the balls, and that'll leave only that grinning baboon with the puffed ear." As I1luch as I was suffering I almost became lost in my own theatrics. "Well, doctor, 1'111 going to throw that sonofabitch into Alameda Park." I turned to the assistant Illanager. "You're not going to like the looks of this suite, Manolo." ~~l'hese people aren't going to bother you, sir," he said. "If you don't want to le~lve, the entire hotel staff will protect you."

156

\V II F ;'\

1;\

0 I S G R A c: F

I knew that I was suddenly way out front, and the halH in Inc continued to boil. "No," I said threateningly, "as a Inatter of fact, Nlanoio, 1'111 wide awake now, and I think I'd enjoy it." I turned to the l11an in gray. "Tell 'eln, 'Doctor!'" "Que paso?" asked puff-ear. "Nada," said the doctor. "Valnonos!" The "nledical staff' disappeared in the selllidarkness of the halhvay, and Pepe, Eddie Fare, Manolo and I were left alone. I rurned to Eddie. "E;Jdie, let's don't have any nlore of that kind of horseshit." Eddie turned white. "All I was doing was following orders." "So was Eichlnann! Just once Inore, Eddie. rrhat's a \.... arning." "Well, will you go with us to Cuernavaca and get SOll1C rest?" "Of course. I can use it." "We'll stay at Las Mananitas." "We're staying at the Marik Plaza. That's Illy hOlne down there." Eddie was greatly relieved. "We can leave in an hour," he said. "We'll leave when 1'111 dalnn good and ready. Don't count on it 'til around five o'clock." "Wh atever you say. " "Eddie, nlel110rize that line. Fronl now on it's 'whatever you say. '" I closed my eyes, feeling that Iny final cOIllllland should take care of things, then: "Sir?" It was Pepe. Everyone else had hurriedly disappeared except Iny little Pepe. "Everything's going to be all right, sir," he said. "Don't you worry." "And don't you worry, Pepe. You're dall1n right everything's going to he all right!" He sIniled, and quietly closed the door behind hill1. My little Pepe! Little, hell! I guess he was one of the "biggest" friends I ever had. It's funny how we never actually see our lnai