The Men Behind the Stars: Hollywood's Big Uncles

The film agent stretches out an arm and flicks the switch of his desk phone. Without leaning forward he says to the microphone, "Get Joe at Gigantic."

"Okay, Mr. Burnberg," replies the cracked voice of the secretary from the loud-speaker of the instrument, and almost before the agent can move the cigar to the other side of his mouth the telephone bell on the other side of his desk rings.

Without any preliminary, even without identifying himself, he says, "Joe, how many days more do you want Su Scarlett? I must have her for Colossal."

The answer is apparently satisfactory, for the agent rings off with a laconic, "Oke." While one hand replaces the receiver the other flicks the desk phone again. "Get Sam at Colossal." . . . "Okay, Mr. Burnberg."

Ting-a-ling! "Sam, it's all set about Su for Flaming Lips. I'll deliver her on Tuesday week. Oke."

Film agents always "deliver" their clients. That is why they are called "flesh-peddlers."

To the uninitiated it sounds rather like a farmer promising the butcher to send over half an ox. I was told of one agent who is in a big way of business because "he owns a piece of Clark Gable," meaning that he shares the star with other agents. They call them "Ten-percenters" as well. For supposing that Su Scarlett is in the £500 a week class and that her film for Colossal will need her services for three weeks. Mr. Burnberg will have made himself £150 by those two telephone calls. He takes ten percent of what his clients earn.

They Take 10 Percent

The development of the agent system in Hollywood was the thing that impressed me more than anything else. I was making a deal myself and so saw a lot of the workings of the agent organization.

It was part of the system that I only took part in the proceedings when it was absolutely necessary. Indeed on an occasion when I was discussing my deal to make the film Titanic for David O. Selznick with Mr. Selznick himself, he told me frankly that it embarrassed him to have to talk money details with me direct.

The stars seldom talk business with their bosses; they go to their mentors, confidantes, guides—their agents. These Big Uncles, who often act as though their clients were children, "iron out" all problems, "fix" jobs and act as nurse, valet, secretary and helper in general to their stars.

Ten percent of the large salaries of film stars may sound a lot for fixing a business deal, but an agent is usually worth it; and the expenses of his elaborate organization are heavy.

Quite apart from the fact that artists of all kinds are generally bad business people, the stars get their full value from their agents.

Agents get the star's money and look after it; they pay all bills; they buy anything from a railway ticket to a house or a car; if the poodle needs a shampoo the agent will send a man round to collect the dog; the star decides on a "European" holiday and the agent plans an itinerary, arranges suitable interviews in London and on the Continent, gets the tickets and sees the star safely on the plane for New York: he may even fly with her to the east coast of America.

Even Love Affairs!

To the agent the star goes with her love affairs, with her complaint if she does not like her present director or is dissatisfied with her part. I have no doubt that when Myrna Loy was fed up with being restricted to "oriental" roles, she took her problem to her agent at that time, just as William Powell must have talked over his repeated "villain" parts with his agent. And I have no doubt that the agents "ironed out" the problems.

The agent also deals in directors, writers, photographers and all major employees of the studio. He buys stories and so, altogether, is in the position of universal provider for the producers.

In every respect except...