Talking Screen (Sep-Oct 1930)

Freak Clauses In Their Contract THERE is a clause in the contract of Joe Brown which forbids him to grow a moustache, as this might tend to destroy or conceal his unique facial characteristics. Moran and Mack had heard all about this business of making contracts and when they signed up with Paramount they inserted all sorts of stipulations in their agreement. One of the clauses allowed them to drive their own car inside the studio gates. They were the only players able to do this. Also they had a definite understanding about quitting time and would not work a minute after .'he whistle blew. Corinne Griffith earned quite a reputation as a clock-watcher. No maner what was being done or how important or expensive the .scene, when quitting time came, the lovely Corinne walked off the set. Anita Page has a clause in her agreement which enjoins her from getting fat. This is a clause found in many contracts with feminine stars and players. MAURICE CHEVALIER has permission in his contract to appear several months out of every year on the stage in his native France. Ramon Novarro has a similar understanding. He can study or appear in Grand Opera four months out of each year. Bernice Claire's contract contains a proviso that if at any time her voice should fail to reach high C, from changing on account of her extreme youth, the studio can rewrite her contract at a lower figure. During the making of Stella Dallas, Lois Moran signed an agreement not to grow sophisticated for a year after its release. All of the players in The King of Kings signed an agreement not to accept any roles in other productions without the consent and approval of Cecil E>eMille for a period of ten years. Dorothy Cuinmings, who played the Madonna in this production had a clause in her contract forbidding her to sue for divorce. She broke the agreement three months after the picture was released. [Continued from page 3.5} There is a clause written into the contracts of both Alice White and Loretta Young which makes it necessary for them to study two foreign languages this year, preferably French and Spanish. Vivienne Segal is enjoined by her contract not to yell at prize-fights. Vivienne is an ardent fight fan and studio officials began to fear that she might strain her voice when rooting for her favorites. Hence the ruling. THERE is a provision in Clara Bow's contract which prevents workmen and technicians from addressing her in profane language or from making disparaging or profane remarks about her in her presence. Both Ronald Colman and Greta Garbo are protected from making public api>earances against their wishes, by the terms of their contraas. Eddie Nugent's contract is drawn up in such a way that the studio can use his services in five different capacities whenever they wish to do so, either as an actor, writer, director, gag-writer or technician. Lily Damita's contract with Sam Goldwyn stated that she must learn to speak English within six months from the date of signing. Maurice Chevalier's contract with Paramount states plainly that he shall not lose his accent. Sometimes, studios find it necessary to protect themselves in writing from the interference of relatives of stars. Esther Ralston was let out by Paramount on account of the interference of her husband. THE most famous film contract was written on the back of a menu card at Rector's, New York, and was signed by Cecil DeMille, Jesse Lasky and Sam Goldwyn. Another historical document was the one signed by William Farnum for the leading role in The Squaw Man. the first Lasky picture. Farnum was offered in this agreement his choice between a flat sum of $5,000 for his work in the production, or a fourth interest in the Lasky Film Co. Farnum chose the five thousand dollars. A fourth interest in the Company today would be worth millions of dollars. A volume could be written on the freak clauses that govern a single production. When she signed to play the leading role in The Merry Widow, Mae Murray insisted upon a clause which would permit her to stage an exhibition dance scene with other dancers cleared from the dance floor. This was at the bottom of the Von Stroheim-Mae Murray feud which has tormented Hollywood for years. Von knew every custom of the country he was supposed to be filming and he knew from experience that such a dance could not have (Kcurred as Mae wished to shoot it. Mae had the clause written into her contract and there was no getting around it so Von let the scene be shot and refused to watch while it was being filmed. NOT the least interesting clause in present-day contraas is the one which governs the player's salary. John McCormack received $500,000 for his initial talkie-singie. Song of My Heart. Moran and Mack, the Two Black Crows, received $400,000 for a single talkie under the Paramount banner. Paul Whiteman received $50,000 from Universal for The King of Jazz and a share in the profits of the picture which will undoubtedly reach the half million mark. He also received $9,000 a week for his band. Marilyn Miller received $100,000 for Sally, which was $25,000 a week. Ina Claire received $75,000 for her initial talkie, $100,000 for her second and $125,000 for her third. Under his new contract, Richard Barthelmess receives $175,000 for each piaure. It is reported that Bebe Daniels and Richard Dix each receive $3,500 per week and a share in the profits of each picture under their new agreements with RKO. They also have a great deal to say about their stories and the direction of their talkies. Not so very many years ago both of these stars were willing to work for a weekly salary that was written in two figures. Truly, the history of the films can be read from the record of its contraas. Lady of Moods And Contrasts Aloof? I've heard her called that. People don't like Betty Brent, as a rule, when they first meet her. I didn't. She seems complete within herself. She listens and talks little. High hat? Sensitive — rather. Like a negative exposed to light. Cautious. Holding herself in restraint. Protected in a shell of her own creation. Trying to overlook trivial unkindnesses. Acutely sensing them. Sometimes too acutely. Sometimes they aren't there. Highly strung. A little selfish. A little extravagant but extravagantly generous. She •likes comforts. She insists upon them. When she first began to get along in pictures, she spent part of her salary on a maid and less on herself. She tiidn't save a nickel. Today, she doesn't know how to save. [Continued from page 6i} SERIOUS in her work. Carefully reading a new script. Analyzing the character. Building her. Building her mentally. Vivifying her with human quirks. The Brent doesn't care a hang how long she works. I've never heard her complain of hours. She loves them. She revels in the secret joy of being dead fagged. She likes sympathy. She likes the thought of being liked, the thoughtfulness of it. There's fear in Evelyn Brent. Fear born of knowing and of the weariness of knowing. Perhaps it's lack of faith. In sincerity. People talk and forget. She lets it pass without a word. But it cuts. The toll of sensitiveness. There's humbleness in Evelyn Brent. The same humbleness that makes Schumann Heinke tremble with fright the first night of an opera. She's quick to condemn her performance. She frets over a role during a picture. Nerves. Jiggling. Raw. She lives on them. They lift. Then moods. Exhilarating. Soaring. Raring to go. They collapse. Then blackness. Grayness. The dreariness of futility. And the fear of loneliness. The need of the right man. Of being wooed. Adored. The need of right companionship. And a sweet, protective love. Like a kid, almost, beneath the maturity. Yet restless. Mellowed a bit by dreams. Mellowed by marriage. Mellowed by an appreciation of books. Of plays. Unhappiness tempered with depths. Happiness tempered with uneasiness. The gamut of an emotional mechanism . . . Evelyn Brent. 80