Yale, 1914. Amid protests by his septuagenarian school-fellows, Yale professor Monty
Woolley--a loveable curmudgeon who delights in making incessant jokes about his beard--
insists on partaking in Yale football rallies and song contests. Professor Monty is especially
keen on a young pre-law student/composer named Cole Porter, who spends his days playing
piano in a nearby theatre pit orchestra. On the day of Yale's song contest, Cole arrives just in time
to lead a navy's fleet of Yale yellfish through his rousing 'Bull Dog Song,' which is instantly
embraced as the school anthem.
Porter was a maverick and not generally popular until he won the song contest. 'Bull Dog' was
actually a fraternity smoker song; Cole's song which passed into immortality at Yale was 'Bingo
Eli Yale.' Porter did not supplement his generous allowance from home by playing in a pit band.
Monty Woolley was never a professor at Yale or anywhere else; in 1911, he was a 23-year-old
Yale upperclassman who met Porter socially. Woolley was also beardless until the mid-1930s.
Despite Night and Day's many factual inaccuracies, only one screen liberty seemed to
anger Woolley: the Yale Yard was incorrectly proportioned, he complained, and too many
lettermen were used in the 'Bull Dog' number.
At Christmas break, Cole travels to his boyhood estate in Indiana with Monty,
leaving behind his singer/chum Gracie, who pines secretly for the dashing Cole. At home, Cole outrages
his stern, stoical grandfather by announcing he plans to quit law school for songwriting (Mrs. Porter is
delighted, but what does she know).
Gracie was an entirely fictitious creation of the screenwriters (unless one chooses
to compare her to singer/actress Dorothie Bigelow, the original star of See America First). Cole's
career choice so alienated his family that on one occasion, Katie Porter and Cole's grandfather,
J. O., did not speak to each other--or to Cole--for several months.
Diffusing the crisis is the arrival of Cole's cousin Nancy and her young, pretty
friend Linda Lee. Linda is smiling, naive--some might say downright vacuous--but Cole is instantly
charmed by her, after initially mistaking her for cousin Nancy and giving Linda a saucy kiss.
Linda Lee Thomas was a 36-year-old divorcée when she met Porter in Paris in
1919. Sophisticated, wealthy, highly independent, and more than slightly spoiled and haughty, she was
widely considered to be one of the world's most beautiful women. Linda and Cole married on
December 18, 1919. Their relationship was intimate but never romantic; after an abusive first
marriage, Thomas did not desire sex and Porter was gay.
Later that evening, Cole entertains family and friends at the piano while young
carolers sing outside the snow-encrusted window. Rather than singing some predictable yuletide offering
such as 'Silent Night,' the choristers offer an intricate three-part choral arrangement of Cole's 'In the
Still of the Night,' which they absorb ESP-style as Cole plays the tune on the piano. An impressed
Mrs. Porter tells her son that she has had another of Cole's songs published, 'An Old-Fashioned Garden.'
But grandfather refuses to crack.
'In the Still of the Night' was written by Porter in 1937 for the MGM film
Rosalie. Co-star Nelson Eddy complained that the song was badly constructed and unsingable.
Porter played the song for studio chief L. B. Mayer, who burst into tears. Mayer told Eddy that the
singer could and would sing it--and Eddy did. 'Old Fashioned Garden' was written in 1919 for
Hitchy-Koo of 1919, and it was a number written because the backers had aquired an elaborate
set of flower costumes commissioned--but never used--by Florenz Ziegfeld.
Back in New York, Monty and Cole raise financial backing for a Porter-scored
Broadway musical titled See America First, featuring a cast of dozens, elaborate, ever-changing
sets, and musical arrangements that would have made Richard Wagner drool with envy. Gracie
arrives in time to find a spot in the chorus: 'Imagine you puttin' on a show!' she exclaims to Cole.
'Don't tell me you wrote all this stuff!'
Porter's first Broadway show, See America First, was an amateurish revue
far below Broadway standards; a college show gone wrong, according to its co-star Clifton Webb. 'I
played a cowboy and an autumn flower,' Webb recalled. 'Others had roles not so believable.'
Porter wrote the show with roommate Lawrason Riggs and Woolley was not involved.
The show does go on--but despite such wow numbers as
'Let's Do It,' 'You've Got That Thing,' and 'You Do Something to Me,' the opening night audience
refuses to shut up. Cole halts the show--only to learn from the chatter outside that the luxury liner
Lusitania has been SUNK! The world is at war. The show must fold but Cole is resigned. 'Tough
Luck, Mr. Porter,' sighs stage manager Tom. Replies the prescient Cole, 'Oh, it's just one of those
The lackluster book and score for See America First--which did not
include 'Let's Do It,' 'You've Got That Thing,' or 'You Do Something to Me,'--were widely panned.
One reviewer quipped 'See See America First last.' The show opened on March 28, 1916 and
closed after 15 performances--nearly a year after the Lusitania was torpedoed on May 7, 1915
(newspapers were slower then).
Strolling with Linda that night, Cole can't shake the ship disaster and
decides to enlist in the army. Before you can hum 'La Marseillaise,' Cole is fighting in the trenches
of France. While listening to a group of chanting Moroccan drummers, imprudently caterwauling behind
the front lines, Cole is inspired to write his classic 'Begin the Beguine'--but scarcely a quarter-note
is scribbled when a great explosion scatters the musicians. Cole is trapped beneath a fallen girder.
Cole went to Europe in the latter half of 1917 and joined the French army
the next year. Attached to the American Aviation Headquarters on the Avenue de Montaigne in Paris,
Porter never served in combat not was he ever injured. Cole and Linda did their strolling down the
Champs Elysées, but not until after they'd met at a wedding at the Ritz Hotel in 1919. 'Begin the
Beguine' was written in New York in 1935.
While his leg injuries heal in a French hospital, Cole finds himself
face-to-face with--who else?--Linda, now bravely serving as a volunteer nurse. (Observes Cole,
'Linda, has it ever occurred to you you're always around at the most important times of my life?'
We hadn't noticed.) One night, alone and restless, Cole begins composing at the hospital's piano.
Looking around the room for inspiration, Cole notices the 'tick tick tock of the stately clock as it
stands against the wall'--and turns around in time to absorb the 'drip drip drop of the raindrops.' The
chords of 'Night and Day' pour freely through Cole's fingertips, the verse's final line provided by the
convenient appearance of Linda in the doorway: 'you, You, YOU...!' croons Cole as the lovely Linda
smiles benignly. Seizing upon this newfound enthusiasm, Linda tries to ignite Cole's stalled
romantic pilot light, to no avail:
Linda (shyly): Well, I was thinking that--maybe...well, that you and I could...
Cole (deep in the frenzy of composition): Wait a minute! I think I've got it!
Linda Lee Thomas was never involved in any war service. Born in Louisville,
Kentucky in 1883, Linda married playboy banker 'Ned' Thomas in 1901 and immediately acquired a
'cottage' in Newport, a mansion in Palm Beach, a townhouse on W. 57th Street, a box at the opera, a
yacht, racehorses and lavish jewels. Linda was in Europe without him when Thomas suffered leg and
knee injuries in an auto accident in 1908 and Linda rushed to his side. But the reconciliation didn't last
long and they separated and divorced in 1912. Linda received a settlement worth nearly $1 million.
Until she met Cole, she was pursued across Europe by a gaggle of suitors, including the Duke d'Alba.
'Night and Day' was written in New York in 1932 and did not achieve popularity upon its first
appearance in Gay Divorce. Upon hearing an early version of it, Monty Woolley told Porter
he had no idea what Cole was doing but that it was terrible and he should give it up.
Linda persuades the French chanteuse Gabrielle to perform one of
Cole's songs, 'I'm Unlucky at Gambling,' but a potential backer scoffs at Cole's talent: 'Your lyrics
are too smart,' the haughty Frenchman sniffs. 'Too...sophisticated.' When Cole rejects Linda's help
('I have to do it on my own!'), his spurned supporter takes Cole at his word and leaves him.
Linda was fiercely supportive of Porter's musical talent, and never left him in
the 1920s. They were briefly estranged in 1937 after Cole ignored Linda's pleas to give up Hollywood
and return to Broadway, a subject the film makers chose not to address.
Back in New York, relegated to piano-playing in a sheet music store the size of
Grand Central Station, Cole meets the vivacious--and downright salacious--Carole, who reminds Cole of
her obvious attributes and suggests they 'attribute' together. After all, she protests, her rosebuds won't
get much riper. Instead, they decide to perform Cole's 'What Is This Thing Called Love?' for the apathetic
crowd. The audience response is so enthusiastic--dozens of customers cluster around them and stare
dumbly--that Cole and Carole quit, rescue Monty from a bit part as a Russian soldier in a second-rate
stage play, and vow to produce a Broadway show.
Cole never worked in a sheet music store, and if that gainful employment was the
harbinger of success it seemed to be in all the musical biopics, every composer would have been
fighting for those jobs. The fictional, and highly anonymous, character of Carole served as an easy
substitute for several key (and costly) performers from Porter's career, including Ethel Merman (for
many, a singer synonymous with Cole Porter), Jesse Matthews, Irene Bordoni and Virginia Bruce. 'What
Is This Thing Called Love?' graced Cole's 1929 show, Wake Up and Dream. Walter Winchell
loved it and called it a 'new kind of love song.'
Their new musical is an instant hit. Its apparent highlight is Carole's
performance of 'I've Got You Under My Skin,' sung while a harem-garbed temptress is flung around
a postage stamp-sized stage by two stocky headwaiters. Cole's next show, The New Yorkers, is no
less delightful and runs for over two years.
'I've Got You Under My Skin' was written in 1936 for the film Born
to Dance. It never appeared in any Porter stage show, much less one as badly staged as this.
The New Yorkers premiered in New York in 1930, starring Jimmy Durante. It ran for 168
performances; exactly 21 weeks.
While mounting his first London show, to include the jaunty tune
'Rosalie,' Cole spots the ever-valiant Linda--now a nurse in the 'West End Children's Institute' (at
least it's in the theatre district). It must be fate, love, or a remarkable coincidence. At any rate,
'Rosalie' was written for the 1937 film of the same name. Its original stage
production (in 1928) had songs by Sigmund Romberg and George Gershwin. Cole always hated
'Rosalie,' which had undergone six complete rewrites. But as Irving Berlin observed, 'Never hate a
song that has sold over half a million copies.'
Success follows Cole almost relentlessly, as do Carole, Monty and
Gracie (who still pops up in every Cole chorus line), but Linda pines for a long-postponed trip to
Europe with her husband. The prolific Cole ignores her desperate pleadings, selfishly choosing
to write hit after hit.
The Porters spent most of the 1920s traveling around Europe. Paris was
their main home base, but they had a palace in Venice and frequented Monte Carlo, Rome, London,
Biarritz, Seville, Morocco and Berlin.
At a party celebrating Cole's latest smash Anything Goes,
Linda confesses she can no longer play second fiddle in Cole's orchestra. She leaves. Cole
stays. The diplomatic Monty continues to make amusing remarks about his beard, but the
situation remains grave.
In 1934, the year of Anything Goes, the Porters were happily
married--and Monty still did not have a beard. The morning after the premiere, Cole, Linda, Monty,
playwright Moss Hart and two others sailed on the Cunard Franconia for a trip around the world,
vowing not to do any work until they hit Panama.
Cole finally gives Gracie her chance for a solo spot in the limelight, to sing
the showstopping 'My Heart Belongs to Daddy.' In an act of generosity unprecedented in the history
of show business, Gracie declines, recommending instead an inexperienced chorus pal named
Mary Martin. The rest is history.
'My Heart Belongs to Daddy' belongs in 1938's Leave It to Me!, and
was to be sung by June Knight. Knight balked (she wanted to sing 'Most Gentlemen Don't Like Love')
and left the show. Producer Lawrence Schwab, who discovered Mary Martin in a Hollywood amateur
contest, arranged Martin's audition.
During mid-performance on opening night, Cole is summoned home;
Grandfather is dying. Cole arrives to find the old man slumped in a chair, but relentless in his insights
and death-rattle chortles. They share a sociable glass of sherry, but have only begun to make their
peace with each other when the glass slips from Grandfather's hand and he spills onto the carpet.
J. O. Cole died in February 1923. He and his grandson were never reconciled
and rarely saw each other in J. O.'s last years. According to his biographer, George Eells [The Life that
Late He Led], Porter was 'strangely untouched' by his grandfather's death.
Wracked by guilt, Cole takes to riding the old man's favorite horse
around the estate. One afternoon, a sudden storm (we use the adjective advisedly) sends the steed
into a frenzy. A bolt of lightning strikes a tree branch; Cole is thrown from the horse and soundly
trampled (not only by the horse, but also by Max Steiner's underscoring).
Cole Porter's riding accident occurred in 1938 on the Long Island estate of
Countess Edith de Zoppola. An attendant tried to discourage Porter from riding the skittish horse, though
the weather was perfectly clear. At the top of a hill, the horse shied at a clump of bushes and reared. Cole
failed to kick the stirrups free and the horse crushed his legs. He always maintained that while
waiting for the ambulance, he finished the lyrics for 'At Long Last Love.'
A telegram brings the loyal Monty from the shooting of the film, The
Man Who Came to Dinner, to Cole's bedside. Cole forces Monty to promise not to tell the long-gone
Linda about the accident that has left him crippled. Monty agrees, and somehow, despite widespread
publicity about the tragedy, Linda skillfully manages to remain in the dark.
In a déjá vu repeat of her first husband's
accident, Linda immediately rushed home from Europe, demanding that no decision about amputation be
made before she got there. She rarely left Cole's side again. The Man Who Came to Dinner was shot
in 1941, not in 1938.
After 28 leg operations, and almost as many hit shows, Cole returns
with Monty to Yale, the school of their youth (or at least Cole's youth; Monty remains 50 years old
throughout the film, despite the passage of 30 years). There, Cole piano-accompanies a male chorus
rendition of--what else?--'Night and Day.' Telepathically, Linda makes an appearance right on cue,
to the baritones' impassioned call of 'you...You...YOU....' Cole's face may be as impassive as a brick
wall, but those leaping piano glissandos speak worlds. Linda runs. Cole hobbles. Love conquers all.
Linda Porter did everything possible to aid Cole's recovery, and was with
him for every painful operation. She went to Paris to close their house there and shipped all the furniture
to California. She hated the place, but knew Cole was happy there. She died in 1954 of emphysema.
Despite an iron will, Cole never regained full use of his legs and the left one was amputated in 1958.
Porter died, a semi-recluse, in October 1964.