With the I in The King and I already cast, we began thinking about The King. Since Rex Harrison had given such a splendid performance in the movie version, we got in touch with him. Though he had never before sung in a stage musical, Rex was interested and was sure he could handle whatever singing was required. We had one meeting, but unfortunately were never able to come to terms. The more we worked on the story, the more we wanted the one actor we felt could play the king with the power and authority the part needed. Our Oklahoma! hero, Alfred Drake, who had just left the cast of Kiss Me, Kate, was unquestionably the biggest male star in the musical theatre at the time, but we were confident that he would be interested. Oddly enough, we found him hard to pin down. After considerable effort on our part, including transatlantic telephone calls when we were in London for the opening of Carousel, he finally agreed to meet us for lunch at the Oak Room. Oscar and I arrived at the restaurant first and were ushered to a table for four in a corner. Presently Alfred came bursting in with an armful of scripts, which he proceeded to dump on the unused chair. Suitably impressed that he was obviously much in demand, we enumerated the reasons why he should give preference to appearing in our musical. Alfred listened intently and then uttered the words wed been waiting for months to hear: Id love to do it. Unfortunately, this was followed by a but, and after the but came two provisions: 1) he could not remain in the show longer than six months because he had a commitment in London; 2) following the London commitment, he wanted us to buy a particular play from Gilbert Miller and produce it with him in the leading role. This seemed a bit much, so I said, Alfred, lets forget the whole thing. Youve obviously got too much on your mind right now. Well get together on something else in the future. Alfred said he understood, and we parted amicably in front of the Plaza. Thoroughly discouraged, Oscar and I hopped into a cab and went directly to the Majestic Theatre, where John Fearnley was holding auditions for the part of the king. The first candidate who walked out from the wings was a bald, muscular fellow with a bony, Oriental face. He was dressed casually and carried a guitar. His name, we were told, was Yul Brynner, which meant nothing to us. He scowled in our direction, sat down on the stage and crossed his legs, tailor-fashion, then plunked one whacking chord on his guitar and began to howl in a strange language that no one could understand. He looked savage, he sounded savage, and there was no denying that he projected a feeling of controlled ferocity. When he read for us, we again were impressed by his authority and conviction. Oscar and I looked at each other and nodded. It was no more than half an hour after we had left Drake, and now, out of nowhere, we had our king. (Incidentally, I never found out what happened to Alfreds London commitment or the play Gilbert Miller controlled, but eventually Alfred did play the king for two and a half months in 1952, when he temporarily took over the part while Yul was on vacation. He gave a superb performance, as Oscar and I had known he would.) Yul Brynner turned out to be particularly helpful with a talent he possessed that we knew nothing about when we signed him: his ability as a director. Our director for The King and I was John Van Druten, who did a capable job except that he lacked the kind of strength needed to direct Gertrude Lawrence. Fortunately, Yul had that strength, and when he spoke, Gertrude listened. We might have been in serious trouble had it not been for Yul. Richard Rodgers Musical Stages (1975)
Posted on: Sat, 15 Nov 2014 17:48:59 +0000
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