Bianca Jagger arrives on time. She was once often late, but it seems as if her habits have changed. She is all dressed in white, in a suit and a low-cut t-shirt. She plays with her hands in the lobby of the Mayfair Regent Hotel in New York. She is about to leave for Tuzla with the Bosnian boy she brought to the United States three years ago to have a heart operation. She is returning him healed, with his family.
Peter Beard and Lee Radziwill’s long-lost footage inserts Big and Little Edie into a wider cultural narrative about late 70s NYC.
Hannah Ongley 21 May, 2018
Grey Gardens superfans — in 2018, there are still many — tend to hold two theories about why Big and Little Edie Bouvier Beale are so eternally captivating. The eccentric former socialites’ story can be read as tragic, or triumphant, or both. Did the Beales shun society or did society shun them? Debating this requires you to look outside the crumbling walls of their Hamptons mansion, and towards an overlooked surrounding cast of characters. (Little Edie rejected marriages from both J. Paul Getty and Joe. Kennedy Jnr.)
A new, long-lost prequel to Grey Gardens now opens the circle up even wider, providing fascinating context to the iconic mother-daughter duo’s story, and introducing new narratives that are equally riveting. That Summer is a trove of fully restored archival footage previously believed to have been lost, shot a few years before Albert and David Maysles started filming Grey Gardens. The new documentary was commissioned by artist Peter Beard alongside Lee Radziwill, the glamorous younger sister of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, who originally hired the Mayles brothers to work on the now-iconic film about her reclusive relatives.
That Summer showcases a motley crew of creatives who shaped 70s NYC culture, from Radziwill and Beard to Andy Warhol and Bianca Jagger. (Warhol lent his own archival footage to the project.) The result blends the dilapidation of Grey Gardens with the glitter of Studio 54, blending the New Yorks into a languid summer dreamscape: encompassing glamor and dilapidation, nostalgia and foresight, ephemerality and eternal life. Peppering the archival footage and interviews are newly shot scenes of Beard creating a collage, blending scenes of Africa with 70s time capsules of Donyale outstretched on a rock. It’s a fitting metaphor for That Summer’s cinematic mélange of disparate communities. “At the time,” explains director Göran Hugo Olsson, “New York was far from paradise, with the drugs and all that, but to me, it was a dream that we should all be striving towards: tolerance and acceptance.”
How familiar were you with the original Grey Gardens documentary?Göran Hugo Olsson: I was familiar with it, and fascinated by it, like most other people I know. I viewed the film two times before making That Summer, to make sure that we could add something to it. I haven’t seen it since I made this film. I kind of disappeared every day, six hours a day, for a couple of years [laughs].
A incredible number of celebrities show up in the film, including Bianca Jagger, model Donyale, and Andy Warhol. It’s almost the Studio 54 of Long Island.The first time I became aware of the Beales was through a book by Andy Warhol. I actually think I became aware of Peter Beard though Andy Warhol, come to think of it.
Which book of Warhol’s was it?I think it was America, which has both Peter and the Beales in it.
LEE RADZIWILL, COURTESY JONAS MEKAS
You say the original footage was supposed to document the barometer of change in 70s East Hampton. Did you ever live in Montauk or the Hamptons yourself?No, not at all! I live in Stockholm, Sweden. The reason why I made the film, or was asked to come up with ideas of how to make the material into film, is that I was so into New York in the late 70s when I was a very young teenager. I was totally fascinated by the world around New York and Studio 54 and Warhol. At the end of the 70s I was very politically active in supporting the struggle against apartheid in South Africa. I remember biking from an ANC (African National Congress) meeting to the public library to read Interview magazine. It was a dream world for me. In South Africa, to be able to explore yourself and express yourself, that was a dream.
Obviously politics forms a facet of this documentary because of the Kennedy tie-in. But was politics a reason you became interested in the story?I think, not only me, but the entire team, we tried to make a film that exposes social or economic injustice. The film was about film itself. And I don’t see the difference between a political struggle and a struggle to present art as art. I was a hardcore leftist but I never saw any problems in loving mainstream pop stars.
Why do you think we are still so infatuated by Big and Little Edie today?The story or situation is about how you’re supposed to behave like a woman. They’re protected by their class or privilege up to a certain level. But when they break that level, their community or their surrounding world cracks down on them harder. I’m sure that if they were two eccentric professors in American literature, people would regard them more highly.
EDITH BOUVIER BEALE, COURTESY OF PETER BEARD
At one point, Big Edie says that “bringing up the past is the most awful thing you can do.” What do you think about that sentiment in the context of making this documentary?First, I think she’s right, and she saw it at that time. I kept that scene because I wanted to show that she was aware of what was going on, and how this could be perceived by others. We all should identify with that. It’s a key line.
What did you know of the Beales’s showbiz ambitions? The way Little Edie moves and speaks is so wonderfully theatrical.I think they both wanted to pursue singing careers. It was singing, drama, and music. Little Edie went to Harvard. I don’t know what she studied there. But in those days, it didn’t matter so much what you studied. It was a different system at that time.
At one point they’re talking about Lee’s father to a Hamptons local, who says he can’t tell any stories because they’re all too risqué. Did you get to hear any of them?I think the stories wouldn’t [be appropriate for] the time of the #MeToo movement! But it was a different time. He had a lot of stories! But when he was around, that was almost 100 years ago. What do you know? He was a character. What I heard was hearsay. What I do know, more than anyone because I’ve seen the footage so many times, and have been able to process it… we can all identify with having a family history which has to be re-written from time to time. 100 years ago, rich people didn’t pay much respect to women, even less than they do maybe today.
Little Edie applying makeup to never leave the house feels strangely modern. She’s not trying to impress men, but as she says at one point, she’s always looking for either her eyeliner or her pants.It’s very refreshing to hear Peter Beard talk about them. He said they were in a time capsule, and they were in a dream world, and it was okay. One of the things we wanted to communicate is that there was a tolerance at this particular time, in New York in the 70s, and I think we should all strive to be more tolerant. That was a key thing for Peter.
The scene where Big Edie is lying on the sofa surrounded by cake and ice-cream reminded me of Marie Antoinette .We all have that indulgent side, and they explore that side, and are unapologetic about it. It makes you really like them.
Don’t stop the party … Bianca Jagger sits on a white horse at Studio 54 in 1977. Photograph: Images/Rex Shutterstock
Ian Schrager: how we made Studio 54
‘We wanted a mix of rich, poor, gay, straight, old and young … somebody topless could dance with a woman in ballgown and tiara’
Ian Schrager, founder
New York was on the verge of bankruptcy in the mid-1970s. Danger was in the air, people were getting mugged, but it was also a creative, bohemian time. You could really feel the energy in the gay clubs: there were frantic, intense, sweating bodies everywhere. Straight people hadn’t yet learned to let it all hang out.
I was a lawyer and my friend Steve Rubell was in the restaurant business. In bad times, people look for escapism, so I suggested starting a club. We saw an old TV studio in the west side of Manhattan, which was like Lebanon at the time – unsafe to walk. But it felt right. We persuaded a store owner called Jack Dushey to lend us $400,000 to convert the building and put lighting in, then we put a team together and it all instantly took off.
Right from the opening night, it was like holding on to a lightning bolt or walking into Disney World. The lighting and the sets were an assault on the senses. People danced with wild abandon. The door policy was controversial, but we wanted a mix of rich, poor, gay, straight, old and young, because when you have that alchemy, magic happens. Somebody topless could dance with a woman in a ballgown and a tiara.
Over the next few years, every celebrity or big shot came to Studio 54. But nobody pestered anyone for an autograph, so they could be themselves. Andy Warhol was shy and just liked to watch. Mick Jagger was the same as he was on stage and Diana Ross was an amazing dancer. I never saw Donald Trump dance, though. He was a serious guy.
‘It was like holding on to a lightning bolt’ … Andy Warhol, Calvin Klein, Brooke Shields and Steve Rubell at Studio 54 c.1981. Photograph: Robin Platzer/Images Press/
We were always trying to wow our customers. We dumped four tons of glitter on the dancefloor. When Bianca Jagger jumped on a white horse, the photo went all over the world, but those moments only ever lasted a few minutes because we didn’t want to stop the party. There was a huge “man in the moon” hanging over the dancefloor, who lit up whenever a giant spoon rose up to his nose. But this was more about being arrogant and subversive than celebrating drugs. Studio 54 was no more hedonistic than any other place.
I’m lucky to have survived it. Success made us do stupid things, like fighting the US government. After Steve said, “Only the mafia make more money”, Internal Revenue were all over us. It’s a myth that we had cash hidden all over the club. It was in the back of cars.
Michael Overington, manager
I started as a $3-an-hour cleaner but I made myself invaluable and ended up manager. I kept the place going while Ian and Steve were in jail for 13 months [for tax evasion]. I’d visit them, take in dimes for their phone calls, tell them what was happening in the club.
‘Visiting artists loved it’ … Grace Jones performs at a Studio 54 party in 1978. Photograph: Ron Galella/WireImage
I was the sensible guy who’d crack the whip and get the bartenders and cloakroom girls in position. Every night, we played Earth, Wind and Fire to get the staff in the zone. There was a lot of cocaine back then and the music was energising, so people would speed up and dance till 4am. Visiting artists loved it when we played their records. Madonna lip-synced to a tape. Diana Ross sang along to her songs in the DJ booth.
Because it was a big space with an opening out on to the street, we could bring cars, furniture or animals in, to create different environments every night. At $20 or $30 admission, the door take alone would pay for the scenery, actors and costumes for drag parties and such. The neighbours thought we were crazy. Once, for a Grease party, we brought a load of 1950s convertibles in and the fire department told me to take the gasoline out of them. So we pumped it into the sewers. You could smell it for two blocks. I said: “Well, you told me to get the gas out.”
I recently found an old letter from the health department that said: “You are in violation of the regulations by having a zebra in the club.” The animals would take dumps on the dancefloor.
And one New Year’s Eve, we had a 200ft ice wall which turned the club into a giant blue igloo. I piled the ice out on to the sidewalk the next morning – it was 6ft high and 20ft long. This drunk guy came along with his eyes wide open and said: “Man, they must serve some big drinks in there.”
Ian Schrager’s book Studio 54 is published by Rizzoli International. Michael Overington is now president of the Ian Schrager Company hotel group.
