Non­fic­tion

Louis B. May­er and Irv­ing Thal­berg: The Whole Equation

  • Review
By – February 3, 2025

What an inspired idea: a dual biog­ra­phy of the two men who made Metro-Gold­wyn-May­er the wealth­i­est, and most respect­ed, film stu­dio dur­ing Hollywood’s Gold­en Age. Louis B. Mayer’s tal­ent for busi­ness, and Irv­ing Thalberg’s instincts for sto­ry­telling and work­ing with actors, made them an unbeat­able team.

Louis B. May­er set­tled in Boston after leav­ing Ukraine in 1904. It was there that he noticed the grow­ing pop­u­lar­i­ty of store­front movie the­aters, or nick­elodeons. He bor­rowed mon­ey to buy one and, a decade lat­er, he cofound­ed a film dis­trib­u­tor called Metro Pic­tures. In 1916, he earned fees of per­haps two hun­dred thou­sand dol­lars, com­pa­ra­ble to mil­lions of dol­lars today. May­er then cre­at­ed his own pro­duc­tion com­pa­ny and moved to California.

He knew how to make a prof­it, and he didn’t stint on expens­es. Mayer’s strat­e­gy was to set Metro apart from its com­peti­tors by offer­ing a great star, great direc­tor, great play, great cast” in every film. To make that a real­i­ty, he hired Universal’s head of pro­duc­tion, twen­ty-three-year-old Irv­ing Thal­berg, to be vice pres­i­dent of the Louis B. May­er Stu­dio. May­er and Thal­berg imme­di­ate­ly formed a close per­son­al bond. And despite his age, Thal­berg was no neo­phyte. He had already shown his met­tle at Uni­ver­sal, where he fired star actor Erich von Stro­heim for ignor­ing the bud­get and management.

Thal­berg intu­itive­ly grasped what makes a film suc­ceed. One direc­tor said, You would make a date with Irv­ing, talk to him for thir­ty min­utes, and you’d come away from the office with the best scene in the pic­ture.” Actress Myr­na Loy cred­it­ed him with point­ing out that her shy­ness was hurt­ing her per­for­mances. Gre­ta Gar­bo made all of her Amer­i­can films at MGM because she trust­ed Thalberg’s guid­ance. Col­leagues at oth­er stu­dios, like direc­tors Frank Capra and Mervyn LeRoy, called him a genius.” And Mayer’s extra­or­di­nary skills in bar­gain­ing, and cajol­ing actors, were just as cru­cial to the studio’s suc­cess as Thalberg’s under­stand­ing of actors, plot, and movie audiences.

The sheer range of the six­ty-one films pro­duced under Thalberg’s super­vi­sion is aston­ish­ing: from lit­er­ary adap­ta­tions like The Scar­let Let­ter, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and Anna Christie to the grit­ty real­ism of The Big House; from star vehi­cles like Grand Hotel to action pic­tures like Ben-Hur; from the dra­ma of Mutiny on the Boun­ty to the wacky com­e­dy of the Marx Broth­ers in A Day at the Races and A Night at the Opera. Trag­i­cal­ly, Thalberg’s sto­ry is also a chron­i­cle of a death fore­told. He was diag­nosed short­ly after birth with a con­gen­i­tal heart defect, and he was not expect­ed to live past thir­ty. In the end, he lived to be thir­ty-sev­en. MGM did pro­duce a few his­toric films after his pass­ing, includ­ing The Wiz­ard of Oz, Gone with the Wind, Philadel­phia Sto­ry, The Shop Around the Cor­ner, and Sin­gin’ in the Rain. But the studio’s best days were over.

Ken­neth Turan, who was the film crit­ic of the Los Ange­les Times for three decades, is the ide­al guide to this chap­ter of film and Jew­ish cul­ture. His deep knowl­edge and love of film, his eye for a great anec­dote, and his easy­go­ing, con­ver­sa­tion­al tone make this book a delight from start to fin­ish. Turan is also a gen­er­ous author, cit­ing many oth­er books as he tells the sto­ry, and list­ing them in twen­ty-two pages of sources. It’s alto­geth­er an out­stand­ing achievement.

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