Season’s Greetings! George Arliss reads “The Night Before Christmas” by Clement C. Moore in AI
I’ll remember 2024 as the year where I learned how to use AI software. This includes animating photos, voice cloning, and writing “text-to-speech” material for my favorite subjects. The fruits of my labors have been posted here and elsewhere on the ‘net depending on the subject matter. My efforts also pressed me to upgrade my knowledge of colorizing images that I have slowly become competent with over the past several years.
Without further ado, here is a sort of Christmas present to our many Arliss fans who have stopped by over this year to learn what is new with Mr. A. I hope you enjoy this turn at reading poetry. And best wishes for the New Year!
Looking ahead I find myself wondering what’s next? We know that Mr. A did well in Shakespeare’s “The Merchant of Venice” playing Shylock. But he never repeated the character in films or on radio. Might AI enable us to have his Shylock recite one of the memorable speeches from the text. Imagine what may lay ahead for us in 2025!
A Selection of World War II Letters by George Arliss: 1942 to 1943 – read by George Arliss (an AI voice clone using the actual voice of George Arliss)
GA becomes nostalgic for the pre-war days and wonders if these will ever return. At the time he wrote this letter to Grace Hubble, wife of famed astronomer Edwin Hubble, the war was not going well for the Allies who were suffering serious setbacks in both the European and Pacific theaters:
A few days later GA wrote this letter to historian Godfrey Davies who lived in California. The Arlisses are living away from London due to German bombing attacks and GA relates the poor state of Florence’s health, especially her eyesight.
A month later GA writes again to the Hubbles and he’s more upbeat, joking to Edwin that Grace is treating him “shamefully.” Noting his appreciation for how busy Edwin must be, GA relates that he too is busy – trying to buy a new kettle. GA also comments of the “points system” involved in food rationing:
GA discusses his short term memory loss and how it is just as well that he doesn’t have any grandchildren because he would not be able to answer their questions. He closes by commenting on the war news and the defeats suffered by Germany:
By November 1943, the war news was getting better and the common wisdom suggested that the war was certain to be over soon. GA notes how the postal censors interfere with people’s correspondence by literally cutting out parts of the writing that are judged too sensitive. He refers to news that would make Grace “sorry.” No doubt he was referring to the destruction of his cottage at St. Margaret’s Bay that was hit by a German shell the previous year.
As 1943 was coming to end there was widespread optimism that the war would certainly end during 1944. Perhaps as a sign of the times, GA sent this playful invitation to Godfrey Davies, who was living in California, to drop by GA’s London home on Christmas Day to play some bridge:
Happy 156th Birthday to George Arliss 1868 to 2024
On this day of April 10, we remember the birthday of George Arliss who was born during the Victorian Era (1837- 1901) and where he spent over thirty years of his life. When he made his theatrical debut in 1887 stage lighting was still by gaslight. Motion pictures were experimental with any commercial use not even dreamed of. Radio did not exist, nor did airplanes or telephones. This was the 19th century world where Mr. A grew up into his 30s and nobody, least of all himself, could have dreamed of the areas in the performing arts where he would conquer
Click on this video and enjoy:
A Selection of World War II Letters by George Arliss and read by George Arliss (an AI voice clone using the actual voice of George Arliss)
LETTERS 1939 to 1942
One of the first letters that Mr. A wrote following the Declarations of War was to Godfrey Davies, a well-respected English historian of the 17th century and a member of the research staff of The Huntington Library in San Marino, California. Mr. A discusses the publication of his autobiography that may be affected by the war. The second part of this letter comments on the war and the opposition by some factions in America to aiding Great Britain. Arliss was likely aware that the isolationist movement in the U.S. had a charismatic leader in Charles Lindbergh, the famed aviator.
Mr. A wrote the following letters to Grace and Edwin Hubble. Edwin was a prominent astronomer in the United States and the Hubble Telescope is named in his honor. The book referenced is Mr. A’s second volume of autobiography. The American title was MY TEN YEARS IN THE STUDIOS. Germany declared war on September 1, 1939, and three days later, Great Britain and France declared war on Germany. As this letter relates about six weeks into World War II, not much happened at first.
By six months into the European war, Mr. A’s continued his trans-Atlantic correspondence with Godfrey Davies focusing on his book and expressing his opinions over how Britain was managing the war so far:
A mere five days after the Japanese air attack on the U.S. Naval Base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, Mr. A had this to say:
By January 30, 1942, the date of Mr. A’s next letter to the Hubbles, adjustments to living in a war zone are beginning to tell.
These letters are presented through the courtesy of the Huntington Library, San Marino, California.
Watch for more of the George Arliss WWII correspondence to be posted here soon.
New Color Portraits by Alexander Marani-Binks
The colorization of black and white photographs has come a long way since I first tried my hand at it over a decade ago. The software has improved quite a lot and the results are impressive. But make no mistake, the quality of the finished product depends in large part on the skill and judgment of the colorist.
Recently, I received a half dozen colorized portraits of George Arliss that were created by Alexander Marani-Binks. These are stunning and I promptly asked Mr. Marani-Binks for permission to post his work here on the Arliss Archives. Permission was graciously granted. Here more or less in chronological order are these splendidly eye-catching portraits of our beloved Mr. A.
This 1919 portrait is the earliest one of the group. Mr. A had made a name for himself by starring in DISRAELI for five consecutive years from 1911 to 1915, plus a revival in 1917. By 1919 he was appearing regularly in New York and toured extensively throughout the United States. But, alas, a play as long-running as DISRAELI eluded him.
In those years, before and after the First World War, Mr. A plied the Atlantic each year from London to New York to earn his living. Unsurprisingly, there are many photos of him shipboard during his trans-Atlantic journeys. This one dates from about 1923 where he traveled to London to star in the hit play, THE GREEN GODDESS, from September 1923 to September 1924.
During this time Mr. A also made a half-dozen silent films that were all critical and financial successes. By the end of the 1920s, a major breakthrough occurred with the sudden popularity of sound films, i.e., talking pictures. Mr. A made his talkie debut with his reliable old warhorse that never failed him, DISRAELI. The Motion Picture Academy of Arts and Science expressed its appreciation of his work in the film by presenting Mr. A with the Academy Award for Best Actor.
This film’s financial and critical success led to a series of ten feature films that Mr. A made for Warner Bros. One of his humorous stories was called A SUCCESSFUL CALAMITY released in 1932. Mr. A played the father of a family much in the way that Robert Young would play a similar role later in the long running television show, FATHER KNOWS BEST.
Though he was nearing 70, Mr. A decided to tackle network radio broadcasting in addition to filmmaking. In the 1930s network shows were performed “live” and the process could be nerve-racking for movie stars who were used to working in the privacy of a closed studio set. But since Mr. A had been performing “live” before audiences since the 1880s, broadcasting held no fear for him.
In this photo from January 17, 1938, Mr. A appears with fellow actor Edward Arnold on the hour-long “Lux Radio Theater” where he reenacted his famous role as British prime minister Benjamin Disraeli. In fact. most the 1929 film’s cast were reunited for this radio presentation including Mr. A’s wife, Florence, who had played the role of Mrs. Disraeli since 1911.
Finally, our review of some highlights in Mr. A’s professional life ends with this characteristic portrait of him with his beloved monocle. He admitted that early in his career the use of a monocle was merely to attract attention and was not needed for vision. But in later life, he realized that wearing his monocle had become a necessity that had a real purpose. Somehow, when anybody mentions George Arliss, this is the image that most people think of:
Once again, I want to thank Alexander Marani-Binks for allowing me to post his work here and also to assure him that any time he wishes to creates addition Arliss color portraits, they will always be welcomed here!
A Pilgrimage to the George Arliss Grave
This year we are celebrating Mr. A’s birthday anniversary today (April 10, 1868) in a more significant way. Recently, Tim Beech, a fellow Arlissian (my term, not Tim’s) made a wonderful visit to Mr. A’s gravesite at Harrow Weald Cemetery outside of London. He was representing in a very real sense all of us who have longed to visit the site ourselves and I must say we were well represented. Rather than me blather on, here is Tim’s first-hand account of his pilgrimage.
A Visit to the George Arliss Grave by Tim Beech
I had cause recently to take my wife to London’s Heathrow Airport for a Transatlantic crossing. It’s a journey taken countless times by George and Florence Arliss, though of course by steamship rather than by Boeing.
It also occurred to me that, while Heathrow is more than 140 miles from our home in the Midlands, it’s a distance of only around 10 miles from Harrow Weald. It was there that George and Florence were buried in 1946 and 1950 respectively and, thanks to the sterling efforts of Bob Fells, their previously neglected grave had been restored a few years ago.
This seemed too good an opportunity to miss.
I had never visited the site and was a little anxious I might struggle to find the right spot. Harrow Weald is a very large cemetery next to All Saints Church, a mid-nineteenth century structure where Mr and Mrs A were married on September 16, 1899. As GA noted: “We were married in the prettiest church on the prettiest day that ever was seen.” They now lie only a few yards from where they exchanged vows almost 125 years ago.
To make sure I didn’t make the pilgrimage in vain I did an extraordinary amount of preparation. I viewed the approaching roads on Google Street View, worked out where I might park, examined the layout via Google Earth, looked at pictures of the gravesite (it is next to a hedge) and checked in with Bob Fells, who gave me further instructions supplied by GA’s great grandnephew. Armed with such a volume and quality of information I felt confident as I passed the church entrance on the left and then turned into the cemetery off the Uxbridge Road.
I had dropped my wife at Heathrow before 6 but the cemetery was closed until 9am, so I spent the intervening time making the trip from the Airport (which takes around 45 minutes, despite the relatively short distance), having a quick breakfast at a café and exercising our dog Chase at a local park. Perhaps it was the time I’d spent waiting, or perhaps it was the amount of planning, but I felt a sudden unexpected sense of nervousness as I drove into the cemetery itself.
It wasn’t as if I were there to meet anyone. But it felt that way. Someone I had seen repeatedly on screen, read a great deal about and was now about to “encounter” in a sense. I also admit that I felt a responsibility to represent Bob Fells, who has done so much to preserve GA’s memory but has never had the chance to visit the gravesite. He had asked me to lay a rose on his behalf as well as take some pictures, and I had a few thoughts already in my mind.
There is also something deeply personal about visiting the gravesite – the fact it is so little visited makes it more special, and it’s therefore a very different experience in a way that visiting the graves of many other famous people is not.
So there was certainly some nervousness, and a degree of anticipation.
As I drove the very short distance from the Uxbridge Road the cemetery opened out into a wider expanse, with the church mostly hidden to the left. I saw a semi-circular addition to the driveway, which is really only wide enough for a single car, so I turned 180 degrees and parked.
I knew the gravesite must be to my right and not far from the church, but I couldn’t drive any closer to it. The route to the site is via a path clearly intended for pedestrians only. But even from a distance I was confident that I could see the grave around 100 yards away at around “2 o’clock” to my right, and took a couple of initial pictures.
I made my way over towards the grave, which is very close to a hedge that forms the boundary for this part of the cemetery. It was around 25 feet or so off the path to the left and, although it was a beautiful sunny morning, it was October in England and the fairly thick grass was damp under my feet. It was also in shadow, because the hedge runs north-west to south-east, and shielded the site from the morning sun.
I had brought with me some towels and cleaning detergent in the expectation that the grave might need some sprucing up, but it was in very good condition – I later learned from Bob that it is, for the moment, still under a maintenance contract. There was a small scattering of fallen leaves over the grave itself, but it was otherwise clear. However, stepping past the gravestone my toe-end caught the edge of a plastic bottle which went skittering across the grass. It turned out to be a whisky bottle and was accompanied by a few plastic bags lying randomly in the morning dew. Although the cemetery is well maintained and not at all overgrown it seems likely that it may be an attractive and secluded spot for off-hours visitors.
I returned from the car with a large cardboard box I had brought for the purpose of elevating the camera to take pictures; my iPad on which I intended to display some appropriate images; two books (Bob’s biography of GA and GA’s first autobiography); a bucket of water containing some roses I had clipped from our garden at home the night before; a pair of secateurs to trim the stems; and some silver foil in which to wrap them. I also found an abandoned vase lying on its side next to the hedge which I used to display the roses when I left.
The site is sufficiently far from the Uxbridge Road for most of the sound of the traffic to be muffled. There is a real sense of peace in the location – I could mostly only hear the sound of birds signing and a slight rustle in the hedge from an occasional breeze. There were no other people in sight in this corner of the cemetery, although a workman later arrived and started trimming the grass at the farthest distance opposite. Even though he was perhaps 400 yards or more away, the sound of his machine cut through the air because there was little else with which it had to compete.
I took around five dozen photographs and videos from every angle I could think of, although it was a little difficult at times because of the sunlight. I captured images with the books; with the photograph Bob had digitally made alongside GA; with the roses; and I also played an extract from the House of Rothschild. It’s the sequence where GA, playing Nathan Rothschild, is excluded from a Government bond issue on the grounds that he is Jewish, but then executes a plan to run the market down by selling bonds that force the financiers to pass the entire issue over to him.
It was quite emotional to watch the sequence, hear the voices of Mr and Mrs Arliss, and at that time be at the very spot where they now lie. It was a moment when I felt particularly connected with them, even though both had passed away almost two decades before I was born.
I trimmed the rose stems, wrapped them in silver foil and left them in the vase below the gravestone. I checked I had the photos stored and then took a few more for good measure as I returned to my car. The last view I had as I passed the hedge to my right was the gravestone, standing bright and tall despite the shade, and feeling I’d done everything I came to do.
Even the weather had been perfect. It was a pilgrimage completed.
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Thanks very much Tim for the time and effort you put into your visit. I have read of instances where biographers at times sense a personal presence of the individual they are chronicling. I once asked a well-known biographer privately if she ever had such an incident. We were at a ‘meet and greet’ and she told me she was glad I didn’t ask this during the Q&A session. She said she indeed had such experiences but didn’t want to admit that publicly. So perhaps this photo I constructed below may not be all that far-fetched.
I don’t know how I can sufficiently thank Tim Beech for making this visit but perhaps in a small (and corny) way I thought I’d use my dubious photoshop skills to create this little token of my appreciation:
Arliss Alert! April TCM (US) Screenings: DISRAELI (1929) April 1 at 8:30AM EDT and ALEXANDER HAMILTON (1931) April 7 at 4:15 PM EDT
Check your listings to watch these two George Arliss Classics during the first week of April.
On April 1st is GA’s Best Actor Academy Award winning film, DISRAELI . An early talkie filmed during the stifling summer of 1929, and based on GA’s amazing 5-year theater run of the play, DISRAELI is told through a delightful series of intimate conversations that lead to a spellbinding climax.
The plot involves the British prime minister’s efforts to purchase the Suez Canal from Egypt before Russia can get its hands on it. This sounds, well, esoteric, doesn’t it? But therein lies the power of this film (and why the play ran for five years, plus two revivals, a 1921 silent film version, and also a 1938 radio adaptation that was heard live around the world).
Tune in on April 1st to discover what all the excitement was about.
Next on Friday, April 7 at 4:15 PM EDT is the “first version” of the recent hit Broadway musical, HAMILTON. GA co-wrote the play – no musical numbers in this version – that tells the story of the first Secretary of the Treasury’s extramarital affair. When this film was made in the Spring of 1931 it was decided to rename it ALEXANDER HAMILTION, perhaps to avoid confusion with the British Lord Hamilton and his extramarital affair. Is this movie dry stuff? We think not. Check it out yourself.
A Novelization of THE HOUSE OF ROTHSCHILD printed in October 1934 in the Isling Holloway Press
Back in the day many new film releases had tie-in novels to publicize the movie. But book sales suffered during the Great Depression, so instead the studios used film fan magazines and newspapers to build interest in the plot. This weekly British newspaper, The Isling-Holloway Press, had been published since 1872 and was keeping up with the times by printing this concise story of THE HOUSE OF ROTHSCHILD with dialogue taken directly from the script. The story appeared in two parts in the October 13 and 20, 1934 editions, respectively. One photo from the film accompanied the first part (see below) and I have added a few more to give a sense of the action.
Happy Birthday, Mr. A – April 10, 2022, marks his 154th Birthday!
Actor, author, playwright, and filmmaker George Arliss was born in the Bloomsbury section of London on Good Friday, April 10, 1868. He made his professional stage debut in 1887, a time when theaters were lit by gaslight. Crossing the Atlantic in 1901 as a member of the Mrs. Patrick Campbell Company, George and his wife Florence eventually established themselves in the U.S. theater world. What was planned as six months stay turned into 20 years. Turning 60 in 1928, retirement seemed to be calling Mr. A, but so were talking pictures. Thus, he suddenly embarked on ten years in the studios (a phrase he used for the title of his second volume of memoirs) winning the Academy Award for Best Actor in the process. Today, at least seven of his films can be viewed on DVD and streaming video.
ARLISS ARCHIVES 
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