“If you find this book hard to read, please consider, it also was hard to write it.”

So notes Gene Fowler(left)  near the end of Good Night, Sweet Prince, his biography of his good friend John Barrymore. The second half of the biography, which begins when Barrymore quits the theater to pursue a movie career, is certainly more difficult to read than the first half, which I discussed in last week’s post. The great actor experienced only about five or six good years in Hollywood before his health deteriorated, affecting his personal relationships and his skills as an actor. Reading about the rapid and sharp decline of this vibrant, virile artist, who had enjoyed such an extraordinary youth, was truly disheartening. I can only imagine how grueling it was for Fowler to research and chronicle the tragic decline of his close friend.

Barrymore and screenwriter Fowler (The Call of the Wild; Billy the Kid (1941); Beau James) were members of the notorious Bundy Drive Boys, a group of Hollywood celebrities and actors who met frequently to drink, pull practical jokes and stunts, and discuss art and Shakespeare. Painter John Decker was the unofficial ringleader of the Bundy Drive Boys, which also included W.C. Fields, John Carradine, Errol Flynn, Roland Young, Thomas Mitchell, and, according to Fowler, Fannie Brice. In retrospect, their reckless antics are often romanticized as the rebellious acts of creative bohemians against the convention and routine of a more mainstream lifestyle, but there was nothing romantic about the impact of Barrymore’s hard drinking on his health and memory. Decker, Fowler, and Lionel Barrymore were there at the end when JB died, and they, along with attorney Gordon W. Levoy, were named executors of his derelict estate, attesting to Fowler’s significance in Barrymore’s life.

BARRYMORE AS MR. HYDE IN THE 1920 FILM. YEARS LATER, JB DONNED THE SAME MAKEUP TO BUY A HOUSE IN HOLLYWOOD. HE DIDN'T WANT THE SELLER TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF HIM AS A FAMOUS ACTOR.

Barrymore had appeared in motion pictures as far back as 1914, moonlighting in the flickers as he established himself as a stage actor. He accepted roles in films shot on the East Coast, where several studios maintained operations. He tackled such iconic roles as Sherlock Holmes, Beau Brummel, and Jekyll and Hyde, but his film work took a back seat to his stage career until 1925. After his triumph with Hamlet on Broadway and in London, Barrymore opted to quit the theater and pursue film acting in the movie capital of the world, Hollywood.

Hollywood during the robust and free-wheeling silent era differed from the more rigid and strict Golden Age of 1934 to 1948. Stars were enticed to the West Coast with lucrative contracts, studio protection from bad publicity and legal entanglements, and the promise of artistic input into their films. Barrymore’s early adventures offer a glimpse into life during the Silver Age of Hollywood, when the money and illegal liquor flowed with equal measure. Warner Bros. signed JB to a three-picture deal, with each film given a production schedule of seven weeks. Barrymore was paid $76,250 per film; if the production ran long, he was to be paid $7,625 for every week over schedule. Warner Bros. paid for the actor’s traveling expenses, which included accommodations for an English valet and a pet monkey named Clementine, and for a four-room suite at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. He also had access to a car and chauffeur whenever he wanted. Most importantly, he was granted a measure of creative control in the form of story approval and costar approval. He even participated in the supervision of sets and costumes.

After the coming of sound and the stock market crash, the deals were less rewarding and the terms stricter. Barrymore’s Hollywood career also illustrates that reality in addition to the way studios took advantage of their stars’ less-than-savvy business skills. When his contract with Warners was about to expire, JB was charmed by Joseph M. Schenck into signing a two-film deal with United Artists, the company originally formed by Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks, Charlie Chaplin, and D.W. Griffith. In addition to a $100,000 per film, Schenck promised him a share of the profits. Attracted to the prestige of the studio, he signed Schenck’s contract without consulting a manager or accountant. Barrymore thought he would wrap up two films for U.A. in no time, and then move on to even better deals. However, there was no time clause in the contract, which Barrymore did not notice. It took two years to complete the two films for U.A., and after the fixed studio charges and budget were subtracted, there were no profits to share. Over the span of two years, Barrymore’s $200,000 from U.A. meant he earned less than $2,000 per week. Because of the time clause in the W.B. contract, Barrymore had made two films in seven months for that studio, earning $10,000 per week. In addition, the U.A. deal did not include expenses and luxuries as had the W.B. contract.

BARRYMORE LOVED ANIMALS. IN THIS PHOTO, HE HOLDS HIS GOOD FRIEND CLEMENTINE THE MONKEY.THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE PHOTOS BECAUSE HE LOOKS SO HANDSOME.

While Barrymore’s experiences reveal the tactics of studios regarding contracts and stars, it is important to note that JB was never good with handling money even under the best of terms. Soon after the U.A. misstep, he obtained a manager to help his secure the best deals with studios, but he spent as much as he earned, and in later years, when his mind was addled by the ravages of alcohol, he embarked on destructive spending sprees. During his first few years in Hollywood, he bought two houses on Tower Road, remodeled both properties, installed a giant sundial in his swimming pool, built an aviary, dug more pools, and purchased two yachts.

BARRYMORE'S HOME ON TOWER ROAD BACK IN THE DAY

My only disappointment in this section of Good Night, Sweet Prince is that Fowler does not offer much insight into Barrymore’s film performances, as he had with the actor’s stage roles in the first half of the book. JB appeared in the first feature-length sync-sound film, Don Juan, in 1926. The film did not have sync-sound dialogue, but it did use sound effects and music to heighten the action. I wondered if the film was difficult to shoot because of the cumbersome early sound equipment. I would have liked to have known Barrymore’s thoughts on the differences between acting on stage and for the camera, or how he handled the piecemeal way in which movies are shot—one scene at a time—after  spending 20 years accustomed to the immediacy of the theater. Barrymore began in silent films but quickly adapted to talkies. What did he think of the artistic merits of sync sound? Fowler does mention that many careers were ruined by sound, naming Douglas Fairbanks, Sr., and John Gilbert as two victims of the new technology. And, Barrymore supposedly described Gilbert’s misfortune as going “from Garbo to limbo.”

Gilbert and Barrymore were neighbors, and the latter watched the once-great silent star implode psychologically as he sat out his contract with MGM. Rumor had it that his first sound film had been hissed at by an audience of Stanford students at its Palo Alto premiere, and subsequent sound tests deemed Gilbert’s voice too “chirpy” for talkies, at least according to Louis B. Mayer. Gilbert’s stardom was over, and his career in rapid decline. One night, Gilbert’s manager knocked on JB’s door at 2:00am, declaring that his client and friend was suicidal. When Barrymore arrived on the scene, he snapped Gilbert out of it by forcing the depressed star to hold his infant daughter, declaring, “Isn’t she more important than a bit of newspaper gossip?” JB stayed with Gilbert the rest of the night. Little did Barrymore know that within a couple of years, he would be facing his own professional crisis.

THE BARRYMORE SIBLINGS IN 'RASPUTIN AND THE EMPRESS'

Barrymore’s film career probably peaked in 1932, when he starred in five films, including Grand Hotel, A Bill of Divorcement, and Rasputin and the Empress. Known as the Great Profile, because of his regal good looks, Barrymore did appear in several notable films after this zenith year, including Twentieth Century and Dinner at Eight, but health issues began to plague him in 1933-34, ravaging his handsome face and affecting his ability to remember lines. Sadly, Fowler barely mentions Grand Hotel, offering only an anecdote about Garbo’s great respect for Barrymore as an actor. Later, she noted, “I admired him greatly. Barrymore was one of the very few who had that divine madness without which a great artist cannot work or live.”

Rasputin and the Empress starred all three Barrymores—John, Lionel, and Ethel—in what must have been an important film at the time. However, Fowler offers only one anecdote, which reveals the rivalry between John and Lionel whenever the pair acted together. The older brother accused the younger Barrymore of trying to steal the scene in which John’s character counted his money on the floor. The pair argued about it all the way home from the set one day, with John innocently wondering how he could possibly steal the scene. Suddenly, an exasperated Lionel asked the cab driver to stop; he got out of the car and loudly re-played the scene alongside the shrubbery of a well-manicured lawn. The owner of the estate raced out to investigate and then threatened to call the police, apparently not impressed with either Barrymore’s acting talent.

BARRYMORE AND COSTELLO ON THE SET OF 'THE SEA BEAST'

Fowler tends to make up in personal anecdotes what he’s missing in artistic insight. For example, he offers a detailed account of the love affair between Barrymore and actress Dolores Costello, daughter of silent-film star Maurice Costello. Barrymore saw Costello on the Warner Bros. lot when he was in production for The Sea Beast in 1925. Glassy-eyed with excitement, he told screenwriter Bess Meredyth, “Never saw such radiance. My God! I knew that she was the one I had been waiting for. Waiting all my life, just for her.” He demanded that she play opposite him in The Sea Beast, or he would quit. He declared that he would work with her until she was an amazing actress, and he insisted that her salary be doubled, then tripled, and then quadrupled, though it is doubtful that Warner Bros. followed through with these salary demands.

Dolores and Barrymore also starred together in his last film on his original W.B. contract, When a Man Loves, aptly titled considering the passion between the two principles. That he loved her is no doubt; that he turned her into an amazing actress is open to debate. According to Fowler, JB threw many scenes to her during the production of When a Man Loves, meaning he emotionally disengaged himself from his role to allow her to shine in the scene. When his sister, Ethel—the consummate professional—watched a rough cut of the film with Barrymore and screenwriter Meredyth, she fumed at how often her brother had tossed away a scene. Barrymore also bypassed Hollywood etiquette by imploring Joseph M. Schenck to help Dolores get out of her contract at Warners so she could join him at United Artists, but the powerful producer refused.

Barrymore and Costello wed in 1928 and moved into the home on Tower Road. The union produced two children, John Drew Barrymore and Dolores Ethel Barrymore, or Deedee. JB had one daughter, Diana, by his previous marriage to Michael Strange. According to Fowler, the births of his children brought him great joy, but he was not cut out for the selflessness and responsibility of fatherhood, as can be attested by the tragic lives of his children.

BARRYMORE BUILT AN AVIARY AND KEPT MANY EXOTIC BIRDS, BUT HE MADE A PET OUT OF THIS VULTURE, WHO USED TO GROOM JB'S MUSTACHE AND HAIR.

In October 1933, Barrymore was called to the studio to re-do a scene from Counsellor-at-Law, a film that he had wrapped for Universal a few weeks before. While working through the scene with actor John Qualen, he suddenly couldn’t remember one of the simpler passages of dialogue. After 50 takes, Barrymore still could not master the passage, and he was sent home. Though he managed to finish the scene the following day, this incident marked the beginning of the effects of his heavy drinking on his ability to remember lines and, thus, perform them. The Barrymores decided to take a break from Hollywood and sail away on their yacht in an attempt to keep John from drink, but in desperation for alcohol, he was reduced to drinking mouth wash, Dolores’s perfume, and even a bottle of camphor. The voyage ended when Barrymore punched his nurse because she and Dolores conspired to prevent him from going ashore to buy liquor, though he claimed the blow had been an accident. Whatever happened aboard the yacht, there was no saving the marriage after this event, and Barrymore became crazed over worry that Dolores would bleed him dry in a divorce. The couple did divorce in 1934.

BARRYMORE WITH HIS FOURTH WIFE, ELAINE BARRIE

As Fowler states in Good Night, Sweet Prince, “Now we come to a much publicized time of Barrymore’s winter of discontent.” Despite attempts to dry out, Barrymore could not stay on the wagon, dooming himself to rapidly deteriorating health and memory problems. He could no longer memorize lines, and he suffered short-term memory loss in which hours and then entire days were lost to him. He could no longer star in films but he did take on supporting roles, and his lines had to be written on chalk boards just out of camera range. In 1935, the 53-year-old star took up with a 19-year-old actress named Elaine Jacobs, who changed her last name to “Barrie” so it would sound like “Barrymore.” He began spending thousands of dollars on clothing and coats for Barrie, which severely strained his dwindling finances. Though he does not state so directly, it is clear Fowler held little respect for Barrie, noting the furor created in the press over the affair with this observation: “. . .Miss Barrie did not seem to take pains to avoid public mention. She was but 19 years old, at an age when a sudden emergence from prosaic privacy sometimes brings with it the illusion that notoriety is fame.” Barrymore married Elaine in November 1936, but according to Fowler, the marriage “assumed a Donnybrook flavor. A separation occurred after one month and 23 days of dissonance.” Much to Fowler’s dismay, the couple reunited in August 1937, and their train wreck of a relationship provided fodder for a hungry press that is never satiated.

Barrymore supported himself by doing radio work, including dramatizations of films and guest appearances in which he lampooned himself as a hard drinker and womanizer. According to Fowler, writer Ben Hecht posited a theory that “rulers, once dethroned, have a tendency during their last years to become caricatures of their former selves.” Hecht, who counted both Fowler and Barrymore as friends, claimed that the great actor fell into this routine as early as 1935. Often ill, JB feigned drunkenness so that the press and public did not know how sick he was.

BARRYMORE AND ORSON WELLES ON RUDY VALLEE'S RADIO SHOW IN 1940

Surprisingly, given their relationship and the actor’s health, Barrymore and Barrie starred in a play together titled My Dear Children, and more astonishing, it ran for 34 weeks in Chicago in 1939. Early in the run, his eyes were so irritated and congested that, after each exit from the stage, a nurse administered eye drops. He adlibbed his way through the play, dragging out lines and exaggerating hand gestures for comic effect, playing into the archetype of the drunken thespian. Critics considered the comedy beneath him, but people flocked to see the Great Profile. The duration of the play probably sustained the marriage; in 1940, a few months after the play was over, Barrymore summoned the Bundy Drive Boys, and they whisked JB away from the home he shared with Barrie, never to return.

John Sidney Blyth Barrymore died on May 29, 1942, finally beaten by his many ailments—cirrhosis of the liver, kidney failure, chronic gastritis, an ulcerated esophagus, hardening of the arteries, and heart failure—though it was pneumonia that felled him. The book’s title, Good Night, Sweet Prince, is not only a line from Hamlet but also the last line of sister Ethel Barrymore’s epitaph for her brother. However, a comment written by Fowler near the end of the biography serves as a better epitaph, perhaps because it could apply to anyone about to pay the piper: “The years are short. Only the days are long, as our lifetimes move on hidden wheels.”