"It's not just you who can't be credited as director; even Joe Dante can't," Roger Corman said, leaning back in his chair.
"Because the Directors Guild of America (DGA) stipulates that, except in extremely unusual circumstances, a film can only credit one director.
This rule exists to prevent studios from exploiting directors, letting them shoot 90% of the footage, then firing them and slapping a producer's nephew's name on the credits."
Roger continued, "Furthermore, to be credited as a director, you must pass a review by the DGA. At least two-thirds of the principal photography must have been directed by the individual seeking credit."
"As long as you are a registered member of the DGA, your creative rights are protected. Producers might not give you final cut, but they cannot strip your name from the work. What you shoot is what you own."
"Precisely because of this, the DGA is strict. They don't accept applications; they invite you based on employment. If I were to list a newcomer in the director credits for Rock 'n' Roll High School, the Guild would invite him to join. And that opportunity..... is one I'm saving for Allen Arkush."
"Oh, Mr. Corman, you misunderstand," Ronald said quickly. "I have no intention of stealing Allen's credit. I just want a credit. Any credit. Even in the 'Special Thanks' section at the end."
"I could add your name to the 'Production Assistants' list in the end crawl," Roger said, looking puzzled. "But why do you care so much? Most audiences leave the theater before the crawl even starts. In Hollywood, the important names are at the beginning."
"It's about business, Mr. Corman," Ronald explained. "My current income comes from taking headshots for actors. I charge $30 a set."
"If my name appears in a film that gets a theatrical release, I become a 'Hollywood Insider.' I can raise my rates to $50. That extra money goes directly to my university tuition."
"Your name in the scroll has that much effect?" Roger asked, intrigued by the economics of it.
"Yes, sir. Almost all the actors who come to me have never been on a real set. They are desperate for advice. If I have a credit, my advice—and my photography—carries authority. It's a stamp of legitimacy."
Roger smiled. "That is a very good answer. You have excellent business instincts. Many great directors fail because they don't understand that cinema is an art and a business. You seem to understand the balance."
"Speaking of business," Ronald pressed his advantage, "I wonder if you need a Unit Photographer? I can shoot still photos for the rest of Rock 'n' Roll High School for free. You only pay for the film stock and developing."
"Do you have samples?"
"Right here." Ronald pulled a stack of black-and-white portraits from his folder.
Roger flipped through them. He stopped at a particularly striking shot of a street performer in Times Square.
"Very good," Roger said. "Next week, go to the set. Take some stills. Keep your receipts for the film stock."
"Thank you, Mr. Corman."
"Send Jim in on your way out."
Ronald closed the door and walked slowly toward Gale Anne Hurd's desk.
He had a hunch that Roger hadn't told him the whole truth about the DGA.
First, the DGA wasn't just for directors. It covered Assistant Directors (ADs) and Unit Production Managers (UPMs). Surely one didn't need to be the sole director of a feature to join?
Second, the wage disparity. Gale came from money; she could afford to work for peanuts. But Joe Dante, Allen Arkush, and Jim Cameron? They had rent to pay. Why did they work for Corman for minimum wage?
The answer was the Union Catch-22.
Hollywood unions, the DGA, SAG, IATSE were fortress walls. You couldn't work on a studio film unless you were in the union. But you couldn't join the union unless you had worked on a film.
It was a logical dead end.
The only way to break the deadlock was a non-union production company that eventually went union. Roger Corman was that bridge. He hired non-union talent, worked them to the bone on non-union shows, and eventually, when they directed a feature that got distribution, they became eligible for the Guild.
They were exploiting Roger for the credit; Roger was exploiting them for cheap labor. It was a symbiotic relationship built on desperation and ambition.
Roger's comment to Jerry Zucker earlier...."If you make this film well, you'll never have to work for me again", suddenly made perfect sense. It was the Corman Graduation Ceremony.
Ronald walked up to Gale's desk. Jim was waiting nearby, leaning against the wall and flirting with Gale.
"Hey," Ronald said. "I brought my camera today. Jim, let's get that photo. And Gale, if you're willing, I can take some portraits of you, too."
He spread his sample photos on her desk.
"Wow," Gale said, picking up a print. "You really are good. Do you think I'll look okay in this blouse?" She smoothed her collar, checking her reflection in the window.
"You look great," Ronald assured her. He pulled up a chair. "Gale... you know the business side. How does the DGA actually work?"
Gale looked up, sharp as ever. She pulled a notepad from her drawer.
"It's an invitation-only club," she said, writing as she spoke. "But it's triggered by employment. As soon as a signatory company like New World lists you on the Deal Memo as a Director, AD, or UPM, the DGA sends you a packet."
She tore off the sheet and handed it to Ronald.
"Membership is tiered. Director is the top tier. Unit Production Manager and First Assistant Director are the next tier. Second Assistant Director is the entry tier. Each has different initiation fees."
"Is Allen a member?"
"Allen is a Second AD member," Gale said. "But Rock 'n' Roll High School is his ticket to the Director tier. Joe Dante got his Director card on Piranha last year."
Ronald pocketed the note. His instinct was right. Roger used the promise of that Union Card as a carrot to keep talent working for scraps.
Both paths Roger had offered, Assistant or Editor were long roads. If Ronald took them, he would be cheap labor for years.
If he went to college, Roger lost nothing. If he stayed, Roger gained a loyal, underpaid employee.
Ronald shook his head. The system was rigged. But it was the only game in town.
Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs.
Three men burst into the hallway, heading straight for Roger's office.
One was Jerry Zucker. Of the other two, one looked like Jerry's twin, and the other was taller with a shock of curly hair.
They looked furious.
Gale jumped up. "Excuse me! Mr. Zucker! Gentlemen! Mr. Corman is in a meeting. You cannot go in there!"
"Don't try to stop me, Gale," Jerry Zucker snapped, brushing past her outstretched arm. "This is between Roger and us."
Seeing the physical contact, Ronald stepped forward, his wrestler instincts kicking in. He moved to block the door.
At the same moment, the office door opened.
Jim Cameron stepped out to see what the commotion was about.
The collision was inevitable.
Authors Note:-
Bonus chapter...
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