2005 US Dist. LEXIS 15189

Craig Mowry sued Viacom International as well as its subsidiary Paramount Pictures, producer Scott Rudin and his production company and screenwriter Andrew Niccol alleging that the film The Truman Show written by Niccol and produced by Rudin through Paramount was stolen from Mowry’s copyrighted screenplay The Crew. Both are about secret recordings of an unwitting person. Mowry alleged that because he had sent his screenplay to many entertainment and advertising industry professionals Niccol and Paramount had the opportunity to access his material and steal it. Furthermore he claims that Niccol’s script extracts several portions of his own script and even cites a study by a doctor who used a cladistic or phylogenentic tree method to determine derivative authorship and claim that Mowry’s work was stolen. However, the court not only throws out Dr. Chaski’s testimony and rules that simply because Mowry’s work had been shown to others in the same industry it does not prove Rudin or Niccol had ever seen the work. The court reads both scripts and does not find any substantial similarities or indication that Niccol had infringed upon Mowry’s copyrighted work. 

This case is significant since it is an example of the courts actually taking an active role in a credit dispute. However, since this case is a copyright infringement case, governed by law, it falls under their jurisdiction. It also upholds the notion that copyright, and therefore credit and authorship, cannot be attributed to a basic idea. The court ruled that the two scripts differed with regard to “plot, theme, character, mood, setting and total concept and feel.” This statement can be interpreted as a definition of authorship. Authorship is based on the substance of the complete work. 

Hudson, Joel. "Who Wrote Lawrence of Arabia? Sam Spiegel and David Lean's Denial of Credit to a Blacklisted Screenwriter." Cineaste: America's Leading Magazine on the Art and Politics of the Cinema 4.20 (1994): 12-18.

 

                The article written by Joel Hudson is particularly apt for researching the production history of Lawrence of Arabia.  In this work, Hudson discusses the long-drawn-out battle over screen credit for the film that took place between David Lean, the director of the film, and Michael Wilson, the original scriptwriter.  Robert Bolt, the second writer hired to the film, until recently was the only writer given official recognition in America.  Hudson gives a detailed analysis of the similarities between the Wilson and Bolt scripts, and argues that the basic structure of the film largely results from Wilson’s invention.  He gives examples of several scenes crucial to the dramatic development of the film.  Furthermore, the writer outlines the personal and political motivations that initially fueled the battle.  He describes Wilson’s status as a screenwriter blacklisted by the House Un-American Activities Committee, and the personal grudge that arose between Lean and Wilson after the latter, frustrated and exhausted, abandoned the project.

            This article provides a broader historical context for the film, as it grounds Lawrence of Arabia in reality.  The practical focus of this piece works well as a contrast for the very mythic themes that must be dealt with when writing about a figure like T. E. Lawrence and the legendary film that portrays him.  When trying to analyze the myth of Lawrence, it is terribly important to know which writers are responsible for formulating his portrayal as it appears in the film, and why they made particular choices about which events to include, which to cut out, and which to dramatize.  Furthermore, it seems that the well-publicized and long-drawn-out legal battles that surrounded the film also aided in drawing it attention.  Hudson's piece makes it clear that there are very many factors involved in bolstering a film's status within the public eye.

 

Gulino, Paul Joseph. "7. Lawrence of Arabia: Sixteen Sequences and an Intermission." Screenwriting: The Sequence Approach: The Hidden Structure of Successful Screenplays. New York: The Continuum International Publishing Group Inc, 2004.

 Paul Joseph Gulino’s chapter on Lawrence of Arabia, although not very well-edited and delivered in a somewhat dry writing-style, still provides a useful, sequence-by-sequence breakdown. The author points out several very interesting transitions of imagery and dialogue, and he relates important motifs that serve to link and give structure to the four hour film. Furthermore, at the end of the chapter appears a concise but useful summary of each sequence within the film. Gulino observes that David Lean and his assistant-directors did an excellent job of keeping their audiences well aware of the unfolding of the plot, and of the place of each sequence within the overall structure. Through the use of props and dialogue hooks, each sequence continually references moments from preceding shots, while at the same time foreshadowing elements of the film that will emerge later on.

Overall, this piece seems to be extraordinarily useful for any paper written on Lawrence of Arabia, as it provides such detailed descriptions of the many sequences that comprise an epic so daunting in its length. Gulino’s focus on the intricacy of the movie’s form calls for a reevaluation of many of the scenes. His chapter helps the viewer to focus on the very crucial details that can be missed in the overwhelming sweep of the film. Once the reader sees the incredible attention and effort that the directors and assistant-editors placed into weaving together the pieces of Lawrence of Arabia, it highlights even more the need to understand why individuals are so willing to spend so much time and money in portraying the life of T. E. Lawrence.

Although a bit dated (the book was published in 1983), the explanations and insights Goldman makes about the Hollywood film industry are both profound and applicable to today’s business.  Goldman’s sense of humor and practical working knowledge of show-business shine through every chapter.  Even the structure of the book itself reflects Goldman’s simultaneous mockery and appreciation of how Hollywood runs.  The first part of his book is titled “Hollywood Realities” and is broken down into two sections.  The first section of this segment, “The Powers that Be,” explains how films get “green-lighted” in the great big Hollywood world by breaking down the influence of the big players into chapters titled “Stars,” “Directors,” “Producers” and “Studio Executives.”  After wading through the strengths and shortcomings of each of these filmmaking powerhouses, Goldman uses the second section of “Hollywood Realities” to describe the “Elements” critical to writing a good screenplay.  In this section, chapters are titled “Agents,” “L.A.,” “Meetings,” “Beginnings,” “Protecting the Star” and so forth.  These chapters in particular are loaded with insightful information for aspiring film writers and contain many personal accounts of events that shaped and defined Goldman’s experience as a screenwriter.

            In subsequent parts of the book, Goldman describes specific screenwriting “Adventures” he has undergone in his filmmaking career.  Here, each chapter pertains to a specific film Goldman worked on and lays out how he got involved in each project and what he learned from each experience.  Following ten of these examples, Goldman then devotes nearly two-hundred pages of his book solely to the screenplay and production of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.  Granted that one-hundred and sixty pages of this segment is a transcript of the screenplay itself, Goldman clearly meant to emphasize his feelings about the effort and heart that went into writing script.  Following the written screenplay, Goldman includes a fascinating critique of his own work in back to back sections titled “The Weaknesses of the Screenplay” and “The Strengths of the Screenplay.”  Whether or not the reader agrees with all of Goldman’s self-criticism, it is certainly interesting to hear the screenwriter’s opinion of his own work more than ten years after the filming itself.

 

 

 

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    Robert Stam's novel, Literature and Film, was extremely helpful in clarifying the issues that cloud the process of adapting a novel. I was particularly interested in the first chapter of the book, entitled "The Theory and Practice of Adaptation", because I was keen on exploring the issues that a director, screenwriter, and cinematographer must consider when adapting a book to film. Robert Stam touches on exactly these concerns. The subsequent chapters of the novel are written by a host of film experts, and touch on on specific adaptations in Hollywood history. But in Stam's chapter, he explains how the film medium inevitably changes the meaning of literary works; an idea that is important to the understaning David Lean's adaptation of Doctor Zhivago. Stam begins by introducing his reader to a phenomenon known as the "automatic difference" between the film media and the literary media. He claims that there are certain aspects of the transition from literature to film that will change the meaning of the story no matter how many measures are taken to remain loyal to the novel. For instance, Stam begins by acknowledging the cost limitations of filmmaking. He uses War and Peace as his prime example. Whereas Tolstoy simply utilized paper, a pen, and talent to write his story, the analogous film rendition would drain the pockets of its producers. Once these budgetary constraints are settled, there are still the issues of available talent, pressure from both studios and producers, censorship, and a host of other constraining factors. An additional factor also causes the film to diverge from the novel; while one man or woman writes a novel with a single vision in mind, a film is made by a crew ranging from as small as five to as large as several hundred people. Therefore, a film adaptation is often the combined vision of several people at once. Finally, Stam addressses the most important "automatic difference" of all, and this is simply the multitrack medium of film. While literature is a single-track medium involving only the written word, film has the ability to combine words, images, and music. Robert Stam uses a scene from Grapes of Wrath to better exemplify this idea. A passage from the novel describes Ma Joad sitting with an opened box of memorabilia, fingering through them one at a time. However, in John Ford's film adaptation, Ma Joad sits next to a fire while solemnlly looking through the box, and music plays in the background. Both of these changes drastically alter the meaning of the scene. Stam writes, "Thus nothing in the novel prepares us for the idea that Ma Joad will look at the memorabilia by the light of the fire, the reflections of which will flicker over her face...nor does the John Steinbeck [author] mention music, yet the Ford version features a melancholy accordion version of the song 'Red River Valley'". (Literature and Film, pg. 18). Therefore, Robert Stam attempts to convey to the reader the importance of objectively watching a film adaptation. Many times, people criticize a film's inability to capture the "essence" of a novel, but one must remember the great differences distinguish the literary media from the film media. Instead, viewers should ask themselves, "what does the film add to the adaptation?" After reading this chapter in Literature and Film, I was able to approach Doctor Zhivago under the same light.

 

 

Two years before Christopher Nolan's Memento made its movie debut, Jonathan Nolan, Christopher's brother, generated an idea for a short story titled Memento Mori, which would present a meditation on time and the meaning of life. Although it took Jonathan another two years to write the story, he shared the idea with his brother. Garry Gillard explores the relationship between the two works, using the short story as an aid in processing and understanding the cognitively and emotionally difficult Memento. At the same time, Gillard examines the ways in which Memento employs different conventions of cinematography and various film genres. The driving thematic force in the movie is the concept of revenge, which allows filmmakers to play with relative moral values, simultaneously providing a remarkably feasible structure for the narrative. Nolan's film utilizes this principle to build a powerful psychological motivation for the protagonist, at the same time providing multiple opportunities for suspense to engage the audience. Memento, Gillard argues, also reflects the conventions of the crime genre and its detective subset by building the protagonist on the basis of a common genre trope an investigator who is not a police officer and is often smarter than the police themselves. Despite recognizing the ways in which Nolan uses film conventions, the author points out that Memento is unique in one aspect of its structure the very first thing we see after the film's title appears on the screen is the very last thing that occurs in the story. While many other films begin with the same situations with which they end, such as Sunset Boulevard, Gillard points out the outrageous thing about Memento is that it actually runs backwards, so that the first moment is the last. Gillard closes by drawing a parallel between the existential ruminations of the protagonists in the film and the short story as they relate to the unifying theme of living within a moment and within one's own mind. The author argues both insights are the result of meditation on the nature of experience, the nature of time, and the relationship between the two.

Tyler, Ralph. "'Butch Cassidy' was my western, 'Magic' is my Hitchcock." (interview with William Goldman). The New York Times 128 Nov 12 1978 sec 2 (1978): 23.
Document Type: FILM ARTICLE
Language: English

Bosley Crowther uses Lifeboat as a case study in the issues he sees with the current state of the film industry.  He questions why the screenwriter never receives the attention and the acclaim that the playwright does.  With control firmly rooted in the hands of the producer and the director, a screenwriter may find his name attached to a project that is significantly altered from his original vision.  Early criticism of Lifeboat came on the shoulders of both Hitchcock and Steinbeck.  Steinbeck was a well known name, but for his novels not for his work in the film industry.  Subsequently, his name was used to market the film even though he had no control and input on the final print.  The lack of control is a situation that many Hollywood screenwriters could find themselves in.

 

Crowther’s analysis and comparison of Steinbeck’s original treatment of Lifeboat and the final script reveals the specifics of the changes Steinbeck that drove Steinbeck to seek the removal of his name from the film.  Steinbeck’s tale was even more character and less plot driven then Hitchcock’s final film.  The largest change is the democracies foe was not the Nazi but the ocean.  The Nazi attempted take over was little more than a subplot which was handled after only one act of deception by the other survivors.

 

Crowther accuses Hitchcock and producer Macgowan of “preempting” Steinbeck’s “creative authority.”  However, he acknowledges that under the current system the director and the producer have every right to change, for better or worse, a screenwriter’s original intent and characters.  He places blame too not only the founders of the system, but the writers who do not do anything to change it.  Crowther does not seek a system in which the producer has no control, as without his financing the film would not be made.  He seeks for a more balanced industry in which the financial and creative input are on a more balanced footing.