Albert
Maltz was born in Brooklyn in 1908. Educated at Columbia University
and the Yale School of Drama, Maltz worked
as a playwright for the left-wing Theatre Union. This included the
well-received Peace on Earth (1933).
He then worked with the Group Theatre
and wrote the play, The Black Pit.
Maltz also published novels and stories before moving to Hollywood
to write screenplays. After working on Casablanca
(1942) and This Gun for Hire (1942)
he scripted a number of effective propaganda films (both documentaries
and features) during the Second World War: Moscow
Strikes Back (1942), Destination
Tokyo (1943), Seeds of Freedom
(1943), The House I Live In (1945),
The Pride of the Marines (1945).
Now a highly valued screenwriter, Maltz went on to write Cloak
and Dagger (1946), The Red House
(1947) and the Academy Award winning, The
Naked City (1948).
After the Second World War the House
of Un-American Activities Committee began an investigation into
the Hollywood Motion Picture Industry. In September 1947, the HUAC
interviewed 41 people who were working in Hollywood. These people
attended voluntarily and became known as "friendly witnesses".
During their interviews they named several people who they accused
of holding left-wing views.
Maltz appeared before the HUAC on 28th October, 1947, but like Alvah
Bessie, Herbert Biberman, John
Howard Lawson, Adrian Scott, Dalton
Trumbo, Lester Cole, Edward
Dmytryk, Samuel Ornitz and Ring
Lardner Jr, refused to answer any questions. Known as the Hollywood
Ten, they claimed that the 1st Amendment of the United States
Constitution gave them the right to do this. The House
of Un-American Activities Committee and the courts during appeals
disagreed and all were found guilty of contempt of Congress and Maltz
was sentenced to twelve months in Ashland Prison and fined $1,000.
Blacklisted by the Hollywood studios, Maltz worked without credit
on several movies such as The Robe
(1953). When the blacklist was lifted Maltz wrote Two
Mules for Sister Sara (1970), The
Beguiled (1971), The Possession
of Joel Delaney (1972), Hangup
(1973) and Scalawag (1973). Albert
Maltz died in Los Angeles on 26th
August, 1985.
(1)
Albert Maltz was interviewed by Victor Navasky while he was writing
his book, Naming Names (1982)
By the time I was at college, I became very alert to the question
of racial discrimination, and I remember one of my first writing attempts
had to do with a lynching. I graduated in 1930 and I went up to the
Yale Drama School for two years. By the time I came down from Yale,
I was already more radicalized and had begun to read New Masses.
I also read the Marxist classics. I still think it to be the noblest
set of ideals ever penned by man. The fact that many of them have
been so ill-realized in the Soviet Union today didn't matter. Where
else in political literature do you find thinkers saying tat we were
going to end all forms of human exploitation? Wage exploitation, exploitation
of women by men, the exploitation of people of colour by white peoples,
the exploitation of colonial countries by imperialist countries. And
Marx spoke of the fact that socialism will be the kingdom of freedom,
where man realizes himself in a way that humankind has never seen
before. This was an inspiring body of literature to read.
When I joined the Communist movement in 1935 it was based upon the
belief that mankind's future was to be found there. Certainly, millions
who joined it the world over, like myself, didn't join it for profit.
There was nothing to be gained out of joining it: It could be time-consuming.
It could prevent you from reading a number of books that you wanted
to read or go to a number of films because you were doing other things.
But there was a belief that you were working with others toward making
the world a better place to live in.
(2)
In February 1945, Albert Maltz wrote an article for the New
Masses calling for more intellectual freedom in the American
Communist Party. Leopold Atlas later described a party meeting
where Maltz was attacked by other members for writing the article.
By his article, Maltz evidently had been guilty of great heresy.
Knowing that Maltz was in trouble, I was prepared to defend his position,
despite the fact that I was sorely aware of my deficiences as a public
speaker.
I remember that Albert tried to explain his thoughts on the article.
I remember that almost instantly all sorts of howls went up in protest
against it. I remember that I and one or two others made small attempts
to speak in favour of Maltz, and we were lirerally shouted down. From
one corner Alvah Bessie, with bitter vituperation and venom, rose
up and denounced Maltz. From another corner Herbert Biberman rose
up and denounced Maltz. From another corner Herbert Biberman rose
and spouted elaborate mouthfuls of nothing, his every accent dripping
with hatred.
(3)
Dalton Trumbo, speech to the Screen
Writers Guild when accepting the Laurel Award in 1970.
The blacklist was a time of evil, and that no one on either side who
survived it came through untouched by evil. Caught in a situation
that had passed beyond the control of mere individuals, each person
reacted as his nature, his needs, his convictions, and his particular
circumstances compelled him to. There was bad faith and good, honesty
and dishonesty, courage and cowardice, selflessness and opportunism,
wisdom and stupidity, good and bad on both sides.
When you who are in your forties or younger look back with curiosity
on that dark time, as I think occasionally you should, it will do
no good to search for villains or heroes or saints or devils because
there were none; there were only victims. Some suffered less than
others, some grew and some diminished, but in the final tally we were
all victims because almost without exception each of us felt compelled
to say things he did not want to say, to do things that he did not
want to do, to deliver and receive wounds he truly did not want to
exchange. That is why none of us - right, left, or centre - emerged
from that long nightmare without sin.
(4)
Albert Maltz, interviewed by the New York
Times in 1972.
There is currently in vogue a thesis pronounced by Dalton Trumbo
which declares that everyone during the years of blacklist was equally
a victim. This is factual nonsense and represents a bewildering moral
position.
To put the point sharply: If an informer in the French underground
who sent a friend to the torture chambers of the Gestapo was equally
a victim, then there can be no right or wrong in life that I understand.
Adrian Scott was the producer of the notable film Crossfire
in 1947 and Edward Dmytryk was its director. Crossfire won
wide critical acclaim, many awards and commercial success. Both of
these men refused to co-operate with the HCUA. Both were held in contempt
of the HCUA and went to jail.
When Dmytryk emerged from his prison term he did so with a new set
of principles. He suddenly saw the heavenly light, testified as a
friend of the HCUA, praised its purposes and practices and denounced
all who opposed it. Dmytryk immediately found work as a director,
and has worked all down the years since. Adrian Scott, who came out
of prison with his principles intact, could not produce a film for
a studio again until 1970. He was blacklisted for 21 years. To assert
that he and Dmytryk were equally victims is beyond my comprehension.
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