Next up on the essays shelf:
The Fun of It: Stories from The Talk of the Town (Modern Library Paperbacks)
Director Joshua Logan was already successful when Lillian Ross (or, the “we” of the “Talk of the Town” pieces) visited him during previews of South Pacific, the 1949 Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, directed by Logan. Logan had started out as an actor, sort of. He knew he wanted to be in theatre, somehow, at an early age. He grew up in Texarcana (as he says, in this piece, “in Texas, on the paved side of the street”). His father committed suicide when he was a baby (something he doesn’t mention specifically here, he just says his dad “died”). Like most men of that generation, his early career was interrupted by the outbreak of war. He was drafted into the Army, worked as an intelligence officer, but he had a lot of fights with the top brass (he had gone to a military academy as a young man, he did not like those in charge, on principle). He resumed his career. As a young man, he had met Jimmy Stewart and Henry Fonda in summer stock jobs, and he would continue his relationship with them. Joshua Logan was eventually known as one of the most successful Broadway directors of all time. Everything he touched became a gigantic hit. And, of course, he directed some pretty famous films, Bus Stop, Sayonara, Picnic. He had directed the original Broadway production of Picnic as well. The 50s were really Josh Logan’s heyday.
But here, right before South Pacific is about to open … it’s all just starting.
Joshua Logan and Richard Rodgers, at auditions for ‘South Pacific’
In later years, there would be a lot of controversy about Logan’s actual contribution to South Pacific. He was co-author of the damn thing, and won the Tony for Best Director. The Pulitzer only went to Rodgers and Hammerstein, however. This rankled him for years. South Pacific was a very personal project for Logan. In it, he expressed a lot of his feelings about the military and serving overseas, etc. To have his name shuffled aside, when he had been responsible for shaping it, writing scenes, directing … He felt that it made him invisible. It pissed him off.
Logan was a big macho guy, with a lot of pain and angst underneath, making him a perfect interpreter of William Inge, the king of 1950s sexual repression and restlessness.
I love the picture we get in this 1949 piece about Logan. He sits in the audience at previews, and finds himself unable to breathe. He knows he is calling attention to himself. He has to get up and walk out into the lobby. There are still issues with the show that need to be ironed out and fixed. Everyone comes at him at all sides telling him their problems. The life of a director.
There’s also an interesting section about Logan’s time in Moscow, as a young man, when he hung out listening to Stanislavski and seeing what this mysterious new acting method could provide performers. He describes operas and musicals he saw in Russia that blew his MIND. No more of this standing still and delivering your aria. Now he saw characters, and movement, a guy singing a song as he jumped joyfully on a bed. Logan wanted to bring that kind of energy and freshness to the stale American musical.
It would be difficult to be more successful than South Pacific, but the fun of this piece is that it is right before it opened. Everyone is losing their minds.
Here is an excerpt.
The Fun of It: Stories from The Talk of the Town (Modern Library Paperbacks)
“I like to think that ‘Mister Roberts’ and ‘South Pacific’ are my way of getting even with the Army,” Logan said. “High Army, I mean. I liked those crazy kids. I kept my ears open all the time and they gave me some wonderful lines.”
Throughout the act, we jumped up when Logan jumped up, and we reminded him to breathe from time to time. “I always try to feel like the audience,” he told us in a loud whisper, “but I’m so conscious of the audience that I distract it. I make everyone within fifteen feet of me conscious only of me.” After the first-act curtain, we followed Logan into the lobby, where he tapped a man on the shoulder. The man leaped straight into the air.
“Leland Hayward,” Logan said. “He’s nervous.”
“I thought you were Jake Shubert,” Hayward said.
We were joined by Richard Rodgers, who was carrying a small notebook. “Josh,” he said, “Jake Shubert says it’s bringing tears to his eyes.”
“Tell Oscar,” said Logan.
“Oscar told me,” Rodgers said. “Listen, Josh, I’m worried about the way our ocean looks.”
“Dick,” Logan said, “have you noticed that the audience is suppressing coughs?”
“They’re hypnotized,” Hayward said, “truly hypnotized.”
“We’ve got to get the wrinkles out of that ocean,” Rodgers said, studying his notebook.
Oscar Hammerstein appeared and said, “Jake Shubert’s laughing.”
“I don’t dare trust my own senses,” Logan said. He took a deep breath and held it, his face darkening.
