RKO Radio Pictures

by Richard B. Jewell

  B. B. Kahane also had concerns, which he had expressed to McDonough during the previous week. After mentioning Where Sinners Meet, Let's Try Again, Murder on the Blackboard, We're Rich Again, and other titles as examples of the mediocre offerings on the studio schedule, he asked McDonough to approve an extra $50,000 for the $175,000 budget of Down to Their Last Yacht.72 This Lou Brock musical production might, according to Kahane, qualify as a class A picture if the extra money were forthcoming. McDonough agreed to the extra funding, but the results were not at all what Kahane hoped.

  Stingaree and Of Human Bondage represented the only films that Pandro Berman had confidence in. The former, set in Australia, starred Richard Dix and Irene Dunne in a singing role. Berman remarked that he “could have wished for better work…i n connection with writing and direction,” but still expected Stingaree to be a “money picture.” He was not as certain about Somerset Maugham's Of Human Bondage, at least from the money-earning standpoint: “ ‘ Of Human Bondage’ from the rushes looks very big. It will probably be one of the best pictures we have ever made. Its box-office I cannot vouch for as it will depend entirely upon whether the public will accept a fine realistic picture which has as its principal star Leslie Howard.”73

  Berman was right. The film, directed by John Cromwell, became one of the most powerful dramas of the year and made a star of Bette Davis, who had been borrowed from Warner Bros., but it would not bring home any profits.

  Another of Berman's difficulties was a scarcity of good associates. Since he had forsaken individual productions for overall program supervision, he was left with Kenneth Macgowan, Lou Brock, and a few lesser names to turn out films. Brock, promoted to features after the successes of Melody Cruise and Flying Down to Rio, had become temperamental and was causing both Berman and Kahane unending grief. Each of Brock's pictures was going over budget. Kahane described the new Brock policy to McDonough:

  Berman and I have had to adopt a new rule with respect to Brock's productions. First of all, we do not feel we can assign him more than one picture at a time. Secondly, we will assign him a writer and let him work on the script until he has brought in a satisfactory script and the Production Department brings in an estimate that is within the appropriation, and will not allow him to make any commitments for directors and members of the cast. This is far from an ideal way of proceeding with productions.74

  Kahane concurred with Berman that the RKO “producers staff is really extremely weak” and mentioned that they had been “desperately trying to find some available producers who can be relied upon.”75 He and Berman had been unsuccessful, principally because the company could not afford to pay the necessary salaries for reliable, experienced men.

  In mid-June, not long after he became the studio's official production leader, Pandro Berman's frustrations boiled over. He addressed a vitriolic memorandum to B. B. Kahane complaining about interference he was receiving—especially from McDonough—and about the studio's policy of lending out such stars as Irene Dunne and Ann Harding.76 Not only was RKO receiving nothing but vague promises in return, Berman admonished, but the policy was destroying production schedules as well. Berman, who was then only thirty years old, seemed to feel RKO had betrayed him personally:

  Figure 8. Of Human Bondage (1934). Actors Leslie Howard and Bette Davis, with crew members and director John Cromwell (wearing hat and positioned next to the actors in the photo). The film made Davis a star, but not for RKO. She had been borrowed from Warner Bros. for this production. (Courtesy of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences)

  I honestly do not see what benefits can come to the company in my being called Executive Producer, which is a ridiculously empty title under the present circumstances. The Company has never adopted these tactics when they were dealing with men who had no interest but a selfish one, and men who spent the company's money blindly for personal glory. Why the company should decide now to thwart every move of one who is most conscious of its desires for economy and efficiency, as well as quality, I cannot understand. I have not asked for this position, but was forced into it against my will out of a sense of loyalty and a desire to be helpful to those I thought my friends.77

  Pandro Berman asked for an immediate “show-down” on the matter.

  Kahane was apparently infuriated by the memo. He shot back a reply the following day, relieving Berman of production oversight and granting his request to head his own unit. Kahane prefaced the memo with references to “nervous and mental strain” that seemed to have affected Berman, and then proceeded to counter every charge the young executive had made. The policy of lending stars to other studios was not disruptive to production, Kahane argued, and RKO had benefited from it. He cited the acquisition of John Boles from Fox for two pictures. With respect to McDonough, Kahane interpreted the situation quite differently than Berman had: “You also claim that you are getting interference from Mr. McDonough. What you call interference, Mr. McDonough does not consider interference at all. As President of the Company and with responsibility as such, Mr. McDonough intends to continue to get into matters of production and discuss stories, properties and policies with you and other producers when he is here.”78

  It is hard to determine who was right about the interstudio lending arrangements. But Berman had a valid gripe about McDonough, notwithstanding Kahane's rationalization. McDonough emerges, in his letters and memoranda and in the descriptions of others, as a strong-minded organization man, an efficiency expert who certainly had his place within the RKO structure. But to thrust this individual into a creative post where he could directly influence the company's production policies seemed foolhardy. J. R. McDonough had no training and no experience in this area; he had, in fact, been working for RKO less than a year. And yet suddenly he found himself in a position to pass judgment on story selection, casting, and other vital matters. No wonder Pan Berman was upset.

  Later in June, Time magazine called RKO “Hollywood's most mismanaged studio” in an article discussing Berman's resignation as production chief.79 The story also reported that Benjamin Bertram Kahane himself would take charge. Thus, a new regime was born in the summer of 1934. It would have approximately the same longevity as its two antecedents.

  Before Merian Cooper stepped down, Merlin Aylesworth had reembarked on his campaign for a radio-movie symbiosis. The latest idea involved a new NBC radio program. Hollywood on the Air would emanate weekly from the RKO studio and feature a stock company composed of RKO players.80 The movie company had fronted a similar program, called RKO Theatre of the Air, in its early days, but it had not been successful. Even though the talent lineup for this new offering was definitely second-class (Chick Chandler, Tom Brown, Thelma White, Dorothy Grainger, and others), and though stars of the first magnitude would participate only occasionally, industry opinion was largely negative. The Motion Picture Herald announcement of the show trumpeted: BROADCASTERS ORGANIZE RAID ON HOLLYWOOD FILM TALENT.81 In June, Hollywood columnist Victor Shapiro reported that exhibitors were upset because “any broadcast by film folk keeps patrons at home.”82

  Aylesworth was unmoved by the criticism. At about the same time Hollywood on the Air was being launched, he ordered the studio to begin developing a picture featuring a number of radio talents. The tentative title was The NBC Revue of 1934, though it was later changed to Radio City Revels in order to provide additional exposure to the entertainment complex.83 Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers were projected as the stars of the film with Joe Penner, Block and Sully, and other NBC favorites making appearances. Something like the Paramount “Big Broadcast” films was envisioned. The studio failed to put the package together in 1934, but the idea continued to hold high priority for several years.

  The films turned out during Merian Cooper's convalescence periods and the month when Pan Berman was officially in charge were, as Berman predicted, an undistinguished lot. Even though produced inexpensively, most did not make a profit. One of the biggest disappointments was Man of Two Words because
it introduced Francis Lederer to American audiences. Far short of the star-making vehicle RKO officials were seeking, this odd picture about an Eskimo thrust into British culture ended up losing $220,000. Stingaree, which Pandro Berman had predicted would be a “money picture,” lost $49,000; Of Human Bondage, which garnered many positive reviews, lost $45,000; and four other films lost more than $100,000 each. The most distressing of the four was Down to Their Last Yacht.

  Producer Lou Brock assured his RKO downfall through his mismanagement of this production. As mentioned previously, Kahane had squeezed extra funding out of McDonough for the film and had put the producer on notice concerning his less-than-professional approach to his job. But Brock did not pay much attention, for the picture quickly trampled its own budget. Kahane was particularly enraged by Brock's signal disregard for proper authorizations: “For instance, the budget called for twenty-one dancers for a period of two weeks and nineteen dancers for a week and a half. You [Brock] actually used fifty-six dancers and I am informed that you ordered the additional dancers and committed the company to the obligation without…any proper authorization. Similarly, you engaged forty singers instead of twenty-eight as provided for in the budget.”84

  In the same memo, Kahane stated emphatically that Brock was not “to engage any people, add any scenes, make any expenditure, or incur any obligations not called for by the approved budget unless you first obtain from Mr. Berman or myself authorization or approval.”85 Much can be forgiven an indulgent producer if his efforts are successful. And both Melody Cruise and Flying Down to Rio had done well. But Brock's luck ran out with this picture. Kahane described his reaction to the previews in a letter to Ned Depinet: “At both sneak previews of the picture the reaction of the audience was unusually unfavorable. I never felt so sick at heart and disappointed at the reactions given any picture as was given ‘Down to Their Last Yacht.’ ”86 Brock and others at the studio tried to repair the damage with additional editing and sound work, but the movie was beyond help.

  Directed by Paul Sloane, this Depression-inspired tale of former millionaires forced to live on their yacht and work for a living, which somehow devolves into a South Seas adventure, quickly became known around the lot as the worst film RKO had ever made; the company was fortunate it lost only $198,000.

  Although Spitfire was the biggest success ($113,000 profit) of this group of pictures, it actually turned out to be more disastrous in the long run than Down to Their Last Yacht. Lula Vollmer's play Trigger was purchased by RKO with the intention of starring Dorothy Jordan as uninhibited mountain girl Trigger Hicks. When Katharine Hepburn learned about the property, she became enamored of the character and used her influence with Pandro Berman to secure Trigger for herself.87 John Cromwell was assigned to direct, and the film was made in late 1933. Production culminated in Hepburn's celebrated “$10,000 holdup,” described earlier in this chapter.

  Spitfire kicked off public disenchantment with Katharine Hepburn that would grow throughout most of the rest of the decade. Her portrayal of Trigger Hicks must surely be the worst performance of her career. She was completely miscast as the uneducated, poverty-stricken mountain girl who mixed quaint oaths with hymn singing and rock flinging at the very people for whom she prayed. Hepburn's uneven rendition of a southern accent came off as laughable and nearly unintelligible. It was a terrible mistake on her part to want to play the role, and a terrible mistake on Pandro Berman's part to let her do it. Apparently, she felt challenged by a character whose background was the exact opposite of her own wealthy, educated New England upbringing. And Berman and the other executives perhaps believed that the essence of Trigger Hicks was rebellion mixed with vulnerability, qualities Hepburn had mined successfully in earlier roles. Whatever the justifications, Spitfire proved to be a miscalculation that would plague RKO and its best actress for years to come.

  Figure 9. Down to Their Last Yacht (1934). The crew shooting one of the musical numbers includes producer Lou Brock, who is wearing a suit and standing underneath the camera crane. This unfortunate movie would abort Brock's RKO career. (Courtesy of the University of Southern California Cinematic Arts Library)

  In spite of the deficient productions, the company continued to make progress in its efforts to pull free of equity receivership. The reduction in 1933 losses and a consolidated profit of $498,131 for the first quarter of 1934 indicated RKO was slowly working its way out of debt.88 No formal plan of reorganization had yet been presented to the court, however.

  When President Franklin Roosevelt signed new bankruptcy laws into effect on June 7, 1934, Radio-Keith-Orpheum became the first corporation to file for relief under the statutes.89 Paramount joined its neighbor, filing a similar petition a few days later. The new code, known familiarly as 77B, did not materially affect the receivership situations of either company.

  The state of affairs at Radio City also showed improvement. On the first anniversary of the change to film programs at the Music Hall, RKO announced that more than six million people had attended the theater during the year.90 Two million additional admissions had been purchased at the RKO Roxy box office. The theaters had booked films from several studios, but RKO pictures had predominated. Attendance records still belonged to Little Women, which played the Music Hall for three weeks and then moved into the RKO Roxy for four more. Hepburn's other vehicles Christopher Strong and Morning Glory had also enjoyed successful runs at the Music Hall.

  J. R. McDonough accepted S. L. Rothafel's resignation as managing director of the Music Hall in January 1934. The Music Hall had been one long nightmare for Roxy since the ill-fated premiere. After recuperating from illness, he returned to work but encountered considerable pressure from RKO theater executives who felt his stage shows were overly extravagant and “too long” and “lacked humor.” Rothafel disliked this kind of criticism and quit, though he defended himself to the end: “The budget at all times was adhered to. At no time were the stage shows in excess of the budget allowance.”91

  It was also decided to change the name of the smaller theater, though this had nothing to do with Rothafel's departure. The RKO Roxy became known as the RKO Center because of pressure from the owners of the original Roxy Theater, who did not appreciate the fact that the Rockefellers and RKO had stolen Roxy away from them and were using his (their) name on the Radio City theater.

  Even though company finances were clearly improving, the Aylesworth-Kahane-Cooper period had not stabilized RKO. In fact, the company was more wobbly when the era ended than when it had begun. Merian C. Cooper's physical condition was largely to blame. With Cooper in absentia throughout much of his regime, studio production plans were constantly in flux and employee morale was certainly affected by this. The receivership situation compounded the insecurity. Although respectable progress was being reported, what if the studio's fortunes suddenly suffered another reversal? Considering the lousy pictures released in the first half of 1934, this was conceivable. Even if one preferred not to consider the possibility that RKO might go out of business, the effects of receivership were already depressing enough. The company had ceased bidding for the most prestigious properties and had suspended signing top-flight talent to long-term agreements. Its creative arm had begun to stagnate, to fall further behind MGM, Warner Bros., and other companies in the quality of its product. After a much ballyhooed debut, the “Titan” studio was now considered barely a notch above Universal, Columbia, and the poverty row companies. Fortunately, the Astaire-Rogers musicals were about to catch fire; they alone would lift the Radio film brand back to importance during the next several years.

  5. “He feels the company is unsettled”

  The Aylesworth-McDonough-Kahane Regime (1934-1935)

  Except for the emergence of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers as vital stars, very little of consequence transpired at RKO during the last half of 1934. J. R. McDonough set up a permanent office in Hollywood, and B. B. Kahane began devoting himself to specific production problems and decisions. Company
executives decided to maintain a low profile concerning the studio's new organizational structure. The fact that Kahane was now functioning as production chief received only passing mention in RKO publicity. Perhaps this was a face-saving strategy for Kahane, former president of the production company, who now appeared to be saddled with two separate jobs (he was still president of “RKO Studios”). In fact, McDonough would run the studio and both men would be involved in production planning.

  After Kahane took charge, he rapidly formalized the RKO equivalent of MGM's unit system of production. This meant that each staff producer would be responsible for a set number of features with Kahane maintaining overall supervision. In essence, this represented only a slight variation on the approach that had existed during Merian Cooper's periods of convalescence, except that each producer's group would be relatively autonomous. All productions were financed by RKO, however, and Kahane and McDonough therefore had the authority to step in and influence the process whenever they felt such action necessary.

  Pandro Berman headed the list of associates; he was given a unit of thirteen pictures containing most of the studio's important, high-budget presentations.1 Kenneth Macgowan was assigned six films, and Merian Cooper a minimum of two. The balance of the program would be divided among Richard A. Rowland, Cliff Reid, Glendon Allvine, H. N. Swanson, and former Robertson-Cole production head B. P. Fineman. Most of the B productions were supposed to be made by these individuals. Lou Brock was also mentioned, but his cavalier attitude and mishandling of Down to Their Last Yacht had already aborted his RKO feature career.2