Mom Shares ‘Confidential’ Information on Oscars

On the day after the night of nights, Beverly June Hanson was sitting at her dining room table, slogging through her taxes. The 76-year-old Tarzana woman was clad for comfort, not style--a white “Heal the Bay” sweatshirt, powder blue sweatpants, white athletic shoes. The Southwestern turquoise earrings complemented her blue eyes but clashed with gold fingernails.

“My toes too,” she confided with a laugh.

This was Tuesday, understand, and the nail polish was the only remnant of the 70th Annual Academy Awards. Beverly June Hanson--B.J. to her friends--sat in row 33, seat 13 and rooted for “L.A. Confidential,” written, directed and produced by her son Curtis.

Helen Hunt wore Gucci, Minnie Driver wore Halston, Mira Sorvino wore Armani. Ashley Judd turned heads in Richard Tyler and seemingly no underwear. Cher, of course, made the scene while making a scene in Bob Mackie.

And B.J. Hanson? “Frances in Tarzana.”

There was a story to B.J.’s ensemble. She chose her shimmering gold blouse not to match Oscar but as a tribute to her late husband, Bill.

Hollywood, of course, is filled with family dynasties. The Hansons don’t exactly qualify. Long-ago graduates of Portola Middle School, downhill from the Hanson home, may remember English teacher Bill Hanson as a kind of Mr. Chips figure who greeted students with hugs, loved to teach Shakespeare and “The Odyssey” and had a knack for inspiring students in those awkward years.

“The ultimate teacher” is how Darcey Lober, Portola Class of ‘71, described him. “He took a personal interest in individual kids and he could maintain that interest in a whole bunch of ‘em.”

Bill Hanson, who died in 1994, was buried in a gold vest that matched B.J.’s blouse. For their golden anniversary in 1990, B.J. had Frances in Tarzana fashion both garments from a formal sheath B.J. had owned since the 1960s.

“Oh, Bill would have been so proud,” B.J. says of her son’s nominations. “I just decided to take him along.”

And so B.J. also took care to wear other heirlooms for sentiment and good luck. She donned a gold bracelet that had belonged to Bill’s mother, a ring Bill had brought her from Greece and a gold chain with a medallion fashioned from a 1940 Liberty half-dollar that Bill had presented her on their 50th anniversary, with Lady Liberty anodized in gold.

And B.J. insisted that Curtis’ brother, Woody, wear the golden watch that Portola had given his father upon his retirement in 1977, plus his father’s opal ring. Woody’s wife, Charlotte, was required to carry a small watch that B.J.’s father had given her mother during their courtship in 1918. He had the numerals removed and replaced by the letters spelling her name, Lydia Kaiser.

B.J., Woody and Charlotte were joined by Jessie Dahl, B.J.’s pal and a fellow member of the Valley Culture Club. It was through the Culture Club, a remarkable coterie of mostly 70-something women now in its 44th year of monthly meetings, that I first met B.J., the group’s founder.

The foursome piled into a white super-stretch limo for the drive from Tarzana to the Shrine Auditorium. They sat a few rows behind Curtis and the rest of the “L.A. Confidential” contingent. (And, no, B.J. says she really didn’t envy Matt Damon’s and Ben Affleck’s moms, who sat in the front row as their sons’ dates.)

The Academy, as expected, would make this “Titanic’s” night, though every major critics group had hailed “L.A. Confidential” as the best picture of 1997. The film made by B.J.’s boy seemed to have the best chance of pulling off an upset.

Things started off nicely for the Hanson clan when Kim Basinger was honored as best supporting actress. The high point would be when Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau announced that Curtis and co-writer Brian Helgeland were honored with Oscars for their adaptation of James Ellroy’s novel.

B.J. said she was proud--and she knows Bill would have been--with Curtis’ graceful acceptance. It was extra special, Curtis said, to be presented by two actors he would always associate with the great filmmaker Billy Wilder.

“Oh, I thought it was great,” the director’s mom, a film buff herself, was saying the day after. “Because he admires Billy Wilder so much.”

That reminded B.J. of something. She brought me a clipping of a Liz Smith column that noted that, in the 70 years of the awards, Hanson was only the fourth filmmaker to be nominated for writing, directing and producing. The first was Wilder for “The Apartment” in 1960, the second Francis Ford Coppola for “The Godfather, Part II” in 1974, the third James L. Brooks for “Terms of Endearment” in 1983.

And, as Smith noted, Wilder, Coppola and Brooks swept all those honors.

Reading that aloud moved B.J. to some theatrics of her own.

“Stab!” she cried, mimicking a dagger thrust to her heart.

She did this with a smile and a laugh. One out of three isn’t bad, especially in the year of “Titanic.” It is thrill enough that Curtis now has what Robin Williams dubbed the Golden Dude.

Afterward, Curtis went to the Governor’s Ball, while B.J., Woody, Charlotte and Jessie took the limo to the Pacific Dining Car, the landmark downtown eatery that both plays a role in the film and was a favorite spot for Curtis to meet with Ellroy.

Film buffs may consider it the triumph of spectacle over story. “Titanic,” after all, would tie “Ben Hur” for the record 11 Oscars, but its screenplay was not even nominated.

Now, that’s me making that observation, not B.J. She knows that, from her, it would sound like sour grapes. But Curtis’ allusion to Wilder had her thinking about other ways in which her son found inspiration.

Curtis, who before “L.A. Confidential” had been best known for the thrillers “The River Wild” and “The Hand That Rocks the Cradle,” has long admired past masters of the craft. It was he who organized the Directors Guild memorial tribute to the late Sam Fuller. One of his early films was “The Bedroom Window,” which critics called an homage to Alfred Hitchcock.

And soon, again, B.J. was talking about Curtis’ father and how proud he’d be. Curtis often gave his mom souvenirs from his films. Once Curtis gave his dad a promotional T-shirt for “The Bedroom Window.”

“Bill wore that T-shirt until it was all raggedy,” she says.

And he wears it still. Underneath his suit with the gold vest, B.J. explains, Bill wears that raggedy T-shirt. And B.J. made sure a copy of “The Odyssey” was placed in his casket.

More than four years have now passed since Bill died. During his last weeks, after he had suffered a series of strokes, the Hansons decided against a hospital. B.J. looked after him around the clock. Woody would come by every morning to help out, and Curtis would come by every evening.

One day in February, Woody lingered late and Curtis arrived early. It was the first time in weeks that Bill Hanson was surrounded by his wife and sons.

And as if waiting for this moment, he died.

*

Scott Harris’ column appears Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. Readers may write to him at The Times’ Valley Edition, 20000 Prairie St., Chatsworth 91311, or via e-mail at scott.harris@latimes.com Please include a phone number.

The Academy, as expected, would make this “Titanic’s” night, though every major critics group had hailed “L.A. Confidential” as the best picture of 1997.