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Nitwit Incomparable
{Continued from page 32;
One day, at a Press Club show, he contributed to the general hilarity by doing an original monologue, a parody of a Babbitt's after-dinner speech, before a gathering of fellow-Babbitts. His skit proved to be so funny, that he was prevailed upon to give up the printer's ink for grease paint.
He had_ to begin from the bottom. He played in the sticks for a season or two in small time vaudeville. But the folks in the cowshed circuit did not relish much his peculiar lackadaisical humor.
His stuff, however, went over big in New^ York, when his fellow-alumnus from Notre Dame, J. P. McEvoy, featured his antiques in his Americana. Charlie was McEvoy's secretary at the time and wrote gags for him. The metropolitan crowd vastly enjoyed his comedy bits, and his subsequent inanities in "Sweet Adeline" made him the premier madcap of Broadway.
r_T E now pal'd around with the wits *■ ^ of New York; Heywood Broun. Frank Sullivan and Robert Benchley became his close friends, and remain to this day. One of the epigram slingers he parried with was Dorothy Parker. He was especially intimate with Heywood Broun, who saw him in "Sweet Adeline" 24 times. They used to see each other almost every day, and made the rounds together of the night spots in Harlem and the other favorite haunts of the intelligentsia.
One of Charlie's most prized possessions is the following letter from Ring Lardner, written to him while he was cutting-up in "Sweet Adeline."
Hotel Pennsylvania,
New York September 22, 1929 Dear Mr. Butterworth:
Sometimes it becomes necessary to write a mash note. Your performance is so good that I'm afraid I'll have to see the damned thing three or four more times. Don't take this as final.
I nourish the selfish but forlorn hope that you'll be out of a job the year I write a musical.
Yours sincerely,
Ring Lardner.
Warner Brothers signed him up for two pictures, and he hopped on a train to Los Angeles to garner his share of the big movie coin. He was the life of "The Life of the Party," his first picture. As Col. Joy from Kentucky, a breeder of fine horses, suh, he lent his individual brand of madness to the screen in this Vitaphone production.
He returned to New York for another fling at Broadway, and came back with a pretty wife, the former Ethel Sutherland, to settle here for good. He is now under contract to M-G-M for some time.
Charlie's favorite game is a nice juicy steak. He sets himself at peace with the rest of the world by generous quaffs of light table wines. He has developed a taste for fine cuisine.
"I hate to tell my wife what to get. I let her go ahead and prepare her own menus," he said, with husbandly satisfaction. "An element of surprise is necessary in the enjoyment of good food."
His hobbies are, in the order named, loafing around the house doing nothing, playing tennis, reading, and writing his lines. He ducks the evening doldrums by going to the prize fights, where
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his quizzical face is a familiar sight in the front rows.
In spite of the bravura he affects as an ex-lawyer and newspaperman, Charlie in reality is a very bashful and retiring man. He feels lost in a crowd. "I am never lonelier than when I am in company," he admitted. "You have to drag me to a party."
He appreciates in others a sense of humor more than anything else. "I can't stand people who take themselves too seriously," he said. His favorite actors are the comedians, notably Charlie Chaplin. He thinks highly also of W. C. Fields and the mad Marx brothers. "The comedians," he said, "have a sense of the ludicrous, which keeps them from making themselves ridiculous." Among what he calls the "legitimates," he prefers Leslie Howard and Herbert Marshall. But Charlie is definitely not a picture fan. He surprised me when he said he hadn't seen "Queen Christina."
I_T E has no definite views on the art of ■* -* comedy. His is an instinctive and reflective sort of humor. "I must have a comedy twist in my nature," is his explanation of how he secures his comic effects. "In general, I imitate characters I have met, emphasizing their eccentricities. South Bend has had a great influence on my acting career. Early memories are naturally the strongest."
Charlie hasn't had his days of full glory on the screen yet. He may get a chance at stardom, since the character actor is coming into his own in the films.
"What I should like to portray most of all," he said, "is the futility of man. The type I have in mind is a pathetic, constantly blundering fellow who does not fit into our present-day society, and is oppressed with a sense of inferiority, bewilderment, and utter inadequacy to meet the problems of modern life. He goes about under a protective coating of mock dignity and courage, as we all do, more or less."
The sadness of humorists is proverbial, and Charles Butterworth is no exception.
"I ought to be happy," he said, "yet I am not. Like other men I have my high and low moments, but in general I am as blue as indigo, whether I show it or not.
"I often wonder why. I have everything a sensible man can wish for. Perhaps because I am too sensitive. And I can't get excited over things others in the profession are so concerned about. I don't get a terrific kick out of my acting. To be perfectly frank, I don't mind admitting that I don't care if I ever act again.
"I guess acting is too easy for me. I am happier when I have something difficult to do, even if it is writing twelve letters at one sitting. I have been working on a play, and have a number of articles under way which I hope to sell. But I doubt if they will ever be fit for publication. This California sunshine has got me. It has made me the laziest man on earth. I can't bring myself to expend the necessary time and energy required for my writings.
"And yet, once a journalist, always a journalist. I still feel like a reporter, and frequently find myself jotting down notes on things that other actors tell me on the set. I can't help but look upon my former literary ambitions with feelings of regret. I really seem to have lost something precious with them."
Such, in brief, is the interesting career of this melancholy clown, a fugitive wraith of a once lawyer-journalist caught in the mad whirligig of movietown.
50
The New Movie Magazine, March, 1935