Bert Lahr

The Roar of Vaudeville

Bert Lahr had the face of a weary boxer and the energy of a spring about to snap. By 1927 he already dominated Broadway stages with a style that blended noise, exaggerated gestures and an innate talent for the ridiculous. He didn't aim for subtlety, because audiences of the era demanded showstoppers.

His path to the movies was no bed of roses. Hollywood producers didn't know what to do with this rough-featured man who shouted too much in front of the camera. But in 1938 he got the call that would change his career forever.

And he accepted the challenge without knowing the physical price he would pay.

MGM was looking for someone who could humanize a cowardly beast. Lahr signed a contract to play the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz and found himself trapped in a technical nightmare. The costume was made of real lion skin and weighed nearly forty kilos under the blazing studio lights.

The Weight of the Lion's Skin

Lahr's makeup was a primitive feat of engineering that kept him from eating solid food during the shoot. He spent his days feeding through straws so he wouldn't break the latex prosthetics glued to his jaw. Because realism in 1939 had no room for the actor's comfort.

Despite the physical toll, the actor managed to inject real vulnerability into the character. His improvisations and nervous tics turned a storybook animal into a deeply human figure. But the film's commercial success on its later re-release cruelly typecast him.

The rest of his professional life was a constant fight against that furry shadow.

He tried to return to the stage to show there was much more behind the roars. In 1956, he accepted the role of Estragon in the American premiere of Waiting for Godot. It was a risky gamble that baffled critics who only expected to see the television clown.

The Turn Toward the Absurd

Samuel Beckett's work allowed him to explore the emptiness and despair that had always lived in his eyes. So the Miami audience encountered an actor able to hold silence with the same force he once used to deliver his old jokes. This stage earned him back the respect of the New York industry.

In the sixties he became a familiar face in advertising. His Lay's potato chip commercials were a mass phenomenon on American television. But he kept searching for that one great big-screen role that would erase the trace of his childhood fantasy.

He died in 1967.

His end came suddenly during the shooting of The Night They Raided Minsky’s in New York City. He was 72 years old when a massive hemorrhage stopped his heart before he could finish his scenes. The studio had to use body doubles and archive footage to complete the film, which was finally released in 1968. His name is forever tied to record-breaking box office numbers and a 40 kilo costume that now rests in a museum display case.