From the perspective of film history, the story of the near-destruction of Citizen Kane is mortifying. It is still considered by many to be the greatest film ever made. George Schaefer deserves special commendation for backing the film and fighting for it. But it is quite possible that the ultimate decision to release Kane was made by one of the powerful figures in the RKO shadows—Floyd Odlum or perhaps Nelson Rockefeller. Unfortunately, the full story of the behind-t he-scenes wrangling will probably never be known.
Because of the Citizen Kane situation, George Schaefer spent more time in New York than he had planned in spring 1940. Still, he had not forgotten that his studio needed revamping. In April, J. J. Nolan, vice-president in charge of the RKO studio, lost his title and became an assistant secretary of the corporation. According to Schaefer, Nolan's salary and status would “remain the same,” and he would continue to be Schaefer's “liaison man in the studio.”105 During the same week, William Mallard resigned as general counsel and secretary of the corporation, and Frank R. Donovan stepped down as operating head of RKO Pathe News. As the unsettledness continued, little was said about nominal production head Harry Edington, who was actually now functioning as a straight producer.
Schaefer also had to cope with a personnel crisis. Ginger Rogers was RKO's last remaining star, the only actor under exclusive contract to the studio whose presence meant both A-level recognition and probable box office success. Rogers's seven-year contract was scheduled to expire in May 1941, so Schaefer took it upon himself to convince Ginger to remain with the studio. He failed, at least in his principal goal. Negotiations between Schaefer and Rogers's agent, Leland Hayward, began in March and continued for the next several months. Schaefer naturally wanted to retain the actress's services exclusively and offered her $390,000 per year on a three-year basis.106 Rogers, however, was determined to make pictures for other studios and held firm for that option. When the bargaining finally ended, Ginger Rogers had agreed to make three pictures for RKO within the next three years.107 Otherwise, she would be free to act in films for whomever she pleased. By the end of 1941, she had signed to make three pictures for Twentieth Century-Fox, and no new Rogers RKO production was on the schedule.108
Late in April, George Schaefer, perhaps exhausted by the Rogers negotiations and the Citizen Kane imbroglio, let it be known that he could not continue to oversee production and function as corporate president. According to journalists' accounts, Schaefer offered the job of filmmaking chief to Sol Lesser, the independent producer who had provided the Bobby Breen musicals such as Rainbow on the River (1936) to RKO for release, as well as numerous pictures to other companies. Lesser wanted to accept but was prevented from taking the position by a contract he had signed with United Artists.109 The stories in the trade papers confirmed that RKO was shopping for someone to take charge.
In reality, the shopping had begun earlier in the year, and Lesser had been offered a slot overseeing A pictures, not steering all RKO production. A lunch meeting back in February at Floyd Odlum's River House apartment in New York had included Odlum, Ed Weisl (who was Odlum's attorney), George Schaefer, and Joseph Breen.110 While the meeting had been arranged to try to heal a serious rift that had developed between Odlum and Schaefer, Breen had been included so Odlum could become better acquainted with the head of the Production Code Administration. Everyone knew Breen because of his position as industry censor, but Breen was tiring of the job and Schaefer had begun to think Breen might be a valuable addition to the RKO organization. The meeting dispelled any immediate thoughts that Floyd Odlum might sack Schaefer and, evidently, made Odlum positively disposed toward Breen.
Not present at the luncheon was the man who had kick-started this set of wheels in motion. W. G. Van Schmus of Radio City Music Hall was now a member of the RKO board of directors representing the Rockefeller interests, and thus had been paying close attention to the company's fortunes since the reorganization. Joe Breen happened to be one of Van Schmus's closest Hollywood friends. Breen generally viewed films before anyone else except studio insiders, and he alerted Van Schmus whenever he felt a new movie might be a good choice for booking in the Music Hall.111 Van Schmus repaid Breen by recommending him to George Schaefer.
By late April, Schaefer had become convinced that Breen was the right person to take over the studio. Van Schmus was ecstatic. In a letter to Nelson Rockefeller, he called Breen “the best possible man for the job” and his selection “a decided victory” for Schaefer.112 In May it was formally announced that Joseph I. Breen had signed a contract with RKO.113
It is doubtful that RKO's Hollywood employees were as pleased as W. G. Van Schmus by the news. Breen had been directing the Code Office since 1934, a job he approached with fervor and reasonable tact. He definitely knew what could not go into pictures, but there was no assurance he understood what made them work (i.e., what elements comprised good and commercial cinema). Joseph Breen's creative abilities were both unknown and untested. He had never developed a property or produced a picture, much less superintended the entire output of a studio. Thus, to many who made their livings in the movie colony, George Schaefer's decision bordered on the outlandish.
One thing was certain—Breen's honeymoon period would be very short. RKO needed moneymaking pictures and it needed them right away. Besides Citizen Kane, other box-office failures released in the first half of 1941 included They Met in Argentina ($270,000 loss), Little Men ($214,000 loss), and Too Many Girls ($170,000 loss). The Kay Kyser film You'll Find Out topped the winners with a profit of $167,000, but the only other releases that brought home more than $100,000 in profits were The Devil and Miss Jones and reissues of Vivacious Lady and Bringing Up Baby. Despite George Schaefer's efforts, there really was not much new about the “new RKO.” It was still churning out lots of movies that its customers had no burning desire to see.
10. “Crossing Wires”
The Schaefer-Breen Regime (1941-1942)
By midyear 1941, RKO had been revamped once again. In addition to the arrival of Joe Breen, Charles Koerner, former West Coast division manager for RKO exhibition, was now in charge of the entire network of theaters.1 Koerner succeeded John J. O'Connor, who handed Schaefer his resignation in May. Like J. J. Nolan before him, J. R. McDonough was forced to surrender his title as vice-president of the company. The following memo from McDonough to Schaefer explains the reason for this and clearly indicates McDonough's feelings about the matter:
I attach, as requested by you, my letter resigning the office of Vice President of this company. I have already told you that it was not only a surprise but a shock to me that I should be asked to relinquish this title. You have told me that you believe that proper organization of the studio calls for only one man to have such a title in order to avoid any possibility of a question of his authority. Since I have always been a man who gave loyalty to an organization rather than to a title I am naturally following your wishes, though I had hoped to persuade you otherwise.2
The only man at the studio holding the title of vice-president would be Joseph Breen. Schaefer, perhaps concerned about Breen's lack of production experience, went ahead and hired Sol Lesser as executive producer in charge of “the studio's A product.”3 Lesser by that time had managed to obtain his release from the United Artists commitment. Within the new power structure, Breen would have overall responsibility for RKO film production with Sol Lesser supervising the high-budget films and Mac McDonough running the B unit.4 George Schaefer was moving back to New York, leaving the studio in the care of his handpicked subordinates.
The biggest unanswered question concerned final production authority. Schaefer had always insisted on making the important decisions, whether his office was in New York or at the studio. Many were aware of this, and most believed Schaefer's micromanagement had played a role in RKO's problems. Even W. G. Van Schmus, one of Schaefer's biggest supporters, felt that way. Shortly after the hiring of Joe Breen, Van Schmus sent “my dear George” a letter congratulating him
“on achieving the objective” and gently suggesting that he should allow Breen to do his job without interference.5 After observing that Schaefer's friends were “all very much concerned about the way you have been driving yourself in the past two years,” Van Schmus continued:
I have read so many proverbs about the greatness of the man who delegates, that it has been second nature to me to delegate. Here, for the first time, you have an opportunity with 100% backing to carry out the only sane way of conducting any business, and especially one with the ramifications of a great organization like RKO.
I hope you will not mind my sending you this thought, but I know that in the final analysis you and Joe [Breen] will be happier because of it.6
Schaefer replied to Van Schmus five days later:
Really feel that a load has been lifted off my back. If I did not have complete and absolute confidence in the appointment [of Breen] with the realization that I could delegate complete authority, I would not have made it. I doubt very much if I could have stood the strain of carrying on as we have for the past two years. The selection of the right man has been the all-important thing in everyone's mind and, at long last I think we have that man.7
After taking some time to familiarize himself with the studio and its personnel, Joseph Breen began speaking to the press. His initial public remarks proved unsettling: “A studio-wise shuffle in actors, producers and directors is necessary for the studio to turn out good product.” Emphasizing that the only thing wrong with the business was “too many bad pictures,” Breen promised not to make “that kind.”8 Breen's comments contributed to the angst that pervaded the RKO lot. In half a year there had been a record number of comings and goings, and now more were promised. A few days later, J. J. Nolan resigned, and reports indicated that the studio was trying to “wash up” Harry Edington's contract and get rid of him as soon as possible.9
Instead of providing fresh leadership and inspiration, the new studio team fostered acrimony and distrust. In his zeal to succeed, Sol Lesser managed to alienate most of the production staff. Within a month, Breen found himself having to mediate between Lesser and such producers as David Butler, Tay Garnett, and David Hempstead, all of whom had been pushed to the point of mutiny by Lesser's brutal attempts to whip things into shape. Apparently, Schaefer had instructed Lesser to “put pictures into production…no matter how ruthless [you have] to be,” but Lesser's approach brought rebellion rather than results.10
The storm calmed somewhat in the next few months, although Lesser's reputation was tarnished by the events. Rumors began to spread that he was next in line for excommunication. Lesser committed another small blunder in September that is worthy of mention because it clarifies Schaefer's concept of the chain of command. Lesser wrote Ned Depinet directly to ask his opinion of a proposed property, Hunky. Schaefer sent Lesser a telegram expressing his disaffection for Hunky, then laid down the law to Joe Breen:
Think it is a mistake for any executive producer to communicate direct with the sales organization as to the advisability of making certain pictures. All such matters should clear from the executive producers through you. You, in turn, can take it up direct with me. In this way, we will eliminate unnecessary delays, confusion and misunderstandings. Mr. Depinet may, on the one hand, think favorably of it and, on the other hand, I may have an opposite opinion. The first thing you know, we will be crossing wires.11
Thus, despite all the changes, nothing had changed. Notwithstanding the top man's assurances to W. G. Van Schmus, final word regarding production matters still flowed from the mouth of President Schaefer. The new heads of the two basic units, as well as Joseph Breen, were to function as screening agents and recommending bodies, not decision makers. Two and a half years at the RKO helm had failed to teach George Schaefer the folly of this modus operandi. New York interference in studio affairs had cost RKO David Selznick and Pandro Berman, and it remained a leading cause of RKO's difficulties.
Despite the instability on Gower Street, RKO kept turning out product. The consent decree of 1940 was a major factor. According to the provisions of the decree, RKO and the four other vertically integrated companies were required to begin offering their films to exhibitors in blocks of five around August 1, 1941. Thus, there was heavy pressure to finish pictures as quickly as possible, building up a backlog of movies that would make each company competitively strong when the bidding began. Since releases would generally commence four to twelve weeks after the trade screenings, the new system meant that all the studios were unusually busy. On August 23, 1941, RKO had seventeen pictures finished and ready for presentation.12 This meant that the spring and summer were an unusually busy period at the studio.
In June, George Schaefer had announced that RKO planned forty to forty-five features for the 1941-1942 season. This information was released at the annual sales convention held in New York, where most of the conversation concerned new strategies for selling the smaller blocks.
Shortly after the convention, Joseph Breen expressed his feelings about future RKO production. Not surprisingly, they echoed the preferences of his boss. Breen emphasized that “escapist” pictures were “what the public wants.” He pledged that his administration would adopt a policy of “pictures for entertainment only.” He added, “In my considered judgment, when you put preachment, religion or politics on the screen you get into controversy with your audience.”13 In addition, Breen mentioned the need for RKO to acquire new talent and the importance of good stories that might turn some of the young RKO actors into stars. Joseph Breen clearly favored safe and reliable productions and intended to steer clear of any subject matter that could be upsetting to anyone. Just like George Schaefer.
Schaefer's enthusiasm for independent deals did not lessen, despite the disappointing outcome of his arrangements with Max Gordon and Harry Goetz and Gene Towne and Graham Baker. Every one of the Towne-Baker literature-based productions (Swiss Family Robinson, Tom Brown's School Days, Little Men) had tanked. Like Gordon and Goetz, Towne and Baker had been expelled from the RKO roster. Taking their place would be Gabriel Pascal, a Hungarian producer-director who controlled the film rights to George Bernard Shaw's plays; Broadway producer Jed Harris; documentary filmmaker Pare Lorentz (The River, The Plow That Broke the Plains, The Fight for Life); and William Dieterle. Dieterle, who had become one of the top directors at Warner Bros. in the 1930s and made The Hunchback of Notre Dame for RKO, was the only name on the list with Hollywood experience. In these choices, Schaefer remained true to his reputation for intrepid deal making that might be expected to contribute, at least, to RKO's artistic reputation.
The biggest business transaction of 1941 was the signing of Samuel Goldwyn, whose brand reeked of prestige. Goldwyn, almost a major studio unto himself, had been embroiled in a bitter legal dispute with United Artists since 1939.14 A settlement was reached on March 11, 1941, freeing him to contract with RKO for the release of his independently produced and financed pictures. The original agreement entitled RKO to only two films: The Little Foxes and Ball of Fire. After that, Goldwyn could go elsewhere if he felt unsatisfied. In December, however, Sam Goldwyn expressed the opinion that Ned Depinet was “a fine guy” and that the RKO organization was “doing a swell job” handling his productions.15
He should have been pleased; to entice Goldwyn to affiliate with RKO, Schaefer had granted him a distribution fee (17.5 percent) lower than he could have negotiated with any other Hollywood entity. The fee was, in fact, so low that RKO would lose money on every film it handled for Goldwyn. Schaefer's rationale: the Goldwyn pictures would not only upgrade RKO's standing in the industry but would also make it easier to sell the studio's other releases to theater owners, just as the Disney pictures had. Nevertheless, Goldwyn's deal soon became the talk of Hollywood and would remain a divisive subject among RKO executives for years to come.16
RKO lost two producers and one special director during the year. The director was Garson Kanin, by now the leading light of the contract staf
f. Kanin was drafted into the army shortly after completing Tom, Dick and Harry with Ginger Rogers. Twenty-four other RKO employees also entered the service during the year, but the departure of the entire group was less traumatic to the organization than the loss of this one individual.
The two producers—Robert Sisk and Erich Pommer—left under different circumstances. Sisk, formerly the director of advertising and publicity, quit around the time that Lee Marcus exited the studio.17 Bob Sisk had been a B producer for several years, guiding a number of successful films. Like several others, though, he resented George Schaefer's intrusions into his domain. In February 1940 he wrote Schaefer protesting the president's assigning of an actress to one of his pictures without even informing him. His letter contained the following warning: “I have good respect for you—I think you know that—but I can't have any self-respect and be a stooge producer. I'd rather leave here, George, than begin going through routines again.”18 Fourteen months later, Sisk made good his threat and departed.19
The Pommer situation was more unpleasant. On April 16 the esteemed producer suffered a heart attack. The studio closed him off the payroll on April 19 and began to look for a way to terminate his contract.20 The reasons were self-evident. Pommer was receiving a high salary, but both of his films (Dance, Girl, Dance and They Knew What They Wanted) had been financial disappointments. The illness provided a convenient excuse to get rid of him. Naturally, Pommer protested, taking his case to California superior court in June.21 Before a verdict was reached, however, Pommer and the attorney representing RKO, Mendel Silberberg, agreed on an out-of-court settlement. The producer would return to the studio and produce at least one more film before his contract expired in December.22
Pommer was assigned a property entitled Passage from Bordeaux. Various stalling tactics ensued, however, and it became clear in November that RKO had no intention of allowing him to make the film. Pommer received nothing but evasions from Sol Lesser and found it impossible to gain access to Joseph Breen, who had entrusted him with the project in the first place. The producer wrote anguished letters to Breen, insisting that RKO fulfill its promises. Breen did speak to Henry Herzbrun, Pommer's agent, but refused to discuss the situation with the producer directly.23 The only concession that Breen would offer involved giving Pommer credit on Passage from Bourdeaux when it was finally filmed, even though the picture would be supervised by someone else. This was an insult to a man of Pommer's stature. On December 15 RKO terminated Erich Pommer. He had been duped by Joseph Breen and Sol Lesser, who reneged on the pledge they made him.
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