The screen writer (June 1947-Mar 1948)

Can Screen Writers Become Film Authors? A Few Comments and Suggestions Concerning This Transition In the May issue of THE SCREEN WRITER Joseph L. Mankiewicz advised screen writers to become film authors. In response to a request from the Editorial Committee, several writers, directors and producers present a few ideas about how genuine film authorship may be achieved. PHILIP DUNNE: MY distinguished colleague and fellow-sufferer, Joe Mankiewicz, has written a most interesting and stimulating piece for the May issue of this magazine. It is true that I found much to disagree with in his article, but a great deal more with which to agree wholeheartedly, particularly the paragraphs in which he suggests that screen writers, as a body, have tended to show more interest in holding down their jobs than in learning their trade. His argument along this line is most persuasive, but I think some of his conclusions are at fault. For instance, it is true that American screen writers cannot be proud of their record in creating original screen plays, but I submit that this has nothing to do with trade-learning and, in fact, is far more the fault of the studios than of the writers. Let us analyze the situation that obtains in the studios. The business men who run these factories are responsible for the investment of very large sums of money in a series of gambles — every story being a gamble which would give an inveterate horseplayer stomach ulcers. It is only natural that these gentlemen prefer to risk the stockholders' cash — and their own professional necks — on horses which have already won races, that is, on established novels, serials and plays, or on biographies of characters well established in the public's mind. Having acquired a proved property, they then make assurance doubly sure by assigning to its adaptation a proved screen writer. The result is that the experienced screen writer, the vers" man or woman capable of creating the original screen plays for which Mr. Mankiewicz so eloquently calls, is kept busy year in and year out on material owned by the studios. If his contract with one major studio expires, he is at once besieged with offers from the others. If he resists these offers, does he sit down and write an original screen play? He does not. He writes a play or a book, because he is enough of an egotist to relish being able to read his name on advertising matter without using a microscope, and enough of an economic animal to realize that the financial return for even a third-rate play is greater than that for a first-rate screen play, not only on Broadway, but in Hollywood itself. The unpalatable truth is far too many of the originals (and I except musicals, biographies, western and action scripts written on salary in the studios) are written by writers out of work in the hope of earning some quick money before the next job comes up. Far too many of them are written by writers who, because of youth, inexperience or incompetence, are incapable of writing screen plays. I know; I have been there. And most of the originals are not screen plays at all. They are synopses for screen plays, blueprints, not buildings. The reason for this is easily understood. It takes anywhere from three months to a year to create a screen play. How many writers can afford to allot this time to a gamble in a limited market? Why should they when they realize that the purchasing studios, when and if, will undoubtedly have their screen plays rewritten past all recognition? It all boils down to this: there is no incentive to write original screen plays. Until there is an incentive, few of quality will be written. The successful writers will continue to work on studio-owned material, the unsuccessful will continue to write desperate little synopses, and the handful who are strongwilled (and wellheeled) enough to withstand studio offers will continue to write for other media. And, praise the Lord, one or two of the desperate little synopses will come through as strong, exciting screen plays, and their authors will forthwith become transmogrified, vanish within the studio gates and never have to write originals again. It would be unfair to Mr. Mankiewicz to ask him to produce a list of his own original screen plays. He has been kept far too busy this last decade to write any. Mr. Mankiewicz knows his trade, and the studios are properly appreciative. Since he has directed my last two scripts with taste and skill, I might add that so am I. But if he now, like Peter the Hermit, proposes to lead a crusade out of the modernistic offices and into the garrets, I doubt if he will find many followers. When I get time off, I shall either write a play or go fishing. And I think he will, too. MILTON KRIMS: ' I HE telegram requested three hun■*■ dred to one thousand words on how newer writers can learn their trade thoroughly under present conditions. Just like that . . . simple as any old basic problem of living and eating and being true to one's ideals and the demands of one's integrity. Skipping the three hundred to one thousand words part of the request, let's analyze the rest of the sentence ; let's find some definitions and see whether or not they'll help us find the answer. First, there are the rather sad 34