"This is what it's all about." -- Harvey Weinstein to Benedict Cumberbatch and director Morten Tyldum on leaving the Governors Awards, November 9, 2014
* * *
The midnight blue of the bracing Idaho sky was the color of her beaded gown, reflecting the sparkle in her green eyes. The legendary red hair was perfectly coiffed; the tasteful diamond bracelets added a touch of glamour. The high-powered audience, gathered in the heart of Hollywood at the beginning of awards season, suddenly quieted as the evening began with a film tribute honoring the ravishingly beautiful actress who never gave less than a perfect performance in her seven-decade career.
Martin Scorsese defined her impact: "She started at the very top, at age 18, starring with and working with the best and most brilliant-- only to remain there."
After Liam Neeson reflected on his infatuation in seeing THE QUIET MAN, and Clint Eastwood, as a Universal contract player, told of his attempts to get close to LADY GODIVA, the audience rose in awe and appreciation as Maureen O'Hara appeared to receive the Oscar that had long eluded her.
In this case, the standing ovation was more than obligatory. It was heartfelt and exciting. We were in the presence of a breed of movie star whose persona was so individual, so distinctive and so appealing that her name alone brought a passion and a reason for going to the movies.
Now, she was back in Idaho, in her home outside Boise, with her golden statuette, close to her grandson, Conor Fitzsimons and his loving family.
When I first learned Maureen O'Hara had moved to Idaho, thirty minutes from where I lived, I thought it impossible. That she would settle in the high desert, so different from the Caribbean, where she had once retired to run an airline with her late husband, General Charles Blair, or to her beloved Ireland, for which she was its most renowned citizen. It seemed incongruous.
As a teen growing up in Providence, R.I., I had two understandings with my parents about when I could watch television beyond my strict 10:00 PM bedtime. The first dispensation was for the annual Academy Awards show. The second was that I'd be in bed when THIS IS YOUR LIFE aired..."Unless it was Maureen O'Hara." On March 27, 1957, Maureen O'Hara became the show's surprised subject as she was being interviewed on the red carpet about THE WINGS OF EAGLES, prior to the Oscar telecast. That night became a double treat.
Thirty years later, living in Los Angeles, I flew to New York for a special showing of THE QUIET MAN, which she introduced at The Film Society of Lincoln Center. I hoped to meet her and see if she'd be interested in playing a key role in a film of CASHEL BYRON'S PROFESSION, based on the novel by George Bernard Shaw. She responded to the idea of a Shaw project, with provisions of script approval. I was nearly tongue-tied being next to my formidable teen crush.
![2015-10-19-1445226730-3175956-ohara1.png]()
I had brought along a favorite image -- a painting by Sergio Garguilo used for the lavish trade ad for HOMESTRETCH, a romantic horseracing drama with Cornel Wilde from her peak 20th Century Fox period.
Garguilo created more film campaigns in more countries than any other artist and in his airbrush rendering of O'Hara, she never looked more enticing, framed within a gold horseshoe. She autographed the piece, which she had never seen, and which I subsequently framed.
It was prominently displayed in our living room when it caught the eye of a visiting friend who nonchalantly reported, "I just read she's moved to Boise.''
I was flabbergasted; I was in the midst of advocating for Maureen O'Hara to receive an Honorary Oscar.
* * *
Like any worthwhile recognition, -- an award, a cause, a political position -- nothing happens in a vacuum. Everything requires work and imagination, a combination of creativity and that dreaded word, lobbying.
My first award attempt began in 1982, incensed that Lillian Gish had yet to be recognized with the American Film Institute's Life Achievement Award. The criteria for that honor states, "the recipient should be one whose talent has in a fundamental way advanced the film art; whose accomplishment has been acknowledged by scholars, critics, professional peers and the general public; and whose work has stood the test of time."
Lillian was knowledgeable about every aspect of filmmaking, having leaned the craft from D.W. Griffith, who discovered her and made her the leading lady of his most famous and successful films (WAY DOWN EAST, ORPHANS OF THE STORM, THE BIRTH OF A NATION). She was
The midnight blue of the bracing Idaho sky was the color of her beaded gown, reflecting the sparkle in her green eyes. The legendary red hair was perfectly coiffed; the tasteful diamond bracelets added a touch of glamour. The high-powered audience, gathered in the heart of Hollywood at the beginning of awards season, suddenly quieted as the evening began with a film tribute honoring the ravishingly beautiful actress who never gave less than a perfect performance in her seven-decade career.
Martin Scorsese defined her impact: "She started at the very top, at age 18, starring with and working with the best and most brilliant-- only to remain there."
After Liam Neeson reflected on his infatuation in seeing THE QUIET MAN, and Clint Eastwood, as a Universal contract player, told of his attempts to get close to LADY GODIVA, the audience rose in awe and appreciation as Maureen O'Hara appeared to receive the Oscar that had long eluded her.
In this case, the standing ovation was more than obligatory. It was heartfelt and exciting. We were in the presence of a breed of movie star whose persona was so individual, so distinctive and so appealing that her name alone brought a passion and a reason for going to the movies.
Now, she was back in Idaho, in her home outside Boise, with her golden statuette, close to her grandson, Conor Fitzsimons and his loving family.
When I first learned Maureen O'Hara had moved to Idaho, thirty minutes from where I lived, I thought it impossible. That she would settle in the high desert, so different from the Caribbean, where she had once retired to run an airline with her late husband, General Charles Blair, or to her beloved Ireland, for which she was its most renowned citizen. It seemed incongruous.
As a teen growing up in Providence, R.I., I had two understandings with my parents about when I could watch television beyond my strict 10:00 PM bedtime. The first dispensation was for the annual Academy Awards show. The second was that I'd be in bed when THIS IS YOUR LIFE aired..."Unless it was Maureen O'Hara." On March 27, 1957, Maureen O'Hara became the show's surprised subject as she was being interviewed on the red carpet about THE WINGS OF EAGLES, prior to the Oscar telecast. That night became a double treat.
Thirty years later, living in Los Angeles, I flew to New York for a special showing of THE QUIET MAN, which she introduced at The Film Society of Lincoln Center. I hoped to meet her and see if she'd be interested in playing a key role in a film of CASHEL BYRON'S PROFESSION, based on the novel by George Bernard Shaw. She responded to the idea of a Shaw project, with provisions of script approval. I was nearly tongue-tied being next to my formidable teen crush.
I had brought along a favorite image -- a painting by Sergio Garguilo used for the lavish trade ad for HOMESTRETCH, a romantic horseracing drama with Cornel Wilde from her peak 20th Century Fox period.
Garguilo created more film campaigns in more countries than any other artist and in his airbrush rendering of O'Hara, she never looked more enticing, framed within a gold horseshoe. She autographed the piece, which she had never seen, and which I subsequently framed.
It was prominently displayed in our living room when it caught the eye of a visiting friend who nonchalantly reported, "I just read she's moved to Boise.''
I was flabbergasted; I was in the midst of advocating for Maureen O'Hara to receive an Honorary Oscar.
Like any worthwhile recognition, -- an award, a cause, a political position -- nothing happens in a vacuum. Everything requires work and imagination, a combination of creativity and that dreaded word, lobbying.
My first award attempt began in 1982, incensed that Lillian Gish had yet to be recognized with the American Film Institute's Life Achievement Award. The criteria for that honor states, "the recipient should be one whose talent has in a fundamental way advanced the film art; whose accomplishment has been acknowledged by scholars, critics, professional peers and the general public; and whose work has stood the test of time."
Lillian was knowledgeable about every aspect of filmmaking, having leaned the craft from D.W. Griffith, who discovered her and made her the leading lady of his most famous and successful films (WAY DOWN EAST, ORPHANS OF THE STORM, THE BIRTH OF A NATION). She was