Sixty-five years ago today, a revival of Pal Joey opened on Broadway at the Broadhurst Theatre. The year was 1952 and it had been twelve years since its original production opened in 1940 starring Gene Kelly and Vivienne Segal. It was a singular triumph for Kelly in what would be the last time he would appear on Broadway, as it led to an MGM contract that turned him into one of the biggest stars in Hollywood. But curiously, this musical version of John O'Hara's novel about a heel named Joey Evans, had not been greeted very warmly by critics when it first opened. An anti-hero was a new concept at the time, and though all agreed its score by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart was superb, many thought the libretto by O'Hara based on a series of his own short stories first published in The New Yorker, and later published as a novel, too dark and gritty, especially for audiences looking for uplift during the Christmas season, eleven years into the Great Depression. Though hardly a failure (it ran 374 performances), it divided many who saw it, audiences as well as critics. People simply didn't know what to make of it, in spite of enjoying its songs and dances.
Harold Lang as Joey in the 1952 revival of Pal Joey.
The plot of Pal Joey is a simple one. Joey Evans is a second-rate emcee at a nightclub, but yearns to own his own place. Through manipulations, sleeping around, and double-crossing just about everyone he comes in contact with, he finally manages to succeed, but only for a time until he blows it all. It was highly unusual at the time for a leading man in a Broadway musical to not only not get what he wants, but lose the girl as well.
As Richard Rodgers himself put it: "Nobody like Joey had ever been on the musical comedy stage before." In his opening night review, New York Times critic Brooks Atkinson closed it by asking the question: 'Can you draw sweet water from a foul well?'' Other reviewers pointed out the same thing: why would you want to spend an evening with someone you wouldn't want to spend an evening with? Begrudgingly, Atkinson found a way to praise the show. "If it is possible to make an entertaining musical comedy out of an odious story, Pal Joey is it."
Eating his words somewhat, Atkinson reviewed the '52 revival acknowledging
that originally he was "not enchanted" by the show and admitted what he didn't know then, stating that "Pal Joey was a pioneer in the moving back of musical frontiers, for it tells an integrated story with a knowing point of view."
It was Richard Rodgers who always held out hope audiences would eventually get the show, since he knew something odd was up early on when he wrote: "One out-of-town lady reviewer panned the show, but ran for cover in her very first sentence by saying that it would be pretty embarrassing if, a hundred years from now, the play turned out to be a great success."
It didn't take a hundred; it took twelve. It also took a farsighted producer to make it happen; one with a single producing credit under his belt—Make a Wish—which ran three months. Far better known as a composer than a producer, it was Jule Styne who felt strongly that Pal Joey was due a second shot. Having loved the first production, he correctly identified the show as one which was ahead of its time, buoyed by a summer stock production he saw a year earlier, hatching his plan to bring it back to Broadway as soon as he could raise the money. And as one of the theatre's great tunesmiths, Styne understood in his bones how great the score was. A betting man (he regularly played the horses) he rightly predicted that the timing was right for post-World War II audiences to embrace the musical's darker undertones.
To fit the shoes of Gene Kelly, Harold Lang, one of the greatest of Broadway dancers, was cast as Joey. And in a surprise move, a more mature Vivienne Segal (now past fifty) was chosen to reprise her role as Vera Simpson, the high society woman with a keen sexual appetite for the low-life Joey. In a New York Times interview at the time of the revival, Segal recalled how in the original production, her most famous song "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered" wasn't landing:
It was in the wrong spot, during rehearsals, I was singing it early in the show before I really knew Joey. I got them to move the song back to the tailor shop scene, but even then it created no sensation out of town. No one yelled for encores, so Larry wrote no extra verses for me to sing. Then we came to New York and on opening night suddenly it happened. They wanted more, more. I remembered a couplet Larry had written but thrown out because he didn't like it:
"Dumb again, numb again,
Like Fanny Brice singing
Mon Homme again ..."
I sang it and George Abbott, our director, asked afterwards, "How on earth did you even remember that?'" I told him, "I was so damn mad Larry didn't write any encores for me, I had to remember something!" That couplet stayed in, and of course, Larry wrote more verses.