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WRITING in Hollywood can be compared to an assembly line, but one in which the assertion of an individual's ego, usually the producer's, is generally more important than the quality of the script. Since the Hollywood structure is somewhat fluid, a star or director may also dominate the script, but rarely does a writer. As we have seen, the front-office executive is always in the background ready to wield his authority, too.

The script is the basic raw material from which a movie is made. If it is weak or shoddy, a good picture cannot be made from it, any more than a strong bridge could be constructed with poor steel. The importance of the script to the finished movie cannot be overestimated. Therefore, how scripts are written is significant not only in understanding Hollywood, but also in answering the question of why movies are good or bad entertainment.

While many people engaged in the production of movies realize the script's importance, they take for granted the system in which it is turned out. The anthropologist, of course, takes nothing for granted, but analyzes the way any part of a system functions in relation to the whole.

To make clear the nature of movie writing, it is necessary to replace the usual connotation of the word "writer" by its meaning in Hollywood. There, writers are part of the production of picture rather than authors A bon mot in the community is that "writers in Hollywood do not have works, but are workers." In the customary and literary sense, a writer is a person who has the desire and ability to write about his experiences and observations, for others to read. These observations reflect his philosophy or point of view about life.

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In Hollywood the writer does not write to be read. Nor do most writers write because they have something to say, or to express a point of view, but rather in order to earn large weekly salaries. If an occasional one does have something to say the structure is such as to make it difficult for him to say it with any force or vigor. Only an exceptionally gifted and strong writer, working in an unusual combination of favorable circumstances, can leave his stamp on a movie.

The position of writers becomes intelligible only through historical perspective. They became a part of the production of movies rather late. The first "flickers," consisting of one and two reels which exploited the novelty of movement, did not need them. The high point of these early movies was a train moving through space, a fire engine dashing down the street, or people running down a road. When they lengthened to four or five reels, writers began to trickle into the industry. They assisted the director in getting a story and wrote titles to accompany the action.

The "talkies" obviously made writers more necessary. Today they are an accepted part of the production of every picture, from low-budget Western to the high-budget A film. They came, however, into a medium in which the essentials were still movement and action and their main job was the creation of plots. Characters were secondary and important primarily as mannikins to keep the plot moving. In both melodrama and farce, which comprise the majority of contemporary movies, plot is always more important than characterization. Tragedy and comedy, more concerned with the unfolding of characters from whom the plot stems, are just beginning to appear in the movies.

The cinematographic muse to which both producer and writer bow is the "gimmick." This is a kind of trick, an unconventional device something different-particularly useful in the beginning of a motion picture. An example of a gimmick is to have the hero and heroine meet in a way different from the conventional introduction by a mutual friend. One such device is to have them both running for, the same taxi, entering it from opposite doors, and colliding in the middle. Many a writer and producer sit at the feet of their muse,

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waiting for inspiration for a gimmick. A man to whom inspiration comes frequently is invaluable.

It is taken for granted in Hollywood that there be a symbiotic relationship between producer and writer-that is, a very close union-and that the producer is in authority. The producer picks his writer, which they say is like picking a wife. They explain that they want someone who will laugh at the same jokes, smile at the same innuendo, cry at the same misfortune. This is essential because the role of the writer is to transfer the ideas and fantasies of the producer onto paper. Actually he is looking for an alter ego, rather than a wife. (An alter ego may be the producer's concept of an ideal wife.) In the producer-writer situation, it might be more accurate to say that the producer buys his wife. However, in parts of Africa where the bride-price, or lobolo, is customary, the bride has is more freedom and rights than the average Hollywood writer. The producer may really believe he is only "guiding" or "helping" the writer. But if the writer puts something in the script which displeases the producer, or which does not fit into his fantasies, or which he does not understand, then it comes out and is replaced with the producer's idea, obediently inserted by the writer.

Writing in Hollywood frequently begins with talking. Going back to prehistoric times, before the invention of writing, all story telling was oral. In Hollywood many producers seem very much more at home on the verbal level than on the written one. In assembling the script at least as much time, and frequently more, is spent in talking as in writing. At the end of a day a writer and producer may be quite exhausted from talking.

The producer may start by outlining his ideas of the kind of movie he wants. Perhaps his idea comes from a sensational newspaper story, a radio skit, or another movie. He may become quite histrionic in the telling, walking up and down the room acting out ideas. The writer later transcribes them to paper in a "treatment." This is limited to the "story line," ranging from twenty to eighty pages, and done for the inspection of the producer to see If he likes it. If it is accepted, it forms the basis for a script. The story line consists of a series of events which have a logical relationship to each

other, but often little to the characters, who may be merely pegs on which to string the incidents. The logic of the story line usually takes precedence over the logic of the characters, or of life.

Sometimes it is the writer who, in the beginning, does the talking, selling his idea to the producer. There are some writers whose only ability lies in being able to talk dramatically about their ideas and who have never written a screen play. Gifted writers, too, may become talking salesmen for their ideas. One had an original idea for a movie which a producer thought so highly of that he called together several of the studio's top men, an executive, a director, a story editor, to listen to the writer describe his idea. The writer, quite verbal, was carried away by his own eloquence as he dramatized his recital for an hour and a half to this group. He was so effective that he fired their imagination and at the end they sat with their mouths open, convinced that this was a "great" story. Having a sense of humor and suddenly seeing the whole performance objectively, the writer, when leaving, said ironically, "Now get someone to write it."

The original source may be a novel or play the studio has purchased, and the writer is employed to do an adaptation from it. He makes the changes necessary for dramatic effect in another medium, those required to conform to the producer's personal fantasies and his notions of what the public wants, and to meet the taboos of the Production Code, and tailors it all to the screen personalities of the actors who will play the star roles. Sometimes only the title of the original novel or play is left.

This "adaptation" then becomes the source for the "screen play" - probably done by another writer.

It is part of Hollywood movies for the writer to give the pages he has written each week to the producer. There are long story conferences in which the producer suggests, criticizes, and argues with him. He then tries to implement the producer's suggestions. When he is finished, if the script is still not to the liking of the producer or the front office, or the star, or the director, another writer is called in. Rarely is the previous one called back. The general idea seems to be that he has given his all, and so if the script is not right

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another one is put on. If the producer is inarticulate the new writer may be told only that the script is no good or that it stinks that and he should make it better. He will go to the producer's secretary and ask to see some scripts which her boss considers successful and he may then ask for a showing of some of his pictures. All this is to try to find out what the producer wants, what will please him. The demands of the story are secondary.

There is a highly developed specialization in the writing. If a more articulate producer decides that the script needs humor, a gag writer is put on. If the plot needs tighter construction, or romantic touches are required, or the characters must be made more human or the dialogue polished-there is an expert for each need.

The script continues down the line as the gag man, the dialogue polisher, or just another writer make their contribution and pass on to another picture, another studio, or to unemployment. Even if the writer remains at the same studio, at this point it is customary for contact with the picture to be finished.1

At the end the producer decides to whom the screen credits go and, following the rules of the Screen Writers' Guild, he is under obligation to notify each writer who has worked on the picture. Any one of them has the right to object to the studio's award of credit, and in that case the Screen Writers' Guild, or rather a committee of three members chosen from a rotating panel, acts as arbitrator and its decision is accepted by studio and writers as final. Of the approximately 500 pictures produced a year, about 50 arbitrated for writers' credits; these are the important moves which credit brings high prestige. The studio awarding of credits is changed by the arbitration committee on about two thirds of the cases.

The arbitration of credits is a highly technical and not an easy problem for the committee. It reads first the final script, then all the

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preceding ones, and any communications from the writers involved and from any other studio person concerned with the matter. There are no oral hearings. To receive major credit for the screen play, an individual writer must have contributed at least 33 1/3 per cent; a team of two, 40 per cent; and a writer-producer 50 per cent. The number of writers who can be included in the screen credits are three individuals or two writing teams. The various possibilities in the awarding of credits include Screen Play by . . .; Adaptation by . . .;Additional scenes by · · ·; Additional Dialogue by . . .; Original Story by . . .; Suggested by a Story, Novel or Play by . . .; Based on a Character from a Play by . . .

The battle for credits is important to the writer because his jobs, prestige and amount of salary are largely dependent on them. It is his work record, and he is typed according to it, not only quantitatively but qualitatively. A writer who has only one credit for a psychological murder film may be chosen by a producer to do another script of that type, as against another writer with more credits but none on this type of film. There are exceptions-writers with no screen credits but with excellent reputations outside of Hollywood, or a few without reputations but in whose ability some producer has great confidence-who have prestige writing jobs. There is also the occasional writer who refuses credit because he is shamed of the script which is filmed and thinks it would hurt his reputation. But for most writers credits are important and the members of the Guild's Arbitration Committee have to use all their wisdom to arrive at approximately just decisions. Obviously it is impossible for them to please everyone, and in the past one man resigned from the Guild because he did not like the decision on his case. But in general the members respect the work of their committee as fair. It is an interesting example of a group of workers settling their own jurisdictional problems; and the producers seem relieved at not having to handle them.

Obviously writing in Hollywood cannot be described on any abstract level. Its setting is in a complex set of power relationships of a highly personal as well as business nature, functioning outside of the studio as well as in it. They involve not only producers and writers,

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but also front office, directors and stars. The intricacies, rivalries and confusion can be appreciated only through concrete examples.

On one film, fifteen writers were assigned at one time or another; six of them were designated by the producer as substantial contributors. The film was based on an original story by writer Mr. One, employed by the studio to do it. After writer Mr. One finished the story, writers Two and Three, working as a team, wrote the script. The producer wished to test out every conceivable character and scene, and was so prolific in his suggestions that the two writers working as a team produced sixteen versions, not all of them complete. Between seven and eight months were spent on this phase of the work.

A director then came on the job with a shooting date, and, with a definite viewpoint on what could and could not be included in the story. The period of discussion and experimentation was therefore ended and the script was now rewritten according to the director's ideas, which differed considerably from those of the producer. Mr. Four, who had previously done some writing with Two and Three's team, was called in to help. While they were working, another writer, Mr. Five, had been sitting in at all the story conferences. Later, when the producer and director decided that Two, Three and Four could not bring the script to a satisfactory conclusion, Five began doing the final version. Later, Mr. Six was called in to help him. These six were the major contributors but nine other writers had also worked on the script. Eventually a very mediocre script emerged which was the basis of an A picture ­no better, of course, than its script.

For another film a story by a well-known author had been purchased at a high price by the studio. Mr. One was asked to read the story to see if he could do a script from it. He thought it impossible and refused the assignment. The producer then said that he was not particularly interested in using the story and that he would prefer an original one with a similar theme. (The question of why he bought the story never seemed to occur to him or to anyone else.) Writer One and the producer then discussed various possibilities

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and finally agreed on a theme, which was approved by the executive head of the studio. The writer was then employed to do an original script, although the title of the already purchased story by the famous author was kept for "studio convenience." This enabled the studio to allocate the price of the original story to the new film and thus to make it seem that the purchase of the original story was not wanted.

After the script was finished the international status of the foreign country in which the picture had been set changed and the director and star refused to do the picture unless it was revised accordingly. There was no apparent reason why the first writer could not have done this, but according to the Hollywood system a second one was called in to "develop" a script which would be approved by the director and the star and be in accordance with the international situation. The major story elements were retained, but much of the actual dramatization was discarded for reasons of political expediency. Writer Two was given credit for the screen play; writer One was credited with the story and the adaptation.

On one movie, based on a novel from which another country had already made a film, there were eighteen writers working over a period of slightly more than two years. Details on the contributions of all eighteen are not available, but enough have been obtained to give an idea of how the script was done. One writer claimed that to the scripts written subsequently to his were based on his script, rather than on the book, and pointed to a particular character he had developed who was not in the book. Another writer says that he was called in by the producer after the previous ones had failed to create a dramatic ending, and that he did not read any of the other scripts. He claims that he wrote a long treatment which was almost a screen play, inventing material and indicating dialogue and special treatment. He thinks that he created the broad pattern and mood the final film. Still another writer, the last one, says that both the novel and two of the scripts which had been written and looked at the foreign picture. He then decided to deviate completely from the two scripts and from the foreign film, and he turned out something quite different, for which he received credit. The work

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of the seventeen men who had preceded him was practically wasted and this unnecessary expense might have been avoided if someone in authority had known what he wanted or had understood the medium sufficiently to know what was possible.

Sometimes the struggle for credit is not for the script but for the adaptation. Writers One and Two acquired the screen rights to a published novel and on their own time wrote a screen play based on it. They sold this and rights to the novel to a studio. Writer Three was employed by the studio to do a second screen play, based on the first, under the supervision of a producer. Subsequently writers Four, Five, Six and Seven worked on this material, the last two as a team. Writer Seven said that he wrote two complete adaptations based only slightly on the novel before he worked on the screen play, and also did a half-dozen outlines and sequence developments. Adaptation credit was given to writers Seven and One. Credit for the screen play was given to writers Six and Seven. Of the seven writers employed on this film only three apparently made substantial contributions.

Confusion in the writing of a script may be caused by the change of producers and directors. Writer One was given an assignment to do a screen play based on a story purchased by the studio. During the six months he was working on this assignment, two different producers and three different directors were assigned to the script. Writer One was continually doing, under pressure and in a great rush, different versions in accordance with each new producers and new director's ideas. Each one asked the writer to carry out his idea "just to see what it looks like." During these six months writer One wrote five scripts, all done in a hurry, and he always assumed that he would eventually have time to polish and smooth the final one.
For some unknown reason the film was suddenly taken away from the second producer and reassigned to the original one, who had to start production in two weeks. Accordingly, a script was hurriedly prepared in accordance with the original producer's ideas admittedly a hodgepodge. It was at this point that the third director

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was assigned and the writer worked for four days and nights continuously with him, discussing and changing the script. When the director finally O.K.'d it, the writer began the final draft. He was told two days later that writer Two would follow him to polish the dialogue, and that the latter would get dialogue credit. Writer One felt pressed for time and agreed to this arrangement.

In the meantime, a star had objected to the script and refused to act in it unless more changes were made. Writer One made the changes suggested by the star, with writer Two working behind him and polishing the dialogue. Credit for the screen play was given to One and for additional dialogue to Two. The final film was a confused jumble but produced on a large A budget. It reflected the lack of planning by the front office and the fact that there had been no one authority over the script.

The competition between writers for credits sometimes degenerates to the point where a writer will accuse another of playing a trick on him. In one such dispute, a writer claimed that his rival had pages remimeographed to make it falsely appear that changes had been made. When changes are made the pages are remimeographed and the new ones are in a different color from the preceding ones. The ritual is the following: Yellow pages are temporary and white pages are final. First corrections are made on pink paper, and corrections on them are made on green; and further corrections on green on blue.

In another case the final script was written by a well-known author, writer One, whose short stories a studio had purchased. But before this final script three other writers had been involved. When studio purchased the stories, they had employed writer Two to outline a screen play from them and develop the story structure. This story outline was turned over to writers Three and Four, who developed a script from it. Considerable time elapsed before the studio was ready to put the picture into production; and it was then that the original author of the short stories, writer One, was engaged to polish and make revisions in the script. However, he did a complete rewrite, not using the script at all. Since writer One, the author

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of the original stories, was also a practiced screen writer, the question might be raised of why the studio did not employ him to do the script in the beginning, instead of using three other people.

Front-office executives may likewise exert their authority over the script as in one case after a producer had assigned writer One to develop an original story. Writer One prepared the story, which was in effect an outline for a screen play, each scene dramatized to establish action and characterization, with some dialogues indicated. This outline was taken by the producer to the executive head of the studio, who approved it, and the cast was decided on. Writer One then began the first draft of the script, slanting it to the particular cast. When he finished the producer was satisfied and pleased with it. However, the executive head did not agree with him and said that he had many new ideas for the film, but that he did not want writer One to carry them out. He gave no particular reason. The executive then assigned writers Two and Three, who worked as a team, to carry out his ideas.

Sometimes it is the director who has sufficient power to dominate. Writer One, a man with an established reputation in literature well as in movies, wrote a script more or less alone, and when it was finished the producer liked it very much and gave it his O.K. Then it was turned over to the director, who did not like it. He called writer Two to make changes. The second writer did not quite please the director either, who then assigned writer Three to "write behind" writer Two. The final picture was very different from the original script, and although writer One received credit, he was not proud of the movie.

The problem of power and credits becomes particularly involved when a producer or a front-office executive is engaged in the actual writing. In one case the source was a movie made several years ago by the studio. Writer One made a new story line from the old film, which he told to the executive head of the studio. The latter gave his approval and writer One proceeded to write the screen play, turning in copy from time to time to writer Two, who was writing

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behind him. There were frequent conferences with the executive head of the studio and with the director who had been assigned to the picture, at which time changes, revisions and cuts were suggested. These were all incorporated by the same method, that is, with writer One working on them and writer Two working behind him. The two writers discussed each sequence and then the first one wrote it and sent it to the second, who would rewrite. Then the two went over the last version and together did the final script. It then turned out that writer Two was also the producer of the film but that writer One had not been told this at the time of their collaboration. The producer claimed credit for the screen play. The Screen Writer's Guild has since adopted the rule that when a producer intends to claim collaboration credit as a writer he must so signify to the Guild and to any other writer assigned to the script, at the time he starts work on writing.

In another case the executive head of the studio became the writer, although he did not start in this capacity. He purchased from another studio a novel, two treatments and the screen play which had already been done from it. He then employed writer One to do another screen play conforming to his ideas. While this script was being prepared an experienced director was sitting in on the story conferences, giving suggestions. Later, writer Two was added to contribute ideas and dialogue. However, after the script was finished the executive was still dissatisfied and he then proceeded to rewrite the entire film. He received screen credit, and writer One credit only for adaptation. Writers One and Two were experienced and in the upper-salary brackets. The executive had had no previous experience in writing and this was his first screen play. The film from it has been generally described as "hammy." However, a small fortune was spent on its exploitation, considerably above the usual amount allotted for this purpose.

Quite a few producers appear to have mixed feelings of respect, envy and contempt for the functions of the writer. One employed a skilled writer at $3000 a week to polish the dialogue of a script. After he had finished, the producer, a powerful but insecure person with no writing ability, changed all the dialogue. That the final dia-

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logue is hackneyed and trite and that the money paid to the high-salaried writer was wasted seemed irrelevant to the studio. The producer had the satisfaction of having dominated the writer and of having taken over his creative function.

Another writer with a literary background, earning $2500 a week, had the good fortune to work alone on a script. But he had a long argument with the producer about the nature of one of the main characters. The writer tried very hard to convince the producer that this kind of character was essential to the story. The producer did not attempt to answer the argument, but kept repeating what he wanted, and ended with: "Well, you write it as you please; but I will change it after you leave." He did, and the result is a movie in which there is no motivation for one of the leading character's behavior.

The writer is constantly at the beck and call of the producer even after the day at the studio is finished. One successful writer had a producer who continuously phoned him at home about his latest idea for a script. Once the producer, very drunk, phoned at three A.M. to describe his latest notions about a movie they were working on. This kind of thing happened a number of times and the writer, weary of it all, decided to take a vacation for a couple of weeks in a remote place without a phone. However, through special messenger and at considerable expense, the producer managed to reach the writer in his hideout.

Another producer interrupted a family Christmas party a $3500 -a-week writer was giving. The producer phoned and said he had to have a conference immediately; the writer left the party to attend it. This kind of relationship indicates both the dependency of the producer on the writer and also the slave-like position of the writer.

The personal aspect of the producer-writer relationship is exemplified in further detail by the description of how the Producer, Mr. Schizo, described in a preceding chapter as always in conflict between his different goals, worked with a writer. He had bought a story for $50,000, consisting only of a series of plot incidents which were not particularly good. Characters were completely lacking but he thought the story lent itself to quick adaptation. It had been

purchased in a hurry because, as usual, Mr. Schizo was caught unprepared with studio space allotted to him for an A picture. He picked a writer he liked and whose ability he respected, and handed him the story and a script which had already been written from it. He did not mention that he was the author of the script, which turned out to be completely unusable even as a first draft. Writer one was told that he must have something ready for shooting in a weeks' time.

The first two weeks at the studio Mr. Schizo was "on his neck" all the time and it was very difficult for the writer to accomplish anything. The producer then suggested that the writer go with him for two weeks to a desert resort where, together, they could work. The writer preferred to remain at home and work alone while the producer was away, but the latter prevailed on him to go. He found himself on a train with not only the Mr. Schizo but Mr. Schizo's wife, children and several friends: he was part of a house party. They had a pleasant social time which included gambling, drinking and dancing. The producer and writer were in the same age group, and between them was a vague liking: the writer does not respect him, but says he is a "nice man." However, the writer worried about the script and every once in a while asked the producer if he didn't think they, or at least he, should do some work. Then they would come in from some gay place at two A.M. and talk for a couple of hours about the film. During this time they were staying at an expensive hotel ($20 a day for room and meals) and the writer was the producer's guest. At the end of two weeks they returned to the studio and there remained-now only two more weeks before the scheduled shooting date.

Mr. Schizo frantically called in writer Two and divided the script in half , writer Two taking the first half and writer One the second part on which the most work had to be done. The two writers worked separately, each on his own half, without knowing what the other one was doing-because the producer told them they should not lose time with story conferences. Writer One was disgusted and had no faith in the outcome. He wanted to leave but felt that the producer, to whom he was now under obligation for an expensive two weeks' vacation, was in a hole and that he should not

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desert him. In the end the script was a bad mess from which only an equally poor movie was made. In this and in other situations the producer's inefficiency and lack of planning seem compulsive. He starts with big ideas which never come through. He picks able writers and then puts them in a situation where it is impossible for them to function. He makes each working relationship into a personal one which usually ends in his begging the writers not to desert him in the crisis.

A similar type of producer asked a distinguished writer to do a script which had excellent possibilities. The latter worked alone and it was understood that there would be sufficient time to do a good job. Suddenly the production date was changed because the star had to start earlier in order to finish in time for another contract. Just at this time the producer decided, in conference with the executive head of the studio, that the picture should be much more conventional than had originally been anticipated and that the story line should be drastically changed. The writer found himself in a situation quite different from what he had anticipated. He had only three weeks and the story line had been so altered that it seemed impossible to him. He told the producer that he could not do a good job in three weeks and that he did not think the changed story line would work out regardless of the time factor. The producer begged him to stay on because he felt that the success of the picture depended on this writer and he wanted a prestige picture. He did not seem to realize that a prestige writer could not magically bring a prestige picture out of a story line and approach, basically hackneyed and untrue. The writer, who stayed, later regarded his decision as a mistake and thought he had let his sympathy for the producer's piteous cry "Don't let me down! " outrun his better judgement. He is ashamed that his name is attached to the movie and thinks his reputation has been hurt. However, he does not worry over it unduly. He banks the money he earned -$3500 a week and goes back to writing his novel.

It is not only executives, producers and directors who claim the prerogatives of dictating to writers: after the script is finished stars often demand alterations, and usually get their way. While one film

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was being shot the star insisted on changes sufficient to distort the meaning of the film. The writer of the script was a man of prestige and the producer a "big name" who agreed with the writer's version of have the film should be done. Together they opposed the star's demand. They thought they had won their point. However, the star still had the ace up her sleeve. She became "sick" and stayed home for the day. This caused such a big financial loss that the producer gave in and permitted the changes in order to keep his star "well."

In dramatic contrast to the usual disorganized way of assembling a script which represents the norm in Hollywood, is the occasional example of intelligent planning and real collaboration. There is one team of producer and writer who have been working together for the last four or five years, and their relationships with each other, with a director and with an unusually intelligent front-office executive are unique. All four are men of ability and what is more important, they respect each other and have similar goals which include high standards for a movie as well as big profits.

The history of one of their successful pictures began with the desire of the producer to do a dramatic presentation of a social problem which interested him. He persuaded the studio to buy a novel which, while not concerned with the problem, lent itself to adaptation. He and the writer talked out all the points involved in it and together did an outline and treatment. Before they started the script they discussed the general approach and construction with the director, who had worked with both men before. The writer then did the first draft of the screen play working closely with the producer. This was given to the head of the studio and to the director to read. Both made a number of good suggestions which were incorporated in the rewriting of the script by the writer, with some help from the producer. The writer received full credit for the script and the producer thinks he only played his legitimate role in initiating and guiding it. A finished and polished script was turned over to the director, who was able to shoot it in record time, twenty-two days, because he and the others had planned everything so well in advance.

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Ironically, this picture, made by the men whose goals and motivations were not limited to profits, was a big box-office hit and had far larger net profits than many films with only financial gains for goal. It also was praised as an exceptionally good movie. The economies of production which contributed to the net profits are obvious: the careful planning in advance; a producer, executive, director and writer acting rationally and towards the same end which was well defined in the beginning; the use of the story property purchased for the movie; the salary of one writer instead seventeen; the saving on actors' salaries due to the speed of shooting made possible by advance planning and by the absence of major changes in the script on the set.

The thought, common sense and economy in the production of this picture highlight the weaknesses, business and esthetic, in the production of the majority of movies. None of the men involved in the picture just described were geniuses. But all were men of ability who knew what they wanted to do and how to do it. They had also an interest in and understanding of the world outside of Hollywood and felt strongly that a movie could be used to illuminate a segment of contemporary life. For all of them, front-office executive, producer, director and writer, the movie was more important than the assertion of their ego.

The making of this picture indicates that there is nothing inherent in the production of movies which necessitates the confusion, wastefulness and lack of planning which underlies the assembling of most scripts and which is taken for granted in Hollywood.

In a relationship as close as that of producer-writer, their attitudes to each other are very important. It is rare to find a writer who respects the producer. Part of this may be due to the unpopularity inherent in any supervisory role. Part seems to be due also to the type of men who so frequently have the producer's job and to their lack of either creative or business ability. Over and over again it is said that most producers spend their days on the phone with agents, playing politics to get a star away from another studio, talking to their brokers about buying and selling stocks; or in concern about their stables and races. That many producers do not

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give their writers cause for respect is obvious from the illustrations of their relationships. The writer's resentment against the total situation is also apt to be vented on the producer-his immediate boss, the person with whom he has the most contact.

Producers have likewise little respect for the writers. If someone could invent a gadget to replace the writer, the producers would pay millions for it. The producers know that almost no writer ever stands up for his own ideas, that they have accepted their position as employees on the assembly line, as the producer's lead pencil, for the sake of the large amount of money they receive. This is just what the producer wants and is the system he has helped build, but at the same time it does not encourage him to respect the writer as an artist.

There is an apocryphal story about a writer who was not a producer's lead pencil. This man had been getting $75 a week working on a newspaper. He was brought to Hollywood at $150 a week, very low as Hollywood salaries go, to write a script. When he had finished it the producer suggested a change in one of the characters. The writer refused to make this change, saying that it would injure the basic theme of the story. The producer asked him again to make the change, and offered him a contract at $450 per week. However, in spite of the advice from agent and friends, who told him that with such a contract he would be on his way to success, he still refused to make the change. He said that he had been happy at his previous $75-a-week job, and would be glad to go back to it; and anyway he didn't care much about working in the studio. He left. The producer then yelled to the story editor: "Don't give me any more of these $150-a-week geniuses. I want a $2500-a-week writer who has a swimming pool and is paying alimony."

Many producers feel that the large majority of writers are "phony." By phony they mean men of no ability, or very little, who are overpaid and who stretch out their work longer than is necessary to get more weeks of salary. They also vaguely feel that the good writers do not give themselves fully to their jobs, but hold back some of their creative ability. One producer complains that these writers are not enjoying themselves or the situation in which they work, and he attributes this to some kind of innate

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perversity in the writer's temperament. It seems not to have occurred to him that a situation in which the producer regards the writer's territory as his own property, which he is constantly plowing up, may not be conducive to bringing out a writer's creative ability or to permitting him to function with enjoyment. It is difficult for the producers to see the situation objectively. Some feel that they are only "helping" and "advising" the writer and do not face the fact that the writer has to take the advice, whatever he thinks of it. Part of the confusion in producers' thinking comes from their ignorance about the nature of writing.

A writer who is a distinguished novelist and in demand as a script writer, describing the difference between writing a novel and a movie, says that when he works on a novel it comes from his "guts," from his innermost being. It is almost as if the novel is physically born out of his entrails. On the other hand, when he works on a script it is from his head up, and purely intellectual. In the script he follows the logic of a story line which comes from his brain while the novel involves all his emotions. Even if he is working on a movie which he happens to like very much, he knows, after he finishes, that the whole thing may be completely changed, or that it may never be produced. Over the years he has learned that it is wiser, psychologically, not to identify with any script, and so he avoids disappointment and frustration. This is what some of the producers vaguely mean when they say writers do not "give" themselves wholly to the job and when they think the writers are cheating on them. In a sense this is true, but the producers unfortunately do not look for the causes. These, to others, obviously lie in the system under which scripts are assembled, and the kind of relationship which exists between producers and writers.

The atmosphere of Hollywood which emphasizes working by instinct and attaining success through breaks is not conducive to thoughtful analysis of the system. Objectively, the structure of any system, or any part of it, should have some relationship to its function, what it is supposed to do. The assembly line in an automobile factory is planned to turn out cars, and college courses are organized towards certain ends, such as a liberal arts education, a vocational objective, and so on. The function of a movie is to tell a story, and

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the script is the basis for the story which director and actors will interpret.

All storytelling, whether in folk tales, drama, literature or movies, is based on a projection of fantasies. In the movies, as contrasted to the other mediums, the fantasies are for the most part those of foremen and their bosses, or controlled by them, rather than of the writers whose business is storytelling. The writers sell only their craftsmanship in writing gags and dialogue, thinking up gimmicks, and their sufficient knowledge of how to incorporate the producer's ideas. If one writer does not give him something he likes, he thinks another one may. The general idea is that if one writer is good, five are better. It is only an occasional producer who has sufficient knowledge of drama, of storytelling, and of people to warrant his authority. The Hollywood assembly line has no relationship to either the usual factory one or to the needs of movie writing. On the Hollywood line, more workers are used than necessary, raw material is thrown away, highly skilled men are employed and then not permitted to function with any degree of efficiency; foremen, bosses, and others are constantly asserting their will, without regard to the effect on the product-and all this in an extremely personal atmosphere. All move within an orbit of love and hostility, competitiveness and dependency, and are together in card playing, horse racing, drinking, week-ending, and other sociability. A pseudo-friendliness and show of affection cover hostility and lack of respect. No cooperative venture could function well on that basis. In any such system, whether it is making a canoe on an island in the Pacific, the functioning of a college department, or the making of movies in Hollywood, the human relations are as important as is the more formal structure. In Hollywood, neither are designed for storytelling. Any system which employs men of talent, whether artists or scientists, and does not recognize that certain conditions of freedom are necessary for their effective functioning, is destined to destroy their usefulness and value.

1. This description refers to the scripts of the large-budget A pictured not to small-budget ones and Westerns. There are also exceptions to this pattern for A pictures, when one writer stays with the picture and when the director is part of story conferences.

Link to Chapter 9