'Remember, my contract makes me boss with a capital B. And what I say goes.’
Julian Marsh, '42nd Street’.

I recently watched the grandmother of all ‘backstage’ musicals, the 1933 film '42nd Street.’

'42nd Street’ features a tough but talented director, an angel investor with eyes for the leading lady, an ingenue who dreams of stardom, and a chorus line of sharp talking, hard working hoofers. It has a romance in peril and a stage production teetering on the edge; beautifully written comedic dialogue and splendidly kaleidoscopic Busby Berkeley choreography. It’s a magnificent movie.

Ruby Keeler plays Peggy Sawyer who arrives in New York from small town Pennsylvania intent on a stage career. At an audition for a production of ‘Pretty Lady’ she encounters fierce competition and caustic humour from her fellow dancers.

'It seems that little Loraine's hit the bottle again.'
'Yah, the peroxide bottle.’

'It must have been hard on your mother, not having any children.’

Sawyer is taken under the wings of two of the more considerate performers.

'Stick with us, girl, and you'll come in on the tide.'

The director of ‘Pretty Lady’ is Julian Marsh (played by Warner Baxter).

'Julian Marsh, the greatest musical comedy director in America today.'
'What do you mean, today?'
'All right, tomorrow too.’

Marsh has recently lost his investments in the Wall Street Crash and his doctor tells him that his health is failing. He really must make ‘Pretty Lady’ a success. Once auditions are over, the cast and chorus are assembled for the first time. Marsh gives them a rousing address.

'All right, now, everybody... Quiet, and listen to me. Tomorrow morning, we're gonna start a show. We're gonna rehearse for five weeks, and we're gonna open on scheduled time, and I mean scheduled time. You're gonna work and sweat, and work some more. You're gonna work days, and you're gonna work nights, and you're gonna work between time when I think you need it. You're gonna dance until your feet fall off, till you're not able to stand up any longer, but five weeks from now, we're going to have a show. Now, some of you people have been with me before. You know it's gonna be a tough grind. It's gonna be the toughest five weeks that you ever lived through! Do you all get that? Now, anybody who doesn't think he's gonna like it had better quit right now. What do I hear? Nobody? Good... Then that's settled. We start tomorrow morning.'

There follow five weeks of gruelling rehearsals. Five weeks of barked instructions and tired limbs; of navigating complex steps and predatory men; of money worries and blossoming romances; of temper tantrums and nervous exhaustion.

The night before the show's opening, Marsh has a loss of confidence and his angel investor contemplates withdrawing. To cap it all, the leading lady breaks her ankle.

It’s down to the inexperienced Sawyer to step up and save the show. Marsh rehearses her mercilessly until an hour before the premiere.

'All right, I'll give you a chance - because I've got to... I'll either have a live leading lady - or a dead chorus girl.’

Just before she takes to the stage, Sawyer is visited in her dressing room by the injured star.

'You're nervous, aren't you? Well, don't be. The customers out there want to like you. Always remember that, kid. I've learned it from experience. And you've got so much to give them. Youth and beauty and freshness. Do you know your lines? And your songs? And your dance routine? Well, you're a cinch… Now go out there and be so swell that you'll make me hate you!'

Of course, the plot of ‘42nd Street’ may now seem somewhat commonplace and the characters rather familiar. Critic Pauline Kael famously observed that it was the movie that 'gave life to the clichés that have kept parodists happy.' But ‘42nd Street’ was there first, and it presents its story with such gusto, conviction and good humour that it can still put a lump in your throat and a tear in your eye. At the end you’re willing sweet Sawyer to succeed.

As a former adman I can’t help being reminded of the drama of the pitch process. That spirit of camaraderie as a team embarks on an intense period of toil and trouble; that sense of urgency and consequence regardless of the Client or the task.

One of the marks of a great leader is the ability to unite a disparate group of people in a common endeavour; to instil the belief that this particular challenge really matters, and that each individual can make a difference.

I often watched my great friend and long-time colleague Gwyn Jones motivate a pitch winning team. He would inspire commitment with passionate oratory and one-to-one encouragement. He would give youth the opportunity to shine. He would summon industry and endurance, and yet be sympathetic when morale was flagging. And he would always demand excellence in the finished product.

It’s the night before the pitch, and the team is assembled in Gwyn’s office with the finished deck awaiting final adjustments and sign-off. All is expectation. Gwyn pages through the document in silence. At long last he looks up:

‘Now I know we’re going to have a great pitch tomorrow and you’re all going to be brilliant… But I want all of us here to understand one thing: right now we are nowhere!’

He would then pick them up off the floor and help them piece together the winning argument.

There’s nothing quite like the galvanising power of a timely, well articulated motivational speech - to revive drooping spirits, to summon last reserves of energy, to focus the eye on the prize.

Before Sawyer steps out on stage for her make-or-break performance Marsh gives her one last pep talk.

'Sawyer, you listen to me, and you listen hard. Two hundred people, two hundred jobs, two hundred thousand dollars, five weeks of grind and blood and sweat depend upon you. It's the lives of all these people who've worked with you. You've got to go on, and you've got to give and give and give. They've got to like you. Got to. Do you understand? You can't fall down. You can't because your future's in it, my future and everything all of us have is staked on you. All right, now I'm through, but you keep your feet on the ground and your head on those shoulders of yours and go out. And Sawyer, you're going out a youngster, but you've got to come back a star!’

'Every kiss, every hug
Seems to act just like a drug.
You're getting to be a habit with me.
Let me stay in your arms.
I'm addicted to your charms.
You're getting to be a habit with me.
I used to think your love was something
That I could take or leave alone.
But now I couldn't do without my supply.
I need you for my own.'

Bebe Daniels ‘You’re Getting to Be a Habit With Me’ (H Warren, A Dubin)

No. 278

'I’m past patiently waitin’.
I’m passionately smashin’ every expectation.
Every action’s an act of creation!
I’m laughin’ in the face of casualties and sorrow.
For the first time, I’m thinkin’ past tomorrow.'

‘My Shot’, Lin-Manuel Miranda

Some time ago I saw Lin-Manuel Miranda’s hip-hop musical, ‘Hamilton’.

It tells the story of Alexander Hamilton, one of America’s founding fathers and the man on the 10 dollar bill. He was ‘a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman’ who left the Caribbean to become George Washington’s right-hand man and the first Secretary of the Treasury.

‘Hamilton’ delivers a joyous, articulate mix of old school rap, hip hop and R&B. There’s strong characterisation, razor-sharp choreography, lusty singing, propulsive beats and a rotating stage.

'I’m just like my country. I’m young, scrappy and hungry, and I’m not throwing away my shot.'

I was particularly struck by the way that rap’s brisk tempo and fluid construction lend themselves so well to a complex narrative. I can’t imagine a more traditional musical format so comfortably conveying, for example, the secret deal in which Washington DC is accepted as the nation’s capital in exchange for federal control over the debts accrued by the separate states.

Miranda has described ‘Hamilton’ as 'the story of America then told by America now.' The London audience when I attended enjoyed the subversion of the independence narrative being related by an ethnically diverse cast. We cheered the villainous King George III as one of our own. And we applauded when Hamilton triumphantly declared: ‘Immigrants! We get the job done!’

One of the key songs in ‘Hamilton’, ‘The Room Where It Happens’, reflects on the fact that so many of the critical debates and decisions in history take place behind closed doors.

'We want our leaders to save the day,
But we don't get a say in what they trade away.
We dream of a brand new start,
But we dream in the dark for the most part,
Dark as a tomb where it happens.
I've got to be in
The room where it happens,
I've got to be in the room where it happens.’

'The Room Where It Happens’, Lin-Manuel Miranda

We may be familiar with this sentiment in the world of business. So often strategies, policies and practice are worked out in camera, in secret, in private; in corridors, over a beer, behind glass walls.

This seems particularly true of smaller and privately owned companies that have grown organically – where founders and leaders have informal, instinctive networks, ways of working and getting things done.

US Senator Elizabeth Warren has observed that non-participation in decision-making presents risks for the excluded.

'If you don't have a seat at the table, you're probably on the menu.’

Although you’ll hear Agencies talk a good deal nowadays about the imperative of diversity, you’ll not hear them talk too often about good governance. And yet fair and transparent governance is the means by which you can ensure that a diverse workforce creates diverse decision-making. It’s your insurance against group-think and double-talk. It’s the means by which you earn true colleague engagement. There’s no vocation without representation.

A mature business gives proper thought to the composition of its committees and corporate bodies; to participation on boards, excos, platforms and working groups; to the processes by which decisions are made. This is not just about fairness. It’s about effectiveness.

If you do nothing about this, you may find that people will take matters into their own hands.

Shirley Chisholm - photo Irving Penn, Vogue, 1969 — Shirley Chisholm - photo Irving Penn, *Vogue,* 1969

In 1968 Brooklyn-born Shirley Chisholm was elected the first black woman in Congress. In 1972, campaigning under the slogan ‘Unbought and Unbossed’, she became the first woman and the first African American to run for the Presidential nomination of a major party. Surrounded throughout her career by colleagues who were overwhelmingly white and male, she passed on the following advice:

‘If you wait for a man to give you a seat, you’ll never have one. If they don’t give you a seat at the table, bring in a folding chair.’

No. 226

42nd Street: The Galvanising Power of a Motivational Speech

The Room Where It Happens: Diversity Demands Good Governance