It’s depressing, but most readers here have probably never heard of Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne. They were (and are still) the most acclaimed husband and wife acting team in theater history, legendary in the field.
If you have never heard of Lunt and Fontaine, I doubt that you’ll recognize the name of actor Cameron Mitchell, though he had a long, varied and successful career in movies and television. He was never considered a star: in his 1994 obituaries, Mitchell’s supporting role in the long-running TV western “The High Chaparral,” a “Bonanza” rip-off, usually dominated. I first took note of his talents when he appeared in a TV production of the drama “The Andersonville Trial” as Judge Advocate Lew Wallace. In interviews and in his autobiography, Mitchell told the story many times about a crucial moment in his career when the ethics heroism of the Lunts changed the course of his life.
Mitchell was a 21-year-old aspiring actor frustrated in his efforts to get cast in New York City. For two years he struggled to survive, taking dozens of dead-end jobs, like ushering at movie theaters, mail clerking, and washing dishes. Then Cameron Mitzell (his name before he changed it) saw the 1931 film adaptation of “The Guardsman” starring Alfred Lunt, and was overcome with resentment, feeling that the supposedly brilliant actor’s performance hadn’t shown that he deserved his exalted reputation. So Mitchell wrote what he later described as “the world’s worst letter.” Mitchell wrote Lunt the opposite of a fan letter; it was a “You stink! letter stating that he was certain that he was a better actor than Lunt, but no one would give him a chance to prove it. After listing the inadequacies of Lunt’s performance as he saw it, he concluded the letter by writing, “If you think you can act, you should see me.”
Far from being insulted, Lunt was intrigued by the writer’s confidence and audacity. He wrote back to Mitchell and offered him an opportunity to, as the saying goes,”put his money where is mouth is,” by auditioning for Lunt and his wife. Mitchell was terrified but wasn’t about to chicken out. He came to the auditions and immediately apologized to Lunt. Lynn Fontanne told him there was nothing to be sorry about. “Don’t worry about what you’ve done,” she said. “Acting is your life’s work, and you’re not only going to be a good actor, but you’re going to be a great one!” The Lunts then cast the young actor in their production of Shakespeare’s “The Taming of the Shrew” on Broadway. Fontaine also persuaded him to adopt the stage name, “Cameron Mitchell.”
Mitchell went on to be a successful working actor for more than five decades. And he made certain that at every opportunity he would tell the story of how he owed his career to the Lunts’ spontaneous act of support and kindness to a rude and cocky young actor.
Ethics Alarms 