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99 C H a p t e r 8 Goldwyn 1938–41 dana’s earliest memory of Samuel Goldwyn seems to be a scene in which the producer screened footage of Gary Cooper playing Abraham Lincoln. Goldwyn wanted Dana’s opinion. “I later learned from many years of experience with Mr. Goldwyn that this is one of his practices,” Dana told an interviewer: He asks everybody, from the hairdresser on the set to the head of the business department, what they think about little things like hairdos, or whether a man’s clothes fit properly, or questions about his personality. A lot of people say, “Goldwyn asks everybody what they think and then does what he thinks.” But I think what he thinks is made up to some extent (or influenced, certainly) by what he hears from various people. Goldwyn often did the same thing with stories he proposed to film. First he had several writers retell the story, until Goldwyn believed he had identified the key elements that would work in a picture. Only then did he authorize the writing of the screenplay. Dana’s story also reveals how accessible Goldwyn was—in part because he was an independent producer with a relatively small studio. He could be quite annoying and intrusive for actors and directors alike, but his presence was also a godsend when crucial decisions had to be made quickly. The Goldwyn contract, dated November 28, 1938, was the standard seven-year agreement with six-month options: Employment commenced on January 19, 1939, with the first six month option paying Dana $150 a week; the second $200 a week; the third $300 a week, escalating to $2,000 a week by the end of the contract. He was guaranteed forty weeks of employment. The agreement contained the usual g o l d w y n ( 1 9 3 8 – 4 1 ) 100 morals clause that obligated the “artist to conduct himself with due regard to public conventions and morals.” Any action the studio deemed degrading, or which incited “public hatred, contempt, scorn or ridicule” or shocked community values and was detrimental to the entertainment industry, could be grounds for dismissal. Changes in the actor’s voice, appearance, or mental capacity could trigger suspension. As a salaried employee under contract, Dana had no control over the roles offered to him. Refusing to perform an assigned part could lead to a suspension lengthening the seven-year contract: “[T]he producer shall exercise the right to extend this agreement for a period equivalent to all or any part of the period of such suspension.” Nothing about Dana’s situation changed during the first three months of 1939. This was the first of several delays that resulted from several factors. As a small independent producer, Goldwyn made only one or two pictures a year and had trouble placing actors under contract in appropriate roles. He often quarreled with his distributors, United Artists, because he did not get the favorable terms he believed he deserved as their main producer; consequently, he would suspend production rather than capitulate to their conditions. Goldwyn solved part of his problem by loaning actors out to other studios and pocketing payments that far exceeded the actors’ salaries. But Dana was not yet an established star who could be employed in this way. With Goldwyn’s permission, Dana continued to perform in a variety of roles at the Playhouse. This was a downtime (six weeks) as specified in his contract, which meant he drew no salary until March—although the studio used him once to screen test a Broadway actress. Stan Twomey agreed to keep him on the payroll (Dana took inventory at one of Stan’s gas stations) until he got his first check from Goldwyn. Dana read David stories at night, drove him to grammar school, went to music lessons, met with Dr. Casselberry, played tennis with Mary, saw a lot of movies, visited with old friends in Van Nuys, did his work at the Playhouse, and socialized with a few actors like Robert Preston, Dorothy Adams, and occasionally Victor Mature. Dana believed he had gained considerably in confidence and poise as an actor, but still chided himself for laziness and for not doing “wonders.” It suited both the Goldwyn Studio and the Playhouse to have Dana on stage so long as he was not on call for a picture—the word Dana would also use, pronouncing it quite distinctly and respectfully as “pik’cher.” So...

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