I really wish I knew French. I say that because I’m in possession of the Blu-ray box set of Gun Crazy (Joseph H. Lewis, 1950), which is basically a hard-cover book with over 200 pages of essays, beautiful stills, and lots of interesting ephemera relating to Lewis’ most famous work – and all the essays (even the intro by film critic, author, and programmer of the Festival of Film Noir, Eddie Muller) are in French. It’s enough to make me want to take a crash-course in the language, but for now I’ll have to focus on the ephemera.
Much has already been written about Gun Crazy, which screens this Friday on TCM. The film is based on a story (presented as fictionalized newspaper clippings) by MacKinlay Kantor that premiered on February 3, 1940 in The Saturday Evening Post. Maurice and Frank King (aka: the King Brothers, two independent film producers known for backing crime thrillers and monster movies between the ’40s and ’60s) optioned the story and had Millard Kaufman do the screenplay adaptation. Unbeknownst to pretty much everyone working on the film at the time, the King Brothers had scored a rather big “get” with Kaufman, because Kaufman was acting as a front for none other than black-listed screenwriter Dalton Trumbo, who was being forced to lay low due to anti-Communist hysteria. What this meant for the King Brothers was that they were able to employ a man who, previously, had been one of Hollywood’s highest paid screenwriters here now working for a song. (The revelation that Kaufman had acted as a front for Trumbo came out in 1992.)
From the production archives section of the Gun Crazy box-set, it’s fascinating to read King Bros. Productions letterhead, dated June 21, 1949, addressed to Mr. MacKinlay Kantor, in which Maurice King tells the author that “Since you have settled your interest in the story, and since you did not actively participate in the production of the picture, it seems to me that you should forgo having credit on the screen as “ASSOCIATE PRODUCER.”
In a letter dated nine days later, Kantor fired back a reply saying “You seem to have forgotten all the long months I worked with you people in 1947, without pay, writing and re-writing to suit, huddling on casting and plans and location, and all the rest of it.” The next few paragraphs are even more blistering, and I’m left to guess that when MacKinlay refers to “Steve Fisher,” he is actually referring to Kaufman/Trumbo (if astute readers know for sure, please do chime in):
The screen play is something else again. I have once more thoroughly examined both scripts. The bulk of my dramatic conception of the picture survives in the final script — although, as you know, I believe the thing is completely damned by the inept fifth-rate dialogue superimposed by whoever that low-paid joker was whom you hired. Steve Fisher, I think it was. Nevertheless, he is not original enough, nor does he have enough inventive talent, to translate a simple magazine story like “GUN CRAZY” completely to the screen. The character of the girl (if not the words the writer put into her mouth) is completely of my own doing, as are all the scenes of childhood trouble, and most of the chases and hold-ups.
If it were possible to have a credit reading: ‘screen play by MacKinlay Kantor. Ruined by Steve Fisher” (or whatever the guy’s name was) I would be happy to see that on the screen. Since this is at least impracticable, I shall not insist! However, there must be adequate advice that I did translate my own story into screen terms before you guys felt impelled to have everything bitched up. I suggest credit something like this — if it be be arranged according to Guild policy: “From the original Saturday Evening Post story story by MacKinlay Kantor.” Written for the screen by MacKinlay Kantor.” “Final screen play by Steve Fisher” — or something like this.
Probably it will take considerable doing to see that everybody is satisfied – including you two geniuses. Nevertheless, you can rest assured that I won’t sign anything like the enclosed. If worst comes to worst, you’ll have to leave it to Guild arbitration when you are ready to issue the picture.
Phew! Despite the acrimonious battles between the author and producers, the film was released by United Artists as Deadly Is The Female on January 26th, 1950, and re-released seven months later as Gun Crazy on August 24th. And, yes, other titles were considered – which did not help get King Bros. Productions on hugging terms with Kantor. On letterhead dated August 11th, 1949, Morry King lets Kantor know that “The officials in the home office in New York City want to change the title of “Gun Crazy” because they feel the title hasn’t enough documentary flavor to fit the present public demand for that type of picture.” They offer one alternate title: “The Lawless Woman,” but admit it’s “pretty corny” and ask Kantor for “any suggestions.” In a letter dated one week later, Kantor does, indeed fire back. His first two paragraphs outline his disenchantment and desire for proper credit placement, but when it comes to the title changes, he really lets loose:
With Kantor so upset over the “two-bit writer” and “incompetent ass” who, in his view, wrecked and fouled everything up, I wonder how he eventually felt about the finished film, which has long since entered the pantheon of great noirs? The fact is, the inventive camerawork by Joseph H. Lewis – who a few years earlier had established his credentials as a top notch talent with My Name is Julia Ross (1945), is absolutely riveting. And the two lead performances by Peggy Cummins and John Dall, who added quite a few of their own improvisations, sizzle with such pure, obsessive, destructive, sexual tension that they truly “go together … like guns and ammunition.” It’s a famous line from the film that aptly seems to also describe the relationship between Kantor and the King Brothers, albeit without the sexy bits.
For more on Gun Crazy:
http://www.tcm.com/this-month/article/313738|0/Gun-Crazy.html