Bob and me
The New York Times reports that Robert Evans, legendary producer ("Chinatown", "The Godfather") and ex-husband of hot-damn 70s babe Ali McGraw (until she dumped him for Steve McQueen) is looking to take his crayzee life story to Broadway. Now Babelogue has had the pleasure of an hour in the company of this man. Picture this...Cannes, 2002...a cream-coloured suite at the Eden Roc hotel...view of turquoise sea out the window. Evans has summoned the press to promote his documentary "The Kid Stays In The Picture", based on the memoirs of the same name and produced by Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter (who really shouldn't have been messing around in Hollywood, as we later discovered). I'm thinking this guy is over-the-hill. He's 71 and has had a multiple stroke. He can barely shuffle from his coffee table to the closet, fer chrissakes. There's three of us, two French guys and me. Since I am the only one speaking fluent English, I kick off the questions. And as soon as those first gravelly notes hit me, I am sucked into the charisma vortex that is Bob Evans. This guy speaks like Bogie in "The Maltese Falcon" -- all the time. Bob/Bogie is not shy about discussing his legal woes. "I took the biggest dive in the history of the motion business and you know what the reciprocity was? Zero minus zero. And you know what it did to me? It branded me for the rest of my life," he says. I'm hooked. My questions become increasingly fawning and sycophantic. At one point, I apparently channel Marilyn Monroe and breathily wonder: "Mr Evans, how does it feel to be a legend?" My journalistic credibility now totally snuffed, I secretly decide that I want to have this man's babies. How to explain it? He has a George Hamilton perma-tan and his light blue satin shirt is stretching over what appears to be a corset. I know, like I said, I was in a secondary state. Had he been spritzing pheromones? Performing black magic? Whatever it was, I'm not the only woman to feel the vibes. Discount wife number 7, or 8, another pneumatic blonde who no doubt wants to sink her claws into his Beverly Hills estate. I'm talking cream of young Hollywood. Newsday reported at the time: "Recently, at a chichi Oscar party, Evans' dinner partner, Selma Blair, told everyone that she wanted to marry him." Yeah, join the queue, honey. Anyway, all I have left of my brief encounter is an autograph from the great man. It makes me smile when I am down. Bob wrote: "Go for it, beautiful lady. You can do it if you try."
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