Charmed lives
Taki
The recent death of Merle Oberon and the revelations about Anthony Blunt's extracurricular activities bring to mind Sir Alexander Korda. The sultry, mysterious, sloe-eyed Tasmanian was his second wife and, like Blunt, it has been recently revealed that Korda was a spy. Unlike Blunt, however, Korda was not born to privilege, did not attend university, was not a homosexual, and spied for his adoptive country rather than against his native one.
All this is chronicled in his nephew's latest book, Charmed Lives,a family history of the three Korda brothers, and their sometimes precarious, always opulent, existence between London, the South of France, and Babylon on the Pacific. Michael Korda, the author, is an unusual case himself. He has written two or three books on how to intimidate one's fellow men, books that go by the titles Male Chauvinism, Power, and Success. Interviewing two people before writing this, I discovered two things. First, that Korda manages to do a Khomeini on the literary set in New York. He unites them when his name is mentioned. They all think he's a shit. Second, they all think his book is amusing, readable, poignant, and subtly profound. I am not part of the literary set and I do not know Michael Korda. So I cannot judge how much of a shit he is. I did read his book, however, and for once I agree with the eggheads. It's great.
Here is a family history worthy of a Korda production. It is dominated by the enigmatic personality and legendary achievements of its dominant member, Alexander, but with a subtle dimension apparent throughout the narrative: the love of the three Korda brothers for each other was so intense that it virtually excluded their wives and children. This family relationship persisted as a constant counterpoint to their continual wanderings. Alexander Korda led his tNyo younger brothers from a remote Hungarian peasant village into the early silent film world of Budapest, Vienna, Berlin, London and Hollywood. Alexander was shrewd, romantic, a great salesman and with one truly outstanding and unique talent: he attracted rich men to invest in his dreams the way Khomeini attracts the mobs to march in front of the American embassy.
He is also a survivor. It is to Michael Korda's credit as a writer that the period between the two Great Wars comes alive in the book. When still in his early twenties, Alex Korda is appointed head of Hungarian Film Productions by the moderate caretaker government of Count Karolyi, and manages to retain the post under the communist regime of Bela Kun, even after Admiral Horthy's coup brings in a fascist regime. Finally he is dismissed and arrested as a communist. The author paints a wonderful picture of old Budapest, broad avenues, cafes, its gaiety and spirit.
Here is a typical scene: Alex is taken to the Gellert Hotel one floor of which has been converted into cells for political prisoners. His wife, the beautiful Maria, and his brother go looking for him. In the lift they encounter two hussars, resplendent lo gleaming riding boots and breeches. 'What are you doing tonight?' one of them asks the other. 'I'm going to dinner with the Countess,' replies his companion, tut first I'm going below to beat the shit out of that communist bastard Korda and teach hull some decent manners.'
Korda eventually befriends Winston Churchill and the latter sends him to Nevi York as a front for Blunt's old outfit. Unlike Blunt, Korda works hard for England and takes many chances which could have resulted in his death, as Germany has all important presence in the then still nelioln, United States. Korda's greatest film, Tha_' Hamilton Woman, had Churchill himself a_s screen writer. Well, almost. The great ron.n wrote Nelson's speech against Napole°P.,. with Hitler in mind. The parallels did notf; unnoticed: in 1942 Korda was knighted ' his efforts on behalf of the Allies.
Charmed Lives is rich in gossip, but ye!. in atmosphere. The anecdotes are Illadr„ he bus. When Alex meets Joseph Kenn.e .70/0 bows to him. It is in the late Twenties ct the charming Magyar is showing his resreous for the financial genius of the unsern, PruudeIrishman. Joe Kennedy betrays his ness when he turns to an associate and says in a loud voice, 'Who the hell does that guy think he is, some kind of fucking baron or something?' Michael Korda captures snobbery perfectly. He describes a smart British regiment that voted to reject an officer candidate, not for the way his hair was cut, but for the way it grew; and the way, Hollywood aristocracy was befuddled when Korda was knighted. Some of them called him Excellency, others, Your Highness. When Sam Goldwyn lost 10,000 dollars to Alex he sent him a cheque signed with red ink, 'Signed with my blood,' he wrote. When Alex lost a similar amount, he sent Goldwyn a cheque written in blue ink. 'Signed with my blood,' he wrote back.
The only mistake I found was the cause of Alexa Korda's death. She did not commit suicide but died of an accidental overdose of sleeping pills. She was Alex's last wife and David Metcalfe's wife-to-be. I don't know when the book will come out in England, but when it does everyone who liked the elegant world of yesterday should grab it.
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