Smart Talk Succeeds Silents

Ronald Colman Woos Fay Wray in The Unholy Garden (1931)

It was no longer enough for screens merely to talk. They had to talk smart. To that end, there came sharp wits from Broadway, men who thought Hollywood was haven for idiots, which compared with them, it largely was, at least where dialogue and overall literacy was object. Such assets seemed negligible where pantomime spun the yarns, but that was swept off now, and cleverest of East Coast pens got record rate for chat supplied to actors in large part imported from same environ. It was, in fact, as close to a legit takeover of movies as there had been since Famous Players/Lasky put famed stage faces in successes like Queen Elizabeth (Sarah Bernhardt,1912), a trend continuing till a public made known preference for homegrown stars, like Mary Pickford. Among writers to milk Hollywood, and do so for years, were Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur, both known for speed, as much as skill, with talk. Recent triumphs for the team included Twentieth Century and The Front Page, laughing hits on Broadway, and bought by movies at high tariff. Hecht/MacArthur are credited for The Unholy Garden, though some claim they merely did a story, then passed dialogue chore elsewhere. Wherever truth lies, and however reviled the film was then (it lost money for producer Sam Goldwyn), The Unholy Garden has values plenty for early talkie mavens and Ronald Colman, plus radiant pre-Kong Fay Wray, fanbase.

Goldwyn used simple means for getting quality result, hiring the best and paying them accordingly. Talent would stay with Sam however disagreeable they found him personally. I've liked a number of Goldwyn productions, him bringing to mind another independent, Hal Wallis (closer tied to studios, but essentially free of interference after leaving Warners). Goldwyn enabled prestige projects with cash made off Eddie Cantor, and later Danny Kaye, just as Wallis would fuel awards/applause from work other than Martin/Lewis, then Elvis, that kept him in working capitol. Goldwyn's late 20/early 30's line in Ronald Colman vehicles were not unlike the comedies he'd later thrive with, each with wit, romance, and focus on the Colman personality, a largely inflexible mechanism protected as much by the actor as producers who hired him. No silent player was so enhanced by talk as Colman, his light bright for having the perfect voice to go with an established persona. Would that all leading men be so blessed --- there might have been far less disruption of the industry's star system.

No one sounded like Colman, unless they were mocking him, which cartoons often did. Of actors to have their name misspelled, he'd suffer most consistently, and in fact, still does (check film books that read "Ronald Coleman" on one page or another ... their numbers are legion). Reversing his initials will hand you the character he invariably played --- CR, as in Charming Rogue. Later-to-freelance Colman turned down wonderful parts for not wanting to tamper with his brand, so nix on Max De Winter for Selznick's Rebecca. To Colman, there was fine dividing line between roguish and murderous, and he felt aspects of Rebecca crossed it. Belated willingness to take a long chance, with A Double Life, fetched the Academy Award, good evidence of what an element of surprise could yield. But for absolute fidelity to the Colman brand, there is The Unholy Garden, enjoyable for being a star vehicle with no aspiration beyond.

What did actors aged in the wood of 19th century theatrical tradition think of upstarts more lately referred to as "movie stars"? Ancient mariner Tully Marshall spoke for a disgruntled lot, his remarks to publicize The Unholy Garden cutting close to bone that was latter-day colleagues. "Half-finished" and "slow seasoning" were Tully-applied to youngsters who "flare into popularity today and exhaust themselves when the public tires of seeing them in the same kind of role in picture after picture." Was sixty-seven year old Marshall referring to Ronald Colman here? Could be, except for Colman being himself forty when The Unholy Garden was made. Perhaps Tully Marshall, who had stage-acted with Edwin Booth, saw all 20th century arrivals to his profession outclassed: "Young players are prompted to stardom today for a precocity which, in the days of Booth and Barrett, would have brought them a spanking." Acting style of a newer generation disparaged by the old is nothing new (think of 50's hostility toward the Actor's Studio). I'd suppose it goes back far as the pyramids, or at least to when thesping got centuries-ago start.