FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 2 -EARLY HOLLYWOOD WRITERS 3 Films 8:00 p.m. (ET)/5:00 p.m. (PT) SCARFACE (1932) Without a doubt, the most controversial of the gangster films of the Great Depression (when the genre was beginning to flower) was Howard Hawks's Scarface (1932). The film was produced before The Public Enemy and Little Caesar, its better-known counterparts, but its release was delayed almost a year by producer Howard Hughes's protracted battles with the Hays Office and regional censor boards. Broadway star Paul Muni (I Am a Fugitive From the Chain Gang) portrays Tony Camonte, a ruthless gunman who rises through the underworld ranks in a meteoric rise to power and self-destruction. Assisting him in his criminal ascent are his sidekick Rinaldo (George Raft) and Tony's sister Cesca (Ann Dvorak), for whom Tony harbors an unhealthy affection. Unlike The Public Enemy or Little Caesar, which were fictional products of the studio system, Scarface was a renegade independent production that flaunted the codes of decency and drew an obvious parallel between its on-screen anti-hero and his real-life inspiration, Al Capone. According to the trade publication Motion Picture Herald, Capone was so perturbed by the film's thinly-veiled references to his criminal career that he sent gangland emissaries to visit director Howard Hawks in order to arrange a private screening of the film prior to its release. "'The Big Shot' will have to lay down his money at the box office if he wants to see Scarface," was Hawks's alleged response. In his 1954 autobiography, A Child of the Century, screenwriter Ben Hecht also recounted a visit from two concerned representatives of the real-life "Scarface." Hecht quickly explained that the character of Camonte was actually a pastiche of numerous underworld figures, with whom the writer was personally acquainted. A former Chicago newspaperman, Hecht was familiar with the workings of the mob (being especially friendly with Deanie O'Banion, a dapper gunman with a fondness for flowers), and needed little research before writing the script. "If this stuff ain't about Al Capone, why you callin' it Scarface?" asked the henchman. "Everybody'll think it's him." "That's the reason," responded Hecht, before launching into a well-worded con job. "Al is one of the most famous and fascinating men of our time. If we call the movie Scarface, everybody will want to see it, figuring it's about Al. That's part of the racket we call showmanship." According to legend, Capone grew less troubled by the similarities between Tony Camonte and himself, and eventually became quite fond of Scarface, later acquiring his own print of the film for private screenings. In the making of the film, which was engineered to be as uncompromising as tastes of 1932 could endure, Hughes developed the project with a squad of writers well schooled in the craft of hardboiled prose. Contributors to the script (based on Armitage Trail's novel) included Fred Pasley (author of the 1930 book Al Capone: The Biography of a Self-Made Man); novelist W.R. Burnett (Little Caesar, The Asphalt Jungle); screenwriters Seton I. Miller (The Criminal Code, 1931) and John Lee Mahin (The Beast of the City, 1932), among others. But by all accounts, credit for the screenplay of Scarface goes primarily to Hecht. In its 1932 condemnation of the film, the pro-censorship publication Harrison's Reports ironically provides a neat explanation of why Scarface has endured as one of the most powerful and entertaining gangster films of all time. "Both in action and in talk it is brutal and obscene... One is left with a bad taste and a buzz in the ears, caused by the continuous savage shooting...This is the most vicious and demoralizing gangster picture ever produced." Director: Howard Hawks, Richard Rosson (co-director) Producer: Howard Hawks, Howard Hughes Screenplay: W.R. Burnett, Ben Hecht, John Lee Mahin, Deton Miller, Fred Pasley (Based on the novel by Armitage Trail) Cinematography: Lee Garmes Art Direction: Harry Oliver Production Design: Harry Oliver Music: Adolph Tandler and Gus Arnheim Cast: Paul Muni (Tony Camonte), Ann Dvorak (Cesca Camonte), Karen Morley (Poppy), Osgood Perkins (Johnny Lovo), C. Henry Gordon (Guarino), Gorge Raft (Guino Rinaldo), Vince Barnett (Angelo) BW-99m. By Bret Wood 9:45 p.m. (ET)/6:45 p.m. (PT) THE WOMEN (1939) Based on Clare Boothe's hit Broadway play, The Women (1939) is about a group of bitchy, backbiting, Park Avenue Ladies Who Lunch...and dish...with disastrous results for the only one of them who's happily married. The entire cast Ń more than 130 speaking roles Ń is female. Appropriately, the screenplay credit went to two of Hollywood's women pioneers, Jane Murfin and Anita Loos. Murfin had been writing "women's pictures" since the silent days, and she produced a faithful adaptation of Boothe's play. Maybe too faithful. Shortly before production began, the censors objected to the racy dialogue. Enter Loos, the petite dynamo who began writing silent movies as a teenager, and who excelled at snappy dialogue. Loos claimed that she sat on the set and produced instant, cleaned-up variations of Boothe's innuendo-laden repartee. The Women was directed by George Cukor, who was known as Hollywood's leading "women's director." And with an all-star cast headed by MGM's dueling divas, Cukor had his hands full. Norma Shearer had been the Queen of the Lot when her husband, Irving Thalberg, was head of production at MGM. Recently widowed, Shearer still had considerable clout. For years, Joan Crawford had lost plum roles to Shearer, and deeply resented her. Crawford, who had recently been declared "box office poison," needed a hit. Realizing that the role of husband-snatching Crystal in The Women was a meatier one than Shearer's virtuous wife, Crawford went after it. But even a juicy part couldn't stifle her resentment. When she had to sit off-camera and feed lines to Shearer during Shearer's close-ups, Crawford, knitting furiously and noisily, never made eye contact with her co-star. Shearer, rattled, asked Cukor to send Crawford home. Cukor did, and later insisted that Crawford apologize. She did, grudgingly. But relations between the two stars never thawed. Shearer's contract stipulated that she get star billing. Crawford fought for, and won, equal billing. Then Rosalind Russell, who was giving a hilarious, movie-stealing performance, decided she deserved co-star billing as well. So she called in sick until she got it. Somehow, Cukor stroked all the egos and kept all the actresses busy enough to keep the feuds to a minimum. The result was a fast-paced, witty and brilliantly-acted farce. The Women was remade as The Opposite Sex in 1956, but neither the addition of music nor the addition of men improved on the original. In recent years, there has been talk of another remake, with such actresses as Meg Ryan and Julia Roberts. But it's hard to imagine that a contemporary version could have the sparkle, bite, and star power that The Women still has. Director: George Cukor Producer: Hunt Stromberg Screenplay: Jane Murfin and Anita Loos, based on the play by Clare Boothe Editor: Robert J. Kern Cinematography: Oliver T. Marsh, Joseph Ruttenberg Art Direction: Cedric Gibbons, Wade B. Rubottom; set decoration, Edwin B. Willis Music: Edward Ward, David Snell Cast: Norma Shearer (Mary Haines), Joan Crawford (Crystal Allen), Rosalind Russell (Sylvia Fowler), Mary Boland (Countess DeLave), Paulette Goddard (Miriam Aarons), Joan Fontaine (Peggy Day) BW & C-134m. Closed captioning. By Margarita Landazuri 12:00 a.m. (ET)/9:00 p.m. (PT) DINNER AT EIGHT (1933) Producer David O. Selznick made his bow at MGM with this star-studded 1933 comedy, crafting a hit that would give him a powerful position at HollywoodÕs most powerful studio. He hadnÕt wanted to work there at all. Selznick was making great strides as head of RKO Studios and was sensitive about charges of nepotism at MGM since he was married to studio head Louis B. MayerÕs daughter. But when MGM production chief Irving G. Thalberg had to take a leave because of poor health, Selznick reluctantly gave in to his father-in-lawÕs entreaties. He inherited Dinner at Eight (1933) from Thalberg, who had already secured screen rights to the Broadway hit about a high-society dinner that falls to pieces. For Selznick, this was the chance to outdo ThalbergÕs previous hit with the screenÕs first all-star picture, Grand Hotel (1932). Of course, he had to fight for some of his stars, not to mention the perfect director for the piece. He had no trouble getting Marie Dressler to play a fading stage star. She was the top box office draw of the day, and her good friend Frances Marion was writing the script. Nor was there much argument about casting Lionel Barrymore, MayerÕs favorite actor. Where Selznick hit his first brick wall was in hiring George Cukor to direct. Selznick had helped build his career at RKO and knew the stage veteran had the perfect touch for the witty, sophisticated material. He just had to get the gay director past MayerÕs ardent homophobia. Fortunately, the studio headÕs convictions rarely went further than the box office. Just as Mayer was happy to cover up for gay stars with strong fan followings, when Dinner at Eight became a hit, it marked the start of a long association between Cukor and the studio. Mayer also objected to casting two of the filmÕs biggest starsŃJohn Barrymore and Jean Harlow. He was worried about BarrymoreÕs drinking and erratic behavior, but Cukor assured him that they had developed a good working relationship on A Bill of Divorcement (1932). On the set of Dinner at Eight Barrymore was cooperative and helpful. Far from resisting comparisons between himself and his character, a fading matinee idol succumbing to alcoholism, he suggested playing up the similarities. At his instigation, Marion and co-writer Herman J. Mankiewicz added references to his profile and his three wives. On the set, he even improvised imitations of faded actors heÕd run into in New York. When Selznick proposed Harlow to play Wallace BeeryÕs brassy, wise-cracking wife, Mayer thought she wasnÕt a good enough actress to hold her own against the all-star cast. Cukor came to the rescue again. He had recently seen HarlowÕs comic performance in Red Dust (1932), which convinced him she would be perfect for the role. Harlow always credited him with helping her find herself as a comedienne. Cukor said that all it took was harnessing her greatest comic gift, the ability to deliver lines as though she didnÕt quite know what they meant. Dinner at Eight made Harlow a bigger star than ever. Her all-white bedroom, designed by Hobe Erwin and Fred Hope, helped popularize the Art Deco style of the Ō30s, while her white satin evening dress became a fashion rage, referred to as the "Jean Harlow dress." Best of all, however, was the laugh she and Marie Dressler got at the filmÕs closing. The original play had ended on a somber note, but Selznick wanted to go out with a bang. He turned to playwright Donald Ogden Stewart for help, resulting in HarlowÕs stunning revelation that sheÕs been reading a book. "ItÕs a screwy sort of book," she says, "all about the future. This man thinks that someday machines will take the place of every known profession." Dressler looks her up and down, then warbles, "My dear, thatÕs something you need never worry about." Director: George Cukor Producer: David O. Selznick Screenplay: Herman J. Mankiewicz, Frances Marion, Donald Ogden Stewart, Edna Ferber (play), George S. Kaufman (play) Cinematography: William H. Daniels Art Direction: Hobe Erwin, Fredric Hope Music: William Axt Principle Cast: Marie Dressler (Carlotta Vance), John Barrymore (Larry Renault), Wallace Beery (Dan Packard), Jean Harlow (Kitty Packard), Lionel Barrymore (Oliver Jordan), Lee Tracy (Max Kane) BW-112m. Closed captioning. Descriptive Video. By Frank Miller