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.”
After I had gotten comments on my script from everyone in the cast, Arthur Freed said, “You’ve caught the tone perfectly, Sidney.”
Judy recorded the score and production began.
From time to time, when Judy was not shooting, she would come into my office for a chat.
“It’s going well, isn’t it, Sidney?” She sounded nervous.
“It’s going beautifully, Judy.”
“It is, isn’t it?” she asked.
I took a closer look at her. She seemed clenched and I wondered what she looked like under her makeup.
I began to hear disturbing rumors. Judy was always late and she had not learned her lines. Production was being held up. She would telephone George Sidney at two o’clock in the morning to say she was not sure whether she could make it to the set that day.
Production finally closed down and that same day, the studio announced that Judy Garland was being replaced. I was saddened. I tried to call her when I heard the news, but she had already run off to Europe, devastated.
The part of Annie was offered to Betty Garrett, a talented young actress who had starred in my play Jackpot and who was married to Larry Parks, who had played Jolson in The Jolson Story.
Benny Thau met with Garrett’s agent.
Thau said, “We want an option for Betty’s next three movies.”
Garrett’s agent shook his head. “You can only have her for this picture and no options.”
So, because of her agent, Betty Garrett lost the role of a lifetime. Betty Hutton was signed to play Annie and the production went forward without any further incidents.
One morning during the shooting, Irving Berlin came into my office and said, “Sidney, why haven’t we done a Broadway show together?”
My heart skipped a beat. Writing a musical with Irving Berlin was a virtual guarantee of a successful show. I tried to sound cool. “I would love to write a show with you, Irving.”
“Good. I have an idea.”
Irving began to pace and tell me about his idea.
I peeked at my watch.
“I hate to interrupt you,” I said, “but I have a luncheon date at twelve-thirty and I have to leave now. Let’s pick up this discussion when I get back.”
“Where are you having lunch?”
“In Beverly Hills, at the Brown Derby.”
“I’ll ride over there with you.”
And Irving Berlin got into my car and rode with me to the restaurant while his chauffeur followed, so that Irving could keep talking about his idea, instead of waiting until I got back from lunch, in an hour. I had never seen such enthusiasm.