My Autobiography (63 page)

‘Well, I can’t put it back now,’ I said. But I could not keep the pretence up any longer, I burst out laughing and told her
the joke: that while she was looking at the other things I had taken the jeweller aside and bought the bracelet.

‘And you – thinking I’d stolen it – willing to be an accessory to the crime!’ I said laughingly.

‘Well, I didn’t want to see you get into any more trouble,’ she said.

D
URING
the trial we had been surrounded by many dear friends – all of them loyal and sympathetic. Salka Viertel, the Clifford Odets, the Hanns Eislers, the Feuchtwangers and many others.

Salka Viertel, the Polish actress, gave interesting supper parties at her house in Santa Monica. Salka attracted those of the arts and letters: Thomas Mann, Bertolt Brecht, Schoenberg, Hanns Eisler, Lion Feuchtwanger, Stephen Spender, Cyril Connolly and a host of others. Salka established ‘une maison Coppet’ wherever she resided.

At the Hanns Eislers’ we used to meet Bertolt Brecht, who looked decidedly vigorous with his cropped head, and, as I remember, was always smoking a cigar. Months later I showed him the script of
Monsieur Verdoux
, which he thumbed through. His only comment: ‘Oh, you write a script Chinese fashion.’

I asked Lion Feuchtwanger what he thought of the political situation in the States. Said he whimsically: ‘There might be something significant in the fact that when I completed building my new house in Berlin, Hitler came to power and I moved out. When I had completed furnishing my flat in Paris, the Nazis marched in and again I moved out. And now in America I have just bought a house in Santa Monica.’ He shrugged and smiled significantly.

Occasionally we saw the Aldous Huxleys. At that time he was very much lulled in the cradle of mysticism. Frankly I liked him better as the cynical young man of the twenties.

One day, our friend Frank Taylor telephoned to say that Dylan Thomas, the Welsh poet, would like to meet us. We said we would be delighted. ‘Well,’ said Frank hesitantly, ‘I’ll bring him round if he’s sober.’ Later that evening when the
bell rang I opened the door and Dylan Thomas fell in. If this was being sober, what would he be like when he was drunk? A day or so later he came to dinner and made better sense. He read to us one of his poems, rendered in a deep resonant voice. I do not remember the imagery, but the word ‘cellophane’ flashed like reflected sunshine from his magical verse.

Among our friends was Theodore Dreiser, whom I greatly admired. He and his charming wife Helen would occasionally dine at our house. Although there was a burning indignation within him, Dreiser was a gentle, kindly soul. When he died, John Lawson, the playwright, who read the eulogy at the burial service, asked me if I would be one of the principal pall-bearers and read a poem at the service written by Dreiser, which I did.

Although I had gone through periodic qualms about my career, I never faltered in my belief that a good comedy would solve all my troubles. With this resolute feeling I completed
Monsieur Verdoux
. It was two years’ work because it was difficult to motivate, but the actual shooting of it only took twelve weeks – a record time for me. Then I posted my script to the Breen Office for censorship. It was not long before I received a letter from them banning it in its entirety.

The Breen Office is a branch of the Legion of Decency, a self-imposed censorship by the Motion Picture Association. I agree that censorship is necessary, but it is difficult to apply. The only suggestion I offer is that its rules be malleable and not dogmatic, and not judged on the basis of subject matter, but on good taste, intelligence and sensitive treatment.

From a moral point of view I believe that physical violence and false philosophy are as harmful as a lurid sex scene. Bernard Shaw said that punching a villain on the jaw is too easy a way of solving life’s problems.

Before discussing the censorship of
Monsieur Verdoux
It is necessary to give a brief synopsis of the story. Verdoux is a bluebeard, an insignificant bank clerk, who, having lost his job during the Depression, evolves a scheme of marrying old spinsters and murdering them for their money. His legitimate wife is an invalid who lives in the country with her little son, but she is ignorant of her husgand’s criminal enterprise. After the murder of a victim, he goes home as would a bourgeois husband
after a hard day’s work. He is a paradox of virtue and vice: a man who, as he trims his rose garden, avoids stepping on a caterpillar, while at the end of the garden one of his victims is being consumed in an incinerator. The story contains diabolic humour, bitter satire and social criticism.

The censors sent me quite a lengthy letter explaining why they banned the picture in its entirety. The following part of their letter I quote:

… We pass over those elements which seem to be anti-social in their concept and significance. There are the sections of the story in which Verdoux indicts the ‘System’ and impugns the present-day social structure. Rather, we direct your attention to what is even more critical, and properly a matter of adjudication under the Code.…

Verdoux’s claim is, derivatively, that it is ridiculous to be shocked by the extent of his atrocities, that they are a mere ‘comedy of murders’ in comparison with the legalized mass murders of war, which are embellished with gold braid by the ‘System’. Without at all entering into any dialectics on the question of whether wars are mass murders or justifiable killings, the fact still remains that Verdoux, during the course of his speeches, makes a serious attempt to evaluate the moral quality of his crimes.

The second basic reason for the unacceptability of this story, we can state more briefly. It lies in the fact that this is very largely a story of a type of confidence man who induces a number of women to turn over their finances to him by beguiling them into a series of mock marriages. This phase of the story has about it a distasteful flavour of illicit sex, which in our judgement is not good.

At this juncture they went into a long list of detailed objections. To give an example of some of them, I am first inserting a couples of pages from my script, concerning Lydia, one of Verdoux’s illegal wives, an old woman whom he is about to murder that night.

Lydia enters a dimly lit hall then turns off light and exits into her bedroom, from where a light switches on and streaks across the darkened hallway. Now Verdoux enters slowly. At the end of the hall is a large window through which a full moon is shining. Enraptured he moves

slowly towards it
.

VERDOUX
[sotto voce]
: How beautiful… this pale, Endymion hour…

LYDIA’S VOICE
[from bedroom]
: What are you talking about?

VERDOUX
[trance-like]
: Endymion, my dear… a beautiful youth possessed by the moon.

LYDIA’S VOICE: Well, forget about him and come to bed.

VERDOUX: Yes, my dear… Our feet were soft in flowers.

He exits into Lydia’s bedroom, leaving hall empty in semi-darkness except for the light of the moon
.

VERDOUX’S VOICE
[from Lydia’s bedroom]
: Look at that moon. I’ve never seen it so bright!… Indecent moon.

LYDIA’S VOICE: Indecent moon! What a fool you are… ha! ha! ha! Indecent moon!

The music races up to a terrifying high crescendo, then the scene fades into morning. It is the same hallway, but now the sun is streaming through it. Verdoux enters from Lydia’s bedroom humming
.

The censors’ objections to the above scene were as follows: ‘Please rephrase Lydia’s line, “Well, forget about him and come to bed” to read, “and go to bed.” We presume that this whole action will be played in such a way as to avoid any feeling that Verdoux and Lydia are about to indulge in marital privileges. Also change the repeated phrase “indecent moon”, also the business of Verdoux appearing from his wife’s bedroom humming the following morning.’

Their next objection was to the dialogue of a girl whom Verdoux meets late at night. They stated that the characterization of the girl was clearly that of a prostitute, and was therefore unacceptable.

Naturally, the girl in my story is a harlot and it would be infantile to think that she comes to Verdoux’s apartment just to see his etchings. But in this case he picks her up for the purpose of trying a lethal poison on her which leaves no trace of evidence, but will kill her within an hour after she leaves his apartment. The scene is anything but lewd or titillating. My script read as follows:

We fade into Verdoux’s Paris apartment over a furniture store. After they enter he discovers that the girl has a little stray kitten concealed in her raincoat
.

VERDOUX: You like cats, eh?

GIRL: Not particularly, but it was all wet and cold. I don’t suppose you have a little milk you could give it?

VERDOUX: On the contrary, I have. you see, the prospects are not as gloomy as you think.

GIRL: Do I sound that pessimistic?

VERDOUX: You do, but I don’t think you are.

GIRL: Why?

VERDOUX: To be out on a night like this, you must be an optimist.

GIRL: I’m anything but that.

VERDOUX: Up against it, eh?

GIRL
[sarcastically]
: Your faculties of observation are remarkable.

VERDOUX: How long have you been at this game?

GIRL: Oh… three months.

VERDOUX: I don’t believe you.

GIRL: Why?

VERDOUX: An attractive girl like you would have done better.

GIRL
[superciliously]
: Thanks.

VERDOUX: Now tell me the truth. You’re just out of a hospital or a jail… which is it?

GIRL
[good-naturedly but challengingly]
: What do you want to know for?

VERDOUX: Because I want to help you.

GIRL: A philanthropist, eh?

VERDOUX
[courteously]
: Precisely… and I ask nothing in return.

GIRL
[studying him]
: What is this… the Salvation Army?

VERDOUX: Very well. If that’s the way you feel, you’re at liberty to go on your way.

GIRL
[laconically]
: I’m just out of jail.

VERDOUX: What were you in for?

GIRL
[shrugs]
: What’s the difference? Petty larceny, they called it… pawning a rented typewriter.

VERDOUX: Dear, dear… couldn’t you do better than that? What did you get?

GIRL: Three months.

VERDOUX: So this is your first day out of jail.

GIRL: Yes.

VERDOUX: Are you hungry?

She nods and smiles wistfully
.

VERDOUX: Then while I tend to the culinary operations, you can help to bring in a few things from the kitchen. Come.

They exit into the kitchen. He starts preparing scrambled eggs and helps her to put supper things on a tray which she carries into the sitting-room. The moment she exits he looks cautiously after her, then quickly opens a cabinet and takes out poison which he pours into a bottle of red wine, then corks
it, placing it on a tray with two glasses, then exits into living-room
.

VERDOUX: I don’t know whether this will appeal to your appetite or not… scrambled eggs, toast and a little red wine.

GIRL: Wonderful!

She puts down a book she has been reading and yawns
.

VERDOUX: I see you’re tired, so immediately after supper I’ll take you to your hotel.

He uncorks bottle
.

GIRL
[studying him]
: You’re very kind. I don’t understand why you’re doing all this for me.

VERDOUX: Why not?
[pouring the poisoned wine into her glass]
: Is a little kindness such a rare thing?

GIRL: I was beginning to think it was.

He is about to pour the same wine into his own glass, but makes an excuse
.

VERDOUX: Oh, the toast!

He disappears with the bottle into the kitchen, where he quickly changes it for another bottle, gathers up toast, and starts towards sitting-room again. In the sitting-room he enters and puts toast on table
(‘Voilà!’)
and from the changed bottle he pours himself a glass of wine
.

GIRL
[baffled]
: You’re funny.

VERDOUX: Am I? why?

GIRL: I don’t know.

VERDOUX: However, you’re hungry, so please go ahead.

As she starts to eat he sees the book on the table
.

VERDOUX: What is that you’re reading?

GIRL: Schopenhauer.

VERDOUX: Do you like him?

GIRL: So-so.

VERDOUX: Have you read his treatise on suicide?

GIRL: Wouldn’t interest me.

VERDOUX
[hypnotically]
: Not if the end could be simple? Say, for instance, you went to sleep, and without any thought of death there was a sudden stoppage… wouldn’t you prefer it to this drab existence?

GIRL: I wonder…

VERDOUX: It’s the approach of death that terrifies.

GIRL
[meditating]
: I suppose if the unborn knew of the approach of life, they’d be just as terrified.

Verdoux smiles approvingly and drinks his wine. She picks up her poisoned wine and is about to drink it, but pauses
.

GIRL
[considering]
: Yet life is wonderful.

VERDOUX: What’s wonderful about it?

GIRL: Everything… a spring morning, a summer’s night… music, art, love…

VERDOUX
[contemptuously]
: Love!

GIRL
[mildly challenging]
: There is such a thing.

VERDOUX: How do you know?

GIRL: I was in love once.

VERDOUX: You mean you were physically attracted by someone.

GIRL
[quizzingly]
: You don’t like women, do you?

VERDOUX: On the contrary, I love women… but I don’t admire them.

GIRL: Why?

VERDOUX: Women are of the earth… realistic, dominated by physical facts.

GIRL
[incredulously]
: What nonsense!

VERDOUX: Once a woman betrays a man, she despises him. In spite of his goodness and position, she will give him up for someone inferior… if that someone is more physically attractive.