In 1927, when the population of the United States was half what it is today, the movies already attracted 55 million viewers every week. But Hollywood's golden age was just beginning.
Warner Brothers staked everything on making the switch to talking films and the new era began with the October premiere in New York of The Jazz Singer, starring Al Jolson. The revolution in movie-making created a new gold rush as hopefuls trekked to southern California dreaming of emulating those who had already made obscene amounts of money with the silents.
Hollywood offered examples of every sort of excess and therefore glorious opportunities for satire. By 1930, George S Kaufman was already the best-known comedy writer on Broadway when Moss Hart, a penniless 25-year-old, approached him with a manuscript of his spoof on movie-making, Once in a Lifetime. Together Kaufman and Hart worked and reworked the material and produced a smash hit which opened in New York in September of that year.
The problem is that what passed for humour there and then simply does not work in 21st-century London. The puzzle for me is why the National Theatre has picked this particular piece for a revival. It is not justified by its quality, and it would be hard to argue that the play's place in theatre history is sufficient reason to give it a new outing.
In a programme note accompanying this production, Laurence Maslon comments that Once in a Lifetime is "a seminal example of that ever-delightful sub-genre: the Hollywood satire". Yet he admits that during the 1930s most playwrights satirised the movie-makers, and that this play's "pointed charm is unfairly blunted" because so many others did the same thing (including in Singin' in the Rain). Maybe others did it later than Kaufman and Hart, but in my view they did it better. Why has the National Theatre invested so much in an early but not outstanding example of a theatrical sub-genre?
There can be no doubting that plenty of money has been poured into it. The National has produced a spectacular stage event, with stunning sets and costumes that you cannot take your eyes off. But that in itself throws up another regret. To accompany all that glitz you expect big numbers: lots of singing and dancing. Every now and again the band knocks out a few bars, and a chorus line forms and maybe even a few snatches get sung. It briefly lights up an audience weary from the effort of laughing at unfunny lines. But almost as soon as the musical fun starts, it's over again. Did we get even one whole verse of "California Here I Come"?
But let me dwell on the production values a little longer. When the action moves from New York to the "Stilton" Hotel in Hollywood, a huge circular staircase in gaudy art deco style rises from beneath the stage like a giant cheese. It is a real coup de theatre for the designer, Mark Thompson. The office of the fictional Hollywood mogul Herman Glogauer is imaginatively constructed with a swirling banister which resembles a strip of celluloid film.
The costumes keep pace. When the play's heroes abandon the Big Apple for Tinseltown, they leave behind the grey raincoats and adorn themselves in stylish but completely over-the-top creations in black and white. By the last act everyone is wearing something pink.
The heroes in question are three members of an unsuccessful vaudeville act who see the opportunity to make a fortune from teaching elocution to silent movie stars who have horrible voices. George Lewis is the stupid one of the three. He has a tiresome habit of repeating things he has heard or read. When he gets to Hollywood the suckers there take his platitudes for original thought and before long Glogauer has mistaken George for a genius and put him in charge of his studio's productions. Perhaps this was the inspiration for Peter Sellers's Chauncey Gardiner in his last film, Being There.
Adrian Scarborough is highly endear- ing as George. We marvel at his silliness and are bowled over by his Midas touch, because every disaster turns into a success. Victoria Hamilton plays the very savvy May Daniels, a con artist, but harmless and charming. She cannot match George's triumphs but he would feel lost without her. The third member of the trio is Jerry Hyland, May's fiance, although sometimes he seems too busy getting ahead in Hollywood to remember she exists. Nominally David Suchet has the starring role playing the Hollywood mogul. Certainly he has great authority, but the evening belongs to Scarborough. The rest of the acting from a large cast is fine and what little singing and dancing they do is good, too.
After George has become Glogauer's right-hand man he makes a terrible blunder by directing the wrong film. Somehow he picks up a script that was meant for the bin, and puts it into production. I wonder whether, with Once in a Lifetime, the National Theatre made a similar slip.
Booking on 020 7452 3000 until 11 March
