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HOLLYWOOD -- Almost 50 years ago, Jack Lemmon was, in his own words, "a snotty, stupid S.O.B." who thought making movies was "for curly-haired, pretty young boys."
Then, in the late 1940s, John Lemmon III was a cocky Boston blueblood with theatre training at both Yale and Harvard and fresh out of a stint in the U.S. Navy. He was full of vim and vigor, burning with a desire to excel in the New York theatre scene. Hollywood was crass, for wusses only.
Now, a lifetime later, with 50-plus movies on his credit ledger, with two Oscars, six other Academy Award nominations plus a plethora of other awards and honors in his name, Lemmon is one of the best-loved film actors of his generation. At 71, he is still working, sometimes frenetically.
"It's a hectic year," Lemmon chuckles about his current schedule. He has an ensemble piece, a comedic drama called The Grass Harp, coming out Oct. 18 after a long delay (it first appeared at the 1995 Toronto International Film Festival, where it was a hit with audiences).
He just finished filming My Fellow Americans. He is currently at work on the comedy Out At Sea with his old Odd Couple co-star and lifelong friend, Walter Matthau, who also is part of the ensemble in The Grass Harp. The film was directed by Matthau's son Charles Matthau, who describes his dad's best friend as "my second father."
In February, Lemmon is scheduled to star in a television film version of the play 12 Angry Men with director William Friedkin, and has an American adaptation of a French hit lined up (he can't remember the title, in English or in French). And then he goes back to work with Matthau next spring on the third -- and final! -- instalment of their hugely popular Grumpy Old Men series.
"It's got a life of its own," Lemmon muses in his typical charming yet candid fashion about the Grumpy franchise. "It's not great. It's not supposed to be great. We (he and Matthau) were surprised that it worked, frankly. It was fun to do, but we didn't think it was going to work. Certainly not anywhere near the scale that it did. That big a hit, wow!
"There's a third one coming. Then I think we're at the end. It's Grumpiest Old Men. We can't do Grumpiest-er." Still, not bad for a series that both Lemmon and Matthau rejected when it was first sent to Lemmon in the early 1990s. Lemmon liked the characters -- two Minnesota curmudgeons who love-hate one another as neighbors and rivals in fishing and late-life love affairs -- and thought they would work for the two of them. But the script was lousy.
"A year later," Lemmon remembers now, "another version came in and it was much better, although Walter still said it was a piece of s---!" The two got to fight over fish, practical jokes that turn sour and Ann-Margret, who ends up in Lemmon's clutches. By the second instalment, Grumpier Old Men, Sophia Loren had joined the group as Matthau's romantic interest. She will be back in Grumpiest, perhaps with Marcello Mastroianni playing her ex.
"We go to Italy," Lemmon says of the new plot, "because one of Sophia's former husbands contests her marriage to Walter on the grounds that the divorce was never finalized by Italian law, which can get very complicated. We go over there to try to straighten it out. I hope to God it's Marcello (as the ex-husband). I think it will be."
In any case, Loren is a clinch. "Sophia is a marvellous addition," Lemmon enthuses about her participation in the series. "She is just such a lovely lady and a fine, fine actress, without question. And what a cook! Oh boy, she cooked for all of us (on set). She's terrific. Best pasta I've ever had."
Making movies such as the Grumpy flicks and The Grass Harp, because of the connection with the Matthau clan, is enriching his mature years, Lemmon says. Otherwise, life in the Hollywood fast lane is too crazed for his taste. Lemmon, not surprisingly, is upset with the direction Hollywood has taken in the money rush towards the next millennium.
"There is a difference overall," he reflects about the changes since he made movies such as Mr. Roberts, the 1955 hit which earned him a best supporting Oscar for his role as the manic Ensign Pulver, and Save The Tiger, the 1973 drama which earned him best actor honors.
"I have not felt it as much as some friends of mine have. There's a pressure nowadays. It's like starting out under a dark cloud. Instead of having a slate of films from the studio, each film is going to have to live or die (on its own). You've got handmade automobiles. There is no assembly line."
That sounds like a good metaphor until he explains what it means to him, and to filmmakers who dare to take risks. "If you go a little bit late or a little bit over budget, there are guys with gray flannel suits coming out of the woodwork. They're running all around down there saying: 'I'm one of the producers!' There are 25 producers on every film suddenly and they all have ideas on how to do this and how to do that. And they're all full of baloney! There's maybe one in 10 who knows a damn thing about films. They have no film history and they don't belong there. But they're there.
"I'm exaggerating slightly to make my point. In other words, this doesn't happen on every film, obviously. But you can get an awful lot of pressure. On young directors, it can be tough. I know Charlie (Matthau, on The Grass Harp) got a little pressure (to cut scenes, to speed up production, to reduce an already modest budget). But they picked the wrong guy because it didn't affect him, thank God."
Lemmon's credo remains simple: "Just do the film!"
The same is true of acting. "I remember Jimmy Cagney saying to one of the young actors in the Navy crew while he was playing in Mr. Roberts a million years ago: 'Just look the other actor in the eye and say your line. But mean it!' The kid said, 'Yes sir!' and promptly blew the line."
The advice still stands. So does something Lemmon heard the inestimable George Burns say once.
"The greatest single thing I ever heard about acting was from George Burns. Because I don't know how to define acting. I've never been able to come up with anything that I thought encompassed it. Yet George Burns one night -- and this has now become a famous line, but I was there at the next table at a restaurant -- said: 'I'll tell you the secret of acting -- and that's honesty. If you can fake that, you've got it made!' I went under the table (laughing). But I thought it was the greatest thing I ever heard."