The above quote--Jack Warner, President Warner Brothers Studio
In
Hollywood’s Golden Years, the triumvirate of studio heads, movie stars, and
screenwriters had, at best, an uneasy alliance.
Each person owned a piece of a very lucrative pie, and each one was
equally prone to keep a watchful eye on everyone else’s piece. Everyone wanted something he felt he didn’t
have but that others might. Studio heads wanted more power and the opportunity
to pay the actors less. The actors felt
they were underpaid and wanted more money and choice in their film roles; and
the writers wanted a little appreciation and acknowledgement of their
contributions.
While
looking over a possible screenplay he professed to like, movie producer Samuel
Goldwyn was once heard to say, “I read part
of it all the way through.” But when he
didn’t like the writing, he would say something like, “Here I am paying big
money to you writers, and for what? All you
do is change the words.” Or when speaking about television, “television has
raised writing to a new low.”
On
the other hand, fellow producer Louis B. Mayer claimed to value writers more
than actors. At least he did when he was
in the presence of writers. The general
belief among screenwriters, however, was that he considered them mere “slaves
of the lamp,” a reference to the story “Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp.” In fact, Mayer was so disliked by both actors
and writers that some called him Louis B. Manure. After a bull session, once, when he invited
his writers to voice their complaints, those who weren’t fired got a cut in
pay. This is why playwright,
screenwriter, and notable practical joker, Charles MacArthur, husband of
actress Helen Hayes and father of James MacArthur (Jack Lord’s trusted Danno on
the original Hawaii Five-O), decided
to seek vengeance. MacArthur figured
with the right person and a proper introduction in an appropriate setting, that
he could bamboozle Mayer into paying a writer, whether the person wrote
anything or not, in other words, prove who was the bigger schmuck, a writer or
a Hollywood mogul.
For
the right man, MacArthur hired an English gas station attendant named Basil
whom he’d met on a tennis court.
MacArthur rechristened him Kenneth Woollcott. The first name may have come from British art
historian and Oxford professor, Kenneth Clarke who was very well known at the
time. The last name probably came from one
of a celebrated group of New York City writers, critics, actors and wits who
met regularly at the Algonquin Hotel: Alexander
Woollcott. Admittedly, the connection to
Kenneth might be a bit of a stretch, but Woollcott was well-known for a wit
that was so caustic, he was, for a time, banned from reviewing certain Broadway
theater shows. Thus armed, MacArthur
was ready to put his plan into motion.
The
first thing MacArthur did was introduce Kenneth Woollcott to various M.G.M.
producers describing him as “the next Noel Coward—just out here for a rest—not
interested in working in the pictures.”
Next,
MacArthur had Woollcott accompany him to all studio writers’ meetings with the
explanation, “I wouldn’t make a move on a story unless I asked his advice.”
Then
he waited.
Inevitably,
of course, Woollcott was offered a job at M.G.M.
Speaking
on behalf of Woollcott, MacArthur insisted that there was no chance. Also inevitably, Woollcott was persuaded to
discuss the matter in private. And
finally, of course, as planned, the British gas station attendant signed a
contract for a screenwriter’s job.
Reports
of his income varied from one thousand to fifteen-hundred dollars a week. Either was very generous considering
Woollcott was paid regularly and wrote nothing.
Coached by MacArthur, the fake writer held on to every story idea sent
his way for a few weeks and then returned it to the studio heads. With the arrogant sniff that only a Brit can
deliver, he simply said, “it just isn’t my kind of story.”
And
the checks rolled in—for a month—for four months—for ten months—and Woollcott continued
to return every story idea he received.
As
his employment reached the first anniversary, M.G.M. sent him to Canada to
develop a screenplay about the Hudson’s Bay Company. Woollcott went and, of course, returned sans
script. MacArthur was ready, but
disaster struck! Uncomfortable about his
ill-gotten income, Woollcott had never quit his gas station job. With two employers paying into his social
security, somehow, too much was contributed.
The government got confused and contacted the studio.
Just
before Kenneth Woollcott’s hasty departure from M.G.M., he sent Louis B. Mayer
the following letter composed, of course, by MacArthur.
I wish to thank you for the privilege of
working this year under your wise and talented leadership. I can assure you I have never had more
pleasure as a writer. I think if you
will check your studio log, you will find that I am the only writer who didn’t
cost the studio a shilling this year beyond his wage. This being the case, would you consider awarding
me a bonus for this unique record. I
leave the sum up to you.
Louis
B. Mayer’s response isn’t on record.
What is on record is the fact that not too long after the truth about
the hoax broke, Charles MacArthur went to work for Paramount Studios.
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