标题: 1993.09 英格丽-褒曼和霍华德-休斯 [打印本页] 作者: shiyi18 时间: 2022-8-29 19:48 标题: 1993.09 英格丽-褒曼和霍华德-休斯 Ingrid Bergman and Howard Hughes
By Nancy Caldwell Sorel
SEPTEMBER 1993 ISSUE
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FIRST ENCOUNTERS
HOWARD HUGHES WAS used to getting what he wanted, and about 1948 he decided he wanted Ingrid Bergman. His days as a daredevil flyer and independent movie producer were over; his millions would always be there. But a beautiful and talented married woman, a symbol of virtue—that was a challenge.
Cary Grant and Irene Selznick arranged an evening when they were all in New York; it ended with dancing at El Morocco. It was very pleasant and civilized, except that Hughes, in his low, clipped Texas voice, complained that he had no friends. Bergman laughed that one off. He Could always go out and look for friends, she said. “Anyway. . . you’re not lonely tonight, are you?”
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That moment of sympathy proved misguided. The phone calls multiplied, to no avail: the lady was not interested. But when she prepared to return to Hollywood, Hughes saw his chance. As the story goes, he bought up all available tickets on planes flying to California that day, and then offered his services. Their flight had its positive side—Hughes arranged to hit the Grand Canyon at dawn, and gave her a tour at rim level. Marvelous, Bergman said. Thank you. Good-bye.
Hughes got one more chance. He phoned one day to inform Bergman that he had just bought RKO—a present for her. She laughed that one off too—until she wanted to do Stromboli with Roberto Rossellini and could not find backing. This time she called him. He was there in fifteen minutes. No, he didn’t want to hear the story, he didn’t care about the story. Would she be beautiful in it? Would she wear wonderful clothes? She would be playing a refugee from a displaced-persons camp? Ah, too bad—but okay, he would do it anyway.
Whatever Hughes hoped for didn’t happen. What did was the lovely Ingrid’s fall from grace in the eyes of her American public. He wrote to her just after little Robertini was born, but she stashed the letter away unanswered. When she found it twenty-five years later, she was awed by its sweetness. —Nancy Caldwell Sorel
