The screen writer (Apr-Oct 1948)

writers to go away and write fulllength screenplays "on spec" — a thing which, indeed, only the very wellsituated or chronically unemployed can afford to do in the present state of demand. The solution lies with the producers. Producers are a courageous body, who will risk buying a novel with absolutely nothing to recommend it as screen material, except that its prose style or its bold inclusion of scenes that will never get past the censor have resulted in the sale of x-thousand copies, and with flattering faith they will turn it over to us to turn into a motion picture. It should surely take less courage to back their own judgment of the film possibilities of a forty-page original screen story. The few that have been made (mostly during the war, when the industry had no time to wait for the novelists) have nearly always been successful. Shakespeare, of course, did not often get to write original stories, either ; but, then, so few of us write like Shakespeare in any other way that this is small consolation. By J. B. WILLIAMS ' I 'HE Dalton tax, or whatever -* takes its place, is bound to give British film production an opportunity it has never had before. Can we rise to it? I don't believe we can unless the present appalling cost of production is somehow stemmed. A film which would have cost £50,000 in 1939 now costs something like £300,000. Box-office takings have not risen at anything like the same rate; and, while the tendency is for costs to rise still higher, takings are beginning to fall. Studio time is the bugbear. A film which should have taken eight weeks in 1939 now takes 13 or 14 weeks, or even longer. Not only does this raise costs; it also means that full use is not being made of available studio space. Where two films might be made we are getting only one. I don't propose to enter into the bitter wrangle about the many things which are supposed to be responsible, such as increased salaries and wages and costs of materials and trade union regulations. I want to deal only with the responsibility of the script. For the benefit of exhibitors (and some producers) the script is the thing described in the credit titles of the screenplay. It dictates more than anything else the ultimate nature and quality of the film. It is indispensable to the director, the casting director, the art director, sound director, cameraman, actors, and everybody connected with drawing up the many schedules which control the making of the film. A film could no more be made without it than Wren could have built St. Paul's without a plan. But would Wren have set his builders to work with a plan half drawn? Would he have had a plan which constantly changed as the edifice was rising? Yet that is what is repeatedly being done in our film studios. This results not only in loss of quality but in delays and re-shooting and considerable increase in cost. Producers half always know this ; will they now, when economy is so urgent, at last put their knowledge into practice? The trouble is that many producers, while paying lip-service to the overwhelming importance of the script (as any common-sense man must) continue to regard it as something that can be run off overnight if there should happen to be a hurry. They must begin to appreciate that there is nothing in any film to which more time and care should be devoted. Now that they are rightly searching for every means of cutting down costs, let it not be on the script. Let them realise that every extra £1,000 spent on the script can save £20,000 in the studio. / am not suggesting that more writers should be employed per script. Too many producers already imagine that a script is bound to be ten times as good when written by ten writers. By T. E, B. CLARKE ' I *HIS being the season for unselfish -* thought, let us screenwriters wish all the best for 1948 to the directors who will put our work on the screen. May we earn them high praise from the film critic of The Times for the originality of their stories and the excellence of their dialogue. May we never provide them with scripts poor enough to get us mentioned by name. And may the day never come when the director will find himself treated like a mere writer. As, for instance : — Scene 1. The Conference. "Yes, Hugo is a competent director, but I don't think he knows much about women." "Then why not have Ronnie Guddle direct the love scenes? He turned in a grand job on 'Be Careful, Darling'." "O.K. — if the budget' 11 run to it. But don't forget we've signed up Willoughby Cheeseman to direct that sequence with the goat, and we've already got Eric Pikestaff doing additional shots in the haunted house scene. . . ." "Which reminds me — my wife has a very good idea for that matt shot. . ." Scene 2. Night Location. "Hullo, Hugo." "Hullo, Eric. What's happening here?" "Just getting a few night shots for 'Crack o' the Whip'." "My dear fellow! I've been directing 'Crack o' the Whip' all day at the studios" "You have? Well, I'll be . . . they've done it on us again! Can't you hear the blighters? 'Let 'em both have a go, and we'll use what we like best in each version/ " Scene 3. After the Rough-cut. "The direction of that mortuary sequence lacks something. It's dead." "I agree. We'd better settle for a retake." "What it ivants is a fresh mind on it. "How about Zachary Cornbloom? Chap who did that revue last night at the Tiara." "That's an idea! Of course, he's never done any film direction, but he certainly knows his stuff on the stage." "And after that press, his name's bound to be a draw at the box-office." Note : Any similarity to persons living or under contract is purely coincidental. The Screen Writer, April, 194 49