(8 of 9)
Mae and Raquel quickly clashed. Mae won the opening round with a splendid entrance. She stumped onto the set amid cheers, and, with a smile frozen on her seamed face, pumped her 77-year-old hips in a game imitation of her former self. Raquel sent flowers at first, but then threw down the gauntlet by appearing for their first scene in a black dress with a white ruffle—the color scheme West had demanded exclusively for herself. A three-way confrontation ensued, pitting Raquel against Director Michael Same and Producer Fryer (a grudging alliance, since they openly despise each other). The dress disappeared and so did Raquel—for three days. After shooting several takes around her, Same finally called Raquel back. She reappeared in a black dress with a blue ruffle—but the blue was so pale it might as well have been white.
Such childish conflagrations have put shooting two weeks behind studio schedule and kept most of the cast seething. Add to this the cast-wide dislike of Same and the inability of Fryer to exercise much control, and the wonder is that Myra is being shot at all. Some of the principals are less than enthusiastic about its potential. Reed insists: "I am going to be the only person in this film who makes sense." Says Writer Giles, who is beginning to despair of Raquel: "She types up these ten-page position papers and insists on reading them to me. Can you imagine anything more frightening than that?" Says Richard Zanuck: "It seems as if everyone has quit three times. I think I've quit once or twice myself."
. . . And so it was that Myra Breckinridge achieved one of the greatest victories for her sex. I have accomplished what nature intended me to do and except for one last turn to the screw, I am complete . . .
Raquel, of course, is not about to quit. "There is no way," she says, "that this is not going to be a good movie." Raquel has to be optimistic; no one else connected with the film has as much at stake. But Raquel would seem to have everything that she could possibly want: a splendid 3½acre establishment in Beverly Hills, and she has been offered as much as $500,000 for one movie—plus 10% of the gross. When her Fox contract expires (after one more film), she will be in a position to name her own price. She has another movie (The Magic Christian) and a television special for Coca-Cola scheduled for early 1970. How many Mere Men can match all that?
Of course, there is that last, elusive turn that Raquel is determined to achieve—recognition as a legitimate talent. "I realize my image put me where I am," she says, "or I wouldn't be able to complain about it. But I think all sex goddesses have basically been unhappy. I know we sound like ungracious asses, but it's like being a shell and I'm tired of it. People don't think I have ability, and I think they are wrong. I've tried to fight it. Marilyn couldn't fight it because she wasn't strong enough. Well I am, and I think I can lick it."