Next script on my script shelf:
Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is The Philadelphia Story: A Comedy in Three Acts
The story of Katharine Hepburn’s self-generated comeback with Philadelphia Story is well known. It’s one of the greatest theatrical triumphs an actress has ever had. She was DEAD in Hollywood. But she was determined and she went back to Broadway, playing Tracy Lord – a part tailored just for her. Hepburn was weird and very specific. She needed a part that would humanize her. Audiences tired of her haughty righteousness. Bringing Up Baby, which shows a softer more whimsical side, was a box office flop. Barry created Tracy Lord for her … a “goddess” – a woman of implacable convictions, a woman who held other people to such high ideals that they could never live up to it … a woman who needed to be “brought down” in order to join the human race. Genius. And if you think about it – most of the Spencer Tracy-Katharine Hepburn films (made after Philadelphia Story) had this dynamic as a theme. She was hoity-toity, independent, unflappable … and it was up to Spencer Tracy to cut her down to size. Audiences loved seeing that. It was funny, it made her human.
Philadelphia Story was the first. It was the perfect marriage between actress and role.
Here’s the scene between Tracy and Dexter out by the swimming pool. Oh, and Mike is looking on. This scene is deceptively simple. It’s mostly exposition, though – which makes it extremely difficult to play. Dexter has all the exposition – and to watch Cary Grant make this scene real, and seem natural, is quite miraculous. He makes it seem effortless. All the information we need about their stormy marriage – about her virgin goddess pose – about her susceptability to alcohol – is in this scene. All of it will be very important later. This scene is necessary and it must be played perfectly – otherwise the rest of the play will not work.
From The Philadelphia Story: A Comedy in Three Acts
DEXTER. [sees Mike] We met at lunch, didn’t we?
MIKE. Yes, I seem to remember. Connor’s my name.
DEXTER. — The writer — of course! Do you drink, Mr. Connor?
MIKE. A little. Why?
DEXTER. Not to excess?
MIKE. Not often.
DEXTER. — And a writer! It’s extraordinary. I thought all writers drank to excess, and beat their wives. I expect that at one time I secretly wanted to be a writer. [He looks up at him and grins.]
TRACY. Dexter, would you mind doing something for me?
DEXTER. Anything, what?
TRACY. Get the hell out of here.
DEXTER. Oh, no, I couldn’t do that. That wouldn’t be fair to you. You need me too much.
TRACY. Would you mind telling me just what it is you’re hanging around for? [Mike moves toward left] No — please don’t go! I’d honestly much prefer it if you wouldn’t.
DEXTER. So should I. Do stay, Mr. Connor. As a writer, this ought to be right up your street.
TRACY. Don’t miss a word!
DEXTER. Honestly, you never looked better in your life; you’re getting a fine tawny look —
TRACY. Oh, we’re going to talk about me, are we? Goody.
DEXTER. It’s astonishing what money can do for people, don’t you agree, Mr. Connor? Not too much, you know — just more than enough. Particularly for girls. Look at Tracy. There’s never been a blow that hasn’t been softened for her. There’ll never be one that won’t be softened — why, it even changed her shape — she was a dumpy little thing originally.
TRACY. — Only as it happens, I’m not interested in myself, for the moment. What interests me now is what, if any, your real point is, in —
DEXTER. Not interested in yourself! My dear, you’re fascinated! You’re far and away your favorite person in the world.
TRACY. Dexter, in case you don’t know it — I — !
DEXTER. Shall I go on –?
TRACY. Oh, yes, please do, by all means.
DEXTER. Of course she is kindness itself, Mr. Connor —
TRACY. — Itself, Mr. Connor.
DEXTER. She is generous to a fault — that is, except to other people’s faults. For instance, she never had the slightest sympathy toward nor understanding of what used to be known as my deep and gorgeous thirst.
TRACY. That was your problem!
DEXTER. It was a problem of a young man in exceptionally high spirits, who drank to slow down that damned engine he’d found nothing yet to do with — I refer to my mind. You took on that problem with me, when you took me — You were no helpmate there, Tracy — you were a scold.
TRACY. It was disgusting. It made you so unattractive.
DEXTER. A weakness — sure. And strength is her religion, Mr. Connor. She is a goddess, without patience for any kind of human imperfection. And when I gradually discovered that my relation to her was expected to be not that of a loving husband and a good companion, but — Oh — never mind —
TRACY. Say it!
DEXTER. — But that of a kind of high priest to a virgin goddess, then my drinks grew more frequent and deeper in hue, that’s all.
TRACY. I never considered you as that, nor myself!
DEXTER. You did without knowing it. And the night that you got drunk on champagne, and climbed out on the roof and stood there naked, with your arms out to the moon, wailing like a banshee —
[Mike slides off the chaise and exits]
TRACY. I told you I never had the slightest recollection of doing any such thing!
DEXTER. I know; you drew a blank. You wanted to — Mr. Connor, what would you say in the case of — [Turns and sees Mike gone]
TRACY. He’s a reporter, incidentally. He’s doing us for Destiny.
DEXTER. Sandy told me. A pity we can’t supply photographs of you on the roof.
TRACY. Honestly, the fuss you made over that silly, childish —
DEXTER. It was enormously important, and most revealing. The moon is also a goddess, chaste and virginal.
TRACY. Stop using those foul words! We were married nearly a year, weren’t we?
DEXTER. Marriage doesn’t change a true case like yours, my dear. It’s an affair of the spirit — not of the flesh.
TRACY. Dexter, what are you trying to make me out as?
DEXTER. Tracy, what do you fancy yourself as?
TRACY. I don’t know that I fancy myself as anything.
DEXTER. When I read you were going to marry Kittredge, I couldn’t believe it. How in the world can you even think of it?
TRACY. I love him, that’s why! As I never even began to love you.
DEXTER. It may be true, but I doubt it. I think it’s just a swing from me, and what I represent — but I think it’s too violent a swing. That’s why I came on. Kittredge is no great tower of strength, you know, Tray. He’s just a tower.
TRACY. You’ve known him how long? — Half a day.
DEXTER. I knew him for two days two years ago, the time I went up to the fields with your father, but half a day would’ve done, I think.
TRACY. It’s just personal, then —
DEXTER. Purely and completely.
TRACY. You couldn’t possibly understand him or his qualities. I shouldn’t expect you to.
DEXTER. I suppose when you come right down to it, Tray, it just offends my vanity to have anyone who was ever remotely my wife, remarry so obviously beneath her.
TRACY. “Beneath” me! How dare you — any of you — in this day and age use such a –?
DEXTER. I’m talking about difference in mind and imagination. You could marry Mac, the nightwatchman, and I’d cheer for you.
TRACY. And what’s wrong with George?
DEXTER. Nothing — utterly nothing. He’s a wizard at his job, and I’m sure he is honest, sober and industrious. He’s just not for you.
TRACY. He is for me — he’s a great man and a good man; already he’s of national importance.
DEXTER. Good Lord — you sound like Destiny talking. Well, whatever he is, you’ll have to stick, Tray. He’ll give you no out as I did.
TRACY. I won’t require one.
DEXTER. I supposed you’d still be attractive to any man of spirit, though. There’s something engaging about it, this virgin goddess business, something more challenging to the male than the more obvious charms.
TRACY. Really?
DEXTER. Oh yes! We’re very vain, you know — “This citadel can and shall be taken — and I’m just the boy to do it.”
TRACY. You seem quite contemptuous of me, all of a sudden.
DEXTER. Not of you, Red, never of you. You could be the damndest, finest woman on this earth. If I’m contemptuous of anything, it’s of something in you you either can’t help, or make no attempt to; your so-called “strength” — your prejudice against weakness — your blank intolerance —
TRACY. Is that all?
DEXTER. That’s the gist of it; because you’ll never be a first class woman or a first class human being, till you have learned to have some regard for human frailty. It’s a pity your own foot can’t slip a little sometime — but no, your sense of inner divinity won’t allow it. The goddess must and shall remain intact. — You know, I think there are more of you around than people realize. You’re a special class of American female now — the Married Maidens. — And of Type Philadelphiaensis, you’re the absolute tops, my dear.
TRACY. Damn your soul, Dext, if you say another –!
DEXTER. I’m through, Tracy — for the moment I’ve had my say.
