
Losing the plots in an antiseptic Hollywood
Only Belgian author Georges Simenon (1903-1989) has had more of his books filmed than English author William Somerset Maugham (1874-1965). We don't have the number for Simenon but for Maugham, to date and if television films are included, there have been more than 90 made from his novels, short stories and plays. Both writers are great favourites at The Budapest Times, and as well as reading them extensively we also look out for the films, so Robert Calder's book is an invaluable, and cautionary, reference point for Maugham.
Of course, film-makers have always had a habit of setting their own scriptwriters to work 'bettering' the source material for which they already paid a handsome sum. And the result often causes the original writers to throw up their hands at the travesty that their creation has become. And that's very often the case here, as Calder details. He will advise.
Calder is a Canadian, Professor Emeritus at the University of Saskatchewan, and he wrote a book of literary criticism, 'W. Somerset Maugham and the Quest for Freedom' in 1972, and a biography, 'Willie, The Life of W. Somerset Maugham' in 1989. In this new book he tells how Maugham and Hollywood not surprisingly formed a long, productive partnership.
Maugham had a varied and prolific career from the 1890s to the 1950s, during which he achieved success both as a novelist, with 20 books, and a dramatist, with 32 plays. Few authors have achieved such success in both genres, Calder says, and Maugham completed an even rarer trifecta by writing around 120 short stories, some of which – notably 'The Letter' and 'Rain' – Calder describes as the most memorable in the English language.
In Calder's assessment, Maugham's writing appealed to the film industry because a recurrent theme and preoccupation was his concern for freedom, whether physical, emotional or intellectual. His territory was autonomy and enslavement, seeing humans as surrounded by narrowness and restrictions, trapped by poverty or the class system, restricted by a role such as colonial administrator or humble verger, and imprisoned by their emotions.
In the early 20th century, Calder writes, the moving picture was becoming the newest of art forms, embryonic compared to literature, drama, opera and the visual arts. Audiences were initially excited to see moving images but soon developed a taste for actual stories, and producers began scouring the world for plots and characters.
In 1915 Maugham's fame as a novelist was still to come but he was a well-known dramatist whose plays were staged in London and New York, and he sold the rights to his play 'The Explorer' to pioneering film producer Jesse Lasky. Of the 10 films made from Maugham stories in the silent era, only one – the novel 'The Magician' – was not a play.
Straight away, the films shifted from Maugham's original stories, downplaying sexual struggles and revising endings, for instance. 'The Ordeal' in 1922, based on a 1917 Maugham play called 'Love in a Cottage', was extensively rewritten, making the play unrecognisable. Despite such revision and censorship, it's an unfortunate cinematic fact that many silent films are lost, with most of the Maughams among them, never to be seen again.
Occasionally today one might still turn up in an attic in New Zealand or somewhere, but the chances reduce. Calder recreates the lost films from contemporary newspaper reviews and such. Usefully, he informs of complete changes of titles, so we now realise that 'Charming Sinners', released by Paramount in 1929, is actually the Maugham play 'The Constant Wife' first performed in 1926, and 'Strictly Unconditional', released by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer in 1930, is a version of another play, 'The Circle'.
And who has even heard of 'Dirty Gertie from Harlem', from Sack Amusement Enterprises in 1946, let alone suspected that the plot is essentially an adaptation of 'Miss Thompson', which in turn is 'Rain'. Maugham is not credited and it is claimed to have been an original tale written by the ironically named True T. Thompson. Sadie is disguised as Gertie La Rue.
When sound arrived, 'Rain' offered particularly fertile material. This short story was originally published as 'Miss Thompson' in April 1921 and is set on a Pacific island, where a missionary's determination to reform a hardened, cynical prostitute leads to tragedy.
It was filmed as 'Sadie Thompson' by Gloria Swanson Productions in 1930, with Swanson in the lead, then as 'Rain' by United Artists in 1932 with Joan Crawford, and as 'Miss Sadie Thompson' by Columbia Pictures in 1953 with Rita Hayworth.
At one stage, in 1940 when Mary Pickford owned the rights, she was approached by three studios. RKO wanted the story for Ginger Rogers, MGM saw it as a vehicle for Ann Sothern and Warner Bros. had Bette Davis in mind, but these projects all remained just that.
Calder's account of Swanson's determined efforts to make a film that was essentially too hot for the moral crusaders trying to rein in Hollywood 'excesses' is a particularly intriguing look at the machinations in play. The Hays Office and its 'code of decency' barred profanity, nudity, miscegenation, scenes of childbirth and ridicule of clergy. Single beds and no toilets.
Despite Swanson's trickery to evade the censors and put Sadie on screen, her film is sanitised and ends not with a bang but a mawkish whimper, Calder recounts. It wasn't alone.
Maugham's semi-autobiographical fiction 'Of Human Bondage' included what could well be his most compulsively page-turning section ever, as medical student Philip Carey repeatedly subjects himself to humiliation by the slutty waitress Mildred. Bette Davis played the tormentor in RKO's 1934 film and Leslie Howard took the kicks. Unknown to us until now, Warner Bros. filmed it in 1946 with Paul Henreid and Eleanor Parker, and finally Seven Arts Productions did a version with Kim Novak and Laurence Harvey in 1964.
Davis was also the murderess Leslie Crosbie in the Warner Bros. film of 'The Letter' in 1940, and Calder assesses that of all the Maugham adaptations it is the one that most enriches one of his stories with the artistic possibilities of the medium. As for the worst, this was surely 'Isle of Fury' starring Humphrey Bogart in Warner Bros.' 1946 version of Maugham's novel 'The Narrow Corner', seemingly 'the product of a team trying to win a quickie film contest'.
Jeanne Eagels played Crosbie in Paramount's 'The Letter' in 1929, and Warner Bros. adapted it again as 'The Unfaithful' in 1947 with Ann Sheridan. Warners had also filmed 'The Narrow Corner' in 1933. Other 'multiples' were 'The Painted Veil' in 1934, 1957 (as 'The Seventh Sin') and 2006, 'The Beachcomber'in 1938 (as 'Vessel of Wrath') and 1954, 'The Razor's Edge' in 1946 and 1984, and 'Theatre' as 'Adorable Julia' in 1962 and 'Being Julia' in 2004.
Calder details how Hollywood signed up eminent authors to write specifically for the studios because their names on posters guaranteed increased ticket sales, and while some of them adapted to the demands of creating film scripts, Maugham was not one. On a Hollywood sojourn in 1920 he got a $15,000 commission for a script but it was never used.
After that he declined further offers. 'I'm amazed at the way in which producers buy my stories and then change the plots. If they like their own plots best, why bother to buy mine?'
Calder gives us the eviscerations and revisions designed to satisfy the censor and the perceived tastes of moviegoers, if not the expectations of their author.
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Budapest Times
4 days ago
- Budapest Times
Losing the plots in an antiseptic Hollywood
Only Belgian author Georges Simenon (1903-1989) has had more of his books filmed than English author William Somerset Maugham (1874-1965). We don't have the number for Simenon but for Maugham, to date and if television films are included, there have been more than 90 made from his novels, short stories and plays. Both writers are great favourites at The Budapest Times, and as well as reading them extensively we also look out for the films, so Robert Calder's book is an invaluable, and cautionary, reference point for Maugham. Of course, film-makers have always had a habit of setting their own scriptwriters to work 'bettering' the source material for which they already paid a handsome sum. And the result often causes the original writers to throw up their hands at the travesty that their creation has become. And that's very often the case here, as Calder details. He will advise. Calder is a Canadian, Professor Emeritus at the University of Saskatchewan, and he wrote a book of literary criticism, 'W. Somerset Maugham and the Quest for Freedom' in 1972, and a biography, 'Willie, The Life of W. Somerset Maugham' in 1989. In this new book he tells how Maugham and Hollywood not surprisingly formed a long, productive partnership. Maugham had a varied and prolific career from the 1890s to the 1950s, during which he achieved success both as a novelist, with 20 books, and a dramatist, with 32 plays. Few authors have achieved such success in both genres, Calder says, and Maugham completed an even rarer trifecta by writing around 120 short stories, some of which – notably 'The Letter' and 'Rain' – Calder describes as the most memorable in the English language. In Calder's assessment, Maugham's writing appealed to the film industry because a recurrent theme and preoccupation was his concern for freedom, whether physical, emotional or intellectual. His territory was autonomy and enslavement, seeing humans as surrounded by narrowness and restrictions, trapped by poverty or the class system, restricted by a role such as colonial administrator or humble verger, and imprisoned by their emotions. In the early 20th century, Calder writes, the moving picture was becoming the newest of art forms, embryonic compared to literature, drama, opera and the visual arts. Audiences were initially excited to see moving images but soon developed a taste for actual stories, and producers began scouring the world for plots and characters. In 1915 Maugham's fame as a novelist was still to come but he was a well-known dramatist whose plays were staged in London and New York, and he sold the rights to his play 'The Explorer' to pioneering film producer Jesse Lasky. Of the 10 films made from Maugham stories in the silent era, only one – the novel 'The Magician' – was not a play. Straight away, the films shifted from Maugham's original stories, downplaying sexual struggles and revising endings, for instance. 'The Ordeal' in 1922, based on a 1917 Maugham play called 'Love in a Cottage', was extensively rewritten, making the play unrecognisable. Despite such revision and censorship, it's an unfortunate cinematic fact that many silent films are lost, with most of the Maughams among them, never to be seen again. Occasionally today one might still turn up in an attic in New Zealand or somewhere, but the chances reduce. Calder recreates the lost films from contemporary newspaper reviews and such. Usefully, he informs of complete changes of titles, so we now realise that 'Charming Sinners', released by Paramount in 1929, is actually the Maugham play 'The Constant Wife' first performed in 1926, and 'Strictly Unconditional', released by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer in 1930, is a version of another play, 'The Circle'. And who has even heard of 'Dirty Gertie from Harlem', from Sack Amusement Enterprises in 1946, let alone suspected that the plot is essentially an adaptation of 'Miss Thompson', which in turn is 'Rain'. Maugham is not credited and it is claimed to have been an original tale written by the ironically named True T. Thompson. Sadie is disguised as Gertie La Rue. When sound arrived, 'Rain' offered particularly fertile material. This short story was originally published as 'Miss Thompson' in April 1921 and is set on a Pacific island, where a missionary's determination to reform a hardened, cynical prostitute leads to tragedy. It was filmed as 'Sadie Thompson' by Gloria Swanson Productions in 1930, with Swanson in the lead, then as 'Rain' by United Artists in 1932 with Joan Crawford, and as 'Miss Sadie Thompson' by Columbia Pictures in 1953 with Rita Hayworth. At one stage, in 1940 when Mary Pickford owned the rights, she was approached by three studios. RKO wanted the story for Ginger Rogers, MGM saw it as a vehicle for Ann Sothern and Warner Bros. had Bette Davis in mind, but these projects all remained just that. Calder's account of Swanson's determined efforts to make a film that was essentially too hot for the moral crusaders trying to rein in Hollywood 'excesses' is a particularly intriguing look at the machinations in play. The Hays Office and its 'code of decency' barred profanity, nudity, miscegenation, scenes of childbirth and ridicule of clergy. Single beds and no toilets. Despite Swanson's trickery to evade the censors and put Sadie on screen, her film is sanitised and ends not with a bang but a mawkish whimper, Calder recounts. It wasn't alone. Maugham's semi-autobiographical fiction 'Of Human Bondage' included what could well be his most compulsively page-turning section ever, as medical student Philip Carey repeatedly subjects himself to humiliation by the slutty waitress Mildred. Bette Davis played the tormentor in RKO's 1934 film and Leslie Howard took the kicks. Unknown to us until now, Warner Bros. filmed it in 1946 with Paul Henreid and Eleanor Parker, and finally Seven Arts Productions did a version with Kim Novak and Laurence Harvey in 1964. Davis was also the murderess Leslie Crosbie in the Warner Bros. film of 'The Letter' in 1940, and Calder assesses that of all the Maugham adaptations it is the one that most enriches one of his stories with the artistic possibilities of the medium. As for the worst, this was surely 'Isle of Fury' starring Humphrey Bogart in Warner Bros.' 1946 version of Maugham's novel 'The Narrow Corner', seemingly 'the product of a team trying to win a quickie film contest'. Jeanne Eagels played Crosbie in Paramount's 'The Letter' in 1929, and Warner Bros. adapted it again as 'The Unfaithful' in 1947 with Ann Sheridan. Warners had also filmed 'The Narrow Corner' in 1933. Other 'multiples' were 'The Painted Veil' in 1934, 1957 (as 'The Seventh Sin') and 2006, 'The Beachcomber'in 1938 (as 'Vessel of Wrath') and 1954, 'The Razor's Edge' in 1946 and 1984, and 'Theatre' as 'Adorable Julia' in 1962 and 'Being Julia' in 2004. Calder details how Hollywood signed up eminent authors to write specifically for the studios because their names on posters guaranteed increased ticket sales, and while some of them adapted to the demands of creating film scripts, Maugham was not one. On a Hollywood sojourn in 1920 he got a $15,000 commission for a script but it was never used. After that he declined further offers. 'I'm amazed at the way in which producers buy my stories and then change the plots. If they like their own plots best, why bother to buy mine?' Calder gives us the eviscerations and revisions designed to satisfy the censor and the perceived tastes of moviegoers, if not the expectations of their author.


Budapest Times
03-05-2025
- Budapest Times
Tragedies, triumphs of a life off and on stage and screen
It's a bit of a relief to read in British actor David Tomlinson's autobiography his recognition that he was known for 'my dimwitted upper-class twit performances' – a relief because if you had asked us here at The Budapest Times to describe Tomlinson, we would have been tempted to say, 'You know, that bloke who often used to play dimwitted upper-class twits in films', but we certainly would have hesitated to do so, for risk of 1) causing offence to the family, and 2) failing to recognise a career wider than that. So, if Tomlinson was self-aware enough, good for him, and us, and if we think back to British films of his peak period in the 1940s-1970s we can do so without guilt, because you'd have to agree that he and Ian Carmichael had basically cornered the market when it came to topping casting directors' lists of candidates to fill the parts of dimwitted upper-class twits. Tomlinson made 50 films and we haven't seen a whole lot of them, partly because he seems to be primarily remembered for three roles in Walt Disney films, and this is the sort of soppy family fare that we tend to avoid. He made a big name for himself in Disney's huge hit 'Mary Poppins' (1964), appearing as Glynis Johns' husband and singing 'Let's Go Fly a Kite'. His other two successes in the Disney trio were 'The Love Bug' in 1968 and 'Bedknobs and Broomsticks' in 1971. But rather we prefer to think of him in 'The Wooden Horse' (1950) tunnelling out of Stalag Luft III, a German POW camp for officers. Also, he was one of the 'Three Men in a Boat' (1956), based on Jerome K. Jerome's 1889 novel (a book we love) containing non-stop twittishness not just from Tomlinson, as Jerome, but from all three bods. Another was 'The Chiltern Hundreds' (1949), in which Tomlinson was again a trademark genial high-born ass, playing Tony, Viscout Pym, the son of a lord who becomes a Labour candidate for Member of Parliament, and we've also seen him in two of the four old-fashioned but enjoyable Huggetts films, 'Here Come the Huggetts' in 1948 and 'Vote for Huggett' in 1949. Jack Warner, later of 'Dixon of Dock Green' TV fame, and Kathleen Harrison starred in these family-friendly British efforts, with a young Petula Clark. Such films give a fair idea of the Tomlinson niche. However, as he points out he did play a wide range of characters, from heroes and amiable silly asses to dignified old gentlemen. For good measure, he was even a wicked villain, dying with a bullet in his chest in the back of a plane, the only time, as far as he could recall, when he wasn't basically a 'nice guy'. And he had a solid stage craeer too, often filming during the day and working in the theatre at night. With a growing family of four sons he was rather keen on money, and one of the boys was autistic, presenting considerable problems. Here, good people helped cope. Actors usually lead very fascinating lives, engrossing to we in the common herd, and Tomlinson's memories are entertaining for sure. Here are encounters to satisfy any cinephile, with Anthony Asquith, Ralph Richardson, Robert Morley, Errol Flynn, Peter Sellers, Walt Disney, Vanessa Redgrave, Noël Coward and other luminaries. Also King George VI and Queen Elizabeth, and later the Princess Royal, plus adventures on foreign lands with good times in Hollywood and bad times witnessing the appalling apartheid of South Africa. Whether its people were black or white, they were good to Tomlinson. David Cecil MacAlister Tomlinson was born on May 7, 1917 in Henley-on-Thames and died aged 83 on June 24, 2000 in King Edward VII's Hospital, London, after a stroke. It was a joke of his that he wanted the words 'David Tomlinson, an actor of genius, irresistible to women' on his headstone. (He was buried in the grounds of his home in Buckinghamshire, wording unknown.) The autobiography was published in 1990 and is now available again in a new edition from Dean Street Press, a publisher 'devoted to uncovering and revitalizing good books'. Tomlinson's is well worthy of such attention. From his earliest remembered family days to the world of films it is a winner, with unusual tales nicely told. Some would make good plots. These don't come much odder than that of Tomlinson's father Clarence, an outwardly respectable solicitor but given to rages at home. He horrified even himself when once he burned David's hand with a domestic iron, to teach the boy, aged about 8, a lesson after he had turned it on. But most incredibly he somehow managed to successfully juggle two entirely separate families for decades. He told his wife Florence and four children in Folkestone that for work purposes he needed to stay at his London club on weekdays, while actually living with his mistress and their seven – seven! – illegitimate children. The subterfuge was eventually uncovered when David's brother Peter was on his way to Heathrow on a double-decker airport bus that stopped unexpectedly in Chiswick, whereupon Peter found himself gazing through a top-deck window at his father sitting up in bed in a strange house drinking tea. In fact his wife had known of her husband's double life for 60 years because during the First World War in France he was writing to both women but once put the letters in the wrong envelopes. She never mentioned it until, 86 years old, she was on her death bed. 'The marriage was important to her,' Tomlinson writes. The only time her husband was truly kind to her was whenever she was ill, so she made a point of being frequently ill and had, the son believes, two or even three unnecessary operations. Tomlinson says his childhood was plagued by the tensions and friction when his father was home. He and his three brothers were used to his arrival in Folkestone on Friday night and departure on Monday morning. 'If truth be told, we were quite pleased to see him go,' Tomlinson tells. The family was frightened of this unpredictable man. The boy enjoyed the pleasures of Folkestone. There were horses, gas lights, Punch and Judy, cinema and a rollerskating rink. He was 10 when he decided to be an actor after visiting the Pleasure Gardens Theatre. Do they really get paid for doing that, he wondered? He couldn't believe anything could be quite so wonderful. 'I decided then and there that it must be better than working and I have never altered my view.' The young man had a a stammer but was determined to overcome it and his father's opposition. He scoured London for theatrical jobs then joined the Grenadier Guards, which was a big mistake so he bought himself out after 16 months. A period as dogsbody in repertory helped equip him for his first professional, but non-speaking, appearance in 1936. The film director Anthony Asquith saw him in a play and signed him, rescuing him from dispiriting provincial tours with often drunken colleagues and cold and uncomfortable theatrical boarding-houses, and an unsuccessful spell selling vacuum cleaners. In the Second World War he was a Royal Air Force flying instructor, surviving a crash after blacking out in a Tiger Moth. There was the appalling tragedy of a first marriage in 1943 to a beautiful American widow who threw herself out of a 15th-floor window in New York, together with her two little boys. He was in England with the RAF. In 1953 Tomlinson married Audrey Freeman and theirs was a long and happy union, remaining together for nearly 50 years and raising the four boys. At first he had a stammer but overame it with tenacity and determination. Courage was the vital factor to succeed in acting, he says. Succeed he did and the memories of a full career are here to enjoy.


Budapest Times
16-03-2025
- Budapest Times
Darker reality behind the bonhomie
The title of Sheridan Morley's biography alludes to David Niven's own book "The Moon's a Balloon' in 1971, one of the best-selling autobiographies ever written by an actor, notching up more than five million copies worldwide. When a man's life has already been covered by this and its successful follow-up, "Bring on the Empty Horses' in 1975, plus 95 films and many radio and television appearances, what, asked Morley, remained to be written about? And so it seemed to him an odd suggestion when at the time of Niven's death in Château-d'Œx , Switzerland, on July 29, 1983 he was asked by his publisher to write the first biography of the English actor born on March 1, 1910 in London's prestigious Belgravia district, and winner of the 1959 Academy Award for Best Actor in the 1958 film 'Separate Tables'. Morley had written about gifted persons in 'A Talent to Amuse: A Life of Noël Coward' in 1969, 'Oscar Wilde' in 1976, 'Gladys Cooper' (his grandmother) in 1979 and 'The Hollywood Raj' in 1983. While considering this latest opportunity he contacted David Niven Junior, the actor's elder son, and received an enthusiastic go-ahead. Niven Junior's nod of approval included one factor without which Morley would not have proceeded – the son agreed to talk to the biographer without asking to see the manuscript before publication. Also importantly, he passed on an invaluable list of phone numbers of some of his father's oldest friends. And he advised Morley that if he really wanted to know about Niven's life, it wasn't in the two autobiographies – 'They're all about other people.' Subsequently, Niven's widow Hjordis, his sole surviving sister Grizel and his younger son Jamie also agreed to talk without conditions. Morley ultimately spoke to 150 people, with only one refusal to reminisce – Rex Harrison. Published in 1985, the book is still in print. Morley had something else going for him – he had actually known Niven. The future author and the actor first met in Hollywood shortly after World War Two when the former was a child living with his grandmother, English actress Gladys Cooper, who would work with Niven, Cary Grant and Loretta Young in 'The Bishop's Wife' (1947) and 'Separate Tables'. Morley was born in 1941. 'When we arrived in Hollywood', he recounts, 'Niven had just lost his first wife in a horrendous fall down a flight of cellar stairs, and their two sons would sometimes come over to play in the house that Gladys owned just a few doors away from theirs in Pacific Palisades.' The fall fractured Primula 'Primmie' Susan Rollo's skull. It was 1946 and she was just 28 years old. Sheridan and David Junior were both about five years. Ten years later the teenage Morley met Niven again with Morley's father, actor Robert Morley, on the set of 'Around the World in Eighty Days' (1956). And 20 years on, when Morley was writing his Noël Coward biography, he used to meet Niven with Coward in Switzerland, the two older men having chalets not far apart between Montreaux and Gstaad. Morley makes plain that he wanted to write a dispassionate biography of Niven, and not correct the inconsistencies and inaccuracies in 'The Moon's a Balloon' and 'Bring on the Empty Horses', which Niven penned more for entertainment rather than telling the truth of his life. Niven hadn't wanted to write something depressing or just plain unfunny, Morley judges, and would modify some of his many anecdotes so as to offer a better punchline. While the critic Auberon Waugh asserted that 'They read like some joker in a saloon bar who has told the same stories so often before to the same audience that they have been improved beyond any resemblance to whatever truth they originally contained', Morley's own choice of title, 'The Other Side of the Moon', doesn't necessarily hint at a bad side. Rather, he concedes that he 'had long been intrigued by the great difference between the Niven of the films and autobiographies – the cheerfully grinning but stiff-upped-lipped storyteller – and the occasional glimpses I'd had of a much darker, more complex and intriguing figure behind the clenched mask of the grin and tonic man'. But rarely unpleasant. The book is more about quirks, and one of Niven's was to say he had been born in Kirriemuir, Scotland, when in fact he spent only a short part of his childhood there. He was the last of four children to William Edward Graham Niven, described on the birth certificate as a 'landed proprietor', and Henrietta Julia Niven. William was killed in the Great War, resulting in the wealthy family being often on the move and, in Niven's eyes, a steep social decline. At Heatherdown prep school, in Ascot, the pupils had to cultivate their own little plot, and Niven was expelled after stealing a prize marrow to adorn his. The 'naughty schoolboy' often got into scrapes, and at Stowe School he was caught cheating in an exam and ejected again. At age 14 he was undergoing a different education courtesy Nessie, a Soho prostitute. Deciding to join the Army, in another mistep he listed the two regiments he would like to join, then put as his third choice 'Anything but the Highland Light Infantry'. Such levity was not admired and he was promptly despatched into the Highland Light Infantry as a junior officer. The battalion was stationed In Malta, and Niven endured two years of torpor. During his five years in the Army he performed sketches in the soldiers' concerts but not particularly successfully, though this did not stop him deciding he wanted to be an actor, 'or indeed amost anything so long as it was no longer a soldier'. So, as a sort of travelling adventurer, in 1933 he ventured to New York, first as a hopeless whisky salesman then helping run a pony-racing racket in Atlantic City until the local Mafia advised moving on. Broadway did not beckon, so Hollywood did, though with no thespian experience at all 'and a patent inability to act'. A sort of carefree but charming disaster zone, Niven at least developed good social and professional contacts, being seen as a cheery young expatriate party guest. Slowly he worked up from a film extra to his first speaking role, three words. By mid-1936, when he had been in Hollywood for almost two years, his speaking roles had grown to seven films but he had made almost no discernable professional impression at all. Finally a breakthrough of sorts came when director William Wyler and Niven's lover, actress Merle Oberon, coaxed his first passable screen part out of him, in 'Dodsworth' (1936). 'The Prisoner of Zenda' starring Ronald Colman in 1937, and 'Bluebeard's Eighth Wife' starring Gary Cooper and Claudette Colbert in 1938 saw him getting his career off the ground at last. But Morley is a fair critic and says 'The Dawn Patrol' in 1938 with fellow carouser Errol Flynn was among Niven's few triumphs among those 90-plus films, many sheer awful. World War Two ended Niven's potential leading man status as he quickly returned to Britain to do his bit, albeit mostly desk-bound. He then made a difficult post-war return to a changed Hollywood where his debonair sort of Englishness had become passé . He continued to suffer humiliating loan-outs to other studios and accepted rubbish, to support his family. 'The Moon Is Blue' (1953), 'Around the World in 80 Days' (1956), ' The Guns of Navarone' (1961), ' The Pink Panther ' (1963) and 'Death on the Nile' (1978) were on the plus side. But Morley is realistic, seeing a man lurching from one bad film to another and lacking the distinction of such English contemporaries as James Mason, Rex Harrison and Cary Grant. In fact, in this telling, it's almost difficult to believe that Niven made some sort of a presentable acting career at all, relying more on his stock-in-trade charisma than real talent. Well, that's life, and here is one, nicely covered by Morley, despite those early reservations.