The Battle of Reno

Hollywood's famed Sam ("include me out") Goldwyn has warred for years against: 1) double features, 2) overproduction of movies, and 3) the English language. Last week he was happily fighting again, on a new front this time--Hollywood's method of marketing its product. Warrior Goldwyn complained that independent moviemakers, such as himself, are throttled by the monopolistic major producing companies (which control theatres grossing 70% of U.S. movie receipts) and theater chains (which control a substantial part of the rest). Independents are forced to sell their movies on a take-it-or-leave-it basis.

The Goldwyn wrath boiled over six weeks ago. He had dickered with San Francisco's McNeil-Naify Co. (100 theaters in California and Nevada), to show Up in Arms (TIME, March 13) on a percentage of the gross basis, which would be highly profitable to Goldwyn. McNeil-Naify offered him a lower flat-rental basis, which would be highly profitable to them.

Attack. Goldwyn sent his scouts into Reno, where McNeil-Naify control the five theaters. But McNeil-Naify easily outmaneuvered them. When the Goldwyn agents tried to get an option on the State Auditorium, officials refused because it was a public building and could not be rented to private enterprise for profit. Then the Goldwyn men leased the El Patio ballroom, alongside the Southern Pacific railroad tracks. Reno's Fire Chief, George M. Twaddle, regretfully informed them that their portable projection booth did not conform to Reno's fire laws. They tried to rent a parking lot, planning to surround it with a 10 ft. canvas fence and show the movie outdoors. The building laws stopped them.

Counterattack. In desperation, the Goldwyn forces finally built a platform outside the El Patio ballroom. They hoped to get around the fire laws by showing the movie through the window. McNeil-Naify promptly threatened to bring suit because the platform blocked the sidewalk, and took splashy newspaper ads to point out that Reno moviegoers must now suffer the indignity of "uncarpeted floors . . . the whistle of freight trains . . . static in the sound system."

The wily Goldwyn then executed a dazzling maneuver. He announced that the first night's receipts would be handed to the local Camp and Hospital Service Committee. Official Reno opposition vanished. Then Goldwyn had only to import a non-inflammable film (cost: $1,000) and build a false wooden floor in the dance hall so that 400 borrowed chairs could be nailed down to conform to building laws.

The Winner? Last week Goldwyn, trailing publicity men and photographers, arrived in Reno to help drive the last nail into the floor. Antimonopolist Mary Pickford, who helped found United Artists in 1919 to fight the big distributors in early Hollywood days, drove the nail herself. That night, Up in Arms opened triumphantly.

Financially, the battle was no victory.

For a week's gross of about $1,000, Sam had spent $25,000. But in the long run he may collect handsomely. Early this month the U.S. Department of Justice filed a court application aimed at forcing the big distributors to sell their theaters within three years. A favorable result of this action would eventually smooth the financial path of the independents, including such top producers as David 0. Selznick (Since You Went Away) and Walt Disney. But meanwhile Sam Goldwyn wanted action. He didn't want to go through the Battle of Reno in every city in the land--but he had dramatized his newest war.

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