Other singers would call him the greatest singer they knew. He dazzled in a few operas and thrilled his gazillions of devoted fans in concerts. He achieved great pleasure in doing a popular radio show. He sold millions of records and his recording of Be My Love was apparently the first million-selling record.
He was almost criminally spoiled as an only child. Born in 1921 in South Philadelphia to Italian immigrant parents, his father was a disabled vet and his mother was the breadwinner. A precocious child he was idolized by his parents and always made to feel very special but he was extremely close to his mother, in the Italian tradition. She always wanted to be an opera singer and when the dream escaped her, she foisted it upon her son.
Everyone in South Philly wanted to be a singer, fighter or gangster and luckily Lanza wanted to be an opera singer from as early as he could remember. He told everyone he was going to be very famous. No one doubted it. Even an untrained ear knew this was a gorgeous instrument he possessed, a gift from the heavens. He never thought of the movies or even the stage or radio, particularly... he just knew he had to sing. And sing he did... it almost went hand-in-hand with breathing.
His hero and guiding light was Enrico Caruso. It's a shame they couldn't have met but Caruso died six months after Lanza was born. It may have been divine providence that Lanza's best film would be The Great Caruso.
Mama Lanza did all she could to keep her son in voice lessons. By 16 he was appearing in local opera productions. So good was he that he came to the attention of Boston Symphony conductor Serge Koussevitzky who mentored him and obtained a scholarship for him at the Berkshire Music Center in Massachusetts. A performance in The Merry Wives of Windsor and other productions brought him his first brush with true acclaim.
Before he might have branched out Uncle Sam came calling and he was assigned to the Special Services of the Army Air Corps. He sang in the chorus of two patriotic musical-dramas that toured the country. One of them, Winged Victory, made it to Broadway and when 20th Century Fox bought it for the screen in 1944, Lanza and the entire chorus had a cameo appearance.
In 1945 he married a non-pro, Betty Hicks. They quickly had four children and were married until Lanza's death. They talked it over and decided to remain in California. He saw his future there and she quickly learned to go along with his wishes. He began a recording career in earnest and he became a regular at Hollywood parties, dazzling the glitterati with his golden pipes, charisma and an amazing vitality.
In 1946 he studied with Enrico Rosati, considered the greatest voice coach in America. He had, of course, heard Lanza's voice and was enthralled. At the same time, Rosati knew he could eliminate a few rough edges and refine the already great voice.
Lanza began touring and one night in 1947 he was appearing at the Hollywood Bowl and his life forever changed. MGM's Louis B, Mayer's personal secretary, Iva Kovermann, was on the board at the Bowl and was astonished when she heard Lanza rehearsing. She immediately alerted her boss who brought along his top staff and soprano-actress Kathryn Grayson.
Mayer was thunder$truck and Lanza, in a be-careful-what-you-wish-for moment, signed a seven-year contract. The poor kid from South Philly imagined he'd arrived at Ft. Knox and all that he beheld was his for the keeping. He acted like lots of people would in the face of sudden wealth... he went nuts.
Grayson was also dizzy with excitement about a male operatic voice joining Leo the Lion's den. It would mean more work for her. Mayer found Lanza too heavy for the screen, by 30-35 pounds. Considering the camera adds weight to actors, it was a great concern. The old man put his new property on an immediate diet and gave him a personal trainer who stayed with the singer throughout his life.
Lanza received and introducing credit for his first film, That Midnight Kiss (1949). Grayson, of course, was the lead, in which she plays an opera star who doesn't like her proposed costar in a production and spots a singing truck driver (guess who?) she wants instead. The film was not a galloping success but Lanza fans were delirious. After the film ended its run in theaters, the two stars took the show on the road and presented it as a musical play.
The Toast of New Orleans (1950) again paired him with Grayson, who was top-billed, in another silly story, this time about an opera singer who hears a fisherman sing and gets her manager (David Niven) to obtain singing lessons for him. Why does this plot seem to echo the previous one? This one, however, featured the song, Be My Love, which would become Lanza's signature piece.
Grayson said they were always enjoying a friendly competition, always trying to to out-sing one another. She liked him well enough and loved singing together but she never understood his unprofessionalism. She asked Mayer to please find him another leading lady for a few pictures.
It would not be out of place to see Lanza's rise at this point as meteoric. He was the rock star of operatic voices. His pictures were bringing opera lovers back to movie theaters. MGM had its eyes open for such a male singer and when he came on board, they gave him everything he asked for. They gave him the crown but it had to be resized to fit his big head.
If the rise was meteoric, the daily grind was now tumultuous. Mayer got wind, as did most of MGM, that Lanza was scary bad-tempered, a serious drinker and a habitual womanizer. Mayer thought little of Lanza the man. The singer also had a serious relationship with food. People who knew him said he could win most any food-eating contest. Like Judy Garland before him, he did serious yo-yo dieting and suffered under the dictums of the studio.
His acting insecurities and the insecurities of his newfound wealth poked at his exaggerated sense of celebrity and he acted badly off screen and on movie sets. He spun out when he heard or read statements about how could a person with an operatic voice so sensational not be working in opera. They castigated him for selling out to MGM and its glossy, over-produced movies. Shame on him. Some carped the same about Grayson.
He, of course, shared everyone's high opinions on his voice (and why wouldn't he?) but he had a love-hate thing with it. On the downside is that he felt people only liked him for his voice, rarely for him. He may have had a point. It's likely that in his bad boy way he thought why not act up if they're not going to show me more respect? Regardless, it rattled him. There was always a handy highball.
On the home front, although they both claimed to love the other, she was a wreck. She knew of his affairs because he told her about them and even asked for her acceptance. He would speak of them in front of her at parties. She was apoplectic about rubbing up against fame or dealing with the public. It kept her semi-agitated.
Then there was the relationship with her mother-in-law, which was frosty, but suffered mainly due to Lanza always putting his mother first and she expected it. The rivalry was intense and unfortunately Betty didn't have the steely will that her mother-in-law did.
Betty lived on prescription pills, ultimately any prescription pills and anyone's. She usually was anywhere from buzzed to numb to sedated. Lanza didn't like it but he knew he was responsible and vowed to stick with her. The guilt could be tremendous.
On Toast of New Orleans, only his second film, he occasionally came to the set drunk. Grayson was appalled. She'd worked with some scrappy fellas (Sinatra and Kelly for two) but nobody ever pulled the shenanigans Lanza did. He let out the spoiled child he always was.
Of course he'd be harping at producers to get a project going on his hero, Enrico Caruso. It was a film Lanza was dying to make and he was thrilled when The Great Caruso (1951) was given the green light. Did he care that it was highly fictionalized? He behaved well on this one. Perhaps the top brass wouldn't have approved of one stunt. He spent a number of days flubbing lines or just generally taking more time so the extras and technicians would get overtime pay.
He was never in better voice and he and gorgeous Ann Blyth sang separate versions of The Loveliest Night of the Year, which became another big hit for Lanza. Her version, however, and the dance they do while she's singing it is captivating. The film featured, of course, many arias and other operatic pieces and opera buffs were over the moon. The film became the top-grossing one on a worldwide basis. It became Lanza's favorite of all his films and mine as well. It is one of two of his movies that I own.
At this moment he was enjoying enormous popularity, the best he'd ever known. He was extremely proud and happy about hearing from Caruso's son who told Lanza he did a remarkable job and had an astonishing voice. The bosses took note of his good behavior while making Caruso and hoped it was a sign of things to come. Lanza not only ate excessively when he was unhappy or angry but also when things were going well.
His next movie, Because You're Mine (1952), started filming and the front office was enraged that Lanza's weight had ballooned to a portly 250. He didn't care because he hated the script, a routine look into the life of an opera singer in the army who falls for his sergeant's sister. He detested making it and his bad boy appeared. His support team begged him to do what he was told but Lanza would not be told.
His drinking increased and his weight fluctuation during filming was 80 pounds and it shows in the film. In one scene, where he's walking into a church, I believe, he's at his highest weight as he walks in. Obviously they filmed him stepping inside another time because he weighed far less.
The bosses, tired of doing battle with him, just opted to finish the film and the hell with it. The public flocked to it as MGM thought it would. The studio knew the plot didn't much matter to ticket-buyers and the film was most tuneful, especially with opera. The title tune became popular and his singing of Granada at the finale is just plain hot.
The worst was about to arrive. Dore Schary had taken over MGM after Mayer was ousted. Great enmity quickly developed between studio head and singer-actor. Schary felt he had a business to run and frankly, he needed to prove his mettle to many. Despite the public adoration and the box-office dollars Lanza generated, Schary wasn't about to put up with a recalcitrant, bossy, ill-tempered, undisciplined star. No siree.
Schary and his minions watched Lanza like hawks. The studio was high on filming The Student Prince (1954) despite their Lanza misgivings. He had already recorded the complete soundtrack and once filming began, he had an immediate run-in with director Curtis Bernhardt over Lanza's excess passion in a song. Lanza took great exception in his haughtiest manner... direct my acting not my singing, he screamed in front of the crew.
He told the producer and just about anyone he encountered that he wanted Bernhardt taken off the picture... in fact, as was his wont, he demanded it. Schary heard of the brouhaha and without
missing a beat fired Lanza. This was the last straw. No more. An injunction was put on Lanza's services so that he would not be able to perform in any capacity anywhere until filming was completed on The Student Prince.
Since the studio was still able to use Lanza's voice, relative newcomer Edmund Purdom was hired to star and lip-sync to Lanza's voice. Interestingly, later Bernhardt was taken off the film as well and sole directing credit would go to Richard Thorpe who had directed The Great Caruso.
Lanza sat at home for over a year and hid out. Opting to sit out the end of his contract, he filled himself to the brim with food and drink. The Lanza marriage suffered under the strain. It was a rough time. Not only was there the humiliation of being fired, but the studio badmouthed him and he was vilified by the press. The public got its first sour taste of his behavior. He had a nervous breakdown and a few days later so did his wife.
When Warner Bros. offered him the chance to star in Serenade (1956), and although he was a bit pudgy, Lanza jumped at it.
For a change he was involved in a musical drama rather than musical comedy and it suited him. He plays a vineyard worker who dreams of becoming an opera star. He comes across a lovely but crafty patron saint who turns him into a star while demanding his careful attentions in the boudoir. It was a very popular film, perhaps as much as anything because it brought the great voice back to the silver screen and in a film that featured one helluva lot of opera.
Part of what gave this film a different look was its leading lady... really, leading ladies. Lanza always had some rough edges, he was the working man opera singer. Pairing him opposite true lady-like actresses like Grayson and Blyth was a good strategy and audiences saw and appreciated the contrasts. Joan Fontaine was not really the lady type. I always judged her to be slippery, frankly, and for sure she put the trait to good use here. In all of her fifties' films, she never looked more stunning or regal. Never a favorite, I couldn't take my eyes off her. Nearly as compelling is Mexican actress Sarita Montiel as his loving but spirited wife.
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| With his Serenade leading ladies, Fontaine and Montiel |
Serenade is my other favorite Lanza film. I just watched it on my own specially created double bill (ah, like the old days) with The Great Caruso. His singing not only gives me goosebumps at times but I get kind of choked up. Shhh, don't tell anyone.
He snagged a Vegas gig. Serenade provided him with some favorable press and the desert venue is something he had declined in the past but now he said yes. He rehearsed energetically enough and generally threw his (ample) weight around but on opening night he was too drunk to go on. The event was cancelled in its entirety and the savage press returned.
He suddenly moved his family to Italy and made the mawkish Seven Hills of Rome (1957) about an American who moved to Rome. Oddly, there was not a lot of singing but a highlight was clearly the introduction of Lanza singing Arrivederci Roma. It was all beautifully filmed in various European capitals.
He arrived in Rome as heavy as he'd ever been and was desperately looking for any and all treatments to control his ravenous appetite. He was injected with the urine of pregnant women. There was a sanitarium where he was fed intravenously. He even had bodyguards who kept him away from food. When he occasionally found the going rough, he'd pontificate about Italian opera singers needing to be heavy and that he sang better when he was.
His next picture was For the First Time (1959) and it would be the last time he would appear in a film. He plays a temperamental opera star who is tamed when he falls in love with a deaf girl who won't marry him until she can hear him sing. Lanza was very heavy but managed to inject his usual enthusiasm into the operatic standards sung throughout the film.
After the film finished, he entered a Rome clinic to get a handle on his poor health and had a heart attack and died. It was 1959 and he was 38 years old. His loyal fans, and they were legion, were, of course, grief-stricken. Befitting a king, he had three magnificent funerals... in Rome, Philadelphia and Hollywood.
There were whispers that Lanza's death was a mafia hit when someone managed to inject him with air, giving the appearance of a heart attack. It was said that he greatly annoyed gangster Lucky Luciano for not performing at a special event (in Vegas?). Another report had it that Lanza pushed Luciano down some stairs. There's no proof of this but the whispers have been consistent to this day.
Six months later his wife Betty died... officially of drug overdose but more accurately from a broken heart.
From the earliest of times when Lanza's big voice was heard there was talk of him becoming an opera star. The talk got louder when he opted for movie stardom... what a waste, some would say. Some opera stars have ventured forth that he made the right move going to MGM and eschewing the stage because he lacked the discipline and self-control and was not willing to sacrifice and put in the hard work.
To this day I love his voice... so beautiful, pure and passionate. It thrills me listening to him and maybe I haven't said so but I am not an opera buff. No reason really... it just didn't happen. For a brief spell he was one of the most famous and beloved entertainers in the world.
It's been said he could have been the American Caruso. Could have been?
Here's a clip of Lanza, along with Kathryn Grayson, singing his great big hit, Be My Love.
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a good 50's film
A well written account of Mario Lanza"s life and career...I agree that his voice was truly magnificent...keep up the good postings...
ReplyDeleteSara Montiel was Spanish.
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