Page 33to live off the proceeds, but that
wasn’t going to last indefinitely.
Now, I had to take on the mantle of
being the sole breadwinner again. I
decided to take any and all offers.
But, despite my TV appearances,
I had lost all my profile after years
away from the Hollywood showbiz
circuit. ‘Joan who?’ was the phrase
I heard most during my rounds of
casting directors’ and producers’
offices. When the parts dried up, I
even ended up at the unemploy
ment office to collect benefits.
As I handed in my application
to the assistant, she exclaimed:
‘Joan Collins??? Didn’t you used to
be her?’
‘I still am,’ I replied, coolly. Well,
at least she recognised me.
In the Seventies, life became one
long plane ride between California
and London, wherever my flounder
ing career took me. But it was
great to be in California because,
by now, Jackie had also moved
there with Oscar and her three
children and she was churning out
bestselling novels.
Feeling massively anxious about
our finances, I suggested to Jackie
that her 1969 novel The Stud, about
the socialite wife of a wealthy
businessman who owns a night
club and likes men rather a lot,
would make a wonderful screen
play and I’d be perfect to play the
heroine, Fontaine. ‘I’ll write you up
a script,’ she said, airily.
Years of rejection followed,
because nobody could see the
appeal of the subject matter, until
I finally met George Walker, a
distributor of Bflicks in England.
I gave him my pitch and he fell in
love with Jackie’s script. Within
four months, we were shooting.
He insisted I do a scene where I
swing, topless, over a swimming
pool. I definitely did not want to do
that scene unless I wore a bathing
suit, or some sort of covering, but
he was horribly insistent. ‘It’s in
the book,’ he said.
‘I’ve got three children — it’s too
embarrassing,’ I retorted, helplessly,
looking to my husband for support.
It was not forthcoming. ‘My children
will hate me,’ I protested.
After several days of fierce
arguments, I reluctantly agreed,
although I had to get extremely
drunk to shoot it.
The film was a huge success andI garnered a great deal of
attention, not least because
a woman in her 40s was not
supposed to look that good or
have sex appeal.
However, despite the apparent
box office success, receipts into
our account were not forthcoming
and, to this day, I have never really
understood why.B
uT then the greatest
tragedy of my life
occurred. I had been
asked to do a play,
The Last Of Mrs Cheyney, in the
West End. I could hardly afford to
turn it down, despite the success
of the movies.
I was in Paris having a costume
fitting with the fabled couturier
Érte when I was told that my
beloved eightyearold Katy had
been hit by a car and was not
expected to live. The horror of the
nightmare trip back to London in
our friend Roger Whittaker’s little
plane will never leave me.
When I saw my darling girl in
hospital, unconscious, with shavenhead and tubes attached to her
tiny body, I became hysterical.
‘Keep it inside you,’ advised my
wise brother Bill, putting his arms
around me. ‘Don’t let Katy feel
that you’re upset — I’m sure
she’ll recover.’
I spent six weeks living in a
caravan in the hospital car park,
staying with Katy every day and
night when the hospital allowed,
reading and talking to her, despite
the specialists’ advice that my
actions were futile. And, thank
God, my strong little girl did
eventually come out of her coma.
However, Katy had a long way to
go to recover and so began a long
period of therapy while I performed
first in Cheyney and then another
play, Murder In Mind.
Finally, we could take her on a
holiday to Spain. While there, I
received a phone call from Tom
Korman, my LA agent. ‘Do you
know what “Dynasty” is?’ he asked.
‘A Chinese restaurant?’ I replied.
He sighed. ‘It’s Aaron Spelling’s
new TV show. His answer to “Dallas”.
It’s been on air for a season, but theratings keep dropping and
they’ve written this mysterious
new character called Alexis, hoping
to pep it up.’
‘Love the name,’ I said. ‘Can I
think about it?’ I was only thinking
about Katy at this time.
‘I’ll fax you a couple of scenes,’
he said. ‘It’s a great role, but
Elizabeth Taylor and Sophia Loren
have already turned it down.’
‘How long is the gig?’
‘Maybe another season,’ he
replied. ‘Call me tomorrow. ABC
has got to know fast.’
Ron and I discussed how
moving back to California
would be great for Katy’s
recovery, between the LA sun
shine and the amazing strides
medical research had taken
in the u.S., not to mention a
steady paycheck.
I read the scenes and loved
them and, within two weeks, our
family was in LA. I started shoot
ing the second season of Dynasty
at my old stomping ground, 20th
Century Fox Studios.
It was unbelievable how quickly
Alexis Carrington Colby took
America by storm. Within two
weeks of airings, ratings zoomed,
and, by January 1982, it was one of
the top ten most popular shows.
I took control of my own outfits
on Dynasty, eschewing the tweed
suits and pussycat bows I was
offered. Paris couture was now rich
with huge sleeves, massive shoulder
pads and nippedin waists, and
this is what Alexis’s main ‘look’
was based on. I became the world’s
favourite ‘bitch’.
Katy was blooming and my sister
and I were closer than ever.
In 1983, I won a Golden Globe for
Best Actress in a TV show and
Jackie’s latest novel was No 1 on
the NY Times bestseller list.
We sat eating popcorn surrounded
by our children and watched a tape
of a French And Saunders sketch a
friend had sent us from England.
Jennifer played me, with massive
hair and gargantuan shoulder
pads. Dawn played Jackie, in
animal prints and cateye sun
glasses. We watched transfixed as
the two comediennes ruthlessly
satirised our perceived public
personas and laughed out loud
when both looked at the camera
sultrily and announced: ‘For we
are those lucky bitches.’
‘I guess we made it, Sis,’
said Jackie.
‘I guess we did,’ I laughed. ‘And
against all odds!’Daily Mail, Friday, August 30, 2019Daring: Joan in a shoot
for The Stud. Inset, as
Alexis Carrington in
Dynasty and at the feet
of sister Jackie in 1977
Pictures: ALPHA/REX