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John Barrymore's portrayals of Richard III and Hamlet electrified audiences. Critics proclaimed him one of the greatest actors ever. But Barrymore's life was not all glory. MICHAEL A. MORRISON tells the story of the actor's behind-the-scenes struggles. |
On
March 6, 1920, the Plymouth Theatre in New York was filled to capacity
with more than a thousand spectators eager to witness John Barrymore's
Shakespearean debut in Richard III. Many in the audience
that night were skeptical of Barrymore's ability. John Barrymore's journey to Shakespearean distinction had been neither sudden nor easy. He was born in Philadelphia on February 15, 1882 into an illustrious theatrical family. His grandmother, Louisa Lane Drew, served for three decades as manager of Philadelphia's Arch Street Theatre. His father, Maurice Barrymore, was a dashing leading man. His mother, Georgiana Drew, was an accomplished comedienne, and his uncle, John Drew, was the "First Gentleman of the American Stage." Yet he resisted the family trade, preferring to try his hand as a painter and commercial illustrator while frequenting New York's clubs and night spots. Only economic necessity forced him to join sister Ethel and brother Lionel on the stage, which to him was simply "the easiest place to earn a decent living." |
Within a few years, his handsome profile
and amiable disposition had helped him become a popular matinee idol in
light comedy and farce. In 1909, his appearance in The Fortune Hunter
catapulted him to Broadway stardom. The following year he entered into
the first of his four marriages with Katherine Harris, a stage-struck 18-year-old
debutante.
A fortuitous meeting with the playwright Edward Sheldon during the 1911-12 season ultimately led to a new direction for Barrymore's career. Blithe and mercurial by nature, with a penchant for alcohol and chorus girls, Barrymore had never taken himself or the theatre seriously. Yet Sheldon detected hidden reserves of dramatic power that lay untapped in his abilities and gradually persuaded him to look beyond the trivial entertainments that for years had provided his livelihood. In 1916, at Sheldon's urging, Barrymore attempted his first substantial role: ![]() In 1920, Barrymore joined forces with the producer-director Arthur Hopkins and the designer Robert Edmond Jones (with whom he had first worked a season earlier on Redemption) to attempt his most ambitious undertaking to date: Shakespeare's Richard III. Aware of his limited vocal prowess, Barrymore studied intensively with a voice coach to prepare for the role. When the production opened on March 6, critics were nearly unanimous in praising Barrymore's "intellectual, stealthy, crafty and subtly malevolent royal monster." To Heywood Broun of the Tribune, his Richard was "the most inspired performance which this generation has seen." The production was destined for only a limited run, however; less than four weeks after the opening, Barrymore suffered a nervous breakdown, the result of his intense performance and months of overwork. Hopkins was forced to refund more than thirty-five thousand dollars to disappointed ticket holders. Two years later, Barrymore, Hopkins, and Jones, after noteworthy failures the previous season - Barrymore in a play by his second wife, Michael Strange, and Hopkins and Jones in an ill-fated production of Macbeth starring Lionel Barrymore, ![]() After 101 performances - one more than Edwin Booth had played during the 1864-65 season - Barrymore, by then weary of the role, withdrew from the production. Nonetheless, he revived the play in New York and toured it the following season, and in 1925, serving as his own producer and director, took his Hamlet to London - a city where American Shakespeareans had in the past achieved scant success. Although the production brought an irate letter from George Bernard Shaw, who objected vociferously to the extensive cuts to the text, Barrymore's performance was acclaimed by an overwhelming majority of reviewers. James Agate, dean of the London critics, found his portrayal to be "nearer to Shakespeare's whole creation than any other I have seen." His Dane was much admired by future Hamlets John Gielgud and Laurence Olivier, who recalled that "Everything about him was exciting. He was athletic, he had charisma, and, to my young mind, he played the part to perfection." |
Barrymore
returned to New York in May 1925, and the rest, for many years, was motion
pictures. Those who had worked with Barrymore during the period when he
was Broadway's leading tragedian lamented his defection to Hollywood, yet
they were aware of his fundamental aversion to the nightly grind the theatre
demanded, his boredom with long runs. "The creative part of the theatre
he loved," recalled Arthur Hopkins. "Its repetition was unbearable."
For several years Barrymore concentrated exclusively ![]() During this period Barrymore entered into his third marriage, with the actress Dolores Costello, and had two children (he had earlier fathered a daughter, Diana, with Michael Strange). For a time, he enjoyed domestic and professional prosperity. By the mid-1930s, however, years of hard living, reckless drinking, and a mercurial disregard for his personal well-being had taken their toll. Barrymore began to experience numerous alcohol-related illnesses, and his memory became increasingly erratic; on several occasions, he found himself unable to remember his lines. In 1935, he began a relationship with a starstruck 19-year-old college student, Elaine Barrie, later to become his fourth wife. Their bizarre liaison resulted in sensational tabloid headlines as this young "Ariel" pursued her "Caliban" (as the press dubbed them) across the country. By that time, it was clear to the film community that In the years that followed, Barrymore, in part to honor his monumental debts to ex-wives and the Internal Revenue Service, continued to accept whatever roles were offered. He became a fixture on Rudy Vallee's radio show, where the jokes invariably centered on his drinking, marital problems, and has-been status. Even in decline, he continued to harbor quixotic hopes of returning to the stage in a worthy Shakespearean vehicle, despite ravaged powers and recurring memory loss. On May 19, 1942, Barrymore collapsed during a rehearsal of the Vallee radio program. He was taken to Hollywood Presbyterian Hospital, where he was diagnosed with bronchial pneumonia, hardening of the arteries, hemorrhaging ulcers, and cirrhosis of the liver. For ten days he faded and rallied, drifting in and out of consciousness until May 29, when at 10:20 p. m. he died in his sleep. Commentaries appearing over the next few days almost invariably lamented the dissipation of his talents, yet the supreme dramatic artist was not forgotten. "The moralists," remarked an anonymous editorial writer in the Herald Tribune, "said it was 'sad' that in his latter years he became a 'caricature' of a once magnificent figure. But none of this was news to Barrymore, nor did he allow it to disturb him unduly. . . . Here was an actor. Was ever there a better in America? . . . No matter what he touched, he gave it a manner and a dash. He was born to be an actor, and when he conscientiously set himself to a task he could blend his genius with a thoroughly sound and intelligent craftsmanship. . . . He was a mortal whose head at times reached very close to the stars." |
This article appeared originally in STAGEBILL. Special thanks to John Istel and Alex Stark. |
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