The Rose Garden Apartments was where Christopher and
Vernon Old had stayed for about a month in 1939––their first
Hollywood home. Perhaps Christopher had recommended it to
Steve for this reason. But the room Steve got was dark and depressing, down in the basement, with walls so thin that you could hear whatever was said next door. Sex making was embarrassing and
therefore apt to become defiantly noisy or to break up in selfconscious giggles.
June 18: “Supper at Players with Swami and Maugham.” This was probably the first of Maugham’s conferences with Swami about his screenplay for The Razor’s Edge. There were other meetings later at which Cukor was present. Maugham and Cukor wanted Swami to
tell them exactly what Shri Ganesha would have taught Larry. So Swami wrote it out for them, as concisely as he could. And
Maugham put it into his screenplay––presumably.1
The Players Restaurant on the Sunset Strip was in those days
1 When Maugham was about to publish The Razor’s Edge, in 1944, he had written to Swami for an exact translation of the verse from the Katha Upanishad on which the title of the novel is based. Swami (or maybe Christopher) had replied, explaining carefully that the image of a razor’s edge is used to suggest a narrow and painful path (the path to enlightenment) and that therefore one should not say, “It is difficult to cross,” as some translators do, but rather, “It is difficult to tread.” Maugham ignored this piece of advice, however. The translation he used in his novel was, “The sharp edge of a razor is difficult to pass over,” which is almost as ambiguous as “to cross.”
I don’t remember that I ever saw a copy of Willie’s screenplay. It was never used. Cukor left the picture and it was finally directed by Edmund Goulding, with a new script (or perhaps a revised version of the original one) by Lamar Trotti. Christopher, at Swami’s suggestion, wrote to Trotti, offering free technical advice on the Indian sequence. Trotti never answered. And when the picture was made the Indian scenes had several mistakes in them. Shri Ganesha’s teaching was idiotically distorted.
Cukor’s choice for the role of Larry was a young unknown amateur named John Russell, who had just left the Marine Corps. He was good looking, and Cukor still ( June 1972) maintains that the test they shot of him was excellent.
Some of the studio executives thought him too tall, however––he was six foot four––and this was one reason why he didn’t get the part when the film was taken over by Goulding. John Russell afterwards worked quite a bit in films and in television, but he never really made a hit. Cukor remembers that he met Russell later and that he was drunk and looked terrible.
Prabhavananda doesn’t remember that Cukor ever brought Russell to see ¾ 1945 ¾
39
almost a club, as the Brown Derby had once been. Christopher went there quite often––particularly with van Druten, who used to refer to it as “our place.” He also often saw Keith Winter there, very drunk and inclined to be weepy about his life and sorrows. (Not long after this, Keith had a breakdown and then stopped drinking.)
Steve had started going to dramatic classes at Ouspenskaya’s
school––this is first referred to on June 12. As far as I remember, the classes consisted largely of learning to sway like corn in the wind and to break like sea waves. I don’t think Steve persevered in this for long.
At this time, Christopher was interested in consulting clairvoyants.
His motive was partly a wish to know what was going to happen to him, but it was also, and to a much greater degree, scientific curiosity. He was, he said to himself, at a point in his life at which the future seemed altogether obscure––all he knew was that he would soon leave the Vedanta Center, and he had no idea what would
happen next. Therefore his was an ideal test case for the powers of precognition which a clairvoyant is supposed to have.
I forget who the people were that Christopher consulted––the
unfamiliar names which occur in the day-to-day diary at this time give no definite clue. All I remember is one curious episode: A clairvoyant (who otherwise told Christopher nothing memorable) said, “Quite soon, in a few hours, a close friend of yours will get into serious trouble, he will be arrested––but don’t worry, everything will come out all right.” That same evening, Steve was walking along the street when he was stopped by the shore patrol and asked to identify himself. This happened all the time, for there were a lot of
servicemen going around AWOL in civilian clothes. Steve had been in the navy (in an office in Utah or Nebraska) and had received an honorable discharge. He was supposed to carry this discharge with him at all times, but he had left it at home that evening, which was an offense. So he was under arrest for a while, until the discharge had been produced. He was then cautioned and set free. Christopher knew nothing of this until Steve called and told him, next day.
him. But Edmund Goulding did bring Russell’s successor, Tyrone Power.
Swami was, and still is, scornful about Power. He says that he asked Power if he understood what Larry is supposed to believe, and that Power admitted that he didn’t. Some versions of the story of their meeting state that Swami said,
“Mr. Power, you are not worthy to play Larry!”, but Swami denies that he said this. Seeing Swami must have scared poor Power out of whatever wits he possessed, so it’s no wonder he made a bad impression. In the last analysis, Power’s lack of understanding was the fault of Trotti and the stupidities of his script.
40
Lost Years
The day-to-day diary records two more Swami–Maugham
meetings; on June 29, Willie came to supper at the Vedanta Center and on July 6 Swami and Christopher went to supper at George Cukor’s with Ethel Barrymore and Katharine Hepburn also present.
I can recall nothing of these. But I do remember, with impressionistic vividness, another, daytime occasion when Christopher was
summoned to Cukor’s house because Maugham wanted to speak to
him. I have a picture of Christopher making his way through a succession of rooms like Chinese boxes, each one smaller than the last and all crammed with paintings and souvenirs and treasures, into the innermost sanctuary, where Willie sits writing and looks up from his work to say, “I think, C-Christopher, you’d b-better warn your friend Denham that his apartment is b-being watched by the p-police.” (What I do not remember is, how Willie had heard this bit of information. It seems to me that Denny had been reported to the police because of his association with minors, including probably Jeff and Curly. But nothing serious came of it. Denny was very impressed and pleased that Willie had taken the trouble to warn him.)1
On July 26, Christopher had lunch with Miss Dicky Bonaparte,
the immigration counsellor who had helped him get his quota visa and take out his first citizenship papers in 1939. This must mean that they were discussing the steps he must take to get his citizenship; he was now eligible for it. At that time, no conscientious objector could become a citizen because no exceptions or reservations were allowed in taking the loyalty oath; you had to swear to defend the country, no matter what your age and sex were. Christopher had been advised that he should apply for citizenship, however––because soon the regulations might be altered and because, if he didn’t apply, his application might be refused later. So he applied, and went downtown to talk to someone in the immigration bureau. This official was not merely understanding but really friendly; it happened that he had liked some of Christopher’s books. He even urged Christopher to take the oath anyway, “After all, it’s just a form of words.”
Christopher was charmed by such civilized cynicism, but he wasn’t about to commit himself to a public lie which might be used against him sometime in the future by a less friendly bureaucrat. So, with an air of modest nobility, he refused.