Business screen magazine (1946)

paradox BY STANFORD SOBEL PARADOX: Innocence is the origin of cynicism. Every producer and writer I know has had the following experience: A client calls up and says, "Listen, I have to get out this cheapie. I don't want your deluxe-type movie, but just a little quick-and-dirty film for as few bucks as possible. In fact, I'm stealing the money from a brochure budget and hiding half of it in the next fiscal year. What can you do for me?" Readers, I can see the little halfsmile of pain flickering across your face. You know he has \ou on the horns of a dilemma. If you don't take the job, you make an enemy. He'll remember that you turned him down the next lime he wants a film. You're practically inviting him to go to a competitor. But, on the other hand, if you do take the job, you know right here and now that the film is going to be straight from Disasterville. After all, practically everything you do in making a film is going to cost as much for a cheap film as for an expensive one. And furthermore, you know perfectly well that he's going lo compare this "Little Picture" directly to the best big budget film you ever produced for him or anyone else. Nevertheless, things are a little quiet and you have a couple of bright young people to whom you'd like to give a lillle freedom and responsibility, so you s;iy something like "O.K.. we'll work with you on this one, Charlie." And his next line is: "I thought maybe we could use Alexander Scourby for the voice and Boris Kaufman for the shooter. What do you think?" I'll just let you fill in your next line for \oiirscll because this maga/ine is not rated "X". Thai's what I mean about innocence being ihe starting point of cynicism. There probably have been cases where someone wanted a low budget job and was willing lo judge it on that basis. Bui it doesn't happen very often. I have a theory about why our business works this way. My theory works better for writers than it does for producers, but I ihink it applies to an awful lot of prcnlucers, too. A writer really doesn't have two levels of working quality. A writer always writes just as well as he pos'sibly can write, even if he's only sentling his mother a postcard from Vermont. This is not because writers are a superior breed of human beings but rather becau.se writers are vain people. It's part of my vanity that I consider myself a superb speller and a flawless grammarian. It would actually be very hard work for me to spell badly, use poor grammar, copy from an old proposal, or fill in new names and products in Script Formula 7-B. There's another important factor about writers, unique to the profession. You have to have enormous selfdiscipline. There's nobody standing there watching the words come out on the typewriter and nobody except you yourself can make them come out. Even if you work for a boss and you have to meet an air deadline, the primary discipline that forces you to work comes from within, not from outside sources. You may very well mutter to yourself at 3 A.M.: "Believe me, if it wasn't for the money I wouldn't do it!" But that's a lie . . . you would do it and you know you would. There is no logical reason for becoming a writer. It's a compulsion . . . one you cannot resist. And for that same reason, whatever it is, you cannot intentionally write poorly or quickly or haphazardly in order to meet a low butlgel requiremenl Not everybody believes this, of course . . . especially not every client. Last vear I had a remarkable example of what I call "The I'.iradox Of C'l*incidence." You all know thai liquor companies have Christmas shows, in which Ihc> present their new c paigns lo distributors and retailei l^st year, at exactly the same IL I wrote two of these shows, for ectly competing liquor companies, a of course, for two different produce (Like New York City buses, scri] assignments often seem to have herding instinct. This kind of thi happens all the time to me.) I have before me, framed on wall, the letter of appreciation I teived from one of these clients which he refers to Ihe presentat* as ". . . the best we have ever done . It arrived I am happy to say, with generous supply of their produ The other liquor clients were so happy with their script that they spei most of the night before the si opened rewriting the final draft, earlier drafts, for some strange re had seemed to be entirely satisfacti to them up to that point. In both cases I worked equally hari wrote as well as I could, spent wi ends and holidays slaving away at scripts, and certainly invested eai script with all the skill, creativity arl originality that I could. And. happiL both producers were well pleased wit my work. But in the one case I wi a smash and in the other a flop, first reader who says "That's S Biz!" has to leave the room. I don't personally have two levels quality to my writing, and I don't lieve that producers do either. I thii it is naive to attempt to satisfy a |i budget client. Clients simply doi understand that in this industry wc a] our own severest critics, and our O' highest quality control specialists, client usually ends up with the kii of picture he will allow us to m: for him . . . superb, average, or m ocre. But whatever kind of picture gels ... at least we have done very best work to get it for him. And now for the quiz. Earlier this column I referred lo myself "a flawless grammarian." Intentii allly, I made one very subtle common grammatical error in il article, and if anyone can find it ai write me a letter pointing it out, will receive in return a personal rep* from me, written, it goes witho^ saying, in the very best hortai manner 1 can muster. Stanford Sohcl is a free-limcc writer based in New York City who wriu "Paradox" for each issue of this inafyHizine. He assures us that although /l*J sometimes cynical, he tries hard lo remain innocent of bad gramtnar. 12 BUSINESS SCREH