subject: Bob Hope in Tahiti: Paradise or Paradise Lost? [print this page] Bob Hope in Tahiti: Paradise or Paradise Lost?
(Ed. note: The author was a script writer for Bob Hope between 1977 1nd 1992.)
In 1982, Hope agreed to produce a TV special in Tahiti for America-Hawaii Cruises, a fledgling vacation purveyor that had but one vessel, the SS Liberte, a converted WWII hospital ship. The hour-long special would include guest stars John Denver, Howard Keel, Jonathan Winters, Morgan Brittany, and the reigning Miss America, Susan Aiken and would be taped in and around Moorea and the island chain's capital, Papeete.
Hope would perform an eight-minute monologue from the promenade deck of the Liberte that was docked in Cook's Bay. We were in a tropical paradise known the world over for its crystal clear lagoons and azure blue beaches crawling with topless, grass-skirted beauties renowned for their warmth, charm and indigenous friendliness. What could possibly go wrong? Well for starters, Hope, introduced from off-deck, strode out in a straw hat and multicolored Hawaiian shirt and began his monologue with this line:
"Here we are aboard the S.S. Liberte on the island of Moorea. S.S. Liberte. Spend a few days on a cruise liner, and you'll understand what the 'S.S.' stands for 'Swingin' Ship'."
The audience, huddled together on deck chairs, stared back at Hope like they'd just been struck by an iceberg. If this bunch had ever done any swinging, it was during the Roaring Twenties. And the roar was down to a whisper.
"This is the Liberte which means 'freedom' in French, and judging from all the cabin hopping I heard last night, it's well named."
Again, the audience hasn't a clue as to what he's talking about. If they had done any cabin hopping the night before, it was to borrow a cup of Metamucil from a neighbor. It was now obvious that we had written a monologue for the Love Boat, and it was being delivered on the S.S. Geriatric to an audience of charter AARP members.
In our rush to get aboard and set up, no one had bothered to check the passenger manifest, and now the vessel was scheduled to depart within hours. It was too late to regroup, so Hope had no choice but to press on, hoping we could edit in some canned laughter back home. Hope pushed on with the jokes, such as they were.
"One guy's been so busy at night, he couldn't remember where his own compartment was. He just found out it's on another ship. Right about now, Hope looks like he'd prefer to be on another one, too.
"One gal asked the captain to perform a marriage ceremony and showed up with four guys. The captain said, 'Which one's the groom?' And she said, 'Don't rush me'."
At last, a huge round of applause from a group of couples celebrating fiftieth wedding anniversaries. After a few more jokes, the bellman announces that it's time for another buffet, the audience files out en mass, and we hold an impromptu burial-at-sea for the monologue.
We had learned the hard way that great care had to be taken to insure that he had appropriate material for the audience he sought to entertain. Several months later, the cruise line declared bankruptcy, and the Liberte was sold at auction, refitted, repainted and renamed. We never found out if this monologue had contributed to its demise.
Our Tahiti special included a parody of the film "Mutiny on the Bounty." Featured in the sketch was be Hope as the cruel, crew-beating Captain Bligh, Howard Keel as the alcoholic ship's doctor, Miss America, Susan Aiken as his nurse, Morgan Fairchild as the prim, school marm passenger, John Denver as the young, wahini-smitten Fletcher Christian and Jonathan Winters as Fletcher's tribal chief, soon-to-be father-in-law.
We would tape the adventure at Cook's Bay aboard an exact replica of the legendary schooner that had been built by director Dino de Laurentis for his big screen version of the epic tale. Actually, it was the Bounty only from the waterline up and a luxurous yacht below with plush lounges, guest compartments, a huge kitchen and a spa.
Even under ideal studio conditions, accommodating such a large cast on the small screen is a tall order for any director, and Walter Miller, one of the most experienced, had his hands full with this one. While the ship had been ideal for de Laurentis who had the time to set up multiple camera shots, it was soon apparent that it wasn't big enough to film our sketch on.
People were a lot smaller in the eighteenth century, and everything was about three quarter scale. In many of the scenes, members of the cast were sardined on her decks tighter than Cuban boat people; they looked like they were performing in a telephone booth. So much for exact replicas.
Walter tried setup after setup, attempting to create the illusion of size and depth and as a result, the taping ran longer than scheduled. Since the entire company was supposed to wing home that evening, a few crew members were sent back to our hotel to pack for those who had to remain to get the sketch, such as it was, in the can.
Finally, at about four in the afternoon, Walter yelled "Cut! That's a wrap!" The cameras, lighting and sound paraphernalia were stowed into dockside trucks in record time -- electronic equipment hadn't disappeared that fast since the L.A. riots. Everyone raced to the waiting busses which would convey us to the harbor where the swiftest picket boat on the island was standing by.
We arrived at the airport in Papeete with only minutes to spare, but as it turned out, our plane was grounded in New Zealand with mechanical problems and wouldn't arrive until the next day. At this point, Howard Keel entered panic mode. He was due on the set of "Dallas," on which he was a regular, in less than forty-eight hours to film some key scenes. If he was delayed in Tahiti, it would cost the producers and him after the lawsuit a bundle.
A smiling Quantas representative assured him that the plane would arrive in the morning as promised. We were given our hotel assignments a night's free lodging for our inconvenience. They also threw in a phone call,so we could notify our next-of-kin of the delay. "Swell," responded a tired,hungry and Bounty-weary Jonathan. "I'll call my brother. He's dead."
Our patched-up 747 arrived on schedule, and Howard made it to the Culver City studio of "Dallas" in a limo he had waiting with only minutes to spare. He told me later he filmed the first scene with sand in his shoes.
Excerpted from THE LAUGH MAKERS: A Behind-the-Scenes Tribute to Bob Hope's Incredible Gag Writers (c) 2009 by Robert L. Mills and published by Bear Manor Media. To order: http://bobhopeslaughmakers.weebly.com
Kindle e-book $2.99: www.amazon.com/dp/B0041D9EPO
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