Joan and the casting couch

With delicious frankness and dollops of humour JOAN COLLINS recalls her own years hiding in wardrobes, dodging naked producers and heeding Marilyn’s warning that all studio bosses were ‘wolves’

SHORTLY after arriving in Hollywood aged 21, under contract to 20th Century Fox, I attended a party at Gene Kelly’s house.

The star of An American In Paris and Singin’ In The Rain hosted a weekly gathering for an eclectic group of movie industry power -brokers, A-list actors and actresses, intellectu-als and his friends. It was where I first met Marilyn Monroe.

At first I didn ’t recognise the blonde sitting alone at the bar until she turned to me and said rather ruefully: ‘They wanted me for the lead in Red Velvet Swing, but I’m too old.’

The part of Evelyn Nesbit in The Girl In The Red Velvet Swing was one of my first lead roles in Hollywood, but I knew it had originally been intended for Monroe.

Suddenly, it dawned on me that the woman in front of me was the legendary figure herself.

We started chatting and after a couple of martinis, Marilyn poured out a cautionary tale of sexual harassment she and other actresses endured from ‘the wolves in this town’.

I replied that I was well used to ‘wolves’ after a few years in the British film industry.

As a 17-year -old straight out of RAD A and playing my first leading role, I’d experienced a torrent of sexual harassment and the kind of behaviour that today is classed as abuse.

When I confided in an older actress on set at Ealing Studios, she told me to ‘like it or get out of the business’.

‘That’s the way it is. I know they didn’t teach you about it at drama school but you ’ll just have to put up with it, I’m afraid . . .’

I decided it definitely wasn ’t something I’d put up with. I told Marilyn I was well prepared to deal with men patting my bottom, leering down my cleavage and whatever else.

She shook her head. ‘There’s nothing like the power of the studio bosses here, honey. If they don’t get what they want, they’ll drop you. It’s happened to lots of gals. ’Specially watch out for Zanuck. If he doesn ’t get what he wants, honey, he’ll drop your contract.’

It was a timely warning , because days later , Darryl Zanuck, vice-president of production at 20th Century Fox, pounced.

Breathing cigar fumes over me, he hissed: ‘You haven’t had anyone until you ’ve had me, baby. I’m the biggest and the best and I can go all night.’ I was so shocked I couldn’t speak, so I just wriggled free of his groping hands and ran back to the set.

LATER,

I was glad that I’d said nothing. I heard that a starlet he’d tried to seduce had recently been fired because when he began his spiel with: ‘Baby , I’m the biggest in the business . . .’ etc, she’d fired back saying: ‘You better be, honey, ’cause you’re only five foot-two!’

And I can confirm that it wasn ’t just the stuff of legend that he had a golden replica of his manhood on his desk as a paperweight. I saw it — ugh!

Now the events of the past week — the meteoric descent of Harvey W einstein from the pinnacle of power in Tinseltown to his humiliating exile into rehab for his so-called ‘ sex addiction ’ — has brought back these memories.

Then, as now , a conspiracy of silence hung over the casting couch, and the bullying and sexual assaults young actresses were routinely subjected to. Speak out and your career was often over before it had begun.

My first encounter with the cast-ing couch was in the early Fifties.

I had been signed by the Rank Organisation and was testing for a juvenile lead role in a film called I Believe In You.

I dodged one producer’s advances by hiding in a wardrobe in the costume department, helped by sympathetic dressers, and waiting until he left the studio before taking the bus and T ube home. But after my third test he trapped me and persuaded me to get a lift home in his flashy car.

On the way, he grabbed my hand and put it on his open fly .I screamed in horror and yanked my hand away. I’d never seen a naked man before, let alone touched one.

‘What’s the matter? Don ’t you want the part?’ he leered.

‘Not this much,’ I said, then burst into tears as I realised I’d ruined my chances. Luckily, he was over -ruled by the director , so I got the role despite the threats.

However, he continued to pursue me, and when It old him I wasn’ t interested and was still a virgin, he called me a ‘frigid little b****’.

And when I went to the U.S. I discovered that it was just as Marilyn had warned me.

Hollywood studio bosses consid -ered it their due to b*** all the good-looking women who came their way and were notorious for it. Harry Cohn at Columbia Pictures, for example, had no qualms about firing any starlet who rejected him. He was totally amoral.

When his leading contractee, Kim Novak, had an affair with Sammy Davis Jr. — who had recently lost an eye in a car crash — Cohn threatened to have ‘the other eye taken out’ if he didn ’t stop seeing her. Cohn was so powerful that Sammy did stop and hurriedly married someone else.

At Warner Brothers, the president of the studios, Jack Warner, fancied himself an attractive bon vivant. A snappy dresser and massive flirt, he threw glittering parties where one night he propositioned me, openly bragging about his conquests, which seemed to include every actress on the Warner lot and many from MGM, too. He was amazed when I didn’t submit.

When I was in New Y ork, my agent secured me an interview with a famous producer for a role I really wanted.

I dutifully went to his office at 6pm, and as I arrived, his secretary