NOEL COWARD

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 77, Issue 82, 7 April 1934, Page 14

NOEL COWARD

RISE AS A PLAYWRIGHT. HIS IMMENSE EARNINGS. A. great commotion was going on in the little house at Staines because young Noel had made a pronouncenjent unusual among boys of ten. At least, when they do talk like that they are apt to be boxed soundly on the ears “I’m going on the stage,” he declared. Now Noel Coward is one of those people who make up their minds to do a thing and do it, writes Geoffrey Harinsworth in the Daily Mail. N*» one knew that better than Mrs. Coward herself. Noel had read an advertisement somewhere for a boy actor for •‘The Goldfish,” a children’s play to be put on at the Little Theatre. So his mother took him up to see the manager, and that evening there was even greater excitement in the little house at Staines because Noel had secured his first contract. He was to play the part of a prince in “The Goldfish.” Soon after “The Goldfish” adventure Noel was given a part by Charles Haw trey in “The Great Name,” and later he toured the provinces in one of Italia Conti’s child companies. When he appeared under Robert Courtneidge, Noel used to introduce impromptu

“gags” on the stage, and once Courtneidge had to rebuke him. “Young man, I pay you to amuse the public, not to amuse yourself.” After a brief spell with the Liverpool Repertory Company, Noel turned his hand to song and play writing. At the former he was moderately successful, but the managers were not interested in his plays. He had written “The Young Idea” straight on the typewriter in four days, but it took him two years to get it accepted.

One of the luckiest moments in Noel’s life was wnen he met Michael Arlen. He had been hawking “The Vortex” ail rounu London. Une manager said he would consider the play, but not if Noel played in it. Finally, Noel sent the MS. to Mr. Norman MaeDermott, at the Everyman Hampstead. It was duly read, and, in tne manner of most MSS., had an ominous docket entitled “unsuitable” attached to its red cover.

But Mr. MacDermott was gong down to the country that week-end, and, by a providential mistake, the play was slipped into his suitcase. Mr. MacDermott, having nothing better to do, read the MS. By midday on Tuesday Noel Coward signed a contract for the production of “The Vortex.” Arlen backed it to the extent of £l6o* Noel had written it in a week, and he produced and acted in the play. It brought him success—and, of course, a Rolls-Royce. Previously, in “London Calling,” for which Noel wrote sketches and songs, and in which he acted and sang, he discovered what it felt like to “get the bird.” When he left the cast he impishly sent tne management scores of telegrams in the names of illustrious people deploring his departure in the most extravagant terms.

Those were the days of the Bright Young People, and Noel Coward’s plays invariably held up to scorn that strange post war social phenomenon, the Cocktail Age. Some people still think that he was solely responsible for it; others claim that ho did most to ridicule it. “Fallen Angels” shocked the puolic, but everyone went to see it.

At 25 he had four plays running in London at the same time. But he was jiot only playwright-actor-producer-song writer-dancer-gramophone artist, and everything else—he was the author of a book. Perhaps it is not surprising that precious few people have heard of “The Withered Nosegay,” a skit ou fifteenth century French memoirs by ladies of quality, because the total royalties m England and America amounted to £l5. of which Noel’s share was £7 10s Coward has never allowed his failures to worry him; he has had the good sense to profit by them. (“I bought it out of my failures.” he told a friend, describing a villa he had taken in the' south ol France.) “Sirocco” was hissed at Daly’s. “Home Chat” lasted only five weeks. Even Marie Tempest couldn’t keep “The Marquise” going for long. The pendulum began to swing the other way with “This Year of Grace.” He made nearly £lOOO a week out of it. As author, lyrist, and composer of “Bitter Sweet” his takings were estimated in tne neighbourhood of £70,000. “Cavalcade,*’ so far. has been his greatest financial triumph. In all, including the film rights, it is said to have brought him £lOO,OOO. “Design for Living,” which has not been produced in Esgland yet, has earned nearly £30,000 in America. “Conversation Piece,” in which he is appearing with Yvonne Printempts, will undoubtedly add another £30.000 to his little pile. Ten years age he was poor. Twenty years ago he was thankful to earn £z 10s a week on tour. To-day he is the richest man in the theatre, and at 35 has already made more money out of the entertainment business than anyine living or dead, with the single exception of the late W. P. Barnum. Perhaps his plots are slight. But Coward’s genius lies in his masterly handling of a trivial incident or of apparently commonplace dialogue so as to make it seem of immense significance. This was brilliantly revealed in “Cavalcade.” I have heard people ask why Noct Coward still goes on acting when he has so many other things to keep him occupied. The reason is that he considers it is necessary to be an actor ao well as a playwright in order to keep in constant touch not only with the audience but with the players themselves. As he once remarked, it is one thing to sit comfortably in the staHs on a first night (50 shillings each) observing the effect on an expectant publie. but it is quite another to play one of the parts in the glare of the footlights, desperately intent on helping to make the whole thing a success. That is how Coward has acquired bis sense of the theatre. Besides, for over 20 years now, he has slogged awav in every department of the business ” Noel’s extaordinary gift of repartee and his charming insolence and gaiety of manner have made a lot of people regard him as an entirely flippant young man. But those few who know him well realise that he is intensely sincere and kind hearted. He detests sham and the kind of people

who address his as “Noel darling’’the first time they meet him. “I can’t bear wintering in England,” a well-known actress once remarked to him. “It must bo rather boring after spending so many winters in sun-drenched Peckham,” was Noel’s reply.