The air in Duke Ithaca office on California feel a little dirty, specially since he had been in New york and going around the country mostly to negotiate with Barry Gordie.
The successful victory on the Charlton Distribution had bought Ithaca a crucial two months of somewhat calm stability.
But a new crisis had emerged centered on the Colorado set of True Grit. The project had started principal photography this week.
The film was not just a major picture, it was an essential, reliable, high-grossing Western that Duke needed and that he knew would succed cause of his memories.
But now that entire six million investment was being actively threatened by its star, John Wayne or well simply "Wayne," as Duke insisted he be called to avoid any confusion specially since Wayne liked to refer to himself as 'The Duke'.
The constant, crackling phone calls filtering back to California from the remote, dusty set painted a picture of problems on set.
"He calls the script 'Literary nonsense,' Duke," Spielberg lamented during one agonizing call, the fatigue thick in his voice.
"He said the dialogue sounds like it was written by 'a fella who's read too many books and doesnt know about horses.' He keeps arguing that the audience won't buy this dense, formal language coming from him."
Duke paced the length of his office, the polished mahogany floor a stark contrast to the grit and chaos described by Spielberg.
He understood the root of Wayne's complaint perfectly.
Wayne was accustomed to films that presented an idealized, sweeping vision of the West, where dialogue was simple, declarative, and built to service the iconic persona of John Wayne.
Even in 2025, people who have never seen a John Wayne movie, know who he is.
That was something that he always found confusing, how a lot of people didnt know who Henry Fonda in 2025 but they would know John Wayne despite never watching one of his films.
(Im a Henry Fonda fan, favorite actor)
True Grit, however, was based on a Charles Portis's novel, a literary masterpiece defined by its gritty realism and a somewhat archaic, formal language spoken by rough people.
The script, which Duke had personally approved, demanded that Wayne's character, the drunken, one-eyed Marshal Rooster Cogburn, be a supporting element to the main story the relentless quest of the young girl, Mattie Ross.
"He wants to rewrite his own lines, Duke," Spielberg confessed, sounding utterly defeated.
"He keeps trying to inject these massive, long pauses, filling them with things like 'All hat and no cattle,' trying to turn Cogburn back into a caricature of his Red River or The Searchers roles."
"He's actively fighting the gritty realism we're aiming for. He thinks the film is beneath him and will affect his press persona."
Duke looked out of the window while hearing.
"He told Hal Wallis yesterday, and I quote, 'People come to see me, not listen to some literary show,'" Spielberg reported.
"It's a constant, psychological battle over every line reading. He's taking us off-schedule by hours, we've lost almost two days of filming this week just arguing about the appropriate use of an adverb or a contraction."
The financial implications of a two-day schedule delay on a six million production were immediate and severe.
Every lost day was tens of thousands of dollars in equipment rental, crew payroll, Crew food and location fees all money that chipped away.
The complaints about the dialogue were merely the low-frequency humming of dissatisfaction.
The biggest threat, the one that required immediate, direct corporate intervention, was the casting of the young, unknown actress playing Mattie Ross.
The role of Mattie was the moral and narrative engine of the film.
Paramount and Wallis team had intentionally chosen an actress who embodied authentic, stubborn frontier realism.
Intelligent, slightly awkward, slightly unatractive and utterly devoid of glamour.
"He formally complained, Duke. To me, to Hal Wallis, and to the director, Henry Hathaway," Spielberg announced, the hate in his voice intensifying. "He wants her gone."
"On what grounds?" Duke asked, though he knew the answer already. He could feel the ideological split across the line.
"Grounds of 'lack of presence' and 'she looks too damn plain.' He called her a 'schoolmarm' and said she lacks 'glamour.' He thinks the audience will be put off by her," Spielberg explained, the frustration boiling over.
"He's making it a huge issue on set. He's actively trying to sabotage her performance by barely acknowledging her in scenes, treating her like set dressing, hoping we fire her out of necessity."
Duke pressed his lips into a thin line.
"He's threatening to walk if she stays and i'm telling you, Duke, he's serious," Spielberg stressed.
"He knows you and i are considered new to the scene, so he wants to push us around."
He responded to Spielberg, his voice low, controlled, and utterly devoid of panic.
"Steven, he's playing a game of chicken, and he assumes we'll swerve. I need you to understand that his problem is not the actress; his problem is me. He didnt acted like this when he got hired."
After hanging up on the distraught Steven Spielberg.
Duke immediately placed a call to Hal Wallis, the veteran producer on the True Grit set.
Duke needed to ensure the message being delivered was unified, forceful, and non-negotiable before he arrived.
"Hal, it's Duke. I'm flying out tomorrow. I want to confirm the immediate directive," Duke began, his voice flat.
"I haven't fired the girl yet, Duke, if that's what you mean," Wallis replied, sounding weary. "But I'm telling you, Wayne is escalating."
"He skipped lunch, drove off set, and is yelling in his trailer right now, sending his manager out with thinly veiled threats."
"Listen to me, Hal," Duke stated, emphasizing every word.
"Ithaca's opinion is the same as your's keep the actress."
"She is integral to the vision we want, and replacing her would fundamentally compromise the film and also bloat the budget. Tell him that we are committed to the creative choice and will not budge."
Wallis sighed heavily. "I believe you. And I agree with you. The girl is fantastic; Wayne is just being... Wayne."
"He thinks he can bully us because we need this movie to pay the bills. He's trying to establish a hierarchy, Duke, and his new movie, The Green Berets is doing amazing on cinemas right now."
True Grit was being financed and released by Paramount Pictures.
Wayne assumed his status and profitability would compel Paramount to support him over a young producer and an inexperienced newcomer actor.
"Then we hit him where he thinks he's strongest. I need you to tell him, through his manager, that Paramount will have the same view as Ithaca."
"Tell him they will not tolerate cost overruns or creative sabotage that risks their investment," Duke instructed. "He respects the big studio name. Hit him with Paramounts name."
A profound silence descended on Wallis's end of the line, far more telling than the earlier panic.
When Wallis finally spoke, his voice was laced with unexpected resignation and defeat.
"Duke, that won't work," Wallis admitted, the weight of decades of Hollywood history settling in his voice.
"Wayne already knows Paramount won't back him... but for the opposite reason you think."
"Explain," Duke commanded.
Wallis let out a bitter, choked sound. "Paramount's new management they dislike me. They dislike my old-school methods."
"I've been with Paramount forever, but its seems that they view me as dead weight. They want fresh faces, new talent, and True Grit is likely my last picture with Paramount."
The revelation was a hammer blow. It fundamentally changed the dynamic of the confrontation.
"Wayne knows this, Duke," Wallis continued, his voice heavy with the sting of betrayal. "He learned this at some damned cocktail party last week."
"He knows I have zero pull with the new management, and he knows they're just waiting for me to fail."
"He's showing disrespect because he doesn't believe he has to respect a producer who's already been pushed out the door."
"So, he's not just fighting the creative vision; he's taking the opportunity to humiliate the departing producer while simultaneously attacking the other producer," Duke summarized, grasping the complicated motive.
He remembered that thing that Spielberg said about 'stiff lines' and wondered whether Wayne wanted to erode the crew power structure to force changes to the story.
Wallis confirmed Duke's analysis: "He also seems to have lost a lot of faith in the project because he knows it's the end of my reign at Paramount."
"He sees the film as a failure before the first reel is even edited. If he can force us to fire the girl and walk away with a big paycheck, he gets a big win."
Duke now understood that his initial plan appealing to professionalism and financial prudence was insufficient.
Wayne had already calculated the financial risk and decided that he could afford to have an attitude after The Green Berets success.
Wayne probably didn't care about the budget because he felt the film was worthless anyway.
"Alright, Hal. Thank you for the honesty," Duke said, his voice now softer. "You were right. I need to handle this myself."
Duke terminated the call.
He couldn't rely on Paramount's authority; he had to use his own.
He had to convince Wayne that his commitment was to the role and the audience, not to his corporate contracts or his failing producer.
Duke checked his schedule. The flight couldn't come soon enough. The fate of Ithaca's entire cinematic future now hinged on one conversation with an angry, disrespected icon convinced the project was doomed.
Duke called Spielberg while reaching for his travel bag.
Duke declared. "Tell Mr. Wayne that I am flying out specifically to address his concerns regarding the Mattie Ross casting, and that I expect to meet him one-on-one, on the set, before the day's shooting begins tomorrow."
"What's the angle, Duke?" Spielberg asked, sounding desperate for a plan.
"My angle, Steven, is simple: John Wayne is a professional. He is an American icon, and he signed a contract to honor the script and the director's vision," Duke stated.
Duke knew he could not appeal to Wayne's aesthetic taste, which was stuck in the 1950s.
He could only try to appeal to Wayne sense of duty and honor to the audience. A reach yeah but one has to exhaust every chance one have.
"Keep shooting the landscape inserts today, Steven. Don't let him see the panic. Just tell him im coming to talk about his problem," Duke commanded, hanging up the phone.
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Late chapter
I got a Grinch Mcdonalds meal and the spice thingy ruined my fries.
Non-proofed chapter