RETURN
OF THE
THIN MAN
Dashiell Hammett created:
The Continental Op
in Black Mask stories, Red Harvest, and The Dain Curse
Sam Spade
in The Maltese Falcon
and
Nick and Nora Charles
in The Thin Man
DASHIELL HAMMETT
RETURN
OF THE
THIN MAN
The Original Screen Stories
AFTER THE THIN MAN
ANOTHER THIN MAN
“SEQUEL TO THE THIN MAN”
Edited by Richard Layman and Julie M. Rivett
The Mysterious Press
New York
After the Thin Man copyright © 1986 by Turner Entertainment Co.
Another Thin Man and “Sequel to the Thin Man”
copyright © 2012 by Turner Entertainment Co.
Introduction copyright © 2012 by Richard Layman
Headnotes and Afterwords copyright © 2012 by Julie M. Rivett
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ISBN 978-0-8021-2050-2
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CONTENTS
Introduction
Headnote, After the Thin Man
AFTER THE THIN MAN
Afterword, After the Thin Man
Headnote, Another Thin Man
ANOTHER THIN MAN
Afterword, Another Thin Man
Headnote, “Sequel to the Thin Man”
“SEQUEL TO THE THIN MAN”
Introduction
Dashiell Hammett’s original screen stories for After the Thin Man and Another Thin Man, the second and third of the six movies in the Thin Man series starring William Powell and Myrna Loy, are the last long pieces of fiction Hammett ever wrote. He completed those stories in 1935 and 1938, respectively, when he was at the peak of his power as a writer and his authority as a literary figure. By 1934, in the space of four years, he had completed The Maltese Falcon, The Glass Key, and The Thin Man. He was hailed internationally as a literary celebrity and, while he responded with a celebrity’s flamboyance, he was regarded by his peers as among the most accomplished American writers of his generation. He had the wit to be entertaining, the confidence to be irreverent, and the talent to satisfy not only the book-buying but the moviegoing audiences. He was a valuable commodity to MGM, which had an unexpected hit with its more or less faithful movie adaptation of The Thin Man in 1934, and it allowed him the extraordinary leeway afforded a stylish moneymaker. Hunt Stromberg may have been the producer, but he needed Hammett to make the particular kind of films the early Thin Man movies were. In a November 11, 1934, interview movie critic Philip K. Scheuer asked Hammett what the formula was for a successful mystery comedy. Hammett replied, “There is no formula.” So he created one.
By 1934 Hammett was well known in Hollywood. He excelled at the tight, intriguing plots and sharp dialogue that moviemakers desperately sought in the early days of talkies. He had written original stories for Republic Studios, Paramount, Warner Brothers, and Howard Hughes’s Caddo Company, and four of his novels had been optioned by major studios. He was prized for his ability to write authentic, witty dialogue and for his talent as a scenarist. He was able to command top dollar as a screenwriter, the only caveat being that he was unreliable and personally undisciplined. He was an alcoholic: when he applied himself, he was first-rate; when he was drinking, he was lazy and uncooperative. Beginning with The Thin Man Hammett took a pioneering approach to the crime novel by mixing comedy with intrigue, social fiction with crime fiction, and a hedonistic hero with a disciplined professional detective. That formula paid off handsomely for him even as the financial fortunes of the nation were crumbling. Hammett got a star’s billing at the beginning—in important respects, he was Nick Charles—and MGM made him a rich man. It took Hammett to capture that character, and William Powell acted the part flawlessly.
Hammett’s fifth, last, and most commercially successful novel, The Thin Man, was published on January 8, 1934. Two weeks later, he wrote his wife:
“The book is going swell. It got very fine reviews—as you can see from the enclosed clippings—and last week sold better than any other book in New York, Philadelphia, and San Francisco, besides being near the top of the list in most other cities.
“Second, MGM is buying the movie rights for $21,000, which is $4,000 less than Paramount paid for The Glass Key, but a pretty good price this year at that.”
Indeed. It was the worst year of the Depression, and $21,000 was the equivalent of some $350,000 in present-day money.
In fact the Los Angeles Times reported that MGM, acting on the advice offered by Alexander Woollcott on his radio program, purchased movie rights eight days after the book was published. The studio set a budget of $250,000 for the first movie and assigned it to director W. S. Van Dyke, known as “one-shot Woody” for his efficiency in managing production budgets, suggesting that the studio had moderate expectations for the movie’s success. They were wrong. The Thin Man, starring William Powell, Myrna Loy, and the wire fox terrier Asta, was released on May 25, 1934, to rave reviews (having been shot in sixteen days, according to The Hollywood Reporter). The National Board of Review named it one of the top ten movies of the year. More important, it was also one of the top ten moneymakers of 1934 and won four Academy Award nominations: Best Picture, Best Adapted Screenplay (Albert Hackett and Frances Goodrich), Best Director (Van Dyke), and Best Actor (William Powell). The Thin Man was regarded as the prototype for a new type of crime movie, softening the subject matter with witty comedy and romance. Van Dyke thought its success came from the depiction of a happily married couple, a strange oversimplification of Hammett’s achievement in creating Nick and Nora Charles. Hammett commented: “They made a pretty funny picture out of it and it seems to be doing good business wherever it is shown.” The Thin Man begged for a sequel.
Immediately after The Thin Man was released, producer Hunt Stromberg began thinking about a second Nick and Nora Charles movie. On August 29, 1934, he dictated his thoughts: “The treatment that we can give Nick and Nora is so plentiful that it will be comparatively easy to write the intimate story as soon as we get the crime element. Maybe we would want Nick to be dragged into a
case that happens in San Francisco. I personally favor the New York idea, however, because it would give us the opportunity to bring back all those swell characters of the original—and there would be a large amount of humor in any idea that would demand Nick’s presence back in New York. . . . The main object of this second crime element is to make it even more mysterious and ingenious than the first, for the millions who have seen The Thin Man will be smarter now in spotting suspects or guilty ones than they were in the first picture. . . . I’m not being any too clear, but we will discuss it later.” It is clear enough that Stromberg needed help.
Late in September the Culver City office of MGM wrote to the New York office asking that they contact Hammett, who was on the East Coast at the time, to negotiate a contract for a sequel to The Thin Man. On October 1, New York replied that Hammett was inaccessible—he was moving between Florida and various stopping places in Manhattan—and that in any event it would not be possible to get any work from him. On October 19, Louis B. Mayer wrote from New York warning that Hammett suffered from “irregular habits.” Nonetheless, on October 23, 1934, Hammett signed an agreement with MGM that stipulated, in part:
You are to leave for our Studios at Culver City, California, either October 24th or 25th, 1934. We will furnish you railroad transportation and compartment.
On arrival at our Studios you will begin writing for us, under our supervision and in accordance with our suggestions, a full and complete original story, which will be a sequel to The Thin Man and its characters and action previously written by you, and of substantially the same length, and will continue your services to us until such story is fully completed by you and accepted by us. You will comply with reasonable studio regulations while so employed by us.
For these services we will pay you at the rate of two thousand dollars ($2,000) weekly for each week (but not in excess of ten weeks) you so fully perform such services for us.
Hammett left the next day for Los Angeles, where he took a suite at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel and began work the following Monday, the twenty-eighth. That evening he wrote to his confidante Lillian Hellman: “And so passed the first day laboring in the picture-galleries. I think it’s going to be all right. I like the people thus far, and I have a comfortable office.”
Two days later he wrote Hellman again: “After the party [at Herbert Asbury’s house] broke up Mrs. Joel Sayre and I did a little town roaming until nearly 5 this a.m., but I was up at 10 and so to work on my Thin Man sequel, but still without the exact murder hookup I want.” And so it went. Writing on November 1: “I took Thyra [Samter Winslow, a Hollywood writer] to dinner last night and so I got very—not to say disgracefully—drunk . . . and so home at what hour I don’t know and too hungovery to go to the studio today.” Four days later:
I went back on the booze pretty heavily until Saturday night—neglecting studio, dignity, and so on. And I was sick Sunday and today! This morning I showed up at M.G.M. for the first time since last Tuesday and squared myself, but didn’t get much work done, since the publicity department took up most of my time, what with photographs, interviews and the like.
“I’m still surprised at the fuss The Thin Man made out here. People bring the Joan Crawfords and Gables over to meet me instead of the usual vice versa. Hot-cha!
On November 26: “I’m off for another crack at the thinmansequel, on which I’m pretty cold at the time, but will probably be highpressured by Hunt Stromberg into the wildest enthusiasm before long.”
Despite the drinking and carousing, Hammett managed to complete the first draft for After the Thin Man: Thin Man Sequel on January 8, 1935, on time—ten weeks after he had signed his contract. He promptly left Hollywood for New York. He had impressed his bosses with a first-rate screen story and his punctuality.
On June 19, 1935, MGM called him back into service, this time with the title of “motion picture executive.” His contract stipulated: “Your services hereunder shall include, but not be limited to, such services as we may require of you as a general editorial aide and/or as an assistant and/or advisor not only in connection with the preparation of stories and/or continuities, but as well in connection with the actual production of photoplays. You agree to attend conferences and assist in the preparation and/or developing of ideas which may be submitted or contributed by us or others.” The new agreement further stipulated that if Hammett was required to “write the complete continuity including dialogue for any photoplay” then during that period he would earn $1,750 per week. That was Depression money, the present-day equivalent of some $29,000 (using the scale of increase in the consumer price index). The next week Hammett wrote to his publisher Alfred Knopf (whom, by contract, he owed a sixth novel): “If you’ve anything coming out that looks like picture stuff, you might shoot it to me, as we are hunting for some material.” In November Hammett signed a contract to adapt the proletarian novel The Foundry by Albert Halper for the screen for $5,000. That interest is the earliest indication of Hammett’s active pursuit of the political agenda of the Communist Party USA.
Meanwhile, he completed his screen story for After the Thin Man, dated September 17, 1935, and promptly called, then wrote, Lillian Hellman: “After I called you I took a drink of Scotch, the first I’ve had since when was it?” It was a drunken letter, marking another long alcoholic binge. That fall Hammett was back and forth between Los Angeles and New York, partying and womanizing as if he were enjoying his last pleasures. Very nearly he was. Early in January 1936, he collapsed while traveling to New York and on January 17 he entered a private pavilion at Lenox Hill Hospital in Manhattan to be treated for gonorrhea, alcoholism, and exhaustion. He stayed on the East Coast, in Manhattan, Tavern Island, and Princeton, recuperating for the rest of the year, and so was not present at story conferences as Stromberg and the respected married team of Albert Hackett and Frances Goodrich, who had written the first Thin Man movie script, developed the screenplay for After the Thin Man.
After the Thin Man was produced between late September and October 31, 1936. Van Dyke directed, and William Powell and Myrna Loy starred again, as they did in all of the Thin Man movies; the tyro Jimmy Stewart was a featured actor. (Stewart appeared in nine movies made in 1936, his first full year as a movie actor.) The Hollywood Reporter revealed that the studio planned to feature Hammett in a small role in After the Thin Man, but he was recovering in New York during the filming and thus unavailable.
Hammett’s screen story, punctuated with drinking and packed with sexual innuendo, was guaranteed to annoy Joseph I. Breen, head of the Production Code Administration, an arm of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America, established in 1934 to enforce the industry’s code of moral decency for movies. Breen was a prig, and it is not hard to imagine that Hammett’s stories were often calculated to irritate him and other censors. Despite Breen’s objection that “Throughout the story, there is an excessive amount of drinking, sufficient to constitute a violation of the special regulation governing drinking,” booze remained integral to Nick and Nora Charles’s characters, and there is plenty of playful sexuality. But it was up to Stromberg and the Hacketts to sanitize Hammett’s story. He had little interest in the final script.
After the Thin Man was released on Christmas Day, 1936, and reviews were excellent. Writing in The New York Times on Christmas Day, Frank Nugent said, “If After the Thin Man is not quite the delight The Thin Man was, it is, at the very least, one of the most urbane comedies of the season. . . . Sequels commonly are disappointing and Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer was borrowing trouble when it dared advance a companion piece to one of the best pictures of 1934. But Dashiell Hammett’s sense of humor has endured.” Louella Parsons in the Los Angeles Examiner called it “a great feather in Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer’s cap.” When the movie opened, Hammett was in Princeton, New Jersey. He wrote Hellman five days later: “Powell I hear is fighting with MGM over a new contract, holding out for $200,000 a pict
ure. MGM’s recent statement that there will be no more sequels to The Thin Man, no matter how well this one does, is, I suppose, just a piece of iron pipe to slug him with.”
“This one” did very well, almost as well as the first, bringing MGM a seven-figure profit in a Depression economy, and MGM needed Hammett as much as it needed Powell, Loy, and Asta for another sequel. Hammett stayed in Princeton until March 15, 1937, and when he left, he went on the wagon. He wrote Hellman that Bea Kaufmann, Goldwyn’s East Coast story editor, had asked him to do an original movie story, “which as you know I have no intention of doing. . . . By this time everybody ought to know that if I want to work in pictures I’ll work with Hunt Stromberg, but even Leland Hayward [Hammett’s agent] agrees with me—against his pocketbook—that I’ve got no business working in pictures at all.” Hammett seems to have decided to leave Hollywood behind in February 1937 when he sold MGM all rights in perpetuity to Nick and Nora Charles and Asta for $40,000 (about $625,000 in 2011 dollars). He later wrote: “Maybe there are better writers in the world but nobody ever invented a more insufferably smug pair of characters. They can’t take that away from me, even for $40,000.”
Denials aside, Hammett was back in Hollywood at the Beverly Wilshire by September 1937, partying heavily, though, by his own testimony, soberly. He energetically served on the board of directors for the Screen Writers Guild (SWG), the writers’ collective bargaining organization—vigorously opposed by the studios, particularly MGM—which sought to strengthen the rights of screenwriters in the movie business. Hammett’s work for the SWG, combined with his erratic personal behavior, infuriated those in the front office at MGM. But The Thin Man movies were making MGM millions, and Hammett had strong advocates in Stromberg and his friends the Hacketts. (Oddly, MGM maintained interest in The Foundry, a Marxist novel about labor disputes among the workers at a Chicago electrotype foundry that ends with the workers realizing “the dumb thick wonder of their labor,” and gave the screenplay assignment to Noel Langley, who two years later collaborated on the screenplay for The Wizard of Oz. Presumably no one in the front office at MGM had read Halper.)