Kenneth Turan’s engaging exploration of Hollywood legends Louis B. Mayer and Irving Thalberg is a striking attempt to weave their narratives together for the first time in five decades with “Louis B. Mayer & Irving Thalberg: The Whole Equation.” Part of the “Jewish Lives” series by Yale University Press, this book delves into the dynamic 1920s and ’30s when these two visionaries propelled MGM to become Hollywood’s preeminent film studio.
On one side of the story stands Mayer, epitomizing the classic movie mogul image—a man fiercely described as “a shark that killed when it wasn’t hungry” and recognized as the highest-paid executive in America during a particular seven-year span. Contrastingly, Thalberg, known for his delicate health yet undying vigor, was often mistaken for an office boy due to his youthful appearance. Despite this, Thalberg oversaw the production of over 400 films during his tenure at MGM, playing a crucial role from behind the scenes. Their shared dedication to satiating the public’s appetite for entertainment and elevating films to an art form immortalized the industry.
Mayer, hailed as “a tough junkman’s son,” was born in 1884, likely in Ukraine. He immigrated to America as a child and, by the age of 12, was participating in scrap-metal auctions on behalf of his father. Reinventing himself, he adopted a middle initial and patriotically claimed July 4th as his birthday. Meanwhile, Thalberg, labeled “a cosseted mama’s boy,” hailed from German-Jewish roots in New York, born in 1899. He was a bright student whose wit and emotional intelligence counterbalanced Mayer’s bold and impulsive demeanor.
Mayer’s foray into the movie business began early when he acquired his first theater in 1907, profiting significantly from showcasing the racially controversial film “The Birth of a Nation.” He relocated to L.A. during a period when Hollywood’s industry practices were just taking shape. It was through Adolph Zukor’s pioneering vertical integration model at Paramount that the industry standard for combining production, distribution, and exhibition was realized. Marcus Loew, owning a theater chain, then facilitated the merger of Mayer’s budding company with others, leading Mayer to oversee MGM’s operations.
Thalberg’s meteoric rise began as a personal secretary to Universal co-founder Carl Laemmle, where his brilliance swiftly earned him a supervisory role. During a conflict with Erich von Stroheim over a film’s length, Stroheim allegedly retorted, “Since when does a child supervise a genius?” Thalberg, only 23, became vice president at Louis B. Mayer Studios just before MGM emerged.
In Turan’s depiction, Mayer and Thalberg’s teamwork at MGM could arguably be the most significant alliance in Hollywood history. While countless examples abound, Turan highlights their “alchemy” with the 1932 film “Grand Hotel.” Archival story conference records reveal Thalberg’s detailed input and his assured prediction of its success—it even secured the best picture Oscar. Turan emphasizes Thalberg’s influence, leaving Mayer with less attention. Mayer’s theatrics—one star dubbed him “the best actor on the lot”—illustrated his role as the business brain over the creative one, though he outlived Thalberg by two decades, filling just a small section of the book.
Despite many MGM films not enduring the test of time, the studio consistently produced at least one best picture nominee each year up to 1947. Mayer and Thalberg were exceptional at identifying future stars, signing talents like Greta Garbo, Jean Harlow, Joan Crawford, and Clark Gable. While film critic David Thomson suggested MGM was the “dullest” studio, its commercial triumphs speak for themselves. MGM stood second only to Fox Film Corp. in profitability its first year and by 1926 was the industry leader, drawing comparisons to Athens under Pericles and maintaining dividend payments throughout the Great Depression.
Turan adeptly explores how Mayer and Thalberg’s Jewish identities influenced their personal and professional paths. Amidst prevalent antisemitism, they were harshly caricatured and accused of promoting immoral content through their films, although Mayer favored conservative storylines. Both played pivotal roles in establishing the Wilshire Boulevard Temple under the guidance of the renowned Hollywood rabbi Edgar Magnin. While they held a strong connection to their Jewish heritage—Mayer notably recited the kaddish for his mother’s death anniversary—their business interests took precedence. This led MGM to continue operations in Germany even as the Nazis restricted Jewish employment.
The pair’s partnership eventually fractured under recurring disagreements over profits, Thalberg’s declining health, and Mayer’s conniving strategies. Thalberg’s 1936 passing marked the end of their strained relationship, with Mayer reportedly remarking, “Isn’t God good to me?”
Turan, perfectly suited to this endeavor, grew up frequenting bustling Brooklyn cinemas with his Jewish immigrant parents. His background in Talmudic studies uniquely equipped him for a critic’s life; his extensive experience, including three decades at The Times, enriches his work with a diverse range of insights. Under his pen, the vibrant chatter of Golden Age Hollywood comes alive, spotlighting not just the usual suspects. Figures like Bayard Veiller, director of MGM’s inaugural dramatic talkie, and the unpublished memoirs of Thalberg’s wife, Norma Shearer, highlight Turan’s meticulous research.
Through his lens, the period offers a grand, fading tableau. Although the dual-biography format limits the exploration of certain darker aspects—such as Mayer’s alleged abuses involving Judy Garland or the studio system’s invasive control over stars’ lives—Turan’s work remains a compelling, artful, and significant account of a transformative Hollywood partnership.
