By Sidney Lumet Page #3

feel at the end of everything, and what's the use of

fake pride and pretense? That goddamn play,

I bought for a song and made such a

great success in, a great money success, it

ruined me with its promise of an easy fortune. The sight of my

father in the instances where he had rented the theater

himself-- which took a money upfront deposit,

non-returnable-- and would look out, and if the

house wasn't good, to now have to go through the show knowing

that he wouldn't even make the rent back, much less the

salaries for the other actors who were performing. It had a sense of

catastrophe about it, really. "Long Day's Journey

into Night" is the story of a family, four people. [music playing] The father is a

steady, steady drinker, but at least has

worked in his lifetime. And the father has a

wonderful, wonderful, sad, heartbreaking problem. By the time I

woke up to the fact that I'd become a

slave to the damn thing and did try other

plays, it was too late. They'd identified me

with that one part and didn't want me

in anything else. They were right, too. I'd lost the great talent

I once had several years of easy repetition, never

learning a new part, never really working hard. $35,000 to $40,000

net profit a season, like snapping your fingers. Yet before I bought

the damn thing, I was considered one of the

three or four young actors with the greatest artistic

promise in America. At that time, one of the big

metro stars was a wonderful kid actor by the name of Freddie

Bartholomew, English, did a lot of good movies. They were having trouble with

him because his contract was up and they were in the midst

of a difficult negotiation. I was appearing in a play and

had gotten wonderful reviews and I was summoned. Mr. Mayer wanted to meet me. He was in New York. And I went up and

met the great man. How do you do? How do you do? Sidney, I saw you

in the play last and you were

marvelous, on and on. And they offered me

a contract, the point of the contract being to keep a

threat to Freddie Bartholomew. The contract was crazy. Over the seven year period, you

got graduated raises until you were earning $750 a week. My father kept upping it. Whenever they offered a

new contract, he'd agree, and then just before

signing, he would say, no, I want some more. Finally, Freddy Bartholomew

signed and of course we were dropped the next day. A year later, we walked

into the Cafe Royal, was it, on 12th Street and

2nd Avenue, the great hangout for Yiddish actors who

are all very old now and all equally unsuccessful. My father always had

very stormy relationships with other Yiddish actors. He was not the calmest

of men, nor the gentlest. A bunch of his enemies were

seated at another table. Remarks started up and back

and finally he got very angry, and he got up, walked

to the other table. From his pocket-- now

mind you, this negotiation had been dead for a year now,

this was a year later-- pulled Metro's last offer from

his pocket and said, listen, you bastards,

we've got this. I can go to Hollywood

any time with my son so. You know, this deal was over. It was, by now, a sheer

figment of his imagination. I don't know whether he

imagined that it was still on. He couldn't have, because

that would have been insane, but the humiliation

that I felt for him and having to do that was-- I play chess with

the other inmates. We put the-- we make our boards

and our chessmen out of paper and then we shout the moves. I always-- see, I always thought

chess was a waste of time, and it is.

It's a terrible waste of time. Time, it's valuable. Now you can put

innocent-- you can put innocent people to jail,

but you can't put their minds in jail, understand? What's wrong?

I burn you? Look here, it didn't fall. The ash is still here, you see? Don't worry. I wouldn't hurt my boy. They are the ones with

the minds in jail, but you can't put innocent

people to death in this country because it can't be done. You'll see. Public opinion

will get behind us. You'll see, my handsome boy. I taught you. I taught you. We cannot break rank. A unit is only as good

as its weakest link. We're a unit. I taught you all of this. Don't you remember that? She hated it when I barbecued. I'm sorry I wasn't able to

be what you wanted me to be. I've never been very good

at talking about feelings or showing you that kind

of affection or support. Well. I'm sorry I wasn't able to

be the father you wanted, but I guess I wanted you to be

better than me and I thought that if I pushed you-- it

may not mean anything to you, but I want you to

know that I really do love you and I'm-- I'm sorry. I'm just so sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't able

to be the son you wanted. One of the automatic things

about drama is family. You're not going to get more

father-son than "Oedipus Rex," and you're not going to get

more father-son than "Hamlet." These are the perennial

sources of drama-- father-son, father-mother,

mother-son, mother-daughter. [music playing] The stage has

degenerated, [inaudible]. What giant oaks there

were in the past. Now we see only stumps. There are certainly fewer

exceptional talents nowadays, but on average, I

think the standard is much higher than it used to be. I got to agree with you. However, it's a matter of taste. [non-english speech] Debauchery. My dear boy, when do we start? In a moment. Have a little patience. "O Hamlet, speak no more. Thou turn'st mine eyes

into my very soul, and there I see such

black and grained spots as will not leave their tinct." Let me ring thy heart,

for so I shall if it be made of penetrable stuff. One of the reasons I resist it

being a special characteristic of my work or

anybody else's work is precisely because these are

the automatic dramatic sources of stimulation and have been

right from the beginning. You haven't asked me what

I found out this afternoon. Don't you care a damn? Don't say that. You'll hurt me, dear. What I've got is serious, mama. Doc Hardy knows for sure now.

- Oh! That lying old quack. I warned you he'd invent. He called in a

specialist to examine me-- - Don't tell me about Dr. Hardy.

- --so he'd be absolutely sure. If you'd heard what the

doctor at the sanatorium, who really knows something,

said about how he treated me, he said it was a wonder

I hadn't gone mad. I told him I had once, that

time I ran down in my nightdress to throw myself off the dock. You remember that, don't you? And you want me to pay attention

to what Dr. Hardy says? Oh, no. Listen, mama! I'm going to tell you whether

you want to hear it or not. I've got to go away

to a sanatorium. [gasps] No! What can I say? I would have loved to have been

around for the shot of Oedipus when he pulls his eyes out. Talk about desperate. I would love to have been

there when Hamlet says, "a hit, a very

palpable hit," knowing that he's going to die from

what seems like a mere flick. That's drama, and I do

not shy away from it. I think the past may have

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