Life Is Not a Stage by Florence Henderson (big screen ebook reader .TXT) 📕

Since the time he first appeared in silent movies in the early 1920s and went on to breakthrough stardom as a gangster in Little Caesar in 1931, he had a commanding presence. I asked him one evening what it was like to be regarded as a film star of the highest caliber for so many years. His answer pooh-poohed the whole thing. He explained that his secret of longevity in the business was not taking himself or the business too seriously. “Well, my dear, stars are in the heavens, not here on earth. I’ve just always tried to do my job the best I can and be a real professional. That’s what it is all about.”

It was also inspiring to work with the European talent, notably the Welsh-born comedian and singer Sir Harry Secombe and the great English character actor Robert Morley. Another Englishman on the production, Ray Holder, taught me how to play the faux piano so that it looked like I knew what I was doing. I can read music, but I’m not a pianist. He showed me the different chords and how to place my hands on the dummy keys, and it came off quite authentic on film.

Unfortunately, my accomplished skill at the fake piano was no help in making the film a success at the box office or with the critics. First and foremost, it was a classic case of bad timing. Musicals like My Fair Lady and The Sound of Music had been huge successes in the mid-1960s. The Song of Norway was designed to follow in their golden footsteps (its title has the same ring as The Sound of Music). But you know what they say about the best-laid plans.

When the film premiered shortly before Christmas of 1970, society had made a definitive turn in another direction, and it demonstrably could care less about singing and dancing in beautiful landscapes. Edgy independent films like Easy Rider resonated more with the times. Our film was among several other miscalculated musical film casualties that came out at the same time, such as Mame, Paint Your Wagon, Lost Horizon (a remake), and Darlin’ Lili. It probably also didn’t help that the Norwegian actor who played Edvard Grieg was really not a singer.

The production dragged on for two months longer than planned, which created some scheduling difficulties for my next job. Most of the crew caught heavy colds and were ill from the thirty-below freeze in the winter months. Fortunately, Harry Secombe’s abundant supply of cognac came to the rescue.

The film was an inspiration to many film critics to get creative with their prose, as my old scrapbook bore witness. “The actors perform as if they were cardboard cutouts in a Christmas display in a department store window,” wrote one reviewer. “It would take more than the arrival of a truckload of Nazi storm troopers to save…this year’s imitation of ‘The Sound of Music.’” Vincent Canby of the New York Times echoed a similar sentiment, calling the film a “living postcard.” “[It is so] full of waterfalls, blossoms, lambs, glaciers, folk dancers, mountains, children, suns, fjords and churches that it raises kitsch to the status of a kind of art, not without its own peculiar integrity and crazy fascination.” He added that this scenery was “so overwhelming that people are reduced to being scenic obstructions.” The reviewers were kinder and more compassionate toward me, noting that I had done well despite the circumstances. Joseph Gelmis in New York Newsday wrote, “Like Bogart in his worst films, she emerges unscathed because both she and we know that she is better than her material. Yet she is not patronizing, either.”

Just as I was preparing to go off to Norway to do the film, another opportunity was knocking at the door. It would come to fulfill the second part of that strange fortune cookie the media served up about why Hollywood hadn’t yet found a place for me. Film and now television were manifesting all at once.

“I don’t want to do a television series.” That’s what I told Sandy Gallin when he wanted me to meet with the producers who were putting together a new show called The Brady Bunch. First of all, I had four children to take care of and I was working on trying to improve my relationship with Ira. We all lived in New York, and the show would be shot in Hollywood. I also knew that the intense pressures of that lifestyle made divorce an all too common consequence, and my marriage was in such a fragile state. I had also heard about the incredibly long hours it took to do a weekly series. It was no wonder why actors would say how they came to regard the crew like family members since they spent more time with them than with their actual families.

From a professional standpoint, I also questioned my sanity for even considering doing a television series. I was perfectly satisfied with the way things were. After doing the film in Norway, I was prepared to pick up where I had left off. Vegas and club dates beckoned. If a great part in another film or a Broadway play or touring company came up, I had the flexibility to choose. I was also having fun and staying in front of the audience by doing The Tonight Show, Dean Martin, and other variety and game shows. That lifestyle afforded me that precious balance between being a mom and having a successful career. So when my kids needed me to be there for Back to School Night, a big game, or some other important priority, nine times out of ten I could make it happen. A potential television series in Hollywood would clearly make that more difficult.

“Well, just go down and meet them,” Sandy pleaded with me with every ounce of common sense he could muster. When a manager invokes that tone, even very successful actors go into the old insecurity mode of fear-based thinking. Your