Spencer Tracy_ A Biography - James C. Curtis [444]
Tracy relented, and in April a deal was struck for the same money and percentages as for Desk Set. He briefly tried getting out of the commitment in June, pro forma, but the real trouble over Ten North Frederick didn’t start until Adler began pushing a protégée, actress-model Suzy Parker, for the role of Kate. Tracy didn’t think Parker could act, and there followed a flurry of tests—Dina Merrill, Marjorie Steele, Inger Stevens. According to Merrill, Adler “had the hots” for Suzy Parker, and in the end no one else would do for the part. Tracy told Allenberg to get him out of the picture, and there was a momentary threat from Fox of a lawsuit.
Adler backed off, convinced he had an even stronger use for Tracy—as Professor Unrat opposite Marilyn Monroe in a modern remake of The Blue Angel. There was no director yet attached, but the plan was to do the film that summer in Europe. Tracy was intrigued enough to have a look at the 1930 original with Emil Jannings and Marlene Dietrich. “Fabulous pic[ture] & part,” he wrote in his book. “O.K. if right director.” By the time the deal was made, however, Desk Set had proven a failure, reporting domestic rentals of just $1.7 million. The best Adler could do was a straight salary of $200,000. The deal was still hanging fire on October 29 when Louis B. Mayer died of leukemia and Irene Selznick asked Tracy to read the eulogy.
Kate described the chaotic funeral at Wilshire Boulevard Temple as “something out of the black” with Spence “almost having a fit” while Irene was “lost in the search for simplicity.” Two thousand mourners gathered under the temple’s great vaulted ceiling as another three thousand onlookers crowded outside. From high in the organ gallery Jeanette MacDonald sang “Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life.” Seated below was a veritable Who’s Who of Mayer’s M-G-M family—Robert Taylor, Eleanor Powell, Fred Astaire, Jimmy Stewart, Red Skelton, Van Johnson, Howard Strickling, Clarence Brown, Billie Burke, Jimmy Durante. Great masses of flowers surrounded a casket draped with red and white roses. Tracy spoke of a “shining epoch” that seemed to pass with Mayer’s death, an epoch of which he clearly felt a part. “There were giants in those days,” he said firmly, “and there are giants in these days—but rarely. Louis B. Mayer was a giant. The merchandise he handled was intangible—something that met the primary human need for entertainment. He knew how to take people out of the everyday world and into a dream world. Even those long associated with him marveled at where he found his insight. He did not find it; he earned it by knowing people.”
The deal for The Blue Angel was okayed just after the first of the year, but with stipulations: that Monroe would be the costar, that Tracy would receive first billing, that Adler would personally produce the picture, and that it would be made in color. The drop in price was to be covered with a percentage of the gross after breakeven. Within a week there was “Monroe trouble” and Tracy, by now having heard all the horror stories, told Allenberg he wanted out. Word was passed to Fox’s Lew Schreiber, who felt the studio would probably work out a deal with the actress and then come back. “No soap!” was Tracy’s response.
Hepburn, who thought Ten North Frederick “a big bore,” was instrumental in bringing Tracy’s next picture to fruition. Jack Ford had set up a deal at Columbia to make Edwin O’Connor’s The Last Hurrah and wanted Tracy to play the part of O’Connor’s engaging old Irish pol, Frank Skeffington. The story was a natural fit for both men, the passing of an era in American politics in which