Screenland (Jun-Oct 1935)

for August 1935 What Chance Has Your Original Screen Story? 61 Gosh ! You say. Them's hard words. Ain't fair to outsiders. Any editor can buy big names. The editor's job ought to be looking for, finding and springing new talent. All right. Suppose you take the editor's job — just for a day. Here, have a chair. Have a smoke. In fact, you can have the whole studio on that proverbial silver platter— if you make another find like "David Copperfield" or "Imitation of Life" or "One Night of Love." Here's the inside dope, Mr. Editor-fora-day. The Big Bosses are getting up the program. Each major studio needs fiftytwo pictures a year. Just now, Hollywood's hard up for a Dix vehicle. It's desperate for an Anne Shirley on the order of "Anne of Green Gables." It needs one Dietrich, something like "Morocco" to bring her back to the favor of her fans. It wants a Colman. Four Temples — to play up those dimples. An Arliss, with dignity and box-office plus. Yes — it needs a Gary Cooper yarn, and it needs it in a hurry. Hurry! says the waiting star, who's doing nothing and drawing a weekly salary for it. Hurry ! says the temperamental director, tearing at his red hair. Hurry! says the Scenario Department, twiddling both its thumbs. Where are you going to find your stories, Mr. Editor? Well, if you're at RKO sitting in the shoes of Betty Roberts, the editor in. charge on the West Coast, you return them unopened, stamped. "We do not read unpublished manuscripts." Miss Roberts explains that the task of giving scripts by amateurs careful attention would require a staff out of all proportion to the gain. But, if you're sitting on the judgment seat at Paramount, you have a department where trained readers do nothing but read all day and often half the night, searching for story material. Those eagle-eyed readers are not your only vassals. You have a staff of story scouts as well. Say, a little theatre in Charleston, West Virginia, is trying out a new play. Your story scout grabs his pigskin traveling bag, chucks in a shirt and a tooth-brush and hits the rods for Charleston, West Virginia, and a seat in the front row on the aisle. Yep, he's there to the final curtain. He makes his report that same night. Weekly word on new books and new plays comes all the way from Vienna. Budapest. London. Paris and Berlin. Yep, all the way from Brest-Litovsk, U. S. S. R. If the story strikes the reader right, he types a short synopsis, attaches a long recommendation and celebrates by taking the afternoon off. This being Monday, you wait for Friday — the meeting day of the Story Board. If the Story Board likes the synopsis, it goes to the production heads, the men who will translate the story into celluloid. The final decision — to buy or not to buy that pretty, little brain-child — really rests with these handsome and competent gentlemen. But your job is done when you deliver those fifty-two stories. Sounds easy — but it's not. To find the fifty and two, you read an average of 62,000 published scripts per annum. But why must they be published, you ask? Don't you ever make a find in the stuff sent in by ambitious outsiders? All right. Here's a batch of manuscripts by amateurs. There's more when you finish Continued from page 17 these. There are car-loads more down at the railroad siding. There are big, fat sacks waiting at the post-office. There's a mountain up in the mailing-room. But we'll start on these. Manuscript No. L Hmm. It's written in pencil. It ought to be typed. Neatly. On one side of the paper. Double-spaced. After all, writing is a trade and has its tools. And so, Mr. Editor, you send back all pencilled scripts. Manuscript No. 2. From South Amer Marilyn Knowlden's Cosette in "Les Miserables" was her 27th role in 3 years. A proud record. ica. Hmm. You're intrigued by the foreign postmark. But the script is written in Spanish. You're not so good at Spanish, not any more. Here's one in French. Your French is even less la la. And here's one in Greek. Sorry. But if you're writing for the American cinema, you've got to say it in good old American lingo. Well, here's one served to you in King's English, (reproduced exactly as received) : "My story is a true to life drama, contains a counter plot, that deals with two rival Candy Manufacturers. One Firm is going bankrupt, while the other is Reaping a harvest of prosperity. With twenty five thousand dollars involved and a beautiful Romance to create heart interest. Would you be interested? Kindly reply to same." Naturally, your reply is no. It's not a rough idea you want. You want a finished story. And now for manuscript No. 4 : "In a small town in Iowa, Johnny Jones met Susie Lee and it was love at first sight. In two days they were married and went to Cleveland, Ohio, to live. When their baby was born, Susie fell ill and died — and Johnny Jones was left, with an infant baby on his hands. This is a true story. It happened to a friend of mine. Etc. Etc." There's a story in every human being, but not every story makes screen entertainment. Manuscript No. 5 : "I get some good ideas come across my mind and I jot them down, so far I have about thirty pages, now I don't know much about this manuscript or forming of these, but I can, if you want them just what way you say. It seems funny for a man like me, who has never been in a studio or on a stage or in any profession or acquainted with any, to write as I do to you, but there must be something to it. Please send check by return mail." It's easy enough to laugh at these and thousands like these. But you don't feel like laughing. These stories were written sincerely enough, straight from the heart, often from bitter personal experience. However, a typewriter does not make a writer. You need to know grammar. Punctuation. Spelling. Yes, and there's such a thing as plot construction — all of which can be learned — by going to school — by reading books on writing technique — by writing — yes, and by re-writing. Bertram Bloch of Metro says : "There's no business in the world in which a man can start at the top — and writing is no exception. If you're really serious about writing, first learn to write and then serve your apprenticeship in other fields of writing." Sam Marx — Loretta Mackey — Richard Halliday — all the motion picture scenario editors are equally frank. You have an idea, have you? Why use the screen as your laboratory ? Write it as a book or a play. Let the public pass its approval. Besides, the gamble is too great. What gamble? Ever hear of plagiarism suits ? They're the nightmare of the picture business. With rare exceptions, the studio wins. But it takes time and it costs money to fight them. Say you receive a story in which the main character is named Mary and the locale New York. Later, you release a picture whose story bears no likeness except that the name of the main character is Mary and the locale New York. Suit is sure to follow. Yet the amateur is sincere when he sues on the Mary-New York basis or when a plot similar to his is shown on the screen. Many amateurs plagiarize unconsciously. They will submit a story which they have seen on the screen, the memory of which has become subconscious, and which emerges under the guise of an original idea. Often, unusual stories, identical in theme, have come simultaneously from different parts of the world. Much as the studio would like it, it cannot buy these stories because buying from one author might lead to suit by the _ other. A published story gives the studio the protection of copyright. Often, people will sue for plagiarism even when the picture is made from a wellknown novel and given screen credit as such. They will sue on the historical picture, which _ is everybody's property, and public domain. On the "King of Kings," which did not deviate from the New Testament, C. B. DeMille fought fourteen suits, one of them by Veleska Surrat, the former stage star. In her case, the judge decided that if there was any plagiarism involved, it was Miss Surrat who had plagiarized the New Testament. Mr. DeMille has scarcely made a picture which did not result in law-suit. A lovely old lady from the South had a particularly strong case against "The Ten Commandments" because she sued before the picture was released. Her manuscript was identical with the finished film. Mr. DeMille was worried. He knew she did not write the script. There was no record of ever having received her submit