Kim Novak, 87, is a retired film and television actress, and a visual artist who starred in more than 30 movies, including “Vertigo,” “Picnic” and “Pal Joey.” She spoke with Marc Myers.
My mother didn’t know what was wrong with me. I was so shy as a child that I hid behind the curtains when people came over to our house in Chicago.
I can’t explain why I was this way. In grade school, my mind would drift away to dreamland. I had trouble focusing on the teacher or my lessons. I always wanted to be off somewhere in nature.
Ms. Novak by her Chicago home, around 1944.
Photo: Kim NovakEventually, bullies started picking on me. During World War II, I took a lot of rotten pies in the face once they discovered my grandfather’s name was Adolf.
When I’d return home late in tears, with pie all over me, my parents would be furious. I was afraid to say what was going on. I never confided in them.
For some reason, my parents made me feel I was the cause of my troubles. They offered little support or encouragement. I don’t know that I ever recovered from those experiences.
My escape was going to the movies with my grandma, Frances. We went every Saturday. I loved Tarzan films, with the jungle and all the animals. I wanted to be Jane, flying through the trees on a vine.
My father, Joseph, had been a history teacher, but after he married and the Depression set in, he needed income and became a dispatcher for the railroad.
To make ends meet, my mother, Blanche, worked days at a bra and girdle factory. My father worked the night shift.
My father was a stern man. I tried to win him over. Before school each day, as a teen, I’d walk to the nearby train station to meet him when he got off work. I’d get there early, before he arrived on his train, and sketch people in the waiting room. Then I’d carry his lunch box as we walked home together. He didn’t say much to me.
Kim Novak, left, greets her parents, Blanche and Joseph Novak, during a visit to Chicago in 1954.
Photo: Chicago TribuneMy mother also was a disciplinarian, just not as severe. Both of them constantly feared I’d attract the wrong boys and wind up in trouble.
We lived in a very poor section of the city where there were rapes and murders. So I’d spend lots of time indoors at home or at friends’ houses. To protect me, my mother kept me in pigtails all through my early years and wouldn’t let me wear makeup. She wanted me to go unnoticed.
My older sister, Arlene, wasn’t shy at all. She was born with a pair of rose-colored glasses, and was smart in school. My father adored her.
My best friend, Barbara, was shy like me. We weren’t popular at school, and both of us were picked on. We’re still friends.
After I graduated from high school, my family moved to the suburbs on the north side. The area was quiet and nice, with mostly middle-class families. Then I went to Wright Junior College.
There, I performed in a production of “Our Town.” Even though I didn’t excel as a student, I managed to win two scholarships to the Art Institute of Chicago. I began to get a sense of self-worth.
My mother signed me up for the Fair Teen Club at a Chicago store. Norma Kassell, the head of the club, urged me to model.
I won a beauty contest and became Miss Snow Queen. Then I landed a job with three other girls showing off Thor refrigerators at trade shows. In these little maid costumes, we opened the refrigerator doors and sang, “There’s no business like Thor business.”
Our tour ended in 1953 in San Francisco. One of the girls wanted to see a movie studio, so we took the train to Los Angeles. On the set of RKO’s “The French Line,” choreographer Billy Daniels spotted me and I was hired to be a model walking in the film.
Max Arnow, a casting director at Columbia, got me a screen test. I stood in front of a fireplace, wearing Rita Hayworth’s strapless dress, saying, “All I want out of life is love.” I was signed by the studio.
My success made my situation worse with my father. He refused to see most of my films. He thought Hollywood was evil and that I must have done something bad to become successful. He never trusted me, and never told me or my sister that he loved us.
Then just before he died in the 1960s, my sister and I visited him at the hospital. He pointed at us and paused. We held our breath. He said, “I love you…two.”
‘Vertigo: Vortex of Delusion’ by Kim Novak, depicting her 1958 film ‘Vertigo’ with James Stewart.
Photo: © 2014 Kim NovakToday, my husband, Robert, and I live in south Oregon. The house is on a river island. It’s designed like a bird. It has two wings—with my art studio and office in one, Robert’s office in the other and our bedroom in the middle.
I can look out any window and see the wild water, the redwood and oak trees and my garden. It’s paradise for me, the place I day-dreamed about in class.
Kim on the Big Screen
Kim Novak with Jimmy Stewart on the set of the film ‘Vertigo’ in California, 1958.
Photo: Richard C. Miller/Donaldson Collection/Getty ImagesFavorite films of yours? “Vertigo,” “Picnic” and “Middle of the Night.”
Most-admired co-star? Jimmy Stewart. He wasn’t an actor. He was a reactor, like me.
Part turned down? Holly Golightly in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” I foolishly felt I’d already played that type of character.
Hair-color secret? From my teens, I was a bleached blonde with a lavender rinse, which gave it a platinum tone.
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