Patricia Morison obituary in “The Guardian” in 2018
A mezzo-soprano, she was the first performer to be heard lustily singing Wunderbar, So in Love and, above all, I Hate Men, in Porter’s greatest stage hit. She appeared in more than 1,000 performances of the show on Broadway, tamed by the baritone Alfred Drake; and in the original London production at the Coliseum in 1951. She also starred in the 1964 television production of the musical (with Howard Keel), which launched BBC2 – after an initial power failure.
Discontented with the parts she was asked to play in films, she abandoned the big screen altogether for the stage and television in the 1950s. In contrast to the shrewish Lilli/Kate in Kiss Me Kate, she took the role of the governess Anna Leonowens opposite Yul Brynner, joining the original production of The King and I on Broadway from 1954.
Born in New York, Patricia was the daughter of William Morison, the Belfast-born playwright, actor and theatrical agent, and Selena Morison (nee Fraser), who worked for British intelligence during the first world war. Patricia studied acting at drama school and also trained as a dancer with Martha Graham.
Aged 19, she was working as a dress designer and considering a career in either art or dance, when she became understudy to Helen Hayes in Victoria Regina on Broadway in 1936, and then appeared with Drake, her later Kiss Me, Kate co-star, in the operetta The Two Bouquets (1938), in which she sang a number of Victorian ballads
This gained her a contract at Paramount, where she stayed for three years until 1942, displaying what the studio claimed was the longest hair in Hollywood (39in long). Among her inconsequential but enjoyable films there were those in which she played opposite the studio’s biggest male contract stars: Ray Milland in Untamed (1940) and Are Husbands Necessary? (1942), and Fred MacMurray in Rangers of Fortune (1940) and One Night in Lisbon (1941).
Morison had more interesting and varied roles when she went freelance in 1942, beginning with top billing in Hitler’s Madman (1943), Douglas Sirk’s first American film. In it she played a brave Czech partisan involved in the assassination of the Nazi official Reinhardt Heydrich (John Carradine), which led to the horrifying reprisals against the town of Lidice.
Nothing as substantial came her way, unless one counts her role in Henry Hathaway’s thriller Kiss of Death (1947), as Victor Mature’s wife who is raped and later takes her own life by putting her head in a gas oven. Unfortunately, her part was cut out of the film completely because the production code refused to allow a rape or suicide to be shown. Nevertheless, Morison’s name still appears on the credits of the film.
Previously, Morison was dropped at the last minute in favour of Veronica Lake in The Glass Key (1942) because she was considered too tall to play opposite Alan Ladd. She had to be content with playing the “other woman” coming between John Garfield and Maureen O’Hara in the film noir The Fallen Sparrow (1943), and a supporting role in the Spencer Tracy-Katharine Hepburn vehicle Without Love (1945). She was at her best as a villainous femme fatale in Dressed to Kill (1946), the last of the Basil Rathbone-Nigel Bruce Sherlock Holmes series. Morison also appeared to great effect as a ruthless leader of a expedition to track down animals for zoos in Tarzan and the Huntress (1947).
But after she played Maid Marian to Jon Hall’s Robin Hood in Prince of Thieves (1948), Morison’s main focus was television, which was beginning to burgeon, and the stage. She only returned to feature films briefly, strutting manfully as George Sand in Song Without End (1960), which starred Dirk Bogarde as Liszt.
Her latter years were taken up with painting, and appearing at various shows and reunions celebrating the Cole Porter musical in which she had played such a significant part.
• Ursula Eileen Patricia Augustus Fraser Morison, actor and singer, born 19 March 1915; died 20 May 2018.
Patricia Morison (1915–2018) was an actress and mezzo-soprano whose career represents one of the most curious “what-if” scenarios of the Golden Age. Blessed with “the face of a Madonna and the eyes of a siren,” as well as a powerful, classically trained voice, she was frequently mismanaged by the Hollywood studio system. While cinema struggled to categorize her, she found her ultimate vindication on the Broadway stage, defining one of the most iconic roles in musical theater history.
1. Career Arc: From “The Next Lamarr” to the “Queen of Broadway”
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The Hollywood Misstep (1939–1947): Paramount signed her as a potential rival to Hedy Lamarr or Dorothy Lamour. However, they frequently cast her in B-movies or as the “other woman” in unremarkable dramas. Despite her obvious beauty and talent, she was often relegated to playing villains or secondary leads, most notably as the femme fatale in Sherlock Holmes’ Dressed to Kill.
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The Broadway Redemption (1948–1954): Frustrated by Hollywood, Morison returned to the stage. Cole Porter personally selected her for the lead in Kiss Me, Kate. The show was a massive triumph, running for over 1,000 performances and establishing her as a premier musical theater star.
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The Professional Transition: She followed her Broadway success by replacing Gertrude Lawrence in The King and I. In her later years, she became a respected elder stateswoman of the stage and a prolific painter, living to the remarkable age of 103.
2. Critical Analysis of Key Performances
Dressed to Kill (1946) – The Intellectual Villainess
As Hilda Courtney, the mastermind behind a scheme to steal Bank of England plates.
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Analysis: In her most famous film role, Morison provided a sophisticated foil to Basil Rathbone’s Sherlock Holmes. She played the character with a cool, predatory elegance, using her deep, resonant voice to command authority.
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Critique: Critics noted that Morison was one of the few Holmes villains who actually seemed like a match for his intellect. She avoided the “shrieking” tropes of 1940s female villains, opting instead for a stately, menacing composure. Modern analysis often laments that Hollywood didn’t use this performance as a blueprint for a series of high-end noir roles.
Kiss Me, Kate (Stage, 1948) – The Definitive Lilli Vanessi
As the fiery actress playing Katherine in a musical version of The Taming of the Shrew.
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Analysis: This role required a “Double Performance”—the off-stage diva and the on-stage Shrew. Morison utilized her operatic vocal range and a surprising gift for slapstick comedy.
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Critique: Cole Porter’s score demanded a mezzo-soprano who could handle both the legato of “So In Love” and the comedic fury of “I Hate Men.” Critically, Morison is seen as the definitive Lilli. She brought a sense of “wounded pride” to the role, ensuring the character remained sympathetic despite her explosive temper.
The Song of Bernadette (1943) – The Dramatic Foil
As Empress Eugenie.
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Analysis: In a rare “A-list” prestige production, Morison was cast for her aristocratic bearing.
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Critique: Although a supporting role, it showcased her ability to convey status through posture. She functioned as the visual representation of the “Worldly” power in contrast to Jennifer Jones’ “Spiritual” protagonist. Critics cited this as evidence that Morison possessed the “prestige” quality necessary for top-tier dramatic acting, even if the studios rarely allowed her to lead such films.
3. Style and Legacy: The “Unclassifiable” Star
Patricia Morison’s style was defined by a regal intensity.
| Attribute | Critical Impact |
| Vocal Gravitas | Her voice was her greatest asset; it carried a natural “vibrato” of authority that made her sound older and wiser than her years. |
| Physical Stature | Standing 5’7″ with exceptionally long hair (which became a trademark), she was physically imposing, which often made Hollywood leading men seem “diminished” by comparison. |
| The “Transatlantic” Quality | She possessed a refined, non-regional accent that allowed her to play royalty, spies, and socialites with equal conviction. |
The Hollywood Paradox
A major critical theme in Morison’s career was the “Over-Qualified” problem. Hollywood in the 40s often preferred “girl-next-door” types or “vulnerable” starlets. Morison was too tall, too vocally powerful, and too intellectually sharp for the standard ingenue roles. Her career serves as a critique of the studio system’s inability to foster female talent that didn’t fit into a pre-existing “box.”
Critical Note: Patricia Morison was the “Opera Star of Noir.” She brought a classical discipline to every role, whether she was fighting Sherlock Holmes or headlining a Broadway smash. Her legacy is one of artistic survival; she refused to be defeated by a studio system that didn’t know what to do with her, eventually finding her greatest glory by returning to her first love: the live stage