California, he was two years old when he was adopted by wealthy parents who named him Clifford Parker Robertson III. After his parents divorced and his mother passed away, he was reared by his maternal grandmother, whom he adored. He later gained attention for his second marriage to actress and heiress Dina Merrill, daughter of financier E. F. Hutton and Marjorie Merriweather Post, heiress to the Post Cereal fortune and one of the worldâs wealthiest women. (The two would periodically work together, notably in a two-part episode of the ABC/Screen Gems 1960s camp series, Batman , in which he played a villain named âShameâ to her âCalamity Jan.â)
In 1963, he portrayed John F. Kennedy (who was good friends with Lizzie via Bill Asher) in the feature film PT-109 , and would go on to win an Oscar for his lead performance in Charly , the 1968 feature film in which he played a mentally challenged man who undergoes an experiment that temporarily transforms him into a genius. Although never elevated to the top ranks of leading men, Cliff remained popular from the 1950s into the twenty-first century with roles such as the kindly âUncle Benâ in the first Spider-Man feature film (released in 2001).
Like Elizabeth, he did not shun controversy or tolerate injustice. In 1977, he blew the whistle on a Hollywood financial scandal. He discovered that David Begelman, president of Columbia Pictures, had forged his signature on a $10,000 salary check, and contacted the FBI and the Burbank and Beverly Hills police. Hollywood insiders were none too pleased with the unattractive publicity and Robertson said that neither the studios nor the networks would hire him for four years.
But decades before, in 1953, he worked with Lizzie in Late Love , an experience he recalled in 2011 if only for the appreciation she had for their co-star Arlene Francis:
Arlene was a big TV star at the time, and she had been in the theatre in her earlier days. She brought a humanistic element to the play. She was also a very down-to-earth person, who was bright, quick, and witty. And Elizabeth admired and respected that. Liz was very young and, therefore, not too experienced. But she was quite ambitious and very professional. She had that respect for her craft that she garnered from her father, Iâm sure. He was from Brooklyn, but as he got older he went into theatre and then on to Hollywood, where he became quite a successful film star. From there, he went into television.
Cliffâs relationship with Lizzie never waxed romantic, but as he said, they became those âgood pals.â Meanwhile, her sophisticated family, particularly on her motherâs side, took a shine to him, partially due to his Southern roots and possibly due to his cosmopolitan upbringing.
âHer family was very nice to me,â Robertson said. âThey used to invite me up to their place in New York. She had an elderly aunt, a wonderful lady who lived in Beverly Hills. And I used to see (Becca) for a number of years, and then she passed away.â
But her maternal relatives were not particularly fond of her father or his profession. âI donât think the Southern tier of her family was completely impressed by Robert Montgomery, or any actor.â As Robertson acknowledged, Lizzie still became enamored with acting, but with provisions.
She was determined not to be thought of as just a social actress, and she was also determined to be recognized as a professional. She knew she had to work hard to earn that respect. She was well aware that her father was a fine and respected actor, and a well-known producer. And she knew and respected that difference as well. She in no way ever wanted to be treated special because she was his daughter. She was very democratic that way, and I donât mean (just) politically.
The âpoliticalâ relationship between the liberal Lizzie and her Republican father may have at times proved a challenge,
In 1963, he portrayed John F. Kennedy (who was good friends with Lizzie via Bill Asher) in the feature film PT-109 , and would go on to win an Oscar for his lead performance in Charly , the 1968 feature film in which he played a mentally challenged man who undergoes an experiment that temporarily transforms him into a genius. Although never elevated to the top ranks of leading men, Cliff remained popular from the 1950s into the twenty-first century with roles such as the kindly âUncle Benâ in the first Spider-Man feature film (released in 2001).
Like Elizabeth, he did not shun controversy or tolerate injustice. In 1977, he blew the whistle on a Hollywood financial scandal. He discovered that David Begelman, president of Columbia Pictures, had forged his signature on a $10,000 salary check, and contacted the FBI and the Burbank and Beverly Hills police. Hollywood insiders were none too pleased with the unattractive publicity and Robertson said that neither the studios nor the networks would hire him for four years.
But decades before, in 1953, he worked with Lizzie in Late Love , an experience he recalled in 2011 if only for the appreciation she had for their co-star Arlene Francis:
Arlene was a big TV star at the time, and she had been in the theatre in her earlier days. She brought a humanistic element to the play. She was also a very down-to-earth person, who was bright, quick, and witty. And Elizabeth admired and respected that. Liz was very young and, therefore, not too experienced. But she was quite ambitious and very professional. She had that respect for her craft that she garnered from her father, Iâm sure. He was from Brooklyn, but as he got older he went into theatre and then on to Hollywood, where he became quite a successful film star. From there, he went into television.
Cliffâs relationship with Lizzie never waxed romantic, but as he said, they became those âgood pals.â Meanwhile, her sophisticated family, particularly on her motherâs side, took a shine to him, partially due to his Southern roots and possibly due to his cosmopolitan upbringing.
âHer family was very nice to me,â Robertson said. âThey used to invite me up to their place in New York. She had an elderly aunt, a wonderful lady who lived in Beverly Hills. And I used to see (Becca) for a number of years, and then she passed away.â
But her maternal relatives were not particularly fond of her father or his profession. âI donât think the Southern tier of her family was completely impressed by Robert Montgomery, or any actor.â As Robertson acknowledged, Lizzie still became enamored with acting, but with provisions.
She was determined not to be thought of as just a social actress, and she was also determined to be recognized as a professional. She knew she had to work hard to earn that respect. She was well aware that her father was a fine and respected actor, and a well-known producer. And she knew and respected that difference as well. She in no way ever wanted to be treated special because she was his daughter. She was very democratic that way, and I donât mean (just) politically.
The âpoliticalâ relationship between the liberal Lizzie and her Republican father may have at times proved a challenge,
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