Schmuel

I just finished A. Scott Berg's lengthy bio of Sam Goldwyn.  It's hard to know what to make of such a life.  A truly self-made man, but in many ways it was a miserable life.

Schmuel Gelbfisz was born in Poland in 1879 and, as a teenager, walked across Europe and made it to England.  He anglicized his name to Sam Goldfish.  He made it to America by (probably) stealing money for a steerage ticket, getting off in Canada and walking across the border.  He went on to become one of the top glove salesmen in the country before switching to the newfangled movie business.  He, along with Cecil B. DeMille and Jesse Lasky, started a film concern that made The Squaw Man (1914), one of the first features shot in Hollywood.  Their company would merge with Adolph Zukor's and eventually become Paramount, but by then Goldwyn was out.

His next movie enterprise was with the Selwyn brothers--they mixed their names and came up with the Goldwyn Company. (Better than the Selfish Company.) He liked the name so much he made it his own.  Eventually, it would merge with Metro pictures, to be run by L. B. Mayer--MGM.  But by then, Goldwyn was out.

He couldn't get along with anyone, so he went into independent production where he'd be completely in charge. He did work with and release films through United Artists, founded by Chaplin, Pickford, Fairbank and Griffith.  Board meetings were raucous, and sometimes there was physical danger.

He became the most successful independent producer of all, creating well over 100 films, many highly respected, many big hits.  He had a number of contract players who became huge stars, such as Ronald Colman, Eddie Cantor, Gary Cooper and Danny Kaye.  He also lived on the edge, borrowing millions for his features, always worried about paying off the bank. (His much younger second wife, Frances, had also known poverty, and shared his dark outlook about the dangers of bankruptcy.)

While he could be charming--you don't get to be a great salesman if you're not--most of the time he seemed to be ill-tempered, exploding at his employees when he didn't get his way.  He also could be self-centered, and cold.  He had a falling out with his daughter Ruth (from his first marriage) when she was still a child, and they didn't talk for years.

As far as making films, he believed, as an independent, every title had to be special.  He spared no expense.  As he described his formula, buy the best properties, get the best writers, the best director, the best cast and the best crew.  Among his films are Dodsworth, Stella Dallas, Dead End, The Westerner, Ball Of Fire, Wuthering Heights, The Little Foxes (which he called The Three Little Foxes--many of those malaprops really happened--for a page of alleged Goldwynisms, go here), The Best Years Of Our Lives, The Secret Life Of Walter Mitty and Guys And Dolls.

It's hard to judge how much artistic input he had.  He chose everyone, and had plenty of say, but was he or the people he hired responsible for the quality of his films?  A lot of his best work, in fact, was directed by William Wyler, one of the most respected directors in Hollywood history. This is why some would claim the "Goldwyn touch" was actually the Wyler touch.

For that matter, it's not clear if he always was the best judge of talent. Actors in his stable, like Cooper, or David Niven, tended to do better work elsewhere.  Goldwyn would generally hire them for one aspect and not let them experiment.  Plus he didn't make that many films--not compared to a studio. It's no wonder so many of his players asked to be let out of their contracts.

In any case, one thing Goldwyn knew was how to sell.  He was brilliant at publicity campaigns, so if a film failed, it wasn't for lack of trying.  And like many of the top moguls, it wasn't just about money. His films tended to be prestige projects, and got many Oscars nominations.  He finally won the Best Picture Oscar with The Best Years Of Our Lives (1946), and when he got home he started sobbing.

But how do his films hold up?  Many are "classics," but I have to admit, often the kind that leave me cold.  Like Wyler, Goldwyn represents a type of Hollywood that sometimes chokes the life out of a film.  It's an impressive list, no questions, with some pretty decent titles, but Goldwyn's idea of quality is not necessarily one I share.