Joseph E. Levine was a pirate with ”spilkes” (Yiddish for ”ants in the pants.”) ”I`ve made a bundle by not following the rules–so why stop now?” said the 81-year-old risk-taker who considered himself the last of a vanishing species: the movie mogul.
Levine, who died July 31 in Greenwich, Conn., made this statement in New York City a month earlier, in what was the first interview he had granted in six years and what would be his last. Through the years, the multimillionaire presented, produced and acquired or distributed 498 motion pictures–from
”Hercules,” to the early Fellini masterpieces, to ”The Graduate,” ”The Lion in Winter” and ”A Bridge Too Far.”
Gaunt and frail, Levine was still trying to wheel and deal, but the man who had spent a lifetime out-hyping the biggest hucksters in the industry was less ferocious though more cantankerous.
During his chauffered limo commute from his Greenwich estate to his Manhattan office, Levine studied the trades. ”They make me itchy, especially these days,” said the supersalesman, who bristled at the word retirement, pointing out that he had made his best films–”The Graduate,” ”Lion in Winter” and ”A Bridge Too Far” when he was nearing 70.
Levine said in his hoarse voice: ”If only I could have 10 more healthy years, I`d gladly give up my entire bank account–because I know I could fill it up again quickly.”
At the Four Seasons, which Levine called his ”favorite fast-food restaurant,” the ”power lunchers” stared at the pugnacious producer as he was ushered to his prominent table in the Pool Room. Obsequious waiters hovered–Levine was a finicky eater and fabulous tipper. He`d been holding court there almost daily for years, intimidating and infuriating rivals.
Surveying young pinstriped producers conferring at a nearby table, he complained, ”So many meetings, consulations, so much bull —-.” Levine slammed down his Perrier glass, peppering the conversation with profanities.
”There`s too much Wall Street influence, guys who care only about making money. I love making money, and I`m damn good at it, but I also love making pictures. I don`t consult banks or boards of directors. I`m still willing to pay millions for a feeling in my gut.”
Levine suffered from a growing list of ailments, but his appetite for more success was still strong. ”It`s easy to make a picture now. With so much more money around, and with cable TV and video, producers have many more opportunities and escape routes, that they don`t have to be as smart as they were years ago. As Mike Todd said, `It`s a hard way to make an easy living.`
Now it`s become an easy way to make an easy living.”
”When I make a picture I do anything to get it publicity,” said the veteran producer, whose motto was: ”You can fool all the people if the advertising is right.”
”I can cope with changing patterns in films and audience`s tastes,” he insisted, as he rose slowly, grasping for his gold-handled walking stick (he had about 200 canes). ”But I can`t cope with getting older–it`s hell.”
The fawning entourage, the constant shuttling back and forth to Europe, the yacht Rosalie (named for his wife of 50 years, a former backup singer for Rudy Vallee), lavish parties and 13 domestic offices and others in Paris, London and Rome were gone. His new Joseph E. Levine Presents office, conveniently located above The Four Seasons, was a shrine to the last of the master showmen. It was filled with a staggering collection of art objects
–T`ang horses, antique furniture, a Wyeth (he once owned 40), and prominently framed awards.
The desk was littered with stacks of unanswered phone messages and mail. The photos lining Levine`s office sported tender scrawlings by Julie Christie in ”Darling” and Katharine Hepburn in ”The Lion in Winter” about the Oscars they won in his films.
And photos of actors whom Levine says he promoted to stardom: Marcello Mastroianni (”he got much of his American popularity because of me”), Michael Caine (”I gave him his first film role, in `Zulu` ”), and Mel Brooks (”he took his script for `The Producers` all over, and no one wanted it but me”).
Levine`s road to mogulship started in the Boston slums. He recalled a childhood of ”not one happy day,” a widowed Russian immigrant mother, dropping out of school in the 4th grade and learning salesmanship peddling papers, hawking vegetables and polishing shoes.
”I used to hustle the backroads of New England as a small-time film distributor,” said Levine. That`s when he discovered his talent for exploiting second-rate gimmick pictures such as ”Attilla the Hun” and
”Godzilla.”
After forming Embassy Pictures Corp., (he registered the name for a dollar 53 years ago and sold the company in 1967 for $40 million), Levine began distributing Italian films, such as ”Paisan,” ”Open City” and
”Bicycle Thief.” ”But,” said Levine, who until a recent weight-loss looked like a dissolute Sultan, ”exhibiting and distributing art films was not the way to eat well.”
His breakthrough came as a tip from a friend about an Italian film called ”Hercules.” Levine flew to Rome immediately. ”I saw that loin-cloth picture in a freezing basement–the color was terrible, and the Italians had botched up the sound track–but it had everything: musclemen, broads and a shipwreck and a dragon for the kids.” Levine bought ”Hercules” for $120,000.
He gambled five times its cost in an eight-day advertising campaign and a $40,000 party for 1,250 exhibitors and journalists at the Waldorf-Astoria.
”People thought I was some kind of nut.”
Levine saturated the country with 1,200 ”Hercules” prints and masterminded the spear-and-sandal saga into a 1959 box office hit, grossing more than $15 million. (By today`s admission prices that`s about $80 million.) The promotion shot Levine into the international arena.
For potboiler ”Jack the Ripper,” Levine displayed $1 million in a glass case at a press luncheon. ”I told everyone, `the next time you see this money it will be in TV and radio advertising.` ” He stood up and laughed. ”I learned that the meek will not inherit the earth.”
Levine proved that art films could appeal to mass audiences when he teamed his promotional razzle-dazzle with Sophia Loren. Walking to his office bathroom, he pointed to an inscribed portrait. ”Sophia never had a hit until `Two Women.` She was so grateful after I got her the Oscar (in 1962), she gave me a Rolls Royce. We made 10 more films together, but she forgot to mention me in her book,” he said, as if to himself.
”When (Sophia Loren`s producer/husband) Carlo Ponti invited me to see rushes of `Two Women` in a Rome projection room (1960), I didn`t want to go.” (Levine and Ponti were having the first of many feuds.) ”But in this business you can`t afford to hate anybody for long,” said Levine, so he temporarily buried the hatchet. After seeing a 3-minute scene with Loren, Levine smelled money and bought the American rights.
”I nursed that picture like a baby,” he said. Levine showed the film in every city in which a member of the Academy Award jury lived, and Sophia got the Oscar, the first actress to win it for a foreign film. ”That showed that foreign films could get big audiences if promoted with flair.”
In 1967, Levine made ”The Graduate” with two unknowns, Dustin Hoffman and Mike Nichols. ”When Mike gave me the book `The Graduate,` I told him,
`it`s the worst piece of —- I ever read in my life.` Mike persisted, and although he`d never made a movie, I signed him because I could tell he was a genius.”
Levine and Nichols scouted for someone who didn`t look like a movie star to play the lead. Levine said that Hoffman (then stage manager of an off-Broadway play, ”View from the Bridge”) ”was the most unlikely movie star I could imagine. But I took him from obscurity and made him a multimillionaire.”
After ”The Graduate” success (it grossed more than $100 million worldwide), Levine sold Embassy to the Avco Corp. He calls the transaction a
”horrible mistake, which made me rich.” Levine hated his six years as president of Avco Embassy Pictures, even though he made his favorite picture in 1968–”The Lion in Winter,” which starred Peter O`Toole and Katharine Hepburn.
”I couldn`t spend other people`s money with the wild abandon I spend my own,” he explained. ”I`m a loner, and I make instant decisions. I kept having nightmares seeing stockholders` wives and kids standing in the cold, hungry–depending on my decisions to make the right films. I felt like I was in jail.”
Levine resigned and after 1974 ran his own company. ”I`ve tried patterning my life after Sam Goldwyn, running things the way I want. Everyone said I was crazy when I put up my own money ($22 million) and picked an unknown (Sir Richard Attenborough), who`d made only two films, to direct `A Bridge Too Far,` ” a World War II epic. ”I have a knack for betting on unknown directors and actors and getting my money`s worth.”
In his more flamboyant days, the 5-foot-4-inch Levine authorized a press release describing himself as a ”colossus towering above the lesser moguls of filmdom.”
Gesturing with his cane, Levine bellowed, ”I was the fastest decision-maker in the business, and my credo still is `Do it!` ”
