Variety (Jan 1942)

12 PIGtURES Thirty-sixth P^KiETv Annieenary Jannary 7, 1942 JESSEL YENS FOR THE GOOD OLE DAYS; DANNY KAYE SAYS NUTS TO NOSTALGIA By GEORGE JESSiEL The most important thing for the readers to find first, on perusing a column, is the date lin'e...for that may be of such Eigniflcance as to change your whole viewpoint, for today saw a complete somersault in opinions. Isolationists are cheering for Roosevelt, the south has its arm around the north; Capital, Labor and the Government are singing, 'He's a Jolly Good Fellow*... for this is being written on the day we're at war! Never has there been such tense tinjes; there has never been such tense times since 1861—yet on this Dec. 8 I have been asked by 'Variety' to write a salute to yesterday, or to be factual, why I like the show business of 20 years ago more than I do the strange, conglomeration of the mostly- listen-for-nothing era of today. To begin with, let's look at it from the dressing room of the average actor. If he was in burlesque, he finished his work after doing just two shows a day. He had a 36-^yeek con- tract and the Burlesque Club to go to at night where he met his brother comic and where they drank ^ lot of beer and the last glass poured down with such authority. Why not! His contract had a few years to go, but if a .Broadway manager wanted him, his boss would let him go, for the boss would understand, he too had been a burlesque comic -or a song and dance man until he owned a show. I Today's burlesque actor—unless he's a she and one-of four strip-teasers, has to do four or five shows a day—he's got to be terribly dirty most times. Not because he xyants to, but a 12 o'clock noon audience won't wake up for any jokes about little Willie. There's no place for him to go at night to meet his gang, and the boss of the show is no actor who has worked himself up from the ranks; but probably the saloon-keeper on the comer or the-attorney or the mortgagee who had to take over the theatre. , I . AS SAD AS A STBEBT IN PAMS 71 ' Now the Vaudeville .Actor. His story is as sad as a street. ■ In Paris. Twenty years ago there were 60 weeks of big time vpudeville and over 100 weeks of mediun> and small time vaudeville. There are probably 20 weeks In all America, to- day. • No camaraderie at^oight, no spacious NVA Club, no jnonas- . tery at the Friars, no Vaudeville Comedy Club, no Broadway' nilace theatre-to look forward to, no happy lies to tell your. n^ghbor at Freeport. Alas, my friends, vaudeville is a lost art . . . :How much more like show business It was to hear the con- versation between two legit actors, saying,-'Well, Tin going back with ^Blossom Time'.fot the-fourth .year,' .and the other - saying, .Scat's fine. I'm going on tour with , the 'Countess MarltzaV "Instead-of this kind of conversation you hear today, 'Hello, Charlie, you look tired." 'I am, Joe. I was on at 7:30 this morning for the Early Jollily Record Chatter show, and at S:30 I was on'the Cheese Souflle program.' ' ' ' 'What are you doing, Joe?' 'Oh, Vm auditioning for Feena- ihinf ' For musicals, you've got to get $4 for a musical show .or you can't live, even if you've got a hit Consequently, the average success has 25% of the run it used to have, and by ' the time you get on the road the radio has aged your songs so much that you've got a stale show. A straight play—no matter how good—you've got to pray that six New Ybrk critics haven't had a fight with their wives, «r you're dead—you cannot stand oft bad notices—wait a min- ute, don't tell me 'Abie's Irish Rose' and Tobacco Road'— that happens about as often as Haley's Comet ■ Certainly Til take the good old days. P. S.—Should a nice fat radio or picture contract come through—and please God, should Japan be reduced, to a one- night stand—I may change my entire viewpoint. Therefore please observe the above dateline on this scrap from the memory book. wood and Radio By Jac)c Hellman Hollywood, Jan. 4. Hollywood and radio—this year or any year—sums up to these basic impressions:^ The master-showmen of the United States are here. In the film studios. Radio is a mere imitator, a second best, • bunch of beginners in entertainment creation. Radio has prospered with very few master strokes of showman- ship. Ainos 'n* Andy flashed across the skies. The big blow caught up Rudy Vallee, Kate Smith, a few others. But there were no stupendous achievements of showman- ship in the air. Nothing to compare to The Birth of a Nation' 'Intolerance' 'Way Down East.' No equivalent to 'Disraeli' or Top Hat.' The two industries simply cannot be compared in re- spect to creative or artistic abilities. Nor of maturity, breadth and even daring in technique, editing' and choice of themes. Condescending, did ya say? Yeah. Yet Hollywood still gets plenty excited about radio because radio is superlative in one thing at least; the ability to publicize, exploit, advertise; make known, spread the word and stir talk. It's also tops in getting people to wlilstle songs. In other words Hollywood thinks of radio like a player who can't -throw a forward pass but can sure catch 'em , and run Uke something. By DANNY KAYE It's always the good old days. The new days are never good. The old shows were brighter, the old comics were funnier, yesterday's chorus girls were more dazzling, the old routines knocked them deader, and morfi hpBris oined for every light on old Broadway. This sentimenal notion dmgs not only to show business. , The old shoes were stouter, the old haU more becoming, the old button- holes were better made and the -old armchair is a rare antique.. I'm a sucker for the good old days and get a big wallop when I recall Smith and Dale's 'What am I—a crocodile? or Herb Williams' 'SpoUi-i-ight!' Even now, a chill crawls up my spme when I think of Joe Schenck (Van and Danny Kayo Schenck)-^when I see him at the piano, in litUe more than I pin spot facing the audience, playing with one hand, sort ■ tf on Se side, and crooning a ballad in that soft h«h voice of his It was so quiet you could hear.an opUon drop. Those were the good old days for me^ when I Play^^ hookey to catch the bill at Loew's Palace in Brownsville. -Today? A hust-dog days. But, with the passing of time, when these ISrire recalled through the friendly haze of reminiscence, they, too, become the good days—the good old days. Casting sentiment aside and viewing the situation in the cold light of reality, what kind of break does the young performer get today? I guess the most significant .change was caused by the demise of vaudeville and the burth of radio and talking pictures.. This has speeded "P,*he develop- ment of an actor's career insofar as national-and-world-<ame is concerned.. If you click, you click quick. Through the medium of radio and pictures, over-night recogniUon can really be attained over night. These two phases of show business have also wised up the hinterland. The yokels know all the answers and say 'Joe Miller* before you pop the punch line. I think that's good. A legit actor's salary in the good old days didn*t come to very much when averaged over a year. Weeks of rehearsal without pay—long layoffs between plays—50 or ?0 dollars a week when working—altogether, not much more than $1,500 a year. Today the networks are netting big. dough to thou- sands of unknown performers who barely eked out an exist- ence before. . I think that's good. Theatrical doors are wide open today—much toider than in . the good old days. New faces are not only welcome, but hunted.' The great proving ground that'was vaudeville and burlesque cannot be combed lor ready-made stars with a solid sense rf tiir'ng and showmanly Instincts. Broadway can't tell where the new sensation might come from and therefore-has-to keep a keen eye and-open..mind-for_the- imknown. The big break can come much sooner to .the. young performer. I think that's good. y . DouBre Talk, Circa 1917 In the 12th Anniversary Edition of 'Variety, dated Dec. 20, 1B17, appeared some of the first double-talk in modern show business. It was in the form of an adver- tiseihent by Bert Leslie, the comic, and it read; To The Qeoka. ■May the Fussel Spras Dil the mosley pass And the Guncas Gale pas your comepus So praze your wimp . And Fill your limp And poo your luxing flogears Prall your dit Fose your lit And brott to Happy New Years Double-talk in those days was an-Intra-vaudeville actors' gag, chjefiy Used on laymen as a form of per- sonal amuseMent and. self-ribbing. "Actors playing the Palace Beach in the old days gathered in front of Wol- ■pin's (now defunct), at 47th and Broadway, and double- talked the cop on the beat dizzy. It was months before he got wise to the daily ribbing. Only in recent years was it put to stage use. Lewis Carroll made free use of double-talk in his "Through the I<ooking Glass' (1871). War-Time London U. S. Newshawk's Impressions of Show Biz There I BADIO AND PICTOBES- Radio and pictures have developed their own stars. Actors with just a microphonj quality and photogenic personality. They have zoomed to the top when they probably could-have gotten nowhere in the flesh. Even products .of the good old days who were doomed to a career of mediocrity in thCle'glt or two-a-day have found fame .and fortune when they found that certain something before a microphone or camera. I think that's good. The passionate and professional drum-beaters for the good old days always-hark-back-to-the-long runs .on the varied- circuit Once around the Orpheum meant maybe two years. Then there was a year on the Pantages, perhaps six months' of western time. And they were all good for repeats. Five years for the same act was not a long life. Some played the same 15 minutes of patter for 15 years. Twelve gags, a parody and a hoofing finish was a career. When vaudeville vanished, they couldn't get out of the rut and ma.ny good performers, buried in their 15 minutes of patter, were permanently stranded. Today is a day pf con- stant-change. There is a-cry for new material,-new routines and a performer is put on his mettle to provide them. He can't become complacent and smug. I think that's good. I'm not sure, but I have a feeling that summer theatres today offer greater opportunities for the newcomer, as well as a field of experiment and tryout for the old timers. As I vaguely regcall, summer stock companies in the good old days dished up a rehash of well'worn bills, and did nothing more for the actor than help kill time. Today, fnany Broad- way si(fv:esses were bom on the strawhat circuit. Many new persbrialities, writers, technicians and directors found their first contact with a stage in- a country bam. And i;^ you Con- sider all the little theatres connected with the thousands of summer resorts you resilize that there is a starting polnt'end a field of development for a great army of theatrical work- ers. I think that's good. Working conditions are better today. . 'Shooting galleries' and 'mouse traps* in jerk towns are practically extinct Every hamlet boasts at least one deluxer and every big town has its own roaid company Radio City Music Hall. Union regula- tions, scales of salary, rehearsal mles are on a higher level Equity, the Dramatist's CUiild, the Musicians Union and the Stagehands' Union have eliminated most of the gyppery and shoestringing of the good old days. Paying oS in the dark is a thing of the past And I think that's good. I EVEN VAPDEVILLE'S STILL .HEBE ~ Strictly speaking, even the oldtimers' shining paradise end emblem of the good old days—the institution of vaudeville is still alive and kicking, in modified form. The Paramount, Strand, Roxy and the Music Hall are deluxers with replicas in Chicago, Philadelphia, Washington, Baltimore, Boston and' Los Angeles. Loew's State is a type of old time vaudeville house that is photostated in other big cities. An act can reach not only the main stem audiences on Main Street but also the family trade in the neighborhood houses. I think 'that's good. They're not bad—these new days. . And thev'U be sweet to look back on when they become the 'good old' days. By George Lait (International Wcuis Semice Wor Corresponden't in London) London, Dec. 5.. For some of the lesser fry of the boards—comparatively un- known music hall (vaudeville) performers, small nightclub ■ turns, carnival acts and such—the war hasn't been a bad . business proposition. In the old- days ol peace .they were lucky to work 15 weeks a year, starvation coin was the , rule rather than the exception, jumps were long in third-class ' railway carriages-and often ate up all the profit of the last date. On top of that agents whacked off their chunk, cos- . tumes, no matter how tawdry and usually second-hand, like- - wise cost , , , , . Ttoday these coffee-and-cakers are working regularly enter- taining the troops throughout the Empire for ENSA (Enter- i tainments'National Service Association), government bureau ; handling this Job. Their mazuma can't be classed as-'good,' but they manage to knock oil about £5 to £7 ($20 to $28). per week which- is clear profit for their travel costs are covered by the government or they're jumped in Army, Naval or Royal Air Forc6 automobiles; most of them work without scenery and In civilian clothes; and. they never need new. material for the lads in the forces want hoke, noise, legs . and a minimum of-sophistication. - To the big names of the 'halls,' however, the war has not . been kind. Many of the vaudeville theatres, throughout the provinces .(such as Manchester, Coventry, Birmingham, Liver- pool, lieeds, etc), received unrequested renovations from the Luftwaffe. Only a single major London house still sells straight vBude—the StoU in Klngsway—althoqgh the Palla- - dlum. Prince of Wales and Windmill still -grind along with . their regular permanent companies. Most of the big names have-either gone into ENSA (at just about the same money the coaee-and.K»kers get) or have gone into other branches of national service.for the duration. Some, however, are still to be seen in musicals and legit '^ith the shutting of most of the big time night clubs and tiie demands of the forces for men of military age, numbers . of the big name bands likewise have taken it on the button. However,.a few. remalning.spQts_manBge.to.keep..a .coupje.pf.. the crews employed, such as The Savoy (Carroll Gibbons); - Grosvenor House (Syd Lipton); Embassy (Harry Roy). Some of-the other big-time crews, such as Geraldo's, Jack Hylton, Oscar Rabin, Joe IiOss, Jack Payne, Syd Seymour, and Henry Hall, move about doing good hotel dates, whang oil occasional broadcasts for the BBC or go Into a musical. r 29 LEGIT FBODUCnONS Although there are 29 legit or musical productions and the Russian Ballet actually running at this writing (Dec. 4), their troubles, too, are myriad. Cl othes rationing, for example, has added to the producer's million-and-one head and heartaches. When George Black finally got ready to open 'Get a Load of This' with Vic Oliver, at the Hippodrome, he had to scrounge through a mile of governmental red tape to obtain special extra coupons for costumes. When Firth Shephard opened "The Man Who Came to Dinner* at the SaVoy, he could not find a proper sport coat or dazzling American neck- tie for Jerry Verno (in the Harpo part) until my room-mate, Ned Russell, offered one of his and I contributed a glaring specimen of Main Stem neckwear. I EASIO KOT SO PEBET The radio field is not so perky either—actually, compared to our home product, it never went so far as money went for performers. I can remember the pre-war day when the BBC offered Sophie Tucker £50 ($200) for a broadcast, then and I believe stUl, an aU-tlme BBC high for a single, A sustaining performer who drags * 10 ($50) per week out of the BBC can work anywhere else either as strong man or magician. But if you're determined to displaji./your talents on the air in this man's country, brother, you do it for the BBC at- their price 'cause there just ain't no other pTace to 90. . Thfe Brothers Shubert would find the critics' situation in war-time London a blessing. 'What with the paper shortage, most of the rags have cut down to four pages for the full- slzed sheets and six or eight pages for the tabloids. This doesn't give much room for film or theatrical criticisms after the war news has taken up its allotted number of columns. Thus, a critic's revue which in peacetime might fill a column, today gets one or two paragraphs. And who ever heard of a critic who could really roast a turkey in less than a column!! - For some the blitz and the blackout have caused great professional and financial loss; for others, .the war has given otiportunities which they otherwise might never have achieved. It's all given me a history-making appetite for Broad- way, 52nd street; Vine street State street and any other Street back home where they tum the street lights on when It gets dark.