How I Wrote My First Screenplay
Hollywood, California, during the 1940s, was a busy city in which almost anything could happen, and frequently did happen. I know this to be true, because I was there. I saw everything, I knew everyone, and somehow, in spite of the many, maddening turns of fate that constantly befell me, I was able to survive. I was a young writer at that time, and I wrote screenplays for a famous studio.
When Otto Sputz agreed to direct my first screenplay, A Kiss for My Beloved, I was both thrilled and apprehensive. I was thrilled because Otto Sputz was a giant among directors. He was a true artist, and his name was revered throughout Hollywood. I was apprehensive because he also had a wide reputation for maniacal perfectionism. He was known as a director who would go to whatever lengths were necessary in his pursuit of cinematic excellence. His demeanor on a set was that of an unrelenting dictator, and any actor who had the temerity to question his authority received an invariable response: "You are only an actor, but I am Otto Sputz!" Humility, according to Otto Sputz, was the sign of a weak character.
The two leading parts in the picture were given to Richard Swellbore, a pompous actor whose every word and gesture caused woman of all ages to swoon in ecstasy, and Lydia Killjoy, a flighty actress who was known to the world as a beautiful star of stage, screen, and gossip. In the story, their characters were a pair of youthful lovers who are separated by hardship and tragedy. In truth, Richard and Lydia, who once had shared a passionate romance that ended in tears, were known to hate the sight of each other. Neither of them had enough talent to fill a teaspoon, but the public adored them, and they never failed at the box office.
Calvin Mudwallow, the producer of the picture, was usually in a sour mood. He despised both Richard and Lydia, and rarely had anything pleasant to say about Otto Sputz. Aside from his daily visit to the racetrack, there was not much that Calvin Mudwallow enjoyed in this world, but as a producer he was one of a kind. His last picture, A Girl, a Guy, and a Gorilla, had been a hit of unprecedented proportions. Calvin lacked gentility and had only a passing acquaintance with good taste, but he knew everything there was to know about making movies.
Otto Sputz was unwilling, at first, to direct A Kiss for My Beloved. He let it be known that he regarded it as beneath his abilities. Calvin, who liked me and also liked the story, and who had the power to make or break a project with the raising of an eyebrow, had a short, serious conversation with Otto, causing the overbearing director to suddenly display a tepid interest in my screenplay.
Otto believed that, as a great director, he had an undisputed right, and even a duty, to enforce his own "interpretation." When Otto told me that in his view, my screenplay was "fraught with comedic potential," I began to worry. I had intended it to be a tear-jerker. I quickly learned that to Otto Sputz, a shooting script was nothing more than a loose set of guidelines, something to be tossed away without a second thought.
The evening before we went into production, Lydia separated from her eighth husband, Frederick, a ne'er-do-well who claimed to be a European prince. Lydia tended to be difficult at the best of times, and marital discord always made her behavior even worse. From the first moment that she set foot on the set of A Kiss for My Beloved, her usual fits of temper grew into lengthy bouts of grand fury. All attempts to reason with her were useless. I speak from weary experience when I say that an unhappy actress can be more troublesome than a herd of unruly elephants.
Richard Swellbore was clearly delighted to see Lydia in such a bad state. He spoke unkindly of Frederick, saying with undisguised glee, "Why, if that bum is a prince, then I'm Donald Duck!" Richard himself was on shaky ground at that time, being, as he liked to put it, "between wives." He later eloped with a manicurist who was young enough to be his granddaughter, a union that lasted nearly five days. After that, on the advice of both his lawyer and his accountant, he forswore matrimony and converted to a life of devout bachelorhood.
My ongoing conflict with Otto Sputz began on the first day of shooting. When I arrived on the set in the morning, eager to be of help and wanting to see if any changes in wording were needed, I was surprised to hear the actors voicing new lines of dialogue that were completely unknown to me.
"What's going on here?" I asked, looking at Otto.
"I have made a few alterations," Otto calmly replied.
"You've ruined my entire screenplay!" I said, my voice trembling with anger.
"No, I have made it better," he said.
"Those were my words!" I said, barely able to contain my feelings. "They came from the innermost depths of my soul!"
"Maybe so," he said, "but they were not good enough."
"Who in the hell are you to change my words?" I yelled.
"I am Otto Sputz," he replied.
I went looking for Calvin, earnestly hoping to find solace and support, but he offered no help. Instead, Calvin told me that whatever changes Otto had made to my screenplay probably were necessary and likely were for the best.
"Otto has many faults," Calvin said, "but when it comes to making creative decisions, he generally knows what he is doing."
My arguments with Otto were loud and frequent, but they were nothing compared to the unholy arguments that he had with Lydia. They fought on a fearsome scale, going at each other as if they were sworn enemies, with Otto screaming and Lydia shrieking. They hurled vitriol back and forth for hours at a time, stopping production and alarming onlookers. When they had fully vented their bitterness, Otto would throw down his shooting script and stamp on it with both feet, while Lydia staggered away and retreated to her dressing room, vowing not to finish the picture.
The wildest of the many disputes that broke out between Otto and Lydia at the studio has taken on the stature of a legend, and still is recounted with awe by those who were witnesses. It began when Otto, who was being particularly overbearing on that day, expressed dismay at the manner in which Lydia was saying her lines.
"Give it more feeling!" Otto demanded.
"I'm already giving it as much feeling as I can," Lydia said, crossly. "If I give it any more feeling, I'll get arrested for indecent conduct!"
"You are a poor excuse for an actress," Otto said, with a curl of his upper lip. "You are no better than an amateur!"
"You're nothing but a slave driver!" Lydia said, with her eyes blazing.
This battle was the opening of what became a war to end all wars. When it was over, Otto had shredded his script into tiny pieces and Lydia had destroyed most of the set. Lydia vowed never to work with Otto again, but the terms of her contract forced her to relent. She returned to the picture under protest.
The title of the picture kept changing from day to day, as Otto continued to mangle my story whenever the fancy took him. A Kiss for My Beloved became A Kiss for a Clown, A Kiss for a Plumber, A Kiss for a Banker, A Kiss for a Cowboy, and lastly, A Kiss for a Gangster. The final story was set in Chicago in the 1920s, during the time of Prohibition, and was filled with cops and crooks. Richard gave a lame portrayal as Al Capone. Lydia played the sweet sister of a homicidal bootlegger.
For me, as a beginner in Hollywood, an up-and-coming writer whose green heart was filled with honest ambitions, it all had become a total nightmare. My name was attached to the script of A Kiss for a Gangster, but I knew that nothing of my own screenplay remained. I told myself that in the future, assuming that I actually possessed any future in Hollywood, I would have to write under a different name. I was well on the way to utter despair.
A Kiss for a Gangster had its premiere at Grauman's Chinese Theatre. My shame, and my cowardice, prevented me from attending. I went into hiding for a month, and when I finally came out, I was stunned to find that the picture was a hit, and that people not only liked it, but were going in droves to see it. When I heard that it had received, among other nominations, an Academy Award nomination for Best Screenplay, I was utterly astounded. I was liable to win an award for a screenplay to which I had made no contribution.
What more can I say, other than to tell you that I won an Oscar? I accepted my award with the shortest speech of the evening: "Thank you, I guess." Richard Swellbore was Best Actor, Lydia Killjoy was Best Actress, and Otto Sputz haughtily accepted the award for Best Director. A Kiss for a Gangster was Best Picture. Hollywood was, indeed, a city in which anything could happen.
When Otto Sputz agreed to direct my first screenplay, A Kiss for My Beloved, I was both thrilled and apprehensive. I was thrilled because Otto Sputz was a giant among directors. He was a true artist, and his name was revered throughout Hollywood. I was apprehensive because he also had a wide reputation for maniacal perfectionism. He was known as a director who would go to whatever lengths were necessary in his pursuit of cinematic excellence. His demeanor on a set was that of an unrelenting dictator, and any actor who had the temerity to question his authority received an invariable response: "You are only an actor, but I am Otto Sputz!" Humility, according to Otto Sputz, was the sign of a weak character.
The two leading parts in the picture were given to Richard Swellbore, a pompous actor whose every word and gesture caused woman of all ages to swoon in ecstasy, and Lydia Killjoy, a flighty actress who was known to the world as a beautiful star of stage, screen, and gossip. In the story, their characters were a pair of youthful lovers who are separated by hardship and tragedy. In truth, Richard and Lydia, who once had shared a passionate romance that ended in tears, were known to hate the sight of each other. Neither of them had enough talent to fill a teaspoon, but the public adored them, and they never failed at the box office.
Calvin Mudwallow, the producer of the picture, was usually in a sour mood. He despised both Richard and Lydia, and rarely had anything pleasant to say about Otto Sputz. Aside from his daily visit to the racetrack, there was not much that Calvin Mudwallow enjoyed in this world, but as a producer he was one of a kind. His last picture, A Girl, a Guy, and a Gorilla, had been a hit of unprecedented proportions. Calvin lacked gentility and had only a passing acquaintance with good taste, but he knew everything there was to know about making movies.
Otto Sputz was unwilling, at first, to direct A Kiss for My Beloved. He let it be known that he regarded it as beneath his abilities. Calvin, who liked me and also liked the story, and who had the power to make or break a project with the raising of an eyebrow, had a short, serious conversation with Otto, causing the overbearing director to suddenly display a tepid interest in my screenplay.
Otto believed that, as a great director, he had an undisputed right, and even a duty, to enforce his own "interpretation." When Otto told me that in his view, my screenplay was "fraught with comedic potential," I began to worry. I had intended it to be a tear-jerker. I quickly learned that to Otto Sputz, a shooting script was nothing more than a loose set of guidelines, something to be tossed away without a second thought.
The evening before we went into production, Lydia separated from her eighth husband, Frederick, a ne'er-do-well who claimed to be a European prince. Lydia tended to be difficult at the best of times, and marital discord always made her behavior even worse. From the first moment that she set foot on the set of A Kiss for My Beloved, her usual fits of temper grew into lengthy bouts of grand fury. All attempts to reason with her were useless. I speak from weary experience when I say that an unhappy actress can be more troublesome than a herd of unruly elephants.
Richard Swellbore was clearly delighted to see Lydia in such a bad state. He spoke unkindly of Frederick, saying with undisguised glee, "Why, if that bum is a prince, then I'm Donald Duck!" Richard himself was on shaky ground at that time, being, as he liked to put it, "between wives." He later eloped with a manicurist who was young enough to be his granddaughter, a union that lasted nearly five days. After that, on the advice of both his lawyer and his accountant, he forswore matrimony and converted to a life of devout bachelorhood.
My ongoing conflict with Otto Sputz began on the first day of shooting. When I arrived on the set in the morning, eager to be of help and wanting to see if any changes in wording were needed, I was surprised to hear the actors voicing new lines of dialogue that were completely unknown to me.
"What's going on here?" I asked, looking at Otto.
"I have made a few alterations," Otto calmly replied.
"You've ruined my entire screenplay!" I said, my voice trembling with anger.
"No, I have made it better," he said.
"Those were my words!" I said, barely able to contain my feelings. "They came from the innermost depths of my soul!"
"Maybe so," he said, "but they were not good enough."
"Who in the hell are you to change my words?" I yelled.
"I am Otto Sputz," he replied.
I went looking for Calvin, earnestly hoping to find solace and support, but he offered no help. Instead, Calvin told me that whatever changes Otto had made to my screenplay probably were necessary and likely were for the best.
"Otto has many faults," Calvin said, "but when it comes to making creative decisions, he generally knows what he is doing."
My arguments with Otto were loud and frequent, but they were nothing compared to the unholy arguments that he had with Lydia. They fought on a fearsome scale, going at each other as if they were sworn enemies, with Otto screaming and Lydia shrieking. They hurled vitriol back and forth for hours at a time, stopping production and alarming onlookers. When they had fully vented their bitterness, Otto would throw down his shooting script and stamp on it with both feet, while Lydia staggered away and retreated to her dressing room, vowing not to finish the picture.
The wildest of the many disputes that broke out between Otto and Lydia at the studio has taken on the stature of a legend, and still is recounted with awe by those who were witnesses. It began when Otto, who was being particularly overbearing on that day, expressed dismay at the manner in which Lydia was saying her lines.
"Give it more feeling!" Otto demanded.
"I'm already giving it as much feeling as I can," Lydia said, crossly. "If I give it any more feeling, I'll get arrested for indecent conduct!"
"You are a poor excuse for an actress," Otto said, with a curl of his upper lip. "You are no better than an amateur!"
"You're nothing but a slave driver!" Lydia said, with her eyes blazing.
This battle was the opening of what became a war to end all wars. When it was over, Otto had shredded his script into tiny pieces and Lydia had destroyed most of the set. Lydia vowed never to work with Otto again, but the terms of her contract forced her to relent. She returned to the picture under protest.
The title of the picture kept changing from day to day, as Otto continued to mangle my story whenever the fancy took him. A Kiss for My Beloved became A Kiss for a Clown, A Kiss for a Plumber, A Kiss for a Banker, A Kiss for a Cowboy, and lastly, A Kiss for a Gangster. The final story was set in Chicago in the 1920s, during the time of Prohibition, and was filled with cops and crooks. Richard gave a lame portrayal as Al Capone. Lydia played the sweet sister of a homicidal bootlegger.
For me, as a beginner in Hollywood, an up-and-coming writer whose green heart was filled with honest ambitions, it all had become a total nightmare. My name was attached to the script of A Kiss for a Gangster, but I knew that nothing of my own screenplay remained. I told myself that in the future, assuming that I actually possessed any future in Hollywood, I would have to write under a different name. I was well on the way to utter despair.
A Kiss for a Gangster had its premiere at Grauman's Chinese Theatre. My shame, and my cowardice, prevented me from attending. I went into hiding for a month, and when I finally came out, I was stunned to find that the picture was a hit, and that people not only liked it, but were going in droves to see it. When I heard that it had received, among other nominations, an Academy Award nomination for Best Screenplay, I was utterly astounded. I was liable to win an award for a screenplay to which I had made no contribution.
What more can I say, other than to tell you that I won an Oscar? I accepted my award with the shortest speech of the evening: "Thank you, I guess." Richard Swellbore was Best Actor, Lydia Killjoy was Best Actress, and Otto Sputz haughtily accepted the award for Best Director. A Kiss for a Gangster was Best Picture. Hollywood was, indeed, a city in which anything could happen.