Tuesday marks the 91st birthday for Kim Novak, the star of Alfred Hitchcock’s 1958 film Vertigo, who walked away from Hollywood over five decades ago.
“She’s spending her birthday having a picnic on her property with friends and lots of fudge,” says her longtime manager and close friend Sue Cameron.
Life is sweet these days for Novak, who lives quietly on the Oregon coast, surrounded by her beloved horses.
In honor of her 91st birthday, read on for an interview from 2021 in which Novak shared why she left Hollywood and found her true self.
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Over 50 years ago, Kim Novak, the enigmatic star of Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo, walked away from Hollywood. The woman who had once been the No. 1 box office draw in the world put her belongings in a van and drove north, first to Carmel, California and then two decades later to Oregon, to live her life as an artist.
“I had to leave to survive,” she tells PEOPLE. “It was a survival issue.”
“I lost a sense of who I truly was and what I stood for,” says Novak in a rare interview to talk about her new book, Kim Novak : Her Art and Life. published by the Butler Museum of American Art.
“I fought all the time back in Hollywood to keep my identity so you do whatever you have to do to hold on to who you are and what you stand for,” she explains.
“I’ve never done one of those tell-all books that they wanted me to do for so long, and I thought this is the kind of book I’d like to do,” she says of her art book. “Actually, I had written my autobiography and it was almost complete but I had a house fire and the house burned down and I made no copies. I just couldn’t go through it again because I had spent so much time. But it was okay because it was a catharsis just to do it.”
After starring in Picnic (1955) with William Holden, The Man With the Golden Arm (1955) and Pal Joey (1957), opposite Frank Sinatra, and Vertigo, with Jimmy Stewart, Novak was at the height of her career but still under the control of the studio.
As she writes in her book’s introduction, “I was both dazzled and disturbed to see me being packaged as a Hollywood sex symbol. However, I did win my fight over identity. I wouldn’t allow [Columbia Pictures chief] Harry Cohn to take my bohemian roots away by denying me my family name. Novak. I stood my ground and won my first major battle.”
Cohn wanted her to change her name to Kit Marlowe, telling her that audiences would be turned off by her Eastern European roots. She refused. In the late ’50s, she defied him again when she began dating singer Sammy Davis Jr. against his wishes and she fought to live her life as an independent woman.
“There was constant pressure to be seen and not heard,” writes Novak, “especially if you had a pretty face.”
“In Hollywood a lot of people assume who you are, because of the character you play, but also just because of who they expect you to be, how they expect you to dress,” she says. “It influences you because if you’re in some gorgeous sequined gown, you can’t run along the ocean and run on the beaches.”
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“I kept feeling like I was going deeper and deeper, lost in almost like a quicksand, where it’s swallowing you up, your own personality, and I’d started to wonder who I am,” she explains. “I realized needed to save myself.”
She found peace living and painting in the Rogue River Valley of Oregon and notes, “I needed the Pacific Ocean to inspire me, the animals, the beauty.”
“I wanted to live a normal life and a life with animals,” says the actress, who had always loved drawing and painting as a young girl growing up in Chicago. She was awarded two scholarships to the Chicago Art Institute before she was spotted by a talent scout on a trip to L.A. and her life changed course.
Once she left Hollywood, Novak returned to her twin passions: art and animals. “My teachers were the animals, not just dogs and cats, but other animals, horses and llamas, whom you have to meet half way, because they’re not ready to accept humans. I had to learn to win them over,” she says. “They understand a person who’s genuine so I had to become more real and that made me rely on my inner self — and that also encouraged me to paint. Everything seemed to flow from that.”
“You learn how to count on, not how you look, which is a big thing as a movie star, especially if you were recognized because of how you look,” she adds. “That can be a difficult thing when you change — but looks had nothing to do with it.”
She met second husband, Robert Malloy, an equine veterinarian, in the late ’70s, when he paid her a house call to treat one of her Arabian horses. She called him her “soul mate.” He died last December.
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“I don’t feel 87,” says Novak. “I don’t keep tract of the time. If I did, I’d be an old lady and I’m not an old lady. I’m still riding my horse. I stay as healthy as I can.”
In 2012, Novak revealed she’d been living with bipolar disorder. “I don’t mind being open about who I am because these are all characteristics which make you who you are, especially as an artist,” she says. “Now, of course, I have medication for it but the best medicine of all is art.”
She’s proud of her favorite films, including Vertigo and Bell, Book and Candle (1958), and has fond memories, especially of her friend and costar Jimmy Stewart. Says Novak: “He didn’t let Hollywood change who he was.”
“People can remember me in movies but I want them to see me as an artist,” says Novak, whose paintings were exhibited at a 2019 retrospective at the Butler Museum in Youngstown, Ohio. “What’s great about painting is, you become the director too. No one’s telling you how to do it. You get to direct the whole thing.”
“I’ve been influenced a lot by Hitchcock in my work because he did mysteries and at first glance, I want my painting to be a mystery,” she says. “I love being the director, the producer, the actor in my paintings.”
“This is who I am. I want people to see I was not just a movie star.”
Looking back, Novak says, “I’m so glad I didn’t do the tell-all book, where you write all about your love life. That wasn’t who I was. This book tells who I am. I just needed to be free.”
During my grandfather’s funeral, a stranger gave me a note — I couldn’t help but laugh after reading it because Grandpa had played a trick on us
At Grandpa’s funeral, 18-year-old Dahlia feels isolated as her family fumes over the pitiful $1 inheritance. But when a stranger slips her a secret note, Dahlia is pulled into a mystery only she can solve.
I stood by the graveside, hands clenched in the pockets of my too-small black dress, listening to the priest’s droning voice blend with the rustle of the wind.
This was the saddest day of my life, but everyone else in the family seemed more concerned with glaring at each other than mourning Grandpa.
I could feel their bitterness lingering in the chilly October air, thick like syrup. One dollar each. That’s all Grandpa left us in his will, and they were furious. But me? I wasn’t angry. Just… hollow.
Grandpa wasn’t supposed to be gone. He was the only person who ever saw me, not the mess-up or the spare kid nobody paid attention to, but me. He let me in when no one else cared.
I stared down at the flowers resting on his coffin. I’d brought him a red rose, and it stood out among the white daisies everyone else had placed on the casket.
“One dollar,” Aunt Nancy hissed from behind me. “One damn dollar! That man was loaded, and this is what we get?”
Uncle Vic let out a bitter laugh. “Right? I swear he did it on purpose, the spiteful old man.”
“Typical Dad,” Mom muttered, crossing her arms tight across her chest. “He always played favorites, and Dahlia here was his little pet. Bet she got something we don’t know about.”
Aunt Nancy’s eyes cut toward me, sharp as glass. “What did he leave you, Dahlia? Anything? Don’t act like you didn’t get something.”
I stiffened. “I got the same as all of you.”
Mom’s fingers tightened over my shoulder. “Are you sure?” she asked in a low voice. “You were always with him. Maybe he told you something… think hard, Dahlia. You owe it to your family to share whatever he gave you.”
Memories came rushing back of Grandpa’s goofy stories about long-lost treasure and the butterscotch candies he always kept in his coat pocket.
Sometimes, he’d wink at me and say, “One day, kiddo, I’m leaving you a treasure. Real treasure!” But it was just a game, a joke between us.
I shook my head and turned my gaze back to the coffin. “What Grandpa gave me was his love, his stories, and a place that felt more like home than my actual home. Those things were worth more than money, and there’s no way I can—”
“Nobody cares about any of that!” Mom snapped. “Think, girl! What happened to all of his money?”
I shrugged. I truly didn’t know the answer to her question and didn’t care. Grandpa was gone. He was my confidant, my safe place, my friend. I’d lost the most important person in the world, but all they cared about was slapping a price tag on his death.
“She knows something,” Vic muttered, loud enough for me to hear.
Their voices twisted together, accusing, scheming — like they could squeeze secrets out of me if they tried hard enough. But I had no secrets that could earn them more money.
The second they realized there’d be no fortune, they turned away from the grave and stormed off. I could still hear them bickering as they walked away, lashing out at each other like vultures. It made me sick.
“You must be Dahlia.”
I looked up to see a woman, maybe in her 60s, with kind eyes and a worn leather bag slung over her shoulder. Her smile was soft and secretive, like she knew something the rest of us didn’t.
“I was a friend of your grandpa’s,” she said, leaning in as if we were co-conspirators. “He asked me to give you this.”
Before I could respond, she slipped a folded piece of paper into my hand and whispered, “Don’t let anyone see it, especially your family.”
Her presence felt surreal, almost dreamlike, and before I could say anything, she was gone, swallowed by the crowd of mourners. My heart pounded in my chest as I unfolded the note.
111 locker — Southern Railway Station.
For a second, I stood frozen, the words blurring in front of me. Then it hit me: Grandpa’s “treasure.” A laugh bubbled up from my throat, inappropriate and wild, but I couldn’t help it. He wasn’t joking after all.
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The note was tucked under my pillow like a secret. Grandpa’s voice echoed in my mind, playful yet certain: “Locker number 111… There’s treasure in there, kiddo!”
A weight settled on my chest, something between grief and hope. What if this wasn’t just some wild goose chase? What if Grandpa had really left something for me, hidden away where no one else could reach?
The thought twisted around in my mind until I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know what was in that locker.
I called a cab the next morning. It was the first thing I did after I woke up. As I tiptoed past the kitchen, I could hear Mom muttering on the phone about Grandpa’s will, probably trying to squeeze sympathy or cash out of anyone who would listen.
I clenched my jaw and slipped out the door, the chilly morning air hitting my skin like a slap.
The ride to Southern Railway Station felt like the longest 20 minutes of my life.
My knee bounced with nervous energy as the cab wound through narrow streets, past graffiti-covered walls, and empty coffee shops just starting to open. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror but didn’t say a word.
When we finally pulled up at the station, I stepped out and asked him to wait for me. I clutched the note tightly as I entered the train station.
The station smelled like diesel and stale popcorn. People rushed past me in every direction — commuters, travelers, strangers with places to go.
I hesitated at the entrance, suddenly feeling small and out of place. But then Grandpa’s voice floated back into my mind, steady and reassuring: “Real treasure, kiddo.”
I took a deep breath and headed toward the lockers and I could hear my heart pounding. Rows of metal boxes lined the wall, each one looking identical: gray, dented, and slightly rusty.
My eyes scanned the numbers until I found number 111.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded note. The key was taped to the back. With trembling fingers, I peeled it off and slid it into the lock.
For a second, it jammed, and I panicked. But then — click! The lock turned, and the door swung open.
Inside was a duffel bag. It was old, faded, and heavy. My hands shook as I pulled it out and unzipped it.
The bag was full of cash. Bundles upon bundles of it!
I gasped, my mind reeling. It couldn’t be real, could it? I reached in and pulled out a stack, flipping through crisp hundred-dollar bills. There had to be at least $150,000 in there.
And tucked inside the bag was another note, written in Grandpa’s messy scrawl:
For my beloved granddaughter, everything I saved is now yours. Take it and live free, kiddo. The rest of the family may not see your worth, but I’ve always believed in you.
Tears blurred my vision, and I hugged the note to my chest, a knot forming in my throat. This wasn’t just money. It was freedom — a way out.
Grandpa always knew how badly I needed to escape this family. And now, he’d given me exactly what I needed and tricked everyone else in the process!
I zipped the bag shut, slung it over my shoulder, and walked out of the station, my heart pounding in tune with my footsteps.
The early morning sun was just starting to peek through the clouds, casting everything in a soft, golden light. For the first time in years, I felt… light.
During the cab ride back, I stared out the window, watching the city come to life. I had options now. No more suffocating family dinners, no more being ignored or treated like an afterthought, no more being the family scapegoat.
I could leave. I could build something new.
The thought scared me as much as it excited me, but Grandpa’s voice echoed in the back of my mind: “Live free, kiddo.”
As the cab pulled up to my house, I made my decision. I wasn’t staying. Not another minute!
I didn’t even bother going inside. I pulled out my phone, booked a ticket to anywhere, and told the driver to head straight to the airport.
With the duffel bag in my lap and Grandpa’s note tucked safely in my pocket, I smiled for the first time in days.
I was free. And for the first time in my life, I knew exactly what that meant.
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