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On to Hollywood. This wonderful binge of laughs and coin could not last forever; the depression hit Broadway, too. Lahr's wife was suffering from a mental illness and after painful years their marriage was annulled. He was married again, to a softspoken, ash-blonde ex-showgirl named Mildred Schroeder. Meanwhile he had headed west to try Hollywood for size.
He was cast as the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz. The job took six months and almost put him in the hospital. The banks of arc lights used for color film created murderous heat and he worked clad in long underwear, football shoulder pads and lion skin. It took two hours a day to apply his tricky makeup, and in every scene he was dependent, not only on his own art, but on a lackey who perched above him with a fishing rod and manipulated his tail.
When it was finished, he waited moodily for a verdict. None came. But one Sunday as he was reading in his backyard he heard a distant shouting. In a yard on the hill above him he saw an astounding sight: a cold-eyed little M-G-M talent scout who had ignored him for months was waving at him. "Gung Gung!" the apparition shouted. "How are you today, Gung Gung?" Lahr rose and walked to the house. "They've previewed the picture," he called through the door, "and I'm good." They had and he was.
But after this vast success he learned the bitter truth. Hollywood wanted comedians who had romantic appeal. He worked in 26 pictures in all, but almost always in secondary parts. Finally he sold his $85,000 English provincial house to Betty Grable. "After all," he sighed, "how many parts are there for a lion?" He came back to New York.
He had done two widely spaced musicals—Du Barry Was a Lady in 1939, Billy Rose's less successful Seven Lively Arts in 1944. But styles in musical comedy had changed; the Big Comedian had almost been forced out of business by operetta-like shows such as South Pacific and Oklahoma!.
Lahr worked in radio. He played Harvey on the road. To the delight of his admirers, he did the part of Skid Johnson in a revival of the old hit, Burlesque. It ran longer than the original. He had always saved money; as an investor in stocks he also made some profits on the new bull market.
But it was a long time before Two on the Aisle—before Lahr was really home. Now that he is back, he has no intention of straying very far from home again. Although he has made a few cautious ventures into television, he fears it as a monster which can gobble up his tricks and wear out his material in a matter of weeks. He thinks his future lies with his past— in the old Broadway musical comedy, where a sketch like his famed Woodchopper routine goes down as a classic through the years. Back at his old pitch, with a solid hit on his hands, Lahr has proved that there is still a place on Broadway for his vanishing breed.