THE TAILOR-MADE MAN at the Stage Door Theatre

★★★★

“Pilcher magnificently captures Haines’ free spirit and rebelliousness”

In 1930, William Haines was listed as the top box-office attraction in Hollywood. Just three years later, however, having made the successful transition to ‘talkies’, Haines’ contract was torn up by studio chief at MGM – Louis B. Mayer – and he was thrown out of the studio. Haines had lived the Bohemian lifestyle of Tinseltown, relying on the studio ‘fixers’ and his PR men to buy the silence of the press. When that eventually failed, the studio bosses sought to silence Haines instead. Almost overnight his name was removed from history and all his movies were withdrawn and locked in a vault where they stayed, unseen, for over sixty years. Why?

Claudio Macor’s play, “The Tailor-Made Man”, charts his story. In today’s society it is unthinkable that Haines was treated the way he was, although there are sadly still remnants of the hypocrisy and double standards that litter the cutting room floors of Hollywood. Haines was openly gay (a dangerous thing to be one hundred years ago) and living with his lifelong partner Jimmie Shields. He refused to bow to the demands of Louis B. Mayer and give Shields up to marry the silent screen vamp Pola Negri, and he paid for it with his career.

Although that is the focus of the story, Macor places it within the wider context of Hollywood in the late twenties and early thirties, throwing light too on some of the more colourful characters that populated that world. In rose-tinted hindsight it is seen as a Golden Age, but Macor’s astute observations unveil the cruel mechanics beneath its glossy, silver-screened veneer. We first see Haines introduced to MGM having been spotted in a talent contest. A mannequin in the eyes of Mayer, naked, blank and ripe to be tailor-made into the next matinee idol. Hugo Pilcher, however, plays him as no dummy. Although initially wide eyed, Pilcher magnificently captures Haines’ free spirit and rebelliousness. Uninhibited and frank, he fearlessly does what he pleases, which is a blessing and a curse. Not always a sympathetic character, his circumstances and Pilcher’s portrayal ensure that we root for him to the end.

With him to the end is Jimmie Shields. Gwithian Evans successfully conveys the bond that keep them together. It is often stretched to breaking point, but Shields always manages to prevent it snapping. Evans shows us the deep frustration but also the devotion and loyalty that is strong enough to bear the Californian heat. Intermittently breaking out of character, Evans uses the transitions to narrate key elements of the story. Split into distinct chapters, the locations and context are beamed onto the back wall like silent movie captions. With Robert McWhir’s uncluttered direction, the story is as clear cut as the finest crystal champagne glass.

Dereck Walker’s depiction of a monstrous, homophobic Louis B. Mayer verges on caricature until we are struck by the frightening realisation that Walker’s interpretation might not be far from the truth at all. An imposing stage presence, that is matched by Peter Rae’s jittery PR guy – Howard Strickling. Sympathetic but obsequious his thankless task is to please everybody. And you know what happens when you do that. Rae, without any need for a physical makeover or visible costume change, brilliantly doubles as Hollywood hack, Victor Darrow, who yearns for the rain-drenched culture of English theatre, but cannot tear himself from the sun, and the sweaty sexuality of Haines and Shields that he likes to bathe in just as much.

The performances, and the writing, draw us into the fascinating story, made more poignant by the fact that this is a true story. But Macor never lets it get too serious. Shelley Rivers is a sunny delight as Marion Davies, even though probably the least researched character, but then again there isn’t the time or space to delve into Davies’ colourful and multi-faceted life. Olivia Ruggiero displays great versatility, as Mayer’s flirtatious secretary, but more significantly lampooning the great Pola Negri, yet still managing to inject a sadness into the character while she draws laughs from the audience.

This is a concise telling of an important slice of movie history. It focuses on some severe injustices, but the lens pans out to reveal a panorama. Evans slips back into narrator mode to deliver an epilogue that reinstates a sense of hope and survival. That to be yourself is, ultimately, a triumph. Similarly, this revival, in the recently opened Stage Door Theatre, above a Covent Garden pub, is also a triumph.