Mr. Strangelove_ A Biography of Peter Sellers - Ed Sikov [99]
But he seemed giddy with the imminent prospect of Tinseltown: “I can’t wait to see Hollywood! It may sound a bit silly, but I almost feel I’d like to have an autograph book along.” He actually did take one.
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On Friday, April 27, at the annual black-tie White House Press Dinner at Washington’s Sheraton-Park Hotel, Peter Sellers of North London and Ilfracombe met John F. Kennedy of the White House and Hyannisport as well as Harold Macmillan of 10 Downing Street. Kennedy and Sellers impressed each other; Macmillan’s response remains less clear.
Benny Goodman, Elliott Reid, Bob Fosse and Gwen Verdon (who performed bits from Damn Yankees), and Peter provided the evening’s entertainment. Among the fifteen hundred guests were Vice President Lyndon Johnson, Chief Justice Earl Warren, seven Cabinet members, the entire White House press corps, and enough British reporters to cover any little scandal that might helpfully occur. Elliott Reid did his impersonation of Kennedy. Peter began by announcing that he never consciously tried to be funny, after which he did a hilarious impression of Macmillan.
Responding with characteristic warmth and laughter, Kennedy, who had recently ripped into the American steel industry for raising prices, said of Sellers and Reid (whose impersonation consisted of Kennedy ripping into the steel industry), “I’ve arranged for them to appear next week on the U.S. Steel Hour.” Kennedy then clarified the issue for the crowd: “Actually, I didn’t do it. Bobby did it.”
But with Peter’s Macmillan imitation, the British press got its scandal. It was not newsworthy for an American comedian to mimic his president’s distinctive Bostonian accent; everyone in America was doing it. And Kennedy, as his friend and aide Ted Sorensen recalls, “loved to laugh.” But a British half-Jew mocking his conservative prime minister’s patrician voice—to the prime minister’s face—was apparently unconscionable. Hungrily, British newspaper reporters forced Peter to justify himself.
In the first place, he said, they had asked him. “The Office of the prime minister called me in London,” Peter explained under pressure, “and I told them they wanted Mort Sahl. I’m no stand-up comic. They insisted, and I finally agreed to do five minutes of mild political joking, on the condition I could have my picture taken with the leaders.
“He was on home ground,” Peter said, referring to Elliott Reid. “And he knew already how much the President enjoyed his take-off.” Sellers went on to explain that he’d met Macmillan at the reception before the dinner and that Macmillan told him to go ahead and do it. “Don’t forget,” the prime minister told the comedian—“No holds barred.” “So I barred no holds,” said Peter. “And Mr. Macmillan took it as sportingly as President Kennedy took the Elliott Reid skit.” If only the British press had been as sporting.
For his part, JFK told Sellers that he’d loved several of his films, though Sellers didn’t want to bring up the subject of Lolita’s looming release, apparently for fear of offending Kennedy by mentioning a sex story.
• • •
Three days later Peter Sellers was in Hollywood, lunching with an MGM executive on the Culver City lot in the afternoon and dining with the director Billy Wilder in Beverly Hills at Chasens that night.
Offers were already pouring in. For example, they wanted him for Peter Pan. George Cukor would direct.
If it hadn’t been for his body, about which he could only do so much, Peter Sellers would not have made a bad Peter Pan. But in this proposed production the role of Peter was to go to Audrey Hepburn, with Peter as Captain Hook. Hayley Mills would be Wendy.
As with most business in Hollywood, there was a lot of buzz and very little action, and Peter found it frustrating. “I know it’s exciting to have an idea,” he told a reporter some months later, “but it’s more exciting to have a screenplay. Take Peter Pan. All I’ve