Memories of Joan Fontaine
The year, 1940. The place, the Embassy Theater, a movie house in Waltham,Massachusetts. Unlike the sterile, stark cubicles that serve as screening rooms today, the spacious Embassy was a fantasyland. It boasted a ceiling of twinkling stars against a midnight-blue sky, a huge screen draped in lush, red velvet; gilded, highly-ornamented walls; uniformed (and cute!) ushers; and a richly-carpeted, imposing lobby with a grand staircase curving upward to the balcony seats. In short, the Embassy was an enchanting oasis in a dreary former mill town that had morphed into a nondescript watch manufacturing city.
I was twelve years old, painfully shy, self-conscious, gawky, and near-sighted. In that pre-contact lenses era, I was condemned to wearing glasses and enduring the "Four Eyes!" taunts of mean-spirited classmates, which did not inspire confidence. But at the Embassy I forgot my insecurities as I got lost in the wonderful world of the silver screen. One day in 1940 a memorable movie mesmerized me —Rebecca, starring Joan Fontaine and Laurence Olivier. He was handsome, wealthy, aloof. She was awkward, timid, withdrawn. She was me! Except she was lovely. But she didn't think so. Hey! Could it be that maybe I, too, was pretty behind my glasses but just didn't realize it? I have never identified so strongly with a character in a movie. And when she implausibly won the heart of the brooding Maxim de Winter (Laurence Olivier), I was as ecstatic as if he were carrying me off to be his wife and the mistress of his mansion, Manderlay — which was even more magnificent than the Embassy Theater.
The only scenario that was even more incredible was that the woman on that screen would one day become my friend — we would correspond, chat on the phone, and even visit each other's homes. No way! Man would walk on the moon before that happened!
Well, of course, man did eventually walk on the moon; and, equally miraculously, the glamorous Joan Fontaine of Hollywood, California, did meet and befriend the shrinking violet from Waltham, Massachusetts. Both events occurred many years after that day in 1940 when Rebecca captured my soul and took up permanent residence there as my favorite movie of all time. Surprisingly, it was the least loved work of its beautiful star, even though it had won her an Oscar nomination.
I learned of Joan's aversion to Rebecca when I first met her in 1975 when I was Operations Manager of the Chateau de Ville, a chain of five theaters in New England, where I had the privilege of working with many of the idols of my youth — including the fabled Joan Fontaine, who had come to star in our production of Cactus Flower.
The Chateau's shows played each of our five theaters for a month, and my responsibilities included overseeing housing for the casts in each location — Spartan furnished apartments for supporting players and more luxurious digs for our stars. For the first leg of Joan's Cactus Flower tour with us, I had found a lovely apartment for her on Boston's Beacon Hill, overlooking the Charles River.
As soon as she was settled there, I was dispatched to pick her up and drive her to Connecticut, Cactus Flower's next venue, so she could inspect some housing choices I had lined up for her there. I hadn't yet met her and was both excited and extremely nervous. When she opened the door, I gushed, "It's such a pleasure to meet you, Miss Fontaine! I absolutely loved Rebecca!" I expected a "Thank you!" or at least a smile. Instead, my compliment was greeted with a frown and disconcerting silence. Huh? What was that about? I feared I was going to have to carry on a one-sided dialogue all the way to Connecticut and back. Fortunately, however, as we started down the highway, she began to relax, and conversation became very easy. She was witty, friendly and warm. Soon I felt comfortable enough to ask her who had been her favorite leading man.
"Charles Boyer," she responded immediately. "He was a true gentleman. Working with him was a joy."
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