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The total accomplishment of March in this great role
is described by Peterson: “March managed to make James Tyrone a
dignified, patient figure, even a man of compassion. March lifted him
without the audience being aware of it, above the petty disputes and the
battle, to the friendly sympathy of the audience at the final curtain. The
role brought March not only a challenge, but great personal satisfaction.
He remarked, ‘I am enjoying it tremendously. It is a most rewarding experience.’” 94 Although the role undoubtedly marked the high point of his career, it was not the last big success. He played in the film version of Inherit the Wind in 1960. In 1963, he and Florence Eldridge took part in a stunning televised program set up by President Kennedy to focus attention on the National Cultural Center in Washington. O’Neill’s work was a major part of this celebration. (Robards remarks later in this book that few presidents would have been interested in that.) There were scenes with the cast from Long Day’s Journey into Night, and Robards and Colleen Dewhurst appeared in scenes from other O’Neill plays. It was a memorable event with orchestras, dances, and other theatrical elements. March gave his last performance in John Frankenheimer’s film of The Iceman Cometh, produced by the American Film Theatre. The cast included Robert Ryan as Larry and many other fine actors. Unfortunately, the director’s decision to cast Lee Marvin as Hickey instead of the obvious choice of Robards meant the failure of the film. Nevertheless, March is wonderful to see, even as death came near to him, playing the old, tired, partially deaf Harry Hope. In this role,as in so many others, one is aware of the gaze of March. Peterson quotes an article titled “The Eyes of March,”which describes the power he had: “They burn from within. They betray a passionate hate, a rather tense love, an inordinate will, a self-consuming pain. He can stare motionlessly at an overstuffed chair, and our spines will crawl with the conflict.” 95 Peterson comments that March never became the popular star that Tracy and Gable and Cooper did because he was a craftsman: “he might have settled for superstardom, but instead sought to become a renowned actor. Knowing that in achieving this he must forsake the other, he never regretted his choice.”96 When the theatre at the University of Wisconsin was named after him, he attended the ceremonies and told the audience that of all his plays Long Day’s Journey into Night was his favorite. Many notable directors have contributed to the success of O’Neill’s plays on the stage. In the early days of the Provincetown Players it was not always clear who directed the play because of the communal, purposefully amateur quality of the endeavor. Robert Edmond Jones emerged as a major figure in the group and directed a number of the plays. Later, Arthur Hopkins directed important productions for Broadway theatres. When O’Neill became con-nected with the Theatre Guild, Philip Moeller brought his talents to the plays. After the failure of The Iceman Cometh in 1946, José Quintero created a revival of interest in O’Neill’s plays beginning in 1956. His important work is discussed in the interviews that follow. Robert Edmond Jones
was a shy man whose photographs often show him looking quite alarmed. Born
in 1887, a year before O’Neill, he grew up in New England. Just before
World War I he traveled extensively in Europe for a year, returning only
because of the war. His sketches of the new approaches to stagecraft,
particu-larly Expressionism, influenced his designs and, subsequently, the
American theatre. He is credited with introducing the New Stage-craft to
American theatre through his setting for the 1915 Harley Granville Barker
production of The Man
Who Married a Dumb Wife. His
knowledge of European theatre methods, particularly at the Deutsches
Theatre in Berlin, contributed to the significance of Continental
Stagecraft, which he wrote with Kenneth Macgowan in 1922. His
approach to design was definitely innovative and imagi-native. In the early days of the Provincetown Players he
designed a costume for an actress/musician that was made of many
pieces of vividly colored pieces of silk. These could be
rearranged by him, by pinning the pieces together to create the various
types of costumes she needed for her work—the only danger being that
the pins would fall out, leaving her in a state of embarrassment. In
1915 a group of friends in Provincetown decided to put on two one-act
plays in what Edna Kenton described as “a rambling old house by
the sea.”97 Later, Jones would become one of the most famous designers in the
world, but he also functioned as a director. He directed some of the early
one-acts. Then, when he, O’Neill, and Macgowan founded the Experimental
Theatre, he directed O’Neill’s The Foun-tain, Desire Under the Elms,
and The
Great God Brown. Later he designed many O’Neill productions
working with Philip Moeller as director. He continued to direct
occasionally. In 1932, for example, he directed Lillian Gish in a
production of Camille for
the opening of the restored opera house in Central City, Colorado. His
approach to theatre was expressed in his book The
Dramatic Imagination. |
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Hopkins was a part of the commercial theatre, but chose plays on the basis of their artistic possibilities, not the profit factor. He often gambled on unknown playwrights such as Sophie Treadwell, whose Expressionistic play Machinal was such a surprising success in 1928. Although he made money on the plays he produced, it was a policy of his never to invest in his own productions. His obituaries retold a famous story about the one time he broke that rule. So certain that a play would be a hit, he put his own money in it, only to see it get worse and worse as rehearsals went on. In the tryout in Philadelphia he actually came to believe that the actors were being bad on purpose because they wanted him to lose his investment. As he sat groaning aloud and swearing during a matinee, a woman turned around and said, “A number of us are enjoying this play and if you aren’t why don’t your go to the box office and get your money back?”He answered, “I wish to God I could!” A thoughtful man attuned to mystical elements in life, Hopkins devised an approach to theatre entirely in contrast to the spectacle and trickery that characterized David Belasco and other directors of his time. In How’s Your Second Act? he set forth his theories on directing, calling his method “Unconscious Projec-tion.”He said that there were many actors who said that he had given them no direction and that was what he wanted them to think. “It is always my aim to get a play completely prepared without anyone realizing just how it was done. I want the actors to be unconscious of my supervision. I want whatever direction they require to come to them without their realization. I want them to be unconscious of the movement and the ‘business’of the play. I want it all to grow with them so easily that when time for the first performance comes they scarcely realize that anything particular has been done.”He wanted the director, designers, and actors to work together to become the “servants of the play”: “Each must resist every temptation to score personally. Each must make himself a free, transparent medium through which the whole flows freely and without obstruction.” 100 Although he sometimes worked with actors who could not share his views, he found an ideal designer in Robert Edmond Jones. “Jones hopes only for one thing for his settings—that no one will notice them, that they will melt into the play. He is the true artist. He wants nothing for Jones. He wants what is right for the thing we are doing. Given twenty actors with a spirit as fine as his, and I will promise you a reaction such as is now only a dream.” 101 At his death in 1950 Hopkins was remembered as one of the most literate, sensitive, innovative directors of the first half of the twentieth century. His direction of Anna Christie created a major turning point in the playwright’s career. Writing to Hopkins twenty-three years later, O’Neill said that he had often intended to write a long letter to him. His letter concluded, “My deep gratitude for all you did for me. That, believe me, I have never forgotten nor ever can forget. Affectionately.” 102 New Yorker Philip Moeller was born in 1880. He graduated from
Columbia University and in 1914 joined the Washington Square Players. He
wrote several one-act plays that were pro-duced, including Helena’s
Husband, which became a popular favorite. After World War I when members of the earlier organi-zation
established the Theatre Guild, he was a co-founder and became one of the
most important directors. Indeed, Lawrence Langner, a great support of
O’Neill, felt that Moeller was one of the finest directors in the
American theatre. Against the will of a number of the Theatre Guild
members, Langner secured the rights for Strange
Interlude, which Moeller directed. In his review John Mason Brown wrote, “Mr. Moeller has done
the most decisive and expert direction of his career, at all times
differentiating between the spoken word and the spoken thought, and
keeping the pace of each of the nine acts skillfully in hand.”Writing to
Theresa Helburn, O’Neill asked her to “Tell Phil again how much I
enjoyed working with him and how damn grateful I feel for his splendid job
on S. I.—the
most imaginative directing I’ve ever known. . . . And tell Lynn & the rest of the cast that I hope
they’re half as satisfied with their work in S. I. as I am.” 103 Moeller went on to direct Dynamo, Mourning Becomes Elec-tra, Ah, Wilderness!, and Days Without End. A sensitive intellectual, he got along well with O’Neill, working with him and Lawrence Langner well up to the last rehearsals on cuts and changes for the plays. As Langner wrote, “Gene attended the theatre regularly and made considerable cuts. Indeed he was usually extremely co-operative in regard to cutting, and once he was in a cutting mood, he cut faster than the director asked in rehearsals.” 104 However, when Moeller directed Dynamo, O’Neill was not there to work with him and the play was a failure. The playwright took the blame himself, writing to Langner as he was cutting and improving the play for publication, “I should have been there and all I’m doing now would have been done at rehearsals. . . . This is no beef against Phil, of course. I know he did a fine job with what was there—but he couldn’t be expected to read my mind and rewrite it.”As Langner observed, “After the failure of Dynamo, Gene never stayed away from the initial production of any of his plays.” 105 Although they worked well together, Moeller often made good-humored jokes about working with O’Neill. The two often corresponded, O’Neill writing just before Ah, Wilderness!, “I know we’re going to have a lot of fun doing this play—if we get a cast to work with!—and I know you can direct it as no one else could.”106 Moeller often came up with unconventional solutions for problems that arose in rehearsals. While directing Meteor by S. N. Behrman, he felt a great deal of tension, as did Lunt and Fontanne, because of problems in the writing and rehearsals. Directing a scene with them in which he felt the tension leading to a major storm, he began to sob and cried out that he couldn’t stand any more. Langner brought him water to drink, the others helped him to a couch, and Lunt insisted that he be taken to his hotel to rest. As Langner walked with him along the street he asked Moeller how he felt. “‘ Fine’he said, striding along and smiling happily. ‘If I hadn’t thrown that fit of hysterics just when I did, some of the actors would have done it a minute later.’ ” 107 In her introduction to Directors on Directing, Helen Krich Chinoy wrote, “Philip Moeller, working as part of the Theatre Guild directorate, staged many of the new American plays of the ’20s—those of Elmer Rice, Sidney Howard, S. N. Behrman, and Eugene O’Neill. He placed his urbane, sophisticated theatrical imagination and literary skill at the service of the group expression which he felt to be the major contribution of the Guild’s methods of production in the early days.” 108 In the ’30s Moeller directed some films and then virtually retired from theatre until his death in 1958. His sophisticated touch was missed. The process of producing plays is complex and fraught
with difficulties, as the experiences noted above
indicate. Once the plays are performed, successfully or unsuccessfully,
legends tend to be passed along as fact, exaggerations are accepted as
reality, and praise or blame is assigned, often inaccurately. Many people
accept completely the idea that O’Neill refused ever to
cut any of his plays, unlike any other director. In fact, he did cut (not
always as much as some actors or directors wanted), in contrast to
Shaw, for example. Langner was warned by Shaw’s lawyer that
“Shaw will not permit you to alter as much as one single word in his
play.”109 It seems to be in the nature of theatrical production
that actors complain about directors and writers and that the
directors and writers complain about them. As long ago as the
seventeenth century Molière suggested this in his Impromptu
at Versailles, and the process has gone on ever since. Langner, a
playwright himself, offered one explanation for playwrights’discontent
with actors: “No author ever succeeds in getting a complete
realization of the part he has created, and he blames the actor because the
actor is unable to achieve the impossible.”He felt that
O’Neill’s remarks about actors should be taken with a grain of salt.110
In his work with the Provincetown Players, with Hopkins as
producer/director, and with the Theatre Guild, O’Neill formed many friendships
and frequently enjoyed the process of rehearsal. He never did attend
opening nights and did not care to see the plays once they opened.
If he had, on some occasions, he probably would have had the
disagreeable experience of seeing business added, lines dropped,
and surprising interpretations of lines. George S. Kaufman made it a
practice to drop in unexpectedly on plays he had written and
directed and once sent a telegram to the cast during a performance: “AM
STANDING AT
THE BACK OF THE AUDITORIUM.
WISH YOU WERE HERE.” 111 N o t e s 1. Deborah Peterson,
Fredric March: Craftsman First, Star
Second (Westport, CT: 2. Louis Scheaffer, O’Neill: Son and Playwright (New York: Paragon House, 1968), p. 134. 3. Arthur and Barbara Gelb, O’Neill (New York: Harper and Row, 1962), p. 177. 4. Eugene O’Neill, Bound East for Cardiff, in Complete Plays 1913–1920 ed. Travis Bogard (New York: The Library of America, 1988), p. 198. 5. Thirst, in Ibid., p. 51. 6. Before Breakfast, in Ibid., p. 395. 7. Unless otherwise noted, the quotations from reviews and articles dealing with each actor or actress are in the file under the performer’s name in the Billy Rose collections in the Theatre and Performing Arts Library at Lincoln Center. Many of these are fragments lacking a title, page number, or author. 8. Travis Bogard and Jackson Bryer, eds., Selected Letters of Eugene O’Neill (New Haven, CT:Yale University Press, 1988),p.105. 9. Ibid., p. 109. 10. Ibid., p. 108. 11. John L.Toohey, The Pulitzer Prize Plays (New York: Citadel, 1967), p. 46. 12. Erroll Hill, “Charles Gilpin,”in The Cambridge Guide to World Theatre, ed. Martin Banham (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 396. 13. Gelb, p. 448. 14.
Selected Letters, p.
177. 15. Gelb, p. 450. 16. Hill, p. 396. 17. Scheaffer, p. 37. 18. Martin Duberman, Paul Robeson (New York: New Press, 1996), p. 43. 19. Ibid., p. 53. 20.
Selected Letters, p.
177. 21. Scheaffer, p. 140. 22. Ibid., p. 89. 23. Nelda K. Balch, “Pauline Lord,”in Notable Women in the American Theatre, eds. Alice M. Robinson, Vera Mowry Roberts, and Milly S. Barranger (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1989), p. 559. 24. Jared Brown, The Fabulous Lunts (New York: Athenaeum, 1986), p. 91. 25.
Selected Letters, p.
121. 26. Balch,p.559. 27. Brown,p.93. 28.
Selected Letters, p.
559. 29. Emily Wortis Leider, Becoming Mae West (New York: Farrar, Strous, and Giroux, 1997), p. 123. 30.
Selected Letters, p.
210. 31. Ibid., p. 558. 32. Ibid., p. 560. 33. John Weld, September Song (Baltimore,MD: Scarecrow, 1998),p.96. 34. Ibid., p. 94. 35. Ibid., p. 95. 36. John Huston, An Open Book (New York:Knopf,1980),p.32. 37. Ibid. 38. Weld, p. 200. 39.
Selected Letters, p.
196. 40. Weld, p. 99. 41.
Selected Letters, p.
395. 42. Ibid., p. 474. 43. Huston, p. 33. 44. Ibid., p. 34. 45. Ibid. 46. Brown,p.167. 47. Ibid., p. 162. 48. Ibid. 49. Ibid., p. 165. 50.
Selected Letters, p.
266. 51. Brown,p.167. 52. Ibid. 53. Ibid. 54. Toby Cole and Helen Krich Chinoy, eds., Actors on Acting (New York: Crown, 1970), p. 612. 55. S. N. Behrman, People in a Diary (New York: Little, Brown, and Co., 1972), p. 89. 56. Brown,p.169. 57. Ibid., p. 163. 58. Ibid., p. 164. 59. Ibid. 60. Gelb, p. 650. 61. Lawrence Langner, The Magic Curtain (New York: Dutton, 1951), p. 179. 62. Gelb, p. 778. 63. Samuel Raphaelson, Accent on Youth (New York: Samuel French, 1935), p. 91. 64. Gelb, p. 747. 65.
Selected Letters, p.
232. 66. Gavin Lambert, Nazimova (New York: Knopf, 1997), p. 170. 67. Ibid., p. 321. 68. Ibid., p. 344. 69. Ibid., p. 192. 70. Ibid., p. 323. 71. Ibid., p. 324. 72. Ibid. 73. Ibid., p. 319. 74. Ibid., p. 389. 75.
Selected Letters, p.
400. 76. Gelb, p. 748. 77. John McCabe, George M. Cohan: The Man Who Owned Broadway (Garden City, NJ:Doubleday,1973),p.226. 78. Ibid., p. 74. 79. Don Wilmeth, “George Michael Cohan,”in The Cambridge Guide to World Theatre (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 213. 80. McCabe, p. 227. 81.
Selected Letters, p.
426. 82. Ibid., p. 430. 83. Edith Isaacs, “Good Plays A-Plenty,”Theatre Arts (July–Dec. 1933), pp. 908-910. 84. McCabe, p. 228. 85. Ibid., p. 230. 86.
Selected Letters, p.
519. 87. Brooks Atkinson, “Theatre: Tragic Journey,”in the New York Times (Nov. 9, 1956). 88. Peterson, p. 217. 89. Ibid., p. 192. 90. Ibid., p. 240. 91. Toohey, p. 290. 92. Henry Hewes, “O’Neill 100 Proof—Not a Blend,”Saturday Review of Literature (Nov. 24, 1956), p. 30. 93. Peterson, p. 192. 94. Ibid., p. 190. 95. Ibid., p. 219. 96. Ibid., p. 240. 97. Edna Kenton, “The Provincetown Players and the Playwrights’Theatre 1915–1922,”The Eugene O’Neill Review (Spring/Fall 1997), p. 19. 98. Ibid. 99.
Selected Letters, p.
551. 100. Arthur Hopkins, How’s Your Second Act? (New York: Philip Goodman Company, 1918), p. 151. 101. Ibid., p. 93. 102.
Selected Letters, p.
560. 103. Ibid., p. 291. 104. Langner, p. 283. 105. Ibid., p. 242. 106.
Selected Letters, p.
421. 107. Langner, p. 245. 108. Toby Cole and Helen Krich Chinoy, eds., Directors on Directing (Indianapolis, IN: Bobbs-Merrill, 1963) p. 73. 109. Langner, p. 131. 110. Ibid., p. 237. 111.
Langner, p. 232. |
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