What do you think?
Rate this book
Memoirs #1
Run-through: 1902-1941
"One of the great books about the American theater and a wonderful insight into the pre Hollywood career of Orson Welles. Houseman was Welles partner and shared honors with Welles. He also withstood a great deal of abuse including having an enormous full pot of coffee thrown at him. This is the first of several volumes of Houseman's memoirs and it is absolutely essential for anyone who has an interest in theater."
507 pages, Hardcover
First published March 6, 1972
1 person is currently reading
123 people want to read
About the author
John Houseman
32 books7 followersJohn Houseman was an English-American actor and film producer who became known for his highly publicized collaboration with director Orson Welles from their days in the Federal Theatre Project through to the production of Citizen Kane. But he is perhaps best known for his role as Professor Charles Kingsfield in the TV series The Paper Chase and for his commercials for the brokerage firm Smith Barney.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
June 1, 2024
When I was growing up, John Houseman’s stern yet knowing visage seemed everywhere. Whether it was in his award-winning role as a domineering law-school professor in The Paper Chase, his calm presence in Smith Barney commercials grandly reassuring viewers that they could trust their investments with the firm because they made money “the old-fashioned way: they earn it” or as a ubiquitous guest star or cameo performer in dozens of other works, he was the very model of the distinguished East Coast establishment figure. It was not until after his death that I discovered that acting was a second career for Houseman after decades as a successful producer of stage and screen, during when he collaborated with some of the most famous people in the entertainment industry.
Such a successful career was all the more remarkable for the circuitous route Houseman took to reach it. This is the focus of the first volume of his autobiography, which recounts the first four decades of his active life. These he presents in the form of a play, starting with the “overture” of his life prior to embarking upon a career in the theater. Born Jacques Haussmann, as the only child of a Jewish-Alsatian commodities broker and a British governess he enjoyed a peripatetic and cosmopolitan childhood that took him across prewar Europe. While he gained academic distinction during his time at Clifton College, his father’s death from Addison’s disease forced the young Houseman to forego attending university at Cambridge in favor of a business career. Moving to the United States in 1925, Houseman excelled as a grain merchant, and was on his way to becoming a millionaire until the ripple effects of the 1929 stock market crash wiped out his business.
Though ruined financially, the loss of his business freed Houseman to embark upon the first “act” of a new profession. Having previously published a few short stories, with the encouragement of his first wife, the actress Zita Johann, he turned first to writing and then the theater. Thanks to Zita and his initial accomplishments as a translator, Houseman soon found himself at the heart of the New York theatrical world, and in his description of these years he drops the names of his new associates by the bomb-load. Icons known today for their association with awards and schools and techniques appear in these chapters as men and women practicing their craft and struggling to put on productions. It was through such networking that Houseman met Virgil Thompson, who recruited him to direct a production of Four Saints in Three Acts, an opera Thompson co-wrote with Gertrude Stein, which proved a success.
Houseman’s production of Four Saints in Three Acts won him a reputation which he parlayed into a role as a producer and director. It was while casting the play Panic that Houseman met a 19-year-old Orson Welles, who was then gaining notice for his performance in Romeo and Juliet. Welles looms large in Houseman’s book, as the two men soon established a creative yet volatile partnership that endured for the next eight years. Together the two men found work through a succession of federally-sponsored theater projects that gave them the opportunity to stage experimental productions and radical works. Houseman is frank about the controversies this courted, particularly with the impact of their attempted production of the pro-labor play The Cradle Will Rock, which was shut down before it could be performed.
The loss of government support inspired Houseman and Welles to strike out on their own by starting their own company. This became the Mercury Theatre, the history of which comprises the second act in Houseman’s book. Again, his relationship with Welles takes center stage in these chapters, as the two men collaborate, struggle, and clash in their efforts to stage acclaimed performances of Julius Caesar (presented in modern dress as a commentary on fascism), The Cradle Will Rock, The Shoemaker’s Holiday, and Heartbreak House. Such was their growing reputation that they soon found themselves taking the Mercury Theatre to the airwaves, which continued their efforts to bring quality performances to the widest possible audience. Houseman devotes considerable space to recounting the program’s famous 1938 production of War of the Worlds, which plays up the considerable agitation it reputedly caused and which Houseman regards as proving an asset to their collective reputations.
The success of the Mercury Theatre’s first season proved difficult to repeat, however, and it is in Houseman’s description of their efforts to do so that his frustrations with Welles become evident. He makes plain that their artistic and critical success only increased their pressure to succeed, to which Welles responded with wildly ambitious proposals that sapped the theater’s limited resources to produce. Houseman pins the greatest blame on their production of Five Kings, Welles’s attempt to compress nearly a half-dozen of William Shakespeare’s historical plays into a two-night performance. Though he gives Welles due credit for his artistic vision, Houseman sees the project’s troubled production and poor reception as the final straw for the theater, leading to its dissolution.
By then, however, both men were exploring greener pastures further west. Welles’s reputation as a creative wunderkind won him an unprecedented deal from the film studio RKO, in which he would be paid the then-princely sum of $100,000 yearly to produce one film each year over which he would have complete artistic freedom. This launched Houseman on the final act covered in his book, which was his move to Hollywood to become a film producer. Despite a growing disaffection between the two men, Houseman remained involved with Welles’s initial film, which morphed from a failed effort to adapt Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness to a story about a man’s life told through the testimony of his intimate companions. This was Citizen Kane, the authorship of which Houseman credits above all to Herman Mankiewicz, the gifted but troubled writer with whom he collaborated on the script-writing process. Though Houseman continued to work with Welles on theatrical productions, he collaborated with others on filmmaking projects before America’s entry into the Second World War brought him into federal service once more, this time as head of the Overseas Operation of the Office of War information.
Given Houseman’s rich life and his many contributions to American culture, it is somewhat surprising that in the decades since his passing nobody has published a biography of him. One likely reason for this is the challenge of measuring up to the literary standard set by his memoirs, which provide an extremely absorbingly dramatic account of his achievements and interactions with some of the leading figures of his time. This is unfortunate, as at times Houseman’s account can be a little too absorbing, raising the question of how much of it might have been improved in the retelling. Perhaps this is to be expected from a man who as part of his profession spent many long hours punching up scripts to make them more appealing. Yet while this may compromise somewhat the value of his book as a firsthand account of American theater in the 1930s, it does nothing to detract from the enjoyment of reading it. Even when taken with a grain or two of salt, it nevertheless remains a highly entertaining account of a remarkable man and his many artistic accomplishments, one that can be read for both pleasure and enlightenment.
Such a successful career was all the more remarkable for the circuitous route Houseman took to reach it. This is the focus of the first volume of his autobiography, which recounts the first four decades of his active life. These he presents in the form of a play, starting with the “overture” of his life prior to embarking upon a career in the theater. Born Jacques Haussmann, as the only child of a Jewish-Alsatian commodities broker and a British governess he enjoyed a peripatetic and cosmopolitan childhood that took him across prewar Europe. While he gained academic distinction during his time at Clifton College, his father’s death from Addison’s disease forced the young Houseman to forego attending university at Cambridge in favor of a business career. Moving to the United States in 1925, Houseman excelled as a grain merchant, and was on his way to becoming a millionaire until the ripple effects of the 1929 stock market crash wiped out his business.
Though ruined financially, the loss of his business freed Houseman to embark upon the first “act” of a new profession. Having previously published a few short stories, with the encouragement of his first wife, the actress Zita Johann, he turned first to writing and then the theater. Thanks to Zita and his initial accomplishments as a translator, Houseman soon found himself at the heart of the New York theatrical world, and in his description of these years he drops the names of his new associates by the bomb-load. Icons known today for their association with awards and schools and techniques appear in these chapters as men and women practicing their craft and struggling to put on productions. It was through such networking that Houseman met Virgil Thompson, who recruited him to direct a production of Four Saints in Three Acts, an opera Thompson co-wrote with Gertrude Stein, which proved a success.
Houseman’s production of Four Saints in Three Acts won him a reputation which he parlayed into a role as a producer and director. It was while casting the play Panic that Houseman met a 19-year-old Orson Welles, who was then gaining notice for his performance in Romeo and Juliet. Welles looms large in Houseman’s book, as the two men soon established a creative yet volatile partnership that endured for the next eight years. Together the two men found work through a succession of federally-sponsored theater projects that gave them the opportunity to stage experimental productions and radical works. Houseman is frank about the controversies this courted, particularly with the impact of their attempted production of the pro-labor play The Cradle Will Rock, which was shut down before it could be performed.
The loss of government support inspired Houseman and Welles to strike out on their own by starting their own company. This became the Mercury Theatre, the history of which comprises the second act in Houseman’s book. Again, his relationship with Welles takes center stage in these chapters, as the two men collaborate, struggle, and clash in their efforts to stage acclaimed performances of Julius Caesar (presented in modern dress as a commentary on fascism), The Cradle Will Rock, The Shoemaker’s Holiday, and Heartbreak House. Such was their growing reputation that they soon found themselves taking the Mercury Theatre to the airwaves, which continued their efforts to bring quality performances to the widest possible audience. Houseman devotes considerable space to recounting the program’s famous 1938 production of War of the Worlds, which plays up the considerable agitation it reputedly caused and which Houseman regards as proving an asset to their collective reputations.
The success of the Mercury Theatre’s first season proved difficult to repeat, however, and it is in Houseman’s description of their efforts to do so that his frustrations with Welles become evident. He makes plain that their artistic and critical success only increased their pressure to succeed, to which Welles responded with wildly ambitious proposals that sapped the theater’s limited resources to produce. Houseman pins the greatest blame on their production of Five Kings, Welles’s attempt to compress nearly a half-dozen of William Shakespeare’s historical plays into a two-night performance. Though he gives Welles due credit for his artistic vision, Houseman sees the project’s troubled production and poor reception as the final straw for the theater, leading to its dissolution.
By then, however, both men were exploring greener pastures further west. Welles’s reputation as a creative wunderkind won him an unprecedented deal from the film studio RKO, in which he would be paid the then-princely sum of $100,000 yearly to produce one film each year over which he would have complete artistic freedom. This launched Houseman on the final act covered in his book, which was his move to Hollywood to become a film producer. Despite a growing disaffection between the two men, Houseman remained involved with Welles’s initial film, which morphed from a failed effort to adapt Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness to a story about a man’s life told through the testimony of his intimate companions. This was Citizen Kane, the authorship of which Houseman credits above all to Herman Mankiewicz, the gifted but troubled writer with whom he collaborated on the script-writing process. Though Houseman continued to work with Welles on theatrical productions, he collaborated with others on filmmaking projects before America’s entry into the Second World War brought him into federal service once more, this time as head of the Overseas Operation of the Office of War information.
Given Houseman’s rich life and his many contributions to American culture, it is somewhat surprising that in the decades since his passing nobody has published a biography of him. One likely reason for this is the challenge of measuring up to the literary standard set by his memoirs, which provide an extremely absorbingly dramatic account of his achievements and interactions with some of the leading figures of his time. This is unfortunate, as at times Houseman’s account can be a little too absorbing, raising the question of how much of it might have been improved in the retelling. Perhaps this is to be expected from a man who as part of his profession spent many long hours punching up scripts to make them more appealing. Yet while this may compromise somewhat the value of his book as a firsthand account of American theater in the 1930s, it does nothing to detract from the enjoyment of reading it. Even when taken with a grain or two of salt, it nevertheless remains a highly entertaining account of a remarkable man and his many artistic accomplishments, one that can be read for both pleasure and enlightenment.
April 23, 2015
John Houseman's autobiography takes you from his birth to a British mother and Romanian grain merchant in Bucharest, Romania, in 1902 to his founding of the Drama Division at Juilliard in 1968.
Houseman is brutally honest, even painfully so, about his upbringing. He was born Jacques Haussmann, and raised nominally Jewish. Educated at home while his wealthy parents roved about Europe, he developed what he describes as an unhealth attachment to his mother and a woefully naïve attitude toward life. His father died when Jacques was 15, and World War I was raging in Europe. With his mother largely destitute (but continuing to live a life of luxury in France), Jacques was sent to school in England. Isolated, terrified by the real world, lacking social skills, and (by his own admission) incompetent at everything and completely lacking in self-esteem, Haussman became "John Houssman". Although in time he made a few very close (and life-long) friends, he remained pitifully lacking in self-confidence.
The next chapter in Houseman's life is just as intriguing. Although he wins a scholarship to attend Cambridge, Houseman's mother had arranged for him to spend several years in South America with a friend of the family who was a grain trader. His lack of self-esteem led Houseman to decline college and work in a remote area of the Argentine pampas for two years. Returning to London, he fell into the grain trade and was sent to the United States to learn more.
Houseman ended up establishing his own grain trading company, and was immensely successful at it -- earning millions of dollars and marrying the exotic actress Zita Johann.
And then the Great Depression ended it all. His company went bankrupt, and Houseman lost both his wife and his job.
Destitute, Houseman had no idea what to do for a living. But his administrative skills, his writing talent, and his numerous connections in the art and literary world got him jobs as a theatrical producer. His big break came in 1933, when Virgil Thomson asked Houseman to direct his new play/opera, Four Saints in Three Acts. The avant-garde play was a massive hit, and Houseman became famous overnight.
The following year, Houseman agreed to direct Archibald Macleigh's play Panic. The play was not in good shape, Macleish had long ago moved on to other work, and the play was so dated that it no longer resonated with audiences (even though it was only five years old). To boost the play's chances, Houseman asked a 19-year-old actor named Orson Welles to star in Panic. The play was not a hit, but Welles and Houseman became fast friends.
Over the next seven years, Houseman and Welles ignited the stage world with productions of Voodoo Macbeth, Tragical History of Dr. Faustus, and The Cradle Will Rock. When the Federal Theatre Project, for which they worked, collapsed, they formed the Mercury Theatre -- a theatrical and radio play company which astonished Broadway with their bare-bones fascist production of Julius Caesar. In 1938, they panicked America with their radio broadcast of The War of the Worlds.
Houseman and Welles were like oil and vinegar. Push them together, and for a short time they can say there -- producing magnificent work. But after a while, they must separate. That pattern replicated itself after each production. They would have an intense, mutually agreeable collaboration, and then they'd separate for six months to a year until the next project coalesced.
In 1940, Welles was hard at work on Heart of Darkness for RKO Pictures. But he'd spent most of the production budget without filming a single scene. He told Houseman that the Mercury Theatre would pay for the remaining production costs. Houseman told him that the theater company had no money. Welles accused Houseman of fraud and larceny, and assaulted him by hurling dishes at him during a public banquet. It ended their professional collaboration.
Nonetheless, their friendship remained intact enough for Welles to ask Houseman to "baby-sit" an alcoholic Herman J. Mankiewicz while "Mank" worked on revisions to Welles' now film, Citizen Kane. Although Houseman contributed nothing creatively to the film, his autobiography contains eye-witness information about the film's genesis that proves Mankiewicz's significant contributions.
Houseman's post-Kane years are not as exciting. He directed and produced plays, produced a few films, became vice-president of David O. Selznick Productions, ran the overseas radio division of the Office of War Information, and worked for the Voice of America. In the post-war period, he produced another 18 films -- including Julius Caesar, for which he received an Academy Award nomination for "Best Picture".
Houseman's prose style is witty and a little lavish, and it's hard not to read the book without his classic Mid-Atlantic British accent intruding into your head.
At times, you think Houseman is name-dropping. He'll talk about a Sunday afternoon cocktail party at someone's home, and casually mention the names of 15 great architects, painters, composers, directors, actors, scenic directors, sculptors, or writers. He's not name-dropping: Those were his friends, people he knew and moved among, people he respected and who respected him. They were there, and important to the salons he attended.
I was deeply moved by Houseman's naked honesty in discussing his early life, especially those years just before his move to the United States. Houseman is extremely self-aware and introspective, and he has no qualms about telling you that his virginity (which he did not lose until he was 24) deeply bothered him, or that his complete lack of self-esteem led him to do some amazingly cruel and self-destructive things.
As Houseman ages in the autobiography, this naked emotion is reduced somewhat, as Houseman comes to be more descriptive of the people around him and the events which happen than interested in discussing John Houseman. But that's only to be expected, as Houseman himself matures and gains the self-confidence to stop worrying about himself so much.
This is a great auto-biography.
Houseman is brutally honest, even painfully so, about his upbringing. He was born Jacques Haussmann, and raised nominally Jewish. Educated at home while his wealthy parents roved about Europe, he developed what he describes as an unhealth attachment to his mother and a woefully naïve attitude toward life. His father died when Jacques was 15, and World War I was raging in Europe. With his mother largely destitute (but continuing to live a life of luxury in France), Jacques was sent to school in England. Isolated, terrified by the real world, lacking social skills, and (by his own admission) incompetent at everything and completely lacking in self-esteem, Haussman became "John Houssman". Although in time he made a few very close (and life-long) friends, he remained pitifully lacking in self-confidence.
The next chapter in Houseman's life is just as intriguing. Although he wins a scholarship to attend Cambridge, Houseman's mother had arranged for him to spend several years in South America with a friend of the family who was a grain trader. His lack of self-esteem led Houseman to decline college and work in a remote area of the Argentine pampas for two years. Returning to London, he fell into the grain trade and was sent to the United States to learn more.
Houseman ended up establishing his own grain trading company, and was immensely successful at it -- earning millions of dollars and marrying the exotic actress Zita Johann.
And then the Great Depression ended it all. His company went bankrupt, and Houseman lost both his wife and his job.
Destitute, Houseman had no idea what to do for a living. But his administrative skills, his writing talent, and his numerous connections in the art and literary world got him jobs as a theatrical producer. His big break came in 1933, when Virgil Thomson asked Houseman to direct his new play/opera, Four Saints in Three Acts. The avant-garde play was a massive hit, and Houseman became famous overnight.
The following year, Houseman agreed to direct Archibald Macleigh's play Panic. The play was not in good shape, Macleish had long ago moved on to other work, and the play was so dated that it no longer resonated with audiences (even though it was only five years old). To boost the play's chances, Houseman asked a 19-year-old actor named Orson Welles to star in Panic. The play was not a hit, but Welles and Houseman became fast friends.
Over the next seven years, Houseman and Welles ignited the stage world with productions of Voodoo Macbeth, Tragical History of Dr. Faustus, and The Cradle Will Rock. When the Federal Theatre Project, for which they worked, collapsed, they formed the Mercury Theatre -- a theatrical and radio play company which astonished Broadway with their bare-bones fascist production of Julius Caesar. In 1938, they panicked America with their radio broadcast of The War of the Worlds.
Houseman and Welles were like oil and vinegar. Push them together, and for a short time they can say there -- producing magnificent work. But after a while, they must separate. That pattern replicated itself after each production. They would have an intense, mutually agreeable collaboration, and then they'd separate for six months to a year until the next project coalesced.
In 1940, Welles was hard at work on Heart of Darkness for RKO Pictures. But he'd spent most of the production budget without filming a single scene. He told Houseman that the Mercury Theatre would pay for the remaining production costs. Houseman told him that the theater company had no money. Welles accused Houseman of fraud and larceny, and assaulted him by hurling dishes at him during a public banquet. It ended their professional collaboration.
Nonetheless, their friendship remained intact enough for Welles to ask Houseman to "baby-sit" an alcoholic Herman J. Mankiewicz while "Mank" worked on revisions to Welles' now film, Citizen Kane. Although Houseman contributed nothing creatively to the film, his autobiography contains eye-witness information about the film's genesis that proves Mankiewicz's significant contributions.
Houseman's post-Kane years are not as exciting. He directed and produced plays, produced a few films, became vice-president of David O. Selznick Productions, ran the overseas radio division of the Office of War Information, and worked for the Voice of America. In the post-war period, he produced another 18 films -- including Julius Caesar, for which he received an Academy Award nomination for "Best Picture".
Houseman's prose style is witty and a little lavish, and it's hard not to read the book without his classic Mid-Atlantic British accent intruding into your head.
At times, you think Houseman is name-dropping. He'll talk about a Sunday afternoon cocktail party at someone's home, and casually mention the names of 15 great architects, painters, composers, directors, actors, scenic directors, sculptors, or writers. He's not name-dropping: Those were his friends, people he knew and moved among, people he respected and who respected him. They were there, and important to the salons he attended.
I was deeply moved by Houseman's naked honesty in discussing his early life, especially those years just before his move to the United States. Houseman is extremely self-aware and introspective, and he has no qualms about telling you that his virginity (which he did not lose until he was 24) deeply bothered him, or that his complete lack of self-esteem led him to do some amazingly cruel and self-destructive things.
As Houseman ages in the autobiography, this naked emotion is reduced somewhat, as Houseman comes to be more descriptive of the people around him and the events which happen than interested in discussing John Houseman. But that's only to be expected, as Houseman himself matures and gains the self-confidence to stop worrying about himself so much.
This is a great auto-biography.
March 5, 2015
A fascinating story on many levels: Houseman's life as a citizen of many nations and none, his coming to America and success as an immigrant, his fraught but creative relationship with Orson Welles, his work at the nexus of so much mid-20th Century art of the theater, Broadway, radio and finally motion pictures. All written masterfully by a man fluent in 4 languages.
August 10, 2012
If you are a fan of theater, life in the 1930's, Orson Welles, Houseman, radio theater or hollywood in the 30s read this.
November 27, 2013
Interesting and detailed story with many fascinating people.
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews