CLAUDIE HUKILL to Theatre Banshee, LA
I finished Moss Hart's autobiography, "Act One", last night and came to the surprising realization that it 's not an autobiography at all . . . at least not in the sense of being the story of a life. Instead, it's the story of a passion, in this case for theatre, that is happily and indeed fantastically fulfilled in a way and to a degree that could not be replicated in the present day.
Missing are myriad associations, events, and people that unavoidably populate and influence lives. Among the items that go unremarked upon by Hart are World War I, the stock market crash, the author's given name (he tells us only that it was "difficult"), and any reference whatever to an actual or even imagined "love interest" . . . not so much as a "so-and-so made my heart beat a tad quicker". "Act One" has only one subject in mind: a passion fulfilled.
But, as it turns out, this portrayal of pure passion is perfect because it coincides precisely with the time frame in which the object of that passion, the theatre, reached its apotheosis as an artistic and cultural force. Moss Hart died at age 57 in 1961, at almost the precise end of theatre's "golden era" making this a fairy tale story of a young prince when the kingdom was at its most glorious.
Appropriately, "Act One" concludes in a moment of triumph with the opening of Hart's first Broadway hit, 1930's "For Once in a Lifetime". The author was only in his mid-twenties. On that one night he not only reached the pinnacle of his chosen profession, but instantly made the leap from poverty to almost obscene wealth. The night before the opening he didn't have the money to take a cab from Manhattan to Brooklyn and the morning after the opening, he was able to walk into the box office and be given $500 in cash -- equivalent to about $5,000 in today's currency. With that money and the knowledge that he would continue to receive royalties of $1,000 a week for the foreseeable future, Hart went to his family's impoverished home and instructed his parents and brother to immediately accompany him from the apartment taking nothing, "not even a toothbrush" (he eventually relented and allowed some family photographs) and accompany him to Manhattan where they would henceforth live.
Great stuff . . . and even true, albeit with blinders.
PS. Penn State University rejected my VALU-MART submission yesterday.