RKO Radio Pictures

by Richard B. Jewell

  In June the company held its sales convention at a familiar site, the Drake Hotel in Chicago. A program of fifty features for the 1934-1935 season was unveiled, along with a commitment to “clean” motion pictures. Moral rectitude on the Hollywood screen was still a hot issue at this time, thanks primarily to the recently formed and bellicose Catholic Legion of Decency. Corporate president Merlin Aylesworth assured the participants that “RKO has made clean pictures in the past and will continue to make them.”3

  Katharine Hepburn and Irene Dunne, considered the company's top stars, were scheduled to appear in three “specials” each. Such RKO veterans as Ann Harding and Wheeler and Woolsey maintained their positions on the program, but one name associated with RKO from its earliest days was missing. Richard Dix's performance in Stingaree had failed to resuscitate his career; the studio elected not to renew his contract.

  Directors assigned 1934-1935 pictures included John Cromwell, John Ford, and newcomers Mark Sandrich and George Stevens. Both had done fine work in the shorts division and been promoted to features.

  The association with Pioneer Pictures had not yet yielded any movies for RKO to distribute, but the plan was still alive. The goal remained production of the first feature in three-strip Technicolor. At that time, Pioneer was working on a short, La Cucaracha, designed to serve as a test of the feasibility of a feature undertaking. Merian Cooper's The Last Days of Pompeii was mentioned as the probable choice for the full-length color experiment.4

  Little else of consequence was revealed at the convention. RKO's production machine would continue to roll along, largely under its own momentum, without any noteworthy changes for the rest of the year.

  The condition of equity receivership also remained relatively unchanged. Some of the theater problems were ironed out, and termination of the management of the Radio City houses was effected. Actually, the RKO theater division desired to continue running the Music Hall and RKO Center, but when the company's lease expired on September 1, terms agreeable to both RKO and the Rockefeller interests could not be reached.5 The studio would still supply many films for presentation in the theaters, but actual operations now fell to the Rockefellers and their man W. G. Van Schmus. This turned out to be a good move for the Rockefellers because the two houses became more and more popular as the decade drew on. Once again, RKO's timing was poor.

  A plan of reorganization for Radio-Keith-Orpheum was finally initiated in November. Federal judge William Bondy, observing that “RKO had begun to show a profit for the first time in many months,” instructed the trustees to commence formulation of a reorganization plan “if the company's earnings continue their improvement.”6 Nevertheless, the end to receivership was not yet in sight; it would take considerable time to come up with a viable plan.

  The most important RKO release of 1934 was The Gay Divorcée. Fred Astaire had not originally wanted the studio to buy the stage hit in which he had starred. In November 1933 he wrote Katharine Brown, RKO's New York story editor: “I'm anxious to do my next picture—but hope they will not make it ‘Gay Divorce.' I'd really rather not do that story even though it has worked out so well for me in the theatre. So much of it is held up by ‘hoofing,' which of course cannot be done as advantageously on the screen. Hope you'll use your influence to make them get an original story, especially for the next thing I do.”7

  Pandro Berman saw the play in London, convinced Astaire it would make an excellent screen vehicle, and prevailed upon the New York executives to purchase the rights. Although Clare Luce and others were discussed as possible female leads, Ginger Rogers got the role—Astaire's objections notwithstanding. A final e was added to the movie title to satisfy the Hollywood censors, whose Catholic sensibilities decreed that a divorcée might be “gay,” but a divorce must always be viewed as a sad and serious matter.

  Production commenced in the summer of 1934 with Berman in charge rather than Lou Brock.8 Nevertheless, the old bugaboo of escalating costs reared its head and the final figure was about $100,000 over budget.9 The overrun was rapidly pardoned when the film opened in October. Ned De-pinet wrote J. R. McDonough an ecstatic memo calling Divorcée a “smash hit” and quoting comparative figures to show that the film was doing considerably better than Flying Down to Rio had done.10 It eventually made a profit of $584,000.

  The Gay Divorcée was significant for several other reasons. The romantic misunderstanding that fueled the plot became a basic formula for most of the later Astaire-Rogers efforts, the dance numbers were extraordinary, and the supporting characters (Edward Everett Horton, Alice Brady, Erik Rhodes, and Eric Blore) added humorous subplots that complemented the story's romantic thrust. Finally, the fundamental Astaire Rogers production team coalesced on The Gay Divorcée with producer Berman and Mark Sandrich, who would direct a majority of the films, heading the group. Other important members were studio art director Van Nest Polglase, who took overall responsibility for the quintessential art deco design of all the pictures, musical director Max Steiner, cameraman David Abel, and editor William Hamilton. According to dance critic and historian Arlene Croce, choreographer Hermes Pan also contributed, but received no credit.11

  The importance of The Gay Divorcée to RKO cannot be overemphasized. At this point in its history, the studio desperately needed a first-class attraction, something to lend prestige to Radio Pictures as well as assure a box-office windfall. It had been hoped that Katharine Hepburn would emerge as a powerful star, able to sustain the company with her considerable talent, but now it appeared she would never become one of Hollywood's truly magnetic personalities. Hepburn was a great actress, but she was not destined to be a great draw for RKO. The team of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, on the other hand, was rapturously embraced by the moviegoing public almost overnight. The Gay Divorcée proved to RKO that its new musical duo could become a topline attraction—something so alluring that exhibitors would scramble to book all the company's pictures in order to receive two or three Astaire-Rogers “specials” a year. The studio had finally stumbled upon a ticket to class and cash that would sustain it for years to come.

  RKO's remaining 1934 releases hardly raised a ripple within the industry. Anne of Green Gables, starring a fresh-faced teenager formerly known as Dawn O'Day, was a sleeper hit, generating $272,000 in profits. Miss O'Day was convinced to change her theatrical moniker to Anne Shirley, the Lucy Maud Montgomery-created heroine she played in the film, and she would hold on to that name for the rest of her career. Most of the other Radio Pictures, however, lost money—though not very much. Even the company's holiday picture, the $648,000 The Little Minister starring Katharine Hepburn, failed to break even. It came up $9,000 short.

  As a new year commenced, the zeitgeist in America seemed cautiously positive. The Depression had eased, and in New York and Hollywood, major studios were charting an increase in movie attendance, thanks partly to such stratagems as double features and “give-away” nights. With business conditions improving, all the companies had decided to produce more pictures, and RKO was no exception. This severely strained existing studio facilities, as J. R. McDonough explained in a letter to Merlin Aylesworth:

  We have been renting the Pathe facilities to independent producers because it is so far distant from this studio that we cannot afford to use it unless we set up separate production units there. Our own ranch is not used much because of its great distance from the studio and also because of its lack of dressing room facilities, restaurant facilities, etc. The result is that we are confined largely to the use of this Gower Street studio as to RKO productions. Its ten stages do not afford us enough room to keep pictures constantly in work. I mean by that it seems impossible for us to keep a steady flow of pictures shooting due to the difficulty of preparing some pictures while others are shooting.12

  McDonough requested an appropriation of $150,000 to $200,000 to build two or three additional stages. This expansion, he believed, would provide the necessary “elbow room” and pay for itself in two or three yea
rs.13 It took longer than McDonough had hoped, but finally the RKO board of directors allocated $500,000 for the project. The work was completed in 1936, adding to the RKO physical plant three sound stages, dressing rooms, an electrical storage building, scene docks, a number of film vaults, and a three-story office building.14

  As usual, the first half of 1935 was spent mapping out plans for the 1935-1936 season. J. R. McDonough took an active part in the formulations. In January he wrote Merlin Aylesworth stating that he intended to de-emphasize “over-sweet sentimental” stories such as Anne of Green Gables, Laddie, and Freckles. Although Anne of Green Gables had been especially profitable and McDonough expected the two other films to do well, he believed this type of screen entertainment was approaching the end of its cycle. Perhaps taking a page out of Merian Cooper's script, McDonough expressed the opinion that RKO should “concentrate as much as possible on the adventure, fast moving, quick dialogue type of story from now on.”15

  “Mac” McDonough had overlooked a crucial factor. RKO still did not have the requisite thespian talent to specialize in adventure pictures. With the exception of Astaire, who was hardly the King Solomon's Mines type, the studio's important stars were all female: Katharine Hepburn, Irene Dunne, Ginger Rogers, Ann Harding, and Barbara Stanwyck, the last of whom had joined RKO on a non-exclusive basis. Richard Dix did return to the company for B-picture roles in 1935, and Francis Lederer was still under contract, though no one seemed to understand how best to harness his talents. This suggested that fast-paced, action movies would probably be confined almost exclusively to B-unit productions.

  Indeed, RKO would continue to aim its A pictures at female audience members, and chief among those productions would be its pace-setting musicals. Pandro Berman's fierce determination to secure Roberta for RKO was the first to pay handsome dividends in 1935. The picture elevated the careers of Astaire, Rogers, and Irene Dunne and brought $770,000 in earnings into RKO's account.

  Even before he made The Gay Divorcée, Fred Astaire had heard about the play. He wrote Merian Cooper: “There is a show called ‘Roberta' which I am told would make a suitable thing for me with of course some revision. The part is that of a football player who falls heir to a gown shop in Paris called ‘Madame Roberta' & he goes over there to take charge of the business. As I could hardly be a football hero—it has been suggested to me that the character could be changed to that of a track star or something to suit my size.”16 The part that Astaire mentioned was eventually played by Randolph Scott, who did have the physique of a football player. Astaire took the role of Huck Haines, dancing bandleader of the “Wabash Indianians.”

  After filming was completed, the studio executives became convinced they had another big hit on their hands. Ned Depinet, visiting the West Coast in February, wired Jules Levy about the sneak preview: “First batch preview cards last night's ROBERTA came in and unanimously favorable, lauding picture to skies…. Comparisons odious but I think ROBERTA better all round entertainment and stronger box office attraction than DIVORCEE.”17

  Jerome Kern, who had written the original play with Otto Harbach, concurred with Depinet's appraisal. He telegrammed Berman: “Thanks for wonderful evening. It certainly was unique experience to find motion picture version of one of our plays something to be proud of instead of otherwise. Every department of the studio concerned in Roberta is to be congratulated.”18 The picture opened in March at the Radio City Music Hall and quickly became one of the big hits of its day.

  Roberta bogged down into an interminable fashion show near the end. The only point of interest concerning this sequence was the appearance of Lucille Ball as one of the models. This apparently represents the first RKO appearance of the actress whose company would, more than twenty years later, purchase the entire studio for the production of television programs.

  Not long after the debut of Roberta, RKO neighbor Paramount Pictures pulled free of receivership. Its plan for reorganization was accepted early in the year, thus ending the company's court supervision on April 5, 1935.19 RKO's receivership lingered on, however, despite definite evidence of progress. A disclosure of financial operations for 1934 revealed a small loss ($310,575) that compared quite favorably with the $4.4 million deficit of the year before.20 RKO Radio Pictures, the film production company, actually showed a profit of $570,378 for the year.21 Without question, RKO had made impressive headway toward rehabilitating its corporate and financial operations.

  Figure 10. Roberta (1935). Fred Astaire (right) and his assistant Hermes Pan discuss the choreography of one of the movie's musical numbers. (Courtesy of the University of Southern California Cinematic Arts Library)

  But the corporation still needed some financially responsible group to step forward and propose a workable reorganization plan. Apparently, Wall Street insiders had always expected RCA to do this, since it continued to hold a controlling interest in RKO. But David Sarnoff was not inclined to bail out the RCA offspring again. Memories of the unproductive 1931 intercession were still too fresh. Therefore, by midyear, other financial groups began to consider the opportunities inherent in the RKO situation. Leading the interested parties were the investment banking house of Lehman Brothers, which had been concerned with RKO financing for some years, and Floyd B. Odlum's Atlas investment trust.22 Atlas had already participated in the Paramount reorganization. The fact that RKO reported a net profit of $388,002 for the first twenty-one weeks of 1935 made the company seem more attractive as an investment.23

  At the midpoint of 1935, RKO released the most anticipated feature film in years—the first three-strip Technicolor special, Becky Sharp. Becky Sharp had been incubating since 1933 when John Hay (Jock) Whitney and his cousin Cornelius Vanderbilt (Sonny) Whitney formed Pioneer Pictures at the suggestion of their friend Merian C. Cooper. The Whitneys were not really interested in making motion pictures; as the company name suggested, they hoped to blaze new trails in the entertainment industry. Color film seemed the next logical step in the evolution of the cinema, prompting the Whitneys to decide to produce the initial feature in the “perfected” Technicolor process.

  Color was actually nothing new. The Motion Picture Herald listed fifty different color processes that had been utilized with varying degrees of success since the silent era.24 Technicolor had been available to movies since the early 1920s, and many films had been produced, either partially or wholly, in the company's two-color process. RKO's own Rio Rita and Dixiana were among those pictures.

  But all the earlier processes—including those of Technicolor—had been flawed. They failed to produce vivid and realistic color images. Technicolor finally solved the problem, developing a technology that offered filmmakers the full spectrum of color possibilities. When the three-color process first became available in 1933, Walt Disney quickly adopted it for some of his cartoons. His color Silly Symphonies were well received, and it seemed only a matter of time before someone completed a “natural color” feature. But, to the chagrin of Herbert Kalmus, the president of Technicolor, no one stepped forward. The problem was the added expense.

  Several of the RKO executives were less than enthusiastic about three-strip Technicolor. Both Pandro Berman and B. B. Kahane expressed serious hostility; they believed that “color would not add enough value to the negative to compensate” for the additional costs involved.25 They also apparently worried about the possibility that public enthusiasm for three-color pictures might bring the black-and-white era to an end—just as the success of The Jazz Singer and Lights of New York had mandated the conversion to talkies. If this happened, the average budget of RKO features would skyrocket. To begin with, three times as much film had to be shot, and processing and printing charges were also higher. The extra expenditure would vary from picture to picture, but there was no doubt that color would add at least 15 percent to production budgets.

  The two men at RKO who embraced color filming were Merian Cooper and Kenneth Macgowan. Since Cooper was ill throughout much of the Becky Sharp germinatio
n period, Macgowan became liaison between the studio and Pioneer Pictures, as well as the film's line producer. Because of Cooper, RKO had agreed to distribute the finished picture. The company really had nothing tangible at stake; the Whitneys were putting up all the money for production. RKO provided only studio facilities and Macgowan's services.

  The first important decision facing Jock Whitney and Macgowan involved the choice of a property. It had to be something exemplary, a story with enough cachet and substance to merit special treatment. Hamlet, Joan of Arc, Tristan and Isolde, The Three Musketeers, and The Last of the Mohicans were some of the titles considered before Becky Sharp finally won out. The film would be based on Langdon Mitchell's play, which had been adapted from Thackeray's classic novel Vanity Fair.

  While discussions concerning the crucial property dragged on, Macgowan convinced Whitney to make a short film as a kind of trial run. Respected set and costume designer Robert Edmond Jones—present in the early days of Radio City Music Hall—was hired as art director. He worked closely with director Lloyd Corrigan on La Cucaracha, completed in the summer of 1934. The short was a flimsy tale about a Mexican girl (Steffi Duna) whose perseverance enables her to win the affection of a handsome dancer. Nevertheless, the film showcased the new Technicolor beautifully and would ultimately win an Academy Award as Best Short Subject (Comedy) of 1934. La Cucaracha fulfilled its purpose, as Macgowan wrote Whitney: “As things turn out, it seems to me the making of ‘Cucaracha' was really very fortunate. We have learned far more about the difficulties and costs of a feature than we ever could have with ordinary tests or even with the shooting of one sequence from our intended picture.”26

  Jock Whitney was pleased and decided to proceed. After Becky Sharp was chosen and Miriam Hopkins signed to play the lead, a director had to be hired. When the decision making ended, the job belonged to Lowell Sherman. The actor-director had not made a film on the RKO lot since Morning Glory (1933).