Act One by Moss Hart

Maybe it's the lofty editorial pretensions I harbor, but Moss Hart's autobiography, hailed by its back cover as "the dramatic story that captured a generation," seems not so much a refined, time-honored classic as much as the early draft of a rough, albeit worthy, manuscript. Hart's story in itself is captivating, and the immediacy and authenticity of his telling quality stuff, but a firm, guiding hand such as George Kaufman's could have made this book that much better. For Kaufman was the catalyst to Hart's career, and there is no little irony to be found in the fact that this excellent but improvable narrative climaxes with the drastic revision of the author's first literary success.

Hart begins this book in his childhood, tracing the thread of theatre that has wefted throughout his life. He travels through his impoverished adolescence and chronicles the development of his embryonic attempts at plays, climaxing with veteran playwright Kaufman's collaboration on his first quality play and concluding with its acclaimed debut on Broadway. It's a decent ghetto-to-glamour account, and Hart deftly fashions himself into a protagonist to be sympathized with and cheered on.

"It was astonishing to find how much of what we had written was unnecessary," Hart says of Kaufman's subsequent revisions to his play. If only Kaufman had applied his red pencil to this autobiography. Hart's prose is mired in unneeded words, rough cliches, stilted dialogue, repetition, inconsistencies, and contradiction. In one place he writes, "a historic," and later, "an historic." He asserts that he has "never really heard" the laughter of the audience for he is always "listening ahead for the next line," but then goes on to describe his elation at the sound of that very laughter.

Hart also spouts universal truisms left and right, as an old, rich, successful, self-satisfied man ruminating over his life can only be expected to, I suppose. "It is always a little dismaying to discover that the truth, as one explores it, consists largely of a collection of platitudes," he avers. Whether or not this "truth" is itself true I cannot say, but Hart certainly believes it.

So sometimes I had to restrain myself from marking up the library copy I read with notes in the margin. But like I said, it was a good story, and my interest rarely flagged. Moreover, I learned much about playwrighting and the creative process. The other morning I read an article in which a tv show producer commented,"If this were a play, we'd still be in previews," a reference which would have been entirely lost on me had I not read this book.