HOLLYWOOD’S WAY

Evening Star, Issue 21099, 11 May 1932, Page 4

HOLLYWOOD’S WAY

IDLERS ON HUGE SALARIES Mr Noel Coward is appalled by Hollywopd. Actors there, he says, rise at 6.30 ’and have to be ‘made up and on the lot by 8. They eat a hurried lunch, and by night are too tired to eat dinner at all (writes Campbell Dixon, in the London ‘ Daily Telegraph ’).. „ As for the writers, Mr Coward says they work in rabbit hutches and punch the time clock on arrival like mechanics. Ho wonders how in such conditions they can write. The answer is that many of them don’t. Mr P. G. Wodehouse was paid £4OO a week for a year. For his £20,000 ho wrote some dialogue for ‘ Three French Girls ’ and ‘ The Man In Possession,’ and did some work on a musical story that was never produced. I calculate that Mr Wodehouse’s contributions to the Hollywood screen must have brought him at least £IOO a line. No wonder he described himself as the world’s highest paid idler. Not that his experience was exceptional. Mr Michael Arlen once told mo with satisfaction how lie was induced bv a magnate to visit Hollywood on the off chance that ho would feel inspired to write a story. He was lent a magnificent villa and a car, he lunched, dined, and danced at all the most amusing places, ho met everybody worth meeting, there was never a dull moment. When the holiday became too exhausting ho obligingly Jet the magnate have one of Ins earlier short stories. ‘ The Ace of Cads,’ for a great deal of money, shook him by the hpnd, and affably departed..

Mr Louis Bremfield had a rather dif-j ferent experience—or so the story goes*. His 1 Twenty-four Hours ’ having caused a sensation, lie was offered 100,000dol to go to Hollywood. He went, played golf for a month, and then met his producer. “ When do I begin work?” asked Air Bromfield, a little worried. “ Now. don’t you worry about work,” said the great man, kindly. “ You just go on enjoying yourself,” • “ But I’d rather work,” the author persisted. “ Well, to tell you the honest truth, we don’t want you to write—we just brought you for your name. Good-day, Air Bromfield.” One thing you must concede to the film men generosity. A German author, engaged at £2OO a week, sat neglected for three weeks, and went off, in _ a huff to Berlin. Then, feeling guilty, he returned—to find that four more pay envelopes were lying on his desk. His absence had not even been noticed.

Your contract once up, however, th® axe falls instantly and without mercy. Mr Wodehouse tells how Mr Roland Pertweo, engaged to do a story for Alarilyn Miller, left the studio, on® night with the assurance that his work was “splendid.” When he returned in the morning a policeman barred th® way. He had been sacked. But there are others whose fate is different. Aliss Frances Marion, whose recent stories include ‘ Alin and Bill* and ‘ Emma,’ is already a millionairess.: Sidney Howard, who wrote f The Silver Cord' and' ‘They Knew Whafc They Wanted’; Ernest Vajda, the clever Hungarian author of ‘ Fata Alorgana ’; Ivor Novello, who has been kept so busy writing that he has hart little time to act; these are a few of the brilliant people who are paid more than many a film star.