RKO Radio Pictures

by Richard B. Jewell

  The producer situation was also aggravating. In 1937 Briskin had Edward Small, Edward Kaufman, Howard Hawks, Cliff Reid, Jesse Lasky, Robert Sisk, Joseph Sistrom, Maury Cohen, and P. G. Wolfson, plus Pandro Berman supervising pictures. Reid, Sisk, Sistrom, and Cohen mainly handled B releases under the administrative control of Lee Marcus.

  Among the A producers, Jesse Lasky had been a disappointment and the studio was biding its time, waiting for his contract to expire.61 Pinky Wolfson, after a brief shot at producing, returned to screenwriting, a less remunerative occupation he had momentarily transcended. Edward Small had not contributed any significant work as yet, but management was still deliberating his fate, as it was that of Edward Kaufman. Kaufman had guided The Ex-Mrs. Bradford but also some misfires. Berman remained the company's indisputable top man, regardless of several slips during the past two years. This left Howard Hawks, a filmmaker of unquestionable talent but questionable value to RKO.

  Hawks worked for almost a year, drawing a salary of $2,500 per week, before he put his first RKO picture into production.62 The film had special importance to the studio because Bringing Up Baby was designed to introduce a new Katharine Hepburn persona—the screwball comedienne—and to reinvigorate her flagging box-office appeal. To have some chance of making a profit, however, the picture's budget had to be reasonable. Indications were that no Katharine Hepburn vehicle could make money, during this juncture in her career, if it cost much more than a half-million dollars.

  Hawks was well aware of this, but maneuvered and finagled until the budget of Baby topped $1 million. Sam Briskin simply was not strong enough to keep the director in line. The following memo, written by Briskin's assistant Lou Lusty as shooting was about to commence, both confirms the basic auteur contentions about Hawks and shows why someone like Howard Hawks could have a devastating impact on a studio like RKO:

  I know, because the gentleman has said so in so many words, that he's only concerned with making a picture that will be a personal credit to Mr. Hawks regardless of its cost—and your [Briskin's] telling him the other day that it would be suicidal to make a Hepburn picture for seven or eight hundred thousand dollars I know made no impression on him at all.…Hawks is determined in his own quiet, reserved, soft-spoken manner to have his way about the making of this picture.…With the salary he's been getting he's almost indifferent to anything that might come to him on a percentage deal—that's why he doesn't give a damn about how much the picture will cost to make—and you know so well that you couldn't even break even if a Hepburn show cost eight hundred grand. All the directors in Hollywood are developing producer-director complexes and Hawks is going to be particularly difficult.63

  The picture (released in 1938 and discussed in the following chapter) is now considered a preeminent example of the comedy genre and one of the finest films ever produced by RKO. But in its time Bringing Up Baby was nothing but trouble for the company—and for Sam Briskin.

  Meanwhile, Briskin's concerns about the B productions continued to increase. In August he suggested to Leo Spitz that he (Briskin) might take over Marcus's job, utilizing two producers (probably Reid and Sisk) to help him oversee the B pictures. Spitz vetoed the idea. The company president was a supporter of Marcus and, quite rightly, explained to Briskin that supervising the B films could be a time-consuming burden that would hamper Briskin's overall performance.64

  Spitz believed the B-unit producers were the problem. He believed RKO was employing too many of them, and not one had an impressive record. Something had to be done, but about the only definite idea was to get rid of Joe Sistrom, an impossibility since he had ten months left on his contract.65 RKO was stuck. As Lou Lusty opined, “If it wasn't for the continued guidance and help from the front office, some of the gentlemen on the lot would never be able to finish a script—much less put it into production.”66

  Very little information about B releases had been forthcoming back in June when the company held its sales convention at the Ambassador Hotel in Hollywood. In the announcement of fifty-six features for the 19371938 season, the emphasis was, as always, on the most important coming attractions.67 But Sam Briskin did make an interesting statement regarding A and B production: “As to the gradation of pictures in terms of alphabet, we have had it definitely proven to us that public opinion is the conclusive marker. Our classification of a picture before it is put into production, either through budgeting its cast or by studding its cast with star names, has little bearing so long as it clicks at the box office.”68

  This was a rather clumsy verbal smokescreen, manufactured by Briskin to conceal the fact that RKO planned to produce fewer A films than in the past. Briskin was attempting to sidestep the question of just how many of RKO's 1937-1938 releases would actually be topnotch productions. In fact, only about fifteen were targeted for the A category.69

  Briskin's ploy evidently didn't work, because later that summer an ominous state of affairs became apparent to RKO executives. Exhibitors were refusing to sign contracts for the 1937-1938 program. Many of them were fed up with the company's inability to complete films in time to meet promised release dates. Ned Depinet wrote Briskin bemoaning the fact that “we have had to change our release schedule time and time and time again during the past year.”70 The larger issue was the quality of the product when it did arrive. According to Leo Spitz, theater owners were spurning the entreaties of RKO salesmen, “due, of course, to our record of performance and although we are all certain that we are going to show a tremendous improvement, the exhibitors want to be shown first.”71

  Part of the problem related to a decision to begin asking for better terms in RKO contracts. But then, the other studios were also demanding a larger cut of the box-office take. As Spitz suggested, the real difficulty was the substandard quality of recent RKO productions. RKO was depending on Stage Door, a hotly anticipated film that would launch the new season, to woo exhibitors into buying its product. The letter from Spitz to Briskin containing the sobering information about exhibitor resist ance also stated, openly and frankly, what RKO expected from its production chief: “I believe you are satisfied now that the only thing all of us are interested in—and that includes Trustees, lawyers, bankers, committees, etc.—is box-office pictures. Nobody cares who makes them or how they are gotten out—the final result is the only thing that counts.”72 The implication was clear. If Briskin did not start producing moneymaking films pretty soon, someone else would be given the opportunity.

  In September, Sam Briskin's problems became unmanageable. The “intermediate” pictures had turned into a plague. These films, mentioned prominently at the beginning of the year as a nurturing ground for new talent and a perfect venue for treating unusual story material, were losing money. Sam Briskin wrote Spitz blaming the situation on rising costs that he claimed were largely the result of militant labor activity in Hollywood: “It seems that every day there is a new organization formed and every day we are giving them something. You are familiar, of course, with the labor deal and the strike situation we had which resulted in giving the painters a fifteen percent increase.…We are now dealing with the office workers, the film editors, and the assistant directors.”73

  Related directly to picture budgets, this meant that intermediate films that cost $250,000 to $350,000 in 1935 now ranged between $300,000 and $500,000. The chances of turning a profit at these figures were virtually nonexistent because the pictures remained, in essence, B releases. Briskin suggested the idea of holding down A films to “six or eight,” striving to make those few truly “great” and eliminating the intermediates as much as possible.74 This was the Columbia Pictures philosophy that Briskin had helped to implement in his former position. Leo Spitz evidently did not give the idea any credence; he made no mention of it in his reply to Briskin.75

  Sam Briskin's struggles in Hollywood were paralleled by the efforts to resolve the receivership situation in New York. Financial experts had predicted that the reorganization plan submitted by Atlas Corpor
ation would be approved early in 1937. Instead, involved parties bombarded the court with objections. This mass of litigation so swamped Judge Bondy, tying up the proceedings completely, that the judge was forced to appoint a “Special Master” to impose order on this quagmire of stockholder and creditor complaints. The unenviable job went to George W. Alger. He was instructed to “divide creditors and stockholders into classes according to the nature of their claims” and then evaluate the “fairness and feasibility of the proposed [reorganization] plan in light of the various objections.”76

  Most of the complaints were related to the proposal to turn over 500,000 shares of new RKO stock to Rockefeller Center in settlement of the latter's $9,150,000 claim against RKO. Creditors argued that the Rockefellers were being given preferential treatment, that RKO had no business continuing its financial arrangement with the giant theaters, and that they (the creditors) had been offered a much less generous settlement. Stockholders also expressed concern that the Rockefeller family would control “one-fourth or one-fifth of the entire stock equity” in RKO if the plan gained acceptance.77 H. C. Rickaby, attorney for Atlas Corporation, attacked the malcontents, calling them an “insignificant minority.” He also defended the Rockefeller Center agreement in his summation before Special Master Alger: “He pointed out that all creditors accepted the settlement and that rejection of the settlement might require a new plan to be written. Mr. Rickaby said that few New York first run houses earned large profits but that the Music Hall's value to RKO was ‘a national advertisement.’ The plan was characterized as fair, equitable and feasible.…He added that he regarded rejection of the plan and continuation of the trusteeship as ‘inconceivable.’ ”78 Settlement of the Rockefeller claim, though the major source of contention, was not the only one. Conversion privileges for holders of the proposed new debentures and preferred stock and the lack of a physical appraisal of the company's assets were also hot-button issues.79

  The hearings foundered for months. An amusing incident transpired in the midst of the inquiry. Special Master Alger decided that since he was becoming an authority on the motion picture business, he ought to begin offering advice about RKO's story selection. Alger contacted Odlum representative Peter Rathvon and suggested that Sam Briskin and his staff consider two properties: Young April, a novel by Edgerton Castle, and Hell and High Water, a story published in Argosy magazine. Rathvon mentioned the two items to Briskin and concluded: “It might be useful for the record if you would write me a note that you are much obliged to Mr. Alger for these suggestions and that you will have someone in your story department check them up immediately. Later we will face the problem of what to do when you find they are no good.”80

  Sam Briskin obliged, dispatching his “grateful” note on August 9.81 On August 21 he sent a second letter to Rathvon with the story department evaluations. They were, of course, negative. Briskin ended his letter by instructing Rathvon to “please tell Judge Alger that although these two stories did not fit the studio program, should he have any further suggestions to make, we would be very happy to receive them.”82 One can imagine what the acerbic Briskin would have said to Alger about his “helpfulness” if the studio head could have spoken frankly.

  Indeed, the last thing Briskin wanted to deal with at this time was some “civilian” offering story recommendations. He knew the RKO board was debating whether he should be offered a new three-year contract, and he probably also knew that certain RKO representatives had had preliminary discussions with Samuel Goldwyn about replacing him.83 While the Odlum faction was initially in favor of keeping Briskin in his position, other board members and the trustee had reservations.84

  Those reservations increased as the summer months ended and the new release year began. Besides the difficulties with exhibitors and the bad news flowing out of the studio, earnings were trending downward; two of Briskin's most expensive pictures, New Faces of 1937 and The Toast of New York, had opened and were performing poorly; and company officials were aware that Bringing Up Baby was about to go into production despite its inflated budget. All support for Sam Briskin quickly disappeared, and he was forced to resign in October.85

  No reasons were announced for Briskin's departure. A number of factors lay hidden beneath the surface and all contributed to the production chief's undoing:

  1. Briskin had had difficulty finishing films in time to meet promised release dates.

  2. Leo Spitz had become more and more involved in production decisions, and he and Briskin disagreed on certain significant matters.

  3. Briskin had hired a number of producers, most of whom turned out to be undependable. He also demonstrated an inability to control certain profligate producers, such as Howard Hawks.

  4. He had failed, during almost two years at the helm, to develop a talent pool of any consequence.

  5. The films made by Briskin's regime had been largely second-rate, and too many had been unprofitable.

  Paramount in this list was number 5. Ultimately, the performance of any studio head is measured by his releases. During Sam Briskin's stewardship, RKO moviemaking stumbled and fell backwards, with the 1937 pictures being less satisfactory than those released in 1936, which had been considerably less impressive than the 1935 releases. The motion picture industry had entered another favorable period; everyone was making profits, even RKO. But the one component of the RKO machine that had fallen down and was minimizing the corporation's income was production. Sam Briskin could not be blamed for all the problems, but production remained his responsibility and he had to answer for the profusion of misfires. Evidently a good deal of pressure was put on him to resign because a “golden handshake” was agreed upon that paid Briskin $84,000 spread out over twenty-one weeks after he left the company.86

  First reports indicated that Leo Spitz might assume control of Hollywood studio operations.87 Spitz, however, did not wish to devote his energies to production, though he intended to be heavily involved; instead, RKO was going to call upon an old standby to run filmmaking: Pandro Berman. Berman accepted the job reluctantly as a favor to Spitz. Although he had headed the studio before, during Merian Cooper's two separate convalescence periods and for a short time after Cooper resigned, Berman had always preferred to concentrate on his own production unit. Uncertainty generated by Berman's expressed partiality is evident in this ambivalent letter, sent to the new production head by New York story editor Lillie Messinger: “I am in a quandary.…I don't know whether to congratulate you or not. Maybe I'm psychic, but I feel you did not really want to take over so much production. You've been working so hard that it seems to me just a burden you are taking over out of necessity. So I'll reserve my congratulations until I see you and know whether you do want it. All I can say is that it's swell for me…AND FOR RKO.”88

  Just how “swell” the new production setup would be remained a question mark. No one doubted Berman's ability; he was one of Hollywood's proven picture makers. But would he be content spreading his energies over an entire program of films, rather than concentrating on a few? Over and above this consideration was the obvious problem that, fewer than two years after Spitz and Briskin had taken charge, RKO was entering a new phase. The change would necessitate an obligatory grinding of gears during which, if history was any indicator, the studio could anticipate more discord and uncertainty. Almost ten years had elapsed since its birth, yet the “Titan” was still groping for a guiding philosophy and continuity of management.

  With the Briskin matter resolved, attention switched back to the receivership quandary. In mid-November, Special Master Alger issued a preliminary report on the RKO reorganization plan. The only major change was a recommendation that Rockefeller Center's claim be reduced from $9,150,000 to $5,100,000 and that the Rockefeller interests receive 38,250 shares of new RKO preferred stock and 76,500 shares of new common stock, in place of the 500,000 shares of new common that the plan originally proposed.89 Obviously, the revision was designed to placate those disgruntled creditors and
stockholders who felt the Rockefellers were receiving special treatment. Alger's recommendations were tentative—they did not constitute an official or accepted revised draft of the proposal. Now Judge Bondy would take over once again, and attorneys would begin preparing arguments for and against Alger's ideas in Bondy's federal court.

  The “final” hearings rejected Alger's Rockefeller solution. The claim of $9,150,000 was upheld, though the stock the center was to receive was reduced from 500,000 shares to 460,000.90 Nevertheless, sources suggested that approval of the plan appeared imminent. Objections remained, especially among small stockholder groups, but none of the major creditors filed fresh complaints.91

  One unforeseen problem surfaced at the end of the year. The Atlas Corporation had been expected to take full control of RKO's affairs in December 1937 by exercising its option to purchase RCA's remaining stock in the company. This purchase would have short-circuited any power struggles among different factions concerning the functioning of the corporation. Floyd Odlum, however, had begun to question the wisdom of his RKO investment. Instead of exercising the option, thereby smoothing the way for approval of his own reorganization plan, Odlum backed off and negotiated a one-year extension.92 Atlas now had until December 31, 1938, to pay RCA approximately $6 million for its still-considerable holdings in RKO, and the receivership situation, which had already lasted more than four years, would persist even longer.