Barrymore Page #3

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Doesn't mean I'm losing

my marbles, does it?

Bound with

victorious wreathes!

That's right,

keep after me!

Come on! Come on! Come on!

See? He never gives up.

Tonight all is well.

Franklin is at the helm.

What are you doing?

You know what

the manager says.

I do not give a rat's ass

what the manager says.

No drinking on

the premises.

No, no, the drink, the

drink - O my dear Hamlet,

The drink, the drink!

I am poisoned.

Maybe I should do Hamlet.

No, no. Too late.

Alas, middle-aged actors

shouldn't play Hamlet.

Although, I don't look

middle-aged, do I, Frank?

Not anymore.

Malevolent b*tch.

Oh cruelty, thy

name is Franklin.

Condescending Gnat!

Prompter's!

Ah!

So, it's Richard

Crookback or nothing.

And if I don't do it.

Some other ham will beat

me to it. Right, Frank?

Right, sir.

All right, let's

get cracking.

You probably hadn't noticed,

but I tend to stagger.

My whole family staggers.

My father, God rest his soul,

was a great staggerer.

"Staggering is a sign of

strength Jackie," he would say.

"Only the weak have

to be carried home. "

Where were we?

Grim-visaged war -

Grim-visaged war hath

smooth'd his wrinkled...

Aaah!

Ethel sent me these.

Red apples have been the

Barrymore good luck wish -

or the family curse

- for generations.

Here Frank, chew

on that you walrus.

I don't know why

I ever went into theater.

Lionel and I wanted to be

painters - great painters

of the American spirit,

like Homer, Eakins,

Whistler, Bellows.

Ethel wanted to

be a pianist.

But, I loved my drawings.

You may not know this,

Frank, but I was for a

time political cartoonist

for the evening journal.

Really, sir?

Oh, yes.

Some of my happiest moments

were spent at Minnie Hay's

boarding house on 34th

Street - a hangout for the

tough newspaper crowd.

Aah!

Magnificent wastrels!

How come ya always draw

Teddy Roosevelt standin'

in the tall grass?

Because, my dear fellow, I

never learned how to draw feet.

Another fatal flaw,

which got me fired.

I was so in love with my

goddamn profile back then.

All my drawings

looked like me.

So it was back

to the stage.

Dear old Ethel came to the

rescue - got me a job.

But acting isn't an art.

It's a scavenger

profession...

a junk pile of the arts.

It's just that we

three were trapped in

the family cul-de-sac.

The Barrymores

and the Drews!

The Drews and the Barrymores!

They wrote a

play about us.

We were the theater's

Royal Family

and I was the Clown Prince.

Somewhere along the way,

things got a bit shaky

but it's paid well.

That's the narcotic.

Frank?

Yes, sir.

Do you think my fans will

remember me when I'm a has-been?

Of course they do,

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