ALINE MacMAHON : HOLLYWOOD, THE BLACKLIST, AND THE BIRTH OF METHOD
ACTING
By John Stangeland
University Press of Kentucky. 340 pages. $40. ISBN 978-0-8131-9606-0
Reviewed by Jim Burns
There are actors whose names may not mean a great deal unless one is
a particularly dedicated follower of Hollywood history. But when
seen on screen they are instantly recognisable. Aline MacMahon is
one such example of someone with a distinctive face who never
achieved star status. Her career saw her mostly restricted to
supporting roles, despite her acting ability often being far
superior to that of her co-stars. But Hollywood didn’t consider her
beautiful, and she unfortunately only started in films when she had
turned thirty, and that alone may have been a key factor in her
largely being limited to parts as a character actor.
She was born in 1899 in McKeesport, Pennsylvania. Her father was
from an Irish-American-Jewish background, and her mother was
Russian-Jewish. The family moved to Brooklyn in 1902. Aline’s
mother, a frustrated actress, seems to have been determined to groom
her daughter for the stage, and arranged for her to have elocution
lessons and to take part in public speaking shows where Aline
recited poetry and other material. Her father had connections to the
arts as a writer and editor at
the popular magazine,
Munsey’s Weekly. There was also an aunt, Sophie Loeb, who was
active in social reform and opened Aline’s eyes to the plight of the
less fortunate in society by taking her on visits to the slums.
Aline enrolled at Barnard College in 1916 and took part in student
drama productions where she attracted enough attention to be offered
a job with the Provincetown Company. She turned it down and instead
visited Europe. When she returned she was involved with the American
Laboratory Theatre, which had links to the Moscow Arts Theatre and
the ideas of Stanislavski. It was her first encounter with what
became known as the “Method” school of acting. The leading light of
the American Laboratory Theatre was Richard Boleslavsky, a devotee
of Stanislavski’s approach to acting with its realism and
encouragement to the actors to identify with the characters they
were portraying. Aline thought she was lucky to have been taught by
Boleslavsky and considered herself something of a pioneer in
bringing elements of Method acting to the American stage.
She generally received excellent reviews for her stage work, though
she expressed some discontent with the fact that a contract she
signed with the Shubert Theatrical Agency meant that she had to take
on roles that she felt didn’t give her the opportunity to exercise
her full potential as an actress. It was a situation that she was to
experience again when she moved to Hollywood and had a contract with
the Warner Brothers studio. However, while working in the theatre,
she did achieve some successes. One of them was in the Eugene
O’Neill play, Beyond the
Horizon, and John Stangeland says that she “became the
uncontested dramatic sensation of the New York theatre world”. One
critic remarked, “She it was who largely made the production a
delight to see”. And Alexander Woolcott wrote that she “played a
bitter, tragic role with extraordinary beauty, vitality and truth”.
The New Yorker enthused
about her, and Noel Coward said, “The performance of a comparatively
young actress Aline MacMahon, remained in my mind as something
astonishing, moving and beautiful”.
I’ve moved quickly through Aline’s experiences in New York and
Stangeland provides a much more detailed account that gives a
fascinating picture of the ups and downs of working in the theatre
and the effects felt by actors and others as the 1929 stock market
crash began to savage the economy and cause mass unemployment and
bank closures. Nonetheless Aline and her husband, the architect
Clarence Stein, decided they were financially secure enough to make
a trip to India. Stangeland thinks that the couple were “gingerly
exploring socialist ideas, class and income inequality foremost
among them”. And that they were curious about Mahatma Gandhi’s
“non-violent struggle against the British Empire’s colonial rule
over the country”. They were away for four months.
Aline moved to the West Coast at the beginning of 1931. Hollywood
was busy while the rest of the country struggled to keep the wheels
of industry rolling. It was where money didn’t seem to be a problem,
and an established actor could be assured of a healthy salary. It
was also still in the early days of talkies and not every star of
the silent era had been able to make the transition to the new
medium. Once characters on film could be heard talking there was
little need for them to indulge in exaggerated expressions and
gestures to make a point. Aline, with her clear diction and
experience of projecting on stage, was ideally suited to acting in
films. Her training in the Method style likewise allowed her to
emphasise feelings through facial variations and bodily positions.
Stangeland outlines the major shift in acting in this way: “As the
production of talking pictures was codified, a new kind of actor and
personality was coming into popular consciousness. This style, which
was to become the dominant form for nearly twenty years, was
primarily declarative. The sub-text of thought and interior life
that had necessarily developed in the best of silent films was –
unfortunately – deemed redundant in a cinema where characters could
now simply say what they felt”.
Despite being separated from her husband for long spells – he had to
remain in New York to look after his architectural commitments –
Aline was determined to make a career in films. And the money was
useful at a time when so many other people were struggling to make
ends meet, and her husband’s business suffered ups and downs as
projects failed to materialise. But she had to face up to the fact
that the studio system, especially at Warner Brothers, was close to
a factory situation. What sold was what was produced. There were
fine films made, often almost in defiance of the realities of the
market, and there were writers, directors, and others who were
sincerely dedicated to the art (and it could be) of film-making. But
there were many more who saw it simply as a job to be completed on
time and within its budget, and with little thought of investing
what they did with imagination or flair. As someone who has spent a
lifetime since the 1940s watching Hollywood films, good, bad and
indifferent, I’ve often been pleasantly surprised at what
could be done with few resources, and on the other hand sadly
disillusioned by how much money was wasted on lacklustre major
productions.
One of Aline’s first films in Hollywood was
Once in a Lifetime which had originally been a stage play by
Moss Hart and George Kaufman. Described by Stangeland as “a play
about the foolishness and vapidity of Hollywood” it had failed when
it was first tried out in Atlantic City. Aline had been in it, but
by the time it was revised and performed on Broadway she was on the
West Coast. She landed a key role in the film, but was initially
nervous about how it would go down with the industry’s rulers. Would
they see the funny side of a satirical view of their habits and
actions, their poses and pretensions? Launched with all the usual
film capital ballyhoo it became a surprise hit. Aline was one of the
stars of the film, and the
Los Angeles Times commented: “The cast are all capable
performers, with Miss MacMahon standing out in a feelingful,
thoroughly warming portrayal of the patient May Daniels”.
Once in a Lifetime
had been produced by Universal, but Warner Brothers were keen to
have Aline sign a contract with them. She eventually did, after
haggling about how much they would pay her. She settled for $850 per
week for a part in Five Star
Final in which she played newspaper editor Edward G .Robinson’s
secretary. Stangeland is enthusiastic about Aline’s work in this
film, limited though her role was, and says she is “playing the
character, not pitching to the audience, and in this way she invites
attention by not inviting it……she presents a real person, not the
creation of a screenwriter - not a construction deigned to impart
mere information and surface emotion to a story. Her emotions seem
real because she is doing what no other actor of the era is doing –
dredging her own past to connect with the feelings of the
character”.
The money was good, especially in comparison with what most people
were earning, or not earning if they were among the growing army of
the unemployed, but Aline was dissatisfied with the roles that
Warner Brothers insisted she take. She was usually praised by
critics for her performances in films like
The Mouthpiece, Weekend
Marriage, and Life Begins,
but none of them involved a major dramatic leading role. Aline was
cast as a kind-hearted café owner who feeds the down-and-outs in
Heroes for Sale, and she
is effective in this part, but it hardly stretched her acting
talents.The main female emphasis was focused on Loretta Young who
Warner Brothers were clearly promoting as a rising young star. The
film itself is not without interest with its grim portrayal of what
life was like for many people during the Depression. There are
scenes of bread lines, hobos being moved on by townspeople who, as
they say, can’t even take care of their own, and policemen who use
threats and violence to deter demonstrators or anyone else they
consider “radical”.
Alina did have what might be called a leading role in
Kind Lady, where she
plays a middle-aged spinster still mourning her fiancé killed in the
Great War, who is conned by the smooth-talking Basil Rathbone into
allowing him into her house and so enabling him to take over her
life. But it’s notable that the studio considered her suitable for
appearing on screen as a somewhat repressed, even dowdy woman. She
just wasn’t seen as conventionally attractive, though photos in
Stangeland’s book indicate that she could be quite striking in
appearance. I suspect that Hollywood didn’t really know what to do
with her because her looks and her age (she was in her thirties when
the films I’ve mentioned were made) eliminated her from
consideration as one of the film capital’s glamour girls. She was
fated to be seen as a character actor and nearly always in a
supporting role. There was one film,
Heat Lightning, described
by Stangeland as a “deliciously tawdry proto film noir”, which
featured her alongside Ann Dvorak and allowed her to develop the
part she played as one of two sisters, both yearning for the same
man, with a greater degree of conviction.
Both Aline and her husband held what might be called progressive
views about the nature of capitalist society, and she was on record
as having spoken favourably in support of left-wing, even communist,
ideals. I think there may have been something of a clash between her
sympathies and the fact that she could earn relatively good money by
acting in mostly mediocre films at a time when there was widespread
poverty and discontent. She was aware of her artistic predicament:
“If I catch myself retrogressing in my work I will quit and to the
Devil with the whole lot of them. But I suppose I’ll go on taking
the money, just the same”.
The couple made a trip to China in 1937 and were impressed by what
they saw there, though one wonders how far they travelled within the
country? Stangeland
describes Aline as “a liberal, Communist-curious citizen”, and says
that she attended anti-Fascist meetings and rallies. But her private
life and her Hollywood career were affected by her husband’s
ill-health. She had to go back to New York to look after him. She
did manage to continue some acting activity by working in radio and
returning to the stage. She starred with John Garfield in
Heavenly Express, a
“light fantasy” that unfortunately failed to attract audiences. She
worked with him again in Out
of the Fog during one of her periodic returns to Hollywood.
Garfield was a proponent of Method acting and, like Aline, had links
to left-wing organisations. This latter fact was to cause problems
for them both.
There were appearances in films in the post-war years. She was with
Montgomery Clift, another graduate of the Method school, in
The Search, and had a
part in the Burt Lancaster film,
The Flame and the Arrow.
But her liberal/left-wing inclinations were noticed as the
anti-communist mood of the late-1940s and early-1950s began to
develop. The Chicago Tribune
newspaper listed Aline as a communist as early as 1945, and
later she would be named by Louis Budenz, a one-time Communist Party
member turned informer. She was also included in
Red Channels, a
publication designed to name anyone with alleged communist
affiliations who was employed in films, television, and radio. It
was used as a reference book by producers and others who hired
actors. Inclusion in it would lead to almost automatically being
blacklisted. It certainly affected Aline’s career and Stangeland
says that she “managed only two film appearances and five television
credits between 1950 and 1960”. One of the films was the 1955
The Man from
Laramie, a Western directed by Anthony Mann and starring James
Stewart, where she played an elderly rancher who befriends Stewart.
It would be interesting to know how she managed to evade the
blacklist for this film and the 1953
The Eddie Cantor Story.
She did obtain work with regional theatre companies in the 1950s,
and in the 1960s she was active in New York with the Repertory
Theatre of Lincoln Center. Her husband died in 1975, and Aline in
1991, aged 92.
It’s difficult to comment on her use of the Method technique because
of the nature of most of the films she was in. She often had little
opportunity to extend her acting beyond the ordinary. It could be
that she was more successful in the theatre but, unlike films, few
plays leave a permanent visual record. We can only wonder, or rely
on written testaments from those who were around at the time, about
what great actors were like on stage.
John Stangeland’s book is not only an informative account of Aline
MacMahon’s life and career. It additionally provides some valuable
insights into how the studio system functioned in the 1930s and
1940s, and what were the problems facing actors who didn’t easily
fit into the kind of neat categories that Hollywood liked. It’s
enlightening about how actors under contract, or even freelancing as
Aline did, had to take what was on offer if they wanted to work
regularly. Film-making was a business and the good went with the
bad. It wasn’t much different in the theatre, and Stangeland quotes
the old-time character actor J.M. Kerrigan who, listening to Aline
complaining about the quality of the films she was involved with,
said: “To hear actors complain about pictures, you’d think that in
the theatre they went from one distinguished success to another. I
found damned few decent plays to do in the theatre, I remember”.
The book is well-researched, has a short but useful bibliography,
and relevant illustrations, some of which show how attractive Aline
MacMahon could be.
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