From the S&S archives:
Sophia Loren meets the press

THE MOVIE BUSINESS continues to suffer TV-jeebies in many parts of the world, but there is still magic in them thar Hollywood hills when Sophia Loren is around.

Since Sophia is from the hills of Naples, and currently working in the hills of Spain, it is not too surprising that she tops them all when it comes to attracting the mob euphemistically known as the "gentlemen of the press."

Or as one studio man put it, "Sophia could parachute into darkest Africa at midnight and the press would be there before she hit the ground."

Certainly the press turned out in force when Sophia arrived in Madrid to join Stephen Boyd, Sir Alec Guinness, Christopher Plummer "and a cast of thousands" in bringing about "The Fall of the Roman Empire." Despite the wretched rain, the reception at the airport was tremendous.

But it was a few days later when Sophia was presented at a madhouse press conference that she showed the stuff of champions. The scene of the carnage was a swank dining spot in Madrid, and while it is fine for a candlelight dinner, staging Sophia's press conference there was like holding a payday crap game in a telephone booth.

Despite a door check of credentials that limited the number of ersatz correspondents on hand (one delicatessen counterman did manage to crash it), the reception room was jammed long before Sophia appeared. Since the narrow room could not begin to accommodate the photographers, newsreel teams, TV crews and studio cameramen, everyone was elbowing for a position up front except the writers, who decided they could cover the action better from the vicinity of the bar.

In addition to jousting with other members of the press, the frontline troops had to deal with the determined club staff, who insisted their expensive upholstered chairs would not be used as footstools by photographers trying to shoot over the crowd.

Suddenly the photogs surged forward and the white hot TV lights glared in unison, the sign that Sophia had arrived. Dressed in a form-fitting black Dior dress, and wearing diamond and ruby jewelry, her billion candlepower smile flashed out at the jostling mob before her.

THE heat from the lights and the crowd had turned the room into a Turkish bath, but Sophia appeared poised and cool as befitting an actress receiving almost $1 million a picture.

Surrounding her were the satellites, producer Samuel Bronston, director Anthony Mann, studio press men, and associate producer Michael Waszynski, assigned to rear guard duty. When Waszynski attempted to remove a thread caught in the clasp of Sophia's necklace, her hand shot back like a snake. Thieves relieved her of jewelry worth several hundred thousand dollars a few years back, so she takes no chances.

After some 15 minutes of responding to the shouted pleas of the photographers, Sophia and her beaters slipped out the side door and retreated to a downstairs room. Many of the photogs left to make their deadlines, while the others drifted back toward the bar for badly needed refreshments.

A short time later, the studio flacks passed the word that Sophia would return and "mingle" for the benefit of the reporters needing quotes. This was the equivalent of walking into an unlocked zoo with a package of prime steaks. A lesser woman would have quit while she was ahead.

The studio men wisely elected to use the flying wedge technique this time. With producer Bronston serving as right guard, and head publicist Howard Newman serving on the point, the brave group came forth with deathless resolve into the crush of humanity.

Amid the chaotic shambles that followed, Sophia was asked about everything from her disputed marriage to Carlo Ponti to how much weight she had lost as attested by her stunning figure. As each correspondent fought his way close enough to shout a question, Newman and his staff made a vain attempt to identify the questioner and keep some degree of sanity in the proceedings as the rumpled group forced its way through the crowd.

When asked if she enjoyed such press conferences, Sophia bravely replied, "If I didn't, I wouldn't be here" as she lurched to regain her balance and instinctively clasped her earrings to make sure they were still in place.

The pressure was eased momentarily when Sophia and her defenders slipped behind the table that had been loaded with delectable canapes before being decimated by the perpetually hungry press corps. When Sophia sadly surveyed the wreckage, only a few battered hors d'oeuvres remained on the tray. She settled for a glass of water.

Thus refreshed, Sophia and her hearty band worked their way toward a side door leading toward the sanctuary below the stairs. With a farewell wave to the diehard photogs still clamoring for "just one more," she slipped from sight amid a final barrage of flashbulbs.

A few minutes later, the bar was closed and the press conference was over. Everyone agreed it had been a great success.