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    Merrily We Roll Along
    Merrily We Roll Along
    Merrily We Roll Along
    Ebook180 pages1 hour

    Merrily We Roll Along

    By Moss Hart and George S. Kaufman

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    Merrily We Roll Along, although praised by critics, was a failure on Broadway in 1934 but has since garnered almost cult classic status. It concerns a man who has lost the idealistic values of his youth. Its innovative structure presents the story in reverse order, with the character regressing from a mournful adult to a young man whose future is filled with promise.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherReading Essentials
    Release dateJul 20, 2019
    ISBN9788834158869
    Merrily We Roll Along
    Author

    Moss Hart

    Moss Hart was an American playwright. Raised in poverty in the Bronx, Hart’s interest in theatre was instigated by his aunt. His first Broadway hit, Once in a Lifetime, was written with George Kaufman, and began a partnership that produced plays such as You Can't Take It With You and The Man Who Came to Dinner. Hart won two Tony Awards (Best Musical and Best Director) for My Fair Lady, and earned an Oscar nomination for writing the screenplay for Gentlemen’s Agreement. In 1959, Hart published his autobiography Act One, in which he created an entire alternate ending for his aunt’s life. Hart died in 1961 at the age of 57.

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    • 5/5
      Long before there was Norman Mailer's Charley Eitel of "Deer Park," there was Richard Niles of Kaufman and Hart's "Merrily We Roll Along." Niles fights harder to preserve his idealism and integrity and hence is a more sympathetic protagonist. But when the sell-out is sealed in the first scene of the Second Act, it feels as tragic as any moment in any play I have ever read. I recommend this play for everyone who still has dreams of their youth or has abandoned them. This is a profoundly tragic American play, the equal of "Death of a Salesman."

    Book preview

    Merrily We Roll Along - Moss Hart

    Merrily We Roll Along 

    by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart

    First published in 1934

    This edition published by Reading Essentials

    Victoria, BC Canada with branch offices in the Czech Republic and Germany

    [email protected]

    All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except in the case of excerpts by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

    Merrily We Roll Along 

     by 

     George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart

    The action of the play moves backward. Each scene takes place at an earlier time than the scene preceding.

    SYNOPSIS OF SCENES

    ACT ONE

    ACT TWO

    ACT THREE

    ACT ONE

    SCENE I

    The country house of Richard Niles—Sands Point, Long Island, an evening in September, 1934. The room we see is oval in shape and is fringed with French windows, which look out upon the Sound itself. It is night, but there is a glimpse of tall white pillars through the windows.

    It is the kind of room you have often seen as a fullpage illustration in Town and Country, over a caption reading: This unusual décor is a glimpse of the drawing room in the Long Island home of . . .

    There are some ten or twelve people present, the men in tails, the women in evening dress. There is a game of bridge, a game of backgammon. A dark-haired young Man is at the piano, playing, with a good deal of skill, one of the popular tunes of the day. Leaning across the piano, listening with a professional interest, is a handsome, flaxen-haired Lad of about twenty-three or four. A Lady with a highball in her hand sits a little apart, surveying the scene with a certain detachment. There is a relaxed air about all of these people—it is merely an informal Sunday evening on Long Island.

    For a moment the music plays, the flaxen-haired young man hums a little, the bridge and backgammon games go on. Through the music, you catch the routine chatter at the tables: Double. . . . "I’ll take it. . . . Spade. . . . Two hearts. . . . Pass. . . . Pass. . . . Two spades. . . . Pass. . . . Pass. . . . Pass."

    After a bit of this, David Haskell comes in through the French windows. He is an ardent young man of about twenty-six, with a rather sensitive face. He goes to the liquor table, mixes a drink, and then notices the lady with the highball. Julia Glenn is a woman close to forty. She is not unpretty, but on her face are the marks of years and years of quiet and steady drinking—eight, ten hours a day. In contrast to the modish evening clothes of the other women, Julia wears something from about three years ago, and which wasn’t quite right then. Withal, there is about her definitely an air. Here is a person.

    David raises his glass to her in grave salute.

    Julia

    (Returning the salute with her own glass. Then, ever so brightly)

    Know what I’m having?

    David

    What?

    Julia

    (Grimly)

    Not much fun.

    (David gives an appreciative chuckle and goes out through the windows with the highball)

    (An extremely beautiful girl named Ivy Carroll comes down the stairs, a book tucked rather showily under her arm. For a moment she stands surveying the room and its occupants with a quiet superiority, then she moves up to the windows, breathes deeply, and is gone)

    (The flaxen-haired young man, who has been humming, now finishes a song in full voice and breaks away from the piano. His name is Val Burnett)

    Rosamond Ogden

    (Who has been watching her husband at the backgammon board)

    Tell me, Mr. Burnett—I thought you broadcast every Sunday night. Is that changed now?

    Val

    Oh, sure. That was the Miracle Mayonnaise Hour. I’m on the Black Star Axle Grease Hour now. Tuesdays and Fridays, eight-thirty.

    Rosamond Ogden

    Really? I must listen.

    Julia

    (Into her drink)

    Mayonnaise to axle grease. Just a step.

    Val

    It’s really the biggest hour there is. Blue and Red network, you know. National hook-up.

    Albert Ogden

    (Shaking his dice cup)

    Yeah! Fifteen minutes twice a week and gets more than the President of the United States.

    Rosamond Ogden

    Really, we’re so spoiled! Here’s Mr. Burnett—millions of people listen to him every time he broadcasts—and here he is tossing off these golden notes—

    Val

    (Assuming a false modesty)

    Oh, I’m just a crooner. I guess you people would rather hear Lawrence Tibbett, or something like that.

    Julia

    Why, Mr. Burnett, we would not!

    (Scornfully)

    Lawrence Tibbett! I’ll bet you he couldn’t croon if he tried.

    Val

    I never know whether you’re kidding me or not, Miss Glenn, but honest—do you like my singing?

    Julia

    Like it? Why, I’m your greatest admirer.

    Val

    Say, that means more to me than you think, because I’m just crazy about your stories. I think you write just about the best stories I ever read. That one about the boy and the girl—I read it over and over.

    Julia

    Why, I’m—touched. Didn’t you get it the first time?

    Sam Frankl

    (At the piano)

    Hey, Val! Remember this one?

    (He plays a phrase or two)

    Val

    Do I?

    (His voice picks up the music)

    Cyrus Winthrop

    (Putting down his cards)

    Two and one.

    Lady Patricia Dorson

    (Also a bridge player. She has listened to the music, rapt)

    Oh! That divine song! It just swept London. The Prince couldn’t get enough of it. He still sings it. The Prince has quite a nice voice, you know.

    Julia

    What hour is he on?

    Lady Pat

    (Abstractedly)

    H’m?

    Cyrus Winthrop

    I think we make three no-trump, too.

    Richard Niles

    Do you?

    Rosamond Ogden

    Lady Dorson, didn’t I read somewhere that the Prince was coming over for a visit?

    Lady Pat

    Well, there was some talk about it just before I left.

    Julia

    (Into that same drink)

    I should say there was.

    Cyrus Winthrop

    (Who has been thinking it over)

    No, I guess we go down one.

    Lady Pat

    I say, Mr. Frankl, there was another song of yours the Prince simply adored.

    (She hums a fragment; Frankl picks it up on the piano)

    That’s it. Isn’t that too soothing, my dear?

    Laura Nash

    (The fourth bridge player)

    I love everything of Sam’s.

    (Raising her voice)

    Sam, why don’t you write more songs like that? You never do any more.

    Frankl

    Well, I’ve been pretty busy lately on my concerto. I promised Stokowski he’d get it by the fifteenth.

    Rosamond Ogden

    But, Sam, those glorious songs! We’ll have nothing to dance to next winter.

    Frankl

    Oh, I’ll do a show or two, I suppose—they’re always after me. I’m in the middle of a new symphony, too. You see, the trouble with me is——

    (He rises from the piano)

    I’ve got three different careers. My light music, my serious music, and my sculpture.

    Lady Pat

    Sculpture? Why, I didn’t know you were a sculptor, too.

    Frankl

    Oh, sure. Didn’t you see those heads I did of myself? They were in the Times.

    Lady Pat

    How astonishing!

    Ivy

    (In the windows)

    Oh! To play under the stars on a night like this! The Greek theatre must have been magnificent.

    Laura Nash

    Who dealt?

    Winthrop

    I did. . . . Pass.

    Lady Pat

    (Resuming her seat)

    Oh, so sorry. What happened?

    Winthrop

    I dealt and passed.

    Richard

    I pass.

    Lady Pat

    Is there a score?

    Winthrop

    They’re vulnerable. We have sixty.

    Lady Pat

    I pass.

    Laura Nash

    I’m bidding.

    Ivy

    Mr. Frankl, play me that Chopin Waltz—you know the one I mean. Opus 3, Number 9.

    Frankl

    Sorry. I don’t play Chopin.

    Julia

    You’ll take Frankl or nothing.

    (The piano starts up again; Julia makes a slight genuflexion in the direction of the music)

    Laura Nash

    Two no-trump.

    Winthrop

    By me.

    Richard

    Three no-trump.

    Lady Pat

    I pass.

    Laura Nash

    Pass.

    Winthrop

    My lead?

    Richard

    (Putting down his hand as Winthrop leads)

    The clubs aren’t so good, but I’ve got my values.

    (He rises. Richard Niles, at forty, is the layman’s idea of what a fashionable playwright should look like. His portrait by Pirie MacDonald has long been familiar to readers of Vanity Fair. He is faultlessly attired, has that distinguished touch of gray at the temples)

    Well! . . . How are you backgammon boys coming along? Who’s winning?

    Ogden

    (Indicates Nash)

    He doesn’t have to produce plays for a living. I never saw such luck.

    (Nash rolls the dice)

    My God! Doubles again!

    Richard

    Tell me, Everett—where do you go from London?

    Nash

    Well, I’ve got to stay there

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