I had roughly two dozen library books checked out across paper and electronic lending and I had never heard, specifically, of William Fox, so why this massive biography caught my eye enough for me to haul it home is a mystery. Why I read it, however, isn't. Krefft has an engaging subject in the Horatio-Alger-turned-Charles-Kane-but-with-Hollywood-history Fox and, even more crucially for a biography, a light touch. She's sympathetic to Fox but not adulatory of him--his faults and mistakes receive their fair airing here--and she's great at explaining his historical, cultural, and even financial contexts. (It's not her fault I still can't understand the stock market.)
William Fox had an interesting life. (Hey, someone should write a book about this!) He grew up dirt-poor with a mother he idolized and a father who hardly ever lifted a finger to keep his family from starving; young Fox supported his family from an early age, working in the garment district and then going home and cleaning the steps so his mother would be able to rest. Step by step--and with, inevitably, a few unsavory connections, given that this was the heyday of Tammany Hall--he started owning movie theaters. One of the real delights of this biography is tracing the development of the movie industry. We start with films screened on a sheet or a wall when it was a technology so new you had to hire sword-swallowers, carnival-style, to attract traffic inside; we eventually get to Murnau's Sunrise and the talkies. The road there is paved with heated battles over film rental licenses and patents, and Fox was influential as an outspoken and successful early campaigner against a Thomas Edison-driven monopoly that was restricting the industry's growth. Later, he'd fight his own patent battles, and, crucially, his own monopoly battle, from the other side.
Fox Pictures became known for their sensationalism, from the brand name sex symbol Theda Bara, one of cinema's earliest vamps, to cowboy stuntwork. Fox was gentlemanly to a fault in his private life, but his movies pushed whatever would get people into the theater, with a bias towards sex and spectacle and sentimentality. For the most part, it worked. With Fox's sometimes overbearing guidance, the production company grew and grew. With it, Fox grew more autocratic--I've seldom felt sorrier for anyone than I did for Sol Wurtzel, his poor subordinate in Hollywood, whom he effectively bullied into having a nervous breakdown--and even more ambitious. In a cliched turn worthy of an early Fox movie, that ambition led to his downfall. In the end, he created too many enemies and accumulated too much power to last, a situation which paradoxically led to his company falling apart even as it enjoyed unprecedented success.
The end of his career tarnished his reputation, and it casts its shadow over the biography, as well, as we spend a lot of time exploring not only the technical details of Fox's fall--the stock inflation, the battles with AT&T, the threat of receivership, the voting trust, and so on--but also the personal animosity that went with them. Towards the end of his reign, as everything was falling part, Fox acted bitterly and irrationally. And his wife threatened to throw acid in someone's face. Coming after all the genuine likability and entrepreneurial spirit of the beginning, it's hard for all this not to have a huge impact on the reader's perception of Fox. Though, complex to the end, he continued donating to charity, being a loyal husband, quietly working, and playing one-handed golf.
John Ford's career, sex symbols, movie theaters, movie production, sound-on-film: none of it would be the same without him. This is a fitting tribute to the specificity of those things, to their range, and to the man who changed them forever.