If there was any writer who disliked Hollywood more than Raymond Chandler, it was William Faulkner. “They worship death here,” he once remarked at a dinner with a friend. “They don’t worship money, they worship death.” A small, trim man, his mustache now gray, Faulkner was in Hollywood because almost nobody bought his books, not even The Sound and the Fury (1929), not even Light in August (1932). His first four novels had sold an average of two thousand copies, and when he tried to dash off a best-seller, Sanctuary (1931), his publisher soon collapsed in bankruptcy. So he came to Hollywood in 1932 and signed a contract with M-G-M at what he considered a princely five hundred dollars per week.
M-G-M’s story editor, Sam Marx, asked him to start working on a wrestling story for Wallace Beery. “I want to write for Mickey Mouse,” said Faulkner, quasi innocent. When informed that Mickey Mouse belonged to the Disney studio, Faulkner said, “Then what about newsreels? I like cartoons and newsreels.” Marx sent Faulkner to a projection room to watch Wallace Beery in The Champ and asked an office boy to go along with him to answer any questions. Ten minutes later, the boy returned and told Marx that Faulkner had disappeared after asking only one question: “How do I get out of here?”
” City of Nets, Otto Friedrich
