Evening star., 1940-03-10
It's Possible
To Write It
Right Now
Answering a Plant
Voiced by Writers
OF Film and Radio
D.. - YU H.
By Ira W0lferf.
NEW YORK.

NEW YORK.
There Is now another type of play
wright who will have to be put at
the bottom of the barrel. He is the
fellow who earns living writing
serials for the radio.
He and the fellow who earns a
living writing-as it is described
for the movies, share a common fate.
They both earn and yearn in the
upper brackets. Separated by as
far as the United States will stretch
they both sit in gilded cages and
yearn, while they earn, for the time
when they will be free to express
themselves on the stage.
The theory is that on the stage
art is not defined by a sponsors
bridge partners or a bankers adora-
ton of the safe, the tried and the
truly blue. Then, alas, the time
comes when the ,options are not
picked up and the boys are free and
can rush to Broadway, the cathedral
Of art. The radio writer takes a
taxi from Sixth or Madison avenue.
The scenario writer takes a plane
from Hollywood. The result invari-
ably is they could have saved them
selves time and an audience heart
burn by crashing en- route instead
Of waiting until opening night.
Allan Woods newly produced play,
"The Weak Link" reminds me of
all this, perhaps because Mr.. Wood
earns living writing for the radio.
"The Weak Link" is as f1abby as
q busted blister. In fact, 1t might
have been the worst play of the
season if it were not for the one that
Immediately preceded it.
This was an item called "The
Burning Deck" written by a Colum-
bus, Ohio, man named Andrew
Rosenthal. Mr.. Rosenthal's play gets
the call over Mr.. Woods because
1t aimed little higher and so had
further to fall.
If these words sound shaken with
rage it's because personal animus is
involved. During an illness, when
the newspapers felt too heavy to
lift, I devoted myself to a study of
the contribution Of radio writers to
the literature of our times. .
The result was devastating. When
the radio was blaring or tootling or
whinnying it was okay, but as soon
as actors were given words to say
the air withered in ones ears. In
q short while the only relief was to
have mustard plaster nailed to
my brain.
Ever since, the radio writer's have
been explaining the reason. The
fault, they are sure, is everybpdy's
but theirs. II have to manufacture
my stuff to fit a manufacturer
brain,a = one told me, and another told
me. II have to manufacture my stuff
to ht the brain Of 10 manufacturers
brainless boy" Those who are not
afflicted with manufacturers and
manufacturers sons complain they
are afflicted with audiences. It
seems radio audiences haven't any
brains either.
When one gets close to a man
earning $1,000 or $4,000 week writ
ing for the radio or the movies, q
certain peculiar phenomenon is Wis
AOiC. 4IlC IIldIl 10 LUZ tltc dUOuG W1ldt
he does for living and he wears an
expression on his face that is COM
mon only to those whose tongues
taste bad. During the hours when
he is not concocting material to give
children nightmares or cutting out
celluloid dolls and trying to pass
them off as the real thing, there is
In him a certain, swollen atmos-
phere, a kind of pent-up passion,
that bursts loose at the sight of any
passing ear.
Into this ear he pours a story to
the effect that when he gets out of
his cell in the radio or movie busi-
ness he is going Ito write, really sit
down and really write real stuff"
This difference should be noted.
The Hollywood boys want to write,
really WRITE" the facts of life. They
are fed up with workmanlike hack
writing. The radio boys, who have
not achieved workmanlike hack
writing, want to write, really
write" hack stuff.
After the ear has passed number