THE TRUE PROFESSIONALS

June 23rd, 2003

Hume Cronyn died last week at 91. Hume, and his wife, Jessica Tandy, were for 52 years the reigning couple in the English language theater. I spent a week with the Cronyns once, and it was unforgettable.

In 1974, I was producing a television series in Toronto for Westinghouse Broadcasting. The series was called “Norman Corwin” presents. Corwin was (and is at 94) the greatest radio writer ever. For the most part, the 26 episodes we produced were based on Corwin radio plays, although we did use other material, some of which I wrote. I also directed six or seven episodes of the series.

On one occasion, we had a script entitled A Foreign Field which was not rewritten by either Corwin or me. The script concerned a visit by an elderly couple to a grave yard in France where their soldier son was buried It struck me that the Cronyns would be wonderful in the parts, but I despaired of getting them because we paid so poorly, not more than $1,500 for a week’s work. Besides they would have to travel to Toronto.

As it happened, they were represented by separate agents. When I approached Hume’s agent, I made the offer conditional upon Jessica’s acceptance and visa versa. Much to my surprise they accepted.

I introduced myself to the Cronyns shortly after they arrived at their hotel. They were very friendly and not at all “actorish.” Jessica was puzzled as to why I had insisted on having them both or not at all. I said that I loved the idea of their playing together and, frankly, I wanted to put as much pressure on them as possible to both come. They understood. Then, as delicately as I could, I asked how it is that they accepted the show considering how little we paid. Hume said in absolute humility, “We had an off week, we enjoy working together, and moreover, we are actors and actors like to act.”

After the first read through of the script the next morning, Hume called me aside. “You know, this is not a very good script but it is important subject. Jessie and I will do our darnest to make it as good as we can, but the show will never be wonderful. If you would like to replace us and find somebody else with more faith in the material, please feel free to do so.” I said I would be happy what they could bring to the project, and so I was.

Their work ethic was extraordinary. They rehearsed on their own constantly. They debated the meaning of lines among themselves and suggested ways that one or the other might improve a reading. Hour by hour the script seemed to get better. Sometimes they suggested a line change, but more often it was simply the way they played the line on the page. While they looked to me as director for general guidance, I really did no more than stay out of their way and simply arrange for the cameras to be pointed in the right direction. Through two grueling twelve-hour days of shooting, they never forgot a speech.

The result was magnificent. They were right. The script would never rival Shakespeare, but their performances were among the best I have ever seen on film.

After the shooting, they would not accept praise for their performances. Rather they apologize again for not making the show great. They thanked me for the opportunity. I practically cried to see them go.

As fate would have it, I never had the opportunity to work with the Cronyns again. But they live in my memory still, examples of true caring and, of course, very talented professionals.
Alas, we see so few Cronyns today.