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| Vivien Leigh: a brilliant star who fully justified my faith in her continued on page 58 |
I’ve loved every minute of it SIR MICHAEL BALCON Britain's No.1 film-maker tells it all
Vivien Leighs big chance
'I argued with a Hollywood tycoon and Vivien got the role'
ONE of the most difficult men I have ever had to deal with in all my 35 years as a film producer was Louis B. Mayer, the 'Mayer' in Metro-Goldwyn- Mayer. And I shall never forget the argument we had about the casting of one of the parts in a film we were planning to make together, A Yank at Oxford.
'L.B.' -as he was known to everyone with whom he was associated, had come over to Britain with one of his executive staff, and we were all three of us discussing the casting of the film at the studios,
Mayer's associate kept insisting that I should cast a well-known West End actress in the part. I did not want her. I agreed that she was talented, but I felt that she was entirely miscast, and I told the executive what I thought of him in very blunt language.
Louis B. Mayer was astonished that anyone should question the judgment of one of his entourage. For a moment he stood in silence, and then, with a sweeping gesture, he walked over to the ornate french windowsand swung them open.
These windows led out to a balcony which overlooked a large lake. The shores of the lake were swarming with extras preparing for some outdoor scene. Film cameras, crews, technicians and stars were standing about.
I thought Mr. Mayer had suddenly felt that the room where we were having our argument was too close for him, that he wanted a breath of air. I did him too much honour.
Steps to stardom
AS soon as he was assured of his audience below, he stood on the balcony and harangued me for speaking out of turn, for not knowing my job!
Despite this, I refused to give way, and after a long argument Mayer finally agreed, rather reluctantly, that I could choose anyone else I liked.
The girl I chose was then at the very beginning of her career, and I must say she has justified my faith in her ability. Her name was Vivien Leigh.
I never found Mayer easy to work with. In spite of that, whenever I am asked, as I am frequently: "Who is the most outstanding personality with whom you have ever worked?" I only have one answer: Louis B. Mayer.
Mayer ran MGM's Hollywood studios for 27 years, and was responsible for 800 films. At the peak of his career, he earned the dollar equivalent of £675 (about $1896.75) a day, and the stars he controlled included Clark Gable, Greer Garson, Spencer Tracy, Deborah Kerr, Judy Garland, Ava Gardner, Gene Kelly, Frank Sinatra, Mario Lanza and Fred Astaire.
Vivien Leighs big chance
'I argued with a Hollywood tycoon and Vivien got the role'
ONE of the most difficult men I have ever had to deal with in all my 35 years as a film producer was Louis B. Mayer, the 'Mayer' in Metro-Goldwyn- Mayer. And I shall never forget the argument we had about the casting of one of the parts in a film we were planning to make together, A Yank at Oxford.
'L.B.' -as he was known to everyone with whom he was associated, had come over to Britain with one of his executive staff, and we were all three of us discussing the casting of the film at the studios,
Mayer's associate kept insisting that I should cast a well-known West End actress in the part. I did not want her. I agreed that she was talented, but I felt that she was entirely miscast, and I told the executive what I thought of him in very blunt language.
Louis B. Mayer was astonished that anyone should question the judgment of one of his entourage. For a moment he stood in silence, and then, with a sweeping gesture, he walked over to the ornate french windowsand swung them open.
These windows led out to a balcony which overlooked a large lake. The shores of the lake were swarming with extras preparing for some outdoor scene. Film cameras, crews, technicians and stars were standing about.
I thought Mr. Mayer had suddenly felt that the room where we were having our argument was too close for him, that he wanted a breath of air. I did him too much honour.
Steps to stardom
AS soon as he was assured of his audience below, he stood on the balcony and harangued me for speaking out of turn, for not knowing my job!
Despite this, I refused to give way, and after a long argument Mayer finally agreed, rather reluctantly, that I could choose anyone else I liked.
The girl I chose was then at the very beginning of her career, and I must say she has justified my faith in her ability. Her name was Vivien Leigh.
I never found Mayer easy to work with. In spite of that, whenever I am asked, as I am frequently: "Who is the most outstanding personality with whom you have ever worked?" I only have one answer: Louis B. Mayer.
Mayer ran MGM's Hollywood studios for 27 years, and was responsible for 800 films. At the peak of his career, he earned the dollar equivalent of £675 (about $1896.75) a day, and the stars he controlled included Clark Gable, Greer Garson, Spencer Tracy, Deborah Kerr, Judy Garland, Ava Gardner, Gene Kelly, Frank Sinatra, Mario Lanza and Fred Astaire.
Like many others in Hollywood he was an immigrant. His parents had come to Canada from Russia when he was a child. As a young man, Mayer had taken a job in his father's scrap metal business, and then moved to Boston, in the United States, where he was fascinated by cinema shows that were just starting. Soon he was in the business himself, buying, selling and making pictures.
Although physically Louis B. Mayer was a short, fat, dumpy man, everything else about him was much larger than life.
He had an enormous office with a cream desk, cream carpet and wails, a cream coloured bar and fireplace, cream leather chairs and couches, even a cream grand piano. In one corner stood a statue of Leo the Lion, the trade mark of MGM, carved from cream marble.
He was harsh, he was hard, and yet he was an extraordinary sentimentalist. He could weep when he wanted to. He would weep when his stars asked for an increase in salary. He wept when he first saw Mickey Rooney as Andy Hardy on the screen. He saw his own musical Show Boat 13 times, and wept on every occasion out of sheer delight and pleasure.
He was a lonely man, surrounded by admirers and sycophants, but with very few real friends. He told me once: "I'd rather be loved than have millions of dollars. Lionel Barrymore called me his daddy. That is love."
He was enormously astute and could spot a potential star when others would turn him down.
"I took Clark Gable after other studios had dropped him because his ears were too big," he explained." With the other things Gable had, you didn't have to worry about his ears.
"I took Judy Garland when she was 12. Like my own daughter, she was to me."
Mayer was also given to making extravagant promises and then doing nothing about them.
'Sign up everyone'
ON my first visit to Hollywood, many years ago, I took a copy of a film we had made very cheaply in England, called Tudor Rose. It was an historical film about Lady Jane Grey.
When Mayer heard of this at out first meeting, he insisted that I fetched it from my hotel immediately. Then we sat and watched it in his private theatre at his home.
As soon as the lights went up he beamed at me and asked how much the film cost. I told him, and he at once pressed a button for a secretary, She appeared instantly, like some genie from the lamp, and he dictated a telegram to her.
"Cable Mr. Balcon’s company in England," he said, "and sign up everyone concerned with this picture. Whoever they are, whatever they want, I must have them."
Afterwards I found that, although he sent this telegram, and all those connected with the picture naturally replied at once, he did nothing at all about implementing this offer and did not in fact bother to sign up any of them.
Lunch-by command
WE all seemed to work much harder in Hollywood than in England, and usually our only free evening was Saturday. As my wife and I would often stay out late at a party or dancing, then it was the custom for us, and seemingly for most other producers and stars, to sleep late on Sundays, and miss our breakfast.
As a result, an institution of having breakfast and lunch at the same time, a meal known as brunch, grew up. This habit has now reached England, but for many years it was particularly a Hollywood institution.
Every Sunday Louis B. Mayer would give what he called brunch parties, and he would invite all visiting producers and stars to come along. This invitation was, in fact, an absolute command, and death was barely a sufficient excuse not to go.
He was very anxious to give English guests the food he imagined they enjoyed in England. Someone had told him that the English liked eating smoked haddock.
This was not available in Hollywood, but Mayer had obtained some leathery brown fish; this was always offered to me as a great delicacy, and was doubtless enormously expensive, or he would not have ordered it in the first place.
Thus for the duration of my stay in Hollywood I dreaded Sundays because they meant that I had to eat this strange fish. As a result I suffered from chronic indigestion from Sunday lunch-time right on into the middle of the following week!
(Whether my dyspepsia today stems from this or is merely an occupational hazard, I would not like to say.)
Despite the cohorts which surrounded him, Louis B. Mayer was basically a lonely man. Sometimes, as the Sunday afternoon passed, he would decide to ask a few of his guests to stay on to dinner with him. This, again, was a command, because all his guests were on his pay-roll; it meant previous engagements must be cancelled.
I had arranged to dine one Sunday with Francis Marion, a well-known film-writer!" and Hedda Hopper, the famous woman columnist. Then, as evening came, I sought out my host to explain that I must leave.
"I've had a wonderful lunch and a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon, Mr. Mayer," I said, shaking hands, "but I have an appointment elsewhere for dinner, and so I hope you'll bear with me if I leave."
But Mr. Mayer would not bear with me. He shook his head vigorously. "No, no," be said, you" can't leave at all. Certainly not. You're staying to dinner with me. You're my guest."
I managed to smuggle out a message to my friends to say that I was delayed, but after dinner with Louis B. Mayer, I excused myself as quickly as I could, and raced across Hollywood to meet them.
They had waited dinner for me, and so, for the first time in my life, I sat down to eat two dinners in one night. The result was a bout of indigestion almost as acute as anything brought on by Mr. Mayer's brunches.
The strangest party I ever attended in Hollywood took place on July 4th, which was not only American Independence Day, but also Louis B. Mayer's birthday.
It became customary for many of the senior personnel to send him presents on his birthday and at Christmas, and on this occasion a cake was carried in covered with gardenias.
Birthday honours
MY wife and I had barely recovered from our astonishment at this, when we were given sheets of paper on which were printed the words of a song to be sung to the tune of Yankee Doodle Dandy.
We all solemnly stood up and “He's our L.B., he’s your L.B., in honour of Louis B. Mayer. I must say that no one in Ealing Studios ever celebrated my birthday like this!
I did not greatly care for Louis B. Mayer. He was harsh, he was over-bearing, he was often unjust. But, above all these faults, he was, in his way, a great man, and a maker of great pictures. They speak for themselves and are his most abiding memorial. The years with such famous personalities as Louis B. Mayer were exciting enough, but ope of the most satisfying experiences of all was to discover a man of great talent, Alfred Hitchcock.
Today he is, in my opinion, unquestionably the greatest director of thriller and suspense films in the world.
When I first met Hitchcock he was painting letterpress titles in a back room of our London studios. Films then were still silent, and short titles containing lines of dialogue were superimposed on the screen, much as is done today with foreign films when they are shown in this country.
Hitchcock's job was to design these titles. It was not much of a job, but he did it well, as he does everything well connected with the business he loves. However, he was wasted in designing such things.
We always used to say that his brain was not an ordinary brain; it was a camera. He studied every aspect of film-making and we soon promoted him to help design sets,and indeed he became a very good art director. He lived for the cinema and talked of nothing else; and soon he became an assistant director.
Although Hitchcock employs a writer to work on his scripts today, he usually ends up writing much of them himself, and he has an enormous influence in editing the picture when it is finished. He sees everything through a camera lens.
Like most of us in the film business he has his own private superstitions, and he will always appear in every film he makes in some small part, usually in a tiny role or crowd scene.
He is also given to making startling remarks in public, and is genuinely surprised at the uproar they can cause. I remember him electrifying a lift full of rich and elderly passengers at his hotel when on location by muttering under his breath: ''I didn't think one shot would cause so much blood. It was all over the place!"
He once admitted that the plots of his films did not hold together logically, because he feels that logic in a thriller is dull. He said that if he let the audiences into the secret, and explained every step, there would be no mystery!
Legendary figure
THERE was very nearly a big mystery, however, when he directed his most successful picture for me before the war, The Thirty-nine Steps (which has recently been remade with Kenneth More in the part Robert Donat made famous).
Hitchcock became so engrossed with the thrills that he completely forgot any reference to these 39 steps, and this had to be fitted in later!
He confessed to me that he thought of showing 39 spies each arriving with a different kind of step to try and get him out of this awkward predicament, but I am thankful to say he did not do this, even he admitted it would have been too involved!
Hitchcock has since made a legendary career out of frightening people, and the public demand for Hitchcock films in the cinema and on TV is insatiable.
The best justification for any film maker must be found in the pleasure he has given to millions through the films he has made for their enjoyment. It is certainly the memorial I would be most proud to have when my time comes to be remembered. ... THE END
© 1960 Sir Michael Balcon
Although physically Louis B. Mayer was a short, fat, dumpy man, everything else about him was much larger than life.
He had an enormous office with a cream desk, cream carpet and wails, a cream coloured bar and fireplace, cream leather chairs and couches, even a cream grand piano. In one corner stood a statue of Leo the Lion, the trade mark of MGM, carved from cream marble.
He was harsh, he was hard, and yet he was an extraordinary sentimentalist. He could weep when he wanted to. He would weep when his stars asked for an increase in salary. He wept when he first saw Mickey Rooney as Andy Hardy on the screen. He saw his own musical Show Boat 13 times, and wept on every occasion out of sheer delight and pleasure.
He was a lonely man, surrounded by admirers and sycophants, but with very few real friends. He told me once: "I'd rather be loved than have millions of dollars. Lionel Barrymore called me his daddy. That is love."
He was enormously astute and could spot a potential star when others would turn him down.
"I took Clark Gable after other studios had dropped him because his ears were too big," he explained." With the other things Gable had, you didn't have to worry about his ears.
"I took Judy Garland when she was 12. Like my own daughter, she was to me."
Mayer was also given to making extravagant promises and then doing nothing about them.
'Sign up everyone'
ON my first visit to Hollywood, many years ago, I took a copy of a film we had made very cheaply in England, called Tudor Rose. It was an historical film about Lady Jane Grey.
When Mayer heard of this at out first meeting, he insisted that I fetched it from my hotel immediately. Then we sat and watched it in his private theatre at his home.
As soon as the lights went up he beamed at me and asked how much the film cost. I told him, and he at once pressed a button for a secretary, She appeared instantly, like some genie from the lamp, and he dictated a telegram to her.
"Cable Mr. Balcon’s company in England," he said, "and sign up everyone concerned with this picture. Whoever they are, whatever they want, I must have them."
Afterwards I found that, although he sent this telegram, and all those connected with the picture naturally replied at once, he did nothing at all about implementing this offer and did not in fact bother to sign up any of them.
Lunch-by command
WE all seemed to work much harder in Hollywood than in England, and usually our only free evening was Saturday. As my wife and I would often stay out late at a party or dancing, then it was the custom for us, and seemingly for most other producers and stars, to sleep late on Sundays, and miss our breakfast.
As a result, an institution of having breakfast and lunch at the same time, a meal known as brunch, grew up. This habit has now reached England, but for many years it was particularly a Hollywood institution.
Every Sunday Louis B. Mayer would give what he called brunch parties, and he would invite all visiting producers and stars to come along. This invitation was, in fact, an absolute command, and death was barely a sufficient excuse not to go.
He was very anxious to give English guests the food he imagined they enjoyed in England. Someone had told him that the English liked eating smoked haddock.
This was not available in Hollywood, but Mayer had obtained some leathery brown fish; this was always offered to me as a great delicacy, and was doubtless enormously expensive, or he would not have ordered it in the first place.
Thus for the duration of my stay in Hollywood I dreaded Sundays because they meant that I had to eat this strange fish. As a result I suffered from chronic indigestion from Sunday lunch-time right on into the middle of the following week!
(Whether my dyspepsia today stems from this or is merely an occupational hazard, I would not like to say.)
Despite the cohorts which surrounded him, Louis B. Mayer was basically a lonely man. Sometimes, as the Sunday afternoon passed, he would decide to ask a few of his guests to stay on to dinner with him. This, again, was a command, because all his guests were on his pay-roll; it meant previous engagements must be cancelled.
I had arranged to dine one Sunday with Francis Marion, a well-known film-writer!" and Hedda Hopper, the famous woman columnist. Then, as evening came, I sought out my host to explain that I must leave.
"I've had a wonderful lunch and a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon, Mr. Mayer," I said, shaking hands, "but I have an appointment elsewhere for dinner, and so I hope you'll bear with me if I leave."
But Mr. Mayer would not bear with me. He shook his head vigorously. "No, no," be said, you" can't leave at all. Certainly not. You're staying to dinner with me. You're my guest."
I managed to smuggle out a message to my friends to say that I was delayed, but after dinner with Louis B. Mayer, I excused myself as quickly as I could, and raced across Hollywood to meet them.
They had waited dinner for me, and so, for the first time in my life, I sat down to eat two dinners in one night. The result was a bout of indigestion almost as acute as anything brought on by Mr. Mayer's brunches.
The strangest party I ever attended in Hollywood took place on July 4th, which was not only American Independence Day, but also Louis B. Mayer's birthday.
It became customary for many of the senior personnel to send him presents on his birthday and at Christmas, and on this occasion a cake was carried in covered with gardenias.
Birthday honours
MY wife and I had barely recovered from our astonishment at this, when we were given sheets of paper on which were printed the words of a song to be sung to the tune of Yankee Doodle Dandy.
We all solemnly stood up and “He's our L.B., he’s your L.B., in honour of Louis B. Mayer. I must say that no one in Ealing Studios ever celebrated my birthday like this!
I did not greatly care for Louis B. Mayer. He was harsh, he was over-bearing, he was often unjust. But, above all these faults, he was, in his way, a great man, and a maker of great pictures. They speak for themselves and are his most abiding memorial. The years with such famous personalities as Louis B. Mayer were exciting enough, but ope of the most satisfying experiences of all was to discover a man of great talent, Alfred Hitchcock.
Today he is, in my opinion, unquestionably the greatest director of thriller and suspense films in the world.
When I first met Hitchcock he was painting letterpress titles in a back room of our London studios. Films then were still silent, and short titles containing lines of dialogue were superimposed on the screen, much as is done today with foreign films when they are shown in this country.
Hitchcock's job was to design these titles. It was not much of a job, but he did it well, as he does everything well connected with the business he loves. However, he was wasted in designing such things.
We always used to say that his brain was not an ordinary brain; it was a camera. He studied every aspect of film-making and we soon promoted him to help design sets,and indeed he became a very good art director. He lived for the cinema and talked of nothing else; and soon he became an assistant director.
Although Hitchcock employs a writer to work on his scripts today, he usually ends up writing much of them himself, and he has an enormous influence in editing the picture when it is finished. He sees everything through a camera lens.
Like most of us in the film business he has his own private superstitions, and he will always appear in every film he makes in some small part, usually in a tiny role or crowd scene.
He is also given to making startling remarks in public, and is genuinely surprised at the uproar they can cause. I remember him electrifying a lift full of rich and elderly passengers at his hotel when on location by muttering under his breath: ''I didn't think one shot would cause so much blood. It was all over the place!"
He once admitted that the plots of his films did not hold together logically, because he feels that logic in a thriller is dull. He said that if he let the audiences into the secret, and explained every step, there would be no mystery!
Legendary figure
THERE was very nearly a big mystery, however, when he directed his most successful picture for me before the war, The Thirty-nine Steps (which has recently been remade with Kenneth More in the part Robert Donat made famous).
Hitchcock became so engrossed with the thrills that he completely forgot any reference to these 39 steps, and this had to be fitted in later!
He confessed to me that he thought of showing 39 spies each arriving with a different kind of step to try and get him out of this awkward predicament, but I am thankful to say he did not do this, even he admitted it would have been too involved!
Hitchcock has since made a legendary career out of frightening people, and the public demand for Hitchcock films in the cinema and on TV is insatiable.
The best justification for any film maker must be found in the pleasure he has given to millions through the films he has made for their enjoyment. It is certainly the memorial I would be most proud to have when my time comes to be remembered. ... THE END
© 1960 Sir Michael Balcon
----------------------------------
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--------------------------------------------------------
IT'S NEW!
IT'S SO DAINTY!
I'T'S THE TAPE FOR NET CURTAINS!
“Rufflette”BRAND
TERYLENE DAINTY TAPE
You can have marvellous net curtains at your windows if you use the new 'Rufflette' Dainty pleating tape made in 100% Terylene. For all styles of net curtain it provides perfect close-pleating; woven pockets take hooks or rings; and of course 'Rufflette' Dainty Terylene Tape drip-dries with the curtain.
Whether you make your own curtains or have them made up, always insist on 'Rufflette' Brand Tapes. The new Dainty Terylene Tape costs only 10d a yard. (about 12 cents)? From most drapers and stores.
Made by THOMAS FRENCH & SONS LTD., MANCHESTER 15.
--------------------------------------------------------
(?about)
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The average price of a new home then was $12700. about 2.46 times the yearly average wage of $5162. Which was about 1.99 times the price of a new car $2600. And the future was progressive not regressive
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