IV.

The Film Business

While the image of the film factory—the large film studios such as Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM), Paramount, 20th Century-Fox, RKO, and Columbia, all producing a hundred or more films each year—still dominates the imagination of many writers, production has been transformed since the 1950s and films are set up and financed in different and complex ways. Apart from the web of financial interests mentioned above, other consortiums may have a financial interest. In Europe, for example, international co-productions are increasingly sought to create a large domestic market that can compete with the United States. Global communication has also altered the ways in which films are produced: they are frequently shot on location, with different crews used in different countries. A well-documented example of classic studio production is that of Anthony Adverse (1936). Studio control, both artistic and financial, was effectively achieved throughout its making by its producer Hal Wallis, and there were few adjustments needed at the post-production stage.

Since the ending of the studio system, however, production-line, genre film-making has come to an end virtually everywhere except in India, and the tension between commercial and artistic control of film production has become more pronounced. Conflicting financial interests among investors have to be carefully negotiated by independent producer/directors who do not want to compromise their artistic integrity. The director/producer John Boorman has described the production process during the making of The Emerald Forest (1985) in detail. Negotiations with lawyers, studios, financiers, and ego-driven personalities took place over 18 months of pre-production. Finally, a budget of US$14 million was agreed, followed by a relatively brief and relaxed period when the film was in production. A crew of 120 was reduced to only 8 in post-production, during which time special effects were produced and a music score composed. Finally, all the sound was mixed together, and the film was guided and controlled through the laboratories. It was only after previews in Washington, Dallas, and San Diego, and more adjustments, that the film was finally completed.

On the other hand, Apocalypse Now, directed by Francis Ford Coppola, which was shot in the Philippines, far away from the dictates of financial control, ran considerably over its budgeted US$12 million, was in production for 238 days, and finally cost US$31 million. Michael Cimino, the director of Heaven's Gate, similarly overspent by US$35 million and brought its distributor and financier United Artists to financial ruin. Even these figures pale in the face of the US$180 million that Waterworld (1995) reputedly cost.

These financially chaotic productions seriously damaged—and in the case of Cimino, virtually killed—their directors’ careers. A slightly different example would be Kathryn Bigelow’s ambitious futuristic thriller Strange Days (1995). Although in her case the film did not go seriously over-budget, for a cost of US$42 million it returned only some US$10 million. Bigelow’s career has yet fully to recover, which may suggest that women directors are given less leeway to fail than their male counterparts.

With spiralling costs, production has become even more risky in recent years. But even the most meticulous costing and control during shooting cannot stave off disaster. A film may go wildly over-budget, as did Titanic (1997) by James Cameron, where the director forewent his US$8 million salary and his percentage of the gross to placate the alarmed studio, yet still reap a massive profit. The most scrupulously controlled shoot may come in on time and under budget and nonetheless prove a commercial disaster. Caution never guarantees success, and seemingly reckless decisions may pay off: the US production company New Line took a huge gamble in giving Peter Jackson the go-ahead to make all three films in the Lord of the Rings trilogy (2001-2003) when, for all they knew, the first one might have been a flop.

Film-making has always been an unpredictable business—to cite the much-quoted dictum by screenwriter William Goldman, “Nobody knows anything”. Despite this, studio executives will always seek the elusive “sure thing”; hence the unceasing glut of sequels, remakes, franchises, and films adapted from bestselling novels. Directors and writers—or some of them, at any rate—prefer to strive after originality, giving rise to the perennial clash between the “creatives” and the front office. This conflict can be creatively productive, as it was with the audacious Terry Gilliam film Brazil (1985), or crippling, as in the case of the same director’s The Brothers Grimm (2005).

The growing sophistication of CGI (computer-generated imagery), like all new technology—sound, colour, widescreen—presents great opportunities but also dangers. CGI can create stunning effects that would have been unattainable 20 years ago, but at the same time is widely mistrusted as an invitation to shallow, flashy film-making. Studio bosses, meantime, are seduced by the possibilities of “cyberthespians”—digitally created “actors”, practically indistinguishable from the real thing, who will never throw tantrums, demand ever-vaster salaries, or turn in a bad performance. Downloaded films may prove impossible to control or to charge for. As cinema nervously confronts the uncharted potential of the digital age, the future of the industry looks as uncertain, unnerving, and exciting as ever.