Film scholars and researchers now have one more reason to make their way to the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas in Austin–they’ve acquired Olivia de Havilland’s papers and memorabilia. The two-time Oscar winner lived to be 104—long enough to sue the producers of the television miniseries Feud: Bette and Joan, in which she was portrayed by Catherine Zeta-Jones.
The actress’s daughter, Gisèle Galante Chulack, made the donation, which was officially announced today, January 21st.
In addition to scrapbooks, stills, correspondence, and everything you would expect to find in a star’s possession, there is thorough documentation of her groundbreaking lawsuit against Warner Bros in 1943, which resulted in a seismic change in the way studios did business with actors. No longer could the duration of a contract be extended as punishment if the player had refused a role and gone on suspension—or served in the military. The case made headlines and the ruling was known as “the de Havilland Law.”
This collection enhances a facility already known for its depth and breadth, including the archives of David O. Selznick and countless others ranging from Gloria Swanson to Robert De Niro. Ms. de Havilland chose the Harry Ransom Center herself, proud of the fact that her son attended the University of Texas-Austin and whose ancestor on her father’s side signed the Texas Declaration of Independence.
I was fortunate enough to interview Ms. de Havilland in 1998 when she agreed to come to Los Angeles to promote a reissue of Gone With the Wind and although my time with her was brief, we covered a lot of ground. Naturally I wanted to know how she regarded her frequent costar Errol Flynn, with whom she made such timeless classics as Captain Blood and The Adventures of Robin Hood. She told me, “I thought him extremely attractive, extremely charming, beguiling, touching, moving. I felt a deep attachment toward him but I suppose I never really knew him well. You can get very attached to someone with whom you play these relationships and scenes, and I felt a profound attachment to that man. When I got the news that he had died, it was in Paris…I went out and walked, it was in the autumn, and—well, I just cried. And I cried a long time. I had a tremendous sense of loss because in an odd way, our destinies had been interwoven. We began at the same time and we were part of each other’s lives through our work.”
And while I usually shy away from personal questions, I couldn’t resist asking what she found so appealing about Howard Hughes, whom she got to know in the late 1930s. “Perhaps it was the shyness,” she replied, “the shyness coupled with his extraordinary accomplishments. You sensed a lot of courage and immense ability, and the shyness combined with that is quite a powerful combination.”
Hughes consoled her at dinner the day that Victor Fleming replaced George Cukor as the director of Gone With The Wind, a turn of events that upset Vivien Leigh as well. Hughes was “very comforting and reassuring. He said, ‘Don’t worry, between George and Victor it’s the same talent, but Victor’s is strained through a coarser sieve.’ Sure enough, he was a very sensitive man, and after the first rehearsal of [a scene] where you first see Scarlett and Melanie together. I said the line in kind of a social way, polite. And he said, ‘Remember, Melanie means everything that she says,’ and of course, that meant approaching the meeting in a very different way. Complete sincerity.” No wonder her performance has stood the test of time.
I count myself lucky that I had such a meaningful conversation with this gifted woman. Film buffs of today don’t have that opportunity, but the collection in Austin offers the next best thing: access to her photos, scrapbooks, and correspondence…even her notations in the shooting script for her first movie, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. As I told my friends at the Harry Ransom Center, I can’t wait to dive in myself.
