Alan Jay Lerner: A Lyricist's Letters (26 page)

Alan

In the end, circumstances dictated that Adrian’s initial designs be implemented and expanded, rather than replaced. Lerner explains that Adrian’s widow, Janet Gaynor,
²⁸
“suggested that a disciple of his in California named Tony Duquette be called in to complete the job,”
²⁹
and the producer-writers agreed.

    
Even if the production team was troubled, at least the cast of
Camelot
was outstanding. Lerner says Julie Andrews was “the first person we thought of for the play,” and adds that “she loved the idea.”
³⁰
Next up was Richard Burton, the Welsh actor who was rapidly on the way to becoming a major star in Hollywood. Like Rex Harrison, he was not known for his vocal ability, but Lerner says this did not cause the writers alarm “because he is Welsh; and at birth when a Welshman is slapped on the behind, he does not cry, he sings ‘Men of Harlech’ in perfect pitch.”
³¹
Nevertheless, it was important to make sure that the material they were writing was suitable for him, as they had done when writing material specially for Harrison and Chevalier. By February 1960, Lerner and Loewe were anxious to meet with him to play him the songs they had written thus far. Lerner wrote to try to arrange an appointment:

    
To Richard Burton

    
February 4, 1960

    
Dear Richard:

    
Fritz and I are so sorry we didn’t get to see you while you were here, but we knew that you were up to the nape of your neck in TV, and we
thought the kindest thing we could do was not to bother you. We didn’t realize, however, that you would be departing the second after the program was over.

        
The show is coming along, not necessarily briskly but steadily, and sometime in the spring we would like very much to get together with you—somewhere. Actually, it’s almost necessary that we do, so that we have plenty of time to alter anything vocally that you might require. Although my spies at the Production Center where you made the TV, and at the Blue Angel, tell me you were singing up a bloody Welsh storm, and may pass us for
Rigoletto
, nevertheless it will be a wonderful safeguard for us to meet in the spring.

        
So do have one of your vast network of representatives let us know when and where, sometime during the months of April, May or June, that we can snatch two or three days from your crowded schedule.

        
My warmest regards to Sybil, and we will be looking forward to seeing you soon.

Fondly,

Alan

Although brief and jovial, this letter affords an intriguing insight into the author-actor relationship. Lerner and Loewe might have written two of the most successful musicals Broadway and Hollywood had ever seen, but they were still reliant on, and deferential to, the power of the star performer when shaping their work.

    
Nonetheless, they really had become one of Broadway’s leading songwriting teams, and they were constantly bombarded with media requests. Here, Lerner answers ten questions posed to him by London’s
Daily Express
, with specific focus on the dynamic of the Lerner-Loewe collaboration:

    
To Henry Lowrie, Chief of Bureau

    
London Daily Express

    
February 26, 1960

    
Dear Mr. Lowrie:

    
Here are the answers to the questions you requested.

        
1. Q: What presented the biggest problem in your relationship?

            
A: There are no difficulties of compatibility in our relationship. We have been working together for 18 years, and time, mutual respect and admiration and enthusiasm for whatever we are doing simply precludes
the possibility. The only problem which is not really a problem is where we work. Loewe likes Palm Springs in the winter, and I am not too mad about it. Our choice of where we work during the summer is also widely dissimilar. But we usually solve it, as it says in the song (ours), “And so rather than do either, we do something else that neither likes at all.”

        
2. Q: How much money have you made jointly?

            
A: Oddly enough, it’s difficult to define. The income from our works is one thing, but at the same time the works themselves create an equity which has a lasting economic value. There is no denying the fact that a successful musical play does bring in large returns. Our joint royalties from the four years of
My Fair Lady
—play and music—is somewhere in the area of a million to a million and a half pounds.

        
3. Q: Who has the most left?

            
A: Quite obviously, the government. As is the case in England, large income is a fata morgana. An income such as the one mentioned places one in well over the ninety per cent bracket.

        
4. Q: When was your partnership under the greatest strain—and why?

            
A: Boring as it may seem, our relationship has never been under any of the kind you question. The American humorist, Ring Lardner, once wrote a scene where a composer was playing the piano and said to his lyricist about a new melodic line, “What a strain.” Said his partner, “then why do you do it?” By that definition, I suppose our greatest strain was, “I Could Have Danced All Night.”

        
5. Q: Do you ever disagree on how a song should be treated? Who usually wins?

            
A: There are many artistic differences of opinion in a collaboration. It’s quite natural. But somehow in the end we always see it in the same way.

        
6. Q: What do you consider the best song you have written together? The best musical?

            
A: Melodically, Loewe’s favorite composition is “Come to Me, Bend to Me,” from
Brigadoon
. Lyrically, my favorite is “I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face.” As for the best musical, it’s always the one we are working on at the moment. Quite obviously, if we didn’t think it would be, we wouldn’t be working on it in the first place. It’s a form of harmless but essential paranoia.

        
7. Q: How successful do you think you would have been as a “single”?

            
A: There is simply no way of knowing. In a collaboration, the combination of two divergent backgrounds, attitudes and taste produce an artistic entity that could only occur with those particular two people.
There is no doubt that had we been successful separately, there would have been a different quality. It may have been equally as successful, but it would not have been the same.

        
8. Q: Is it harder to come up with a hit song now than when you began your partnership?

            
A: It is always difficult to write a hit, and we discovered early on that the best way to attempt it, is not to. Because we write exclusively for dramatic use—be it theatre or motion picture—our primary aim is to serve the play. If, along the way, a hit song results, it’s a delirious accident, but there is no way of gauging what will find favor with the public. If the play is good undoubtedly there is some kind of emotional truth going on on the stage, and if an audience likes the play, the chances are one or two musical scraps of why they like it, might be liked by the wider public who has not seen the play. In recent times there have been very few popular songs from bad plays.

        
9. Q: Which comes first, the lyrics or the music?

            
A: With us, the subject matter comes first, then the title, then the music, then the lyric.

        
10. Q: What criticism do you have of your partner?

            
A: Loewe wishes I wouldn’t give him such difficult titles to set. I wish he wouldn’t write such difficult music for which to write lyrics. We both feel it’s most inconsiderate of each other to make each other work so hard.

        
I hope you will be pleased that we did not take the Fifth Amendment on any question; and we both look forward to meeting you one day soon.

Sincerely,

Alan Jay Lerner

This amusing set of answers shows Lerner deploying his typical weapon—wit—to sidestep potentially difficult questions. In particular, the idea that there were no problems in the relationship is clearly untrue, given the tensions after
Brigadoon
when Lerner went off to write
Love Life
with Weill, and in particular over the first version of
My Fair Lady
when
both
partners went off to write with other collaborators. Yet in this letter, he deflects the topic of their relationship by talking about the fact that they each prefer to work in different places, and finishes with a neat little quotation from Higgins’s “I’m an Ordinary Man.” Likewise, he drolly misinterprets the word “strain” and answers the questions about money with observations about government taxation. The most serious answers are in relation to Lerner’s work itself, and it is fascinating to note that he nominates “I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face” as his favorite song, while Loewe preferred “Come to Me, Bend to Me.”

    
Meanwhile, the tensions regarding the Russian tour of
Fair Lady
reached a head. In spite of Lerner and Loewe’s insistence that the tour be canceled, Levin carried on because he perceived that the three of them had given a promise that could not be broken. But Lerner found that instead of the production generating goodwill, the Russians were affronted that the Americans were not planning to send the original Broadway cast on the tour, just as the Bolshoi Ballet had sent its top dancers on their tour of America. Now frustrated beyond words, Lerner wrote strongly to Levin to object to his actions (ironically, it was one day after the musical’s fourth birthday on Broadway):

    
To Herman Levin

    
March 16, 1960

    
Dear Herman:

    
The following has come to my attention:

        
Ambassador Sobolev,
³²
Chief Soviet Delegate to the United Nations, has expressed his outrage at the cast of
My Fair Lady
you are sending to Russia. He has declared this view, among others, to friends who reported it to me. He said that when Russia sends a company of artists to this country, they send the best. We, on the other hand, are sending replacements, road company and even an understudy.

        
As you know, these are the views held by Fritz and me, and are exactly the views I put forth to the State Department, following your letter to us wherein you attempted to convey your patriotic fervor. It seemed to Fritz and me questionable patriotism to send a company that might bring discredit to the United States. If the attitude of Mr. Sobolev is an indication of what awaits us in the Soviet Union, that is precisely what you will have done.

        
I suggest you bring this statement of Mr. Sobolev immediately to the attention of the State Department, and move heaven and earth to try to cancel this ill-conceived venture.

        
You have rocked both companies and created a mountain of ill will, all for the purpose of exposing the play and our government to the possibility of disastrous criticism.

Alan

However, plans were still too far ahead for the enterprise to be averted, and the US National Company of the show started to prepare for an April 18 opening in Moscow, followed by Leningrad, Minsk, and Kiev.
³³
In the event,
Mai Fer Ledi
, as it was translated into Russian, enjoyed immense success on its tour, including a standing ovation on its opening night in Moscow.
³⁴
But sadly, relations between Levin and the writers had hit an all-time low, and not just on the topic of the Russian tour. On March 4, the
New York Times
had reported on a lawsuit over the show: Levin brought an injunction against Lerner and Loewe for selling their rights in
Fair Lady
to CBS “which thereby obtained ‘effective control’ of the property,” according to the article.
³⁵
To make matters more complicated, CBS was signed on to finance the whole of
Camelot
(just as they had
Fair Lady
), to Lerner and Loewe’s convenience and therefore probably to Levin’s chagrin.
³⁶
No wonder relations between Lerner and Levin were so troubled in this period.

    
On a more pleasant front, Lerner was elected president of the Dramatists Guild on February 18, replacing Oscar Hammerstein.
³⁷
Although he was later to joke wryly about the worth of this position, Lerner’s assumption of the role is yet another instance of his following in the footsteps of Rodgers and Hammerstein (or at least one half of the team, in this case). The reason for Hammerstein’s need to stand down as president, however, was sad: he was suffering from cancer, and his death on August 23 cast a shadow over Broadway. Lerner wrote a brief note to Richard Rodgers to express his condolences:

    
To Richard Rodgers

    
c. August 1960 [undated]

    
Dear Dick:

    
I can only estimate your sadness. But I wanted you to know I was thinking of you and send my deepest sympathies and affection.

Always,

Alan

Unbeknownst to either of them at the time, Lerner and Rodgers would team up just over a year later to begin work on a show together.

    
For Lerner, the majority of 1960 was spent on
Camelot
. The show’s debut started to be firmed up: on February 26, its Broadway premiere at the Winter Garden Theatre was set to take place on November 17, and a day later its Toronto preview (which would inaugurate the new, $12,000,000 O’Keefe Center for the Performing Arts) was announced for October 1.
³⁸
In July, further casting was completed, with Roddy McDowall
³⁹
playing Sir Mordred and M’el Dowd
⁴⁰
as Morgan LeFay.
⁴¹
A couple of weeks later, Lerner, Loewe, and Hart suddenly decided to change theaters and hired the Majestic for the production’s debut instead of the Winter Garden. The move caused a serious problem, because a single advertisement that had appeared in the
New York Times
in March had sparked mail orders for tickets to the show from members of the public, to the tune of $400,000 (which is what it had cost CBS to underwrite the entire production of
My Fair Lady
). The orders were placed into 60 boxes and shipped over to the Majestic, but even by mid-August the producers refused to advertise the show again because the 60 boxes of orders had not yet been processed. Edwin Knill, the general manager for the show, estimated that these orders would probably mean the first eight to ten months of the show would be completely sold out even before another advertisement was placed. This news item was yet another sign that the show was troubled and apparently being mismanaged, though the article optimistically noted that CBS’s investment of an extra $80,000 in
Camelot
(they put in $480,000 this time) “is presumably earmarked for a particularly extravagant scene, in which six fountains will simultaneously spray real water ten feet into the air.”
⁴²