Rivalry at Warner Bros: Hal Wallis vs Jack Warner

I haven't posted here for a while, as some of you may have noticed. The reason is that I've been having serious health issues and consequently had to spend a few months in the hospital (five weeks in the ICU even). Luckily I'm doing much better now and, while recuperating at home, I am slowly returning to my old life again. This means that I also want to get back to blogging and continue to share with you interesting stories and correspondence. So, without further ado, let's get on with this post, which involves two of Warner Brothers' key people, Jack Warner and Hal Wallis.

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In 1923, Hal B. Wallis started his career at Warner Bros as an assistant in the publicity department and not before long was appointed chief of publicity. Gradually Wallis involved himself in the production side of the business, to eventually become Warners' head of production in 1928 (being temporarily replaced by Darryl F. Zanuck from 1931 to 1933). Until his departure from the studio in 1944, Wallis was responsible for the production of numerous films, including classics like The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), Dark Victory (1939), The Maltese Falcon (1941), Now, Voyager (1942) and —perhaps the classic of all classics— Casablanca (1942). It was Casablanca that was Wallis' greatest triumph, a film he regarded as his film, having even provided the movie's famous last line ("Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.").

On 2 March 1944 —on the evening of the 16th Oscar ceremony, with Casablanca being nominated in eight categories, among them Best Picture— it became abundantly clear that Warner Bros' studio head Jack Warner had different ideas about whose film Casablanca was. After director Sidney Franklin had announced Casablanca as the Best Picture winner, Wallis rose from his chair to accept the Oscar, only to find that Warner had also stood up and beaten him to the stage. Warner, as studio head, felt that Casablanca was his film and claimed the Oscar on stage, with many people in the audience shocked to see him upstage Wallis like that. The once-close relationship between the two men, which had been tense for some time, was now damaged for good. Shortly afterwards Wallis left Warner Bros to work as an independent producer, his films to be released through Paramount Pictures and later Universal.

Above: Hal Wallis signed a new contract with Warner Bros in January 1942, specifying that "A Hal Wallis Production" or "Produced by Hal Wallis" should appear after the main title of his films. With Casablanca, however, "Jack L. Warner Executive Producer" had been added to the WB logo, even though Warner had nothing to do with the film at all. Below: Jack Warner (left) and Hal Wallis. 

The following telegrams from Jack Warner to Hal Wallis clearly show that by the end of 1943 the relationship between the two had deteriorated. Warner felt threatened by Wallis and complained about not getting the credit he deserved.

November 28, 1943

...per L.A. "Dailey News" Article 23rd, I resent and won't stand for your continuing to take all credit for "Watch on Rhine", "This is the Army", "God is my Copilot", "Princess O'Rourke" and many other stories. I happened to be one who saw these stories, read plays, bought and turned them over to you. You could have at least said so, and I want to be accredited accordingly. You certainly have changed and unnecessarily so.

 

November 30, 1943

Stop giving me double talk on your publicity. This wire will serve notice on you that I will take legal action if my name has been eliminated from any article or story in any form, shape or manner as being in charge production while you were executive producer and in charge production since your new contract commenced. So there will be no misunderstanding it will be up to you to prove and see that my name is properly accredited in any publicity.

The day after Jack Warner had claimed the Best Picture Oscar for Casablanca at the 1944 Oscars, film critic Edwin Schallert wrote in his column about a rivalry between Warner and Wallis. In the following letter to Schallert, Wallis resolutely denied the rivalry, even claiming he "was glad to see Jack Warner accept the award". Of course this was not how Wallis really felt and almost forty years later, in his autobiography Starmaker, the producer described the Oscar incident, saying how Warner's action had left him "humiliated and furious" (excerpt from the book also seen below).

Edwin Schallert
Los Angeles Times 
202 W First Street
Los Angeles Calif

March 4 1944

I have been with Warner Bros for twenty years and during this time it has been customary here as elsewhere for the studio head to accept the Academy Award for the best production. Naturally I was glad to see Jack Warner accept the award this year for "Casablanca" as he did for "The Life of Emile Zola". I am happy also to have contributed my bit toward the making of that picture. Your comment in your column this morning on rivalry at Warner Bros. is totally unjustified. I would be grateful if you would correct the misleading impression created by it ...

Hal B. Wallis

Excerpt from Starmaker: The Autobiography of Hal Wallis (1980) by Hal B. Wallis and Charles Higham:

Matters came to a head that Oscar night. After it was announced that Casablanca had won the Academy Award for Best Picture of the Year, I stood up to accept when Jack ran to the stage ahead of me and took the award with a broad, flashing smile and a look of great self-satisfaction. I couldn't believe it was happening. Casablanca had been my creation; Jack had absolutely nothing to do with it. As the audience gasped, I tried to get out of the row of seats and into the aisle, but the entire Warner family sat blocking me. I had no alternative but to sit down again, humiliated and furious.  

[Eventually, Wallis did receive a Best Picture Oscar for Casablanca.]

 

Source of all correspondence: Inside Warner Bros. (1935-1951) (1985), selected and edited by Rudy Behlmer.

For Lord's Sake, don't let those bulbs stick out

In July 1934, Joseph Breen and his Production Code Administration (PCA) started to strictly enforce the Motion Picture Production Code, Hollywood's own set of censorship rules that was adopted in 1930 (aka the Hays Code). Up till then PCA's predecessor, the Studio Relations Committee (SRC), had been tasked with implementing the Code. The SRC had no authority, however, to censor content or order studios to remove content; all they could do was advise studios on how to change the scripts in order to meet the Code's requirements. As the SRC only had an advisory capacity and no penalties were given for violating the Code, studios often ignored the SRC's suggestions. This did not mean, however, that pre-Code films (made between 1930 and mid-1934) went uncensored. City and state censorship boards could order studios to cut films or they could even ban films from playing in cinemas. With the costs for cutting films being paid by the studios, a major concern for studio executives was the fact that each censorship board had different rules, so what was allowed in one state/city could be forbidden in another. This often meant making different cuts of the same film, costing studios large amounts of money. (By giving studios advice, the SRC tried to save them from making these costly cuts and to help them get their films past the censors. Nevertheless, as said, the SRC's advice was frequently ignored.) 

Adolphe Menjou flanked by Joan Blondell (l) and Mary Astor in a publicity still for Convention City.

Of all the major studios Warner Bros. was the most recalcitrant when it came to following the Code. Joseph Breen hated the pre-Code Warner films and called them "the lowest bunch we have". Nevertheless, at times the studio had to give in to the censors, for example with Baby Face (1933), which was initially rejected by the New York State Censorship Board; only after Warners made the changes that had been demanded by the New York censors —financially NYC was too important a market to lose— the film got accepted. 

Here are two memos, showing two slightly nervous Warner Bros. executives, worrying about the censors. The first memo was sent by studio boss Jack Warner to producer Hal Wallis regarding Convention City and the second is from Wallis to director Michael Curtiz re: Mandalay, the latter film released just before the enforcement of the Code. 

 

DATE: October 5, 1933

SUBJECT: "Convention City"

TO: Mr. Wallis

FROM: Mr. Warner

We must put brassieres on Joan Blondell and make her cover up her breasts because, otherwise, we are going to have these pictures stopped in a lot of places. I believe in showing their forms but, for Lord's sake, don't let those bulbs stick out. I'm referring to her gown in Convention City.

J.L. Warner

[*More about Convention City, see the note at the bottom of this post.]

 

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DATE: October 21, 1933
SUBJECT: "Mandalay" 

TO: Curtiz
FROM: Hal Wallis

I am just looking at your dailies ...

Generally your stuff is beautiful and I don't want to start limiting you and restricting you ...

However, when you show Kay Francis in the bathtub with [Ricardo] Cortez in the shot and a close-up of Kay Francis in the tub and show her stepping out of the tub and going into Cortez's arms, then you get me to the point where I am going to have to tell you to stick to the script and not to do anything else. For God's sake, Mike, you have been making pictures long enough to know that it is impossible to show a man and a woman who are not married in a scene of this kind. The situation itself is censorable enough with Cortez and Francis living [together] ...

Hal Wallis 

Source: Inside Warner Bros. (1935-1951) (1985), selected and edited by Rudy Behlmer.  

Above: The scene (as described in the memo) was changed, with Cortez now leaning in through an open hatchway and kissing Francis (out of the bath and wrapped in a towel) through the hatchway, with the final shot of Francis' bare legs and the towel landed on the floor. While the scene was still risky, it got accepted.  However, when Warners applied for a certificate of approval to re-issue Mandalay in 1936, the application was denied. Below: Kay Francis fabulously dressed by Orry-Kelly in a scene from Mandalay.

*Note: 
Convention City, directed by Archie Mayo and starring Joan Blondell, Dick Powell, Mary Astor, Guy Kibbee and Adolphe Menjou, is considered a lost film. When it was released in 1933, the film was successful at the box-office but, due to its racy content, was taken out of circulation once the Code was enforced. The story of the film revolves around the convention of the Honeywell Rubber Company in Atlantic City, with the company's employees being mostly preoccupied with booze and sex. In 1936, Warner Bros. tried to re-release the film but PCA's Joseph Breen considered it beyond redemption and rejected the studio's request for a seal of approval. Subsequently, studio boss Jack Warner reportedly ordered the prints and negatives of the film to be destroyed. According to this interesting article by Ron Hutchinson of The Vitaphone Project, however, not all prints were destroyed and prints of the film were shown as late as WWII. Hutchinson seems convinced a print still exists but "we just have to find it!". At any rate, until that happens (if it ever will happen), Convention City remains one of the more coveted lost Hollywood films. Leading lady Joan Blondell once said about it: "That is the raunchiest thing there has ever been. We had so many hysterically dirty things in it ..." (Incidentally, the original screenplay of the film still exists and can be found in the Warner Bros. script archives.)

Dick Powell, Joan Blondell and Guy Kibbee in Convention City

Let him look a little swashbuckling, for Christ sakes!

Inspired by the box-office successes of MGM's Treasure Island (1934) and United Artists' The Count of Monte Cristo (1934), Warner Brothers made its own swashbuckler film in 1935— Captain Blood, directed by Hungarian-born Michael Curtiz. Based on the 1922 novel of the same name by Rafael Sabatini, Captain Blood tells the story of Doctor Peter Blood who, after being wrongly convicted of treason and being sold as a slave, escapes with his fellow slaves and eventually becomes the most feared pirate of the Caribbean. (For a full synopsis, go here.)

Finding the right actor to play Peter Blood proved to be a difficult task. While Robert Donat was signed to play Blood in December 1934, due to ill health (asthma) he eventually bowed out. Clark Gable and Ronald Colman were considered for the role but they had to be borrowed from MGM, so studio boss Jack Warner and producer Hal Wallis decided to let them go. Other candidates were Fredric March, Leslie Howard, Brian Aherne, George Brent and Ian Hunter — all experienced actors who were ultimately uninterested or unsuited. And then there was also Australian newcomer Errol Flynn, who had previously played in an Australian film In the Wake of the Bounty (1933) and done bit parts in The Case of the Curious Bride (1935) and Don't Bet on Blondes (1935). By July 1935, after many months of casting, Warners still had no Peter Blood and eventually decided to take a chance on the inexperienced, 26-year-old Flynn (a considerable risk since Captain Blood was a big-budget project). On 8 July, Jack Warner wrote to studio executive Irving Asher, seemingly confident about their choice:"[I] am sure Flynn will come through with flying colors. His tests are marvelous. If he has anything at all on the ball he will surely come out in this picture and go to great heights. If he hasn't it will be one of those things, but we will do all in our power to put Flynn over in grand style."

In the end, Warners' gamble paid off. Captain Blood became a huge box-office hit and its leads Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland, who had been cast in favour of Jean Muir, became overnight stars. Having rewatched Captain Blood for this post —I had not seen the film in ages— I can only say that it was as great an adventure as I remembered. Errol is fantastic as the swashbuckling hero, brimming with infectious energy, and Olivia —very young (only 19) and radiantly beautiful— is perfect as his leading lady. With their chemistry jumping off the screen, it seems only natural that they would go on to make another seven movies together. 

Above, from left to right: Jack Warner, Michael Curtiz and Hal Wallis. Below: Errol Flynn with Curtiz on the set of Captain Blood. Giving the inexperienced Flynn a hard time, Curtiz was told by Wallis to "work with the boy a little" and not crush his confidence ("... the fellow looks like he is scared to death every time he goes into a scene.")

While Captain Blood turned out to be a big success, the shooting of the film was an often frustrating experience for Hal Wallis. After Darryl Zanuck left the studio in 1933 due to a salary dispute with Jack Warner, Wallis had taken over from Zanuck as head of production and Captain Blood was his most important project thus far. With so much at stake —the film had a budget of one million dollars — Wallis was determined to make it a success. His collaboration with director Michael Curtiz, however, was not without problems. Curtiz, who was a personal friend of Wallis, was someone who liked to do things his own way. Wallis, in turn, wanted to control every aspect of the production and throughout filming kept bombarding Curtiz with memos, demanding all kinds of changes and also giving advice to Curtiz on how to direct the cast (especially how to handle an insecure Flynn). 

Here are two of the many memos from Wallis to Curtiz, both written after Wallis had watched the daily rushes, clearly feeling exasperated and frustrated by what he'd seen. Much to the producer's annoyance, Curtiz simply ignored his memos and continued to direct the film in his own way. (Despite their professional differences, Wallis held Curtiz in high esteem and would later call him his "favorite director, then and always".)

 

TO: Curtiz

FROM: Wallis

DATE: August 28, 1935

SUBJECT: "Captain Blood"

I am looking at your dailies, and, while the stuff is very nice, you got a very short day's work. I suppose this was due to bad weather.

However, I don't understand what you can be thinking about at times. That scene in the bedroom, between Captain Blood and the governor, had one punch line in it; the line from Blood: "I'll have you well by tonight, if I have to bleed you to death," or something along these lines, anyhow. This is the one punch line to get over that Blood had to get out of there by midnight, even if he had to kill the governor, and instead of playing that in a close-up —a big head close-up— and getting over the reaction of Errol Flynn, and what he is trying to convey, and the crafty look in his eye, you play it in a long shot, so that you can get the composition of a candle-stick and a wine bottle on a table in the foreground, which I don't give a damn about.

Please don't forget that the most important thing you have to do is to get the story on the screen, and I don't care if you play it in front of BLACK VELVET! Just so you tell the story; because, if you don't have a story, all of the composition shots and all the candles in the world aren't going to make you a good picture. ...

Hal Wallis 

Despite Wallis' memo, Curtiz didn't go for a close-up and kept the candlestick and the wine decanter in the shot.

TO: Curtiz

FROM: Wallis

DATE: September 30, 1935

SUBJECT: "Captain Blood"

I have talked to you about four thousand times, until I am blue in the face, about the wardrobe in this picture. I also sat up here with you one night, and with everybody else connected with the company, and we discussed each costume in detail, and also discussed the fact that when the men get to be pirates that we would not have "Blood" dressed up. 

Yet tonight, in the dailies, in the division of the spoil sequence, here is Captain Blood with a nice velvet coat, with lace cuffs out of the bottom, with a nice lace stock collar, and just dressed exactly opposite to what I asked you to do.

I distinctly remember telling you, I don't know how many times, that I did not want you to use lace collars or cuffs on Errol Flynn. What in the hell is the matter with you, and why do you insist on crossing me on everything that I ask you not to do? What do I have to do to get you to do things my way? I want the man to look like a pirate, not a molly-coddle. ... 

I suppose that when he goes into the battle with the pirates (the French) at the finish, you'll probably be having him wear a high silk hat and spats. 

When the man divided the spoils you should have had him in a shirt with the collar open at the throat, and no coat on at all. Let him look a little swashbuckling, for Christ sakes! Don't always have him dressed up like a pansy! I don't know how many times we've talked this over. ... 

I hope that by the time we get into the last week of shooting this picture, that everybody will be organized and get things right. It certainly is about time.

Hal Wallis 

Director Mike Curtiz ignored Hal Wallis' pleas not to use lace collars or cuffs on Errol Flynn, as can be seen in the photos above and below. Above Flynn is pictured with Henry Stephenson and Olivia de Havilland and below he is shown dividing the loot, as mentioned in Wallis' letter. 

Source of both memos: Inside Warner Bros. (1935-1951) (1985), selected and edited by Rudy Behlmer. 

This post is my contribution to the THE 2021 SWASHBUCKLATHON, hosted by SILVER SCREEN CLASSICS. For more swashbuckling entries, go here.

Paul Henreid will not play the part when he reads it

Austrian-born Paul Henreid is best remembered for his roles in two Warner Bros. pictures: as Jerry Durrance opposite Bette Davis in Irving Rapper's romantic drama Now, Voyager (1942) —on loan from RKO— and as Ingrid Bergman's husband and resistance leader Victor Laszlo in Michael Curtiz's Casablanca (1942). The latter film was not a film the actor had wanted to make, though. Having been previously cast in two leading roles (i.e. in Joan of Paris (1942) and Now, Voyager), Henreid was offered a relatively small part in Casablanca and was afraid it would affect his status as a leading man. Besides, he found the script lousy and also didn't want to play second fiddle to Humphrey Bogart. It was only after the studio assured to build up his role and to give him above-the-title billing along with Bogart and Bergman that Henreid accepted.

The actor whom Warner Bros. had initially wanted for the role of Victor Laszlo was the Dutch actor Philip Dorn but he was unavailable. Convinced that Henreid wouldn't be interested in the role, producer Hal Wallis complained to director Michael Curtiz in a memo that there was no one else available (".. aside from Philip Dorn, whom we cannot get, and Paul Henreid who I am sure will not play the part when he reads it, there is no one else that I can think of.") Screen tests with unknown European actors, including French actor Jean-Pierre Aumont, had led to nothing. So eventually a deal with Henreid was made —his co-star billing with Bogart and Bergman had clinched it— and Warners next signed him to a seven-year contract. (Henreid was reluctant to sign with Warners but was encouraged to do so by his agent Lew Wasserman.) 

While the studio began building him as a new leading man —casting him in such films as In Our Time (1944) and The Conspirators (1944)— in the end Henreid never became a major star. As his chances to be cast as a romantic lead diminished, the actor eventually turned to producing and directing. In the early 1950s, he started directing both film and television productions, including tv episodes of Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Bonanza and The Big Valley, and for the big screen Dead Ringer (1964), starring his friend and former co-star Bette Davis.

Shown below are three memo's regarding the casting of Henreid in Casablanca. First up is the memo mentioned above from Hal Wallis to Michael Curtiz, in which Wallis complained about nobody being available for the role. Next is a memo from Steve Trilling (Jack Warner's executive assistant) to Wallis regarding the deal with Henreid, followed by Wallis' short reply.  

Philip Dorn 

DATE: April 22,1942  

SUBJECT: "Casablanca" 

TO: Mike Curtiz 

FROM: Hal Wallis

Dear Mike: 

I have been going over with Trilling the possibilities for the part of  "Laszlo" and, aside from Philip Dorn, whom we cannot get, and Paul Henreid who I am sure will not play the part when he reads it, there is no one else that I can think of. I think you should satisfy yourself on this point; that is, that there is no one available, and then begin to adjust yourself to the thought that we might have to use someone of the type of Dean Jagger, Ian Hunter or Herbert Marshall, or someone of this type without an accent. 

I am as anxious as you are to have a type like Philip Dorn in the part, but if there is no one available there is just nothing that we can do about it. 

Hal Wallis

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DATE: May 1, 1942

TO: Hal Wallis

FROM: Steve Trilling

RE: Paul Henreid for Casablanca

Discussed making a separate picture deal with his agent first before talking to Henreid. As you know, we have been trying to work out a deal to take over his RKO contract —and one of the deterrents was Henreid's reluctance to assign himself here exclusively— and then possibly be relegated to small parts. In this respect, you are aware by this time, he is a bit of a ham —and until the negotiations for the RKO deal are behind us— which should be in the next few days— I think we should let this separate picture deal ride...

An obstacle we encountered in consummating the original deal was the billing situation —and after great persuasion, we got him to accept a special billing clause for the first two pictures — thereafter, he was to be starred or co-starred and I think if he gets assurance of co-star billing with Bogart and Bergman, it would clinch the matter. This might not be such a bad idea if we really are attempting to build him.

Steve Trilling

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DATE: May 1, 1942

SUBJECT: "Casablanca"

TO: Steve Trilling

FROM: Hal Wallis

If we can get Henreid for Casablanca, we will give him co-star billing with Bogart and Bergman.

Hal Wallis

 

Source: Inside Warner Bros. (1935-1951) (1985), selected and edited by Rudy Behlmer. 

Humphrey Bogart and Paul Henreid play a game of chess on the set of Casablanca, while Hal Wallis (center) and Michael Curtiz (right) look on. (Don't know who the other guy next to Wallis is.)

Robin Hood is no picture for me

In January 1938, composer Erich Wolfgang Korngold was in his native country Austria when he received a telegram from Hal Wallis, head of production at Warner Brothers, which read: "Can you be in Hollywood in ten days time to write the music for Robin Hood?" (i.e. The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938) directed by Michael Curtiz and starring Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland as Robin and Marian). Korngold, who had left Hollywood for Vienna in May 1937 to work on his opera Die Kathrin, immediately left on the next ship that sailed for America. Although he had not read the film's script, producer Henry Blanke had told him that the love story between Robin and Marian was similar to that in Captain Blood (1935), a film Korngold had also scored.

The day after his arrival in Hollywood, Korngold went to the studio to attend a screening of a rough cut of the film. During the screening the composer grew increasingly concerned and distressed, seeing a fast-paced adventure film filled with action unfold before him. Convinced that he was not the right man for the job, he wrote a letter to Hal Wallis, informing him of his decision not to go through with it.

Shortly thereafter, however, something happened in Europe which made the composer change his mind. On 12 February 1938, Austrian chancellor Kurt Schuschnigg met with Adolf Hitler, their meeting ultimately leading to the "Anschluss", Austria's annexation into Nazi Germany. Korngold had just heard about the meeting when he received a visit from Leo Forbstein, head of Warners' music department, who had been sent to the composer's LA home to beg him to reconsider his decision. Due to the explosive situation in Austria, Korngold eventually gave in to Forbstein's pleas and agreed to write the score after all. (Korngold's home in Vienna was later confiscated by the Nazis and the composer would not return to Austria until after the war.)

While still plagued with doubts and on the verge of giving up several times, Korngold ultimately delivered a fantastic score. I think it's safe to say that The Adventures of Robin Hood wouldn't be the masterpiece it is without Korngold's music. Quite deservedly he won an Oscar for it, his second after winning for Anthony Adverse two years earlier. Other film scores by Korngold include Juarez (1939), The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (1939), The Sea Hawk (1940) and Kings Row (1942). Korngold would influence many others composers, among them John Williams who cited him as the inspiration for his music for the Star Wars series.

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Here is Korngold's letter of rejection to Hal Wallis after attending the screening of Robin Hood on 8 February 1938.

February 11, 1938

Dear Mr. Wallis:

I am sincerely sorry to have to bother you once more. I do appreciate deeply your kindness and courtesy toward me, and I am aware of the fact that you have made all concessions possible to facilitate my work.

But please believe a desperate man who has to be true to himself and to you, a man who knows what he can do and what he cannot do. Robin Hood is no picture for me. I have no relation to it and therefore cannot produce any music for it. I am a musician of the heart, of passions and psychology; I am not a musical illustrator for a 90% action picture. Being a conscientious person, I cannot take the responsibility for a job which, as I already know, would leave me artistically completely dissatisfied and which, therefore, I would have to drop even after several weeks of work on it and after several weeks of salary.

Therefore let me say "no" definitely, and let me say it today when no time has been lost for you as yet, since the work print will not be ready until tomorrow. And please do not try to make me change my mind; my resolve is unshakable. 

I implore you not to be angry with me and not to deprive me of your friendship. For it is I who suffers mentally and financially. I ask you to weigh the pictures for which I composed the music, such as Midsummer Night’s Dream, Captain Blood, Anthony Adverse, Prince and [the] Pauper, against the one I could not make, Robin Hood. And if during the next few weeks you should have a job for me to do, you need not cable all the way to Vienna.

With my very best regards, I am,

Gratefully and sincerely yours,

Erich Wolfgang Korngold 

Source: Inside Warner Bros. (1935-1951) (1985), selected and edited by Rudy Behlmer. 

Above: Recording session for The Adventures of Robin Hood with Erich Korngold and Basil Rathbone who played Robin Hood's arch-enemy Sir Guy of Gisbourne. Below: Korngold at the Oscar Ceremony in February 1939 receiving his prize from Jerome Kern. A few years earlier Korngold had written the Oscar-winning score for Anthony Adverse, but it was Leo Forbstein who was awarded the prize; at the time it was customary to award the head of the music department instead of the composer. 

My wig ... I loathe the bloody thing

One of Errol Flynn's best and most successful films is the swashbuckler The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), which is also one of my all-time personal favourites. To look the part of the legendary hero, Flynn was given the requisite costume (tights, tunic and hat), complete with medieval hairdo. The original wig was redesigned halfway through production after Flynn had complained about it in a letter to producer Hal Wallis. Flynn hated the centre part and bangs of the hairpiece and Wallis immediately had the wig improved. The reshooting of scenes was unnecessary, as the original wig had only been filmed under Flynn's hat.

Flynn's letter to Wallis can be read below. It was written on 24 October 1937, while on location in Chico, California, where the Sherwood scenes were filmed.

Above: Errol Flynn is having his wig trimmed. Below left photo: Flynn in his first wig with the fringes and middle part he hated — here photographed with Robin Hood's first director William Keighley who was replaced with Michael Curtiz/ right photo: Flynn in his new wig which was eventually used in the film.

Richardson Springs

Chico, Cal

October 24, 1937

Dear Hal, 

First let me thank you again for fixing things re the radio deals.

Now one other minor, but to me very important, squawk. My wig .... I loathe the bloody thing. With the hat on it's fine, and the alteration I want to suggest does not affect any of the stuff we've shot so far — the part that's wrong is hidden by the hat. The centre part in the wig is my chief complaint. I would like an almost unnoticeable part on either side so that one side or the other could sweep back off the forehead. The fringes would then, when the hat is removed, not look like fringes but just a few locks of loose hair carelessly falling over the brow. My drawing of course is hopeless but I've explained to the make up here who say they will write to the studio and explain it.

The point is, I haven't had my hat off yet and when I do, the new wig would match. Would you ask them to make me one like that described and send it up so we can get it right before we come down? I'm quite certain you will think it an improvement, Hal. If you don't — nothing has been lost. I hate this present one so much I shudder every time I see the Goddam thing — and I've had nothing but comments from people, when they see it with the hat off, about the stupid looking fringe and centre part. So there must be something to it.

I feel like one of the oldest inhabitants of Chico now — we all do. And we're all very sick of it but consoling ourselves with the report or rather rumour that you like the stuff down there. Is it so?

All the best Hal and kindest personal regards.

Errol 

Source: Inside Warner Bros. (1935-1951) (1985), selected and edited by Rudy Behlmer. 

80 Years of "Dark Victory": Spencer Tracy was born to play this part

Edmund Goulding's successful weepie Dark Victory is one of the many great films from 1939 celebrating its 80th anniversary this year. In a nutshell, the film is about a young, spoiled socialite who is terminally ill and falls in love with her doctor. Bette Davis stars as the socialite Judith Traherne, a role originally played by Tallulah Bankhead on the stage. (The original play Dark Victory, written by George Brewer Jr. and Bertram Bloch, only had a short run on Broadway in 1934.)

Before Bette's studio Warner Bros. purchased the movie rights, the rights were owned by producer David O. Selznick who had bought Dark Victory as a vehicle for Greta Garbo in 1935. Garbo, however, chose to do Anna Karenina (1935) instead and the next few years Selznick tried unsuccessfully to cast his picture while also facing problems with the script. Warners eventually bought the property from Selznick in the spring of 1938. Studio boss Jack Warner was at first uninterested in the story -- a film about a heroine dying of brain cancer surely couldn't be good for business -- but he was eventually persuaded by associate producer David Lewis and screenwriter Casey Robinson to take the film off Selznick's hands. 

Dark Victory was initially acquired by Warner Bros. as a vehicle for Kay Francis. Due to her row with the studio, however, Francis was demoted to doing Comet over Broadway (1938), which Bette had rejected, and Bette got to play the coveted role of Judith Traherne, a role she would later call her personal favourite among the many roles she had played.

As her leading man, Bette wanted her former co-star Spencer Tracy with whom she had played in 20,000 Years in Sing Sing (1932). She had enjoyed their collaboration immensely and longed to work with Tracy again, hoping that Dark Victory would be their next film together. Not only Bette but also screenwriter Casey Robinson wanted Tracy who was under contract to MGM. Robinson thought the success of the film depended on the proper casting of Dr. Frederick Steele, feeling that Tracy was the perfect man to play him. In a letter to producer Hal Wallis dated August 1938 (as seen below) Robinson urged Wallis to do everything he could to land Tracy for the role. In the end, however, Tracy was loaned to 20th Century-Fox to do Stanley and Livingstone (1940) and was thus unavailable. Bette never made a film with Tracy again. She did say in later years that he was the finest actor she had ever worked with. 

The man who was eventually cast as Dr. Steele was George Brent, with whom Bette had played many times before. Dark Victory was their eighth film together and during production the two began an affair which lasted well after shooting had finished. In the end, the two made a total of 11 films together. Bette reportedly said that of all her leading men Brent was her favourite.

While Bette didn't get to play with Spencer Tracy in the film version of Dark Victory, they did perform together in an adaptation of the film for the Lux Radio Theatre, which aired in August 1940 before a live audience. It's really great to hear this version with Tracy in Brent's role and to imagine how he would have played it on screen. I'm sure that Tracy would have handled some of the dramatic material better than Brent. Still, I love Brent and while he has his usual wooden moments, his overall performance in Dark Victory is fine. What I especially love is his natural and playful chemistry with Bette, in particular during their Vermont scenes (that they were real life lovers probably helped). In case you're interested in how Tracy handled the role on the radio, just go here.

TO: Hal Wallis 

FROM: Casey Robinson 

DATE: August 19, 1938 

SUBJECT: "Dark Victory" 

Dear Hal:

I note that at M.G.M. they have postponed Northwest Passage, leaving Spencer Tracy without an assignment. They are trying to put him into the Joan Crawford picture, but he is refusing the part [The Shining Hour]. That seems to leave him open for borrowing, and I plead with you to make every possible effort to land him. 

Please forgive my pushing my nose into casting which, strictly speaking, is not my concern, but you know that you and I have nurtured Dark Victory along for three years and I am concerned about it as I have never been concerned about any other picture. It is, above all things, a tender love story between a Long Island glamor girl and a simple, idealistic, more-or-less inarticulate New England doctor. If we don't capture this feeling in the proper casting of Doctor Steele, I know we will wind up with a tragic flop instead of a truly great picture. 

I don't know if you've found time yet to read the entire script, but if you have I'm sure you will agree with me that Tracy was born to play this part -- and of course I don't need to tell you what the combination of the names of Bette Davis and Spencer Tracy on the marquee would do to the box-office. 

Sincerely, 

Casey 

Source: Inside Warner Bros. (1935-1951) (1985), selected and edited by Rudy Behlmer.

Note
In April 1938, well before Bette Davis and George Brent played Judith Traherne and Dr. Steele, Barbara Stanwyck and Melvyn Douglas performed the roles on the radio, also for the Lux Radio Theatre. It's quite interesting to listen to this version as well, not only for Douglas in the role of the doctor (and to compare him with Brent and Tracy), but especially to get a sense of what Barbara would have done with the role had she been allowed to play it on screen. Barbara really wanted to star in the movie and was furious when Warner Bros. gave the role to Bette, one of Warners' own contract players. (Incidentally, this radio version is an adaptation of the play while the second radio version is an adaptation of the film.)

The Classic Movie Blog Association is celebrating its 10th anniversary this year. To celebrate this milestone, the CMBA is holding The Anniversary Blogathon and this post is my contribution to it. For all the entries of my fellow CMBA-ers, just click here.

The on-screen ageing of Bette Davis

During her impressive career, Bette Davis starred in a number of films in which she played characters older than her actual age. In 1939, Bette (aged 31) played spinster Charlotte Lovell in The Old Maid, her character ageing some 20 years to 40 at the end of the film, the look of 'middle-age' created by makeup artist Perc Westmore with pale makeup. The same year Bette portrayed 60-year-old Queen Elizabeth I in The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex, shaving her hairline and eyebrows to resemble the older queen. To play 40-year-old Regina Giddens in The Little Foxes (1941), Bette had Westmore give her a mask of white powder in order to look her character's age (much to the dismay of director William Wyler who felt she looked like a Kabuki player). Then in 1944, Bette played Fanny Skeffington in Vincent Sherman's Mr. Skeffington, being mid-20s at the beginning of the film while ageing to 50, with her looks not only affected by age but also by diphtheria (Bette wore a rubber mask to get the look she wanted). And in 1945, 37-year-old Bette was a schoolteacher in her fifties in The Corn is Green, wearing a grey wig and padding under her clothes to look the part.

Above (clockwise): Bette Davis playing older than her age in The Old Maid, The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex, The Corn is Green and The Little Foxes. Below: Bette as the younger and older Fanny in Mr. Skeffington.

While Bette didn't shy away from portraying older women --for The Corn is Green she even insisted on her character being older, feeling it suited the part better (even though Warner Bros. wanted her to play someone younger)-- in some cases she did object to ageing for her role. For Mr. Skeffington Bette initially turned down the role of Fanny after Warners had acquired the film rights in 1940. The novel by Elizabeth von Arnim was mostly told in flashbacks by the female protagonist, and in the original script Bette would have long scenes as the older Fanny while talking about her past. Bette felt she wouldn't be convincing as the 50-year-old woman, as she explained to her boss Jack Warner in the following letter from December 1940. It wasn't until several years later that she was offered a revised script and agreed to play the part.

December 5, 1940 

Dear Jack, 

I have also heard rumors that Skeffington with Mr. [Edmund] Goulding [directing] was my next. This, I would be forced, for my own future career, to refuse. It is physically impossible for me to play this woman of fifty- I am not old enough in face or figure, and I have worked too hard to do something that I know I would never be convincing in. The Old Maid and Elizabeth [in The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex] were different. They were very eccentric characters and wore costumes which always helps age. This is a chic modern woman.  

If your action in these matters is suspension, or if you decide to give me my three months vacation for next year in January, February and March, I would appreciate knowing as soon as possible so I can open my house in New Hampshire.

Sincerely,

Bette Davis

Source: Inside Warner Bros. (1935-1951) (1985), selected and edited by Rudy Behlmer.

Make-up artist Perc Westmore adjusting Bette's makeup on the set of The Little Foxes.

Another project for which Bette had to age against her will was The Gay Sisters. According to a memo from producer Henry Blanke to co-producer Hal Wallis dated 7 June 1941 (as seen below), Bette was worried that she had to play an older woman again, at the time also playing the older Regina Giddens in The Little Foxes. When assured that the character Fiona would not age beyond 32 years, Bette still had objections to the casting of Mary Astor as her younger sister (Mary was two years her senior). In the end, The Gay Sisters (1942) was made without Bette or Mary, starring Barbara Stanwyck and Geraldine Fitzgerald instead. 

TO: Mr. Wallis

FROM: Mr. Blanke

DATE: June 7, 1941

SUBJECT: "The Gay Sisters" - Bette Davis

Dear Hal:

When you got me on the dictaphone yesterday to inquire about the Bette Davis situation in regards to the Gay Sisters script, I forgot to tell you a rather important point which she made in her telephone conversation with me.

She stated that she likes Mary Astor very much and -as I could prove- helped her in every way on The Great Lie to make a success. So-  this as a preface in order not to misunderstand her motivations on the following point:

She is now in Little Foxes [for Samuel Goldwyn], playing an elderly woman and one of her main objections on the The Gay Sisters was that she was afraid in "Fiona" she would again have to portray an aged woman.

I set her at ease on this point by telling her that in the story she is six or eight years old at the time of 1918, which makes her for the most part of the story around thirty to thirty-two years old.

This set her at ease in regards to this point, but brought her to the criticism of casting Mary Astor as Evelyn, her next younger sister. Her point is that Mary Astor, no matter what we do, will always photograph older than Bette, and that Bette automatically would have to age herself considerably in order to make it believable that she is older than Mary Astor, and by doing this we would get to the result that she is afraid of-- namely, that she will arrive at an age similar to the one she is putting on in Little Foxes...  

Source: Inside Warner Bros. (1935-1951) (1985), selected and edited by Rudy Behlmer.

Bette Davis and Mary Astor in The Great Lie (1941). It would take a few decades before they would make another film together- Hush... Hush, Sweet Charlotte (1964).


This post is my contribution to the THE FOURTH ANNUAL BETTE DAVIS BLOGATHON, hosted by IN THE GOOD OLD DAYS OF CLASSIC HOLLYWOOD. Be sure to check out all the other entries!

The Apartment: a favourite (movie-wise)

This post is my contribution to the My Favourite Classic Movie Blogathon in celebration of National Classic Movie Day, hosted by Classic Film and TV Cafe. Click here to check out all the other entries.

I don't really have a favourite movie. There are so many great movies, I find it very difficult to pick just one. But one of the films that has always ranked high on my list of favourites --one that I've seen many times and will certainly watch again-- is Billy Wilder's black comedy The Apartment (1960). There's so much to love about this film. The script by Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond which contains the most brilliant lines ("That's the way it crumbles... cookie-wise", for one); the performances from the entire cast, in particular the leads Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine; the crisp black-and-white cinematography by Joseph LaShelle; the wonderful music score by Adolph Dietsch -- all these elements, masterfully put together by Billy Wilder, make The Apartment a gem from start to finish. 

Back in 1960, the public also loved The Apartment. Audiences went to see the film en masse, making it a box-office hit immediately upon release. But it was not just a commercial success, the film was also lauded by the critics and by Wilder's peers. At the Oscar Ceremony in April 1961, The Apartment was awarded a total of five Oscars, three of which went to Wilder: Best Picture, Best Director and Best Screenplay (the latter he had to share with I.A.L. Diamond). To congratulate Wilder on the film and its success, many colleagues sent him letters and telegrams. Below you'll find some of the correspondence Wilder received, both in 1960 when the film was released and in 1961 after his big Oscar win. The correspondence comes from Sammy Davis Jr., Fred Zinnemann, Kirk Douglas, Alfred Hitchcock, Joan Crawford, John Sturges and Hal Wallis; the letter from Hitchcock has been posted on this blog before, but I thought it was nice to include it here as well.

Transcript: 

1960 MAR 16

BILLIE WILDER, SAMUEL GOLDWYN STUDIOS=

1040 NORTH FORMOSA DLR BY MSGR HOLLYWOOD CALIF=

DEAR BILLIE HAVE JUST SEEN YOUR TRADE AD FOR THE QUOTE APARTMENT UNQUOTE THE INDUSTRY HAS NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT AS LONG AS THERE ARE PEOPLE LIKE YOU IN IT

MUCH LOVE=

SAMMY DAVIS JR.

Transcript:

1960 MAY 5

BILLY WILDER

1041 NORTH FORMOSA HOLLYWOOD CALIF=

DEAR BILLY: DAN TARADASH AND 19 OTHER PEOPLE HAVE TOLD ME "THE APARTMENT" IS ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL WARMEST CONGRATULATIONS 

CORDIALLY=

FRED ZINNEMANN.

Note: Daniel Taradash was a screenwriter; his credits include Golden Boy (1939) and From Here to Eternity (1952).

Transcript:

Dear Billy-

I have to tell you again how thrilled I was about seeing your picture this evening. You've certainly eclipsed "Some Like It Hot"- no mean feat.

This is a great example of movie-making --the sharp comments on various phases of American life, the daring juxtaposition of comedy and tragedy, the incisive penetration into the soul of a woman in love with a married man, the direction that led to some magnificent performances all add up to make one of the greatest pictures I've ever seen.

Transcript:

June 29, 1960

Mr. Billy Wilder

10375 Wilshire Boulevard

Los Angeles, California

Dear Mr Wilder,

I saw THE APARTMENT the other day.

I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed it, and how beautifully made. 

I felt this so much that I was impelled to drop you this note.

Kindest regards,

(signed)

Alfred J. Hitchcock

Transcript:

October 10, 1960

Billy dear,

I have just seen "The Apartment". You have done the most adroit, professional, exciting, poignant, delightful film I have seen in years. Thank you for giving the industry the "goose" it needed, and thank you for the joy it has given, not only millions of people, but your friend--

Joan (signed)

Transcript:

April 18, 1961

Dear Billy:

It was a great pleasure to see you scoop up that family of little men. Particularly since the picture was a complete original- a rare and admirable thing.

Please include I.A.L. in my congratulations.

With all the best,

John (signed)

Mr. Billy Wilder

1041 N. Formosa

Hollywood 46, California

Transcript:

April 19, 1961

Dear Billy,

This is getting to be a habit, but I am sure it is one you have no objection to acquiring.

In any event, my fond regards and sincere congratulations on the well deserved Oscars.

Sincerely,

(signed)
Hal Wallis

Images of the telegrams and letters courtesy of Heritage Auctions (here and here).