The New Movie Magazine (Jan-Sep 1935)

£*■ i(^A ■^ The TITLE has been Changed -v; Why does a story called "How to Feed Goldfish" reach the screen as "Penthouse Love"? If title changes make you mad, read this story ! By LOWELL BRENTANO Sc «W H 0 ,-r h <\ A pat on the bacE and a raise in pay go to the lads who think up "hit" titles. They grind out titles all day long — and you see them on the theater marquee. >. A" ROSE by any other name would smell as sweet? Oh, no, it wouldn't — not in pictures. Call a good film by the wrong name, and see what happens — particularly to the box office. On the other hand, give a mediocre story with a mediocre cast a fast and snappy title, one that provokes the imagination, and watch the shekels roll in. That's the reason why "title conferences" in Hollywood are so important— why a picture may be called by twenty different names before its producers are satisfied that they have hit on the right one. That's the reason, too, why many books and plays which have already appeared between covers or on the stage are renamed when they find themselves on the screen. They may have called "read me, see me!" loud and profitably on book jackets or theater programs, but they may fail in the judgment of The All Highest in Hollywood to provide that little fillip, that "wonder what it's all about" reaction in the minds of the movie-minded, which keeps the industry going, and going strong. They know all too well, these screen magnates, that the title is the public's first introduction to a picture, and that the appeal of an intriguing name is one of the most powerful persuasions to the pocketbook. And since pictures are made not for the pleasure of it, but for the profit of it in dollars and cents, it is vitally important that they greet the public under the sweetest-smelling name, to return to the rose, that can be devised. All right then — since we've all nodded our heads in answer to the question, "Is the title for a picture as important as the story?" how do pictures ever get named? And why are they named as they are. and why do moving picture producers sometimes throw away what looks like a perfectly good moniker and select something which (to the naked eye) seems more far-fetched than the original? First of all, a movie title should be short, and to the point. So that it will stick in our minds, and so .X ,.-: ":V'J \ &£tr. ■£-7 -4K ^' mi om4 i Illustration by Charles Mulholland jot »™ GOT/ ecSHJK that it will fit on the marquees of the many moving picture theaters throughout the country. Incidentally the average marquee has room for only about twenty letters. And also incidentally, what electricians can do to a title on a marquee is heart-breaking and scandalous. There was the time the light behind the first "D" went out for "Devil Dogs of the Air," and that other awful night when something happened and "Lives of a Bengal Lancer" became "Wives of a Bengal Dancer." But to go on — titles must also be easy to spot on billboards, posters and in newspapers and so put together that they will fit into costly advertising space neatly and compactly. They aren't so dumb, these movie press agents. "The Old Lady Shows Her Medals" was turned into "Seven Days' Leave," "The Queen's Husband" to "The Royal Bed," "Private Pettigrew's Girl" to "Shopworn Angel" — all chiefly for the sake of brevity. Then, again, a successful title must be one which can be easily read and easily understood — which means something to Grandma, and little Bobbie, aged twelve, as well as to the college professor, and Yetta Svenson, who hasn't been in this country very long. Take the Anna Sten picture, "We Live Again." As most of us know who have seen it, it is a film adaptation of Tolstoy's "Resurrection." But try and bill a picture as "Resurrection." An earful of the title conference on that picture probably sounded something like this — "There must be at least ninety million clucks in this country who don't know what 'Resurrection' means, and another ten million who'd think a picture called 'Resurrection' was all about religion. The other twenty million" (there are supposed to be one hundred and thirty million of us rolling about in this fair land of ours) "are either in baby carriages, confined to the home by extreme old age, or don't like the movies, so where are you?" The smart producer at once will answer, "In the red." Or look at "The Prizefighter and the Lady"— a grand picture, which deserved to win approval on all sides. But what happened? Half of the women who asked their husbands "What's at the movies tonight?" said, "Oh — a picture about prize-fighting — then let's not go," when they were offered a jaunt to the picture house on the corner. The title department at M-G-M forgot to think of (Please turn to page 57) The New Movie Magazine, August, 1935