Noël Coward

We have mentioned Noël Coward when we were discussing Tom Robinson. Now it's time for him to have his proper entry. In praise of Coward's versatility, Lord Mountbatten said, in a tribute on Coward's seventieth birthday, "There are probably greater painters than Noël, greater novelists than Noël, greater librettists, greater composers of music, greater singers, greater dancers, greater comedians, greater tragedians, greater stage producers, greater film directors, greater cabaret artists, greater TV stars. If there are, they are fourteen different people. Only one man combined all fourteen different labels – The Master."

His birthplace still stands, a rather common attached brick house in Teddington, a quiet suburban village near London, England. One look at this building would convince you that great things can start in the most unassuming places.

Noël Peirce Coward was born on December 16, 1899, receiving his first name because Christmas was just days away. He was the son of Arthur and Violet Veitch Coward. Arthur was an unsuccessful piano salesman with little personal drive, so family finances were often shaky. Violet's first son had died as an infant, so she showed amazing devotion to Noël and did her best to gloss over the family's genteel poverty. Noël's younger brother Eric suffered from chronic poor health that kept him in the background for most of his short life. Noël was the family's star attraction.

Noël survived several childhood accidents. Once while playing on a beach, a broken bottle severed an artery in his foot. The only person in sight had just completed first aid training and was able to save the little boy's life. Such early strokes of luck later led to Noël being nicknamed "Destiny's Tot."

From an early age, Noël was intelligent, temperamental, and an instinctive performer, making his first stage appearances in amateur concerts at age seven. He loved to sing and dance at any excuse and threw frightful tantrums if he was not summoned to perform for guests. His formal education consisted of a few years at the Chapel Royal Choir School (which he despised) and some dance lessons (which he enjoyed). A lifetime of voracious reading and a keen sense of observation made up for his lack of schooling.

Coward excelled in amateur talent shows. With his mother's encouragement, he launched his professional acting career at the age of 12, making his London debut as Prince Mussel in a children's show called The Goldfish. He appeared in several West End productions with the popular comic actor-manager Charles Hawtrey, and played the "lost boy" Slightly in two West End editions of Peter Pan.

The precocious Coward later admitted to having his first sexual experience at age 13 with fellow child actor Philip Tonge. However, his closest adolescent friendship was with aspiring actress and author Esme Wynne. They shared such intense conversations that they sometimes bathed together so as not to interrupt a line of thought. Coward and Wynne exchanged clothes on occasion, strolling through London in reversed gender. In time, their friendship faded, but their pranks and witty banter would inspire material in many of Coward's future plays.

In the early 1900s, England was a very class-conscious society. A boy actor born to poor parents would have have been snubbed by the upper classes. However, Coward's extraordinary determination and charm won him an entree into the chicest circles. His professional and social ambitions were insatiable.

Noël's social ascendancy began thanks to his teenage friendship with adult artist Philip Streatfield. We know they were close and that Streatfield had a taste for young men – the rest is anyone's guess. Before wartime illness drove Streatfield to an early death, he asked wealthy socialite Mrs. Astley Cooper to take Coward under her wing. Young Noël became a frequent guest at her country estate. Butlers and maids, formal meals, riding and hunting – Coward thrived in this sophisticated environment, his first taste of the elegant world he would one day immortalize in many of his comedies.

Coward was too young to be drafted when the war broke out in 1914, so he continued to appear in plays, building his professional reputation. His first screen role was in D.W. Griffith's silent film Hearts of the World (1917), where he appeared in several scenes following Lillian Gish around with a wheel barrow. Just as Noël's acting career was showing real promise, he was called-up for military duty in 1918. He used his connections to get an assignment to light duty in the Artists Rifles corps, but military life made the self-centered young actor thoroughly miserable.

A minor head injury incurred during a training drill sent Coward into a complete nervous collapse. After nine months of service spent mostly in hospital, a sympathetic doctor helped him obtain an honorable medical discharge. Although relieved to be a civilian again, Noël found that the demand for his acting talents had evaporated. He continued to audition, but with little to do he put an increasing amount of energy into playwriting and composing. He also sold short stories to several magazines to help his family make ends meet. His ever-supportive mother turned the family's London home into a boarding house, where she worked tirelessly so Noël could pursue his theatrical dreams. Noël's father, no longer attempting formal employment, seemed contented to let his wife take charge.

I Leave It To You (1920) was Coward’s first full length play produced in the West End, with Noël playing a leading role – quite an accomplishment for a lad of 21. The brief run brought encouraging reviews, whetting Coward's appetite for more. However, most London producers were unwilling to gamble on such a young playwright. So Noël looked across the Atlantic for possible salvation.

In the summer of 1921, he scraped together enough money for steamship passage to New York City, convinced that America would embrace his work. No such luck! He spent a steamy summer roaming Manhattan, scraping by with the income from a few short stories, living on bacon that he bought on credit, and wondering why he had ever left England. Coward made a slew of valuable new friends, including the then-unknown actors Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne. The three of them made a pact to appear  in one of Noël's plays after they had all earned full stardom – an agreement that would bring profitable results in years to come.

A sympathetic friend arranged for Coward to return to England, where his luck took a turn for the better. The London production of his play The Young Idea (1923) was a mild success, with Noël playing one of the lead roles. That same year, producer Andre Charlot featured several of Coward's songs in the hit revue London Calling. While all this was happening, Noël put the finishing touches on a daring drama that would change his career – and his life – forever.

Coward decided his next project should involve a controversial topic guaranteed to attract widespread public interest. He wrote, directed and starred in The Vortex (1924), a searing look at sexual vanity and drug abuse among the upper classes. In it, a middle-aged socialite with a foolish penchant for extramarital affairs with younger men clashes with her cocaine-snorting son Nicky (played by Coward). When most producers refused to consider such a lurid project, the small Everyman Theatre in suburban London agreed to take it on. But resources were limited, and it was up to Noël to raise the money and produce the show himself. When the female star dropped out just days before the premiere, veteran actress Lillian Braithwaite stepped in and learned the part with amazing speed.

Some saw the drugs as a mask for homosexuality; Kenneth Tynan later described it as "a jeremiad against narcotics with dialogue that sounds today not so much stilted as high-heeled".

On opening night, the audience was both shocked and fascinated by The Vortex. Coward got so carried away during a confrontation scene that he gashed his hand on stage. Without breaking character, he wrapped the bleeding wound in a prop handkerchief and played on. At the end, Coward and Braithwaite received a wild, sustained ovation. The combination of fiery acting and scandalous subject matter made The Vortex the talk of London. Other plays had depicted drug abuse, but not among the rich. Demand was such that the production soon moved to a larger West End theater for an extended run, making the long-suffering Coward a sensation.

During the London run of The Vortex, Coward met Jack Wilson, a handsome American stockbroker who became his lover and business manager for the next decade. Blinded by affection, Noël overlooked Wilson's heavy drinking and blatant stealing – and he demanded that everyone else in his circle overlook these things too. To make his commitment clear, Coward purchased Goldenhurst Farm in Kent, renovated the buildings and moved in with his parents and Wilson in 1926. The British press did not dare to pry into the private lives of celebrities at that time, so this potentially scandalous arrangement went unnoticed by the public.

In time, Wilson went too far, leaving Coward open to criminal tax charges. When Wilson married in an attempt to spite Noël, Coward attended the ceremony and entertained a close friend with bawdy lyrics questioning whether the bride or the groom would need lubrication for the wedding night. When the new Mrs. Wilson discovered what a headache she had married, Coward became her sympathetic confidante.

With the sudden success of The Vortex, Coward was in demand. Over the two years he starred in the London and New York productions, as well as an American tour. Coward also wrote the hilarious comedy Hay Fever (1925), which triumphed in London but failed in New York, and the hit West End revue On With The Dance (1925). He also turned out Fallen Angels (1925), Easy Virtue (1925), The Queen Was in the Parlour (1926) and The Rat Trap (1926). Most of these plays were at least partially successful, but he was working at a punishing pace.

Three weeks into the run of The Constant Nymph in 1926, Coward collapsed on stage. At the insistence of his doctors, he left on an extended vacation. Noël's nerves were so frazzled that he was delirious with fever by the time he reached Hawaii. There, friends arranged for his proper care, sequestering him in a secluded beach house for several weeks. During this much needed rest, he did only one bit of writing, dashing off the wistful song A Room With a View. Here it is:

Here's Paul McCartney's version:

Coward wrote and directed the London revue This Year of Grace (1928), where A Room With a View appeared, and then co-starred with Bea Lillie in the New York production several months later. In a nostalgic mood, Coward changed gears to write and direct the romantic operetta Bittersweet (1929). The plot involved an ill-fated love affair in old Vienna, and the score included the sentimental waltz I'll See You Again. The film version starred the royal couple of operetta movies, Jeanette Macdonald and Nelson Eddy. Here they are with the song:

Here's a version by Bryan Ferry:

Bittersweet was one of Noël's works that used gay characters and references: it featured a quartet of overdressed 1890s London fops who sang:

Pretty boys, witty boys,

You may sneer

At our disintegration.

Haughty boys, naughty boys,

Dear, dear, dear!

Swooning with affectation . . .

And as we are the reason

For the "Nineties" being gay,

We all wear a green carnation.

(Note: Sources suggest that only those "in the life" used the word "gay" as a synonym for homosexual. It would be decades before the general public used it to mean anything other than happy.)

Here it is:

Coward prospered through the worst of the Great Depression, enjoying a lifestyle most people could only dream about. A dedicated traveler, he went on a series of extended journeys to escape the pressures of show business. During one 1929 stay in Singapore, he awoke with a mental image of  longtime friend Gertrude Lawrence in a white gown. Within a matter of days, he finished the first draft of Private Lives (1930), which proved to be a highlight in both of their careers. This biting comedy involved Elyot and Amanda Chase, a quarrelsome divorced couple who reunite while honeymooning with new spouses, then run off to resume their always tempestuous relationship. Coward and Lawrence co-starred with a then unknown Laurence Olivier, playing to packed houses in both London and New York. To avoid boredom, Noel set a policy of playing no more than three months of performances in London, and the same in New York. No matter how producers begged for longer commitments, he stuck to these limitations for the rest of his career. Private Lives was made into a successful movie in 1931, starring Norma Shearer and Robert Montgomery (Elizabeth Montgomery's father). The play has been revived numerous times, famously with Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, bringing their own relationship's complicated dynamics into their roles.

Once again doing the unexpected, Coward wrote and directed Cavalcade (1931), a spectacular stage drama that followed the lives of two London families (one rich, one working class) from 1899 to 1930. Through it all passed the “cavalcade” of British history – two wars, Queen Victoria's funeral, the seaside joys of Brighton, a Gaiety Theater musical, and even the sinking of the Titanic – all seen in the context of the character's lives. Acclaimed on the London stage, the film version won the Academy Award for Best Picture in 1933. (Forty years later, the TV series Upstairs, Downstairs would pay affectionate homage to Cavalcade by using the same basic setting and some of the same character names.)

Now at the peak of his popularity, Coward could seemingly do no wrong. He wrote and directed the London revue Words and Music (1932), which included Mad Dogs and Englishmen and the tortured ballad Mad About the Boy, two of his most enduring songs. Here he is in the former, in his TV special with Mary Martin, Together With Music from 1955 (one of my rarest vilyl acquisitions).

Here are Judy Garland with Lena Horne and Terry-Thomas:

Leon Russell was inspired to write his own Ballad Of Mad Dogs & Englishmen:

Mad About The Boy was the reason that we mentioned Noël while discussing Tom Robinson, since the latter reclaimed the song for the gays, although Coward also wrote a gay version, which was never performed. Noël Coward did record it however with orchestra conducted by Ray Noble in London on 20 September 1932. The recording was not issued at the time but has been included in CD collections. Here it is:

Here's an excellent version by Greta Keller:

Dinah Washington had the definitive hit version:

One of the best recent versions was by Marianne Faithfull:

Here's another version that brings the gay back into the song: David Vernon (Vocal) - Alex Leonard (Piano) recorded live at The National Opera Center of America:

After the success of Words and Music, Coward wrote, directed and co-starred in one of his most daring plays. Design For Living (1933) was his long-promised collaboration with friends Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne. It involved a bisexual romance between two men and a woman – an unspeakable subject in those days. The topic and the stellar cast guaranteed sold-out houses for every night of the limited Broadway run. It was made into a classic film in 1933 by master director Ernst Lubitsch, starring Gary Cooper, Fredric March and Miriam Hopkins.

In 1935 he starred in the terrifically witty film The Scroundrel, which deservedly won the Oscar for best original screenplay. It contains some of my favorite quotes:

"I don't approve of child labour as a rule, but so much depends on the child."

"Mallare (Coward's character) is not a man, he's an education."

"I've been writing."

"What?"

"One Concerto and some small things."

"I love small things. Play me the smallest."

In 1938, included in the revue Set To Music, we find one of his most popular songs, I Went to a Marvellous Party. In the first verse, the words "gay" and "queer" both appear.

Here's a great version by the Divine Comedy (1998):

When Britain declared war on Germany and Italy in 1939, Coward was determined to make up for his embarrassing non-involvement in World War I. After serving for a brief time as a secret agent in Paris, he entertained allied troops in Europe, Africa and the Far East, often covering the travel expenses himself. In 1942, he turned out a trio of hit plays, including the semi-autobiographical comedy Present Laughter (1942) and the cockney drama This Happy Breed (1942). His biggest wartime hit was Blithe Spirit (1942), a comedy about a novelist who's research into the occult brings back the ghost of his first wife – who plagues the novelist, his outraged second wife, and a daffy spiritualist. The play proved one of Coward's most popular successes, with character actress Margaret Rutherford winning stardom as the eccentric medium Madame Arcati. She repeated her role in a superb film version three years later.

One of his most succesful wartime songs was London Pride (1941):

Here's Dame Cleo Laine from 1976:

Another huge wartime hit for Coward came in 1943 with Don't Let's Be Beastly To The Germans:

Here's a 1945 version by Karin Juel:

Coward wrote, produced, directed and starred in the film In Which We Serve (1942), the story of a British destroyer crew facing the horrors of torpedo warfare. The then-unknown David Lean acted as co-director. Coward played the captain, a character based on his friend Lord Louis Mountbatten. Some critics complained that it was hard to accept the effete Noël Coward as a hardened naval commander, but the film won deserved acclaim in Britain and the US. As a result, Coward authorized Lean to adapt and direct film adaptations of This Happy Breed (1944) and Blithe Spirit (1945). Lean followed these hits by adapting one of Coward's one-act plays into the moving film Brief Encounter (1945), a dark wartime romance that is still considered one of the finest film dramas of the 1940s.

When London celebrated Germany's surrender in 1945, Coward took part in the merriment but couldn't help feeling a degree of unease. As he explained in the second installment of his autobiography:

"There was, as in all celebrations of victory, an inevitable undertow of sadness. Parades generate only a superficial gaiety, because we all know that they cannot last, and although this was the end of the war it was far from the end of the world's troubles. Japan was still unconquered and even when she was vanquished there was still the future to be fought."

- Noël Coward, Future Indefinite (New York: Doubleday & Co, 1954), p. 332.

The years following the war were difficult for Coward. The army had requisitioned his country home Goldenhurst during the war and left it a shambles. So Coward purchased and renovated a sizeable beachfront cottage at the base of the White Cliffs of Dover where he continued to turn out plays and musicals. Other than the London revue Sigh No More (1945), most of these works met with commercial failure. Coward knew instinctively that his writing was better than ever, but it seemed that the public's tastes had changed. The same critics who once praised Coward's work now dismissed it as frivolous. In an age newly obsessed with "realism," Coward's facile wit was dismissed as false and out of date. Some suggested he should change his style. But how could Noël Coward be anyone other than Noël Coward?

When British postwar taxes became crippling, Coward was one of the first to make the difficult choice to become an expatriate. He relocated briefly to Bermuda before settling in Jamaica. Vilified in the British press as a traitor, his well-deserved knighthood was delayed for decades. He had served his country tirelessly during World War II, only to see that country calumniate his name afterwards - a strange way for Britain to treat the quintessential Englishman of the 20th Century. Many British celebrities soon followed Noël's lead, but none were subjected to the same journalistic and political abuse.

It was during these difficult years that Coward fell in love with South African actor Graham Payn. As a boy, Payn had appeared in one of Coward's pre-war West End revues. By the time they met again in 1945, Payn was a handsome young man. Mutual attraction did the rest. A smitten Coward hoped to make Payn a star, and featured him in several important London productions. Although Payn had talent and genuine affection for Coward, he lacked Noël's drive and star quality. As to their private life, Payn later admitted that they both had "brief encounters" with others but remained devoted companions for the remainder of Coward's life.

Coward's 1955 night club engagement in Las Vegas proved a surprise sensation, drawing stellar audiences and resulting in a hit live recording. This led to a series of American network television appearances on CBS, including a memorable two-person special with Mary Martin called Together With Music (1955), of which we spoke earlier. Coward wrote and directed the show, setting a new standard for small screen entertainment. In it, he treated Joe McCarthy s America to a gay version of Loch Lomond ("For there with my honey, my bonny hi'land laddie . . . he's my new love, my true love, my little sugar daddy"). When Mary commented on the air (as per the script) on Noël's 'decadent' childhood, he cracked her up by ad-libbing, "Nonsense, I didn't become 'decadent' until years later!" Here's Loch Lomond:

Coward channeled his longtime contempt for artistic pretension into Nude With Violin (1956), a comedy that starred John Gielgud in London and Coward himself in New York one year later. Look After Lulu (1958) and Waiting in the Wings (1959) continued a string of well written comedies that delighted audiences but met with maddening critical disdain. Undaunted, Coward carried on. Commuting across and between the continents, he was one of the brightest jewels in the international "jet set." While Coward kept his homosexuality a scrupulously private matter, he couldn't resist dropping the occasional public hint. During a 1956 network television interview, journalist Edward R. Murrow asked if Coward did anything to relax, to which Noël responded, "Certainly, but I have no intention of discussing it before several million people."

Coward remained active all through the 60s. When his old friend Richard Rodgers created a musical adaptation of Shaw's Androcles and the Lion (1967) for American television, he cast Coward as Caesar. Noël had no difficulty making the most of some less than brilliant material. He also took on several small but unmemorable film roles, appearing as the male Witch of Capri in Boom (1967) and playing a criminal mastermind in The Italian Job (1968). Here's a small scene from Boom:

With his health in a gradual decline, Coward cut back on all public activities. Even so, he relished the ongoing re-discovery of his works, a trend his friends described as "Dad's Renaissance." His 70th Birthday in 1969 became a national celebration in Great Britain, and the following year he was finally granted a knighthood. Broadway awarded him a special Tony for Lifetime Achievement. New revues using his classic songs and sketches enjoyed successful runs in London (Cowardly Custard) and New York (Oh Coward!), and he had the satisfaction of seeing critics and the public once more acclaim him as a playwright and composer. Coward insisted that he wasn't surprised. Still possessing the supreme confidence that had seen him through his early challenges, he always knew the world would come to its senses.

As the Gay Liberation movement grew in the wake of New York's 1969 Stonewall riot, Coward refused to end his lifelong public silence regarding his sexual preferences. Part of it was no doubt rooted in his Edwardian upbringing – there were things a gentleman of his generation (gay or otherwise) simply did not discuss in public. When pressed by younger friends to "come out," Coward refused, saying, "There are still a few old ladies in Worthing who don't know."

His attitude about homophobia and personal discretion is expressed in his diary:

Any sexual activities when over-advertised are tasteless, and for as long as these barbarous laws exist it should be remembered that homosexuality is a penal offense and should be considered as such socially, although not morally. This places on the natural homo a burden of responsibility to himself, his friends and society which he is too prone to forget. - Graham Payne and Sheridan Morley, eds. The Noël Coward Diaries (Boston: Little, Brown & Co., 1982), p. 291.

In January of 1973, Noël visited New York for a gala performance of the off-Broadway revue Oh Coward! He arrived with longtime friend Marlene Dietrich on his arm. Bent with age and illness, he remained the personification of elegance. Friends sensed that he was declining, but no one realized that his would be his last public appearance. In the early morning hours of Monday, March 26, 1973, Noël Coward suffered a stroke at his home in Jamaica. A servant found him on his bathroom floor, and was able to carry him to his bed. Insisting that there was no need to wake his friends, Noël slipped away just before dawn.

To the end, he maintained his inimitable sense of style, and his privacy. Only close friends knew that longtime companion Graham Payne was his principal mourner – an oversight the Queen Mother (a friend of Coward's) countered years later when she insisted Payne stand by her as a memorial to Noël was unveiled in Westminster Abbey.

His simple gravesite lies on Firefly Hill in Jamaica. After years of unpardonable delay, Westminster Abbey eventually installed a memorial to him in its hallowed Poet's Corner. Graham Payn supervised Coward's affairs with loving care until his own death in 2005. Along with Coward's plays, songs, books and films, a never ending stream of biographies, articles and documentaries keep alive his image as the personification of wit and elegance – not a bad legacy for a boy from Teddington.