Mario Lanza: A Speech by Armando Cesari

Mario Lanza: A Speech by Armando Cesari
by Armando Cesari

Mario Lanza: A Speech by Armando Cesari

Note: The following speech by Armando Cesari, author of Mario Lanza: An American Tragedy (Baskerville, 2004), was given in Melbourne, Australia in May 2004.

The questions I'm most often asked are: "What made you write a book on Mario Lanza?" and "Why the title 'An American Tragedy?' " The answer to the former is really quite simple. There are two main reasons, actually -- the first is to play tribute to a great voice and a great talent. The second -- and more important one -- is to set the record straight by dispelling the myths, falsehoods, distortions, and exaggerations that have been perpetuated about Lanza over more than 50 years.

I thought the title An American Tragedy was appropriate, as it was indeed a tragedy that a talent of such magnitude was destined to remain unfulfilled.

"Yes, but why Lanza," you may ask, "as opposed to other great operatic singers, or for that matter film idols of the 50s?"

What was it about Lanza that set him apart -- that made him stand out? Why is it that he has been able to influence entire generations of up-and-coming opera singers? And why is he still listened to and talked about more than forty years after his premature death?

The voice, of course! But it was more than just an exceptionally beautiful voice.

As well as the voice, Lanza possessed all of the attributes that make a great singer: a solid technique combined with expression, perfect diction, and a feeling for the lyrics that made even the simplest of songs come alive.

He had, in effect, all that is required for a great operatic career. Yet today Lanza is remembered essentially as a movie star and, in particular, for The Student Prince -- a film in which he didn't even appear and for which he only provided his singing voice for the soundtrack.

So what happened? Why did Lanza end up making movies in Hollywood instead of conquering the operatic stage?

We will examine this shortly, but first I thought that I should give you a little background about myself and how the book came to be.

I discovered Mario Lanza in my teens. Music played a significant part in my family. My father, who died when I was two, played the violin, piano, and clarinet, so music and opera formed a natural part of our lives. The radio was always on and music (mainly operatic) was constantly being heard in the background. I would hear my mother and grandparents discussing various operas and opera singers, but at that stage I was mainly concerned with sport and didn't pay much attention to them.

It was not until a few years later that I discovered Lanza.

My uncle had a large collection of operatic records that included many tenors such as Caruso, Gigli, Bjorling, Schipa, Di Stefano and Lanza. The records were all 78s, so they were breakable, but my uncle knew I was careful in handling them and would let me play them. (I must confess that I did break one. It was a 12 inch record of Caruso and it really upset my uncle, but he forgave me and I was able to resume my record playing.)

I played all the records, not just tenors, but sopranos, baritones, mezzos and so on, but somehow I kept going back to Lanza. My mother was curious as to why I kept listening to Lanza more than the other singers. I remember telling her that apart from the beauty of his voice, I felt that his singing communicated something to me that the others didn't.

I didn't know it at the time, but what Lanza had in abundance is known as artistic temperament. He had an incredible feeling for the music and the lyrics, and he was able to transmit this to the listener who, in turn, responded to his message.

There are many singers with beautiful voices and great technique that are nevertheless dull because they lack interpretation. Lanza was exciting.

Artistic temperament is not something that can be learned or acquired. It's not something that can be learned from a teacher. Nor can you go to a doctor and ask him to give it to you in the form of a pill or injection. Artistic temperament is something a singer is born with. It's the essence of a truly great singer.

So I was hooked. I remember that after seeing The Toast of New Orleans, my mother commented: "He not only has a wonderful voice but I've never seen such a good looking tenor!"

I started to follow Lanza's career, bought his records, saw his movies. In short I became some sort of an expert. But although I knew a lot about him, it was not sufficient to write a biography.

In my opinion the principal aim of every biographer should be to do justice to his subject. This can only be done by researching the subject thoroughly and by telling the truth. Telling the truth in Mario Lanza's case is particularly important as the amount of trash that has been written about him could probably fill this room.

One so-called biographer, for example, quotes a second-rate conductor stating that he couldn't teach Lanza the tenor part in Beethoven's Ninth Symphony in the allotted time of five weeks. He claims that it was just too complex for Lanza to learn.

Well, the tenor part in Beethoven's Ninth consists of the solo, which is less than a minute long and not at all difficult to sing, and a few bars in ensemble.

Had this so-called biographer done his homework, or understood anything about singing, he would have avoided making a fool of himself by writing such nonsense.

So in order to do justice to my subject, I set out over a period spanning almost 30 years to interview as many of the people associated with Lanza as possible in America, Italy, and England. I also obtained all the information I could from libraries, family documents, etc.

There's really no need to invent or exaggerate anything because, ultimately, Lanza's story is indeed a tragic one.

Because of his involvement with Hollywood, Lanza was never taken seriously either by the majority of the so-called music critics or by the musicals snobs, who looked down their noses at a singer of operatic capabilities who was making films, and very successfully, in Hollywood.

The so-called connoisseurs are the very ones who today criticize The Three Tenors' concerts as cheap entertainment for the masses. But The Three Tenors, just as Lanza before them, have helped to popularise opera -- to bring it to people who had never heard an aria, let alone an opera.

The notion that someone commercially successful cannot be classified as an artist is absurd -- whoever said this had to be? Therefore the question has to be asked: Why did Lanza go to Hollywood, as opposed to the Metropolitan, La Scala or Covent Garden? The answer as to why he signed an MGM contract is really quite simple. They offered him a fortune. Lanza also had the good looks, personality and charisma that are seldom, if ever, found in an operatic singer. MGM saw his great movie potential, made him an offer he couldn't refuse, and for Lanza it was the beginning of the end.

At a time when he was averaging 300 dollars per concert (the top fee at the Metropolitan was 1000 dollars (paid only to a few select singers), MGM offered Lanza an initial salary of 750 dollars per week plus a bonus of 10,000 dollars for signing a seven-year contract. They also stipulated that he would be paid 25,000 dollars for his first film, $50,000 for the second and $100,000 for the third.

There was nothing new in having opera singers appear in films. From Farrar and Caruso -- right down to Pavarotti -- there��s a neverending list of operatic singers who have been enticed to make films by the huge sums of money offered and the prospects of reaching a wider audience.

However, there was one major difference. Unlike Lanza, they were all established opera singers. Lanza was not. They were fairly secure and settled in their respective careers. Lanza, on the other hand, was only starting out -- he was on the threshold of an operatic career when Hollywood beckoned.

The path to a successful career had been relatively easy for Lanza. Having discovered he had a voice, he started working with a coach at the age of 19. Two years later he auditioned for Serge Koussevitsky, the great conductor of the Boston Symphony, who immediately awarded him a scholarship to study in Tanglewood, the summer home of the Boston Symphony. Lanza made his debut as Fenton in the The Merry Wives of Windsor to rave reviews, but shortly after his studies were interrupted and he was inducted into the Army for the next two years. While serving as a GI, he took part in Army shows that included 'Winged Victory' on Broadway. In the meantime, he had been signed to an exclusive contract by the giant RCA recording company, and by Columbia Artist Management, who would handle his concert and opera appearances.

This brings me to 1947, and the time when Lanza signed the contract with MGM. At this stage of his career, Lanza was heading only in one direction -- the operatic stage. Since arriving in New York, he had studied with the best -- Gigli��s teacher Enrico Rosati -- and had sung over 100 concerts, getting absolute rave reviews. The sort of reviews that most singers can often only dream about, in fact. His goal was certainly not the MGM Studios. His lifelong ambition was to become a great opera singer.

Unfortunately, at the time he thought he would be able to do both -- make films and sing opera. And he probably would have been able to do just that if he hadn��t become an overnight success with his first film, That Midnight Kiss. Such was the impact that Lanza made on the public and critics alike in his first film appearance that MGM paid him twice what his contract called for -- 50,000 dollars instead of the agreed 25,000 dollars. The studio immediately followed up with a second film, The Toast of New Orleans, which was an ever bigger hit. More than two million records were sold of 'Be My Love', one of the songs from the film. It was the first time in the history of RCA that a classical artist had sold more than a million copies of a single recording. In Lanza MGM had found a tenor with the rare combination of a great voice, good looks, and charisma. They had found a tenor who could play the immortal Enrico Caruso, and The Great Caruso became Lanza's third and most successful film, earning a fortune at the box office. The song 'The Loveliest Night of the Year' became Lanza's second gold record and that year, 1951, he was voted America's most popular singer, while his earnings for the year surpassed one million dollars.

With only three films and little more than four dozen records to his credit, Lanza had become a household name. Offers were pouring in from all corners of the globe. There were more concerts, more recordings, more films, radio appearances, and inevitably offers to sing opera.

But to sing opera takes time; you have to study the role. First with a coach and then with conductor and orchestra. To learn and rehearse a role in an opera can take months. Once in Hollywood it was impossible for Lanza to study a score. He had in fact sung two performances of Pinkerton in Madama Butterfly in New Orleans just prior to moving to Los Angeles. Again, the reviews were excellent and they wanted him back the following year to sing Alfredo in La Traviata. Too late, for the Hollywood machinery had taken over.

After his enormous success as a film star and recording artist, the critics and a section of the public began to voice their disapproval.

"Why is he making movies instead of singing opera?"

But having become world-famous in the span of only two years, and having been compared with the likes of Caruso, made the prospect of a major operatic debut unthinkable. Had Mario Lanza made his Metropolitan Opera debut in 1948, it would have attracted only the attention of the opera-going public. By 1951, however, it would have caused world headlines and the resultant scrutiny of public and critics alike. No artist would have risked his reputation, and possibly his entire future career, by making a major debut.

The standard practice for opera singers hasn't changed. A debut takes place in one of the minor opera houses and this is followed by four or five years' singing and gaining confidence and experience in a variety of roles in the provincial opera houses. Only then is the singer ready for a major debut. But equally absurd would have been the notion of the world-famous Mario Lanza singing in the provinces. It was too late for that.

So while Lanza was riding high as far as popularity and commercial success were concerned -- not to mention the huge financial rewards -- he was beginning to struggle with his own artistic conscience. His dream, his goal, had always been the operatic stage where his great predecessors had sung, so Lanza began to feel a sense of guilt that in time grew to gigantic proportions to the point of ultimately destroying him. Disagreements with the studio made him indulge in overeating, and the eating binges were followed by stringent crash diets demanded by the studio so that he would photograph well for the cameras. The constant dieting began to affect his volatile personality to the point that following a disagreement with MGM after having recorded the soundtrack for his next film, The Student Prince, he walked out of the production and was subsequently fired by MGM. This was a blow from which Lanza would never fully recover. Extremely sensitive, he believed that things could be worked out with the studio. When this didn't eventuate, Lanza was shattered. Having severed his links with MGM this would have been an opportune time for him to devote himself to an operatic career.

Instead the outgoing Lanza withdrew into himself, refusing to see any one apart from his immediate family and a few close friends. For the next two years he lived as a recluse, constantly drinking and overeating. His self-image had been severely damaged and the once self-assured singer was now extremely insecure -- to the point of miming to some of his old recordings in an ill-judged television appearance after two years of inactivity. Money problems also made him accept a lucrative Las Vegas engagement, which he failed to fulfil at the last moment due to stage fright.

After making the film Serenade for Warner Brothers, Lanza decided to move to Italy, secretly yearning to eventually fulfil his dream of an operatic career.

There were a couple of problems with this plan, however. The first was that Lanza had always been accustomed to living in style. Even in his pre-Hollywood days he spent money that he didn't have. Lanza wanted the best of everything, be it restaurants, hotels, clothes or whatever. On top of this he was generous to a fault. In Italy he rented the entire ground floor of the villa Badoglio, which had been a present from Mussolini to Marshall Badoglio for having conquered Abyssinia. The rent was 1000 dollars a month -- a huge sum in 1957.

How was he going to pay for all this? Simple -- by making yet another film. By now the loss of confidence and resulting fear of singing in public had increased. It's difficult enough for an artist to face an audience on a regular basis. Any prolonged absence from live singing only accentuates the anxiety, the fear of facing an audience. Having received an offer to sing a Command performance for Queen Elizabeth at the London Palladium, Lanza was terrified at the thought of appearing in public after an absence of nearly seven years. After three days of almost continuous drinking, he somehow managed to go through with the performance. And he was good.

However, the excesses were beginning to leave their mark on his health and by the beginning of 1958, during a European concert tour, Lanza's health was in a precarious state. He was suffering from high blood pressure, an enlarged liver due to the drinking, and a fairly serious form of phlebitis/thrombosis affecting his right leg. Ironically, just as Lanza was falling apart physically, the voice was as phenomenal as ever, prematurely darker due to its owner's lifestyle, but impressively rich, with ringing Bs and B-flats that could be the envy of any tenor. But just as Lanza was beginning to regain some of the lost confidence by performing regularly in public, the tour had to be interrupted due to his poor health.

Offers continued to come his way from various opera houses, including Covent Garden, and La Scala. But physically, Lanza would not have been able to undergo the strain of preparing for a stage debut even if he had been able to overcome his stage-fright.

While his health was further deteriorating, he was receiving renewed offers from the Rome Opera and the San Carlo Opera in Naples. He eventually told the Musical Director of the Rome Opera, Riccardo Vitale, that if his health improved he would open the 1960 /61 season singing Canio in Pagliacci.

In the meantime, pressed for money as usual, he accepted the offer to star in yet another film called Laugh Clown Laugh, an adaptation of Pagliacci. Massively overweight, Lanza entered a private clinic in order to get into shape for his upcoming film. On the 12th day of confinement he suffered a massive heart attack. What had caused the heart attack? Lanza was far from well, having submitted his body to drastic punishment over the years. However, there is evidence of both incompetence and negligence on the part of the doctor in charge at the clinic.

Lanza was 38 years old. Tragically, his wife died only five months after him and left four young children orphaned.

Although Lanza's great promise was not fulfilled, he left behind a recorded legacy that in terms of variety is hard to equal. Lanza was probably the first successful crossover artist, equally at home with operatic arias, operetta, show tunes, love songs and virtually every other song form. To this day, he continues to hold listeners enthralled with the magnificence of his voice.

Before ending I should point out something else of the utmost importance. Lanza has been and continues to be badly represented by his record company, RCA. Over the years RCA has carried out the unfortunate practice of selecting some numbers at random when compiling LPs or, more recently, CDs. In many cases, these random choices represent Lanza at his worst instead of his best.

Although the good outnumber the bad among the over 300 recorded selections at RCA's disposal, there are some that are excellent and others that are simply dreadful. His recording company's unfortunate practice has supplied Lanza's critics with an abundance of evidence with which to back their criticism of the tenor. And yet the blame for this lies solely with RCA. They even went ahead and released material that Lanza had rejected. ("What does it matter as long as it sells?") And sell it does, because the die-hard fans and less discerning listeners will buy anything, anyway. But that's precisely the point. Since the fans will buy anything, why not compile a CD that represents the best of Lanza, so that it will also be bought by the more demanding listeners?

Perhaps this book will do something to address the problem.

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