Steve McQueen - Marc Eliot [87]
That June, Jewison began production of The Thomas Crown Affair on location in Boston. Early on, it became apparent that he had little interest in making a traditional caper movie in the style of John Huston’s 1950 iconic The Asphalt Jungle; rather, he wanted to make a modish film in a wide-screen style, with split screens wherever he could fit them in. That way of telling a story was nothing so much as a distraction, and after Michael Wadleigh’s documentary about the Woodstock festival, the style more or less faded away into the same bin where AromaRama and other such big-screen novelties are stored.
It would be a stretch and take something away from Jewison to say the film was saved by its cinematographer, but Haskell Wexler did a yeoman’s job, giving the film a glistening look that perfectly matched the slippery personality of its lead character. And associate producer Hal Ashby, on his way to developing his own career as a director, managed to add an edginess, making a number of suggestions that helped move the plot along.
In the end, however, it was Steve’s star wattage that made the film as good as it was, no matter what visual trickery Jewison tried with it. Steve looked resplendent in the kind of clothes he had never worn before in the movies and came off as a cross between James Bond and Bond Street, his white teeth shining and his all too infrequently seen smile here in ample supply. He gave a pinpoint sharp portrayal of the wealthy, sly, bored criminal genius.
Unfortunately, Dunaway, whose own glamour was swathed in the film in no less than thirty-nine Theadora Van Runkle outfits, proved a poor fit to play the romantic lead; she was too cool a bird to play with an even cooler crow. Whereas she had sparkled opposite the dark, compulsive, narcissistic Warren Beatty, her innocent but eager sexuality a magnet for his boyish charm and smoldering appeal (even playing impotent, Beatty was hotter on the screen than most leading men and any woman who played opposite him came off hotter for it). With Steve, she came off cold and distant, look-at-me (to the audience) and aloof (to Steve), their relationship forced and noticeably lacking in heat. Later on, Jewison said of their pairing, “Faye Dunaway gave [Steve] a tough time, because I don’t think she fell for his charm.” (Neither, unfortunately, did audiences for Jewison’s directorial style.)
Not that Jewison and Trustman didn’t try to ignite the two; there were several set pieces intended to turn the audience on to the couple, but they just didn’t work. One was a chess game that seemed lifted out of Tony Richardson’s 1963 Tom Jones, substituting game pieces for food. Another was a polo match (Steve did his own riding) where Steve’s physical prowess was meant to drive Dunaway crazy, but because of the split-screen work, she came off as distant and disconnected.
In the story, insurance agent Vicky Anderson (Dunaway) works closely with the FBI. Therefore, prior to the start of production, Jewison had written to the FBI to get their cooperation in the making of the film. As this was considered pro forma in mainstream Hollywood films, Jewison was surprised when the FBI said no. The reasons, according to an FBI memorandum dated March 17 (that had J. Edgar Hoover’s fingerprints, if not his name, all over it), was that the Bureau objected to the fact that Anderson “dominates” (their word) the FBI agents, making it seem as if a woman was able to tell an FBI agent what to do. Second, the Bureau found the sex between Crown and Anderson “too explicit,” despite the fact they only kiss once in the film (Hoover, to say the least, was not a big fan of expressed heterosexual happiness).7 And they also took exception to the fact that Crown gets away at the end, outsmarting the FBI, something Hoover would never condone.
However, it appeared the real target of the Bureau’s refusal