Alan Crosland(1894-1936)
- Director
- Writer
- Producer
Director Alan Crosland was born in New York City on August 10, 1894, into an upper-middle class
family, which soon moved to East Orange, NJ, where
Alan was reared. His family's finances allowed for him to spend part of
his elementary education in England, where he acquired a curious
Anglo-American accent that he would affect for the rest of his life.
With a restless personality that was complemented by a sharp intellect
and a smooth tongue, Crosland had an uncanny ability to befriend even
the most disagreeable people around him (a talent he would put to good
use in Hollywood). He attended Dartmouth College but left before
graduation, deciding he wanted to become a journalist, and eventually
landed a job with the New York Globe, writing articles and short
stories on the side for movie magazines. From 1912 he began to
moonlight with the nearby Edison Company as an actor and stage manager.
He performed a variety of duties there, eventually directing the
studio's last feature,
The Unbeliever (1918), shortly
before being drafted into the US Army during World War I. He served out the Great War in the
Army Photo Service. After the armistice he signed with a smaller
independent company, Select, one he had briefly worked with prior to
the war, remaining with them on ten more pictures through 1922. During
this period he gained an enviable reputation for effectively
directing some of the most temperamental stars of the day. He was
of the few directors who actually liked
Erich von Stroheim and obtained
effective performances from the notoriously hammy (yet undeniably
talented) Lionel Barrymore.
He signed with Goldwyn-Cosmopolitan in 1923, where the reviews for Under the Red Robe (1923) placed him solidly in the ranks of Hollywood's top directors. He became the first director a studio wanted when shooting a big-budget, prestigious historical drama, especially if it starred a difficult actor that might be inclined to spin costs out of control. With his reputation growing, Crosland lived life to the hilt, thoroughly enjoying the 1920s Hollywood lifestyle; he was frequently seen around town looking always dapper in the latest flashy cars and inside the latest hot spot with a dazzling starlet.
After a brief stint at Paramount, Crosland signed with Warner Brothers and was assigned to projects by Darryl F. Zanuck just when the studio was in the midst of a make-or-break gamble on sound with its Vitaphone sound-on-disk system. At that time Warner Brothers was considered almost a "Poverty Row" studio, well below the ranks of MGM, Universal and Paramount. It had acquired an unenviable reputation in Hollywood as having only two major stars, one of whom was a German Shepherd named Rin-Tin-Tin and the other the temperamental, hard-drinking John Barrymore, who was hauled out for its few prestige pictures. One of the five combative brothers who ran the studio, Sam Warner, saw sound as the way to eliminate the need for theatrical orchestras and establish what he felt was Warner's rightful place within the film industry. Crosland's reputation for handling both spectacle and difficult stars made him the obvious choice to direct the studio's first tentative stab at sound, Don Juan (1926), which was the first film to contain synchronized music and sound effects. It was a moderate success and he was picked for an even more ambitious project, The Jazz Singer (1927), a part-talkie, on which the studio's entire fortunes rested. Crosland was chosen to direct the maudlin story largely on his ability to work with the notoriously difficult Al Jolson, after George Jessel (who had starred in the Broadway production) walked out over a pay dispute. The $500,000 production had only 281 spoken words (mostly incidental to the songs and ad-libbed by Jolson) but it ignited the public's voracious appetite for talkies and grossed $3,000,000, a blockbuster in those days.
Hollywood was soon caught up in a war between competing sound technologies: Warner's Vitaphone and Fox's superior Western Electric sound-on-film process. Meanwhile, studios faced enormous conversion costs and uncertainties over their stars' abilities to transition to sound. By 1928 the silent film had reached the pinnacle of its artistic achievement and the early talkies, by comparison, appeared crude. While some studios--most notably MGM (whose parent Loew's faced monumental costs related to converting its extensive theater network)--adopted a wait-and-see attitude toward both the public acceptance of sound and choosing a system, Warner's saw talkies in the form of its Vitaphone as its salvation. In Crosland's world of 1927-29, it should be remembered that sound cameras were fixed and muffled, large microphones had to be cleverly hidden and actors were often justifiably terrified of how their voices would be received. Unfortunately the Vitaphone process seriously limited the ability to edit a film, resulting in stagy long takes, and with its cumbersome electro-mechanical hardware and fragile records that would often break in transit, it was soon obvious that Fox's sound-on-film system was vastly superior (Warner's would quietly admit technological defeat in 1931 and convert).
Technology issues aside, the Vitaphone propelled Warner Brothers solidly into the ranks of the A-list studios and, infused with cash, it acquired Fox's First National theatrical network by 1930, a crucial business move that greatly expanded the studio's distribution capabilities and enabled it to ride out huge losses it would incur from 1931-34. It was during this all-too-brief transition period that Alan Crosland was the most experienced sound director in town. He directed another part-talkie hit, Glorious Betsy (1928), starring Dolores Costello, a return to his favored costume spectacle.
By mid-1929 it became apparent that a movie could not solely depend on the novelty of sound; hits required production values and a degree of action, an uncomfortable situation given the restrictions of the equipment. At this point Crosland stumbled badly. A primitive attempt at color didn't help On with the Show! (1929), a creaky musical starring a badly miscast Betty Compson and Arthur Lake, a textbook example of claustrophobic filmmaking and Crosland's first real flop. He tripped again with Captain Thunder (1930), one of his worst films. His next two assignments delved into the opera genre with dismal box office returns. His personal life became rocky, with his first marriage to Juanita Fletcher failing in 1930. He hastily wed actress Natalie Moorhead, a union that would last less than five years. Although he would direct more than 20 features--some of them moderately successful--after his career triumph with "The Jazz Singer," Crosland fell from the ranks of A-list directors and settled into directing B-level pictures.
Early in the morning of July 10, 1936, he was driving on Sunset Boulevard when his car hit some road debris and he swerved off the road, flipping twice in a construction zone. He was rushed to the hospital with multiple broken bones and a suspected skull fracture. Within four days he contracted pneumonia and his condition was downgraded by his doctor. He died on July 16, 1936, just shy of his 42nd birthday. His last film, The Case of the Black Cat (1936), was completed by William C. McGann. Crosland was survived by his son (with Juanita Fletcher), Alan Crosland Jr., who became a very successful television director in the 1960s-'70s.
He signed with Goldwyn-Cosmopolitan in 1923, where the reviews for Under the Red Robe (1923) placed him solidly in the ranks of Hollywood's top directors. He became the first director a studio wanted when shooting a big-budget, prestigious historical drama, especially if it starred a difficult actor that might be inclined to spin costs out of control. With his reputation growing, Crosland lived life to the hilt, thoroughly enjoying the 1920s Hollywood lifestyle; he was frequently seen around town looking always dapper in the latest flashy cars and inside the latest hot spot with a dazzling starlet.
After a brief stint at Paramount, Crosland signed with Warner Brothers and was assigned to projects by Darryl F. Zanuck just when the studio was in the midst of a make-or-break gamble on sound with its Vitaphone sound-on-disk system. At that time Warner Brothers was considered almost a "Poverty Row" studio, well below the ranks of MGM, Universal and Paramount. It had acquired an unenviable reputation in Hollywood as having only two major stars, one of whom was a German Shepherd named Rin-Tin-Tin and the other the temperamental, hard-drinking John Barrymore, who was hauled out for its few prestige pictures. One of the five combative brothers who ran the studio, Sam Warner, saw sound as the way to eliminate the need for theatrical orchestras and establish what he felt was Warner's rightful place within the film industry. Crosland's reputation for handling both spectacle and difficult stars made him the obvious choice to direct the studio's first tentative stab at sound, Don Juan (1926), which was the first film to contain synchronized music and sound effects. It was a moderate success and he was picked for an even more ambitious project, The Jazz Singer (1927), a part-talkie, on which the studio's entire fortunes rested. Crosland was chosen to direct the maudlin story largely on his ability to work with the notoriously difficult Al Jolson, after George Jessel (who had starred in the Broadway production) walked out over a pay dispute. The $500,000 production had only 281 spoken words (mostly incidental to the songs and ad-libbed by Jolson) but it ignited the public's voracious appetite for talkies and grossed $3,000,000, a blockbuster in those days.
Hollywood was soon caught up in a war between competing sound technologies: Warner's Vitaphone and Fox's superior Western Electric sound-on-film process. Meanwhile, studios faced enormous conversion costs and uncertainties over their stars' abilities to transition to sound. By 1928 the silent film had reached the pinnacle of its artistic achievement and the early talkies, by comparison, appeared crude. While some studios--most notably MGM (whose parent Loew's faced monumental costs related to converting its extensive theater network)--adopted a wait-and-see attitude toward both the public acceptance of sound and choosing a system, Warner's saw talkies in the form of its Vitaphone as its salvation. In Crosland's world of 1927-29, it should be remembered that sound cameras were fixed and muffled, large microphones had to be cleverly hidden and actors were often justifiably terrified of how their voices would be received. Unfortunately the Vitaphone process seriously limited the ability to edit a film, resulting in stagy long takes, and with its cumbersome electro-mechanical hardware and fragile records that would often break in transit, it was soon obvious that Fox's sound-on-film system was vastly superior (Warner's would quietly admit technological defeat in 1931 and convert).
Technology issues aside, the Vitaphone propelled Warner Brothers solidly into the ranks of the A-list studios and, infused with cash, it acquired Fox's First National theatrical network by 1930, a crucial business move that greatly expanded the studio's distribution capabilities and enabled it to ride out huge losses it would incur from 1931-34. It was during this all-too-brief transition period that Alan Crosland was the most experienced sound director in town. He directed another part-talkie hit, Glorious Betsy (1928), starring Dolores Costello, a return to his favored costume spectacle.
By mid-1929 it became apparent that a movie could not solely depend on the novelty of sound; hits required production values and a degree of action, an uncomfortable situation given the restrictions of the equipment. At this point Crosland stumbled badly. A primitive attempt at color didn't help On with the Show! (1929), a creaky musical starring a badly miscast Betty Compson and Arthur Lake, a textbook example of claustrophobic filmmaking and Crosland's first real flop. He tripped again with Captain Thunder (1930), one of his worst films. His next two assignments delved into the opera genre with dismal box office returns. His personal life became rocky, with his first marriage to Juanita Fletcher failing in 1930. He hastily wed actress Natalie Moorhead, a union that would last less than five years. Although he would direct more than 20 features--some of them moderately successful--after his career triumph with "The Jazz Singer," Crosland fell from the ranks of A-list directors and settled into directing B-level pictures.
Early in the morning of July 10, 1936, he was driving on Sunset Boulevard when his car hit some road debris and he swerved off the road, flipping twice in a construction zone. He was rushed to the hospital with multiple broken bones and a suspected skull fracture. Within four days he contracted pneumonia and his condition was downgraded by his doctor. He died on July 16, 1936, just shy of his 42nd birthday. His last film, The Case of the Black Cat (1936), was completed by William C. McGann. Crosland was survived by his son (with Juanita Fletcher), Alan Crosland Jr., who became a very successful television director in the 1960s-'70s.
