"It isn't Enough to be a Hungarian," a sign that hung in Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer's commissary read. "You Must Also Work." The Korda brothers, three talented movie makers who are the subject of Michael Korda's "Charmed Lives: A Family Romance," sure did.
Not that the world's too familiar with the idea of Hungarians that work. We have the idea of the odd, prickly fellow. Or the slick one. Theodore Bikel as the Hungarian former student of Henry Higgins' in "My Fair Lady." The charming dinner guest who makes off with his host's silver-- or his wife. Or the Gabor girls, with their fondness for husbands, diamonds, and Slivovits.
Actually, my Dad, a shrewd man, used to say that the climate of Hungary was varied-- lots of micro climates as they say-- so many things grew in their forests, their fields, and their farm house barns. He said the most beautiful women were Hungarian: they knew how to use all the things that grew to make handy creams and potions: and witness several of the great ladies of cosmetics. My Dad also always used to say that Hungarians were the best cooks: they too learned how to use everything that grew around them.
Be that as it may, certainly Sir Alexander Korda, central figure of this memoir, was noted throughout his long career for an ability to charm money out of empty safes. And yes, his work output was prodigious. As is that of his nephew Michael, editor in chief at Simon and Schuster, who wrote "Male Chauvinism!," "Power!," and "Success!," and contributed to the New York Times, "Vogue," "New York Magazine," and "Glamour." In Michael's last talk with the uncle he loved, the fatally-ill Sir Alexander warned him that the family movie production company, London Films, would not survive his death, and that the family's wealth, glamour and power might not, either. "It isn't going to be enough to be a Korda, either." As if.
But to go back to the beginning. The Kordas were born -- as Kellners, for they were Jewish-- in a dreary anonymous village on the Hungarian plain. Their mother was a widow, they were poor. Alexander went to Budapest, became Hungary's leading film director by age 21. He got out just a skip ahead of the coming White Terror repression, went on to repeat his success in Vienna and Berlin, marrying, along the way a beautiful fiery Hungarian film star. (Is there any other kind?) Took her to Hollywood, the better to make her an international star, but then along came talkies. She had a gutteral voice, a strong mittel European accent: think "Lina Lamont" in "Singing in the Rain." Wasn't to be.
So Alexander went to London, and single-handedly founded the British film industry with the great success of "The Private Life of Henry VIII." Life was lived with the rich, the famous and the beautiful: Winston Churchill, H.G. Wells, Lord Beaverbrook, Laurence Olivier, Vivien Leigh, Pamela Digby Churchill, Charles Laughton. Sir Alexander married again, to Merle Oberon, and made her an international star on his second stay in Hollywood. He proved most useful to Britain during World War II, and was knighted for his efforts. Along the way, he'd managed to pull his two brothers out of Hungary and into the film business: Zoltan, who directed "The Four Feathers," and "Cry the Beloved Country,"and Vincent, who became a talented art director-- and fathered Michael.
Young Michael fell in love with his glamorous and powerful uncle Alexander early on, and was a sympathetic, involved player in the family saga. His telling of that saga pulses with life-- not only in the later years, when he was there, but also in the earlier ones, that he only heard about. He's observant, obviously brought a fine eye and ear to bear on the world about him from a very early age. And he's a fine, clean writer; though, as you'd expect, he's most vivid on the events when he was there.
Such as his quixotic trip to Hungary, shortly after Alexander's death, to try to help out in its abortive revolt against the Soviet Union in 1956. He drove in in a car packed with penicillin and delivered it to the Central Hospital without charge. Nobody quite knew what to make of it.
Korda also writes with great understanding and empathy of Sir Alexander's young third wife, Alexa, with whom he seems to have been enthralled as a teenager. Her story is a sad one: Sir Alexander, who could not resist his Pygmalion impulses, changed her from a chubby cheerful young woman to a reed-thin, chain-smoking, high-fashion snob, dependent on the needles of London's leading Dr. Feelgood. She eventually committed suicide by drugs.
Korda is also very vivid about his own early education, at Magdalen College, Oxford, in the Royal Air Force, and at the snobbish, super expensive Le Rosey School in Switzerland. His book is quite entertaining, and the Korda family remain charming people with whom to spend some time.