William Wyler's "The Letter" (1940) - Starting with a Bang

 

This piece is my contribution for The Movie Projector's blogathon in honor of William Wyler. Click here for more information and links to participating blogs.

Of director William Wyler, Bette Davis once declared, “It was he who helped me realize my full potential as an actress.” Of the actress, Wyler would recall, “She was a director’s dream.” Together they made three very popular and critically acclaimed Hollywood films. The pair first collaborated on the 1938 Warner Bros. production of Jezebel. For her performance Bette Davis won the second of her two Best Actress Academy Awards. Davis was sorely disappointed that Wyler had not received a Best Director nod for his work on the film and would later credit her Oscar-winning portrayal to him, “It was all Wyler,” she wrote.

Bette Davis and William Wyler

In January 1940, Warner Bros. announced that Bette Davis would star in a remake of a film adapted from a play Somerset Maughamhad dramatized from his own short story, The Letter. In April, William Wyler was hired to direct, on loan from Samuel Goldwyn who would, in turn, be able to use Bette Davis for his upcoming The Little Foxes, which would be the last film Wyler and Davis would make together. In an interview years later, Wyler recalled that he had read Howard Koch’s script for The Letter and liked it and that he wanted to work with Davis again. His only regret was that cinematographer Gregg Toland was unavailable. For her part, Davis was eager to work with Wyler on another very promising project; Maugham’s sensational tale of British colonial “white mischief” was set in the exotic Far East and replete with adultery, deceit and murder.

The Malay Peninsula

By the time he traveled to British Malaya in 1921, Somerset Maugham was a well established writer of best-selling fiction and popular stage plays. While in the colonies he met an attorney, Courtenay Dickinson, who told him of a scandalous case he’d handled ten years earlier. In 1911, Dickinson represented the wife of the headmaster at a boys’ school in Kuala Lumpur who shot and killed a male friend one night while her husband was out. The headmaster was William J. Proudlock, a British citizen, and his school was the prestigious Victorian Institute, founded in the capital city in 1894. Proudlock’s wife, Ethel, had been visited by William Crozier Stewart, an engineering consultant, while her husband was at dinner with an associate one night in April 1911. Though Mrs. Proudlock claimed that Stewart had attempted rape and that she shot him (several times) in self-defense, she was found guilty at trial and sentenced to death. The outcry of the local British community prevailed, however, and Ethel Proudlock was freed after serving a scant five months in prison. Maugham developed a fictionalized account of the case, with details changed and flourishes added; Maugham said of himself, “I have never pretended to be anything but a story teller.” The Letter first appeared in a collection of his short stories in 1924.

Somerset Maugham’s stage adaptation of The Letterdebuted in London in 1927, starring Gladys Cooper as rubber plantation wife Leslie Crosbie and Nigel Bruce as plantation manager Robert Crosbie. The play premiered on Broadway later that year starring Katharine Cornell.In 1929, illustrious American actress Jeanne Eagels played the lead in a Paramount film directed by Jean de Limur; her co-stars included Reginald Owen as Crosbie and Herbert Marshall as shooting victim Geoffrey Hammond. Eagels received a posthumous Best Actress Oscar nomination for her performance.

Jeanne Eagels and Reginald Owen, The Letter (1929)

Somerset Maugham’s short story opens in Singapore within the offices of Howard Joyce, the attorney representing Leslie Crosbie, who is charged with murder. Joyce’s clerk, Ong, ushers in Robert Crosbie, husband of the accused. The lawyer expresses concern that Crosbie is not bearing up well under the strain of his wife’s arrest and incarceration. Maugham re-engineered the opening to powerful dramatic effect when he adapted it for the stage. As the curtain rises, the sound of a pistol shot is heard. A man (Hammond) staggers across a sitting-room toward its veranda and cries “Oh, my God!” A woman (Crosbie) follows, firing her gun into him even after he has fallen.

Howard Koch’s script for William Wyler’s film opened with an exterior shot of the Crosbie bungalow, the sound of a sudden gunshot followed by a woman stalking a man as he flees, her revolver blazing. Reading this scenario for the first time, Wyler thought it was literally “starting with a bang” and decided the scene should be set up “…with an opposite mood. A mood of silence, quiet, people sleeping…” Wyler also wanted to evoke “…a feeling of the dank, humid jungle atmosphere of rubber plantation country” and opened the film with an uncut and wordless 2-minute sequence:

Under a vivid full moon and cloud cluttered night sky, the camera sweeps through a rubber plantation where a tree oozes latex into a collection pot as Malay workers lounge or sleep in hammocks and a white Cockatoo perches on a fence. A gunshot shatters the quiet and the startled bird takes flight. A man emerges onto the veranda of a lamp-lit bungalow and lurches down its steps. Close on his heels strides a woman with a gun, her face a study in fierce resolve. She fires shot after shot into his body until he is a crumpled a heap at the foot of the steps. The moon goes dark behind a drift of clouds as Max Steiner’s ominous and hypnotic theme surges.

Wyler reflected,“…it was a more effective opening this way, by having this silence,” and Howard Koch, who fondly remembered working on The Letter, remarked on Wyler’s fine-tuned “instinct for staging.” The opening sequence of The Letter, which took a full day to shoot, establishes not only the film’s noirish mood and hot-house atmosphere, but also the controlled ferocity intrinsic to Leslie Crosbie’s character. From this spectacular beginning The Letter unfolds slowly and deliberately, revealing and suggesting its secrets with painstaking care. The film evolves with unrelenting tension and suspense and is remarkable for its astonishingly expressive camera work and atmospheric effects…

The image of the full moon, breaking through heavy clouds or peering down between the fan-like leaves of palm trees, recurs and has been much discussed over the years. According to Wyler, the image of the moon was his attempt “to bring in something mysterious and supernatural” to the story. He knew that this repeated image would lend itself to many interpretations, but his own desire was to add “…a bit of supernaturalism, which I thought belonged.” Another of Wyler’s noteworthy atmospheric accents is the occasional sound of tinkling wind chimes. According to Wyler this was not a planned effect, but something he came up with during filming. There happened to be decorative Chinese wind chimes on the set and when the soundman began to complain that the tinkling annoyed him, the director considered the possibilities and decided they could be used to interesting effect. He thought the chimes made “…an eerie kind of noise, which would heighten the suspense.”

James Stephenson reads "the letter"

At the time The Letter was released, William Wyler had recently commented that he believed the sole responsibility for the quality of any film rests entirely with its director. He felt that the director, whose every decision culminates in what ultimately appears onscreen, is accountable for everything including the performances of the players. The Letter is marked by high caliber acting all around and two impeccable portrayals in particular. Bette Davis is radiant yet coolly controlled as the emotionally repressed Leslie Crosbie, a woman capable of coy charm, relentless guile and calculating deceit - as well as violent rage. James Stephenson, in a breakthrough performance as Howard Joyce, Leslie’s attorney, depicts an intelligent, inherently civilized man manipulated into a wretched compromise. His Howard Joyce, suspicious of the case from the start, endures a visibly wrenching struggle with his own conscience as he becomes ever more entangled in the moral intricacies of Leslie’s defense. The scenes between Bette Davis and James Stephenson are some of the richest moments in the film.

On one important point Wyler and Davis disagreed and that was how the actress should deliver her crucial line at the film’s climax. In the scene, Leslie and Robert Crosbie (Herbert Marshall) are alone together in a darkened room, their marriage in tatters. When Robert asks Leslie if she loves him, she at first says yes, then cracks and cries out, “….with all my heart, I still love the man I killed!” Wyler wanted Davis to look Herbert Marshall directly in the eye as she said these words, but Davis disagreed, she felt no woman could do that, it was too brutal, she would avert her eyes. The two fought and could not agree. Finally, and for the first time in her career, Bette Davis walked off the set. She soon returned and later recalled, “I came back eventually – end result, I did it his way. It played validly, heaven knows, but to this day I think my way was the right way.” She also remarked, “I lost, but I lost to an artist.” 37 years later, Davis was honored as the fifth recipient, and the first woman, to be gvien the Life Achievement Award by the American Film Institute (William Wyler had received the award the previous year). In her 1987 memoir This ’n That, she remembered that the high point of the evening, for her, was when Wyler spoke. He said, “If tonight I brought up the subject of [that] scene in The Letter, Bette would insist on going back to Warner Brothers and reshooting it the way she wanted it.” According to Bette,  “Willie’s speech was short and funny and had the added advantage of being true.”

One battle Wyler did not win was with the Production Code. He had made a change to Maugham's ending. The author's and de Limur’s versions end with Leslie's realization that her punishment for her crime will be to live out her years in a country she despises with a man for whom she feels no passion. The closing line is her confession that even now she loves the man she shot. Wyler and Koch devised a more dramatic demise for Mrs. Crosbie, she would die by the dagger of Hammond’s widow. Wyler’s plan was that, “The thing should end with [Gale Sondergaard] killing Bette Davis.” But at the time “nobody could get away with killing somebody, so for censorship reasons we had to tack on the scene of her being arrested.” Wyler could never accept this “silly anticlimactic” ending and complained to the end of his days that the scene of Sondergaard's arrest still ought to be cut from his picture.

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The Letter was nominated for seven Academy Awards: Best Picture (Warner Bros.), Best Director (Wyler), Best Actress (Davis), Best Supporting Actor (James Stephenson, who died suddenly in 1941), Best Music, Original Score (Max Steiner), Best Cinematography, Black and White (Tony Gaudio) and Best Film Editing (Warren Low).

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The Letter airs on Turner Classic Movies Friday, June 29, 6:00am Eastern/3:00am Pacific.

Sources:
A Talent for Trouble, Jan Herman, Putnam (1995)
William Wyler - The Authorized Biography, Axel Madsen, Thomas Y. Crowell Co. (1973)
Dark Victory: The Life of Bette Davis, Ed Sikov, Henry Holt (2007)
"Imagery and Sound in William Wyler's The Letter," interview by Charles Higham, Columbia University Oral Research Office (1972)
The Letter: A Play in Three Acts, W. Somerset Maugham, George H. Duran Co. (1925)
The Complete Short Stories of W. Somerset Maugham, Doubleday (1934)

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Songwriter Jack Lawrence: What Will I Tell My Heart?

Garbo Laughs is co-hosting the second annual Queer Film Blogathon starting today and running through June 22. This post, a snapshot of the life and career of composer/lyricist Jack Lawrence, is my contribution to the event. Click here for a link to more information and participating blogs.

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Jack Lawrence, songwriter

Oscar-nominated songwriter Jack Lawrence was born in Brooklyn, New York, on April 7, 1912, and gained acclaim as a tunesmith during the halcyon days of "Tin Pan Alley" via the hit parade of the 1930s, '40s and '50s. His songs include signature hits for some of the most popular singers of the 20th century, and many of his tunes made their way onto the silver (and Technicolor) screen. He was inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame in 1975.

I discovered Jack Lawrence through the Preston Sturges comedy, The Lady Eve. The film's main theme is the song "With the Wind and the Rain in Your Hair," a lyrical and wistful melody that lingers long after the final credits. In my quest to know more about the music, I came upon Jack Lawrence's website. There I found the story behind the song that was a big hit for Stan Kenton in 1940 and was covered by many others including Kay Kyser's orchestra with vocalist Ginny Simms.

"With the Wind and the Rain in Your Hair" can be heard all through The Lady Eve - right up to the last scene

Jack Lawrence's first published song, co-written at age 19 with his neighborhood friend and first writing partner Arthur Altman, became a number one hit and made a star of Emery Deutsch, "The Gypsy Violinist" who recorded it (and assumed songwriting credit for it). The tune, "Play, Fiddle, Play," was also used in MGM's star-studded classic Dinner at Eight (1933).

Jean Harlow and Marie Dressler in Dinner at Eight

Lawrence collaborated with Altman again in 1939, providing the words to Altman's music for a song that was recorded by three major big bands - Jimmy Dorsey, Harry James and Freddy Martin, but none of the records created a ripple. Then, in 1943, Columbia Records signed Frank Sinatra as a solo artist but was prevented by a musicians' strike from quickly getting him into the recording studio. It was decided to re-release the song Harry James had recorded with Sinatra as vocalist three years earlier, Lawrence and Altman's "All or Nothing at All." This time the record was a smash and the first hit of Frank Sinatra's solo career. There had been only one change made and that was to the record label. This time "Frank Sinatra" appeared in large letters above "accompanied by Harry James Orchestra" in small print. One of his early signature tunes, "All or Nothing at All" remained in Sinatra's repertoire for the rest of his career.

In 1939 Jack Lawrence composed a song on his own that became a hit in much less time than it took "All or Nothing at All." His "If I Didn't Care" was a sensation that made stars of The Ink Spots, an African American vocal group that, like The Mills Brothers, achieved enormous mainstream popularity.

Paul and Linda McCartney

In 1942, at the request of his attorney, legendary entertainment lawyer Lee Eastman, Lawrence wrote a song for Eastman's one-year-old daughter. Though the song, "Linda," wasn't published until after World War II, a 1946 recording by Ray Noble with vocalist Buddy Clark made its way up the Billboard charts and into the top position by early 1947. Little Linda Eastman grew up to become a respected photographer. Her photo of Eric Clapton was featured on the cover of Rolling Stone in 1968, making her the first woman photographer to have her work appear on the front of the magazine. She later married Beatle Paul McCartney and their daughter, Stella, is a very successful fashion designer. "Linda" has been recorded by many since 1946 - from Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby to Willie Nelson, to name just a few. Paul McCartney played a recording of his own rendition of the song at the close of his memorial service for Linda in 1999, a ceremony to which he thoughtfully invited Jack Lawrence.

Joan Crawford in Torch Song

Around the same time "Linda" was published, Lawrence collaborated with composer Walter Gross, who had written music for a song that, with Lawrence's lyrics, came to be known as "Tenderly." Sarah Vaughan's version became a jazz standard and Rosemary Clooney's rendition became a mainstream hit as well as the theme for her TV variety show of the 1950s.  "Tenderly" was featured in the 1953 Joan Crawford vehicle, Torch Song, with Crawford's singing dubbed by India Adams.

 Rosemary Clooney sings "Tenderly"

In 2004 at age 92, Jack Lawrence wrote his autobiography, They All Sang My Songs. Jack's book tells the story of his early years in Brooklyn, his rise as a songwriter during the heyday of American popular music - along with the stories behind many of the hit songs he wrote or collaborated on. And more. At the outset of the book's 5th chapter he opens up on the most intimate aspect of his life, his sexuality. Quoting his lyrics to a hit song, Lawrence begins the chapter with:

"It's easy to lie to strangers...
 But what will I tell my heart?"

In 1925, when he was just 13, he began to realize he was strongly attracted to boys. Raised in an Orthodox Jewish home by immigrant parents and with two older brothers who were well known as ladies men, Lawrence felt increasingly frightened and isolated as his feelings emerged. He began to lead a double life, attending local dances and dating girls, trying to be "one of the guys." But he also escaped into a secret world, a world in which reading Radclyffe Hall's 1928 lesbian novel, The Well of Loneliness, brought him to tears. Describing his long struggle to overcome despair and shame, Lawrence recalls his coming out as a slow and painful process.

Harlem nights

Jack Lawrence's first experience of a gay social scene came a few years later through another, slightly older, young man - in Harlem. His friend took him to "rent parties," racially mixed get-togethers held in apartments rented for the weekend where the price of admission covered a drink or two and the chance to dance with other gay men as records spun on a turntable. Though Lawrence later learned that there had been gay bars to be found in New York's out-of-the-way nooks and crannies all along, he thoroughly enjoyed the wide open world he experienced in Harlem, then in the midst of its celebrated "renaissance." In addition to exploring the gay scene, he discovered the Apollo Theater and its legendary amateur nights (where the careers of Ella Fitzgerald and others were launched) and small clubs where the likes of Billie Holiday performed.

After years of living in two worlds and near-marriage to a woman with whom he was passionately involved but not in love, Lawrence eventually encountered the man who would be the love of his life. He met Walter Myden, later a psychiatrist, in the mid-'40s and the two would spend the next 30 years living together - until Myden's death in 1975. Lawrence went on to meet another man with whom he shared a more platonic relationship up until his own death in 2009 at age 96.

Jack Lawrence lived long enough to rest assured that the best songs of the popular standards era had endured the passage of time. He was especially pleased when Tony Bennett and k.d. lang recorded "A Wonderful World," an homage to Louis Armstrong, and thought Diana Krall's interpretation of his own "All or Nothing at All" a "lovely rendition."  Lawrence also lived long enough to see the opening of the closet door, the rise of activism and the emergence of a vibrant gay community. Looking back, Lawrence viewed it all as remarkable. Content with his life at last, he chose a classic Ira Gershwin lyric to close his memoir:

"Who could ask for anything more?"

Jack Lawrence

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To learn more about Jack Lawrence via his website, click here. To read a 2004 Time Out New York interview with him, click here.

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50 Years Ago Today, in Hollywood...

Marilyn Monroe was scheduled to work on Something’s Got to Give, a George Cukor film in production for 20th Century Fox, on June 1, 1962, her 36^th birthday. That Marilyn arrived on the set on time and worked all day, managing to complete scenes with leading man Dean Martin and co-star Wally Cox, was a cause for celebration in itself, considering Marilyn had worked on only a handful of the film’s 30+ days in production. At the end of the day, a birthday party was thrown on the set featuring a cake festooned with sparklers and Marilyn's favorite champagne, Dom Perignon. Afterward Marilyn attended a charity baseball game at Dodger Stadium and was serenaded with a chorus of “Happy Birthday” during the event.

Marilyn turns 36

Dodger Stadium, June 1, 1962

The next morning, Saturday, June 2, a distraught Marilyn called the home of her vacationing psychiatrist, Dr. Ralph Greenson, and asked his children to come over. There they found her in bed, disheveled and inconsolable. According to Greenson’s son, Daniel, Marilyn rattled off a long list of complaints, concluding with the comment that her life wasn’t worth living. A colleague of Dr. Greenson’s, Dr. Milton Wexler, was summoned and he quickly appropriated the arsenal of sedatives he found in her room. It was later determined that Marilyn’s behavior was likely triggered by an overdose of Dexamyl, an anti-depressant.

Marilyn did not appear on the set of Something’s Got to Give the following Monday, and when her attorney, Mickey Rudin, tried to persuade her to return to work, she became furious and accused him of siding with the studio. Rudin, who was also her psychiatrist’s brother in law, contacted Dr. Greenson who was still in on holiday in Europe and the doctor agreed to fly home at once.

On Tuesday, June 5, Marilyn stayed home from work again. Dean Martin reportedly walked off the set in frustration and the production was temporarily suspended. An emergency meeting was called for Wednesday the 6^th at Fox with both Dr. Greenson and Rudin in attendance. The studio was not convinced that either could guarantee that Marilyn would be able to finish the film and finally made a decision that had long been considered – she would be replaced. And so, 50 years ago today, on Friday, June 8, 1962, it was announced that Marilyn Monroe had been fired from Something's Got to Give.

Lee Remick

When Lee Remick was hired to replace her, Dean Martin responded, "I have the greatest respect for Miss Remick and her talent and for all other actresses who were considered for the role, but I signed to do the picture with Marilyn Monroe, and I will do it with no one else."

Dean Martin and Marilyn Monroe during the making of Something's Got to Give

George Cukor, who also directed Marilyn in Let's Make Love (1960), later remarked, "I liked her very much. I found her extremely intelligent - inarticulate, but extremely intelligent. And driven. She was a very peculiar girl...There may be an exact psychiatric term for what was wrong with her, I don't know - but truth to tell, I think she was quite mad."

Director George Cukor with Marilyn on the set

Eventually the picture, a remake of the Cary Grant/Irene Dunne classic, My Favorite Wife (1940), was produced - but with a different director, cast and title. Move Over, Darling starring Doris Day and James Garner was released on Christmas 1963.

Doris Day

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