Sandra de Bruin is an
established actress who has appeared in more than 100 television series (ER, Barnaby
Jones, The Rockford Files, Three’s Company, The Tonight Show with Johnny
Carson, to name but a few), TV films (Law and Order, Return to
Earth) and feature films (The Andromeda Strain, Gray Lady Down).
She has done numerous commercials, worked in voice-over and looping, danced at
the Los Angeles Music Center and is the creator of the bestselling Actor's
Audition Log. Sandra will periodically be sharing her stories of
working with Hollywood legends, which will appear in a forthcoming memoir about
her on-and off-screen adventures.
BY SANDRA DE BRUIN WITH DEAN BRIERLY
Throughout my wonderfully
unpredictable career I’ve enjoyed a number of repeat chance meetings with
various Hollywood luminaries, perhaps none so memorable as my close encounters
of the Cliff Robertson kind.
Each
film generation boasts a handful of actor’s actors, leading men and women whose
work is exceptional yet unaffected in ways that only fellow performers might
recognize. To me, Cliff Robertson was such a paradigm during a sparkling career
that spanned five-plus decades.
Although
he had done acclaimed work in film and television earlier in his career and had
a strong stage background, I first became aware of him after seeing the 1963
WWII film P.T. 109, wherein he played
John F. Kennedy, then a Naval Lieutenant on the titular torpedo boat. However,
Cliff’s Oscar-winning performance in Charly
(1969) solidified my admiration for him. Not as the popular macho hero of the
time, but as a mildly intellectually disabled adult who agrees to an experiment
that temporarily imbues him with a super-intellect. It also leads to a romance
with his night school teacher that inevitably turns tragic when Charly
regresses to his previous mental state. A truly forward-looking film, both sad
and inspiring thanks largely to Cliff’s talent.
In
the late 1970s he became every actor’s hero when he exposed the fact that Columbia
Pictures studio chief David Begelman had been embezzling money through forged
checks. Begelman was subsequently fired, but a year later was named head of
MGM, such was Tinseltown’s morality at that time. But the industry didn’t thank
Cliff. The studios stood behind their executives, no matter how corrupt, and
Cliff suddenly found himself blacklisted for several years. (David McClintick’s
1982 book Indecent Exposure details
the entire sordid story.)
However, prior to the blacklisting, he was still landing
great roles in significant films through the first half of the ’70s, notably Too Late the Hero (1970), J.W. Coop (1971) and Three Days of the Condor (1975). Also in
1975 came Return to Earth, a TV movie
about Buzz Aldrin, the second astronaut to walk on the moon, and his subsequent
mental breakdown as his career and marriage disintegrated. I was cast as
Aldrin’s Air Force secretary. However, the shoot date was an “on or about,â€
meaning sometime in a week or so, giving me an opportunity to work on other
shows.
The
timing was right, as Lady Luck smiled on me and I was cast on the mystery/comedy
TV show Ellery Queen. Dina Merrill, the
beautiful New York socialite-turned-actor, married to Cliff Robertson, was the
guest star. The breakdown for my character was “an inept secretary in a
lawyer’s outer office.†The scene opened with me filing my nails and Dina with
her male assistant entering and announcing herself at my desk. I was to buzz my
boss on the intercom that she had arrived, then jump up and escort her to his
office. Well, when I jumped up I accidently knocked over my pencil holder,
sending pens and pencils all over the floor in front of her. As I babbled an
incoherent apology her assistant immediately began picking up the pencils. The
crew and some bystanders, which to my surprise included Cliff, broke into laughter.
However,
the director was not amused and yelled in an irritated voice, “Cut! Let’s go
again. Sandra, try not to knock over the pencils this time.â€
Encouraged
by the laughter and not wanting to acknowledge it was an accident, I countered,
“The character description says she’s inept. I thought it would be funny.†There was a pause as the director gave it some
thought. “Okay, go with it. But for the record the description says inept, not
clumsy.†The director always has to have the last word, as well he or she
should.
We
did one or two more takes, close-ups, etc., and moved into the interior of the
lawyer’s office. After making the introductions, I turned to go and suddenly
remembered the hilarious scene in the 1973 film Day for Night in which the Italian actress Valentina Cortese kept
opening or colliding with the wrong door. With that embedded in my mind, I deliberately
walked smack into the open office door. Everyone stifled a laugh as I muttered
something and exited very tentatively while closing the door behind me. (Interestingly,
Ingrid Bergman said in her 1975 Oscar acceptance speech, “This Oscar belongs to
Valentina Cortese for her performance in Day
for Night.â€)
The
director yelled, “Cut! Good! Like it! Let’s do it again, and Dina, give me an
‘I don’t believe her’ reaction.†She did a marvelous blank look, rolling her
eyes upward.
We
did the scene a few more times, then moved back to my outer desk as Dina and
her assistant took their leave. That was it for the day. After saying farewell
and thank you to everyone, I gathered my things from my trailer, including the
wardrobe I had worn on the show, and began the long walk to my car parked in the
back lot at Universal. Just a short distance from the sound stage a bland, nondescript
car slowed down and a male voice called, “Can I give you a lift to your car?â€
Without
even looking at who was driving, I happily replied, “That would be great!†(Studio
personnel driving cars and golf carts on the lot often did this helpful thing,
so I didn’t hesitate accepting.) After getting myself, my wardrobe and other
stuff situated in the passenger seat, I turned to look at the driver. It was
Cliff Robertson! I think I said something like, “Oh, it’s you,†not knowing at
the moment what else to say.
He
laughed and complimented me on my performance, which of course I graciously
accepted. We talked briefly about his film Charly,
which he was very proud of, and then I asked him how Dina was going to get home.
He grinned and said, “They have a limo for her.â€
Before
long we arrived at my car. Opening my door to exit, I turned, thanked him for
the lift and added, “By the way, next week I’m playing your military secretary
in Return to Earth. I’m really
honored to work with you.†Not missing a beat, he said, “Whoa, good casting.
Now you are the official family secretary. See you next week. Drive carefully.â€
And off he went.
I
drove home in a state of mind as if I had consumed an expensive bottle of wine.
What a great day and what a week, and what a week the next week would be. I was
going to be working with Cliff Robertson.
The
following week I arrived at CBS at the crack of dawn, where I joined several
male actors in a van heading for Edwards Air Force Base 30 miles north of Los
Angeles. Everyone was relatively subdued, running their lines alone or with
each other. But that was the last of subdued, because upon arrival everything
seemed to go amuck. Trailers weren’t set up, the Honey Wagon didn’t arrive to
serve breakfast, wardrobe had the wrong medals for the Air Force uniforms, and
locations for the different shots were scattered across the base.
Finally,
things settled down and the first shot was set up. It was a boardroom scene involving
most of the actors I had ridden up with from Los Angeles. As the camera rolled,
the main character in the scene, a well-respected actor, froze. They started
over; he froze again and again and again. (Not uncommon when an actor gets
stressed.) Eventually, it was decided to reverse the camera angle, showing only
the back of him, so he could read his lines. All this took up valuable time.
A
few more shots and close-ups were completed, and then it was time for my scene
with Cliff. Dressed in my uniform and quietly standing by, I suddenly heard
loud voices. I turned around to see what the commotion was about, and there was
Cliff in a rage arguing with the wardrobe gal. She had neglected to fit his Air
Force uniform, which looked as if he was carrying a load in his pants. He was
right, it did! Not only that, but the medals on his jacket were wrong. Off came
the entire uniform. A full 45 minutes later, Cliff, pants fitted, was ready to
do the scene. However, now I was starting
to come unglued.
My
scene involved bringing coffee to Cliff (as Buzz Aldrin) and trying to make
sense of his strange behavior caused by his oncoming mental breakdown. We
rehearsed it and the first take went okay, but then Cliff and the director/producer,
Jud Taylor, got into it about whether or not Cliff should sit or stand. Cliff
wanted to sit because he still wasn’t satisfied with his fitted pants, and the
director wanted him to stand. The director won out. Confrontations make me a
nervous wreck,,especially when I’m in the middle of one, and I was in the
middle of this one. Finally, the camera rolled again. I entered carrying a cup
of coffee. But my nerves had given out, so my hand was shaking, necessitating
several takes, and then several more takes with Cliff and I ineptly discussing Air
Force matters. At last, it was over. (Funny, but not really: When I finally saw
the aired version of Return to Earth,
I was mortified. It was the worst performance of my entire career. The film was
not a success either; nothing to write home about.)
Time
had run out, and it was late. The all-male cast, some crew members and I were
put on a van heading back to CBS. Bottles of beer appeared from nowhere and the
party began. Five or ten miles along the way the van pulled over for gas. Right
behind the van was Cliff’s black limo. He got out, walked over to our van,
opened the door and said loudly, “Sandra, why don’t you grab your things and
ride back with me.†I jumped at the offer, gathered my stuff and followed Cliff
to his limo. Once safely seated in the back seat he said, “Tough day, and
things can get out of hand until it’s over. Didn’t want my and Dina’s secretary
trapped in a van with a bunch of rowdy drunks.â€
I
laughed and thanked him. Soon after, the limo weaving in and out of traffic, we
were talking like old friends. I teased him about him having the limo this time
instead of Dina. I reminded him of meeting me in Winston Salem, N.C. at a
Democratic fundraiser gala, before I became a working actress. He remembered
the gala, but not me. Then to my surprise he told me a hilarious story of Dina
and he trying to conceive a baby—Cliff running along the streets of NYC to a
sperm bank with a bottle of his sperm in his pocket and trying to time the
right intimate moments to conceive a child with Dina (difficult with their work
schedules). It all worked out, as their daughter, Heather, was eventually born.
We also talked about films, and before long we were in Westwood.
He
slid open the glass partition separating us and the driver and said, “Drop me
off here. There’s a film I want to see.â€
Turning to me, he asked, “Want to join me?†I shook my head and explained I had
a guy and a dog waiting for me.
We
said our quick goodbyes and Cliff told the driver to take me back to CBS to
pick up my car. I remember him saying, “Take her to her car. Don’t drop her off
in the middle of the lot.†I watched him walk toward the theatre in Westwood
and thought, not only a great actor, but also a great guy.
That
was not the last of my misadventures with Cliff. A year or so later I was
invited by a soap opera writer to the Golden Globe Awards. We arrived a bit
early and were seated at a table toward the back of the room. Cliff arrived,
and as luck would have it, passed right by our table.
I
called out, “Cliff, hi! It’s me, your secretary.â€
He
spun around, dropped to his knees and exclaimed, “You’re everywhere!†Just then
the spotlight hit him and the emcee yelled, “There’s Cliff Robertson!†With
that Cliff dove under our table and under the white tablecloth. We were on
national television, and this didn’t look good!
I
grabbed him by the back of his jacket and whispered, “Cliff, get up. This looks
a bit obscene!†He quickly scrambled to his feet, winked at me and proceeded to
his up-front table. The show went on and I didn’t see him the rest of the
night.
But
our paths did cross again a year or so later. Cliff was a SAG/AFTRA Board
Member and I was a member of a committee. We collided in the hallway of the SAG/AFTRA
headquarters. This time I got a hug. We chatted briefly and then went our
separate ways. It was the last time we were to meet.
When
I read that he had passed away in 2011, I actually cried. Something I rarely
do. It seemed in some way we were bonded, perhaps because of our repeated
encounters. Not only did he always make me feel special, he was a special and talented
man in so many other ways.