Commenting on Morlock Moirafinnie’s marvelous article on Brasher Doubloon, our favorite reader Al Lowe made a remark about the talent of Darryl F. Zanuck. One of the old-style studio moguls from the Golden Age, Zanuck was named chief of production at Warner Bros. before cofounding 20th Century Pictures and serving as chief of production at 20th Century Fox.  Unlike other moguls, such as Louis B. Mayer or Harry Cohn, Zanuck got intimately involved with certain films as a producer. In addition, he was a writer, and he had a fair understanding of editing.  Zanuck was not a particularly nice man (he had little respect for Marilyn Monroe and treated her unkindly), but he epitomized the classic-era movie producer who understood each stage in the filmmaking process. He brought that knowledge to the table on all the projects he supervised; his films were a near-perfect integration of the talents of the director, screenwriter, actors, and editor.

 Al’s comment reminded me of the Ford at Fox DVD box set, a massive 24-film collection of John Ford’s work at Fox Films and then 20th-Century Fox. Last summer and fall, I took two film seminars based on this collection with a wonderful instructor named Michael Smith. And, one of the running conversations in the class was the clash between Ford and Zanuck during the postproduction of some of the great director’s films. Zanuck tinkered with several of Ford’s films, often over Ford’s loud objections. Typically, in the studio system during the Golden Age (roughly 1934 to 1952, give or take a year or two), any producer had creative and financial control over any director, no matter how respected the director may have been, so in a dispute, the producer had the final word – or in the parlance of the film industry, final cut. 

 Ever since the auteur theory was introduced by the French in the 1950s, which posits that the director is the creative center of the film, we have been conditioned to “side” with the director in stories involving their disputes with studios and/or producers. There are many legendary tales from the directors’ point of view about meddling interference from producers – Hitchcock vs. Selznick; Welles vs. everyone – that have become legend. And, after the decline of the classic studio system, when the studios’ executive and producer positions were filled by people with business and marketing backgrounds, the directors were probably right in most of these disputes. Their movies were sometimes undermined by hacks with the bottom line in mind instead of the integrity of the film as a work of art. Currently, the marketing departments of DVD distributors use the director as a selling point, often touting “a director’s edition” or “a director’s authorized version” of a film, which suggests that some nitwit studio exec interfered with a great filmmaker’s creative process, and now you have the opportunity to buy “the real film.” [Here's a hint: Don't fall for that one. Many times, there is little difference between the original and the director's cut, and the original is often better. In some cases, the director is asked to tinker with the film again to restore a few scenes for the "director's cut," or in some cases, the director is barely involved at all. The objective is to get you to buy something you already have, or to buy an expensive two-disc set, which is little more than two discs with the same film.] After 50 years of director-driven discourse from film scholars, industry professionals, and marketing departments, small wonder we tend to side with the filmmaker in any creative dispute over a film. I myself am a diehard believer in the auteur theory, and I am passionate about the films of the great directors.

HENRY FONDA AS WYATT EARP

 However,  many of the producers from the old studio days were truly artists. At the very least, there was a craftsmanship to being a good producer that involved a knowledge of films from the past and an understanding of the filmmaking process in order to integrate the talents of all the creative individuals involved in making the film. In today’s Hollywood, studio producers and executives are not . . . well, let’s just say they aren’t craftsmen, and leave it at that. This brings me back to Zanuck and Ford, because in the disputes between the two legends of the Golden Age, sometimes Zanuck was right. 

The best example of Zanuck’s skills in relationship to John Ford’s films is the 1946 classic western My Darling Clementine, which is the story of Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, and the infamous Gunfight at the O.K. Corral.  When Zanuck saw Ford’s cut of the film in late June 1946, he was disappointed in it and wrote the director a heartfelt memo the next day about the changes he felt needed to be done. He then proceeded to cut 30 minutes out of the film; he also rewrote and reshot a few scenes, which pared down the dialogue so that it nailed the essence of the scenes more directly. That is the final version of My Darling Clementine that was released and it is the version we see today on cable, in revival houses, or on previous video/DVD releases.

 If you really want to understand the function of a producer in the old studio system, then compare the final release of My Darling Clementine to a previous version that was closer to Ford’s original cut. The Ford at Fox set offers both versions in addition to a documentary by Robert Gift of UCLA’s Film and Television Archives that shows comparisons of key scenes from the film. The documentary shows the final version of a scene, then Ford’s original. Gift then comments on the differences between the two.

To clarify: The version in Ford at Fox is not John Ford’s original cut; it’s Zanuck’s preview version dated July 1946, which includes a few changes. After previewing this version, Zanuck went back and made more radical changes that resulted in the final version, which was released in October 1946. But, the preview version is closer to Ford’s original than the final film. The preview version was discovered in UCLA’s film studies department. The 35mm nitrate print had been put on deposit by 20th Century Fox at UCLA  decades ago, and this was the print shown to film classes. During the 1990s, students who had already seen the movie noticed the additional scenes in the UCLA print and brought this to the attention of the film department. The staff of the UCLA archives compared the print to the standard version of the film and discovered they had a film-history treasure.  

WYATT TALKS THINGS OVER WITH BROTHER JAMES

Some of the changes that Zanuck made are slight, and on the surface, they might seem unnecessary. But on further reflection, they often make a scene more interesting. The first change occurs in the scene in which Wyatt Earp, played beautifully by Henry Fonda, visits the grave of his youngest brother James, who has just been killed by the Clantons. Fonda talks to James, which in essence is a monologue by Wyatt on the necessity of making the Arizona territory safe for future generations.  Zanuck changed the name of James’s girl from Nancy to the more distinctive and western-sounding Cory Sue, and he also changed the dates on the gravestone, so that James was 18 years old when he was killed instead of 20. These are minor changes to be sure, but an 18-year-old character whose life has been taken is somehow more poignant, because he is truly on the cusp of adulthood. In other words, 18 is a milestone age, with many cultural connotations, but 20 is not. On a deeper level, this film was released in 1946 – just a year after WWII. Wyatt’s monologue about sacrificing in order to make the country safer for young people would have resonated with families who had lost their own 18-year-old brothers, sons, or fiancées in a war to make the world a safer place. 

CHAMPAGNE VS. WHISKEY

 Many scenes were simply edited down, often to eliminate a touch of humor or to fix dialogue exchanges that were too wordy. For example, the scene in which Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp meet for the first time is rife with tension. They meet in the saloon where Holliday, played by Victor Mature, runs the gambling. Friction is evident between these two famous gunfighters, and we wonder if the two are going to get along or shoot it out. An exchange about whiskey vs. champagne ensues, which is really a showdown of strength between the two Wild West legends.  Doc begins by offering Wyatt a drink to show that he wants to be cooperative; Wyatt accepts to show he is agreeable to that. Doc offers a glass of champagne, but Wyatt prefers whiskey to show Doc that he is his own man. Doc insists on champagne, which really means that he controls what goes on in the saloon, and any new sheriff needs to respect that. Wyatt backs down and takes the champagne. The two become friends. The subtext about power and control between the two protagonists is the basis of the tension between the two men, and Ford’s use of shot/reverse shot as he cuts back and forth between them makes that tension palpable. However, in Ford’s version, Wyatt has additional dialogue in which he makes a humorous comment about the champagne tasting like “fermented vinegar.” I think the purpose was to establish that Wyatt is drinking Doc’s choice of beverage, but he is still his own man by declaring his distaste for it. But, the extra comment, plus the fact that it is slightly humorous, dissipates the tension. For that reason, I like Zanuck’s version better.

DOC AND CLEM

 In another dialogue scene, Doc Holliday and his former sweetheart, Clementine Carter, talk about Doc’s illness. Clementine has traveled all the way from Boston to track down Doc to find out why he ran out on their relationship. She sees the reason when Doc has a coughing fit, revealing his tuberculosis. But, Doc is too far gone physically and morally to be redeemed by Clementine’s love, and he tells her that he is no longer the man she used to know. It’s straight and to the point, but in Ford’s version, his dialogue is much longer and seems more like a speech or monologue than an exchange of dialogue. Again, Zanuck’s scene is better because it is direct.

THE FINAL GUNFIGHT SCENE

In general, Zanuck tightened the narrative, stripping away bits of humor and wordy scenes. I think this approach suited the overall feel and tone of the film, which is tender with a touch of melancholy. However, Zanuck made a couple of changes that do not work, and I think Ford’s original was much better. For example, Ford’s use of sound and music services the material far better than Zanuck’s. Ford’s background music consisted of 19th century folk tunes, including “My Darling Clementine” and “Oh Suzanna,”  played with instruments associated with the era and the genre, such as the guitar and banjo. The low-key background music allowed the sound effects of horses neighing, boots clomping on wooden sidewalks, and wagons rolling along dirt streets to be more obvious. Ford’s Clementine sounds like the Old West. Zanuck added a large-scale orchestral score – the kind that swells up at dramatic moments -which is not only inappropriate but also overwhelms the intricate web of sound effects.

THE SHOT ADDED BY ZANUCK

IT'S STILL FORD'S FILM

 The preview version of My Darling Clementine and the documentary by Robert Gift are exactly the kind of special features that DVD editions of films should contain. Comparing the two versions of the movie was an enlightening experience without detracting from Ford’s reputation as America’s great poet of the screen. Even if you watch both versions and end up liking Ford’s scenes better, the experience helps to understand the role of the producer in the old studio system. Too bad today’s producers – who seem more interested in getting their names in the opening credits – are not more like Zanuck and his peers.