(via bellecs)

deforest:

A pet peeve of John Barrymore’s was “coughers” in the theatre audience. Consistently offended by such wheezing disturbances, he would often find clever ways to make his displeasure with the cougher known, whether by improvising his dialogue or some other—ahem—extreme means. Below are three instances of such—ahem—means.

Somewhere in this [Plymouth Theatre] balcony long ago, a man suddenly had burst out laughing during Barrymore’s playing of Richard III. You must recall that Scene IV, Act V, opens on Bosworth Field, with Catesby’s speech to Norfolk, suggesting rescue after Richard has been unhorsed in action. Then there is an alarum, and Richard clanks on-stage with his distraught cry: “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!”

On this particular night Barrymore hardly had delivered his penetrating vocals regarding the need of a charger than some gentleman in the balcony emitted the loudest guffaw since the days of Rabelais. Barrymore, encased in black armor, raised his sword toward the balcony and, without departing one beat from the iambic pentameter of the Bard, called out: “Make haste, and saddle yonder braying ass!”

[…]

There was an influenza epidemic during the winter of Redemption. New York always manages to produce a marvelous collection of coughs in winter, but this year the city excelled itself with a million chorusing Camilles and their male counterparts.

As always, Jack resented bronchial excitation in the theatre. One night, while playing a scene with a “dying” fellow-actor, the coughing from the audience rose like the baying of asthmatic beagles. Fedor Vasilyevich Protosov’s lines, pertaining to memories of friends of yore, were being delivered as he leaned above the dying man.

The speech ran something like this: “Do you remember dear Segei? Dead. Do you remember poor Pedrovna? She too is gone…”

Then, without getting out of the scene, but improvising to the name of the coughers, Barrymore asked, “But do you remember dear old Uncle Joe Seabrook? A stomach cough got him. What a fine old hacker he was. Just like the seals in this goddamn audience!”

Playwright Charles MacArthur says that Jack one night quaintly fortified himself against the coughing. At the crescendo of the raspings (MacArthur declares on his honor as a major in the Chemical Corps that it is true) Barrymore brought in a five-pound seabass from beneath his raiment and flung it into the audience with: “Busy yourselves with this, you damned walruses, while the rest of us proceed with the libretto!

Gene Fowler, Good Night, Sweet Prince: The Life and Times of John Barrymore

webarrymores:

As a boy I was, I think, a little more fruitful in untruth than my contemporaries. Also, I went in for theft. I stole my grandmother’s jewels and hid them. While the detectives were in the house, I imagine I must have looked rather too casual for when my grandmother, Mrs. Drew, saw me, her one desire was to get rid of the detectives and talk to me with a well-worn slipper.

John Barrymore | Confessions of an Actor

(via webarrymores)

bonaventurer:

Anyone can be an actor. And if you need five dollars you can even be an author.

Lionel Barrymore | We Barrymores

(via webarrymores)

(via factoseintolerant)

chatier:

Hugo, 2011

(via capacommarobert-deactivated2014)

funnylipshape:

Marion Davies and Robert Montgomery, Blondie of the Follies (1932)

(via aneveninginroma-deactivated2012)

(via deforest)

webarrymores:

I am by nature and by the grace of God a very indolent person. Acting is a profession that requires infinite and intensive labor and patience, particularly in the creation of a character and the projection of a play. Because of my virtue of laziness, I have had to work doubly hard whenever I have accomplished anything at all in the theater. I have had to fight my own tendency to loaf as well as go through the very serious business of putting a play on.

John Barrymore | Confessions of an Actor

(via toshiromifunes)

(via deforest)

(via kendrajbean)

(via deforest)

(via deforest)

deforest:

John Barrymore and Marceline Day in The Beloved Rogue (1927)

(via deforest)

(via shebroods-deactivated20120227)

(via deforest)

deforest:

You die in triumph if, before you die,
You storm some wall beneath some battlecry.
Your walls were like a hurdle race—you passed
And cleared them all in high! All but the last!
There was a mystery to you—wild and lone,
But now your whereabouts are fully known.
To Shakespeare’s London and to Villon’s town
You’ve hied yourself, a-bellowing up and down,
With bards and bawds around you as you go—
Your arms a-link with Job and Cyrano.
You’ll walk with Byron and you’ll draw a sword
With bold Tevannes and battle for the Lord.
Oh, exit Jack; the poets, lovers, kings
Of wit stand beaming on you, from the wings.

a poem written by Ben Hecht in 1942 immortalizing his friend, the late John Barrymore

(via shebroods-deactivated20120227)

⌐ Favourite Lucy Moments: When The Ricardos were eavesdropping

(via maryhartleys)

deforest:

It has been the inevitable and melancholy custom, for a good many years past, for the moralists to wag their dull heads and cluck their pious tongues at mention of John Barrymore, the rogue and the wastrel. An easy pastime, this. And the moralists, as always, had the weight of logic on their side. They could prove that he never achieved more than one-tenth of the fine things of which he was capable. He dissipated his talents, which were of a rare order. He was (to use the abominable word so beloved of whited sepulchers) “undignified.” They said it was “sad” that in his latter years he had become a “caricature” of a once magnificent creature. But none of this was news to Barrymore, nor did he allow it to disturb him unduly. To the end he faced the world with charming impudence—saucy, cocky, Rabelaisian and, in his fashion, as gallant a gentleman as ever trod the boards.1942 eulogy from the editorial page of the New York Herald Tribune

deforest:

John Barrymore’s sketches and various self-portraits.

(via mariondavies)

deforest:

John Barrymore with his second wife, Blanche Oelrichs (nom de plume “Michael Strange”)

(via mariondavies)

shebroods:

A young Joan Crawford photographed by Clarence Sinclair Bull

(via deforest)

webarrymores:

Acting is the art of saying a thing on the stage as if you believed every word you utter to be as true as the eternal verities of life; it is the art of doing a thing on the stage as if the logic of the event demanded that precise act and no other; and of doing and saying the thing as spontaneously as if you were confronted with the situation in which you were acting, for the first time.

— John Barrymore

Happy birthday, John Sidney Blyth aka John Barrymore

(via shebroods-deactivated20120227)

bonaventurer:

deforest:

John Barrymore at the age of fifteen.

My brother’s advent at Seton Hall, after a misadventure at Georgetown, is still one of the legends of this fine and pious school. Young Jack was taken in charge by one of the good fathers, who in an attempt to interest the lad in school activities, showed him the gymnasium. He pointed to a parallel bar and inquired if Jack, who looked frail at the time, could perform on it. Jack could, and did.

But as he gyrated various objects fell from his pockets. These included brass knuckles, a pack of cigarettes, and a half pint of cheap whiskey.

Lionel Barrymore | We Barrymores

(via vistavisions)

(via rufustfirefly)

lucynic83:

Jean Harlow and Robert Taylor (Personal Property, 1937)

(via misstanwyck)

webarrymores:

John Barrymore, c. 1926

(via deforest)

deforest:

John Barrymore’s home photographed by Eliot Elisofon.

(via bellecs)

fuckyeahvintagediary:

Zac Posen Fall 2012

(via bellecs)

(via bellecs)

funnylipshape:

tracylord:

So, as I didn´t have time to make a proper list of awesome blogs yesterday, I made a special one today. Just for the occasion. You need to follow these blogs (if one of you isn´t included, please don´t be angry with me, I couldn´t include every blog I follow). <3

missavagardner // stardustmelody // mattybing1025 // lucynic83 //  bridiequilty // factoseintolerant // noracharles // hepburnobsessed // deforest // constancemilligan // hazel-scully // paintingdaydreams // e-pic // funnylipshape // greenkneehighs // signorelli-girl // quanticos // missksyu // scullster // theatrocitiesofyourstory // vernoncastle // specialagentscully // pigmentcouleur // howardkeel // misscarousel // oldmixtapes // maudit // frankiemachines // toadjustfellfromthesky // lady-olivier // freecocaine // putmeinyourpocketmike // lebeaunavire // the-powells // martinatra // bellecs // hemingway // bonaventurer // thomasdestry // slaughteron10thavenue // pickurselfup // fuckyeahfredandginger // carolinealice // bettyperske // morninggloryandmidnightsun // professorrowenarawenclaw // serafinadellerose // hobanwashburnes // junie87 // letsaskforthemoon // jimmypage // thehonourabletitleofthewoman // devenirgris // 2831 // pdaevro // frivolouswhim // charlottevale // mirand-ah // witzseeker // likeadoll // itsdelovely // frdirector

(via mariondavies)

So this just happened... ›

bonaventurer:

bonaventurer:

You don’t have to follow— Just know that it’s there.

Do The Barrymores fascinate you? Would you like them to? Check out this page!

(via vistavisions)

funnylipshape:

John Sidney Blyth aka John  Barrymore (February 15, 1882 – May 29, 1942)

(via deforest)

(via deforest)

bonaventurer:

Jack had been dismissed from Georgetown in disgrace. Less academic than I, at the time, he undertook case history as his method of exploring the mysteries, and accompanied some older boys to a House (of prostitution). It came to the ears of the padres that Jack had been to this place and they haled him incontinent and tight-mouthed before a tribunal.

“If you will tell us the names of the other boys, we will let you stay,” they informed him.

Jack refused and so he was canned. Before his celebrated departure, however, his father was sent for in an effort to coax him back into grace, and the following interview took place:

Jack: “But Father, I just went along. I didn’t do… you know.”

Maurice (popping his eyes as big as oysters at this unnatural son): “Well, for God’s sake, why not?”

Lionel Barrymore | We Barrymores

[Pictured: John Barrymore in 1907.]

(via deforest)

demons:

Ernest Hemingway, American Red Cross volunteer, recuperates from wounds at ARC Hospital, Milan, Italy, September 1918.

Ernest you swell son of a bitch, look at you.

(via oldfilmsflicker)

(via maryhartleys)

Natural rain provoked in Barrymore either two of extremely opposite impulses: to go naked into the downpour, or else to draw the blinds, sit by a fireside and listen to the staccato serenade overhead and the contrapuntal crackling of hearth logs.

“It sounds like all the little beggars of the world,” he once observed of the rain noise, “tapping their canes and crutches on the roof as they go out to ask for bread.”

[…]

[During a separate instance, a journey to Camp Baldy with Gene Fowler and his son Will] “The rain,” said Barrymore, “beats with the persistence of an unpaid madam at our door.” Suddenly he grew solemn as if a question had been asked. “Certainly I believe that ghosts communicate with those who stay on earth. And when I come back, don’t stand and gape. Be hospitable to my shade.”

Gene Fowler, Good Night, Sweet Prince: The Life and Times of John Barrymore

oldfilmsflicker:

Happy Birthday John Barrymore (February 15, 1882 – May 29, 1942)

misscarousel:

John Barrymore signs his autograph for Carole Lombard on the set of Twentieth Century

(via queenkayla)

misscarousel:

9 Favorite Pictures of John Barrymore requested by funnylipshape

Jeanette MacDonald, John Barrymore, and Nelson Eddy in Maytime (1937)
Dir. Robert Z. Leonard

factoseintolerant:

lucynic83:

Cary Grant and Ginger Rogers in Once Upon a Honeymoon, 1942

 
 

(via maryhartleys)

dujardins:

#this is what I imagine awards afterparties to look like tbh

(via toshiromifunes)

(via latinamericana)