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Darker reality behind the bonhomie

Darker reality behind the bonhomie

Budapest Times16-03-2025

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.

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Losing the plots in an antiseptic Hollywood
Losing the plots in an antiseptic Hollywood

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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. 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Darker reality behind the bonhomie
Darker reality behind the bonhomie

Budapest Times

time16-03-2025

  • 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.

Diffident actor made life more difficult for himself
Diffident actor made life more difficult for himself

Budapest Times

time22-02-2025

  • Budapest Times

Diffident actor made life more difficult for himself

Sheridan Morley's book takes its title from James Mason's 1947 film 'Odd Man Out', which was one of the most highly regarded of the 115 or so in which the British actor appeared between 1935 and 1985, and that proved to be his breakthrough after a dozen years of near obscurity. And it is a title that nicely encapsulates what was often a perplexing personality. Mason died of a heart attack at the age of 75 in summer 1984, and the following year Morley embarked on a three-year period of research and writing in England, Switzerland, the United States, Canada and Australia. Some 80 people answered what he says were his innumerable and sometimes impertinent questions, on tape or phone, in letters or interviews, or with extracts from their own writing whether published or private. That all sounds promising. What emerged takes us toward an understanding of an often confused man. For instance: 'He hardly ever gave the impression that he had wanted or intended to be an actor in the first place. It merely became and remained his lifetime's work, one that he did to the very best of his abilities despite the fact that all his early ambitions had been for architecture.' Similarly, 'James never really understood quite how he'd got there, and was never entirely certain that it was his intended destination'. Another opinion was that Mason's greatest asset was his voice and his greatest drawback was a habit of coming on stage looking as though he might be found out and sent back to some entirely different career. According to the book, in early films too he seemed to be vaguely ashamed to be caught acting for a living. Other factors also defined Mason's life. It's Morley's belief that the man went to his grave still uncertain whether his conscientious objection to World War Two in 1939 had been an act of considerable isolationist courage or the appalling blunder of a coward. It split his family. Also the actor had, in his own view and by his own admission, 'fucked up' his career by emigrating to the United States in 1949 at the height of his British fame, and by continuing over there a futile battle against the big studios for control over his own films and his own career, a control that he had learned in England could never be enjoyed by 'a mere actor'. James Neville Mason was born in Huddersfield in the West Riding of Yorkshire, on May 15, 1909, the youngest of three sons of a reasonably affluent textile merchant. Acting does not seem to have formed any part of his school life but he developed a vague interest in West End of London theatre because his grandfather sent him Play Pictorial magazine each month. Mason, interested in photography himself, liked its attractive pictures of plays and actors. At Cambridge University a friend introduced him into the world of college dramatics. 'It was partly this prominence, the fact of showing off on stage, that gratified my vanity,' Mason acknowledged later. Coming down from Cambridge aged 22 in 1931 he did not want to ask his father for further subsidies to continue studies to be an architect, so decided to act. Looking for openings, he made his professional debut in 'The Rascal' at the Theatre Royal, Aldershot, on November 23 that year. This was followed by touring productions, resident seasons and repertory, often dispiriting in dull English provinces and seaside towns. A step up was performing for the Old Vic theatre at Waterloo and short stints in the West End of London. It was at the former that film producer Alexander Korda saw him and took note. Korda gave him a week's work on 'The Return of Don Juan' in 1934 (now known as 'The Private Life of Don Juan' ), then cut it to three days, then sacked him altogether, gently suggesting to Mason that perhaps a mistake had been made about his casting. It was, writes Morley, not an auspicious opening for one of the most distinguished acting careers in the history of the cinema, and Mason rapidly returned to the theatre from whence he had come. Nonetheless, he overcame the humiliation, and in 1935 made his screen debut in 'Late Extra', then a rapid succession of 'quota quickies'. These were 'B' pictures churned out at about two a month for the lower half of double features, and by the end of 1936 his career was in bad shape. As a professional for five years he had done little of note on stage except some promising work at the Old Vic and Dublin's Gate Theatre, and seven mostly bad films. He stuck it out, overcoming the temptation of architecture, and drifting around in a haze of minor films and short-lived plays, until as a 'non-combatant' in the last four years of the war he made no less than a dozen pictures all with considerable improvement in budgets and ambition from the quickies of his immediate past. It rescued him from the doldrums. Mason broke his rule of a lifetime and signed a five-picture deal with Britain's Rank Organisation, instantly regretting it. Connsequently, he played 'The Man in Grey' (1943) in a state of fury, hating the part, the script, the film and still more the prospect of another four like it, a swashbuckler that he could never bring himself to watch. But after 19 pictures and 13 years as an actor it made him an international film star at the age of 35. Morley writes that a large part of Mason's career frustration stemmed from a desire, only semi-articulated, to have more control over his artistic destiny than he would ever achieve. The public wanted Mason as a villain horsewhipping fellow star Margaret Lockwood, preferably in period costume, rather than displayng his considerable versatility. He saw himself in danger of becoming the Home Counties' answer to Eric von Stroheim (ha ha – good line) torn between a desire to make a decent living and be allowed to make films that were not far beneath his own intelligence. It was a fight he fought and lost all his career. He literally wrote a death warrant to his English career with some bitter articles for movie magazines about the sheer awfulness of being an English leading man and the utter futility of the small-minded, parochial and bureaucratic British film industry, especially Rank. Morley writes: 'In departing for America towards the end of 1946, at precisely the moment when his British career was at a commercial and critical height which it would never recapture, there is no doubt that Mason did himself professional damage from which he took years, if not decades, to recover.' His 15 years of self-imposed exile in the US often went badly too, with a lawsuit, a divorce that wiped him out financially, a reluctance to fit into the English acting community in Hollywood, and susceptibility to many of the same professional problems he felt he had encountered in England. He conceded he should never have left at the height of popularity. Morley interviewed him for magazines, newspapers, radio and television over the last decade of his life, and Mason told him: ' I brought a lot of bad publicity on myself over the years. When I settled in the United States, London papers attacked me as if I'd insulted England, and when I came back they could hardly wait to call me a failure. A lot of that was unfair and it did me make me irascible, so one way and another I wasted a lot of time.' Living in Switzerland, he would often accept bad scripts just for the money. He settled into the peripatetic life of a strolling player, finding a bleak humour in the worst of the work and a vague satisfaction when a script came along that satisfied him. He made many turkeys but also the late glories of 'The Verdict' (1982) and 'The Shooting Party' (1985). Here at The Budapest Times, whenever we watch a James Mason film – and we've seen quite a few of the main ones – we tend to simply take it as it is for the 90-minute ride. In our plebian way, we just enjoy 'em or we don't enjoy 'em so much. Sheridan Morley fills out the back picture nicely. James Neville Mason – an odd man out of time and place indeed.

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