Screenland (Nov 1934-Apr 1935)

74 SCREENLAND The Search for Scenarios Continued from page 30 a tremendous job it is; what a vast territory it covers, this search for scenarios, then you will perhaps understand why producers are more to be pitied than censured. There are nine major film companies, as you may know. They produce about 394 feature pictures a year. Their resources are the books published by 480 books publishers all over the world, plays, innumerable short stories, original ideas by staff writers, and stories written around catchy titles. Sometimes, the wife, aunt, or mother of a motion picture producer notices a striking name or trade-mark, on her tour through the shopping district of Los Angeles. She passes it on, and presto — two or more writers are racking their brains, far into the night, in an attempt to evolve a logical scenario around it. Film companies may buy a play for an enormous sum only to find, much to their regret, that they had utilized the same idea hree years previous in a silent picture. Just such a boner occurred only this season, when a company bought an uproarious stage comedy, for $45,000. They subsequent^ discovered that one of their stars appeared in a silent film with practically the identical plot. Then, too, they may pay a large sum for a best-seller, forgetting in the tense excitement of bidding with other companies that the novel may have a strong and censorable sex theme. It is impossible for story supervisors and producers to read every book that is published or to see every play that is produced. Spies, as they are called in the industry, are employed by all companies for this purpose. They see the plays before they open ; either at try-outs or at rehearsals. They read books' in manuscript form, long before publication. So many books are published, though, that the "spies" hire assistants, who are paid anywhere from five dollars to fifteen a reading, to read stories and scripts as possibilities for pictures, -■-a^gg^efween Ys trie kUtU'oTj" JJlTlL iTu New York City, alone, there are one hundred of these agents. They contact authors, publishers, and producers. They have the advance tips on the forthcoming "naturals." "Naturals" are books that need only the reading of a short synopsis, to indicate that they have potent film possibilities. Today, many stage ventures are sponsored, not only with the intenion of making money at the box-office, but with the hope that some spy will like it and buy it for the movies. Many failures are thus avoided. The hits are, of course, sold for fabulous prices. "She Loves Me Not" was bought by Paramount to feature Bing Crosby and Miriam Hopkins. Metro-Goldwvn-Mayer purchased "The Shining Hour" for $45,000 with the intention of starring the one and only Garbo, in this drama of English country life. The race is so taut, that some film companies have toyed with the idea of backing plays themselves. Others prefer to bid it out, figuring they would lose a lot of money anyway, if their stage shows flopped. So keen is the competition, that in many cases these companies will buy books before they know what they're about, so afraid are they that another company will beat them to the post. This happened a year ago, with a book entitled "Only Yesterday," one of 1933's top-notch best-sellers. Metro-Warners, and Universal bid for it, with the latter company, winning out. Imagine Universal's dismay when they discov Bride and groom, above, Adolphe Menjou and Verree Teasdale, whose long-awaited marriage took place in Hollywood on August 25th. ered upon reading the book, that it was not a novel, but a history of our times, from 1920 to 1932. There wasn't a love interest or hair-raising sequence in the entire book. However, the title had possibilities and a story was written around it. Fortunately they wrote a good one. It elevated Margaret Sullavan to sudden stardom and it was a real success. Nevertheless, someone unwittingly captioned it : "Adapted from the novel of the same name." The theme of the original work had long since been forgotten. Over-zealous producers of successful ^JgffeS? S2t their nronerti.&s._so high that they scare off potential film buy] ers. This happened with "Another Lan guage," an over-night hit. It was pro duced in the early Summer, and even torrid nights could not keep audiences away from it. When picture scouts started to' bid for this home-spun, human comedy, the stage producer promptly demanded $100,000. He never got it. Months later, he came down to $35,000, and Metro bought it at the bargain price. The night after the opening, Arthur Beckhard, the ^producer, could easily have sold it for $65,000. Broadway columns are avidly combed by' Hollywood hawks for any kind of clue, nc' matter how fragmentary. Smart and ex-' elusive literary teas are attended. A personal interest is taken in every young ' writer, who has displayed a flair for big-' ger things. Famous writers like Sinclair Lewis — his latest novel "Work of Art" ha:5 been bought by Fox for Will Rogers — Fan nie Hurst, Edna Ferber, and Louis Brom field, are dated and feted no end, by thes<enterprising and alert cinematic Sherlock Holmeses. Perhaps the most amusing story concern:5 H. M. Warner and his smart and stunning daughter, Doris, who married Mervyi1 LeRoy, the diminutive director. A grouj? of ambitious Thespians had on their hand s a stirring play about men and medicine'but lacked the necessary funds to produc e it. Doris read the play, recognized its wide appeal, and subsequently backed ilt with her own money. Not a word of th: s reached her producing parent. The play was "Men in White," a robust hit, now many months of stage age. No sooner had the final curtain dropped on the opening night, than Hollywood's scouts were swarming backstage, eager to be the first to bid. A Warner man was there, but he did not know who had played angel to the show. The business-like Doris, however, forgot family affiliations, and sold the play to the highest bidder, which in this instance was Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. When Harry Warner heard that his daughter had actually "sold him out" he was not angry. He was proud. "A real chip off the old block," he told astonished assistants. Now can you stand a complicated melange? Complications are as common in this search as are temperamental stars. Those energetic publishers who have sold "Bring 'Em Back Alive!" "Wild Cargo," "Little Man, What Now?" and "The First World War" to the film companies, once published a book called "Phantom Fame." This story dealt with the life of Harry Reichenbach, famous film publicist. The book was a failure and quickly faded into oblivion. Yet a sleuth from Radio Pictures read it, and saw a movie possibility in it for Lee Tracy. Radio bought it, but then strangely enough decided to scrap the story and keep only the title. Half way through production, it was decided the title wasn't so hot after all, and that they wouldn't use it. Then a bright young fellow, economically minded, recalled that the use of that title had cost them $10,000. So they held a conference, as is their wont, (they hold conferences at the drop of a hat), and decided to salvage the story and forget the title. This they did, and they released this merry mix-up under the title of "The Half-Naked Truth." Tfce search is endless. The public, (this means you and you and you), always demands new stories and unusual angles. Cycles come and go. Gangster pictures had their vogue. War pictures at one time were being released in rapid succession. Production men were burning the wires to and from Hollywood imploring their eagleeyed representatives to dig up more war scenarios. Perhaps a scout in far-off Budapest will unearth a naughty farce which needs only the deft touch of a Lubitsch or a Capra to make it sure-fire box-office, and start a cavalcade of boudoir operas. Radio Pictures might film another memorable masterpiece like "Cimarron," which netted Edna Ferber, the authoress, $100,000, the highest price ever paid. Maybe another of these readers, who like Helen Grace Carlisle, became so disgusted with the score of hackneyed novels she had just waded through, will take pen in hand and w-rite one herself. Miss Carlisle wrote the eminently successful novel, "Mother's Cry." Her "latest work, "The Wife," will probably be bought for Claudette Colbert or Anna Sten. Ultimately, even more famous authors may be signed to write scenarios at enormous salaries only to meet a fate similar to that of Louis Bromfield, who wrote such best-sellers as "The Green Bay Tree,' and "The Farm." Bromfield was told to golf, swim, and laze about as long as he cared, but not to bother about writing anything. When Bromfield asked the movie mogul just why they bothered to import him to the coast, he was greeted with this priceless retort : "Oh, we just want to use the famous name of Brombevg!"