Writing the Photoplay Part 22

The Cooper-Hewitt system of interior lighting is probably the most used in the various Eastern and West-coast studios. Everyone--at any rate, everyone living in the city--is familiar with the peculiar lights used in many photographers' studios. These Cooper-Hewitt lights seem to be merely large gla.s.s tubes that shed a ghastly blue-green tinge over everything, and under which photographers may take pictures regardless of exterior light-conditions. In addition to the Cooper-Hewitt lights, in a studio equipped with that system, there are, of course, various other kinds of special lights used in obtaining certain unusual effects.

In other studios, a brilliant white light is used, rows of overhead lights being supplemented by tiers, or "banks," of side-lights, so that there is no shadow on any part of the set unless it is the specific purpose of the director to _have_ a shadow in a certain place.

One of the big producing plants has two studios--one in which both daylight and artificial light are used, and another, at the top of the building, with gla.s.s walls, and a ceiling which const.i.tutes the roof of the building, where every scene is taken with natural light. On a bright day the latter studio is used; if there is no sunlight at all, the downstairs studio is kept busy. On the immense floor of the daylight studio, as many as eight different ordinary sets may be erected side by side at one time.

During the past five or six years, and especially since the Pacific Coast has become a great photoplay-producing centre, more and more "interior" scenes are made on outdoor stages. This method of taking the scenes in a picture has now been reduced to a fine art. The outdoor stages, not needing the artificial lighting systems, have their various overhead and side screens, so that scenes may be photographed regardless of the natural light-conditions.

Frequently the director will put up a special outdoor stage overlooking the sea, or a beautiful garden or landscape, on which to build a certain interior setting planned to have that outlook. Indeed, today, the artificial background for any interior having windows or open doors is unusual. In Jacksonville, Florida, and other southern cities, as well as in California, the outdoor stage is the most used.

The outdoor stage is especially useful in taking, let us say, a scene showing the interior of a house supposedly during a heavy storm, with the rain beating against the windows and being dashed in at the door when it is opened. On the exterior stage, such a scene can be taken at almost any hour of the day, and with the screens to dim and diffuse the rays of the sun, and the skillful use of an ordinary hose in the hands of the property-man or a.s.sistant director, a very realistic storm scene can be secured. Many extremely realistic rainstorm effects can also be arranged for exterior scenes, and as for lightning--sheet, forked, or any other variety--it is one of the easiest things to "get" imaginable. The mere scratching of the negative film with a pin, throughout the number of frames covering the flash of the lightning, the scratching, of course, being in the shape the lightning is to take, makes it possible to have thrillingly natural stabs of fork and chain lightning just where it is needed in any scene. You need never hesitate to call for a lightning storm if your story warrants one at a certain point.

A practical point in favor of the outdoor stages is that there is a tremendous saving in the company's bill for lighting. Besides the cost, the outdoor "interiors" are as satisfactory in every way as those made beneath the artificial lights.

It is unnecessary to point out to anyone who has visited the picture theatres that outdoor scenes taken at night are now as common as exteriors photographed at mid-day. Everything from camp-fire effects to night battle-scenes has been accomplished with wonderful results.

Interior effects of firelight, moonlight, candle-light, etc, are easily procured, and are usually most convincing and sometimes exceedingly beautiful, when taken in conjunction with the setting.

_4. Rehearsals of Scenes_

Different studios have different rules for preventing so much as the possibility of there being some fault with the photography when a certain scene is "done." In some studios the rule is to take every scene at least twice, or even three times. When the films are developed, the one which is not only clearest and sharpest photographically, but which shows--even though by ever so small a difference--the best action on the part of the players, is kept, and from this the positives are printed. In other studios, each scene is taken only once at first; and if the film proves to be faulty the scene must be retaken, even though a day or so later. In every studio, of course, each scene is rehea.r.s.ed before being "done." Sometimes running over the scene once or twice is sufficient, while other big scenes may be rehea.r.s.ed fifteen or twenty times. Not only to obtain the best effects in action and grouping is a scene rehea.r.s.ed many times, but repeated goings over are often necessary in order to change the action slightly, or to cut it down so that it will run only a certain number of seconds, each sixty seconds representing, approximately, as many feet of film.

_5. Respect for Stage Limitations_

At all times you must keep in mind the limitations of the photoplay stage. If you have the picture eye, as described in Chapter X, you will be able to see just what you can, and can not, write into a picture so that it will register. If it does not register, it might better not have been written. As Mr. Sargent once said, "Pretty nearly everything is possible to the camera, but not all things are practicable." In the same article, he gave a practical ill.u.s.tration of camera limitation that should guide photoplay authors in determining what not to write:

"Suppose you've written a chase scene. A band of hors.e.m.e.n dash through the picture. The hero is wounded and falls from his horse, rolling to the side of the road. The pursuers thunder past and then the heroine comes in and rescues the hero. This is photographically possible, but not practical. The dust and the smoke will create a haze that will dim the end of the scene. It can be done by letting the hero lie while the dust settles, the camera being stopped meanwhile, but unless the scene is strong enough to repay this trouble the script will be pa.s.sed over in favor of one that can be made without so much fuss."

Almost every day, directors and cameramen--especially cameramen--risk life and limb in an effort to secure some novel scenic effect as a background for their pictures. It should be remembered, however, that what the director may choose to do when it comes actually to taking the scene has nothing to do with the scene as you write it--so far as the actual background is concerned. Do not demand that the struggle between the sheriff and the leader of the cattle rustlers must take place upon just such and such a kind of precipice. You may be certain that if the situation is a strong one the producer will spare neither time nor pains to secure the most perfect setting it is possible for him to obtain.

The moving picture camera, it is well to remember, is of no light weight when set up on its ma.s.sive tripod. The cameraman cannot place it in position to take all the pictures that you might be able to take with a snap-shot camera held between the hands. The body of the camera, without the tripod, may be placed upon the overhead beams in a studio in order to get some novel scenic effect below; or a special platform may be built for camera and operator when the director is determined to get a scene on the side of a cliff, where no neighboring cliff or rocky platform was furnished by nature; but when the director goes to such pains as these to obtain an effect there is a reason, and generally the reason is an unusually strong story that justifies special effort on the part of all concerned in its production.

Mr. William E. Fildew, one of the foremost screen cameramen, long a.s.sociated with director William Christy Cabanne, says in _The Moving Picture World_:

"As to what const.i.tutes the greatest difficulty in the making of motion pictures, I should reply the insecurity of the tripod in the making of outdoor scenes. Exteriors require the greatest amount of attention from the cameraman because of the varying light and shade and the mobility of the camera itself and its liability to accident.

The location chosen by the expert may be all that is desired, and there may be a whole lot of trained performers, but you can't get a trained camera. The tripod must be nursed like a contrary child. It _must_ be firmly set." Mr. Fildew speaks of the difficulty he had, on one occasion, when he was obliged to follow the progress of an express train while operating his camera from an aeroplane, they being constantly buffeted by pockets of wind, while flying for many miles at a low alt.i.tude in order to keep within the desired focus. He cites another case, when he was photographing the sea scenes for the Fine Arts picture, "Daphne and the Pirates," the waters outside San Francis...o...b..y being chosen for the locale. A pirate s.h.i.+p crew was to board a merchant s.h.i.+p, and a big battle to follow on the latter's deck. A heavy storm came up just as the two s.h.i.+ps came together, and Mr. Fildew, 120 feet up in the air, holding to a mast that swayed like a pendulum, was compelled to go through with what was a most difficult and dangerous piece of work, which, however, resulted in some exceptionally fine scenes. In these instances, of course, it was a matter of the director's planning almost everything just as he wanted to take it; the point we insist upon is that it is better to write certain difficult scenes more in the form of a suggestion than as if it were absolutely necessary to take them just as you have visualized them. Not a few successful writers try to think of two different ways in which an important part of the story may be "put over." Thus, just as an off-hand example, you might suggest that the running fight between the bank robbers and the police may take place in a couple of automobiles _or_ in an auto and a locomotive. Rest a.s.sured that the director will provide the locomotive instead of the second automobile if he can procure one.

Watch the pictures on the screen and you will see what effects are produced; and it follows that if a thing can be done once it can be done again. But will it be _worth while_ in the case of _your_ story?

This is a point that you must determine before venturing to specify that particular effect. Do not be carried away by the fact that it _is_ your work. Weigh the importance of that scene and compare it with the dramatic value of the scenes which precede and follow it; if the scene with the unusual and difficult effect is the big scene of an unusually big and interesting story, write it in. The chances are that the director will be only too glad to stage it according to your original idea. But do not ask him to waste his time or the company's money in producing a scene the expense and bother of obtaining which is out of all proportion to the importance of the rest of the picture.

And do not forget that the camera, wonderful as it is, cannot and does not do everything that it seems to do. In other words, do not mistake an effect produced by trick photography for one that is merely the result of exceptional care and work on the part of both cameraman and director.

CHAPTER XIV

HOW TO GATHER IDEAS FOR PLOTS

_1. Watching the Pictures_

Unless you are already a successful fiction writer when you first determine to write photoplays it is not going too far to a.s.sert that you have never yet really watched a motion picture. You have _witnessed_ many, but only the playwright and the theatrical man may be said to _watch_ plays, whether on the stage or on the screen, with every faculty alert and receptive, ready to pounce on any suggestion, any bit of stage business, any scenic effect, or any situation, that they may legitimately copy or enlarge upon for their respective uses.

This keen att.i.tude is partly a matter of inborn dramatic instinct, but it is even more a matter of training and habit--therefore cultivate it.

Not only does the professional photoplaywright remain wide awake when watching real photoplays, but he often finds as much plot-suggestion in other cla.s.ses of films as there is in the story-pictures, for plot-germs fairly abound in scenics, vocationals, microcinematographics, educationals, and topicals, as these several sorts are called by the craft. A certain successful writer has sold no less than thirty photoplays, all the plots of which sprang from scenics and educationals. One, for example, was built upon an idea picked up in watching a film picturing the making of tapioca in the Philippines.

At the outstart you must admit to yourself that to see every release of every company is impossible, and even if it were possible it would be unnecessary. In the big cities, for example, it is often difficult to locate a theatre that is exhibiting the particular picture you are anxious to see, either on the date of its release or later. Nothing is more common in a moving picture studio than to hear one actor say to another: "Tonight such and such a theatre is showing such and such a picture [one in which they have worked]; let's go over to see it." And if the actor is anxious to study acting through watching the work of himself and others on the screen, how much more should the writer be willing and anxious to study the technique of the photoplay by paying frequent visits to the picture theatres? Try, then, to see as many photoplays as your time and means will permit, for purposes of study.

Nor do we recommend seeing only pictures that the critics have praised, for it is possible, at times, to learn as much from a poor picture as from a good one. You must teach yourself, as you watch the screen, what to _leave out_, as well as what to put in; we may learn much from the mistakes of others.

One point especially worthy of notice is that when you see a good picture on the screen it may be one written by a successful photoplaywright, and as such likely to repay close study to see how the successful construct their stories. Or it may be a picture written in the producing studio from the bare idea purchased from an "outsider." In either case, look out for and carefully study the pictured stories produced by writers who are "putting them over."

If you are taking up photoplay writing as a profession, or even as an avocation, there is only one way to undertake it--be fully equipped to succeed. It is not enough, as we said in an early chapter, to have had previous training as a fiction writer; nor enough to have acquired a knowledge of photoplay form and construction. You must be "up to the minute" in your knowledge of the market for scripts. Therefore be in touch with what writers, editors, and producers are doing. Do everything in your power to avoid writing stories similar to others that have been done within the past year or two, at least. It is not merely a question of plagiarism, important as that is--it is a matter of helping yourself to sell your script by not offering old ideas to the editors. Fully one-half of the _good_ stories that go back to the authors are returned because the companies have already done a similar picture and do not wish to have exhibitors and their patrons declare that "The Cosmopolitan Company must be writing over their old pictures because they can't get new stuff."

_2. What to Look for in a Picture_

Besides avoiding the similar use of ideas that have been utilized by others, it is most important in watching a picture to be able to see what the one who wrote it did _not_ see--to be able to pick up an idea that he _might_ have employed in working out his story, and from it get the inspiration and plot-foundation for a photoplay of your own.

In addition to studying the action to see how certain effects are produced, count the number of scenes and the number of leaders used in the different makes of pictures. It will serve as a guide to what the different makers want. In case you do not care to sit through a second showing of the film, or do not want to risk missing part of the picture by counting the scenes and leaders, make a practice of carrying a few small cards, with a line drawn down the middle of each.

As the card is held in the hand, mark with a pencil a short stroke on one side for every change of scene, and on the other side a stroke for each leader, letter, or other insert--this will serve as a convenient record-device.

_3. The Note-Book Habit_

To have the plot-instinct is a great blessing for the writer. Lacking this, however, the most valuable a.s.set he can possess is the note-book habit. Carry one with you _constantly_. Jot down everything that may be of help in framing and developing a plot, as well as in creating a dramatic scene for a story. Remember that plots are not lying around fully developed, awaiting only some observant eye to discover them, but they almost always grow out of single ideas--plot-germs--which one may recognize as incidents and situations in everyday life or in unusual circ.u.mstances. Do not wait for the fully developed plot to come to you, for the chances are that it will not. Jot down the single idea and in time it may germinate and become a fully developed plot--even though you may have to use hot-house methods and force its growth.

[Ill.u.s.tration: William S. Hart, Leaning on the Camera, with part of His Supporting Company and the Cameraman and His a.s.sistant in a Scene from "The Poppy Girl's Husband," an Artcraft Picture]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Harry Beaumont Directing Fight Scene Between Tom Moore, Goldwyn Star, and the Villain, in "A Man and His Money"]

It seems incredible that any writer, knowing, as he must, that the idea, the plot-germ, is what really makes the story, should neglect to note it down the moment it comes to him; and yet there are those who simply trust memory to retain an impression. In the photoplay especially "the idea's the thing" for here you cannot depend on description or on good writing to sell your story.

The rule of jotting down your thought on the instant does not apply merely to ideas that come as inspirations, or thoughts suggested by what you read or see, but it applies especially to the ideas that come to you at the time you give yourself up to concentrated thinking in play-production. A certain writer on the photoplay--we do not recall who--once wrote a paragraph headed "When do you do your thinking?"

This critic found that he could think best when riding, say on a street car. Others have discovered that ideas come to them most freely when they are sitting in a theatre. One writer has learned that his best plot-ideas come to him after he lies down for the night. For this reason, a tabouret with pad and pencil always stands at his bedside, and a special self-installed switch for the electric light is within reach of his hand. Now, with his note-book always with him when he is away from home, with note-books and card-indexes close at hand when he _is_ at home, and with the means of instantly putting his thoughts on paper if they come to him after he has gone to bed, he knows that he is in a position to take advantage of every stray idea that may contain a plot germ, or that may aid him in developing a story already in course of construction.

If the beginner would only understand the importance of systematic note-making, he would soon reduce by one-half the labor of unearthing plots for his stories.

_4. The Borrowed Plot_

All is grist that comes to the mill of the writer who keeps a note-book. Almost everything that he reads, sees, or hears, offers some plot-suggestion, or suggests a better way of working out the plot he has already partly developed. But, in taking plot-ideas from the daily papers and writing stories suggested by the anecdotes and the conversation of friends, proceed with great care, lest you make trouble for yourself or for others. In a later chapter we show how many cases of alleged plagiarism are simply the results of two people taking the same idea from the same newspaper paragraph. The point here made is that if you take an idea from a newspaper item there are three courses open to you--one safe course, and two not safe. The unsafe ways are, to recopy the story bodily, using in your story all the facts set forth in the news item; or else to change it only enough to insure its being "the same, yet not the same." If you adopt either of these two foolish and dangerous methods, you are extremely likely to find that you have either been forestalled by someone who wrote a story on the subject before you did, or that your story, following closely the original facts, has given offense to someone who was concerned in the actual case. If you live in a small community, the risk of thus offending is, of course, correspondingly greater.

The one safe way is to use the plot-germ, and _only_ the plot-germ, taken from the item in the paper. If you can take the central idea and remodel it so that the very reporter who wrote the original item would not recognize it, you may legitimately claim to have produced an original story. That is, moreover, what you _should_ do, leaving aside all questions of your script's being accepted, and the possibility of its being refused because of its similarity to one previously purchased from some other writer.

The main incidents of a prominent court trial may supply you with an idea for a strong, original story, but you should not think of following the facts of the case just as they occurred in real life. To _copy_ a story from a newspaper item and to _get_ a story from the same source are two entirely different things. Press clippings, as an author once remarked, "are not first aid to the feeble minded. They are merely sign-posts that point the way to the initiated." And another has said: "It is the art of seeing and appreciating just a line or two in some newspaper item and working it up that makes newspaper study pay."

The really practised writer realizes that the best plot-suggestions are to be found in the shorter news items--the five-to-ten-line fillers--and not in the big sensations of the day. But then, the practised writer can find ideas anywhere.

One thing of which the beginner should beware is the practise of writing stories from plots suggested by friends. As a rule, the young writer, not yet having learned to think for himself, is quick to accept these friendly suggestions. He is told the outline of an unusually good story and straightway turns it into a photoplay. It is accepted, but a short while after it has been released someone recognizes in it a short-story that has appeared in a popular magazine. It is not difficult to imagine the result--before very long the film manufacturing company is compelled, whether by a sense of justice or by law, to make settlement with the magazine company holding the copyright on the original story, and the beginner finds that he is decidedly _persona non grata_ with at least one manufacturer. Should the matter become generally known, he is likely to find himself barred by other companies also, as every editor has an inborn dread of the plagiarist, even though he may have been innocent of any thought of wrong doing.