Selznick, undaunted by his father-in-law’s dismissal, wrote a sixteen-page memo to Mayer on why MGM should reconsider making an investment in the teen. He also cast Rooney in a small showcase one-off performance in his latest production, Manhattan Melodrama (1934), a Depression-era pre-noir film set to star Clark Gable, William Powell, and Myrna Loy. That there was no part for a boy in the gangster film did not faze Selznick, who called in writers Joseph L. Mankiewicz and Oliver H. P. Garrett to write one. This resulted in new scenes showing Clark Gable’s character, Blackie, as a boy, played by Mickey Rooney of course.
Mickey received strong reviews for his small part. Harrison Carroll of the Los Angeles Evening Herald Express wrote on June 21, 1934, “. . . and little Mickey Rooney is rather impressive as a young Blackie.” Mickey became an immediate sensation, and the Mickey Maguire typecast disappeared. The now-blond actor was now just Mickey Rooney.
Manhattan Melodrama, about two boys growing up in a tough Manhattan neighborhood who wind up on opposite sides of the law (Gable a hoodlum kingpin and Powell the district attorney who would send him to the electric chair) was what bank robber John Dillinger was watching in the “air-cooled” Biograph Theater to escape the summer heat in Chicago on July 22, 1934, when he was shot and killed. Audiences nationwide flocked to see the last film Dillinger watched.
Rooney’s standout performance in Manhattan Melodrama forced Louis B. Mayer to reconsider his earlier dismissal, and on July 30, 1934, the studio head offered Mickey a much-coveted contract with MGM.3
While Mayer acquiesced to Selznick, he refused to offer anything more than $150 per week. Nell and Mickey had been hopeful that being at the Tiffany of the studios would lead to a more lucrative agreement, but this was less than Mickey had received as a Universal contract player and far less than he had received to play McGuire. The MGM agreement was also far more restrictive than the Universal contract. It curtailed any outside vaudeville work, which Nell had relied on for the bulk of their income. Still, Nell saw a bright future for Mickey at MGM, and was willing to settle even though it was a detrimental compromise. “Why be famous and not be able to cash in on it?” Mickey once remarked.4
Mickey found himself out on loan during those first couple of years as an L. B. Mayer contractee. “MGM didn’t lend me, it rented me out at two or three times my MGM salary,” Mickey recalled. “Of course I had no way of knowing this at the time.”5
In fact, in 1934 it loaned him out three times more than the studio itself used him. Mickey remembered, “They not only got my services free, but they made money on me to boot . . . [I]t was something like slavery, except that slaves, at least can feel the whip.”6
For instance, Mickey was loaned to Warner Bros. to play a jockey (a role he frequently played over the years) in the low-budget Down the Stretch. The film, which was shot in August 1934, was not released until 1936. MGM received $600 a week for four weeks of work, for a total $2,400 from Warners. Mickey received $600 in total, which made for a profit of $1,800 for MGM. Selznick had been right in his memo: Mickey was a great investment.
When looking back at this seventy years later, Mickey grew angry. “I appreciate everything Mr. Mayer did for me, but that wouldn’t work today. But I was far better off than my father, who was scraping by in a cheap burlesque joint,” he recalled in 2007.7
When Mickey left Universal in 1934, let out of his contract by Carl Laemmle Jr., his deal was that he still owed the studio two films. Therefore, he had two separate contractual obligations at the same time to different studios. By then, Mickey had appeared in a total of eleven films. It was an amazing output for one so young.
PRIOR TO SIGNING THE MGM agreement that restricted Mickey’s vaudeville appearances, Nell cashed in one last time. Mickey made appearances on the West Coast as Mickey Rooney but dressed as Mickey McGuire. This benefited old cast mate Billy Barty, too, who recalled, “I was basically out of work after the McGuire shorts ended in 1932. I did some bit parts in a Gold Diggers film [Gold Diggers of 1933] and an Alice in Wonderland one, but it was a very dry period. Nell contacted my mother to appear with Mick in some live shows. This was right before Mickey signed with MGM. We were so happy to see each other again. It was like a reunion of sorts.”8 Barty also recalled receiving about a hundred dollars per week on the tour, although he was unaware of what Mickey was earning.
Mickey then appeared at MGM in August 1934’s Hide-Out, by director W. S. “Woody” Van Dyke, who also directed the Thin Man films. The comedy starred Robert Montgomery as a racketeer hiding from the law and Mickey’s former costar Maureen O’Sullivan as the unsuspecting farm girl whom he falls for. O’Sullivan remembered, “Woody loved that Mickey could improvise. They padded his part beyond the script. He was in a couple films before that with me and later played my kid brother in ‘Hold That Kiss.’ He is an amazing talent.”9
Variety on October 31, 1935, raved about him: “Rooney well-nigh steals the picture.” Right out of the gate, under his fresh new agreement with MGM, he hit a home run. Mayer was pleased, and Selznick pointedly reminded him of his “Mickey” memo. Mayer’s son-in-law had been prophetic. Mickey was a bankable star as well as an amazing talent.
5
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A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Mickey as Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream in 1935.
POSTER COURTESY OF THE MONTE KLAUS COLLECTION.
Before Mickey signed his new contract at MGM, he was effectively a free agent and had started to draw attention with Manhattan Melodrama and Hide-Out. While his mother anxiously waited for Harry Weber to finalize the agreement with Mayer, Mick spent his summer playing tennis and enjoying the respite from work. Nell had rented them a recently constructed Spanish-style house designed by architect Vincent Treanor in 1929, in the neighborhood of Carthay Circle. Finally, they were in their own home and out of the many cramped rooming houses they’d been forced to live in. The four years Mickey Rooney would spend in that house on Schumacher Drive would be among the most important of his career.1
The ambitious Nell, who religiously scoured the Hollywood trade papers every morning, one day read with interest of the open casting call for the great Max Reinhardt’s production of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Hollywood Bowl. While the stage was daunting to many film actors, Mickey at fourteen was a seasoned pro. As for this production, the trades were rampant with rumors of noted actors who were interested in snagging a role. While Nell had no knowledge of anything connected to Shakespeare, friends told her that Mickey would be perfect for the role of the sprite Robin Goodfellow, otherwise known as Puck. She also read that “America’s Sweetheart” forty-one-year-old Mary Pickford had shown some interest in the role, as had eighteen-year-old Olivia de Havilland. But any opportunity to join that cast would depend upon the decision of famed director Max Reinhardt.
Max Reinhardt was an Austrian-born Jew who lived in both Berlin and Salzburg, Austria, and had a worldwide reputation as the founder of the prestigious Salzburg Festival, where he became legendary as the director of stage spectacles such as Faust, Oedipus Rex, The Miracle, and, in 1927, a highly acclaimed production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which he later brought to Broadway. Reinhardt was presciently correct in fearing Hitler’s eventual Anschluss of Austria in 1938, and had sought permanent asylum in the United States in the summer of 1934. He quickly accepted an invitation by the Southern California Chamber of Commerce to produce and direct a revival of his 1927 production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Hollywood Bowl. The costly $125,000 extravaganza would be underwritten by the mostly “Jewish moguls,” as the Los Angeles Times referred to them, at the major studios, according to author David Wallace. Times publisher Harry Chandler cajoled them to “unzip their pocketbooks” and bring some culture to Southern California.2
For Reinhardt, this was an important opportunity. He was known as a great stage director and an impresario, but he had met only reluctance in his attempt to become a film di
rector, with studio bosses not convinced he could make the crossover from stage to screen. Reinhardt felt that if he could produce a great success—and he was confident that he would—with Midsummer, one of the studios might give him the chance to direct films.
Reinhardt sent his son, future film director and producer Gottfried Reinhardt, to make advance arrangements for the play. Gottfried recalled that his father sent a telegram to him in Los Angeles to secure a cast of “All-Stars,” one that included Charlie Chaplin for Bottom, Greta Garbo for Titania, Clark Gable for Demetrius, Gary Cooper for Lysander, John Barrymore for Oberon, W. C. Fields for Thisbe, Wallace Beery for Lion, Walter Houston for Theseus, Joan Crawford for Hermia, Myrna Loy for Helena, and Fred Astaire for Puck.3
Though Reinhardt was clearly ambitious, he was self-deluded in dealing with these mega stars. Certainly none of these box office actors would be interested in working for a tenth of their salaries, and had nothing to gain from being involved in the difficult production, Shakespeare or not. So Gottfried placed announcements in the Hollywood trade papers and contacted the talent agencies and casting offices to let the industry know that he was holding open auditions for all the parts in the play.
Harrison Carroll of the Los Angeles Evening Herald Express wrote on June 14, 1934, that “actors and actresses have dropped their tennis rackets, picked up their Shakespeare anthologies and started practicing their elocution.”
With Mickey at his leisure for the summer, Nell asked Harry Weber to ask MGM if he could try out for the part. Although the contract was not signed yet, it was nearly formalized, and she did not want to rock the boat if the studio had plans for Mickey. Mayer recognized the importance the experience would have for Rooney, and for MGM if the play was successful, and allowed him to try out for the role. Fortune, again, smiled. This time through Louie Mayer.
In late June of 1934, Mickey and Nell went to the suite at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel where Reinhardt was holding the auditions. The director’s associate, Felix Weissberger, held court as hundreds of noted performers auditioned for him. He was immediately smitten with Mickey’s looks. Physically, the young actor was exactly what he envisioned as the perfect Puck:4 his small stature, age (Mickey was a young teenager), and looks (he had an impish, in fact, puckish, face). The important test, of course, was whether Mickey could handle the Shakespearean dialogue, not the street cant he spouted in Manhattan Melodrama. When Weissberger handed Mickey a script and asked him to read some stanzas of Puck’s dialogue, Mickey furrowed his forehead, took a deep breath, and stumbled through Puck’s opening lines as best he could.
How now, spirit, whither wander you? . . .
The King doth keep his revels here tonight5
As Mickey recalled, “Weissberger said, in his heavily accented English, ‘Not bad, not bad. Now I vant you should go home and memorize all zis und come beck for anozzer audition. Verstehen sie?’ He then handed me a script with my lines marked in red.”6
This was indeed a challenge for a young actor trained in vaudeville and burlesque. However, that experience may have held a key to his tremendous skill as an actor. Dr. Kevin Hagopian, a film historian and professor of film at Penn State University, offers an interesting perspective on Rooney’s training: “I strongly believe that his early training in vaudeville and burlesque gave him the tenacity to undertake roles like Puck. In burlesque, you undertook any part you were given. If the producer asked if you could play the trumpet, whether you could actually play or not, you answered in the affirmative. Then you went out and learned how. You performed before crowds that had no tolerance. You either succeeded or flopped on stage. There was no in between. It was a rough and tumble world and you learned to adapt. It taught great versatility. It was an amazing training ground. It was why I believe what the great film critic of the 1930s, Otis Ferguson, wrote in The New Republic, that ‘James Cagney and Mickey Rooney were among the finest actors of their generation.’ Both Cagney and Rooney were from burlesque and vaudeville.”7
Nell beamed with pride as her son passed the first test. However, Mickey was anxious, and had little of his usual confidence with this audition. He carped to Nell, “I can never learn these words and make them sound right!” Nell reassured him that all it took was familiarity with the lines. Mickey then started to memorize Puck’s speeches, with Nell feeding him his cues. Gradually he began to understand the character of Puck and get a feel for the rhythm of Shakespeare’s verse.8
At the second audition, Mickey was letter perfect. Although he did not understand all Shakespeare’s nuances, and he was still befuddled by the phrasing and archaic language, he just gave a reading of the lines as they were printed on the page. He imagined, with Nell’s encouragement, the merry impish spirit of Puck. Weissberger was astonished as Mickey embodied the character, from Puck’s mocking of the donkey’s braying to his maliciously playful child’s giggle. “Yah, goot!” Weissberger told Rooney, and then reminded him that he had one more hurdle. He had to get the approval of Herr Doctor Reinhardt.9
The day of the meeting with Reinhardt, Mickey and Nell waited nervously for the director’s arrival. Although they had been through countless auditions and cattle calls, this one was different. Hollywood was abuzz about Reinhardt’s production, and many performers felt that this could be the spotlight they needed to establish themselves firmly as accomplished actors. This was not for money or nationwide recognition; this was for prestige and honor.
A short time later, the imposing figure of Max Reinhardt strode majestically into the room at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, where he was holding the auditions. Reinhardt nodded curt greetings to Mickey and Nell, and then dropped into a chair. Reinhardt was a squarely built man with piercing black eyes, which he fixed on Mickey momentarily before, through Weissberger—Reinhardt spoke very little English—ordering Mickey to begin.10
One could easily have become intimidated by this powerful man at such an important audition. But Mick was ready. He had faced audiences in burlesque since he was a year and a half old. He knew his lines and understood the character. He now had Puck down pat, understood the childish playfulness of the role above and beyond any meaning it had for an Elizabethan audience. Puck was an ebullient prankster, and Mickey understood that. With the confidence of a veteran performer at the Old Vic, he rattled off the lines with remarkable ease. He even added a few facial expressions and comedic touches. Then he emitted Puck’s famous laugh-cum-cackle, which he had carefully worked on with Nell the previous night. Enchanted, the great and powerful Reinhardt cracked a rare smile and hired Rooney on the spot. “Forget Pickford and the others,” Reinhardt told Weissberger and his son, Gottfried, “Das Lache [that laugh] ich mag ihn gern [I like it].”11
Mickey and Nell were elated that he got the part of Puck, a potential watershed in his career. Even better, he was hired at three hundred dollars per week, double his MGM salary. Reinhardt filled out the rest of the cast with Walter Connolly as Bottom, and for Flute, Sterling Hayden (who would later become the voice of Pooh in Disney’s Winnie the Pooh). Reinhardt cast the trained Shakespearean actor Philip Arnold as Oberon, Evelyn Venable as Helena, and a teenage Olivia de Havilland as Hermia. Mendelssohn’s score was adapted by Erich Wolfgang Korngold; and Bronislava Nijinska choreographed the ballet, which featured dancer Nini Theilade. Rehearsals were set to begin in early September.
With the MGM contract signed, and with Mickey’s casting as Puck, Louis B. Mayer was finally impressed: “I think we have a raw diamond on our hands,” Mayer told Selznick, and agreed that his son-in-law had been right to push to get Rooney under contract.
After four weeks of rehearsal, the troupe was ready for the premiere. The Los Angeles Illustrated Daily News of September 5, 1934, carried the headline “Eddie Cantor to Preside at Big Reinhardt Feast.” The article gushed about Max Reinhardt and the production of Midsummer:
More than 250 men and women who have given most of their lives to the cultural development of Los Angeles and to entertaining the world from
stage or screen or concert rostrum will pay tribute to Max Reinhardt, Viennese theatrical genius, at a dinner and reception at the Biltmore. Sponsors of the Reinhardt presentations of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” at the Hollywood Bowl commencing September 17 as hosts of this evening’s dinner at which Rupert Hughes will act as toastmaster and at which Eddie Cantor will serve as Master of Ceremonies introducing such entertainers as Rubinoff, celebrated radio maestro; Ethel Merman, Broadway musical star; Hazel Hayes, concert and film singing star; Mickey Rooney, who plays Puck in the Reinhardt-Bowl presentations; and other celebrities.12
Early praise for the production was giving Mickey a certain acclaim he had never experienced before. The legendary gossip columnist Louella Parsons, in the Los Angeles Examiner, proclaimed on September 8, 1934:
Mickey Rooney, the freckle-faced thirteen-year-old youngster, is the very “Puck” that Max Reinhardt has been looking for all of these years. “He has that elfin quality, that mischievous impishness,” said Reinhardt, “that is so difficult to find, and he is the best Puck I have ever had.”
I sat in at the rehearsal of “Midsummer Night’s Dream” and heard Mickey read lines that astounded me. It took a Reinhardt to discover this little boy’s talents. “Mickey,” said Reinhardt, “is fantastic.” And now what about our film producers? Are they going to let Max Reinhardt return to Salzburg without producing a Shakespeare play?
Before the play ever premiered, the Los Angeles papers covered almost every rehearsal as if it were an event in itself. W. E. Oliver in the September 13, 1934, Los Angeles Evening Herald Express wrote the front-page story “Stars Frolic in Bowl Under Reinhardt’s Eye.” In a story about the “production of the biggest outdoor Shakespeare effort on record,” Oliver extolled Reinhardt’s “genius” and explained how he was “modifying the spirit of ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream’ to catch the spirit of the California setting.” The article focused on Mickey as Puck “screeching in practice under the scaffolding.”
The Life and Times of Mickey Rooney Page 10