I got this collection of 1930s plays five years ago, in the early stages of my Oscar-watching project, because the middle one of the three was the basis of a very successful film starring Lionel Barrymore. In fact all three of these plays were successfully adapted for the screen.
The scripts are prefaced by a short piece from each of the two authors, gently poking fun at each other and giving a sense of the relationship between two Broadway creators. They certainly seem to have got on with each other better than Gilbert and Sullivan.
The first play, Once in a Lifetime, is about a vaudeville trio, down on their luck because of the invention of talking movies which sucks the audience out of theatre, who go to Hollywood and try to make it big there. The dumb guy of the three ascends to huge cinematic power, and the punchline of the play is that the bad decisions he makes turn out to be very successful.
I thought it was really funny. I don’t always find it easy to read scripts, but here I had no difficulty differentiating the characters with their different voices. I noted that George Kaufman, one of the authors, also played the frustrated playwright Laurence Vail in the first Broadway cast.
The key character is Mary Daniels, the woman in the vaudeville trio, who gets the best lines and serves as the audience viewpoint character on what is happening in Hollywood. In the original Broadway production she was played by Jean Dixon.
The opening directions for the third scene are:
(The gold room of the Hotel Stilton, in Los Angeles. Early de Mille. Gold-encrusted walls, heavy diamond-cut chandelier, gold brocade hangings and simply impossible settees and chairs. There is an air of such complete phoneyness about the room that an innocent observer, unused to the ways of Hollywood, rather expects a director suddenly to appear from behind a door and yell: “All right, boys! Take it away!”
This particular room, for all its gaudiness, is little more than a passage to the room where Hollywood really congregates—so you can imagine what THAT is like. The evening’s function is approaching its height, and through the room, as the curtain rises, there pass various gorgeous couples—one woman more magnificently dressed than another, all swathed in ermine and so hung with orchids that it’s sometimes a little difficult to see the girl. The women, of course, are all stunningly beautiful. They are babbling of this and that phase of Hollywood life as they cross the room—”This new thing, dialogue”—”Why didn’t you introduce me to him—I just stood there like a fool”—”It wasn’t the right time—I’ll take you to him when they’re ready to cast the picture.” Through it all an unseen orchestra is grinding out “Sonny Boy,” and it keeps right on playing “Sonny Boy” all evening. Because it seems there was a man named Jolson.
Weaving through the guests is a CIGARETTE GIRL but not just an ordinary cigarette girl. Like every other girl in Hollywood, she is beautiful enough to take your breath away. Moreover, she looks like Greta Garbo, and knows it. Hers is not a mere invitation to buy her wares: on the contrary, her “Cigars! Cigarettes!” is charged with emotion. You never can tell, of course, when a director is going to conic along.
The COAT CHECK GIRL, certainly the most beautiful girl in the world, buttonholes the CIGARETTE GIRL as the crowd thins out)
This scene got cut from the movie.
The 1933 film of the play is available on Youtube at time of writing:
The two major stars here are the dumb-as-rocks George, played by Jack Oakie, and his love interest Susan Walker, played by Sidney Fox. The script clearly intends Aline MacMahon to be the main character as May (renamed from Mary) and the editing and direction of the movie end up a bit unbalanced. It’s hilariious though.
I wrote up the middle play, You Can’t Take it With You, at length in 2018 so you can read that here:
The stage version, even more than the film, concentrates on Grandpa Vanderhof as the central character. In the film he is portrayed electrifyingly by Lionel Barrymore; in the first stage production, he was played by Henry Travers, most famous as Clarence the guardian angel in It’s a Wonderful Life; he also got an Oscar nomination for the station-master in Mrs Miniver. I think he would have been a bit less vicious.
The third play, The Man Who Came to Dinner, is even more overtly a character study than the other two. A famous New York theatre critic slips on an icy patch while visiting Ohio and is immobilised in the home of his reluctant hosts for several weeks. There’s a bit of a comedy of middle-class manners here, but mainly it’s about the monstrous protagonist who is unaware of his own monstrosity.
The opening of the third scene (Act Two) is:
A week later, late afternoon.
The room is now dominated by a large Christmas tree, set in the curve of the staircase, and hung with the customary Christmas ornaments.
SARAH and JOHN are passing in and out of the library, bringing forth huge packages which they are placing under the tree. MAGGIE sits at a little table at one side, going through a pile of correspondence.
JOHN. Well, I guess that’s all there are, Miss Cutler. They’re all under the tree.
MAGGIE. Thank you, John.
I Imagine that this is simple to stage, in that the entire play takes place in the Ohio front room. It’s more of a one-joke story than the other two. The play was written for actor and critic Alexander Woolcott, who had behaved with abominable rudeness while visiting Hart’s family home; for some strange reason he bowed out of actually performing as the character based on himself, and it fell to Monty Woolley to do it on both stage and screen, giving his career an immense boost. The film stars him and Bette Davis. Here’s a trailer:
These are all funny and light enough. You can get the collection here.
Once in a Lifetime gets a Bechdel pass. There is plenty of banter between the named woman characters. The opening lines of Act 1 Scene 3 are a conversation between the Cigarette Girl and the Coat Check Girl, who I admit are not named characters, but it’s funny enough to put here (and was censored from the film with the rest of the scene):
COAT CHECK GIRL. Say, I got a tip for you, Kate.
CIGARETTE GIRL. Yah?
COAT CHECK GIRL. I was out to Universal today—I heard they was going to do a shipwreck picture.
CIGARETTE GIRL. Not enough sound. They’re making it a college picture—glee clubs.
COAT CHECK GIRL. That was this morning. It’s French Revolution now.
CIGARETTE GIRL. Yah? There ought to be something in that for me.
COAT CHECK GIRL. Sure! There’s a call out for prostitutes for Wednesday.
CIGARETTE GIRL. Say, I’m going out there! Remember that prostitute I did for Paramount?
COAT CHECK GIRL. Yah, but that was silent. This is for talking prostitutes.
You Can’t Take It With You also passes easily, with the opening lines featuring two women characters talking.
ESSIE. (fanning herself). My, that kitchen’s hot.
PENNY. (finishing a bit of typing). What, Essie?
ESSIE. I say the kitchen’s awful hot. That new candy I’m making—it just won’t ever get cool.
PENNY. Do you have to make candy today, Essie? It’s such a hot day.
ESSIE. Well, I got all those new orders. Ed went out and got a bunch of new orders.
PENNY. My, if it keeps on I suppose you’ll be opening up a store.
ESSIE. That’s what Ed was saying last night, but I said no, I want to be a dancer. (Bracing herself against the table, she manipulates her legs, ballet fashion)
PENNY. The only trouble with dancing is, it takes so long. You’ve been studying such a long time.
ESSIE (slowly drawing a leg up behind her as she talks). Only—eight—years. After all, Mother, you’ve been writing plays for eight years. We started about the same time, didn’t we?
PENNY. Yes, but you shouldn’t count my first two years, because I was learning to type.
The Man Who Came to Dinner was a bit more of a challenge, given that it is about a monstrous male egotist who dominates all around him. But just over half way through I found an exchange that definitely passes.
MAGGIE. That’s quite a gown, Lorraine. Going anywhere?
LORRAINE. This? Oh, I just threw on anything at all. Aren’t you dressing for dinner?
MAGGIE. No, just what meets the eye.
(She has occasion to carry a few papers across room at this point. LORRAINE‘s eye watches her narrowly)
LORRAINE. Who does your hair, Maggie?
MAGGIE. A little Frenchwoman named Maggie Cutler comes in every morning.
LORRAINE. You know, every time I see you I keep thinking your hair could be so lovely. I always wanted to get my hands on it.
MAGGIE. (quietly.) I’ve always wanted to get mine on yours, Lorraine.
LORRAINE. (absently.) What, dear?
The other two Bechdel-passing scenes were cut or trimmed for the screen, but I’m glad to give you this one in full with Bette Davis and Ann Sheridan.
This was the non-genre fiction book that had lingered longest unread on my shelves (there is fantasy here, but not of the genre kind). Next in that sequence is The Smile on the Face of the Tiger, by Douglas Hurd and Andrew Osmond.
