The Film Spectator (Mar-Dec 1928)

Page Twenty-six Lionel Barryniore had given in Sadie Thompson. If critics had damned the picture I would have been surprised and delighted. Instead I was disappointed in the picture, though satisfied with the performances I went to see. In this week's Film Spectator I find another, lesser, instance of what appears to be insincerity. You are fighting the cause of the actor against the producer, so you declare Universal a leech (I am not at all sensitive, but I do shrink at the word you used) for making a profit on Jean Hersholt. But do you honestly think that any producer employs any actor for any other reason than to make a profit on his ser^nces? If it can not make a profit by using him in a picture and can make it by leasing those services, is not the profit just as legitimate, even though it be a bit more harrowing to the actor? Universal risked, at a guess, §150,000 on its belief that Hersholt would make money for it. If it had risked that amount on its belief that a piece of real estate would increase in value you would not object to any profit it might make, would you? Please do not infer from what I have written that I believe that Universal, or any producer, or The Times, is not properly subject to other censure that you have visited upon them. Sincerely, C. S. DUNNING. (I quarreled with Universal because it accepted pay for Hersholt's services while he was laid off without salary. Mr. Dunning overlooks that. — W. B.) THE HIGH PRICED CONTINUITY WRITERS By MADELEINE MATZEN YOU see strange legends printed about them — these writers of Hollj'wood who are drawing down, each month, salaries far in excess of those who are artists in other lines. The continuity writer as a rule receives more for his continuity than the writer of the original story — unless, of course, the WTiter of the story happens to have a well-known name. Just why this happens is a mystery — one of those weird mysteries that only Hollywood could sponsor. The continuity writers are supposed to be a very cultured, much-traveled group of people — Students of Psychology— and to have at their finger-tips great knowledge of that strange technique— photoplay continuity. But many of them have never been abroad and know only California, Chicago and New York. When the motion picture was in its "infancy" some twelve years ago the writing of continuity was a tremendous, a most odd and unsual undertaking. People in the industry were just beginning to realize the possibilities of the screen. They were all explorers and the language of a photoplay continuity was a new language. The -ivriters (connected with the industry) were just beginning to learn THE FILM SPECTATOR the A, B, C of it. Those who knew how to write continuity considered themselves very important. They were important, and the outsider regarded them with awe. Writing continuity in those days was a feat — just as flying five miles in an aeroplane was considered a feat some years ago. But since then the children of America have been growng up, their main entertainment has been the motion picture. Who was it that said we were a movie-fed nation? Well, we are! Haul out the old statistics and prove it! The child of the pre-movie days regarded life from quite a different angle; his thought processes were different. But the child who is a frequent movie-goer begins to look at life and the happenings around him from the angle of the camera. * * * How often have you heard a high school youngster exclaim: "Gee, that would make a swell motion picture!" just after he has read or heard of some particularly dramatic happening? Trained by constant attendance at the picture theatre the young mind is growng quick to perceive drama when he meets it. The comic-strip wit tells us that we are raising our children to be flagpole squatters. Maybe! Maybe! But we are also raising our children to be photoplay and continuity writers. What the trained writer of twelve years or more ago laboriously sweated over and figured out in continuity form, most young men who grew up viith the movies (using the screen's evolutionary efforts for their main entertainment) know instinctively today. The hocus-pocus, the mysterious mystery of writing for the screen is no longer a mystery. Many young men and women of to-day know as much about the screen value of material as the old-time and now exorbitantly overpaid continuity writer. To be sure they do not know the fine ins and outs of screen technique, but a year or two of training could teach them what it has taken the oldtime screen T\Titers years to learn. Why? Because we have been feeding the coming generation on movies. * * * Why should we train young writers when we have plenty of old, welltrained ones to take care of the work? Because the new writer has a fresh and an unbiased point of view. He is not saturated by politics — or, perhaps I should say, not so busy playing politics that he has no time left in which to concentrate upon his work. The new writer has new ideas and, God knows, new ideas in stories and continuities are as rare as the proverbial hen's teeth. What is going to happen? There will be scores of new young ^vriters clamoring at the studio gates, willing to work for very little for the chance to prove themselves. And they are far better equipped to prove themselves than some of the highly paid names June 23, 1928 of to-day. Why? Because they were movie-fed children. What is bred in the bone is apt to be stronger and more lasting than what is learned with difficulty through experience. The instinct for screen expression is bred in the new writers — all some of them need is a chance. This will mean that the old-timers will have to scratch hard to maintain a pace and a quality and originality superior to those who are crowding in — if these old-timers hope to keep their jobs. Most of the old-time wrters are well fixed financially — they can afford to retire gracefully, but not one of them will retire gracefully. They stoop to all sorts of petty tricks to keep the old pot boiling and these tricks are the pitfalls into which the new writer is apt to be caught. For example — last year several of the bigger studios engaged new writers. In all the industry I believe about forty new ones were tried out (though I can not vouch for the accuracy of this total). In many cases this meant a year's contract at anywhere from fifty to one hundred dollars a week. The new writers were so enthusiastic, so grateful to the producers, that they literally "burst their souls" writing for them. They poured out all their ideas, their dreams, their stories, their talents into the scenario department. They were praised and goaded on. At the end of the year most of them were dismissed — and hardly one of them received screen credit for any work that he had done. SLIP COVERS Finest Workmanship — AH Corded Finish Will give lasting service and add pleasure and beauty to your home. We have a large assortment of colors and patterns. Call, write or phone. Estimates free. WEST COAST SLIP COVER Co. 1425 W. 8th St. DRexel 6728