Broadway Prospects for College Talent
Dear Mrs. Worthington:
I understand that a certain Mr. Noel Coward has advised you not to put your daughter on the stage, but don't let her be discouraged by that. Diet and the passage Of a few months in producers' offices should do wonders for her, now that she has had all that grand experience in Sock and Buskin, or Paint and Powder, or what do you call it anyway? They tell me the boy at college did so well as Captain Stanhope in "Journey's End" before he played the Leslie Howard part in "Berkeley Square." And now they are both coming to New York to get jobs on Broadway. That's fine.
First of all, they won't know where to begin. But it doesn't matter whether they try the Theater Guild, Sam Harris, or Max Gordon; they are likely to be a bit embarrassed when the girl at the switchboard or the office boy or Miss Geliebter (the big shot's secretary) asks: "What have you done?" By all means let them tell her of their triumphs, the impressive notices on the front page of the paper, the encouragement given by an old friend of the family who once played with Sothern and Marlowe. But advise them not to manufacture any phony careers, including a season of semi-professional stock in Worcester. Miss
Geliebter is probably a cousin of the man who ran the company until he ran away with Saturday night's receipts. Yes, that does really happen. However, the boy and the girl will find that their experience at college has been no handicap to them. Broadway people are beginning to realize that little theater and college groups can provide good acting material. Every few weeks, Variety complains hysterically about the dearth of promising young talent for stage and screen. One hears that movie scouts frequently attend college openings now. More power to all concerned! But Broadway will just take down vital statistics and suggest dropping in every few days "to see if there is anything." Oh, dear Mrs. Worthington, this is what faces your boy and your girl: Hours and hours in the Forties and Fifties, visiting all the offices in the Sardi Building, the Empire Theater Building, the new RKO Building, asking "Is there anything today?," being told to come back in two weeks, or that the play is cast, or that they are too large or too old or too dark or too healthy for the part. They recognize other aspirants and Equity members, young and old, hopeful and discouraged, in all the offices; they get to know their names perhaps;
they have an American Cheese and a milkshake together at the Penn-Astor; they'll troop over to Actors' Equity to see if any new shows have been announced on the Zolotow list.
And so time will pass, Mrs. Worthington. The warm days of September give way to the icy days of January and still the kids have no jobs. But they are lucky, because you can afford to let them stay in New York. Most of the others have returned to Ohio and Dad's business. They had no more money to spend for food and rent; they weren't discouraged yet—not completely discouraged—but they had to keep alive.
Perhaps it is best that they were forced to return home. Some of them may only have wanted to go on the stage, the girl who stands five-eleven and has the voice of a bad ingenue, the tall thin boy with the broad Texas accent, the short fat girl with the vapid stare, and all the other types, handsome and roughneck, ravishing and plain. Casting directors make mistakes, but so do the boys and the girls. How do they know that they have the stuff of which actors are made? Or are actors born? No one knows and no one can tell under the present system. But there is no system, and that is why one hesitates to think how many people of great promise there may be who have never had a chance, who have been lost to the theater forever, while others of mediocre ability have "gotten the breaks." That is the major tragedy of the theater in its present badly organized state. But then, Mrs. Worthington, fancy the lifelong disappointment of those who think that they might have been great stars and do not know that they could never have been even fair actors. They were attracted by the money and the backstage glamor, by the prospect of working and living in New York.
CRUEL BROADWAY
Please don't cry, Mrs. Worthington. No, I'm afraid that I haven't helped you very much. All I have done is to plant additional doubts in your mind with my sobsister letter. I can only tell you, from, my own limited experience, how cruel Broadway can be and must be to the newcomer, but so many Equity members are without jobs.
Somehow or other, the young actor gets started. "The Break" comes and he makes his debut on Broadway, but, when they play closes, he must look for another job. Once more he takes up the weary round from office to office. If he really has the stuff, eventually he will be turning down play scripts and Hollywood offers until the' right one comes along. But the greatest and wealthiest stars worry constantly where the next play is coming from. And so it goes.
Don't let Mr. Coward or anyone else discourage your boy or your girl if they want
to go on the stage. However, you must warn them of the difficulties that they will have to face, not only at the beginning, but throughout their acting careers. If they sincerely feel that urge within themselves, if they are willing to be patient and thick skinned, if they realize that it takes time to add technique to talent, give them the tickets and your blessing. Broadway—and Hollywood need and will welcome them. Sincerely,
THE THEATRE GUILD'S "THE TAMING OF THE SHREW."Alan Hewitt '34 played the part of Lucentio in the Lunt-Fontanne production. Otherplayers in the lesson scene from "The Shrew" are Barry Thomson (left) as Hortensioand Dorothy Mathews as Bianca.
