The screen writer (June 1947-Mar 1948)

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EMMET LA VERY
Sn<ni'ball in the Spring

JAY RICHARD KENNEDY
An Approach to Pictures

SUMNER LYON
Other End of the Rainbow

T. E. B. CLARKE
Writers-Directors in a British Studio

GARRETT GRAHAM
Witch-hunting in Hollywood

SHERIDAN GIBNEY
The Screen Writer's Medium

GORDON KAHN
Questionnaire Report; Letter from Mexico

I. A. L. DIAMOND
Hollywood Jabberwocky

jg |jfl

June, 1947

SHBtifiF

Editorial • PHILIP DUNNE,
MILTON KRIMS, ALLEN
RIVKIN, ALBERT LEWIN,
PRESTON STURGES, NIVEN
BUSCH, NORMAN KRASNA
and DELMER DAVES on Film
Craft • Report and Comment:
ARNOLD BELGARD
Correspondence • News
Notes • Screen Credits

and

andom Az&wlw rlouse

BOOKS FOR 1947

SY

ALREADY PUBLISHED s

SINCLAIR LEWIS Kingshlood Royal

EDGAR SNOW Stalin Must Have Peace

SIGMUND FREUD Leonardo da Vinci

EUGENE O'NEILL The Iceman Cometh

COMING:

BUDD SCHULBERG The Harder They Fall

ELLIOT PAUL Linden on the Saugus Branca

JOHN O'HARA Hellhox

DAVID DAVIDSON The Steeper Cliff

AND NEW NOVELS BY:

VINCENT SHEEAN, MacKINLAY KANTOR,

MARITTA WOLFF, CHRISTOPHER ISHERWOOD,

VINCENT McHUGH, MARY JANE WARD, etc.

Random House is the publisher of THE MODERN LIBRARY and THE LIFETIME LIBRARY

A complete catalog is yours for the ashing

RANDOM HOUSE, 457 MADISON AVE., NEW YORK 22, N. Y.

GORDON KAHN • EDITOR

ROBERT SHAW • DIRECTOR OF PUBLICATIONS

ED I T OR I A L COMMITTEE

ART ARTHUR

SIDNEY BOEHM

MARTIN FIELD

HARRIS GABLE

RICHARD G. HUBLER

LESTER KOENIG

ISOBEL LENNART

RANALD MacDOUGALL

BERNARD C. SCHOENFELD

THEODORE STRAUSS

HERBERT CLYDE LEWIS

'

An Interim Report on A. A. A.

Snowball in the Spring

EMMET LAVERY

EMMET LAVERY, president of the
Screen Writers' Guild, is chairman of
the over-all AAA committee of SWG.
He is an active member of the Drama-
tists Guild, author of The Magnificent
Yankee, which has just wound up a
cross-country tour.

UNLIKE the rolling stone that gathered no moss,
the snowball tossed out in the early spring by the
AAA committee of the Screen Writers Guild has gath-
ered a lot of snow — and a lot of momentum.

Thanks to the formal cooperation of the Council of
the Authors League of America, approximately 9,000
copies of the special (March) supplement on AAA
were distributed to members of the four guilds of the
League. Above and beyond this, 4,000 additional copies
were sent by the Screen Writers Guild to unaffiliated
writers and members of the arts and professions
throughout the country.

Today, the proposals advanced in the AAA supple-
ment are officially before the member guilds of the
League and the Council of the League for official con-
sideration. In due time the member guilds will be asked
to ballot on the AAA and the full Council of the
Authors League of America will be asked to decide, on
the basis of this balloting, whether this particular form
of licensing shall be put into operation.

To prepare intelligently for this voting, the AAA
committee of the Screen Writers' Guild is proposing to
the Council of the Authors League of America that a

*As this issue of THE SCREEN WRITER was going to
press, word was received from New York that the Licensing
Committee of the Authors' League of America is preparing
to make a formal report on AAA to the Council of the League
in the near future. It is not certain, naturally, that the final
disposition of AAA will be made according to the procedure
outlined above. It is quite possible that the Licensing Com-
'mittee may recommend that the whole question be determined
:n, and by, the Council of the League.

sub-committee of the AAA committee of the Screen
Writers' Guild go East in the near future to :

( 1 ) confer with the full Council of the Authors
League of America

(2) confer with the individual boards of the
member guilds of the League

(3) conduct an all-day seminar in New York —
and perhaps other regional centers — for
detailed analysis and discussion of the plan by
League members.*

West Coast members of the Authors Guild have
already gone on record, by a vote of 38 to 6, in favor
of the AAA licensing program as outlined in the special
supplement of the Screen Writer. Two hours of solid
discussion were devoted by this group to the project at
a recent meeting chaired by Albert Maltz. James Cain,
Morris Cohn and Emmet Lavery spoke in favor of the
AAA plan and Rupert Hughes led the discussion
against it.

Meanwhile strong indications have been received
from England that members of the Screen Writers
Association look with a friendly eye on many of the
proposals advanced in AAA. While they would prob-
ably not approach the problem of licensing with the
same kind of machinery in England, they are keen to
cooperate in any universal program which will establish
the principle of licensing as against the principle of
outright sale.

(In this connection it is worth noting that, in dis-
cussions of licensing in England, the phrase "assign-

THE SCREEN WRITER

ment of copyright" is used to indicate outright transfer
of ownership. That is, over there, the issue is stated as
the issue of "licensing" versus the issue of "assignment
of copyright." Here, in discussing AAA, we have of
course used the phrase "assignment of copyright" as a
phrase subsidiary to, not hostile to, the idea of licensing.
With us we have used the phrase as meaning "trustee-
ship of copyright." The distinction in use and meaning
is important to remember because while in one sense of
the word our English colleagues are consistently
opposed to "assignment of copyright," actually our
position and theirs is identical at the moment. We are
both for licensing and against outright sale under any
terms. )

It would be bad reporting, however, to suggest that
AAA is sweeping the country. It is too new, too com-
prehensive, to be disposed of in a few easy resolutions
and generalities. The truth is many writers still have
quite a few reservations about AAA, some of them valid
and reasonable, some of them invalid and irrational.

The position of the Screen Writers' Guild at this
point is a very simple one. We say now, as we have said
many times before: this is one form of licensing, it is a
form in which we believe, but if it isn't the best form,
give us the one that is better.

We realize, for instance, that many members of the
Dramatists Guild do not take easily to the theory of
"assignment of copyright" even though the proposed
assignment is a very limited one and would be, in fact,
a revocable trusteeship. They do not take easily to this
theory because they have been able to operate otherwise
in the theatre. They have been able to operate under a
Minimum Basic Agreement.

We understand this position and we can appreciate
the logic of it, for many of us have been members of
the Dramatists Guild for many years. But we also
realize that licensing in four fields can not be projected
without some comprehensive machinery to implement
that licensing and to date we have heard of no over-all
machinery which would provide that implementation.
True, the Authors Guild is considering the advisability
of a film negotiator — like the one in the Dramatists
Guild — as one possible method of regulating the
licensing of the material of Authors Guild members
that might be sold to motion pictures. But this is not
the same thing as over-all negotiation in the fields of
theatre, radio, television and films. It is a limited
approach to one section of the problem and it is a very
good approach. It is a step in the right direction but we
in the Screen Writers' Guild think similar steps have
to be taken by all guilds together: in effect, over-all,
simultaneous negotiation in all fields. Through the

Authors League of America of course, but through some
special machinery set up to do this particular job.

To date, the only hint as to a possible alternative to
AAA — and it is only a hint, and perhaps an uninten-
tional one at that — comes from George Middleton,
veteran dramatist, in his excellent reissue of the pam-
phlet describing the operations of the Dramatists Guild
Minimum Basic Agreement. Toward the end of this
report, Mr. Middleton sagely observes:

"Healthy differences as to policies, which may arise
within the League, should not weaken a common front
through which alone can the common objectives, of
benefit to all authors, be achieved. To that end, Basic
Agreements, I believe, should be negotiated to cover
the entire field of authorship, in which European
authors, who have asked our cooperation, should be
invited to participate."

The italics, it should be noted, are those of Mr.
Middleton. They raise a provocative question. Here, of
course, is the ultimate of ultimates — one to which I
think most members of the Screen Writers' Guild
would subscribe without hesitation. But are we in a
position to project such an agreement at the present
time? Isn't that the last round in the licensing fight
rather than the first round? A hundred members from
each of the four guilds might easily put AAA into
operation, if they were the holders of enough active
copyrights, for the whole principle of AAA is that of a
voluntary association of writers in a limited trusteeship.
But it would take the common concerted action of at
least five to seven thousand writers to make effectual a
Compulsory Minimum Basic Agreement covering all
fields.

As matters stand now, the League and its member
guilds are firmly committed to the general principle of
licensing and the accompanying theories of separation
of copyrights and reversion for non-use. But no one
has yet suggested the possible zero hour when this
licensing program will take effect — and after which
outright sales of literary property will no longer be
countenanced by the League. And no one, with the
exception of the Screen Writers' Guild, has come for-
ward with a detailed over-all plan whereby such a
licensing program might be projected through the
League and its member guilds.

Locally, many playwrights and screen writers are
already working at the theory of licensing, even though
there is as yet no League machinery to implement it.
They are able to do this because they are strong enough
individually to ask for and to obtain seven and ten year
licensing contracts, separation of copyrights and rever-
sion for non-use. Others, not so fortunate, face the old

SNOWBALL IN THE SPRING

familiar pressures. In the catch-as-catch-can state of
the so-called "package" market, outright sales are often
effected with no provision for additional compensation
to the original author in the event of a profitable re-
sale. In the regular market most studios continue to
insist on the preposterous legal fiction that the sale of
property and/or literary services to the studio makes the
studio perforce the "author" of the property. And in
recent weeks we have seen an intriguing variation on
this situation in which an individual producer in his
individual capacity asked a writer to certify that the
producer was, in fact, the complete and sole creator of
the literary property that he had just bought from the
writer.

Appropriately enough, relatively little attention has
been given by the press throughout the country to the
revised AAA plan as printed in the March supplement,
although columns of vituperative comment were hurled
at the Screen Writers' Guild and its members when the
plan was first discussed some months before. The reason
for the silence, naturally, is not hard to understand.
The revised AAA plan is a carefully thought out docu-
ment, fair, honest, and democratic, with every guar-
antee possible to the individual writer that he is creating
nothing more than a revocable trusteeship. There isn't
much argument, in law and logic, that can be brought
against it. A few points here and there perhaps but not
many and none of the kind that give comfort to the
creators of scare headlines in the five star finals.

True, some very sincere writers — not members of
the American Writers Association, organized for the
sole purpose of destroying AAA — just don't like the
idea of assignment of copyright in any form, no matter
how limited. They dispose of copyright every year of
course to publishers and studios but they hesitate at the
idea of trusteeing any part of it to a group of fellow
writers. There are also a few agents, here and there,
who have been a little slow to realize that AAA is not
an agent and would not replace the agencies. And, it
must be admitted, on the basis of questionnaires that
have already come in, there are a few younger writers
who are frank enough to admit that they would always
prefer an outright sale to any form of licensing. They
want the bird in the hand even though it might grow
to be a bigger bird if they let it have its wings.

Finally, there is still a little East Coast-West Coast
tension. Not very much. Nothing that wouldn't dissolve
quickly when facing a common enemy. Some writers in
New York feel that some individual observations in the
AAA supplement with respect to the eastern guilds are
I not borne out by the facts. Others feel that the AAA

is just some kind of screen writing dream for screen
writers who have no knowledge of other fields. A few,
to be perfectly frank, still think most writers west of
the Los Angeles river are blood brothers to one Joseph
Stalin and accordingly want no part of us.

Time of course will dissipate most of these last
objections, time and detailed study of the Questions and
Answers section of the AAA supplement. As for the few
Marxists in our midst, whose initial enthusiasm for
AAA may have disturbed some people, I have no hesi-
tation in repeating now a prediction which I have made
many times before : in the last analysis, or, if you prefer,
in the last round of the good fight for licensing, we will
be hearing less and less from the brethren on the far
Left. They will probably not be hostile to AAA or
whatever the final form of licensing may be. They will
naturally go along with any plan that in the long run
improves the standing of writers, especially the finan-
cial standing. But, as one of our articulate conservatives
pointed out some time ago, the whole battle for licensing
and for the AAA is a highly capitalistic maneuvre
designed to take a little more capital from one group of
capitalists — producers, publishers, radio chains, tele-
vision — and put in the pockets of another group of
capitalists, the writers. It is not something that squares
with the Communist Party line. It has no compulsions.
It is open to everyone. It has no control of content. It
works for the small writer as well as for the big writer.
It is the most voluntary form of association that has
ever been proposed for American writers : it is a limited,
revocable trusteeship administered by democratically
elected delegates from the four guilds of the Authors
League of America. The Kremlin would not under-
stand it nor care for it.

At this point it might be timely to point out one or
two more obvious facts: in the Screen Writers' Guild,
as in most writing guilds, we have no political or reli-
gious screening of membership. We do not even qualify
the writers who become eligible for active membership :
the studios, who employ screen writers, provide that
qualification by providing enough employment (26
weeks) to make them eligible for active membership.
The rest of our members, at the moment about 200,
come to us on assignment (exchange) from brother
guilds in the Authors League of America. So obviously
we are not a front for the Communist Party nor a
recruiting agent for the Kremlin. We are just a typical
cross-section of American writers, people with the
average worries, hopes, and ambitions — people naive
enough to believe that the struggle for a better world
begins with a struggle for a better art, people naive
enough to believe that one way to better the art is to
better the man who creates it, to give him just a bit

THE SCREEN WRITER

more to say about it than the man who is merely going
to sell it.

But is it art, asks a mocking voice in the back of the
house? Well, if it isn't, brother — whose fault is it?
Who sold it down the river, year after year, and got a
mess of pottage for his pains — yes, and only one mess
of pottage at that ! No one forced our novelists and
playwrights and screen writers to sell outright all their
rights in all these fields. But they did and that is why, in
pictures at least, the remakes of famous plays and novels
are so seldom equal to the first attempt. The further
you get away from the original author the less you have
in the end.

Yes, this is the same kind of fight that the Dramatists
Guild had in the theatre. Only longer and tougher and
nastier. We can't win it by fighting each other. We can
only win it by standing together wherever writers are
found.

And so we in the Screen Writers' Guild say: let's
stop talking about licensing. Let's begin to license. Let's
set a stop-date. Let's have thorough study and a prompt
vote on AAA. We still think AAA is the best form of
licensing we have seen so far but we're willing to be
shown if somebody has found a better way. Let's have
the alternatives, if any, and let's have them soon . . .
very soon.

The way we look at it, that was a pretty good snow-
ball we threw out in the early spring. And there's still
a lot of snow clinging to it, even in the heat of June.
There will still be a lot of snow on it, when the frost is
on the ground in the Fall.

But let's not fool around too long with this thing
called licensing. The best snowball in the world won't
last forever. So

If it isn't this snowball, what snowball is it?

^

Statement on Thomas Committee

In a statement widely quoted by
the nation's press, Emmet Lavery,
president of the Screen Writers' Guild
demanded that accredited channels
instead of Representative J. Parnell
Thomas' "Un-American" Commit-
tee undertake the job of investigating
truly subversive activity in the motion
picture industry. He suggested that
the FBI is the proper agency for
such work.

Despite Rep. Thomas' statement,
as published, that "90 per cent of
Communist infiltration in Hollywood
is to be found among screen writers,"
Mr. Lavery, head of the writers' or-
ganization, had at the time of going
to press not been summoned or invited
to appear before the investigators
then sitting in Los Angeles.

"I doubt very much," said Mr.
Lavery, "if any subversive elements
are likely to be trapped by punches
telegraphed in advance by Congress-
man Thomas in eight-column scare
headlines.

"Writers are always being called
Communists," Mr. Lavery pointed
out. "It has been a favorite indoor
and outdoor sport for a good many
years. We may have a few Commun-
ists in the Screen Writers' Guild, just
as there may be a few Communists
in all of the professions and the arts.
We do not employ them; we do not
qualify them for their membership in
this Guild. Oddly enough, it is the
employing studios who qualify all of
our writers for active membership,
for unless they are employed by a

studio, they cannot become active
members. We accept all our members
without regard for political or relig-
ious affiliation.

"I have been President of the
Screen Writers' Guild for three years,
and I am confident that the solid
democratic worth of the Guild speaks
for itself. And it may be interesting
to Mr. Thomas to know that as early
as October 7, 1946, I appeared vol-
untarily at the local headquarters of
the FBI, following my testimony be-
fore the Committee of Senator Jack
Tenney, and formally placed myself
and the Guild at the command of
the FBI for any investigations that
they might care to make. They told
me at that time that they had no
questions to ask."

An Approach to Pictures

JAY RICHARD KENNEDY

JAY RICHARD KENNEDY is a
writer-producer <who discusses here
some problems of production and the
place of writers in the motion picture
industry.

PROBABLY any author who attempts to tell a story
of our times faithfully and with regard to the social
needs of today will find himself confronting certain
difficulties. He will run afoul of obsolete restrictions.
Or he will feel the resistance of those forces which
oppose necessary change wherever they find it.

In gaining permission to use hitherto inaccessible in-
formation files in writing the story of the Treasury
Department's Bureau of Narcotics in cooperation with
the Department's Customs and Coast Guard Bureaus,
I encountered little or none of the traditional red tape
of government bureaucracy. When the officials were
satisfied that I would not distort the material to suit
cheap, stereotyped theatrical needs, their intelligent
cooperation was forthcoming. The first real obstacle
was the notice from the Production Code Administra-
tion that the story was in violation of the existing code,
which forbade the dramatization on the screen of illicit
traffic in narcotics. However, the Motion Picture Asso-

When JAY RICHARD KENNEDY came to Hollywood
15 months ago he had behind him an unusual record of
achievement as an economist, financier and special aide to
the federal government in both the national and international
fields. In 1945 he was called upon by the Treasury Depart-
ment to help smooth the way for the Bretton Woods agree-
ment. While working with the department, he was impressed
by the great range of its law enforcement activities, and by
the fact that its Bureau of Narcotics as far back as 1935
proved the practicality of the concept of cooperation between
nations. He proposed to Secretary Henry Morgenthau, Jr.
and the Commissioner of Narcotics Harry J. Anslinger that
he tell the story of that Bureau's work in cooperation with
the Customs and Coast Guard Bureaus of Treasury. With
the understanding that the essential facts remain in focus,
they gave him access to hitherto closed files and later ap-
proved his story, as did the subsequent Secretaries of Treas-
ury, Fred Vinson and John Snyder.

Feeling that the story was best suited to motion pictures,
Mr. Kennedy came to Hollywood. Four major studios bid
for the story. He chose to set up an independent corporation
owned jointly by Sidney Buchman, as producer, and himself
as associate producer and author of the original story and
screenplay. Believing his brief but intensive experience in
Hollywood illumines some current problems encountered in
motion picture making, the editors of THE SCREEN
WRITER asked Mr. Kennedy to discuss frankly his approach
to film writing and producing.

ciation of America, while pointing out that the story
(tentatively titled) Assigned to Treasury, was techni-
cally outside the pale of its code, nevertheless, agreed
at the same time that the story was in good taste and
in the public interest.

The MPAA has its own practical, hard-headed rea-
sons for understanding that real stories must be told if
the world market is to be won. In the domestic market
it is aware of a stirring deep in the bones of John and
Mary Smith, who were subjected to the violent impo-
sition of a depression, followed by a global war and
who now confront the unsolved problems of tomorrow.
Our American audiences need a celluloid mirror of
their lives and aspirations. English, French, Italian and
Russian films are dealing maturely with realistic themes.
We can do no less and compete successfully. Undoubt-
edly the MPAA is conscious of this fact.

In any case, the code was amended to allow for the
screen portrayal of the worldwide effort to curb the
illicit traffic in narcotics. Though many factors con-
tributed to the decision of MPAA to amend its Pro-
duction Code, I believe that the basic one was the
appeal by Commissioner of Narcotics Anslinger that
the picture be made. That appeal came as the result of
the Treasury Department belief that the world would
benefit from the realistic presentation of this global
story, and also as the result of Commissioner Anslin-
ger's faith that the best interests of his bureau had not
been, and therefore would not be sacrificed for the pur-
poses of a quick theatrical advantage in bringing the
story to the screen.

But the amendment of the Code did not end our
problems. In many respects, it began them. Immedi-
ately a hysterical campaign set in against the picture,
against the amendment, even against the industry. The
real nature of this campaign has not been opposition to
the narcotics issue, the core of this opposition is appar-
ently the belief that the Production Code is a sacrosanct
instrument, and that the establishment of any precedent

THE SCREEN WRITER

for seriously amending it is dangerous. Outcries against
the screen portrayal of the fight against the interna-
tional illegal narcotics traffic has been, in my opinion,
used as a smokescreen to obscure something of impor-
tance to the entire industry — namely, its right of self-
government and the duty and even necessity of change
to meet the conditions of our changing world.

In preparation for writing the treatment of Assigned
to Treasury, I studied over eighty motion pictures and
then did "homework" analyzing the screenplays from
which these pictures had been made. This study dis-
closed an interesting difference in the prewar technique
of Hollywood picture making and the wartime so-called
"documentary technique," a difference which I had to
understand if the experiences of skilled veterans in
both fields were to teach me anything in preparation
for the writing of my first treatment and screenplay.

The prewar film technique seemed to concern itself
most actively with the Great Man, the individual who
bends all situation to his fabulous will. The story was
placed at the complete service of validating this one
unusual hero. (Mr. Deeds Goes to Town) Supporting
players and plot action were subordinated to make the
solitary jewel shine. I may be wrong, but it seemed to
me that the evil of the star system, rather than creating
this technique, emerged out of it, and that this tech-
nique, in turn, was created by the unrealistic social
climate of the pre-depression and prewar years. I
learned a great deal from this technique about swift and
oblique theatrical revelations of what purport to be
character.

However, in the end, these revelations remained
false for my purposes, for they were set forth in unreal
situational context. I had assured the Treasury Depart-
ment that I would be faithful to the facts in the file
(which in theatrical terms meant the basic dramatic
situations). Against that objective, the prewar tech-
nique became "make-believe" in an unusable sense. The
lone individual never bends dramatic situation (other-
wise known as environment) or supporting players
(otherwise definable as the community as seen from the
protagonist's viewpoint) to his own exclusive will. Even
the "status-quo individual" is no exception. With the
aid of the weight of environment he hamstrings the
efforts of others to reshape it. Environment, as we all
know, takes one powerful lot of bending before it
yields. It acts upon the individual with at least as much
force as the individual, no matter how heroic, acts upon
it. In Assigned to Treasury a consideration of this
social truth ceased to be academic.

The other technique, the wartime "documentary"

like the prewar Hollywood technique referred to above,
likewise taught me many important things. How to find
people and events in their native habitat (among other
things, by actually bringing a camera there!), the
power of understatement, of matter-of-factness, the
attention to small, but exciting detail which creates the
illusion of reality, faith in the dramatic values implicit
in environment (dramatic situation) which prevents
gilding the lily or distorting it. All this proved inval-
uable. Yet, taken by itself — for my purposes — it
seemed to exaggerate in one direction as the prewar
technique exaggerated in another. (I am not referring
to Hollywood wartime films like Sahara, Wake Island,
Destination Tokyo, which attempted the beginnings of
a synthesis between the two techniques. I refer to the
government documentary film, a technique almost as
old as entertainment film making itself) which had its
origin in visual education. In it, the protagonist is sub-
ordinated to dramatic situation.

During the war this technique dealt with a great
global social crisis. To meet that crisis the individual
either subordinated or associated himself with the com-
munity in a joint effort to reshape the environment
which created this crisis. But that could not have pos-
sibly meant that the individual was less important than
the task he performed. Quite the reverse. It caused
tremendous personality changes, making heroes out of
ordinary men and thus making the individual more
important than ever. The wartime documentary tech-
nique in many cases implied the opposite. How to load
a gun, what to do for wounds, how to behave when
captured, was treated more importantly than the person
who performed these deeds. We learned no more about
people than was indispensable for carrying the docu-
mentary story forward.

Perhaps this over-simplification was born out of the
social climate of a war for which we were not suffi-
ciently prepared ideologically, in much the manner as
the social climate of rugged individualism in the prewar
period created the over-simplification of environment
in prewar Hollywood film technique. In any event, I
felt that technically, in writing Assigned to Treasury
my task was to synthesize the best of both, striking a
tone and style which authentically dramatized environ-
ment on the one hand and authentically and dramatic-
ally revealed the importance of the individual on the
other. This meant neither environment nor character
would be distorted to serve the other's needs.

Whether this synthesis has been achieved, remains of
course to be seen. If it has been on film, it will be the
result of the joint efforts in this direction, not only of
myself, but in the first place of Sidney Buchman, the
producer, and after him, of every other person seriously

AN APPROACH TO PICTURES

involved in the project. I am sure that my colleagues,
no less than I, live in anxious hope, rather than satisfied
certainty. But whether we have succeeded or failed,
one thing, I believe, remains true:

Out of the various efforts now being made in Holly-
wood to achieve this synthesis in both subject matter
and style can come something new, better and more
mature in picture making. My evidence that this can be
done, is that it already has been done in The Best Years
of Our Lives. In the past, the documentary technique
bubbled along quietly under the surface of popular
entertainment. It excited only an aesthetic, scholarly
and frequently snobbish few. Running parallel, the
Hollywood technique flashed its virtuosity profitably
across the entertainment sky. The war exploded heaven
and earth in more ways than one. It drew the docu-
mentary up out of its safe obscurity to educate and
inspire millions of soldiers and other millions of people
in liberated areas, supplying sufficient audience and
opportunity to fulfill what was previously embryonic in
its technique. That same upheaval brought "once-upon-
a-non-existent-time" magnificently down to earth with
Sahara, Destination Tokyo, Edge of Darkness and
others. Inevitably, when the smoke cleared, these two
strangers had to meet. In The Best Years of Our Lives,
they did.

Before the first draft of my screenplay was com-
pleted, The House on 92nd Street made its debut. I did
not feel about The House as I feel about The Best
Years of Our Lives. While The House had a "newsreel
authenticity" and a new approach to environment,
which proved that the "factual style" could yield profi-
table dramatic entertainment, I believe it suffered from
the same weaknesses as the wartime documentary tech-
nique in that it sacrificed deepened characterization for
the purpose of emphasizing what was dramatic in
authentically presented situation, (as differentiated
from Boomerang which certainly does, in many respects,
achieve this synthesis.)

In the process of dealing with my story, a working
definition was developed with regard to the people in it.

I call it "documentary characterization." If the word
"documentary" still has an odious or frightening, non-
commercial sound, I readily accept other words like
"authentic," "realistic," or "factual." All I mean, is a
technique of unfolding character which is as dominant
as the authentic factual revelation of dramatic situation
and strikes the same tone and matter-of-fact spirit. By
documentary characterization I mean a research into
Jthe human data to the point where the people in each
scene stand with equal dramatic importance as the
/ factually arrived at situations they are in and not at the

expense of watering down either of these factors.
(Documentary situation obviously is not based on case
file material alone. It achieves stature whenever it is
well-researched as in The Lost Weekend.) In the effort
at synthesis I had to, of necessity, treat the dramatic
situation as constant (meaning that while it was subject
to and required imagination, it was not subject to dis-
tortion. The United States Department of Treasury
saw to that ! ) This made documentary characterization
variable, subject to test, re-test, work, re-work until
the human values felt as sound, believable, exciting and
factual as the constant situational values.

The various artists who made The Best Years of Our
Lives voluntarily assumed a kindred problem and solved
it with remarkable success. William Wyler makes refer-
ence to it in his important article in the February issue
of THE SCREEN WRITER when he says: "In the
case of The Best Years, I should like to make the point
that the picture came out of its period as a result of the
social forces when the war ended. In a sense the picture
was made by events and imposed a responsibility upon us
to be true to these events and refrain from distorting
them for our own ends." (My underscoring.) Else-
where in this same article Mr. Wyler observes: "It is
readily apparent that The Best Years is not a story of
plot, but a story of some people facing real problems."
The fact that Assigned to Treasury is a story of plot,
real, factual plot, documentarily unfolded, by itself
confronted us with some interesting riddles. Whether
solved or not, of course still remains to be seen.

If characterization was to be attempted at all, it
required that the "human document" be as real as the
"situational document" — - that it never be forced and
always remain consistent with the terms imposed by the
plot and the understated, authentic style demanded by
the "fact-drama" method of story telling. Among other
solutions, in the middle section of Assigned to Treasury
the girl is totally absent. She is kept alive in the story
only by her bearing on it. In addition, in this same sec-
tion, Mike Barrows (Dick Powell) is placed in the
hands of his colleagues in Beyrut and in Egypt. They,
not he, are the protagonists.

Another by-product of this approach which starts
with thematic viewpoint — is that it commits mayhem
on a host of theatrical values bred by chauvinism. The
narcotics operatives of the various nations of the world
involved in our story are all men of stature. That is the
truth in the file. Creating these new authentically con-
ceived archetypes, with their own specific personality
coloration was a willing labor. I think it is better to
allow Gunga Din to achieve his dignity than to weep

THE SCREEN WRITER

for his lack of it. The moon-faced, greasy South Ameri-
can, the Vodka-swilling Russian, the bowing, "chop-
chop" Chinese are figments of a prejudiced, undemo-
cratic imagination. It is only justice that audiences
composed of these people and self-respecting audiences
generally throughout the postwar world should, in a
competitive film market, reject any American film that
perpetuates this slander.

Obviously, eliminating these "well-established"
forms of domestic boxoffice insurance necessitated fur-
ther research into character rather than caricature.
Finding the theatrical expression of the true national
characteristics of these people yielded the reward of
foreign characters who are not "alien." While valid
and entertaining, they are understandable and worthy
of the high regard to which the peoples they represent
in life are entitled.

The character who best illustrates the point I am
trying to make regarding the raising of the human
document to the same level as the situational document
is Homer, the boy without hands in The Best Years.
The documentary development of how Homer uses his
artificial hands could have met the strictest require-
ments of wartime documentary technique. This was a
carefully researched statement of "know-how" in using
artificial hands. But in a story "of some people facing
real problems" it would have been a terrible blunder to
make the issue of how Homer uses his hands more
important than why he has to. Hence, it was necessary
to deepen the character of Homer. We learn how and
why simultaneously, without distorting either one to
suit the dramatic needs of the other. As a result we are
emotionally bound up with the larger issue of men like
Homer who fought for something they are entitled to
and the assistance as well as the courage they must have
in order to secure it. I believe that is why Homer
proves the theme of The Best Years better than his two
buddies, with or without artificial hands. Because a true
balance was struck between who he was (documentary
characterization) and what he faced (authentic situa-
tion) he stands out as something new in picture making.

The effectiveness of The Best Years remains at this
writing the strongest evidence to support my conviction
that integrating the prewar Hollywood technique with
the war-time so-called documentary technique is the
problem of serious minded picture makers today. It par-
allels the nation's postwar social problem of integrating
the best elements of our prewar life with the experi-
ences the GI and all of us had during the war. In my
own case, being steeped so deeply in the case file mate-

rial, I was able to contribute a kind of resistance to its
distortion, while being flexible as to its use.

The effort to integrate a full authentic plot story and
a full human story created certain problems in exposi-
tion and recapitulation, which are no doubt "old stuff"
to the reader who has written screenplays before. To
me they were in the nature of new lessons. The size of
the problem came with the "discovery" that a film is in
constant motion, whereas the stageplay, the radio show
and the novel on the other hand, have their intermis-
sions. In the play, in the radio show, they are imposed.
In the novel, the reader decides the intermission when
he sets down the book to reflect on what he has read
before picking it up again. Obviously, the so-called
"interruptions" in the theatre, radio show and novel
put the audience's and reader's mind to imaginative
work (even if only partially). The film, conversely, by
virtue of its uninterruptedness can quickly create men-
tal fatigue (all the more so if considerable data either
story wise or character wise has been unfolded) unless
recapitulation is forthcoming to make up for the absence
of these intermissions. This, in turn, could not be done
at the expense of "stopping the story." In a tale as full
as Assigned to Treasury is, both in plot and character
data, the solution came from placing recapitulation
(which invariably pertained to situation, plot action,
story development) at the service of discovering some-
thing new about people.

In the first section, recapitulation comes from tht
Chinese operative at a time that we discover underneath
his calm and seemingly professionally indifferent atti-
tude an intense, burning hatred for those Japanese who
are attempting to subjugate his people with narcotics.
The disclosure of his hatred is specific, rather than
general, and therefore is new.

In the second section, recapitulation comes from the
Egyptian operative, in a scene in which we learn the
reasons why he does his work (it is international in
scope and coming as he does from a minority people he
strives for a better understanding between peoples
which would yield more equality for his own people,
etc.) In the last section, it comes at the moment when
our protagonist, Mike Barrows, comes fully of age and
now gives leadership to the Cuban operative and then
to his North American associates, much in the manner
in which he has heretofore taken leadership from the
Chinese, Egyptian, British and French operatives.
Thus, the very agent which created a complicated
story-telling problem also provided the key to simpli-
fying the telling of the story.

8

AN APPROACH TO PICTURES

Whether agreed with, or not, I sincerely hope that
this recital of a struggle with technique may be of some
interest to those directly connected with the creative
and policy-making side of production. But since this
struggle was undertaken essentially in my capacity as a
writer, its most direct bearing on the industry stems
from its bearing on writers. Theirs is the first task in
achieving this kind of integration of prewar and war-
time techniques. If they are to do it at all (or, for that
matter, contribute substantially to the maturing of
picture making in any other ways at the present time ) ,
I believe that their current status must undergo changes
in certain important respects. Only then will the indus-
try fully profit from their efforts. In the first place, it
would seem necessary that the writer be permitted suf-
ficient time to write a story properly. After that, I
believe he should be accorded the privilege of following
through on every screenplay he writes, from rough
draft on paper to the finished film on screen and he
should do so with some right of participation in pro-
duction decisions.

The common practice of taking the screenwriter's
script, assigning him to a new one, then turning the
pages over to another author (most of the time without
so much as even a conference between the first and
second author), then turning the finished script into
film without either author's collaboration, without
their privilege of opinion or authority to exercise it,
seems to a newcomer's eyes the most outrageous dich-
otomy of an author's relationship to his own work.
From it, not only the writer suffers. So do the producer,
the director, the cameraman, the set designer, the set
dresser, the film editor, publicity and advertising
departments, the studio owner, the bank which partici-
pates in financing the film, the exhibitors, and last, and
most important, the public.

It seems incredible that the writer whose story is the
subject of the entire project of production should have
the smallest and least important voice in production
decisions. I am grateful for what my initial picture
production experience has been and to both Sidney
Buchman and the distributor of our film for making it
possible. I believe that all writers must be accorded a
similar opportunity in their own interests as well as in
the interests of the industry. It is costly bureaucracy
indeed which prevents genuine rapport between the
writer and the actors. Surely if the "playing attitude"
of an actor derives from anything, it must, in the first
place derive from the interpretation of the lines and
situations conceived by the writer.

Obviously, a director who has not spent the same

amount of time on the story which the writer has
(which is most often the case and once again I am not
discussing the exception) cannot unearth all the in-
tended meanings. The director or producer who denies
the validity of this argument inevitably demonstrates
the deficiency in his outlook in the final irrefutable
evidence of the finished picture itself. There is a whole
part of a sincere writer's experience which he never
puts on paper in the screenplay. This remaining part in
his head and in his nervous system can be contributed
only during actual production. It is judgment based on
the experience of having written the story. There is
mood creation and set design which can be destroyed
by over-stylized, low-key lighting or conventional
lighting to glamorize the star. There are currents and
cross-currents of meaning which can be completely dis-
rupted by an insufficiently digested approach to such
mechanical (though important) questions as brevity
or length.

One may argue that a writer's work is no better than
the producer or director he associates himself with.
Absolutely tiue. Particularly true in my case with a
producer as skilled, talented and experienced as Sidney
Buchman. But where, in general industry practice is
the writer's privilege of choice in this matter ? One may
likewise argue that in the collaborative work of picture
making, problems such as those indicated above are
properly the domain of the producer, director, cam-
eraman and film editor. This argument likewise is not
satisfying. It is a platitude to say that the head of every
department has his own specialized, valid, individual
contribution to make. Obviously. Likewise it is an
evasive argument to proclaim that a writer of necessity
loses his total objectivity concerning his material after
seventeen re-writes and months of living with the story.
Also true. The argument which nonetheless stands un-
assailable is the simple common sense fact that the
writer, and no one but the writer, conceived and incu-
bated an idea. Pie or she gave birth to it and raised it.
He visualized scenes designed to express this idea and
created characters concerning whom, it is hoped, he
developed certain passions. No matter what changes
may take place from paper to film, no matter what valid
additions or deletions may come about as the result of
"kicking the material around," no matter how many
re-writes may take place, something has remained in
that author as a result of this experience which, if he is
still on his feet, gives him a lasting perspective regard-
ing the scenes and characters that supplies him knowl-
edge concerning the dramaturgical pitfalls in the story,
and an instinct as to where, when or how violence can

THE SCREEN WRITER

be done to the story, characters and scene design. This
is the part of his contribution which is not in the script.

The studio has paid for it and then denies itself the
opportunity of benefiting from it. His right to contrib-
ute some of the judgment and knowledge born of the
experience of writing the story must not depend on the
common sense, itnelligence, self-interest, or fair-minded-
ness of the studio, the producer, or the director. His
right must be inherent somewhere in the terms of his
employment. The playwright enjoys this status. To a
more limited extent so does the novelist.

If every screen writer were given these minimum
opportunities there would be less criticism by an actor
of lines which look fine on paper but which he cannot
speak. This process goes on into the cutting and editing
of the film, from which the writer learns, as well as to
which he contributes, day by day. By actual participa-
tion in daily shooting and in the subsequent study of
the rushes, the writer quickly learns the limitations
imposed upon him by actual film. Questions of length
or brevity are realistically related to the understanding
of intercutting, dissolves, total film length, audience
fatigue, etc. With such experience, a writer can subse-
quently design his scenes conscious of problems and
possibilities.

It would seem to me that this added knowledge on
his part ultimately spells greater profits at the boxoffice.
But denied the opportunity of participating in daily
shooting and seeing the rough cut as it grows reel by
reel, he remains ignorant of the final product, which is
not words on paper, but people and their purposes in
action on film. Seeing the picture months later in a
theatre never did and never will supply this. And that,
I believe, is why from one assignment to the next, the
writer is told that his place is at the typewriter and
that he has no right to participate in production deci-
sions because he doesn't have the "know-how." Thus,
both he and his employers are in the final analysis
cheated. I reject the solution which works for individ-
uals, but not for the writing group, such as the person
who becomes a writer-producer, or a writer-director to
"protect his material." I choose the path of writing-
producing for a variety of reasons having to do with
previous experiences in other fields.

But if a writer wishes to devote himself exclusively
to writing, then, in the best interests of the industry he
should not be penalized for this by being the lowliest
participant in the decision-making end of producing a
motion picture. Not so long as the final product rests
upon the basic characters, sequences and ideas he had
originally put on paper for its validity and effective-
ness. It is unjust as well as unintelligent. I likewise
reject the pompous judgment of the "Haves" against

the "Have-Nots" which argues that the writer, to
secure these privileges of authority with regard to
production, and the privilege of following through on
a picture "on the company time" until the film is in the
can, must go through a lengthy and bloody apprentice-
ship.

If his dramatic instinct and capacity to be articulate
were good enough to secure him employment in the
motion picture industry, then they are sufficient creden-
tials at that very moment to qualify him for the addi-
tional training which I described above. It will make
him a better writer. It will make good pictures better.
It will give his employer more value for his money.
I was surprised to find that this line of thinking creates
wrath expressed with great certainty in some quarters.
Perhaps my specific solution is not the best. But no one
who has the interests of the industry as a whole at heart
can deny the existence of the problem. Those who do,
with such deep throated certainty are, I suspect, guilty
of an unreasoning canine snarling born of dog-eat-dog
competition which is harmful to the entire industry at
a time when it heads into serious problems at home
and abroad.

I am aware that the Screen Writers' Guild has done
prodigious work on this problem and I am most cer-
tainly not criticizing the Guild for what remains to be
done. I realize that achieving this improved status of
practical dignity for the writer may well bear directly
on achieving an improved economic status for him.
I still think it is sound business for the industry, as well
as for the writer. In addition, I know what those
writers who have not been accorded some of my oppor-
tunities have been denied.

I am indebted to my many patient teachers during
this apprenticeship — men who had nothing to gain for
themselves by their generosity. Sidney Buchman, Bill
Lyon, our film editor, his assistant, Sam Brown, our
set designer, Carey O'Dell, Larry Butler, in charge of
special effects, Reggie Smith, our property man, Burnett
Guffey, our cameraman, Arthur Birnkrant, Seymour
Friedman, our assistant director, and Irving Lerner,
whose practical experiences in the documentary field
taught me a great deal. I would like to see other writers
share similarly enriching experiences.

It is not enough that some studios and producers
have the intelligence to realize that the director and
producer must work closely with the writer. So long as
this fundamental difference in authority persists, when
the going gets rough and disagreements become basic,
from what I have learned, the producer and director

10

WORLD FILM & FINE ARTS FESTIVAL IN BRUSSELS

are more often working on the writer, rather than with
him and finally, if expedient, they work around him.

The fact that my positive experiences give me the
confidence to proceed now with production plans of my
own, does not mean that these experiences are the less
necessary for the writer who has no such intentions.

As fifteen months go, these have been hard and long.

They have convinced me that this is where I belong.
I am grateful to those who made my coming possible.
A community of working artists is a good thing. It
makes the individual know that he is never alone. Mak-
ing this point through Assigned to Treasury is what
brought me to Hollywood in the first place. I am glad
to be here.

h^

World Film &. Fine Arts Festival at Brussels

June 1-30 are the dates of the World Film and Fine
Arts Festival to take place at Brussels. The daily pro-
gram, as recently made public in its tentative form,
calls for concerts or related film music by Virgil Thom-
son, Aaron Copeland, Leonard Bernstein, George
Gershwin, Benjamin Britten, and others; discussions
(with Eric Johnston, William Wyler, Louis de Roche-
mont, Ingrid Bergman and others participating) ; and
daily film showings from June 8 to June 27.

The U. S. industry will, as can be seen by the above,
be much more adequately represented than it was last
year at Cannes. But a look at the program appears to
reveal that screen writers, as such, receive, if possible,
even less attention than they did there.

Following excursions on June 28-29 to Liege, Spa
and that landmark of recent vintage, Bastogne, there
will be awards of prizes and closing ceremonies on
June 30.

Eleven countries had, at this writing, signified their
intention of showing films at Brussels. Their entries, as
announced so far, are:

U. S.: Down to Earth, Song of the South, The
Yearling, To Each His Own, It's a Wonderful Life,
The Razor s Edge, The Best Years of Our Lives, The
Egg and I, Hinnoresque, and one entry from United
Artists and one from an independent producer;

Great Britain : The Courtneys of Curzon Street,
plus five entries from the British Film Producers'
Association ;

France: Le Diable au corps, Le silence est d'or
(Golden Silence), Le Bataillon du ciel;

Poland : The Dragon of Wavel Castle, Parvel and
Farvel, Land of Lubusza, Black Gold, Victory Parade
(all shorts) ;

Switzerland: The Reign of Matto, Citizen and
Peasant;

Argentina: Life of Albeniz, Kreutzer Sonata;

Belgium: Mr. Wens' Trumps, The Pilgrim to Hell;

Italy, Czechoslovakia, Mexico, Greece : Titles to be

announced.

11

Other End of the Rainbow

SUMNER LYON

SUMNER LYON is a member of
SWG, now living in New York where
he has been specializing in the field
of educational and commercial films.

IN 1945, Col. Darryl Zanuck discovered Manhattan,
and invaded. Units of other companies followed. The
island was taken. . . . Mission accomplished. Head-
quarters: The House on 92nd Street.

Victory secure, the motion picture fortress this year
moved into 106th St. Even the Wall Street Journal
acknowledged the invaders' success when it announced
that Pathe's Park Avenue studio is "equipped to turn
out a complete feature picture ... is the nation's only
vertical studio. ... As many as three units can work
simultaneously."

But some people are beginning to wonder what's
going to happen to the natives. Are they to be despoiled ;
or might they perhaps participate in the fruits of suc-
cess?

What natives? Why, those who for years have been
making motion pictures in the East. And, for your
information, there is a tribe called "writers" among
them.

This tribe has been busy in an industry which pro-
duces what is called the short subject. Its archeology
is somewhat unfamiliar because of the shadow thrown
upon it by the glamour of its Hollywood progeny. Let
us scrape lightly the shovel to reveal the nature of this
product, and the writing headaches concomitant thereto.

Arbitrarily we shall subdivide the short subject into
two general categories: theatrical, and non-theatrical.
You may quarrel with this classification, for often what
is produced for one is found useful by the other. And
often the product defies classification. Broadly how-
ever, the purpose of the film — which shapes its con-
tent — and not alone its quality, determines its status
in this regard.

Into the theatrical classification we shall place the
newsreel, and the "entertainment" short subject; into
the non-theatrical, the educational, the documentary,
and the commercial.

Each of these products requires a special kind of
writing; each has its intrinsic problems.

The perennial newsreel has a definite story to tell in
very limited footage. The newsreel writer, of which
there are about ten, scattered among the five newsreel
companies, always under pressure, must frame his story
to fit the film available, cram in as much information
as possible, and time his narration so that it accents the
film for maximum effect. No retakes or rewrites are
possible. The recording is done to the negative, and the
first composite goes right into a theatre.

The Eastern production of theatrical short subjects
is accounted for largely by RKO Pathe's This Is
America series, and the March of Time. Fiction and
musical shorts, which rest more easily in the "entertain-
ment" classification, emerge but sporadically from the
East. And certainly there is nothing novel in the writing
problems aroused by these.

In the non-theatrical field, such educational pictures
as are made hardly deserve the category. (Let us hope
that Encyclopaedia Britannica Films and Young
America, Inc. may soon refute this statement.) For,
were the "educational" a standard product, its creation
would demand the most exacting care. The writer
would be required to weigh content, language, even
length of individual scenes, against the age, grade, and
course of study of the given audience. The writer of
the true educational picture would be a master psychol-
ogist. Since, however, visual education is still in a dis-
organized state, the usual classroom film is merely an
adaptation of some short whose content happens to be
of some interest to teachers here and there. The student
audience of America has not developed a status which
can demand the meticulous planning and careful pro-
duction which films for its consumption deserve.

On the shoulders of the so-called documentary, then,
has fallen the burden of transmitting information
through the medium of the screen. And it need not be
limited to non-theatrical distribution. Both The March
of Time and the This Is America are documentary
in style, but what they have to say is certainly tempered

12

OTHER END OF THE RAINBOW

by the distributor's estimate of the customers' desires.
Seeds of Destiny, for example, which won the Acad-
emy Award for documentaries, is not being shown
theatrically, through no lack of quality, but because
of strong content. There are those who say every person
in this country should see this film, but such a decision
lies in the hands of those who control the theatres. In
any event, the documentary is the film means of saying
something in the manner which the writer deems most
effective for his expression. To be sure, the writer of
the documentary has a certain licence, but always he
needs a talent for synthesis . . . that blend of picture
and sound . . . the quality which Santayana would call
"emergence."

But far and away the bulk of motion picture work
in New York is commercial. This is also the most diffi-
cult and trying work for the writer. This is so because,
in addition to the consumer — that nebulous group of
persons which makes up an audience — there is a
customer to please. He is the party who pays to have
the picture made; he must be kept happy. In the total
project of sustaining the client's account the writing
and making of the commercial film may become inci-
dental.

The writer of the commercial, or business, motion
picture finds himself first, then, a trouble shooter —
a diagnostician, if you please. The customer desiring
the film wants it to do a given job. Whether it's selling,
or selling an idea, he expects great things of a "movie,"
even though other media may already have failed.

So the writer's first job is to find out what the client
is trying to sell. This objective may not always be clear
to the customer himself. Very often he tries to make the
film do too much. Once this is settled, the writer's next
step is to formulate an acceptable presentation. Here,
weighing the audience against the purpose of the pic-
ture, the writer must give his client the benefit of his
creative experience. Like other writing, the quality of
his script may be judged by what he throws into the
wastebasket.

Running the gamut of approvals and technical

advisors is no little trick. If the writer musters the
stamina and courage to fight for license and time, he
has a good chance of turning out a creditable motion
picture, as well as a product which meets the customer's
requirements.

Often, however, the client's purpose for the picture
is so specific that the result cannot fairly be judged by
normal motion picture standards. The Philco picture,
made last year, with a running time of six hours, is such
an example. Their purpose was to take a national con-
vention to the Philco dealers, rather than vice versa.
This, in its saving of company personnel time and
energy, was sound business. One can't quarrel with the
motive. From the company point of view, this was a
highly successful picture, even at the cost of some
$350,000. Another example is the recent order for a
film to show to an executive meeting of a national
organization which gave the producer exactly seven
working days. The company got its picture, but without
opticals ; there wasn't time. Here was a film, made sim-
ply for the projection of an idea at one showing —
one showing at a cost of thousands of dollars! Here is
a product with an accent quite foreign to that West of
San Berdoo ; yet good business for both customer and
producer.

Realizing the great business potential of the com-
mercial film Pathe builds a nice, modern plant where
quality pictures can be turned out, and what happens?
Eastward flows the tide of Hollywood feature produc-
ing units. Selznick moves into the studio for his
Portrait of Jenny.

The East has passed the test. Not in Fort Lee, or
New Rochelle, but in the middle of Manhattan Island.
So now there is talk of United Artists' building in
New Jersey; and Paramount wants to get back into
Astoria. Say, the prospect of commuting to the
studio from that Connecticut farm is getting pretty
real. And Bucks County is only an hour or so away. . . .

You don't suppose that Hollywood SWG guy is
going to want to pick up a commercial show now and
then between features, do vou?

13

Screenwriter and Director
in a British Studio

T. E. B. CLARKE

T. E. B. CLARKE is a contract writer
at Ealing Studios, England. He has
collaborated on six recent screenplays,
including Dead of Night. He is the
author of the original screenplays,
Johnny Frenchman and Hue and Cry.

' I 'HE exacting requirements of the partnership be-
■*■ tween the writer of a film and its director are clearly
indicated, I think, by the number of British screen
writers who, in recent years, have taken to directing
their own pictures.

Writers seldom turn themselves into directors for
the sake of increased prestige or a larger income. If
they are good enough, they can acquire both these
rewards just as soon by means of their writing, which,
as a form of work, is undoubtedly more agreeable and
less wearisome. Almost every writer who becomes a
director of his own films does so because he has found
that in no other way can his work be brought to the
screen in precise accordance with his conceptions of
its future form.

In other words, he has failed to find a director with
whom he can form a partnership that calls for the
maximum degree of harmony, openmindedness and
close understanding — and he has learned that a col-
laboration falling short of these requirements stands
little chance of producing an artistically successful
result.

This fact was not realised nearly enough in the past.
All too often the director was allowed to ride rough-
shod over the writer; and it is significant that recogni-
tion of the need for a truer balance of collaboration
between the two coincides approximately with the time
when British films really began to advance in quality.

A director cannot be expected to make a good film
out of a script that fails to stir any enthusiasm in him.
Independent judges may consider it the best script the
writer has ever turned out; that is immaterial. No
matter what other people go into eulogies about his
work, this will reach the screen without the essential
qualities of warmth and sincerity if it does not make the
same appeal to its director. It is thus very much in the
writer's interest to work as closely as he can with the
director from an early stage in the development of
his story.

For what is the alternative? A conscientious direc-
tor, not liking the script as it stands, will hand it over

to another writer for readjustment according to his own
wishes, or else will tackle this job himself. How much
more satisfactory for the original writer if he can be
the one to effect the necessary compromise !

I am not suggesting that he should bow to the direc-
tor's demands. In certain instances their discussions may
result in the director coming over to his own point of
view — and here again I do not mean that any act of
submission is involved. It is sometimes extremely diffi-
cult, even impossible, for a writer to show in his script
the precise mood or flavour that he intends the finished
picture to have; and the director may have read the
script without being able fully to appreciate his aims.
Similarly, the director may have certain ideas about the
picture he wishes to make which are different from —
and possibly an improvement on — the writer's con-
ception. By working together from the start, the two
have a real opportunity to smooth out such conflicting
views, and to infect each other with new enthusiasms.
(Perhaps I should make it plain here that I am speak-
ing of original stories written specifically for the
screen, and not adaptations of plays or novels.)

Though I am not trying to claim for one moment
that a harmonious partnership between writer and
director is a recipe for assured success, but merely that
absence of it must almost certainly bring failure, I
think the way in which I have worked with the same
director, Charles Crichton, on my last three film stories
may be of some interest, if only as a testament of one
screenwriter who has found a method of working which
affords him personal satisfaction.

Many future misconceptions and disappointments
may be avoided, I have found, by a very full discussion
of the subject with the director before a line is set down
on paper. The discussion having concluded with a rough
agreement between us on the form the story is to take,
I produce an outline, fifteen to twenty pages in length,
as a basis for a fresh conference. Knowing now the sort
of courses that the lives of our characters are to follow,
we devote this second discussion mainly to the charac-
ters themselves. i

14

WRITERS-DIRECTORS IN A BRITISH STUDIO

(I should add that at each conference stage, the pro-
ducer, the associate producer, and the scenario editor
have their full say ; but as I am dealing here only with
the relations between writer and director, I am restrict-
ing myself to an account of the manner in which we
two work once our aspirations have received all neces-
sary blessings.)

The treatment comes next; about a hundred pages
describing the action, continuity and characterizations
as I myself now see them. Personally, I believe in writ-
ing as much dialogue as possible in the treatment rather
than merely describing conversation, as I find that this
can be made to help considerably in the drawing of the
characters. I do not, however, spend much time on the
niceties of the dialogue in my treatment; not until the
scripting stage does this receive careful attention.

In spite of our previous discussions, the director, as I
fully expected, feels differently from me about many
points in the treatment; but we have already acquired
sufficient mutual understanding for co-ordination of our
views on most of these points to be reached in the dis-
cussion that follows its completion. Also, we are now
beginning to know our characters well enough for new
constructive suggestions to come freely from us both.

It is likely that Crichton will find that I have not yet
drawn some of the characters clearly enough. For
example :

"What exactly, is Roy's background?" he will ask.
"What made him adopt his attitude to life? Was his
father a drunkard — did his mother have so many chil-
dren that she couldn't give him enough attention —
was he an orphan brought up in some place where he
was badly treated? I don't understand Roy."

Not a word about Roy's upbringing will be spoken
in the film ; Crichton is just as well aware of that as I
am; but he wants to know it just the same, or he may
feel a lack of confidence when he comes to bring Roy
to life before the camera.

Deficiencies of this sort are remedied as much as
possible in my first revision of the treatment, when I
also try fresh approaches to those points still at issue.
Some of these will click ; some won't. The treatment is
revised a second, third and fourth time, the remaining
divergences of opinion being gradually ironed out until
we are both satisfied that there is nothing in the story
over which we will be sharply divided when we come
to script it together.

That phase is not reached until I have first turned
out a draft script. This involves the presentation of the
accepted treatment in separate scenes with more pol-
ished dialogue. And when I say "scenes," I do not

mean "shots." I give little attention in my draft script
to camera directions, except where these are necessary
to emphasize moods and the importance of certain lines
which must clearly be spoken in close-up.

Even if I knew six times as much as I do about the
technicalities of film-making, I should consider it a
waste of time end effort to attempt "breaking down"
a script into camera shots on my own initiative. Though
Crichton might perhaps adopt a few of my suggestions,
he would be certain to alter most of those carefully
listed shots to conform with his own individual style of
shooting. To ask him to follow precisely shooting direc-
tions prepared by someone else — prepared, if you like,
by Eisenstein himself — would be like asking Hutton
to follow Bradman's style of batting instead of his own.

The draft script will probably undergo as much
revision as did the treatment before we are ready to
begin on the final script. It is now that we set about the
"breaking down" process; we work on this together for
about a month. By this time most of the creative work
required from me has been applied, and my own con-
tribution to the "breaking down" is restricted mainly
to reshaping certain scenes and amending the dialogue
to conform with the manner in which Crichton wishes
to shoot. All major differences of opinion having been
settled by now, I seldom find it hard to stomach a pro-
posed change at this stage. Most of them are small
changes and where these are concerned, the writer may
as well resign himself to the certainty that the director
will have his way about them on the floor, even though
he may appear to submit to argument during the
scripting!

Scenes of complex action involving a great deal of
cross-cutting, such as a free fight, I do not attempt to
write in detail. These I leave entirely to the director,
having once set down a full description of the general
action as I see it, with a list of suggested incidents and
visual "gags," from which he may draw as he feels
inclined. The director's own scripting of these scenes,
incidentally, will rarely be found to correspond at all
closely with what eventually reaches the screen, for only
in the cutting-rooms can they be finalized.

Have I given the impression that, in such a partner-
ship as ours, the director works sufficiently on the script
to deserve a writing credit? Forget it! Apart from
possibly scripting one or two of those complex action
scenes, he has at no time done any actual writing:
certainly he is responsible for none of the dialogue. His
part has been to serve as midwife to the script to which
the writer has given birth, and I hold that he should

15

THE SCREEN WRITER

earn his directing credit as much for the thought he
gives to the picture before it reaches the floor as for
what he does once shooting has begun.

In any case, only the screenwriter knows how often

a director has been acclaimed by the critics for this or
that clever touch which could be traced back, did they
but know it, to an inspiration that emerged originally
from his own typewriter!

The Editorial Committee, having formally apolo-
gized to Mr. Joseph L. Mankiewicz for deleting mate-
rial from his article, "Film Author! Film Author!" in
the May, 1947 issue of THE SCREEN WRITER
ivithout first consulting him, herewith supplies the
missing portions of his text. In presenting his opinion
that there is an urgent need for the Hollywood screen-
writer to dedicate himself to a study of his craft, Mr.
Mankiewicz stated:

! A RE1V
l\ polit

political utterances at the time were unfortun-
ately of a nature which made everything he said seem
equally wrong — but he was never closer to right, un-
happily, than when he branded most Hollywood screen
writers as 'Mechanics.' He was wrong, of course, in one
important aspect. When a mechanic shows a union card,
you can be pretty sure he knows his craft. The possession
of a paid up SWG card has never offered any assurance
that the bearer could write a screen play. Nor, appar-
ently, is it intended to carry the assurance that he can
write anything else. At a recent meeting, a suggestion
— offered with some timidity — that returning veteran
screen writers write original stories and screen plays,
was greeted with catcalls and hoots of derision. As if it

were ingenuous to the point of infantilism to suggest
that a writer make his living by writing.

"Similarly at the same meeting, and others before
and since, there could be noticed the growing manifes-
tations of what seems to be a new SWG faith. A
strange belief, comforting for many and frightening for
a few, that the screen writer will advance in impor-
tance and authority not in relation to his knowledge of
his particular craft and his individual skill in it, but by
a series of fevered mass resolutions and statements of
policy that are periodically moved, seconded, passed
and carried to the morning papers. These writings may
well be a joint credit for Tom Paine, John Brown and
Uncle Tom; they cover all the colors of the political
spectrum; they attack, defend and propound local,
national and international economics on a global front ;
they have to do with everything under the sun but
screen writing. It seems to some of us that screen
writing could also become a concern of the Screen
Writers' Guild."

"It would be edifying, for example, to have a public
reading — before a full Guild membership lured to-
gether by some provocative political bait — of the com-
plete list of original screen plays submitted by the
American screen writer for Academy Award con-
sideration."

16

Witch-Hunting in Hollywood

GARRETT GRAHAM

GARRETT GRAHAM, a screen writ-
er with a long record of achievement
in Hollywood, is also known for his
30 years of stalwart Republicanism
and his impressive list of published
volumes, the latest of which is BAN-
ZAI NOEL.

TT IS this writer's view, submitted without humility
*■ and for what little it might be worth, that it's time
the Screen Writers' Guild and the Motion Picture
Industry as a whole turned on their traducers.

For quite a spell Hollywood has more or less ignored
sporadic Red-baiting as of no more real importance than
the rantings of America Firsters who were disseminat-
ing Nazi propaganda right up to the hour of Pearl
Harbor. After all, their constituencies have retired to
oblivion Ham Fish, Gerald P. Nye and Burton K.
Wheeler ; and whoever was pulling the puppet strings
on Lindbergh left him completely inarticulate by not
writing any more speeches for him — a Mortimer
Snerd without a Bergen.

But for nearly a year now — specifically, ever since
the introduction of the initial AAA suggestion — Hol-
lywood, and particularly the screen writers, have
been the targets for an unparalleled campaign of cumu-
lative calumny. The individuals of the Guild have been
attacked either as sinister tools of Moscow, or dupes
unwittingly succumbing to Communist propaganda.
The latter group has not been restricted to writers. It
includes such august personages as Louis B. Mayer,
Jack Warner, Samuel Goldwyn, and Darryl Zanuck,
who are said to have let some of the nasty stuff get by
them onto the screen.

Incidentally, the evil genius who has really mastered
the trick of putting something over on any or all of
these smart gentlemen could make a fortune discreetly
peddling his secret.

The avalanche of falsehood and misrepresentation
that followed the launching of AAA was adequately
dealt with in the recently published supplement of
THE SCREEN WRITER. No one who really wants
the facts about it need look further.

But a few of the highlights in this barrage of villi-
fication might be profitably reviewed. First, of course.

there was the banner line in the Hollywood Reporter,
and a following story that a vote for AAA was a vote
for Joe Stalin. This was to be expected, and naturally
it caused little insomnia.

Then later came Dorothy Thompson's outburst in
her syndicated column. She labelled the proposal "An
Assault On Freedom" and confused this reader a little
byr not only injecting the Communist issue into it but
also saying the scheme was a leaf right out of Dr.
Goebbels' book. It is my hazy recollection that Stalin
and Goebbels were not playing for the same Alma
Mater. But she alarmed a lot of people because of her
many readers. Miss Thompson is too good a reporter
not to know she was screaming pure nonsense.

Came a rainy Sunday in December when the Colum-
bia Broadcasting System gave time on the air to a
debate about the Hollywood film strike, which had then
been going on for several months. Roy Brewer spoke
for the IATSE and Herbert Sorrell and John Martin
for the Conference of Studio Unions.

It is beside the point that it was not a debate at all,
but a bumbling reading of three prepared speeches,
badly written, badly delivered, and not dealing with
the same subject. There was no time given for rebuttal
or surrebuttal.

What the CSU leaders said is not important because
it has been said often and better by others. The burden
of Mr. Brewer's address was that the sole issue of the
strike was keeping Communism out of the film industry.
He did not explain just how a carpenter could express
his political opinions by the way he sawed a board or
drove a nail ; nor how a scene painter could endanger
national freedom by the way he slapped his brush
around.

Instead he pictured himself and his boss, Richard
Walsh, President of the IATSE, as brave urchins
holding their tired little fingers in the dike to keep

17

THE SCREEN WRITER

Hollywood from being engulfed by the Red Menace.
Then he launched into the threadbare theme that the
Screen Writers' Guild had been completely captured by
Communists who were attempting to warp the thinking
of the innocent and unprotected public by coloring
what they wrote with propaganda direct from Moscow.

He also read some highly laudatory press clippings
about himself and Mr. Walsh which limned the pair
as honest in soul, pure in heart, high of purpose, and
unselfish and noble of spirit. One of the clippings even
decried the baseness of anyone who would bring up the
indisputable fact that these two are the successors to
and former loyal colleagues of the convicted criminals,
George Browne and Willie Bioff.

The Hearst hubbub about Hollywood's Commu-
nists could hardly be regarded as a highlight. It's been
going on for years, and although it's been getting even
more strident of late, if that is possible, it has the public
more or less immunized through sheer boredom with
the same old tune. The Reporter has also continued its
sharpshooting to the point of absurdity.

Then in March of this year Senator Jack B. Tenney
presented to the California Legislature a report from
his committee's investigation of so-called Un-American
Activities, and in seeking a further appropriation to
continue his witch-hunt, he named a number of promi-
nent and reputable citizens of the Hollywood film
colony as contributors of time and money to a move-
ment to overthrow by force the government of the
United States.

And, as this is written, necessarily some time before
publication, a Congressional subcommittee, headed by
Rep. J. Parnell Thomas, is huffing and puffing about
the town allegedly gathering data on subversive activi-
ties while getting a fine spread of personal publicity
in the daily papers.

Of course all this is done at the expense of the tax-
payers. The junketing Congressmen and their retinue
are housed at the Biltmore, eating and drinking their
fill on comfortable expense accounts while also draw-
ing their salaries. Meanwhile a former Marine of my
acquaintance who returned from the Pacific with a
Navy Cross, a Silver Star, and three Purple Hearts,
has been living for months in a drafty garage because
he can't afford to pay the bonus necessary to rent a
decent apartment.

These Congressmen have been summoning busy
folk to secret sessions from which nothing emerges but
lurid puerilities they think will justify their visit here.
If some informed, unbiased, and level-headed witness
has told the investigators that they are nuts the fact

has not been revealed in the local press. Eric Johnston,
who certainly is no radical and is in a position to know,
has permitted himself to be quoted to the effect that
there is no red menace in the film industry. Perhaps
he, too, is now suspect for such a statement.

So far, Congressman Thomas and his satellites have
revealed nothing that couldn't have been found out
and forwarded to them by a Western Union messenger
boy. If the situation is actually more complex, there
are several highly competent and experienced investi-
gators in the Los Angeles office of the FBI, any one
of whom could have collected all pertinent facts at no
extra cost to the government. But this, of course, would
have deprived our visitors of their current fanfare
and per diems.

The tactics are the same, whether it's a state legisla-
tive or a Congressional smelling out of evil. They
smear people by innuendo. They rush into print with
unsubstantiated charges that would get them punched
in the nose if they were acting as private citizens. They
hide behind the immunity from libel of their official
committees.

Hearst and Wilkerson — and it's absurd to mention
the latter's puny influence in connection with the for-
mer's— have a right to print whatever they please at
their own expense as long as they retain their skill in
keeping on the safe side of obscenity and libel.

But every tax-payer has a right to howl his head off
at having public funds frittered away by these politi-
cians seeking self-aggrandizement through their official
witch-hunts. The money could and should be much
better used doing something for the thousands of vet-
erans in Los Angeles alone who are sleeping in garages,
broken down trailers, and often in all-night theaters
because they can't even find a bed.

The three principal charges hurled at the Screen
Writers Guild and the film industry as a whole can be
completely dealt with in three short paragraphs.

The statement that the Guild is controlled by Com-
munists is palpably a baldfaced lie. The present officers
and directors were chosen in an honest, impartially
supervised election, in which more members voted than
ever before. Emmet Lavery was retained as President
because of the dignity and urbanity with which he has
conducted Guild affairs in previous terms of office. He
happens to be a Democrat and is regarded by the
Catholic Church as one of its foremost laymen in
America. If he is a Communist then so is the Hc( y
Father. Mr. Lavery and the board of directors can take

18

WITCH-HUNTING IN HOLLYWOOD

no important action without a vote of the full member-
ship. Even if they wanted to, there's no way under
heaven they could influence what anyone else writes.

The second charge, that the screen is being used to
spread Communist propaganda, is even more ridiculous.
I pointed out in a previous issue of THE SCREEN
WRITER that Motion Pictures are big business con-
trolled entirely from Wall Street. There's not the re-
motest possibility of getting upon the screen any ideol-
ogy or political point of view contrary to that of the
financial titans wTho control the major companies and
the theater chains. This is so obvious it shouldn't even
have to be argued.

The third accusation, that many prominent citizens
in the film industry are contributing time and money to
a movement to overthrow the present government, is a
clear charge of treason. Anyone having evidence to this
effect, or information bearing upon it, and who does
not turn it over to the Department of Justice, is equally
guilty as an accomplice.

In the April 30 issue of the Hollywood Reporter Mr.
Wilkerson printed a list of pictures "containing sizable
doses of Communist propaganda." I haven't seen all of
them, but I'd like to mention three.

There was Margie, a nostalgic tale of puppy love
in the twenties, produced by Darryl Zanuck. Are you
holding still for that, Darryl?

There was The Best Years Of Our Lives, which
swept the field in the recent Academy Awards. It's too
bad the handless veteran featured in this picture can't
be lent a fist to answer appropriately the slur on his
patriotism.

There was Pride Of The Marines, based upon the
real life story of Al Schmid, one of the outstanding
heroes of Guadalcanal. This was directed by Delmer
Daves, produced by Jack Warner, with the enthusias-
tic approval and cooperation of the United States
Marine Corps.

Al Schmid gave his eyes for his country. The United
States Marines pretty well established their American-
ism in the jungles of the Solomons, and on the beaches
of Tarawa and Iwo Jima. What did you do, Mr. Wil-
kerson, or Senator Tenney, or Mr. Hearst and your
stalwart sons? What did any of you risk? What did
you sacrifice? Have any of you ever been within sound
or sight of battle?

And Jack Warner, after producing the best war pic-
ture it was this writer's privilege to see, you are going
to let such an accusation go unchallenged?

This brings us to Louis B. Mayer, probably the
wealthiest, most powerful and most astute producer in

the business. Several of the writers most frequently
mentioned as spear-heading the Communist movement
have been under contract at MGM. Do you like the
inference, Mr. Mayer, that these foul fellows have been
too smart for you, and have been able to slide past you
subversive propaganda that you didn't recognize but
that would corrupt the Right Thinking of the general
public?

It would be interesting to know the private emo-
tions of Mr. Mayer over the published statement of
actor Robert Taylor at the Congressional inquiry that
he, Taylor, was forced into appearing, against his
patriotic judgment, in Song of Russia, produced by
MGM in 1943.

This film, Mr. Taylor stated, favored Russian
ideologies, institutions and ways of life over the same
things in our country. He said he protested to MGM
that the picture was Communist propaganda, and that
he was kept from joining the Navy until he completed
the picture.

It was not revealed either by Mr. Taylor or Con-
gressman Thomas how the Navy, during that trying
year when the war was going pretty badly for our side,
managed to get along without the handsome actor until
this foul plot was consummated.

I have never been important enough in the film
industry to know Mr. Mayer personally, but several
of my friends who do assure me that he does not force
easily. How many men did it take, I wonder, to hold
Mr. Mayer while this dastardly deed was being done
in his name.

Another fascinating revelation transmitted to the
public from the Biltmore hearings was the gallant
story of how Mrs. Leila Rogers, mother of Ginger,
saved her daughter from uttering the infamous lines,
"Share and share alike — that's democracy!" These
lines, occurring in Tender Comrade, were a prime
exhibit illustrating the Kremlin's grip on the film
industry. I wonder how, if we ever make a definite
film biography of the great Lincoln, we can record
some of his utterances, such as the one in which he
said that in any conflict between property rights and
human rights, human rights must prevail. Or how,
if the life of Christ is filmed in the future, we can use
His verbal portraits of the rich exploiters and Pharisees
and hired scribes of His dav.

Let us turn upon our detractors the sly Socratic
method of character defamation the Hollywood gossip
columnists use so frequently. Questions like this:
"What actor's wife (or writer, director, or producer)

19

THE SCREEN WRITER

would sue him for divorce if she had peeked through
the bedroom window of a certain starlet the other night,
when the wife thought her husband was working late
at the studio?"

Get the idea? No names mentioned, no risk of libel,
but, human nature being what it is, that question could
cause trouble any day in a dozen homes.

Or: "Are the boys at Las Vegas paying you off prop-
erly for the ballyhoo you are giving their gilded joints
in the Hollywood Reporter?"

Or: "What do you hear from the mob? How are
Guy and Farmer?

Or : "When a certain character recently became an
associate producer at one of the major studios, a person
whose former Sunset Strip joint you frequented and
often mentioned in your trade paper why didn't you call
to the attention of at least the Johnston office, the fact
that this same character used to be a member of the
tight little syndicate that controlled and levied tribute
on all gambling and prostitution in our fair commu-
nity?"

See how it works? I haven't accused him of anything.
But the answers would be highly interesting.

Now let's consider Senator Tenney. I am indebted
to Fortnight, the sprightly young California news mag-
azine, for the following published background infor-
mation on this legislator: "He himself was branded as a
Communist before the old Dies Committee in 1938 —
about the time he was thrown out as President of the
Los Angeles Musicians Union.

"He was a Democrat when he was a mere Assembly-
man from the Inglewood District; switched to the
Republican ticket in 1944 just as he was about to be
read out of the Bourbon party for supporting a rival
candidate.

"Tenney's chief claim to fame is the fact that he
wrote the song 'Mexicali Rose' when he led a dance
band in Mexicali. He didn't cash in on the song, but
will whip out and autograph a copy for anyone who
professes to be the least bit interested."

Let's interrogate the Senator, and it ain't a joke, son.

"Senator Tenney, do you think that your former
occupation of entertaining the highly colorful charac-
ters of Mexicali qualifies you to pass upon the patriot-
ism and loyalty of thousands of respectable men and
women employed in the motion picture industry?"

Or: "Do you think that this background really justi-
fies further appropriations of the people's money to keep
you in the public eye ; or that it makes you more capable

than J. Edgar Hoover and his FBI staff in investigating
any real menace to this country?"

Or: "Do you think that writing 'Mexicali Rose' —
a very good song, by the way — is sufficient training for
you to help write the laws of the State of California?"

I will leave it to someone else to ask similar questions
of Mr. Hearst. I don't want to give away too much
weight.

In the interest of public economy I will save these
gentlemen the trouble of investigating my political
orthodoxy. I am not a Communist, I do not believe in
Communism and I'm not defending it. I've been a reg-
istered Republican for nearly thirty years. I served
voluntarily in both World Wars. I served without
distinction, it's true, but with some small personal risk,
and great inconvenience. Can any of these witch-hunters
make that statement?

The most dismaying thing about the attacks on the
Screen Writers' Guild and the efforts to establish the
AAA is that two of the most skilled and influential
members of our craft, who should be staunchly with us,
are on the other side. I refer to Louis Bromfield and
Rupert Hughes. They have not only achieved great
literary fame but have become wealthy doing it. Why
should they scoff at their less gifted fellows who also
would like to own a model farm in the Middle West or
a mansion on Los Feliz Boulevard ?

The only personal intimacy I have ever had with
Mr. Bromfield was some years ago, when he was
writing in Hollywood, we used to patronize the same
barber. While we never spoke, I occasionally was privi-
leegd to enjoy the warmth of the chair just vacated by
the distinguished Bromfield buttocks.

But I've known and admired Uncle Rupert for many
years, and I call him Uncle Rupert with all possible
respect and affection. I personally know that he has
given with prodigal generosity the benefits of his long
experience and his wizardry with words to many a
struggling beginner. I, myself, have been a beneficiary
of his kindness and a guest in his home. I'm certain that
no one needing help of any kind has ever been turned
from his door.

Then why, when he has done so much for so many
individuals, does he turn against the members of his
craft when they seek as a body to improve their status
in the profession that has rewarded him so richly? I am
seriously and respectfully asking why, Uncle Rupert.

Why doesn't he turn his keen mind and flashing wit
against the Tenneys — against all the political monte-

20

WITCH-HUNTING IN HOLLYWOOD

banks and charlatans who preach bigotry and racial
and religious intolerance?

Uncle Rupert is smart enough to know, and if he
doesn't know he could easily find out, that there's about
as much chance of the Communists overturning the
government of the United States as there is of me
dethroning Joe Louis. He should know that most of
the things he has been saying about the Screen Writers'

Guild and the proposed American Authors Authority
are sheer poppycock.

We need your weight on our side, Uncle Rupert ; we
need your thunder to help answer some of our more
powerful detractors. Of course, we couldn't ask you to
stoop to a controversy with the Hollywood Reporter.
After all, one doesn't call on the heavy artillery to
shoot rabbits.

Following a series of public utter-
ances, the irresponsibility of which
was challenged by Sa?nuel Goldwyn
and other leaders of the industry,
Ronald Reagan, president of the
Screen Actors Guild was quoted re-
cently by the trade press in a refer-
ence to the Screen Writers' Guild.
Under the date of May 7, Emmet
Lavery, president of the SWG, wrote
Mr. Reagan inquiring about the item
in the trade press in which he was
quoted as saying that "there were
some Communists in the SAG and in
the Screen Writers Guild, probably
more in the latter than in the actors'
group." Mr. Lavery went on to say:

I am very much interested in an
item printed in the Hollywood Re-
porter yesterday in which you are
quoted as saying that "there were
some Communists in the SAG and in
the Screen Writers Guild, probably
more in the latter than in the actors'
group."

If this report of your speech is cor-
rect, on what basis do you presume to
offer the public the gratuitous infor-
mation that there are "probably more"
in the Screen Writers' Guild than in
the SAG?

At a time when inter-Guild unity is
of increasing importance, it is a little
difficult for us in the Screen Writers'
Guild to understand why the presi-
dent of a neighboring guild should go
out of his way to make this particular
type of criticism.

My own private guess would have
been that you have many more Com-
munists in the SAG than we have in
the SWG, but I certainly would not,
in the first instance, have felt the in-
clination to grab a public platform
and offer this generality as an absolute
fact. Undoubtedly there are some
Communists in the Screen Writers'
Guild and there are some Commu-

nists in the Screen Actors Guild. But
since neither of our Guilds has a po-
litical test for membership, we have
no way of screening out the few Com-
munists, any more than we have of
screening out Republicans or Demo-
crats. And in the light of prevailing
Supreme Court decisions neither of
our Guilds would find very much
support — especially in time of peace
— for exploring the private political
lives of our members.

I see nothing to be gained for either
Guild in a guessing contest as to the
probable number of Communists in
either. The solid democratic worth of
each Guild is a self-evident fact
which needs no apology from anyone
at this time. Now, as always in the
history of our country, there is a
simple remedy for seditious activity in
time of peace or war. If members of
any guild or union in Hollywood are
truly engaged in any activities border-
ing on sedition, there are standard
procedures in law by which these ac-
tivities can be stopped.

The Screen Writers' Guild, as you
must well know, has always had the
friendliest regards for the Screen Ac-
tors Guild. I can only hope that you
have been misquoted in the trade pa-
pers. If this is so, I would appreciate
a word from you so that I may refer
it to our Executive Board without
delay.

Sincerely,

s/ EMMET LAVERY

President Screen Writers'

Guild.

Mr. Reagan's reply, dated May
12, follows:

This will acknowledge receipt of
your letter of May 7th. I was not
only misquoted — I was smeared, and
I am a trifle surprised that you should
place any credence in anything the

professional red-baiting section of the
press says, for if memory serves, you
yourself have had some experience
with the lengths to which some papers
will go to justify their own peculiar
policy.

My entire talk was a defense of
Hollywood and about 95 per cent of
it had nothing to do with Commun-
ists. I discussed from a number of
facets the fact that Hollywood is just
a cross-section of the country at large
and that it would be unjust to judge
the entire city of Des Moines by the
actions of a very few individuals who
might misbehave in public and land
in the hoosegow.

In briefly touching on politics, I
said we had all shades of opinion here
in Hollywood, ranging from the Fas-
cist-reactionary on the extreme right
to the Communist Party member on
the extreme left, but that the vast
majority of people in the industry
decried both extremes.

I ventured the opinion that the
Communist Party was a bit more ac-
tive here in Hollywood than in Des
Moines, for propaganda purposes, and
that for propaganda reasons, indivi-
dual party members sought to use
the Screen Actors Guild and the
Screen Writers Guild. I did not say
there were more Communists in the
Writers Guild than in the Actors
Guild. I did say that the active Com-
munist Party member infiltrates where
he can do the most for his party and
for this reason, it is possible that the
party has directed greater attention
to the Writers Guild than to the
Actors Guild — although both Guilds
have a few of them.

This small portion of my talk led
up to a condemnation of some previ-
ous investigation of alleged subversive
influences in Hollywood, which have
unfairly smeared the names of screen

21

THE SCREEN WRITER

personalities in order to get the head-
lines in the newspapers. I stated that
if there was to be a fair and impar-
tial investigation of Communism and
Fascism, I and many others in the
industiy would be glad to cooperate
— and that many of us know the
names of the comparatively few Com-

munist party members in the industry not let intolerance and deliberate inac-

as well as the names of some persons
who to all intents and purpose are
Fascists.

The Screen Actors Guild has cer-
tainly enjoyed the very friendly rela-
tions which we have with the Screen
Writers Guild and I hope that we do

curacy in some sections of the press
come between us.

Sincerely,

s/ RONALD REAGAN,

President, Screen Actors
Guild.

hr1

Hollywood Jabberwocky

I. A. L. DIAMOND

5' I 'ff'AS ciros, and the cinelords

-*■ JVere lolly parsing with, their babes :
All goldwyns were acadawards
But demille ruled the nabes.

"Beware the Jarthurank, my lad!
The lion's claw, the eagle's wing!
And when U-I his pix, be glad
That DOS dos everything!"

He took his Johnston code in hand:
Long time the ranksome foe he sought- —
So rested he by the schary tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in quota-quotes he stood,
The Jarthurank, of happy breed,
Came boulting through the korda wood
And caroled on his reed !

For sin! For shame! On cleavaged dame
The censor shears went flicker-flack!
He scarred the Bard, and coward marred
Went gallupolling back.

"And hast thou haysed the Jarthurank?
Come to my arms, my breenish boy!
O date and day! Elate! L.A.!"
He xenophobed with joy.

'Twas ciros, and the cinelords
Were lollyparsing with their babes :

All goldwyns were acadawards

But demille ruled the nabes.

22

The Screen Writer's Medium

SHERIDAN GIBNEY

SWG member SHERIDAN GIBNEY,
whose article, What Is Screenwriting?
was published in the May issue of
THE SCREEN WRITER, this month
discusses the medium in which screen
•writers work. Mr. Gibney is a writer-
producer and chairman of the SWG
Political Advisory Committee.

IN A PREVIOUS article I attempted to define screen
writing, and by a process of elimination, came to the
enormous conclusion that what a screen writer does is
to write a motion picture — in much the same fashion
as a playwright writes a play, or a composer writes an
opera. In all three cases, whether or not his works are
produced, succeed, or fail, the writer is the essential
creator, for without his manuscript there can be no
production.

But there the similarity ceases. The screen writer,
employing quite different devices to achieve his effects,
can borrow only sparingly from the rules and techniques
of the theatre ; and it is for this reason that I ventured
the further opinion that writers for the screen are
engaged in a new form of dramatic art.

Historically, it is not uncommon for new art forms
to come into being as a result of mechanical inventions.
In music, for instance, the invention of the harpsichord
in the fourteenth century, combining the keyboard of
the pipe organ with the strings of the harp, made pos-
sible and inevitable the development of many new
forms of musical composition. But the invention of the
motion picture camera has had a far more revolutionary
effect upon the art of the dramatist than the mere addi-
tion of a new instrument could possibly bring about.

The origin of western drama is commonly attributed
to a Greek named Thespis in the sixth century B. C,
who conceived the idea of having an "actor" discourse
with the leader of the chorus in the Dionysian festivals
— a radical departure in religious ritual which enabled
Greek tragedy to develop. Aeschylus added a second
actor and Sophocles a third ; and from that day to this,
a matter of twenty five hundred years, the medium for
drama underwent no essential change so far as writers
were concerned. Their task was set once and for all by
the established convention of presenting a dramatic
representation of life on a stage by means of actors and

dialogue for the enjoyment or discomfort of an
audience.

The physical limitations of the stage itself were soon
turned by the dramatist to his own advantage. The
necessity for bringing characters logically and naturally
to the scene of action; the three rules of classic unity
which made a single setting possible ; the arbitrary con-
vention of keeping physical violence off the stage (where
it too often appears ridiculous or implausible) ; are
conditions by means of which the playwright demon-
strates his skill. The accepted limitations of any art
form are always looked upon as a challenge; and the
artist, like the magician, is judged in part by his ability
to conceal the methods by which he overcomes them.
The technical triumph of Ibsen, for example, in devot-
ing a large part of his dialogue to pure exposition, while
appearing not to, is a case in point ; and a present day
playwright like Elmer Rice is able in Street Scene to
convey an impression of reality by the use of a single
set representing the windows of a tenement, a doorway,
and one conveniently placed ash can. To this arbitrary
place of action all the characters must logically and
naturally be brought in order that the audience may
view them. The success with which this feat is accom-
plished contributes, in large measure, to the enjoyment
and interest of the spectator.

The revolutionary aspect of motion pictures, from a
craft point of view, is simply that it reverses this proc-
ess. By freeing the audience and putting it on a magic
carpet, so to speak, the skills and techniques of con-
struction, which playwrights have sweated over these
many centuries, suddenly become useless. The writer
can no longer rely upon an audience's imagination to fill
in the picture for him. On the contrary, he must take
his audience with him, for there is now no legitimate
reason not to. The audience can ride on a carousel side

23

THE SCREEN WRITER

by side with the leading lady; it can accompany the
leading man in a parachute jump when he bails out of
a burning plane; it can peer nosily into a woman's
vanity case, or read a letter over someone's shoulder ;
all of which are highly unorthodox activities for the
age-old theatregoer to engage in.

Even to the casual observer, therefore, it must appear
obvious that the physical limitations of the stage, on
which dramatists have leaned so heavily, are of no use
to the screen writer. An excellent illustration of this
fact can be seen in the film version of The Green
Pastures. On the stage, one of the most thrilling
scenes in the play occurs when the entire company, by
means of a treadmill, "marches" toward the walls of
Jericho ; but on the screen this action is in no way spec-
tacular because there is no physical limitation to be
overcome. What the screen shows is simply a crowd of
people moving by natural means along a road.

This is only one of countless ways in which the
devices of the conventional theatre are rendered inef-
fective by the analytical eye of the camera. But of much
greater significance is what has happened to the internal
structure of the play itself.

Let us assume that a modern three act play is to be
adapted for the screen. The first problem the screen
writer faces is what to do about the exposition in act
one. Minor characters bustle in and out like busy bees,
each with a honeyed drop of information absolutely
essential for the spectator's ear if he is to understand
the action that follows. However adroit the dramatist
may have been in disguising this fact, it is all too
apparent on the screen. The picture audience is soon
bored with being "told" something, since there is no
good reason why the thing being told shouldn't be
shown. Accordingly, the screen writer seeks a way to
dramatize the events and subject matter contained in
the exposition. This can either be solved by opening the
story at an earlier period or by the use of flashbacks.
Occasionally it is found necessary to invent new situa-
tions entirely.

He then comes to the first major dramatic scene
which starts the "action" or "conflict" of the play, and
is dismayed to find that it is mostly "talk" and very
little action; added to which it all takes place in one
small room. The ability of the camera (audience) to
move is thus arbitrarily restricted; and the spectator,
more often than not, becomes restless and bored. To use
the camera in this fashion is like playing a fine piano
with one finger. The real potentialities of the instru-
ment have not been realized ; and the results, therefore,
are disappointing.

This is elementary to screen writers and is only

24

stated here to illustrate how completely the careful
plotting of act one breaks down. But when the screen
writer tackles the second act, an even graver problem
confronts him. He views with increasing alarm the fact
that acts one and two are building to a big "climax" on
which the curtain will be lowered for an eight minute
intermission. He calculates roughly that this will occur
in about reel six with three more reels to go. Feverishly
he examines act three to see if the "action" continues to
build ; but more often than not there is a falling off to
the conventional denouement or resolution. Again this
entails explanations, which, if they pall at the beginning
of a picture, are ten times worse at the end.

Thus the entire architecture of the play defeats the
effective use of the camera. The screen writer, with no
artificial limitations to overcome, is faced with the
difficult task of making the most of his freedom. Since
everything can be "shown," he has to appear to show
everything, which, of course, is not what he is doing at
all. He is actually engaged in making a painstaking
selection of scenes, characters, and background, from
the almost limitless possibilities at his command. The
rules by which he makes this selection are peculiar to
the screen and are being formulated by the simple
method of trial and error (what is effective and what
isn't) ; and many of them have already been discovered.

Certainly, the basic form is pretty well established.
The screen writer must present a continuous action,
sustained through many scenes to a final climax — at
which point the picture ends. In this respect the "form"
is closer to the Shakespearian drama than to the modern
three act play. The writer is presenting a series of tiny
little scenes designed to have a cumulative effect. But
his story must not be told as a narrative. It must con-
tain all the elements of drama without the aid of
theatrical devices, as I have pointed out before. It might
be said that he is writing a long one act play in two or
three hundred scenes. But the greater freedom he enjoys
entails a greater responsibility to his subject matter.
The slightest irrelevancy becomes a glaring flaw and
is soon snipped out in the cutting room.

The selection of scenes, therefore, and their con-
tinuity, are matters far less flexible than is commonly
supposed. They are dictated by the inherent demands
of the story; and the ability of the writer to recognize
these demands depends entirely upon his dramatic talent
and the skill with which he can use it. Regardless of
cast or director, a "good" picture — like a "good"
play — is one that is fully conceived and ably written.
A "bad" picture is one that isn't.

Dear Editor: It seems

One Way ^J^tJr

of Doing It — By Mitt Qross

SCREEN WRITERS GUILD, INC.

1655 NO. CHEROKEE AVE., HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA
AFFILIATED WITH AUTHORS' LEAGUE OF AMERICA, INC.

OFFICERS & EXECUTIVE BOARD, THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD: PRESIDENT,
EMMET LAVERY; 1ST VICE-PRESIDENT, MARY McCALL, JR.; 2ND VICE-PRESI-
DENT, HOWARD ESTABROOK; 3RD VICE-PRESIDENT, HUGO BUTLER; SECRETARY,
F. HUGH HERBERT; TREASURER, HAROLD BUCHMAN. EXECUTIVE BOARD: MEL-
VILLE BAKER, HAROLD BUCHMAN, HUGO BUTLER, JAMES M. CAIN, LESTER COLE,
PHILIP DUNNE, HOWARD ESTABROOK, F. HUGH HERBERT, TALBOT JENNINGS,
RING LARDNER, JR., RANALD MacDOUGALL, MARY McCALL, JR., GEORGE SEATON,
LEO TOWNSEND. ALTERNATES: MAURICE RAPF, GORDON KAHN, ISOBEL LEN-
NART, VALENTINE DAVIES, HENRY MYERS, DAVID HERTZ. COUNSEL, MORRIS E.
COHN. ASSISTANT SECRETARY, ALICE PENNEMAN.

EDITORIA

T

HIS issue of The Screen Writer begins the third year of the magazine's
publication. The format is new; the policies and objectives remain un-
changed.

In the June, 1945, first issue of The Screen Writer this editorial statement
was made:

This magazine can develop in either of two directions. It can become
the personal organ of a small clique consisting of the particular Guild
members whom the Executive Board happened to appoint as its edito-
rial staff. If that happens, it will only be a question of time until it
withers and dies an unlamented death. Or it can become the actual voice
of the Screen Writers' Guild, in which case it will assume an ever-in-
creasing stature, not only in Hollywood but among people with a serious
interest in motion pictures all over the world.

Our magazine has not withered and died. Undoubtedly errors of judgment
have been made, since the editors are humanly fallible and not professionals in
the editing and publishing business. In spite of editorial shortcomings The
Screen Writer has grown. It continues to grow in prestige and value. We believe
it has become truly the voice of the Screen Writers' Guild. We believe it is
assuming an ever-increasing stature in the motion picture industry and among
people all over the world who know the actual and potential importance of

26

EDITORIAL

motion pictures and who understand that the optic nerve is the shortcut to the
brain.

These beliefs are buttressed by the results of the recent questionnaire sent
by the Editorial Committee to all readers of The Screen Writer.

A tabulated analysis of these results and a commentary on them will be
found on page 29 of this issue. We consider it pertinent to call attention here
to the answer of SWG members to this question:

"Is the magazine succeeding or failing in its objective to provide the SWG
and the motion picture industry with an adult, constructive public relations
medium emphasizing the contribution of writers and their creative aims to the
screen art?" Out of 420 Guild members who answered that question, 380
replied that the magazine was succeeding in that objective, and 40 replied that
it was falling short.

Another indication of interest in and support for the magazine on the part
of SWG members : In answer to the question, "As a contribution to the Guild
and its magazine would you be willing to accept assignments to do articles?" 390
replies were received ; 364 said yes, 26 said no.

Replies from non-member readers — educators, editors, drama and film
critics and writers in other fields — concerning the success and value of the
magazine have been so almost uniformly appreciative that the Editorial Com-
mittee read them with a mixed glow of gratitude and embarrassment.

In the June, 1946, issue when The Screen Writer began its second year of
publication, this editorial statement appeared:

The first objective of the magazine — that of providing a vehicle
of free expression — has been a difficult one to define. Certain articles
have been rejected precisely because of the ideas they expressed. In
framing a policy for such rejections, the Editorial Committee has con-
cluded that an article which assumes a basic anti-Guild position has no
place in a Guild publication. Since the outside market for anti-Guild
and anti-labor pieces is extremely wide and profitable, it was felt that no
invasion of the right of free expression was involved in such rejections.
The second objective of the magazine ■ — -that of achieving recog-
nition for screen writers and their craft — has, in the main) been achiev-
ed. Screen Writer articles have served as the basis for full columns in
metropolitan newspapers. The magazine has been widely quoted. It has
received general commendation. We are still far from the final goal, but
we have progressed.

With this beginning of the third year of publication, further progress has
been made in terms of circulation and recognition. We hope progress has also
been made in terms of service to the Guild, to the profession of writing and to
the motion picture industry. Final goals must remain far away and dim. But
immediate goals have come closer. They have grown more sharply defined.
They have been clarified by the generous response to the questionnaire. The

27

THE SCREEN WRITER

goal of achieving real stature in Hollywood and in the world of motion pic-
tures seems far less remote.

In its new format The Screen Writer will stick to its old and original role
of being the militant organ of the Screen Writers' Guild, an alert spokesman
for the profession of writing. We are proud that in the past year this magazine
was the vehicle for presenting the American Authors' Authority proposal to
the world through the medium of many articles and a special supplement. Sup-
port for the AAA will be continued vigorously.

Insofar as it is within our resources to do it, the quality of the magazine
will be improved and its range and usefulness extended. It has been made plain
that a magazine published by professional writers in the motion picture indus-
try has something of interest to say to other members of the industry, to other
writers, to persons of awareness and intelligence throughout the world.

The high goals envisaged for The Screen Writer and the Screen Writers'
Guild by so many friends who responded to our questionnaire create a sense of
deepening responsibility. What are these goals? Greater leadership by its artic-
ulate and primarily creative members, the writers, in an industry that speaks to
the world in the international language of pictures. A better understanding of
the technique and art of pictures, and the creation of pictures that will help all
people understand better that what they have in common is more important
than the differences between them. Rewards and recognition for writers com-
mensurate with their contributions. A more mature and critical interpretation of
the art of the motion picture. These are important goals. It will take all the
unity and intelligence our friends attribute to the SWG if we even begin to
achieve them.

Screen Writers' Guild Studio Chairmen

(May 6, 1947)

Columbia — Mel Levy; alternate, Hal Smith Warner Brothers — James Webb; alternate, Ruth
MGM — Gladys Lehman; alternates, Sidney Boehm, Brooks

Marvin Borowsky, Anne Chapin, Margaret Fitts,

Charles Kaufman. Paramount — Arthur Sheekman ; alternate, Jesse

Republic — Franklin Adreon ; alternate, John K. Lasky, Jr.

Universal-International — Silvia Richards
20th Century-Fox — Wanda Tuchock; alternate,

Richard Murphy RKO — Daniel Mainwaring; alternate, Bess Taffel.

28

Report on The Screen Writer
Questionnaire

"D ECENTLY the Editorial Committee of The magazine. In the belief that the results of this question-

^ Screen Writer sent to the full subscription list a na;re aiso w;n be of interest to readers, this report is

questionnaire designed primarily to register opinions nresented

and preferences of readers, and to guide the Committee

and the SWG Executive Board in the conduct of this Following is a tabulated summary :

Questionnaires returned by SWG members 450

Questionnaires returned by non-members 260

PREFERENCE IN TYPES OF ARTICLES

SWG Members Non-Members

Craft articles on film writing 360 222

Special articles on rights and economic problems of writers 346 176

General articles dealing with motion pictures .. 334 180

Critical surveys of motion picture product 308 216

Articles on censorship 298 1 78

Articles on film problems and delevopment abroad 290 174

Personal experience articles 276 148

Articles on stake of writers in political action 252 118

Critiques of criticism and its approaches , 250 148

Historical articles on the development of screen techniques and writing 248 174

Personality profiles 176 96

OPINION ON FORMAT AND TYPOGRAPHY

In favor of or agreeable to change to a larger and more flexible format 270 96

Keep old format 165 188

SHOULD THE MAGAZINE PUBLISH FICTION?

Yes 66 30

No 342 234

MORE FREQUENT USE OF VERSE

Yes 80 48

No 304 204

MORE HUMOR AND LIGHT ARTICLES

Yes 188 100

No '. 200 160

HAS MAGAZINE BEEN TOO MUCH RE-
STRICTED AS SWG HOUSE ORGAN?

Yes 80 195

No 322 48

29

THE SCREEN WRITER

IF RANGE AND APPEAL WERE BROADENED
WOULD MAGAZINE'S VALUE TO SWG AND
MOTION PICTURE INDUSTRY GAIN OR LOSE?

Gain

Lose

120

282

170
63

SHOULD BOOK REVIEWS OF A
MONTHLY CHECK LIST OF BOOKS
BE ADDED TO THE MAGAZINE?

Yes

No

(A majority of yes answers specified that book
reviews and listings should be restricted to those
of special interest to writers and industry.)

268
132

176

(Following Questions Sent Only to SWG Members)

IS MAGAZINE SUCCEEDING IN OR FALLING
SHORT OF ITS OBJECTIVE TO PROVIDE THE
SWG AND THE MOTION PICTURE INDUS-
TRY WITH AN ADULT, CONSTRUCTIVE
PUBLIC RELATIONS MEDIUM EMPHASIZING
CONTRIBUTION OF WRITERS AND THEIR
CREATIVE AIMS IN THE SCREEN ART?

Succeeding ....
Falling Short

380
40

AS A CONTRIBUTION TO THE GUILD AND
ITS MAGAZINE, WOULD YOU BE WILLING
TO ACCEPT AN OCCASIONAL ASSIGNMENT
TO DO AN ARTICLE?

Yes

No

Much interesting comment accompanied the ques-
tionnaire returns. There were a great many specific
and general suggestions for future articles. Main cur-
rents of reader interest showed up clearly.

As indicated in the tabulated summary under the
subhead Preference in Types of Articles, a very heavy
demand was evident for more craft articles, for analysis
and detailed discussion of the actual problems encoun-
tered in writing, directing and producing motion pic-
tures, and for a more integrated consideration of the
craft relationships existing between writers and the
other creative levels of the industry. There was a
frequently recurring request for the publication of
screenplay scripts or portions of them illustrating
techniques.

The Editorial Committee has not been unaware of
this demand. Since the inception of the magazine an

effort has been made to meet it. The recent articles
by William Wyler and Rouben Mamoulian, the cur-
rent series by Sheridan Gibney, the article in this issue
by the writer-producer, Jay Richard Kennedy, all rep-
resent the recognition of this need. However, the
awareness of the Editorial Committee concerning the
importance of craft articles has been sharpened by the
impact of the questionnaire replies.

But it may be well to point out again that THE
SCREEN WRITER is not one of the how-to-learn-
to-write-successfully-in-ten-easy-lessons magazines. It
must leave that to the correspondence schools and their
publications, and to the school of experience.

As for publishing scripts of produced screenplays
or portions of them here, this has been done once or
twice in the past, and several attempts have been made
to continue doing it. But serious difficulties have been

30

REPORT ON QUESTIONNAIRE

met in securing studio front office permission to reprint
these scripts as the writers wrote them. The Committee
will give renewed attention to this question.

Another sharply defined main current of reader inter-
est showing up in the questionnaire returns is the mat-
ter of markets. The demand for marketing informa-
tion was almost as insistent as the concern with craft
discussions. There were many requests for frequent
analyses of story trends, and for articles by studio
story editors presenting their needs. The Committee
has not been unmindful of the interest in such mate-
rial, and of its importance. The question has been dis-
cussed by the present and preceding editors. One of the
hazards involved is the highly competitive story market
in Hollywood and the doubt that story editors would
be free to discuss with complete frankness their story
needs. Fear has been expressed that any lack of full,
authentic information might be the derailing switch
shunting too many writers to the sidetrack of specu-
lative writing. However, the Committee will re-examine
this problem in the light of the questionnaire returns.

Another prevalent request was for regular publica-
tion of motion picture reviews and criticisms. But many
members remain unconvinced that in a magazine pub-
lished by screen writers it would be wise policy to open
the pages to critical review of pictures which represent
the work of SWG members. Film criticism on a high
professional level can be found in the Hollywood Quar-
terly. In THE SCREEN WRITER the editors
believe there should be ample space for general critical
surveys of the motion picture product, and for discus-
sion of the technical problems involved in the writing
of specific pictures. But they would prefer to leave the
matter of film reviewing to general membership direc-
tive, hoping at the same time that the magazine will
provide the nation's film critics with a better under-
standing of the writers' contribution to pictures and
with a more informed basis for a fair, intelligent
approach to criticism.

Acute interest was expressed in the economic and
employment problems of writers. Extensive comments
were made in praise of the Screen Writers' Guild fight
for the American Authors' Authority plan. Scores of
suggestions were made for more articles dealing with
the problems of young writers. These came not only
from the younger writers, but from many old Holly-
wood hands who apparently have a sense of responsibil-
ity toward the younger writers and toward the future
of screen writing. It was clearly evident that a great
deal of emphasis is desired on the question of writers'
rights, on employment and on the economic trends
within the motion picture industry.

Another regularly recurring suggestion was for more
articles on censorship, the production code, and the use
of films devoted to "pure entertainment" for presenting
a misleading and immature picture of American life.

Interesting to the Editorial Committee was the
response to the question concerning format. As indi-
cated in the tabulation, among SWG members there
was a majority in favor of, or agreeable to a change

to a larger and more flexible size. Among non-members
the majority opinion was in favor of retaining the orig-
inal small size. A general comment, however, was that
content, not size or typography, was the important
thing. There were a few rather violent objections to
the inclusion of advertising, and a great many more
opinions favoring the limited use of advertising to help
SWG meet the expenses of the magazine. People with
publishing experience were almost unanimously in
favor of changing to a larger, more standard size.
There were a great many complaints about the
unshaded type hitherto used.

In the questionnaire space left open for criticisms and
suggestions there were hundreds of comments. Most
of them were constructive, helpful, filled with praise
for the magazine, and the Editorial Committee hereby
expresses its gratitude for them. But the Committee
is also grateful for the criticism, some of which was
frank and barbed. It read with special interest and
attention the 40 negative answers to the question of
whether or not the magazine is succeeding in its objec-
tive to provide the SWG and the motion picture
industry with an adult, useful public relations medium
emphasizing the contribution of writers and their
creative aims in the screen art.

These negative answers concerning the success of
the magazine were largely qualified by statements that
it had only partially achieved its objectives; that it had
failed to be sufficiently interesting and broad in its
appeal; that it had failed to print illustrations manda-
tory in a magazine devoted to a visual medium ; that
it was too much or too little of a house organ; that it
had published too many personal political attacks, and
griped too much about the economic problems of writ-
ers. Here are some of the more critical comments from
SWG members:

"It makes screen writers seem like a gang of chiselers
more interested in their economic gains and political
rights than in the artistic development of their craft."

"Too partisan; keep it out of union politics."

"Too obviously a public relations medium. If it were
a better trade organ — a better magazine — it would nat-
urally become a public relations medium but would
not be so readily recognized as such."

"Too much concentration on SWG problems."

"It is too limited in its scope."

"We sound like a bunch of disgruntled adolescents
with chips on our shoulders, and most of the time not
our own chips."

"It has a general air of waspishness reminiscent of
spinsters who couldn't get raped. Too much flimsy
stuff by people who wont take the trouble to put body
into their work. . . . A political attitude which may
be right or wrong, but is pre-determined. Cut out the
anonymous editorials. You are trustees, not owners."

"Too often used to fry personal fish."

"Too much space given to political indignation, too

31

THE SCREEN WRITER

heavy-handed satire directed at management . . . and
too little to the writing and making of motion pic-
tures."

"Before changing the format, we should change
the editorial board."

"Magazine should be more like Authors' League
Bulletin."

"Magazine has little influence in Hollywood. This
influence is prerequisite to influence elsewhere.

"Magazine fluctuates between fawning on producers
and being belligerent toward them."

"For more humor, just publish minutes of our
meetings."

"Fewer words from on high advising the lowly on
matters personal, political, biological and colonic. Eighty
per cent of material published is highly valuable. Why
don't you make it 100 per cent?"

"The editorial committee is just a bunch of reds.
They should resign."

SWG membership comments in praise of the maga-
zine outnumbered by about 10 to 1 the doubtful and
caustic comments. Here are a few quotes from ques-
tionnaires returned by Guild members:

"A helluva swell magazine. Who's complaining?"

"The only thing wrong with The Screen Writer is
that there isn't more of it."

"The best ivritten professional magazine in the
world."

"Congratulations to the editorial committee for a
really swell job." (This was repeated many times.)

"The one really good magazine about the motion
picture medium."

"Magazine has lived up to its best prospects."

"The Screen Writer has been the greatest of all
boons to creative workers in the industry. It has now
outlived its rather restricted house-organ character. It
can be, potentially, a boon to the nation."

"A good magazine. . . . Keep it strictly house-organ.
Don't louse it up with any fancy-pants or corny stuff."

"It's a great publication, inherently so — as well
as splendid showcase for SWG and the industry as a
whole. But I hate to see the format changed."

"Sure, change the format. Content is the important
thing — and the content is GREAT."

"By all means let's have advertising. That seems
to me the next logical step in the development of a
great magazine. Any self-respecting publication should
be able to support itself."

"A fine magazine . . . but avoid advertising, the most
corrupting of all influences."

"Our magazine has done more than anything else
to attract attention to the writer's role in motion pic-
tures. Committee has done a wonderful job. It's the
most constructive move SWG ever made."

"The Screen Writer is the most exciting trade maga-
zine I ever read."

"Give us more of the same."

"Thanks for a wonderful job. That article by Willie
Wyler was worth the price of the magazine for the
next 10 years."

"Magazine can serve as forum for whole motion
picture industry. It can and should be the sounding
board for all phases of picture making."

"The magazine is entirely absorbing. I have no
negative criticism."

"It's so good that tens of thousands of people in and
out of the industry should be getting it. We should
put them on the free list."

"The Screen Writer deserves to become the world's
leading magazine on all screen matters."

"I am grateful to the editorial committee and the
executive board for their excellent job of furthering the
cause of writers in particular and the position of motion
pictures in general."

"I doubt if the industry knows as yet what a gold
mine of good will reposes in the pages of The Screen
Writer. It should give the magazine all sorts of help
in spreading the good word throughout the world."

"Your AAA fight is great. That special supplement
was a honey — a wonderful service to the profession
of writing."

"Don't see how it can be improved. But if you can
do it — great! My thanks to executive board, edi-
torial committee and staff."

"Magazine suffers only because it isn't bigger. I find
it extremely interesting, and always wish there were
more to read."

"Magazine is swell and a great credit to the Guild."

"My copies of the magazine are read by myself, my
family, my house guests, my friends, a large percentage
of which are just plain old General Public. Discussion
of magazine's contents are lively and interesting."

"So good it should be made more generally available
to the public."

"My congratulations to the SWG editors and board
for their excellent job in furthering the cause of writers
in particular and motion pictures in general."

"The magazine is a superior job of editing. Don't
pay too much attention to No's unless backed by
specific charges. The Hollywood atmosphere is so
poisonous that some writers consider it corny to say
anything good about anything — except, of course,
their own great scripts. The question is not do they
like it, but do they read it."

"Magazine has been doing one hell of a good job."

32

REPORT ON QUESTIONNAIRE

Here are a few comments from readers outside the
Guild:

"Give us more factual articles on what's wrong
with Hollywood."

"For my money the only publication that deals ade-
quately with the creative aspects of motion pictures."

"As a director, I have liked it very much to date. . . .
The very clever article on De Mille and another similar
one left me wondering if this personalized attack is
fair — no matter how pleasant to read."

"Magazine is well-balanced as it now stands, except
it is too much of a house organ."

"Broaden the title and content to include radio. The
two fields are akin."

"The most vital and interesting publication of its
nature I have ever read. Print what YOU like, think,
believe, want, etc., and let your readers take it or leave
it. If it's good they'll take it — and they certainly have."

"I appreciate the part the screen writers play in
shaping events. I am a veteran of this war, and one who
would like to think that the entertainment film industry
can help people all over the world understand each
other a little better, so that my generation may be the
last veterans."

"A lively and interesting journal which fills a spe-
cial need."

"The Screen Writer has been the best craft publi-
cation I ever encountered. Exceedingly valuable, not
only to writers for the screen, but to other craftsmen
of the medium."

"The magazine should de-emphasize the pervasive
war-like attitude slightly. That is, confine the writers'
battle to one or two articles per issue and not have it
spill over into other departments."

"Your magazine is valuable, but your political and
economic problems of interest only to your Guild should
be published outside the magazine. Why not mimeo-
graph them for members only, and keep the magazine
clear for its creative and worthwhile job of providing
us with a better understanding of the motion picture
industry and the contribution of the writer to it."

"Give more attention to world film problems, world
production, world responsibilities of our industry and
our writers."

"The magazine is a disappointment in that it con-
tains too much complaining and cynicism. It should
be professionally helpful, not flippant or sour. You are
conscious of the problem, as shown by the questionnaire.
But I enjoy the magazine, good or bad. It has many
virtues. I hope to be a permanent subscriber."

"The only lack I have felt in The Screen Writer
is the absence of material by actors or writers dealing

with the problems they face working with each other
in the industry."

{From Ireland) "Found your S.W.G. Film Forum
in April one of the best and most important contribu-
tions I have seen. American films in Europe lack taste.
I hate to see an American film attempting an English
story. Congratulations and thanks for the high standard
of your magazine."

Following are a few comments from questionnaires
returned by many of the nation's leading drama and
motion picture critics:

"Please continue to be uniquely 'inside' and critical
of the industry. That's your value, and it is a much
greater value than has been adequately exploited in
your circulation."

"Keep it sound and beneficial — the Harpers of the
industry, not the True Story."

"So much fetid publicity tripe and fan treacle comes
across this desk that when The Screen Writer arrives
each month it's like a current of clean, cool air coming
into a hot room. Keep it coming. A lot of us have
learned a lot and gained new perspectives from it."

"The Screen Writer is a monthly treat. I know of
no publication that does its job so expertly."

"I think that if the level of films is ever to be raised
it must be done by closer relationship and more mutual
understanding between critics and screen writers."

"Circulation and prestige of your magazine should
be nationally increased. Make it less of a house organ."

"Your Guild magazine is one of the high spots of
my reading program because it deals with the writing
end of a business whose other angles are highly pub-
licized."

"Your magazine has given me a better understanding
of my job as a film reviewer, and has sharpened my
sense of values in judging pictures."

In the foregoing the Editorial Committee has tried
to present a fair sampling of questionnaire comments.
It regrets space is not available for hundreds of other
pertinent and interesting comments. It will try to
present in succeeding issues some of the longer opinions
and suggestions. In the meantime the Committee wishes
to thank for their cooperation all readers who sent in
questionnaire replies, and to assure them their intelli-
gent response will be of great help in editing THE
SCREEN WRITER.

GORDON KAHN, Editor,
for the Screen Writer
Editorial Committee.

33

Can Screen Writers Become
Film Authors?

A Few Comments and Suggestions Concerning This Transition

In the May issue of THE SCREEN WRITER Joseph L. Mankie-
wicz advised screen writers to become film authors. In response to a request
from the Editorial Committee, several writers, directors and producers
present a few ideas about how genuine film authorship may be achieved.

PHILIP DUNNE:

MY distinguished colleague and
fellow-sufferer, Joe Mankie-
wicz, has written a most interesting
and stimulating piece for the May
issue of this magazine. It is true that
I found much to disagree with in his
article, but a great deal more with
which to agree wholeheartedly, par-
ticularly the paragraphs in which he
suggests that screen writers, as a
body, have tended to show more inter-
est in holding down their jobs than in
learning their trade. His argument
along this line is most persuasive, but
I think some of his conclusions are at
fault.

For instance, it is true that Ameri-
can screen writers cannot be proud of
their record in creating original screen
plays, but I submit that this has noth-
ing to do with trade-learning and, in
fact, is far more the fault of the stu-
dios than of the writers.

Let us analyze the situation that
obtains in the studios. The business
men who run these factories are re-
sponsible for the investment of very
large sums of money in a series of
gambles — every story being a gamble
which would give an inveterate horse-
player stomach ulcers. It is only nat-
ural that these gentlemen prefer to
risk the stockholders' cash — and their
own professional necks — on horses
which have already won races, that is,
on established novels, serials and
plays, or on biographies of characters
well established in the public's mind.
Having acquired a proved property,
they then make assurance doubly sure
by assigning to its adaptation a proved
screen writer.

The result is that the experienced
screen writer, the vers" man or woman

capable of creating the original screen
plays for which Mr. Mankiewicz so
eloquently calls, is kept busy year in
and year out on material owned by
the studios. If his contract with one
major studio expires, he is at once be-
sieged with offers from the others. If
he resists these offers, does he sit down
and write an original screen play? He
does not. He writes a play or a book,
because he is enough of an egotist to
relish being able to read his name on
advertising matter without using a
microscope, and enough of an eco-
nomic animal to realize that the finan-
cial return for even a third-rate play
is greater than that for a first-rate
screen play, not only on Broadway,
but in Hollywood itself.

The unpalatable truth is far too
many of the originals (and I except
musicals, biographies, western and ac-
tion scripts written on salary in the
studios) are written by writers out of
work in the hope of earning some
quick money before the next job
comes up. Far too many of them are
written by writers who, because of
youth, inexperience or incompetence,
are incapable of writing screen plays.
I know; I have been there.

And most of the originals are not
screen plays at all. They are synopses
for screen plays, blueprints, not build-
ings. The reason for this is easily un-
derstood. It takes anywhere from
three months to a year to create a
screen play. How many writers can
afford to allot this time to a gamble in
a limited market? Why should they
when they realize that the purchasing
studios, when and if, will undoubt-
edly have their screen plays rewritten
past all recognition?

It all boils down to this: there is no
incentive to write original screen

plays. Until there is an incentive, few
of quality will be written. The suc-
cessful writers will continue to work
on studio-owned material, the unsuc-
cessful will continue to write desper-
ate little synopses, and the handful
who are strongwilled (and well-
heeled) enough to withstand studio
offers will continue to write for other
media. And, praise the Lord, one or
two of the desperate little synopses
will come through as strong, exciting
screen plays, and their authors will
forthwith become transmogrified, van-
ish within the studio gates and never
have to write originals again.

It would be unfair to Mr. Mankie-
wicz to ask him to produce a list of
his own original screen plays. He has
been kept far too busy this last decade
to write any. Mr. Mankiewicz knows
his trade, and the studios are properly
appreciative. Since he has directed my
last two scripts with taste and skill, I
might add that so am I. But if he now,
like Peter the Hermit, proposes to lead
a crusade out of the modernistic of-
fices and into the garrets, I doubt if
he will find many followers. When I
get time off, I shall either write a
play or go fishing. And I think he
will, too.

MILTON KRIMS:

' I HE telegram requested three hun-
■*■ dred to one thousand words on
how newer writers can learn their
trade thoroughly under present con-
ditions. Just like that . . . simple as
any old basic problem of living and
eating and being true to one's ideals
and the demands of one's integrity.
Skipping the three hundred to one
thousand words part of the request,
let's analyze the rest of the sentence ;
let's find some definitions and see
whether or not they'll help us find
the answer.

First, there are the rather sad

34

CAN SCREEN WRITERS BECOME FILM AUTHORS?

words — "newer writers." What is
meant by "newer writers"? Does it
mean those who have just begun to
work at the business of writing, the
beginner fiction writer, the hopeful
dramatist? Or does it mean writers
new to Hollywood? Before I'm ac-
:used of quibbling, I hasten to say the
fundamentals of screen writing — in
my opinion — are the same as in any
other media. A story-teller is as good
is his story. Consequently, one must
assume the newer writer, i.e., the
writer new to Hollywood, has learned
the art of story telling, regardless of
medium.

If he hasn't then it will mean noth-
ing for him to learn the facts of screen
story telling.

The next phrase is — "learn their
trade." By definition, we are assuming
the newer writer has learned the fun-
damentals of good story telling and is
now deliberately and of his own free
will determined to use them as a basis
for screen story telling. We are
promptly faced with a diversity of
opinions as vast and often as confusing
as an MGM budget, not counting
retakes. I can only offer mine for
what it's worth. There is no mystery
to the mechanics of movie-making.
There is a camera, there is a sound
track, there is a cutting room, a dub-
bing room, a thing called special ef-
fects, all kinds of exciting mechanical
activities, all plainly marked by small
signs on buildings tucked away be-
tween stages. I've never yet met one
of the gentlemen or ladies involved in
these wonderful processes who was-
n't definitely delighted at the oppor-
tunity of explaining how his or her
particular job really made the movies.

Then there are the already pro-
duced motion pictures, great ones,
even bad ones, sometimes crowded
with imaginative achievements, some-
times offering only a single moment
that can be recognized as the humble
offering of true artistic inspiration.
These are the newer writer's text
books, available in direct ratio to his
own curiosity, his desire to study what
has been done, his will to learn to
understand, through review and
study, this potentially greatest of all
artistic media.

And I say if the newer screen
writer, assuming he has already learn-
ed the fundamentals of good writing,
has done all this — and is still dissat-

isfied with his knowledge of screen
writing as such, he needs to examine
his own curiosity and re-evaluate the
creativeness of his own imagination.

So we come to the last and third
phrase — "under present conditions."
I will — for a moment — seemingly
refute something I wrote in the pre-
vious paragraph. I have never ceased
to marvel at the stupidity of producers
who expect fine screen plays from un-
trained writers or from successful
dramatists and novelists who have too
often turned up their noses at anything
Hollywood other than its money.
Does this same producer think his
particular brand of Scotch is blended
by a beginner who has not been given
a decent chance to learn his trade?
Doesn't this same producer often tell
you at great length how he started as
a cutter or an office boy or even a
waiter? And in some instance when
reason finally fails, doesn't he refer to
his "long experience" as if it were a
weapon capable of destroying logic?
I do not blame producers entirely for
writer ineptitude, but I do believe
they are at least partially responsible
by not urging the newer writer to
spend more time on stages.

I will go even further; I will say
that newer writers should be expected
to spend at least one month on a stage
before being asked to write a screen
play. And then, after he has written
his first screen play, he should be en-
couraged to follow it through every
phase of production. I, of course,
realize that is only possible for con-
tract writers. For the newer free lance
writer, something should be worked
out with the studios whereby a writer
certified by the Screen Writers' Guild
will be given the opportunity to watch
production for at least one month.
Not only the writer but the studio
would profit from some such arrange-
ment.

Producer attitude toward writers is
— to put it mildly — short-sighted.
Much of it however, is the fault of
the writer himself. Writing, in any
medium, is not easy; it takes hard
labor, constant discouragement and
continuous self-education to achieve
the high standards inherent in fine
writing. It takes the severest kind of
self-criticism to beget the humility
that eventuates in great creative ac-
complishment.

I know how difficult the writer's
task is in this motion picture indus-

try; I have lived through most of its
hazards ; I am still far from overcom-
ing many of its obstacles. And I know
how quickly the truly creative mind
is discouraged and sometimes de-
stroyed by stupid and even intellec-
tually dishonest restraints ranging
from inept producers to infantile cen-
sorship. But I also know the history of
both the drama and literature is
crowded with similar seemingly
tragic restraints. Yet each survived
and produced greatness on greatness.
And always it was the writer who
fought and suffered to produce this
greatness.

The motion picture is — in my
opinion — the greatest medium of ex-
pression yet devised. Also the young-
est of the art forms. Even now, it is
still going through a period of transi-
tion in which it is trying to learn the
proper use of sound in what was con-
ceived as a silent medium. There are
hundreds of other problems, problems
having to do with the eternal intan-
gibles of truly creative progress. I
believe many of these are essentially
the writer's problems ... as they have
always been the writer's problems.
There must come a day when produc-
ers will recognize them as such and
accept the writer's solutions.

But the writer must also be capable
of finding the solutions. Therefore,
the wise producer will help the writer
learn the complex mechanics of movie
making. The rest is up to the writer.
To his knowledge of story telling he
will need to add the integrity and the
courage to fight against the destruc-
tion of the results of that knowledge.

There is no easy road to learning
any kind of writing. There never has
been. It's a miserable profession un-
der almost any conditions ... if 3'ou
really work at it.

ALLEN RIVKIN:

T MUST agree with everything that
-*- Benoit-Levy and Mankiewicz wrote
in the May Screen Writer as I must
agree that cancer must be conquered.
I'm afraid, however, that Jean and
Joe don't go far enough with their
argument. A "film author" can learn
his craft as solidly as a surgeon alleg-
edly learns his, but when a surgeon

35

THE SCREEN WRITER

does his final sewing-up, it is not
likely that the head of the hospital
will reserve the right to do more cut-
ting.

What Benoit-Levy and Mankie-
wicz should have insisted, it seems to
me, is that once the film author is
employed, he be left alone from the
beginning of the writing to the time
the final negative goes to the lab for
prints. Does that happen today with
any of the truly brilliant writer-di-
rectors or writer-producers Joe has
listed? Perhaps with some; certainly
not with all.

In major studios, the front office
still reserves the prerogative of bitch-
ing the product no matter what con-
tractual authority the film author has.
I say this must stop. When the head
men hire — "delighted" as they are
— that film author who has learned
his trade and earned the respect of
his colleagues, that's it, brother, and
no interference by men who have
money instead of mentality.

Until that period in our industry
comes, Jean's and Joe's film authors
are kidding themselves, but strictly.

ALBERT LEW IN:

WISH I were able to make some
■*■ practical suggestion to newer writ-
ers to guide them in their efforts to
"learn their trade" and become "film
authors." But in this fiercely com-
petitive business the chances are they
will have to scratch for their suste-
nance.

If they are sufficiently hungry and
sufficiently in earnest about film-
writing, as as distinct from other
kinds of creative writing, the chances
are they will learn what they have to
know. If they can persuade the unions
involved, and the producers concerned,
to allow them to put in an actual stint
as script clerk and cutter, or assistant
cutter, nothing in the world could be
of more enduring value.

Failing this, they might study a few
great pictures intensively, running
them over and over again until they
know them cut for cut, camera angle
for camera angle ; and until the pat-
tern of each scene, as staged by the
director, has been apprehended and

appreciated. Let them go to school to
a great picture like William Wyler's
Dodsworth, screening it not once,
but thirty times, and do the same with
John Ford's The Informer.

It is a pity that masters like Wyler,
Ford, Lubitsch and Hitchcock cannot
have schools of literary and directorial
apprentices to study their style.
(There are so few who have what can
be called a style — so that their work,
unsigned, is still as readily recogniz-
able as the music of Mozart or the
prose of Joseph Addison.) This was
the happy practice of the great Ren-
aissance painters, but it is, no doubt,
too much to hope for in the movies.
It doesn't even exist any longer in
painting.

In the old days there was a good
deal of Hollywood shop-talk, discus-
sion of technical, narrative and aes-
thetic difficulties, and this was healthy.
Now we rarely hear anything but
personal gossip and discussion of box-
office returns. The vast, and as yet
unsolved, problem of the co-ordina-
tion of visual and auditory rhythms,
which is the central dilemma of the
talking picture, is seldom fruitfully
explored.

Lacking some radical solution, and
none appears probable, I can only sug-
gest these quite inadequate make-
shifts. I'm afraid they won't prove of
much help. For in the long run there
is only one way to learn how to do
anything and that is by doing it. I am
optimist enough to think that, diffi-
cult as it is, if the talent is great
enough the way will be found.

PRESTON STURGES:

T T 0 W newer writers can also be-
-*- •*- come genuine authors under pres-
ent conditions or words to that effect:
The genuine author is distinguished
by his lorgnon, his love of talk and his
hatred of writing. He has dandruff on
his collar and needs a shampoo.

Not being a genuine author, but
only a playwright, it is so difficult
for me to write prose, spelling out
each word, wrestling with the gram-
mar and tripping over the syntax,
that I rarely contribute to symposia.
What little I know of my profession
I got out of a book called "A Study

of the Drama" by Brander Matthews
which cost $1.50.

In closing here are two pieces of
advice given by two good playwrights :
Dumas the Younger and Pierre Ve-
ber. The first said: "To write a suc-
cessful play is very easy: Let the be-
ginning be clear, the end be short, and
let it all be interesting." The second
said: "Never be afraid of boring
them. When they are bored they think
they are thinking. This flatters them."

NIVEN BUSCH:

\ A OST screen writers in their
■^■V-i- apprentice days feel that their
biggest problem is getting the job
rather than learning how to handle it.
I think there is much to be said for
this view. The process is injurious to
writers only when they fail to learn
by doing. If they want to find out
how a picture is made there is nothing
that I know of to prevent them. In
any studio scripts are available for
study and the pictures made from
these scripts can be studied in turn,
and the scripts then checked again for
particulars of technique. This process
provides a post-graduate course which
rapidly produces specialists.

However, it is a form of education
which is only available after a man
has been hired ; hence one raises the
question — should there not be an
opening in motion pictures for young
writers trained directly for screen
writing but lacking the qualifications
in other fields of creative work which
v/ould ordinarily make them eligible
for studio jobs?

I think that there is definitely a
place for such writers and the colleges
should be encouraged to supplement
courses in motion picture art and his
tory with practical craft work in
writing and the technical fields.

The only campus that I know of
that supplies such a course if USC
where Clara Beranger's Cinema
Workshop is attracting a large num-
ber of students, many of them former
servicemen. European countries have
long provided such courses. In Russia
technical courses in all branches of
film making, including screen writing,
have been established for many years.

36

CAN SCREEN WRITERS BECOME FILM AUTHORS?

Miss Beranger tells me that France
has an Institute of Advanced Film
Studies where students have the use
of a large library pertaining to film
making. If other industries like radio
and television, not to mention elec-
tronics, steel and chemicals, can spend
large sums each year training young
men in research and special crafts,
why can't Hollywood start a modest
experiment along the same lines? I
think it would pay off.

The suspicion still remains with me
that even after college training and
the study of scripts, the only practical
way of learning the screen writing
trade is to get on the set with a picture
and stay with it up to and through
the night of the sneak preview. Many
writers who have been in the industry
twenty years have never done this, but
I believe it is a capsule that contains
a complete educational program. If it
doesn't work nothing will.

NORMAN KRASNA:

T GOT your flattering wire and I sat
-*- myself right down and began to
write three hundred words on "How
newer writers can — etc., under pres-
ent conditions?"

I was going along pretty good too,
until it occurred to me I don't know
much about present conditions. I
haven't been a contract writer for
about ten years, and the few pictures
I've done since have been at home and
out of town.

The basis of my piece was going to
be on learning film technique by
working for people — different people

— you admire. Not the same person

— even if he's a comfortable director
to be teamed with — but with men
from whom you can learn something
new. Cast yourself carefully, like
actors.

But, do those conditions prevail
now? Can a young writer get a job
without being tied to a long term con-
tract ?

I don't know, and f rankly, I would-
n't want to advise so carelessly, to the
possible damage of some budding
career.

P.S. I think your magazine is
wonderful.

D ELMER DA FES:

TN 1942 I was assigned to direct my
-*- first picture, Destination Tokyo.
After fourteen years of screen writing
I thought I had mastered the craft, —
but I was destined for a sharp lesson
in humility. The lesson was learned
alongside the camera where the muted
sound of the sprockets whirling keeps
pace with the dialogue and action tak-
ing place in front of the lens.

The film itself is cheap, a few cents
a foot, — but the scenes being photo-
graphed represent an enormous in-
vestment in thought, energy, hope,
labor, capital, careers, eagerness and
despair, buoyancy and exhaustion ;
what is being photographed takes the
combined efforts of dozens of depart-
ments, thousands of people, now
channeled down to the hundred who
may be on the shooting stage for the
sole purpose of transferring your
script or my script to film. Formerly,
I took these things for granted, I
don't any more. Writing a script at
home or in my office I was too remote
from all of this to think in these new
terms.

My first lesson in humility came as
I began photographing scenes I had
written, — and everything I had
written was literally under the spot-
lights on the set. I could hear the film
racing through the sprocket holes,
twenty-four frames a second, ninety
feet a minute, and I soon realized
why, on my sixty-day shooting sched-
ule, an average of ONLY TWO
MINUTES OF COMPLETED
FILM PER DAY WAS PUT IN
THE FILM EDITOR'S LONG
ROW OF FILM CANS ! Figure it
out for yourself; sixty days of shoot-
ing, one hundred and twenty minutes
of previewed film. What has this to
do with screen writing? Be patient.
Let's take a look at the budget: one
million dollars — sixteen thousand,
six hundred and sixty-six dollars per
day. Then two minutes of film should
be worth that much in money.
$8,333.00 per minute. Now, please
add this to the second paragraph and
you will begin to get the reason for
my first embarrassed lesson : what I
had written wasn't worth this over-
whelming amount of human endeavor,
it wasn't worth $8,333.00 per minute.

The realization comes as those
sprockets whirl beside your ear — the
actors are saying your lines, making

your motions, and both are recorded
on film racing through the camera,
ninety feet a minute. Then and there
is where I learned that the words had
to be better, the action exactly right;
the whirr of the sprockets taught me
the lesson of the over-written scene.
I could almost hear the sprocket holes
groan : "You're saying this twice —
it's taking twenty feet to get that jerk
out the door — I've heard this before,
every word of it — this scene was
over twenty feet ago — this gal's been
talking for over one hundred feet, but
the yadada-yadada — goes on and on
... it took her one hundred and
eighty feet to say what she could have
said in ten ! One hundred and eighty
feet? That's two minutes! That's a
day's work!"

It's easier to over-write, we all
know that. I used to indulge myself
in long scenes, long scripts until I
learned this added lesson: I have yet
to see more than one hundred and
twenty five pages of script represented
in a finished film of normal feature
length. All over that is trimmed out
or cut out in chunks, even whole se-
quences — and until you realize the
tremendous combined effort that goes
into every foot of the film on the cut-
ting room floor you won't realize the
sin of over-writing. We cannot in-
dulge ourselves, we must learn a les-
son on this score from the playwrights
in New York: THE PLAY MUST
BE OVER AT ELEVEN
O'CLOCK!

When you're ready to turn in your
final script, give it the "sprocket hole
test" — is every word of every page
worth the combined efforts of thou-
sands? If it isn't, edit it or write it
over. And watch some of your script
being shot, sit near the camera, listen
for the sprockets turning frame by
frame, foot by foot. After your film
has been edited for release, ask the
film editor to lend you his cutting
script and compare the released ver-
sion with your original script. See
what was cut — even if you disagree
with the cutting you may learn that
very rarely is a scene cut because it
played well !

The director quickly learns that he
cannot "coast" through one foot of
film, that one badly shot scene, even
if it represents but twenty feet of
film, will stand out to mar the effect
of the whole.

Now I know that the same truth

37

THE SCREEN WRITER

applies to the writer — that one badly
written scene, however short, not only
causes the sprocket holes to groan, but
the audience as well. I know. I, too,
have suffered.

Letter From
Mexico

(Continued from Index Page)

important documents — which, I as-
sume — writers are required to sign?"

"In quintuplicate," I corrected.
"They are prepared by the lawyers
for the companies."

"The same lawyers for all of
them?"

"No, senor. Each film company has
its own set of abogados."

Senores Bustamente and Portas
shook their heads and the latter
reached into a drawer and took out a
paper — a single sheet, legal size.
"This," he said, "is the contract
which a Mexican screen writer signs.
The only contract!"

I said that any writer offered a
one-page contract either owns a piece
of the company or is the producer's
brother.

"All Mexican screen writers sign
this contract. All!" Furthermore, he
said, it is the only contract which the
Sindicato de Trabajadores, etc,, etc.,
as the parent organization of ever}-
film worker in the country will allow
him to sign. And no waivers of any-
thing in it.

"Does it say in that contract that
the writer shall be at his desk by 9 :30
every morning and remain until 5 :30,
Pacific Standard Time?"

"It says there," Portas answered,
"that the writer agrees to deliver a
script for a certain amount of money
to be paid to him at certain stages of
his work — and he works wherever
he chooses — at the Mexico City race
track or the bull-ring if he finds it
more comfortable there."

"You have a minimum salary for
the screen writer?"

"We do not call it salary, we call it
compensation, And we call him not a
screen writer but an adaptador as dis-
tinguished from the autor who sells
original works that still need proces-
sing, to a producer. The minimum is
5,000 pesos, The maximum is not
stated, and is of course not as high as
in Hollywood, A good price for an
original story or for making it into a
shooting script is from 25,000 to
50,000 pesos. The screenplay is con-
sidered as valuable as the original
property."

Still a little bewildered at the brev-
ity of the Mexican contract I asked
Senor Portas whether there are any
misunderstandings at times, due to
vagueness.

"One in a thousand. Let me read
you from Clause Nine. Both parties
agree that all points relating to obser-
vation, interpretation or execution of
this contract shall be under the juris-
diction of the Federal Tribunals of
Labor. In other words, the law of the
land determines whether a contract
has been fairly lived up to by either
party."

And I had been in Mexico long
enough to understand that the Fed-
eral Tribunals of labor of the Mexi-
can Republic have a paternal concern
for the creative worker as well as the
wage-trabajador.

"In America," I told him, "when
there are disputes we too have certain
machinery for adjustment. Arbitra-
tion, conciliation, grievance commit-
tess. . . ."

"Here in Mexico," offered Senor
Bustamente, "we have one inter-in-
dustry group to settle those matters.
It is called the Committee of Honor
and Justice."

He read me another delicious little
clause from the Mexican contract:
The producer agrees to respect the
adaptation (screenplay) dealt with by
this contract and not to modify, mu-
tilate or make additions thereto with-
out the written permission of the
adaptador (screen writer) given
through the Sindicato.

"That means," I stuttered, "that
after the producer has settled with
the writer and kissed him off (con

besos y embrasos) he can't mess
around with the script! This is a
little fantastic, senor."

"You are assuming, Senor Kahn,"
Mr. Portas said, "that after the pro-
ducer has paid money to the writer
he has bought something. That, if I
may say so, is a misapprehension. He
has bought nothing. Nada!" And he
quoted me from Clausula Cinco.
(Clause Five) of the contract:

The Sindicato assigns to the pro-
ducer the literary rights to produce
the production mentioned in this con-
tract. This assignment of exclusive
film rights will hold good for a period
of five years after which time the
author will resume absolute title and
possession of his work.

(Memo: Please send these gentle-
men a copy of our American Authors
Supplement.)

It was clear from this clause refer-
ring to the five-year lease of the writ-
ten work that the writers' section of
the Sindicato is the repository of the
copyright, holding it in trust for the
author.

And wThat happens after five years ?
What about re-issues and remakes, I
asked them. There are pictures play-
ing in the States that are far older.
Does the Mexican screen writer get
additional compensation if his picture
is re-issued or remade?

"Seguro que si! Clausula Ocho.
Listen; It is understood that when
the film mentioned under this contract
has been exhibited more than five
years, counting from the date of the
premiere, the producer shall pay the
adaptador a bonus of not less than
50% of the sum (paid him for his
work previously) without which pay-
ment the producer shall cease to ex-
hibit the film.

"Cease to exhibit the film!" I
gasped. "What about the company
getting its lawyers busy? Courts —
injunctions — counter-injunctions!"

"Hombre," said Mr. Bustamente
with quiet tolerance, "what projec-
tionist who is a member of the same
Sindicato as the writer will turn the
crank?"

Hasta luego.

Kahn.

38

REPORT & COMMENT

Report and
Comment

ABOUT GUILD MEETINGS

ARNOLD BELGARD :

The purpose of this article is to
present a procedural plan for Guild
meetings. The article itself is the cul-
mination of a series of letters between
myself and our Executive Board.

On the premise that Guild meet-
ings are poorly attended because of
the tedious, bitter, minor arguments
attendant on each subject under dis-
cussion, I offered my plan to the
Board in the form of a letter. I am no
parliamentarian. I do not know the
feeling of the Board in regard to the
idea. I know only that they have re-
quested me to present it for member-
ship review through the medium of
our magazine.

Before proceeding I'd like to offer
the impressions I take with me after
each of our meetings. I think the
meetings are:

1. Boring. In that every subject,
no matter how innocuous, is argued
pro and con by a group of die-hards
who see it as stemming originally ei-
ther from the Kremlin or the peripa-
tetic bailiwick of Gerald L. K. Smith.
The same arguments pertain, no mat-
ter what the subject happens to be !

2. Intolerable. In that there is no
ending these discussions.

3. Frustrating. In that out of
sheer desperation we often find our-
selves voting on questions that have
been touched only on the fringes —
the real issues having been neatly
skirted by the bevy of speakers.

4. Insulting. In that we, as
thinking adults, can make up our
minds on the average run of questions
without the earnest, enduring chant

ARNOLD BELGARD, a member of
SWG, recently outlined this proposal to
the Executive Board.

of the innumerable speakers who be-
labor us with their oft-reiterated
phrases.

It is because of these four factors
that a large group of normally inter-
ested writers abstain from sitting in
at meetings they would otherwise be
eager to attend. They send in their
proxies, and they vote as preordained
by the proxy holder — not as they
might have, had they been present to
hear intelligent debate.

I have no real quarrel with our
vociferous chums. I believe them
earnest, sincere crusaders. A good
many of them are my friends. I quar-
rel only with the fact that what they
say is not necessary in the least, al-
though under the democratic way of
life, they are entitled to, and take, the
floor from now on and forevermore.

But you who have attended meet-
ings know that when Mr. Lavery
reaches the breaking point (his toler-
ance is much greater than mine), he
rolls up his sleeves, sets everyone
straight as to the issue in point, gives
us a quick summary of the pros and
cons, and again takes his chair. Rarely
after this, is there further discussion.
There is no need for any.

So, at long last, here is the struc-
ture of our meetings as I want to see
them conducted. I want to see a
thoroughly planned and prepared
agenda. Prepared is italicized because
it is the keynote of the plan : A Forum
Group in Action, rather than a hodge
podge of word makers. Here is how
it would work:

Let us say that our agenda is made
up of a series of Committee Reports.
It usually is. I want to hear the com-
mittee chairman's report in full —
complete with recommendation^,
instead of ad lib discussion, I next
want to hear the views of the opposi-
tion from within the committee itself.
This speaker is eminently qualified to
give us the reasons behind the origi-
nal dissenting votes. Again, instead of
ad lib discussion, the committee
chairman will present the reasons why
the dissenters were voted down. And
if there were not final unanimity
within the committee, the opposition

would be entitled to a final rebuttal.

Now we are ready to hear from
the floor. If there is room for further
discussion, let it come from the floor
through the chairman (as moderator)
to the debater in the form of a ques-
tion. These people on the rostrum
have been through the subject at great
length. They know the answers. Their
responses, instead of being ad libbed,
will be the result of considered
thought.

And from here on, any individual
who presumes to add weight to a com-
pleted argument had better have
something solid to place in the scales
or else think twice before speaking.

I believe the forum group to be as
democratic in principle as our present
meeting form.

This plan is presented on the as-
sumption that we have elected our
officers and Board in the good faith
that they will carry out the desires of
the membership. That the trust we
place in them and the committees to
which our various problems are
thrown does not end with the mere
submission of a report.

As with practically all bodies dem-
ocratic, there is a fair split of those
who think on the left, in the center,
and on the right. All three ideologies
are to be found among our officers,
our Board members, and our every
important committee. Either we trust
them to do the ground work or we, as
a body must do it. There's no sense in
wasting their time — and they use up
plenty of it — if we disregard what
they have to report upon completion
of their work.

Let's not make up our collective
minds at the last minute after having
been detoured away from the original
report by the hot-tongued orators of
the night. Let's do things right. Let's
have full membership attendance.
They'll come to meetings that main-
tain a lively interest, and that don't
run off on divergent tangents every
two minutes for hour after bitter
hour.

Let's have our meetings be forum
in shape. Let's not step on our toes
any longer. Let's progress as a body.

39

THE SCREEN WRITER

Correspondence

The following communication has
been received from Jules C. Gold-
stone of the Jules Goldstone-Al Man-
uel, Inc. agency:

In your issue of May, 1947, under
an article written by Martin Field
entitled, Twice-Sold Tales, reference
was made to a transaction in which
Clarence Brown and I were involved.

Since I feel that the implications
in the reference were unfair and dam-
aging, I should like the opportunity
to furnish you with the full facts. In
this connection I will be glad to open
my files on the matter to the inspec-
tion of anyone duly authorized by
you to examine them.

JULES C. GOLDSTONE.

Martin Field of the Editorial Com-
mittee has submitted the following
statement in reply :

As the authorized representative of
THE SCREEN WRITER and also
as the author of Twice-Sold Tales, I
acted on the invitation of Jules C.
Goldstone to examine his files in the
matter.

I examined in detail the books,

documents, and contracts concerning

the transaction referred to in my
article.

I am happ}' to be able to correct
any statement or implication in the
article suggesting unfair dealings on
the part of either Mr. Brown or Mr.
Goldstone. Any criticism whatsoever
of their conduct is unfounded.

MARTIN FIELD.

hr"

News Notes

■^Current programs in the N. Y.
Museum of Modern Art's History of
the Motion Picture are: A British-
American Documentary: The True
Glory, June 2, 3, 4, 5; A Short His-
tory of Animation: Animated Paint-

ings, Drame Chez les Fantoches,
Gertie the Dinosaur, The Big Swim,
Newman's Laugh-o-Grams, Felix
Gets the Can, Steamboat Willie,
Flowers and Trees, Les Trois Petits
Cochons, June 6, 7, 8 ; Theatrical and
Social Dancing in Film: In Seville,
Moment Musicale, The Whirl of
Life, Four Horsemen of the Apoca-
lypse (excerpt), Anna Pavolova test
shots, Our Dancing Daughters (ex-
cerpt), The Skeleton Dance, Swing
Time, June 9, 10, 11, 12; Great Ac-
tresses of the Past: Madame Sans-
Gene, La Dame aux Camelias, Van-
ity Fair, Cenere, June 13, 14, 11;
Legend and Fantasy (I) : Skladan-
owsky's Primitives, Don Juan's Wed-
ding, Misunderstood, The Cabinet of
Dr. Caligari, June 16, 17, 18, 19;
Legend and Fantasy (II) : The Gold-
em, June 20, 21, 22; Legend and
Fantasy (III) : Destiny, June 23, 24,
21, 26: The Psychological Drama
(I) : Warning Shadows, June 27, 28,
29; Legend and Fantasy (IV) : Sieg-
fried, June 30, July 1, 2, 3.

"A"A group of unusually interesting
paintings by Herbert Klynn, Julius
Engel and Oskar Fischinger is on
exhibition at the American Contem-
porary Gallery, 6727^ Hollywood
Boulevard, from 11 a.m. to 7 p.m.
daily except Monday. All three paint-
ers are Hollywood artists. Herbert
Klynn is the well-known screen artist
who is now working in the field of
industrial design and who has given
material assistance to THE SCREEN
WRITER in designing the format of
the magazine. His paintings have been
widely exhibited throughout the na-
tion.

*SWG member Millen Brand's
new novel, Albert Sears, will be pub-
lished June 30 by Simon & Schuster.
The novel is the story of two families,
one white and the other Negro, and
of how they affect each other in a
Jersey City real estate fracas.

^■Gordon Kahn, editor of THE
SCREEN WRITER, examines the
motion picture fan magazines as the
subject of his contribution for May
to the Atlantic Monthly. Title of the
article is The Gospel According to
Hollywood.

"&SWG member Robert Wilder is
at work on a new historical novel,
Bright Feather, according to his pub-
lishers, G. P. Putnam's Sons, who
announce that the story is about the
Seminole Indians in Florida and the

independent nation they still main-
tain — a nation which declared its
own war on Germany, Italy and Ja-
pan. The novel is announced for pub-
lication in the spring of 1948.

~kThe Twisted Mirror, a new mys-
tery novel by SWG member Leonard
Lee, is on the fall publishing list of
Ziff-Davis.

'ArHarcourt - Brace will publish
SWG member Valentine Davies'
story, Miracle on 34?A Street as a
novel, with publication date probably
in August. Item of particular interest
in relation to this is fact that it was
first sold as an original story to Fox,
where it has been produced as a pic-
ture, with Fox re-assigning publica-
tion rights to Davies.

~kThe Sunday Pigeon Murders by
SWG member Craig Rice is out in a
Pocket Books edition. Samuel Spe-
wack's The Skyscraper Murder has
also been published in small size as an
addition to the Parsee library.

~kThe Big Yankee, the biography
of Evans Carlson by SWG member
Michael Blankfort, is making the
best seller lists. It was the subject of a
recent article by SWG member Guy
Trosper in the AVC News.

^"Pasadena Playhouse's 13th an-
nual Midsummer Drama Festival,
slated from June 24 to August 17,
will feature eight varied plays, as
follows : Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage
Patch, by Alice Hegan Rice, June
24-29 ; A Midsummer Night's Dream,
first Plaj'house staging of Shake-
speare, July 1-16; Melloney Hot-
spur, by John Masefield, July 8-13;
School for Scandal, by Richard Brin-
sley Sheridan, July 13-20; Arms and
the Man, by Bernard Shaw, July 22-
27; The Great God Brown, by Eu-
gene O'Neill, July 29-August 3 ;
Alice Sit-By-The-Fire, by James M.
Barrie, August 5-10; Girl of the
Golden West, bv David Belasco, Aug.
12-17.

^kThe Hollywood Film Society
opened its first season in its New
Coronet Theatre, 366 N. La Cienega,
Los Angeles, with a Greta Garbo
film, as scheduled. Thornton Wild-
er's Pulitzer Prize play, The Skin of
Our Teeth, will be presented at the
same theatre for a three or four weeks
season, beginning June 5 and starring
Jane Wyatt, Keenan Wynn, Blanche
Yerka, Hurd Hatfield, Carol Stone,
Elizabeth Fraser. Play will be pro-

40

NEWS NOTES

duced by Robert McCahon and di-
rected by Paul Guilfoyle.

•Since the poetic sequence, Two
Poems of Hollywood, by John Mot-
ley appeared in the May issue of THE
SCREEN WRITER, many inquiries
have been made concerning the iden-
tity of the poet. His real name is
Bernard C. Schoenfeld, member of
THE SCREEN WRITER Edito-
rial Committee.

•SWG member Roland Kibbee's
article, Stop Me If You Wrote This
Before, published in the May issue of
THE SCREEN WRITER, and il-
lustrated by Samuel Fuller, has been
widely quoted in the national press
and on the radio. Since Kibbee is one
of Hollywood's outstanding screen
writers, with a distinguished record
of credits in the motion picture busi-
ness, his article has been quoted as an
illustration of the fact that the indus-
try is not always pompous and solemn
in talking about itself.

•Current serial in SEPost at this
writing is Too Late for Tears, by
SWG member Roy Huggins ; current
serial in Collier's at this writing is
Flight From Fear, by SWG member
Ketti Frings.

•For more than a quarter of a
century under the owner-editorship
of Rob Wagner, Script, our neighbor
in Beverly Hills is now owned and
published by a new management. The
editor is James Felton, who had ear-
lier been on the staff of the Los Ange-
les Daily News and a Time-Life-
Fortune writer.

•Noel Meadow, a contributor to
The SCREEN WRITER, and B. L.
Garner, who head Vog Film Co.,
have acquired three new French-lan-
guage films, which they are presently
editing for American presentation,
prior to their New York premiere

shortly. Photoplays are: "Francis The
First," a frankly escapist costume
story reminiscent of Mark Twain's
"A Connecticut Yankee In King Ar-
thur's Court," starring Fernandel;
"The Woman I Loved Most," with
Arletty, currently in "Les Enfants
Du Paradis" and Noel-Noel, star of
"A Cage of Nightingales" ; and "One
Of The Legion," also with Fernan-
del. Messrs. Meadow and Garner
were recently represented with "Lu-
crezia Borgia" and Pushkin's, "The
Postmaster's Daughter," with Harry
Baur. Incidentally, "Borgia" is hav-
ing its West Coast premiere at the
Sunset Theatre, in L.A., to be fol-
lowed by the Larkin in S.F.

•China Film Enterprises of Amer-
ica, Inc., 35 Park Ave., New York
16, N. Y., announces as its object the
showing of more and better pictures
of China in America and to make
good American and foreign films
available to Chinese audiences. It of-
fers writers, directors, producers and
distributors a complete consultation
service concerning pictures touching
in any way on China or the Chinese
people.

•Milton Krims, acting chairman
of the SWG Special Program Com-
mittee, has announced a meeting with
leading writers, directors and produc-
ers in the industry for discussion of
the question: How can the screen
writer find out how pictures are
made ? The date : June 5 ; place, the
Walnut Room at Lucey's. The fol-
lowing have been invited to partici-
pate in a round table discussion and
to answer questions : Dudley Nichols,
Frank Capra, Joe Sistrom, Dore
Schary, Joseph Mankiewicz, Billy
Wilder, Adrian Scott, Nunnally
Johnson, Robert Riskin, Walter Mac-
Ewen, John Huston, Ernst Lubitsch,
Vincent Sherman, Charles Brackett,
Mark Hellinger.

•The Industry Film Committee,
organized to produce a good public
relations film for the industry, had
its third meeting May 19. Personnel
of committee follows : N. Peter Rath-
von, chairman and producer repre-
sentative; Jack L. Warner, Donald
Nelson and I. E. Chadwick, also rep-
resenting the MPAA; Jean Hersholt,
representing the Academy; Lester
Cole and F. Hugh Herbert, repre-
senting the Screen Writers' Guild
Delmer Daves and Billy Wilder, rep-
resenting the Screen Directors' Guild
Warner Anderson and Leon Ames
representing the Screen Actors' Guild
The May 19 meeting included ex-
hibitor representatives.

•The People's Educational Center
series of film showings, Realism in the
American Film, concludes with the
following showings : June 6th, A Man
To Remember; June 1 3th, Of Mice
and Men; June 20th, Native Land.
All showings are at 8 : 15 at the Screen
Cartoonists Hall.

•Helen Colton, wife of SWG
member Martin Field, has been ap-
pointed west coast representative of
Writers Newsletter, which goes only
to publishers, editors, agents, and pro-
fessional writers. Writers can phone
her with news of their sales to maga-
zines, publishers, screen, stage, and
radio at GRanite 4327.

HOUSING NOTE

Many members of the Screen
Writers' Guild, including a num-
ber of veterans, are in desperate
need of housing. Any members of
SWG or any readers of THE
SCREEN WRITER who know
of available housing space are asked
to get in touch with the Guild
office, HOllywood 3601.

T

41

ED ON F

Cu«*eNT

1 w

, . r RED 1 TS

EARNED ON FEATURE PRODUCTIONS
OF

and

CREDITS

"fCENr

*eie

*sE

APRIL 1, 1947 TO MAY 1, 1947

B

DWIGHT V. BABCOCK

Joint Screenplay (with Karen DeWolf ) BURY

ME DEAD (Eagle-Lion) PRC
EDWARD BERNDS

Sole Screenplay PARDON MY TERROR

(S)

Sole Screenplay MEET MR. MISCHIEF

(S)

Sole Screenplay HOT HEIR, Col (S)

Sole Screenplay SQUAREHEADS OF

ROUND TABLE, Col (S)
EDWARD BOCK

Sole Screenplay and Joint Adaptation (with

Raymond L. Schrock) KEY WITNESS, Col
ALLEN BORETZ

(with Howard
COPACABANA

Col

Col

THE

Harris and
(David L.

(with I. A. L. Diamond)

SON OF

Joint Screenplay

Laszlo Vadnay)

Hersh) UA

Joint Screenplay

TWO GUYS FROM TEXAS, WB
MALCOLM STUART BOYLAN

Sole Original Screenplay THE

RUSTY, Col
HOUSTON BRANCH

Story Basis WILD HARVEST, Par
LOU BRESLOW

Joint Screenplay (with George Wells) McR-

TON OF THE MOVIES, MGM
PETER R. BROOKE

Joint Screenplay (with Don Cameron) MID-
NIGHT SERENADE, Par (S)
HAROLD BUCHMAN

Joint Screenplay (with Charles Kaufman)

CYNTHIA, MGM

DON CAMERON

Sole Original Screenplay SMOOTH SAILING,
Par (S)

Joint Screenplay (with Peter R. Brooke)
MIDNIGHT SERENADE, Par (S)

VERA CASPARY

Story Basis and Joint Screenplay (with Wal-
ter Bullock and Edward Eliscu) OUT OF
THE BLUE (Eagle-Lion) PRC

J. BENTON CHENEY

Sole Original Screenplay VALLEY OF FEAR,
Mono

Joint Screenplay (with Bennett R. Cohen
and Ande Lamb) HOPPY'S HOLIDAY (Hop-
along Cassidy) UA

LEWIS CLAY

Joint Screenplay (with Arthur Hoerl and
George Plympton) THE VIGILANTE (Esskay)
Col

Joint Screenplay (with Royal K. Cole, Ar-
thur Hoerl and Leslie Swabacker) JACK
ARMSTRONG (Esskay) Col

LESTER COLE

Sole Screenplay THE NIGHT RAIDERS. MGM
HAL COLLINS

Joint Original Screenplay (with Arthur Drei-

fuss) HIGH SCHOOL HERO

(Banner Prod.) Mono

Sole Original Screenplay FREDDIE STEPS

OUT (Banner Prod.) Mono

Sole Original Screenplay VACATION DAYS,

Mono

Sole Screenplay SARGE GOES TO COLLEGE,

Mono
BETTY COMDEN

Joint Screenplay (with Adolph Green) GOOD

NEWS, MGM
MARC CONNELLY

Joint Play Basis (with George S. Kaufman)

MERTON OF THE MOVIES, MGM
MYLES CONNOLLY

Sole Screenplay THE UNFINISHED DANCE,

MGM

D

MIRACLE ON 34th

VALENTINE DAVIES

Sole Original Story
STREET, Fox

ALBERT DEMOND

Sole Original Screenplay THE WILD FRON-
TIER, Rep
*Contributor to Dialogue BLACKMAIL, Rep

KAREN DeWOLF

Joint Screenplay (with Dwight V. Babcock)
BURY ME DEAD (Eagle Lion) PRC

I. A. L. DIAMOND

Joint Screenplay (with Allen Boretz) TWO
GUYS FROM TEXAS, WB

ARTHUR DREIFUSS

Joint Original Screenplay (with
Wright) LITTLE MISS BROADWAY
Pic.) Col

Betty
(Kay

EDWARD ELISCU

Joint Screenplay (with Walter Bullock and
Vera Caspary) OUT OF THE BLUE (Eagle-
Lion) PRC

SIDNEY FIELDS

*Joint Additional Dialogue (with Edwin Gil-
bert) MY WILD IRISH ROSE, WB

STEVE FISHER

Joint Original Screenplay (with Bradley
King) THAT'S MY MAN, Rep

ALAN FRIEDMAN

Story Basis KILLER DILL (Screen Art)
Screen Guild

GERALD GERAGHTY

Sole Original Story ON THE OLD SPANISH

TRAIL, Rep
EDWIN GILBERT

*Joint Additional Dialogue (with Sidney

Fields) MY WILD IRISH ROSE, WB
FRANCES GOODRICH

Joint Screenplay (with Albert Hackett) THE

PIRATE, MGM
WILLIAM H. GRAFFIS

Joint Story Basis (with Robert E. Kent)

DICK TRACY VS. THE GRUESOME GANG,

RKO
ADOLPH GREEN

Joint Screenplay (with Betty Comden)

GOOD NEWS, MGM

H

ALBERT HACKETT

Joint Screenplay (with Frances Goodrich)
THE PIRATE, MGM

HOWARD HARRIS

Joint Screenplay (with Laszlo Vadnay and
Alan Boretz) COPACABANA (David L.
Hersh) UA

L ILL IE HAYWARD

Sole Original Screenplay BANJO, RKO

JACK HENLEY

Joint Screenplay (with Arthur Marx)
BLONDIE IN THE DOUGH, Col

CARL K. HITTLEMAN

Joint Original Screenplay (with Don Martin)
THE HAT BOX MYSTERY (Screen Art)
Screen Guild

ARTHUR HOERL

Joint Screenplay (with Lewis Clay, Royal K.
Cole and Leslie Swabacker) JACK ARM-
STRONG (Esskay) Col

Joint Screenplay (with Lewis Clay and
George Plympton) THE VIGILANTE, (Ess-
kay) Col

EDWARD HUEBSCH

Sole Screenplay SPORT OF KINGS, Col

DICK IRVING HYLAND

Sole Screenplay and Joint Original Story
(with Lee Wainer) KILROY WAS HERE,
Mono

RIAN JAMES

Joint Screenplay (with Leonard Lee) WHIS-
PERING CITY (Quebec Prods.)

'•'Academy Bulletin Only

'Academy Bulletin Only

In this listing of credits, published every other month in THE SCREEN WRITER, the following abbreviations are used:
COL — Columbia Pictures Corporation; E-L — Eagle-Lion Studios; FOX — 20th Century-Fox Film Corporation; GOLDWYN —
Samuel Goldwyn Productions, Inc.; MGM — Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios; MONO — Monogram Pictures Corporation; PAR
— Paramount Pictures, Inc.; PRC — Producers Releasing Corporation of America; REP — Republic Productions, Inc.; RKO —
RKO Radio Studios, Inc.; ROACH — Hal E. Roach Studio, Inc.; UA — United Artists Corporation; UNI-INT'L — Universal-
International Pictures; UWP — United World Pictures; WB — Warner Brothers Studios. (S) designates screen short.

42

SCREEN CREDITS

K

MACKINLAY KANTOR

Novel Basis THE NIGHT RAIDERS, MGM
CHARLES KAUFMAN

Joint Screenplay (with Harold Buchman)

CYNTHIA, MGM
GINA KAUS

Joint Additional Dialogue (with Hugh

Kemp) WHISPERING CITY (Quebec Prods.)
ROBERT E. KENT

Joint Story Basis (with William H. Graffis)

DICK TRACY VS. THE GRUESOME GANG,

RKO
BRADLEY KING

Joint Original Screenplay (with Steve Fisher)

THAT'S MY MAN, Rep
CECILE KRAMER

Joint Original Story (with Ellen Corby)

HOPPY'S HOLIDAY (Hopalong Cassidy) UA

ANDE LAMB

Sole Original Screenplay UNEXPECTED
GUEST (Hopalong Cassidy) UA
Joirjt Screenplay (with J. Benton Cheney
and Bennett R. Cohen) HOPPY'S HOLIDAY
(Hopalong Cassidy) UA

CONNIE LEE

Sole Original Screenplay BLONDIE'S HOLI-
DAY, Col

LEONARD LEE

Joint Screenplay (with Rian James) WHIS-
PERING CITY (Quebec Prods.)

Mc

ROBERT F. McGOWAN

Sole Original Story CURLEY, Roach

M

PHILIP MacDONALD

Sole Screenplay LOVE FROM A STRANGER

(Eagle-Lion) PRC
AL MARTIN

Character Basis THE SON OF RUSTY, Col
DON MARTIN

Joint Original Screenplay (with Carl K. Hit-

tleman) THE HAT BOX MYSTERY (Screen

Art) Screen Guild
ARTHUR MARX

Joint Screenplay (with Jack Henley) and

Sole Original Story BLONDIE IN THE

DOUGH, Col
JOHN MONKS, JR.

Sole Screenplay WILD HARVEST, Par
FRED MYTON

Sole Original Screenplay PRAIRIE BADMEN,

PRC

N

SLOAN NIBLEY

Sole Screenplay ON THE OLD SPANISH
TRAIL, Rep

JOHN O'DEA

Sole Screenplay KILLER DILL (Screen Art)
Screen Guild

GEORGE PLYMPTON

Joint Screenplay (with Lewis Clay and Ar-
thur Hoerl THE VIGILANTE (Esskay) Col
Sole Adaptation JACK ARMSTRONG, (Ess-
kay) Col

0

LOUIS QUINN

Additional Dialogue KILROY WAS HERE,
Mono

IRVING RAVETCH

Joint Screenplay (with Gregory LaCava)
LIVING IN A BIG WAY, MGM
EDWARD EARL REPP

Sole Original Screenplay THE STRANGER
FROM PONCA CITY, Col
Sole Original Screenplay PRAIRIE RAIDERS,
Col
TIM RYAN

Joint Screenplay (with Edmond Seward)
and Joint Original Story (with Edmond Sew-
ard and George S. Cappy) SCAREHEADS,
Mono

RAYMOND SCHROCK

Joint Adaptation (with Edward Bock) KEY

WITNESS, Col
GEORGE SEATON

Sole Screenplay MIRACLE ON 34TH STREET,

Fox
BARRY SHIPMAN

Sole Original Screenplay RIDERS OF THE

LONE STAR, Col
LESLIE SWABACKER

Joint Screenplay (with Lewis Clay, Royal K.

Cole and Arthur Hoerl) JACK ARMSTRONG

(Esskay) Col

ERIC TAYLOR

Joint Screenplay (with Robertson White)
DICK TRACY VS. THE GRUESOME GANG,
RKO

LASZLO VADNAY

Joint Screenplay (with Allen Boretz and
Howard Harris) COPACABANA (David L.
Hersh) UA

w

GEORGE WELLS

Joint Screenplay (with Lou Breslow) MER-
TON OF THE MOVIES, MGM

ORSON WELLES

Sole Screenplay THE LADY FROM SHANG-
HAI, Col

ROBERTSON WHITE

Joint Screenplay (with Eric Taylor) DICK
TRACY VS. THE GRUESOME GANG, RKO

J. DONALD WILSON

Sole Original Story KEY WITNESS, Col

GEORGE ZUCKERMAN

Joint Story Basis (with Paul Lennox) WHIS-
PERING CITY, (Quebec Productions)

Participation Pay*Off

The greatest participating deal ever made by a writer for motion pictures was consummated
by Thomas Dixon, author of The Clansman.

Dixon had lunch with D. W. Griffith in New York in 1913 and in consideration for the motion
picture rights to his novel the author received $5,000 cash and TWENTY-FIVE PER CENT OF
THE GROSS of the picture.

The picture was The Birth of a Nation and it grossed more than $15,000,000.
Years later Dixon told Frank Woods, former secretary of the Academy, that he was ashamed
to look a royalty check in the face.

43

NEXT MONTH AND THEREAFTER

JEAN RENOIR
EUGEN SHARIN
ORSON WELLES
MICHAEL BALCON
ROY HUGGINS
LESTER KOENIG
WILLIAM ORNSTEIN
HERBERT CLYDE LEWIS
F. HUGH HERBERT
HARRY BERNSTEIN
MORRIS COHN
NOEL MEADOW
DAVID MOSS

Chaplin and His Art

Disunion in Vienna

The Bob Meltzer I knew

Letter From London

Writers & Publishers

Gregg Toland : The Man and His Work

Can't Scare the Movies

Writers Who Paint

Bindle Biog

Reading For the Movies

What Is a License of Literary Property

French Cinema in the U. S.
New Blood, or the Arteries Seem to Be Frozen

Also : Story Editors Look at Writers ; and further articles by LOUIS ADAMIC, SYD-
NEY BOX, HUGO BUTLER, I. A. L. DIAMOND, EARL FELTON, MARTIN
FIELD, SHERIDAN GIBNEY, ARTHUR KOBER, FRANK LAUNDER, STEPHEN
LONGSTREET, ST. CLAIR McKELWAY, IRVING PICHEL, EMERIC PRESS-
BURGER, GEORGE SEATON, ARTHUR STRAWN, DALTON TRUMBO, PETER
VIERTEL, JOSEPH WECHSBERG, and others.

Special Announcement

Inquiries have been made of the Editorial Committee regarding the recent "grand tour"
of motion picture studios by Eric Johnston, chief of the producers' association. During these
appearances, Mr. Johnston issued a body of new directives affecting the content of coming
features. In not all cases, however, were his directions accepted without protest.

The Editorial Committee has appointed a special sub-committee to collate material on
this development in the industry, and a definitive "round-up" article is in preparation.

The Editor

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44

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lit

reparation

The SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD

Official

SCREEN CREDIT ANNUAL

THE FIRST COMPLETE AND AUTHORITATIVE LISTING OF CREDITS
EARNED BY PROFESSIONAL SCREEN WRITERS ON ALL MOTION PIC-
TURE RELEASES, INCLUDING SHORTS AND EDUCATIONAL FILMS.

• The volume will include the
entire text of the SWG CRED-
IT MANUAL issued for the
guidance of writers and con-
taining the following data:
What to do When Assigned
to a Story Collaboration.
The Machinery of Credit
Arbitra-tion.

Rules for determining
Credit.

Procedure of the Credit Ar-
bitration Committee.

9 A section of the OFFICIAL
SCREEN CREDIT ANNUAL
will be devoted to the history

of screen credit determination
with articles by noted screen
writers and authorities in the
field. Also the text of Schedule
"A" of the Minimum Basic
Agreement between the Guild
and the various film producing
companies which authorizes
the SWG as the final arbiter
of writing credits.

A section will be devoted to
instructions for copyrighting
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This edition of the OFFICIAL SCREEN CREDIT ANNUAL, bound in
cloth and of convenient desk-size format, will be limited to several thousand
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ANNUAL will be $2 postpaid.

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The

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iTT • is now on sale at the follow-

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I

The

ZJne +jrreedom of lite ^c

creen

A Report of Activity and an Analysis of Trends Aftecfe-

ing Motion Pictures as a Free Medium of Artistic,
Expression, By ARCHER WINSTEN, BOSLEY^
CROWTHER, DORE SCHARY, ELIA KAZAN,
MARTIN FIELD, VLADIMIR POZNER, MORRIS
E. COHN, BERNARD C. SCHOENFELD and Others.

SPECIAL SECTION— Page 8

JEAN RENOIR: Chaplin Among the Immortals
MEYER LEVIN: Writing and Realization
SHERIDAN GIBNEY: The Future of Screen Writing
HARRY BERNSTEIN: Reading For the Movies
RAYMOND CHANDLER: Critical Notes
STEPHEN LONGSTREET: Hollyxvood Eye Test

Announcing

THE ROBERT MELTZER AWARD

Vol. 3, No. 2

^^L

July, 1947

Book Review by Emmet La very
Report and Comment: The
Wailing Wall at Lucey's by G.K.
&. How Are Pictures Made, by
R. S. • Writer Employment
Symposium, by David Moss,
Fi n 1 ay M c D e r m i d , Will i a m
Nutt and Richard Sokolbve >

Notes

Screen

©CI

B 87242

<rRgbert e^fleltzer was a good deal more than a talented writer, ^ie
"was a good deal more than talented, and a good deal more than a writer.
If he'd lived I think he would have been an important "writer, before he died
he "was already an important human being.

^is was a disciplined intelligence, a mind wholly free, informed "with a
focused curiosity, and anchored to a big, warm sympathy.

Cohere had better be more of his sort, if our literature is to survive, and
if the democratic cause is still to be defended.

— Orson 'Welles

The Robert Meltzer Award

WITH this announcement, The Screen Writers' Guild institutes an
annual award for the writing of that American feature film which,
in addition to its value as entertainment most effectively contributes
to a better understanding of the problems of our times.

•

The award shall be in memory of Robert Meltzer, David Silverstein,
Frederick Faust, Edward de Melcher and Arch Heath, members of the SWG
who gave their lives in the Second World War.

The Robert Meltzer Award shall be given all writers credited with work
on the film so honored, including the authors of the original work if the film
is adapted from a play, novel, story or other written source.

•

THE RULES: During the first week of January, 1948, and every year
thereafter, the entire list of films released during the preceding year shall be
sent to all active members of The Screen Writers' Guild. Each member will
select not more than six films which he wishes to place in nomination. These
nominations must be in the office of the Guild by midnight of January 20.
Upon tabulation, the six films receiving the greatest number of votes will be
announced and thereafter arrangements will be made for general membership
viewing. ,

Voting for the film to receive The Robert Meltzer Award will begin
immediately thereafter by mail. Balloting will continue for ten days. The
award will be made at an annual dinner to be held soon thereafter.

The Screen Writers Guild has authorized the sum of $1,500 annually to
comprise the award and the cost of the undertaking.

The Robert Meltzer Award Committee
Melville Baker
Lester Cole
Maurice Rapf

Two Letters

From

London

MICHAEL BALCON, noted
figure in the British motion pic-
ture industry and production
head of the Ealing Studios, com-
ments here on the article by
Herbert Margolis published in
the April issue of THE SCREEN
WRITER on the UNESCO film
student exchange plan.

ALTHOUGH Britain today is
**■ making films of an international
quality, I am ashamed to say as an
Englishman that we are much behind
some other countries in fostering an
interest and technical education in
films. It is for this reason that I wel-
come warmly the plan for the inter-
national exchange of students.

I am afraid that it is only in recent
years that Government departments
and educational bodies, to say nothing
of the churches, have come to appre-
ciate in our country the sociological
significance of the cinema, but the
tardiness has been compensated by the
enthusiasm of the convert ; it seems to
me, therefore, that this excellent sug-
gestion should receive not only the
whole-hearted support of the British
film industry but also of other bodies
which could help to make it a success
here.

I read with real envy of four thou-
sand students in America taking film
courses at major universities and col-
leges throughout the country. We,
alas, are only on the threshold of
sponsoring such things, although I
know that all our own universities
have groups of students whose inten-
tion it is to take up technical work in
films as a career.

I myself and the technicians who
work with me at Ealing Studios have
spent a lot of time, particularly in the
last four or five years, lecturing on
various aspects of film making to
groups of students all over the coun-
try and it is heartening indeed to
think that these enthusiasts may now
be presented with real opportunities
for studying not only in their own
(Continued on Page 36)

The

Screen Writer

/

Vol

3^No.

/

JULY, 1947

Gordon Kahn, Editor

Robert Shaw, Director of

Publications

Art Arthur

Martin Field

Harris Gable

Richard G. Hubler

EDITORIAL COMMITTEE

Lester Koenig

Isobel Lennart

Herbert Clyde Lewis

Ranald MacDoucall

Bernard C. Schoenfeld

Theodore Strauss

CONTENTS

Robert Meltzer Award Announcement Inside Front Cover

MICHAEL BALCON: Letter From London This Page

STEPHEN LONGSTREET: Hollywood Eye Test Next Page

JEAN RENOIR: Chaplin Among the Immortals 1

MEYER LEVIN : Writing and Realization 4

FREEDOM OF THE SCREEN: Special Section 8

Foreword 8

MARTIN FIELD: Short History of Film Censorship 9

Mr. Eric Johnston's Studio Tour 12

VLADIMIR POZNER: What of Foreign Market? 14

Symposium on a Question Asked 16

MORRIS E. COHN: Memo to J. Parnell Thomas 17

BERNARD C. SCHOENFELD : A Summing Up 19

SHERIDAN GIBNEY: The Future of Screen Writing 22

HARRY BERNSTEIN: Reading for the Movies 24

Editorial 28

RAYMOND CHANDLER: Critical Notes 31

Special Program Committee Seminar 32

The Wailing Wall at Lucey's, by G. K. 33

SWG Bulletin 34

Correspondence 35

EMMET LA VERY: A Review of George Middleton's Autobiography 38

DAVID R. MOSS, FINLAY McDERMID, WILLIAM NUTT

& RICHARD SOKOLOVE: Opinions on Writer Employment 39

Nevis Notes 40

Screen Credits 42

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ALL SIGNED ARTICLES IN THE SCREEN WRITER REPRESENT THE
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UPON BY THE EXECUTIVE BOARD.

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C B

T N O E

E O P C Y

F V T C E L B

KFOLTI EOV

6C*flfN p i *. y tf

Chaplin Among the Immortals

JEAN RENOIR

JEAN RENOIR, a member of SWG,
is the internationally noted motion pic-
ture writer and director. Son of the
French painter, Pierre Auguste Renoir,
he was a journalist in France before
turning to films and making a new
chapter in screen history.

"Man is interested in only one thing: man."

— Pascal

LAST night, I had a strange dream. I was sitting
at my diningroom table carving a leg-of-mutton.
I went at it in the French manner, which is to
slice it in length. In that way, you get a great variety of
cuts. Those who like it well done are served first. You
wait till you get closer to the bone, for those who prefer
it rarer. My guests had been lost in a sort of fog, but
as I asked each one how he liked his meat, they sud-
denly came into a very sharp focus, and I recognized
them as people I admire and like. The couples of The
Best Years of Our Lives were right there at my table,
smiling amiably at me. I served them, and they ate with
robust appetite. Next to them were the priest and the
pregnant woman of Open City, a bit more reserved but
no less cordial. At the end of the table, the loving pair
of Brief Encounter were holding hands. This abandon
was proof that they felt themselves among friends, and
I was gratified by it. As I was about to proceed to the
beautiful courtesan of Children of Paradise, the door-
bell rang.

I went to open the door and found myself facing a
gentleman of distinguished appearance. Offhand, he
reminded me vaguely of someone I knew well, a little
old tramp who had made the whole world laugh. But
I quickly understood that the resemblance was merely
physical. Even under the rich fur coat of a goldmine
owner, the other one had remained a bit of a gutter-
snipe. It was obvious that he would never completely
get rid of his lowdown ways. Whereas this one, on the
other hand, was most certainly the scion of a "good
family." His parents had taught him proper table man-
ners, and when and how to kiss a lady's hand. He had

breeding. And all of his person gave off that impression
of suppressed passions, of hidden secrets, which is the
earmark of the bourgeoisie in our old Western civiliza-
tions.

I introduced myself. With exquisite politeness which
bespoke his old provincial background and his prep-
school education, he told me his name was Verdoux.
Then he placed his hat and cane on a chair, flicked a
speck of dust from his jacket, adjusted his cuffs, and
headed for the diningroom. Immediately, the others
edged closer together to make room for him. They
seemed happy to see him. Obviously, they were all
members of the same social world.

After dinner, we went outdoors. But word of the
presence of my famous guests had spread, and the street
was crowded with people. When we walked down the
porch steps, the public enthusiasm burst out. Everyone
wanted to shake their hands, there was a terrific crush,
the autograph-seekers were at work. Suddenly, a very
dry lady, wearing an aggressive little hat, recognized
Monsieur Verdoux and pointed a finger at him. And,
strangely, the enthusiasm turned into fury. They rushed
at him, raising their fists. I tried to understand, and
kept asking the same question over and over again:
"What did he do? What did he do? . . ." But I could
not hear the answers, for everyone was speaking at
once and the caning the poor man was taking made a
deafening racket. So deafening, in fact, that I awoke
with a start and had to close my window, which a
sudden stormy wind was violently banging back and
forth.

I DON'T believe that the people who attacked Chaplin
so sharply over his latest film did so for personal or
political reasons. In America we haven't yet reached

THE SCREEN WRITER

that stage. I think rather that the trouble is their panic
terror before total change, before a particularly long
step forward in the evolution of an artist.

This is not the first time 6uch a thing has happened,
nor will it be the last. Moliere was a victim of the
same kind of misunderstanding. And the Hollywood
commentators who have been unable to recognize the
qualities of Monsieur Verdoux are in very good com-
pany, indeed. Moliere's detractors had names no less
important than La Bruyere, Fenelon, Vauvenargues,
Sherer. They said he wrote badly. They criticized him
for his barbarism, his jargon, his artificial phrasing, his
improper usage, his incorrect wording, his mountains
of metaphors, his boring repetitions, his inorganic style.
"Moliere," said Sherer, "is as bad a writer as one can
be."

This animosity on the part of certain self-appointed
intellectuals is not the only point of resemblance
between the careers of Moliere and Chaplin.

TN his early stages, the former achieved great success
■*■ by simply following the traditions of the Italian
Comedy. His characters bore the familiar names and
costumes, their predicaments were those to which the
public was accustomed. Only, beneath Sganarelle's
makeup and behind Scapin's somersaults, the author
injected a rarer element, a little human truth. But on
the surface, there was not too much of an apparent
change. When the action slowed down, a solid laying-on
with a stick was always good for a laugh. The senti-
mental side was taken care of with formulae no dif-
ferent, except for the author's masterful touch, from
those used elsewhere in the same period : a noble young
gentleman falls in love with a scullerymaid and his
family will have none of her. But, in the end, it all
works out. It is revealed that the ingenue was really a
well-born maiden who, as a baby, had been carried off
by pirates.

Chaplin, to begin with, simply followed the tradi-
tions of the then most popular form in the world,
English farce. His feet foul him up on the stairs and his
hands get entangled in flypaper. The sentimental side in
his films is represented by babies left on doorsteps,
streetgirls mistreated by life, or other carryovers from
the good old mellers. In spite of that, he never falls
into the worst vulgarity of our time, phony bathetic
goodness. And beneath his character's flour-face, as
well as behind the fake beards of his companions, we
rapidly discern real men of flesh and blood. As he
grows, like Moliere, he introduces into the conven-
tional framework, which he has made his very own
through the vigor of his talent, the elements of a
sharper and sharper observation of humanity, of a more
and more bitter social satire. Nevertheless, since the

appearances remain the same, no one is shocked, no
one protests.

One day, Moliere decided to give up the form which
had brought him his success, and he wrote The School
for Wives. Accusations were heaped upon him. He was
called a mountebank. People became irritated with him
because he was director, actor and writer all at the
same time.

One day, Chaplin wrote Monsieur Verdoux. He
turned his back on the outward forms to which he had
accustomed his public. There was a great hue and cry
of indignation, he was dragged through the mud.

After The School for Wives, instead of giving in,
Moliere went on hitting harder and harder. His next
play was Tartuffe, which impaled phony religion and
bigotry.

What will Chaplin's next film be?

;j THINK it is unnecessary to explain why I like the
*■ Chaplin of the old school, since everyone seems to
share that taste. It is even probable that some of the
attackers of his present film must have written glowing
tributes to The Gold Rush or The Kid. I would like,
however, to present a few of the reasons which, to me,
made the showing of Monsieur Verdoux a pure delight.

Like everybody else, I have my own ideas about what
is conventionally called Art. I firmly believe that since
the end of the period in which the great cathedrals were
built, since the all-pervading faith which was to bring
forth our modern world is no longer present to give
artists the strength to lose themselves in an immense
paean to the glory of God, there can be quality to
human expression only if it is individual. Even in cases
of collaboration, the work is valuable only insofar as
the personality of each of the authors remains percep-
tible to the audience. Now, in this film, that presence
is, to me, as clear as that of a painter in his canvas or
of a composer in his symphony.

Moreover, every man matures, his knowledge of life
increases, and his creations must develop at the same
time he does. If we do not admit these truths in our
profession, we might as well admit right now that it is
an industry no different than the rest, and that we
make films like efficiency experts supervise the produc-
tion of iceboxes or shaving cream. And let's stop priding
ourselves on being artists, and claiming that we're
carrying forward the grand old traditions.

It is agreed, some will say, that Chaplin has created
a highly personal work, and we admit that he has
undergone a natural artistic transformation. We only
feel that he has done all this in a wrong direction. And
they add that the greatest crime of Monsieur Verdoux
was the killing-off of the beloved little vagabond who
had been such a charmer. His creator should not only

CHAPLIN AMONG THE IMMORTALS

have kept him alive but depended on him in his search
for a new form of expression. I cannot share this
opinion.

In giving up the rundown shoes, the old derby hat
and willowy cane of the raggedy little guy whose
pathetic hangdog look used to melt our hearts, Chaplin
has gone deliberately into a world that is more danger-
ous, because it is closer to the one we live in. His new
character, with neatly-pressed trousers, impeccably-
knotted tie, well-dressed and no longer able to appeal
to our pity, does not belong in those good old situations,
outlined in strong broad strokes, where the rich trample
the poor in so obvious a manner that even the most
childish audience can immediately grasp the moral of
the story. Before, we could imagine that the adventures
of the little tramp took place in some world that
belonged exclusively to the movies, that they were a
sort of fairy tale.

With Monsieur VerdouxJ such misapprehension is
no longer possible. This one really takes place in our
time, and the problems faced on the screen are really
our own. By thus giving up a formula which afforded
him full security, and undertaking squarely the critique
of the society in which he himself lives, a dangerous
job if ever there was one, the author raises our craft to
the level of the great classical expressions of the human
mind, and strengthens our hope of being able to look
upon it more and more as an art.

ET me add a purely personal note here: Having
■*— ' given up the powerful weapon which was the
defenselessness of his old character, Chaplin had to
look for another to be used by his latest creation. The
weapon he chose is one that appeals particularly to the
Frenchman in me, steeped as he is in the 18th Century:
paradoxical logic.

I understand perfectly the misgivings of certain con-
formist minds before this method which seems to belong
to a bygone aristocratic era. I hope they will forgive a
devoted reader of the works of Diderot, Voltaire and
Beaumarchais for the pleasure he found in Monsieur
Verdoux.

Moreover, even when it is not thus spiced with
paradoxical logic, genius often has something shocking
about it, something subversive, some of the character-
istics of a Cassandra. That is because it has better vision
than ordinary mortals, and the commonsensical truths
that it sees still strike the rest of us as something akin
to madness.

Another reason for liking Monsieur Verdoux: I
love to be amused at the movies, and this film made me
laugh until my tears flowed like wine.

I believe I see growing up about me a certain taste
for collective accomplishments, the anonymousness of
which is a tribute to the adoration of new deities. Let
me mention at random some of these false idols : public
opinion polls, organization, technics. These are but the
saints of a dangerous god that some are trying to sub-
stitute for the God of our childhood. This new divinity
is called Scientific Progress. Like any self-respecting
God, he tries to attract us with his miracles. For how
else can one describe electricity, anaesthesia or atomic
fission? But I am very leery of this newcomer. I am
afraid that, in exchange for the refrigerators and the
television sets that he will distribute so generously, he
may try to deprive us of a part of our spiritual
heritage.

In other times, every object was a work of art, in
that it was a reflection of the one who made it. The
humblest early American sideboard is the creation of
one given woodworker, and not of any other. This
personal touch was present in everything, in houses,
in clothes, in food.

When I was young, in my village in Burgundy,
when we drank a glass of wine, we could say: That
comes from the Terre a Pot vineyard up over the hill
behind the little pine wood, or from the Sarment Foun-
tain, or from some other specific spot. Some bottles left
on your tongue the silex taste of their vines, others were
like velvet and you knew they came from a lush green
valley with plenty of moisture. Closing your eyes, you
could see a certain greyish hill, with its twisted little
oaks and the imprints of the boars' feet which had been
found there last fall after the harvest. And later the
young girls bending under the weight of their baskets
full of luscious grapes. Especially, you recalled the
wrinkled face of the vintner who had devoted his life
to the culture of that difficult soil.

All the manifestations of life took on a profound
meaning, because men had left their mark upon them.
You felt that you were in the center of an immense
prayer sent heavenward by all of the workers, with
their plows, their hammers, their needles, or even simply
their brains. Today we live in a desert of anonymity.
The wines are blended. The nickel-plated tubing in my
bathroom, the hardwood of my floor, the fence around
my garden, all bring to mind for me only the uniform
purr of the machines that turned them out.

' I HERE are still a few places where we can seek a
■*■ refuge. A painter can still speak to us of himself in
his canvases, as a chef can in his culinary creations.
That is probably why we are ready to pay fortunes for
a good picture or for a good meal. And then there is
also this film craft of ours, which will remain one of
the great expressions of human personality if we are

THE SCREEN WRITER

able to retain our artisans' spirit, which fortunately is
still very much alive. That spirit is Chaplin's, down to
the tips of his toenails. One feels it in a certain decent
way he has of going into a scene, in the almost peasant-
like thriftiness of his sets, in his wariness of technique
for technique's sake, in his respect for the personalities
of actors, and in that internal richness which makes us
feel that each character just has too much to say.

Monsieur Verdoux will some day go into history
along with the creations of artists who have contributed

to the building of our civilization. He will have his
place alongside the pottery of Urbino and the paintings
of the French Impressionists, between a tale by Mark
Twain and a minuet by Lulli. And during that time,
the films which are so highly endowed with money,
with technique and with publicity, the ones that enchant
his detractors, will find their way God knows where,
let us say into oblivion, along with the expensive
mahogany chairs mass-produced in the beautiful nickel-
plated factories.

{Mr. Renoir wrote this article in French and. translated it into English with the assistance of

Mr. Harold Salemson.)

Writing and Realization

MEYER LEVIN

MEYER LEVIN, a member of SWG,
is a novelist, film critic and foreign
correspondent as well as a screen
•writer. His novels include The Old
Bunch and Citizens. He is now living
in New York.

IT takes only a few minutes to write a scene in
which a runaway boy wakes up on a high rocky
ledge in Palestine, to find himself surrounded by
sheep, with an Arab shepherd staring at him.

But when you go to make the scene, in precisely the
spot you had in mind when you wrote it, you discover
that the equipment-truck can only go within a few
hundred yards of the rocks because the driver does not
want to risk his vehicle on a plowed field. You help
lug the camera equipment the rest of the way. The
shepherd who was to be there at four o'clock with the
sheep is found in a meadow a mile away at four o'clock,
because he says his sheep could not feed on the rocks.
You push and goad the sheep but by the time they

reach the scene, the cameraman decides that the light
is on the hairline of departure. There may be time for
just one take. Then it is discovered that the sheep
simply will not stay on the rocky ledge long enough
for a take. They scramble away. Finally you make the
scene without the sheep.

But it isn't what you wrote. At night, worrying
about it, you suddenly realize that the scene was
wrongly written. It should have been goats. So the
next day you decide to try it with goats.

Although there are goatherds all over the mountain-
side, there are none within four miles of this particular
spot, on the day you want them. You go to Tiberius
and personally lift a sufficient number of goats onto

WRITING AND REALIZATION

the truck. You transport them. You help herd them
up the hill. And after a few dozen major and minor
crises, and hours of toil as a goatherd, Arab-pacifier,
reflector-holder, and assistant cameraboy, you get the
scene that was so easy to write.

The French have a word for it. They call it real-
ization.

The realization of Survivors, in Palestine, was a
six-month try to catch a dawn shot, scarcely an eve-
ning that wasn't spent desperately hunting for a char-
acter for tomorrow's scene, because the one who had
been cast had been called away by his Youth Group
for a "hike." Every word that was innocently typed
in the script, which was written in six weeks "from
scratch," later entailed laborious hours of realization.
And yet, as the writer, I could not permit myself to
feel that the final responsibility of realization could
rest entirely with someone else.

In a studio setup, it is simple for the writer to say
that what he wrote was beautiful, but that after the
script departed from his hands any number of people
mangled and butchered it far beyond recognition. While
this is usually true, there are surely times when every
writer in his soul smiles at the task he has given the
producers and directors, knowing that what he has so
easily written is most difficult to realize, and inwardly
glad that he does not have to take the responsibility for
putting it on the screen.

Conversely, and more often, the writer aches with
the apprehension that what he has written cannot
exactly and precisely be understood, through the words
themselves; he feels that any realizer, however talented,
is bound to get the atmosphere or the emphasis wrong,
and knows that the only true way to make films is for
the writer to be present throughout the shooting and
to have at least as much control as anyone else in the
realization.

Few writers ever get such an opportunity. But with
the increasing trend toward story-documentary tech-
nique, stimulated by the successful experiments pro-
duced during the war, these opportunities are increas-
ing. And when Herbert Kline and I set out to make
our Palestine film, it was agreed that this was to be
the method. I would assume equal production respon-
sibility, and have equal production authority, with him.
He would direct the film, but the realization had to
conform to the intention of the script.

A S it worked out in practice, Kline acted as my
*• *■ producer while I was writing the script, I acted
as his producer while he was directing the film.

It need not be imagined that this procedure is per-
fect, and that it always works harmoniously. Nor does

it mean that each takes responsibility for the merits
of the other's work. In the end, the writing stands on
its own, and the direction stands on its own. But
although the French often use the word realization in
the same way that we use the word direction, it
reflects only their over-emphasis on the role of the
director of films, for the realization in this type of film
is truly the work of both, and I believe that writers
may justifiably insist that it is part of their function
in all film-making to have such a share in realization.

As joint producers, we decided from the beginning
that in the case of severely disputed scenes, where we
could arrive at no agreement as to the method of film-
ing, we would film both versions, and decide which
to use when we saw what they looked like on the
screen. It became necessary to do this in only three
or four instances.

To the making of Survivors, I brought a continuing
interest in Palestine, that had begun with my first visit
to the country in 1925. I had also specialized, as a war
correspondent, in the story of the fate of the Jews of
Europe. The film, Kline and I agreed, was to show
what Palestine could do for the survivors.

Kline brought to the project his experience as a
story-docuirentary producer, being especially known for
The Forgotten Village. But each of us had worked in
the other's field, for he had collaborated on screenwrit-
ing assignments, while I had worked as a documentary
film director in OWL

Having agreed upon the theme of the story, there
followed a consideration of what had to go into the
story. During all my years of contact with Palestine, I
had collected "must" scenes for a film about the coun-
try. On every one of my four previous trips I had dis-
covered some view, or some activity, which I felt must
eventually go into the film. And I had, in fact, first
proposed the idea of a Palestine film to Kline in Spain
in 1937; we had never quite let the subject drop.

I knew, for instance, that the story must show what
life was like, in a Palestine farm collective; it must
include a horra — the settler's dance — and it must
include an aliyah — the going up to the site of a new
colony, which is collectively built in a single day. It
must include an illegal landing. It must include the
view of the wilderness of Judea and the Dead Sea from
Jerusalem- Jericho road. It must include the view of
the Emek from the Haifa road. It must of course
include the Sea of Galilee and the Jordan. It had to
contain a sequence that could be played on the campus
of the Hebrew University, with the awesome back-
ground of the Dead Sea on one side, and the spiritual
view of Jerusalem on the opposite side of Mount
Scopus.

The film-story would have to make an opportunity

THE SCREEN WRITER

for a sequence in the old city of Jerusalem; it would
have to make use of the complex traditions and emo-
tions that were attached to the sights of the Via
Dolorosa and of the dark lanes and huddled synagogues
of the old city; it would have to show the progressive
force and spirit of the new city, too.

And apart from all the physically obligatory scenes,
the places that had to be in the picture because of
their beauty, or their historic and spiritual connection,
there were the mandatory requirements of the life in
the country. Something of the cultural life had to be
shown, through the city of Tel Aviv — perhaps the
theatres or the symphony orchestra. Something of the
industrial life of the country had to come into the
story, either showing the manufacturing complex in
Haifa harbor, or perhaps the diamond industry of
Nathanyah, or the potash works of the Dead Sea.

And finally, the pioneering aspects of land reclama-
tion had to come into any story of Palestine, and for
this, the new drive toward settling the desert of the
Negev was the obvious answer.

Plainly, there were enough "must" items for the
construction of a full-length documentary film. If we
could hope to get them all in, we needed a story of
movement — a chase, or a search.

Usually, writers feel that the inclusion of obligatory
scenes hampers them. But sometimes one feels these
scenes as a challenge to invention. And since in this
case most of the requirements had originated with
myself, there could be no complaint.

IN the end, they were all solved, through the story
of a boy's search for his family. The central motif
of the story echoed in my mind from the story of every
survivor I had met in the liberated camps and on the
roads of Europe, during and immediately after the
war. The first and consuming quest of each was for
the remnants of his family. Indeed, I somewhat caught
their obssesion, and for many weeks almost dropped
my work as a journalist in order to collect lists of
survivors, with the names of the kin they hoped to
find, and spread these lists wherever they might be
useful.

One story emerged from the rest. It was the story
of a little boy in Buchenwald who refused to leave
the camp, when liberation came, because his father
had been at the camp with him, and his father, when
taken away on a work-party, had told the child "don't
go away from here — wait here for me until I come
back. Otherwise we will never find each other."

This became transmuted into the story of a child
whose father, when being taken away with the rest
of the family on a deportation train, told the child to

run and hide in the woods, "you will find us in Pales-
tine."

The child, then, arrives in Palestine with a group
landed illegally by the Hagana ; from the first moment,
he reveals his obsession that he will find his family
in Palestine. As the group is taken, by truck, to a set-
tlement in lower Galilee, it becomes possible, by fol-
lowing the truck, to disclose such views as Mount
Tabor in the pre-dawn, and the Sea of Galilee in dawn.

The life of a typical settlement is revealed as the
refugees begin to adjust themselves to their new home,
and as the children try to befriend the boy, David. But
he rebuffs them, and runs away in search of his own
family.

David trades an army jack-knife for a ride on an
Arab boy's donkey, and through their run-away episode
we see more details of the shores of Galilee, and the
life of the region. The relationship between David and
the Arab boy, and between the settlement and the
Arab boy's village, serves in a most natural way to
illustrate the typical workaday relationships on the
ground level, between Jews and Arabs.

The runaway episode is halted when the donkey
gives birth to a foal ; the boys are brought back home,
and David is given the foal. But as it cries for its
mother, he carries it back, wading across the Jordan,
which is between the Jewish settlement and the Arab
village. Later, it is decided at a meeting of the settle-
ment that David shall be sent to a children's village,
where he will be among other boys like himself, with
a chance for special care toward adjustment.

This time in the daylight, the truck passes on the
Haifa road, through the Emek, past oil refineries; it
stops in Haifa, where David learns that a ship of legal
immigrants is entering the port ; he hopes to find some-
one from his family on the ship.

After his further disappointment in the port, the
story progresses to the children's village; on the first
night he quarrels with the boys who insist he is an
orphan like all the rest of them, he has a fight, and
runs away again.

Through means of this flight, it is possible to show
glimpses of Arab shepherd life, and of Caesaria, and
finally of the new city of Tel Aviv. Here, he is led
to seek his family amongst the members of the Palestine
Philharmonic orchestra, for one of the violinists bears
David's family name, Halevi.

David interrupts a rehearsal, where a new Palestine
folk symphony is being performed. But the violinist
is not from David's country — Poland. However, some-
one knows of a Halevi from Poland, working at the
Dead Sea potash plant.

Again, the boy's journey leads through a section of
unforgettable Palestine landscape — this time as he

WRITING AND REALIZATION

rides a bus down the Jericho road. He passes through
the potash works, where Jews and Arabs labor side
by side, and finds Yehuda Halevi; the worker pretends
to be his uncle.

As the boy begins to find himself at home with the
Halevis, the life of the community is felt — the Sab-
bath by the Dead Sea, the visit to the neighboring
settlement, the chatter of Palestinian children about
their vast projects for electrifying and irrigating the
country.

BUT when David discovers that Halevi is not really
his uncle, he runs away for the last time — to find
the office in Jerusalem where, he has heard, there is
a record of all the families that have been found. On
his journey through the wilderness, he is helped by an
Arab merchant, who takes the boy to Jesusalem on his
camel-train. They enter by the Gate of St. Stephen.
The boy becomes lost in the maze of the old city, and
is helped by two priests who find him on the Via
Dolorosa. They take him to his own people in the
Jewish quarter. (Here, we deliberately avoided the
Wailing Wall.) The boy enters a synagogue, and from
there is directed to the new city.

With a troop of children masquerading for Purim,
he at last finds the "office where they have the names."
This Search Bureau for Missing Relatives is actually
housed under an ancient ruin, between the new and
old cities, and the long files of family- records, in the
catacombs, provide a perfect background for the
climactic moment when David discovers that his
family is dead.

In his collapse, he has a reversion to infancy. He is
taken to the Haddassah hospital on Mount Scopus, and
there his friends from the first settlement find him. In
his phase of infancy, he identifies the refugee woman
who has befriended him, and the leader of the settle-
ment Hagana, as "mama" and "papa."

This moment fuses the story of the child with the
story of the refugee woman, and her problem is revealed
in the following scene, which takes place on the campus
of the Hebrew University, adjacent to the hospital.

The story moves on to the establishment of a new
colony in the Negev by the refugees, together with a
Palestinian youth group. The child is brought to the
settlement.

In plowing, a stone is turned up, bearing an ancient
insciption, with the name Halevi. Through this inci-
dent, the boy is brought back to reality ; in this symbol,
he finds his family.

The course of this story provided the inclusion of
all the self-imposed obligatory scenes, and yet provided
this in such a way that every setting added to the
dramatic potential of the tale.

While it was the director's task to realize the scenes
in terms of acting, the finding of the precise locations,
and the enlistment of the people of each place for
authentic background usually fell to the writer. Partly,
this was due to my working knowledge of Hebrew, and
partly to my long familiarity with the country and
with Jewish customs. For though the film was made
with English-speaking participants, the work in the
entourage was usually conducted in Hebrew.

While all of Palestine was extremely excited by our
film project, and more than ready to cooperate, the
very intensity of interest sometimes caused difficulties.
For the smallest participant wanted to be sure that our
point-of-view was acceptable, and every scene was
scrupulously investigated. As the population is intelli-
gent and hyper-sensitive, this often led to delays and
to discussions and explanations which would seem try-
ingly protracted under ordinary circumstances. In
addition to allaying the suspicion of the political groups,
and of the Arabs, there were difficulties of tradition
to overcome.

My script for instance envisaged a scene in a syn-
agogue in the Old City. Now, almost all orthodox Jews
consider photography as forbidden under the command
not to make graven images. How could one "realize"
such a scene?

I found the leader of the old-city community, and
got him to show me an ancient, beautiful little syn-
agogue behind his own house. It was named, he told
me, the Ohr Chayim — the Living Light. It so hap-
mens that I wrote a book of Chassidic tales some
years ago, and knew that the Ohr Chayim was one of
the great rabbis of that mystical sect.

This communion of information, coming from an
unorthodox American Jew, was the opening point.
We discussed Chassidism for hours. And finally we
were permitted to film our scene in the holiest of Old
City synagogues.

IN the completed film there are of course many things
which I feel might have been different, and many
things which the director feels might have been differ-
ent, had there been fewer practical difficulties — such
as the curfew, which usually struck just as we had
finished three hours of preparations and were ready to
film. But these are the limitations of the method of
shooting in live locations ; in return, you get the quality
of life.

As a writer, I believe the labor I put in for six
months, after the six weeks I spent in writing the
script, was necessary for the fulfillment of an author's
responsible share in the realization of this type of film.
The goats are among the rocks — even if I had to
carry them there myself.

The motion-picture screen is an instrument of entertainment, education. Having been pioneered
and developed in our country, it is peculiarly american. its contribution to the country as a whole and
to individual citizens has been enormous. the motion-picture industry has always been permitted free-
dom of expression. the impression has now arisen, and very naturally, that one of the hoped for results
of the pressure of your investigation will be to influence the industry to alter its policies so that they
may accord more directly with the views of (its critics). the industry is prepared to resist such pressure
with all of the strength at its command.

— A statement by Wendell Willkie
on the occasion of the 194-1 Senate in-
vestigation of the motion picture in-
dustry.

^Jhe ^TPeedom of the S^c

creen

This special section of THE SCREEN WRITER has been
prepared to give all who are concerned with films a report and
analysis of activity both in the industry and in government which
may affect the integrity of motion pictures as a free medium.

Foreword

THE trade press and journals of public opinion
throughout the nation recently have insinuated
that a crisis is looming in the motion picture
industry — a crisis due to foreign competition.

Since the beginning of this year reviewers and audi-
ences alike have thrown their critical hats high in the
air in praise of Brief Encounter, This Happy Breed,
Odd Man Out, and Great Expectations. The last men-
tioned film was introduced to New York at the Radio
City Music Hall — an indication that the days of the
"artistic" British film with no box office appeal are
indeed over. There are rumors of excellent films being
made in France, Italy, Czechoslovakia and Russia,

8

films which American audiences may well prefer when
it comes to box office appeal.

More important is the fact that as these countries
produce films of the calibre of Great Expectations,
The Open City, and Children of Paradise, the citizens
of those countries will naturally prefer to see their own
excellent product rather than to see ours.

But, as Mr. Johnston has told us, a tremendous per-
centage of gross receipts come from our foreign mar-
kets. If our foreign markets decrease to an alarming
extent, then there will be a crisis indeed.

There are but two methods by which we can show

1

THE FREEDOM OF THE SCREEN

our films abroad with the assurance that money will
flow in from European audiences:

1 — We can compete on a level of content ; filming

adult and truthful stories with the unsur-
passed technical experience that is ours.

2 — We can take advantage of our unrivaled dis-

tributing resources, our past popularity and
our great economic strength as a creditor na-
tion, and, with the help of Washington, force
our films into the movie houses of the world
through implied threats of "no loans unless."

Which course are we taking? Are we picking this
second choice — the "dollar as a weapon" method?

If, however, we are to choose the first method of
retaining prestige, then certain other questions must be
raised. Is the content of American films being limited?
Are there forces attempting to keep the screen from
illuminating all truthful aspects of present American
life? Is content becoming an instrument for political
policy?

In other words — what of Freedom of the Screen?

Freedom of the Screen means exactly what the phrase
says. It has no ambiguity. It means the same rights that
have always been enjoyed by the book publishers, the
theatre and allied arts — bound by the laws of common
decency and majority consent.

Whether or not this freedom is going to be enjoyed
is a question being argued by almost all who work in
our industry today.

This question was first projected on the screen of the
average writer's mind by Mr. Eric Johnston's visit in
March to the studios. Then the House Committee on
UnAmerican Activities, led by J. Parnell Thomas,
came to town. Almost simultaneously Dr. John
Lechner of the Motion Picture Alliance for the Pres-
ervation of American Ideals leapt to a platform and
implying that the Thomas Committee was his author-
ity, denounced the following pictures as containing
"Communistic and subversive propaganda" : Margie,
The Strange Love of Martha Ivers, Boomerang, The
Best Years of Our Lives, Medal For Benny, Watch
on the Rhine, The Searching Wind, Pride of the
Marines, North Star and Mission to Moscow.

Dr. Lechner is no longer with the MPAFTPOAL.

Miss Katharine Hepburn, the distinguished motion
picture actress, in a speech, was convinced that Freedom
of the Screen was being throttled. The officers of the
Motion Picture Alliance for the Preservation of
American Ideals advertised to the contrary. And so
the points of view shuttle back and forth and
the issue grows.

The questions raised here are of deep concern not
only to the members of the industry, but to the motion
picture public as a whole.

To stimulate discussion in the hope of finding the
truth as to whether Freedom of the Screen is being
threatened, THE SCREEN WRITER presents the
following special section of this issue and invites com-
ment from its readers.

/ say discuss all and expose all. I am for every topic openly.

I say there can be no safety for these states without innovation, without free tongues
and ears willing to hear the tongues.

— Walt Whitman

A Short History of Film Censorship

MARTIN FIELD

THE history of censorship of the screen goes back
to 1909, when, because of the alleged character
of the films being shown in New York City, the
mayor closed the theatres. In a successful move to get
their theatres reopened, the exhibitors secured the for-
mation of the National Board of Censorship to inspect
films before their release to the public. The member-

MARTIN FIELD, a member of the Editorial Committee of
THE SCREEN WRITER, is a frequent contributor to this
and other magazines. As a screen writer and playwright he
has had extensive experience in Hollywood and New York.

ship of the Board included representatives of civic,
social, and religious agencies. In 1914, the National
Board of Censorship discreetly changed its name to the
National Board of Review, which still functions.

Despite this form of voluntary censorship, several
states enacted censorship statutes. Pennsylvania was the
first, in 1911, and Ohio and Kansas followed suit in
1913. Maryland adopted legalized censorship in 1916,
New York and Florida in 1921, and Virginia in 1922.

It was in 1922 that the worst storm in Hollywood's
history broke over the town's head. Motion picture

THE SCREEN WRITER

producers, trying to buck the postwar "recession,"
found that sex is, as Eric Johnston terms it, "interest-
ing" and, even more important, profitable at the box
office. A few men, working on the age-old theory that
you can't have too much of a good fling, produced some
rather salacious items. As if this were not enough, a
series of scandals involving Hollywood personalities
was trumpeted in the nation's press, notably the Fatty
Arbuckle case. While no question arose about censoring
the newspapers that sensationalized the Arbuckle case
and others to the tune of accelerated newsstand sales,
there was a loud outcry for Federal censorship of the
screen. A bill to that effect almost succeeded in coming
to a vote.

Dozens of national civic organizations of women,
teachers and religious denominations added to the
clamor. There was the prospect that some 22 censor-
ship bills would become law.

The producers, genuinely frightened by this threat
to their industry's welfare, looked about frantically for
the right gimmick that would solve their problem. The
inspired gimmick proved to be Will H. Hays, chairman
of the Republican National Committee and Postmaster
General of the Harding regime then in office.

Will Hays proved his worth. As head of the newly-
formed Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of
America, he contacted all the organizations which had
been denouncing the industry and got from them a
six-month reprieve on the promise that he would clean
house in the industry. Within that time he organized a
division of the Hays Office to act as the industry's own
censor board, stating that "none could deny that the
lusty infant which was the movies had by 1922 trans-
gressed some of the religious, ethical, and social mores
upon which our society is built." By 1929, the MPPDA
was cooperating with 326 national, civic, religious,
educational and welfare groups and Will Hays could
proudly cite as past history the "constant threats of
investigation, legislation and litigation (that) afflicted
the industry."

With Will Hays and 326 organizations of varying
standards of acceptability ruling the screen, there flour-
ished the game known as "getting past the Hays Office."
Morris L. Ernst, an authority on censorship, tells a
revealing story: "The play Rain held the stage in New
York and the towns on the roads for several years
without shaking the foundations of Church and State,
but Will Hays for a time prohibited its adaptation for
the movies. There is a tale that his consent was subse-
quently secured by guile when Gloria Swanson, seated
next to him at a luncheon, sweetly asked if she might
do a series of short stories by one Somerset Maugham
called The Trembling of a Leaf, among which was a

certain one called Miss Thompson." And from time to
time, Mr. Hays could be induced to permit titillating
title changes, such as reducing Madame Du Barry to
Passion and transforming The Admirable Crichton
into a suggestive Male and Female.

As a result of the fresh problems created by the
advent of talking motion pictures, the "Code to Govern
the Making of Pictures" was devised in 1930 to regu-
late the depiction of crime, drinking, sex and other
such "interesting" subjects.

MEANWHILE, apparently unimpressed by Mr.
Hays' guarantees of purity on the screen through
self-regulation, the Boards of Censorship set up in the
seven states (Florida, knocked out by a legal techni-
cality, was replaced by Massachusetts) continued to
function according to their separate dictates of taste
and morality. Nor did the rule of the Hays Office
affect the more than 50 local censor boards operating
from Atlanta to Memphis to Pasadena.

In the opinion of authorities on the state censor
boards, Pennsylvania imposes the severest restrictions
and Ohio is believed to be second. Choosing an average
year, 1939, here are some typical State Censor Board
activities: Kansas banned Yes, My Darling Daughter
(Warner Bros.) until one line of dialogue was deleted.
Miracle Man on Main Street (Columbia) had deleted,
"Stranger, anything might happen after we've had a
couple of drinks." From the reissue of All Quiet on the
Western Front (Universal) the Kansas censors elimi-
nated "scene of professor being paddled by boys, where
his figure shows." Maryland deleted scenes or dialogue
or both from Mutiny on the Bounty (MGM), Black-
well's Island (WB), Winter Carnival (Wanger),
Charlie McCarthy, Detective (Universal). Maryland
rejected Hitler, Beast of Berlin (Producers Pictures
Corp.) until the producers agreed to change of title to
Beasts of Berlin, and elimination of Gestapo officers
hitting bartender, "We don't bother about God —
Hitler takes good care of us," an officer grabbing a
priest by the collar before disrobing him.

Massachusetts, which exercises censorship through its
Department of Public Safety, deleted from Man With-
out a Country (WB) the key dialogue, "Damn the
United States." All scenes showing rioting in a Para-
mount newsreel were eliminated. Hitler — Beast of
Berlin was changed to Goose Step and approved with
eliminations, such as scene of Storm Troopers stepping
on cross.

New York banned such films as Ecstasy (Eureka
Productions), Or age (Inter- Allied), Dick Tracy Re-
turns (Republic).

10

THE FREEDOM OF THE SCREEN

Pennsylvania banned Life of a Gorilla (Jewel),
Ecstasy (Eureka), Birth of a Baby (American Com-
mittee).

The conflicting views of Censor Boards reflect the
viewpoints of individuals comprising those boards. A
lawyer on a censor board objected to all films depicting
crooked or unethical lawyers. Some censors accepted
women smoking and some did not. If a man was in the
men's underwear business, he understandably objected
to a scene showing Clark Gable in It Happened One
Night going through life without the protection of an
undershirt.

"THEN, in 1933, a new storm broke over Hollywood.

A Despite the zealous operation of the Hays Code,
the early 1930's saw a flood of realistic films portraying
crime and sex in rather frank terms. Again, as in 1922,
it was the hypo the producers needed to bolster the
sagging depression box office.

In October of that year, the Most Reverend Gio-
vanni Cicognani, Apostolic Delegate to the United
States, issued a challenge to the Catholics of this coun-
try to combat "immoral" pictures. The following
month the National Legion of Decency was formed to
classify "films in terms of Christian morality." Since
the Legion's ratings of pictures are distributed to the
Catholics of Latin America as well as the United
States, when a picture is deemed objectionable the
producer will all but hand the cutting shears to the
Legion and let it snip where it may. Of a total of 429
feature pictures reviewed from November 1943 to
November 1944, the Legion deemed 51 films objec-
tionable and three pictures were condemned in toto.

While a host of other organized pressure groups,
such as P.T.A. groups and church groups, wage indi-

vidual campaigns against films, none of them is organ-
ized as potently as the Legion of Decency.

When Pearl Harbor forced war upon the United
States the advisability of censorship because of national
security was accepted unanimously. Yet despite the
emergency, President Roosevelt recognized freedom of
the screen when he took the time to state on December
18, 1941 : "I want no censorship of the motion picture;
I want no restrictions placed thereon which will impair
the usefulness of the film other than those very neces-
sary restrictions which the dictates of safety make
imperative."

The wartime Office of Censorship passed on all com-
pleted product until it was closed at the cessation of
hostilities. Some students of the film maintain that the
exigencies of war made possible the production of pic-
tures which would not ordinarily be produced, pictures
that remain a contribution to the advancement of the
screen medium.

Since the war, there have been only two outstanding
censorship battles. One was over The Outlaw, which
still plays, outside the Code, to packed houses. The other
was Duel in the Sun, which was condemned by the
Legion of Decency.

Eric Johnston, who replaced Will Hays as head of
the producers association (renamed Motion Picture
Association of America) , shifted the headquarters of the
association to Washington. Questioned on Duel in the
Sun, Mr. Johnston admits that this is one picture he
does not care to discuss. In the absence of any definite
statement from Johnston, there is an impression that
the six million dollars invested in the picture and the
weight of high industry officialdom behind it, secured
for it a clean bill of health after it had been condemned
by the Legion of Decency.

So far, with Mr. Johnston at the helm in Washing-
ton instead of Mr. Hays in Hollywood, there has been
no actual interference with the choice of material or
theme for a motion picture.

It is better to guard speech than to guard wealth.

LUCIAN

I should think it my duty, if required, to go to the utmost part of the land where my
service could be of any use in assisting to quench the flame of prosecutions upon infor-
mation, set on foot by the Government, to deprive a people of the right of remonstrat-
ing and complaining of the arbitrary attempts of men in power.

— Peter Zenger

11

THE SCREEN WRITER

Mr* Eric Johnston's Tour

During Mid-March, Mr. Eric Johnston, President
of the Motion Picture Producers of America, came to
each major studio, lunched, then spoke to invited
writers, directors and producers concerning problems
he felt were facing the industry.

In response to inquiries by many writers concerning
this tour, THE SCREEN WRITER, from reports
submitted to it by members of Mr. Johnston's audiences
at these occasions, herewith gives below an abstract
of his remarks :

PARAMOUNT STUDIOS:

MR. Eric Johnston opened with the statement
that in his opinion, the most significant results
of World War I and II were the rise
and consolidation of the Soviet Union after 1918 and
the emergence of the United States as the most power-
ful country in the world after 1945.

He then spent some moments tracing the basic his-
toric difference between the American and Soviet
ideologies. In the 18th century, the United States gave
to the world the concept of the Rights of Man ; in the
19th and 20th centuries, our genius for mass produc-
tion improved man's material comfort and well-being.
In contrast, Mr. Johnston continued, the ideas ema-
nating from the Soviet Union are little more than
medieval tyranny disguised in slogans of freedom for
the masses of working people.

Mr. Johnston then discussed at length President
Truman's declaration of a new foreign policy, particu-
larly on behalf of the peoples of Greece and Turkey
and their government, and how, because of this impor-
tant diplomatic development, a responsibility was
placed on all Americans and particularly those in the
motion picture industry.

He spoke of the great threat that a loss of foreign
markets would mean to writers, directors and produc-
ers. However, he assured those present, cordial rela-
tions and mutual understanding exist between the film
industry and the State Department. He emphasized
that the State Department was bending every effort to
keep the foreign outlets open to American pictures. He
made the point that when in Washington, he is "in and
out of the State Department every day."

The political section of his speech ended, Mr. John-
ston now spoke of the threat of more rigid censorship

in many states. To ward off this danger, he continued,
there must be less drinking shown in films. Sixty-seven
percent of the features produced last year had shown
drinking of alcoholic beverages. Mr. Johnston decried
giving to foreign audiences the impression that we are
a drinking nation.

During the question period, Mr. Charles Brackett
stated that under the Code, a picture like Welldigger's
Daughter could never be made in Hollywood, and
asked Mr. Johnson to speak on this point.

Mr. Johnston said that Mr. Breen, who was present,
was in a better position to answer the question. Mr.
Breen turned to an assistant and asked him to answer
it. The assistant stated that he had seen the Welldig-
ger's Daughter and "I was so bored with it that I
walked out in the middle."

R.K.O. STUDIOS:

M

R. Johnston's approach was frank and his tone
intimate.

He began his remarks by clearly emphasizing that
the writers and producers present were considered by
him as members of a business organization directly
interested in the public relations and marketing prob-
lems of the industry.

Mr. Johnston divided his remarks into two separate
and distinct parts — political and artistic.

In his political section, he pointed out that at one
time the United Nations was a good idea and "we had
high hopes for it." The loans to Turkey and Greece
marked, in his opinion, the beginning of a new era in
United States diplomacy. He told his listeners that
after discussions with Secretary of State Marshall,
Senator Vandenberg and others, it was his under-
standing that there was now initiated an official policy
of a world-wide countering of Soviet expansion and
emphasized that this policy should be supported in
American motion pictures.

Mr. Johnston spoke of the United States being the
strongest and richest nation in the world. He added
that we must bring the benefits of our country's indus-
trial proficiency and its way of life to less fortunate
countries of the world.

He then pointed out that these new diplomatic devel-
opments directly affected the motion picture industry.
He again emphasized that the personnel in the motion

12

THE FREEDOM OF THE SCREEN

picture industry would be expected to play a part in
implementing this State Department policy.

To present the best in the American way of life
would be one of the jobs of the industry. During these
remarks on how best the industry could hold a mirror
up to this way of life, Mr. Johnston criticized the
excessive routine drinking in recent pictures.

In the second part of his speech — the aesthetics of
movie-making — Mr. Johnston stressed motion pictures
as a product for a mass market. "It is all right for a
starving artist to paint a nude and get it hung in the
Louvre," he continued. He then said that "adult" pic-
tures were praiseworthy but that there was a difference
between an "adult" market and a "mass" market.

On this emphasis, Mr. Johnston concluded his
formal remarks.

WARNER BROTHERS' STUDIO:

"DOTH Mr. Eric Johnston and Mr. Joseph Breen,
*~* in charge of administering the Code, were present.
The burden of Mr. Johnston's remarks was that the
United States "is not a drinking country." He cited
statistics to prove that in large sections of what he
described as "rural Protestant America," prohibition is
a consummation devoutly to be wished, and the fre-
quent appearance of stimulants on motion picture
screens was not approved.

Mr. Johnston now spoke of the vast industrial poten-
tial of the United States. He compared the economic
and industrial power of this country with backward
countries in Latin and South America and gave as one
illustration of the disparity, the non-use of water power
below the Rio Grande.

In response to a question asked him by a producer,
Mr. Johnston remarked: "I'm just here to tell you
what the American people think. I am merely a mes-
senger from the American people."

Mr. Harry Warner asked Mr. Johnston concerning
Duel in the Sun. Mr. Johnston gave the floor to Mr.
Breen. Mr. Warner asked how the Breen Office
could have allowed the showing of Duel. Mr. Breen
explained that the picture had not been judged for
censorship all in one piece, but by snatches. From this
point on, the discussion veered towards a personal
exchange between Mr. Harry Warner and Mr. Breen.

During his appearances at Universal-International,
Twentieth-Century Fox and M.G.M., Mr. Johnston
is reported as having repeated what he had said at the
above studios without significant variations. For this
reason, THE SCREEN WRITER is not abstracting
his remarks at these three studios.

However, some time later, on June 3rd, Mr. John-

ston, having been asked many times to meet with the
members of the Screen Writers' Guild and talk to them
informally, accepted the long-extended invitation and
spoke at Lucey's. Herewith is an abstract of his
remarks :

\ /fR. Johnston admitted that there were areas of
■*■"■*■ disagreement between him and the Screen Writ-
ers' Guild, but emphasized that discussion of divergent
opinions often yields the truth. He stated that his best
friends had warned him not to appear before the Screen
Writers' Guild, but he was not heeding that warning.

Mr. Johnston spoke of his belief in capitalism as
having done more for more people than any other sys-
tem in the world. He advocated strong democratic
guilds and unions as a way to make capitalism work.
He stated that he was for the liberties of the individual.
In emphasizing what he stood against, Mr. Johnston
described American Communists as treasonable and
subversive.

In regard to the future of the motion picture indus-
try, Mr. Johnston divided his remarks into two topics
— the foreign market and the domestic market. Speak-
ing of the foreign market, he stressed that most of the
net income in the past years has come from outside the
United States. He admitted that at present we are
taking serious losses. He categorized the foreign prob-
lems all over the world: exchange restrictions, embar-
goes, bans against American films because certain coun-
tries "do not like something in them." He explained
how, because of these foreign problems, he had to be in
almost constant contact with the President, his Cabinet
and leaders of the House and Senate. These meetings
were important in order to stimulate the development
of films abroad.

Because a very great potential of the peoples of the
world has not yet seen a motion picture, the Associa-
tion is promoting 16 mm films to be shown in out of
the way places such as Iran, etc. In this way, markets
will be opened of millions of people who will see
American pictures.

Mr. Johnston stressed that these methods of awak-
ening millions of people over the world to the habit of
seeing American films directly concerned the screen-
writers, since the monies obtained from such foreign
markets represented jobs and salaries to the writers.

In relation to the domestic market, the speaker told
of several ideas the Association had under way. One of
these was the formation of a Motion Picture Institute
in which the entire personnel of the industry would be
joined to consider questions of interest to motion-pic-
ture makers. Unfortunately, until the anti-Trust suits
were over, this would still be only an idea.

A second project in the offing is the series of films

13

THE SCREEN WRITER

called This Is Hollywood, produced in the hopes of
showing Hollywood in its human aspects rather than its
sensational ones.

"If children form the habit of going to motion pic-
tures, maybe they will go when they grow up," said
Mr. Johnston. In order to stimulate the interest of the
young, the Association is spending $150,000 on
visual education for teaching aids in schools.

In answer to a question concerning the Un-American
Committee, Mr. Johnston stated: "From now on we
will insist on names and facts and we want this inves-
tigation to end all investigations as far as Hollywood
is concerned." He explained that in order to assure a

fair trial of Hollywood, the Association had employed
Mr. James Byrnes to assist the industry.

In answer to the question of injecting subversive
propaganda into pictures, Mr. Johnson replied : "We
want a free screen, free from government pressure or
subversive propaganda."

In answer to a question as to whether the Motion
Picture Association has any long-range policy about
committees such as the Un-American Committee, Mr.
Johnston answered: "The philosophy of any industry
has little effect on Congress. The ballot box is what
counts. The industry of course wants to avoid such
hearings because of the possible result of federal
control."

"Then you would say what you mean," the March Hare went on.

"I do" Alice hastily replied. "At least — at least, I mean what I say — that's the same

thing, you know."

"Not the same thing a bit," said the Hatter.

— Lewis Carroll

What of the Foreign Market?

VLADIMIR POZNER

I HAVE never been able to find out whether ostriches
actually hide their heads in the sand of the desert.
In Hollywood they do. As a matter of fact, it seems
to be their favorite posture when it comes to discussing
problems of motion pictures.

The discussions have been particularly lively since
the Thomas Committee put Hollywood on the map of
Russia. Lately they have taken the form of advice, and
even directives, generally aimed at writers — a some-

SWG member Vladimir Pozner is the well-known novelist
and screen writer. A member of the French Syndicat des
Scenar'istes, he has recently spent much time in Europe, where
he has had experience as a film salesman, writer and
producer.

what belated but none the less gratifying kind of
recognition for our craft.

We were told that to the old and self-evident truth
— "movies are your best entertainment," something
new has been added : the movies must sell the American
Way to the world, said Way being the Main Street of
a small Mid-western town, which in turn goes to show
what capitalism and free enterprise will do for you if
you let the law of supply and demand work unham-
pered — as any returned veteran among the screen
writers will tell you.

Thus the ideal picture of the future should be a
combination of Anchors Aweigh and Behind the Iron

14

THE FREEDOM OF THE SCREEN

Danube. A new slogan is in the making: "The motion
picture is your best singing commercial."

I have a great respect and sincere admiration for
Main Street, whether or not it runs parallel to the
railway tracks, and won't raise the question which side
of the latter we are asked to describe in our films.
However, since the word "commercial" has been men-
tioned, I cannot help wondering.

We have been told many a time that the motion pic-
ture industry derives close to fifty percent of its income
from the foreign markets. In other words, the profits
of the motion picture companies are conditioned to a
large extent by the response of a world-wide audience.
Consequently, we must avoid any insulting or disparag-
ing remarks about any country, and, above all, stay
away from all controversial subjects, such as color,
race, creed, politics, adultery, pregnancy, suicide, etc.

'KTOW, the American Way, as defined above, may
■*■ ^ not seem controversial on Main Street of Paris,
Kentucky, but it certainly is in Paris, France —
whether one likes it or not. Speaking of free enterprise,
for instance, it is well to remember that basic indus-
tries have been or are being nationalized in Great
Britain and France, not to mention points East. Or, to
choose another example, one may point out that the
word "Red" has a different connotation in the United
States and the rest of the world — with a few excep-

tions. Great Britain and the Scandinavian countries
have Socialist Governments, in France and Italy the
Communists are the strongest political party.

The lawmakers and ministers of other countries are
less important, however, from our viewpoint, than the
millions of foreign professional people, industrial and
white-collar workers, farmers, students, shopkeepers,
housewives, etc., who voted for those lawmakers and
ministers, because these millions represent the majority
of moviegoers the world over. Six years of war and
what they still call fascism, made them acutely aware
of social and political problems. They may be wrong or
right, but, right or wrong, they are not likely to pay
admission in order to listen to theories or content, no
matter how carefully, dressed, which they have rejected
at the polls. After all they do not have to go to the
movies. In France for instance they did not — under
Nazi occupation. Today they would not even have to
sacrifice going to the movies: they can choose between
the product of different European countries, which
they could not then.

I do not mean to say that Hollywood should stick to
its old policy of total non-intervention in life. Nor do
I know what would be the combined income from
operations in Argentine, Spain, Turkey, and Greece.
I am merely raising a question which, I am afraid, must
be answered, lest the Hollywood ostrich finds itself in
a near future with a lot of headaches, a tremendous
overhead — and no head.

The Un-American Way

Show business knows too well the ways of publicity to gaze with other than a cold eye upon the
Hollywood investigation by Congress' Un-American Activities Committee. The newspapers also are
aware of the score, but when they can fit "Hollywood Red Probe" into a page one head it means
circulation.

It blows up into quite a bawl of yarn which, nevertheless, is neither a yard wide nor has it much
wool. That's because the Un-American Committee won't lay it on the line by mentioning names.

They say the picture business is full of Reds on the Hollywood end. Well, name 'em. There
isn't a studio that won't help chase subversive elements off its lot. Yet all this has been said again and
again, hashed over again and again. That "again and again." It has a familiar refrain. Are they going
to blame pictures on him too ?

But accusations as to Reds and Roosevelt are not the burnup. It's when they claim that Holly-
wood has turned out pictures detrimental to this Government.

Smile when you say that, Mister, or name names.

Name the picture. Name the sequence. Name the scene.

Put up or shut up.

It's time.

— N. Y. Variety, June 4, 1947.

15

THE SCREEN WRITER

Symposium on a Question Asked

The Screen Writer sent to more than thirty figures
prominent in the motion picture industry — writers,
producers, directors, critics, newspaper publishers etc.
— the following telegram :

Because of the vast public interest inspired by cur-
rent INVESTIGATIONS OF THE MOTION PICTURES AND THE
CHARGES MADE THEREUNDER, WOULD YOU PLEASE STATE, IN
300 WORDS OR MORE IN THE NEXT FEW DAYS, YOUR OPINION
OR ATTITUDE ON THE FOLLOWING QUESTIONS: "Do YOU
THINK THAT RECENT FILMS CONTAIN SUBVERSIVE MATERIAL,
IMMORAL CONTENT AND UN-AMERICAN DOCTRINES AS
CHARGED? DO YOU FEEL THAT FURTHER OUTSIDE CENSOR-
SHIP IS NEEDED TO 'CLEAN UP THE INDUSTRY'?" If YOU DO
NOT CARE TO ANSWER THE QUESTIONS DIRECTLY, WE ARE
CERTAIN THE MEMBERS OF THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD
WOULD WELCOME ANY GENERAL VIEWS YOU MAY HOLD ON
THIS ESSENTIAL MATTER.

Of the more than thirty wires sent out, the following
replies have been received :

EMMET LA VERY, President of SWG:

If the nation is in immediate peril from Communist
activity in Hollywood as Congressman Thomas would
have the country believe, it is difficult to understand
how the Congressman and his Committee can adjourn
the peril so glibly — how he can lay it down so blandly
in June and prepare to pick it up again, on schedule,
in September.

From this distance it looks more like a show that is
laying off for the summer.

I hold no brief for Marxian Communism, but I do
hold a brief for the American theory of due process. If
Mr. Thomas has any proof of seditious activity any-
where, let him take his case at once to the FBI and let
indictment in the Federal Courts follow. If Mr.
Thomas has no proof — but is merely conducting an
ex parte witch hunt in the newspapers of the country
— he is merely giving us a sample of what truly Un-
American activity can be.

I say this with no disrespect to Congress. I make it
as a personal observation on the strange behavior of
Congressman Thomas. He hasn't changed very much
since the days of the Dies Committee, and his extra-
ordinary method of inquisition is a sad subversion of
the power which has been entrusted to Congressional
committees.

BOSLEY CROWTHER, Motion Picture Editor of
the New York Times:

To my mind, the imputation that there has been
"subversive" or "un-American" doctrine circulated in
Hollywood films is reckless and ridiculous. Anyone
who follows even casually the nature of American films
knows that their standard myths and concepts are any-
thing in the book but "Communist."

However, I do feel that endeavors have willfully and
greedily been made to slip into many Hollywood pic-
turse as much salacity and suggestion as possible. I also
feel that a disturbing trend towards stories of vice and
depravity has been manifest in recent pictures. And
this bothers me very much.

For it is my considered opinion that the surest way
to corrupt the minds and feelings of human beings is to
feed and stimulate their baser appetites. This is being
done, to my mind, by many of Hollywood's current
films.

•

ELI A KAZAN, Motion Picture Director:

I certainly do not think that films like The Best
Years of Our Lives, Boomerang, Margie, etc. contain
subversive material unless "subversive" is defined as
anything that criticizes any aspect of American life
whatsoever. In fact, the pointing to these pictures as
"subversive" gave me one of the best laughs I've had
in a long time.

•

ARCHER WINSTEN, Motion Picture Editor of
the New York Post:

Let me state parenthetically before answering your
question that we in New York now have before us five
British films, Odd Man Out, Great Expectations,
This Happy Breed, Brief Encounter, and The Captive
Heart, the Swedish Torment, the Italian Open City,
and the French The Well-Digger's Daughter. Current
American competition to these is composed of Duel In
The Sun, The Strange Woman, The Other Love, The
Imperfect Lady, Dishonored Lady, Carnegie Hall,
Honeymoon, The Two Mrs. Carrolls, The Brasher
Doubloon, The Sea of Grass, Nora Prentiss and The
Best Years of Our Lives. Only the last named picture

16

THE FREEDOM OF THE SCREEN

can compete with the foreign ones. It can be omitted
from my blanket indictment.

To answer your question: YES, I do think these
recent American films are subversive, immoral and
un-American.

They are subversive in the sense that vulgar, simple-
minded sensationalism is well calculated to overturn
the long dominance of American films not only in the
world market but also at home.

They are immoral in their tricky adherence to a
Production Code and their flouting of any truthful
statement of life's problems.

They are un-American in their crass, commercial
distortion of the values and lack of values in this
country.

Needless to say, censorship, having already botched
its job, can only make matters worse if extended
further.

As for the more specific, communist charges to which
your questions must refer, they are sufficiently laugh-
able to rate a "boff" as low burlesque. That Robert
Taylor could think he was spouting propaganda in
Song of Russia is in itself an hilarious comment on the
well-known power of analysis of our popular face-
makers. Even North Star, Goldwyn's effort to be
nice to Russia, was 99.44 percent pure Hollywood.

I would say that if Hollywood knuckles under to this
further attempt to frighten its scared millionaires into
deeper retreat from consideration of ideas as such, the
comparative values of social systems, the criticism of
our less than perfect system, and the honest presentation
of anything that freedom of thought should rightly
feed upon, it will deserve the oblivion for which it has
been heading these past two years.

As a critic I would like nothing better than to see
great pictures pouring out of Hollywood. I'm sure the
writers represented by The Screen Writers' Guild
share that view and could do much to make it come
true if they were given a chance.

DORE SCHARY, Production Head of RKO:

{William Mooring, film critic of the Tidings, offi-
cial organ of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Los
Angeles, characterized Mr. S chary' s recent film THE
FARMER'S DAUGHTER as communistic. Mr.
Schary's reply to this critic has been given by him to
The Screen Writer as his answer to our telegram) :

The review, to me, is curious and odd on a basis of
logic. Mr. Mooring says the heavies in the film are
Fascist and that, therefore, their opponent is a Com-
munist. This reasoning would make every one who has
opposed fascism a Communist, including Roosevelt,
Eisenhower, Truman, Stassen and fourteen million
soldiers. It is impossible for any convinced liberal to
avoid temporary agreement with leftists on some sub-
jects and with rightists on others. But liberals must
not, therefore, be intimidated or frightened into aban-
doning their principles. If one says that Hollywood is
communistic because of such pictures as Mission to
Moscow and Song of Russia, it is equally logical to say
that Hollywood is monarchistic because of Mrs.
Miniver.

•
FREDA KIRCHWEY, Editor of The Nation :

As far as my own experience goes do not believe
films have been subversive, immoral or un-American.
Do not believe in censorship. Must admit that my
attendance at films is limited.

Memo to J* Parnell Thomas

MORRIS E. COHN

THE Thomas Committee to Investigate Un-
American Activities is the successor of a line of
somewhat similar committees extending back to
1919. Shortly after the revolution in Russia a meeting
was held in a theatre in Washington, D. C, apparently
in the nature of a public forum, to discuss the merits
and the dangers of the new form of government. Some
of the newspaper reports indicated no more than a

MORRIS E. COHN is counsel for the Screen Writers' Guild
and has published many studies of legal problems affecting
writers and the motion picture industry.

temperate examination of the new government; other
newspapers treated the situation as inflammatory, and
as a result, almost immediately, there was set up a
Senate committee to investigate bolshevism in America.
From that time until 1940 there have been un-American
committees; the committee is now a standing commit-
tee of the House.

The motion picture industry is an immediate subject
for investigation by this committee, and the Screen
Writers Guild has been marked for special attention.
It seems an appropriate time therefore to examine this

V

17

THE SCREEN WRITER

servant of the people, the Committee to Investigate
Un-American Activities.

The Committee is an agency of one of the legislative
branches of our government. Its powers and purposes
stem from the body which created it and cannot rise
higher than the source of its being. Although it is a
justifiable figure of speech to speak of a trial by this
Committee, it is important to understand that the Com-
mittee has no judicial powers; that is to say, the Com-
mittee has no power to try anybody or to render a
judgment, in the formal sense. The figure of speech is
however justified because the conduct of this Committee
often entails consequences as important in the life of
the individual concerned as any judgment of a court.

The Committee's powers derive from the legislative
function of Congress. The legislative function includes
the power to make laws; but it is not limited to that
power. How far it goes beyond the power to make laws
has not been determined by our highest courts. How-
ever students of constitutional government speak of
"the informing power" as appropriate to Congress. By
this they mean publicity, turning public attention to
information. And Martin Dies has subscribed publicly
to that theory. He said, in substance, that there was a
large range of subject matter about which Congress
could make no law but which was within the province
of investigating committees; by turning public atten-
tion to danger spots these committees could neverthe-
less accomplish a great deal. Notwithstanding the
approval of the informing power by such students of
government as Woodrow Wilson and Dr. Marshall
Dimock, it seems at odds with the conception of a gov-
ernment of limited powers, of a government of laws
rather than of men. If Congress should possess a power
not granted or limited by the Constitution, that power
would be unlimited, to be used as an individual incum-
bent chose. I do not think that the suggested power
could withstand judicial test.

Corollary to the power to make laws is the power to
learn the facts. A legislator cannot write laws in the
dark. Most investigating committees have, on the
whole, confined themselves to the task of learning the
facts necessary to indicate to Congress the direction
which legislation should take.

Opinion concerning the value of investigating com-
mittees has been strongly divided. There are those,
entitled to great respect, who argue that the use of the
committees is wholly unjustified, because the evidence
extracted by compulsion is small in comparison with
the injuries suffered by the individuals who were
brought to testify. Most of those who argue in favor of
the power substantiate their position by pointing out
that Congress is more directly representative of the
people ; and that it is essential to give the people's repre-

sentatives supervisory power over the government ; that
without the right to investigate into the post office, the
navy, the attorney general's office, and the like, ulti-
mate power would be splintered.

It is worth pointing out that one may concede the
fact that the right to investigate governmental depart-
ments, government officials, and even government em-
ployees, is indispensable, without necessarily conceding
the power to investigate a private citizen wholly unat-
tached to any agency of the government. Since the
Committee has no power to try the witness, and since
grand juries exist everywhere for the ferreting out of
possible crime, it might be possible to safeguard the
powers which are regarded as indispensable without
unnecessary injury to the private citizen. Still it is
probably well in the main to accept a congressional
determination as to who shall be investigated so long as
the subject matter of investigation does not violate
constitutional standards.

APART from criticism of investigating committees
in general, there are difficulties about the Un-
American Committee which deserve special attention.

First of all its scope, to investigate un-American
activities. Congress has never defined the term; our
courts have never defined the term; in one lower dis-
trict court one judge said he could not define the word.
In his first report to Congress in 1938 or 1939, Martin
Dies defined the term un-American as including, among
other things, the following: class intolerance; racial
intolerance ; religious intolerance ; any philosophy which
embraced all or an essential part of communism; and
all violence or lawlessness.

No one would of course care to challenge the state-
ment that lawlessness is un-American; but to accept it
as part of the organic document of a Congressional
committtee does give the committee rather wide powers.
Subsequent committees have suggested definitions of
un-Americanism as ranging from social and economic
equality to criticism of Chiang Kai Shek. Failure to
answer a question put by a committee is a crime if the
question is within the scope of the committee's power.
It is a grave demand on the witness's acuity to deter-
mine when his silence may be criminal.

Of greater interest to writers than most objections
to this Committee is the fact that the subject matter of
investigation is the area of thinking, opinion, belief and
conviction. It is believed that this marked a new ven-
ture for our government. The field of conduct, what
a man does, is admittedly a proper scope for the exer-
cise of governmental powers. But to invade the domain
of the mind, what a man thinks, is a wholly different
matter. The last citadel of individualism, the one place

18

THE FREEDOM OF THE SCREEN

in which the individual has found sanctuary is now
invaded with the trappings of officialdom, the trumpets
of press releases, flashbulbs, cameras, and the shadow
of prison.

Ever since the ascendancy of temporal power over
spiritual, when the church relinquished political power
to the state, the privacy of a man's convictions have
been entitled to be respected. Defeated, angered, embit-
tered with the world he could seek the comfort of
criticism, condemnation, all within his own mind. He
could express the criticism if he chose, but he need not.
If he was one of a slender minority, he might well defer
expression, or at least select the time and occasion for
saying what he thought.

Another subject worth attention is the lack of the
ordinary immunities of witnesses. While it is true that
there is a statute saying in effect that no person shall be
prosecuted on evidence given in a Congressional inves-
tigation, it is questionable whether this is the equivalent
of the privilege against self-incrimination guaranteed
by the Constitution.

England has a Witnesses Protection Act, which goes
beyond mere protection against self-incrimination in
examination before Royal Commissions of Enquiry. In
any event the usual privileges of ordinary witnesses, the
inviolability of marital communications, of the confes-
sional, and of the lawyer-client relationship do not
extend to persons compelled to testify before Congres-
sional committees. It is true that in one case our
Supreme Court said that the power to investigate does
not include the right to pry into the private affairs of
ordinary citizens ; but there are many instances in which
this rule has been disregarded.

Furthermore the lack of regularized procedure is

apparently a tax on the powers of the committee to
restrain itself. Hearings are conducted in secret, and
hardly have the echoes of the testimony died in the
hearing room when the examiner or a Committee mem-
ber rushes to the press with a press release.

The transcripts of the hearings under Dies' chair-
manship do not show a desire to learn all of the facts ;
accusations and charges were welcomed and admitted
by wholesale ; witnesses carrying condemnations of
persons and institutions were allowed to give testimony
by the hour, to throw in hearsay, and unsubstantiated
reports, letters, documents, and the like. But the per-
sons accused were either not given the right to appear
or, if they were, were subjected to the most thorough-
going cross-examinations, as witness the case of Hallie
Flanagan when called on to defend her position with
the Federal Theatre Project.

It is not fair to the Committee to condemn the effec-
tiveness of its cross-examining persons accused; that is
not intended. But the contrast between the receipt of
accusations and the treatment of denials suggests the
need for a remedy.

I think it is fair to say that these committees, while
exerting a strong influence on the welfare of individ-
uals, have in the main had a negligible effect on legis-
lation. This is to say that their avowed purpose has not
been served, but collateral consequences, (e.g. the
defeat of Frank Murphy, now a Justice of the Supreme
Court, for reelection as governor of Michigan) have
been marked. Investigation into political philosophy
with governmental sanction, and under the shadow of
prison, is a serious departure for a government whose
constitutional principle was declared by Justice Holmes
to be freedom of thought.

Of all the miserable , unprofitable, inglorious wars, the worst is the war against words.

— Auberon Herbert

A Summing Up

BERNARD C. SCHOENFELD

WE, who have gathered the material for this
special section on Freedom of the Screen are
fully aware that we resemble the film projec-
tionist who, having run several reels of a mystery film
studded with ingenious paradox and clues insinuative

BERNARD C. SCHOENFELD, a member of the Editorial
Committee served as chairman of the sub-committee charged
with the preparation of the preceding material in this section.

of a bang-up climax, discovers that the last reel is
missing.

What can he do but shut off the projector, go outside
for a beer and leave the audience to groan a bit and
seek answers for themselves to the relevant questions
raised. Not having the time for a beer, and mindful of
the Production Code which would have us drink only
for therapeutic reasons, we will spend our time going

19

THE SCREEN WRITER

back over the reels projected in order to re-emphasize
those questions which this special section has indicated.

In Hollywood fashion many people have put together
the material which told this unfinished narrative. In
what we may call the First Sequence, written by Mar-
tin Field, we harked back to a more peaceful Holly-
wood when the word "censorship" connoted merely the
elimination of a siren's thigh or the deletion of dia-
logue thought too provocative for our spinster aunts and
our budding Pollyannas. But as Mr. Field continued
his account of the recent past, dramatic conflict
developed.

Certain characters were introduced. Long shots of
churchmen, of the Legion of Decency, of "public
spirited" citizens, arbiters of the nation's mores who
took places on our various state censorship boards. Had
we looked carefully we might even have seen a close-up
of Mr. Bascom, of Memphis, Tennessee, who banned
The Southerner, because, as he claimed, the film held
The South up to ridicule.

Whether such men are heroes or villains in this story
of Freedom of the Screen is worthy of debate; for, as
Mr. Fields points out, these churchmen and state
boards have the power to approve or reject the portrayal
of Americans poor and rich, sinner and ascetic, radical
and the late George Apley.

It becomes clear therefore, from Mr. Field's sequence
that certain questions might be asked :

Shall the industry consider audiences to be the final
judges of whether our stories possess good taste and
mirror actuality? Or shall it continue to sit back and
allow assorted censorship boards to snip and cut or ban
altogether a film which they dislike perhaps for indi-
vidual or pressure-group reasons?

What choice has the industry in this matter?

Is adherence to the Code governed by pressure rather
than by good taste?

Why, as Mr. Warner asks later, was The Outlaw
allowed to be shown? And certain scenes in Duel in the
Sun? And fly-by-night pictures shown in fifth-run
houses which advertise For Adults Only?

Does Mr. Breen's recent conference with the Rank
organization portend a rigid control on the content of
British films shown in this country? As certain trade
papers insinuate, will the Breen Office use the dollar
threat so that henceforth all tortured lovers like those
in Brief Encounter will be visibly punished for their
sad, short, desperate romance? Or, as others believe,
will the film industry of Great Britain maintain its
aesthetic autonomy?

The first sequence fades out with the departure of
Will Hays and the appearance of a new leading char-
acter, Mr. Eric Johnston. A panoramic long shot —
the setting, Washington, D.C. And so, an obvious

question: Why has the Motion Picture Association of
America moved its operations from Hollywood, where
films are made, to Washington, D.C, where the politi-
cal fate of the world is pondered?

TTERE, in Washington, the second sequence begins.
•*• *- The story continues, however, with Mr. John-
ston's recent tour of the studios to address writers,
directors and producers. Though the image is a trifle
blurred, the dialogue is sufficiently clear to give us the
answer to our last question. For we learn, through this
leading character that the motion picture industry is
tied inexorably to the political scene in Washington by
two problems: the need to keep our hold on foreign
markets and the influence of our films in implementing
the State Department's present foreign policy.

Mr. Johnston stated that this foreign policy has as
its purpose the countering of Soviet expansion. He
spoke of the content of American motion pictures as a
means of helping to express this policy to the rest of
the world.

We learn all this from Mr. Johnston's own words,
spoken succinctly as dialogue in any good, suspenseful
film should be spoken. Now, the exposition is finished.
We are in the thick of action.

To many members of The Screen Writers' Guild
who have consistently argued that politics national or
international should never be mixed with Guild mat-
ters, Mr. Johnston proves once and for all that whether
or not we like it, writers are at the moment in politics
up to their typewriter ribbons.

This drama now becomes classical in the sense that
not only are screen writers in the audience but are par-
ticipating as actors as well. At this point in the
continuity we ask:

If our government requests an industry in peacetime
to follow a definite foreign policy, does this affect free-
dom of the screen? Are we being shanghaied onto a
ship of state steered by departmental helmsmen in dead
of night as some aver? Or, as others believe, are we
being allowed willingly to sign up for the voyage
wherever it may take us?

In the motion picture industry there are those who
are certain that this foreign policy is correct. There are
also others who claim that such a policy will lead to
inevitable catastrophe and atomic war. There are some
who believe that we are already in an undeclared war
and of necessity we must obey, as in wartime. And then,
there are those who haven't come to any decision. So,
we ask, believing that it bears on Freedom of the
Screen: Does Mr. Johnston know how the majority of
writers, producers, directors, actors and other industry
personnel feel concerning this policy? Isn't it important
to find that out in the interest of industry unity?

20

THE FREEDOM OF THE SCREEN

These are just a few of the questions which the
introduction of Mr. Johnston into the second sequence
of our story forces us to ask.

A S Mr. Johnston leaves the scene (his presence,
*■ *■ however, can be felt throughout the remaining
sequences) the plot is continued, written by Vladimir
Pozner.

Mr. Pozner is saying that today dynamic forces are
reshaping social institutions; recasting old codes into
new ones, for good or for evil. Both Mr. Pozner and
Mr. Johnston agree on this point, for otherwise there
would not be these problems of foreign markets and
adherence to a new foreign policy. Recently back from
Europe, Mr. Pozner emphasizes the kaleidoscopic
changes taking place there. Newspaper headlines and
the daily job of living also convince us that there are
similar jarrings occurring in Latin America and Asia.
If we examine Mr. Pozner's sequence closely we can
see, as in a swift montage, shots of entire peoples being
engulfed in political upheavals. Beliefs of every kind
are being put forward as the correct Way of Life.
Whether we like it or not, Mr. Pozner asserts, millions
upon millions of Europeans who have known the hor-
rors of persecution and starvation are thinking out their
lives with desperate realism. These millions of poten-
tial ticket-bu}'ers assume that American films will face
quite as realistically, all aspects and conditions of
American existence.

The American film, many think, could be a form of
international expression between men of all countries
who wish to live in peace with each other. The content
we choose for our future pictures will either contribute
to or detract from this ideal. If the audiences of Paris,
Bucharest or Lima prefer to stay away from American
films, it will be due, Mr. Pozner suggests, to the fact
that we American picture makers are portraying our
own American lives as though we existed in a world of
peppermint sticks, song and dance sequences, western
deserts; all lovers Betty Grables and Tyrone Powers;
and every returned veteran a bank-depositor living in a
comfortable home on a peaceful, integrated planet. So,
we must ask more questions raised by Mr. Pozner's
sequence :

Since, on the one hand, Mr. Johnston, with perfectly
good business sense hopes our films will make money in
foreign markets, shall we make the kind of film that
the rest of the world wishes to see? Or will we portray
only stock characters placed in situations romanticized

and glamorized beyond a semblance of normal Ameri-
can living? And if we do this will not such films help
ruin our foreign market? Is Mr. Pozner correct in his
belief or is he completely wrong?

If we satisfy the State Department's repeated prefer-
ence to show the American way of life, which Ameri-
can way of life does Mr. Johnston suggest out of the
many ways? Out of the many lives? The lives that are
in the shadows as well as those in sunlight? In either
case there will be those on State Boards or in Wash-
ington who will demand rigid censorship as certain
censors did in the case of The Southerner and more
recently with Monsieur Verdoux and The Farmer's
Daughter?

Dore Schary's remarks in this connection are a
warning.

HERE indeed are labyrinthine paradoxes. And when
we re-read Archer Winsten's observations they
are compounded with a vengeance. It should give the
writer and the producer both pause to know what Mr.
Winsten, a distinguished film critic, thinks on viewing
the content of current American films.

WE believe the questions raised here are more
worthy of discussion at Romanoff's than what
horse won which race. Because, as Mr. Johnston so
correctly warns us, the foreign market means our jobs
and we must decide together — writers, producers,
directors as a family intent on staying in business —
what we are to do about facing the problems of market
and content within a State Department policy which
involves us in so many uncertainties.

Yes, the projectionist wishes he had the last reel of
this story of Freedom of the Screen. But as yet it has
not even been written, let alone rewritten. So the story
must end here.

AS the members of the Screen Writers Guild and all
other readers leave the theatre of speculation and
gather in the lobby to ponder, we sincerely hope they
will discuss the pros and cons of the questions raised
and articulate their conclusions.

Let one word clash against another. It is better that
way than the gagging of opinion. Thus, doubts and
half-truths will become convictions and the art and
craft of the motion picture will gain strength and
integrity out of the questioning paradox which is the
present Hollywood hour.

(This Special Section on Freedom of the Screen ivas prepared by an Editorial Sub-Committee com-
posed of Martin Field, Lester Koenig, Theodore Strauss and Bernard C. Schoenfeld, chairman.)

21

The Future of Screen Writing

SHERIDAN GIBNEY

SW G member SHERIDAN GIBNEY
is a writer-producer whose articles in
the May and June issues on the craft
of screen writing have attracted much
attention. He here considers what is
ahead in the profession of screen-
writing.

EVERYONE acknowledges that the screen is a
great and powerful medium, but few agree upon
the manner in which it should be used. Some
would like to use it as an instrument of propaganda ;
others for education ; and still others for what they
loosely term "pure" entertainment. No doubt it will
and should be used for all three purposes; but I submit
that its finest potentialities lie elsewhere — in the realm
of art.

No amount of preaching, teaching, or entertaining
can satisfy the deepest needs of the human mind which
hungers for understanding and self-knowledge, and in
the final analysis will accept no substitute for what it
perceives to be true.

I believe, therefore, that the enormous appeal that
motion pictures have is not, as is often claimed, because
they afford a means of "escape" for the individual, but
precisely the opposite. The motion picture like the
drama, of which it is a new and more popular form,
helps the spectator resolve his inner conflicts, satisfy
impossible or impractical longings, and, far more effec-
tively than churches do, gives moral sanction to his
behavior.

As I have pointed out before, the drama is of reli-
gious origin and has been used through the centuries to
objectify the inner compulsions of man, "To show
virtue her own feature, scorn her own image," and
portray the terrifying consequences of deeds that are
socially tabu or psychologically unsound. It is con-
cerned, and alwa3"s has been, with the ethics of human
relationships, with "good" or "bad" behavior patterns,
with socially acceptable attitudes and those that are
not, with what is admirable and what is despicable,
what is fine and what is base. To a far greater extent
than people realize the theatre's real function is reli-
gious. While the spectator is being "entertained," he is
also being punished or rewarded for some portion of
his secret and unexpressed inner life as he sees it por-
trayed on the stage or screen.

If there is any need to prove this, listen to people's

comments as they leave a theatre. You hear such re-
marks as: "I would never have done that, would you?"
or (with relief) "I've felt that way many times," or
"John's like that. I wish he'd see this picture," etc. etc.
It is the inner life that is being evaluated, purged,
corrected, or resolved, even though the spectator is
frequently unaware of it. That this is one of the func-
tions of dramatic representation has long been accepted
by philosophers from Aristotle to Freud.

"DUT hitherto only the poets bothered about the
*-' theatre, the gifted minds that had an urge to write,
not for money primarily but fame, or some inner neces-
sity to objectify the turmoil and conflict of subjective
life ; and as a consequence, because the motive was single
and impassioned, the works they produced, good or bad,
had the stamp of their own personalities, and oftentimes
vivid and unmistakable flashes of insight which estab-
lished the individual's plight as a part of universal
experience.

It is not so today; for the theatre, and its prodigious
off-spring, motion pictures, have passed into other
hands. In the last hundred years, because of increased
urban populations and improved transportation, acces-
sibility to the theatre has greatly expanded its audience
and its profits. It is understandable, therefore, that
entrepreneurs in the form of bankers and real estate
men should have seen in this unique phenomenon of an
art making money a sound financial opportunity; and
the}' were quick to seize it. The actor-manager and the
writer-manager soon found themselves at the mercy of
the men who owned the theatres, the Shuberts or the
Erlangers, or those professional money-raisers, the com-
mercial producers, who could meet the growing cost of
production.

By 1900 the theatre, in this country at least, had
become a flourishing enterprise for shrewd financiers,
and by 1910 with the proven marketability of the
motion picture, it had passed completely out of the
hands of writers and actors and had become a vested

22

THE FUTURE OF SCREENWRITING

interest of enormous corporations. The unbelievable
had happened — an age-old art, spawned by the church,
developed by poets and mimes, financed by patrons and
subsidized by courts and states, had suddenly become
Big Business. The aspiring dramatist no longer had
to live in a garret, sponge on his friends for meals or
find a wealthy dowager for a patron. His patron was
waiting for him, eager to have him, seeking him out.
He had only to pledge allegiance to Loew's Inc. and
dedicate his talents to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. All of
which would have been fine if his talents had been per-
mitted to develop in the new art form ; but the making
of pictures soon became a subsidiary of a vast real estate
empire, and the writing of pictures subordinate to the
marketing of stars.

TD EARING these facts in mind it is difficult to
*-* prophesy how long it will take for writers and
actors to win back even a modicum of freedom in the
practice of their respective arts. Occasionally a picture
like Brief Encounter comes along, and because it is well
written, intelligently cast and competently directed, it
is received with critical acclaim. The "acclaim," I
think, is largely an expression of public amazement that
the picture was ever "allowed" to be made. It has none
of the standard attributes of "good showmanship." It
has no glamor, no stars, no topical or controversial
theme. The story is slight and thinly spun and ends
unhappily (according to prevailing formula) when the
leading man fails to "get" the leading lady. (Conceive
if you can of Greer Garson giving up Clark Gable to
remain with her husband, Don Ameche.) In addition,
it has an economy of "production value" that would
make many Hollywood executives ashamed to have it
seen.

What, then, has it? It is not a great picture by any
standard, but it has one magical quality common to all
good art ; it conveys a sense of truth. It is neither forced
nor exaggerated. It tells a poignant story with insight
and compassion without violating human experience.

"This," say our critics and detractors, "is more like
it. It's the sort of picture we want." And immediately
into the production mills of huge studios are rushed the
blueprints of similar projects. But, alas for corporate
enterprise, it doesn't work that way. Most manufac-
turers know precisely what their product consists of and
what benefit it will be to the consumer. They know
how to wrap it up attractively, advertise, and market
it; but the hapless movie maker has only an artist's
perception of truth to sell — as intangible an asset as
ever harassed the mind of an axious merchant. No won-
der he seeks insurance and reassurance in the form of
popular film personalities, costly exploitation cam-

paigns, block booking, and the exclusive ownership of
the nation's theatres. No wonder he imposes upon him-
self a crippling code of "don'ts" to make his product
acceptable to even- nationality", race, sect, political
party, protective society, profession, belief, and preju-
dice on earth. No wonder he fears writers, upon whose
willingness and ability to work within these limitations
depends the continuance of his counterfeit art, which
excludes from the screen by rigid censorship many of
the literary masterpieces of the world.

Let's keep the code — he says — but make better
pictures. Audiences are sick of the formula that made
us millions. Let's find another. Let's do pictures about
real people, real emotions, real situations. Let's have a
little truth for a change. But keep the code !

This is the ultimate absurdity to say that profits
depend on a more honest artistic effort but writers must
not be given the freedom to make the effort for fear of
losing profits.

OUCH being the case, as I believe it is, what can be
^ said for the future of screenwriting ? At best, I
think, we can hope for a gradual divorcement of the
art from the industry; and there is no reason why both
should not prosper. With the increasing number of
independent companies, one picture ventures, percentage
deals, there is much greater opportunity today than ever
before for a writer to write a screenplay and exercise
the same control over its production as the playwright
does in the theatre. His success will depend on his tal-
ent, as it should. It is certainly not implausible to
expect, when conditions are favorable, that fine talents
will come to light, and pictures bearing the imprint of
authors' personalities begin to appear on the screen.

Because of its greater scope and flexibility the motion
picture medium should prove an even greater challenge
to the writer's imagination than the theatre has been ;
and because it is a popular medium, there is no limit to
its audience other than that imposed by a scarcity of
theatres and equipment.

It can present with equal ease the sagas of fable and
folklore, the Book of Genesis or the Book of Revela-
tions, the Divine Comedy or the Canterbury Tales. A
modern Dante or a modern Chaucer may well find in
this medium an opportunity which the theatre never
afforded him. A modern Moliere may arise to drama-
tize our vanities and conceits or an Ibsen to define our
social problems. If Shaw were a young man today it is
quite conceivable that he would write for the screen, as
H. G. Wells avowed in his own case.

But this can only happen when writers are accorded
greater freedom, as in the British film industry, and
are encouraged by a more receptive attitude on the part
of producers to try their wings. No writer wants to

23

THE SCREEN WRITER

venture into new fields without a reasonable chance of
production. And yet it seems to me that such is the
current trend. Writers are being given greater author-
ity than ever before — as witness the increasing num-

ber of writer-producers, writer-directors, — and with
good reason, for the old system is artistically bankrupt.
The ball has been tossed to the essential creators.
It remains to be seen how far they can run with it.

Reading for the Movies

HARRY BERNSTEIN

HARRY BERNSTEIN, a motion pic-
ture story department reader, herein
describes working conditions in his
craft in New York. Mr. Bernstein as-
sures the Editorial Committee that he
has stated the situation accurately* and
other sources say he has used notable
restraint in his portrayal of the case
of the New York readers.

THE Story Editor was passing through the front
office anyway, so he stopped to speak to me. He
was a tall, thin fellow, partly bald, and he
scratched the back of his head apologetically and said
he was sorry, but there was nothing in right then, he
had hardly enough stuff to keep his regular readers
going, but if I were to drop in around the middle of
July, in about two weeks that was, there might be
something.

I murmured thanks and went out, feeling that it
was too good to be true anyway — to read books and
to get paid for it. Someone had told me that the moving
picture companies hired people to read manuscripts for
them on a part-time basis at so much per manuscript.
It was just the sort of thing I wanted. I was writing
my book at that time, I was going to be famous in a
short time, and I needed something to keep the pot
boiling until my book was written? And what could
be a more pleasant way of making money than by
reading? I read anyway in my spare time, so why not
get paid for doing it? But a lot of other people evidently
felt the same way about it as I did, for the various

*Mr. Bernstein writes as follows :

The experience of which I told in my article is fairly
recent. I am surprised that you have not heard how bad
conditions were among the outside readers in New York,
since they have often been brought out by the Readers' Guild.
I am back at the same sort of work, and the only change I
find is that some of the studios have upped the basic rate
from five to six and sometimes seven dollars a book, thus
making the average earnings of the outside reader about
thirty-five a week instead of twenty-five. Also one or two
studios give typewriter ribbons to their more favored readers.
Otherwise things are very much the same.

story offices were clogged up with readers. The editors
were all very sorry.

I was not going to give up so easily. About the middle
of July, remembering the last editor's suggestion, I
dropped in. This time I was sent in to his office. My
heart was pounding. I'd done it. The editor was seated
at his desk, busy over some work. He looked up as I
entered, mumbled a greeting, then glanced at the pile
of books and reading material on the table at his right.
He singled out one book, a brightly jacketed thing, and
handed it to me, saying, "Give me an idea of its literary
content."

Then he turned me over to his secretary, a tired
looking girl, who sighed and told me to follow her.
We went down a corridor into an office at the far end
of the suite. The secretary introduced me to the file
clerk, a tall, thin girl with a tight dress. She glowered
at me, plumped some carbon and paper in front of me,
and said I would find all I wanted to know on the
sheet of instructions and the sample synopsis. As I went
out, I thought I heard her mutter, 'Another one." But
I didn't care. I was treading on air. I was a reader.

Yes, sir. I was a reader. At home, in my furnished
room, I settled myself comfortably in the slightly louse-
eaten armchair, a package of cigarettes before me, a
footstool to stretch my legs on. The book was tripe,
something to do with a spoiled heiress, who was wan-
gling for a handsome architect, who in turn loved a
gift shoppe girl. But I wasn't taking any chances. I
read it carefully, each page thoroughly and thought of
Gary Cooper and Joan Crawford in the leading roles.

24

READING FOR THE MOVIES

I didn't know much about moving pictures. I hadn't
been to very many in my life.

I spent a sleepless night worrying whether I should
recommend the book or not. God knows it seemed like
the sort of thing the movies put on, but I wasn't sure.
In the morning I started to write the synopsis. The
instructions said a minimum of six pages, so I wrote
six pages. Then there was a summary and a comment.
In the comment I tried to be as noncommittal as pos-
sible. I said that while it seemed to have some screen-
able material, on the whole it was slight and lacked
originality. What the hell, I didn't know. I just wasn't
taking any chances.

I found that it was three o'clock when I was through.
I hurried back to the story office on Sixth Avenue in
the big Rockefeller Center Building. I was worried all
the way over, wondering whether I had said the right
thing or not. Gosh, supposing it turned out to be first
class movie stuff, and I'd passed it up. I had half a
mind to turn back and do it over. But I didn't. The
editor mumbled his same greeting as I came in. He
glanced briefly at my comment, then turned to the last
page and frowned slightly. He said they usually did
more than six pages — and I ought to clean my type
out. Anyway, there was nothing in right then, but if I
was ever around again, I might drop in, or I could
call up.

SO much for that. There had been stuff on his table,
but I was not supposed to see it. I slunk out, mis-
erable. Guess I'd fallen down on the job or he'd have
given me something else. I didn't know that it was the
regular procedure, a sort of test of a reader's persist-
ence. If a reader came back often enough he really
wanted the job, and the movie companies wanted read-
ers who really wanted jobs. I did — at least that job.
There was my masterpiece to write. I had to consider
that. So I called up and came down several times, and
finally I was rewarded with another book.

This time I wrote a synopsis of ten pages. The editor
pursed his lips and said sometimes readers wrote synop-
ses of fifteen and twenty pages, and even as much as
thirty. It was fairly common. I started to tell him that
it took up too much time, that if I were to write fifteen
or twenty pages I would have to take two days on a
book. But I figured he might not like that. He wouldn't
have. Anyway, he seemed more satisfied than the last
time. From then on I wrote longer synopses. They took
up more of my time than I had expected. In fact I was
not getting any time to write my book. But I thought
— what the hell — just as soon as I break in I'll be able
to ease off. My book would wait, my epic.

I didn't know then that it was the busy season. The

Fall publishing lists were coming in from the publishers
and agents. The editor's desk was piled high with stuff.
His greeting as I came in was more genial. In those
next few weeks I read my guts out. Novels of all sorts,
romances, mysteries, an occasional piece of literature;
plays, plays that had been produced or were going to
be produced or that nobody in his right mind would
ever produce. Short stories, magazines, articles, even
newspaper features. Essays, books on the Panama Ca-
nal, on the Suez Canal, the Chicago River, the Canarsie
Bay, everything under the sun. And once, God help
me, a book of poems.

I couldn't handle more than one a day — and this
was enough. Reading the book would take me an aver-
age of four hours ; writing the synopsis about four, five
or six hours. If the manuscript was recommended, then
I would be required to write an extremely long synop-
sis which, in itself, would take two days. And no extra
pay for it, either. I started work at nine in the morning,
usually. I did the synopsis then. I came into the office
about two, often not having had any lunch. Some-
times the editor was dictating, or in conference, or
something of the sort, and readers had to wait often as
much as an hour before going in to see him. It was
about half-past three when I got home. There was
dinner — or supper or lunch — sometimes even break-
fast — and then back to reading the manuscript I had
been given. I might not be through with my day's work
until ten that night. If the book was extra long, I
might be up until twelve reading it. And no extra pay
for it either.

Quite often there were "rush jobs." These were
manuscripts that, because of some special reason, per-
haps because the agent was a favorite, or the manuscript
considered "hot" — had to be in at nine the next morn-
ing. That meant I would be up most of the night typing
out my synopsis. The people downstairs complained.
The landlady threatened to kick me out. I told them
all to go to hell. I was always in a bad mood.

And it was hot that September. The sweat poured
off me. The galleys were long and cumbersome to han-
dle, and slipped to the floor. The keys of my typewriter
stuck. I was a two finger artist. I cursed. I raved.
I was a madman.

Now and then we were sent out to read at the offices
of publishing companies or agents. This was done for
the same reason as the "rush job" business. You'd think
the agents and publishers would treat us with a certain
amount of respect. No such thing. They stuck us in all
sorts of odd, uncomfortable corners. One pulp magazine
I visited put me in the waiting room, right near the
door. Every time the door opened, the pages of the
manuscript would fly off the table. And people were
passing to and fro constantly. Girls came out to gossip

25

THE SCREEN WRITER

with the receptionist. Salesmen were interviewed.
While I tried to read about how the Arizona Kid gal-
loped madly through the valley to rescue the rancher's
fair daughter — damn her.

One time I went up to an agent's office. The agent
was an elderly, rusty looking dame. But she seated her-
self directly in front of me in the tiny, crowded office
(part of which was a circulating library) and crossed
her legs so that I could see her knobby knees. She kept
her gaze fixed on me all the time I read, and presently
when I had passed uncomfortably part way through the
manuscript she began asking me how I liked it, and
didn't I think Barbara Stanwyck would do well in the
part of the heroine. After she had asked me the same
question a few times, a funny look, I guess, began to
come on my face. She then reached for the phone and
called up another moving picture company and told
them- to send down a reader. "And be sure you send
someone down with a little sense," she said.

"VTOU can guess what I was up against. Hard as I
-*■ worked I could never make more than twenty-five
dollars a week. That was tops. For a book, regardless
of length, I received five dollars. For a novelette, three
dollars, and two dollars apiece for short stories. And I
was working morning, afternoon and night ! Sometimes
Saturdays and Sundays too ! I hadn't touched my novel
for weeks. I didn't know what it looked like. When I
did have some time left, I was too tired to do anything.
At the end of the week I was so dazed, somebody said
I looked like a cow that had been dealt a severe blow
on the head.

But pretty soon the slump started. The Fall publish-
ing season was over. No longer was the editor's table
piled high with work. And no longer was his tone as
genial as before. Quite often I did not gain admittance
even to his office. The secretary would come out and
shake her head wearily, saying she was sorry but there
was nothing in right then. I had plenty of time for my
book, all right. But I wasn't making enough to live on.
The other readers were in pretty much the same fix.
They haunted the office day and night practically. One
would be coming in hopefully and he would meet
another coming out emptyhanded. Then his hope
would die.

By now I had come to know some of the readers. A
few, like myself, were "working on a novel." Reading
manuscripts was just a stopgap for them until they had
completed their novel and had sold it and become rich
and famous. One had actually written and had pub-
lished a novel, but it had not made much of a success.
Another had, several years ago, written a rather well-
known movie in which Emil Jannings had acted. The
latter, a thin, gloomy fellow, usually sat apart from us

in the front office when we were waiting to see the
editor, staring sullenly at the floor, never talking.
When it was his turn to go in, he got to his feet
abruptly, pushed the editor's door open roughly. Never
once did he say anything to us.

One, an elderly woman, was forever sighing about
the old days. She was very heavily rouged, and her
grey hair was bobbed. When she sat down you saw her
stockings rolled below her knees, and tied with garters
made out of pieces of string. With tears in her eyes, she
would tell us of the days when she used to get fifty
dollars for reading a manuscript, and all the time she
wanted. She would take a few out to the country with
her, read them at a leisurely pace, then dictate the
synopsis to a secretary. But of course she was a very
important woman in those days. She wrote novels, and
had plays produced on the stage, and the screen. "Ah
yes," she would sigh, "those were the days." The next
moment she would be dropping her purse, and her
handkerchief and her spectacle case as she jumped up
to answer the story editor's call.

One day, I was about to enter the building, when a
limousine drew up at the curb. A smartly dressed
woman in her middle thirties got out, followed by a
string of yapping low bellied dogs that looked like
frankfurters. I let her enter first with the dogs, then
followed her into the elevator. She got out at my floor,
and entered the Story Office. Immediately there was a
commotion. The entire office staff ran out to greet her,
crying, "Felice, darling!" The dogs started yapping.

Felice darling was also a reader. She was the intel-
lectual daughter of some wealthy Wall Street man who
had an interest in the movie firm. She read, we under-
stood, "to keep herself out of mischief."

The file clerk turned out to be all right. After I had
given her a piece of chewing gum one day she whispered
to me that the other movie company across the street
was busy and needed readers. She said that seeing as
how there wasn't much in the reading line right now
here, I might try them across the street. I went across.
They must have been pretty busy. The editor, a woman
this time, didn't ask any questions. She handed me a
manuscript and my heart leaped when I saw it. The
yellow egg stain on the front cover told me that it was
the manuscript I had covered for the other firm a week
ago. It was a cinch. But that sort of luck didn't con-
tinue. Because I could not make a living by working
for either firm singly, I attempted to work for both at
the same time, hoping that when one firm did not give
me work, the other would.

Readers have tried that stunt often. It has never
worked. It can't. Almost invariably, when one turned
me away empty-handed, the other did too. And when
one gave me a script, so did the other. So then I was

26

READING FOR THE MOVIES

faced with the appalling task of covering two books in
one day. And one might happen to be a rush job. The
first editor apparently suspected, for he delivered a
long lecture one afternoon on "loyalty to the firm." He
hinted that there were rewards for people who devoted
their entire energies to the firm. There were such things
as inside reading jobs — steady work — steady pay —
(thirty-five a week, I found out later). The editor
concluded his lecture by saying that he must have read-
ers who were on call all the time. Readers that weren't
on call he didn't want.

I caught on. I dropped the other firm. They'd have
dropped me anyway in a short time, as their work was
falling off. At the first place work had picked up
slightly, but it came in dribs and drabs. The most I
could make was about fifteen dollars a week. In the
Spring there was another busy season. With its seasons,
it was just like the tailoring or bricklaying trade. Dur-
ing the season I made as high as twenty-five a week.
Then the season stopped and I was back to fifteen a
week, sometimes ten, sometimes five, sometimes nothing
a week.

AS time passed, I began to notice new faces appear
among the readers, old faces disappear. The turn-
over of readers I learned was rapid. The life of the
average manuscript reader for the movies was about
one year. After that time he was considered played out,
jaded, too apt to pass up good stuff. The moving pic-
ture people could afford to be independent toward their
readers. College boys sometimes offered to do the work
for nothing, simply to gain experience in the writing

world. Writers in Hollywood who had failed to renew
their contracts were consoled with jobs in the Story
Office. Executives got rid of the lesser important rela-
tives by sending them into the Story Office. Bored
society girls read manuscripts to kill time.

My turn came in a very short time. It was after I
had taken the liberty of writing a mere eight page
synopsis on a certain book that didn't stand a dog's
chance anyway. This might not have had anything to
do with it, since I had written eight page synopses
before. I don't know. Anyway, the editor's face began
to stiffen when he saw me, and he shook his head.
Nothing in today. When I called on the phone, his
secretary, who had gone to Hunter College, drawled,
'Awfully sorry, but really things are so slow." Then
one day the editor said he didn't think there'd be any-
thing in for quite some time, he hardly had enough to
keep his regular staff of readers going, but if I hap-
pened to be around the neighborhood in — say — a few
weeks, I might drop in.

Only this time I didn't drop. I was through with
reading for the movies. The next time I read, which
wouldn't be for quite some time, it would be for myself.
I wouldn't get paid for it, but I wouldn't mind. I had
a good job, washing dishes in a cafeteria. The job didn't
pay much more than reading manuscripts, but it left
me a good deal more leisure time. I was going to utilize
that time working on my book. It wasn't the same book
that I had originally set out to write. It was a brand
new idea, based on my recent experiences. It was to be
called, Books of Wrath, and it was to deal with migra-
tory manuscript readers in America.

Screen Writers' Guild Studio Chairmen

(June 23, 1947)

Columbia — Melvin Levy.

MGM — Anne Chapin ; alternates, Sidney Boehm,

Marvin Borowsky, Margaret Fitts, Charles

Kaufman.

Republic — Franklin Adreon; alternate, John K.

Butler.
20th Century-Fox — Richard Murphy.

Warner Brothers — James Webb; alternate, Ruth
Brooks.

Paramount — Arthur Sheekman; alternate, Jesse
Lasky, Jr.

Universal-International — Silvia Richards.

RKO — John Twist.

27

SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD, INC.

1655 NO. CHEROKEE AVE., HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA
AFFILIATED WITH AUTHORS' LEAGUE OF AMERICA, INC.

OFFICERS & EXECUTIVE BOARD, THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD: PRESIDENT,
EMMET LAVERY; 1ST VICE-PRESIDENT, MARY McCALL, JR.; 2ND VICE-PRESI-
DENT, HOWARD ESTABROOK; 3RD VICE-PRESIDENT, HUGO BUTLER; SECRETARY,
F. HUGH HERBERT; TREASURER, HAROLD BUCHMAN. EXECUTIVE BOARD: MEL-
VILLE BAKER, HAROLD BUCHMAN, HUGO BUTLER, JAMES M. CAIN, LESTER COLE,
PHILIP DUNNE, HOWARD ESTABROOK, F. HUGH HERBERT, TALBOT JENNINGS,
RING LARDNER, JR., RANALD MacDOUGALL, MARY McCALL, JR., GEORGE SEATON,
LEO TOWNSEND. ALTERNATES: MAURICE RAPF, GORDON KAHN, ISOBEL LEN-
NART, VALENTINE DAVIES, HENRY MYERS, DAVID HERTZ. COUNSEL, MORRIS E.
COHN. ASSISTANT SECRETARY, ALICE PENNEMAN.

D I T O R

Absolute freedom to present all
public issues is the foundation
stone of American liberty.

— Herbert Clark Hoover

THERE is need to investigate Hollywood and its vast business of imagery.
It is a pity in a way that this need has been repeatedly and pointlessly ob-
scured by the low-comedy level so characteristic of the Dies-Rankin-
Thomas Un-American Activities Committee, with its overtones of mountebank-
ery and megalomania.

Apparently that has happened again. The routine grows monotonous. First
the bread-and-circuses build-up, the 160-point Hearstian banner lines, the
shrilly indiscriminate cries against whipping boy writers and pictures to the
accompaniment of publicity pyrotechnics that exude the faintly reminiscent
smell of burning books. Then the quick fadeout, with the whole uproar as
tricky and evanescent as a bad dream sequence.

Show business, particularly Hollywood show business, fits so perfectly this
diversionary technique, which takes millions of minds off high prices, bad
housing and other worries. In Hollywood itself our complex production
machine is in need of expert overhauling, of intensive lucubration, and not of
this crude congressional monkey wrench irresponsibly tossed into it.

It is a delicate and wonderful machine, and of late it hasn't been working
very well. The machine from the god, Dudley Nichols called it in one of his
prefaces; the machine which in ancient Greek drama projected the god-actor

28

EDITORIAL

to the stage from the upper wings, and now in our common use and able to
project into countless millions of brains the dreams, the beauty, the truth, the
dignity and happiness that could be the common heritage of human beings.

But Nichols points out that this gift which brought added power also
enhanced responsibility; and that so far these machines from the gods have
meant cultural regression rather than advancement. The integrity of newspa-
pers, the responsibility of radio, have retrogressed as their power increased.

What the motion picture machine has done to enrich culture has not lived
up to its far-reaching potentials.

Why? Here is something that opens up many vistas of investigation.

The idea for such investigations might not be utterly Utopian or academic.
Such probings and soul searchings of course should come from within the
motion picture industry, or at least should originate in maturely competent
outside agencies rather than in the minds of headline hunters. Such an investi-
gative move was recently made and its results published by the University of
Chicago Commission to study the freedom of the press, screen and radio. This
commission's findings under the guidance of Chancellor Robert M. Hutchins
of the University of Chicago and Zechariah Chaffee, Jr., professor of law at
Harvard University, were of importance to Hollywood and the American pub-
lic. But they were drowned in the tidal wave of sensational Thomas Committee
press releases. Again, that is a pity.

PROBABLY the most effective diagnosis of our creaking motion picture
machine must come from within the industry. Among the creative men and
women who make American movies there are rich resources of intelligence and
integrity for such an investigative survey.

There is need for impartial, basic exploration of such problems as :

1. Hollywood's labor situation. Why does the long studio lockout,
the prolific cause of hardship and higher production costs, remain unset-
tled? Is it true, as John Gunther says in his new book, Inside The U.S.A., that
all the major studios, even the so-called "liberal" lots, are basically anti-labor?

2. Employment. What must be done to halt the industry's shrinking
employment trend, especially in the creative fields? What are the rock-bottom
economic factors behind falling employment?

3. Re-issues. The release of these pictures is undermining employment
in Hollywood with profit for the producing companies, but with no additional
compensation for artists and craftsmen who originally created the properties.

4. Monopoly Control. The University of Chicago Commission cited as
fundamental this problem of the increasingly monolithic control over produc-
tion and distribution, and its corollary danger of the cartelization of thought.

5. Intimidation. Dozens of little and dubiously legal censorship boards
throughout America habitually bulldoze the movies. Why not investigate and
act on the need of united resistance to this blue law hypocrisy?

6. Production Administration Code. In concept and content this document

29

THE SCREEN WRITER

is widely recognized as in need of revision. Its contradictions and absurdities
should be responsibly examined. The University of Chicago Commission recom-
mended that this be undertaken by a board representing the Screen Writers'
Guild, The Screen Directors' Guild, the Screen Actors' Guild and the Pro-
ducers' Association operating with a national advisory board with broad public
sponsorship.

7. Film Content and Propaganda. Into this old question new implica-
tions have been injected. What about them? Does the industry cling to its pious
slogans of "pure entertainment?" Or have recent events induced the policy
making entrepreneurs of the screen to abandon them and to embark on a new
course of loading films with content, as long as the content message coincides
with their social mores and political convictions? Is this the meaning behind
Mr. Eric Johnston's recent talks to gatherings on the lots? If so, it is important
to Hollywood, America and the world. Let it be brought out into the open,
and examined frankly.

8. Foreign Markets. These markets, affording to the industry its finan-
cial gravy, affect every industry member, whether employer or employee. So the
way in which the pictures we make affect those markets is of concern to us. We
know that lack of content, vacuity in films, affects them adversely. How will
heavy-handed content, plugging what may seem to them alien points of view,
influence the foreign box office?

9. Creative Control. Every thoughtful analyst of the industry points to
the need of greater participation and control of production by its creative ele-
ments if there is to be qualitative improvement in the output. Only in this way
can we hope to compete with the quality British pictures are achieving through
control by their creators.

HESE are some of the things that really need investigating in Hollywood.

Intelligent investigation of them, followed by action, would make Holly-
wood a better place to live in, work in, and even to make money and reap divi-
dends in. Continued abuse of our machine from the god is infinitely danger-
ous. Rightly used, it could greatly enrich human culture and civilization.
In the world language of pictures it could raise its voice above the clash of
ideologies, speak to all peoples of peace, democracy, freedom and the dignity
of the human spirit. There may not be much time in which to do it.

^s-1

30

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epori an

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ommen

t

Critical Notes

By RAYMOND CHANDLER

I THINK some of my comments on
the questionnaire were possibly a lit-
tle more acid than necessary. The May
number of THE SCREEN WRIT-
ER seems to me unusually good. If
you have patience to read, I should
like to offer detailed comments.

Twice Sold Tales, by Martin
Field: This exposes a disgraceful
situation which I don't suppose the
Guild could ever entirely eliminate,
since there will always be distress
sales, that is sales by writers at un-
reasonably low prices because they
happen to need the money or to think
that the particular sale offered them
is the only one they will ever get a
chance at. No agent should be allowed
to purchase and resell a literary prop-
erty at a profit, either in his own
name or through a dummy. An agent,
to some extent at least, is in a position
of trusteeship towards his clients as a
whole and towards his individual cli-
ent. If he cannot observe the integrity
of this relationship, he should be
blacklisted publicly. If there is any
way of attacking him legally, it should
be done by the Guild and I, as a
member, should be only too glad to
be assessed my share of the costs.

But let's be fair all around ; actors,
directors and writers should also be
limited in buying literary properties
on speculation, since the object of
such purchases, when made in good
faith, is not so much a profit as to tie
up a property the individual is inter-
ested in seeing converted into a pic-
ture. It is obvious that the only legiti-
mate action here is the taking of an
option, and there should be an agree-

SWG member Raymond Chandler,
noted novelist, accompanied his reply
to the recent questionnaire with some
trenchant comments concerning THE
SCREEN WRITER. Later, after
reading the May issue, he sent in
the above comments:

ment negotiated between the Guilds
that any such option, if turned over
to a studio at a profit must result in
an equitable division of such profit
between the optionee and the original
seller. The optionee is entitled to
some reward for taking the risk. Ex-
cept in these special circumstances
speculation in literary properties by
others than producers who have re-
sources to turn them into films is a
vicious practice, will always be a vi-
cious practice, and every effort should
be made by our Guild and every other
Guild to stop it.

My only personal experience with
this sort of thing was the sale of an
option to Howard Hawks, or rather
to a company which was, in fact,
Howard Hawks, which option How-
ard Hawks later turned over to War-
ner Brothers, and I am informed and
on this information believe that
Hawks made no direct profit from the
transaction, but recovered from War-
ner Brothers the exact amount he was
obligated to pay me, if he exercised
his option. This is the sort of thing
that we can respect; and I may add,
if you don't already know it, that
Howard Hawks is a pretty shrewd
trader.

What Is Screen Writing?, by
Sheridan Gibney: This admirable
article of course requires no comment
or criticism from me. It reinforces me
in the thought, however, which I
have had for a long time, that a screen
adaptation of a play, or of a work of
fiction, but more particularly of a
work of fiction, is a new kind of lit-
erary property, and that the only
thing that prevents us from asserting
this right is the fact that most writers
in Hollywood are employees, and must
assign to the motion picture companies
the right for those companies to call
themselves the true authors. As long
as writers remain employees, even if
discontented ones, it will be impos-
sible for them to put over the idea
that a screen adaptation is not just a
service performed.

As an individual I refuse to be an
employee, but of course I am only an
individual. I have a contract with
Universal-International to write a
screen play which expressly deals with
me as an independent contractor. I
admit that not many writers in Hol-
lywood can get this now; not because
they don't deserve it, but because they
will not face the financial risks of
demanding it, and refusing to work on
any other terms. I have expressed
some of these ideas to Mr. Albert
Maltz, who did not deign to reply to
them in the spirit in which they were
given. I consider that in making this
fight, solitary as it is, I am making a
contribution to the status of the screen
writer in Hollywood. There are too
many barriers for any one man to
break down, but every barrier that is
broken down, and with good will on
both sides, certainly is a good augury
for the future.

Film Author! Film Author!, by
Joseph L. Mankiewicz: I am in ab-
solute disagreement with the philo-
sophical basis of this article. I do not
think a writer has to become a pro-
ducer or director in order to be an
independent artist. Some writers do
not want to be directors or producers,
and I will maintain that the best
writers will not want to be directors
or producers, because there is a cleav-
age between the creative art of writ-
ing and the arts of directing and pro-
ducing, if indeed they are arts. They
are, at their highest level, but their
highest level is very seldom reached.

The few (there are probably not
more than a score) really good direc-
tors, make very few pictures. The
average Hollywood director is just
about competent enough to direct
traffic on a quiet Monday afternoon
in Pomona. But even the best direc-
tors often disfigure the creative integ-
rity of screen plays in favor of what
they choose to call showmanship.

There is an innate, permanent, arid
probably necessary struggle between

31

THE SCREEN WRITER

what the director wants to do with
his camera and his actors, and what
the writer wants to do with his words
and his ideas. When this struggle is
reconciled, you may get a great pic-
ture. When it is eliminated by having
both functions performed by the same
man, you are much more apt to get
the highest common factor of both
talents. I know there are some excep-
tions to this, some famous ones in
fact. They have, so far as I know,
resulted from economic conditions
which cannot be obtained in Holly-
wood.

It is no great trick to make artistic
pictures, if you can make them for
what the costumes of the star cost
over here, and if a return equal to the
salary of that same star would be a
profitable return. There are plenty of
artistic people about. The point is in
Hollywood they have to use their tal-
ents to bring in two or three million
dollars.

Two Poems of Hollywood, by John
Motley:* If you can get poetry as
good as this, I am happy to withdraw
mv objections to the publication of
poetry in THE SCREEN WRIT-
ER. Very good T. S. Eliot, and very
good T. S. Eliot is good enough for
me.

Oh Mr. Johnston, Oh Mr. Breenl:
This is a very cute piece, but Phyllis
Cornell is much too respectful to Mr.
Eric Johnston. I take it that Mr.
Johnston fits into his job or he could-
n't have it. I take it that his business
negotiations are all for the good of
the industry. I think he would be a
very nice guy at a Kiwanis Club
luncheon, but when he starts talking
about art, he is strictly from hambur-
ger.

I am told — in fact I heard it with
my own ears over the radio, but I am
getting old and my memory plays me
strange tricks — that Mr. Johnston
announced on the occasion of the
Academy Awards, that the motion
picture was the greatest art form
since the Greek drama. He made this
announcement in the clear, ringing
tones of one bringing tidings of a
great victory. I do not think this
statement should be allowed to die. I
suggest it be engraved on an old bottle

*JOHN MOTLEY was a pseudonym used
by Bernard C. Schoenfeld of THE
SCREEN IVRITER Editorial Committee.

cap and handed for safe keeping to
one of the rhesus monkeys in the Grif-
fith Park Zoo.

Why British Pictures Are Good :
A lot of this is fairly sound stuff, but
I think it overlooks a couple of rather
significant points. One reason why
British pictures seem very good is that
they have been very bad in the past,
and we are surprised that they are
good at all. Another, and much more
cogent reason is that British pictures
are made close to the center of theat-
rical production. They can be cast
thoroughly in all parts, large and
small. In Hollywood we have a few
high priced and talented stars, a num-
ber of second-rate stars who are not
the equal of British performers, a few
very good character actors, some rea-
sonably effective hacks, and from that
we drop straight down to the mass of
bit players who try to steal the picture
in a scene involving four lines of dia-
logue. So we don't write scenes for
bit players, and in consequence our
pictures are apt to lack the texture of
British pictures. They are apt to be a
series of highlighted, important scenes
between the principals, strung togeth-
er by passage work, movement,
threading in and out of crowds, mu-
sic, and so on. This is quite a handi-
cap, since we lose the enrichening ef-
fect of the peripheral writing which is
so vital in fiction, and should be
equally vital in motion picture mak-
ing.

Lastly, about advertising. Don't let
the opposition worry you. Be not
afraid of commercialism and of losing
that prepaid propaganda sheet. Of
course advertising influences editorial
policy. It always has, and it always
will, but in the long run it influences
it far less viciously than ideological
pressure. Advertising in a magazine
like this may create a few minor
taboos, very minor I think, but it will
also keep the magazine on an even
keel. If the contents of a magazine do
not force all kinds of people to buy it,
the advertisers will not pay for space
in it. Why should they? Advertising
would force the magazine to become
attractive, but not only to those who
already think like it, and only want
to read in print a more pointed ex-
pression of their own thoughts, but to
people who neither share those
thoughts nor are even aware of them ;
to people who are not interested in
the Guild objects for Guild members,
but in thought about motion pictures,

in clever and well written critical
articles about motion pictures, and in
any good reading matter whose basic
subject is the motion picture. Only if
this larger public buys this magazine,
will the advertisers pay for space.
Without this kind of support the
magazine will be merely a tool for the
party in power. Commercialism, with
all its faults, is at least a fixed point
of reference.

How Are Pictures
Made?

' I 'HE question before the SWG
■*■ Special Program Committee sem-
inar at Lucey's on June 10 was:
"How can screen writers find out
how pictures are madef" Sitting at
the speakers' table were Milton
Krims, acting chairman of the Spe-
cial Program Committee ; Dore
Schary, production head of RKO ;
Adrian Scott, producer ; Vincent
Sherman, director; Dorothy Bennett
Hanna, writer; Walter McEwen,
producer; Joseph Sistrom, producer,
and Joseph L. Mankiewicz, director.

All the round table speakers except
Walter McEwen have had screen
writing experience. Mr. McEwen
was a story editor for many years.

Mr. Krims opened the discussion
with the remark that the question
quoted above seemed to him to have a
significantly plaintive connotation.

Mr. Schary observed that the ques-
tion seemed not only plaintive but
trite. He expressed the belief that any
employed screen writer who seriously
wishes to learn how pictures are made
can do so. He can study good pictures,
analyze the scripts, talk with direc-
tors, see the daily rushes, spend time
on the sets. He promised that any
writer employed at RKO or any oth-
er Hollywood studio would be given
permission to spend time on RKO
sound stages and observe production
techniques.

Mr. Scott also referred to the
plaintive quality of the question under
discussion, and said he was unable to
answer it. In his opinion the question
should have been phrased in this way :
"Why is it that motion picture writ-
ers do not usually have the opportu-

32

REPORT AND COMMENT

nity to share in the making of motion
pictures?"

He expressed the belief that under
present conditions in Hollywood the
producer is the only one who has di-
rect access to full knowledge of how
pictures are made; that the director
has only occasional access to this
knowledge; that camera men, cutters
and actors as a rule have a fragmen-
tary rather than full knowledge of
screen techniques; and that when
writers turn in the script they gener-
ally finish their participation in the
making of the picture they have writ-
ten. Mr. Scott said that the industry
in Hollywood did not seem to be
geared for full writer participation in
picture making, and that possibly the
problem should be subjected to psy-
choanalytical exploration.

Mr. McEwen greeted his old
friends in the SWG gathering, and
reserved his comments. Mr. Sistrom
observed that for contract writers the
problem of learning how pictures are
made should be relatively easy, but
that for the new writer who had sold
an original or so it was a difficult
problem badly in need of Hollywood's
attention.

Mr. Mankiewicz said that Mr.
Scott's statement about producers be-
ing the only ones with easy access to
full knowledge of motion picture
techniques was disturbing. He be-
lieved that writers, producers, direc-
tors, cutters and others primarily re-
sponsible for the making of motion
pictures should have a good working
knowledge of how pictures are made,
and that when they did have this
knowledge we would turn out better
pictures. He said the motion picture is
a special form of art; that its flexi-
bility and tremendous technical re-
sources must be learned by hard study
and experience, as a novelist learns to
write good novels, or a painter learns
how to paint good pictures.

Mr. Sherman, who has had experi-
ence in the industry as an actor, writ-
er and director, said that a writer
brings to the task of creating a script
these resources: the material at hand,
and his concept of it ; himself — his
knowledge, his background, his atti-
tudes and values ; the technique which
he must use to illustrate and make
effective what he wants to say. He
urged writers who want a better
knowledge of how pictures are made
to gain a better knowledge of how

the world we live in is made, of the
problems and conflicts of our times,
of the impact of these motivating
pressures on human beings. He also
emphasized the importance of more
cooperation and contact between the
writer and director before shooting
starts, and while the script is still in
the formative stage. He said that if
use of the word collective is still al-
lowable, he would like to see more
genuine collective effort between
writers, directors, producers and oth-
ers engaged in the making of a pic-
ture. He pointed to the excellence of
the current British film, Great Ex-
pectations, to illustrate the rewards of
such collective activity in terms of
integration and beauty. He cited the
article by T. E. B. Clarke, the British
writer- director, in the June issue of
THE SCREEN WRITER, as an
important illustration of the value of
intra-studio cooperation.

Dorothy Bennett Hanna said writ-
ers, especially new writers, should get
a better break in the studios; that
money is not enough, and morale
should be considered, too. She ob-
served that a new writer goes into a
studio, and is so overwhelmed by the
private office, the secretary, the office
couch and the salary that he or she
does not have the nerve to ask for
anything more. But she believed
something more is needed — a more
friendly spirit, more evidence of co-
operation, more effort to show the
new writers the ropes, to take them
on the sets, to make them feel they
are an integral part of the complex
studio mechanism.

AFTER these opening statements
by the round table speakers, Mr.
Schary said that he had not met writ-
ers of the timid, shrinking type de-
scribed by Miss Hanna. He did not
see much point in having studios cod-
dle writers, or subsidize their training.

He expressed the opinion that the
great need is for writers to create
good stories, well-written, rich in the
detailed imagery that makes pictures
come alive. If writers will do that, he
said, they will not have to worry
about their position in the studios. If
they will put visual technique into
their scripts, plenty of valid imagery,
directors and producers will shoot the
script as written, in the opinion of
Mr. Schary.

Mr. Sherman observed that there

is a lack of books on motion picture
directing. As a former dialogue direc-
tor, he expressed amazement over
what he called the "unnecessity" of
so much dialogue in films. He advised
writers to study the scripts of the old
silent pictures and to analyze the
techniques used when there was no
conversation to supplement action.

There were many questions and
remarks from the floor. Richard Ma-
caulay observed that too many direc-
tors who could not write a scene
themselves had a tendency to butcher
writers' scripts. Borden Chase said
directors had made the movies largely
their medium, and advised writers to
be content as writers. He believed
that would pay off in a big way, and
said it had paid him off last year to
the extent of a quarter of a million
dollars. Howard Young, with long
experience in England as a screen
writer, described working conditions
in the English studios, where writers
are consulted in all phases of pro-
duction. Louise Randall Pearson pre-
sented some of her experiences and
conclusions, and Dick Irving Hyland
advised movie writers to see more
movies. Gordon Kahn pointed out
that while books on the technique of
screen writing would fill a five foot
shelf, there was a lack of books on the
problems and techniques of produc-
tion. He asked for more enlighten-
ment from policy-making producers.

Mr. Schary and Mr. Mankiewicz
suggested that it might be a good idea
if SWG would inaugurate a series of
seminars. Mr. Schary said important
pictures could be shown at these semi-
nars and their techniques discussed.
Mr. Mankiewicz suggested joint
seminars held by the Screen Writers'
and Screen Directors' Guilds.

R. S.

The Wailing Wall
At Lucey's

DEEP in the heart of New Mexico
— and Texas, too, there are
units of a cult calling themselves The
Penitentes. Several times a year the
members of this society gather in
secret places to beat the tar out of
themselves. They gash their bodies
with broken glass and merrily inflict

33

THE SCREEN WRITER

lacerations, abrasions and contusions
on each other. It's all very joyful and
bloody — just like a bunch of screen
writers whenever they gather in packs
of four or more.

Since they bruise more easily than
those fanatical seekers after grace
writers merely beat their breasts in
cadence, as they did the other night
at Lucey's restaurant where 150 of
them gathered at the invitation of the
SWG's Special Events Committee to
"find out how pictures are made."

Now we all know that any reader
of newspaper film sections, popular
weeklies and fan magazines is privy
to the black arts of picture-making,
from the script onward. They know
the names as "styles" of every direc-
tor and can recognize his "touch."
They have become canny enough to
detect process shots, miniatures and
other screen illusions.

But the writers came anyhow. And
ten minutes after the proceedings be-
gan, the sound of their knuckles on
breast-bone could have been heard
clear down to Figueroa Street.

From long habit, the writers rose
one by one and assumed for their craft
the whole responsibility for what ails
the motion pictures today. Occasion-
ally the testimony of sin was inter-
rupted by the organ tones of those on
the high altar who had once been
writers themselves but now held posts
as directors, writer-directors, writer-
director-producers and all the varia-
tions in between. These men had
written the masterworks, but the ma-
jority of those below the salt were the
writers of the 425 turkeys out of the
total annual product of 450 features.

Secretly, what the writers who
foregathered on this occasion wanted
to know, was how the producer ex-
plained his own contribution to the
art of the motion picture. But they
remained politely vague on that point,
and the producers on the dais declined
to broach it on their own account.

One writer attempted to draw the
producers out on this phase of picture
activity. He said that there are many
textbooks on film writing; some dis-
closures by directors on their tech-

niques and by professors of other
skills. But he knew of no book in
which a producer makes clear his par-
ticular science. Perhaps, he implied, a
producer contemplated such a book.

Instead of enlightenment on this
subject, the questioner was given a
swift and irresponsive one in the
groin, which put the writers back on
the defensive.

I am sure that the writer who
wanted to know more about produc-
ers had intended no opprobrium. He
was simply after enlightenment. In
what respects do they help a picture
along? Are they at the bow or the
stern of the belt-line? Is there some-
thing they can still learn — or teach?

It is time that writers heard from
them. Producers are the direct supe-
riors of the writer when he is on an
assignment. It is the producer's nod
or frown that makes the difference
not only in the spirit and zest with
which he works, but to a vital extent
in the quality of motion pictures.

Writers aren't always the heavies.

G. K.

SWQ Bulletin

On Oct. 8, 1946, six screen writ-
ers, members of SWG, declined to
enter the picketed Columbia lot and
decided to do that day's work at
home. As a result they were docked
that day's pay. An arbitration board
was finally appointed to decide
whether or not the writers should be
paid for the day they worked at home.
The six writers were Ted Thomas,
Brenda Weisberg, Malcolm Boylan,
Bill Sackheim, Edward F. Huebsch
and Morton Grant.

On May 31 the board of arbitra-
tion reached a decision completely
vindicating the position of the writers
and setting an important precedent.
On this board Ring W. Lardner, Jr.,
represented the Screen Writers'
Guild, Emmett P. Ward represented

Columbia Pictures Corporation and
Gordon S. Watkins, professor of eco-
nomics at the University of California
in Los Angeles acted as the impartial
member of the board.

The following excerpt from the
board's decision is of particular sig-
nificance.

Although the physical condi-
tions surrounding the employer's
Talisman Studio on the morning
of October 8, 1946, were not
such as to warrant the conclusion
of the aforementioned writers
that physical injury or personal
violence was imminent, never-
theless circumstances were such
as to provide ample grounds for
considerable a p p r e hensiveness
with regard to the suffering of

personal indignity, discomfort
and inconvenience. Such appre-
hensiveness was, we think, a suf-
ficient reason for the employees'
conclusion that they could not
perform their customary services
at the studio with the desired de-
gree of mental ease and effective-
ness, and that their respective
assignments could be executed
with greater efficiency at their
individual homes.

The evidence is conclusive that
each of the writers involved in
the instant controversy perform-
ed his customary services at his
or her home; that the results of
these services performed at home
on October 8, 1946, were subse-
quently accepted and used by the

34

SWG BULLETIN

several producers concerned. Co-
lumbia Pictures Corporation did
not, therefore, suffer any loss
through the conclusion of the said
writers to work at home rather
than at the studio, but, on the
contrary, benefited from their
services. The fact that the sev-
eral producers accepted and used
the results of work performed by
the aforementioned writers on
the day in question is easily as-
certainable and suffered no refu-
tation in testimony or written
evidence presented at the hear-

ings. Moreover, it is apparently
customary in the motion picture
industry for writers to enjoy con-
siderable freedom and latitude in
the matter of reporting physi-
cally for work and as to the
choice of working at the studio
or at home, provided their de-
sires are communicated to the
employer.

Under the peculiar physical
circumstances surrounding the
studio on that date, the decision
of said writers not to enter or
remain at the studio for the pur-

poses of performing their cus-
tomary services on October 8,
1946, did not constitute a clear
and serious breach of contract.
The Corporation in the Agree-
ment to submit the controversy
to arbitration stipulated that, de-
spite the specific provisions of the
contractual agreement, compen-
sation would be paid in each case
where it could be proved the
work was actually performed at
home. Ample proof of this fact
was, we think, submitted by the
employees.

&

orredponaence

de

The following letter has been re-
ceived from George H. Elvin, gen-
eral secretary of the Association of
Cine-Technicians in England:

Whilst I appreciate that the report
in your May issue of Frank Laun-
der's meeting with your members is
necessarily curtailed I do feel that if
it is an accurate summary of what
Mr. Launder said he has certainly
been pulling the wool over the eyes
of your members.

The Screenwriters Association is
not a trade union and the only nego-
tiations with employers' federations
are undertaken by this Union, to
which all screen writers who are
trade unionists belong. That is the
reason, and not the wisecrack volun-
teered by Mr. Launder, why the
Screenwriters have no minimum sal-
aries laid down.

In our new agreement with the
British Film Producers Association,
which is about to be signed, screen
writers are treated the same as other
technicians as far as providing for
minimum salary standards, working
conditions and so on, are concerned.
In the same way for years we have
covered screen writers in agreements
reached with the appropriate employ-
ers' federations on the shorts and spe-
cialised side of the industry, and with
the Government (on behalf of the
Crown and Colonial Film Units),
and other employers outside the em-
ployers' federations. Whilst of course
the Screenwriters Association has
done useful work on the question of
screen credits and other matters men-

tioned by Mr. Launder we would re-
sist any attempt by a non-trade union
organisation today to usurp certain
functions of a trade union organisa-
tion.

Mr. Launder also made reference
to the Screenwriters Association giv-
ing its support to the admission of any
foreign writer to work in this coun-
try; maybe that is so, but the policy
of the Ministry of Labour is to seek
the views primarily of the appropriate
trade unions. We, therefore, would
have to be consulted, and past experi-
ence has shown that the Ministry
views with considerable sympathy any
views expressed by this union.

Further, there is a Joint Commit-
tee, set up by the British Film Pro-
ducers Association and ourselves,
which considers every application for
employment in this country and the
Ministry of Labour invariably ac-
cepts the advice of that Committee.
Therefore, your members should
think twice before acting on the im-
plication of Mr. Launder's statement
that any writer who turns up in this
country will have no difficulty in
working.

It should of course be made clear,
as I believe your members know, that
this union, like the British trade un-
ion movement generally, is interna-
tionalist in its outlook and the main
cause of any difficulties which arise on
the question of Labour Permits is be-
cause we are asked to give permission
to admit foreign technicians over here
whilst the countries from which those
technicians come preclude most of the

grades of our membership from work-
ing in their film industries.

The ideal solution is reciprocity
agreements, like we have negotiated
with the French, Swiss and Czech
trade unions, which provide for a
controlled flow of all technical work-
ers from one country to the other.
Unfortunately the American unions
on the whole have so far failed to re-
spond to any approaches from us for
similar agreements. If, therefore,
your members do experience difficulty
in working here I hope this letter will
explain the reason to them, and help
them to appreciate it, but we look
forward to the day, and any help your
Association can give would be appre-
ciated, when by international agree-
ment between the trade unions of all
film producing countries there will be
a regular flow under trade union
agreement of technicians in all grades
from one country to another.

GEO. H. ELVIN,
General Secretary.

A copy of Mr. Elvin s letter, which
was received late in May, was sent to
Frank Launder, president of the
Screenwriters Association in London.
Mr. Launder, who was recently a
guest of the SWG and addressed a
membership meeting in Hollywood,
has sent the following reply:

I thank you for sending me a copy
of Mr. Elvin's letter. The following
are the facts:

The Association of Cine-Techni-
cians represents a number of Shorts

35

THE SCREEN WRITER

and Documentary writers, many of
whom are also Shorts directors, pro-
ducers or editors. A proportion of
these, in their capacity as writers, are
at the same time members of the
Screenwriters Association. The A. C.
T. also represents several feature
writers, whose sole business is writ-
ing. We have not been able to dis-
cover the number, but we do not
think it is more than six. The A.C.T.
further represents a number of writ-
er-directors and associate producer-
writers in their capacity as directors
or associate-producers.

The Screenwriters Association rep-
resents 99% of the screenwriters en-
gaged in feature production in this
country. It also has some two hundred
associate members (young or new
writers without the qualification for
full membership).

A recent referendum taken by the
Screenwriters Association on the mo-
tion that this Association should be-
come an autonomous section of the
A.C.T. resulted in the defeat of the
motion by an overwhelming majority.
I believe I made it quite clear at the
cocktail party the Guild kindly gave
me in Hollywood that the Screen-
writers Association is not a trade
union, but we are the only organisa-
tion in this country that can claim
(other than farcically) to represent
the interests of British screenwriters,
trade union or otherwise.

Our members believe that writing
is international, and it has always
been the policy of this Association to
welcome to this country writing tal-
ent from abroad. The relevant Gov-
ernment departments continue to con-
sult us whenever the question arises
of a permit being granted for a for-
eign writer to work in this country.
It is news to us that Government De-
partments also refer these matters to
the A.C.T.

The agreement which the A.C.T.
are negotiating with the British Film
Producers Association contains no
minimum salary clause for screen-
writers, or indeed any reference to
writers' salaries whatsoever, and we
took the precaution at the outset of
advising the B.F.P.A. that our mem-
bers would not be a party to any
agreement between the A.C.T. and
B.F.P.A. which embraced stipula-
tions regarding writers' salaries.

As for the suggestion in Mr. El-
vin's letter that only a trade union
is empowered to negotiate agreements

covering fees and salaries, this is a
revelation to us, and it is a contention
which I am sure the members of this
Association would resist most strong-

ly.

At this very moment, the Screen-
writers Association has joined with
the bodies to which it is affiliated (the
Society of Authors and the League of
British Dramatists) in negotiating
with the British Broadcasting Corpo-
ration a new scale of fees for radio
writers, and neither the Society of
Authors, nor the League of British
Dramatists is a trade union in the
accepted sense.

I would not like the members of
the Guild to suppose for one moment
that the Screenwriters Association is
a reactionary organisation. It is not
concerned with politics and, in fact,
embraces members of all shades of po-
litical opinion, from the extreme
right to the extreme left. Our first
President was Sir Alan Herbert, who
is somewhere in the political mid-air.
Our second was Mr. J. B. Priestley,
who might be described as a very in-
dividual leftist, and our last Vice-
President was Mr. Frederick Bellen-
ger, now War Minister in the La-
bour Government. If Guild members
would like a personal view of the
tendencies of the hard core of the
Screenwriters Association, I would
say that they are neither reactionary
Conservatives nor reactionary Trade
Unionists, but just simple, progres-
sive, benevolent anarchists.

FRANK LAUNDER,
President.

Several months ago Mr. C. P.
Wang and Mr. S. W. Shu, Chinese
writers, were in Hollywood and were
guests at a joint meeting of members
of the SWG and the Hollywood
Writers Mobilization. They describ-
ed the suffering of writers in China,
and several Guild members wrote
checks which were to be forwarded to
the Chinese Writers Association. Sub-
sequently these checks were returned
to the Guild by Chinese representa-
tives in New York with the informa-
tion that the safe transmission of the
money to China was difficult at that
time. So the checks were returned to
the persons who had written them.

Now THE SCREEN WRITER
has received this letter from Mr. S. T.
Yeh, acting president of the Chinese
Writers Association, appealing for

help in the form of money, clothing
and books:

From the letter of our president
Mr. Shu She-yu and the report of
Mr. Wan Chia-Pao who came back
recently, we have learnt with grati-
tude that the Screen Writers' Guild,
Inc. have kindly offered to help their
Chinese colleagues who are now liv-
ing under the most wretched condi-
tions. We are deeply moved by the
warmth of your friendship.

The Chinese writers suffered
greatly during the war years. But
since victory, our conditions have con-
siderably worsened even compared
with the war years. Some can't even
afford to have medical attendance
when ill. Such facts can not be found
in the daily press but they are all the
same true. Yet we have never appeal-
ed for help from abroad, because the
tribulation is not confined to writers.
The entire Chinese people are strug-
gling below starvation line in the
midst of chaos and interminable blood-
shed. Determined to share the same
fate with them, how can we attempt
to escape? Nevertheless, we have de-
cided to accept the assistance so vol-
untarily offered by you and would
wish to express our heartfelt thanks.
Needlessly to say, we wish to keep
still closer contact with you.

Will you entrust the sum you wish
to present us to our representative
Mr. Shu She-yu, (address c/o Mr.
George Kao, Chinese News Service,
30 Rockefeller Plaza, N. Y. 20, N.
Y.) or our associate Miss Yang Kang
(address: 52, Smith Terrace, Staten
Island, N. Y. ) They will find a way
of sending it back to us. We would
also welcome clothing or books.

With renewed thanks for your
generous assistance and friendship,
Yours fraternally,

CHINESE WRITER'S
ASSOCIATION

No. 5, Passage 482, Kien Kwo
Eastern Road,
Shanghai, China.
Acting President, S. T. Yeh.
Secretary, Mai Lin.

Two Letters From
London

(Continued from Index Page)

country but in the other international
centres of film production.

How heartily do I agree with Fritz

36

CORRESPONDENCE

Lang when he talks about the "strange
hybrid labelled Hollywood," which is
so far removed, as he says, not only
from Hollywood but even from Amer-
ican life.

Indeed what has given British films
the prestige that they have now ac-
quired has been caused, more than by
anything else, by the isolation of a
country besieged, which has brought
forth a type of film which is national
in the best sense, reflecting the life
and soul of the country of its origin.

But art may spring from national
character yet require the stimulus of
the world outside. I am one of those
British producers who refuse to be-
come complacent about our films as
the result of a few successes and to
those of my colleagues in the British
industry whom I suspect of too great
an optimism, I have always given the
warning that such fine American tech-
nicians as Capra, Wyler, Stevens,
Ford, etc., will come back to their
civilian occupation after their war
careers greatly stimulated by their
contact with the world outside Amer-
ica— a stimulus which is bound to
reflect in their creative work.

We are already seeing this benefit
in American films, but how tragic to
think that it requires a war to make
that contact and stimulus possible.
The plan under discussion now prom-
ises well to provide that necessary
broadening of horizons in times of
peace. It should materially benefit the
quality of films in all the countries
concerned.

MICHAEL BALCON

The following London letter has
been received from Guy Morgan:

WE have enjoyed a period of con-
siderable activity during the last
few months.

Our proposals for new film legisla-
tion were presented to the Board of
Trade in concert with those of other
sections of the industry. Technicali-
ties of renters' and exhibitors' quota
do not make good transatlantic gos-
sip, but our proposals may be roughly
summed up as a valiant and drastic
attempt to invert the pyramid of the

GUY MORGAN is Honorable Secretary
and a member of the Council of The
Screenwriters' Association of London. His
letter to THE SCREEN WRITER con-
cerns recent activities of the British organ-
ization of screenwriters.

British film industry so that control is
from producer to renter and exhibitor
(as in Hollywood, so we believe), in-
stead of as at present from renter-
plus-exhibitor to producer. We also
aim to encourage competition rather
than to stifle it.

Our new Screen Credits' Agree-
ment has been successfully negotiated
with the British Film Producers' As-
sociation, the principal modification
being to make it obligatory upon pro-
ducers to notify all participants in the
writing of a film and also to notify
the Association of the provisional list
of writing credits 28 days before the
printing of the Title Cards. This was
designed to prevent disputes arising
when it was too late to rectify any
omissions on the screen.

The principle that the writer's
name should be mentioned in studio
advertising wherever the director's
name is mentioned, and in the same-
sized type, was reaffirmed, and we
are now approaching the renters to
obtain a similar agreement with re-
gard to Lay Press advertising. Studio
advertising is, of course, concerned
with Trade Press only.

Our Arbitration Committee adju-
dicated in one case of disputed credit
and their decision was in favour of
the producer. (It is worth noting that
our Arbitration Committee is chosen
by screenwriters and consists of
screenwriters only, but their decisions
are accepted by the Producers' Asso-
ciation as final.)

We also fought a case on behalf of
a screenwriter who received one
month's notice after working 17
months on a year's contract which
had been allowed to overrun without
renewal. Counsel's opinion was that
we might reasonably claim "custom"
of three months' notice, but that six
months was doubtful. The company
agreed to settle for three months' no-
tice.

In order to get a little more money
in our kitty we have instituted a levy
on members' screen-credits on feature
films. At present it is set at 25 dollars
for the first credit in any year, 10
dollars for the second, with a maxi-
mum of 50 dollars for any one year.

We have instituted a Registration
Scheme for original screen material
under the Association's stamp, mod-
elled on the scheme current in Holly-
wood. Up to the present any writer
wishing to get a birth-certificate for

a brain-child had to nominate a
friendly producer as godfather in or-
der to take advantage of the British
Film Producers' Registration Bureau.

We organised a screenwriters' quiz
to obtain the vital statistics of the
British field, and though the replies
have not yet been fully collated, they
are making very good reading. It was
heartwarming to note that whereas
the first return opened answered the
question, "Would you describe your-
self as a whole-time screenwriter?"
with — "Yes — unfortunately," the
second return opened answered it "No
— unfortunately." Our admiration,
too, went out to the screenwriter who,
to the leading question "What in your
opinion is the practice of current film
production that most adversely affects
the prestige of the screenwriter?,"
replied succinctly, "Bad screenwrit-
ing."

But perhaps the most important
step taken is on the social side. In the
next six weeks we hope to add the
legend "Screenwriters' Club" to the
social amenities of Park Lane, and
open our doors to all those engaged at
the creative level in the British film
industry. In addition to the usual
amenities, alcoholic and gastronomic,
we propose to hold regular meetings,
dinners, and discussions, annual en-
tertainments to critics etc. ; start a
Script Library and Film Reference
Library ; when equipment is available,
to show old films of technical merit on
16 mm. ; and, of course, which is most
important, to offer suitable hospitality
and escape from "the death by a
thousand cuts" to visiting members of
the Screen Writers' Guild.

A. A. A. NOTE.

At a recent Extraordinary General
Meeting, a motion of sympathy with
the aims of the American Authors
Authority was passed by unanimous
vote.

Points arising from the discussion:
British screenwriters are in many
ways more favourably placed than
American screenwriters in the sale of
original screen material. An increasing
readiness by British film producers to
purchase a licence to produce (usually
within ten years) and to concede the
separation of secondary rights was re-
ported by a member of the Associa-
tion who is also a leading agent.

In spite of the fact that under the
British Copyright Act of 1911 every-
thing written under a "service con-
tract" belongs to the employer, even

37

THE SCREEN WRITER

in cases of service contracts British
producers are frequently willing to
grant the writer of an original screen
story play, serial, novel, and radio
rights, reserving only the right to
publish up to 10,000 words for pub-
licity purposes. American companies

producing in England do not grant
such rights.

It has therefore been decided to
organise a joint deputation represent-
ing the Society of Authors, the
League of Dramatists, the Composers'
Guild, and the Screenwriters' Asso-

ciation to approach the British Film
Producers' Association with a view to
establishing the principle of purchase
of licence and separation of secondary
rights in all contracts for the purchase
of original screen material.

GUY MORGAN

(l^OOhd: -st lK,eview of Ljeorae rvliddieton 5 ^/rulobioaraphu

THESE THINGS ARE MINE by George
Middleton. Macraillan $5.00.

WRITERS can take heart from
a lot of warm hearted things in
George Middleton's autobiography.
The playwright, who fought so hard
to establish the Dramatists Guild and
its Minimum Basic Agreement, re-
creates the American scene — and a
good deal of the European scene —
with a special glow all his own. They
are all here, from Mansfield to Mrs.
Pat Campbell, from Shaw to Sacha
Guitry, from Tammany Hall to Sen-
ator Bob LaFollette and Mr. Justice
Louis Brandeis.

Most fascinating of all this mate-
rial, however, are the chapters on the
organization of the Dramatists Guild
and Mr. Middleton's adventures
abroad in signing up Pinero, Barrie,
Shaw and others as members of the
Guild. Screen writers, playwrights,
novelists, radio writers, currently in-
volved in the fight for the licensing
program, can read with profit and
exhilaration the accounts of how the
Theatre Trust in New York literally
precipitated the first agreement of the
Dramatists Guild.

Do these words sound familiar:

"Who hung up the rules by which
the script was cast or staged? Did
power alone have the final say as to
the integrity of his text? Did the cir-
cumstances under which it was pro-
duced bring out its essential qualities,
help or hurt it? Did the author get

his full penny's worth out of his oc-
casional successes so that he could eat
out of any of his legitimate rights?
What were his rights anyway?"

No, these words are not from the
latest prospectus on the best way to
license original material for the screen
in 1947. These are Mr. Middleton's
words in surveying the situation of the
playwright as it prevailed in the
Broadway theatre in the year 1925.
These were the times when the Wil-
liam A. Brady office eked out a suc-
cessful twenty-two year run of Lottie
Blair Parker's Way Down East and
had rolled up the amazing total gross
of $14,000,000. Will it be any sur-
prise to hear Mr. Middleton's report
that Lottie Blair Parker had disposed
of all her rights outright for $5,000?

It was a short fight but a merry
one. On April 27, 1926 the first Basic
Agreement for dramatists had been
signed by all managers except one and
the Dramatists Guild was an estab-
lished fact. Everyone was satisfied —
that is, everyone on the dramatists'
side of the house — with the natural
exception of George Bernard Shaw.
Mr. Shaw, an amiable dissenter, was
solid with the Guild all the way, but
he had a few thoughts on separation
of rights that are worth repeating to-
day.

In 1933 Mr. Shaw was writing
Mr. Middleton in violent protest
against any agreement which permit-
ted the Broadway manager to share
in anything except the returns from

the theatre engagement. In part, Mr.
Shaw said:

Instead of resolutely keeping
our various rights separate and
independent, and giving no coun-
tenance to the assumption that a
manager with a performing right
is entitled to a rake-off on the
film rights and all the other
rights he has ever heard of, the
wretched League actually draws
up a Basic Agreement in which
this assumption is recognized,
accepted, and regulated.

Why is it that an American
cannot believe in the possibility
of any business transaction being
possible until he has induced half
a dozen totally unconnected and
irrelevant persons to accept a
rake-off on it?

Does all this have a vaguely fa-
miliar ring as screen writers, radio
writers, playwrights and novelists be-
gin to ask the producers of films some
similar questions today?

As Mr. Middleton wisely points
out, there was some sound economic
fact in the theatre which justified the
practice of cutting the manager in for
fifty per cent, a share which has re-
cently been reduced to forty per cent.
But as we here in Hollywood talk and
fight for seven-year licensing, rever-
sion of rights, separation of rights, and
participation in reissues, there is a
mocking eloquence and relevance in
the Shaw dialogue which lingers on
the Hollywood sound track long after
you put down Mr. Middleton's book.

38

BOOKS

Why, Mr. Shaw asks, should any
right be disposed of to a man not pre-
pared to exploit it ? Why indeed ?

These are only a few of the many
sparks that are struck from the wheel
of memory as Mr. Middleton takes us
from his boyhood days in Paterson up
through the era of Julia Marlow in
New York, his collaborations with
Guy Bolton, his many campaigns for
the Dramatists Guild, his marriage to
Fola LaFollette, his affectionate rela-

tionship with the great liberal from
Wisconsin who was his father-in-law,
and the three years he spent in Holly-
wood as a producer.

George Middleton has done many
good turns for the theatre and this is
one of them. If, as he once said of
himself, he "always had too many in-
dignations" it has been a good thing
for the members of the Dramatists
Guild and writers everywhere. We
owe a great deal to him and we con-

tinue to be in his debt. Today, as dur-
ing the war years, he continues to
serve at Washington in the Office of
Alien Property, Department of Jus-
tice, functioning as a trade specialist
on international copyright problems.

Here is a playwright who in his
time has played many parts. All of
them were good and the best of them
is a superlative play on Balzac titled
That Was Balzac.

EMMET LA VERY

V

a

'pinioni on

Writer C^mplo

ploy

mem

New Blood, or the Arteries Seem to be Frozen

DAVID R. MOSS

{Mr. Moss, who sent the following
brief article to THE SCREEN
WRITER, is a young novelist and
short story writer. A copy of his arti-
cle was submitted to several studio
story editors, who were asked to com-
ment on it. Their comments follow
the article.)

HOW sincere are the doctors of
the movie industry?

Just how anemic is the patient ?

Of late, there has been a great
to-do and noise about the need in
Hollywood for new blood, for new
writers, full of new ideas, new crea-
tive talent. And the cry is heard not
from one lone focal point, but on all
sides. In newspapers, in magazines,
on the radio, at Guild meetings, at
lectures and debates. Everyone, it
seems, is searching for this new blood !

But as one of the thousands of un-
known writers in Hollywood, living
on peanuts and waiting for a miracle,
I'm beginning to grow just a little
weary of these pseudo-medical con-
fabs, to wonder if the blood transfu-
sion is really so necessary after all, to

suspect that this hullabaloo is just as
much of a phase and fad as Sinatra
bow ties in the 40s and raccoon coats
in the 20s. I'm beginning to grow
tired of "reading" about the need,
knowing full well that it's merely lip
service, that the men issuing the pleas
are only weekend luncheon speakers,
who, come Monday morning, will
report back to their offices, with ex-
plicit instructions to their two million
secretaries to admit no one, to answer
all letters with stock replies that say
next to nothing.

If Hollywood is really so com-
pletely run down and exhausted, so
anxious for a physical overhauling,
why isn't someone doing something
about it? Why hasn't someone taken
concrete measures to set up an orga-
nization or form an outlet for strug-
gling writers? Not a red carpet affair,
where we can do nothing but loaf all
day on expensive Movieville salaries,
or a PEC, where the courses, though
Grade A in quality, are actually noth-
ing but a lecture series; but a channel
where we new blooders can earn the
money that supplies the necessary
nourishment to keep our corpuscles
and plasma in running order. Some-

thing, in other words, akin to the
junior writer departments which the
studios recently abolished because, for
some strange reason, they seemed to
feel that their health was beyond
improvement.

If we messiahs of a new literary
era in Hollywood are really so vital,
why are we still laboring as shoe
clerks and stenographers, waitresses
and soda jerks. Sure, we know all the
familiar cliches. "Get yourself an
agent." "You need more experience."
"We take only trained writers." "Our
staff is full." "Come back in six
months." But we were under the im-
pression, we members of the New
Blood Society, that the internes and
medicos of moviedom considered us
indispensable now, not next fall or
next winter or next year, felt that the
hemorrhage is too acute for such long
and unnecessary delays!

There is no shortage of new blood
in Hollywood, no need to bewail its
scarcity. Rather, the shortage lies in
the numebr of opportunities open to
those possessing this magical liquid
potion. There are too many blood
clots preventing any free and uninter-
rupted flow of talent, even though the

39

THE SCREEN WRITER

pores of the city are oozing with it.
It's here from every part of the coun-
try, and it's good. Send out a call for
this new blood — a definite call, mind
you, not an abstract plea — and see
what results take place.

Or have the arteries of the film
world hardened so completely and
thoroughly that there really is no
chance or need for "new blood?"

Following are the comments of
three story editors at major Holly-
wood studios'.

TRANSFUSIONS are performed,
usually, a pint at a time and are
preceded by blood-typing tests. Type
O is relatively rare. However, War-
ners has occasionally squeezed a pint
or so of the stuff into its veins.

Some months ago Mr. Moss, in a
letter dated February 12, 1947, of-
fered us some of his. He believes he
has type O and he may be right. We
answered his letter and gave him an
interview. Since he had arrived in
California the preceding week, the
two million secretaries he mentions
must not have given him too much
trouble.

There is unfortunately no auto-
matic way of verifying a donor's self-
appraisal. Studios in need of a quick
pint, therefore, are apt, as a first step,
to telephone a blood bank ( forgive us,
agents, for burdening you with a new
epithet, but metaphor-breakers are
subject to penalty as noted in Section
3, Code 6 of Palmers Correspondence
Course, and elsewhere).

You're still being tested, Mr. Moss.
So far, you have A's on metaphor,
literacy and persistence. Almost cer-

tainly Hollywood will soon be having
your blood. And at this point if any
brother feels an urge to carry our
metagore farther, he may dip pen in
plasma and write his own tag.

FINLAY McDERMID,
Story Editor, Warner Bros.
Pictures, Inc.

T

O Mr. David Moss and all the
i. other young writers in Hollywood
who are finding the going rough —
my sincerest sympathy. Also a remind-
er that studio story departments are
not just chopping blocks, as new
writers may mistakenly — yet under-
standably believe. Story departments
are well aware of their problems, and
there is exactly nothing they can do
about it — until the new writers do
something about it themselves.

To the charge that there is a short-
age of opportunities for new writers
in Hollywood, it can only be pointed
out that there are, and always have
been, a few young writers who make
their own opportunities. This has al-
ways been the case, and not only in
Hollywood.

Mr. Moss states that there is new
writing blood here from every part of
the country and that it is good. Studio
story departments would like nothing
better than to believe this — but they
need proof. It is up to the new writing
blood to furnish such proof by writ-
ing material good enough to convince
agents, story departments, and indi-
vidual producers that they have some-
thing to offer.

There is always the old charge that
it is almost impossible for new writers
to submit their material, that agents
are as tough to reach as the studios

themselves. To this, it can only be
pointed out that nearly every success-
ful writer in Hollywood has at some
time faced this situation and sur-
mounted it. In other words, it takes
more than just new blood to get
ahead as a writer in Hollywood. It
takes real writing ability — and guts.

WILLIAM NUTT,

Story Editor,

RKO Radio Pictures, Inc.

WITH reference to the article on
New Blood by David Moss,
it is indeed regrettable that Mr. Moss
and others like him are meeting with
such difficulty in Hollywood.

Part of that difficulty is perhaps
due to misinformation, because if the
impression is current that there's a
wild hue and cry for new blood per se
in the industry, then that impression
is in error.

New writing blood in the industry
is after all only of collateral value.
The prime need is for new material,
and for writers, new or old, capable
of creating and developing it.

Every studio in town at all times
has very concrete needs, and will wel-
come anyone who can meet them. One
need only inquire to learn what they
are. In helping to solve some of the
studios' problems, the writer will au-
tomatically solve his own.

The matter of junior writers, as-
signments of newcomers to costly
projects, etc., would take much more
than the 200 word limit set for this
reply. However, I shall be glad to go
into it at some later date.

RICHARD SOKOLOVE,
Head of Story Department,
Paramount Pictures Inc.

Views rioted

*Current programs in the N. Y.
Museum of Modern Art's History of
the Motion Picture Series are: The
Psychological Drama (II) : Crime
and Punishment, July 4, 5, 6; The
Moving Camera (I): Hamlet, The
Last Laugh, July 7, 8, 9, 10; The
Psychological Drama (III) : Nju,
July 11, 12, 13; Pabst and Realism
(I) : The Treasure, July 14, 15, 16,

17; The Moving Camera (II) : Va-
riety, July 18, 19, 20; The Films of
Fritz Lang (III) : Metropolis, July
21, 22, 23, 24; The Advance Guard:
Ghosts Before Breakfast, Berlin: Die
Sinfonie der Grosstadt, Uberfall,
July 25, 26, 27; Pabst and Realism
(II) : The Love of Jeanne Ney, July
28, 29, 30, 31 ; The End of the Silent
Era: Rasputin, August 1, 2, 3.

*SWG member Stanley Richards'
one-act play, Mood Piece, is sched-
uled for publication early this summer
by the Banner Play Bureau of San
Francisco. Mr. Richards' one-act play
District of Columbia, dealing with
racial intolerance, was recently pro-
duced at Southwestern College in
Winfield, Kansas.

*SWG member Donald Kent

40

NEWS NOTES

Stanford has a story in the June Red-
book, and a new novel scheduled for
publication later in the year.

*Early South American and Brit-
ish publication have been arranged for
The Glass Room, recent novel by
SWG members Edwin Rolfe and
Lester Fuller, which Rinehart & Co.
published early in the year. In addi-
tion, a Bantam Book edition is sched-
uled for publication late in 1947 or
early in 1948, coincident with na-
tional release of the film based on the
book, which the authors scripted for
Warners.

*SWG member Stewart Sterling's
new mystery novel, Dead Wrong:
The Affair of the Virginia Widow,
has just been published by J. B. Lip-
pincott Co.

*George Freedley, curator of the
N. Y. Public Library Theatre Col-
lection, spoke at the Assistance League
Playhouse June 19 on the American
national theatre and current New
York productions. The event was
sponsored by the Theatre Library
Association.

^Murder in a Lighter Vein, latest
mystery novel by SWG member Mil-
ton M. Raison, was published June
25 by Murray & Gee of Hollywood.

*Whittlesey House announces that
a new novel, White Crocus, by SWG
member Peter Packer will be pub-
lished in September. Mr. Packer is
currently working on another novel,
The Inward Voyage, for the same
publishers.

*SWG member Leo Mittler is now
supervisor of the Dramatic Workshop
of the New School for Social Re-
search in N. Y. He has also been
engaged by the United Nations to
write a six reel documentary showing
the new U. N. headquarters building.

*The Bureau for Inter-cultural
Education in its first quarter-annual
national prize contest for the best
published magazine stories has award-

ed second prize and a check for $500
to SWG member Fred Schiller for
his McCall's-Blue Book story, Ten
Men and a Prayer. First prize was
won by Gentlemen's Agreement,
written by Laura Z. Hobson, formerly
of the SWG and now transferred to
the Authors' Guild.

*The Peoples Educational Center
begins its Summer Term the week of
July 14th, 1947. The Friday Night
Film Series at the Screen Cartoonists
Hall will continue. The title of the
series is, Film Portraits : Of Coun-
tries and Their People. The aim of
the series is to show the reflection of
the customs and habits of different
countries in the treatment of real or
fictitious characters. Among the pic-
tures lined up are Abraham Lincoln,
Passion of Joan of Arc, The Mar-
seillaise, Youth of Maxim, Carneval
in Flanders, and others. The writing
courses include Screen I, given by Hal
Smith; Screen II, Carl Foreman; and
Screen III, Gordon Kahn. Radio
Writing Comedy is a guest lecture
course with Jack Robinson and Fred-
erick Jackson Stanley. Other writing
courses are Creative Writing, Basic
Journalism, Modern Novel, Mystery
Story and Publicity and Public Rela-
tions.

Special courses include How To
Read a Book, a literary appreciation
course given by Alvah Bessie; Mod-
ern Architecture and Community
Planning Today; Art Appreciation
and The Theater and Its History.
Registration for all classes begins
June 30th and a full descriptive cata-
logue of all courses may be obtained
by writing or phoning the Peoples
Educational Center, 1717 North
Vine St., HOllywood 6291.

^Current issue of the Hollywood
Quarterly, published by the Univer-
sity of California Press under the
joint sponsorship of the University
and the Hollywood Writers' Mobili-
zation, carries as its leading article
an anlysis by Robert A. Brady, U. of
C. (Berkeley), professor of economics,

of monopoly drives for control of the
mass agencies of communication, in-
cluding motion pictures.

Covering the film field are articles
by Marie Rose Oliver, Abraham Po-
lonsky, Siegfried Kracauer, Vladimir
Pozner, Richard Rowland, Newton
E. Meltzer, Herbert F. Margolis. In
the radio field, Norman Corwin's
One World Flight is published in
script form, with an introductory
note by Jerome Lawrence. In music,
Frederick W. Sternfeld contributes
an article, The Strange Music of
Martha Ivers.

In the foreign film field, Roger
Manvell considers the condition of
the cinema in England, and Chris-
tina and Eugene CenKalski write
about films in Poland.

There are other contributions from
Robert Rahtz, Albert N. Williams,
Louis Ganton, Marcia Endore, John
Paxton, Harry Hoijer, Franklin
Fearing, Sam Moore, John Collier,
L. S. Becker, Harold J. Salemson,
and a breakdown of types of feature
films for 1944, 1945 and 1946.

*The second presentation of Peli-
can Productions at the Coronet
Theatre will be the world premiere
of Berthold Brecht's play, Galileo,
starring Charles Laughton in the title
role, with T. Edward Hambleton
producing and Joseph Losey directing,
and scheduled to open in July.

The play was written by Brecht
during his residence in Denmark,
whence he'd escaped from Germany,
in 1939. Charles Laughton first be-
came interested in the play about two
years ago. Since that time he has been
working with Brecht in the hope that
he might be able to procure an Eng-
lish adaptation in which he would
appear. Ultimately, it was decided
that Laughton himself would write
the adaptation of the play as it will
be presented on the Coronet stage.

Galileo has fourteen scenes and two
acts. Robert Davison has designed the
sets after voluminous research in an
effort to capture the atmosphere of
the early 1 7th century Italy.

h^

41

OF S

A LISTING
ED 01
CU*KENT

CREEN WRITER

• CRED,TS

EARNED ON FEATURE PRODUCTIONS

OF

■ - - , ,

CHEDITS

ease
MAY I, 1947 TO JUNE 1, 1947

ROBERT D. ANDREWS

Joint Screenplay (with Ben Maddow) THE
MAN FROM COLORADO, Col

EDNA ANHALT

Joint Screenplay (with Edward Anhalt)
BULLDOG DRUMMOND STRIKES BACK, Col

EDWARD ANHALT

Joint Screenplay (with Edna Anhalt)
BULLDOG DRUMMOND STRIKES BACK, Col

B

D. D. BEAUCHAMP

Joint Story Basis (with William Bowers)
THE WISTFUL WIDOW OF WAGON GAP,
Uni

ARNOLD BELGARD

Sole Screenplay THE INVISIBLE WALL,
(Sol M. Wurtzel) Fox

MARTIN BERKELEY

Sole Screenplay GREEN GRASS OF WYO-
MING, Fox

WILLIAM BOWERS

Joint Story Basis (with D. D. Beauchamp)
THE WISTFUL WIDOW OF WAGON GAP,
Uni

GEORGE BRANDT

Sole Original Screenplay UNUSUAL OCCU-
PATIONS, L 6-5 (S) Par
Sole Original Screenplay POPULAR SCIENCE,
J 6-6 (S) Par

VERA CASPARY

Novel Basis and Joint Screenplay (with
Herbert Victor) BEDELIA (John Corfield)
Eagle-Lion

LESLIE CHARTERIS

Contributor to Screenplay Construction
TARZAN AND THE HUNTRESS (Sol Lesser)
RKO

BORDEN CHASE

Sole Original Story THE MAN FROM COLO-
RADO, Col

J. BENTON CHENEY

Sole Original Screenplay LAND OF THE
LAWLESS. Mono

ROBERT CHURCHILL

Sole Original Story and Joint Screenplay
(with Scott Darling and Crane Wilbur)
BORN TO SPEED, PRC

ROYAL K. COLE

Joint Screenplay (with Charles Moran)
EXPOSED, Rep

Sole Screenplay BLACKMAIL, ReD
Joint Screenplay (with Lewis Clay, Arthur
Hoerl and Leslie Swabacker) JACK ARM-
STRONG (Esskay) Col

SCOTT DARLING

Joint Screenplay (with Robert Churchill and
Crane Wilbur) BORN TO SPEED, PRC

FRANK DAVIS

Joint Screenplay (with Martin Rackin)
FIGHTING FATHER DUNNE (THE NEWS-
BOYS' HOME) RKO

RENAULT DUNCAN

Joint Original Screenplay (with Jack Dewitt)
BELLS OF SAN FERNANDO, Screen Guild

PHILIP DUNNE

Sole Screenplay THE GHOST AND MRS.
MUIR, Fox

SAUL ELKINS

Sole Original Screenplay THE MAN FROM
NEW ORLEANS (S) WB
IRVING ELM AN

Sole Original Screenplay ROSES ARE RED,
(Sol M. Wurtzel) Fox

STEVE FISHER

Sole Original Screenplay THE HUNTED,
Allied Artists
PAUL FRANK

Joint Story Basis (with Howard J. Green)
THE INVISIBLE WALL, (Sol M. Wurtzel),
Fox

JOHN GRANT

Joint Screenplay (with Frederic I. Rinaldo
and Robert Lees) THE WISTFUL WIDOW
OF WAGON GAP, Uni
HOWARD J. GREEN

Joint Story Basis (with Paul Frank) THE
INVISIBLE WALL, (Sol M. Wurtzel) Fox

H

BEN HECHT

Joint Original Screenplay (with Charles Led-

erer) HER HUSBAND'S AFFAIRS, Col
JOHN C. HIGGINS

Sole Screenplay TOMORROW YOU DIE,

Eagle-Lion
CHARLES HOFFMAN

Additional Dialogue THE VOICE OF THE

TURTLE, WB

RIAN JAMES

Sole Original Story LA OTRA (Mercurio
Prod.) Clasa Films

K

GORDON KAHN

Sole Adaptation WHIPLASH, WB

CHARLES LEDERER

Joint Original Screenplay (with Ben Hecht)

HER HUSBAND'S AFFAIRS, Col
ROBERT LEES

Joint Screenplay (with Frederic I. Rinaldo

and John Grant) THE WISTFUL WIDOW OF

WAGON GAP, Uni
WILLIAM R. LIPMAN

Sole Screenplay ALIAS A GENTLEMAN,

MGM
MARY LOOS

Joint Original Screenplay (with Richard Sale)

DRIFTWOOD, Rep

M

BEN MADDOW

Joint Screenplay (with Robert D. Andrews)
THE MAN FROM COLORADO, Col
EDWIN JUSTUS MAYER

Contributor to Dialogue THE FOXES OF
HARROW, Fox

N

ARTHUR E. ORLOFF

Sole Screenplay and Joint Story Basis (with
Brenda Weisberg) THE LONE WOLF IN
LONDON, Col

MARTIN RACKIN

Joint Screenplay (with Frank Davis)
FIGHTING FATHER DUNNE (THE NEWS-
BOYS' HOME) RKO

ELMER RICE

Play Basis DREAM GIRL, Par

FREDERIC I. RINALDO

Joint Screenplay (with Robert Lees and John
Grant) THE WISTFUL WIDOW OF WAGON <
GAP, Uni

PETER RURIC

Sole Story Basis ALIAS A GENTLEMAN

TIM RYAN

Joint Original Screenplay (with Edmond
Seward and Jerry Warner) BOWERY BUCK-
AROOS (Jan Grippo) Mono

RICHARD SALE

Joint Original Screenplay (with Mary Loos)

DRIFTWOOD, Rep
ARTHUR SHEEKMAN

Sole Screenplay DREAM GIRL, Par
CHARLES SHOWS

Joint Original Screenplay (with Lou Lilly)

IN LOVE (S) Par

Joint Original Screenplay (with Lou Lilly)

OUR FRIENDS (S) Par

Joint Original Screenplay (with Lou Lilly)

A I NT NATURE GRAND? (S) Par

DWIGHT TAYLOR

Contributor to Dialogue, THE FOXES OF

HARROW, Fox
LAWRENCE EDMOND TAYLOR

Sole Adaptation BULLDOG DRUMMOND

STRIKES BACK, Col
CHARLES L. TEDFORD

Sole Original Screenplay SUN VALLEY FUN

(S) WB

Sole Original Screenplay LIVING WITH

LIONS (S) WB
WANDA TUCHOCK

Sole Screenplay THE FOXES OF HARROW,

Fox

LASZLO VADNAY

Sole Original Story COPACABANA (David
L. Hersh) UA
JOHN VAN DRUTEN

Sole Screenplay and Play Basis THE VOICE
OF THE TURTLE, WB

w

-Academy Bulletin Only

DUDLEY NICHOLS

Sole Screenplay THE FUGITIVE (Argosy
Pic.) RKO

GERTRUDE WALKER

Sole Original Story TOMORROW YOU DIE, i

Eagle-Lion
JERRY WARNER

Joint Original Screenplay (with Tim Ryan

and Edmond Seward) BOWERY BUCKA-

ROOS, (Jan Grippo) Mono
BRENDA WEISBERG

Joint Story Basis (with Arthur E. Orloff)

THE LONE WOLF IN LONDON, Col
CRANE WILBUR

Joint Screenplay (with Scott Darling and

Robert Churchill) BORN TO SPEED, PRC

In this listing of screen credits, published monthly in THE SCREEN WRITER, the following abbreviations are used:
COL — Columbia Pictures Corporation; E-L — Eagle-Lion Studios; FOX — 20th Century-Fox Film Corporation; GOLDWYN —
Samuel Gotdwyn Productions, Inc.; MGM — Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios; MONO — Monogram Pictures Corporation; PAR
— Paramount Pictures, Inc.; PRC — Producers Releasing Corporation of America; REP — Republic Productions, Inc.; RKO —
RKO Radio Studios, Inc.; ROACH — Hal E. Roach Studio, Inc.; UA — United Artists Corporation; UNMNT'L — Universal-
International Pictures; UWP — United World Pictures; WB — Warner Brothers Studios. (S> designates screen short.

1

42

NEXT MONTH AND THEREAFTER

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
WILLIAM WYLER
F. HUGH HERBERT
EUGEN SHARIN
PHILIP STEVENSON
LESTER KOENIG
NOEL MEADOW
THEODORE STRAUSS
RICHARD G. HUBLER
LILLIAN BOS ROSS
WILLIAM ORNSTEIN
MORRIS E. COHN
ROY HUGGINS
PAUL GANGELIN
FRANK LAUNDER
JEAN BRY

AAA and Writers' Rights

Toward a New Realism

Subject: Bindle Biog

Disunion in Vienna

Where Credit Is Due

Gregg Toland : the Man and His Work

French Cinema in the U. S.

Camera Obscura

As I Remember Birdie

How One Movie Sale Was Made

Can't Scare the Movies

What Is a License of Literary Property?

Writers & Publishers

What's Happening to Our Jobs?

As the English See It

French Motion Picture School

And further articles by ROBERT ARDREY, SYDNEY BOX, HUGO BUTLER, I.
A. L. DIAMOND, EARL FELTON, MARTIN FIELD, ARTHUR KOBER, STEPHEN
LONGSTREET, ST. CLAIR McKELWAY, EMERIC PRESSBURGER, IRVING
PICHEL, GEORGE SEATON, ARTHUR STRAWN, DALTON TRUMBO, PETER
VIERTEL, JOSEPH WECHSBERG, and others.

Special Announcement

• Editors of THE SCREEN WRITER are setting up a sub-committee to explore the
subject of writer employment in the motion picture industry, and to analyze both the facts
concerning unemployment and the factors that contribute to it. This sub-committee will
work closely with the SWG economic program committee.

This material will be co-ordinated and presented in an early issue as a definitive survey
of the writer employment situation in Hollywood.

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If you do not wish to mar your copy of the magazine, your
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NEW YORK:

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PENNSYLVANIA :

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CANADA :

Roher's Bookshop, 9 Bloor St., Toronto

EIRE:

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GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

MSlf

Authors and
Thfcir Rights

Page 1

M

■■

■

Yto OF THE GROSS
.4 it Economic Primer of Screen Writing

A Survey of Factors Affecting the Present and Future
Economic Outlook For Writers, Including Studies of
Employment and Markets, by LESTER COLE, RING
LARDNER, JR., PAUL GANGELIN, MARTIN
FIELD, PHILIP STEVENSON, and Others.

SPECIAL SECTION— Page 16

t*£*o*.#4"Cj is

ADRIAN SCOTT: You Can't Do That!

FRANK SCULLY: Tully on Scully

LESTER KOENIG: Conference on Thought Control

OSCAR HAMMERSTEIN, 2ND: Reply to Bernard Shau,

ALFRED PALCA: Drama in the Barn Belt
JUDITH PODSELVER: Letter From Brussels

Vol. 3, No. 3

August, 1947

I Editorial • Report & Comment:

Forum on Subversion in
Holly woodi Conference oh

I on Reissues; Authors' League

Licensing Committee Report

I Summary arid AAA Committee

Reply • Book, Rev i e av •

■ Correspondence • Ne\ys Notes

► Maniiscri p t Mark e t

Letter

From

Brussels

JUDITH PODSELVER, French
film critic and THE SCREEN
WRITER'S correspondent in
Paris, writes from Brussels about
the international film festival re-
cently held there.

DEAR Screen Writer: When I
left for Brussels, Paris seemed
on the verge of a revolution : the heat
was incredible, the electricity and
the gas were gradually. being shut off,
the trains had stopped working. Peo-
ple were leaving town packed in army
trucks as they had done during the
exodus of 1940. I felt I was leaving
before crucial events would start
happening.

Brussels presented a startling con-
trast. Fleets of brand-new Chevrolet
taxis carrying banners urging people
to "See a Good British Film" were
rushing past street vendors selling
oranges and bananas — fruits which
most Europeans have not tasted in a
long while. Stores were packed with
American imports, frigidaires, radios,
clothes, shoes. Belgium had not sold
the uranium and the tin of its Congo
for peanuts : American plenty was
ever present in Brussels, at Amer-
ican prices.

The already dazed guests of the
Festival — which very generously
handed out 4,200 meal-tickets and
650 room-billets for the month of
June — became dizzier every day by
scrupulously attending the number-
less cocktail parties to which the va-
rious participants and the most im-
portant Belgian towns invited them.
The U.S.A. entertained specially lav-
ishly and repeatedly since they had
their stars come in single number in-
stead of whole bodies as the French
and the British did. Successively
Linda Darnell, Rita Hayworth, Ray
Milland, William Wyler and Eric
Johnston had the privilege of being
mobbed by rabid Belgian fans.

Perhaps due to the fact that Bel-
gium looks so much like a bridge-
head of the USA in Europe, the whole
(Continued on Page 44)

The

Screen Writer

Vol. 3, No. 3

AUGUST, 1947

EDITORIAL COMMITTEE
Gordon Kahn, Editor
Robert Shaw, Director of Publications
Art Arthur Isobel Lennart

Martin Field Herbert Clyde Lewis

Harris Gable Bernard C. Schoenfeld

Richard G. Hubler Theodore Strauss

Lester Koenig

CONTENTS

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW: Authors and Their Rights

OSCAR HAMMERSTEIN, 2nd: Reply to Bernard Shaw

ADRIAN SCOTT: You Can't Do That!

FRANK SCULLY: Scully on Tully

LESTER KOENIG: Conference on Thought Control

1
3
4
8
11

SPECIAL SECTION: 1% OF THE GROSS — An
Economic Primer of Screen Writing

Foreword - - 16

RING LARDNER, JR.: First. Steps in Arithmetic 16

LESTER COLE: A Fundamental Right? 21

MARTIN FIELD: No Applause for These Encores 24

PAUL GANGELIN: What's Happening to Our Jobs 26

JOINT REPORT: The Market for Originals 28

PHILIP STETENSON: Where Credit Is Due 31

ALFRED PALCA: Drama in the Barn Belt 34

Editorial 36
Report & Comment:

Summary of Licensing Committee Report 38

Analysis of Report by AAA Committee 38

Ho<w Subversive Is Hollywood? 41

Conference on Reissues 42

ARCHER WINSTEN and VIRGINIA WRIGHT: Comment 42

Correspondence 44

Book Review: John Gunther's Inside U.S.A. 46

News Notes 47

Manuscript Market 48

JUDITH PODSELVER: Letter From Brussels

Inside Front Cover

PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD, INC., AT
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ALL SIGNED ARTICLES IN THE SCREEN WRITER REPRESENT THE
INDIVIDUAL OPINIONS OF THE AUTHORS. EDITORIALS REFLECT
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UPON BY THE EXECUTIVE BOARD.

/

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(CANADA AND

CONTENTS COPYRIGHT 1947 BY THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD,
INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

©C1B 94557

GBS on the American Authors' Authority

Authors and Their Rights

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW, dean
of living men of letters, in this article
•written specially for THE SCREEN
WRITER presents a characteristically
trenchant opinion on AAA and the
rights of authorship.

WHEN the Authors' League of America was
founded I assumed that its capacity would
be equal to its professions, and that I could
make use of it as I do of the London Society of
Authors.

The first thing the New York League did was to
appoint a committee, not of authors, but of theatrical
managers. This committee immediately ordained that
managers and publishers should have a share in all
rights belonging to authors.

After this proof of the League's incompetence I
classed it as a hostile body, and took no further account
of it, guessing that the American authors would sooner
or later be intelligent enough to shake the dust of the
League off their feet, and form a new professional
association which would at least have some elementary
knowledge of its proper business.

I gather from your letter that this has now occurred,
and that the new body is called the American Authors'
Authority. I will join it if and when it disentangles
itself from the League.

The AAA will finally absorb the League if it proves
a genuine fighting union. Meanwhile its membership
should be confined to authors and playwrights who
accept the following conditions:

Charities of any description must be excluded from
the Association operations. All performances must be
paid for at standard rates. Authors' charities should
be made by them either directly or through some sep-
arate charitable organization like the British Royal
Literary Fund.

The AAA shall not interfere with the artistic work
of its members. It shall not read nor recommend their
works. Its specific function is to counsel and protect
them impartially in the buying and selling by which
they live.

It shall no longer describe playwrights as dramatists.
The term is now acquiring a sense in scientific aesthetics
to which playwrights are not committed. Playwrights
is the correct name.

The AAA shall insist on its members retaining all
their rights intact, and exercising them by the granting
of licenses to perform or publish for periods not exceed-
ing five years, renewable subject to six months notice
of revocation if either party so desires.

The AAA shall discountenance profit sharing agree-
ments, tolerating them only when the disbursements
and overheads are precisely defined and limited.

Members shall be warned that in law authors and
playwrights employed to contribute to dictionaries,
encyclopedias and the like, or to superintend the rehear-
sals of plays: in short, who are employees, acquire no
rights. All rights belong to the employers.

The AAA shall prescribe minimum standard fees,
and deal with any attempt on the part of its members
to attract business by underselling these rates as a
grave professional misdemeanor. To novices who object
that unless they accept lower rates established authors
will always be preferred to them, the AAA shall reply
that in any case, rule or no rule, no publisher or man-
ager will accept a work by an unknown author if he
can get one by an established celebrity. This he cannot

THE SCREEN WRITER

always nor often do. Publishers, managers, and dealers
in copyright works of art generally, are as obliged to
keep their businesses afloat with new books and plays
as authors and playwrights are to have their works
published and performed. When no established authors
are available at the moment, the dealers must resort
to beginners as stopgaps. The beginner is then in as
strong an economic position as the celebrity. It is as
stopgaps that beginners get their chance. Nothing they
can do nor that the AAA can do can alter this.

The AAA shall be open to all authors and play-
wrights who accept its rules. The unperformed and
unpublished can join provisionally as associates.

The following should be the minimum standard
terms for playwrights:

When the receipts exceed $1500, the auth-
or s fee shall be at least 15 per cent on the
gross; when they exceed $500 and do not
exceed $1500, 10 per cent on the gross; when
they exceed $250 and do not exceed $500, 7^
per cent on the gross; and when they do not
exceed $250, 5 per cent on the gross. Man-
agers will please note that this does not mean
5 per cent on the first $251, 7% per cent on
the next $250, etc., etc. The sliding scale is
exactly as stated. It applies equally to reper-
tory productions, to productions for runs and
tours, and to all performances whether ama-
teur or professional, commercial or charitable,
educational or artistic alike. Discounts can be
arranged for short plays.

Licenses are not negotiable nor heritable
nor transferable by any method, and may
be withdrawn should any public statement
to the contrary be made or inspired by the
licensee, or should any transaction in the
nature of subletting be effected or proposed
on the strength of them.

(World Copyright by

T T is not possible to prescribe publishing contracts so
■*• precisely. Most books are dead after eighteen months
or less. A few outlive their copyrights. Many authors
are so desperately in need of ready money that they
prefer liberal advances to high royalties. High royalties
involve high retail prices. While the present circulation
of books is so limited and expensive it is by no means
the case that high royalties pay the author better than
moderate ones. A royalty of a half cent per copy on a
book priced at 20 cents may be more lucrative for both
author and publisher than a royalty of 20% on the two
and a half dollars book in which the older publishers
deal. But though the figures vary, the rules apply.

Authors should never sign contracts without skilled
advice and guidance. This cannot be had from lawyers,
as copyright law is outside ordinary legal practice. A
knowledge of it is confined to a few specialists whose
point of view is not that of authors. Only a competent
Professional Association can be depended on. Nearly
all authors are temperamentally adverse to business af-
fairs, and inept through lack of office training and legal
knowledge. Rights which they throw away for an old
song may be worth from twenty-five dollars to three
hundred thousand. No other form of property has such
potentialities, nor demands more skilled management
and foresight.

T HAVE conducted my own business successfully for
"■" two-thirds of a century, and have served for ten years
on the Executive Committee of the Society of Authors
in London. If the AAA is conducted contra mundum
on the lines I have indicated I will join it.

The existing articles are inadequate and incompatible
with the independence of the AAA. Most of them are
ridiculously superfluous, drawn up by amateurs who
imagine that contracts and prospectuses and by-laws
are legislative acts.
George Bernard Shaw)

EDITOR'S NOTE: The article by George Bernard
Shaw expressing his opinions concerning the American
Authors' Authority proposal was written for THE
SCREEN WRITER as the result of a letter sent to
him by Emmet Lavery, chairman of the Joint Over-All
AAA Committee and president of SWG. In this letter
Mr. Lavery said in part:

OCREEN writers in America, joining with their
^brother novelists, radio writers and playwrights,
are facing the fight of their lives.

They are trying to establish the principle of licensing,

as against outright sale, in the fields of radio, tele-
vision, film — trying to extend the principle which
has worked so well in the theatre.

The opposition, as you can well imagine, is con-
siderable. Motion picture studios, who still insist on
describing themselves as the corporate "author" of all
material written on their premises or to their order,
see a wide variety of dangers. Similar reactions come
from publishers who like to gobble up all the subsidiary
rights in sight. And so it goes. . . .

We are called crackpots, Communists, day dreamers

OSCAR HAMMERSTEIN REPLIES

because we don't like to sell our material outright,
because we don't like to lump all copyrights together
in one deal, because we would like our material back
if it is not used and because we would like to share in
any re-issues or re-makes of that material.

Being hardy souls, the name calling does not bother
vis. But we realize that we are in for a long struggle
and a nasty one. Is there any word of advice that you
would care to give us at this time — something that
we could pass on to our members through The Screen
Writer?

We realize and we appreciate that you won your
own personal struggle single handed because you had
the temerity and the doggedness to stick it out person-
ally — a thing which many of our novelists and play-
wrights are already doing. But it will be a long battle
if we wait for every man to win it for himself and
so we are debating now various forms of collective
action.

Here in the Screen Writers' Guild we have pro-
posed a limited trusteeship within the Authors' League,
called the American Authors' Authority, which would
serve as an over-all umpire-in-chief, somewhat like the
film negotiator of the Dramatists' Guild in New York.
Other writers are inclined to favor an over-all Mini-
mum Basic Agreement in all fields.

I am enclosing a special supplement of The Screen

Writer, which analyzes in detail the proposals involved
in AAA.

We are, I know, a little late in this fight. The battle
for personal identity and personal integrity should
have been fought at the very birth of radio, television
and films.

And it is true that those determined enough to win
the battle for themselves can win it and are winning
it every day. But our problem is, as it was in the Dra-
matists' Guild — how to win it for people who are
not strong enough yet to win it for themselves.

In a statement concerning Mr. Shaw's article and
his suggestion that AAA be divorced from the Authors'
League of America, Mr. Lavery says:

\T TE are grateful to Mr. Shaw for his encourage-
* * ment and stimulating analysis of the plan for
the American Authors' Authority. But I must point
out that we can hardly meet the condition imposed
by Mr. Shaw. He says he will be with us all the way
if we withdraw from the Authors' League, but that,
of course is not possible. Our plan was conceived as an
integral part of the League. Today, as always, the
Screen Writers' Guild stands squarely with the other
groups in the Authors' League — the Authors' Guild,
the Radio Writers' Guild and the Dramatists' Guild.

Oscar Hammerstein, 2nd, Replies to Bernard Shaw

Oscar Hammerstein, 2nd, president of the Authors'
League of America, comments in the following state-
ment on George Bernard Shaw's remarks concerning
AAA and the League:

A^R. SHAW, declaring that he will join the Amer-
■^'■"■ican Authors' Authority "if and when it disen-
tangles itself from the League," thereafter adds many
other conditions among which is elimination of the
existing articles which he describes as "ridiculously
superfluous and drawn up by amateurs."

What it adds up to is that Mr. Shaw is not stating
a real desire to join the American Authors' Authority
as it has been planned. He is stating merely that he is
willing to have the American Authors' Authority join
him if they meet his conditions. He states that he has
served for ten years on the Executive Committee of
the Authors' Society in London. The British play-
wrights have for many years suffered many injustices.

Their rewards and their rights have been far below
the standard set by the Minimum Basic Contract of
the Dramatists' Guild. They have recently attained
better conditions by modeling their new contracts after
ours, but they have by no means caught up to us.

As far as publishing contracts are concerned, Mr.
Shaw seems to have little hope, one of his theories
being that "most books are dead after eighteen months."
Someone should tell him about the contract recently
negotiated by our Authors' Guild and soon to be signed.
If he cares to add to his somewhat meagre informa-
tion on the Authors' League of America, he might also
examine the advances made by our Radio Writers'
Guild and compare them with what his Society of
Authors in London has done.

Thus, if an author is hesitating between joining Mr.
Shaw's own version of the American Authors' Auth-
ority or casting his lot with the Guilds of the Authors'
League of America, I would suggest that we have
better pies to sell at our counters.

You Can't Do That!

ADRIAN SCOTT

SWG member ADRIAN SCOTT,
RKO producer of such films as Mur-
der, My Sweet and Cornered, here dis-
cusses the making of Crossfire, the
soon to be released picture which he
produced for RKO. This article is
based on a speech given by Mr. Scott
at the Film Panel of the Conference
Against Thought Control in the United
States, held in Beverly Hills in July.

I'D like to talk about Crossfire. As many of you
know, it is the first picture that has been made
which deals frankly and openly with the subject of
anti-Semitism. I would like to tell you a little of its
history first, focussing on the behind-the-scene prob-
lems and the pressures to which we — who made it —
were subject.

The project was conceived some two years ago. A
book, The Brick Foxhole, had been written by Rich-
ard Brooks, then in the uniform of the Marine Corps.
The Brick Foxhole was melodrama. It was soldiers in
wartime. It was an attack on native fascism — or the
prejudices which exist in the American people which
when organized lead very simply to native fascism. It
was an angry book, written with passion rooted in
war — "in a dislocated, neurotic moment in history."
While it did not exclusively deal with anti-Semitism,
it nevertheless gave an opportunity to focus simply on
anti-Semitism. It was a subject we wanted to do some
thing about, it was a subject that needed public airing.
And it was melodrama.

We had made several melodramas and were gen-
erally dissatisfied with the emptiness of the format,
which in many ways is the most highly developed screen
format. The screen had done melodramas well but
mainly they were concerned with violence in pursuit
of a jade necklace, a bejeweled falcon. The core of
melodrama usually concerned itself with an innocuous
object, without concern for reality although dressed in
highly realistic trappings. Substituting a search for an
anti-Semite instead of a jade necklace, at the same time
investigating anti-Semitism, seemed to us to add dimen-
sion and meaning to melodrama, at the same time lend-
ing outlet for conviction.

This is all fine, theoretically. It was fine to talk
about it, and it would be interesting to do ; but, as you
know, the working producer doesn't have the right to
make what he wants. Neither does a writer. Nor a
director. The problem was the okay from the Front

Office — that civilized monster which has no other
concern but to think up devious ways to make you
unhappy, or so you think. As producer, it was my job
to go to the front office, which I did. At the time,
William Dozier was the executive in charge.

I outlined the scheme to him — to make this picture
at a minimum cost ; in a short period of time, 23 days ;
to use people that we had confidence in who had never
been given a chance ; in brief, to make this highly con-
troversial subject an exciting picture and an honest
gamble. Dozier commented that he was worried about
anti-Semitism ; and though he had no sure way of know-
ing, he'd felt from his personal experiences that anti-
Semitism had grown since Hitler's demise, rather than
diminished. Dozier ordered an option taken on the
material.

SO far, so good. We did some more thinking about
it. Virginia Wright of the Los Angeles Daily News
announced the project in a column. People called me.
They said it would be fine if we could do it, but there
was a long way to go to get it in production. People
called Dmytryk, the director, and Paxton, the writer
— with the same sort of mournful note in their voices.
Some said it was wrong to do it in a melodramatic
format. Some said, why do it? We were young. This
picture could come later. We were sticking our necks
out. It could be catastrophic. People not only said this
to us — we said it to ourselves.

We left for England to make So Well Remembered
and on the estate of Sir Oswald Mosely — now turned
into a boarding house — we thought about The Brick
Foxhole some more. We worried more about it than
we thought about it. We wondered if they would really
let us make it. I got a sinus attack for which a Harley
Street specialist could not find a reason. Clearly, he
was a quack. Johnny Paxton had some stomach trouble
which he attributed to the English food although none
of the rest of us had trouble at that time. Johnny

YOU CAN'T DO THAT!

Paxton and I continued to kick the project around —
with Dmytryk when he was free from his chores —
and we managed (in these conferences which were to
create Crossfire) to find a number of reasons why
Crossfire couldn't be made.

First, it had never been done before. 2) They
wouldn't let us do it. 3) Everybody says that pictures
of this kind lose their shirts at the box office. Besides,
motion pictures decline social responsibility. They have
one responsibility only: to stockholders, to make them
rich or richer. Sure-fire stuff is rule of thumb — legs,
torsos, bosoms, shapely and magnificent, with or with-
out talent, are the vestiture and investment of films,
beyond which only the fool goes. Why be a fool? 4)
This was the wrong way to do this subject. 5) Actors
would not risk their reputations. 6) A number of
exhibitors would refuse to play the picture. 7) This
picture would hurt somebody's feelings. Probably some
nice anti-Semite's. 8) This was not an effective way
to combat anti-Semitism. It was much better not to talk
about it. And having exhausted that, we continued dis-
cussions on the most effective way of making it.

We returned home in November of last year. The
studio had gone through a change of administration.
Peter Rathvon was in temporary charge of production,
negotiating, as we later found out, with a new produc-
tion head.

. I was home from England a few days when I was
told by the Story Department that there was a pos-
sibility that the option on The Brick Foxhole might
be dropped.

About this time I had a series of X-rays on my
stomach. Clearly, I'd fallen victim to the old producer
complaint — ulcers. I drank horrid white liquid and
a man with lead gloves poked me in the stomach and
the damn fool couldn't find anything wrong.

I felt I was the victim of a plot and I said to nobody
at all that they couldn't do this to me.

I was ready to have it out with Peter Rathvon. Inci-
dentally, Rathvon is quite a man to have things out
with — he is not only president of the production
company, he is president of RKO theatres and also
chairman of the board of directors of RKO. He speaks
with some authority.

I told him about the project and he said it was very
interesting and this was the first he'd heard of it. We
all had been abroad. We had no opportunity to discuss
it with him. Familiarizing himself with the lot, he'd
run across Brick Foxhole, and assumed that I, on my
own, would drop the option since it was about a
moment in history which could be better analyzed sev-
eral years hence. He had no objections to a picture on
anti-Semitism. As a matter of fact, he thought it was
a good idea. The sterility of general motion picture

production was something which bothered him — here
was a good, useful way of introducing a new subject
matter. He ordered the option to be renewed.

At about this time my ulcerous condition mysteri-
ously abated.

\TTE started actual work on the screen play when
™ T Dore Schary was made head of production.
Schary's record is known to all of you. It is a record
generously laden with progressive picture making. But
— now something else had to be considered. Schary
was new. He had an extremely difficult job of reorgan-
ization facing him. Sure, he wanted to make pictures
with a mature content. He was on record as saying
this. But anti-Semitism was a different matter. This
was an explosive subject. It would be highly embar-
rassing to present him with a decision of this nature a
few weeks after arriving on the lot. Was it right to do
it now? Maybe a few months from now? These were
our nightmares.

The night after I sent Johnny Paxton's magnificent
script to him, two sleeping pills didn't work. I arrived
haggard the next morning — a little late. I learned
that Mr. Schary had made an appointment with my
secretary — I was due in his office in ten minutes. So
I went up.

He said, "I think this will make a good picture.
Let's go." Overnight, the lot was transformed into a
unit for Crossfire. Every department swung into oper-
ation to meet the challenge of making an "A" picture
on a "B" budget. Robert Young left Columbia at 12
o'clock, having finished one picture, and at 1 o'clock
started Crossfire. Robert Mitchum cut short a vaca-
tion. Robert Ryan would have murdered anyone who
prevented him from playing the part of the anti-
Semite.

Conferences were held with Schary who made sug-
gestions which improved the script. This, of course, is
revolution, when it is necessary to admit into the record
that the contributions of a studio head were not only
used but welcomed. The picture went into production
on a 23-day schedule. The photography by Roy Hunt
was painstakingly faithful to the script values. Eddie
Dmytryk brought it in on schedule and, most impor-
tant, achieved his finest direction to date.

That is the story and these were the pressures we
were subject to.

I have gone into the history of Crossfire at this length
not for the purpose of examining Crossfire but to exam-
ine my colleagues and myself. For two years we feared
not that we would not make a good picture but that
we would not make a picture at all. Through all the
long months before we started work fear consumed us.
Why does this fear occur? Where does this fear come

THE SCREEN WRITER

from? It does not require complex medical opinion
to discover the source.

It is a fear produced with a Hollywood trademark.
Throughout its comparatively short history, Holly-
wood has been the victim of an infinite variety of lobby-
ists who claim the right to dictate what pictures shall
be made and what the content of those pictures will
be. As a result of these pressures a complex and subtle
system of thought control has grown up around the
industry. At times it is not so complex and not so
subtle. And the newcomer, before he can successfully
make his way, must not only become accustomed to
this pattern, but must become a part. The producer's
first consideration of any property is: "Can I get this
by the Producer's Code?" Notice the wording: "Can
I get it by?" It is not a deliberate thought process, it
is a reflex action — that automatic. Similarly functions
the writer and the director and the executive. And pity
the poor cameraman who, because of the famous
cleavage controversy, must not subvert the bosoms of
American womanhood from two into one.

T NCI DENTALLY, it is not my purpose here to
•*- estimate whether the individual or the industry is
chiefly responsible for this fear among us. I am prin-
cipally interested in the fact that it exists, in the fact
that it does touch the individual and transforms his
work into something he does not want it to be.

My colleagues and I are guilty. We imposed a
censorship on ourselves in first considering a picture
on anti-Semitism and during its preparation. There is
nothing in the code of the Producers Association which
prevents the making of Crossfire. The Producers Asso-
ciation, Mr. Breen in particular, applauded this pic-
ture. He felt it was a fine contribution, and went so
far as to defend us against snide and ridiculous rumors.
This fear — this self-imposed censorship resulting from
fear — is not an isolated phenomenon confined to my
colleagues and myself. It is a virus infecting all of us.
It can cause creative senility, hackery and lousy pic-
tures. It constitutes conservatism to the point of reac-
tion. This creative reaction results in cliche thinking
and cliche work and cliche pictures.

We are not, however, the cliche that we produce on
the screen — we are not that hero — the strong Amer-
ican, rough, tender, witty, intelligent, unconquerable

— except by the little school teacher from Boston. We
are not the Clark Gable we write, direct and produce,
who with his bare hands tears rich dynasties apart,
with only Hedy Lamarr by his side. We are — rather

— the wish fulfillment of this creation. We are, in
fact, cliches compounding further cliches.

This fear is a state of mind and like a state of mind
it is subject to change. It is not easy to change; it is

sometimes not profitable; on the other hand, it is
sometimes immensely profitable. The enormous success
of pictures honestly dealing with their subject is proof
enough. But, I repeat, it is subject to change. It has
changed in the past. Behind us, we have a record of
picture making which has dignity and courage.

WOULD like briefly to cite a few cases — pic-
tures which were made in spite of the taboos:

The Story of Louis Pasteur, the great French sci-
entist, was a realistic appraisal of the scientist. At the
time it was held that you could not make a picture
about a bug — about diseased cows — about hydro-
phobia and mad dogs and children suffering the rav-
ages of the disease. Aspects of Pasteur were seized upon
and made highly unattractive. The result we know —
a biography of dignity, entertainingly telling the story
of a man who in his day fought medical reaction.

Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck. I do not know
whether Darryl Zanuck, who produced this, was sub-
ject to pressure. It is quite conceivable that he was,
but the mere fact of making this picture caused Mr.
Zanuck to take a stand — against the abuse of people.
That it was attacked when it was released is an estab-
lished fact. That it was a fine and successful picture
needs no elaboration.

There are others made in opposition to pressure:
Confessions of a Nazi Spy, Mission to Moscow and the
pictures which depicted the gangster era. The part the
gangster pictures played in causing legislation against
prohibition is well known.

More recently, Boomerang and The Farmer's
Daughter have been attacked, and Best Years of Our
Lives — and to their everlasting credit, Samuel Gold-
wyn and Dore Schary have answered their attackers.
During the preparation of The Best Years, it is con-
ceivable that Mr. Goldwyn was told that he shouldn't
make a picture about returning veterans — the people
were tired of war, of soldiers in uniform, they wanted
to forget, they wanted to think about something else —
to be happy, joyful. If Mr. Goldwyn had listened he
would not only have done himself and the public a rare
disservice, he also would not have had the biggest
grosser of the year.

These pictures, all of them, did not ask for revo-
lution. They merely asked for an extension of demo-
cracy. They treated humanity with compassion — and
this today is becoming a crime. This crime is some-
thing which the American people want. Their support
of Farmer's Daughter and The Best Years of Our
Lives, Kingsblood Royal and Gentleman's Agreement
I submit as evidence. I have it on my own personal
record from two preview audiences of Crossfire.

We received the largest number of cards ever

YOU CAN'T DO THAT!

accorded an RKO picture in its two previews. Over
500 were received from the preview held at the RKO
86th Street Theatre — on the fringe of Yorkville, the
old Fritz Kuhn district. Over 500 were received at
RKO Hillstreet. 95% of the cards heartily approved
Crossfire. An overwhelming majority liked those scenes
best which directly come to grips with anti-Semitism.
A great majority asked the screen to treat more sub-
jects like this.

' I 'HAT tired, dreary ghost who has been haunting
**• our halls, clanking his chains and moaning, "The
people want only entertainment," can be laid to rest,
once and for all. The American people have always
wanted, and today more than ever want pictures which
touch their lives, illuminate them, bring understand-
ing. If we retreat now, because of our own doubts, not
only do we do a great disservice to the American audi-
ence, but we do a most profound disservice to ourselves.
For this Fear we've become accustomed to — this

adjustment we have made to taboos — are the allies
of the Thomas Committee, the Tenney Committee, and
their stooges within and without the industry. Our
Fear makes us beautiful targets — we are in the proper
state of mind for the operation of these committees
which, in pretending to defend, actually subvert our
democratic way. We are magnificently adjusted to bans
and ripe for more bans which inevitably will result if
we allow it. There are supercilious cynics among us
who conceivably could derive a singular pleasure from
further bans on what we write, direct and produce.
Further bans extend an already flourishing martyr com-
plex— more reason to sit by, substituting luxury and
creative locomotor ataxia for honest creative effort.

I believe we have a job to combat the controls which
can lead only to more sterility in motion pictures and
reaction generally. If we allow ourselves to be con-
sumed by our fears, this can happen. While this mar-
riage of reaction is going on, we've got to speak now —
or we'll be forced to forever hold our peace.

A World Audience for The Screen Writer

SWG member Jean Renoir's article, Chaplin Among the Immortals, published in the July
issue of this magazine, is being widely reprinted in France.

William Wyler's article in the February issue, No Magic Wand, has been reprinted with
credit in England, France, Czechoslovakia, Sweden, Denmark, Switzerland, Argentina and is ap-
pearing next month in Filme, the new Brazilian screen quarterly, for Brazilian and Portuguese
readers.

Robert Shaw's article in the March issue, A Package Deal in Film Opinions, concerning Dr.
George Gallup's movie audience research methods, has been reprinted with credit in two British
magazines, in Czechoslovakia, Switzerland and Mexico.

Jay Richard Kennedy's article, An Approach to Pictures, in the June issue has aroused unusual
interest both in the United States and abroad, and will probably be reprinted in several foreign film
journals.

I. A. L. Diamond's Hollywood Jabberwocky, published in the June issue of this magazine, was
reprinted with credit to Mr. Diamond and The Screen Writer in the June 23 issue of Time.

Other recent articles widely quoted or reprinted in the U.S.A. and abroad are I. G. Gold-
smith's Made in England, James M. Cain's Vincent Sargent Lawrence, Millen Brand's The Book
Burners, Vladimir Pozner's Adult or Adulterated, Harold Salemson's The Camera as Narrator,
Rouben Mamoulian's Stage fcf Screen, Roland Kibbee's Stop Me If You Wrote This Before, and
many parts of the Freedom of the Screen Section in the June issue.

Scully on Tully

FRANK SCULLY

FRANK SCULLY, a member of SWG,
is the author of many books including
the Fun In Bed series and Rogues' Gal-
lery. He has been a foreign correspon-
dent and is now Hollywood correspon-
dent and columnist for the New York
edition of Variety. His friendship with
Jim Tully was of long standing.

HE was a red-haired, red-faced Danton of the
French Revolution cut down to a California
commercial acre — the original hard-boiled Mr.
Five by Five of life — but by the time he gave up the
ghost and the boutonniered planters of the dead got
their hands on him, he was bleached white and down
to proportions nearer a sand swept city lot.

In his prime, his magnificent voice could talk your
ears off, but for the last two years, he was down to
whispers — most of his body paralyzed by Parkinson's
disease and arteriosclerosis. He would stare for hours
at the ceiling. When the nurse would approach him with
a hypo he'd brush her off. All his life he had been a
fighter, but an hour before he died on the Fourth Sun-
day after Pentecost, Anno 1947, he finally decided to
go quietly.

Contrary to general opinion Emmett Lawler was
not Tully's first piece of creative writing. His fight re-
cord was. Boxers normally begin as preliminary boys
and work up. Jim Tully began as a semi-finalist by the
simple formula of having printed up a record of ten
fights which had not taken place yet. They were all
knockouts.

What he took later in the ring must have left a
permanent trauma. He had a perpetually blood-shot
eye and his story of a slug-nutty fighter in The Bruiser
wasn't creative writing in the least. Black Boy, a play
he wrote for Paul Robeson, also showed how serious
he could be about the ring.

Of those fights not in the record books, John Gilbert's
was the most hilarious. Upbraided for hitting a mati-
nee idol, Tully said Gilbert was fanning himself to
death. "So I put him to sleep for his own protection."

Today they lie on the same slope of Forest Lawn.
Dreiser is there, too. This is really funny, because the
writers at least had as much affinity for the place as Red
Lewis when writing Babbitt. Maybe by now Lewis
would love to be planted there too. People change.

The minister read The House By The Side of The
Road and similar items hardly culled from Laughter

In Hell. I thought of a line of Jim's at the Strong
Woman's funeral: "The audience looked bored with
piety."

Afterward Fritz Tidden said to me : "It would have
been a better service if the minister had read that chap-
ter from Circus Parade."

But Jim's soul wasn't there, anyway, and his body
didn't belong there either, because he had received the
last rites of the Catholic Church and should have been
buried in Calvary, or back in St. Mary's, Ohio, where
he was born.

' I 'HAT was where he had his six years of schooling
•*• in an orphanage. Blasphemic on most issues, he was
forever grateful to the nuns who had given him that
much. They taught him to write sentences as short as
a prison haircut. He kept them that way.

That he was unique among $1000-a-week scenario-
writers in quitting school at the age of twelve, I doubt.
But he was unique in his admittance of how little he
contributed to a picture. "All I did for Trader Horn,
he said, "was to tell Thalberg that animals were afraid
of fire." He had a standing offer to become one of Irv-
ing Thalberg's writers. He looked on it as a stooge role
and refused to do it regularly.

One of the most mixed up men in this town, Rupert
Hughes, helped Tully most when a dollar and some
guidance made all of the difference. It was Hughes who
made possible the completion of Emmett Lawler.

Tully raised the lowest form of writing, fan maga-
zines, to its highest level and dragged the writing of
novels from the lofty heights of Lord Fauntleroy
down to the realism of Shanty Irish. He was the first
Hollywood writer to release an unretouched portrait
of a director. That was Jarnegan who could be Jack
Ford, Jim Cruze, Rex Ingraham or Jim Tully.

For Beggars of Life, Circus Parade, The Bruiser,
and Shadows of Men, he received a lot of praise.
For Ladies In The Parlor he got suppressed by Sum-

8

SCULLY ON TULLY

ner. His books got him listed all over the world
as the hobo author, despite the fact that he hadn't been
in a boxcar in more than 25 years. When I first met
him he owned a three-acre, $100,000 estate on Toluca
Lake, over the hill from Hollywood. A brick mansion,
modeled on the lines of George Borrow's, and hidden
among dozens of giant eucalyptus trees, it housed Holly-
wood's best library. In those days there weren't more
than three civilized homes in that land of magnificent
mansions, and Jim Tully's was one of the three.

Fifteen miles beyond this retreat which became too
hemmed in for him, what with the Crosbys, Powells,
Astors, Twelvetrees, Brians, Bruces, Brents, Disneys,
and other picture personalities building on all sides of
him, Tully bought a 100-acre ranch at Chatsworth so
that he might retreat farther from the civilization that
attacked him from the west, where he found his fame,
and the east, where he had none to lose.

He grew alfalfa on his acres and thought that when
the revolution came he could live off his land, because
land, in his curiously innocent opinion, is the last thing
the revolutionists, whether from left or right, will take.
The revolution, to hear him tell it, was just beyond the
10th hill and several leagues this side of the horizon, al-
ready.

"Let's have another drink!"

If you didn't let him have another drink, you'd find
his wrath swerving from the generality to the particu-
lar, and you'd soon be writhing under the lash of his in-
credible candor.. It was a curious mixture of Billings-
gate and Shakespeare — a poet pelting you with manure.

If you didn't let him have another drink, his voice
got more basso profundo, and deeper truths came out —
all of them about you and all of them destined to make
others grin, and you squirm. Naturally, such a talker
shocked the more cautious.

TLT E wrote all over the place. In one and the same
■*■ •*■ month he appeared in Vanity Fair, Scribner's,
True Confessions, the American Mercury, and Photo-
play. And if that isn't getting a feel of the public pulse,
Lydia Pinkham never had it either.

Nobody has ever been quite so willing to go into dog-
houses as Tully, feeling certain he'd bark his way out
before dawn. And his bark, more's the pity, was far
worse than his bite. He had a compassion for men, which
hobbled him at every turn ; that compassion, of course,
took him out of the running in the Superman Sweep-
stakes, the Nietzschean dope sheet which drove it's
author crazy, Mencken to beer, and Shaw to clowning.

When Mencken sent Tully to San Quentin to report
the hanging of a youth, Tully stood by the scaffold and
watched the lad's neck pop, then sat down without a

quaver of emotion or a break in a line and wrote his
most hard-boiled report. Without even one aside, A
California Holiday remains the most terrible indict-
ment against capital punishment ever written in Amer-
ica.

Of those who do manage to get their quota of noto-
riety which passes for fame, he was proudest of Jack
Dempsey, who incidentally was in town but wasn't at
the funeral. Both were road kids ; both made the grade.
Dempsey made more money, but Dempsey sensed that
Tully did more with what talent he brought out of the
ring. Jim's wife was Myrtle Zwetow. She was as beauti-
ful as a Brenda print. The only lady in surroundings
where all try to play the part, she protected the ex-road-
kid in the social clinches, and kept him from those who
would put him back in the chain gang from which he
was the world's most eminent fugitive. She babied him
till the end.

He used to go to New York twice a year just to see
Dempsey, Mencken, Nathan, Winchell, Runyon, and
others of the old mob, but after a week or two he began
to die every night, waiting for the dawn, and then sud-
denly he would hop a rattler or a plane and blow for his
Hollywood hideaway.

The people he wrote about — hoboes, prize fighters,
circus troupers, prostitutes, fugitives from chain gangs,
and beggars of life generally — are what the trade
knows as money pictures, but Tully's treatment of them
was too tough, in the main, for the censors. Producers
found it easier to steal his raw material and dress it up
as society drama, a seduction on a drawing-room couch
being easier to condone, presumably, than one in a box-
car or haymow.

At lunch once with Walter Winchell, he asked the
latter for the loan of his column.

"What for?" asked Winchell.

"To keep a road kid from burning," was the answer.

"Okay," said Winchell.

Between the two they saved the kid from the electric
chair. He later studied journalism.

"I'm sorry now I didn't let him burn," said Tully.

How he could hold on to the roots of his serious writ-
ing in such an atmosphere was the most enigmatic thing
about Tully. Writers with as much industry, leaving
out entirely the issue of talent, say, to a man, that they
can't work in California. Tully on the other hand, swore
by Hollywood. He couldn't work in New York.

f*\ NE of those incredible accidents of history turned
^-^ him from working to writing for a living. He was
22 at the time, and had been sent by Martin Davey, the
famous tree surgeon who rose to be governor of Ohio,
into the south in command of 10 men. His letters to

THE SCREEN WRITER

Davey were so interesting the tree surgeon asked him to
write something for the company's bulletin.

That was his first published piece, and though he
didn't make much money at writing for a long time, he
had averaged $80,000 a year between 1926 and 1936.

Wilson Mizner once questioned his talent and be-
came crazed with Tully's own appraisal. Tully claimed
he was a better writer than O. Henry.

Mizner 's eyes popped. "You — oh God in Heaven,
guide me ! What do I hear ? You digger in the garbage
of literature!"

"As you will, Wilson," demurred Jim, "I'm built to
go far places."

"On a freight!" Mizner's paunch heaved. "Why,
you never took a bath till you were thirty."

"That may be — but anyone'll tell you I can write
O. Henry's ears off," insisted Tully.

Mizner's wrath boiled over. "Why, you impudent
red-headed cur! You porter in the bawdy house of
words. My God!" He rose. "I'm leaving here right
now." He walked toward the door but turned to add :
"You low rat, you befouler of the great dead, you slime
of the underworld, you shady reprehensible rogue."

He paused for breath and added in scorn: "You a
better writer than O. Henry! Why, you couldn't sign
his tax receipts! You're as illiterate as a publisher. If
you had a Roman nose you'd be a courtesan!"

He began to act like bubble gum. He trembled. "I'm
leaving your house right now, you damned brainless
jazzer of decent English, before you claim you wrote
O. Henry's stories."

Tully calmly replied. "No, Wilson, I wouldn't say
that."

Mizner, deflated with relief, paused at the door.

"Well," he said, "that's decent of you."

"Not exactly decent," replied the stocky little David
to the big fat Goliath, "I'd be ashamed to."

Mizner relapsed. He fell to the rug and crawled to-
ward the door. "Good God in Heaven, deliver me from
this lousy literary hobo," he screamed.

f~*\ N the other hand, he could bury his talent for
^^ the glorification of others. I am not thinking par-
ticularly of his writings for Chaplin or other ghostings.
I am thinking of a time ten or twelve years ago when
it looked as if I would bow out myself. He offered to
fulfill any of my writing commitments. I remember one
he completed by stealing freely from his own files and
putting my name on the finished product. He assured
the mother of our little fleas from heaven not to worry,
that he would take care of them till they were able to
fly off on their own.

Politically, he claimed to be neither of the left wing
nor the right wing, but all wings. I pray that he was
right in this. He deserved to be accepted by the wing
commanders of heaven for one thing alone: the silent
agony of his last years on earth.

"I pity everything that lives," he used to say,"because
it has to die." I do not want to go into the real tragedy
of his life. He has confessed that he only broke once in
his life and that I was with him when it happened. I
pitied him then, but I do not pity him now. All I ask
is that since he now rests in peace he extend his help to
those of us still this side of purgatory.

An Old Frenchman With a New Idea

SWG member Leonard Hoffman notes that it might interest some critics of the American
Authors' Authority plan to know that the precedent for AAA is over a hundred years old.

Mr. Hoffman quotes from Matthew Josephson's biography of Victor Hugo to prove his point.

Josephson emphasized that Hugo insisted on the principle of licensing rather than outright
sale. He always limited to a ten year period the time covered by the contract for the right to publish
his books. After ten years he renewed the publishing contract at more favorable terms. He insisted
that the title to a literary property must remain under the control of that property's creator or his
heirs. As a result, Josephson reminds us that Hugo was a very rich man, with a pyramiding income
after 1838 from the sale of reprint rights for limited periods of time.

Mr. Hoffman adds: "If a French author were able to secure such advantageous terms in the
19th century, would it not be more correct to term the AAA a traditional rather than a revolution-
ary development? In the pattern of the past often lies progress."

10

Conference on Thought Control

LESTER KOENIG

LESTER KOENIG, member of the
editorial committee of The Screen
Writer, ivas assigned by the editor to
report on the proceedings of the recent
Beverly Hills Conference Against
Thought Control, in which many
SfVG members played leading roles.

^^"¥^OR the past five days," said Chairman How-
'f* ard Koch, "we have participated in a unique
event: the first conference against thought
control in the history of the world." Koch was address-
ing almost five hundred earnest and applauding writ-
ers, actors, newspapermen, radio and film and pro-
fessional people who crowded the Palm Room of the
Beverly Hills Hotel Sunday evening, July 13th, for
the closing session of that conference.

"There's no mistaking it," said Robert Kenney,
Chairman of the Progressive Citizens of America,
whose Hollywood Arts, Sciences and Professions Coun-
cil sponsored the conference, "a war has been declared
on culture."

"It is a war," Koch had said, "to control the people,
in spite of the people, against the people."

There was no attempt made to imply that there is
absolute thought control, of the kind imposed by force
under the Gestapo or the Japanese "thought police."
Obviously the existence of the conference, the fact that
the speakers could get up and speak as freely as they
did, is proof of that. However, the general theme of
the conference, as it emerged to this reporter, was that
there is danger of losing some of our basic freedoms,
and that the "eternal vigilance" of the familiar text-
book quotation means the citizen of a democracy must
be concerned with the least violation of his liberty. It
is easy to legislate away and lose freedom; it is not so
easy to win it back.

This was the note sounded at all nine of the panels
on Press, Fine Arts, Literature, Health & Medicine,
Law, Radio, Science & Education, The Film, The
Actor. Having been asked to report on the proceedings,
or those sections of specific interest to screen writers,
I attended the Literature and Film panels only. How-
ever, I realized as I listened to the summaries given at
the closing session, that many of the facts given by
apparently competent authorities were also of interest
because they throw light on similar developments in
other professions, and in science.

Summarizing the work of the arts panels, Donald
Ogden Stewart pointed out that thought control was
imposed by political and economic pressures on the
artist. J. Parnell Thomas, he said, was the name most
frequently mentioned in all the panels and he went on
to give a few examples of thought control which were
brought out in the discussions: the attack on modern
painting as "radical art containing subversive prop-
aganda dangerous to our way of life" at the Los Angeles
Museum; the closing down by General Marshall of
the State Department's art show of leading American
contemporary paintings which was to be sent abroad
as a cultural gesture of good will; the refusal of an
entry visa to a leading Mexican artist because of his
political views.

The Press panel quoted the University of Chicago's
report on Freedom of the Press, a report sponsored
by Henry Luce, as indicating that freedom to be in
grave danger. Newspapers as big business, and as
monopolies, made it impractical, it was stated, for
minority or opposition views to be printed and given
wide circulation.

The Radio panel claimed four networks and twenty
advertising agencies now control broadcasts to 130,-
000,000 people and have the right to say what those
people should hear and what they should not hear.
The "climate" on Broadway, which makes it terribly
difficult for any play of social meaning to be produced,
was described by Arthur Laurents and Arnaud
d'Usseau. In music, it was said that no performer could
be booked on any major circuit except through one of
two major agencies. New composers find it very difficult
to be heard. In city planning, the development of new
and improved techniques by architects and designers
have been frustrated by the control which the banks
and lending agencies exert on real estate and building.

A CCORDING to Stewart, there are wider and
■^ ^wider restrictions on the artist ; subtle censorship,
self-imposed, through fear of political attack or loss

11

THE SCREEN WRITER

of livelihood, is resulting in artists retreating into "art
for art's sake," or "ivory towers." The parallel to the
fate of the artists under German fascism was indicated.
There is a need, Stewart said, for the artist to find new
ways and new media outside commercial control to
reach people and fulfill their role as the conscience of
the people.

The same trends were stressed by Dr. Harold
Orr, President of the American Federation of Teachers,
in summarizing the five papers delivered at the Science
and Education panels. The militarization of science,
resulting in restrictions on the exchange of data neces-
sary to scientific advance was cited. It was charged that
information necessary to students is being denied them,
and that they were receiving a "watered down, army
approved" version of scientific knowledge. Our destruc-
tion of the Japanese cyclotrons was scored as a crime
against mankind, as much of a crime as the burning
of Japanese libraries would have been, according to
the Association of Oak Ridge Scientists, since the
cyclotrons were not necessary to the manufacture of
atomic bombs, but were vital to the development of
atomic energy for peaceful industrial and medical use.
Dr. Orr indicated that the treatment of the teacher
in many sections of the country was that of a second
class citizen and was part of the pattern of the degrada-
tion of the cultural workers. In the colleges and high
schools, he charged, the situation was often shocking,
with a reported instance of armed spies hired to report
on what students were saying and thinking.

Ben Margolis, Los Angeles attorney, whom Hugh
De Lacy, former Seattle Congressman introduced as
a "fighting lawyer and friend of progress," summar-
ized the panels on Law and Medicine. Margolis stated
the investigations in his panels indicated a "direct rela-
tionship between the concentration of economic power
in monopoly and the suppression of freedom of
thought." Medicine was characterized as a "big indus-
try." It was stated that an alliance between the Amer-
ican Medical Association, representing organized medi-
cine, and the drug manufacturing industry was a major
force in keeping quack cures and nostrums on the
market, controlling hospital appointments, and deny-
ing the people such benefits as adequate medical care
for all.

Margolis then moved on to the subject of the law,
by the application or "mis-application" of which thought
;ontrol was exercised. In discussing the failure of the
law to "conform to our changing social structure,"
Margolis described President Truman's executive order
on "loyalty" of government employees, under which
one man, the Attorney General of the United States,
is given the power to define any organization as "sub-
versive." This, Margolis said, in effect invalidated

the time-honored and democratic principle that within
the limits of the penal codes, every citizen may think
and preach what he believes.

Margolis also summarized a paper by Morris Cohn,
the legal counsel of the Screen Writers' Guild, who
discussed the legal basis of committees such as the
House Committee on Un-American Activities. He
called its very existence "a challenge to constitutional
safeguards of freedom." Like all congressional com-
mittees, he explained, its power of investigation is
directed toward, and limited to, fields which can result
in legislation. There is no precedent at law for trials
without indictment, representation by counsel, juries,
all of which are denied by some committees which
subpoena witnesses and subject them to a form of trial.
Throughout the conference resolutions were passed
condemning this type of congressional or legislative
committee, and specifically asking for the abolition of
the two committees headed by Congressman J. Parnell
Thomas and California State Senator Jack Tenney.

' I 'HIS, in brief, was the substance of the Thought
"** Control Conference. The material of specific inter-
est to writers was presented on Friday evening, July
11th, at the Literature panel, Saturday afternoon,
July 12th, at the Film panel.

The audience of over five hundred and fifty which
crowded the Literature panel applauded Donald Ogden
Stewart's introductory remarks, in which he said he
felt many writers were not writing what they knew
they should write because they knew no one would pro-
duce or buy it. "We mustn't make our own censorship,"
Stewart said, pointing out there was a huge audience
"wanting to be reached." In proof of this, he mentioned
the recent success of Kingsblood Royal, Gentleman's
Agreement, and Inside U. S. A.

Philip Stevenson discussed thought control patterns
during the period of the Alien and Sedition Acts, in
the closing years of the eighteenth century. Parallels
to present trends were shown in describing how the
Federalists, who were in office, used every means at
their disposal to defeat the rising democratic party
of Thomas Jefferson. The Sedition Act, for example,
named the French people as our enemies, even though
we were not at war with France. On the contrary
France had been our only European ally in the Amer-
ican Revolution. By this law, criticism of any act of
any government official was a criminal libel, punish-
able by fine and imprisonment. Stevenson's historical
resume was of interest to the writers in his audience,
since during the first three months after the act was
passed, 21 Democratic editors were jailed. Among
others, Matthew Lyon, the Congressman from Ver-
mont was also jailed, and it even became a crime for

12

CONFERENCE ON THOUGHT CONTROL

a New York State Senator to circulate petitions against
the Act, calling for its repeal. But, Stevenson pointed
out, in the campaign of 1800, the people demonstrated
their indignation by electing the vilified Jefferson, and
defeating the Federalists so thoroughly they never again
won an election. The Federalists had succeeded in
"postponing democracy for a few years," and then
they achieved oblivion.

The second paper, What the Europeans Expect From
American Writers, was presented by novelist George
Tabori. He warned of the vicious cycle which thought
control sets up, for it creates new demands for free-
dom, which in turn engenders more thought control.
He described the vast European audience which wants
to know about the world and about themselves. This
audience looks toward the United States, where they
expect to find the new novels emerging in the tradition
of realism which will arise out of our conflicts. The
American writer, Tabori warned, cannot be silent
today, for "silence would be suicide for him, and pos-
sibly for humanity."

The third paper, The Writer As the Conscience of
the People, was read by Albert Maltz, and its presen-
tation brought the author an enthusiastic response from
the packed hall. It was a long, documented paper, and
can scarcely be treated in the limited space of this
report. Maltz began by describing Zola's defense of
Dreyfus, and the courageous support he received at
that time from other men of letters, who risked their
liberty to defend him. Proust, for example, went from
door to door with petitions to aid Zola after his con-
viction and imprisonment. In tracing the reason why
Zola, a successful novelist, should have concerned him-
self with the fate of a man he had never met, Maltz
analyzed the relation of the writer to society and life.
He discussed four major attitudes the writer has open
to him: a) cynicism, b) concern with self, c) cool
impartiality, and finally, d) a compassionate and
partisan espousal of forward-looking social values.

"\ XALTZ did not deny that there were examples
■*■*■*■ of literary art which had come from the first
three named attitudes, but he expressed his firm con-
viction that the best in literature had come from authors
who adhered to the latter view. In support of this,
he cited Victor Hugo, exiled for 17 years for partici-
pation in the Republican uprising of 1848, and who
later aided the Paris Commune; Stendhal, who was
banned from Lombardy for "holding the most perni-
cious political ideas;" Byron, who volunteered in the
Greek rebel army, fought for Greek independence;
Dostoievsky, who served a term in Siberia ; Gorki, who
was jailed; and Chekhov, who came to Gorki's defense.
Maltz described how Tolstov faced the threat of im-

prisonment for revealing the truth about a famine which
the Czarist state tried to keep quiet. And finally Maltz
turned to the American authors who also faced and
defeated attempts to silence them because of their
espousal of the abolitionist cause. There was a rope
around William Lloyd Garrison's neck, and the Rev-
erend Lovejoy was shot and killed, Maltz said, indi-
cating that it took no little courage for Thoreau to
refuse to pay his taxes as a protest against slavery or
for William Cullen Bryant to write his anti-slavery
editorials, or for Whittier, Lowell, Dana and Emerson
to raise their voices in protest. In Philadelphia, Emer-
son was denied the right to speak in 1856. A Boston
mob prevented him from speaking in 1861. Walt
Whitman was fired from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle
for "radical political sentiments."

Maltz concluded by describing the conviction of
Howard Fast, Herman Shumlin, and a dozen other
members of the executive board of the Joint Anti-
Fascist Refugee Committee in a Federal Court recently
for conspiracy to commit contempt of the House Un-
American Activities Committee. He told how Fast's
Citizen Tom Paine had been banned from public
school libraries of New York and Detroit. "If they
can do this to Fast," Maltz stated, "the shadow of
Rankin has fallen across the desk of every other honest
American writer."

The panel concluded with brief statements by Arthur
Laurents and Arnaud D'Usseau on the New York
theatre. George Sklar described the history of the
Federal Theater Project, which he described as a
"people's theatre" which produced 1000 plays in four
years, plays which were seen by 25,000,000 people.
When the Dies Committee investigated the Project,
the question was asked, "Is Christopher Marlowe a
Communist?" Sklar indicated the humor in that ques-
tion was not very funny, for it revealed the kind of
men who seek to exercise political censorship in the arts.

Other speakers included Millen Brand, who spoke
on the Hearst anti-obscenity campaign, an extension
of an article which appeared in the January, 1947
issue of The Screen Writer. Barclay Tobey, publish-
er's representative, described the growing thought con-
trol in the publishing field. Milton Merlin, who
described himself as a literary critic "whimsically con-
nected with the Los Angeles Times," said the Times
apparently viewed neither literature nor himself as
very important, for they had exercised no influence
on his reviews. "They just don't care," Merlin said.
Dorothy Hughes said she had not been subjected to
any restrictions in her work, but voiced the opinion
that the novelist would find a much wider audience
if he had something to say. Wilma Shore, magazine
writer, spoke of the connection between advertising and

13

THE SCREEN WRITER

the content of stories. The preference of editors for
the story with the happy ending, she said, tended to
remove the reader from the realities of life.

HP HE Film Panel, the following afternoon in the
"*■ same room, was equally crowded. John Cromwell,
noted motion picture director, chaired the session,
which heard the following papers: The Areas of
Silence by Irving Pichel; The Right to Fail, or With
Whom is the Alliance Allied, by Carey McWilliams;
The Relation of the Actor to Content in Films by
Howard Da Silva; You Can't Do That by Adrian
Scott.* The Screenwriter and Censorship by Richard
Collins*, and finally, The Time of Your Life, by Paul
Draper.

Pichel spoke of the "great mandate for reality"
which the film received during the war. The value of
real films for morale and training purposes was then
obvious. Now, Pichel claimed, the film has been
"caponized," separated from reality, as though the
war was really over, instead of continuing in the form
of many unresolved conflicts.

He likened the screen to "an accomplished actor
memorizing and repeating words that have been ap-
plauded in other media, and have been pre-censored,
sifted, filtered against deviation from the most com-
monly accepted and widely held social generalizations."
In concluding, Pichel warned: "It is possible that film
makers can, by repeated and discriminate attack, be
frightened into an even greater reticence and evasion.
But the greater danger is that the thoughts and feelings
of the mass of American theater-goers will be frag-
mented in the hope of rewelding them by raising a new
enemy into a new unity — a unity of apprehension,
of suspicion, of fear, a unity which will be only a
caricature of the characteristic hopefulness and love
of freedom which have marked the growth of this
country to its present power and influence. Should this
calamity befall, American thought will be indeed under
an iron control which will rigidly clamp itself upon
every medium by which thought is communicated. The
screen, utterly dependent upon popular response, will
be the first to fall."

The relations between the Motion Picture Alliance
and the House Committee on Un-American Activities
was the subject of Carey McWilliams' paper. Accord-
ing to McWilliams, the MPA announced its forma-
tion in 1944 to counter the impression that Hollywood
was "a hotbed of sedition and subversion." McWilliams
pointed out that the assertion a charge is not true is
a time-honored propaganda device to give wider cur-

♦Neither Mr. Scott's nor Mr. Collins' speeches are fully
described in this report, since Mr. Scott's paper is printed
in full in this issue, and an article on this subject by Mr.
Collins will appear in the September issue of The Screen
Writer.

rency to the charge itself. He referred to the leaders
of the MPA, analyzing their motivations, and said
that if they hadn't existed, it would have been neces-
sary to invent them to aid forces outside the motion
picture industry to attack it and control it for partisan
propaganda. McWilliams traced the history of con-
tinuing attacks on Hollywood's "red domination" from
Congressman Martin Dies, through Senators Gerald
Nye and Burton K. Wheeler, the Chicago Tribune
and up to the present time.

He stated the motion picture producers "were ob-
viously unconcerned about the MPA as long as it
concentrated its fire on the screenwriters, but that
some producers realized that such attacks would not
end with the writers. He mentioned Walter Wanger
and Samuel Goldwyn as two producers who had dis-
avowed the MPA, and said that Louis B. Mayer has
"expressed less than complete enthusiasm" for actor
Robert Taylor's charge the MGM film Song of Russia
was loaded with subversive notions.

I" N discussing the relation of the actor to thought
-■-control, Howard Da Silva said that actors are often
subject to attack for using their enormous popularity
to "interfere" in politics. Da Silva pointed out, "It's
not that an actor can't be a citizen, it's what side he's
on." It is only the actor or actress who espouses a
"progressive" cause who is the recipient of such attack,
he said, and mentioned specifically the criticism of
Katharine Hepburn for her speech at a meeting
addressed by Henry Wallace in Hollywood last May
19th.

Da Silva stressed what he called the "duties" of an
actor. An actor, he felt, should speak up honestly on
decisive issues: he should also realize he has wide
influence because of the parts he plays, and how he
plays them, and the actor, therefore, should refrain
from being a party to the "stereotype" characteriza-
tion of Negroes, or "foreign types," since the "stereo-
type" is a way to evade the truth.

Following Adrian Scott's description of the making
of Crossfire, and his discussion of self-imposed censor-
ship which results from the fear of criticism and per-
sonal attack, Richard Collins outlined other forms of
censorship imposed upon the screenwriter.

The final speaker on the Film panel was Paul
Draper, well-known dancer, who did not present a
written paper, but told what he described as "a story
of factual observation" of something which has already
happened to the script of William Saroyan's play, The
Time of Your Life, as a result of the activities of the
House Committee on Un-American Activities. Draper
began by saying that he was able to make his livelihood

14

CONFERENCE ON THOUGHT CONTROL

elsewhere, and therefore could speak more freely than
other members of the panel whose economic security
depended on the film industry.

He recognized that the changes in the play were
scarcely "world-shaking," and did not basically affect
the content of the film, but he offered them in evidence
as an instance of how fear is currently imposing its own
censorship. According to Draper, in one of Saroyan's
scenes, there was a reference to Hitler, who was the
menace to world security at the time the play was writ-
ten. The line went, in part, "No, the headline isn't
about me, it's about Hitler." Since that reference was
dated, it was suggested to Draper that he substitute
Stalin for Hitler. Draper objected, and eventually it

was suggested as a form of compromise that the name
of Molotov be substituted. However, when Draper
told the producer that Sidney Bernstein, who repre-
sented J. Arthur Rank, said his organization would
not distribute a film which had a line in it derogatory
to the Soviet Union, "there was flashing action." An
alternate take was made for "protection" in which the
line became, "No, the headline isn't about me, it's
about Kilroy!"

Draper stated the line "I haven't the heart to be a
heel so I'm a worker," was deleted, and he was
assured one couldn't use the word worker today in a
Hollywood film "because of the Thomas-Rankin com-
mittee investigation."

A Few Comments on the New Format

Since changing from its "little magazine" style to its present format, The Screen Writer has
received a great number of comments on the June and July issues. Here are a few of them:

"The magazine looks swell in its new format!" — Bennet Cerf , publisher.

"In its handsome new format it is as bright now in appearance as it is stimulating in content . . .
Thanks for hours of entertaining and informative reading." — Virginia Wright, Drama Editor, Los
Angeles Daily News.

"I like the new format." — Raymond Chandler, novelist and screen writer.

"I feel the magazine is now beginning to realize its true potentialities." — Jay Richard Kennedy,
writer-producer.

"Important in content." — Vincent Sherman, director.

"With that last issue we joined the big league." — Malvin Wald, screen writer and play-
wright.

"A lot of essential reading in the new Screen Writer." — Sidney Skolsky, columnist and pro-
ducer.

"The editor, the director of publications and the entire editorial committee are all due an
orchid apiece for the new Screen Writer, up to standard size for the first time. . . . The mag has
always been grand reading, but now in full dress and with good makeup it's a real treat. . . . The
format is particularly distinctive." — Hollywood Review.

"A wealth of information for writers." — Harry Crocker in the Los Angeles Examiner.

15

Hum incomE tri

Lee

'«KSfS«i

Jumpfron> S**> '<" t'946-47

$1,130, 000, OOJff g jjyjjj-j

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0, the picture industry ine . d.

Iv 300 percent in trie i o » j,

'/rom $432^00.000 m '929 »»

130.000.000 '" V£?-w„ in 1932.
or the '8-Year penod ««d
when 'he income of^he .n ^

ped to $,91,00.ouu. n .

or we GROSS

— -_...»»• nf Screen Writing*

** w.„ primer of Screen Writing

*?°":r,e»-,n income, with the excep^ ^^-—

RECORD -

BILLION TOPPED IN 1946;
PROFITS HIT $316 MILLION;
$??6N«LU0N0N PAYROLL

'iett^/i/tci tn»* VorUty and Rt/ort-er July 21st

A That art httj/incs •&»** Vor/'tfy «ntf Rt/orftr July 21st

Washington, July 20.— w ■

■ , ' „ i recreation according

na"-T, h« the US Department of w.

*° Tfere Uthe sVory of the amusement

,9!?r$U 30.000 000 0 thenar

,.,,, or, vo, in 1946 as the
y^on°national income .ssued

Our present share of theatre admissions in theUnited States alone is one per cent — much less if
computed on the world gross of american pictures. does it seem preposterous to suggest that screen
writers actually provide as much as, say, two per cent of what the movie goer gets for his money?

This is another special section of The Screen Writer, prepared to high-
light the more important factors in the current decrease of screen writing em-
ployment, and to survey briefly the problems of the original story market
and other questions affecting the economic and professional welfare of writers
in Hollywood.

First Steps in Arithmetic

RING LARDNER, JR.

ACCORDING to Hollywood legend it was a
common practice ten or fifteen years ago for
armed studio scouts to snatch some defenseless
writer out of the Algonquin or the Poets' Rest on

RING LARDNER, JR., is a former vice-president and pres-
ently a member of the Executive Board of SWG. He is holder
of screen writing awards from the Academy of Motion Pic-
ture Arts and Sciences and from the Hollywood Writers
Mobilization.

16

Sheridan Square and rush him in a sealed train to a
suite in the Beverly-Wilshire, an oak-paneled office
in Culver City and oblivion. Then for six months or
a year he would see no one except his beautiful secre-
tary and the boy who delivered the weekly fistful of
rubies.

It may have occurred to you — especially if you're
out of a job and exposed to such random thoughts ■ —

FIRST STEPS IN ARITHMETIC

that anecdotes of this sort are not making the rounds
the way they used to. Some rather drastic changes have
taken place in the profession of screenwriting over the
years, and the last six months, in particular, have seen
such a rapid and steep decline in job opportunities that
even the most rugged minds among the individualists
are beginning to sense that the gravy is thinning out.

One reason this realization has come so slowly to the
more prosperous writers — who have always contrib-
uted a disproportionate share of the Guild leadership —
is that the thinning process has occurred for the most
part beneath the thick upper layer from which they
feed. Salaries in the top levels are actually higher than
they have ever been; there is a larger body of writers
earning 1500 dollars a week and up than ever before;
and the highly paid minority has more job security
than any other section of the membership.

These facts serve to intensify the competition for
jobs among the less fortunate majority and to explain
why there is more acute consciousness of unemploy-
ment than a first glance at the actual statistics would
justify. For, while the situation is bad enough if you
think of approximately 1500 writers competing for
some 421 jobs (as of July 1), consider how it looks
if you estimate that at least 200 of our members are
almost constantly employed. Then we have the far
grimmer picture of about 1300 writers competing for
a little over 200 jobs. Thus no bare statement of the
decline in employment by figures or percentages will
present the real rise in the odds against the average
writer's attempt to get on a studio payroll. This must
be borne in mind as we proceed to such a bare statement.

The figures above are partly guesswork. Those I am
now going to cite are from Guild records. The real drop
in major studio employment figures became apparent
last March, when the total number of writers employed
(eight studios exclusive of independents) was 331 as
opposed to 434 in March, 1946, a decline of 23%%.
In April, always a month of comparatively high em-
ployment, the drop had risen to 32%% before 1946
and 28% below the average for April during the last
six years. By June the figure had dropped to 263, 35%
below 1946 and 32%% below the six year average
for June. As of July 1, it was 262, 32% below 1946
and also 32% below the July average.

In addition to the major warning above, certain
other facts should be cited in order to provide a fuller
understanding of these statistics. The figures for past
years include writers on layoff or leave of absence and
so, therefore, for comparative purposes, do the current
ones. Subtracting these and a few on loan-out to inde-
pendents, the number of writers actually being paid a
salary by the eight major studios on July 1 was 243.
Also it is pertinent that the number working for inde-

pendents is greater this year than ever before. The only
comparative figures we have are 168 in March, 1947
as compared to 145 in March, 1946. In July, 1947,
the number was about 175. But this increase of 25 or
so in the independent field has very little effect on the

MAXIMUM EMPLOYMENT AT MAJOR STUDIOS
BY MONTH FOR LAST THREE YEARS

1947 1946 1945

August 364 366

September 364 353

October 346 351

November 361 347

December 328 378

January 335 407 325

February 339 426 369

March 348 443 387

April 310 440 381

May 293 427 370

June 259 411 369

July 262 394 361

NUMBER OF WRITERS EMPLOYED AT
INDEPENDENT STUDIOS

June, 1938 60

March, 1946 _ 145

March, 1947 168

July, 1947 178

Total Number Writers Employed at Majors
and Independents

June, 1938 419

March, 1946 588

March, 1947 516

July, 1947 440

job situation in the critical middle section of our mem-
bership. As of last April, more than a third of the
writers in the independent field were making over
$1250 a week (11 of them producers-owners), and
21% working for less than $250 or at flat deal mini-
mums.

A N overall drop in employment of about 30%
•*■ ^ would be a pretty serious problem in any employee
organization at any time. But the writer job situation
of 1947 is a sudden crisis imposed upon a critical situa-
tion which has been intensifying for ten years. Our
reactions to it have been cushioned by the fact that 277
Guild members were in the armed services during the
period of greatest new writer influx, but the fact is
that the number of writers competing for jobs has
approximately doubled since the rebirth of the Guild in
1937. We have become painfully aware of this statistic
during the past year because of the combined circum-
stances of our veterans' returning and the sharp cur-
tailment of studio production.

There is another factor, too, less easy to measure

17

THE SCREEN WRITER

and less important statistically, but definitely a con-
tributing cause of our present dilemma. That is the
growing efficiency of screenwriters in their craft and
of the processes of production in general. I've mentioned
the fact that the writer who is kept on salary without
assignment is a phenomenon of the past, and, without
any figures to back it up, I am sure that a much
smaller percentage of stories are shelved than was true
in the Thalberg era. Certainly, too, the number of
writers working on a single picture has decreased. All
of these are trends we should applaud — as long as our
indorsement of them doesn't mean that we bear the sole
cost of the consequent reduction in studio overhead.
But it verges on the suicidal for writers to create better
pictures in less time for what would be the sole benefit
of the stockholders if this were a business in which the
stockholders received what they naively regarded as
their due.

Though there is likely to be considerable argument
about the proper remedies, there can hardly be any
concerning the situation with which we are faced — a
situation of severe and growing unemployment. There
is no direct means open to us of solving this problem:
we can neither persuade the studios to make more pic-
tures nor make it a Guild responsibility to see that a
single individual member gets a job. Most of the de-
vices to which trade unions generally resort to combat
unemployment are impractical for our purposes because
of the special nature of our craft. No system of seniority
rights, automatic upgrading or spreading of work by
shorter hours can be made to apply to screenwriting.
Spreading the work by putting more men on the indivi-
dual job is also out of the question; even when it was
proposed as an emergency measure to help returning
veterans get a first assignment, it was rejected by the
membership and the veterans themselves as being in
conflict with the development of screenwriting as a
creative art. Spreading the work by limiting the num-
ber of weeks in a year a man may work is a method
that makes a little more sense on the surface, but even
if it could ever be practical in a field with such sharp
differences in talent, it would require a complete closed
shop, which is not only unrealizable but temporarily
illegal.

YET the essence of the problem lies in the fact
there are too many candidates for the available
jobs. William Pomerance, our former and still unre-
placed executive secretary, performed one of his many
valuable services to the Guild when he urged us in the
second issue of this magazine two years ago, to face
the economic facts of the industry. He pointed out
that the difference between the writers' pool and the
other pools of workers in the business "is the fact that

there is no recognition of any obligation toward this
pool of writers upon which the industry depends. . . .
So long as the producer does not have to recognize that
he depends upon this pool of writers, he is careless and
constantly enlarges it, since he has no responsibility
toward it."

Nine months later, at a meeting on April 29, 1946,
the membership overwhelmingly approved a report
delivered by Arthur Strawn, chairman of the veterans'
committee, which stated that "the importance of a
guaranteed annual wage cannot be over-emphasized
at this time because the producers have flooded the
writers' market in Hollywood without assuming any
responsibility whatsoever for the new writers they
imported during our absence."

Then in August of last year the discussion retro-
gressed several decades in a piece by Mary C. McCall,
Jr., called The Unlick'd Bear Whelp. Miss McCall
poised at the far end of a rainbow the laudable objec-
tives of screenplays written originally for the screen,
leasing the rights, profit-sharing and control of mate-
rial. Then, skipping over the methods by which these
reforms were to be achieved and the interim arrange-
ments which would have to be instituted during the
transition period, she urged us to "turn our backs on
economic security" and discovered a mystical contradic-
tion between the goals she was advocating and the prin-
ciple of minimum security guaranteed in advance, which
she maintained could only be justified during the eco-
nomic paralysis of depression. On this question, at least,
Miss McCall's position seems more conservative than
that of such men as Guggenheim, Carnegie and Rocke-
feller, who discarded the notion that artists and sci-
entists do their best work while suffering, proposing
instead that they be subsidized in order to transfer
their concentration from the rent to their creative
efforts.

The subject was restored to realistic level when
Lester Cole pointed out in the October issue that we
were faced with an existing system of making pictures
which was not apt to be overturned in the immediate
future by our efforts or anyone else's. He reminded
Miss McCall that more than half our members were
engaged in the highly specialized field of low-budget
formula pictures and rarely found the time to consider
the impression of the mother bear on its young. What
was implied in his somewhat too gentle refutation was
that if we held out for Utopia or nothing, we would
be forced by the pressure of existing circumstances into
wholesale salary-cutting and an economic bondage
more severe than the one deplored by Miss McCall.

Shortly after the present executive board was elected,
an economic program committee was set up under the
chairmanship of Mr. Cole to consider both the imme-

18

FIRST STEPS IN ARITHMETIC

diate and long-range measures which lay within the
scope and power of the Guild. That committee will
make a full report of its findings and its proposals to
a membership meeting scheduled to take place shortly
after this article is published. But the field is wide
open for amendments and additional ideas from any
member concerned by the present crisis. From my own
random sampling, that covers practically every writer
who is not firmly ensconced in a producer's lap.

As of this writing the committee's report has yet to
be formulated in detail and submitted to the executive
board, but just to furnish food for thought, attack or
what have you, I would like to outline here the main
proposals which have been discussed so far.

The initial offensive, of course, is against the ever-
expanding pool. Because no one has seriously suggested
that we try to shut off the infusion of new writing tal-
ent, the emphasis has been on how to reduce the studios'
irresponsibility toward it. As Lester Cole has pointed
out, it isn't a question of initiating something new
called an annual minimum wage. We already have
one. The present figure is $375 a year : our minimum
weekly wage doubled by a two-week minimum guar-
antee. But even this doesn't apply to writers hired
for the first time by a studio. Until he qualifies for the
minimum, a writer, if he wants to, can accept $100
for two weeks work and become a permanent part of
the available pool. And it is hardly inconceivable that
a studio might be willing to invest many thousands
of dollars in trying out many hundreds of bright young
men and women on the chance that two or three of
them might be worth far more than the total invest-
ment. We can never be secure against this sort of
reckless assault on our living standards until the
apprentice category is abolished and the minimum fig-
ures are set high enough to impose a judicious caution
on the producers' experiments with new talent. A min-
imum guarantee of 15 weeks at a salary of $400 a
week — or a minimum annual wage of $6000 for
every writer engaged by a studio — has been suggested.

OUCH a reform would not only reduce the number
^of new writers brought in every year. Inevitably
it would also force a considerable percentage of the
present membership out of the pool. In the twelve-
month period between November 1, 1945 and October
31, 1946, an exceptionally prosperous year, 37% of
our active members earned less than $5000 from studio
employment. This doesn't mean, of course, that nearly
that many would be excluded under the new system.
If a third or a half of that 37% were eliminated, the
remainder would presumably be able to qualify for
the minimum. In any case, whatever element of ruth-
lessness exists in the program must be weighed against

the alternative of continuing the present trend toward
chaos.

Ideally these new minimums should be put into effect
at the earliest possible moment, but we have to face
the fact that they are technically barred until the
expiration of our Minimum Basic Agreement in May,
1949. If both the Guild and the producers insist on
sticking to the letter of that contract, the benefits of
the change will be dangerously delayed. One way to
avoid that delay would be to convince the producers
that the greater harmony and efficiency under the new
system would work to their advantage.

But even if we have to wait until 1949 to revise
our minimums, there are other more immediate steps
which can be taken both within the Guild itself and,
because they lie outside the area of our present agree-
ment, in conjunction with the producers. One of the
gravest dangers of a period of declining employment
is that of salary cuts. The individual writer, in need
of a job and bargaining in solitary weakness, needs
the support of his Guild in refusing to accept a cut. At
the least a pledge by every member not to reduce his
salary without consultation with a small committee
of the executive board would bolster his bargaining
position and serve to bring present practices out into
the open. And a blanket prohibition against flat sum
deals designed to give the writer less than his normal
salary would check one of the most prevalent methods
of cutting salaries.

At lower income levels the process is reversed and
a concealed violation of the Minimum Basic Agreement
is effected when the producer persuades the writer to
work on a salary basis in order to undercut the flat
deal minimums. A writer may be hired, for example,
at the minimum salary of $187.50 or close to it, on
the understanding that he must complete the job in
three or four weeks.

The necessity of additional compensation for reis-
sued pictures has been widely discussed not only in
our Guild but among other guilds and unions in Holly-
wood. The writers alone have the added problem of
pictures which are remade from the same stories and
essentially the same screenplays as the original version.
The time to face the inequities of these practices is
overdue. During the first decade of talking pictures
there was such a steady development in our mastery
of the medium that the average release of 1932 seemed
ridiculously old-fashioned in 1940. This is not true of
1940 pictures reissued today. Some of the leading legi-
timate theatres in the world have devoted themselves
mainly to a repertory of timeless classics. It is not fan-
tastic to anticipate the day when there is such an accu-
mulation of successful films that the theatres of the
world will require only a small number of new pic-

19

THE SCREEN WRITER

tures each year to refresh their programs. And it is
only the people who make the pictures that will suffer.
The companies are protected in two ways : first, because
they are theatre owners as well, and, second, because
they never sell their property as we do. They keep on
leasing it.

In demanding payment for the reissues and remakes
of today and a licensing system for the future, we are
merely seeking an equitable share of the enormous
extra profits which our employers derive from these
practices. Even more basic and immediate is the ques-
tion of increasing our total share of the normal industry
take. We know that the net profits after taxes of seven
studios increased 230.2% between 1940 and 1945, and
that there was another jump of about 100% last year.
But in the year of the industry's greatest profits the
total amount paid to employed writers was $18,000,000,
or an even 1% of the 1946 box-office gross.

"\yfARY McCALL, Joseph L. Mankiewicz and
■*"'-*-others have suggested one method of boosting
our share. The more original screenplays that are pro-
duced in proportion to adaptations, the greater per-
centage of initial story cost will be paid to members
of this Guild, and the greater the claim of the indivi-
dual writer to royalties. I think it should be a definite
part of the function of the Guild to stimulate in every
possible way the writing of stories and screenplays con-
ceived originally for the screen. We should also discuss
with the producers how they might provide the same
sort of stimulation to original writing for the screen
as is afforded, for instance, by the MGM novel contest.

But it is only of indirect aid to the unemployed writer

to increase the individual earnings of writers who do
work. Probably the most provocative and constructive
of all the proposals advanced by the economic program
committee is the demand for an overall percentage of
the box-office gross. It is important when we consider
this idea not to be led away from the basic point by the
details of how such a sum might be distributed. It is
perfectly possible that the Guild might prescribe a
different method each year depending on the economic
circumstances then obtaining. The essential point is
that the question of such distribution would be irrele-
vant to our negotiations with the producers; it would
be solely the concern of the Guild according to the
democratic determination of its members.

Such a levy could go into effect in the immediate
future, provided only that we and whatever allied
groups we enlisted in the program — and I would like
to call particular attention to our close community of
interest with the Screen Directors Guild — were
united in our conviction that it was necessary and just,
and in our determination to fight for it. The screen-
writers of France already collect a percentage directly
from the box-office. Our employers are well acquainted
with this practice for it is they, because of the legal
fiction by which we endow them with "authorship,"
who pocket the authors' royalties on American pictures
distributed in France.

Our present share of theatre admissions in the
United States alone is one per cent — much less if
computed on the world gross of American pictures.
Does it seem preposterous to suggest that we actually
provide as much as, say, two per cent of what the
moviegoer gets for his money?

Production costs have gone up 63% over a year ago. . . . Costs that have been hiked embrace
every facet of film-making: Demands of writers, salaries of cast and crevj and construction
materials.

— From a recent 20th-Fox Statement.

20

A Fundamental Right?

LESTER COLE

WHENEVER, in the period of the Guild's
existence, virtual unanimity of thought has
resulted in concerted action, notable gains,
economically and professionally, have been achieved.

True, this has been infrequent — but three or four
times in fifteen years — yet it would be rather ideal-
istic to have hoped for much more, considering the
varied backgrounds, intellectual interests, social and
political, of fourteen hundred members now compris-
ing our membership.

Yet it is interesting to note that despite the diversi-
fied individual interests ; despite all disparities, political,
esthetic and economic, the great majority of writers
forget such differences and make common defense with
energy and courage when a fundamental right is under
attack. That is a fact which cannot be disputed; a
glance at our history as a Guild will quickly prove it.

In 1933, the Producer's Association instituted a
fifty percent cut in writers' salaries. Out of that
primitive method of arbitrarily reducing a writer's
financial return for his productiveness, the Screen
Writers' Guild was born.

Then for eight years the Producer's Association
refused to recognize the S.W.G. as the legitimate bar-
gaining agent for writers.

The result was a strike vote, which was practically
unanimous. And the result of this overwhelming expres-
sion of opinion, and willingness to back it up with
concerted action, was the initiation of negotiations —
within two weeks after the vote was taken.

During the five years that have passed since the
signing of the Minimum Basic Agreement, writers
have become aware of many "discrepancies" in their
economic relationship with their employers. Some of
these were known at the time the Minimum Basic
Agreement was entered into, and others have become
known since, due to many factors which only became
clearer with the passage of time.

James M. Cain and the committee with which he
worked contributed a notable analysis of what amounts
to grand larceny, practiced boldly in broad daylight.
Once enlightened, unanimity again was achieved within
the Guild — always excepting, of course, those perennial

LESTER COLE is chairman of the SWG Economic Program
Committee and a member of the SWG Executive Board.

dissidents who years ago actively sought the Guild's
destruction.

The enlightenment brought about by the under-
standing of what happens in the field of copyright —
of property rights — has caused another area, too long
under wraps, to arouse active curiosity. It is that field
in which the majority of the screenwriters have an
even greater stake than they have in book publishing
and play production; the fundamental rights of the
salaried screen writer.

The question, "Does the salaried writer, however
much money he received, get his just reward for his
work?" is one which has been painfully discussed since
the earliest days. This sore wound has been permitted
to fester so long, undiagnosed, because there has been
no genuine, organized Guild attention paid it, except
in the field of minimum salaries, an area which, at best,
directly affects a minority of our membership. Because
no real diagnosis has been made of the wound, no one
has been willing to venture prescribing the cure. Be-
cause there is no real understanding of the nature of
the ailment, no one has yet wished even to peek under
the bandages, to see whether what remains covered is
merely an annoying writers' itch or an economic cancer.

Self-interest and curiosity have caused me to lift up
the gauze, and take a look. I'm no specialist in the field,
and I'm looking for consultation at once, with all inter-
ested parties, for to my unpracticed eye what I saw
there looked for all the world like a slowly rotting
fundamental right, eating its way through the body of
the Guild.

A DMITTEDLY the economic relationship of the
^ ^-screenwriter to the industry in which he works is
highly complex, and varies in many respects from that
of writers in other fields to their sources of revenue.
Equally obvious is the fact that the relationship of
screen writers to each other is quite unlike that of
members of most trade unions, where the members
do not compete for jobs with each other as we do,

(directly and indirectly) and where salaries do not have
such an enormous range. Our difficulty, therefore, is
in reaching agreement on what is a fundamental right,
common to us all. Until that understanding is reached,
we go our different ways on all issues. Many of the

21

THE SCREEN WRITER

writers who have "arrived," professionally and econ-
omically, believe they have nothing more to gain by
looking under the bandages," and many of those who
are insecure — the vast majority — also look the other
way, doubting whether they will be supported in any
action decided upon — should their discoveries demand
action — by their more successful and more indifferent
colleagues. The result is complacency in one section
of our membership and fear of that complacency in the
balance.

Today screenwriters face the gravest economic crisis
since the advent of sound films.

Elsewhere in this issue other aspects of the economic
situation are examined: the effect of reissues upon
employment, and the ever-increasing writers pool at
the disposal of the producers; a pool which constantly
limits our annual period of employment to their advan-
tage without their assuming any responsibility for the
severe economic dislocation it causes innumerable quali-
fied, proven writers. These conditions are well known
to us; they will be further studied, and I hope, acted
upon by the entire membership. But at their present
worst, they affect all of the writers only some of the
time, and only some of the writers all of the time.

There has been in existence for some time another
situation; one which, in my opinion, affects all of the
writers all of the time. It relates to unemployment in
the most critical way; it is a question not of condi-
tions of unemployment, but rather, conditions of em-
ployment.

Since writers first came to Hollywood on a salary
arrangement, they have accepted, either through indif-
ference, or ignorance, the written words of their con-
tracts as unchangeable law. The essence of the section
of the contract to which I refer is that which places
the salaried writer's relationship to the producer on a
completely different basis than that of a novelist to his
publisher or a playwright to his producer. We have,
over the years, become so accustomed to this state of
affairs that we actually believe it is so, that the relation-
ship is completely different.

So deeply has this become ingrained, that even those
most successful writers, who have been able to com-
mand percentages, settle for percentages of profits,
rather than royalties on gross receipts. Obviously a
percentage of profits is better than no percentage, but
it is at best a bad bargain, so long as the writer does
not have a voice in production, and the difference in
his return on a shrewdly produced picture and on one
wastefully, extravagantly produced, can be consid-
erable. The same picture might gross three million
dollars, whether it's made for one million, or two mil-
lion eight. The difference to the writer who waits for
his percentage of profit would be great. In the publish-

ing field, writers are only concerned with royalties, not
with profits. They don't care whether the book costs
the publisher sixty cents or ninety; their return is the
same. Similarly in the theatre.

Is it true, as we have so long been told, that our
relationship to the producer is different from that of
writers in the other fields mentioned above? Or is it
what we have been led to believe? Are those writers
correct who say, "You can't ask for royalties unless
you are willing to forego salaries." Or are they merely
thoughtlessly repeating what is both unprofitable
and/or politic for them to repeat?

I T is my opinion, which I hope is correct, that the
"*• relationship of the screenwriter to the motion pic-
ture company is almost identical to that of the play-
wright to the producer. I say "almost" because of one
extremely minor difference. When a play producer
pays the minimum of six hundred dollars (maximum
many thousands) for an option on production, he relin-
quishes all rights in a stipulated time if he fails to pro-
duce the play. In motion picture production the writer
is paid a legal minimum of twenty-two hundred and
fifty dollars (illegal minimum, less than six hundred)
and a maximum of as many thousands as the writer
can bargain for, just as in the theatre. Here is the
difference : at the option of the producer the screenplay
may not be produced, and the rights remain with the
producer. This is unavoidable, as things are at present,
since the screenwriters' rights in his work are generally
inextricable from other rights owned by the producer.
The disparity between the screenwriter's salary and
the traditional six hundred dollar advance to the play-
wright may be held roughly to compensate for his
relinquishment of opportunities to market his work
elsewhere. The similarity, however, is greater and
more fundamental than the difference.

Both producers have the right, utterly beyond your
control, not to produce. In the case of motion picture
management, at present you sell, for your salary, not
only the right not to produce but the right to produce.
This is the error. I believe for the salary received writ-
ers should sell the script and the right not to produce.
But that the agreement should not cover the right to
produce. That's a completely different matter, and
should require a completely different consideration as
with the playwrights' royalties.

It should be obvious to all working screenwriters
who have been here longer than a year that scripts
are rarely written for production ; they are written for
producers, or for a producing company, in which rests
the sole decision as to whether or not the screenplay
will be produced.

Your salary for writing a screenplay is based solely

22

A FUNDAMENTAL RIGHT?

upon delivery of the finished work, and is in no way
contingent upon production or any conditions relating
to production. (This point could be amplified indefi-
nitely, but a single illustration should make it clear,
if it is not already so. Excellent screenplays have been
shelved for a variety of reasons ranging from unavail-
ability of actors to management myopia; similarly
inferior screenplays have been produced for as many
reasons, ranging from availability of actors to man-
agement myopia.)

But the point is that any and all conditions which
cause the screenplay either to be produced or to be
shelved are completely outside the authority of the
author.

No matter how tenderly we cherish the hope that
we are writing for the screen, it is in fact an illusion;
we are merely writing for a producer who may, or
may not, depending upon a variety of circumstances,
whims, policies, etc., actually produce it. Studio statis-
tics will prove we are not writing for the screen, but
at least for half a screen. Records will show that every
major studio prepares at least twice as many screen-
plays as it will produce in any given year. Then, with
a surplus of properties, it will decide, without your
knowledge, much less consent, which it will produce.

This is not unique to our medium. Theatre man-
agers take options annually on two, three or more
plays, and usually end up producing only one. As in
motion pictures, availability of cast, director, cost of
production, etc., guide his choice. Similarly, in the
theatre and in films; the discarded play in the former
field begins to make the rounds, and the discarded
writer in films does likewise.

In each case, their property is again put up for hire.
One in the form of a written play, the other in the
form of the ability to write the play.

The ^similarity, the one which needs quick cor-
rection, is with the other screenplay, the one that is
to be produced. For here, in reality, the screenwriter

enters a new relationship with the producing company,
even as the playwright whose play is to be produced
enters a new relationship with the play producer. For
now, the screen play has a new and added value ; a new
and added value for which, unlike his colleague in the
theatre, he receives no compensation. There can be
no argument, I feel sure, over whether or not his
screenplay is worth more produced than unproduced.
And there can be no argument over the established
fact that he is in no way compensated for this addi-
tional value that has been created. No, the arguments
take another tack.

Opponents of the proposition will ask, "What about
the loss incurred by the studio in screenplays not pro-
duced ?" The answer to that question is two-fold ; first,
they bought the services of the writer, and if they
choose not to use his material, it is a matter of sole
concern to themselves. And second, who says the stu-
dio incurred a loss? Every piece of literary property
owned by a studio is put upon their books as an asset,
not a liability. If you think an unproduced screenplay
has no value, ask the executive head of any studio to
give you one. Go farther, try to buy back a screenplay
you have written for the amount of salary you have
received. You'll soon discover whether unproduced
screenplays have any value.

To me, it is apparent that a screenplay in most in-
stances, is worth at least as much as it cost in its unpro-
duced state; therefore, it is worth countless times as
much when produced. How much more is it worth?
How much of that added worth is the writer entitled
to since it was he who created both the original and
the added value ?

In conclusion, I want to say this brief exploration
makes no pretensions at being definitive. But I believe
a fundamental right is being violated, and recalling
how, in the past, the members of the Guild rallied under
such circumstances, I hopefully bring it to your atten-
tion.

"The Guild should demand a minimum guarantee for people who have worked many years
and acquired standing in the industry. Writers are not getting their share of motion picture
money. No qualified new writer should be paid less than $400 or $500 a week."

— Statement of unemployed SWG member polled
for opinion on unemployment situation.

23

No Applause for These Encores

MARTIN FIELD

THE motion picture tenaciously clings to its
uniqueness. Today, in direct contradiction to
other industries in which employment is in ratio
to prosperity, the film industry is at its most prosperous
and at the same time the unemployment of its workers
is most severe.

Apparently ordinary statistical analyses do not apply
when it comes to Hollywood. An orthodox economist,
unacquainted with the peculiarities of our industry,
can only be baffled by its contradictions. It's a case of
needing to know the special conditions that character-
ize the motion picture business and then, and only
then, can the true picture of Hollywood be seen. This
is not to imply that sound economic logic does not
motivate the operations of the industry. During depres-
sion, when competition for the reduced box office
dollar was keenest, more pictures were produced. Con-
versely, during the prosperous war period, when long
theatre runs became common and movie attendance
jumped, less pictures were produced and were more
profitable than the former great number.

When the major film companies scrapped B pictures
and began making twenty pictures a year apiece instead
of fifty or sixty, there wasn't much that the guilds
and unions could do about the reduced employment
that resulted.

However, in the past the producers could not afford
to ignore B production because small companies and
independent producers would be sure to rush into the
vacuum with their own product. The explanation for
the current lack of fear of competitive B product lies
in reissues, whose zero cost of production makes them
unbeatable.

When sound first came to the screen in 1926 it was
a pretty scratchy, crude affair. Only the novelty of its
addition to sight kept production of the early sound
films highly profitable. In a few years the sound en-
gineers brought the quality of the sound up to the
level of photography. For some seventeen years since,
a backlog of some 6,000 feature films has been piled
up. Of these thousands of pictures, at least a few thou-
sand can be revived and shown to the new audiences

MARTIN FIELD is a member of the SWG Editorial Com-
mittee and a frequent contributor to this magazine.

that have grown up or been developed since these films
were first made.

In short, the pictures made by Hollywood's workers
have become a Frankenstein's monster so far as their
employment, or lack of it, is concerned. Such a situa-
tion could only hold true in the film industry, where a
living, dramatic performance can be preserved on film
and stored away in cans for many years. Ordinary
articles of manufacture, like automobiles, tin cans,
radios, or refrigerators deteriorate with use and once
they are sold they can bring no further profit to the
manufacturers. If a book is reissued, the author receives
additional royalties and the printers and papermakers
receive wages. If a stage play is revived, the playwright
gets royalties, the actors are reemployed, the stage
hands, in fact, every one connected with the show is
reimbursed on the same basis as if it were a new play.
The same applies to a repeat of a radio show. Reissues
of books and plays and radio shows are welcomed as
fostering employment of the people involved.

The reissue of motion pictures fosters employment
in the distribution and exhibition branches of our indus-
try, but in the production end the very creators of
these reissues, writers, directors, actors, technicians
and other personnel, are deprived of employment.

A man who runs a film exchange stated he will keep
busy for three years handling 300 Universal reissues.
It is no concern of his that these reissues will take the
place of 300 possible current features. The costs of
these reissues were written off the corporation books
long ago. Whatever additional revenue these reissues
provide is clear profit to the film companies.

It remains to be seen whether or not the Federal
Trade Commission may become concerned with the
exhibition of re-issues under the guise of new films.

' I 'HE welfare of all employees of the industry is
■*- affected by reissues. Actors, for example, are
harmed in many ways. Aside from the question of
reducing the employment of actors generally, six
Deanna Durbin reissues in one year, for instance,
could hurt the box office of a new Durbin picture.

Musicians, who have made notable progress in pro-
tecting themselves regarding radio and recordings,

24

NO APPLAUSE FOR THESE ENCORES

are vitally affected by reissues. Although Mr. Petrillo
has not as yet asked that musicians be paid again on
reissues, the American Federation of Musicians, it is
safe to say, will take up that matter in due time.

The reissue problem has become more and more
urgent in the last few years as more film companies
have jumped on the clear profit bandwagon. Last
year, of approximately 400 films released, more than
100, or 25 per cent, were reissues. As a result, between
200 and 300 writers, several hundred directors and
producers, and thousands of actors, musicians and
skilled studio workers were not employed. A state of
affairs in which about 25 per cent of Hollywood's film
workers are displaced from employment is too critical
and unhealthy a condition to be accepted or ignored.

In terms of money and people, here's the way it
stacks up: According to the latest available Depart-
ment of Commerce figures, the salaries of 43,322 pro-
duction people employed in Hollywood in 1945 amount-
ed to a total of $139,077,053. One-fourth of that ap-
proximates 10,000 production people who were not
paid $35,000,000.

A few months ago, in May, it was reported that
reissues had flooded New York screens. Of 224 pic-
tures playing in the metropolitan area, 105 were reis-
sues and 29 were foreign films. Of the foreign films,
several were reissues also, so we have a situation

wherein 50 per cent of the product in the richest
exhibiting area in the world was composed of reissues

It is heartening to realize that this threat of reissues
to the welfare of the industry's workers has created
almost complete unanimity of opinion among the
guilds and unions. It is a situation so grave that all
factions of Hollywood labor, no matter how they may
disagree on other issues, have come together in an
unprecedented move to share in the profits of these
reissued films.

Interestingly enough, the producers themselves cued
this concerted effort. The Screen Writers' Guild and
the Screen Actors' Guild were both told by the pro-
ducers that if their membership were compensated for
reissues, then all the people who made these films would
be entitled to payment. Agreeing with the producers
on this logical point, many guilds and unions are plan-
ning to act together and are drawing up a mutual
program of action.*

In an industry which has its own exceptional char-
acteristics, the organized groups of film makers are
forced to plan accordingly. The satisfactory solution
to the reissue problem will not come quickly or easily,
but it can be solved and it will be solved for the benefit
of all of us.

*For report on inter-guild and union conference called by
SWG to discuss reissues, see page 42.

"I believe the Guild should insist that agents give us better representation. For several months
my agent has had chapters of a novel and letter from a major publisher showing great interest
in the material, and I learned the other day he had not told story editors about publisher's
interest."

— Another SWG member's statement.

25

What's Happening to Our Jobs?

PAUL GANGELIN

THESE are rough times for the screen writer.
The word goes around that Metro's staff is
down to sixty from a normal of a hundred and
eight. Republic is down to twelve, or fourteen, or some-
thing. Paramount's down to . . . They're all down.
To borrow a current wisecrack, unemployed writers
are roaming the Boulevard like buffalo.

Periods of low unemployment in a chancy business
like ours are to be expected and have occurred from
time to time. It seems to me, however, that this one
is different in kind from any of its predecessors. The
elements that go into its making are enormously com-
plex, reflecting the disturbed world situation as well
as internal uncertainty and need for revising values.
A radical change in the approach to making pictures
is signalized.

It is my opinion that as time goes on the professional
or journeyman screen writer will find fewer oppor-
tunities for salaried employment. I am not speaking
of those people who have fitted themselves successfully
into the high places of the industry. It is the large mid-
dle group I am concerned with, the men and women
who are able, who know their trade, but have achieved
no outstanding credits and are dependent on routine
studio assignments for economic survival. There will,
I think be fewer routine studio assignments, and the
screen writer will find himself in a narrowing field,
already overcrowded, with his one asset, his skill in
the film medium, losing much of its importance.

The latter part of the preceding statement, I am
aware, comes under the head of fighting words. It is
the belief of good men that the writer who masters the
form of the screen becomes increasingly important to
the industry with experience. I question that as being
only superficially true.

These expressions, and the reflections which follow,
make it necessary, I think, or at least desirable, for me
to produce a certificate of qualification.

I have written for the screen for twenty-five years,
and only for the screen, slugging it out, originals, adap-
tations, screen plays, here in Hollywood, in New York,

PAUL GANGELIN, for many years a screenwriter in Holly-
wood and London, has served as a member both of the SWG
Executive Board and of the Council of the British Screen-
writer's Association.

26

and in London. I may safely be called a screen writer.
On occasion I have even been a "film author."

My observation over the years has led me to certain
conclusions, which I grant are controversial, but they're
the only ones I've got. Let me set them down in order.

First, that the trained, Hollywood-bred film writer
is not the source of the best original material for the
screen.

Second, that long service in the industry is as likely
to keep a writer out of work as to get him jobs, and
this sometimes applies even to the people who have had
substantial success.

Third, that mastering the technique of writing for
the screen is not as important as it is made out to be,
and is far from an assurance of a long and prosperous
professional life.

I'll give reasons for all this while you're getting
the tar and feathers warmed up.

TOURING its nonage, which is drawing to a slow
*~* and reluctant close, the motion picture industry
made its pictures indiscriminately. It bayed along the
scent of a publicity-conditioned popular taste, eager as
a pack of beagles with a sure hare at the end of the
run. Writers, or artificers, were required who could
put stories into the terms of the medium. It was not
terribly exacting work and there was plenty of it.
Volume counted, and, what with block booking and
monopolistic control, the returns were in the bag before
anyone wrote "Fade In."

Today the appetite of the audience is growing
sharper, there are consent decrees and other brakes on
the gravy train. It requires vast sums of money to make
a picture, and even then the returns are not assured.
In this market it is necessary for the producer to look
not to the man who can fill a reliable formula, but to
the one who presents a fresh titillation that will keep
people coming into theatres. Fresh ideas, fresh patterns,
come from writers who are not writing for the screen.

Let us take Lost Week End, the most unusual Amer-
ican film of recent years, as a handy example. Much tal-
ent went into the making of the picture, much daring
imagination was required to see in it a film possibility,
but all that was merely contributory, even if admirably

WHAT'S HAPPENING TO OUR JOBS?

contributory. What distinguished Lost Week End and
what won it its Oscars, was, basically, the fact that a
man, a novelist, unsubsidized, on his own time, had writ-
ten an arresting chronicle of alcoholism, not with motion
pictures in mind but probably, as Sheridan Gibney put
it in his article last month, because of "some inner
necessity to objectify the turmoil and conflict of sub-
jective life."

Now try to conceive the creation of the premise of
Lost Week End if it had been left to us in Hollywood.
Try to imagine the screen writer, indoctrinated in the
prejudices, foibles, and shibboleths of the motion pic-
ture business, hoping to achieve a job and a contract
by writing something saleable, turning out a study of
a drunk. And then go a bit further and imagine his
attributing the drunk's plight to unresolved homo-
sexual conflicts. I can hear the screams of the story
editors ringing from Burbank to Culver City, and
so can you.

It is deplorable but true and probably inevitable that
we writers who have long been stall-fed in Hollywood
do not think in terms of expressing our inner neces-
sities or reflecting our experience of life. Our terms
are simpler — and defeat their own ends. We try to
play safe. We say, "I hear they need a story for Rosa-
lind Russell," or, "Paramount's in the market for a
comedy for Goddard," and so we pour into the studios
annually hundreds of "originals," following trends,
trying to anticipate markets, trying to tailor stars,
and the Academy Awards for the best original story
and the best original screen play are given shamefacedly,
faute de mieux.

That, I should say, is telling 'em — or us.

T^OINT Number Two, and you may have to turn
■*- back to find out what it was, is directly related
to what has preceded. The writer who has been long
in Hollywood, who has conscientiously learned his
trade and is good at it, must realize that he can fall
from grace very quickly. A bad picture or two, whether
it is his fault or not, a conflict with a producer, or just
simple tough luck, can throw him into what is known
with grim understatement as a "dry spell." Dry spells,
or a condition of earning no money, can last an awfully
long time. I've known them to last right into the
bankruptcy court.

Into this consideration enters the fact that producers
tend to become bored with writers whom they have
seen around too long. As they yearn for new faces on
film, they yearn for new presences in story conferences,
the reassurance of the "fresh mind", of new ideas.

The fresh mind, however, is not safe. On his induc-
tion into the picture business because of, say, a novel
or a play, he is greeted with enthusiasm, respect, and

hope by the producer. He, on his side, for the first time
in his life, usually, is paid a salary for practicing his
craft of writing. He says, and I've known it to happen
a dozen times, "How long has this been going on?"
He falls to with a will, the money rolls in, and he
makes a payment on a house and dreams of a swimming
pool. He neglects the field which first brought him
distinction. He becomes chained to the job, he has to
meet installments, he becomes dependent on the good
will of those few sources of employment which the
studios represent.

Time passes. He circulates among the studios, trying
to out-guess or please producers. His original accom-
plishment is forgotten, and he becomes just another
name on an agent's list.

It may be well to state here that I know that this
is not the inevitable development, that there are notable
and many exceptions. My point, though, is that the
exceptions should not be taken to be the general rule.
There are many more writers who came to Hollywood
with high expectations wondering what hit them than
there are members of the Screen Writers' Guild living
in Bel-Air.

A^Y third contention was that learning the knack
"i"~'*-or art of screen dramatizing is not of final impor-
tance. That is easy to substantiate. Too many people
have done it. Over the years I have seen hundreds of
neophytes who didn't know a dissolve from a parallel
come into the business. Assuming they could write at
all and were normally bright, one could take it for
granted that in reasonable time they would master the
technical requirements of our medium. I would be hard
put to it to think of any writer, brought in from
another field, who did not achieve reasonable and ade-
quate competence in writing for pictures. There are,
of course, differences between those who are merely
competent and those who are excellent, but the man
who cannot learn to turn out a useful and satisfactory
script by present standards cannot have been very good
in whatever he undertook in the first place.

All this may sound very discouraging. It is not meant
to be. I consider it constructive to make a realistic
appraisal of the unhappy side of writing for pictures.
I have talked to many bewildered and disheartened
writers. An approach to a general understanding of
the problems that face us may help them orient them-
selves.

To those outside the industry who may read this
and are being tempted by Hollywood salaries, let me
point out that there is in the best of times an excess
of three hundred in the available labor pool of writers.
You, too, may wind up unhonored and undistinguished
on the agent's list if you burn your bridges behind you.

27

What of the Market for Originals?

The following article was prepared by members of
the Editorial Committee from material furnished by
Stanley Roberts, chairman of the SWG Economic
Program Sub-Committee on employment problems.

IN an editorial of July 5, 1947, the Los Angeles
Daily News spoke sadly of "an enfeeblement of the
creative spirit in the American motion picture indus-
try." It told how hothouse characters were "given
words to speak most folks never utter." Although the
latter criticism was pointless in the same ratio as an art
critic complaining that a painting is not a photographic
reproduction of a person or place, the whole anxiety
of the editorial specifies a problem. It is giving those
who take films seriously some worry — especially
writers.

Writers are in an unhappy position — people who
get no credit when what they produce is praised and
are passed the blame when anything they are remotely
connected with is damned. They are used to it. It has
become something of a Hollywood habit not only to
take the dirty end of the stick but also rub it around
in the hair with a kind of gloomy masochism. Writers
are hacks ; cobblers ; serfs ; tools ; human dictaphones ;
people without integrity' or talent. This may be true :
the screenwriters are the first to admit it. And the
poverty of their inspiration and execution is nowhere
more evident than in the almost non-existence of major
motion picture originals.

The lure of writing Hollywood originals should be
both artistic and financial. But it must be considered
that before engaging in such an occupation a writer
must ask himself some questions.

The first is: can motion picture writers, so long
derided as creators, write originals?

The answer to this seems to be an unqualified aye.
Hollywood represents the greatest pool of variously
qualified writers in the world — nearly two thousand
of them. They have appeared in the business of writing
films because they have succeeded, more or less, in
allied sorts of writing and have been convinced they
can make more in doing films. Yet something has
harassed them into the repression of those creative
abilities for which they originally staked themselves.

James Gow and Arnaud D'Usseau, two of the most
distinguished playwrights in the country, spent years
in Hollywood apprenticeship. They did nothing but B
pictures for Twentieth Century-Fox until they escaped
to New York. Emmet Lavery, himself a dramatist,
had abandoned Hollywood for teaching at Smith
College when a picture called Hitler's Children
which he had adapted from a book, suddenly came in
under the box-office wire. Well-known novelists such
as Robert Wilder, poets such as Robert Nathan, have
languished in Hollywood without producing any no-
ticeable literature for the screen.

' I "HE "something" which has built this impasse con-
-*■ sists of the facts of the situation. There is no
writer for motion pictures who has not felt the urge
to write an original. What has deterred him is his
better and more sensible self. An author concocting
an original knows it will pass through readers, story
editors, executives, producers, story consultants, rela-
tives, and even studio story-tellers. Each of these people
have a virtual veto over his creation, a being which
is as dear to the writer — for at least a few months —
as the child of his flesh. It is, literally, his brain-child
and has the affection thereof. He knows the general
intellectual level of the studio hierarchies. He knows it
is both useless and dangerous to present anything orig-
inal — as witness the comment of a story-editor at a
major studio who refused to believe an original com-
posed from unpublished sources. He said it was "not
authentic" because he had never heard of the facts
before. Thus the author is put in the position of a
rather stupid hoaxter.

But suppose an original gets to the selling stage.
Then, the writer knows, the story will never in the
world be considered on its merit. The head of a major
studio, presented with an original recently which was
priced at $75,000, turned over the 75 pages and said
incredulously: "Why, that's a thousand dollars a
page !", a critical position from which he did not recede.
Had the original been triple-spaced, it might have
sold. An original will be considered on the basis of
the stars available, timeliness, pre-sold audience appeal,
the influence of its sponsors (as in the case of one
major producer who took up the cudgels for an original

28

WHAT OF THE MARKET FOR ORIGINALS?

which had been turned down by all responsible people
at the studio — except the owner — at an asking price
of $30,000. The producer sold it to the owner for
$50,000). The story itself will be almost negligible in
determining the final sale.

But suppose it is sold. Then agents, the director, the
star, the distributor representatives, the international
releases, the Johnston Office, and a host of other grem-
lins — not the least of them the producer and his
associates — take up the script. Other writers super-
impose their ideas. What finally emerges, in the very
nature of things, if it retains any resemblance at all
to the original, is a miracle beyond that of Sebastian
who was pierced with a thousand arrows and still
survived. Perhaps this happens, once in a thousand
times — the final insult is applied by the publicity and
advertising which is, as often as not, misleading or
downright mendacious — as exampled in the suit
against the distributors of Colonel Blimp in this coun-
try who plugged it as the sex-secrets of a British gen-
eral.

All this is equivalent to making your three-year-old
infant run an Apache gantlet. Is it any wonder that
creative writers — accustomed by contrast to the royal
treatment accorded by publishers, magazines, and other
media of writing — should shrink from the ordeal?

Still, the motion picture industry yowls like a rut-
ting tomcat for new, original, creative material. And
they buy items like Annie Get Your Gun, {without
Ethel Merman, mind) for $650,000; an outright flop
like Sidney Kingsley's The Patriot for $100,000; and
such resounding nosedives as Christopher Blake for
$240,000. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer offers up to $600,-
000 a year in two prize novel contests. The effort is all
toward adapting the impetus given by publicity and
advertising and success (if any) to the mills of the
motion picture. Not a single effort has been made to
subsidize or aid the creation of original material for
the screen.

It is true that, despite the terrible weight of incubi,
some originals have come through. But their very
rarity is a warning, not a challenge. It is notable that
few of those who have sold originals to the films repeat
their chore. It simply isn't worth it, no matter how
much they get. Isobel Lennart sold Lost Angel to
MGM. Val Davies sold Miracle on 34-th Street to
20th; Ring Lardner, Jr., and Michael Kanin sold
Woman of the Year to MGM. But, be it noted, these
were not sold on the value of the story alone. Without
the persisting backing of George Seaton Miracle might
have needed one to have been sold. Without the spon-
sorship and willingness of Katharine Hepburn to play
in Woman it is to be doubted that it would have ever
appeared on the screen.

"C RANK SCULLY, noting that "practically no orig-
■*• inals are being bought" in a weekly Variety dis-
patch of June 27, pointed out that out of 30 top
grossers during the past 40 years, ten were from orig-
inals. (It should be remembered, however, that in the
early days of motion pictures there was mostly noth-
ing else but originals in cuff shorthand.) Scully also
points out that "prior judgment" such as acceptance
by a book firm and "the magic of print" can over-
night reverse a studio judgment. He quotes only one
instance from hundreds : The Chair For Martin Rome,
an original which went the Hollywood rounds for two
years, was turned down flat — until recent publication.
Now the price for scripting it alone is $100,000.

Under such circumstances, why in the name of either
creative integrity or financial reimbursement, should
writers do originals? There is no incentive whatsoever
unless it be a sentimental attachment to the old school
tie of Paramount or 20th (black with a thin bar of
blue, diagonal). If what Ellingwood Kay, story de-
partment head of Warner's, says in weekly Variety
is true — that only one out of every 500 original stor-
ies is suitable for purchase — then the fault lies across
the thresholds of the studios themselves.

A report coincident with the Kay downbeat was
that out of 463 screenplays currently being prepared
for release, about 235 — better than 50 per cent — are
originals. This unchecked and un-brokendown state-
ment presents a curious contrast to Kay. It means that
117,500 originals have been submitted within, say,
the last three years to the studios. An extraordinary
number, to say the least, but perhaps Kay has said the
least. Perhaps what it all means is that no one knows
the exact state of the original market.

At any rate, the facts substantiate the conclusion
that it simply does not pay a working writer, one who
has to make his living from a hot typewriter either at
motion pictures or other kinds of writing, to do orig-
inals. There is always the chance of the big pay-off,
of course. But the man who depends upon the slot
machines at Las Vegas to provide bread and butter
is a fool.

Admittedly, under the restrictions now imposed
arbitrarily upon original writing for the screen despite
the ballyhoo for more of it and the propaganda as to
how often such writing reaches the screen, the time
and effort spent upon creative ideas for motion pictures
is usually wasted. It would be much better spent in
doing work for other media such as novels or plays.
In a ten year run such a procedure might or might not
bring less money but it will bring indubitably more
satisfaction.

The final question is: what can be done about it?
The answer is that given to the workers in any field

29

THE SCREEN WRITER

of the arts where the conditions, artificial or otherwise,
are such that independent enterprise cannot succeed.
The writers and studios — the Guild and the MPAA
— to mention the respective authorities, might join in
a subsidized program of original production. This
PPMPO — Project for the Production of Motion
Picture Originals — might result in a renaissance of
the whole screen technique, much as the Federal Thea-
tre once did for the New York theatre. Costs could
be allocated; returns might be split in a predetermined

ratio to the studios, guild, and writer.

But, of course, if nearly 50 percent of the stuff now
coming off the screen is original anyway, then there
is no need for such a program. The writers have
money; the studios have their pictures; the public has
the best motion pictures possible. In that case, the
writers need only spend their money; the studios to
cease their clamor for originals, contests, and outside
purchases; and the public to settle down in the general
admission seats for the motion picture millennium.

"The Guild should emphasize in every way possible the importance of original stories, and
the fact that the best films are made from originals. Also, please print articles in The Screen
Writer discussing advisability for members of writing novels, short stories, etc., in interim

periods."

— Statement of SWG member.

INFORMATION RELATIVE TO SCREEN WRITERS EMPLOYED

ON

JULY 12,

1947

Total Number

Non-

Less than

To

To

To

Over

Studio

writers

A dives

Assoc.

Member

$250

$750

$1000

$1250

$1250

Columbia

23

22

0

1

9

10

2

1

0

MGM

68

60

2

6

7

24

5

11

15

Paramount

31

27

1

3

2

10

9

5

2

Republic

12

11

1

0

3

8

0

1

0

RKO

35

31

2

2

2

14

4

4

9

Fox

45

42

1

2

7

7

8

4

17

Universal

21

14

0

2

2

4

5

4

4

Warners

23

23

0

0

3

11

2

2

5

TOTAL (MAJORS)

258

230

7

16

35

8S

35

32

52

INDEPENDENTS

178

164

14

?

26

55

9

14

*59

•Including 11 producer owners.

30

Where Credit Is Due

PHILIP STEVENSON

Because of the importance of credits to screen writers
and to all contributors of creative talent to motion pic-
tures, this article by Philip Stevenson on the credits
system is included in this economic survey.

FOR years a conscientious committee of the Screen
Writers' Guild has been whittling away at the
problems of credits for writers, constantly refining
its rules in accord with the dictates of day-to-day expe-
rience. Yet credits continue to be a source of hilarity
to critics and writers outside the industry, of friction
and dissatisfaction among screen writers.

Both groups seem to agree that the system of
apportioning credits makes it difficult if not impossible
to determine with any accuracy (except in the case of
solo credits) the contribution made by any writer to
to film. This the outsiders find funny, the insiders
tragic.

This is a serious situation because it is not the result
of negligence. The committee has tried hard to present
the contributions of screen writers in a dignified light
and with justice to all concerned. Its failure should
therefore be examined seriously, abandoning hilarity
to those who are not so closely concerned.

At a Guild membership meeting last year, the theory
underlying the Credits Committee's work was clearly
indicated. Dignity, it was said, was best served by sim-
plicity — by restricting credits as much as possible —
while justice demanded a multiplicity of credits inas-
much as credits largely determine the economic position
of any writer in the industry.

The committee's task has been to compromise between
these two contradictory demands. It has therefore re-
stricted screenplay credits to three, in the name of dig-
nity, and created such minor credits as "Additional
scenes by," "Contribution to screenplay by," and the
evasive Academy credit which does not even appear on
the screen, to satisfy the demands of justice. Forced to
try to eat its cake and have it too, it has done neither.

This is borne out by the melancholy fact that some

PHILIP STEVENSON is a member of SWG. Now under
contract in Hollywood as a screen writer, he is also a play-
wright and author, in collaboration with Janet Stevenson of
the recent Broadway success, Counterattack.

fifty times a year its highly refined rules prove inade-
quate, and it resorts to arbitration panels to hear con-
flicting claims and make decisions from which there is
no appeal.

Examination of a typical arbitration case may be use-
ful for checking theory against practice — as simple
and average a problem as we can devise.

Let's say a best-selling novel is bought by a studio
although it presents certain features objectionable to
the censors of the Breen Office, so that turning it into a
screeplay is a challenging problem. Many writers are
interviewed and probed for their "angle" on how to
adapt the story. To simplify, we'll say that Writer A
comes up with a practical evasion and writes the adapta-
tion — though in practice the adaptation may be the
work of several writers. So far there is no difficulty
about credits. There will be a line, "From the best-
selling novel by," and another line, "Adaptation by."

A LEGITIMATE question might be asked here by
^ ^-outsiders : Since Writer A succeeded in adapting a
difficult story, why is he not kept on to develop it into
a screenplay? But the answer would take us too far
afield. The point is, we know that in many cases, if not
in most, that part of the job is handed to Writer B.

There's many a slip 'twixt treatment and shooting
script, and we will suppose that one occurs here. For an>
one of a dozen all-too-familiar reasons having nothing
to do with B's competence or talent, he is taken off the
assignment; Writer C is hired; and a second version
of the script is written. To simplify again, we'll assume
that in general the result is satisfactory. There are
"just a few little things to fix." Again for reasons that
are no reflection on C's ability, the producer hires
Writer D to do the tightening and polishing.

Commonly, the polish writer is one whose record of
success is unquestioned. But precisely because his crea-
tive gifts are unusual he finds it difficult to fit his style
to that of his predecessors. The more conscientious a
craftsman he is, the more he is forced to rewrite this
and that scene, this and that line of dialogue, to give the
work homogeneity and consistence. I say "forced" ad-
visedly, for being conscientious, D is aware that he has
not been employed to transform the work of B and C,
but only to refine it, and that every time he alters their

31

THE SCREEN WRITER

product he is diminishing their contribution and in-
creasing his own. So the result is a compromise between
artistic and economic responsibility.

Leaving aside the questionable aesthetic results of
such a compromise, what does it do to the credit situa-
tion?

Writer B wrote the first draft — a trial draft, as
any writer knows — in the course of which several flaws
developed which could not be seen clearly till the whole
was finished. But B had no chance to correct these flaws.
C saw them at once, straightened them out, and added
the stamp of his creative personality to the whole. By
this time the outlines of B's structure were blurred;
many of his scenes had been cut or transformed; the
style of his dialogue had changed. In D's version the
script underwent further alteration, though less in
structure than in dramatization and individualization.

The arbiters have no doubts about D's credit. His
contribution is seen to have made all the difference be-
tween, say, an average good picture and an outstanding
one. By comparison of the three drafts he is determined
to have contributed 50% or more of the shooting script.

Nor is C's portion too troublesome. His general
structure and some of his dialogue have survived in the
shooting script, and he is estimated to have contributed
at least 35% — more than enough for a screenplay
credit — leaving B 1 5% or less — well short of the
25% required by the rules for a credit.

B raises a squawk heard from the Crossroads of the
World to Cornpatch Corners. He points out with heat
that he attacked a tough script at its toughest stage ; the
producer had certain pet scenes he insisted on including
though anyone could tell they stank ; all the essentials of
the final script were already in B's first draft ; all C did
was to make corrections B would have made himself
if he'd had a chance — and to rewrite B's dialogue into
slightly different words; in short, C and D are taking
the bread out of the mouths of his babies by stealing
his economically indispensable credit; etc., etc.

B's situation is a common dilemma of arbitration
committees. Is it serving justice to deprive him of any
credit? Is it serving dignity to trot out the meaningless
"Contribution to screenplay?" Is a first draft no part
of the process of creation, even though no line survives
in the final version? But if B gets screenplay credit, is
this fair to D who contributed three times as much?
And wouldn't the citing of three authors suggest a
hodge-podge picture? reduce the dignity of authorship?
and cause the critics to throw up their hands?

Of such iffy questions are the headaches of arbitra-
tion committees. In practice they may be much more
complicated than this. There have been cases involving
half a dozen or more writers with approximately equal
claims, and it is not unusual for a dozen or fifteen to

work on a single story. Whatever the committee decides,
it is bound to offend dignity by a multiplicity of credits,
or justice by austere restriction, or both by a compro-
mise.

"\ KY proposal, which may shock some Guild mem-
**-*-*-bers, is that we marry justice and turn the jade
dignity out.

After all, what dignity is there in the profession of
screenwriting? As much as inheres in the opportunity to
carry through a creative job. In our not exceptional
example, none of the writers had that opportunity —
not even D, who could employ only part of his cre-
ative powers in covering an already created body with
more seductive rondures.

It is time to remind ourselves that writing is the cre-
ation of wholeness and symmetry. Its reduction to piece-
work in Hollywood is the fundamental indignity.

I propose, therefore, that we cease striving for an
appearance of dignity that is all too seldom real and
that we give credit to every writer who has contributed
even one line or one week's work to any screenplay.
Then films in which the writer enjoyed the dignity of
whole creation will be revealed in the credit-frame, and
those in which writing was treated as piecework will
be exposed for the potpourri they are. The critics will
know what they are talking about in their reviews. The
public will begin to distinguish one writer from another
as it does in the literary and theatrical worlds. Writers
and producers will tend to shy away from piecework
type of production as being a debit rather than a credit
in the public eye.

Paradoxically, exposure of indignity can only result
in greater dignity. Credit arbitrations, because of the
high economic stake, are often bitter things. Occasion-
ally they assume the intensity of feuds between fellow
Guild members that weaken the organization intern-
ally and forfeit the respect of outsiders. The percentage
system of determining a writer's contribution is funda-
mentally absurd — as everyone except screen writers
seems quick to perceive. The attempt to conceal these
indignities is self-defeating — the result to date being
that whenever a critic confesses himself bewildered by
our credits system he encounters the resentment of
screen writers who chide him with failing to understand
their problems. To this writer it seems that it is we, in
the first instance, who have failed to understand or
anyhow to acknowledge what our real problem is: not
multiplicity of credits but multiplicity of employment.

It may be objected that the proposal to give credit
where credit is due is an impossible one, since Schedule
A of our Minimum Basic Agreement restricts credits.
But Schedule A, according to the 1946 report of the

32

WHERE CREDIT IS DUE

Credits Committee, is subject to renegotiation at or be-
fore the expiration of the current Agreement.

HP HE indignities endured by screen writers are many,
■*• and it will take not only the AAA but some similar
long-term plan for the employed writer to cope with
them. My proposal is not intended as a cure-all. Simply,
it will help expose the real problem instead of helping

conceal it. At least, it will abolish the comic practice of
reducing creative work to quantitative terms and will
end the intramural strife engendered in credit arbitra-
tions. At best, it may discourage piecework and en-
courage integrated films. Finally, it will carry out the
Guild's primary obligation of protecting the economic
interests of all its members by insisting that no contri-
butor be denied the credit that is economically valuable
to him.

This Special Section on the economic back-
ground of screen writing has been presented here
as information vital to writers and of interest
to the motion picture industry and the public.

The material in this section was prepared by
individual writers under the direction of the
Editorial and Economic Program Committees.

Members of the SWG Economic Program
Committee include'.
Lester Cole, Chairman
Melville Baker
Hugo Butler
John Collier
Walter Doniger
Frank Gabrielson
Morton Grant

Ring Lardner, Jr.

Maurice Rapf

Stanley Roberts

Sol Shor

Earle Snell

Arthur Strawn

Leo Townsend

This material has been presented with the
clear recognition that far from being the last
word on the subject, it is in fact only an incom-
plete and opening word. But it is the hope of the
Editorial and the Economic Program Commit-
tees that it will be at least a provocative word,
stimulating a more active interest in screen writ-
ing problems of employment and marketing.

All SWG members are urged to attend the
important membership meeting to be held early
in August, when these problems will be discussed.
The Editorial Committee also urges members
who have something additional to say on the
subjects of employment, marketing and other
economic factors to write to the editors in order
that we may have further exploration of this field.

tT'

Screen Writers' Guild Studio Chairmen

(July 23, 1947)

Columbia — Louella MacFarlane, acting chairman.
MGM — Anne Chapin; alternates, Sidney Boehm,

Marvin Borowsky, Margaret Fitts, Charles

Kaufman.
Republic — Franklin Adreon; alternate, John K.

Butler.

20th Century-Fox — Richard Murphy.

Warner Brothers — James Webb; alternate, Ruth
Brooks.

Paramount — Arthur Sheekman; alternate, Jesse
Lasky, Jr.

Universal-International — Silvia Richards.

RKO — John Twist.

33

Drama in the Barn Belt

ALFRED PALCA

ALFRED PALCA, a member of SWG,
and novo living in New York, says:
"I was graduated from college in 1940,
•worked in radio tivo and a half years,
in pictures half a year, and in the
armed services four years. You can
imagine what I think of Hitler!"

IF you think you can get an opportunity to see your
play done in a summer theater before rewriting it
for Broadway, think again. There are about 135
straw-hat auditoriums stretching from Cape Cod to
La Jolla, but if in the thirteen-week season this year
they manage to try out a grand total of 30 new pro-
ductions, it will break all records for height, weight
and existing weather conditions. The safest wager in
town is that they will not.

It is common knowledge that Broadway has sunk
into a morass of higher costs, fewer theaters and more
wary producers. All agree that new plays and new
playwrights are needed desperately, but no one has
figured out how to discover them. New playwrights
can only be developed by producing their plays and
encouraging them to write more plays. Yet anything
that is not sure-fire box office or an easy movie sale is
a risky proposition in these days of high producing costs
and stop-clauses on legitimate theaters.

Which way, then, is one to turn ? A national theater,
of course, is out of the question. True, the Federal
Theater of depression days sustained many members
of the SWG through a rough period. It also aided
card-holders in the Screen Actors' Guild, the Amer-
ican Federation of Musicians, Actors' Equity and
other professional guilds, as well as bringing legitimate
theater to people who had never seen it before. But
in these days such monies must be used for other na-
tional expenditures: veterans' housing, for example.*

With Broadway and a national theater running
against stone walls, I thought of the barn belt as the
only possible remaining proving ground for new plays.
I thought of Skowhegan, Maine, which had tried out
Life With Father; Westport, Connecticut, where
Pursuit of Happiness first saw the light of day ; Thea-
ter '47 in Dallas, Texas, which opened this year with
a new Tennessee Williams play. And I thought of the
Cape Playhouse in Dennis, Massachusetts, which had
given Bette Davis and Henry Fonda their first chances
at acting.

Yet when the New York Times printed the open-

•Please don't quibble; Congress is bound to spend some
money on GI housing.

ing bills on the summer circuit last June, this trust
seemed misplaced. Out of well over one hundred thea-
ters listed, 26 were scheduled to debut with Elmer
Rice's Dream Girl, 19 with Norman Krasna's Dear
Ruth, and the rest with Maxwell Anderson's Joan of
Lorraine. Or so it seemed.

This, of course, could have been simply a desire on
the parts of the fresh air entrepreneurs to open with
sure-fire attractions. But when a similar schedule was
posted for the second week, I began to wonder. I
asked a few questions.

Roughly speaking, summer theaters may be divided
into two categories: the largest number run by people
whose other theatrical connections are tenuous, and
the rest run by well-known Broadway producers. The
former stick pretty carefully to Springtime For Henry
and tried and true comedies and dramas. The latter —
Dennis, Westport, Bucks County, et al — have been
known to go out on a production limb every now and
then.

\\ 7ESTPORT, which is run by Lawrence Langner,
* * Armina Marshall Langner and John C. Wilson,
is fairly typical of the latter group. Dennis and Skow-
hegan have longer histories and Bucks County has
presented more opulent productions, but Westport is
somewhere in the upper crust of the summer circuit.
The Langners are directors of the Theater Guild and
Mr. Wilson, too, is a top Broadway producer in his
own right.

I phoned Mrs. Langner at the Guild office one
Thursday afternoon and we agreed to meet at West-
port the following Saturday. The New York, New
Haven and Hartford accepted my terms and I arrived
in Connecticut on schedule.

Mrs. Langner had not yet arrived when I did, but
the theater's press representative, Ralph Lycett, offered
to give me some background material about Westport.

"The theater," he said, "opened July 1, 1931, with
Dion Boucicault's Streets of New York, starring Dor-
othy Gish and Roland Peters. It was a new play and
we followed it later in the season with another new

34

DRAMA IN THE BARN BELT

one, The Bride the Sun Shines On, by Will Cotton.
In '32 we did If This Be Treason, which had been
written by John Haynes Holmes and Reginald Law-
rence and starred Armina Marshall and George
Coulouris. . . ."

I had told Mr. Lycett that I was interested pri-
marily in the new plays which had received their pre-
B roadway tryouts at Westport. In addition to the
above-named he mentioned Pursuit of Happiness and
Suzanna And the Elders, both by the Langners; Dream
Child by J. C. Nugent, Kill That Story by Harry
Madden and Philip Dunning, Love On An Island by
Helen Deutsch, and others. Out of 117 productions
in thirteen seasons, the Westport Country Playhouse
had presented about 20 new plays. (From 1942-45 the
theater had not been in operation.)

When Mrs. Langner arrived I asked her what
Westport was doing that other summer theaters were
not doing. She smiled as though I could not have
asked a more apt question.

"Oh," she said, "we try to stay away from the
revolving stock that appears at all the other summer
theaters. We feel there's no point in duplicating here
what you can get in town. This week we've been
playing David Belasco's Girl of the Golden West and
the audiences have loved it."

This was exactly what I was looking for, a theater
that was willing to go off the beaten track. I asked
Mrs. Langner eagerly what was to be the following
week's production.

"Well," and again she favored me with the smile,
"our usual practice is to present only one sophisticated
comedy per season and so next week's bill is French
Without Tears."

I nodded in understanding agreement.

"But then," Mrs. Langner continued, "we discov-
ered that Tallulah Bankhead is taking Private Lives
to Chicago for a run. Since Tallulah is a dear friend
of ours, we prevailed upon her to do a week here prior
to Chicago."

That was understandable. Two sophisticated come-
dies do not necessarily ruin a season. But what follows
Tallulah?

"Why, we're doing a fine old play called The Male
Animal."

Hmmm. And the week after that?

"The Man Who Came To Dinner."

"\TRS. LANGNER maintained that good new
■" *• scripts would always be welcomed and produced
on Broadway and on the summer circuit. But she said
that one difficulty lies in the fact that you only have a
week or so to rehearse in a summer theater. This may
be all right for an old and familiar play, but it is

something else again with a script you've never seen
before.

"Still, we did Devil Take A Whittler by Weldon
Stone last year," Mrs. Langner recalled. "It was an
experimental drama and interesting to do, but I'm
afraid it was not for Broadway."

Ralph Lycett broke in to make a point. "We have
to remember our audiences," he said. "Fifty percent
of them here at Westport are artists, the other fifty
percent want Tallulah's autograph.

"And, too," Mrs. Langner added, "costs are high
here just as they are in the city."

We then moved on to the topic of apprentices, of
whom there are 22 at Westport. Apprentices are young
boys and girls who work at summer theaters for the
entire season during which time they appear as extras,
play small roles, work as ushers, help build, erect and
strike sets, iron costumes, sew, shift scenery, sweep
out dressing rooms, take tickets at the door, etc. In
short, apprentices learn and work at every aspect of
the theater.

Later in the day I had a chance to chat with one
of them, Tom King, who, as head of the Princeton
University Triangle Club, will write the book for
next year's varsity show. "Gosh," said Tom, "they let
us do everything here at Westport. And the best part
of it all is that they don't charge us a cent! I mean,
good grief, some summer theaters charge apprentices
four and five hundred dollars for the season!"

Of the 22 apprentices at Westport this season, two
of them (Tom is one) have ambitions as writers. There
is no doubt that they are getting the finest possible
schooling in the fundamentals of the theater. They
have the opportunity of working with the finest artisans
in the craft and of learning their secrets.

I saw the last performance that evening of Girl of
the Golden West and went backstage afterwards to
say hello to an actor-friend who appeared in it. The
celebrities who went back with me for similar reasons
would have lent dignity to any big opening on Broad-
way and from the "Dears!" and "Darlings!" and "I
have nevers" that rent the air you would have thought
that Mme. Sarah Bernhardt had opened in a new
drama by Wm. Shakespeare. Actually the kindest
thing one can say about the play is that it will do
nothing to hurt Mr. Belasco's reputation as a pro-
ducer.

My actor-friend invited me to drive back to the city
with him and as we piled into the car he sighed deeply
out of weariness.

"Well," he said as he shifted into first, "next week
East Lynne."

"No," I demurred naively, "French Without Tears."

But maybe he was right.

35

SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD, INC.

1655 NO. CHEROKEE AVE., HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA
AFFILIATED WITH AUTHORS' LEAGUE OF AMERICA, INC.

OFFICERS & EXECUTIVE BOARD, THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD: PRESIDENT,
EMMET LAVERY; 1ST VICE-PRESIDENT, MARY McCALL, JR.; 2ND VICE-PRESI-
DENT, HOWARD ESTABROOK; 3RD VICE-PRESIDENT, HUGO BUTLER; SECRETARY,
F. HUGH HERBERT; TREASURER, HAROLD BUCHMAN. EXECUTIVE BOARD: MEL-
VILLE BAKER, HAROLD BUCHMAN, HUGO BUTLER, JAMES M. CAIN, LESTER COLE,
PHILIP DUNNE, HOWARD ESTABROOK, F. HUGH HERBERT, TALBOT JENNINGS,
RING LARDNER, JR., MARY McCALL, JR., MAURICE RAPF, GEORGE SEATON, LEO
TOWNSEND. ALTERNATES: GORDON KAHN, ISOBEL LENNART, VALENTINE DAV-
IES, DAVID HERTZ, RICHARD COLLINS, ART ARTHUR. COUNSEL, MORRIS E. COHN.
ASSISTANT SECRETARY, ALICE PENNEMAN.

D I T O R

THE Taft-Hartley Bill has become the law of the land. It replaces the
Wagner Act, with the aid of which our Guild obtained recognition and
a contract from the producers, as the law which governs the relation-
ship between the producers and ourselves. Unless there is a major political
reversal in 1948, it is likely that its provisions will remain in effect during the
period of our negotiations for a new contract.

It is difficult to predict exactly how the new law will affect the trade
union movement in general and the Screen Writers' Guild in particular. There
are many imponderables, a few of which may be listed here:

(1) The attitude of employers: in our case the motion picture
producers. If they desire, they can use some of the many gimmicks in
the new law effectively to destroy the collective bargaining rights once
guaranteed us by the Wagner Act.

(2) The temper of the new NLRB, and particularly of the
General Counsel set up by the Act. This official will be America's
first labor czar, with powers far transcending those of any individual
or board in the history of American labor legislation. Under the Act,
the General Counsel can in effect destroy the rights of any trade union
by ruling or simply by failure to act. His appointment must be ap-
proved by the Senate, which means, in cold fact, those Senators who
led the fight for this particular law.

(3) The questionable constitutionality of large sections of the
Act. It is possible if not probable that several of the new law's provis-
ions will be found to violate basic constitutional liberties.

36

EDITORIAL

TTHE Guild's counsel is currently preparing an analysis of the law for dis-
tribution to the membership. It is proving to be a long and tedious task.
Physically, the new law is of epic proportions, and almost every one of its
many pages contains fine-printed clauses which will give lawyers food for
argument for years to come. In fact, a distinguished local attorney has referred
to it as "The Full Employment for Lawyers Bill."

It is from this fine print, little publicized in press reports, that we may ex-
pect the Guild's major headaches to materialize. Our Guild has always been
something of a model union, conservative in its attitude and impeccably demo-
cratic in its government. We have not indulged in any of the practices which
the most-publicized sections of the law profess to curb. We are not bossed in
any way. We have never asked for the closed shop, nor have we made political
contributions. We have never called a strike, and our constitution hedges such
a course of action with safeguards. But we must not fall into the trap of assum-
ing that our conservatism in these particulars means that we have nothing to
fear from the new law. It is full of hidden traps for any union which sets out
to protect its members with any degree of militancy.

The Executive Board is unanimously of the opinion that President Truman
was correct when he called this a shocking bill. As a Guild, we are in grave
danger, how grave we do not yet know. At the very least, we have lost the legal
shield behind which we were able to organize and force the producers to bar-
gain. Conditions have largely reverted to those prevailing before 1937, when
the Wagner Act was declared constitutional by the United States Supreme
Court. It was then, and only then, that employers in general, including the
motion picture producers, decided to comply with the provisions of the law.
What our own course is to be as far as compliance is concerned must be decided
by the membership, which must choose between a policy of strict obedience
and one of the deliberate violation of certain sections, looking to constitutional
tests in the courts. In either event, it is obvious that our efforts must be bent
towards obtaining the Act's repeal.

"VOUR Executive Board does not counsel pessimism. Only a comparatively
few years ago, collective bargaining was in effect outlawed in the United
States. Captive courts, injunctions, strike-breaking agencies and company unions
were only a few of the devices used by employers to cripple the union move-
ment. Yet the movement grew and prospered. History has proved that it can-
not be legislated or enjoined out of business.

Legally and historically, we are a part of that movement. Our guild has
prospered when organized labor has prospered, suffered when it suffered. We
can learn from its example in the past.

In losing the protection of federal law, in the defeat of complacency and
smugness, perhaps we shall be the gainers after all. In being forced to depend
upon ourselves, we may discover our real strength. Now, above all, is the time
to close ranks and move forward.

37

il

t

epori an

id C^<

ommen

t

Summary of Authors'
League Licensing
Committee Report

The Licensing Committee of the
Authors' League of America recently
issued "a confidential report not for
publication" on the American Auth-
ors' Authority plan.

Since this report was made to the
Authors' League Council, it has been
given much space in the trade and
commercial press. A summary of the
ALA Licensing Committee report on
AAA followss

THE report recognizes as meri-
torious many of the objectives an-
nounced in the special AAA Supple-
ment of The Screen Writer. It points
out that these objectives are the estab-
lished ones of the League and its
member Guilds. From the standpoint
of duplication of effort it criticizes
the setting up of a new organization
to achieve objectives recognized as
important to writers.

It outlines briefly the Licensing
Committee's interpretation of the
main proposals of the AAA plan.

The report lists elements besides
duplication of effort in the AAA plan
which give concern to the Licensing
Committee. These are: (a) "the
vague proposal that the Authority is
to 'preserve, enforce and protect rights
arising out of or under copyright,
title or other interests in literary
property;" (b) "the proposal that
the Authority in respect to deals, will
'keep the bidding open' and follow
unstated rules;" (c) "the undefined
right of the Authority as indicated
in Mr. Cain's article in the Supple-
ment to the 'handling of writers'
problems as a whole;" (d) "the
right to take legal steps apparently
with or without authors' consent in
connection with rights arising under
materials assigned, and in this con-
nection to settle, give releases, etc.;"
(e) "the right to censor material and

refuse to approve its sale if the board
decides that it violates any law;" (f)
"the right to collect and disburse
money which presumably includes the
proceeds of literary material;" (g)
"the extent to which some of the ac-
tivities may conflict with statutes
against the practice of law;" (h)
"the legal status of the plan under
anti-trust acts;" (i) "the power of
the Authority's National Director
who, under the By-laws, must ap-
prove the nomination of all impor-
tant members of the corporation be-
fore they can be voted upon;" (j)
"the situation under which important
rights of authors, dramatists, or radio
writers respectively, could be decided
by a majority of directors, which ma-
jority could all belong to other
Guilds;" (k) "the ineffectiveness of
assignments withdrawable in 30
days;" (1) "the potential risk in
vesting copyright ownership in an-
other;"

The report then goes on to discuss
the problems of each of the member
Guilds in regard to major rights from
which such members derive their
principal income.

It points out that the Dramatists'
Guild has ample protection under
the Basic Agreement binding until
March 1, 1951, and that there is no
apparent reason for a change in this
field.

In the case of the Radio Writers'
Guild, the Licensing Committee re-
port recognizes that the radio writers
have suffered from many abuses in
their relationship with users of their
material. It points out that these
problems may be best overcome
through contract negotiations.

In the case of the Authors' Guild,
the report emphasizes the variety and
complexity of relations between auth-
ors and publishers, and finds nothing
in the AAA proposal which could be
of help to authors or which offers any
remedy as effective as action within
the Guild.

As for the Screen Writers' Guild,
the report points out the distinction

between SWG members, who sell
material directly to motion picture
studios, and other writers, from whom
the studios acquire screen rights sub-
sidiary to the basic form of the mate-
rial. Any special problems affecting
screen writers can, in the opinion of
the League Licensing Committee,
best be met through direct contract
negotiation by the SWG, or by an
over-all contract negotiated by the
League and the SWG. The report
characterizes as indefensible the prac-
tice of the motion picture industry
in acquiring rights of unlimited dura-
tion in the field of film production,
and a wide group of allied and sub-
sidiary rights outside that field. It
urges that the League seek to achieve
by direct negotiation with the studios
a better deal for screen writers. If
unsuccessful in such negotiations, it
recommends that the League "use
the power of its unified strength to
such ends."

The Licensing Committee reports
that it will continue to study the prob-
lems of licensing and the separation
of rights.

Following are the comments of
the Joint Over-All AAA Committee
and the Executive Board of the Screen
Writers' Guild on the report of Auth-
ors' League Licensing Committee:

THE Joint Overall Committee has
considered the report of the
Licensing Committee of the Authors
League with great interest. We are
grateful to the Licensing Committee
for thus progressing the discussion of
the proposed AAA a further step.
Whether such discussion will lead to-
wards eventual acceptance or rejection
on the part of writers as a whole of
the AAA proposal, still it is such dis-
cussion which tends to clarify not only
the strengths and weaknesses of the
AAA as an instrument of the Auth-
ors League, but to clarify the prob-
lems of the writing profession.

May we reply first to two com-
ments of the Licensing Committee:

38

REPORT AND COMMENT

(1) that the AAA brings about a
duplication of groups striving to the
same ends; and (2) that the AAA
contemplates an oversimplified single
approach to writers' objectives in as-
signment to a new organization with
certain powers of control.

First, duplication. Whatever has
been the interpretation of the Licens-
ing Committee concerning the By-
Laws and Articles of Incorporation,
it has still been the intent of the Joint
Committee to set up an organization
which is subordinate to the Authors
League. If there is ambiguity in the
proposal as we have set it forth, then
such ambiguity must be clarified. The
AAA is intended — and must be —
an instrument of the Authors League,
or more, to effect the solution of prob-
lems which in our opinion are beyond
the scope of the individual Guilds.

These problems lie essentially out-
side of the special fields in which the
Guilds work at their best. Licensing
of rights, for instance, is a problem
of copyright laws. It would be unfair
to expect any single Guild to assume
the costs and responsibilities of such
problems in behalf of all writers. The
outcome, likewise, would in all prob-
ability be failure.

Province of League

We say, then, that this is a prov-
ince of the Authors League, and on
this we are all agreed. But even as
we say it we move into the problem
of duplication of groups. If there has
been no such duplication so far, it is
simply because the League has repre-
sented little other than a co-ordinat-
ing agency in regard to the Guilds.

It is the opinion of the Joint Com-
mittee that the League cannot attack
those almost unattacked problems
without setting up machinery for the
attack. It is our proposal that the
AAA be that machinery. But what-
ever the machinery which the League
chooses, duplication will be a prob-
lem, and jurisdiction a matter of
prolonged consideration.

It is our opinion, therefore, that
duplication of energy and jurisdic-
tion of control are not problems con-
fined to consideration of the AAA.
The same problems must be faced, dis-
cussed, clarified, and settled just as
soon as the League establishes any
machinery which will effectively sat-
isfy the writer's needs outside of his
special field. Duplication seems a prob-

lem at present only because so little
has so far been done in the direction
of satisfying those needs.

Second, the particular "oversimpli-
fied" approach of the AAA to all
general objectives. We consider here
the choice of the machinery which
the Authors League may use. It has
seemed to the Committee that the
simplicity of the AAA approach to
the various problems is part of its
strength. If one tool may be used for
several purposes, then it seems prob-
able to us that it is a better choice
than several tools each adapted to
only one purpose. ~'^ussion of the
AAA, though, \r ' -^ther pos-

sible machiner at this

time inasmuc' iery

exists. If in ef-

fecting lice
tion, or a n

fashion than ; jiAA were

in existence. aien there would be
has:;, for comparison.

Until such alternative plans are
drawn, then the AAA proposal must
stand with all the strength — and
weakness — of being the only plan.
In the meantime, it seems useless to
speak of the AAA as taking over
such League functions as copyright
law and tax law, as if this were an
objection. The AAA as any other
machinery would be part of the Auth-
ors League and can hardly be de-
scribed as "taking over" a function,
any more than comparable machin-
ery. Similarly, even though the argu-
ment may be quite sound — it is dif-
ficult to reason that the AAA in its
need for funds will be in a poorer
position to raise them than any alter-
native project of the Authors League.
Until such alternative plans are
drawn, these arguments are difficult
to follow. It may, perhaps, turn out
that the AAA, as the simpler tool,
will be the more economical one, so
that despite the newness of the ap-
proach it will be the cheaper one for
the Authors League to adopt.

Analysis of Objections

Many of the objections we find in
the report are not truly objections to
the idea of an AAA so much as sug-
gestions for revision and clarification
in the proposal which has been made.
Some other objections disappear if we
clearly approach the AAA idea as a
subsidiary organization of the Auth-
ors League.

May we reply to your specific ob-

jections to the AAA as they appear
in the Licensing Committee's Report :

(a) "The vague proposal that
the authority is to 'protect, en-
force and preserve rights arising
out of copyright, etc' "... It
must be understood that vague-
ness or ominous too-comprehen-
sive powers is not the objective
of the Joint Overall Committee
in the work it has done. The
AAA is a proposal to other writ-
ers. It is a proposal subject to
modification. If a proposed pow-
er seems vague, then obviously
suggestions for crystallizing that
power are in order. If a proposed
power is subject to dangerously
broad interpretation, then the
committee is as interested as any
other writers in limitation of
that power. The Committee will
welcome a clearer definition of
this proposal.

(b) " . . . Keeping the bidding
open . . ." It is possible that this
proposal is entirely out of place
in the AAA set-up. It is certain-
ly no part of the essential pur-
pose of the AAA. On all such
matters as this, there should be
careful discussion to discover
whether existing Guild machin-
ery, or proposed Guild machin-
ery can do the job. If it does or
can, then there is no point in the
AAA assuming the function.

(c) "... Handling of writ-
ers problems as a whole." Mr.
Cain's article is an individual
opinion. It is not the intent of
the Committee that the AAA
will assume any function prop-
erly residing in a Guild. Limita-
tion of jurisdiction should be ar-
rived at and clearly defined
through discussion. It would
seem to the Committee that
"handling of problems of writ-
ers as a whole" might be a clear-
er approach to the functions of
the AAA.

(d) "... Legal steps appar-
ently with or without the auth-
or s consent . . " The AAA is
a voluntary organization. Its
rights are those assigned to it by
the author at the time of deposit
of his copyright. They are sub-
ject to revocability by withdraw-
al of copyright, and further
checked by the necessity of hav-
ing the author's signature on all

39

THE SCREEN WRITER

transactions. The Committee
does not understand how any
transaction can be interpreted as
"with or without the author's
consent." If any ambiguity, how-
ever, has penetrated the pro-
posal, the Committee not only
welcomes but demands criticism
and clarification.

(e) . . . The right to cen-
sor material . . ." It must be re-
membered that the AAA is not
a monopoly. Since an author has
the perfect right to market ma-
terial which is not subject to
AAA restrictions, the right to re-
fuse material on grounds of ob-
scenity, etc., can hardly be de-
scribed as censorship. It is diffi-
cult for the Committee to visual-
ize a market in which non-AAA
material will not be in demand.
It would seem, therefore, that
rejection of material cannot in
any sense be construed as prejud-
icing its marketability. In con-
nection with this subject the
Committee has had to bear in
mind the possibility that obscene
material would be purposely
placed with the AAA for the
sake of involving the AAA in
destructive litigation.

Financial Machinery

(f) "... The right to col-
lect and disburse money . . ."
As long as it is proper for the
Dramatist Guild to collect and
disburse money, the Committee
sees no reason why another ag-
ency of the Authors League, the
AAA, should be questioned in
that function. The Committee
has attempted to set up the prop-
er machinery and safeguards for
this function. If this machinery
and these safeguards seem in-
adequate, then the Committee
welcomes further suggestions.

(g)./'. . . Conflict with stat-
utes against the practice of law
. . ." The Committee has drawn
all its proposals with what we
believe to be sound legal advice.
It would be unwise, however, to
activate the AAA without the
broadest possible legal opinion
on all its activities. It is hardly
the intent of the Committee to
propose unlawful measures.

(b) "Legal status of the plan
under the anti-trust acts." The
Committee has spent a large

measure of its energy in the ef-
fort to draw up a proposal which
would be acceptable to the anti-
trust acts. It is our opinion that
the AAA, an organization of a
voluntary, non-monopoly nature,
subject to withdrawal of mem-
bership, possessed of no powers
direct or indirect to enforce a
"closed shop" or in otherwise to
restrain trade, is on sound legal
footing in regard to the anti-
trust acts.

(i) "... The power of the
Authority's National Director
. . ." Th" "rnittee emphas-
izes ar- re of its proj-
ect better pro-
c the Direc-

x...t elcome

(j) "Rights . . . derided by a
majority of directors, which ma-
jority could all belong to other
Guilds." Again, this is a pro-
posal. If the balance of power in
the directorate seems improper,
then a proper balance must be
found.

(k) "Ineffectiveness of as-
signments withdrawable in thir-
ty days." It has been the intent
of the committee to find a form-
ula which will be acceptable to
depositing writers and a sufficient
check on AAA powers, and at
the same time will provide an
effective basis for AAA activity.
Again, once more, this is a pro-
posal. If writers believe a longer
period of notice would be wiser,
then let the matter be discussed.
There is only one intent : to find
an effective formula.

(1) "Risk of vesting copy-
right." The Committee has spent
much of its energy on this par-
ticular subject. We recognize this
as the greatest risk in the AAA,
and the major argument against
it. Few of the members of this
Committee would entrust their
copyrights to an organization
which is any degree irresponsi-
ble, unchecked, or unlimited in
its powers, or from which copy-
rights could not be withdrawn.
We therefore have done all in
our power to develop machinery
to enforce responsibility and lim-
itation of power, and as a last
resource of the individual author

we have introduced the power of
revocability. We cannot our-
selves visualize any remaining
risk in the vesting of copyright.
If other writers, however, can
still discover such risk, then it
is our positive duty by discussion
to evolve further safeguards. In
connection with this point it
should be mentioned that the
members of the Joint Overall
Committee are themselves copy-
right owners ; that we are as con-
cerned as any other writers in
America with the safety of copy-
right ; that the risk of losing con-
trol of our copyrights is as ap-
palling to us as it is to any oth-
ers. But we, perhaps more than
the Eastern members of the Li-
censing Committee, have been
impressed with the emptiness of a
copyright from which all the sub-
sidiary rights have been sold. We
have come to believe that a copy-
right with all its subsidiary rights
intact jointly controlled by the
AAA is a better copyright than
one entirely stripped of its pow-
ers and still solely in the author's
name. And so we, through our
work on the Overall Committee,
have necessarily discussed and
profoundly considered this theory
of voluntary limited assignment
of copyright for almost a year.
And it is our conclusion that the
possibilities of this theory can be
of such benefit to writers in the
solution of problems yet unsolved
— and to great measure unat-
tacked — that the theory and all
its risks warrant unprejudiced,
unceasing investigation by all
writers in America.

IT is difficult in the scope of a
report which is a reply to a report,
prepared under pressure of time, to
enter into the complex relationships
of an AAA, which is merely a fluid
proposal, to four different Guilds
which are going concerns beset with
all the day to day complications of
any going concerns. There are vast
problems, such as that of the existing
Minimum Basic Agreement of the
Dramatists Guild. It would seem to
the Joint Overall Committee, how-
ever, that vast and imponderable
though many of the problems are,
still with energy and goodwill they
can be solved. We, in the ensuing
months, will do our part towards
that end. And we have every hope

40

REPORT AND COMMENT

that the Licensing Committee will
perhaps find solutions where we can-
not.

In conclusion, may we emphasize
once again that the concern of this
Committee is not with the AAA, but
with the needs of writers which in
our opinion the AAA can meet. We
are not chained to an idea, to a
phrase, or to a slogan. We make no
religion of the AAA, nor are we ded-
icated to any such other limited
crusade. What we are convinced of
— and it is a conviction from which
we cannot be shaken — is the inequity
that a writer .faces in certain fields
of his professional life. Help us to de-
stroy these inequities, and we will
help you, with courage, with imag-
ination, with unceasing determina-
tion. What road we take is a matter
of indifference — so long as we take
it together, and it takes us there.

How Subversive
Is Hollywood?

ON the evening of July 6 Emmet
Lavery, president, and Garrett
Graham, member of SWG, debated
over Station KM PC with Upton
Close and Rupert Hughes on the sub-
ject: "Should we belittle communist
influence in U. S. motion pictures?"

Mr. Graham opened the forum
discussion with a personal tribute to
Rupert Hughes, and then said: "Mr.
Hughes has written and directed a
number of motion pictures. He knows
as well as I that the industry is just
as much Big Business as General
Motors and U. S. Steel — that it is
controlled completely from Wall
Street. He knows from his own ex-
perience the many hands through
which a completed script has to pass
before it ever goes into production.
It has to be read and approved by an
associate producer, by the studio's
legal department, by an executive or
editorial board, and finally by Joseph
Breen's sharp-eyed censors of the
Producers' Association.

"If a writer were diabolically clever
enough to slide subversive propaganda
past all these, he still wouldn't be
getting anywhere. Each day's work
before the cameras is carefully scrut-
inized by studio executives in the
projection room. If a scene or se-
quence is not to their liking, it is

thrown away, rewritten and shot over
again.

"The Bank of America in Califor-
nia and the Chase National Bank in
New York handle most motion pic-
ture financing. Until these two con-
servative institutions go Communistic
— until the Wall Street Journal
starts whooping it up for Moscow —
and the Hammer and Sickle flies above
the ramparts of San Simeon, America
need fear nothing worse from Holly-
wood than possible death by bore-
dom."

Mr. Hughes, the next speaker on
the program, pointed to the recent
Henry A. Wallace-Katharine Hep-
burn meeting at the Gilmore Stadium
as evidence of communist influence
in Hollywood. He wanted to know
why Mr. Wallace did not register
as an "enemy agent," and deplored
the fact that when he came to town
he was met by a "mob of motion pic-
ture people." He said: "Some time
ago the communists took over the
Screen Writers' Guild, and the AAA
plan put forward by the Guild in an
attempt to take over all writers. If
your friends and partners are com-
munists I don't care what you call
yourself — you are a communist."

Mr. Lavery, the next speaker ob-
served that if we have a true demo-
cracy we have nothing to fear from
communism — except the fear of com-
munism. He said: "Fear is not the
weapon of free men. It is a tyrant's
tool. And we ought to know that by
now for we saw what happened in
Germany with Hitler, in Italy with
Mussolini, in Spain with Franco. In
each country the fear of communism
was used to divide and destroy all
semblance of representative govern-
ment. And it will happen here if we
give way to this kind of mass hys-
teria."

Emphasizing that he held no brief
for Marxian communism and that his
social conscience derived from the
gospels of the apostles, Mr. Lavery
said that hysterical witchhunts and
infringements of civil liberties played
into the hands of the communists. He
quoted a recent Film Daily report
from Russia to the effect that the Rus-
sian regarded the Hollywood product
as "reactionary and decadent." He
said: "It doesn't look as if American
communists were doing very well by
the Kremlin."

Upton Close said he was tired of
apologies for communism. He quoted

what he described as a communist di-
rective of 22 years ago: "We must
wrest the screen from the ruling class
and turn it against them."

He advanced the opinion that this
directive is being followed. He said
society women, bankers and rich per-
sons in general were usually dealt
with unsympathetically on the screen,
while working people were portrayed
in a pleasant light. He described the
recent RKO picture, The Farmer's
Daughter , as an example of subversive
propaganda. "The propaganda in this
picture grits like sand in the gravy,"
said Mr. Close. "A conservative poli-
tician is attacked as being against the
free distribution of milk. The League
of Nations is upheld — what right has
a film of this kind to raise a point
about the League of Nations? This
is the sort of stuff handed out in our
movies, and I say it is time to stop
belittling this kind of stuff."

In the discussion period following
the formal statements, Mr. Lavery
said that more than 400 pictures are
produced in Hollywood in a year,
and wanted to know what other pic-
tures were regarded as loaded with
subversive propaganda.

Mr. Hughes mentioned Mission to
Moscow, and Mr. Close named Ac-
tion in the North Atlantic, Hitler's
Children, The Ox-Bow Incident,
Song of Russia and Wilson.

In the course of the discussion Mr.
Hughes, who had attacked the Amer-
ican Authors' Authority plan, admit-
ted that he is a loyal and long-stand-
ing member of the American Society
of Composers, Authors and Publish-
ers.

{Editor's Note:Mr. Hughes' ad-
mission that he is a member of
ASCAP is interesting. For ASCAP
and AAA have many essential points
in common, especially the points on
which he has been attacking AAA as
"communistic" and "totalitarian."

He could not have become a mem-
ber of ASCAP unless he executed an
outright, complete and irrevocable as-
signment to ASCAP exclusively to
license throughout the world the non-
dramatic public performing rights of
every musical composition of which
he might be the author of the words
and/or music.

Moreover, under the by-laws of
ASCAP, Mr. Hughes relinquishes
to the organization the sole and ex-

41

THE SCREEN WRITER

elusive rights to determine the rates
which shall be paid for the use of his
works. He agrees that what they earn
shall be pooled with the revenue earn-
ed by the collective repertoire of the
works of all the members find that he
will accept without question such
participation as may be awarded him
by the Writers Classification Commit-
tee, in the aggregate of distributable
revenue.

Furthermore, Mr. Hughes agrees
to be bound absolutely by the Arti-
cles of the Association, and by the
by-laws, under which its policies are
determined and its affairs managed
exclusively by its board of directors,
zvhick must at all times consist of 12
writers and 12 publishers.

Most of the important authors and
composers of musical works in the
U.S.A. have signed with ASCAP,
which is much more rigorous in its
conditions than the proposed AAA
plan for safeguarding writers' prop-
erty interests.)

Conference on
Reissues

CURRENT exhibition of old films
and the effect of this increasing
practice on motion picture studio em-
ployment has brought dissident fac-
tions of Hollywood organizations to-
gether in an unprecedented move to
share in the profits of these re-issued
films.

Meeting in the board room of the
Screen Writers' Guild on July 9,
representatives of the talent groups
and the warring Conference of Studio
Unions and International Alliance of
Theatrical Stage Employees locals un-
animously approved a plan for an im-
mediate economic survey of the re-is-
sue problem, subject to the ratifica-
tion of the guilds and unions involved.

It was pointed out that of approxi-
mately 400 films released for exhibi-
tion in the last year, more than 100 or
upwards of 25 per cent were old films
made in previous years.

Lester Cole, chairman of the Screen
Writers' Guild Economic Program
Committee, said that these 100 re-is-
sued films displaced from employment
at least two or 300 writers, a couple
of hundred directors and producers,
and thousands of actors and skilled
studio workers.

"Our industry is one of the few in
the world where talents and skills of
its workers, preserved on strips of
celluloid, can be used repeatedly with-
out any remuneration to the pos-
sessors of those talents and skills,"
said Cole. "This fact must be recog-
nized, and some plan is called for
whereby compensation will be paid
for the repeated use of the creative
and technical work of those who make
our motion pictures."

"Compare motion pictures with the
book publishing industry. Writers of
books are protected by copyright law,
and when their books are re-issued
they are compensated for it. Probably
the only workers who are not com-
pensated in the reprinting of a book
are the original type-setters. If new
plates are made, even the type-setters
are paid."

Representatives of the Screen Ac-
tors' Guild, present at the meeting as
observers, pointed out that 35mm.
feature and short subject films are
being increasingly reprinted in the
16mm. size, and that the original
makers of the film should derive some
compensation from the exhibition and
sale of these 16mm. pictures.

It developed at the meeting that
the question of compensation for re-
issued films had been brought up in
contract negotiations by various Hol-
lywood guilds and unions, and that
studio management had always re-
plied that if such compensation were
granted to one group all the other
organized labor groups in Hollywood
would demand it.

It was generally agreed that the
executive producers were correct in
this attitude, and that all Hollywood
labor groups deserved to share in some
way in the profits from re-issued films.
It was agreed that distribution of
such compensation was a problem that
would have to be taken up by the
individual guilds and unions.

Hugo Butler of the Screen Writ-
ers' Guild chaired the meeting. Among
the guilds and unions represented
were the Screen Actors' Guild and
the Production Managers' Guild,
which sent observers ; the Screen
Directors' Guild, the Film Editors,
the Script Clerks, the Costumers'
Union, the Screen Story Analysts'
Guild, the Screen Publicists' Guild,
the Society of Motion Picture Art
Directors, the Screen Set Designers

Local 1421, the Screen Cartoonists
Guild, Local 70 of the Plumbers'
Union, the I.B.E.W. Local 40, the
Screen Extras' Guild, and Local 946
of the Carpenters Union.

These groups appointed a tempo-
rary steering committee to deal with
the re-issue question. Members of this
committee are Hugo Butler and
Lester Cole of the Screen Writers'
Guild; Herb Drake of the Screen
Publicists' Guild; W. R. Higbie of
the Carpenters' Union, and Bernard
Vorhaus of the Screen Directors'
Guild.

Comments From
Two Critics

Two of the most distinguished
drama and motion picture editors in
the United States comment on The
Screen Writer in its new format.

In the East, Archer Winsten de-
votes his New York Post column of
July 7 to the SWG magazine. Mr.
Winsten says in part:

MONTH in and month out for
the past two or three years a
pocket-sized magazine out of Holly-
wood, The Screen Writer frankly
devoted to the interests of the screen
writers who publish, write and read
it, has been running circles around
around all competition. In any given
issue it is apt to print more of the
well-written, clearly thought "inside''
of the Hollywood problems than all
other magazines publish in a year.

This should not be surprising. If
anyone could get out such a magazine
it would be the writers who are al-
ready inside the gates, clanking about
in their chains of gold, actual or pros-
pective.

Last month the magazine expand-
ed from pocket to arm-size. Not yet
comparable to a weekly giant of the
circulation leaders, it is larger.
though, than the staid monthlies. And
this month it matches its size with a
vigorous treatment of the problems
attendant on "Motion Pictures as a
Free Medium of Artistic Expression."
It hits the big problem of American
movies from several points of view,
with ideas from a variety of heads,
and without the gentle emptiness of
the apologist. The reproduction of a
small contribution bv this reviewer

42

REPORT AND COMMENT

has had no effect upon an interest
of long duration. The Screen Writ-
er never fails to be original and in-
teresting. Frequently, as in this July
issue, it is vital and fascinating.

For instance, in addition to the
"Freedom' 'symposium, the Jean Ren-
oir article on Charles Chaplin, Mon-
sieur Verdoux, and the parallel he
draws between Chaplin's early periods
and his latest, and Moliere's similar
descent from easily acceptable popu-
larity to critical vilification, is very
stimulating. Renoir's emphasis on the
value of the individual creator, so
clearly seen in every aspect of Ver-
doux, so rarely seen in all American
films, is an exceedingly gratifying ob-
servation since it was also made in
this department's first review of the
film.

A second article in the magazine,
Writing and Realization, by Meyer
Levin, tells about his writing and
helping produce a documentary in
Palestine. If the picture "realizes"
anything of the quality he has writ-
ten in his analysis of its making, it
will be worth watching for. In the
meantime, the article can also serve
an unusually sound instruction on
the making of such films and how
to think of the component parts.

A third article, The Future of
Screen Writing, by Sheridan Gib-
ney, faces up to Code vs. Truth.
Writes he, "This is the ultimate ab-
surdity to say that profits depend on

a more honest artistic effort but writ-
ers must not be given the freedom
to make that effort for fear of losing
profits." His answer is, in part, "a
gradual divorcement of the art from
the industry."

Thus far The Screen Writer
has achieved an admirable balance
between readability, which implies
certain elements of entertainment and
humor, and serious thought taken for
the good of the industry and all peo-
ple concerned with it. Although its
approach is purely professional, it
can be read with pleasure and profit
by almost anyone capable of thinking
about movies as well as feeling with
them.

(Copyright 19+7 New York Post Cor-
poration. Reproduced by Permission of
Copyright Owner. Further Reproduction
Prohibited.)

In the West, Virginia Wright,
drama editor of the Los Angeles
Daily News, recently devoted her
widely read column to The Screen
Writer. Miss Wright said in part :

THE Screen Writer is three
years old this month, and con-
gratulations are in order. From a
little six by nine periodical this of-
ficial voice of the Screen Writers'
Guild has grown now, with its hand-
some new format, into a magazine as

bright in appearance as it is stim-
ulating in content.

The chief success of the magazine,
and something of a marvel, too, is the
continuing ability of its editorial staff
to give its strictly trade material gen-
eral interest. Evidence of enthusiasm
outside the motion picture industry
is its sale at bookstands in five states,
and distribution in England, Eire,
Australia, New Zealand, Sweden and
Denmark.

While The Screen Writer has
grown in stature during the past two
years its objective has not changed.
The magazine was founded for the
purpose of giving wider recognition
to the craft of screen writing, and in
that it has succeeded admirably. For
along with its discussion of craft prob-
lems, screenwriters have been articu-
late on subjects ranging from "what's
wrong with move critics" to Gallup
polls and red-baiting.

The writing is on the same high
quality level of its first issue, and the
pitfall of pedantry still is being side-
stepped skillfully. The serious dis-
cussions have been balanced with
humorous exposes of the foibles of
the business, and along with righteous,
indignant outbursts at abuses some
neat incisive satire has brightened
the organ's pages.

Again, congratulations, and thanks
to The Screen Writer for hours of
entertaining and informative reading.

T-'

43

c.

?dp

orreAponaence

de

Mr. Tom Tracey, 1885 Veteran
Avenue, Los Angeles, writes:

I am sending a copy of a letter
which I wrote to Time Magazine. I
felt The Screen Writer would be in-
terested in this instance of a non-in-
dustry individual asking for adequate
press coverage of the achievements of
screen writers, especially since this
is in regard to an especially flagrant
example of withholding credit.

My letter to Time follows :

"In the June 16th issue more than
one column is given to a generally
laudatory review of a new film, Pos-
sessed, in which it is stated, ' . . . the
picture's writers, director and musi-
cians have done some effective things
with sound . . . and with story tell-
ing . . .' But, then, in spite of the
fact that lavish attention is given to
the actors in the film — by name, of
course — the reviewer does not con-
descend to mention who the praise-
worthy writers, director and composer
are. THAT, Time Magazine, con-
stitutes an incompetent job of report-
ing.

"Besides that, your subtle implica-
tion — in the above quotation — that
the achievements of the picture's writ-
ers and director may be equated with
the performances of the background
musicians is patently ridiculous.

"It is my considered guess that the
long noticeable — and exasperating —
tendency on the part of your Cinema
Department to consider it unnecessary
to name the directors and writers of
the pictures it reviews is nothing else
than a direct — and faintly neurotic
— result of the gnawing frustration
which your reviewers must feel at
their having to work in near-anony-
mity. As a Tzme-reader and movie-
goer, I consider it a damned sight
more important to know who writes
and directs the more outstanding mov-

ies than to know who reviews them
in Time.

"Best wishes for a competent job
of cinema reporting."

TOM TRACEY.

Mr. Tracey received the following
reply from the editors of Time Maga-
zine :

"Dear Mr. Tracey:

"Our reviewer felt that the names
of the writers, directors and com-
posers of Possessed should be men-
tioned, but they were later edited out.
Time does not like to pad a review
with a string of names when space is
so valuable, since such a list does not
interest all our readers. We mention
the men behind the scenes only when
their contribution is unusually good
— or bad."

The following letter has been re-
ceived from Peter Noble, editor of
The Britsh Film Yearbook, 15 Arnos
Grove Court, London, N. 11 :

I am preparing for publication
shortly a book called The Man You
Love To Hate, a biography of Erich
von Stroheim, now acting in French
films. I should be grateful if you
would publish this letter in order that
any of your readers who possess cut-
tings, articles or photographs of Stro-
heim, or of films directed and written
by Stroheim, might lend me their
material for use in my book. All such
material will be acknowledged and
returned immediately to the people
concerned.

I hope you are able to help me in
this matter since although there have
been books on Stroheim published in
French and also in Italian, there has
up to now, been no published appre-
ciation in English of the work and
influence of one of the most remark-
able personalities in the history of
the cinema.

Letter From
Brussels

{Continued from Inside Front Cover)
Festival seemed to be directed by
American hands. According to cer-
tain journalists, that was the reason
for the Russian abstention from Brus-
sels; it seems more probable that the
Russians, having produced no good
films this year, thought it safer for
their prestige to keep away from
Brussels. The list of awards which
last September at the Cannes Fest-
ival had seemed partial to Russia,
proved this year a considerable amount
of diplomacy on the part of the all-
Belgian jury of Brussels. It was point-
ed out that the awards were honoring
only the pictures to which they were
attributed, disregarding the whole of
the national production ; and indeed
the American and French productions
which received two awards each were
not as uniformly good as the Brit-
ish or the Italian.

With Hue and Cry, Great Expec-
tations, The Overlanders, A Matter
of Life and Death, and Odd Man
Out — which received the award for
the best realization — the British
proved the variety and range of their
qualities. Though each of these pic-
tures has some weak parts, the whole
British production is easily the most
impressive ensemble. The Italians
presented four wonderful pictures:
Paisa, Vivere in Pace, II Sole Sorge
Ancora, Sciuscia, each of which draws
its inspiration directly from reality.
Neither the Americans nor the
French, to whom the same sources
were available, have succeeded yet in
transferring those themes to the
screen with such breathless realism
and emotion; however, one wonders
where the Italian film makers will
turn to when the use of such sub-
jects is no longer timely.

The Mexican production which
was also given an award, that of the
best photography, for Gabriel Fig-
ueroa's work in Enamorada — he al-

44

LETTER FROM BRUSSELS

ready received that award in Cannes
for Maria Candelaria — brought no
revelation. In La Perla it renewed
some well-worn themes by putting
them in new sceneries.

THE award of the Grand Prix du
Festival to Rene Clair's Le Silence
Est d'Or (Man About Town)
crowns both the American and the
French productions, since it is a joint
Pathe (French) and RKO undertak-
ing: Rene Clair had his screenplay ap-
proved in Hollywood before shooting
it in France, and American funds
frozen in Paris contributed to supply
him with the best conditions for a
perfect production. Beside, Clair now
combines in himself a Hollywood
technique with a French imagination
and he succeeded in making Le Silence
Est d'Or a delightful picture, some-
thing like a perfectly orchestrated
ballet where each theme is being re-
peated by all the characters with
varied shades of humaneness and
irony. The France it presents is very
much the kind Hollywood producers
like to see on the screen, but there is
more to it than flirtations at -the
Folies-Bergeres and cafe terraces.
With a running commentary in Eng-
lish spoken by Maurice Chevalier, Le
Silence Est d'Or is bound to be a
success in the States as it is in Europe.
Such a successful instance of Franco-
American collaboration may show the
way to further productions and in-
fuse a new blood in both Hollywood
and European productions.

Le Silence Est d'Or is a technically
perfect picture, but not a powerful
one. The motion picture critics felt
more attracted to the other good
French movie, Le Diable au Corps,
from Raymond Radiguet's famous
novel of the '20s, to which they gave
their own award. That stirring por-
trayal of adolescent love fulfilling it-
self in spite of society and rushing
headlong towards disaster might have
gotten the main award if it were
not for the unconventional ideas scat-
tered through the dialogue which, in
spite of its moral conclusion may
cause the film to be condemned by the
more puritanical critics.

The interference of morals with
motion picture making has been high-
lighted by a lecture given at the
Catholic Film Congress held in Brus-
sels at the same time as the Festival,
by Mr. William H. Mooring, of the
Tidings, Los Angeles Catholic pub-

lication. The instances Mr. Mooring
gave ... of advices offered to direc-
tors seem to indicate that propaganda
can be used in films, as long as it is
Catholic propaganda — for the moral
principles he upholds as necessary es-
sentially amount to that. When a
journalist tried to obtain from Eric
Johnston some enlightenment about
the distinction between propaganda
and moral principles which must be
expounded in movies, Mr. Johnston
very adroitly eluded the question and
no one will know what principles are
to be considered propaganda and must
be avoided, and what others are
moral and must be upheld.

Mr. Johnston's reputation as a dip-
lomat grew on another occasion when
a journalist asked him whether the
American pictures shown at the Fest-
ival were really the best ones. Mr.
Johnston answered that he was an
amateur and couldn't judge. To the
rest of the public the selection shown
didn't seem representative of the
American production and one wonders
whether there might not be a better
way of choosing pictures than to take
one from each of the major studios.
Of all the films shown The Best Years
of Our Lives and The Yearling were
unanimously approved. As for It's a
Wonderful Life which was thought
somewhat childishly optimistic, it
found an unexpected support in Ital-
ian journalists who thought it was
the only Christian picture of the
Festival. The messages which most
well-meaning American pictures try
to convey are generally lost on Euro-
pean audiences who are weary of any
indoctrination and scoff at senti-
mentality as well as at preaching. The
lesson should come out of the facts,
of each significant detail ; and there
is no need for piling them up, either :
the Italian pictures which are fraught
with meaning are breathlessly paced.
It is because William Wyler aims
towards that goal that he received
such an enthusiastic reception in Brus-
sels. People saluted him for his tech-
nique, and also for his choice of a
good subject: the Best Years of Our
Lives was thought the most impor-
tant and timely topic.

OBERT SHERWOOD receiv-
ed the award for the best screen

R

play.

That was the only time a screen
writer was mentioned at the Festival.
The organizers seemed completely

unaware of the importance of screen-
plays: on the programs which gave
the list of films to be seen and which
displayed the names of their directors
and their stars, no screen writer's
name ever appeared.

Also, to guide the jury in their ap-
preciation of each film, a special chart
had been established ascribing a cer-
tain coefficient to the various elements
which make a movie: direction, pho-
tography, music, acting, etc. In that
chart, the screenplay was supposed to
count only as 10 percent, and the
dialogue as 5 percent. Only 15 percent
of the components of a movie ascribed
to the screen writer!

The films shown at the Festival
proved abundantly that there is no
good movie without a good subject,
and that the best films are those
where the screenplay has been care-
fully worked out because the writer
and the director had worked closely
together, or were the same person:
viz : Rene Clair, Carol Reed, Roberto
Rosselini.

Unfortunately there was no one in
Brussels to uphold the writer's rights.
The only screen writer officially pres-
ent was Charles Spaak, the co-author
of La Grande Illusion and other suc-
cesses. One day he was introduced to
someone as the brother of Jean-Paul
Spaak, Belgium's Prime Minister —
which he is — and he was heard to
mutter: "What's the use of having
written 92 screenplays, and be still
introduced as someone's brother?"

What's the use for screen writers
to write if they don't make themselves
known? The Festival might have
given them such an opportunity. The
conference of motion picture techni-
cians which is going to take place
in Prague had been invited to Brus-
sels, but refused on the ground that
the atmosphere wouldn't be suitable.
Indeed the Festival, mostly intended
for commercial purposes, became a
publicity stunt and the opportunity
for producers and exhibitors from all
over the world to talk shop. A con-
siderable amount of business was
transacted in Brussels this June.
However, a Festival's first aim should
be a gathering neither of the critics
or the buyers of films, but of the
makers of pictures. It is a unique op-
portunity for them to see the world
production, compare notes, get new
ideas, learn different techniques. Thus
should a Festival really promote the
making of motion pictures.

45

THE SCREEN WRITER

Letter From Paris

The Syndicat des Scenaristes of
Paris, representing the organized
screen writers of France, has written
the Screen Writers' Guild concerning
the attitude of the Brussels Film Fest-
ival promoters toward writers, and
has asked the SWG join in the inter-
national protest. SWG has responded
to this request for joint action. The
letter from the French screen writers
follows :

We have decided to boycott by all
the means which are at our disposal
the affairs or festivals where no rec-
ognition is accorded to the authors of
scenarios and dialogues.

The further means which we plan
to utilize to gain recognition for the
names of scenarists have been envis-
aged. One of these means which is in
our power is to act on the committee
of selection which chooses the French
films and where we are represented;
for example, if we should resign from
the committee, the selection would be
tainted with irregularity.

In fact, we believe that the action
by the press is already sufficient, espe-
cially if it is supported by interna-
tional action on the part of English
and American scenarists.

I believe it would be useful to draw
up with the least possible delay a
communication protesting against the
manner in which the scenarists are
treated at these festivals. It would be
expedient if the communication were
passed on at the same time to the
English and American journals.

Here is the text of the communica-
tion which we have drawn up apropos
the Brussels Film Festival; we think
that it would serve as a basic state-
ment for this tri-partite protest:

"The Syndicate of Scenarists is as-
tonished and regretful that the names
of the authors of films, that is to say
of the scenarists and dialogueists, do
not figure anywhere on the publicity
placards, or anywhere on the hand-
bills, or anywhere on the programs
edited by the organizers of the Bel-
gian World Film Festival.

"In any case in the future, where
these acts are repeated in regard to
other film festivals, the scenarists have
decided to prohibit the projection of
their films."

LOUIS CHAVANCE,

General Secretary.

46

U^oohs: John Gunther's Notes on the

Hollywood Scene

H' I 'HE first of the important

JL

Hollywood guilds, and still
one of the strongest and best run,
is the Screen Writers' Guild, of
which Dudley Nichols was president
for two stormy years. The producers
tried to break it up with a company
union called the Screen Playwrights;
this perished after a vote under the
Wagner Act."

So writes John Gunther in his new
reportorial encyclopedia of contem-
porary America. {Inside U. S. A.
Harper & Brothers. $5.)

He says other things about Holly-
wood — shrewd, witty, acute and
sometimes over-simplified observa-
tions. His definition of the motion
picture colony: "That fabulous world
of profit hunger, agents, ulcers, all
the power and vitality and talent and
craftsmanship with so little genius,
options, dynastic confusions, goona-
goona, the vulgarization of most per-
sonal relationships, and 8000 man
hours spent on a sequence that takes
three minutes."

His ideological division of Holly-
wood seems a trifle arbitrary: on one
side the Motion Picture Alliance for
the Preservation of American Ideals,
and on the other the Arts, Sciences
and Professions Committee group,
which, he says, "has a considerably
more distinguished list of members."
He asked a Hollywood friend who
was the "brains" of the MPA; the
answer: "the College of Cardinals
in MGM."

He gives considerable space to the
studio labor situation, which he de-
scribes as "difficult and sinuous."

He writes: "All the big studios are
antilabor, even the most 'liberal'."
After paying tribute to the Screen
Writers' Guild as one of the strong-
est and best run organizations in
Hollywood, he says : "Actors also have
a powerful guild, as do the camera
men and technicians; directors have
a guild too, but it is weak, largely
because they do not need as much
protection as actors, and so pay less
attention to their own organization.
Beyond all this is the celebrated In-
ternational Alliance of Theatrical and
Stage Employees (IATSE), an AF
of L union which has had a highly
disagreeable past to say the least."

He observes that while the produc-
ers are "almost helpless" in disputes
between the IATSE and CSU, "they
naturally like the IATSE, much as
they hated it before, better than they
like the CSU."

Behind the politico-economic-so-
cial stresses Gunther feels in Holly-
wood he discerns two explanations.
One is that "a fantastic number of
people receive fantastic salaries." They
only reached the high brackets at the
time taxation began to bite hard, and
this made them detest Roosevelt and
liberalism. The other is that many
others, both talent people and exec-
utives, receive "tidy salaries like a
thousand dollars a week, feel a sense
of subconscious guilt at earning so
much money, and so tend to submerge
or deflect their bad conscience by
generosity to all kinds of leftist causes
and escape valve politics."

This physically heavy ( 1024 pages)
volume does not make for heavy
reading. It is done with the light
touch. It has no pretensions to pro-
fundity. It is a reporter's heterogen-
eous portrait of the U. S. A. But it
is a documented report, enlivened by
personal anecdote and enriched with
a tolerant understanding. It is as con-
temporary as a daily newspaper and
parts of it already seem a little dated.
But in this fourth volume of his
best-selling "Inside" series, Mr. Gun-
ther is more than amusing and com-
petent. He shows considerable forth-
right courage in dealing with race
relations, especially in the deep South,
and in exposing some of the unpleasant
running sores in city, state and federal
governments. He turns the light on
some dark places in our national life;
the effect will be antiseptic.

You will find in the book a good
quote from F. Scott Fitzgerald:
"France was a land, England was a
people, but America, having about it
still the quality of the idea, was harder
to utter — it was the graves at Shiloh,
and the tired, drawn, nervous faces
of its great men, and the country boys
dying in the Argonne for a phrase
that was empty before their bodies
withered. It was a willingness of the
heart. . . ."

R. S.

r leu/5 ifoted

* Current programs in the N. Y.
Museum of Modern Art's History
of the Motion Picture Series are:
Pabst and Realism (III) : Die Drei-
groschenoper, August 4, 5, 6, 7 ; The
Films of Fritz Lang (IV) : M, Aug-
ust 8, 9, 10; The Psychological Dra-
ma (IV): Maedchen in Uniform,
August 11, 12, 13, 14; A German
Comedy: Emil and the Detectives,
August 15, 16, 17; Legend and Fan-
tasy (V) : Fahrmann Maria, August

18, 19, 20, 21; The Psychological
Drama (V) : The Eternal Mask,
August 22, 23, 24; The German
Documentary Film (I) : Olympia,
Part 1, August 25, 26, 27, 28; The
German Documentary Film (II) :
Olympia Part II August 29, 30, 31.

* Under the chairmanship of Her-
bert Biberman, Edward Dmytryk,
Fritz Lang, Kenneth Macgowan and
Dudley Nichols, American Gallery
Films and the People's Educational
Center are presenting a series of film
portraits of different countries and
their people. The films are being
shown at the Screen Cartoonists'
Guild hall, Yucca and Vine. The
current schedule follows: August 1,
Mexico : The Wave; August 8, Unit-
ed States: Abraham Lincoln; August
15, Germany: Variety; August 22,
Germany: Kamaradschaft ; August
29, Sweden: The Atonement of Gosta
Berling; September 5, Holland:
Carnival in Flanders; September 12,
France: La Marseillaise; September

19, France: Passion of Joan of Arc.
Admission will be by membership
subscription and information can be
obtained by calling HOllywood 6291.

* SWG member Meyer Levin,
whose article in the July issue of
The Screen Writer on film making in
Palestine aroused national interest, re-
ports that the documentary feature
film he described will be ready for
release this month under the title
Survivors. At the same time Viking
Press will publish Levin's novel, based
on the film story, but titled My Fath-
er's House.

* SWG member Leonide Moguy,
who has been working in Paris on

the adaptation and screen play of
Pierre Benoit's novel, Bethsabee, re-
ports keen interest among members
of the French Syndicat des Scenaristes
in the methods and projects of SWG.

* Recent additions to the Holly-
wood exodus to France are SWG
members Edward Eliscu and Henry
Meyers, who are now in Paris work-
ing on Alice in Wonderland.

* Actors Lab is putting on a series
of experimental one act plays. SWG
member Malvin Wald's Talk in
Darkness was presented recently.
Mary Tarcai, Lab secretary, asks
writers of one act plays to submit
scripts. Some of the plays are produced
in veterans' hospitals after premier-
ing at the Lab Workshop, 1455 N.
Laurel.

*On July 17th, 18th and 19th
the Pasadena Playhouse Patio Thea-
tre staged Operation Peace, a fantasy
written by Malvin Wald and Eli
Jaffe.

* In his contribution to the June
issue of The Screen Writer, Niven
Busch referred to the University of
Southern California motion picture
department as "Clara Beranger's Cin-
ema Workshop." In a note to the
editor Clara Beranger writes that
while she teaches courses in screen
writing at USC, she disclaims credit
for the whole department, which is
called The Cinema Workshop.

*The Olga Shapiro Play Contest
Committee announces August 1 as
the date for publication of the Award.
Members of the committee are John
Gassner, Margaret Webster and Ker-
mit Bloomgarden.

* Pasadena Community Playhouse
announces James M. Barrie's Alice-
Sit-By -T he-Fire for August 5-10.

* Erskine Caldwell's new novel,
The Sure Hand of God, will be pub-
lished by Duell Sloan & Pearce in
October. The same firm announces
Dorothy B. Hughes' In a Lonely
Place, a mystery novel, for fall pub-
lication, and Theodore Pratt's Mr.
Thurtle's Trolly for August.

* SWG member Robert Carson's
new novel, Stranger in Our Midst,
published by Putnam's in July, is his
first book since World War II, in
which he served for 39 months in
the air corps.

* SWG member Eugene Vale's
book, The Technique of Screenplay
Writing, is being published in a Span-
ish language edition by the Sociedad
de Autores de Mexico.

* The new novel by Alfred Hayes,
a recent contributor to The Screen
Writer and author of the best-selling
novel All Thy Conquests, is Shadow
of Heaven. Howell & Soskin will pub-
lish it in October.

* SWG member Marc Connelly is
now associate professor of playwrit-
ing in Yale University's Graduate
School of Fine Arts.

*The Raymond MacDonald Aid-
en Award of the Dramatists' Al-
liance of Stanford University for
1947 was won by Dutch Courage, a
short play by SWG member Alan
Drady.

*The Modern Theater, 1545
Broadway, N. Y. C, which an-
nounces its opening, states its policy
includes the encouragement of new
ideas, an equality of importance
among all personnel, the maintenance
of high quality entertainment, and
an unbiased choice of employees.

* Emmet Lavery, President of the
Screen Writers' Guild, received word
recently of a special grant of honor
from the Catholic Theater Confer-
ence, meeting in its tenth year at Cath-
olic University in Washington, D.C.
He is the holder of the first Life
Membership ever granted by the Con-
ference.

The Conference acompanied the
Award with this statement:

"The Conference is happy to count
the most successful Catholic play-
wright as one of its most energetic
workers now just as he was ten years
ago when he was instrumental in its
founding."

47

Manuscript Market

MARCH 1, 1947 TO JULY 1, 1947

LISTING THE AUTHORS, TITLES AND CHARACTER OF LITERARY
MATERIAL RECENTLY ACQUIRED BY THE MOTION PICTURE STUDIOS

EAGLE-LION STUDIOS

ARNOLD B. ARMSTRONG (with Audrey Ash-
ley) Corkscrew Alley, Unpublished Story

AUDREY ASHLEY (with Arnold B. Armstrong)
Corkscrew Alley, Unpublished Story

IRVING G. BARRY, Dealer's Choice, Unpub-
lished Story

TOM W. BLACKBURN (with Fenton Earn-
shaw) Gangway For Murder, Unpublished
Story

DORCAS COCHRAN, Angel With An Anklet,
Unpublished Story

MONTE F. COLLINS (with Julian Peyser)
Broadway Ballad, Unpublished Story

PAUL DE SAINTE COLOMBE (with Katherine
Lanier) The Miracle Of Jeremiah Jimson,
Unpublished Story

ALBERT DEUTSCH, Catch Me Before I Kill,
Article

FENTON EARNSHAW (with Tom W. Black-
burn) Gangway For Murder, Unpublished
Story

ABEN KANDEL, Career In Manhattan, Screen-
play

KING FEATURES SYNDICATE, Prince Valiant,
Comic Strip

KATHERINE LANIER (with Paul de Sainte
Colombe) The Miracle of Jeremiah Jimson,
Unpublished Story

JULIAN PEYSER (with Monte F. Collins)
Broadway Ballad, Unpublished Story

ERIC TAYLOR, Manacled Lady, Unpublished

Story
IRENE WINSTON, Bury Me Dead, Radio Script

ENTERPRISE PRODUCTIONS

LION FEUCHTWANGER, Proud Destiny. Novel
LADISLAS FODOR, Eugene Aram, Adaptation

of Novel by Buiwer Lytton
NANCY MITFORD, Pursuit Of Love, Novel
FRANCIS WICKWARE, Tuesday To Bed, Novel

SOL LESSER PRODUCTIONS

GEORGE AGNEW CHAMBERLAIN, Bride of
Bridal Hill, Novel

JULIUS EVANS, It Comes Naturally, Unpub-
lished Story

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, Kidnaped and
David Balfour, Novels

LESLIE WHITE, Harness Bull, Book

METRO-GOLDWYN -MAYER

FREDERICK NEBEL, The Bribe, Unpublished
Short Story

I. A. R. WYLIE, A Quarter For An Angel, Un-
published Story

PARAMOUNT PICTURES

FRANK BRACHT, A Tale Of Two Girls, Un-
published Story
ROY CHANSLOR, Hazard, Novel
EDNA LEE, The Web Of Days, Novel

REPUBLIC

REX BEACH, Don Careless, Novel

EARL FELTON, Another Dawn, Unpublished

Story
CHARLES LARSON, The Miracle Of Charlie

Dakin, Unpublished Story
ROBERT E. McATEE, It's Murder, She Says,

Unpublished Story

RKO RADIO

AENEAS MacKENZIE.The Black Knight, Screen-
play and Treatment

ALBERT MALTZ, Evening In Modesto, Unpub-
lished Story and Treatment

JOSEPH MONCURE MARCH, The Setup, Poem

DORE SCHARY (with George Seaton) Lewis
& Clark Expedition, Unpublished Story

BUDD SCHULBERG, The Harder They Fall, Book

GEORGE SEATON (with Dore Schary) Lewis &
Clark Expedition, Unpublished Story

IRWIN SHAW, Education Of The Heart, Un-
published Story

CORNELL WOOLRICH, The Boy Cried Murder,
Published Story

T. R. YBARRA, Bolivar The Passionate Warrior,
Book

SCREEN PLAYS, INC.

CARL FOREMAN, Ada, Unproduced Play

TRIANGLE PRODUCTIONS

FRANCIS SWANN, Hold It, Please, Unpub-
lished Story

JULIAN ZIMET, The Unloved, Unpublished
Story

20TH CENTURY-FOX

FAITH BALDWIN, An Apartment For Jenny,

Novelette
EARL FELTON, Lady From Laredo, Unpublished

Story

I. GOUZENKO, I Was Inside Stalin's Spy Ring,
Articles

T. E. HELSETH, The Chair For Martin Rome,
Novel

CONSTANCE JONES (with Guy Jones) Untit-
eled, Novel

GUY JONES (with Constance Jones) Untitled,
Novel

SOMERSET MAUGHAM, Neil McAdam, Short
Story

GEORGE M. MOORAD, Behind The Iron Cur-
tain, Book

DOROTHY THOMAS, My Heart Is Like A Sing-
ing Bird, Short Story

UNITED STATES PICTURES,
INC.

SARAH B. SMITH (with Lucille S. Prumbs)
Ever The Beginning, Unproduced Play

LUCILLE S. PRUMBS (with Sarah B. Smith)
Ever The Beginning, Unproduced Play

PETER VIERTEL, The Children, Unpublished
Story

UNIVERSAL- INTERNATIONAL

ROBERT CARSON, Come Be My Love, Unpub-
lished Story
THOMAS DUNCAN, Gus The Great, Novel
BAYNARD KENDRICK, Lights Out. Novel
ARTHUR MILLER, All My Sons. Play
HENRY MORTON ROBINSON, The Great Snow,

Novel
FREDERICK WAKEMAN, The Saxon Charm,
Novel

WARNER BROTHERS

ALECK BLOCK (with Dietrich Hanneken) Sun-
burst, Unpublished Story

DIETRICH HANNEKEN (with Aleck Block),
Sunburst, Unpublished Story

SIDNEY KINGSLEY, The Patriots, Play

GEORGE SKLAR, Two Worlds Of Johnny Truro,
Novel

SOL WURTZEL PRODUCTIONS

PAUL FRANK (with Howard J. Green) I Am
Not Frederick Ellsfield, Unpublished Story

HOWARD J. GREEN (with Paul Frank), I Am
Not Frederick Ellsfield, Unpublished Story

In identifying the form of literary material acquired, the following descriptions are used:
Book, a published or unpublished full-length work of nonfiction; Book of Stories, a collection of pub-
lished stories or articles; Novel, a work of fiction of book length, whether published, in proof or in manuscript;
Novelette, the same, but of lesser length; Play, produced or unproduced work in theatrical form; Published
Story, a published short story or article; Radio Script, material originally written for radio production;
Screenplay, material already in shooting script form; Short Story, short fiction still in manuscript; Treatment,
preliminary screen adaptation of material already published in some other form.

48

NEXT MONTH AND THEREAFTER

F. HUGH HERBERT
PHILIP DUNNE
WILLIAM WYLER
EUGEN SHARIN
ADRIAN SCOTT
I. A. L. DIAMOND
DAVID CHANDLER
RICHARD G. HUBLER
LESTER KOENIG
WILLIAM ORNSTEIN
MORRIS E. COHN
NOEL MEADOW
FRANK LAUNDER
T. E. B. CLARKE
LILLIAN BOS ROSS
JEAN BRY

Subject: Bindle Biog

The Taft-Hartley Law

Toward a New Realism

Disunion in Vienna

Some of My Worst Friends

"Darling! You Mean

Love in Hopewell

As I Remember Birdie

Gregg Toland: the Man and His Work

Can't Scare the Movies

What Is a License of Literary Property?

French Cinema in the U. S.

As the British See It

Some English Questions

How One Movie Sale Was Made

French Motion Picture School

And further articles by ROBERT ARDREY, SYDNEY BOX, HUGO BUTLER,
RICHARD COLLINS, VALENTINE DAVIES, EARL FELTON, ST. CLAIR Mc-
KELWAY, EMERIC PRESSBURGER, IRVING PICHEL, GEORGE SEATON,
ARTHUR STRAWN, PETER VIERTEL, JOSEPH WECHSBERG, KATHLEEN
WINSOR and others.

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NEW YORK:

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44th St. Bookfair, 133 W. 44th St., New York 19

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PENNSYLVANIA:

Books of the Theatre — R. Rowland Dearden, P. O. Box 245, Jenkintown

CANADA :

Roher's Bookshop, 9 Bloor St., Toronto

EIRE:

Eason & Son, Ltd., 79-82 Middle Abbey Street, P. O. Box 42, Dublin

ENGLAND:

Carter's Bookshop, 51 Willesden Lane, London N.W. 6
Literature Kiosk, Unity Theatre, London

OFFICIAL SUBSCRIPTION AGENT FOR GREAT BRITAIN:

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• 1 '•• • -

The

Absolutely, Rep. Hartley — Positively, Sen* Taft!

PHILIP DUNNE and M. E. COHN

I. A. L. DIAMOND: Darling! You Mean....?

GEORGE SEATON: One Track Mind on a Two Way Ticket

RICHARD G. HUBLER: As I Remember Birdie

F. HUGH HERBERT: Subject: Bindle Biog

LILLIAN BOS ROSS: Hon- One Movie Sale Was Made

NOEL MEADOW: French Cinema in the U.S.A.

MORRIS E. COHN: What Is a License to Literary Property?

THE WRITER'S SHARE:

Comments on The Economics of Screen Writing By SAMUEL

GOLDWYN, STEPHEN LONGSTREET, JAMES HILTON,

DAVID O. SELZNICK, HOWARD LINDSAi IRVING PICHEL

and MILLEN BRAND . . . . Pay* 29

Vol. 3, No. 4 September, 1947 25c

Editor a Lb-/* Report and
Comment • Correspondence*

News Notes • Screen Credits

Letter

From

Paris

From France HENRY MYERS
writes this letter, co-signed by
EDWARD ELISCU and AL
LEJVIN. All art members of
SWG and are on a screen play
assignment in Paris.

TO President and Board of SWG :
Recently we met the President
and Board of the Syndicat des Scenar-
isteSj at what turned out be be a special
meeting which they had called for
the purpose.

It seems that we three are the
first American screen writers to profit
by the new reciprocal agreement
which they told us is going into effect,
by which we are under the protection
of their organization and its rules.
Their president, Henri Jeanson, toast-
ed us in some of the most delicious
champagne I ever had, stating that
they considered it a historic occasion,
the first of many such to follow, and
expressing the hope that they them-
selves would similarly go to Holly-
wood and have the pleasure of meet-
ing their American colleagues. I re-
sponded in English, after realizing
with horror that I had been speaking
my broken French to the greatest
word-experts in Paris. I do believe,
and Eliscu and Lewin agree, that a
very friendly relationship exists, which
we can be instrumental in strengthen-
ing.

We should like to convey to you
something which is not generally un-
derstood in Hollywood: that the
French writers have a standing, a
tradition, and a resulting strength
which has been somewhat beyond
our reach, and which make them very
desirable and valuable friends to have.
Also, their organization is patently
extremely prosperous; actually they
themselves are a wealthy, vested in-
terest. They own two palaces — the
word is used literally, not as a figure
of speech — one of which dates back to
their founder, Beaumarchais; in these
they meet and transact their business.
We have an appointment with their
(Continued on Page 41)

The

Vol. 3

Screen Writer/

J, No. 4

SEPTEMBER, 1947

EDITORIAL COMMITTEE
Gordon Kahn, Editor
Robert Shaw, Director of Publications
Art Arthur Isobel Lennart

Martin Field Herbert Clyde Lewis

Harris Gable Bernard C. Schoenfeld

Richard G. Hubler Theodore Strauss

Lester Koenig

CONTENTS

PHILIP DUNNE and M. E. COHN-: Absolutely, Rep. Hartley —

Positively, Sen. Taft
I. A. L. DIAMOND: Darling.' You Mean . . .?
GEORGE SEATON: One Track Mind on a Two Way Ticket
RICHARD G. HUBLER: As I Remember Birdie
F. HUGH HERBERT: Subject: Bindle Biog.
NOEL MEADOW: Evolution of French Cinema in the U. S.
MORRIS E. COHN: What Is a License of Literary Property?

Comments on Economics of

THE WRITER'S SHARE :
Screen Writing:
SAMUEL GOLDWYN
JAMES HILTON
STEPHEN LONGSTREET
IRVING PICHEL
HOWARD LINDSAY
DAVID O. SELZNICK
MILLEN BRAND

Editorials

Report & Comment:

LILLIAN BOS ROSS: How One Movie Sale Was Made
"No Evidence" — Editorial From Westwood Hills Press
S. R. : More Comment on New Writing Blood

Correspondence
Books

News Notes
Screen Credits
Letter From Paris

1
5
10
13
16
24
27

29
29
29
30
31
31
33

34

37
38
38

40
41
42
43

Inside Front Cover

PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD, INC.,
16SS NORTH CHEROKEE, HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA.

AT

ALL SIGNED ARTICLES IN THE SCREEN WRITER REPRESENT THE
INDIVIDUAL OPINIONS OF THE AUTHORS. EDITORIALS REFLECT
OFFICIAL SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD POLICY, AS DETERMINED
UPON BY THE EXECUTIVE BOARD.

YEARLY: $2.50; FOREIGN,
FOREIGN 30c).

1.00; SINGLE COPY 25c; (CANADA AND

CONTENTS COPYRIGHT 1947 BY THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD,
INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

©CIB 9 0 232

Booby-Traps in the New Labor Law

Absolutely, Rep* Hartley-
Positively, Sen* Taft

PHILIP DUNNE and
MORRIS E. COHN

PHILIP DUNNE is a member of the
SWG Executive Board and a con-
tributor of previous articles on labor
policy. MORRIS E. COHN is counsel
for the SWG and has contributed
several articles on the legal and tax
problems of luriters.

AN ANALYSIS of the extraordinary statutory
omnibus commonly called the Taft-Hartley
Act can be no more exact in a legal or scientific
sense than the interpretation of a dream. Indeed, the
Act has a strong dream-like quality; it is a rendering
in cold legal prose of the voluptuous fantasies which
beguiled the slumbers of the most reactionary elements
in American life during their long and dreadful night.
It is a law which solemnly sets out to resist the irresist-
ible, to correct the incorrigible, and to fashion order
out of the raw materials of disorder.

No one knows exactly what all of it means. No one
even knows who wrote it, though it is widely believed
that Senator Taft and Representative Hartley would
have difficulty defending their claim to screen credit
against the rival contention of the National Association
of Manufacturers (if that organization desired to
publicize its contribution).

Senator Taft and Mr. Hartley have already flatly
disagreed on the meaning of the Act. The latter says
that the new coal agreement is a violation, the former
says it is not. Perhaps it would be unkind to seek
a political explanation for this difference of opinion,
though Mr. Hartley counts few coal miners among
his suburban New Jersey constituents and Senator Taft
may have pressing need of miners' votes, come the
fall of '48. But it is not the purpose of this article to
discuss the political gyrations of legislators, nor even
to attempt a general analysis of the Act. What interests
us is how the new law affects the Screen Writers'

Guild, and specifically how it will work for or against
us during our negotiations for a new contract in 1949.

Even to this extent, we cannot be as specific as we
should like to be. In fact, the co-authors of this article,
even as Mr. Hartley and Senator Taft, found them-
selves disagreeing as often as they agreed on the mean-
ing of this paragraph or that.

We are not dealing with infallible oracles here.
We are concerned with language, intent, legal interpre-
tations and thousands of judicial decisions to come.
And this is the sort of law which turns even the highest
courts into juridical Donnybrooks. On one point we
do agree: the Taft-Hartley Act provides no help for
peaceful law-abiding unions in obtaining fair contracts
through collective bargaining. Its machinery is so
patently misdirected, its provisions so burdensome, that
it virtually invites a union to resort to the old primitive
rule of force. The natural corollary to this is that it
is precisely the small, weak union which must suffer,
precisely the tough, militant union which can afford
lo laugh at the legislators and obtain its contract by
other methods, precisely the rapacious, union-hating
employer who stands to gain the most.

A S A CASE in point, consider the recent coal
■*■ *• agreement. It was largely a hysterical desire to
"get" John L. Lewis which drove the bill by a large
majority through both houses of Congress and over
President Truman's veto. Yet Mr. Lewis has lost

THE SCREEN WRITER

no sleep — and little time. He has negotiated the
best contract in the history of the United Mine Work-
ers, and has even managed to include provisions bar-
ring the application of punitive sections of the Act.
Within a month of the law's passage, the miners have
made a joke of it. The United Automobile Workers
and similar powerful outfits are joining in the fun.

Unfortunately, though we see the point of the joke,
we are not in a position to share in the laughter. We
have yet to resort to an open trial of brute strength
with our employers. We needed law to help us obtain
our present contract. That law, the Wagner Act, has
now been distorted beyond recognition. We must face
the possibility that our new contract will have to be
obtained without recourse to the protection of law.

Prentice-Hall, Inc., which is not noted for its pro-
labor bias, has put out some interesting circulars ex-
plaining the Taft-Hartley Act to managerial clients.
We quote: "(The Act is) far-reaching in its control
of labor relations. Almost every relationship with em-
ployees is affected. . . . The new labor law gives you
(management) new and powerful advantages which
you should begin to use at once, but the law is un-
usually tricky, with many of its benefits buried in a
maze of complicated clauses. . . ."

We have been in the maze for several weeks, and
have emerged with a few pertinent facts. First, it should
be understood that, since we are operating under an
old contract, not all of the "new and powerful ad-
vantages" given our employers affect us immediately.
But they will begin to affect us the moment we open
negotiations for a new contract.

Our Guild Shop, The law strikes hard at the vital
matter of union security. There is no historical justi-
fication for the "union shop" limitations which the
new law puts on trade unions. Few strikes have been
called on this issue. Employers in general have recog-
nized the wisdom of the union shop and have enjoyed
the stability and responsibility it promotes.

Yet the Taft-Hartley Act levels its heaviest guns
on union security clauses. The outlawing of the closed
shop does not affect us. But let us consider Section 9
(e). This requires any union which wishes to obtain
union shop (or Guild shop) first to show that 30
percent of the employees within the bargaining unit
desire such a shop, and then to petition for an NLRB
election to decide the matter, by majority vote of all
qualified employees (not merely union members), if no
question of representation exists. The last clause is im-
portant. A claim by a rival union, however weak, may
be found sufficient cause to delay the election. Add to
this the probability that the new NLRB will be so

swamped with employee and employer complaints that
to bring about an election may require anywhere from
six months to a year, and it begins to resemble so many
bear traps.

And that isn't all. Subsection (2) provides that at
any time after a year from the last certification, 30
percent of the employees within the unit can force a
new election on this issue. This is virtually an invitation
to employers and dissident minorities to keep a union
in turmoil on the fundamental issue of its own security.

Filing of Information. Section 9 (f) requires any
union desiring certification under the Act to file certain
information with the Secretary of Labor: a detailed
statement of its constitution and by-laws, method of
calling meeting, disbursing funds, salaries, etc. etc.
Section 9 (g) further requires a union desiring certi-
fication to prove that it and any organization with
which it is affiliated have furnished every one of their
members with annual financial reports. In other words,
the certification of the Screen Writers' Guild could
presumably be postponed at a critical time, if the pro-
ducers could get one member, any member, of the
Authors' League to say he had not received his financial
report.

And now hear this. Section 9 (h) stipulates that a
union may not be certified unless each of its officers
and the officers of its parent group has filed an affidavit
that he "is not a member of the Communist Party or
affiliated with such party." The penalties for false
statements under this section are extreme. Note the
tricky phrase we have underlined. "Affiliated" (appar-
ently something different from membership) might
mean anything, depending on the political climate of
the moment and on the whim of the individual who
has the power to define the word. One does not have
to be a Communist or a Communist sympathizer to
resent this section, nor to understand how it might be
used to deny bargaining rights to a union any of whose
officers have been politically active anywhere to the
left of center, or whose notions of civil liberties are at
variance with those of Representative Hartley and
Senator Taft. This section has nothing to do with
sound labor relations or industrial peace. It is entirely
political, impudent, and probably unconstitutional.

To a public which has been told that the Act was
designed to correct abuses it is startling to note that
no mention is made of rightist extremism, or of racial
or religious discrimination by employer or union.

Discrimination. Section 8 (a) 3 could be subtitled
"Promotion of Union Disloyalty." Boiled down, this is
what it says: if a member of a union is suspended or

ABSOLUTELY, REP. HARTLEY — POSITIVELY, SEN. TAFT

expelled for any reason other than failure to pay his
dues (there is no mention of assessments) it is an unfair
labor practice, if the employer fires him or refuses to
hire him on the grounds that it would mean violation
of a union shop agreement. Thus, if a group of Guild
members formed a dual union or a company union, and
were forthwith expelled from the Guild, the studios
would be compelled by law to keep them on the pay-
roll. Under this section, the democratically inspired
and controlled discipline of our Guild can no longer
be enforced. This paragraph, ironically, falls under
the general heading of "Unfair Labor Practices by
Employers." The new law then goes on to define
"Unfair Labor Practices by Unions." These at least
have the merit of directness.

Jurisdictional Strikes. Section 8 (b) 4 is apparently
concerned with jurisdictional strikes and secondary boy-
cotts. It looks straight-forward if you don't happen to
relish these practices, but it fails to distinguish between a
jurisdictional strike cooked up by a union and one
forced on the union by an employer. The law elsewhere
provides for a 60-day cooling-off period before any
strike can be called. During this period, the employer
can recognize a dual union, he can promote a company
union, he can do almost anything in an effort to split
the union. No matter what he does, no matter how
illegal his own actions, a strike called in retaliation or
self defense by the union is illegal and the strikers
iose their status as employees. This kind of "jurisdic-
tional" strike is almost endemic in the motion picture
industry. This section of the Act can only aggravate
the condition and may drastically affect our Guild.

Free Speech. Section 8 (c) affirms the right of a
union to free speech, but contains a curious wording
which denies a union the right to "promise benefit"
to employees it seeks to represent. Presumably this
means bribes, but it could easily be construed to mean
a promise of higher wages or better working conditions.

on something of the aspect of a standard studio writing
contract: the writer is bound for the full term, but
the producer gets options.

Had enough ? There are still a few more points
which should be made.

Political Contributions. The Guild has not been in
the habit of making contributions to political candi-
dates, but that isn't all that Sec. 304 prohibits. It
forbids contribution or expenditure in connection with
any election at which political candidates are to be
chosen. This could easily mean expenditure, such as
the mimeographing of a Guild bulletin advising our
membership to vote against an anti-union proposition
which will be voted on a ballot along with political
candidates.

Statute of Limitations. Under the new law, the
NLRB will not act on a charge based on unfair labor
practices that are more than six months old. In other
words, if the employer can conceal the act for six
months, he is in the clear. It could take, for instance,
several years to obtain proof of company domination
of or collusion with a dual union which might be set
up against us under other elastic sections of the Act.

Suits. Section 301-C, permits a union to be sued in
"any district in which its duly authorized officers or
agents are engaged in representing or acting for em-
ployee members." In other words, we could be sued in
New York because we frequently send officers there
on Authors' League business. This is only one of many
similar inconveniences to unions which the Act en-
courages employers to use.

Procedure. For tedious hot weather reading, we
recommend the sections of the new law pertaining
to procedure. Boiled down, they amount to repeal of
the Norris-LaGuardia Act and the proclamation of an
open season to use injunctions on the unions.

Disruption. Section 9 (c) 1 defines the conditions
under which a petition for bargaining rights can be
filed. The answer is that anyone can file one, at any
time, whether or not a union already has a contract
in the field, though no election can be held until a year
has elapsed since the last one. Another union, a single
employee, the employer himself (if he "alleges" that
"one or more individuals" among his employees have
presented a claim), any one of them can force a union
into long and expensive litigation at any time, regard-
less of the duration and validity of the union's contract.
By virtue of this paragraph, a Guild contract takes

Penalties. The Taft-Hartley Act democratically
provides equal fines for violations of its provisions. The
Screen Writers' Guild and its members are assessed
on the same scale as, say, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer or
20th Century-Fox. Fines are not deductible for tax
purposes but can be charged off to the stockholders.

TTTE CAN assure you that we have not enjoyed

* * preparing this analysis. Aside from the mental

strain induced by following the nimble minds of NAM's

lawyers, we have found the subject matter dishearten-

THE SCREEN WRITER

ing. We can only recommend to the members of the
Guild that they prepare for contract negotiations with
the understanding that anything the Guild obtains it
can obtain only by its own unaided efforts. The law
is now weighted heavily against us.

As is often the case the most grievous burdens are
imposed on those who obey the law as a matter of course.
There are loopholes and detours, not forbidden, but

not available to guilds which do not have the power
of coal, steel, or automobiles behind them. But for all
guilds and unions, little or big, and for all guild mem-
bers one remedy is equally available.

These burdens were put on us by way of a law.
They can be removed in the same way. Regardless
of party, regardless of general guild policy, access to
the ballot is every individual's sovereign remedy.

^

Ben Scribbling Faces Life — and Budgets

The following Radio Writers Guild brief treatise on membership problems may be of general interest
to other writers :

PRODUCER:

SCRIBBLING:

PRODUCER:

SCRIBBLING:
PRODUCER:

SCRIBBLING:
PRODUCER:

SCRIBBLING
PRODUCER:

Look, Ben, I need some cooperation.

Sure.

I got a budget of ten thousand on this show, and here's the way it breaks down. The

star — supporting cast — orchestra — guests. Sounds like a great show, don't it?

You bet.

Now this leaves me a little cramped on my writing budget. I hate to offer you a

lousy fifty bucks a week, but I've got to have that Scribbling touch !

Fifty bucks !

Just till we get started. And there isn't much to write. A few topical jokes at the

opening, a little crossfire between the star and the band leader. A spot with the guest.

How about it?

But — fifty bucks! On a ten thousand dollar show?

Look at the budget, and show me where I can trim. Remember — AFRA, and the

musicians are organized !

Darling! You Mean***?

I. A. L. DIAMOND

J. A. L. DIAMOND, a member of
SfVG, is a contract writer at a major
studio. He is a previous contributor to
this magazine, and his poem, Holly-
wood Jabberwocky, in the June issue,
has been widely reprinted and quoted.

IT WAS a tense moment in one of the better war
pictures. The remnants of an American patrol
were moving cautiously through the Jap-infested
jungle. The green lieutenant in charge of the group,
obviously uneasy, fell in beside the veteran sergeant.

"It's quiet," he said.

"Yeah," grumbled the sergeant. "Too quiet!"

At that point, they lost me. As a youthful devotee
of the Saturday matinee, I had seen too many covered-
wagon epics which featured the same exchange of
dialogue between the young scout and the seasoned old
Indian-fighter. (This was the tip-off that all hell
would break loose before they reached the Little
Big Horn — someone, it seemed, had been selling brand
new Winchesters to the Shoshones.) To come across
the identical lines in a drama carved out of raw history
was like witnessing the comeback performance of a
superannuated shimmy-dancer. An experience which
can be described as nostalgic, but disillusioning.

In a recent article in The Screen Writer, in which
he examined several of the hardier movie cliches,
Roland Kibbee suggested that someone ought to cata-
logue the field. I am not foolhardy enough to attempt
this task, but I should like to indicate a few avenues
of inquiry to the future encyclopedist.

A special and continuing study will have to be made
of those old standbys which periodically emerge into
the Big Time.

One such threadbare formula has been resurrected
in the current spate of pictures loosely labeled "psycho-
logical mysteries." Here we have the scene in which
an expendable young starlet, stumbling across an im-
portant clue, unwittingly communicates her find to
the murderer. "Have you told anyone else about this?"
asks the gentleman, casually locking the door. "No,"
says the girl. The heavy starts walking slowly toward
her. We go to a big head-closeup of the girl. Her
eyes widen, as she asks: "Why are you looking at
me like that?"

This is a good question.

Another good, if familiar, question is posed in the
hard-bitten school of melodrama, where the cynical
hero picks up a rain-soaked girl on the street and
takes her to his apartment. The girl is generally
Lizbeth Scott, who's tired of being pushed around.
Sooner or later she will inquire: " Why are you, a
stranger, doing this for me?"

Subsequently, when the hero elects to spend the
night on the couch, I begin to wonder myself.

In the old spy dramas — where this scene originated —
you could at least be sure of a rousing pay-off. At
three in the morning the girl would stagger in from
the other room with a dagger in her back, and fall
dead across a convenient table. But not before she
had whispered to our hero the closely guarded secret
of the Book-of-the-Month Club selection for April.

IN his amusing and instructive essay, Mr. Kibbee
mentioned the scene in which a couple of unapprecia-
tive townspeople scoff at Young Tom Edison. This
brings up the fascinating topic of historical hindsight
in pictures. The foregoing episode illustrates the nega-
tive approach, as opposed to the positive — or "Mark
my words, there'll be war in Europe before 1915" —
approach.

By paying close attention to dates in a period piece,
you can predict just about every twist in the plot.
If the subject is a British financial institution, facing
bankruptcy during the Napoleonic Wars, it's a cinch
that all will be saved by the fortuitous arrival of a
pigeon bearing the news of Waterloo. While a scene
portraying a plantation party in the Old South is
bound to be interrupted by the announcement that
Fort Sumter has just fired on Southern womanhood.
And what do you suppose the* small-town banker, on
his way to work in the early Thirties, will discover
outside his bank!

As you get closer to the present, beware of a radio
playing unobtrusively in the background. If the setting

THE SCREEN WRITER

is a Mayfair drawing room, it's six-two-and-even
that there will be a flash reporting Hitler's invasion
of Poland. (This is the cue for the young couple to
step out onto the balcony, and watch the searchlights
combing the sky. After a while the young man will
remark gravely: "Tonight the lights are going out
all over Europe.") And if you find yourself in an
American home, on a Sunday afternoon, with the
kids reading the comics and dad listening to the sym-
phony broadcast — well, you've seen it as often as I
have.

Historical films, on the whole, are characterized
by the most flagrant type of name-dropping. Some-
times it is intended to provide atmosphere; at other
times the purpose is to make the audience feel smug,
by letting it in on something the characters themselves
don't realize.

For instance, during an Embassy Ball in Washington,
a couple of dowagers will be spotlighted, gossiping
about the guests.

"Who is that handsome young man dancing with
the Senator's daughter?" one of them will ask.

"Oh — that's Lieutenant Eisenhower."

Similarly, if you are in pith-helmet country, the
earnest young man scribbling by the camp-fire will
be described as "some journalist chap — name of Kip-
ling." While the eager young reporter in Virginia
City will be brushed off with "he writes funny pieces
for the paper — calls himself Mark Twain."

The same self-conscious air invests the scene in
which an historic personage is brought into the world.
The setting is generally a log cabin, and a doctor is
bending over the mother's bed.

"It's a fine, healthy boy you have, Mrs. Arnold.
Picked out a name for him yet?"

"We've decided to call him — Benedict."

Every so often there is a purely gratuitous scene,
like the one in which a couple of extras pass each
other on a London street, tip hats, and exchange greet-
ings:

"Good morning, Gilbert."

"Good morning, Sullivan."

Then there is the type of name-dropping which
capitalizes on the audience's prescience to achieve an
ironic effect. Take the scene in which a weary Union
regiment is slogging through a small Pennsylvania
town, on its way to the front.

"What's the name of this hole, anyway?"

"I heard somebody say it was called — Gettysburg."

Another variation runs :

"You're tired, Mr. President. Why don't you stay
home and rest?"

"No. It would disappoint too many people. I'm
expected at Ford's Theater tonight."

6

When we get into the field of literary biography,
there is the awkward problem of presenting the birth
of the author's well-known works. The usual solution
runs something like this: —

The moody young girl, in a night-gown and wrap-
per, slips into her sister's room. "I've finished my
novel," she announces breathlessly.

"Wonderful!" says sis. "Have you got a title for
it?"

"I'm thinking of calling it — Wuthering Heights."

(That this was an unfortunate choice is confirmed by
Dr. Gallup. A posthumous survey reveals that the
book could have achieved twice the audience penetra-
tion if the title had been changed to "Drop Dead,
My Love.")

The genesis of a musical masterpiece is somewhat
more fully portrayed. The inspiration is invariably
supplied by a passing chimney-sweep, who is whistling
a quartet of notes which everybody recognizes as the
introduction to Tschaikowsky's First Piano Concerto —
except Tschaikowsky. For the next seven reels, Peter
Ilich is shown playing the same four notes over and
over again. At this rate, it is obviously going to take
him thirty years to finish the composition. But one
afternoon, as he is sitting at the piano, sweating over
his four notes, the camera moves in to a closeup of
his hands on the keyboard. When the camera pulls
back, the master is attired in evening clothes, and sur-
rounded by a 99-piece symphony orchestra. In the
interim, it seems, he has dashed off an additional twelve
thousand notes, orchestrated the work, copied it, re-
hearsed the musicians, and had his dress-suit cleaned.

A distinguishing feature of the run-of-DeMille
biographical epic is the character who makes Sweeping
Statements about complex historical subjects. A good
illustration is afforded by the scene in Cuba, where a
group of Army doctors is being addressed by a Colonel
of Engineers.

"Gentlemen, I can only say to you what I have
already said to Washington — give us the answer to
yellow fever, and we will give you the Panama Canal!"

This speech has a tendency to get twisted in my
mind, emerging as: "Give us the answer to the Panama
Canal, and we will give you the yellow fever!" That's
what comes of being out too long in that hot tropical
sun.

' I 'HE road to Cliche Heaven is strewn with props.
■*" The commonest and most versatile of these is the
cigarette. It serves to endow the character with pic-
turesque traits (he lights his cigarettes three at a
time, or by striking a wooden match across the seat
of his pants), and it provides an unfailing gambit for

DARLING! YOU MEAN

the sultry heroine who never carries matches. While
the manner in which a cigarette is stabbed out has
at various times been used to express every emotion
from impatience to nymphomania.

My favorite cigarette trick is the one which used
to crop up frequently in gangster movies. This is the
scene in which the mob gets together to confront a
stool-pigeon in their midst. The room is oppresively
silent, while the suspect fidgets uncomfortably in a
corner. Finally the boss takes out a cigarette, asks
the informer for a match. The latter lights one, with
trembling fingers. The boss looks at him, narroweyed.
"Whattsamatter — you nervous?" He steadies the cul-
prit's hand. The stoolie glances around at the circle
of hardened faces, lets the match burn down between
his fingers. Then he starts to back away slowly. "Hon-
est, boss, I didn't do it! I didn't do it, I tellya!" You
know what happens to him.

Another prop, which is de r'tgueur for romantic
scenes, is a man's large pocket handkerchief. This
comes in very handy when the heroine bursts into
tears (she always cries when she's happy).

"I know I'm being silly," she sniffles, "but I can't
help it."

"Here," says the man, producing his handkerchief
with a flourish. "Blow!"

And strangely enough — she does.

One character who is never happy without a prop
is the kid who's too young to die. Early in the picture
he must be shown fondling a snapshot of his sweet-
heart, a lock of his schnauzer's hair, or a high school
medal for chinning. Then, when he stops the bullet
with his name on it, the keepsake is either found
clutched in his hand, or discovered by his buddies when
they pack his effects for shipment back home.

Indispensable to the average whodunit is a grand-
father clock — which generally turns in a better per-
formance than the actors. It strikes thirteen just before
someone is killed; stops running the moment its owner
kicks off; and twenty years later, to the minute, starts
up again — just as the will is being read. In a pinch,
it also serves as a repository for bodies and other
curiosa.

A special category should be reserved for those props
which are used to express symbolism. Most familiar
among them are the curtains which billow and the
candle which goes out when somebody dies; the rag
doll which tumbles over with its neck twisted when
a character meets a violent end ; and the rose which
wilts when somebody suffers a fate worse than the
Breen Office will allow.

Nor must we forget the listless canary, which sud-
denly bursts into song when its mistress — a cloistered
princess, or poor little rich girl — finally falls in love.

This is the signal for the girl to open the cage, and
give the canary its freedom. (As soon as the bird
discovers that people on the outside don't feed it but-
tered zwieback for breakfast, it will come winging
right back, of course. But that's another story.)

A rewarding study for the cliche collector is the
subject of screenplay construction — with special
emphasis on openings, endings, and transitions between
scenes.

The conventional movie opens with an "establishing
shot," culled from the studio's film library. You see
a series of quick flashes — Big Ben, London Bridge,
the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey, Buck-
ingham Palace, the British Museum, the Tower of
London, Trafalgar Square, Hyde Park, and Picadilly
Circus — and just to make sure you don't miss the
point, a title informs you that you are in London.

In protest against this type of redundancy, I have
always wanted to fade in on a stock shot of the New
York skyline — superimpose on it the title Chicago —
and underscore it with the song San Francisco.
This would prove once and for all whether one pic-
ture is really worth a thousand words, and the rela-
tive effectiveness of aural and visual imagery.

Another frequent starter is the banner headline.
There are various methods of presentation: — the
string of newspapers coming off the press; the bundle
of newspapers being dumped on a street corner by a
delivery truck; and the newspaper which whirls at
you from a distance, and socks you in the eye with
some such startling revelation as "Tomorrow, Fair
and Warmer."

The "must" opening for the picturization of a
classic is a volume bound in hand-tooled leather, which
unfolds to page one, while a voice intones the first
paragraph. Subsequent gaps in the story are bridged
simply by flipping through a few pages of the book.

Screenwriters are constantly seeking a fresh approach
to the problem of transition between scenes. But inno-
vations are quickly run into the ground, and yester-
day's novelty becomes tomorrow's standard operational
procedure. One such formula, which enjoyed quite a
vogue a few years ago, had a character saying: "No!
I will not go to Estelle Huckaboy's party!" — and the
next time you saw him, where should he be but at
Estelle Huckaboy's.

Recently there has been a growing tendency to
match all dissolves — by overlapping similar objects
or similar sounds. I don't particularly mind the transi-
tion from an evening gown on a rack to the same
gown filled, from a spinning automobile tire to a

THE SCREEN WRITER

spinning roulette wheel, or from a whistling tea-kettle
to a steamboat whistle. But when it becomes necessary
for one character to squirt another in the face with
a seltzer bottle, just to give the director a clever dis-
solve to Niagara Falls, that's going too far.

Dissolves which indicate a passage of time have,
paradoxically enough, been little affected by the passage
of time. Still with us are such tired devices as the
moving clock hands, the ashtray which fills with
cigarette butts, and the alternately snow-covered and
blooming tree. Within my memory, only one advance
has been made in the field — calendar leaves now drop
off automatically, whereas in the old days a gentleman
with a white beard and scythe used to slice them off.

In stories which take a character from childhood
to manhood, the writer is confronted with the neces-
sity of changing actors in mid-stream. This is usually
accomplished by following the kid up to the day he
gets his first pair of long pants. The camera then
pans down his trouser-legs to his shoes, and when it
pans up again — lo and behold, Jimmy Stewart! That's
one of the advantages of living in a democracy — any
competent youngster with a good agent can grow up
to be Jimmy Stewart.

Movie endings admit of so few variations, that they
are comparatively easy to classify.

There is the unabashedly romantic ending, where
two characters walk off into the sunset, hand-in-hand
(or ride off, flank-to-flank). Complementing it is
the hope-for-the-future ending, in which a lone char-
acter goes off into the sunrn^. (Get the symbolic
difference?)

Closely allied with these is the celestial ending,
where the camera leaves an earthbound scene and
pans up to the sky. The sun's rays obligingly emerge
from behind a cloud, and a swelling chorus of angel
voices practically blasts you out of your seat.

Then there is the bitter-sweet ending, which uses
"ghost" devices of one sort or another. Thus the young
man who has just lost his understanding grandfather
hears excerpts from the old man's philosophy on the
soundtrack; while the boy who has undergone an
experience which made a man of him, recalls (in
double exposure) the carefree days of his youth when
he used to romp barefoot through the woods. Simi-
larly, the operetta heroine starts to reprise the sock
ballad, and is joined in a duet by the ghost voice of
her departed lover; and the aviator's widow hears
the faint drone of his plane in the sky, and knows
that he'll always be with her.

Pictures with an institutional background invari-
ably resort to a ring-around-the-rosie ending. If the
setting is a theatrical boarding house, the ingenue
who has finally made the grade leaves just as another

young hopeful is arriving. And a story laid in a hos-
pital will have one character expiring just as the wail
of a new-born baby is heard down the corridor. Life,
it seems, goes on.

Farce comedies have their stock fadeout, too. There
is the final twist which causes the protagonist to clap
his hand to his forehead, and exclaim: "This is the
end!" Over which is superimposed: "The End."

When everything else fails, there is always the
treadmill ending, which has a boy and girl running
toward each other with outstretched arms, across a
large expanse of beach or flooring. I keep waiting for
the day when one of the sprinters will miss the other,
and fall flat on his face; or when they'll meet, take
a good look at each other, and decide to continue run-
ning. But I don't suppose the public is quite ready
for it.

! ' AST year, Hollywood produced 425 feature-length
■*-*/ pictures. Of these, 419 contained one or more of
the following lines: (a) "What are you doing here?"

(b) "Well, if that's the way you feel about it . . ."

(c) "I can explain the whole thing."

These lines are significant not in themselves, but
as an indication of the similarity of most movie plots.

For instance, how many of these boy-girl lines have
you heard recently? "I love you because you're you."
"They're playing our song." "I'm sure Roger would
have wanted it this way." "That's what gives me the
courage to go on." "With you I've known real happi-
ness, Pam." "You're back — that's all that matters."
"I know you don't want to talk about it." "The only
decent thing I ever did in my life was to love you."
"I've been blind." "I wanted everything to be beauti-
ful for us." "He spoiled me for any other man." "I'm
no good for you." "Oh, darling, hold me close — and
never let me go." "Then this is — goodbye?"

Not to mention such other by-products of man-
woman madness as: "Don't shut me out of your life."
"But you're different." "From the first moment I saw
you I knew we were meant for each other." "But why
am I telling you all this?" "For me?" "This is so sud-
den." "I know you don't love me, but marry me now,
and love will come later." "For the sake of the chil-
dren." "You old fool — you didn't really think I loved
you." "It's better this way." "Anything that hap-
pened before we were married, doesn't count." "I've
been living a lie." "But you don't know anything about
me." "Don't try to fight it." "How can you do this —
after all we've been to each other?" and one of my
all-time favorites, "Why you poor, mixed-up little
thing — you're trembling."

8

DARLING! YOU MEAN

Lack of space (Move over, Kibbee!) prevents me
from going into other movie-subjects in similar detail.
But every type of picture has produced its quota of
trade-marked lines. To take a few examples at random :

The Drama of Strong Passion. "Yes, I killed him.
And I'm glad, do you hear me, glad, glad, GLAD!"

The Epic of Empire: "Those drums! Those infer-
nal drums! They're driving me mad, I tell you, mad,
mad, MAD !" And as his superior officer slaps the kid in
the face, he bites his lower lip and adds: "Sorry I
broke!"

The U. S. Cavalry Opus. The white-faced teleg-
rapher who announces: "I can't get through to Fort
Blix, sir. The lines must be down." And the captain
who grips the edge of the table and says: "That can
mean only one thing — Geronimo!"

The Private-Eye Melodrama. "Another crack like
that, and you'll be spittin' teeth." "Lay off — or you
and me is gonna tangle, see?" "Bright Boy here talks
like he's tired of living." And the tight-lipped final
scene (lifted straight from the classic in the field)
between the shamus and the girl who smells of night-
blooming jasmine: "Sure, I'll have some bad nights
after I've turned you in. But when a man's buddy is
killed, he's gonna do something about it. And if they
send you to the hot-seat — well, I'll always think of
you."

To reverse the procedure — how many of these scenes
do you recognize from their key lines? "Look at that
grip! He's gonna grow up to be another Babe Ruth."
"It's a symphony I'm writing — a symphony about the
big city — the crowds — the subways . . ." "Johnson,
if this is one of your gags, I'll see to it that you never
work for another paper in this town." "He's just a
big, overgrown kid." "They say to go beyond this
point is dangerous. There's some silly native supersti-
tion about a white goddess who rules this part of the
jungle." "Did he have any enemies?" "I'm comin' out,
and I'm comin' out a-shootin'!" "It's bigger than
you, bigger than me, bigger than all of us." "He's
got a great fighting heart." "Who you getting your
Kleenex from? Well, from now on you're taking six
cases a week from me, see?" "He was just trying to
shield me — that's why he refused to testify." "It means
you'll never have a baby again." "He doesn't want to
recover — he's lost the will to live."

If there's a point to all this, it's that movie dialogue
will keep repeating itself as long as pictures are based
on stock situations and peopled by stereotyped char-
acters.

If only someone would write a story about a boss
whose initials are not J.P., a fiance who is not a
stuffed shirt, and a secretary who does not become a
raving beauty by sweeping back her hair and discard-
ing her horn-rimmed spectacles. . . .

Maybe I'll do it myself — as soon as I finish the one
about the frontier marshal, the schoolmarm, and the
dance-hall queen.

A Cheerful Thought From a Screenwriter
Long Unemployed

AN advantage to being a penniless lout
Like myself and my friends in the same circumstance
Is that we can lie down on a sofa without
Any fear any coins will roll out of our pants.

— Anonymous

One Track Mind on a
Two Way Ticket

GEORGE SEATON

GEORGE SEATON is a member of
the SWG Executive Board. He is the
author of numerous screen plays, many
of which he has also directed. This
article is presented as an extended
and carefully considered contribution
to this magazine's recent symposium
on the evolution of screen writers into
•what Joseph L. Mankiewicz described
as "genuine film authors."

ON APRIL 28th I received a telegram from the
Editorial Board of The Screen Writer asking me
to contribute a few hundred words to a sym-
posium on how newer writers could become genuine
film authors under present conditions.

On April 29th I set down, under several neatly
numbered paragraphs, about four hundred words of
counsel.

On April 30th I read it over and threw it in the
waste basket. I realized that in giving advice one must
necessarily run the risk of seeming patronizing, but
I never knew how much brevity increased that risk.
I hope that now, having been permitted to go into the
subject a little more fully, I will not be found guilty
of looking down from any lofty heights — for, although
Mr. Mankiewicz placed me in some rather fast com-
pany and named me as one who has learned his trade
thoroughly, I certainly do not consider myself, even
after fifteen years, a genuine film author. I only hope
that after another fifteen I might be able to sit through
one of my pictures without wincing too many times.
However, directing my own screen plays for the past
four years has taught me a lot — not only about direc-
tion but more importantly about screenwriting. It is
solely from a standpoint of experience, then, that I
venture a few opinions.

As for Mr. Mankiewicz' critique — I liked it. I have
always believed that far too many of us know far too
little about the medium. But more than appreciating
what it said, I like what it did. With the exception
of the opening salvos on AAA., I have never seen
an article in our magazine cause so healthy a contro-

versy. Seminars and symposiums were held under the
sponsorship of the Guild; every studio commissary
became a debating platform ; and the traditional battle-
field, Schwab's soda fountain, got its best workout.
I was impressed by the sincerity of the comments and
suggestions that poured in, for, although they both
blasted and praised, they all had one thing in common —
an honest desire to improve the lot of the writer in
Hollywood.

This piece is written in the same spirit for screen
writers who respect their craft. So if you are a novel-
ist who is a little contemptuous of the medium, using
Hollywood merely as a comfortable motel on your
travels between one book and another, this piece will
be of little interest. If you are a playwright who is
here "to knock out a quick screenplay and pick up a
few bucks" while your producer tries to find some
picture name for your new show, you'll find glancing
at a casting directory much more profitable. Or if you
are one who looks upon motion pictures as nothing
more than the bastard offspring of the theater and a
2A Brownie and considers a script just a hundred and
twenty pages of "gimmicks," "twists," "formulas,"
"weenies," "heart," "routines," "boffs," "yaks," "top-
pers," "bleeders" and "chases" — please go home.

If, on the other hand, you agree as I do with Sheri-
dan Gibney that "screenwriting is a new form of
dramatic art," and are willing to give it the respect
and effort that such a definition commands, then
maybe what I have to suggest might be of value. Not
that I recommend what follows as the only solution, nor
do I claim that by heeding my advice you will become

10

ONE TRACK MIND ON A TWO WAY TICKET

a Dudley Nichols overnight. I merely state that it
helped me and, all other things being equal, it might
help you.

TPO MY way of thinking there are two ways of
-*- acquiring that technical facility, that awareness
of the medium, which help to make a competent writer
a genuine film author. The first method is by the
process of osmosis: a gradual absorption of knowledge
from any number of sources — discussions with directors
and competent producers, working with experienced
collaborators, seeing countless pictures, studying bales
of scripts, trial and error, etc. The second is by watch-
ing pictures being shot. Having tried the "osmosis"
school for ten years, I heartily recommend the second
method, not because those ten years were without
activity and reward (as a matter of fact I think I re-
ceived as many credits and as much employment as
most), but because that period was without satisfaction.
It was filled with insecurity and fear — fear, I imagine,
that someone was going to discover what I knew all
along — that I didn't know what the hell I was doing.

I was able to hold my own in conferences and salt
my conversation with phrases like "Mat shots," "Dolly
back," "Zoom in" and "Traveling inserts," but it
didn't help. I felt like one of those Benchley Americans
in Paris. I knew just enough of the language to get
around and impress other Americans but I felt that
the French were laughing at me. I had picked up a
few key words but I hadn't bothered (or been given
the opportunity) to learn those all-important irregular
verbs. So, deciding to go back and cram, I took up
residence on a set. Believe me, in three months I learned
more than I had in the preceding ten years.

The first suggestion, then, is watch a picture being
shot. If it happens to be one of your own scripts, so
much the better — if not, any script will do provided
you've studied it sufficiently. Now by watching shoot-
ing I don't mean dropping in on the set for a few
minutes on your way back from the commissary. I
mean sitting behind the camera all day every day.
(Okay — we might as well stop right here and settle
the question of "How do I get on a set?")

I know that some of the studios won't allow you to
observe production. But let's be honest — why should
they allow it? Why should they pay you while you
learn something you were supposed to have known
when you took the assignment in the first place? You
shouldn't expect it any more than you should be ex-
pected to pay a secretary while she takes a course in
typing. The answer then, though simple to give and
difficult to follow, is — go off salary. I have never heard
of any studio that closed a set to a writer if the writer
was willing to visit it without being paid for the privi-

lege. I realize that giving up six to twelve weeks of
employment or the chance of it, is not without sacrifice
— but I'm sure that before you learned the technique
of writing a short story, a play or a novel, you went
a lot longer without remuneration. And if we agree
that screenwriting is a new dramatic art form, then
achieving a greater knowledge of it becomes well worth
the time, sacrifice and effort.

An author who chooses to write for motion pictures
is very much like a general medical practitioner who
decides to become a specialist. To accomplish it the
doctor gives up his practice, takes a residency at a
hospital, and studies his specialty for a couple of years.
To a lesser degree the would-be screenwriter must
study in the same way and the place to do it is on the
set. Although there will be no salary coming in, the
period of observation will not be without compensation.
What you will learn will make you a better screen-
writer and consequently place you in a position to de-
mand more money.

\\ THAT will you learn on a set? The same things
* * a playwright learns during an out-of-town try-
out. No matter how beautiful the script sounded when
you read it to your wife you'll discover, by seeing it
on its feet, that it has many shortcomings. The count-
less rehearsals and takes will magnify the little faults
you thought unimportant. Scenes will be overlong and
static. At first you'll blame it on the actors, the director
or anybody else who happens to be handy. But after a
time, if you're able to look at the whole thing objec-
tively, you'll have to admit that when you wrote the
script you did not concern yourself with the possibili-
ties of the camera. You depended too much on dia-
logue to score your points. You'll discover you're both
showing and telling and consequently the scenes appear
obvious and overwritten. Gradually you'll begin to
think in terms of the camera — you'll visualize scenes
not as framed by a proscenium arch or the margins of
a printed page but as seen through the "finder" — that
little black box that tells you exactly what you're going
to get on the screen. If your values are not in the
finder you're a dead duck and no amount of brilliantly
written stage direction will help you. If you le&rn
nothing else, your time will not be wasted because,
all other things being equal, the ability to use the
camera as a collaborator is the primary difference
between a good screen craftsman and a bad one. But
you will learn more — dozens of things which you
never thought essential but which will prove invaluable
when you tackle your next script.

After the picture is shot sit in with the film editor.
Most of them whom I have met are only too anxious
to answer questions and help in any way possible. Here

11

THE SCREEN WRITER

again you will be reminded of the importance of the
camera. When you see all of the film put together you'll
notice that many lines of dialogue — yes, even entire
scenes — are unnecessary. When you wrote the script
you fought for them — the story, you felt, would never
get across without them. Even on the set you were
against cutting too drastically. Now you find, with
some expert use of a couple of close-ups and reactions,
that a three-page scene can be told in a dozen lines
and with no values lost. It might even be more subtle
and have better tempo than when you first conceived
it. A good cutter is as much an artist as you are —
don't avoid him.

My only other suggestion is one which no one else
has deemed important enough to mention. Maybe
I'm overestimating its value but since it has been of
tremendous help to me, here it is: while preparing a
script consult one of the studio's art directors. He will
show you how you can get the maximum of production
with the minimum of construction and probably make
your scenes photographically more interesting. Economy
of construction, as well as economy of words, is a
writer's problem and the art director will help you
achieve it. I mention this for your self-protection. If
you disregard the number and size of your sets you'll
discover that the production will be cut down later
anyway, and most likely without any consideration
for the import of the scenes. Furthermore, by working
closely with an art director you're not so apt to go
to the preview and find your professor-hero living in
a twelve room penthouse. If he's consulted at an early
stage and sees what you're trying to achieve 3'ou'll
get a much more realistic production. Lastly, you will
know what your sets will look like and consequently
will be able to devise pieces of business that will height-
en and make for less static scenes.

' I 'HERE will be many who will argue that the above
*"" suggestions are not sound, principally because they
contend that a writer is a story-teller, no more, no less,
and his mind should not be cluttered with a lot of
technical mumbo-jumbo. They maintain that that is the
director's province and we should keep out of it. I
might agree if this business were run differently. If
a writer and a director were assigned simultaneously
and worked together, each contributing his particular
talents in a collaborative effort, that would be one
thing. But I was asked : "How can newer writers

become genuine film authors under present conditions"
— and that is quite another. Aside from a few teams
in the tradition of Capra-Riskin and Ruggles-Binyon,
present conditions means that a writer finishes a script
one week and a director starts shooting the next. More
often than not the two never meet. Under such an
arrangement it behooves the writer to become more
than a story-teller. Because a hundred and twenty
pages of story, no matter how beautifully told, is not
a shooting script, and a director with budgets and
schedules staring him in the face has no alternative but
to make changes as he goes along. Since this method
of operation has proved at least financially successful
I have little hope that it will be altered. The change
must come then in the writer's concept of screenwriting.

The phrase "present conditions" also implies another
glaring fault. The studios cry for "fresh" writing
talent, men and women with "new ideas." These
walking panaceas are brought out from New York by
the dozens. Most of them, quite honestly, admit they
know nothing about writing for motion pictures. The
answer is always the same: "Don't worry about that.
What we want is your great feel for character and
your sparkling dialogue." Somehow this "feel" and
"sparkle" seldom face a camera because most of the
time the scripts never turn out the way the producer
dreamed they would. Could it be that the studios have
been crying and searching for the wrong thing all
the time? I think so. I think what they've really been
praying for are genuine film authors. Men and women
who not only feel and sparkle but who know the medi-
um and are able to get it on the screen.

Although "present conditions" is a brick wall in
many ways, it also offers an opportunity. Two studios
have thrown open their stages to writers who want to
learn. At 20th Century-Fox, Darryl F. Zanuck has
promised that any writer who wishes to observe pro-
duction may do so. The only conditions are that you
do not expect remuneration and are not on an assign-
ment at any other studio. You will not be herded from
stage to stage like visitors. You may pick your director
and, if agreeable with him, will be allowed to remain
on his set for the entire production. Every effort will
be made to help you achieve a greater understanding
and knowledge of the medium. At R-K-O, Dore Schary
makes the same offer. All you have to do is call the
Guild office and arrangements will be made. Any
takers?

12

As I Remember Birdie

RICHARD G. HUBLER

RICHARD G. HUBLER, a member of
The Screen Writer Editorial Commit-
tee, is the author of several books. His
new novel, The Quiet Kingdom, will
soon be published by Rinehart & Co.

AS I dipped my ostrich quill pen into the brown
gall ink of an eighteenth century coffee-house at
the corner of Hollywood and Vine to write
my Book of the Month novel the other day, I hap-
pened to see some words emerge from the palimpsest
manuscript I was using for a scratch pad. The words
were these : "Russell Birdwell has retired." *

Perhaps never in the history of mankind have so
few words meant so little to so many but to me they
were pregnant with the fruity odors of a whole era.
It is true that few will care but to the discerning that
sentence meant that motion picture advertising and
publicity had at last passed its rococo peak. After you
have reached the top, as Amy Lowell used to take
the cigar out of her mouth to say, where can you go
except down? In a world grown old and cold and
dreary, Birdie — as I knew him — chose to take the
honorable way out.

These days when six out of ten selected psychiatrists
assure me that Rogetomania — the illusion of grandeur
induced by tearing words out of thesauri — is on the
wane and when more than eight exclamation points
after words like stupendous and terrific and insur-
passable are considered vulgar the thing is clear: the
flamboyant, freebooting, feckless, cavalier days of pub-
licity are over.

When a man shot five adjectives from the hip —
he kept the hammer on an empty one for safety, as any
student of that period will tell you — without looking ;
snapped "Smile, when you say that!" if he was called
a press agent instead of a public relations counsellor;
and got inflammation of the forefinger from inserting
it into the lapel buttonhole of many a freelance writer
— ah, those were the days indeed.

Among these swashbucklers of swill, Birdie — as I
remember him — was supreme. In the Cave of Winds
which was motion picture exploitation, a demesne

•Mr. Birdwell has recently emerged from his brief retire-
ment.

where the most brash would hesitate to enter, Birdie
slew the dragon with his own chubby hands. It was
he who drew to its state of ultimate perfection the
two distinguishing policies of motion picture publicity
today: to wit, the treasure hunt and the singleton
detail.

The treasure hunt was simple. Its technique was
simply to ask of the human race such questions as
"Will Bridget Schrumpledonck be Scarlett O'Hara?"
and wait for a reaction, like a doctor injecting insulin
for shock treatment. The rest was routine — false clues,
contests, red herrings, Cinderella stories, and so on.

But it was to a world confused with tensions, vexed
with cross-currents and conflicting ideologies that
Birdie gave the classic example of the second tenet,
the exercise in dogged singlemindedness. Not even the
most horrendous war in history could force Birdie
from his motif. Now that his drum-beating has died
down after six years, the substance of his work can
be evaluated and classified. I must confess that it was
while I was munching a Jane Russell Special — two
poached eggs on toast — that I got to noting down
my memories of Birdie and his work on the publicity
phenomenon of our time.

T TNDOUBTEDLY the finest bit of his obsessive
^-s boobery ever foisted upon the great American
public in recent years was back in 1941, the publicity
campaign conducted by Russell Birdwell around the
bosom of Jane Russell in ballyhooing the Howard
Hughes picture, The Outlaw. In saying this I am not
unmindful of such stunts as the Westinghouse Time
Capsule (in which solemn japery I, God forgive me,
had a hand), the registered rest rooms of the Texas
Company's filling stations, Jim Moran's sitting on
an ostrich egg to build up The Egg and I, and the
same fellow's reported deals with Eskimos over refriger-
ators and hunting needles in a haystack. Perhaps it
was Moran who first painted advertisements on

13

THE SCREEN WRITER

barber-shop ceilings and put mirrors on the floor of
a notorious lecher's bedroom, I don't know. But not
even painting "Gilda" on the Bikini atom bomb — a
device which failed because of its immense and rancid
bad taste — gives me the thrill I get when I think of
Birdie and his bust. I used to fancy myself a fairly
clever fellow because I once made page three of the
New York W orld-T elegram. I was then punting long
ones for the International Casino and who the hell
can say anything new about a nightclub? That item
was the one that informed the readers that the nation-
ality of a girl could be told by merely looking at her
legs. Don't ask me the way it was done, not now,
but I got a picture of twenty legs or ten half-girls
in a row on that lovely page three.

Nevertheless after a fair investigation of all the
black arts of publicity I must take the pewter mustache
cup away from my ego and give it to Birdie. A cute
little roll, in a number of ways, who liked to pay for
full-page ads to give his opinions on world topics,
Birdie could sell a sow's ear to Bergdorf. Goodman for
a silk purse. Not that thirty-seven and a half inches
of glandular development is not a considerable item on
which to base hot news releases. I shudder to think on
what back pages the United Nations would be today
if Birdie were still touting the Hughes production.
Even the rolypoly maestro himself, who did at least
a colossal job on Gone With The Wind and had every-
body in the country looking under chairs for three
years for Vivian Leigh, found that the Civil War
was nothing, positively nothing, when it came to mam-
miferous precocity.

This is how it all came about for a handsome fee.
Birdie started slow, merely giving Miss Russell a
thousand-dollar bill and telling her to "go out and get
some duds." This was a cunning feeler as to the kind
of material he had to mold. He spat on his typewriter
and waited. Miss Russell bought herself blind for
three days, returned, and gave Birdie $300 back. Evi-
dently she was going to be a problem. Birdie blew the
whistle.

Across the country the public prints came running.
In their wake panted the most famous lads available
for cash within reason. It was William Early Singer
that Birdie first slapped on the back. Singer, a painter
who had daubed the portraits of King Albert of Bel-
gium, Archbishop Sinnott of Canada, and the Duke of
Windsor, fitted on his helmet and dashed out onto
the field. It was he who pronounced the original
mouthful on Miss Russell's eyeful.

"The ideal exciting girl," he said excitedly, "because
she is so tall. Not many short women are exciting,"
a statement that didn't do Singer any good with the
Midget's Cap-a-Pie Protective Association. Birdie

tried to hush him up but Singer kept running off at
the mouth. "Her lips," he babbled, evidently trying
to give Birdie the most for his money, "are the most
kissable in the world. Because they are beautifully
molded, softly appealing, silently inviting and not too
easily kissed." This master of anti-climax had obvi-
ously spent the best years of his life bussing his way
around the world. But Singer's day was over. Birdie
knew where he could get the same stuff wholesale.

Chaim Gross, whom Birdie described as one of the
most famous of living sculptors, put in a plug for the
real issue. Singer had beat all around the bush but
Gross put his finger right on it. "She has the most
perfect bust in the world," he said in level tones. "She
is the ideal of young American womanhood." Birdie was
getting down to cold turkey. He followed this coup
of Gross with a hard-hitting release from his research
staff of two drugstore cowboys. "Murder," said Birdie,
in a fine sequitur, "glints from an angry woman's
eye like electric sparks. Miss Russell has such eyes."

That covered the top half of the agenda. The best
was yet to come. From New York, Mayor Fiorello
LaGuardia proclaimed "Cinderella Day" in honor of
Miss Russell who rose from obscurity to be unknown.
In the courts of Los Angeles, as her sub-21 contract
came up for approval, the judge peered over his glasses,
ordered her to remove her studio makeup and return
looking like a decent woman." Miss Russell did so
and returned to win approval not only of her contract
but also of most of the nation's rotogravure sections.
Her picture, on a traffic Safety First poster, was re-
ported to have cut rather than increased traffic accidents
by 30 per cent.

A T army camps, Miss Russell stabbed dummies
■^ ^with bayonets, tossed hand grenades and rode in
a tight red sweater. A lovesick private named Albert
Goertz began to knit another sweater for her, egged on
by Birdie's insatiable camera cads.

The Navy selected Miss Russell as "the girl we
would most like to have waiting for us in every port."
The Air Corps flying cadets adopted her as their
mascot and named a Stockton Field, Calif., squadron
"Russell's Raiders." The Navy came back slugging
with a recruiting slogan: JOIN THE NAVY7 AND
MEET JANE RUSSELL ! They also forwarded
six silver loving cups to her. The Marines made no
official gestures.

Prof. A. J. Haagen-Smit of the California Institute
of Technology invented a perfume which he dedicated
to Miss Russell's "tempestuous allure." He called it,
surprise!, The Outlaw. The magazine Life and the
Sigma Nu fraternity selected Miss Russell as "the
most promising star of 1941." They were grievously

14

AS I REMEMBER BIRDIE

deceived. Miss Russell remained a film incognito for
quite some while.

Pictures of Miss Russell, in every conceivable pose,
swept the country. Birdie could not supply the demand.
A survey taken by a trade paper during a random
three-week period in 1941 showed 532 papers put out
4256 pages on Miss Russell and 448 Sunday papers
published 2016 columns about her. Her picture ap-
peared on the covers of eleven national magazines and
she was awarded spreads of 196 pages in said magazines.

Esquire ran a double-page truck in color of Miss
Russell. Circulation leaped 186,000 copies. Spot, with
approximately 150,000 circulation, ran a picture of
Miss Russell on the cover and jumped 200,000. It
hopefully ran another picture of her the next month
and duplicated the feat.

The Fawcett Publishing Company, with five maga-
zines, ran a picture of Miss Russell on the cover of
one publication or another every month. Even the staid
Ladies' Home Journal came through with a full page
of Russell in color.

Birdie, desperate for new poses, finally took his
own sport coat off and put it around the acquiescent
Miss Russell. Little else was visible beside her lovely
torso. The picture appeared in 3000 newspapers and
a majority of magazines in the spring of 1941. The
expenses of Birdie's clipping bureau, at a nickel a clip,
bulged above $2500 a month. He canceled the service.

Deliciously frightened by his own success, Birdie
Birdwell decided to gear down the torrent of pub-
licity. He gave Miss Russell a staple line to pass on to
newspapers: "I don't smoke, drink, swear, neck or use
narcotics." She got a wire from Princeton: DEAR
JANE OUR COUNTRY NEEDS WOMEN
LIKE YOU SO DO WE. It invited her to a house
party. Birdie turned it down.

As a special favor, James Montgomery Flagg was
allowed to paint her portrait and he remarked she
was "as swarthy as a pirate's daughter." He quizzed
her about her sultry look. Under orders, she told him
it was because she had been a "whiney, disagreeable
child," a Birdie master-stroke because Miss Russell
was really very amiable as a youngster.

Oddly enough, in spite of Birdie's build-down, the
rush for the Russell publicity bandwagon continued.

Harpers Bazaar ran a photograph of her, titling it:
The Return of the Full Bosom. Life, Liberty, Look,
Pic, American stayed aboard with revealing shots of
the Hughes discovery every so often. Sigma Phi Epsilon
chose her Girl of the Year. The juveniles of Hotch-
kiss School and the military of Battery B, 250th Coast
Artillery, alike fawned upon her bust.

Even her mother titillated interviewers by revealing
that Jane, at the tender age of eight, used to constantly
recite with great dramatic fervor, a poem:

"You are stiff and cold as a stone,

Little cat;
I often wonder how you ever got

Like that"

A LL right. I get off here. This is as far as I go with
•*• *-my memories. Maybe Miss Russell doesn't know
how the cat got stiff and cold but I know how / got that
way. I don't know how it all ended, all I know is
that The Outlaw profits are being baled at a well-
known mint in Philadelphia headed by a woman whose
name is Nellie. Miss Russell, married to a professional
football player named Waterfield, has not titillated
the public much lately. This is of course because Hughes
has flung off the gorgeous mantle of Birdie's publicity
and put on the old, drab, dignified cloak of Carl
Byoir's agency.

However, I have had my revenge. When my chil-
dren gather round my gnarled old knees in the fire-
light and press me for a pre-war story, I shall pat
them gently upon their tousled bur-filled little heads
and look deep into the fire. If I just see combustion,
the chances are I'll scream and squirt the extinguisher
on it — but I don't anticipate that. What I expect to
see will be the glorious roseate contours of ripe woman-
hood.

"Kids," I'll say dreamily. "Spread out. Slump up
against that ottoman covered with the skin of a pub-
licity fellow I used to know. Soft and white, isn't it?
Let me tell you how I got it."

And I'll tell them, too, giving each a little Time
Capsule to swallow afterwards so they can go to sleep
and forget the horror of it all.

^

15

A Biographical Epic at Imperial Pix

Subject: Bindle Biog

F. HUGH HERBERT

Writer-Director F. HUGH HERBERT
is Secretary of the Screen Writers'
Guild. He is the author of many screen
and radio plays, and of such famous
stage plays as Kiss and Tell, The
Poseur, There You Are and Carry Me
Upstairs.

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION

West Coast Studios

INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION

FROM: Herbert Keeler DATE: February 5th, 1947

TO: J. K. Hoffheimer SUBJECT: Bindle Biog.

Dear J.K.

In view of the current terrific vogue for screen
biographies (The Jolson Story, The Dolly Sisters and
so forth), it occurs to me that we might be very smart
to make a picture based on the life of Jonathan Bindle.
The commercial tie-ups alone would be terrific. Let
me know what you think.

HERBERT KEELER
Scenario Editor
hk :mal

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION

West Coast Studios

INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION

FROM: J. K. Hoffheimer DATE: February 6th, 1947

TO: Herbert Keeler SUBJECT: Bindle Biog.

Dear Herb:

Who the hell is Jonathan Bindle?

J. K. HOFFHEIMER
Vice President in
charge of Production
jkh:by

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION

West Coast Studios

INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION

FROM: Herbert Keeler DATE: February 7th, 1947

TO: J. K. Hoffheimer SUBJECT: Bindle Biog.

Dear J.K.

I am really amazed that you have never heard of
Jonathan Bindle. All the papers were full of him only
a few days ago. He received during 1946 an income
of $4,596,289.14 according to the figures released by
the U.S. Treasury Department. Bindle is President
of General Candy Corporation and is rated the third
richest man in the world. Eight years ago he was on
relief. Today he is reported worth over $500,000,000.
A success story if there ever was one. I am convinced
that the life of such a man would be an inspiring
screen document which would appeal to every red-

blooded 100% American man, woman and child. And
don't forget the commercial tie-ups.

HERBERT KEELER

Scenario Editor

hk:mal

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION

West Coast Studios

INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION

FROM: J. K. Hoffheimer DATE: February 7th, 1947

TO: Herbert Keeler SUBJECT: Bindle Biog.

Dear Herb:

I am deeply impressed by what you tell me. Find
out if Mr. Bindle would co-operate with us. If he
approves I would consider making his life one of our
super-specials for 1948. Get me all the information you
can.

J. K. HOFFHEIMER
Vice President in
charge of Production
jkh :by

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

r l McCarthy

imperial pictures radio center new york city ny

february 8 1947
hoffheimer okays your bindle biography suggestion
stop would advise your contacting bindle directly
stop make him realize that this would be a super
special possibly in technicolor stop worth millions
to him in prestige and publicity stop regards

KEELER

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION
Radio Center
New York City, New York
Mr. Jonathan Bindle, President
General Candy Corporation
Titanic Building, New York City

February 10th, 1947
Dear Sir:

The suggestion has been made by our Mr. J. K.
Hoffheimer, one of the most brilliant motion picture
producers in the industry, that a motion picture be
made by our company based upon your life and spec-
tacular success and achievements. We feel that we could
undertake this production in a spirit of patriotic service

16

SUBJECT: BINDLE BIOG.

and national duty — make it, so to speak, a saga of
rugged Americanism. It would be personally super-
vised by Mr. Hoffheimer.

If this suggestion appeals to you, I would be most
happy to call upon you, at your convenience, to discuss
all details.

Very truly yours
roger l. McCarthy

Vice-President
Imperial Pictures
rim :ce

GENERAL CANDY CORPORATION

Titanic Building

New York City, New York

February 12th, 1947
Mr. Roger L. McCarthy
Vice-President Imperial Pictures
Radio Center, New York City
Dear Sir:

In reply to your letter of February 10th, I am
directed by Mr. Bindle to inform you that he has
always been averse to personal publicity of any kind,
and that consequently he could not entertain your sug-
gestion for a moment.

I might add that, personally, I was very much in
favor of it and urged Mr. Bindle to reconsider the
matter, but he is, I regret to say, quite adamant.
Very trulv yours,
KATHLEEN SHANE
Secretary to Mr. Bindle
ks

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION

Radio Center

New York City, New York

February 14th, 1947
Miss Kathleen Shane
Secretary to Mr. Jonathan Bindle
General Candy Corporation
My dear Miss Shane:

Thank you for your courteous note regarding our
projected screen biography of Mr. Bindle.

In view of your own interest in the matter, I am
not unhopeful that Mr. Bindle may yet reconsider
his refusal. I have been in communication with our
studios on the coast and they have tentatively budgeted
the picture we plan to make at $3,000,000. You might
mention this to Mr. Bindle and point out that such
tremendous publicity would be of incalculable benefit
to all products of General Candy Corporation.
Very truly yours,

roger l. McCarthy

Vice-President, Imperial Pictures
rim :ce

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION

Radio Center

New York City, New York

February 16th, 1947
Miss Kathleen Shane
Secretary to Mr. Jonathan Bindle
General Candy Corporation
Titanic Building, New York City
Dear Miss Shane:

I enjoyed our luncheon together so much, and I
feel quite sure that, armed with all the additional facts

I presented, you will be able to overcome Mr. Bindle's
objections. You have, if I may say so, a most engaging
and persuasive personality.

I enclose a permanent pass to the Imperial Theater
where all our pictures are shown, and if I can be of
any further service to you whatsoever, please let me
know.

Cordially,
roger l. McCarthy

Vice-President, Imperial Pictures
rim :ce

encl. 1 courtesy pass

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

herbert keeler imperial studios hollywood

february 17 1947
tell hoffheimer bindle deal looks fairly hot stop have
not contacted bindle personally yet but am in con-
stant touch with his secretary stop are you having
a script prepared query

r l McCarthy

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

r l McCarthy imperial pictures radio center new york
city february 18 1947

practically no information available here regarding
bindle stop all we can find are three lines in who's
who stop newspaper morgues have no pictures of
bindle later than nineteen thirty nine stop since
no script can be readied until we get some facts please
have someone in your office prepare a digest of his
life where he was born educated so forth also get
us some recent pictures so we can cast tentatively
stop regards

KEELER

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION
Radio Center
New York Cits', New York
INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION
FROM: R. L. McCarthy DATE: February 19th, 19+7

TO: Alfred Hines, Publicity Dept. SUBJECT: Bindle Biog.
We contemplate making a super special for 1948
based on the life of Jonathan Bindle, President of
General Candy Corporation. Drop everything else
and get all available facts regarding Mr. Bindle. Please
note that Mr. Bindle has not yet signed any agreement
with us. He refuses to grant interviews and is averse
to personal publicity so you will have to use all dis-
cretion and diplomacy in getting the information we
want.

r. l. McCarthy

Vice-President
rim :ce

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION

Radio Center

New York Citv, New York

INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION

FROM: Alfred Hines DATE: February 22nd, 1947

TO: R. L. McCarthy SUBJECT: Bindle Biog.

I have spent three days digging up Bindle material

but there is not much to be found.

He is fifty-three, bald and rather stout. Was born
in Eggleston, Vermont, educated in public schools
there. He is not married and has no relatives. Parents
died when he was in school. Lives at Rosslyn, Long
Island alone in a 28 room house with eleven servants.
Never entertains. Attends Baptist Church. He refuses
interviews and won't be photographed. Appears to be
cordially disliked by most employees of General Candy
Corp., likewise by his servants. Estimated wealth of
half billion dollars is well authenticated. Does not
drink or smoke. There has never been anv romance

17

THE SCREEN WRITER

or scandal in his life that I can discover, and I have
spoken to half a dozen newspapermen who have covered
him at various times.

ALFRED HINES
ah :mt

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM
r l McCarthy imperial pictures radio center new york
city february 23 1947

have registered bindle idea with producers association
claiming priority stop keeler tells me you will soon
have bindle deal in bag stop am dickering with mgm
for loan of clark gable to play bindle stop what
do you think query

j k hoffheimer

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM
j k hoffheimer imperial studios hollywood
gable not the type for bindle

r l McCarthy

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

FEBRUARY 23 1947

r l McCarthy imperial pictures radio center new york
city february 23 1947

if you can close bindle deal by friday think i can
arrange with zanuck to borrow tyrone power stop
might also work out deal for loan of hedy lamarr
to play bindles wife stop please reply
j k hoffheimer

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

j k hoffheimer imperial studios hollywood

february 25 1947
bindle has no wife stop power not the type stop
please do not rush me bindle has not signed yet stop
am working on him from every angle stop have you
got a story yet query

r l McCarthy

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

MISS KATHLEEN SHANE ANDERSON APTS TIMES SQUARE NEW
YORK CITY FEBRUARY 25 1947

DEAR KATHLEEN TRIED TO REACH YOU BY TELEPHONE THROUGH-
OUT THE AFTERNOON BUT YOU HAD ALREADY LEFT THE
OFFICE STOP IT IS IMPERATIVE THAT I SEE BINDLE TOMORROW
OR AT EARLIEST CONVENIENCE STOP TRY AND FIX THIS FOR
ME THERES A DARLING

ROGER

GENERAL CANDY CORPORATION
Titanic Building
New York City, New York

February 26th, 1947
Mr. L. E. Buzzard, President
Imperial Pictures Corporation
Radio Center, New York City
Dear Louie:

Some half-witted imbecile in your employ by the
name of McCarthy is wasting my time, and that of
my secretary, by writing and telephoning and telegragh-
ing constantly regarding some fat-head scheme cooked
up by one of your other morons to the effect that your
company wants to make a screen biography of me.

Kindly tell him not to be a fool and suggest that
he stop bothering me.

Sincerely,

JONATHAN BINDLE
jb:ks

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION

Radio Center

INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION

FROM: L. E. Buzzard DATE: February 28th, 1947

TO: R. L. McCarthy SUBJECT: Jonathan Bindle

Attached is a letter from Jonathan Bindle. What

the hell is all this about?

L. E. BUZZARD

Vice-President Imperial Pictures

leb:br

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION
Radio Center
New York City, New York
INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION ,
FROM: R. L. McCarthy DATE: February 28th, 1947

TO: L. E. Buzzard SUBJECT: Bindle Biog.

I suggested to Keeler who suggested to Hoffheimer
that a motion picture based on the life of Jonathan
Bindle would be a good idea. Biographs are clicking
everywhere. They are the current trend. Since Ford
is dead and Morgan unavailable Bindle seemed like
a good bet to us. I'm delighted to see by his letter to
you that you are personally acquainted. You must
help us swing this.

We are the only major company who have not made
an outstanding biography, and I think it is high time
we went to bat. Bindle is rated worth more than
$500,000,000.00. If that's not a success story and good
box-office, I'll eat my hat.

r. l. McCarthy

Vice-President
Imperial Pictures

rlm:ce

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION

Radio Center

New York City, New York

March 1st, 1947
Mr. Jonathan Bindle, President
General Candy Corporation
Titanic Building, New York City
Dear Jonathan :

Thanks for your letter which gave me a great kick.
You always were a great kidder, you know.

On the level, Jonathan, we are all very enthusiastic
here about our Mr. McCarthy's suggestion of a screen
biography of you, and I feel sure that it could be an
outstanding epic of our modern age, a transcendental
monument to American resource, industry and stick-
to-itiveness.

Please give the matter your very serious considera-
tion. I have just spoken by long distance telephone
to Mr. Hoffheimer, our Vice-President In Charge of
Production at the coast, and I have never known him
to be so excited over any contemplated production.
He has already increased the budget from two million
to two and a half million dollars and has cabled George
Bernard Shaw a tempting offer to write the screenplay.
I suggest we play golf and have lunch tomorrow
to discuss the matter further.

L. E. BUZZARD

President,

Imperial Pictures Corp.

leb:br

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

J K HOFFHEIMER IMPERIAL STUDIOS HOLLYWOOD

MARCH 2 1947

McCarthy and i lunched with bindle today and went
into the biography matter stop bindle wants half
million dollars for rights to his life and insists
every detail of story and production must have his
okay stop otherwise no dice stop do you feel that the
public can be made sufficiently binlde conscious to
justify such an investment query
l e buzzard

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

L E BUZZARD IMPERIAL PICTURES RADIO CENTER NEW YORK
CITY MARCH 3 1947

FOLLOWING A PREVIEW LAST NIGHT I ATTENDED A PARTY
AND SOUNDED OUT VARIOUS PEOPLE REGARDING BINDLE BI-
OGRAPHY STOP LOUELLA PARSONS AND OTHERS INCLUDING

18

SUBJECT: BINDLE BIOG.

TRADE PAPERS ALL AGREE IT HAS SMASH POTENTIALITIES
STOP ADVISE CLOSING DEAL EARLIEST OPPORTUNITY
J K HOFFHEIMER

From Louella Parsons' Column Los Angeles Examiner,

March 4th, 1947

. . . Saw Imperial's wizard producer, Jerry Hoff-
heimer, at The Hullabaloo last night . . . He told
me that he planned a stupendous life of Johnson
Birrell, and you all know <who he is . . . It should
be a terrific success. . . .

From Hedda Hopper's Column, Los Angeles Times, March

4th, 1947

. . . Trust Jerry Hoffheimer to bring home the
bacon. I understand he has an option on "The
Life Of George Bingham" which he plans to
make for Imperial as a super special. "The Life
Of George Bingham," he tells me, is reported to
have sold 50,000,000 copies in ten years. . . .

From Daily Variety, March 4th, 1947

IMPERIAL OPTIONS BINGO YARN
It is rumored that Imperial Pictures will screen
an epic based on the current vogue for Bingo.
500,000,000 people play Bingo and constitute a
ready made audience, according to Jerry Hoff-
heimer, who will produce.

From The Hollywood Reporter's Rambling Reporter Col-
umn, March 4th, 1947

. . . And now, girls, who do you think is the new
heartbeat of dynamic young Jerry Hoffheimer of
Imperial Pictures? Her name is Josephine
Beadle, and she is closely related to General
Candy, U. S. Army. At least that's what Jerry
told me himself last night. He's going to star her
in Imperial Pictures, too, so I gathered. . . .

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM
J K HOFFHEIMER IMPERIAL STUDIOS HOLLYWOOD

MARCH 6 1947

bindle pact may be inked this week stop only a few
details remain to be ironed out stop in order to
swing deal it will be necessary to give contract to
bindles secretary kathleen shane stop have had tests
of shane made here and they are being airmailed
to you stop let me know what you think
r l McCarthy

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

r l McCarthy imperial pictures radio center new york
city march 8 1947

have seen tests of shane stop she is a wow stop do
you really want to know what i think query
j k hoffheimer

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION

West Coast Studios

INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION

FROM: J. K. Hoffheimer DATE: March 9th, 1947

TO: A. T. Freulich, Legal Dept. SUBJECT: Bindle Biog.

Please prepare immediately standard stock contract

for seven 3?ears with options for Kathleen Shane as

per attached correspondence. Air-mail these to R. L.

McCarthy at Radio Center.

J K. HOFFHEIMER
Vice-President
In Charge Of Production
jkh-by

ANDERSON APARTMENTS

Times Square
New York City, New York

March 11th, 1947
Mr. William Grady
Constitution Club
New York City
Dear Bill:

After the deplorable scene you made last night in

the lobby, I feel that the only course open to me is to
return your ring and to wish you good-bye and good
luck.

Mr. McCarthy, whom you attacked in such a brutal
and cowardly fashion and without provocation, hap-
pens to be just a business acquaintance, not that this
is any concern of yours.

Please do not attempt to see me again.
KATHLEEN
encl. 1 ring

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

J K HOFFHEIMER IMPERIAL STUDIOS HOLLYWOOD

MARCH 12 1947
SIGNING OF BINDLE DEAL UNAVOIDABLY DELAYED SEVERAL
DAYS STOP MCCARTHY IS HANDLING THIS MATTER BUT UN-
FORTUNATELY INDISPOSED AT HOME PAINFULLY SWOLLEN
JAW STOP MEANWHILE SUGGEST YOU START NATIONAL
PUBLICITY CAMPAIGN STOP REGARDS

L E BUZZARD

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION
West Coast Studios
INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION
FROM: J. K. Hoffheimer DATE: March 12th, 1947

TO: H. V. Cradall SUBJECT: Bindle Biog.

Publicity Director
The Bindle deal will be set in a few days. I want
you to give this Bindle Biography the works. It will
be our aim to make a picture worthy of this tremendous
subject; how a man, down and out only eight years
ago, by sheer genius, sweat and honesty built up an
industrial empire and made himself half a billion dol-
lars. Go to town on this.

J. K. HOFFHEIMER
Vice-President
In Charge of Production
jkh :by

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION

West Coast Studios

INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION

FROM: Herbert Keeler DATE: March 13th, 1947

TO: H. V. Crandall SUBJECT: Bindle Biog.

Dear J.K.

Bernard Shaw has not answered any of my cables
or letters, and I think we may assume he is not inter-
ested in scripting the Bindle Biog. This is a pity be-
cause he did a fairly good job on Pygmalion. I have
been considering Robert Sherwood and Ben Hecht,
but I do not think they have quite the right approach
for us.

Meanwhile until we can get a name writer I have
assigned Phoebe Quillan and Bertram Parch to pre-
pare a treatment. Quillan and Parch just finished the
screenplay of a western for the B unit. We have al-
ready exhausted all their lay-off period and no other
producers have assignments for them, so we may as
well use them on this until we get a big name.
HERBERT KEELER
Scenario Editor
hk:mal

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION

West Coast Studios

INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION

FROM: Bertram Parch and DATE: March 17th, 1947

Phoebe Quillan SUBJECT: Bindle Biog.

TO: J. K. Hoffheimer

We have an angle on Bindle which we would like

19

THE SCREEN WRITER

to discuss with you personally, if you can spare the time.
BERTRAM PARCH
PHOEBE QUILLAN

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION
West Coast Studios
FROM: J. K. Hoffheimer DATE: March 17th, 1947

TO: Bertram Parch and SUBJECT: Bindle Biog.

Phoebe Quillan
Mr. Hoffheimer will be tied up for several days
cutting "Love's Heritage." He has requested me to
send your memo of even date to Mr. Keeler with
whom, as you are aware, all story angles should first
be discussed.

BLANCHE YATES
Secretary to
Mr. Hoffheimer

by

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION

West Coast Studios
INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION
FROM: Herbert Keeler DATE: March 18th, 1947

TO: Bertram Parch and SUBJECT: Bindle Biog.

Phoebe Quillan
Please be advised that as of today you are both re-
lieved of the Bindle biog. assignment. You will report
to Mr. Gipfel who will assign you to a serial.

It should not be necessary to point out to contract
writers, who, presumably, know our methods that we
frown upon attempts by writers to go directly to the
Executive Producer with story angles, all of which
should be handled through this office.

HERBERT KEELER
Scenario Editor
hk :mal

From The Hollywood Reporter, March 20th, 1947
IMPERIAL BORROWS GRIPES
TO SCRIPT BINDLE

Gilbert Gripes, ace scrivener at Paramount, has
been loaned to Imperial to screenplay the Bindle
Biog. Reported he will collab with Herbert
Keeler, Imperial's own Scenario Editor <who, for
this chore, deserts exec desk and dusts off his
typewriter. Four contract writers at Imperial
also reported assigned to get material for Bindle
pic.

From Variety, March 24th, 1947

SEEK EMIL LUD1VIG FOR
POLISH JOB ON BINDLE SCRIPT
Although a number of writers are already work-
ing at Imperial on "The Life Of Jonathan Bin-
dle," it is rumored that Jerry Hoffheimer, Execu-
tive Producer, would like to get Emil Ludwig,
noted biog. expert, for a final brush-up on script,
when ready.

From The Los Angeles Examiner, Screen and Drama Page,

March 27th, 1947

COMB STAR RANKS
TO FILL BINDLE ROLE

Exhaustive tests have started at Imperial to find
a suitable actor to portray the romantic role of
Jonathan Bindle in the sensational life story of
the magnate which is expected to go before the
cameras early in July. Twenty-three ranking
luminaries have already been tested.

From The Los Angeles Times, March 28th, 1947
BINDLE PACT WITH
IMPERIAL RUMORED COLD
Three major studios are attempting to beat Im-

perial to the gun with stories based on the fan-
tastic life of Jonathan Bindle, billionaire candy
tycoon. While Imperial executives claim to have
signed Mr. Bindle and state that script is nearly
completed, rumors are current that the negoti-
ations have hit a snag and that he is considering
better offers from other sources.

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

r l McCarthy imperial pictures radio center new york
city march 28 1947

delay in signing bindle holding up all production
stop if deal falls through now effect would be
disastrous stop vast exploitation campaign already
in full swing stop twenty million school children
await this picture as unique saga americanism stop
estimate bindle picture will out gross the jolson
story both at box office and in romantic interest
stop must have bindle at the studio before april
6th for conferences on story casting costumes sets
stop whats holding things up query
j k hoffheimer

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM
J K HOFFHEIMER IMPERIAL STUDIOS HOLLYWOOD

MARCH 29 1947

sorry about delay stop only returned to my desk this
morning after distressing siege of illness stop bindle
signed contracts this afternoon stop he will arrive
hollywood wednesday evening stop i will follow
personally as soon as urgent dental work completed
stop regards

r l McCarthy

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION
West Coast Studios
(VIA AIR-MAIL)

FROM: J. K. Hoffheimer DATE: April 4th, 1947

TO: All stars, executives, SUBJECT: Bindle Biog.

directors, writers
We are giving a mammoth banquet at the Biltmore
on Tuesday, April 8th, in honor of Jonathan Bindle
whose life story we are going to film. Please arrange
to keep this date free. I expect all of you to be present.
J. K. HOFFHEIMER

From Daily Variety, April 9th, 1947
BILTMORE BANQUET FOR
BINDLE A BUST

Imperial stars, execs and big shots gathered last
night at Biltmore Bowl to honor Jonathan Bin-
dle. A good time was had by all — except the
guest of honor who failed to show. Bindle re-
ported to have been in conference with writers
and director on biog. details and too busy to
attend.

AMBASSADOR HOTEL
Los Angeles

April 12th, 1974
Mr. J. K. Hoffheimer
Imperial Studios
Hollywood, California
Dear Mr. Hoffheimer:

Mr. Bindle has read the five "story outlines" which
you sent to us by special messenger and desires me to
say that they are all completely unacceptable. He does
not wish the slightest departure from the known facts
of his life.

Personally I thought they were all very good, but
Mr. Bindle is hard to please.

I will be very busy for a few more days breaking
in a new secretary for Mr. Bindle, but my resignation
will be effective as of next Monday, and thereafter

20

SUBJECT: BINDLE BIOG.

I will gladly co-operate with you, as you suggested in
our interview which I enjoyed very much.
Thank you so much for the lovely flowers.
Cordially,

KATHLEEN SHANE
Secretary to Mr. Bindle
P.S. I am so thrilled with Hollywood. I know I am
going to love it here.

K.S.

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION
West Coast Studios

April 14th, 1947
Mr. Jonathan Bindle
Ambassador Hotel
Los Angeles, California
Dear Mr. Bindle:

Further to our telephone conversation just con-
cluded, I can only assure you that I personally had
nothing whatsoever to do with the resignation of your
secretary, Miss Shane. The details of her contract were
handled in New York City by our Mr. McCarthy,
and I naturally assumed that you were acquainted
with all the facts.

I deeply regret that you have been caused any annoy-
ance and trust that this will in no way affect your
feeling toward our studio.

I am sending you a new treatment which I feel sure
is a tremendous improvement over those you have al-
ready rejected. Please let me have your opinion as soon
as possible.

Sincerely,

J. K. HOFFHEIMER
Vice-President
In Charge of Production
jkh:by

AMBASSADOR HOTEL
Los Angeles

April 15th, 1947

Mr. J. K. Hoffheimer

Imperial Studios

Hollywood, California

Dear Mr. Hoffheimer :

Mr. Bindle has read the mss. you sent him entitled

"Bindle Story, Treatment by Gilbert Gripes, Herbert

Keeler, Beatrice Carraway and Donald Wade." He

has instructed me to say, specifically, that he has never

read such revolting rubbish in his life.

Very truly yours,
VICTORIA PURVIS
Secretary to Mr. Bindle

vp

(VIA AIR-MAIL)

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION
West Coast Studios

April 16th, 1947
R. L. McCarthy, Vice-President
Imperial Pictures Corporation
Radio Center, New York City
Dear R. L.

As you will have judged from my various night
letters during the past few days, I am not happy about
the Bindle biog. I regret to say that I find Mr. Bindle
definitely unco-operative. We have finally prepared a
splendid treatment, one of the best I have ever okayed,

and he has rejected it completely, and, I might add,
very rudely.

It was a beautiful story and even Miss Shane, Mr.
Bindle's former secretary, who read it at my request,
told me she thought it was superb. She seems to be
a very nice girl, incidentally, and I plan to give her
a bit in the picture, since we have her under contract
anyway.

I hope you will be out here soon so that perhaps
you can reason with Bindle.

Sincerely,

J. K. HOFFHEIMER
Vice-President
In Charge of Production
jkh :by

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION

West Coast Studios

INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION

FROM: J. K. Hoffheimer DATE April 16th, 1947

TO: Herbert Keeler SUBJECT: Bindle Biog.

I have just returned from a rather unsatisfactory

conference with Mr. Bindle at the Ambassador.

I like this last treament very much, but Bindle
doesn't, and I'm afraid we will have to make a few
little changes, which you will please note:

(a) The wife and 4 children must come out. I
have pointed out to Bindle that marriage and
family are sound American institutions with
which he should be proud to be identified, but
he insists that he has never been married and
has never had any children and refuses to be
misrepresented in the picture. Perhaps they
could be somebody else's wife and children. I
hate to lose them. Confer with the writers on
this.

(b) The party sequence where Bindle rescues the
child from the burning Christmas tree must
come out. He says he never did it and anyway
he hates children and never goes to parties.

(c) The character of Clarice, the devoted secre-
tary who loves Bindle with unselfish secret
adoration and helps him achieve success must
come out. He insists that nobody ever helped
him to anything. Moreover, his former secre-
tary just quit her job, and he is rather sore
about this.

(d) The really moving sequence where Bindle
charters eighteen B-29s, over the protests of
the State Department, in order to parachute
candy to the starving refugee children in
Europe must come out.

(e) The opening sequences in which we show
Bindle as a boy, with all that good comedy
business for his parents, must come out. Bindle
says his parents were never comic. His mother
died when he was a baby and his father was a
pain in the neck.

Please have these changes made as quickly as
possible. Put more writers on it if necessary.
J. K. HOFFHEIMER
Vice-President
In Charge of Production
jkh:by

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM
J K HOFFHEIMER IMPERIAL STUDIOS HOLLYWOOD

APRIL 18 1947
PLEASE ADVISE IMMEDIATELY WHEN YOU EXPECT TO START

21

THE SCREEN WRITER

SHOOTING ON BiNDLE STORY STOP HAVE SENT McCARTHY TO
WASHINGTON TO CONFER WITH SENATOR POLKINGTON ON
A MAGNIFICENT IDEA OF MINE STOP POLKINGTON VERY CLOSE
TO THE ADMINISTRATION AND MAY BE ABLE TO ARRANGE
THAT THE DATE YOU START SHOOTING BE PROCLAIMED THE
BEGINNING OF IMPERIAL HYPHEN BINDLE WEEK STOP THIS
I THINK IS BETTER THAN YOUR SUGGESTION TO GET CLARE
LUCE TO REWRITE THE SCRIPT STOP I HAVE NOT EVEN TAKEN
THIS MATTER UP BECAUSE I BELIEVE SHE IS PRETTY BUSY RIGHT
NOW STOP REGARDS

L E BUZZARD

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM
l e buzzard imperial pictures radio center new york
city april 19 1947

impossible give even approximate starting date bindle
picture stop script being rewritten stop bindle not
at all helpful stop meanwhile i have shifted our pro-
duction schedule and jeepers creepers hits cameras
tomorrow stop gloria varney not available for in-
genue lead therefore at telegraphed suggestion from
McCarthy in Washington have put Kathleen shane
IN her place stop this girl has plenty on the ball

STOP REGARDS

J K HOFFHEIMER

CONGRESS HOTEL
Washington, D. C.

April 20th, 1947

Mr. L. E. Buzzard, President
Imperial Pictures Corporation
Radio Center, New York Citv
Dear L. E.

I'm afraid our idea of Imperial-Bindle Week is
out. Polkington has done his best, but it is harder to
set a National Week than it used to be.

I just spoke to Hoffheimer on long distance, and
he seems very worried about the Bindle picture. He
asked me to hop a plane to the coast, and I am leaving
in a couple of hours.

Regards,

r. l. McCarthy

rim :jg

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM
r l McCarthy imperial studios Hollywood

APRIL 26 1947
YOU HAVE BEEN AT THE COAST FOR NEARLY A WEEK AND
I HAVE NOT HEARD FROM YOU STOP IS ANYTHING WRONG
QUERY HOW ABOUT THE PICTURE QUERY I AM WORRIED STOP
REGARDS

L E BUZZARD

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

l e buzzard imperial pictures radio center new york
city april 26 1947

nothing to worry about stop jeepers creepers looks
terrific stop my discovery the little shane girl a
sensation stop regards

r l McCarthy

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM
r l McCarthy imperial studios Hollywood

APRIL 27 1947
NEVER MIND JEEPERS CREEPERS STOP HOW ABOUT THE BINDLE
PICTURE QUERY WHERE IS HOFFHEIMER QUERY WHATS UP QUERY
L E BUZZARD

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM
l e buzzard imperial pictures radio center new york
city april 28 1947

hoffheimer bindle director and writers in seclusion
palm springs cannot be reached by phone stop they
are polishing up bindle story stop have ordered in-
creased budget jeepers creepers stop all dailies with
little shane girl sensational stop regards
r l McCarthy

From Daily Variety, April 29th, 1947

BUZZARD HERE ON BINDLE BIZ
L. E. Buzzard, Imperial's prexy, planed in today
from N.Y. to confer with studio execs on Bindle
biog. Reports have been current for some days
that yarn has hit snag. After a stay of only

twelve hours Mr. Buzzard flew back to Manhat-
tan. Before boarding the plane he issued the fol-
lowing statement: "Contrary to malicious ru-
mors, preparations for the filmization of the
Life Of Jonathan Bindle are now practically
completed. This epochal film, with a cast of
thousands, will be the greatest picture ever to
be made at our great studios."

From Rambling Reporter Column The Hollywood Reporter,

April 30th, 1947

. . . That cute red-head with R. L. McCarthy at
the Cocoanut Grove last night is Kathleen Shane,
former sec. to J. Bindle, whose biography Im-
perial will shortly screen. She's playing the in-
genue lead in Jeepers Creepers, and they say
R. L. McC. is on the set all the time. . . .

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM
J K HOFFHEIMER IMPERIAL STUDIOS HOLLYWOOD

MAY 1 1947
AM NEGOTIATING FOR SENSATIONAL EXPLOITATION NOVELTY
IN TIMES SQUARE STOP IMMENSE AUDITORIUM WILL BE
ERECTED BY US ADJACENT TO GENERAL CANDY BUILDING
WHERE FREE SHOWING OF BINDLE BIOGRAPHY TO ALL SCHOOL
CHILDREN WILL BE GIVEN SIX TIMES DAILY STOP AUDITORIUM
WILL BE CONSTRUCTED OF LUMINOUS GLASS AND WILL BE
KNOWN AS IMPERIAL HYPHEN BINDLE BUILDING OF BEAUTY
STOP TRUST ALL STORY TROUBLES NOW IRONED OUT AND
THAT PRODUCTION WILL START WITHOUT FURTHER DELAY
STOP SHOW THIS TO MCCARTHY STOP REGARDS
L E BUZZARD

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM
L E BUZZARD IMPERIAL PICTURES RADIO CENTER NEW YORK
CITY MAY 3 1947

NEW BINDLE SCRIPT FINISHED BUT BINDLE NOT HERE NOW
FOR FINAL OKAY STOP HE FLEW TO NEW YORK LAST NIGHT
ON URGENT BUSINESS BUT PROMISED TO RETURN AS SOON
AS NEEDED STOP PLEASE NOTIFY HIM WE ARE NOW READY
TO GO STOP NEW SCRIPT HAS TERRIFIC BOX OFFICE WALLOP
STOP IT IS A LYRIC HYMN TO THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN
BUSINESS AND ENTERPRISE STOP PREDICT WE HAVE IN BINDLE
SOMETHING TO BACK EDISON LINCOLN PASTEUR ZOLA AND
ALL FORMER BIOGRAPHIES RIGHT OFF THE MAP STOP YOUR
IMPERIAL HYPHEN BINDLE BUILDING OF BEAUTY A SENSA-
TIONAL IDEA STOP CONGRATULATIONS

J K HOFFHEIMER

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM
J K HOFFHEIMER IMPERIAL STUDIOS HOLLYWOOD

MAY 5 1947
CANNOT UNDERSTAND YOUR NIGHT LETTER RE BINDLES NEW
YORK TRIP STOP HIS OFFICE HERE KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT
IT STOP THEY BELIEVE HE IS STILL IN HOLLYWOOD STOP
PLEASE INVESTIGATE IMMEDIATELY

L E BUZZARD

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

L E BUZZARD IMPERIAL PICTURES RADIO CENTER NEW YORK
CITY MAY 5 1947

CHECK AT GLENDALE AIRPORT REVEALS BINDLE FLEW TO
SEATTLE NOT NEW YORK AM RATHER UNEASY STOP REGARDS
J K HOFFHEIMER

Associated Press Dispatch, May 5th, 1947

SEATTLE, Wash, May 6, 1947 {AP)— Jona-
than Bindle, president of General Candy Cor-
poration, blew out his brains in a hotel here
today after flying to this city from Hollywood,
Cal. Only five minutes after the shocking suicide
F.B.I, men arrived in the lobby of the hotel with
a warrant for the arrest of Bindle in connection
with gigantic stock frauds attributed to the late
magnate. Sensational developments are expected.
Mr. Bindle's former secretary, Kathleen Shane,
believed to be in Hollywood, is to be questioned
by the authorities.

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM
r l McCarthy imperial studios Hollywood

MAY 6 1947
CAN YOU DO ANYTHING AT ALL THROUGH YOUR FRIEND
POLKINGTON TO HAVE THIS AWFUL BINDLE SCANDAL SOFT
PEDALLED QUERY WIRE IMMEDIATELY
L E BUZZARD

22

SUBJECT: BINDLE BIOG.

WESTERN UNION" TELEGRAM

L E BUZZARD IMPERIAL PICTURES RADIO CENTER NEW YORK
CITY MAY 6 1947

NO

r l McCarthy

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

J K HOFFHEIMER IMPERIAL STUDIOS HOLLYWOOD

MAY 7 1947
AM DELUGED WITH TELEGRAMS FROM EXHIBITORS DEMANDING
OUR STAND ON BINDLE PICTURE ALREADY SCHEDULED AND
SOLD STOP WHAT DO YOU SUGGEST QUERY
L E BUZZARD

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

L E BUZZARD IMPERIAL PICTURES RADIO CENTER NEW YORK
CITY MAY 8 1947

WE ARE GOING AHEAD WITH BINDLE PICTURE DESPITE UN-
FORTUNATE DEVELOPMENTS STOP WILL START SHOOTING
MONDAY STOP HAVE INCREASED BUDGET TO FOUR MILLION
DOLLARS STOP PREDICT WILL BE GREATEST PICTURE OF ALL
TIME STOP REGARDS

J K HOFFHEIMER

From the New York Daily Mirror, May 9, 1947

HOLLYWOOD, Col., May 9, (AP)— Kathleen
Shane, lovely red-haired private secretary to the
late Jonathan Bindle, was questioned for three
hours today by officials of the Federal Bureau
of Investigation. Miss Shane, now under contract
to Imperial Pictures, was comforted throughout
the trying ordeal by R. L. McCarthy, film execu-
tive. Miss Shane, it was revealed, knevj nothing
of Bindlc's vast peculations. (Pictures on pages
1, 4, 5, 6, and 7.)

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM
J K HOFFHEIMER IMPERIAL STUDIOS HOLLYWOOD

MAY 10 1947
YOU MUST BE INSANE STOP BINDLE NOW EXPOSED AS GREAT-
EST CROOK UNHUNG STOP HOW CAN WE FILM HIS LIFE AND
HOLD HIM UP AS EXAMPLE TO YOUNG AMERICA AS PER OUR
PUBLICITY CAMPAIGN QUERY ALL PLANS FOR BINDLE PIC-
TURE MUST BE SHELVED STOP ALSO REPLACE SHANE GIRL WITH
BIG NAME STAR AND SHOOT THE WORKS ON JEEPERS CREEPERS
STOP

L E BUZZARD

(VIA AIR-MAIL)

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION
West Coast Studios

May 11, 1947
Mr. L. E. Buzzard, President
Imperial Pictures Corporation
Radio Center, New York City
Dear L.E.

I wish you would stop worrying. Everything is
under control. I spent the last three days and nights
working with seven of our best writers, and the Bindle
biog. is licked. It will be known now as "THE BIN-
DLE SWINDLE," and will be the biggest expose
of crooked business and graft that this industry has
ever seen. It will be timely, terrific and tremendous.

Moreover, since Bindle is now dead and a proven

crook, he is in the public domain, and we are going
to town on the story of his life. Miss Shane is giving
us all the low-down.

Also I have called off "JEEPERS CREEPERS"
and am going to use the dance footage already shot in
that picture — the stuff with Shane — as a night club
sequence in "THE BINDLE SWINDLE." I guar-
antee it will be a wow.

We will give Shane a terrific build-up as "The Girl
Who Knew Bindle Best." It will be terrific.
Regards,

J. K. HOFFHEIMER
Vice-President
In Charge of Production
jkh:by

From the Hollywood Reporter, June 26, 1947

"BINDLE SWINDLE" SMASH HIT
A preview audience stood on its feet and cheered
for ten minutes last night at the first preview of
Imperial's mightly new achievement "THE
BINDLE SWINDLE."

Under the superb, unerring, guiding hand of
that master showman, Jerry Hoffheimer, director
Kemble, and a magnificent cast have made
screen history. There emerges from the shambles
of fraud and trickery a mighty sermon on Ameri-
canism, a document that every man, woman and
child should see and must see.

The film which is an authentic life of the late
Bindle abounds in drama and human situations.
Outstanding are the scenes of the rescue of a
child from a burning Christmas tree and the
breath-taking sequence with the eighteen B-29s.

And a new star emerges, too. Lovely Kathleen
Shane {Mrs. R. L. McCarthy) gives to the role
of loyal secretary (a part she played in real
life) a touching beautiful sincerity. . . .

IMPERIAL PICTURES CORPORATION

West Coast Studios

INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION

FROM: J. K. Hoffheimer DATE: June 27th, 1947

TO: All Concerned SUBJECT: Bindle Biog.

The World Premier of "THE BINDLE SWIN-
DLE" will take place at the Carthay Circle on July
9th. We want this to be the greatest premiere ever held
in Hollywood. Tickets will be, for this night of nights
alone, S15.00 each, plus tax. A large block in being
reserved for the studio personnel.

I expect every Imperial star, featured player, exec-
utive, director and writer to attend this premiere.
J. K. HOFFHEIMER

T*

23

Evolution of the French Cinema in the LL S*

NOEL MEADOW

NOEL MEADOW is a New York
magazine editor, film producer and
exhibitor, and a previous contributor
to The Screen Writer.

THE principal medium of cultural exchange
between nations has always been the one in which
the greatest numbers can participate. It is there-
fore to be expected that the most popular medium
existing between France and the United States is the
cinema.

American enthusiasm for the French film is now at
a higher point than it has been in the eight years
elapsed since Harvest took the fancy of filmgoers in
1939. In 1940 Marcel Pagnol's The Bakers Wife cut
deeply into the American's deep reluctance to struggle
with the French language or even English titles on
French films, which he found most distracting.

Nevertheless, prejudice was slowly reduced, and to
a large degree because of the success of other, non-
French, foreign films. The war, although it cut off
imports, marked the turning point in popular accept-
ance. All available French films were successfully
revived.

Some 12,000,000 American men and women went
into military service, and a large proportion of them
passed through France at one time or another. Some
were unquestionably beguiled by the charm and versa-
tility of the French language, but there can be no doubt
that an even greater number experienced a new and
growing conviction that isolationism was futile and
that the keynote of the immediate future must be a
high degree of internationalism. That 'would require
an intimate knowledge of people of other lands, and
a prerequisite must be the comprehension of their
languages. Being then in France, and aware of the
international character of the French tongue, that was
the place to start.

That they were able thus to acquire, in most instances,
only the scantiest phrases, is not so important as the
fact that they abandoned their resistance against learn-
ing anything. It was a hopeful sign. Some hundreds of
thousands of those young men and women returned
home to enter universities, under the government-sub-

sidized educational program known as the G.I. Bill
of Rights. No statistics are yet available, but it may
safely be assumed that French language study in uni-
versities has become a more popular subject than ever
before.

Since the new approach in language study emphasizes
the conversational method, attendance at French motion
pictures has been very considerably broadened by these
students.

Another factor has been those Americans who may
not have been at war, but who also have become freshly
aware of the importance of French, and are seeking
through the French film to refresh the faded memory
of their own earlier language study.

T T OWEVER, when all are added together, they
*- ■*= do not constitute a large proportion of the popu-
lation. But the United States has some 140,000,000
inhabitants, and even five percent of the number is
7,000,000.

To accommodate the demand for non-English films,
there has been, until a year or two ago, fewer than a
dozen theatres in all of the United States devoted exclu-
sively to them, and less than half of that number had
been in New York City.

During the latter part of the war, they showed a
large proportionate increase, but actually few in num-
ber, so that by the end of 1946 there were from 35
to 40 such theatres in the United States, most of them
devoted to French films. A large share of them remained
in New York, but many of the new ones appeared in
California — and there, principally in Los Angeles and
San Francisco. It is significant that they appeared —
and continue to appear — only in the largest cities.
Still, a number of other theatres show foreign films
occasionally.

But since the beginning of 1947, there has been an
upward surge in the number of theatres over the nation

24

EVOLUTION OF THE FRENCH CINEMA IN THE U. S.

that have changed policy to foreign-language films
exclusively, with French predominating.

The prospect that these films will conquer America
completely is, however, not very likely. The demand
will remain in the largest cities, which contain the cos-
mopolitan groups of various shades.

"PINAL proof that insularity in the American provin-
•*■ cial areas is a highly resistant state of mind comes
from theatre operators there. They refuse to give any
thought to foreign-language films for a very practicable
reason : Even British-made films, they report, are
occasionally unpopular because of their audience's impa-
tience with the British accent!

If the war has spurred interest in the French film,
it is also the war that even now prevents their wider
exhibition. While America is commonly believed to be
a cornucopia capable of producing material things of
all kinds in endless abundance, there are presently, of
course, many outstanding exceptions. One of them is
building materials, and it is such a mundane thing that
is hampering the French film in America.

To understand the relationship of these two condi-
tions, some slight explanation is necessary.

No film can be brought impressively to the attention
of an American audience, it is commonly believed, unless
it bears the imprimatur of a New York theatre.

Virtually no new theatres have been built in New
York in the past decade, and every property suitable
for French films has already been acquired. Some con-
version has been necessary in many instances, and this
has been acomplished only at high cost.

Even those properties that are suitably situated, and
can be converted within bounds of economic reason,
have apparently been exhausted.

In the meantime, French film importers have been
busy. Most of them seem to have been under the impres-
sion that some special saint would take care of the
premiere problem. Perhaps the saints had postwar prob-
lems of their own that diverted all their energies.

The result: From 50 to 60 French films now repose
in storage vaults in New York, awaiting a suitable
theatre for launching. It might take two years to intro-
duce that number properly to American audiences —
considering the present American capacity to absorb
foreign films — but even that circumstance would pre-
suppose that there would be no further imports within
the two-year period, to permit the lists to be cleared.

However, the trade estimates that at least 50 more
foreign films will be imported in 1947!

Some of the more enterprising distributors have come
to realize that the theatre problem is an immovable

object against which they cannot send an irresistible
force, and are seeking to circumvent it.

They have begun by making a major alteration in
their first premise — that a premiere in a theatre
directly within the Times Square theatrical area is a
sine qua non.

Thus, one of the newer distributing companies, Vog
Films, led the way by giving a first showing in America
to Resistance, originally Peleton d'Execution, at the
Irving Place Theatre, on 14th Street. The unorthodox
occurrence seemed to have had small effect on the
demand for the film out of town.

Then Vog did it again. They decided it was needless
to postpone further the opening of their film, Francis
The First, which stars Fernandel.

With experimental confidence in its merit, they
decided that a good film really did not require the
prestige of a New York first showing. They selected
the best of the three foreign film houses in Washing-
ton, D. C, and arranged for the American premiere
there. It still awaits a New York showing.

With that precedent, the American sponsors of
Clandestine held its first American showing in a Bos-
ton theatre. But even before that, a film later to run
successfully in New York, Les Enfants Du Paradis
(Children of Paradise) had first been shown in Los
Angeles.

The Broadway-premiere legend thus punctured, the
Mage distributing office has, in a very recent move,
taken over a theatre on Broadway, near 65th Street,
well outside of the Times Square perimeter, renamed
it Studio 65, in the London tradition, and with the
premiere of The Bellman has launched a foreign film
theatre that defies a time-honored legend of geography.

IT should be noted in passing that establishing a
foreign film theatre presents more than the mere
problem of acquiring an existing theatre and converting
it to the desired use. The foreign film theatre, for
sound and economic and psychological reasons, should
be "intimate" — that is, seat from 300 to 400 persons.
Some are unavoidably larger. But small theatres have
never been easy to find ready-made anywhere because,
to satisfy the demand for Hollywood films, they would
be inadequate.

Thus, in the frantic scrambling for foreign film show-
houses, there is indeed in evidence a tendency to develop
properties that will be found to be much too small for
economical operation.

Still, substantial capital investment, like love, seems
to conquer all. Two major French film companies,
Pathe and Gaumont, oppressed by the theatre scarcity

25

THE SCREEN WRITER

and unwilling to compromise by use of expedients, are
about to begin construction of suitable theatres in an
area technically outside the Times Square theatre belt,
but considered very favorably situated because it is in
New York's counterpart of the Champs Elysees. One
theatre will go up on West 57th Street, opposite Carne-
gie Hall, the nation's most prominent concert hall ;
the other will be erected on Park Avenue, at 58th
Street, near the juncture of New York's fashionable
residential street and a high-quality business thorough-
fare.

It might be pointed out that the average-sized "inti-
mate" theatre is intended to accommodate the demand
for average-quality films. A film of poor quality will
"die" in a theatre of any size. But one received with
unusual enthusiasm taxes the capacity of the "intimate"
house.

Thus, we find that the Italian film, Open City, which
was greeted with wide acclaim, has begun its second
consecutive year without evidence of any depletion of
patronage, while The Well-Digger s Daughter, French
film written, directed and produced by Marcel Pagnol.
has passed the seven-month mark at the present writing.

No consideration of French films in the United States
can omit reference to the entrepreneurs of distribution.

Foremost among them is Siritzky International Pic-
tures, which is in an enviable position of being Pagnol's
exclusive American representative. The concern is plan-
ning to release a dozen new motion pictures. Among
them are five or six of Pagnol's, which include the nine-
liour trilogy, Fanny, Cesar and Marius. His Nais will
be the first film shown at the new theatre the Siritzky
firm will open on West 44th Street, in the Times
Square area in September. Christened the Guild Cin-
ema, the theatre will seat 450, and will be situated in
the newly-acquired building of the New York News-
paper Guild.

The Siritzky organization owns more than three-
score film theatres in France and is headed by Leon
Siritzky, who is associated with his sons, Sam and
Joseph. They are now developing a plan to produce their
own films in Hollywood, using prominent French play-
ers. Thus, they hope to combine the technique and
intangible qualities of the French film with the mech-
anical production excellence of Hollywood.

A relative newcomer to French film importing, but
one that promises intensive activity in the future, is
Distinguished Films, a new arm of the Brandt inter-
ests, which owns or operates some 130 theatres in New
York, including a number in the Times Square area.

The organization has the facilities and capital that
could permit it to become a leader in the field, and it
intends to use these advantages to that end.

26

Its Apollo Theatre is, and for some time has been,
probably the most successful foreign film theatre in
New York City — and that would mean the nation, as
well — from the standpoint of patronage. Film engage-
ments there are not measured in months, but in weeks,
because the theatre has a loyal clientele which cannot
wait for months for a new film to appear. It is not an
"intimate" house and accommodates large audiences.

The Apollo seldom continues a film for more than
four weeks, as it recently did with Les Miserables and
Lucrezia Borgia.

All French films must, of course, carry English sub-
titles for American presentation, and that appears a
satisfactory arrangement for those who do not under-
stand French. Those who do, simply ignore the titles.

IT is very unlikely that the technique of "dubbing"
English dialogue into foreign-language films may
prove as successful as the practice appears to have been
abroad. The disparity thus created between the lip
movements and the speech emanating from the sound-
track will doubtless prove too much an obstacle to the
American sense of sj-nchronization. One such film.
dubbed with English dialogue, was recently shown
experimentally to a small audience of film trade critics.
They were utterly bewildered by it, but their displeasure
could be attributed in large part to the fact that the
job was an artless one. A thin, youthful voice appeared
to come from the lips of an old man, and British accents
were freely mixed with American, without regard to
plausibility. In an}' event, it will be a long time before
the experiment is repeated.

For the future, the situation will be considerably
affected by the 16mm. film, which now promises a wide
growth in popularity in the very immediate future. It
appears to strike at the very economic basis of the entire
business of film exhibiting because it offers economy in
producing printed films, in exhibiting them by use of
inexpensive projecting equipment and employment of
operators who need very little skill, and in the equip-
ping of theatres at greatly reduced cost.

Economically, too, an advantage in the French film's
distribution appears to be its failure to lose appeal after
a first showing. While even the best Hollywood films
are highly perishable, living a moth's existence, the
good Gallic film appears to be of much hardier stock.
While the new foreign film always makes a somewhat
broader appeal, a good one seems to have the rugged
quality that permits its successful revival after a hiatus
of four or five years.

On the whole, the future of the French film in
America appears very bright.

What Is a License of
Literary Property?

MORRIS E. COHN

MORRIS E. COHN, SfVG counsel and
a specialist in literary property lair,
here analyzes some phases of licensing.

ONE of the most important things to understand
about the economics of literary work is that it is
the writer who creates, not only the story, but
also all of the rights in it. The moment the story is on
paper all rights in it come into being. The transaction
by which the story is sold or leased does not create
rights in the work ; it takes them away.

The significance of this is that the question of "sale"
or "license" is not one of the creation of new rights for
anybody. These rights always exist. The question is
who gets them. Once this is understood a great clarity
illuminates the current argument. Accusations and
counter-charges, whether they appear in state papers or
in trade papers, whether dignified or scurrilous, sound
or false, are merely manifestations of the desire to get
the most out of the transaction. This is, if not always
wholesome, at least honest. For the creator, the man
who does the work, this is a good position to be put
into. Since it is he who creates the rights, as well as the
work, it is good morals as well as sound economics that
he should determine which he wishes to part with and
which to keep.

When a film is completed it is ordinarily not sold.
It is rented to theatre owners for a specific purpose:
exhibition at a designated time and place. When the
purpose has been served the exhibitor has no further
rights whatever so far as the film is concerned. Pro-
ducing companies seem to have tolerated the practice
of leasing with a minimum of complaint and have in
recent years managed their overhead and fixed charges
in spite of it.

So with a story. A license would merely give a right
to use it for a limited time and for a specified purpose.
When the time has run the licensee has no further
rights so far as the story is concerned. On the other
hand, if a story is sold, say, to a motion picture pro-

ducer, then as to all rights other than those necessary
to the production and exhibition of the film the pur-
chaser is a broker, a jobber in literary rights. This is to
say that as to those rights he deals for profit in the labor
of others. And in that light the question, — who shall
have what out of a transaction involving a man's labor,
— indicates its own answer.

A license then is a transaction the cloth of which is
cut and trimmed to fit the particular use. All that is
left over belongs to the author. But a sale gives away
the bolt. To keep at least the thread of his story the
author, in a license transaction, should consider the
following :

The nature of the use to be made of the work ;
The duration of the license;
The place where it may be exercised ;
By whom, whether the immediate licensee or
anyone whom he designates ;

Who shall have the copyright of it and of its
derivatives ;

The rights during the license and especially
afterward of the parties in the product derived
from the use of the story ;
The compensation;

The rights of the parties to other uses of the
work for the duration of the license ;
Credits for authorship.

' I "HERE is enough in the foregoing for a treatise.
■*■ But since the transaction itself is lawyer's work,
this piece will comment briefly on a few of the fore-
going. We suppose a licensing of an original story for
motion pictures.

The use. The story itself may be changed before

27

THE SCREEN WRITER

being put on film. Cast and personnel for production
will be selected. Budget will be made up. And the
releasing organization will be selected. The right to
use may be made to depend on the author's approval,
limited or absolute, of some one or more of these fac-
tors. In any event the licensee's right to use the author's
name should not be given unconditionally. The licen-
see's right to change the story, which is commonly given,
should be buffered by the writer's privilege to withdraw
his name. The story may no longer be his. Though
honor may be appeased by the jingle of the guinea, the
hurt is easiest endured anonymously.

Use for motion pictures should carry with it, in
addition to exhibition, rights necessary for exploitation,
as the right to publish abridgements and condensations
for advertising purposes. Competing uses of the work
may be limited in order to give the licensee the full
value of his license; and for this reason a license to
produce a film is customarily an exclusive license, deny-
ing the right to others. Unless, however, the film is
actually produced, this exclusivity may serve to shelve
the work for the duration of the license. Exclusivity,
unless properly conditioned, may be a death sentence.
Again, it should be recognized that other uses, such as
radio, television, and publication, are separate exploita-
tions, and they should be treated as such.

A license does not ordinarily obligate the producer
to exercise it. But compensation, author's credits, and
the exploitation of the story through other media may
depend on whether the film is made. A license should
not leave this to construction by silence, but should say
whether the licensee is obligated to make and distribute
the film, and if not what the consequences are to be.
Here again delay in production may be paid for in cash,
but there is often a point at which compensation for
delay becomes the price for silence.

Duration. Because of the large sums involved the
process of making a film is often by steps, with no com-
mitments by the producing company until absolutely
necessary. The company wants the right to quit at any
point. Accordingly the duration of the license should
depend on continued activity by the company. A system
of options for extending the duration is frequently
employed, and these can be made to depend not only on
additional payments to the author but also on the prog-
ress which is being made on the film.

By whom. A transfer of rights under a license is
often useful to a company which has independent oper-
ating units. But take care. If you are counting on a
production by Great Pictures, Ltd., its right to transfer
the license may defeat your expectation.

Whose copyright. The film is almost invariably
copyrighted in the company's name. But the film can-
not be shown after the license expires. It would be
wasteful to shelve the film unconditionally on the expi-
ration of the license. Options for the further showing
of the film, upon specified division of the proceeds, may
be made to commence on the expiration of the license.
The film embodies many valuable rights other than
story, and songs, music, and sets can be extracted for
later use by the company. Sometimes it is difficult to
sever these from the story of the film, and problems of
ownership of the different rights can arise. For the
security of the writer the copyright in the film can be
transferred to him when the last right to exhibit has
expired.

Compensation. Flat payments, percentages of pro-
ceeds, stock in the production company, extension by
option payments, and all permutations and combina-
tions of the foregoing are possible. Each transaction
must be treated as an individual case, though the phi-
losophy of royalties has a satisfying history. A percent-
age of the net leans toward joint proprietorship of the
film. An interest in the gross has the appearance of a
graduated labor cost because it takes the payment off
the top, regardless of "profit," and it avoids some
accounting complexities.

ICENSING will not descend on the motion picture
"^■"'or publishing industries like a rain of manna in
answer to prayer. Until the advent of AAA or some
other industry understanding, licensing will come in
isolated transactions and then only by the efforts of
informed and insistent authors. This brief comment
seeks to help the process get started. Some of the provi-
sions referred to would fit sales (transfer of rights to
production, obligation to produce, compensation) as
well as licensing transactions. The use of such provi-
sions in any transactions extends beyond benefit to the
immediate writer ; it helps to cut a link in the chains of
industry practices.

28

The

Writer's

Share

Some Comments on the
Contribution of Writers
to the Screen Industry,
and Vice Versa

In the August issue The Sreen Writer presented a special section
under the heading: "1% OF THE GROSS— An Economic Primer of
Screen Writing." In his article in this section Ring Lardner, Ir. wrote
that the screen writers' present share of theatre admissions in the United
States alone is one per cent, and he asked: "Does it seem preposterous to
suggest that we actually provide as much as, say, two per cent of what
the movie goer gets for his money?" The Editorial Committee asked
several writers, producers, actors and directors to comment on this question.
Following are a few representative replies:

of them, and I believe that that condi-
tion is due in large measure to the
writer's failure to discipline himself,
his failure to look at his talent as a
responsibility to be nurtured and de-
veloped, rather than as a means of
enabling him to keep up with the
Hollywood Joneses.

Hollywood is hungry for new and
fresh material and Hollywood still
pays the highest monetary reward in
the world for creative writing.

But let's have more attention paid
to fine ideas and vibrant words than
to percentage figures.

SAMUEL GOLDWYN:
(Producer)

I AM glad to reply to your request
for my comments on writers' com-
pensation in relation to a percentage
of film earnings.

Unfortunately, I do not have
enough of the instincts of a book-
keeper to be able to reply directly to
your question. Furthermore, if I may
say so, I think you are doing a very
great disservice to a great field of art
when you lump all Hollywood writ-
ers— the few capable ones and the
many hacks — into one "average" and
talk of them in terms of an indis-
tinguishable mass. This is a glorifica-
tion of mediocrity in a medium which
calls for the highest degree of indi-
viduality.

There has been no individual in
the motion picture industry who has
espoused the cause of the writer more
vigorously than I. I think so much
of good writing that many years ago
I even tried to institute the system of
billing writers above stars. If that
were feasible, I would do it today.

The fact is that nowhere else in
America, in the world, do writers, no
matter how successful or how able,
earn a thousand, two thousand, five
thousand dollars a week, with-
out themselves taking any risk at all.
It is true young and untried writers
are not handed anything on a silver
platter here. They must struggle for
recognition the same as anyone else
in our competitive system.

I feel deeply that too many writers
who once had talent and who have

made fortunes in Hollywood spend
more of their time today in a variety
of other pursuits than they put in at
a typewriter, even when they are
working on pictures. Slickness has tak-
en the place of genuine devotion to
art and real pride in craftsmanship.
I assure you that more great litera-
ture has been written in modest homes
than in country clubs.

As a result it has become a lamen-
table fact that it is a virtual impossi-
bility in Hollywood to assign a writer
to a script and to get from him a work
that can be put on the screen. An-
guished cries have in the past gone
up from writers that producers have
called in additional writers to work
on their scripts. For all the fact that
producers may be equally at fault in
this respect, I assure you that this
is due largely to only one cause — the
inferior quality of scripts as they are
turned in. No producer likes to spend
more money for writers if he has a
good script to begin with.

Just look at the entire roster of
pictures made here in the last twelve
months, listen to the dialogue, read
the script — and see if you can have
any reason for pride in what your
craft has produced. Please remember
that I do not by any means want to
ascribe all blame for that state of
affairs to the writers, for I have
nothing but equal blame for producers
who put anything but the very finest
work on the screen.

Certainly, what I have said is not
meant to imply that there are no fine
artists among our Hollywood writers.
My point is that there are not enough

JAMES HILTON
(Novelist and Screen Writer)

WITHOUT statistics of total
industry personnel and an item-
ized breakdown of the movie dollar,
the fact that only one cent of that
dollar went to writers during the
past year is impossible to judge either
equitably or economically. But it looks
bad and whether the one should have
been two reveals a nauseatingly abject
angle of discussion.

Perhaps, however, the salaries of
scientists represented only a fraction
of one per cent of the total atom bomb
project cost, and the atom bomb was
a horrible success. Is Hollywood
that? Or is it just a success? And
is it satisfied to be that and nothing
else?

Personally I think Hollywood
would be a bigger and certainly a
better success if writers had more
share in production and responsibility
— as in England. That would make
more sense — and probably also more
cents.

STEPHEN LONGSTREET:

(Novelist and Screen Writer)

THE trouble with the writer in
Hollywood is that he is always so
damn modest. This talk of hiking one
percent to two percent is nonsense.
When a publisher like Bennett Cerf
pats me on the head and tells me he
can always afford to give me 15 per-
cent of the take on one of my novels
I want to dropkick him across the
room (the only thing that stops me
is that the old jokes may drop out of
his pockets). I know damn well Sin-
clair Lewis gets twenty five percent
of the take.

No author in his right mind would
work for two percent no matter how
hungry. Yet the screen writer in try-

29

THE SCREEN WRITER

ing to better himself is trembling
when he asks for two percent of the
take. Habit is really habit-forming.
The writer having been brought into
the film business by a group of men
who didn't want him was tossed a
little cash, and in thirty years the
writer made an art talk, think and
make sense. But his price never went
up. The film studios expanded, grew
bigger, grew into trusts, grew into
huge and able dealers in stories on
films. They took when the taking was
good. They no longer wore caps, lived
in tents or smoked dime cigars. They
got the bigger cuts . . . but the writer ?
Well just remember that twenty- five
years ago good title writers were get-
ting three thousand dollars a week.
But the average wage was about the
same as today. Today a few . . .
very few . . . top writers are getting
three thousand dollars a week . . .
the rest? The same average wage
they were getting twenty-five years
ago!

Broadway writers, working in a
field that is not as gold plated as Hol-
lywood would snicker at a take of two
percent. I have just returned from
New York where I am doing a play
with George Abbott and Jerry Rob-
bins. It is a musical which means that
song writer, lyric writer and the book
writer divide the take. We writers get
seven and a half percent of the box
office. Of the motion picture rights
we get sixty percent.

How did we get all this? What
throats did we cut? How much battle
and howl did we have to put up ? We
didn't do anything. A producer on
Broadway expects to pay that kind of
percentage.

Of course, a bigger percentage
helps the screen writer; I am talking
of respect. The bigger the percentage
the film writer gets on his product the
bigger respect he will get from the
studio. I came out here with the idea :
the hell with the respect, give me the
money. But after several conferences
with people who thought all writers
were returned under a stone at night,
I came to the simple conclusion that
only with respect for the writer would
not only he but the whole industry
amount to anything in the modern
world.

LET'S not kid ourselves; the stu-
dios are making the worst pictures
in the whole history of the film busi-

ness. Times, events, turmoils and
troubles are against us ... we must
admit that. We sit (and I invite in
the whole industry . . . directors and
cameramen and actors to sit in with
us) we sit among ash in a time of
flux and don't know where to turn.
And to keep the wheels moving we
go on grinding out what was good
last year and the year before and the
year before that. But the world is
not crazy for our products, and across
the sea the English and the French
and the Italians and the Russians are
making better pictures than we are.
Not a lot of them, and they can't get
much of an outlet here as yet. But
they will. Crossing this nation this
last month I stood around a lot and
looked over the motion picture the-
atres. Nobody was fighting their way
into the picture palaces. Nobody was
panting to go in and see the same old
grind of boy and girl and dance rou-
tine and the same close up of the
same horse, and the same actress
breathing through her notrils. No,
they were staying home by the radio,
drinking beer, or watching television
at the corner bar.

MY advice to the studios is to
bring the screen writer out of the
cold. Invite him in to the fire. Set a
good table for him above the salt, give
him a cut of beef without too much
bone in it, put a fatherly arm around
the screen writer and say, "Well, fella,
how about some great ideas for great
motion pictures, some of those ideas
we never let you get to first base with?
We've been kind of heels to you writ-
ing guys . . . we admit it now. We
see Red a lot because its a great little
gag to keep you in line. Sure, we
swipe your ideas and murder them
. . . and we don't let you talk much
with the director and the camera man
and the set designer and the actor.
That's all over, guy. You're one of
us . . . hell, if it weren't for writers, we
could be growing mushrooms in the
stages. And just to show you we mean
it . . . from now on we divide every-
thing fair. Twenty-five percent to
the studio . . . just to keep the stock-
holders happy, twenty-five percent to
the actors, twenty-five percent to the
directors and twenty-five percent to
the writers. How does that sound
to you?"

IT SOUNDS fine to me. I think
I've earned it. I've injected story ma-
terial into motion pictures where my
share of what the film made was
certainly more than twenty-five per-
cent. I've created story for turkeys
that couldn't get off the floor when
the producer left them in my hands.
I've had a studio turn over to me a
problem actor, a problem property
and I've made the damn thing work.
I've made millions for the Hollywood
film studios and been well paid for it
. . . but now I want them to admit
it. Not to me. To my fellow writers.
And I want them to admit it where
it will count. In that form we fill out
for old Uncle Whiskers, in which we
state proudly how much a part we
are of the motion picture business,
and how much we get for our work.

Remember, the studios will howl
in pain just as much when you ask
two percent as when you ask for
twenty-five percent. Let's really exer-
cise their throats. I love them all
(some of my best friends are studios)
and a little yelling will clear their
heads.

IRVING PICHEL:
(Director)

I AGREE heartily with your sug-
gestion that one percent of the
proceeds of motion picture production
is a small return to the writers who
constitute the primary creative force
of the motion picture industry. How-
ever, I am not sure that this statistic
is a very instructive one, isolated from
an examination of what happens to
the other 99%. There are variables
in the splitting up of theatre grosses
which I am not mathematician enough
to compute.

Some pictures play some houses on
percentage, others on flat rentals. The
percentages differ with seating capa-
city and location; so do the rentals.
The proceeds from retail sales of
pictures are as mysterious to me as
the proceeds from the retail sale of
women's clothes. In neither commodi-
ty does there seem to be a constant
relationship between cost of produc-
tion, retail yield and yield to the
manufacturer.

Something more accurate might be
derived from considering the propor-
tion of picture costs that go to writers.
At least, this is the point at which

30

THE WRITER'S SHARE

controls can operate. If you include
in your estimate of what writers re-
ceive, the sums paid for the plays or
novels from which most pictures are
adapted, something between ten and
fifteen percent of production cost goes
to writers, if my recent experience is
typical. I have known of budgets in
which story and screen play repre-
sented as high as twenty-seven per-
cent of the budget.

This is a way of looking at things
that seems instructive and, possibly,
profitable.

HOWARD LINDSAY:

(Actor and Playwright)

IT SEEMS to me that the heart
of the screen writer-studio employ-
er problem is not basically one of
financial returns. It is the lack of re-
spect the studios have for the writers
and the corresponding lack of self-
respect on the part of the writers.

I do not think the creative instinct
flourishes best in a soil of weekly pay-
checks.

There is no final solution to this
relationship in so highly organized an
industry, but I would prefer to have
the screen writer accept a lower sal-
ary plus a royalty against the picture's
gross after negative costs have been
earned.

I believe a stake in the financial
success of the picture would make for
better writing. The studio would
gain by lower story costs on less suc-
cessful pictures. On the large grossing
pictures they could afford to share
the profit with the writer.

DAVID O. SELZNICK:
(Producer)

I AM in receipt of your inquiry of
August 6th concerning the per-
centage of the "all-time highest earn-
ings of the film companies" allegedly
received by the writers.

I feel that the comment concerning
earnings came at an unfortunate time,
when the situation in relation to the
British tax has been threatening the
entire industry, and may quickly turn
expected earnings into very severe
losses, both on pictures already com-
pleted, and on those which the studios
are committed to complete.

However, this situation and its
eventual outcome aside, I should like
to point out that the contributions of
writers to motion pictures are not suf-
ficiently uniform, in relation to the
pictures in their entirety, to warrant
any arbitrary allocation of the share
of the earnings as the proper share
of the writers, either real or merely
credited. This is even more true of
the commercial aspects, on which the
earnings, of course, depend.

A layman, unfamiliar with the
business, would undoubtedly regard
it as axiomatic that the principal cre-
ator of a motion picture is its writer.
Yet we know that this is far from
being uniformly true. We know that
even the writing of a motion picture
often is very largely traceable to the
director, or the producer, or both.
I am not saying that this is as it
should be; I am merely stating it as
a fact to be considered in relation to
your inquiry.

Whatever the reasons for the contri-
bution of the writer not being of
more uniform and primary impor-
tance, not the least of these is the
fact that so many alleged screenplay
writers have not bothered to become
masters of the medium, or even to
learn much about it. Contrary to
practicing playwrights of the so-called
legitimate theatre, many men who are
credited with the writing of a film
understand all too little about the
craft of getting a screenplay on to the
screen — and therefore, most regret-
tably, too little about how to write
a screenplay so that it can be staged.
The consequence is that what should
be the part of writing, and what is
assumed in the credits, is the work
of others than the writers ; and this
must be taken into consideration in
weighing the worth of, and the com-
parative compensation for the credited
writing.

Perhaps the opportunities for most
writers to learn their craft have been
limited ; perhaps, where the opportuni-
ties have existed, advantage has not
been taken of them. . . . The experi-
enced writer of plays for the legiti-
mate theatre understands the problems
of stagecraft, which are few when
compared to the diversified and multi-
ple techniques, and to the varied
mechanical and artistic talents, which
go into the production of a motion
picture. But since very few scenarists

understand either film cutting, for
example, or how and when to move
a camera, or even the basic funda-
mentals of the construction of indi-
vidual scenes, the function of the
writer must, in most cases, be sup-
plied in large part by the producer
and/or other members of the studio
staffs.

Also, and importantly, since you
are dealing in terms of economics and
especially of earnings, I have known
very few writers who have had the
remotest conception of the most basic
economics of the industry. Indeed,
I have known very few writers who
have considered even the cost factor
in the preparation of a script. It might
be argued that costs are not the prob-
lem of artistic creators ; but when the
question of earnings is brought into
the picture surely costs are corollary.
Since it now appears that the industry
is about to face a crisis in costs, I for
one would welcome a greater assump-
tion of responsibility for costs by the
writer.

INCREASINGLY, production de-
signers and film editors have had
to supply what, in my opinion, should
be functions of the writer, both in
pre-production planning and in film
editing, as a consequence of the lack
of technique in the equipment of many
screen writers. Properly, both the
Academy and the Guild might col-
laborate with producers in establish-
ing schools for men of undoubted
writing talent who are unable to
translate this talent, because of lack
of experience and knowledge, into
screenplay terms. I am not saying that
writers should usurp what has become
the function of other members of this
business, notably the director (this
is perhaps more properly the subject
of another and separate debate), but
I am saying that at least a basic un-
derstanding of the construction of a
film play as a whole, and of its indi-
vidual scenes, should be expected to
be part of what a screenplay writer
brings to his task ; that today this
understanding and knowledge is pos-
sessed by only a minority of those who
offer themselves as screen writers ; and
that until this understanding and
knowledge is more widespread among
writers, it is not accurate to measure
the contribution of screenplay writers
in terms of the work with which they
are credited, without reference to

31

THE SCREEN WRITER

how little or how much they have
actually contributed.

And quite apart from the limited
contribution, in too many cases, of the
writer to the scenarios (using this
term in the sense that it used to be
used in the days when writers could
not lean to such an extent upon dia-
logue), it is no secret that the actual
story and scene content of most
screenplays, as photographed, is the
result of collaboration between pro-
ducer and/or director with the writer
— and in many cases constitute the
creative efforts of the director and/or
the producer after the writer has
finished. ( In this business the day that
a writer is "finished" means the day
that he goes off the payroll. As of
the date of the closing notice, or as
of the date that the writer has moved
to another assignment, the producer
feels that the writer is no longer a
part of the production. The writer,
on his part, feels that he should not
even be expected to think about the
picture any further, because he is off
payroll, or because he is being paid
to do some other job. I believe that
the cases where this is not true, on
both sides, are few and far between.
I must say that I think both producers
and writers are at fault in this regard ;
and that sooner or later the writer
will have a continuing concern with
a picture until it is edited. But this
too is the subject of another long de-
bate.)

The story developments, the char-
acterizations, the character of rela-
tionships, the construction of a piece
as a whole and of the individual
scenes (certainly from a cinematic
viewpoint), the little "touches," and
all the other contributions to treat-
ment which can and often do convert
conventional writing into acceptable
entertainment, as often as not stem
from others than the man who is
credited with the "writing" and who
perhaps measures his compensation in
terms of the writing as a whole, even
though he is only responsible for some
greater or lesser portion of the writ-
ing.

Certainly the "writing" of a fin-
ished motion picture is not merely
what is on paper at the time the so-
called screenplay is completed. I hasten
to add, of course, I am aware that
the extent of the contribution of the
credited writer varies according to
the writer, the director, the producer,

and even the studio ; but I am merely
making the point that — at least in
my own rather extensive experience
(and I, of course, am basing all my
comments on my own experience
only) — the cases have been rare in
which a job that has been turned in
as a "screenplay" has actually been
a screenplay, and where the finished
film result is constituted principally
of the photographing and acting of
what has been written by the writer,
in the sense that a playwright's work
is staged and acted and produced.

Moreover, I might point out that
the same screenplay, even when it is
entirely the work of one man, varies
in quality when produced, dependent
upon who makes the picture and who
is in it, to an extent that is far greater
than is true in the theatre, the radio
or any other medium (and I do not
mean by this to discount the contribu-
tions of producers, directors, et cetera,
in these other media, but merely to
point out that the nature of our
medium is such that there is opportun-
ity for story telling with the camera
that has not full parallel in these
other media). It may well be that the
complicated nature of the motion pic-
ture medium, including its involved
mechanics, necessarily makes motion
picture creation a collaboration to a
greater extent than is necessary in
other media.

But this aside, I believe that the
individual motion picture writer of
talent and of sincerity can only achieve
what he is after when he has mastered
his craft sufficiently to secure for him-
self backing as the director of his
own work, or the producer, or both.
When he has achieved this stature
and this competence, his compensation,
of course, enormously increases.

I assure you that producers are all
too eager to find writers who have
learned enough about the business to
be able to achieve what the writers
themselves desire in this connection.
But it is manifestly untenable for
writers who have never mastered the
elementals of motion picture making
to wish to perform these functions,
or to have authority over them; and
equally untenable for them to claim
compensation in terms of contributions
for which they are credited, but which
credit in too many cases, to a varying

extent of course, goes far beyond the
actual truth of their contributions.

I AM SURE that you do not wish
any more lengthy essay on this
subject than I have already written,
but please permit me to point out also
that the earnings on a picture are
dependent, to an extraordinary ex-
tent, upon such factors as star values,
showmanship, presentation, distribu-
tion, and the effectiveness of, and
expenditures for, exploitation. To
none of these does the writer contrib-
ute, of course. The willingness of the
producer to gamble, his experience in
and knowledge of these fields, his own
creative showmanship, all play their
part in the final result. Since your
inquiry has to do with earnings, and
not with artistic achievement, it is
perhaps not inapropos to point out that
the best writing does not necessarily
mean the highest earnings.

There are so many other phases
of this subject that it would require
a lengthy dissertation indeed to go
into all of them, but I should like
to say in closing that it has always
seemed amazing to me that writers
in this business are unable to think
until and unless they are on salary.
Writers for other media, or at least
a very large proportion of them, write
at their own risk, and achieve income
proportionate to their own success.
A few writers in this business have
had the initiative and the courage, as
well as the confidence in their own
talents, to write original screenplays
without being on salary. Some of these
have been sold for huge sums. When
they are of outstanding quality and
commercial appeal, they will continue
to bring huge sums.

A producer is always ready to pay
a great deal more for something ap-
proaching the finished product, which
is submitted to him from outside his
studio by reputable writers, thereby
saving himself the agony of helping to
get it written, as well as the gamble in-
volved in paying for writers' services.
Every studio in town has had tremen-
dous write-offs for scripts, which die
aborning; and if the studios could be
saved from these risks, and saved from
these write-offs, or could even have
the gamble minimized, it is obvious
that they would gladly pay hand-
somely. But until that day comes,

32

THE WRITER'S SHARE

writers who are on salary must re-
member that the investment in the
script must be measured not only by
their salaries, but also by the salaries
of the producers and directors with
whom they are collaborating, as well
as by the huge overhead that rolls on
awaiting the completion of the col-
laboration. Included in this overhead
is the cost of the scripts which have
never reached the screen.

Speaking as one producer, I can
say that the money I have paid to
writers represents a far greater per-
centage of the earnings of my films,
in recent years, than has been arrived
at by your statisticians; and second,
that I would happily see the percent-
age go up if I could be saved both
the time that is involved in collabor-
ating on the screenplay, the huge cost
of collaborating editors and producers
and directors, and the risk that is in-
volved in writers' salaries.

MILLEN BRAND:

(Novelist and Screen Writer)

I'M FOR the proposal made in The
Screen Writer for a two per cent
levy on gross earnings of pictures. It's
part of the whole royalty and licensing
drive, and the fight in one place helps
the fight everywhere. If it results, as
it always does, in more control over
material and medium for the screen
writer, so much the better. It even
ought to encourage original writing
for the screen since it would put
screen writers and other writers on
a more equal basis (novelists, play-
wrights etc.).

As a novelist, I always felt good
that I got a fair part of the earnings
on a book. When a book of mine was
made into a play, I continued to get
royalties. Royalties only stop in the
movies, where the most money is
made. And yet the movies can't exist
without stories.

A writer has to live while he writes.

This is allowed for in a general token
way by the advance given a novelist
on his royalties. If his book fails to
earn enough to cover the royalties,
there is no question of his paying the
advance back. In the same way a
movie writer is entitled to his salary
plus royalties. And since he produces
a very valuable product, his advance
is in proportion.

What the screen writers ask for is
fair and common business practice,
and would tend immediately to better
the quality of pictures. It would en-
courage a sense of writing integrity,
it would tend to keep writing from
being a patchwork affair. Writers
would be in a position to think less
in terms of job and more in terms
of product. Producers, to some ex-
tent, would have to fall in line. This
one advance would not solve every
problem, but a start is better than
nothing. If writers in other media
and screen writers in other countries
can get royalties, why not we?

hr1

Screen Writers' Guild Studio Chairmen

(August 21, 1947)

Columbia — Louella MacFarlane.

MGM — Anne Chapin ; alternates, Sidney Boehm,

Marvin Borowsky, Margaret Fitts, Charles

Kaufman.
Republic — Franklin Adreon; alternate, John K.

Butler.
20th Century-Fox — Richard Murphy.

Warner Brothers — James Webb; alternate, Ruth
Brooks.

Paramount — Arthur Sheekman; alternate, Jesse
Lasky, Jr.

Universal-International — Silvia Richards.

RKO — Martin Rackin.

33

SCREEN WRITERS* GUILD, INC.

165S NO. CHEROKEE AVE., HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA
AFFILIATED WITH AUTHORS' LEAGUE OF AMERICA, INC.

OFFICERS & EXECUTIVE BOARD, THE SCREEN WRITERS* GUILD: PRESIDENT:
EMMET LAVERY; 1ST VICE-PRESIDENT, MARY McCALL, JR.; 2ND VICE-PRESI-
DENT, HUGO BUTLER; SECRETARY, F. HUGH HERBERT; TREASURER, HAROLD
BUCHMAN. EXECUTIVE BOARD: HAROLD BUCHMAN, HUGO BUTLER, JAMES M.
CAIN, LESTER COLE, PHILIP DUNNE, F. HUGH HERBERT, TALBOT JENNINGS,
GORDON KAHN, RING LARDNER, JR., MARY McCALL, JR., MAURICE RAPF, GEORGE
SEATON, LEO TOWNSEND. ALTERNATES: VALENTINE DAVIES, DAVID HERTZ,
RICHARD COLLINS, ART ARTHUR, JOHN LARKIN, EVERETT FREEMAN. COUNSEL,
MORRIS E. COHN. ASSISTANT SECRETARY, ALICE PENNEMAN.

EDITOR

ON September 23rd, in Washington, the House Committee on Un-Amer-
ican Activities will open hearings on the much-publicized "Hollywood
situation." This is the big show the Honorable J. Parnell Thomas and
Company have been whipping into shape for the past several months. Starring
in the production will be witnesses from Hollywood including, undoubtedly,
members of the SWG. Breasts will be beaten, and sack cloth and ashes will
be the predominant costume — if the show is staged in the entrepreneurs' ac-
cepted traditions. And, of course, there will be an excellent press.

What will the show be like? One need but recall its "summer" tryout here
in our own precincts last June, when the preliminary hearing bore all the
marks of a Shubert operetta. Witnesses were called, and they sang lustily, if
not well. Remember the actor who was forced to appear in a "subversive" mu-
sical, while his soul cried out for the U. S. Naval Reserve? And the lady whose
daughter refused to speak that now-memorable line, "Share and share alike,
etc?"

True, most of the stars of that summer tryout were members of an organ-
ization which placed the Red label on such pictures as The Best Years of
Our Lives and Margie. In view of this, it may be said that such people are
irresponsible, and do not express the feelings of the adult section of our com-
munity. Yet when their kind of slander finds its way into print there are cit-
izens throughout the nation who swallow it whole, slowly and solemnly, their
worst fears about Hollywood confirmed. And some of them stop seeing pic-

34

EDITORIAL

tures, in mortal terror that they and their young might go to their graves with
the taint of Margie upon them.

It is safe to assume that more slander and calumny will be heaped upon
us when the hearings open in Washington this month. We must prepare our-
selves for it, and we must fight it. Your Guild feels that the fight can best be
carried forward by implementing the following resolution, which was submit-
ted by the SWG Board and passed by the Membership at its meeting on Aug-
ust 14th:

The House Committee on Un-American Activities has announced that its hearings concern-
ing Hollywood will commence September 23. It is apparent from the statements of committee mem-
bers, investigators and witnesses that the immediate target of these hearings will be the democratic
guilds and unions of the picture industry. In the sub-committee hearings this spring, the Screen
Writers' Guild was slanderously attacked as the center of subversive activity in Hollywood and
afforded no opportunity to answer the charge. We are now sufficiently acquainted with the record
and methods of this committee to know positively that there is no way to obtain a fair hearing
under its auspices for our side of the case. For these reasons, and because every intelligent Amer-
ican knows that the eventual target of the committee is the freedom of the screen and American
democratic rights in general, it is fitting that the Screen Writers Guild should issue the follow-
ing call to the other employee and employer organizations in the industry :

"That the various guilds, unions and producer organizations in Hollywood unite in opposition
to the conspiracy against the motion picture industry between a few individuals within the industry
and the controlling faction of the House Committee on Un-American Activities; that these groups,
representing the overwhelming majority sentiment of the industry, use every means at their dis-
posal to expose in advance the nature and purpose of the so-called 'hearings' now scheduled for
September 23; and that these groups combine their talents and existing channels for appealing to
public opinion in order to present our side of the story to the American people during and after
the committee sessions in Washington."

IT had been plain for a long time that we could not continue indefinitely to
extract hardening dollars out of the softening economies of England and
other foreign nations. But when the British first announced restrictive fin-
ancial measures against films imported from the U.S.A., the action was imme-
diately utilized as a signal for drastic economy plans — for wholesale firings,
cheapened budgets, increased reissues.

That's the kind of an economy wave that usually follows a depression. But
the seeming mix-up in the signals may not be important. There's no reason why
a really first-class job of cheapening our films should not precede a depression
in the motion picture industry.

Both intrinsically and as a precedent for other soft currency nations, the
British tax action was undoubtedly serious. No matter how it is compromised
through negotiation, there will probably be a considerable temporary loss of the
profit cream the Hollywood industry has been skimming from foreign mar-
kets. But the intimations of irretrievable disaster, the blusterings of Mr.
Ungar and Mr. Wilkerson, the tremolo-stop pathos of Mr. Eric Johnston —

35

THE SCREEN WRITER

all these seem more than a little overdone in a $1,130,000,000.00 a year industry
that stands to have frozen or even to lose $40,000,000 in the next year and a
half as the result of the British move.

We do not minimize the importance of $40,000,000. But we cannot over-
look the fact that one Hollywood studio made a great deal more than that as
net profit last year; that another studio recently reported a net of $10,904,000.00
in 12 weeks; that the industry which rolled up a profit of $316,000,000.00 in
1946 may not utterly collapse if it suffers the withholding or even the loss of
$40,000,000 between now and 1949.

Neither can we overlook the fact that the British action served as an
excuse for dusting off that venerable gag about the domestic market barely pay-
ing negative costs and all profits coming from the foreign market. It is a little
hard to believe that the most prosperous nation in history is unable to pay a
profit on its most popular form of entertainment, and that $316,000,000.00 in
profits were wrested in one year out of the sick economies of Europe, Asia and
Latin America.

In the war years, when our foreign film markets had all but vanished, why
did the seven leading Hollywood studios show steadily increasing profits, if
it is true that all the profit gravy comes from abroad? After all charges includ-
ing income tax payments, why did these seven studios show net profits of $34,-
487,016 in 1941, $49,158,868 in 1942, $59,622,188 in 1943, $59,368,768 in 1944
and $62,874,032 in 1945?

If all profits come from foreign markets and none from domestic markets,
as the trade paper spokesmen of the producers say, why did Daily Variety say
on Feb. 27, 1947: "Backlog of U. S. films in Europe and Orient is so tremen-
dous that overseas audiences won't catch up for at least five years, according
to sales and studio foreign toppers. Most of the pix in question have already
been written off the cash books as domestic revenue showed huge profits dur-
ing prosperous war years."?

As a part of and the primary creative force in the American motion pic-
ture industry, the Screen Writers' Guild wants the industry to prosper soundly
and to grow intelligently. It cannot do this through any kind of self-deception.
It cannot do this by failing to understand the hard facts of the world economic
situation. It cannot do this through the blusterings and threats of its unofficial
spokesmen. It cannot do this by blowing up a temporary hardship into a con-
summate disaster, and then trying to use the exaggeration as an excuse for mass
firings, wholesale salary cuts and reversion to the 10 hour day and 60 hour week,
as proposed. It cannot do this by cheapening the quality of the product when
the hope of developing further the domestic and foreign market rests solely
in making better pictures which more people will want to see.

Ours is an industry that is also an art. It is uniquely dependent on impond-
erables. It would be easy to wreck by a bull-in-the-china-shop "economy" drive.
It would also be a pity to do it because of spiteful reaction to the threatened
loss of a fraction of those profits.

36

n

I

epon an

u L^c

ommen

t

How One Movie
Sale Was Made

By LILLIAN BOS ROSS

IN THIS script of how one movie
sale was made, I am cast as Alice,
the completely unknown writer of
a first novel. Hollywood is Wonder-
land. I live far away, far from any-
thing; in fact it is fifty miles from
my home to the nearest small village.
I have no telephone, no postoffice box,
no road past my door. So I am Alice
in Blunderland with the writer's
usual empty cupboard and no stock
of phials marked "Drink me," which
would shrink me to a size where I
might creep into Wonderland. All I
can do is keep the weeds out of the
potato patch and get on with the
writing of another novel. I did just
that, and my first novel, The Stranger
sold to the movies!

The trail from Blunderland to
Wonderland is a long, roundabout
maze. Without knowing it, I was
already on that trail when I worked
and re-worked my novel until it was
as good as I could make it. I had
gained a few more miles every time
I sent my manuscript out to com-
pletely unknown publishers. All I
seemed to gain were laudatory and
inedible letters ending in polite re-
grets. But those letters helped me
to get a writer's agent. The agent
got me a publisher. I had made the
first, most tricky hurdle. I was now
a writer with a published book.

Because my literary agent had
connections with a Hollywood agent
my book made the rounds of the
studios. But this was during the time
when most pictures were war pic-
tures. So my regional romance was
laid to rest on a shelf and went to
sleep for over two years.

LILLIAN BOS ROSS, whose novel, The
Stranger, has become one of the classics
of modern American fiction, has written
several subsequent novels. This is her
first contribution to The Screen Writer.

Far away on my isolated mountain
I forgot Hollywood and went on
with my work, published another
novel. The war had ended by the
time a visitor to the cabin suggested
that a change of agents might create
a new interest. I had no Hollywood
contract, so the agent changing was
a simple matter. This new agent ex-
pressed enthusiasm for my book and
I found this not only pleasant but
so exciting that I gave him the num-
ber of a Forest service telephone
through which I could be reached.
I forgot to tell him that this tele-
phone is almost thirty miles from
where I live and still the closest one
by which I could be contacted. Such
things are considered the simple fact,
where I live ; and anyway, it's quicker
than a telegram, which usually takes
three days by mail stage.

Months went by and again I forgot
Hollywood. The winter garden was
harvested, the spring garden grew
tall and almost a year passed by. And
then — it happened. One morning a
tired Forest Ranger tied a weary
horse to the gate post and came down
the trail to the back door calling
excitedly, "Lillian ! Hollywood's try-
ing to get hold of you !"

He gave me a slip of paper with a
telephone number written on it. I
felt my hands shaking a bit as I
pushed wood into the old cookstove
and got the ranger a good solid meal
but I had no time for many emotional
reactions. The ranger ate and started
back over his many miles of forest
trail. I made my way up to the high-
way, my next job being to reach
the nearest highway telephone by the
hitch-hike route. It was less than
twenty miles away and I did it quite
easily. Two days later the stage
brought me enough paper in the form
of contracts to make a sizeable mail-
order catalogue and I had to get
them notarized. The stage had al-
ready gone, since we were the end
of the mail route. But with the aid
of the endlessly-kind passing strangers
I made the hundred-mile round trip
in what was left of the day.

It was over. Alice in Blunderland
had one foot in the opening door
of Wonderland!

I STUMBLED in by a series of
accidents, but now, looking back-
ward, I find that even in my particu-
lar circumstances there are a few
things of general application for every
writer who looks toward Hollywood.

First, get published.

Second, get a Hollywood agent.

Third, cut out this next paragraph
and paste it up beside your typewriter.
When you read your first contract,
check it for these points:

See that you are selling rights for

One picture only

No re-issue

No re-makes

If your characters are part of a
series of novels, as mine are, see that
you retain all rights to your char-
aters except for this one picture. My
contract covered all these things.

I had never seen the Screen Writ-
ers' Guild magazine, The Screen
Writer , when my book was sold, and
knew nothing of this. But I had a
good agent. My sale was not of the
spectacular variety; just run-of-the-
mill, but he was in there pitching,
getting the best deal he possibly could
for me. Do not ask me his name for
I could not give it to you ; he is al-
ready one of the most overworked
of men, with almost more clients
than he can use, and a waiting list.
But if you have in you the drive that
keeps you, when no one seems to
want what you write, working until
you have that novel published, you
also have the drive that will find
you an agent when your need for
one arrives. One last word. Don't
try to write your novel for the movies.
Write your novel your way. There
can be new magic made that way for
a formula-weary Wonderland.

37

THE SCREEN WRITER

"No Evidence"

Following is an editorial reprinted
in part from the Westwood Hills
Press of August 14 commenting on
the CBS coast network debate of
August 12 between SWG president
Emmet Lavery and Jack B. Tenney,
state senator and chairman of the
state legislative committee on un-
American activities:

Although State Sen. Jack Tenney's
California Committee on Un-Ameri-
can Activities spent some $70,000 on
investigations from 1939 through
1945 and has spent additional thou-
sands since then, Senator Tenney,
when pressed this week, was unable
to quote one line of script or name
one motion picture to substantiate
his contention that communism in the
movie industry is both a nuisance and
a menace.

Mr. Lavery stated clearly that he
was as opposed to communism as he
was to fascism — but what about the
specific question concerning the al-
leged dereliction of the film industry?
Would the Senator please comment?

At six different points Mr. Lavery
asked Senator Tenney if he would
stop talking in general terms about
communism versus democracy and
give the radio audience chapter and
verse on the films, the people, and
the studios that today are supposedly
purveying Communist propaganda.

Hounded this way, Senator Tenney
admitted he had not seen the films
Margie and The Best Years of Our
Lives which Mr. Lavery said friends
of the House Committee on Un-
American Activities headed by Par-
nell Thomas have called subversive.
The best the Senator could summon
in reply was this:

"I don't believe that you would
dare to sit here and tell me or the
radio audience that you are of the
opinion that certain people that you
and I could mention would not write
Communist propaganda into scripts
if they had the opportunity (emphasis
italic, ours) and the producers would
let them get by with it !"

In reply, Mr. Lavery commented :

"What I say, Senator, is that they
have never had the chance (emphasis
in italic, ours again) and unless the

Hollywood scene changes very rapid-
ly they never will have the chance."

Senator Tenney said that he agreed
with Mr. Lavery, and from that point
on any pretense of a debate on the
subject at hand went by the board
as far as the Senator was concerned.

Next month The Screen Writer
will publish an article dealing with
the September 2 America's Town
Meeting of the Air debate in which
Ermnet Lavery and Albert Dekker
will uphold the negative and Hedda
Hopper and Howard Emmett Rog-
ers the affirmative of the question;
"Is There Really a Threat of Com-
munism in Hollywood?"

This program will be broadcast
over the coast-to-coast ABC net-
work and will be carried in the Los
Angeles area over KECA. Time
of the broadcast in all areas will
be published in local newspaper ra-
dio schedules.

If Senator Tenney can one day
convince us that his single aim is to
protect democracy, The Press will
wish him well. In the meantime, The
Press commends to him these words
of Mr. Lavery:

"Let us prosecute sedition wherever
and whenever we find it — but let's
not liquidate the very ingredient which
makes democracy what it is."

More Comment on
New Writing Blood

MR. DAVID MOSS wrote a
mournful metaphor in the July
issue, implying that the back alleys
of Los Angeles were choked with
young literary geniuses, ignored by
the cruel world and in jeopardy of
being scooped up and deposited in the
municipal dump without options. He
did not imply that those same alleys
are full of frustrated actors, boy
scout directors, insurance salesmen,
used car dealers, sculptors, and putty
workers.

Continuing the use of metaphor, it
can be said that success is a redoubt-
able fortress afloat in society, con-

This comment is written by a screen
writer who has a long experience in
Hollywood and who asks that only his
initials be used as a byline.

structed along the lines of Noah's
ark and incapable of housing more
than a small percentage of every
species. The rest of us are rats and
we're swimming from porthole to
porthole, trying to get in. Some of
us gnaw through the hull, some of
us give up, a few drown — and prac-
tically everybody gets sore at the
phenomenal rat who, without appar-
ent capacity, sprouts wings and flies
to the top deck for grilled cheese.

But metaphors are the height of
simplification, so let's cut them out
and get down to brass tacks. Who
in this business of ours is expected
to sit down for an hour every day
and consider ways of smoothing the
road for others? Who pays him for
it? If he puts his chips on a dark
horse that goes lame in the stretch
who gets his option dropped? The
guy who hired the unknown. Story
editors are supposed to procure the
best ghost stories and turn them over
to qualified ghost story writers. They
buy love stories and turn them over
to writers who know how to make
love. If through carelessness they get
things switched, the virgin bears a
goblin in the final sequence, the ex-
ecutive producer bears an axe in the
front office, and the story writer
goes out the back gate, bearing, say,
a sense of fineness and self-apprecia-
tion for having gone down doing
nice things for somebody else. It's
good for the soul but hard on the
stomach.

Let me tell you a very short and
unimportant Cinderella story about
a young writer. I got out of the army
like nine-tenths of everybody else. I
had a pulpy background, a couple of
essays, a couple of features, and I
put them all in a rucksack with
oodles of ambition. For eight solid
months I tried to get into a studio,
struggled through front offices, my
arms bulging with treatments, hot
ideas, weenies jumping up and stab-
bing sadistic butchers, everything dif-
ferent— fresh and youngbloodish. I
looked pathetic and therefore the
brushoff was always polite, out a
lower window.

Then one day I wrote a refreshing
story about two fanatical German
scientists who cunningly removed
Hitler's brain and put it in the body
of a handsome young nordic. I re^
fused to disclose anything about sur
gical instruments or techniques in

38

REPORT AND COMMENT

volved, and point blankly left a new
Hitler in the Black Forest as the
war ended. He was gazing fiendishly
toward Baden-Baden and grizzlier
horizons.

NOW that was imaginative, orig-
inal, daring, bold, tempting, and
I sold it to a publisher and took the
acceptance slip out to a director I
didn't know, who had gone to the
same college, and he took me over
to the studio where I met a bigtime
producer, for whom Gladys Lotza-
class had just agreed to act, and they
both rushed me into the front office
where I shook hands with a man who
missed my name, but who had just
received a gigantic income tax re-
fund, and all three of them took me
into the absolute chief and he didn't
even want to know my name. He said :
"What the hell — it's either give it
to the government or give it to him
and," he added diagnostically, "we
need new blood around here."

There. Now you have it. A major
studio had contracted an unknown.
All processes, mind you, without bene-
fit of agent. And boy did the agents
start pounding my door. "May I come
in and give you a raise?" they kept
yelling through my transom. "You're
getting robbed !". they screamed. Some
of them went outside the Writers'
building and threw pebbles at my
window pane, and when I'd look
around they'd wink enticingly. I ig-
nored them.

After six weeks of sitting in the
office I got very used to the desk. One
morning it dawned on me that per-
haps I was expected to make the first
move, so I called one of the men I
had met that first day and stimulated
a chain reaction. After two weeks of
bickering a producer agreed to take
me under his budget. "What do you
do?" he asked. I told him the title
of my story. "Not that, honey, not
that — what do you do?"

"Oh, play golf," I ventured. "And
sometimes cribbage."

He found out that I had been
through public schools and that I
had been in the service, so he immedi-
ately decided that I should write
something about veterans returning
to college. The more he paced the
hotter it became. He picked up a
phone and dialed upstairs and asked
the chief what he thought about a
deep, subjective, significant, one-word

titled veteran story and the chief
thought it a grand idea, so the pro-
ducer hung up on honey and sent me
back to my cubicle for a molting
period. Another youngblood across
the hall was in the same henhouse
so we exchanged glass eggs at option
time.

Maybe you get the idea. My purpose
is to point out that credit-line writers
are always hired to do the something
specific. They are not hired on gene-
ral principles. They come along with
their own original treatment, or
they're assigned to adapt material the
studio knows they can handle and
material the studio intends to produce.
Vague speculative assignments are
bound to result from hiring someone
simply because he is a writer.

As far as I was concerned, studio
intentions were sincere, though un-
defined. Explore that young man.
Feel him out. See what he can do.
Go through the shelves and get that
— get that hot manuscript on Sarah
Bernhardt, the one O. Henry hutch-
ed! But hear ye, there never was
a time when any producer felt called
upon to entrust me with a property
he personally desired to film. The
studio was simply gambling that for
the basic minimum it might have
contracted Willie Shakespeare. Try
as I did, I couldn't squeeze out Ham-
let. Kindly indifference weighed
heavily upon me. I got to crawling
into a corner where I would pull an
old tennis racquet cover over my head
and go into the foetus crouch.

UNDERSTANDABLY, good
properties went to established
writers. Nobody at the studio was to
blame for the year wasted on me, and
I hope to hell it wasn't my writing.
I did the damned story with these
three veterans and those three veter-
ans, and one producer would inject
a murder in the medical lab, and the
friendly director would change it
to suicide, all in an atmosphere of
genuine approval over the way I had
picked up script writing. Once a pro-
ducer called somebody else and said,
"there might be a movie in this kid's
stuff. Did you ever think about that?"
The other person said, "No kidding?
Well, if you run across an extra
copy send it up some time." I got
so excited I did a clean draft for the
Johnston office.

The days grew short in September
and were black by Christmas. Came
January and little Willie went out
in the great house-cleaning. Alarmed
about box office, tax changes and
fresh blood, executives hauled in Paul
Bunyan to do the job. Countless
young Thespians, in precisely my cate-
gory, cried timber. The people who
had hired me seemed startled, down-
right shocked, and insisted that I
drop out and see them any old time.
"We've all felt better with your
blood in our veins."

After that, agents were not throw-
ing pebbles. I had to write an entire
novel before coaxing my name onto
a list of clients. It was starting over,
that's all. And for eight months my
wife and I have been living on shred-
ded rejection slips from publishers
who advertise their search for young
blood. That's just good public rela-
tions, Mr. Moss. Discount it. And
be sure to get an agent who doesn't
tell everybody you're a genius. When
I show up in his wake, with my
cropped hair and wistful young smile,
producers darken and offer me parting
peppermint.

There are youngbloods on their
way through all the studios all the
time. The best they ever get to handle
is Inside Alice by Percy Veerence..
That's the way it is and that's the
way it oughta be. If you're convinced
your ability merits a contract, then
exercise the ability without waiting
for the go sign from insiders, who
are fighting to maintain their own
position. For a young fellow every-
thing's speculative until success. Then,
quite strangely, consideration becomes
retroactive and people want to see
again your treatment about The
Dirty Urchin and that dusty Mrs.
Moore.

Studios are not to blame for their
chilly regard of would-be's. Hell,
it was cool when they went through.
They simply reflect the ways of an
economic system that thrives on initi-
ative and has become inured to bitch-
ing. S. R.

The Executive Board, in resolutions
of condolence at a recent meeting,
voiced the regret of the entire Screen
Writers' Guild for the passing of
Walter De Leon and Thomas Job.
Both were, until their last illness,
active in the Guild and a credit to the
screen writers' profession.

39

c

?3p

orredponaence

de

The followng letter has been re-
ceived by the Editorial Committee
from SWG member Mortimer Braus.

Unfortunately space prevents the
printing of many similar messages
concerning the August issue, which
elicited from SWG members wide-
spread approval and interest.

I'd like to add my cheers for the
whopping August issue of the Screen
Writer, despite the Gloomy Gus note
struck almost throughout. A grim
situation requires a grim motif. Of
course the time is coming when ver-
balization will not suffice ; there must
be an attempt to crystallize and get
down to cases.

I found Gangelin's scalpel-sharp
analysis the most enlightening; I
must, however, take issue with Ring
Lardner, Jr.'s piece, at least the title:
First Steps in Arithmetic. To me
it's a problem in higher Calculus,
especially when the annual minimum
wage suggestion is brought up as the
pipe-dream panacea.

At any rate I found the issue ir-
resistibly absorbing from cover to
cover and I wanted you to know that.
A top-bracket job of editorship and
writing.

MORT BRAUS

he did is to be honored by his col-
leagues, and that he's to be remem-
bered in such a tangible way.

BEATRICE MELTZER KAHN
Mrs. Irving H. Kahn
3364 Washington Street,
San Francisco 18, California

Beatrice Meltzer Kahn of San
Francisco, mother of Robert Meltzer,
writes :

Dear Guild Members,

Bob Meltzer's family was very
much touched when the clippings
came from Los Angeles and New
York, telling of the great honor you
are paying him.

And we, his family, mother, two
brothers and three sisters must thank
you.

We are rather removed from Bob's
work; in the ten years before his
death, we saw him very seldom. But
being a large and hilarious family,
our reunions were decidedly noisy and
gay. And Bob, as you can guess, con-
tributed greatly.

But we're so proud that the work

The following letter has been re-
ceived from Richard Coleman of
Charleston, South Carolina'.

No one can be more interested than
I am in fairness to the writer who
sells his material to Hollywood. On
January 13 this year a very elaborate
affair was given by Photoplay Maga-
zine for all those who contributed to
the picture, The Bells of St. Mary's.
Gold medals were given to all who
had anything of importance to do
with the picture, but there wasn't
even a tin medal for me, the man who
wrote the most praised and publicized
part of the source material of that
amazing box office hit. Life said
that the part wherein Bergman as
a nun teaches the boy to fight
was the "notable asset of the picture,"
Newsweek said it was "the highlight
of the film" ; and other national mag-
azines and important papers said the
same thing. I have never received
credit of any sort for my short story
Fight For Sister Joe which was
bought by RKO and resold to Rain-
bow Productions for the picture, al-
though it was stated verbally that it
was to be used in an unimportant pic-
ture and put to minor use. Because of
that I received one thousand dollars
for a story that was the basis of Berg-
man's biggest scene, and an integral
part of the most important box office
picture of all times.

My story had been told coast-to-
coast four times by Nelson Olmsted
on his World's Greatest Short Stories
program; has been in magazines
here and in England and in Ireland;
had been in an anthology here and in
England; had been called a little
classic by reviewers of the anthology ;
and is used as a model of the short
story in many Catholic secondary
schools. So it had a history before

RKO bought it and had proved that
it appealed to countless people every-
where. This valuable literary prop-
erty was used to tremendous advan-
tage but I was given almost nothing
and no credit.

Worse than that, when the "box-
ing nun" became the talk of the mov-
ie-goers an item appeared in Louella
Parsons' column stating, about Mc-
Carey, that his "aunt who was a nun
taught him to box when he was a
boy."

Surely I deserved credit for a story
that became the trademark of Bells of
St. Mary's and which brought inesti-
mably valuable free publicity to the
picture in the national press and
through word of mouth.

When I asked for more money be-
cause of the good I had contributed
to the picture and because I felt that
I had been very unjustly treated in
the matter of payment and credit, I
got a very insulting letter.

It would be well if no literary
property could be used in any picture,
notwithstanding it had been previ-
ously bought and paid for, without
the consent of the original author. In
this way the author could demand and
get a sum proportionate to the kind
of picture in which the property is to
be used. According to the present
custom a price is fixed under circum-
stances which do not make for fair
bargaining : the author does not know,
and he is not told, to what use the
property will be put, while on the
other hand the purchaser has all of
the information.

I am in the very unjust position of
having contributed a very valuable
part to the most valuable picture and
no one in Hollywood knows my name
or that I have other good things to
sell. Leo McCarey got all the credit
and the lion's share of the money. Is
there no way that I can inform Hol-
lywood that I am the man who
created the boxing nun and that I
have other creations with universal
appeal ?

RICHARD COLEMAN

40

CORRESPONDENCE

Letter

From

Paris

(Continued from Inside Front Cover)

executive secretary, M. Chavance, to
go there again to-morrow evening,
with a photographer, in order to pre-
pare an article about their history and
organization, for the Screen Writer.

They were so anxious to be help-
ful, and Jeanson and his colleagues
were so hospitable and charming,
that we hope the SWG has an oppor-
tunity to reciprocate in kind.

They are desirous of learning more
about Hollywood and its ways, but
the moment is inauspicious, since it
is vacation time for almost every one.

Naturally, only generalities and
amenities were expressed, but there
were two definite points touched upon,
which you may care to note for future
reference.

The first is, that they are trying
to establish a practice of limiting the
number of writers whom a producer
may engage for a given picture. They
consider the present method degrad-
ing and undignified and believe that
a producer should have enough judg-
ment to pick the right people for the
job in the first place. They asked me

whether we thought the SWG would
join them in the effort. I told them
that it was my personal opinion that
it would be a very difficult project to
present to Hollywood screen writers,
since it would seem like limiting the
number of obtainable jobs, especially
at a time when they are hard to get,
but that I might be wrong and would
report the proposal to the SWG
Board.

The second point was, more accu-
rately, a question which they asked
and which they seemed to consider
more basic. They wanted to know,
specifically, how much support we
could count on from other guilds
and unions in Hollywood, if and as
we might need it; they referred
especially to those unions that we
know as "the back lots." I replied
that this could not be answered spe-
cifically at the moment, at least not
by any one of us, since we do not
know the latest developments, but we
would try to get some more definite
information from you, in time for the
September meeting. (So if there is
any recent adoption of policy on this
point, please advise us; likewise any
developments, accomplished or pend-
ing.) They seem aware of the diffi-
culties the Taft-Hartley Bill has
made for us, particularly through its
geographical limitation of our bargain-
ing power and related to us an inci-
dent which they thought exemplified
the advantage of local affiliations.

Recently a French producer attempt-
ed to cut a writer's salary, whereupon
not only all the writers supported
their colleague, but everybody, from
the electricians to the cameramen and
grips prepared to call a strike in his
behalf, and the producer desisted.
They could not seem to understand
why we have not long since adopted
such methods, which they evidently
consider simple and natural.

Here are two other items, which
we picked up in talking to other
picture people around town. First,
since the war, they think the U. S.
films are deteriorating; that after
tremendous advance publicity, they
invariably prove disappointing and
void of fresh ideas, and in many cases
void of any ideas at all; that the
French public is getting on to it, and
the box office lines are diminishing.
Second : In the Bastille Day Parade
recently, the Film contingent car-
ried a sign, reading: "THE BLUM-
BYRNES AGREEMENT WILL
KILL FRENCH PICTURES."

In a week or two, we expect to
make a short visit to London and will
let you know what happens there.
It might make things easier for us
if you notify the English writers that
we'll be there.
Greetings to all.

SWG Liaison Committee,
HENRY MYERS
EDWARD ELISCU
AL LEWIN

dSoohs:

Films as a Reflection of Changing Social Patterns

A nation's motion pictures are
more than a hit-or-miss accumulation
of screen dramas, comedies, musicals,
fantasies and documentaries. Over a
period of time they are a social history
of the people who make and see them.
From them emerges a revealing pat-
tern of changing mass attitudes, be-
liefs, values and customs. This is the
underlying thesis of Dr. Siegfried
Kracauer's important new book.
(From Caligari to Hitler: A Psycho-
logical History of the German Film.
Princeton. $5.)

The period dealt with stretches
from the time of the first World War
to the coming to power of the Nazis
in 1933. The evolution of German
films and of the German film industry
is traced with meticulous scholarship
through these two decades. Pictures

are analyzed individually and in ge-
neric groups. There is much informed
and invaluable discussion of the tech-
niques of the great German directors.
In a noteworthy appendix Dr. Kra-
cauer considers at length the methods
used by the Nazis in turning out
propaganda films.

The importance of this book lies
in the obviously vast research behind
it and its emphasis of the fact that the
films of any nation in any period are
a new and extraordinarily vivid form
of social history preserving for the
future the manners, mores and wish
dreams of the past. Also arresting is
the analysis of the financial control
structure of the German industry,
and the part it played in the shaping
of world tragedy.

R.S.

A Check List of Books

Getting a Job in Television, by
John Southwell. (McGraw-Hill. $2).

Television Primer of Production
and Direction, by Louis A. Sposa.
(McGraw-Hill. $3.50).

An Introduction to Playwriting , by
Samuel Selden (Crofts. $2).

The Anatomy of Drama, by Alan
Reynolds. (University of California
Press, $3.75.).

Orson Welles, by Roy Alexander
Fowler. (Pendulum Publications,
London, 2 shillings).

The Film in France, by Roy Alex-
ander Fowler. (Pendulum Publica-
tions, London, 2 shillings.)

41

/ lewd I loled

* Current programs in the N. Y.
Museum of Modern Art's History of
the Motion Picture are: Three Film
Pioneers: Ferdinand Zecca — Whence
Does He Come, Scenes of Convict
Life, Slippery Jim, A Father s Honor,
Fun After the Wedding; Emile Cohl
— The Pumpkin Race, Une Dame
Vraiment Bien, Joyeux Microbes, Le
Peintre Neo-Impressioniste; Jean Du-
rand — Onesime Horloger. Sept. 1, 2,
3, 4. — George Melies: Magician and
Film Pioneer — The Conjurer, A Trip
to the Moon, The Palace of the
Arabian Nights, The Doctor's Secret,
The Conquest of the Pole. Sept. 5, 6,
7. — From Lumiere to Rene Clair:
1895 Films by Lumiere, The Run-
away Horse, Juve vs. Fantomas, The
Crazy Ray. Sept. 8, 9, 10, 11.— The
Advance Guard ( 1 ) : The Smiling
Madame Beudet, Ballet Mecanique,
Entre acte, Menilmontant, Sept. 12,
13, 14.— The Advance Guard (II) :
Anaemic Cinema, Rien Que Les
Heures, Emak Bakia, Etoile de Mer,
Le Mysteres du Chateau du De, Sept.
15, 16, 17, 18. — The Comedy Tra-
dition ( 1 ) : The Italian Straw Hat,
Sept. 19, 20, 21. — Transition to
Sound : The Passion of Joan of Arc,
Sept. 22, 23, 24, 15.— The Comedy
Tradition (II) Joie de Vivre,A Nous
la Liberie, Sept. 26, 27, 28.— The
Comedy Tradition (III): Carnival
in Flanders, Sept. 29, 30, Oct. 1, 2.

* SWG member Millen Brand had
a short story in the August issue of
Woman's Day.

* Beth Bernice Cornelison and J.
Harris Gable, a member of The
Screen Writer Editorial Committee,
were married July 23.

* Junior Jezebel, a novel by SWG
member Jan Fortune, was published
in the August issue of McCall's.

* SWG member Robert Spencer
Carr has sold a novelette, Morning
Star, to the Saturday Evening Post.

* Norman Burnside, former SWG
member and now a member of the
Radio Writers' and Dramatists'
Guilds, won a Bureau of Intercultural
Relations Award prize with his story,

A Cross for Jonathan, originally pub-
lished in Story magazine. Mr. Burn-
side also had a story in the August
issue of Readers Scope.

* SWG member Arthur Strawn
had a story, Foolish Old Man, in a
recent issue of the Saturday Evening
Post.

* Bob Dworkin's KNX program,
Meet the Author, is now piped to 24
cities in western states via the CBS
Pacific Network. The new time is
10:15 p.m. Sundays.

* SWG members Dorothy Langley
and Joseph Than have sold an un-
entitled novel to Prentice Hall.

* The Condemned, SWG member
Joseph Pagano's new novel, is sched-
uled for September publication by
Prentice Hall.

* SWG member Charles Hoffman's
novelette, I Didn't Knoiv It was Load-
ed, scheduled for early magazine pub-
lication in Cosmopolitan.

* SWG member Joseph Shearing's
novel, So Evil, My Love, is announced
for Sept. 17 publication by Harper's.

* SWG member Elizabeth Beecher
had a radio play on the Skippy pro-
gram Aug. 6. In collaboration with
Arby Cannon she has sold a short
storv, Headlines Ltd., to the Canadi-
an Home Journal.

* Silver River, SWG member Ste-
phen Longstreet's screenplay, is being
novelized by Mr. Longstreet for pub-
lication by Julian Messner in N. Y.
and Clarence Winchester in London.

* Herbert Marshall, editor of the
International Theatre and Cinema
and a member of the English Screen
Writers' Association, is editing a
series of books under the general head-
ing of, "The International Library
of Theatre and Cinema." He is inter-
ested in original books or treatises of
a standard nature on any aspect of
motion pictures for inclusion in the
Library. His address is: The Studio,
10a Randolph Avenue, Maida Vale,
London W9. He would appreciate

suggestions from SWG members and
other workers in the Hollywood mo-
tion picture industry.

* Leonid Snegoff, long identified with
the stage and screen as an actor and
director, announces the opening in
Hollywood of the Theatre Labora-
tory for the testing of plays. He is
interested in full length plays, and
stipulates that writers who submit
their plays will incur no obligation
other than being available for consul-
tation about production problems and
being present when the plays are given
a show-case reading before audiences
of studio and theatre people. His ad-
dress is 1954 Pinehurst, Hollywood
28. Telephone HEmpstead 8306.

* SWG member Arthur E. Orloff has
sold a radio adaptation of O. Henry's
The Ransom of Red Chief to CBS.

*The July (Summer) issue of the
Hollywood Quarterly marks the end
of the second year of the journal's
publication with the usually mature
and interesting screen, radio and tele-
vision articles that have become the
hallmark of the magazine. The lead-
ing article is by Vsevolod Pudovkin,
the noted Russian director, who writes
on the possibilities of the global film
which will overcome language barriers
and reach all peoples with a universal
appeal. A supplementary article by
Herman G. Weinberg, who has spe-
cialized in the adaptation and titling
of foreign films, deals with the prob-
lems presented by these language diffi-
culties. Arthur Rosenheimer, Jr.,
assistant curator of the Museum of
Modern Art's film library, surveys
the film periodical field in the U. S. A.
and England. He describes The Screen
Writer as "a lively and progressive
publication . . . one of the few
industry publications that lifts its eyes
and its thinking beyond Hollywood."
Other contributors of articles and
reviews are Luciano Emmer and
Enrico Gras, Joseph P. Brinton, III,
Henry Dreyfuss, F. Dean McClusky,
Charles Palmer, Roger Manvell, Eric
Boden, Abraham Polonsky, Irving
Pichel, Stuart Schulberg, Lester Ash-
ein, Jay E. Gordon, Syd Cassid,

42

NEWS NOTES

Franklin Fearing, Philip Dunne,
Lawrence Morton, Herman G. Wein-
berg and Gilbert Seldes. Editors of
the Quarterly are now SWG members
John Collier, James Hilton and Abra-
ham Polonsky; Irving Pichel; and
Samuel T. Farquhar, Franklin Fear-
ing, Kenneth Macgowan and Frank-
lin P. Rolfe of the University of Cali-
fornia. Joan Macgowan is acting
assistant editor.

* SWG member Martin Field, who
serves on the Editorial Committee of
The Screen Writer, has just sold a
short story to Woman's Home Com-
panion. Title of story: The Sale.

* Current attraction at the Coronet
Theater, the third presentation of

Pelican Productions, is the Jean Paul
Sartre play, "No Exit," with John
Emery, Nancy Coleman and Tamara
Geva in the starring roles.

Present plans call for the Las
Palmas Theatre to be used not only
for moveovers from the Coronet but
as an originating point for plays
which seem particularly well suited
for the theatre. The Pelican group
wishes to make plain that it considers
neither the Coronet or Las Palmas
stages its exclusive property but is
anxious to make these available to
any theatrical group which needs
them.

The Hollywood Film Society con-
tinues to hold forth at the Coronet,

with an expanded program. In addi-
tion to the regular three showings on
Monday nights of outstanding feature
films, documentaries are shown on
Thursdays and Fridays at 5 :40 p.m. ;
children's programs at 10:30 a.m. and
1 :30 p.m. on Saturdays ; and special
showings of unusual film subjects, at
4:30 p.m., on Sundays.

*The Rev. Thomas F. Coogan,
director of the new Catholic Labor
Institute of Los Angeles, invited in-
terested SWG members to attend the
first annual Labor Day Mass at St.
Vibiana's Cathedral, Second and
Main streets, Los Angeles, at 8:30
a. m., Monday, Sept. 1.

A LISTING O
CU*RENT

F SCREEN W

, . r R ED ITS
rITERS- CRti>

EARNED ON FEATURE PRODUCTIONS

OF

■ ■ ■ .-

* No

CREDITS

"fee

NT

*ELE

*S£

JUNE 1, 1947 TO AUGUST 1, 1947

FRANKLYN ADREON

Joint Original Screenplay (with Basil Dickey,

/esse Duffy and Sol Shor) G-MEN NEVER

FORGET, Rep
ZOE AKINS

Joint Screenplay (with Marguerite Roberts)

AS YOU DESIRE ME, MGM

B

GRAHAM BAKER

Joint Screenplay (with Teddi Sherman)

THEY PASSED THIS WAY, Enterprise
LEONARDO BERCOVICI

Joint Screenplay (with Robert E. Sherwood)

THE BISHOP'S WIFE, Goldwyn
LILLIAN BERGQUIST

Sole Original Screenplay PIONEER JUSTICE,

PRC
EDWARD BOCK

Sole Screenplay THE CRIME DOCTOR'S

GAMBLE, Col
DEWITT BODEEN

Sole Screenplay I REMEMBER MAMA, RKO

Sole Adaptation MEMORY OF LOVE, RKO
SYD BOEHM

Joint Screenplay (with Lester Cole) THE

HIGH WALL, MGM
ALLEN BORETZ

Joint Story (with DonHartman) IT HAD

TO BE YOU, Col
WILLIAM BOWERS

Joint Screenplay (with Luci Ward and Jack

Natteford) BLACK BART, HIGHWAYMAN,

U. I.
FREDERICK HAZLETT BRENNAN

Sole Screenplay KILLER McCOY, MGM
WILLIAM BRENT

Joint Adaptation (with Milarde Brent) THEY

PASSED THIS WAY, Enterprise

JAMESON BREWER

Joint Original Screenplay (with Arthur Drei-
fuss) SWEET GENEVIEVE, (Kay Pic.) Col
Joint Screenplay (with Victor McLeod) TWO
BLONDES AND A REDHEAD, (Kay Pic.) Col

GEORGE BRICKER

Sole Screenplay HEARTACHES, PRC

GEORGE BRUCE

Joint Screenplay Basis (with George Oppen-
heimer and Thomas Lennon) and Sole Story
KILLER McCOY, MGM

FRANK BUTLER

Joint Screenplay (with Karl Kamb) WHIS-
PERING SMITH, Par

HUGO BUTLER

Joint Screenplay (with Geoffrey Homes)
ROUGHSHOD, RKO

BORDEN CHASE

Sole Story and Joint Screenplay (with

Charles Schnee> RED RIVER, Monterey Prod.
EDWARD CHODOROV

Joint Adaptation (with George Wells) THE

HUCKSTERS, MGM
JEROME CHODOROV

Joint Screenplay (with Joseph Fields) TEXAS

MANHUNT, Eagle-Lion
ROBERT CHURCHILL

Sole Screenplay LIGHTHOUSE, (Walter

Colmes Prod.) PRC
LESTER COLE

Joint Screenplay (with Syd Boehm) THE

HIGH WALL. MGM
MONTY F. COLLINS

Joint Story (with Julian Peyser) HEART-
ACHES. PRC
DOROTHY COOPER

Joint Screenplay (with Dorothy Kingsley,

Charles Martin and Hans Wilhelm) ON AN

ISLAND WITH YOU, MGM
DWIGHT CUMMINS

Joint Screenplay (with Dorothy Yost) THE

STRAWBERRY ROAN, (Gene Autry Prod.)

Col

NATHANIEL CURTIS

Sole Adaptation for the Screen THE TIME
OF YOUR LIFE, Cagney Productions

LUTHER DAVIS

Sole Screenplay THE HUCKSTERS, MGM
I. A. L. DIAMOND

Joint Original Screenplay (with Phoebe and
Henry Ephron) NEED FOR EACH OTHER, WB,

BASIL DICKEY

Joint Original Screenplay (with Franklyn
Adreon, Jesse Duffy and Sol Shor) G-MEN
NEVER FORGET, Rep

ARTHUR DREIFUSS

Joint Original Screenplay (with Jameson
Brewer) SWEET GENEVIEVE, (Kay Pic.) Col

JESSE DUFFY

Joint Original Screenplay (with Basil Dickey,
Franklyn Adreon, and Sol Shor) G-MEN
NEVER FORGET, Rep

DECLA DUNNING

^Contributor to Screenplay SLEEP, MY LOVE,
Triangle Productions.

SAUL ELKINS

Sole Screenplay THE POWER BEHIND THE
NATION (S) WB
CYRIL ENDFIELD

•^Contributor to Screenplay SLEEP, MY LOVE,
Triangle Productions
HENRY EPHRON

Joint Screenplay (with Phoebe Ephron and
I. A. L. Diamond) NEED FOR EACH OTHER,
WB

*Academy Bulletin Only

43

THE SCREEN WRITER

PHOEBE EPHRON

Joint Screenplay (with Henry Ephron and
I. A. L. Diamond) NEED FOR EACH OTHER
WB

FRANK FENTON

Joint Screenplay (with Dick Irving Hyland)

MEMORY OF LOVE, RKO
JOSEPH FIELDS

Joint Screenplay (with Jerome Chodorov)

Texas Manhunt, Eagle-Lion
BRADBURY FOOTE

Joint Story and Play Basis (with Alan R.

Clark) THE HIGH WALL, MGM
HARRIET FRANK, JR.

Joint Screenplay (with Stephen Longstreet)

SILVER RIVER, WB
MELVIN FRANK

Joint Screenplay (with Norman Panama)

IT HAD TO BE YOU, Col

HAROLD GOLDMAN

Contributor to Screenplay construction and
Dialogue THE BIG CLOCK, Par
JERRY GRUSKIN

Joint Screenplay (with Norman S. Hall)
SLIPPY McGEE, Rep

H

GEORGE HALASZ

Joint Screenplay (with Leslie Vale) LINDA,
BE GOOD, Cameo Productions

NORMAN S. HALL

Sole Original Screenplay BUCKAROO FROM
POWDER RIVER, Col

Joint Screenplay (with Jerry Gruakin) SLIP-
PY McGEE, Rep

JOHN HARDING

Joint Original Screenplay (with Isobel Len-
nart) THE KISSING BANDIT, MGM

HOWARD HARRIS

Joint Story (with Dick Irving Hyland) LIN-
DA, BE GOOD, Cameo Productions

DON HARTMAN

Joint Story (with Allen Boretz) IT HAD
TO BE YOU, Col

LAWRENCE HAZARD

Joint Screenplay (with Horace McCoy) THE
FABULOUS TEXAN, Rep

BEN HECHT

Joint Screenplay (with Charles Lederer)
RIDE THE PINK HORSE, U. I.

DAVID HERTZ

Sole Screenplay DAISY KENYON, Fox

CHARLES HOFFMAN

Sole Screenplay THAT HAGEN GIRL, WB

GEOFFREY HOMES
Joint Screenplay (with Hugo Butler) ROUGH-
SHOD, RKO

ARTHUR HORMAN

Contributor to Screenplay THEY PASSED
THIS WAY, Enterprise

NORMAN HOUSTON

Sole Screenplay WILD HORSE MESA, RKO

ROY HUGGINS

Sole Screenplay and Novel Basis I LOVE
TROUBLE (Cornell Pic.) Col

DOROTHY B. HUGHES

Novel Basis RIDE THE PINK HORSE, U. I.

DICK IRVING HYLAND

Joint Screenplay (with Frank Fenton) and
Sole Story MEMORY OF LOVE, RKO
Joint Story (with Howard Harris) LINDA,
BE GOOD, Cameo Productions

K

GARSON KAN1N

Joint Original Screenplay (with Ruth Gor-
don) A DOUBLE LIFE, U. I.

KARL KAMB

Joint Screenplay (with Frank Butler) WHIS-
PERING SMITH, Par

ROBERT E. KENT

Joint Original Screenplay (with Crane Wil-
bur) RED STALLION (Eagle-Lion) PRC

DOROTHY KINGSLEY

Joint Screenplay (with Dorothy Cooper,
Charles Martin and Hans Wilhelm) ON AN
ISLAND WITH YOU. MGM

JONATHAN LATIMER

Sole Screenplay THE BIG CLOCK, Par

CHARLES LEDERER

Joint Screenplay (with Ben Hecht) RIDE
THE PINK HORSE, U. I.

ISOBEL LENNART

Joint Original Screenplay (with John Hard-
ing) THE KISSING BANDIT, MGM

SONYA LEVIEN

Joint Adaptation (with Donald Ogden Stew-
art) CASS TIMBERLANE, MGM

HAL LONG

Sole Story THE FABULOUS TEXAN, Rep

STEPHEN LONGSTREET

Joint Screenplay (with Harriet Frank, Jr.)
and Sole Novel Basis SILVER RIVER, WB

M<

HORACE MeCOY

Joint Screenplay (with Lawrence Hazard)

THE FABULOUS TEXAN, Rep
ST. CLAIR McKELWAY

Joint Screenplay (with Leo Rosten) SLEEP,

MY LOVE, Triangle Productions
VICTOR McLEOD

Joint Screenplay (with Jameson Brewer)

TWO BLONDES AND A REDHEAD, (Kay

Pic.) Col

M

ALBERT MALTZ

Joint Screenplay (with Malvin Wald) THE

NAKED CITY, U. I.
DON MARTIN

Story and Adaptation LIGHTHOUSE, (Walter

Colmes Prod.) PRC
CHARLES MARTIN

Joint Story (with Hans Wilhelm) and Joint

Screenplay (with Dorothy Kingsley, Dorothy

Cooper, and Hans Wilhelm) ON AN ISLAND

WITH YOU, MGM
HENRY MORITZ

Sole Story WHEN A GIRL'S BEAUTIFUL, Col

N

ROBERT NATHAN

Sole Novel Basis THE BISHOP'S WIFE, Gold-
wyn

JACK NATTEFORD

Joint Story (with Luci Ward) and Joint
Screenplay (with Charles O'Neal and Luci
Ward) RETURN OF THE BADMEN, RKO
Joint Story (with Luci Ward) and Joint
Screenplay (with Luci Ward and William
Bowers) BLACK BART, HIGHWAYMAN, U. I.

SLOAN NIBLEY

Sole Original Screenplay THE GAY RAN-
CHERO, Rep

o

"'Academy Bulletin Only

CHARLES O'NEAL

Joint Screenplay (with Jack Natteford and
Luci Ward) RETURN OF THE BADMEN, RKO
GEORGE OPPENHEIMER

Joint Screenplay (with Thomas Lennon and
George Bruce) KILLER McCOY, MGM

NORMAN PANAMA

Joint Screenplay (with Melvin Frank) IT
"HAD TO BE YOU, Col
JOSEPH POLAND

Sole Original Screenplay BLACK HILLS, PRC

NICHOLAS RAY

Sole Adaptation YOUR RED WAGON, RKO
MARGUERITE ROBERTS

Joint Screenplay (with Arthur Wimperis)

IF WINTER COMES, MGM

Joint Screenplay (with Zoe Akins) AS YOU

DESIRE ME, MGM
CASEY ROBINSON

Sole Adaptation AS YOU DESIRE ME, MGM
LEO ROSTEN

Joint Screenplay (with St. Clair McKelway)

and Sole Novel Basis SLEEP, MY LOVE,

Triangle Productions
LOUISE ROUSSEAU

Sole Original Screenplay UNDER COLORADO

SKIES, Rep

CHARLES SCHNEE

Sole Screenplay YOUR RED WAGON, RKO
Joint Screenplay (with Borden Chase) RED
RIVER, Monterey Productions
Contributor to Dialogue MEMORY OF
LOVE, RKO

RAYMOND SCHROCK

Joint Story (with Jerry Warner) THE

CRIME DOCTOR'S GAMBLE, Col
ROBERT E. SHERWOOD

Joint Screenplay (with Leonardo Bercovici)

THE BISHOP'S WIFE, Goldwyn
BARRY SHIPMAN

Sole Original Screenplay SMOKY RIVER

SERENADE, Col
SOL SHOR

Joint Original Screenplay (with Franklyn

Adreon, Basil Dickey and Jesse Duffy)

G-MEN NEVER FORGET, Rep
CHARLES SHOWS

Joint Original Screenplay (with Lou Lilly)

DOG CRAZY (S) Par

Joint Original Screenplay (with Lou Lilly)

MONKEYSHINES (S) Par
GEORGE SLAVIN

Sole Story and Joint Screenplay (with Barry

Trivers) INTRIGUE, Star Films
EARLE SNELL

Joint Screenplay (with Jack Townley) THE

LAST ROUNDUP, Col
DONALD OGDEN STEWART

Sole Screenplay and Joint Adaptation (with

Sonya Levlen) CASS TIMBERLANE, MGM

CHARLES L. TEDFORD

Sole Screenplay NATION ON SKIS (S) WB
Sole Screenplay SPORTS DOWN UNDER, (S)
WB

JACK TOWNLEY

Joint Screenplay (with Earle Snell) and
Sole Story THE LAST ROUNDUP, Col

BARRY TRIVERS

Joint Screenplay (with George Slavin) IN-
TRIGUE, Star Films

LESLIE VALE

Joint Screenplay (with George Halasz)

LINDA, BE GOOD, Cameo Productions
JOHN VAN DRUTEN

Play Basis I REMEMBER MAMA. RKO
PETER VIERTEL

Sole Story ROUGHSHOD, RKO

w

MALVIN WALD

Sole Story and Joint Screenplay (with Albert
Maltz) THE NAKED CITY, U. I.

LUCI WARD

Joint Story (with Jack Natteford) and Joint
Screenplay (with Jack Natteford and Charles
O'Neal) RETURN OF THE BADMEN, RKO
Joint Story (with Jack Natteford) and Joint
Screenplay (with Jack Natteford and Wil-
liam Bowers) BLACK BART, HIGHWAYMAN,
U. I.

JERRY WARNER

Joint Story (with Raymond Schrock) THE
CRIME DOCTOR'S GAMBLE, Col

BRENDA WEISBERG

Sole Screenplay WHEN A GIRL'S BEAUTI-
FUL, Col

GEORGE WELLS

Joint Adaptation (with Edward Chodorov)
THE HUCKSTERS, MGM

CRANE WILBUR

Joint Screenplay (with Robert E. Kent) THE
RED STALLION, Eagle-Lion

HANS WILHELM

Joint Story (with Charles Martin) and Joint
Screenplay (with Dorothy Kingsley, Dor-
othy Cooper and Charles Martin) ON AN
ISLAND WITH YOU, MGM

ROBERT C. WILLIAMS

Sole Original Screenplay OUTLAWS OF
GHOST TOWN, Rep

ARTHUR WIMPERIS

Joint Screenplay (with Marguerite Roberts)
IF WINTER COMES, MGM

DOROTHY YOST

Joint Screenplay (with Dwight Cummins)
THE STRAWBERRY ROAN. (Gene Autry
Prod.) Col
NEDRICK YOUNG

Sole Original Screenplay THAT GUY JOE
PALOOKA, Mono

JULIAN ZIMET

Sole Original Story STRAWBERRY ROAN
(Gene Autry Prod.) Col

44

NEXT MONTH AND THEREAFTER

ADRIAN SCOTT

WILLIAM WYLER

EUGEN SHARIN

RICHARD COLLINS

DAVID CHANDLER

ISOBEL LENNART

EDWARD ELISCU

LESTER KOENIG

FRANK LAUNDER

T. E. B. CLARKE

LUCI WARD & JACK NATTEFORD

CURT SIODMAK

NORMAN LEE

WILLIAM ORNSTEIN

HOWARD DIMSDALE

PAUL TRIVERS

Some of My Worst Friends

Toward a New Realism

Disunion in Vienna

Screen Censorship

Love in Hopewell

Film Musicals

Paris Notes

Gregg Toland: the Man and His Work

As the British See It

Some British Questions

Horse Opera Economics

Medium Close Shot in Bel Air

Hollywood! You've Been Warned!

Can't Scare the Movies

Screen Treatment of Minorities

The Great Hollywood Debate

And further articles by ROBERT ARDREY, SYDNEY BOX, HUGO BUTLER,
JOHN COLLIER, VALENTINE DAVIES, EARL FELTON, SAMUEL FULLER,
MILT GROSS, RICHARD G. HUBLER, TALBOT JENNINGS, ALBERT MALTZ,
HENRY MYERS, ST. CLAIR McKELWAY, EMERIC PRESSBURGER, IRVING
PICHEL, GEORGE SEATON, ARTHUR STRAWN, WILLIAM SERIL, PETER
VIERTEL, JOSEPH WECHSBERG, JOHN H. WINGE, KATHLEEN WINSOR
and others.

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■1

The

lA/hatd ^tnead ^rot ^rti

©C1B 98740

metican

r NOW i r\ <«/-!

A Report on Markets, Taxes, Jobs

From London: From Hollywood:

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW DUDLEY NICHOLS
FRANK LAUNDER RICHARD G- HUBLER

GUY MORGAN HOWARD KOCH

SPECIAL SECTION - - Page 18

ADRIAN SCOTT: Some of My Worst Friends

RICHARD COLLINS: The Screen Writer and Censorship

EUGEN SHARIN: Disunion in Vienna

PAUL TRIVERS: Toxvn Meeting Tonight!

EDWARD ELISCU: Paris Notes

WILLIAM SERIL: Film Suspense and Revelation

DAVID CHANDLER: Love in Hopewell

FULL TEXT OF SWG ECONOMIC PROGRAM

Page 40

October, 1947

Editorials • Report and
Comment • SWG Bulletin
Correspondence • News
Notes • Screen Credits

OCT -8 1347

Letter

From

London

GUY MORGAN, Honorable Sec-
retary of the Screenwriters' Asso-
ciation, of London, writes to in-
form the American motion picture
industry concerning the recent
controversy between his Associa-
tion and the Association of Cine
Technicians.

THE letter from George Elvin,
General Secretary of the Associa-
tion of Cine Technicians and our
President's reply, published in the July
issue of The Screen Writer, led to
a month's brisk negotiation on this
side, between the Screenwriters' Asso-
ciation, the Producers, and the Tech-
nicians, which resulted, after our in-
sistence, in the grades of Screenwriter
and Scenario Editor being struck out
of the Technicians' new Agreement
with the Producers.

The statements made in his letter
by Mr. Elvin (that the only negotia-
tions with Employers' Federations
were undertaken by his Union, that
in the new Agreement Screenwriters
were treated "the same as other tech-
nicians," and that the Union would
resist any attempt by a non-trade-
union organization today to usurp
certain functions of Trades Union
organization) brought it urgently to
the notice of the Screenwriters Asso-
ciation that a vital matter of principle
was involved affecting the whole
status of our organization as a recog-
nized negotiating body.

Although there was nothing in the
Agreement which could be to the bene-
fit or detriment of feature screen-
writers (and no minimum wage was
stated ) , it was clear that the inclusion
of screenwriters in the schedule estab-
lished the principle that the Associa-
tion of Cine Technicians was the
proper body to negotiate for screen-
writers.

It was felt therefor that immediate
action should be taken by the Screen-
writers Association to prevent our
silence being subsequently claimed as
tacit assent. Letters were therefore
sent to the British Film Producers

{Continued on Page 48)

The

I Screen Write

P )

Vol. 3, No. 5 OCTOBER, 1947

V

EDITORIAL COMMITTEE

Gordon Kahn, Editor

Robert Shaw, Director of Publications

isobel lennart

Herbert Clyde Lewis

Bernard C. Schoenfeld

Theodore Strauss

Art Arthur
Martin Field
Harris Gable
Richard G. Hubler
Lester Koenig

CONTENTS

ADRIAN SCOTT: Some of My Worst Friends 1

WILLIAM SERIL: Film Suspense and Revelation 7

EUGEN SHARIN: Disunion in Vienna 10

RICHARD COLLINS: The Screen Writer and Censorship 15

SPECIAL SECTION : What's Ahead for American Films :

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW: Memo to Hollywood 18

DUDLEY NICHOLS: Film Dollars from Lean Pockets 19

FRANK LAUNDER: A Substitute for the Tax! 21

RICHARD G. HUBLER: Canoe in a Tidal Wave 22

GUY MORGAN: Mrs. Miniver's Sleigh Ride 23

HOWARD KOCH: How to Keep a Foreign Market 25

EDITORIAL COMMITTEE: Summary & Report 26

PAUL TRIVERS: Town Meeting Tonight/ 31

DAVID CHANDLER: Love in Hopewell 34

Editorials 37

SWG Economic Program 40

Report & Comment:

EDWARD ELISCU: Paris Notes 46

Licensing Progress in England 47

Correspondence 47

News Notes 49

Books 50

Screen Credits 51
Letter From London Inside Front Cover

PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD, INC., AT
16SS NORTH CHEROKEE, HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA.

ALL SIGNED ARTICLES IN THE SCREEN WRITER REPRESENT THE
INDIVIDUAL OPINIONS OF THE AUTHORS. EDITORIALS REFLECT
OFFICIAL SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD POLICY, AS DETERMINED
UPON BY THE EXECUTIVE BOARD.

YEARLY: $2.50; FOREIGN, $3.00; SINGLE COPY 25c; (CANADA AND
FOREIGN 30c).

CONTENTS COPYRIGHT 1947 BY THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD,
INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Motion Pictures and Anti'Semitism

Some of My Worst Friends

ADRIAN SCOTT

SWG member ADRIAN SCOTT,
RKO 'writer-producer, <who recently
produced the film Crossfire about
•which the nation is talking, here
discusses the motivations behind this
film and calls for a coordinated edu-
cational campaign against Nazi race
prejudices in America and the •world.

AT THIS writing, Crossfire has just completed
six weeks at the Rivoli Theatre in New York,
and is continuing to run. Business has been
splendid, even boff, in the big city. The picture has
been seen in a few resort towns on the Atlantic sea-
board. Reports from there are incomplete but aggregate
grosses on the first day had the picture running $150
behind The Hucksters, which is the most boff of the
pictures currently running. This means, I gather, that
the box office is not as pessimistic about Crossfire as
some people are.

From the very beginning Crossfire has been the
victim of a strong minority pessimism. It would be
easy to say that its source was anti-Semitic, which in
part it was. But chiefly it stemmed from sources that
had genuine anxiety about the project and thought
it would be better left alone. Pictures should be made
on the subject, the sources said, but not Crossfire.
Others among the minority said Crossfire should be
done differently. Still others: If it were done badly,
it would cause more anti-Semitism. Still others: If it
were done well, it would be those smart Jews in Holly-
wood at work, and this, too, would not have the effect
of abating but rather increasing anti-Semitism.

This is the partial, bewildering context of Crossfire's
inception ; the whole of it is monumental.

The first rumbling of an anti-Semitic nature came
to us when the project was first announced. A troubled
few had difficulty assigning the right motives to the
making and to the makers of Crossfire. Eddie Dmytryk

was labeled a Jew. It was said that I was a Jew, too,
a fact which I had managed to conceal for many years
but which now came out since I was involved in the
project. Of John Paxton, who wrote the screen play,
it was noted by someone who read the script that he
couldn't possibly have been this brilliant about anti-
Semitism unless he himself was an anti-Semite. Fin-
ally, it was said categorically that the whole bunch
at RKO involved in this project were Jews.

We were not accorded the professional's right of
evaluating the contemporary scene or the right of feel-
ing compassion for our fellow men. Nor were we
accorded a fundamental Hollywood right of considering
ourselves fairly good business men for attempting to
make a good picture with a new and vital theme. These,
incidentally, were our motives. They haven't changed.
We continue to like them.

Since the picture's release the original pessimism
has taken some new forms but mostly the old forms
remain intact. Naturally, it was very rewarding to
find majority opinion behind the film's content, prais-
ing the fact that it was done, deploring the fact that
it was necessary to be done. But minority opinion has
let out a loud wail, placing its attack in the context of
that indefatigable cliche that Hollywood has not grown
up. The specific attack is confining itself to certain
issues in the picture.

Minority opinion attaches itself to what it considers
a formidable weakness in content, not quality. In most
cases the picture gets a grudgingly proffered "A" in

THE SCREEN WRITER

quality. This minority view seems less an opinion —
even a complex opinion — - than it does a fascinating
and tortuous obscurity. But despite this, and despite
its irrelevance, it is well and articulately done. It is,
therefore, considerably more dangerous.

Here it is.

Crossfire, the argument goes, concerns itself with
"lunatic fringe" anti-Semitism (which it primarily
does). But, because it deals with lunatic fringe anti-
Semitism, it separates itself from majority anti-Semitic
practice. Because it separates itself from majority anti-
Semitic practice, the film is not about you and me.

The argument shifts and proceeds: The "you and
me" kind of anti-Semitism is chiefly the social discrim-
ination variety — the kind which keeps Jews out of a
club or a hotel or a camp, which says the Jews own
the motion picture industry, which they clearly do
not. And this "you and me" kind, it is argued, since
it has to do with the kind of anti-Semitism practiced
by most Americans, is the kind one ought to make a
picture about.

Because Crossfire does not deal with this variety
of anti-Semitism, the film is not only not about you
and me but it is, moreover, not valid and not true.

Crossfire is not valid and not true because ( 1 ) luna-
tic anti-Semitism either does not exist or it does exist
but it is not important; or (2) it is important but it
doesn't happen as it does in Crossfire; or (3) if it does
happen, the picture's attack is nevertheless too con-
fined, it is not a definitive picture of anti-Semitism:
therefore, it will not promote understanding of anti-
Semitism; or (4) the anti-Semite, Monty, in Crossfire,
for a variety of obscure reasons, will be considered the
hero — audiences will sympathize with him, identify
themselves with him. As a result the picture will have
the opposite effect of the one intended.

It would be stupid to deny the charge — and it has
become a charge — about the "you and me" business.
It should be freely admitted at the outset: Crossfire
is not about you and me. When work was started
some two years ago, it was purposely designed not to
be about you and me. Its attack was limited and con-
fined ; its story was limited and confined, as is the story
of almost any theatrical experience. To attempt to do
a definitive study of anti-Semitism in one picture is a
fool's errand. It is proper material for pamphlets and
books. But even in these media it is doubtful if defini-
tiveness is possible. Look at the literature which has
investigated anti-Semitism. Find, if you can, a one-
volume definitive analysis.

Most of the minority charges against Crossfire
probably dismiss themselves, crumbling with their own
faulty and insubstantial structure. But the charge that
the lunatic fringe anti-Semitism of Crossfire is invalid

and untrue is just silly enough to be picked up by
groups which engage wilfully in anti- Semitism. For
this reason it should be answered.

UNATIC fringe anti-Semitism is important, dan-
••-'gerously and terribly important. It was important in
Hitler's Reich and in Czarist Russia, and in most of
the countries of Europe at some time. The social dis-
crimination variety is important, too ; so is every minor
or major practice which goes to make up the whole
hateful body of anti-Semitic practice. And anyone who
attempts to estimate which kind of anti-Semitism is
most important or which kind should have the most
emphasis announces an incomplete understanding of
anti-Semitism.

Monty, the anti-Semite in Crossfire, exists. This very
night he is roaming the streets of Queens, N. Y., look-
ing for a Jew to beat up. He has already beaten up
many. He has associates. They are looking to prove
their superiority by kicking around someone they con-
sider decidedly inferior. They want a scapegoat for their
own insecurity and maladjustment. They are ignorant
and organized. They hoot and howl with fanatic
energy at the Messianic raving of Gerald L. K. Smith.
They are the storm troopers of tomorrow. If this coun-
try were depressed enough to fall victim to a Leader,
these men would qualify brilliantly for the chieftains
of American Buchenwalds and Dachaus.

Such a group, organized and disciplined, a significant
section of native American fascists, is a threat to the
Jews, and to the entire population. It is depressing at
this point in our history to find it necessary to say that.

It is also depressing, after the experience of Crossfire,
to hear the fancies which are currently being distributed
about Gentleman's Agreement. This is again a minor-
ity opinion, as in the case of Crossfire. And it is some-
thing which the makers of Gentleman s Agreement
will face and undoubtedly answer.

The lunatic fringe charge, of course, is not made
against Gentleman's Agreement. The charge here is
that Gentleman's Agreement has a dubious device ; that,
while the book has some fine things to say about anti-
Semitism, the point of departure is unsound.

You may have heard it. It goes like this : Gentleman's
Agreement has a great angle — a slick, glib and familiar
angle — but it does not truthfully correspond with
experience. The protagonist, Green, who pretends to
be a Jew, is not really going through what a Jew
goes through. Thus, the picture will have a sense
of not happening, or at best, happening in vacuum.
The end result will be special — as special as the prob-
lem it poses — and, therefore, not effective against
total anti-Semitism.

SOME OF MY WORST FRIENDS

This is an interesting deviation from the criticism
of Crossfire. Remember, Crossfire did not correspond
with majority anti-Semitic practice? Well, Gentleman's
Agreement does. But even though Gentleman's Agree-
ment has selected the proper kind of anti-Semitism to
attack, it's no good because the method of attack is
no good!

Discussions of anti-Semitism on this level are weird
and unreal. They are debates in limbo. Nobody really
cares how they come out. But they are important,
recklessly important, for they throw off anti-Semitic
particles to be used and to be expanded in the whole
body of anti-Semitic practice.

The plain, simple fact is that the device of Gentle-
mans Agreement is brilliant for its purpose. To describe
sharply the villainy of anti-Semitism, a man is perse-
cuted and depraved simply because he says he is a Jew.
If it is a trick, it is a Swiftian trick. It, furthermore,
lends itself to a savage and ruthless exposition of anti-
Semitism.

DURING the preparation of Crossfire we had no
notion what the specific effect of the picture would
be on the anti-Semitic and non-anti-Semitic popula-
tion. There was no possible way of gauging this except
by making a picture and finding out what happened.
The full potential impact of a motion picture cannot
be completely determined by its script, nor is it possible
to survey scientifically the effect of the final product.
Anti-Semitism is slippery and takes many forms. A pic-
ture could affect one form and not another.

We hoped the effect would be enormous. We weren't
so sanguine as to expect the picture would, in one fell
swoop, eradicate anti-Semitism. But we did know that
public discussion and lively debate have a valuable
place in a democratic society. The air could be cleared.
The problem could be more clearly visualized. We
hoped for this, for more clarity.

Although we rejected the minority disturbance, we
nevertheless wondered about it. We wondered, for
example, if it had reached our fellow professionals, and
if not, would they have the minority reservation without
having experienced minority influence.

We decided to ask and to ask further what was their
opinion of the possible effect of the picture. We hoped
it would be like ours. It wouldn't prove anything
scientifically, but it would describe an attitude —
whether that attitude was favorably inclined toward
this project and others like it; whether that attitude
properly stimulated would be the beneficiary of further
attitudes and further action against anti-Semitism. We

simply wanted to know the effect — any kind of effect —
on professionals and we could get this simply by asking.

A poll was conducted. The specific question of
"effect" was asked and one other: Is it possible to end
anti-Semitism in America? This latter produced some
lively results. The questionees freely spoke their minds.
Here are the answers:

Answer Number One. Number One thought the
effect of pictures dealing with anti-Semitism would
be enormous. They would be applauded by the country
as a whole, by legislators, educators, churches, etc.
He was quite certain that on people of good will who
were unconscious of their own anti-Semitic practice
the effect would be positive; i.e., in the future they
would resist anti-Semitic impulses and be wary of anti-
Semitic practice in others. He felt the pictures would
have no effect on the practicing anti-Semite, the semi-
fascist, who would conclude that these pictures were
all Jewish inspired. He thought that anti-Semitism
could be ended in America if all the media of communi-
cation lent themselves to the project. The project
would need the endless cooperation of radio, news-
papers, motion pictures, educators and school systems.
He added ruefully that although it could be done, it
probably wouldn't simply because the media them-
selves would develop insuperable obstacles to their
ever getting together. They would not consider it their
job fundamentally. It would belong to somebody else.

Answer Number Two. Number Two was uncertain
as to what the effect of pictures exposing anti-Semitism
would be. Undoubtedly, on some people there would
be a salutary effect but he wondered how permanent
the effect would be. Attacking aspects of anti-Semitism
in pictures would certainly neutralize to a great extent
those aspects but wouldn't anti-Semitism find new ways
of exploiting itself? Wouldn't it rise in new forms?
Wouldn't it transfer itself to other minorities, the
Negroes, for example ? He hadn't really thought enough
about it, but despite his hesitancies he felt that the fact
that pictures were being made was a great stride for-
word. He thought anti-Semitism and all minority
prejudice could be removed from the American scene
by proper educational methods but he would not
attempt to guess how long this would take.

Answer Number Three. Number Three couldn't
estimate or guess at the effect of the pictures being
made but he was proud they were being made. Proud
of the industry and himself ( he was working in one
of the pictures). He didn't know how long it would
take but he knew it could be done, citing himself as

THE SCREEN WRITER

an example. Until he was 28 years old he was anti-
Semitic himself. Not active and not vicious. When
he first came to New York from a small Nebraska
town, he'd never to his knowledge met a Jew. There
weren't any in his town and yet the town was anti-
Semitic. During a time he was out of work in New
York, he roamed the city — in the slums, middle class
and wealthy areas. Particularly in the slums his anti-
Semitism was confirmed. He would see dirty people,
fat, sloppy. His simple standard of judgment was that
he wouldn't like to be invited into these peoples' houses
to sit at their table. The thought revolted him. These
were Jews. In later years, when his perspective had
changed, he confessed to himself that he never knew
for certain whether these "dirty, sloppy people" were
Jews. They could have been anything: Irish, Polish,
Hungarians, or what they actually were, Americans.
His real hate was for poverty and the dirt and filth
that accompany it. He hated the wrong things; he
hated the people instead of the conditions that made
people that way. Today he says, "If the seed of anti-
Semitism could be removed from me, it can be removed
from anybody — when educated properly."

prejudice, was the tool of the semi-fascist and the
fascist, something to use against the country as a whole,
and against him and his family. It was a machine by
which democracy could be liquidated. He was certain
that anti-Semitism could be ended. He didn't care
how long it took, so long as something in a big way
was done to combat it.

Answer Number Six. This man was an executive
in the industry. He couldn't determine the effect of
the pictures. But he was convinced that this was a
proper step and he hoped the pictures would make a
lot of money, for, he argued, this would guarantee
that many people would see them. But whether money
was made or not was not of first importance. Whether
the pictures were big successes, moderate successes or
miserable failures was not of first importance. The
importance was the public service. The industry occa-
sionally should make pictures, he felt, with the objec-
tive of servicing democratic institutions. He considered
prejudice of any kind anti-democratic. If the pictures
fail, they should be written off and made available to
anyone or any organization that wanted to show them.

Answer Number Four. Number Four felt that the
pictures being made were a drop in a bucket. No more.
To be really effective, a national campaign of education
was necessary, including the help of motion pictures,
newspapers, radio, publishers, legislators, congressmen,
senators, presidents, school systems and the whole
American people. That they could ever get together
was an idea which should be properly patronized. But
if they did, and stayed together, the demise of anti-
Semitism could be estimated as a certainty in a very
short time.

Answer Number Five. Number Five applauded the
pictures being made. He was not interested as a pro-
fessional in the specific effect of these pictures — he
knew it would be good. He didn't know how wide-
spread the effect would be. He felt the violent anti-
Semite would ignore and actively campaign against the
pictures. He felt that even certain people of good will,
unconscious of their anti-Semitic prejudice, ignorant
of the full meaning of anti-Semitism, would pick on
the pictures and try very hard to find something wrong
with them. But all this was irrelevant. What was
important was that the most effective voice in the
country had the guts to stand up and say anti-Semitism
was wrong. Not only was it education for the people
but it was education for the professional. Here was a
precedent which excites and stimulates the professional
to examine his own work. As a good citizen, he wanted
anti-Semitism to end. Anti-Semitism, or any minority

Answer Number Seven. This man was a veteran. He
thought it was possible to neutralize anti-Semitism
and having been abroad in Germany he thought we
damn well better had. Anti-Semitism in pre-Hitler
Germany was far less extensive than it is here now.
He was appalled when he came home from the war
at the extent to which we have continued to under-
estimate minority prejudice. We have learned some
lessons from the war, he thought, but we have not
learned enough. We have failed to understand that
with existing prejudices against the Jews and the
Negroes and other minorities, it would be simple — so
very simple — for an American Fuehrer to whip this
country into a violent and ghastly hatred as a step
toward the eventual destruction of our democratic
institutions. In depression, which our most conservative
economists agree is coming, the soil for demagoguery
grows rich and fertile. The minority becomes the
scapegoat and the scapegoat the smoke screen for anti-
democratic activity. In this context, anyone who sub-
scribes to full democratic practice is expendable.

THESE are some of the answers. There were more,
about twenty in all but there isn't enough space
to report them.

On the whole the experiment, however unscientific
it might seem to Mr. Gallup, was successful. A major-
ity approved the pictures, were pleased that the subject

SOME OF MY WORST FRIENDS

was being aired in frank terms, agreed that the tech-
niques so far developed for battling anti-Semitism
have proved miserable failures.

One opinion was violent on the subject of the frail
intellectual who would snipe and pick and submit
his own anxiety as proof that these pictures will cause
more anti-Semitism — whose real position when exam-
ined closely would prevent pictures on anti-Semitism
from being made at all.

Everyone realized it was a gigantic job to neutralize
anti-Semitism but that perhaps as a result of these
pictures, activity would be hastened. But there was no
absolute, positive guarantee that this would be done.
It seemed rather that the only positive guarantee was
that anti-Semitism would continue.

This is true. Anti-Semitism will continue. The
pictures, when they have been released nationally and
have completed their runs, will certainly have the
effect of abating somewhat the virulence of anti-
Semitism. But at best the effect is temporary. These
pictures are no permanent cure. For a year or perhaps
five years they will be shown and used, but in the end,
they cannot be counted on to handle the job of servicing
a nation riddled with prejudice. There is no proof that
any program, legislative or educational, now in work
is large enough in scope to defend successfully our
people against prejudice of whatever kind.

Although the poll confirmed our hopes about Cross-
fire, it brought to the foreground a new and grave con-
cern: The motion picture industry had lifted the lid
on a controversy on a national scale; it would hardly
accrue to its credit to allow that controversy to be
debated or aired superficially.

Medicine would not put a highly infectious patient
in a fine hospital bed and deny him the use of peni-
cillin. Motion pictures cannot make two or five or even
ten films and announce their responsibility has been
discharged. If the industry believes, and not simply
pays lip service to the notion that American life guar-
antees freedom from prejudice, as the pictures on anti-
Semitism will say directly or indirectly, then clearly
there is a responsibility facing the industry.

The responsibility, very simply, is to implement the
job already started.

In the course of conducting the poll, a number of
gifted people said they were available for use in com-
bating minority prejudice. This was enough encourage-
ment to ask other people among our actors, directors,
producers and writers if they would be willing to give
their services to making pictures on anti-Semitism and
minority prejudice.

No one refused.

They agreed to make time if they were busy. They

were all stimulated by the prospect and not a few
pointed out a precedent exists. No studio in the business
made a penny on pictures produced for the Army or
Navy during wartime. True, this was a national crisis,
but as someone pointed out, there is a crisis among
minorities. When any minority is abused, degraded or
deprived of earning a living, this constitutes a crisis
for the entire nation.

THE broad program is yet to be devised. But suppose
it went something like this:

The program of pictures would be shorts — documen-
taries, if you prefer that word — made by some of the
industry's finest craftsmen. Individually, they would
deal with one aspect of anti-minority practice. They
would be designed for the consumption of all age
groups. For the very young, obviously a cartoon. For
college groups, a more mature analysis. One picture
could possibly lay low the infamous "Christ killer"
legend. Another could treat with anti-Semitism among
the Negroes. Several could be devoted to the historical
aspects of anti-Semitism. And so on, until the whole
body of anti-Semitism is exposed.

These pictures would be made with the assistance
of experts — psychologists, social workers, effective
fighters against race and minority prejudice.

They would be made available free of charge to
anyone who requested them. To social organizations,
to school systems, to labor organizations, to colleges,
to motion picture exhibitors, etc., etc.

Twenty shorts would be enough to start the pro-
gram, enough to service the country for five years, say.
A production expert figures, with services donated by
those who can afford it, the pictures should cost less than
$10,000 apiece. My very poor arithmetic makes the
price per day for five years about one hundred dollars.

If this job is done, if these pictures are made, the
nation will be given the machinery by which a large
scale operation can be instituted. Everyone applauds
the yearly campaigns of good will organizations to
combat prejudice; but these good will organizations
do not have enough weapons. One week, every year,
is not enough time to devote to the destruction of
prejudice. Doctors would go mad if they were permit-
ted to work only one week on the cure for polio or
cancer. We would still have no cure for syphilis if
Ehrlich assigned one week a year to find his specific.
It's a full-time job. To destroy a mass prejudice, a mass
instrument is necessary. A motion picture program
is the start. But a big start.

Clearly, we have the facilities in this country demo-
cratically mobilized to work effectively for the destruc-
tion of anti-Semitism or any minority prejudice.

THE SCREEN WRITER

Tragedy will befall us if as a result of the program
spontaneously combusting nothing is done to follow
it up. The time will be ripe a few months hence for
action. A certain conditioning in public thinking will

have taken place. The challenge of action will then
face us.

Some of my worst friends are those who ignore
or refuse this challenge.

hr^

Writer-Director F. Hugh Herbert, SWG secretary, has written this brief epilogue to his
widely reprinted satire, Subject: Bindle Biog, published in the September issue of The Screen
Writer:

Subject: Bindle Biog

(A Postscript)
By
F. HUGH HERBERT

IMPERIAL PICTURES
West Coast Studios

Executive Board
Screen Writers Guild
1655 N. Cherokee
Hollywood, Cal.

SUBJECT: The Bindle Swindle

Gentlemen :

Please consider this letter my application for active membership in the Screen Writers Guild.
I have carefully read your by-laws and constitution and believe that I qualify for active member-
ship on the basis of having been the sole author of the final shooting script of The Bindle Swindle.

I have been informed that a credit dispute currently exists regarding the screenplay between
Messrs. Herbert Keeler, Gilbert Gripes, Phoebe Quillan, Bertram Parch and other writers who
claim to have contributed to it, and that the matter is now being arbitrated by the Screen Writers
Guild.

Under separate cover I am sending you affidavits from my secretary, my executive assistant,
my production aide, and other disinterested parties attesting to the fact that I wrote the shooting
script entirely by myself and I am therefore entitled to solo screen credit.

If oral hearings are to be held in this matter I desire to be present, and would like permis-
sion to be legally represented by Messrs. Gibfel, McPherson and Gibfel, my attorneys.

Anticipating favorable action by your board, I enclose my check in the sum of $12 for my
dues as an active member of the Screen Writers Guild.

Very truly yours,

J. K. HOFFHEIMER
Executive Producer

Film Suspense and Revelation

WILLIAM SERIL

WILLIAM SERIL is a New York
writer and film critic. During the war
he served with the Army Special Serv-
ices Office overseas and helped organ-
ize the Camp Shows program in the
West Pacific.

OF the many modes of expression utilized by
the motion picture medium to develop narrative
and dramatic structure, one of the most indi-
vidually impressive is its unique visual ability to suggest
sudden, vivid insights, with an unanticipated graphic
impact.

This scope, achieved both by edited film and the
moving camera, was inherent in the maturing of the
silent film. And the technical proficiency achieved in
the use of sound and dialogue has merely embellished,
but not discarded, this rudimentary manner of pictorial
representation which enables the screen to intimate
change and perception in its own peculiarly arresting
fashion.

In the English movie Thunder Rock there is a
striking episode that illustrates the effectiveness with
which this pliancy of the cinema can be employed in
the modern sound film:

The central figure of the story, an anti-Fascist jour-
nalist, has been lecturing throughout Britain, in an
attempt to convince his countrymen of the imminence
of war; it is 1938. The sequence opens with him on
the rostrum, forcefully detailing the activities and atti-
tudes that are hastening Europe and the world into
disaster. This is a deeply moving harangue, you feel.
But as the camera gradually recedes from the speaker's
platform toward the rear of the auditorium, it despair-
ingly reveals that he has been talking to a pitifully
small and shockingly unresponsive audience.

Here, aspect and appreciation have been radically
altered. The ambulatory camera has served to disclose
something, surprising to the spectator, yet already
known, as it were, to the characters in the action. The
startling execution with which it affects the beholder,
given this sharp, different discernment, exemplifies an
elemental story-telling device which is intrinsically
cinematic. The screen, in this eye-perceiving way, can
convey an idea with marked style and singularity.

A brief, compelling instance of the same idiomatic
usage was accomplished by editing two related footages,

in the recent documentary release Passport To Nowhere
( This Is America series) :

The picture deals with the tragic plight of the Dis-
placed Persons in war-ravaged Europe. Halfway
through the harrowing recital that has been unreeling,
a semi-close-up presents two laughing, happy children —
in a D. P. camp. They are playing a game at a billiard-
like table. And you are momentarily relieved, amidst
the sorrow of so many hopeless millions, to indulge
this fleeting glimmer of childhood joy. Then, the next
shot offers a rear view of the same two boys, preoccu-
pied with their fun. Both of them, you now realize,
are one-legged. Immediately the irony of their gaiety
and laughter is poignantly juxtaposed to the sudden
inference of this unexpected revelation.

Montage was cleverly employed to achieve a surprise
effect, similar in its fundamental film structure, for
Miracle On 34th Street.

The theme of this yarn is built around the merchan-
dising activities of Macy's Department Store. At one
point, the camera presents a succession of views wherein
newspaper display advertisements of Macy competitors
are being clipped, mounted and assembled. Presumably,
these ads are to be shown to Macy executives, for
competitor evaluation. But, no ! The final shot of the
montage proclaims, amazingly, that the ads have been
gathered into a Macy's customers' guide book. Macy's
is actually going to recommend merchandise offered
by its rivals !

Disney's animators sketched-out a dainty trifle in
this identical vein of delayed visual elucidation, for the
the andante treatment of Beethoven's Pastoral Sym-
phony in Fantasia.

At the start of the second movement, you are near
the edge of a brook, watching several nymph-like
maidens, bathing; only their heads are visible, at first.
The camera pursues one of them, as she swims toward
the bank of the stream and proceeds to emerge from
the water. You begin to see her nakedness, now, and
expect more. But, quickly, an astonishing discovery is

THE SCREEN WRITER

made. Her lower portion is not that of a woman ; she
is half-horse !. . . Thus the centauret is introduced.

THERE is a kindred type of belated visual discovery,
on the screen, which impresses the viewer with the
abrupt observation of something already known only
to certain characters in the action ; the onlooker is
granted an awareness of the secret:

The Show Off included a scene in which the hero,
pondering the opportunity of a date with a female
acquaintance, importantly consults his appointment
book and advises her that he already has a full schedule
of engagements. Meanwhile, however, the camera has
given you a close-up glance at the page which he is
perusing. There is nothing written on it !

In The Maltese Falcon a detective is shown walking
through a crowded street. Somewhere along the way,
the screen picks-up and begins to concentrate on another
man who has started to follow him. You, the bystander,
have realized the presence and purpose of the shadower
before the man chased does.

A taut mystery measure occurs in And Then There
Were None. Looking-on, you discover a murdered
body, while the actors, nearby in the frame, are still
unaware of the whereabouts and death of the victim.
An incident in The Cat People has a young woman
answering a ringing telephone. No one responds to her
"hello" ; but a direct film cut indicates who is silent
on the other end of the line.

Even when it is of very short duration, this eye-given
awareness can create disturbing emotional intensity,
as in the silent German melodrama Variety :

The lover, in the hallway, starts to unlock the door
of his hotel room, after a tete-a tete with his partner's
wife. As he opens the door to enter, you hasten to the
semi-dark interior of the room, where the cuckolded
husband is unexpectedly found, awaiting him, just
before the light is switched on.

Fitting into this genre, too, is the artifice of revising
the import of a screen conversation, by the incisive,
unforeseen exposure of an eavesdropper. It was ac-
complished in The Yearling by editing, with a panning
maneuver in Rebecca and Laura, and through a travel-
ing camera device in the British To The Victor. More
remarkable was the enormously effective result achieved
in The Magnificent Ambersons: Moving over the
speakers' heads, through the hallway and along the
staircase of the mansion, the camera searchingly betrays
first one, and at a higher landing, a second person,
overhearing the dialogue.

Then, too, the screen can allow the spectator and
actor to apprehend something concomitantly.

This category might include the resolving of dilem-

mas and crises by the trick of transforming them,
miraculously, into feverish dreams, with the protag-
onist providentially awakening to a bewildered realiza-
tion.

But a more exact case in point was contained in the
English Storm In A Teacup: With daughter stand-
ing by, father is consoling a dejected, tearful woman
friend. Next, the father's hand is seen, in close-up, as
he desiringly fondles the lady's back. He cannot execute
this caress furtively enough, however ; for, from the
perplexed look on the daughter's face, you know that
she has witnessed it all.

The climax of the silent screen comedy The Navi-
gator has its locale on a tropical island, where the
shipwrecked lovers are being attacked by an army of
savage cannibals. About to be captured, the fugitives
have retreated, hand in hand, into the ocean. Just as
the barbaric pursuers are about to pounce on them, the
two realize that they are standing on the deck of a
submarine which is slowly surfacing.

The last scene of the aforementioned Miracle On
34th Street takes place in the new house which a little
girl had wanted — and gotten — for Christmas. The
young lawyer who has just proved, in court, that there
is a Santa Claus, now seriously begins to doubt that
Kringle has had anything to do with the fulfilling of
the child's wish. Nevertheless, he and the camera are
eventually reassured, by the discovery of old Kris'
walking stick, standing in a corner of the room.

STILL another basic characteristic of cinematic reve-
lation can be found in forehand visual interpolation.
The spectator has recognition of something, unknown,
as yet, to any of the players. An inanimate object is con-
verted, here, into a "motor-image," which will now
take an active part in the outcome of a situation. The
anticipative knowledge heightens dramatic tension,
as the movie-goer becomes anxiously concerned about
the welfare of the unaware actor.

Often interposed, in this guise, are phenomena of
nature: floods, storms, rainfall, active volcanoes, etc.
Moreover, it is quite usual, by this means, to observe :
water overflowing, ice weakening or forming, wheels
loosening, articles scattered by wind, bridges wrecked,
gas escaping, highways torn-up and structures col-
lapsing.

The scenario of / Stole A Million required that an
empty taxi-cab, insecurely parked on a San Francisco
hill, start rolling down the inclined street, ending in
the bay before its driver could find out and prevent the
misfortune. In The Late George Apley a man takes
his overcoat from a hanger, and while putting it on,
unwittingly loses a letter from the pocket.

8

Another depiction of this sort was concocted for
Bringing Up Baby: The camera-eye glimpses the acci-
dental, calamitous detaching of a very essential posterior
part of a young lady's evening gown, caught on some-
thing, as she and her escort, hoth ignorant of this
mishap, are about to enter a room crowded with people.

FILM SUSPENSE AND REVELATION

These excerpts exemplify only one associative phase
of film vernacular. When woven into the plastic fabric
of a screenplay, the processes of advance, concurrent
and retarded visual revelation can significantly enhance
the intimate, individual scope of the motion picture.
They are cinemode.

The Writers Share

Following are comments on the contribution of writers to the motion picture industry, as
gleaned from the Louella Parsons Sunday evening radio program on the American Broadcasting
Company network:

On August 24 Jerry Wald, Warner Bros, producer and Miss Parsons' guest star on the pro-
gram said :

"I think that the writer is the most important conrtibutor to the success or failure of a film,
even more important that the producer . . . but of course I don't feel that writers should be paid
as much."

On Sept. 7 William Powell, star in the current film Life With Father, commented on Don-
ald Ogden Stewart's great script, and then said:

"Louella, just between us, whatever a motion picture star is worth, you can take it from me
that the writer of a good script is worth at least twice that."

Disunion in Vienna

EUGEN SHARIN

EUGEN SHARIN, an associate mem-
ber of SfVG, served as American
Films Officer in Austria. He has work-
ed in Hollywood as a writer and tech-
nical director, and is now in Europe
again on a film mission.

THE RUSSIAN colonel was a big man, bullet-
headed and barrel-chested, and he did not like
what the Americans had done. The American
Film Officer was a civilian in uniform, quiet-mannered
but sharp-tongued, and he did not like that the Russians
did not like what he, too, had done. The meeting was
expected to bring forth some fireworks. Assistants on
both sides felt like looking for buckets and sponges.
But the ornate parlor of a suite in Vienna's old Hotel
Imperial never turned into a boxing ring.

"Ya ne saglassny!" the colonel thundered.

"The Colonel says he does not agree," the trans-
lator said.

The American nodded.

The colonel looked sternly first at the inkwell in
front of him, then at his adversary.

"I represent the Marshal," he said, frowning. The
Marshal was Ivan Konev, liberator of Vienna, com-
mander of all Russian forces in Austria. It sounded
ominous.

"I have been charged with transmitting a request
from the Marshal," the colonel went on.

The Russians were always formal like that. They
used colonels as messenger boys, sometimes, and the
officer in question was not supposed to exercise his own
judgment, or contribute anything toward settling mat-
ters. All he had to do was transmit messages and re-
ceive replies, if any.

"I shall now put the request before you," the Rus-
sian said.

The American nodded again but said nothing. The
whole thing boded no good. Film matters in Austria
were complicated enough, and misunderstood enough
by his own HQ, without the Russians disagreeing again.
They were doing it all the time.

"Please go on," he said, just to say something.

"Precisely," the colonel said, looking straight at the
American. "It is the Marshal's wish to see The Great
Dictator."

The American was startled. He looked at his two
companions. They seemed puzzled.

"The Marshal is very fond of Charles Chaplin," the
colonel said. There was no mistake. The anticlimax was
not a figment of the imagination. The Film Officer
found himself:

"We shall be pleased to fulfill the Marshal's wish,"
he said.

"You have a print of the picture?" the Russian
asked, solicitously.

"We have," the American said, instantly, like a
fighter rising to the charge. What does he know of my
troubles, he wondered.

"Organizatzya!" the Russian beamed, admiringly.
He looked at his satellites. They were all beaming.
"Some organization! These Americans! They have
everything!"

The Americans rose to leave, but the colonel was
now all gracious host. Vodka appeared from a side-
board and a small chest yielded black bread, sardines
and caviar. Charles Chaplin was toasted, then Russia
and America, and, of course organizatzya, that most
wonderful of all American traits, that miracle of our
age, triumph of technology!

The colonel smiled. Shaking hands with his opposite
number, the American Film Officer, he repeated his
war cry. "Ya ne saglassny" he said, but this time it
did not sound so stern but rather like a friendly part-
ing shot. He did not agree, as a matter of principle, but
there were no hard feelings and what it was that he did
not agree with was definitely lost in the mists of vodka
and goodfellowship. This was Vienna, after all, a city
of pleasant, even gay, traditions, we were Allies, Chap-
lin was a great artist, and what was a routine dis-
agreement in the fact of this wonderful, wonderful
organizatzya?

ACTUALLY, the disagreement was not a trifling
as all that and the organizatzya was, alas, far
from what it was cracked up to be.

When the shooting subsided, Vienna's reviving movie
life presented a unique situation to the victors. But the

10

DISUNION IN VIENNA

chance to re-educate a vanquished population via the
screen was thoroughly bungled by Russians (the first
on the scene) and Americans alike.

As soon as the siege was lifted, the Viennese could
be expected to flock to the movies. For almost a year
there had been no new German films — public trans-
portation had broken down so completely throughout
the country that films could not be circulated, except
within the smallest areas. Deliveries were made by
handcart or messenger only. Theaters played old films
for the fifth and sixth time and the public, denied all
other theatrical entertainment during the last stage of
the war, had patiently studied and re-studied the fine
points of pictures long past their prime. When liber-
ation came, Allied films were just as consciously ex-
pected and eagerly anticipated as food : the people were
willing and ready to be cured of their acute and chronic
indigestion of the mind. Paper shortages and badly-
bombed premises meant nothing — publications of all
sorts multiplied and there was a mushroom-like growth
of cabarets of every description. The opera reopened
and so did most legitimate theatres. Concerts became
more frequent than ever — the Viennese were revenging
themselves for the Nazis' curtailing of their tradition-
ally lush and thriving artistic life, and with a bang.

Unfortunately, in the field of motion pictures, the
resurrection was a long time coming. Instead of special-
ly chosen and appropriate films, the victorious Allies,
without exception, lagged badly in their efforts to bring
new fare to the screens of Austria. To make up, per-
haps, for the poor start, they threw in practically every-
thing later, including the proverbial kitchen sink. In
an effort to cater to the public's hunger for non-Nazi
entertainment, if not re-education, they overfed the
willing populace with seven years' product of all vari-
eties. (The unavoidable indigestion is just setting in
now).

The Russians' first move was to bring in, without
much fanfare, six programs consisting of a feature and
a newsreel each. These were exhibited in a dozen or
so theatres simultaneously, every print being "bicycled"
between two houses all the time. The Russians' great
effort was almost completely wasted. Ravenous as they
were for new films, the Viennese stayed away from the
Russian feast. The six programs grossed about as much
as a hit would bring in one day in a single theatre. The
reason for this was the Russians' quite unusual naive-
te: they had left their pictures in the original Russian,
without subtitles, without dubbed-in German dialogue,
narration or explanation of any kind. But they learned
their lesson in a comparatively short time. About two
months later they corrected this oversight. Russian films
were withdrawn altogether. They reappeared only
after a studio, hastily put into operation in Berlin, was

able to deliver versions with a dubbed-in German sound-
track instead of the original Russian dialogue.

When the hybrid pictures, and some subtitled ones,
became available, the Russians made a deal with an
outfit called Austria Film to distribute them. In their
new garb many of the pictures were successful, but
there was a fly in the ointment. The Russians had
considered the official-sounding Austria Film an Aus-
trian state organization, somewhat similar to their
own Soyuskino or State Film Trust. Actually, Austria
Film was a private organization that had set up busi-
ness in the abandoned premises of the defunct German
Reich Film Monopoly, distributing into the bargain
all but the most offensive Nazi-made pictures to thea-
tres reopening all over Vienna and the Russian Zone.

To make matters worse, the actual state of affairs was
discovered and made public by the Americans. When
an American contingent entered Vienna, several months
after the liberation, the city's Film Row (Neubaugasse)
was found to be in the U. S. sector. The Army's In-
formation Services Branch, Film Section, an OWI-
staffed outfit, took over the former Reich Film Monop-
oly's offices, studios, storage vaults and bank accounts,
and Austria Film was out on its ear. This miffed the
Russians, mostly because, had they investigated the
matter, they might have conficsated everything under
the Potsdam agreement, whereas now the Americans
were in possession. Past experience showed that the
Americans would, sooner or later, turn things over to
the Austrians, not without certain attendant publicity.
To save face, the Russians for a while hollered that
they "did not agree." In the end they not only agreed
but refused to let the "founders" of Austria Film keep
even the earned commissions on the distribution of
Russian films, such as it was during their short-lived
tenancy.

THE FACT that all suitable film facilities were in
the U. S. sector of Vienna, actually operated by the
Americans, could have become a source of embarrass-
ment for the other Allies. To forestall this, they were
offered joint use of these facilities. Quite happy, the
Russians were the first to accept. The British and
French followed suit as soon as their films arrived.
The result was a situation unique in the history of
motion picture economics: the former Reich Film
Monopoly exchange in Austria became the clearing
house for all films of the Big Four, plus such confis-
cated German films as were still allowed to circulate.
The "super-monopoly" worked very well. As a matter
of policy, no Allied film was ever allowed to stay on
the shelves. In other words, no German film could be
booked unless all Allied films were "working." This

11

THE SCREEN WRITER

situation, excellent in itsself, served to point up the
basic weakness of all the Allies' planning. The actu-
ally available number of American and Allied films
was so small that the bulk of the business was still
being done by the remaining old German pictures.
Declared war-booty, these German films were made
to bear all expenses — which, in view of their number,
still left a considerable surplus — thus affording all Al-
lied pictures a "free ride."

Nevertheless, and this is the point where the musical
comedy trapping can no longer hide the basic serious-
ness of the proceedings, ISB Films, the Allied monop-
oly, which had never been planned but just grew, like
Topsy, remained a great instrument that was never
used to the full possible extent. The organization's out-
lets, over five hundred theatres, were there, every day
in the year. So were capacity audiences, an eager mass
of heretofore underprivileged movie-goers. It was a
wonderful situation — what spoiled it was only the lack
of pictures.

For a long time the U. S. had nothing to show,
nothing at all. By one of those mishaps that happen in
war, no films had been prepared for Austria. With some
nerve and more good forutne, the stockpile reserved for
Germany had to be ransacked to get emergency prints
for the Cinderella country. Things eased up a bit when,
half a year after the start of operations, the OWI and
the industry finally got up some steam and prints started
arriving in greater number. However, capacity was
never attained. Obviously, under such circumstances,
there could be no question of a really systematic choice
of subjects. There was only one, poor, consolation: the
British and French services were no better than our
own. Sometimes, especially in the beginning, they were
worse.

Organizatzya, so unreservedly admired by the
Russians, actually manifested itself quite rarely. How-
ever, sometimes this fact, by one of those reverses of
logic common to turbulent times, turned out to be
almost a boon. In the case of The Great Dictator, the
picture was not on the OWI-approved list for Austria
(or Germany). A cable went to Washington to get
special permits from the producer and from the OWI
for that single showing to Marshal Konev. Simulta-
neously, in order not to jeopardize valuable Russian
good will, a soldier was dispatched to Rome with orders
to pick up a print there, come what may. This young
man accomplished his mission with dispatch. The pic-
ture was shown to Marshal Konev and a bevy of high
Russian officers with the anticipated success. Everybody
was unreservedly happy.

Film "relations" with the Russians remained most
cordial for a long time afterwards. Permission to

obtain a print in Rome and arrange for the screening
duly arrived — about four months later.

On another occasion, later, General Mark W. Clark,
then commanding U. S. forces in Austria, wished to
show Gone With the Wind to the Inter-Allied Com-
mission. The British had just opened their season with
Henry V and the Russians were announcing Eisenstein's
Ivan The Terrible. GWTW had a mission to ac-
complish. Unfortunately, only conservative methods
were used to obtain proper clearances. Necessary au-
thorizations— and a print — were requested through
"channels." High-handed methods, as in the case of
The Great Dictator, were out. Needless to say, so
was the screening. Gone With The Wind never showed
in Vienna.

POOR advance planning, a capricious choice of
pictures and all vagaries of chance could not pre-
vent, after some months that seemed like eternity,
Vienna becoming the moviegoer's — and the researcher's
— paradise. It became possible there to enjoy, and to
study the reactions to a more varied film-fare than was
ever assembled anywhere before. If the pictures shown
were not all from the international top drawer, nor best-
suited for a public somewhat warped in its taste by
eight years under Goebbels, they were nevertheless
often typical of the country that had produced them.

Films with political content appeared in relatively
small numbers. Most of these were, of course, Rus-
sian. United States "propaganda" was represented only
by OWI documentaries — unless every picture mirror-
ing a certain way of life can be considered propaganda
for it. Almost needless to say, some of our films were
indeed considered that way, at least by some critics.
The reviewers of Neues Oesterreich, a leading newspa-
per, labeled the innocuous comedy It Started With Eve
(a Deanna Durbin feature) "social-reactionary." The
young man of the film was wealthy, the critic ex-
plained. This was to be considered reactionary and
setting a bad example because Deanna dared hell and
high water to win hand, heart and purse of such a
young man in holy matrimony. The picture ran for
twenty weeks, nevertheless, but that proves only that
the public's mind is less exacting than that of the trained
propagandist.

Disregarding Deanna Durbin, America was quite
well "sold" to the Viennese. The short OWI films
had it all over their Russian counterparts. The reason
was not at all in their technical excellence but in the
subtlety of their approach, as against the Russians'
more blunt and heavy-handed preaching of their doc-
trines. Shorter films like Democracy In Action, Town
Meeting, Oswego, and even Steeltown and Autobi-

12

DISUNION IN VIENNA

ography of A Jeep, did more to "sell" America to Aus-
trian audiences than did that much overrated "Ameri-
can ambassador," the average G. I. Joe. On the other
hand, straightforward war reports, such as Tarawa,
Battle In The Marianas, Attack and the like, however,
well-made, met the same fate as Russia's Battle of
Leningrad, for example. The newspapers sang praise
in unison but the customers stayed home.

A special case was Death Mills, the OWI-BMI
report on the horrors of the concentration camps. The
handling of this vastly effective but gruesome subject
posed special problems. In Germany its showing had
been made mandatory. Coupled with other documen-
taries, it had been shown day-and-date in all theatres
of a given area. Subsequent research proved this to
have been none too fortunate a system: those that did
not feel like seeing this piece of "atrocity propaganda"
(and they were the very people who should have seen
it), simply went without movies that week and never
budged from home.

In Austria, the Russians had an interesting experi-
ence with an earlier, French-made documentary, Camps
Of Horror. In Urfahr, a town in the Russian zone,
the local commander had decreed that everybody, with-
out exception, had to see it. Russian soldiers were sta-
tioned at the theatre, stamping the people's ration
cards. After the playdates, unstamped cards were to
be invalid in the city's shops. This system, effective as it
seemed to be, actually required such a large apparatus
for its enforcement that it had to be abandoned. For
one thing, people who besieged the Russian command-
er's offices with requests for exception to be granted
bed-ridden members of their families, were too numer-
ous for comfort. Yet this was only one category of
exceptions. In view of all this, when Death Mills came
to be distributed in Austria, it was found best to have
it substitute for a newsreel issue. The joint Anglo-
American newsreel Welt im Film, was mandatory in
all theatres, and a great success with the public. Thus,
that week, first run theatres got Death Mills instead of
the newsreel, subsequent runs following as usual. In
that way no moviegoer could escape the picture at all.
It was shown in every theatre of the land. It is regret-
table that existing research facilities were unable to
cope with the job of determining fully the impact of
the film on the audiences.

FICTIONIZED war films fared much better than
actual war reports. People were genuinely interested
in America's side of the war, or Britain's or France's.
Nevertheless, local sensibilities asserted themselves. Con-
sequently, a war picture that had nothing whatever
to do with Austria, could do very well (as did The
Sullivans, Action in the North Atlantic and many

others), but one that had could easily get into trouble.
The Navy Comes Through, an "action special," was a
sell-out for a few days, as was every picture in the
beginning. But as soon as word-of-mouth got around,
attendance fell off and soon the theatre was altogether
empty. What was the trouble? For one thing, there
was Carl Esmond, originally a Viennese, playing a
sensitive violin-playing sailor, also from Vienna. So far,
so good. But the character, sympathetic throughout,
makes a speech at the end emphasizing that he wants
to be nothing but an American. This was resented
by the Austrians. Then there was a Brooklyn sailor,
played by Frank Jenks, who hauled down a Nazi flag
and then spat on it. This was greeted with icy silence.
A willing and voluble member of the audience (rare
in those days) put it this way: "Nobody cares for the
Nazis, but the flag was our Wehrmacht, too. Every-
body was either a soldier himself or had one in the
family." Correct or not, that picture grated on the
sensibilities of the people and was therefore a poor
choice. As propaganda for the American way, it was
as much of a flop as The Sullivans was a success.

In the category of entertainment pure and simple,
all eyes were on Hollywood. Austrian tastes seemed
to be running toward musicals, quite proper perhaps
for the land of the operetta. Actually, the OWI list
contained no large-scale shows of the kind commonly
called musicals in this country. Scarcity of Technicolor
prints was one of the reasons advanced for this, while
another was the reluctance of many companies to re-
lease pictures with their top stars during commercially
uncertain times of war and its aftermath. The films
with music that were shown had only a couple of songs
or a production number tucked in here and there.
Otherwise they were just everyday comedies. They all
went over big. Sonja Henie in Sun Valley Serenade
skated on and on. Fred Astaire, his pre-war Top Hat
still remembered as a s}rmbol of gayer times, scored a
big hit in You Were Never Lovelier. Other long-
familiar, long-missed faces were also greeted as living
symbols of freedom once enjoyed, then lost and now
perhaps to be recovered. This was doubly true for local
boys who had made good in Hollywood in the mean-
time. S. Z. Sakal caused a tumult when his jowls first
flashed on the screen in Seven Sweethearts.

The French and British never competed in this field
with America. Russia did, to a certain degree. A Musi-
cal Story, mostly Tschaikowsky, was a hit. So was
They Met in Moscow. The latter film gave rise to an
interesting comment voiced in one of the many seminars
and lecture groups that met everywhere in Vienna
practically all the time. The people in the Russian film
actually look like true unadorned every-day people.
In American films, the anonymous commentator pointed

13

THE SCREEN WRITER

out, they are dressed up, coiffed and manicured within
an inch of their lives. So are the sets. The question
in the inquirer's mind was whether Hollywood was
actually mirroring life in America the way Russian
films appeared to mirror life in Moscow and whether,
therefore, Americans were really all so well-dressed,
well-manicured and unbelievably well- to-do, or wheth-
er Hollywood was perhaps glossing things over in a
way that was a bit too lavish. (The question had been
raised elsewhere, not only in hungry and threadbare
Vienna. )

Art-conscious, alive to many theatrical traditions,
the public of Vienna is not a low-brow audience. It is
sincerely interested in literary and dramatic qualities.
This was borne out not only by the box-office successes
of several films that had hardly caused a ripple in the
U.S. A good example is All That Money Can Buy,
William Dieterle's picture based on Stephen Vincent
Benet's The Devil and Daniel Webster. There was
also the never-ending discussion in the daily press as to
certain surprising facets and novel trends of American
production. There was what some people called "Hol-
lywood's dream complex." A theory was evolved in all
seriousness, in numerous articles appearing coincidental-
ly in various newspapers, that Hollywood was exces-
sively-preoccupied with people's dreams and dreamlike
fantasies. The haphazard release list of OWI-ISB
afforded some basis for the theory. An exceptional
number of films did feature fantasy and many more
had at least a dream sequence somewhere. Here is part
of that list: It Happened Tomorrow, Here Comes Mr.
Jordan, Flesh And Fantasy, Tom Dick And Harry,
All That Money Can Buy, I Married A Witch.
Notable British entries were also considered and
chalked up to the Hollywood influence: Blithe Spirit,
The Seventh Veil. What would the theory-loving
Viennese have said had they known the play that started
the cycle: Lady In The Dark? As a matter of fact,

the Viennese still have to learn about Hollywood's
preoccupation not with dreams, but with cycles.

THE DESIRE to catalog everything properly in the
accepted German "scientific" fashion had another
interesting outcropping. Goebbels had been scream-
ing for years about jazz madness and what he called
"American gangster civilization." No jazz was offered
(it will be interesting to see the German and Central
European public's response to jive, swing, et al., long
maligned by the Nazis), but "gangster films" were
another matter. The OWI had ruled them off the list
in one big sweep. The public, however, expressed great
desire for the forbidden fruit. Sufficient demand will
create a supply of sorts. Two relatively mild thrillers,
Across The Pacific and The Maltese Falcon, none
of them a Little Caesar, became in the public's mind,
through spontaneous word-of-mouth comment, real
killer-dillers and "gangster dramas." The result was
instantaneous: black market operators bought up all
tickets for weeks in advance. Barefooted urchins acted
as agents doing a thriving business in front of box
offices marked: Sold Out. The police finally had to
interfere by declaring the films "verboten" for adoles-
cents, thus stemming the tide a little.

These random reactions, sidelights and incidents are
but samples from a multitude. They may help to point
up the need of doing something, before long, about the
insufficient consideration so often shown foreign tastes,
traditions and sensibilities, a circumstance that was in
part responsible for the poorly-planned choice and sub-
sequent uneven showing of American pictures in post-
war Europe. Vienna, for one, was a crossroads, of com-
merce as well as of the arts, ever since the Middle Ages.
As such, it demands earnest consideration from both
the East and the West. Motion pictures, as an inter-
national medium, have a particular obligation to in-
crease their awareness of the always thrilling, always
fruitful interplay of tastes and attitudes in a cosmo-
politan field.

Hr1

14

The Screen Writer and Censorship

RICHARD COLLINS

RICHARD COLLINS, a member of
the SWG Executive Board, is the au-
thor of many notable screen plays. He
is a previous contributor to The Sceen
Writer.

LAST spring, in a casual discussion, Thomas Mann
said that what was wrong with American films
was not lack of liberty, but lack of creativity.
It is not hard to understand why the great German
author, standing outside the industry, should feel this.

It is true, thought control over this industry is not
exercised by storm troopers placed at the door of each
office. But the many pressures — all subtler, all gentler —
are still efficient. There are two immediately apparent
reasons why creativity is being strangled in Hollywood
today: the first is the objective censorship operated by
such groups as the Breen Office, the Johnston Office, the
Tenney Committee, the Thomas Committee, the Hearst
press, Pegler and the Motion Picture Alliance for the
Preservation of American Ideals.

Besides there are the pressures from women's organ-
izations, organized church groups — and finally, al-
though often in contradiction to the others, the audience.

The second reason is the self-censorship of writers and
other creators in the industry who, as a result of the
above pressures, tend themselves to limit their whole
field of operation and to play safe.

What is Thought Control in films ? . . . How does it
operate? . . . Well, for example, the Breen Office does
not permit mature sexual relations on the screen. I
do not mean smut. Smut is permitted — witness Duel
In the Sun . . . But I do mean, for example, the treat-
ment of sex in marriage. Those of us who are familiar
with the Breen Office can imagine what would happen
if a wife expressed one tenth of the desire for her hus-
band that Jennifer Jones expressed for Gregory Peck.
Of course the Breen Office takes care of this under the
category heading : Pure and Impure Love. ... I mean,
also, by mature sex relations a recognition that mar-
riages are often made in pool rooms and dance halls,
and not in heaven. . . . There are, it is true, millions
of Americans who believe the latter, and we most
certainly respect their point of view. Catholic morality
comes out of Catholic religion and it is perfectly proper
for a church to make films with its morality. But there

is no reason why the entire motion picture business
should accept any one religion or philosophic system
as official. In my own recent experience a script was
at first rejected by the Breen Office in toto because
it takes for granted that divorce is part of our world.
Nor are Catholic groups alone : until very recently we
had a hush-hush policy concerning Jews on the screen,
for which Jewish organizations were responsible.

Besides this religious pressure we are now experi-
encing political thought control. None of us was asked
before to follow Roosevelt's policy, or Hoover's, or
Coolidge's — but we were told by Eric Johnston to
write films supporting the present American foreign
policy. Now, if a writer believes in the Truman Doc-
trine let him write about it. If this is truth for him —
well and good. . . . But if, on the other hand, he does
not believe that a temporary political expedient can
be accepted as either true or eternal, it is corrupt for
him to write about it. What will this same writer do
if tomorrow a deal is made which changes the doctrine ?
What will he do if an opposite political philosophy
dominates the American scene ? Will he flop over to the
new side? Or is it not a classic tenet of a free people
and a free art that a writer should write as he believes,
and not as he is told?

There are other areas which are under attack as
left and subversive. And these areas have been under
attack for many years. The first anti-Nazi film, Confes-
sions of a Nazi Spy, was labelled "communist" by Dies
and his committee — as was the strong anti-lynching
film Fury. There are many areas of silence now. These
areas have been accepted subjectively by the writers.
Faced with objective censorship, we have tried to deal
with it — because a writer not only writes for expres-
sion, but also to communicate. This means that he
always does exercise some censorship in relation to his
audience. The writers, therefore, in trying to get
around censorship, have either gone deeper and deeper
into themselves and reported this subjectively as uni-
versal or else have become extremely subtle in their

15

THE SCREEN WRITER

approaches to reality. In some cases the writer loses
the very audience he is trying to reach. He hesitates to
explore new areas because he has been taught for many
years to try to make films to which no one will object.
Obviously the only way to do this is to stop films from
reflecting any of the real conflicts and stresses of our
society. . . . Yet in spite of this pressure we have suc-
ceeded year after year in making memorable films. One
has only to look at the Gassner-Nichols Twenty Best
Film Plays to see the wide variety of subjects that the
films have handled. Most of these twenty plays met
with success at the box office, but the same subjects
which were treated in these films now involve us in very
controversial ground — both in American life and in
our foreign policy.

We are vastly impressed with such a picture as
Brief Encounter. This is a fine film, but should it
really be astonishing to see a picture that admits there
are many middle-class women, leading dreary, dull
lives, who want romance even if they have a nice
suburban husband and two children? And that they
might perhaps even have a fast and unreasonable, and
sometimes beautiful relation with another married
man — and through all this are neither wicked nor
vile?

/^\UR production code, as a matter of fact, flies in
^S the face of science. Modern psychology and social
science teach us that the vices of men come from
society". The code takes for granted that these vices
are inherent in man's person. This excludes the dynamic
of the inter-relation between society and character.
Science, for example, says a man drinks to excess out of
frustration, not out of weakness. The non-dynamic
view accepts brutality as part of our life and fit screen
material, just so long as we never explain why the
people beat each other up. The non-dynamic view makes
the producer play with sex as a game, rather than
explore the relations between characters. This non-
dynamic, static view of human personality creates the
gap between life and the screen.

In the world outside the modern sword of Damocles
hangs over us all. Yet films have only touched on the
greatest of all subjects once, and that was to make
the dismally inept and naive Beginning or the End.
As the atomic age grows more and more complex and
life more difficult, as political crisis follows political
crisis and human misery grows, as whole systems of
morality change in Europe and a nation of four hun-
dred million people steps forward toward independence,
the world of the American film grows tidier and tidier.
Of course the fact that we are so far away from
Maidenek and Buchenwald has something to do 'with

this. In the main for us Love is the only story. But
on other continents there are other concerns which, as
yet, the American public scarcely recognizes. Here we
have a great and challenging opportunity-. First to
learn about this change, and second to bring this infor-
mation to our people. But in order to do this we will
have to approach the whole world with curiosity, and
then write about it with passion. And today thought
control makes both curiosity and passion unrewarding.

Yes, it is a tidy world we have in the films. The
production code guarantees this. Adultery is impermis-
sible; all murderers are brought to justice; good tri-
umphs over evil. This is the world of Yes and No . . .
of Right and Wrong — of over-simplification. It is the
world of the rectory garden and the aunt who leaves
us an income of two thousand pounds per annum. It
is an out-moded world, and therefor the communica-
tion between it and what is real is very tenuous.

This is our problem today, but it is not a new prob-
lem in this form or another for creators.

Chekov, in a letter to Kiselev, makes this clear:

"To think that the task of literature is to gather
the pure grain from the muck-heap is to reject literature
itself. Artistic literature is called so just because it de-
picts life as it really is. Its aim is truth — unconditional
and honest. ... A literatteur is not a confectioner, not
a dealer in cosmetics, not an entertainer. . . . He is
like any ordinary reporter. What would you say if a
newspaper reporter, because of his fastidiousness, were
to describe only honest mayors, high-minded ladies and
virtuous railroad contractors ? . . . To a chemist nothing
on earth is unclean. A writer must be as objective as
a chemist." And although he is speaking of literature
I believe it is equally valid for our own medium. I do
not see why what is good for the thousands who read
books, should not be good for the millions who see
films. I do not see that the reflection of life can do
more harm than life itself — rather I believe that the
reflection of life accurately will give useful experience
to the audience, will enable them to better meet and
conquer their day-to-day problems.

T N the high schools of the city of Los Angeles there
■*-is a class called Senior Problems. This class has its
counterpart in cities all over the United States. It is
as class which discusses the future of the senior high
school student. These classes discuss world affairs, propa-
ganda, divorce, marriage, love, personality conflicts,
petting, venereal diseases, depressions and unemploy-
ment. The high school students discuss these subjects
openly, sharply and honestly. But there is practically
nothing that they are allowed to discuss that we are
being allowed to put into films, except their discussions

16

THE SCREEN WRITER AND CENSORSHIP

of the Negro and Jewish questions. And although we
have managed to break anti-Semitism out into the
open with such pictures as Crossfire and the forth-
coming Gentlemen s Agreement, both of which take
courage and strength from their makers — we have done
the very reverse with the Negro question. We have
solved the Negro problem in Hollywood by ignoring
Negroes in pictures. This is the pattern of every prob-
lem. Is it any wonder that other countries now have
the opportunity to take the lead in films?

In Great Expectations there is implied criticism of
British legal procedure and the treatment of criminals
in England's past. Yet in the United States, exception
is taken to a criticism of American Marines in Nica-
ragua in the film Margie. Are we to assume not only
that the present Truman policy is above reproach, but
also that everything that ever happened in the United
States was right? This will be difficult. Following this
line, slavery was undoubtedly correct until the day
Lincoln signed the emancipation proclamation. On
that day it became wrong. Or did it? I have an idea we
had better leave this whole area alone. The film Boom-
erang apparently outrages the 100-percenters. Is this
because they will not admit that injustice is ever
possible? What areas will be left?

FOR THE screen writer faced with speed-up and
unemployment this question is not only aesthetic,
but food and drink. He is called upon to write for
sale; naturally he exercises a great degree of self-
censorship. The pressure on him to conform is very real.
Yet, at the same time, the experience of unemployment
and insecurity brings him into conflict with the censor-
ship. But it is not only the screen writer who is thus
affected, for as the the area of creative content shrinks,
only one conclusion is possible — the policy of restric-

tion— the policy of the MPA and the Thomas Com-
mittee mean ruin for this industry creatively and finan-
cially. Beyond that is the less tangible, but equally
serious answer: that the creators of the pictures can
ruin them because they are, so to speak, in the habit
of ruin.

We as writers, as often as not, impose self-censorship
even where no open threat of censorship exists. We tax
ourselves not only with the real difficulties of writing
pictures which will be artistically and commercially
successful, but we also impose hidden taxes on our-
selves. It is not only in political areas that we as screen
writers impose hidden taxes on our realism. As hard
as we try to write about marriage, love, infidelity,
drunkenness and murder in an absolutely truthful and
realistic manner, there is nevertheless a margin of
aberration in our thinking which has been enforced
upon us by a lifetime of thought control. The free
film, on the other hand, pressures the writer into
looking into new areas and forces him to meet compe-
tition with daring, imagination and vitality.

All that we should ask of a writer is that he should
write about objective reality the way it is. The writer
should help audiences master reality by imaginatively
possessing it. If the screen is free, no police are neces-
sary. As Chekov has said in the same letter: "There
is no police which we can consider competent in literary
matters. I agree we must have curbs and whips, for
knaves find their way even into literature. But think
what you will, you cannot find a better police for
literature than criticism and the author's own con-
science. People have been trying to discover such a
police force since the creation of the world — but nothing
better has been found."

Nothing better has been found even in 1947. The
modern thought police are the servants of obscuration
and backwardness, now as always.

Screen Writers' Guild Studio Chairmen

(September 22, 1947)

Columbia — Louella MacFarlane ; alternate, Edward

Huebsch
MGM — Gladys Lehman ; alternate, Anne Chapin ;

Sidney Boehm, Margaret Fitts, Charles Kaufman.
Republic — Franklin Adreon ; alternate, John K.

Butler.
20th Century-Fox — Wanda Tuchok ; alternate Richard

Murphy.

Warner Brothers — James Webb; alternate, Ruth
Brooks.

Paramount — Arthur Sheekman ; alternate, Jesse
Lasky, Jr.

Universal-International — Silvia Richards.

RKO— Martin Rackin.

17

atimce

k

i 1 1(1 iUj.fr,,

£2

■ ■■ ■■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■■ aaa

This special section of The Screen Writer has been prepared
in order to give a balanced presentation of the problems affecting
the Hollywood motion picture industry in their relation to the
foreign market, especially the British market. George Bernard
Shaw, Frank Launder and Guy Morgan v/rite from the British
point of view. Three Hollywood vsriters with wide experience in
the industry — Dudley Nichols, Richard G. Hubler and Howard
Koch — present their points of view. In summation the Editorial
Committee presents other statements from authoritative members
of the industry and the results of committee research on the sub-
ject of film markets, taxes, jobs.

Memo to Hollywood from Bernard Shaw

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW, famous
playwright and philosopher and a
previous contributor to The Screen
Writer, here stales his views of the
British tax and foreign market situa-
tion, blames Hollywood for its past
sins and suggests a <way to improve
the market for American films.

IN ECONOMIC principle the seventy-five per
cent British tax on American movies is vulgar Pro-
tection, to which a nation so inveterately Protec-
tionist as the U. S. A. cannot consistently object.
But as national affairs in the U. S. and the British

Commonwealth are managed by politicians who have
no political principles at all, only habits and interests,
this point is academic.

The 75 per cent tax is in fact one of the desperate
expedients to reduce the export of dollars to which the

18

MEMO TO HOLLYWOOD FROM BERNARD SHAW

British government is being driven by the immediate
pressure of events.

For its effect on American film production nobody
outside Hollywood cares a rap; and anyhow, nobody
knows.

If Hollywood would add to its technical proficiency

some evidence of higher morality than that of dealing
with villainy by a sock in the jaw from the virtuous
hero, it would make its films indispensable everywhere.
As it is, Hollywood is largely responsible for two
world wars.

Sept. 3, 1947

It is a curious but an evident fact that the more cinemas Mr. Rank owns the more he is

dependent on America to provide films to fill them. The ownership of 650 cinemas is nothing in

itself; those cinemas can only earn money as long as they have films to show on their screens. If

Mr. Rank won't or cant make enough films, he has to go elsewhere and the only alternative supplier

is Hollywood.

Statement of British Association of Cine-Technicians.

Film Dollars From Lean Pockets

DUDLEY NICHOLS

DUDLEY NICHOLS served as presi-
dent of SWG in 1937 and 1938, and
was one of the most active builders
of Guild unity and strength. He has
written, directed and produced many
of Hollywood's most famous screen
plays.

I WOULD say offhand that there is no actual prob-
lem, only a bad situation created in large part by
erroneous production policies of the American film
industry.

Far-sighted people could have foreseen this — and
worse things — coming. First, if we use lean brains and
not fat stomachs to do our thinking, we should know
that England — and most of the outer world — is in a
desperate plight. We should be thinking how to ease
their situation as much as how to force our products
on them. It is a time in the world to be recklessly
overgenerous — if only to save our own skins. You can-
not force our films on an impovershed people and pry
dollars out of their shabby pockets. Yet, to quote
Emerson, if you make a better mousetrap the world
will beat a path to your door — even the whole hungry
world. For the mind and heart have hungers as demand-
ing as the stomach's.

Film writers should have been more perturbed over
the low quality of American films these last few years
than by the temporary loss of foreign markets. British
films were no threat to Hollywood when they were
juvenile and inept. If we make fine and honest films,

which are not addressed entirely to the bobby soxers,
the heartless, and to mental and emotional imbeciles,
we need have no worry about the domestic market in
a nation of 143 million people. It is the largest and
richest market in the world with undreamed of poten-
tials. We have an untapped audience of at least twenty
million people in the United States — the mentally
adult and emotionally mature people who will not
spend their money and their evenings in viewing films
made for children.

By "made for children" I do not mean real children's
stories which might appeal to all of us, as do Hans
Christian Anderson and Lewis Carroll and Stevenson's
Treasure Island et cetera, nor to charming comedies
and tender stories which might be told with humor
and a loving touch ; I mean trash and hokum and falsi-
ties and nightmarish-dreams and lies-about-what-a-
human-being-is and lies-about-love and violence-with-
out-motive and violence-without-meaning and violence-
without - consequence and brutality-for-the-sake-of
brutality and sensationalism-at-any-price and all the
other stupid, corrupt ways of misinterpreting the world

19

THE SCREEN WRITER

around us and the inner world of imagination which
attract the unformed child.

HOLLYWOOD no longer depends upon merit in
selling films but only on ballyhoo. Ballyhoo has
become more important than quality in production. It
will not work outside America and will not work for-
ever in America. God knows production costs are too
high, because of universal greed — at the bottom no less
than at the top — but the time is approaching when more
will be spent on ballyhoo than on production.

This takes the importance of film-making away from
the creators, who alone can make films, and hands
it over to the money-men, who think they can handle
the situation until they will wake up one day with
even a shrinking domestic market which it will be too
late to stem. If we make great and grown-up films
the world will demand them and find the dollars.

Let us realize that outside America in recent years,
the world has grown up — through suffering and want.
Let us face the fact that the world's reality today,
outside America, is devastation and hunger and emo-
tional maturity — and the dream too, always the dream-
ing that makes life possible, a hungry dreaming that
has survived trial by fire and that makes our adolescent
dreaming look like muck.

Writers are the best and solidest part of the film
industry in Hollywood. They can save the industry
from its worst errors if they will strive hard for a new
integrity in film-making. A good film comes into being
only through the enthusiasm of one or more talented
persons, usually two — the writer and director — although
actors may be embraced by the common enthusiasms
which first ignited one person.

Get excited about something — a story of your own
or some one else's invention in which you can perceive,
by plenty of hard work, a fine film. Impart your en-
thusiasm to a director in whom you have confidence.
Or steam up a star — since the star system is with us.
Stars are looking for better films and if you win their
enthusiasm they will go to bat for you.

All this communication of enthusiasm is not easy but
it is worth while because it will lead to a better day
for the writer and, concomitantly, a better day for
Hollywood.

Real writers have never been afraid of difficulties;
in fact some of our greatest literature has been written
in the face of inconceivable difficulties; it is almost as
if the difficulties made them better than they otherwise
would have been. The film writer has the hardest
lot of all. He can never rest. Once the studio gates
are opened he must fight, intelligently and reasonably

but unremittingly, for the integrity of his conception.

Writers alone, it seems to me, are disciplined to that
kind of devotion to a job of work, in which vanity
and personal advantage and every selfish interest must
be subordinated to the work itself, which is greater
than the doer, just as a fine film is finer than any ele-
ment which composes it and more important than any
individual who helped to make it — more important
even than the single individual whose enthusiasm
struck the first match.

Remember every film starts from one person's en-
thusiasm and faith. That is why a handful of directors
in Hollywood stands out before the world as repre-
sentative of American films: these men are invariably
film writers, though they do not classify thmselves as
such and usually call on a writer or writers to assist
them in preparing their scripts.

In such cases it is the director whose enthusiasm
is forming the projected film; they are using writers
simply as collaborators to do hard sweating work and
shape the script according to the needs of their various
individual styles. This relationship between writer and
director need not be without dignity and frequently
the writer may bring to such a collaboration as great
or even greater creative gifts than are possessed by
the director, who has the advantage of being trained
in another craft. One sees many excellent working
collaborations of this sort, in which the collaborators
have profound mutual respect and are generous in
crediting each other.

TO RETURN to the point of this piece, the prob-
lems of marketing American films will dissolve if
we put more integrity into our work and openly fight
wrong practices and oppose people of executive power
in the studios who degrade our work and make hacks
of us and who don't want the quality of films to improve
because that might endanger their powers and positions.

I should like, for one thing, to see film writers refuse
to commence writing a script until a director has been
assigned (not on salary: he works for a lump sum)
to the production, for it is the director who must put
the script on the screen, and some sort of collaboration
and discussion are essential to shape the script to what
the director understands and feels. No amount of writ-
ing early drafts for producers can accomplish this, and
no director worth his salt can be handed a script he
has not worked on and told to shoot it verbatim. Writ-
ing scripts for a producer, who is injecting his own
idiosyncratic feelings and critical attitudes into the
story, and yet will not be on the set to translate these
feelings into film, is one of the most degrading things

20

LET'S FIND A SUBSTITUTE FOR THE TAX

I know of. It is a system for incompetents — for hack
writers and hack directors.

Let us strive to work harder and better, and insist

on true and dignified methods of working, and not
be afraid to risk failure — and let the people at the top
worry about markets. They won't have to worry long !

/ believe that Hollywood has matured since its earlier days. I am convinced that it has a great
reserve of creative talent which has never been properly utilized. I am certain that we shall be
forced to summon all our resources under the threat of narrowing markets and increasing com-
petition. . . . Hollywood has some notable achievements to its credit, and I am reasonably sure
we shall do better in the future.

Samuel Goldwtn.

Let's Find a Substitute For the Tax!

FRANK LAUNDER

FRANK LAUNDER is president of
the British Screen Writers' Association
ind one of the leading writer-producers
of the British motion picture industry.

SAM, JOHN and friends are playing poker for
high stakes. Sam has won nearly all the money.
Very soon now, if he wants the game to go on,
he will have to redistribute the chips. The alternative
is for Sam to retire from the game and leave John and
the others either to play together, or join Joe and his
school over the way. That seems to be the economic
situation at the time of writing. The 75% tax on
American films imported into Britain is just one card,
in one hand, in this vast game.

There has been a mass of confused and bitter sectional
thinking about this tax. The truth is that in her present
economic situation Britain cannot afford to continue
to pay 70,000,000 dollars a year for a commodity which
brings back neither sustenance for her people, nor raw
materials with which to manufacture goods for export.
She has been obliged to place a large tax on American
films. America has retaliated by banning the export
of her films to Britain.

For a moment let us examine what further measures
could be taken and what might be the repercussions.
America could ban the showing of her films already in
Britain. She could close down her distribution organi-

zations there. She could prohibit the showing of British
films in the States.

Would America, by those methods, succeed in closing
down the British cinema and bringing British film
production to a stand-still?

The British public today, for the first time in thirty
years, is British film-minded. Amongst all the new
restrictions and cuts that have been imposed on the
British people the 75% tax on American films is the
only one which has been received with equanimity.
There would be no popular demonstration against a
complete withdrawal by Hollywood from the British
market.

Could British film producers fill the gap that would
be created by an American withdrawal? In the studio
space available, by cutting down schedules, they could
double their output and thus raise the number of feature
films that could be produced annually in Britain by a
hundred. A modicum of reissues of old British films
would narrow the gap. And finally, Continental film
producers, whose product now only shows in the art
theatres, would find that the 25% revenue which
would accrue to them after payment of the tax, would
mean far more to them in cash than 100% did a

21

THE SCREEN WRITER

month ago. The gap would be closed and the cinemas
would remain open.

IT IS true that the takings might fall for the first
few months, but as the public became accustomed
to the new order of things, as more and more British
and Continental stars replaced Hollywood stars in their
affections, so box-office receipts would rise again. For
this reason and no other America cannot afford to
withdraw from the British film market for any length
of time. Hollywood must keep her stars before the
British public eye. She cannot allow the British to get
out of the habit of seeing her films, unless, of course,
she is prepared to abandon the British market for
good and all.

In my view, the present situation has been brought
about largely through the short-sightedness of the

majority of American film producers. The British are
entitled to a fair share of their own market. They
have never had it. For thirty years Hollywood has
refused to allow them to have it. It has used every
kind of pressure, political and otherwise, to maintain
what has virtually amounted to a stranglehold on the
British film market. The chickens have come home
to roost.

Every sensible person engaged in British film pro-
duction knows that it would be an unhealthy situation
if American films were not permitted to be shown
freely on British screens, in the same way that they feel
it is a regrettable state of affairs that the better British
films are not freely distributed on the major circuits
of the United States.

So let both countries now, in an enlightened mood,
sit around a table and find some equitable alternative
to the tax.

The technical superiority of Hollywood is undisputed. . . . But what our people prefer in Brit-
ish films . . . is the story chosen and the way the story is told. . . . What people want here is not
certitude but inquiry; not easy solution but hard problem; not stereotypes but individuals; not
glamor but truth, not technical polish but solid raw material.

C. A. Lejeune, British film critic in N. Y. Times.

Canoe in a Tidal Wave

RICHARD G. HUBLER

RICHARD G. HUBLER, a member
of the Editorial Committee of The
Screen Writer, is a well-known writer
of novels, short stories and articles
as well as screen plays.

THE POINT of the recent imbroglio over the
British seventy-five per cent tax on American
films is not, as it has been widely represented,
taxation without representation. Nor is it Communism
versus Democracy nor an invitation to dog eat dog.

The point is somewhat larger and more obscure.
At the moment it is a pinprick but it can and probably
will be driven home to the quillons in the next few
years. It amounts to a repudiation not of American

big business but American art as exemplified in the
motion picture. It is simply a straw in the big wind
in which Vladimir Pozner held up a finger in the July,
1947, issue of The Screen Writer.

Consider the rest of the world as Hollywood rarely
does. It has with the exception of the continents of
the western hemisphere — Canada, the United States,
South America — passed through unbelievable convul-
sion. The anguish continues. From it, as from any form

22

CANOE IN A TIDAL WAVE

of suffering, will come new forms of life, government,
and not least of all, art. They are already making their
appearance. Hollywood, like a canoe in a tidal wave,
continues its serene way.

The continent of Europe is largely closed already
to the products of Hollywood as witness the fact that
85 per cent of the foreing market was in the island
of England. Asia — China and India — are negligible
markets. Russia does not want Hollywood and can,
in fact, make better pictures for their purpose; nor
by imitation do any of the countries in the iron orbit
of the USSR. The others — such as France, Italy, the
Scandinavian countries, and the like — are already
producing motion pictures that in quality far outshine
anything in this country. As long as Enfants des Paradis
and Torment are examples of French and Swedish art
and Great Expectations and Odd Man Out are exhibits
of the English, Hollywood, to me, seems even more
shabby than its usual self. The only way in which we
excel is the way of mass production: we can produce
more motion pictures faster. There is no regard to qual-
ity in the five-hundred-a-year schedule beyond a choice
few.

To anyone who knows the character of Sir Stafford
Cripps, the argument in London probably went in
this fashion: "The films in Hollywood are not only
taking needed dollars out of England; they are also
causing a certain dry rot in our national character
which we can afford even less than the dollar drain.
In addition, we have our own industry which has
proved itself, if not in mass, certainly individually. Let
the people see our own product, occasional as it is,
iather than merely dope themselves with Hollywood."

Such reasoning is in close harmony with the ascetic
character of many of the Laborite leaders.

IT MAY be that that most happy thing, a realign-
ment of values, is coming back to humanity as a
whole. A perspective is being gained which was never
held before. Involved in it is a change in the whole
aspect of life, a turn toward the real and simple and
profound — and in this shift Hollywood will find itself
utterly inadequate. Representing a world that was
never made, living in a realm of "pure entertainment"
(as if such a thing could exist), Hollywood has no
defenses against the direct attack .

This is no brief for any control over art or the free
exchange of art between countries. Any restrictions
imposed are evil in the extreme. But can any person
working in Hollywood deny the restrictions that are
placed on motion pictures by agencies from the Motion
Picture Producers Association down to the individual
producer? Is it possible to ignore that "freedom of the
screen" is a phrase that is ludicrous in its application?
Can it be denied that the single objective of Hollywood
during all its history has been to make money, excluding
all else?

It is easy to predict that the cloture imposed by
England via taxation is only a symptom of artistic
recovery throughout the world. It is easy to say that
in the near future the most of the countries will close
their markets to the Hollywood product as it is now
known. In such a quandary, we can only develop
markets in South America and build up our own. But
our own is saturated, according to the polls, below the
age of thirty-five. To pull in the elders, in a country
where the preponderance of age is leaning toward
forty, films must almost certainly be more adult.

Hollywood must be more adult to keep its foreign
market, to enlarge its home market. The conclusion
is that Hollywood must be more adult in order to
keep alive.

Mrs* Miniver's Sleigh Ride

GUY MORGAN

GUY MORGAN is a British writer
and Honorable Secretary of the Screen
Writers' Association of London. He
has contributed frequently to this mag-
aziine.

BEHIND the golden curtain performers, manage-
ment, and backers, vociferously discuss the out-
come of a front-office poker game, where Mrs.
Miniver (who was thought to be sitting pretty witR

four aces) has just been raised a cool £13,000,000,
three quarters of her year's dress allowance, by a pen-
niless dude from Britain.

Mrs. Miniver's poker school is a tough one, and

23

THE SCREEN WRITER

the players she is sitting in with are international gam-
blers. The joker unexpectedly discovered in his hand
by Dr. Dalton is the fact that an ad valorem Customs
Duty on the estimated earnings of foreign films does
not break the terms of the U. S. Loan Agreement,
though any form of direct taxation or freezing of earn-
ings would do so.

It is doubtful whether Mr. Eric Johnston, Holly-
wood's plenipotentiary poker expert, even suspected
that this card was in the carefully-stacked deck. Hence
the surprise of the players when Dr. Dalton quietly
turned up Statutory Rule and Order, 1947 — Customs
Additional Duties (No. 2), raising the ante on foreign
films from 5d. a foot to 300% ad valorem. Mrs. Min-
iver, indeed, has threatened to throw in her hand and
leave the table.

And the most ominous thing amid all the shouting
is the utter equanimity of the British cinema audience
of 30 millions a week, at the threat of never seeing
Forever Amber or Scudda Hey! Scudda Ho!

According to Board of Trade returns, Britain pro-
duced 107 long films and 195 short films (totalling
857,626 feet) during the year ended March 31st, 1947:
imports of foreign films totalled 367 long and 386
short films (3,042,474 feet). British long films occu-
pied 26.94 per cent of feature screen-time, an increase
of only five per cent on the previous year. It must also
be remembered that a considerable proportion of British
films classified as "long" were three-and-a-half-reel
"featurettes" of semi-documentary type.

According to a survey undertaken by the Kinemato-
graph Weekly there are at present twenty-six major
features in production in British studios. Calculating
on an average of twelve weeks per film, and adding a
small number of second features from smaller studios,
their estimate of British production in the next twelve
months is eighty full-length features. The estimate of
the Association of Cine Technicians (with a Govern-
ment backed production drive) is 150 full-length
features, but even this generous estimate would not
fill more than thirty-five per cent of British screen time.

The average British feature film today costs £150,000
to £200,000 and takes twelve weeks on the studio floor.
Films in the double-A category, such as Sir Laurence
Olivier's Hamlet, may cost up to £500,000 and take
thirty-six weeks in production. The economic figure
for recovery of production costs in the British market
alone is, according to Mr. Herbert Wilcox, £150,000.

The Cinema Exhibitors Association, which takes
£47,000,000 a year less tax at the box office from show-
ing American films gloomily predicts strangulation of
4,500 cinemas within a year by a sterile diet of re-issues
and documentaries.

The British Film Producers Association is cautious,

but admits it would take at least two to three years
for Britain to balance her production budget. Sir Alex-
ander Korda considers the tax "a shocking blow." It
obviously hits our big films as hard as it hits your inde-
pendents.

British Documentary Film Producers alone see a
silver lining.

Only the public is indifferent. They believe that
tax or no tax, Hollywood will still send their best
films, arguing that no business man would deny him-
self a 25% profit because he couldn't get 75%. They
point out that Hollywood already sends films to some
European countries without any dollar return, even
at cost to themselves. In 1914 Britain smoked Turkish
cigarettes; in 1915 Britain smoked Virginian; in less
than that time Britain could lose all interest in the
queens and knaves in Mrs. Miniver's hand.

AS IT is hardly likely that the Government intends
to hamstring an industry that contributes £43,000,-
000 a year to internal revenue from the Entertain-
ments Tax, or even to nullify Mr. Rank's efforts to
export so cheap a raw material as talent, it is reason-
able to assume that some ulterior settlement is aimed
at, part-tax, part-freeze is the general guess.

The British Screenwriter's Association has always
recommended, at such times when recommendations
were officially invited, that American films should pay
income tax in this country, but with the corollary that
part, at least, of the proceeds should be utilized to
encourage independent British production. For con-
trary to popular belief the independent producer here
has never received the slightest Government support,
financial or otherwise, the only people encouraged to
make British films under successive Films Acts being
the American companies in fulfillment of compulsory
Quota, and the Big Cinema Combines.

New studios and new equipment are long-term
measures. Drastic reduction in film budgets and pro-
duction schedules here would be inevitable as an interim
measure to spread existing facilities further.

Many fear that cheaper British pictures would mean
a return to the bad old days of perfunctory "quickie"
production, and the abandonment of our new found
standards. But expense has never been a guarantee
of quality, nor do I think we would retreat from the
tradition of better films so easily. Against this the
writer is the first line of defense.

Reduction in overheads would not materially affect
the writer. Story costs in theory (though seldom in
practice here) amount to only ten per cent of a film's
budget; and if cheaper pictures mean fewer writers
engaged on the same subject, one of our aims at least
will have been achieved.

24

MRS. MINIVER'S SLEIGH RIDE

The British film industry is at present out of balance,
the majority of British production companies concen-
trating on the making of a few double-A films only.
Our job is now to make A-films on B-budgets.

The B-picture is the training-ground of writers,
directors, and technicians, the forcing-ground of talent,
and the testing-ground of new ideas. The producer of
double-A pictures only cannot afford to experiment;
he can rarely even afford the risk of an original story
written specially for the screen.

At present the British film industry is short of effi-
cient screenwriters and technicians. The majority of

those employed today learned their craft in the days
of cheaper and quicker pictures at Gaumont-British
and B. I. P.

It is one of the most discouraging factors in British
film production today that there is little or no train-
ing or encouragement for the writer and technician
of the future.

But perhaps the most one can safely say in the pres-
ence of so many imponderable factors is that no amount
of sudden shocks or injections will infuse increased
productivity into British films as surely as a pledge
of steady long-term planning.

For years every Hollywood producer, with his
hand on his heart, has solemnly declared that
there is no barrier to the distribution of British
films in America . . . yet the fact remains that
British films have never had anything approach-
ing a fair showing in America.

British Association of Cine-Technicians.

Our industry must see the domestic market is
made as self-sufficient as possible. Moreover, we
should continue to welcome British pictures as we
welcome the films of every nation, so that we
may know the world as we want the world to
know us.

Samuel Goldwyn.

How to Keep a Foreign Market

HOWARD KOCH

SWG member Howard Koch, a pre-
vious contributor to The Screen Writer,
is one of America's best known writers
for the stage and screen and an Acad-
emy award winner in the motion pic-
ture field.

AS a writer who has been through a half dozen
Hollywood "crises" in the past seven years, I
have come to regard them with skepticism.

It is my present guess that even the roar of the
British lion will turn out, on closer inspection, to be
no more than the bleating of a lamb that has lost most
of its wool and fears another shearing. The seventy-
five percent tax on our films is, in my opinion, a feeble
protest not against the picture industry so much as
against the rising tide of economic domination.

Probably it isn't even meant to be taken seriously
and will soon be compromised or rescinded — a small
tactical move in the vast chess game of international
politics.

What can we do — members of the Screen Writers
Guild? To believe we can do anything directly would

be to indulge ourselves with wishful thinking. Why,
we're not even in that game. Bigger hands than ours
make those moves — and for stakes larger than we
care to imagine.

However, there is one faith I think we can act upon
realistically. A good picture, like a good man, is hard
to keep down. Eventually it is quite certain to pene-
trate whatever artificial barriers are erected against it.

No political chicanery has yet been devised to keep
people permanently isolated from each other. They
have always found and will find a means of communi-
cation. The important thing is to have something of
value to communicate.

In the final analysis the best way to keep a foreign
market — or any market — is to deserve it.

25

Summary and Report

What's Ahead for Hollywood?

The following report, written by Robert Shaw, SWG
director of publications , has been compiled from the
results of research done by members of the Editorial
Committee into various phases of the current foreign
market situation. It includes a round-up of ideas, opin-
ions and facts gleaned by Committee members around
the studios in the last few weeks and reported to
The Screen Writer office.

A PUBLIC opinion poll in England the other day
put this question to a cross-section of the British
film audience: "Do you think British films since
1939 have got better, got worse, or not changed?" The
result: got better, 96 per cent; got worse, 1 per cent;
not changed, 3 per cent.

The same question was applied to the same people
about Hollywood films, with this result: got better,
26 per cent; got worse, 18 per cent; not changed since
1939, 56 per cent.

Perhaps an American evaluation check of Holly-
wood films might produce a similar result. In a way,
to the rest of the world, Hollywood seems a little like
Bret Harte's San Francisco — serene, indifferent to
fate, changeless by its Golden Gate. As a saturnine
critic remarked, Hollywood remains timeless in its
routines; it is only the world that changes. And there
is that other weary wise-crack: "In these prosperous
times even a good picture can make money!"

But the U. S. film industry was badly jarred by the
British tax action. There was general awareness of the
importance of Britain's 48,000,000 people and 6000
theatres as a market for our films. No longer was Holly-
wood serene, indifferent, changeless; the golden gate
receipts tide showed signs of a disastrous ebb.

Eric Johnston, president of the Motion Picture As-
sociation of America, voiced industry reaction by saying:
"If the British don't want American pictures that is

26

one thing; if they do they shouldn't expect to get a
dollar's worth of films for 25 cents." The British
response to this was: "We don't necessarily want the
present type of American pictures, and we feel that
you have been asking us to pay a dollar for 25 cents
worth of films."

In several variations the statement was made that
the British tax and the increasing French resistance
to our films represented a conspiracy of the leftist
British and French governments, possibly in league
with the Kremlin, to keep American films and their
portrayal of our way of life off foreign screens.

Sam Wood, a Hollywood director, hit the front pages
of the trade and commercial press with a statement
that the way to meet the slash in foreign income was
to slash Hollywood payrolls. He later amended this.

One day there was a screaming banner line : "FILM
INDIES SEE PLOT IN BRITISH TAX." The
story was that some independent film producers pro-
fessed to believe the situation resulted from a diabolical
plan hatched by interlocking American and British
movie capital to make a freeze-squeeze play against the
independents and force them out of business. It was
reasoned that the 75 per cent ad valorem tax would
be modified to a temporary freeze of American film
profits in Britain, and that while the major U. S. pro-
ducing companies with their financial reserves could
take this in stride, the independent producers operating
on a capital shoestring would be ruined by it. That
may have been pure hysteria, but certainly the
independents are far more vulnerable than the majors
to the taxing or freezing of profits.

An almost immediate reaction to the British tax
announcement was the firing or laying off of hundreds
of skilled workers and experienced executives in
many studios. A breakdown of the reports in the
trade press and from the lots indicates that the
number of motion picture employes fired or on lay

WHAT'S AHEAD FOR HOLLYWOOD?

off as the result of current foreign market fears
is around 3000.

Probably the most extreme reaction to the British
tax announcement was the angry statement from the
motion picture producers that they would boycott the
British market. "No Film Bundles For Britain,"
shrilled Daily Variety. And some producers and their
many subisidiary exhibitors talked loudly about re-
prisal against British films in the U. S. Since American
films gross around $450,000,000 a year in Great Britain
and British films take about $12,000,000 a year from
the American box office, this retaliatory measure might
result in more harm than benefit.

FORTUNATELY the overheated tempers and
angry roars are subsiding now. Calmness and real-
ism are regaining control of the situation on both sides
of the Atlantic. We are beginning to recognize more
clearly some of the grim economic facts of a world
shattered by two wars, and to see in better perspective
that our U. S. is a lucky island in a sea of devastation
and change. Where they might be bitter and harsh, the
British are hopeful and even understanding when they
speak of our Hollywood problems which after all are
a microcosm in the struggle of a world for sanity and
survival. Prime Minister Attlee holds out encourage-
ment for some early amelioration of the British tax on
American film profits reaped in Britain and on the big
board U. S. film stock quotations fluctuate in response
to his words.

Here in Hollywood other voices appraise the situ-
ation without anger or shrillness. N. Peter Rathvon,
president of RKO, served the dignity of his industry
well with his statement that neither studio personnel
nor the quality of pictures on his lot would be sacrificed
as the result of the situation precipitated by the British
tax move. He indulged in no fatuous optimism. He pre-
dicted that no matter how the British action is compro-
mised in the near future, there will be no early recovery
of American film profits in that market. He foresaw
that other nations would follow the English lead-^
a prophecy that already has been fulfilled — and that
there would be a total net revenue decline of at least
30 per cent as the result of shrinking foreign markets.
He spoke of the necessity for economy — the kind that
is achieved by administrative efficiency and carefully
prepared production schedules, not the ruinous panic-
economy that throws to the wolves the experienced
technical, executive and creative workers who form
with their know-how the basic capital of Hollywood
motion picture production.

Samuel Goldwyn, while deploring the British action

and hoping for an adjustment, yet pointed out that
Britain at present simply has no dollars to spare. He
said: "The meaning is clear. Producers will hereafter
have to depend on the domestic market alone for a
return of their costs and a profit commensurate with
the value of their pictures. This leaves them with two
alternatives : to produce cheap pictures with a minimum
of time, money and talent, or to continue to gamble
fortunes in the attempt to make really fine films. I
believe most of us will take that gamble, for without
first-rate pictures the entire industry is doomed."

Nobody can really believe than an industry with the
finest resources of talent and technique and the greatest
home market in the world is doomed. Everybody gives
at least lip service to the platitude that there is nothing
wrong with the film business that better pictures
cannot cure. Nevertheless, the foreign market situation
is serious, if not desperate — and for some segments of
the industry it is undoubtedly desperate. What are the
facts ?

Foreign Market Outlook. Most of the studio inter-
national experts believe the situation may get consider-
ably worse before it gets much better. Former Secretary
of State James Byrnes, now an adviser of the Motion
Picture Association, said in Hollywood the other day
that we must face the permanent loss of at least two-
thirds of our foreign market. Restrictive barriers
against American films are being erected in many
nations. This may be in part ideological, as Mr. Byrnes
intimated. It is also economic — the protective tariff
game learned from us by nations trying to nurture
recrudescent film industries.

Eric Johnston said at the start of the British tax
move that it might start a chain reaction, with other
nations putting up barricades against Hollywood pic-
tures. He is being proved right. Australia, New Zeal-
and, Argentina and Singapore and the Straits Settle-
ments have since acted to freeze or tax American film
profits in their areas. French Finance Minister Robert
Schuman has announced the imminence of serious tax
and dollar blocking measures against American films
in France, and this action may now be in effect. Brazil,
Mexico, Canada, South Africa, Sweden, Italy and
Egypt are other nations that have announced plans
to take large tax bites out of Hollywood film income.

Other nations do not act this way out of enmity
or perversity. They do not act this way solely to protect
their own film industries, or because their people are
tired of so many Hollywood films that seem more
than ever remote from their common experience. There
are signs of a foreign revolt against some kinds of
Hollywood films (see report of SWG Special Program

27

THE SCREEN WRITER

Committee's International Film Forum in the April,
1947, issue of The Screen Writer) but this probably
is not the dominant factor. The big fact is that these
nations do not have the dollars to pay for Hollywood
movies. Today the United States is the great "have"
nation, made prosperous rather than impoverished by
war, and from the "have not" nations it pulls their
scanty supply of dollars as a giant magnet attracts iron
filings from the perimeter of its field.

These nations prefer using their dwindling dollars
or dollar credits in future loans for things they have to
have. When the choice is between bread and Bergman,
they choose bread. That is what is happening to the
foreign film market.

Great Britain and France. These nations have repre-
sented almost 90 per cent of the United States' foreign
film market. So it is important to have no illusions
about their position. Some day Hollywood may again
have free access to their film markets. But that day is
not just around the corner.

Our films have been occupying more than 80 per
cent of playing time in British motion picture theatres,
70 per cent in French theatres, as well as more than 60
per cent of the playing time in other nations of western
Europe and in Australia, South Africa, India, Egypt
and Canada.

Great Britain, our major market with its 6,000 film
theatres, had been paying for our pictures out of the
$3,750,000,000 American loan. Then three things hap-
pened: U. S. price controls were scrapped, the inflation
spiral began, and a large part of the buying power of
Britain's borrowed dollars went down the drain. Sec-
ond, American exports swelled until they reached the
unprecedented annual rate of 19.6 billion dollars, while
imports were only 7.6 billion dollars, thus sharpening
tremendously the world demand for dollars. Third, the
convertibility clause, inserted like a time bomb in the
loan agreement signed by Britain, clicked into action
with an explosive result. The British economy became
a mere counter for the converting of soft English
sterling into hard American dollars. Britain's dollar
balance began to shrink at the rate of $75,000,000
a week. It is now reaching the vanishing point. The
English have stopped spending dollars for American
food, and their rations have dropped below the bitter
standards of 1941. The nation that once chose bullets
before butter and a shameful peace will now probably
choose food before foreign films.

In France, our second greatest foreign market, the
Blum-Byrnes agreement chickens are coming home to
roost. SWG member Edward Eliscu reports from
Paris in this issue of The Screen Writer that French
production is down 40 per cent.1

Mr. Eliscu, Henry Myers and Albert Lewin in their
joint letter in the September Screen Writer described a
parade of French motion picture employes carrying plac-
ards, "Down With the Blum-Byrnes Agreement!" That
agreement, allotting 16 weeks of playing time to French
films in French theatres, and opening up 36 weeks of
playing time to American films, undoubtedly created
a favorable temporary market for Hollywood. But it
also created intense resentment. Our films, entering the
French market already paid for from home exhibition,
are able to undercut film rental rates and drive French
and other films off the French screens. That may not
have been altogether wise.

Mr. Henri Jeanson, president of the French Screen
Writers Syndicate, asks: "Suppose someone were to
come to you in America and say: 'The French, who at
home boycott you and deny you playing time, have
decided that henceforth your American films may be
shown in your American theatres only four weeks out
of 13.' What would you Americans say? What would
your reaction be?

In all likelihood it would be a serious reaction and not
wholesome for the future of French films in the Ameri-
can market. In the long run the Blum-Byrnes agree-
ment will not be good for the future of American films
in the French market. Add to that the fact that the U.S.
loan to France is expiring from the same conditions
affecting the British loan, and the immediate outlook
for our films in France is somewhat clouded.

See page 46.

F this appraisal is realistic, it is not necessarily pessi-
mistic. The foreign market outlook is not rosy. But
neither is it altogether black. Whether or not the
British ease the 75 per cent tax bite, it seems a pretty
safe bet that American pictures will continue to be
exported to England. That would be too important a
vacuum for us to create and allow to be refilled by
English and European producers, while 48,000,000
British fans forgot about Hollywood. If our films
continue to be exhibited in England, and even if the
75 per cent tax stands, the Hollywood industry will
still draw a profit of around $15,000,000 a year from
the British gross. Foreign market profits in other na-
tions, while certain to be less lush, will still enable
the industry to skim off a respectable amount of gravy.

The most recent available Department of Commerce
reports show that the American motion picture industry
showed a profit of $316,000,000 in 1946 before federal
taxes, and an estimated $100,000,000 of this came from
the foreign market. After payment of all taxes a clear

28

WHAT'S AHEAD FOR HOLLYWOOD?

$190,000,000 remained. Out of this the motion picture
companies paid $74,000,000 in dividends, and laid aside
a nice rainy day fund of $116,000,000 — enough to
cushion the worst impact of the British tax for several
years.

Seven major companies in 1946, five of them with
theatre chains, showed a net profit of $208,000,000
before taxes, and $125,000,000 after taxes. The British
action is variously figured to cause the U. S. film indus-
try a loss of from $40,000,000 to $60,000,000. It could
hardly cost these majors more than $40,000,000 a
year. On that basis in 1946, these companies would
still have showed a profit of $168,000,000 before fed-
eral taxes, and well over $100,000,000 after taxes. It
must be remembered that the U. S. treasury would
share in the form of missing taxes some of the loss
due to British taxes.

A serious decline in the domestic box office could
of course change the picture for the worse. But the
well-entrenched majors, with their financial reserve
cushions, will probably continue to do reasonably well.
For some other companies and the small independents,
the going may be tougher. Consider the case of Uni-
versal, a producing and distributing company with no
backlog of theatres and depending heavily on foreign
revenue. Its 1946 gross was around $54,000,000, in-
cluding about $25,000,000 from foreign sales. Its profit
was $8,194,000 before U. S. taxes. A large part of
its profit came from British exhibition, and the British
tax would have reduced its profit to about $1,300,000.
U. S. taxes would have taken about $500,000 of that,
leaving a net of approximately $800,000 on a $54,000,-
000 gross.

Of course in many cases there are undoubtedly hidden
profits charged off in the form of unnecessary salaries,
etc. But it is true that while the overall situation is
far from desperate, the impact of the foreign market
situation will hit the small companies with special and
unjust force.

FOR both majors and independents the problem is
real. What is to be done about it? What's ahead
for Hollywood?

There are many answers. Some are given in this
section. George Bernard Shaw suggests through The
Screen Writer that Hollywood adopt a higher morality.
Dudley Nichols pleads for more integrity and better
pictures.

Our American Home Market. Regardless of what
happens to our foreign markets, we have in the U.S.A.

an untapped market richer than all others combined.
Successful as the American film industry has been, from
one important standpoint it has been a failure. It has
failed to reach and interest a majority of the American
people. The Gallup research institute experts estimate
the weekly motion picture audience in the U. S. at
about 50,000,000, and the audience potential at about
125,000,000. This means there are about 75,000,000
people in the country who are not regular patrons of
the movies. A further breakdown puts at 50,000,000
the number of Americans able to enjoy motion pictures
and who rarely see them. Even in the prosperous war
years — "when even good pictures made money" — these
50,000,000 Americans stayed home. Apparently there
were not enough pictures of the kind they wanted to
see to attract them to the theatres and establish the
movie habit.

These 50,000,000 Americans who rarely go to the
movies form a larger and probably richer group than
the total population of Great Britain. They represent
a lost market which Hollywood might really worry
about. They have passed judgment on our films — and
maybe 50,000,000 Americans cannot be altogether
wrong.

Dr. Gallup's learned researches disclose that after
the age of 19 the American movie-going habit declines
sharply, and after the age of 35 few Americans bother
about seeing more than two or three pictures a year.
So a large proportion of these 50,000,000 Americans
who stay away from the theatres are undoubtedly in
the older age group, and financially able to afford
shows, if there were enough pictures to attract them
and establish them in the habit.

Better Stories. Adult pictures are needed to attract
the vast potential adult audience of America — and for
that we need adult stories, not cliches and fairy tales.
Probably American picture-goers are not much dif-
ferent intrinsically from their British counterparts —
and of these C. A. Lejeune, the distinguished film
critic of the London Observer, writes in the N. Y.
Times: "British picture-goers today want adult films
about people in whom they can believe; people who
behave credibly and humanly in possible circumstances.
They have come to the conclusion through their experi-
ence of recent years that Hollywood is functionally
incapable of giving them that sort of picture. This may
be true, or it may be false, but that is something that
Hollywood has got to reckon with. ... It is significant
that the only Hollywood film to cut any swath over
here in recent months — The Best Years of Our Lives
— was made by a director, William Wyler, who had
been close to the war and had spent a long enough

29

THE SCREEN WRITER

time in Europe to begin to understand our problems
and tolerate our idiosyncrasies."

Creative Freedom. Better stories will be written and
better pictures will be made when the people who
create movies — especially the primary creators, the
writers — are given a greater degree of control over
their work and the selection of material. More respon-
sibility for the creators, less irresponsibility and inter-
ference from the front office, would give to writers,
directors, working producers, actors and technicians a
sense of creative opportunity that would materialize
at last the renaissance that always eludes Hollywood.
It is this freedom of the creative people to select and
work their material that has caused the remarkable
qualitative upsurge in British production. The evidence
of that is convincing.

The greater freedom enjoyed by the creative talent
in the British and French film industries obviously
has not been abused. And while it has imparted a defi-
nite qualitative lift, it has not resulted in an unbroken
string of motion picture master-pieces. There are plenty
cf British turkeys. And there are many fine Hollywood
films. The truth seems to be that in a mass entertain-
ment industry-art, every production cannot be a work

of genius. But more control of material and an in-
creased sense of responsibility on the part of creative
workers would mean more great pictures, and infinitely
more pictures that were mature rather than juvenile
and honestly entertaining rather than imitatively cheap.

Cooperation For Better Pictures. On lots where even
a foretaste of creative freedom and integrity has been
evolved, there has been evident a vital resurgence of
interest. High quality pictures have been made on in-
credibly low budgets — for example, Crossfire at RKO.
Such pictures do not need foreign markets to make a
profit. This is the true economy, without sacrifice of
personnel or quality. A survey made recently in Holly-
wood and quoted in a trade magazine the other day
showed this kind of cooperation could save at least
$100,000,000 a year, twice the loss in British revenue,
and at the same time result in better pictures.

Reciprocal Exhibition. While the American market
is open to foreign films in theory, it is all but closed to
them in practice. Samuel Goldwyn suggests wisely that
we welcome foreign films and see them, so that we may
know the world as we want the world to know us. It
is a good idea. It might do a lot to reopen foreign
markets.

T-1

30

Town Meeting Tonight!

PAUL TRIVERS

SWG member PAUL TRIVERS has

written for both the stage and screen.
A former member of the SWG Edi-
torial Committee, he ivrote in the
October, 1945, issue of The Screen
Writer about another Town Meeting
of the Air Hollywood program.

THE occasion was America's Town Meeting of
the Air. The subject was the old standby, with
one word added, making it read, "Is There Really
a Communist Threat in Hollywood?" As Mr. George
V. Denny, Jr., founder and moderator, is fond of say-
ing, Town Meeting "is a nationwide program carried
by 226 stations of the American Broadcasting Com-
pany."

Originally the affirmative team, instead of Mrs.
Lela Rogers and Senator Tenney, consisted of Hedda
Hopper and Howard Emmett Rogers. But apparently
Miss Hopper wished to name films containing Com-
munist ideology, while Mr. Rogers felt, as he stated
in a letter to the Hollywood Reporter on August 29th,
"What one person might consider Communist propa-
ganda, another person could interpret as a liberal ex-
pression of thought."

For Mr. Rogers, a writer whose zeal against Com-
munism had brought him in the past as far out from
the gates of Hollywood to combat it as Tarzana, to
take such a stand was a refreshing occurrence. The
only trouble was, after he and Miss Hopper withdrew
from the program, Town Meeting was unable to find
anyone to take their places. Then rumor spread that
the producers had at last pointed out the folly of de-
fending Capitalism by smearing their best money-
making pictures, especially since audiences nowadays
were none too eager to go to the movies anyhow.

This probably contained at least a germ of truth,
for the affirmative was spurned, according to the
Hollywood Reporter, by Sam Wood, Ronald Reagan,
Barbara Stanwyck, Edward Arnold, and Robert Tay-
lor. Even Adolphe Menjou refused, after having
boasted to J. Parnell Tromas earlier in the summer
that he had "read 250 books on Communism."

But Mrs. Rogers, mother of the actress, took to
pinch-hitting like a cat takes to catnip. Opposite her
and Senator Tenney, the only representative of Los
Angeles County in the California State Senate, for the
negative were Albert Dekker, the actor and former
member of the State Assembly, and Emmet Lavery,
playwright and president of the Screen Writers Guild.

With squads of police thronging the sidewalks out-
side and with posters of the local sponsor's product,
Sparkletts Drinking Water, flanking her on the stage,
Mrs. Rogers led off for the affirmative.

"How long has it been," she asked, "since you saw
a member of the Congress of the United States shown
on the screen as a trustworthy servant of the voters
who elected him? How long has it been since you've
seen on the screen an industrialist, a banker, a judge
shown as anything else than a stinker?"

This deplorable state of affairs, the existence of
which remained undocumented, Mrs. Rogers attributed
to the "Communist party-liner," who fiendishly "cor-
rupts non-political pictures, good pictures, human
stories. He sticks in a character here, a line there, all
designed to subtly destroy the faith of the American
people in the institutions and principles that have made
this country great — and kept it free!"

When his turn came to speak, Mr. Lavery for the
negative endeavored to inject something less grandilo-
quent into the discussion. "Let's consider one fact
about the making of motion pictures," he said. "It
isn't like the making of a novel or a short story, where
the author has control of every character and every
word. In pictures it is different. From the moment a

31

THE SCREEN WRITER

story is bought until the moment it goes before the
cameras, everybody and his brother are in the act —
including the front office which has the first and the
last word to say about everything. So if there were
a conspiracy in Hollywood, it would have to start at
the top; it just wouldn't have a chance at the bottom.
First and last, this as a management problem at man-
agement level, and Mr. Dekker and I come here tonight
to say that upon this issue we think management is
above reproach. We think management is as sound
as the dollar which it pursues so successfully."

SENATOR Tenney, throughout the remarks of his
opponent, sat in a deep brown study. Many thoughts
must have piled up in his mind, not the least of which
perhaps was the realization that ten million people in
every corner of the nation were listening to Mr.
Lavery. As he stirred in his seat, perhaps he consoled
himself with the reflection that his time would come.
If he were thinking of national office, surely he must
have recognized, with a little tingle, how helpful this
appearance could be. Less likely was the possibility
that he was contemplating the fate of that pioneer in
his specialty, former Congressman Martin Dies, who,
despite all his efforts, was not sufficiently appreciated
and some time ago was put ont to private business
back home.

When the Senator at length reached the podium, he
chose to indulge himself a little. Greeted with applause,
he remarked, "I'm very happy to hear some Amer-
icans present." And the applause turned mostly to
boos.

But habit is strong and the Senator flipped over the
other side of the coin. "I notice we have a lot of
comrades," he observed, moving his head fan-wise
around the angered audience. "I might say to Mr.
Lavery," he continued, "that the threat of Communism
in Hollywood has been gaining momentum since 1930.
It died to a whisper during the 22 months of the
Hitler-Stalin pact. It became vigorous and menacing
during the war, hiding behind our necessary military
alliance with Soviet Russia."

From here on the Senator lavishly gave the world
the benefit of his investigations, enumerating organ-
izations and individuals that he had found "menacing."
He included Mr. Dekker and Mr. Lavery, even making
the accusation that "Mr. Dekker certainly has achieved
a Marxian victory now and then by being a little more
of a capitalist villain that the script demanded."

At one point, Senator paused in his cataloguing to
praise the producers. "Most of them are loyal Ameri-
cans, thank God ! It is absurd to believe that they would
conspire for the destruction of free enterprise, life,

liberty and the industry that brings them economic
independence and dignity."

By the time the author of Mexicali Rose and Red
Fascism was through, Mr. Dekker was more than
ready. "There is a four-letter word I'd like to use
in describing the content of Jack B. Tenney's offering,"
he said. "The word is fish — plain red herring. Anybody
who disagrees with him, or Parnell Thomas, or Rankin,
or Bilbo, is a 'party-liner'!"

Mr. Dekker concluded his opening remarks with,
"For myself, I want every man and woman to be able
to walk free in the sun and safe in the shadow. If we
lead the way in the best American tradition other
nations will follow us, and we need fear no one, no
nation, ever."

In the period of, in the words of the moderator,
"give and take" which followed, Mrs. Rogers was the
first to comment. "Well, Mr. Lavery," she said rather
sweetly, "you are in a position to do more to combat
the accusation of the Communist threat to Hollywood
than any other single individual. All you have to do
is take advantage of one provision of the Taft-Hartley
law, and have the officers and executive board of the
Screen Writers Guild file affidavits attesting that they
are not members of the Communist party. Do you
intend to do this?"

Mr. Lavery replied: "I think the Taft-Hartley
Bill is an unfortunate piece of legislation. But while it
is on the statute books of our land, our Guild, like
all guilds, will do its best to observe it even though
we disagree with it, and even though many of our
members work for its repeal. I am not a Communist. I
think many officers in the Guild — many members —
have no hesitation in coming forth and saying they
are not Communists. Whether we file the declaration
depends on whether the Guild comes within the mean-
ing of the Taft-Hartley Act. Mrs. Rogers may not
know the application does not apply unless you appear
before the NLRB and wish the services of the National
Labor Relations Board."

"Oh, but I do know!" rejoined Mrs. Rogers. "The
A. F. of L. doesn't agree with the Taft-Hartley bill
either, but it is going to sign that provision just to
prove that it is not Communist-run." How Mrs. Rogers
could be so sure was her secret. A few days later,
the A. F. of L. Council decided not to sign.

In any case, the Senator was contented. He could
scowl right in Mr. Lavery's face, all four participants
now being gathered around the microphone. He asked
Mr. Lavery pointblank what he planned to do about
those members of the Guild whom the Hollywood
Reporter last year asserted were Communists. "In the
Screen Writers Guild," said Mr. Lavery, "as in most

32

TOWN MEETING TONIGHT!

guilds and unions, we do not have a political test for
membership; we do not have a religious test for mem-
bership. I imagine that we do have a few Communists
in our Guild "

Senator Tenney exclaimed, "A few!"

Mr. Lavery continued. "We also have a lot of
Republicans. We also have a lot of Democrats. I'll
answer the Senator's question specifically. The reason
that we don't throw the Communists out is the same
reason that we don't throw the Republicans out. Under
the prevailing decisions of the Supreme Court of the
United States, it is not seditious per se to be a member
of the Communist party, any more than it is to be a
member of the Republican party; and so we do not
have a political test for membership in the Screen
Writers' Guild."

The Senator's expression darkened. "Mr. Lavery, it
seems to me you begged that question as bad as you
did the other. Let me point this out to you, that it
wasn't illegal either to belong to the German-American
Bund before the shooting war started. It'll be the same
thing when war starts with Russia. Let me just point

out to you " Here rising boos interrupted the

Senator for a few moments.

MR. Dekker, a bit later, drew laughter and applause
when Mr. Lavery inquired if it was common
practice in the California State Legislature for the
legislators to take state reports and sell them in a
pretty binding to the taxpayers at $8.75, such as Sena-
tor Tenney had recently done with his Red Fascism.
Mr. Dekker replied, "No, this is not a practice. How-
ever, I consider it rather contemptible. But, however,
what can a man do who only gets $1200 a year repre-
senting 45 per cent of the people of California? He's
got to make a living somehow — somehow!"

It was during the question period from the floor that
Senator Tenney seemed most keenly aware of the ten
million radio listeners. He became authoritative, alert,
aggressive. He was in fine fettle. He bounced to and
from the microphone answering questions directed at
Mrs. Rogers as well as those directed at his opponents
and himself. After each rapier-like thrust, he moved
away, nodding satisfiedly.

On one occasion it looked like Mr. Dekker would
have to take the microphone in his arms to keep the
Senator from it. He had been asked : "Is the fuss about
Communism in Hollywood part of a drive to cover
up reactionary tendencies which are often disguised
by calling them Americanisms?"

Perhaps Senator Tenney doubted that the former
Assemblyman would know the answer to a question

like that. However, Mr. Dekker snapped, "You know,
we're not in one of your hearings now. Everybody gets
a chance here." .

It was Mrs. Rogers, on another occasion, who actu-
ally lost a fine question to the eager Senator. A house-
wife had asked her: "In as concrete and definitive a
fashion as possible, what constitutes a Communist
front organization?"

Muttering "this is a technical matter," the Senator
wedged himself in between Mrs. Rogers and the micro-
phone. All Mrs. Rogers could do was look up at him
trustingly.

Later on, with the help of the moderator, she was
given the opportunity to reply to the following: "Don't
you think the American people have enough sense to
decide whether a picture is actually subversive and
not to be influenced by it?"

And Mrs. Rogers said: "Yes, dear, in the main I
think they do. But mostly, I think that the sublety
of the propaganda is so placed that it is like the drip-
ping of the water that wears away the stone."

Toward the end of the program, Mr. Lavery was
asked: "Do you not agree that we ought to strive to
eradicate the little thieves of Communism, low mini-
mum wages, slums, limited civil and political rights of
Negroes?"

To which Mr. Lavery replied: "I do believe very
much that the way to fight Communism is to offer
a better life. I agree with Emmett John Hughes in
his book on Spain, that a truly free democratic society
has nothing to fear from Communism if its house is
in order. The more we cry Communism when there is
no Communism, the more we advertise to the world
that we are a vulnerable society. I believe very definitely
that if we put our house in order, we have nothing
to fear from Communism, except the fear of Com-
munism."

When Senator Tenney took the microphone for his
summation, he seemed to be under the impression that
he had not yet made his position clear. For the benefit
of those who might not have understood him, he de-
clared, "It should be obvious to everyone, after listen-
ing to Mr. Lavery and Mr. Dekker on this program,
that Communism in Hollywood is real and sinister."

Perhaps, though, the affirmative's point of view was
best expressed by Mrs. Rogers in her answer to the
question, "If the survival of democracy cannot be
entrusted to people in Hollywood, who are among
the most enlightened in the world, where then can
it live?"

Mrs. Rogers replied: "But the teachers of democracy
can be entrusted to the people of Hollywood. As you
notice, I'm up here now, dear."

33

Love In Hopewell

DAVID CHANDLER

DAVID CHANDLER, a member of
SW G and a contract v."riter at a major
studio, here presents in a somewhat
different form another case study of
audience research techniques in the
field of the literary arts.

The scene is Wynbrook Acres, near Hopewell, N. J.,
where a "New Entertainment Workshop,' designed to
"make life a great deal easier and more profitable for
the creative writer" has been established by Albert E.
Sindlinger, a former executive vice-president of George
Gallup' s Audience Research Institute. A lank, tweedy
individual, the deep purple under his eyes, the typewriter
ribbon stains on his nose, his habit of glancing furtively
about him, betraying his mode of living, enters. He
carries a frayed copy of the Drama Section of the New
York Times of April 6, 1947, folded neatly to page 5.
He is met by an executive-type man in a swallow-tail
coat, pin-stripe trousers, Ascot tie and a vast pearl
stickpin. This would be, for purposes of our little fic-
tion, a character we might call Frank Stanhope, un-
doubtedly a Doctor of Education from Teachers' Col-
lege. As the tweedy man enters, Stanhope hurriedly takes
out a bulging wallet, puts it in a desk drawer, locks the
drawer securely. From his mouth he takes a thermom-
eter, reads it approvingly. He looks up.

STANHOPE

Come in, Sludge. We've been waiting for you.

(Sludge enters tentatively , looking behind him as
though he is expecting to be kicked by a producer,
editor or receptionist.}

No need for temperament or frustration here, Sludge.
Our job is only to "aid writers . . . assure the greatest
possible financial reward . . . and to help producers
reduce their costs by getting the most out of plays,
novels and original film scenarios."

SLUDGE
Thank you.

STANHOPE
Nothing, man. That's what the New Entertainment
Workshop is here for. Our idea is to make our pre-
sampling methods available to authors as well as pro-
ducers.

SLUDGE
Anything you say, sir.

STANHOPE
{picking up and carelessly tossing a MS on his desk)

Well Sludge, we've gone to work on your book. . . .
{Sludge looks eagerly at his host; Stanhope shakes
his head dubiously, then smiles agressively, pitches in)
There was a problem.

SLUDGE
It was something I had to say. The problems of our
times, people, nuclear —

STANHOPE (unhearing)
The title, man. The title.

SLUDGE
You don't like Tanqueray Towers?

STANHOPE

It wasn't a question of liking or not, Sludge . . .
I say, do stop quivering and sit down.

(He points out a chair. Sludge sits on the edge of
it, gingerly, timidly)

Here we do things scientifically. We tried a sampling
on your title — frankly, we found it didn't hold much
interest. We'd had that experience before, with Barry
Benefield's Eddie and the Archangel Mike. The poor
publishers could only dispose of fourteen thousand
copies and there was no sale to the movies. But now
we've changed the title to Texas, Heaven and Brook-
lyn— and there's no telling where the book will go.

SLUDGE (tentatively)
Suppose I called it Love in Tanqueray Towers!

STANHOPE {shaking his head)
No. The title for your book is California, Paradise

and Miami. See the interest? Now it too can go places,

producers will be calling at all hours.
{Waving his hand airily)
Maybe we can insert the word penicillin and get it

in the Reader's Digest. . . .

SLUDGE
Then it's only a matter of the title. . . .

STANHOPE
No. no, man. That was just the beginning. We
took your synopsis and condensed that. This we sent
out to our group of professional readers — college pro-

34

LOVE IN HOPEWELL

fessors, writers, critics, lawyers, doctors, actors — to
determine its general interest values.

SLUDGE

It seems a lot of trouble for a little story about
a boy and girl.

STANHOPE

That wasn't all. We made additional synopses of
varying lengths, slanted from different angles, comedy,
melodrama and so on and from this we've selected the
most favorable reactions as the one for you to follow.
Do you know what appealed most to our audiences
in Tanqueray — oops, California, Paradise and Miami?

SLUDGE
The love story? The twist where she doesn't know
his father owns the drug store?

STANHOPE
Not at all. A character called Edgar Flaxhead, who
brings the message in Chapter Four.

SLUDGE
But he's only a Western Union boy.

STANHOPE
Only, you say! Do you know how many people
began life as Western Union boys?

(Points to a pile of statistics)
We have documentary proof of that. Besides this
fellow Flaxhead, there's an air of mystery about him.
A lady in Augusta found him "intriguing." Who is
he, where'd he come from when he enters with the
telegram, how does he feel about marlin fishing? — you
can't take a fascinating character like that and drop
him cold.

SLUDGE
Oh, well, I guess I can build him up a little.

STANHOPE

That's the right approach. Scientific. Of course
that will mean you've got to change the girl — she's
got to be unsure now — how does she know but what
Flaxhead's father doesn't own Western Union?

(Sludge begins nervously to fidget in his chair, then
he rises slightly, anger flickering in his eyes)

SLUDGE {hotly)

But this is crazy. You're just offering me little doo-
hickies on a graph as an excuse. . . .

(Stanhope fixes him steadily with a cold stare;
Sludge, defeated, sinks back in his chair)

STANHOPE
You were saying?

SLUDGE (in a whisper)
I'm sorry. I've been working on screenplays so long
I'm a little jumpy.

STANHOPE
Emotional, that's what you are. We'll have to get
your nerve reactions and neurones charted on our in-

struments. But a few weeks in Wynbrook Acres will
fix you up fine. You'll have a locale attractive and con-
ducive to creative writers.

SLUDGE

My wife says I won't work anywhere. I've tried
Paris, Barcelona, Dubrovnik, the Kashmir hills — I
always find an excuse.

STANHOPE (icily)
In Hopewell, New Jersey, everyone works.

SLUDGE (dreamily)

I hope so.

STANHOPE
(swiftly, in a monotone, in which he repeats
whole phrases and sentences ad libitum)
Now, instead of making the boy an Alabaman, he
ought to be a Canadian. Our people are very interested
in Canada, what with travel restrictions to Europe
and all. And the place where they meet — not a drug
store. There's no interest in drug stores. We might
make it a plastics factory — keep it topical, or a strep-
tomycin lab. Never mind the love story — our group
in Madison, Wisconsin liked the melodrama. They
thought the part where the boy searches in the ice
cream case for the tutti-frutti might be expanded
into a search for the missing Mynheer Diamond. That
would mean having to go to England, but that would
be fine atmosphere, people want to know about Eng-
land today. Good for the films too, a chance for some
low-key lighting stuff, fog, steamers arriving at mid-
night, the wail of whistles, foghorns. . . .

(In the middle of this speech, Stanhope's VOICE
begins to fade, but it goes on and on and Sludge's
face begins to show first a restlessness overcoming him,
then a kind of hypnosis, his head beginning to spin, as
though he has lost contact with reality and has no
physical being. He stirs fitfully, but as the VOICE
continues, reality dissolves, dissolves . . .)

STANHOPE

Flaxhead, unaware that the boy has threatened the
girl, seizes Webley. At the same time the old country
doctor is hitching his wagon . . .

(Stanhope continues to speak, repeating phrases,
motifs, but the now non-physical Sludge makes one
last effort to speak, his VOICE COMING OVER
Stanhope's, as the latter drones on)

SLUDGE

But this is different ! It's only more scientific. Instead
of Variety and the latest news about B. O socko in
Mpls and Donald Gordon and Bennett Cerf — you're
offering little electric impulses —

(Things grow hazy, utterly lost now for Sludge.

35

THE SCREEN WRITER

As Sludge has spoken, Stanhope has pressed a button; ankles dragging on the floor; a sweet smile crosses

two large men materialize out of thin air, they swiftly Stanhope's face and he puts his hand under the head

pin Sludge' arms behind him. He shrieks painfully as of the unconscious Sludge and steadies the limp head

they lift him to his feet) for a moment)

STANHOPE Please understand that "we do not want to find our

Good. ideas colored by the pressure of the production line."

(to the large men) (He lets the loose head fall forward. He nods briefly.

Throw him in the dungeon. The one facing the The large men drag the inert Sludge out the door. As

wisteria. the door shuts a dreadful shrieking knifes the air.)

(He walks up to Sludge, now limp, unconscious, his FADE OUT

T4

Another Hollywood Air Forum

Theodore Granik's American Forum of the Air on Tuesday (26) jumped the gun by a week on
George Denny's Town Meeting debate on alleged infiltration of Communist influences on Hollywood
films. Granik corralled a group of New York film critics, including Eileen Creelman of the Sun,
and Terry Ramsaye of the Motion Picture Herald, who were pretty sure of an existing Red Men-
ace; and Irene Thirer, of the Post, and Jack McManus, of PM, who were on the opposite side of
the table.

Assuming that the first requisite of any debate is equal representation, Granik's forum failed
to come up with a debate. Either McManus' words and facts completely floored his opponents, or
else they thought they could get by with a free ride on the name-calling train. Always it was
McManus who called a halt and asked for one concrete incident to illustrate the carefully-worded
innuendos. He begged, but not one was forthcoming. Actually, McManus and not Granik became
the moderator, trying to keep the discussion factual and positive and within the bounds of the
question under discussion.

Miss Creelman took the floor with her prejudices fully formed. She just had feelings, and
they were deep ones. Ramsaye thought it was beneath his dignity to argue the point. Miss Thirer
merely echoed her teammate because McManus was so right and positive, and so able to defend
his viewpoint in showing up his opponents' lack of positive facts that it was foolish to attempt to
take the floor from him.

McManus was in there swinging hard for the rights of Hollywood to enjoy the same freedom of
speech and expression that is accorded by the Constitution to the other arts and communications
media. But he also wanted the name callers to put up or shut up and he couldn't get to first base.

Rose

— N. Y. Variety.

36

SCREEN WRITERS GUILD, INC.

1655 NO. CHEROKEE AVE., HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA
AFFILIATED WITH AUTHORS' LEAGUE OF AMERICA, INC.

OFFICERS & EXECUTIVE BOARD, THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD: PRESIDENT:
EMMET LA VERY; 1ST VICE-PRESIDENT, MARY McCALL, JR.; 2ND VICE-PRESI-
DENT, HUGO BUTLER; SECRETARY, F. HUGH HERBERT; TREASURER, HAROLD
BUCHMAN. EXECUTIVE BOARD: HAROLD BUCHMAN, HUGO BUTLER, JAMES M.
CAIN, LESTER COLE, PHILIP DUNNE, F. HUGH HERBERT, TALBOT JENNINGS,
GORDON KAHN, RING LARDNER, JR., MARY McCALL, JR., MAURICE RAPF, GEORGE
SEATON, LEO TOWNSEND. ALTERNATES: VALENTINE DAVIES, DAVID HERTZ,
RICHARD COLLINS, ART ARTHUR, JOHN LARKIN, EVERETT FREEMAN. COUNSEL,
MORRIS E. COHN. ASSISTANT SECRETARY, ALICE PENNEMAN.

EDITOR

WHO is loyal to America? What is this new loyalty? All writers who
respect their profession should ask these questions. We should give
thought to the sharpening attempts of legislative committees and those
who use them to put into uniform the expression of opinion. For writers are
the first to feel these pressures against the civil liberties of all Americans.
Those who would stifle the interplay of opinion in a free democracy rec-
ognize that writers as a group are the most articulate custodians of the tradi-
tions of tolerance, democracy, and the freedom not to conform. So it is impor-
tant that we examine with all possible clarity, and answer with all the intelli-
gence and courage we can muster, these questions: What is the standard of
this new loyalty? Is it conformity : the blind or forced acceptance of the poli-
tical and economic opinions of a few ultra-conservative manufacturers, news-
paper owners and politicians?

These are poignant questions today. They are coming home with swift
insistence to Americans loyal to the America of Jefferson and Lincoln, of Em-
erson and Thoreau, of Roosevelt and Willkie.

It is not a passing fancy that caused the Los Angeles County Supervisors
to classify as dubious if not subversive the Authors' League of America, with
which the Screen Writers' Guild is affiliated. It is not personal idiosyncrasy
that causes Jack B. Tenney to smear constantly our Guild, other writer organ-
izations and individual writers. It is not playful whimsy that causes the Mo-
tion Picture Alliance for the Preservation of American Ideals to brand as

37

THE SCREEN WRITER

disloyal films that give dramatic substance to an idea, that portray the common
good as more important than private gain. It is not idle malice that makes Mr.
Hearst of San Simeon crusade against books and writers, and makes Col. Mc-
Cormick of Chicago say: "Scenario writers, most playwrights and many book
publishers are thoroughly disloyal to our country." Nor, to bracket a pigmy
with some giants, is it altogether habit that makes Mr. W. R. Wilkerson of
Hollywood characterize the Guild as composed of disloyal bums and hacks,
and joust eternally against all save the few members who may agree with him.

HPHESE questions of who is loyal and what is loyalty must be asked and an-
swered. Great Americans were not afraid to deal with them in the past —
Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Franklin faced them when they rebelled against
tyranny. Tom Paine, Henry Thoreau, Lloyd Garrison and Wendell Phillips
grappled with them. Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes met them with patriotic
insight and courage, loyal to all that America has meant and must mean.

The United States Supreme Court has met them often, and it has always
found the same answers.

Henry Steele Commager, the distinguished historian-philosopher, points
out in a current Harper's Magazine article that the gist of the "loyalty tests"
now being imposed is loyalty to the particular body of economic practices
lumped under the heading of "private enterprise."

Dr. Commager quotes a historic decision of the Supreme Court rejecting
the concept that belief or disbelief in any economic system can be considered
a test of American loyalty. In the Schneiderman case the Court ruled :

"Throughout our history many sincere people whose attachment to the
general constitutional scheme cannot be questioned have, for various and even
divergent reasons, urged differing degrees of governmental ownership and
control of natural resources, basic means of production, and banks and the
media of exchange, either with or without compensations. And something once
regarded as a species of private property was abolished without compensating
the owners when the institution of slavery was forbidden. Can it be said that
the author of the Emancipation Proclamation and the supporters of the Thir-
teenth Amendment were not attached to the Constitution?"

And again, in the Barnette case of 1943, concerned with the empty ges-
ture of patriotism required by the self-appointed watch-dogs of Americanism,
the Supreme Court ruled:

"If there is any fixed star in our Constitutional constellation, it is that no
official, high or petty, can prescribe what shall be orthodox in politics, nation-
alism, religion, or other matters of opinion, or force citizens to confess by word
or act their faith therein. If there are any circumstances which permit an excep-
tion they do not now occur to us. . . . Those who begin coercive elimination of
dissent soon find themselves exterminating dissenters. Compulsory unification
of opinion achieves only the unanimity of the graveyard."

38

EDITORIAL

A S this drive toward un-American uniformity and policed opinion mounts,
^*"as the rodomontade of the Thomas Committee approaches a climax of hys-
teria, the voices of our real America are raised to warn of this planned coup
d'etat against American liberty. Henry Steele Commager's warning will be
heard. O. John Rogge, former Assistant Attorney-General of the United States,
told a mass meeting in Chicago the other day that every real American must
challenge this drive toward the police state. From our universities, our
churches, our labor organizations, our genuine statesmen, comes the warning
of danger and the plea to save an America that is free, tolerant and unafraid.
It is a great cause. Writers bear a great responsibility to it. For to allow this
cheaply arrogant concept of loyalty to go unchallenged is to be disloyal to
all that is fine and decent in our American heritage.

FOR some time The Screen Writer has been campaigning for greater recog-
nition by critics of the screenwriter's key place in the creative scheme of
things. Possibly it is beginning to register.

Significant of what The Screen Wrter hopes will be a fresh trend in motion
picture appraisal is the review of The Bachelor and the Bobby Soxer by Bos-
ley Crowther in the esteemed New York Times.

The review — which has occasioned much comment among screen writers —
is remarkable in that it gives the writer, Sidney Sheldon, the same attention
in evaluating the picture that Brooks Atkinson, the paper's dramatic critic,
would give a playwright in discussing a new stage offering.

The bland assumption that the screenplay "just growed"- — like some type-
writer Topsy — is notably missing from the review. In fact, the first three para-
graphs of the five paragraph review are devoted to discussing the contribution
of Mr. Sheldon. It is a complete reversal of the usual belated P.S. that the
average critic provides as recognition of the simple fact that the picture wasn't
merely a two-hour ad-lib.

As a Progress Report the whole thing is very heartening. By contrast,
however, is Paramount's full page ad in the current magazines announcing the
advent of Welcome Stranger — and heralding that it is by the same man who
wrote Going My Way. But it doesn't mention that writer's name!

39

SWQ EJLti

in

The Economic Program

As a statement of principle and a
guide to long-range activity of the Screen
Writers' Guild, the report which follows
became an official document of the organ-
ization upon its ratification at a general
membership meeting September 8, 1947.

The report <was ratified by the adoption
of this motion made at the membership
meeting: That the Economic Report be
adopted by the membership as the econ-
omic program of the Guild.

The SWG Executive Board, at a sub-
sequent meeting, urged that the report
be studied by every screen writer with
the full seriousness that the subject merits.
In addition the Board has ordered that
questionnaires on the subject be mailed
to the full membership. It is hoped that
by this means the ideas and attitudes of
all active members concerning this sub-
ject can be determined, and that member-
ship interest will aid subsequent committees
in the further development and implemen-
tation of a program designed to meet the
incontrovertible need of screen writers
for betterment of their economic status.

The SWG Economic Committee points
out that its report has been subjected to
misleading interpretations in the press.

Without proposing any specific per-
centage, the report merely suggests that
whatever royalty percentage we bargain
for be on the gross income of the studios
rather than on the box office gross of the
industry. It proposes the establishment of
a minimum royalty as one measure to
secure for screen writers the more stabil-
ized and equitable compensation they
feel their basic contributions to the indus-
try deserve.

The report as drafted by Lester Cole,
chairman of the SWG Economic Program
Committee, follows:

Late last year the membership requested
a survey that would analyze our economic
relationship to this industry and bring
back recommendations of methods to im-
prove what has generally been considered
an unsatisfactory situation. Members of
the Guild were appointed to the Econ-
omic Program Committee by the Exec-
utive Board; which also appointed me as
Chairman. The following are the com-
mittee members who have been working
on various aspects of this report since last
November: Melville Baker, Hugo Butler,
John Collier, Walter Doniger, Frank
Gabrielson, Morton Grant, Ring Lardner,

Jr., William Lively, Maurice Rapf, Stan-
ley Roberts, Sol Shor, Arthur Strawn,
Louise Rousseau, and Brenda Weisberg.

The August issue of The Screen Writer
presented a preliminary survey of some
of the factors relating to our economic
position in the industry. (Incidentally,
the committee wishes it to be stated that
the article, Where Credit Is Due, by
Philip Stevenson, expressed the personal
views of the author, and while properly
belonging in the magazine as such, did
not express the views of the committee
on this subject.)

This report represents the final think-
ing of the committee to date; it correlates
the material in the magazine with other
factors, summarizes the results of statis-
tics studied, and presents our conclusions
in the form of a recommendation.

The editorial in the August issue of
The Screen Writer, which, as always, re-
flects the official position of the Executive
Board of the Guild, describes the Taft-
Hartley Act as a mean blow to all organ-
ized labor, and a direct threat to the very
existence of the Screen Writers' Guild.
The editorial concludes with the sentence:
"Now, above all, is the time to close
ranks and move forward."

Beyond its immediate reference to the
Act itself, it was not within the scope
of the editorial to elaborate on that gen-
eral recommendation, nor to attempt to
answer the two fundamental questions
raised by it, fundamental questions which
always have been with us. Namely: how
to close ranks, and which direction is
forward? Since first we sought to estab-
lish and put into practice the principle
that screenwriters, like all other citizens,
were entitled to a collective bargaining
organization of their own choosing, we
ran into opposition. Not only on the part
of the industry, but also among writers,
who attempted to characterize us as crea-
tures apart, as ultra-individualists, as
Capital A artists. We gained recognition
finally, but let it not be thought by those
who have arrived after the 1933-1939
period that recognition was achieved
without all the blacklists, threats, intimi-
dations, smears and company union set-
ups which occur in every other industry
where the same rights are sought by
employees.

With recognition won, we set about the
job of remedying abuses. We eliminated
(in theory) speculative writing. We con-
trol credits. We raised minimum wages

from $25 per week to $187.50 per week.
We regulated to a certain small extent
the apprentice abuse. But during this
entire period of time there existed a sit-
uation in writer-employer relationship
which eluded us. Employment conditions
were chaotic; there was no economic
security for the great majority, regard-
less of what the individual's salary was
per week, or what his contribution was
to the industry's output. And, with the
passage of time, both of these conditions
were aggravated to a point seemingly be-
yond our control; the number of available
qualified writers living in Hollywood —
on call, you might say — was increasing
out of proportion to the number of pic-
tures being made. Some of the figures il-
lustrating this will be found in Ring
Lardner's article in the August Screen
Writer.

The Problem of the "Pool"

At the outset, the committee vaguely un-
derstood that this ever-increasing pool
was certainly related to the problem, but
it seemed so obvious, and such a foregone
conclusion, so much a part of "the-way-
things-are-and-the-way-they'11-always-be,"
so much a fixed state of things — like the
sun and the moon — that we paid little
attention to it.

Instead, we divided ourselves into three
groups, to study statistics in different
fields. A statistician, previously employed,
had produced a general break-down of
industry employment, company profits,
etc., etc., and they were most impressive
in demonstrating how much the producers
got in comparison to what we got. But
we always knew that; no one on the
committee was surprised to discover we
were at the short end of the deal. But
discovering that our total earnings were
only about one percent of the U. S. gross —
and how much less of the world gross —
was stunning. We set out then to see if
we could discover the reasons. One sub-
committee studied the re-issue situation,
the second minimum wages and minimum
periods of employment, and the third the
overall economic status of writers in all
categories.

The Problem of Reissues

Some of the figures on reissues are in
The Screen Writer articles. If you've read
them, you know we discovered that reis-
sues without additional compensation are
not merely an economic blow to writers
alone; actors suffer even more severely

40

ECONOMIC PROGRAM

from them — numerically, that is — than we
do. So do directors, cameramen, and to
a greater or lesser extent, all crafts
directly connected with production, as dis-
tinguished from maintenance and admin-
istration.

Since the membership had already
called for action to curb this abuse if
possible, the Executive Board issued an
invitation to all Guilds and Unions to
discuss ways and means of recovering
our share of reissue profits. Our invita-
tion was accepted by delegates from the
Screen Actors' Guild, the Production
Managers' Guild, Screen Directors, Story
Analysts, Publicists, Editors, Art Direc-
tors, Set Designers, Cartoonists, Screen
Extras, Plumbers, International Brother-
hood of Electrical Workers and Carpen-
ters. It was our first meeting; there was
agreement in principle that all crafts con-
cerned with production should be further
compensated for reissues, and the matter
was taken back to the respective exec-
utive boards for study. We hope to make
progress, but we are not foolishly opti-
mistic in any belief that because we are
justified we will succeed. We were also
justified in our demand that the Screen
Writers' Guild be recognized as the bar-
gaining agent for all writers. Success
was a long time coming.

The Problem of "The Minimum"

The second sub-committee, the one
studying minimum wages and periods of
employment made an exhaustive study of
the situation, and brought in many sug-
gestions for remedies. While no precise
sums are recommended at this time, it
was obvious that if the Guild considers
that a writer remains an active member
as long as he works 13 weeks in two
years, and if that member's salary is
$187.50 per week, the present Guild
minimum for a qualified writer, an active
member, is $2,437.50 bi-annually, or
$1,218.75 per year. This calls for sharp
adjustment — upward.

In the field of low-cost independent
production, the abuse of undercutting our
minimum is rampant, but in this we our-
selves must take a good share of the
blame. It was pointed out in 1942 that
the contract we were about to accept —
and did — was wide open to the type of
malpractice that ensued; namely, we
failed to stipulate that under no conditions
can the weekly salary paid be less than
the minimum flat deal in that particular
cost bracket of production. At present,
it is possible for a producer to engage a
writer on a weekly basis, at $187.50 or
even $250 and by getting a script in three
or four weeks, cut the $1,500 minimum
in half or by a third.

This recent occurrence will illustrate
how highly the producers in this field
regard their present arrangement with
us: A few weeks ago a meeting was
called by Mr. Chadwick of the Inde-
pendent Motion Picture Producers Asso-
ciation, to which were invited all the
guilds and unions in Hollywood. Mr.
Chadwick sang the blues; he offered to
open his books for union inspection, to
prove that the unions had to cooperate
(read: "make concessions") if Mr. Chad-
wick's group was to continue in busi-
ness. But note! The one Guild of the
forty-eight in Hollywood NOT invited
to this book-opening fiesta was the Screen
Writers' Guild. There are at least two
reasons for this: first, the books would
reveal the unbelievable low percentage
of production cost put into their scripts,
and second, the script cost is so pitiful
even Mr. Chadwick couldn't hope to
wring further concessions from us. Since
the pictures made by the Chadwick and
like groups number close to fifty percent
of Hollywood's total production, and
therefor employ a proportionate number
of our members, this is no small matter
to be tabled for future consideration.

A meeting of all writers who work
mainly in that field is to be called very
soon; a thorough airing of that particular
problem will be had, and the Executive
Board will at once seek ways and means
of re-opening negotiations.

The Problem of Employment

Having studied the question of re-is-
sues, and the situation in the field of inde-
pendent production, and minimum wages,
the committee realized — by now months
had passed — that we were no closer to
the general, over-all problem than we
were in the beginning. With one excep-
tion: we discovered that the general prob-
lem of employment, and the constant con-
dition of ever lengthening periods of un-
employment required more than a trade
union approach; or properly, required a
trade union approach and more. The
reasons became apparent: trade union
practices were not adequate for all of our
problems ; we had no thoughts of de-
manding an increase in production to
make work for writers, no matter how
much we'd like to see it. We do not want,
nor do me conceive, a system of standby
writers, however justified it may be in
other fields, and finally, we know that
our work is of a special, individual na-
ture, and there can be no rotation of jobs
or work. We cannot have eight hour
work days of three writers split up into
six hour work days for four writers.
Cultural, creative work cannot be appor-
tioned in that way.

At last we arrived at two indisputable
facts about the economic condition of
writers in this business: (1) that in order
to make 350 to 500 pictures a year, the
industry required a much larger number
of available writers to achieve its quota —
and (2) that, whether 100 writers worked
in a given year or 1,000, the total amount
of compensation paid them was ridicu-
lously low in relation to the value of
their contribution and to the total indus-
try income.

To consider first the question of the
pool of writers competing for jobs. There
is no way to fix the number accurately.
Ring Lardner, Jr., in his article, estimated
it at roughly 1,500, which included most
of our associate membership and those
writers who work in Hollywood but still
haven't joined the Guild. You might set
the maximum figure at many times this
number if you included the thousands of
writers all over the world who would
respond to an attractively phrased tele-
gram from one of our major producing
companies. But as a Guild we are basic-
ally concerned with a minimum pool con-
sisting of the present number of active
qualified members of the Guild. That
figure, as of July 26th, was 1,010.

The Writer in Production Practice

It is not that vie contend this pool to be
an absolute necessity to the producers;
the producers prove this contention in a
manner which cannot be argued. Last
year they employed about 900 writers in
order to make 350-400 pictures. Indis-
putably, then, 900 writers were consid-
ered necessary by them to fulfill their
requirements under the present methods
of production. Whatever our private
opinions of these methods may be, they
are production practices which in fact
exist, in which we are in fact involved,
over which in fact we have no control,
and over which we at present seek no
control. Producing motion pictures is the
business of the companies; writing them
is ours.

It is hardly necessary at a Guild
meeting to go into a detailed analysis of
why and how 900 or more writers are
necessary to make less than five hundred
pictures. We all know that a great many
scripts are shelved and that the reasons
are frequently quite outside the control
of the writer. We all know that a suc-
cession of writers may be engaged on a
single screenplay and that a producer's
whim or lack of self-confidence is as
likely a reason for changing writers as
any other.

A member of our committee recently
received a telegram of credit notification

41

THE SCREEN WRITER

which was addressed to 24 writers. What
we feel is most significant in a case like
that is the fact that, while the one, two
or three writers receiving final screenplay
credit are undoubtedly the major con-
tributors, the other writers cannot there-
fore be said to have furnished the studio
nothing of value in exchange for their
salaries. Even if they only explored an
approach to the story — their own or the
producer's — which was later discarded,
this was a service desired and deemed
necessary by the studio in order to make
the final picture to its satisfaction. Sim-
ilarly, if a studio finds it necessary to
prepare 50% or a 100% more scripts than
it actually makes, the fact that a script
is shelved because of unavailability of
stars, directors or stage space, box-office
trends or any other factor, does not mean
that the writer of that script is not a
contributor to the picture business and its
profits. And, of course, a reason for the
preparation of more scripts than are used
is one fundamental to all work of a crea-
tive nature; until the manuscript is writ-
ten there can be no final judgment of its
production acceptability.

These reasons and others have always
been a part of the Guild's thinking. It is
why our qualifications for active mem-
bership are not based upon screen credits
alone, but provide that a member may
also be admitted or retained on the basis
of the number of weeks he works, with
or without screen credit.

The Case of the Unemployed

We are faced, then, with the existence
of a large pool of writers available for
a greatly fewer number of jobs open at
any given time. Inevitably at any mem-
bership meeting, therefore, there will be
a considerable number of writers who
are currently unemployed. We wish, nat-
urally, that we had some sort of direct
cure to suggest for unemployment but the
fact is — and we might as well state it
bluntly — we have no such cure and we do
not believe that a practical method exists
within the scope and power of this Guild
to seek full employment all the time for
all writers. But the program we are go-
ing to propose will have a considerable
indirect effect on the economic security
of all working writers, employed and
unemployed at any particular time. This
program is not only within the power of
the Guild: it goes to the very heart of
its main purpose and basic reason for
existence — which is to improve the eco-
nomic conditions of writers through, in
the words of our Constitution, "harmon-
ious and concerted action by its members."

It is the feeling of the economic pro-
gram committee and of the Executive

Board majority which endorsed this re-
port that the Guild is deserting its prin-
ciple function at any time the main em-
phasis of its endeavors is not directed
toward increasing the total compensation
paid to writers in this industry. We rec-
ognize, of course, that this would not be
true — and perhaps there would be little
use for a Guild at all — if, now or in the
future, writers were getting the full share
to which their contribution to pictures
entitles them. But we most emphatically
don't believe this has ever been the case,
or is now.

That $1,800,000,000 Gross

The American domestic box-office gross
last year was about 1 billion 800 million
dollars, of which approximately a quarter
represents the gross income of the Holly-
wood studios. (Actually the separation
between production, distribution and exhi-
bition is one which has more existence in
the field of bookkeeping than in that of
reality.) The total amount paid to em-
ployed screenwriters during a comparable
period was about 18 million dollars. With-
out for a moment accepting the current
British-American controversy as an indi-
cation that foreign revenues are disap-
pearing, let us confine ourselves to the
more stable domestic receipts and say
that 1% of what American movie-goers
pay for their entertainment is allocated
to the writing of screenplays.

If every writer in Hollywood lived in
the wealth and splendor generally at-
tributed to us, we might shrug off this
obvious inequity and say that we don't
mind being rich just because it makes
someone else richer. But we know that
the average screenwriter, considering
present living costs, has only a fairly
modest income and no security at all
against illness, and unproductive, arid
periods common to us all.

We feel that the main direction of the
future course of the Guild must be to
secure more money for writers and to do
it in such a way as to maintain the prin-
ciple of the greater the contribution, the
greater the compensation, but still pro-
vide a cushion en which the man who is
temporarily floored can recuperate.

The Minimum Royalty Aims

We think that by far the best way to
accomplish this is to impose what we
would call a minimum royalty on the
total industry gross to be distributed by
the Guild to its active members accord-
ing to their contributions — in somewhat
the same way as ASCAP does in the
songwriting field.

There are, of course, two other ways
in which writers could get more money

than they do now. One would be to raise
salary levels all along the line. But this
is something we have always realistically
acknowledged that we, as a Guild, can-
not do. Once we have established mini-
mums to protect ourselves from unfair
competition at the bottom, the salary of
the individual writer is a matter for his
individual bargaining, or that of his
agent. Our salaries go up and down
according to how much a studio needs
us and how much we need the job. We
can't say to the producers "Give every-
body a 50% raise" any more than we
will permit them to tell us that everyone
should take a 50% cut. And there is no
way we can set minimum salary figures
at different levels — no way to determine,
for instance, that the minimum for a
writer with three screenplay credits on
pictures costing $800,000 or more, and
who has a greater flair for comedy than
for drama but usually turns out four
pages of script a day, is $750 a week.

The other alternative is to secure a
royalty on the receipts of the specific
picture for the writer or writers getting
screen credit on it. We want to make
it absolutely clear that we are in favor of
such arrangements — for the individual
writer who has sufficient bargaining
strength to achieve them. And there is
no conflict whatsoever between our pro-
posal of a minimum royalty on a studio's
overall gross and a particular setup in
which a writer is able to get a percentage
of the gross or profits of his own pic-
ture. But the reasons we put the minimum
royalty first, as a Guild objective for the
ivhole membership, are the following:

1. Though percentage deals have in-
creased in the independent field on the
fringe of the industry, the biggest studios
are irrevocably set against them and have
such accounting methods as to make it
impossible to determine what one single
picture grosses. What a studio makes as
a whole for a year is a matter of record
under the law, and for the Guild to col-
lect a percentage on that for its members
is an incomparably simpler process than
the auditing which would have to go on
before each writer could get his share
of the writer's share of the individual
picture's share of the studio income.

2. The majority of pictures are still
based on material conceived by someone
other than the author of the screenplay.
A play, for instance, may occasionally be
adapted to the screen with comparatively
little work. On the other hand it may be
so rewritten as to take as much time,
effort and creative contribution as an
original screenplay. Who is to determine
in each unique case the exact royalty due

42

ECONOMIC PROGRAM

the author of the play, novel or original
screen story; the writer whose script was
re-written but who still receives adapta-
tion credit ; and the author of the final
screenplay? It seems to us that the clear-
est and only completely satisfactory case
for the traditional royalty arrangement
is that of an original screenplay — and
far too few pictures are written as such
to make that a solution for the overall
Guild problem.

3. The writer cannot be, as the indus-
try is now set up, the controlling factor
in determining the box-office success of a
particular picture. As long as the studio
determines who is to play the parts, what
the production budget is to be and all
the rest of the factors that influence the
merit of a picture and its box-office ap-
peal, or lack of it, individual royalties
can never be an equitable measure of the
writer's contribution.

A Minimum Royalty Practical

For all these reasons we are convinced
that the only practical way to increase
all working writer's share of motion
picture income is the minimum royalty
proposal for the exact amount we should
fight for. One per cent of the domestic
box-office gross, in addition to our sal-
aried compensation, would mean double
what we now receive. One per cent of
the producer's gross might mean another
4 million dollars to distribute among the
active membership in accordance with
their contributions during the years im-
mediately following release. What figure
we should aim for and what we will get
must be determined in the first instance
by more professional statisticians than
we are and, in the final analysis, by the
degree of membership support for the
plan.

Another, and very important matter on
which we have no detailed charts to
present is the precise formula according
to which the Guild would distribute the
minimum royalty. What we do have to
offer at this stage are certain underlying
principles for that distribution. The de-
tailed method, to be formulated in scales
and categories by actuarial tables, must
be determined finally and solely by the
Guild according to democratic vote. It is
our business, not the producer's. There
should be a certain amount of elasticity
to it since it is quite possible that the
Guild might find that a radical change
in conditions one year would make a
different formula more desirable. It must
never be viewed or handled as any sort
of unemployment insurance but distributed
in some sort of proportion to the salary,
credits, and work weeks of the individual.

In the committee's opinion, "share and
share alike" is not democracy as we know
it; it's Utopia, and we're not advocating
Utopia. There must be the most rigid
safeguards for democratic control and
the protection of the individual's rights.
The basis for qualification should be the
same as that for active membership,
though this doesn't necessarily mean that
a writer would cease to participate as
soon as his active membership expired,
the general theory being that a writer
would get a continuing income as long
as the pictures on which he had worked
still constituted a substantial part of the
studio's gross.

Other Advantages in the Plan

This principle, incidentally, brings us
to another advantage this plan has over
any method of simply raising salaries all
along the line. We want to get more money
for the writer after he has worked as
well as while he is working. If you raise
a man's salary for the period during
which he is working, he's less apt to
use it as provision against unemployment
than if he gets it when he's temporarily
or permanently off salary.

And further, the minimum security af-
forded by such a plan must inevitably
reflect itself in greater independence of
all writers ; freedom from economic pres-
sures for a greater period of time than
is our lot at present will tend to dissipate
frustration and cynicism, which at pres-
ent is not uncommon in our ranks. With
the knowledge that three or four full
years of screen writing has earned the
individual royalties for a subsequent few
years, more writers will devote more time
to their original fields of novels, plays
and short stories. This will not only
gratify the individual, but in turn is a
potential enrichment of our literature in
these fields; inevitably, too, this work will
become source material for the screen. We
have no statistics on this, but we venture
the opinion that today screenwriters
worry more about jobs than about the
creative problems of writing. This is un-
profitable for everyone, including the
producers. Finally, also pertinent is the
factor of taxes. A few thousand dollars
added to a substantial income doesn't
increase the net very much if it is paid
within the same year, but a similar
amount in a lean year can do a great
deal to provide minimum security.

One reason we are not going into any
more detail now about this very vital
question of distribution is the fact that
the committee has had neither the time
nor the qualifications to work out a com-

plete program. But the Executive Board
could have held up the whole proposal
for months so that we could have the
time and expert assistance necessary to
present a detailed formula along with the
plan. The Board decided instead to sub-
mit the general principle first because we
felt it would be both premature and con-
fusing if the discussion wandered off into
a consideration of the advantages and
inequities of any particular schedule of
royalties. If the membership rejects the
principle, we would have done a lot of
unnecessary work. If it is accepted, then
we can direct the energy not just of
one committee but of the Guild as a whole
to working out the fairest and most prac-
tical approach.

A far more basic and immediate con-
sideration is how and when we could
hope to achieve such a program. We
aren't being so politically ingenuous, or
ingenious, as to put up for a vote the
question of whether or not the members
would like more money — yes or no. You
might say the minimum royalty is the
kind of idea that everyone will be for
in principle, but we think that the ques-
tion of whether we can achieve it, and
when, is part of the principle itself. It
would be unprincipled and destructive
to the Guild for your Board to propose
or the membership to endorse any objec-
tive we couldn't possibly gain or which
is so far in the future that we would
be wasting the effort we spent on it now.

The Future of the Program

The estimate of the majority of the
Board is this: The proposal for a mini-
mum royalty on the overall gross is a far
more important and beneficial reform than
any yet achieved in the screen writing
world. For this reason we will face a
stiffer resistance from the producing
companies than we ever have before.
And for the same reason it should be
possible to muster enough strength, de-
termination and unity around the issue
to match that resistance.

We don't ask for the affirmative vote
of any member who thinks that such a
program can be put into effect by our
merely deciding in favor of it in one
night, nor for the vote of anyone who
thinks he might as well be for it because
it will never come to pass. We could say
that this particular subject is outside the
area of our Minimum Basic Agreement
with the producers and therefore it could
theoretically be put into effect tomorrow,
but such a statement would wink away
reality. One of the main sources of
strength for a Guild is support from other
guilds and unions who understand that

43

THE SCREEN WRITER

our gains help them and of actual

working allies who might join with us in
approximately the same objective. We
feel that first consideration in this direc-
tion should be given to the directors,
whose problem is very close to ours and
whose contract expires next year.

Our own contract lasts until May, 1949.
But knowing the producers' natural inclin-
ation toward negotiations, we certainly
should figure on having our demands fully
formulated some time in 1948. If we de-
termine that the minimum royalty pro-
posal should be the spearhead of our pro-
gram for 1949, it would not be too soon
to start enlisting the manpower, time and
money to convert a general principle into
a specific plan.

One argument that shouldn't deter us
is the false one we have been hearing
on all sides in the last week that this is
a bad moment to discuss new demands
because the momentary impasse in Brit-
ish - American trade negotiations has
driven the studios to a point somewhere
between the brink of collapse and wistful
talk of retrenchment. It's quite possible,
of course, that we might get an invitation
to a pay cut any day now — or at any
time the studios think we're weak enough
to accept it. What isn't possible is that
they will ever call us in, as they might
logically have done a year ago today,
and say "Look, boys, and girls, we've just
gone over the books and find we're making
more money than we know what to do
with and we think you should be the
first to know because maybe you'd like
a 50% raise all around." Instead, they
prudently salted away those profits in
sufficient quantities to take care of ten
such crises as the present situation might
develop into if it turns out to be a crisis
at all.

The Tests of the Program

This proposal, submitted to the Guild
for action, should be judged according to
the following tests:

Is the proposed additional writing
cost so unreasonable as to interfere
seriously with the present economic
structure of the industry?

Are we asking for more than an
equitable share in relation to the
•writers' contribution?

Is it the fairest and most practical
•way to increase the writers' returns?

Will it benefit the membership as a
whole rather than just one section of
it?

Have we the strength to achieve it?
In the opinion of the economic program
committee and, by majority vote, of the

Executive Board, the answer to the first
four questions are all favorable. To the
last and crucial question of whether or
not we have the strength, anyone's opin-
ion is equally a guess and equally irrele-
vant, since the strength of the Guild in
a particular fight is determined, above
all other considerations, by how much the
members care about winning it.

It is the committee's sincere belief that
this principle provides the Guild with
an issue with which, in the words of the
editorial previously referred to, we can
"close ranks" and "move forward."

At a full meeting of the SW G Over-All
Economic Program Committee held July
7 , 194-7 , a report breaking its recommenda-
tions down into ten specific proposals was
made to the Executive Board. At the
September 8 membership meeting Stanley
Roberts, chairman of the Economic Pro-
gram sub-Committee on Unemployment,
read these proposals:

1. Immediate compensation for writers
whose pictures are remade or reissued.

2. A fight for higher minimum salaries
and minimum periods of employment
(two weeks at $187.50 is certainly no
minimum compared with the various
other guilds and unions).

3. A Guild program for the stimula-
tion of stories and screen plays written
originally for the screen. A discussion
with the producers of how they might
give the same sort of stimulation to
original writing for the screen as is af-
forded, for instance, by the MGM Prize
Novel Contest.

4. The establishment of a Guild clear-
ing house for the employment of writers
in the field of 16 mm. production, and of
educational and commercial shorts.

5. A proposal that no Guild member
accede to any salary cut without the
approval of the Executive Board or a
sub-committee of the same ; this to combat
the current drive against salary standards.

6. To stop the current practice of
undercutting minimum scales for flat
deals by which studios pay on a weekly
basis, so that the entire amount received
by the writer is less than the flat deal
minimum provided by the Minimum
Basic Agreement.

7. To prohibit flat deals below normal
salary levels which act as concealed
salary cuts.

8. To start immediate negotiations
with those studios not now covered by
the Guild contract, and by that we mean
particularly the members of the SIMPP.

9. For the first time to establish the
precedent that the Industry, having long
benefited by the use of the writer pool,
in fact, insisting on its very existence,
must now assume responsibility for its
maintenance. That a Screen Writers
Guild levy be placed on the over-all
gross of motion pictures, with this money
to be distributed according to the Guild's
best lights.

10. That the Guild seek immediate
tie-ups with other guilds and unions, par-
ticularly the Directors, so that this pro-
gram can become a reality.

Reciprocal Membership
For Screen Writers

At the August 14 membership meet-
ing approval was given to a reciprocal
membership agreement between the
British Screenwriters' Association, the
Syndicat des Scenaristes of France and
the Screen Writers' Guild of the
United States.

A motion was approved to name
Henry Myers, Edward Eliscu and
Albert Lewin to meet with the British
and French Screen Writers in Paris
in September, and sign the agreement
for SWG.

Following is the reciprocal repre-
sentation agreement to be entered into
by the three national organizations of
screenwriters :

SCREENWRITERS ASSOCIATION
(BRITISH)

N on-Resident Members. Proposed
Scheme of reciprocal representation.

1. Agreement is being made with
the Screen Writers' Guild of Holly-
wood, and the Syndicat des Scenar-
istes of France, and eventually with
other foreign organizations whereby:

(a) Full members of all screen
writers organizations temporarily
resident in another country auto-
matically become temporary
members of the screen writers'
organization of that country
without payment of further dues ;
such temporary members retain
all the rights they already have in
their country of origin, and ac-
quire such temporary rights in the
country which they are visiting
as the screen writers organization
of that country in detail agrees
to offer them: viz: social and
cultural facilities, receiving of
literature, attendance at general

44

SWG BULLETIN

meetings without voting powers,
and legal advice and protection
for work on films produced in the
country where they are tempor-
arily resident.

(b) All screen writers' organ-
izations will endeavor to protect
and assist all screen writers in
circumstances not covered by the
preceding sub-paragraph.

(c) Such full members become
eligible for full membership of
the screen writers' organization
of the country of domicile, and
cease to be members of the organ-
ization of their country of origin
and become liable to the dues of
the organization of the country
of domicile on January 1st of the
year subsequent to that in which
they have become legally domi-
ciled, or, if they prefer, have
given notice that they intend to
become full members of the or-
ganization of the new country
whenever that organization is
willing to accept their member-
ship, but in this case no dues paid
in the old country are returnable.

2. Members or associate mem-
bers of a screen writers organization
in any country, and persons who
would be eligible for such member-
ship or associate membership if an
organization existed, may become
Corresponding Members of the
Screenwriters Association for a pay-
ment of one pound per annum. This
entitles them to receive all literature

generally distributed to the members
of the Screenwriters Association, but
conveys no other rights : these being
adequately secured by their member-
ship of their own organization. In
cases where no such organization
exists the Screenwriters Association
will do their best to protect their
interests in any case of general inter-
est to screen writers.

3. Full members of the Screen-
writers Association who have become
permanently resident abroad may
therefore become Corresponding
Members as from January 1st, 1947
for the payment of one pound. In the
case where they have retained mem-
bership of the Society of Authors and
League of British Dramatists, and
therefore have been paying less than
one pound for membership of the
Screenwriters Association, they may
continue to pay their present propor-
tion, being less than one pound.

4. Associate members of the
Screenwriters Association who be-
come permanently resident abroad
may likewise become Corresponding
Members on exactly the same terms.
Note: Clauses 2, 3 and 4 apply im-
mediately as far as this Association is
concerned, irrespective of whether
Clause 1 is adopted and members of
this Association, resident abroad, are
being notified accordingly.

Production Code

George Seaton, F. Hugh Herbert
and Richard Collins are members of

the SWG committee named to meet
with other industry representatives to
discuss revisions of the Production
Code.

Eric Johnston, president of the Mo-
tion Picture Association, has expressed
a desire to be present at the meetings,
which will be held when he returns to
Hollywood.

Negotiations With

The Agents

Following acceptance by the mem-
bership of the proposed agreement
with the agents as drafted by the
SWG Agents Committee, Mary Mc-
Call Jr., Chairman of the Committee,
on September 5 submitted the pro-
posals for an agreement to Bert Allen-
berg, who is chairman of the Artists
Managers Guild, with a request that
negotiations be begun at an early
date. The full text of the letter is
as follows :

"The Screen Writers' Guild wishes
to enter into negotiations with the
Artists Managers Guild for the pur-
pose of mutual agreement upon a
Minimum Basic Contract. I enclose
our Guild's proposals for the provi-
sions of such a Basic Contract be-
tween the two organizations.

"We feel sure that your Guild
shares our desire for a clarification
and standardization of the relation-
ship of writers and their agents, and
that you will as soon as possible name
a bargaining committee and communi-
cate with us so that we may set an
early date for the commencement of
negotiations."

H. N. Swans on, literary agent,
wrote the following statement as a
contribution to the symposium pub-
lished in the September issue of The
Screen Writer on the writers' share of
the motion picture box office gross.
Since it arrived too late for publica-
tion in September, it is presented here.

A large number of today's unem-
ployed studio writers are adapters
rather than creators. The new motion
picture makers have repeatedly
stressed that they don't want the old
literary carpenters around any more.
This trend has been in effect for some
time, but is more noticeable now that

there are more available people.

Studios may now select from an
ever widening pool of screen writers,
and ruthless selectivity is employed in
hiring. In thus narrowing down to
fewer jobs for better people, the
studios will soon find themselves pay-
ing more money to such people than
the industry has ever dreamed of pay-
ing.

If I were trying for a career as
a screen writer, I would first make
certain that I would be able to make
a living in the magazine, book or
radio fields during those periods in
which I was not employed. Even if
I were offered a studio contract for
fifty-two straight weeks a year, I

would refuse it because I would con-
sider it to be burning my bridges, and
I would feel such specialization would
be very dangerous for my future. I
would try to keep remembering
always that work in other fields would
not only keep me more flexible, but
would insure my financial and artistic
independence as nothing else can

A real creator is not destroyed by
being "off salary." He is not demor-
alized by trade paper headlines nor
what happens to the fickle box office
barometer. If what he writes for him-
self is any good at all, he will earn
many times more by having written
for himself than as a member of some
studio's writing staff.

45

tz

M

I

epori an

d L^c

ommen

t

Paris Notes

EDWARD ELISCU

T T 7E'VE been here for five weeks
*^ — (Henry Myers, Al Lewin
and I) — and already we live like
Parisians. We spend one hour a day
coralling taxis, two hours for lunch,
and just under three hours for dinner.

We are perfectly acclimatized. By
now it seems as natural as driving
down Sunset Boulevard for three
American screenwriters to be collab-
orating on a Britsh classic that will
be shot in France.

A few days after we unscrambled
ourselves from the plane, we were
invited to meet the officers and the
executive board of the French equiva-
lent of the Screen Writers' Guild:
the Syndicat des Scenaristes. They
received us with champagne, fraternal
greetings and the information that we
were the first to profit by a new agree-
ment, by which we are under their
rules and protection while writing
pictures in France.

Le Syndicat des Scenaristes occu-
pies quarters in the two magnificent
buildings owned by the parent organ-
ization, the Societe des Auteurs et
Compositeurs Dramatiques. If you've
never known the fact, or if you've
forgotten, an impressive plaque in the
courtyard reminds you that the Societe
was founded by Beaumarchais in
1765. They've been fighting for their
royalties ever since, and French screen-
writers are very much like us. Some
of them wear loud ties, and some
don't, but they're all interested in
their craft, credits and a Better Deal.
Tradition and law constantly make
it easier for them to improve their
situation.

Over here, every assignment calls
for a flat deal. Naturally, the amount
varies with individual experience and
bargaining power, but there's a guar-

EDJVARD ELISCU, a member of
SWG, is the well-known screen writer
and dramatist. He was a co-contribu-
tor of the Letter From Paris in the
September issue of The Screen Writer.

anteed minimum. The contract always
is made for the entire job. The week-
to-week arrangement is unheard of.
A man is paid for the whole stint no
matter how many buffers and pol-
ishers may be called in, and whether
or not he is permitted to finish it.

Nobody has to punch a clock, and
nobody wants to punch a producer
too often, because he never phones
you, except possibly to suggest that
Paris is too distracting and perhaps
you would like to complete the script
at some French Palm Springs. At his
expense, of course.

Are there agents in Paris? Yes, but
the majority of writers make their
own deals. Contracts are clear and
standardized. For theose retiring
creatures who dislike both agents and
business, the Syndicat des Scenaristes
stands ready to step in (only if the
writer requests it) to carry the ball,
for the customary ten percent.

In the field of original material, we
can learn several lessons from our
French colleagues. Their law recog-
nizes the author as the owner of the
literary property which he has cre-
ated. He merely leases this to a pro-
ducer for a specific usage — (in this
case a motion picture) — and for a
specific period of time — (now fixed
at seven or ten years). If this situa-
tion prevailed in our country there
could be no talk of Triple A being
ploughed under. Had Jim Cain been
a Frenchman marketing Double In-
demnite, and had it been sold three
times, he would have collected three
times. Original deal, remake, reissue,
whatever the format, whatever the
disguise, said property forever belongs
and reverts to its French author.

And that's not all. Every writer
receives a small percentage of the
gross, collected from theatres which
show the film he's written. This is
his cut of the money paid to SAC-
CEM, which closely resembles our
ASCAP.

IN SHORT, while we've been
making speeches on the floor of the
Guild about dignity and dough,
they've achieved those objectives. Now
they're talking about limiting the

number of writers who may be en-
gaged for a given job, on the ground
that the present buy-'em-by-the-dozen
attitude toward writers is degrading
and makes style impossible. They
point out that there will be the same
amount allotted in the budget, and
anyway a producer should have judg-
ment enough to pick the correct
writers in the first place.

Despite their achievements, their
present setup is a newer one than
ours. It's been in existence only since
the Liberation. They have a mere
hundred members, but behind these
are closely arrayed not only the other
writers of France, but all the unions
of the entertainment field. Recently
a picture producer tried to get away
with cutting a writer's payment.
Overnight he was confronted with the
nightmarish possibility of a walkout
by every carpenter, grip, lab worker,
musician, cameraman, etc. . . . You
know what he did.

Of course that poor producer might
have been driven frantic by the
Byrnes-Blum agreement which has
cut French film production by forty
percent. Unemployment is widespread,
and that includes writers. Some are
working on films in other languages,
especially Italian. This concerns us,
for French writing-jobs have de-
creased— without increasing Ameri-
can jobs. Apparently the American
companies are distributing their 'back-
log' in the additional houses opened
to them by the agreement. Tom Mix
is playing at the first run houses this
week.

From the Scenaristes we got the
impression that the French movie-
going public is rapidly catching on to
the discrepancy between the publicity
promise and the eight-reel perform-
ance, of the Hollywood importations.

The French writers are keenly
aware of problems common to all
of us. They expressed their apprecia-
tion over the SWG joining their pro-
test about l'affaire Bruxelles, where
writers were not credited in the pic-
tures shown for awards. That allied
front has brought results. The "slight
oversight" was not repeated at the
film festival at Cannes in September,

46

REPORT & COMMENT

because official measures were taken
to see that it wasn't.

The Scenaristes hope shortly to
arrange a meeting, to be attended by
screen writers of Paris, London and
Hollywood, at which they will discuss
the possibilities of exchanging infor-
mation and building closer coopera-
tion.

Licensing Progress
In England

This report of the attitude of Brit-
ish screen writers toward the AAA
and the general licensing program is
taken from the minutes of a recent
meeting of the Screenwriters Associ-
ation held at The Rising Sun, Tot-
tenham Court Road, London, W . I.:

"To discuss the attitude of the
Association to the American Authors'
Authority plan and to consider what
steps should be taken in this country
to establish the principle of lease of
copyright, instead of outright sale,
and separation of secondary rights
in original screen material."

The Hon. Secretary reported on
discussions that had already taken

place on this subject in Committee.
It had been reported by leading agents
who were members of the Association
that there was already a growing
readiness among British producers to
consent, when asked, to the purchase
of a license to produce original ma-
terial within a stated number of years,
and that in many cases they were
willing to allow secondary rights in
original screen material to be re-
tained by the author, though such
concessions were not made by any
American film company. This brought
the screenwriter into line with the
dramatist who gave a manager a
license to produce which reverted to
the author if the manager failed to
carry out the agreement; with the
novelist who granted a publisher a
license to publish within a specified
time; and with the composer whose
secondary rights were protected for
him by the Performing Rights So-
ciety. It was interesting to note that
over a third of screenwriters who had
answered the questionnaire normally
enjoyed such an arrangement. The
Committee had already approached
the Society of Authors with a view
to arranging a joint deputation from
the Composers' Guild, to ask the

B.F.P.A. to concede the general prin-
ciple of lease of copyright and separa-
tion of secondary rights in the case
of original screen stories.

Mr. John Cousins proposed that
the Committee be empowered to go
ahead with the suggested arrange-
ments within the next 30 days. Sec-
onded by Mr. Roger Bray.

Mr. Wolfgang Wilhelm, Mr. T.
E. B. Clarke and Mr. J. Whitting-
ham thought it would be advisable
to postpone such an approach to the
B.F.P.A.

Mr. Roger Burford proposed (sec-
onded by Mr. John Cousins) that
the Executive Committee should pre-
pare and circulate a number of satis-
factory contracts in a variety of cases,
which have been accepted by producers
and also that the Executive Commit-
tee should prepare and circulate satis-
factory contracts suitable for a variety
of cases. Mr. Burford's motion was
carried unanimously.

The Hon. Secretary proposed that
the meeting pass a motion that the
Association was in sympathy with the
Hollywood Guild on the principles
for which they are now fighting. This
was seconded by Mr. Jack Whitting-
ham and passed unanimously.

h^

&

?Jp

orre&ponaence

de

The following communication has
been received from Peter Noble, edi-
tor of the British Film Quarterly and
member of the Screen Writers1 Asso-
ciation of London:

May I congratulate you on the
magazine? The Screen Writer im-
proves issue by issue. We eagerly look
forward to every number.

If you see any pieces in the Film
Quarterly you would care to reprint
in The Screen Writer, please go ahead
and do so — no fee.

PETER NOBLE

The following letter has been re-
ceived from SWG member Don
Hale Munson :

on

Please accept my congratulations
the September issue — which I think

the best yet. I especially enjoyed F.
Hugh Herbert's Subject: Bindle
Biog,, I. A. L. Diamond's Darling,
You Mean . . . ? and Lillian Bos
Ross' How One Movie Sale Was
Made. ... in that order.

While the technical copy is fine,
such stuff as Mr. Herbert's Bindle
Biog, completes the book. I'm all in
favor of pumping more red and live
blood like it into the Screen Writer.
DON HALE MUNSON

The following letter has been re-
ceived from Charles Palmer:

A commentary on George Seaton's
highly practical recommendation in
the last issue of The Screen Writer.
I recently finished the screenplay on
The Stranger Next Door, and have
signed on to work as dialogue director
through its production.

It's a logical thing, since the writer,
and only he, knows the full intention
behind the material, and other writers
might be able to get the same deal.
Since the director still stands between
my inexperience and the screen, the
producer is protected.

Paradoxically, such deals should
be doubly interesting on low budget
pictures, where the director never has
enough time to work with his cast
and hence the writer-dialogue director
can bring the people on the lighted
set with some rehearsal. Frankly, I
cut my writing rate considerably, but
consider it a cheap price for the edu-
cation I expect to get in the hard
facts of production.

Corroborating Seaton, I never
learned as much about radio writing
as I did when I had to direct my own

47

THE SCREEN WRITER

stuff. But you inevitably learn more
when you're a working member of the
crew — hence this idea of putting in
for the job of dialogue director on
your own stuff.

CHARLES PALMER

The following letter has been re-
ceived from Corley McDarment:

Listen: Somebody tell Harry Bern-
stein to stop reading awhile and do
some writing like that Reading for the
Movies article in the July Screen
Writer.

A piece of writing like that, doc-
tored up and slanted, could easily
be Satevepost stuff.

An besides, he ought to be writing
comedy for the movies.

I read his piece out of curiosity, and
it was getting a little tiresome to me
until he told about the "elderly, rusty
looking dame" who was an agent. She
sat cross-legged, stared at him and
kept asking him the same questions.
Just the type of character who forgets
what she said a few minutes back. And
then "a funny look, I guess began to
come on my face," confessed Sad Sack
Harry, for the dame called another
studio and asked them to send her
"someone with a little sense." She
said it right before Harry. He didn't
count.

When reading this hurriedly, I
chuckled. But before going further,
I could picture that scene, and sud-
denly I broke into a big laugh, and
I am still laughing when I think of
it.

From that paragraph on I read
every word Harry wrote. When I
came to that part where the slim
young thing got out of a limousine
with a "string of low bellied dogs,"
I laughed again. Harry got out of the
way and let the dogs precede him
because he felt low enough to walk
upright under them. He didn't ex-
actly say that but that was the feeling
he had imparted to the reader — to
me anyway.

I believe Mr. Bernstein has al-
ready arrived as a writer and does
not know it. One funny thing about

his SW piece is that he seems so seri-
ous about his subject and his plight.
This is literary Sad Sack stuff.

Some day I may run up on Harry,

(I'm doing a book too), but when I

do, he will probably be getting out

of a limousine with a string of bitches.

CORLEY McDARMENT

1108 N. Pitt St.,
Alexandria, Va.

Letter From London

{Continued From Inside Front Cover)

Association, and to the A.C.T., reaf-
firming our position and asking that
the grades of Screenwriter, Scenario
Editor, Assistant Scenario Editor,
Literary Editor, and Assistant Liter-
ary Editor be omitted from the Sched-
ule. Our request was made on the
following grounds:

(a) The Screenwriters Association
had been in existence for over twelve
years and represented 99% of writers
engaged in feature film production,
as well as a number of short and doc-
umentary film writers ; that with very
few exceptions those of our members
who were also members of the A.C.T.
were represented by the A.C.T. in
respect of alternative functions as
director or assistant-producer, etc.
but were represented as screenwriters
by us. We questioned whether the
A.C.T . did, in fact, represent any sub-
stantial number of feature screen-
writers as writers.

(b) We denied the A.C.T.'s claim
that only a Trades Union was compe-
tent to negotiate on wages and terms
of employment, pointing out that we
were at present involved with our
parent body, The British Society of
Authors Playwrights and Composers,
in negotiation on these matters with
the British Broadcasting Corporation.

(c) We considered the present posi-
tion analogous to a Theatre Workers'
Union negotiating on wages and terms
of employment for dramatists with-
out consultation of the League of
British Dramatists.

A

T an interview with the Film

!£. Jl Producers Association, it was
confirmed that the signing of the
Union Agreement in its proposed
form presupposed the acceptance of
the A.C.T. as the proper negotiating
body in future on wages and terms

of employment for screenwriters. It
was also made clear that the Agree-
ment referred exclusively to feature
screenwriters.

As a result of the discussion the
Producers Association agreed that
the A.C.T. should be asked to furnish
proof of substantial representation in
the four grades under discussion, or
alternatively to agree to strike out
these grades from the Agreement.

It was agreed that the Screen-
writers Association made no claims
to represent the additional categories
of Reader and Research.

At a meeting between the Producers
and the A.C.T. it is understood that
the A.C.T. demanded the signing
of the Agreement in toto. It was then
proposed by B.F.P.A. that the Agree-
ment be signed with the inclusion of
these grades, but with a Supplemen-
tary Agreement to the effect that,
notwithstanding the inclusion of the
grades, the Agreement should be with-
out prejudice to any future arrange-
ment that might be reached between
the A.C.T. and the Screenwriters
Association. We would not accept
this.

The matter was then placed by the
Screenwriters Association before the
Committee of Management of the
British Society of Authors, Play-
wrights and Composers, who sent a
telegram to Mr. J. A. Rank, Presi-
dent of the B.F.P.A. protesting at
the inclusion of screenwriters in the
Union Agreement without consulta-
tion of the Screenwriters Association.

At a subsequent meeting of the
Council of A.C.T., it was agreed
that the grades of Screenwriter and
Scenario Editor should be struck out
of the Schedule, though A.C.T. re-
served the right to organize these
grades. It was also agreed that the
grades of Literary Editor and Assist-
ant Literary Editor should be struck
out if the Producers insisted, but the
Producers did not insist.

The Agreement was then ratified
by the Union and the Producers with
out the grades of Screenwriter and
Scenario Editor.

48

i lewd i/oted

* Current programs in the N. Y.
Museum of Modern Art's History
of the Motion Picture are : The Films
of Jean Renoir ( 1 ) : The Lower
Depths, Oct. 3, 4, 5; The Films of
Jean Renoir (II) : Le Grand Illusion,
Oct. 6, 7, 8, 9; Mystery and Vio-
lence : Pepe Le Moko, Oct. 10, 1 1, 12 ;
The Return to the Soil: Oct. 13, 14,
15, 16; The French Documentary
Film: L'Hippocampe, L'Amitie
Noire, Le Retour, Oct. 17, 18, 19;
The Swedish Film (I) : Seastrom &
Stiller, The Treasure of Arne. The
Phantom Chariot, Oct. 21, 22, 23;
The Swedish Film (II) : Seastrom &
Stiller, The Outlaw and His Wife,
The Story of Gosta Berling, Oct. 24,
25, 36; The British Film (I) : Blue-
bottles, Blackmail, Oct. 27, 28, 29,
30; The British Film (II): Hitch-
cock: Juno and the Pay cock, Oct. 31,
Nov. 1, 2.

* Miss Abbie's Honor, a new novel
by SWG member Jan Fortune, has
been scheduled by D. Appleton-Cen-
tury for publication in late winter or
early spring.

* SWG member Robert Blees has
sold a short story, Perfect Gentleman,
to Cosmopolitan.

* Donn Hale Munson, SWG as-
sociate member, has recently sold
stories and articles to American Le-
gion Magazine, Foreign Service and
the Toronto Star. His new novel,
Iris, is soon to be published.

* SWG member Harold Goldman
has just sold a murder story, The Key
in the Lock, to This Week, which
also bought recently his Old Wound,
a short-short.

* One of the recent Atlantic
Monthly articles by Gordon Kahn,
editor of The Screen Writer, was
picked up for a reprint in current
Reader s Digest — and Mr. Kahn
collected for this literary reissue.

* SWG member Charles Palmer's
textbook, Twenty Modern Ameri-
cans, (Harcourt Brace 1942) is being
re-published in German for use in re-
education program in the occupied
territory.

*SWG member Malvin Wald's
children's book, The Boy Who
Owned An Elephant, will be pub-
lished this winter by Grosset & Dun-
lap, with illustrations by Kurt Wiese.

* Norman Burnside, former SWG
member, has a story, Now In October,
in the October number of Opinion.

* A new comedy, The Divine
Flora, by SWG members Florence
Ryerson and Colin Clements is being
published by Samuel French for im-
mediate release.

* Donald Kent Stanford, SWG
associate member, has another story
in November Redbook.

* SWG member Martin Goldsmith
had a story, Last Minute Miracle, in
a recent number of Cosmopolitan.

* SWG member Leo Mittler, after
conferences with Dore Schary of RKO
about his directorial committments,
returned to New York to direct Oscar
Karlweis in Topaze by Marcel Pag-
nol for The New Opera Company.

* The Peoples Educational Cen-
ter's Fall Term begins the week of
October 6th with a full schedule of
evening classes for adults. The Mo-
tion Picture Direction Course con-
tinues with Frank Tuttle as coordin-
ator. Participating guest lecturers in-
clude Herbert Biberman, Edward
D3'mtryk, David Raksin, Selena
Royle, Adrian Scott, Vincent Sher-
man and others. Screenwriting courses
will be taught by Howard Dimsdale,
Bernard Gordon and Sam Mintz.
Guy Endore and John Sanford con-
tinue their advanced workshop course
in the novel, Wilma Shore teaches
Advanced Short Story, and a number
of motion picture publicists will col-

laborate in the course, Publicity and
Public Relations. In addition, the
Center offers a varied curriculum of
appreciation courses in art, music and
architecture; drawing and painting
classes; general and child psychology
and a number of courses in history
of the labor movement, trade unions,
philosophy and economics. Most class-
es may be audited the first session.
For descriptive catalog, write or phone
the Peoples Educational Center, 1717
N. Vine Street, HOllywood 6291.

ATTENTION JOHNSTON
OFFICE: It is reported that the
theatres of the Lucas- Jenkins chain
in Savannah, Georgia, have the
habit of cutting credits off the
films they exhibit. They flash the
title, and then the picture begins.
No credits for cast, producer, di-
rector or WRITER.

* Through an oversight the name
of Brenda Weisberg was omitted
from a list of members of the SWG
Economic Program Committee as
published in a recent issue of The
Screen Writer. She is a member of
that committee.

* Creative Film Associates, 2021
Holly Drive, Hollywood 28, has been
making a screen survey of the German
cinema, showing a series of German
films at the Hollywood School of
Dramatic Arts, 1745 North La Brea.
Films shown so far are Cabinet of
Dr. Caligari, The Golem, Destiny,
Siegfried, Hamlet, The Last Laugh,
Variety, White Hell of Pitz Palu,
Metropolis and Jenny. Scheduled for
future showings are Love of Jeanne
Ney, Oct. 1 ; Sunrise and Hands, Oct.
8; Rhythmus 21, Berlin Die Sym-
phonic Liner Grosstadt and Uberfall,
Oct. 15 ; Emil und Die Detektive and
Little Chimney Sweep, Oct. 22 ; M by
Fritz Lang, Oct. 29 ; Leni Riefen-
stahl's Triumph of the Will, Nov. 5.
Phone number for reservations, HE.
8806.

49

(JdooL: A Switch in the Book-into-Film Pattern

It isn't news, not even a random
squib in this kind of professional jour-
nal, when a book is made into a mo-
tion picture. The reverse, however, is
a notable piece of intelligence, as in
the recent case of Miracle on 34-th
Street, and now with My Father s
House, by Meyer Levin, which is
published by Viking.

As a film, which precedes the book,
My Father s House is the most impor-
tant project of Herbert Kline, noted
for his brilliant direction of docu-
mentary films. The book, although
written after the film had been fin-
ished, stands with other novels, as the
film will stand with other screen fea-
tures, as the most incisive narrative so
far of the shame and brutalization of
the Jewish migrants to Palestine.

Those who know Levin from his
earlier books, Citizens and The Old
Bunch are aware that he is a protean
but careful writer. There has been
no surface-skimming either of back-
grounds or of people. And in this
novel there is the same bed-rock fami-
liarity with the geography, politics
and economy of the region.

In the leanest prose he has yet writ-
ten, Levin shows us the country in
which the inheritors of a tradition

have broken the earth, so long fallow.
They are out of tears and their blood
has long been shed, but the sweat is
upon their brows and their muscles
are as tough as their wills. No one
but an old Palestine Hand could have
brought this out as well, for Levin
had been there as a correspondent in
the days of an earlier trouble, in the
30's, when the pioneering Jews found
the Arabs whipped to hostility against
them.

The Arabs in My Father's House
are the friends and neighbors of the
Jewish settlers. They greet each other
with "Sholom," which means peace
and was old when the patriarch Abra-
ham, their common father was a shep-
herd in these same hills.

The people of Levin's earlier news
dispatches are here in his book. Their
settlements are infused with the new
generation, the survivors of Ausch-
witz, the ovens of Buchenwald and
the massacres and synagogue-burnings
of Eastern Europe. They arrive on
one of the rare nights when the Brit-
ish searchlights are blind. And with
them is the child, David, who has
come to find his family.

"I wish to find my father," he says.
"He told me that we could meet here,

in Palestine." Yet it never sounds as
though he were saying it by rote. It
is his conviction, and about as heavy
a cross as a ten-year-old can bear, that
his father is here — in the Holy Land.

This determination of the child to
find his father, and live again in his
father's house, is the spine upon which
the entire narrative hangs.

The child David's odyssey from one
pair of arms to another, from one
house to the other, from one city to
the next, and finally into the Old City
of Jerusalem, is one of the most touch-
ing searches in recent fiction. At
length, when the brutal truth, that
his father is dead, strikes the boy, his
adolescent mind is extinguished. He
becomes a pathetic, thumb-sucking in-
fant, wailing on the stones of Jerusa-
lem for his ma-ma.

His recovery, and the restoration
of hope to others among the charac-
ters who had for a long time aban-
doned it is magnificently related.

So, when film audiences see Kline's
film, and are moved to remark, "What
a fine book this picture will make,"
let them know that the book is already
made.

G. K.

William

Morris

Agency,

Inc.

NEW YORK *

BEVERLY HILLS

* CHICAGO *

LONDON

EST. )O0fl

1898

50

ED ON F
CUK*ENT

, . r RED ITS
N WRITERS' CR"

EARNED ON FEATURE PRODUCTIONS
OF

and

*£C*NT „-,
AUGUST 1, 1947 TO SEPTEMBER 1, 1947

FRANKLYN ADREON

Joint Original Screenplay (with Basil Dickey,
Sol Shor and Robert G. Walker) DANGERS
OF THE CANADIAN MOUNTED, Rep

B

FRANK FENTON

Joint Screenplay (with Winston Miller)
STATION WEST, RKO
DANIEL FUCHS

Novel Basis and Sole Screenplay THE GANG-
STER (King Brothers) Allied Artists

JOHN PATRICK

Joint Story (with Lou Breslow) SECOND

CHANCE (Sol M. Wurtzel) Fox
ABRAHAM POLONSKY

Sole Original Screenplay BODY AND SOUL,

Enterprise Prod.
ROBERT PRESNELL, SR.

Sole Screenplay HIGH TIDE (Jack Wrather

Prod.) Monogram

ARNOLD BELGARD

Sole Screenplay SECOND CHANCE, (Sol M.
Wurtzel) Fox

D. D. BEAUCHAMP

Joint Screenplay (with William Bowers)
RIVER LADY, U.I.

HENRY BLANKFORT

Joint Screenplay (with Max Wilk) OPEN
SECRET (Marathon Pictures) Eagle Lion

WILLIAM BOWERS

Joint Screenplay (with D. D. Beauchamp)
RIVER LADY, U.I.

HOUSTON BRANCH

Joint Novel Basis (with Frank Waters)
RIVER LADY, U.I.

MILLEN BRAND

Joint Screenplay (with Frank Partos) THE
SNAKE PIT, Fox

GEORGE BRANDT

Sole Original Screenplay UNUSUAL OCCU-
PATIONS L 6-6 (S), Par

Sole Original Screenplay POPULAR SCI-
ENCE J 7-1 (S), Par

LOU BRESLOW

Joint Story (with John Patrick) SECOND
CHANCE (Sol M. Wurtzel) Fox

ADELE COMANDINI

Sole Story THE MATING OF MILLIE, Col.

SCOTT DARLING

Additional Dialogue ROCKY, Monogram

JACK DEWITT

Sole Original Screenplay LOUISIANA, Mono
Sole Screenplay ROCKY, Mono

KAREN DE WOLF

Joint Screenplay (with Crane Wilbur and
Walter Bullock) ADVENTURES OF CASA-
NOVA, Eagle Lion

I. A. L. DIAMOND

Additional Dialogue ROMANCE IN HIGH C,
W.B.

BASIL DICKEY

Joint Original Screenplay (with Robert G.
Walker, Sol Shor, Franklyn Adreon) DAN-
GERS OF THE CANADIAN MOUNTED, Rep

SAUL ELKINS

Sole Screenplay CAMERA ANGLES (S) WB

Sole Screenplay CRADLE OF THE REPUBLIC

(S) WB

Sole Screenplay CIRCUS TOWN (S) WB
JULIUS J. EPSTEIN

Joint Screenplay (with Philip G. Epstein)

ROMANCE IN HIGH C, WB
PHILIP G. EPSTEIN

Joint Screenplay (with Julius J. Epstein)

ROMANCE IN HIGH C, WB
HARRY J. ESSEX

Joint Screenplay (with Barbara Worth)

DRAGNET (Fortune Films) Screen Guild

HARVEY GATES

Sole Original Screenplay FLASHING GUNS
(Great Western) Monogram

ELIOT GIBBONS

Sole Original Screenplay CODE OF THE
SADDLE (Great Western) Monogram

BENJAMIN GLAZER

Sole Screenplay SONG OF MY HEART (Sym-
phony Films) Allied Artists

LEE GOLD

Sole Story and Joint Screenplay (with M.
Coates Webster) I SURRENDER DEAR, Col.

H

GEZA HERCZEG

Joint Story (with Ernest Lehman) END OF

THE RAINBOW, Rep.
NORMAN HOUSTON

Sole Original Screenplay UNDER ARIZONA

SKIES, RKO
ALDOUS HUXLEY

Sole Screenplay and Novel Basis MORTAL

COILS, U. I.
DICK IRVING HYLAND

Sole Original Screenplay KILROY WAS HERE,

Monogram

JONATHAN LATIMER

Joint Screenplay (with Barre Lyndon)

NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES, Par.
ARTHUR LAURENTS

*Contribution to Screenplay THE SNAKE

PIT, Fox
ALAN LEMAY

Sole Screenplay TAP ROOTS, U. I.
MARY LOOS

Joint Screenplay (with Richard Sale) END

OF THE RAINBOW, Rep.
BARRE LYNDON

Joint Screenplay (with Jonathan Latimer)

NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES, Par.

M

LOUELLA MacFARLANE

Joint Screenplay (with St. Clair McKelway)
THE MATING OF MILLIE, Col.

ST. CLAIR McKELWAY

Joint Screenplay (with Louella MacFarlane)
THE MATING OF MILLIE, Col.

WINSTON MILLER

Joint Screenplay (with Frank Fenton) STA-
TION WEST, RKO

FRED MYTON

Joint Screenplay (with Barbara Worth)
DEADLOCK (Fortune Films) Screen Guild

FRANK PARTOS

Joint Screenplay (with Millen Brand) THE
SNAKE PIT, Fox

-Academy Bulletin Only

TOM REED

Sole Screenplay THE SPIRIT OF WEST POINT
Bro-Rog. Pictures

FRANCIS ROSENWALD

Sole Original Screenplay THE DEAD DON'T
DREAM, (Hopalong Cassidy Prod.) U.A.

TIM RYAN

Additional Dialogue ROCKY, Monogram

RICHARD SALE

Joint Screenplay (with Mary Loos) END OF

THE RAINBOW, Rep.
WALDO SALT

Sole Screenplay RACHEL, RKO
GEORGE WALLACE SAYRE

Sole Story ROCKY, Monogram
RICHARD SCHAYER

Joint Screenplay (with David P.

and Thomas Seller) THE BLACK

(Edward Small Prod.)
BERNARD SCHUBERT

Additional Scenes SONG OF MY

(Symphony Films) Allied Artists
THOMAS SELLER

Joint Screenplay (with David P.

and Richard Schayer) THE BLACK

Edward Small Prod.

Sheppard
ARROW,

HEART

Sheppard
ARROW,

DAVID P. SHEPPARD

Joint Screenplay (with Richard Schayer and
Thomas Seller) THE BLACK ARROW, Ed.
Small Prod.
SOL SHOR

Joint Original Screenplay (with Robert G.
Walker, Basil Dickey and Franklyn Adreon)
DANGERS OF THE CANADIAN MOUNTED,
Rep.

CHARLES L. TEDFORD

Sole Screenplay SPORT OF MILLIONS
WB

(S)

w

ROBERT G. WALKER

Joint Original Screenplay (with Franklyn
Adreon, Basil Dickey and Sol Shor) DANGERS
OF THE CANADIAN MOUNTED, Rep.

M. COATES WEBSTER

Joint Screenplay (with Lee Gold) I SUR-
RENDER DEAR, Col.

LIONEL WIGGAM

Additional Dialogue TAP ROOTS, U.

CRANE WILBUR

Sole Story and Joint Screenplay (with Walter
Bullock and Karen De Wolfe) ADVENTURES
OF CASANOVA, Eagle Lion

MAX WILK

Joint Screenplay (with Henry Blankfort)
OPEN SECRET (Marathon Pictures) Eagle
Lion

I.

51

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SYDNEY BOX

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Toward a New Realism

Medium Close Shot in Bel Air

Authors' Economics & AAA

You Can't Scare the Movies

Alice in Paris

Gregg Toland: the Man & His Work

Writers & Authority

Film Musicals

Hollywood, You've Been Warned!

The Making of Open City

Questionnaire in Britain

Creative Immunity

Festival in Venice

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The

IRVING PICHEL: On Freedom of the Screen

CURT SIODMAK: Medium-Close Shot in Bel-Air

JOHN S. RODELL: Authority and the Screen Writer

FRANCIS SWANN: After the Ball Is Over

THEODORE PRATT: A Kindergarten of Authors' Economics

-'■■■

SWQ^fHtd^iei & Poiiciei:

Statements l^rom £qn,didates in the November 19
Scr%m Writ&s'iQuild Election

WILLIAM ORNSTEIN: You Can't Scare the Movies
HERBERT G. LUFT: A Study of the Qerman Screen
HENRY MYERS: International Report

EDWARD HUEBSCH: The T-H Law ~- and Porkchops
STEPHEN LONGSTREET: Two Books About Hollywood

— Also —

SAMUEL GOLDWYN, CYRIL HUME, JUDITH PODSELVER,
LOWELL REDELINGS, ROSE HARRIS . . . and
Editorial SWG Bulletin Report and Comment

Correspondence News Notes Screen Credits

Vol. 3, No. 6

November, 1947

INU V

THE SCREEN WRITERS ' GUILD
IS FACING A CRISIS

VOTE FOR:

PRESIDENT

* * ( See footnote )

VICE PRESIDENTS

X

Anne Chapin

X

Frances Goodrich

X

Arthur Kober

SECRETARY

X

Stanley Rubin

TREASURER

X

Leo Townsend

EXECUTIVE BOARD

X

Hugo Butler

X

Anne Chapin

X

Lester Cole

X

John Collier

X

1. A. L. Diamond

X

Frances Goodrich

X

Morton Grant

X

Margaret Gruen

X

Albert Hackett

X

Gordon Kahn

X

Arthur Kober

X

John Paxton

X

Louise Rousseau

X

Stanley Rubin

X

Leo Townsend

**THE ABOVE CANDI-
DATES HEARTILY
SUPPORT

SHERIDAN GIBNEY

FOR PRESIDENT OF THE
GUILD. HE HAS NOT BEEN
ASKED TO ENDORSE THIS
ADVERTISEMENT.

It is threatened by disunion in its own ranks at a time when
it is under direct attack by powerful and dangerous political
forces. At the same time we are entering on the struggle for
the 1949 contract, which, if realized as it might be by a uni-
fied and militant Guild, could be by far the highest point that
Screen Writers have yet attained. To achieve it we plead for,
and will strive for, unity behind the following program:

e, the candidates named on this page, stand for the vigorous develop-
ment of an economic program aimed at achieving some form of percentage
over and above present salaries, and at the establishment of a high minimum
wage guaranteed for a considerable period.

'e stand for licensing of material as projected under AAA, and for a
movement toward gaining control of material.

'e stand for the implementation of the resolution on the Credit Union
as passed by the membership.

'e stand for insistence on a fair participation for all writers in the
industry's income from re-issues. And, without prejudice to our ultimate
ends in this direction, we shall make an immediate effort, if possible in
cooperation with the Directors' Guild, to press producers to apply a portion
of the income from re-issues to the relief of that economic distress among
writers and directors for which re-issues are so largely responsible.

'e oppose the Taft-Hartley Act because it was created to cripple and
destroy trade unions. We realize that the non-Communist affidavits are a
device to divide labor against itself, and we deplore the eagerness with
which certain SWG members have seized upon this dangerous weapon
for election purposes, regardless of the Guild's constitutional provisions
for freedom of political conscience. Ourselves, we will not NOW sign
this affidavit. Should the membership decide that it is in the best interest
of the Guild to go before the NLRB, we, if elected, will take whateve
steps are necessary to implement that decision.

'e repudiate the actions and procedures of the Thomas Committee on
Un-American Activities as being unconstitutional. We will take every
measure open to us to prevent any member of our Guild from being penal-
ized for his opinions through the influence of this pernicious committee

'e stand for a unified, a progressive and a militant Guild, acting in close
cooperation with other Guilds and Unions, developing its policy in full
and open discussion at meetings of the membership, and loyally imple-
menting the will of the majority.

(Paid Advertisement

Letter

From

Venice

JUDITH PODSELVER,

European correspondent for
The Screen Writer, writes the
following letter concerning the
recent film festival in Venice.

DEAR SW: "If that Festival were
being held in Becon-les-Bruyeres
(the Parisian equivalent of Flatbush
for a New Yorker) no one would go,"
that's what a French journalist had
said in Paris before leaving for the
Biennale in Venice.

But this Festival was held in Ven-
ice and it made all the difference. The
foreign visitors were overwhelmed by
the extraordinary Italian gentilezza
of the organizers and everyone in
general ; they bathed at the Lido, visi-
ted numberless palaces, went on trips
to the Dolomitian Alps, assisted in
the historical regattas on the Grand
Canal and of course, guzzled down
an impressive amount of cinzano and
vermouth as it is usual in festivals,
with the difference that this time they
were served in the open-air cafes of
the Piazza San Marco. At night pic-
tures were being projected in the
courtyard of the Doges Palace and the
contrast between the magnificent old
setting and the pictures shown was
often hard on the modern products:
the sense of Beauty appeared to have
dwindled down the ages.

The new pictures presented at the
Biennale would not have warranted
the trip. After Brussels and Locarno,
before Cannes, most countries had
little saved for Venice. Such a ridicu-
lous quantity of festivals requires from
each country at least 20 excellent
films and four masterpieces a year.
Even the American production cannot
make that average. That may be the
reason why the MPEA decided not
to participate in the Biennale. How-
ever that step put the American films
in a peculiar position, especially after

(Continued on Page 34)

The

Screen Writer

Vol 3, No. 6

NOVEMBER, 1947

EDITORIAL COMMITTEE
Gordon Kahn, Editor
Robert Shaw, Director of Publications
Art Arthur Isobel Lennart

Martin Field Herbert Clyde Lewis

Harris Gable Bernard C. Schoenfeld

Richard G. Hubler
Lester Koenig

Theodore Strauss

CONTENTS

IRVING PICHEL: On Freedom of the Screen 1

CURT SIODMAK: Medium-Close Shot in Bel-Air 5

JOHN S. RODELL: Authority and the Screen Writer 8

ROSE HARRIS: On the Lot 10

HERBERT G. LUFT: A Study of the German Screen 11

THEODORE PRATT: Kindergarten of Authors' Economics 13

FRANCIS SWANN: After the Ball Is Over IS

WILLIAM ORNSTEIN: You Can't Scare the Movies 17

PRINCIPLES & POLICIES:

Election Statements From SW G Candidates 19

Editorial 25

SWG Studio Chairmen 26

HENRY MYERS : International Report 27

SAMUEL GOLDWYN: Our Declining Foreign Market 31

EDWARD HUEBSCH: The T-H Law — and Porkchops 31

CYRIL HUME: A Probably Irrelevant Suggestion 32

LOWELL REDELINGS: Original Writing for the Screen 33

STEPHEN LONGSTREET: Two Boohs About Hollywood 37

News Notes 38

Screen Credits 39

JUDITH PODSELVER: Letter From Venice This Page

PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD, INC., AT
16S5 NORTH CHEROKEE, HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA.

ALL SIGNED ARTICLES IN THE SCREEN WRITER REPRESENT THE
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OFFICIAL SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD POLICY, AS DETERMINED
UPON BY THE EXECUTIVE BOARD.

YEARLY: $2.50; FOREIGN, $3.00; SINGLE COPY 25c; (CANADA AND
FOREIGN SOe).

CONTENTS COPYRIGHT 1947 BY THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD,
INC ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. /

The Thomas Committee

The Screen Writers' Guild, individual members of the Guild, The Screen Writer magazine
and the motion picture industry itself have been subjected to attack in the current hearings of the
Thomas Committee on un-American Activities. The STFG attitude is a matter of record that the
constitutionality and the Americanism of these procedures are dubious. As a matter of further record
the Editorial Committee presents the following brief quotations:

"A GOOD MANY CITIZENS OF HOLLYWOOD HAVE BEEN CALLED COMMUNISTS, TO THE EVIDENT
DELIGHT OF Mr. THOMAS AND HIS WITNESSES. . . THERE ARE, WITHOUT DOUBT, CIRCUMSTANCES
UNDER WHICH SUCH AN INVESTIGATION AS THIS ONE WOULD BE PROPER. If THE MOVING PIC-
TURES WERE UNDERMINING THE AMERICAN FORM OF GOVERNMENT AND MENACING IT BY THEIR
CONTEXT, IT MIGHT BECOME THE DUTY OF CONGRESS TO FERRET OUT THE RESPONSIBLE PERSONS.

But clearly THIS is not the case NOT even the committee's own WITNESSES are willing

TO MAKE SO FANTASTIC A CHARGE. AND SINCE NO SUCH DANGER EXISTS, THE BELIEFS OF MEN AND
WOMEN WHO WRITE FOR THE SCREEN ARE, LIKE THE BELIEFS OF ANY ORDINARY MEN AND WOMEN,
NOBODY'S BUSINESS BUT THEIR OWN, AS THE BlLL OF RlGHTS MENTIONS. NEITHER Mr. THOMAS

nor the Congress in which he sits is empowered to dictate what Americans shall

THINK."

Lead Editorial in X. Y. Herald-Tribune,
Oct. 22, 1947.

"It is apparent that the purpose OF THE hearing is to try to dictate and control,

THROUGH THE DEVICE OF THE HEARINGS, WHAT GOES ON THE SCREENS OF AMERICA. THIS IS NO
CONCERN OF ANY CONGRESSIONAL COMMITTEE. It IS THE CONCERN SOLELY OF THOSE WHO PRO-
DUCE MOTION PICTURES. It DOESN'T REQUIRE A LAW TO CRIPPLE THE RIGHT OF FREE SPEECH. IN-
TIMIDATION AND COERCION WILL DO IT. FEAR WILL DO IT. FREEDOM SIMPLY CANNOT LIVE IN AN
ATMOSPHERE OF FEAR."

Paul V. McXutt, special counsel for the
Motion Picture Association, Oct. 23, 1947.

"Most fair-minded Americans hope that this Committee (the House Committee on
un-American Activities) will abandon the practice of merely providing a forum to
those who for political purposes or otherwise, seek headlines which they could not
otherwise obtain. Mere opinion evidence has been barred in court since the American
system of legislative and judicial procedure was started."

Franklin D. Roosevelt in October, 1938.

THE MOTION-PICTURE SCREEN IS AN INSTRUMENT OF ENTERTAINMENT, EDUCATION. HAV-
ING BEEN PIONEERED AND DEVELOPED IN OUR COUNTRY, IT IS PECULIARLY AMERICAN. ITS CON-
TRIBUTION TO THE COUNTRY AS A WHOLE AND TO INDIVIDUAL CITIZENS HAS BEEN ENORMOUS.
THE MOTION-PICTURE INDUSTRY HAS ALWAYS BEEN PERMITTED FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION. THE
IMPRESSION HAS NOW ARISEN, AND VERY NATURALLY, THAT ONE OF THE HOPED FOR RESULTS OF
THE PRESSURE OF YOUR INVESTIGATION WILL BE TO INFLUENCE THE INDUSTRY TO ALTER ITS POL-
ICIES SO THAT THEY MAY ACCORD MORE DIRECTLY WITH THE VIEWS OF (ITS CRITICS). THE INDUS-
TRY IS PREPARED TO RESIST SUCH PRESSURE WITH ALL OF THE STRENGTH AT ITS COMMAND.

Wendell Willkie on the occasion of the 1941 Congressional
investigation of the motion picture industry.

On Freedom of the Screen

IRVING PICHEL

IRVING PICHEL is the distinguished
motion picture director, writer and
actor. He is a member of the Editorial
Board of the Hollywood Quarterly.

FOR some thousands of years, drama has alter-
nately flourished under state or religious sanctions,
then been repressed by the institutions which once
sanctioned it. In Greece, in medieval Europe, in Eng-
land, the theatre rose in the service of religion. In
culture after culture, drama grew more secular until
its sanctions were withdrawn. A Sophocles goes into
exile. A Cromwell closes the theatres. An Aristotle
states the high function of dramatic poetry; centuries
later a Jeremy Collier sees only degradation and evil
in the theatre.

Before coming to grips with the issues of freedom
for the screen versus the repressions of censorship, it
might be well to look honestly at our product, evalu-
ate it from a social point of view, and then lay claim
to what sanctions beyond mere popularity it has earned.
Only by such a positive action can the negation of
censorship be fended off. It is not enough to abide
within the codes and remain merely inoffensive. It is
not enough to conform to the pretense that the young
will not learn to shoot if they do not see shooter and
shot at simultaneously on the screen. It is not enough
to eliminate from screen stories the motive of personal
revenge on the ground that the motivation is fostered
if exemplified in, let us say, a modern counterpart of
Hamlet. It is not enough to attempt to appease the
Legion of Decency by making a series of films (quite
good ones) with Roman Catholic themes. It is not
enough to eliminate all the actions, words, and impli-
cations disapproved by a thousand local censor boards
or to circumvent their concepts of what may be ethically
shown and talked about by the invention of innocent

looking symbols for the interdicted themes and actions.
Above all, it is not enough to come to the defense of
pictures like Renoir's The Southerner or Fritz Lang's
Scarlet Street when they are banned in one place or
another. It is necessary to define the function of the
screen in terms of clear principles which will consti-
tute an unbreachable sanction for such pictures as the
two just mentioned.

That the screen, like the major output of the theatre,
should divert and amuse goes without saying. That
there shall be room for the meaningless, the nonsensical,
the socially or aesthetically neuter, will be granted.
Such diversion may justify its usefulness as escape, as
time-killing, as light-hearted and salutary playfulness,
with no other curbs than those imposed by such de-
grees of taste as their producers may have or such
considerations of public decency as are listed in the
ordinances of most cities in which movies are shown.
They thrive, these comedies and musicals, equally well
with clothes or without, without dirty jokes as well
as with them. It would be worth it to concede much
to the prudish in the control of these popular shows,
in exchange for the exemption from their authority
of pictures which have a further purpose and meaning
beyond diversion. It would be worth it, but the trade
will never be made, and, in all honesty it should not,
because it could be made only by the surrender of such
principles as we are searching for, principles which
segregate the matter of public morals from the arbitrary
conclusions of the incorruptibles.

These, the censors official and voluntary, are those
who quite honestly refuse to admit a distinction be-

THE SCREEN WRITER

tween the story as truth and as homily. Along with
all the negations of censorship, they have an affirmative
point of view which, though limited, must be respected.
They see dramatic fiction as an illustration of the good
life, as an influence toward the wide acceptance of a
proper morality, which has already been determined
in the laws, religious beliefs and social conventions
of their place and time.

We cannot say that this is not a laudable point of
view. It has validity for all those who are capable of
conforming to precept on faith, — probably a minority
of human beings.

For the others, there is the dramatist. He may be
a good man, a religious man, a man who has adjusted
himself successfully to his society. He observes, how-
ever, that for most of his fellow men the precepts have
no force, the laws do not restrain, the ethics of religion
do not prevail, their desires outrun their regard for the
equally demanding needs of their fellows. The drama-
tist, too, is concerned with the good life. He is on
the same side of the fence as the censor. But he cannot
take on easy faith the notion that homilies will further
goodness in a world filled with evil, or, rather, he
wishes to know why the homilies fail. He wants to
show us the lives of humans, set forth their wilful
pursuit of their self interest, and examine the dire
consequences of their behavior.

MAKE no mistake about it, the screen like the
theatre deals with human misbehavior. There
can be no tragedy without a crime and it is hard to
conceive of a comedy without misdemeanor, even
though it may be as minor as a disproportionate esti-
mate of the self. Both comedy and tragedy deal with
the strains, the failures and readjustments of human
relationships.

The causes of these disruptions may range all the
way from the theologian's seven deadly sins through
the jurist's list of crimes, the case worker's social mal-
adjustments, the psychiatrist's personality disorders,
to breaches of Miss Post's code of conventions. At
the moment, I can think of no engaging and instructive
form of conflict out of which a drama can be made
of which this is not true except man's conflict with
nature. And even in the prototype of this sort of story,
the tale of Prometheus, nature is personified and the
hero sets himself against the heavenly fiat. His pun-
ishment is that of a criminal (as may be that of the
whole human race today for the impiety of its re-
searches).

Man's enmity is against a man-like mind, opposed
to his own and motivated like his. He achieves such
sense of security as he can by seeking to know his

opponent, the law-giver, the law-maker, the all-power-
ful master and ranging himself on his side. He be-
comes a partisan of the gods and a guardian of the
fiat, as he knows it and conceives it. So, enemies of
the Will become his enemies, to be restrained or struck
down on behalf of the Authority, even as the Author-
ity would eventually himself punish if he had no dele-
gates to do it for him.

This is something quite different from the mere
codification of sins and crimes. It is the institutionali-
zation of fear and the imaginative anticipation of
penalty. Thus the great offense of Macbeth precedes
and outweighs his murders of Duncan and Banquo;
it is his ambition, his submission to the temptation
held out by his wife's dreams of glory, the corruption
of his trust in given law, his failure to range himself
on the side of the established power. His story retells
that of Adam who, tempted by Eve, reached for
greater knowledge than he had before sharing the
apple with her. Weighing the knowledge against the
crime of breaking a fiat and committing a theft, he
chose the knowledge.

Only a theologian can feel certain that we, Adam's
descendants, would be better and happier if we were
not the inheritors of his knowledge of good and evil.
For Adam's crime was not simply that of theft; it
was the crime of choosing to know for himself rather
than accepting the law made for him.

This is not to say that our laws are not good laws.
It is not to say that the tables on sins do not make sense.
They do. But why they do, man must unceasingly
test and relearn. As a scientist he investigates in the
guise of psychiatrist and sociologist and physician. As
an artist he investigates in the guise of poet, novelist,
and dramatist. This is the curse of Adam upon him.

To the knowers of the law this seems absurd.

These are the consequences of crime; obey the law
and escape punishment.

These are the results of sin; avoid sin and enjoy bliss.

We have been shown by myth, by history, by reve-
lation what are the wages of sin. Why need we be
shown by courts, by churches, by the ostracism of
society?

Why, indeed? The paths of salvation have been
marked for three thousand years. Has it not been dem-
onstrated that those who walk them live happily?
Must every man try to hack out a new way, clear
away the "thorns and thistles," make errors in his
engineering, and, to achieve a good ending, come back
at last to the old road which lay so clearly before
him from the beginning?

It appears that he must. Adam is in his constitu-
tion. His knowledge of good and evil is only in his

ON FREEDOM OF THE SCREEN

mind. The need to experience good and evil is in his
blood, his nerve tissues, his capacity for thirst and
hunger. Something says to him that he may be a singu-
lar refutation of apparently immutable laws. He knows
the penalties of breaking the fiats of Authority; he
senses also that, if the penalties can be circumvented,
the rewards are enormous. He steals; if he is not dis-
covered and punished, if he can evade the law, he has
the enjoyment of wealth. He kills; if he is not found
out, he has removed an enemy or a rival and his own
life is easier. He takes another man's wife ; if the other
man or the law or the community or his conscience
do not protest, he presumably enjoys his companion.
He steals fire from heaven; if he is not burned in the
process and does not burn up the rest of his tribe,
benefits may derive to him and even to others.

IN the mind of every individual, strictly as an indi-
vidual, stripped of his social relationships and his
moral conditioning, (a highly theoretical individual,
to be sure) sin and crime are means to desirable ends.
Moreover, they are quicker and easier means, however
unpleasant, to these desirable goals, — the wealth,
power, fame, security, or pleasure for which the indi-
vidual psyche may hunger. The risk involved in em-
ploying the means can seem worth taking, the possi-
bility of escaping detection or punishment good, the
end achieved may even in itself seem to afford, through
its greatness, a protection against punishment.

The everlasting experiment and the most unvarying
result are as much a part of the history of the growth
of moral sense and moral knowledge in society as is
the Mosaic Law, which, it is said, was revealed, or the
Napoleonic Code, which was compiled. True, the
accrued moral sense may lead us to deplore and decry
or ridicule or, at best, pity the fate of the sinner and
law-breaker without ourselves becoming sinless and
law-abiding. Our morality may be generally more
perception rather than practice and may come into
being after the demonstrative act instead of fore-
stalling it. To quarrel with this situation may be the
proper business of the professional moralist or jurist
or priest; for an artist to do so would be to ignore
daily human behavior, the murders and adulteries and
false witness, the wars and pillage and starvation men
deal out to each other, the incessant failure of law
and morals.

This failure, its causes and its consequences are the
business of the theatre. In this light, the theatre is
as serious in pursuit of moral purpose as the case his-
tory of the social worker or the Sunday sermon of a
preacher. It hesitates to say categorically that man is
bad and unredeemed; it takes the view, rather, that
he is unhappy or ludicrous or pitiful, being made as

he is. If it stipulates anything in its objectivity, it
might be that the tree constantly grows new fruit, that
our knowledge of good and evil is not a completely
certain thing and that our pursuit of our objectives
cannot always be prejudged in terms of right and
wrong. In a sense and to a degree, it accepts the human
tendency to experiment with life as a constant more
dominant than the statutes inscribed on stone and,
since more dominant, less mutable and therefore, mor-
ally, more important. In other words, morals may be
more subject to change than man's single desire to
question, defy, and modify them.

We may now restate the function of dramatic fic-
tion: it is to present the conflict between human
desires and the curbs to their fulfillment. Whatever
the curbs, — divine, legal, conventional, or merely
the equally potent desires of an antagonistic human,
the conflict is drama.

That the theatre and drama have been a persistent
phenomenon in our culture is not due to their value
as an adjunct of the other forces that deal with this
same conflict, — the churches, courts, schools or armies.
It is rather, I believe, because of the capacity of the
spectator at a drama to jump out of the fire of his own
problems into the frying pan of these fictitious ones.
He can derive amusement through feeling superiority
to the perplexities, distresses, even agonies of the char-
acters in the spectacle, though his own may be actually
greater. In rare instances, we may see him influenced
in his own conduct by the syllogistic logic of a fable.
More often, he remains deaf to analogy or feels him-
self exempted by the vicarious experience of a play
from relating its problems to like ones he has not yet
but may some day experience. I recall once suggesting
to my mother that she read a novel in which there was
a character in whom I thought she would see herself, —
a woman who used her very phrases. With juvenile
malice, I expected her to writhe with embarrassment
and reform certain of her attitudes. Instead, I watched
her chuckle with delight as she read the book. Finally,
I asked her what she thought of the character of Mrs.
So-and-so. "Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "She sounds
just like Aunt Lottie."

PERHAPS because of this escape value of dramatic
fiction and perhaps, in addition, because of the
theatre's reluctance to advance itself seriously as an
investigator of the moral meaning of human conduct,
it finds itself regarded constantly as though it were
one with its content, as though it were the champion,
not merely the observer and commentator on frailty
and misdeed. It finds itself charged by the Prynnes
and Jeremy Colliers with the very immoralities it
examines, though the purpose of the examination may

THE SCREEN WRITER

be gravely to "show the very age and body of the
time his form and pressure."

Today, the comedies of Congreve, Wycherley or
Farquhar are a superlatively just precis of the moral
climate of the court and society concerning and for
which they were written. So they could have been for
Jeremy Collier who made the great error of confusing
the plays with their content, of holding them im-
jioral and corrupting because they dealt with immor-
ality and corruption. They might have been the texts
of sermons, the documentation of reformists. Instead,
they were denounced as though they lauded the excesses
and cynicism they depict.

This is the error into which censorship of the
screen falls today.

Those who demand freedom of the screen are as
responsible for the error as was Congreve who refused
to take his plays seriously. We have not declared
clearly the function we ask the screen and screen
entertainment to fulfill. We totter along a wavering
line between objective realism and sententious maxim.
We do not know whether we intend to view life as
it is or as it ought to be. We do not know whether
we wish to show the world the America we live in
or the America we dream about. We do not know
whether our business is with wish-fulfillment or wish-
denial. We do not know whether we are purveying
escape from life into dreams or escape from limited
lives into the expansion of life through vicarious ex-
perience. We do not know whether we are selling
narcotic or stimulant. Above all, we do not know
whether we intend to say that the laws of social living
are to be deduced from the experience of human beings
as they struggle to reconcile their conflicting desires, or
intend to subscribe to and support the creeds, dicta, and
prejudices of a dozen clashing formularies. We have
not set up a concept of morality as clear and broad
as that defined by Ralph Barton Perry:

"The essence of morality can best be understood
by stating the situation out of which it arises and for
which it provides a remedy. Whatever may be true
of angelic beings, the interests of men and animals,
living in the same space-time world, tend to collide.
What one interest demands can often be obtained
only at the expense of another interest. Two hungers
cannot both consume the same bread, but they can want
the same bread and endeavor to possess it. When two
animals or men are aware of this conflict of interest,
they will endeavor to exclude or dispossess one another.
Their hunger is then converted into enmity, and they
devote to one another's destruction the energy which
was originally directed to the obtaining of food. One
or both will then go hungry, and perhaps perish.

". . . Morality, inserted at the point where one
human interest touches another, converts their rivalry
from hurtfulness into helpfulness, and thus conduces
to that maximum happiness of each man which is con-
sistent with the maximum happiness of all men. It is
one of the tragic paradoxes of human life that the

institutions which men create for the sake of their hap-
piness become separated from this end. . . . Govern-
ment exists not for its own sake but for the sake of
the governed, whose interests the government is de-
signed to promote. Law exists for the freedom and
security enjoyed by those who live under law, and not
for the sake of legality itself, or for the benefit of the
lawyer. Similarly, art, technique and learning tend
to take the place of aesthetic enjoyment; in religion
clericalism or ecclesiasticalism gets in the way of piety;
and in education it is often necessary to remind teachers
and administrators that the school exists for the benefit
of the scholar. Morality is the friend of the ultimate
consumer all along the line, and of all consumers —
the people whose happiness is the ultimate criterion
by which all human institutions should be judged —
the people who suffer and enjoy, the people who in a
mechanized, organized, and specialized world are so
easily but unforgivably forgotten."*

IN such terms as these, the sincere dramatist is also
a moralist. When his medium is the screen, he uses
it to a moral end. The freedom he requires is the
freedom to reach conclusions of his own and promulgate
them. He may come into conflict with other equally
sincere moralists who have a vested interest in a par-
ticular formula, — that of Christianity or Judaism or
Buddhism or the ordinances of Cincinnati, Ohio, or
the diplomatic situation between the State Department
and the foreign offices of Argentina or Yugoslavia or
Spain or Great Britain. He is entitled to protection
in these clashes. Until he claims it, on grounds of the
value to society of his work and of the medium in
which he works, the question of freedom of the screen
is an academic one. Until it is granted, in other words,
that morality changes as the needs of men change,
as their demands penetrate into new areas and experi-
ences, and is a proper subject for examination, to be
observed only in the crucible of human conduct, it
does not much matter to what codes the screen con-
forms.

We need a new Aristotle to state for our time the
meaning and importance of drama. We need producers
who will use the screen to increase our knowledge
of ourselves. We need to draw up and to apply to our
work canons of truth and social value and moral pene-
tration. No other process can defeat the misguided,
but positive, activities of censorship, which has its
canons also which it believes to be true and socially
valuable and morally beyond question.

The program thus far has been to seek freedom from
official censorship by conformity to every local and
special pressure set up by those who are guardians of
the fiat, avoiding the claws of the tiger by submitting
to the scratches of the cats. This can bring only victory
identical with defeat.

* One World In the Making, by Ralph Barton Perry, p. 4+
et seq.

Medium-Close Shot in Bel-Air

CURT SIODMAK

SWG member CURT SIODMAK, for
many years a contract writer at major
Hollywood studios, is now entering the
field of motion picture direction. As an
engineer, novelist, newspaper man and
screen writer, he has had a long expe-
rience both in Europe and the United
States.

Illustrated by STEPHEN LONG STREET

THE setting is a warm summer day, after office
hours. The director, a writer and a lady sit near
the pool. Other guests are out of the shot. The
director is tired, he had a trying day. He had to change
a scene on a set, rewrote the dialogue by himself, with
a little help from the dialogue director and several
actors. The director is looking
for a writer to work with him,
someone who will sit on the set
and rewrite scenes, if necessary.
He has been questioning his
friend about the merits of vari-
ous writers. The lady says
nothing.

director: You're a snob.
Every time I mention a writ-
er's name you say he's not the
proper person for my picture.
Who do you suggest?

writer: For you, at this
stage, a craftsman. But the
men you mentioned are highly
individual writers who might
throw your picture with their
new ideas. They'll fight you,
delay the shooting. And the
last thing you can stand is an
idea that isn't your own.

director: Don't be facetious. Of course I want my
ideas on the screen. I should write, as I did today.

writer : Why don't you ?

director: I have no time.

writer: There's no such thing as having no time.
You know the saying — if you want to get things done,
go to a busy man.

director: (with an indulgent smile) Well, you
haven't been a director. If writers don't feel in the
mood, they don't write. But if I don't feel in the
mood to direct. I still have to direct — the picture has
to go on.

writer : If you know exactly what you want, why
don't you dictate the scenes to your secretary — just
roughly. Any continuity writer can polish them and
put them into shape.

director: I will, one of these days.
writer: May I tell you what you are? You, the
actors and producers are the
greatest re-writers on earth.
You're great at changing
scenes. Sure, it's always pos-
sible to improve a scene, find
a better line, a gimmick to
brighten the action. But, put
any of you in a room with a
typewriter, facing the greatest
villain in the world — a blank
sheet of yellow paper, and I
bet you'd come out with noth-
ing. Somebody has to do the
spade work — good or bad. It's
that first draft which is the
basis of the picture, and that's
the writer's job.

director: You are not con-
ceited, I must say.

writer: No . . . not much.
I'm only talking about my
trade, a very lonely one. Lately, in story conferences,
I've been asking the director not to tell me his idea
of a scene, but to write it down, or dictate it to his
secretary, just a one-page outline. That's not asking
for much. I'm still waiting for that one page.

director: I mightn't have the knack of writing a
script from scratch, but you must admit that I know
what I want.

writer: Yes, of course }"ou do — as soon as you see
the script.

director : You know, I've a great respect for writers.
A good script is very essential.
writer : Thank you.

THE SCREEN WRITER

TH-E t) 1 12- B C TO P.

;^Ln^

director: But what is a good script? It looks dif-
ferent on the set than on paper. Most of you writers
are inhibited directors. I bet if you'd been in my shoes
today, faced with a scene that read well but would not
play, you wouldn't have known what to do.

writer: I have never been in that predicament. But
believe me, we shoot the script as we write it and
we're very happy if the director can capture fifty per
cent of the mood and action on the screen. Of course,
some directors are geniuses — I'd say half a dozen in
this town — improve the script in directing it. And
you're one of them.

director: There's no need to flatter me, my boy.
I can name many writers who were flops when they
became directors and learned proper respect for my
job. What you get back from the screen is reflection
of character, not only of the actors, but mostly of the
director. The more personal energy a director puts
into his work, the more it reflects on the screen. That
is why an insipid director makes an insipid picture,
even with the best actors and a good script.

writer: Well, your assumption is that a director
with a great personality has a chance to make a really
good picture.

director: That's right.

writer: That's plausible vindication of your pro-

fession. I'll take that into consideration when I write
my next script.

director: Why do most writers dislike directors
... is it professional jealousy?

writer : Partly. After a while the successful director,
to show his own skill, subordinates the script and the
actors.

director: I don't follow.

writer : You personally dislike working with stars —
and you're not the only one. Why? Because a star,
with his outstanding personality and fixed, well-known
mannerisms subjugates your importance. That is why
you like competent but unknown actors whom you
can mold into a pattern, force to act in a certain way
to create on the screen an exact replica of the character
you have in mind.

director : What's wrong with that?

writer: Nothing, if you do it properly. But more
important than that you also try to break down the
writer and his story.

director: I beg your pardon.

writer: But you do. During my long years in the
business I learned that I'm not writing for the screen.

TH-e write. p.

^W^c ^~i t*****

MEDIUM CLOSE SHOT IN BEL-AIR

I try to guess what you and the producer have in mind
and write a script, knowing you have no precise con-
ception of what you want. Only by trial and error,
by writing first what you don't want, by the process
of elimination, do we finally arrive at the script you
accept. One day a well-known producer told me: I
don't know what I want. But when we have it we'll
all know.

director: Of
course I have to
see the story on
paper. But you
will admit I al-
ways come
acrosswith
good, construc-
tive ideas.

writer: But
everybody has
good suggestions
to make. The
elevator boy at
the Beverly
Wilshire Ho-
tel .. .

direc-
tor: You can
stop right there.

writer :
(honestly)
Don't you see

how much I envy you? Our job is never finished.
There's always a better line, a scene that can be im-
proved. The mathematical problem starts from nothing
and ends in the infinite. But, if you have time and
money you can look at the scene you shot the day
before and if you don't like it, do it again differently.
The actor can look at himself on the screen and im-
prove his action. But we're lost the day we start. We
can never prove that we're right, because your inter-
pretation takes concrete shape on the screen, ours always
remains abstract.

director: You're very pessimistic, my boy. The
play's the thing.

writer: Even that is a misquotation from Shake-
speare. I really don't know what can be done about it.
I think the writer should be on the set during the
shooting, to assure unity of style and mood which is
of prime importance in picture making. Or he should
be a writer-director or a writer-producer. But not like

a piece of a jig-
saw puzzle that
is picked up at
random to see
if he fits a spot.
That is why
your suggestion
for a writer to
come on a pic-
ture in the mid-
dle of shooting,
is all wrong.
That is why
you need a non-
descript person
— and there are
many around, a
tool you can di-
rect as you di-
rect your actors.
direc-
tor: (with a
grin) We 1 1,
how about you working with me on the picture?

writer: I'm not free. I'm between two lay-offs at
the moment.

The lady in the background has listened to this
conversation with great enjoyment, a smile on her
face. Now she gets up. She is very good looking, with
an alluring figure and charming manners.

lady: May I say a word to end your futile conver-
sation? I always hear the words 'director' and 'writer'
mentioned. I can solve the issue for both of you easily.
Put me in every scene and the picture will be a success!

hr1

Authority and The Screen Writer

JOHN S. RODELL

SWG member JOHN S. RODELL, for
many years a playwright in New York,
is no<w in Hollywood 'where he is writ-
ing the screenplay of a classic Nor-
wegian drama for David O. Selznick.

TO a man from Mars or New York, there is
something very strange about the Hollywood
writer's pervading sense of unrest and dissatis-
faction. It runs through the symposiums at Lucey's
and the SWG meetings and the pages of this magazine,
and although it takes many shapes, I have come to the
conclusion that it has really little to do with the tan-
gibles of salary, working conditions, employment and
the like.

It seems almost as though screen writers generally
would like to be something else, not screen writers at
all. There seems to be a feeling that the job, the very
profession of screen writing itself, is somehow un-
worthy. This is something I have never encountered
during a considerable experience with creative people
in art, music, theatre and literature. And on another
level, I doubt that it can be found among coal miners, or
bankers.

As a result, screen writers are engaged in a constant
effort to make of their job something — not better — but
different altogether. They are trying constantly — not
to improve it — but to get away from it. They would
become directors, producers, executives, or a vague
something-else-again called film authors; they would
adopt horrid hybrid shapes such as writer-directors
(which Raymond Chandler has nicely called the turn
on) ; they would be writer-producers (which symbolize
a confusion of employer-employee status probably
unique in the whole field of guilds and unions — people
who hire writers sitting in membership with the writers
who are hired.

And as if this weren't enough, there is the constant
yearning in the hearts of screen writers to be novelists
or playwrights — quite irrespective of whether they
actually have a novel or a play to write.

What all of this represents is a reaching for greater
authority, and the prestige in one's own eyes and the
recognition in the eyes of others that greater authority
confers. But by what virtue does the average screen
writer claim this authority he is so unhappy without?
I think it ought to be examined more realistically,

with a view to determining if he hasn't actually got
quite as much authority, prestige, recognition as he
deserves. And I shall be referring to fundamentals,
now — not to specific items such as the billing of the
screen writer's name. I feel that much of the pre-
possession with such items has been the result of a
stubborn failure to get the whole screenwriting picture
in proper perspective.

There are two kinds of authority to be differentiated
from each other and looked at separately. The first,
which might be called simply executive authority, is
the kind inherent in any responsible position in a com-
mercial enterprise, whether it be film studio or a
cigarette factory. The confusion that resides here,
relative to screen writers, is the result of their being
among the most highly salaried employees in the world
— which appears to obscure the fact that, within the
framework of the big business of movie making, em-
ployees is nevertheless what they are. I mean employees
as opposed to executives. I mean order takers as opposed
to order givers. I mean carriers-out of policy, not
policy makers. The screen writer, whether he is hired
to work on his own story or a story written by two
other guys, or to "develop an original" (strange neo-
logistic jargon covering a creative paradox) remains,
in his characteristic form and function, an employee.

But a director seems to have a little more authority,
so — regardless of specific qualifications — let's be writer-
directors. And the producer is really a person of au-
thority, so let's get to be producers. And after that,
what's to prevent our going onward and upward, and
becoming the real thing — the studio executives, the
boys in the Front Office? Well, nothing. That is,
if being a director, or a producer, or a studio executive
is what your talent is for, and is what you want to
be, and what you can get to be. If it's progressively
impressing your superiors-in-business with your capacity
to handle bigger and bigger business assignments, all
directed toward the responsibility of selling more and
more cigarettes to the public (or seats at the box office,
no difference) — by all means go to it. But at this

8

AUTHORITY AND THE SCREEN WRITER

point, admitting you've got the authority you've been
wanting, a question arises. What has it to do with
screen writing?

To answer this by saying that the writer thereby
gains control over what he has written is fallacious.
In the very nature of the motion picture industry — here
and now — it is literally not the writer's business to say
what he has to say. It is his business to help to say
what executives want said. And no amount of strain-
ing or maneuvering can alter this. The only thing that
could alter it would be a complete revolution in the
set-up of the industry. (Do we not admit this when
we point out how hopeless it would be for writers
to exercise a subversive effect on pictures, subversive-
minded as they might nevertheless be?) And I would
go further. I would say that, in a fundamental sense,
this is as it should be. My reasons for saying so will
be apparent in what follows. ,

A DISCUSSION of the second kind of authority
treads on tenderer ground. This is creative au-
thority— the authority of the creative artist in relation
to his work. Despite occasional abridgements, and
attempts to curtail it, it has never been successfully
curtailed. Through the years it has never been seriously
questioned. One is tempted to define this authority, in
fact, by saying that you are a creative artist if you have
it, and if you haven't you're not. It is the authority
which prevents an art gallery from tampering with
a painting it has accepted for hanging; that forbids
a conductor to delete a passage, or alter a single note
in a symphony ; that prohibits a manager from changing
the lines of a play. (Proper perspective will show,
incidentally in regard to this latter prohibition, that
it was not invented by the Dramatists' Guild, but
merely enunciated and formalized. It seems obvious
that a similar right in relation to screen writers would
have been enunciated long ago by the SWG — if it
existed. But it doesn't. Of this, more later.)

This creative authority is, in the last analysis, merely
the creative artist's prerogative to say exactly what he
pleases, exactly as he pleases, retaining full responsi-
bility, praise, blame or whatever, for having said it.
Of course he also has to assume the burden of getting
somebody to listen. But this is part of his bargain, and
is quite understood. Now here is the second authority
the screen writer lacks — and longs for. But why should
he have this one either? Has he made the creative
artist's bargain? Has he paid his price? Of course not.

The price of artistic authority is to work for nothing,
at the risk of never gaining any reward at all; to take
the risk of never being paid, never being heard, never
being seen. It's working in travail, in silence, in doubt

and anxiety and alone. It's having your own conception,
not borrowing someone else's; your own gestation, not
the story conference's; and your own delivery, though
it kill you. None of this idea is new. It is as old as art
itself. But it is also as true, and as necessary to say.
And it tells why the screen writer hasn't earned this
authority either, this even greater carrier of prestige
and self-esteem.

Art is long, and these are the long artistic truths,
and they are elementary. But in the light of them,
how is one to assess such a statement as the one on
page 12 of The Screen Writer for May, 1947, that
"As in the case of the composer with his opera and the
playwright with his play, the screenwriter contributes
the motion picture"? Does anyone mean seriously to
say that the screenwriter contributed The Informer,
The Long Voyage Home, The Grapes of Wrath,
For Whom the Bell Tolls, The Lost Weekend? There
are novelists and playwrights who would honestly
wonder what this man was talking about, and I do
too. There are directors, photographers, art directors,
film editors too, who would wonder. Why do screen
writers keep stretching for these untenable positions
to put their egos on? The truth is that, by its very
nature, the motion picture is a form which lends itself
to contribution by a single person only once in a thou-
sand times, when the one person is a genius.

Let us make a more realistic comparison of the rela-
tive "contributions" of the screen writer and the play-
wright or the composer. It will be said that, for instance,
though a play has a director, no one requires the play-
wright to share his creative authority with him — or
indeed to subordinate it — as the screen writer is re-
quired to. But there is a categorical difference here.
The director of a play is often spoken of as "staging"
it ; the phrase "staged by" is often used ; and this sug-
gests already that it is a highly limited function:
the director puts the play on the stage — but the play
existed prior to him, and prior to his function. It was
born before him. What he does is merely to see that
it is properly exhibited. He, the scene designer, and
all the others concerned with exhibiting the play, are
actually just following the intentions — the orders —
of the playwright.

ONLY when the motion picture is actually in the
can, and ready for shipment to the exhibitor, has
it reached the stage that the play has reached when
the playwright has finished with it. The motion picture
isn't born yet, until the director, the photographer,
the composer, the editor are finished with it. Whoever
doubts this should imagine a simple test: Let the final

THE SCREEN WRITER

shooting script of any given screenplay be given to five
different studios for shooting — each with its A unit
and its best facilities, and on the same budget. Can
there be the slightest doubt that five entirely different
motion pictures would emerge — whose differences
would transcend completely and categorically the
differences in personality of the actors employed?

In the theatre, or in music, this simply is not the
case. You can have better or worse Shakespeare or
Beethoven. But it is still Hamlet, and it is still the
Eroica. Though Gielgud play it, though Toscanini
play it, the play is Shakespeare's play and the symphony
is Beethoven's symphony. In the strictest creative sense,
they give no latitude. No good playwright does, and
no good composer does. But the best screen writer
does, because he has to, and he has to because he is

not, in strictest truth the creative artist, and this is
the authority he may not have, though he cry for it
through Lucey's to the moon.

The man from Mars or New York would suppose,
when confronted with this torment, that the job of
being a screen writer was not only unworthy, but
humiliating, unrewarding and — unchallenging. I think
it is none of these things, and I think the state of mind
which so considers it reveals an unrealistic attitude
toward its environment and — more deeply — a preten-
tious attitude toward itself. At the moment, the job
of being a screen writer is one thing before it is any-
thing else. It's hard to get. That this has distorted
many writers' views of it may be understandable. But
the facts of life and of the screen writer's limited
authority remain as they were, and should be.

On the Lot

ROSE HARRIS

THE red bulbs buzz and twirl,
Signifying the temporary imprisonment
Of a creative troupe.
Outside, in the large afternoon,
An extra phones in an open booth
A messenger pulls in her stomach
And wets her lips ;
An electrican travels through
His world of outlets on a bike . . .
Outside, the delicate pink flowers
Sway lightly in their green stations ;
Music escapes beneath a door . . .

Inside, the creative troupe

Fights time and flesh —

(Productive costs,

The director's headache,

The actor's profile) —

And boredom and

The complexities of outside . . .

Will the intricate expensive mechanics

Add up in gold? How much for who?

And what about the tax? And

Christ — what do the papers say? Hey —

Somebody comb the leading lady's hair!

The messenger waits for the red bulbs
To stop, wets her lips again,
And enters. Could it be now?

10

A Study of the German Screen

HERBERT G. LUFT

HERBERT G. LUFT is an associate
member of SWG. Now writing for the
screen in Hollywood, he was a member
of the German film industry in the
pre-Hitler period and was later con-
fined in a Nazi concentration camp.

Heaps of rubble, fragments of a fagade against the
darkened sky, battered steel helmets, graves at the
curb — the Apocalypse of a dying town — Berlin 1946.
The vast railroad station is a mere skeleton — only the
huge steel frame stands. A train arrives, its human
cargo crowded to the head of the engine. The hall
spews out a mass of tired, frenzied, perplexed new-
comers. Groups of ragged war prisoners thread their
way through the thick of the crowd. They are home,
at last! The camera pans up to a poster, tacked to a
cracked stone wall. It shows a beautiful landscape, the
inscription reads: VISIT OUR BEAUTIFUL GER-
MANY.

This is the Prelude to the first post war picture,
Die Moerder Sind Unter Uns, produced in the UFA
Neubabelsberg studios, now under Russian supervision.
The film was given a gala opening at the Berlin
Staat9 Opera.

"DOR the twelve years of Hitler's regime, the record
•*• of the once notable German film industry is a record
of shame. Artists of stage and screen, only too eagerly,
walked into the Fascist camp. Actors and poets appeared
on the streets of Berlin in SA uniforms, collected
money for party funds, spoke against racial and re-
ligious minorities.

Early in 1933, plays like Schlageter, Moeller's
version of Rothschild Siegst Bei Waterloo, Hans
Johst's Nazified Thomas Paine; propaganda films such
as Steinhoff's Hitlerjunge Quex, (with Heinrich
George) ; the Horst Wessel picture; Ritter's Helden —
all kinds of chauvinistic and anti-Semitic films, flooded
the market. German philosophers kept busy cementing
tailor-made ideas, to suit the needs of the party machin-
ery, while the movies tried to keep up with the changing
spirit of the time.

At the outbreak of World War II, the German
film production full-heartedly geared into a campaign

of hatred. Emil Jannings, in his Oehm Krueger,
demonstrated the evils of British imperialism. Veit
Harlan made his infamous Jude Suss picture. While
the earlier products still show a high technical stand-
ard, written with a poisonous pen, but well executed,
the pictures of the later period are distinguished only
by a complete lack of creative spirit. Victory in the
West (1941) is a poor attempt to justify the invasion
of France and the low countries.

Germany, which gave us scenario writers like Hans
Kraly, Carl Mayer and Norbert Falk; directors of
the statutre of the late F. W. Murnau, Fritz Lang
and G. W. Pabst, filed intellectual bankruptcy long
before its surrender. There is only one exemption:
out of the obscurity of a concentration camp came one
Leopold Lindtberg, who for the Wechsler company
in Switzerland, made two of the most inspiring movies,
The Last Chance and Marie Louise.

When the Allies entered Berlin, the Neubabelsberg
and Tempelhof studios were bombed out. But several
ventures in Munich, headed by Jannings, Hartl and
Willy Forst, limped along. All the American com-
mander could do was to close the gates of the Geisel-
gasteig studios. The spirit was dead already.

The spirit of the German film pioneers had died
with the establishment of human death factories.

OUT of the chaos emerged a new, rather superficial
impulse for creative arts, literature and the the-
atre. Not an honest desire to understand the world came
along, only an urge to forget the trouble of the day.
Since the Germans are completely unmindful of their
guilt, nothing was done to exclude those who had
served the Third Reich.

The Deutsche Theatre in the Schumannstrasse and
over thirty other stage shows in Berlin reopened. They
gave an evil example. Today, the stars of the German
and Austrian stage are the same Nazis we have cursed
so often. Gustav Gruendgens is back, Kranuss and

11

THE SCREEN WRITER

Wegener, but anti-Fascists like Ernst Busch are re-
garded as outcasts.

AS to the world of films, three important produc-
tions have come out of Berlin since 1946. The
most honest among the directors is Gerhard Lamprecht.
In many of his social pictures in the pre-Hitler period
(Zille film etc.), he had made himself champion of the
underprivileged. His new film deals with the re-educa-
tion of German youth.

Werner Klinger, last year, shot in the Johannisthal
studios and in the slums of the metropolis, Razzia, a
study of the Berlin underworld. The third production
is headed by Wolfgang Staudte, before 1933 an actor
on a collective stage. He rose with the regime and
managed to survive. His picture, Die Moerder Sind
TJnter Uns, is the subject of current discussion. It is
typical of the German mind.

The awakening of a sense of guilt within a people.
What a theme, what a premise for a picture ! But wait !
We are mistaken in our assumption that the Germans
would ever admit any collective guilt ! A mere glimpse
of the theme flashes on the screen, the one and only
incidental case of one sadist. Opposite the "heavy"
appears the pure "German hero," who during the war
was an innocent bj'stander to the murder of some vil-
lagers in the east. This crime, evidently the only one
ever committed, must break our hero's heart! How can
he marry his girl, before he has punished the villain?

The story is vague, apologetic. The hospital doctor
(Ernest Stahl-Nachbaur) phrases it by saying: "It was
the war."

So crime against humanity, attacked in spots, is
somewhat excused in the final analysis. They do not
dare admit that killing was not just forced upon the
Nazis by the cold necessity of war. We know only too
well from our experience, that mass murder of unarmed
civilians was their leisure habit since 1933 — the state
of mind of Volk and Fuehrer.

In spite of shortages, insufficient lighting and lack
of facilities, this DEFA film, technically, is a master-
piece of craftsmanship. With only one lens, cameraman
Friedel Behn-Grund caught the breath of the city.
Director Staudte shows a remarkable understanding of
the motion picture medium. The scenes in Mond-
schein's optical shop, the chess game which becomes
a battlefield, silhouettes of neighbors at the staircase
spreading gossip, tears wetting bread crumbs, rain-
drops falling on the sidewalk — a wide range of the
hoplessness of life and death.

The cutting is clever, a rather cynical contrast in
the continuity. A child's operation in a dusty attic,
dissolves to a vulgar nightclub atmosphere. Over the
Christmas tree and choir we flash back to the scene
of the murder.

Hildegard Knef, the new star of Germany is, per-
haps, a good actress. But what we need and should
expect from a free German screen is more honesty.
Not all their pictures can deal only with the problem
of war guilt. But we hate to see a saccharine love story
interwoven into a theme which not only concerns the
Germans but the whole world.

We hope that our Eric Pommer, who has a cleaner
conscience, will master the new German production
in the American zone with a clearer mind.

hr1

Guy de Maupassant Understood the AAA Idea

The lease rather than the outright sale of literary property rights may seem revolutionary
in 1947 to publishers and producers, but in 1882 it seemed a commonsense business arrangement
to Guy de Maupassant. Following is an excerpt from a letter he wrote to a publisher, Georges
Charpentier, on Nov. 28, 1882:

". . . If I were to sign a contract with you I should do so on the terms that govern the publi-
cation of my books by others. Here they are:

"Royalty of 40 centimes a copy on the first 2000 copies.

"Royalty of 1 franc a copy in excess of 2000 copies.

"At the end of six years I become free to dispose of my books as I please.

"I retain the right to bring out illustrated or de luxe editions of my book whenever I please
and with any publisher of my choice.

"These terms have proved very advantageous to me, and I am not disposed to amend them. . ."

12

Kindergarten of Authors' Economics

THEODORE PRATT

THEODORE PRATT is a novelist and
Broadway dramatist. His article, Au-
thors Become Aware They Have Eco-
nomics, <was featured in the American
Authors Authority Supplement pub-
lished by The Screen Writer. As a
creator of many valuable literary
properties, including the recent novel,
Miss Dilly Says No, he has given con-
sistent support to the AAA plan.

HAVING been exercised about the discrepancies
in authors' economics for longer that the life-
time of AAA, but having latched on the idea
of AAA as an excellent means of ironing out those
discrepancies, I have been fighting for it steadily. Every
time I run into a fellow author, or search one out pur-
posefully, I talk it up and show him a copy of the
AAA Supplement of The Screen Writer. I have done
this all the way from New England to Florida, between
which I commute winters and summers, and among
general writers of all kinds, ranging from best-sellers
to beginners. The reception I have had might be of
interest to headquarters.

A good deal of this reception still makes me shudder.
The first premise of it is that the AAA has been tagged
cruelly. It was tagged by Louis Bromfield, John Ers-
kine & Company when they went on the front page
of the New York Times and got themselves presswired
at the first mention of AAA, branding it Communist
before they could possibly fully understand its terms.
This I regard as the foulest blow below the belt ever
delivered at authors' economics. Its influence, together
with their formal working against it since, has caught
on far more popularly than the idea of obtaining equity
for writers in their work.

At present, at the mere mention that I am in favor
of AAA, I find myself suspected of being everything
from a Communist to a Fascist to an anarchist to a
union racketeer. It doesn't do much good to try to
convince anyone that I am a fervent admirer of the
capitalist system on the simple basis that my country
has done somewhat better in the matters of freedom of
thought and action, to say nothing of a standard of
living, than those under other systems. These days, I
am informed, the reddest red can parade under such
a deceptive guise. And didn't this AAA thing start
in the Screen Writers' Guild, which everybody knows
is a wholly Communist organization?

When trying to lay this one, from my experience

at working in Hollywood and knowing that in the
Guild, as in other such organizations, there are Com-
munists free to believe their religion, but not making
the entire organization nor its direction Communist,
I only mire myself deeper in getting suspected. Been
to Hollywood, have you? Sold yourself out, that's it.
I doubt if many members of the Screen Writers' Guild
can possibly be aware of how widespread and deeply
engraved is the belief that they are directed straight
from Moscow. This is a part of the dreadful public
relations all of Hollywood has obtained for itself.

THIS makes talking for the AAA tough sledding. I
speak to authors in another direction, suggesting
that we consider not the source of AAA, but what it
is for its own sake, and how it might operate to their
benefit. I ask — I have also had to plead — that writers
read the Supplement. To get one writer to read it
I actually had to promise not to try to talk him into
it afterward. I kept my promise. He returned the
Supplement without comment. To this day I don't
know how he feels. If he realized in only small con-
tent my personal opinion of him, after this vaudeville
act, he would drop dead.

A few, a very few, catch the idea, say it would be
a good thing, and half-promise to support it if ever
put into operation.

A few more half-approve, but have their doubts.
These range all the way from timidity to not being
able to read straight. One fairly well-known novelist,
after reading the Supplement, which certainly explains
things in ABC form, asked me: "But supposing the
Authority does not like my writing, either for literary
or political reasons, and refuses to handle my work?"

Most can't get over the hump that as soon as the
Authority might be established, they believe a pressure
group would seize power and from there out boycott

13

THE SCREEN WRITER

or direct them. It does not seem that they can be made
to understand that any AAA on which this was tried
would disintegrate instanter.

One very prominent novelist told me straight out:
"If any such thing as the AAA comes into being, I
will stop writing." When gently pressed for reasons,
the novelist said that she did not think writers should
be unionized. She refused to give any consideration
to the fact that composers and dramatists have for
some time been effectively unionized and that she
herself has profited in the terms of her picture sales
from the existence of a matter called the Screen Writers'
Guild. She, by the way, was reached by Messrs. Brom-
field and Erskine before I got to her ; they arrived first
and evidently better.

THE naivete among many writers about their busi-
ness matters I previously knew to be little less
than colossal. Upon trying to spread the word of AAA
I found that word totally inadequate. Even appalling
is a mere diminutive to define it. One writer said to
me, "I've always been treated fairly; why, my pub-
lisher pays me a royalty of ten per cent." He had never
read any other part of his contracts and had evidently
never bothered to compare notes with another writer.
He was all too typical in unconsciously congratulating
himself on being a sap.

There is a type of lady novelist I can see no way
whatsoever of winning over. She is smug and self satis-
fied from a middling or huge success, frequently quite
accidental. She looks around at her not nearly so suc-
cessful sisters, and asks herself why she should join
any organization where she will, as she believes, have
to associate or be classed with such inferior creatures.
No, on the AAA, a thousand times no! She'll go her
queenly way, being the lioness at twittery feminine
gatherings where she is really appreciated.

The one that got me most of all, however, and left
me feeling as if a steam roller had just passed over
me, was this: A middle-aged writer of considerable
success allowed that she thought the AAA might be
a good thing in a general way, but she was afraid of
"giving up" her precious copyrights. When it was more
fully explained, but I am sure not entirely accepted,
that the dangers in this were not nearly as large as
she pictured them, she proposed:

"I'll tell you: You and the others get it started,
then if it works all right, maybe I'll join."

At this point I decided to stop trying to sell my
friends on AAA, because if I didn't I would have
no more friends. I am exhausted, bewildered, shaken,
deflated, and full of wonder about the make-up of
that God-damnedest creature of them all, the author.
In my dizziness, I have evolved a theory : It is this :

Many years ago someone announced to the world of
authors at large that they were bad business men. Ever
since then they have believed it. It has become a part of
the credo of being a writer. Conversely, the meaning
has become that if you are a good business man you
can't very well be a good writer.

That is only the beginning of my theory, the basis
on which it stands (though I would prefer it to
wobble). Living with the above belief, it is very easy
to take solace in it when the writer fails to be very
successful. He tells himself that he is not supposed to
make money (and very often has been influenced by
the rule into not making it). Into this cozy situation
of alibi came the AAA. It proposed a way (which
seems far too sensible ever to be adopted within the
next century), whereby the author could automatically,
in spite of himself, become a good business man, or
at least obtain better receipts for himself in improved
conditions. If such were put into effect, the author
would have removed from his usage the only self-
sustaining reason he has for failing.

Who, in such a populous category, could possibly
be in favor of the AAA?

AM serious, entirely so, tragically so. At this
•*- stage, bloody and bowed, I have but one question to
ask: Are general writers ready for AAA? My answer,
based upon my experience of battling for it, would
seem to be that they are not, unless someone will estab-
lish a kindergarten in authors' economics, using a
heavy wooden mallet to hit them over the head to
pound in the simple facts of their business lives.

I hope, I pray that I am wrong. In my hope and
prayer, after desisting from trying to convince my
friends, I have taken to trying to operate the kinder-
garten, holding mallet behind me and forcing myself
not to use it. How long I can restrain myself I have
no means of knowing.

14

After the Ball Is Over

FRANCIS SWANN

SIFG member Francis Siuann, recently
under contract at Warner Bros., Is a
playwright and fiction writer. He is
now readying a -play for early Broad-
way production.

AFTER years, your contract finally expires at the
studio, and you breathe deeply — now you have
a chance to sit down and really write ! You think
gleefully of that fat file you've been adding to all this
time — that play you started a long time ago; those
short stories you made notes for; those stories you
pigeonholed mentally; all of this because of that
"exclusive service" clause in your very exclusive, all-
inclusive contract.

But first, you haven't had a vacation in God knows
how long, and you have $6.57 saved up. So you call
your agent and give him strict instructions that you
don't want to work in a studio for at least three months
. . . you've got too much stored away in that fertile
brain of yours, and you simply must put it all down
on paper.

Naturally he protests with loud screams of anguish.
"Jees, man, you ought to hit while you're hot!"

"Nuh-uh, not this baby."

So you loaf around the house for awhile. That is,
you think you're going to loaf around. First thing is
your wife says, "Well, it's about time! There's a
lot to be done around here."

A couple of weeks later you decide it might be
easier sitting at the typewriter, so you give out with
that inspirational talk about having some ideas you
don't want to let slip away from you. You go into
your office, or den, or hall closet, and sit. You glance
lovingly at the file, which in all probability consists
of an old hat box, and with due reverence you lift
the lid.

Surely there are enough ideas and notes in it to
keep you busy for years.

First of all, the play . . . but on second thought,
a play is something that takes a lot of time, and what
you want to do is get out some quick short stories
and re-establish the market.

Hah — item one — the very thing! Let's see now.
"Story about a guy who marries a Wave Lieutenant ,

and . . ." But that's dated. Better start off with some-
thing fresh.

Item two: "Story about a fellow who hates dames
in business and treats them like . . ." But no — you
remember now, that was the thing you used when
you were stuck on that last script you did. Saved a hell
of a lot of work, too.

Item three: "Bill decides Susan is spoofing, and . . ."
That one doesn't make sense — must belong with some
other note somewhere. You'll run across it later, after
you've lost the part you just found.

Item four: "Guy who is in the advertising busi-
ness and works for a fat man meets an English gal
(war widow), and they fall in love . . " Hey, wait —
somehow it sounds familiar, and you get indignant.
You wonder how Metro got access to your private
files.

Item five: This turns out to be an old magazine
that got into the hat box by mistake. You glance
through it idly. Well, that's why it was in there — had
one of your stories in it! After reading the story over
a couple of times, you decide it wasn't so bad. This
naturally leads you to read all the other stories —
purely for comparison of course.

THIS same sort of process may go on for days or
even into some of those precious months you've
allowed yourself. You may even get something written,
but it's a long time via U. S. Mail to your New York
agent to the editor or editors back to your agent back
to you. And in the meantime, why not fiddle around
with that play?

Act One is pretty well complete, and even some
pages in Act Two. You wonder what ever made you
stop. Why wasn't the masterpiece completed, and why
aren't you earning the royalties on it now? Reading
it over it sounds foolproof — and won't be too much
work either. So you plunge in without even putting
a little toe in first to see how cold the water is.

Maybe four weeks later you find out why the play

15

THE SCREEN WRITER

was never finished. Oh, yes — now you remember: the
complications in Act One made it kind of tough in
Act Two which made it completely impossible in Act
Three. Oh, well — there are lots more ideas.

But — something unforeseen has happened. The
$6.57 you had put away for this literary splurge has
dwindled alarmingly to a mere 57 cents. Something
must be done. That original you had in mind. The
very thing! But first you better check the market with
your agent. You call him.

"Who?" he says.

You repeat your name — the full name this time —
and he shouts with joyful recognition. "Man, when
did you get back in town?"

Icily you inform him that you never left town.

"Oh," he says, his tones changing from the wedding
march to the funeral dirge — that professional morti-
cian's voice. "Man, things have been tough all over. You
know if anything had come up . . ."

This time you turn the frosting department up
several notches. "Three months ago I informed you
I did not want to work."

"Oh," he says brightly with a mental resolve to
add 3 cents to the Christmas gift for your wife next
year — this for giving him such an easy out. Then he
talks mournfully about depressions, recessions, British
taxes, communists, backlogs, strikes, sitdowns, shut-
downs, and on and on in that same general vein. There
is also the spiel about rising costs. Eggs have gone up;
butter is sky high ; carpenters are expensive ; electricians
get much more. In short, everything has gone up ex-
cept your income, which at the moment is zero.

So you break that resolve made at a more lucrative

time. You tell your agent you might even consider
working for radio.

"Radio?" he says as though he had never heard
of the medium. "Oh, radio! Why man, you should
be in New York!"

Out of your cash reserve of 57 cents you take the
Chief to New York. There your representative ad-
vises you, "Why, man, most of the shows are moving
out to the West Coast. That's where you ought to be
to cash in."

BY now your resources have dwindled to practically
nothing, so you decide to blow the whole works
in on a wild time. Naturally the wildest thing a writer
can do is to buy a ticket and go in to see a movie. It's
a glamorous movie house with lots of bright lights and
neon signs advertising Joe Glutz and Sadie Himmelpuss
in George Hates Polly, produced by Albert Without,
directed by Henry Leftout, music by Himmelmar Out,
cinematography by Charles Rideout, color by you
know who.

After one reel, it begins to seem vaguely familiar;
after another reel you remember — it's a remake of an
original you sold to Stupendous Pictures, who in
turn sold it to Gigantic Pictures at a profit, and they
in turn have made it three times. Once it starred a
horse, then a comedian, and now it's a saga of the
South Seas. But it's still the same story.

You walk thoughtfully out of the theatre, counting
the three cents left in your pocket, and you think to
yourself — or at least you should think — "What if I
hadn't sold that original outright? What if I had
leased it . . . ?"

That's the $64,000,000 question.

The Screen Writers' Guild noted with regret the passing last month of Samuel Hoffenstein,
noted poet, playwright and screen writer. In a resolution by the Executive Board on October \Zth,
addressed to the surviving relatives of Mr. Hoffenstein, the Board expressed the condolences of
his 1,300 colleagues.

16

You Can't Scare the Movies

WILLIAM ORNSTEIN

WILLIAM ORNSTEIN is a New York
magazine editor <who has had long ex-
perience as a motion -picture publicist,
and as an editor and reporter on film
industry trade publications. He is the
author of many magazine articles and
short stories.

NOW that television is making rapid strides
and the future looks bright for its place in the
sun in the entertainment field the natural ques-
tion would be, "What about the movies? What of its
future in light of radio's successor?"

Frankly, the motion picture has nothing to fear from
television and the experience the flicker industry coun-
tered when radio shed its swaddling clothes will again
be repeated when television makes its grandstand play.
The motion picture industry has quite a few ideas up
its invisible sleeve and they will come to light as time
and industry in general permits.

Let's not doubt for a minute the importance of tele-
vision in days to come. All the great plays will be tele-
vised to the satisfaction of devotees of the theatre and
cultural arts. Radio shows, in the main, will be shown
on a screen in homes, so that you will be able to see as
well as hear what is taking place in the studio. Practi-
cally every great news event will come to you in your
home direct from the scene of action. These and more
will be the order of the day in the new cycle of television
and Frequency Modulation.

But suppose you miss one of the programs, what then?

Unless a motion picture record has been made of the
show or event as it took place you simply will be out of
luck. In other words television is a one-shot affair ; you
either dial in when the event is taking place or have
to depend on another means of seeing the show. That's
where the motion picture cannot be replaced. The film
is a permanent record and if you have had the good
fortune to visit the Museum of Modern Art in New
York you have had the opportunity of witnessing motion
pictures as far back as twenty, twenty-five and thirty
years ago.

Another sober factor that cannot be denied the mov-
ies is the feature of relaxation. Millions of people insist
on getting out of their homes regardless of what is on
the radio or what is being televised, so they can sit in
the luxurious quiet and comfort of a theatre and enjoy
a scheduled program. This not only holds true for

women but also for the men who return home from
a hectic day at the office and do not want to stay at
home. They want to get out and enjoy themselves. And
unless they have something on the tapis at home for
the evening the first thing that comes to mind is, "Let's
go to a movie."

As you read this you may say, "How true this is!"
Then again you may say otherwise, but let's prove our
case.

Although there's never been an accurate "official"
check on the number of people who attend movies each
week let's say there are fifty millions. This is very con-
servative since published reports from various so-called
authentic sources and polls have estimated as high as
ninety millions. By deducting forty millions it is safe
to say that the fifty million left is far greater — at least
by twenty million — than the number of listeners to the
top radio show today.

Of this fifty million you can imagine how many
men and women go to the movies each week "just to
get away from the house" and "to relax."

There are many problems yet to be solved by tele-
vision before the industry can boast of a nation-wide
hookup, to be followed by an international fanning
out, as it were. At the moment one method or another,
too technical and involved to dwell on at this time, the
maximum range of television is not greater that 500
miles at best. In due time there is every reason to be-
lieve there will be several national and international
networks operating on the same order as radio today.
Television is growing and when it becomes man-size
the motion picture industry will have rehabilitated itself
to meet and overwhelm the new competition.

Television will be as much competition to the films
as radio was in its metamorphosis from crystal-set days.

NOW EXACTLY what has the film industry up
its invisible sleeve? Just a few things that will
further and assure its prosperity. To wit:

First, moviegoers of the future can look forward to

17

THE SCREEN WRITER

all pictures being made and screened in color. Today
only a limited amount can be turned out because the
manufacturers of the several color processes have been
handicapped by material shortages to meet the ever
increasing demand. Then, too, there will be additional
tones to give reality instead of garishness to all scenes.
Instead of the present-day three-tone process you can
expect four and five tones : honest reproductions without
glare or smear, which has been the case up to now. So
this will mean the elimination of black and white films,
a move that has been in the making for more than five
years now.

Next will be Third Dimension. This is a process
which gives depth to the film, so that when you look
at a picture made with this device and projected with
special apparatus you will think you are actually
watching the action from the stage of the theatre in-
stead of on a screen. Unfortunately the process never
got farther than the experimental stage before a halt
was called. If not for the war years the industry most
certainly could have expected Third Dimension by now.

As matters stand the engineers are now trying to
make up for lost time. They are promising movie ex-
ecutives concrete results within the next few years, prob-
ably by the time television reaches manhood, if not
before. Then equipment will be manufactured in suffi-
cient quantity to make possible installation in all types
of theatres, within the means of the small exhibitor as
well as the big fellow.

The third new gimmick is Magnascope. Now here's
a device that, with the press of a button, enlarges the
screen and images on it to the full width of the stage.
The Roxy Theatre in New York experimented with
it just prior to the war and I remember seeing it work
during the showing of a newsreel. I also saw it work
again for a few minutes during a feature and the effect
it had on me indeed was a favorable one. Emergency
war measures prevented progress but now the engi-
neers are at it again and you can look forward to this
implementing Third Dimension to give you that stage
presentation effect.

High Fidelity is another improvement you can look
forward to as sure as tomorrow. High Fidelity means
the perfection of tonal quality. Walt Disney gave it a
try with his cartoon feature Fantasia. Some may have
been fortunate to have seen the picture as it was ori-
ginally recorded with H.F. But the fact remains that
Disney, at great expense, had special H.F. reproducing
machines installed in a number of cities where the pic-
ture was being accorded special presentation.

The experiment was short-lived because of the pro-
hibitive cost of reproducers to the ordinary exhibitor.
No other producer or company has tried it since al-

though admitting it will become as necessary to pro-
duction and exhibition as the film itself. As soon as
engineers can develop the projector at moderate cost
it will be installed in theatres, the same changeover be-
ing experienced as when sound first became an inevitable
must for the future welfare of the industry.

NEW THEATRES are being built every day offer-
ing new designs and features. The movie theatres
of the future will be little short of recreation centers,
with all kinds of activities, cultural, social and sport,
to be offering during wait periods. These centers will
be built in cellars or below the theatre areas.

Prefabricated theatres will pop up virtually over-
night in new communities and those districts that have
been without movies until now for one reason or an-
other. There will be more Drive-Ins cropping up so
you don't even have to leave your car while looking at
a movie. Expect to see also more of the mobile unit,
sometimes called "jackrabbit shows." These mobile
units have a projection machine operated from the juice
of a motor truck and screens are put up in jig- time. The
Army used this method of visual performace for edu-
cating soldiers as well as entertaining them extensively
during the war in foreign countries as well as camps in
the United States.

All in all, the film industry is looking ahead to meet
squarely any emergency or competition, be it television
or some other form of entertainment that may come
along.

One thing you can depend on the movies for is finer
and better made pictures. True there have been any
number of bad ones but no part of the entertainment
world is perfect. The film industry's average so far has
been pretty good, you must admit. It has tried to do a
good job, like any other industry and it has succeeded
to some extent.

There is one final thought, a very important one that
cannot be overlooked. And that is miss a great picture in
your neighborhood, city or state and you still have the
opportunity of catching it some other place, be it in
your neighborhood, city, state or country. You can't say
that for radio, television, stage plays or other forms
of visual entertainment.

As for television in particular, the motion picture
industry has been called upon to supply films for broad-
casts in the past and will continue to furnish them in
the future, as well as its stars, directors, writers and
producers. It is a gesture quite natural in the scheme
of things and proves that the allied arts are construc-
tive in developing one of its component parts instead
of fearing it.

18

J-^rincip
Poll

L&

icies:

Election Statements From
SWG Candidates

The Screen Writer offered to all candidates for office in the forthcoming
November 19 SWG election space for a condensed statement of the principles
and policies on which they base their candidacy. Following are the replies:

SHERIDAN GIBNEY
Candidate for SWG Presidency

The current lack of unity in the Guild in my opin-
ion is not so much the result of political differences
(what democratic organization is without them?).
It is the inevitable concomitant of distrust among
factions of the membership. To allay fears and sus-
picions it is necessary to find a policy for the Guild
upon which an honest agreement can be obtained.

The primary purpose of the Guild is to serve writers
as writers. It is not a forum for political debate, acri-
monious charges, and emotional catharsis. As indivi-
duals and citizens I am sure we can find other outlets
for these impassioned activities, but as writers, if we
have any sense of self-interest whatever, we can only
injure ourselves by fighting against each other instead
of for each other. I recognize that many issues con-
fronting guilds and unions today cannot be solved to
the satisfaction of everyone. I submit therefore that
first consideration must be given to the preservation of
the Guild itself. Unless we stop quarreling for awhile
and agree upon this, we shall presently have no Guild
to quarrel in at all.

Broadly speaking, the Guild has two distinct obli-
gations :

(1) to enforce the contract we now have, protect-
ing writers as employees, and seek to better it in future
negotiations; (2) to protect and further the interests
of writers who do not work under employment con-
tracts and therefore, while paying dues and assessments
to our organization, do not derive any material benefit
under our Minimum Basic Agreement.

It is apparent to everyone, I think, that this double
function of the Guild has been a major source of dis-
pute among the membership. I believe the conflict can
only be resolved by accepting both functions as the
live business of writers in the motion picture industry.

In view of this inherent duality, I believe that
neither group should seek its own advantage at the
expense of the other, and that people elected to the

HUGO BUTLER

Statement of Withdrawal as Candidate
for SWG Presidency

Mr. Taft and Mr. Hartley have already had minor
successes in disrupting our Guild. The weapons and
ammunition they have so thoughtfully provided for
those who would like to destroy the Guild lie within
easy reach. No doubt there will be further attempts
to use them.

To withstand these attacks I believe that our Guild
must be stronger than it has ever been.

I do not believe that we will gain this strength
by dividing our ranks with the false issue of Com-
munism.

I do not believe we will find the necessary strength
by placing our reliance on the Taft-Hartley law
and the reinstated National Labor Relations Board,
both of which have been fashioned to destroy us.

In this time of decreased production and increased
writer-unemployment our Guild must rely upon its
own unity and strength to advance the economic inter-
ests of its members.

I believe that a crucial factor in unifying and
strengthening the Guild might well be the unanimous
election of our president.

For this reason I am withdrawing as a candidate
for the presidency of the Guild.

I shall vote for Mr. Gibney in the belief that he

Hugo Butler remains on the nomination list
as a candidate for the Executive Board, basing
his candidacy on the beliefs and principles em-
bodied in the above statement.

will serve as an impartial chairman and a true repre-
sentative of the membership.

Board have a primary moral obligation not to the
group that elected them, but to the membership as
a whole.

For God's sake, let's grow up!

19

THE SCREEN WRITER

ANNE CHAPIN
Candidate for Vice-President
(Miss Chapin is in the East and her
statement was not received in time
for inclusion in this section.)

FRANCES GOODRICH

Candidate for Vice-President

(Miss Goodrich is in New York

and her statement was not received

in time for inclusion in this section.

F. HUGH HERBERT

Candidate for Vice-President
Recently I offered my resignation
as secretary of the SWG because I
firmly believe the so-called "1 per
cent royalty" idea did not represent
the majority will of the membership.
It was then agreed that this sentiment
should be tested by mail.

Now all indications are that the
mail expression is repudiating the
"royalty" proposal. There is ample
reason to believe that this will confirm
decisively my contention that the pro-
posal, as previously approved, did not
"in any sense reflect the considered
opinion" of the Guild majority. I
therefore offer my continued services.

ARTHUR KOBER

Candidate for Vice-President
and Executive Board
To keep our members firm and
united (and, therefore, the Guild
strong and dynamic), to maintain
and to expand our economic gains, to
work for that which dignifies the
screenwriter and elevates his craft
and his industry, to recognize the
value of (and, therefore, be receptive
to cooperating with) all potential
allies, to employ fair and democratic
means in handling all issues, and to
abide by the majority opinion of the
board and of the membership — these
are the principles on which I stand
for election.

GEORGE SEA TON

Candidate for Vice-President
I believe that:

1. The Taft-Hartley Bill is a most
unfortunate piece of legislation and
oppose it — however, if it is deemed
necessary, to safeguard the future of
the Guild, I will sign the non-Com-
munist affiliation pledge.

2. We must achieve the licensing
of original material and a participa-
tion in the profits of reissues.

3. Realistic plans to create more
production and to aid the unemployed
writer must be initiated immediately.

4. We should revive the Inter-
talent council.

5. Any plan to better the writer's
position in this industry must be eval-
uated on its own merits and not
whether it agrees or disagrees with
any political philosophy.

DWIGHT TAYLOR
Candidate for Vice-President

I believe that any writers' organi-
zation worthy of the name has a
unique responsibility in the preserva-
tion of free speech. It is the life blood
of the writer. The SWG, by its very
nature, must be prepared to house
every diversity of opinion. But when
and if necessary the Taft-Hartley
non-Communist affidavit, as now
worded, should be signed by Guild
officers.

I am in favor of any financial plan
whereby the screen writer may in-
crease his income in proportion to his
worth. I would like to see the writer
in Hollywood achieve the status and
dignity accorded the playwright on
Broadway.

STANLEY RUBIN
Candidate for Secretary and
Executive Board
I'm for a guild that eschews politi-
cal baiting ... a guild which, instead,
argues proposals solely on their value
to a majority of its members.

I'm for a guild that walks like

a union . . . that has enough faith
in its own strength to pursue without
fear any measures — including better
advertising credits, payment for re-
issues, and a percentage of the gross —
which will mean raising the basic
minimum of dignity, authority, and
financial return for the bulk of screen
writers.

ARTHUR SHEEKMAN
Candidate for Secretary

I believe that a united, militant
Guild can do much to get screen
writers a fairer share of the rewards
and respect due them in the industry.

I do not believe that a Guild, dom-
inated by any organized minority, can
be united.

If elected, my personal politics (I
am a Roosevelt liberal) will in no
way affect my work as Secretary of
the Guild. At least, not consciously.

My only previous office (also non-
political) was vice president of the
Gloria Stuart Fan Club.

LEO TOWNSEND

Candidate for Treasurer and

Executive Board

I am for a strong, progressive Guild
which will fight for rights commensu-
rate with our importance in the indus-
try.

I am against turning our Guild into
a country club, without a country.

I am for closer cooperation with
other guilds and unions in the indus-
try, and I am for the principle of a
basic minimum royalty.

I am against the red-baiting which
has clogged the machinery of our
Executive Board during its past term.

I am for — and hope to be a part
of — a Board which will act in concert
to achieve a robust and united Guild.

HARRY TUGEND

Candidate for Treasurer
I am for two chickens in every pot
except on Thursdays but am against
the ill-timed mischievously-conceived

20

PRINCIPLES AND POLICIES

one-percent pipe dream. I am for the
Ten Commandments, Four Freedoms,
One World; and against the Taft-
Hartley anti-labor bill. I believe the
crucial problems facing our Guild
can best be solved with honesty and
realism rather than reckless fanati-
cism. I am a middle-of-the-road Lib-
eral, which makes me a conspicuous
target for wild-eyed Left- and Right-
bound traffic.

ROBERT ARDREY

Candidate for Executive Board
The strength of the SWG rests
on unity of interest and purpose
among its membership. I favor the
leasing program; immediate action to
relieve the hardships of temporary
unemployment; closer ties with other
talent guilds; any action which en-
hances the prestige of screen-writing.
But I oppose any program which sub-
ordinates the interests of our profes-
sion to the purposes of a political
group, or in any way sets writer
against writer and divides our inter-
ests. The Guild must find its strength
in unity. The election of Sheridan
Gibney and the All-Guild slate will,
in my opinion, assure this end.

ART ARTHUR

Candidate for Executive Board
As I see it, the "All-Guild" slate
consists of individuals who are banded
together temporarily because other
individuals have banded together per-
manently— particularly by unit voting
— to perpetuate a form of clique con-
trol within the Guild. With an "All-
Guild" Board elected, this banding
together will cease as a habit of oper-
ation, and lively individual points
of view will once again be heard in
Executive Board meetings. As a Board
member, I have seen this clique con-
trol— a form of intellectual lock-step
— demonstrated again and again. So
has James Cain. For further details,
read Emmet Lavery's superb article
Sitting Out the Waltz.

STEPHEN MOREHOUSE

AVERY
Candidate for Executive Board
I seek through our Guild the pro-
tection and furtherance of every pos-
sible artistic and economic advantage
we have truly earned. I believe our
natural allies to be the other artist-
craftsmen groups of similar purpose
and character, both here and else-
where. I do not think our Guild can
survive if it continues to be misused
as a forum for thinly masked political
opinion or as a tool, however feeble,
for crude and ridiculous ideological
manoeuvre. Let us remember our real
purpose. Let us bargain well. Let us
do the job for screenwriters we set
out to do, and that alone.

CLAUDE BINYON

Candidate for Executive Board

For the second time a serious cleav-
age has developed within the Guild,
threatening to destroy it. First there
was the revolt of the so-called far
right element, resulting in the Screen
Playwrights incident. I helped the
Guild survive that revolt. Now there
are the unrest and dissension caused
by the almost incomprehensible schem-
ings of the so-called far left.

I propose to assist in a return to
sound economic goals, and to profes-
sional sanity in achieving our aims.
Otherwise what is left of our unity
will be a dead duck.

HUGO BUTLER

Candidate for Executive Board
(See statement on page 19)

FRANK CAVETT
Candidate for Executive Board
I shall support Sheridan Gibney
for President. I stand for a strong
licensing program; for full consider-
ation of both a fellowship program
and direct emergency financial aid for
eligible members; for the immediate
establishment and functioning of our

bargaining committee; for referring
the so-called 1% plan to that commit-
tee ; for full membership in the Auth-
ors' League; for the closest possible
cooperation with other talent groups;
and, finally, for better over-all serv-
ice to our membership through the
elimination of the disruptive ideologi-
cal bickering that tends to divide us.

ANNE CHAPIN

Candidate for Executive Board

(See page 20)

LESTER COLE
Candidate for Executive Board

I accepted the nomination for elec-
tion to the Executive Board because
I believe my fifteen years of active
membership in the Guild, serving in
good conscience as Board Member,
Treasurer, Vice President and Presi-
dent particularly qualifies me again
to serve this year.

If elected, it will be despite the
efforts of the J. Parnell Thomas un-
American committee, which has sub-
poenaed me, the adherents to the Taft-
Hartley Act, and the Hollywood Mo-
tion Picture Alliance, members of
which organization are also active
members of the Screen Writers' Guild.

JOHN COLLIER

Candidate for Executive Board

I believe that no writer can func-
tion unless he is free to think and
speak as he pleases, and unless he
participates in the presentation of his
work, and in its economic rewards.

Therefore, I am against the
Thomas Committee and the Taft-
Hartley Act. I am for percentages
and a high minimum wage as en-
visaged in our economic program. I
am for immediate action on reissues,
and the linking of this subject to
the urgent matter of unemployment.

I believe that nothing is beyond
the reach of a united Guild, or within
the reach of a divided one.

21

THE SCREEN WRITER

OLIVE COOPER

Candidate for Executive Board
If I am elected to the Executive
Board, I intend to devote myself
to the best professional and economic
interests of screen writers — and only
that.

VALENTINE DA VIES

Candidate for Executive Board
I believe the Guild should:

1. Push a licensing program
like AAA.

2. Unite with other Guilds to
secure a share of reissue profits.

3. Work out a practical loan
fund program.

4. Find and use every re-
alistic means to increase writer
employment.

I believe the Guild should not:

1. Publicize and project vi-
sionary programs like 1% of the
gross.

2. Regard itself as a labor
union rather than a talent guild.

3. Concern itself with any-
thing but writers' problems.

I am prepared to sign the Taft-
Hartley affidavit, not because I ap-
prove of the principle or the law in-
volved, but because I believe the
security of the Guild makes it neces-
sary to do so.

I. A. L. DIAMOND

Candidate for Executive Board
I believe that the unity of the Guild
is more important than the election of
any single individual. Whatever the
composition of the Board, the Guild's
economic program should be one which
can enjoy the support of a substantial
majority of the membership. Only by
a show of internal strength can we
gain our objective, and withstand the
attacks to which we are subject under
the Taft-Hartley law.

and the loan-project fund. I want
a Guild that can cope with studio
management without the handicap of
being termed a political tool of any
group or any party. I am categorically
opposed to the '1% of the gross' plan
as a blue-sky dream that is neither
sound nor workable. If elected I shall
comply with the Taft-Hartley re-
quirements as long as it is the law of
the land. I believe in a strong Guild
for the benefit of all writers ; a Guild
whose strength is in unity.

FRANCES GOODRICH

Candidate for Executive Board
(See page 20)

EVERETT FREEMAN

Candidate for Eexcutive Board
The Screen Writers' Guild has
steadily been losing in prestige, dig-
nity, and the respect that is the due
of so important an organization. This
is attributable, in large measure, to
ill-advised direction and ill-conceived
planning.

With a new producers contract in
the offing, it is most important that
we create for the year ahead an
Executive Board of moderate, clear-
thinking men and women whose sole
concern will be for the betterment of
screen writers and screen writing and
who, by virtue of the respect and
confidence of the industry and allied
creative guilds, will be aided in
achieving many of the goals we have
set our hearts on.

RICHARD ENGLISH

Candidate for Executive Board
I am strongly in favor of the AAA

PAUL GANGELIN
Candidate for Executive Board
Our biggest problem is prompt ac-
tion on writer unemployment. We'll
need a comprehensive program that
could include shrewd efforts to stimu-
late additional production; revival of
confidence in our Guild by other
talent guilds to strengthen joint
action; a revolving loan fund with a
Guggenheim - type sponsored - work
twist; a Services Committee to scan
possibilities of interim "allied employ-
ment" (as in documentary work) ;
and any other sound ideas, some
already suggested, that merit speedy
exploration.

MORTON GRANT
Candidate for Executive Board

My primary concern is for a strong
united guild. I am in favor of the
AAA and the SWG economic pro-
gram. In my opinion the Taft-Hart-
ley Act is designed to prevent a guild
such as ours from obtaining economic
advantages for our members. I do not
think the NLRB functioning under
this act can today be of any aid to us
in a dispute with the producers or in
a contest with a rival guild.

On the question of signing the
affidavits, I endorse the position taken
bv the board in their resolution.

MARGARET GRUEN
Candidate for Executive Board

With solidarity we can preserve
our Guild, increase its economic
strength and maintain our bargaining
power. I believe unqualifiedly in free-
dom of conscience for the individual
writer, in upholding our constitution
and above all in a determined unity.

I am opposed to mail referendum
on important issues which deserve
the fullest discussion on the floor. By
maintaining an unbreakable united
front against those who wish to see
this guild split and ineffectual we
can render even the Taft-Hartley law
relatively harmless.

These are my principles.

ALBERT HACKETT

Candidate for Executive Board
(Mr. Hackett is in New York and

his statement was not received in time

for inclusion in this section.

DOROTHY BENNETT
HANNAH

Candidate for Executive Board
As a board member my special
interest would lie in fostering even'
practicable plan to improve the posi-

22

PRINCIPLES AND POLICIES

tion of all writers in the motion
picture industry, with the ultimate
aim of our achieving the respect,
authority, and equitable system of
payment now accorded the play-
wrights (original AND adaptive) on
Broadway.

languish indefinitely. Above all I
plead for unity and undeviating de-
mocracy within the Guild.

GORDON KAHN

Candidate for Executive Board
When the membership denounced
the Taft-Hartley Bill before and
after its passage, it did not mean sur-
render in the face of its first assault
or suicide by compliance before it is
needed — if ever.

When the membership approved
the principal aims of a basic minimum
royalty as its economic program, it
meant a greater share of what writers
have earned for the industry by their
work; not handouts or loans with or
without interest.

In this crisis I stand for a strong
and unified Guild with that strength
and unit}' coming from the member-
ship and an executive board pledged
to carry out its mandate.

ARTHUR KOBER

Candidate for Executive Board

(See statement on page 20)

MILTON KRIMS

Candidate for Executive Board
It is necessary at the outset for me
to affirm I do not believe the Screen
Writers' Guild is a political organiza-
tion. It exists for one purpose, to ob-
tain and maintain the best possible
working conditions for its members.
Therefore it is reasonable to expect
that those elected to office will concen-
trate all their energies toward solution
of exclusively Guild problems. It
seems to me the two most pressing
problems now are unemployment and
the pending negotiations for a new
contract. Licensing of original ma-
terial is a primary objective. Matters
now in committee should be pressed
for action rather than permitted to

ERNEST PASCAL

Candidate for Executive Board
The principle on which I stand for
election to the Executive Board of
the Screen Writers' Guild can be
summed up in the simple assertion that
I believe in and pledge myself to
strive for the economic and cultural
advancement of all screen writers (the
fundamental principle upon which the
Screen Writers' Guild was originally
founded) and to refrain from using
the Guild to fight for or against poli-
tical issues that have no direct rela-
tion to writers' problems.

JOHN PAX TON

Candidate for Executive Board
We appear to be entering a period
similar to the period in which the
Guild was fought for and established.
With the same general atmosphere,
the same pressures. Our main concern
must be the Guild itself. And its
objective — to increase the dignity and
security of its writers. Any way of
doing that must get careful, unbiased
study.

Unity is essential and possible.

ROBERT PIROSH

Candidate for Executive Board
I was a Guild member when the
Screen Playwrights tried to upset the
apple cart. There is little doubt that
their motive was to retrieve the apples
and present them, nicely polished, to
the producers. I suspect similar mo-
tives today in the threat to break up
the Guild over the "Minimum Guild
Royalty Proposal." This plan was
approved by a membership vote, and
that's good enough for me.

But more important than this or
any other issue (even including the
highly desirable AAA) is the preser-
vation of the Guild as a strong and
democratic trade union, ruled by ma-
jority vote.

LOUISE ROUSSEAU
Candidate for Executive Board

I'm tired of all the shilly-shally
alibis about the necessity for making
the Guild stronger before advancing
economic aims. We were able to or-
ganize in the first place because we
were strong. Just last year, we
achieved a fifty percent increase in
the minimums because we were
stronger.

Now I think it's high time some
of the minimum-salaried writers got
in there and pitched for their own
economic betterment.

In a nutshell, we, of the low-
bracket group, want more money and
some sort of financial stability. We
want the holes in the Minimum Basic
Agreement plugged.

I think these objectives can be
achieved by an executive board that
will determinedly carry out the de-
mands of the membership.

STANLEY RUBIN

Candidate for Executive Board

(See statement on page 20)

LEONARD SPIGELGASS
Candidate for Executive Board
I believe that the Screen Writers'
Guild must concern itself solely with
the problems of writers — their talents,
their skills, their working conditions,
their economics, and their welfare. I
believe that the Screen Writers' Guild
must vigilantly protect its members
from any encroachments, plots, poli-
tics, schemes, or fantasies that will
interfere with their professional in-
tegrity or their possibility of financial
security. I have thus joined with can-
didates who believe similarly. We act
jointly in this election in order that
it may be possible to act individually
on the board.

LEO TOWN SEND

Candidate for Executive Board

(See statement on page 20)

23

THE SCREEN WRITER

BRENDA WEISBERG

Candidate for Executive Board
In the brief space allotted me I
shall answer the question most fre-
quently put to me: If elected will I
file a non-Communist affidavit with
the National Labor Relations Board?
I am opposed in principle to this
and other sections of the Taft-Hartley
law. However, until such time as the
act is repealed or this section declared
unconstitutional, or at any time that
the affidavits should become neces-

sary to insure the safety of our Guild,
or if a majority of the membership
should demand it, or if counsel should
advise it, I am prepared and willing
to file such an affidavit.

CHARLES BRACKETT

Candidate for Executive Board
{At the moment of going to press,
Charles Brackett replaced Brenda
Weisberg on the SWG list of nom-
inees. Following is his statement) :

My platform for the Screen Writ-
ers' Guild has one plank : The dignity
of the screen writer, its preservation
and its increase. As a means to this
end: 1) a revolving fund which
through loans can enable writers un-
employed by the studios to work with
some freedom from economic pres-
sure; 2) a revived and strengthened
inter-talent council which will have
real power; 3) restriction of Guild
activity' to the craft problems of its
members.

If You Vote By Mail —

SWG members who have sent in their ballots by mail, or plan to do so, are reminded that the
ballot cannot be validated unless the member's name is given by way of identification on the outside
envelope. This envelope is removed and destroyed, leaving the ballot sealed within the inner uniden-
tified envelope, and consequently perfectly secret, but the identification must appear on the outer
ballot in order that the name of the member voting may be checked off the rolls.

If you have sent in a mail ballot without identification, get in touch with the SWG office im-
mediately, so that an attempt may be made to locate your ballot and make it count.

IMPORTANT: IN ORDER TO VOTE IN THE NOVEMBER SWG ELECTION,
DUES MUST BE PAID UP TO JULY 1, 1947.

Notice of Election Meetings

Special Meeting on SWG election issues and candidates: Thursday evening, November 6, at

Masonic Temple.

General annual membership meeting for balloting and counting of ballots: Wednesday eve-
ning, November 19, at Hollywood-Roosevelt Hotel.

24

SCREEN WRITERS* GUILD, INC.

1655 NO. CHEROKEE AVE., HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA
AFFILIATED WITH AUTHORS' LEAGUE OF AMERICA, INC.

OFFICERS & EXECUTIVE BOARD, THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD: PRESIDENT:
EMMET LA VERY; 1ST VICE-PRESIDENT, MARY McCALL, JR.; 2ND VICE-PRESI-
DENT, HUGO BUTLER; SECRETARY, F. HUGH HERBERT; TREASURER, VALEN-
TINE DAVIES. EXECUTIVE BOARD: HUGO BUTLER, JAMES M. CAIN, LESTER COLE,
VALENTINE DAVIES, PHILIP DUNNE, F. HUGH HERBERT, DAVID HERTZ, TALBOT
JENNINGS, GORDON KAHN, RING LARDNER, JR., EMMET LA VERY, MARY McCALL,
JR., MAURICE RAPF, GEORGE SEATON, LEO TOWNSEND. ALTERNATES: RICHARD
COLLINS, ART ARTHUR, MORTON GRANT, EVERETT FREEMAN, JOHN LARKIN,

FRANK CAVETT.

EDITOR

AS another year of Guild activity comes to a close, we look ahead to what
may well be the most critical period in our history.
The specter of unemployment has given way to the fact; reissues have
replaced a great percentage of production in the studios; Mr. Taft and Mr.
Hartley are camped on our doorstep, hoping to be asked in; and in Washing-
ton our Guild is being belabored by a certain well publicized Congressional
Committee.

And, in the face of these Guild-weakening influences, we approach in the
coming year a task which calls for every ounce of force we can muster. Our
present agreement with the producers ends in May, 1949. A good deal of our
time between now and then must be spent in negotiations for a new contract.
And of course we want that contract to contain a number of advantages not
found in the present document.

Obviously a weak Guild can expect no better than a watered-down, hand-
out kind of contract which will satisfy no one but the producers. They may
contend — and they may be right — that a weak Guild deserves no better.

It follows, then, that only by a show of real and genuine strength can
we hope to obtain the kind of contract we want. Only through strength can
we attack our economic problems and overcome the dangers implicit in the
Taft-Hartley Law. And we can attain this strength only through unity, for
a united Guild is always a strong one.

And unity must become more than a high-sounding word, to be dragged
out at meetings and held up for the admiration of one and all, then put back

25

THE SCREEN WRITER

into its plush-lined container and filed away on a dusty shelf along with all
the other pious words and muscular phrases.

Unity must be put into practice, and immediately. No one can deny that
during the past year we have allowed ourselves the luxury of a lot of name
calling. We have filled the air — and sometimes the mails — with charges and
counter charges.

We are now on the threshold of a new Guild year. We are about to
elect new officers and a new Executive Board. We can attain the unity we
want by electing a strong, forward-looking Board and making sure that it
carries out the will of the majority which elected it.

A candidate's personal politics should be of no significance to us. Our
primary concern must be his Guild politics. If we believe that the issues he
supports will strengthen the Guild, we should vote for him; if we believe
they will weaken the Guild, we should not.

And let us elect and stand by the strongest "pro-Guild" Board our votes
can put into office. Only through such action can we hope for the strength
which will make our Guild a powerful bargaining unit and a militant, co-
hesive writers' organization of which every member can be justly proud.

Screen Writers' Guild Studio Chairmen

(October 22, 1947)

Columbia — Louella MacFarlane; alternate, Edward Warner Brothers — James Webb; alternate, Ruth

Huebsch Brooks.
MGM — Gladys Lehman; alternate, Anne Chapin;

Sidney Boehm, Margaret Fitts, Charles Kaufman. Paramount — Arthur Sheekman ; alternate, Jesse

Republic — Franklin Adreon; alternate, John K. Lasky, Jr.

on l ^ t- tit j n- i. i i tt u j Universal-International — Silvia Richards.
20th Century- Fox — Wanda Iuchok ; alternate Richard

Murphy. RKO — Geoffrey Homes.

26

SWQ Bulletin

International Report

HENRY MYERS

SATURDAY, September 29th, the
Liaison Committee met with rep-
resentatives of the Syndicate des Sce-
naristes of France and of the Screen-
writers' Association of Great Britain,
for the formal signing of the mutual
agreement, which our organizations
had already ratified, and also to begin
exploring various questions in which
screen writers are interested.

In the opinion of your committee,
the meeting will prove to have been
of incalculable importance to all of us.
The principles that emerged, after
carefully prepared presentation by
Louis Chavance, general Secretary
of the Scenaristes, obtained a unani-
mous acceptance because they seem to
go a long way toward solving prob-
lems that have confounded us, and
which we ourselves have been seeking
to solve. We request that you bring
these principles before our member-
ship for a vote, as soon as possible, not
only because we are eager to see them
put into practice, but because we be-
lieve they will help to give the SWG
a renewed drive toward unity.

The meeting was opened with a
welcoming speech by M. Roger Fer-
dinand, president of the Societe des
Auteurs et Compositeurs Dramatiques,
the parent body of which the Syndi-
cat des Scenarist es is a part. (There
was one little touch on which I must
comment: a marble bust of Beau-
marchais, who founded the Societe
about 150 years ago, looked down

HENRY MYERS, EDWARD ELISCU
and ALBERT E. LEWIN, now working
in Paris, form the SWG Liaison Commit-
tee representing the Screen Writers'
Guild in their contacts with the French
and British screen writers' organizations.
They present here a report, written by Mr.
Myers, of an important international
meeting of writers.

from the mantel at us over M. Ferdi-
nand's head. This was not staged; it
is an example of the habitual con-
sciousness of their history, which they
possess to a much greater degree than
we do. Then M. Henri Jeanson,
president of the Scenaristes, took the
chair, and the Agenda was anounced.
It was as follows

1. The question of Authors' Rights,
and the question of Royalties.

2. International Defense of Screen
Writers. (That is, how to pro-
tect one another's rights by joint
action.)

3. The question of Writers' pres-
tige.

4. Reciprocal Information, and the
signing of the Agreement.

As a first step toward acting on
these items, it was felt necessary that
we get some knowledge of one an-
other's organizations, how they work,
their character and composition, their
problems, etc. I was called upon first
to describe the Screen Writers' Guild,
which I did as adequately as twenty
minutes would permit. I sketched our
history, some of our grievances, some
of our difficulties and some of our
achievements. It made a good impres-
sion and evoked recognition of their
own Guild's coloration, in the French
and British.

English Situation

Miss Marjorie Deans of the Eng-
lish delegation presented an account
of the Screenwriters' Association of
Great Britain. They resemble us in
many ways, but they have a problem
of their own which we have not so
far encountered. That is their relation
to the organization called "A.C.T.",
whose membership includes techni-
cians, camera men, sound, etc., and
some directors. The Screenwriters As-
sociation includes in its membership —
in addition to writers — a number of

producers who are, or have been writ-
ers; so many, in fact, that when the
producers have a meeting of their own,
it is dominated by writers.

It is not certain whether or not this
unusual composition of the Screen-
writers is the reason, but in any case
they have not been able to cooperate
with A.C.T. The latter insists that
the Screenwriters become a part of
A.C.T. before they will take any kind
of joint action with them. The Screen-
writers are willing to take joint action
but insist on remaining a completely
independent organization. The Screen-
writers maintain that they have spe-
cial interests which are so different
from that of other organizations that
they cannot risk being out-voted in
such a set-up as the A.C.T. proposes,
although they have no objection to be-
ing a trade union. So far it has been
a deadlock, but they are still trying
to find a method of joining forces.

The characteristics of the Scenar-
istes emerged as the main Agenda was
entered into, since they had predicated
everything upon their own organiza-
tional powers plus cooperation with
the English and us.

After sketching a history of the
Societe des Auteurs et Compositeurs
Dramatiques, M. Chavance defined
"authors' rights" as their experience
has demonstrated them to be. They
consider that there are two rights for
which they bargain with producers:

First, there is the right to present.
(on screen or stage or air.)

Second, there is the right to re-pro-
duce, (that is, to make into a play, pic-
ture, etc.)

The French writers own both these
rights. Specifically, the Societe des
Auteurs et Compositeurs owns the en-
tire repertoire of the French theatre,

27

THE SCREEN WRITER

and the Societe des Auteurs owns all
the books. These two organizations, in
cooperation with the Scenaristes, can
stop all film production, any time they
wish. Remember : they never sell; they
only lease. In France there is actually
a law that after seven years, a literary
property must revert to its author ; in
Italy it is three years.

POINT I concerned royalties and
writers' rights.

Now, since they have finally reached
the organizational stage of strength
whereby they do all work together,
the French writers have begun con-
sidering how they can be adequately
paid, and when they have decided
what they are entitled to, I don't see,
offhand, what will prevent their get-
ting it. So far, their thinking has taken
the following direction :

After examining various ways that
money is made by writers, they have
determined that the biggest return
comes via royalties. Therefore, they
mean to abandon both the notion of
Flat Deal and of Weekly Salary (they
never have worked for salary, but only
on flat deals) ; they will lease their
works only on a royalty basis. They
want a percentage ( I don't know how
large) on each and every showing of
each and every picture.

As it now stands, the producer gets
both of the rights mentioned above:
the right to make the picture, and the
right to show it.

The right to make it, the French
writers are willing to grant, but the
right to show it will have to be paid
for adequately, and "adequately"
means, by royalties.

Returns Via Royalties

Unexpectedly, the French produc-
ers are willing, but the French writers
are moving cautiously. The point is,
the producers prefer paying royalties
to paying cash, and the writers mis-
trust the bookkeeping. They are going
to insist on a particular method, by
which the royalties are to be collected.
They want it collected for them by
the organization called SACCEM.

The latter collects money right
now, at the box-office, on behalf of
Composers, Authors and Editors, and
the Scenaristes want to arrange with
SACCEM to collect royalties as they
now collect that other money. (It will
interest our membership to know that
the Hollywood Studios receive money
collected bv SACCEM because our

individual contracts always state that
the Studio is the Author of what we
write.) The Scenaristes, then, will
not collect from the Producers direct-
ly, on the basis of the latters' compu-
tations, but from the Distributors, via
SACCEM.

For the right to make the picture,
they will accept the symbolical sum
of one franc. For the right to show it,
there will be the collection of royal-
ties just described, and they will be
distributed according to an agreement
among writers. There is no complete
agreement yet, because some directors
claim part of authorship, but that is
being ironed out and will not stop
operations. The technicians are ready
to help the writers accomplish what
they are after, not only because they
have learned the wisdom of support-
ing each other's economic rights, but
because every one feels that a royalty
arrangement will improve the quality
of pictures, and believe it or not, the
aesthetic consideration is very im-
portant here. And very soon, the
Societe is going to vote to withhold
all works unless producers sign an
agreement jointly with them and the
adapters (or "screen-play writers")
that royalties will be paid.

Royalty Principle

They ended their presentation of
the question of royalties by asking the
Americans and English to join them
in voting for it, in principle, on a
world-wide scale, and then take care
of the special conditions found in each
separate country.

These differences, of course, exist
and must be taken into account. For
example, we pointed out to them that
because of habit, insecurity, and what-
not, many of our Hollywood writers
may prefer the ostensible safety of
the salary system or of the flat deal,
even though it could be demonstrated
that royalties would pay better in the
long run. To this, the English delega-
tion made a clever suggestion: that if
and when the royalty system is in-
stituted, we should then retroactively
consider our present salaries and flat
deals as advances against royalties.
Also we felt that there will be a fear
that pictures may not be shot at all,
and then where are the royalties? To
this the French already have a solu-
tion, which is in operation now. Each
time a producer buys a product, he
deposits a sum of money with
SACCEM; if he shoots the picture

within a certain time, he gets the
money back. That has cut down a lot

of the uncertainty.

But the international, general as-
pect must be established, because
problems of an international nature
will confront us ; such as : the different
taxes in different countries ; the trans-
mission of money from country to
country; the need to make sure that
royalties will be paid in all countries,
not just one, or it will be insufficient.
All these things will clearly require
international agreement. That is why
a vote on the principle, that we favor
payment by royalties on a world-wide
scale, must first be obtained.

Before passing to the next point,
here are a couple of interesting items
of general discussion that we noted:

1 : French producers can hire any
number of successive writers on a
script, but only if the incumbent
writer agrees. If it is thought that his
consent is withheld unreasonably, an
appeal may be made to the Scenaristes,
whose decision is final.

2: There is a basic difference be-
tween Hollywood and French produc-
tion. In Hollywood, the big companies
buy everything that strikes their fancy,
thinking maybe they will use some-
thing; in France, a producer provides
definitely, for a specific picture which
he really means to shoot, somewhat
like our Independents.

POINT II was "International De-
fense of Writers' Rights".

On Re-Makes: They want infor-
mation exchanged between the three
countries, on whether the original
credits are mentioned. The French
have legal methods of stopping a pic-
ture from being shown if the credits
have been left off. They want this
exchange of information to apply not
only to what appears on the screen,
but also to the various kinds of adver-
tising.

They also want to exchange opin-
ions on the number of names that may
appear on the main title, leading to
an agreement between our three
Guilds which will make it standard
all over the world. They favor a max-
imum of three names, even on re-
issues, although they intend that all
the writers who contributed shall
share in the money obtained. The
British limit the names to two, but
it can be raised to three by agreement.

28

INTERNATIONAL REPORT

Their agreement with the producers
stipulates that writers' names appear
everywhere that the directors' do, in
the same size and place. They also
have a separate card for the writing-
titles, and consider it one of their most
important achievements for writers'
prestige. Both British and French feel
that too many names have helped dis-
credit American films. They believe
that the Producer should be required
to make up his own mind as to who
is the correct writer for a job, instead
of the present interminable replacing
of writers, which they consider de-
grading. Nor do they believe that it
will mean less work for writers as a
whole ; in the long run, it takes the
same length of time to write a play
right as to write it wrong. (And here
is another problem that can be solved
by payment in royalties. )

Registration for protection against
plagiarism : Each of them has the same
provision that we do for the filing of
scripts. It is now proposed that scripts
be filed in triplicate, so that they can
be sent immediately to the other two
countries and filed and protected there
too. This should be done with legal
aid and advice and a fee arranged by
mutual agreement.

Standardization of Terminology:
There is the need for accurate mutu-
ally agreed upon vocabulary of film
terms, such as 'Adaptation". "Synop-
sis", "Continuity'" and the like, and
also of the writers' titles when they
function in these various capacities.
On this too, they ask exchange of
opinion.

Method of settling disputes : They
liked our methods of using commit-
tees to settle credit disputes and griev-
ances, and for conciliation, and wish
to set up international machinery sim-
ilar to it. What they are seeking is a
method of settling disputes which will
not take so long that the issue is not
decided until the picture is no longer
worth anything. Whatever is arrived
at, will of course increase its strength
and authority if it is standardized for
all countries.

While we are asking our members
to vote for the principle of "Interna-
tional Defense of Writers' Rights",
they want it to lead to an agreement
which will implement the principle.
For one thing, they intend to carry
on a campaign to help their American
friends get paid for re-issues.

POINT III on the Agenda: Pres-
tige.

The French are aiming their efforts
at securing greater prestige for writers
and only /or writers. In England there
are director-writers, but the French
are not interested in wasting their
blows on a mixed objective; they urge
us to be specific and unadulterated.
They urge us to join them in this cam-
paign, and in this concept. It is not to
be aimed against any one, but it is the
writer whom they and we want to see
get more money and more fame. We
urge the SWG to join the Scenarist es
in this joint campaign.

Our delegate, Edward Eliscu, made
a proposal which was enthusiastically
approved. He suggested that the best
written pictures in each of the three
countries, which have been so voted
by xvriters, be shown in each others'
cities, and also that the scripts be
interchanged. To which the English
delegation added the amendment that,
once a year, we similarly interchange
the best unshot scripts, for publication
in book form. We urge the SWG to
ratitv this also.

Last, and outwardly the most ef-
fective, was the formal signing of the
agreement, by which we temporarily
become members of one another's or-
ganization when working in the re-
spective country. Henri Jeanson
signed for the Scenaristes, Guy Mor-
gan for the Association, and I for
the SWG. The room was full of re-
porters and flashlights, and by this
time you probably have received some
sort of account of the proceedings,
more or less accurate. I will send you
our two copies — one in English, one
in French — if I can be sure they will
arrive undamaged, because the Sce-
naristes went to a great deal of trou-
ble getting them attractively bound,
and they 'will be among our archives.
Possibly I will bring them myself if
it looks safer; I will be back in about
three months.

That is, I think, a fair resume of
what went on throughout the day, ex-
cept to add that our French hosts en-
tertained us with their traditional
lavishness, not only as to food and
wine, but in cordiality. The English,
too, pressed us with invitations to visit
them, and expressed regret that our
recent trip to London was too brief
for a meeting there. Guy Morgan

invited us to visit their club-house,
which seems to be an intellectual cen-
tre, in which writers and newspaper-
critics meet on friendly terms. Really,
there is a very warm feeling toward
us, on both their parts, in addition to
a common-sense attitude about work-
ing together for mutual advantages.
We hope you will expedite what they
ask.

Your Liaison Committee takes
pleasure in signing itself,

HENRY MYERS,
EDWARD ELISCU,
ALBERT E. LEWIN,

Members of the Screen Writers'
Guild and of
Le Syndicat des Scenaristes.

• • •

SUMMARY OF REQUESTED ACTION
BY SWG

1. Vote that we favor in principle,
payment by royalties, on a world-w'ide
scale, with details to be worked out
later.

2. Vote that ice exchange informa-
tion regarding credits or re-makes.

3. Vote that we exchange opinions
on the number of writers' names to
appear on a picture, with a view to
standardizing it internationally.

4. Vote for triplicate registration of
scripts, for simultaneous protection in
all three countries.

5. Vote for standardization of film
vocabulary.

6. Vote to join international cam-
paign for writers' prestige.

7. Vote to join the Syndicat des
Scenaristes and the Screenwriters' As-
sociation in "International Defense of
Screen Writers' Rights."

8. Vote to show best-written films
of the year — so voted by writers —
produced in France and England , and
help them to show ours.

9. Vote to exchange the best-writ-
ten un-shot scripts of the year — so
voted by writers — for publication in
book form in all three countries.

• • •

The following letter, ivritten by
Marjorie Deans of the British Screen-
writers' Association to SfVG member
Stephen Morehouse Avery, is printed
here by permission of Mr. Avery
as a sidelight from the English point

29

THE SCREEN WRITER

of view on the international screen
writers' meeting in Paris described
in Henry Myers' report.

My dear Stephen :

The Screenwriters' Congress was
most interesting. You will probably
read about it in the next issue of
The Screen Writer. Messrs. Henry
Myers and Eliscu and Albert Lewin
were representing your Guild, and
we were five, including our secretary,
Guy Morgan.

I told the story of the trouble we
are having with our Technicians
Union, ACT, who want to absorb
us, and whom we refuse to be absorbed
into. Guy Morgan had told me he
particularly wanted to make our po-
sition clear on this point to the other
groups.

Both we and the Americans were

tremendously struck by the high stand-
ing and educated outlook of the
French writers, who are a branch of
the Societe des Auteurs and seemed
in consequence to be on a very dif-
ferent level from ourselves. We were
received in the most wonderful prem-
ises, like a small palace, in the Rue
Ballu, Montmartre . . . altogether
a most cultured and elegant atmos-
phere. The President, Henri Jeanson,
is a fascinating personality, and Louis
Chavance, the Secretary, is extremely
energetic and intelligent.

One of the chief subjects of dis-
cussion was royalties for Screenwrit-
ers; but the jaws of the British and
American delegates dropped visibly
when Chavance explained to us that
the French Scenaristes were trying to
establish the principle of not being
paid for their work at all until the
film was shown, and then receiving

box office royalties. The meeting at
once became extremely animated,
while speaker after speaker on our
side of the table wanted to know what
would happen if the film was either
never shown at all or never made . . .
(something that seems to happen
very rarely in France). I finally man-
aged to suggest that the American
and British system of salaries could
continue as usual but be regarded as
advance royalties. One could collect
additional royalties if the film were
an outstanding success. Most of us
seemed satisfied with this idea.

But the great thing is that, if you
come to Paris in the Spring, you will
automatically be a member of the
French Syndicate des Scenaristes and
receive every kind of privilege and
hospitality from them.
London,
October 5, 1947.

H.L.DAVIS

The author of HONEY IN THE HORN
(Pulitzer Prize and Harper Prize Novel)
creates a new landmark in American fiction.
Hand-hewn from the legend and past of
America, his second novel ranges from the
Western prairies to the France of the Revolu-
tion and the Terror, linking the old world to
the new in the name of the notorious and
beautiful Therese de Fontenay.

At all bookstores, $3.00

Harp of a Thousand Strings

AND PUBLISHED BY MORROW

30

/2

wort

d

Comment

an

Our Declining Foreign
Market

SAMUEL GOLDWYN

SAMUEL GOLDWYN wrote
the following article as a contribution
to The Screen Writer 's special section
in the October issue on the foreign
market and British tax situation.
Since the article was received too
late for inclusion in the last issue, it
is presented here.

NO worker in any studio who is
not in the inner councils of his
company can possibly know how seri-
ous a threat the British tax and de-
clining world revenues are to his job
and to the organization for which
he works.

My own judgment is that no mat-
ter what comes from the negotiations
on the British tax, Hollywood faces
a potential loss of up to 25% in the
industry's gross revenues because of
foreign freezes, taxes and outright
refusal of many countries to play
American pictures. In addition, do-
mestic box office receipts are off from
last year and just recently have fallen
off 18% to 20%. When box office
receipts drop noticeably, the exhibi-
tors' almost instantaneous reaction is
to cut the playing time of pictures,
which means a still further reduction
of revenue to producers.

Put all those factors together and
reasonable business judgment will tell
you that the studios are faced with a
loss of revenue which may go as high
as 50%. I have always been an opti-
mist about this business, and I still
am, but honest realism tells me that
we just cannot whistle away those
hard economic facts. Without sound-
ing any note of panic, such a reduction
in revenues can mean disaster unless

all of us take prompt steps to avert
the dangers ahead.

The basic objective which we must
aim for is to make the American mar-
ket economically self supporting. That
means we must produce much more
efficiently, and will require the high-
est degree of cooperation here in Hol-
lywood among every creative branch
of the industry and every craft. Writ-
ers will have to turn in scripts that
are carefully conceived and more
tightly written than ever before. The
writer should plan his script with an
eye to costs without sacrificing the
quality of his writing. Directors will
not be able to take the time which
they have in the past in putting those
scripts onto the screen. Producers
must plan much more carefully to get
a maximum degree of efficiency out of
each step of production. The crafts
will have to pitch in whole-heartedly
towards the goal of greater efficiency.
And everyone will have to make these
efforts without sacrificing quality. As
a matter of fact, we must go further
and improve the quality of oar pic-
tures in every respect.

It will be impossible to continue
along the same lines that we were
able to follow during the recent most
prosperous era of the industry's his-
tory. Those days are definitely over
but I have infinite faith in the people
of our industry all up and down the
line. This industry has met great
challenges in the past and I am confi-
dent that we will be able to meet this
one successfully.

The Taft-Hartley Law and
Porkchops

EDWARD HUEBSCH

RECENTLY Messrs. Dunne and
Cohen, a writer-lawyer team, ven-
tured into the mazes of the Labor
Management Relations Act of 1947.
They "emerged with a few pertinent
facts" which they recorded in their
lively article, Absolutely, Rep. Hart-
ley— Positively, Sen. Taft.

Encouraged by their daring, I too
have ventured into the legal thicket.
Emerging, I am convinced of the
soundness of their main conclusion :
"the Act provides no help for peace-

EDWARD HUEBSCH is SWG mem-
ber and a contract writer at a major
studio.

ful law-abiding unions in obtaining
fair contracts through collective bar-
gaining."

Or, to put it in the language of the
trade, this law is about money. It is
a law which gives our employers the
chance to say, "No — a thousand times
No" when we ask for more dough.
It is a law which even makes it pos-
sible to chop away at the present in-
adequate standards.

If it were not for the annoying
habit of employers refusing to pay
more to their employees, there prob-
ably wouldn't be unions, including
ours. In fact, the chief "relations" be-
tween labor and management occur
over the weekly stipend. It should
be no surprise to anybody that this
Labor-Management Relations Act of
1947 comes down to the matter of
porkchops. And with porkchops at
their present prices, none of us can
afford not to understand the law, and
thorouughly.

Let's go back to 1935. At that time,
Congress passed the Wagner National
Labor Relations Act. It assured em-
ployees the right to organize and bar-
gain; it outlawed company unions; it
prevented the employer from firing
or discriminating because of union ac-
tivity. It was a valuable asset to the
Screen Writers' Guild in gaining rec-
ognition and in achieving its first con-
tract: read, more dough for screen-
writers.

But, let us remember, big business
decided to disregard the law until its
constitutionality was tested. In the
words of the counsel of the Weirton
Steel Company, "When a lawyer
tells a client that a law is unconstitu-
tional, it is then a nullity and the
client need no longer obey that law."

It was only after the controversy
about "court-packing" and the reces-
sion of 1937 that the Supreme Court
upheld the Wagner Act.

In the 1947 law, unions are subject
to a host of restrictions which virtu-
ally nullify the previous act. Instead
of an asset, we now have a liability.
Instead of having the law help us get
more money, we now have a law that
exposes our pocketbooks to the other
side of the bargaining table.

Shift the scene to our 1949 contract
negotiating meeting. We come march-
ing in. We say, "we represent the

31

THE SCREEN WRITER

screen writers and we want — " There
is an interruption. Somebody has
dropped a copy of the law on the
table. "Do you really represent the
screen writers?" We reply splendidly,
"We — " A lawyer points to the Act,
demurring, as lawyers will. "Hold on
a bit. We must live with the law — and
the law says — we may have an election
first."

And it does say. It says that an
election to determine the bargaining
agent must be held if a petition for
such election is filed "by an employer,
alleging that one or more individuals
or labor organizations have presented
to him a claim to be recognized as
the representative."

This is very cute. The employer
merely "alleges." He doesn't have to
bring in signed cards. He says he be-
lieves somebody has a claim. And, if
he is in a tight corner, he probably
can rake up a couple of odd relatives
to make it look nicer.

The scene immediately shifts to
1951, or so. Because by the time the
NLRB gets around to looking at the
petition and holding the election, a
couple of years have passed.

Negotiating Table

But let's not leave our boys just
standing around a negotiating table.
Our boys are nobody's fools. They
get around this election business.
(Don't ask me how; I'll explain it
when I get into screen play.) They
are now pounding the table. Suppose
they say, "We are a certified union.
We have filed affidavits. We have
taken the oath of purity, loyalty, and
trial by producer and — "

You're right. Another interruption.
Same law, though. Section 9, sub-
section (g). "No labor organization
shall be eligible for certification . . .
unless it can show that it and any
national or international labor organi-
zation of which it is an affiliate or
constituent union has complied with
its obligation to file affidavits, reports

Perhaps that's in the maze too. It
means simply that the SWG cannot
become the certified union unless the
Authors' League has similarly filed.
It might also mean that the Drama-
tists' Guild and the Radio Writers'
Guild must file. In short, at present,

the SWG would have to withdraw
from the Authors' League to secure
certification.

Quite a situation : decertified if you
do, and decertified if you don't.

Still, it's the law of the land, and
since we can't have a speakeasy on
every corner handing out Wagner Act
when you say Joe sent me — let's not
fly off the handle.

WHAT about unfair labor prac-
tices? Under the Wagner Act,
it used to be unfair for an employer to
coerce or discriminate against Guild
members. It still is, BUT, the em-
ployer is free to express his opinion.
He can tell you that he thinks the
guild is crazy to ask for more dough in
hard times when he's making more
than ever, and you can't have enough
brains to write screen plays if you stay
in that idiotic Guild. That's his opin-
ion, you see, and he has the right to
express it.

Not only is he entitled to this opin-
ion, but he can file a petition to de-
certify your guild at any time. A com-
pany union has a right to a place
on the election ballot. The NLRB
can't rule out the company unions, as
it did under the old act. (Section 9,
subsection 2.)

Unfair labor practices used to be
something the employers couldn't do.
Now it's the other way around. There
are a dozen things your guild cannot
do. It couldn't for example, strike
against a company for recognizing a
company union — that's a jurisdiction-
al dispute, and it's outlawed.

Several paragraphs back we left
our boys stranded at the negotiating
table just as they were being cuffed
about the ears with a new weapon
called the Law of the Land.

Somebody ought to give them a
hand. My own travels among the
mazes has convinced me that our
Guild can survive: if we are deter-
mined to use our considerable
strength; if we refuse to take the
dead-end road through the NLRB's
legal roadblocks; if we settle our dis-
putes through impartial arbitrators
and not the very partial NLRB ; if
we insist, as Weirton Steel did, but

with the Founding Fathers on our
side, that this Law is unconstitution-
al ; that it is a nullity and that we shall
work with all other groups and or-
ganizations to bring about its im-
mediate repeal.

A Probably Irrelevant
Suggestion

CYRIL HUME

MR. Syd Boehm was really sup-
posed to write this article. When
I told him the idea of it he said he
liked it, and when I explained that
writing in any form always made me
nervous and tired he said all right,
he would do it. Well he has not done
it, and he has kept on not doing it.
Maybe he has stopped liking the idea,
or maybe writing has started making
him tired too — I would guess that
very few things make him nervous.
Anyway, the article is now back in
my lap, and this is the general idea
of it:

Here we are, The Screen Writers'
Guild, and we have dues, and meet-
ings, and elections, and everything.
At the meetings we spend a good part
of the time making each other suffer
for being Fascist beasts and Red ter-
mites and so on. And between rounds
we try to dream up ways of making
the producers suffer for being pro-
ducers. Then the idealistic member
at the rear of the hall gets up and
brings out about the honor and glory
of being a screen writer. And finally
somebody moves, and somebody else
seconds, and the ayes have it, and we
adjourn sine die, and all go home,
and the family has not waited up.

Now my idea is why not once in
a while also do something about the
writing part of being screen witers.
Of course if there is anything against
this in the by-laws, I at once with-
draw the obnoxious proposal, and no
need of any fines, or votes of censure,
or Cold Looks from the platform. But
I mean most of us are always only too
happy to explain how smelly the
movies are with a few exceptions, and
most of the exceptions are pretty

CYRIL HUME is a SWG member and
the author of many outstanding screen
plays.

32

REPORT & COMMENT

smelly, including the Russian. But
conditions would all be veiy different
if the writer ever had his way about
it, and you could just once do a script
without some well-meaning producer's
tongue in your cheek. We would then
not only create mature, high class
entertainment, but sock them stiff at
the box office.

Now I personally believe there is
more than a grain of truth in these
fine alcoholic assertions. But why don't
we go way out on a limb, and find out
if there is truth in them? I mean
whether we are by natural depravity
the awful bums the movies make us
seem to be, or whether some of us do,
as we all maintain, deserve to be
screen writers in a better world of
longer trousers.

»\\ THAT I suggest for it is a cou-
VV pie of competitions with prizes
to them. In Competition A, any mem-
ber would be eligible to submit what
he considers — in spite of hell and all
the producers in it — a really fine and
original modern screenplay. The one
he carries around in his head, three-
quarters written, and his wife is sick
and tired of it. Once every year or six
months a good hard-working board of
judges would select the best of the lot
submitted. This script would then be-
come the joint property of the author
and The Screen Writers' Guild, and
would be peddled in the open market.
And one of the stipulations would be
that it would have to be produced
within a given length of time, and
exactly as written. And if it were
not produced within the time named
it could be re-purchased at the orig-
inal price less depreciation by the
author and The Screen Writers'
Guild. And no changes could be made
in it without the consent of the author
and of The Screen Writers' Guild.

Producers' Opportunity

Perhaps at first the producers would
shy off, suspecting Art, or anti-Capi-
talist propaganda, or just general con-
spiracy. But sooner or later I think
some producer who had been having
trouble with his wife or leading lady
would get hysterical and bite. And
if we screen writers are really as ter-
ribly gifted as we let on, the producer
could not fail to make several million
dollars before he had finished dictating
his formal apologies to the Producers'

Association. Eventually, by a sort of
financial chain-reaction, the seal of
the Screen Writers' Guild on these
scripts might come to have a prestige
and market value comparable (for
instance) to that of the Book-of-the-
Month Club. Producers would sweat,
and agonize, and knife each other,
waiting for the winner to be an-
nounced. In the very long run they
might learn something.

But what I like best about my own
idea is that it would give young writ-
ers such a chance to break into the
money. I assume that young writers
would win most of the competitions
because they usually have the best
ideas, and the freshest talent, and,
above all, the most time on their
hands. (And here I must positively
rule myself ineligible for appointment
to the board of judges on the grounds
of my known failure to be hard-work-
ing enough. Also I want to compete
against some of those young writers
who keep making passes at my job
right while I am looking.)

Competition B is frankly so open
to the suspicion of Artiness that prob-
ably a legal committee ought to make
a study of the by-laws before it is
adopted viva voce. Competition B
would be more in the form of a
project. It would constitute an official
SWG effort to develop new screen-
writing techniques, and to explore the
possibilities of enlarging the present
scope of the you-know-what — the
movies. With a substantial cash prize
to each winner. (What is the treasury
for anyway — the United Brotherhood
of Girdle Workers?)

The Winning Script

Specific projects might be something
as follows: A script demonstrating
practical methods for bringing any
play by William Shakespeare before
a modern screen audience. Or, W. H.
Hudson's Marta Riquelme — and get
some grandeur up there. Or, The Pal-
omar Telescope — dramatized, not fic-
tionalized. Or you call one.

The winning script, in mime-
graphed form, at 25 cents the copy,
would be available to all members in
the lobby directly after the meeting.
Even a producer could obtain one
by mailing in ten dollars and return
postage.

See?

Original Writing for
The Screen

LOWELL E. REDELINGS

Lowell E. Redelinffs, motion pic-
ture editor of the Hollywood Citizen-
News, made the following comment
in one of his recent columns on the
contribution of screen writers to the
film industry. His remarks are re-
printed herewith by permission.

WILLIAM POWELL, in a
radio talk says that whatever
a big star is worth, you can bet that
the writer is worth twice that much.
In short, a star is only as good as
the story, and the role which he plays.
If you aren't convinced, please con-
sider the cases of two splendid actres-
ses Greer Garson and Ida Lupino.
Miss Garson was blessed with good
stories and good roles, for a time ; the
wheel of fortune spun — and you have
seen less of her on the screen in the
past two years.

Ida Lupino showed the world what
a perfectionist she is in the dramatic
arts with an unforgettable perform-
ance in The Hard Way1 some years
ago. Since then, her luck has changed.
Her roles have been mediocre; more
often than not insipid. Deep Valley2
offered her a chance to show once
again her rare ability. The result:
The year's best portrayal by an ac-
tress.

Yet the writers, as William Powell
says, are worth twice what the stars
are worth. But what writer on the
average earns anywhere near the in-
come of a star?

Encouragement Needed

It is high time that Hollywood
executives pay less attention to the
stars and more to the writers. From
them, if properly encouraged (which
means less front-office interference
with artistic creation and more re-
spect for the writers' craft) can come
many a fine original story — and orig-
inal screen play, too, of which there
are too few.

So long as Hollywood depends al-
most entirely upon other sources for

1Screen play by Irwin Fuchs; contrib-
utor to screen play construction: Peter
Viertel.

2Screen play by Salka Viertel and
Stephen Morehouse Avery.

33

THE SCREEN WRITER

its story material — the stage, novels,
magazines, etc. — just so long will it
continue to reflect in an artificial way,
with the usual showmanship embel-
lishments, the output of these sources
good bad, and indifferent.

The motion picture medium is
peculiar unto itself. No other source
of material, the radio, the stage, or
literature, can equal the screen in the
manner of telling a story — the same
as no printed word, or words, can
equal a photograph in telling a story.

For that reason, the vast majority
of screen stories should be written di-
rectly for the screen. Yet, in practice,
the direct opposite is true. And why?
Simply because the writer is held in

such light regard by the "front office."
The writer, on the other hand, is in
no position to argue the merits of the
system. He doesn't like it, but he does
like his weekly salary check, for which
he certainly can't be blamed.

Change Needed

So the change in the system, if
any change is to occur, must be made
by those who will profit most from
just such a change — the production
executives. They might start encour-
aging the writers by offering substan-
tial cash prizes for the best stories
submitted by a given date — instead
of the present practice of at least one
big studio of conducting an annual
contest for the best novel.

All this does is turn up half a dozen
or less possibilities for film production
simply because the novelists who take
part in the contest aren't writing
directly for the screen. This practice
makes about as much sense as if a
publishing house would conduct a
contest for the best original screen
story, which then would be adapted
into a novel.

William Powell put his finger di-
rectly on a "soft spot" by his state-
ment on the air. The writer is cer-
tainly as important a creative artist
as there is in motion pictures today.
And the sooner Hollywood's execu-
tives recognize this fact, the sooner
will a better grade of films result —
with resultant prosperity to all.

C

orredpt

Cli

onaence

Letter

From

Venice

{Continued, from Inside Front Cover)

the U. S. government had decided to
be represented in Venice.

With the major studios out of
the race, the organizers of the Festival
could only deal with independent pro-
ducers or by personal agreements with
certain directors. Consequently, the
choice of American pictures was done
somewhat haphazardly. One got to
see two pictures with Orson Welles
(Tomorrow Is Forever and The
Stranger), two pictures by Robert
Siodmak (Strange Affair Of Uncle
Harry and Time Out Of Mind) ;
two pictures by Jean Renoir ( The
Diary Of a Chambermaid and W Om-
an On The Beach), also for mysteri-
ous reasons Leave Her To Heaven,
Story of G. I. Joe, It Happened On
Fifth Avenue, and Spellbound. That
last one was accompanied by a definite
effort to win the European public to
Mr. Selznick's pictures and to publi-
cize his releasing organization. But

34

the choice of these titles is hardly un-
derstandable when other American
films such as Grapes Of Wrath, Gone
With The Wind, The Oxboiv Inci-
dent, The Southerner, any of Preston
Sturges' movies, are still generally un-
known on the continent where every-
one is anxious to see them. The ways
of releasing organizations are mys-
terious and contribute to make the
public feel more and more let down
by the American production.

Sybarites in Venice

Had the United States been more
actively present at the Festival they
might have turned to a very pleasant
way of winning journalists to their
production. The Mexicans used it:
before showing any of their films they
threw a wonderful party attended by
Count Sforza, the Minister of For-
eign Affairs. According to the maitre
d'hotel, three million liras of food
went down the throats of the guests
in about half an hour. It was indeed
a sumptuous reception according to
the best Venetian traditions, but when
one recalled that in order to afford
black market luxuries for the tourists,

the natives have to go hungry on their
rations, one felt like putting down his
plate, knowing its contents would
certainly not be thrown away. As a
matter of fact, no European country
could rival the Mexicans in the way
of parties, though some of their films
would have needed advance publicity.

It may be that movie critics be-
come hardened by the number of
festivals they attend and the quantity
of films they absorb in succession, but
it seems that everywhere everyone is
trying very hard to say very little.
There is a general dearth of ideas.
That is a direct challenge to screen
writers all over the world. By the
way, screen writers were no more
heard of at this festival than at any
other, but at least their names ap-
peared on the summaries which were
handed to the journalists.

One interesting subject was tackled
by the British in Frieda, the story of
a German girl brought to England
by her British husband ; it needed just
a little more skill to have made an
excellent picture. The other two
British offerings: Temptation Har-
bour and They Made Me a Fugitive

LETTER FROM VENICE

are certainly good pictures but bring
nothing new to the cinema. The
French films: Les Freres Bouquin-
quant, Monsieur Vincent (with dia-
logues by Jean Anouilh, the play-
wright of Antigone fame), Quain
Des Orfevres, are full of excellent
things, especially the last one, directed
by Clouzot, but are not a revelation.

The Italian production has been dis-
appointing; the Scandinavians came
better off : the Danish Ditte Mannes-
kebarn displayed a new outlook on
life fraught with realism and poetry;
the Swedes proved with Iris and Pen-
gar that they can make comedies as
well as Hollywood does. It should be
pointed out that those comic films, the
only ones of the Festival, were pro-
duced by a country spared by war.

Old Camera Tricks

Everyone expected with interest the
first German film to be shown abroad
since the war, but Die Morder Sind
Unter Uns was rather disappointing.
After seeing what the Italians had suc-
ceeded in doing with their ruins and
little else, one had expected more from
Berlin than a return to the old camera
tricks of 1925 in easily recognizable
studio sets. The subject was inter-
esting: a returned German veteran,
a doctor by profession, can't readjust
himself to life and believes he must
kill the captain who ordered the death
of innocent Russian villagers and
then caused the slaughter of his own
troops. It could have provided the
first document on post-war mentality
in Berlin, if it had been treated with
the utmost realism in the characteriza-
tion as in the settings: one thing we
have learned from this Venice festival
is the invaluable importance of real
exteriors to create the proper atmos-
phere. Instead of which the Germans
used studio sets and cliche situations.
However they may have been unable
to do exactly as they pleased. The film
was made in the Russian zone and
released by Sovexfilm.

The Russians, who had sent quite
a delegation to Venice — the director
Alexandrow, his wife, the actress Or-
lova, numerous press people — had
only one new film to show: Alexan-
drow's Primavera, and that was no
revelation since the public had been
previously treated to a review of
Alexandrow's other pictures: The
Circus, Volga-Volga, Les Joyeux Gar-
cons, all musicals of the same vein.

Dedicating a whole day to films by
one director or to films showing the
same trend, or films treating similar
subjects, gave a distinctive character
to the Biennale. Its organizers planned
it as one does an art exhibit or a
series of concerts. One went to a
Dreyer, a Renoir or a Prevost show-
ing, as one would go to a Beethoven
Festival. As in music, the succession
of works by the same author may not
be as pleasant for the uninitiated as a
medley, but it proved very enlighten-
ing for the connoisseur, who could
follow the evolution of the creator
under different circumstances.

Art Over Industry

That presentation of films contrib-
uted to remove the commercial atmos-
phere which generally hovers above
festivals. Two other activities of the
Biennale helped to make the cinema
appear for once more like an art than
an industry: a retrospect of old films
and a technical and a retrospective
exhibition of the motion picture tools.
There was enough material in that
last one organized by the French
Film Library to warrant the creation
of a Museum of the Motion Picture
in France, as there is already one in
Italy. As for the old pictures, from
Broken Blossoms to Un Chapeau de
Paille D'ltalie, they offered some of
the best moments of the Festival. No
new picture was as funny as Rene
Clair's silent movie. The comparison
between the pick of 30 years of movie
making and the production of this year
only is not quite fair to the modern
products but it proves certain laws:
the cinema is an international art, as
painting or music; because pictures
are to be seen all over the world, and
because they are most thrilling when
they allow the spectator's attention to
concentrate undividedly on what he
sees, dialogue should be kept at a
minimum; no speech is as eloquent
as a good shot. There is no question
of a return to the silent movies. On
the contrary, one rather expects some
new invention in film making. Every-
one— the public as well as the critics,
in spite of those who would like to
make a difference — is tired of what
he is being given. The path of realism
and pathos seems to have been entirely
explored by the Italians. Each country
can do the same now, but we are
already hankering for something dif-
ferent. Shall it be surrealistic pic-
tures? Color films presenting new
subjects to be treated? Anyway the

screen writers all over the world
should prove their mettle and the next
festival — everyone in Vienna hoped it
would be in Hollywood — should bring
a crop of wonderful new films, and
especially good American pictures.

P.S. — The Venice Biennale is now
over and I am sorry I missed the last
few days. The general impression is
still the same — there have been too
many Festivals this year and nations
should come to an agreement and take
turns in trying to attract the tourists
and the industry crowd.

But also during the last few days
some of the pictures which received
some of the prizes were shown — for
instance, Sirena, the Czech picture
which received the Grand Award,
(a realistic and social movie). An-
other Czech product, The Tales of
Capek was thought by many critics
to be even more interesting, more
original. What with the numerous
cartoons and puppets pictures which
have garnered all the prizes of that
category for the Czechs at every Fes-
tival, those two movies bring to the
fore a new crowd of European movie-
makers, especially interesting since
they are supposed to work behind an
iron curtain.

Awards and Politics

Politics may not have been absent
from the granting of awards — I was
made to understand that the jury had
to resist a considerable amount of
lobbying, in particular some for cre-
ating an award to the most beautiful
actress which would have been meant
for the Mexican Maria Felix! Of
course there already is an award for
the best actress and it was granted,
rightly so, to Anna Magnani for her
part in Q'Onorevole Angelina. As
the leading character in that picture,
La Magnani affirms the qualities she
had already shown in Open City and
in 77 Bandit o, those of an Italian Bette
Davis with a terrific temperament.
Q'Onorevole Angelina, together with
the Caccia Tragica raised the level of
the Italian productions. The Tragic
Chase, directed by de Santis, brings
another proof of the depth and in-
tensity with which the Italians trans-
late the problems of the day. The
spectator is immersed in a feeling
of solidarity which surges from the
screen. In its superb technique, and
especially in the way in which crowds
are handled, the picture recalls the

35

THE SCREEN WRITER

Russian movies of 1925. It deserved
its award.

What seemed most unfair was the
award of the best screen play to
Primavera, the Russian picture di-
rected by Alexandrov. It was ob-
tained through a technicality — the
prize was to go to an original subject,
one which had not been treated prev-
iously in book form or play — and
that condition eliminated of course
several good pictures.

That distribution of awards re-
called that of Cannes last September
— the United States was equally left
out because of its representation on
the jury as in films. Those Festivals
may not be considered important com-
mercially by the M.P.E.A. but they
are attended by the movie people and
critics from all Europe. They and
all the newspaper readers may wonder
after a while why so few American
pictures are granted an award, as the
Festivals go by.

JUDITH PODSELVER
•

After writing the above letter from
Venice, Miss Podselver journeyed to
Cannes, France, to observe the 1947
film festival there. In the following
letter she presents a brief report of
her impressions.

Dear Screen Writer:

After a year of touring Europe, I
am back where I started from: that
lovely spot on the French Riviera,
Cannes, the best place for festivals
since all activities are centered on the
Croisette in a 10 minutes walk from
the Casino to the Palais du Festival,
thus allowing movie people and jour-
nalists to spend every minute of the
day together and reap more gossip

than could fill all the French papers.
Since three other festivals have taken
place since last year, the number of
pictures shown this time was con-
siderably less than previously and
the award of prizes proved that it
had been almost entirely a Franco-
American affair. But it has been a
real pleasure to find out that at last
American movies have been selected
deliberately for the occasion. Was it
the fact that Elsa Maxwell was on
the organizing committee and wanted
the festival to be a success both for
Cannes of which she is an honorary
citizen and for the States? Is it due
to the wise advices of Frank Mc-
Carthy, the MPEA representative
in Paris, and his assistant, Rupert
Allan?

Anyway, the distributors seem to
have understood that pictures sent to
festivals should be meant for the
toughest critics in the world, people
who, more than technique and enter-
tainment, require a subject and ideas
in their films. Not all companies sent
the best pictures they might have.
Life With Father might have been
better than Possessed and compared
with European pictures Ivy's psychol-
ogy was thought incredibly flimsy but
it may have been due to the short
notice — invitations were extended at
the end of June and the films had to
be in by July 21st — and certain diffi-
culties in shipping and subtitling could
not be overcome in time. The problem
of finding the right picture to fit the
categories in which movies were en-
tered was not always solved satisfac-
torily either. | It is due to such a tech-
nicality that Boomerang did not re-
ceive the award eve^one thought it
deserved.

However, with three prizes — for
Crossfire, Dumbo, and Ziegfeld Fol-

lies— the American production did
quite well. The French only received
two: for Antoine And Antoinette, a
charming realistic comedy directed by
Jacques Becker, and for Les Maudits,
the odyssey of a Nazi submarine, a
realization of Rene Clement. A pic-
ture for which Sartre had written an
original screenplay, Les Jeux Sont
Faits, proved quite disappointing. A
wonderful montage of films taken be-
tween 1900 and 1914 called Paris
1900 recreating beautifully the at-
mosphere of these happy days could
not be fitted in the categories of pic-
tures competing and could not receive
the awards which it so richly deserved.

The growing awareness of Ameri-
can distributors to the need of the
European public — and I think RKO
should receive a special mention for
having sent this year both The Best
Years Of Our Lives and Crossfire —
is an encouraging fact. What with the
decision of the MPEA to participate
in only one Film Festival a year and
go only before a national jury where
there would be no possibilities of in-
ternational politics interfering, the
next gathering of motion picture
critics should be able to see the Ameri-
can production at its best.

To come back to what I wrote
previously about the Venice Festival,
I found out that the MPEA had not
participated but had allowed the Ital-
ian government to select four pictures
out of the numerous American movies
kept at the Italian customs and show
them during the Biennale but outside
competition. That explains the show-
ing of certain movies distributed by
the major companies and answers the
question I asked in the letter I sent
you from Italy.

JUDITH PODSELVER

u^

36

A Review by Stephen Longstreet

(Book*: Two Novels About Hollywood

DIRTY EDDIE

By Ludwig Bemelmans

THE SQUIRREL CAGE
By Edwin Gilbert

THE usual Hollywood novel is an
assembly line product; like books
about Lincoln, or stories of beautiful
female sex machines who take off their
skirts in all periods of history. No
publisher likes to be without one dur-
ing the summer season. Mr. Bemel-
mans' and Mr. Gilbert's books are
the two latest Model T versions of
the Hollywood teaser, complete with
hot and cold sex scenes. They are
written, in this case, by two disap-
pointed gentlemen who came and saw
and didn't conquer Hollywood. Mr.
Bemelmans will be remembered (but
not by MGM) as the author of a
prize theatre emptier and turkey.
Mr. Gilbert, after several years
of yearning and straining at the Un-
derwood, got little in the way of
credits ; and after reading his novel one
can be thankful for that. Neither boy
sat down to write a novel ; both want-
ed to place a few personal punches,
safely in New York.

Mr. Bemelmans and Mr. Gilbert
of course write of a place called Hol-
lywood, but both books are fantasies
about a Never-Never-Land. Mr.
Bemelmans is the professional writer,
slick, often funny, usually the snob;
the perfect bus boy — as he says — who
grew up to entertain duchesses. His
world is the world of the pantry, the
headwaiter's bedroom, the perfumed
hovels of interior decorators, and the
plushlined, Picasso-hung cells of the
ultra-neurotics. As one reader of
Dirty Eddie said, "Bemelmans saw
Hollywood through a glass replica
of Lady X's pratt." Actually he never
saw Hollywood at all. He collected a

STEPHEN LONGSTREET, novelist,
screen writer and playwright, challenges
in this piece of pointed criticism the as-
sumption that Hollywood writers and the
motion picture industry are always fair
game in a perpetual literary open season.

few menus from fellow waiters at
Chez Roland, Romanoff's, and The
Players, and he decorated his office
with frenzied, badly drawn paintings,
and appeared at some of the more bor-
ing parties to inspect the hors
d'oeuvres and sample the goose livers.
Around these few events he invents
a Bemelmans' Hollywood as lush as
a fan magazine's dream of life, as
dishonest as a maitre d'hotel's hand-
shake. The soggy wit is encased in
an aspic of badly constructed French,

the people are gibbering, diseased pup-
pets dressed by Vogue. The dialogue
sounds like something left over from
a hangover, rather vaguely remem-
bered. But Mr. Bemelmans is a pro-
fessional smart writer and his book
is readable, sometimes amusing, and
not very heavy going for anyone who
can spell out French menus and
doesn't think green nail polish is the
last word in chic.

Mr. Gilbert, unfortunately, can't

lllllllltllllllll

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s-sss*

MARGARET WEBSTER:

= "Fascinating. Inflection is as

= important as pronunciation.

= Should be an invaluable aid

= to actors."

JOSE FERRER:
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actors called on to use dia-
lects."

MARJORIE MORROW,
C.B.S. Casting Director:
"So complete. ..invaluable...
convenient and ready refer-
ence where authentic Ameri-
can Dialect is required."

Manual of

AMERICAN

DIALECTS

by LEWIS HERMAN and
MARGUERITE S. HERMAN

i

T1

'HIS BOOK will help you
A reproduce the true speech
flavor of almost every sectional
dialect in the U.S.A. — with all
its lilts and stres'ses— all its gram-
matical, vowel and consonant
changes ... all the authentic
characteristics of its use and all
its local idioms.

This is definitely a "How-to-do-
it" book which teaches the use
of dialects by easy-to-follow vis-
ual phonetic symbols; with illus-
trations of tongue and lip posi-
tions for pronunciation and with
a special musical notation to
guide the entertainer in master-
ing inflections of dialects of
every regional group. Also con-
tains hundreds of monologs for
practise.

Actors, writers and teachers of
dramatics will use this manual
as a practical text and source
book for improving their inter-
pretations .

Written by the authors of the
successful MANUAL OF
FOREIGN DIALECTS-a book
which has helped thousands of
entertainers master foreign roles.

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37

THE SCREEN WRITER

write even waiter's English, or con-
struct plot or character. He also uses
himself, very lightly disguised, as
the hero. The hero is a promising
young playwright (with no produced
plays) who is living a happy life in a
Greenwich Village cellar (gnawing
on journalism, it is hinted, for a mere
existence). He is brought to Holly-
wood at more money than he has
ever seen — which he resents — and he
proceeds to bitch himself out of his
job so he can go back to the cellar
and the Blue Plate Special in tea
rooms run by old ladies of both gen-
ders. He is — he admits — the only
real artist at the studio (unfortun-
ately for us the author includes a
sample of a movie script that he
thinks is a masterpiece). The rest of
the writers are only rich and sensual
hacks; sad, deflated phalli. As the
books staggers on, the whole thing
becomes a dreary dream fantasy, with
the characters changing facets, and the
hero becoming more and more noble
as he proceeds to attempt to get into
bed with his secretary. What other
plot there is is wretchedly constructed,
and comes to nothing — not once, but
several times. The writing is amateur
and rather pathetic, for the author
no doubt thought he was writing
prose. The book ends with the hero-

writer breaking his ties with his dream
Hollywood (after a dream fist fight
and a dream rape of his secretary) by
going to San Francisco, on his way
back to his cellar. His last lines are
about the purity of the air in San
Francisco . . . now he can breathe
again, a free man.

NEITHER book is worth consid-
ering seriously as a novel, except
that they are about screen writers. In
many places they will be taken as real
and honest portraits of the men and
women who write the motion pictures
seen on the world screens. As such they
are libels that all honest and compe-
tent screen writers must resent. While
they make no serious claim as litera-
ture, this kind of books (only two in
a long line of publishers' abortions)
has slowly poisoned the mind of the
serious reader, so that to him a screen
writer is either a neurotic genius
brought to Hollywood, seduced, tram-
pled, stomped on, and spit out when
he rises on his little integrity and
tells the big bums off. After which
he flees to the Village, or Capri, or
to a rich widow, to write The Great
Play or The Great Novel (which
is never printed or produced). The
other Model T screen writer, as pre-

sented in these novels, is the rich,
drunken, overbearing, unread, unedu-
cated egotist, who has sold out his
talent and is living in a welter of
swimming pools, Goldwyn girls,
knife throwing, rump kissing and
credit stealing. This whore is always
the writer who gets his name on the
big pictures, and the hint is that he
either stole it from the neurotic genius
or has taken over Irving Berlin's
little colored boy, whom he flogs until
he has written ten pages of fine script
a day.

Both Mr. Bemelmans and Mr.
Gilbert are wrong. First, of course,
they did not have to fail as screen
writers, and go off dragging their
mangled egos between their legs. They
could have stayed on here, paid at-
tention to the craftsmanship of the
screen, learned to write screenplays
and been part of a great industry
which offers to the writer a fair re-
ward for his effort and his ability
to tell a good story. Many novelists
and playwrights have made such a
success and many more will. It is the
few self-defeated bits of psychiatrists'
bait that unfortunately write the
books about Hollywood.

STEPHEN LONGSTREET

t lewd / /oted

* Current programs in the N. Y.
Museum of Modern Art's History of
the Motion Picture are: The British
Documentary Film (I): Granton
Trawler, Song of Ceylon, Night
Mail, Colour Box, Nov. 3, 4, 5, 6;
The British Documentary Film (II) :
Musical Poster No. 1, World of
Plenty, When We Build Again, Man
— One Family, Nov. 7, 8, 9; Before
the Russian Revolution : Moscow
Clad in Snow, Revenge of a Kine-
matograph Cameraman, Moment Mu-
sicale, Father Sergius, Nov. 10, 11,
12, 13; New Beginnings: Eisenstein
and Vertov: Kino-Pravda, Kombrig
Ivanov, Rebellion, Mutiny in Odessa,
Potemkin, Nov. 14, 15, 16; Two Ex-
perimental Groups: The Cloak, By
the Law, Nov. 17, 18, 19, 20; The

Work of Pudovkin ( I ) : Chess Fever,
Mother, Nov. 21, 22, 23 ; The Work
of Pudovkin (II) The End of St.
Petersburg, Nov. 24, 25, 26, 27;
The Films of Eisenstein (II) : Ten
Days That Shook the World, Nov.
28, 29, 30; The Work of Pudovkin
(III) : Storm Over Asia, Dec. 1, 2,
3, 4.

* French film showings on the cur-
rent program of the American Gallery
Films and Peoples' Educational Cen-
ter at Hollywood Masonic Temple
are: Nov. 3: Rene Claire's A Nous
La Liberte ; Nov. 10: La Maternelle ;
Nov. 17: The Lower Depths; Nov.
24: Generals Without Buttons', Dec.
1 : L'Atalante; Dec. 8 : Marie-Louise.
Honorary chairmen of this program

of film showings are Herbert Biber-
man, Edward Dmytryk, Fritz Lang,
Kenneth Macgowan, Dudley Nichols.
Harold Salemson is discussion leader
and co-ordinator. For reservations
phone HOllywood 6291.

* Pasadena Community Playhouse
has scheduled Our Hearts Were
Young and Gay, by Emily Kimbrough
and Cornelia Otis Skinner for Oct.
29 to Nov. 9. Marcella Cisney directs
from Jean Kerr stage adaption of
the book. Pacific Coast premiere of
Ruth Gordon's Years Ago is sched-
uled from Nov. 12 to 23 as climax
to Playhouse fall series.

* Arthur Strawn, chairman of
SWG Veterans' Committee, is mak-
ing a deal with the British Broadcas-

38

SCREEN CREDITS

ing Corporation for the television pro-
duction of his plays. His recent three
act play, Anthony Nero, has already
been used successfully by BBC for
90 minutes of television entertain-
ment. Amalgamated Press of Great
Britain has bought first serial rights
to Mr. Strawn's story, Foolish Old
Man, published a few weeks ago by
the Saturday Evening Post, and Es-
quire has bought a Strawn short story,
The Sentimentalist.

* Theodore Strauss, member of
The Screen Writer Editorial Commit-
tee, was interviewed Sunday, Oct. 26,
by Bob Dworkin as a feature of the
CBS Meet the Author program.
Strauss is the author of the recent
widely discussed novel, Moonrise.

* SWG member W. R. Burnett's
new novel, Yellow Sky, will soon be
published by Knopf.

* SWG member Joseph Wechs-
berg's novel, The Continental Touch,
due in January under Houghton-
Mifflin imprint.

* The Squirrel Cage, a life-in-
Hollywood novel by SWG member
Edwin Gilbert, is on the current
Doubleday list.

* SWG member Irving Stone's
Adversary in the House, a novelized
portrait of Eugene V. Debs, is get-
ting a major promotion campaign
from its publishers, Doubleday & Co.

* SWG member Millard Lampell's
new novel, The Hero, scheduled for
early publication by Julian Messner.

* Establishment of the first studio
outside of Hollywood to offer full-
time professional training in motion-
picture work has been announced by
Erwin Piscator, Director of the Dra-
matic Workshop of the New School
for Social Research. Sidney Kaufman,
film critic and director, heads the new
Film Department, whose purpose Mr.
Piscator declared is "to provide trained
personnel for expanding motion pic-
ture production in New York and to
create a center for study of the cinema
as a cultural and social force."

The workshop course, which started
October 6, includes production of
complete sound films in a specially
designed studio where students will
write, direct, act and shoot the pro-
duction, with sound, music and other
technical aspects of the work under
professional guidance. The many film

resources of N. Y. laboratories, sound
stages, film libraries, trade unions,
independent producers, and other
branches of the local film industry
cooperate actively with the project.

* SWG member Jay Richard Ken-
nedy's article, An Approach to Pic-
tures, published in the June issue of
The Screen Writer, is being reprinted
in Filme, the Brazilian quarterly.

* William Wyler's No Magic
Wand and I. A. L. Diamond's Holly-
wood Jabberwocky, were reprinted
from The Screen Writer in a recent
issue of The Cine-Technician, a
British film magazine. Mr. Diamond's
article, Darling! You Mean . . J in
the September issue of The Screen
Writer was reprinted in the Sunday
drama section of the Minneapolis
Tribune-Star.

* F. Hugh Herbert's Subject: Bin-
die Biog, published in the September
issue of The Screen Writer, has been
reprinted in the San Francisco Chron-
icle and the Omaha World-Herald.

* SWG member Elwood Ullman
has sold a short story, Just We Two,
to Esquire.

ED ON
CU«*CNT

r SC*E*N WR

(TtRS. c*to'TS

EARNED ON FEATURE PRODUCTIONS
OF

•- " H iV ;; .

AnD b C/.

SEPTEMBER I, 1947 TO OCTOBER I, 1947

GERALD D. ADAMS

Joint Screenplay (with Clements Ripley) OLD
LOS ANGELES, Rep

B

ARNOLD BELGARD

Joint Screenplay (with Jack Jungmeyer)

THE TENDER YEARS. Edward Alperson

Prod
DEWITT BODEEN

♦Contributor to Screenplay THE MIRACLE

OF THE BELLS. RKO
PETER R. BROOKE

Sole Screenplay FOOTLIGHT RHYTHM. (S),

Par
RICHARD BROOKS

Sole Original Screenplay TO THE VICTOR,

WB

♦Academy Bulletin Only

JOHN K. BUTLER

Joint Screenplay (with J. Benton Cheney)
CALIFORNIA FIREBRAND, Rep
Additional Dialogue THE MAIN STREET
KID, Rep

JERRY CADY

Joint Screenplay (with Jay Dratler) CALL-
ING NORTHSIDE 777, Fox

J. BENTON CHENEY

Joint Screenplay (with John K. Butler)
CALIFORNIA FIREBRAND, Rep

ROYAL K. COLE

Sole Adaptation CALIFORNIA FIREBRAND,
Rep

HAL COLLINS

Sole Screenplay and Joint Story (with Monty
F. Collins) THE OLD GRAY MAYOR, Mono

MONTY F. COLLINS

Joint Story (with Hal Collins) THE OLD
GRAY MAYOR, Mono

D

with
77,

F

JAY DRATLER

Joint Screenplay (with Jerry Cady) CALL-
ING NORTHSIDE 777, Fox

JULES FURTHMAN

Sole Screenplay NIGHTMARE ALLEY, Fox

WLLIAM LINDSAY GRESHAM

Novel Basis NIGHTMARE ALLEY, Fox

39

THE SCREEN WRITER

JERRY GRUSKIN

Joint Screenplay (with Richard Sale) CAM-
PUS HONEYMOON, Rep

MARY LOOS

"■Contributor to Screenplay THE TENDER
YEARS, Edward Alperson Prod

H

BEN HECHT

Joint Screenplay (with Charles Lederer)

KISS OF DEATH, Fox

Joint Screenplay (with Quentin Reynolds)

THE MIRACLE OF THE BELLS, RKO
JOHN C. HIGGINS

Sole Original Screenplay T-MAN, Eagle Lion
LEONARD HOFFMAN

Joint Adaptation (with Quentin Reynolds)

CALLING NORTHSIDE 777, Fox

ARTHUR V. JONES

Sole Screenplay FLIGHT TO NOWHERE,
Screen Guild
JACK JUNGMEYER

Joint Screenplay (with Arnold Belgard)
THE TENDER YEARS, Edward Alperson Prod

VIRGINIA KELLOGG

Story Basis T-MAN, Eagle Lion
ARTHUR KOBER

Sole Adaptation MY OWN TRUE LOVE, Par

CHARLES LEDERER

Joint Screenplay (with Ben Hecht)
OF DEATH, Fox

*Academy Bulletin Only

M

KISS

RANALD MACDOUGALL

Sole Screenplay CHRISTOPHER BLAKE, WB
DON MARTIN

Sole Original Screenplay THE PRETENDER,

Rep
DOROTHEA KNOX MARTIN

Sole Screenplay HOLLYWOOD BARN DANCE

Jack Schwartz Prod.) Screen Guild
DORIS MILLER

Additional Dialogue THE PRETENDER, Rep
JOSEF MISCHEL

Joint Screenplay (with Theodore Strauss)

MY OWN TRUE LOVE, Par
RICHARD MURPHY

Sole Screenplay DEEP WATER, Fox

ARTHUR E. ORLOFF

Sole Original Screenplay CHEYENNE TAKES
OVER, PRC

MARTIN RACKIN

Sole Original Screenplay RACE STREET, RKO
SAMSON RAPHAELSON

Sole Screenplay GREEN DOLPHIN STREET,
MGM
QUENTIN REYNOLDS

Joint Screenplay (with Ben Hecht) THE
MIRACLE OF THE BELLS, RKO
Joint Adaptation (with Leonard Hoffman)
CALLING NORTHSIDE 777, Fox

CLEMENTS RIPLEY

Story and Joint Screenplay (with Gerald
Adams) OLD LOS ANGELES, Rep

THOMAS R. ST. GEORGE

Story CAMPUS HONEYMOON, Rep

JERRY SACKHEIM

Sole Screenplay THE MAIN STREET KID. Rep

RICHARD SALE

Joint Screenplay (with Jerry Gruskin) CAM-
PUS HONEYMOON, Rep
Contributor to Screenplay THE TENDER
YEARS, Edward Alperson Productions

BARRY SHIPMAN

Sole Original Screenplay SIX-GUN LAW, Cot

THEODORE STRAUSS

Joint Screenplay (with Josef Mischel) MY
OWN TRUE LOVE, Par

MAURICE TOMBRAGEL

Sole Screenplay THE PRINCE OF THIEVES
(Kay Pic.) Col
CATHERINE TURNEY

Sole Screenplay WINTER MEETING, WB

ALLEN VINCENT

Joint Screenplay (with Irmgard Von Cube)
JOHNNY BELINDA, WB
IRMGARD VON CUBE

Joint Screenplay (with Allen Vincent)
JOHNNY BELINDA, WB

SHIRLEY COLLIER AGENCY

204 South Beverly Drive ■ BEVERLY HILLS • CRestview 6-3115

New York Representative:
SIDNEY SATENSTEIN, 75 Varick Street - WAIker 5-7600

40

Screen Writer Magazine

Special L^nridtmad \~jifl [ riced!

WHY Be A'Feudin' and A*Fightin' With Those
Christmas Shopping Problems?

SAVE TIME . . SAVE WORRY . . SAVE MONEY

THE GIFT OF A SCREEN WRITER MAGAZINE SUBSCRIPTION
WILL DO ALL THIS FOR YOU.

IT MAKES THE MOST APPROPRIATE GIFT TO ANY FRIEND
INTERESTED IN WRITING, IN MOTION PICTURES, IN HOLLYWOOD
AND ITS BACKGROUND.

IT HELPS YOU SAVE TIME AND TROUBLE. IT HELPS THE SWG
TO REACH MORE PEOPLE WITH THE GUILD MAGAZINE DESCRIBED
BY ONE FILM CRITIC AS "INDISPENSABLE TO ALL PERSONS WISH-
ING TO UNDERSTAND THE STRUCTURE OF THE MOTION PICTURE
INDUSTRY AND ART, AND THE STRUGGLE THE WRITERS ARE MAK-
ING FOR CREATIVE INTEGRITY IN FILMS."

THE OFFER BELOW IS GOOD TO DECEMBER 31 ONLY. ACT NOW
TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT.

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foreign subscription) .

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An Appropriate Card Will Be Mailed by The Screen Writer
to the Recipient Announcing the Gift and the Name of the Donor.

41

NEXT MONTH AND THEREAFTER

WILLIAM WYLER
LESTER KOENIG
DAVID CHANDLER

ROD GEIGER

T. E. B. CLARKE

NORMAN LEE

EDWIN S. MILLS, JR.

SYDNEY BOX

H. L. DAVIS

LUCI WARD & JACK NATTEFORD

ISOBEL LENNART

HENRY MYERS

NOEL MEADOW

BETTY REINHARDT

Toward a New Realism

Gregg Toland : the Man & His Work

The Corporate Author: An
Essay in Literary Criticism

The Making of Open City

British Writers Speak Out

Hollywood! You've Been Warned!

Television's New Journalism

Creative Immunity

A First Look at Hollywood

Horse Opera Economics

Writing Film Musicals

Alice in Paris

Making the Roosevelt Story

Samuel Hoffenstein

And further articles by ROBERT AUDREY, HUGO BUTLER, JOHN COLLIER,
NORMAN CORWIN, VALENTINE DAVIES, EARL FELTON, SAMUEL
FULLER, MILT GROSS, RICHARD G. HUBLER, TALBOT JENNINGS, ST.
CLAIR McKELWAY, EMERIC PRESSBURGER, PETER VIERTEL, JOSEPH
WECHSBERG, JOHN H. WINGE, KATHLEEN WINSOR and others.

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Hollywood 28, Calif.

Enclosed please find $ for year(s)

subscription to THE SCREEN WRITER, beginning with

the - issue, to be mailed to

Name

Address..

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Rate: 1 year (12 issues), $2.50 domestic, $3.00 foreign

If you do not wish to mar your copy of the magazine, your
personal letter can be used in place of this blank.

42

The

Screen
Writer

is now on sale at the follow-
ing bookstores and newsstands:

CALIFORNIA :

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*•

fo'

AU of

<• the AU-GUUn ticket /

These Candidates* believe in and pledge themselves to
strive for the economic and cultural advancement of all
screen writers — the fundamental principle upon which the
Screen Writers' Guild originally was founded — and to re-
frain from using the Guild to fight for or against political
issues that have no direct relation to writers' problems.

President:
p SHERIDAN GIBNEY

Vice-President:
^} F. HUGH HERBERT
IS GEORGE SEATON
0 DWIGHT TAYLOR

Secretary:
§[ ARTHUR SHEEKMAN

Treasurer:
H HARRY TUGEND

Executive Board:
S3 ROBERT ARDREY
g| ART ARTHUR

Kl STEPHEN MOREHOUSE AVERY
^ CLAUDE BINYON
El CHARLES BRACKET!
g) FRANK CAVETT
jg OLIVE COOPER
m VALENTINE DAVIES
jg RICHARD ENGLISH
jg EVERETT FREEMAN
jgl PAUL GANGELIN
H DOROTHY BENNETT HANNAH
fg MILTON KRIMS
a ERNEST PASCAL
JS LEONARD SPIGELGASS

*Every Candidate, should he or she be elected and if and when it becomes necessary in order that
the SWG obtain NLRB representation, can and will sign the non-Communist affidavit required
by the Taft-Hartley Act. However, it must be clearly understood that this agreement to sign in no way
constitutes an endorsement of the Taft-Hartley Act by the individual, nor does it in any way bind him not
to fight the Taft-Hartley Act, or the provisions of it, that he or she deems to be anti-Labor.

Get the Guild hack to Writers and Writing!

(Paid Advertisemen

-

. . , /

©C1B 110242

Th

Freedom

Fear

The Thomas -Hearst Challenge to the Screen

THOMAS MANN
LILLIAN HELLMAN
NORMAN CORWIN
WILLIAM WYLER
ARCHER WINSTEN
SAMUEL GOLDWYN
SEN. CLAUDE PEPPER
MOSS HART
GEORGE S. KAUFMAN
EMMET LAVERY

fg

ROBERT E. SHERWOOD
HENRY SEIDEL CANBY
HAROLD E. STASSEN
BENNET CERF
EDWARD R. MURROW
MAX LERNER
I. A. L. DIAMOND
ROLAND KIBBEE
SALKA VIERTEL
HOWARD KOCH

Special Section - - Page 1

LESTER KOENIG: Qregg Toland, Film Maker
PAUL S. NATHAN: A Man Can Stand Up
E. S. MILLS, JR»: Television's New Journalism
DAVID CHANDLER: The Corporate Author
JUDITH PODSELVER: Letter From Paris

Editorial • SWG Bulletin: Election and Annual Meeting Report
SWG Studio Chairmen • Correspondence o News Notes

Manuscript Market

Vol. 3, No. 7

December, 1947

25c

Letter

From

Paris

JUDITH PODSELVER,

European correspondent for
The Screen Writer, writes the
following letter concerning the
growth of motion picture clubs
in France.

THE year which followed the
liberation of France witnessed the
amazing growth of the "cine-clubs"
movement. Today the Federation
Francaise des Cine Clubs consists of
80 clubs with 150,000 members. For
France, a country of 40 million in-
habitants, where each person is sup-
posed to go to movies only 10 times a
year, this is an amazing number of
people specially interested in motion
pictures.

It has been said that a Frenchman
does not need to go to the theatre
since he can create his own plays sit-
ting in a cafe and talking to his
friends. The cine-clubs prove this to
be somewhat exaggerated. There are
clubs even in towns of 5,000 inhabi-
tants. Some have been started in fac-
tories, in the famous Renault auto-
mobile works for instance. All kind
of groups join in the Federation. Each
club chooses its own program from
a list presented by the "committee of
programs." This committee is respon-
sible before the State — which grants
subsidies to all cultural organizations
— that none of the clubs are working
on a commercial basis. The renting
of the hall and of the film is cov-
ered by the monthly dues which the
members pay.

Georges Sadoul, the general secre-
tary of the Federation, told me his
organization had found very great
help and understanding from the
American distributors. They have
been very generous in letting the Fed-
eration rent American pictures; of
course those that have no commercial
value any longer. As for French
films, after 10 years, they cannot col-
lect any rights.

The idea of showing pictures which
(Continued on Page 52)

The

Screen Writer

Vol. 3, No. 7

/
DECEMBER 1947

EDITORIAL COMMITTEE

Gordon Kahn, Editor

Robert Shaw, Director of Publications

Art Arthur
Martin Field
Harris Gable
Richard G. Hubi.er
Lester Koenig

isobei. lennart

Herbert Clyde Lewis

Bernard C. Schoenfeld

0

Theodore Strauss

CONTENTS

SPECIAL SECTION: FREEDOM vs. FEAR
The Real Issue Is Censorship
NORMAN CORWIN: On a Note of Warning
LILLIAN HELLMAN : The Judas Goats
Statements & Opinions:
THOMAS MANN
ARCHER WINSTEN
ROBERT E. SHERWOOD
MOSS HART
BENNETT CERF
EDWARD R. MURROW
GEORGE S. KAUFMAN
SAMUEL GOLDWYN
MAX LERNER
SENATOR CLAUDE PEPPER
HAROLD E. STASSEN
WASHINGTON POST
NEW YORK TIMES
HENRY SEIDEL CANBY: Un-Amcrica Is As
Un-American Docs
I. A. L. DIAMOND: The Sac/a of Doubting Thomas
SALKA VIERTEL: Sorcerer's Apprentice
ROLAND KIBBEE: Reddened Any Good Pictures Lately?
WILLIAM WYLER: Censorship Through Fear
EMMET LA VERY: Freedom of the Screen
HOWARD KOCH: The Cost of Silence
A Statement of Policy
LESTER KOENIG: Gregg Toland, Film Maker
PAUL S. NATHAN: A Man Can Stand Up
E. S. MILLS, JR.: Television's Neiv Journalism
DAVID CHANDLER: The Corporate Author
Editorial

SIVG Studio Chairmen
SJVG Bulletin
News Notes
Manuscript Market
Correspondence This

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PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD, INC., AT
1655 NORTH CHEROKEE, HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA.

ALL SIGNED ARTICLES IN THE SCREEN WRITER REPRESENT THE
INDIVIDUAL OPINIONS OF THE AUTHORS. EDITORIALS REFLECT
OFFICIAL SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD POLICY, AS DETERMINED
UPON BY THE EXECUTIVE BOARD.

YEARLY: $2.50; FOREIGN, $3.00; SINGLE COPY 25c; (CANADA AND
FOREIGN 30c).

CONTENTS COPYRIGHT 1947 BY THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD,
INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

A Special Section

Freedom vs* Fear:

The Fight for the American Mind

You don't need to pass a law to choke off free speech or seriously curtail it.
You can't make good and honest motion pictures in an atmosphere of fear.

— Eric Johnston, president of the
Motion Picture Association

It became perfectly apparent that the purpose (of the Thomas Committee) was
to dictate and control, through the device of the hearings, what goes on the screen
of America.

This is no concern of any Congressional committee. It is the concern solely
of those who produce motion pictures.

We shall fight to continue a free screen in America.

— Paul V, McNutt, special counsel
for the Motion Picture Association

WHEN the stentorian gavel of J. Parnell
Thomas, (R) N. J., opened the hearings of
the Un-American Activities Committee on
October 20, the attitude of the Motion Picture Asso-
ciation's chief spokesmen toward the Thomas Commit-
tee was friendly, even cooperative. But only for that
day. For, within the next 48 hours a profound change
took place. Gone was the air of sweet reasonableness
in which both the Committee and the industry spokes-
men hovered.

Why? What brought from both Paul V. McNutt

and Eric Johnston the unequivocal statements con-
cerning the Thomas Committee's aims which are
quoted directly above?

The answer holds significance and hope for all
Americans who either patronize or contribute their
talents toward the newest, and to this day, the freest
medium of expression — the American screen.

The attitude of the policy making leaders of the
industry changed because seeing the Thomas commit-
tee in action changed their understanding of the mean-
ing and purpose of the committee. In this case the

THE SCREEN WRITER

house committee on un-American activities acted as
a true catalytic agent; the reaction in the top levels
of the industry was swift. The Washington catalysis
occurred when the committee dropped into the situ-
ation the corrosive acid of film censorship through fear.
That changed everything.

It was then that Paul V. McNutt and Eric John-
ston put into words their recognition that the hearings
were more than an attempt to police the opinions of
a few individuals ; that they were in fact a device to
gain control of what goes on the American screen.

What happened then has happened many times before
in our history. It happened in Boston in 1774. It
happened when Congress passed the Alien and Sedition
Acts of 1798. It happened when the Fugitive Slave
Law went on the books. It happened in the public
reaction to the Palmer raids of 25 years ago. The
American people dislike having their basic liberties
pushed around. Our Bill of Rights is a pretty good
common denominator for Americans.

The fight for a free screen in America has been
thrust into the foreground of the greater fight for a
free American mind. If success could be won by those
who want to control the screen through the censorship
of fear and forced conformity of opinion, a long step
would be taken toward control of the American mind.
It would be a step away from the America we have
always known, and toward the kind of America most
of us hope we will never know.

Mr. Thomas and Mr. Rankin and their committee
won a very considerable success a few months ago in
creating fear in the radio industry. As a result, several
intelligent and mildly liberal commentators were re-
moved from the air. That easy victory was profoundly
disturbing to all persons to whom freedom of the air
is more than a printed phrase in the FCC Blue Book.

At the recent hearings concerning the Hollywood
film industry Mr. Thomas repeatedly pointed out the
importance of the movie impact on mass opinion. He is
right, of course. He recognizes the fact that the optic
nerve is the shortcut to the brain. Subjugation of the
motion picture industry, the power to tell it what it
must and must not put into pictures, the right to dic-
tate the political and economic opinions of those who
create pictures — all this would be an even more telling
victory for those who want to make all the agencies
of communication conform to their own special ortho-
doxies.

What would come next on the list — the press, the
stage, literature, religion, education? All of them,
undoubtedly. The totalitarian appetite of such a com-
mittee is not easily appeased. The stage was virulently
attacked during the recent motion picture hearings,

and one witness described the University of California
at Los Angeles as a "communist college."

Already the book publishing industry is glancing
nervously at the Thomas Committee procedures.
Publishers' Weekly, in its November 1 issue, warns
the book trade that it may be in for trouble, and points
out "the mounting intimidation that can demoralize
thinking and writing."

OUPPOSE Mr. Thomas, Mr. Rankin and those
^-* represented by them succeed in this drive for total
control of the American mind? Our America will
be changed from a dynamic to a static nation. We will
live on a dead level of conformity. Dissent will be
liquidated, and with it the checks and balances that
make democracy work.

It can probably be assumed that Mr. Thomas, Mr.
Rankin and those who work through them have not
consciously set out to subvert our traditional American
way of life. It must be that they are afraid of some-
thing, and their fear seeks to generate fear in others.
It must be that they have suffered a tragic loss of faith
in our land and in our Jeffersonian principle that even
repugnant opinions should be permitted free expression
so long as other opinion is free to combat them. It
must be that they no longer have real confidence that
prosperity and peace can endure for very long, and
so are trying to batten down our mental hatches in
preparation for the storms they vaguely fear.

Whatever it is that motivates them, our concern
here and now is the stopping of this drift toward the
controlled conformity of the American mind. The
people of the motion picture industry, with powerful
support, have challenged this committee and spoken
up for freedom of the screen. The fight is in the open
now. It must be won.

It must be won for the sake of our own industry.
No robot art has ever flourished. Film making under
a Thomas-Rankin-Hearst censorship would drown
quietly in a sea of red ink. We cannot afford to make
worse pictures when England, France, Italy, Switzer-
land and other nations are making better ones.

Anyone who doubts we are in the midst of a real
fight for a free screen should read the editorials now
appearing in the Hearst and kindred newspapers calling
for a federal police censorship of motion pictures. The
integrity of the screen must be maintained as part of
the greater fight to protect the freedom of the Ameri-
can mind. A motion picture industry united in that
fight will be contributing its share to the historic task
of keeping America free. The Screen Writer herewith
presents a special section devoted to analysis and
opinion concerning the issues involved.

The Real Issue Is Censorship

ON the front pages of The Los Angeles Examiner
and Mr. William Randolph Hearst's other
newspapers of November 5, 1947, appeared an
editorial captioned :

FILM CENSORSHIP IS ONLY RECOURSE

It was a plea for a federal police censorship of motion
picture content. Said the spokesman for Mr. Hearst:

"The failure and refusal of the motion picture
industry to refrain from the employment of Commun-
ist writers, actors, directors and producers leaves the
Congress with no other recourse than to impose a
system of FEDERAL CENSORSHIP."

The editorial then pointed out that "the employment
of Communists throughout the motion picture industry
is a general practice," and said that "the recent hear-
ings in Washington had clearly established that fact."
It also said the industry is complacent about the matter
"and perhaps even more in favor of the practice than
opposed to it."

From the premise thus established the Hearst edi-
torial goes on to say:

"So of course there has been a continuous and per-
sistent production of COMMUNISTIC FILMS.

"What other recourse is there for the country, if
the motion picture industry itself will not prevent
Communistic deception and corruption of the American
people, but to CENSOR THE FILMS?"

Another front page editorial in this current Hearst
crusade openly calls for the establishment of a federal
police censorship of the motion picture industry.

Again Mr. Hearst attacks what he calls "the respon-
sible managers of the film business," and since they
appear from the Hearstian point of view to be part of
a conspiracy to produce a constant flow of communistic
films, the editorial says that "the only thing is for the
GOVERNMENT ITSELF to see that Communism
in the motion pictures does not deceive and corrupt
the people."

It is pointed out that the Congress, through its
own authorized committee, has brought the facts to
light. The editorial concludes :

"In view of the facts, it has become a paramount
duty of the Congress — under the interstate commerce
clause of the Constitution, the police powers of the
Government and the national defense acts — to deal
drastically and immediately with the situation by
ENACTING and ENFORCING an adequate Fed-
eral film censorship law."

On November 12, in a long editorial captioned
"CENSORSHIP FOR THE FILMS," Mr. Hearst
continues the assumption that the executive heads of
the motion picture industry are subverting the screen
and producing communistic pictures. Says this editorial :

"It is sheer poltroonery or worse for the motion
picture magnates to provide a medium for Commun-
ism . . .

"AN INDUSTRY WHICH PUTS ITS BOX
OFFICE RETURNS ABOVE THE FLAG
AND THE NATION'S SECURITY DESERVES
NO CONSIDERATION: For bad as it is to defile
people's minds with filth, it is vastly worse to corrupt
and debauch their patriotism.

"Since the movie magnates are unwilling to keep
Communism out of the films, it is necessary for the
Government to do so."

It was widely recognized at once that this Hearst-led
plan for a federal censorship of motion pictures is
based on a wholly false assumption that pictures favor-
ing communism have been produced, and that it prob-
ably represents the major motivation behind the
Thomas committee hearings.

The American Civil Liberties Union said in a state-
ment :

"The conclusion that the recent hearings before
the House un-American Activities Committee justify
censorship is nonsense on its face. No evidence was
produced to show the production of un-American or
pro-Communist films.

"Proposals for Federal censorship are not new. Bills
have been before Congress many times and they have
gotten simply nowhere. Opposition today would be
as great as in the past, especially to a wildeyed pro-
posal not only to censor films but to dictate the person-
nel of the industry. The American public can be
counted on to deal at the box office with an un-Ameri-
can propaganda. Proposals to impose censorship display
a distrust in the American people. We need no guard-
ians to tell us what we may see, hear, or read."

In a Quentin Reynolds by-lined news story PM said :
"If the hearings in Washington proved anything
at all, they proved that there is about as much success-
ful Communistic influence in Hollywood as there is
in General Motors. Again and again Paul McNutt,
representing the producers, asked the Committee mem-
bers to name the films they said contained Communistic
propaganda. Thomas maintained a discreet silence on
this point. Producer Dore Schary, a brilliant and
respected member of the Hollywood higher echelon,
said that he had never seen a picture which tried to
sell Communism to the public. Chairman Thomas indi-
cated more than once that any picture which showed
a banker as the villain was in effect Communist propa-
ganda. He forgot that millions of us were brought up

THE SCREEN WRITER

on the Horatio Alger stories wherein Ragged Tom or
Tattered Dick were always the virtuous and the heroic
and the town banker was the meanie. This hoary
formula so repetitiously used by Hollywood bears a
much closer relationship to Alger than it does to
Marx."

Eric Johnston commented :

"I intend to use every influence at my command to
keep the screen free. I don't propose that the Govern-
ment shall tell the motion picture industry, directly
or by coercion, what kind of pictures it should make.
I am as wholeheartedly against that as I would be
against dictating to the press or the radio, to the pub-
lishers of books or magazines."

The magazine Boxoffice, which describes itself as
the pulse of the motion picture industry, says :

"Would Mr. Hearst like to have his industry black-
ened as he is trying to blacken the motion picture
industry? And what a lambasting he would give to

anyone who advocated FEDERAL CENSORSHIP
OF NEWSPAPERS ! We'll venture that with right-
eous indignation he would quote the First Amendment
to the Constitution in BOLDFACE CAPS."

Robert W. Kenny, former attorney-general of Cali-
fornia and counsel for the 19 so-called "unfriendly"
witnesses, said of the Hearst censorship proposal :

"The real purpose of the Thomas Committee has
at last been made clear by its own reliable ally in the
American press. From this source there has now come
a baldfaced demand for Federal censorship.

"This brings the fight out into the open. The 'hostile'
witnesses have been saying all along that the real issue
is censorship versus a free screen and the Hearst press
has now confirmed this.

"Unintimidated Americans have traditionally hated
censorship in any form. Now that the Hearst-Thomas
real intentions have been unmasked I am confident
that the Thomas Committee will be promptly and
overwhelmingly repudiated by the American people."

On a Note of Warning

NORMAN CORWIN

NORMAN CORWIN is the distin-
guished radio ivriter-producer. This
article is based on an address he
recently made analyzing the issues
involved in the Thomas committee
Hollywood hearings.

THE other day I heard the un-American Activ-
ities Committee described by one of its many
detractors as a political surrey with a lunatic
fringe on top. This seemed to me a benign view, as
well as inaccurate, because the committee is actually
high-powered and fast-moving, and sane enough to
know exactly where it is going. Or at least where
it would like to go.

For a long while even people who were aware of
what this committee stood for, looked upon it as a
bore, an irritation, a minor itch not worth doing any-
thing about. The methods, statements and actions of
the committee under Dies and his successors, had very
often a kind of zany essence which deceived many into
thinking that it was harmless ; that beyond assassinating
or harassing a few defenseless characters and getting
acres of publicity in the yellow press, the committee
was after all no real menace to democracy in this
country.

That this optimism was unjustified is made clear
by the reaction of large sections of the American press
and public in defense of the freedom not of individuals,
but of the motion picture industry itself — freedom
from the tyranny of illegal, unconstitutional and un-
moral attempts to impose a thought control of rigid
conformity, by means of intimidation, innuendo and
naked slander.

Though I am not a member of the motion picture
industry, I do happen to have studied some of the
passes made at the radio industry by this committee
last year. And the committee's objectives, now as then,
are quite clear.

Let's examine these objectives, and see how they
apply to the film industry; let's see why Hollywood
has been honored so signally.

By definition, the objectives of the un-American
Committee are supposed to be the recommendation of
legislation to combat subversive activity. Let us sup-

ON A NOTE OF WARNING

pose, for the sake of argument, that everybody who
is labelled a Communist by the committee IS a Com-
munist. Let us assume also that Communists are
intent on overthrowing the government by force and
are committing sabotage to this end — a charge, by the
way, that will have to be fought out between the
committee and the United States Supreme Court, which
has already three times made rulings to the contrary
of this assumption. However, let's forget that for the
moment, and, again, for the sake of argument, sup-
pose that the Communists ARE definitely committed
to sabotage and overthrow.

Now the un-American committee itself would in-
terpret sabotage and overthrow to mean blowing up
trains and factories, sinking ships, starting fires, destroy-
ing food supplies, seizing government buildings, lynch-
ing minorities, controlling the press, denying free
speech, abolishing trial by jury, creating civic unrest,
and disrupting the economic life of the country.

Well, let's look at the record. There has been some
lynching of minorities, but this happens to have been
done by southern Democrats in the home states of
some of the members of the un-American committee.

There has been some destroying of food supplies,
not by Bolsheviks but by businessmen in order to jack
up food prices. I refer particularly to the recent burn-
ing of tons of surplus potatoes at a time when most
of the world is hungry.

There has been some seizing of government build-
ings, not by Reds, but by the son of a southern Demo-
cratic governor named Talmadge, in the home state
of Congressman Wood of the un-American committee.

There has been some abolition of trial by jury, but
this was on the executive order of the White House,
in the case of any and all government employees
accused of "disloyalty."

There has been some civic unrest, such as race riots
in Detroit and Harlem, and zoot suit troubles in Los
Angeles, but these were set in motion by goons of the
Christian Front, Black Legion, Silver Shirts, and KKK.

There has been some disruption of economic life,
but this was accomplished by a Republican congress
and the National Association of Manufacturers, both
of which couldn't wait to kill OPA and other controls.

There has been some control of the press, but this,
according to the report of the University of Chicago's
Commission on the Freedom of the Press, is the work
of newspaper publishers themselves.

The Thomas-Rankin committee, which is supposed
to investigate subversive activities, has investigated none
of these.

There have been instances in which people testifying
to their political beliefs, have been denied freedom
of speech (violation of Article I of the Bill of Rights) ;

have been denied the right to be represented by counsel
in open hearing (violation of anether constitutional
guarantee) ; denied the right to a transcript of pro-
ceedings (which even in ordinary criminal cases is
made available to defense as well as prosecution) ;
have been denied the right to present their own wit-
nesses; or to cross-examine opposing witnesses. The
denial of such rights would seem to be of prime con-
sideration to anyone investigating un-American activ-
ities. But not to the Thomas-Rankin committee. On
the contrary, it has itself denied these very rights, and
in doing so has perverted its name and its function.

Instead of being the protector of the constitution,
it is itself unconstitutional.

Instead of being a defender of the Bill of Rights,
it is a leading violator of it.

Instead of being the watchdog of Democracy, it is
a jackal feeding on civil liberties.

This committee, which was set up to propose and
define legislation, has instead set itself up to define
Americanism — as though there were not ample and
eminently workable definitions made long ago in this
subject by qualified experts. Rankin and Thomas have
undertaken to rewrite the definitions of Jefferson,
Lincoln, Emerson, Holmes, Brandeis.

The attack on the Thomas-Rankin committee is
not synonymous with a defense of communism, its
tenets, its legality or its methods ; and nothing of what
I am saying is directed to that end. The issue is that
of freedom of expression and conscience versus denial
of that freedom — a denial in which communism hap-
pens to be largely a convenient and workable pretext,
used to its greatest effect by the committee.

BUT to get back to our original question: Why
Hollywood ? Why an attack on the motion picture
industry?

The answer is plain: The screen is the most im-
portant and far-reaching medium of culture in the
world today. And a free culture, by its very existence,
is a bulwark against tyranny. That is why Hitler,
Mussolini and the Japs went after culture with guns,
nooses, guillotines and lethal gas. That is why the
Germany that once produced Beethoven and Bach
could offer up nothing but the Horst Wessel song.
That is why the Blackshirts slapped Toscanini when
he refused to conform with some fascist committee's
idea of true Italianism.

Hollywood's best films have, in increasing numbers,
been humane and democratic in content. For example,
the jackpot Academy Award winner, The Best Years-
Of Our Lives, has been attacked as subversive by
supporters of the committee here in Hollywood. Natur-
ally. The picture is humane and democratic. It was

THE SCREEN WRITER

written by a liberal, directed by a liberal; its star
performer is a liberal. Do liberals have a right to
make Academy Award pictures, or don't they? With
apologies to Voltaire, I, being a Roosevelt Democrat,
defend to the death the right of Southern Democrats
and even Republicans to make Academy Award pic-
tures.

The Farmer's Daughter had few if any admirers,
among the thought control korps here in Hollywood.
Upton Close disapproved of it, of course, on the radio.
And Crossfire, being against anti-Semitism, was also
suspect. The boxoffice returns have indicated that it is
hugely appreciated by the American public. But its
director and producer have not been awarded four
stars by the Thomas-Rankin committee. Not exactly
four stars. Two citations.

I will not take space to go down through a list of
titles. The main point is that the men who make
pictures in this town, pictures that succeed both com-
mercially and artistically, and at the same time serve
a brilliant ambassadorship for the United States before
the rest of the world — these people have been hauled
before the un-American committee.

Why?

Have their pictures at any time advocated over-
throwing the government by force? Blowing up trains?
Sinking ships? Seizing government buildings? Lynch-
ing minorities? Destroying goods? Creating shortages?
Abolishing trial by jury? Controlling the press? Dis-
rupting the national economy?

On the contrary, their pictures have advocated
respect for the minority — witness Crossfire. And re-
sponsible citizenship — witness The Farmer's Daughter.
And an appreciation of the American democratic tra-
dition— witness A Man To Remember, Abe Lincoln
In Illinois, Yellowjack, The Jolson Story, Sergeant
York — and so on and on.

Obviously one of the main aims of the Hollywood
inquisition is to impose censorship — censorship by in-
timidation of individual writers, directors, producers
and even heads of studios. As of today, it happens to
be censorship of what may or may not be said regarding
minorities, labor, economy, foreign policy, or govern-
mental institutions. Tomorrow it may be censorship
of religion, education, history or anything else. After
all, how many decimal points are there between saying
that a man may not make a pro-labor or pro-racial
equality or pro-United Nations film, and saying that
he may not make a pro-Catholic or pro- Jefferson or
pro-Zola film?

Hollywood already has a self-imposed censorship
which more than covers the waterfront, and the in-
dustry needs no further help in this direction from any

of the eager volunteers around the country. Least of
all does it want Thomas and Rankin censoring its
product.

The heads of studios in Hollywood are experienced
men, by and large men of responsibility and inde-
pendent judgment. They can all read a newspaper and
a script, and they know the time of day and the day
of the month. They are not gullible fools, to be easily
gutted by borers from within. They are in the busi-
ness of making films that the public likes. And it is
every bit as much an insult to them, as to the men who
are producing their films, to suggest that propaganda
of a subversive character has been put over on them.

The committee's attack on Hollywood has been the
most brazen one to date. It was packaged to attract
great publicity, which of course is pre-guaranteed in
the yellow press ; it was designed to scare the hell
out of the industry. If the committee wins this round,
it will be well on its way to becoming the heavyweight
champion of repression and intellectual terror — for
then it can go after less powerful and articulate
mediums, and knock over people of smaller name
value.

A S I said before, I'm not in the picture business
■*■*■ and one might ask what an assault on the freedom
of the film industry has to do with a radio man.
Well, an attack on the right of Dore Schary to pro-
duce Crossfire is an attack on my right to produce
One World Flight; an attack on the freedom of any
part of motion pictures is an attack on all parts, just
as an attack on Pearl Harbor was an attack on Los
Angeles, Indianapolis and Baltimore. A threat to the
freedom of expression of Lewis Milestone and Larry
Parks is a threat to the freedom of the radio industry,
the printed page and the spoken word, a threat to the
rights of composers and conductors and painters.

This is my fight just as much as it's the fight of
Adrian Scott and Darryl Zanuck and L. B. Mayer and
Humphrey Bogart and you and the former vice-presi-
dent of the United States who was denied the right
to speak in Hollywood Bowl, and the Negro who is
denied the right to sit on certain seats in a bus, and
the group of painters whose canvases were not per-
mitted to be shown in foreign countries, and the
singer who was not permitted to sing in Peoria, and
the member of the Anglo-American Commission on
Palestine who was not permitted to speak in a town
in upstate California, and the accused clerk who is
not permitted to face his accuser.

We're all in it, all the way. Freedom, like this
nation whose proudest symbol it has always been, is
indivisible.

The Judas Goats

By LILLIAN HELLMAN

LILLIAN HELLMAN, a member of
SWG, is widely known as a dramatist,
having to her credit Watch on the
Rhine, Another Part of the Forest, The
Little Foxes and many other plays.

IT was a week of turning the head in shame ; of the
horror of seeing politicians make the honorable
institution of Congress into a honky tonk show;
of listening to craven men lie and tattle, pushing each
other in their efforts to lick the boots of their vilifiers ;
publicly trying to wreck the lives, not of strangers,
mind you, but of men with whom they have worked
and eaten and played, and made millions.

No less the week of shame because of its awful com-
edy; the sight of the Congress of the United States
of America being advised and lectured by a Mr.
Adolphe Menjou, a haberdashers' gentleman; ladies
screaming in elderly pleasure at the news that Mr.
Robert Taylor was forced to act in a movie — act
in a movie. Act. Act is not the correct word for what
Mr. Taylor does in pictures; the professionally awk-
ward stammering of Mr. Gary Cooper who knew
that Communist scripts had been submitted to him,
but couldn't remember their names or their authors.
And why couldn't he remember? Because he reads at
night. That's sensible enough; naturally one cannot
remember what one reads in the dark. Why not turn
on the light, you might ask yourself.

But one character only out-did the other. To me,
even Mrs. Rogers, mother of the middleaged queen,
was put in the shade by the most blasphemous and
irreligious remark I have ever heard in public; Mr.
Leo McCarey spoke of God as a "character" in one
of his pictures.

A sickening, sickening, immoral and degraded week.
And why did it take place? It took place because those
who wish war have not the common touch. Highly
placed gentlemen are often really gentlemen, and don't
know how to go about these things. Remember that

when it was needed, in Europe, they had to find the
house painter and gangster to make fear work and terror
acceptable to the ignorant. Circuses will do it, and this
was just such a circus; hide the invasion of the Ameri-
can Constitution with the faces of movie actors ; pander
to ignorance by telling people that ignorance is good,
and lies even better; bring on the millionaire movie
producer and show that he too is human, he too is
frightened and cowardly. Take him away from his
golden house and make him a betrayer and a fool for
those who like such shows, and enjoy such moral
degradation.

But why this particular industry, these particular
people? Has it anything to do with Communism? Of
course not. There has never been a single line or word
of Communism in any American picture at any time.
There has never or seldom been ideas of any kind.
Naturally, men scared to make pictures about the Amer-
ican Negro, men who have only in the last year allowed
the word Jew to be spoken in a picture, men who took
more than ten years to make an anti-Fascist picture,
those are frightened men and you pick frightened men
to frighten first. Judas goats; they'll lead the others,
maybe, to the slaughter for you. The others will be
the radio, the press, the publishers, the trade unions,
the colleges, the scientists, the churches — all of us.
All of us who believe in this lovely land and its free-
doms and rights, and who wish to keep it good and
make it better.

They frighten mighty easy, and they talk mighty
bad. For one week they made us, of course, the laugh-
ing stock of the educated and decent world. I suggest
the rest of us don't frighten so easy. It's still not un-
American to fight the enemies of one's country. Let's
fight.

Abuses of freedom of speech ought to be suppressed, but to whom dare we commit the care of
doing it?

Benjamin Franklin

All-American Opinion on the
Un-American Committee

THOMAS MANN

Ihave the honor to expose myself as a hostile wit-
ness. I testify that I am very much interested in the
moving picture industry and that since my arrival
in the United States nine years ago, I've seen a great
many Hollywood films. If communist propaganda had
been smuggled into any of them, it must have been
most thoroughly hidden. I, for one, never noticed
anything of the sort.

I testify, moreover, that to my mind the ignorant
and superstitious persecution of the believers in a
political and economic doctrine which is, after all,
the creation of great minds and great thinkers, —
I testify that this persecution is not only degrading
for the persecutors themselves but also very harmful
to the cultural reputation of this country. As an Ameri-
can citizen of German birth, I finally testify that
I am painfully familiar with certain political trends.
Spiritual intolerance, political inquisitions, and declin-
ing legal security, and all this in the name of an
alleged "state of emergency" . . . this is how it started
in Germany. What followed was fascism and what
followed fascism was war.

ARCHER WINSTEN

Motion Picture Editor of New York Post

THE call for Federal Censorship of the movies,
which the Hearst press has kindly spelled out in
lead editorials for those who naively thought nothing
but belling the Reds was in progress, is a threat to
everyone.

Creative artists need no warning of damage the
dead hand of censorship can impose. They have already
been cursed by producers' success tropism. They know
the internal censorship which automatically rejects
the idea for a switcheroo on the old success.

The scared millionaire producers, habitually trying
to roll with every punch into their next Internal
Revenue tussle, do need to be warned. Lacking an
excess of idealism, they might be persuaded to weigh
the convenience of Federal approval against the capri-
cious deletions of City and State Boards of Self-
Expression.

The cautious billionaire banks, ever alert for profit
without risk, could be expected to cotton to Federal
Censorship. They might consider it the killing of two
birds with one stone, insuring both standardization
and freedom from ideas, subversive or otherwise.

The public itself, at least that constantly deluded
sector which believes morality is external and there-
fore subject to law, could easily fool itself again by
trying to cure all with a law.

These will be their rewards : artistic oblivion, which
Hollywood has already courted with vulgar display

8

and catering to adolescent minds ; slow financial strang-
ulation for the money-men as they gradually re-learn
the fundamental that artists, like eagles, don't create
in captivity ; and annihilation of the movie-going public
by means of boredom and a cream-puff diet.

What Hollywood desperately needs is not more
censorship but more freedom ; not the ousting of Reds,
but the induction of anyone who possesses the blessed
Promethean fire of belief; not a mill-stone around
the neck, but a kick up towards the stars.

What Hollywood needs is Americans who can fight
harder and better for Freedom than any Red.

ROBERT E. SHERWOOD

I read in Time that when Chairman Thomas asked
Adolphe Menjou what he thought of the charge that
the Committee was trying to censor movies, the Gentle-
man of Distinction fearlessly stated, "I think that is
infantile and juvenile ; it couldn't be made by any man
with the intelligence of a louse."

All right, Adolphe — count me in with the infantile
and juvenile and the lice. I cannot see that the Com-
mittee had any other purpose but censorship of the
movies by intimidation (except, of course, the natural,
human desire to make the headlines). I don't think that
the Committee or you uttered a word of protest when
Mrs. Lela Rogers boasted that she had sought to
censor scripts to protect little Ginger from contam-
ination.

I go along with an article by Arthur M. Schlesinger,
Jr., in the New York Times, in which he said, "Many
conservatives are happily pouncing upon the Com-
munist scare as an excuse for silencing all critics of
business supremacy." But, then — I must be suspicious
of anything I read in the New York Times, for I
believe that my old friend, Rupert Hughes, in his
testimony before the Committee, charged that its
book review department was controlled by Communists.

If you go before the Committee again, Adolphe,
please do me a favor and ask Chairman Thomas this
question :

"Do you agree with William Randolph Hearst that
federal censorship of motion pictures should be im-
posed ? Answer yes or no !"

And if you love democracy so much, Adolphe, that
you want to kill it ("for each man kills something
he loves") just put control of it or any part of it in
the hands of J. Parnell Thomas (ne Feeney) or
William Randolph Hearst.

MOSS HART

A FEW months ago I also worked as a screenwriter
in Hollywood — engaged to do the screenplay on
the best-selling novel Gentlemen's Agreement. I was

STATEMENTS & OPINIONS

very proud to work on such a project. I was very
proud that Hollywood had the courage to make a
film showing the truth about that insidious disease —
religious bigotry. Now I'm wondering if my employers
and I were not fortunate to finish that project before
Mr. Thomas began his fantastic hearings, since there
seems to be evidence that a motion picture which tells
the truth about our country, right or wrong, is con-
sidered heresy by the Committee on un-American
Activities.

m

BENNETT CERF

THE ostensible purpose of the un-American Activ-
ities investigation of Hollywood was to expose its
domination by Communist elements. What the Com-
mittee succeeded principally in accomplishing, how-
ever, was to give the American public a graphic picture
of Fascism in action. It was a warning that will not
go unheeded. If Hollywood can be bullied into pro-
ducing only the kind of stories that fall in with this
Committee's opinions and prejudices, it seems obvious
to me that the publishers of books, magazines and
newspapers will most certainly be next on the agenda.

EDWARD R. MURROW

CBS Commentator and Correspondent

IN general Congressional committees have concerned
themselves with what individuals, organizations or
corporations have or have not done, rather than with
what individuals think. It has always seemed to this
reporter that movies should be judged by what appears
on the screen, newspapers by what appears in print,
and radio by what comes out of the loudspeaker. The
personal beliefs of individuals would not seem to be a
legitimate field for inquiry, either by government or
by other individuals.

Certain government agencies . . . are obliged to
maintain security without doing violence to the essential
liberties of the citizens who work for them. That
may require special and wholly defensible security
measures. But no such problem arises with instruments
of mass communication. In that area, there would seem
to be two alternatives. Either we believe in the in-
telligence, good judgment, balance and native shrewd-
ness of the American people, or we believe that govern-
ments should investigate, intimidate and finally legis-
late. The choice is as simple as that.

The right of dissent, or if you prefer, the right to be
wrong, is surely fundamental to the existence of a
democratic society. That's the right that went first
in every nation that stumbled down the trail toward
totalitarianism.

GEORGE S. KAUFMAN

FOR one week we have seen government by gavel.
We have seen a thousand years of common law
rewritten to allow a congressional committee to pre-
sume a citizen guilty before such guilt is proven.

We have seen the beginning of a shabby melodrama,
with Mr. Thomas playing the part of prompter. But
in American life we need no prompter. So far this first
phase has been an indecent tragedy of fear. We must
see to it that this un-American spectacle does not
become a continuous performance.

SAMUEL GOLDWYN

I HAVE always been opposed to censorship of mo-
tion pictures by the government, and today I am more
convinced than ever before that the path of censorship
of ideas is the road to the destruction of our industry.
When we put in the hands of government the right
to mark out the limits within which we may think
and express ourselves on the screen we will be losing
a very precious part of our heritage. Creative work
cannot be produced in a climate of fear of the censor.

This is something which transcends by far the inter-
ests of the motion picture industry alone. It is a matter
which must be of vital concern not only to us but
to the theatre, the publishing industry, the press, the
radio and, in fact, to the American people as a whole.
Censorship of thought must be resisted as vigorously
as is possible within the framework of our laws and
our Constitution, for liberties once lost are not easily
regained. It is better to battle to protect our rights
than to have to fight to regain them.

But the preservation of our liberties depends in
great measure upon the sense of responsibility with
which we use them. Every one of us in Hollywood —
writers, actors, directors, producers — has an infinitely
greater responsibility than people on the outside, for
everything we say or do is immediately charged to
Hollywood as a whole by the American people. It
therefore becomes of paramount importance that every-
one who has the interests of our industry at heart
realize that judicious ^//-restraint may be much more
helpful in retaining our freedoms than undisciplined
exercise of rights.

MAX LERNER

In PM

ANYTHING short of a clear-cut repudiation of
the Thomas Committee's right to meddle in the
freedom of movie-making will be fatal. The strategy
of Rep. Thomas is becoming evident enough. He hints
darkly of spy-secrets and supersonic planes; but the
answer on that is that, if he has any evidence of sedi-
tion in the case of any individual, it has nothing to
do with movie-making as such or the industry as such,
and he can take his evidence to the courts. He also
promises a list of 79 Hollywood Communists, hoping
no doubt to get a discussion going as to who belongs
on the list and who doesn't. Such a discussion would
be a trap to entangle the unwary. For the issue is not
who is a Communist in Hollywood, but whether the
Committee has any more right to interfere with the
content of movies than it would have to interfere with
the content of books or newspapers.

The process of movie-making in Hollywood is be-
coming almost as much a belt-line process as that of
auto-making in Detroit. The drive is toward standard-
ization and formulas. What can alone save the Holly-
wood pictures from falling far behind the European
pictures is a renewed emphasis on the artistic integrity
and the artistic freedom of the men who make the
pictures.

And here we come to the second great danger of
the Thomas Committee adventure. Its inevitable con-
sequence must be to terrorize the few remaining people

THE SCREEN WRITER

in Hollywood who still care about making great pic-
tures. To strike at their freedom is to strike at their
creativeness. Artists in uniform are not artists; they
are soldiers. What the Thomas Committee is trying
desperately to do is to make out of everyone connected
with the movie industry a uniformed soldier in the
armies of reaction.

Oct. 23, 1947

CLAUDE PEPPER

U. S. Senator from Florida.

ON Thursday, October 23, the American delegate
to the United Nations, Warren R. Austin, solemn-
ly warned the nations of the world against putting
"shackles on the mind of man and a gag in his mouth."
Even as this eloquent statement of American belief
in freedom of speech was resounding in the meeting
hall of the United Nations, a Committee of our own
House of Representatives was threatening that sacred
freedom by its ultra-sensational investigation of the
Hollywood movie industry.

We are a nation of movie-goers. The movie industry
was born in our country.

American movies are the greatest and most popular
in the world. In every land people laugh over the
antics of Mickey Mouse, weep over the trials and
tribulations of Bette Davis, thrill over the adventures
of our cowboy stars, and study the American way of
life from our films. Each of us may have his own
faults to find with Hollywood movies. But on one
thing all Americans will agree — they do not want any
small body of men, however selected, to censor except
upon moral grounds or dictate what should go jn
and what should be cut out of American movies.

I am deeply concerned by the intolerance which is
so prevalent in our free country today.

If censorship begins with the movies, it will next
reach the press, the radio, the stage, the writers and
finally the pulpit, for that has been the pattern
wherever civil liberties were once broken down.

WASHINGTON POST

FILMLAND, it is scarcely to be doubted, has its
quota of Communists as of reactionaries, vegetar-
ians, prohibitionists and fanatics in other fields. The
movies, which pretend to be an art form as well as an
industry, naturally attract some extremists. But anyone
who has seen any appreciable number of Hollywood's
products must recognize that the industrial consider-
ations are very much in the ascendancy. This is to
say that movies are made for money and that, in the
main, they are made, therefore, to appeal to a mass
audience and to reflect mass tastes. This is why, like
the radio and the mass circulation magazines, they
tend to stereotyped values, romantic absurdities and
happy endings.

Most movies concern themselves exclusively with
entertainment. Considering their immense potentiality
for the communication of ideas — evidenced by the
occasional film which comes to grips with the realities
and problems of life — this is a defect. But it is not a

defect which any agency of the Government can legit-
imately attempt to correct. For governmental inter-
ference in the making of movies would be an abridge-
ment of press freedom. Chairman Thomas of the House
Committee on Un-American Activties may pretend
that his supercolossal Hollywood investigation is aimed
not at interference but merely exposure. Its effect,
nevertheless, is to intimidate and coerce the industry
into an even more rigid acceptance of Mr. Thomas'
concepts of Americanism.

Oct. 21, 1947

HAROLD E. STASSEN

Republican leader and candidate for
Republican nomination for the presidency

IT is elementary that if we seek to preserve "freedom
by first curtailing it we largely lose before we start.

There have been two instances recently that must
give us pause as we reflect upon their long term effects.
The first was the attempt of the government, in con-
nection with its so called loyalty purge, to place a
new restriction upon the flow of information from the
government to the press and thus to the people. These
administrative regulations, couched in language about
safeguarding the welfare of the country and of the
administration, were of the same pattern as the press
regulations in totalitarian countries and have no place
in America in time of peace.

The other disturbing development was the indication
arising out of the hearings of the House un-American
Committee implying that there ought to be some kind
of a governmental supervision of what is shown on a
motion picture screen.

It is my view, that except for the existing restrictions
as to libel, public morals, fraud, and treason, there
must continue to be complete freedom of all media
of expression in America. We must not have govern-
mental censorship of the screen, or of books or of the
press or of the radio or of the theater. The day we
seek to block the expression of dissent, the voice of
opposition, in America, that day we lose something
fundamental to the future well-being and strength of
the American people.

The greatest assurance that the American people
will not be deceived by the false rainbows of Com-
munism is the fact that our people are entitled to
listen and to read what Mr. Molotov or Mr. Vishinsky
or any other Communist wishes to speak or to write.
We need more openness in our dealings with Russia
and less secrecy rather than more of censorship.

NEW YORK TIMES

THE Thomas Committee on Un-American Activi-
ties has suspended its inquiry into political opinions
in Hollywood. One feels the same sense of relief that
one did last August when the Brewster War Investi-
gation Committee's subcommittee also temporarily shut
up shop. In each case one had growing doubts as to
a species of procedure which denied witnesses — it is
hard not to say prisoners — the ordinary democratic
rights. In the case of the Thomas committee witnesses
were required to state their affiliation or non-affiliation

10

UN-AMERICAN IS AS UN-AMERICAN DOES

with a designated political party which exists in this
and other states. Whether or not this party ought
to be held legal is another and debatable question. On
their refusal they were held in contempt. As far as
one can see the same procedure could be applied to
members of the press, radio commentators, rank-and-
file members of labor unions, physicians, lawyers,
scientists and country storekeepers. Most of these make
no secret of their political affiliations. But has a Con-
gressional committee a right to inquire into such affili-
ations in the case of legally recognized parties?

The issue thus raised will soon have to be squarely
faced. We cannot penalize a person for his beliefs.
We have no right even to make him tell what his
beliefs are. We can penalize him only if he breaks a

law, as he certainly does if he advocates or plans the
forcible overthrow of government or conspires with
those who do so advocate or plan. If anybody is doing
this the situation calls for Federal inquiry, indictment
and punishment, with the rights of the accused pro-
tected in the prescribed manner. It calls for due process,
which is not followed in today's Congressional commit-
tee rooms. The Thomas committee and others may
do well to remember that respect for individual rights
and constitutional processes of law is one of the marks
which distinguish a democracy from a totalitarian
state ; and that one of the best ways to fight communism
is to show such respect at all times and peaces — even
on Capitol Hill.

Nov. 2. 1947

Un-American Is as Un-American Does

HENRY SEIDEL CANBY

HENRY SEIDEL CANBY is the em-
inent American scholar and biographer,
and chairman of the Editorial Board
of the Saturday Review of Literature.

WE are anti-Communist to the core — though
not anti-Russian or anti-human nature. Hence
we feared that the Congress's un-American
Committee might afford us little opportunity for com-
ment upon the current investigation. However, their
procedure so resembles some aspects of the People's
Courts of Nazi Germany, and equivalent investigating
commissions in Soviet Russia, that even the most vio-
lent anti-Communist, if he is an American, must be
appalled. It is clearly within the power of this Un-
American Committee to brand any writer or artist as
Communist for public inspection, upon merely hearsay
evidence, with no opportunity to analyze the charge
or bring in counter evidence until the smear has been
made to stick. A witness, with a national reputation,
though not for brain power, states that he does not
like the ideas of the accused, and has heard through
a friend who once got drunk with a man who looked
like a fellow traveler that the said accused, or someone
who looked like him, had been seen at a Communist
meeting in 1937. And the Committee allows such

This article is reprinted from the Saturday Review of
Literature by special permission from that magazine and
from Mr. Canby.

libelous statements to get into the headlines unchecked.

This un-Americanism of course broadens the field
of attack. Any American who by word or pen has
criticized the Government or contracted international
relations or belonged to an organization with a different
structure from orthodox capitalism can be dragged
into a mud bath from which he will not escape without
doubt and suspicion following him. The accuser does
not have to prove anything. He merely has to assert,
and the marks of the brand "Communist" will begin to
show red to the popular eye on the most innocent
shoulders. If our courts were conducted on such a
basis, what circuses they would be for paranoiacs,
haters, and crackpots!

It is only too possible that unless honest citizens
protest loud and long, the pattern established by the
un-American Committee will develop along lines
already established in totalitarian states. From irre-
sponsible attacks on the living, the committee will go
on to irresponsible attacks on the dead, who cannot
answer back, even if permitted. Our great American
writers are, as it happens, unusually vulnerable to this
sneaking form of attack. Here is a list of names that
can certainly be made to look smudgy if Mr. Thomas

11

THE SCREEN WRITER

gets his "You-don't-have-to-prove-it" methods at work
upon their books. If their radicalism or subversive atti-
tudes toward the government cannot be branded as
Communism, it can be made to appear that they would
have been Communists if they could !

I. A poor scholar who published an appeal to dis-
obey any law that the citizen felt to be immoral, and
charged that our Government was conducted without
principle. He defended a fanatic who attacked the
rights of property (in human beings) and urged a
revolt of the slaves. Henry D. Thoreau (but he
would be a tough defendant).

II. A rich scholar who said that for him conscience
was superior to government, and love more important
than the efficiency of the Army. Ralph Waldo Em-
erson.

III. Two ex-sailors who violently attacked the con-
duct of their country's Navy. Herman Melville and
James Fenimore Cooper. The latter scurrilously
criticized (so it was charged) his country in writing
published abroad, and was a close associate of a notori-
ous fellow traveler with French radicalism — Lafay-
ette.

IV. A novelist who was for some time a member
of a celebrated Communist organization. Nathaniel
Hawthorne.

V. Two well-known Americans who admitted that
they were deeply influenced and subsidized by a radical
affiliated with various radical associations (he was
their father) and must (according to the Committee's
procedure) be regarded as fellow travelers. Henry
and William James.

VI. A journalist who deserted one organization
(the C.S.A.) in order to get a job under another ( the
U.S.A.). He publicly stated that his greatest fear was
that he might become that lowest of human creatures,
an American Congressman. Mark Twain.

VII. An internationalist whose ideas of democracy

included even the Russian definition of the term. He
steadily put the welfare of man above the welfare
of his country. Radicals all over the world quoted him.
Walt Whitman.

VIII. A statesman who said that the tree of liberty
must be watered every twenty years by the blood of
patriots (clearly subversive) and was a prime mover
in the Bill of Rights, with its stumbling block for all
un-American committees, the right of free speech.
Thomas Jefferson. And with him may be pilloried
the makers of the constitution of conservative Connecti-
cut, which expressly reserves the right to revolution.

IX. Let us be whimsical, but not more so than our
Committee. That great leader who is known to have
been in the service of a foreign power. To be sure
the power was not foreign when he served it, but a
question of time sequence, whether in Russian films
when we were allies, or in this instance, does not seem
to trouble the Committee. The reference is to George
Washington.

X. Add William Dean Howells, who was a
Socialist; Henry George, who hit at the soft under-
belly of capitalism; Bellamy, whose Looking Back-
ward went far ahead of communism in its proposed
reorganization of society; and enough more to dim the
glory of American literature if their reputations should
be smeared and smirched.

GENTLEMEN of the Committee, do you think
it would have been a better America today if these
men of imagination had been officially smeared and
harrowed into silence? A government that gives its
critics a bad name in order to hang them — well, we
have seen two such governments, one now is in the
ruins of its own despotism, and we say a plague on
both their houses, and a double plague on whoever
tries to build another like them in the terrorism of
smirch and smear.

The greater the importance of safeguarding the community, the more imperative is the need
to preserve inviolate the constitutional rights of free speech.

U. S. Supreme Court decision written
by Chief Justice Charles Evans Huohks

12

The Saga of Doubting Thomas

I. A. L. DIAMOND

/. A. L. DIAMOND'S earlier offering
in verse, Hollywood Jabberwocky, and
his recent article have been extensively
reprinted. He is a member of SJVG.

The words of Parnell Thomas arc
Designed to make you think:
"The guys who write the dramas are
As red as red-hot mammas are,
And even their pajamas are
Adorned with Russian mink."
(Their toothbrushes are pink.)

"A certain former war-ally
Has made a challenge blunt,
So on the chamber floor'll I
Demand we keep a moral eye
On every movie Lorelei
Who hides behind a front."
(I'd love to join the hunt!)

"We're probing up a canker in
The movies' First-of-May boys;
The writers all are hankerin'
To write a crooked banker in,
While certain stars look blanker in
The roles of rich young playboys."
(Eschew that broad, broad 'a', boys!)

"That handsome flying-sailor made

A film that shall be nameless.

Were just the girl whom Taylor made,

Instead of Red, a paler maid,

A pure escapist frail or maid,

His conduct would be blameless."

(So ivhen in doubt, go dameless!)

Those subtle Reds outwit us in
Each line and every scene;
Despite the fact that it is in
The ken of every citizen
When movie folk commit a sin
Both on and off the screen."
(We'll blast their pix unseen!)

"Our object is to fasten back

The ears of our detractors.

We will not stand for sassin' back

From glamor girls who mass in back;

We kept their legal brass in back,

And upstaged all the actors."

(While up our creek, they lacked oars.)

"Though charges indiscriminate

Invariably crop up.

If someone draws the women, it

Behooves us to get him in it;

He makes a splash, we swim in it!

He dribbles out, we mop up!

(Or else, <we just close shop up.)

"McNutt and Crum and Eric in

Implying that we can err,

Have proved themselves generic kin

To forces un-American

Whose films are atmospheric in

A moody Russian manner."

( , white and blue, our banner.)

"We smear 'em with aplomb, and turn
Invective loose at their heads:
They'd steal the atom-bomb and turn
It over to the Comintern!
We'll frighten some, and some intern,
And garner lots of scare-heads."
(To Hearst tve boiv our bare heads.)

"The facts, if you assess 'em'll

Invalidate our views, since

The Reds are just a decimal,

In fact, infinitesimal,

But someone, if you press him'll

Assert they're quite a nuisance."

(While Pegler adds his two cents.)

"A few, with manners curt, defy
Our right to make 'em answer ;
And since you have a furtive eye
I hope you won't be hurt if I
Should ask you, please, to certify
You're not a Robeson fan, sir."
( The singer, or the man, sir?)

"Among the scribes, there's some as are

For Triple-A it's plain;

A literary commissar

I can't distinguish from a czar,

But all their plans, I promise are

Developing in vain."

(We've set a mark on Cain.)

"The guy who authored Margie is

Accused of you-know what?

With solemn mien, we'll charge he is

A menace while at large he is,

And like Madame LaFarge he is

A dirty sans-culotte,"

(In every film, a plot!)

"We're oh so sweet and affable
To those who back our aim;
Our antics may be laughable
But if they're photographable
We'll pass on our behalf a bill
Perpetuating same."
(For country, and for fame!)

"The phrase 'To share and share alike',

It's memory is now stark;

All liberals we'll scare alike,

We'll say the Reds and they're alike,

Till all their films are sterile-like,

And each is laid in Graustark."

(And every movie-house dark?)

13

Sorcerer's Apprentice

SALKA VIERTEL

SALKA VIERTEL, a member ofSWG,
is the famous actress and writer. As
an actress, in association <vsith Max
Reinhardt, she produced and starred
in Ibsen on the European stage. In
Hollywood she has written many <weU-
knozun screen plays.

WHEN the average American citizen opens
his newspaper in the morning and his chil-
dren peek over his shoulder — I assume that
the average American citizen is a gentle creature and
loves his children to peer over his shoulder — he must
be worried.

The casualty list of these postwar victims is stag-
gering. The lurid love letters of two unfortunate
young people accused of murder give the necessary
pornographic flavor to all this. But they would not
pass the Breen office. Still, anything goes as long as
it is news, true or distorted, false or exaggerated. The
newspaper brings it into every home, and an inade-
quate libel law permits attacks on decent people as
long as the attacks promise the same sensationalism
as the murders.

Why, then, are the films censored? The writers
are watched severely by such efficient and brilliant
detectives as M.P.A.'s own Lela, who spotted at once
the subversiveness of the line "Share and share alike."
The good boys and girls of the Motion Picture Alli-
ance run immediately to their beloved committee and
tell-tale and smear and report their more talented and
responsible colleagues to the un-Americans.

How familiar this all sounds, how well remembered !
Years ago, at the Actors Guild meeting in Germany,
I heard the same views expressed against the progres-
sive elements of the guild. This was the pattern fol-
lowed in all German trade unions until the day dawned
when they were abolished, when the}' ceased to exist.

The first ones to be denounced and verboten as
"Kulturbolsheviks" were Stravinsky, Arnold Schoen-
berg, Remarque, James Joyce, Picasso, Sigmund Freud
and many others, some of whom have since contributed
their great gifts to the cultural life of the countries
which gave them refuge.

The showing of Lewis Milestone's All Quiet on the
Western Front was an historic incident. Stink-bombs

were thrown on the crowds who attended the per-
formances. Charlie Chaplin was the next to be verboten.

As in the tone poem The Sorcerer's Apprentice, un-
controllable forces were released; and no sorcerer has
been able to banish them.

It started with the Composers League protesting a
Cantata for Choir by Hanns Eisler (it seems that it
always starts with Hanns Eisler) to the words of an
old German poem of the sixteenth century. This first
attempt at censoring a work of art was not successful ;
but a step forward in the "right" direction was
achieved when the film Kuhle Wampe {Empty Belly) ,
written by Bert Brecht was verboten. It dealt with the
problems of the postwar depression, and Naziism in-
sisted that the German standard of living be presented
not truthfully, but with more glamour. One does not
show the world and the German people that some-
thing is rotten in the state of Germany.

I have before me a leaflet now being circulated in
the American zone by the underground Nazi move-
ment. It urges Germans not to cooperate with the occu-
pation forces, to sabotage them, and to exterminate the
"Jews, Niggers, the Polish street robbers and the left
wing leaders."

This leaflet is very eloquent. Are we going to permit
the reactionary forces who are blind to the still-existing
menace of fascism and are instead busily engaged in
red-baiting and witch-hunting to ruin the victory of
our soldiers and to mock the sacrifice of our dead ? Are
we going to let these people tell us what to write?

We are handicapped enough as it is. Films like
Broken Blossoms, Hallelujah, The Crowd, The Grapes
of Wrath and Ruggles of Red Gap cannot be made
today, when The Best Years of Our Lives and The
Pride of the Marines are called subversive. Only Cross-
fire and Gentlemen's Agreement prove that there are
still men with courage and sense in the industry. These
pictures go even a step beyond the one in which Captain

14

SORCERERS' APPRENTICE

Dreyfus' affliction was cautiously monogrammed by
the inserted letter "J."

DEMOCRACY is a precious thing. So is freedom.
But in wartime both are the first casualties. Still,
I have learned a wonderful thing about the United
States — the people do their own thinking. Neither
yellow journalism nor hysterical gossip columnists
will make their minds up for them. It is little short of
banal to speak of the importance of motion pictures in
the cultural life of the nations of the world, and there-
fore it seems contradictory to strive for the economic
and cultural advancement of screen writers and to
ignore the fact that political issues have a profound
relation to their problems.

Writing involves thinking, even though some pro-
ducers have maintained that they do the thinking and
tell the writers how and what to write, to say nothing
of the directors and actors. Some of them are so keenly
aware of their cultural and patriotic responsibility that
they spot immediately the implications in the "pinch-
penny" line in None But The Lonely Heart (perhaps
a reference to pennies offended the great minds accus-
tomed to big deals in terms of dollars). And I remem-
ber a director who objected to the line "All men are
created equal."

The average citizen must be alarmed. He must

be aware of the danger. He must help to keep the
screen free. The German example is no reason for
defeatism. The Bill of Rights is a hundred and seventy
years old ; the diluted Weimar edition was only twelve
years old and could not stand the test. But those who
attack the Bill of Rights must be defeated in their
unholy attempt. We have to counter-attack the stu-
pidity and the evil and the forces of darkness.

Not having studied Marxism so thoroughly and pro-
foundly as Mr. Menjou or the self-styled "writer of
sorts" Mrs. Lela Rogers, and being free from political
affiliations, I still cannot forget that twenty million
Russians died in the fight against fascism, that to the
Soviet occupation of Poland in 1939 I owe the life
of my mother, and that the Nazis murdered my broth-
er. These are my politics: they are simple enough,
and I am not afraid to state them. And after having
lived through two world wars and seen the destruc-
tion of my home and native land and mourned my
dear ones, I dare to express the hope that the screen
shall remain free of the censorship of moronic haters.
The average citizen may read his morning paper and
write his Congressman how many other problems
he has to face, more important and more vital than
detecting communism in Hollywood films. The screen
should remain free, and praised be those writers, actors,
directors and producers who try to bring about peace
on earth and good will to men — all men.

A Message From England

This resolution was adopted by the membership at the annual general meeting of the British
Screenwriters' Association in London November 14:

That the Screenwriters' Association, being a non-political body, deplores the proceed-
ings of the Commission for the Investigation of un-American Activities and expresses its
sympathy and support for the Hollywood Screen Writers' Guild and for those members
of the Guild who, irrespective of their political views, have been impugned by this com-
mission.

In another message from the British screenwriters' organization, the suggestion of sanctuary
in England was suggested to "the eminent and liberal-minded writers who have been attacked by
this Commission." Over the signature of Guy Morgan, secretary, the Association urged SWG to
suggest all practical steps that can be taken by the British writers to help their American colleagues.

In reply the Executive Board of SWG sent the following cable:

Deep gratitude for the warm sentiments and official welcome extended liberal-
minded writers attacked by un-American Activities Committee. We are also determined
to oppose the committee's attempted blacklist. Will fight with you to keep the screen free
throughout the world.

15

Reddened Any Good Pictures Lately?

ROLAND KIBBEE

ROLAND KIBBEE, whose previous
contributions to The Screen Writer
have been widely quoted, is a member
of the SWG.

Recently, in San Francisco, a city which I am
told is controlled by Harry Bridges, I purchased
a copy of the Examiner, secreted it under my loafer
jacket, and sauntered casually into my hotel, for
all the world like a good union man carrying noth-
ing more than the latest orders from Moscow.

A hasty perusal of its content (it is difficult to
read a Hearst paper leisurely) revealed it to be
a passionate plea for Federal censorship of films
prompted by the revelations at the House Un-
American Activities Committee Hearings in Wash-
ington.

That brought back to me all that I had read and
heard of Hollywood since the anti-Red Crusade.
The stories about non-Communists finding it dffi-
cult to obtain employment in the studios. The one
in The Hollywood Reporter about the script that
had to be rewritten for an exacting deadline and
was handed over to swift, facile Party writers.
The harrowing accounts of the necessity of Party
and Kremlin approval of scenarios . . . and soul-
stirring tales of the Resistance. Stars who stead-

fastly refused to mouth Red-tainted dialogue —
monumentally heroic self-restraint when one con-
siders the dialogue they do mouth. I realized that
living and working in Hollywood could never give
one the objective picture the rest of the world got
from reading about it. It was high time that an
accredited correspondent of the stamp of a W. L.
White or Eugene Lyons came to Hollywood and
wrote a book about the town in the manner of
their delineations of the Soviet Union. Not the
usual hogwash about mad writers, illiterate pro-
ducers and wild parties, but a comprehensive de-
piction of what appears to be, from what I gather
in the newspapers, the £rst Soviet community
within the continental limits of the United States.

In an effort to inspire such a work, I append
below a tantalizing sample of how the opening
chapter might read. Mind you, this is just a sample,
and purely speculative, based upon what I have
read in the newspapers, and, as I said before, all
I know is what I read in the papers — or did some-
body else say that?

CHAPTER ONE

HOLLYWOOD! Magic name. Hollywood! It was almost as though I could hear the word. Hollywood!
Could it be at last? Hollywood! After all these years, all those passport snarls. Hollywood! Holly-
wood! Was I really there?
"You're damned right you're there," snapped the conductor. "What the Hell do you think I been yellin'
Hollyivood for?"

So I had been hearing it.

"Are you gettin' off or ain't you?" snarled the conductor, making a threatening motion toward the bell-
cord.

I got off, reflecting that my first contact with a
member of the working class had already revealed
the coarse, overbearing attitude that comes with
Socialism. Nor had his profanity been lost upon me.
I fully expected such outbursts, having surmised from
Mr. Leo McCarey's testimony at the Washington
hearings that Hollywood was a Godless country —
its many churches being merely a "set" to mislead
the unwary traveler. I had heard they were really
drive-ins where one could obtain an exotic sandwich
known as a Stalinburger, served by pretty slave-girls
who had been captured in border skirmishes in the
undeclared war with Texas. Just how Hollywood
comes to border Texas makes for an interesting expo-

sition of the New Imperialism, and will be discussed
in a later chapter.

Needless to say, none of the functionaries whom
I had been assured would meet me were on hand. It
was later explained, with diplomatic regret, that they
were "in Washington." This is the standard evasion
among Hollywood autocrats. Most of them are writers,
a professional group notorious for their duplicity and
cunning in avoiding work, and I soon learned that
golf courses and race-tracks were swarming with writ-
ers while their secretaries were blandly assuring pro-
ducers that they were "in Washington."

I was greeted instead by a minor official of the Metre
Collective who bore the title of Junior Writer. He

16

REDDENED ANY GOOD PICTURES LATELY?

was a short, stocky fellow, lugubrious but by no means
taciturn, who answered all of my questions freely
except those dealing with his ideas for screen stories.
Whenever I got onto this subject a look of fear would
shadow his already gloomy countenance, and his beady
little eyes would gleam with quick suspicion. He was
like a man who held something dear in constant dread
it would be stolen from him. He introduced himself
as Comrade X, and when I looked askance, he hastened
to assure me that he didn't mind the name at all,
that Junior Writers were accustomed to anonymity.
Throughout my stay Comrade X, who acted as guide
and interpreter, babbled incessantly of "credits," the
system of remuneration employed in the Hollywood
society' in lieu of money.

As soon as we had made ourselves known to each
other, Comrade X led me to his convertible Buick.
a car which the State supplies to all Hollywood writers,
and we drove off into the stream of traffic that gluts
Hollywood Boulevard as late as nine p.m. It is per-
haps worth noting one small but revealing incident
here. Strolling to Comrade X's Buick, we passed the
corner of Hollywood Boulevard and Vine Street.
As we rounded the corner I glanced back and noticed
two sinister-looking men detaching themselves from
the crowd at the curb awaiting the arrival of the
P.E. (People's Electric) trolley. The men fell into
step behind us, and were to follow me for the duration
of my sojourn in Hollywood. Their thin disguise of
lavender blouses, rouged cheeks and peroxided hair
did not fool me for a moment. I knew them instantly
for what they were — members of the dread Secret
Police.

A S Comrade X urged the big car perilously through
**> traffic — driving in Hollywood sharply reminds
one that the automobile has but recently come to this
land — he told me that the Foreign Office (it sounded
like "Morris Office" the way he said it) had arranged
a visit to Party Headquarters at the RKO Collective
as the first item on my itinerary. I was not surprised
to learn that the RKO studios has been selected as
the base of operations by the Bolsheviki. I recalled
that its production executive, Dore Schary, had rocked
the nation with his revolutionary proclamation to the
Thomas Committee that he would not fire an accused
man until proven guilty.

En route we passed Ciro's (it was a rather circuitous
route, Comrade X unaccountably seeming as anxious
as I to elude our pursuers) a large quasi-public night
club to which the local citizenry are admitted presum-
ably on the basis of their credits, money being frowned
upon. It is frequented mostly by glamorous young

starlets, all of whom are members of the Young
Communist League, and it is in this den of iniquity
that they lure unsuspecting writers, limp-brained and
unresisting under the influence of orange juice (the
national drink and the opiate of the people) into the
ranks of the Party. I asked X if he had ever been to
Ciro's, and he said no and neither had any other
Junior Writer that he ever heard of.

We finally screeched to a stop in front of RKO,
pursued by three traffic officers who sprang from their
motorcycles and bore down on us angrily before we
were able to alight from the car. I felt a quick pang
of fear, but X calmly opened his wallet and waved
a Screen Writers Guild membership card at the cops.
They withdrew instantly, bowing, scraping and stam-
mering apologies, and remounting their motorcycles,
rode off red-faced. I should point out here that the
Screen Writers Guild, while representing a very small
section of the population, is in complete control of
the Hollywood Government. Their members and
functionaries live in the best homes, drive the finest
automobiles, eat at the costliest restaurants, and hold
the rest of the community in abject terror and virtual
slavery. The organization, like so many others in the
Hollywood bureaucracy, is known only by its initials —
SWG — and they are never mentioned except in whis-
pered tones of reverence and awe.

As we entered the studio, I noticed that Comrade
X spat upon the flag that draped the door, a charming
folk custom that Hollywoodians observe whenever
entering or leaving public buildings. On the way
over, X had told me a little about these great collective
studios in which all workers share equally in the
profits, but his driving was so erratic that my hastily
scrawled notes are quite illegible. Nor shall I be
able to give the reader a first-hand account of the
workings of the studio, for I was never able to pene-
trate the Iron Curtain that shrouds the sound stages.
My oft-repeated requests to see a picture in the mak-
ing were all politely but firmly turned down. Nobody
is permitted on these sets except the people actually
working on the film and, of course, writers. There
are those in Hollywood who will tell you, at the
privacy of a table in the Collective Farmers Market
or other public gathering place, that what really goes
on in the sound stages are plans for world conquest,
hence the secrecy.

So it was that Comrade X led me hastily past the
stages to an ornate, luxuriously furnished building,
the last word in architectural splendor, which housed
the screen writers and, ipso facto, Party Headquarters.
It was called the James M. Cain Building in honor
of the man who proposed the first Seven-Year Plan.
Inside we passed numerous offices inhabited by writers

17

THE SCREEN WRITER

who were sleeping, playing gin rummy, molesting their
secretaries (the most beautiful girls in Hollywood are
reserved as writers' secretaries), or otherwise enjoying
the fruits of their own totalitarian system.

We arrived at last in an ante-room so elegant,
presided over by a secretary so exquisite, that I guessed
it to be the seat of operations of one of the biggest
of the writers. A moment later, X verified my sus-
picions by solemnly assuring me that I was about to
be formally presented to one of the highest-ranking
officers in filmdom — an SWG Studio Chairman. There
are only eight of them in Hollywood, and their power
is staggering.

"\/f"Y work has led me into the presence of kings,
-"■"■dictators, sultans and khedives, and in every case
I have been able to say to myself: "I am an American
and to Hell with them." But I must confess to a
siege of hysterical trembling as I confronted the SWG
Studio Chairman in his sanctum. The room itself was
not one to put the wary guest at his ease. It was fur-
nished throughout in execrable but lavish taste, the
pieces having been appropriated from the homes of
liquidated producers. Generally, the interior was of
the Norman period, here and there reflecting the
influence of the earlier Saracen rulers of the island.
The walls were lined with marble, rush matting cov-
ered the floor, and the ceiling was panelled and
frescoed after the Italian manner of the 15th Century.
It would have taken a W. & J. Sloane man weeks to
catalogue the furnishings, but I can recall, without
half-trying, a German oak cupboard with Gothic
tracery, a Venetian chair of carved walnut upholstered
in velvet, a French ebony cabinet with marquetry of
tortoise shell and brass, a Bureau du Roi adorned with
mouldings, statuettes, vases and gilt bronze plaques
(both of the latter pieces gifts of the Association of
French Screen Writers), a barrel-shaped window-seat
worked with an elaborate pattern of floral scrolls,
heraldry, beasts and birds, a bedstead of carved walnut
with inlaid frieze, and an Early American Underwood
No. 5 typewriter.

Dominating the room from the wall behind the
Studio Chairman's desk (actually a Louis XV writing
table in sycamore with inlay of plaques of Sevres por-
celain), were the inevitable portraits of Gordon Kahn
and Ring Lardner, Jr. A word about each of these men
might not be amiss here, for they are indeed powers
in the community. Kahn is a large, bearish fellow,
judging from his picture — I never met him, he, of
course, being "in Washington" (sic) — and the first
thing that catches the eye is his monocle, relic of his
exile to J. Arthur Rank during the counter-Revolu-

tion at Warner Brothers. He is Editor of The Screen
Writer, official mouthpiece of the SWG in which one
has lately read such vitriolic attacks on our form of
government. Kahn is noted chiefly for his ability to
bully screen writers into contributing pieces to The
Screen Writer, a feat which he accomplishes by whin-
ing and pleading, when both he and the writer know
full well that failure to comply means ostracism and
worse. He is also consummately skillful at doling out
the Moscow gold which pays for Screen Writer arti-
cles, no investigation having ever succeeded in turning
up a penny of it, and the authors themselves never
coming into direct contact with it. Lardner is some-
thing else again — enjoying no official title, and, natur-
ally, when one seeks an interview, always "in Wash-
ington,"— but typical of those powers behind the
throne that one finds in the Hollywood oligarchy.
Perhaps the story of how he came by his given name
reveals more than anything else the influence which
this man of mystery wields in Hollywood. Here is
the way it was told to me by a source I am not at
liberty to reveal:

A S you have doubtless heard, film scripts are ap-
<£*■ proved by the Kremlin in Moscow before being
brought to the screen; however this is not true of all
scripts. Stalin and Molotov, because of the press of af-
fairs, and in spite of their acute interest in the Holly-
wood product, find time only to study and certify the big
pictures. But Hollywood produces many low-budget
or "B" pictures, and in order to cut what Comrade X
referred to as "white tape," the Russians permit the
local Hollywood authorities to okay the lesser films
(not to be confused with Sol Lesser Productions).
I said before that Lardner had no official title, but
this is not precisely true. Actually he holds the in-
nocuous-sounding but highly influential office of Com-
missar of Light Entertainment. In short, it is Lardner
who gives the nod to B pictures, and he is, in conse-
quence, a very busy — and presumably bored — man.
As a result of the constant necessity of telephoning
Lardner anent the socially significant factor in this
or that scene or bit of dialogue, a by-word sprang
up in Hollywood comparable to the "Clear it with
Sidney" shibboleth in the last American presidential
election. Born Ambrose Bartholomew Lardner, one
always found one's self referring to him with the
utmost brevity in sentences like: "Better ring Lardner
on that," or "I dunno, you'll have to ring Lardner,"
or just, "Ring Lardner." Hence the nickname, Ring
Lardner. Incidentally, there is a rumor now rife in
Hollywood that the failure of the Thomas-Rankin
Committee to unearth any Communist propaganda

18

REDDENED ANY GOOD PICTURES LATELY?

in films has rendered Lardner persona non grata with
the Russians and that his liquidation from the Com-
missariat of Light Entertainment is only a matter
of time.

Getting back to the Studio Chairman in whose
office I now found myself, he was, if possible, even
more impressive than the decor, and just as rococo. As
a matter of fact, his name was Joe Rococo. He greeted
me with the traditional salute of the scenarist, both
feet raised and planted firmly, heels down, on the
desk. This gave me an opportunity to note his attire.
He was wearing the resplendent full-dress uniform
of the high-ranking SW, or Screen Writer; a mauve
Tyrolean hat of fuzzy felt from which protruded a
jaunty crimson feather, a London Shop casual jacket
of canary flannel sans lapels and with silver buttons.
Carelessly knotted about his throat was a silken paisley
muffler in chartreuse and magenta, while underneath
this could be seen evidence of a black and white striped
polo shirt. His multi-pleated doe-skin slacks, with the
hammer and sickle emblem stitched in sampler motif
on the seat, were supported by a red, white and blue
belt of glossy taffeta from which there appended and
disappeared into his horizontal pockets a platinum
key-chain wrought in the letters of his name, each
one a full two inches in size. Encasing the feet re-
posed on the desk before me was a pair of multi-
colored hand-knit socks of an unimaginable thickness,
done in a floral pattern but yet with an eye for the
lure of geometric twists and turns, and these in turn
were stuffed into open-toe beige lizard sandals which
were mounted on six-inch wedgies. At his breast
gleamed the coveted Order of John Howard Lawson.

"Well," was Rococo's opening gambit, "what the
hell are you staring at?"

I knew at once that here was a man I could get
along with, a man who spoke in plain American, and in
no time at all he and Comrade X and myself were
indulging the inescapable round of orange juice toasts
to Joseph Stalin, Louis B. Mayer, Adrian Scott and
Lester Cole. When we had finally settled down to
business and Rococo asked what he might do for me,
I explained that I desired only to sit in his office
and watch the routine exactly as it would take place
if I were not present. To my surprise, he voiced no
objection to this — and as I sat in the corner on an
early 18th century English hoopback chair veneered
in rich mahogany and finely carved, I soon discovered
why he had been so reasonable. It was quite apparent
that none of the secret Party machinations were car-
ried on in that office. All that transpired was the
humdrum sort of thing that I had been led to expect
from newspaper reports back in the States. Rococo
busied himself turning down applications for Party

membership from wretched writers who, as non-
members, were unable to obtain employment; cursing
the Soviet postal system which had delayed the return
of several scripts that had been sent abroad for ap-
proval and were now holding up production (I was
surprised to discover that some criticism of the system
was still tolerated) ; intimidating actors who were
refusing to read revolutionary dialog; putting off
frantic producers who were lobbying for Party writers
to rewrite their screenplays — all the dull, bone-dry
activities that characterize a Hollywood writer's office
during a normally busy week-day morning.

THERE were two incidents which were perhaps
a trifle out of the ordinary. At one point the tele-
phone rang, and it turned out to be a long-distance
call from a writer actually in Washington who wanted
to know what the Party Line was in regard to answer-
ing Congressman Thomas' $64 question. "Just take the
$32 and come home," ordered Rococo, banging down
the receiver. It was clear that the Washington Hear-
ings were getting on his nerves, for a moment later
a hapless writer wandered in and wanted to know if
Rococo couldn't arrange to have him summoned to
Washington since all of his friends were there. Rococo
dismissed the writer summarily and, turning to me,
growled: "That lad is suffering from sub-poenas envy."
Comrade X leaned over and, in a whisper, explained
to me that Rococo had written a number of psychiatric
films and was counted rather an expert in these mat-
ters.

The other occurrence which excited my interest was
somewhat grimmer. I had been increasingly aware
of groans and occasional piercing screams which seemed
to come from behind a barred door that led to an
adjoining office. Presently this door opened — I caught
a glimpse of red-hot irons, multi-thonged whips, and
mean-looking truncheons — then the door was quickly
closed by the writer who entered. He was stripped
to the waist and perspiring freely. He saluted Rococo
wearily.

"That takes care of Macaulay and Niblo," he
reported. "As you ordered, Comrade, we've given
them everything we could find in those De Mille
pictures."

"That ought to be plenty," mused Rococo, a wistful
gleam lighting his roguish eyes.

"What about Moffitt and Ryskind?" inquired the
aide.

Rococo scanned a list from the SWG Grievance
Committee which cited insolvent motion picture com-
panies. Then, making a decision which seemed difficult

19

THE SCREEN WRITER

even for him, made a selection and said: "Send them
to Feckless Films."

I can swear that I saw the aide blanch. "Feckless

Films, sir?" he stammered.

"Feckless Films," repeated Rococo with finality.

"Very well, Comrade Studio Chairman," returned
the aide, but in his voice was the echo of horror, and
as he retraced his steps to the room beyond one could
perceive in his gait the faltering rhythm of a man who
hated his job.

The incident was soon forgotten, however, for
with a sudden return of his original gaiety, Rococo
glanced at his watch, announced that it was 11:15 and,
therefore, time for writers lunch, a festival which
begins daily at that hour and runs on until 3:30 in
the afternoon. Of lunch, which we ate in the studio's
cooperative commissary, there is little to report save
that the food, while simple, is high-priced and poorly
prepared. I did overhear fragments of a story con-
ference during the meal. A writer was berating a
cringing producer in regard to a story idea which the
producer had just outlined.

"Stinks," said the writer.

"I was just thinking out loud," murmured the pro-
ducer, apologetically.

"Won't draw flies at the box-office," the writer

went on. "When people go to the movies today they
expect propaganda. Make that banker of yours a heel
and the girl a union organizer, and you've got some-
thing."

"Great!" exclaimed the producer, regarding the
writer with frank idolatry. "Maybe we could get
Ginger Rogers to play the part." He turned to his
assistant who hovered nearby. "Get her mother on the
phone right away," he barked. . . .

THUS, at lunch, ended my first working day in
a Hollywood film studio. In the next chapter I
shall tell of my visit, that evening, to the justly-famous
Ballet at the Palladium, and of a trip the following
morning to the Mulholland Hydro-Electric Project.
Chapter two also contains some assorted revelations
which I obtained from an unspeakable source while
getting a hair-cut at Rothschild's, an establishment
operated by a scion of the great banking firm who
lost everything in the Revolution and is now reduced
to barbering. ... I was already beginning to under-
stand the Red Hollywoodians, and to despair of any
rapport ever being achieved between them and the civi-
lized world despite their pleas that they seek only
peace and to be left alone to make pictures.

Censorship Through Fear

WILLIAM WYLER

WILLIAM WYLER is the distin-
guished motion picture director whose
recent picture Rest Years of Our Lives,
swept the Academy Award field. His
previous article in this magazine, No
Magic Wand, has been translated and
published in eleven European *nd
Latin-American nations.

THE demand for Federal censorship and "house-
cleaning" of the film industry is predicated on
the assumption that Hollywood is dominated
by Communists. The Hearst press claims: "So, of
course, there has been a continuous and persistent
production of COMMUNISTIC FILMS."

Of course this is one of the grossest misstatements
of fact ever perpetrated by newspapers of large circu-
lation.

It would not have been possible to make this state-
ment had it not been for the groundwork of the
Motion Picture Alliance and the House Committee
on un-American Activities. Those groups have been

making this unsubstantiated claim for so many months
that by now the mere repetition in print of the words
"Communistic Films" causes people to believe there
are such films.

Responsible opinion in the industry and in such
sections of the press as the New York Timet and
Herald Tribune knows that such a claim is the sheerest
nonsense. If there were any pictures which even at-
tempted to undermine the American way of life, it
would be impossible to keep them a sceret.

So, of course, THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO
NEED for Federal Censorship.

The demand for it, as well as Mr. Thomas' demand

20

FREEDOM OF THE SCREEN

that the industry clean house, is designed to keep all lib-
eral and progressive persons off the Hollywood payrolls,
and to make sure that the films produced conform to
Mr. Thomas' and Mr. Hearst's peculiar and arbitrary
standards of entertainment and Americanism.

I use the word "peculiar" advisedly. To me, persons
who attempt to destroy the basic safeguards of Ameri-
can freedom guaranteed by the first amendment to the
Constitution, in the name of preserving that freedom,
have a peculiar view of Americanism, to say the least.

But of more direct concern to me than the future
danger of censorship, is the present danger of self-
censorship through fear.

An incipient form of blacklist already exists. Some
producers would just as soon "play it safe" and not
hire certain writers with a known progressive back-
ground. "Why look for trouble? Why hire someone
who might be subpoenaed by the Thomas Committee?"

Also, some producers are starting to eliminate

"doubtful" stories, scenes and lines. By "doubtful"
they mean controversial. So prevalent has the fear
become, that these producers are beginning to doubt
their own patriotism, or their ability to determine
what is patriotic.

My answer is that by playing safe, these short-
sighted producers are accepting the standards of the
Thomas Committee, and are merely inviting further
trouble. The men in and out of public office who have
attacked our industry would like nothing better than
to have the Producers' Association adopt a hush-hush
policy.

Unless these two trends are sharply reversed, this
self -censorship will destroy our free screen, result in
financially unsuccessful pictures, which in turn will
affect the livelihood of every man and woman who
works in the studios.

As far as I know, there has never been any way
to preserve liberty and individual rights except by
openly attacking any attempt to curtail them.

Freedom of the Screen

EMMET LAVERY

EMMET LAVERY, retiring president
of the Screen Writers Guild, writes
alternately for stage and screen. He
testified at Washington before the
House Committee on un-American Ac-
tivities as the official spokesman for
the Guild. Currently he is preparing
for production in Ne<w York a play
about Congress entitled The Gentle-
man From Athens.

WHEN the kleig lights were burning brightest
during the recent hearings in Washington,
two elderly ladies slipped into the caucus
room of the old House Office Building and observed
with some excitement the proceedings of the House
Committee on Un-American Activities.

"Where," whispered one to the other, "are the
prisoners?"

An obliging Congressman, sitting in front of them,
leaned over and pointed to the boys from the wire
services who occupied a dais near Congressman J. Par-
nell Thomas.

"There are the prisoners," murmured the Congress-
man. "They have to sit here every day and listen to

every word of this and they can't get out until it's
all over."

Funny? Yes, but sad too in a way, for the dear old
ladies had some logic behind their question. After all,
with all the rumpus going on, they naturally took it
for granted that somebody was guilty of something.
So, for that matter, did large sections of the American
public. Not understanding the difference between a
trial at law and an inquiry before Congress, they over-
simplified the question at issue. And, without a single
film being shown to anyone on the Committee, large
sections of the public came to a series af amazing and
erroneous conclusions, shaping up about as follows:
( 1 ) the screen is in danger of being taken over by the

21

THE SCREEN WRITER

Communists; (2) the Communists dominate the in-
dustry and the Screen Writers Guild; (3) the only
choice open to Americans today is between the extreme
represented by Congressman J. Parnell Thomas and
the extreme represented by the screen writers who de-
clined to testify and who were cited for contempt of
Congress.

The newspapers, on the whole, did not make these
mistakes but the general public did and the further
away you got from Washington, the more widespread
were these convictions. Very few people seemed to be
aware that the only major threat to the screen today
is the threat of government interference, of federal
censorship.

Congressman Thomas, of course, took good care
that this issue never got the airing it deserved. Avoid-
ing all discussion of the content of films, he concen-
trated instead on the private political lives of most
of the "hostile" witnesses called before him. And it
is interesting to note that, in the case of the screen
writers cited for contempt, the so-called "dossiers" do
not on the whole concern themselves very much with
the activities of these writers as screen writers. Here,
as with the content of films, the Committee chose to
do a run around end. It merely assumed the truth
of its major allegations and went on from there.

It so happens that I personally do not agree with
the strategy of the screen writers who were cited for
contempt. As a lawyer I have some questions in my
mind about the extent to which a Congressional com-
mittee can pry into the private political life of a citizen
who has been accused of no crime. But as a lawyer
I also have some questions in my mind about the general
value of contempt proceedings in a case like this and
about the general possibilities for success. But my per-
sonal preferences do not, I hope, blind me to the reality
of the situation we are currently discussing.

In my own case I preferred to waive my consti-
tutional rights and speak out frankly on behalf of the
Guild which I have represented as president for three
terms. And I still think it would have been better
if other members of the Guild had done likewise — or
had promptly gone outside to the press and volun-
teered to the press the information which they did
not believe that the Committee had the right to ask as
a Committee. I thought then and I still think that it
was capricious and unfortunate for these members of
the Guild to refuse to answer questions about member-
ship in the Guild and inevitably to group the response
to these questions with the response to the questions
about membership in the Communist Party.

But in the field of personal and civil liberties, I
recognize that all of us in this Guild and in this country
have a purely personal right and responsibility to

answer or not to answer, under circumstances like
these, according to our own conscience and according to
the best advice of counsel available. And I make the
point at this length only to emphasize that we should
not let our naturally varying opinions on the personal
problems confuse or obscure our thinking on the com-
munity problems which faces us — freedom of the screen.

How shall we protect this freedom? My own feeling
is that there are points past which you can not legislate
for freedom. Freedom is something you have to create
as you go along and keep on creating. It comes from
within the individual and it goes out from the indi-
vidual to his government and to the world. Not the
other way around.

I feel, therefore, that the best way to protect the
freedom of the screen, to answer the implicit threat
of the House Committee on un-American Activities,
is for the industry to make better films than ever before
— more courageous, more imaginative, more deeply
illuminative of the times in which we live.

True, we are right to ask for an end to the Thomas
Committee as currently constituted, for the methods
used have not achieved the objectives Congress had in
mind. We are right to ask for revision of procedures,
which would protect both the right of inquiry in
Congress and the right of personal security in the
individual witness before a Congressional committee.
But these items, desirable though they are, merely
touch the surface of the problem.

Now, as during my testimony before Congress, I
feel that we sometimes miss the basic implication of the
medium we are using. Everybody talks about defend-
ing pictures, very few of us think about the kind of
pictures the world needs. Very few of us think of
films as the one great universal medium of communi-
cation which transcends all barriers of race and lan-
guage.

Consequently, I would like to go back to a bit of
my own testimony which is gathering dust now in
some stenographer's office in Washington. It isn't
enough to ask Congress to leave films alone. We must
ask Congress to do something to encourage the widest
possible development of the American screen as a
means of establishing better understanding among
nations.

I propose, therefore, what I proposed to Congress.
I propose than an International Film Festival be held
annually in Washington under the auspices of the
Congress of the United States and the Library of
Congress and that Congress be asked for the necessary
funds for the Library to administer such a festival.

I propose that the finest film work of every country
in the world be solicited for such a festival and that
the exhibit be open to every type of film, professional

22

THE COST OF SILENCE

arid non-professional, entertainment and documentary.
I propose a festival without prizes, without the
bitter national rivalries that have sometimes attended
prize-giving festivals in other countries. I propose
a festival dedicated to the true art of the film and to
the spirit of peace among human beings everywhere.

Let all the final exhibits share honors equally. Let
the only honor to be awarded be the honor of being
chosen, in the particular group or country, for final
showing in this international gallery.

Is this too much to hope for? If films are the speech
of people the world over, let's begin to talk.

The Cost of Silence

HOWARD KOCH

HOWARD KOCH, playwright and
and author of many outstanding pic-
tures, is a member of SWG and one
of the nineteen "unfriendly" witnesses
subpoenaed by the Thomas Un-Amer-
ican Activities Committee. His contri-
bution to this section of the Screen
Writer is based on earlier addresses
made by him.

THERE are times when a man has to choose be-
ween two desirable ends — the good he can serve
by speech or the good he can serve by silence.
The ten who were cited for contempt of Congress by
the un-American Activities Committee were deeply
convinced that by their silence, by their refusal to answer
questions which the Constitution specifically states
are improperly asked, they could best defend what
they most cherish — the right of an American citizen
to follow his own conscience in matters of political
or religious belief.

The sudden awakening of a great segment of our
population to a danger that was creeping up on them,
concealed in the cloak of an official body that pro-
fessed it was protecting our civil liberties while in fact
it was denying the most basic right of all — this awak-
ening is proof that these ten men have not made the
point in vain.

But we must be frank. The point was not made
without a cost. It meant we could not defend ourselves
or the work we did or the organizations we belong
to or the things we believed in. Yes, the cost of silence
came high, but not too high if now we can speak out,
if now we can make you understand what happened
to us. Because if you do, you will see to it that it
doesn't happen again.

Most of us are writers, but few of us could have
imagined the nightmarish fantasy in which we found
ourselves. We were supposed to have been called as
witnesses, but we weren't in Washington a day before

we biew we were not witnesses. We were defendants.
Our telephone wires were tapped. Our most casual meet,
ings were watched. If we wanted to consult with one
of our lawyers, we had to go outside of the hotel and
do our talking in the street. We began to feel like
characters in an E. Phillips Oppenheim spy story.
Some of us got so immersed in our roles, that now
when we ask for a cigarette, we lower our voices.
Inside of that innocent wrapping might be an atom
bomb secret.

Now follow us to the hearing room. On our way
we passed the Capitol. There was no doubt we were
in the United States of America. Yet when we passed
through the door into the Committee Room, we felt
we had walked through Alice's Looking Glass and
we stood in fairyland . . . and the Capitol of the
United States was only two blocks away.

What fell upon our astonished ears in that room?
Bland assertions treated as evidence that by no stand-
ard of a court of law is evidence. Accusations against
us of a crime that is not a crime. And the committee
itself making amiable suggestions to their friendly
witnesses as to how we should be punished — blacklisted,
our jobs taken away. And we thought of the Mad
Queen in Alice in Wonderland who kept saying, "Off
with their heads!" and when Alice asked why, the
Queen replied, "Because I say so." And we thought,
too of the song in Gilbert and Sullivan, Let the Punish-
ment Fit the Crime. Only in our case the crime was
obviously being invented to fit the punishment. Fantasy?

23

\

THE SCREEN WRITER

Yes. But day after day we had to listen to these in-
credible things in silence and we had to watch the
press print them and much of the public absorb them
as though they were facts — and even our silence
interpreted as a guilty admission of some nameless
crime.

NOW this investigation was supposed to be about
films made in Hollywood that contained un-
American or subversive ideas. In some thousand pages
of friendly testimony what pictures were proved to
contain such ideas? Not a single one.

Of course they brought out Mission To Moscow
and Song of Russia, dusting them off in the hope that
red paint would show through. But it was rather diffi-
cult to prove that Mr. Warner and Mr. Mayer were
communists, although I understand you can buy party
membership cards on almost any Washington street
corner at a dollar a dozen. Anyway, it was obvious
that pictures made with the purpose of presenting an
allied country with some understanding of its action
and problems could hardly be unpatriotic, particularly
when our military fortunes at that critical time hung
largely on the strength and morale of the Soviet Union.
(I realize, of course, it is somewhat unfashionable today
to recall the last war when so much zeal is going into
the preparation of our minds for the next one.)

Well, the list of subversive pictures having evap-
orated, the friendly witnesses were hard put to justify
all the headlines and kleig lights that awaited their
painstaking efforts. But they were resourceful if noth-
ing else. They next came forward with the notion
that although we, the unfriendly 19 and 68 others of
our fellow workers (they apparently have an unfailing
slide rule that enables them to tell exactly who is an
American and who isn't), they said that although we
actually didn't make subversive pictures, we did slip
in a line here or a lift of an eyebrow there. Well, this
turned out to be another blind news-alley. They just
couldn't find the lines and even Mr. Menjou's eye-
brows aren't that expressive.

Finally the testimony boiled down to this: All right,
we don't make subversive pictures and we don't put
in subversive lines or eyebrows, but we try to — only
they're watching and they take them out as soon as
we put them in. . . . Now if this were a court of law,
what would our attorneys have asked these witnesses?
What lines? In what pictures? Who put them in?
Who took them out? Who delegated these characters
to decide what the American people should or should
not see?

But no, you can't ask those questions. This is not a
court of law. This isn't even an inquiry. This is Won-

derland wher<. the Mad Queen needs neither evidence
nor a crime to shout "Off with their heads!" And their
witnesses need no more than their private hates and
fears to proclaim to the world that our film industry
is infiltrated with foreign agents seeking to destroy
our government.

What about this much heralded connection be-
tween the Kremlin and Beverly Hills? Do the
wires run underground or do special couriers arrive
by submarine for midnight conferences on the
beach at Santa Monica? This is such patent nonsense
that I am not going to make a serious reply. But I
say this — that anyone who makes a charge of treason
against a fellow American and does not name the
time, the place and the deed is guilty of the most
vicious conduct since the infamous informers in the
reign of the Roman emperors.

But surely the 19 unfriendly witnesses, dragged out
of our peaceful lives into a fantastic proceeding, must
be guilty of something. Where you have 19 defendants,
you must have a crime. What was it? What had we
done?

WELL, the real nature of our offense came to me
crystal-clear a few days after the hearings were
over. I went up to Hyde Park. It was a beautiful fall
day and those pleasant acres of Hudson Valley land
made me feel as though I had been in a foreign country
— an enemy country, and was returning home. It was
the reverse trip through the Looking Glass. Suddenly
I was in the real world — the world of sanity and dig-
nity and peace.

Although this was not a special day, I saw to my
surprise a long line of people patiently waiting to see
the Roosevelt home, probably as many as 20 were scat-
tered over the grounds. And something struck me
right away. These people didn't act like sightseers.
They hadn't come to carve their initials in the great
elms that shade the President's home.

I walked back to the grave. The small enclosure
was ringed with hushed people. Not even a child made
a sound, so deep and eloquent and pervading was that
silence. I glanced in their faces — Americans native
and foreign-born, white, Negro, doctor, storekeeper
and shoe-shine man. All kinds of people united by a
common loss, a common grief. No, not sightseers but
pilgrims looking for their bearings, men twice for-
gotten who came with a half-formed hope that the
simple slab of white marble would give them back
their voice. And in the eyes of many were tears and
I felt these tears were not alone for the dead.

For what have we, the living, left of all this man
bequeathed us? Where is the security we'd begun to
feel for our jobs, our unions, our living standards?

24

THE COST OF SILENCE

Where are the social gains hard-won in the '30's?
Where is the growing national consciousness that all
human beings have a common origin and common
interests, that there is no such thing as a separated
minority, racial or political, in a really healthy country ?
And where is the One World of peace that was his
final testament, witnessed by Wendell Willkie and
men of good will of all parties and countries? There
is no sensible man, no matter how naive politically, who
doesn't know in his heart that this heritage is being
squandered by those in high places entrusted to exe-
cute his will — our national unity turned into a criss-
cross of hates and prejudices — our economy of reason
and safeguards turning back into the predatory chaos
of the twenties — freedom from fear being transformed
into «jar of freedom — our allied nations being turned
into enemies and our real enemies treated as friends
because they look like better business risks in the grab-
bag ox imperialism — our One World a uranium sphere
with a burning fuse.

And what is our crime, nineteen among all the dis-

inherited? It's very simple. We're guilty of remember-
ing ... of remembering what our Roosevelt heritage
really was — and refusing to settle for the tinny phrases
of self-proclaimed patriots.

Yes, we remember, but we're not alone in remem-
bering. We're really no different from those people
who stood in Hyde Park that afternoon in silent
remembrance. We're a little more articulate, so we
came first. But you'd better watch them, Mr. Thomas
— they're potentially more dangerous than we. I'd
give you their numbers only your files wouldn't hold
them, because their numbers are millions. And they'll
find a voice for the one they lost. Suppress them if
you can, drag them through your inquisitions, label
them with your fear-words, denounce them in your
press — but you'll never silence them. We're earth-
bound people, all of us, and we see our way only dimly.
But this we know instinctively — that it winds not
back into the dark caves from which we emerged but
toward the promised clearing where we can lift our
heads and take our bearings from the stars.

America keeps its atom bomb secrets and begins to lose its liberties.

London Times, commenting on Thomas
Committee Hollywood hearings

Those nations who profess to fear our methods most will soon be most closely imitating those
methods.

Adolf Hitler

25

A Statement of Policy

A statement of policy adopted by the Screen
Writers' Guild at the August 14, 1947 member-
ship meeting:

The House Committee on Un-American Activities
has announced that its hearings concerning Hollywood
will commence September 23. It is apparent from the
statements of committee members, investigators and
witnesses that the immediate target of these hearings
will be the democratic guilds and unions of the picture
industry. In the sub-committee hearings this spring,
the Screen Writers' Guild was slanderously attacked
as the center of subversive activity in Hollywood and
afforded no opportunity to answer the charge. We are
now sufficiently acquainted with the record and meth-
ods of this committee to know positively that there
is no way to obtain a fair hearing under its auspices
for our side of the case. For these reasons, and be-
cause every intelligent American knows that the event-
ual target of the committee is the freedom of the screen
and American democratic rights in general, it is fitting
that the Screen Writers' Guild should issue the fol-
lowing call to the other employee and employer organ-
izations in the industry:

That the various guilds, unions and producer organ-
izations in Hollywood unite in opposition to the con-
spiracy against the motion picture industry between
a few individuals within the industry and the control-
ling faction of the House Committee on un-American
Activities; that these groups, representing the over-
whelming majority sentiment of the industry, use every
means at their disposal to expose in advance the nature
and purpose of the so-called "hearings" now scheduled
for September 23 ; and that these groups combine their
talents and existing channels for appealing to public
opinion in order to present our side of the story to the
American people during and after the committee ses-
sions in Washington.

A resolution subsequently adopted (Oct. 13,
1947) by the Executive Board of the Screen
Writers' Guild and the Screen Directors' Guild:

"1. Official investigations into the political beliefs
held by individuals are in violation of a sacred privilege
guaranteed the citizen in this free Democracy.

"2. Such investigations are an abuse of the right
of Congress to inquire into the matters of national
interest.

"3. Official attempts to restrict individual expres-
sions of opinion are likewise a violation of one and
an abuse of the other.

"4. Any attempt on the part of an official body
to set up arbitrary standards of Americanism is in
itself disloyal to both the spirit and the letter of our
Constitution.

"5. If any threat to our constitutional government
is presented by subversive elements within the country,
the machinery for combating and overcoming such is
already in existence: namely, our law enforcement
agencies and the courts. To assume the prerogative
of those properly designated bodies amounts to charg-
ing them with incapability of maintaining law and
order, and, in the light of their splendid records, such
a charge is completely unwarranted.

"6. As Americans, devoted to our country and the
Constitution, which is its spiritual shape and form, we
hereby resolve to defend the reputation of the industry
in which we work against attack by the House Com-
mittee on un-American Activities, whose chosen wea-
pon is the cowardly one of inference and whose appar-
ent aim is to silence opposition to their extremist views,
in the free medium of motion pictures."

For important policy resolutions implementing the stand of SWG on the Thomas Commit-
tee, blacklisting for reasons of political belief and screen censorship through coercion and fear,
turn to pages 51 and 52 for official action taken by the membership at the Nov. 19 annual meeting.

(This concludes the special section, FREEDOM vs. FEAR: the fight for the
American Mind, prepared under the direction of the Editorial Committee and with
the approval of the executive board.)

26

Gregg Toland, Film-Maker

LESTER KOENIG

Uustrated by
HARRY HORNER

LESTER KOENIG is a member of the
Editorial Committee of The Screen
Writer, and a frequent contributor.
He is presently at Paramount under
contract to Liberty Films as a writer
and associate producer. He had a
chance to gain first hand knowledge of
Gregg Toland' s camera technique dur-
in the production of The Best Years
of Our Lives.

SEVERAL years ago, a leading European film
man came to Hollywood, saw Citizen Kane, and
told its cameraman, Gregg Toland, that he was
"the greatest cameraman in the world."

"No," said Gregg. "That isn't so."

"Really," replied the European, "who is better?"

Gregg named two cameramen, then added, "I'm
only third best."

Gregg may not be the best, or even third best cam-
eraman in the world. But it is true that he is universally
acclaimed, and a great many people abroad consider
him one of the great artists of the film.

Unlike other creative and talented people who come
to Hollywood after coming to maturity and reputation
in the theatre, literature, radio or related media, the
growth of the cameramen because of the nature of
their work, has been indigenous to Hollywood. For
that reason, understanding a man like Gregg Toland,
is to understand one of the strongest aspects of the
complex Hollywood character. Gregg is what I call
a film-maker, and a professional.

The start of the Toland career was not very spec-
tacular. It began in 1919, when he was an office boy
at the Fox Studios on Western Avenue. One day
he looked up and saw a cameraman on a parallel, crank-
ing away.

"I never forgot that sight," Gregg said, somewhat
embarrassed by his youthful romanticism. "It seemed
so glamorous and I made up my mind that's what I
wanted to be.

"Didn't you have any previous interest in pho-
tography? Boy turns hobby into paying proposition,
and all that sort of thing?"

"No," he said, "I didn't have the faintest interest
in photography. It just seemed exciting to sling a tripod
over your shoulder, and it seemed mysterious to go
into a dark room and load film." He laughed. "And
besides, an office boy in those days made twelve dollars
a week, and an assistant cameraman made eighteen."

"Do you still feel being a cameraman is 'exciting' and
'mysterious'?" I asked.

"Yes, I do," he said. He said it in a way that

showed he knew it wasn't the sophisticated thing to
admit. Gregg is not a naive man, and he knows how
ridiculous enthusiasm for your work can make you
appear to your friends. Yet, the fact that Gregg can
still feel this excitement and mystery gives him a de-
cided advantage over some of his more jaded colleagues.

Gregg worked as an assistant cameraman for a good
many years through the Twenties, through the golden
days of Hollywood's prosperity and madness, days
when Tom Mix, William Farnum and Theda Bara
were stars on the Fox lot. His first jobs were on two-
reel Al St. John comedies.

"By the way," Gregg said, "I'll tell you frankly I
was a very good assistant. I made sixty dollars a week
when the others were only making twenty-five or
thirty. But I was worth it. I was proud of the camera.
I used to stay on nights and polish it."

Finally, in 1929, the hard work paid its dividend.
Gregg left the assistant ranks and teamed with George
Barnes to photograph his first picture, The Trespasser,
starring Gloria Swanson, and directed by Edmund
Goulding.

"We had twelve cameras shooting simultaneously
to cover various set-ups, and we had two sound tracks
going. In those days we didn't know how to cut sound,
so we'd shoot the sound in one solid unit, and then
cut the film from our twelve cameras to fit the track.
Since all our cameras ran continuously, on some days
we had 30,000 feet of rushes."

The early, experimenting days of sound were the
formative period for Gregg's technique. After The
Trespassers, he did more pictures with George Barnes:
The Devil Dancer starring Gilda Grey, and The
Rescue starring Ronald Colman.

His first picture on his own was Eddie Cantor's
The Kid From Spain, which Samuel Goldwyn pro-
duced in 1931. It was a musical and it was made before
the days of the playback. Instead of the current practice
of pre-recording a musical number and then photo-
graphing it to synchronize with the sound, the orches-
tra was recorded as it played on the set. Gregg had to
keep two cameras going together. When one would

27

THE SCREEN WRITER

move in for a close shot, the second would be moving
back for a long shot.

The men who made pictures in those days had to
be the inventors of their own technique. Today, Gregg
feels we may have lost something, a stimulus to our
creative thinking, because so much of the inventing has
been done before. In the past, many brilliant things
reached the screen because a technical problem had
to be overcome by men of imagination who had no
one to stand over them and say, "You can't do it that
way, because this is the way we always do it."

In a very real sense, as a partial list of his over
forty films indicate, Gregg grew to maturity with the
medium: Tugboat Annie (1933), Roman Scandals
(1933), Nana (1934), We Live Again (1934), Les
Miserables (1935), Splendor (1935), Dark Angel
(1935), These Three (1936) , Beloved Enemy (1936),
Dead End (1937), Kidnapped (1938), Intermezzo
(1939), Wuthering Heights (1939), Long Voyage
Home (1940), Grapes of Wrath (1940), Ball of Fire
(1941), Citizen Kane (1941), The Little Foxes
(1941),

During the war Gregg served in the U. S. Navy
where he made films, in the Pacific, and later in South
America. In 1945, he returned to the Goldwyn Studios,
where he has been working almost consistently for
over twenty years, to do The Best Years of Our Lives.

"If you study the faces about you, you will find they are
not all the same color."

GREGG's value as a cameraman transcends the
concrete aspects of his work in the films he has
photographed. He is a highly articulate man, who has
done a great deal of creative thinking about the func-

tion of a cameraman in the complicated series of per-
sonal and technical relationships which are necessary
to the making of a film.

In trying to work out some standard of judging
photographic quality, he found the conventional criteria
inadequate. For example, the terms contrast, texture,
balance and composition are used in judging the quality
of photography. A scene is well photographed, sup-
posedly, if the cameraman has been guided by accepted
principles regarding these elements. It is customary
to balance off the faces of various actors in a scene
so that there are no jarring contrasts. However, if
you study the faces about you, you will find they are
not all the same color. To be true to reality, the camera-
man would have to recognize that, and accept it.

"Yet," Gregg explained, "in The Best Years Of
Our Lives when Fred Derry (Dana Andrews) comes
home to his father, (Roman Bohnen) and step-mother,
(Gladys George), I was criticized because I didn't
eliminate the contrasts in the tone of the faces. It was
done deliberately. I wanted to allow the audience to
see the white, unhealthy appearing step-mother, the
drink-flushed father, and the healthy young bombardier.
It seemed to me that helped tell the story."

It is the story which matters most to Gregg. He has
gone beyond the literal rules of camera grammar to
use the written word as his point of departure. He
feels motion picture photography can be judged good
or bad only in its relation to helping tell the story.

Obviously, if the screenplay describes a plain girl,
the cameraman isn't helping the story any if he makes
a gorgeous glamour closeup. In Hollywood, studio
policy usually results in the cameraman trying to make
the plain heroine as glamorous as possible. It is just
this kind of disregard for story values which concerns
Gregg most in his thinking about standards of motion
picture photography in Hollywood today.

Recently, a test of a young actor was made by one
of Hollywood's leading directors, with a reputation
for brilliant camera effects. The actor was seated be-
hind a table, seen in three-quarter profile. A man was
seated in the foreground, asking him the usual "per-
sonality" questions. The man was smoking a cigarette,
and the cigarette smoke was artfully worked into the
composition. It was a beautifully "composed" shot,
with only one drawback: because the actor was placed
in the background of the shot, and because the smoke
partially concealed him, the function of the test had
been subverted, and a prominent director who was
viewing the test with an eye to hiring the actor, com-
mented, "Very fine cigarette smoke. Now, if you
bring me a shot where I can see the actor, I'll be able
to tell whether or not we can use him."

This is crude criticism, and a fairly obvious ex-

28

GREGG TOLAND, FILM MAKER

ample. Of course, one would say, you should be able
to see the actor in a test. But how can you apply this
functional, or utilitarian doctrine to scenes in a film?
Do you mean all photography should be "newsreel" in
quality to be realistic?

Gregg's own account of his approach to a few of
his films may throw some light on the matter. Since
each of the stories posed different problems, no set
formula could be used. Gregg felt he had to study
the script, discuss the story with the director, and evolve
a separate style for each picture.

"Wuthering Heights" he explained, "was a soft
picture, diffused with soft candle-lighting effects. I tried
to make the love scenes beautiful in a romantic way.
It was a love story, a story of escape and fantasy. So
I tried to keep it that way photographically, and let
the audience dream through a whirl of beautiful
closeups.

"On the other hand, Grapes of Wrath had to be
a sharp picture. It was a story of unhappy people,
people of the earth, who had real problems and who
suffered. So we made it very sharp. There wasn't any
makeup used. The picture had some extreme effects
in low key, but they were, I think, real. As I remem-
ber, the camera moved only once — a long travel shot
through the sordid streets of a Hooverville. It was
what the occupants of the car, after the long drive
to a promised haven, were examining. Photography
such as we had in Wuthering Heights could ruin a
picture like Grapes of Wrath completely.

"Long Voyage Home was a mood picture. Storywise,
('storywise,' significantly enough, is one of Gregg's
favorite words), it was a series of compositions of the
mood of the men aboard the ship. It was a story of
what men felt rather than what they did. The cam-
era never moved in that picture.

"Citzen Kane was a great experiment. It was a
story of Kane's personality, what he had done to other
people, what his life meant. It was a psychological
story, yet the external realities were very important.
It required a still different kind of photography, an
expansion of camera technique beyond the usual limita-
tions. Many points of view had to be shown. We had
to experiment because the scope of the story demanded
it. Kane's photography would scarcely have suited
Wuthering Height or even Grapes of Wrath. We
experimented in forced focus depth, in travel shots,
in startling effects, and in full ceilinged sets.

"The Best Years of Our Lives was another experi-
ment. But in a different way. It was Wyler's first
picture after the war and was my first black and white
since the war. We talked at length about the story
and decided it demanded simple, unaffected realism.
Willy had been thinking a lot, too, during the war.

He had seen a lot of candid photography and lots of
scenes without a camera dolly or boom. He used to go
overboard on movement, but he came back with, I
think, a better perspective on what was and wasn't
important. Anyway, Willy left me pretty much alone.
While he rehearsed, I would try to find a method of
shooting it. Usually he liked it. When he didn't, he
was the boss and we did it his way. However at this
point we understand each other pretty well and Willy
knows that I will sacrifice photography any time if
it means a better scene. I, in turn, know that he will
listen to any suggestion. I think Best Years was well
photographed because the photography helped to tell
the story. It wasn't breathtaking. It would have been
wrong to strive for effects. We were after simple repro-
duction of the scenes played without any chi-chi. The
only time I held my breath was in the powder-room
scene when I thought we might be getting arty and
trying to prove how damn clever we were instead of
playing a scene. But Willy was right. It worked for
us. If I had to label the photographic style of the
picture, I'd call it 'honest'."

GREGG'S working habits may be of interest since
they run counter to so many established views about
Hollywood's creators. While it is true that technical

Under ideal conditions the cameraman should work very
closely with his director.

personnel on a production, and cameramen in particu-
lar, put in long and hard hours, it seemed to me, that
as I observed Gregg during the production of The

29

THE SCREEN WRITER

Best Years Of Our Lives, that he and William Wyler,
the director, worked harder than anyone else in Holly-
wood.

Under ideal working conditions, the cameraman
should be included in the preparation of a picture. He
should work very closely with his director. "Unfor-
tunately," as Gregg pointed out, "they don't in this
business. The director may work for months on a
story, but the cameraman is tossed a script a few days
before shooting." In Best Years, Gregg worked on the
picture from its inception, getting each version of the
screenplay, and the revised pages as they came from
the writer, Robert E. Sherwood. This enabled Gregg
to plan the production requirements, to scout locations
and shoot photographic tests. But, in addition, it en-
abled him to familiarize himself with the story itself,
so that he had a thorough "storywise" understanding
of each scene, of each character. With this background,
and with constant discussions with Wyler, Gregg was
able to use his technique in the best interests of the
story as a whole.

During the writing of the script, I remember going
out with Wyler and Gregg to look over the location
for the exterior of Fred Derry's father's house. On
our return to the studio, Gregg suggested that I take
Sherwood out to see it, partly to see if it was what
Sherwood had visualized, and partly to see if it would
give him any ideas. A few days later, when Bob Sher-
wood and I went out and looked the place over, Bob
said he was very glad he came because seeing the
dilapidated exterior of the Derry home made him
realize the audience would not have to be told very
much specifically about Fred's background. One shot
of the wretched exterior would give a very real feeling
of what his life had been like before he became an
officer in the Air Forces. Therefore, added exposition
in dialogue would be superfluous.

Gregg is in an advantageous position for working
with writers and directors, because as well as a cam-
eraman, he is a key figure in the operation of the
Samuel Goldwyn production set-up. He is under ex-
clusive contract to Goldwyn, and works very closely
with the production executives in all their planning.
The average cameraman works by the picture, and
consequently is not in a position to add efficiency to
production. Other companies might well profit by
Goldwyn's example of more closely integrating their
able and experienced cameramen with production plan-
ning.

In any discussion of the Toland style, the question
of forced focus is bound to rise. At the time of Citizen
Kane, it was quite extreme to see objects 18 inches and
200 feet from the camera simultaneously in focus. Now,
of course, we take such shots for granted. Carrying

focus is obtained by use of fast film, stopping the lens
down to a very small aperture, and a lighting key much
hotter than that used conventionally. "Forced focus."
Gregg explained, "is not a trick, and should not be
considered as such. It is an aid to directors, since it
gives them more freedom in staging scenes. As Willy
pointed out in his article in last February's Screen
Writer, 'I can have action and reaction in the same
shot, without having to cut back and forth from indi-
vidual shots of the characters. This makes for smooth
continuity, an almost effortless flow of the scene, for
much more interesting composition in each shot, and
lets the spectator look from one to the other character
at his own will, do his own cutting'."

"Beyond that," Gregg said, "it helps the audience
see more, and consequently see more story."

"What about your photography in the Navy? Do
you think it had any effect on your style?"

"This is an odd thing to admit," Gregg said, "but
I found many times when I didn't have all the Holly-
wood equipment at my elbow, that the results were
superior. Why? They looked real. No halos of back-
lighting, and no soft flattering modelling. For ex-
ample, in Honolulu I used to go into homes or business
houses to do a short sequence. Through the windows
I'd have an f.22. exposure. Inside, an f.3.5 exposure.
I would go ahead, photograph for interior, and get
an extremely over-exposed exterior. But it looked real.
I suppose some place in between the extreme of such
candid photography and the extreme commercial front-
office-style, there must be a compromise point where
we can make pictures with realism. I think there is
a noticeable trend in that direction.'"

In addition to his technical skill, Gregg has the
tenacity to follow through on all details of the picture
which relate to his camera work. He took the trouble
to run and check 41 prints of The Best Years. As the
picture opened in Los Angeles, he went to each theatre
to examine the projection equipment. He ordered new
lenses, had them coated, reduced the size of screens,
and in each instance, improved the quality of pro-
jection.

"In all fairness," Gregg said, "I must tell you that
most cameramen never get the opportunity to do this,
but I think if they fought hard enough, it would be
possible."

GREGG is a man with opinions who is not afraid
to air them, and as a result he is not known for
his ability to make himself popular with other camera-
men. Recently Gregg showed me a telegram he sent
to a very well-known colleague of his. In it, he deflated
that gentleman considerably for taking credit in a

30

GREGG TOLAND, FILM MAKER

magazine article for a "new" development in lighting
technique. Gregg pointed out how ridiculous his col-
league's claim was, and added that he himself had used
that same "new" technique several years before.

"I hope has a sense of humor," Gregg said.

"I think he'll need more than a sense of humor. He
isn't going to like you very much when he sees this."

"Well, that's all right," Gregg said, grinning. "I
do this sort of thing all the time. They resent it, but
they're probably used to it by now."

In response to my questions, Gregg gave me a few
of his views which have not served to endear him to
members of the ASC. "In my opinion," he stated,
"there are about twenty really top cameramen in the
world. I would say that about twelve of them are in
Hollywood. The others run from 'adequate' to 'use
only if necessary'."

"What's the trouble with them?" I asked.

"Well, most of them take the road of least resist-
ance. They do whatever is easiest. But worse than
that, I think too few cameramen realize dramatic and
story values. They don't keep abreast of current plays
and books. Their interest seems to center mainly on
how late a call I can manage in the morning to how
early can we finish today."

"We hear many criticisms about Hollywood's lack
of maturity in terms of story material," I pointed out,
"but it is taken for granted that the technical job
Hollywood does is the finest in the world. How does
this fit in with what you just said?"

"I disagree that all our technical jobs are done as
well as they can be done. For instance, I feel that too
many cameramen are apt to work out a certain key
which they can handle, and then photograph every-
thing, tragedy or comedy, in the same way. They
don't work to adapt their style to their story. Further-
more, cameramen often have ideas which might entail
extra work on their part, and which they don't suggest
to the director for that reason. I'll give you a theoretical
example which will give you some idea of what I mean :

"Supposing the script indicates a group of partisans
making plans for a raid. In the far corner is the lead-
er's girl. She listens, worried.

"One approach to this might be a group shot and
several tighter shots, always with the leader as the
focal point. The director might plan to make cuts of
the girl listening. Now, the cameraman might suddenly
think, 'It would be better to start with a group, slowly
move past intent faces, with the leader always in the
background. The camera nears the leader and then
slowly pans into a big closeup of the girl. We see how
upset she is, and we dissolve on her doubt.' Our cam-
eraman thinks that might be swell, but does he bring
it up ? Well, let's see : It would mean a large problem

in lighting faces with lights that would miss a camera
shadow. It would involve focus of foreground faces
and background faces; also a problem of sliding diffu-
sion as the camera pans to the girl; also he probably
couldn't get the light exactly where he wanted it for the
girl due to camera movement. So, does he mention it?
No, indeed. Why stick out his neck? Even though
his idea would have furthered the dramatic tension
fhe scene and planted the girl's worry more pointedly,
our cameraman will go along with the no more than
adequate idea of the director. That's what I mean
by taking the path of least resistance."

"Okay," I said, "suppose all you've said is true.
It is particularly the fault of the individual camera-
man, or is there a deeper fault?"

"Yes, I think there is," Gregg said. "A great many

"A girl is often so old by the time she proves her ability
that out comes the burlaps in front of the lens."

of the stories we make aren't very stimulating. Some-
times you wonder why they're made at all. That's not
a great inducement to do your best work. I know when
it's been my misfortune to have to photograph one of
those run-of-the-mill pictures, I've been pretty unhappy.
There's absolutely no opportunity for ideas. I've said
to my wife, 'I feel just like a whore, doing it for
money. If I had any guts, I'd quit this picture and we
would go down to Rio, or some place.' But you never
do. You just keep on hoping that the next opportunity
will be better. I suppose that's the human weakness of
comfort and security."

"You sound exactly like any number of writers
who've had to write that stuff you didn't like," I
told him.

"Well, they haven't got any monopoly on frustra-
tions, you know."

"I'm sure it'll make them much happier to hear

31

THE SCREEN WRITER

that. By the way, what about writers in relation to
cameramen. Do you think closer liaison is practical?"

"Definitely," said Gregg. "The cameraman should
be asked to sit down with a lot of other people on the
picture before production, and that would include
the writer. I am positive that great production econ-
omies can be effected by cameramen and writers dis-
cussing the script."

"Here's a question a lot of writers would like to
have answered : What happens to the camera directions
they put into their screenplays in capital letters? You
know, CAMERA MOVES SLOWLY TO, HIGH
ANGLE SHOT, CAMERA TRUCKS, MEDIUM
CLOSE, REVERSE TWO SHOT BUD PAST
BEULAH, and so on?"

"The answer to that is pretty simple. Directors and
cameramen over the years have developed a method
of reading scripts so they do not see these directions
at all."

"Is that your last word on the subject?"
"No, the director can't work out staging and me-
chanics in his office, so why should the writer worry
about trucking shots, panning shots, boom shots and
all the rest? Usually he's talking about a subject of
which he has a very limited knowledge. (Although,
I'll grant most writers have had no opportunity to
learn.) Writers like Sherwood write in master scenes,
and don't go into detailed camera instructions. That's
the way it should be. My advice to writers, especially
the younger ones who are feeling their way in the
medium, would be to concentrate their worrying on
the content of the scene and the dialogue."

AMONG other factors which keep cameramen
from doing more creative work, Gregg includes
the unimaginative quality of a great deal of directing.
There are quite a few old-fashioned, tired directors
who are still coasting on past reputations. And there
are also quite a few directors who find it difficult to
work up much enthusiasm for run-of-the-mill assign-
ments, and are content with doing a routine job of
turning pieces of paper into pieces of celluloid.

"When you're working with a director with no
enthusiasm for what he's doing, it's hard for the cam-
eraman to get enthused," Gregg said. "If the director
makes a two shot, and then a couple of closeups, and
plays every scene the same way, no cameraman in the
world can exert much creative energy. And then
there's the director who wants to make his set-ups
'exciting' and tries to use a 30mm. lens all the time.
This can drive a cameraman crazy, because you can't
use a wide-angle lens without a knowledge of how and
when to use it.

"Or you get the director who wants to move his
camera all the time. My own view is that there is
a sensible point of view in between static set-ups and
constant movement. I've gone to both extremes in Long
Voyage Home and Citizen Kane. Now I think a better
point of view has been reached with Willy in Best
Years. We didn't have any preconceived rules; we
moved when it seemed that helped tell the story best.
Camera movement shouldn't be noticed, because it takes
your attention from the actors, and what is happening
to them. Yet, some directors, because a scene has a
great deal of dialogue, have the extremely false notion
that camera movement will make the scene appear to
move. This doesn't help the cameraman any, either."

Going on from these specific criticisms, Gregg feels
that the industry in general should be criticized. He
feels good pictures aren't being made, and he feels
that you can't blame audiences. He has quite a healthy
respect for the quality of the American audience, and
doesn't believe that pictures have to be geared to the
level of the twelve-year-old mind to be successful.

In general, his main criticism is, he believes pictures
have lost reality and imagination. They are conven-

If you're working with a director with no enthusiasm, it's
hard for the cameraman to get enthused.

tional in writing, direction and photography. One of
his deep resentments is the star system.

"It means we are making pictures with a 'personality'
rather than story. That's why many cameramen are
forced to sacrifice everything in order to keep some
old bag playing young women. And when I say old
bag, that's what I mean. A girl is often so old by the
time she proves her ability that out comes the burlaps
in front of the lens.

"The average producer will answer that he has to
protect his investment. But why not protect it with
a good story, script and director, and then cast it with

32

GREGG TOLAND, FILM MAKER

the best actors for the parts, not box-office names. I
know the answer to that one, too: 'Pictures are a

business for profit.' So they are, but it would be fine
once-in-a-time though, to see an honest motion picture.

"Aren't you tired of seeing some glamour star play-
ing a shopgirl in New York, living in an apartment
that would cost ten times her monthly salary, wearing
dresses that she couldn't possibly afford, and with a
hairdo that you can only get by coming to a movie
studio and having a staff of specialists create for two
hours before you come on the set?"

I admitted I was tired of it, and he sighed, "I could
go on and on, but why?"

"Well," I said, "partly because it's good to get it
out of your system, and mostly because I want to know
how you feel so I can write a proper interview."

"In that case," he said, "I'll go on. A lot of people
won't like this, but I think it's true. At least, it's the
way I've seen it from the inside over a period of years.
I think fewer creative pictures are being made these
days as compared to 20 years ago because most of the
people directly responsible are more smug and better
paid. The unions protect many positions, where in
the old days it was touch and go. In those days any
youngster could start in the picture business, if he had
the stuff. Salaries were much smaller, but I think there
was a greater pride of achievement. Generally speaking,
most people today have the attitude that everything
has been tried and present methods are the best. Now,
I'm not saying the back-lot people all have economic
security, or even all the so-called creative or talent
groups are living off the fat of the land. I'd say, though,
that what I've said is too true of the people who make
the decisions, and who are in the last analysis respon-
sible for what goes on in this town.

"Naturally, I don't speak of the few persons who
have a burning desire to accomplish things, but who
are usually held down by a production office or a pro-
ducer with a 'Why take a chance?'

"That's why making Citizen Kane was so wonder-
ful. Orson Welles (who directed it) and I had a
wonderful time. It was the first time I had encountered
anyone with the authority to do anything and not be
confronted by the front office. I suggested and tried
things I'd been dreaming of for a long time.

"We made mistakes in it, but we also did a few
startling things which people still discuss. I might add

that one reason for many of the effects was a lack of
money. We just couldn't afford to have an audience
in the opera house when the camera was shooting
from behind Dorothy Comingore, the singer. So we
thought. I put up a series of baby shots in a black opera
set and trained them at the camera. I believe that
the ultimate effect was more desirable than an expen-
sive audience of extra people. This is an example of
what I said earlier. People out here no longer ponder;
they no longer have the same challenges to meet. There
is money enough, so they build enough set for safety —
just in case they need it. And so it goes — everyone
protects himself, and everything sails along just fine.

"Kane may not be a great picture, but I honestly
believe it excited more comment and made more people
snap out of their complacency than any other picture
in years.

"By the way, I want to be sure to make this point.
I have worked under contract to Samuel Goldwyn
for many years and some people might have the mis-
taken notion that I am saying these things in criticism
of him. That is definitely not the case. I sincerely
believe that Goldwyn will allow me more freedom,
more experiments and more ideas than anyone at the
moment. I do not say this to protect my contented
feeling, as Goldwyn may have my contract back any
morning he chooses, and without a settlement, and he
knows it. I say it because I believe he tries harder
than any other person in this industry. This doesn't
mean that he is always right, but he tries. I wish more
people did."

In Hollywood today, where the tendency is toward
a standardized product, and toward conformity on all
levels, citizens like Gregg Toland have a value far
beyond their skills or techniques. As individualists.
they have the ability to subordinate themselves and
their work to the cooperative creative process. Yet,
they retain their personalities and identities. Because
he has a personality7, Gregg has personal opinions, and
they are reflected in the pictures he makes. Too many
people in Hollywood have given up the fight to retain
their identities, and when asked for opinions, answer
"I can do it whichever way you want." rather than
"I think it would be better this way." In a community
where so many people are loth to speak their minds,
men like Gregg are good to have around.

He may not always be right, but at least he tries.

33

A Man Can Stand Up

PAUL S. NATHAN

PAUL S. NATHAN is a Paramount
representative in Ne<w York, covering
the legitimate stage field. He is a play-
wright and former drama critic. He
•writes a 'weekly motion picture column
for Publishers' Weekly.

AS was to have been expected, a great many
screen writers, having spent most of their work-
ing and waking hours for some time now in a
world of fantasy, are over-reacting to the reality which
has lately been thrust upon them. The specific reality
I refer to is the international economic crisis, with its
cutting down of motion picture markets, jobs, and
rewards.

The realization that our movies are considered a
luxury in foreign lands rather than a morale-building
necessity has come as a shock to a lot of us connected
with the industry. Even worse is the feeling that quite
a few of our former admirers don't really object to
being deprived of our pictures and are as a matter
of fact, relieved by the recent turn of events. In par-
ticular, certain spokesmen claiming to represent the
British public have been quite explicit on this point.

Hollywood, as nearly as I can make out, has always
been a community with a high incidence of bad con-
sciences. Artistically, that is. (The other varieties of
bad conscience I leave to the exploration of the Jimmie
Fidlers.) The screen writer is famous for his sense
of guilt in compromising with the truth as he sees it
— and getting paid so well besides. Inevitably, then,
censure from abroad — or even the cool indifference
manifested in some quarters — has led to the donning
of sackcloth and ashes at home.*

To be sure, this sound of lamentation does not arise
exclusively from the writers themselves. The more
sophisticated movie critics, too, have been right in
there bitching.

Genuine humility never hurt anybody, least of all
an artist, and when accompanied by a strong resolve

If Irwin Shaw's mood is typical, the recent "investigation"
by the House Un-American Activities Committee, sitting
in Washington, has also contributed to the screen writer's
dissatisfaction with the work he has been turning out in
Hollywood. Blasting away in the Sunday drama section
of the New York Times for November 2, Shaw exhorts:
"Leave the real movie making to the French, the Italians
and the British, who have demonstrated they have the
courage to present life as it is, and not as a political com-
mittee thinks it ought to be."

to do better it is a step on the road to maturity. Holly-
wood will undoubtedly profit by this long overdue
soul-searching.

But brothers, don't let your sense of failure get the
best of you. You're really not that bad. Honest!

Anyone with a mind can reel off a generous list of
memorable Hollywood films, all the way from All
Quiet on the Western Front to W. C. Fields' priceless
It's A Gift. Some years, admittedly, it's been hard to
get enough titles together for a ten-best list, and the
complaints about quality seem to have increased the
closer we draw to the present. Even so, you don't
have to use a fine-toothed comb to come up with such
notable recent specimens as Boomerang, The Lost
Weekend, Crossfire, The Best Years of Our Lives and
The Story of G. I. Joe. Perfect pictures? Perhaps not.
Nor am I saying they and their kind constitute a high
enough proportion of the hundreds released annually.
But they do serve as a reminder that there are some
films we can afford to be proud of. James Agee, who
stirringly hymned the praises of Monsieur Verdoux
in The Nation, later remarked that it had so little in
common with the work generally done in Hollywood
he didn't regard it as a Hollywood product at all. The
fact remains that it was made in Hollywood, by a man
tightly bound up with the history of that community,
and I don't see any reason why we should discount
this. Citizen Kane was made there, too, and The Big
Parade, and Sullivan's Travels — none of them cut
from pattern.

Even before the British tax came along to intensify
it, the average American screen writer's inferiority
complex was marked. Privately, I imagine, most of
them felt they ought to be creating something worth
while and enduring for book publication or the stage.
This was — and is — a sound ambition, not to be dis-
couraged. But speaking out of personal experience as
a professional theatre-goer, I should in all honesty say
that the more I see of Broadway the higher my regard
for Hollywood.

Readers of George Jean Nathan will doubtless be

34

A MAN CAN STAND UP

appalled. My namesake has always dismissed motion
pictures contemptuously and has mustered imposing
arguments to support his point of view. He demon-
strates the difficulty, for example, if not the utter im-
possibility of making any adult films under the existing
Production Code. He is right as far as he goes: the
Code is a great liability. But he does not go far enough,
for good movies have been achieved in spite of it.
Nathan also has a way of damning Hollywood as a
whole by taking swipes at some of its poorer efforts.
Not that I've read all of the old boy by any means,
but I can't recall his ever doing a critique of a really
fine film — something of the calibre of The Informer or
Pride of the Marines.

Nathan, unfortunately, is not alone in his attitude,
which can only be described as supercilious. Even so
sound a critic as Richard Watts, Jr. of the New York
Post could state in his review of Laura (stage ver-
sion) : ". . . to tell you the melancholy truth, it was
so much more skillfully managed by Hollywood that
last night's presentation at the Cort theatre seemed a
wan and wobegone affair" — and then go on to say:
"To one who regards the theatre as infinitely superior
to the cinema, it is embarrassing to admit that the
screen Laura was superior to the stage edition in every
way."

What, in heaven's name, makes the theatre infinitely
superior to the cinema if the cinema provides superior
entertainment even part of the time?

MY indulgence toward the screen and depreciation
of the theatre might be objected to on the ground
that, as a play appraiser for a picture company, I am
obliged to see every show that opens on Broadway,
including all the short-lived horrors, whereas I can
select my own screen fare. It's a fact that I usually
arrange to miss the bum movies, yet I can't conceive
that the worst of them would be any more distressing
than such Broadway abortions as Pasquale Never Knew
or Victory Belles, which, if my readers are lucky, they've
never heard of. In spite of the remark attributed to
one of the collaborators on Park Avenue, "I'm going
back to Hollywood where I can write a flop that'll be
a hit," a flop in one medium is probably just as painful
as in the other — at least as far as the audience is con-
cerned.

Stinker for stinker, in ration to the number of plays
and pictures produced in any twelvemonth, I've little
doubt that the theatre and the movies are just about
evenly matched. And though Broadway's current
Medea and Hollywood's Kiss of Death are so far apart

in virtually every respect (except violence) that they
can hardly be compared, each adds up to a job well
done in its own terms.

When it comes to adaptations from novels, a rich
source of material for both stage and screen, it's my
impression that the movies have the edge — and a
sharp one — over the stage. Back in 1939 a feeble render-
ing of Wuthering Heights lasted for twelve perform-
ances at the Longacre in New York; Mr. Goldwyn
got a film of considerable beauty and poetry out of the
same book. The Good Earth, Jane Eyre, Rebecca, and
A Farewell to Arms (though this latter was marred
on the screen by its ending) were all better on cellu-
loid than behind the footlights. When you think of
stories of such sweep and magnitude as Mutiny On the
Bounty and Gone With the Wind, handsomely treated
by Hollywood, you enter a realm where the playwrights
can't even set foot. Dodsworth of course was a case
where stage and screen both acquitted themselves with
honor, and there have been instances when Broadway's
dramatization of a novel was the definitive one —
Tobacco Road, assuredly — but this is by no means
common.

The translation of a play into a film is another mat-
ter. The play as originally conceived is generally more
satisfactory. Our Town lost something before the
cameras, and so in my opinion did The Little Foxes.
Perhaps, on the other hand, Dark Victory as a Bette
Davis vehicle was an improvement over the show in
which Tallulah Bankhead appeared on the stage. And
Watch On the Rhine, a pretty good play to begin with,
was still more impressive as a picture, if memory serves.

It may seem that by saying "on the one hand yes, and
on the other hand no," this article is rapidly getting
to the point of proving nothing at all. Actually, it is
not my intention to exalt Hollywood above New York
or vice versa. And I would never question that our
West Coast studios, even if they have done some
splendid work, are too often run like factories or that
our movie makers have much to learn from their col-
leagues overseas. Especially am I conscious of the vast
fog in which the Production Code has blanketed the
whole industry, and I am convinced that for pictures
to realize anything like their full potential this fog
must be dispelled.

My main reason for troubling to write a piece at
all has simply been to say, Be fair to yourself, Holly-
wood. Things are tough all over, but don't on that
account mistrust your own strength or deny your own
accomplishments. A man can write for the screen and
still hold his head up!

35

Television's New Journalism

E. S. MILLS, JR.

SWG member EDWIN S. MILLS, JR.,

has had long experience as a director
and adaptor of television at WNTB
in Ne<w York. He is a former editor of
the Army-Navy Screen Magazine, and
now is on leave of absence finishing
a novel.

IF its topnotch writers ever get up above $500, it
will be quite a surprise to them, and it will be a good
many years before even that figure is available.
Each week will probably require of the harried writer
a couple of fourteen-hour days, a couple of days study-
ing research, and the rest of the week fighting off that
strange little pain in the stomach. Without a very tough
fight by a union, there probably won't even be credits.
But it's coming, coming quite quickly, this new field for
writers. And the odds are that a lot of them will love it !

They'll be craftsmen in a brand new kind of craft,
television journalism. But vastly unlike today's news-
reel writers, who are generally neither writers nor
newsmen, the writers for television's coming journal-
ism are probably going to compete on the artistic level
of the novel, the play, or the screenplay. For every one
part of journalistic skill and two parts of technical
movie know-how, they'll need about six or seven parts
of sheer artistic sensitivity and creativity. They'll com-
pare to a newsreel writer as a Time editor compares
with a gumshoe police reporter. For the technique of
journalism which I believe the cockeyed economics
of television will compel producers to use is predicated
upon the writer — a motion picture writer with imag-
ination and creativity of an unusually high order.

For the sake of simplified semantics, let's give the
men of the new craft a name. Arbitrarily, let's identify
them as "film writers," and their craft as "film writ-
ing." For the moment, we'll briefly define their tech-
nique as the translation of already-shot film into a
journalistic sight-and-sound story for the screen,
almost exactly reversing the process used by the screen
writer, who translates a story idea (fact or fiction)
into film. Unlike his screen writing colleague, the film

writer writes no dialogue ; commentary — or narration

is his total province. Yet, as this article will attempt
to show, the film writer may well become as important

36

to television as the screen writer has become to the
industry affectionately called "the movies."

1

ONE night last summer, interested in seeing a tele-
vision show a friend of mine was in, I stopped
into a Sixth Avenue bar and asked the bartender if
he would mind turning on the television set. He re-
garded me dimly, and referred me to the manager.
When I repeated my request to the manager, he looked
at his watch, and asked if the fights were on yet. I
said no. He asked if it was a ball game, or a newsreel,
and I said no. He asked me what the show was. I told
him it a kind of audience participation show. He
glanced down the bar at the dozen or so beer-drinking
patrons, and then at me. He grinned, slowly. "Are
you kiddin'?" he said. And then, to be courteous, he
added "I got to think of the paying customers," and
turned on his heel.

It was one of those little straws in the winds of
television. Yet it was memorable. Possibly the man-
ager stated a criticism of television that was a lot more
profound than he knew. For quite possibly — as one
of the paying customers himself — he was negatively
expressing a nostalgic desire for television to be . . .
television, and not a hybrid compounded of radio,
stage, and motion pictures. It's certainly true that to-
day's low budgets don't give television a chance to
show what it can do. But perhaps, even the good pro-
grams today don't represent what the medium should do !
Artistically alone, it seems a little absurd to believe
that television can necessarily do radio's job better,
merely by adding sight. On the contrary, more often
than not, a radio program suffers by adaptation. It
comes out far less pleasurable to see than merely to
hear; the audience realizes that a gentle imagination
is a far more pleasing eye than the harsh reality of
the television camera. Besides music, particularly, and
a great deal of speech and even gags are for the ear;
time and time again the eye will louse up a perfectly

TELEVISION'S NEW JOURNALISM

good scene, or aria, or both. Aldous Huxley's "feelies,"
for instance, in adding the participation of another
sense, would be highly restricted in subject matter.

Similarly with the addition of sight in the home:
it must be able to do things which can not be supplied
the ear. Bedevilled screen writers have long known
how much effort and care it takes to visualize a musical
number so that it will not bore the audience. Similarly
in other radio formats: an audience will listen avidly
for fifteen minutes to a commentator, letting his words
supply mental pictures, whereas in television they won't
watch him for more than one minute. Home audiences
will listen uncomplainingly to three choruses of a
popular band number, but will fidget and fuss before
the end of the first chorus of it visually, unless there
are cutaways and widespread visual variety.

As we'll see, to visualize radio effectively takes a
lot of cash, extra cash, with the chances good that it
won't be as pleasurable as it was to listen to. The
potential set-buyer — the paying customer — might well
say that if radio's no better seen than heard, why
bother with television. He might well be right. If
there's no gain in entertainment quality by visualizing
radio, why on earth bother to go to the expense of
doing so?

It seems even sillier for American television to
arrogate to itself the capacity to compete artistically
with Hollywood on any sustained scale. In the fore-
seeable future, the lush economics of Hollywood will
always be able to purchase better writing, direction,
talent, advertising, and production-ingredients than
home television's sponsor-bound economics can ever
afford. Theatre television is quite a different matter;
it will neither be the one-spot kind of performance
scheduling — with its unbelievable waste — which home
television has adopted in following radio's patterns,
nor will it be tied to the purse strings of the Ameri-
can advertiser. And in theatre television, with its box-
office economics freed from sponsorship, the fabulously
cheap production techniques of television in producing
dramatic fare will compete disastrously with motion
picture production. But this is another story; now, we
are investigating only home television, whose paying
customer is a man who bought a set, or may buy one
tomorrow. His kind of television is an hourly affair
in his own living room. And to attempt to make postur-
ings like Hollywood over the screen of his set — poorer,
shabbier, less talented posturings — is to invite com-
parisons which seriously jeopardize the future sale of
sets to his friends.

2

ARTISTICALLY, imitating other media seems
ridiculous. Economically, it's dangerous. For up
to now, the pinstriped man in the plush office with

an autographed portrait of Little Punchies breakfast
food on every wall and paperweight is the gentleman
on whom home television's entire economy rests square-
ly. Someone must pay the bills of programming; the
likelihood of a government tax, as in BBC, with sub-
sequent subsidization of the industry, is highly unlikely
in the U.S.A. of the N.A.M. It looks like the sponsor
is it. Yet any affection he might have for television is
purely secondary; his parish is the American consumer,
his bible that sales graph in the corner, and his deity
is nut-brown, crunchy, lunchy, hunchy Little Punchies
— period. One can rest assured that this gentleman —
with one eye glued on that graph, will not enter tele-
vision because he loves the medium. We'll assume he's
smart enough to be aware of the terrific capacity of
television to sell Little Punchies. But we can also be
sure he'll be twice damned — and once fired — if he
lays out so much as one thin dime extra for the new
medium over other media unless that little old graph
works in direct dimewise proportion.

Today, he's contemplating as are most of his con-
freres— whether or not to go into television at all.
If his eye is discerning, and his adman off hunting in
Connecticut, the chances are that with a little thought,
he'd eschew "imitative" programs quickly, and for-
ever ; his logic would show him that radio-like or movie-
like programs lead him like a beguiling whore up an
economic dead-end street. He'll realize they won't
work, and that he'll have to look elsewhere for pro-
gramming.

He might reason like this. Home television as an
advertising medium, of course, must sell millions of
sets before it pays off on that graph. He and his com-
petitors must — at a dead loss for two or three or four
years — pay for programs entertaining enough to lure
Americans into wanting to buy those sets. If Ameri-
cans can be persuaded to fork out the necessary cash,
and do so, it's one hell of a fine medium to promote
Little Punchies. But without the bait of good pro-
grams, the chances are dim that Americans would
fork over $400 on a gamble.

At first glance, he realizes, it looks like a highly
justifiable loss for a few years; the end is worth it,
and besides, his Public Relations man can plug him
as public-minded — boosting a new medium. But then
he takes a second glance, this time at television's cost
figures. Television transmitting facilities would cost
him locally about three times as much as radio, and
many times more for intercity networking, once the
networks stop absorbing half the cost. So far, however,
it's all right, for the product-identifiability of tele-
vision is about four times greater than radio.

37

THE SCREEN WRITER

Used to radio thinking, he then starts thinking in
visualized-radio terms, and digging into the cost
sheets on his desk. He blinks. The dim stare begins.
Quite distinct from transmission costs, he finds, produc-
tion costs — with their sets and costumes and line-
memorizing and business rehearsals and camera re-
hearsals, would run him from three to twenty times
as much as a comparable radio show.

Then he thinks farther. Each year, he allocates a
certain amount of Little Punchies' . gross to advertis-
ing. It's a tremendous figure, up in the millions, which
his advertising agency men have taught him to spread
around from billboards to newspapers to radio and
back. He decides to see what would happen if he
spent a full 50% of it on television alone, a very
liberal percentage indeed. It comes out a million dol-
lars, or roughly $20,000 per show per week. And now
for the rub. In radio, almost all of that $20,000 would
go to talent; in television, where he must pay rehearsal
time plus all his other production costs, he must buy
much cheaper talent, all the way down the line, with
proportionate loss in show quality. In films, that
$20,000 would pay for about one-quarter of a reel of
adequate dramatic entertainment. No matter how much
saving he gets from the television technique of pro-
duction, no matter how clever his artists, he can't com-
pete with the forms he's imitating. He can't afford
talent half as expensive as in a comparable radio show.
He couldn't afford production one-twentieth as lavish
as a comparable feature film production. And besides,
the minute he found talented unknown artists, the
other media would buy them away from him. And
that budget is top, ridiculously high; it's more than
even the most optimistic advertiser would fork out.
What's more, he would have to spend that money for
years when the graph didn't show a flicker of return.
It's wrong. It doesn't jell, economically.

Inflexible and rigid as it must be, his budget licks
him. It will lick him every time, no matter how many
combinations of logic he might try to beat it. He cant
afford an imitative program good enough to sell home
television to the public, good enough to make people
prefer turning on their television set to anything else.
It's the simple fact of television's economics.

Today and for many years to come perhaps, a few
advertisers are illogically pursuing the imitative pat-
tern, finding sporadic "sleepers" of shows to keep their
misdirected faith alive and whet their imitative appe-
tite, clinging to the belief that television can do what
radio and movies can do. They refuse to accept the
relentless fact that their budgets will never permit
them to do it as well. They can afford only enough
to invite comparison, thereby slowly bastardizing the
medium's chances of reaching the masses of consumers,

in whose name they are pouring useless money into
their half-baked shows. They are forgetting the pay-
ing customer, and by so doing are spoiling home tele-
vision as a means of moving their Little Punchies
across American counters. Without a shift of direc-
tion, the medium will slowly dwindle and die like
Stanley Steamers and American advertisers will be
deprived of the greatest means of advertising ever
devised, and the public will be denied one of the
great inventions in domestic history.

A few months ago, one of the large television manu-
facturers announced a gimmick called Phone- Vision,
a device predicated on this very inability of the sponsor
to sustain the economic burden of the medium. It
might well be the death-knell of imitative program-
ming, for with it attached to one's set, a set-owner
can call the telephone operator and ask to have his
set plugged into an MGM musical, or Warner's latest
Bogart-Bacall tragedy, for which he'll be charged, say
seventy-five cents on the phone bill at the end of the
month.

If this radical and exciting invention could beat
through some very tough opposition from the movie
exhibitors and from the networks (who are very
chummy with the phone company, obviously), it would
do a tremendous amount to make television set sales
skyrocket, and could considerably enhance home tele-
vision's potentialities as a medium in which to display
Little Punchies. It would most probably seal forever
the tongues of the advocates of the imitative kinds of
television fare, for they would find themselves in compe-
tition in the home with Louis B. Mayer, and this
they would not enjoy. Most important, it would make
dazzling clear the necessity of finding something other
than imitative programs, and finding them quick.

IMITATIVE programs can't beat the originals,
that's all. The economy makes it impossible. And
no commodity should be sold, or manufactured, as
admittedly inferior to something which costs the con-
sumer less.

Rather than being a permanently discouraging ad-
mission, this should be encouraging. Stripped of the
pretense of imitation, there's nothing left for television
to do but be . . . television, for the paying customers.
And what should that be? Two things, certainly.
One, it should be cheap enough so advertisers can
afford it. Two, it should be as much as possible what
the paying customer wants. In more idealistic terms,
one might say (as about any fast-selling commodity)
that it should achieve a basic function in, and contri-
bution to, our society.

38

TELEVISION'S NEW JOURNALISM

Viewed objectively, home television need not amount
to more than what dreamers always pictured it to
be before it became a reality: a device for seeing what
is happening in the world beyond the living room,
Jules Verne-like. Jokes about it have always dealt
with the absurdity of outsiders entering one's room
via a television screen, of seeing things one shouldn't
see. Simply, it's a medium of information. It can —
and probably should — answer the same curiosities that
prompt us to buy the evening paper. It's reality, come
down from the airwaves.

Journalism, the craft of recording and discussing
reality, has always filled an extremely basic need, a
social demand, like Milk of Magnesia. Radio's jour-
nalism, sadly constricted to sightlessness, has achieved
little more than making information hourly available.
But the journalism of television may well become the
most important forward step in communication since
the beginning of the printing press. It seems sensible
to regard at as such.

There is ballast to the journalistic argument, and
it's good ballast, too. Journalism answers the demands
of cost and audience appeal. As far as cost goes, ob-
viously reality is the cheapest visual pageant which a
12-inch screen can possibly convey. Well-chosen, it
can have the movement and conflict of drama, as in
sports — where the staging has the excitement of acci-
dent, and the third act curtain is the final whistle.
Well-presented, as we shall see, it can achieve the
pleasurableness of most other kinds of entertainment;
radio's unseen journalists, by virtue of their subject
matter alone, are high up on the Hooper popularity
ratings.

As to the paying customer — whatever the worth
of statistics in so youthful and industry, figures elo-
quently attest to the fact that journalism is what
paying customers seem to want, and like best. Over
a two-year period at NBC in New York, sports and
newsreels topped every other program type almost
every single week in audience ratings — and the fact
that the other program types were bad is merely weight
to the statistics and the argument. Retailers report
that set-buyers, particularly in the middle-income
brackets, are buying their sets primarily — after novelty,
of course, — to have sports and news brought into the
living room, for free. The paying customers, without
analyzing it, seem to be wanting television — just tele-
vision. They can get radio from $12.50 radios, and
movies at the Palace.

One can't help wondering if — no matter how much
Jack Warner says he's always wanted a newsreel —
perhaps there wasn't a little hard-headed businesss
logic mixed up with that desire, when Warner's bought
Pathe News at a time when every other major newsreel

in the country was firing whole hunks of staff in order
to break even, in their theatre releases.

WERE television programmers to reorient their
policy toward a journalistic goal, and to borrow
a phrase, attempt to construct a "living newspaper,"
where would they turn? Should they jettison anything
and everything imitative? Would they keep their
schedules loaded with nothing but "news"? The an-
swer is rather simple. They should keep home tele-
vision screens glowing with the motion of the world
we live in, keeping in mind the dangers of trying to
visualize something radio can do better, and the ap-
peal of keeping reality as reality in terms of sight.
They would include home economics as well as basket-
ball, stock quotations along with the speeches of a
bigwig Waldorf dinner. And, of course, they would
do everything in terms of cheapness; expensive journal-
ism like the March of Time, however correctly it pur-
sues what the paying customers seem to want, runs the
risk of biting off more than the budgets can chew,
with — once more — the risk of comparison. And at long
last, it is precisely here that the film writer appears
in the scene. He provides cheapness and quality to-
gether.

Let's look at a journalistic schedule for a moment.
Live sports events, far and away the belle of the ball
... in and etc. etc.

The quick-moving kaleidoscope of the journalistic
motion picture camera, with its infinite range, its
action and mobility, its endless choice of subject mat-
ter, more fully exploits the visual potentialities of the
medium than any other kind of television journalism,
except live transmissions. Alas, live television is lim-
ited. Confined by transmission range and ponderous
relay equipment and high line voltage, the live tele-
vision camera can't travel far away from home base.
The movie camera, however, can record the reality of
any spot on earth where there is daylight — and for-
tunately, there are still a great many such spots still
left us, however temporarily.

Even more important, film journalism can entertain,
a quality vital for sponsorship. (Cue the film writer:
it's almost time for his entrance.) Like fiction, film
journalism can be dramatic, comic, exciting, and pro-
voking. Yet it can also fulfill that vital condition of
cheapness which we've seen is the straw on the sponsor's
back.

jJ'NTER: the film writer, with his literary tools to
-/make films pleasurable and entertaining.

Enter: the film writing technique, with its capacity

THE SCREEN WRITER

to produce motion pictures at one-tenth the cost of
the screen writing technique.

For simplicity's sake, let's call the conventional
technique of producing pictures "the screen writing
technique" — involving script, breakdown, directed
scene-by-scene shooting, editing, and dubbing. Sponsors
long ago learned how very much more this technique
costs than live television does, with a quality of differ-
ence in no wise proportionate to the cost difference,
if even evident.

Yet, ironically, sponsors have wanted film, because
it can bypass the fabulous costs of electronically net-
working a program, simply by duping and mailing to
each participating station, including stations not reach-
able by network yet. Film requires no costly studio
rehearsal in the station or network. A film produced
at a cost comparable to that of a television production
would, in final reckoning, be far cheaper because of
its savings in transmission charges. That's where film
journalism, utilizing the film writing technique, shows
its cheery head. It is just that. Cost-wise, it beats the
screen writing technique hollow.

The film writer requires that a cameraman go out
and shoot a story without screenplay or treatment or
scene list and send it in. Then he takes over, fashion-
ing from the footage a full-fledged screen production.
Sailing blithely between the Scylla of film's attractively
low transmission costs and the Charybdis of screen-
writing's formidable production costs, he eliminates
sets, actors, directors, makeup men, costumers, grips,
electricians, script clerks, technical directors, and usual-
ly sound men, for with rare exceptions, his film was
shot silent, outdoors. The vital IATSE Cameramen's
Union permits a single cameraman, at a wage 35%
under all "production" cameramen, to shoot "news-
reel" without assistant, whereas even for silent "pro-
duction," while paid more, the cameraman must have
at least one, and usually two or three assistants, plus
sound crew, grips and electricians for sound.

Were a journalistic story to be produced by the screen
writer's technique, let's say a silent film-plus-track
story, were the cameraman to be handed an already-
written script, and told to go out and shoot that script,
scene by scene, set-up by set-up, not only would the
IATSE rate the story as "production" immediately, and
require the hiring of many additional hands, but— and
this is a vital difference in technique — a director would
be required to interpret what the screen writer wanted
to translate into film. Incidentally, it would take a
good deal longer to shoot, and edit.

The story above, shot with screenplay, would cost
about one-seventh as much to make if the film writing
technique were employed. Once finished — if the film

writer is really good — the two techniques would end
up on the screen with surprising similarity. But, and
it bears repetition, the film writer must be able to write
like an angel. For the screen writer's job is cinematic:
he may request film to enrich his story. The film writer
is denied the chance to request. He takes what he gets,
and what he lacks in film, he must supply by his com-
mentary and story-sense. His job is literary. He, and
he alone, must carry the brunt of the cost difference.
His words, as we shall show, must paint the pictures
which the cameraman didn't shoot. His literary tricks
keep the audience from realizing that they are hearing
scenes instead of seeing them. He has become the di-
rector, but he must direct after the film has reached
the cutting room. With his script, he must make the
film perform like an actor, in the scenes his words
create.

There are a great many in the business of film jour-
nalism today — and that includes everybody from the
shoestring travelogue producers up through newsreels,
documentaries, information films, and in fact anything
on film which is not basically fictional or instructive —
who would deny categorically that a writer can be
given such immense responsibility and come up with
a good show. There are those of the Picture Is All
school, who say that no film can be better than its
pictorial content, that the best commentary is a mini-
mal captioning. There are those of the Complicated
Film school who would argue that the job of film jour-
nalism is to prove or explore an area of fact, or culture,
and must be shot so as best to illustrate the ideas.
Most cameramen would insist that they are primarily
responsible for the worth of a production, and not
the commentary writer. Many cutters would contend
that without their skill in editing film, the writer is
helpless.

IT is the controversial contention of this article that
although — obviously — good camera work and good
editing help enormously, that although it would be
nice to use the screenplay technique, and infinitely
easier, the economics of television demand a highly-
skilled, highly imaginative and creative writer who
with minimum help from cutter and cameraman can
produce film journalism of a very high quality. It is
also the contention of this article that such writers can
succeed in answering television's demands, with ideas
from skillful typewriters instead of the screen, and
rather than merely answering the challenge can beat
it, master it and come out with productions as good
as, and often better than, those of their screen writing
colleagues. Only one condition is postulated : a talented,
educated writer.

40

TELEVISION'S NEW JOURNALISM

Probably, the film writer will be working for a
network or a newsreel-package agency, into which,
each week, will pour thousands of feet from staff
cameramen around the country or the world. Un-
fortunately, his chances of getting much quality from
his cameramen are still rather poor. The men called
"Newsreel" cameramen today, men brought up to tell
a story with their camera with no direction or sug-
gestion other than time and place to cover, tend to
be uncreative journeymen, who differ widely from
their ASC colleagues in Hollywood.

They tend to be happiest when shooting a bathing
beauty contest or bike race; their "feel" for journalism
beyond the obvious — the strange, wonderful little off-
the-beaten-track shots, twenty feet of which can do
more to tell a story than a reel of photographic cliches —
tends to fall into the same talent level as that of their
newsreel-writer colleagues. And perhaps most sad to
relate, their New York local — where most newsreel
men come from, is a violently closed, nepotistic organ-
ization to which some of the finest documentary cam-
eramen in the world are denied admission. They ac-
knowledgedly don't like "arty" cameramen in the
"newsreel" game; their business manager told me that
the arty boys "tend to be foreigners, and reds."

Still, regardless how trite their coverage, they are
expert technicians, and always send in a full story,
complete with beginning, middle, end, and cutaways
a-plenty. Good or bad, they can shoot as many as
fifteen journalistic stories a week if so assigned. As
television's demands for newsreel cameramen increases,
perhaps the union will loosen its rigid membership rules,
and new blood will bring in a more sensitive type of
man. Until then, however, the importance of the film
writer will necessarily be much greater in producing
the quality whole.

In the film-writing technique, the editor has little
chance to be of- more than technical aid to his director-
writer. Rarely does the uncut film offer much chance
for ingenuity with scissors : there is seldom a retake, two
different angles to choose from, or choice of close or
medium shots. And the editor soon learns that the pic-
torial build, the problems of length, sequence, and
pace, must be the domain of the film writer, who must
use the film, as we said, as an actor in the scenes his
script will build.

Once shot and cut — and usually the first cut will
be the last, with a minor change or two — the editor
hands the film writer a "spot sheet," listing the scenes
in the story, and the content and length of each. From
there on in, the film writing technique goes to work.

Off of that spot sheet must come a cinematic story,
which up to now is merely film.

UNTIL now, the process has been almost identical
to that used by any of the major newsreels. But
our film writer is writing for television, for a sponsored
production, and not for the highly uncompetitive news-
reels, any one of which is in quality no whit different
than its rival (the new Warner-Pathe is an encourag-
ing exception). Therefore, as we've seen, he knows that
it is the major job of his script to make the screen —
the home-screen — entertain, and have audience-pulling
power. It is another salient and primary function of
his technique : he is writing for a Hooper.

FOR the sake of emphasizing this very vital point,
let's digress for a moment to a writer who is also
writing a script for a sponsor, for a commercial film. He
will employ the screen-writing technique. For he has
been hired by, say, the Piston Ring King to dramatize
the impact of piston rings on 20th century culture.
His script's job is to construct a cinematic vehicle
which pictorializes each of the 122 reasons for piston
rings in a free enterprise society. More important, his
script's job is to titillate the hell out of the piston ring
man personally. He has little interest in audience; he
wants another contract.

By extreme contrast, the piston ring man who has
contracted for television time in which to air the work
of the film writer, wants a good show which set-owners
will turn to, to which he can append his sales blurb.
To titillate his sponsor, the film writer must do it via
the audience, and the resulting Hooper. His script
must be entertaining; it has nothing whatsoever to do
with pistons, for the advertising agency is fretting
about the commercials anyhow. The film writer, then,
instead of being the hack journalist of the newsreels,
and the cinematic journeyman of the commercial film,
must be a showman, worried about box-ofHce. Though
he must do his journalistic and cinematic job well,
it's the way in which he dresses his film up, and makes
the finished job a glistening, provoking vehicle of sight
and sound, which counts in the Hooper boxoffice tally.

An earlier reference to a Time editor was not ran-
dom. In Luce's highly remunerative conception of
journalism, the writer is a performer ; there are re-
porters and researchers to worry out the facts and
figures and check the final copy for error. The writers
are there simply for showmanship. They dress facts
up in velvet pantaloons, studded with provocative and
annoying rhinestones. And whether you like it or not,
the news shudders on the page with its Timestyle.
Its readers — in the income bracket which will for many

41

THE SCREEN WRITER

long years to come comprise the vast majority of tele-
vision set-owners — like it. That pseudo-brilliance,
combined with indefatigably thorough fact-finding, has
proved excellent journalism. It sells a million and a
half copies every week.

March of Time, interestingly, can afford to use the
screenplay technique more often by far than the film
writing technique, and in my opinion often suffers
thereby : in prosaically illustrating the commentary, the
screen often jumps around wildly and disorients the
audience. As we shall see, this isn't likely in film writ-
ing. Nevertheless, the MOT commentary utilizes the
ululating Lucian prose, and delivers it in the unbearably
identifiable sonority of Van Voorhees, its announcer.

The film writer, however, must go March of Time
one better, and do it all alone. He must stud up his
commentary with rhinestones and an occasional zircon,
but, as we've seen, must also utilize his skill with words
to overcome what the screen lacks in information, sub-
ject matter, variety, interest, and meaning. Denied the
chance, except from a stock library, to request that
such and such be shot to illustrate his most vital points,
he must substitute verbal ingenuity for cinematic thor-
oughness. To do so, he needs to know instinctively or
consciously how to handle every trick in the literary —
not the cinematic — book: inversion, comedy, bathos,
pathos, plants, suspense, gags and even character. It's
a lot more possible than it sounds.

8

WHAT the film writing technique could do re-
ceived a tremendous shot in the arm during the
Second War. The OWI and the military services in
America, the Grierson unit in Canada, the Ministry
of Information in England, all found themselves with
film on their hands, out of which they must make
pictures. Capra's Why We Fight was put together
out of already-shot film, for the most part. So were
most of Grierson's World In Action series, the Army-
Navy Screen Magazine, and innumerable documentar-
ies like True Glory. True, their producers (who were
very often writers like Philip Dunne and John Huston
and Eric Ambler) often had hundreds of thousands
of feet to work with. True Glory had millions. But
each new production tried a new experiment in script
utilization. The soundtrack jumped away from the
pathetically inept flatness of the newsreel's captioning
horizontality. Borrowing from some of the great pre-
war documentaries, and adding new tricks, the com-
mentary developed mightily as a dramatic, showman-
like adjunct to the picture. One or more actors read
the lines, sometimes in character, sometimes merely
with that understanding of words which a fine actor

can boast over a mere announcer. Comedy was used.
Blank verse was used.

The film writers doing this were pressed into war-
time service from every branch of the writing profes-
sion. They were iconoclastic, and they experimented.
Little by little, they found themselves dominating story
content, and approach. Novelists and screen writers,
short-story writers and non-fiction feature writers and
playwrights — every kind of writer, in fact, except the
impossible newsreel men who amusingly enough had
been virtually the only pre-war documentary film writ-
ers— found themselves virtually in charge of their own
productions, because the editors and producers had
begun to realize that it was the only way to make good
pictures. They had learned that poets make superb
film writers. Sometimes these writers underestimated
the power of the film and overestimated the power of
their script, but in all, they provided tomorrow's tele-
vision film writer with a fabulous wealth of proof
of the validity of the film writing technique.

THE film writer staring at his spot sheet probably
is wriggling uncomfortably, for he could write
for long minutes about a sequence listed thereon as
31 seconds. It is iron confinement; he knows that ex-
actly 31 -seconds' worth of film is available and no
more. He knows also that what he writes must sound
as though it matches with the film, whether it does
or not. He knows that 16 seconds from the start, where
Secretary Marshall walks across the screen, he must
be identified.

It's an odd quirk in the film writing technique that
after a little practice, these restrictions cease to be
throttling and become a psychological boon. As in a
sonnet, writing to count demands constant ingenuity
and restriction-hurdling creativity. Goethe said, "It
is by having to work within limits that the true master
shows his art," and it's true in film writing. Once the
writer has become accustomed to the confinement of
his spot sheet, he learns to stop worrying about the
screen. Instead, he learns to make the screen describe
what he wants to say! He has acquired a capacity to
tell a story whose message can be quite independent of
the film while technically following it very closely. It
is the film writer's basic trick of technique : what we'll
call "interpreting." Although the process of "in-
terpreting" becomes subconscious after a while, it's
really two processes, one journalistic, the other liter-
ary. The journalistic" art is deciding how to angle a
story, even before it's cut. The writer decides what
meanings and significance are in the story, exactly as
if he were about to sit down and write a slanted maga-
zine piece or an editorial about it — utterly irrespective

42

TELEVISION'S NEW JOURNALISM

of the film's pictorial capacity to help him get those
meanings across. He sticks to it, too, regardless how far
afield the pictorial story may roam.

In the 1947 issue of the New Yorker, Rebecca
West did a piece on the Greenville lynching trial.
Like film writing, it was interpretive, creative jour-
nalism; she read a subtle meaning into some of the
obvious things she witnessed. Now let's assume that
those obvious things she saw were recorded by a
pedestrian cameraman, and are the film to which a
film writer must add commentary. And we'll say
the film writer decides to put the same message into
his film, and pursue the same investigation of what
was significant, as Miss West did in her article. (A
screen writer would — as in Ox-Boiu Incident — have
to recreate it fictionally.)

Miss West's superb journalism, of course, was not
limited to what an actual camera recorded. The length
of each observation, the variety of the scenes her type-
writer recorded, were as endless as she cared to make
them. Our film writer's interpretation is restricted
to the available film. And to get his angle across, he is
forced to resort to purely literary tricks of technique
whereby his commentary brings things to the screen
which the film alone doesn't have. These tricks are the
second part of the process of interpreting, in film writ-
ing. They're the literary part.

It's parenthetically interesting that in her Greenville
reporting, Miss West speaks of a photographer she
met who "should have been a novelist; he detects the
significant characters and episodes in the welter of
experience as an Indian guide sees game in the forest.
. . ." Alas, as we've seen, the film writer's chances
of having film shot by such a cameraman are small
indeed, for usually, such men are novelists, and not pho-
tographers, particularly movie photographers. It's ten
to one his story will be a string of cliches until the
script is added, a meaningless, pedestrian reality of the
obvious.

The literary trick he first uses, then, as he starts
to create his script, is what for lack of better semantics
we'll call symbolism. We'll say that he realizes im-
mediately that he has no pictorialization of the squalid
tragedy of the American South. Perhaps, however,
from the back of his mind comes a flash of memory
of Wolfe's magnificent rhapsody about southern court-
houses in the Hills Beyond, wherein Wolfe — very
much in the film-writing manner — interprets southern
culture in terms of the southern courthouse.

Naturally, the prosaic cameraman shot plenty of
footage of the courthouse, because it was where the
trial was: that, to him, was news. But the film writer
makes it a symbol of things not seen. He opens his
story with an abnormally long sequence of it, which

his editor helps to make move visually. And then,
always speaking in terms of the courthouse, which we
see on the screen, he pours into it all the blights and
sores of its moribund culture, and the agonies of a
race denied legal justice by century-old inequities of
a dead economy. The courthouse absorbs his words
dramatically. We in the audience see the stark build-
ing come alive with evil history, exactly as we do in
Miss West's prose piece of description. So far, we're
one up on Miss West, because we're actually seeing
the reality in photographs. What's more, by using the
screen as symbol, the film writer has made it his servant.
He has the ball, and this sequence is as good or bad
as his script-writing.

Instead of one symbol, perhaps he wants — or is
forced — to use many objects as one symbol. Miss West
explored the kind of homes the few wealthy people
had, the kind of homes the Negroes lived in, the kind
of homes wherein poor white and negroes lived side
by side. This never occurred to our cameraman — and
oddly, perhaps it's good it didn't. The symbols are
more exciting. Of course the cameraman got a great
many close-ups of Greenville citizens. So, the film
writer interprets. The faces become the town, the
physical town. While we look at kind and unkind
faces, white and black, we hear the makeup of the
town, hear how this man lives, where that man lives,
and perhaps why. The synthesis is perhaps more ex-
citing than visual documentation.

The film writer using this "symbol" technique has
a never-ending challenge to his ingenuity in making
words give visible things a new dimension. A sailor
in Central Park can echo a battleship, a battle, his
home town, his dreams, his girl, or even his car, or
dog, without disorienting the audience in any way,
for the film writer always remembers his technical al-
legiance to the film which has become his servant, and
always focusses on the sailor himself. He must discuss
the battleship through the sailor. He must discuss the
tragedy of the South through the courthouse, the
visible thing. He uses the words "courthouse," "justice"
or "law" frequently. He perhaps writes "below these
19th century eaves ebbed the muddy tide of something
that was sick, and dying, and refused to die . . ."
Perhaps he says, "Inside these columns was . . .,"
or, "Beyond these faded pillars lay . . ." He clings
to what we see.

He discusses the Jim-Crow built town through the
people, saying, "to old Jeb Detters, the streets of his
home town were no different than any other, but last
week . . .", or "Ma Dides walked listlessly from
her unpainted front porch (unseen on the screen) six
blocks each morning to cross this square (seen) before
Weaver's store, to collect her washing," or over to

43

THE SCREEN WRITER

the local bigshot's face, "Perhaps banker Phelps never
stopped to think that his small town was . . ." and
so on.

The film writer might say that as he writes he
hangs his script to the scenes of his film as if tied by
occasional pieces of string to the sprocket holes. It is
his script, not the film's. He owns and originated it.
Its interpretation is his, and it hangs together by itself
as a piece of literate writing. True, he has had to
twist and invert sentences so they fit the screen's de-
mands, or has written his exposition backwards because
that's the way the film demands it. Yet quite apart from
the screen it so closely follows, it is a whole of dra-
matic, journalistic prose, which is entertaining.

One of the most prevalent uses of film in television
film journalism today — while widespread "news" foot-
age for television is still largely available — is stock
footage. And it will figure very largely in the film
writing of tomorrow, too. It is sometimes incredible
what a talented film writer can do with — say — mid-
war scenes of London while describing a recent unpic-
torial food crisis in Britain. More often than not, he
won't have a chance to utilize his stock footage with
more than adequacy, but sometimes, careful selection
of symbolic footage can considerably enhance an effect
he's working toward. And no matter how unexciting
the footage, his interpretive skills of technique can
always read into dated pictorial material the stuff of
current interest. What's more, that's extremely fortun-
ate, because for quite a while to come, they probably
will have to.

10

OFTEN, as the writer starts out with the tech-
nique, he'll find it's not so easy to acquire the
knack of writing to footage. He'll find his words and
information either anticipate the screen, or lag behind
it, and don't quite jibe. He learns that when this hap-
pens, his audience becomes confused and dis-oriented,
and most important, conscious of his writing. Once he
has really mastered his writing to count, and his in-
terpretive tricks, with his script fitting the film per-
fectly, he finds he can talk of things a thousand miles
away without forcing his audience consciously to leave
the pictorial scene.

The more experience he gets, the more literary
tricks he picks up, with which to stud his script with
"rhinestones." He'll learn the importance of pictorial
build, and how to achieve it in synchronization with
script build. He'll learn the feeling of when to under-
write and when to purple the hell out of it. He'll learn
the value of silence when the screen is exciting. He'll
learn how and when to depend on music for build,
and when to avoid it. He'll learn when to use char-

acter, when to use comedy, when to use two voices,
or a woman's voice. But all the time, day in and day
out, he'll be "writing," as creative people write. He's
got to. He's now in show business.

In a preface to the collection of his magnificent
Eternal Light radio programs, Morton Wishengrad
says "Narration is one opportunity for 'good writing' ;
not pretentious writing . . . but writing that is sensi-
tive to the rhythms of speech and the texture of words.
The narrative form . . . allows poetry, without creating
a wall of embarrassment between the listener and the
narrator. Poetic dialogue always seems contrived and
mannered, but poetic narrative, as Archibald Mac-
leish and Stephen Vincent Benet proved, can be as
natural ... as color is to painting."

Add to Mr. Wishengrad's description a reel of film,
which, through controlled technique becomes the serv-
ant of the narrative, and this is the palette of the
film writer, whose "colors" are the cinders and slap-
stick of reality, beyond the dangers of lipsticked dis-
tortion in attempted re-creation.

The world has always seemed able to find an endless
supply of oddly variegated men and women who will
work ridiculous hours at ridiculous wages under ridic-
ulous pressures just so that they can stick their noses
into the way we all of us live and die. If they're lucky,
they may be able to take a crack at deciding what it
all adds up to. They're people who seem to find solace
for their lack of $1500 a week in their profession's
first-hand contact with reality; they're usually essen-
tially young. And they're the journalists, who seem to
like observing the foibles of humanity as they are;
they're the day by day historians, the chroniclers of
their time.

Side by side with their cameramen and cutters, the
film writers will join the ranks of journalists, and if
the logic of the Little Punchie people begins to dom-
inate the television industry, they will be the key
artists of their medium. Yet they will — through eco-
nomic, technical, and social pressures — have to be a
whole new genus of the species. Television demands
of them that they synthesize fact and showmanlike
art, that they be essentially creative.

Most important of all, television offers its film-
writing journalists what in all likelihood will become
the most powerful medium of communication ever
devised. By many hundred per cent more forcefully
than in radio, by many hundred per cent more inti-
mately than in movies — yes, or even Time — the writers
who inherit television journalism can describe and in-
terpret an aching, moulting world as it is, as it really,
honestly is. They have a staggering responsibility, these
film writers. Let us hope they will be staggeringly
responsible.

44

The Corporate Author:

An Essay in Literary Criticism

DAVID CHANDLER

SWG member DAVID CHANDLER
contributed a •widely quoted article,
Love In Hopewell, to the October issue
of The Screen Writer. In the present
article he examines an unusual phase
of the literary art as practiced in
Hollywood.

THE preliminary researches conducted in the
pages of this journal by Messrs. Kibbee and
Diamond(1) seem to me to constitute an invalu-
able breaking of new ground. Their relentless analysis
of the basic elements of the modern screen play is, in
its own way, a discovery as important as that of digesti-
ble sausage casing or Chux. Future students of the
nature of the craft will owe them a debt of gratitude
and it is to be hoped that their spadework will not
be lost, but that their investigations will be further
pursued.

My own theory, however, is that there is another,
and as yet still untried, technique for analyzing the
contemporary screenplay. Every screen writer knows
that when he signs his contract with the studio which
employs him, for no matter how long or short a term,
he signs away at the same time all auctorial rights
and invests the corporation with the right to designate
itself sole Author of all literary material. Thus we
have arrived at the stage where various producing
corporations, whatever other corporate qualities they
may possess, have also become prodigious writers and
authors, each with an immense literary corpus behind
it which would make the combined output of Trollope,
Dickens, Thackeray, Dumas pere and fils and Ben
Ames Williams seem like the veriest occasional jottings
of a lazy poetaster. It is my belief that just as it is
possible to examine the collected works of any of these
writers and arrive at an estimate of the author, his
philosophy, his relationship to his world and time as
reflected in his attitude toward his characters and the
dominant philosophies of his period, so it is possible
similarly to examine the collected works of any Corpo-
rate Author, say, the Author Loews Inc., or the Author
Vanguard Pictures Inc., and to arrive at an overall

<!> Kibbee, Roland: Two Men on a Vehicle, Vol. 1, No. 7,
December 194S ; Kibbee, Roland: Stop Me If You Wrote
This Before, Vol. 2, No. 12, May 1947; Diamond, I. A. L.:
Darling, You Mean . . .?, Vol. 3, No. 4, September 1947.

estimate such as one might reach if he were consider-
ing Samuel Richardson or Henry Fielding.

Naturally a venture in literary criticism like this
is fraught with difficulties for the pioneer. Here is a
new group of writers, dating only from the twentieth
century, lacking conventional biography, collected let-
ters, or actual being™ from which it would be possible
for the student to initiate his survey. The authors of
the Bible, the Babylonian Talmud, the Koran, Beowulf,
the Odyssey and the Iliad, similarly lacked individual
physical being and are without biography or letters;
but there is this difference: today the actual existence
of the Corporate Author has the sanction of the laws
and courts of the Republic. The scribe of Ecclesiastes
never had to contend with this kind of thing.

So, in examining the collected works of any Corpo-
rate Author we face a task of almost pure literary
criticism. One could never do the kind of thing to a
Corporate Author that Amy Lowell did to John Keats.
Nor could one draw inspiration for a way of life out
of such a writer's biography the way scores of misled
individuals have done from the lives of Byron, Shelley
and Hemingway. The critic himself has nothing to go
on but the Author's output.(8)

Tentatively, then, and just to indicate to future
students the direction our studies will have to take,
the present essay will attempt to outline some avenues
of investigation in discovering the individuality of the
Corporate Author. Reluctantly I shall have to leave
to later critics the tasks of correlating each Author

(2) Details of corporate travail, birth and health can easily
be found in periodicals like Fortune and in continuing busi-
ness studies like Poor's, not to mention governmental reports
and surveys, but they do not help us in our present task
which is largely literary in scope.

(3) Discussions of the predilections, tastes and biographies
of the individuals who give direction to the Corporate Author
also prove of little value to the critic, since these individuals
tend to change so frequently, vary status so often, differ in
authority among themselves and themselves have no being
outside of the Corporate Entity.

45

THE SCREEN WRITER

to his Time and Place, the stresses and strains that
have made his Work what it is. I limit myself only to
proving that on close inspection each Author has a
little character all his own.

JUST as it comes as something of a surprise to realize
that Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice
were written during a period of social travail yet show
in their pages nothing of this, so one is given something
of a start when he becomes aware that although our
Corporate Authors have done most of their work and
have reached maturity during a period embracing two
world wars, two attempts at creating a mechanism
for settling international conflicts, a period shaken by
the consequences attendant on the discovery of atomic
power, not to mention the consequences attendant on
the discovery of the depths of human bestiality as
evidenced by the creation of a new international tri-
bunal to name and punish a hitherto undreamed crime
called Race Murder — just as the problems of her day
find little or no reflection in Jane Austen, so our
problems find little or no reflection in the work of the
Corporate Author. Miss Austen's concern is with the
niceties of behavior; the Corporate Author deals with
whether the moment is proper for two characters to
embrace and kiss.(4)

Our Corporate Authors, having found the few basic
stories they prefer to tell, have gone their own way,
as did Jane Austen, and have preferred to let the world
go its own way. This gives their work a curious but
withal charming view of the world, a world like that
of Hansel and Gretel in which witches lie in wait
for errant boys and girls to make them into ginger-
bread but in which through their ineptness the witches
inevitably end up in their own ovens. One Corporate
Author, for example, moves his characters always in
attractive rooms and houses, no matter what their
economic status. The shopgirl always has a view of
the Queensboro Bridge and the sharecropper's dwelling
excites admiration in the breast of every lover of early
Americana. In a changing world such things become
one of life's precious stable factors.

But having found the Story upon which they all
agree,(5) the Corporate Authors have gone their separate

(4) Where the Corporate Author has dealt with the two wars
and in at least one attempt to show the drama of nuclear
fission, he has moved unsurely, preferring to deal with this
terra incognita in familiar, conventional terms, as if to de-
prive it of any impact. Mr. Diamond, op. cit., supra, calls
attention to the tense pre-combat moment when the private
soldier says, "It's quiet," and the experienced sergeant replies,
"Yeah, too quiet," and keenly points out the derivation of
this cliche from the old Western picture. A good example of
how a Corporate Author goes to the past to write of the
present.

(6) One would like to call it The American Dream, but
Herbert Croly's ghost would writhe undeservingly.

ways. Each Author strives to handle the same material,,
the identical story, in his own way. Therein lies the
difference among them. To one Author womanhood is
a sacred vessel, above suspicion, capable perhaps of the
doubt and vacillation upon which Plot depends, but
only for the time being: in the long run the sacred
vessel remains unbroken, unscarred, indeed unchipped,
and the wiser and truer for her moment of stress. To
another Author, however, womanhood divides into two
classes: one, dressed in the costliest couture, moving
everywhere with an air of limitless wealth, is Woman
Frustrate, incapable of winning or holding her man
against the second class woman, poor, talented, sacri-
ficing, understanding, but gifted with a physical beauty
inevitably beyond the capabilities of anyone born in
the first class.

One Corporate Author regards his heroes(6) as broad-
shouldered, silent, successful men capable of anything
with the right woman at their side and if the winning
of the goal also means the winning of her love.<7)
Another Author, however, prefers his heroes not to be
so much of a piece. The hero's introduction is always
vaguely unpleasant. He does not admire the Old School
or the Outfit, he would break with Tradition, he is
rude, especially to the heroine when he first meets
her. But always at the proper moment this Author's
hero fits into the mold: he learns, he believes, and of
course, having changed forever, he wins possession of
the girl.

Another place where the Corporate Authors differ
is in their handling of children. The collected works
of the Author Loews Inc., for example, are testament
to its unvarying affection for all human beings with un-
developed secondary sex characters. His apparently gen-
uine love for children is evident in every work. His chil-
dren are mischievous but charming ; they are gay, never
cruel ; they are ambitious, but only insofar as it involves
staging school plays or benefit performances. They
would never be mean or neurotic/8' Children appear
in all this Author's works; no writer in history has
so many classroom scenes, so many children's voices
lifted in dissonant unison, so much innocent merri-
ment, unconfined gaiety.

(6) By common usage Corporate Authors do not employ
ancient Aristotelian terms like protagonist and antagonist,
etc., but use a vocabulary of their own. I leave this to the
students of linguistics.

<7> All Corporate Authors regard the winning of anything^
•without love as so much ashes in the mouth.

*8' A world such as that pictured in Miss Hellman's The
Children's Hour would be utterly outside this Author's inter-
est, it would be safe to speculate. One can venture the opinion
that even being convinced of its existence by a battery of
learned psychologists this Author would prefer to let others
handle it as they liked, but would himself leave it strictly
alone.

46

THE CORPORATE AUTHOR

But if one Author's affection for the young is un-
bounding, another Author takes an even more distres-
sing attitude toward children. This Author arrogates
to children a wisdom far beyond the powers of mere
adults.(9) Do the grownups, petty, troubled, suspicious
of each other, arrive at a point where nothing can quiet
their fears or allay their suspicions? This Author be-
lieves the Child will soon set matters right. Misunder-
standing will be cleared up and love will burst into
flower. One is hard put to discover in this Author's
work where a child(10> has not proved to have wisdom
and insight superior to any of his adult characters.

A FEW more hints and later students of the Corpo-
rate Authors will have to be on their own. What
of the Authors' attitude toward money and the accumu-
lation of wealth? To one it is the sum and purpose of
existence. People murder and divorce on its account.
(This gives the works of this particular Author a
semblance of Reality which other Authors envy or
detest.) To another it ranks with Love, which means
that without it all is pointless and purposeless. Merely
to say money and wealth rank with Love is to give
it a position in the hierarchy of values common to all
Corporate Authors of the highest importance. Yet
another Author, professedly venerating the same hier-
archy of values, inevitably represents Money as Evil.
The wealthy girl always fails to win the square-chinned
hero; her home life is dull, futile and she dreams of
leaving it. She must marry in her class, which is to
say she must marry badly. She knows that so long as
she suffers the burden of Wealth she has no chance
of finding Love. Another Author, on the other hand —
and he is not alone in this — regards the possession of
wealth on the part of a man as a sign of weakness:
the rich young man, pressing his hopeless suit for the
heroine, tends to be rather stupid, insipid and resigned
to going his own way after the heroine, though touched
by his qualities of kindness and understanding, chooses
to plight her troth to the unmoneyed hero.

Still, most Corporate Authors actually do not regard
wealth quite so highly as they profess. No family is
ever so poor that its dwelling is not warm, pleasant
and comfortable. No Mother, burdened with whatever

<9) Query: Wouldn't someone of scholarly bent do well to
prepare a monograph on this as a contemporary manifesta-
tion of Jean Jacques Rousseau and his ideas of the Happy
Savage, etc?

(10) Or mother. It should be mentioned that all Authors
regard the wisdom of mothers per se as beyond dispute. The
theories of Mr. Philip Wylie have caused scarcely a ripple
among the Corporate Authors.

problems, fails to open the oven without discovering
a roast or a fowl calculated to set millions of mouths
to watering. In the face of this inevitable domestic
bliss, a critic may inquire why the Authors regard the
struggle for wealth and security as so important? This
is a confusion they have not worked out and which,
again, I must leave to future students.

What are all these people struggling against? Always
Evil must be personified. If it is a System(u) it must
always come garbed as a Man or Woman. There are
various theories, beside the point here, on why this
System must be so sharply drawn, so individualized.
But the fact is that those who use Villains make them
from a single piece of cloth. No one is ever a villain
in spite of himself. The villain who would run the
railroad over the disputed acres never stops to offer a
lump of sugar to a horse or pat a child on the head.(12>
Interestingly enough, at least one Corporate Author
regards Villains and other forms of Evil Personified
as characters to be avoided. There is no Evil in this
Author's pages. There is no Villain. People wander
from the True Path because they are not well-informed
or because they have Doubt, but sooner or later they
return. This way everybody is happy, including Evil,
which, of course, to put it on theological grounds, never
having been encountered has never been vanquished.

A word as to working people and our present survey
is finished. They do not generally appear in the output
of the Corporate Authors, any more than they appear
in Jane Austen. When they do have an unavoidable
moment, they are always benign, content, highly indi-
vidualistic and completely unconcerned about their
collective status or economic condition. They are color-
ful cabbies, kindly patrolmen winking at youthful
peculations, worldly wise gardeners, sympathetic bar-
tenders, fruit vendors and bus drivers. Coal miners,
steel workers, longshoremen and auto workers, not
being in a position in their condition of employment
to give help to the wandering heroine or hero, have
not figured much in the collected works of the Corpo-
rate Authors.

I hope these tentative comments will serve to stimu-
late enthusiasm for a massive study of one Author at
a time. I know I for one would put such a volume on
the same shelf with Edmund Malone's Life of Dryden.
More or less I cannot say.

<1D Naturally one means Railroad System or Banking
System. Corporate Authors do not acknowledge the existence
of any other Systems.

(12) Love of children is so sacred it is vouchsafed only
those worthy of it. Cf. supra.

47

SCREEN WRITERS* GUILD, INC.

1655 NO. CHEROKEE AVE., HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA
AFFILIATED WITH AUTHORS' LEAGUE OF AMERICA, INC.

OFFICERS & EXECUTIVE BOARD, THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD: PRESIDENT:
SHERIDAN GIBNEY; 1ST VICE-PRESIDENT, GEORGE SEATON; 2ND VICE-PRESI-
DENT, F. HUGH HERBERT; 3RD VICE-PRESIDENT, DWIGHT TAYLOR; SECRETARY,
ARTHUR SHEEKMAN; TREASURER, HARRY TUGEND. EXECUTIVE BOARD: ROB-
ERT ARDREY, ART ARTHUR, STEPHEN MOREHOUSE AVERY, CLAUDE BINYON,
CHARLES BRACKETT, FRANK CAVETT, OLIVE COOPER, VALENTINE DAVIES,
RICHARD ENGLISH, EVERETT FREEMAN, PAUL GANGELIN, ALBERT HACKETT,
MILTON KRIMS, ERNEST PASCAL, LEONARD SPIGELGASS. COUNSEL, MORRIS E.
COHN, ASSISTANT SECRETARY, ALICE PENNEMAN.

EDITOR

AT the top of this page are the names of the new officers and executive
board of the Screen Writers' Guild. They were elected November 19
by the SWG membership. They face unusual responsibilities. They de-
serve cooperation and support, and freedom from the bickering and prejudice
that act like sand in the gears of effective organization. They believe in the
Guild, they have stood up for it in the past, and they are willing to sacrifice
much time and energy for it in the years ahead. It must be assumed that
anyone who runs successfully for SWG office understands that what we have in
common as writers is immeasurably more important than any differences that
may seem to divide us. The hope is that all members will share that under-
standing.

This issue of The Screen Writer is the last to be published under the
direction of the Executive Board and Editorial Committee which finished their
term of office on November 19. The outgoing Board and its various commit-
tees have worked hard trying to serve the Guild. Their successes and failures
cannot be evaluated here. But a few words based on experience and observa-
tion may be permitted.

During the last few weeks the attack against our Guild has reached a new
high in irresponsible stridency. Writers have been slandered individually and
as a group; the effort to split and destroy the Guild was never more naked.
It is perhaps a measure of the Guild's achievements in behalf of writers and
for the creative integrity of the motion picture industry. It should have a solidi-
fying effect on the internal structure of the organization.

It is a reminder that the Screen Writers' Guild does not exist in an eco-
nomic or social vacuum. No organization formed to improve the working
conditions of its members can ever stand aloof and remote above the battle, or
escape into a nirvana of neutrality; least of all, an organization of writers.

48

EDITORIAL

T^OURTEEN years ago the SWG in its present form was conceived in the
•*■ midst of struggle. That was the beginning of the Roosevelt period, of the
blue-eagled NRA, of new codes of working rules. Before that time writers in
Hollywood had worked under conditions that now seem almost incredibly bad.
As soon as the new SWG organized and began to fight for better conditions for
screenwriters, the resistance to it also formed, most of it without but some of
it within the SWG ranks.

In 1935 the Wagner Act reinforced the Guild. In the same year affiliation
with the Authors' League of America was first planned. The proposal encoun-
tered the same kind of semi-hysterical opposition later encountered by the
American Authors' Authority plan. A dissident organization was set up, known
as the Screen Playwrights. On June 4, 1938, in an NLRB election, the SWG
won the right to represent writers in the motion picture field. The vote was
271 to 57. An interim contract was signed with the producers. In May, 1942,
the existing seven-year contract was signed.

In the meantime our nation found it impossible to remain neutral and
above the world battle. When war came, 25 per cent of the SWG's member-
ship went into the armed forces. The rest of the membership was deeply
immersed in war activities. Throughout the war years our members gave
their time, talent, money, and some gave their lives, to the winning of the
war. We can be proud of our record in behalf of our nation. We need say
nothing of the SWG record in behalf of writers. It speaks for itself, and in
the efforts of those who would like to see the effectiveness of this writers' or-
ganization weakened or destroyed.

In 1945 the fighting stopped in Europe and Asia. But peace as we had
thought of it did not come. Instead, tensions sharpened. Fears increased and
multiplied; the free, tolerant climate of our beloved land changed. A smog
of suspicion and doubt began to obscure an America that such a little time
ago had been confident and unafraid. This miasma has thickened to the point
where democracy may lose its way unless we regain our sight. Americans
are recognizing now that this is not a normal thing; that much of it is a smoke
screen being generated under forced draft by certain newspapers, politicians
and powerful business groups who use it as a cover while they gain long-
sought objectives — among them the Taft-Hartley Act. Another objective may
be the abrogation of civil liberties, and the setting up of a system of policed
opinion.

That is why the former Secretary of State James Byrnes the other day
called sharply for an end to this hysteria, while there is yet time to end it.
That is why President Truman's broadly representative Committee on Civil
Liberties says: "The guaranteed rights of Americans were never in greater
peril. We must build up our defenses against the forces of fear and hysteria
that are undermining them."

p\OES all this concern us as writers? We believe it more than concerns us.

As writers who reach hundreds of millions of this world's people through

the written word and the screened image, we believe it imposes an ineluctable

49

THE SCREEN WRITER

responsibility upon us if we want to keep our integrity, and keep our screen
free.

This responsibility is primary and immediate. We can best meet it by
acting together, by keeping our Guild strong and united, by meeting with all
possible awareness and courage the issues that confront us.

Maintenance of civil liberties, resistance to the Hearstian proposals for
a police censorship over books, the radio, and the screen, are not issues of polit-
ical partisanship. They provide common ground for all Americans. As writers,
we have a common stake in these broad issues and in the solution of our special
problems of more creative control over material and greater rewards from it
through licensing and better terms of employment.

Our Guild has survived many a crisis, met successfully many serious prob-
lems. We believe it will continue to do so, and go on to the full realization of
the great potentialities inherent in it. For the sake of all screen writers, and of
the industry in which they are the primary creative force, we believe it must
do so. That must be the first consideration of all of us.

T-

Screen Writers' Guild Studio Chairmen

(November 24, 1947)

Columbia — Louella MacFarlane; alternate, Edward

Huebsch
MGM — Gladys Lehman; alternate, Anne Chapin;

Sidney Boehm, Margaret Fitts.
Republic — Franklin Adreon; alternate, John K.

Butler.
20th Century-Fox — Wanda Tuchok ; alternate Richard

Murphy.

Warner Brothers — James Webb; alternate, Ruth
Brooks.

Paramount — Arthur Sheekman; alternate, Jesse
Lasky, Jr.

Universal-International — Silvia Richards.

RKO — Geoffrey Homes.

50

SWQ Bulletin

Election and Annual Meeting Report

At the November 19th membership meeting the new Officers and Executive Board were
elected and have taken over administration of SWG affairs. In the election, 720 votes were
cast, slightly below the record of 743 votes last year. Personnel of the new Administration is:

i

President
Sheridan Gibney

1st V.P.— George Seaton 2nd V.P.—F. Hugh Herbert

3rd V.P.— Dwight Taylor

Secretary
Arthur Sheekman

Treasurer
Harry Tugend

Executive Board

Robert Ardrey

Art Arthur

Stephen Morehouse Avery

Claude Binyon

Charles Brackett

Frank Cavett

Olive Cooper

Valentine Davies

Richard English

Everett Freeman

Paul Gangelin

Albert Hackett

Milton Krims

Ernest Pascal

Leonard Spigelgass

Action on Resolutions

At the Nov. 19 annual meeting mem-
bership action was taken on several reso-
lutions.

The following resolution was adopted,
with only one vote being recorded against
it:

The House Committee on un-
American Activities has called on the
producers to discharge members of
this Guild for reasons of political be-
lief, thus seeking to establish a prece-
dent which could endanger the live-
lihoods of all members of this Guild;
Notv therefore, be it resolved:
That this Guild hereby adopts a pol-
icy of resistance to discrimination in
employment against any member of
the Guild for his political beliefs or
associations, provided such beliefs or
associations are not in violation of
any lav:, and that the membership
hereby instructs its executive board
to give immediate attention to the
implementation of this resolution, in-
cluding the appointment of a special

committee to deal specifically with
the question of blacklist, whether
veiled or direct, and with all cases of
discrimination which may occur, and
to keep the Guild advised on all mat-
ters relating to this resolution.

With two votes recorded against it, the
following resolution on political censor-
ship was overwhelmingly approved by
the membership:

Whereas it became evident at the
hearings of the House Committee on
un-American Activities that one of
its goals is to impose political cen-
sorship by intimidation and coercion
on the motion picture screen; and

Whereas political censorship, di-
rect or indirect, can only work to the
professional and economic detriment
of all screen writers;

Notv Therefore Be It Resolved,
That this Guild is opposed to all
forms of political censorship; that it
declares resistance to such censorship

to be a major function of the Guild;
that the Executive Board appoint a
special Committee on Censorship;
that the membership be urged to sup-
ply this Committee on Censorship
with documentary evidence of efforts
to censor their work; that evidence of
this sort, without revealing the names
of individual writers, producers or
studios be publicized to the member-
ship and to the press.

A resolution asking for the abolition
of the House Committee on un-American
Activities was amended and passed, as
follows:

That this Guild call upon the
House of Representatives and each
of its individual members to support
H.R.46, introduced by Representa-
tive A. J. Sabath, which will abolish
the House Committee on un-American
Activties.

The following resolution was adopted:
That the Screen Writers' Guild up-

51

THE SCREEN WRITER

hold} the general stand taken by
Emmet Lavery as the Guild's official
spokesman before the Thomas Com-
mittee and commends his testimony
as providing a fair and accurate re-
flection of majority Guild sentiment.

A second part of the same resolution,
committing SWG membership to approval
of policy recommendations by Emmet
Lavery, retiring president, concerning
SWG attitude and action with respect to

the Thomas committee hearings, was
voted down by the membership.

Unanimous approval was given to the
following resolution:

That the Screen Writers' Guild
expresses its warmest appreciation
and gratitude to Emmet Lavery for '
his outstanding services to the Guild
during the three trying years in
which he has served as Guild Presi-
dent.

An amended resolution condemning the
activities of the Motion Picture Alliance
was adopted. The amended resolution

follows:

The Screen Writers' Guild spe-
cifically condemns the Motion Pic-
ture Alliance for the Preservation of
American Ideals for its role in pro-
moting and furthering the anti-Guild
and anti-Industry aims of the Thom-
as Committee.

SWG Credit Arbitration Panel

November 19, 1947, to November. 1948

Robert Andrews
Lee Atlas
Graham Baker
Melville Baker
Ben Barzman
Al Beich
A. I. Bezzerides
Michael Blankfort
Edwin Blum
Dewitt Bodeen
Sidney Boehm
Marvin Borowsky
Mortimer Braus
Ruth Brooks
Elizabeth Burbridge
W. R. Burnett
Jerry Cady
Roy Chanslor
Harry Clork
Richard Collins
Morgan Cox
I. A. L. Diamond
Howard Dimsdale
Jay Dratler
Robert Ellis
Guy Endore
Anne Froelich
Paul Gangelin
Erwin Gelsey
Frank Gill, Jr.
Harold Goldman
Howard J. Green
Eve Greene
Frank Gruber

Margaret Gruen
Dorothy Hannah
Robert Harari
Edmund Hartman
Jack Henle}'
David Hertz
Leonard Hoffman
Michael Hogan
Arthur Horman
Lionel Houser
Dick Irving Hyland
Boris Ingster
Ed James
Polly James
Paul Jarrico
Dorothy Kingsley
Frederick Kohner
Ring Lardner, Jr.
John Larkin
Jesse Lasky, Jr.
S. K. Lauren
Connie Lee
Leonard Lee
Robert Lees
Gladys Lehman
Isobel Lennart
Melvin Levy
Herbert Clyde Lewis
Eugene Ling
Lee Loeb
Helen Logan
Stephen Longstreet
William Ludwig
Dane Lussier

Richard Macaulay

Louella MacFarlane

Mary McCall, Jr.

Winston Miller

Bertram Millhauser

Peter Milne

Jack Natteford

Sloan Nibley

Jo Pagano

Frank Partos

Ernest Pascal

John Paxton

Fred Rinaldo

Allen Rivkin

Marguerite Roberts

Wells Root

Bradford Ropes

Waldo Salt

Oscar Saul

Mel Shavelson

Hal Smith

Earle Snell

Lynn Starling

Francis Swann

Dwight Taylor

Wanda Tuchock

Catherine Turney

Malvin Wald

Luci Ward

Thelma Robinson Watson

M. Coates Webster

Brenda Weisberg

George Well*

C

?3Z>

orreaponaence

de

(Continued from Inside Front Cover)
could not be seen in commercial cir-
cuits goes back to the early twenties
and to the French movie critic Louis
Dellus, the man who introduced
Charles Chaplin to France, and popu-

larized American movies in his maga-
zine Cine. He and his friends started
private showings of pictures which for
political or artistic reasons, were not
shown in regular theaters. The suc-
cess of his club and others like it

was proven by the opening of several
commercial houses, similar to the lit-
tle New York theaters which special-
ize in arty and foreign movies.

Around 1935 the need for some-
thing beyond that was evident. Old

52

CORRESPONDENCE

silent movies could no longer be seen
anywhere and some of the screen
masterpieces would have been de-
stroyed if it had not been for the cre-
ation of the "cinematheque". M.
Langlois created the French one, on
the same basis as the Film Library of
the Museum of Modern Art and we
must be grateful to him for having
preserved some invaluable prints.

After the war the cine-clubs ex-
perienced an extraordinary boom.
Motion picture making has always
been considered in France more of an
art than as a business. Movie reviews
in newspapers are sometimes more
highbrow than reviews of any other
form of art, painting or music. Num-
bers of books and magazines discuss-
ing the theories and the technique of
the Cinema are being published daily.
It is only natural that aesthetes and
technicians should have wanted to
see the material upon which they carry
their studies. But the interest in out-
of-the-run movies spread beyond that
group. One reason is that during five
years of German or German-inspired
movies the French people felt frus-
trated and turned toward any film
they could lay their hands upon. Dur-
ing those bad years, such literary
eminences as Andre Gide and Jean-
Paul Sartre themselves lectured on
the subject of motion pictures and
contributed to spreading their popu-
larity. Knowing their movie classics
is almost as much a cultural need for
the French as having read Moliere.

The cine-clubs answer that need.
As a matter of fact, one of Langlois's
pet projects is to start motion picture
education in the schools. Children
should be taught what great movies
are, just as they are taught what great
literature or great paintings are. Un-
fortunately, perhaps motion picture
making is too young an art, the num-
ber of films which can be shown to
children is limited. But the project
will get under way pretty soon. In
the meantime only adults get edu-
cated.

One of the main points of that edu-
cation is to develop the public's taste.
Seeing old masterpieces necessarily
brings a comparison with the products
of today. The cine clubs are for the
motion pictures what the repertory
theater is for the legitimate stage.
However they do not come into direct
competition with commercial houses:
people who are looking for an en-

tertaining evening and come to the
cine-clubs are disappointed: the tech-
nique has varied so considerably dur-
ing the last twenty-five years, that
unless one is prepared to look for
certain points in old movies, one
doesn't enjoy them as sheer entertain-
ment. Most of the clubs add to their
programs a discussion of the pictures
to be shown and one of the troubles
of the clubs is to have enough well-
informed members to guide those dis-
cussions, and show the public what
is good.

As it is, cine-clubs, instead of com-
peting with commercial movies, in-
crease the number of spectators. Those
groups, scattered as they are in every
walk of life, spread the interest in
movies, modern as well as old. And
this is a valuable influence in France.

The Executive Board of the
SWG to whom RICHARD G.
HUBLER submitted the com-
munication below, directed its
publication here:

Any examination of the functioning of
the Thomas committee must operate on
two counts:

The purpose of the committee;

The procedure of the committee.

The purpose of the Thomas group is
laudable. That is to say, it is a legal
procedure in use for the past 158 years
directed at the business of supplying
information to Congress direct from the
citizens of the United States. No one
can say whether or not it is constitutional
beyond personal opinion. That decision
is a matter for the courts.

The procedure of the Thomas investi-
gators, however, has an obvious and un-
deniable tendency to restrict the rights of
citizens. That is, to use a bastard process
of court procedure without the safeguards
generally given such proceedings. The
witnesses, no matter what their testimony,
are immune from prosecution from libel ;
slander and misconcept have been wide-
spread; there has been no equity in the
presentations; there has been no cross-
examination, no evidence worthy of the
name. The largest part of the Thomas
efforts have been devoted to hearsay and
to rumor, which, once set abroad, are
almost impossible to combat.

Whether or not this affects Hollywood
is a minor concern compared with the
restriction of the civil liberties of indi-
viduals. Many who are themselves in
favor of the Thomas ex officio condem-

nations are complaining about "rights"
when they really mean "profits."

In this sense, then, the Thomas commit-
tee must be judged as an evil.

Nevertheless, the system of Congres-
sional committees may not be judged on
the same basis. In a hearing fairly con-
ducted the good of the whole has been
overwhelming; the investigation of war
profits, racial prejudice, cartels, and the
like have all borne good fruit. The
Thomas committee, in procedure and
effect, has damaged all Congressional
committee prestige — but it should not
obscure the fact of their usefulness to
democracy at large.

The Communists — like the Fascists —
have been using the tactics of the Thomas
committee to smoke-screen their own vi-
cious tendencies. Those who believe in de-
mocracy and civil liberties know that Com-
munism stands for exactly the opposite.
Those who condemn the Thomas commit-
tee must, on exactly the same grounds,
condemn Communism as being destruc-
tive in precisely the same way. To say
that the Communist Party is a political
party in the same sense as the Democrats
and Republicans is, of course, the most
malicious kind of nonsense. The Commu-
nists— as Joe Curran, Walter Reuther,
and others have found out — owe their
allegiance to another system, another
country, another tyranny in principle and
practice. Other countries — Poland, Yugo-
slavia, Rumania, Bulgaria — have found
this out. Any student of Communism
knows the issue. In the words of Alex-
ander Woollcott, in the face of the facts,
the man who denies this is "either a
knave or a fool."

The United States, as a hopefully prac-
ticing democracy, owes it to itself to pro-
tect its institutions against dictatorship
of either the Left or Right. As Arthur
Schlesinger, Jr., pointed out in a recent
issue of the New York Times, capitalism
is not a sacrosant system — but the rights
of democracy are. To quote Schlesinger,
"the only test of disloyalty is superior
loyalty to another country." Section III,
paragraph three, of the Constitution de-
fines treason as offering aid or comfort
to an enemy.

If Communists are no more than Re-
publicans or Democrats, why then do
they cry "wolf, wolf," at admitting their
affiliation? The function of their philoso-
phy has been defined by the Attorney
General of the United States as dedicated
to the destruction of democracy and is
illustrated in four colors by what hap-

53

THE SCREEN WRITER

pened and is happening in the USSR and
in other countries under her domination.
Communists, according to Prime Minister
Attlee, spied in England under the ban-
ner of the English Communist Party even
during the war when the USSR was sup-
posedly an ally of the British. Instances
could be multiplied.

To use the hearings of the Thomas com-
mittee as a cover for their own activities
against the government which allows
them the very liberties which they abuse
and wou'd do away with is, to the right-
minded, as abominable as the procedures
of that committee which agree with the
principles of Communist philosophy.

In sum, the purpose of the Thomas com-
mittee is laudable. Any defense of demo-
cracy is laudable. The procedure of the
Thomas committee is deplorable. Any
offense against democracy is deplorable,
deplorable because it is an offense against
the basic rights of man — as Communism
is an offense against the basic rights
of man.

The final point is that the Communists
are a danger to democracy. The Thomas
committee has muddled the job and con-
fused the issue by its undemocratic ac-
tions. But the job should and must be
done. The Communists must be recognized
as fundamentally foreign agents; spies;
provocateurs; potential destroyers of hu-
man liberty and individual dignity. That
is sufficient if it is done. Again to quote
Schlesinger, "every government has the
right to defend itself," and none has a
better right than that of the United States.

To that end, the procedure of the
Thomas committee must be damned. But
also, to that end, the purpose of the

Thomas committee must be continued.

—RICHARD G. HUBLER

From RICHARD MACAU-
LAY to the Editor of The
Screen Writer.

I understand that you are running a
special section of The Screen Writer
having to do with the current difficulties
of individuals in the Guild with the
United States Government. You are rep-
resented to have said that in this section,

you wished to run divergent viewpoints.
Enclosed find mine:

The Marxists of the Screen Writers'
Guild, like Marxists everywhere, will not
permit a man to be simply anti-Com-
munist. A citizen who expresses his
opposition to Communism, and tries to
do something about it, is, in Communist
eyes, also anti-Semitic and anti-demo-
cratic. I don't know whether they actually
believe this or not, but it is what they
say.

Likewise, the extreme left represents
that anyone not in contempt of the Con-
gress of the United States, or sympathetic
to those who were, stands for Federal
censorship of the screen.

All of these representations by the
left about their opponents are about as
reliable, factually, as the present Party
line on what's going on in Poland. It is
perfectly possible for a decent patriotic
American to be bitterly anti-Communist
without being anti anything else at all.

As far as censorship goes, my attitude
should be perfectly well known to the
Guild by this time. Only last year, I
gave the executive board of the Guild,
for its information, a copy of a letter I
had written to a Mr. Eugene Dooley, who
had proposed censorship legislation. The
Editorial Board of The Screen Writer
deemed my letter too hot for publication.
At least, that's what they said.

However, to clear this matter up, once
and for all, let me say again I am op-
posed unequivocally to censorship in any
form whatsoever, whether it be imposed
by the Federal government, the State,
the city, church groups, private organ-
izations, or individuals.

I believe that the un-American Activi-
ties Committee is composed principally of
representative Congressmen, doing their
duty as they see it. I don't believe that
thejr have any idea of establishing or
even proposing Federal censorship. If
they should make any such attempt, I
would fight it with every medium at
my command.

I believe that the committee singled
out the motion picture industry for in-
vestigation at this time because of the
public relations involved. There are

other industries that have difficulty with
Communists, but they are page ten in-
dustries. Strategically, I believe that the
committee was correct in turning its at-
tention first to the industry which could
spotlight conditions for the average
American with streamer headlines, and
extensive radio and newsreel coverage.
You see, there are many patriotic citi-
zens who persist in regarding Commun-
ism as a national, rather than a sectional
or industry problem, and men of good
will invariably give their first loyalty
to their country.

RICHARD MACAULAY

KEN CROSSEN, president
of the Mystery Writers of
America, Inc., sends his greet-
ings to the writers among the
"unfriendly" witnesses before
the Washington hearings:

Dear Fellow Writers:

While I am aware that the word
''fellow" has taken on a certain Thom-
asian meaning and has generally fallen
into disrepute, I feel that I may still use
it in the above sense with what is prob-
ably a maximum of security. So, let me
repeat, Dear Fellow Writers, since I am
using it as a term of affection rather than
as a mere salutation.

I read the new stories yesterday and
listened to the broadcast last night of the
session of the Committee on un-American
Activities with a growing sense of self
respect, for you all did much to honor
our profession. I want to thank you for
this.

As a member of three writers' organiza-
tions, and officer of one, I can't help feel-
ing that many of us in these other organ-
izations should apologize for not being
with you in the flesh as well as in the
spirit. As I look at the names of those
of you who have been called to Washing-
ton, or mentioned in the testimony of
other witnesses, I can't help but realize
that it is a roll call of those who have
been most active in the fight for the rights
of writers and that this is, in a way, a
testament to how well you have fought.

Never have I felt as much pride as I
do now in thinking of you as fellow
writers and as fellow Americans.

KEN CROSSEN

V

54

r leu/5 f/oted

* Current programs in the N. Y.
Museum of Modern Art's History
of the Motion Picture are : The
Ukraine: Dovzhenko, Arsenal, Dec.
5, 6, 7; The Social Film: Ermler:
Fragment of an Empire, Dec. 8, 9,
10, 11; Transition to Sound: The
Road to Life, Dec. 12, 13, 14; The
Vasilyev Brothers: Chapayev, Dec.
16, 17, 18, 19; Kozintzev and Trau-
berg (II): Youth of Maxim, Dec.
19, 20, 21; Counter-Propaganda:
Professor Mamlock, Dec. 22, 23, 24 ;
The Films of Eisenstein (III) : Alex-
ander Nevsky Dec. 26, 27, 28; A
Program of Abstract Films, Dec. 29,
30, 31.

* The now famous feature in the
September, 1947, issue of The Screen
Writer, 'Bindle Biog' by Hugh Her-
bert, SWG vice-president, is being
reprinted in its entirety in Life — and
with compensation to the writer for
this literary re-issue.

* SWG member Stanley Richards
has sold a one-act comedy, Mr. Bell's
Creation, to Samuel French for im-
mediate publication.

* Talk in Darkness, a one-act play
by SWG member Malvin Wald has
been awarded a prize in a recent play-
writing contest sponsored by the Na-
tional Theatre Conference. In the
past two months, a cast from the Ac-
tors Lab has been performing Talk in
Darkness at meetings of the local
chapters of the American Veterans
Committee, the National Negro Con-

gress, the Southland Jewish Organi-
zation and the United Negro and Al-
lied Veterans Association.

* Richard G. Hubler, member of
The Screen Writer editorial commit-
tee for the past year, has written a
satire, Candide in Hollywood, for
spring publication by Rinehart.

* Gordon Kahn, editor of The
Screen Writer, will describe motion
picture making and travel in Mexico
in the January issue of Holiday.

* SWG member Allan Chase's new
novel, Black Star, is on the Boni &
Gaer spring publications list. Chase's
Falange, an expose of fascism in Latin
America, is a world best seller, and
his recent novel, Seven Arrows, has
passed the 2,000,000 mark in sales.

* SWG member Arthur E. Orloff
has been signed by CBS to script the
Hawk Larabee air show.

* SWG member Theodore Seuss
("Dr. Seuss") had his latest juvenile,
McElligot's Pool, published in Sep-
tember by Random House. This same
book is also scheduled as a forthcom-
ing book-of-the-month selection by the
Junior Literary Guild.

* Edwin S. Mills, Jr., whose ar-
ticle on television is published in this
issue of The Screen Writer, is on
leave of absence from his job as tele-
vision producer ot NBC, New York,
to finish his novel, Oh Proudly Ga-
leewa, to be published by Houghton
Mifflin.

* SWG member Samson Raphael-
son has a short story, Confetti, in the
January Esquire. His story, The
Greatest Idea in the World, is in-
cluded in Martha Foley's Best Amer-
ican Short Stories, 1947. Mr. Ra-
phaelson will be a visiting professor
in the field of creative writing at the
University of Illinois during the sec-
ond semester of the current college
year. Dorshka Raphaelson, his wife,
has just had an untitled novel accepted
for spring publication by Random
House.

*SWG member Valentine Davies'
best-selling novel, Miracle on 34-th
Street, is the December Christmas"
dividend book of the Book-of-the-
Month Club, with a special edition of
more than 400,000 copies.

* New Theatre magazine, Eng-
land's leading serious magazine of the
stage, owned by John Collier and
W. A. Ramsay, announces American
subscriptions are available at $3.50
a year. The address is 374 Gray's
Inn Road, London, W. C. I., Eng-
land.

* Years Ago, Ruth Gordon's com-
edy, will end its present run at the
Pasadena Playhouse on Dec. 14.

* Robert Joseph's Berlin at Mid-
night will be published early next
spring by Greenberg. Mr. Joseph,
who has contributed articles to The
Screen Writer, was U. S. films officer
in Berlin.

SHIRLEY COLLIER AGENCY

(FOR WRITERS EXCLUSIVELY)

204 South Beverly Drive ■ BEVERLY HILLS • CRestview 6-3115

New York Representative:
SIDNEY SATENSTEIN, 75 Varick Street - WAIker 5-7600

55

Manuscript Market

JULY 1, 1947 TO NOVEMBER 1, 1947

LISTING THE AUTHORS, TITLES AND CHARACTER OF LITERARY
MATERIAL RECENTLY ACQUIRED BY THE MOTION PICTURE STUDIOS

COLUMBIA PICTURES

RUTH BROOKS FLiPPEN, Genius, Incorporated,
Unpublished Story.

LEE HORTON, The Last 30 Minutes, Unpub-
lished story

WALT DISNEY PRODUCTIONS

ELLIS PARKER BUTLER, Pigs Is Pigs, Pub-
lished Story

MARY JANE CARR, Children of the Covered
Wagon, Book

ENTERPRISE PRODUCTIONS

FRANCIS SILL WICKWARE, Tuesday To Bed,
Novel

EAGLE-LION STUDIOS

GEORGE AXELROD, Beggar's Choice, Novel

MURRAY FORBES, Hollow Triumph, Novel

JACK POLLEXFEN (with Aubrey Wisberg)
Sons of the Musketeers, Unpublished Story

AUBREY WISBERGf with Jack Pollexfen) Sons
Of The Musketeers, Unpublished Story

METRO-GOLDWYN -MAYER

MARCIA DAVENPORT, East Side West Side,
Novel

EARL FELTON, The Odyssey Of Eddie Arco,
Unpublished Story

MELVIN FRANK (with Norman Panama) The
Spy, Unpublished Story

WILLIAM WISTER HAINES, Command Deci-
sion, Novel and Play

NOEL LANGLEYf with Robert Adolph Wilton
Morley) Edward My Son, Play

ROBERT MORLEY ( with Noel Langley) Edward
My Son, Play

NORMAN PANAMA (with Melvin Frank) The
Spy, Unpublished Story

GEORGE TABORI, Barsa, Unpublished Story

MARITTA WOLFF, About Lyddy Thomas, Novel

MONOGRAM PICTURES

EUSTACE ADAMS, Sixteen Fathoms Deep, Un-
published Story

DONALD BARRY, Mr. Gideon, Unpublished
Story (Allied Artists)

JOHN CHAMPION( with Blake Edwards) Pan-
handle, Screenplay

EDDIE CLINE (with Barney Gerard) Jiggs And
Maggie In Society, Screenplay

HAL COLLINS (with Monty Collins) The Old
Gray Mayor, Unpublshed Story

MONTY COLLINS (with Hal Collins) The Old
Gray Mayor, Unpublished Story

ROBERT CONSIDINE, The Babe Ruth Story,
Screenplay (Allied Artists)

BLAKE EDWARDS (with John Champion) Pan-
handle, Screenplay

BARNEY GERARD (with Eddie Cline) Jiggs
And Maggie In Society, Screenplay

JEROME T. GOLLARD (with Gerald Schnitzer)
Finders Keepers, Unpublished Story

TALBERT JOSSELYN, Smuggler's Cave, Pub-
lished Story

FORREST JUDD, The Natchez Trace, Screen-
play (Allied Artists)

SAMUEL NEWMAN, Murder By Alphabet,
Screenplay

ALFRED NOYES, The Highwayman, Poem (Al-
lied Artists)

CRAIG RICE, The Big Story, Unpublished Story
(Allied Artists)

TIM RYAN (with Gerald Schnitzer and Eddie
Seward) Angel's Alley, Screenplay

GEORGE WALLACE SAYRE, Rocky, Unpub-
lished Story

EDDIE SEWARD (with Tim Ryan and Gerald
Schnitzer) Angel's Alley, Screenplay

GERALD SCHNITZER (with Tim Ryan and Ed-
die Seward) Angel's Alley, Screenplay

GERALD SCHNITZER (with Jerome T. Gollard)
Finders Keepers, Unpublished Story

LEON WARE, Search, Published Story

RKO RADIO

ELEANOR HARRIS, Every Girl Should Be Mar-
ried, Published Short Story

JERRY HORWIN, Mister Music, Unpublished
Story

ADRIAN SCOTT, The Great Man's Whiskers,
One Act Play

REPUBLIC

JAMES EDWARD GRANT, The Far Outpost,
Screenplay

MANNY SEFF (with Paul Yawitz) One Man's
Diary, Screenplay

GEORGE WAGGNER, Eagles In Exile, Unpub-
lished Story

PAUL YAWITZ (with Manny Seff) One Man's
Diary, Screenplay

TWENTIETH CENTURY FOX

ARNOLD AUERBACH (with Harold Rome) Call
Me Mister, Play

SY BARTLETT (with Beirne Lay, Jr.) Twelve
O'Clock High, Novel

WHIT BURNETT! with John Penn) Immortal
Bachelor, Novel

GWEN DAVENPORT, Velvedere, Novel

CLIFFORD GOLDSMITH, Mr. Cooper's Left
Hand, Play

ARTHUR HOPKINS (with George M. Watters)
Burlesque, Play

WILLIAM IRISH, Waltz Into Darkness, Novel

WILL JAMES, Sand, Novel

BEIRNE LAY, JR. (with Sy Bartlett) Twelve
O'Clock High, Novel

CLIVE STAPLES LEWIS, The Screwtape Let-
ters, Book

JOHN PENN (with Whit Burnett) Immortal
Bachelor, Novel

HAROLD ROME (with Arnold Auerbach) Call
Me Mister, Play

GEORGE M. WATTERS (with Arthur Hopkins)
Burlesque, Play

TRIANGLE PRODUCTIONS

HOAGY CARMICHAEL, Stardust Road, Auto-
Biography

WARNER BROTHERS

MAXWELL ANDERSON, Key Largo, Play

ALLEN BORETZ, Fargo Girl, Unpublished Story

L. BUS-FEKETE, Ladies And Gentleman, Drama
Basis of Hecht and MacArthur Play

FOSTER FITZ-SIMONS, Bright Leaf, Unpub-
lished Novel

BEN HECHT( with Charles MacArthur) Ladies
And Gentlemen, Play

SIDNEY KINGSLEY, The Patriots, Play

CHARLES MacARTHUR (with Ben Hecht)
Ladies and Gentlemen, Play

GRAEME LORIMER (with Sarah Lorimer and
Eileen Tighe) Feature For June, Play

SARAH LORIMER (with Graeme Lorimer and
Eileen Tighe) Feature For June, Play

EILEEN TIGHE (with Graeme Lorimer and
Sarah Lorimer) Feature For June, Play

56

NEXT MONTH AND THEREAFTER

T. E. B. CLARKE

H. L. DAVIS

SYDNEY BOX

ISOBEL LENNART

GARRETT GRAHAM

DAVID CHANDLER

LUCI WARD & JACK NATTEFORD

HENRY MYERS

SIDNEY FLEISHER

PETER LYON

NORMAN LEE

British Writers Speak Out

Hollywood Notes

Creative Immunity

Writing Film Musicals

1947 Hollywood Review

Diary and a Dupe Addict

Economics of the Horse Opera

Alice in Paris

New Book Contracts

The New Deal in Radio Writing

Hollywood! You've Been Warned!

And Further Articles by ROBERT ARDREY, JOHN COLLIER, EARL FELTON, SAM-
UEL FULLER, MILT GROSS, RICHARD G. HUBLER, TALBOT JENNINGS, EMERIC
PRESSBURGER, JOSEPH SISTROM, and others.

Beg

'inning

with the

Januar

y issue

,R

ichard English w

ill bt

' editor

of- The

Screen

Writer,

assisted

by a neu

ly appointed Edi

tori a

I Coni-

mittee.

Impor

tant feat

it res are

bein (/

planned , and will bt

' a nn on need

in the i

i ear fit

lure.

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Enclosed please find $ for year(s)

subscription to THE SCREEN WRITER, beginning with

the issue, to be mailed to

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Enclosed please find $ for year(s)

subscription to THE SCREEN WRITER, beginning with

the issue, to be mailed to

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Rate: 1 year (12 issues), $2.50 domestic, $3.00 foreign

If you do not wish to mar your copy of the magazine, your
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The

Screen

ttt ♦ . is now on sale at the follow-

WFlLer* ing bookstores and newsstands:

CALIFORNIA :

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Campbell's Boole Store, 10918 Le Co'nte Ave., Westwood Village
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ILLINOIS:

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MASSACHUSETTS:

Book Clearing House, 423 Boylston Street, Boston, Mass.

NEW YORK:

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Brentano's — Periodical Department, 586 Fifth Ave., New York 19

Bryant Park Newsstand, 46 West 42nd St., New York 18

44th St. Bookfair, 133 W. 44th St., New York 19

Gotham Book Mart, 51 W. 47th St., New York 19

Kamin Dance Bookshop and Gallery, 1365 Sixth Ave., at 56th St., New York 19

Lawrence R. Maxwell — Books, 45 Christopher St., New York 15

PENNSYLVANIA :

Books of the Theatre — R. Rowland Dearden, P. O. Box 245, Jenkintown

CANADA :

Roher's Bookshop, 9 Bloor St., Toronto

EIRE:

Eason & Son, Ltd., 79-82 Middle Abbey Street, P. O. Box 42, Dublin

ENGLAND :

Carter's Bookshop, 51 Willesden Lane, London N.W. 6
Literature Kiosk, Unity Theatre, London

OFFICIAL SUBSCRIPTION AGENT FOR GREAT BRITAIN:

Philip Firestein, 82 King Edward's Road, Hackney, London E9, England

OFFICIAL SUBSCRIPTION AGENT FOR Sir EDEN AND DENMARK:

Bjorn W. Holmstrom, Svensk National Film, Drottninggatan 47, Stockholm

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Authors' League Statement On Censorship ♦ ♦ . Page 1

The

UNEMPLOYMENT 1: Markets For Words

By
STEPHEN LONGSTREET, With An Editorial Foreword

JOSEPH SISTROM: The Writer-Producer Relationship

ROBERT PIROSH: Outside U. S. A.

F. HUGH HERBERT: Seeing Red

T. E. B. CLARKE: British Writers Speak Out

JACK NATTEFORD and LUCI WARD:

Economics of the Horse Opera
FRANK LAUNDER: Letter From London

ERNST LUBITSCH:

A Symposium on His Contribution to Motion Pictures By MAURICE

CHEVALIER, CHARLES BRACKETT & BILLY WILDER,
JEANETTE MacDONALD, HANS KRALY, SAMSON
RAPHAELSON, STEFFIE TRONDLE AND DARRYL F.

ZANUCK Page 15

Vol. 3, No. 8 January, 1948 25c

Editorial ♦ Book Reviews

News Notes ♦ Screen Credits

©C1B 11^33

Letter

From

London

FRANK LAUNDER, British writ-
er-producer who was recently a
SfVG guest at a special seminar at
Lucey's and <who has contributed
before to The Screen Writer, sends
the following letter and London
Times editorial. Mr. Launder is
President of the British Screen-
writers' Association.

THE recent issue of The Screen
Writer containing the special sec-
tion on the British tax situation, has
been a great success here in England.
The magazine has been much in de-
mand. I have lent my copies to many
people, and more are asking for it.

I enclose a leader from the London
Times which I think should be inter-
esting to people in Hollywood, and
which I hope you can reprint.

[The Times editorial follows:]
ENGLAND, THEIR ENGLAND
"Inexorably, or at least with every
appearance of inexorability, the day
approaches after which we shall see
no more new American films. British
producers will do their best to fill the
gap thus created and we shall bear up
as manfully as we may ; but it would
be folly to deny that something will
be missing from our lives. That some-
thing will not be the same thing in
every case, for our likes and dislikes
vary. Some will mourn the entrancing
Mis> Blank; others, strangely invul-
nerable to her charms, will sigh prin-
cipally for the dynamic Mr. Dash.
But a fan bereaved of a star is not
necessarily inconsolable, for after all
the star may cross the Atlantic and
make a picture over here, or the fan
may — such is human inconstancy —
transfer his or her idolatry to a Brit-
ish player. There is hope, too, for those
who feel chiefly the loss of a particu-
lar genre. Neither our climate nor
the mouths of our horses are particu-
larly well adapted to the making of
"Westerns," but there is no reason
why we should not have a shot at it.
As for tremendously bad films about
the lives of celebrated musicians, we
can turn them out at a pinch, and it
may even prove possible to show the
(Continued on Page 36)

The

Screen Writer

/ /

Vol. 3, No. 8

JANUARY, 1948

EDITORIAL COMMITTEE

Richard English, Editor

Fran Manning, Associate Editor

Robert Ardrey

Stephen Morehouse Avery

Claude Binyon

Taylor Caven

David Chandler

Richard G. Hubler

Stephen Longstreet

Leo C. Rosten

Bernard C. Schoenfeld

Leonard Spigelgass

Irving Stone

Leo Townsend

M. Coates Webster

Margaret Buell Wilder

CONTENTS

Authors' League of America Statement

UN EMPLOYMENT I

STEPHEN LONGSTREET: Markets for Words

SIf'G Studio Chairmen

JOSEPH SISTROM: The Writer-Producer Relationship

T. E. B. CLARKE: British Writers Speak Out

Symposium: ERNST LUBITSCH:
MAURICE CHEVALIER

CHARLES BRACKETT and BILLY WILDER
JEANETTE MacDONALD
HANS KRALY
SAMSON RAPHAELSOX
STEFFIE TRONDLE
DARRYL F. ZANUCK

JACK NATTEFORD and LUCI WARD:
Economics of the Horse Opera

F. HUGH HERBERT: Secuuj Red

ROBERT PIROSH: Outside U. S. A.

Editorial

Book Reviews

FRANK LAUNDER: Letter From London

News Notes

Screen Credits

11

15
15
16
17
18
IS
20

21

25
27
30
34

Inside Front Cover
36

38

PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD, INC., AT
1655 NORTH CHEROKEE, HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA.

ALL SIGNED ARTICLES IN THE SCREEN WRITER REPRESENT THE
INDIVIDUAL OPINIONS OF THE AUTHORS. EDITORIALS REFLECT
OFFICIAL SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD POLICY, AS DETERMINED
UPON BY THE EXECUTIVE BOARD.

YEARLY: $2.50; FOREIGN, $3.00; SINGLE COPY 25c; (CANADA AND
FOREIGN 30c). \

CONTENTS COPYRIGHT 'l948 BY THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD.
INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Authors League of America Statement on
Film Censorship and Blacklisting

THE Council of the Authors League protests against the immoderate, un-
controlled, and radically harmful form of censorship now being exercised
on the entire profession of writing by the Congressional Committee on
Un-American Activities.

We do not deny the right of Congress to investigate for legislative pur-
poses but we stand whole-heartedly opposed to the present practice of this
committee on un-American Activities. By denying to an author the accepted
democratic safeguard of witnesses in his own defense or the elementary right
of cross examination, this Committee has encouraged witnesses to make un-
supported public charges which blacken the authors' reputation, and has thus
clearly constituted a form of censorship dangerous to the rights and economic
subsistence of all authors. Carried to its logical extremity this method of
censorship by defamation has already affected not only some of our League
members but can affect all who deal in any way with writing for public dis-
semination.

The motion picture industry has cravenly submitted to this censorship by
blacklisting from employment a group of writers for their alleged political
beliefs. These are the effects of this sort of arbitrary censorship.

The intent of censorship is to deny to the individual author, his publisher,
and producer, the right to distribute and sell the product of his intelligence
and his art. In the past this has commonly operated only against a work
produced and issued to the public, and only to one work at a time. The au-
thor so censored has had the opportunity to oppose and refute the specific
accusations in courts of law.

Here, however, we are faced with a different form of censorship. Here
the man himself is proclaimed suspect.. And the Committee has avoided, as
probably fatal to its whole malign project, the necessity of impugning the
authors' work in detail. Indeed, the whole corpus of a man's work, past and
future, is thus declared suspect. It is obvious that any who buy and use the
work of that author are to be clearly warned that they may be adjudged col-
laborators with a citizen so arbitrarily declared to be subversive, and may
thus themselves be subject to the same calumny and suspicion, open to the
same grave yet unproven charge of conduct contrary to the interests of their
country.

We repeat, the motion picture industry has already submitted to this warn-
ing. There has thus been established a method and a principle of censorship,
fiercely unfair, basically undemocratic, and deeply un-American. We there-
fore earnestly and urgently protest this unwarranted and invidious censor-
ship with all the power at our command.

Unemployment I

The screen writer today is faced with the problem of what to do until the agent calls. The
total membership of the Screen Writers Guild is 1457 — and as we go into the New Year, only
408 are employed by the major and independent studios. The conventional remedy, recommended
by agents, story editors, and producers is all too frequently to simply "go home and write down
just an idea, we're desperate for originals." Yet between July 1st and November 1st, 1947, only
17 originals were purchased. This, and similar problems will be discussed under this heading
each month.

But in the meantime, there's the man at the door who can't understand why we don't get
into some steady line of business where we can pay our bills.

The following article may help you tell that man at the door to go mind his own business.
While it will not enable anyone to buy mink coats or that convertible he wants, it is a life-raft
that can come in handy. Anyone not interested in drowning will find it informative.

EDITOR

Markets for Words

STEPHEN LONGSTREET

STEPHEN LONGSTREET, a member
of SfVG, is now a member of the
Editorial Committee and Book Editor
of The Screen Writer, to which he
has previously contributed. He is a
novelist, screen writer, cartoonist and
playwright. His play High Button
Shoes, is a current Broadway hit.

MY grandfather disliked public lectures on any-
thing for two reasons: as a young girl my
grandmother had fallen in love with Charles
Dickens during his American lecture tour and Gramp
was never too sure how far this mutual Victorian
passion, this damned thing, had gone. Also the most
popular lecture of his day was an item billed as Acres
Of Diamonds.

Acres Of Diamonds was a story, told with great
feeling, about a man who desired to discover a diamond
field, and he left his home and wandered for years,
all over the world, and at last, broken and old, he
came home to his farm and found that the pebbles

in his backyard were rough diamonds, and had been
there all the time. This was a pretty fable of the
Horatio Alger age and inspired our grandparents (all
except mine) to invest in Graham Bell and Henry Ford
and the process of making a seamless bathtub.

Today with unemployment facing over two-thirds
of the Hollywood screenwriters, and the future of the
entire industry wrapped in one of those Delaware
Corporation moods (which looks too darkly ahead into
an uncertain future), I think it is time for all of us
to look in our own front yard for something; if not
acres of diamonds, at least some moonstones and lesser
jewels to keep us working and earning until this

MARKETS FOR WORDS

unemployment period ends. So, I have certain tried
and tested suggestions to make.

In all seriousness I would like to offer some fertile
fields for the unemployed screenwriter to root in. I am
not peddling vague theories or polite hints on what
to do until the telephone rings to tell you that you
are "hot at Paramount." Every device, method and
source I shall list kept me and many of my friends
alive and kicking for twenty years. I have tested what
I shall suggest, and it works!

The average unemployed screenwriter, and some of
my best friends these days are screenwriters out of work,
sits around the house waiting for the agent's call. Some
make an effort to dream up an original, some even get
the original on paper. There is nothing wrong in
writing originals — but story editors tell me that the
average original is badly written, quickly kicked out
to get a story point on paper. An original should be
written carefully, as carefully as a novel or play and
should produce the ache in the mind that all hard
work does. However I started to write about fields
untapped by most screenwriters — -and I mean untapped
scientifically, systematically and with perseverance.

There is first of all the Standard Model T novel.
Now every generation, if it is lucky, produces one or
two great novelists. A hundred years may produce only
a half a dozen , great writers. The rest are craftsmen
of talent, and talent is merely the use of craftsmanship,
knowledge and procedure. Anybody with enough talent
to get a piece of paper into a typewriter can write some
sort of a novel. Publishers, those gay fellows with
their baggy tweed suits, their big smelly pipes and the
delightful habit of taking you to Twenty One for
lunch — many successful writers tell me — don't want
to discover a new War and Peace, or Vanity Fair, or
Boswell's Johnson. They want — and again I quote my
successful friends — the stuff that best sellers are made
of. The Moneyman, Gentleman's Agreement, Foxes
Of Harrow, Proud Destiny, Peace Of Mind, and
works of that sort. I suppose none of these books will
mean a thing to anyone next season — or the season
beyond. Yet each is a pocket gold mine to its publisher
and its author. Any man or gal who calls himself a
screenwriter, I feel, can write a book as good as any
listed above. This is not merely blowing advice through
my hat.

An average motion picture and a popular novel are
really the same thing, product or commodity. Both
are produced for simple entertainment, and it is a
special talent, but a talent only. The screen has not
yet produced a Tolstoy or a Henry James or a Balzac,
but neither has Random House or Doubleday or Simon
and Schuster! We are all people of talent so let us

have no fears that the publisher will buy only Madame
Bovary or Moll Flanders or Moby Dick from us.

BEGIN by putting down two or three chapters
of a story on paper. Style, an old teacher once
told me, is only one sentence following another sentence,
and chapters are only a certain number of pages. Char-
women, housewives and cigar store clerks have written
best selling novels by merely covering two pages of
paper with prose a day, and stopping when they finish
a ream of paper. As a matter of fact, it is discouraging
to a professional novelist to see how often highly touted
contests are won by some frustrated housefrau with
a shabby first novel. M.G.M.'s huge novel contest
has yet to turn up a decent book.

Get three chapters of an idea done; don't sluff it
off, work hard on it, make the idea as novel, as witty
or as full of character and love and desire and hope
as you would a screen idea you are presenting to, say,
Jerry Wald. The New York publishers have leg men,
those wonderful zombies with checkbooks, stashed
away all over this town. If they like your idea you
can get up to three or four thousand dollars doled
out to you at about a hundred dollars a week until the
novel is finished. A good novel can be written in
anywhere from six weeks to six months. After all
Voltaire wrote Candide in twenty-four hours, and
Dostoevski rammed out his novels, sometimes hitting
ten thousand words a day. And you ain't Dostoevski.
Speed never hurt a real writer if he's trying hard.

I lived for years on publishers' advances. The con-
temporary novel — remember — is a simple machine-made
thing with lots of heart, character and fun in it, and
often pleasant to write. The surprise is that you may
be writing a great classic and not know it. Three
volumes of my vast output have been admitted into
the sacred grooves as literature by the critics (I wish
I could say they lost money to prove a point).

Daniel Defoe, the pappy of the modern novel, was
a hack writer, his pen for hire to anyone, and he wrote
Moll Flanders and Robinson Crusoe to get a little fast
cash. He wasn't writing what the men-about-literature
call art. He was just setting down something that
interested him while unemployed, while waiting for
the demand of political pamphlets to come back. Mark
Twain didn't think of himself as a great author; he
felt you had to be a New England snob in chin whis-
kers, to have touched Harvard, to be a real writer.
He wrote Huck Finn and Life on the Mississippi
because he needed money to enlarge his house, buy a
farm and keep his wife in the fashion her father had
raised her in. When he wrote Art with a capital A he

THE SCREEN WRITER

produced Joan of Arc which is practically chloroform
in print. Balzac wanted to marry a rich Polish countess
and grow pineapples in France and fill a house full
of paintings ; he had no idea the stuff he turned out in
reams had any value as literature. Proust produced
the great Remembrance of Things Past not only as
a writer, but also in part because he wanted to show
certain people who had snubbed him what a bright
boy they were turning away.

So if you do write a novel, and write it because
you need money while unemployed, don't worn" be-
cause it isn't art. . . . You may be writing Art against
your own wishes. Doctor Johnson said it: ''Only a
fool doesn't write tor money."

SUPPOSE you don't get that advance from a pub-
lisher? The next time you go calling for your -wife
in a beauty- parlor read some of the movie magazines
that clutter up the waiting room. The interviews with
the stars are enough to turn any healthy stomach, but
if it's a hungry stomach, just remember that the mag-
azines pay from two to live hundred for a story about
Hollywood. Any idiot can write them, one editor told
me ; in fact, idiots have a natural flair for such stuff.
You will just have to lower yourself to a moron's
level, he said. So study the samples, call up a few of
the local magazine offices, and go to work.

The great American goons — to quote my editor
friend in detail — who devour these magazines are star
happy. They want to know what happens to a star
from the time he opens his baby blue eyes to the mo-
ment he gets down on his tailored pajama knees and
says his prayers and is tucked in for the night. The
editor was not kidding actors. The real actor, and
the one that appears in these fan magazines is. of
course, not the same person. A real actor is human.
He gets drunk, falls passionately in love with impos-
sible dames, and curses his producer in Anglo-Saxon
— for love and hate are both four-letter words. In
this Never Never Land of Fan Magazines there is
real gold for any writer who can write interestingly
about the dream world of the movie fan's idea of
Glamour Puss. You will not win the Pulitzer Prize,
but the landlord will accept the checks. But be sure
to study your models. Don't give them An Essay on
the Focus of the Coated Lens and Low Key Lighting,
when they want to be told that their favorite actress
spent the first forty years of her life in a convent study-
ing soil chemistry. Again I am not writing of something
I just heard about. I created fan magazine filler and
the filler helped fill me. I would rather have written
The Red Badge of Courage — but I ate.

As the novel changed from art to Edna Ferber, and

people began to take their mental nourishment in
motion picture form, the comic strip which used to be
funny, became a story telling device for simple souls.
The millions of people (including me, too) who read
Ltl Abner every morning outnumber the people who
can recite the poems of the Earl of Rochester or the
sonnets of Shelley a million to one.

The creator of LSI Abner is a man of wit, intelli-
gence and worldly wisdom. He writes his own story
line. However, not all cartoonists are Milt Gross or
Ralph Barton. Some of them — an art critic once said —
know what a book is, (''It's a thing you place a glass
of gin on to keep it from taking the varnish off the
furniture, you dope . . .") and many of them can
read print, but there are rumors that the most brilliant
draftsmen can't write very well. Yet they must turn
out thousands of feet of solid action-packed, character-
filled, exciting story six times a week, and there is the
Sunday page. Most of them hire story writers. People
who give them their plot, and there is always a short-
age of good story people in the cartoonfield. Don't
try to create a new cartoon character, don't get an
artist to draw one for you. There are too many car-
toons now and there is a newsprint shortage (except
in Beverly Hills where I have to wade through a
lawn covered with advertising throw-aways every
dawn). Contact either the cartoonist direct, or the
syndicate for which he works. Present your credits
and your ideas in a good letter, or over a hot martini
with the artist or his agents. There is a little selling
involved. But a good story man can make twenty
thousand dollars a year creating the ideas and plot line
for a fairly popular cartoon strip. A smash hit makes
Louis Mayer look like a charity case.

Most of those witty" gags under drawings by Peter
Arno, Charles Addams and others in The New Yorker
are not created by those artists. They are bought from
free lance gag men and given to the artist to illustrate.
I hope this shatters no illusions — but it's only another
example of how writers get no credit. (See — said my
secretary — the world is just like Hollywood — only
bigger.) I once shattered the happiness of a Pasadena
hostess by telling her that her favorite cartoonist
couldn't think his way out of a phone booth un-
assisted. The prices for one-line gag ideas run from
fifteen dollars to thirty. It's no life of ease — but a good
week can pay the food bills and have a little left over
to buy gasoline for the car on weekends. The best
gags come from twisting newspaper headlines around.

Gags lead, of course, to what some people call the
curse of modern civilization, the radio. This is a little
cruel — but maybe true. I spent ten years in the radio
mills, came out a whole but perhaps a saddened man.
When I started writing soap opera serials at twenty-

MARKETS FOR WORDS

five dollars a fifteen minute radio script was often
called a bed of neurosis. When I quit I was turning
up my nose at eighteen hundred a week. I may add
in passing that I am the radio writer who told Ed
Gardner that the character "Archie" was not going
to go, and that I also drove Bob Hope off the air in
thirteen weeks, an ordeal he recovered from, and he
went on to real success, without me.

' I ''HE demand for writers in radio is constant and
*■ the pace is killing. But the money is as good as
picture money, often better. The prices are sometimes
much higher. Most radio writers tell me they would
trade all of radio to the Russians for a good fullback
for the Los Angeles Rams, but the fault, I suspect, is
the result of selling out a great art form to the pack-
agers of tripe, and letting it slip into the hands of the
hucksters, cut-purses and reformed con men and footpads
that are the advertising agencies. If there is an honest
agency man — one radio writer told me — I have never
met him. So be sure — he went on — your contacts
are iron-clad, your legs crossed and the crookedest
lawyer you can hire is aware of your every move.

"It's really not that bad," I said. "Oh yes," he said,
"anyone who has written a motion picture script can
be Bernard Shaw when it comes to radio writing. One
writes for senile dementia, sex addled housewives and
sinister kiddies who cut up cats in their backyards.
I am not trying to be funny about this; radio writing
is an insult to your intelligence."

"Can I quote you?"

"These are hard times and harder ones are coming,
print it. And please, Norman Corwin, don't write
me a letter saying you are an artist. I admit it; but it
doesn't change my opinion about radio much."

My friend needs a rest.

So listen to your radio, prepare a radio script. It's
just like a motion picture script but you write only
for the ear. Write what you do best; comedy, drama,
horror or character. Submit these samples to the adver-
tising agencies (being sure to file copies in the right
places for protection). Cultivate radio actors, pro-
ducers and directors. I can't impress upon you too
often how important it is to make the proper contacts
and meet the right people. They envy picture people,
so socially you are welcome.

Now the magazines. There are so many of them
and they demand so many different things. Actually
it only appears so. First of all, all the hard things you
have heard about motion pictures — at cocktail parties —
apply much more honestly to the popular slick large

circulation magazines. One lady magazine writer
always opens her latest magazine by saying: "What
has God wrought? Ouch!"

There is the short story market. There are several
good, clean formula stories that appear over and over
again. Study the magazine you want to work for and
see what kind of story they like. There is the folksy
little story with the city slicker or city vamp getting
beaten all hollow by the simple Juke's type country
cousin who turns out to be Gary Cooper or Jimmy
Stewart. The boy meets girl, tiffs with girl ; then gets
her against his clean, manly chest in three thousand
words. The witty story, the Hollywood story (please
don't). The western story, the big business story, the
faith story and half a hundred others. Don't be
ashamed of them. All have produced masterpieces in
their time. Don't be too unhappy to write them.
O. Henry, Kipling and others have done them and
done them well. After a while you may develop into
rich trade goods, and if you click you are producing
the Somerset Maugham, Edna Ferber, Louis Brom-
field story which is as marketable as U. S. Steel. Only
now it's called the John Doe story (you). And there
is always the accident that you might turn out another
Ransom Of The Red Chief, The Open Boat, The
Killers, or Pigs Is Pigs.

Magazines also print a lot of filler; profiles, close-
ups and life stories of such people as Mike Curtiz
(that market has been a little overloaded of late, but
if it's a habit — well), George Washington Carver,
the map who invented a ten per cent deadlier than
machine guns, new kinds of cooking, what to do with
plastics and many other simple little topics. Don't expect
the big money, my lady magazine writer tells me.
The real rich graft in war experting, breast beating,
atom bombing, red baiting, Mickey Mouse art, and
enema bag literature, unAmerican vice and the solu-
tions of the world problems by union now, or tracing
the migrating habits of the lemmings, is in the hands
of a solid group of literary racketeers. You can't cut
into this soft business of being an "expert" but the
leavings from the trained seals table — the lady ex-
plains— are very rewarding. I have done everything
in my time from cooking recipes (do you know there
are three ways to cook tripe, all bad?) to collecting
a dollar a throw from people who sent in samples of
their handwriting to be analyzed (this is a real science,
like pitching fast curves or tea cup reading). A good
writer can get fifty popular items for magazines in
a half a day's hunting through the newspapers, the
reference books, and his own mind. Prices are very
good these days. Reader s Digest, in its surge towards
a better and cleaner life, pays from twelve hundred
to two thousand dollars for a four-page story: The

SE

=_

THE SCREEN WRITER

Most Unforgettable Character I Ever Met. However,
as one well known author and member of the SWG
said after hitting the jackpot: "It's strictly a one shot,
you're not allowed to meet two most unforgettable
characters."

I have tried to write these sign posts to extra money,
in an easy walk, not too heavy or serious ; I don't want
to sound like the broken down flops who open schools
and run come-on ads: YOU TOO CAN WRITE
SUCCESSFULLY! PREPARE YOURSELF FOR
A CAREER IN INTERIOR DECORATING !
MAKE FORTUNES SELLING YOUR PER-
SONALITY IN BEAUTY CULTURE AND
HAIR REMOVING. ANYONE CAN COPY
THIS BATHING BEAUTY. GIRLS, I MADE
TWENTY DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS
AFTER SCHOOL IN TEN MINUTES.

SERIOUSLY, there are enough writing jobs to give
every unemployed writer two or three hundred
dollars a week while he is waiting for a film assign-
ment.

To lump a few markets together. There is the
matter of house organs. Plumbers, bakers, drug houses,
dog and cats' meat panderers, and of course the burial
societies and sellers of cemetery lots have their house
organs and magazines. They do not pay a lot and you
may often be paid off in due bills (bits of paper they
take from advertisers in exchange for ads). I lived
like a king one winter in New York on due bills.
The opera twice a week. Passes to Radio City. Food
at Huylers and Schraffts. Review copies of popular
best sellers to read or throw at the cat — even a car that
had the one minor defect: an advertisement of a stom-
ach purge water on the doors. I'm not advising any
writer to make a habit of living on due bills. It warps
natural instincts. But house organs need people with
ideas and ability to write captions and create poetry
out of hot air furnaces, trusses and even (no kidding)
water-and-sound-proof coffins. The jobs are real ad-
ventures. I once shared an office with a writer, now
a famous playwright, who rewrote a Dr. X ... on a
health food magazine, and his series, The Male Change
of Life, is almost as famous as Havelock Ellis on sex,
but a little more gamey. And greeting card writers have
very respectable incomes.

Department stores are eating up miles of text de-
scribing the bargains waiting for you behind plate
glass and indifferent sales help. Copy writing is fun.
At an age when shaving was merely other people's
problem I learned about women by describing their
underwear, rubber-stretch garments, cuppings and
strappings in advertisements. I was a mental roue long

before my sad drift into actual contact with the brighter
half of the human race.

I once cornered the market in mail order catalogue
copywriting, when it was paying sixty dollars a page
(and by speed and strength and a touch of the prose
style of Fannie Hurst at her best, ran the price up,
at which point a group bought me out and retired me
to the detective story market).

This market is pretty dead at this moment. But
I used to turn out a detective novel every twenty days
(a chapter a day; one hour to a chapter). Start with
a body, make it up as you go along — pick out the
most unlikely suspect as the killer — never destroy sus-
pense by working from an outline. I used ten pen
names, but as I say, this is a pretty over-done field these
days. Pulp adventure writing (which I never tried)
is also too crowded by expert professionals.

Play writing is the greatest gamble of all. I would
not advise it for anyone in a hurry for cash to fight off
the wolf in the foyer. The jackpot is really big — but
my trunk is packed with plays better than High Button
Shoes, which bears my name.

However, there is a special play market controlled
by such publishers as French, who market one act,
two act and three act plays to high schools, Elk
pageants, church suppers and other social gatherings
where the actors are not too good and the settings
are whatever old chairs and drapes are at hand. This
market needs clean little plays with from four to eight
simple characters that are easy to do with one set. A
part for the pretty girl, the handsome football player,
the town wit, the ugly smart girl, and some fat and
thin people who can make up to be old, wicked or
mad. Don't get social minded, political or smutty. It's
a simple, home type of show easy to write and it sells
well and you collect year after year. But first read
some of the samples. Don't write anything ever until
you know what the product is. Or have I said that
before? No matter. Remember this simple rule.

I have just scratched the surface of the needs for
writers. Mostly, but not always, I have stuck to those
fields in which I have often dipped to pick up a fast
needed dollar. There is nothing to be ashamed of in
doing this. Pickwick Papers started out as the text
for a set of rather feeble drawings by a melancholy
cartoonist, who read one installment of Charles Dick-
ens and blew his brains out. Upton Sinclair was the
fastest adventure pulp writer of his time. Sinclair
Lewis sold plots to Jack London for seven dollars each.
James Joyce ran a movie theatre in Dublin and wrote
his own blurbs as screen trailers. Homer, t-hey say,
recited for free drinks and hay, and Edgar Allen Poe
once wrote the text for a collection of seashells.

MARKETS FOR WORDS

I have not touched on ghost writing; speeches for
stuffed shirts, and I have heard of a group of writers
who furnish doctors and dentists with a weekly set
of jokes to tell their customers, while they are under-
going torture. The doctors and dentists report that
their new "found" wit has made them popular; socially
and passionately — and business has increased.

There is the field of teaching. Writers are born,
but many of them need to be shown a few tricks, and
most colleges have courses on the short story, screen
writing, play writing and advertising. Many such
schools need trained writers — teachers for such courses.
The pay is small but there is the advantage of saying
one is a college man. A writer I know calls himself
a college man because he was once a janitor at the
Harvard Medical School where he put on the labels
and wrote out the gruesome details of the various
organs pickled in alcohol and given him to store away.

He turned into a fine poet but for some reason writes
these days only about trees and flowers.

I hope these few hints have been helpful. I know
they can be profitable. All I beg is that no one try to
contact me personally with their ideas. I am the wrong
person to see. The person to meet is the buyer or the
payer. Besides, old habit may come back and I might
race you to the magazine office or advertising agency.

As a closing remark may I again repeat there is
nothing degrading in doing all this border line writing.
Many a great writer in his hungry days would have
been happy to have the dexterity and flexibility every
good screen writer has. It would have kept Walt
Whitman from standing outside a New York saloon
one bitter cold day and asking every man that came
out of the place : "Could you spare a dollar to keep
America's greatest poet from starving to death?"

hr1

Screen Writers' Guild Studio Chairmen

(December 17, 1947)

Columbia — Louella MacFarlane; alternate, Edward
Huebsch.

MGM — Anne Chapin; alternate, Sonya Levien; Jos-
eph Ansen, Robert Nathan, and George Wells,
Studio Committee.

Paramount
Breen.

Theodore Strauss; alternate, Richard

Republic — Sloan Nibley; alternate, Patrick Ford.
RKO — Daniel Mainwaring; alternate, Martin Rackin.
20th Century-Fox — Richard Murphy; alternate,

Wanda Tuchok.
Universal-International — Silvia Richards ; alternates,

Peter Berneis, Robert Thoeren.
Warners — James Webb; alternate, Edmund North.

(The above studio representatives of the Guild were
elected on December 10, 1947, to serve for the ensuing
year.)

The Writer -Producer Relationship

JOSEPH SISTROM

JOSEPH SISTROM is a motion pic-
ture producer. He has produced such
recent pictures as Double Indemnity,
Incendiary Blonde, Wake Island and
Star Spangled Rhythm.

WHEN a writer in Hollywood says he's "work-
ing," he means that he is being paid by some
studio, but a studio is a vast impersonal
entity identifiable, if at all, only by an illegible signature
on a check.

The man to whom the average writer talks and to
whom he delivers his finished work, and who is inci-
dentally in most instances responsible for his employ-
ment in the first place, is a producer, and it is through
this man — the producer — that the writer's contribu-
tions, good or bad, reach the screen.

Before we go any further, we will have to do some-
thing about this word "producer." Producer, in Holly-
wood, has so many meanings and shades of meaning —
even limiting the count to the printable ones — that
one of the more scholarly journals of semantics ought
to make a special study of it. There is for example,
that mysterious corporate entity which appears in the
first paragraph of most contracts and is "hereinafter
referred to as the 'producer'."

And there is that enterprising individual who gets
an idea, a star or a story ; begs, borrows or steals enough
money to make a picture, and if he is lucky, wangles
a release. And there is the group whose members carry
imposing titles ranging from "Executive First Vice-
President in Charge of Production" through "Executive
Producer" to simple "Executive." All these and their
various subdivisions and combinations, are producers.

There is, however, another group also called pro-
ducers with whom I believe most writers have to deal
and to whom this discussion is limited. I refer, of course,
to the employee-producers. The reasons why this posi-
tion developed in the picture industry need not concern
us here. It is sufficient that it did and is apparently
as permanent as death or taxes.

These two individuals, the writer and the producer,
spend a great deal of time together, and if the relation-

ship between them is a happy one the two participants
will, by and large, live a long time, enjoy harmonious
marriages, get rich and incidentally, make reasonably
good movies. If it is not, comes ulcers, divorce, and
the A.A. — and not the A.A.A. either. Unfortunately,
and contrary to Mr. Wilkerson's recent statistics, the
latter case seems to be in the majority and it is the
purpose of this inquiry to determine the reasons for
this deplorable state of affairs.

If the man with the candid mike were to come to
Hollywood and secrete his dreadful little eavesdropper
in the various saloons, steam rooms, restaurants, country
clubs and commissaries where writers and producers
foregather, he would shortly become convinced that
there are only two reasons for writers and producers
being unhappy with one another — stupidity and lack
of talent.

It is true that there are idiot producers, just as there
are writers of at best vestigial talent, and it is also
true, that occasionally, an idiot producer gets hooked
up with a no-talent writer. Luckily in this case, no
one is unhappy except maybe the exhibitor.

However, the number of these unfortunates seems
to bear no relation to the number of times their exist-
ence is cited as the reason for the failure of some pet
project. Some of this name-calling is of course, mali-
cious; its virulence usually bearing a geometric ratio
to the amount of time which has lapsed since the name-
caller's last good picture, but it can't all be accounted
for on these grounds.

It is possible that the underlying reason for the dis-
sension which is so often blamed on stupidity and lack
of talent, is engendered by a misunderstanding by both
parties of the producer's function. This is not very
surprising, since attempting to define the function of
a producer is a good deal like wrestling with an octo-
pus— there always seems to be an extra piece which

8

WRITER-PRODUCER RELATIONSHIP

is not accounted for. Maybe the easiest way is to
determine what the word "function" means in terms
of motion pictures.

THERE are, I believe, three primary functions in-
volved in the making of a picture — writing, direc-
ting, and producing. (This is not meant to belittle
all the others — photography, scenic design, cutting,
etc., but they are almost entirely dependent on the
first three.) This does not mean that the individual
writer cannot direct, or the individual director, pro-
duce, or any permutation of the three, but this fusion
of personalities should not be confused with the func-
tions. They remain distinct, even though a single indi-
vidual performs all three. The functions of writing are
clear almost by definition.

The writer writes (despite a minority tendency to
confuse this with stenography) and the director, di-
rects. But what about the producer? What does he
do? And what would happen if he didn't do it? To
take the second question first, the answer is nothing.
Nothing would happen except that a considerable
number of pictures — some good, some bad — wouldn't
get made.

The first question is of course, the $64 one. Since
we are dealing here with the creative functions of
the producer — if any — we can simplify the question
by eliminating his non-creative activities. The pro-
ducer is among other things, the representative of his
employer, and as such he has various problems. He
must decide whether the proposed location trip to
Timbuctoo will add enough to the validity of the
picture to be worth the cost. He must determine
whether cameraman Joe Blow's outstanding talent
in low-key photography is or is not offset by his in-
ability to do the most for a certain ageing actress. He
must carefully weigh the virtues of a given free-lance
actor against the obvious advantages of building up
a studio personality. He worries about schedules,
March 4th tax dates, budgets, previews, the crochets
of actors and the idiosyncrasies of actresses.

The catalogue can be extended indefinitely. And
what is left ? What is the producer's creative function ?
A writer friend of mine who spent many years in
various other fields of writing before coming here,
once told me that the nearest parallel to the Holly-
wood producer that he knew of was the big-time maga-
zine editor. "Ray Long," he said, banging down his
glass, "would have made bums out of all you guys."

What little I know about magazine editors in general
and Ray Long in particular, leads me to believe that
as analogies go, this one is fairly apt. The producer,

like the editor, has varying relationships with the writer
depending to a considerable degree on the genesis of
the material and its condition when it gets to him.
Ray Long, for example, might have called up a regular
contributor and asked him if he would like to do a
piece on something or other about which the contributor
was not very enthusiastic until he had heard Mr. Long's
slant on it, and at the other extreme, to stay with
Mr. Long for a moment, he might one morning have
opened his mail and found Willa Cather's latest per-
fect short story. (Incidentally, the fact that Willa
Cather sent it to him is one of the factors that made
him a great editor.)

IN between are writers who have a good background
knowledge but little technical experience in getting
it on paper, the lazy ones who need riding, the timid
ones who need enthusiasm, and so on. The editor's re-
lationship with these various writers varies consider-
ably in degree. The man who is developing the editor's
idea must obviously listen more closely to his ideas
than the one who has submitted a complete story, but
it does not vary in kind. In all instances the editor is
trying to help the writer achieve a desired result.

The parallels with the picture business are, I think,
obvious. There is, however, one important difference
which arises because of the enormous complexity of our
medium.

In the magazine field the opinion of the editor is
the automatic measure of what is good or bad. In Hol-
lywood this is not precisely true. We have said that
there are three primary functions in the making of a
motion picture, and within the technical limits of his
function each individual is left to make his own de-
cisions, or at least he should be. That is to say the
producer determines the cast, the writer decides which
of several methods best introduces the leading man,
the director decides whether or not to use a boom and
so on. Not that the individual should not get — and
welcome — advice from his co-workers, but the decision
is his own.

I am firmly convinced that a really good picture —
the ones we are all proud of — is nearly always one
man's inspiration and that everyone else concerned
with it must try to help him realize it. This inspiration
can of course come from anyone but ordinarily it stems
from the producer, the director, the screen writer or
occasionally from the original material. For instance
I don't know whose idea it was to switch the theme
of The Brick Foxhole from homosexuality to anti-
Semitism, but that inspiration was indubitably the
drive behind Crossfire.

I am sure that if the participants in the making of

THE SCREEN WRITER

a picture — granted reasonably intelligent and talented
people — know which of their number is providing the
drive, there should be no dissension, no disharmony,
and no unhappiness.

This does not mean that there won't be arguments

and fights. There can be, indeed should be, diversity
of opinion about scenes, gags, lines, even words, but
what there must not be diversity about, is viewpoint.
That has to be one person's and when it comes to a
decision, that viewpoint must prevail.

Economy In Reverse

We hope Hollywood was listening to the remarks of B. V. Sturdivant on his visit home
from Mexico City, where the former West Coast theatre executive now makes his headquarters
as head of one of Mexico's leading circuits.

Sturdivant said that "Extravagant production budgets, luxurious settings, and lavish cos-
tuming may disguise the lack of honest story material to United States audiences, but not in the
greater part of Latin America."

These extravagant trappings, which he talks about, don't fool anybody on the most impor-
tant point presently facing this industry — which is the need to produce pictures less extravagantly
from a dollar outlay standpoint.

When one reviews some of the "economy measures" being employed by some of the film
companies, one is apt to wonder how this industry grew to its present size under a leadership
that now appears to have become hesitant and fearful.

We hear so much about the complexities and losses indicated for foreign market operations.
The economies necessitated thereby, about which there is so much mention, seems to take the
form of cutting a few dollars here and there by eliminaton of minor personnel and cutting in
routines that come within the realm of the petty-cash department.

While this goes on, the general picture of tremendously high-cost production remains little
changed, so far as the general observer can ascertain. The bringing of production costs to with-
in some reasonable relation to the costs of other business operations is the task for the top execu-
tives. And if they are real top executives they needn't get panicky about it, just function calmly
and efficiently in doing their job of making pictures at costs that the theatre traffic will bear.

—SHOWMEN'S TRADE REVIEW

10

British Writers Speak Out

T. E. B. CLARKE

T. E. B. CLARKE, a previous contrib-
utor to The Screen Writer, is a contract
writer at the Ealing Studios, in Eng-
land. He has collaborated on many
recent screen plays, including Dead of
Night. Among his recent original
screen plays are Johnny Frenchman
and Hue and Cry.

THE screenwriter in Britain has long been a man
with a grievance — or two — or three. Early this
year the British Screenwriters' Association sought
the co-operation of its members to give these grievances
their first official airing. Behind the move lay a hope
that the standard of our films might ultimately be
raised if producers, associate producers, directors and
critics could be presented with a sufficiently impressive
concensus of opinion among screenwriters as to what
is wrong with the present handling of their all-import-
ant work.

The venture was something of a shot in the dark.
Its sponsors realised that its results could have little
constructive value if no uniformity of opinion were
found to exist. However, the results, now collated,
show two particular grievances so general as surely,
to merit close examination by all who have power to
remedy them.

Whether these two grievances are nursed to the same
extent by the screenwriters of Hollywood, readers of
this article will know better than I do; but it's my
guess that they will be found sufficiently familiar to
give some interest to the outcome of our British quiz.

The opinions I am about to quote are selected from
the replies of forty-six screenwriters, averaging twelve
years at their job, to the following question:

What, in your opinion, are the practices of
current film production that —

a) Present the greatest obstacle to successful
screenwriting?

b) Most adversely affect the prestige of the
screenwriter?

This, in brief, is what their replies show:

In answer to the first part of the question, two in

every five name the employment of too many writers
on one script.

In answer to the second part, two in every five
name lack of publicity or reference by critics to the
writer of a film.

Since these two particular grievances are in fact
more closely related than might at first appear, there
is no necessity to split up this summary of replies
after the manner of the original question; but I think
I might better achieve some flow of continuity if I deal
first with the screenwriter's lack of publicity.

Some blame the critics for this, some the producers;
but from a general analysis of the replies there emerges
our old friend, the vicious circle. Because the critic
gives little or no credit to the writer of a film, the
producer sees no point in attempting to publicise him;
instead, he puts over the impression that his stars,
his director and himself are chiefly responsible for
any success achieved by that film. The critic allows
himself to be thus impressed, and consequently dis-
regards the writer.

Here we have a screenwriter who is also a pro-
ducer and should therefore be in a position to look over
both sides of the fence:

"Writing is still scarcely referred to by the critics
at all, more especially when it is original story work.
As a producer I have found that little extra kudos is
derived from making an original screen story, however
prominent the credit given to the writers, and that
from a prestige point of view it is in fact more profit-
able to adapt the classics to the screen. This is a dismal
state of affairs, since the film future ought to depend
for its life blood on original creative writing direct
for the screen. The critics are much to blame for this,

11

THE SCREEN WRITER

and are both ill informed about the realities of film
production and generally incorrigible on this point . . .
which, of course, affects the producers' attitude ad-
versely."

Not all critics, however, are unmindful of the fact
that there can be no film without a script: for, as
another writer testifies, "there is a pronounced ten-
dency (both in the studio and the Press) to give all
the credit for a good film to the producer and director,
and all the blame for a bad film to the script-writer."

Here, in fairness, I must intervene to say that two
or three prominent British critics make it their practice
to single out a writer for praise when they consider
it deserved; but such critics are regrettably few — and
personally I have yet to encounter a film review con-
taining an opposite version of that tired old phrase
about stars and director doing their best "with the
poor material at their disposal."

THE two opinions so far quoted are levelled mainly
against the critic. What have others to say about
the producer's disregard of the writer's claim to pres-
tige? Here we have a writer putting upon him the
main weight of blame for "failure to recognise the
advantages of original film stories, written by compe-
tent film writers, over the claims of novels and plays
whose sole qualification as films is their publicity
value."

One can guess the producer's reply to that one.
"But the welfare of my business depends on publicity."

To counter this we have an opinion which says, in
effect : "Then why not publicize the work and person-
ality of the screenwriter?" Continues this writer:
"Credits are not enough. Filmgoers are primarily
interested only in stars, but a moderately successful
attempt has been made to familiarise them with the
names of directors and producers. No parallel effort
has been made on behalf of the screenwriter, whose
work is even more fundamental and who is entitled
to the same status as that accorded by theatrical man-
agers to dramatic authors."

Several other replies make the same complaint: that
there is never any thought of treating the screenwriter
with the respect and consideration which the playwright
receives. Why should this be?

The reason, says a victim with some feeling, is that
"the writer is regarded (in the studio) as a necessary
evil rather than as the maker of the blue print from
which the film is to be made, and without which noth-
ing in a studio can even commence." He makes an
exception of "the playwrights and novelists with names
who are employed to write a script, and who, with

remarkably few exceptions, are without the technical
knowledge to do so." (Somebody outside the industry
has taken the trouble to build up their reputations!)

"The consequence is that the script-writer is with-
out prestige in the eyes of directors and producers. In
the writer's experience, remarkably few of these ex-
ecutives have really good creative minds — some of
them, indeed, cannot read a script — and the result
of this is that their opinions as first readers of the
writer's work become at once the opinion of the entire
production machine. This spreads to the critics and
publicity people with whom the script-writer rarely
comes into contact, and so, from the very first, the
writer is at a disadvantage. Except in his contract,
he is discounted as a contributor to the final result.

"There is only one channel through which the pres-
tige of the writer can be enhanced — that of the critics.
It surely is remarkable that, even when the writer
receives a solo credit for his shooting script, he is
rarely mentioned in reviews. Until the critics realise
his importance, and the importance of his contribution
to the film, his prestige will never be established. At
the moment, generally speaking, he has none at all.
The same consideration applies to promotion matter
connected with a projected or finished film. In other
words, there is only one way in which the writer can
achieve personal recognition, and that is by becoming
a writer-director; and when he does this, he is still
forgotten as a writer: the script is again ignored."

THE playwrights and the novelists, mentioned so
frequently as more fortunate craftsmen in the
opinions already given, figure largely again in the
expressions of Grievance No. 2: the employment of
too many writers on one script.

"This practice results in a lack of 'style.' No play-
wright would allow such liberties to be taken with his
material — the position of a playwright is infinitely
higher in. his profession than that of a screenwriter
in his."

There is also plenty of evidence that the playwright's
position is unreasonably high in the screenwriter's pro-
fession, too.

"There is a mistaken belief that a good writer in
another medium — plays or books — must automatically
make a good screenwriter and can therefore be called
in to give advice over the head of a less famous but
more experienced writer of screenplays."

And again:

"Studios tend to call in a well-known writer to do
either treatment or shooting script, quite regardless
of his capabilities for screenwriting. Though a screen-

12

BRITISH WRITERS SPEAK OUT

writer may do most of the work, the big name gets
main credits."

And again :

"A writer is engaged on a long contract and allowed
to write a script; then a high salary outsider is hired
completely to re-write the script — sometimes to its
advantage, often to its detriment."

And when we have set aside the issue of what kind
of writers are allocated to a script, there remains "the
strange belief of many producers and directors that
one writer can take over and improve another writer's
story and characterisations with the facility of a plumb-
er called in to finish off another plumber's work."

As another contributor points out, no director has
the constant experience of being switched from a sub-
ject before completion, another director being engaged
to supplement his work; nor is it ever suggested that
other directors should collaborate at a later stage. But
would it be any more illogical than treating a writer
thus?

To quote yet another opinion : "Let us have a system
whereby one writer — and one writer only — is assigned
to a script in the same way that one director is as-
signed to the shooting of it." This contributor makes
a natural exception of cases where writers prefer of
their own accord to work in partnership.

Not that they are given many opportunities for that
— hence the castigation of "the power possessed by
directors and producers to import fresh writers to alter
material, or supply fresh material, without consulta-
tion with the original writer."

There is probably something Freudian about that
double use of the word "fresh" by a screenwriter. Is
there any other word so sure to remove the creases —
temporarily, at least — from a film producer's brow,
while the writer groans inwardly from his knowledge
of how rarely it justifies the ingenuous hopes placed
in it?

"The obstacle of producers who think a 'Fresh
Mind' is the solution of all problems . . ."

"The menace of the 'Fresh Mind' — the formula
of mistrust by the non-creative producer in the creative
writer he employs."

And a balder summing-up of this Becher's Brook
among screenwriting obstacles :

"The system of engaging you on a subject and
having two or three other fellows privately doing the
same job elsewhere; plus constant shifting and chang-
ing of ideas because the producer casts about for
anybody's opinion, from the office boy to his grand-
mother."

Finally, the airing of a view which, in many a
production office, will be considered absurd only be-
cause of its physical impossibility:

"It is assumed that Shaw, Coward, Shakespeare,
Pinero and Moliere would write a greater screenplay
in collaboration or in relays than any would have been
capable of writing by himself."

The adage that there can be no smoke without fire
is unchallengeable if trite; and it seems equally indis-
putable that so many similar conclusions could not have
been reached independently without a good deal of
solid justification.

h^

13

THE SCREEN WRITER

S.L.

14

A Symposium

lErnat Imbtisrtj

MAURICE CHEVALIER

I made four pictures with Ernst Lubitsch: Love
Parade, Smiling Lieutenant , One Hour With You
and The Merry Widow.
Our way of working together was always very friendly
and appreciative of the other fellow.

In my particular case I think there is no other way
to make pictures than to obey the director I have
accepted. Kind of placing my reputation on his knees.

But with Ernst, he was big enough to let me suggest
a little something now and then, and in that case he
would shoot the scene his way and my way. He was
the one to decide after what was best.

I understood him in one twinkle. I knew what he
was after.

I caressed a dream to make one more with him.
A story called Papa from a- French play. He liked
it, but I was not old enough at that time to play
a Papa.

Now, I am.

But Ernst is no more young or old. He is just gone.
Bless his soul.

He taught me a lot. I did my best to satisfy him.

He stays in my heart as one of my "greats."

MAURICE CHEVALIER is the famous French
stage and screen comedy star.

CHARLES BRACKETT and BILLY WILDER

TO write for Ernst Lubitsch was an education, a
stimulus, a privilege, but it was no cinch.
Though he never took credit, he was a writer,
too, in the full intimacy of collaboration. One had

to understand the kind of stylized film he wanted to
make, and supply it with material. And always he was
there, saying, "Is this the best we can do? Does it
ring the bell? When it's right, it rings the bell."

He composed his pictures by segments rather than
all in one piece. And he was apt to approach each
portion with the terrifying statement, "This scene
must be hilahrious." Thereupon, all minds involved
focused on making the scene hilahrious and were held
to that task with a kind of pneumatic-drill steadiness
until, by George, the scene became hilahrious.

We remember how, when the pressure was heaviest,
when the mere presence of so much mental effort in
the room had become oppressive, he would retreat for
long periods to that only refuge of collaborators —
the bathroom — and come forth with a solution so often
that we accused him of keeping a ghost writer hidden
in the plumbing.

After the scene was drilled out, the individual lines
had to be attacked by the same method. There was a
scene in the first picture we did with him, in which
Claudette Colbert was supposed to say something
withering to Gary Cooper and dive off a raft into the
Mediterranean. Always when he came to that line
Ernst would go to the same corner of the room where

we worked. "Then Claudette says ?" he

would enunciate, leaving a proper hollow space and
a gigantic question mark, "and makes a graceful dive."
His hands would point and he'd dip forward into the
corner. Then he would turn back to us, his eyes im-
ploring us, not for just a mediocre joke, not for a fine,
showy joke even, but for the line — the inevitable
withering remark which must be waiting somewhere
in space. Incidentally, none of the lines we found was
ever it, and as a tribute to the tremendous drive of

15

THE SCREEN WRITER

personality, may we say that, as we remembered him,
standing, diving into the baseboard, our minds again
went searching for it, with supreme futility.

On the other hand, when an idea was mentioned
which really fertilized his brain, what he could do with
it : toss it into the air, make it catch the light one way,
then another, spin it out, compress it, try it against
this setting, against that, get the nth ultimate out of it.

The greatest disservice one could do him was to be
enchanted beyond all reason by his interpretation of
some idea too fantastic for celluloid. For instance, in
that particular picture, his conception of a mad detec-
tive, a detective obsessed with a passion for his own
disguises. The hero had hired the fellow to get evidence
against his wife and was afraid she might suspect he
had done so. Ernst's acting out of the detective reas-
suring the husband on that score remains with us :

"Sir, believe me, she suspects nothing. Nothing.
Yesterday little did she notice a nun at the corner,
telling her beads" — (a look of piercing, maniacal
craftiness from the black eyes), "nor, this morning,
did she pay any attention to a certain little girl play-
ing marbles in front of the post office."

It was irresistible. One lost track completely of the
fact that this figure was to be portrayed by a flesh-
and-blood actor, instead of being recounted by a cigar-
puffing magician. One rolled on the floor: "That's it!
That's it!"

And then the eyes would grow distressed. "I'm not
sure. Does it ring the bell? When it's right, it rings
the bell. Is this the best we can do?"

CHARLES BRACKETT and BILLY WILDER

comprise one of Hollywood's most famous ivrit-
ing-producing-directing teams.

JEANETTE MacDONALD

ERNST had, not a German, but an American
sense of humor. The most American sense of
humor I know of. It made for nice understand-
ing with his fellow workers. But I always think of
him first as a fighter. A fighter for what he believed
in. He'd fight with you and for you anywhere in the
world. He was a man of terrific force and vitality.
And that was the only thing sad — to see him lose it
toward the end. The vitality was still there inside —
but he was afraid to let it go. Even when he laughed,
it was no longer robust — it was like he had been
warned not to laugh too hard. This Thanksgiving he
was holding forth at my dinner table, and he was more
like his old self than he had been in a long time. He

was quite happy, and very serious in his opinions of
the investigations in Washington.

He was always thinking of practical jokes — more
than anyone I know, he enjoyed them. There always
had to be a big audience around for the denouement.
Making The Merry Widow, I was under contract to
Metro the time they signed Evelyn Laye, the fine
British actress, to do musicals, also. I hadn't learned of
it yet, but Ernst saw it in the Hollywood Reporter
headlined: "Evelyn Laye signed by Metro for Musi-
cals." That morning, I had a big emotional scene where
I was supposed to be singing while crying, and I started
singing, sobbing and breaking my heart all over the
set. During the scene I was supposed to go over to
a mantelpiece. When I got to the mantelpiece, and was
about to put my head down sobbing, there, propped
on cardboard right under my eyes, was the headline
from the Reporter. When I saw it, I stopped singing
then and there. I could only stand gaping at that
headline — then look blankly around the set. Ernst
was laughing to burst.

To me, great people are always simple and Ernst
was the simplest man I ever knew. He had no flaw
in his greatness, no chichi, nor false vanity. On the set,
he had the greatness of his art, but no "artiness." I have
known so many directors who idealized him and styled
some part of his work in their own careers. And
to me, he was the greatest cutter in the business.
Only Thanksgiving night he was talking of the lack of
knowledge of cutting among some current directors. He
cut as he worked on the set — that is, he shot just what
he wanted. He visualized in the script the precise way
he wanted it to work on the screen and I never knew
him to be in trouble on a picture. He whipped his
troubles in script. His scripts were almost invariably
his pictures.

He never came here nor did I ever go to his house, but
what he played the piano and he always ended playing
Viennese waltzes. He was limited in his piano accomp-
lishments, and could only play in a couple of keys —
but his own satisfaction with his playing made it lovely.
I have seen him sit down and play before some of
the greatest pianists in the world with no compunction
whatsoever and on the sets, frequently push them aside
and say — "No, no, I want it to be like this . . ." and
somehow even without the technical knowledge, he
made them understand and the music became part of
him and the picture.

ERNST LUBITSCH was synonymous with
Jeanette MacDonald's motion picture career.
Hollywood musicals reached a sophisticated
peak in their four pictures together: Love Pa-
rade, Monte Carlo, One Hour With You, and
The Merry Widow.

16

ERNST LUBITSCH

HANS KRALY

I was to learn later that the young man tenaciously
smoking a cigar was Ernst Lubitsch. The year was
1913. The place was Berlin. They were shooting
a full-length comedy called Die Firma heiratat, an old
Union Film Corporation picture, starring Victor Arn-
old. Lubitsch played the part of an apprentice in a
wholesale house, and I played the part of a clerk. His
small part was soon to bring Lubitsch to stardom,
although at the time I never imagined that he and I
were to work for many years together.

A few months later I was up to both ears writing a
series of one-reel comedies for the German comedian
Albert Paulig. Lubitsch, in the interim, had started
to make one-reelers also. He approached me one day
and asked if we could do a picture together. I agreed,
although as writer the firm could only pay me 25
marks (approximately $6) for the entire script. Lu-
bitsch admitted that the sum was rather unhandsome,
but promised to sweeten the proposition by appointing
me his assistant director, at the same time by giving me
a small bit to play in the picture.

From that time on we worked together for 17 years.

In those days casting was done in the cafe houses
around the Friedrichstrasse. To kill two birds with
one stone, Lubitsch suggested that we do our work
in the cafes. We would outline a story one day, and
write it the next. Two completed one-reel pictures
per month was the average. But the actors soon caught
on to what we were up to and formed the habit of
dropping by our table to ask if we had parts for them.
Lubitsch, who had a magnificent gift for concentra-
tion, was disturbed by these interruptions. By nature
he was somewhat shy and reluctant to hurt anyone's
feelings. So he solved the difficulty by fleeing from one
obscure cafe to another, always one jump ahead of
the actors.

After thirty or forty of these improvised produc-
tions, Lubitsch persuaded his producer, Paul Davidson,
to let him launch into three-reelers. The first of these,
Schuh Palast Pinkus, was to achieve a signal success.

It wasn't long before Davidson told me that he had
decided to have Lubitsch direct a drama. It was an
important decision. Lubitsch had been so successful
with comedy that I was dismayed at the idea. But
Paul Davidson said, "Don't look at me that way. He
can do it! I know it!" I was to discover that my judg-
ment had been wrong. The drama that Lubitsch was
to direct was Der Augen der Mumie Ma, starring
Emil Jannings and Pola Negri. It was to prove the
first film drama that the German press took seriously.

From then on in rapid succession came such pictures
as Die Puppe, Die Berg Katze, Kohlhiesel's Toechter,

Rausch, Carmen, Sumurun, Du Barry, Anna Boleyn,
Die Flamme, Das Weib des Pharaoh, and others.

Of these films those which will be remembered in
this country under their English titles are Passion,
Deception, Gypsy Love, One Arabian Night, and The
Love of Pharaoh.

In my personal remembrances of Lubitsch I shall
never forget the pleasure it was to work with him.
No script ever took us longer than six weeks. And
the day's work was rarely more than a few hours.
I confess that the number of cigars that went up in
smoke was terrific. But although our actual periods
of work were short, Lubitsch was so highly concen-
trated in his work that after a few hours he was ex-
hausted. It was then that he invariably suggested that
perhaps I was tired!

Of course by this time we no longer worked in
cafe houses but hid away in mountain lodges.

An added pleasure to myself as writer was that
every word of the final script was translated into
action on the screen. Lubitsch never made changes
once he began to direct. Consequently he resented im-
provised last-minute suggestions from actors.

Another pleasant memory was Lubitsch's constant
sense of humor. He loved to play practical jokes on
his friends. Emil Jannings, for example, had a horror
of coffins. In Du Barry there was a scene in which a
coffin was to be carried through the palace. Lubitsch
pretended that the coffin was to be opened by Du Barry
for a last fond farewell. Jannings quickly visualized
the drama of such a touching situation and allowed
Lubitsch to persuade him to lie in the coffin and have
the lid fastened down. But once he had Jannings locked
in the coffin, Lubitsch promptly called off the day's
shooting. The studio was soon deserted except for
Lubitsch who was spying on the coffin from behind
the set. Nothing happened. When Lubitsch hastily
opened the coffin he found Jannings as pale as a corpse,
and furious at the trap into which he had been in-
veigled.

Although not religious in the conventional sense,
nevertheless, Lubitsch never undertook an important
action in his life, nor started a day's directing, without
pausing for half a minute for a short silent prayer.
Few people knew of this. He never spoke of it.

Passion and Deception led Lubitsch to Hollywood,
under contract to Mary Pickford, to direct Rosita.

I remember the morning he left for America. When
the ship sailed from Bremerhaven, carrying Lubitsch —
the hope and pride of the German film industry — a
small group of us were on the dock to wish him bon
voyage and wave farewell.

His father was nearly in tears at the thought of his

17

THE SCREEN WRITER

son going to California to a world of Indians, moun-
tain lions, rattlesnakes, and countless other wild
animals.

But Ernst Lubitsch was not to be lost in a wilder-
ness. He was to gain new triumphs.

HANS KRALY won the last Academy award
for silent screen -plays, in 1929. He is one of the
earliest members of SWG, and one of the found-
ers of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and
Sciences.

SAMSON RAPHAELSON

LUBITSCH loved ideas more than anything in
the world, except his daughter Nicola. It didn't
matter what kind of ideas. He could become
equally impassioned over an exit speech for a character
in the current script, the relative merits of Horowitz
and Heifetz, the aesthetics of modern painting, or
whether now is the time to buy real estate. And his
passion was usually much stronger than that of anyone
else around him, so he was likely to dominate in a
group. Yet I never saw, even in this territory of ego-
tists, anyone who didn't light up with pleasure in
Lubitsch's company. We got that pleasure, not from
his brilliancy or his rightness — he was far from infal-
lible, and his wit, being human, had its lesser moments
— but from the purity and childlike delight of his
lifelong love affair with ideas.

An idea mattered to him more, for instance, than
where his forkful of food happened to be traveling
at a given moment. This director, who had an un-
erring eye for style, from the surface of clothes and
manners down to the most subtle intonation of an
aristocrat's heart, was, in his personal life, inclined
to reach for the handiest pair of trousers and coat
whether they clashed or not, to shout like a king or a
peasant (but never like a gentleman) and go through
life unaware of many refinements and shadings, with
that clumsiness which is the passport of an honest man.
He had no time for manners, but the grace within him
was unmistakable, and everyone kindled to it, errand
boy and mogul, mechanic and artist. Garbo smiled,
indeed, in his presence, and so did Sinclair Lewis and
Thomas Mann. He was born with the happy gift of
revealing himself instantly and to all.

As an artist he was sophisticated, as a man almost
naive. As an artist shrewd, as a man simple. As an
artist, economical, precise, exacting; as a man, he was
always forgetting his reading glasses, his cigars, manu-
scripts, and half the time it was an effort for him to
remember his own telephone number.

However great the cinema historians will eventually
estimate him, he was bigger as a person.

I doubt if a greater craftsman ever lived. I was en-
chanted with Charles Brackett's picture of Lubitsch
arriving beyond the Pearly Gates, meeting the other
show people, Moliere, Congreve, Shakespeare. Even if
they had never heard of him, I know that in ten min-
utes he became one of them. I am sure that, as time
goes on and they become better acquainted, many of
them will feel as the mortal writers who really knew
Lubitsch feel — that here . is one who profoundly re-
spects and understands the art of writing.

He was genuinely modest. He never sought fame
or coveted prizes. He was incapable of employing the
art of personal publicity. You could never wound him
by speaking critically of his work. And somehow he
never wounded his fellow-workers with his innocent
forthrightness. If he once accepted you, it was because
he believed in you. Thus he could say, "Oh, that's
lousy!" and at the same time you felt his rich appre-
ciation of what you hoped were your hidden virtues.
A superb actor, he was totally incapable of acting in
his human relations. He did not have one manner for
the great and another for the lowly, one style for the
drawing room and another for the bar. He was as
free from guile and pretense as children are supposed
to be, and this made him endlessly various and charm-
ing.

I am sorry I was never able to say all this to him
while he was alive.

SAMSON RAPHAELSON, one of Hollywood's
outstanding writers for the screen, is also well
known as a dramatist, novelist and short story
writer.

STEFFIE TRONDLE

I had never met Ernst Lubitsch before and I would
not have recognized the little man with the broad
jovial smile and the twinkling eyes who entered
the office one morning if it had not been for his trade-
mark— the big, black cigar. Little did I realize then
that it would be my privilege to be associated with him
for nearly twenty years.

Ernst Lubitsch, the man with those wonderfully in-
telligent eyes, was an artist who wanted perfection in
everything he did. His mind was so quick that often
it was difficult to follow him. I recall how years ago
a writer had been waiting for weeks for an appoint-
ment to tell him a story idea. When he came out of
Mr. Lubitsch's office the man was upset. "Here I am
waiting for weeks for an appointment, and after listen-
ing to me for five minutes he turns around and tells
me the story."

I have always marveled at the memory he had. It

18

ERNST LUBITSCH

was not unusual for him to ask for a letter he had
received maybe ten or fifteen years ago. Only the other
day he asked for a paper he had signed about eight
years ago. He was not sure of the name, but I was
able to hand it to him without hesitation. "You see,
I knew we had it." Whereupon I said: "And you see,
I knew where to find it." We both laughed, satisfied
with ourselves.

A conscientious and serious worker himself, he ex-
pected the same from all those who worked with him.
He was always ready to excuse mistakes, but had no
tolerance with anyone neglecting his duty. Few men
in the industry ever had a more thorough knowledge
of every phase of production than he. At a conference
with the music department preparatory to The Love
Parade, his first musical picture, I remember one of
the men saying that they worked all night trying to
figure out how one of the numbers could be handled.
Mr. Lubitsch jumped up : "But gentlemen, that is so
easy," and in a few minutes he explained to them how
it should and could be done. It was this great knowl-
edge and sureness that earned him the admiration and
respect of all those who had the good fortune to work
with him.

Surprising as it may seem, the master of sophisti-
cation was really a little boy at heart who loved to
play tricks on others. I remember one morning at the
time he was working with Messrs. Brackett and
Wilder and Reisch on Ninotchka. I was late in getting
to the office (as usual!) and they were already inside
when I came. In the center of my desk I noticed a book.
I took one glance at the rather lurid title and the
picture of a scantily draped woman, shrugged my shoul-
ders— and that was all. A minute later the door
opened from the inside; Mr. Lubitsch stuck his head
out and asked: "What's the matter, are you sick?"
Then I learned that the four big men, like little boys
had scrambled around to set the cap inside the book
before I arrived and had been standing behind the
door listening, expecting me to pick up the book and
scream as the cap would go off. Mr. Lubitsch was
a very disappointed man!

During the same picture the three writers had argued
with him for hours, trying to convince him that he
was wrong on one particular point in the story.
Finally, he called me in and asked me what my reaction
would be. With four pairs of eyes staring at me, I tried
to think. And I shall never forget the look on Mr.
Lubitsch's face when I finally answered — he was
speechless. My reactions coincided with those of the
writers. I had let him down.

Mr. Samson Raphaelson had come out to California
last spring to work with him on This Is The Moment.

The two men had worked together on many of his
scripts. They admired and respected each other and
it was always a very happy and harmonious association.
Although Mr. Lubitsch had an amazingly large vo-
cabulary, he would come out and ask me whenever he
was in doubt or at a loss for a word or phrase, despite
the fact that Mr. Raphaelson had already supplied the
word he was trying to find. I suppose it was a little
irritating to Mr. Raphaelson at times, and we all had
to laugh one day when Mr. Lubitsch asked me about
some particular custom of that period and Mr. Raphael-
son turned to his secretary and said: "You'd think she
had lived at that time." The time was 1860.

For all his greatness, Ernst Lubitsch was a very
simple man as far as he himself was concerned, and
deeply appreciative of any kindness shown him. A box
of cigars, or the cookies the little Hungarian lady would
bake for him would please him no end. Like a little
boy he would leave in the evening taking his present
home with him. Despite all the lavishness in his pic-
tures, he was a very simple and modest man as far
as he himself was concerned. Last summer after having
urged him for weeks to get some new clothes, he came
to the office and said: "I was at the tailor and do you
know what he has done?" ( I had visions that the
whole suit had been botched up) "He made me two
suits! And what could I do ... I like them." I told
him he hadn't had a new suit for three or four years
and that the tailor probably decided he needed two
new ones.

Much has been said and written about Ernst
Lubitsch, the artist. But how much more there is to
be said about Ernst Lubitsch, the man, and his endur-
ing friendship and loyalty. A friend in need could
always count on help from him. And as to his generos-
ity there was just no end. "Only one package a month
... oh no, the man should get at least two packages
a month," he said to me only the other day. And
that was only one of the many, many similar cases.
Before the rise of Hitler, a trip to Berlin, to be able
to meet at the Buehnenklub with all his old friends
and former colleagues, that was the ideal vacation for
Ernst Lubitsch.

But the most touching side in the man was his deep
devotion to his small daughter Nicola, and his letters
to her. The master of sophistication telling the little
girl about her kitten and her dolls — how they missed
her. No, Ernst Lubitsch was not a sentimentalist, but a
little man with a great, big heart, whose memory will
always be cherished by all who knew him.

STEFFIE TRONDLE was for many years
Ernst Lubitsch's private secretary.

19

THE SCREEN WRITER

DARRYL F. ZANUCK

I shall always remember with great pleasure the
strong conscience which Ernst Lubitsch brought to
bear on every subject or problem to which he gave
his attention.

He was a man of wit, but beneath his sense of
fun was a stronger sense of sympathy and understand-
ing for his fellow men.

He always lunched with his fellow producers, and
it was a custom at these gatherings to argue principles
and problems in our field of work and the larger field
of human relationships. Frequently in these arguments
Ernst was the dissenter. And we found, on reflection,
that his dissents were based on a deep sense of right.
He could see the other man's side of a question.

His ability to penetrate beyond a personal viewpoint
was discernible in his work as well as his every-day
life. It gave human qualities to the things he created

for the screen and to the direction of those creations.
The actions of his characters in a play were motivated
by what he could see they would think to be right.
This to my mind is why they were so refreshing and
different.

Added to this, of course, was his keen though always
genial sense of humor. His sense of fun contained no
malice; his eye, his hand and his mind were too quick
and nimble for this. Where many men would let
emotion guide their thought, he remembered that morals
are too often a manner of thinking and of the times.
His pictures and his style of direction point this up.

All of Ernst's colleagues at the Twentieth Century-
Fox studio were stimulated by the association with him.
The deep affection they held for him will not wane
with time. His influence will continue to be felt at
our studio family gatherings.

DARRYL F. ZANUCK is the executive produc-
tion head of the Twentieth Century-Fox studios.

T

20

The Economics of the Horse Opera

JACK NATTEFORD
and LUCI WARD

LUCI WARD and JACK NATTE-
FORD, although married and fre-
quently teamed together, have earned
many solo screen credits, including
dramas and comedies as well as
Westerns.

LET us, pardner, begin with a clear understanding
of what we are talking about. The term "horse
opera" is not confined to the identification of the
penny-ante efforts of shoe string producers; it includes
also the most costly of Western specials, and in fact
means any form of dramatic entertainment in which
the actors wear the 80-pint Stetson hat and carry the
surgical instrument known as the .45 calibre venti-
lator.

Our subject is all outdoor motion pictures, from
those shot in five and one-half union days, to those
costing millions of dollars and over.

Of course, we propose to discuss this broad field
as a consumer of stories and scripts, as a market for
the writer's material and services. This leads us at
once to a fork in the trail, a moot point which has
made this article difficult to plan, and slow to con-
summate.

Should we deal with the abuses in the horse opera
market — as well as with the opportunities it affords?

Unquestionably, there" are abuses of the writer in
the lower paid portion of the field. That is common
knowledge, shared by all Guild members who have
worked on the committees that implement the contracts
of the Guild with the major and the independent
studios, and a knowledge frequently brought to the
attention of those who have attended Guild meetings.

This article will not concern itself with those abuses,
for the simple reason that a clear picture cannot be
given if it is to be clouded with prejudicial material.
One does not survey the business and finance of the
Miracle Mile in terms of the shoplifting revealed
by the blotter of the Wilshire Police Station.

Since most horse operas are made by production
units of the leading major and independent studios,
under the same executive management and the same
policies of business integrity that govern their other
operations, let us for the present assume that the

writer of horse operas tills a fertile field in a genial
and beneficient climate.

Some of our readers may rear up to remark that
so did Uncle Tom and his people, way down South
in the land of cotton.

NOW that the situation has been clarified to our
own satisfaction, if not that of anyone else, let
us proceed to survey the wide open spaces which are
the range of the horse opera, with an eye to the gold
in them thar hills.

We find three distinctive forms of the horse opera,
which are, in the order of ascending production cost:

1. The standard series Western, of low or aver-
age budget.

2. The big-star series Western, much higher
budget.

3. The big-time Western special, top budget.
The standard series Western, most numerous of all,

is sub-divisible into two classes:

Those which star one or more personalities of
established but limited box office value, and

Those starring new or coming personalities who
are being groomed for leadership in their field.

Both these classes may be considered together be-
cause they are made at the same moderate production
costs, and are merchandised by the same distribution
methods. There is, however, an important difference
in the writing.

At first glance, the entire standard Western group
would seem to present a profitable field for the writer.
In it he finds at least four studios, each operating two
or three standard Western units, each unit a customer
for six or eight scripts a year.

These various standard series are all about equal
in commercial value. If the box office drawing power

21

THE SCREEN WRITER

of any one were much lower, it would be dropped from
the list; if higher, it would have to be up-graded into
the big star category.

A surprising number of these standard series pic-
tures are made by the same directors, specialists in
their business, who move from series to series as em-
ployment presents itself. The casting is also uniform —
there are only so many one-take heavies who can kick
a dog with convincing gusto, and they work in most
of the series.

So do the same horses, on the same locations, and
so do the same dance hall dames, in the same key sets.

By now, it is apparent to the discerning reader that
there is only one variable left to keep the standard
series Westerns sufficiently differentiated to compete
with each other.

Of course, that is the writing.

In view of its importance, why are the economics
of the writer in this field lower than in any other
branch of the motion picture industry?

Many answers can be given, and all are cogent.

It is in this field that abuses are most cited, but we
do not feel that these abuses can be corrected, nor
can issues of long standing be resolved, by discussion
in the columns of a magazine.

Providing there were no abuses, providing the fair-
est of trade practices prevailed under existing contracts,
we should still find many deterrent factors operating
to the writer's disadvantage.

One is the size of the pay-check. What increases
have been granted to writers, have not been commen-
surate with the higher cost of living and with tax
deductions.

Another is seasonal employment. The only way the
producer can control the budget, which is literally
written into the shooting script, is to work closely
with writer and director. During the months of poor
shooting weather, he is available for this purpose.
Hence the experience of writers in this bracket, that
many of them are at work during the winter, nearly
all in the early spring, and very few during the sum-
mer and early fall, when the producer is afield on
location.

Another is the sheer difficulty of the job itself. Even
the most generous and fair of producers must bring
his script in at a pegged story cost, or throw his entire
budget out of balance. The result is a communicated
pressure upon the writer, working week to week, with
the frequently observed end product of exhaustion or
illness, both economic factors.

Speaking of the difficulties of the job, it is not gen-
erally realized among writers that a very high order
of originality — or a reasonable facsimile thereof — is
demanded of the standard Western writer. He is given

a theme which has been treated, literally, thousands
of times before, and is required to say something new
and fresh and stimulating about it, to say it with the
minimum of dialogue and the maximum of physical
action and pantomime, and then to wrap it up in
exactly so many script pages and so many shooting days.

Never have so many done so much to make the
camera set-ups so few.

Within this field, of course, the opportunity for
economic advancement is limited by the pegged story
cost. When a writer's salary advances beyond this point,
his services become a luxury which the field can no
longer afford.

' | 'HE same is true over in the next corral, where
■*» the oncoming young Westerners are being groomed
and trained for big-time action. The story cost peg
is still there, but it is notched higher. The paycheck
is larger and time allowances more generous, because
the scripts must fit the growing star with the well-
tailored perfection of his costume. Story costs, and in
fact all production costs, are not considered merely
as expenses, but also as investments in the star's future.

There is greater continuity of employment, writing
is more of a year 'round occupation than a seasonal
chore, and the writer who shows a sympathetic under-
standing of the star's potentialities can even come out
of the dry summer months, as the stockmen say, in
good coat and condition.

Under these circumstances, the horse opera writer
can find his economic condition quite comfortable,
and can even enjoy, as the star's career advances, the
illusion of professional progress.

Now time has passed, and under the magic touch
of good writing, clever direction, shrewd production
and relentless showmanship, a chunk of living clay
has become a living legend.

He is not only a full-fledged Western star, he is
also a box office champion.

In order to understand how that box-office affects
the economics of his writers, it is necessary to digress
into distribution.

The star's pictures are still sold, like any other
horse operas, to the theatre on flat rental. Of course
there may be one or two "specials" added to his yearly
program, and while these go out on higher terms,
they are still flat rental to the theatre, not percentage
of gross box office receipts.

As frequently happens in a starring series, the indi-
vidual pictures of certain writers, directors, and even
producers (where more than one handles the star)
may do far better at the box office than the average
of the series.

22

ECONOMICS OF THE HORSE OPERA

It is natural for writers, and the other talent con-
cerned, to feel that they are entitled to economic up-
grading as a result of having written, directed or pro-
duced a picture which does (and this has been done)
150% of normal box office business for the theatres.

They are unaware of the fact that the added revenue
remains with the theatres, which have booked the series
at a flat rental.

No funds have come back to the studio as a result
of their superior abilities. They have made money for
exhibition, but not one added dime for production,
which is their end of the industry.

Even the biggest of starring horse operas are mar-
keted by the flat rental sales system, which the theatre
owner or chain manager insists upon because it is
advantageous to him. On the basis of his experience
with the ability of Hollywood to create outdoor enter-
tainment, he prefers to gamble on a flat rental. He
bets against the possibility that the star's pictures will
do less than 100% of his normal business, which prob-
ably includes the box-office take on re-issues and foreign
imports.

Also, he doesn't want to surrender control of any
part of his own business. Big starring Westerns have
long been part of his defense against percentage book-
ing. If he has to percentage them too, they're out.

Out also is the possibility that superior creative
ability, in any department of the standard or the star
series horse opera field, can be reflected in immediate
economic reward to the contributors. The best picture
in any series, sold on flat rental, returns approximately
as much as the worst.

Therefore, story and script costs remain pegged,
even though within generous limits. When it is taken
into account that a top-drawer Western star is already
pre-sold to a saturated market, it will be realized that
there is no logical reason why his studio should pay
any more for a better story than for a merely acceptable
story.

Of course they would like the better story, but they
don't need it to the point where necessity can materi-
ally affect economic determinism.

Once the big series Western star is pre-sold to every
possible theatre (and he wouldn't be a box office cham-
pion if he were not) the studio needs a better story
no more than it needs direction by Capra or production
by deMille. A better story will not book the picture in
one or more house, nor will it return one more dollar
to the studio.

Therefore, the writer in the big star series field
is apt to find his best achievements apparently unap-
preciated and unrewarded, and shares a feeling of frus-
tration with all the writers of horse operas in the
standard Western group, whose economics are like-

wise affected by the same method of distribution.

Nor, may we add, is this situation peculiar to the
writer. It also affects the director and the producer,
the latter usually a salaried employee whose status
differs from the writer's only by the enjoyment of a
long-term contract.

SO far, but for the possibility of up-grading them-
selves into directors and producers, it may seem
that we have left the writers of horse operas nowhere
to go, in terms of professional and financial progress.
Except, possibly to a point just beyond the far end
of the San Pedro breakwater.

In a more optimistic mood, let's talk about the third
species of horse opera — the big-time Western special
budgeted at from three quarters of a million dollars
upward.

Billed above the title, we usually find the names of
free-lance stars who have found it more profitable to
work by the picture rather than by the week.

This lump-sum arrangement is also more attractive
to the producer, representing as it does a ceiling over
star cost, which might otherwise drag out through
months of bad weather.

At present the stellar personalities in this field cost
the producer of the big Western special from $75,000
per picture to $250,000, with the old reliables safely
in the middle.

This free-lance star cost is assessed by the agents,
and paid by the studios, on the basis of box-office
drawing power already established.

When a star in this field shows increased box office
power, the result is more competition and higher offers
for his services. This may seem gratuitous information,
but contrast it with the fact that the star-series star,
under long-term contract to one studio, his pictures
pre-sold, can double his box office power without bring-
ing another dime of immediate revenue to his studio.

In that statement there are economic implications
for the writer.

Now for distribution methods: the Western special
is big enough to be sold on percentage, and usually
goes out with a sock campaign of publicity and ex-
ploitation behind it, to pile up grosses in the key cities.

After the splash campaign, the picture is released
to the trade at rentals based upon what it has already
done in the key situations.

If it has done 140% of normal business, it is a bar-
gain for the neighborhood theatre owner at 125% of
normal rental, and that is about the least he can hope
to book it for.

Out of every dollar it earns on percentage and
on straight booking, a large part goes directly back to

23

THE SCREEN WRITER

the producing studio. On the books, this revenue is
credited to eventual profits — and those credit items
can be very important to the writer, even though
he has already been paid off and dismissed.

All of our readers may not be aware of the fact
that the accounting department is the final evaluator
of talent. When deciding upon the employment or
re-employment of writers and directors, the shrewd ex-
ecutive does not hazard an opinion. The books of his
studio or those of some other to which he has access,
will show the financial value of any certain writer
or director or star, in terms of the profits or losses
of the pictures to which he contributed.

Because the free-lance star evaluates himself accord-
ing to this system, it seems natural to the producer,
as it really is, to extend the system to other creative
talent.

If the writer or director asks a raise, the producer
can grant it with the justification of records proving
that value is due for value received. And the same
records will justify a new employer (who usually has
grapevine access to them) in coming through with a
little upward boost on the ante.

When a star of proved box-office average suddenly
outgrosses himself by 50% or 75% above normal, the
shrewd executive knows it was not a better star who
made the increased profit, it was better writing, pro-
duction, direction and support. Or at least, creative
talent that better realized the latent possibilities of
the star.

Apply the same factors to an outstanding star series
production, sold on flat rental, and the books will
show only a little better than average net receipts to
the studio. Superior creative talent has earned nothing
plus, and the books evaluate it accordingly.

The conclusion is, of course, that the evils which
militate against the writer in the standard and the
star-series Western fields are inherent, not in the base
human nature of producers who also suffer from them,
but mostly in the failure of a flat-rental sales system
to accurately reflect the value of talent contributions.

The big-time Western special, the horse opera with
the million dollar feed bag, affords the writer a greater
opportunity for economic progress, principally because
its distribution methods more accurately reflect the
earning power of its contributing talent.

"T"

24

Seeing Red

F. HUGH HERBERT

Writer-Director F. HUGH HERBERT
is a vice-president of SWG. He is the
author of many screen and radio plays,
and of such famous stage plays as
Kiss And Tell, The Poseur, There
You Are, Carry Me Upstairs and the
current Broadway hit, For Love Or
Money.

Icame down to breakfast the other morning in a
perfectly normal frame of mind. As usual, I glanced
under the table to make sure there were no micro-
phones or concealed agents from the Kremlin ; I hastily
removed a bowl of peonies whose color (red) was
offensive to me; I reprimanded my children who had
contracted colds, and whose noses ( red) were danger-
ous and subversive; and, then, thanking God for that
great courageous defender of the faith, Mr. William
Randolph Hearst, I opened up a copy of his Los An-
geles Examiner, serene in the knowledge that 1 would
not be contaminated by any filthy Communist prop-
aganda.

To say that I choked on my kippered herring, as
I glanced at the headlines, would scarcely be an exag-
geration. Oh, well, a slight exaggeration, then, because
as a matter of fact I never touch kippered herring. And
I don't mind telling you why, either. I'm a one hundred
per cent blue-blooded American (not rW-blooded, you
will kindly note) and, to me, all herrings are suspect
and subversive because of the famous, or should I say
infamous relative, the well-known red herring, which
is constantly being dragged across your trail and mine,
and across the trail of our innocent children.

Anyway, I choked on something as I read the most
sinister and alarming headlines that ever drove a hard-
working reactionary into a cold sweat. But there it was,
in heavy type, right on page one of the Examiner,

TY POWER GIVES UP LANA
TO FIGHT REDS

Well, I don't mind admitting that I reeled, and if
anyone wants to know how it is possible for a man
to reel while seated at breakfast I'll thank him to shut
his subversive mouth. I have my constitutional rights

and I'll answer that question only if as and when some
great patriot like J. Parnell Thomas puts me on the
stand.

Which gets me neatly onto the subject of J. Parnell
Thomas and his stand, and it is to Mr. Thomas that
my plea is really addressed. Mr. Thomas, I demand
that you investigate Ty Power immediately. You have
assumed the burden of investigating un-American Ac-
tivities, and you are doing one hell of a job — and this
should be right up your alley. Lana Turner, Mr.
Thomas, is just about as American as apple pie and
cheese, and a damn sight nicer to look at or have around.
She is the dream of every red-blooded (oops! sorry —
blue-\Aoocltc\) one hundred per cent American man
or boy. She is the biggest and brightest star in the
star-spangled banner. She is what I fought for, and
what my sons fought for, and what you fought for —
or did you fight? She is Miss America, Mr. Thomas,
and the sooner you nail that slogan to your stand the
less trouble we're going to have.

And now, Mr. Thomas, what do we read in the
Los Angeles Examiner — where our innocent little
children can be corrupted and degraded even on page
one? We read that Ty Power gives up Lana. He had
this exquisite, stirring, symbol of all America's hopes
in his hands, to love, cherish and take to Mocambo —
and he gives her up. If that isn't un-American, Mr.
Thomas, if that isn't subversive, if that isn't just plain
lousy, I'll eat my hat, or even your hat, the one you've
been talking through.

And what excuse does this despicable, treasonable
character offer for spurning Lana? He says he's going
to fight the Reds. It is to laugh, Mr. Thomas, if you'll
pardon a foreign expression. Can't he fight Reds and
have Lana, too? Wouldn't the love of a good woman
help him? Doesn't he need it? Couldn't she contribute

25

THE SCREEN WRITER

blood, tears, toil and sweater? But Ty gives her up
and tells the world about it — cad that he is. Or, worse
yet, Mr. Thomas, is Mr. Hearst implying that Lana
wouldn't want to help Ty fight Reds ? — the dirty, cow-
ardly, insinuating beast?

Investigate Ty Power, Mr. Thomas, investigate
him as you have never investigated anyone before.
Or, if you're too busy, give Eric Johnston a buzz,

and have him threaten to resign unless Ty Power
is expelled from the industry he has disgraced and
vilified. Save us, Mr. Thomas, save our free American
way of life, save our democracy, our homes, our little
kiddies. Save the American people — and, if you pos-
sibly can, save Lana for me. With a woman like that
by my side, I'll fight Reds, whites and blues — with one
hand tied behind me.

j^s&s^^S,

On Leaving an Office
Long Occupied

TO the writer who comes after,
I bequeath the unborn laughter
Of pleasantries producers didn't like.
And the breath of my enthusing
Over lines that no one's using,
And the feeling of a disconnected mike.

And I leave the ghosts I cherished

Of the characters who perished,

All the shades who threw no shadows on the screen.

Don't be startled by their stirring,

As demurring their interring.

They speak bitterly of things that might have Breen.

But I do not mean to grieve you

With the legions that I leave you,

Your hosts will not be hostile to your ends.

Fellow writer be not daunted,

Though the house is surely haunted,

It is haunted by such old familiar friends.

—ANON

26

Outside US. A.

ROBERT PIROSH

ROBERT PIROSH, a member of
SIVG, for many years a screen writer
in Hollywood and Paris, herein de-
scribes the problem presented to him
of making an American version of
Rene Claire's film, Le Silence est d'Or
(Man About Town) without the use
of dubbed dialogue or sub-titles.

IN the last couple of years, members of the Screen
Writers' Guild have plied their trade in England,
France, Belgium, Italy, Switzerland, Sweden and
Germany. This post-war invasion of Europe is some-
times referred to as "Operation Hand-in-the-Till" ;
and as a veteran of two overseas junkets I would be
the last to belittle the advantages, both practical and
spiritual, of seeing the world on an expense account.
Released from the usual preoccupation with money,
the mind soars to loftier heights, worthy of the ex-
patriate artist. One can dine on oysters and partridge
at La Tour d'Argent, and enjoy the view of Notre
Dame with princely disregard for the astronomical
figures on the right-hand side of the menu. One can
even derive undisturbed, esthetic pleasure, perhaps for
the first time in one's life, from the magnificent
typography of the food and wine cards in the better-
class cosmopolitan restaurants.

Nevertheless, and I think this has been said before,
money isn't everything. There are many other factors
which make an assignment in Europe an extremely
stimulating experience.

First, there is the challenge to find new ways of
presenting foreign pictures to American audiences.
A number of our studios have tidy sums in accumulated
profits in blocked currency. Despite recent interna-
tional agreements which give the impression that all
such funds have been unfrozen, there still remain
considerable amounts which can be withdrawn in only
one way; that is, by spending the money in Europe
on pictures which will bring back dollars to this
country. Dubbed versions of foreign films have proven
unacceptable, and sub-titled pictures attract a limited
audience. The answer is pictures slanted toward an
international release: bilingual pictures and special
versions prepared for the American public.

My last assignment in Paris for RKO-Pathe Cin-
ema was a frankly experimental one ; to prepare an
American version of Rene Clair's Le Silence est d'Or
{Man About Town) without the use of dubbed dia-
logue or sub-titles. Rene Clair believes, and even in-
sists, that the director must work closely with the
writer from the very inception of the idea of a picture,
so he and I had many discussions during the prep-
aration of the script. Our script for the American
presentation was complete before he had shot the first
scene of the French version. The plan was to intro-
duce Maurice Chevalier, the star of the picture, in
an English-speaking prologue, and then to carry his
voice in English on the sound track of the French
picture, putting in a word or two of explanation now
and then to explain what was going on — a sort of
verbal sub-titles.

If American box-office receipts show that this is
the right approach, there will be other presentations
like it. Otherwise, further experiments will almost
inevitably lead to the correct method of breaking down
the language barrier so that motion pictures can again
be a truly universal medium, as they were in silent days.
In either case, there will be a continued demand for
American screenwriters in Europe.

One point must be emphasized. Bilingual pioneer-
ing must be carefully planned in advance, before and
during the writing of the script. Our English narra-
tion, for instance, could not have looked like anything
but a careless patched-up job if we had merely tacked
on a soundtrack to the completed French product.
Many scenes had to be shot two ways in order to
allow pauses where the English voice could come in.
Scenes with a great deal of French dialogue were
planned to allow for clean cuts in the American ver-
sion. An effort was made to substitute pantomime for

27

THE SCREEN WRITER

talk wherever possible. I feel sure that any other bi-
lingual system must also be planned in advance by
director and writer, working in close collaboration.

WORKING conditions in Paris are sufficiently
similar to those in Hollywood to make you feel
at home, and I understand from writers who have
worked elsewhere in Europe that this applies to all
film capitals. On the set, the language is the only thing
that seems different. An actor is an actor, just as a
rock is a rock. A technical problem is the same in any
language. The script girl, the cameraman, the sound
men, all seem to be cast according to type.

I had mentioned this to Rene Clair and decided
to prove it to him one day on the set at Joinville.
I asked an American actor who was visiting the set
to see if he could guess what jobs certain people were
performing. He spotted the script girl, the costume
designer and the wardrobe mistress. It was uncanny.
Then he spotted the cameraman, which wasn't so un-
canny because the cameraman was at that moment
swinging past on a boom and looking through the
finder. However, without any clues, he did manage
to identify many of the workers. He finally came a
cropper in surmising that a mild-mannered gentleman
waiting to see the director was either a bit player or
an assistant in the accounting department.

The gentleman happened to be the producer of the
picture! If Mr. Clair had a few moments he would
very much like to talk to him. Something about the
budget. Rather important, but if Mr. Clair was too
busy. ... At your convenience, Mr. Clair. Yes, Mr.
Clair. Ah, Mr. Pirosh, nice to see you, sir!

When was the last time a producer said "sir" to
youl Well, they say it in France to directors and
writers. And that is perhaps the most refreshing dif-
ference between working conditions there and here.
I don't say that entirely as a criticism of the producer
system in our own industry. The point is that the
production of motion pictures in France is not an indus-
try. It is a small business; or, more accurately, a com-
mercialized art. As such, it is in the hands of creative
people; directors, writers, and to a far less extent,
actors.

I referred to the meek, courteous producer on the
set at Joinville. He may have been the regisseur general,
the administrateur, or the directeur de production. I am
not sure which he was because I had so few dealings
with him; as a matter of fact, I can't tell you exactly
what those three titles mean. You will find all three
in small type on the credit cards of French motion
pictures, and they all have something to do with pro-
duction, but the all-powerful producer as we know

him in Hollywood simply does not exist in France.
The nearest thing to it is the entrepreneur who gets a
commitment with a director and arranges for financial
backing and a release. He has nothing to say about
story, and very little to say about cast or budget. He
can't change lines or re-cut the picture when the direc-
tor has completed his job, can't even make a suggestion
unless he prefaces it with a deferential, "Of course,
you know best, but do you think it would be better
if . . . understand, I'm not saying that what you have
isn't wonderful, but . . ."

It is significant that the final shooting script is neatly
done up in a permanent spiral binding. If you want
to put in a blue page, you can't just take out three
staples and replace the old page. You have to send
the script back to the bindery and have it all done
over again. This never causes any delay in shooting,
because there aren't any blue pages. Final means final
on a French script.

The European director is king, and the writer is
heir apparent. However, unless the writer has the
talent and the inclination to direct, he will always be
in this subordinate position and his chances of achiev-
ing any real importance are little greater than his
chances in Hollywood. It was rather discouraging to
note at the International Film Festival in Brussels
that not a single writer was mentioned except in con-
nection with the one award for screenwriting achieve-
ment. Nevertheless, if we must remain anonymous,
I for one would rather be in the shadow of a director
than a producer. The director is in a far better position
to appreciate and value our contribution, and to be
sympathetic to our demands for more recognition.

T^HE producer is not the only individual you will
■*- find it difficult to identify on a French set. You
will be surprised to find eager youngsters, who look
like messenger boys and girls, in earnest conversations
with the director, cameramen and other key men, and
to learn that they are student directors, cameramen,
script girls and cutters, products of a highly successful
school known as the Institut des Hautes Etudes Cine-
matographiques. The IDHEC, run by French motion
picture workers with a certain amount of backing from
the government, is open to anyone who can pass the
rigid aptitude tests. Men in all creative and technical
fields contribute their services as instructors. Promising
pupils are assigned to work on actual productions, with
no functions other than to observe how their type of
work is done by experts. On the Clair picture, there
were two student directors, one of whom had just
written and directed a sixteen millimeter short in
Southern France under the auspices of the school. Not

28

OUTSIDE U.S.A.

only is there no tuition fee, but needy cases are given
subsistence pay. The diploma comes in the form of a
union card.

Once having obtained that union card, the IDHEC
graduate need never fear intimidation or discrimina-
tion. All film workers belong to one union, the Syndi-
cat des Techniciens de la Traduction Cinematogra-
phique, a strong subsidiary of the national labor feder-
ation. On each picture, one man is elected to represent
all employees. On Man About Town, it was the
assistant cameraman, and if the director wanted to
work overtime, he had to ask his permission. Honest!
I saw it happen. And the assistant cameraman, who
had just brought in a sandwich for the first cameraman,
thought it over carefully and approved the request.
Not working overtime in this instance would have
caused considerable expense to the studio, so it seemed
like a reasonable demand. Had it been deemed un-
reasonable, the director would have been forced to bow
to the authority vested in the assistant cameraman.

One of the most stimulating features of working
in France is the total absence of censorship. There is
no prurient blue-pencilling, no restriction except self-
imposed standards of good taste. This is certainly a
challenge to come up with something a little more true

to life than the Cinderella story; and if it occasionally
leads to a line which might be considered censorable
in Ohio, you just plan to have it shot another way in
the American version. Lack of censorship is in itself,
of course, no guarantee of adult entertainment. The
French, too, have conventions which lead to formula
stories, but there is a difference which was brought
home to me in a conversation with Marcel Pagnol.

"There are really only two plots in pictures," he
said. "One, a boy is in love with a girl and they are
prevented from having an affair. That's tragedy. Two,
a boy is in love with a girl and they have an affair.
That's comedy."

He cited many examples to prove his point, but it
was just as easy for me to find examples among Ameri-
can pictures to prove that exactly the opposite is true
over here. We accept it as comedy if the boy is frus-
trated in his desire, and as stark tragedy if he makes
the grade, for the girl is certain to have a baby and
everybody suffers from then on, including a large
proportion of the audience.

Today, when Hearst and others are openly advo-
cating further censorship of the screen, assignments
outside U.S.A. offer a more compelling attraction than
ever before.

29

SCREEN WRITERS* GUILD, INC.

1655 NO. CHEROKEE AVE., HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA
AFFILIATED WITH AUTHORS' LEAGUE OF AMERICA, INC.

OFFICERS & EXECUTIVE BOARD, THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD: PRESIDENT:
SHERIDAN GIBNEY; 1ST VICE-PRESIDENT, GEORGE SEATON; 2ND VICE-PRESI-
DENT, F. HUGH HERBERT; 3RD VICE-PRESIDENT, DWIGHT TAYLOR; SECRETARY,
ARTHUR SHEEKMAN; TREASURER, HARRY TUGEND. EXECUTIVE BOARD: ROB-
ERT ARDREY, ART ARTHUR, STEPHEN MOREHOUSE AVERY, CLAUDE BINYON,
CHARLES BRACKETT, FRANK CAVETT, OLIVE COOPER, VALENTINE DAVIES,
RICHARD ENGLISH, EVERETT FREEMAN, PAUL GANGELIN, ALBERT HACKETT,
MILTON KRIMS, ERNEST PASCAL, LEONARD SPIGELGASS. COUNSEL, MORRIS E.
COHN, ASSISTANT SECRETARY, ALICE PENNEMAN.

E D I T O RIAL

IN reporting to the membership on behalf of the Executive Board, it is
my unhappy duty to inform you that never has the Guild been involved
in a worse mess, a mess not of our making but of the times in which we
live and more directly of the industry in which we work, affecting manage-
ment and labor alike and all guilds and unions equally, and therefore one that
the Screen Writers' Guild alone cannot possibly solve. It was unfortunate
that the new Executive Board was tossed this hot potato by Mr. Johnston al-
most immediately upon taking office; and yet the sharp challenge of the issue
had one salutary effect — it forced the new Board to weigh and ponder deeply
the Guild's moral and constitutional responsibilities to its membership as well
as its stake in the motion picture industry. I want to give you a brief summary
of these deliberations in order that every member can be as fully apprised
as possible of the problems that face us, but before doing so I think a detailed
review of events as they have occurred will be helpful.

On Monday, November 24th, the new Board held its first meeting. We
were aware that the Producers likewise were holding a meeting in New York
and had been advised that a statement regarding the Communist question in
Hollywood would be forthcoming. On Tuesday I had luncheon with George
Stevens and Ronald Reagan at the Players to discuss the situation. In the
middle of luncheon a Producers' representative called from New York and
talked to each of us separately. He sounded very upset, said that the state-
ment the Producers were issuing wasn't going to be liked by the guilds, and
pleaded with us to withhold any action until he could explain the reasons for
the statement and the Producers' real intentions regarding it, whereupon Ste-
vens, Reagan, and myself agreed that the three guilds would refrain from

30

EDITORIAL

issuing individual statements until every effort had been made to arrive at
a joint statement on a tri-guild basis.

On Friday we were invited to meet with the Producers' policy commit-
tee comprised of Mr. Mayer, Mr. Rathvon, Mr. Wanger, and Mr. Cheyfitz,
representing Eric Johnston. The meeting took place in Mr. Mayer's office
and was attended by Ronald Reagan for the Actors, William Wyler and John
Ford for the Directors, George Seaton, Harry Tugend, and myself for the
Writers. The Producers' committee said that the meeting had been called to
acquaint guild representatives with the reasons for the action taken by them.
The chief reason was that such adverse public opinion regarding the indus-
try had been created by the hearings in Washington that some drastic steps
had to be taken to counteract it or the box office would undoubtedly suffer.
With this in mind the Boards of Directors of the various companies had in-
sisted upon the discharge of those cited for contempt in the belief that this
would improve public relations for the industry. For the same reason they had
taken the position that the industry would not employ Communists. The com-
mittee wanted to work out a way for protecting innocent people so far as their
jobs were concerned and had no desire to engage in a witch-hunt. It appealed
to the guilds to help the Producers prevent so-called innocent people's being
injured. The Producers' committee added that they had made the unanimous
decision that each studio and each producer was to decide whether or not a
person was to be employed and that there wasn't going to be an industry ban
on anyone. They were also unanimous in their decision to fight the Thomas
Committee if and when it should resume its investigation and not to yield
another inch. The guild representatives pointed out that they could not sup-
port the Producers in the position they had taken and that the guilds most
certainly could not act as screening agencies.

This meeting lasted five hours and was followed by an emergency Board
meeting of the Screen Writers' Guild which Reagan and Wyler attended. At
this meeting both Reagan and Wyler agreed that the three guilds were in this
together and should try to formulate a joint statement and a common course
of action.

On the following Wednesday the entire Executive Boards of the three
guilds met again at Metro, this time with the full committee of the Producers.
We were again assured that the Producers did not intend to bar people from
employment merely on suspicion or hearsay. The Producers all agreed that
the guilds would have to take a stand in opposition to the Johnston statement,
but they hoped that it could be couched in such terms as not to bring down
upon the battered brow of the industry another storm of adverse public opin-
ion.

With these imponderables to weigh, the three Boards began holding sep-
arate meetings to seek a solution that would be consistent with their respec-
tive constitutions and the laws of California and at the same time not destroy
their organizations. As these meetings progressed, it soon became apparent
that tri-guild unity on this question was not likely to succeed.

31

THE SCREEN WRITER

A CCORDINGLY, the present situation appears to be this:

Each guild is waiting for the other to lead with its chin and to take the first
onslaught of adverse publicity. For admittedly the three guilds face precisely
the same problem and must eventually, I think, take the same position. But
the moment the Screen Writers' Guild condemns, as it must in accordance
with our constitution and the State Labor code, the discharge of its members
for political beliefs and activities not forbidden by law and the setting up of
blacklists and the proposed political screening of all employees in direct vio-
lation of the law, a vast section of the press and radio will not hail us as the
champion of civil liberties but with screaming headlines "SCREEN WRIT-
ERS' GUILD DEFENDS COMMIES."

I would like to review for a moment how the Guild got into this situation.
It began with Mr. Thomas' trip to Hollywood in June when Mr. Johnston and
various self-appointed defenders of the industry assured Mr. Thomas that the
industry would welcome his investigation and cooperate in every way possible.
Mr. Thomas never approached the Screen Writers' Guild for information or
advice in this matter nor did he in any way seek our official cooperation. How-
ever, some of our members volunteered to assist him and made certain allega-
tions against the Guild and its membership that were greatly exaggerated and
for the most part unsubstantiated. At the Washington hearings they reiter-
ated these charges and created in the minds of the public the impression that
if we were not a subversive organization, we were the next thing to it. Then
came the testimony of the so-called unfriendly witnesses who created in the
public mind by association a link between the Screen Writers' Guild and the
Communist party by refusing to divulge their membership in either organiza-
tion. They further took the position that they were defending our members
against the threat of censorship or even the very existence of the Guild itself.
They neither consulted the Guild on this course of action nor were they asked
nor empowered to speak on its behalf. The Guild had only one official spokes-
man in Washington to protect its interests and that was Emmet Lavery.

It was now the Producers' turn to save the industry and the people work-
ing in it from the threat of federal censorship and loss of revenue by announc-
ing to the nation that they would fire the people cited for contempt and refrain in
the future from hiring Communists. The Guild again was not consulted in
this matter but merely presented with an accomplished fact. The Producers
then sought the Guild's help in a situation involving its own members and in
which it had not participated. The Producers admitted that they might be act-
ing illegally but, in the absence of any law defining Communism as subversive,
they had had to take steps to save the industry. In the interest of better public
relations of the industry they proposed for the future that an industry council
be set up to be composed of representatives of the three talent guilds and the
Producers' Association to handle such matters. The Board took this proposal
under advisement to be presented to the membership.

The Guild has thus become the victim of a series of unsolicited acts on
the part of certain of its own members and the Producers alike and is put in

32

EDITORIAL

the position of having to defend its membership and oppose the Producers
without further damaging the industry in the light of prejudiced and poorly
informed public opinion. Speaking solely from the Guild's point of view, this
is the problem we face.

T SHOULD like to tell to you now, some of the conclusions that the Board
has come to after much deliberation:

First, that the political issue of Communism cannot be ignored. In accord-
ance with our Statement of Policy, the Guild has long made it a practice to
concern itself with political matters that directly concern the economic and
professional interests of screen writers, and the issue of Communism most cer-
tainly does. Any Communist or Communist sympathizer or any one suspected
of being a Communist is in danger of not being employed. Because of the tense-
ness of the international situation or for whatever other reason you want to
ascribe to it, the American Communist Party in popular opinion is suspect today.
It has even been legislated against in Congress in the non-Communist affidavit
provision of the Taft-Hartley law. Guilds and unions throughout the country
have been seeking to disassociate themselves from alleged Communist leader-
ship and the dictates of the Communist party line, and our Guild, as we have
recently seen, is not immune to this pressure. Therefore, the Guild, in defend-
ing the right of a man to his own political convictions without jeopardy to
his job, must also defend itself against the charge that it subscribes to those
convictions.

Second, that the Guild has no responsibility to those of its members cited
for contempt of Congress so far as their Federal trials are concerned, but that
the Guild does have a legitimate interest in any civil suits they may bring
against the producing companies for breach of contract.

Third, that the Guild is vitally concerned with any attempt on the part of
the producing companies to institute a blacklist of any kind based on discrim-
ination for political beliefs or activities not forbidden by law.

—SHERIDAN GIBNEY

33

Book &

eviewd

ONE day someone finally got fed
up with Gertrude Stein's delin-
quent nouns and told her, "A rose
is a rose is no prose." With the com-
ing of age of the screen writer I am
pleased to see that there are among
us those who can write prose and
write it well, and put it into some
of the best literature of our times.

It is no mere accident that the first
three books reviewed here are the
works of screen writers; and they
are among the few works of real
merit on the publishers' lists this sea-
son; second, I deliberately picked
them out for I doubt if any of them
will outsell such machine-made, scent-
ed oatmeal as now leads our best
seller lists.

No American writer alive today
creates a better poetic prose than Jo
Pagano. No book club or monthly
tripe mill has ever yelled "hurray"
for him, but those few who read his
brilliant tour de force The Paesanos,
or his delightful Golden Wedding
need to be told, here is a man, here
is a writer.

His new book, The Condemned, is
a masterpiece, and I use the word
simply, in its original meaning, as
defined by Samuel Johnson in his
great dictionary.

It is a terrific novel of violence,
and a relentless evoking of pity and
horror as it hunts for an answer to
the why and how of good and evil
in man, in us, in our times.

It is, at first, simply a headline of
a few years ago; two men kidnap a
boy, kill him and are then lynched
by a California mob properly indoc-
trinated with the best slogans.

On this cruel iron frame Jo has
hung the golden prose poetry of
haunting style, has strung it with the
electric shock of wonder, terror and
the charged atmosphere of the ques-
tion of our time: "Society has per-

34

haps failed man and in failing him,
why resorted to violence?"

Jo has written one facet of the
story of our times, he has written of
the texture and fabrics that have
wrinkled our society, our world and
has invaded our once treasured tran-
quility. This book brings to mind the
writing of Dreiser, Dostoevski, "the
skull beneath the skin" of the heroes
of Stendhal. Yet the style, method
and prose is purely personal to Jo
Pagano, derived from himself and
projected towards us to grasp. As he
says on the last page of The Con-
demned, "I do not presume to know.
It would seem that the answer, if it
is to be found at all, must be found,
as it always must be found, in the
mind of the reader. . . ."

The Boiling Point is by Richard
Brooks, who wrote The Brick
Foxhole which, as we all know (ex-
cept the R.K.O. advertising and pro-
duction departments), came to the
screen as Crossfire.

Here is a book not just for one
fashionable publisher's season, and
here is a writer, honest, stark and
direct, hurling the thunderbolts of
his method directly at his object,
which is man himself. His every scene
carries conviction that here we have
a major American writer and not
the biological freak inflated with
Chanel No. 5 and pink gin at literary
cocktail parties.

He writes earnestly and wonder-
fully of that unpopular thing: the
essential truth. His men, his women
face the vigorous, serious aspects of
their lives with an intense and per-
manent conviction that the sap of
life, the juices of existence must flow
freely, and that life is to be lived
with blazing power and intensity.
How does the author do it? He has
size, he has stature and he does not

fear to write scenes such as few writ-
ers ever dare put into their books.

He has freedom, for he serves no
special pleading, no lunatic artistic
fringe, no political dogma. Zola took
his readers into the biological world
of his characters, Brooks places them
clearly, without fingering, in a his-
toric content. Aldous Huxley used to
pin his people to the board like dying
butterflies, Sinclair Lewis painted
their noses red and crossed their eyes
for laughs, and Mr. Hemingway's
figures always seem to be outfitted
and very beautifully, too, by Aber-
crombie and Fitch. (Ah, those hand-
made shotguns and leather-bound
flasks.) But the world of Richard
Brooks seems to suddenly come into
focus as if picked up unaware, as if
photographed in its native habitat
by telescopic lens.

Only a writer who has struggled
for this effect can understand how
skillfully the people of The Boiling
Point belong to their story. They
seem like attitudes out of Michael-
angelo caught on paper.

I hope both these novels outsell
the historical grab bags, the dreary
rape rape of carbon copies of Scarlett
O'Hara, and the works of literary
geldings piddling themselves in the
borrowed trousers of fashionable con-
versions from Proust to Freud.

But I doubt it. The novel as an art
form is dying (I can hear someone,
the morning Robinson Crusoe is pub-
lished, saying, "The novel is dying.")

The fungus of the printing press;
the publishers, have just announced
they can no longer afford to print a
novel that doesn't sell at least ten
thousand copies. This means good
bye to William Faulkner, James Far
rell, and a few other writers who
have managed to get up off their
knees; they rarely sell more than two
or three thousand copies of their orig
inal trade edition.

BOOK REVIEWS

Death on Horseback, Seventy Years
of War for the American West
by Paul I. Wellman is, as far as I
know, the only complete history of
our Indian wars in the West, and
to my way of thinking a much better
work of research, scholarship, respect
for material and the English lan-
guage than the over-touted The Big
Sky (the best boys' book of the year —
ages 12 to 16) and the very interest-
ing but much over-written Across
the Wide Missouri of De Voto.

Few of us really know that from
Jubal Troop to Bowl of Brass Paul
Wellman's influence on western writ-
ers, historians, motion picture direc-
tors and script writers has almost
made the western movie authentic.

Bit by bit Western "experts" have
helped themselves to his material; a
chapter on the Colt revolver out of
his Trampling Herd (a remarkable
history of the cattle trails), a sugges-
tion of a theme from Broncho Apache,
a whole scene from Angels With
Spurs.

Paul Wellman is a solid historian
who does not depend on standing his
prose on its head for its effects, and
he avoids the errors of most western
historians on such subjects as Billy
The Kid, the height of buffalo grass
and the first appearance of the Sharps'
rifle on the frontier.

His history of the futile struggle
of the Indians to retain their homes
and hunting grounds against the en-
croaching real estate agents, football
stadium builders and Native Sons of
the Dance Hall Gals is a moving and
bitter panorama of clashing civiliza-
tions brutalizing each other.

This book is unbiased, coherent and
unsparing of the evils we have done
to the only native American, the

Indian; putting him on the nickel is
indeed a mocking repayment for the
massacres, brutality and exploitation
of a genuine, natural and nonmechan-
ical culture.

Wellman makes it quite clear that
a race and a culture, in its pure form,
may be complete in itself, contain its
own art, poetry, religion, and life
force and yet perish under the su-
perior killing power of an invader
who comes to exploit and deprive it
of its birthright. One thing Death On
Horseback makes crystal clear: our
civilization is only superior to Indian
culture on certain levels; the tribal
cultures rarely produced the neurotic
complications of our times, or the flux
and flow of chaos that throws many
an individual today into lonely dark-
ness by himself, cut off from contact
with his time and era. Every Indian
belonged; his family, his clan, his
tribe, and his nation was not jingo
surface patriotism — it was the reason
for his birth, life, and usually, death.
No one could send him "back to
where he came from," not even the
D.A.R.

THE next two books I shall write
of here are not the work of screen
writers. I bring them up now because
I was rather amazed to hear that
last year only a few original screen-
plays were submitted to the studios.

There is therefore room in a much
untapped field of screen writing and
I want to present here two projects
for screenplays. The first is The
Hooded Hawk, a life of James Bos-
well, by D. G. Wyndham Lewis, a
scintillating, stimulating life of the
man who spent a lifetime on his own,
Life of Samuel Johnson. In a wild
and remarkable period, at a time when

the English speaking world was
emerging into greatness, James Bos-
well, lover, lecher, great writer,
drunkard, traveler and maker of
heroes, moves through his own re-
markable saga on our earth. Any
facet of his life and loves and adven-
tures would make an outstanding
screenplay.

The other book is a huge canvas,
something that can become an Ameri-
can Zola, a New World Forsythe
Saga, a sort of War and Peace of the
making of Americans. It is the The
James Family, a group biography of
Henry James, Sr., William James
and Henry James. Here are the most
wildly discussed figures of our times
(in certain circles). All we are, and
perhaps shall be, are somewhat the
result of the lives and times of these
odd, peculiar and certainly remark-
able men.

It is, from any cinema angle, a
powerful family story; it is new ma-
terial never touched before on the
screen ; here are the full lives that are a
challenge to those of us screen writers
who say that screen entertainment can
be made even out of intelligent ma-
terial, and without dragging in the
frontier marshal or a "private eye"
who lives on racing forms and two-
word sentences.

I have picked these two biographies
deliberately. I present them as ideas
for screenplays because I doubt if any
real producer will turn them down
for production if they are honestly
presented in full screen form. I doubt
if treatments or outlines will do.

STEPHEN LONGSTREET

Stephen Longstreet, who is a member
of the SWG Editorial Committee, has
been appointed Book Editor of The Screen
Writer.

35

c

orrespi

Ui

onaence

Letter

From
London

{Continued from Inside Front CoverQ

reconquest of Burma without enlist-
ing the services of Mr. Errol Flynn.
There is, in fact, only one Hollywood
product for which no amount of in-
genuity can ever provide a substitute,
only one loss which we must steel our-
selves to writing off as irrevocable ;
and that is the Hollywood version of
life in Great Britain.

"And what a loss it is ! Never again
to see that enchanted or at any rate
transmogrified land, wrapped almost
all the year round in a dense fog —
that will indeed be a deprivation. It
was a land which we had all learned
to love, for not only had glimpses of
it redeemed many a bad film from
dullness but it had a quaint, dream-
like charm all of its own. Its House

of Commons (in which Sir Aubrey
Smith almost always sat, often as a
Duke), though generally rather small-
er than our own, was infinitely more
animated as well as being better lit;
it is indeed scarcely possible to recall
a session which was not rendered his-
toric by the denouement of some
major international crisis. Its police-
men, barely discernible as they pa-
trolled the fog-bound streets, resem-
bled our own ; but their helmets were
slightly different, they never took their
thumbs out of their belts, and the
only traffic they were called on to
regulate was an occasional hansom cab.
Its aristocracy were, though not par-
ticularly powerful, numerous and,
though stupid, generally condescend-
ing; they often had beautiful Ameri-
can daughters. They lived in castles
of the very largest size and were
much addicted to sport, particularly
fox-hunting. This was normally car-
ried on in the height of summer (fog
being perhaps less prevalent at that

season), and though much of the
densely wooded and often semi-pre-
cipitous country appeared unfavorable
to the sport as we know it, the rather
small packs never had a blank day.

"The lower orders, a cheerful lot,
wore gaiters in the country, but in
London, being mostly costers, dressed
in a manner which befitted this call-
ing. The Army, except of course in
war time, consisted almost entirely of
senior officers, most of them in the
Secret Service. There were two uni-
versities, one at Oxford and the other
at Cambridge. Cricket and football
were not played much and — possibly
as a consequence — there was a great
deal of crime. But it was a wonderful
place, and the only general criticism
which can be levelled at the inhabi-
tants is that when, as frequently hap-
pened, they met an American they
betrayed an almost complete lack of
understanding of the American way
of life."

II lews fjoted

*The N. Y. Museum of Modern
Art's 1948 History of the Motion
Picture Program will have daily
showings at 1 1 West 53rd St., N. Y.,
at 3 :00 and 5 :30 p.m., on Thursday
evenings at 8 o'clock. Current Janu-
ary programs are: When Tomorrow
Comes j 1939, Jan. 5-11; Rebecca,
1940, Jan. 12-18; Since You Went
Away, 1944, Jan. 19-25 ; Spellbound,
1945, Jan. 26-Feb. 1 ; The Life of an
American Fireman, 1903, Feb. 2-8.

* Declaration, a play on Jefferson in
the Alien and Sedition Act period,

written by SWG members Janet and
Philip Stevenson, will be produced
by the Actors' Lab. in mid-January.

* Associate SWG member Donald
Wayne has sold a series of four articles
to Holiday. The first, The Wild
West, will be published in the March
issue. Mr. Wayne has just signed a
contract with Scribner's for a novel,
tentatively titled See By This Image.

* SWG member Robert Watson was
guest speaker at the annual conven-
tion, 1947, of the Canadian Authors

Association held at Vancouver, B.C.
His talk, The Writer's Hollywood,
was reproduced in the latest issue of
The Canadian Author and Bookman
for the perusal of members unable
to attend the convention. Watson
helped to form the association some
27 years ago and is a past-president
and past-national treasurer of that
organization.

* Pencil In the Air, by the late Sam
Hoffenstein and published only two
days before his death, is now among
the best-selling books of light verse.

36

NEWS NOTES

* SWG member Leonard Hoffman
now has a monthly column, Scratch-
ing the Surface, in the Saturday Re-
view of Literature. The column deals
with musical activities throughout the
country.

*SWG member Peter O'Crotty's
first novel, Malibu Cove, is scheduled
for spring publication by Murray &
Gee.

* Gordon Kahn, former editor of
The Screen Writer and Hollywood
correspondent for the Atlantic Month-
ly, considers the hazards of garden-
ing and Japanese gardeners in Beverly
Hills for the December issue of that
magazine. The first of his articles on
Mexico is published in the January
Holiday.

* Robert Sherwood Blees has a short
story, Midnight Visitor, in the cur-
rent Cosmopolitan.

* Janet Stevenson's short story, Citi-
zen Velasquez, will appear in an
early issue of Reader's Scope.

* SWG member Stanley Richards'

one act play, Through A Glass, Dark-
ly, has just been selected as one of the
ten best one act plays of the year and
will be published in the Dodd, Mead
& Co. annual volume, The Best One
Act Plays of 1947-1948, edited by
Margaret Mayorga. His play, Dis-
trict of Columbia was published in the
1944 edition of this annual.

* The Pasadena Community Play-
house announces that the Kenyon
Nicholson-Charles Robinson comedy,
Apple of His Eye, holds down the
third position of the Winter quar-
ter, dated Jan. 14-25, under Michael
Cisney's direction. Farmer Sam Stov-
er's search for the fountain of semi-
youth is the chief concern and there
is an "apple" in Sam's eye in this
May-to-December comedy.

From the 1946 New York season
comes the comedy, Made In Heaven
to close the Playhouse list from Jan.
28-Feb. 8. Lenore Shanewise directs.

* SWG member John Wexley will
be in London for the major revival
of his play The Last Mile, for Eng-
lish theatre goers. While in England

he will confer with Carol Reed, di-
rector, on their plans for a new film
production. Wexley will spend sev-
eral months in London, Paris, Rome,
Vienna and Berlin.

* Angel Face, the new play by SWG
members Sloan Nibley and Steve
Fisher, will have its premiere Janu-
ary 14 at the Las Palmas Theatre,
with John Howard in the lead and
Felix Feist directing.

* Howard Hunt, associate member
of SWG, has a new novel, The Lash,
scheduled for June publication by
Farrar, Strauss & Co. The locale is
largely Acapulco where he recently
spent a year as a Guggenheim Fellow
in Creative Writing.

* H. Arthur Klein, screen writer,
director, producer and publicist, an-
nounces the organization of Pictures,
Ltd., at 141 N. Orange Dr., Holly-
wood, for the production of documen-
tary films. He has recently written,
directed and produced Old Man
Atom, People's Program, and a pic-
ture dealing with the California fish-
ing industry.

37

L.IT.M •' S"EEN

WRl

TERS CRtu

EARNED ON FEATURE PRODUCTIONS
OF

CREDITS

CUrr

en t

and

*£CENT

*E*.E

*S£

OCTOBER 1, 1947 TO NOVEMBER I, 1947

ART ARTHUR

Joint Story and Joint Screenplay (with Lillie
Hayward) NORTHWEST STAMPEDE, Eagle-
Lion

B

EDWARD BOCK

Joint Screenplay (with Maurice Tombragel)
THE RETURN OF THE WHISTLER, Col

CHARLES G. BOOTH

Original Screenplay THE BALLAD OF FUR-
NACE CREEK, Fox

GEORGE BRANDT

Sole Original Screenplay UNUSUAL OCCU-
PATIONS, L 7-1 (s) Par
Sole Original Screenplay POPULAR SCIENCE,
J 7-2 (s) Par

JOHN BRIGHT

Sole Screenplay JOE PALOOKA IN FIGHT-
ING MAD, Mono

BETTY BURBRIDGE

Sole Screenplay TRAIL OF THE MOUN-
TIES, Bali Pictures. Inc.

Sole Screenplay WHERE THE NORTH BE-
GINS, Bali Pictures, Inc.

BENTON CHEYNEY

Sole Original Screenplay,
LEY, Col

PHANTOM VAL-

LEWIS CLAY

Joint Screenplay (with Royal K. Cole. Ar-
thur Hoerl and Harry Fraser) TEX GRANGER
(Esskay Pictures) Col

ROYAL K. COLE

Joint Screenplay (with Arthur Hcerl, Harry
Fraser and Lewis Clay) TEX GRANGER (Ess-
kay Pictures) Col

MONTY F. COLLINS

Additional Dialogue JOE PALOOKA IN
FIGHTING MAD, Mono

RICHARD CONNELL

Joint Screenplay (with
LUXURY LINER, MGM

VALENTINE DAVIES

Joint Original Screenplay (with Elick Moll)
YOU WERE MEANT FOR ME, Fox

LUTHER DAVIS

Sole Screenplay B.F.'s DAUGHTER, MGM

ALBERT DEMOND

Sole Screenplay MADONNA OF THE DES-
ERT, Rep

PHILIP DUNNE

Sole Screenplay ESCAPE, Fox

HENRY EPHRON

Joint Screenplay (with Phoebe Ephron and
Peter Milne) APRIL SHOWERS, WB
PHOEBE EPHRON

Joint Screenplay (with Henry Ephron and
Peter Milne) APRIL SHOWERS, WB

PAUL GANGELIN

Sole Story and Joint Screenplay (with Sloan
Nibley) UNDER CALIFORNIA STARS, Rep

H

Gladys Lehman)

EDMUND L. HARTMANN

Joint Original Screenplay (with Frank Tash-
lin) THE PALEFACE, Par

LILLIE HAYWARD

Joint Story and Joint Screenplay (with Art
Arthur) NORTHWEST STAMPEDE, Eagle-
Lion

F. HUGH HERBERT

Sole Screenplay SITTING PRETTY, Fox

CARL K. HITTLEMAN

Joint Story (with Harold Klein) WHERE THE
NORTH BEGINS, Bali Pictures, Inc.

ARTHUR HOERL

Joint Screenplay (with Royal K. Cole, Harry
Fraser and Lewis Clay) TEX GRANGER
(Esskay Pictures) Col

NORMAN HOUSTON

Sole Original Screenplay THE ARIZONA
RANGER, RKO

EDWARD HUEBSCH

Story Basis THE WRECK OF THE HES-
PERUS, Col

FORREST JUDD

Sole Adaptation SIXTEEN FATHOMS DEEP,

Mono

ROBERT E. KENT

Sole Original Screenplay GAS HOUSE KIDS
IN HOLLYWOOD, PRC

HAROLD KLEIN

Joint Story (with Carl K. Hittleman) WHERE
THE NORTH BEGINS, Bali Pictures, Inc.

HOWARD KOCH

Sole Screenplay LETTER FROM AN UN-
KNOWN WOMAN, Ul

JONATHAN LATIMER

Joint Original Screenplay (with Charles Mar-
quis Warren and William Wister Haines)
THE LONG GREY LINE, Par

GLADYS LEHMAN

Joint Screenplay (with
LUXURY LINER, MGM

Richard Connell)

RALPH LEWIS

Joint Story (with Bernard D. Shamberg)
JOE PALOOKA IN FIGHTING MAD, Mono

JAN LUSTIG

Sole Adaptation HOMECOMING, MGM

In this listing of screen credits, published monthly in THE SCREEN WRITER, the following abbreviations are used:
COL — Columbia Pictures Corporation; E-L — Eagle-Lion Studios; FOX — 20th Century-Fox Film Corporation; GOLDWYN
— Samuel Goldwyn Productions, Inc.; MGM — Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios; MONO — Monogram Pictures Corporation;
PAR — Paramount Pictures, Inc.; PRC — Producers Releasing Corporation of America; REP — Republic Productions, Inc.:
RKO — RKO Radio Studios, Inc.; ROACH — Hal E. Roach Studio, Inc.; UA — United Artists Corporation; UNI-INT'L —
Universal-International Pictures; UWP — United World Pictures; WB — Warner Brothers Studios. (S) designates screen short.

38

CREDITS

M

AL MARTIN

Character Basis MY DOG RUSTY, Col

HAROLD MEDFORO

Sole Screenplay BERLIN EXPRESS, RKO

WINSTON MILLER

Additional Dialogue THE BALLAD OF FUR-
NACE CREEK. Fox

PETER MILNE

Joint Screenplay (with Phoebe Ephron and
Henry Ephron) APRIL SHOWERS, WB

ELICK MOLL

Joint Original Screenplay (with Valentine
Davies) YOU WERE MEANT FOR ME, Fox

THOMAS MONROE

Joint Story Basis (with Billy Wilder) A
SONG IS BORN, Goldwyn

N

SLOAN NIBLEY

Joint Screenplay (with Paul Gangelin) UN-
DER CALIFORNIA STARS, Rep

PAUL OSBORN

Sole Screenplay HOMECOMING, MGM

GEORGE PLYMPTON

Sole Story TEX GRANGER (Esskay Pic.)
Col

JACK ROSE

Additional Dialogue THE PALEFACE, Par

TIM RYAN

Joint Original Screenplay (with Edmond
Seward and Gerald Schnitzer) ANGEL'S AL-
LEY, Mono

WILLIAM B. SACKHEIM

Joint Story (with Brenda Weisberg) MY
DOG RUSTY, Col

BARRY SHIPMAN

Sole Original Screenplay ROSE OF SANTA
ROSA, Col

CHARLES SHOWS

Joint Original Screenplay (with William
Scott) HOME SWEET HOME (s) Par

CURT SIODMAK

Sole Story BERLIN EXPRESS, RKO

LESLIE SWABACKER

Sole Story TRAIL OF THE MOUNTIES, Bali
Pictures, Inc.

MAURICE TOMBRAGEL

Joint Screenplay (with Edward Bock) THE
RETURN OF THE WHISTLER, Col

MAX TRELL

Sole Screenplay SIXTEEN FATHOMS DEEP,
Mono

w

JACK WAGNER

Joint Screenplay (with John Steinbeck and
Emilio Fernandez) THE PEARL (F.A.M.A.—
Aguila) RKO

CHARLES MARQUIS WARREN

Joint Original Screenplay (with William
Wister Haines and Jonathan Latimer) THE
LONG GREY LINE, Par

BRENDA WEISBERG

Joint Story (with William B. Sackheim) and
Sole Screenplay MY DOG RUSTY, Col

BILLY WILDER

Joint Story Basis (with Thomas Monroe) A
SONG IS BORN, Goldwyn

FRANK WISBAR

Sole Story MADONNA OF THE DESERT, Rep

AUBREY WISBERG

Sole Original Screenplay ROAD TO THE BIG
HOUSE, Screen Guild

Sole Screenplay THE WRECK OF THE HES-
PERUS, Col

ROBERT PIROSH

English Adaptation MAN ABOUT TOWN
(Societe Nouvelle Pathe Cinema) RKO

FRANK TASHLIN

Joint Original Screenplay (with Edmund
Hartman) THE PALEFACE, Par

CARROLL YOUNG

Original Story and Screenplay TARZAN AND
THE MERMAIDS, Sol Lesser Prod

NOVEMBER I, 1947 TO DECEMBER 1, 1947

B

EDMUND BELOIN

Sole Screenplay A CONNECTICUT YANKEE,
Par

MURIEL ROY BOLTON

Sole Story MYSTERY IN MEXICO, RKO

NORMAN BORISOFF

Sole Screenplay THE CHILDREN'S REPUB-
LIC, Documentary, Carroll Film Co.
Sole Screenplay A MATTER OF TIME, Docu-
mentary, Carroll Film Co.
English Commentary THE EIFFEL TOWER,
Documentary, Carroll Film Co.
English Commentary OLYMPIC PREVIEW,
Documentary, Carroll Film Co.

OSCAR BRODNEY

Sole Screenplay ARE YOU WITH IT?, U-l

PETER R. BROOKE

Joint Original Screenplay (with Jack Rob-
erts) PARIS IN THE SPRING (S) Par

JOHN K. BUTLER

Sole Story THUNDER IN THE FOREST, Rep

ANNE MORRISON CHAPIN

Joint Screenplay (with Whitfield Cook)
THE BIG CITY, MGM

J. BENTON CHENEY

Sole Screenplay (THUNDER IN THE FOR-
EST, Rep

HARRY CLORK

Joint Screenplay (with N. Richard Nash)
THE SAINTED SISTERS, Par

WHITFIELD COOK

Joint Screenplay (with Anne Morrison Cha-
pin) THE BIG CITY, MGM

HERBERT DALMAS

Original Story THE ADVENTURES OF DON
JUAN, WB

KAREN DE WOLF

Joint Story (with Connie Lee) THE RETURN
OF OCTOBER, Col

DECLA DUNNING

Story Basis I, JANE DOE, Rep

IRVING ELMAN

Joint Screenplay (with Frank Gruber) THE
CHALLENGE (Reliance) Fox

CHESTER ERSKINE

Sole Screenplay ALL MY SONS, U-l

MELVIN FRANK

Joint Screenplay (with Norman Panama)
THE RETURN OF OCTOBER, Col

DEVERY FREEMAN

Joint Screenplay (with Frank Tashlin) THE
FULLER BRUSH MAN, Col

KENNETH GAMET

Sole Screenplay CORONER CREEK, Produ-
cers Actors Corp.

FRANK GRUBER

Joint Screenplay (with Irving Elman) THE
CHALLENGE (Reliance) Fox

H

LILLIAN HELLMAN

Play Basis ANOTHER PART OF THE FOR-
EST, U-l

NORMAN HOUSTON

Sole Original Screenplay WESTERN HERI-
TAGE, RKO

ROY MUGGINS

Story Basis THE FULLER BRUSH MAN, Col

IAN HUNTER

''Contributor to Screenplay UP IN CENTRAL
PARK, U-l

K

ABEN KANDEL

Additional Dialogue THE BIG CITY, MGM

39

CREDITS

LAWRENCE KIMBLE

Sole Screenplay I, JANE DOE, Rep

Sole Screenplay MYSTERY IN MEXICO, RKO

MARRY KLEINER

Sole Original Screenplay THE STREET WITH
NO NAME, Fox

HARRY KURNITZ

Joint Screenplay (with George Oppenheimer)
THE ADVENTURES OF DON JUAN, WB

N

N. RICHARD NASH

Joint Screenplay (with Harry Clork) THE
SAINTED SISTERS, Par

GEORGE OPPENHEIMER

Joint Screenplay (with Harry Kurnitz) THE
ADVENTURES OF DON JUAN, WB

JACK ROBERTS

Joint Original Screenplay (with Peter R.
Brooke) PARIS IN THE SPRING, Par (S)
Sole Original Screenplay JINGLE JANGLE
JINGLE, (Par. (S)

Sole Original Screenplay SAMBA-MANIA,
Par. (S)

Joint Screenplay (with Arthur Marx) GYP-
SY HOLIDAY, Par. (S)

LEO ROSTEN

Sole Screenplay THE VELVET TOUCH, (Inde-
pendent Artists), RKO

JONATHAN LATIMER

Sole Screenplay THE SEALED VERDICT, Par

CONNIE LEE

...Joint Story (with Karen De Wolf) THE

RETURN OF OCTOBER, Col

MINDRET LORD

Adaptation THE SAINTED SISTERS, Par

M

ARTHUR MARX

Joint Original Screenplay (with Jack Rob-
erts) GYPSY HOLIDAY (S) Par

P

NORMAN PANAMA

Joint Screenplay (with Melvin Frank) THE
RETURN OF OCTOBER, Col

SAM PERRIN

Joint Play Base (with George Balzar) ARE
YOU WITH IT?, U-l

VLADIMIR POZNER

Sole Screenplay ANOTHER PART OF THE
FOREST. U-l

WALTER REILLY

Adaptation THE VELVET TOUCH,
pendent Artists) RKO

unde-

FRANK TASHLIN

Joint Screenplay (with Devery Freeman)
THE FULLER BRUSH MAN, Col

LAWRENCE E. TAYLOR

Sole Original Screenplay DEVIL SHIP, Col

LAMAR TROTTI

Sole Screenplay THE WALLS OF JERICHO,
Fox

KARL TUNBERG

Sole Screenplay UP IN CENTRAL PARK, U-l

w

PAUL I. WELLMAN

Novel Basis THE WALLS OF JERICHO, Fox

ROBERT C. WILLIAMS

Sole Original Screenplay OKLAHOMA BAD-
LANDS, Rep

T"1

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New York Representative:
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40

NEXT MONTH AND THEREAFTER

DON HARTMAN

Two Heads Are Worse Than One

DR. ARNOLD WKLLES

Experiment in Reaction

DAVID CHANDLER

Diary of a Dupe Addict

TALBOT JENNINGS

Hollywood in Retrospect

PETER LYON

The New Deal in Radio Writing

SYDNEY BOX

Creative Immunity

WALTER H. SCHMIDT

The Cartoon World

And Further Articles by KEN McCORMICK, SAMSON RAPHAELSON, 1SOBEL LEN-
NART, STEPHEN LONGSTREET, JAMES GUNN, RICHARD G. HUBLER, MAX
WILKINSON, ERNEST PASCAL, and others. .

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e Case of the Hollywood Reporter ♦ , . * . Page 24

The

UNEMPLOYMENT II: An Agent Speaks Up

By
H. N. SW ANSON, With An Editorial Foreword

KEN ENGLUND: Quick/ Boil Some Hot Cliches
DONALD BULL: Screenwriter vs. Film
DAVID CHANDLER: Diary of a Dupe Addict
BARTHOLD FLES: The Current Literary Market
DON HARTMAN: Two Heads Are Worse Than One
NORMAN LEE: Hollywood! You've Been Warned

Editorial «
News Notes

SWG Studio Chairmen ♦
• SWG Studio Committees

Screen Credits

Book Reviews
♦ Reports

FEBRUARY, 1948

G u n n
Shots

By JAMES GUNN

JAMES GUNN, SJVG Editorial Com-
mittee member, will henceforth conduct
the following column — calling his
"SHOTS" as he sea them.

DESPITE THE man's last three

credits, there is no truth to the rumor
that David O. Selznick will fire his
chief writer.

THROAT - AND price - cutting
have reached a new low in the 16 nun.
field, not covered by Guild contract.
A writer recently turned out an orig-
inal screenplay for a Western feature,
and was paid $500 Hat. The grateful
producer offered her $250 for a sec-
ond. When she refused, he turned to
his script girl, who now grinds out
complete screenplays at $100 per.

SO HELP us God, last month an
independent producer, with three un-
satisfactory scripts already on his
shelf, was trying to hire a writer to
adapt Wilkie Collins' Woman in
II hilc. The picture finished shooting
at \\ arners about eight months ago.

PHOEBE EPHRON is obviouslj

not afraid of pre-natal influence. Her
third child, expected in earl) spring,
has been sitting in at story conference
with Jerry Wald and Rill Jacobs.

THE DIFFERENCES in taste-
between English and American audi-
ences, particularly as to comedy, is
cropping up again. A while back, the
English were surprised at the big,
American reaction to Tawny Pipit,
which hadn't caused any great stir
in the home country. Now the English
writer-director. Norman Lee. puts in
a plug for Paramount's The Bride
Wore Boots, which now is mentioned
in Hollywood onl) by producers try-
- get the unfortunate actors to
cut their salaries.

SISTER ACT, announced as a

ise by Milton Sperling.

original on which the old 1 our

Daughters was based. If it starts the

same cycle over again, God forbid.

Continued on Pajn 14

The

Screen Writer

Vol. 3, No. "9

FEBRUARY, 1948

EDITORIAL COMMITTEE

Richard English, Editor

Fran Manning, Associate Editc

mi I'm \ Morehousi Avery

Claude Binyon

Taylor Caven

David Chandler

James Gunn

Richard G. Hubler

Stephen Longstri et

Leo C. Rosten

Bernard C. Schoenfeld

Leonard Spigelgass

Irving Stone

Leo Townsend

M. Coates Webster

Margaret Buell Wilder

CONTENTS

UN EMPLOY M Eh T II

II. N. SWANSON: ./;/ Agent Speaks Up

KEN ENGLUN'D: Quirk.' Boil Some Hot Cliches

Slid Committees

DONALD BULL: Screenwriter vs. Film

DAVID CHANDLER: Diary of a Dupe Addict

BARTIIOLD FLES: The Current Literary Market
DON IIAKI'M.W: Two Heads Arc Worse Than One
Slid Studio Chairmen

Editorial: The Casi oj the Hollywood Reporter
NORMAN LEE: Hollywood! YotSvc Bern Warned

1

4

in

11

15

IS

21
) j

2.\

C u n n '
News S'oJes

Inside Front C

36

PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD, INC.. AT
1655. NORTH CHEROKEE, HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA.

ALL SIGNED ARTICLES IN THE SCREEN WRITER REPRESENT THE
INDIVIDUAL OPINIONS OF THE AUTHORS. EDITORIALS REFLECT
OFFICIAL SCREEN WRITERS GUI>©- POLICY. AS DETERMINED
UPON BY THE EXECUTIVE BOA1

YEARLY: $2.50; FOREIGN, S3.o/f SINGLE COPY 25c (CANADA AND
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Unemployment II

La5^ month we mentioned that the problem of the screen writer today is what to do until
the agent calls. In this issue the agent has called . . . and if the news isn't good, it's at least
honest. Mr. Swanson calls his shots as he sees them. Whether he is right or wrong is something
this membership will find out during the coming year. But as we are always haunting our agents
for the hopeful word that we are "hot at Paramount" the agent should have the same privilege
of haunting us with why, like it or not, it just ain't so.

The latest box score of the Screen Writers' Guild is: Unemployment is just fair. No one
has died but no one has become a new man either. As of December 19th last, there were 928 active
members. 408 were employed in major and independent studios. That sounds great but some of
the members were on partially deferred salary jobs. 374 members were looking for employment,
and 146 were unavailable, either out of town or working on other things. Of our 518 associate
members only a handful were employed.

Now we turn the floor over to Mr. H. N. Swanson.

EDITOR

An Agent Speaks Up

H. N. SWANSON

H. N. SWANSON has long been one
of Hollywood's top literary agents. He
was particularly well qualified for this
specialized field, coming to it after a
distinguished career as editor of Col-
lege Humor. His first three years in
Hollywood were as a producer at RKO
Studios.

I KNOW a very good writer who hasn't worked
in eleven months. He has made over a million
dollars from the picture industry in the past ten
years. (That's not very much for a top man — only two
thousand a week.) He doesn't get as many credits as
he used to, but he has worked steadily. All during the
war years, and right after, he was just bumping along
on the ties, quietly making his hundred thousand a
year and worrying less about his scripts than his pedi-
greed dogs. I doubt if he sees more than one picture
a year ; when he does, he has difficulty identifying these
newcomers, like Gregory Peck and Robert Meeker,
or Mitchum — some name like that. He ain't workin',
and it's his fault. Competition for jobs is too keen for

producers to bother about him and his lazy mental
attitude.

An Academy Award winner of recent times had
four agents and one short job during 1947. I suppose
they all represented him simultaneously. He tells every-
body he meets, who might have an angle on a job, that
if they will put in a pitch for him and it results in a
job he'll take care of them handsomely. When this
Joe Desperate does go to work next, I'm sure that
half of the agents in town are going to be very busy
hitting him and each other over the head, demanding
their commission.

Out of work for months and months is a great

THE SCREEN WRITER

writer of blue-sky scenes. A specialized kind of sheen
is demanded of dialogue spoken by a boy and a girl
under an apple tree in bloom, with the wind in her
hair. This scenarist was one of Hollywood's famous
last-minute dropkickers, a lad to be run in to save a
script when things looked blackest, when a star refused
to do the God-damned thing or a director told the
producer to shove it. He got very fancy money, usually
on a flat deal basis. His job was to give everybody
confidence, to settle their nerves. He'd end up writing
two or three love scenes with words so warm and
wonderful that they would glow in the dark. He's
still the same guy he always was : as pleasant and
pleasing as warm apple pie. He can write as well, or
better, than ever before. He's out of work now, and it's
only partly his fault. The fashion has changed and he
hasn't quite caught the meaning of it. Studios now want
one man, to whom they usually have to pay a thumping
big price, to do the whole script so well it doesn't need
tampering with later. The old-fashioned producer, who
insisted on writer following writer to "polish," was
responsible for a series of costly scripts being written
and put on the shelf, like layer on top of layer of
an expensive wedding cake. Every time a man gets
from seventy-five to one hundred and fifty thousand
dollars to do a screenplay, which usually goes right
into work, he automatically throws dozens of Screen
Writers' Guild members out of work. It's pretty rough
on the other writers, but we all know this is the proper
way to make pictures.

I know an Eager Beaver who can write comedy
with fizz, pop, sparkle and real jump. You can listen to
one of his scenes and almost always call its authorship
correctly. He's in demand. He's a hot kid. But person-
ally he is very mixed up. His life has a skeletal deposit
of many expensive divorces, second mortgages on Bev-
verly Hills homes, attachments on automobiles and
checks that have to be put through more than once at
banks. Living better than kings do these days, he has
always been just one jump ahead of the sheriff. I
expect him to have a nervous breakdown any minute
because he won't change his way of life, won't re-
organize his overhead, won't see that a screen writer
can't operate on such a small personal margin as he
once did.

I COULD go on giving examples. The point I want
to make is the Hollywood writing market in many
respects is like the stock market. On the New York
Exchange, in a bull market, the securities of many
companies sink lower and lower ; likewise in a bear
market there are always stocks with such inherent
worth and earnings potential that they ignore the down
trend and increase in price. Thus you continually have

a market of individual stocks, rather than a thing loosely
called a stock market.

In these months, bad for screen writers in general,
we have seen a handful of men whose salaries and
compensation and percentages and bonuses have jumped
phenomenally. They are wanted, for one reason or
another. In 1948 they should make more money than
writers have ever before taken out of the business.

I tell all my clients that less than one hundred men
and women will do Hollywood's entire product during
1948. I admit there will be marginal jobs on little
pictures that get made here and there, but I still say
that less than one hundred men will write all the
supers, the A's, and even the B's. My job as an agent
is to get as many of my clients as I possibly can into
this winner's circle and keep them there.

Whenever we can get a person in demand, we can
improve his compensation, his working conditions and
his standing in this business. I don't care what is hap-
pening to foreign grosses, the domestic box-office, the
current political scene, the tax situation, or whatever.
When they really want a lad, no matter what, the
money is bound to be okay. It's as simple as that.

Studio executives keep saying that pictures are now
costing so much that the writer's pay will have to
come down, or they simply can't operate. I don't think
it will until theatre tickets decline from a dollar back
to thirty-five cents again. We are in an inflation cycle.
This complex situation of rising prices for almost every
item can only be remedied when the curve, represent-
ing the cost of everything, again turns down.

The working writer these days has every justifica-
tion for getting more money. He's got to be good to
be working; let's face it!

While 1948 will be the greatest year in the industry
for the few writers at the top, I feel that the lowest
third are faced with a hopeless situation. The lunatic
fringe, if you will pardon the expression, will be towed
twenty miles to sea during this year and quietly dis-
posed of.

I KNOW of no industry with such an enormous
backlog of unemployed workers as the picture busi-
ness has in relation to its writers. Almost all of
the current unemployed never worked in boom times.
Most of these people would be better off selling
insurance again or running their parking lots, instead of
clinging so desperately to the thought that somewhere,
sometime, the studio gates will open to them. Certainly
the industry would be better off without these mar-
ginal fellows. They are the ones responsible for most
of the unfounded plagiarism suits against the studios.
They are the ones who load down an executive's day

AN AGENT SPEAKS UP

with appointments that could never possibly mean
anything. They elbow their way into the overcrowded
lists of many agents. They are stage struck. They
wear those funny shirts and read the trade papers
standing up at Schwab's Drug Store, and consider
themselves part of an industry that never has and
never will recognize them. . . . The industry owes
them no obligation whatsoever. They should get out
of town Before It's Too Late, My Love.

For the great middle class of working writers (and
almost everybody belongs in this group) the situation
is serious but by no means critical. I'm talking about
the people who have been writing most of Hollywood's
product in the past. They will reappraise values, do a
little belt tightening, and keep going. You acquire a
certain cat-like quality to your footwork when you
write for a producer who changes his mind weekly.
I think these fellows will be all right.

This group offers a real challenge to the literary
agent. After getting his boy to face facts, the agent
must keep him pepped up, his spirits high and his
mental pores open.

Every business man knows it costs more to operate
a selling organization in bad times than good. We
have found we must now spend more time with the
individual client to examine what ideas he has, to try
to point certain projects of his at definite studio situ-
ations. We have had to cut drastically our own list
of clients. We need the extra time to attempt to chan-
nel the willing workers into other markets.

It is silly to try to crowd a man who has never
written for magazine publication, for instance, into
doing fiction unless he is willing to acquire a specialized
knowledge of what each magazine requires. You just
can't let a man sit down and write an article on "How
to Make Your Own Toupee" and casually submit it
for publication. He'll be shocked and hurt if it doesn't
sell first time out.

We are encouraging folks to read more, in the hope
they may want to option this or that book, play or
magazine story.

A man with two-thirds of a good story would often
like to meet somebody with an idea for a hot finish.

The agent often can reach for the telephone and help
him.

THE story market continues to roar ahead. Over-
supply of film adaptors, undersupply of stories to
adapt. One major has re-done almost every picture
on which they didn't lose money. Their corporate
name should be changed to Remakes, Inc., or Here
We Are Again Productions.

Does this effort pay off? Well, this kind of thing
has been happening in the past few months:

Nat Nervous had an expensive home, a wife whose
spending habits were firmly rooted, an overhead that
would scare anybody. We told him to forget pictures
for the moment, rent his house for a nice sum and
take a radio job in New York. He's still there, and
making more than twice his last Hollywood salary.
He and his wife think it's fun living in a luxury hotel,
eating oysters every night and going to the theatre
steadily.

We found that one client was very high on a news-
paper adventure strip, even knew how he'd make a
picture out of it. We went after it for him.

One of America's top novelists had not written any-
thing for a long, long while because the studios had been
keeping him busy. Recently they didn't. Once he caught
the idea that just because the industry had taken care
of him in the past it didn't necessarily intend to in
the future, he really got down to work. After two
months he walked into our office with a new story
which we feel is not only a great picture but certain
to be a Book Club selection.

We had a man who came back from the war to find
his credits were four years old. He didn't even want
to be offered, didn't want to be asked "What have you
been doing recently?" He had never done a play, but
with a determined burst of work he soon turned out
what is now a dramatic smash on Broadway.

Instead of our clients needling us in 1948 for sup-
posed inactivity, we are going to needle them first into
working for themselves. We feel this stimulation is not
only proper and imperative, but it will be highly pro-
ductive for us all.

Quick! Boil Some Hot Cliches

KEN ENGLUND

KEN ENGLUND is a member of the
SJVG. Among his recent screenplays
are The Secret Life Of Walter Mitty
and Good Sam.

Illustrated by Stephen Longstreet

THIS is an cn/f-screenwriter article.
Dull pictures — formula product — assembly line
thinking — bad box office ! Not more than a couple
of dozen films a year might even be called very good —
or to stretch a point — excellent. About ten producers
at the most make that old college try for a great picture.
And in the lower echelon of artistic aspiration the
'commercial' surefire touch isn't so surefire any more.

Who is to blame? Writers pin it on the sluggish
routine imaginations of some top executives, the stale
'Oh, hell, why not use it again — it was great in It
Happened One Night, wasn't it?' approach of many
producers; or the conditioned reflexes of some direc-
torial hacks who have to go into a trance before each
setup to remember how Flora Finch and Larry Semon
used to do it. And we blame the 'fornication cannot
be fun — they must be PUNISHED!' attitude of the
Breen office. There is no doubt that the guilt for the
present doldrums should be shared by all aforemen-
tioned but the writers, I believe, must come in for a
large piece of justifiable opprobrium. Let us be objective
enough to also blame ourselves, for the producers and
directors, tired as some of them might be, do look to
us for artistic stimulation and freshness.

The picture business can be likened to a Rube Gold-
berg cartoon depicting one of his mad Machiavellian
mechanical inventions. In the panel at the extreme left,
we see THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS represent-
ing THE STOCK HOLDERS. The CHAIRMAN
raises a golden gavel — The gavel descends sharply hit-
ting the large flinty brain of THEVICEPRESI-
DENTINCHARGEOFPRODUCTION; this sets
off sparks that light the executive's Upmann 15. The
mile-long cigar blazes setting off a hot fire under the

seats of twenty-five dozing PRODUCERS. They
spring to their feet and start beating their writers with
tightly rolled trade papers or racing forms. In the last
panel the writers are seen feverishly typing — many with-
out sheets of paper in their typewriters — so anxious are
they to stay on the job.

In re the author of this attack on what has some-
times been referred to as Hollywood's oldest profes-
sion, Goethe said something apropos which I am too
lazy to look up. But the gist of his thought was that
'There is not one sin others have committed that I
have not been guilty of — or that I am not capable of
committing. So I cannot cast aspersions or pass judg-
ment without including myself as sinner.'

Nevertheless the situation plainly calls for action.
Let us roll up our sleeves and try to scrub some of
those cobwebs off our celluloid. To get down to cases:
There was a Geneva Convention to outlaw poison gas ;
can't the members of the Screen Writers' Guild get
together to ban and consign to limbo, the following
which I have tried to categorize?

ROMANTIC DIALOGUE AND LOVE STUFF

"Listen, darling, they're playing our song!"
"Violets! Oh, darling, you remembered!"
"Moss roses! You remembered — oh, darling!"
"White orchids with those same yellow throats with

just a touch of burnt umber! Oh, you're such a darling

to remember!"

"Darling — this is our place!"

And at 'our place' let's send to a Cain's Warehouse

for stale characters, the genial proprietor, LUIGI, the

4

QUICK! BOIL SOME HOT CLICHES!

musical comedy Italian who is continually drooling
toothily and lasciviously over the Boy and Girl, because
he 'loves lovers' and incidentally wants to pad his part.

While we're still at Luigi's does the Boy always have
to carve their initials on a Chianti bottle? Can't it be
a Haig and Haig pinch bottle for a change?

THE AQUATIC LOVE SCENE

The springboard the studio bought read: "And in
the days that followed they drew closer and closer
together. They dined, danced and swam together . . ."

In screenplay the Aquatic Love Scene results:

"Race you to the raft, Freddie !"

So saying, Maureen O'Hara playfully pushes John
Payne into the water, dives in and a gay race ensues.
Boy and Girl clamber onto the raft happy as playful
porpoises laughing fit to kill. After they get tired laugh-
ing, he gives her a hard, intense, libidinous look and
seals her mouth with a very long passionate kiss that
holds till the Dissolve so that the screenwriter won't
have to think up any dialogue.

Some years ago, by actual count, five Fox films used
the Aquatic Love Scene. All they ever changed were
the bathing suits, and once they added a little railing
around the raft, but each time Payne (or Fonda) and
O'Hara would race each other to it. Now, mind you,
I am not for eliminating girls in bathing suits or the
dramatic value of glistening white thighs be jeweled
with droplets of water. I'm as oversexed as the next
citizen. But let's dig a little, fellows. Maybe they could
race out to a bellbuoyl You see what a little thinking
can do to unearth that fresher angle?

THE OUTDOOR OR AIN'T NATURE GRAND
LOVE SCENE

The Girl in a tight white sweater takes a deep breath
and looks around at the other wonders of nature and
exclaims (after much coaching) "Oh, Timothy, isn't
it beautiful-"

Timothy takes a look at her heaving sweater and
exclaims back significantly, "Sure is !", and his meaning
isn't lost on anyone. I believe we can drop for all time
this giddy gambit, along with :

And

THE BAR LOVE SCENE

The Girl: (sipping champagne timidly) "Oooohh!
The bubbles tickle my nose!"

THEBACKSTAGEMUSICAL

or

"When It's Cliche Time In Dixie I'll Be Digging
Back For Ideas," or "Down Memory — or is it —
Monotony Lane?"

Scene opens with a line of chorus girls in practice
clothes practicing. Immediately the Dance Director
calls out, "Take five minutes, girls," and they quickly
disperse. After extensive research I have discovered that

Darling, they're playing OUR song!

THE NIGHT OUTDOOR LOVE SCENE

"Oh, Keith, darling — look — the stars are so close
you could reach out and stir them around."

dance directors in 'real life' always give the girls at
least ten or fifteen minutes, so why can't Larry Parks,
Gene Kelly or Dan Dailey do the same? Try and

THE SCREEN WRITER

watch these little things, gang, they all add up to per-
fection.

And can't we do something about the circular iron
ladder backstage, and that typical shot of the chorines
descending? I know it's a dandy way to catch the back
of the girls' legs, but can't we repaint the ladder, or
something, or twist the iron the other way? Maybe
this is a director's problem. Why not write your favor-
ite musical director and suggest he get a new idea for
chorus girls descending. I suggest you use a plain
envelope and sign it, "You know who."

Oh — yes — How about giving the heave ho to all
stage doormen named 'Pop'?
Dissolve to:

EXT. DRESSING ROOM DOOR OF STAR

Stage Manager knocks and calls, "Five minutes,
Miss Grable." Cut inside and Cesar Romero is pro-
posing to her in a dressing room banked with more
floral offerings than a vault at Forest Lawn — and the
show has been running for two years!

THE STAR CAN'T GO ON AND THE UNDERSTUDY
TAKES HER PLACE/

Leo McCarey had the only practical suggestion for
a new switch on this chestnut. The Leading Lady gets
sick. The Understudy gets her big chance. All her
dreams have come true. She runs, puts on her makeup
and costume, and then as she descends the iron ladder,
she trips coming down in all her excitement and breaks
both legs. The show never opens.

Let's take an oath to do without:

ALL SHERIFFS STANDING IN THE WINGS
IN THE LAST REEL TO:

a. Foreclose — because the leading lady hasn't paid
Max Factor for her makeup.

b. The leading man owes for his toupe.

c. The show's lyricists were caught stealing the
songs outright, and Tschaikowsky is standing in
the wings with — Freddy Martin.

d. The scenery has been surreptitiously borrowed
from the Shuberts who are standing in the wings.

e. Gangsters are waiting to shoot the comics if they
come offstage, so they manage cleverly to blend
in with the line of chorus girls — audience thinks it
part of the act and splits sides.

f. Joe Yule, Mickey Rooney's father, is waiting in
the wings to close the show because he thinks his

son, Mickey, is too young to be in a Broadway
musical, feeling he should stick to burlesque.

PASTERNAK-TYPE MUSICALS

Can we safely eliminate the lovable, loyal, groveling
servants who gleefully 'root for' and vicariously enjoy
the budding romance of two adolescents as they experi-
ence the first pangs of puppy love? There is always a
good deal of "Master Robert" this and "Mistress
Elizabeth" that from Arthur Treackle — I mean
Treacher and thirty-nine footmen all played by Chris-
tian Rub, who tiptoe in from time to time with nourish-
ing gruel for each of the poor love-sick babes to keep up
their strength. I have had two children and watched
them through the trials of adolescent emotions, and

Don't worry — your brother will play the violin again.

my staff — one large, colored lady — remained coldly
indifferent to said trials, only rooting for me to pay
her on time. What's more she never tiptoed — she
always woke us in the morning slamming pots around,
and she was continually fighting with my daughter
because she brought her boy friends home to dinner.
So let's stick to facts !

QUICK! BOIL SOME HOT CLICHES!

B MUSICALS

Swing versus the Classics! The Long Hairs versus
the Crew Cuts! And that malodorous bromide where
the kids in the orchestra segue sneakily from Beethoven
to Benny Goodman when the hatchet-faced Principal
isn't looking! Discovering their audacious prank she
is at first outraged, then starts keeping time to the
music. She can't help herself and neither can the help-
less audience. If another screenwriter puts this on cel-
luloid he should be flogged through the Guild.

EPICS, RESTORATION DRAMAS
AND PERIOD PIECES

The leading lady is taking a bath in a tub or a rain
barrel — a maid servant pouring in hot water. The
bather looks up shocked to find that George Sanders
has taken the maid's place and is now pouring.

There must be another way to show Paulette God-
dard's pretty shoulders in relation to history without
always resorting to this prairie bubble bath. Let's dig
and maybe put Sanders in the tub and let Goddard
pour it on him. But don't get overly particular and
ask where she got the bubble bath preparation in the
middle of the great outdoors. — There is a branch of
Elizabeth Arden's at Fort Sill and the special soap is
brought by Pony Express along with the gunpowder,
pemmican, firewater to bribe Indians — and comic
books for the extras on location.

DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS (ERROL FLYNN) JR-TYPE
PICTURES

In the middle of a duel to the death the two an-
tagonists lock wrists and swap talk, their sweat-drenched
faces only an inch apart. "Norman dog! Anglo Saxon
lilies will grow over thy bones ere yon sun sets!"
Snarling cheek to cheek this exchange of insults and
plot points goes on for a half hour and finally they are
down to saying, 'I'll bet my agent can lick your agent,'
and the impression is created that the age of the actors
has given them pause rather than the dictates of the
story.

Under the same classification: a murrain seize the
writer (or director) who plans a duel that takes the
swordsmen through twenty-six rooms. It always ap-
pears as though the host was showing his enemy his
castle with an eye to renting it rather than the motiva-
tion of running him through. Mamoulian staged the
best and most realistic movie duel in "Mark of Zorro"
in one room. The camera was continually on Power
and Rathbone and they lost three quarts of blood
between them — but it was worth it!

SCREEN BIOGRAPHIES (NON-MUSICAL)
Can't we do without THE TEA SCENE?

INT. STUDY

NIGHT

In the dim light of a student lamp Don Ameche is
peering into a microscope. A clock wearily strikes three.
Bong, bong, bong. Bette Davis enters carrying a tray
containing a pot of tea. She says, "Goodness, John —
stop a moment and have a cup of tea. You must have
some rest. As it is, you'll get little enough thanks for
inventing syphilis." He sighs wearily, takes off his
glasses and answers: "But my dear Katrina, someone

Swing versus the Classics — or, So you need a
quick melody, eh?

has to do it." He smiles bravely, she smiles bravely.
After another brisk exchange of brave smiles, this
TEA SCENE is interrupted by THE ROCK
THROWING SCENE.

As the scientist sips his tea, several ROCKS come
crashing through the study window. Ameche, in spite
of his wife's fears for his life, goes out on the balcony
and looks below to see a slavering mob of toughs led
by Gene Lockhart, the town's leading skeptic. There

THE SCREEN WRITER

are angry catcalls, more rocks aimed at the scientist's
head, and unkind remarks that all add up to the belief
that Ameche is in league with the devil and his dark
machinations in the laboratory will bring ruin and the
wrath of God down on all the inhabitants of Bad
Gaswassar.

The very sight of Gene Lockhart in a biography
telegraphs to the audience that he is going to set him-
self against whatever the hero is trying to perfect
whether it be cellophane or falsies. He has become so
immersed in this role of doubting Thomas that his
agent tells me it has even affected Lockhart's private
life. He has just had the phone taken out of his house,
not wanting to risk his life by using the dangerous
electrical device of that crackpot Bell! Now when he
gets a studio call for a new job as screen skeptic his
agent has to drive over to tell him about it.

ing couple, get into their cars and spend the rest of
the evening necking, which is a lot more fun.

WESTERNS

A most significant observation as regards the horse
opera was made by Sol Siegel's five-year-old child.
After his first few trips to the Hitching Post he de-
duced that the "baddies" wore black hats and the
"goodies" wore white hats. Cliche from start to finish,
about the only thing that could be done to freshen
oaters would be to switch the hats around. Or perhaps
have them reblocked — possibly with the actors' heads
left in them.

THE DETECTIVE STORY

BIOGRAPHIES OF GREAT BROADWAY COMPOSERS
(WITH SOCK ENTERTAINMENT VALUES INCLUD-
ING CATCHY SONGS — HIGH KICKING AND
CUTTING UP)

"Rita! I think I've got our fourth act finale — listen !"

And, without a word of warning, the tin pan alley
Tschaikowsky leaps to the Steinway and ad libs what
it took Hammerstein and Rodgers six months to com-
pose. The Girl sings the chorus with him, guessing
the lyrics in advance. They end on a kiss over the
piano. Sometimes a playful kitten (on wires manipu-
lated by five stagehands belonging to two warring
unions) comes between them for the Dissolve. Or if
he's an outdoor composer the Boy and Girl are on a
horse and one of the horses' heads comes between them
as they kiss. I'd even settle for the other end just for
a change.

THE FIGHTING ROMANCE

"Rosalind Russell is the new Boss Lady of an
Advertising Agency, see — but Fred MacMurray, see,
doesn't KNOW he's working for a WOMAN, SEE ! ?
Because HE HATES WOMEN and he'd never have
taken the job in the first place if he knew he was work-
ing for a FEMALE! He has a phobia about the oppo-
site sex, SEE, because of a sad experience in his own
life — his mother deserted him when he was only forty-
two — SEE — but not knowing Rosalind is his NEW
BOSS, he falls in love with her against his will — and
that's when the fun begins!" And that's when, if the
audience is smart, they'll just tiptoe out on the bicker-

I make only one plea here — that Sidney Greenstreet
stop playing Brahms' "Lullaby" on the piano while he
gives Peter Lorre instructions on how to rub out
Humphrey Bogart. I also think it incumbent on writers
to make clearer just how the poison dart did get lodged
in Miss Hush's brain.

It's been awfully plotty out lately, and I've been
hoping that someday in desperation Dick Powell would
flag down a cab, toss away his cigarette, and, hopping
into the back seat, order the driver to "Follow that
story line!"

ARMY AND NAVY STORIES

"Honest to God it's moider fellahs! Is there some
law or somethin' that says we gotta have a guy from
BROOKLYN in every Company of the U. S. Army,
Navy and Marines who sighs for Moitle, rhapsodizes
on the beauties of Prospect Park — ad nauseum ?"

WELL, I see my time is about up and several of my
friends are standing in the wings with baseball
bats. But I don't want to get off and take my medicine
without trying to make a few constructive suggestions
— if I can think of any.

A clue to some Hollywood thinkers' thinking is
manifest in a story making the rounds in studio scuttle-
butt. The story: When Alfred Hitchcock admitted to
a top executive that he didn't see many pictures, the
executive, in all seriousness, said, "Then where do
you get your ideas?"

8

QUICK! BOIL SOME HOT CLICHES!

This seems very apropos as regards the problem of
turning out fresher films. As a class, Hollywood writers
are the most imaginative and creative group, it would
seem, in the history of the art of writing, in terms of
output. Dickens 'lived' a lot of his novels, Lawrence of
Arabia wrote from actual experience, the Maine
novelist sneaks up on his theme after two years of
research. The Hollywood writer must, on cue, create
any atmosphere from Timbuctoo to Tibet, and fulfill
any given story assignment whether it be laid in Hell's
Kitchen or the London salon of Elsie Mendl — without
having been to either place.

Which finally gets me to my point — Thank God,
sighs the reader. It is that Hollywood writers don't
do anything, go anyplace, or experience anything. One
day the bucket is lowered into the well of inspiration
and it comes up dry. "I'm stale," you say, but what do

It happened at Chasens.

you do about it? What do any of us do about it? Most
of our life is spent writing on studio payroll or off
and mostly in the Los Angeles radius. A life bounded
by Santa Anita on one side, the Democratic and Re-
publican parties on another, the Biltmore theater (about

twice a year if you can get seats), and your favorite
eating place.

HAPPILY or unhappily, we have all sold our birth-
right for a mess of footage, and are plowing the
golden furrow — but a furrow is a rut. Soon pictures
will be more aptly titled, The Romance of Romanoff's
Bar, Murder at the Biltmore Garage, It Happened At
Chasens, and Who Stuffed the Ballot Box in the San
Fernando League of Women Voters?

And the annual two weeks in New York that only
some of us take won't do the trick alone. Hollywood
writers owe it to themselves and to their craft to get
away more often for a change of thinking, and 'live
a little.' Perhaps have a series of whirlwind love affairs,
but shake off that Miracle Mile apathy. Allow the more
stimulating air of distant climes to blow the lulling
scent of orange blossoms from the old nostrils.

Don't tell me you can't afford it. Take courage and
a leaf from Robert Benchley's credo on HOW 1
CREATE: "When I am writing a novel I must actu-
ally live the lives of my characters. If, for instance,
my hero is a gambler on the French Riviera, I make
myself pack up and go to Cannes or Nice, willy-nilly,
and there throw myself into the gay life of the gambling
set until I really feel that I am Paul De Lacroix, or
Ed Whelan, or whatever my hero's name is. Of course
this runs into money, and I am quite likely to have
to change my ideas about my hero entirely and make
him a bum on a tramp steamer working his way back
to America, or a young college boy out of funds who
lives by his wits until his friends at home send him a
hundred and ten dollars."

Personally, I don't care. You can do what you like.
As for myself, I am canceling my reservation at Palm
Springs. Instead I plan to experience a new experience.
I am going to retrace the two-thousand-mile trip that
Captain Bligh took in an open boat, and there is room
for four more passengers if anyone wants to join me
when they finish their present assignment.

No takers? Okay. Then let's just give up, and tell
Mr. Skouras to make the candy wrappers crackle
louder to drown out the rest of our dialogue.

To create a few more enemies, I am reminded of an
old Moran and Mack story that seems to fit the present
film situation. The Two Black Crows are sitting on
a bale of cotton in front of a backdrop of the Missis-
sippi River. Moran turns slowly to Mack and says,
"Does your dog like candy?" Mack thinks a very long
time and then replies, "He eats garbage. He should
love candy." Well, I, for one, think the American
people should love candy.

*3 vl/Lj Committees

STANDING COMMITTEES

CONCILIATION COMMITTEE
(Under Minimum Basic Agreement)

F. Hugh Herbert, Chairman
Stephen Morehouse Avery Milton Krims

CREDITS COMMITTEE

Valentine Davies, Chairman

Marvin Borowsky
Richard Collins
Devery Freeman
Paul Gangelin
Howard J. Green
Dick Irving Hyland

Wanda Tuchock

John Larkin
Gladys Lehman
Frank Partos
John Paxton
Robert Pirosh
Sidney Sheldon

REVISION OF SCHEDULE A

Mary McCall, Chairman

Valentine Davies
Philip Dunne

Stanley Rubin
George Seaton

GRIEVANCE COMMITTEE

Claude Binyon, Chairman

(Other members to be drawn alphabetically from

Executive Board)

MEMBERSHIP COMMITTEE

Harry Tugend, Chairman
Valentine Davies Leonard Spigelgass

PROXY AND TELLERS' COMMITTEE

John Larkin, Chairman

THE SCREEN WRITER
EDITORIAL COMMITTEE

Richard English, Editor

Stephen Morehouse Avery

Claude Binyon

Taylor Caven

David Chandler

James Gunn

Richard G. Hubler

Stephen Longstreet

Leo C. Rosten

Bernard C. Schoenfeld

Leonard Spigelgass

Irving Stone

Leo Townsend

M. Coates Webster

Margaret Buell Wilder

Karl Kamb

BUSINESS COMMITTEE

Ernest Pascal, Chairman

Allen Rivkin

SPECIAL COMMITTEES

AGENTS COMMITTEE
(To Negotiate Agreement with Artists Managers Guild)

Mary McCall, Chairman
Valentine Davies Robert Hill

Dorothy Bennett Hannah Richard Murphy

F. Hugh Herbert Robert Pirosh

Everett Freeman

CREDIT UNION COMMITTEE

Jack Natteford, Chairman
Adele Buffington Dalton Reymond

Isabel Dawn
Frederick Frank

Harry Tugend
Luci Ward

GROUP INSURANCE COMMITTEE

Irving Stone, Chairman
Erna Lazarus Mannie Seff

ROBERT MELTZER AWARD COMMITTEE

Leonard Spigelgass, Chairman
Dwight Taylor Robert Presnell, Sr.

Melville Baker Jan Fortune

Arthur Strawn

EMPLOYMENT COMMITTEE

Paul Gangelin, Chairman
Art Arthur Stephen Longstreet

Betty Burbridge Malvin Wald

Albert DeMond Leonard Spigelgass

Norman Hall Stanley Roberts

COMMITTEE TO MEET WITH RADIO WRITERS GUILD
AND AUTHORS LEAGUE

Valentine Davies Robert Nathan

John Larkin

COMMITTEE ON EASTERN SCREEN WRITERS

Frank Cavett Francis Faragoh

REPRESENTATIVES ON BOARD OF DIRECTORS OF
BUILDING ASSN.

Harry Tugend Valentine Davies, Alternate

GUILD REPRESENTATIVES TO ALL-INDUSTRY PUBLIC
RELATIONS COMMITTEE

Sheridan Gibney F. Hugh Herbert

George Seaton Harry Tugend

ECONOMIC PROGRAM COMMITTEE
(To Prepare for Minimum Basic Agreement Negotiations)

Ernest Pascal, Chairman
Art Arthur Albert Hackett

Melville Baker Dorothy Bennett Hannah

Hugo Butler Milton Krims

Francis Faragoh Emmet Lavery

Frederic Frank Mary McCall, Jr.

Devery Freeman Stanley Roberts

Paul Gangelin Arthur Strawn

Frances Goodrich Harry Tugend

POLITICAL ADVISORY COMMITTEE

Robert Ardrey, Chairman

Seymour Bennett
Michael Blankfort
Borden Chase
I. A. L. Diamond

Wanda Tuchock

Howard J. Green
Arthur Jones
Connie Lee
Louise Rousseau

PRODUCTION CODE COMMITTEE

George Seaton, Chairman

Walter Doniger
Forrest Judd

Frances Kavanaugh
Jesse Lasky, Jr.

Edwin Blum
Isabel Dawn
Jay Dratler
Melvin Frank

SPECIAL PROGRAMS COMMITTEE

Milton Krims, Chairman

Frances Goodrich
Albert Hackett
Norman Panama
Frank Partos
Stanley Rubin

BUDGET FIELD SUB-COMMITTEE

M. Coates Webster, Chairman

Adele Buffington
Olive Cooper
Paul Gangelin
Harvey Gates

Brenda Weisberg

William Lively
Louise Rousseau
Sol Shor
Earl Snell

LICENSING SUB-COMMITTEE

Everett Freeman, Chairman

Robert Ardrey

Dwight Taylor

Emmet Lavery

COMMITTEE TO INVESTIGATE PROXY SITUATION

Stephen Morehouse Avery, Chairman

Michael Blankfort
Hugo Butler
John Collier
Olive Cooper
I. A. L. Diamond
Jay Dratler
Erwin Gelsey
Dorothy B. Hannah
Edmund Hartman

James Webb

David Hertz
Arthur Kober
Milton Krims
John Larkin
Peter Milne
Robert Nathan
Allen Rivkin
Marguerite Roberts
Wanda Tuchock

GUILD REPRESENTATIVE TO PERMANENT
CHARITIES COMMITTEE

John Larkin — on Board of Directors
Francis Edward Faragoh Ranald MacDougall

Jane Murfin

10

Screenwriter Versus Film

DONALD BULL

DONALD BULL is a member of the
British Screenwriters' Association.
During the war, he wrote and directed
Public Relations Films for the Army
and is now a staff writer with the
Rank Organization.

SOMETHING tells me that this won't be popular.
The College of Cardinals on Cherokee Avenue
may find a prima facie case of heresy. And for the
views set out below, the prophet does not expect to
collect any greater honor in his own country. It is
a lone and somewhat frightened voice that addresses

you

It speaks from the sidelines, from where its owner
watches with mingled admiration and doubt the screen-
writers' bandwagon get under way. The slogans have
been coined, the manifestos issued. Shoulder to shoulder,
the writers are on the march, and banners proclaim
their simple aim: More Prestige and More Money.
This solidarity among writers, the most individualistic
of creatures, is not especially surprising. It would be
hard to find anyone, not excluding the present writer,
who didn't agree that these were very desirable aims
indeed.

The arguments in favor are many and convincing,
and we needn't go into them. What I find disturbing
is a certain assumption that underlies the whole thesis,
a fundamental assumption made by screenwriters about
the nature of their work and its relation to the total
activity involved in film-making, which is, I dare to
assert, distinctly shaky.

It is this: that the screenwriter feels himself to be
the true creator of the film, its only begettor. Now this
is partly true, to the extent that it is almost entirely
true in some cases, and not far from nonsense in others.
My intention in this article is to demonstrate its general
falsity, and show that, in fact, it is a dangerous atti-
tude for the writer to take up, and one that works
against the proper development of his art, which is
the art of the film. But first let us see why he should
feel that way at all.

One of the causes is fairly superficial, and arises
out of his condition of virtual isolation, due to depart-

mental production methods. It is interesting, and to a
British reader, slightly bewildering, to read this sort
of statement in recent articles in The Screen Writer.
'You are strongly advised,' says a writer, 'to consult
the Art Department when working on your script.
This will save you the misery of seeing your hero, who
should live in a cheap bed-sitting-room, disporting him-
self in the luxury of a pent-house apartment.' Another:
'It might be a good thing if the writer could watch the
actual production of his script, standing in with the
Director, Cameraman, Art Director, Editor, etc.,' —
and goes on to suggest that writers who wish to perfect
their technique might well sacrifice salary in order to
do this without encroaching on Company's Time. Evi-
dently actual effort and sometimes sacrifice are involved
if the writer is to make himself aware of the whole
process of film-making.

Few indeed bother to do so. The writer finds himself
tucked away in an office in a writers' colony. Cut off
from the other members of the creative team, he strikes
natural links with the people he finds closest to him.
This isolation of the writer makes him feel that he is
a creature apart, belonging to an elite. He is aggrieved
when his work is taken from his out-tray and then
mauled about by a set of people he has never met and
of whose functions he has probably but a hazy notion.
He goes home after the premiere and broods. He did it
all in his little room. And what does he get out of it?
If he is lucky, a renewal of his option.

"p\ EPARTMENTALISM seems to be inevitable in
•~' large-scale production, and a tendency towards it
is observable in England also. In its application to
screenwriting, it is a real cause of the distorted sense
of values exhibited by many screenwriters about their
particular function in the whole.

But there are other and more subtle causes, rooted

11

THE SCREEN WRITER

in the peculiar nature of the job itself. The production
of a film is a long process, whose end-product is the
film, complete in cans and ready to be shown. One of
the stages of the process is the making of the screenplay.
It is a by-product, peculiar in that it happens to have
achieved a finished form of its own ; which can, in fact,
be read, judged and to some extent enjoyed by any
reader with a little easily acquired technical knowledge.

The writer tends to conclude that he is writing
something that stands artistically on its own feet. He
assumes that there, but for the change of form, is the
film itself. He compares it to the musical mss., or the
playscript, and looks on all the other people involved
in the production, important as they may be, as equiva-
lent to the conductor and orchestra in a musical per-
formance, or the producer, designer and actors in the
production of a play.

This view sees the screenplay as a work of art in
itself. Since it is in the medium of words, it is a literary
work of art. It is in this area of confusion that many
false conclusions have their beginning.

The view has many and serious exponents. The
French Syndicat des Scenaristes states baldly that the
screenplay is a literary work. In the Nichols-Gassner
collections of published screenplays the editors go so
far as to say that the screenplay is now an established
literary form, to be judged according to the standards
applied to the novel or the printed playscript.

A point in aesthetic philosophy is raised. Certainly,
a piece of music may be said to have complete existence
even though it is unperformed. It is less certain whether
a stage-play exists until it is produced on the stage and
subjected to the interplay of actors and audience, and
to the dimension of time. In the present writer's view,
it is heresy to assert that a film exists at all before it is
in the physical form of a celluloid strip in the act of
being projected on to a screen.

A reading of the screenplays printed in the Nichols-
Gassner collections can only confirm this view. They
give the reader say ten per cent of the emotional kick
that he would get from seeing the film. How could it
be otherwise? Would you enjoy a painting from a
description of it? In fact, they are the shadows of
shadows, though presented with great skill. They are
obligatory reading for anyone interested in the art and
craft of film, but it is preposterous to suggest that they
can be read and enjoyed as works of art in their own
right.

But if the screenplay has no artistic values per se,
what has it got? Ideally, it indicates values which must
be realised by later steps in the process.

Now if we leave out of account for the moment the
question of dialogue, these values are non-literary.

They have nothing to do with authorship as practised
by a novelist or playwright. They are values peculiar
to the film. Ideally a screenplay might well be realised —
I won't say written — by a screenwriter who is other-
wise illiterate. His script is intended for no audience
other than the team making the film, who may well
enjoy agreeable writing and a graceful style. The
director, for example, may appreciate the screenwriter's
vivid description of the hero's jostling his way in agony
of mind along a crowded pavement, and it may lead him
to consult with his cameraman and shoot the action
with a 90 mm. lens to heighten the sense of his being
crowded in. The same result would be achieved by the
writer stipulating a 90 mm. lens, assuming he knew
what that was. (I take the example from a scene in
David Lean's Great Expectations.) It would not be
so readable and John Gassner would surely alter it
in his edition of the script for his book — but the effect
in the film would be the same.

THE screenwriter, then, who knows what cine-
matic values are and how to secure them, must
possess equipment which raises him far above the status
of mere writer. He must know what can be done with
actors, camera, the design of sets, the sound-track,
cutting. The writer who knows all that much is a rare
bird indeed, and significantly he generally stops being
a writer and realises his true capacity as director or
producer.

So we seem to reach the conclusion that screenwriters
who thoroughly know their job will normally graduate
to the higher level of director or producership ; while
those who don't know their job deserve to remain at
their present depressed status

Well, of course, there's a hole in the argument,
thank heaven, specifically left there by the omission
of the question of dialogue. The fallacy lies in the
dogmatic assertion that the values of the film are one
hundred per cent non-literary. Ideally perhaps this
should be so, but the argument takes us into those
arid fields of discussion already explored by the earnest
souls who ask: "Is Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony
Pure Music?," and "Should Ballet Tell a Story?"

A good film may contain values of many orders
other than the 'pure' visual and aural. Among them
is the category of literary orders, depending largely on
the degree to which dialogue is used as a story-telling
device. The present predominant importance of the
writer in film production owes itself almost exclusively
to the adoption of the dialogue-film as the standard
mode. The question is : will it remain so ?

I think we must face the fact that the coming of
sound made the art of the film branch in a direction

12

SCREENWRITER VERSUS FILM

different from that presaged by the silent film. The
trend then was towards a purely visual form, with its
laws of construction and dramaturgy derived entirely
from an appeal to the eye. The silent-film director
would rightly boast of the small number of sub-titles
he was forced to use in telling his story. He justly
recognised that sub-titles were a weakness, a contra-
diction of the nature of his craft — just as if a novelist
were forced to use illustrations fully to convey his
meaning.

Nevertheless, the silent-film form was restricted.
Subtlety of characterization and complexity of plot
were denied to it. Its great successes were in films like
the Soviet revolutionary epics, the Flaherty idylls, the
American knockabout comedies, where the plot situation
was of the simplest and the characters merely types.
Significantly, the best of these films were written by
the men who directed them. The screenwriter as we
know him today hardly existed.

' I 'HE coming of sound opened up enormous and
-*- exciting possibilities to the film-maker. Some, like
Hitchcock and Clair, embraced their opportunities
with enthusiasm, and it looked for a time as if we
were to get a new art form, arising out of a genuine
fusion of picture and sound. These were the great days
of the sound-film: Le Million, Murder, City Streets,
Die Dreigroschenoper, the films of Ruttman, the early
Disneys. Also, the Talkie.

We have never recovered from the Talkie. The
talkies could talk the hind-leg off a donkey. They talked
the true sound-film out of existence. They talked into
being the new hybrid, the literary-pictorial film. This
incorporated values derived from the theatre and the
novel. Inevitably, it incorporated the playwrights and
the novelists too. These writers, honest men all, saw
in the film a primarily literary form. And in their
hands that is what it has largely become.

To anyone who doubts the truth of this, the follow-
ing experiment is recommended. Go to see an average
good movie and, during some part of its length (you
won't be able to stand the ordeal for long) shut your
ears firmly and look. You will find that the film has
ceased largely to be pictorial. The picture is a vehicle
for the sound-track, and the sound-track is a vehicle
for words. Now open your ears and try shutting your
eyes

Every screenwriter knows the fatal fascination of
the dialogue scene. Given a section of story to translate
into screen terms, the writer's first impulse is to seek
a suitable encounter or series of encounters between
characters, whose speeches can tell the story. For the
writer trained to think in terms of words, it is a matter

of great difficulty to tear himself free from this habit
and think pictorially.

In the last ten years or so, the literary-pictorial film,
the so-called dialogue-film, has become the standard
mode of expression in all film-making centres. The
hybrid, like so many mongrels, has ousted the pure
strain, and has almost achieved a 'pure' form of its
own. It has begun to count many great artistic suc-
cesses to its credit. They are almost too numerous to
mention, but, to take two supreme examples, the world
would be poorer if a rigid purism denied Rosselli the
right to create his Rome, Open City, or Charlie Chap-
lin his Monsieur Verdoux.

It is such films as these that back the screenwriter's
claim to a place in the sun. They would be impossible
without his special talents. Nevertheless, it is about time
we asked ourselves: "is the dialogue-film to remain
the standard mode, or is it to develop into a 'purer'
form. If so, what changes, if any, will this entail in
the function of the screenwriter?"

To one who was educated in the silent-film, and has
experienced the excitement and promise envisaged by
the advent of sound, it is axiomatic that the dialogue-
film cannot by its very nature realise the full potenti-
alities of the medium. Though it can explore subtleties
of psychology and complexities of plot that the use of
dialogue makes possible, I think that one day we shall
have to return to the pure fount of visual creation —
but we shall have to re-learn our craft almost from
the beginning.

The first rumblings can be heard — a dissatisfaction
among the best of our film-makers with the established
forms, tied down to the traditional methods of story-
telling unchanged since the Odyssey.

NO one knows what the new form will be. Perhaps
the screen has passed through a great prose period
and is ready to achieve its own poetry. Perhaps we shall
break free from the bonds of realism and explore the
true dream-world of the film, whose language is a
direct appeal to the senses, and whose logic is that of
the emotions.

Whatever changes occur, they will be changes in
form only. There will always be a Story. They tell
me that even Finnegans Wake has a story. And the
making of stories is the writer's job, which others with-
out his training and gifts usurp at their peril. But
somewhere in the future the false isolation of the screen-
writer must be broken down. He must free himself
from the literary approach, and the misconceptions to
which this gives rise. Then, and not till then, we may
see something new emerge. It should be good.

And now — the faggots, and the stake!

13

THE SCREEN WRITER

Gunn Shots

{Continued from Inside Front Cover)

the sequels will of course be Wife Act
and Mother Act.

ACTORS GET cuter every day.
A script dealing with the soul strug-
gles of a man who had wanted to
become a priest was approved by both
the Johnston Office and the Catholic
Church. With some misgivings, the
producer offered the role to an actor
whose entire career had consisted of
playing three gangsters and a traffic
cop you wouldn't want around the
children either. This spiritual type
turned the script down cold, saying
loftily: "No Man of God would be-
have like this."

IN THE tribute to Rouben Ma-
moulian in the Saturday Evening
Post, Mr. Mamoulian cites, as ex-
ample of his red-hot originality, the
treatment of a scene so strikingly new
and different that he had trouble
forcing it on the reluctant producer,
Arthur Freed. In his description of
the scene: as the hero gets drunk,
the room (through his eyes) becomes
progressively more elegant, the light-
ing softer and more glamorous, and

a frowzy girl well-dressed and beauti-
ful. Mr. Mamoulian does not men-
tion that before shooting the picture
he was briefly scheduled to direct
Anita Loos' Happy Birthday, in which
as the heroine gets drunk, the room
becomes progressively more elegant,
etc.

VINCENT SHERMAN, a direc-
tor who is a bit inclined to rewrite
on the set, is now working on Don
Juan, from a script by George Oppen-
heimer. The picture is referred to on
the lot as "Sherman's March Through
George."

STORY EDITORS are getting
more ingenious at thinking up ways
to avoid buying new material. A
studio which had just finished a best-
seller now has writers working on
one of the book's sub-plots. Agents
can now plug a novel on the grounds
that it will make three or four great
pictures.

WARNERS' SCRIPT Up Until
Now, first planned as anti-Fascist,
then as anti-Communist, then an-
nounced as both anti-Fascist and anti-
Communist, and finally shelved with-
out explanation, is now being rewrit-
ten by the Saul Elkins budget unit,
but nobody cared to come right out

and mention it on the list of Warners'
pictures for next year.

ACCORDING TO the Variety
list of Top Grossers of '47, Desire
Me, the classic turkey of the year,
will outgross Miracle on ?>Ath St.,
Boomerang, and Crossfire; while It's
A Wonderful Life, supposed to be
unsatisfactory at the box-office, is
ahead of Body and Soul, the smash
hit. Who's kidding whom?

NOW THAT studios are selling
their backlogs of unproduced scripts,
a writer can be his own competition.
One man, writing a vehicle for one
of the Grand Old Girls, found his
project was about to be shelved in
favor of a script he had written for
the same G.O.G. all of six years ago
at another studio. He persuaded his
bosses that the earlier script wasn't
worth the mimeographing cost, kept
his job, and must be quite a diplomat.

ESTIMATED Statistics on WO-
TOT (Writers on Their Own
Time) : 247 are writing novels (all
reported accepted for early publica-
tion) ; 176 are writing plays (mostly
intended to star Helen Hayes, with
the Lunts and Tallulah tying for
second place) ; and 381 are writing
original screenplays or stories (Joan
Crawford is reported interested in
all of them).

Report of Credit Union Committee

The last general meeting to report on the Credit Union Committee was unani-
mously approved by the general membership.

Immediately afterwards the committee met with Mr. Mitchell, the Federal
Credit Union examiner, and Mr. Morris of the council for the Guild.

Application was made to the government for the charter of the Screen Writers'
Federal Credit Union, and Mr. Mitchell gave the opinion that organization might
be completed within thirty days.

Our Credit Union is probably the most important item on the Guild's present
program of economic service to the membership.

Detailed factual report on the opinions of the Credit Union and its value as
a means whereby the working writer can help the other fellow through the present
crisis of unemployment and the conservative safeguards it provides for the protection
of the borrower and the lender is now being prepared for The Screen Writer Magazine.

JACK NATTEFORD

14

Diary of a Dupe Addict

DAVID CHANDLER

SWG member DAVID CHANDLER is
a member of the Editorial Committee,
and a previous
Screen Writer.

contributor to The

September 21. Strange, these headaches I've been
having. Dr. Zillpuss says he finds nothing wrong,
probably just worry and overwork. Says I ought
to relax more. Cannot be sure I like Dr. Zillpuss,
especially the way he says I'm "very normal," just
as if it were an insult. "A fellow like you, college-bred,
middle-class, who's worked in a bank all his life, has
made something of a success of himself, has his beliefs
confirmed every time he opens the papers, you've got
to learn to relax." He says I ought to go to the movies.
I haven't for years. But I will now. Doctor's orders.
However, from what I read in the papers I'd better
be careful about the subtle propaganda they're trying
to put over on us.

September 23. Went to first movie. Had three bags
of the most delicious popcorn, warm and buttery. Slept
like a babe through the pictures, but couldn't get to
sleep at home. Dr. Z. says this normal until adjustment
is made. "Keep on going," he says. I'm beginning to
wonder about Doctor Z. : he wears glasses, reads a lot
of books, his outer office doesn't have the National
Geographic or Life, but it does have back copies of the
Nation. Maybe I'm just being oversensitive in my
present condition — after all, he couldn't be.

September 26. Saw very interesting picture which
takes place at Mexican border. Liked it fine, except
that I forgot to get popcorn. Bought some on way out
to eat at home, but it didn't taste the same there. The
hero of the picture at one point is confronted by the
villain who wants him to do something dastardly and
promises him all kinds of money. The hero refuses.
"Money isn't everything," he says, declaring he's doing
what he's doing to avenge a pal. "Money isn't every-
thing." I never thought of it that way before.

September 27. Zillpuss very pleased at my progress.
Brought myself to ask him about why no Geographies.
"I got tired of all those pictures of airplanes over bul-
lock carts with the caption 'Old and New Meet in
Changing Asia'," he said. Is this significant? Went to
movie before dinner tonight. A snow picture written by

four writers in which the heroine's father, a poor
farmer, who comes to the luxurious hotel to look for his
daughter is told to try the service entrance while all
the time she's in the grand ballroom. It seemed like
a deliberate attempt to make the hardworking farmer,
who, after all, is the backbone of our agricultural
system, ridiculous. Still, he was a fool coming into
the lobby in his muddy boots.

September 30. An exhilarating weekend. Went to
the movies Friday night and came out with a capital
idea. From now on I'm going to bring my own melted
butter. Tried it Saturday at a matinee and it worked
out so fine, I went to an evening show too. Slept fine.
Headaches not so troublesome, but light in street seems
to be bothering eyes. Okay, however, in the dark. Zill-
puss certainly knows his stuff. Must give him credit.
Spent whole day in Bijou. In picture a returned veteran
gets turned down for seat in airplane in favor of busi-
nessman. I thought it was unfortunate, considering how
the vet was on his way home and all.

October 3. Went to dentist. "You sure like pop-
corn," he said on examining the crevices between my
teeth. I told him about bringing own butter, but he
said it wouldn't be practical for him. Outer office has
magazine called American Hygienist. Does this mean
he believes that America isn't as hygienic as it might
be or that he believes it simply isn't hygienic at all
and wants to do something about it? I wish there
were a central agency which could steer us right on all
these isms. It might be a front organization at that.

October 4. Went back to the Bijou because I could-
n't get that scene in the airline office out of my mind.
Unquestionably that businessman was being inconsid-
erate. Never knew such things were possible. Other
scene I'd not realized significance of before: Vet tries
to get loan but lacks collateral and gets turned down
at bank. Bank acted properly, I believe. Still, whole
thing troubled me strangely. Headaches coming back.

October 6. Fine time last night. Three bags of pop-
corn with just the right amount of salt and butter. Saw

15

THE SCREEN WRITER

old picture about country boy who comes to New York
after he inherits fortune but really loves to play tuba.
Liked it fine, but it made me think maybe inheriting a
fortune isn't all I thought it cracked up to be. On way
home found an old magazine in bus. Article by man
named Crumpet or Tiffin or something like that about
that picture I saw at the Bijou. He says businessmen
gave up their airline reservations to veterans and banks
loaned money to vets and the whole thing is an attempt
to discredit businessmen and bankers. He's certainly
right, but so is the picture. These damnable headaches.

October 11. Dr. Z. says see comedies, not to worry
about significance of pictures too much. Just relax.
Relax ! How can you ? Been going to comedies. Butlers
always pompous and English. Made me doubtful about
our relations with Britain. Rich girl always runs away
from home. Made me think how little happiness you
get from wealth. Father hardly ever goes down to place
of business. Made me think how unfair that he should
have all that luxury and do no work. Headaches simply
excruciating.

October 13. Getting very suspicious about Dr. Zill-
puss. May write my congressman for name of good
neurologist who keeps Geographic and Life. Is Z. try-
ing to make a tool of me?

October 14. Broke appointment with Z. Saw light
comedy in which hero, son of wealthy parents, marries
showgirl and goes out West where, as he says, "We
won't ever have any money or position to fight about."
I chuckled. But good heavens, I was staggered at the
realization later of what I'd done.

October 15. Z. very cool. I told him I was consider-
ing giving him subscriptions to National Geographic
and Life for Christmas. "My word," he said, "you
want to wreck my practice?" Now that he has said
that, it does seem to me that the patients I have seen in
his outer office wear glasses and read those copies of
the Nation. Also — he has lately taken to getting the
New Republic edited by That Man. Saw copies of the
New Yorker and thought maybe that would be light,
but it turned out that they were subtly trying to say
that trouble with the world is that everybody is trying
to hold fast to old beliefs. Sounded persuasive until I
realized that I always believed trouble with the world
is that we're always right and they're always wrong
and won't do what we know they should do. Still, I
shouldn't be surprised. We know what New York is
a hotbed of. Went back to Bijou. Caught something
else in that picture. One soldier's father is pathetic,
drunken and slovenly. Made me think maybe family
isn't all it's cracked up to be.

October 16-27. Have been very lazy with this. Go-

ing to movies all the time. Papers full of stuff about
Washington. Dr. Z. laughs at it and urges me to keep
on with relaxing in movie houses. Says I should find an
essay by Thomas Mann (pronounced MaHHHHn —
obviously a foreigner, I didn't lose the significance, no
matter what Z. thinks of me) about going to movies
where the semi-dark is itself restful. That's true enough,
but I'm beginning to think it's all a racket. That actor
in Washington certainly made sense. I always thought
he was a pretty boy with no brains, but he sure is alert.
Still, I can't help feeling that most of the people I've
seen in the movies act more or less reasonably. Then
I read the papers and learn they've only been sugarcoat-
ing the pill to get their subversive messages across.
These headaches!

October 29. Went to Hitching' Post in search of
movies with absolutely no significance. Good gravy,
these western things are rotten to the core with sub-
versive isms. Man trying to steal ranch away from
heroine's father works for eastern bankers. Hero finds
rustler despite clumsy attempts of sheriff to handle mat-
ter himself, making a fool of law and police officers. Girl
kisses masked hero, disgracing virtue of pioneer woman.
How I wish they'd subpoena me ! I've become an author-
ity. Still it was a good picture. I wonder if it would
be possible to change neurologists and ask new one to
fill out kind of loyalty test, to make sure I wasn't being
made a tool of anything. Headaches are so trouble-
some even popcorn seems tiresome. Or could it be people
are destroying flavor of popcorn to make us more
amenable to exported stuff?

November 5. Dr. Z. very coolly told me he had sug-
gested movies as a relaxation. Told me I was not going
to them in the proper frame of mind. "Let the words,
music and lights wash over you lightly ; remember that
here is one art-form in which everything ends, nothing
is incomplete, everything has an answer because sooner
or later the projectionist runs out of spools and calls
it a night." I got pretty angry at this, told him it was
my duty not to be used as an unwitting tool. He said
something about paranoia, but big words don't frighten
me any more. "And what about those magazines out
there, doctor?" I shouted at him. "What kind of fool
do you take me for?" He wanted to know if I have any
relatives in town. "What's that got to do with it?" I
exclaimed. "I just want to know." He gave me a
sedative and I felt better. But all night long I dreamed
I was being pumped for secrets. What do I know that's
secret ?

November 10. Well, this has really made me furious.
Went to see a picture supposed to be an innocent cos-
tume affair, but that business in Washington has made
me fully aware of the devious methods of the picture's

16

writers. Here was a girl, a nobody, really just a slut,
and she gets kings and everybody crazy about her. Try-
ing to get us to believe that people of quality have no
judgment, of course. Rushed to see Dr. Z. and broke
into his office shouting, "Now I understand what you're
trying to do to me. You've been spoonfeeding me propa-
ganda." I'm afraid I threw a lamp at him. "I'm not
going to be an innocent dupe any longer. And what
about those magazines? And what have you done to
my popcorn?" Someone came up from behind me,
pinned my arms. Dr. Z. said, "Luckily for you, I've

DIARY OF A DUPE ADDICT

got your brother's signature on this." He waved a piece
of paper before my face. "In no time at all we should
have you adjusted." He must have given me a sedative.
When I woke up I found myself at this very pleasant
place in the country. It looks like a big hotel. I asked
for popcorn with plenty of butter and a fine big man
brought me a big bag. He says I can have all the pop-
corn I want so long as I'm a good boy. I'm going to like
it here, I can see that. They say I won't have to go to
the movies ever, ever, ever. This is my idea of a way
of life.

^

THE SCREEN WRITER is often confronted with the problem of filler-
how to occupy just such a space as this. We don't like to waste it but at the same
time we are not interested in the conventional filler, stating that there are 406 dogs
and only 89 fire plugs in Galva, Illinois, nor are we excited over the annual rainfall
in Guatemala. What we need are suggestions, ideas and anecdotes of interest and
information to the general membership. If you have something to say and can say
it in 300 words, let us have a crack at it. All contributions must be signed.

17

The Current Literary Market

BARTHOLD FLES

BART HOLD FLES, a New York liter-
ary agent, is well known to film writers.

IT is a melancholy fact that a great many screen
writers have lost their ability to produce material
for publication, if indeed they were ever interested
in writing for the book and magazine market. Indubi-
tably it takes a good deal of hard work, the seat-of-the-
pants-to-the-seat-of-the-chair type of application, to cre-
ate something that is up to present-day Eastern stand-
ards. Furthermore, the Western writer often feels he
would be free-lancing into a void, for he can have little
conception of the market's requirements today. And yet
it is well worth his while to consider this aspect of his
profession.

Many a screen writer, when his contract is settled
or when unable to find employment in the studios, turns
to the production of screen originals. Hence, there is
today an over-supply of original screen stories, with
comparatively little demand.

Writing for the screen demands a special technique,
based on an auditory and visual, rather than a reading
reaction, with the accent on plot and dialogue, while
originals are written with a view to impressing pro-
ducers, directors and stars. Hence, the screen writer has
acquired a facility to create in the three-act play form,
translatable in screen terminology; or, in the case of
originals, a knack for diverting the eventual purchaser
with a slick style, novel gimmicks, twists and such-like
trickery — all of which may make for entertainment,
pace, and sales, and often does, but is hardly conducive
to literary quality. The demands of Hollywood are by
no means those of the East Coast.

On the whole, writing for the screen is a collabora-
tive effort; even though treatment or screen play may
be the product of one brain, by the time and often
while the story is transferred to the screen, director,
producer and even actors have altered it, sometimes
beyond recognition. Then, too, few screen plays are
read by anyone outside the industry, and still fewer
published. Yet almost every screen writer must have
an occasional twinge of conscience — the uneasy feeling
that every writer has his inevitable alter ego, his nat-

ural collaborator, that is, his reader. In other words,
the writer wants to publish what he writes, with no
alien and probably unsympathetic interference.

"^TO one wants to write for his desk; publishing is
■*■ ^ an integral part of creative writing. Hence, the
screen writer is hesitant about composing a manuscript,
which means months of intensive work — and with little
expectation of publication. He bitterly remembers for-
mer conditions: the popularity of the ubiquitous boy-
meets-girl formula, the many taboos, the catering to
names — in the slicks; and in the book field, the neces-
sity of finishing a fiction manuscript before offering it.
Too, he will find on the Strip scarcely any sympathetic
agents, able to give him constructive advice or to market
his material, except through their correspondents —
Eastern literary agents who are generally a mere letter-
head to him. True, increasingly, a roaming editor or
publisher finds his way to Hollywood, but that is merely
a matter of chance ; and these unfortunate scouts usually
spend a scant week or so on the Coast — barely time
to meet a favored few of their intended victims over
a cocktail.

It may be instructive, then, to quote from a circular
letter sent out recently by the editors of the Curtis
publications — Saturday Evening Post, Ladies' Home
Journal and Country Gentleman — to literary agents:

We have been observing of late that too often
a new short-story writer has appeared, shown great
promise, and then gone into some other writing
field. In some cases, experienced writers have turned
from the short story to books, movies, etc. We
believe that this is due, at least in part, to the fact
that the short-story rates have not kept pace, espe-
cially in the lower brackets, with the rise in general
price levels. In order to attract new writers to the
short-story field and to make its financial awards
sufficient to hold them, we are announcing a new
policy by which we hope, with your cooperation,
to accomplish these results.

18

THE SCREEN WRITER

THE editors then quote the new prices — $750 for
a "first" story, as heretofore; but $1,000 for the
next one, $1,250 for the third, and beginning with
the sixth, "if steady production has been maintained,"
the minimum will be $1,500. They add:

Subsequent increases will be a matter of negoti-
ation in each individual case, but the same policy
of rewarding consistency in production and im-
provement in quality will be followed.

In each case the prices quoted are minimums.
If a story impresses us as worth more than the
scheduled figure, we shall pay more for it, and if
supply-and-demand has raised an author's rate
before his next increase from us is due, we shall
naturally meet the newly established price.

Other magazines in the slick field of course have fol-
lowed suit. Good Housekeeping has had a minimum of
$800 for a "first" ; Cosmopolitan recently raised the
ante to $850; Woman's Home Companion promptly
proclaimed that it would not allow itself to be outbid
by any other magazine.

These bids for authors are not merely straws in the
wind. In the magazine field, at least, this is still a
sellers' market.

Nor is this all. In the past several years, slick maga-
zines have increasingly bought fiction that until recently
would have found a place only in the quality market.
Why sell a story for $25 to Story magazine if one can
get $750 for the same yarn from a slick — and have a far
larger audience (millions instead of thousands) ? That
is, unless one craves the prestige of a high-brow journal.

As for taboos, most of them have been discarded;
today, editors are guided mainly by the precepts of
good taste. Social and racial questions are no longer
infra dig — as witness the publication in Cosmopolitan
of Gentleman's Agreement, and the appearance of the
Negro as main protagonist, rather than a servant or a
quaint character, in many slick periodicals.

Though the "happy ending" is still with us, it is
no longer de rigeur either; the somber or imaginative
narrative stands an equally good chance in our new
slicks, if well handled.

In the book field, publishers know full well that
the new writer is the red blood of the trade; and
though the president of Little, Brown in a recent pessi-
mistic Atlantic Monthly article expressed the consensus
of the book trade, still he realized — and emphasizes —
that without writers there would be no books. His own
company published eight first novels this year out of a
fiction list of 24 titles, which is indicative of publishers'
general policy. And this in the face of much increased
manufacturing costs, as quoted by Mr. Mclntyre of

Little, Brown, and by Bennett Cerf, of Random House,
in the Saturday Review of Literature.

AFTER a recent scouting trip to California, I made
an informal survey of the book field. Referring to
my notes after three dozen Algonquin, Ritz, Oak
Room, Caviar and Champs Elysees lunches — thought-
fully provided by the various editors — I find such
desiderata as : "good literary first novels, quality biogra-
phies (there's a dearth of them), historical fiction,
humor, Americana; names almost immaterial." And
yet it is an axiom that publishers almost inevitably lose
money on first novels. The various contests and fellow-
ships also show the desire on the part of the publishers
to find and develop new talent and enable better-known
names, too, to produce literary wares. But writing a
book, as every author knows, is a luxury; its publica-
tion is useful as an anchor, and facilitates the placing
of short stories.

Most screen writers know that publication in book
or magazine form enhances a property's value, for sev-
eral reasons: the publicity involved, the fact that thou-
sands, and in the case of magazine material, millions,
become familiar with title, story and author's name.
The prestige itself is valuable; many stars prefer to
appear in pictures based on published material, which
makes the property more saleable, particularly to inde-
pendents who largely depend for their acting talent
on loan-outs. Then, too, this increased prestige influ-
ences the writers' value as an employee, helps him in
getting jobs, etc. This beneficial effect starts the moment
the property is placed — and thus before actual publica-
tion. Some members of the profession have been smart
enough to await sale or even publication before allow-
ing their picture agents to put property on the market,
often with spectacular results. Everyone knows the
value in Hollywood of a book club selection.

Now, as for some pertinent — or impertinent — sug-
gestions : ( 1 ) Read the magazines for which you want
to write; (2) (if you are out of practice) start with
some finger exercises — write a few short stories, or
sketches, or almost anything at all, as a preparation;
(3) select a multiple market — in other words, slant
your stuff toward a type of magazine of which there
are several, rather than one example; too many start-
ing or re-starting authors do the kind of sketch that
is publishable exclusively in the New Yorker or Esquire
(better yet: don't think about slanting; write what
you want to write!) ; (4) don't write down to your
audience.

Concretely, magazines like the following lengths:
the short short (1,500-1,800) ; the novelette (12,000-
25,000) ; the one-shot (25,000-40,000) ; the two-

19

THE CURRENT LITERARY MARKET

parter (approximately 30,000); the serial (40,000
words and up, with due regard to sub-climax at the
end of each instalment and a wallop at the finish). The
serial can often be sold as a book, or, conversely, the
book as a serial, thus making it a double threat. And
$25,000 for a serial is not exceptional.

13 OOK publishers will buy material on the basis

■*-' of completed manuscript, or an outline plus samples
of text. That outline may be in the form of a synopsis,
a chapter-by-chapter precis, or even a letter; the sam-
ples, preferably aggregating about 100 pages, or 30,000
words, may be any chapters, not necessarily the first,
but in near-final form, so as to give the publisher a
reasonable idea of what the finished product will be
like. Because of high manufacturing expenses, the short
book (with a minimum of about 40,000 words) is
again popular.

As for advances, there are two schools of thought;
the first demands all the traffic will bear, on the basis
of getting while the getting is good ; while the other

subscribes to the theory of giving the publisher a chance
to recoup his advance while spending more money on
publicity and advertising. It may be best to strike an
average between these two extremes.

As for the problem of selecting a literary agent: as
mentioned before, most Hollywood agents have their
New York correspondents ; and any editor or publisher,
or the Authors' Guild, will be glad to recommend a
number of prospects; or you can ask a colleague for
the name of his Eastern agent.

The screenwriter, though frequently handicapped
by ignorance of Eastern conditions, by fear, disinclina-
tion, lack of encouragement, lack of practice — or by
just plain laziness — is in reality ideally equipped to
break into publication under present-day conditions.
Once he is freed from the limitations too often forced
upon him by the Breen office or, indirectly, by narrow-
minded pressure groups, he can bring to American
letters a fresh perspective.

And there is little likelihood that the red scare will
catch up with the book and magazine world.

Le Cannet, December 21st, 1947
The Screen Writers' Guild, Inc.
Hollywood, California.
Dear Sirs:

A visit which I paid to U.S.A. a few years before the war inspired me with
the theme for a screen play. I have written a summary of the play, but I am not
sufficiently gifted to write the dialogues.

I should, therefore, like to ask you if it would be possible for you to put me
in touch with one of your members who would care to take on and develop the script.
The subject is patho-comic, Charlie Chaplin style.
Thanking you,

I remain, dear Sirs,
Yours truly,

R. ANSAY

28, rue Centrale

Le Cannet, A.M. France

20

Two Heads Are Worse Than One

(Especially if They're on You)

DON HARTMAN

SfVG member DON HARTMAN is a
previous contributor to The Screen
Writer. Among his screen writing cred-
its are The Kid From Brooklyn,
Down To Earth and It Had To Be
You.

FOR fifteen years I got along fine as a writer,
except that every time I looked at the stuff on the
screen some evil voice inside of me whispered
"You could do it better yourself, dream boy." Once
William Wyler directed a picture I wrote with Steve
Avery and nothing whispered so I sent him a five page
love letter. I slept wonderfully that night. A few
months later another picture was released and the
"voice" started picking on me again. It's been like that
for years. So, rather than toss and tumble all night
forever I recently asked Harry Cohn to let me direct
Ginger Rogers and Cornel Wilde in // Had To Be
You. I waited with pounding heart, hoping he would
refuse me. But he smiled and said very simply, "Good
idea. Go ahead." I went back to my office and toyed all
afternoon with the prospect of tossing myself out the
window. Then I got a brilliant flash. Ginger Rogers
would never accept me! I would tell her at once, she
would protest, and I would be free.

I drove through traffic like a man possessed. I was
so out of breath when I broke the news to her that
she mistook my excitement for enthusiasm and I was
lost. She said Billy Wilder directed her for his "first"
and she was simply delighted with the result. I pleaded
with her to be cautious — I wasn't Billy Wilder. She
said my modesty was charming. I said I didn't know
anything about the camera. She said McCarey, Capra
and Stevens never worried about the camera, they wor-
ried about the actors. The more I tore myself down
the surer she was of my 'genius.' I gave up in despair.
I had one more out. Cornel Wilde. I rushed to his
house and fairly broke down the door. What did he
think of me directing him in his first big comedy role —
a role that could advance his career considerably or
ruin him? He thought the idea was splendid. Couldn't
be happier. I named a dozen other experienced directors

I could get and asked him to consider the matter very
carefully. He was adamant. He still thought I would
be perfect. I countered that I hadn't been feeling too
well lately and that directing was quite a nervous
strain. He maintained it was just the stimulus I needed.
Before I could show him my coated tongue he called
the newspapers and announced that I was going to
direct his next picture. I desperately needed the drink
he gave me.

THE Great Day grew nearer and nearer, and I got
more and more frightened. People around the
studio started treating me like a director and I had to
act as if I knew what I was talking about. Finally,
one week before shooting time I decided to do some-
thing drastic. I hadn't really slept for two weeks. I
went to Harry Cohn and confessed that it was all a
mistake, that I didn't even know what to do with the
camera. He told me to stop worrying ; he had complete
confidence in me and would give me two million dol-
lars to spend on the picture. I wondered just how badly
carbon monoxide discolors the human body, and how
soon my wife would re-marry.

Then I hit upon a solution. Rudy Mate one of the
ablest cameramen in Hollywood, could direct the
camera and I would direct the actors. When I broke
the news to Rudy he was very pleased. I lost all my
fears and was the happiest man in town — for about a
week.

THE Great Day came. I set two alarm clocks and
had an assistant telephone to be sure and wake me
up. I had a horror of being late the first day and I'm a
fellow who loves to sleep. I wondered what to wear.
Mustn't look too Hollywood. I changed clothes a

21

THE SCREEN WRITER

dozen times, trying to appear casual. I ate a light break-
fast, took a phenobarbital, and headed for the studio.
I noticed people on the street more that morning than
ever before in my life. I felt sorry, in a way, for all of
them. Where were THEY going? I was going to di-
rect my first picture! Immediately I was terrified all
over again. What if I just kept on driving until I came
to some small town and lost myself. I could smuggle
word back to my wife, and she could sell the house and
cash in the war bonds. Might not cost much to live in a
little desert hideaway. We could probably go on for
years. Would my disappearance be in the newspapers?
What would they say? Surely they would print SOME-
THING about it! At least the trade papers! But there
I was at Gower and Sunset. So I strolled as noncha-
lantly as possible onto Stage Nine. I had three wedding
scenes to shoot that day with all the principals and two
hundred extras. All eyes were on me for instructions.
I felt like a Boy Scout who had suddenly been trans-
formed into General Eisenhower. Here was the mo-
ment for the first command. One word, one gesture, and
*ll hell would break loose!

For some reason that I shall never understand, I

suddenly found myself making a speech to the entire
company — something about the general tone of the
picture and the hope that we would all be very happy
together, and how much I would really appreciate the
cooperation and help of the cast and crew. I really
poured my soul into that last part. Five minutes later
we were rehearsing and two hours after that I was
calling "Action!" and "Cut!" and "Print it!" without
my voice cracking.

I know this would be a better yarn if I could tell
you that they carried me out in a state of hysteria, and
that I was only able to continue by having an analyst
on the set every day thereafter. But, alas, one hour in
the battle makes one a veteran. Added to this is a little
touch that could only happen in Hollywood. The actors
are so used to living in a world of make-believe that
it is easy for them to pretend. And I shall be forever
grateful that they all joined forces as if by some secret
code, and pretended that I was an old timer who really
knew his onions.

I can't wait to get started on another picture, and I
hope next time they won't have to make believe. Me
either.

22

Professional Group Accident and
Sickness Insurance

After two years of careful study, a tailor-made plan for a group insurance
covering accident, hospitalization and sick benefits for members of the Screen Writers'
Guild has been completed. This policy, drawn for a group, will cost a little more
than half of what it would for individuals.

Sheridan Gibney has signed the official papers and letters, and applications have
been sent to all active members.

Members of the Screen Writers' Guild are urged to read carefully the details
regarding this excellent insurance policy which will be covered by The National
Casualty Co. of Detroit. No medical examination is necessary. All members respond-
ing within the specified time will be accepted regardless of previous health histories.

However, this plan CANNOT GO INTO EFFECT unless a minimum of
fifty percent of the membership signs applications. Therefore, if you have received the
detailed explanation of the Professional Group Accident and Sickness Insurance as
drawn up by George P. Quigley, insurance broker, please read it carefully and without
delay. If you are one of the great majority of members who advocate group insurance
for screen writers, sign your application AT ONCE and return it to the Screen
Writers' Guild so that all insurance policies can be put into immediate effect.

Remember, accidents, appendectomies and ailments have an insolent disregard
for assignments, lack of assignments, outstanding bills or a depleted bank account.

— ERNA LAZARUS

Screen Writers' Guild Studio Chairmen

(January 26, 1948)

Columbia — Louella MacFarlane; alternate, Edward Republic — Sloan Nibley; alternate, Patrick Ford.

Huebsch. ™T^^ *-» .f*r • • i -.» • t. ••

RKO — Daniel Mainwanng ; alternate, Martin Rackin.

MGM — Anne Chapin; alternate, Sonya Levien; Jos-
eph Ansen, Robert Nathan, and George Wells, 20th Century-Fox — Richard Murphy; alternate,
Studio Committee. Wanda Tuchock.

Paramount — Theodore Strauss; alternate, Richard Universal-International— D. D. Beauchamp.

Breen. , Warners — James Webb ; alternate, Edmund North.

23

SCREEN WRITERS* GUILD, INC.

16SS NO. CHEROKEE AVE., HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA
AFFILIATED WITH AUTHORS' LEAGUE OF AMERICA, INC.

OFFICERS & EXECUTIVE BOARD, THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD: PRESIDENT:
SHERIDAN GIBNEY; 1ST VICE-PRESIDENT, GEORGE SEATON; 2ND VICE-PRESI-
DENT, F. HUGH HERBERT; 3RD VICE-PRESIDENT, DWIGHT TAYLOR; SECRETARY,
ARTHUR SHEEKMAN; TREASURER, HARRY TUGEND. EXECUTIVE BOARD: ROB-
ERT ARDREY, ART ARTHUR, STEPHEN MOREHOUSE AVERY, CLAUDE BINYON,
CHARLES BRACKETT, FRANK CAVETT, OLIVE COOPER, VALENTINE DAVIES,
RICHARD ENGLISH, EVERETT FREEMAN, PAUL GANGELIN, ALBERT HACKETT,
MILTON KRIMS, ERNEST PASCAL, LEONARD SPIGELGASS. COUNSEL, MORRIS E.
COHN, ASSISTANT SECRETARY, ALICE PENNEMAN.

EDITO RIAL

THE CASE OF THE HOLLYWOOD REPORTER

IN these days in which the Screen Writers' Guild and the whole motion pic-
ture industry is beset by major problems, it is perhaps heartening to note that
the dry rot fringe is still with us. It is the one sign of normalcy in an era of
unemployment, a rapidly declining foreign market, proposed censorship, and
a concerted attack on the entire motion picture industry by politicians with a
nice eye for the headlines. The Screen Writers' Guild, now nearing its fifteenth
year in the industry, can find only one familiar sign in the heavens: the Holly-
wood Reporter and Mr. William Wilkerson, its owner and editor, are still
viewing us with alarm.

This is, perhaps, as it should be. Both the Screen Writers' Guild and Mr.
Wilkerson are, in a sense, special pleaders. The Guild, whose sole and vital
concern is the professional interests of its members, represents labor, something
that Mr. Wilkerson, as a representative voice of reaction, must categorically
oppose. Through the editorial column of his trade paper he has consistently
attacked this Guild, its membership and board. We have served as a nice
whipping boy for one who makes up in fury what he lacks in soundness.

It is the opinion of many that the Hollywood Reporter, being properly
catalogued in the industry as the rich man's newspaper, is hardly a large enough
subject for an editorial. Normally, that would be true. But now with the whole
future of the industry vitally concerned with public opinion and a united front
in times of adversity, Mr. Wilkerson has finally achieved stature. At long last we
find that the Hollywood Reporter, like athlete's foot, cannot always be ignored.

An examination of the manner in which Mr. Wilkerson conducts his trade
paper may be of some value. It lives on two things: advertising and a gossip
column. As the Screen Writers' Guild membership long since voted against any

24

EDITORIAL

form of professional advertising our names were jotted down in his little black
book. For a number of years the authors of original stories and screenplays
were never mentioned in his reviews. Even when he was most hysterically
charmed with a picture, a charm that did not necessarily mean he had been in
any way influenced by the advertising department, he carefully refrained from
mentioning there must have been someone who wrote the story.

Mr. Wilkerson was quite within his rights in so doing. There are many
people who still like the stork fable and others who like the Topsy legend, and
the Hollywood Reporter was among them. He had handed down an edict that
there were no such things as screen writers and that stories just grew and there
was just one unsightly blemish in the private world of William Wilkerson.
There was another trade paper called The Daily Variety and while it received
no advertising from writers either, it consistently mentioned the fact that there
were such things. Dwelling in a partisan world, Mr. Wilkerson felt this was
a dangerous thing. But unable to do much about it, he turned his spleen on the
source of his discontent: the writers, and the way they went around demanding
their rights just as if they were producers or exhibitors. Mr. Wilkerson always
had an eye for treason.

He had his great chance to become a defender of the faith when nine mem-
bers of this guild of 1400 were cited for contempt by the House of Represent-
atives' Committee to Investigate Un-American Activities. No man to be caught
with his flag down, Mr. Wilkerson charged into the fray, handsomely mounted
on his editorial column. That the Guild has no control over the actions nor any
legal or moral responsibility for the failure of these nine members to answer
questions regarding their private convictions was all the Hollywood Reporter
needed. Mr. Wilkerson became a committee of one, dedicated to indicting the
whole Screen Writers' Guild.

He was, we were to learn, a man who had always worn rose colored glasses.
The final proof of the treachery of the entire Guild was soon revealed in his
editorial column. The Guild had an election, something that happens each
year, and while it elected a president, officers and an executive board who can
and will comply with the Taft-Hartley stipulations if it becomes necessary,
this "sweetly smelling new board" was but another dagger in his side. The board
went after the problems regarding the entire membership, without asking who
was right and who was left, and this was the real dirty work at the crossroads.
Not a member of the Guild was lynched and Mr. Wilkerson's chagrin grew
more violent with each editorial.

His last attack on this Guild appeared in the Hollywood Reporter of Jan-
uary 19th, This Year of Fright. Sheridan Gibney, as president, was personally
invited to prove he was a 200% American and the editorial ended with the
burning demand that Mr. Gibney "stand up and be counted." Mr. Gibney, while
somewhat confused at finding himself so suddenly regarded in the plural, prompt-
ly dispatched a letter to Mr. Wilkerson. He asked that his reply be printed in
the pages of the Reporter and at the time this magazine went to press Mr. Wil-
kerson had managed to avoid doing this.

25

THE SCREEN WRITER

TT HAT brings us to a point often raised with newspapers and magazines in
this country. It involves the use of the word "ethics." This is a six-letter
word found in the most elementary dictionaries and the general press of the
nation. It involves making retractions when misstatements are proven, it in-
volves giving a person attacked the privilege of replying in the paper in which
he was attacked, it involves many things that even a publisher who was only
100% American should know. But Mr. Wilkerson feels his subscribers deserve
only what he has personally screened for them.

If Mr. Wilkerson had wished to prove he was not yet ready to become Jack
Armstrong, All American Boy, he could not have chosen a better method. It
does not matter now whether he finally prints Mr. Gibney's letter or not. For,
following an elementary rule of dubious journalism, there are editors who delay
such letters and demands for retractions until the original injury has been almost
forgotten, except by those injured. The delay stops the reader from recalling
just exactly what was said in the first place and, in the case of Mr. Wilkerson,
it also affords him time to ponder an answer. There is always the chance that
during this stagewait, Mr. Gibney or one of the members of the board will be
proven a member of some subversive group such as the Elks or American Le-
gion and can be hung from another street lamp.

"VTOW, for the benefit of anyone who came in late, herewith is a copy of Sheri-
dan Gibney's letter to the above mentioned party. It is printed in full, with-
out benefit of capitals, exclamation points or those other gimmicks so thought-
fully used in Mr. Wilkerson's paper. All it says is what it says.

Mr. W. R. Wilkerson "January 19, 1948

Hollywood Reporter
Hollywood, California.

Dear Mr. Wilkerson:

Again I find it necessary to answer your attack upon the Execu-
tive Board of the Screen Writers' Guild appearing in your Trade Views
of January 19. This time you attack both the Board and me personally
in the following words:

'Sheridan Gibney and his new Board have done little to clear
the air. Rather than take a clear-cut stand against the Reds, they
have been content to piddle around with words and technicalities.
To claim that a writer's politics is not the business of the Guild,
IF those politics consist of being an agent of a foreign power, is
dangerous nonsense. This IS the business of the Guild. Instead of
shielding such people, the Guild should make every effort to ex-
pose them.'

In answer to this impertinent and irresponsible charge I can only
say that no department of the United States government, which is prop-
erly concerned with such matters, has yet informed the Screen Writers'
Guild that it was shielding agents of a foreign power or has solicited

26

THE SCREEN WRITER

our aid in exposing them. It seems to me highly improper that you
should supersede the authority of the FBI, the Department of Justice,
and the Congress of the United States and take it upon yourself to tell
me or anyone else what his duties are as an American citizen; and in so
far as my duties as president of the Screen Writers' Guild are con-
cerned, I shall hold myself answerable only to the members of the or-
ganization, its Constitution and By-laws.

I am also firmly convinced that your repeated attacks upon the
Screen Writers' Guild are performing a great disservice to the mo-
tion picture industry and immeasurably damaging it in the eyes of the
public; therefore I shall make it my business to bring this matter to
the attention of the All-Industry Public Relations Committee.

Will you please print this letter at the earliest possible moment
in the Hollywood Reporter}

Sincerely,

SHERIDAN GIBNEY"

In continuing this examination of the dry rot that should hardly be of value
to an industry intent on getting on a sound basis, both economically and in a
public relations sense, we might ponder over whether Mr. Wilkerson, in his own
Topsy tradition, just grew. If so he should be recalled with some lingering nos-
talgia, not unlike Henry's Restaurant, the Montmartre Cafe, and the night the
Marx Brothers put their footprints in Grauman's Chinese Theater.

If by any chance he had a forced growth it is about time the moonlight
waltz ended. Not that it hasn't been lovely but there are big things stirring in
the world, in this country, and in our own business. At this very moment when
all groups within the industry are endeavoring to create a public relations com-
mittee, Mr. Wilkerson's continued discords in selecting any one group as his
private whipping boy and subject of rainy day editorials belong in the past. The
future is a rugged one and hardly the place for a tone deaf editor.

When, with other labor groups and guilds, we become an integrated part of
a Public Relations Committee that is striving to present a true picture of the
Hollywood scene to the American public, we trust Mr. Wilkerson will discover
his bass drum is a bit outdated. In the past he beat it with such violence that
it sounded like many things, and no one could tell which was the beat and which
was the echo.

It is not that we expect a man of his mature years to suddenly love us as
brothers. But as a punching bag who served him well we just want to remind
him that even punching bags sometimes fly out of the socket and, sadly enough,
tag the man who has beat them so lovingly and for so many years.

There is a future ahead for Hollywood that is going to be precisely what
we make it. Mr. Wilkerson has always been a great one for parades and now
that he sees it coming down the street perhaps we could ask him one question.

In his own phrase, would he now like to stand up and be counted?

RICHARD ENGLISH

27

Hollywood! YouVe Been Warned

NORMAN LEE

NORMAN LEE is the well-known Brit-
ish writer-director. A member of the
British Screen Writers' Association, he
is a novelist, and the author of A Film
Is Born, a review of the world film
industry.

ONCE Hollywood produced the best films in the
world. That was back in the 1930's. But during
the war, making use of her screens for propa-
ganda, Britain partially closed the gap. She drew almost
level with the American product. Now, in the Peace,
she has raced so far ahead that you can hardly see Holly-
wood's stars for the dust kicked up by our own James
Mason.

Having got away to a flying start Britain is deter-
mined never to fall too far behind. Some Britishers
think we have got Hollywood licked. And that if things
get really bad down California way we might buy the
joints.

This is not my idea, or the view held by competent
film authorities here. We realize that Hollywood has
plenty on the ball but you can't blame us for making
the best of our good luck.

In case the Hollywood moguls aren't aware of the
menace to their security I am giving them a friendly
warning. In a colony where Yes-Men are paramount
it well may be that the Metro lion is slumbering. But
lions have a way of suddenly roaring into action just
when you think they are comatose.

There was a time when, here in Britain, any old
Hollywood love picture would lure the English woman
from her pots and pans to wallow in the sticky senti-
ments of the current film fashions.

But Love as a film topic hasn't quite the same pull
now. Once it was the core of an English woman's ex-
istence. But seven years of war made a lot of changes;
mostly temporary ones but changes just the same. Talk
to the average woman over here about sex and she looks
faintly bored. Mention a three-point steak, chicken-en-
casserole or Nylons and her eyes glitter and her bosom
begins to heave.

Let me quote you from a speech by Dr. Wand,
Bishop of London:

"From Hollywood our young women are taught that
love is an overwhelming impulse, without rhyme or

reason, which must at all costs be obeyed. It does not
matter if it implies stealing someone else's husband or
fiance. It does not matter whether every single con-
sideration of suitability would be against its satisfac-
tion. Anyone who would dare to put an obstacle in the
way is regarded not merely as a spoil-sport but as a
positive enemy of the human race."

The Bishop doesn't finish there.

He adds:

"As this is the kind of idea which is impressed upon
the rising generation in most of the films they see, it
is small wonder that so many disasters occur.

"There is, in fact, going on an extensive propaganda,
probably all the more insidious because it is not delib-
erate, against the whole traditional conception of the
proper relation between the sexes."

Dr. Wand expresses what the British people are
thinking for themselves, believe it or not.

To us love and glamour is no longer the beginning
and the end. We have become a grim, down-to-earth
people, fighting for existence. That is why we say that
a sordid, depressing picture like Odd Man Out is a
masterpiece. We see in it the reflection of our recent
lives. But Rita Hayworth, draped in white mink,
drinking champagne at the Silver Horseshoe, doesn't
mean a thing. We don't believe it and we wouldn't care
if we did.

BRITISH films are on the top because they do not
pander to out-of-date emotional ideas. They pre-
sent simple, modern problems in a vital way. Simplicity
is, in fact, the keynote. Our films get to the heart of
things. They are less concerned with what people do
than what they think. The psychological slant. Mental
perception, rather than physical action.

That doesn't mean that we can't be tough in our pic-
tures. In our own way we can. Not in the Bogart-
Ladd-Bacall tradition, perhaps. But if you want to

28

HOLLYWOOD! YOU'VE BEEN WARNED

see how the British handle a tough subject, catch up on
Odd Man Out. It stars James Mason. (British films
often do.) In this picture Mason displays a courage
and resolution that makes H. Bogart look like a small
boy with a toy pistol.

In certain specialist lines Hollywood has it all oVer
Britain. The Virginians, Grand Canyon, Abilene
Town, Stage Coach, The Chisholm Trail, Gone With
the Wind, Duel in the Sun. Any wide-open spaces
story based on American history. We came close with
our Australian cattle film The Overlanders, but Amer-
ica had already blazed the trail with The Thundering
Herd.

We have never surpassed America's Saratoga Trunk,
Gilda, Love Letters, They Were Expendable, The
House on 92nd Street or that magnificent epic, The
Fighting Lady.

And we could not, with all our resources brought
to bear, have excelled The Best Years of Our Lives.
We have no director in Great Britain to equal William
Wyler. And we have nothing like Orson Welles. Or
producers who can overshadow David O. Selznick or
that pulsating genius Darryl Zanuck.

Because we are a sober nation I doubt if we could
have produced The Lost Week-End. The Americans,
at first hand, know more about hootch (and missing
week-ends) than we do. They have had Prohibition;
we have not.

AMERICANS can easily best the British at com-
edy. Hollywood's slick, glittering funnies are in-
comparable. I have written over 40 British comedies
and would give my income tax rebates for ten years to
have turned out one film half as good as The Bride
Wore Boots.

Before the (last) war British screen players were
practically unknown in America. (Many were un-
known twenty miles from London.) But today most
Americans have heard of Margaret ("Wicked Lady")
Lockwood, Anne ("Queen Victoria") Neagle, Ann
("Seventh Veil") Todd and Laurence ("Henry V")
Olivier. Pat Roc, Phyllis Calvert, Pat Kirkwood and
(of course) James Mason are already internationally
famous.

It proves we have also learned how to advertise. Ten
years ago even James Mason wouldn't have taken a
van load of wild cats to America. Or lambasted his
bosses in print. (And remember that Cyril Gardner, Ida
Lupino, Errol Flynn, Claude Rains, Cary Grant,
David Niven, Madeline Carroll and Vivien Leigh are
also British. Even Greer Garson hails from Northern
Ireland, a British province.) And one of Hollywood's
leading directors, Alfred Hitchcock, is a London lad.

British films recently appearing in America include
Great Expectations, Stairway to Heaven, Brief En-
counter, The Adventuress, Way to the Stars, The
Seventh Veil and Odd Man Out.

In certain technical departments Hollywood is ahead
of us. And where not ahead of us she taught us all we
know.

Photography, for instance. I think America con-
tributed greatly to the education of our photographers,
who are now among the best in the world. But not in
the colour medium. Technicolor still leads. That is the
position as I see it today. Tomorrow may change every-
thing. Before long we Britishers may be using German
Agfa. There is no colour medium to beat it.

AMERICA has made immense strides in sound
equipment. But in the imaginative use of sound we
can equal anything Hollywood has produced. British
director Alfred Hitchcock was the first to use sound
with any degree of art in the first English all-talkie
Blackmail.

One of the drawbacks to the production of success-
ful entertainment is interference. When Big Business
sits on the shoulders of creative artists the result is
usually hotch-potch. Bankers cannot make great mo-
tion pictures, not even good ones. Not even British
bankers.

In Britain all that muddling, nerve-wracking inter-
ference is going by the board. We have intelligent
producers like the Italian born P. Del Guidice, who
says: "I give my producers plenty of free rope, yes?
I do not shout 'You must'; I whisper 'I suggest'. Di-
plomacy she is a ver' good thing. She has made me
plenty good motion picts. Yes? No?"

The answer is "Yes", because among Mr. Guidice's
"motion picts" are winners like In Which We Serve,
Odd Man Out, Great Expectations and Blithe Spirit.

J. Arthur Rank has given complete freedom to our
writers. The real brains of the motion picture business
is in the skull of the author but the studio producers
did not seem to realize it until J. Arthur Rank un-
locked the fetters from the wrists of the writing slaves
and set them free. Lincoln never did a better job.

Now our best films are written, directed and pro-
duced by writers. Men like Frank Launder ("I See a
Dark Stranger"), Sidney Gilliat ("A Rake's Pro-
gress"), Leslie Arliss ("The Wicked Lady" and
"The Man in Grey"), Eric Ambler ("Journey Into
Fear"), Emeric Pressburger ("Stairway to Heaven"),
Noel Coward ("Brief Encounter") and Bernard Shaw
("Caesar and Cleopatra").

We avoid duplication in our stories. Hollywood falls
down badly here. Having found the formula for sue-

29

THE SCREEN WRITER

cess she rubber stamps it. The Local Boy Makes Good
story. The Bad Woman story. The Road to Anywhere
formula. The Avenger pattern. Fifty titles and only
one story.

Hollywood, with the best writers in the world on
its payroll, has let them get into a rut.

HP HE British do not deal in formulas. They deal in
■*» things that could happen. Life as we experience it.
People who live and breathe. History in the making.
Our dialogue is witty and pungent. We have few
cliches. (A cliche, for your information, Joe, is "So
what?" "Let's get outta here", or "On your way, sis-
ter"). Hollywood is big enough to take this well-
meaning criticism and do something about it. With all
the resources at her command she need not get into this
kind of groove.

We are not finding it easy to make films in Britain.
Government restrictions prevent building of studios,
and we are vitally short of floor space. To get round
it we are sending units abroad to France, Egypt, Italy
and South Africa.

We are not so poor that we cannot find money for
films. J. Arthur Rank has untold millions, made from
flour. Lady Yule (British National Pictures) is said
to have 80,000,000 dollars, made from jute. Associated
British capital runs into several millions, made from
films. And then, of course, there is Sir Alexander
Korda. Any country boasting Korda as its purveyor
of pictures, always provided that the bespectacled wiz-
ard can have a free (if lavish) hand, is likely to win
the battle on its own. Right now, Sir Alexander is
Rank's biggest competitor. Korda is fairly dazzling
us with Stardust, star names, and the magnitude of his
plans and ideas.

It's anybody's guess how this Korda-Rank contest
will end, but mine is that either ( 1 ) one will swallow
the other or (2) they will merge. And I don't think
Sir Alexander has any mergers in mind. In a recent
profile article for a British magazine I made the same
suggestions (about the Rank-Korda future) and Sir
Alexander okayed the article without change.
* * *

One of our difficulties over here has been the short-
age of star material. The few star-sized players we had
were soon mopped up by the rapacious film machines.
And there did not seem to be many promising new-
comers on the film horizon. Rank has a Charm School,
from which, at intervals, interesting new people emerge.
But from its first inception to the time of writing I
have not seen any sensational discoveries.

The screen moguls began casting their nets in other
waters and turned their attention toward Ireland. And

sure enough, they returned with a glittering catch.
The late John McCormick (not the singer!), Kath-
leen Ryan, Denis O'Dea, Mrs. O'Dea, and half a score
of others, all from the Abbey Theatre, Dublin, were
signed for a succession of pictures. What a hit these
Irishers made ! And how they could act ! Two of them
(McCormick and Ryan) had no desire to be film stars
at all, at all.

The thousands a year offered by the Kordas and the
Ranks apparently didn't mean a thing. Those simple
Irish natives merely wanted to be left in peace. Miss
Ryan, a star if ever there was one, actually did bolt
in a frightened scurry back to Cork and her doctor
husband. Rank sent special agent Constance Chapman
to Ireland and Ryan eventually signed on the dotted
line, but only under protest.

Mr. and Mrs. Denis O'Dea (he plays the Police
Inspector in Odd Man Out) also weakened, but not
until 40,000 had been clapped on to the salaries they
had just been receiving. "We'd asked 'em that much,"
said Denis, "because we were sure they'd refuse it.
An' by all that's holy they accepted it! What can ye
do with people like that?"

We Britishers were making sure, of course, that
Hollywood didn't get them. The trouble with these
particular Irish is that they won't take dough for an
answer.

Anyway, now filmland is crazy about them and the
experts say these natural players, with their humanity,
sincerity and soft speech, are going to change the face
of things. So far, two recent Irish subjects {Odd Man
Out, I See A Dark Stranger) have been smash hits.
And Captain Boycott, another Irish tale, promises to
equal them in quality and appeal. When your bobby-
soxers have seen Dermot Walsh of Dublin and Keiron
Moore of Cork, two dark-eyed romantic male types,
I think half your Hollywood juveniles will take a
gun into the bedroom and finish it all.

BRITAIN can promise you some important techni-
cal surprises later on. Except for some experiments
by Orson Welles and the progress of technicolor, Hol-
lywood's most important contribution was D. W. Grif-
fith's discovery of the mobile camera.

The British backroom boys are now busy on research.
You may shortly expect to hear about these discoveries :

(1) A system of lighting that will cut down costs
of juice by 60%.

(2) Infra red camera for night location work.

(3) A focus equaliser that will give the same sharp-
ness to near and far objects as the human eye.

(4) A camera that photographs sound and picture
together.

30

HOLLYWOOD! YOU'VE BEEN WARNED

(5) A production system that will lop 60% off all
picture costs.

(6) A startling back projection invention that will
make scrap of the present system.

Well, summing it all up I find the situation to be
this:

(1) Britain has forged ahead as a picture maker
and temporarily left America some lengths behind.
It has never happened before in the history of films
and if we do not make the best of this chance it will
never happen again.

(2) America has greater resources in personnel and
materials than we have and when she realises the threat
to her supremacy she'll soon do something about it.

(3) Then, like the Korda-Rank contest, it will be

a neck-and-neck race and the public on both sides of the
Atlantic are going to benefit, because they will get for
their shillings and dollars the most scintillating enter-
tainment that has ever appeared on the screens of
the world.

That is all to the good. Films have an immense
value and the better their quality the better the ad-
vertisement for the country concerned. Rank, Korda,
Selzick and Zanuck are greater ambassadors than Bevin
or General Marshall.

If America continues to go for British films in a big
way and Britain recaptures her interest in Hollywood's
product we don't need to trouble about the pettifogging
arguments of our respective politicians. The peoples
of the two hemispheres will understand each other
so well that all differences will be automatically settled.

h^

31

Book &

eviewd

I HAVE been lucky enough to get
hold of a bound volume of The
Buffalo Express during the years
when Mark Twain was half owner
and editor. There is also a batch of
letters written by his wife. Together
they form a new idea of what these
two thought about God and actors,
among other things.

Several years ago a motion picture
was made of their life together. Of
it one theatre owner wired the studio :
REPORTED DEATH OF MARK
TWAIN NOT EXAGGERATED
HE JUST DIED IN MY THE-
ATRE.

What did the well-made, honest,
respectful picture miss of their real
life? Reading the material I have
found, I would say a great deal. It
shows a side of their personalities
that has been little written of, or
filmed.

Mark Twain was lying low, work-
ing like a horse, trying to think that
here, under the enormous elipsis of
lake moons, as a partner of The Buf-
falo Express he would remain the
rest of his life. It was a big village
paper. Its files show it to be like a
hundred other newspapers of its time.
Mark Twain worked on it from
twelve to fourteen hours a day, yet
he lacked the picturesque untidiness,
the wit and sting of his later work.

Sitting at his desk, coatless, tie
and collar on the chair beside him,
sometimes his heavy shoes tossed into
a corner, he sat on his spine, cutting,
clipping, pasting and writing little
paragraphs. The days of the news-
paper services were not yet — and
every editor used columns from other
papers, and expected the other papers
to do the same to him. Journalism
was still an evolutionary society, and
only in our times has it gone back
to living in trees.

Mark was young, in love, married —
just married. He worked, went home,

32

saw very few people, slept, went back
in the morning to the office. A correct
figure in a Presbyterian heaven — a
young healthy male making a living.

In the files of The Express there is
little of importance — both as news-
paper work or as something that was
to mean anything to the later Mark
Twain. Even the rough diamond
joviality of the mining camps was
packed away with the wedding gifts.

He was a political innocent. Later
he could go into rages over men and
politics. He was at that time a ramp-
ant, non-habit-forming Republican.
There is nothing wrong in that. The
southland, the river, the wild compan-
ions of the mines were all, he felt,
behind him. This was the new, good,
genteel settled life. If it bored him he
made no mention of it anywhere.
Those critics who think he was un-
happy are guessing. He was a good
citizen with a furled umbrella, exhila-
rated with a young bride.

He wrote editorials. He firmly be-
lieved in his editorials ; they were bad.
There is a transparent absurdity about
journalism that Mark was to dis-
cover later.

Mark Twain could never have
written about two sides of any ques-
tion. The Official Biographer — a
psychic lug in white flannel pants —
says of Mark's editorials: "They are
fearless, scathing, terrific." In what
sense terrific, I do not know. Maybe
irrelevant in the Time-Life meaning.

Writing of some farmers who had
committed sexual rough-house on a
couple no better than they should
have been, Mark does say: "They are
the very bastards of the devil." Strong
talk, showing that even in those days
a man could use full-flavored words,
if he did not expect to circulate in
Boston, or meet the top literary folk
of the period hip to haunch.

In The Galaxy, Magazine of 1870,

Mark published The Great Beef
Contract written a few years before,
and dug up like a witty old reprobate
for publication. There was also an
ungentlemanly attack on the Reverend
T. DeWitt Talmage, who had come
out against poor people and working-
men appearing in the fashionable
pews of his church, and soiling the
sacred benches of God, built by suc-
cessful people. The Reverend was, of
course, entirely within his rights. He
had worked hard to acquire a fashion-
able church and the good people to
fill it. He had scurried far afield to
get together fine and respectable
churchgoers; most likely repainted
the church and gilded the hand rails,
gotten rid of the naked scriptural
odor of a righteous Jewish God.

I have investigated the Reverend.
He was a kind man. He prayed on
his knees, in public, for the poor. He
dressed neatly in black. His attack on
workingmen in his church (not God's,
you understand — he never claimed
that) had this line: "If you are going
to kill the church thus with bad smells,
I will have nothing to do with the
work of evangelisation." He was, re-
member, entirely within his rights
and his church brethren backed him
up. Mark was wrong — but so angry
that he lost his politeness.

Mark's attack on the Reverend
says: "If the subject of these remarks
had been chosen among the original
Twelve Apostles he would not have
consorted with the rest, because he
could not have stood the sea fishy
smell of some of his comrades. . . ."

Mark also — as usual — defended the
Chinese who were being treated like
tin-canned dogs on the West Coast.
Refined citizens, good to their moth-
ers, thought nothing of shooting a
Chinese on sight, cutting off his pig-
tail with a blunt knife, or pouring
coal oil on him and setting him on
fire to warm their hands. Unlike
O. Henry, he could not write he came

BOOK REVIEWS

of a family "that had niggers to
burn . . ." The heart of Mark Twain
was big and the compressed love of
many people rattled around in it. Al-
most as many loves as hates stirred in
his system. Nothing came, of course,
of his attack on the good soul Rev-
erend Talmage. The poor went back
to their saloons (who first said : work
is the curse of the drinking class?)
and God was worshipped by the well-
washed and well-behaved as before.

But Mark Twain went on against
a variety of grievances. He attacked
another Reverend — one Reverend
Sabine — who had declined to hold a
church service over the aged and very
dead remains of an actor, one George
Holland. An actor! Everyone knew
how actors lived. They were lazy fel-
lows, one prevalent conviction of the
day said. They fornicated with actres-
ses, lived on fish roe and rare wines
and were given to mouthing the words
of the devil, as put down by a foul
creature named Shakespeare, and
others. I know nothing of George
Holland. He may have been the very
worst kind of a fellow; who mugged
when a fellow actor had a line. Or
given to intemperate words and good
deeds. Mark's The Indignity Put
Upon the Remains of George Hol-
land By The Reverend Mr. Sabine
is still good reading these days.

The Reverend stood firm to his
convictions. He was not to be blasted
from his holy way by a wild, long-
haired Yahoo from the West. He calm-
ly fluffed the holy lace on his pious
sleeves and said: "There is a little
church around the corner that will,
perhaps, permit the service!'

Today, all actors know that Little
Church Around The Corner. The
Church of the Transfiguration. There
is a memorial window there now to
Edwin Booth. Services are held in
memory of Joseph Jefferson. George
Holland must rest easy, feeling he
played a good scene, dead. . . . And
the Reverend Mr. Sabine I'm sure
is in heaven, driving the departed
souls of motion picture actors and
writers off the celestial grass. A stern,
just man with tremulous vitriolic
ideas of goodness. But God avoids
him, I think, crossing over to the
other side of the street. For God, too,
is an actor on the ceiling of the Sis-
tine Chapel.

Mrs. Clemens has been libeled for
years. The Official Biographer has

embalmed her in the coy manner of
a hairdresser priming his client for
a D.A.R. pageant among the lower
breeds. He says: "She undertook the
work of polishing and purifying her
life companion. She was conservative,
dainty, cultured, spiritual . . ." Oh,
for a filled pair of white flannel pants
to kick!

Mark Twain did not eat peas with
his knife, stab out his eye with the
spoon in his coffee. He bathed, changed
his linen, never appeared drunk at
parties, or raped the servant girls.
And his reputation for profanity is
over-rated. If she ever undertook the
work of polishing and purifying her
life companion, it never went beyond
remarks on his curse words — all new
and odd to her, and insisting on neck-
ties, and a place for his cigar ash. The
myth that he was a border boor, and
she the noble spirit of New England's
Golden Age must go ; with all the bad
and shadowy psychological motiva-
tions worked out for her by the
critics.

Buffalo was only near New Eng-
land. Mrs. Clemens was neither the
monster who destroyed Mark's best
work, nor the dainty heroine out of
Dickens' worst weeping spell.

"She was conservative." True, she
did not lead strikes, wear bloomers or
smoke black cigars. She never had
lovers, drank in secret, or beat her
servant girls for nasty pleasures. She
was a Buffalo girl, high strung — but
to label her conservative is wrong. I
have found a line in one of her letters:
"How fast time passes. Soon we shall
all be dead a hundred years." That
line is as good as anything Mark ever
wrote. It certainly is better than a
great deal he himself admired in his
own work.

"She . . . is dainty." She was sick
all her life — but dainty? She gave
birth to four children, of whom only
one reached a full maturity. Her pho-
tographs are not of a dainty woman.
They are of an ill woman with a great
deal of character in her face. Her
nose, mouth and ears were not dainty.
They were large, well formed. She
wore her hair drawn back into an
ugly knot; a style of the period that
set one's economic and social status.

"She was cultured." She was not.
Her education was very ordinary.
Her reading was the usual dawdling
stuff of the period. She never went

deeply into the classics. Her tastes
were the taste of her time. The creat-
ure of the latter day critics may as
well be destroyed here as any place;
she never was of any great literary
help to Mark Twain. She loved him,
and a great deal of his wild humor
annoyed her. She toned some of it
down. She should have burned some
of it instead. Mark was no judge of
his wild moments. She made a few
diplomatic changes in the texts. Noth-
ing of any importance. A few damns
and hells went out. She certainly at
no time told him what to write. I do
not think she liked his best work, the
strong earthy parts of Huck Finn
and certain things printed years after
they were written. There is no record
that she ever read the privately print-
ed 1601 where Mark broke all re-
straints of polite lady talk.

Let us remember that whatever
she may have thought of the unpub-
lished literary efforts, she was no
smug prig. She slept with this man,
she carried his children, grew heavy
with his pregnancies, she went through
four childbirths. The sexual matters
of husband and wife never shocked
her. She was normal, she was physical
tnd desirable. She was ill a great deal
of the time. Mark nursed her, and
the petty annoying intimacies of sick-
rooms did not leave her shy or repres-
sed. Let us toss away the legend about
Mrs. Clemens, let us judge her by
the facts, by her period, by her back-
ground, not by the theories of liter-
ary critics out to push home a point
taken from Freud, or the publisher's
libido. Extensive hunting for emotion-
al moles has spoiled a good many
books.

"She was spiritual." I find no rec-
ord of it. She read her Bible in her
youth. Everyone had to, then. She
shared Mark's interest in dreams. She
was ill, in high fever a great deal of
the time. There's a certain spiritual-
ness about lying ill in bed, but it is
the false spiritual value of a body
drained of energy, weary and numb.
A lot of tired and diseased saints were
made "holy" this way.

She lost an orthodox ritual view
of God. Mark Twain in his usual
twaddle blames himself for destroying
her faith. For all the evidence I have
been able to collect, she became what
she was by the long, involved process
of thinking it out. She was then a
better realist than Mark. Mark to

33

THE SCREEN WRITER

the end of his life kept God, Satan,
Heaven and Hell around him as mere
literary properties. A sort of Rabelai-
sian bell-ringing was what he pro-
duced from these stage properties.
Mrs. Clemens never went in for these
stage effects and their common in-
decencies. Mark had never been too
unorthodox in his early days. She had.
At one time she had prayers in the
house, grace at meals and a morning
reading from the Bible. Mark amazed
his old hell-damning friends by saying
grace. None of this lasted long. She
and he abandoned it quickly. His
attacks on the Bible are the logic of
a thinking animal, but they do not
go very deep. He was no hypocrite.
He did not believe in the Bible and
said so. It contradicted his reason.
he said. He lacked proper respect for
a hermetically sealed culture.

He wrote of a personal God he
believed in but it was a literary figure
he invented, like his Satan. The at-
tempts to gloss over certain facts in
his life hide a great deal of his true
emotions and his work. He did not
wallow in mental sensuality.

He expected nothing after death
and all he is today he well believed,
is his books. If we cannot accept the
books alone he hinted, he never ex-
isted for us. I do not intend to probe
his evaluation of his own creed here.

I have tried to see him and Mrs.
Clemens alive.

She lived, she loved and she died
by his side, having made up her own
mind. In time the myths about her
will die. She was a woman of stronger
character and more normal passions
than her times or her critics admit.
It was a better love story than the
one they filmed.

ONE of the evils of the motion
picture business has been the sad
sight of everyone thinking they can
write a screenplay, without being a
screenwriter. A ghastly group of pic-
tures have appeared written by actors,
relatives, comics, producers, directors
and even baseball players. The disaster
of not using a screen writer for a
screenplay is all around us.

I have just read a popular reprint
of the novel, The Paradine Case, by

Robert Hichens. It is a very good
novel. Let me quote John McCarten
of The New Yorker on the writing
of the screenplay: "One picture may
be worth a thousand words, but you'll
never prove it by David O. Selznick.
Whenever Mr. Selznick decides to
dictate a screenplay, he lowers him-
self into a kind of bubble bath of elo-
cution and doesn't emerge until he's
churned up enough soapy dialogue to
blur the meagre outline of his ideas.
In his latest work, 'The Paradine
Case' he is at the top of his loqua-
cious form. Mr. Selznick's characters
talk so much that even the climactic
scenes are hardly more stimulating
than a high-school debate. The film
does include, it is true, a few speci-
mens of middle-period Selznick prose
that might interest students of the
Hollywood master. 'Photographs,' he
points out, 'are the social footsteps
of time.' And while that is sinking
in, he has one of his ladies, consider-
ing the possible extinction of a fellow-
member of the cast, remark, 'I hope
they hang her — no, I don't like break-
ing pretty things.' The Selznick script
must have caught Hitchcock napping."
(End of quote.)

THERE are two new books that
should be of special interest to
screen writers. Lewis and Clark : Part-
ners in Discovery, is the first authori-
tative biography of the two great ex-
plorers that I know of. Written by
John Bakeless, author of the brilliant,
but little known Daniel Boone, it is a
remarkable book about two men whose
adventures have never been done on
the screen, and while there are certain
fragments from their lives that have
been put into screenplay form, every-
thing I have read from studio files is
banal, silly and rather dishonest. Here
is a book of facts that immortalizes
part of our great nation, and tells of
those who set up milestones that
others were to follow to blue water,
and the fuller and wider west.

Lewis and Clark, in their own way,
were good writers and both kept
diaries which are quoted from; they
make fine reading. Buffalo trails,
grizzly bears, plants, Indian love life
and passion appear in their journals,
with a charm and honesty not often
found in the usual bits of publishers'

Americana; in fact the word Ameri-
cana has become almost a racket, and
is a disgrace to book dealers and pub-
lishers. The faking and printing of
rare items of Americana is one of the
big industries out here, only a little
below oranges, oil wells and sagas
about non-drinking, singing cowhands.
The wealth of new material in this
fine book should be a welcome change.

THE other book of valuable ma-
terial for the writer is Showman
of Vanity Fair: The Life of William
Makepeace Thackeray. The world
and times of Thackeray, its fables,
modes and desires is made of such solid
stuff that it will never grow stale or
out of fashion. Thackeray himself, the
artist, writer, snob, tragic figure with
a mad wife, and a reputation as a
three-bottle man, wit and cynic, is
also the author of that great source
book for motion picture heroines,
from Scarlett O'Hara to Amber of
Zanuck. W.M.T. is a modern man,
lost between desire for material things
and a hope of spiritual greatness in
his books.

It is too bad that this book is so
badly written. Lionel Stevenson writes
like a college professor, and after I
finished the book I found out he was
a college professor on some California
campus. No man ever tried to write
a duller book out of great material,
and succeeded. Thackeray was a full,
blustering male, drunk or sober, with
an eye for a pretty girl, and a way of
saying what he had to say to his
friends and often to the world. He
was a solid force, and damned his age
for its prissy ways (not always in
print, of course). And for all the
author's efforts to check him with
pink ribbons and lady-like manners
he still comes out of this feeble vol-
ume a vital man with a hard, clear
book that shows us the world of
Vanity Fair.

I hope soon, in these pages, to re-
view Thackeray's four volumes of
Notes and Letters, which gives a bet-
ter, fuller measure of the man. Any
story teller, screen writer, or novelist,
will be well repaid by a study of this
tall, broken-nosed figure, who stirred
up the muddy water under the very
feet of the great (and wide) Victoria.

—STEPHEN LONGSTREET

34

t lewd i/oted

* Whit Burnett's Story Magazine has
accepted Curt Siodmak's story Epistles
to the Germans to be featured in the
first appearance of the magazine as
a quarterly on March 10th.

* Lillian R. Bergquist, SWG mem-
ber, has a novel being published Janu-
ary 2nd by William Murrow. Title:
Your Shot, Darling! Written in col-
laboration with Irving Moore, Radio
Writers' Guild member.

* Screen rights to Morning Star,
novelette by SWG member Robert
Spencer Carr which ran in the Satur-
day Evening Post last December 6,
have been purchased by Leland Hay-
ward. The freak yarn, a science
fantasy about visitors from planet
Venus, has kicked up record-breaking
quantities of fan mail — including an
alleged message from Venus.

* Film Projects, after a full year's
survey of the educational film field,
is producing a series of filmstrips on
Shakespeare and His Plays to meet
the demand of high school and college

instructors to aid in the teaching of
English classics. Under the supervi-
sion of Paul Benard, formerly with
Republic Pictures, the series includes
Shakespeare's England, Shakespeare
the Man, Hamlet, Macbeth, The
Merchant of Venice, and Julius
Caesar.

* SWG member Harold Goldman
has signed a contract with the Daniel
Mayer Company for the London pro-
duction of his play Twice and For-
ever, to open on or before September
1st. Mr. Goldman has also a story,
The Key In The Lock appearing in
the November 30th issue of This
Week.

* SWG member Tom Seller has two
one-act plays The Eternal Bride, and
Young As You Look being published
by the Walter H. Baker Co., Boston.

* Erwin Piscator announces the Dra-
matic Workshop Film Department of
the New School for Social Research
is adding new courses on phases of
film production.

Geza Herczeg, who won the Adad-
emy Award for his screenplay The
Life of Emile Zola, will conduct a
Screenplay Writing Seminar.

Leo Hurwitz will conduct a Semi-
nar in Film Techniques, devoting an
entire semester to a detailed analysis
of two feature films.

Richard La Pan, who was a screen-
play writer at MGM for fifteen years,
will lecture on Basic Screenplay Writ-
ing.

* One-act plays by five SWG mem-
bers ranked high in a recent survey of
community theatre productions in
America. The survey, conducted by
the New York Stage for Action,
listed Talk In Darkness, by Malvin
Wald as number one, followed by
Arthur Miller's You're Next. Others
in the first ten were Ben Barzman's
The Case Of The Empty Purse,
Norman Corwin's Red, White And
Blue Network, and Ben Bengal's
All Aboard.

SHIRLEY COLLIER AGENCY

(FOR WRITERS EXCLUSIVELY)

204 South Beverly Drive • BEVERLY HILLS ■ CRestview 6-3115

New York Representative:
SIDNEY SATENSTEIN, 75 Varick Street - WAIker 5-7600

35

A LlST>NG OF SC
! E D ON F
CUKRENT

ITERS' CREDOS
REEN WRITERS

EARNED ON FEATURE PRODUCTIONS
OF

- '-' •■ R •• ;., -

AND

RfC£NT

*£(.£

ASE

DECEMBER 1, 1947 TO JANUARY 1, 1948

H

GERALD D. ADAMS

Sole Screenplay THE GALLANT LEGION,

Rep

B

EDWARD BOCK

Joint Story (with Charles Marion) TRAPPED

BY BOSTON BLACKIE, Col
MURIEL ROY BOLTON

Joint Screenplay (with Agnes Christine John-
ston) MICKEY, Eagle-Lion
JOHN K. BUTLER

Joint Story (with Gerald Geraghty) THE

GALLANT LEGION, Rep

Additional Dialogue HEART OF VIRGINIA,

Rep

MYLES CONNOLLY

Joint Screenplay (with Anthony Veiller)
STATE OF THE UNION, Par
EUGENE CONRAD

Story and Screenplay THE COBRA STRIKES,
Eagle-Lion

ALBERT DEMOND

Joint Original Screenplay (with Bradbury
Foote) KING OF THE GAMBLERS, Rep
MEL DINELLI

Sole Screenplay THE WINDOW, RKO

KEN ENGLUND

Sole Screenplay GOOD SAM, Rainbow Pro-
ductions

BRADBURY FOOTE

Joint Original Screenplay (with Albert De-
mond) KING OF THE GAMBLERS, Rep
MELVIN FRANK

Joint Screenplay (with Norman Panama)
MR. BLANDINGS BUILDS HIS DREAM
HOUSE, RKO

KENNETH GAMET

Joint Screenplay (with Jo Pagano and Tom
Kilpatrick) ADVENTURE IN SILVERADO,
Col
GERALD GERAGHTY

Joint Story (with John K. Butler) THE
GALLANT LEGION, Rep

NORMAN HOUSTON

Sole Original Screenplay THE ARIZONA
RANGER, RKO

Joint Screenplay (with Ed Earl Repp) GUNS
OF WRATH, RKO

AGNES CHRISTINE JOHNSTON

Joint Screenplay (with Muriel Roy Bolton)
MICKEY, Eagle-Lion

K

GORDON KAHN

Joint Screenplay (with S. K. Lauren) DAN-
GEROUS ILLUSION, Arthur Lyons

ROBERT E. KENT

Story Basis ASSIGNED TO DANGER, Eagle-
Lion

TOM KILPATRICK

Joint Screenplay (with Kenneth Garnet and
Jo Pagano) ADVENTURES IN SILVERADO,
Col

JOHN KLORER

Joint Story (with Leo McCarey) GOOD SAM,
Rainbow Productions

MILTON KRIMS

Sole Screenplay THE IRON CURTAIN, Fox

S. K. LAUREN

Joint Screenplay( with Gordon Kahn) DAN-
GEROUS ILLUSION, Arthur Lyons

EUGENE LING

Sole Screenplay ASSIGNED TO DANGER,
Eagle-Lion

WILLIAM LUDWIG

Sole Original Screenplay MASTER OF LAS-
SIE, MGM

M

CHARLES MARION

Joint Story (with Edward Bock) TRAPPED
BY BOSTON BLACKIE, Col
HERB MEADOW

-'Contributor to Screenplay DANGEROUS IL-
LUSION, Arthur Lyons

-Academy Bulletin only

N

FRANK S. NUGENT

Sole Screenplay WAR PARTY (Argosy Pic-
tures) RKO

JO PAGANO

Joint Screenplay (with Kenneth Garnet and
Tom Kilpatrick) ADVENTURE IN SILVER-
ADO, Col

NORMAN PANAMA

Joint Screenplay (with Melvin Frank) MR.
BLANDINGS BUILDS HIS DREAM HOUSE,
RKO

LOUIS POLLOCK

Sole Story PORT SAID, Col

MATTHEW W. RAPF

Sole Screenplay RAMPAGE, Crestview Pro-
ductions

ED EARL REPP

Sole Story and Joint Screenplay (with Nor-
man Houston) GUNS OF WRATH, RKO

JACK ROBERTS

Sole Original Screenplay TROPICAL MAS-
QUERADE (S) Par

JERRY SACKHEIM

Sole Original Screenplay HEART OF VIR-
GINIA, Rep
GEORGE SEATON

Sole Screenplay APARTMENT FOR PEGGY,
Fox

MAURICE TOMBRAGEL

Sole Screenplay TRAPPED BY BOSTON
BLACKIE, Col

ANTHONY VEILLER

Joint Screenplay (with Myles Connolly)
STATE OF THE UNION, Par

w

BRENDA WEISBERG

Sole Screenplay PORT SAID, Col
ROBERT C. WILLIAMS

Sole Original Screenplay TIMBER TRAIL, Rep
Sole Original Screenplay THE BOLD FRON-
TIERSMAN, Rep

In this listing of screen credits, published monthly in THE SCREEN WRITER, the following abbreviations are used:
COL — Columbia Pictures Corporation; E-L — Eagle-Lion Studios; FOX — 20th Century-Fox Film Corporation; GOLDWYN
— Samuel Goldwyn Productions, Inc.; MGM — Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios; MONO — Monogram Pictures Corporation;
PAR — Paramount Pictures, Inc.; PRC — Producers Releasing Corporation of America; REP — Republic Productions, Inc.;
RKO — RKO Radio Studios, Inc.; ROACH — Hal E. Roach Studio, Inc.; UA — United Artists Corporation; UNI-INT'L —
Universal-International Pictures; UWP — United World Pictures; WB — Warner Brothers Studios. (S) designates screen short.

36

NEXT MONTH AND THEREAFTER

SAMUEL FULLER

Write 'Em and Reap

MANUEL SELF

The Original Stor

DR. ARNOLD WELLES

Experiment in Reacti

MILT GROSS

And Think ot a Title, Will Ya?

TALBOT JENNINGS

Hollywood in Retrospect

WALTER II. SCHMIDT

he (. artoon \\ < > 1 1 < I

RAYMOND CHANDLER

Qualified Farevyel

And Further Articles by KEN McCORMICK, SAMSON RAPHAFLSON, ISOBEL LEN-
NAR'F, STEPFIEN LONGSTREET, HOWARD J. GREEN, RICHARD G. HURLER,
THORNTON DELEHANTY, MAX WILKINSON. EWlNG SCOTT, ERNEST PAS

CAL, and others.

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Campbell's Book Store, 10918 Le Conte Ave., Westwood Village

Larry Edmunds Book Shop, 1603 Cahuenga Blvd., Hollywood 28

C. R. Graves — Farmers' Market, 6901 West 3rd St., Los Angeles 36

Hollywood News Service, Whitley & Hollywood Blvd., Hollywood 28

Martindale Book Shop, 9477 Santa Monica Blvd., Beverly Hills

People's Educational Center, 1717 N. Vine St., Hollywood 28

Pickwick Bookshop, 6743 Hollywood Blvd., Hollywood 28

Progressive Book Shop, 1806 West 7th St., Los Angeles 14

Smith News Co., 613% South Hill St., Los Angeles

Universal News Agency, Las Palmas at Hollywood Blvd., Hollywood 28

World News Company, Cahuenga at Hollywood Blvd., Hollywood 28

ILLINOIS:

Post Office News Co., 37 W. Monroe St., Chicago
Paul Romaine — Books, 184 N. La Salle St., Chicago 1

MASSACHUSETTS:

Book Clearing House, 423 Boylston Street. Boston, Mass.

NEW YORK:

Books 'n' Things, 73 Fourth Ave., New York 3

Brentano's — Periodical Department, 586 Fifth Ave., New York 19
Bryant Park Newsstand, 46 West 42nd St., New York 18
44th St. Bookfair, 133 W. 44th St.. New York 19
Gotham Book Mart, 51 W. 47th St., New York 19

■ Kamin Dance Bookshop and Gallery, 1365 Sixth Ave. at 56th St., New York 19
Lawrence R. Maxwell — Books, 45 Christopher St., New York 15

CANADA:

Roher's Bookshop, 9 Bloor St., Toronto

EIRE:

Eason & Son., Ltd., 79-82 Middle Abbey Street, P. O. Box 42, Dublin

OFFICIAL SUBSCRIPTION AGENT FOR GREAT BRITAIN:

Philip Firestein, 82 King Edward's Road, Hackney. London E9, England

OFFICIAL SUBSCRIPTION AGENT FOR SWEDEN AND DENMARK:

Bjorn W. Holmstrom, Svensk National Film, Drottninggatan 47, Stockholm

OFFICIAL SUBSCRIPTION AGENT FOR AUSTRALIA AND
NEW ZEALAND :
EFG English and Foreign Library and Book Shop, 28 Martin PI., Sydney, N.S.W.

A Letter from Thurman Arnold ♦. ♦ ♦ ♦ jPage 6

The

UNEMPLOYMENT III: The Original Story

MANUEL SEFF, With an Editorial Foreword

MILT GROSS: And Think of a Title, Will Ya
ARTHUR L. MAYER: An Education in Educational Films

RICHARD BROOKS: Swell Quy

MALVIN WALD: Cops and Writers
DWIGHT TAYLOR: The Story Expert

STEPHEN MOREHOUSE AVERY: Field w

Editorial

SWG Studio Chairmen ♦ Book Reviews

Correspondence

Screen Credits

¥¥ «■

^m

Vol. 3, No. 10

MARCH, 1948

MAR 16 19^8

©C1B 125786

Gunn
Shots

By JAMES GUNN

SO far nothing has been heard from
Albert Einstein or Princess Mar-
garet Rose on the burning subject,
"What's Wrong with Hollywood?",
but at this rate it won't be long before
either or both puts a new ribbon in
the machine and starts pounding out
the condemnations.

The critics range from the profes-
sional boys of New York and London,
who get paid for it, to occasional con-
tributors to this magazine, who do not.

There are veterans of the old Cin-
ema group, who never felt really
comfy with talkies and cry for a re-
turn to D. W. Griffith and panto-
mime. There are the Say Something
Boys, who insist that a picture Say
Something, on the socially conscious
level of course, whether or not the
social consciousness has the faintest
connection with the story. Incidental-
ly, quite a few art-lovers hold mem-
bership in both groups, which makes
you wonder how a picture can say
something if it isn't supposed to say
something.

There are the fairly placid types
who think all will be well on the day
the Johnston Office and League of
Decency are abolished. No writer will
argue too hard about that, but there
is always the thought that, should
that happy day arrive, for every pro-
ducer rushing to produce something
by Zola, there would be five or six
of the shoestring boys tying up the
screen rights to Maid in the Ozarks
or Goodnight, Ladies. And there are
various maverick groups, like those
campaigning for special pictures for
children. (My only reply to them is
that as a tot my favorite picture was
a juicy little number in which Libyan
Tashman bumped off three husbands.)

There are the all-for-realism kids,
whose only fault is an excess of zeal.
Tired, like everyone else, of the gold
dust Hollywood sometimes throws
over its subjects, they have reacted
to the point where — in theory and
Sunday articles at least — they re-

(Continucd on Page 26)

The

Screen Writer

Vol. 3, No. 10

MARCH, 1948

EDITORIAL COMMITTEE

Richard English, Editor

Fran Manning, Associate Editor

Robert Andrews
Claude Binyon
Taylor Caven
David Chandler
James Gunn
Stephen Longstreet

Leo C Rosten

Bernard Schoenfei.d

Leonard Spigelgass

Leo Townsend

M. Coates Webster

Margaret Buell Wilder

CONTENTS

UNEMPLOYMENT 111
MANUEL SEFF: The Original Story

A Letter from Thurman Arnold

MILT GROSS: And Think of a Title, W ill Ya

RICHARD BROOKS : Swell Guy

SIVG Studio Chairmen

ARTHUR L. MAYER: An Education in Educational Films

MALVIN WALL): Cops and Writers

STEPHEN MOREHOUSE AVERY: Field 10

D WIGHT TAYLOR: The Story-Expert

Editorial: Has the Cold War Come to Hollywood?

Gunn Shots

Correspondence

Screen Credits

Book Reviews

1

6

9

13

17

IS
23
29
35
38

Inside Front Cover
41

43

44

PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD, INC.,
AT 1655 NORTH CHEROKEE AVENUE, HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA.

ALL SIGNED ARTICLES IN THE SCREEN WRITER REPRESENT THE
INDIVIDUAL OPINIONS OF THE AUTHORS. EDITORIALS REFLECT
OFFICIAL SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD POLICY, AS DETERMINED
UPON BY THE EXECUTIVE BOARD.

YEARLY: $5.00; FORe\gN, $600; SINGLE COPY, 50c; (CANADA AND
FOREIGN 60c). \

CONTENTS COPYRIGHT 1948 BY THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD,
INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Unemployment III

Business is looking up. Not enough to get excited about but enough to be encouraging. 26 more
writers are employed this month than last. At this time 245 writers are employed in the major
studios, 170 in the independents, for a total of 415.

But a lot of us are still trying to get well by selling an original. An original means a lump sum
of money, and most of us, not too good business men to begin with, do better at getting reorganized
with a lump sum than on salary.

For that reason, and the fact that hope springs eternal in a writer s breast, we recommend the
following article on the original story, written by a man who knows some of the answers.

EDITOR

The Original Story

MANUEL SEFF

MANUEL SEFF, coming to Holly-
wood after the success of his play
Blessed Event, has written more than
tiventy-five screenplays and sold over
twenty original stories to motion pic-
ture companies.

IT will seem presumptuous indeed for one author
to offer gratuitous advice to 1400 others on methods
of practising their profession. But the postman had
just delivered a pamphlet from the Academy of Motion
Picture Arts and Sciences giving a complete list of
films released in this country during 1947, together
with the sources of their plots. A train of thought was
set off about the writing and sale of original motion
picture stories which led to some research and the
present dissertation.

Statistically, this Academy document is most reveal-
ing, throwing as it does, considerable light on that
basic requirement in any occupation: Markets. These
are the figures including, of course, only feature length
productions :

Original Screen Plays 147

Original Stories 133

Other Material 167

Total 1947 Pictures 447

Thus, 280 out of 447 stories released here last year
were created directly for the screen, while 167 were
based on produced plays or published fiction, with a
negligible percentage having their genesis in reportorial
magazine and newspaper articles. The occasional radio
sketch that finds its way to the sound stages can be
ignored in these calculations.

As we are concerned mainly with American pictures,
it becomes necessary in arriving at the actual sum of

THE SCREEN WRITER

home product to deduct 62 foreign films shown in our
theatres, leaving a net balance of 385. This number
I have broken down into component parts as they
interest screen writers. Below is a listing of all pictures
made in the United States, which were released in
1947, and the origin of their plots:

Original Screen Plays 138

Original Stories 129

Other Material 118

Total 1947 Pictures 385

It came as a great surprise — to me, in any event —
that considerably more than two-thirds of the stories
purchased for use in 1947 were written by members
of the Screen Writers' Guild for the sole purpose of
direct sale to studios. While these statistics were com-
forting, they merely tended to make my task more
difficult. Inevitably, I assumed one cannot devise means
of convincing the managements of M.G.M., Para-
mount, etc., that they would benefit immeasurably by
purchasing more originals.

Suspecting an error in this line of reasoning, there
popped into my head the thought, "Why not?" I put
the question to half a dozen producers, all of whom
echoed, "Why not?" They reminded me that costly,
high-powered story departments, replete with readers,
analysts, executives and secretaries are not maintained
just for fun. Actually, one of them pointed out, Story
Departments were not properly named ; Story Hunting
Departments would better describe their function.
The entire world, including the Scandinavian, is under
continual microscopic search for yarns that can eventu-
ally be run through projection machines. Were there
a well-founded rumor that somebody in Kennebunk-
port or Birmingham had something that could be
twisted, tortured, wrestled and manipulated into a
pretty decent picture, scouts would be hopefully dis-
patched to those places.

SUCH being the condition, it is clear that there is
a market just around the corner from Hollywood
Boulevard and Vine Street for many more original
stories than we Guilders have been able to sell. Why
then have we failed to achieve the utmost in this field,
particularly at a time when so many skilled screen
writers are unemployed? That is the problem which
confronted me. I sought the solution through telephone
calls and personal visits to men in authority. The con-
clusions, which I found interesting and enlightening,
are given for what they are worth. It is my own belief
that they are invaluable.

So that there cannot be the slightest misunderstand-

ing, I must say that these lines are not being set down
ex cathedra, but are presented direct from people whost
approval means that a story will be purchased. The
inclusion of some experiences of my own in the creation
and marketing of screen material seems unavoidable
and is by no means meant to be a guide for my fellow
authors.

It was rather a shock to learn that an overwhelming
majority of stories submitted never pass beyond the
first reader. Some editors place the figure at 90%.
They are slipshod, haphazard attempts to obtain some
fast money, and too often are marred by dull padding
to give them an imposing appearance. I will return
to this subject a little later.

With some exceptions, the process of buying is
exceedingly tortuous and complicated, perhaps unneces-
sarily so. Naturally, I refer to the larger studios where
these plots, adroitly summarized, are considered in
capsule form. Assuming that a story has received the
approbation of a reader, its wanderings and struggles
for acceptance have only begun. Many minds review,
deliberate and pass judgment. It may be that the
company has already acquired something similar; or
it is deemed unsuitable for any of their contract stars;
possibly the subject is one in which the public has
demonstrated a tremendous lack of interest.

In numerous cases something has gone wrong, dur-
ing the course of a story's creation. Up to a point it
is found fresh, well-planned and expertly written;
then it suddenly begins to run downhill at an alarming
rate of speed. Rejection can be the only result, for the
producers have discovered through the years that their
shelves become the final resting place of partially good
originals that have defied all efforts to get them on
the screen. Sadly they shake their heads at astronomical,
red-inked numbers, melancholy testimony to hundreds
of thousands of dollars wasted on these projects.

When the various boards and associates have jointly
pointed thumbs up, it still remains for that supreme
umpire, the executive producer, to sanction a purchase.

Considering these handicaps, it certainly needs no
soothsayer to predict that now, in 1948, an original
will receive scant attention unless it is done with infinite
care. Characters must be supplied with some flesh and
blood so that they come sufficiently to life to walk
their little hour on the white sheet. No longer is it
good enough to describe our leading man as, "Philip
Stafford, about 28, tall and handsome," and let it go
at that. Having wiggled out of their swaddling clothes,
the movies demand considerable information about Mr.
Stafford's background, habits and general outlook on
the world.

THE ORIGINAL STORY

ANOTHER required ingredient, to quote an ex-
ecutive, but age old to practitioners of the writing
art, is suspense. This term covers more than merely
the question of whether the hero or villain will be the
first to reach the suffering ingenue. Broadly speaking,
it means that the reader is unable to anticipate the
next sequence, that he is eager to hurry on and find
out what is going to happen, whether we are telling
him about a walk down the street or a high school
debate.

Therefore, these hastily contrived plots, almost en-
tirely lacking in suspense and characterization, are
returned to our agents with painful regularity. Regret-
tably enough, many of them begin with an excellent
premise that never advances very far beyond its
embryonic stage.

Perhaps I should clarify the various goals of movie
writers, for doing a script with some outstanding star
in mind is quite different a matter from aiming at the
low budget producer with a cast consisting chiefly
of horses. The so-called quickie is a product with which
I am not too familiar, though I hasten to add that this
is not said in any derogatory sense. Writing a tale
to be filmed on a shoestring requires enormous talent,
ingenuity and experience. I have often marveled at
my friends who can turn out these sagas of the plains
with comparative ease and proficiency. They are the
real masters of suspense, but their reward unfortunate-
ly is only what the traffic will bear. Still, there are
compensations. When such a western (or eastern) is
concocted, no boards or committees act as judge and
jury, no magnifying glass is trained on every detail to
discover a reason why it should not be bought. There
it is, lucid and packed with action. The one man who
must be pleased knows exactly what he wants; his
Yes or No is forthcoming instantaneously.

LET us then focus on the more expensive produc-
tions, ranging in cost from $300,000 to several
millions. Granting that our story is a good one there
are, I learned, valid reasons why it frequently never
has a chance. Trying to peddle electric blankets in
a tropical country would obviously be a foolhardy
venture, yet that is precisely the sort of thing many
of us attempt when we offer the type of yarn in which
no studio could possibly be interested, or wouldn't
touch with one of Ed Wynn's ten-foot poles. Off-hand,
a few such taboos are repulsive diseases, ridicule of a
friendly nation, and narcotics. Incredible as it sounds,
it is on these very topics that some excellent plots
have recently been submitted. I do not wish to intimate
that magnificent literature has not been written on
those themes, but the movies are too generally attended

to let down the bars at the moment. Besides, mass
entertainment enterprises involve too great a financial
risk, even assuming that motion pictures will eventu-
ally be permitted the latitude accorded other forms
of story telling. The hazards of bringing out a book
attacking the entire population of Switzerland, for
example, are infinitesimal compared to those of making
a picture on the same subject.

I am aware that Jay Kennedy has written and
sold to Columbia a story about narcotics, which is
complete and in release. As this was strictly forbidden
by the Johnston code, I made some inquiries to discover
how he managed this seemingly impossible feat. The
explanation turned out to be most illuminating. Mr.
Kennedy first placed a rough draft of his idea before
officials of the United States Treasury Department,
devoting considerable time and effort to convincing
them that the showing of such a picture would be of
inestimable educational value. Having obtained their
consent and agreement to cooperate, he then offered
an enlarged version in treatment form to Harry
Cohn, who not only found the plot a superior one of
its kind, but recognized the advantages of being backed
up by a government agency. For his imagination and
resourcefulness we must raise our hats to Mr. Kennedy.
He created his own market. No doubt, hundreds of us,
hearing of Mr. Kennedy's strategy, said to ourselves,
"I wish I had thought of that." I would venture to say
that many such opportunities exist, eagerly awaiting
conversion into a scenario, and no less eagerly wanted
by film moguls.

WHEN I was employed by Warner Brothers dur-
ing the regime of Darryl Zanuck, and later
that of Hal Wallis, the ideas for many fine melo-
dramas were found in newspaper headlines. Recently,
I read that the astounding exploits of Hans Van
Meergeren, the Hollander who painted practically
undetectable imitations of Vermeer masterpieces, have
been bought for production. And it was not so many
years ago that an enterprising writer called on Mr.
and Mrs. Sullivan, parents of the five brothers who
lost their lives on the same ship during the war. Result,
an excellent picture, done by Twentieth Century and
Sam Jaffe. Mr. Zanuck recently released Northside
777 , which deals with a scrubwoman's battle to prove
the innocence of her son while he is serving a long
prison term. The inspiration for this film was an ad-
vertisement placed in the personal columns by his
mother. She offered her life's savings to anyone who
would come forward and name the real criminal.
When an imaginative movie author reads a human
interest item like that, he hurries to his typewriter to

THE SCREEN WRITER

fabricate the balance of the plot. For that is how mass
entertainment is sometimes born. Another instance
of real life transferred to the screen with admirable
inventiveness is Boomerang, a well-made denunciation
of injustice unearthed by Louis De Rochemont in
the crime annals of Bridgeport, Conn., via the Readers'
Digest.

Here we have evidence that Cinderella no longer
controls exclusive rights to leading lady parts; that
the Prince has lost his monopoly on leading male roles.
The public, thankful for variety in its pictures, will
form long lines at the box-offices of theatres even if
they are showing accounts of murderers, thieves, arson-
ists, et al., just so long as they are interesting. The
inevitable Boy and Girl can both be malefactors, love
each other with unbridled passion, and still receive
Mr. Johnston's indorsement. Of course, crime must
not pay off to the author's brain children, but it can
to him.

Simple mathematics reveal the sad fact that we do
not take sufficient advantage of what is happening in
the world around us. The percentage of plots derived
from newspaper and magazine reports, as I have said,
but which should be stressed, is ludicrously small. If
I may be permitted at this point, to make a personal
appearance upon the stage, it has been my custom
since laboring in the cinema capital to subscribe to
a dozen publications, some of them relatively obscure.
One paragraph, one line, in these magazines and news-
papers has frequently been the spark which ignited
the creative flame.

I would like to remain before the footlights long
enough to recite a few reasons why I (and occasional
collaborators) have failed at the final moment to enter
the gates of the promised land. If the illustrations
cited can be of the slightest advantage to some of my
1400 brethren these pages will have served a useful
purpose. The stories under consideration had been
approved by the studio underlings, overlings, satraps
and rajahs. But when the time for decision came
around, when the yarns' fabric had been chemically
analyzed, defects were discovered. A catalogue of these
near-bullseyes is appended:

1. The highly censorable sex implications were
inseparable from the fundamental plot. I made a mental
note to remember Bernarr Macfadden's instruc-
tions to his editors: "The shadow of a bed can appear
in our magazines, but never the bed itself."

2. The leading character was a crippled boy. A
friend of mine, present when the verdict was handed
down, informed me that there would have been no
objections had I made the lad a secondary dramatis
personae.

3. There were several divorces, thus taking too
lightly the sacred institution of marriage. Whatever
our personal opinion of non-governmental censorship,
it does not originate with the producers. Observance
of this restriction by us will prevent disappointment
when it is enforced by the studios.

4. The public, by leaving thousands of theatre seats
unoccupied, had given clear notice that its interest in
backstage events was waning. I have found, however,
that a ban of this sort often remains in effect only
until some heretical producer ignores the current inter-
diction and brings out a smash hit dealing with the
subject nobody wants to see. How many times have
we heard, "No more fantasies," then found ourselves
standing in line waiting to witness a superb film about
an angel who came to earth?

Sliding again down the rabbit hole to that Wonder-
land where there is a crying need for more and more
plots, I wish to pass on a few recommendations direct
from buyers of tales. It is important in these times
when grosses are blighted by the "British tax and myriad
other reasons that we SWG members give much thought
to budgets. Why waste the creative impulse by includ-
ing in our scenarios elaborate scenes requiring thou-
sands of extras and exorbitant settings, particularly
when they cannot be eliminated without so mutilating
the story that a regretful veto is the ultimate judgment?
This is not meant to imply that our entire action
should occur in a single place. We must make compro-
mises, weed out superfluous backgrounds. To screen
writers of any experience whatever it is no world-
shaking news that we can take our Mr. Stafford into
the interior of a mosque without first establishing the
locale by showing multitudes of salaried ladies and
gentlemen outside masquerading as Moslems.

Romances between the Rich Boy and Poor Girl, or
any normal combination of same, are still in great
demand, but love alone finds itself back on the agent's
desk. What will induce the lads in the front office
to whip out their check books is the novel approach,
the unique development, the surprise denouement.
Cinderella and her Prince must have the New Look.

THE question of whether to submit a story in treat-
ment form or as a screen play was also answered
for me. It goes without saying that doing the full
shooting script is a most risky venture. Because of the
very nature of our profession, a work of this kind will
receive prompt, fascinated attention if George Bernard
Shaw's name is on the cover. Trumpets will summon
the executive staff; feverishly increasing offers will
burn the transatlantic cables. But "Original Screen
Play by John Smith" isn't quite the same thing. True,

THE ORIGINAL STORY

when Mr. Smith has toiled over a detailed scenario,
complete with camera angles, it is granted somewhat
more consideration than the customary outline. If
purchased, the price will be much higher. It is like
gambling. The more you put in, the more you take
out — if you win. A pundit whose opinions I have
learned to respect advocates a middle course when we
are aspiring to the bigger money: Part of the screen
play, roughly one-third, plus the balance in detailed
treatment.

The Scheherazade method of presentation has come
into some vogue again in recent years. Standing up
before a producer and reciting our tale can be success-
ful, depending on circumstances. It is usually an at-
tempt to make an optional deal during the stage of
preparation when our story is worked out, though no
actual writing has been done. I believe that our en-
thusiastic representatives favor this more than we do.
In a corner of the office there is usually seated an
unobtrusive young lady, equipped with note book and
pencil. The skill with which she condenses our nar-
ration for later examination by the higher authorities
could mean the difference between victory and defeat.

After all, the producer himself can insist on an im-
mediate cash and carry transaction, but he can also
be outvoted, unless complete autonomy is his. How the
boys up front cast their ballots is determined to a great
extent by what the lady delivers to them — always
assuming it's a good yarn. One movie author, a seduc-
tively persuasive raconteur, makes it a practice to direct
most of his recital at the synopsizing damsel. For her
sweet sake he repeats key situations, emphasizes char-
acter relationships.

In some studios, when an offering has been passed
through the lines by the outer guard, a zealous agent
can make arrangements to have us recite the plot
before an entire panel of the supreme command. Quot-
ing again a Solomon of the scenarios, this method
should be avoided unless we possess a little talent for
oratory and salesmanship. "Get it on paper," he ad-
vises.

Harpo Marx may well have had original story
writers in mind when he said of the late Alexander
Woollcott, "He was a dreamer with a wonderful
sense of double entry bookkeeping."

A Letter From Thurman Arnold

The following is a letter to Sheridan Gibney, SWG President, from Thurman
Arnold, Abe Fortas, and Paul A. Porter, chosen to act as counsel for the Guild on all
questions relating to the blacklisting of Guild members in accordance with the Johnston
Statement.

Mr. Sheridan Gibney, President,
Screen Writers' Guild,
Hollywood, California.

Dear Mr. Gibney:

At the request of your Board, we have undertaken to
represent the Screen Writers' Guild in connection
with the action taken by motion picture producers to
discharge and blacklist artists and writers whose poli-
tical views they deem to be objectionable. In accepting
representation of the Guild in this matter, we think
it important that the principles involved and the inter-
est of the Guild be clearly defined.

The facts have been widely publicized. Nine Guild
members were cited for contempt on the charge that
they refused to state whether or not they were Com-
munists and because they insisted that the Committee
had no right to inquire into their political or trade
union associations. The validity of their assertion of
constitutional rights is now before the courts in an ac-
tion to punish them for that contempt. We are not
participating in these proceedings.

Shortly after the citation for contempt the Asso-
ciation of Motion Picture Producers — an organiza-
tion of all the principal producers of feature pictures —
met to consider what action the industry should take.
They passed a joint resolution to discharge the writers
who had defied the Thomas Committee and in addition
to institute an effective industry boycott barring their
literary work from the screen. The Association gave
these writers a choice either to recant their present
views as to the power of the Thomas Committee or to
abandon their chosen profession.

Thus an issue of paramount public importance is
squarely presented by the action of the producers' group.
They have set up what is in effect a private court. This
self-constituted tribunal has neither a marshal nor a

sheriff. It nevertheless has effective power to carry out
its decrees through the concerted action of its members.
It sits in judgment on the moral fitness of artists to
write for the screen, leaving out of consideration the
quality of their work. To say that the usurpation of
such judicial power by a group of private corporations
who dominate motion picture production is dangerous
in its implications and consequences, is an understate-
ment. It threatens the very foundation of freedom of
artistic expression on the screen. The Screen Writers'
Guild cannot ignore this issue. It becomes its duty to
present it in every appropriate forum where it can be
heard.

The screen writers involved have brought suits
against various members of the combination. They con-
template other proceedings. It is not the purpose of the
Guild to afford legal aid to the individual writers but
rather to represent the public interest involved in these
cases. The heart of the public issue is not breach of
contract but the concerted action of the industry barring
these writers from the screen. This goes far beyond the
mere protection of private rights.

If this were a case of capricious or unjust action on
the part of an individual producer there might be some
doubt as to the Guild's duty to intervene. The Guild
membership includes writers of diverse political and
economic views and of widely varying interests. Many
of those who support this action do not agree with the
position taken before the Committee by their fellow
members. If any single producer had broken his con-
tracts with these writers on the ground that he thought
their conduct contemptuous of Congress, their views
radical and their assertion of constitutional right hypo-
critical, the matter would not assume its present public
importance. Public danger from individual action,
however oppressive and unjust, is slight. For example,
had an individual producer refused to exhibit Lady

THE SCREEN WRITER

W indemerc s Fan on the ground that Oscar Wilde was
an unsavory character, someone else would have un-
doubtedly shown the play. The public would not have
been deprived of the opportunity to judge it on its
merits. But had a group controlling the theatres barred
the play by joint action the public would never have
had opportunity to judge it. Such an exercise by a com-
bination of private individuals of a power to judge the
fitness of artists and penalize them for misconduct raises
an issue that far transcends the current dispute whether
the writers cited for contempt were morally right or
wrong in their views and conduct. It is dangerous in
its probable consequences and effect not only on motion
pictures but on books, on the press, indeed on every
form of literary or political expression.

The action taken is without precedent in the motion
picture industry. Heretofore some censorship has been
exercised by joint action of producers. Its purpose is
to make the screen plays clean and wholesome. This
censorship has been attacked by many who thought that
the screen should enjoy the same freedom as the theatre
and the bookseller. They have deplored the fact that
subjects legitimately dealt with in nationwide best
sellers cannot be adequately treated on the screen. Those
who defend this censorship point out that if it is not
undertaken voluntarily by the motion picture industry
there is danger of oppressive local censorship. What-
ever the merits of that controversy are they are not in
issue here. This is not an attempt to judge the play
itself; it is rather a judgment on the morals, political
views and the conduct of the writer himself. It is not
limited to decency. It extends to political conformity.
Artists are habitually nonconformists. Nonconformity
is a consequence of originality. If the character, morals
or political views of writers were ever made the test of
the production of their works, our library shelves would
lose their finest books and our theatres could not show
their best plays. The dead hand of conventional medio-
crity would reduce the screen to the level of comic
strips. Only in a time of hysteria is it necessary even
to argue this point.

The kind of blacklist instituted here is new to the
industry. In the past there has been no attempt to
impose a joint censorship of the ideas of writers. The
use of the Motion Picture Producers' Association as a
meeting place to institute such action was unthinkable.
It was first suggested by the Committee on Un-Amer-
ican Activities itself. Congressman Vail asked Mr.
Jack Warner:

"Wouldn't such an association provide a
splendid piece of machinery for distribution of
information between producers as to the type of
individuals who are employed by the industry and
who are concerned with subversive activities?"

Mr. Warner replied that such a suggestion had
never been brought up in the association "in any man-
ner, shape or form by word or written form to my
knowledge." He continued:

"Of course, I don't believe it would be legal in my
opinion." He went on: "I would not be a party to it
and neither would any of the other men, from my
knowledge of them."

Mr. Vail pressed him further on the desirability of
an association boycott. Mr. Warner replied:

"That sounds rather logical but it doesn't hold
water. ... I wouldn't be a party with anyone in
an association, especially where you would be
liable for having a fellow's livelihood impaired ;
I wouldn't want to do that."

We believe that Mr. Warner's remarks represented
the opinion of the leaders of the industry before they
were intimidated by the Committee. The industry real-
ized not only the impropriety but the illegality of joint
action. Nevertheless, they apparently thought it worth-
while to run the risk of paying damages to appease the
Committee and compel everyone in the motion picture
industry to conform to the standards of suppression set
by the Committee on its own motion and never enacted
into law. Thus, they have surrendered the independence
of the motion picture industry. They have created a
condition of fear and subservience that is spreading all
over the screen and the stultifying effects of which will
soon be felt by the American audiences.

It is important that our market for goods be free
so that any manufacturer can use his originality and
produce anything he chooses. It is even more important
that our market for plays, books and artistic expression
be not dominated by any set of ideas adopted by any
combinations of corporations. We believe that the
writers themselves can collect damages for the injury
done to them. But the trial of damage suits here is
inadequate public protection. The motion picture pro-
ducers acted in full realization that they might have
to respond in damages. In such a situation damages are
clearly not an effective deterrent. It must be the func-
tion of the Guild to prove to the Association of pro-
ducers that this kind of a subservient industry is not
what the American people want. This must be done
by representing these principles and this point of view
independently of the private interests of the individual
writers in every proceeding where they are relevant.

It is too early to discuss the exact nature of the pro-
ceedings which we may advise the Guild to institute.
It is sufficient now to outline the principles which these
proceedings are intended to promote in the motion
picture industry.

We wish to indulge in no criticism of the motion

A LETTER FROM THURMAN ARNOLD

picture producers as individuals. They thought no doubt
that they were acting in the interests of their stockhold-
ers and that they would make more money and have
less trouble if they eliminated the nonconformists who
were having difficulties with the Thomas Committee.
But whatever the motive, the motion picture producers
have surrendered the independence of a great public
medium of expression. The motion picture industry is
not theirs to surrender. Every artist, every writer, on
the free exercise of whose talents the future of the
industry depends, must resist this abject capitulation.
Unless the precedent established by the motion pic-
ture industry is set aside, there is a real danger that not
only the motion picture industry but every avenue and
form of expression will soon be subjected to the con-

trol of the Committee on Un-American Activities. If
America is to remain free, all people including writers
and artists must be free to speak and the people must
be free to listen and to accept and reject the ideas
expressed. Only those who have no faith in democracy
and even less confidence in the American people will
accept any other way of life.

It is for these reasons that we are glad to represent
the Guild in this matter, and to assist in the establish-
ment and vindication of the principles described above.

Sincerely,

(Signed) Thurman Arnold
Abe Fortas
Paul A. Porter

h^

Baron Otto von Strahl, who lives at the Hollywood Hotel, has applied to the
Guild for assistance in finding a collaborator in writing magazine articles.

The Baron and Baroness have had unusually wide and varied experience, ranging
from Intelligence work in the German Police to lion hunting in South Africa, and
to extensive research in psychic phenomena with some of the best-known European
authorities in this field.

Anyone interested may find in this suggestion a fund of unusual material.

8

...And Think of a Title, Will Ya

MILT GROSS

SWG member MILT GROSS is the

internationally distinguished cartoon-
ist and newspaper, magazine and
screen luriter. Among his best known
books are Dunt Esk and I Shoulda Ate
the Eclair.

I was just telling a guy, I says to him, what is it
some characters drink gets 'em that way, and he
says how do you mean, and I says wait, I'll tell you.

I'm sitting there, I tell him, and the phone rings and
I grab it and imitate a butler's voice, and the party
on the other end pipes 'Ginch', and I say 'Pete!', and
he says 'Hi!' and I say 'Hi, what's on your feeble?',
and he says 'Would you have any objections to a big
write-up, a sensational spread, all about yourself in
a national magazine?'

Certainly not I tell him, but if you'll excuse me
very much . . . er, just what would the angle be . . .
right now I mean ... at this particular moment in
world history?

Angle he snorts, angle. You don't realize who you
are, Ginch . . . what you mean to people ... bit of
Americana ... an army behind you Ginch . . . army
behind you. . . . Famous comic artist . . . now making
with the serious oil paintings ... is that an angle . . .
is that the real Hamlet stuff? . . . man of moods . . .
other side of the picture. . . . Angle he says. . . . Don't
worry, I'll write it.

Okay I says, go ahead write it. Fine with me.

Fine he says. Now all I need now is just a couple
facts . . . just bare facts . . . chronology stuff. . . .
Just dates. Where born . . . first job . . . mother's
maiden name . . . just bare. . . .

'Kay kid. Stop off tomorrow . . . maybe better this
afternoo . . .

Love to cookie, love to he says, but right now I'm
all barrelled up with a piece for National Geographic
on bird life on a kumquat diet . . . pinned to the seat
. . . deadline stuff. Tell you what . . . just put the dope
on a sheet of paper . . . just dates . . . bare facts, no
more than one, two three five six nine ten pages the
most . . . so's I'll know where I'm going . . . and
shoot it in the mail.

'Kay.

'Bye.

What is it, asks my wife and I tell her and drop
the dope in the mail and the next day the phone rings,
and it's him and he says:

Jeez!

Jeez what?

What's funny about that tripe?

started belting the rat-trap.

. . AND THINK OF A TITLE, WILL YA

What's supposed to be? You wanted just dates and
facts.

I know, but . . .

But what . . .

Won't hurt to schmaltz it up a bit . . . guy like
you . . . character in your time . . . you been around
. . . newspaper stuff . . . colorful incidents . . . million
laughs all them characters in your day . . . Hetty
Green . . . Monk Eastman . . . John L. Sullivan . . .
Old Doctor Grindle. Diamond Jim Bra . . .

How about Dred Scott, I suggest. Over him like
a flying disc.

Funny things musta happened to you he says . . .
big name people get big names . . . Poe, O'Henry —
all those guys . . . they want big name people . . .
and keep the gags funny . . . yells . . . not too broad
mind you, but yet screamingly hilarious . . . boffos . . .
from way down here. . . . You must have all kinds
hilarious incidents. . . . Get busy. . . .

What is it asks my wife, and I tell her the guy
wants hilarious incidents, and does she know of any-
thing ever happened to me that was hilarious, and she
says yes but better not put it in writing or we'll have
to make a reservation for the first Rocket to the Moon.
. . . Then she says wait a minute . . . why don't you
put down about that time during the bridge game
when that fine friend of yours . . . that bum that
used to paint beautiful cherubs on Christmas cards . . .
came racing through the apartment with his shirt
tail out and his head full of blood screaming at his
wife "Suzie, change the name on the letter-box!" . . .

and dived out the bathroom window. . . . Only hurry,
dinner's in a half hour. . . .

So I start belting the rat-trap, and pretty soon there's
an awful banging and I say what is it, and the wife
says past midnight, and I ask her to slip me a bottle
of beer and a sandwich like a sweetheart, and the
phone rings and I say Grab it baby. . . .

Grab it baby she repeats with that Shick shaver
edge to her voice . . . why should I grab it ... it
wouldn't be for me . . . not this time of night . . .
some of your drunken pals bringing the pastry chef
from the Looey's around to admire your hot paintings
. . . and I begin to get a little hot myself and I says
yeah it couldn't possibly be one of your relative pests
from the East by any chance or some crud your sister
met in a washroom in Canarsie and told to be sure
to look us up. . . .

Well one word almost leads to a bridge lamp over
the head, and pretty soon we're not talking, and sending
notes to each other via the brats, and I drop the stuff
in the mail and the phone rings and I grab it and
it's him and he says

Cripes sakes, Ginch.

Cripes sakes what, I ask.

Trying to crucify me?

Didn't you get the stuff . . . the hilarious incidents?
I shipped you six pounds of 'em. . . .

Stop being cute at your age will ya. . . . This piece
is about a cartoonist. What good is a piece about a
cartoonist without a couple of maybe six seven eight
a dozen cartoons. ... If I'm writing the piece, the

So we get cameras and tripods.

10

THE SCREEN WRITER

least you can do is co-operate with some cartoons. . . .

Okay, I says, I'll dig you up a couple of oldies.

Oldies he shrieks. . . . Oldies! Trying to hang me,
Ginch? . . . giving these people old cartoons. . . .
Trouble with you Ginch is you're getting smug. Now
get hot . . . make a couple new cartoons — funny —
socko — zoompf! . . . drop 'em in the . . . no, better
send 'em special messenger.

So I grind out a couple gagaroos and phone for
a messenger myself because my wife is down at the
Springs still mad, and the phone rings and I grab it
and it's him yelling:

Well you sure turned out to be a fine heel, Ginch.

But I sent you the cartoons —

So this piece also happens to be about oil paintings,
too —

Listen peapack if you expect me to paint you any
oil pai . . .

Nonnnoooonnnonononoooo NO! . . . Just photos
of 'em . . .the ones you already got painted . . .

Look stupe. I tell him Do you happen to know that
those things cost ten bucks apiece . . .

Whatsamatter with you Ginch. . . . Use a little
ingenuity, willya. Trouble with you Ginch is you
been up on that hill too long. Ten bucks! You got
kids ain't you? They got a camera, ain't they . . .

Now look . . .

Turned rat, eh Ginch? . . . Gonna let us all down
. . . izzatit? I got an awful lot invested in this thing
Ginch. . . . Now get . . .

With that the door opens and it's the wife back

from her mad, with the kids, and we get a lot of color
chrome film, photo flood lamps, step ladders, rip the
ironing board apart for a tripod . . . some sheets to
cover the piano . . . wash boiler tops for reflectors . . .
extra fuses, electric cable . . . and we burn the house
down. The wife goes back, only this time it's Reno
and the phone rings and it's him.

Ducking me eh Ginch ?

Look, I explain. ... It takes longer to get to the
phone now that I'm living in the garage. . . . Now
about those photos . . .

You got the wrong idea on this whole thing, Ginch.

But we started to take photogra . . .

I'm talking about the article Ginch . . . the piece
itself, the words the text. . . .

What about the text?

'Way overboard . . . top-heavy . . . wrong slant
. . . windy . . . wanders ... no bing-bing ... no
zoompf . . . too esoteric . . . don't move. . . . Now
look, never mind the drawings, the pictures, the photos,
the text so far . . . we'll throw all that out. . . . What
they want is the thing boiled down to a good fast two
hundred words tops . . . but with everything in it
including . . .

Say who in the hell IS this National Magazine
anyway ?

Who IS it? Could be any one of 'em. Could be
Life, Time, Fortune, Collier s, the Post, Look, Pic,
Readers' Digest . . . any place my agent can peddle it
. . . and while you're at it Ginch . . . think of a title,
will ya. . . .

Takes longer since I'm living in the garage.

11

SWG GROUP INSURANCE

As the March issue of The Screen Writer goes to press, almost 200 members of
the Screen Writers' Guild have sent in their applications and checks for participation
in the Group Insurance Plan offered to us by the National Casualty Company. As
soon as we have a total of 425 applications, or one-half the active membership of the
Screen Writers' Guild, the Group Insurance Plan goes into effect.

Last week I discussed group insurance with a screen writer. He was interested
but not enthusiastic. The following morning he was rushed to the hospital . . . but
without hospital insurance and without the right to receive the $200 a month benefit
which will be available to screen writers who cannot work because of illness. I hope
there will never again be need to use the odious phrase, "I told you so."

This excellent and inexpensive plan is available to every active member of the
Screen Writers' Guild regardless of whether he is under contract to a studio, on a flat
deal assignment or not working at all. All you have to do to become insured is send
in your application and check.

This particular insurance plan which the Guild has been seeking for its members
was approved unanimously by the 21 members of the Executive Board. It is going to
save some of our members a lot of grief when illness strikes. For your own sake and
for the sake of your family join with your Screen Writers' Guild fellow members
in this cooperative venture. It costs little and can save you a lot. If you have lost your
application or have any questions, call George Quigley at the Screen Writers' Guild.

IRVING STONE, Chairman
Group Insurance Committee
ERNA LAZARUS
MANNY SEFF

Screen vVriterd K^troup

Accident and Sickness Insurance Policy

Approved and Recommended by Your Insurance Committee Executive Board

Provides Maximum Protection at Minimum Cost
with World-Wide Coverage

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$7.00 a Day for Hospital — Plus $25.00 for Miscellaneous Expenses

All Claims Paid Locally
LOW SEMI-ANNUAL PREMIUMS

Through Age 49 Age 50 to 60 Age 60 to 65

$35.90 $40.40 $49.40

Policy Cannot Be Terminated Except For

1 . Non-Payment of premium 2. Discontinuance of profession

3. Loss of SWG Membership 4. Cancellation of master policy

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(Exclusive Representative)

NATIONAL CASUALTY COMPANY OF DETROIT

609 SOUTH GRAND AVENUE • LOS ANGELES

Telephone TRinity 3861

12

Swell Guy

RICHARD BROOKS

RICHARD BROOKS wrote Swell Guy
and Brute Force, two of Mark Hellin-
ger's most distinguished pictures.
Brooks is equally well-known as a nov-
elist— his The Brick Foxhole became
Crossfire; and his new novel The Boil-
ing Point has just been published.

IT was a hot day. Wednesday, the funeral day.
A small crowd of gawpers stood outside the Holly-
wood branch of the Pierce Brothers Mortuaries.
It was something like the premiere of a movie: the
fans, stars, photographers, the large sleek cars, the
fame-hungry faces devouring the world-famous faces.

Inside the chapel it was cool and quiet. The walls
and the small stage were banked with flowers. Sonor-
ous organ music seeped out from somewhere.

In an impressive casket, behind a pane of glass, lay
Mark Hellinger.

His friends, silent, awed, scared, sat lump-like in
their seats waiting for the service to begin.

Extra chairs were placed in the aisle; Mark, it
appeared, had a lot of friends.

Early Sunday morning he had died. By Sunday after-
noon almost every "important" doctor had received an
emergency call from his "important" motion picture
patients.

"Check me over, Doc."

"Am I okay, Doc?"

"Well, look at Hellinger. He thought he was okay
too. But look. Dead. Keeled over. An hour later, bam.
Dead. Well, look again, Doc. Look good."

"Last week Lubitsch, today Hellinger. Who's next
week? It comes in threes. It always comes in threes.
Jesus, Doc. Make sure, will you?"

By evening radio columnists had told the world their
friend, Mark, was dead.

Here it was Wednesday and time for his friends to
mourn.

I sat in the chapel, dry-eyed, unable to summon tears,
wondering who the dead man was, what he represented,
what he left behind him, what his life had meant.

For the last few days people had stopped me, shaken
their heads sadly, clucked their tongues, sighed and

asked: "You knew him, worked with him. What was
he like?"

How could I answer? Can you sum up a man's life
in a few words?

"A swell guy, huh?" they insisted.

"A big tipper, they say."

"Made some wonderful movies, didn't he?"

"Did he really drink as much as they say?"

"How 'bout that column of his? Did he really write
all of 'em himself?"

And, finally, the question they all asked, after the
pietistic formalities were out of the way: "How's this
affect your contract with him?' '

My contract with him had always been a handshake.
A -handshake to most people, it seems, is only valid as
long as you live, and in most cases not that long.

WHEN I first met Mark (in the summer of 1945)
he was worried. He was worried and apprehen-
sive till the day he died. A new Producer's contract
was pending. He was worried about it. His deal with
Warners' hadn't worked out. Neither had the one
with Twentieth Century-Fox. People were saying he
was through.

We sat on a balcony that ran around one side of his
home. Below was his swimming pool. Beyond that
stretched several acres of his property. In the back-
ground, like a painted cyclorama, stretched Hollywood.

"It's funny," he said. "I've got a job writing a
column once a week. A grand a column. Fifty grand
a year. This house is mine. Don't owe a nickel on it.
My wife's one of the world's most beautiful dames."
He looked down at the swimming pool, where his two
adopted children were playing. He watched them for
a moment. Then he continued. "Credits? Some good,
some bad. Mostly good. I know more about making

13

SWELL GUY

pictures now that I ever knew. Right now I'm really
worth the money I've been getting. But they're ready
to say I'm through. Jesus."

We went into his walnut-walled bar. He never let
my glass get dry. He told me a hundred anecdotes and
a few of his plans. Writers were an important part
of his plans.

"Unless you've got it in the script, you haven't got
it at all," he said. "What was your last salary?" I
told him. "We'll double that, and I'll give you a piece
of my piece of the picture. A writer ought to have a
piece of the picture," he said. "Bad writers don't deserve
even a byline. Good ones earn everything they can get
their mitts on."

With each succeeding drink Mark began to appear
sweller and sweller. Mrs. Hellinger came down to the
bar. She closed a set of doors behind her and shut out
a good deal of the sunlight. We were in a soft gloom.
She turned on a carefully-shaded lamp.

The guys on Broadway would call her a Beautiful
Blonde Type. Actually she was not nearly so robust
as that sounded. She was tall and her hair was light
and her skin was delicate and her body seemed to be
well-manicured. In the semi-darkness she seemed as
beautiful as Ziegfeld's Gladys Glad. Now that I think
of it: I never saw her in the daylight . . . not even at
the funeral.

"Fix me one, honey," she said in a low unmusical
voice.

He fixed her one and introduced us. She smiled at
me mirthlessly and started asking Mark questions about
the dinner arrangements. There also seemed to be some-
thing wrong with the Upstairs Maid.

Mark set her drink on the bar.

"We're talking business, darling," he said.

She understood. She picked up her drink.

"My back hurts again," she said into her glass.

"What'd the doctor say?" he asked patiently.

"Same thing."

She nodded to me and left the room. There was a
long silence after she left. He filled my glass again
and poured another for himself.

"Married?" he asked.

"Yes."

Silence.

"How long?"

"Couple years," I said.

"First time?"

"No."

He nodded his head solemnly.

"Cheat on the side?" he asked gently.

"Not yet."

"Uh-huh," he said.

He took off his shirt and I noticed a large St. Chris-
topher's Medallion hanging around his neck. It was a
duplicate of the one Mrs. Hellinger wore.

"I get a rubdown every Sunday," he explained.
"Rubber'll be here any minute." He ran his hands over
the slight bulge below the belt. "I pick up weight too
easy," he said.

He opened the doors and let the sunlight in.

"You think we can get a good picture out of this
play, huh?" he asked.

"Maybe."

He sighed. "It's tough to find somebody who thinks
the same way. Tough. You think we do?"

"About this picture, yes."

"Listen. I don't give a goddam about your politics.
Only your work. Understand?"

He put out his hand. We shook hands.

"Deal?" he said.

"Deal."

I got up to go. He quickly filled my glass again.
I already was tight. I wondered why the drink didn't
seem to affect him.

"Only don't ever cross me," he said intensely. I
didn't know what to say. I hadn't the slightest idea
how I could ever be in a position to cross him. "We'll
keep this deal between the two of us, huh?" he said.
"And our setup. Keep that to yourself, too."

That's how I went to work for Mark Hellinger.
No contract, no written terms. Only his word and a
handshake; he never went back on either. And when,
three weeks later his deal was set and I reported for
work, I discovered I had been on salary since my first
talk with him.

MARK lived in two distinct demi-worlds. In one
world, he was secretive, suspicious, frantic, fear-
ful. It was a world occupied by jealous, greedy punks
who were constantly trying to find a way to destroy
him. Big executives were, he often complained, con-
niving against him, pulling off secret deals against him,
planning to push him out of the movie business. Some-
body or other was trying to grab all the glory away
from him, make him appear a fool. He greeted each
day as though catastrophe were about to befall him.
If an admirer paid him a compliment there was bound
to be a catch to it. The admirer was angling for some-
thing. He was a phony, a liar, a jerko-Charlie who
thought he could muscle in on an easy touch. If Mark
expected a compliment and didn't get it, it was just

14

THE SCREEN WRITER

as bad. He accused the man of being tactless, rude,
envious.

His business deals, his life at home, what he said
to his friends, the background of his parents, money
matters, things political or religious or social, he kept
to himself, except for occasional pained hints.

His other world shone in the bright glare of a pub-
licity spotlight.

The walls of his office were hung with his profes-
sional history. Pictures, scores of them, all framed
alike, covered almost every inch of space. There were
numerous photos: a movie star, a boxing champ, a
famous writer, a notorious Mayor, all shaking hands
with Mark, an arm around his shoulder, and an in-
scription at a corner of the photo "with love to a great
guy, from . . ."

There was a photo of Mark as a boy of twenty,
when he first went to work for the New York Daily
News as a columnist. There was another of Mark in
his Overseas Correspondent's uniform taken before he
went to cover the Pacific war ( 1942) for International
News Service. A framed letter from W. R. (Hearst)
congratulating Mark for his newspaper work.

I asked him why he kept those pictures on the wall.
''They're my friends," he said, surprised that anyone
would even ask such a question. Then he frowned.
"Sure, they are," he said slowly. "They like me. They're
my kind of people."

He seemed desperately in need of friendship and love.
Whenever he heard someone had spoken well of him,
written about him with respect and admiration, he
became misty-eyed.

His dislikes were quick and violent. His friendships
were the same way. His respect for talent was unshake-
able.

"It's funny," he once said. "I guess I've written
maybe six thousand short stories and a lot of other stuff.
But I know I'm not a really good writer. That's the
one thing I'd like to be more than anything else in the
world, I guess. A great writer."

He thought Albert Maltz was an honest writer
and an honest human being.

"If Albert's a Red," Mark told me, "then I'm not
afraid of Communism."

At another time, when his spirits were dragging,
he pleaded: "What do they (Communists) want? Just
tell me what they want." He mentioned a few names.
"They're all making more'n a grand a week. They
hardly ever pick up a dinner check. They're miserly.
They save every nickel for their own use. During the
strike I saw 'em walk through the picket lines. They
don't talk straight. They say one thing and they mean
something else."

"Would you make an anti-communist movie?" 1
asked.

"No. Know why? I don't trust the people who go
to movies. To make a picture against Communism
you'd first have to explain what Communism is. As
soon as you'd do that, half the punks who go to movies
would want to join the Communist party. I know some-
thing about the people who go to movies all right.
They're joiners. They want to be heroes. It doesn't
make a helluva lot of difference what kind of a hero,
cop, hoodlum, Nazi, Communist, but a hero."

"You don't have much faith in the people?"

"Faith?"

"In their common sense."

"No. They're a mob. I'm afraid of mobs. I hate 'em.
I want them to like me, but I don't like them."

HE was extremely proud of his picture The Killers.
In producing this Ernest Hemingway short story,
Mark felt he had fulfilled himself. It was his kind of
story made his way. He was in a position to take all
the credit for himself. That he didn't is a tribute to
his sense of fair play and justice. He gave credit to
Jerry Wald, who brought the idea to him in the first
place. He was unreserved in his praise of Anthony
Veiller, who wrote the screenplay, and of Robert Siod-
mak, who directed.

"Wald's got more ideas a minute than the rest of
the picture-makers in a month," he said. "He deserves
the Thalberg Award this year (1946) but won't get
it. Why?" He shrugged. "Jealousy, I guess."

When he spoke of John Huston, he used only superla-
tives. He believed Huston to be "a great talent," one
of the few men in Hollywood who knew how to make
a fine movie.

During the morning, over lunch, in the afternoon
hours, he usually would be in good spirits. He would
grin mysteriously and speak of his many friends and
acquaintances. He prided himself on knowing intimately
many underworld characters. He respected their confi-
dences. At the same time he was friendly with the
F.B.I. He could greet one side of the law with his
left hand and the other with his right, and neither
knew what the other was doing. During the daytime
hours (at the office) he was gay and witty and hopeful.

Then, as it would begin to grow dark, as the sunlight
would edge out of the room, he would slowly become
depressed, nervous, irritable, unpredictable.

He would begin to phone his close friends, Humphrey
Bogart and Lauren Bacall, or, when they were in town,
Ann Sheridan and Steve Hannegan, or Jimmy Kern. If
they were busy that evening, he would become suspicious

15

SWELL GUY

of their friendship. He was as jealous of his friends as
a married woman of a secret lover.

He was constantly trying to find out if his friends
still loved him, whether they were faithful to him.
Those who worked with him quickly came to know
that their relationship with Mark was not merely a
business association. It seemed to be impossible for
Mark not to become emotionally involved with those
he liked or respected.

He lavished gifts, money and attention on his friends.
In return he expected only their love and fidelity. If
Mark disliked someone and you did not dislike him, too,
then you were betraying him. He often predicted
calamity for those who left him to work for someone
else.

I knew of one case where he hated a man with a
particularly vocal venom. He told me he had been
"crossed" by this man, that some day he would square
accounts with him. I was in Mark's office one after-
noon when this man called on him. The man was con-
trite. He begged Mark to forgive him. He said he was
broke, that his wife had left him. He began to cry.
Mark, overwhelmed by the man's tears, burst into tears
himself. I don't know whether it was the man's per-
sonal tragedy that touched Mark, or the man's un-
ashamed confessional. He gave the man a new stake, got
him together with his wife again, and obtained a job
for him.

"Wait and see," Mark said afterwards. "In a month
he'll cross me again."

Mark told me of another case. A writer came to him
in the hope of a job. There was no position open.
However, Mark gave the man a weekly sum and told
him to write a book. Did the man have an idea for
a book? Yes. An idea that had been germinating for
years. Mark told him to go and write it. He would
send the man a check every week for a year. Mark
expected to hold no options on the book, expected no
return for his money. Away went the man. In eight
months the book was finished. The writer sent the
book off to various publishers. No house would under-
take publication. However, one publisher did send the
manuscript to Mark (to whom it was dedicated).

The manuscript was a violent diatribe against Jews
in Hollywood.

Mark sent the manuscript to the author with a last
final check. A note was attached: "Not because of
what you wrote but because even a no-talent bastard
has to eat."

The snap ending to this incident of a Jew unknow-
ingly supporting a writer to write an anti-Semitic har-
rangue was a source of amusement to Mark.

As a matter of fact he was constantly trying to fit

life into a pattern of snap endings. If somebody was
bad, he might somehow turn up doing something good.
A saint, on the other hand, might turn out to be an
unholy terror.

FROM the very first picture he produced inde-
pendently, Mark was successful, both commercially
and critically. He made a lot of money and spent a lot.
He was never afraid that he would not make more. His
future in the film business was reasonably certain when
his latest deal with Selznick was consummated. In spite
of this, in spite of the money he had made and the
fame he had reached, Mark was insecure and fright-
ened. He drove himself day and night to bolster his
position. He felt that the slightest carelessness or lack
of interest might wipe him into oblivion.

"Suppose you could be guaranteed a yearly wage by
some studio and they'd let you make the kind of pictures
you want," I asked, "would you feel safe?"

"I wouldn't take it."

"Why?"

"I gotta do it myself. I don't want to take orders
from anybody, anybody. I've got my self respect. I'll
show 'em, all of 'em."

It seemed he was always getting even with something
that had been done to him. Perhaps this driving pur-
pose and limitless energy enabled him to become the
sort of success he believed he wanted to be.

By the time he died he had amassed several filing
cabinets relating his successes and personal exploits.
How many more clippings it would have taken to
satisfy him that he was "successful" I don't know. His
walls were proof that "Important" people thought
highly of him and loved him. Yet, he constantly ques-
tioned their love and had to hear again and again
that they respected him.

Mark hated the Hollywood Jungle and yet he loved
it, too. He had accustomed himself to the kind of
jungle fighting that is required for success here and he
prided himself on his skill and talent in coming out
on top.

I'm not sure what it was that he was trying to live
down, but I do know that his goals were good ones,
that his objectives in life were worthwhile, that he
was more human than he was a "successful producer."

It seems to me that Mark Hellinger was a sort of
Hemingway hero: hard-boiled, colorful, sometimes
bewildered, extremely sentimental, easy to laugh and
easy to cry, generous, vengeful and forgiving, hungry
for the full life, and in the end being cheated by what
he wanted most.

The organ music ended. Most of the mourners had

16

THE SCREEN WRITER

become hypnotized by the drawn-out chords, the casket
on the stage, and the knowledge that within it lay a man
who only a few days ago had been as alive as the rest
of us.

A woman began to sob. She rose and hurried outside
the chapel to control her tears. She was a close friend
of Mark's. Her tears started others crying.

An austere Rector of the High Episcopal faith came
out onto the stage and began to deliver a prayer. As
he talked, the mourners became fidgety and dry-eyed.
This religious man was not talking about the Mark
Hellinger we knew. Somehow this was not the prayer
with which to dispatch Mark. The sendoff was out of
key.

Mark's religion was more human than these strung-
together words.

Perhaps a Jewish funeral service for Mark would
have been false. But this one was false, too.

The Rector made a cross over Mark's casket and,
with an admonition that only believers in Christ could
enter heaven, ended the service.

There was a kind of surprised shock in most eyes.
Disappointment, too. Mark was a Christian, not by

church, but because of his relations with other men.

A number of mourners filed up on stage to take a
last look at Mark behind the thick glass.

"He doesn't look like Mark," most of them said.

I went outside into the dazzling sunlight. I felt
better because the service had taken place in daytime.

"They should've had a few bottles of brandy around,"
said someone. "That's the way Mark would've wanted
it."

"Yeah. Somebody should've told some jokes or
something. This wasn't like Mark."

"Or stories. The way Mark told them."

"I wished I could've cried," said someone else.

The crowd was still outside looking for famous
"successful" faces.

I walked away subdued, disappointed, cheated.

They were going to ship Mark back to New York
to be buried.

I hope he wasn't scared.

I was.

No part of the above article may be reprinted without
permission of the author.

Screen Writers' Guild Studio Chairmen

(February 20, 1948)

Columbia — Louella MacFarlane; alternate, Edward
Huebsch.

MGM — Anne Chapin; alternate, Sonya Levien; Jos-
eph Ansen, Robert Nathan, and George Wells,
Studio Committee.

Paramount — Theodore Strauss; alternate, Richard
Breen.

Republic — Sloan Nibley; alternate, Patrick Ford.

RKO — Daniel Mainwaring ; alternate, Martin Rackin.

20th Century-Fox — Richard Murphy; alternate,
Wanda Tuchock.

Universal-International — D. D. Beauchamp.

Warners — James Webb ; alternate, Edmund North.

17

An Education in Educational Films

ARTHUR L. MAYER

ARTHUR L. MAYER, a theatre man
for many years, is perhaps best knoian
for his operation of the Rialto in New
York. He has imported many outstand-
ing foreign films including the memo-
rable Open City. For ivar services, as
Assistant to the Chairman of the Amer-
ican Red Cross, he <was decorated by
the President, <with the Medal of Merit.

MY education in educational films started un-
expectedly three years ago when I was in
Burma. The Stillwell Road had been com-
pleted in the face of almost incredible obstacles, and
the only serious danger that remained was the preva-
lence of malarial mosquitoes. To instruct the natives
in the elementary precautions to be taken against the
disease, we made up some film slides greatly magnifying
the size of the mosquito so as to clearly illustrate the
means by which the deadly germ was carried. To
my dismay, at the first showing of the film, the audi-
ence burst into paroxysms of laughter. I asked the
Chinese lad seated next to me the cause of the merri-
ment. "In America," he said, "maybe you have great
big mosquitoes like elephants and they must be danger-
ous. But here we have teeny bitsy ones which only
give you a little itch."

It is possible to exaggerate the size of a malarial
mosquito but I cannot overstate the profound uneasi-
ness which arose from four years of intimate association
with thousands of American GI's. The world has
never seen a more lovable group of young men, gallant.
gay, generous, and ingenious. But along with these
virtues, were their ignorance, intolerance and indiffer-
ence. Suddenly catapulted into exciting ancient cultures
such as those of China, India, Italy and Egypt, nowhere
did more than a minute percentage indicate the faintest
awareness of the mystery and miracle of their new
surroundings. Nothing in their previous education had
conditioned them to be interested in the history, the
customs, the religions or the ideals of the people among
whom they were stationed. They dismissed them as

dirty, untruthful and dishonest. They measured civiliza-
tion in terms of motor power, and human dignity on
the basis of sanitary installations. I saw the warmth
of our original welcome in all these countries fade to
hostility as a consequence of our boorishness, prejudices
and even arrogance. It seemed to me, and still seems
to me, that the peace of the world is threatened not
solely by the dark suspicions and fanatic ideologies
of our totalitarian enemies, but also by the complete
failure of American education to inculcate in our youth
broad human interests and sympathies. Bigotry and the
myth of racial supremacy are unfortunately not con-
fined exclusively to nazis and communists.

I vowed that if I ever got back home I would try
to lead a better and more useful life. I would seek
to atone for all the bad pictures I had made and
shown to adults, by producing some for children, that
would broaden their horizons and make them more
fully aware of the common needs and aspirations of
all people. For this colossal task my equipment was
pitifully meager. I knew little about modern educa-
tional procedure and less about modern educational
thought. I had been a picture exhibitor, importer and
producer all my life. I had played a pigmy part in the
gigantic task of creating films for the Army, which
served with vast success to train young men for the
job of killing. I was convinced that we could use pic-
tures equally effectively to train youngsters for the
job of living. We would show them the Seven Seas
as links binding rather than dividing the world ; the
Polar regions, not as vast frozen wastes, but as the
heavenly highways of the future ; the islands of the

18

THE SCREEN WRITER

Pacific, not as tropical paradises inhabited by irresistible
sarong-clad sirens, but as strategic stepping stones
between East and West. I wanted to make pictures
for our children while their minds were still sensitive
and tender, about the children of other countries
equally tender and sensitive, going to school for the
first time, wearing shoes for the first time, celebrating
their religious ceremonies that are the equivalent of our
Christmas. I wanted to show our young people the
people of all lands seeking to satisfy what all men
need of food, clothing and shelter, healing the sick,
rearing their offspring, working in fields and shops,
developing institutions of government, expressing in
color, line and dance their love of the beauty of nature,
God and man.

IN spite of my long years in the motion picture
industry, I am, comparatively speaking, a man of
my word. Promptly upon my return to the United
States two years ago, I proceeded to screen some 600
so-called educational pictures. For many years I have
spent a large part of my time looking at Hollywood B
product. Indeed, I am frequently referred to in movie
circles as the greatest living authority on bad motion
pictures. I had considered these B's about the lowest
form of human life. To my amazement, however, it
seemed that a large percentage of the teaching films
that I screened had been made by men of an even
lower grade of intelligence than those who turned
out the murder, mystery and menace films in which
I have specialized. Many of the teaching films seemed
to me little more than illustrated lectures. Many
seemed to be on subjects which could be taught just
as well by traditional methods. Many seemed to rely
too greatly on live action and too little on the infinite
capacity of animation to visualize the invisible and
animate the inanimate. Many, to my limited intelli-
gence at any rate, seemed to cover so large a range of
ideas or so wide a segment of human experience as
to be confusing rather than enlightening. Few of them
seemed to me to take advantage of the particular talent
of the film for converting the abstract into concrete
unforgettable images. None of them seemed to me to
be made by showmen with the gift of making the
acquisition of knowledge an exciting and dramatic
adventure.

Since then, experience has made me vastly more
charitable. I have tried to make educational pictures
myself and discovered to my cost, the discouragements
incurred in simultaneously seeking to satisfy prominent
academic authorities, associations of teachers, subject
matter experts, visual education directors, script writers
and motion picture technicians. Frequently, I felt like

an equestrian performer trying to ride a half-dozen
unbridled horses simultaneously and inevitably, sooner
or later, falling down between them. I have also be-
come better acquainted with the economic status of
the industry and discovered that educational pictures
today are not made by morons, unless they are morons
to be in the business, but by entrepreneurs understand-
ably eager to secure some small profit on their invest-
ment of time and money. Only rarely does any picture
attain a sale of 400 prints in a year. Most subjects
sell far fewer. The average selling price, less the cost
of merchandising for a one reel film, is $30.00. In
other words, the gross return on a highly successful
one reel picture is approximately $12,000, and ordinari-
ly far less. Deducting overhead, depreciation and other
inevitable operating expenses, it is obvious that a man
who makes educational pictures consistently budgeted
over $8,000 a reel is going to end up in the red at the
end of the year. But nobody, however gifted or in-
dustrious, who makes pictures costing $8,000 or less,
is going to turn out films that will give stature and
standing to motion pictures in American education.

The funds for our enterprise were contributed by
the Motion Picture Association. For a considerable
number of years, indeed since 1936, the Association
has been engaged in various cooperative educational
projects with organizations such as the American Coun-
cil on Education, and has spent several hundred thou-
sand dollars in seeking to test existing visual aids in
the schools to ascertain a basis for designing new films
of greater merit. It has prepared treatments for several
hundred proposed films and has organized its own
subsidiary, Teaching Films Custodians, to reassemble
and distribute excerpts from theatrical pictures which
touched on vital problems in human relations. These
and many other activities, indicate the deep interest
of the Association in educational pictures, an interest
which was so encouraging that at one stage in the
proceedings we even dared to dream of a $10,000,000
foundation to promote cheaper projectors, improved
classroom facilities, more widespread training of teach-
ers in the use of films and a steady flow of pictures
created by educators and movie makers working in
close coordination.

Actually, however, we wound up with an appropri-
ation from the Association of $100,000 which was
later reduced to $75,000. By this standard you may
measure the vast chasm between my educational aspira-
tions and my educational achievements to date! For
another yawning gulf between promise and perform-
ance I was not responsible. When I returned from a
trip to Germany a year and a half ago, I was genu-
inely shocked to read releases in the newspapers speak-
ing of the proposed production of "model films," and

19

AN EDUCATION IN EDUCATIONAL FILMS

statements that "a new standard for producers of
classroom films was about to be established." No such
wild claims were in my mind or those of the Associa-
tion representatives with whom I dealt. The project
was first referred to at our meetings by the modest
title of "sample films." This was later changed to the
innocuous if lugubrious soubriquet of Pilot Films.
"Model films" was a press representative's pipe dream.

Otherwise our arrangement was simple and un-
marred by misunderstanding. I contributed my time;
the Association, as a public relations gesture, con-
tributed its money and did not seek in any way to
influence the enterprise. Our joint purpose was to
produce five or six pictures at a reasonable cost, to
ascertain what if anything, the movie industry had to
offer in the field of teaching films. It was understood
from the outset, that the teaching effectiveness of the
films produced must be demonstrated by classroom
tests before they were released and that a reasonable
amount of the appropriation should be held in reserve
to make whatever changes these tests proved desirable.
Such tests were instituted in New Haven late last
spring under the auspices of Dr. Mark May of Yale
University and have been renewed this fall on the
three pictures produced to date.

I also turned for cooperation and enlightenment to a
group of textbook publishers associated in an enter-
prise known as the Teaching Films Survey. They were
in a strategic position to be well aware of educational
bottlenecks where teaching films could successfully be
used as a substitute for traditional methods. They had
a specialized knowledge of subject matter, of competent
available authors and of the needs and viewpoints of
school superintendents and principals, with a capacity
to corral the authors and correlate the films with those
needs and viewpoints. In addition, their advice on
marketing procedures and their capacity to prepare
brochures on the films we proposed to produce, all
seemed to point to them as particularly desirable asso-
ciates in an educational film project — and such they
proved to be.

Under the procedure which we adopted, representa-
tives of the Commission on Motion Pictures worked
with the publishers' experts in selecting the subjects
which they considered the most desirable, the age level
to which the subject should be addressed and the ob-
jectives of each picture. After the objectives had been
agreed upon, a production outline was prepared show-
ing the nature of the teaching problem, a description
of the audience for whom the film was intended, and
a list of the facts which the film was supposed to
teach. Next, the subject was assigned to one of the

textbook publishers whose firm had a particular compe-
tency to deal with it and they selected a subject matter
expert to write a basic memorandum. This memo was
submitted to the Commission for checking with key
people in the educational field. This was followed by a
reconciliation of divergent views between the author
of the memo and the advisory consultants. After this
reconciliation was effected, the treatment agreed upon
was turned over to a script writer who proceeded to
whip the material into script form. This, of course,
again had to be the subject of further communications
and conferences attended by teaching specialists in the
subject matter field, directors of visual education as
well as those actively engaged on the film such as the
script writer, the producer and myself. If and when
we agreed on the final script, I had to then battle out
with the producer the painful detail of cost, and when
these proved too high, to chisel with the experts for
eliminations.

We had hoped to make the pictures in the major
company studios but financial obstacles proved insuper-
able and the three pictures thus far produced were all
turned out by independent documentary producers ;
Subtraction, by John Grierson's organization, The
World Today; Osmosis by Affiliated Film Producers
consisting of Van Dyke Jacoby, Rodakiewicz and
Ferno, the men who made the distinguished OWI
Overseas films; and The Seasons by Film Graphics,
composed of two fugitives from the Disney Studio.
None of the three films are entirely satisfactory, as
Dr. May's tests are demonstrating, if indeed it were
not already obvious to their realistic-minded producers.
If remade tomorrow, they could in many ways be im-
proved, but the one thing we could not do would be
to reduce their cost. Subtraction, running a reel and
a half, cost approximately $16,000; Osmosis, two reels,
$22,000 ; The Seasons, two reels in color, $20,000. A
fourth proposed film on Roger Williams and Religious
Tolerance, was projected and a script prepared by
Leonard Spigelgass. It required, however, competent
actors, sets and costumes and has not as yet been pro-
duced because we could find no major producer pre-
pared to make it for less than $60,000. Warner Broth-
ers, for instance, was confident they could make it
a memorable film for that amount, but however mem-
orable, so costly a picture would have little bearing
on solving the immediate practical problem that con-
fronts all who are interested in the financial as well
as the technical aspects of producing teaching films.
None of the films I have mentioned paid any remunera-
tion for the services of educational advisors or picture
technicians. If such costs had been added, the pictures
would, of course, have been substantially more expen-
sive.

20

THE SCREEN WRITER

THE production schedule I have described may have
sounded arduous. It certainly was. There were, for
instance, not less than five Seasons scripts prepared
and fully fifty people were consulted in the making of
the film. It took five months from the draft of the
first script to the approval of the last one, and then
another two months before the picture itself was com-
pleted. Obviously, no commercial enterprise, seeking
to function on a profit basis, with a steady flow of
product, could operate in such a fashion. Moreover,
too many highly articulate advisers frequently become
a liability rather than an asset. The more each knows,
the more he contributes additional ideas whose inclusion
in the picture appear essential to him. Too many cooks
may not spoil the broth, but they can add so many
ingredients that it curdles.

While the pictures were in the making, the pub-
lishers were conducting a survey to determine the
present and prospective use of films in schools, the
fields and subjects on which they were most desired,
and the strength and weakness of the films produced
to date. Over 7,000 questionnaires were distributed
and collected by textbook salesmen from superintend-
ents, principals, visual education directors and teachers
in the 501 largest school systems of the country. A
report on this survey, prepared by a highly competent
research worker and statistician, Carroll Belknap, was
completed a few months ago, and a report on this
report will shortly be published by the Teaching Films
Survey. This is cause for rejoicing for the Belknap
report seems to me the first genuinely educational
material as yet collated on educational pictures, an
invaluable antidote to years of boundless enthusiasm
based on abysmal ignorance.

This enthusiasm, though it generated considerable
early interest in educational circles in the use of teach-
ing films, has proved a boomerang. Oversold teachers
were discouraged to find that films did not produce the
automatic miracles that zealots had led them to antici-
pate. Actually, for a conscientious teacher, films do not
make teaching easier. They may impart information
more excitingly and more permanently, but they con-
stitute no short-cut to the royal road to knowledge.
If anything, they impose increased demands on the time
and the capacity of instructors.

Nor is enthusiasm over the possibilities of the medium
sufficient. Adequate training is equally necessary. Such
training is supplied by teachers colleges at the present
time in a haphazard fashion. Of all the VE courses
described in the catalogues submitted to the Teaching
Film Survey, Belknap found only seven dealing spe-
cifically with the use of films. The vast majority of
school superintendents, principals and visual education
directors comment unfavorably on the ability of teach-

ers to use films effectively. Many of them regard this
weakness as the major handicap at the present time
to the advancement of visual education. If this is so,
it is surprising that the great majority of schools make
so little effort to cure the situation with in-service
courses.

UNDER these conditions, it is discouraging, but
scarcely surprising, that although nationally speak-
ing, approximately one-third of the teachers are greatly
interested in the use of films, the percentage is far
less than this where there are the most projectors and
where pictures have been used the longest time. It is
considerably higher where there are the fewest pictures
and the least experience with teaching films. This situ-
ation cannot possibly be cured until there is a substantial
increase in the number of satisfactory pictures dealing
specifically with subject matter in the school curriculum.
At the present time not only do the vast majority of
Visual Education directors, principals and teachers find
the pictures themselves inadequate, but they are hope-
lessly limited, particularly in the elementary schools,
in securing productions that deal directly with specific
topics.

For example, physical geography is one of the sub-
jects for which films are mostly commonly used in the
elementary schools as well as in the high schools. Actu-
ally, there are only about 30 sound motion pictures that
concentrate on this subject that are featured in text-
books. Only four of these 30 films are generally rated
as suitable for use in elementary schools. Yet far more
than these 30 films are actually used in teaching this
subject, both in elementary schools and in high schools.

The paucity of pictures leads to amazing tolerance
in defining grade levels. The University of Illinois,
for instance, is somewhat stricter than most film renting
libraries, but it lists 119 titles as suitable for all grades
from primary to Junior high school; 117 from inter-
mediate to college ; 441 from Junior high school through
college. The use of films in schools is no indication
either of satisfactory quality or availability, but of the
determination and ingenuity with which a considerable
number of teachers continue to seek to utilize subjects
which have only a vague or partial relationship to the
curriculum and age of the students.

In the meantime, there continues to be substantial
advance in the installation of projectors in schools. By
1951 there should be approximately 30,000 projectors
available for teaching. This represents progress, but
on the other hand it is disheartening when you compare
our expenditures for education for peace with those
for education for fighting. During the war the Army
alone, it is claimed, purchased 61,000 projectors.

21

AN EDUCATION IN EDUCATIONAL FILMS

With the exception of Encyclopedia Britannica
Films, which produces approximately 50% of the most
popular subjects, and one or two other moderately
well established organizations, the bulk of teaching
films have come from shoe-string production by small
units, from the by-products of entertainment pictures,
from the sponsored production by industry, philan-
thropic institutions and government agencies, and in the
last year or two from "angeled" production financed
by someone who has been cajoled into putting up the
necessary funds. The day of the angels is now coming
to an end, with the day of the devils about to set in.
By the devils I mean, more or less facetiously, my good
friends the major film producing companies. United
World, a Universal subsidiary, has already announced
its entry into the educational field. Warner Brothers
and R.K.O. are only restrained by temporary worry
over the loss of the British entertainment film market.
These gentlemen are as well equipped with funds as
they are lacking in knowledge. Once they enter the
educational field they will not falter as did their prede-
cessors because of lack of cash or confidence. For a
considerable length of time they will not teach the

children much, but they will learn greatly themselves.
It may, indeed, prove one of the greatest educational
projects in history — the education of the movie makers.
I, myself, would have greatly preferred a few years
of further experimentation under the auspices of one
of the educational foundations or of the Motion Pic-
ture Association. In this way we could have established
a sounder foundation for progress and avoided many
errors for which not only our innocent producers, but
what is far more important, our innocent progeny will
pay. We are, however, as a nation, apparently dedicated
not to deviate from the free enterprise system, even
where, as in the field of education, it may prove far
from free but highly costly to all concerned. Make
no mistake, however, we will eventually have good
teaching films and plenty of them. They will be used
in every electrically equipped school in the country, not
replacing textbooks or classroom instruction, but in
close conjunction with them. We will learn to do these
things, but we will learn them the hard way. Maybe,
if my own experience is a reliable guide, it is the
only way in which uneducated people can learn to
be educators.

22

Cops and Writers

MALVIN WALD

SfVG member MALVIN WALD was
sent by Mark Hellinger to New York
to obtain background material for
The Naked City on which he shared
screenplay credit with Albert Maltz.

LAST year I approached a producer with an idea
for a picture. The producer had been a famed
Broadway columnist and knew life in New York
City as no one else did.

The idea was a simple one: it had occurred to me
that in film stories the police usually sat around doing
nothing until Dick Powell or Humphrey Bogart, func-
tioning as private eyes, came through with enough
brilliant deductions to solve the case. I was certain
the police did a great deal more than that and I wanted
to write a picture about it.

I asked the producer, who had been familiar with
many famous New York City murder cases just one
thing, "How many of those cases were solved by
private detectives?"

He thought this over carefully. "Come to think of
it, pappy," he said, ". . . none of them. The police
usually solved them."

"How about making a movie letting the public in
on that great secret?" I suggested.

He thought it a good idea for an honest and realistic
picture all down the line. He arranged with Mayor
O'Dwyer and Police Commissioner Wallender for me
to go to New York City and spend a month at Police
Headquarters, learning everything I could about solv-
ing murders. The Police Commissioner instructed his
top detectives to give me a thorough course in scientific
crime deduction — with the accent on homicide.

'T1 HE month spent with those New York City cops
-*■ was most revealing

First, they did not greet me with open arms. I began
to feel like a criminal as the various detectives eyed
me with cold appraisal. They informed me in their own
quiet way that they didn't harbor much affection for

screen writers — especially those who write murder

mysteries.

Slowly they poured out their bitter complaints. In
too many movies they were shown as lazy, stupid char-
acters who wore derbies indoors and spoke out of the
sides of their mouths.

They were portrayed as hopelessly inefficient buffoons
and bunglers who couldn't find a sailor in a Navy
Yard. In the films they were unable to solve even
the simplest murder without the assistance of a hand-
some private eye and his blonde secretary. And this
in the face of the fact that not a single murder had
been solved by a private detective in New York in
the last quarter-century.

"Look, friend," said one detective, "we don't look
upon ourselves as heroes. We're just a bunch of hard-
working civil servants who try to support our families
on $80 or $90 a week. We've all put in plenty of time
pounding beats as patrolmen and we earned our pro-
motions to the rank of detectives."

"That's right," agreed a neatly-dressed lieutenant.
"We're no glamor boys. But we solve most of our
murders and arrest the killers. And we hope to retire
on pensions while we're still young enough to do a
little fishing and traveling."

"We don't mind you writer fellows exaggerating
a little," added a middle-aged inspector with a touch
of Irish brogue in his Brooklyn accent. "That's how you
make your living. But when you start telling bald-
faced lies about us — giving us no credit for the work
we do day after day, year after year — then we're
just a bit annoyed."

Their report of grievances suddenly switched to an
informal cross-examination. No rubber hoses or bright
lights. Just the names of a few current murder movies

23

THE SCREEN WRITER

they had seen and not liked — at all. I hadn't written
any of the films they mentioned — but still I started to
sweat.

Finally I admitted that perhaps many Hollywood
producers and writers had gotten lost in the excitement
of their stories and had been a little careless with the
truth. However I assured them that I would do my
best to write an honest film about men on the homi-
cide squad.

"Okay," they said with a smile I'm sure they re-
served for murderers discovered with smoking revolvers
in their hands, "we'll take your word and teach you
what we can. But we're willing to bet that when your
story hits the screen, it will be just like the others."

SO I started making the rounds of all the bureaus
and offices of the police department concerned with
the subject of homicide. I read the voluminous files of
the outstanding murder cases in recent New York
history.

Some of these files contained as many as a thousand
separate documents — reports from detectives, anony-
mous tips to the police, statements of dying men and
letters from other law enforcement agencies.

I watched the police at work in the morning line-up
and I interviewed the detectives from the homicide
squad, which investigates all murders.

With two hundred assorted detectives, I attended a
refresher course at the New York Police Academy at
which leading experts gave hard-hitting, practical lec-
tures on every aspect of crime.

I spent several uncomfortable hours at the city
morgue watching the medical examiner and his as-
sistants perform autopsies on recently-arrived corpses.
According to New York laws, the medical examiner
(a civil service employee, responsible only to the mayor)
investigates all cases of persons who died by homicide,
suicide, casualties, under suspicious circumstances or
unattended by a physician or another person.

I sniffed lethal poisons in the test-tubes of the city
toxicologists. I peered at bullets through the double-
barrelled comparison microscopes of the ballistics ex-
perts. I examined the spectograph machine of the tech-
nical research laboratory.

At the Bureau of Criminal Investigation, I met the
"silent detectives," the files of criminal records. These
records included the fingerprint files and the rogues'
gallery, where photographs of criminals are filed two
ways — according to height and according to modus
operandi (kind of crimes in which they specialize).

Pictures for the rogues gallery are taken in a photo
gallery located in the basement of police headquarters,

right next to a row of jail cells. Business was slow
the day I visited it. The over-anxious photographer
was all set to have me pose for front and side views.
But my detective-escort assured him that I really
wasn't a criminal — just a Hollywood writer.

Everywhere I went, the news that I was a screen
writer was received with a look of suspicion and a
sniff of disapproval. Every expert I met had some fault
to find with mystery movies and demanded to know
why the writers didn't get their technical details
straight.

Here then are a few tips they passed on to me. Some
of them I used in the picture I was writing. The
others are offered gratis with the hope that your pro-
ducers will let you use them in your screenplays.

LET'S start with the New York Police Department's
first connection with a murder. (The procedure
may differ in other cities.) All calls about a homicide
are received at a central telephone switchboard.

The operator at the switchboard immediately calls
the following persons and directs them to the scene
of the crime : detectives of the Homicide Squad ; detec-
tives of the nearest police precinct; the Medical Ex-
aminer's office ; the Assistant District Attorney's office ;
the Bureau of Ballistics if a firearm was used; the
Technical Research Laboratory; and if it is a heavy
case, an inspector or even the Police Commissioner
himself.

That may seem like a lot of people. But murder
is a serious business and its solution is not a one-man
affair. It requires teamwork and long arduous effort on
the part of many specialists.

Upon arriving at the scene of the crime, detectives
must wear their badges on an outside garment. The
room is cleared of all unnecessary people. That includes
newspaper men, wandering drunks and private eyes
trying to solve the crime with the help of beautiful
debutantes.

A stenographer is summoned and the detective on
the case dictates to him a detailed and accurate descrip-
tion of the scene — the physical layout, the condition
and appearance of the body, any weapons found, etc.

The detective cannot disturb any item in the room
until the police photographer snaps the scene from
several angles. Meanwhile the detective must draw a
sketch of the scene of the crime for his own use in
questioning witnesses and suspects.

The sketch should include such details as the position
of the body, all important furniture, all entrances,
exits, doors and windows. It should also show whether
the lights were on or off, whether the windows were

24

COPS AND WRITERS

up or down, and what kind of weather there was out-
side.

The detective must not fingerprint the victim of a
shooting until the Medical Examiner (or Coroner in
other cities) is through with the body. A shooting
during a struggle may result in powder burns on the
fingers. Fingerprinting may smudge those burns.

At the scene of the homicide, the ranking officer of
detectives is in charge of the case. But the cause of
death should not be determined by him, but by the
Medical Examiner.

The detective should never touch the murder gun
until the Ballistics man arrives. The Technical Re-
search Lab man will take care of the clues, traces and
fingerprint evidence.

The most common fault, which screen writers com-
mit, is the manner in which their movie detectives
pick up a murder gun.

In the average movie, the detective sees the weapon
lying on the floor near the body. "Don't touch that
gun," he says. "The finger prints on it will send the
guilty man to the chair."

The cinema detective thereupon goes through an
elaborate procedure. He removes a large handkerchief
from his breast pocket and carefully wraps it around
the gun. He puts the gun in his pocket and when he
gets back to headquarters he drops it off with the
fingerprint expert.

This may be a shock to followers of the handker-
chief method — but all the handkerchief does is blur
or remove any good prints from the weapon.

Incidentally, the New York police report that they
haven't found a set of five good fingerprints on a gun
in the last twenty years.

Fingerprints play an important part as clues in mov-
ies, yet their use is often incorrect. Because of the
tremendous amount of fingerprints on file, a criminal
can't be identified through a single print. Normally
five prints are needed to identify an individual's char-
acteristics.

Even though our film detectives think otherwise,
fingerprints are seldom left clearly on any object except
a glass or a bottle. When taking such articles away
from the scene of the crime, detectives should never
put them in an envelope or wrap them up. They should
be carried in a loose, open box.

This is liable to cause a civil war among law en-
forcement agencies, but the greatest story point about
fingerprints is contrary to fact. That is the myth of
requesting fingerprint identification from the F.B.I,
and receiving an answer overnight.

Because of the millions of fingerprints on file in
Washington, it takes from a week to a month to get
a response. But don't blame the F.B.I. Blame the
Congress which cuts down their appropriations.

TO get back to that murder gun lying on the floor.
A few writers do know better than to use handker-
chiefs. Their detective-heroes extract a pencil from
their pockets, insert the pencil in the barrel of the gun
and lift it up that way.

That method is all right as far as fingerprints go.
But it just about ruins the work of the ballistics expert.
He'll never be able to figure out what kind of a bullet
caused those strange new markings which the detec-
tive's pencil left in the barrel of the gun.

What then is the correct way to pick up a murder
gun without spoiling the fingerprints or ballistic mark-
ings? The answer is strange but sensible. Simply loop a
piece of string through the trigger, lift the gun up and
nail it between two wooden boards for carrying pur-
poses.

Where do you get boards, hammer and nails for
that? The detective from the technical research lab-
oratory brings them in his homicide kit.

This kit also contains such handy items as tape meas-
ures, rule measures, benzidine (to test for bloodstains),
knives, tweezers, forceps, scissors, hack-saws, screw-
drivers, pliers, chisels, files, test tubes, rubber gloves,
flashlights, and gaseous iodine. The iodine, when
sprayed through an atomizer, brings out latent finger-
prints.

The technical research lab man can also bring along
a portable ultra-violet ray lamp which can detect the
contents of a suitcase without even opening it.

And back at his lab, the detective-scientist has an
invaluable aid in the spectograph. This is an optical
instrument which requires only a tiny amount of
material to analyze any sort of matter on photographic
plates. These photos can be introduced in court as evi-
dence to identify pieces of dust, soil, metallic substances,
hairs or threads which may be found on the clothes or
shoes of a suspect.

An up-to-date police department like New York's
makes use of the very latest scientific discoveries. Mine
detectors, developed during the war, help locate buried
guns, knives and bullets. The snooper-scope uses infra-
red light to enable a detective to spot a criminal in
the dark.

Many writers have their criminals outwit the police
by filing off gun and automobile engine numbers. But

25

THE SCREEN WRITER

today New York's police scientists can restore those
numbers by using an etching acid to show up the com-
pressed molecules of metals which have been stamped
by the numbers.

The ballistics experts were very much perplexed by
the colorful and inaccurate names given to guns by
writers. "Why," demanded one ballistics man, "do those
movie cops use terms like rod, cannon, roscoe, gat and
heater? Why don't they use the correct nomenclature?
Only three types of concealed weapons are involved in
murders — revolvers, pistols and automatics."

The average detective carries a .32 calibre Colt
revolver containing six bullets. So, caution the gun
experts, don't show a detective firing more than six
times without reloading. Sure, it happens all the time

in Western pictures — but that still doesn't make it
believable.

Those are just a few of the technical details that
cops don't like about movies. But their objections to
certain features of murder films are based on more
than personal vanity.

In order to solve crimes, the police need the help
of the public. And they can't expect too much coopera-
tion if the movies keep telling the citizens that the
police don't know how to solve the murder anyway.

So the appeal that the hardworking cops make today
to the producers and screen writers is this — Please try
to use the truth as a basis for your detective stories and
characters. There's no reason the truth can't be more
exciting than fiction.

Gunn
Shots

(Continued from Inside Front Cover)

serve admiration exclusively for pic-
tures in which the heroine's seams
are crooked and the hero has bags
under his eyes. At the extreme, they
want not only realism but bad light-
ing, and the hell with Gregg Toland.
But the realists are a healthy influ-
ence, and they have an endearing
sentimental inconsistency. They rhap-
sodize over the realistic dowdiness of
English actresses, but their one com-
plaint about Great Expectations was
that Valerie Hobson was not suffi-
ciently glamorous. They villify Hol-
lywood for sentimentalizing and pret-
tifying character, but when in Golden
Earrings Marlene Dietrich showed up
unwashed, unsavory, and by inference
maybe lousy, all in legitimate keeping
with the character, the stern realists
went home and wept into their pil-
lows.

All this is old stuff, and the only
new development is that the critics of
Hollywood, one and all, have some-
how confused themselves with Billy
Wilkerson and are telling Hollywood
how to make money. This is brash
and regrettable ; the boys' hearts are
in the right place, but they are in
danger of making fools of themselves.

"Business is falling," they say smug-
ly, "we told you that ephemeral
glamor would pass." People are now
shopping for their pictures, they purr
— but my God, fellows, look what
Mama brings home from the store !

Of the top grossers of the year, only
one, The Best Years of Our Lives got
up there mainly on the grounds of be-
ing adult and realistic, and that, be-
lieve it or not, was a fluke. Attendance
at The Best Years, very satisfactory
but not all that spectacular, almost
doubled with the tremendous prestige
of the Academy Awards. The public
supported Crossfire, but they bashed
in the doors to get at Green Dolphin
Street, that bonbon. They liked Boom-
erang, but Desert Fury had them gib-
bering with ecstasy. These are not
cold figures, or examples merely of
star power and advertising. I am a
relentless movie-goer, and the rap-
turous gurgles and delightful whim-
pers that surrounded me at some of
the turkeys would make Tom Pryor's
blood run cold.

As for the foreign pictures, the
critics say loftily that English pic-
tures are making strides because they
are adult. But the most successful
English picture, and deservedly, was
Great Expectations, which is maybe
as adult as Terry and the Pirates. It
was a masterpiece of hokum by the
gentleman who raised hokum to the
level of art, and it was brilliantly
scripted and directed for even' last

drop of classy razzmatazz that was
in it. The three superb Italian pic-
tures, the critics say somewhat rashly,
are taking audiences away from
American pictures because of their
honesty and dignity. But the one that
got much the furthest. Open City,
was luridly advertised as a red-hot
sex-and-horror item, crammed with
Lesbians, dope, and torture-by-blow-
torch.

Nor are American audiences the
only criminals in this line. One of
Britain's biggest box-office stars is
Margaret Lockwood, and if she has
appeared in anything reputable in re-
cent years, we have not heard of it.
I have not seen the Italian pictures
of Alida Valli. our newest lulu, but
those who have, assure me that some
of her biggest successes were glamor
plus. And the Mexican pictures of
Dolores Del Rio, smash hits in Latin
America, are basically as outdated in
Hollywood terms as the pictures the
fair Dolores made up here all of fif-
teen years ago.

And if you think movie audiences
are an especially nincompoop breed
take a look at the best-seller book lists.

I am not gloating because the
milennium hasn't arrived: I'm sorry
too. But the eager rush of the Hate-
Hollywood boys to tell us that good
pictures can make money (which sur-
prised nobody), is right in line with
their long-standing opinion that Hoi
lvwood is the root of and focus of all

26

GUNN SHOTS

evil, and that the ermine-swimming-
pool set, powerful, corrupt, and sly,
are diabolically turning out mass-pro-
duced junk to debase the minds of
the public and protect their ill-gotten
gains. All this, of course, in contrast
to our high-souled cousins across the
sea.

Offhand, I can't think of any writ-
er, director, or producer who delib-
erately sets out to make bad pictures.
(There are some dubious cases but I
think we have to set them down to a
peculiar idea of quality — the most
persistent makers of stinkers are hon-
estly enthusiastic about their efforts.)
Plenty of producers are almost solely
interested in making money but most
of them try, however ineptly, to make
the best picture possible in those terms.
Their writers and directors, whose
reputations depend less on financial
return than on quality, try harder.
And the only people who think mak-
ing commercial pictures is per se
criminal are the elegant chowderheads
who feel something like Beauty and
the Beast is on a higher level of art
than The Jolson Story.

The sad fact is, not that the public
particularly likes bad pictures, but
that they do not give a damn whether,
in critical terms, a picture is good or
not. Honest endeavor and high pur-
pose go for nothing unless they pay off
on the screen. And, at least in the cost
of Hollywood product, that goes for
the critics too. The theme of The

Guilt of Janet Ames, for instance,
was more adult and ambitious than
those of nine out of ten English pic-
tures ; but it did not come off, and no
one patted it on the head for trying.
The critics were down at the Filmarte
reading subtitles.

The men who make honest, imag-
inative, commercial pictures are to be
admired. It is not an easy job, but it
usually pays off and is wonderful for
the conscience. Boomerang was a wal-
loping good commercial story and
would have been successful even if
Dana Andrews had been prettied up
to look like Tyrone Power and Jane
Wyatt had been dressed by Adrian.
But the so-called documentary ap-
proach made it a better picture and
gave its creators a lot more satisfac-
tion.

The man who makes honest, imag
inative pictures and says to hell with
the box-office is even more to be ad-
mired, but he will have a rocky road.
He will get support from only a small
part of the public and, unless his good
intentions are realized, no thanks at
all from the critics. He will be at odds
with the moneymen, who would cheer-
fully finance nothing but stag reels
if they thought it would perk up their
returns. And if he has two or three
low-grossers in a row, he had better
quick turn around and make some-
thing like Dear Ruth, which isn't such
a bad idea at that.

It has not been a good year, but it
has not been an entirely ignoble one
either. It is too much to hope that
the critics and kibitzers will give up
Hollywood as their favorite whipping
boy — and Hollywood doesn't quite
deserve it. But it would be nice if
they turned a little of their fire across
the waters. And it would be a change
if they failed to imply that any Holly-
wood character not meeting their
specifications is necessarily an incom-
petent, a panderer, or the son of
Louis B. Mayer's cook.

SUPPLEMENTAL INFORMA-
TION ("If It's Foreign It's Fine
Division") : An old French picture
named Fanny showed up in New York
recently, and three of the critics, while
allowing it was no particular great
shakes, mentioned that at least it had
the virtues of being a simple, frank
little story, the kind Hollywood
would neither dare nor condescend to
touch. If the boys had checked their
history, they would have found (a)
Metro made the same picture ten
years ago, as Port of Seven Seas, with
Wallace Beery, Frank Morgan and
Maureen O'Sullivan, (b) both scripts
follow the original novel so closely
that one might be a translation of the
other, (c) allowing an edge for the
French Raimu over Beery, the Metro
picture was also a fair job, with exact-
ly the same merits and faults as the
import.

At the request of the magazine Biografagaren, published in Sweden, permission
has been granted to reprint in full LESTER KOENIG'S piece, Gregg Toland: Film
Maker, which appeared in the December issue of The Screen Writer.

27

THE SCREEN WRITER

BUptym MaxttyrnxBt Au?rg

28

Field 10

STEPHEN MOREHOUSE AVERY

SOMEONE else heard Charlie Berkeley tell that
weird tale about the chateau the other day. It is
a great pity. Charlie is too rare a soul to join the
company of not too successful old young men who go
along the street mumbling about things which every-
body else has forgotten.

What really happened was fairly commonplace:
three aviation cadets, wild with inaction in the mud-
bound aviation training camp at Issoudun, were run-
ning the guard lines on adventure bent — three dim
figures blurred by a slow, gray rain into the background
of a sloping field. Up beyond Vatan they saw a white
chateau in the woods and went there. No one came
to the door, and they finally walked in, walked into
the stillness of absolute desertion.

The details were the only queer part. Three card
tables remained set up in the drawing room, chairs
pushed back and bridge hands face up on the green
covers. A half-filled wine glass stood on the mantel.
A heap of cold ashes was in the fireplace. A withered
flower lay on the bottom step of the central staircase,
and on the piano bench was a lady's white glove. The
three cadets hurried away to the nearest town.

That's all. But you wouldn't think it was all to see
Berkeley's nice blue eyes all screwed up as he blandly
connects the thing with poor old Hibbard and tells it
as though he himself had seen and heard the whole
business. He's too fine a fellow to go on this way.

A great droning, level as silence, filled the warmth
of that afternoon. "God's got a tougher job than spot-
ting sparrows if he's keeping tabs on us pilotes,"
said Razz Ryan. Berkeley and Stannard, lounging
across the lower level of a double-decker bunk in Bar-
racks 5, laughed. But Razz was right. They were
coming down faster than sparrows just then. Another
lad stood with his back to them, struggling into an

oil-stained leather flying coat. A soft helmet sat askew
on his blond head and a pair of Meyrowitz goggles
dangled at his neck. For the lead-heavy skies which
had dripped all winter into the red mud flats of Issou-
dun, where the American training base was mired, were
gone. Gone too were the mutinous ditch-digging, guard-
walking, mad-to-fly days when the cadets of Issoudun
had broken along with their own hearts the hard-boiled
will to discipline of a succession of C.O.'s. They were
pilots now, officers, and they were flying.

And they were not so eager. During those springtime
weeks which were each an era, either of tragedy or the
exultant conquest of fear, the dizzy Nieuports had
taught them that there was more in the thing than a
pair of wings on one's tunic. So if disappointment had
driven them into comradeship, now danger made them
rare friends, never such friendship, and for so many
of that spirited, blithesome band, both the best and last.

But there was no halt. Outside a hundred darting
Nieuports made tiny, bright patterns in the sunlight
and the moaning of their motors was that droning
sound.

The blond lad was gazing meditatively into the
square of sky framed in the small barracks window
and studded just then with a daystar as a twinkling
1 5-meter banked up to catch the sun. Yet he did not
see the little plane. It was one of those moments when
Nieuport and Issoudun and comrades blurred out and
from a four-thousand-mile distance appeared the ver-
anda of a miraculous brick house, atop a lawn. Or
maybe it was only an ordinary brick house, but the
pompous old gentleman and the lady inside of it were
miraculous. That much was sure. They expected him
back some day.

Also, there was another he thought about, though
she had told him he mustn't. He remembered her gray

29

FIELD 10

eyes, black-gray, very wide and burning in their depths
with a sort of passionate sincerity. But she had told
him he must forget the depths of her eyes and that
he must not think of her that way, ever. So he thought
of her that way, always.

"Come out of the trance, Tom," said Berkeley.
"You'll see Paris before any of us. Give me a cigarette,
somebody."

Hibbard faced around, smiling. "I've got a date with
a Sopwith Camel this af — this af-ternoon." He had
always stammered. "They're very tr-tricky. If I don't
get down, you can come up after me with a but-butter-
fly net."

Paul Stannard laughed. "You'll come down all right
— in the front yard of the Chateau de Valencay." Every
forced landing at Issoudun was jovially assumed to be
a subterfuge to spend a few days at a convenient and
hospitable chateau.

But Stannard was not so jovial as he seemed. When
Tom had passed out of sight down the aisle between
the bunks his friend's expression changed. A drumbeat,
sounding at long, dismal intervals, reached them from
the roadway in front of camp. But no one spoke of it.

"Old Tom's getting groggy," went on Stannard.
They knew the look by this time, a bafflement written
across the brow, a strange, presaging moodiness of
heart, and then a 27 spinning out of the air and another
old cadet gone down. "He's flying too much, too well
and too fast. He ought to go to town and get tight,
eh, Razz?"

"Why ask me?" said Razz. "But it's a fact about
Tom. He's had 18's, the 15's at Field 5, Acrobacy,
Cross Country, Formation and now Combat at Field 8
inside of three weeks. No wonder it's got him."

Each of the nine flying fields, some of them apart
from the main camp, had its special feature of training.
A man went all the way through to become a pursuit
pilot, or part way for observation and bombing, or
else he was graduated with suddenness from any of
the fields to that last one of all which they called —
wouldn't you know? — Field 10. It lay just over the
hill, a short distance up the road, and nearly every day
now a grim little cortege started the journey from the
main entrance of camp, a few scratchy band instru-
ments, that slow drum, a shuffling honor guard of
rifles, a truck creeping in second gear and many young
men going out to fly that day pretending they didn't
see or hear or care.

"It isn't the flying that's got Tom," said Berkeley.
He hadn't spoken before.

Stannard sat up. "What is it, then? That?" He nod-
ded his head toward the faint, receding sound of that

drum. "You know, Ted Parker — gay old Ted — was
about his best friend, and Tom doesn't make friends
easily. It seems that everybody he's chosen to like has
— Brooks, Carberry — "

"No, that isn't it either," said Berkeley. "I found
Tom in town one night, awfully lit. Very queer for him.
He was babbling about a girl. Judith, I think. She's
just come over with the Red Cross and is in Paris
with the flu. But she wrote him not to come. Tom
doesn't remember anything that happened that night,
and he thinks no one knows. Perhaps one of you can
kid him out of it. Take a shot at it."

Stannard and Razz had hopped into the truck bound
for Field 7 before the news came in. Berkeley had gone
over to the Red Cross canteen to get some coffee and
enough ink to write a letter. The girl on duty sat at
the table with him for a momentary rest. "Little Thun-
derfoot" they called her, because of a particularly ener-
getic, chunky way of walking, but her first name was
Shannon and she had been there from the very first,
and half the boys in the camp were half in love with
her. And Shannon was blue today. "I've lost a friend,"
she said, "Judith Carleton. The dearest there was. Just
came over and caught the flu — "

Someone pushed open the door noisily. "Who had
the Sop Camel up from Field 8 ?" he called out. "Well,
it came down in a spin over toward Valencay. Some-
body saw it all the way to the trees."

Shannon must have been watching Berkeley's face.
"Who?" she asked.

Berkeley didn't answer that. He stood up.

"I guess I'll go for a walk," he said. "These things
get me down. There's a chateau up the way which I
ought to be able to make before dark." . . .

In reality Tom Hibbard was more curious of the
eccentricities of the little Clerget-motored Sopwith than
worried. The cockpit was shallow, and he seemed
nearer the propeller. The throttle pushed forward in-
stead of back; the stick ended in a handle like the
grip of a spade; the instruments were differently
placed; the whole ship seemed lighter, jerkier, more
delicate on control even than the Nieuport 28.

He'd gotten off all right, straight over the hangars,
and at five hundred meters he began a few experimental
banks, short dives and zooms. Then with that sense
of release, elation, power which fills the expert pilot
of these darting little speed hawks, he swung out over
the main camp in a wide, free arc.

Down below, in miniature from this altitude, were
the rows of long barracks, across from the Red Cross
huts, the Y.M.C.A. shelter, several clusters of hangars.
On the white tape of the road were tiny black figures

30

THE SCREEN WRITER

in a short procession. It looked stationary, but he knew
it was moving. He could imagine the drum. His elation
left him suddenly, and quick thoughts went to Ted
Parker, Brooks, Carberry. . . .

Then he started climbing in a tremendous spiral.
A fellow could forget if he looked up instead of down.
Above was a bank of thick white cloud. He mounted
twenty-five hundred meters to reach it and then coasted
along within a few feet of a stupendous mass of white
which towered over him like a tremulous wall of the
world.

Little skeins and veils swirled out to ensnare him,
and it was sport to jump and dodge them until, weary
of it and moved upon some sheer, laughter-ridden
impulse, he turned a vertical bank and plunged into
the soft blank depths. Twisting air currents rocked
the plane and traced whirling designs in the nebulous
shroud which hugged him so close that he couldn't see
the wing tips. He might have been climbing, diving,
slipping off on one wing or the other, upside down for
all his eyes could tell. But there were "feels" which
told him he wasn't. He knew he was climbing. The
motor was pulling steadily.

It was like coming to the surface of the water after
a long dive. He was mounting toward the light and
finally burst out into an atmosphere as warming as
sparkling gold, as liquid almost as a Vouvray cham-
pagne, and the moistened wings were glistening. Be-
neath him was a carpet for anybody's heaven, soft,
undulating whiteness suffused with sunlight, for human
eyes have never seen a lovelier thing than the top side
of a cloud. The plane hung motionless above it. Far
below, out of sight, so far as to be out of reckoning, a
planet spun — like a child's top.

But the alchemy of Tom Hibbard's mind had its
elements in that spinning toy, and his imagination found
in the whirls and shapes of the cloud a spired castle
made of stone, a tree made of wood standing in the
wind, a man with bowed head and the profile of a
girl's face.

"Judith," he murmured and, remembering, tried to
smile.

Intellectually he had always understood about Judith.
His Judith was his own creation. The real Judith had
never loved him, never would, and all those fair hopes
of his which dreamed her by his side in this place and
that were but the manufacture of his heart. But they
were none the less beautiful and they were perhaps more
poignant because unreal and because they were his in-
communicable own.

Sometimes, when he'd been flying all day, he really
dreamed, and it was a strange, exquisite dream. They
would both fly, quite without planes, quite by them-

selves, he and Judith. They simply joined hands, spread
wide their arms, and, with their outstretched palms
serving for ailerons, drifted away rapturously above
the topmost green of trees.

Coming free of the level of cloud, Hibbard scanned
the geometric imprint of humanity upon the misty earth
to get his bearings. He was north of camp. Plainly he
could distinguish the smokestacks of Vierzon and still
farther north was Romorantin. Directly below was
the green rectangle of the Valencay wood with the
white jewel of the chateau gleaming in its center.

He decided to go down a bit and dropped a thousand
meters in a series of reversements, wing slips, six or
seven turns in a spin. The Sop Camel behaved well.
He liked it.

Many of the fellows at Issoudun flew down low to
look over the Chateau de Valencay. It interested them
as a contrast of comfort, cultivation, the pleasures of
gentle life, against the crudeness of their own days.
They imagined weekends there with a small group of
congenial men, cards, music, polite talk, a few manners,
linen and silver, a little less and better wine and for
a change, ladies, nice ladies, something in the way of
girls they'd known at home.

Hibbard had another curiosity. He and Charley
Berkeley and one of the other boys had found a chateau
once. He wasn't quite sure that they hadn't gotten
off the road that day and that the chateau they found
was the Chateau de Valencay. The wires began to
vibrate a little too much, and he eased up on his descent.
There was a snap under the seats and suddenly the
stick was loose in his hand.

That is all the preliminary there is to a pilot's
sentence to death. It would be better if there were
none. Tom Hibbard had his moment of frenzy when
he saw that his elevators were gone. Take the ailerons,
the rudder, the motor, and he would have a fighting
chance. But a diving plane without elevators is headed
for the ground like a dart from Mars.

He couldn't get the nose up. The motor wouldn't
pull it up. So he cut the motor and tried to rudder
into a wing slip. No go. Then he crossed the rudder
and ailerons and got his spin . . . down . . . down.
The air screamed by. A piece of linen ripped away
from the wing.

Once at Tours he'd seen a fellow plunge into the
field, and just before he hit they all heard him shout-
ing. Hibbard thought of that. He'd seen many planes
crash, seen the engines buried five feet deep, seen the
twisted unrecognizable wrecks. He thought of all that.
He was breathless and blind with dizziness now, sitting
back in the cockpit with folded arms.

A smile touched his lips. So this was the way good

31

FIELD 10

old Ted Parker and Brooks had felt. Well, they'd
have to move over when he came to Field 10. He re-
membered his mother and father and Judith. He hoped
she was all right now. Somehow, that sudden brightness
was unpleasant. Then it all became red, and then
black, and that was all right. . . .

Hibbard found himself lying on a matting of thick
broad-bladed grass between tall evergreen trees. A pale,
wavering network of shadow fell about him, for the
sun was low. He sat up and began to laugh. He
couldn't stop laughing. He reached into his pocket for
a cigarette.

Certainly a queer feeling, like the astonishment one
might feel at being born — if one bothered with aston-
ishment then. He knew enough about flying and crashes
to realize how ridiculous it was for him to be sitting
there rubbing his eyes. He ought to be pulp, and no
amount of conjectured possibilities could get around
that. Suppose he'd fallen free at the last moment and
been let down through the trees. Rot ! A lake of feathers
wouldn't have saved him. What if the evergreens had
been enough to make the tail hit first, then the wings,
to take the shock in parts? Silly! That plane had hit
all at once, and the engine had gone into the ground
like a stone into water.

Yet there he was. To prove it, he stood up and
walked the few steps beyond the evergreens where a
thick film of smoke marked the wreck. Very little
wreck remained; wires, bolts, metal parts lay about,
and deeply buried was a twisted mass of steel that once
had been a propeller hub and a Clerget motor. Of
anything else there was no trace save the white ashes
left by the ferocity of a gasoline fire. Had he been
there, he would have been ashes too.

Plainly it was a miracle. The sickening sensation
which came upon him as he viewed the burned wreck
passed away and he felt light-hearted again. It was a
great joke to fall two thousand meters and come out
of it without a scratch. Nobody would believe him.
He didn't quite believe it himself. That made him laugh
again.

Looking about, he saw that the open space was part
of an aisle through the trees, on one side of it a nar-
row, white stone path. Through the far end, narrowed
in perspective, he made out the white facade of a house,
a chateau. Tom Hibbard slapped his thigh and roared
with glee. It was — it must be — the Chateau de Valen-
cay. Of course they wouldn't believe him.

"So I'm 'chateauing' after all, Mr. Sop Camel." He
bowed mock thanks to the smoldering remains and
struck out down the path. Never had his step been
blither. Never had he felt better or happier.

Near the chateau the path widened into a smooth
broad lawn. In its center a marble nymph leaned over
the basin of a fountain. Stone benches sat solidly in
charming corners. Across the far side the Chateau de
Valency stretched, white.

Nearer, Hibbard heard a piano tinkling and several
perfectly American voices dashing violently into a
chorus. He would have sworn they were old cadet
voices, and by the time he reached the flagging before
the rather small front entrance he knew that they were.
The sight of Lonny Brooks leaning nonchalantly in
the doorway was enough to establish that. Brooks — of
all people!

Surprise past, it was grand to see old Lonny's freckled
grin again. Hibbard had missed him, and now their
rush at each other was something. "Why, you old
sober-face!" shouted Brooks, pounding Hibbard's shoul-
der. "How in thunder did you get here? I wouldn't
have thought it of you, you earnest old dog, leaving
the A.E.F. flat like this—"

"What is it all about, Lonny?" Hibbard was be-
wildered.

"What's it about? Let me tell you this is the most
splendiferous house party you ever fell into. What we
haven't got here ain't. Wait till Ted gets his goggles
on you — "

"Ted? Is Ted Parker here? This is the best luck
in the world — "

"You said it. Ted! Look what blew in!" Brooks
pushed him through a small entrance foyer into a very
wide room — groups of Louis Quatorze furniture here
and there; a long fireplace at one end; a broad center
staircase at the back ; doors leading to a sun porch and
into other rooms ; a piano in the far corner with a half
dozen of the old cadets lounging all over it, as though
by physical contact they could absorb a little more
quality into their voices.

They disentangled themselves when they saw Hib-
bard. He recognized Ted and Craig Carberry before
they all surrounded him with a rough-and-tumble wel-
come and began calling him a son of a gun, an old bum,
a ham pilot, an old booze hound, or anything else
sufficiently insulting to serve as a term of endearment.

Tom laughed until tears stood in his eyes. It was
one of the happiest moments he'd ever known. Ted, an
arm across his shoulders. "How'd you find out, Tom,
old dear?" Ted was very tall and quite thin, but there
was enough in his face for one to guess that he and
Hibbard would be friends.

"How did I find out?" Tom began to tell about the
Sop Camel and his fall, but everybody gathered around
again and laughed.

32

THE SCREEN WRITER

"Lay off of it, Tom," said Carberry jovially. "It's
old stuff. Give us a new one. You look as though
you'd dropped two thousand meters, don't you? No."

Tom drew Ted Parker aside. He didn't feel too
well just now. Perhaps he'd had more of a shock than
he thought. "Listen, Ted," he said. "There's something
funny about all this. I don't quite get it. I thought you
and Lonny and — "

Parker patted him on the back. "Forget it, Tom,"
he said. "Don't tell me that you of all people fell for
that Field 10 bunk. Well, don't mention it around
here or they'll kid you back to Issoudon."

"But all kidding aside, Ted, the elevator wires
broke. I did fall two — "

"Oh, that's all right," interrupted Ted. "Suppose
you did! What of it? Who cares how you got here
now you're here! You'd better go upstairs and rest a
while before dinner. There are ladies. Ladies — get me ?
The old grande dame who is our hostess belonged in the
1870 period, but she's a corker. Full of pep. The rest
are peaches, girls from home."

"But aren't you all going back to camp, Ted?"

Parker laughed. "Not so's you could notice it. You
can go back any time you want to. But come upstairs
now. You've got two hours till dinner and you need
em.

It was a front bedroom, one of those large French
ones, looking out through two full-length windows
upon the darkening lawn. A massive canopy bed seemed
small in it. Tom could hardly wait to get off his uni-
form. He was exhausted. The bed was deep. Sleep took
him as his gaze was still riveted upon Ted Parker's
face.

Hours later, it seemed, a servant brought a tray to
his bedside. The man made no unnecessary movement
and said nothing, but on the tray were two notes. One
was from Ted: "You were down pretty deep, so we
didn't waken you for dinner. Better stay in bed until
morning. Someone here awfully anxious to see you."
The other note was in French, and he understood
enough to gather that the Vicomtesse de Valencay
hoped that Monsieur le Lieutenant had all that he de-
sired and would join them at his pleasure.

Hibbard's first impulse was to leap up, dress, and
dash downstairs. But he decided to think a little first.
What object could the people at Issoudun have had in
making out that Ted and Lonny and Carberry and
these others were — were in Field 10? Why, Charlie
Berkeley had seen Carberry come down without a wing
at Field 5. There couldn't be any mistake about that.
Two of these other boys had collided in combat practice
nearly three miles in the air. Survive that?

For a minute or two he lay there wondering if his
mind had gone. Perhaps the shock, perhaps that calm-
ness of his as he hurtled earthward had been insanity.
But he knew better. He'd never been saner than he
was now. Well, then, he'd simply walked into a com-
pany of spirits. Some haunting recollection of that room
downstairs aligned itself with the idea. But how absurd
such maundering was! A man could tell spirit from
flesh and blood.

With feverish haste he jumped out of bed and
started to dress, opening his door into the corridor
slightly to catch any possible sound. And he heard the
strains of dance music below and, when it stopped
abruptly, the mingling and rise of gay talk. So what-
ever the situation was, it was a happy one. He was
unaccountably happy. His wrist watch told him the
hour was nine-thirty when he was ready to go down.

He closed the door behind him and went down the
staircase. It was Y-shaped, the two arms meeting at
a landing where there was a broad cushioned seat. The
light was not too strong there, but he saw a girl in
white satin evening gown and with a filigree about her
dark hair. Her hands rested upon the seat beside her,
and the short oval of her face, which alone seemed
bright, was turned toward him as though she had been
waiting. It was Judith.

Hibbard stood motionless, taking deep breaths. Not
until she smiled did he stir. Then he went down slowly
and took her outstretched hand. "Now I know it is
only a dream," he said. "Whenever I see in your eyes
what is there now, it is a dream. And — if I open my
eyes, really open them, I shall of course see Stannard
and Razz Ryan in the opposite bunks. So I'll dream
on — Judith."

Oh, that tone of sweet laughter which went with
Judith's soft voice! "This isn't a dream, Tom. This
is the true reality. I came here to wait for you."

"Don't — don't even talk to me," he said. "I want it
to last — what you said then. Do you know, I would
have given almost life for it. Judith is lovelier than my
memory of her."

"Hush," she whispered. "And my precious, never
understood Tom-boy doesn't even stammer as he says
it. Perhaps his dancing has also improved. So come."

It was true. He hadn't stammered. He didn't feel
that he was going to stammer. They walked through
the large room into a still larger ballroom. A low bal-
cony surrounded it, and sitting there or dancing were
several girls. They were American girls, nodding,
laughing, gesturing in the way he knew.

Short steps led to the balcony, and Judith took his
hand to lead him there.

All but lost against a high-back chair and dwarfed

33

FIELD 10

by the size of her own puffed-out sleeves, was a little
old lady. But her manner and the flow of French with
which Madame la Vicomtesse acknowledged him was
grand. It appeared that he might have the entire chateau
if he wanted it. Hibbard said "Merci" twice.

But he only wanted Judith to put her hand upon his
arm. He'd never had the idea of dancing before. It
was simple enough once you got the hang of it. It was
so smooth and beautiful with Judith, almost floating.

After, they went out upon the lawn, which was
flooded with misty, white light.

"I am puzzled, Judith," he said. "But I am afraid
to question. It might end. I was so frightened to hear
of your illness — "

She laughed. "It was nothing. One must, of course,
go through that. You see, it has taught me so many
things. Mostly about you, Tom. Did you know I
was about to marry someone? An artillery officer who
would have made me unhappy."

"How do you know?"

"Don't you know?"

"Yes," said Tom. "I think it would have been near
to sacrilege. I — "

"Don't," she interrupted. "You are not to tell me
those things to-night, Tom dear. To-morrow perhaps.
But if I wish to talk sweetly to you, I may. It is chilly
out here."

The cold breath of night had stolen into the house,
and one of those noiseless servants was bent over the
fireplace when they came in. Someone suggested bridge,
and three card tables were set up. They played pro-
gressively, and it was not very serious bridge, though
Tom did extraordinarily well for him. When Judith
won at his table he gave her a white flower stolen from
a vase on the mantel. Then they all threw down the
cards to hear a blonde girl play the piano. "She has
never played like that before," whispered Judith. "Isn't
it fine?"

Later they all went upstairs. A wine cup and cakes
had been passed around, and they were sleepy. Tom
was the last to go, and he stood lingering at the head
of the stairs, wondering and watching as Judith dis-
appeared down the shadows of the corridors.

Then she came skipping back. "Oh, Tom, I've lost
my flower."

He caught her hand. "I'll get you a gardenful to-
morrow," he said.

"To-morrow? It's after twelve, Tom. It's to-morrow
now — and you may say whatever you like."

He couldn't say much. His gaze fell away from her

for a moment. It was all too vague, too startlingly con-
tradictory. But Judith was real. Her hand was warm
in his. That burning depth in her gray eyes — that was
real. All the intoxicating presence of her was in his
arms. Her lips were warm too.

He remained there after she had gone. A heavy tread,
like someone walking with leaden soles, drew his atten-
tion to the room below. But he saw no one. And then
for an instant he saw Charlie Berkeley standing at the
foot of the stairs. "Charlie!" he called.

But he couldn't see Berkeley now. He went down a
few steps. No sign of him. The card tables were still
there, with the cards spread out on the green covers.
Someone had put a half-empty wineglass on the mantel
and the blond girl had left a white glove on the piano
bench. On the bottom step he saw Judith's flower. But
he didn't see Berkeley. Must have imagined that . . .

It was a golden morning, just enough haze in the
air for the sun to catch upon. Judith had breakfasted in
bed evidently, and everyone was out on the lawn or in
the gardens when she came tripping down the stairs
in a gay blue dress. "Tom!" she called out.

"Here." He answered her from the terrace. "Come
out here and look at it, Judith. There's never been a
day like this."

She joined him in front of the open windows flung
wide to welcome the bright warmth which flooded in.
She linked her arm in his. "Are you going to be happy,
Tom?"

He smiled down at her. "It makes me think of a
dream I used to have back at camp. You and I could
fly, without wings or planes, I mean. We simply took
hands, spread out our arms, and sailed slowly away
together, right over trees like those evergreens out
there — "

"Was it only a dream, Tom? Oh, don't you under-
stand yet ? Come then. Give me your hand. Now stand
in the window and spread out your arms. Wide, Tom.
Ready!" . . .

A little procession straggled indifferently back along
the road toward the main camp of Issoudun. The truck
had gone on ahead. The rifles were carried at ease, and
the band instruments were tucked under their bearer's
arms. The drum was still.

STEPHEN MOREHOUSE AVERY, Lieutenant Colonel,
United States Army, Rtd., distinguished author and soldier,
long-time member of the Screen Writers' Guild, and recently
elected to its Executive Board, wrote this story for the
November 7, 1925 issue of Colliers' magazine. The Board
considers it his best epitaph.

34

The Story-Expert

DWIGHT TAYLOR

DfVIGHT TAYLOR is a Vice Presi-
dent of the SIVG Executive Board, and
one of Hollywood's best known screen-
writers.

ONE of the major hazards with which the pro-
fessional motion picture writer is confronted in
the pursuit of his calling, is the story-expert.
An expert plumber or an expert shot-putter, or an
expert in any other line of endeavor is prompted, as
a rule, by his very ability, to exercise it. But not the
story-expert. He is the one who tells the writer how
to do it. And he has a supreme assurance which
the average creative artist can only envy. I have
never seen a story-expert yet who was haunted by the
gnawing doubts and indecisions which seem to have
beset every writer of ability from Shakespeare to Abra-
ham Lincoln. To him the path is quite clear, not to
say well-trodden, and he hustles the reluctant writer
along it with all the eager efficiency of a Boy Scout
master about to reveal the wonders of Glacier National
Park. That writing is actually a creative process seems
never to occur to him, and if you should venture to
suggest that a good story is woven from the inside,
rather than something which is hastily thrown to-
gether from odd remnants which happen to be hanging
around the office, he will look at you with the crafty
intentness of a man who is planning to call the story
editor for another boy.

The jargon with which he conducts his lectures is
also peculiar to himself — "contrived, corny, coinci-
dental, gimmick, weiner, love-interest, conflict, pace" —
the list is endless. He has read a book, or possibly
two, on play construction many years previously. But,
like the boa-constrictor, he has been able to consume
this fodder without actually breaking it down, and
his digestive progress has been correspondingly slow.
Professor Baker's famous book on playwriting still
seems to lurk somewhere within his stomach, in prac-
tically the same mint condition with which it first
issued from the press. It never seems to occur to him
that he may have no initial ability for this type of
work, and that a book will not necessarily give it to

him. A writer, for instance might read a treatise
on ballet dancing every day in the year, regularly,
over and over — learn the difference between a
"brise" and a "temps leve," study the intricacies of an
"entrechat," and yet, without ability should he venture
upon a performance, the audience would probably rise
as one man and leave the theatre as if it were on fire.
The professional writer, however, in the presence of
the story-expert, has no such happy alternative.

This jargon which he acquires and uses with all the
confidence of some magic touchstone, has not been
sufficiently examined for meaning. When I am told
that a situation is "contrived" for instance I am in-
clined to admit that the story-expert is right. My
New Standard Dictionary defines the word as "to
plan ingeniously devise, invent" which, as far as I
know, is the purpose for which I have been employed.
This, surely, is the "weiner" for which we have
been searching. The only possible way that this word
can be used in a derogatory sense, which is evidently
the story-expert's intention, is to say that a situation
is "badly contrived."

The story-expert is also very fond of the word
"pace," and in order to achieve it, like Jack-the-Ripper,
he indulges himself in an orgy of cutting. In fact, he
can be truly said to be more expert with the scissors than
with the pen. This may possibly be due to an early
grounding in other professions. Whatever its origin
"pace" remains an elusive attribute, sacrosanct within
the province of the writer and the director, and no
mere cutting will alter it in the slightest degree. Scenes
may be truncated or jumped, but proper pace cannot
be achieved unless it has been first achieved by the
writer, and later by the director on the set. I often
wonder whether this confusion by the story-expert of
"pace" with "speed" may not possibly have something
to do with his frequent visits to the track.* Pace is

* Not the "sound" track.

35

THE STORY EXPERT

actually a rhythm which changes like waves within
the rising tide of the story itself, and has very little to
do with speed. The sense of pace is an extremely sensi-
tive attribute and the last place I would look for it
is in the antennae of a story-expert.

"Too coincidental" is another criticism with which
the story-expert bombards the writer from within the
armory of his well-fortified position. With these two
words he can usually demolish almost any attempt to
bring the hero and heroine together. After several
weeks of being haunted by the spectre of coincidence,
the desperate writer sometimes feels that the only way
to bring these two unfortunate people face to face is
to have the story-expert ask them up to the office. The
fact that they are to be billed together on the marquee,
and that many millions of devoted fans are going to
lay down their hard-earned cash with the reasonable
hope of finding them together inside the theatre, makes
no difference to the story-expert. He feels that their
coming together is "too coincidental."

' I ' HE truth of the matter of course is that the story
•*- expert, secretly aware that he is incapable of con-
ceiving or suggesting a sustained scene of any length
or content between two people, is forced to fall back on
this eternal game of hide-and-seek — a sort of a glorified
Blind Man's Buff between hero and heroine. Hemmed
in as he is on one side by the Breen office, and on the
other by his own shortcomings and lack of ability,
the hero and heroine are stirred within the maelstrom
of his own helplessness, like two peas revolving in a
bowl of thick green soup. This is, incidentally, one of
the outstanding differences between the more mature
English films and our own. The English writer, in
whom his producer evidently has the highest confidence,
can be trusted to allow his principal characters to dis-
cuss things occasionally; — they are not so inclined to
run off in a huff at the approach of an idea — and their
ability to write scenes, rather than episodes, contributes
enormously to the realism and interest of their films.
But the story-expert shuns this like the plague. His
motto seems to be "When in doubt, DISSOLVE
OUT" and he is in doubt the greater part of the time.
After they have quarrelled, the hero and heroine are
seldom allowed to call each other up, or write to each
other, or run into each other in the street. They get to-
gether eventually by some means of mental telepathy
"yet to be devised." Kind friends sometimes bring them
together and stand beaming in the corner while they
embrace. But on no account must they get together of
themselves. The leading man is sometimes a strong
enough character to break down the heroine's door
or climb through her window. But this method of get-
ting together is usually frowned upon except at The

Hitching Post, or The Aztec in San Diego, where it
is greeted with the prolonged cheers it deserves.

"Corny" is another word in the story-expert's vocabu-
lary which seems to give him a feeling of false strength
in backing up his arguments. If so, like Salvador Dali,
he is leaning on a very questionable crutch. What is
"corny"? The closest I can seem to come to defining it
is "a shrewd combination of dramatic and sentimental
elements which elicits tears, laughter or applause." But
what is derogative about that? Certainly it is the pur-
pose of our profession. Offhand it is the only word
one can think of which adequately describes those superb
moments in The Jolson Story where the boy loses his
voice in the balcony and starts to whistle, or the old
cantor dances with his wife at the anniversary dinner.
Leo McCarey is another director who has a special gift
for the "corny" which he indulges without shame, and
with far greater dignity than those who feel that they
have gotten too good for their calling. The word
"corny" is a bad offender. It is being used increasingly
to discourage any frank expression of emotion, or at-
tempts at high moments of drama. The word is an
enemy of the profession. It is the feeble weapon of the
emotional invalid. It is essentially a coward's word.
It is a bleat from the side-lines.

Why are these hybrids, these gelded centaurs, allowed
to cavort at will in these green pastures? Which is the
rider and which is the horse? Where did they come
from? How are they born? The answer, of course, is
they were born of the producers' desire to save time —
winged messengers of ill-omen, dashing back and forth
between the producer and the harrassed writer, deter-
mined to make the most of their brief tenure of reflected
glory and effectively trampling on any fresh ideas that
may attempt to bloom in their path. As a veteran of
fifteen years of writing in Hollywood I have found that
my best work has always been done in direct contact
with the headman, whomever he may be in any particu-
lar unit, and I sincerely believe that it is these so-called
story-experts who are responsible more than any one
thing for the slough of despondency in which the busi-
ness finds itself today. The writer is supposed to be
the story-expert. A knowledge of stories and story con-
struction is what you are paying him for. If he doesn't
have the knowledge, get yourself another boy. But
don't pay two men for the same job or there's bound
to be trouble.

The danger of these story-experts, if they are allowed
to continue with their nebulous function, is that they
will eventually take all life out of the business. They
are like the kibitzers at a card party — soon the actual
players want to get up and go home. Those in high
places who really have the interest of this business at

36

THE SCREEN WRITER

heart would do well to call in their story-experts some
time and ask them to write a story. They are to be
kept strictly incommunicado, with nothing but a pen
and a few sheets of paper, in a locked room. Or if this
seems too cruel, place them beneath a mountain of dis-
carded manuscripts to which they have contributed
their own special knowledge and force them to eat

their way out. Now that an economy wave has started,
let's enter on a new day, a day when the lamb is no
longer forced to lie down with the lion, when the stories
are written by the writers for a change, and directed
by the director. There will still be a place for the story
expert: men are continually needed to paint the spots
on rocking-horses.

Excerpts from KEN ENGLUND'S Quick! Boil Some Hot Cliches, {The
Screen Writer, February) have been reprinted recently in Virginia Wright's column
in The Daily News, and in Lowell E. Redelings' column in the Hollywood Citizen-
News.

SHIRLEY COLLIER AGENCY

(FOR WRITERS EXCLUSIVELY)

204 South BeverlyDrive ■ BEVERLY HILLS ■ CRestview 6-3115

New York Representative:
SIDNEY SATENSTEIN, 75 Varick Street - WAIker 5-7600

37

SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD, INC.

1655 NO. CHEROKEE AVE., HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA
AFFILIATED WITH AUTHORS' LEAGUE OF AMERICA, INC.

OFFICERS & EXECUTIVE BOARD, THE SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD: PRESIDENT:
SHERIDAN GIBNEY; 1ST VICE-PRESIDENT, GEORGE SEATON; 2ND VICE-PRESI-
DENT, F. HUGH HERBERT; 3RD VICE-PRESIDENT, DWIGHT TAYLOR; SECRETARY,
ARTHUR SHEEKMAN; TREASURER, HARRY TUGEND. EXECUTIVE BOARD: ROB-
ERT ARDREY, ART ARTHUR, CLAUDE BINYON, CHARLES BRACKETT, FRANK
CAVETT, OLIVE COOPER, VALENTINE DAVIES, RICHARD ENGLISH, EVERETT
FREEMAN, PAUL GANGELIN, ALBERT HACKETT, MILTON KRIMS, ERNEST PAS-
CAL, LEONARD SPIGELGASS. COUNSEL, MORRIS E. COHN. EXECUTIVE SECRE-
TARY, ALICE PENNEMAN.

E D I T O RIAL

HAS THE COLD WAR COME TO HOLLYWOOD ?

AS one of the early Dukes of Alba lay dying, his Bishop held out to him
his ring to kiss, the episcopal ring in which was set the fragment of the
middle finger bone of Saint Pachomius, an anchorite of the 4th Century,
and founder of the holy order of Coenobites in Egypt. "Have you forgiven
your enemies?" asked the Bishop.

"I have no enemies," said the Duke of Alba calmly. "I have hung them all."

At a party the other night, the head of a studio said to us, "I have no pro-
duction problems. I have laid off two hundred people."

Is there a real economic crisis in Hollywood, or is there a cold war on,
in which we are seeing the Weltpolitik of the studios at work on the local scene?

There are plenty of facts and figures, a great deal of shouting and tur-
moil, a tearing of graying hair, and a whispering that certain suppurating
wounds, inflicted by empires beyond the seas, are bleeding a great art form to
death. There are also those who say it is all the blind ungratefulness of insa-
tiable ineptitude in power, now trimming with glee, while the chance is
offered. Is there a planned cold war or is there really a panic? Are we facing
a depression, or are there being committed a repertory of extremely distasteful
raids against the talents that make up the motion picture industry? One can
get some profound, even psychological pleas, for either side of this question
by stepping up to the nearest "gin" game or mingling with intellectuals.

Meanwhile the great push, solemnly wrapped in high sounding twaddle,
appears to have begun. Mr. Sam Goldwyn, one of the greatest picture makers

38

EDITORIAL

in this town, a man of taste, talent and an incessant artist for perfection, has
announced that his inner guard must take a fifty per cent cut in salaries. One
person asked us: Has Mr. Goldwyn lost money this year? Has his tattered
Rolls Royce been seen parked outside the employment office to get his un-
employment insurance, are they digging up his imported English boxwood
hedges and planting cabbages and tomatoes? We didn't know — so we got
some facts. ■

Mr. Goldwyn has had the greatest year of his life. Those very fine pic-
tures, The Best Years of Our Lives and The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, seen
by a genuinely grateful public have poured in their millions.

Has the cold war begun? Is this the opening shot? Has the "atrocity"
propaganda already started? Whispers, whispers are all over town. "He said,
we'll take up your option, but without the raise." "The front office says, when
a contract expires, hire them from week to week." "Don't talk salary, what
do you want for a flat deal?" "Don't bother with originals . . . we're remaking
old pictures." "We have enough reissues for two years."

Facts are hard to come by. There is a free and easy vagueness about all
statements of studio policy. A deep cynical disquietude, difficult to gauge, comes
out of front office faces.

We have some facts and figures. 1938 was the last peace year. We are
again at peace, have been for over two years. The box office figures today
are higher now than they were in 1939. . . they are not as high as they were
during abnormal war years. True, costs have gone up, but so have box office
admissions. The world markets, by nature capricious, are gone or going.
But they have been disappearing for the last decade.

This is no place to recite an economic primer of the motion picture indus-
try; but it's a fact that any good motion picture costing a million dollars, or less,
can make back its costs and show a decent profit in this country. Writing is,
and has always been, the least cost on any picture. Less than one per cent of
the price of most finished pictures. The great increase has been in star salaries,
cost of production, and overhead. In fact, overhead alone has doubled, even
tripled, in many studios. We are told Warners' now add .60 to their budget —
Metro .48 to .50 and Paramount between .50 and .60. Unfortunately, writers
have not doubled or tripled their incomes during the last ten years, as have many
other branches of the industry. Writers are no better off today, judged by income
and employment than they were in 1938. A great many are worse off. There is
no sane reason for a cold war. The hope of the motion picture industry main-
taining its head above water is the writer. Given the chance to write new, bril-
liant and entertaining screen stories, he can keep the box office bright and cheer-
ful. Neither remakes nor reissues are a solution. Any pretense that the Amer-
ican public is going to hire a baby sitter, use up a few gallons of gas, order an
expensive meal, pay full first run box office prices for a remake or a reissue is
bound to fail. There is in most producers' breasts a distrust of writers; some-
thing in the nature of a glazed crystalline emotion long dead, like ginger fruit

39

THE SCREEN WRITER

in dustry ceramic crocks. It goes back to the days when a camera with a man
wearing his cap backwards was enough to make a picture. Now the story is the
important factor. ... A good story needs no half dozen big name stars, no mil-
lion dollars sets, no expensive location trip. Bad pictures do. But such pictures
no longer pay back their costs. The public is shopping carefully for its enter-
tainment.

HP HESE few lines make no pretense to settle the question: Is there a cold
war on in Hollywood? It merely trys to call attention to certain facts. Pic-
ture making is a democracy, a freely developed blending of many minds and
many talents. It is based on courage and a desire to bend back the horizons of
entertainment a little bit more each picture. It can not function in fear and
terror, or with insatiate parasitic economy. It cannot start with the two strikes
of half what man is worth.

Let us face the facts, suppose all contract studio people were suddenly to
announce that they were only going to work fifty per cent of the time called for
in their contracts. And if the studios made them work full time, they were
not going to renew. What an infinite loathing would come the way of these
people, what a wall of sharp-toothed lawyers would advance on them and de-
mand that a contract is a sacred thing; what a demand for abject repentance
there would be.

So we make no pretense of cleverness, or any claim that a cold war, if
there is one, can be stopped by our words before it affects our morale and our
abilities. But we do agree with the great historian, Lytton Strachey, when he
said, "There are two great influences, without which no growing life can truly
prosper — humor and imagination. . . ."

And a motion picture is life — on film.

STEPHEN LONGSTREET

40

c

tfp

orre&ponaence

de

Editor

The Screen Writer

Dear Sir:

In the January issue of The Screen
Writer, Mr. Stephen Longstreet went
to generous and painful lengths to
indicate for unemployed writers a
broad and happy path to prosperity.
Among methods suggested by him was
one suggesting the writing of Greeting
Cards.

Since reading Mr. Longstreet's in-
spiring piece, I've worked diligently,
day and night, at the noble art. Alas!
As yet, no success.

It is my earnest hope that publica-
tion of a sample of my work in The
Screen Writer might attract the eye
of a greeting card manufacturer ; thus
the magazine may become the happy
instrument through which my talents
will be recognized-— and rewarded.

SAMPLE:

GREETINGS,

BROTHER LONGSTREET

Smile a happy smile when jobs are
few,

Laugh a happy laugh, give a happy
greeting,

Keep your happy trap shut if some-
thing bothers you,

Or on the happy Blacklist we'll be
meeting.

Fraternally,

LESTER COLE

1542 Courtney Avenue

Hollywood 46, California.

To the Editor
The Screen Writer

Dear Sir:

I have seen Lester Cole's communi-
cation on Stephen Longstreet's article
about unemployment. As Chairman of

the Employment Committee of the
Guild, I must speak in protest against
this cynical distortion of an honest
effort to point the way for unemployed
screen writers toward interim means
of supporting themselves. The article
was a source of warm encouragement
and stimulation to many writers, pre-
senting, as it did, vistas of fields in
which they could conceivably earn at
least some part of their living. To
deride it on the basis of a suggestion
taken out of context, is to damage
not Mr. Longstreet, but the confi-
dence of those whom he may have
inspired to try their hands at other
forms of writing — and who need the
money.

I may say that writing slogans for
greeting cards might be a good way
of trying to pay the milkman while
awaiting one's check for 1% of the
gross.

Respectfully,

PAUL GANGELIN
8443 Fountain Ave.,
Hollywood 46, California.

Editor

The Screen Writer

Dear Sir:

In his introduction to Stephen
Longstreet's article, Market For
Words, the Editor of The Screen
Writer says that "anyone not inter-
ested in drowning will find it informa-
tive." In the sense he presumably
meant it, the piece is informative —
in addition to being witty and nimble
writing. Mr. Longstreet's intention,
of course, was to extend valuable
counsel, out of his sophistication and
resourcefulness, to the several hun-
dred SWG members temporarily in
depression; and a few writers "not

interested in drowning" may profit
by his suggestions.

Yet I found the essay somehow dis-
piriting. For it revealed a kind of
moral bankruptcy — and a kind of.
hard-boiled defensiveness about it —
that if unchecked cannot fail to cor-
rupt the Screen Writers' Guild as
an effective employee organization.
Even more important, at least to me,
is the effect such an attitude, extended
and compounded, will have on litera-
ture and culture in America — includ-
ing motion pictures.

For good films, like good novels
and plays and poems, cannot be writ-
ten from a "philosophy" of not-car-
ing, or from a greed for money alone.
And good unions are not built by men
and women interested in self-preserva-
tion. Gentlemen s Agreement and The
Informer and All Quiet On The
Western Front were not written by
men whose sole concern was their
paycheck; nor was // Happened One
Night and Mr. Deeds Goes to Town.
These people cared — about what they
had to say, and how they said it. And
a SWG worthy of its name must
care about the ten victims of the
cruelly reactionary Thomas Commit-
tee if it is to survive as a collection
of men of dignity.

It will be charged, inevitably — and
with the inevitable wit so character-
istic of guild-driven individuals — that
I am reading a ponderous significance
into Mr. Longstreet's Madison Ave-
nue feutillon it neither contains nor
deserves. I don't think so. For be-
neath his tough charm is the sour
dough of despair; and behind his
"practicality" is the notion of adjust-
ment-through-compromise which has
been the alibi of every man who sub-
stituted expediency for morality —
from the man who wrote the Munich
Agreement all the way back to the
writer who coined the cliche about
any old stick to beat a dog.

Fact, not snobbery, gives the writer

41

THE SCREEN WRITER

his feeling of being special in society.
His gift of capturing emotion and
speech and idea in print may stimu-
late the envious bile of some people —
but it compels the respect of all peo-
ple. Ours is an honorable profession,
from Euripides to Lillian Hellman.
And it is honorable mainly because
it has been populated by men and
women who used their talent to imple-
ment their morality — rather than us-
ing it to subvert their morality.

In advising the unemployed and
panicky writer to abandon the ideal-
istic principles he developed in ado-
lescence, and debase ideas and style
to "wordage" and pulp, Mr. Long-
street is doing a distinct disservice to
the writing profession. For it is the
matured echo of this adolescent mo-
rality (however is may be streaked
with narcissism and rebellion) which
eventually produces a War and Peace
and Hamlet; and The Best Years of
Our Lives too.

Mr. Longstreet has written an
excellent, and persuasive, primer for
prostitutes. And it has been published
by the official organ of the Screen
Writers' Guild, whose editors evi-
dently felt it met a problem with a
realistic solution. Is it really that late
in Hollywood?

JOHN BRIGHT

1815 So. Beverly Glen

West Los Angeles, Calif.

My father can lick Mr. Bright's
father.

STEPHEN LONGSTREET
•

(Editor's Note: The letters of Mr.
Cole and Mr. Bright are samples of
several communiques received con-
cerning Mr. Longstreet's article.
Along with those praising the piece,
there were a few like the above and
no further purpose is served in pub-
lishing them as they were strangely
identical in content.)

•

Editors

The Screen Writer

Gentlemen :

Thanks for giving us a magazine
that is of some use and interest to
writers. For years it seemed as if the
magazine were little more than a bath
tub for Brave, Small Voices, Lonely
Primitives, Wailing Dreamers, and
all the high-piping, Awake-and-Aris-
ers — a sort of plush monthly supple-
ment to The Peoples World. Where,
by the way, are all the lads who were
hollering for us to cut down our ex-
ports to help the comrades overseas —
are they all happy now?

Anyway, thanks for what is too
often a thankless job.

MYLES CONNOLLY

1305 North Sweetzer Ave.

Los Angeles, California.

DEPARTMENT OF STATE

Washington

13 February, 1948.

Mr. Sheridan Gibney,
Screen Writers' Guild,
1655 Cherokee Avenue,
Hollywood, California.

Dear Sheridan:

I was grieved to hear of the death
of Steve Avery. At various times in
the past history of the Guild Steve
provided, always somewhat shyly, a
certain amount of moral strength and
clear thinking to the complexities of
Guild problems. Behind his natural
reserve I found in those earlier days
a deep and sincere interest in the, at
that time, more or less commonly ac-
cepted purposes of the association. He
was a sound workman too which is a
consideration that, now in this dis-
tance of time and place, I have begun
to feel was often lost sight of in the
evaluation of Guild leaders.

I will be grateful if you will convey
my feelings to the members of the
Board. With personal good wishes.

As ever,

Ralph.

RALPH BLOCK
3002 R. Street, N.W.
Washington, D. C.

42

A LISTING O
\RN

.-rms* CREDITS
F SCREEN WR'TERS

EARNED ON FEATURE PRODUCTIONS

OF

■ ■'■■ i '. , ..

and

*EC£

NT

*El£

ASf

CHEDITS

JANUARY 1. 1948 TO FEBRUARY 1, 1948

MAXWELL ANDERSON

Play Basis, KEY LARGO, W.B.
LEOPOLD ATLAS

Joint Screenplay (with John C. Higgins)
CORKSCREW ALLEY. Eagle-Lion

B

DWIGHT BABCOCK

Adaptation, THIRTEEN LEAD SOLDIERS,

(Reliance Pictures) Fox
JEANNE BARTLETT

Joint Screenplay (With S. Lewis Meltzer)

MAN-EATERS OF KUMAON. Monty Shaff

Prod.
ARNOLD BELGARD

Sole Original Screenplay HALF PAST MID-
NIGHT (Sol Wurtzel) Fox

Sole Original Screenplay DANGEROUS YEARS

(Sol Wurtzel) Fox
ALVAH BESSIE

Joint Screenplay (with Louis Morheim and

Herbert Margolis) SMART WOMAN, Allied

Artists
RICHARD BROOKS

Joint Screenplay (with John Huston) KEY

LARGO, W.B.
GEORGE CARLETON BROWN

Sole Story THE FIGHTING TERROR, W.B.
L. BUSH-FEKETE

Joint Screenplay (with Arnold Manoff)

CASBAH, Marston Pictures
JOHN K. BUTLER

Sole Original Screenplay SECRET SERVICE

INVESTIGATOR, Rep.

PHILIP DUNNE

Sole Screenplay FOR FEAR OF LITTLE MEN,
Fox

IRVING ELMAN

Sole Screenplay THIRTEEN LEAD SOLDIERS,
(Reliance Pictures), Fox

HELEN GEISEL

Joint Screenplay (with Theodor S. Geisel)
DESIGN FOR DEATH (S) RKO

THEODOR S. GEISEL

Joint Screenplay (with Helen Geisel) DE-
SIGN FOR DEATH, (S) RKO
GERALD GERAGHTY

Sole Original Screenplay PRISON TRAIN,

Rep.
BERNARD GIRARD

Sole Screenplay THE FIGHTING TERROR,

W.B.
FRANCES GOODRICH

Joint Screenplay (with Albert Hackett and

Sidney Sheldon) and

Joint Story (with Albert Hackett) EASTER

PARADE, MGM
LEON GUTTERMAN

Joint Story (with Edwin V. Westrate)

SMART WOMAN, Allied Artists.

H

ALBERT HACKETT

Joint Screenplay (with Frances Goodrich and
Sidney Sheldon) and

Joint Story (with Frances Goodrich) EASTER
PARADE, MGM

JOHN C. HIGGINS

Joint Screenplay (with Leopold Atlas)
CORKSCREW ALLEY, Eagle-Lion

RICHARD HUBLER

Joint Adaptation (with Alden Nash) MAN-
EATERS OF KUMAON, Monty Shaff Prod.

JOHN HUSTON

Joint Screenplay (with Richard Brooks) KEY
LARGO, W.B.

JAY RICHARD KENNEDY

Sole Original Screenplay TO THE ENDS OF
THE EARTH. Col.

M

ARNOLD MANOFF

Joint Screenplay (with L. Bush-Fekete)

CASBAH. Marston Pictures.
HERBERT MARGOLIS

Joint Screenplay (with Alvah Bessie and

Louis Morheim) SMART WOMAN, Allied

Artists
S. LEWIS MELTZER

Joint Screenplay (with Jeanne Bartlett)

MAN-EATERS OF KUMAON, Monty Shaff

Prod.

LOUIS MORHEIM

Joint Screenplay (with Alvah Bessie and
Herbert Margolis) SMART WOMAN, Allied
Artists

ROBERT PRESNELL, Sr.

Sole Original Screenplay FOR YOU I DIE
(Arpi Prod.) Film Classics

SAMSON RAPHAELSON

Sole Original Screenplay THAT LADY IN
ERMINE, Fox

ALMA REVILLE

Joint Adaptation (with James Bridie) THE
PARADINE CASE, Vanguard Films

TIM RYAN

Joint Screenplay (with Gerald Schnitzer and
Edmund Seward) JINX MONEY, Mono.

ADELA ROGERS ST. JOHN

Adaptation SMART WOMAN. Allied Artists
GERALD SCHNITZER

Joint Screenplay (with Tim Ryan and Ed-
mund Seward) JINX MONEY, Mono.

DAVID O. SELZNICK

Sole Screenplay THE PARADINE CASE, Van-
guard Films

SIDNEY SHELDON

Joint Screenplay (with Frances Goodrich and
Albert Hackett) EASTER PARADE, MGM

ROBERT SMALLEY

Joint Screenplay (with Rodney Carlisle)
LET'S LIVE AGAIN (Frank Selzer Prod.) Fox

EARLE SNELL

Sole Original Screenplay CARSON CITY
RAIDERS, Rep.

JOHN VLAHOS

Joint Story (with Herman Wolf) LET'S
LIVE AGAIN (Frank Selzer Prod.) Fox

w

EDWIN V. WESTRATE

Joint Story (with Leon Gutterman) SMART
WOMAN. Allied Artists

In this listing of screen credits, published monthly in THE SCREEN WRITER, the following abbreviations are used:
COL — Columbia Pictures Corporation; E-L — Eagle-Lion Studios; FOX — 20th Century-Fox Film Corporation; GOLDWYN
— Samuel Goldwyn Productions, Inc.; MGM — Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios; MONO — Monogram Pictures Corporation;
PAR — Paramount Pictures, Inc.; PRC — Producers Releasing Corporation of America; REP — Republic Productions, Inc.;
RKO — RKO Radio Studios, Inc.; ROACH — Hal E. Roach Studio. Inc.; UA — United Artists Corporation; UNI-INT'L —
Universal-International Pictures; UWP — United World Pictures; WB — Warner Brothers Studios. (S) designates screen short.

COLLABORATOR

wanted by established screen and play-
wright for sophisticated stage play.
Requirements: smart comedy dialogue.

Reply Box 101, The Screen Writer

BUNGALOW HIDE-OUTS

AT FORTY BUCKS A MONTH

Inspiration, sunshine
and silence.

Phone or write

MARY CRAWFORD

TWENTYNINE PALMS

TO BUY OR SELL

a house in Beverly, a mansion in Bel-Air, a
love-nest in the Valley; a duplex or 6 units;
even an office bldg., call

BRADLEY KING

WH 3977 WE 3-1402

Real Estate Broker since 1940

Now working at it.

(Member SWG and Authors' League)

43

Book &

eviewd

By STEPHEN LONGSTREET

A THEME FOR AN AMERICAN
"HENRY V"

I HAD been spending the last few
weeks reading some books on the
American Civil War; known in
the Johnston office as the "War Be-
tween the States." Good, solid books
loaded with facts, honesty, turmoil,
terror and a kind of violent action,
that was, and remains, purely Ameri-
can in its thoughts and emotions.

No mere war of plundering men in
iron (rimmed with a decaying chival-
ry) comes anywhere near the gallant
epics of those who were at Bull Run,
saw Cold Harbor plain, or died in
The Wilderness.

After dinner one night my pro-
ducer friend dropped in to pick my
brains; the producer with the large
behind, the one who sweats pure
chicken fat.

"Me," he began, "I'm only inter-
ested in different kinda pictures. Like
that English poet, Skeats." (Honest —
the man said it, the man did.)

"I remember when you make a
drunk picture after Lost Weekend,
and a priest picture after Going My
Way."

"The lousy front office. I hadda
do it."

"They twisted your arm?"

My fat friend relaxed his rump and
wiped chicken fat off his brow. "Boy,
if I had me a Henry the Five."

"You liked Henry V?"

"Loved it the best. Didn't under-
stand much of the limey dialect. But
that's the kind of picture I want.
Henry the Five, and that there bat-
tle!"

"There are a dozen events in Amer-
ican history that are as important as
the battle of Agincourt."

"Not in my files, baby. And I got
the best files in town. Name me three
ideas as good as Henry the Five?"

"No dice," I said. "I only think of
ideas while I'm on payroll."

But after Chicken Fat left, I sat
down and looked at the books I had
been reading, and I knew that in
these books was an American epic, a
motion picture with the heroic con-
tent of Henry the Five, its characters
and its people; all lay waiting for
some motion picture to discover them.

Agincourt to Gettysburg. Agin-
court, a mere English invasion of
other people's land, in the usual Brit-
ish grab and plunder, made magic by
a great poet. Gettysburg, the battle
to decide if we were to have Union,
remain united, be one to face some
day a world of wolves across the sea.

Not Henry, an English king invad-
ing for glory and pride, but Lee
coming hell-for-leather up through
the mountain passes to cut the Union
to bits. . . .

All the books on the table merged
into one great theme, focused on one
facet of the great struggle.

Douglas Southall's classic three vol-
umes of Lee's Lieutenants; the text
and pictures of Mr. Lincoln's Camera-
man: Mathew Brady; the forgotten
novel, J. W. DeForest's Miss Raven-
al's Conversion ; the collection of orig-
inal documents, The Story of Johnny
Reb; Clifford Dowdey's Experiment
In Rebellion; Margaret Leech's Re-
veille In Washington; a fifty cent,
Tour of Gettysburg Battlefield.

I could see the people in the village,
the men in the fields, the waiting in
Washington and Richmond. And the
battle itself! The one Chicken Fat
wanted to equal Agincourt.

Here came Lee to start the fight-
ing. . . .

Saint Lee. Massa Lee. Lee, bang-
ing doors in the halls of history. And
other names.

The blue horsemen under crack-
brained Custer, under Farnsworth
and Merritt, all fresh-made generals.

came scouting and whooping out of
Washington. Meade would wait be-
fore Gettysburg, holding there Reyn-
olds' one corps. Buford's faded, war-
wise horse; and Howard and Sykes
and S locum at Hanover, at Emmets-
burg. Meade would fight if he had to.

So July first came to Gettysburg.

Blue horses along a railroad track.
Stinking hot.

At nine in the morning a gray divi-
sion clashed into a Union cavalry
picket. There was the silver terror
of sabers in the air, and the charge,
roaring a throatful of sounds, cut
and hacked at gray foot sluggers. Oh,
you infantry ! But it was Dixie ; Heath
of Hill's heavy advance. They fell
back and lured the gray men on until
death in black hats tore out at Heath.
The Union Iron Brigade. Brave, dirty
bastards. War-wise. Three yearsful.

44

BOOK REVIEWS

The gray men growled, spat, and
died in heaps, for this was war and
no cause for surprise. They reeled
back, in turn, one brigadier going
down to cough out his own life, an-
other tied to a captive saddle.
The battle had begun.
The feelers of both hosts had
brushed together.

The gray artillery came in, sweat-
ing for action. Many bursts worked
to tear the world to bits.

Hill came up by divisions. Men
tore at their opened throats and cursed
and lay down to die. Men swore and
looked at where their limbs had been.
Wen wept. Men died in disorderly
clusters, and fed thin steel into one
another's soft bellies. Sent slugs to
smear the brain cases of fellow men.
The hosts have locked. The perpen-
dicular rays of the sun looked down
on battle.

A blue horse came forward to hold
the blue lines steady, and a coon-hunt-
ing rebel sharpshooter split the blue
head at a hundred yards. The horses
opened wide their red nostrils and
screamed. The smoke made demons,
black demons, of all. The rebel yell
came out of corn-fed throats and died
on lips that had kissed Dixie wenches
farewell. Oh, desolate gals! Wait no
more for me. Life went out of eyes
that had seen New Orleans. And
Charleston too, goddam your Yankee
soul!

Reynolds was the tall dead horse-
man. A general. He from the bat-
dunged belfry of the Lutheran Sem-
inary had seen that here they must
fight Lee in force. Or lose the Army
of the Potomac. Lose Washington.
Lose all. Lose the blue men gathered
there. And, before the coon hunter
brought him crashing down, his notes
reached Meade, Howard, Slocum,
Sykes, telling them to hurry — to hurry
for Christ's sake, hurry. They are up
in force. We must fight here. Here
and now. Or lose. Bring up the blue,
close-packed lines of mothers' sons.

We must hold that high crest, Cem-
etery Ridge.

Doubleday took over the blue sweat-
ing ranks, and horse and foot were
in for a fight. Give them a song, drum-
mer boy. The drummer boy is in the
line with a six-foot rifle, sir!

Find Buford's horse; and it was
needed with that mad, laughing devil,
Ewell, coming up like a coon after a
fat shoat. The shells made hell of old
trees and tore the lift out of hundreds
of Yankee hearts.

Howard came with his finest Ger-
mans, in blue. If this was liberty, they
would fight and die for it her el Far
from Berlin, far from the homes they
had left to find freedom here in God's
green acres. The Germans went in
and died on the double quick. What
they had missed at Chancellorsville
they won here. Death or glory, or
both.

The grays were stopped and they
fell back to curse in drawls, and to
pull butternut homespun over dirt-
filled wounds. The hospital train is
far away. Bugles, the charge again!
Not many of river clan will be left
to hunt the deer or spark the gals in
the cotton clearings. Or drink the
raw corn likker. Pot mashed and no
tax paid. None.

Warn Howard that Early has
come on the scene with his panting
devils in their ladies' hats and long
plumes. And sharp steel.

Early has caught the Germans and
broken their flank — two blue corps
go back in panic to take new hold
on Cemetery Ridge. To catch new
breath. New courage. Hill and Ewell
are close.

Meade has lost his breakfast and
comes running without halt, or food,
to Gettysburg. Another Union force
pitched away. He sent Hancock to
hold the lines. And men in blue, rav-
ing mad, are on Cemetery Ridge, stif-
fening the line that looks into the
smoke and rebel curses below. By
four, Hancock, with reserve artillery
and Kilpatrick's horse, is at the Ridge.

The first stage of the battle is
history.

The grays have fallen back to wait
and see what Lee can think of. Lee
and that mind of his. Lee is the South.
But now the heavy Union regiments
are coming up by the thousands. The
goddam, slogging infantry with smel-
ly feet is ready to die.

The sky is dark. The troops lie on
the ground and speak of yellow girls
in Virginia, barns, roast cow, chaw
tobacco; and write letters home and
trade last gifts; and load arms. The
rebel guns cut flames in the night and
half Gettysburg sleeps in the cellar
tonight. Many of the men in gray
stand gaping in yokel wonder.

Here is Meade, sore as a trooper's
ass, and soon dawn will come. To see
more men die. Eat your bacon cold.
Eighty thousand men in blue here.
All armed. All ready. See the night
gleam of the frigid blades that are
Union bayonets.

There are 75,000 grays and Lee
is on hand. Oh, for Stuart! We need
more horses. The Union is many. Too
many. Or around their left flank
would go the cotton clerks, the field
hands, the noble drunkards, the young
college lads, the planters' sons, the
Solid South.

The general laughs at Yankee
Meade. A fathead like all the rest
of the blue generals. Full of learning
and no guts.

Dawn. The dead lie, twisted. The
wounder whimper and nurse shattered
parts. The wet dew is cool, but a red-
orange sun means hell today.

This is the plan. Lee's own. Ewell,
the Union right. Smash them. But
good. Take Culp's Hill. Longstreet,
around the Union left. Tear it apart
and meet Ewell in their rear and then
hug them to death.

{Fourscore and seven years.)
Lee, you are too slow, too slow.
They wait for you in a peach orchard.
Sickles' boys, dirty and war-washed.
Babes under the fruit. Many sick with
green peaches. They will fight you to
the last. Here are horsemen, dis-
mounted, fighting with Spencer re-
peaters. Deadly little bastards.

Meade feels none too strong. What
Union leader ever did, till Grant? He
sees a chance to blast in among the
peach trees.

To die, hand to hand with a stink-
ing rebel who is hacking at your liver.
To tear, to saw your life out on a
bayonet held by a sweat-reeked blue

45

THE SCREEN WRITER

soldier. Was that God's plan? Was
that why you mammy loved you pap-
py? Was that why you took a bride
and lay with her to plant a child,
before you went down, a hash of
meat and bone and blue-red tissues?
Was this why you read Latin, drove
a fast horse, saw dawns, planned
books, made amorous avowals, played
music, hunted with hounds, and sailed
a skiff?

Don't stand there, nonchalantly,
laughing fit to die. They chop limbs
behind that privy. A slug of corn and
a dull knife and, oh, God, is this the
full life? Shoot down all stragglers!

Here comes Hood. A Texas wild-
cat. Captain Hood's Texans! (But
in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate.)

Wounded to the rear! Wounded
walking, staying in line! Can you see
them now? Yes, proud, yelping men,
and the slant of steel in the sun, and
to have lived this is wonderful and
dreadful, and to live on afterward
a miracle ! Come, you persistent rebels !

Little Round Top where usurious
death piles his wheat. The 20th Maine
has beat the bloody buggers of Hood's
to the top. It's not a battle there.
It's a slaughterhouse. Union guns!
See the wheels flash in this boiling
sunlight. Hood is done for. Go back
to Texas. Not Hood. He fights on.

Hood has lost an arm. The meat
he bore from birth is gone. And three
good long bones with it. A flap of
bloody flesh and thanks for the fight.
Harum-scarum back, boys.

The battle rages. You choke. You
vomit up last year's meals. The bile
is bitter. The spit is dry cotton. The
armpit sweat is acid. The powder
rasps your throat.

And Lee's plan ? He had waited too
long. They lock up along the front
for the night.

The second day at Gettysburg is
over.

Guns still bark and the heaped-up
dead are corded like firewood. The
wounded think of homes and mothers.
And the men of God tell last tales
of a better Heaven than this.

If we beat Lee now, we tear Jeff
Davis from his dreams. If we kill
enough now and blacken our names
with their orphans and widows, we'll
be together later when we have to face
a world gone mad some other day.
{That this nation, under God, shall
have a . . .)

We ride at dawn to see if Stuart
and his horse, and that corps d'elite,
Pickett's Virginians, have come up.

Stuart is in. Fagged and dirty and
stiff with saddle boils — but ready and
determined to go in. Pickett is here,
ready to make history books remem-
ber. And the dead and many a mam-
my's little nipper will have no more
shortnin' bread; many a cotton-castle
knight will ride no more among the
blossoms, will see no more the dark-
green palmettos. The worms, the mag-
gots and the pus-filled germs will
dance tonight where blue-blood and
galley slave and bonded servant, and
transported Newgate rakes and Balti-
more Duke's grandsons once lived a
full life. Go sloughing off to Arma-
geddon.

Well, Lee? Where the blow? Fail
now, and drag the proud starred-and-
barred banners down. This is high
tide, man! The broken butternuts,
the hill-billies, the gentlemen, the
book learners you brought up here to
spit lungs and hold life and gut in
with a handful of fingers don't want
to have died in vain. They lie in the
night, among the wounded. Their
teeth and throats are bare, their
blood feeding peach-tree roots. What
now, Lee? What concentrated feroci-
ty to swing the battle?

Meade's wings were badly hurt.
So muses Lee. Shattered, even if not
in ruin. He would reinforce them
from his center. Militia left there,
most likely. Farm boys, home guards.
We hit them hard and drive them
back. Good? Yes, general — back to
their mothers' teats. Back with a fire
they have never met before. Then,

Pickett, like a storm from Genesis, to
blast them dead. On the center, their
weak spot. That is the plan. Lee's.
Lee's. {Of the people, by the . . .)

Some doubt Meade is not the zany
the other Union generals have been.
He stayed to fight. Which other of
Lincoln's had fought on into the third
day?

However.

All bow to Lee's will. Get ready,
buglers. The advance with the sun's
ray. Hot as Old Nick's broilers.

July third.

Muskets bark over the dead, car-
bines snap bolts over the wounded.
Shells shout over the heaving horses.
Shells, bull's-eyes, into the screaming
horses. Brawling guns. Rumbling bat-
teries. Fire!

Down Lee's Seminary Ridge, hun-
dreds of wheeled guns come toiling.
Lee is massing. Massing for the center.

Lee signals to Alexander of the
artillery. Fire. The earth jumps like
a turpentined cat. The Olympian
condescension of the big shells. Trees,
men, houses tremble. God would
tremble, too, if he were there. He
should tremble. He made in his image
these bloody, murderous, brave ants
breaking the still of the morning.

Two o'clock. Cemetery Ridge is
catching it. The ridge where old signs
read No Guns Allowed in This Ceme-
tery.

Lee is giving all.

Guns. Men. Shells.

Two glory hunters clash on the
flanks. Hampton of the red shirt and
Custer of the blond hair combed out
long and curled.

Clash now in locked madness. Rear
stallions; bite mares; fight geldings,
for the wet colts you'll never top any-
one for. Bleed, horses. Swift preferred
you to men. {Wise Swift. Mad Swift.
A shilling a look.) Die, Yahoos! Die,
Houyhnhnms !

Three o'clock. (A British frump.
Wouldn't have missed this for any-
thing in the world! Longstreet, pale
with hate! J would.)

Fifteen thousand men go roaring
past. Ready; go. Pickett is charging.

The last hope.

For Lee. For Jeff Davis. For Judah
Benjamin. For Alex Stephens. For
Dixie.

Lee was wrong. The center was
not weak. No home guard. No suck-
ling holds the center. Hancock. The

46

BOOK REVIEWS

Second Corps. The best in the whole
— Union Army !

Hundreds ground to pulp by Union
fire.

Fifteen thousand come on in a
tidal wave. Poor fools. To die when
all is lost. Poor heroes. To walk into
the guns and bake yourself to death.
To have shot go shattering through
you like a giant physic. To broil to
death with your head in the mouth
of the cannon. To come apart in
atoms. To melt into nothing.

The top of the ridge. The top!
At last! But how few!

Gettysburg is over.

The South is over as an invader.
Over as a winning foe.

The countercharge of Webb's
Pennsylvanians goes past in a blur of
fury. Goes past, and sends the last
shots into the patched buttocks of
home-spun pants. The blood haze that
will be Lincoln's Gettysburg ends in
a blast of bugle-ringing charges. The
day dies away de crescendo.

Gravediggers. Your shovels, please.

MAYBE Chicken Fat, my pro-
ducer friend, wants something
a little more about a personality, about
one man. Someone who hasn't been
cut to formula hash on the screen
before.

I would like to suggest WINSLOW
HOMER, by Lloyd Goodrich. It's
about time we forgot the German
and French scientists with their beards
brushing rare germs off the table, or
the singers and dancers out of jazz'
past, or the coy ladies who loved great
men and who suffered for it (usually
at the box office).

Winslow Homer is most likely

America's greatest painter. He was a
New England Yankee with horse
sense for an eye for significant detail.
He led an exciting life, and poor Mr.
Goodrich, an art critic — and a good
one — tries hard to hide the fact that
Homer liked the gals a little too
much. But those paintings of sloe-
eyed women, the tight-gowned ladies,
the wide and sensual fishergirls, the
dancing women on the summer porch-
es on moon-lit nights, tell us a real
man existed. The big girls with the
beautiful bodies that he soaked in the
sea and painted wet, all point to the
fact that the stuff Chicken Fat calls
"the romantic crap" played a large
part in making a great painter into
a great artist.

There is also the mystery of
Homer's last years; the hermit hurt
by some woman, retiring from the
world, painting the sea again and
again, yet to the end escaping to the

tropics every year, and going almost
insane with color; painting the great-
est watercolors in the history of art.
Let's forget for a while, Van Gogh,
and Picasso and our awe of Dali's
chic delicatessen, and look homeward
to our own great masters, of whom
we have as yet too few.

BUT if my friend Chicken Fat
must have his escape to another
shore, may I call his attention to a
new collection of the wonderful novels
of Thomas Love Peacock. Who is
Thomas Peacock? He practically in-
vented Aldous Huxley, and all the
better parts of Evelyn Waugh.

Those of us in the late Twenties,
and early Thirties, who were excited
by Chrome Yellow, Point Counter
Point, Brave New World, A Hand-
ful of Dust, Vile Bodies, Decline and
Fall were tricked into accepting sec-
ondhand goods . . . fine material too,
but not the original. The Huxley-
Waugh novel was first called Night-
mare Alley, Crochet Castle, Headlong
Hall and Gryll Grange and published
from 1816 to 1861, and then forgotten
by all but a few literary ragpickers
in the grab bag of discarded trends,
and Mr. H. and Mr. W.

The book, PLEASURES OF
PEACOCK, is edited by someone
called Ben Ray Redman, a bad and
foolish editor who takes on himself
the curse of cutting down five of
seven novels in the collection into
Reader's Digest pap. The two that
are printed as written, by the author,
are lulus, and there are enough bloody
fragments of the rest to make it worth
reading. These are comedies of man-
ners, written on a high level, and as
such, never really go out of fashion,
either as books or motion picture ideas.

47

NEXT MONTH AND THEREAFTER

RAYMOND CHANDLER

Qualified Farewell

TALBOT JENNINGS

Hollywood in Retrospect

F. HUGH HERBERT

Attention: Grievance Committee

WALTER H. SCHMIDT

The Cartoon World

DR. ARNOLD WELLES

Experiment in Reaction

DWIGHT TAYLOR

You Know How They Are

And Further Articles by KEN McCORMICK, SAMSON RAPHAELSON, ISOBEL LEN-
NART, STEPHEN LONGSTREET, HOWARD J. GREEN, RICHARD G. HUBLER,
THORNTON DELEHANTY, MAX WILKINSON, EWING SCOTT, ERNEST PAS-
CAL, and others.

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Special ~Arnnouncement

r

Next month, April, 1948, marks the lifteenth Anniversary of the present Screen
Writers' Guild, and the April issue of THE SCREEN WRITER will be an "Anni-
versary Issue," containing special articles by members well qualified to speak on the
progress and history of this Guild since its formation fifteen years ago.

Among the contributors will be:

EMMET LAVERY

CHARLES BRACKETT
SHERIDAN GIBNEY
MARY McCALL

HOWARD J. GREEN

EDMUND HARTMANN

With the anniversary issue

THE SCREEN WRITER

will also appear in new format

AUG 101949

10 1947

. ,

©Cl B 810 6 5

The

Screen Writer

Volume 3 — June, 1947 - May, 1948

A Publication
of the

SCREEN WRITERS' GUILD, INC

Letter
From

Me

X1CO

GORDON KAHN, Editor of
THE SCREEN WRITER, took
a month's leave in order to ful-
fill an assignment from a na-
tional magazine on the subject
of American film companies'
operations in Mexico. He writes
from there:

Dear Staff: My business here is
completed. I can't say "happily com-
pleted" because I wish the assignment
had lasted longer. I like Mexico, its
people and its land. And I like watch-
ing the way a Mexican crew, from
prop boy to cameraman meshes its
operations and gets a script onto film.

Not as any plenipotentiary, but en-
tirely on my own, I paid a fraternal
call on our colleagues, the organiza-
tion of Mexican screen writers. Its
full and official name is a mouthful in
any language: La Seccion de Autores
y Adaptadores del Sindicato de Tra-
baj adores de la Produccion Cinema-
tografica de la Republica Mexicana.
Its two officials who welcomed me
are Adolfo Fernandez Bustamente
and Rafael E. Portas.

Over Mexican cigarettes that
would knock the hat off even a writer
of Westerns, we talked about our
craft, the condition of the film indus-
try in our respective countries and
the writer's present and future in it.
I got more than I gave at this visit,
and frankly, what I handed them
was a few laughs, which, to my face
were polite enough.

For instance, they asked me about
the kind of contracts American screen
writers are required to sign as they
undertake an assignment. I told them
that the MGM writer's contract
weighs somewhere around 11 Troy
ounces and runs to 36 mimeographed
pages. The WB schedule of "terms
and conditions of writer's employ-
ment" scales slightly less; but then it
is on thinner paper.

"And who, Senor Kahn," Senor
Bustamente asked me, "prepares these
(Continued on Page 38)

Sea

The

Screen Writer

Vol. 3, No. 1

JUNE, 1947

CONTENTS

GORDON KAHN

Letter From Mexico

EMMET LA VERY

Snowball in the Spring

JAY RICHARD KENNEDY
An Approach to Pictures

SUMNER LYON

Other End of the Rainbow

T. E. B. CLARKE

Writers -Dire dors in Britain

GARRETT GRAHAM

Witch-hunting in Hollywood

I. A. L. DIAMOND

Hollywood Jabberzvocky

SHERIDAN GIBNEY

The Screen Writer's Medium

MILT GROSS

One Way of Doing It

Editorial

Report on Questionnaire

Screen Writers-Film Authors

Report & Comment

Corresponden ce

Ne<ws Notes

Screen Credits

This Page

1

5

12

14

17

22

23

25
26
28
34
39
40
40
42

PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY THE SCREEN
WRITERS' GUILD, INC., AT 1655 NORTH
CHEROKEE, HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA

ALL SIGNED ARTICLES IN THE SCREEN WRITER
REPRESENT THE INDIVIDUAL OPINIONS OF THE
AUTHORS. EDITORIALS REFLECT OFFICIAL SCREEN
WRITERS' GUILD POLICY, AS; DETERMINED UPON
BY THE EXECUTIVE BOARD./

YEARLY: $2.50; FOREIGN, $4.00; SINGLE
COPY 25c; (CANADA AND FOREIGN 30c).

CONTENTS COPYRIGHT 1947 BY THE SCREEN
WRITERS' GUILD, INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

'

©

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