Odets' motion picture career can be roughly divided into three periods: 1936–38, 1943–47, and 1955–61. His name finally appeared on only seven produced films, but he estimated the output of those years variously from fifteen or twenty scripts to "dozens." The Hollywood practice of script-doctoring explains the disparity. He told an interviewer in 1944 that though he had written many scripts, he had taken credit only for The General Died at Dawn. "'The others were rewritten … after I left town, by four or five hacks to each script,' he says, 'and rather than share credit for what they churned out between gin-rummy games, I decided to pass up fame and keep my self-respect.'" (p. 31)

[Few of Odets' films are] of more than routine interest, except The Story on Page One, which he originated and directed. It is unquestionably the purest finished product of any task Odets attempted in Hollywood. The entire work, from its conception as a story idea to its actual filming, may safely be credited to him.

It is unfortunate, then, that the net result of his tremendous effort as author-director is not more satisfying. The Story on Page One is a rather ordinary courtroom melodrama in which, true to tradition, the defense is clever, vigorous, occasionally taken by surprise by a prosecution maneuver, but never in doubt as to ultimate victory. The prosecution team is clearly the villain of the piece. Viewers conditioned by several years of watching the unconquerable Perry Mason on television would easily forecast the jury's verdict. Odets' script does not save the unraveling until the end; the viewers are let in on the entire story almost from the beginning. The adulterous love affair that leads to the husband's death is thin plot material. The characters involved in it are hardly engrossing: Mike Morris, a crass, unfeeling detective; Jo, his attractive wife; Larry, a vacuous, mother-dominated accountant. The theme, at least from the viewpoint of the central character, would seem to be that adultery is acceptable, given the proper set of circumstances.

It is safe to assume that Odets, recognizing all the weaknesses of his script, wished his emphasis on another facet of the film, a typical social protest—equal justice. Early in the screen play, the young defense attorney, approached by Mrs. Brown to defend her daughter in court, makes a ringing speech about the inequality of justice. He explains to the mother that the state is willing to commit unlimited resources to gain a conviction, while poor Mrs. Brown can't afford even a single trained investigator. Oddly, though, this is the last the audience hears of this theme. With echoes of Zola rushing to the aid of Dreyfus, Vic Santini takes the case; from that point on, the state, with all its trained experts and unlimited bankroll, does not stand a chance for conviction.

In spite of such disheartening drawbacks, there are moments to admire in The Story on Page One. Odets wisely places nearly three quarters of the action in the courtroom. Vic Santini for the defense and Phil Stanley for the state are cunning, ruthless, worthy opponents. Though the necessity of making Stanley the heavy tends to cause Odets to exaggerate his disagreeable side, he is nonetheless, a brilliantly drawn courtroom tiger. Aided by some well-drawn minor characters, its vigorous dialogue, and its frequent moments of veracity, The Story on Page One, though a long way from the best of Odets' plays, is a workmanlike script. (pp. 33-4)

Odets tended to separate his playwriting from his film and television writing, though he frequently asserted that he was not ashamed of anything he wrote. To the end of his life he was filled with grandiose plans; something big was always in the immediate offing. Much as he wished to outgrow his reputation as the playwright of the Thirties, Odets was never granted more. Hollywood was not the answer. (p. 34)