J. Paul Getty (BBC)
Billionaire mining entrepreneur Robert Friedland's new entertainment company, Ivanhoe Pictures, caught the attention of the Globe and Mail last week (Read: Canadian mining tycoon follows Hollywood dream). Former Friedland financier Frank Giustra is acknowledged in the Globe's article as the other mining mogul moonlighting in the movie business; In 1997, Giustra founded Lionsgate Films, today the world's largest independent film studio. However both Friedland and Giustra were not yet born when oil tycoon J. Paul Getty (1892-1976) made his own rounds through Hollywood. Getty recalled the close kinship between resource-men and filmmakers in his 1976 autobiography, As I See It, written in Getty's 84th and final year.
Excerpt from As I See It: The Autobiography of J. Paul Getty - Chapter 23:
... It was then--from 1919 to 1939--that the world of California oilman and that of the Hollywood motion picture industry touched, met and often overlapped.
There were many reasons for this. First and foremost, oil and motion pictures were then Southern California's two principal non-agricultural industries. As a normal consequence, they were among the area's chief producers of wealth. Successful oilmen and movie-people could afford to build their homes in the more exclusive residential areas, belong to the best clubs and dine in the more expensive restaurants. Thus, it was not surprising that the circles of acquaintance and friendship so frequently interlocked and merged. Then, oilmen and people prominent in the motion picture industry shared an important trait. When at work, they concentrated on their work and worked very hard. Whenever they had the opportunity to play, they played with equal concentration and energy.
There was yet another key bond of commonality. The fate of people in both industries was decided by wild and unpredictable swings of fortune.
An oilman down to his last dollar one day could (and not infrequently did) finds himself a millionaire the next morning when one of the wells he was drilling game in a gusher. Or, being a millionaire on Wednesday, he could (and not infrequently did) find himself down to his last dollar on Thursday when some grandiose drilling project proved a failure and had to be abandoned.
By much the same token, anonymous and stony-broke film extras became highly-paid stars overnight. Shoestring producers on Poverty Row needed only one lucky-hit sleeper to catapult them into the mogul-class. Conversely, established stars knew that a box-office flop might banish them to the ranks of unemployed--and unwanted--actors. Producers and directors were aware that adverse criticism of their latest film in the trade-papers could bring a sudden end to their careers.
It was a camaraderie of high-risk takers--of people who were willing to gamble much (even everything) on the next thousand feet of drilling or the next thousand feet of film.
Nita Naldi summed it up one afternoon when she and a group of other film people were sunning themselves on the sand at my beach home.
"For all of us, it's either paf! we're up, or pouf! we're down and then there aren't any pouffes to keep us from breaking our bones."
John Gilbert was no less conscious of the unpredictability of filmland fortunes.
"Never--but never--be rude to a doorman, any doorman," he counselled wryly. "You may get thrown out, and who else will help pick you up off the sidewalk?"
Rudolph Valentino's tragically brief career (he died at the age of 31) epitomized the capriciousness of the fates governing the motion picture industry and the luck and progress of all who worked in it.
Italian Actor Rudolph Valentino (1895 – 1926)
Rudy was shy--even bashful--with women. His male friends--I among them --were amazed when Rudy achieved his legendary success as the screen's Great Lover and Ultimate Male Sex Symbol. We remembered how it was often necessary to prod sometimes all but bodily push --Rudy into actually speaking to some girl who had caught his fancy at a party.
Success did not spoil Rudolph Valentino. He remained an essentially modest and good natured person, loyal to his old friends and retaining a healthy sense of perspective and humor.
"You've become one of the world's most famous celebrities," I said to him when Blood and Sand was smashing all box-office records. "How does it make you feel?"
"Greasy," Rudy replied with a grimace. He ran his hand over his hair and showed the pal. It was slick with hair-oil. "The studio makes me use quarts of the stuff. I hate it."
There were, of course, sharks and swindlers. Some sharp-dealing oil promoters tried to talk wealthy motion picture producers, directors and stars out of large sums as "investments" in dubious (or wholly spurious) oil ventures. Then, there were film producers who thought successful oilmen were easy marks who could be prevailed upon to put up the money needed to make their pictures. Usually, neither species of predator got very far.
On occasion, there was a reverse-twist, and I fell afoul of one. In 1920, a group of wealthy men--movie producers among them -- told me they wanted to "cash in on the oil boom." I demurred. While crude prices were high, I foresaw a break. They insisted. I gave in --against my better judgement --and we incorporated a company capitalized at five million dollars. The company began drilling in California and Oklahoma, and with some success. But my associates knew nothing of the oil business, and they chafed because they were not making millions weekly (or daily). My patience ran out. I bought up 99 per cent of the company's stock -- and dissolved the corporation. I made a solemn oath (never since broken) that I would never again embark on oil business ventures with others who were not oilmen.
