Screenland (Jan–Jun 1948)

"Yes" with speed, and for the next weeks rushed with equal vim to secure England's "first silk from wood fiber," fit the wedding gown in an all-night sitting and acquire such oddments of trousseau as holdover war shortages permitted. She needn't have hurried so — that was the period when Tony was up in the air and down on the ground, in Pacific jungles, with annoying alternation and delay. He did reach home, in November, for the St. George's Hanover Square Wedding, first large formal one after the war's end, and almost a year with his bride in the ' charming Mayfield, Sussex, cottage. They celebrated their first wedding anniversary, though, in New York's Stork Club, due to the perspicacity of MGM's Louis B. Mayer, whose instructions to the company's London representative, Ben Goetz, had resulted in the couple being Hollywood-bound — Miss Kerr on a seven-year, $1,092,000 contract. Miss Kerr, in a quiet, almost languid, mood in the yard of her rented home, discussed plans for the new, purchased one. "It has happy, high ceilings," she said, "which always give me a feeling of being able to breathe easily, and on the other hand is the type of house in which unneeded rooms can be cut off. Of course, we are converting one room, the extra large dressing-room next to mine, for a nursery." Plans for that emerged. Miss Kerr's room was to be decorated in light gray and rose, her favorite colors. What did she like best about life in the United States? "The facilities for living near one's work and getting back and forth with ease and in pleasant surroundings. In England, the studios are in the suburbs, and if you live in town, you must go through crowded, mono tonous areas to reach work. On the other hand, if you live in the country, it's likely to be in the wrong direction. We used to think, for example, the forty-five miles from Alford to London was a weekend trip." The Bartley's best friends include the Rex Harrisons, David Niven and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. — the latter always a favorite with English or Continental sojourners in Hollywood. On Sundays it's tennis with the Van Johnsons. Miss Kerr, as the afternoon fell, turned to two favorite subjects — books and rose plants. Many of the books would come from England; the rose-bushes were and would be a major interest in relation to the new home. "Roses," she said, "require constant care, but reward the time you spend on them so richly." On the less esthetic side (or is it?) the kitchen had been the first room furnished in the Pacific Palisades home, and its most cherished furnishing the White House Cook Book. On the unesthetic, self-contented side is Jason, a Sealyham, white with gold whiskers, devoted enough to eat a Kerr salad. True love, for he gets one only when Mrs. Bartley thinks it hasn't clicked enough to offer Tony. The Bartleys are young newcomers in a good land. Gadgets, plentiful food, friends who never lost the habit during the war of smiling, and who greet them, expecting fun and warm talk, are a species of continuing miracle. As if a gay-colored curtain, in a friendly theater, rose and re-rose. Before this reaches print, there will have arrived the new Bartley. A reporter who wouldn't call a horse or a Sealyham "it," here offers choice of names. Tony or Deb, welcome! The Public Knows! Continued from page 23 wise is in direct ratio to the news-wise importance of events in the rest of the world." We found it was hardly necessary to remind the 20th executive that there is bound to be criticism against Hollywood that is justified. When we suggested this he was again ready with the answer. "The second group of critics," he added in a quieter tone, "I will concede, is composed of those whose opinions are based on a desire to be helpful and constructive. These last are the ones who say that Hollywood does not fulfill its obligation to further the enlightenment and education of the masses. "I have no quarrel with them. But I must point out that Hollywood's survival is based firstly on its ability to provide entertainment. Enlightenment through the screen is also recognized as of vital importance, but the film producer speaks to an empty pulpit when he subordinates entertainment in bringing his message to the screen. There is a part of the public that will go to the theater to receive a message, but it is so infinitesimal compared to those who go for diversion that the film maker who attempts to cater to the minority courts certain financial ruin." On this score we also had no quarrel with Zanuck. The record shows that he has done as much as any studio head in Hollywood to drive home a message with his entertainment. Good examples of this were his "Grapes of Wrath," "How Green Was My Valley," "The House of Rothchild" and other such pictures. "Our 20th Century-Fox company is trying to continue this policy of interspersing our production program with the entertaining yet enlightening type of picture," he told us, returning to the subject of Miss Hobson's "Gentleman's Agreement." "We chose this book," said Zanuck, "because it brought into focus one of the most vital questions of the world today, intolerance. Yet the subject is presented in an arresting and dramatic fashion which the reading public has found entertaining. This is proved by the fact that hundreds of books have been written on the same subject with negligible success, while 'Gentleman's Agreement' is still a top best-seller after being on the book stands for eight months." In the matter of further answering Hollywood's critics who claim the picture industry does not bring more enlightenment to the public, Zanuck point ed to an interesting parallel between film making and book publishing. Of all the books published during the past eight months, he demonstrated, you can count on one hand the number that conveyed a strong message. The remainder were intended for sheer entertainment. On top of this, he revealed that Miss Hobson was four years in the writing of "Gentleman's Agreement." By this token, it is impossible for movie-makers to get hold of enough material of this stamp to make a steady run of pictures that enlighten as well as entertain, according to Zanuck. "Find us more significant books like 'Gentleman's Agreement,' " he challenged, "and we will film them. My studio buys them whenever they are available, and the same is true of every studio in town." He had only to point to his record when he was in charge of production at Warner Bros. Zanuck had no trouble convincing Jack L. Warner, his boss at the time, that the public would buy pictures that hit at gangsterism, the social menace of that period. As a result, he was given the green light to turn out such films as "Little Caesar," "The Public Enemy" and "Five Star Final." Even more significant was the Warner film, "I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang," which was also produced by Zanuck. It is Zanuck's theory, as well as the theory of producers at MGM, Columbia, RKO, Universal-International, Republic and all the other studios in Hollywood, that the public dictates its own preferances in pictures. They are convinced that while they can occasionally lure people into theaters with a message that is well interlarded with entertainment, it is impossible to drive patrons in. Even with this conviction, however, producers often do their share of gambling on a property in the faith that it will become a best-seller. On "Gentleman's Agreement," for example, 20th Century-Fox bought the story before it was published and had proven itself on the book stands. The explanation of this is that the book presented a moving love story along with its powerful preachment against anti-Semitism. "I'd take a gamble on a story like that any time," Zanuck emphasized, "but show me where to find one more often." The word gamble is not an empty one to film producers, as was proven by the making of "Wilson," by Zanuck's own studio. Zanuck deliberated the filming of Wilson's life for two years, eager to bring to the screen a picture that would highlight the message that a system of world collaboration would have to be found eventually to outlaw war. The picture cost $5,000,000, but lost money for the company — although it took five Academy awards in 1945. Certain that such a fate does not await his version of "Gentleman's Agreement," because of its great popularity with the public in book form, Zanuck is now squaring his shoulders for another plunge. His next film message will be delivered in "The Iron Curtain," an excursion into international politics and intrigue which may be a risky business by the time it is ready to be shown because of uncertain world conditions. 66 Screenland