Weekend '33

by Bob Thomas

Over the course of a Labor Day weekend, a Hearst-like newspaper tycoon tries to manipulate four studio heads into giving him the power and control he wants.

Mass Market Paperback

First published January 1, 1971

About the author

Robert Joseph "Bob" Thomas was an American Hollywood film industry biographer and reporter who worked for the Associated Press from 1944.

Born in San Diego, he grew up in Los Angeles, where his father was a film publicist. He attended UCLA. He lived in Encino with his wife, Patricia. They have three daughters. Thomas, aged 92, died on March 14, 2014 at his home.

Thomas made his mark by engaging celebrities in activities that brought out their personalities, whether by measuring their waistline after childbirth (as he did with Betty Grable) or testing just how tall a leading lady needed to be by kissing her himself (as he did with June Haver). Acclaimed as the dean of Hollywood reporters, Bob Thomas wrote about the movie business for the Associated Press since the days when Hollywood was run by the men who founded it: Jack Warner, Darryl F. Zanuck, Harry Cohn and Louis B. Mayer.

During his long history of reporting for the AP, Thomas authored at least 30 books. Many in the film industry credit his 1969 biography of producer Irving G. Thalberg as sparking their interest in pursuing a career behind the scenes. Other Thomas biographies include Joan Crawford, Marlon Brando, David O. Selznick, Walter Winchell, Bob Hope, Bing Crosby, Howard Hughes, Abbott & Costello, Walt Disney, and a children's book, Walt Disney: Magician of the Movies. - Wikipedia

Reviews

[TalkinHorse · Rating 5 out of 5]

This isn't a great book. I'm not sure I can say it's a good book. Nor can I say exactly why I'm giving it 5 stars, but it's what I must do. Somehow this book made me laugh out loud in a number of places and even touched me at points. It gave me a few moments of escapism that I badly needed in these troubled times.

It's easy enough reading, but there are too many characters to keep track of; too many to fully flesh them out individually. Even so, they rise above caricatures and become real enough for me to care about their problems. Somehow this book just works, at least for me. In reading this, I spent a couple of hours visiting a funhouse version of 1933 Hollywood, and it was delicious.

The story is focused on a weekend event. It's 1933, and one of the wealthiest and most influential men of the era has invited a number of Hollywood movers-and-shakers to his estate. His purpose in doing so, and the way it plays out; this is the substance of the book, and I won't spoil it for you.

If you do read the book, then afterwards you might look at this blog post review. It's filled with spoilers, so do not click through unless you've read the book or you don't care about spoilers. http://glorioustrash.blogspot.com/201...

Might this book be a roman à clef? Certainly, at least to some extent. The GloriousTrash blog linked above suggested the following assignments:

Harrison Stembridge and mistress Anita Farrell at a huge estate in central California named "Excalibur"...obviously William Randolph Hearst and Marion Davies at Hearst Castle.

A big studio head and a "respectable" man, Arthur J. Bryant, might be Louis B. Mayer.

A small studio head, a crude man and on the way up, Sam Green, might be Harry Cohn.

Kay Caldwell, silent era queen who is trying to hang on to stardom, might be Gloria Swanson.

Roger Carlisle, a drunken screenwriter possessed of a certain genius, might be Herman Mankiewicz.

Melody Lee, a young, but still naïve, bombshell, might be Jean Harlow.

Curt Zimmer, a hulking German director, might be Erich von Stoheim.

Outsider Henry Stockton, a businessman trying to break into Hollywood but who really doesn't belong there, might be Joseph Kennedy.

The husband-and-wife production team of Bobby Redmon and Laura Mason...Bobby might be Buster Keaton.

I'll post a small sample of the text, but with the various characters, there's no single sample that could capture the greater sense of the book. This is an exchange between Arthur Bryant, a studio head, and his New York partners. The New York people have hired a writer and sent him to Hollywood, but Bryant demurs. You get a sense how these power brokers play games with each other, and the exchange is both relevant and absurd, as is Hollywood itself.

"Tell me, Arthur, you seen that writer we sent out there, yet? That Mike Golden?"

Bryant relaxed. It had been the subject he had expected and was prepared for.

"No."

Gersten waited for more; Bryant allowed him to wait the few seconds required by the game, and then continued, now fully in command.

"I haven't seen him, Abe, and I don't intend to. As far as I know he's still sitting in his hotel and for all I care he can sit there forever. I read that garbage you sent, that so-called script he wrote, and I’m amazed at you, Abe. A Communist you try to push down my throat." Bryant was well aware that the best defense, especially against either or both of his partners, was a strong offense. "Look, Abe; why don't you and Jack let me make the picture, and you arrange the financing, and Jack, let him sell them. Huh? That formula hasn't worked too badly for the three of us up till now."

"Arthur, Arthur! Why do you always have to fly off the handle. I haven't even said anything yet. Who's arguing? Who's pushing? The only thing is, this Golden is the hottest thing to hit Broadway in twenty years. Three plays he's got going the same time. You couldn't get a ticket to one of them if they were giving them away!" To Abe Gersten this made sense. "So naturally, we thought--"

"Abe, please. Let me do the thinking where production is concerned. I read about his plays -- strikes, fights, people starving in the gutter -- who needs it? You got to pay money to see grief today? What a person wants today is a picture that takes his mind off his troubles, not something to remind him, yet, for God's sake!"

"Who's arguing? But also, art doesn't count?"

"Art?" Bryant stared at the telephone in honest amazement. "No, art doesn't count, if you want the truth, Abe. Dancing girls with big tits, they count. Orgies around swimming pools with drunks falling in in tuxedos after stuffing themselves on caviar, they count. Dames going around with their tits half showing, chasing from one bed to another, they count. A strike in a coal mine with people waving red flags and holding up shovels like it was an auction -- they don't count. And the sooner you and Jack wake up to that simple fact, the sooner we can go back to work and make a buck, maybe."

Forgive me, but I'm smiling. If you found the foregoing to be both relevant (it's true, isn't it?) and humorous (it's a truth that people know never to speak openly of, even in 1933), maybe the book will draw you in. If you're disgusted, you should nevertheless thank me for waving you away. You're welcome!