Newsgroup: it.arti.cinema
Titolo: [JOHN FORD] "Il mio nome e' John Ford, faccio western"

La conoscono tutti, questa frase, ma non tutti sanno quando fu
pronunciata (anche se molti sono a conoscenza del fatto che fu in pieno
maccartismo, e in un contesto legato alla frenesia anticomunista dei
primi anni Cinquanta).
Ora, nel corso delle mie ricerche su Sturges, mi e' capitato in mano il
bellissimo libro di memorie di Robert Parrish, regista di seconda fila
ma montatore due volte candidato all'Oscar (e una volta anche premiato),
giovane membro della "Our Gang" di Hal Roach (le nostre "Simpatiche
canaglie"), personaggio che ha incontrato un po' tutta la Hollywood che
contava e che non contava e soprattutto memorialista estremamente
brillante e ricco di ricordi preziosi.
Tra le tante chicche che ho trovato nel primo dei suoi due libri (che
invito gli interessati a procurarsi... si trovano sia su Amazon
marketplace che sul meraviglioso 
www.betterworld.com
. I titoli sono
"Growing Up in Hollywood" e "Hollywood Doesn't Live Here Anymore") c'e'
un lungo resoconto della piccola guerra, all'interno della Directors'
Guild (il sindacato registi) fra Cecil B. DeMille e Joseph L.
Mankiewicz. Non so se Ford, quella frase, l'abbia detta anche durante
gli interrogatori - ma secondo Parrish la pronuncio' in un momento
piuttosto significativo durante una riunione del sindacato. Riassumo la
situazione.
DeMille, anticomunista fanatico, fondatore della Guild e membro del
consiglio direttivo, ce l'aveva su con Mankiewicz, il Presidente, su una
questione scocciante: praticamente tutti i responsabili di qualunque
sindacato avevano dovuto firmare una dichiarazione di lontananza dal
partito comunista (e Mankiewicz, da presidente del sindacato registi,
l'aveva diligentemente fatto), ma DeMille pretendeva che l'obbligo fosse
esteso a tutti i membri - anzi, addirittura che, alla fine della
lavorazione di ogni nuovo film, ciascuno firmasse anche un ulteriore
rapporto su qualsiasi cosa avesse scoperto sulle convinzioni politiche
di chiunque avesse lavorato con loro - in particolare sceneggiatori e
attori. Queste informazioni sarebbero state tenute in un dossier alla
Directors' Guild in modo che, al momento di decidere se dare o meno un
lavoro a qualcuno, fosse possibile preventivamente valutarne la lealta'
alla causa anticomunista.
Il consiglio aveva rigettato sonoramente la proposta. Mankiewicz, in
particolare, non voleva saperne di dover firmare ulteriori giuramenti
richiesti da DeMille, dopo quello imposto dallo Stato. Per farla breve,
nel corso di una vacanza in Europa di Mankiewicz (che aveva appena
finito "Eva contro Eva"), DeMille e i suoi cercarono di farlo rimuovere,
incontrando la fiera opposizione di 25 colleghi, fra cui Parrish,
Sturges, e altra gente come Huston, george Seaton, Richard Fleischer,
Fred Zinnemann, Robert Wise, Mark Robson, Richard Brooks, Billy Wilder,
Joseph Losey, Nicholas Ray e William Wyler. Gente cosi'.
Ford non era tra i firmatari della petizione anti DeMille, e la
questione Mankiewicz fu oggetto di un acceso confronto alla Guild nel
corso del quale volarono parole grosse, minacce varie e discussioni di
cui Parrish e' gustoso testimone. DeMille riusci' a giocarsi il sostegno
anche di registi che in linea di massima la pensavano come lui e dalla
sua parte rimase (muto) George Marshall. Fritz Lang confesso' che a
causa dell'atteggiamento di DeMille, per la prima volta, il fatto di
avere un accento tedesco cominciava a farlo sentire a disagio. Fino al
momento in cui Ford, che era rimasto silenzioso ad ascoltare, alzo' la
mano per chiedere la parola. Nessuno sapeva bene cosa avrebbe detto. E,
nel silenzio attento di tutti, Ford fece il suo breve discorso:
<<Il mio nome e' John Ford. Faccio western.
Non credo che ci sia nessuno, in questa sala, che sappia meglio di Cecil
B. DeMille quello che vuole il pubblico americano - e di certo lui sa
come darglielo. Sotto questo punto di vista lo ammiro>>.
Ford si rivolse direttamente a DeMille e riprese:
<<Ma tu non mi piaci, C.B. Non mi piacciono le tue posizioni e non mi
piace quello che hai detto qui stasera. Joe [Mankiewicz] e' stato
offeso, e penso che debba ricevere delle scuse>>.
Rimase a fissare DeMille nel silenzio generale. DeMille non si mosse.
Dopo una trentina di secondi, Ford concluse:
<<Allora credo ci sia una sola alternativa, e propongo quindi la
seguente mozione: che il signor DeMille e l'intero consiglio dei registi
rassegnino le dimissioni e che si dia a Joe un voto di fiducia - e poi
andiamocene tutti a casa a dormire un po'. Domani abbiamo un po' di film
da fare>>.
Walter lang appoggio' la mozione. Ford torno' a sedersi e si accese la
pipa.
DeMille e il consiglio si dimisero, e il voto per Mankiewicz fu
approvato all'unanimita', con quattro astensioni.
-- 
UFV:Stalker/Motorpsycho/Harry Potter and the Order of 
the Phoenix/Thunderbolt(.avi) - 
http://www.albertofarina.tk

> con quattro astensioni.
a parte C.B e Ford (per correttezza immagino),
si sanno (o si vociferarono) gli altri nomi?
Gran bel post BTW
maitre Aliboron
-- 
"La grande différence qu'il y a entre les oiseaux
et les hommes politiques, c'est que, de temps en
temps, les oiseaux s'arrêtent de voler.
(Coluche) 

 the Phoenix
abbastanza deludente, non trovi? considerando che nella crew c'era gente del
calibro di idziak, già collaboratore di kieslowski, e di goldenberg,
nientemeno che sceneggiatore di contact, mi aspettavo qualcosa di più...
-- 
UFV: Harry Potter e l'Ordine della Fenice / L'uomo medio + medio / Crank /
Il mio ragazzo è un bastardo / The messengers / Fearless / Il destino di un
guerriero / Il matrimonio di Tuya / Proprietà privata / Cardiofitness / The
bridge / Mio fratello è figlio unico / La voltapagine / The reef / La strada
di Levi / Nero bifamiliare

 si sanno (o si vociferarono) gli altri nomi?
uno potrebbe essere Capra.

 a ragione non lo so' ma di sicuro in modo legittimo) "fascista".
Di sicuro 'sto cazzo.

http://www.dga.org/news/dgaq_1206/feat_blacklist-1206.php3
La Gilda racconta se stessa.
Strano pero' che non mi pare di aver visto riportata la frase
in questione (OK, c'e' un trafiletto sotto la foto di Ford:
"...introdcing himself as a 'maker of westerns'...")
In ogni caso una interessante lettura.
(spiacente per il link Sindaco, ma veramente
a copiarlo e' un po' lungo)
maitre Aliboron
-- 
 A la télé ils disent tous les jours : "Y a trois millions de personnes
qui veulent du travail". C'est pas vrai, de l'argent leur suffirait.
(Coluche)

 Gran bel post BTW
Grazie. :-)
(E' il bello di certi lavori: ne escono sottoprodotti interessanti. Ed
e' il bello del newsgroup: puoi pubblicarci le cose interessanti che
scopri e che nel libro non possono trovare spazio)
Qualche altro dettaglio sulla riunione. Tra le voci che si alzarono
contro DeMille, quelle di Rouben Mamoulian, William Welman e John
Cromwell. Un altro regista, che Parrish non nomina, dichiara che mentre
DeMille era a Hollywood a difendere le sue rendite da capitale, lui
combatteva a Bastogne.
Delmer Daves, californiano di quarta generazione, si arrabbio' molto per
il disprezzo che DeMille aveva espresso contro i registi immigrati che
avevano firmato la petizione per convocare la riunione.
William Wyler, che durante la sua permanenza in Europa negli anni
Quaranta per girare (con Sturges) il documentario di guerra
"Thunderbolt" era rimasto seriamente danneggiato all'udito, si era
dovuto mettere in prima fila. Disse che si era rotto le scatole di
sentirsi oggetto di insinuazioni di esser comunista ogni volta che gli
capitava di essere in disaccordo con DeMille e che avrebbe dato un pugno
sul naso al prossimo che avesse insinuato qualcosa del genere
concludendo, con lo sguardo puntato su C.B., "...e non mi interessa
quanto vecchio sia".



Ma se ci pensi la scena richiede un minimo di interpretazione.
Parrish descrive, essenzialmente, la scena di un film hollywoodiano
d'impegno civile, in cui l'eroe solitario salva la situazione all'ultimo
momento. Non che quel che racconta sia falso ma, lo sai, quel che conta è il
montaggio...
A parte DeMille e Marshall i 'cattivi' sono anonimi o secondari mentre fra i
'buoni' troviamo un gran numero di leggende. Ma quando Parrish scrive, nel
1976, la questione è da tempo risolto, McCarthy è diventato un simbolo del
Male e le quotazioni critiche di DeMille non potrebbero essere più basse.
Quindi perchè mettere in cattiva luce gente che sosteneva la caccia alle
streghe che magari potrebbero essere pure vecchi amici?
Quanto a Ford il suo intervento è cinematografico perchè inaspettato. Non lo
chiamiamo fascista ma certo consevatore. Anzi, siamo precisi: repubblicano.
Non sarebbe stata una sorpresa che si fosse schierato con DeMille. Invece
non lo fa, anzi l'esatto contrario. Ma il motivo dichiarato è, pura e
semplice, l'antipatia per DeMille.Ford fa un intervento politico senza la
benche minima traccia di contenuto politico. Da bravo eroe civile
hollywoodiano sta dalla parte della decenza e delle buone maniere. Ok, ma la
cosa lascia un po' perplessi lo stesso: eccetto quel caso lì, l'epurazione
andò avanti pesantemente.
Davvero, la cosa incuriosisce perchè si sente che manca qualcosa di
fondamentale.
Moritz Benedikt
'La pubblicità genera ansia' - John Berger, 1972
--------------------------------
Inviato via 
http://arianna.libero.it/usenet/

> William Wyler [...] "...e non mi interessa quanto vecchio sia".
Dal link che ho segnalato:
"Wyler could hardly contain his anger. "I am sick and tired of 
people.questioning my loyalty to my country," he exclaimed, noting he had 
signed a loyalty oath twice. "The next time I hear somebody do it, I am 
going to kick the hell out of him. I don't care how old he is or how big." 
"
:-)
Un'altra che mi e' piaciuta:
" As George Stevens Jr. would later observe, many of the Guild's most 
respected men, including William Wyler, Huston, Ford and Anatol Litvak "had 
served in World War II and resented the fact that some of those that stayed 
home, for whatever reasons-Ronald Reagan, John Wayne, Adolph Menjou and 
DeMille among them-had now become the judges of who were patriots or not." "
:-))
che periodaccio che fu il maccartismo...


 disgustosa.
Piccola precisazione, per rettificare un equivoco: Mankiewicz era stato
assente quando DeMille aveva tentato il colpo, ma era ben presente alla
riunione convocata dai 25 firmatari.
-- 
UFV:Stalker/Motorpsycho/Harry Potter and the Order of 
the Phoenix/Thunderbolt(.avi) - 
http://www.albertofarina.tk

 nientemeno che sceneggiatore di contact, mi aspettavo qualcosa di più...
Uh, io sono andato in totale ignoranza non solo di chi avesse
collaborato al progetto ma anche degli HP precedenti - avevo letto solo
il primo, con un po' di noia, e visto due terzi del primo film in DVD
non arrivando alla fine. Per giunta, questo l'ho beccato iniziato da
dieci minuti, e NON sono rimasto a rivedermeli alla fine (sono entrato
che HP stava entrando al ministero della magia per essere processato).
Con queste premesse, mi e' parso un film guardabilissimo. La Rowling ha
tante piccole idee da sparpagliare qua e la' per rendere divertenti
storie non entusiasmanti, e questo si notava anche nel primo libro...
c'e' un'inventiva nel fantastico naturale/quotidiano che ricorda,
seppure in versione un po' piu' dozzinale ed esplicita, quella di Pamela
L. Travers, autrice dei libri di Mary Poppins. Certo, qui nel film le
idee fantastiche sono rovesciate a chili piu' che somministrate con la
parsimonia del saggio e alla lunga la cosa puo' diventare un po'
saturante. Ma credo che se avessi l'eta' giusta non faticherei a
diventare anche io un fan della serie e a ben vedere credo che non ci
sia da compiangere i ragazzini di oggi, per cui HP e' quello che per noi
era Star Wars - ed Emma Watson sta diventando decisamente piu' caruccia
di Carrie Fisher.
Certo, verso la fine cominciano a tirarsi mazzate di magia e diventa un
po' una palla. Pero' fin li' ci si arriva senza grande fatica...
-- 
UFV:Stalker/Motorpsycho/Harry Potter and the Order of 
the Phoenix/Thunderbolt(.avi) - 
http://www.albertofarina.tk

storie non entusiasmanti, e questo si notava anche nel primo libro...
Beh, poi ce ne sono stati altri sei, ovviamente. E a differenza di
altre saghe, a mio parere le cose vanno "maturando" in senso positivo
man mano che si raggiunge la conclusione della storia, cosa che non si
nota forse nei film corrispondenti.
Questo per dirti che te ne consiglio la lettura... ;-)
 
Ciao
Nicola
--
"Striving for mediocrity in a world of excellence."
----
"Nelle epoche buie la miglior guida dell'uomo e' la religione, cosi' come in una notte nera come
la pece la miglior guida e' un cieco: costui riconosce strade e sentieri meglio di chi vede.
Quando arriva il giorno, pero', e' da sciocchi usare per guida un vecchio cieco."
Heinrich Heine

 semplice, l'antipatia per DeMille.
No. L'antipatia per DeMille *e* per le sue posizioni e per quello che ha
detto quella sera. Ossia, tanto piu' che prima Ford provvede a lodarne
la professionalita', l'antipatia per le sue posizioni.
Non e' affatto un'antipatia personale, quella di Ford per DeMille: e'
un'antipatia che deriva da un comportamento che lui giudica
inaccettabile.


 a copiarlo e' un po' lungo)
Eh, vorra' dire che la leggero' quando tornero' ad essere a portata di
una connessione internet decente.


 inaccettabile.
Infatti era l'idea che mi ero fatto e tanto per gradire, sempre
dal link che per il momento non puoi leggere si dice:
"the coming days, Ford backpedaled and wrote a conciliatory letter to 
DeMille, hailing him for his "courage.and magnificent performance.so far 
above that goddamn pack of rats." Nonetheless, DeMille found his influence 
in the Guild permanently diminished."
Quindi sembra un atteggiamento abbastanza amichevole
verso il C.B persona.
maitre Aliboron
-- 
"Il y a plusieurs façons d'ętre con,
mais le con choisit toujours la pire."
(Frederic Dard) 

 una connessione internet decente.
Vabbe', pero' fatti un favore: appena puoi fai un salto
sulla pagina, c'e' qualche foto interessante (tra l'altro anche
la petizione pro-Mankiewicz in cui si riconoscono le firme
di Zinneman, Houston, Otto Lang (no l'amico Fritz),
Sturges, Wilder, Brooks...
Mi devi una birra a risarcimento della rottura di palle
di quelli che... "non si postano le pagine web su usenet
perche' la netiquette..."
A GUILD DIVIDED
How a fractured Guild battled over the
blacklist 57 years ago - and ultimately
came together
by James Ulmer
(foto)
The Fight for Unity: Prominent SDG members fight
to save the democratic process of their guild in
an October 16, 1950 letter sent to members urging
them to attend the recall meeting. - DGA Archives
---------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------
It was, by many accounts, the darkest night in the
Directors Guild's 70-year history.
On Oct. 22, 1950, over 300 Guild members gathered
for seven hours to fend off a political crisis that
threatened to destroy their governing body, turn
union brother against brother and undermine the
Guild's own long-term survival.
The setting was Hollywood's anti-communist purge,
when the winds of "witch hunts" and "red-baitings"
were catching the industry in the crosscurrents
of creeping panic and intolerance.
The plot turned on a mandatory loyalty oath: Would
the Screen Directors Guild, as it was then called,
risk a rupture by voting to adopt one for its members?
More to the point, would it sack its own president as
a necessary sacrifice to vanquish the Red threat?
Among the cast of characters who had staked their
reputations, even their careers, on the outcome that
night was a marquee of cinematic giants: DeMille,
Ford, Mankiewicz, Huston, Stevens, Lang, Capra,
Zinnemann, Wyler, Mamoulian, Kazan.
In a bizarre role switch, these directors had arrived
at the meeting to direct themselves out of a scenario
that was as dramatic as any they had set before a camera.
(foto)
Before the Storm: President George Stevens (behind desk)
presides over a board meeting in January 1949 with many
of the players in the later drama present.
(clockwise from right) William Wyler, Frank Capra,
Cecil B. DeMille, John Ford, George Sidney, Irving
Pichel, [executive secretary] J.P. McGowan,
Tay Garnett and King Vidor.
First, the backstory
By 1950, fear of an impending, far-reaching industry
blacklist was palpable. Washington's own posse of
anti-communist bloodhounds, the House Un-American
Activities Committee (HUAC), had begun in 1947 to
hunt down and punish anyone who bore even a suspicion
of communist sympathizer. Hungry to feed off the
headlines their Hollywood house-cleaning would generate
for their cause, Washington's witch hunters had
already interrogated and locked up the "Unfriendly
Ten"-a band of writers, directors and producers who
had refused to testify to the HUAC whether or not
they were communists. In Hollywood, many working
professionals were bracing for another venomous
round of red-baiting by the demagogic Senator
Joseph McCarthy and his Capitol Hill gang. Overseas,
the Korean War further fueled the climate of
tension and uncertainty across the country.
Thanks to the Red Scare, the Guild's board of
directors was a house deeply divided. On one
side was the faction of the SDG's most famous
and powerful member, the arch-conservative Cecil
B. DeMille. An unwavering ideologue, the revered
69 year old was also the Guild's self-appointed
watchdog who had gained control of the organization
through seniority, and by maneuvering to install
equally right-wing elders onto the board. DeMille
also headed the DeMille Foundation, which was
dedicated to compiling files on the leftist
affiliations of all screen directors-files that
would ultimately be spoon-fed to HUAC.
On the other side were the supporters of the
Guild's brilliant and successful young president,
the 41-year-old Joseph L. Mankiewicz. Marginally
a Republican, "Mank" was a man of liberal leanings
who had just won two Oscars for writing and directing
A Letter to Three Wives and was about to win two more
for his recently wrapped picture, All About Eve.
He was nobody's fool, but a political tyro compared
to DeMille.
DeMille and his backers on the Guild's board-namely
1st Vice President Albert S. Rogell and George
Marshall-had concocted a patriotic plan for the
Guild to become the first Hollywood union to
institute a membership loyalty oath. The Taft-Hartley
Labor Relations Act had already mandated that all
union officers sign anti-communist affidavits,
which the Guild's board members, as well as
President Mankiewicz, had certainly done. But
union members themselves remained exempt from
any oath. And that was an oversight which DeMille
and his fellow ideologues supporters intended to
change.
The single obstacle in their path was the Guild's
liberal-minded president, who had publicly rebuffed
the idea of a mandatory membership oath. If their
scheme were to succeed, they would have to push it
through behind Mankiewicz's back, while the director
was away on a two-month European vacation following
the completion of post-production on Eve.
On Aug. 18, when Mankiewicz and his wife were sailing
from France and couldn't easily be reached by phone,
DeMille and his faction decided to strike.
It may be helpful here to consider how the Guild's own
 internal genetics could, at that time, allow such an
in-house conspiracy to grow. The real power of the SDG
then resided not with its president, nor with
membership, but with its self-perpetuating 15-member board.
DeMille had endorsed Mankiewicz's installation as president
in early 1950, shrewdly figuring that the young director's
Oscar-laden credentials, along with his well-known distaste
for political activism, would stifle any risk of
troublemaking and render him malleable to his grand
seigneur's guidance.
As Mankiewicz put it in a filmed interview years later,
"It became clear that I was the front that Mr. DeMille
needed and wanted."
To Mankiewicz, the board's all-encompassing power was a
structural weakness that became a key enabler in the
blacklist drama. "The board literally ran the Guild,"
he noted. "[It] was accountable to no one.and was as close
to being a gentleman's club as is possible to have created.
I had no power whatsoever." Essentially, he saw his presidency
as a setup, a stage with a trapdoor operated by DeMille.
Meanwhile, on that day in August when Mankiewicz was
conveniently at sea, DeMille called an emergency meeting
of the board. The purpose was to draft a new bylaw making
it mandatory that all current and prospective Guild members,
and not just the board itself, sign a non-communist loyalty oath.
Strategically, they mailed out numbered, open ballots,
virtually assuring that the vast majority of the 618
recipients would be too fearful of identifying themselves
as opponents not to vote "yes." Not surprisingly, the bylaw
was passed by an overwhelming margin-547 to 14, with 57
unreturned. No one, it seemed, wanted the threat of
blacklisting to jeopardize his career, since Guild rules
mandated that the names of those refusing to sign be
delivered to the studios.
Unaware of DeMille's machinations, Mankiewicz sailed
into New York City from his vacation on Aug. 23 and
found himself greeted at the dock by a hoard of 50
reporters. What was his explanation, they wanted to
know, for the Guild passing a compulsory loyalty oath?
Stunned by the news, Mankiewicz returned to his hotel
room to find it flooded with hundreds of letters,
telegrams and phone calls from Guild members. Nearly
all protested what they saw as an attempt to railroad
directors into signing an oath without calling a
membership meeting to explain its reasons.
Mankiewicz immediately challenged both the legality and
morality of such a move and called a board meeting for
Sept. 5. There, the DeMille faction let loose the board's
pretext for the vote: Since all Hollywood unions and
guilds, they insisted, were inevitably going to adopt a
compulsory membership oath, they wanted the SDG to be
the union to lead the way. (In actuality, only the
Producers Guild also adopted the oath.) "It is a
wonderful thing, the Directors Guild leading the
procession of planting the stars and stripes on
[this industry]," DeMille proclaimed.
It was only the opening volley in DeMille's
orchestrated anti-communist campaign. First, the
director screened several of Mankiewicz's movies
to check for signs of communist propaganda. When he
found none, DeMille instructed Rogell to contact the
press and openly accuse Variety of being "anti-American"
for printing one of Mankiewicz's previous anti-oath
statements.
(foto)
Now Hear This: Guild president Joseph Mankiewicz had
just won two Oscars and was about to win two more when
recall proceedings were started by Cecil B. DeMille
in August 1950.
DeMille and his supporters, notably Frank Capra, also
protested Mankiewicz's use of the term "blacklist" in
characterizing the Guild's new bylaws. While the Guild
would indeed be obliged to include all non-signers of
the oath as members "not in good standing (a term
usually assigned to members who hadn't paid their dues),
the studios, they noted, would still be free to hire and
fire anyone they wanted.
But Mankiewicz wasn't buying that argument. "This guy's
un-American but you can hire him-that's a blacklist,"
he protested at a heated board meeting on Oct. 9. Like
George Stevens, his only open ally on the board, Mankiewicz
was deeply disturbed by the open balloting that had effectively
scared up a victory for the far right DeMille faction.
"I said, 'It seems to me that kind of thing only happens
in Moscow,'" Mankiewicz later recalled. "And [DeMille] said,
'Well, maybe we need a little of that here.'"
While Mankiewicz won the support of several board members,
including the conservative John Ford, he was still
outmaneuvered by DeMille's clan; the board formally
endorsed the bylaw with its "blacklist" provision.
That left Mankiewicz only one card to play. He insisted
that, as president, he would call a general membership
meeting to discuss the balloting. DeMille decried the idea,
claiming it would only serve to air the Guild's "dirty
laundry" in the papers.
Indeed, the media was having a field day with the story.
Hedda Hopper wrote that she supported the industry-wide
oath and insisted "those who aren't loyal should be put
in concentration camps before it's too late." Hearst
Publications' Louella Parsons had a personal ax to
grind with both Mankiewicz and his brother Herman,
ever since the latter modeled his scabrous screenplay
for Citizen Kane after her employer. Indeed, so much
venom was hurled at Mankiewicz for refusing to support
an industry-wide oath that his own sons complained of
being taunted as "commies" by their grade school peers.
Meanwhile, DeMille and his cohorts were preparing to
detonate their biggest land mine in their Hollywood
anti-communist crusade.
Two days after the Oct. 9 board meeting, DeMille
convened a secret meeting of the anti-Mankiewicz
supporters at his Paramount offices. Their plan?
To oust their president by means of a cleverly
orchestrated recall movement. With only one loyalist
breaking rank-Frank Capra walked out of the meeting
in disgust, soon to resign from the board-the group
voted to move ahead. But DeMille's "putsch in the
night," as John Huston dubbed it, would have to be
engineered hurriedly and stealthily before Mankiewicz
could have a chance to stop it-certainly before the
Sunday membership meeting. And it would legally need
the support of 60 percent of the Guild's membership,
or 167 votes.
On Thursday, the Guild's executive secretary and
DeMille's former assistant director, Vernon Keays,
worked overtime with the Guild's staff to mimeograph
the ballots on anonymous stationery. The entire text
read as follows: "This is a ballot to recall Joe
Mankiewicz. Sign here-Yes."
There was no space for a "no" vote, and the ballots
were numbered so that each voter's identity could be
traced. The return address was the Guild's Hollywood
office, a ruse leading most recipients to assume,
mistakenly, that it was a matter of official board business.
(foto)
Paper Tiger: After his power play to oust Mankiewicz
from the presidency failed, Cecil B. DeMille's
influence in the Guild faded.
To avoid sending ballots to possible Mankiewicz sympathizers
who might alert him to the attempted coup, the Guild's
address lists were carefully purged of 55 names before
the envelopes were stuffed, addressed and carted over
to DeMille's office. There, they were hustled off to
a cluster of messengers on motorcycles for delivery
to members' homes across the city, under the cloak
of night.
Over on the Fox lot, Mankiewicz was in a screening
room when he received a phone call at 11 p.m. from
his brother Herman, who had been tipped off to the
nascent coup by a very upset Capra. "So what do you
have in common with Andrew Johnson?" Herman blurted
out, hardly waiting for a reply. "You're being
impeached, my boy."
The next evening, while All About Eve and its own
backstage shenanigans were drawing raves at its
premiere in New York, Mankiewicz launched his
counter-strike. He called a meeting of supporters
in a back room at Chasen's restaurant, where Oscar
winners Billy Wilder, William Wyler, Elia Kazan
and John Huston were among many in attendance.
Mankiewicz's lawyer Martin Gang started off by
predicting that if the recall movement succeeded,
Mankiewicz's filmmaking career would be ruined.
He suggested two immediate actions: a legal
injunction to stop the balloting, and a petition
for a general membership meeting to inform
everyone of Mankiewicz's side of the story.
John Huston immediately volunteered to sponsor
the injunction. But it would take 25 signatures
to call a meeting, and the group worked feverishly
through the night to track down the necessary
quorum, knowing full well any signatory would
risk the wrath of DeMille. Richard Brooks,
Nicholas Ray, Robert Wise and Fred Zinnemann
were among those affixing their names, and at
2 a.m. a limo was directed to Walter Reich's
home to secure the 25th signature. The document
was "our declaration of independence," Mankiewicz
would say, later mailing out framed copies to the
signers as a reminder of their courage.
But when a small delegation marched over to
file the petition at the Guild's offices at
9 a.m. on Saturday (a normal workday for the
Guild), they were shocked to find the offices
closed. Keays later admitted to ordering it
shuttered in a move to sabotage the petition's
chances. As Mankiewicz's forces raced to the
phones to lobby members against signing their
recall ballots, DeMille's faction fired up their
final sally to justify the recall and squeeze out
their quota of votes.
A four-page telegram was sent to all 278 senior
members alleging that Mankiewicz had "repudiated
the democratic vote of its membership," "pitted
himself against its board of directors," and had
made "untrue and incendiary" accusations of a "blacklist."
DeMille's forces, however, couldn't stop the petition,
which was served Monday morning. Now the board was
obliged to hold an assembly of the membership, which
was called for Sunday evening, Oct. 22.
As John Huston put it, "The fat was on the fire."
Although most, if not all, of the story's major
players have now passed on, their voices can be
heard in dozens of books, articles, and taped
and filmed remembrances of that tumultuous night
57 years ago. For more than seven hours, a
collision of raw nerves and bruised loyalties
played out in the packed room as collision of
raw nerves, soured friendships and entrenched
beliefs battled it out as members cheered,
booed, clapped and catcalled their response
like a scene from a DeMille adventure epic.
(foto)
The Last Word: The dignified George Stevens stunned
the meeting by resigning from the board .
- photo ©1978 Sid Avery/MPTV.net
Far beyond the political repercussions of a single man,
the issue to be tested for the Guild was this: Could
ideology destroy fraternity?
"It was the most incredible.and emotional meeting I
have ever experienced, and ever will," Mankiewicz told
George Stevens Jr. in a 1982 film the latter made about
his father, George Stevens: A Filmmaker's Journey.
A chapter in the Mankiewicz biography, Pictures Will
Talk, dubs the meeting "The Night They Drove Old C.B. Down."
To Stevens Jr., who was 18 at the time his father
played a leading role in the drama, it was simply
"the night the Guild rallied to save its soul."
In the packed Crystal Room of the Beverly Hills Hotel,
the crowd was primed for a fight. The board of directors
and President Mankiewicz held court on the dais, where
DeMille, ever the showman, had directed a special pink
spotlight be installed to bathe his bald pate.
Mankiewicz opened the proceedings with a straightforward
synopsis of the events leading up to that night. DeMille
took the floor and offered what seemed an olive branch:
he would be willing to burn, uncounted, all the recall
ballots. But he would not back down on the loyalty oath.
Then DeMille made his first strategic blunder. Eager to
show the foreign influences at work in the Guild, he
read off a list of presumed "Red front" organizations
to which the 25 signatories belonged, suggesting that
if Mankiewicz remained as president, his left-wing
supporters would take over the Guild.
That triggered a torrent of boos and catcalls from
the packed hall, leaving DeMille clearly shaken as
he sat down. "I resent paper-hat patriots who stand
up and holler, 'I am an American' and contend that
no one else is," exclaimed Don Hartman.
Some stammered with outrage as they stood up to speak.
"I resent beyond belief the things you said as you
summarized the 25 men," said Delmar Daves. "I think
it was disgraceful.this.disunity that has been
fostered upon us."
Others, like Rouben Mamoulian, were nearly in tears.
The Russian-born director rose to make what Richard
Brooks remembered as the most "heart-wrenching"
address of the night.
"I have an accent," Mamoulian offered painfully,
sharing that for the first time in his American
life he had become afraid of having one (a fear
echoed later that evening by Fritz Lang). He,
too, deplored the way members needed to trace
their heritage to prove their Americanism. "I
feel I have more reason to stand on my being a
good American because I chose it. I wanted to
become an American."
John Huston was "trembling with anger," according
to one report, when he demanded of DeMille: "In
your tabulation of the 25 men.how many were in
uniform when you were wrapping yourself in the
flag?"
As George Stevens Jr. would later observe, many
of the Guild's most respected men, including William
Wyler, Huston, Ford and Anatol Litvak "had served
in World War II and resented the fact that some of
those that stayed home, for whatever reasons-Ronald
Reagan, John Wayne, Adolph Menjou and DeMille among
them-had now become the judges of who were patriots
or not."
But it was Stevens himself-the dignified and
much-revered director who had served three times as
Guild president-who delivered what Mankiewicz termed
the coup de grace of the evening. Seated at a little
table crowned by his bulging red loose-leaf notebook,
he proceeded to read from an exhaustive report he had
compiled from Guild staff interviews, unloading his
case against DeMille and his cohorts' "illegal takeover"
of the Guild.
"It was rigged," Stevens said of the recall. "It was
organized.and if there hadn't been a slip-up somewhere.
Mr. Mankiewicz would have been out. He would just have
been smeared and 
out.in
 36 hours, if you please." The
Guild office staff, he added, "said they couldn't sleep
at night with a conspiracy like this going on."
Stevens then stunned the audience by resigning from
the board of directors, "because [of those] who are
trying to split up this Guild." It was a performance,
Mankiewicz later remembered, "worthy of Clarence Darrow."
That night, Stevens concluded it to thunderous applause.
(foto)
A signed copy of the petition calling for the
meeting to block Mankiewicz's recall.
Don Hartman demanded that DeMille withdraw his charges
and insinuations against the 25, but DeMille would not
be cowed, insisting all his information was already a
matter of record on Capitol Hill. He then proceeded to
read off names of Guild members he judged most vulnerable
to communism. Worse, he pronounced the names of the émigré
directors with a Jewish (some would call it anti-Semitic)
accent: "Veely Vyler," for example, and "Fred Tsinnemann."
Wyler could hardly contain his anger. "I am sick and tired
of people.questioning my loyalty to my country," he exclaimed,
noting he had signed a loyalty oath twice. "The next time I
hear somebody do it, I am going to kick the hell out of him.
I don't care how old he is or how big."
Turning to confront DeMille, Hartman delivered the evening's
most audacious sally: "Mr. DeMille, I have charges against you.
I accuse you of misconduct in the Guild, and I ask for your
resignation." His words met with cheers. Though the motion
was seconded, it would later be withdrawn in a bid for Guild unity.
Sitting quietly for the past five hours in the center of the
 dais, sporting his trademark tennis shoes and pipe and
chewing on a handkerchief, was John Ford. One of the
Guild's original founders, Ford was idolized by its members.
 Mankiewicz knew that whichever way Ford swayed in the
controversy, the membership would doubtless follow-and
with them, Mankiewicz's fate.
Finally, after midnight, Ford raised his hand.
"I have been sick and tired and ashamed of this
whole goddamn thing-I don't care which side it is,"
Ford told the crowd. "If they intend to break up the
Guild, they've pretty well done it tonight."
Playing the conciliator, he added, "I don't agree
with C.B. DeMille. I admire him, but I don't like him...
You know when you get the two blackest Republicans I know,
Joseph Mankiewicz and C.B. DeMille, and they start a fight
over communism, it is getting laughable to me."
The Guild, Ford said, was in crisis and needed to clean
house. Then he dropped his bombshell: "There is only one
alternative, and that is for the board of directors to
resign and elect a new board." His words were greeted
with a roar of applause and cheers.
Ford's proposal offered a way out, and the bleary-eyed
membership, some of whom were due on their sets in only
a few hours, voted on the motion by ballot. The announcement
by Mankiewicz of its passage earned the night's final ovation,
whereupon each of the board members rose to offer his resignation.
The image of a battered, humiliated DeMille descending from the
podium and withdrawing defiantly to the back of the hall was
a memory few would forget.
The only piece of business left was to approve a five-man
independent committee to investigate the entire recall
affair, and to pass another motion praising the 25
petition signers who had called the meeting. Then
the emotionally wrung membership adjourned. It was
2:20 a.m.
Looking back, it might seem that not much of any real
consequence was actually accomplished that night.
The Guild, after all, still instituted a loyalty
oath for its members, which remained on the books
until the end of the '50s. In
the coming days, Ford backpedaled and wrote a
conciliatory letter to DeMille, hailing him for his
 "courage.and magnificent performance.so far above
that goddamn pack of rats." Nonetheless, DeMille
found his influence in the Guild permanently diminished.
As for Mankiewicz, only four days after the meeting
he penned a letter to the full membership asking them
to sign the loyalty oath after all. He never really
explained his capitulation, but to many it suggested
he cared less about that oath itself than the
undemocratic way the board pushed it through. He left
the presidency the following spring, having served
only a single one-year term.
(foto)
Conciliator: Introducing himself as "a maker of
Westerns," John Ford confronted DeMille and said
the Guild was in crisis and needed to clean house.
It is certainly true that what would later be
considered one of the Guild's most climactic
meetings had little political impact in stemming
the tide of the communist witch hunt in Hollywood.
Few, if any, Hollywood institutions acquitted
themselves in this unfortunate chapter. Indeed,
some observers regard the meeting as little more
than political posturing-on both sides of the aisle.
Ultimately, the legacy of this episode in Guild
history resonates more strongly on how the DGA
operates today, than it did during its own tumultuous
times. As if to answer Mankiewicz's expressed concerns,
the board was now empowered to represent the goals of
directors, and not merely its own self-interest.
Consequently, the membership would become more
engaged and active than it had ever been before.
Among the members present that night, George Sidney,
Del Mann and Robert Wise would go on to serve as
Guild presidents. Personal political agendas would
no longer determine the workings of the Guild at
the expense of representing and protecting the
collective rights of directors to pursue their craft.
It's no wonder, then, that many directors left the
meeting that night invested with a renewed sense
of purpose. Among them was Stevens, whose
extraordinary presentation, many believed, had
persuaded Ford and the membership to bury the recall.
Experiencing a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration,
he was unable to sleep. He hopped into his car and
drove 50 miles up the coast to Ventura and back,
not returning until four in the morning. Like Ford,
he had lamented that the Guild's obsession with
fighting communism had trumped its commitment to
making movies. Now it was back on track.
maitre Aliboron
-- 
"Il y a plusieurs façons d'être con,


 La Gilda racconta se stessa.
A GUILD DIVIDED
How a fractured Guild battled over the blacklist 57 years ago - and
ultimately came together
by James Ulmer
It was, by many accounts, the darkest night in the Directors Guild's
70-year history.
On Oct. 22, 1950, over 300 Guild members gathered for seven hours to
fend off a political crisis that threatened to destroy their governing
body, turn union brother against brother and undermine the Guild's own
long-term survival.
The setting was Hollywood's anti-communist purge, when the winds of
"witch hunts" and "red-baitings" were catching the industry in the
crosscurrents of creeping panic and intolerance.
The plot turned on a mandatory loyalty oath: Would the Screen Directors
Guild, as it was then called, risk a rupture by voting to adopt one for
its members? More to the point, would it sack its own president as a
necessary sacrifice to vanquish the Red threat?
Among the cast of characters who had staked their reputations, even
their careers, on the outcome that night was a marquee of cinematic
giants: DeMille, Ford, Mankiewicz, Huston, Stevens, Lang, Capra,
Zinnemann, Wyler, Mamoulian, Kazan.
In a bizarre role switch, these directors had arrived at the meeting to
direct themselves out of a scenario that was as dramatic as any they had
set before a camera. 
First, the backstory
By 1950, fear of an impending, far-reaching industry blacklist was
palpable. Washington's own posse of anti-communist bloodhounds, the
House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC), had begun in 1947 to hunt
down and punish anyone who bore even a suspicion of communist
sympathizer. Hungry to feed off the headlines their Hollywood
house-cleaning would generate for their cause, Washington's witch
hunters had already interrogated and locked up the "Unfriendly Ten"—a
band of writers, directors and producers who had refused to testify to
the HUAC whether or not they were communists. In Hollywood, many working
professionals were bracing for another venomous round of red-baiting by
the demagogic Senator Joseph McCarthy and his Capitol Hill gang.
Overseas, the Korean War further fueled the climate of tension and
uncertainty across the country.
Thanks to the Red Scare, the Guild's board of directors was a house
deeply divided. On one side was the faction of the SDG's most famous and
powerful member, the arch-conservative Cecil B. DeMille. An unwavering
ideologue, the revered 69 year old was also the Guild's self-appointed
watchdog who had gained control of the organization through seniority,
and by maneuvering to install equally right-wing elders onto the board.
DeMille also headed the DeMille Foundation, which was dedicated to
compiling files on the leftist affiliations of all screen
directors—files that would ultimately be spoon-fed to HUAC.
On the other side were the supporters of the Guild's brilliant and
successful young president, the 41-year-old Joseph L. Mankiewicz.
Marginally a Republican, "Mank" was a man of liberal leanings who had
just won two Oscars for writing and directing A Letter to Three Wives
and was about to win two more for his recently wrapped picture, All
About Eve. He was nobody's fool, but a political tyro compared to
DeMille.
DeMille and his backers on the Guild's board—namely 1st Vice President
Albert S. Rogell and George Marshall—had concocted a patriotic plan for






literally ran the Guild," he noted. "[It] was accountable to no one…and
was as close to being a gentleman's club as is possible to have
created…I had no power whatsoever." Essentially, he saw his presidency
as a setup, a stage with a trapdoor operated by DeMille.
Meanwhile, on that day in August when Mankiewicz was conveniently at
sea, DeMille called an emergency meeting of the board. The purpose was
to draft a new bylaw making it mandatory that all current and
prospective Guild members, and not just the board itself, sign a
non-communist loyalty oath.
Strategically, they mailed out numbered, open ballots, virtually
assuring that the vast majority of the 618 recipients would be too
fearful of identifying themselves as opponents not to vote "yes." Not
surprisingly, the bylaw was passed by an overwhelming margin—547 to 14,




DeMille and his supporters, notably Frank Capra, also protested
Mankiewicz's use of the term "blacklist" in characterizing the Guild's
new bylaws. While the Guild would indeed be obliged to include all
non-signers of the oath as members "not in good standing (a term usually
assigned to members who hadn't paid their dues), the studios, they
noted, would still be free to hire and fire anyone they wanted.
But Mankiewicz wasn't buying that argument. "This guy's un-American but
you can hire him—that's a blacklist," he protested at a heated board






recall movement. With only one loyalist breaking rank—Frank Capra walked
out of the meeting in disgust, soon to resign from the board—the group
voted to move ahead. But DeMille's "putsch in the night," as John Huston
dubbed it, would have to be engineered hurriedly and stealthily before
Mankiewicz could have a chance to stop it—certainly before the Sunday
membership meeting. And it would legally need the support of 60 percent
of the Guild's membership, or 167 votes.
On Thursday, the Guild's executive secretary and DeMille's former
assistant director, Vernon Keays, worked overtime with the Guild's staff
to mimeograph the ballots on anonymous stationery. The entire text read
as follows: "This is a ballot to recall Joe Mankiewicz. Sign here—Yes."
There was no space for a "no" vote, and the ballots were numbered so
that each voter's identity could be traced. The return address was the
Guild's Hollywood office, a ruse leading most recipients to assume,
mistakenly, that it was a matter of official board business. 
To avoid sending ballots to possible Mankiewicz sympathizers who might









Far beyond the political repercussions of a single man, the issue to be
tested for the Guild was this: Could ideology destroy fraternity?
"It was the most incredible…and emotional meeting I have ever






Daves. "I think it was disgraceful…this…disunity that has been fostered
upon us."
Others, like Rouben Mamoulian, were nearly in tears. The Russian-born
director rose to make what Richard Brooks remembered as the most
"heart-wrenching" address of the night.
"I have an accent," Mamoulian offered painfully, sharing that for the
first time in his American life he had become afraid of having one (a
fear echoed later that evening by Fritz Lang). He, too, deplored the way
members needed to trace their heritage to prove their Americanism. "I
feel I have more reason to stand on my being a good American because I
chose it. I wanted to become an American."
John Huston was "trembling with anger," according to one report, when he
demanded of DeMille: "In your tabulation of the 25 men…how many were in
uniform when you were wrapping yourself in the flag?"
As George Stevens Jr. would later observe, many of the Guild's most
respected men, including William Wyler, Huston, Ford and Anatol Litvak
"had served in World War II and resented the fact that some of those
that stayed home, for whatever reasons—Ronald Reagan, John Wayne, Adolph
Menjou and DeMille among them—had now become the judges of who were
patriots or not."
But it was Stevens himself—the dignified and much-revered director who
had served three times as Guild president—who delivered what Mankiewicz
termed the coup de grace of the evening. Seated at a little table
crowned by his bulging red loose-leaf notebook, he proceeded to read
from an exhaustive report he had compiled from Guild staff interviews,
unloading his case against DeMille and his cohorts' "illegal takeover"
of the Guild.
"It was rigged," Stevens said of the recall. "It was organized…and if
there hadn't been a slip-up somewhere…Mr. Mankiewicz would have been
out. He would just have been smeared and out…in 36 hours, if you
please." The Guild office staff, he added, "said they couldn't sleep at
night with a conspiracy like this going on."
Stevens then stunned the audience by resigning from the board of
directors, "because [of those] who are trying to split up this Guild."
It was a performance, Mankiewicz later remembered, "worthy of Clarence
Darrow." That night, Stevens concluded it to thunderous applause.
Don Hartman demanded that DeMille withdraw his charges and insinuations
against the 25, but DeMille would not be cowed, insisting all his
information was already a matter of record on Capitol Hill. He then
proceeded to read off names of Guild members he judged most vulnerable
to communism. Worse, he pronounced the names of the émigré directors
with a Jewish (some would call it anti-Semitic) accent: "Veely Vyler,"
for example, and "Fred Tsinnemann."
Wyler could hardly contain his anger. "I am sick and tired of
people…questioning my loyalty to my country," he exclaimed, noting he
had signed a loyalty oath twice. "The next time I hear somebody do it, I
am going to kick the hell out of him. I don't care how old he is or how
big."
Turning to confront DeMille, Hartman delivered the evening's most
audacious sally: "Mr. DeMille, I have charges against you…I accuse you
of misconduct in the Guild, and I ask for your resignation." His words
met with cheers. Though the motion was seconded, it would later be
withdrawn in a bid for Guild unity.
Sitting quietly for the past five hours in the center of the dais,
sporting his trademark tennis shoes and pipe and chewing on a
handkerchief, was John Ford. One of the Guild's original founders, Ford
was idolized by its members. Mankiewicz knew that whichever way Ford
swayed in the controversy, the membership would doubtless follow—and
with them, Mankiewicz's fate.
Finally, after midnight, Ford raised his hand.
"I have been sick and tired and ashamed of this whole goddamn thing—I
don't care which side it is," Ford told the crowd. "If they intend to
break up the Guild, they've pretty well done it tonight."
Playing the conciliator, he added, "I don't agree with C.B. DeMille. I
admire him, but I don't like him...You know when you get the two
blackest Republicans I know, Joseph Mankiewicz and C.B. DeMille, and
they start a fight over communism, it is getting laughable to me."
The Guild, Ford said, was in crisis and needed to clean house. Then he
dropped his bombshell: "There is only one alternative, and that is for
the board of directors to resign and elect a new board." His words were
greeted with a roar of applause and cheers.
Ford's proposal offered a way out, and the bleary-eyed membership, some
of whom were due on their sets in only a few hours, voted on the motion
by ballot. The announcement by Mankiewicz of its passage earned the
night's final ovation, whereupon each of the board members rose to offer
his resignation. The image of a battered, humiliated DeMille descending
from the podium and withdrawing defiantly to the back of the hall was a
memory few would forget.
The only piece of business left was to approve a five-man independent
committee to investigate the entire recall affair, and to pass another
motion praising the 25 petition signers who had called the meeting. Then
the emotionally wrung membership adjourned. It was 2:20 a.m.
Looking back, it might seem that not much of any real consequence was
actually accomplished that night. The Guild, after all, still instituted
a loyalty oath for its members, which remained on the books until the
end of the '50s. In
the coming days, Ford backpedaled and wrote a conciliatory letter to
DeMille, hailing him for his "courage…and magnificent performance…so far
above that goddamn pack of rats." Nonetheless, DeMille found his
influence in the Guild permanently diminished.
As for Mankiewicz, only four days after the meeting he penned a letter
to the full membership asking them to sign the loyalty oath after all.
He never really explained his capitulation, but to many it suggested he
cared less about that oath itself than the undemocratic way the board
pushed it through. He left the presidency the following spring, having
served only a single one-year term.
It is certainly true that what would later be considered one of the
Guild's most climactic meetings had little political impact in stemming
the tide of the communist witch hunt in Hollywood. Few, if any,
Hollywood institutions acquitted themselves in this unfortunate chapter.
Indeed, some observers regard the meeting as little more than political
posturing—on both sides of the aisle.
Ultimately, the legacy of this episode in Guild history resonates more
strongly on how the DGA operates today, than it did during its own
tumultuous times. As if to answer Mankiewicz's expressed concerns, the
board was now empowered to represent the goals of directors, and not
merely its own self-interest. Consequently, the membership would become
more engaged and active than it had ever been before. Among the members
present that night, George Sidney, Del Mann and Robert Wise would go on
to serve as Guild presidents. Personal political agendas would no longer
determine the workings of the Guild at the expense of representing and
protecting the collective rights of directors to pursue their craft.
It's no wonder, then, that many directors left the meeting that night
invested with a renewed sense of purpose. Among them was Stevens, whose
extraordinary presentation, many believed, had persuaded Ford and the
membership to bury the recall. Experiencing a mixture of exhaustion and
exhilaration, he was unable to sleep. He hopped into his car and drove
50 miles up the coast to Ventura and back, not returning until four in
the morning. Like Ford, he had lamented that the Guild's obsession with
fighting communism had trumped its commitment to making movies. Now it
was back on track. 


 perche' la netiquette..."
Ci siamo incrociati, ma la birra te la pago lo stesso.
