The Right to Write: How the Writers Guild of America’s Formation Remains Relevant 90 Years Later

“The motion picture industry is and has been in a state of uncertainty and transition.” These are the opening words on the first official union contract for screenwriters, written on April 6, 1933. With that phrase, written 90 years ago, the Screen Writers Guild was formed, the union that would eventually become the Writers Guild of America. When they spoke of “uncertainty and transition,” they referred to an industry quickly evolving with new technologies. The economy was in shambles. The future of writing as a career was uncertain. Writers became increasingly eager to stake out their rights as artists in a system built to undercut them. Sound familiar?

There is a writer’s strike on the horizon. It is the underlying anxiety of every logistical conversation in the entertainment industry at the moment. On May 1, the entire business may come to a halt as the WGA renegotiates their contract with the studios. But on the 90th anniversary of that first contract being drawn up, the story of that early fight is more relevant than ever. The movies may have changed, but the issues that created the first union designed for the film industry have stayed the same

In the silent film era, writing was less of an art and more of a necessary technical addition. Screenwriters were called scenario writers and scripts mostly pertained to coming up with situations and the broad strokes of a story. Title cards were sometimes written by skilled writers, other times it was whoever was available. The words were not the focus because everyone wanted to see pictures move.

But the advent of sound necessitated a change. After the release of The Jazz Singer in 1927, sound became a must. Suddenly the ability to write dialogue became a highly sought after skill. Writing movies became a lucrative business for many authors and playwrights who flocked to Los Angeles to make a decent living churning out screenplays. Major studios were making 100+ films a year—having a staff of good writers was a solid business decision.

Art and business are eternally at odds. In the early days of film, the idea of movies as art came secondary to films being a booming new business opportunity. Historian Nancy Lynn Schwartz describes the early film industry as having “wed the principals of the assembly line to the European heritage of art under the patronage system.” Writers were creative individuals beholden to their patrons, the studios. It was encouraged to see these executives and your fellow artists not as colleagues but family: “Few industries resorted to the intimate, familial forms of economic and psychological manipulation used to retain absolute control in Hollywood.” Everyone was in it together. Universal Pictures co-founder Carl Laemmle was not just the boss, but “Uncle Carl.”

This paternalistic relationship adopted by the studio heads was used to their benefit during the Great Depression. Many studios took heavy losses. Ticket prices were reduced from 30 to 20 cents. The theaters run by RKO and Paramount announced substantial closures (at the time studios owned most major theater chains), while necessary pay cuts had been proposed in 1931 and taken on by contract stars. But by 1933, more was needed.

Events unfolded in quick succession. In January, meetings began to take place between studio executives and their talent, requesting 50% pay cuts. On March 8, every major studio except MGM was unable to meet their payrolls. The next day, President Roosevelt announced a bank moratorium to prevent the whole system from collapsing. On March 9, those pay cut meetings were announced again: 50% for those making $50 or more a week, 25% for those making less.

The reactions to the pay cuts were divided. Many actors and creatives had embraced the familial attitudes at the studios. They nobly volunteered to take the cuts, from the oldest actor in the room to the youngest. Everyone was in the same boat, the sacrifices must be universal.

But many writers did not buy into the sense of unity. They pointed out that the movie industry was still financially solid. Films still had high box office receipts. Writer Ernest Vajda spoke his objections at the MGM meeting with all the talent in the same room. Actor Lionel Barrymore responded by saying “You are acting like a man on his way to the guillotine wanting to stop for a manicure.” Legend goes that after many of the actors and writers agreed (some reluctantly) to take a pay cut, Louis B. Mayer stepped down from his podium and said to his assistant in a cheerful voice “So! How did I do?” There is no record of Mayer himself having reduced his pay.

On March 12, the IATSE, the union representing behind the camera technical workers that originated in the theater industry, announced they would not be cutting their pay. Their union contract gave them exemption. On March 13, every studio shut their doors and stopped production—something that had never occurred since the studio system began—to negotiate with IATSE leaders. Their newly agreed pay cut was much smaller and mostly taken on by higher-earning workers.

The writers took note of the IATSE’s bargaining power and decided to attempt unionization…again. There had been a previous initiative in 1921 when the Screen Writers Guild was first formed as a social club. They owned a house, threw parties and held a ball called the First Annual Writers Cramp. Their goal of becoming a union slowed over the years, but was officially halted in 1927 when Mayer founded the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. The Academy originally began as a company union that could be used to circumvent and squash attempts to organize. SWG president Grant Carpenter tried to spur writers into unionizing by taking out notices in the trade magazines, but the arrival of sound in 1927 turned the industry on its head and defeated the effort.

The 1933 pay cuts and the power the IATSE used against studios was the final push. Meetings among writers took place throughout March. Many of them were relatively young, part of the group who relocated to Los Angeles after talkies came to be. Lawyers quickly drew up proposed contracts. On April 6, the Annual Meeting of the Screen Writers’ Guild was held and John Howard Lawson was elected president. A Code of Working Rules and a new Constitution began to be written. Reacting to the formation of the new union at that first meeting, retired silent film screenwriter Frank E. Woods is credited with saying “Then came the dawn.” A new age of Hollywood had begun.

The SWG became the first union made for the motion picture industry. While the IATSE and Actors’ Equity carried over into film, they were adopted from the world of theater. The SWG’s membership steadily grew from the original 173 but they were not recognized by the studios. Lawson encouraged members to resign from the Academy. The first Academy Award to ever be refused was by writer Dudley Nichols in 1936 over the SWG’s conflict with the Academy, saying “The SWG was conceived in revolt against the Academy…To accept [the award] would be to turn my back on nearly 1000 members of the Screen Writers’ Guild.”

The success of the SWG in organizing soon inspired other groups of artists. The Screen Actors Guild began to unionize that summer; the Directors Guild and the Producers Guild later followed suit. There was a powerful sense of camaraderie during this time—change was possible and power could be shifted in the entertainment industry. “The Screen Writers Marching Song,” written by Henry Myers, interpreted their fight into a triumphant battle cry.

Image from The Hollywood Writers’ Wars by Nancy Lynn Schwartz

The SWG soon began to advocate for new rights for its writers. The biggest issues regarded credit for their writing, ownership of their work and the boundaries between writers as individuals and as employees. For decades, these subjects came up again and again, weathering witch hunts and technological advancement. Their struggles continued through the emergence of TV, the end of the contract system and the transformation of writers as independent artists, and into the digital age. Their name may have changed but the Writers Guild of America has always been centered around the same principle: Giving writers respect and power.

The WGA has organized more strikes (six) than any other Hollywood union. When home video became popular in 1988, the WGA went on strike. When the internet and the early signs of streaming started to shake up the industry, the WGA was on strike for 100 days from 2007-2008, costing the industry over $2 billion.

Now the contract is up again and a potential strike looms. Modern issues mostly concern compensation and ensuring writing remains a viable career into the future. Streaming has evolved far beyond what was imagined in 2007. Shows are made and discarded, films can be dumped on streaming without notice or even canceled after completion, shelved forever. Every new development devalues the medium and turns writers back into disrespected workers stuck in the studio machine.

When the word “strike” floats around Hollywood, panic ensues. It happened in 2021 when IATSE almost walked out and that same anxiety has returned. In writer circles, there are worries that their negotiations are being undercut by leaked (or planted) stories in the trades, aimed at causing division within the writer community (WGA members are maintaining a media blackout). The same ancient paternalistic manipulation comes from the studios, beckoning writers to just get along and work together. But just like when Mayer gave his speech about pay cuts, not everyone is on the same page right now. Streaming is a money-losing business, but the people in charge are not the ones suffering. Studios will scrape as much as they can off their artists until they’re met with resistance. 

“The motion picture industry is and has been in a state of uncertainty and transition” is an immortal phrase, whether it refers to the setting of sound to images or the creation of an insurmountable digital catalog of art, then renaming it “content.” This industry will always be changing, and the rights of its artists must change with it. The principles of resistance that guided the SWG in 1933 have stayed with the guild. This is a business of artists and those two diametrically opposed values will always be fighting against each other. Striking reveals where real power lies in that fight: The studios may have the money, but the artists are the industry. No matter what happens as the summer unfolds, the WGA will continue to write their own story; it’s what they’re paid to do.

Leila Jordan is a writer and former jigsaw puzzle world record holder. Her work has appeared in Paste Magazine, FOX Digital, Gold Derby, and Awards Radar. To talk about all things movies, TV, and useless trivia you can find her @galaxyleila