Picture Show was a weekly film fan magazine from the United Kingdom that ran from 1919 to 1960. In its final two years of publication, Inger was featured as a new face in the industry.
1959: "When Inger Stevens worked part time in a record shop during her college days and found that Bing Crosby discs were among the most popular, she little dreamed that she would make her film debut opposite him in Man on Fire. Her engagement for this picture came as a result of her success in television. The year before she had also made her first appearance on Broadway, having previously toured in a couple of days."
1960: "Beautiful Swedish-born Inger Stevens nearly didn't make her screen debut. She was stricken with appendicitis two days before shooting started, but luckily for her the company thought she was worth waiting for. A blue-eyed blonde, she is independent, self-sufficient and determined, admits to a weakness for clothes, takes most jewelry in moderation, but has a passion for pearls."
Source:
Picture Show Annual. Media Lantern Digital History: https://lantern.mediahist.org/
Inger during filming of House of Cards. This is currently my favorite photo of Inger. Source: Scan from an original photo in my collection.
Inger Stevens was born Inger Stensland on October 18, 1934. It's hard to imagine she would be 86 years old today. If she were around today, would she be painting by the shore with a cozy cottage just steps away? Or would she finally be embracing a life of travel, as she mentioned yearning to do in many interviews? Would she be with a longterm partner (reconciled with Ike Jones or perhaps someone new) and maybe have a child and grandchildren, or would she be embracing the single life and taking time for herself and her life's goals?
Which film would she recall as being her favorite? Would she have a Golden Globe or Academy Award on a shelf in her home? Would she have transitioned into being a notable director and/or producer?
Would she be happily heading her own charitable organization to help children with special needs? Would she have resembled the aged version of herself that The Farmer's Daughter makeup team helped her achieve to film the second season episode, "Katy's 76th Birthday"?
Inger made up to be 76 years old in 1964. Source:eBay
Inger and William Windom in aging makeup. Source: Mr. Television, Sitcoms Online
We can only imagine where Inger might be today, but all of these possibilities put a smile on my face as I write this. What a broad range of talent and passion our Inger possessed! What a remarkable life she lived in the brief 35 years she was here.
Whatever Inger may have embraced post-1970, we can rest assured she would have tackled life and work with her trademark wit, a streak of rebelliousness and absolutely on her own authentic terms.
Inger Stevens and William Windom, stars of The Farmer's Daughter, graced the cover of TV Guide for the week of May 2-8, 1964. This is the cover photo that the editors selected:
Nearly 2 months later, TV Guide shared seven charming outtakes from the cover photo session in the issue for the week of June 27-July 3, 1964. The photo set was titled "36 Weeks and Still Friends" and the writers had fun assigning imaginary exchanges to each picture.
Source:
Scans are from originals in my collection and originally found in TV Guide dated June 27-July 3, 1964.
Inger was a gifted singer and musician, as seen here in this photo that accompanied the article.
In a TV-Radio Mirror interview with the cast of The Farmer's Daughter, Inger shared her thoughts on the character she played and the enjoyment among the cast on set. Inger said:
The odd thing is I've learned so much about myself since I started playing Katy. We're so much alike. We've both grown this past year. And, just like Katy, I'm much more relaxed that I've ever been. Perhaps it's the success of the series, but I'm not having fits over my career anymore. I look at it more objectively. I realize there are more important things in this world than acting. Hollywood may be the center of my life at present, but let's face it: It's a dot on the map, considering the world at large.
Another point. My sense of humor has sharpened up since I became Katy. Either I've gotten more "hep" or else it's because of associating with Bill Windom, Cathleen Nesbitt and Peter Kortner, all of whom have keen senses of humor. This is so important in a running series like ours. When things go wrong on the set—and believe me, even the smoothest show has its bad days—we can always find something to laugh about. Suddenly the gloom evaporates. Thank Heaven for that! It must be murder to work with grouchy people you don't like.
I think the feeling of warm friendliness somehow carries over to the viewers. I get loads of letters asking whether Bill and I are really in love, "because it sure looks that way on the screen." Naturally, we're flattered that our acting is so convincing, but we certainly aren't in love. Bill, as a matter of fact, has a lovely wife and three children. He also has many qualities I admire.
Inger also talked about what type of man attracted her. Inger's statements about finding the perfect man to journalists during the 1960's are always interesting to read. We know now that Inger had already found a man named Isaac Jones and was married to him, but that fact was oblivious to all but Inger's close circle at the time. The most revealing part to me is when Inger says, "I honestly believe I could handle both a home life and a career. In a sense, I'm doing that now." Yes, she definitely was and more than "in a sense!"
It's so easy, you know, to get romantic about your leading man. You're both playing people in love with each other, and you have a tendency to start living the part. It happened to me in my first years in Hollywood. The men were single, unattached and attractive, in all but two cases, and these two might as well have been bachelors for all the loyalty they showed their wives. Both were later on caught up in scandals, and I now realize how lucky I was not to take them seriously.
I like the more mature type of man, and I draw no line with respect to age. I was married once before—to a Broadway agent Tony Soglio—but it lasted on six months. I was only nineteen at the time and had very immature expectations. I realize now that no man could have lived up to my standards at that time. It's taken me ten years to grow up as a woman. I feel sure now that I'm at last ready for marriage. I honestly believe I could handle both a home life and a career. In a sense, I'm doing that now.
I'd like to feel secure and confident that I was joining my life to the right man's. The right man? Well, he'll have to have these two qualities that are a must for me. They are a good sense of humor and the ability to respect me as a person and win my respect, at the same time.
Source:
Emmons, Beatrice. Inger Stevens: The Man Who Stopped My Wedding." TV-Radio Mirror. January 1965
TV Guide featured correspondence between writer and friend Robert de Roos and Inger Stevens that was exchanged during her trip to Sweden, where she filmed Inger Stevens in Sweden in 1964. Whether she's writing about a pesky mouse, sexy Max von Sydow, total exhaustion, camera mishaps or making quips about heaven and hell, Inger's letters are full of wit, honesty and amusement about her life and the world around her. I've transcribed them below and included photos from the article in this post.
September 13-16
Dear Bob (I mean Dear Pen Pal):
It will seem ridiculous to you, but this is the first free moment I have had once I arrived a week ago. I am writing this sitting under a hair drier so's not to waste precious time. We are leaving for the country in an hour and will be gone three days. This morning, after Leslie Blanchard washed my hair, we turned around only to find that the hair drier had disappeared from its customary place. Quite a feat when you consider the size and weight of a professional hair drier. It was 10 Sunday morning. Everything was closed, of course. Phone calls back and forth and finally the manager broke into the hotel beauty shop to get us a drier. We are taking it along with us to the country. Doesn't every girl travel with a professional hair drier when she goes scampering in the Nordic woods?
After traveling in an airplane for 16 hours, one does get a little balmy, particularly when you lose an eight-hour day some place—then step off the plane to face a press conference in Swedish. I felt a little funny about it, too. After being in America for so long and then coming over to do a special on Sweden—they could have resented that, I think, but they didn't.
I cried a little when I saw my mother. Then all the photographers wanted me to cry for them. How do you cry when you have already finished crying? Then I was led out a door and into a big black limousine. It was dark and I could have been any place in the world—Chicago or New York or London. I felt in limbo—not anywhere. Only the next day, when Stockholm showed itself, did I realize where I was.
My family thinks we are filming the family tree, and keeps coming up with "wonderful" ideas for the special. After I had three hours' sleep the first night, the family, the press and radio and television people all started converging on me—an army of people with various goals—re: me. Not to mention the director, the producer, the writer and the publicity man. So my day of rest for readjustment after the flight never happened. It won't happen until I get back to the U.S., I guess.
So far my conversations have been with Prime Minister Tag Erlander, Mr. Erik Boheman, former Ambassador to the U.S. and, for intellectual variety, Ingemar Johansson, the boxer. The men on the crew all speak different languages, none of them English, which hampers Don Taylor, our director, somewhat because he speaks only English. I'm not helping because I speak only Swedish now.
Life after work is rather normal—shove food down, fall exhausted into bed, get up and sit in the living room since you can't get to sleep and boom!—there's a mouse behind the wastebasket. Ring the desk. Little boy comes and by that time the mouse has disappeared. Boy gives me a strange look. Ten minutes later spider appears. Ring desk again. Boy with can of spray. Spider loved the spray. He was back again last night and the night before. So was the mouse.
Sincerely,
Inger Stevens
When Bob writes back that the only thing he knows of Sweden is the story of the man who was fined for hitting his wife with an eel, Inger responds:
Tuesday '64 (I think)
Dear Bob:
That was a completely transistorized electric eel, A.C./D.C. I think the man was lucky to get off with a $5 fine.
The mouse is back. Or rather still here. Don Taylor and some of the other men were here last night discussing the dailies. Everything normal, except that we carried on our discussion while crawling around the room on our hands and knees looking for that blasted mouse.
Most things that can go wrong have gone wrong, including the worst offense in "filmdom"—no film in the camera. What made it worse was that the union said the crew had to break for dinner just then and Max von Sydow...
Well, Max von Sydow. As you know, he is the finest actor alive today. He's appeared in most of Bergman's pictures and he is playing Jesus in "The Greatest Story Ever Told." I was delegated to ask him to appear in this special. We met at Riche restaurant and I was nervous as could be. That was before he came in. When he came in he made me very nervous—is it correct to say "nervouser"? I was wearing my "intellectual" dress but even that didn't help. I blushed and almost fainted.
Von Sydow is that kind of man, a Prince Charming, but nothing put on. He is entirely simple, gentle and direct and interested in you. There is a wonderful purity to him. He's terribly sexy, too. He looks so deeply into your inner self that what is deep inside you comes surging up—and that's almost too much to handle.
He agreed to visit the Drottningholm Theater with me for the show. And, after working a long, long day, the crew told us they had missed the last three shots because there was no film in the camera! Then the crew went to dinner and I had to persuade von Sydow to come back after his dinner and shoot for three more hours. He was wonderful about it.
The Drottningholm Theater was built in 1766 and they still have performances there. All the stage machinery, made of wood, is still in working order. They have a trap door for the descent into hell and another contraption that lifts you up into heaven. So Max and I went to hell together. It was my first time and his also. The professor who is in charge of the theater kept insisting that I should go to heaven, but we didn't have time. After going to hell with Max von Sydow, it might have been an anticlimax anyway.
Best Regards,
Inger
An envious Bob writes back that he's sending some mouse poison to Sweden—not for the mouse, but for the Prince Charming Max von Sydow.
September 28
Dear Bob:
How do you spell hectic? I didn't tell you this: While I was walking with Max von Sydow at the old theater the other day, I looked up and saw a young man with two children. He was pushing a baby carriage. "Hey!" I hollered and jumped over a hedge and grabbed him. It was my brother. I've been so busy I haven't had time to see him. He was just on his way to the market and didn't know I was anywhere around. Whenever my family wants to see me, they wander around until they see the lights and they know that's where I am.
The other day we were shooting at one of the big squares and a woman came up and said, "Hello, Inger." I didn't know her, of course. She turned out to be a lady who used to be my baby sitter—that is, she sat with me when I was a baby. Another time we were shooting on the street and I heard, out of the blue, "Hey, it's the farmer's daughter—hot diggety dog." A couple of American kids.
The script called for me to ride a bicycle. Luckily I know how to ride—nobody asked me when the script was being written! I started out in high heels and it is not easy to ride a bike in high heels. Then I changed to wooden shoes—the kind I wore as a girl. It is not easy to ride a bicycle in wooden shoes. The guy driving the camera truck didn't know what he was doing and I had to pedal like the very devil and keep up with him and then slow down and smile and contemplate nature and then pump like crazy to catch up again. This went on for four days.
The weather was terrible but it finally cleared and we all went up to the top of the mountain, where the view is superb. We started shooting at the exact spot where Bergman filmed the rape scene in "Virgin Spring." Bad spirits must still be there because the minute we started, it began to hail.
We've worked seven days a week ever since I got to Sweden and I've averaged about four hours' sleep. I had planned to go to Paris and to Moscow—but there's just no time left.
One day, an elderly couple came out to greet me in the forest. They didn't know me. They just thought I should be welcomed. Wasn't that nice? Later they gave me presents—a hand-woven mat and a pillow cover. And another man gave me a wooden flute he had made the night before. I'll play it for you when I get back.
You and your mouse poison. Baaaah.
Your friend and Max von You-know-who's,
Inger
All of that stress and exhaustion caught up to Inger. She came down with pneumonia once she landed in Hollywood. And, as she always did, Inger got right back to work on The Farmer's Daughter.
Source:
"Inger Stevens in Sweden." TV Guide. January 30, 1965.
In 1965, Inger talked with Joan Barthel about a variety of topics. I cherish reading about Inger and her life from the lady herself.
On Katy and Glen's wedding on The Farmer's Daughter:
The audience has been writing in—they can't stand it any longer. The audience wants the marriage to happen. At least, the women do. I'm not so sure about the men. Anyway, we're not doing Orphan Annie, where we all stay the same for 50 years. We're both fairly intelligent people in the series, and I don't think two intelligent people could continue playing this game much longer. We'll have a chance now to show that marriage can be fun, that people can be lovers though married.
On working on a television show:
Five years is a lot out of your life. I live my whole life on television. The hours are long—5 in the morning to 8:30 at night, five days a week—and there's not much time to do anything except learn your lines and keep healthy. At first I thought a series would be one big prison, but it hasn't been, and I haven't regretted it at all.
On working on Broadway:
Every time I've opened in a Broadway play, I've had to throw up.
On people:
When I really dislike somebody, I try to find something nice about them—and generally I can't find anything.
On making art:
Working with your hands is a very satisfying thing—you forget about a lot of things that are running about in your mind. On weekends I like to paint. I like to paint faces, and people with a lot of movement. I painted a still life once and I hated it.
On overcoming early frustrations in her career:
You're so afraid to say you're wrong, to say you don't know. At a certain point in my life I was very withdrawn, and there is always at time in your career when you lose your perspective. But I think I benefited much from that unhappy period in my life. I can laugh at myself now. I can cry, too, but I laugh more often.
On her passion for working with kids who were developmentally delayed:
The only thing I can be sure I'll be doing five years from now...
Source:
Barthel, Joan. "A Sweetie from Sweden." The New York Times. July 25, 1965.
Inger was nominated for an Emmy (and completely deserved to take it home) and her costar Peter Falk won one for their performances in the "Price of Tomatoes¨ episode of The Dick Powell Theatre. This moving story in the long-running anthology show aired on January 16, 1962.
Someone has been kind enough to share the full episode on Youtube for us to enjoy! There are plot spoilers in my summary below so you may want to take 50 minutes and watch it if you haven't seen this one. You won't regret it. I decided to watch it again earlier this week and ended up watching it 2 days in a row. Peter and Inger inhabit the roles completely in this poignant story about two strangers whose lives unexpectedly intersect and impact one another.
You'll notice that in Dick Powell's introduction he refers to Peter Falk as being a "one-man hurricane" and praises him for being nominated for both an Academy Award and an Emmy the previous year, yet only refers to Inger as ¨the very lovely Miss Inger Stevens.¨ Now, I absolutely agree with Dick's assessment of the skilled Peter Falk and certainly concur on Inger being very lovely, but I find it interesting that Inger's talents go unmentioned and underpraised—both then and now. After all, in the few years leading up to this performance alone, Inger had a string of powerful starring roles in remarkable television productions. Her two performances in The Twilight Zone were enough to warrant a mention of her talent in his introduction, not to mention her work in Route 66 and Playhouse 90, among others.
If the embedded video below does not play, you can view the episode by clicking here.
Summary
Aristede Fresco (Peter Falk) is an independent trucker who, along with his dad, owns a haul truck. He and his father have pooled their money together and are concerned about their investments. They are working class and Fresco has a wife and 4 children to feed. When he bets another trucker that he can get a load of tomatoes to Cincinnati first, Fresco sets off on the drive of his life. If the tomatoes do not get to Cincinnati safely and quickly, Fresco's livelihood and independence are threatened.
Fresco enounters many setbacks during his journey. When he stops at a gas station, a pregnant woman Anna Beza (Inger Stevens) hops into the passenger seat. She pleads with him to take her as far as her sister's home. Fresco is anxious and annoyed, but takes pity on this lonely, desperate woman and agrees. He warns her that he's on an important mission and doesn't have time to deal with her but that he will drop her off at the first bus station,where he will buy her a ticket to San Francisco.
As they drive, we learn that Fresco is a hardworking family man. He has a photo of his wife and children hanging from the rearview mirror and speaks of them with care. Anna, in Inger's deft use of accents, reveals that she is a Romanian widow.
Along the route, another trucker warns Fresco that there's a road block up ahead and immigration officers are searching for a woman who crossed the Mexican border into America illegally. It's obvious that Anna is this woman, but Fresco continues to drive her to the bus station after she pleads with him to let her baby be born in America. Fresco continues to be grouchy and speak gruffly to Anna (saying that because of her he will "spend my life eating those lousy tomatoes!") but his compassion is evident when he refuses to leave her alone overnight at the bus station.
More setbacks appear. They run off the road and the truck's tire gets stuck, forcing Fresco to spend precious time wrapping it in chains to get it out. Anna's experiencing painful contractions and Fresco hands her a watch to time them. Still anxious, he barks at her when she compliments his family.
Anna (looking at a family photo): You have a fine family.
Fresco: Yeah? Well, don't worry about 'em cause they're gonna starve.
A patrol officer investigates when he sees Fresco working on the tire, but Anna is clever enough to hide. By this point, Fresco is close to giving up on this haul completely.
Anna: Why do you speak like that?
Fresco: Like what?
Anna: Like a man so angry with God.
Fresco: Look, lady...we’re stuck in it, we’re never gonna get out of it!
Anna: You’re like a child...there is no hope, always the end of the road.
Fresco: Oh, what are you, some kind of big expert or something?
Anna: For hope, yes. Every day of my life I make a miracle. And to be here now, even this place, a miracle.
Fresco: Well, why don't you pass another miracle and get us outta this place?
Once they’re back on the road, they laugh and make light of the situation, enjoying one another's company. Fresco takes her to a doctor who turns out to be a fraud. I laughed aloud at Fresco's quick retort when the doctor asks if they are believers. Fresco responds:
Look, doc, I believe in tomatoes. She believes in American babies. That's it!
As they drive on, Anna reveals why she's an expert on hope and miracles. She has survived war, her parents' deaths, multiple escapes to multiple countries, her husband's illness and death. This woman has had the weight of the world on top of her shoulders her entire life. She speaks of how she's spent her life waiting to get to America. She will do anything to make sure her child is born in America and not have to face the trials she's endured.
They have to cross a dangerous bridge in disrepair before finally reaching a hospital, where he learns her name for the first time as she's admitted. After hearing her story, Fresco had sworn:
You're gonna have your baby in America. In a hospital. That's my promise!
Despite his eagerness to reach his final destination and deliver the tomatoes on time, Fresco cannot bear to leave Anna alone at the hospital. At the hospital, the nurse asks if he is the father and he replies that he's not even a friend, but it's obvious to us that he's become much more. These two may be strangers together for only a brief journey, but their meaningful connection will transcend their future separation.
She asks him to see her son before he leaves. As he gets to the door, Anna asks Fresco what his name is. He tells her as he walks out, hurrying to deliver his load. Anna looks down at her baby and we know that she's planning to name her baby Fresco.
Fresco's hope of being the first to deliver the tomatoes is all but dashed but he gives it one last push. As he nears his destination he drives past his competitor, stuck on the side of the road, and realizes he's done it! He's the first to deliver tomatoes and his money and business are secure.
