Hollywood by Garson Kanin Read Free Book Online Page A

Svengali, A Bill of Divorcement, Arsene Lupin, Grand Hotel, Rasputin and the Empress (with Ethel and Lionel), Dinner at Eight, Reunion in Vienna , and so on and so on. Four marriages and perhaps four thousand affairs. No wonder he looked weary. In his fifty-seven years he had lived several lives.
    He ordered brandy. My worries burgeoned but now, well fed and happily oiled, he began to talk about our project again and captivated me completely.
    As we parted, he said, “Thanks. It was a splendid repast. I’ve enjoyed it.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Barrymore,” I said.
    “Mr. Barrymore!” he snorted, giving that well-known single syllable laugh of his, and was driven off by his chauffeur.
    I wondered why he had reacted so oddly to being called by that name. He was more than thirty years my senior, a distinguished star. Why shouldn’t I call him Mr. Barrymore? It struck me that because he had lost a certain amount of respect for himself, it embarrassed him to sense even the suggestion of it from someone else, especially a stranger. Could this be the key, I wondered, to the solution of the problem? I remembered what Pan Berman had told me about Barrymore’s camaraderie with the crew.
    I decided upon a stratagem.
    Three days before shooting was to begin, I assembled the crew and that part of the cast which was available. I explained our mutual problem.
    “Our star is John Barrymore and it’s no secret to any of you, especially those of you who know him, who’ve worked with him, that he presents certain problems. I happen to think he’s a great actor. I call him Mr. Barrymore, and I’d appreciate it very much if all of you would do the same. Now, it may seem like a small thing but I believe that one of the principal functions of a director is to create an atmosphere in which creative work can take place, and what worries me is that if we get into one of those loose work situations full of highjinks, horsing-around, laughing-it-up, everybody-topping-everybody-else, calling him Jack, and remembering all the peccadilloes, I’m not going to be able to do that. So I need your help. Let’s keep it businesslike. We’ve got a long picture and a short schedule. Rule number one. He’s Mr. Barrymore.” I turned to my assistant. “And, Nate, anyone who isn’t here, like the gateman and the people in wardrobe and makeup, please tell them to do the same.”
    A grizzled old grip raised his hand. “Can I say something?” he asked.
    “You bet.”
    “Balls,” he said.
    It got the expected laugh, but not from me.
    “What do you mean by that?” I asked.
    “Look,” he said. “The front office may think you’re hot stuff but as far as I’m concerned you’re just a lucky punk and a Johnny-come-lately.”
    “Okay,” I said.
    He went on. “Jack Barrymore’s a friend of mine. I been out on the town with him many’s the time. And he calls me Chuck and I call him Jack and nobody’s gonna tell me what to call my pals. And if you want me off the crew I’ll get off the crew. Get yourself another boy.”
    “That suits me,” I said. “In fact, that’s the way it’s going to have to be. Anybody else?”
    There were two more. They were replaced.
    On the first day of shooting, as John Barrymore was driven onto the lot, the gateman greeted him.
    “Good morning, Mr. Barrymore. Nice to have you back. Good luck with the picture.”
    He was driven directly to makeup where the head of the department, Mel Berns, awaited him along with his own makeup man, Jim Barker.
    “Good morning, Mr. Barrymore.”
    “Morning, Mr. Barrymore.”
    He arrived on the set.
    The doorman: “Good morning, Mr. Barrymore.”
    The script girl, Adele Cannon: “Good morning, Mr. Barrymore.”
    Russ Metty, the cameraman, who had been the camera operator on an earlier Barrymore picture, came over and offered his hand.
    “Hello, Russ,” said Barrymore.
    “Good morning, Mr. Barrymore,” said Russ.
    Barrymore snorted again. “What the hell is all this