Screen Guilds Magazine (August 1934)

August, 1934 9 Tarzan Talks to Himself By McGOWAN miller The Painful Vainful By JOHN BRIGHT U NLIKE any employee group ever heard of, the Screen Writers’ Guild has met its chief opposition from within. The bugaboo operating against progres¬ sive action hasn’t been inertia, or fatty degeneration of the heart. Nor confused, chicken-gutted leadership. It has been the attitude of the screen writer towards his craft. Behind every decent constructive idea, coming before the membership has lurked the menacing sandbag of the tilted nose —as phoney as a vaudeville Cyrano’s, and not at all pathetic. I think I’ve warred as exhaustingly and expensively with supervisors in the past few years as any scenario writer in this business. And I agree that the executive department is the least com¬ petent department of the industry. Yet I am beginning to believe that the criti¬ cism, comic and serious, of the super¬ visorial system coming from writers has been rooted in hyprocrisy. We’ve yelled about producer stupidity and cupidity, we’ve screamed about sol den spikes being driven through our hands, we’ve went into our champasme about the domination of Art bv the Phil¬ istines. Actually, what we hate and fear is the collective idea. Hence we are today a queer and ana¬ chronistic lot. In a society arranging itself, through necessity, every minute more collective and cooperative, the writer stands aloof on one hoof—spin¬ ning webs of idiotic “logic” about his special singularity. An actor is as singular in his perform¬ ance as any writer; so is a director, so is a cameraman. So even, may the saints forgive, is a producer. Despite the familiar, and at times try¬ ing vanity of the actor, he does bow— hams and great artists alike — to the superior importance of his craft. “The show must go on, 7 ’ is no hollow sob-song. Likewise with the other divisions of the cinema theatre. Yet only the writer puts his personal ego above his work. And this is, I main¬ tain, the principal reason for any inef¬ fectiveness we may have as an employee organization. We buck unconsciously against every attempt to unionize us. We won’t be “artists in uniform.” Labor regimentation may be all right for Pullman porters and longshoremen, even for actors and photographers; but, we arrogantly assume: “We are the elected of the earth.” I say it’s spinach. We’re workers in a collective industry in a cooperative so¬ ciety—and the sooner we get off our high-chair and learn to stand on our feet, solidly together, the sooner we wilh be accorded the rights of men. Illustration by the Author Characters: Johnny "Tarzan" Weissmuller Buster "Tarzan" Crabbe The Ape. Scene —The Brown Derby Restaurant in the heart of Hollywood. Seated at a booth at the left is Buster “Tarzan” Crabbe, doing quite nicely by a filet of beef. At the rise of the curtain, Johnny “Tarzan” Weissmuller is seen swinging from a chandelier past a glass case, from which he snatches a plate of French pastry. Leaping nim¬ bly over a bowing waiter he pauses beside Crabbe’s booth and pulls a salad fork from his belt: Johnny —EEowowahoee! Hello, Tarzan. How’s tricks? Buster —Eyoewahoohoo! 0, Tarzan, sit down and rest your arms. I hear you had a little trouble over at the studio the other day. Johnny —You mean about getting my lions mixed? Buster —No, no, I understand that the property men forgot to put up the safety net for the apes. Johnny —Yeah, the boys wouldn’t work. But how about that fire you were in last week? Busier —Fire ? Johnn«f —Stubby was telling me that one of the cannibals dropped a cigarette butt in the swamp and burnt it up. Buster —No damage to speak of. Just a couple of the alligators got the paint scorched off. By the way, are you going down to Palm Springs this week-end ? Johnny —Naw. Gotta work. Late on our shooting schedule. You see, some dumb carpenter dropped a chisel on the hippo and punctured it. Buster —Well, I always claimed you’d get better mileage out of wooden hip¬ pos than rubber ones. Johnny —Then on top of that those wild pygmies ruined a couple thousand feet of film. Buster —One of them forgot to take off his wrist watch? Johnny— Worse. In the middle of the ceremonial scene two of ’em got excited by the tom-toms and cut loose with a tap routine. Buster —Yeah, it’s a tough life. (Eyoe¬ wahoohoo f Waiter bring me a slug of Boston cream pie.) You ought to hear my new bull-ape yodel. The sound mixer took the last chorus of Cab Calloway’s new “Skiddle-de-wat- tle” number and dubbed in Ed Wynn’s “SOOoooo,” then ran it back¬ wards. It’s a darb. You’ll hear it in my next picture. Johnny— That doesn’t sound so hot. The warble I’m using is REALLY blood-curdling. We fed one of the elephants a lot of welsh rare-bit, pick¬ les and peanuts. That night he had a swell night-mare and the boys got a sound track. The result of that, run backwards, will really wow ’em. (At this point a loud ripping noise is heard. The front door disappears hast¬ ily, and a dapper young ape swaggers in dragging a waiter by the collar —.) Johnny and Buster (in chorus) : EEya- hoowaey ! ! The Ape —Hey, which one of you guvs thinks he’s Tarzan? Johnny and Buster —(in chorus) : Me Tarzan! The Ape —Now, now, boys, don’t get me excited. I’ll get my make-up all streaked. Johnny and Buster —(In chorus as they arise from the table) : EEwetteiwa- hoo! (They exit.) Curtain