I'd Like to Do It Again — Reading Companion

A Playwright’s Early Instincts

The catalog lists Davis as a dramatist and the book as biography, but the excerpts reveal a memoir focused on craft rather than personal life. The opening chapter, “False Starts,” dwells on his first attempts at writing, including a Harvard encounter with Dion Boucicault in a barroom. Davis later challenges Boucicault’s maxim that “plays are not written, they are re-written,” calling it a “musty old truism” that is simply untrue. He insists that the germ of success must be in the author’s first manuscript, and that revisions rarely save a failing play. This argument recurs throughout the excerpts, suggesting that the book is as much a polemic as a memoir.

The Director’s Role and the Author’s Vision

Davis praises director Mr. Duncan for molding the company to the play rather than the reverse, calling this “the true duty of a director.” He contrasts this with Hollywood picture directors, who treat an author’s script “like a sort of clover field” to romp through, making changes because they “don’t quite grasp the meaning.” The excerpts show Davis’s frustration with outside interference, comparing it to a neighbor rewriting a doctor’s prescription. He claims to have been called in as a “play doctor” more than anyone alive, yet admits he “very rarely saved a patient.” This self-deprecating honesty gives weight to his opinions.

The Business of Playwriting

Davis’s memoir is structured around his career milestones, from selling his first play to working in Hollywood. The chapter titles—such as “Selling the First One,” “Up from Melodrama,” and “How to Write Three Hundred Plays”—indicate a practical, almost instructional bent. In the excerpts, he describes playwriting as “the most difficult form of all the forms of literary expression” and a “definitely understood and carefully studied profession.” He also notes that he is constantly asked to read plays by “elevator boys, maid-servants, policemen and taxi drivers,” implying a democratic but critical view of aspiring writers. The book appears to offer both a personal history and a seasoned professional’s advice.

Readers interested in the mechanics of early twentieth-century theater will find Davis’s memoir a direct, opinionated source. He does not hide his biases—against directors who rewrite, producers who meddle, and truisms that excuse bad practice. The excerpts suggest a book that is less a conventional autobiography than a working dramatist’s credo, grounded in decades of experience. Approach it as a craft memoir rather than a life story, and expect strong views backed by specific examples.

Owen Davis’s memoir left me thinking about how a life in theatre is really a string of small tries—each play a quiet attempt to get something right. I found myself reaching for the One-Act Plays by Modern Authors — A Reader’s Guide afterward, wondering how those shorter works might hold the same patient longing. It lingers, that feeling.