Hollywood’s Movie Tycoons: A Fade to Black Saga on Screen

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In the Apple TV+ series titled “The Studio“, Seth Rogen portrays Matt Remick, a newly appointed studio head at Continental Pictures, which appears to be a fictional production company. The show, characterized by fast-paced camera work and dialogue that references popular celebrities (although they don’t actually appear), promises an inside look at the struggling movie industry in the era of streaming platforms. From what I’ve seen so far, Matt doesn’t seem to be one of those individuals who can easily grasp the complexities of the film business, as famously stated by F. Scott Fitzgerald, “the very few men who have been able to keep the whole equation of pictures in their heads.” In fact, he seems to struggle even with simple math.

Hollywood movies have often reflected on themselves by drawing inspiration from their art and industry, which is why the recent focus on high-profile talent is not surprising, even though there are few films about gaffers, best boys, or foley artists. This practice is rooted in a longstanding tradition.

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The representation of top-tier Hollywood talent in movies today follows a well-established pattern, as these productions often delve into the industry’s own art and business. However, it’s unusual that we don’t see many films about gaffers, best boys, or foley artists, as this is part of a longstanding tradition.

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The latest portrayals of Hollywood’s elite talent are in line with a time-honored approach, where movies tap into the industry’s art and commerce for their stories. It’s peculiar that there aren’t more films about gaffers, best boys, or foley artists, as this is consistent with the industry’s long history.

1896 saw Thomas Edison, the pioneering American movie maker, team up with illustrator J. Stuart Blackton for a short film titled “Blackton, the Evening World Cartoonist“. In this production, made by the Edison Manufacturing Company, Blackton is depicted drawing a portrait of Edison on camera.

In this genre of films that mirror the real-life Hollywood world (often referred to as “Hollywood about Hollywood” or “inside-Hollywood” movies), the studio bosses have typically played secondary roles, with the spotlight mainly on rising stars and directorial figures who stand in for the big names in the opening credits. Screenwriters, often viewed as expendable staff by the management, found a way to retaliate by depicting their superiors as fools or crude characters whose primary function was to sign checks and cause delays in the filmmaking process. For example, in the films “Sullivan’s Travels” (1941), “Sunset Blvd.” (1950), and “Singin’ in the Rain” (1952), producers are portrayed as insisting on repetitive productions of lesser-quality films, dismissing innovative ideas, or underestimating the impact of groundbreaking works like “Gone With the Wind” (1939) and “The Jazz Singer” (1927).

Initially, fans caught glimpses of the world hidden within studio walls through fan publications and rumors. However, movies themselves became an educational tool revealing the production process. In 1915, Universal Pictures’ founder Carl Laemmle introduced Universal City to public tours and released a two-reel comedy titled “A Day at Universal City” (1915). Marketed as “an amusing glimpse into studio life,” it presented producer-director Al Christie overseeing the script department, filming, editing, laboratory work, and screenings.

By the 1920s, movie-watchers were already familiar with the behind-the-scenes workings of film production. In King Vidor’s Show People (1928), Marion Davies satirized Hollywood and her own image, assuming that viewers had caught on to the old inside jokes, recognized her cameos, and chuckled at the portrayal of the inept leading man claiming credit for his stunt double’s feats. Interestingly, Davies had a powerful studio boss, media tycoon William Randolph Hearst, who was more than just a side interest to her. The most noteworthy cameo in the film is Davies’ own: when her character recognizes Marion Davies on set, she makes a face as if to say, “she’s not very impressive.

In the largely forgotten film “The Talk of Hollywood” (1929), directed by Mark Sandrich, it’s the studio head who takes center stage. This early talkie was filmed with the camera fixed to the floor. Nat Carr, a popular comedian known for his Hebrew-Hibernian humor in films like “Koster Kitty Kelly” (1926) and “Private Izzy Murphy” (1926), portrays J. Pierpoint Ginsberg, a silent film producer hailing from a shtetl background, grappling with the shift to talkies. And boy, does he have issues! He complains to his casting director about the number of performers he requested, “I asked you for a chorus of sixty,” he grumbles, “I didn’t mean that’s how old they should be!

George Cukor’s 1932 film “What Price Hollywood?” produced by David O. Selznick, who was well-acquainted with the industry, toned down ethnic stereotypes. Instead of serving as an exposé of the town under the real estate sign, it became a reflection on lessons already learned. The movie follows Constance Bennett’s character, a starstruck waitress at the Brown Derby who idolizes Gable and mimics Garbo, eventually landing on the cover of the magazines she admired. As her journey from bit player to marquee name mirrors Hollywood’s stardom-making process, we see ad executives, gossip columnists, early paparazzi, and glamorous premieres. Gregory Ratoff, a Russian immigrant, portrays Bennett’s compassionate, Yiddish-accented studio chief, a character that mirrored some real-life film producers more closely than viewers might realize, according to Variety at the time.

1941 saw two novels that spotlighted producers in the Tinseltown tale emerge: “The Last Tycoon,” an unfinished work by F. Scott Fitzgerald published posthumously, and “What Makes Sammy Run” by Budd Schulberg. As the offspring of B.P. Schulberg, a long-standing production head at Paramount Pictures, Schulberg had exceptional insider knowledge. The central character in his novel is Sammy Glick, a ruthless climber who ascends from copy boy to agent to producer through underhanded tactics like stealing credit and betraying peers. Fitzgerald, in a letter to Bennett Cerf, Schulberg’s editor at Random House, commended the book, acknowledging the truth of its depictions, albeit with a degree of detachment.

It’s generally believed that the character Glick in Hollywood was modeled after the larger-than-life persona and (allegedly) questionable actions of Jerry Wald, a screenwriter turned producer. However, it’s important to note that Wald wasn’t the only one who could have fit this role, as his ruthless business tactics matched the character well. In fact, Irving Hoffman from The Hollywood Reporter noted that “it wouldn’t be entirely fair to equate Sammy with Jerry, considering at least a handful of other potential candidates.” Schulberg himself stated that Glick was a combination of various individuals, but this didn’t stop producers who hadn’t even met him from giving him suspicious looks in public.

In the narrative of “The Last Tycoon,” Monroe Stahr is the central figure, a character modeled on Irving Thalberg, who at just 20 years old was already managing Universal Studios and hadn’t even reached an age to cash his paychecks. Later, he was lured by Louis B. Mayer to MGM where he became the creative mastermind behind the “genius of the system,” a term coined by the French for the quality control maintained by Hollywood studios. When he tragically passed away at 36 in 1936, it sent shockwaves throughout the entire industry. Newspapers like the Reporter proclaimed “Hollywood in Gloom” and mourned the loss of this great producer known as “Death of Thalberg.

Thalberg played a significant role in inspiring F. Scott Fitzgerald’s glowing tribute to his “whole equation” and laying the groundwork for “The Last Tycoon.” In 1939, when writing to an editor at Collier’s, Fitzgerald revealed that Stahr was essentially Irving Thalberg – a secret he kept quite well. Neither film reviews nor Edmund Wilson in his introduction to “The Last Tycoon” mentioned the apparent model. Interestingly, no Hollywood studio approved either “What Makes Sammy Run” or “The Last Tycoon” for movie adaptation during that period. Instead, it was television – an emerging medium at the time – that adapted both books in 1949, airing them on NBC’s Philco Television Playhouse.

Television’s influence may have spurred the increase in movies with a Hollywood theme during the post-war period, as the film industry seemed to assert its continued allure and artistic merit on the big screen. For instance, films like “Sunset Boulevard,” “Singin’ in the Rain,” “The Star” (1952), “A Star Is Born” (1954), and “The Big Knife” (1955) were used to show this. As Hedda Hopper, a gossip columnist, put it, there was a change in atmosphere. Initially, films with Hollywood backdrops were seen as a recipe for failure. Moreover, the establishment had been hesitant to expose its inner workings at the local cinema. Following a screening of “Sunset Boulevard” on the Paramount lot, MGM’s Louis B. Mayer accused director Billy Wilder, “You scoundrel! You should be branded and banished from Hollywood!

As a devoted cinema enthusiast, I’d like to share an interesting factoid about Hollywood history: It was Victor Mayer who found himself out of the picture scene in 1951, pushed aside for fresh talent, with Dore Schary stepping up as a symbol of a new breed of studio heads – more sophisticated and intellectual. Under Schary’s leadership, MGM unveiled what might be considered the pinnacle of producer-focused Hollywood insights, “The Bad and the Beautiful” (1952). This masterpiece, directed by Vincente Minnelli and written by Charles Schnee and George Bradshaw, is a sharp-witted corporate melodrama that delves into the lives of Hollywood producers.

The narrative unfolds in a series of flashbacks, chronicling the rise and fall of producer Jonathan Shields (portrayed brilliantly by Kirk Douglas). From B-movie mediocrity to Academy Award-winning masterpieces, then back to box office disappointments, Shields’ journey is nothing short of captivating. In a bid for redemption, he summons three former associates – a director (Barry Sullivan), an actress (Lana Turner), and a screenwriter (Dick Powell) – all of whom he had mentored and betrayed. As he puts it, “Some of the best movies are made by people working together who can’t stand each other.”

Kirk Douglas truly shines in this role, particularly when playing a rogue, as seen in “Champion” (1949) and “Ace in the Hole” (1951). His portrayal of the conniving, charming SOB with the morals of Sammy Glick and the genius of Irving Thalberg is nothing short of spectacular. After a screening, Lana Turner reportedly sent Douglas a telegram he must have cherished: “I Wasn’t Bad, and You Were Beautiful.

It’s clear that everyone in town is abuzz with curiosity about who produced Metro’s The Bad and the Beautiful, Sheila Graham, a gossip columnist, hinted quietly without naming her source. I had always thought Shields was modeled after Darryl F. Zanuck of Twentieth Century-Fox, a man known for his ruthless yet brilliant nature, but John Houseman, the actual producer of the film, wrote in his 1979 memoir Front and Center, that Shields bears significant resemblances to David O. Selznick’s character, our villainous hero. He also mentioned that Selznick hired a lawyer to review the film to check for any potential issues, but ultimately found none.

In alignment with contemporary sentiment, the 1960s fostered a gritty and skeptical viewpoint towards Hollywood, making films like Sunset Blvd seem almost romantic in comparison. Richard Rouse’s biting critique, The Oscar (1966), which failed to secure any nominations, presents Stephen Boyd as a character reminiscent of Sammy Glick, exploiting and mistreating cast, crew, agents, and girlfriends. Critic Bosley Crowther of the New York Times condemned it as “yet another disheartening instance of Hollywood soiling its own backyard,” but producer Rouse defended his unsparing portrayal of the industry, asserting that audiences in Los Angeles reacted with near-audible shock at the film’s accurate depiction. It’s worth noting that the kindest soul among these cutthroat individuals is the character played by Joseph Cotton. Perhaps it’s no surprise then, that the actresses in Valley of the Dolls (1967) resort to drug use to escape their reality.

In the 1970s, the most striking depiction of a film producer was the character played by John Marley in the movie “The Godfather” (1972), who found a horse’s head next to him as a means to reconsider a casting choice. Yet, that decade also brought forth the screen adaptation of “The Last Tycoon,” which fittingly bore the title character. This production was overseen by Sam Spiegel, directed by Elia Kazan, scripted by Harold Pinter, and featured Robert De Niro in a polished role as Stahr.

As a devoted admirer, I can tell you that a typical day in Stahr’s life is filled with intrigue, from battling personal struggles of his colleagues to navigating the unpredictable world of film production. Sifting through numerous takes, he swiftly decides which ones deserve the limelight and which scenes should be left behind. Before getting entangled in a heavy love story that could potentially sink the entire project – the kind of cinematic quicksand that Thalberg would have vetoed during the scriptwriting phase – The Last Tycoon offers an insightful glimpse into the life of a producer. In THR, Ron Pennington depicted Stahr as “an Irving Thalberg-style producer who shied away from screen credit but who was, in essence, an artist, skillfully blending the talents of other artists.” This portrayal encapsulates the concept of the producer-as-auteur just as brilliantly as Fitzgerald’s “the whole equation.” (Film critic Kenneth Turan borrowed this phrase for his outstanding dual biography, Louis B. Mayer and Irving Thalberg: The Whole Equation, which was published earlier this year.)

At the end of the previous century, many studio executives and aspiring ones were frequently depicted as ruthless, ready to go to any lengths for a successful film project. In the movie “The Player” (1992) by writer-producer Michael Tolkin and Robert Altman, studio executive Griffin Mill (played by Tim Robbins) momentarily pauses from enjoying expensive dining to commit murder in order to secure a valuable property. Similarly, in “Get Shorty” (1995), all the gangsters were keen on transitioning their careers into film production by developing a guaranteed hit project. The ultimate winner of the Hollywood race was Chili Palmer (played by John Travolta), a film enthusiast and loan shark enforcer, who could distinguish between films like “Rio Bravo” (1959) and “El Dorado” (1966).

If any movie could complete the studio boss’s journey, it would be “The Kid Stays in the Picture” (2002), directed by Nanette Burstein and Brett Morgan. This biographical documentary is based on Robert Evans’ 1994 memoir and is narrated by him. It tells the story of the last, known, old-school Hollywood producer who had a hands-on role in Paramount Pictures during its second golden age from 1967 to 1974. The film starts with an extraordinary tale from Hollywood that no screenwriter would dare propose to a producer. At the Beverly Hills Hotel, actress Norma Shearer saw an appealing young man talking on the phone near the pool. She was reminded of her late husband, Irving Thalberg, by his intense energy and demanded that Evans be cast as Thalberg in the Lon Chaney biopic “Man of a Thousand Faces” (1957). In this way, a non-star but a producer was born.

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2025-04-20 17:26