My dear friend Aaron Graham recommended this book to me, because it’s the only book with an account of the making of Elaine May’s MIKEY AND NICKY, that masterpiece about what we now call “toxic” masculinity that nails everything about male friendships.
The book writer, Carol Matthau, a k a Carol Grace, at one time Carol Saroyan, speaks not so well of John Cassavetes and of Elaine; Peter Falk gets a pass. In the movie, Carol plays a baby-faced, white-powdered chippie who talks in an affectedly babyish way. She seems to have had lip plumpers, though M&N was shot in 1973 and that was not much of a thing, not even in Carol’s Beverly Hills. John’s Nicky, a player, a cool guy, is hunted by mobsters that his best friend, Mikey (Falk), a more humdrum, CPA-ish, shmucky guy, works for as well. Mikey is selling Nicky out, setting him up for a hit. All the while, the soon to be dead Nicky spends a night running around town with Mikey. He know he will soon be dead, yet can’t help but humiliate and put down his shmoey friend. He sets Mikey up with a girl anyone can have—Carol—who responds to his come-on by biting his lip. Nicky acts angry and outraged at her rejection of his buddy, but Mikey knows HE was set up—to fail with this aging B-girl.
It is said that Elaine May told Carol, the wife of Walter Matthau, “I have a role that’s perfect for you!” And indeed, she plays in the movie like someone May found in a bar who WAS that aging B-girl...down to the tinkling baby-doll voice. That tinkle plays throughout this memoir; as Carol can’t stop telling us, she was childhood best friends with Oona O’Neill and Gloria Vanderbilt. Her voice here has that “poor little rich girl” thing, that love of calling things “darling” (as an adjective) and the use of childlike pet names. The strange potency of the book is that baby doll Carol is pointedly not nice. She tells an anecdote about Sidney Lumet taking Gloria Vanderbilt for a ride that is so preposterously nasty it feels patently untrue. Her anecdotes about her dear friend Maureen Stapleton are patronizing to the brink of outright cruelty. She seems in brief the epitome of an old school of Hollywood wife—extremely cultured, extremely snobbish, highly materialistic and not at all nice to the children. And very sad about the girlish face vanishing in the mirror.
It seems to have entirely escaped Carol that the two loves of her life, Willliam Saroyan and Walter Matthau, come off extremely poorly, especially the former, who would make most of today’s me-too victims look like saints.