Curtis Harrington Eulogized by Barbara Steele

Director Curtis Harrington (1926-2007) lead a fascinating life.  Barbara Steele delivered this eulogy at Harrington’s funeral – and The Chiseler thanks her for providing an intimate portrait, published here for the first time. Today would have been Harrington’s ninety-first birthday.

Good evening. Although Curtis was born in Los Angeles, to me he had the grace, mannerisms and soul of a Southern gentleman, right down to his white linen suits, wicked, playful and baroque, a fabulous gossip and fabulously informed.  He stood in the center of his own drama, in fact when I think of Curtis I always think of him as an opera. Wasn’t the obituary photograph of Curtis in the L.A. Times where he stood with a stone cherub just perfect, maybe a slightly wicked one with that wonderful ironic smile?  The Los Angeles that he inhabited was the city of his childhood – the Orpheum Theater, the Angel’s Flight, the red cars, C.C. Brown’s ice cream parlor, he mourned whenever one of his childhood haunts closed down.  He was the last of an era of great raconteurs, like Gavin Lambert, Ivan Moffet, John Schlesinger and others.  He had the great gift of friendship, witness everybody here tonight; I met everybody in that marvelous house of his that seemed to have been transported from a Tennessee Williams dream.  The fountains, the fish, the flowers, the books, the art deco pieces that he so treasured, Judy Garland’s slippers, the fat fabulous cats that would come and go, the mummified bats in their silver cases in his bedroom and the Poe etchings.  The extraordinary array of guests. Where did they all come from?… I met everybody there that I wanted to meet: Marlene Dietrich, Gore Vidal, Russian alchemists, holistic healers from Normandy, witches from Wales, mimes from Paris, directors from everywhere, writers from everywhere and beautiful men from everywhere.  I was never quite sure if he was the host or the waiter because he would disappear into the kitchen in his tuxedo for an eternity while we the guests would hear the endless grinding and blending of machines where he was invariably whipping up mountains of whipped cream.  I was invited to one party where we were asked to wear formal gowns, it was 100 degrees in August with no air conditioning for a dinner that went on for six hours where we were all photographed for House and Garden. Sweaty guests.

A lover of big cities, the city he loved most was Paris.  He lived there in 1953 and quickly learned the language, he was a regular at the Cinémathèque Française where he befriended Henri Langlois.  He would make frequent pilgrimages to the Père Lachaise Cemetery and as a matter of principle he would go and see every French film in Los Angeles. but above all Curtis had the remarkable gift for friendship.  In some ways he could be a snob, but it was never based on money, title, social rank or privilege, it was a snobbery of the heart and of the mind.  He responded to talent, to beauty, to charm and to intellect, he was forgiving of human foible and social flight but once Curtis had decided that he liked you, he admitted you into his charmed circle, once you were inside it, you would never be banished, it was such a delightful place to be, you wouldn’t want to escape… and you loved him with all your heart. 

by Barbara Steele