In praise of Frances Marion – Hollywood’s… | Little White Lies

In Praise Of

In praise of Frances Mar­i­on – Hollywood’s for­got­ten trailblazer

08 Mar 2022

Words by Oliver Webb

A pensive woman gazes downward, seated at a table with a bonsai tree in a vase and cups on the surface. The image is in black and white, with high contrast.
A pensive woman gazes downward, seated at a table with a bonsai tree in a vase and cups on the surface. The image is in black and white, with high contrast.
This Inter­na­tion­al Women’s Day, we remem­ber the screen­writer who gave Hol­ly­wood its voice dur­ing the silent era.

On 23 Octo­ber, 1915, over 25,000 women marched along Fifth Avenue in New York City advo­cat­ing for women’s suf­frage. Among them, 27-year-old Fran­cis Mar­i­on, a woman with a rebel­lious side and an iron will, who would lat­er become the high­est paid writer in Hol­ly­wood and the first writer to receive two Acad­e­my Awards.

Born Mar­i­on Ben­son Owens in San Fran­cis­co in 1888, Marion’s defi­ant side was appar­ent from an ear­ly age. After draw­ing a car­toon of her teacher, Mar­i­on was kicked out of school. Nonethe­less, her artis­tic tal­ents were encour­aged and she lat­er enrolled at Hop­kins Art Insti­tute, before work­ing a vari­ety of jobs, includ­ing as a photographer’s assis­tant, mod­el, tele­phone oper­a­tor, and lat­er as a reporter for the San Fran­cis­co Chronicle.

In 1912 Mar­i­on moved to Los Ange­les with her sec­ond hus­band Robert Pike. It was dur­ing this time that her love affair with the movies was born. After befriend­ing the vaude­ville star, Marie Dressler, Mar­i­on was intro­duced to silent film stars includ­ing Lil­lian Gish, Mar­i­on Davies, and Mary Pick­ford, who would lat­er become her close friend and col­lab­o­ra­tor. Short­ly after, Mar­i­on was intro­duced to the renowned direc­tor Lois Weber who hired her as an assis­tant. At Weber’s stu­dio Mar­i­on worked as an assis­tant direc­tor, and even dab­bled in acting.

Mary Pick­ford soon realised Marion’s poten­tial and offered her a job at Famous Play­ers-Laskey where she worked on many sce­nar­ios for films includ­ing, The New York Hat (1912), Rags (1915), and Fan­chon the Crick­et (1915). Her orig­i­nal sce­nario for the film The Foundling (1916) was sold to Adolph Zukor for $125. Soon after, she applied for work at World Films. Ambi­tious to prove her worth, Mar­i­on care­ful­ly recon­struct­ed a film which had pre­vi­ous­ly been deemed as un-releasable’. The revised film sold for $9,000.

One of Hollywoods first rebels, Marion helped shape the industry through the early days of silent cinema to the Golden Age of Hollywood.

Impressed at her skillset, William Brady offered Mar­i­on a $200-a-week con­tract for her writ­ing ser­vices. She lat­er became head of depart­ment and was cred­it­ed with writ­ing 50 films, but left in 1917 fol­low­ing the suc­cess of The Poor Lit­tle Rich Girl, to reunite with Famous Play­ers-Laskey. Mar­i­on was one of the high­est paid writ­ers in the indus­try, earn­ing a report­ed $50,000 a year; equiv­a­lent in today’s stan­dards to over $700,000.

Who shall say that she is not the bravest sol­dier of them all?” reads one of the title cards, of Marion’s direc­to­r­i­al debut film The Love Light (1921). We then see Angela, the film’s pro­tag­o­nist jour­ney home after her night watch, bat­tling her way along the rocky shore­line and through the crash­ing waves and hero­ical­ly sav­ing a desert­ed sol­dier washed up ashore. Towards the end of World War One, Mar­i­on vol­un­teered as a war cor­re­spon­dent and wit­nessed the hor­rors of war first-hand.

Her duties involved film­ing the work of Allied women and doc­u­ment­ing their war efforts abroad. Mar­i­on would lat­er incor­po­rate these hor­rors into her work in films, such as The Love Light. That same year Mar­i­on would direct Just Around the Cor­ner and The Song of Love in 1923, before turn­ing her atten­tion back to screen­writ­ing. Through­out the 1920s, Mar­i­on was con­tract­ed with MGM, earn­ing $3,000 per week where she wrote films such as The Scar­let Let­ter (1926), and The Mys­te­ri­ous Lady (1928).

After the intro­duc­tion of talkies’ in 1927, Mar­i­on embraced the arrival of sound. In 1930, Mar­i­on adapt­ed Eugene O’Neill’s play Anna Christie into a screen­play. The film was Gre­ta Garbo’s first sound film, in which Gar­bo utters her famous first line, Gimme a whiskey, gin­ger ale on the side – and don’t be stingy, baby!”

Mar­i­on would go on to win her first Acad­e­my Award that same year at the third Acad­e­my Awards, but not for her work on Anna Christie, instead win­ning Best Writ­ing for The Big House. She would win anoth­er Acad­e­my Award a year lat­er for Best Sto­ry for The Champ, becom­ing the first per­son to win two acad­e­my awards for writ­ing. She would lat­er be nom­i­nat­ed a third time in 1933 for The Prize­fight­er and the Lady.

We tear it down, we recon­struct it, we make the woman dom­i­nate, and the male char­ac­ter as pas­sive as every woman would like to have her hus­band. We end up with a splen­did vehi­cle for a woman star – and the cyclone-wrecked sto­ry,” said Mar­i­on in a 1926 Pho­to­play inter­view. Through­out her career, Mar­i­on defied stereo­types by telling the sto­ries of strong lead­ing women.

One of Hollywood’s first rebels, Mar­i­on helped shape the indus­try through the ear­ly days of silent cin­e­ma to the Gold­en Age of Hol­ly­wood. Beyond the sil­ver screen, she also pio­neered the screen­writ­ers’ self-help guide with her 1937 book, How to Write and Sell Film Sto­ries’. Yet, despite all this, Mar­i­on is a large­ly for­got­ten fig­ure, many of her films since lost and destroyed. It’s time to reclaim her legacy.

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