Film Studies: And thanks to the dog handler's agent...

There is a raging new controversy in American film. Well, look, it's winter, and a cold one so far, so we need cheap ways of keeping warm. Let's call it no more than "a fuss". Still, it's one that goes back to the oldest questions about who is responsible for the movies.

On 11 January, The New York Times ran a story, by Randy Kennedy, on the extraordinary length of credit sequences in some modern films. On The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, for instance, the tasteful listing of everyone from director Peter Jackson to those who handled the accounting and the payroll lasted nine minutes and 33 seconds. There's no need to remind you of the 3,000m steeplechase a modest runner could handle in that time. And, of course, you are not confined in your seat. There are some customers nowadays who have no idea about the realities of credit sprawl because they never sit still for them. But at 10 minutes after every screening, that's time enough by the end of the day to mean a cinema can't run a fifth screening.

Mr Kennedy asked a few people their opinions on the matter and this columnist was reported as saying, "It's monstrous. One of those signs of decadence in our film business." For it is the case that, decades ago, when movies were altogether quicker, the front credits and the end credits together might not exceed a minute. We got the main cast (not every role), and the names of those alleged to have done the significant work.

The Times story produced a lot of letters, some from just the people who are getting their names in print in the new approach. They argued that a legible credit was just reward, their best chance of getting other jobs, and a proper recognition of the collaborative nature of film-making.

To which I would only say, is it a fair labour practice, or a measure of vanity, if on Master and Commander we get this listing of people who helped Russell Crowe do his work: a costumier; two hair stylists; a make-up artist (personal as opposed to the credited make-up person for the whole picture); two special make-up artists; a stunt double; a stand-in; a trainer; a dialect coach; a swordmaster; three violin coaches; two personal assistants; plus the security company that looked after the actor?

It's not that those are invented people. They all got cheques - though it is not unknown in the picture business for cheques to go to phantoms.

But the platoon of aides is a sign of self-importance. I believe, further, that in the business the good security firms and the reliable dialect coaches are well known. They don't need advertising.

But here's my deeper point: the profusion is a smoke screen.

I'm going to pursue Master and Commander as an example. I'm going to make a few speculations about the film - none of which is a charge against the behaviour of the real Russell Crowe. Still, actors do movies in great part because their agents and lawyers negotiate a great deal. Sometimes those negotiations take months of work and figure as heavily in the minds of the producer as any scenes in the film. But the agents and lawyers don't get a credit. Neither does the PR firm or the PR agent who may have kept Mr Crowe on the location when he was bored beyond endurance.

Which brings me to the point - an imaginary one - of wondering whether the gorgeous, attractive, desirable look on the actor's face wasn't because he was having a love affair during the shooting. But does that happy accident get named? Imagine the material for film scholarship in finding that seven great actors and 19 major films could list the same person as "companion". Should there be a new Oscar for most rewarding companion? Should spouses be admitted to that company?

All right, I'm being a little facetious. Now consider this problem. A film may list A, B and C as screenwriters. And screenwriting, surely, is more important than violin training - and more lasting than companionship.

But A, B and C are the result of arbitration at the Screen Writers Guild where a D and even an E were ruled out because they had not done enough of the original drafts on a film. Yet, anyone on the picture knows that D and E actually wrote a vital 20 minutes of a story that is good for... about 22 minutes.

One last shot: is film a collaborative medium? Of course. It needs actors, writers, editors and so on. And it needs audiences. How long before you sign in as you enter the dark and then see your own name in the long twilight that ends every show?

d.thomson@independent.co.uk