Theater of War

Towering at six and a half gangling feet, with a long face that drooped like a pensive sunflower over everyone he met, playwright Robert Sherwood loomed large in New York culture, in more than one sense, from the 1930s through the war and beyond. Between 1936 and the coming of war in Europe he gradually transformed from a writer of Pulitzer-winning antiwar plays to a gung-ho war propagandist and speechwriter for Franklin Roosevelt. In his shift from isolationist to interventionist, he helped prod the rest of America in the same direction.

New York theater in the 1930s had a long conversation with its audiences about isolation and intervention, war and pacifism. Elmer Rice wrote what are said to be the first two Broadway dramas responding to what was happening in Hitler's Germany: We, the People, which ran at the Empire Theatre on 42nd Street in 1933, and Judgment Day, which opened at the nearby Belasco the following year. Rice—born Elmer Reizenstein on East 90th Street in 1892—graduated from New York Law School in 1912 but preferred courtroom dramas to actual courtrooms. On Trial, his first play (1914), was a giant hit, as was the 1929 Street Scene, a realistic drama about tenement life in New York, which earned him a Pulitzer and was adapted as both a film and later an opera, with music by Kurt Weill and lyrics by Langston Hughes.

In 1932 he visited Germany and was appalled by the fascism and anti-Semitism. He came home to write the sprawling We, the People, which dramatized the lives of working class and farm families being pulled under by the Depression. Rice's message was that unless the businessmen and politicians who ran the country did something, America could be heading for a German-style revolution and fascistic crackdown. Audiences who could still afford Broadway tickets in Depression 1933 didn't go to the opulent Empire Theatre to be hectored and depressed. The show opened in January and closed in March after only 49 performances.

We, the People was in the middle of its short run when the Reichstag in Berlin burned on the night of February 27. The Nazis arrested four Communists and tried them in Leipzig for arson and treason. In the internationally publicized trial, one of the last displays of a free court in Hitler's Germany, only one of the men was convicted (and soon guillotined). Rice used it as the inspiration for Judgment Day, about a show trial in a fictionalized Eastern European country where members of the "People's Party" are accused of trying to assassinate "our leader, Minister-President Grigori Vesnic" of the National Party. Unlike the Leipzig trial, this one ends with an appearance by the dictator Vesnic himself, and his assassination there in the courtroom. Judgment Day fared little better than We, the People, closing after three months.

One of the first Broadway plays to address the Nazis' abuse of Jews -- and the only one of the period that depicted Nazi violence onstage -- was Clifford Odet's one-act Till the Day I Die. The Group Theatre presented it and Odets' Waiting for Lefty at the Longacre Theatre on West 48th Street for 136 performances in the spring and summer of 1935. It was set in Berlin, where Nazis have rounded up some Jews and Communists. They smash one prisoner's fingers with a rifle butt, and kick and beat others. Audiences were shocked and horrified. In addition, Odets flirted with the idea, widely promoted by the left in the 1930s, that the Nazis' brutality and cult of extreme virility were twisted expressions of their homosexuality. One officer tells another that "it might be much better for both of us if you weren't so graceful with those expressive hands of yours. Flitting around here like a soulful antelope. I'm lonely, I've got no one in the whole world." The other replies, "You've got me, Eric."

Two of the most talked-about plays of 1936, when Americans were still almost unanimously isolationist, were outspokenly antiwar: Irwin Shaw's Bury the Dead and Sherwood's Idiot's Delight. Shaw, whose actual surname was Shamforoff, was born in the Bronx in 1913 and raised in Brooklyn, where he graduated from Brooklyn College. He was 23 when he wrote Bury the Dead, a bitterly absurdist antiwar fantasy that ran from April to July 1936 at Broadway's Ethel Barrymore Theatre. It was set in "the second year of the war that is to begin tomorrow night." The corpses of six young soldiers who died in battle stand up in their shrouds and refuse to be buried. This causes all sorts of problems for the army brass, the warmongering businessmen, and the clergy, while the news media spin it as a sign of "the indomitable spirit of the American doughboy." In the play's best scenes, the corpses' wives and mothers try to convince them to lie back down. A twenty-year-old soldier tells his mom that he lived too little to be content with death. An angry wife berates her husband for only standing up to the generals now that he's dead. When no one can convince them, a frustrated general grabs a gun and tries to kill them all over again, but they simply walk off.

Bury the Dead was a critical sensation. In the Times, Brooks Atkinson raved about "the genius of Mr. Shaw's lacerating drama. It is a rebellious dance of scabrous death on the battlefield. Take it also as a warning from the young." Eleanor Roosevelt had just begun writing a nationally syndicated daily newspaper column, "My Day," which, amazingly, she would keep up until a few months before her death in 1962. After seeing Bury the Dead in May 1936, she wrote that "the thoughts hit you like hammer blows," adding that it would be "long be remembered by anyone who sees it and its strength lies, I think, in the fact that it is the expression of the thought and feeling of thousands upon thousands of people today."

She was right about its longevity: Bury the Dead remains one of the best-known of all American antiwar plays, and continues to be performed in revivals as the country goes from one conflict to the next.

Idiot's Delight followed Sherwood's first bona-fide Broadway success, The Petrified Forest. Sherwood grew up in Manhattan at the beginning of the century, son of a prosperous Wall Streeter and an artist. Just as the Great War broke out in 1914 he went off to Harvard, where he wrote for the Lampoon and the Hasty Pudding Club. When America entered the war in 1917 he volunteered for the American Expeditionary Force, but he was rejected as too tall for combat—the standard depth for front line trenches was only six feet. So he crossed the border and joined the kilted Canadian Black Watch. On an infantry charge in France he was gassed and got hung up in barbed wire. Like many other young Americans, he went Over There convinced of the righteousness of the war, and came back shocked by its obscene futility.

In 1919 a family friend got Sherwood an entry-level job at Vanity Fair, where Robert Benchley and Dorothy Parker took a shine to him. Despite an apparently complete lack of their flair for cunning repartee—Parker called him the Conversation Stopper —he joined them in the Algonquin Round Table, the "Vicious Circle," with regulars who included theater critic Alexander Woollcott; Harold Ross, who would start The New Yorker in 1925; the leftist journalist Heywood Broun; and novelist Edna Ferber.

It was Ferber who encouraged Sherwood to write plays. His first work on Broadway, the 1927 The Road to Rome, was a light historical fantasy in which Hannibal is talked out of sacking Rome by the emperor's amorous wife, who convinces him that love, sex and joy are preferable to war, death and pain. Sherwood assayed various topics and styles over the next few years before finding his mature voice with The Petrified Forest, which opened at the Broadhurst Theatre in 1935 with Humphrey Bogart and Leslie Howard in the roles they would reprise in the Warner Bros. movie that appeared the following year.

Sherwood's Idiot's Delight opened on Broadway at the Shubert Theatre in May 1936, when Bury the Dead was still running nearby, and ran for 300 performances. In a set-up similar to the one in Forest, an international gaggle of characters gets stuck at a ski lodge in the Italian Alps. Principle among them are a down-at-heels American showman named Harry Van, a wealthy arms merchant named Weber, and the mysterious Russian countess Irene, who is really a show girl and con artist Harry spent a night with years ago. Just as they congregate, war breaks out again among the European powers, giving Sherwood the opportunity to have the characters voice different points of view, from Harry's feckless American optimism to Weber's worldly cynicism.

Irene says to Weber, "I'm so happy for you. All this great, wonderful death and destruction, everywhere. And you promoted it!"

"Ask yourself: why shouldn't they die?" Weber replies. "And who are the greater criminals—those who sell the instruments of death, or those who buy them, and use them?" He argues that she shouldn't blame men like him for war, but the millions of "little people" who allow themselves to be goaded into fighting with cheap appeals to patriotism and duty.

Sherwood was citing an idea that was central to the antiwar movement in the mid-1930s: the notion that international munitions dealers like Weber, the "merchants of death," had used propaganda and political influence to manipulate the world into the Great War. The remarkable Marine Corps General and twice Medal of Honor recipient Smedley Butler put this notion succinctly in his pamphlet War Is a Racket, published in 1935. He argued that modern war was choreographed by the arms dealers, steel companies, bankers and other capitalists for their own immense profit and everyone else's terrible loss. In 1934 this idea led to a Senate Special Committee on Investigation of the Munitions Industry, better known as the Nye Committee for its chairman, the isolationist North Dakota Senator Gerald Nye. The later-infamous Alger Hiss served as its chief counsel. The committee not only put an official stamp on the antiwar movement; it helped prod Congress into passing a series of Neutrality Acts beginning in 1935 that prohibited the export of arms to warring nations; banned loans to warring nations; and forbade U.S. merchant ships from carrying arms to belligerents, even if manufactured elsewhere.

Idiot's Delight won Sherwood his first Pulitzer. He wrote the screenplay for the MGM film adaptation that appeared in 1939, with Clark Gable as Harry Van and Norma Shearer as Irene.

The situation in Europe had changed a great deal between 1936 and 1939, and the film was dated the day it opened. Hitler and Stalin had, each in his own way, made their intentions unmistakably clear, forcing Sherwood and Shaw to reassess their antiwar stances of just three years earlier.

Shaw's The Gentle People: A Brooklyn Fable premiered at the Belasco Theatre in January 1939, with Harold Clurman directing an extraordinary cast that included Same Jaffe, Franchot Tone, Sylvia Sidney, Karl Malden, and Lee J. Cobb. Shaw transposed events in Europe to the Brooklyn waterfront, where a pair of middle-aged fishermen, Jonah and Philip, are preyed on by a Hitleresque thug named Goff. He shakes them down for weekly pay-offs, and for a long while they give in, in effect appeasing him the way England and France appeased Hitler. "We are not all made out of the same material," Goff explains to them. "There are superior people and there are inferior people. The superior people make the inferior people work for them. That is the law of nature. If there is any trouble you beat 'em up a coupla times and then there is no more trouble. Then you have peace."

Eventually, Jonah tells Philip that the only way to rid their neighborhood of Goff is to murder him.

"All my life I wanted only peace and gentleness," Philip counters. "Violence. Leave it to men like Goff."

Jonah replies that "if you want peace and gentleness, you got to take violence out of hands of the people like Goff and you got to take it in your own hands and use it like a club. Then maybe, on the other side of the violence, there will be peace and gentleness."

They kill Goff, and not only get away with it, but get back all the money he extorted from them. In an introduction, Shaw wryly notes: "This play is a fairy tale with a moral. In it justice triumphs and the meek prove victorious over arrogant and violent men. The author does not pretend that this is the case in real life."

When the U.S. went to war two years later, Shaw would enlist in the Army and serve as a warrant officer. He'd put his wartime experiences into two later novels, The Young Lions and Rich Man, Poor Man.

Robert Sherwood was "sickened" when the Soviets invaded Finland late in 1939. Although he still considered himself a pacifist, he had now come to equate isolationism with escapism, reluctantly concluding that sooner or later the United States would be forced to defend itself and "save the human race from complete calamity." He had "consistently tried to plead the cause of pacifism," he wrote in a letter that December. "But the terrible truth is that when war comes to you, you have to fight it." As the outgunned Finns mounted a splendidly courageous defense that humiliated the Red Army through the winter, Sherwood churned out a play about a Finnish family and assorted others who join the resistance. His friends Alfred Lunt, who was of Finnish descent, and Lynne Fontanne agreed to star, and Lunt asked to direct. Montgomery Clift and Sidney Greenstreet were also cast. They were still in rehearsals when Finland finally capitulated in March 1940, but all felt the play should go on.

There Shall Be No Night opened on Broadway at the Alvin (now the Neil Simon) Theatre that April. In the Times, Brooks Atkinson was critical of the play's dramatic weaknesses but not its message, declaring that "the best parts of it speak for the truth with enkindling faith and passionate conviction." Life praised the "simple, poignant story" and said it had "chances of being an important hit."

Isolations from the left, right and middle attacked the play. The Washington Post assailed it as "a rank inflammatory job, pleading for intervention." The Daily Worker denounced Sherwood as a "stooge of the imperialist warmongers," while conservatives called him a stooge of international Communism (because the play theorized that the Soviets were merely Hitler’s tools).

The same month that Sherwood's play opened, Hitler's Blitzkrieg devoured Denmark and Norway. In May German armies poured into Belgium, Luxembourg, and Holland. Sherwood wrote a full-page ad that appeared in the New York Times and other newspapers nationwide, asserting that only "an imbecile or a traitor" could fail to see that if Britain and France fell too, America would find itself "alone in a barbaric world—a world ruled by Nazis."

France fell in June, and Hitler's Luftwaffe began bombing England to soften it up for a planned invasion. By the fall of 1940, Sherwood was helping to write Franklin Roosevelt's speeches explaining to the American people why the U.S. had to get involved. After America did enter the war at the end of 1941, Sherwood would run the foreign branch of the government's Office of Wartime Information, including the Voice of America, as well as continuing to help write FDR's speeches. He would not write another Broadway play until the war was over.

by John Strausbaugh