The Legacy of Max Schach

Abstract

W thenever I see The Producers I am reminded of Max Schach, a little known and long forgotten character who, for a brief spell during the 1930s, caused so much havoc and scandal in the British film industry that it was doubted whether the business could ever recover. Perhaps the writers of that wonderful film had him in mind when they created his American counterpart, Max Bialystock. Strangely enough, it was Alexander Korda who reaped the opprobrium for all the extravagance and excesses in British film-making rather than the real perpetrator, possibly because Korda was a more charismatic and flamboyant personality while Schach was content to remain in the background, pulling strings and raising money.1 Yet in his quiet unobtrusive way, almost by accident, it was Schach who nearly managed to wreck the British film industry, set the biggest names in the City at each other's throats and, without even turning up in Court, create so much chaos in the King's Bench Division that at times the proceedings were reminiscent of the trial scene in Alice in Wonderland. Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, Schach faded into obscurity, leaving behind in his wake a string of bankruptcies, insolvencies and puzzled creditors who never knew exactly what hit them or how they came to lose all their money overnight. It could be argued that Schach himself was just as mystified as the insurance companies which had backed him and the bankers who had made the loans, as to just where the errant ? 1.75 million had gone. This sum was a veritable fortune in its day and it was difficult to comprehend how such a large amount could have been absorbed in such a short space of time (no more than about three years). Nevertheless there was no denying that his company, Capitol Film Productions Ltd., had repeatedly overspent budgets; massive amounts had gone on acquiring film rights; large sums had been squandered on bringing Hollywood stars over from America and settling their hotel bills and lavish expenses for months on end; the luxury West End premises had to be paid for, and so did the numerous staff manning the offices. In his book Inside Pictures, Ernest Betts, the critic and screenwriter, describes those early heady days with a certain nostalgia and tells how in 1935, as a struggling journalist, he had stepped into the role of scenario editor at Capitol Film Productions at a huge salary. All the staff were fired with enthusiasm. The Slump may have affected the rest of the country, but the impression Betts gives is that everyone at Capitol Films, cocooned in their plush offices at 293 Regent Street, could see no further than this vibrant young company, supported by seemingly limitless funds, all set to make its mark on an eagerly awaiting world. There was an atmosphere of frenzied activity about the place, although Betts says that, along with other re-write men, he had little to do all day but read scripts and put forward suggestions which everyone was too busy to listen to. (In fact he is being overly modest he wrote screenplays or additional dialogue for at least three or four Schach films.) Meanwhile, costs were mounting and the films were not proving as successful as expected. But undeterred and still bursting with confidence, Schach pressed ahead with increasingly ambitious plans, raising more and more money to cover the rapidly rising expenses. Betts describes Schach as a clever little man, 'clever with money and clever with people and he had the inexhaustible energy of the movie man'.2 In 1937, only two years after he had joined the team at Capitol Films, Ernest Betts found himself out of a job. Two years later it emerged that Capitol