Me and My Shadows: A Family Memoir by Lorna Luft Page A
Authors: Lorna Luft
Tags: Humor & Entertainment, Biographies & Memoirs, Women, Leaders & Notable People, Rich & Famous, Memoirs, Composers & Musicians, Specific Groups, Arts & Literature, Actors & Entertainers, Television Performers
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didn’t know anything about aftercare. There was never enough time, because the legend was taking over the woman, and she always had to get back to work.
M y mother was never Norma Desmond, endlessly rerunning her old movies. She rarely talked about the films she’d done when she was young. The one exception was The Wizard of 0{. Like everyone else in America, our family watched it on television every year. The only difference between our family and others was that we always watched it with Dorothy—except the first time.
I vividly remember my first encounter with the film. My parents were in New York that week, and we children were at home in Los Angeles with our nanny. I was about seven at the time; my little brother, Joey, was only four. When our nanny learned Wizard was going to be shown on television that night, she thought Joey and I would want to see Mama’s movie, so she let us stay up late. Unfortunately, it hadn’t occurred to the nanny that the film can be frightening to young children. As Joe and I watched the monkeys fly across the TV screen, our nanny cheerfully pointed out to us that Dorothy, the girl on TV, was actually our mother wearing a costume.
Mama? That was Mama? We leaned closer. Sure enough, the girl on the screen had Mama’s eyes. I panicked. Joey began to cry. Mama was being carried off by bad monkeys? Were the monkeys the ones who took her to New York? Joe and I both began to sob with terror. In spite of the nanny’s best efforts to calm us, we became more and more distraught. At the height of all this hysteria, the phone rang. It was Mama. She’d just realized the movie was airing that night, and when it occurred to her we might be watching at home, she knew we’d be scared. She had the nanny put both Joe and me on the phone and kept reassuring us that she was all right, that the monkeys didn’t take her to New York. I felt a little better, but Joe kept crying and asking Mama when she was coming home. We didn’t really feel comfortable until she was home again so we could see for ourselves that the monkeys hadn’t hurt her.
For years afterward, my mother wouldn’t let us watch the movie without her. The annual televising of The Wizard of 0{ became a special family occasion at our house. Mama would cuddleup on the couch with me and my brother and watch the film with us. When Liza was there (instead of at her father’s), Mama would dress us up in matching “sister” dresses for the occasion. Then, while the whole family munched on popcorn, my mother would tell us about making the picture. She told us how they achieved effects like the tornado and the flying monkeys. She also told us what it was like to be on the set: how Jack Haley, Sr., had to lie on a board during breaks because he couldn’t sit down in his Tin Man’s costume, how some of the male Munchkins were always leering at her, how bad Toto’s breath was, and how nice Margaret Hamilton was. I remember her telling us that the studio served the cast lunch on the set after the first few weeks of filming. She said that when Jack Haley, Bert Lahr, and Ray Bolger went to eat in the studio commissary, they would pull off only enough of their costumes to eat comfortably. The problem was that the leftover adhesive still hung from their skin like strings of mucus, especially when Bert Lahr pulled off bits of the lion makeup. The result was so disgusting that everyone in the cafeteria complained. After enough complaints, lunch was served to them on the set.
Despite my original scare, I came to love the movie. It became my brother’s and my favorite picture. The Wizard of Oz was an amazing achievement for its time, and I am very, very proud of it. I still watch it when it comes on television; only now I watch with my children, just a few feet away from my mother’s portrait, which sits on a shelf, along with a replica of her ruby slipper, in my living room. My daughter, Vanessa, calls the slipper the “Dorothy shoe.” One of
M y mother was never Norma Desmond, endlessly rerunning her old movies. She rarely talked about the films she’d done when she was young. The one exception was The Wizard of 0{. Like everyone else in America, our family watched it on television every year. The only difference between our family and others was that we always watched it with Dorothy—except the first time.
I vividly remember my first encounter with the film. My parents were in New York that week, and we children were at home in Los Angeles with our nanny. I was about seven at the time; my little brother, Joey, was only four. When our nanny learned Wizard was going to be shown on television that night, she thought Joey and I would want to see Mama’s movie, so she let us stay up late. Unfortunately, it hadn’t occurred to the nanny that the film can be frightening to young children. As Joe and I watched the monkeys fly across the TV screen, our nanny cheerfully pointed out to us that Dorothy, the girl on TV, was actually our mother wearing a costume.
Mama? That was Mama? We leaned closer. Sure enough, the girl on the screen had Mama’s eyes. I panicked. Joey began to cry. Mama was being carried off by bad monkeys? Were the monkeys the ones who took her to New York? Joe and I both began to sob with terror. In spite of the nanny’s best efforts to calm us, we became more and more distraught. At the height of all this hysteria, the phone rang. It was Mama. She’d just realized the movie was airing that night, and when it occurred to her we might be watching at home, she knew we’d be scared. She had the nanny put both Joe and me on the phone and kept reassuring us that she was all right, that the monkeys didn’t take her to New York. I felt a little better, but Joe kept crying and asking Mama when she was coming home. We didn’t really feel comfortable until she was home again so we could see for ourselves that the monkeys hadn’t hurt her.
For years afterward, my mother wouldn’t let us watch the movie without her. The annual televising of The Wizard of 0{ became a special family occasion at our house. Mama would cuddleup on the couch with me and my brother and watch the film with us. When Liza was there (instead of at her father’s), Mama would dress us up in matching “sister” dresses for the occasion. Then, while the whole family munched on popcorn, my mother would tell us about making the picture. She told us how they achieved effects like the tornado and the flying monkeys. She also told us what it was like to be on the set: how Jack Haley, Sr., had to lie on a board during breaks because he couldn’t sit down in his Tin Man’s costume, how some of the male Munchkins were always leering at her, how bad Toto’s breath was, and how nice Margaret Hamilton was. I remember her telling us that the studio served the cast lunch on the set after the first few weeks of filming. She said that when Jack Haley, Bert Lahr, and Ray Bolger went to eat in the studio commissary, they would pull off only enough of their costumes to eat comfortably. The problem was that the leftover adhesive still hung from their skin like strings of mucus, especially when Bert Lahr pulled off bits of the lion makeup. The result was so disgusting that everyone in the cafeteria complained. After enough complaints, lunch was served to them on the set.
Despite my original scare, I came to love the movie. It became my brother’s and my favorite picture. The Wizard of Oz was an amazing achievement for its time, and I am very, very proud of it. I still watch it when it comes on television; only now I watch with my children, just a few feet away from my mother’s portrait, which sits on a shelf, along with a replica of her ruby slipper, in my living room. My daughter, Vanessa, calls the slipper the “Dorothy shoe.” One of
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