When Hungarians Ruled Hollywood: A Birthday Tribute to the Great Adolph Zukor

[Editor's Note: Today we're going to try something really different. Readers of our sister site www.politics.hu may have taken note of a regular commentator with the screen name Farkas László, who is (to put it mildly) one of the few folks on the board there who always has something interesting to say, and who says it in a positive and non-confrontational way. Earlier this week, László volunteered to mark today's birthday anniversary of the great Hungarian-American film impresario Adolph Zukor with a text and video tribute. We had no idea what we'd get - a fantastic stroll through Hollywood history, through the lens of this legendary son of eastern Hungary. More than this, it is a testament to someone who, in László's words, never allowed himself to wallow in negativity, criticism, resentment or defeatism, and embodied the sense of enterprise and possibility that Hungary so sorely needs today. Sprinkled among the nuggets from Zukor's amazing life are clips from classic films he oversaw from his perch atop Paramount Studios. Enjoy, and thanks for the memories, László.]

Adolph Zukor wasn't an actor, a writer, or a director; he hardly ever produced. Instead, he was the person who hired the people who did all these things. He was one of the founders of the motion picture industry, and started a studio that continues to this very day, as one of the biggest entertainment conglomerates in history. He was a film mogul, (film mágnás).

Unlike today' professional class of CEO managers, he really knew the nuts and bolts of his business, had gotten his hands dirty and worked his way up from humble beginnings. Zukor put a stamp on his studio and his film output. He provided leadership and direction, thus creating what was known as the "Paramount style." Entering the film business when it was still mostly just a peep-show arcade novelty, he helped the business grow to what it is today, through a series of important innovations.

The list of his collaborators and subordinates would make any film historian's head spin! So many brilliant people, so many stars who will always be remembered! So many films that have become immortal classics! The man got to where he got by recognizing talent, as well as creating the product to showcase them in. I can't imagine any current CEO in Hollywood with his knack for the business, being that nowadays they are just glorified accountants and finance people.

The foundation of his show business savvy was attention to box office returns and audience reaction. Even before he invested in his first film arcade, he would make a habit of observing which machines took in the most money. Later on, he would sit in the 6th row where one of his films was exhibited, not to watch the film (which he had already seen in the screening room), but to observe audience reaction. For him, this became the habit of a lifetime. Zukor provides us with an object lesson in being observant, and how that quality can be turned to big profit.

It is with great pleasure that I commemorate this remarkable man today. By studying his life, one can find good qualities to emulate. In his 1953 autobiography, The Public Is Never Wrong; My 50 Years in the Picture Industry, never once does he wallow in negativity, criticism, resentment or defeatism. At a time when Hungary needs enterprise and leadership, let him serve as an inspiration for us.

Zukor was born Adolph Cukor on January 7, 1873 in Ricse, in the Tokaj region of Borsod-Abaúj-Zemplén county, near the border where Hungary, Slovakia and the Ukraine intersect in eastern Hungary. His father, who owned a store and tilled some land, died when he was just a year old, and his mother passed when he was eight. Zukor writes:

In Hungary there was little individual freedom of opportunity of rising in life, but an effort was made to look out for orphans. The Government took a part of the estate of the parents and set it aside for the use of the children. I was apprenticed for three years to Hermann Blau, who had a store in the hamlet of Szanto, a wine growing center about ten miles from Ricse. My duties were to sweep, run errands, and perform other chores while learning to be a clerk. My lot was not a terrible one, for Hermann Blau and his family were kindly people and I did not balk at the hard work. But I looked about me and was able to see no future. After finishing the apprenticeship I would become a clerk at an equivalent of perhaps two dollars in American money a month, plus board and lodging. Many clerks with whom I was acquainted had worked for a long time for little more. And once a clerk, always a clerk. You might have far better qualifications as a tailor or carpenter, but to switch from one trade to another was impossible. I could see nothing but darkness in Hungary for me.

The above passage highlights what was so wrong with the old Hungary, namely the lack of labor mobility. You couldn't change jobs or occupation, nor move or emigrate without permission from your employer and the authorities. At the age of 15 he made the fateful move that so many Hungarians back then made, and emigrated to America.

Zukor started in America working in an upholstery shop, but soon met a boy he knew in Hungary who got him a job as an apprentice in a fur shop. He ended up knowing hundreds of young guys from Hungary, and they hung out together, boxing, playing baseball and singing Hungarian songs. Working in the fur business was very lucrative, and Zukor started making and selling his own merchandise. By the time he visited the 1893 world Columbian Exposition in Chicago, he was employing as many as 25 people.

At the Chicago World's Fair, he met his future. It was there that he saw demonstrated Thomas Edison's famed "Kinetoscope" invention, which Edison developed only two years earlier in 1891. The film business started in earnest in 1896.

In the first few years, movies were an arcade phenomenon, seen on coin operated viewing machines that showed a film running on average for two to three minutes, for the price of a penny. Zukor's first instinct was that they should be projected instead on a large screen, an idea we take for granted today. Back then the objections to the idea came from exhibitors, who felt that showing flicks on peep machines would be more profitable, as well as from those who felt that letting men and women sit together in a darkened room would lead to hanky-panky.

Zukor and a furrier partner of his, Marcus Loew, sized up the arcade business in Manhattan. After observing how much money such places took in, they quickly concluded that film exhibition would be far more profitable than the fur business. Zukor and Loew opened their first penny film arcade in New York City in 1903. The operation featured 100 coin operated film viewing machines, plus a number of coin-op phonograph players. The basement had a shooting gallery. Admission was a penny, as was the cost of a play on the machines. If these amounts sound modest today, keep in mind that weekly wages were often just $5-$10.

Business boomed, and they were able to open three more outlets in other cities within the first year. By 1904, Zukor realized his ambition to project films on a screen, an idea that made perfect sense when films started to run for 10 to 20 minutes. They charged 5 cents for a 15 minute show instead of a penny, and the "Nickleodeon" was born.

Zukor and his Hungarian born wife did everything back then, including sweeping the theater floors. In the front of the arcade was a coin operated mannequin made to look like a fortune telling woman named "Esmerelda", which dispensed a "fortune" on a slip of paper. Zukor wrote those fortune messages himself, and with typical resourcefulness started making and selling them to Chinese restaurants where they would be inserted into cookies.

(Many years later when he was a big studio head, there was an old Chinese man waiting to see him outside of his office. When asked what he wanted, his visitor told him that 30 years ago Zukor used to write fortunes for his restaurant, and could he kindly write a few more? Zukor asked him "How much did you use to pay me?" "Ten dollars for 50 messages". Zukor then asked for $10 dollars and wrote 50 more for his visitor!)

Fifteen minute films didn't satisfy either Zukor or the public, who eventually got tired of them. His next brainstorm was to show full length features, running to an hour in length, and which told more of a story. Again, this is an idea that we take for granted today, but which back then was visionary. Like all visionary ideas, it met with strong resistance.

In those days, all film cameras, projection equipment and film exhibition was controlled by the "Edison Trust", which owned the patents. The makers of such equipment, as well as the exhibitors had to pay royalties to the "Trust". This was no joke back then, as American law in those days did not protect small businessmen from pressure and blackmail from bigger interests. Show a film without approval of the "Trust", and you were put out of business and possibly into jail. The "Trust" had very expensive and powerful lawyers at its disposal, and kept them busy going after wayward exhibitors.

Edison was a brilliant tinkerer and inventor, but had no interest in, or appreciation for films and the film business. Only a few times in his life did he ever go to a theater to witness the deployment of his wonderful invention. He left the management of the "Trust" to corporate sharks. The "Trust" did not approve of Zukor's idea that films should run for as long as an hour. Their thinking was that within one hour, you could show four shorter films, and make more royalties. This was the logic that caused the Edison people to resist all of Zukor's innovations, from projection screening to longer films.

When faced with such strong resistance (and it was not to be trifled with), Zukor showed that part of his personality that I admire and think we can all learn from. He didn't wallow in self pity and resentment, but rather kept faith in himself and wore down the opposition with patience and persistence. It took him 9 years to get his way on feature films!

Feature-length films were being made in Europe, especially France. When they were imported to the US, the "Trust" insisted that they be broken up into three or four separate features. Eventually Zukor got through to Edison himself, and in 1912 obtained his personal approval to import an hour long French film called "Queen Elizabeth". (youtube link on this to follow). The public response led Zukor to take it to the next level, and so in that year he founded the "Famous Players Film Company", which was the precursor to Paramount Pictures. The next year, in 1913, his company produced it's first feature, "The Squaw Man". After that, there was no stopping the man from Borsod county, and the rest is history.

Those early films did not satisfy our boy genius, he sensed something was missing. In those early days, anybody could get into the movies. "Actors" were sometimes hired off the street. Zukor came to sense that name appeal and recognition was what would really sell movies with audiences and generate returns. A young woman named Mary Pickford helped him to understand this. The public flocked to movies that featured her, and wrote thousands of fan letters to her every week. Zukor came to understand that "stars" make pictures successful, and so started the famed "star system." Like with so many of Zukor's brainstorms, we take such an idea for granted today, but then it was revolutionary. He paid his stars in proportion to their contribution to the business. By 1916, Pickford was making $60,000 per picture, an unearthly sum (A doctor made about $2,000-$3,000 a year back then!)

The list of famous directors and stars that Paramount worked with are a film history Who's Who: director DW Griffith, director Cecil B. De Mille, director Erich von Stroheim, director Josef von Sternberg, Rudolf Valentino, Gloria Swanson, Pola Negri (Hitler's favorite, if that is any recommendation), Marlene Dietrich, Clara bow, Mae West, WC Fields etc. It's a list of greats that can go on for pages.

With the advent of sound, Paramount developed a "Paramount style". Zukor's studio specialized in continental talent and settings, sophisticated comedies, cutting edge style, manners and music. His studio also pushed the boundaries, as you will see further in the youtube links I have provided.

Throughout the 1920's Zukor used to receive about 40 letters a day from a Hungarian nation proud of his fame and stature. He never forgot the land of his birth, and was never ashamed to let people know where he was from. He hired many Hungarians to work in his studio.

Zukor ended his day-to-day oversight of film production in 1936, when he became Chairman of the Board, a position he kept until the end of his life. He died in 1976, at the incredible age of 103. Not bad for a man who decided to "cut back" his smoking to five cigars a day!

The empire that Zukor built is running strong today, and is a multi-billion dollar mega conglomerate. It is the last film studio actually located in Hollywood, which is a suburb of Los Angeles. If you are in the area, it is worth a studio tour:

Paramount Studio Tour, 5555 Melrose Ave.
Hollywood, CA. / (323) 956-5575
Advance Reservations: 323-956-1777