Maurice Elvey (Film Director) 11/11/1887 – 28/8/1967 by Admin — Last Modified Jul 28, 2008 04:49 PM
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Maurice Elvey (film director) 11/11/1887 – 28/8/1967 by admin — last modified Jul 28, 2008 04:49 PM BIOGRAPHY: Maurice Elvey was one of the most prolific directors in British cinema history, directing over 300 feature films between 1917 and 1953. Elvey began his career on stage as an actor, and he also acted in his directorial debut, The Fallen Idol (1913). He later became known for his historical-biographical films, including Life Story of David Lloyd George (1918). By the early 1920s, Elvey had become the chief director at Stoll studios, where he worked particularly on literary adaptations. His career in silent cinema culminated with the well-regarded Hindle Wakes (1927). In the 1930s he Elvey was involved in the production of numerous ‘quota quickies’. Faltering eyesight eventually led him to retire in 1957. SUMMARY: In this brief interview he talks to Ralph Bond about his early life working in London, his early career as a stage director with the Adelphi Play Society, and his conversion to film on a trip to America in 1912. Elvey talks about some of the high points of his career as a silent film director, particularly the making of The Flag Lieutenant (1926) and High Treason (1929). He talks about working conditions within the ‘quota quickie’ section of the industry, offering memories of figures like Julius Hagen. Elvey muses interestingly on the changes in working conditions which he has observed during his extraordinarily long career in British film. BECTU History Project - Interview No. 110 [Copyright BECTU ] Transcription Date: [? Pilot Project] Interview Date: 1963-10-01 Interviewer: Ralph Bond Interviewee: Maurice Elvey Tape 1, Side 1 Ralph Bond : This is a tape-recorded interview with Maurice Elvey, who is certainly one of the pioneers of the British film industry. Even the doyen of the British film industry. During his lifetime, Maurice has made at least 150 films. Maurice, I gather you were born in 1887, and I wonder if you can tell us something about your early days. Maurice Elvey : I will, but I don't like to remember them very much. I try and forget, but I suppose the experiences I underwent formed me, for good or ill. I never went to school. My early life, my young life, my childhood life, was spent avoiding school board inspectors - uniformed men who came round and tried and captured you, and made you go to a local board school somewhere. Well, of course, if I was at school I couldn't work, and if I didn't work I didn't eat, so you escaped for that reason. Not because you wanted to get away from the restraint of going to school. I was actually working when I was 9 years old in the streets of London. I expect you've all heard the Flanagan and Allen song, "Underneath the Arches." Well, I know those arches; they're actually between Northumberland Avenue and Villiers Street, underneath Charing Cross, er..., railway viaduct-thing. And that is where I slept many, many, many, many times. It was damn cold, and full of fleas, but that was some shelter. The great problem, of course, was that if you did earn a few coppers - never a few shillings, that was a lot of money - if you did earn a few coppers, the problem was: did you find somewhere warm at night, or did you eat? Well, at that age, of course, you ate - when you could. Well, all these... hardships one didn't realise were hardships at the time. But I'm not sure that they weren't very good for me. I'm not sure that most people today aren't over-educated. I think life is the only real education, but, however, this is getting off the track. What would you like me to tell you? Ralph Bond : Well, you obviously had hard times in those days. What was your first real job, apart from earning hard coppers? Maurice Elvey : Well, my first real job - the first job I really remember - was being a page boy at the Hyde Park Hotel - which is still there. And, of course, this was wonderful. I must have been then, I suppose, in my very early 'teens. This was wonderful because of course I had about 9 meals a day - you could always cram something. And we all slept together - that is, the males - in a large dormitory at the top of the building, which, of course, meant that you were warm. Ralph Bond : And how long did this go on? Were your ambitions higher than to be... Maurice Elvey : Oh, I hated it! I hated the uniform. I was very rebellious, like all teenagers should be. And I couldn't bear the implied servitude which this uniform forced upon me. But, of course, it was very lucky in a way because I remember the thing that changed my whole existence was an American who left the Hyde Park Hotel in a four-wheeler - I presume to catch a train. I presume he had a wife; I don't know. I'd know his face again if he walked in this room today. I remember him with the utmost gratitude because he looked at me - I must have done an errand for him, and got back in time, or something - and he said, "You're a bright spark," or words to that effect. And I must have said, "Thank you sir," and he said, "Do you like your job?" and I said, "No sir!" and he said "You would like to get out of that uniform, rig," - or whatever he called it - and I said "oh God, yes," or words to that effect. And he said, "Alright! If I give you five English sovereigns will you throw that uniform away this afternoon and go out and get a real job?" And I said "Yes sir!" And he did, he gave me five English golden pounds. And I walked out of the Hyde Park Hotel the moment my turn of duty was done that day, and I never looked back in the whole of my life. Ralph Bond : What did you do with the five pounds? Maurice Elvey : Well, that was a lot of money. You could live then for six or eight weeks on that, you know, at my age. And I took a room in the Adelphi, just off The Strand. And I remember I paid half a crown a week for it, and it had nothing in it whatever, not even a chair. And there was some water on the landing. But, it was my own, and I had a corner. And it was in the middle of theatreland, which I'd always been obsessed by - the theatre. Don't ask why, I don't know. But I was. And then, eventually, I got a job, of sorts, working a printing press - printing machine, rather - which used to print visiting cards at a shilling a hundred. And I was exhibited in the window working this machine, and I got twelve shillings a week. It was in Garrick Street - again, you see, theatreland - opposite the Garrick Club, and I used to see my great idols of the theatre, and I used to spend sixpence to go up in the "gods" and applaud. George Alexander, Lewis Waller: all these people who meant everything in my life at that impressionable age. And I got twelve-and-six a week for that. And one lunchtime - I mean, you've asked for this, so you might as well have it! - one lunchtime I went out and I walked past the stage door of what is now the Strand theatre; it was then called the Waldorf theatre, next to the Waldorf Hotel. And I saw a bunch of people - there were no queues in those days - and I was curious, and a man said "They are engaging 'supers' for a new play, a new production," - it turned out to be Hamlet, incidentally. And I said, "What is a 'super?'" He said, "Well, you walk on," as it was called then - we call them extras now. You were a walking-on gentleman - and you got a guinea a week, mark you! And you only worked six nights and two matinees: this was a miracle compared to twelve and sixpence for umpteen hours trundling away at some filthy machine! So I never went back to that. And I remember I had to pay the super-master half a crown out of my weekly wages which was no more than his due, I think, because he was acting as an agent. And then, of course, I had the most extraordinary experiences for a young lad at that age of listening to Shakespeare every night. Ralph Bond : So, that's how you started in the theatre, in walk-on parts? Maurice Elvey : That's how I started in the theatre, and I determined never to leave it! Then the next job I got when that came to an end was I went to an agent in Regent Street - one of those large fur-collared gentlemen of the old school, with a curly top hat. His name, believe it or not, was Mr. Kelsom-Truman - and he looked it! He sent me off to Nottingham to be a chorus boy in a pantomime. He asked me if I could sing. Of course, I said "Yes," and I'd never sung a note! And there I went up, and I got two pounds a week. And being an ambitious sort of lad - I must have been - I understudied the Demon Rat - ha ha - and eventually became assistant stage manager.