Brass Diva: The Life and Legends of Ethel Merman (14 page)

Merman, however, could do no wrong. With "Rise and Shine," said one
reviewer, she shows herself to be a "revivalist of no mean horsepower. She exhorts you, it is true, to flee not sin but the Depression and all its works....
the mood of Vincent Youmans' rugged tune ... comes straight from the
Negro spirituals. And Miss Merman translates its religious ecstasy into an inspirational language of arms and hands and shoulders that is all her own."57
Ethel's now-trademark hand and arm gestures were gaining note (the Stage
even sneaked a cameraman into the theater to capture them on film), and reports didn't lack for evangelical (and racial) undertones, especially when
commenting on "Rise and Shine":

[Here are her] characteristic devotions: the fluttering hands; the doubled fist
extended toward you ... as though to seize your soul and raise it to heaven;
the swing of the hips as she walks, the rolling of the shoulders and the accompanying wave of the head; the cocky stride ... suggestive of the ancient
cake-walk; the clasping of quivering hands, imploring the audience to join in
glory; the outspread palms, the raised fingers, the hands flinging at you a message of joy; and, at last, the arms stretched up to Heaven, and the whole body
straining to follow upward as though one ounce more of faith would give it
soaring wings.58

Critics also lauded Merman's ability to turn risque material into good
clean fun, and in that regard she differed deeply from West, who had actually done jail time for her risque plays in the 19zos. Merman could convey a
false, knowing, playful naivete (for as much as the press had made her the gal
next door, that gal was tougher and worldlier than most). That perception attached itself to Ethel on and off the stage. Of the two main categories into
which female performers were put at the time, glamour and comedy, Merman was already veering toward the latter. She was too robust and physical
for conventional romantic roles and situations, yet at the same time, as a comedian, Ethel was never as over-the-top or as sexually caricatured as West.

In 1932, censorship was a less institutionalized, cautious affair than it is
today. Still, some of the press complained that Take a Chance took too many
chances with its potshots at religion, especially in Ethel's numbers. Significantly, no one described Ethel herself as vulgar-that would come later-but
some critics found Wanda Brill too bawdy and the book too risque. (Critic Ashton Stevens concluded that the reason "Eadie" became such a smash was
that it had not been approved or licensed for radio transmission, enhancing
the song's appeal onstage and in other venues.)59

For a show studded with references to religion and sex, it is surprising even
in pre-Code Hollywood that Take a Chance was adapted for the silver screen
in 1933. Buzz flew about possible optioning: "Only Merman from the original cast will be used and only `Eadie' and `Smoothie' songs from the original
will be used," wrote Variety.60 Filming was to begin in July at the Eastern Studio in Astoria-the neighborhood's old Paramount Studios. June Knight was
retained for the picture, but in the end it was Lillian Roth who played
"Wanda Hill."

Ethel didn't take it too hard. By now, she had signed on with Victor records for a sixteen-song recording deal,61 receiving a hefty five hundred dollars
a side against a three-hundred-dollar royalty, an unusually high figure for the
time, as the company told reporters. (Singers were rarely paid for both sides
of a 78, typically being compensated only for the "hit" side.) Ethel, DeSylva,
and company were able to capitalize on Take a Chance in other ways. In May
1933, she appeared in Variety and the New Yorker advertising Lux soap, which
always hired glamorous stars to promote its product: "Ethel Merman, feminine star of `Take a Chance," says, `I insist on Lux for my stockings, lingerieanything washable at all."62 She also hawked cosmetics and toiletries for Saks
in June 1933 and was shown surrounded by shoes in another ad: "I don't `Take
a Chance' when I wear Ansonia Shoes. I Know They Are the Last word in
Smartness"-at $5.94 a pair!63 A contest featuring her and her Take a Chance
costars Haley, Silvers, and bit players Al Downing and John Grant invited
readers to provide captions to its "short story snap shots" comics for a twentyfive-dollar prize.64 And in March 1933, newspaper reports said DeSylva was
planning a new musical for Merman, provisionally called Eadie.

Take a Chance had given Broadway's critics and its luminaries the chance
to note Ethel's extraordinary discipline. DeSylva has said that watching her
performances was like going to a movie, they were so invariable.65 "She was
completely reliable, not rote or mechanical," adds Cointreau, saying that
Ethel generated the same electric energy and fresh sense of timing whether it
was her first night or her hundredth.66 Marilyn Baker agrees: "They say that
Ethel would walk through her shows, especially matinees. Well, I've probably
seen more Merman performances than anyone else, and I can tell you, she
never walked through a performance. She always gave ioo%."67

Perhaps a watch could be set to Merman's performances, but she was every
bit as able to ad lib if the need arose, to ride with the punches and launch zippy comebacks as quickly as she did offstage. Take a Chance had a scene in
which Jack Haley's character presents Wanda with a pin. One night, he found
the box empty. Panicked, Haley "dashed off to get [it] while she ad-libbed a
few lines. When he returned and whispered to her that the pin couldn't be
found, the mighty Merman calmly turned to the audience and said, `Ladies
and gentlemen, this is the part where I'm supposed to get the pin. You can't
see it-but it's there. Isn't it a lovely piece of junk? All right-now I have it
on. Haley, take it from here."'68 And they carried on. Ethel kept a tight rein
on professional behavior, though, as if deciding which instances could withstand spontaneity or a joke. For instance, in a live version of Anything Goes,
which aired on NBC in 1954, costar Bert Lahr slips and calls her Annie Oakley (Merman's character from the 1946 Annie Get Your Gun) when she's playing Reno Sweeney, the intended of Sir Evelyn Oakleigh. The tight shot shows
Lahr's flubbed line registering in his face, and he's quite ready to laugh, but
Ethel won't bite, continuing with her dialogue without so much as twitching a muscle. But her costars knew Ethel to be a great practical joker. When
Haley and Ethel did their love duet in Take a Chance, for instance, Sid Silvers, unseen by the audience, would look at her with eyes crossed, trying to
bust her up. "Miss Merman," wrote Maurice Zolotow, "is known to other
performers as a `red-hat' . . . someone who `breaks up' easily when another
performer on the stage does something just for his benefit."69

Take a Chance was one of the few shows that Merman took out of town.
After its Broadway run of 242 shows and some thirty-one weeks, it moved to
Chicago's Erlanger Theatre, where it opened on July to, 1933, for a one-week
run. Although the response was good-reviews were positive and box office
was strong-Ethel did not enjoy herself, complaining to reporters about the
lack of a night life and about the more reserved Chicago audiences. "Merman
was afraid of Chicago," recalled Roger Edens. "Afraid. Everybody in New
York knew that Ethel was a native of New York but she wasn't a household
word in Chicago and Chicago is notorious for being slightly cool to Broadway shows."70 Ethel Merman, New Yorker, was being born.

poem from Boston fan Jack Curry

A story circulated that young Ethel Merman was so naive that she was almost
convinced she needed a passport to move to Manhattan. With the success of
Take a Chance under her belt, she used that passport for permanent residency
in Manhattan when she moved to a tony 25 Central Park West address, bringing her parents, Edward and Agnes, to a neighboring apartment. Adjacent to
Central Park at the northern tip of the theater district, the new location made
work a short walk or a cab ride away. The Zimmermann clan stayed here for
some twenty years, literally moving up as Merman's career ascended, going from the fifteenth to the twenty-first and twenty-second floors-the penthouse with rooftop pools and sunning area. As of this writing, the Century
Apartments building was still standing, looking forlorn in the deep shadow
of the Trump Towers across the street.

Merman would be connected to New York with a near-unrivaled intensity.
Some simple historical reasons lie behind this: she was, after all, a Broadway
star, not a Hollywood one, and only rarely did she tour with a shows. "Why
should I care what they think about me in Poughkeepsie?" was the crack she
fed to reporters. It was in Manhattan that Ethel moved from one stage hit to
the next, and it was there that she caused a sensation every time she did. People
were able to experience her not just as a singer but also as a performer in shows
that added greater resonance to the songs than they might have had out of this
kind of context. New Yorkers would soon come to see Ethel not simply as a
homegrown commodity but as one of their own: "My mother had a palpable
relationship with the New York public," says her son. "One of the things New
Yorkers know best and deal with most naturally is other New Yorkers.... My
mother was a New Yorker through and through."'