“I know you’re going to have a big hit,” I said.
And I was right.
CHAPTER 20
It was exciting to work with Irving Berlin again. He had lost none of his energy. He danced into my office, grinned and said, “This is going to be better than the play. Let’s go talk to Arthur.”
Arthur Freed was in his office, seated behind his desk. He looked up as we entered.
“This is going to be a big one,” Freed said. “The studio is behind it a hundred percent.”
I asked, “Do you have any casting in mind, Arthur?”
“Judy Garland is going to play Annie, and a talented young actor and singer named Howard Keel is going to play Frank. Louie Calhern is Buffalo Bill. George Sidney is set to direct.”
I was going to work with Judy again. And spend time with Lou Calhern.
Arthur Freed said to me, “We’re going to fly you to New York and Chicago to see the play.”
Ethel Merman was playing Annie in New York and Mary Martin was playing Annie in Chicago.
“When do you want me to leave?”
“Your plane leaves at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Annie Get Your Gun was marvelous entertainment. The book by Herbert and Dorothy Fields was fast and witty and Ethel Merman’s performance was energetic, loud and brassy. The next morning, I flew to Chicago, to see Mary Martin’s performance.
She had taken a different approach. Her Annie had a shy, poignant sweetness about her. My challenge was to write a character that combined the best elements of both.
Working on a hit like Annie Get Your Gun had its pitfalls. I could not wander too far from the original material and yet it was necessary to open up the show for the screen. Many of the scenes that worked on the stage would not work on film. New scenes had to be created.
The biggest problem was the gap between Act One and Act Two of the play. On the stage, Act One ended with Annie leaving for Europe. Act Two began with her return. The problem was in deciding what to do in the screenplay to bridge the two acts.
I could show a montage of brief scenes of Annie in different countries, or I could concentrate on one country. Should the interval be long or short? These were not my decisions, because shooting those scenes would involve a great deal of money. It was the producer’s decision.
I called Arthur Freed’s office and made an appointment to see him, to discuss the problem. One hour later, his secretary called to cancel the appointment. I made another appointment for the following day. His secretary called to cancel that. This happened for three consecutive days. On the afternoon of the third day, Sammy Weisbord dropped by my office.
“I just came from Arthur Freed’s office. He’s very disappointed in you.”
I felt a rising panic. “What have I done?”
“Arthur said you’re not turning in any pages.”
“But I’ve been calling to make an appointment to discuss—” and I suddenly understood what was happening. Arthur Freed was not interested in talking about the screenplay. He was interested in the musical aspects of the picture—the songs, the dances, the girls. I had a feeling he was unable to visualize how the scenes would play. I remembered how he had reacted to my screenplay of Easter Parade. He had not commented on it until he had heard how the cast felt about it.
Arthur Freed’s gift was in selecting the right property and hiring the best people to make it. I took a deep breath. With no guidance, I made my own decisions, and set to work writing the screenplay. It went quickly and, I hoped, smoothly.
I finished the screenplay, turned it in, and held my breath. I wondered who I would hear from first.
The following day, George Sidney, who was directing the picture, came into my office.
“Do you want me to flatter you or do you want the truth?”
My mouth was suddenly dry. “The truth.”
George Sidney grinned and said, “I love it! You’ve done a hell of a job.” His eyes were sparkling. “We’re going to have a great picture.”