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2. Greta Garbo’s Movie Comeback

Colonel Parker is looking tired, harassed and you could grate cheese on the stubble on his sagging chins. There are letters and invoices strewn across the floor of his office at Graceland and the air is thick with cigar smoke – like a London smog but much more dangerous to health.

As he walks in, Elvis keeps waving his hand in front of his face to beat away the choking fumes but the Colonel assumes it is a greeting and he waves back in return. He invites him to take a seat and puts down the phone while brushing off the small mounds of grey ash that have collected on the front of his orange Hawaiian shirt, like the debris of a volcanic eruption.

Elvis has arrived for an update on his manager’s latest ‘Big Idea’ to breathe new life into his movie career and to make the sort of money that would represent the national debt of some small states. Only Colonel Parker could come up with an idea so breathtaking in its audacity and scope – nothing less than to persuade Greta Garbo to come out of retirement to make a musical with Elvis.

When he first mentioned this to him, Elvis’s initial response, which he hoped would convey his utter incredulity, was to respond with an “huh-huh”. While not particularly au fait with her career, he believed she hadn’t made a film for more than 30 years and had certainly never made a musical.

“Why, Colonel, sir? Why Greta Garbo? After all these years, why shouldn’t we just leave her to rest in peace in her retirement? Why don’t we get Ann-Margret back again? She can dance and sing, she’s Swedish and probably young enough to be Greta Garbo’s granddaughter.”

“Please, son, don’t use words like ‘rest in peace’ about Greta Garbo. She is a movie legend, worshipped like a goddess, and if we can get her back in front of the cameras in a film with you, it will amaze the world. It will be the biggest sensation in pictures since the talkies.”

Elvis looks again at his manager and asks where his assistant, Bubba, is and shouldn’t he be there helping him with the chaos of the paperwork. “You’re looking like 10 miles of bad road, Colonel, sir, if you don’t mind my saying.”

He tells Elvis that at this moment his assistant is sitting in a police station in Manhattan, helping them with their inquiries. He shakes his head sorrowfully and admits it is all his fault because he will not give up on his idea of shooting for the stars and getting Elvis and Greta Garbo in a film together. He conjures up images of huge posters proclaiming ‘Garbo Sings’ alongside ‘Elvis Sings’ and he is convinced it will be the first billion-dollar movie in history. The silver screen will become gold-plated.

He called in a lot of favours simply to get hold of her phone number, but when he did get through, she dismissed the whole idea as being ridiculous.

“It’s the motherlode and just too good to give up without a fight,” he says, continuing to puff distractedly on his Walmart cigar.

He tells Elvis how he followed up by sending her a copy of the script based on her old movie ‘Queen Christina’ that had been drafted by movie producer Hal Wallis’s team of writers. It came back with the word ‘No’ scrawled across the front, and a PS: ‘Leave me alone’. A personal letter and a photo of Elvis over which he had gone through so much trouble to autograph were similarly ignored. In a last throw of the dice (and gambling is something at which the Colonel is notoriously unlucky) he decided to send his assistant Bubba to New York to try and catch her and plead with her on one of those rare occasions when she emerges from her apartment on 52nd East Street.

Not unreasonably, Bubba demands to know, “What does she look like, Colonel? I’m flying blind here. I mean, how can I be sure if it is Greta Garbo I’m talking to?”

“Well, she’ll be smartly dressed, in her mid-Sixties and wearing dark glasses,” the Colonel replies.

“But that describes about half a million women living in Manhattan,” Bubba protests bitterly.

Inevitably, the police pick him up after complaints are made that a man has been pestering women in the street for a couple of days, asking if they are Greta Garbo and would they like to be in a movie.

Colonel Parker admits he is worried that he can’t think of a way of getting Bubba out of gaol, and also about the possible reputational damage if his assistant happens to mention his links to Elvis and himself. It could turn ugly in the press.

“The whole thing sounds like it’s some sort of routine from Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-in,” declares Elvis. “I’d be roaring my head off if it wasn’t so serious.”

“What was that you said, son?” says the Colonel, suddenly becoming animated.

“I was just saying it sounds like a comedy sketch from a TV show.”

“I think you’ve just given me an idea.” He says he’ll call Hal Wallis, who is currently in New York talking to the money men about financing the new movie with Garbo, and to see if he can help to get Bubba released.

The movie producer explains to the police captain that his officers mistakenly arrested Colonel Parker’s assistant during the filming of a Candid Camera sequence for Elvis’s next movie. Has he ever seen Candid Camera on TV? There is a shake of the head in reply. The idea is that there’s a hidden camera that films how ordinary members of the public react differently in the same situation. It’s just a bit of fun and it is a routine that’s familiar to and popular with millions of Americans, apart from the police in Manhattan, that is, he adds. The bungling intervention of his two cops in arresting the Colonel’s assistant has scuppered the whole project, he says, nodding his head sorrowfully.

“What can I say?” confesses the police chief.

“You can try sorry,” replies Hal.

“To think, Elvis and my company, Paramount Pictures, were coming to New York to make his next big bucks movie and this is how we are treated,” he continues, reaching for an imaginary trowel to lay it on as thickly as possible.

“I’m sure no one will want to blame you personally, Captain – May I just make a note of your name – but what would it have been worth to the Borough of Manhattan to have a film like this shot here? Who knows how Elvis is going to feel after all this… Who knows how far up the chain he will send this – the Police Commissioner, the Mayor, the State Governor, Frank Sinatra…”

By now the police chief is wringing his hands and saying he will go immediately to release Bubba and personally apologise to him.

“Let’s hustle,” says Hal. “We still may be able to save the movie.”

When Bubba calls Colonel Parker on his release from the cells, he is told to go back to where Greta Garbo lives and try and persuade her – whatever it takes – to make the movie.

“But you cannot be serious, sir. In all probability, I’ll be arrested again as a repeat offender. They’ll throw the book at me and I’ll end up in Rikers Island gaol.”

But the Colonel is adamant and so Bubba gloomily heads back to 52nd East Street while pondering his possible fate as an inmate, sharing a cell with a tattooed thug serving life for murder. After hanging around for some hours and trying not to look furtive, he manages to sneak into the building behind the mailman as he presses the entry code buttons. Since knocking on the door of Garbo’s apartment elicits no response, he gets down on his hands and knees and shouts through the letterbox near the bottom of the door, “I’m Bubba and I’m here on behalf of Colonel Thomas Parker and we want to talk to you about doing a movie with Elvis Presley.”

“Blubber? Blubber?” he hears a woman muttering. “Why would anyone be called Blubber unless they are a whale?”

He bends down again to get his face as close as possible to the letterbox to say that his name is actually Bubba and they want her to star in a musical remake of one of her old films. He reels backwards when he suddenly sees a large pair of black sunglasses confronting him from the other side of the letterbox.

“I don’t do musicals. I was a serious actress and now I am retired.”

Remembering the Colonel’s instruction about whatever it takes, there is one more thing he can try, so he tells her that he is going to slide a blank cheque through the letterbox and he wants her to fill it in with a number that has a lot of noughts. And that will be her fee for making the film.

There is a long silence and then the door of the apartment begins to open slowly.

“Do come in Mr. Blubber,” she says and he enters a huge pine-panelled room with big windows and spectacular views of the East River. The Colonel said that although it was a long time ago, Greta Garbo was once the queen of Hollywood and that she is still revered; certainly, her apartment is a palace and she looks regal as she sits poised on a sofa as if waiting to have her picture taken for Vogue. He glances at a painting on the wall signed by someone called Renoir that looks a bit rough and ready in contrast with the cool elegance of the rest of the room. Perhaps a nice pale pine frame might help it blend in better with the rest of the décor.

She explains that she has been out of the movies for many years and would be grateful if he would help her with advice. “I’m very naïve how things are done nowadays but,” she smiles as she wags her finger at him, “not so much that I won’t notice if some noughts begin to disappear from that cheque you gave me. Is Jefferson Davis a new bank? I’ve not heard of it.”

Bubba decides that caution is the best course and, rather than give some blanket assurances about integrity and honesty, he confines himself to saying that Hal Wallis and Colonel Parker are very experienced businessmen who have made many very successful movies together.

“Like ‘Casablanca’,” he adds and receives an approving nod of the head from Miss Garbo.

Seeking to quickly change the subject, he comments on the remarkable similarity of Elvis to the former movie actor John Gilbert, not letting on, of course, that he was believed to be Greta Garbo’s lover. It is a carefully planned throwaway line that he hopes might help clinch the deal.

“Hmm, I’m intrigued. Tell me more about this Elvis and the new film.”

Colonel Parker touches heaven and hell within the space of a five-minute phone call with his assistant. He roars with delight, like a stag that has seen a mate on the other side of the glen, at the news that she wants to do the movie. But next, he is roaring like an enraged gorilla that has just missed out on a bunch of bananas at the news that Miss Garbo has asked Bubba to be her advisor. “You worm, you traitor,” he yells down the phone. “You’re supposed to be working for me and Elvis!”

“That’s what I’m doing, Colonel, sir. And I clearly recollect you telling me to do whatever it takes.”

He decides not to mention at this stage how many noughts Miss Garbo has put on the cheque.

Several days later Elvis, considerably cheered by the news that Greta Garbo has agreed to do the movie, is walking with a spring in his step down the corridor towards Colonel Parker’s office to talk with him about setting up a meeting with his new co-star. As he goes to open the door, he hears Bubba declare with some emotion, “But sir, you can’t do that! I’m sure the best years are still to come.”

“I’m a businessman and sometimes you have to make tough decisions,” retorts the Colonel heatedly.

Elvis knocks on the door and immediately senses the tension; he asks what is going on. “Surely, you can’t be arguing about Miss Garbo?!” he demands. “That’s what this meeting is all about, isn’t it?”

“I wish it was, Elvis, but what is happening is that the Colonel is planning to get rid of his dancing chickens like he is the grim reaper,” says Bubba, waving his arms, as if reinforcing his feelings by semaphore. “He says they are old and past it. And what’s more, he’s going to hold auditions to recruit a whole new troupe of Dixie Chickens.”

Elvis tries to rationalise how someone as old as Greta Garbo, who retired more than 30 years ago, is suddenly back in demand as a hot property, while the Dixie Chickens, who always draw big crowds whenever they perform, are probably destined for some fried chicken fast food restaurant because they’re too old. He supposes the relevance of age depends upon who you are and how you are perceived. It is a philosophical conundrum he must discuss later with his hairdresser, Larry Geller.

“Colonel, sir, please remember these chickens gave you your first big break in show business. How can you do this?” pleads his assistant.

“Well, not exactly these chickens. But yes, ones like them. Dancing chickens was my first act when I started out in carny. And nobody can deny what I’ve done for the cause of chickens in entertainment over the years. But from time to time, you’ve gotta renew the act.”

The Colonel pushes back his yellow straw trilby and mops his brow with an old ‘Loving You’ handkerchief. “It’s like this, boys. They are getting too old and their routines lack snap and sparkle. What the Dixie Chickens fans want, and what I intend to give them, is a younger, better looking, and higher kicking line-up of dancers.” (What may not be apparent to the audience at their shows, since they are never allowed to get too close, is that the act consists of the chickens being put on a hot plate covered with straw. This causes them to hop about to various tunes, always beginning with their theme song ‘Sweet Georgia Brown’.)

“How old is Greta Garbo? Yet she doesn’t get recycled.”

“Well, yes, but she lives a lot longer than a chicken.”

Elvis tries to put it as delicately as possible – why does he need an audition. Don’t all chickens look the same?

“Forgive me for saying this, son, but that’s an amateur talking,” replies Colonel Parker. “To a professional like me, and also their hard core fans, we can spot a Ginger Rogers straight away from a clodhopper. We need new blood. We’ve got to regenerate the act.”

“But, Colonel Parker, sir, what will become of the existing Dixie Chickens?” asks Elvis.

Bubba, still clearly affected by the situation, interrupts. “He’s talking about giving them to Minnie Mae for the stewpot. I do declare, can you imagine anything more hideous. One night soon we might all be sitting around the table at Graceland and fine dining on the Dixie Chickens. Eating our old friends. It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

Elvis wonders why they cannot be sent to one of those retirement homes for showbusiness people in the Catskills. There they’ll be able to scratch around and roost in comfortable surroundings with other retired fellow performers, and from time to time people like the comedian Jackie Mason will come to entertain them. It all seems so simple and sensible to him.

“No No No No No,” says the Colonel decisively, shaking his head for emphasis, and causing his chins to ripple like waves breaking on the seashore. “It’s a question of economics, son. Those places are very expensive and we don’t want a drain like that on our resources.”

In the end, Elvis and Bubba get him to agree not to do anything too calamitous until he has spoken to them again.

“That heartless brute!” declares Elvis’s wife, Priscilla, when she hears what is happening. “I’m going to tell that callous Colonel Parker we’ll make a home for them right here at Graceland. It’s the very least they deserve. Why I believe they’ll be so happy they’ll be laying lots of eggs in no time at all.”

The Colonel has hired a hall for the auditions of the new Dixie Chickens and invites Elvis and Bubba to help with their advice and comments. Three chairs face a small stage on which there is a hotplate covered with straw where the chickens will perform their routines. Having sat down, Elvis wonders aloud if the days of music hall and variety are over.

Try telling that to Jack Benny and George Burns, replies the Colonel. He becomes, for him, quite wistful as he recalls how his career in showbusiness really began with his first troupe of Dixie Chickens. He is not just being sentimental when he says he intends to stay loyal to the act and its fans. There is still a good living to be had out there for this kind of entertainment.

“But it sure isn’t rock ‘n’ roll,” mutters Elvis.

The Colonel shouts to someone offstage to start the auditions. ‘Sweet Georgia Brown’ begins to play, a young guy with a few feathers stuck here and there to his dungarees, opens a basket and puts a chicken on the hot plate. It hops about and after 15 seconds the Colonel shouts “Next” and the chicken is scooped up and put back in another basket.

Ten or more chickens go through their 15-second slot before the Colonel suddenly leans forward in his chair and says, “I like this one.” Elvis and Bubba ask what is so special about this bird. The Colonel points his cigar baton-like towards the stage and tells them, “Note the poise and the high kicks. This is a keeper,” he calls out to the guy on the stage who puts it into a different basket, one that is kept for those that pass the audition.

“I’ve got a problem with the bird’s colour. I prefer them to be white like Leghorns. Can we fix that?”

“Sure thing,” comes the reply from the stage. “I’ve got some dye.”

The straw on the hotplate is rearranged, more seed corn is strewn across it, and the next chicken begins its routine. Fifteen seconds later, the Colonel is calling out “Next!”

“Thank goodness I got a lot more than 15 seconds when I auditioned for Sam Phillips at Sun,” remarks Elvis. “I reckon it was more like 15 days.”

“Yes, son, it’s a tough business,” says the Colonel.

When Bubba asks what will become of the chickens that fail the auditions, he shakes his head, opens his arms wide, and tries on his regretful look. “That’s showbiz,” he sighs.

“What are we having for lunch today, Colonel? Roast chicken?” asks Elvis sarcastically.

Some time later, Colonel Parker receives a phone call from his old friend, Colonel Sanders, who wants to feature the Dixie Chickens in some new TV commercials and poster ads for his KFC restaurants; he wants to promote his new slogan ‘high kickin’ finger lickin’ good’. But the new line-up is not ready yet, so it means a final curtain call for the old troupe before they move into their retirement hut in the grounds of Graceland and start work laying eggs for Priscilla.

To applause from everyone on the set at Paramount Studios, Greta Garbo makes her entrance as Queen Christina and sits down on the throne. “Grow a moustache and you’ll look a lot like a film star I used to work with.” she winks at Elvis, who is playing the role of her lover, Antonio, the Spanish envoy. She inhales deeply, flutters her fan, and declares that she is ready.

The director counts them in, the music backing track begins, and the Queen tells Antonio, “C’mon. let’s start the party right now.” She proceeds to tap dance her way down the steps from the throne.

“Cut!” The director calls through his megaphone. “Sorry, Elvis, but you need to move a bit quicker if you’re gonna keep up and hit your spot. Congratulations Miss Garbo, that was terrific.”

“Well you know they used to call me One-Take Greta,” she grins. And Elvis can’t help himself and starts laughing too.

Hal Wallis is awe-struck. Garbo laughs! A still picture of Elvis and Garbo laughing together on the set is going to be worth a fortune in advance publicity.

“You know, I didn’t dance in my films but at friends’ parties, up until quite recently, I used to dance a charleston to a tune called ‘Sweet Georgia Brown’,” she says. “It was my party trick and it would amaze my friends. They’d say I must be a spring chicken to do it.”

Elvis smiles ruefully at her mention of the song and the comment ‘spring chicken’ while Bubba, fighting to control his emotion, blows his nose rather noisily.

Hal Wallis looks round to take in everyone on the set and says, “I’m sure everybody will join me in a round of applause for Miss Garbo. Who’d have thought you were such a good dancer. You continue to amaze your fans.”

She smiles and graciously acknowledges their applause with a wave of her hand.

“Who would have thought I’d be making another movie after all this time. But thank you for giving me my comeback, I’m delighted, and I promise you all that I shall do my very, very best to earn every cent of my $10 million contract.”

There is a loud crash like the noise of a heavy boulder falling off a cliff, caused by Colonel Parker slumping to the ground. Hal Wallis sends for the medics who waft smelling salts under his nose to bring him round; he can be heard faintly repeating, “ten million… ten million…”

It is a task that takes as much effort as getting a beached whale back into the sea, but eventually, the medics, with the help of some of the crew, manage to haul him up and sit him in a chair. Once he has stopped gasping for breath, he asks if he can borrow the director’s megaphone. “Bubba. I need to talk to you. Right now.”

Having sufficiently regained his composure, Colonel Parker is able to start puffing on a cigar; his assistant informs him that Miss Garbo has misread the number of noughts on the cheque.

“You mean there could be more?” he asks, with an edge of panic in his voice. “I sincerely hope you mean there are less”.

“Less, Colonel. Exactly. And remember the cheque is drawn on your account at the Jefferson Davis Bank.”

“Ah… of course. Well done, Bubba.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m learning from The Master.”

Ends