Writing the Photoplay Part 13

A common mistake among amateur photoplaywrights is to waste far too much time on preliminaries. If a guest is expected from a distant city, all that is necessary, as a rule, is to write in a short letter, which is opened and read by the host- or hostess-to-be, announcing that the guest will arrive at a certain time. But the young writer--to judge from many scripts we have examined--thinks that in such a case it is necessary to show the housemaid preparing the guest-chamber, another scene in which the hostess instructs the chauffeur to be ready at such an hour to meet her guest at the station, and so on. No matter what kind of story you are writing, go straight to the point from the opening--make the wheels of the plot actually commence to revolve in the first scene--_plunge_ into your action, don't wade timidly in inch by inch. To use up two or three scenes in showing trivial incidents which may happen to the characters while they are, so to speak, standing in the wings ready to make their entrances, is as tiresome as it is useless. If the hero of the Western story makes his first appearance by das.h.i.+ng into the scene madly pursued by a band of Indians, the spectator is not interested in finding out what he was doing at the time he first discovered the red men closing in upon him; it is how he will escape them that engages their whole attention. Once get your action started vividly and the interest of the spectators will permit you to give all the really necessary foundation information as you move on with your story.

_4. Sequence in the Action_

Apply the same rule of directness to the introduction of new characters in the scenes that follow. There is one main theme, one main line of development, in every well constructed story--and only one. See to it that you do not digress from it except as you bring up from the rear other essential parts of the action. There is absolutely no place in the photoplay for side trips.

As simply and as emphatically as we can put it, the most important thing in connection with the writing of the scenario is to have the action progress smoothly, logically, and interestingly from the first to the last scene. Wherever possible, one scene should lead into the next scene, and each scene should appear to be the only one possible--from the standpoint of the action it contains--at that stage of the plot's development. If, even for a moment, a scene appears to have been written in solely for effect, or merely to delay the climax of the story, the picture is open to criticism for padding. Not only should the denouement (the untying, the clearing up of the story at the close) appear to be the only one logically possible, but each successive scene should follow the one preceding it with inevitableness.

To be sure, this does not mean, as we explained in the chapter on Plot, that the sequence of your scenes must be the simple, straight-forward sequence of everyday life, in which one character is seen to carry out his action without interruption from start to finish. Quite to the contrary, photoplay action must often interrupt the course of one character so as to bring another personage, or set of personages, into the action at the proper time to furnish the surprising interruptions and complications--and their unfoldings--required to make a plot. But all this really _is_ the progressive, logical development of the story in good climacteric style.

Elsewhere in this volume we have spoken of the way in which the action progresses in the twelve- to sixteen-scene comic pictures in the comic supplements to the Sunday newspapers. Take for example the well-known "Bringing Up Father" series of "comics." Commencing with the basic situation, the action moves progressively to a logical conclusion, the climax coming, usually, in the next to the last picture. The last picture is the surprise-denouement--the event which naturally and inevitably follows the climax. There is, of course, a wide contrast between one of these series and a "dramatic" photoplay; but the same principle that governs the evolution of the story in the comic supplement should be applied to the working out of your photoplay story. Cultivate the picturing eye, we repeat, so that by being able to visualize each scene as you plan it in your mind you cannot fail to produce in your scenario a series of scenes whose action is logically connected and essentially natural and unforced.

_5. The Interest of Suspense_

To say that there must be a logical sequence in progressing from scene to scene, and that each must appear to be the natural outcome of the one preceding it, is by no means to say that you must suggest in one scene what is about to follow in the next. It is when we review a photoplay in retrospection that we decide whether proper care has been given to the planning of the scenes so as to make them lead smoothly one into the other, but while we are watching a photoplay for the first time, half the charm lies in _not_ knowing what is coming next.

Suspense, then, must be kept in mind as the scenario is being planned.

You should not only keep the spectator in suspense as to the climax as long as possible, but in building up your plot you should work in as many unexpected twists as you can without destroying its logic. Mr.

Hoagland says: "Suspense is a delightful sensation, though we all beg not to be kept in it." So whet the spectator's imagination by springing little surprises and minor climaxes whenever they can be introduced without seeming to be forced. Make each such incident another step upward toward your climax proper; hold back the "big"

surprise, the startling denouement, until the very end. The most enjoyable feature of Anna Katherine Green's "The Leavenworth Case" was that she kept the reader in the dark until the last chapter as to who was the real murderer. All the many detective novels that have since appeared have been successful exactly in proportion as the solution of the mystery has been withheld from the reader until the end of the story.

Naturally, this requires careful planning. About twenty years ago, one of the high-cla.s.s fiction magazines published a story in which a reporter who had been interviewing the leading woman of a theatrical company was caught on the stage as the curtain rose on the first act.

The leading woman was supposed to be "discovered" at the rise of the curtain, but the newspaper man was both surprised and embarra.s.sed by _his_ being discovered. Nevertheless, having his overcoat on and carrying his hat in his hand, with great presence of mind he turned to the actress and said: "Very well, madam; I will call for the clock at three this afternoon." Then he made a deliberate exit, and the leading woman read her first speech. But, as the play progressed, there was scarcely one in the audience who failed to wonder why the "actor" who had spoken the line about the clock did not reappear according to promise. At a certain point in the action of the drama, just where the intervention of someone from outside would have been most opportune, the audience expected that the "jeweler" would make his reappearance; but of course he did not, the play ended as the author had intended it to end--and the audience went out feeling that something had gone wrong somewhere--as it had.

The lesson to the photoplaywright is plain: Never introduce into the early scenes of the scenario any incident that is likely to mislead the spectator into thinking that it is of sufficient importance to affect the ultimate denouement, when it really has no bearing upon it.

Reverse this, and you have another good rule to follow in writing the scenario. As one critic said in substance, if you intend to have one of your characters die of heart disease toward the end of the play, prepare your audience for this event by "registering" in an earlier scene the fact that his heart is affected. Do not drag in a scene to make this fact clear, but, in two or three different scenes, have him show that his heart is weak, and be sure that every one of these scenes serves the double purpose of registering this fact and introducing other important action relevant to the plot. In other words, make the slight attacks which the man experiences all through the story merely incidental to the scenes in which they occur. Then when the fatal attack comes, the audience is prepared for it, yet they have not been actually looking forward to it through several scenes. While speaking of heart disease, we would call the attention of the writer to an observation lately made by the photoplay critic of _The Dramatic Mirror_: "Scenario writers notwithstanding, it is exceptional for people to die because an unexpected piece of news shocks them, even when they suffer from weak hearts. Robust men do not part from life so readily, and film tragedies of this kind generally fail to carry conviction because the facts presented are divorced from the customary laws of nature."

Do not introduce a new character in one of the late scenes, especially if he or she is importantly connected with the plot, even though you use that character in the picture for only a brief interval. If the appearance of a certain man in one of the late scenes will help in saving the life of a condemned man, try to plan the entrance of this character into the story in an earlier scene, even though only for a period long enough to establish who and what he is. In this way you may avoid a long and otherwise unnecessary leader just when you are approaching your climax and thus halt the interest.

_6. Action May Be Too Rapid_

If you are writing the scenario of a dramatic plot, it is evident that, within reasonable limits, the more dramatic situations--the more "punches," in the vernacular--you can put into it, the more likely it is to find favor in the eyes of the editor and the producer. But too many writers, conscious of this fact, make the mistake of forcing the pace. The solid photoplay of today should not be made to resemble a cheap melodrama, in which something highly sensational is sure to happen every three minutes. Just because you have seen a sensational episode in a play on the screen, do not attempt to crowd your scenario with minor thrills and sensations, regardless of whether the incident pictured is relevant to the plot. If your plot is a strong one, its unfolding will _suggest_ scenes of sufficient dramatic quality to hold the interest. But do not search your brain for startling situations to introduce here, there, and everywhere in the action, paying no attention to whether they have little, if anything, to do with the plot.

Imagination is the writer's greatest a.s.set, but imagination run riot is photoplay madness. It must be intelligently exercised else it will fairly run away with the plot, and the result will be a literary wreck. You must study--and hence realize at least fairly completely--the possibilities of your story before you start to write it at all. Haphazard work will never bring you anything--in photoplay writing or in any other creative line.

_7. Centralizing the Interest_

It is almost impossible to produce a really effective photoplay without centering the attention of the spectator on one of the princ.i.p.al characters and holding it there until the end. Even when the princ.i.p.al characters are lovers, either one or the other is bound to stand out in the picture more than the other. As in a play on the regular stage, either the hero or the heroine must dominate the action or the spectator is very likely to miss some of the best points of the plot because of the s.h.i.+fting interest. In such a play as "Romeo and Juliet," many would find it difficult to determine which of the two princ.i.p.al characters evokes the more sympathy and interest in the spectators. Yet a careful study of the play will leave no doubt that it was Shakespeare's intention that one of the two "star-crossed lovers"--Juliet--should dominate the action of the drama very subtly and certainly, the other being, though in only the slightest degree, it is true, subordinate to the "princ.i.p.al." The same thing is true in the stories of Damon and Pythias, Paolo and Francesca, and Pelleas and Melisande. You must determine at the very beginning whether it is to be the man or the woman, and, having trained the spot-light upon that one, keep it there until the end.

A certain picture, released about four years ago by a European manufacturer, was concerned with a husband, his wife, and his friend--a man who for a period of some months was a guest in the home of the pair. In the ordinary sense, it was not a problem plot; the friend was an honorable man, and the husband, who had the most sincere admiration for his old college companion, was a fine fellow in every way. Yet, as the story progressed it became apparent that there had been a love affair between the wife and her husband's friend when they were both scarcely more than children. Little incidents in the action of the next few scenes gradually caused the audience to sympathize with the friend. Then, toward the end of the play, the sympathy was definitely s.h.i.+fted to the husband. This, of course, viewed in the proper light, was as it should be; but only a scene or two from the end of the picture an incident happened that again caused the audience to feel that it was the friend who alone deserved the woman's love. The result was that out of all the hundreds of people who saw the picture in the two days during which it was shown at a certain theatre, none expressed themselves as being satisfied with it, although only a few were able to say directly that they did not approve of the play because of the frequently s.h.i.+fted interest.

Thus the picture failed because whoever wrote it did not keep in mind the important fact that divided interest will go a long way toward destroying the dramatic value of any story, regardless of how perfect it may be otherwise.

Use as few princ.i.p.als as possible, no matter how many minor characters or extra people are employed; and be sure to keep the subordinate characters in the background sufficiently to prevent them from detracting in any way from the interest that should be constantly fixed upon your princ.i.p.als, and especially the _two_ princ.i.p.als who make possible nine-tenths of all the stories written.

_8. Managing Changes of Scene_

In preparing the scenario it is important to remember that if a leader is introduced _before_ a scene, the leader should be written first, and followed by the number and description of the scene. And in describing your scenes you should study the convenience of the director: where more than one scene is to be done in a set, refer back to the _original_ scene number. Thus if Scene 5 is the sheriff's office, and the same background is used for scenes 7, 9, and 14, when writing Scene 14 say:

14--Sheriff's office, same as 5--

No matter how many times that setting may be used as the background for a scene of your story, write it out every time just as you did at first. Do not merely say: Same as 5. Follow the scene number, whether it be 7, 9, or 14, with: "Sheriff's office;" then add the "same as 5."

Also, do not forget what was said in Chapter VI regarding the writing of your scene-number at 0 (or 0 and 1, if there are two figures) on the scale-bar of your typewriter. In this way, if 5 is your left marginal stop, you will have almost a half-inch s.p.a.ce between the number and the description of the scene. Bridge this s.p.a.ce with the hyphen or short-dash character, and you will be sure that the director's attention is quickly drawn to each change of scene.

It is extremely important to remember that in telling your story in action even the slightest change of location means another scene. Let us make this point perfectly clear:

Suppose you have a scene in which a fire ladder is placed against the wall of a burning building, only the lower part of the ladder showing in the picture. A fireman starts to mount, and finally disappears overhead. The scene changes, and we see the upper windows of the building and the upper portion of the ladder. Suddenly the fireman's head appears as he climbs up (into the picture), then his whole body comes into view, and presently he climbs in at one of the windows.

These are written in as two separate scenes, though it is plain that in real life they are actually one, and in the photoplay they are not separated even by an insert of any kind, thus seeming to be one, as intended.

But now suppose that when the fireman starts up the ladder the cameraman "follows him"--tilts his camera so that the result is a "s.h.i.+fting stage"--the eye of the spectator following the fireman as he goes up and until he reaches the top of the ladder and climbs in at the window. That, of course, const.i.tutes only one scene--the swinging of the camera to follow the progress of the actor simply enlarges the stage, as it were. Such scenes as this second one are frequently seen in photoplays--an aeroplane leaving the ground and rising in its flight, a band of hors.e.m.e.n riding "across" and eventually "out of" a picture, a man climbing down the side of a cliff, and the like. But as a rule they are simply arranged by the director's instructing the cameraman to swing his camera as described--the writer of the script does not introduce an actual direction to the director to obtain the effect in this way but writes them in as two scenes.

In taking such panoramic scenes as those just described, the tripod of the camera remains unmoved. Even in a railroad drama, where we see an engine run down a track for a quarter of a mile or more, the camera is mounted on another train, which closely follows the one seen in the picture, and hence it is plainly, from a technical standpoint, only one scene, though while it is being shown on the screen the background is changing continuously. It is the _abrupt_ s.h.i.+fting from one locality to another that const.i.tutes a "change of scene" in the photoplay.

This being so, it follows that each change of scene must be given a separate scene-number in your scenario. We have examined dozens of amateur scripts in which scenes would be found written thus:

8--Library, same as 2.

Tom looks on floor, fails to find locket, and then goes into one room after another searching for it.

This, of course, is impossible. Even though the director were willing to show Tom going through the different rooms looking for the lost piece of jewelry, each scene would have to be separately and consecutively numbered in the scenario. If in the tenth room visited Tom should find the locket and then go out on the piazza to speak to Mabel about it, the scene showing the piazza would be 18 and not 9.

It is quite as incorrect to divide into two or more parts the action of what should be one scene, as already explained, as it is to try to make one scene out of two or more by running them together in the way ill.u.s.trated in the foregoing bad example. To avoid both errors, bear in mind that besides giving every scene a separate scene number, you must write a scene into your scenario whenever it is necessary to supply a new background for some bit of action. For example, you cannot say:

Scene 4. John comes out of the store, walks down the street for a couple of blocks, and enters the bank on the corner.

That much action would be written about as follows:

1--Exterior of store.

John comes out of store and walks down street, out of picture.

2--Street.

Enter John. Pa.s.ses down street and out of picture.

3--Exterior of bank on street corner.

John comes down street, approaches bank, and enters.

In the foregoing example, three scenes are given to show how John gets from the store to the bank; but it might not be really necessary to take three scenes to show this action. We might see John leave the store and start down the street, the camera being set up in such a way as to take in not only the doorway of the store but also a considerable portion of the street. If the scene showing the front of the bank were planned in the same way, so as to show John approaching up the street, as though coming from the store, the connecting scene (2), which merely shows him between the two points, could very well be left out altogether, to be supplied by the imagination of the spectators.

Experience alone--combined with the study of the pictures seen on the screen--can teach you just what scenes are really necessary and which may be avoided; the point to remember is that you should not waste footage on even the shortest scene that can be eliminated without detracting from the interest or breaking the logical sequence of the events in your story. In other words, make it your hard and fast rule to write _nothing_ into your scenario that does not aid materially in telling your story and making your meaning clear to the spectator. On the other hand, see that you _omit nothing_ that will tend to produce the same result.

Going back to the example just given, we would point out that we purposely introduced into it an example of what _not_ to do. Scene 3 is described as the "exterior of bank _on street corner_." That is something that it is best to leave entirely to the director. Let him do the locating of all the buildings used in a story, unless there is an exceptionally good reason why you should specify just where a certain building ought to be. The chances are that there is no special reason why the bank in your story should be located on the corner of the street, and the director might be able to locate a bank suitable for the purpose of the scene in question within a block or two of the studio. If there is a really important reason for having the bank on the corner, he may have to go a mile or more away from the studio to find one; and, inasmuch as it is frequently the case that the director will take his cameraman and the necessary actor or actors out with him, and do such a scene as this one outside the bank while another set is being built up inside the studio for him to work in, it will easily be seen that the more you can help him out by making things convenient for him the more likely he is to express a desire to examine other stories written by you.