GET IN `LINE' FOR FASCINATING HIRSCHFELD STORY.

Byline: Nora Sayre The New York Times

He sits alone in a dark, empty theater, looking content in isolation. We hear the sounds of a pencil scratching on paper while his hands are out of sight; we see the round black eyes that have surveyed the finest and most putrid productions on Broadway since the 1920s.

His gaze is ironic, penetrating, sometimes mischievous, and we have the privilege of sharing his perspective in Susan W. Dryfoos' ``Line King,'' a captivating portrait of the artist Al Hirschfeld.

He doesn't relish the term ``caricaturist'' - he claims it comes from an Italian word meaning ``stuffing a sausage'' - and has no fondness for ``cartoon.'' Early on, he was enthralled by lines: wide or narrow, voluptuous or austere, liquid or jagged, swooping or twisting, they inspirit each drawing, conveying the nature of the characters he portrays. (He quotes Paul Klee: ``A line is a dot out for a walk.'')

Hirschfeld likes ``to draw people who've invented themselves,'' who stress the very traits his drawings emphasize. Lynn Fontaine, proud of her long neck, was delighted when he made it even longer. Katharine Hepburn boasts that she was easier to depict than some of her colleagues, because of her ``exaggerated nostrils'' and hollow cheeks.

Few have been offended by his work, and when he drew an intentionally ``vicious'' picture of David Merrick dressed as Santa Claus, equipped with ferocious eyes and diabolical eyebrows, the producer used it as his Christmas card.

Hirschfeld's deadpan wit is infused with fantasy: Ray Bolger's dancing feet soar off the ground, disdaining gravity; the threatening bulk of Zero Mostel's body overwhelms the space around him, and Jason Robards is ``imagined as Puck.'' A gleeful accuracy also prevails: you can identify each performer without glancing at the captions.

Hirschfeld drew in childhood; his mother recognized his gifts and moved the family from St. Louis to New York City when he was 12. The young Hirschfeld attended the Art Students League, was ``mesmerized'' by the stage and at 18 became the art director of Selznick Pictures. He was a sculptor before he was a painter, and a year in Paris nourished his talents.

Later, a year in Bali was even more vital to his development: There he saw how the sun seemed to bleach the color out of everything, exposing the black lines he loved. So he found it natural that great graphic artists have come from the East. He has written that the Japanese artist Hokusai and Javanese shadow puppets influenced him more than Western painters.

One evening at the theater in Manhattan with the legendary publicity agent Richard Maney, he sketched the French actor Sacha Guitry on his program; Maney sold the results to the Herald Tribune in 1926.

Soon his drawings appeared in several papers, including The New York Times. In 1927, the Tribune sent him to Moscow for a year. Some of his compelling lithographs of the 1920s and '30s were published without pay in the New Masses, for example the devastating ``Peace in Our Time,'' which shows Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain of Britain addressing Parliament after the Munich Pact as poison gas floods the chamber and he and all his listeners wear gas masks that make them look like skulls.

In more than seven decades of drawing for the Times, he has often immersed himself in rehearsals; hence he doesn't know how a show will be reviewed. Perhaps he savors the unpredictable.

The first version of ``Oklahoma!'' looked as if it would flop, and he tried to persuade the director Moss Hart to bypass ``My Fair Lady'' because `` `Pygmalion' couldn't be improved on.'' Still, he says, if you really believe in a subject, ``you can make a musical about an ashtray.''

His wife, Dolly Haas, a major star in Germany who left after Hitler came to power, is a marvelous guide throughout most of the film. (She died in 1994, before the documentary was completed.) She observes that he shows ``the essence of a human being'' in a drawing. The anxious wrinkles in Bert Lahr's forehead, Rex Harrison's crafty squint, Carol Channing's megamouth and flashbulb eyes, the brave tilt of Diane Keaton's bowler hat in ``Annie Hall,'' Roseanne's gopher-cheek ebullience, Eric Bogosian's flippant fingers and hip slouch: the eloquent details reveal the performers' images of themselves as well as their theatrical presence.

Every Martian knows that Hirschfeld has hidden his daughter Nina's name in his drawings since she was born. A professor at the University of Pennsylvania received a $60,000 grant from the Pentagon to study the Ninas, and student pilots were graded on how quickly they could find them.

``The Line King'' abounds with nuggets of information, especially welcome when they're dispensed by Hirschfeld or Dolly Haas. Otherwise, there are more commentators than necessary; we don't need a host of heads to tell us that his work is magnificent. And I wish the camera had lingered a bit longer on individual drawings: At times it rushes us away from the magic of the line.

Yet as we see him running upstairs to his studio, where he works in a barber's chair, using his computer, playing the piano, driving (somewhat lethally) and remarking on the changes he's witnessed in a lifetime - from the evolution of the automobile and the radio to the Internet - the film becomes a beguiling visit with a matchless artist. At present he is 93, and that is the least important thing about him.

THE FACTS

The film: ``The Line King: The Al Hirschfeld Story'' (not rated).

The stars: Al Hirschfeld, Dolly Haas, Nina Hirschfeld and Katharine Hepburn.

Behind the scenes: Produced, written and directed by Susan W. Dryfoos. Released by Castle Hill Productions.

Running time: One hour, 23 minutes.

Playing: Selected theaters.

Our rating: Three Stars.

CAPTION(S):

Photo

Photo: Al Hirschfeld

What makes him tick?