World Film and Television Progress (1938)

Tin most important consideration in a star's career is choice of story. . . . Studios employ many talented people for the sole purpose of finding suitable material for their top players, and only in rare cases is the star permitted to make her own selection. Her opinion may be asked, but the final decision rests with the studio officials. Usually Joe Doaks on Main Street knows what her next assignment will be as soon as she does — it all depends on who reads the morning papers first. 1 personally believe this is not as unfair as it seems, for I am of the opinion that actors and act resses are notoriously bad judges of story material. Principally interested in the part intended for us and the number of good meaty scenes there are for us to play, we are apt to lose sight completely of weak and insignificant plot construction or the development of the rest of the characters in the story. . . . Neither does it follow that the studios are always right. Often a studio has a script ready to go into production with an inferior and uninteresting leading role for either the actor or the actress, but the picture must be made immediately to meet a release date. Since players are put under contract in order to retain their exclusive services, they must be paid whether they are working or not ; and when they are not working they are a worrisome item of expense. If the studio has scheduled nothing suitable for the star at such a time, she may be requested to go into this production even though they know it is unjust, and there is nothing for her to do but play the part, knowing the public will think less of her for it — or refuse to do it, which usually results in suspension without salary for as long as it takes to make the picture in question. In short, she gets spanked either way. When the public reads in the newspapers that a star has "walked out on"' her studio, their natural reaction is to say, "Tsk! Tsk! —Temper — temper . . . !" Actually the reason for it is more likely to be her refusal to disappoint her audiences by letting them see her in a role wholly unsuited to her talents and below the standard that she has consistently fought to maintain. The number of pictures a star makes annually is almost as important as the selection of her stories. It is easy for an audience to tire of an actress it sees too often — and it appears to get just as weary of her if it doesn't see her often enough. In my present contract there is no limit to the number of pictures 1 make in a year, but I believe that a contract limiting an actress to four is neither detrimental to her career nor unfair to her studio. If I were free-lancing, three would be my limit; first, because screen acting is such exhausting work that I think we need long vacations between pictures; and second, because it is almost impossible to find more than three stories in a year's time which are both well-suited to me and worth your money at the box office. Nothing is more staggering to me than to be asked how I create a character. There just isn't any one answer to that question. It depends entirely on what the assignment happens to be. If I am to play the leading lady in a modern 66 WHEN A STAR WALKS OUT . . . in;?!!: DAVIS. Warner tiros, star of -•lezebel\ Petrified Forest99 6Of it n man Honda ffe\ 'Marked Woman' and mann other films, sr riles on the work of a screen actress* picture, my worries as an actress are concerned with wardrobe, hairdress, learning the script, and interpreting it to make the most of whatever opportunities it offers me. I make a practice of discussing all these things with the director as soon as possible, to make sure that our conceptions of the character are enough alike to avoid misunderstandings and costly waste of time on the set while the film is in production. 1 should like to add. here, that I have never played a part which 1 did not feel was a person very different from myself. The character 1 am playing stays behind in my dressi lgroom at the end of the day and is waiting for me there the following morning.