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.

You force me to refuse to make the picture unless the billing is mine

By the spring of 1939 Bette Davis was already a star. She had just won her second Academy Award for Jezebel (1938) and had recently starred in successful films like Dark Victory (1939) and Juarez (1939). While the actress was still working on The Old Maid (to be released in September 1939 and also to become a big hit), her next project —a film based on Maxwell Anderson's 1930 play Elizabeth the Queen— was already underway. For a long time Bette had wanted to play Queen Elizabeth I in a film adaptation of Anderson's play and was thrilled when producer Hal Wallis bought the property for her. Bette wanted Laurence Olivier to play the role of the Earl of Essex, but Warners wanted Errol Flynn, the studio's then biggest male star.  

Bette and Errol had played together in The Sisters a year earlier and at that time Bette was very happy to be co-starring with Flynn ("He was a big box office star at the time and it could only be beneficial to me to work with him"). For this project, however, she found Flynn "the only fly in the ointment", feeling he was not up to the task, not being "an experienced enough actor to cope with the complicated blank verse the play had been written in." Apart from being unhappy with the casting of Flynn, Bette was also unhappy with the title of the film. The title of the original play, Elizabeth the Queen, was initially set to be the film's title, but Flynn was opposed to it, demanding to be acknowledged in the title too. Warners consequently came up with a new title, The Knight and the Lady, to which Bette, in turn, fiercely objected.

Bette Davis and Errol Flynn as Queen Elizabeth I and Robert Devereux, 2nd Earl of Essex, in The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex; below they are pictured rehearsing a scene, with producer Robert Lord (l) and director Michael Curtiz looking on.

In April 1939, Bette Davis sent the following telegram to Warner Bros' studio head Jack Warner, demanding that the title The Knight and the Lady be changed.

Jack L.Warner, Personal  

Warner Bros Studio 

April 28, 1939 

I have been trying for some weeks to get an answer from you concerning the title of my next picture. I felt confident that you would of your own volition change it, considering the fact the play from which it is taken was bought for me and was called "Elizabeth the Queen". I have found out today you are not changing it. You of course must have realized my interest in the title change concerned the billing ... The script "The Knight and the Lady", like the play, is still a woman's story. I therefore feel justified in requesting first billing, which would automatically change the title, as the present title is obviously one to give the man first billing. I feel so justified in this from every standpoint that you force me to refuse to make the picture unless the billing is mine. If you would like to discuss this matter with me I would be more than willing. 

Bette Davis 

Bette Davis and Jack Warner

A week later, Jack Warner informed Bette that she would get first billing while assuring her The Knight and the Lady would not be used. The title was later changed to The Lady and the Knight, but Bette was still not satisfied. Again she sent Warner a telegram, demanding another title change. 

 

J.L Warner 

June 30, 1939

I have waited now since day picture started for title to be settled. I was promised it would not be "The Knight and the Lady". The present title "The Lady and the Knight", as announced in paper and called such in fan magazines, I consider the same thing ... You have the choice of "Elizabeth and Essex", "Elizabeth the Queen", or "The Love of Elizabeth and Essex". If Mr. [Paul] Muni is allowed the title "Juarez", another historical picture ... you need have no worry about the box office with the title "Elizabeth and Essex" with far more well known people than "Juarez". 

Bette Davis

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

The title Elizabeth and Essex was already under copyright (as the title of a book by Lytton Strachey) so it couldn't be used. As said, Flynn objected to Elizabeth the Queen, so this title couldn't be used either. Apparently Warner didn't approve of Bette's last suggestion (The Love of Elizabeth and Essex) and eventually opted for The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex, inspired by other historical films, such as the successful The Private Life of Henry VIII (1933).

The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex became the box-office hit Warner Bros. had anticipated. It received five Oscar nominations, yet none in the major categories. While Bette Davis was expected to receive a nomination for her performance, she was not nominated for thís role but for her role in Dark Victory (also a Warners production). Eventually, the Oscar for Best Actress went to Vivien Leigh for Gone with the Wind, GWTW being that year's big winner.

Billing for The Sisters (top photo) and The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex. For The Sisters, Flynn would initially receive sole billing above the title. "At that time I had no billing clause in my contract," Bette recalled. "I felt after Jezebel that my name should always appear above the title. That is star billing." She held her ground and Warners eventually gave her above-the-title billing, although she came after Flynn. For The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex, like she had demanded, Bette came first.

I think I have been a good dog for three years

In the summer of 1938, Warner Bros. cast Claude Rains as a tough New York City cop in They Made Me a Criminal, a Busby Berkeley film starring John Garfield in the lead as a boxer wrongly accused of murder. Rains, who had signed a long-term contract with Warners in November 1935, considered himself unsuited for the role and did not want to play it. Requesting to be released from the film, the actor sent studio boss Jack Warner a telegram on 31 August 1938. The role would do nothing to advance his career, Rains thought, and his miscasting could only hurt the picture. 

Claude Rains, John Garfield and Billy Halop (of The Dead End Kids) in a scene from They Made Me a Criminal.

August 31, 1938

Jack Warner

Vice President, Warner Brothers

First National Pictures

Dear Jack. Having thoroughly enjoyed my association with the studio and toed the line to cooperate to the best of my ability, I feel that you should know of my inability to understand being cast for the part of Phelan in "They Made Me a Criminal." Frankly, I feel that I am so poorly cast that it would be harmful to your picture. You have done such a good job in building me up that it seems a pity to tear that down with such a part as this, and I am confident that your good judgment will recognize this. Dogs delight to bark and bite and I think I have been a good dog for three years, so perhaps you will give me five minutes to talk it over.

Claude 

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

 

When Warner threatened Rains with suspension, the actor accepted the role and indeed —I must agree with Rains and the general opinion— he was terribly miscast. (But I don't think he harmed the picture, considering how little screentime he had.) Later Rains said that of the films he had made They Made Me a Criminal was one of his least favourites.

One of my favourite character actors, Claude Rains had pivotal roles in a number of classic Warner Bros. films, among them The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939), Now, Voyager (1942) and Casablanca (1942). Rains was nominated four times for Best Supporting Actor, i.e. for Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Casablanca, Mr. Skeffington (1944) and Notorious (1946), the latter film on loan-out to David Selznick.

There is something I would like to straighten out with you ...

Olivia de Havilland was still working on Gone with the Wind (1939) when she started filming The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (1939). She had a minor role in the latter film as the queen's lady-in-waiting, playing third fiddle to Bette Davis and Errol Flynn and being billed below the title. It is said that casting Olivia in such an inferior role was Jack Warner's way of punishing her for doing David Selznick's GWTW. Warner, head of Warner Brothers and Olivia's boss, was at first unwilling to loan her out to Selznick, but Olivia was adamant about playing Melanie. In violation of her contract with Warners, the actress had secretly screentested for GWTW, and next secretly contacted Warner's wife Ann, pleading with her to make Warner change his mind. Persuaded by his wife, Warner eventually agreed to the loan-out but ordered producer Hal Wallis to cast Olivia in a secondary role on her return to Warners.

In early May 1939 —while still having to shoot retakes for GWTW— Olivia reported for work at Warners and later recalled that it was "torture for [her], leaving this wonderful atmosphere at Selznick for a very different atmosphere at Warner Brothers". A month later, on 10 June, an incident occurred on the set of Elizabeth and Essex, where Olivia had to do a scene but lost her usual calm in front of the cast and crew. The incident involved Warners' contract director Michael Curtiz, whom Olivia disliked working with (read more here). In a memo to production manager T.C. Wright, unit manager Frank Mattison described what had happened:

 

I had [a] display of temperament late SATURDAY afternoon from Miss DeHAVILLAND; to wit— at 5:15 PM when we started to rehearse a scene between her and Miss FABERES [Nanette Fabray], she informed Mr. Curtiz that she positively was going to stop at 6:00 PM, but Mr. Curtiz told her that unless she stayed and finished the sequence he positively would cut it out of the picture. Miss DeHAVILLAND expressed herself before the company and Mr. Curtiz came right back, with the result that it became necessary for me to dismiss the company at 6:15 without shooting this sequence. 

Inasmuch as this sequence of 2 pages was inserted at Miss DeHAVILLAND's request, I believe that we definitely should not shoot it and uphold Mr. Curtiz in the matter. I think this will put Miss DeHAVILLAND in a proper frame of mind so that she will take direction and instruction hereafter.  

[The scene was later shot and included in the film.]

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

Olivia de Havilland as Penelope Gray in The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex

In order to defend herself and to explain the situation to her boss Jack Warner, Olivia wrote him the following letter on 18 July 1939. Long afterwards, Olivia said about the incident: "I lost my cool, which was not like me, and which is unforgivable." 

Incidentally, with "a certain man who means well" Olivia unmistakably refers to Michael Curtiz and the "famous blond actress" is Bette Davis. The Lady & the Knight was one of the film's working titles.

 

July 18, 1939

Dear Mr. Warner —

It is a shame that you are so busy this week that it is impossible to arrange a luncheon engagement. I should have enjoyed the experience so much.

There is something I would like to straighten out with you, something that is, I feel very important to both of us. I have not been at all happy about the situation that existed during The Lady & the Knight. I feel that a misunderstanding was created between us that had no business to be there. As you know, when you called me on the phone, full of indignation, I wanted to talk to you in person, rather than discuss so vital a matter through such an unsatisfactory medium, but you were busy or preferred not to do so ....

The first time you called, the conversation concerned my starting date on The Lady & the Knight. As I explained to you, I had, four weeks before, forseen the problems that would arise between the schedules of G.W.T.W. and The Lady & the Knight and had discussed the matter with Mr. Wallis, [co-producer] Mr. [Robert] Lord and Mr. Curtiz and come to a conclusion satisfactory to all of us. My principle in being concerned was simply this: I wanted to do a good job in G.W.T.W.  for it was a solemn responsiblity, & I wanted to do my best in The Lady & the Knight, for it is one of your big pictures for the year, & a bad performance on my part could weaken the film perceptibly. As you know it is impossible to perform two decided and different characters at the same time, so our problem was to work out the schedules so that they would not conflict ...

When I started my first important day's work on The Lady & the Knight, not having had a vacation since September, I was quite nervous, and as one always is on the first day of a picture, somewhat apprehensive of my first consequential scene. And that scene was a charming, well-written one, & I wanted to do it well.

I arrived at the studio at 6:45 A.M., shot a number of reaction shots beginning at 9. The morning passed, the afternoon passed, & finally at 5:30 P.M. with my nose shiny, my makeup worn off, my vitality gone, & my tummy doing nip-ups, we prepared to line up the charming scene. I mentioned that it was nearing six, that everyone was tired, and I hoped that we could shoot the scene another day since it required virtually no set. However, when the lights were arranged, at 6:15, with everything against me technically, I limped on the set prepared to go through with this thing. Unfortunately, to make matters much worse, I found that a certain man who means well wanted to get this charming scene over in a hurry — and then, bang! he said something very tactless, and to my horror I found myself shaking from head to foot with nerves, & unable to open my mouth for fear of crying— which would never do in front of so many people. The man, who meant well, realized he had gone too far, apologized, & dismissed the company assuring me that he could quite well shoot the scene another day for it required no set & could be done in a short time. He had said the same kind of thing a few days before to a famous blond actress who had gone home with the tears streaming down her face.

And someone went to you about all this! I know that if you had been present on that set, and had realized my problem, you would have dismissed the company rather than shoot that scene so late in the day. I know, too, that you understand that an actress, no matter how talented she is, is dependent very seriously upon her appearance & her vitality for the quality of her performance. When those two things leave her, whether it is after five years work or at the end of a day, she has nothing to rely on. And when I make suggestions to anyone at the studio, it is for the good of the whole ...

You have a tremendous business to conduct, one that you have built to astounding success & complexity, & your time is not to be wasted with trivialities. 

My very best wishes to you,

Olivia de Havilland 

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

Above: Olivia de Havilland and the "famous blond actress" in a scene from The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex. Below: Olivia and Mike Curtiz on the set of Captain Blood (1935), the first of nine films they did together. 

What do you think of dropping her entirely?

Dissatisfied with the roles MGM offered her, Joan Crawford left the studio in June 1943 after having been a contract player for 18 years. Two days later, she signed a contract with Warner Bros for only a third of her MGM salary. Her first film at Warners was The Hollywood Canteen (1944), in which Joan and a lot of other stars appeared in cameo roles. Joan was next offered several roles by Warners but, much to the studio's dismay, declined them all. Then Mildred Pierce (1945) came along and Joan was quite eager to play the titular role. While director Michael Curtiz wanted Barbara Stanwyck and Bette Davis was Warners' first choice, Joan was cast after Bette turned down the part. Mildred Pierce proved to be both a success and the boost Joan's career needed, with Joan eventually winning the Academy Award for Best Actress.

In the years that followed, Joan made several other films for Warner Bros —Humoresque (1946), Possessed (1947), Flamingo Road (1949), It's a Great Feeling (1949), The Damned Don't Cry (1950), Goodbye, My Fancy (1951) and This Woman Is Dangerous (1952). After finishing the latter film, which she later called the worst picture of her career, Joan asked Warner Bros to release her from her contract.

Five years prior to the termination of Joan's contract, studio boss Jack Warner was contemplating to "drop" Joan, as the following telegram to the studio's vice-president Samuel Schneider shows. Later Warner decided against it and kept Joan on his payroll a while longer. 

Incidentally, Warner calls Humoresque and Possessed "failures", while both films did well at the box-office.

 

DECEMBER 15, 1947

TO SCHNEIDER STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL

FROM PRESENT INDICATIONS APPEARS TO ME WE GOING HAVE LOT TROUBLE WITH JOAN CRAWFORD, TEMPERAMENT AND SUCH THINGS ... MAY HAVE SUSPEND HER THIS WEEK. SECONDLY, WHAT DO YOU THINK OF DROPPING HER ENTIRELY. WE HAD SEMI FAILURE IN "HUMORESQUE" AND EXCEPTIONAL FAILURE IN "POSSESSED". INSTEAD WORRYING ABOUT HER COULD BE DEVOTING MY TIME TO WORTHWHILE PRODUCTIONS AND NEW PERSONALITIES ... HOWEVER, THIS ONLY WAY I FEEL TODAY. IF SHE STRAIGHTENS OUT BY END WEEK MAY NOT FEEL THIS WAY BUT FACTS MUST BE FACED AS THESE THINGS TAKE ALL YOUR TIME.

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

Circa 1935: Joan Crawford chats with Jack Warner at a dinner party (seated next to Joan are Cesar Romero, Sonja Henie and Michael Brook).  

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

Peter O'Toole is it!

In February 1962, for a then record amount of $5.5 million, Warner Bros. obtained the rights to produce the film version of the successful stage musical My Fair Lady (1956). For the role of Professor Henry Higgins, studio boss Jack Warner initially didn't want to hire Rex Harrison, although the actor had successfully played Higgins on Broadway. Warner not only considered Harrison too old for the part but also felt he lacked drawing power at the box-office.

An actor who was in demand at the time was Peter O'Toole. He was much younger than Harrison and had just played the titular role in Lawrence of Arabia (1962), David Lean's epic film which would become a huge critical and financial hit. Both Warner and director George Cukor thought O'Toole was the right man to play Higgins and next tried to hire him. In Europe Cukor even met with the actor who (according to Cukor) was "crazy" about the part. In the end, however, O'Toole proved too expensive for Warners. His agent demanded a salary of $400,000 which Warners wasn't willing to pay and negotiations ultimately fell through. 

Cary Grant (believe it or not) was also offered the part but he declined, convinced that Rex Harrison should be cast. And indeed, Harrison was cast and eventually delivered an Oscar-winning performance. (Harrison was paid $200,000, half of O'Toole's asking price.)

Here is part of a letter which George Cukor wrote to his secretary and friend Irene Burns on 11 September 1962. The fragment deals with Peter O'Toole and shows how excited Cukor was for the actor to play Henry Higgins. While O'Toole didn't get to play Higgins in the film musical, later in his career he would star as the professor twice, i.e. in the 1983 television movie Pygmalion with Margot Kidder as Eliza Doolittle; and in 1987 in a new Broadway production of Pygmalion with Amanda Plummer starring as Eliza. (As you undoubtedly know, My Fair Lady —book and lyrics by Alan Jay Lerner and music by Frederick Loewe— is based on George Bernard Shaw's 1913 play Pygmalion.) For those interested, click here for the full 1983 television film with O'Toole as Higgins and Margot Kidder as Eliza.

Source: liveauctioneers

Transcript:

I had supper with Peter O'Toole last night, his wife, his agent. He is it, Henry Higgins — or I miss my guess. He's handsome, alive, romantic and as I'm told a great — I don't use the word lightly, great actor. He says he's the best Shaw actor in the world — no idle boast — others agree. He sings, he is musical — What are we waiting for? They left me at three A.M. — 3 hours sleep — oy!! I'll crawl into bed before I start my duties today.

I saw "My Fair Lady" last night — Disgraceful — I'm not sure which one was worse — here or New York — no resemblance to the original production but the audience swooned.

That's all for now except my love — to one and all and that includes you —

signed 

Thomas A Edison

who only slept 3 hours a night

Above: Rex Harrison, Audrey Hepburn and George Cukor on the set of My Fair Lady (1964). While Peter O'Toole would not play opposite Audrey in MFL, he would get his chance a few years later in the great How To Steal a Million (1966). Below: O'Toole and Amanda Plummer as Eliza in the 1987 Broadway production of Pygmalion.

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.

I strongly feel that "The Maltese Falcon" is not an important picture

During his career, George Raft had rejected a lot of roles. He seemed to have made a habit of turning down good parts, often in films that turned out to be classics, e.g. Dead End (1937), High Sierra (1941), The Maltese Falcon (1941) and Double Indemnity (1944). (After rejecting Double Indemnity, Raft later said: "I wasn't very intelligent then".)

One of the roles Raft had refused was the role of private investigator Sam Spade in John Huston's The Maltese Falcon. Raft didn't want to work with an inexperienced director —the film was Huston's debut— and he had no faith in Dashiell Hammett's story as it had been filmed twice before, having flopped both times*. Raft chose to do Raoul Walsh's Manpower (1941) instead, in which he received third billing after Edward G. Robinson and Marlene Dietrich.

*The Maltese Falcon (1931), the first version, was a pre-code starring Ricardo Cortez as Sam Spade. The second version was Satan Met a Lady (1936), a loose comedy adaptation of Hammett's story, starring Bette Davis and Warren William as the detective, renamed Ted Shane. 

The role of Sam Spade eventually went to Humphrey Bogart, turning him into a major star. Bogart had been Huston's first choice from the start and Huston was over the moon when Raft rejected the part. I guess we should be grateful to Raft for considering The Maltese Falcon "not an important picture", as he wrote to his boss Jack Warner in the following letter on 6 June 1941. Had Raft accepted and played Spade instead of Bogie, The Maltese Falcon would most likely not be the classic it is today.

Mr. Jack Warner
Warner Bros. Pictures Inc.
Burbank, California

June 6, 1941

Dear Jack:

I am writing to you personally because I feel any difference of opinion that may have arisen between us can be settled in a most friendly manner. As you know, I strongly feel that The Maltese Falcon, which you want me to do, is not an important picture and, in this connection, I must remind you again, before I signed the new contract with you, you promised me that you would not require me to perform in anything but important pictures — in fact, you told me in the presence of Noll Gurney [agent], you would be glad to give me a letter to this effect. A long time has passed since you made this promise to me and I think you should let me have this letter now.

I understand that you are quite agreeable to use someone else in The Maltese Falcon, provided you get an extension of my time. This I think is only fair....

Very sincerely,

George Raft 

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

You are the best musical composer in the industry

Austrian-born music composer Max Steiner moved to Hollywood in 1929 and was one of the first composers to write music scores for films. According to Steiner, filmmakers at the time generally regarded film music as a "necessary evil" but this would all change in the early 1930's. Put under contract at RKO, Steiner composed his first film score for Cimarron (1931) and after several films was asked by David Selznick (the studio's new head of production) to write the score for Symphony of Six Million (1932). The score for Symphony was groundbreaking. It was the first time underscoring (music played under dialogue or a scene) was used throughout an entire picture. Steiner later said that Symphony was "the most important picture [he] did as far as trendsetting". But while the film was a turning point for both Steiner's career and the film industry, it wasn't until a year later with King Kong (1933) that Steiner had his big breakthrough. Many people believe it's this score which marks the true beginning of the Hollywood film score.

In 1936, due to salary issues with RKO, Steiner went to work for David Selznick at his new studio Selznick International Pictures. A year later, following a professional disagreement with Selznick over A Star is Born (1937), Steiner left Selznick and signed a long-term contract with Warner Bros. under the condition that he was still allowed to work for Selznick if needed. Steiner desperately wanted the assignment to write the score for Gone with the Wind (1939), the rights to the novel having been purchased by Selznick in 1936.

In April 1939, Warners agreed to lend Steiner to Selznick who had never considered any other composer for GWTW than Steiner. Steiner had only three months to write the score and worked around the clock to meet the deadline (meanwhile also composing scores for Warners, 1939 being his busiest year with thirteen (!) films). Worried that Steiner wouldn't make it in time, Selznick asked Franz Waxman to write an additional score. In the end, Steiner came through and delivered a great score, which at nearly three hours is still one of the longest scores ever composed.

Max Steiner credited on screen for Gone With The Wind (above) and for Now, Voyager, My Reputation, Since You Went Away and Mildred Pierce (below, clockwise), which are some of my favourite Steiner scores.

As said, Steiner had been quite eager to work on GWTW and to make sure his boss Jack Warner would lend him to Selznick, he wrote Warner a letter in the spring of 1939. Warner wrote back immediately, giving Steiner the go-ahead while emphasising the composer's importance to the studio and calling him "the best musical composer in the industry". Steiner's letter (shown in part and only in transcript) as well as Warner's reply can be read below. 

Incidentally, the film score for GWTW (with its famous Tara's Theme) remains one of Steiner's most famous and best loved scores. Steiner was nominated for an Oscar but lost to Herbert Stothart for The Wizard of Oz. (That same year, Steiner was also nominated for another film, Dark Victory.) In all, Steiner composed more than 300 film scores and was nominated for an Oscar 24 times, ultimately winning three, i.e. for The Informer (1935), Now, Voyager (1942) and Since You Went Away (1944).

My dear Mr Warner: 

Charlie Feldman told me ... that it would be all right for me to do the music for Gone with the Wind .... When I came over to work at Warners, I had an understanding with Leo [Forbstein, responsible for Warners' contracts] that whatever happened I was to do Gone with the Wind .... In fact, the only way I could get my release from Mr. Selznick was with that promise .... It is absolutely necessary that I do a top picture of the type of ... Gone with the Wind with their vast opportunity for music .... One cannot win Academy Awards with ... Oklahoma Kid, etc.... Please do not misunderstand me .... I haven't slept for days, and it is all can [do to] try and get [Confessions of a] Nazi Spy finished in time. Really, Mr. Warner, I'm counting on you .... Will you please give your consent and tell ... Mr. Selznick ... should he find it necessary to get someone else, I would never get over it ...  

Source: Max Steiner: Composing, Casablanca, and the Golden Age of Film Music

Source: AuctionZip

Transcript: 

April 6, 1939

Dear Max:

Received your circular letter about doing GONE WITH THE WIND, and first I want to say that irrespective of what pictures you score, you are the best musical composer in the industry. If this is not true, I am sufficiently a music critic to prove it.

Therefore, I come to the point of replying to your letter reference your doing GONE WITH THE WIND. I have told Leo and Hal Wallis that this is satisfactory and that you can do it, and Mr. Forbstein and Mr. Obringer will handle the business of loaning you over there.

Just want to add that while I realize we have brought another composer in to do certain pictures from time to time, it is with great pride that we can point to the important music in pictures such as ANGELS WITH DIRTY FACES, DODGE CITY, OKLAHOMA KID, FOUR DAUGHTERS, CRIME SCHOOL and JEZEBEL and I am sure that the important music you have placed in these and many other films, have contributed much to their success, and I assure you it isn't the bigness of the picture that counts.... for you won an Academy Award for doing a picture no one ever heard of, THE INFORMER.

However, I do hope that with GONE WITH THE WIND you will not only win the Academy Award, but the plaudits of the public, who are after all, our most important judges.

Yours for more work and longer hours,

Sincerely,
(signed)
Jack Warner

P.S. Keep away from the Hollywood Turf Club .... because I am going to be there every Saturday.

Mr. Max Steiner
Studio