Articles

"I Wasn't Easy" - After a stormy early acting career, four marriages and five years in Europe, a mellower Tony Franciosa has come back to star in Finder of Lost Loves
by Jack Hicks - TV Guide - March 9, 1985

Elegant in casual clothes, Tony Franciosa paces the gravel road, footsteps crunching in the morning air. He pauses to scan the mammoth H-O-L-L-Y-W-O-O-D sign dominating the hillside above, each letter seven times his 6-foot height. "It's good to be back in California," he says, as if voicing lines. Each tone has a sheen, proof of early training at the Actors Studio in New York and a four-decade attention to the nuances of his craft.

"That sign sum many memories... ", he notes wistfully, not unlike his character, Cary Maxwell, the romantic lead of ABC's Finder of Lost Loves. "It's a godsend to be home with my family and working in a series again."

Is this the same Tony Franciosa who was described as "a pain in the butt" by a director who knew him in the '50s?

The actor whose most frequent comment to the press was once "that's none of your business" explains why he is back doing series TV: "I felt it was time for the American public to recognize me once more. Out of sight, out of mind. I pondered that fact, and very slowly, I came to accept it."

"In short, I decided to return to the marketplace. This gun is, as they say, for hire. With no blanks,"

The vehicle Franciosa has chosen for his homecoming is vintage Aaron Spelling -- a one-hour, double-plotted romantic adventure co-starring Deborah Adair (Daisy Lloyd, his partner), Anne Jeffreys (office manager Rita Hargrove) and Larry Flash Jenkins (gofer Lyman Whittaker). Hard-edged, uncluttered, filled with bright primary colors and luscious settings, the show is loosely based on the exploits of a true-to-life Los Angeles finder of lost loves, of whom, more later.

Tony Franciosa was born Anthony Papaleo in 1928 and reared in an East Harlem cold-water walk-up by his mother, two aunts, an uncle and grandparents. His family was poor (though never, he says with pride, on "family relief," the welfare of his day) and he was soon out on his own. He struggled as a waiter, messenger boy, dishwasher, day laborer -- whatever paid the rent for the cheap "residence hotels" in which he sometimes slept.

Auditioning "by accident" in 1946 for a YWCA production, Franciosa acted mainly unnoticed until an explosive performance in "A Hatful of Rain" (1955) brought critical raves and a Broadway run. Then Hollywood came knocking, with both fists.

"I'll never forget coming to California the first time -- six days on the bus," he says outside his mobile dressing room, dabbing makeup frorn his jaw with a towel. "I must have been, oh, 19, and a friend asked me to come to Lake Tahoe to do summer stock in a new theater."

"Now understand -- I'd never been out of New York, and when I got off the bus, it was like Mars. I kept touching everything -- trees, rocks -- to confirm it was real. The scenery was spectacular. Then the director drove us to the theater."

"'There it is,' he pointed out the window at a pine forest, 'Or rather, there it will be. First, we have to build it.' I wanted to flee. But where and with what? I'd arrived with nine dollars in my pocket and New York was 3000 miles away."

Standing in the California sun 37 years later, Franciosa shakes his head slowly at the thought. "We built it in a month -- felled trees, dragged the land, erected the auditorium. We never did find money to put the tent roof over it."

"My last memory of 'The Theater in the Sky,' as it was called, was standing at the entrance, handing blankets to the audience. With no roof, high in the Sierras, it got very cold at night, even in summer, so we issued a blanket with each ticket. The audiences were only about 10 people, so we never ran out. Mainly. . ., " he gestures to a stand of pines not unlike those in his tale, "I remember vast numbers of empty seats."

The location shooting in the Hollywood hills today marks the end of production on Finder of Lost Loves for three weeks, and cast and crew are jaunty at the thought of a vacation. Hours are long and the pace grinding when filming a one-hour episode each week, but nothing close to the frenzy Franciosa found on first coming to Hollywood. "I was 27, very intense, and restless with life in an Italian clan." He furrows his brow, pausing, as if that Tony Franciosa were another person in a foreign land. "They all wanted me after 'A Hatful of Rain.' so I jumped right in. Boy, did I ever."

He signed contracts with two studios for six films, and picture deals with two independent producers. He made nine films in four years, and frequet television appearances in Playhouse 90, Philco Playhouse and Kraft Theatre in the same period. His drunken, roistering Polo Pope in the film version of "A Hatful of Rain" (1957) held critics and audiences rapt and gained him an Academy Award nomination, The pace Franciosa kept up would drive Mr. Rogers screaming to the Valium cabinet.

Glowering, often truculent, young Franciosa found it difficult to separate himself from the Angry Young Men he played. A leading biographical source lauded him as an actor of "explosive vehemence and intensity," but for others, like the retired director who knew him then, he was "spoiled, greedy, scared -- the whole ball of wax. But he could act, and he was pretty smart. Not just a thick head of black hair, you know? And jeez, the women. They flocked to him."

Co-star Deborah Adair finds such descriptions puzzling. A fresh-faced brunette who served three years in The Young and the Restless and one season in Dynasty, Adair makes a pert Daisy, Cary Maxwell's cohort and sister-in-law. Their relationship is platonic -- the memory of Maxwell's deceased wife is still too powerful for him. But just a lick weaker for Daisy, who beams blue-eyed messages his way every chance she gets.

"I don't know what he was 30 years ago," she says. "But right now, with me, he's fully attentive and patient. He listens to what your ideas are, which sounds small, but is not. Mostly, he's Iow-key, instructive, professional. Watch him work -- no waste, no unintended movement. He sculpts Cary Maxwell's charm and decency."

On the other side of L.A., Lloyd Shulman sits in a small offfice surrounded by stacks of telephone books and overflowing ashtrays. Bearded, the private investigator is a quick wit, with a paunch and a soft spot for romance. Since 1960, Shulman has brought together more than 50,000 loved ones, and it is his story on which Finder of Lost Loves is based. His clients are usually middle-aged, widowed or divorced, and rarely find themselves paired with teen-age sweethearts once more.

Most of his work is methodical, and Shulman is quick to point out that Cary Maxwell and Maxwell Ltd. are more glamorous than realistic. "But I do getLa lot of great romances," he chuckles. "For instance: a guy calls me a couple years back, wants to find out if his high-school sweetheart is going to their 25th class reunion. No problem: she is. So he decides to go."

"Six months later, he calls back and says he's getting married. He's high as a kite. I'm thrilled -- I congratulate him on rekindling the old flame. 'What?' he says. 'No way -- she's fat and saggy. I'm gonna marry her 20-year-old daughter -- she looks just like the girl I left behind.' Now that," says Shulman, "is a great case, but Tony Franciosa will never get to crack it. He's too classy for one that weird."

A few hours later, Tony Franciosa is finally able to lean back at lunch, tuxedoed waiters clattering glass and silver nearby. He smiles at the mention of Lloyd Shulman. "Of course the man is right. You won't see us do that story. And there is a large difference between a professional investigator who uses logic to seek someone --- maintains his objectivity -- and Cary Maxwell, who gets involved with those who need him. That need triggers his own emotional Iife, revives him with each case."

"I'm well aware of what people say about shows such as ours, but frankly, it was the quickest decision I've ever made. I like working with Spelling and I like my character. The role requires that I open myself to others' feelings -- immerse myself in their lives. Do you know how refreshing that is for ego-ridden actors? And I like the 'romantic' aspect -- Maxwell still cherishes the memory of his departed wife. That prevents him from being fully involved with any of the many women who pass through his life, but it doesn't stifle his interest."

Franciosa's hair has grayed and expression lines etch his face. He is polite, candid, involved, as he talks at length about leaving the American spotlight. After starring in four series between 1964 and 1975 (Valentine's Day, The Name of The Game, Search, and Matt Helm), he grew weary of the roles offered and set off to work in Europe. "I liked the Italians. My family visited frequently and they loved it, too. I got a chance to do some really new things -- especially in 'Tenebrae,' which did very well in Europe. I played an American horror novelist who goes mad in Rome." He toys with the omelet, as if setting bait for a trap.

What sort of things did he do that were really new?

"Cut my throat."

He laughs, very pleased. "I had a chance to grow truly deranged in that one, it was a great experience, but very bloody at the end. I'd never cut my throat before -- on or off camera. Very few actors have, you know,"

His words grow more measured, his hazel eyes clear and direct, when he discusses the turns his career has taken. "Far fewer films were being made, and many of the roles were going to younger, more vibrant men. I was a leading man in my films. I hope I still am. Faced with the lack of work I found interesting here, I spent five years in England, Germany, Italy. But each time I returned, it was like starting over."

Of his infamous "attitude" in the early years, Franciosa admits, "I had a 'highly fused' temperament. There were misunderstandings -- for me, the work was paramount. I was often oblivious to the feelings of others. There were certainly directors and actors who didn't enjoy working with me. I wasn't easy -- l wasn't a Smiling Jack, ever."

"Part of it," he pauses, "was lack of, self-assurance and self-esteem. My childhood didn't build those things. And I wasn't prepared to do four films in a single year. The hoopla, the women, the money, the sense of eyes on you at every second. I had to work through all of it."

After three earlier marriages (including a 1957-60 roller-coaster liaison with Shelley Winters), he credits a happy family life as a major force in his maturation. (His fourth wife, Rita Thiel, a former model, has borne him two sons: Christopher, 16, and Marco, 13. Franciosa also has a daughter, Nina, 21, a theater-arts major at the University of Southern California, by an earlier marriage.) "Understand," he warns, "I'm not a mellow old man. The forces that drove me are still there -- my talent relies upon them. But now I control, them."

"It took years of therapy and simply Iiving through things to finally accept and enjoy myself. My wife Rita's influence has been profound in that process. Her family was a product of The Great Disaster -- World War 11. She emerged from the flames with a remarkable buoyancy. Each day she rises with an optimism, a serenity toward life that is certainly contagious. Does that sound romantic?" he asks quietly. "it so, so be it."

"The future? Well, there is one role I'd love. I'd like to work in a film version a Nikos Kazantzakis' 'The Last Temptation of Christ' -- he wrote 'Zorba the Greek.'"

"I'd like to play Judas. To Kazantzakis, Christ manipulates Judas, forces him to be a betrayer, so that Christ might tell the world he had to die in order to save it. I'm a bit mature -- they were men ir their 20s and 30s -- but I feel I'd make good Judas."

His eyes twinkle. Franciosa's enjoying after a long time, fencing with the press again. "Has my show-business caree prepared me for the role of Judas? Ah, what a leading question. I'll have to leav the answer to you."
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