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diff --git a/17903-h/17903-h.htm b/17903-h/17903-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..44762cf --- /dev/null +++ b/17903-h/17903-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13542 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Writing the Photoplay, by J. Berg Esenwein and Arthur Leeds</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + + .footnotes {border: none;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + hr.full { width: 100%; } + pre {font-size: 75%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Writing the Photoplay, by J. Berg Esenwein +and Arthur Leeds</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Writing the Photoplay</p> +<p>Author: J. Berg Esenwein and Arthur Leeds</p> +<p>Release Date: March 3, 2006 [eBook #17903]</p> +<p>Language: en</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WRITING THE PHOTOPLAY***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Audrey Longhurst, Linda Cantoni,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net/)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>Writing the Photoplay</h1> + +<h3> </h3> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>J. BERG ESENWEIN</h2> + +<h3>EDITOR OF "THE WRITER'S MONTHLY"</h3> + +<h3>AND</h3> + +<h2>ARTHUR LEEDS</h2> + +<h3>LATE EDITOR OF SCRIPTS, EDISON STUDIO</h3> + + +<p> </p> + + +<h3> +THE WRITER'S LIBRARY<br /> +EDITED BY J. BERG ESENWEIN<br /> +</h3> + + +<h3>REVISED EDITION</h3> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +THE HOME CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOL<br /> +<span class="smcap">Springfield, Mass.</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Publishers</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +Copyright 1913<br /> +Copyright 1919<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Home Correspondence School</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">All Rights Reserved</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> </p> + + + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a name="LASKY"> +<img src="images/image01.jpg" alt="Lasky Studio" width="467" height="290" /></a></p> + + + +<p style="text-align: center"><b>The Lasky Studio of the Famous Players-Lasky +Corporation, Hollywood, California</b></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Table_of_Contents" id="Table_of_Contents"></a>Table of Contents</h2> + +<p> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="#List_of_Illustrations"><b>List of Illustrations</b></a></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Chapter I</a>—What Is a Photoplay?</span> +<a href="#Page_1">1</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">Chapter II</a>—Who Can Write Photoplays?</span> +<a href="#Page_5">5</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">Chapter III</a>—Photoplay Terms</span> +<a href="#Page_17">17</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Chapter IV</a>—The Photoplay Script: Its Component Parts</span> +<a href="#Page_29">29</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">Chapter V</a>—A Sample Photoplay Form</span> +<a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Chapter VI</a>—The Mechanical Preparation +of the Script</span> <a href="#Page_55">55</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">Chapter VII</a>—The Title</span> +<a href="#Page_72">72</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Chapter VIII</a>—The Synopsis of the Plot</span> +<a href="#Page_87">87</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">Chapter IX</a>—The Cast of Characters</span> +<a href="#Page_111">111</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">Chapter X</a>—The Scenario or Continuity</span> +<a href="#Page_131">131</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Chapter XI</a>—The Scene-Plot and Its Purpose</span> +<a href="#Page_204">204</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">Chapter XII</a>—The Use and Abuse of Leaders, +Letters and Other Inserts</span> <a href="#Page_218">218</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">Chapter XIII</a>—The Photoplay Stage and Its +Physical Limitations</span> <a href="#Page_245">245</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">Chapter XIV</a>—How to Gather Ideas for +Plots</span> <a href="#Page_255">255</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">Chapter XV</a>—What You Cannot Write</span> +<a href="#Page_267">267</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">Chapter XVI</a>—What You Should Not +Write</span> <a href="#Page_282">282</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">Chapter XVII</a>—What You Should Write</span> +<a href="#Page_304">304</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">Chapter XVIII</a>—The Treatment of Comedy</span> +<a href="#Page_324">324</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">Chapter XIX</a>—Getting the New Twist</span> +<a href="#Page_347">347</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">Chapter XX</a>—Complete Five-Reel Photoplay +Script—"Everybody's Girl"</span> <a href="#Page_363">363</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">Chapter XXI</a>—Marketing the Photoplay +Script</span> <a href="#Page_408">408</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#APPENDICES">Appendix A</a></span> +<a href="#Page_416">416</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#APPENDIX_B">Appendix B</a></span> +<a href="#Page_417">417</a><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><a href="#INDEX">General Index</a></span> +<a href="#Page_419">419</a></p> + + + + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="#FOOTNOTES"><b>Footnotes</b></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="List_of_Illustrations" id="List_of_Illustrations"></a>List of Illustrations</h2> + + +<table border="0" summary="illustrations" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse"> + <tbody> + <tr> + <td> </td> + <td align="right">Page</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>The Lasky Studio of the Famous Players-Lasky +Corporation, Hollywood, California</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#LASKY">Frontispiece</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Producing a Big Scene in the Selig Yard</td> + <td align="right"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Film-Drying Room in a Film Factory </td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Essanay Producing Yard; Two Interior Sets +Being Arranged for a Historical Drama</td> + <td align="right"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Players Waiting for their Cues in the Glass-Enclosed Selig Studio</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Paint Frame on Which Scenery is Painted</td> + <td align="right"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Checking "Extras" Used in Rex Beach's Photodrama, + "The Brand"</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>View of Stage, Lubin Studio, Los Angeles, California</td> + <td align="right"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Wardrobe Room in a Photoplay Studio</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_158">158</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>The Reception of King Robert of Sicily by His +Brother, the Pope</td> + <td align="right"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Same Set, with Players Getting Ready for Action</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_208">208</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>William S. Hart with Part of His Supporting +Company</td> + <td align="right"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Harry Beaumont Directing Fight Scene in "A Man and His Money"</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_258">258</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Arrangement of Electric Lights in a Photoplay +Studio</td> + <td align="right"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>An Actor's Dressing Room in the Selig Studio</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_308">308</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Preparing to Take Three Scenes at Once in a Daylight Studio</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_358">358</a></td> + </tr> + </tbody> + </table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>WHAT IS A PHOTOPLAY?</h3> + + +<p>As its title indicates, this book aims to teach the theory and +practice of photoplay construction. This we shall attempt by first +pointing out its component parts, and then showing how these parts are +both constructed and assembled so as to form a strong, well-built, +attractive and salable manuscript.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>The Photoplay Defined and Differentiated</i></span></p> + +<p><i>A photoplay is a story told largely in pantomime by players, whose +words are suggested by their actions, assisted by certain descriptive +words thrown on the screen, and the whole produced by a moving-picture +machine.</i></p> + +<p>It should be no more necessary to say that not all moving-picture +productions are photoplays than that not all prose is fiction, yet the +distinction must be emphasized. A photoplay is to the program of a +moving-picture theatre just what a short-story is to the contents of a +popular magazine—it supplies the story-telling or drama element. A +few years ago the managers of certain theatres used so to arrange +their programs that for four or five days out of every week the +pictures they showed would consist entirely of photoplays. On such +days their programs corresponded exactly to the contents-page of an +all-fiction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> magazine—being made up solely to provide entertainment. +The all-fiction magazine contains no essays, critical papers, or +special articles, for the instruction of the reader, beyond the +information and instruction conveyed to him while interestedly +perusing the stories. Just so, the all-photoplay program in a picture +theatre, at the time of which we speak, was one made up entirely of +either "dramatic"<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> or "comedy" subjects. Films classified as +"scenic," "educational," "vocational," "industrial," "sporting," and +"topical," were not included in such a program.</p> + +<p>True, a genuine photoplay may contain scenes and incidents which would +almost seem to justify its being included in one of the foregoing +classes. One might ask, for instance, why Selig's film, "On the Trail +of the Germs," produced about five years<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> ago, was classified as +"educational," while Edison's "The Red Cross Seal" and "The Awakening +of John Bond" (both of which were produced at the instance of the +National Association for the Study and Prevention of Tuberculosis, and +had to do with the fight waged by that society against the disease in +the cities), were listed as "dramatic" films or photoplays. Anyone who +saw all three of the films, however, would recognize that the Selig +picture, while in every respect a subject of great human interest, was +strictly educational, and employed the thread of a story not as a +dramatic entertainment, but merely to furnish a connecting link for +the scenes which illustrated the methods of curing the disease after a +patient is discovered to be infected. The Edison pictures, on the +other hand, were real dramas, with well-constructed plots and abundant +dramatic interest, even while, as the advertising in the trade papers +announced, the principal object of the pictures was "to disseminate +information as to what becomes of the money that is received from the +sale of Red Cross stamps at holiday time." So we see that the +distinction lies in the amount of plot or story-thread which each +carries, and that a mere series of connected pictures without a plot +running through it obviously cannot be called a photoplay any more +than a series of tableaus on the stage could be accurately called a +play.</p> + +<p>Therefore, learn to think of a photoplay as being a story prepared for +pantomimic development before the camera; a story told in <i>action</i>, +with inserted descriptive matter where the thought might be obscure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +without its help; a story told in one or more reels, each reel +containing from twenty-five to fifty scenes.</p> + +<p>The spectator at a photoplay entertainment must be able promptly and +easily to discover who your characters are, what kind of people they +are, what they plan to do, how they succeed or fail, and, in fact, +must "get" the whole story entirely from what he sees the actors in +the picture <i>do</i>, with the slight assistance of a few explanatory +leaders, or sub-titles, and, perhaps, such inserts as a letter, a +newspaper cutting, a telegram, or some such device, flashed for a +moment on the screen. The more perfect the photoplay, the less the +need for all such explanatory material, as is the case in perfect +pantomime. This, of course, is not to insist upon the utter absence of +all written and printed material thrown on the screen—a question +which will be discussed in a later chapter. It is enough now to +emphasize this important point: Dialogue and description are for the +fiction writer; the photoplaywright depends upon his ability to +<i>think</i> and <i>write</i> in action, for the postures, grouping, gestures, +movements and facial expressions of the characters must be shown in +action, and not described as in prose fiction.</p> + +<p><i>Action</i> is the most important word in the vocabulary of the +photoplaywright. To be able to see in fancy his thoughts transformed +into action is to have gained one goal for which every photoplay +writer strives.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>WHO CAN WRITE PHOTOPLAYS?</h3> + + +<p>In almost everything that has been written up to the present time +concerning the technique of photoplay writing, considerable stress has +been laid on the statement that, notwithstanding preceding success in +their regular field, many authors of popular fiction have either +failed altogether in the production of acceptable photoplays or have +had almost as many rejections as, if not more than, the average novice +in short-story writing. That there is much truth in this cannot be +denied; but that a trained and inventive fiction writer—particularly +a writer of plot- or action-stories—after having once learned the +<i>mechanics</i> of photoplay construction, should fail of success in +photoplay writing is, obviously, not at all necessary. A discussion of +this point should help to impress on the student just what sort of +preparation will be of the greatest assistance to him in the work he +is taking up.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>1. Experience in Fiction Writing Valuable to the Photoplaywright</i></span></p> + +<p>Let us consider the case of a man born with a talent and love for +music. As he grows up, he learns to play upon the violin—learns as +hundreds have done, by first taking up the most simple exercises and +con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>stantly working up until he becomes more proficient. As in all +other occupations, practice eventually brings skill, and he at last +becomes a master of the violin. He may have been born a genius—it has +always been in him to become the exceptional performer upon the +instrument of his choice. Nevertheless, the hard work was necessary, +as that maker of epigrams saw when he said that genius was an infinite +capacity for taking pains.</p> + +<p>To carry the simple illustration a step further: geniuses are few, so +it is certain that our artist has become a master of the violin +because he is a man who, loving his work and putting his whole soul +into it, daily improved in technique and quality by intelligent labor. +If he is a concert performer, he feels his art becoming more perfect +with each new recital. He has learned <i>how</i> to play, and now there +remains nothing but the necessity for keeping constantly—note the +expressive phrase—in practice, and improving the quality and style of +his playing.</p> + +<p>Let us suppose, now, that this musical artist is offered an +exceptionally good salary to appear in vaudeville with another +musician, who performs equally well upon two or three, or even more, +very different instruments. He accepts the offer; he and his partner +"open" in the act; and, after a week or two, in order to "build up" +the act as well as to become capable of playing another kind of +instrument, he decides to take up the study of the cornet. The violin +and cornet are, of course, widely different in construction, and they +produce very different effects.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> Besides, the methods of producing +those effects are totally unlike, since one is drawn from the violin +with the aid of trained hands and fingers, while the other is produced +by the skillful operation of the human lips, tongue and lungs, with +only minor assistance from the fingers. Yet the tones of these two +instruments may be equally harmonious and pleasing when each is +skillfully played. So, in the course of time, the violinist becomes +almost, if not quite, as accomplished a player upon the cornet as he +is upon the instrument whose study first engrossed him.</p> + +<p>And now a question—one which certainly should not admit of much +difference of opinions in the answering: Of two men, both possessed of +a natural talent and love for music, which would be likely first to +learn to play upon the cornet correctly and with pleasing +expression—the man who had previously learned the technique of violin +playing, together with the meaning and value of musical terms, or the +one who, without any knowledge of music or of how to perform, should +suddenly determine to learn to play a given instrument?</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>2. Photoplay Writing Requires a Separate Training</i></span></p> + +<p>Apply the same reasoning to the question of who should <i>become</i> the +most successful photoplaywright—the trained and experienced fiction +writer, or the ordinarily intelligent and imaginative follower of some +other vocation, who is suddenly struck by the idea that he could, and +filled with the determination that he will,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> write a photoplay. We +accentuate the word <i>become</i> in order to emphasize the fact that even +the professional writer <i>must</i> learn the <i>technique</i> of photoplay +construction before he can hope to produce a script that will not only +be accepted by a film manufacturing company for production, but will +be produced exactly as he has written it, <i>without the need of drastic +revision or rewriting</i>. This, however, is very rare today.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<img src="images/image02.jpg" alt="Selig Yard" width="400" height="328" /></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><b>Producing a Big Scene in the Selig Yard. See +Cameras on the Right</b></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<img src="images/image03.jpg" alt="Film-Drying Room" width="400" height="302" /></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><b>Film-Drying Room in a Film Factory. The Films +are Rolled Around the Racks which are Suspended from the Ceiling and in the +Hands of the Operators. Moist Warm Air is Introduced through the Large Pipes</b></p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>This last point is important. While, as we have said, it is improbable +that an experienced fiction writer would fail in the field of +photoplay writing once he had learned to put the plot together in +proper form and had mastered a knowledge of the limitations of the +moving-picture stage, it is also just as unlikely that the most famous +writer living could legitimately sell a photoplay that was essentially +faulty in construction and absolutely lacking in screen quality. If +the idea were a good one and the writer were to submit it to the +producing company under his own name, the chance is that the company +would accept it, and, after using his idea to construct the photoplay +in proper form, produce and even feature it—on account of the big +name won in the field of fiction writing. If, on the other hand, he +should submit it under a pen name it is possible that, provided the +plot, or even the fundamental idea, proved to be exceptionally good, +he might be offered a moderate sum for the plot or for the idea alone, +to be worked up and produced as the director thought best. In making +him the offer, the company would probably explain quite frankly that +the script was not suitably constructed; that it would require<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +rewriting in the studio; but that the idea was worth the amount +offered. Here, then, is one point upon which the novice may +congratulate himself: he, as an untrained writer of photoplays, is not +alone in having to learn the secret of what will suit the screen, for +until the famous author learns that secret, he, too, is an untrained +writer—of photoplays, and his "prices" will suffer accordingly.</p> + + +<p>Now, however, after both have acquired this knowledge of screen +requirements, the trained fiction writer and the untrained photoplay +writer cease to be on common ground. The writer of novels and +short-stories has the advantage of years of—training, is the best +word, meaning, in the present instance, both experience and special +education. He has a tutored imagination; he has the plot-habit; he has +an eye trained to picture dramatic situations; he sees the +possibilities for a strong, appealing story in an incident in everyday +life that to ninety-nine other people would be merely an incident seen +for a moment and in a moment forgotten; he has at his command a dozen +different ways of assisting himself to discover plot-germs for his +stories—he is, in short, a workman knowing exactly what to do with +the tools already in his possession, and when he acquires new tools he +can, after some practise, use them with equal proficiency and skill. +Furthermore, there can be no doubt that, once each has mastered the +working rules of photoplay construction, the chances for quick and +continued success are quite evidently in favor of the trained fiction +writer—notwithstanding the fact that one man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> in a thousand without +any previous knowledge of writing may become extremely successful.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>3. What Chance Has the Novice?</i></span></p> + +<p>Should the foregoing fact discourage the novice who has not had this +previous literary training? The answer is, emphatically, YES! It +should, it ought to—<i>unless</i> (and this is the secret of it all), +unless he has ideas, and is the kind of novice who vows with every +grain of determination in his make-up that he will soon cease to be a +mere amateur, and will be recognized as one of the successful ones. +Remember, every writer was once a beginner.</p> + +<p>The reader may think, having read this much, that undue stress is laid +upon the question of the previously successful writer and the +ambitious but inexperienced amateur; it is this very insistence on the +comparison, however, that should cause the earnest and determined +aspirant to photoplaywright success to analyze more thoroughly the +difference, and profit by a knowledge of how he may quickly advance +himself to the position where the previously successful author will +have little or no advantage over him.</p> + +<p>Almost all who have had anything to say upon the subject of writing +for moving pictures, but especially the writers of the advertising +copy for most of the correspondence "schools" that offer "fake" +courses of instruction upon the subject, have declared that there is +"no experience or literary knowledge necessary" in order to become +successful in the photoplay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>-writing field. One concern even +advertises that the student "can learn this business in from ten to +thirty days." If by this is meant that the mere correct form of +putting the work on paper with the aid of the typewriter—the +mechanical arrangement of synopsis, cast, and scenario or +continuity—can be picked up in that many days, there is hardly room +to dispute the claim. That, however, is not quite "learning the +business." No previous "literary training" <i>is</i> necessary, if by that +is meant the mastery of English prose writing, or the actual technique +of short-story construction or novel writing. We shall see, however, +that the photoplaywright who wishes to succeed in more than one, two, +or three flash-in-the-pan instances must really submit to a course of +training, whether self-conducted or under competent instruction, and +the more he knows of fictional and dramatic art the easier is his new +work likely to be.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, there is a real sense in which the statement that no +literary training is required by the student of photoplay writing is +true. Provided he is gifted with an imaginative mind and the native +ability to <i>see</i> how an idea or a plot-germ would evolve itself into a +climacteric and coherent story, and provided he has the dramatic +sense, he can actually learn the rules of construction and produce +salable photoplays even if he has by no means the literary ability to +write a salable short-story. But he <i>must</i> be a person of ideas—no +book and no instruction can supply that lack.</p> + +<p>We have gone so far as deliberately to try to discourage anyone who is +so foolish and so undeserving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> as to enter the field of photoplay +writing without the fullest intention of doing his best to win for +himself the very highest position in that field to which his talent +and ability to work can advance him; and we have no apologies to +offer. Few who have not followed the progress of the moving-picture +industry realize the enormous changes that have taken place in the +last four or five years. This is especially true of the branch of the +business having to do with the preparation of the script. To those who +have been in constant touch with the work, it seems only yesterday +that the professional photoplay writer, outside of the producing +plants, was an unknown factor. At last came the time when the +manufacturers started to advertise for ideas on which to build their +plays. "Ten to one-hundred dollars paid for motion picture plays," +these advertisements read. They were alluring enough even to the man +who already had a steady position in another line of work. They told +him how he could add from "ten to one-hundred dollars" a month to his +regular income. At least, they <i>seemed</i> to promise that, especially +when coupled with the assurance that "no previous literary training" +was required. These advertisements looked attractive, also, to the man +whose income was not regular. Small wonder that within a few months' +time scores, hundreds, rushed blindly into a field where even writers +of established reputation would have failed—and did fail—without +preliminary technical training. Even those who succeeded in getting +their efforts accepted by the producers found that the check was more +likely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> to be for ten dollars than for any amount in excess of that.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>4. Advance in Requirements</i></span></p> + +<p>The real change has come within the past ten or twelve months. A sort +of weeding process has been carried on by the various manufacturers, +and as a result they recognize certain writers as being capable of +supplying them, at more or less regular intervals, with the kind of +scripts they want, quite as certain magazine editors have lists of +story-writers to whom they look for the bulk of their fiction. +Gradually this list of trained and capable, and consequently +successful, writers for the screen is growing larger, for daily some +new writer is demonstrating that the freshness, brightness, and +ingenuity of his ideas warrant the editor's putting him on the list of +those from whom good material may be expected.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>5. The Demand for Photoplays</i></span></p> + +<p>Is there not, therefore, it may be asked, a probability of the field's +becoming overcrowded?</p> + +<p>Hardly. The best proof of the opportunity that is held out to the +capable outside writer, new or old, is that the staff-writers, whose +duty it <i>should be</i> to make adaptations of plays and novels and write +the scenario, or continuity, for stories bought from free-lance +writers in synopsis form, are kept pretty busy writing so-called +"original stories" for certain stars, or stories that may be "done" in +certain parts of the country at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> a particular season of the year. If +enough thoroughly good stories could be purchased on the outside, +staff writers would never be called upon to write stories to order; +only what might be called "inspired" stories would be accepted from +them. Furthermore, if plenty of good, original stories, written +directly for screen presentation, could be purchased by the editors, +the practice of making screen adaptations of popular novels and stage +plays would be cut down by more than half.</p> + +<p>"Suppose that the staff writer suddenly gets the 'flash'—the +inspiration needed to write a Western story with a plot that is +infinitely bigger and more dramatic than anything that he has done in +a great many months. Thinking it over, he gradually becomes brimful of +the theme and its plot-possibilities. He wants to feed the paper into +his trusty typewriter and start pounding out the scenario before a +single bit of the suddenly inspired plot can get away from him. But he +cannot; his company does not make Western stories; nor does it permit +its staff writers to sell their work to other firms. Even if it did, +he is far too busy to give the time to the writing of a story not +intended for the use of his own particular studio.</p> + +<p>"So the inspired story has to be laid aside, possibly to be worked +upon some time in the future, when he has severed his connection with +that company and, by choice or of necessity, become a free-lance +writer again. Instead of writing that story he sits down and writes +another society drama, after cudgeling his brain for some time in an +effort to think up a plot that is, at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> least, different enough from +the one he wrote last week to insure its 'getting by' the scenario +editor, the director and 'the boss.' And that is just the point: +Although many of these plots do 'get by' the powers that be (or the +staff writer would not be holding his job), the photoplay-loving +public knows only too well that there is a lamentably close +relationship between 'A Wall Street Romance,' shown at the Novelty +Theatre last night, and 'Love and Business,' produced by the same +company and 'featured' at the same theatre three weeks ago. Therefore +the constant demand in nine out of every ten studios for good material +from outside writers. Since the writer of photoplay plots must write +action-stories constantly, and since, as has been said, the staff +writers are just as apt to run dry of new plots as are any other +writers, it follows that there must be a market at all times for the +really original and highly interesting story, no matter by whom +written. If the big photoplay producing companies are to remain in +business, if their various stars are to be kept working, and their +rate of production up to schedule, there must continue to be a fairly +steady flow of good, new stories into the scenario department."<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> + +<p>No, the field is not overcrowded—with <i>capable</i> writers; nor is it +likely to be. With incapable amateurs it undoubtedly is. Every walk of +life has contributed its share to the thousands who are <i>trying</i> to +write photoplays. Hundreds fail because they are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> both illiterate and +totally unfitted for the work. Hundreds more struggle on without a +sufficient knowledge of dramatic values and plot building, not knowing +precisely what can and what can not be presented successfully in the +silent drama. Lacking this knowledge, it is impossible to succeed. But +the great majority of the ones who fail, and who, otherwise, would +almost certainly have succeeded sooner or later, owe their failure to +their inability to hit upon and develop original, ingenious and +dramatic or truly humorous plots and plot-situations. Many a man of +brains and of excellent education who in any other calling might +easily make his mark, finds himself totally unable to win success in +short-story writing and photoplay writing simply because, not having +an imaginative or (in the literary sense) creative mind, he neglects +the thousand-and-one opportunities to stock that unimaginative mind +with ideas furnished wholesale by the life he sees about him every +day, or by available books of reference, magazines and daily papers; +and, last, but far from least in importance, the pictured stories seen +on the screen.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>PHOTOPLAY TERMS</h3> + + +<p>Since it is the purpose of this volume to place in your hands every +tool of the trade and every bit of information that may possibly be of +assistance in winning the favor of both the manuscript editor and the +director, we must now give the meaning of the technical terms used in +photoplay work. After thoroughly familiarizing yourself with these +expressions and what they mean, you will still have to bear in mind +the limitations of the photoplay stage (see <a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">Chapter XIII</a>). A lack of +knowledge of the latter is directly responsible for more rejected +scripts than almost any other one defect. Do not write blindly. Do not +"take a chance" of getting your material into proper shape. Master the +little details of the work, and thus give yourself the chance to +compete on even terms with those who successfully write the pictured +drama.</p> + +<p>It is important to note that each term given is defined in its +relation to the photoplay, and not according to its usual or +dictionary meaning. All terms are explained in detail as the book +progresses. (See <i><a href="#Table_of_Contents">Table of Contents</a></i>.)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bust</span>: A very close view of some object necessary to the +understanding of the picture; as, a watch, a miniature, a jewel. A +bust picture is usually taken before some dark background, and does +not embody<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> any specific action, but merely gives a close view of the +important object.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap"><a name="CAMERA">Camera</a></span>: The device with which the pictures are taken. The +operator of the camera is called, in moving-picture work, "the +cameraman." He is, of course, an expert photographer; and, though +"camera" as used here means the moving-picture camera, there is always +on hand a regular plate-camera for ordinary exposures. This is +frequently used for taking "stills," or photographs of certain +striking situations in the scenes, from which are made half-tone cuts +for the magazines and trade-paper illustrations, and used in designing +the large and small lithographed posters used by the exhibitors.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Cameraman</span>: See <i><a href="#CAMERA">Camera</a></i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Cast</span>: The characters taking individual, and not merely mass, +parts in a photoplay.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Cast of Characters</span>: The list of characters prepared as a part +of the photoplay script for the use of the director or producer. It is +customary to make this cast of characters full enough to outline +eccentricities and individualities of character, together with brief +suggestions for costume.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Close Up</span>: The enlarged portion of a scene, introduced at a +point in the action where it is necessary to show some action or +facial expression that would perhaps not be understandable at the +regular range used for the main portion of that scene. It is employed, +as is the bust, to enlarge figures on the screen. Like the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> bust, it +is also designated by its own number in the continuity of scenes of a +photoplay script.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Continuity</span>: See <i><a href="#SCENARIO">Scenario</a></i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Cut-back</span>: A return to a previously shown scene so as to keep +the thread of the action clear.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Cut-in, or Cut-in Leader</span>: A sub-title which cuts into or +breaks the action of a scene instead of appearing before the scene +opens. Cut-ins are therefore the sub-titles giving the words spoken by +one or more of the characters in a scene. They constitute the +"dialogue" of the photoplay.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Cutting</span>: It happens not infrequently that from 5,500 to 7,000 +feet (or even more, if the director is inclined to be wasteful) of +negative film is exposed, or used up, in taking the scenes intended +for a five-part (5,000-foot) "feature." In every case, a certain +amount of film in excess of what is actually needed is inevitably +exposed in the photographing of the complete picture. In the "cutting +room" of the studio the director "assembles" his picture—pieces +together the different scenes, sub-titles, and inserts, and "cuts" +portions varying from a few inches to many feet in length when such +portions, if retained, would be regarded as "padding," or superfluous +footage.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Diaphragm</span>: A term applying to a portion of the camera +apparatus, and also applied to the process of causing one scene to +disappear, or another to appear. Like the "fade out" and "fade in," +the "diaphragm out" and "diaphragm in" are descriptive terms, but +having a different purpose. While the "fade out" or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> the "fade in" +separate two parts of a scene, and bring in between them the thing +thought of or spoken of, the "diaphragm out" and the "diaphragm in" +(both usually placed in the script on a separate line) serve the +purpose of covering a supposed lapse of time in the action, where a +leader is not needed. (More fully explained in text.)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap"><a name="DIRECTOR">Director</a></span>: Sometimes called the Producer. The man who plans +and directs the building and setting of all scenes in the production +of the picture, as well as casting the actors and actresses for the +various parts, pointing out, in a general way, what costuming and +make-up are required, and directing their acting and stage "business" +during the taking of scenes. "Producer" more properly is the term +applied to the manufacturer or manufacturing company.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Doing a Picture</span>: To "do" a picture is to produce it in film +form. To say that a picture has been "done" in five reels is simply to +state that the production has required approximately five thousand +feet of film.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap"><a name="DOUBLE_EXPOSURE">Double Exposure</a></span>: Same as +<a href="#SUPERIMPOSURE">super-imposure</a>. The practice of +exposing the same negative film twice, used extensively in producing +"vision" effects, "ghosts," etc., as well as in photographing scenes +where one of the players is cast in a "double rôle," as of twin +sisters or brothers, as is more fully explained in the text.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Editor</span>: The person who receives, examines, and passes on your +photoplay. He decides as to the merits of your story, after which, if +he accepts it, it is turned over by him to the director.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Episode</span>: See <i><a href="#SERIAL">Serial</a></i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Extras, or Extra People</span>: Supernumeraries, either male or +female, who "dress" or "fill in" certain scenes, or who may even be +given small parts, or "bits." "Extras" are frequently used as +soldiers, cowboys, pedestrians, saloon loungers, guests at a ball, or +in other similar capacities.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Fade In</span>: When the screen is dark, and a picture comes up +gradually until it is clear, this is called a fade in.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Fade Out</span>: When the opposite from the fade in occurs, the +scene dying away until the screen is blank, this opposite term is +used. These two terms are employed in the photoplay manuscript for the +purpose of indicating that some character is thinking of, or telling +another about, something that has already happened, or that is +prophetically expected to happen. The character is seen thinking, or +talking, then there comes a fade out, and then a fade in, and the +scene that comes up is what he tells of or is thinking about. This +again fades out, and the fade in brings back the original scene with +the character thinking or talking; but each of the three scenes used +has its own consecutive scene-number in the manuscript. The fade out +may also be used to end a scene, or be used at the close of the +photoplay.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Feature</span>: See <i><a href="#REEL">Reel</a></i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap"><a name="FILM">Film</a></span>: The strip of translucent material, resembling +celluloid, upon which the scene is recorded; a series of pictures one +inch wide and three-fourths of an inch<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> in height, taken at the rate +of approximately sixteen a second, and sixteen pictures to one foot of +film. These small pictures are technically termed "frames."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Footage:</span> The amount of film consumed in the making of an +individual scene, insert, or the entire picture.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Frame:</span> See <i><a href="#FILM">Film</a></i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Idea:</span> An incident, or a situation, that suggests a plot; in +other words, the plot "germ."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Insert:</span> Anything introduced into the film to aid in telling +the story or to explain a point of the plot. "Leaders" are also +inserts; but, as generally used, inserts refers to letters, telegrams, +newspaper paragraphs or personals, or any matter other than cut-ins, +or dialogue, inserted into the film during the progress of a scene, +thus becoming practically a part of that scene.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap"><a name="INTERPOSE">Interpose</a>:</span> A term used to indicate the process by which a +scene merges into the next, one dying as the other comes up, so that +there is no blank screen between them, as in the case of the fade out +and fade in. As in the dissolving views of a stereopticon, the scenes +merge one into the other. This device is used for the same purpose as +the fade out and fade in, but, being more difficult to accomplish, +from the camera standpoint, is used only rarely.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap"><a name="LEADER">Leader</a>:</span> A sub-title used before a scene to assist the +spectator in getting a clear idea of what the picture is to portray.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Location:</span> When the setting for an action is out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> of doors, +and takes advantage of some natural environment, such as the front of +a house, a barn, or a lane, or a lake, it is called a "location." So, +while any environment for action is broadly a "setting," one usually +refers to an interior setting as a "set" and an exterior setting as a +"location."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Multiple Reel</span>: See <i><a href="#REEL">Reel</a></i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Negative</span>: The original emulsated film used in the camera when +the actions of the participants in the photoplay are recorded.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Plot</span>: The original idea worked into a compact number of +scenes and individual situations, all of which in a series carry out +the general idea. Sometimes this "plot" is referred to as the +"skeleton" of the photoplay. "In its simplest, broadest aspect, plot +is the scheme, plan, argument or action of the story."<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> Henry Albert +Phillips calls it "the 'working plan' used by the building author."<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Positives</span>: The copies printed from the negative. These +positives bear the same relation to the negative as "prints" do to a +photographic plate.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Prints</span>: The "copies" or "positives." The profit to the +manufacturer lies, of course, in selling as many prints as possible to +the exchange managers of the world.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Producer</span>: See <i><a href="#DIRECTOR">Director</a></i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap"><a name="REEL">Reel</a></span>: A full reel of film contains, approximately, one +thousand feet. Sometimes two pictures of five hundred feet each, or of +different lengths, may constitute a full reel, and it is then termed a +"split reel." If a photoplay is produced in two or more reels, it is +put on the market as a "two-reel" or a "—— -reel" subject and +becomes a "multiple-reel" subject. The term "feature" is usually +applied to a picture of five parts and upward. When referring to a +multiple-reel play, photoplaywrights now favor the use of the word +"part" instead of "reel" and say "two-part," or "three-part" story or +play. Incidentally, it is well to use "picture" in place of "film" as +much as convenient. Earnest workers in the photoplay-writing +profession are anxious to eliminate the old atmosphere of cheapness.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Register</span>: To register an effect is to "show" it to the +spectators in a way which cannot be mistaken. It is sometimes said +that an effect, a bit of "business," or an emotion which an actor is +endeavoring to portray, "will not register," meaning that it will not +be understood by the audience in the way intended by the director. +Very often a lighting effect does not "register" as it was thought it +would. Again, an actor may wish to "register" disgust or hatred, and +yet he may convey the idea that he is portraying only fear. The word +covers various meanings. In writing your story in action (in the +scenario or continuity), if a character is hiding behind a curtain, +watching an exhibition of cowardice in another character, instead of +saying "Tom shows by his actions that he considers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> Jack an arrant +coward," thereby using twelve words, you may write, "Tom registers +disgust at Jack's cowardice," which uses only six words; but do not +use this technical term too frequently in this manner.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Release</span>: Each producing company "releases" or places on the +market a certain number of films every month. Each of these films, +therefore, is termed "a release." The "release date" is the day upon +which copies of the film are given out to different exhibitors, to be +shown to the public for the first time.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap"><a name="SCENARIO">Scenario</a></span>: Correctly applied only to that part of the +photoplay manuscript which describes the development of the plot, +scene by scene and situation by situation; the complete story is +swiftly <i>outlined</i> in the synopsis, but in the scenario it is +told—that is, worked out—in action. The continuity of action; often +called "the continuity."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Scene</span>: A scene is so much of the action of a photoplay as is +taken in one place at one time without stopping the camera. The +instant that there is need to stop the camera, to change grouping, +break the progress of the action, introduce or take away characters, +or change costumes, that scene is terminated, and with the new start a +new scene is begun.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Scene-Plot</span>: That part of the photoplay script which lists the +scenes and shows the producer at a glance exactly what different sets +are required to stage the picture, and how many different scenes may +be done in each separate set.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Script</span>: The typewritten copy of the completed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> photoplay. A +complete script is composed of three parts: Synopsis, Cast of +Characters, and Scenario, or Continuity—and sometimes a fourth part, +called the Scene-Plot.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap"><a name="SERIAL">Serial</a></span>: A photoplay serial, as the name implies, is a film +totaling, say, 30,000 feet in length, and divided into fifteen +"episodes," each episode being made up of two reels, or parts—2,000 +feet of film. The production covers one long, continued story, each +episode planned to end with a thrilling climax, with a "To be +continued in our next," so to speak, tail-piece. The climax comes only +at the end of each episode (as the two parts released each week, taken +in conjunction, are termed). Incidentally, it should be borne in mind +that, in all up-to-date picture theatres, two projecting machines are +employed, so that no "break" occurs in the showing of any picture. For +this reason, "feature" subjects do not necessarily have any special +climax at the end of each reel, and, to repeat, serial photoplays have +the grand, forward-looking climax only at the end of each episode.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Set</span>: When a room, hotel lobby, or other interior setting is +required, it is usually built in the studio, or in the open air near +by, and is called a "set."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Setting</span>: The setting is the scenic environment of the action. +Whether indoors or out, the surroundings, properties, furniture, +buildings, and, in short, all that comes within the view of the +camera, is the "setting" for that particular scene.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Situation</span>: A state of affairs in which certain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> characters +sustain such relations to each other that an important change might +and almost must grow out of the relationship. In other words, a +"situation" is a state of affairs full of dramatic possibilities. When +a single character is confronted by the necessity for an important +decision, whether of morals or of physical action, we also have a +"situation."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Split Reel:</span> See <i><a href="#REEL">Reel</a></i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Stage:</span> The actual photoplay stage is that space within the +range of the camera in which the action of that given scene will be +apparent. In an interior setting it may be the space between the +camera and the walls of the set, to the full extent of the +camera-range, in which radius a host of people may be used; or, in the +case of action where intense emotion must be made clearly apparent, +the stage may be only a space beginning at a point from six to eleven +feet from the camera lens, and only as wide as the radius of the +camera-angle at that distance. Actually, the stage is a variable area, +within the camera-range, in the scope of which the required action +will be comprehended.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Stock People:</span> The regular members of the stock company +employed by the manufacturer, who draw a stipulated weekly salary, +even though not acting in a picture every working day.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Studio:</span> That part of the producing plant where the pictures +are taken. In its broadest sense, "studio" is often used as meaning +the entire manufacturing plant; but such a plant contains, besides the +"studio," the lighting plant, carpenter shop, scene dock, property<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +room, developing room, drying room, joining or assembling room, +wardrobe room, paint bridge and scene-painting department, dressing +rooms, offices, etc.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Subject:</span> Another term for the play. According to its nature, +a picture is known as a "comedy subject," "dramatic subject," and so +on.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sub-Title:</span> See <i><a href="#LEADER">Leader</a></i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap"><a name="SUPERIMPOSURE">Super-Imposure</a>:</span> See <i> +<a href="#DOUBLE_EXPOSURE">Double Exposure</a></i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Tinting:</span> Such effects as moonlight, artificial light in a +room, firelight, etc., are gained largely by dyeing, or tinting, the +positive film in various colors. Tinting is also frequently resorted +to for no other reason than to enhance the beauty of the scene, as +when sunset scenes are tinted in one of half a dozen suitable tones, +or when exteriors are dyed in some shade of brown or green.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Title:</span> The name of the story. A very important element, since +it is really an advertisement to draw attention to the photoplay, as +well as an announcement telling what it is about. "A good title is +apt, specific, attractive, new and short."<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Vision:</span> The showing of a small scene within a larger scene, +as in the case of a lover seated, thinking of his sweetheart, and a +vision of the object of his thought appearing in a corner of the +scene, and disappearing as he smiles. Visions are resorted to usually +to indicate the thought of a character, and should be used only +sparingly, if at all.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE PHOTOPLAY SCRIPT: ITS COMPONENT PARTS</h3> + + +<p>We know what a photoplay is; now what are the component parts of a +photoplay script?</p> + +<p>Simply because the word "scenario" has been so long used loosely as a +name for the full written outline or story of the photoplay, it has +come to mean the entire manuscript—or photoplay script, as we prefer +to call it—completed and ready to be submitted to the editor. +Accurately, however (see the <a href="#CHAPTER_III">preceding chapter</a>, Photoplay Terms), the +"scenario" is only one of the three or four distinct parts of a +photoplay script, as will be developed in full presently. "The +Photoplaywright," a department conducted by Mr. Epes Winthrop Sargent +in <i>The Moving Picture World</i>, was at first called "The Scenario +Writer;" however, Mr. Sargent, like most writers and editors, has +abandoned the use of the word "scenario" as applied to the complete +script. "Scenario" is the name now properly given to the continuity of +scenes, or "the continuity," as many are calling it in these days of +more precise nomenclature. Furthermore, various trade publications are +now urging writers and all others interested in the work to substitute +the word "photoplay" for "scenario," as being more comprehensive and +exact when applied to the complete manuscript. In strict<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> accuracy, +however, even "photoplay" is not a sufficiently explicit term when +applied to the manuscript only, while either "photoplay manuscript" or +"photoplay script" is; for, as all writers may learn to their cost, +the "script" is not always destined to become a "play." To some, +however, this distinction may seem like splitting a hair nicely +between its north and northwest corners. At all events, the "photoplay +script" is an exact and descriptive term and may well be used by all +interested.</p> + +<p>What is of fundamental technical importance in a novel, a short-story, +or a play? The story itself—the plot. And so also it is in the +photoplay; only, and the reasons must be obvious, its importance in +the photoplay is even greater. Without the plot, the writer's script +will remain forever a script, a mere piece of hand- or typewriting; it +will never be transformed by the magic wand of the director into a +film picture. Remember always that the photoplay is nothing but a +series of scenes <i>in action</i> which make up a story. How can you expect +to have action without a sufficient cause for every effect shown and +the scenes arranged in such order as to produce a complete illusion of +a connected, progressive, climax-reaching story? (And it is just this +connected, progressive, climax-reaching arrangement of the events of a +story which we call the "plot.") A novel may be largely a study of +character; a short-story may deal with action which takes place wholly +unseen in the soul of man; a play or a musical comedy may be chiefly a +series of scenic pictures or tuneful caperings; but a true photoplay +must act out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> a story—a story with a big central point, supported by +contributing points, or situations.</p> + +<p>The story, then, comes first—in more than one sense. It is the bait +you hold out to the editor of the photoplay company. If he can be +interested in your <i>story</i>, the script is half sold. This being true, +it follows that your synopsis must be clear, interesting, and as brief +as you can possibly make it, while still giving all the important +points of the story. He must grasp your plot, if not in a nutshell, at +least in just as few words as it can be compressed into in order to +make its development perfectly clear. You must therefore outline it, +so that he may be able to see plainly the possibilities of the story +as it would work itself out in picture form.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>1. The Synopsis</i></span></p> + +<p>The story must be briefly put, therefore it is necessarily only an +outline, a <i>synopsis</i>—and that is the accepted technical +term—forming the first subdivision of your script. Each of these +subdivisions is merely touched upon here, and reserved for separate +chapter-treatment later on.</p> + +<p>In the synopsis, of course, your various characters are mentioned by +name, but it is also necessary to add a separate section to your +script, containing</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>2. The Cast of Characters</i></span></p> + +<p>Almost all motion picture producers are now showing the cast of +characters on their films, and it is only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> a matter of time when every +manufacturer will follow their lead, for this is a natural step toward +the effect of reality. For this reason, as well as because it has been +accepted as following the proper form of photoplay script preparation, +your cast of characters should immediately follow the synopsis, and be +distinct therefrom.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>3. The Scenario or Continuity of Scenes</i></span></p> + +<p>Then comes the scenario—the third and last essential part of the +complete photoplay script. In this your story is not told in words but +is worked out in action. That is, instead of being told by +description, dialogue, and all the devices of fiction writing, the +<i>story</i> is described as a series of actions, divided into the required +number of interior and exterior scenes, together with the necessary +inserts in the way of leaders or sub-titles, letters, telegrams, +newspaper items, advertisements, and the like.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>4. The Scene-Plot</i></span></p> + +<p>In this preliminary consideration of the several parts of the complete +script, it must be remembered that the various producing companies +differ as to what they expect a manuscript to contain. One thing, +however, is certain: it is far better to include more detail than is +required, than too little. Therefore, on the whole, it is advisable to +send a scene-plot (discussed fully in <a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Chapter XI</a>), as this part of the +script will show the producer at a glance exactly what different sets +are required to stage the picture, and how many scenes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> are "done" in +each set. It is simply a little help extended to a busy man; for in +particular it enables the editor to understand on first looking over +your script how the scenes follow up and fit in with the action as +described in the synopsis. At the same time, it is really a supplement +to the manuscript, and our experience has been that it is more +appreciated if written upon a separate sheet, and included with the +manuscript proper. Naturally, the scene-plot is not to be included in +scripts sent to companies that ask for "synopsis only."</p> + +<p>Strictly speaking, as one writer on the subject has pointed out, the +photoplay manuscript consists of two <i>essential</i> parts—the synopsis +and the scenario.<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> Manufacturers, however, have shown their approval +of having the list of characters, giving the names of characters and a +word or two describing their relations to each other, etc., much as is +done in some theatre programs. Let us, then, look upon the complete +photoplay script as being composed of</p> + +<table border="0" summary="script" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse"> + <tbody> + <tr> + <td align="right">I</td> + <td>The Synopsis.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right">II</td> + <td>The Cast of Characters.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right">III</td> + <td>The Scenario, or Continuity of Scenes.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right">IV</td> + <td>The Scene-plot (as a supplement).</td> + </tr> +</tbody> +</table> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>A SAMPLE PHOTOPLAY FORM</h3> + + +<p>While the one-reel photoplay is virtually obsolete today, having given +place to plays of two or more reels, the form for the complete script +is quite the same for the multiple-reel as for the single-reel +photoplay, hence the following specimen will serve just as well to +show how the several parts of the full photoplay manuscript are set +forth as if two or even five reels were given. The same thing applies +to the number of scenes commonly found in any one reel—nowadays more +scenes per reel are customary than was the case when the specimen here +given was written, yet the old form for each scene and for each insert +is as correct today as ever, so that the present model is a +trustworthy one for those who would prepare the complete script, +continuity and all, and not "synopsis only."</p> + + +<p> </p> + + +<p style="text-align: center">WITHOUT REWARD<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">By Arthur Leeds</span></p> + +<p style="text-align: center">Western drama in 32 scenes; 4 interior and 13 exterior settings</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> </p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> + +<p style="text-align: center">SYNOPSIS</p> + +<p>A reward is offered for the capture of Stephen Hammond, better known +to the people of Navajo County, Arizona, as "Aravaipa Steve."</p> + +<p>James Freeman, a rancher, brings Dr. Turner to the ranch to attend the +younger of his two daughters, Norma, a little girl of about ten years, +the child being ill with fever. The doctor realizes the necessity of +having ice on hand to prepare ice-caps to help reduce the child's +fever. Since it is not so far to Pinedale as it is to the town where +the doctor lives, the physician advises the father to ride there at +once, and get back with the ice as soon as possible. He leaves a +bottle of medicine with Jess, the elder girl, and gives her directions +for the general care of Norma. It is while Freeman is away and Jess is +alone with the child that Steve Hammond comes to the ranch, exhausted +and hungry. He calls Jess out and she gives him a drink of water. +Then, seeing his evident weariness and realizing that he must be +hungry, she invites him to have something to eat before going on. Jess +has never seen Steve before, nor does she guess who he is, although +she has heard of "Aravaipa Steve."</p> + +<p>Since her visitor appears to be an honest man, Jess tells him that her +father has gone to town—all the other men being away—to get ice for +her sick sister. Steve is greatly touched by the sight of the sick +child, and he suddenly remembers a cave in the foothills where there +is ice buried beneath the rock and gravel. He gets a spare horse from +the stable, and taking a couple of large saddle-bags goes to the cave, +procures<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> the ice, and returns to the ranch house. After Steve has +placed ice-caps on Norma's head, Jess accidentally knocks the medicine +bottle to the floor, breaking it and spilling the contents. Realizing +the absolute necessity of having the medicine, Steve determines to +ride to the doctor and tell him to take or send some more; but +realizing also that he will be arrested the moment he is seen in town, +he tells Jess who he is. She is astounded, but, unable to forget what +he has already done for her, she tells him not to go—she will risk +waiting until the return of her father, who can then go. But Steve +declares that he will go, as delay may endanger the child's life. Upon +his arrival at the doctor's, he is seized and dragged to the sheriff's +office, but not before he has delivered his message to the physician. +Dr. Turner rides to the ranch with the medicine, and Jess, feeling +intuitively that harm will come to the man who has done so much for +them, begs the doctor to ride back to protect him from the mob which, +the doctor tells her, has more than once threatened to take the law +into its own hands if Steve should be captured. Seeing her distress, +both Freeman and the doctor ride to town, and through their efforts +the sheriff is persuaded to allow Steve to make his escape from a back +door of the office. He rides back to the ranch, says farewell to Jess, +and is given her photograph, on the back of which she writes her name +and a few words to the effect that she will be glad to hear how he +gets along. He then rides away.</p> + +<p>At the end of a year, Jess receives a letter from Steve, saying that +he is staying at Winslow, and that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> he is now living an honest life, +and fills a good position in San Francisco. He asks her to try to +persuade her father to bring her on a visit, so that he may see her +again. When Jess shows her father Steve's letter, Freeman, knowing +that Hammond has at least never been guilty of bloodshed, and +believing that the preserver of his little Norma has completely +reformed, agrees to take Jess there to see him. He knows that, great +as has been his daughter's impression upon the former outlaw, his has +been no less great and lasting upon her.</p> + + +<p> </p> + + +<p style="text-align: center">CAST OF CHARACTERS</p> + +<p> +James Freeman An Arizona rancher<br /> +Jess His daughter<br /> +Norma Her little sister<br /> +Steve Hammond, An outlaw, known as "Aravaipa Steve"<br /> +Dr. Turner The physician<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The sheriff</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The sheriff's deputy</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Cowboys, citizens, etc., in 1, 19, 21, and 23.</span><br /> +</p> + + +<p> </p> + + +<p style="text-align: center">SCENARIO, OR CONTINUITY OF SCENES</p> + +<p>1—Outside sheriff's office, main street of town—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>One or two cowboys and several other citizens standing +around talking earnestly. Sheriff comes out of open door +with hand-lettered placard. He tacks it up beside a notice +of an auction sale of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> stock, close to door. Draws attention +of bystanders, who crowd around to read.</p></div> + +<p>On screen. Notice—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p style="text-align: center">$5,000 REWARD!</p> + +<p>FOR THE CAPTURE OF STEPHEN HAMMOND, BETTER KNOWN AS +"ARAVAIPA STEVE." WE <span class="u">PREFER</span> TO GET HIM ALIVE, AS HE +MAY TELL WHAT HE DONE WITH THE PROSEEDS OF HIS LAST HOLD-UP.</p></div> + +<p>Back to scene.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The bystanders are obviously dissatisfied. They protest to +sheriff, who shakes head emphatically.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"THE ONLY GOOD I KIN SAY O' HIM IS THAT HE AIN'T NO +MURDERER. WE'LL HAVE NO LYNCHIN' WHILE I'M SHERIFF"</p></div> + +<p>Back to scene.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>One of the cowboys gives the sheriff a strong argument, but +he holds his ground and taps his badge significantly. They +are still voicing their several opinions when scene ends.</p></div> + +<p>2—Dr. Turner's office—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Doctor lying on lounge, coat off, smoking. Turns eyes toward +door and then springs up as James<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> Freeman enters, showing +great excitement and distress. Doctor asks what is wrong. +Freeman makes excited reply, urging doctor to get ready and +"come quick." Doctor compels him to speak more calmly and, +when he knows just what is wrong and hears Norma's symptoms, +he nods head and holds up hand, telling Freeman to sit down +and be quiet while he prepares some medicine. He measures +some drug from bottle in graduate and pours it into +eight-ounce bottle. With this in hand he steps out of room. +Freeman greatly agitated and anxious to start. Turner comes +back almost immediately, just corking bottle. He slips it +into pocket, picks up hat and medical case, then follows +Freeman out of room.</p></div> + +<p>3—Short exterior scene showing Freeman and Dr. Turner riding to +ranch.</p> + +<p>4—Bedroom in Freeman's ranch house. Shelf on wall on which are +several photographs in frames.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>(Must be same as in scene 28.)</p> + +<p>Norma lying in bed, ill with fever. Dr. Turner bending over +her. Freeman leaning over foot of bed watching anxiously. +Jess stands beside little table in centre of room, on which +are glasses, the medicine bottle, and the doctor's little +case. Her grief very evident. Dr. Turner's face very grave +as he turns away from bed. Freeman goes to him as he crosses +to table beside Jess. Doctor addresses Freeman, speaking +earnestly.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"WE MUST HAVE ICE FOR HER. IT'S TWENTY MILES TO MY TOWN AND +FOURTEEN TO PINEDALE. START THERE AT ONCE, GET THE ICE, AND +WE'LL SAVE HER YET"</p></div> + +<p>Back to scene.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Freeman realizes the importance of being able to procure ice +as soon as possible. Starts to get ready, presently hurrying +out of room. Doctor turns to Jess and gives her instructions +as to administering the medicine, pointing to watch. She +nods. Doctor takes last look at child, then walks out of +room, Jess following.</p></div> + +<p>5—Corner of ranch house, looking toward stables—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Doctor comes out, followed by Jess. With a parting word, he +rides away. A moment later Freeman comes from direction of +stables driving buckboard. He says a few words to Jess, who +assures him that she will be all right, and then he drives +off rapidly. Jess re-enters house.</p></div> + +<p>6—Exterior, supposedly at distance from but within sight of ranch—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Steve Hammond rides slowly into picture, dismounts wearily, +leans against horse as if much fatigued, looks about in all +directions. Sees ranch house short distance away. Shows +hesitation, then sudden resolution. Swings into saddle and +rides out of picture.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>7—Corner of ranch house, same as 5—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Steve rides into picture in background, approaching +cautiously. Leaves horse standing at short distance from +house, ready for quick get-away. Creeps forward stealthily, +gun in hand, ready. (If window between corner of house and +door, passes beneath it stooping.) Reaches door and knocks. +Hearing someone approaching, he holds gun out of sight +behind back. Jess appears in doorway. Steve registers that +he is impressed by girl's appearance. She, that he is a +stranger. He asks for a drink of water. She goes in to get +it. He quickly replaces gun in holster. Jess comes out with +dipper of water; he drinks greedily, then sways weakly and +drops to steps. Jess, seeing his exhaustion, shows sympathy. +Asks if he is hungry. He looks up and nods. She looks at him +a moment as if estimating his character and then asks him +into the house. He holds back, hesitating a moment, then +weakly follows her in.</p></div> + +<p>8—Kitchen of ranch house—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Jess places chair beside table and asks Steve to sit down. +He watches her with evident but respectful admiration as she +brings food and pours cup of coffee. She watches him +sympathetically as he eats. Presently he looks up at her, +then around, and points toward door. He questions her. She +shakes head negatively, looking at him steadily.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"THE MEN ARE ALL AWAY. FATHER'S GONE TO GET ICE FOR MY SICK +SISTER"</p></div> + +<p>Back to scene.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Jess watches him closely as she speaks. He shows only look +of relief. He questions her again. She points to door +leading to bedroom. He looks toward door and she crosses to +it, pushing it softly open. She turns and signs for him to +look inside. She herself stands in doorway as he passes her +and goes into room.</p></div> + +<p>9—Bedroom, same as 4—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Steve moves past Jess into room, crossing to bedside. +Genuine sympathy in his expression as he looks at child and +notes her fevered condition. He places hand on child's +forehead and shakes his head. Looks toward Jess, standing in +doorway, then goes out following her back into—</p></div> + +<p>10—Kitchen, same as 8—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>He sits down on chair; evidently he is greatly touched by +the child's condition and Jess's helplessness. Suddenly he +springs up excitedly and turns to Jess, speaking rapidly.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"THERE'S ICE NEARER THAN PINEDALE. WITH A SPARE HORSE, I'LL +GET YOU PLENTY INSIDE OF AN HOUR"</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + +<p>Back to scene.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Jess looks at him in astonishment and questions him. He +emphatic in repeating what he has said. He asks about horse, +pointing to outer door. As Jess leads way, Steve picks up +hat and follows her out.</p></div> + +<p>11—Exterior, at door of stable—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Jess standing holding Steve's horse. Steve comes from stable +leading another horse, with couple of large saddle-bags, +pick, and short-handled shovel, on its back. He points to +these and mounts his horse. Jess smiles gratefully, then +looks grave again. He reaches down and just touches her +reassuringly on the shoulder. Then he rides quickly away, +leading the second horse, while Jess watches him for a +moment, and then starts toward house.</p></div> + +<p>12—Foothill trail—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Steve riding up trail, disappearing round bend of hill.</p></div> + +<p>13—Rocky portion of hillside showing entrance to sort of cave in side +of cliff—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Steve dismounts, ties both horses, takes pick and shovel +from second horse, then goes forward and enters cave.</p></div> + +<p>14—Interior of cave—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Steve kneeling and removing large rocks from floor of cave. +Rises, takes pick and makes good-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>sized hole in rocky +ground, using both pick and shovel. Suddenly stops, kneels, +works with hands a moment, rises, takes up pick and drives +it into bottom of hole he has made. Throws pick down, +kneels, holds up fair-sized piece of ice. Rises, runs out of +cave. Back almost immediately with saddle-bags. Throws them +down, takes up pick and starts to get out the ice.</p></div> + +<p>15—Entrance to cave, same as 13—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Steve just finishing loading horse with saddle-bags filled +with ice. Secures pick and shovel across bags, mounts own +horse and starts to ride away, leading second horse as +before.</p></div> + +<p>16—Ranch house, same as 5—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Jess standing in doorway, great anxiety in face. Expression +changes as she sees Steve ride up in background. He +dismounts in front of door, takes saddle-bags from horse +and, with Jess leading, goes into house.</p></div> + +<p>17—Bedroom, same as 4—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Steve is just making an ice-pack with a piece of flannel. +Places it on child's head. He stands watching the child +intently for a moment, then looks at the girl. Jess shows +her gratitude very plainly. She holds out her hand. Steve +starts to take it, then draws back sharply. Jess astonished, +not understanding his reluctance. He hangs his head, but +remains silent. Jess watches him for a moment and then turns +away. She is standing by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> table which is close to the bed. +As she turns she knocks over the bottle of medicine with one +hand. It falls to floor and breaks, spilling on carpet. Jess +shows utter consternation. Steve also distressed. Jess +points to alarm clock standing on table, speaking to Steve +excitedly. He greatly impressed by the gravity of the +situation. She indicates that the doctor lives in the +distant town. He nods, evidently trying to make up his mind +what to do. Suddenly turns to Jess, looks straight into her +eyes, then extends hand. She is puzzled, but takes proffered +hand. Steve holds hers a moment and then drops it. He looks +at her again and then hangs head, speaking with face +averted.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I'LL SEE THAT YOU GET MORE MEDICINE ALL RIGHT; BUT <i>I</i> +WON'T BRING IT. OVER IN TOWN THEY CALL ME 'ARAVAIPA STEVE'"</p></div> + +<p>Back to scene.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>As Steve speaks, Jess looks at him horror-stricken, and +shrinks, hiding face in hands. Steve watches her with +expression of mingled anguish and remorse. Suddenly Jess +draws herself erect, indicating that, no matter who or what +he may be, she thanks him for what he has done for her and +appreciates it. Extends her hand, looking him full in the +face. He hesitates, then seizes her hand in both of his and +grips it. She does not move—simply continues to gaze +straight into his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> eyes. Steve drops her hand and reaches +for his hat. She watches him as he prepares to leave. Then, +suddenly, she shows that she fully realizes what it means to +him to go for the medicine. She springs to his side and +seizes his arm. Pointing—as if toward town—she indicates +that he will be arrested the moment he appears there. He +nods head resignedly. She points to the sick child. Then she +reaches out to take his hat, shaking her head. "You must not +go; I can't forget what you have already done for her." He +looks at her a moment, shows that he realizes the +consequences, then takes his hat from her, his face showing +strong determination. He picks up the upper portion of the +broken medicine bottle from the floor; then points to the +child on the bed.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"THE CHILD'S SAFETY IS WHAT I'M THINKIN' OF. THEY'LL GET ME +SOONER OR LATER ANYHOW. I'M GOIN'!"</p></div> + +<p>Back to scene.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Steve turns quickly toward door. Jess speaks and he turns to +face her. She approaches slowly and stops in front of him, +looks steadily into his eyes for a moment, then impulsively +holds out both her hands. He seizes them, holds them a +moment, then, as she drops her eyes, he lowers her hands +slowly, steps backward, turns, and exit quickly. She looks +up as he passes out of door, then drops<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> on her knees beside +bed and, with one hand reaching out to the child, looks +upward as if in prayer.</p></div> + +<p>18—Exterior—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Steve riding hard into town.</p></div> + +<p>19—On the outskirts of the town—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Steve rides into picture, going at same speed as before. Man +(not cowboy, but carrying gun in holster) recognizes him as +he approaches. Draws gun, stands at side of road, and, as +Steve comes close raises gun and calls on him to halt. Steve +only bends low and gives the horse the spurs, dashing past +at full gallop. Man raises his gun and fires after him, then +shows by his look of chagrin that he has not stopped him.</p></div> + +<p>20—Looking back over same road, but at point farther on toward town—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Steve rides into picture, his left arm hanging limp, holding +gun in right hand, prepared to use it rather than stop; +reins hanging on horse's neck. He takes reins in right +hand—after restoring gun to holster—and rides on.</p></div> + +<p>21—Exterior of doctor's house, with sign, "Dr. Turner"—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Steve rides into picture, pulls up, dismounts, and with an +expression of pain takes hold of wounded left arm with right +hand, gripping it as if to ease pain. Runs up steps and +knocks at door. As he is facing door, another man sees and +recognizes him. This man is not armed, and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> merely shakes +fist at Steve behind the outlaw's back, then passes out of +picture. Dr. Turner comes to door, and falls back astounded +as he recognizes "Aravaipa Steve." "You! What do <i>you</i> want +here?" Then he sees the wounded arm, and points to it. Steve +shakes head emphatically and proceeds to tell what has +happened at the ranch. As he finishes, the doctor looks him +over from head to foot, then holds out his hand, which the +outlaw grasps silently. Dr. Turner beckons him into the +house; but just as Steve is about to follow the doctor in, +the man who saw him knock on the door returns with a party +of ten or a dozen citizens and cowboys. Half a dozen point +guns at Steve and he throws up his right hand in obedience +to their command, indicating that his left is injured. The +doctor tries to explain, but they wave him back. Steve turns +to doctor and tells him to hurry and get the medicine off to +the sick child. Doctor nods. Believing that the outlaw will +be taken to the sheriff, he goes in to prepare the medicine. +Steve is led away by the crowd.</p></div> + +<p>22—Corner of ranch house, same as 5—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Doctor rides into picture, pulling up in front of door. As +he calls out, Jess comes to door followed by her father. Dr. +Turner takes bottle of medicine from pocket of his coat and +hands it to Jess. Jess hands it to father and turns to +doctor again. She is excited and obviously much distressed +at the thought of what may have happened to Steve. Questions +the doctor anxiously. At his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> reply she shows signs of +breaking into tears. Then turns to her father.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I FEAR THAT THE MOB WILL TAKE HIM FROM THE SHERIFF. FOR THE +SAKE OF ALL HE HAS DONE FOR US, RIDE BACK TO PROTECT HIM"</p></div> + +<p>Back to scene.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Freeman, knowing what Steve has done, looks very grave. He +speaks to doctor, who nods head. Then he turns to Jess, +signifies his intention of riding to town at once, and tells +her to attend to Norma, giving her the medicine. The doctor +dismounts, dashes into house, and returns almost +immediately. He indicates that the child is already somewhat +improved. He mounts, and with a parting word to the girl, +both men ride rapidly out of picture.</p></div> + +<p>23—Outside sheriff's office, same as 1—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Mob of cowboys and citizens talking excitedly and crowding +in front of closed door. Evidently all are of the opinion +that Steve should be "strung up." They cease talking and +turn, looking up street. Dr. Turner and Freeman ride up and +dismount. They force their way through crowd and approach +door of the sheriff's office. They knock twice, but door +does not open. Freeman calls loudly to those inside, while +Dr. Turner faces the mob and warns them to keep their +distance when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> the door is opened. Presently door opens, +sheriff and his deputy appearing, with guns drawn. Freeman +quickly tells them what they want and he and doctor pass +inside. Mob becomes very demonstrative now.</p></div> + +<p>24—Interior of sheriff's office. Door at left, closest to +working-line, leads to street. Door at back of room, when opened, +shows exterior backing—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Enter Dr. Turner and Freeman. Sheriff and deputy step back +as they enter and bar door the moment they have come in. +Steve sits on chair beside table, handcuffed. His face shows +only a complete resignation to his fate. He is neither +excited nor indifferent. Doctor speaks to sheriff, who nods. +Doctor goes to Steve with deputy, who unlocks handcuffs. +Doctor quickly examines Steve's wounded arm, then binds it +up. <i>Meantime</i> the sheriff is listening to Freeman, who +tells him of all Steve has done for him, in helping to save +the life of his child. Sheriff plainly much impressed. Looks +across at Steve and shakes head, realizing his duty and yet +filled with sympathy for the outlaw. Freeman continues to +plead with him. Doctor finishes working with Steve and looks +across at them. Sheriff and deputy whirl round and draw guns +again as all hear sound of heavy blows on street door. (If +position of door in set permits, show door shaken as if by +blows upon it.) All realize that the mob means business. On +back wall is reward placard similar to one posted outside +(same card). Sheriff, turning to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> Steve, points to this. +Steve nods. Sheriff calls attention of all to back door. +Then, facing Steve again, he indicates, "If I let you go +that way, will you live honestly hereafter?" Steve looks at +him a moment, then crosses to placard and pointing to words +proclaiming reward for "Aravaipa Steve," passes other hand +in front of eyes, as if in disgust at what he has been, then +hangs head. Sheriff watches him a moment, then holds out his +hand. Steve grasps it and turns to Freeman and Dr. Turner. +As deputy turns toward street door, hearing more knocking +upon it, Freeman and doctor both shake hands with Steve, +sheriff quietly opens back door, and Steve, after hesitating +a moment, slips out. Sheriff bars back door and, turning +around, runs across to street door and shouts to crowd on +outside, haranguing them to gain time.</p></div> + +<p>25—Rear of sheriff's office, showing corner of building and side +wall, looking toward street. Several horses are tied all along side of +wall, out of sight of the mob in front of building—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Steve, leaving door, which is just closing, creeps up to +nearest horse, unties it, and leads it away from building +(toward camera). Then he mounts and dashes away, out of +picture.</p></div> + +<p>26—Interior of sheriff's office, same as 24—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Sheriff, smiling at others in room, still arguing with crowd +outside. Deputy, Freeman and Dr. Turner, also smiling, stand +in center of room.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> + +<p>27—Front of ranch house, same as 5—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Steve rides up and dismounts, calling out to Jess. She +presently appears in doorway. On seeing him safe, her face +shows intense relief and thankfulness. Then she realizes +that he is not yet out of danger. She points toward town. He +indicates that the horse he has ridden belongs to someone in +town. He takes money from pocket and hands it to her, +indicating that he wishes her to give it to the owner of the +horse. She assents. Steve then points inside. Jess invites +him to follow her in. He goes up steps after her.</p></div> + +<p>28—Bedroom, same as 4—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Jess enters, followed by Steve. He goes across to bed and +bends over Norma, who is sleeping quietly. Turning around, +he sees the photographs on the shelf on wall, Jess's picture +among them. He looks at her as if hesitating to speak, then, +pointing to her picture, asks if he may take it with him. +She is a trifle confused at first; then, realizing the +change that has taken place in the man, she takes it down +and is about to hand it to him, when he takes piece of +pencil from pocket of vest and hands it to her, asking her +to write her name on it. Jess looks at him, then takes +pencil and writes on back of photo.</p></div> + +<p>29—Bust of Jess's right hand holding photograph, showing back, on +which is written:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p><div class="blockquot"><p>WITH THE SYMPATHY AND BEST WISHES OF JESS FREEMAN. I SHOULD +LIKE TO KNOW, A YEAR FROM NOW, HOW YOU ARE GETTING ON.</p></div> + +<p>30—Back to 28—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Jess hands the photograph to Steve. He glances at what is +written and looks at her as if longing to speak, but merely +takes her hand and looks his great gratitude, and +determination to atone for the past, urged on by her +encouragement. Then he turns to door and she follows him out +of room.</p></div> + +<p>31—Front of ranch, same as 5—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Steve mounted ready to ride away. He holds photograph in +left hand, still bandaged. He puts out right hand again and +takes Jess's, in a parting handshake. Then he puts photo in +inner pocket of vest, and with a last word and a smile of +gratitude, rides quickly away. Jess watches him ride out of +sight, then sits on steps and looks in direction he has +gone, starting to weep softly.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>A YEAR LATER.</p></div> + +<p>32—Kitchen, same as 8—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Jess laying table for meal. Norma assisting her (or, if a +young child is used, playing). Freeman enters from outer +door, as if just returning from town. He carries bundles, +etc. Puts these down, takes letters from pocket, hands two +to Jess. She looks at one and lays it carelessly on table. +After a glance at the other she signifies, "It must be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> from +him!" Freeman and child do not observe her expression. She +opens letter and reads:</p></div> + +<p>On screen. Letter—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Dear Miss Freeman,</p> + +<p>I am writing this from Winslow—it's as near to your home as +I care to go. But I've got a good position in San Francisco, +and thank God I'm living honestly where nobody knows my past +record. I'd give anything to see you again. Do you think +your father would bring you on a visit?</p> + +<p style="text-align: right">Gratefully yours,</p> + +<p style="text-align: right">Stephen Hammond.</p></div> + +<p>Back to scene.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Jess's face lights up gladly. She goes to her father and +gives him letter, which he reads. He looks at her narrowly. +She hangs her head in some confusion. He stands for a moment +in deep thought. Then he takes Jess's hands and, as she +looks straight into his eyes, he nods his head, draws her to +him and kisses her. Norma comes up and puts her arms round +her father as he and Jess stand there. Jess kneels and takes +Norma in her arms.</p></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>THE MECHANICAL PREPARATION OF THE SCRIPT</h3> + + +<p>Any successful photoplaywright will testify that the proper +preparation of the photoplay script has much to do with its being +accepted, especially if more than the mere synopsis is offered.</p> + +<p>At first this may seem to be an extreme statement, but its truth will +become more and more evident as we proceed. Furthermore, its +importance should be accepted by writers early in the work because +every stage of photoplay writing has its direct bearing upon, and +looks toward, the preparation of the script. For this reason the +present chapter is introduced at this point, though in actual +time-sequence the preparation of the manuscript in its final form will +usually come after all its several parts have been considered, blocked +out, and arranged. It will be highly important, therefore, to review +this chapter after finishing the sections of this volume which deal in +particular with the several parts of the photoplay.</p> + +<p>It is to be regretted, let us reiterate, that so much has been said, +by manufacturers and others, to the effect that no literary training +is necessary in order to write salable photoplays, for, as a result, +countless absolutely "impossible" scripts are constantly pouring into +the editors' offices—impossible, in a great many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> cases, not because +of the lack of idea, for very often the illiterate writer has both a +vivid imagination and the power to use it, but because frequently the +good idea is expressed in such unintelligible language, and with such +execrable spelling and hopelessly incorrect punctuation, that the +thread of the plot, its meaning, and values, cannot be grasped by the +editor. Even when the story itself is not utterly lost to the script +reader, he is too busy a man to wade through it bit by bit, struggling +to make something out of a jumble of confusing words. The demand for +good scripts is greater than the supply—but the supply is increasing, +and the standard is rising. This means that although there are +dozens—to put it mildly—of men and women entering the field each +week, easily three-fourths of these brand themselves as hopelessly +unqualified when they drop their first script into the mail-box.</p> + +<p>The repeated failures of the unprepared have given rise to the rumor +that only the scripts of favored writers are read in editorial +offices. The old trick of placing small pieces of paper between the +sheets, in order to prove whether or not the script was read through, +is as popular today as it was twenty years ago with story writers. The +gentleman who has the first reading of all the scripts received by a +certain company called the attention of one of the present authors to +just such a script only recently. What was the result? Some of the +minute pieces of paper fell out the moment the script was taken from +the envelope for examination. That was enough. The script was almost +immediately placed in another envelope and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> returned to the +writer—with a rejection slip. Unfair treatment of the writer? Not at +all! Following the discovery of the concealed particles of paper, a +glance at the first page was sufficient to convince the editor that it +was the work of another amateur who was foolish enough to add to a +miserably prepared script the proof that he doubted the honesty of the +editor to whom he had addressed his offering.</p> + +<p>It is only reasonable to believe that every editor will read at least +so much of every script as is necessary to convince him of its value +or its lack of value to the firm by which he is employed. He draws a +salary to discover stories which <i>are</i> worth while, and is always on +the lookout for good, live, gripping stories which will make pictures +calculated to add to the reputation of his employer. There is just one +way he can find such stories, when the author's name is unknown to +him, and that is by reading the script, either in whole or so far as +to permit his trained judgment to pass fairly upon it. The editor who +does not do this honestly either does not exist or will soon lose his +position, for he will be sure to overlook valuable material by his +negligence.</p> + +<p>At the very outstart resolve to <i>be professional in your methods, be +businesslike, and play fair</i>.</p> + +<p>The advisability of constantly abiding by these three rules of the +photoplay writing "game" must be apparent to any intelligent person. +Though the field for the sale of photoplay scripts is likely to become +much larger, and the prices paid promise to become better<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> as time +goes on, every day some new writer of proved ability (in the field of +fiction writing, as a rule), enters <i>this</i> field. Against him, with +his superior experience and knowledge of literary usages, you must +compete. Therefore, in order to win, you must do as he does. <i>He is +fair to himself.</i> From a mechanical point, his scripts are likely to +be all that they ought to be; he sends them out knowing that they are +in correct form to receive the proper consideration of the most +exacting editor. <i>And they do.</i> In the same mail with his script comes +one from a beginner. This unknown writer may have an idea—that <i>most</i> +important requisite in picture-play writing—which is really fresher +and even better than that embodied in the story of the experienced +writer. But the merit of the idea is hopelessly concealed under a mass +of misleading and unnecessary language; the script is poorly +written—in longhand; it is badly spaced; spelling, punctuation, +everything, betray ignorance or carelessness of what is expected in a +properly prepared script. What chance, then, does it stand when placed +beside that of the trained writer? And whose fault is it?</p> + +<p><i>Give yourself a fair chance.</i> From the day that you write your first +photoplay, write it so carefully, prepare the script with so much +regard for the accepted rules, that no editor will be able to point to +it with a sigh and exclaim: "Oh, well, it has to be read. Here goes!" +Make it a script that he will dive into with keen anticipation of +finding something as good as its mechanical preparation would cause +him to expect.</p> + +<p>We now add a number of items of practical advice.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><img src="images/image04.jpg" alt="Essanay Producing Yard" width="400" height="280" /></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><b>Essanay Producing Yard; Two Interior Sets Being +Arranged for a Historical Drama</b></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<img src="images/image05.jpg" alt="Players Waiting for Their Cues" width="400" height="310" /></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><b>Players Waiting for Their Cues in the Glass-Enclosed +Selig Studio</b></p> + +<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Paper</span>. This is an important matter, and you should <i>not</i> +follow your own preference or convenience. The paper should be of +regulation Ms. ("letter") size, 8-1/2 by 11 inches, not transparent, +and should be pure white.</p> + +<p>The editor prefers not to examine odd sizes when he is used to the +uniformity of the proper manuscript paper. Never use foolscap, or +8-1/2 by 13 paper. The writer knows one studio in which the different +directors, all of whom write photoplays of their own, use the 8-1/2 by +13 size; but remember, it is the director's privilege to write his +scripts on shop-keeper's wrapping paper if he so desires. So make it +8-1/2 by 11.</p> + +<p>It must be opaque, because no editor wants to be annoyed by having the +writing on the second sheet show through between the lines of the +first, when he is reading that. That is the chief, and a sufficient, +reason. A second, is that thin paper is flimsy and hard to handle.</p> + +<p>It should be white, because that, too, is the common practice. +Besides, dull white paper displays the typewriting most clearly. We +have heard of one photoplay writer who uses a buff-colored paper, and +who maintains that since adopting it his scripts have received better +treatment than formerly; his theory being that, on account of the +difference in color, his scripts attracted attention and were more +carefully handled. This may be true; but a good grade of yellow paper +will cost you more than white, and if white, opaque paper is good +enough for the leading photoplay writers, why not make it your paper? +The cheapest grade of paper<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> that is sufficiently opaque costs about +$1.50 a box, containing one ream, 500 sheets. The next heavier costs +about $2.00 a box; a still better quality, a few cents more. Certainly +here is a case where, up to a reasonable limit, the best is the +cheapest. If you take pride in your work, send it out well dressed; +but, no matter how æsthetic your taste may be, never use the shades of +cherry, opaline, canary, or Nile green, in which certain grades of +paper are made.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Rules for Writing the Script</span>. Instead of simply saying that +the manuscript <i>should</i> be typewritten, let us ask once more: If you +are in earnest, and intend to succeed, why not give yourself every +chance to gain the editor's attention and interest by proclaiming that +you are a business man as well as a writer? Many film manufacturers +plainly announce that only typed scripts will be examined. Therefore +write the script with a typewriter. Today, when many companies rent +good machines at from $4.00 for three months to $3.00 a month, and +when you can buy a typewriter outright for from $15.00 to $100.00, the +writer who is able to use one and who does not do so is simply being +unfair to himself. Any good machine may now be had by paying down a +small sum and the same amount monthly for a term of months. Serious +writers should promptly decide to step out of the amateur class and +equip themselves properly for the work. If you wish to experiment with +your talents before deciding to rent or buy a typewriting machine, +there are plenty of responsible typists who will typewrite your script +for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> from 35 cents to 50 cents per thousand words, including one +carbon copy.</p> + +<p>If you have a typewriter you will, of course, make at least one carbon +copy. Should the script you send out be lost or badly marred in any +way, you have the carbon from which you can make another, but never be +so unwise as to send out the carbon copy itself should the original be +lost. Make a new copy. In the first place, should the carbon copy also +be lost, you will have nothing left as a record of your story—unless +you happen to have kept your notes and rough draft. Besides, carbon +copies rarely look as well as an original script, and the editor who +receives a carbon might not look upon it with any great favor—though +this is the least valid reason.</p> + +<p>Another important point is, if your photoplay is accepted, your copy +will serve you as a valuable basis for criticism of your own work, +inasmuch as you can compare the play as written with the play as +produced, observing what changes the editor and director may have +deemed necessary. This practice is followed pretty generally by +earnest writers of fiction, but is applicable also to photoplay +writing, and should help the writer, after seeing his play produced, +to do even better work next time.</p> + +<p>For carbon copies, almost any weight and quality of paper will serve. +A plain yellow or a manilla paper, costing about 50 cents a box of 500 +sheets, is very satisfactory.</p> + +<p>Most authors who are users of typewriters know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> that a black "record" +ribbon is far superior to a "copying" ribbon. The latter is likely to +smudge or blur and spoil a clean manuscript. Again, it pays to get a +pretty good grade of carbon paper; the best, in fact, is none too good +for literary work of any kind. Cheap carbons smear the copy and stain +the writer's fingers; besides, they have a tendency to make the copy +look as if it were covered with a fine layer of soot or black dust. +Avoid them.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">General Directions</span>. Other hard and fast rules for the +practice of photoplay writing are:</p> + +<p>Do not write on both sides of the paper.</p> + +<p>Do not fasten the sheets of your script with clips or pins which +perforate the paper; there are at least half-a-dozen kinds of paper +clips which hold the sheets firmly without permanently fastening them +together. The editor likes to have the sheets loose when reading the +script.</p> + +<p>Above all, do not roll your script. If it is 8-1/2 by 11 paper, as it +ought to be, fold it no more than twice. That is what all writers do +who follow the rules.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Directions for Typing the Script</span>. While it is well to +remember that the suggestions here offered are intended for those who +type their own photoplays, the same suggestions can be made by authors +to the professional typists to whom they send their stories to be +prepared for the editor.</p> + +<p>The editor of one company suggests that it is best always to put your +name and address on each sheet of the manuscript. This is simply +"making assurance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> doubly sure" that the script will not go astray or +become mixed in the editorial office, for winds and dropped +manuscripts sometimes play annoying tricks upon editors, it need +hardly be said. But at least write your name and address plainly in +the upper left-hand corner of the <i>first</i> sheet of the synopsis; then +write it in the same place on the <i>first</i> sheet of the <i>scenario</i>; +and, provided you have room—if the last scene of your scenario does +not run clear to the bottom of the page—also at the bottom of the +<i>last</i> page of your scenario. Then, further, write on every other page +the title of your photoplay. If it is a short title, write it in full. +If it should be a long title, such as "Where Love is, There God is +Also," a Selig release taken from Tolstoy's story of the same name, +simply write "Where Love is, etc." That will be ample to identify your +work should one of the sheets become separated from the rest of the +script. Thus the editor has your name and address in three different +places, and with all or part of your title on the other sheets of the +script, there is little danger of any part going astray after it +reaches his hands.</p> + +<p>The following plan for the actual mechanical preparation of the three +or four parts of the script has been approved by editors in general; +nevertheless, it is here offered as a suggestion, not laid down as a +rule. To follow it, however, insures your having a neat, readable +script, one which will catch the editor's attention as soon as he +opens it.</p> + +<p>The scale-bar on most standard typewriters is numbered from 0 (the +next figure, of course, being 1) to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> 75. Each figure indicates one +space. When writing your name and address on the first page of both +synopsis and scenario, set your left marginal stop at 5. When the +paper is pushed as far to the left of the paper-shield as it will go, +this will give you a left-hand margin of about 1-3/16 inches—which is +quite wide enough for the margin on a photoplay script. Write your +name and address so that the top line will come about three-quarters +of an inch from the top of the sheet, and, keeping it even with the +left-hand margin, write the two or three lines of the name and address +directly beneath each other, and the other material below, in the +manner illustrated on the succeeding type-page.</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<img src="images/image06.png" alt="script" width="400" height="353" /></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<p>The first sheet of the script being the one on which you commence to +write your synopsis, first of all get your title neatly spaced.</p> + +<p>Always write your title entirely in capitals, leaving one space +between each letter of each word in the title, and three spaces +between each word. Say that your title contains three words, as the +foregoing. After you have written the first word—with a space between +every letter—the machine will automatically space one. Do not count +that as one, in leaving the three spaces suggested, but touch your +space-bar three times. This will move the carriage back so that the +first letter of the next word will be printed four spaces away from +the last letter of your first word, leaving three spaces between. Take +one sheet of your typewriter paper and keep it as a test sheet, trying +out your title-spacing thus: Write the complete title, with spacing as +suggested above, once, getting it as nearly right (with even spaces on +either side) as you can at a good guess. If it is not right, space one +line down on your trial sheet and try it again, this time a little +farther to the right or left as the case demands. One or two trials +and you will have it as nearly even in margins as it can be made on a +typewriter. Thus, in a title like</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><img src="images/image07.png" alt="THE HEROINE OF THE PLAINS" width="400" height="97" /></p> + +<p>you will find that to start the first word at 11 on the scale-bar, +managing the spacing as suggested, will get<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> your title in the centre +of the page with practically no variation in the two margins.</p> + +<p>Then, about an inch below the title, write the descriptive lines:</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<img src="images/image08.png" alt="descriptive lines" width="400" height="68" /> </p> + +<p>as described in the <a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">chapter</a> on "The Synopsis." About an inch below +this, write the word</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><img src="images/image09.png" alt="SYNOPSIS" width="200" height="50" /></p> + +<p>starting to write at 28 on the scale-bar. The O in the word OF, the +middle word of your title, is the exact centre of the title. Starting +the word</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><img src="images/image09.png" alt="SYNOPSIS" width="200" height="50" /></p> + +<p>on 28 causes the centre of this word (which is the space between the O +and the P) to fall exactly beneath the centre of the title. Then, +about 1-1/2 inches below that, start to write your story in synopsis +form. Commence your paragraph at 15, indenting ten spaces from the +left margin. Thus the neatness and businesslike appearance of your +pages will impress the editor favorably at the very first glance. +Follow the same rule when typing the scenario, or continuity, and also +the scene-plot, if one is made.</p> + +<p>Having written your synopsis, if you find that you have plenty of room +on the last sheet to write your cast of characters, do so; but do not +crowd it in. If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> you cannot get it in so as to look well, double +spaced, and appearing to be, as it should, a separate division (though +not necessarily a separate sheet) of the manuscript, by all means give +it a separate sheet.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, there is a rule regarding separation of divisions +of the script which must be observed in every case. You must ALWAYS +start to write the <i>scenario</i> on a fresh sheet, no matter how much +room you have left after writing your cast. The reason for this is +simply that, should your scenario be in proper shape for the director +to work from just as it is, he wants the scenario separate. Having +read the synopsis once or twice, he is through with it; whereas, when +working on a picture, the director "sleeps with the scenario."</p> + +<p>And now a word as to the typing of the continuity, or scenario, for +you should do everything in your power so to prepare it as to make its +every word quickly and easily understood.</p> + +<p>In the first place, we strongly recommend the following method for the +mechanical preparation of the scenario:</p> + +<p>When writing the number of your first scene (1), place the indicator +at 0 on the scale-bar. Write all scene-numbers up to 9 at the same +point. When you start to write scene-numbers containing two figures +(from 10 to as high as you will go) do so at 0 and 1, respectively. +Now space one, then print the hyphen mark (which will make a short +dash), after which space one or two, as the case may be, which will +bring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> you to 5 on the scale-bar. At 5 start to write the <i>descriptive +phrase</i> for your scene. You should also make 5 your left marginal +point for the writing of the body of your action. In writing the +subject matter of each scene, or division, of the action, <i>commence +each new paragraph</i> at 15. In writing "Leader," "On screen, Letter," +<i>or any other</i> direction intended especially for the director, always +start to write at 0 on the scale-bar, in a direct downward line with +your scene-numbers.</p> + +<p>The result of following these suggestions will be a neat and +attractive type-page, upon which the producer will be able to locate +the scene-numbers and other directions at a glance, as may be seen +from the following example:</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<img src="images/image10.png" alt="script example" width="350" height="376" /></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> + +<p>The fact that every studio has writers on its staff to make over +scenarios which are good but not in quite the correct form for the +director, into what are known as "working scripts," should make no +difference to you when writing your script. Let what you offer to the +editor be as perfect as you can make it, regardless of what becomes of +it after you have sold it. Make it, in <i>every</i> sense, a desirable +script.</p> + +<p>With regard to the proper spacing for a photoplay manuscript, some +editors prefer single and others double spacing. Again, sometimes an +editor may have a fondness for double spacing, while the director +leans to scripts that are single-spaced. Our experience has shown, +however, that the majority of editors and directors like single +spacing for the actual subject-matter of the scene—the paragraphs of +action—but double spacing <i>between all other matter</i>. Therefore use +double space between a leader and the description of the scene which +follows, and between the description of the scene and the action +proper. This method of spacing, when combined with the rule of placing +all directions in the extreme left-hand margin, results in a script +that is almost sure to be satisfactory, and is certainly attractive, +mechanically.</p> + +<p>In conclusion, do not forget that a <i>good</i> typewriter is a tool of the +writer's trade, and perhaps the most im<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>portant tool of all. As for +the question of which is the <i>best</i> typewriter, it is entirely a +matter of opinion. If you live in a small town, where there is no +typewriter agent or agency, see if, among your business acquaintances, +there are not represented all the standard makes. Ask permission to +examine as many different makes as you can find; try what each will +do; make up your mind whether you prefer the single or the double +keyboard. If you choose a machine with the single keyboard, you must +get used to the shift-key system of printing capitals, yet many +writers prefer the single keyboard. If you are <i>buying</i> a machine the +makers will gladly substitute for one of the needless characters +already on the keyboard—such as @—an odd character for which a +writer of photoplays or of fiction would have particular use, such as +the exclamation mark.</p> + +<p>Having a typewriter, take care of it. Clean the type regularly with a +stiff brush; keep it cleaned and oiled; protect the platen from spots +of oil or grease of any kind; and give the machine the general +attention which it deserves.</p> + +<p>From all this, it may seem that undue stress is laid upon the neat +appearance of the script, and the way it is planned from a mechanical +viewpoint. But we re-affirm what has been said at the opening of the +present chapter, and, in addition, we assert that not only are +neatness and correctness in the preparation of the script of +importance now, but, in the good times to come, to which all photoplay +writers are looking forward, the names that will be featured on the +posters<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> and in the advertising matter of the companies will be the +names of the writers to whom the big checks are paid, and for whose +work there will be a steady demand, and they will be the names of the +writers who consider it worth while to TAKE PAINS.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>THE TITLE</h3> + + +<p>For a few moments, it will be well to pause in order to survey the +road we have patiently travelled in our efforts toward writing the +photoplay, and also to look briefly at the course that lies ahead.</p> + +<p>In the preceding six chapters we have determined the precise meaning +of the word "photoplay;" touched upon the qualifications necessary to +success in photoplay writing; familiarized ourselves with the +vocabulary of the craft; looked briefly at the parts of the photoplay +script; examined a complete specimen; and found what are the proper +methods for its typing.</p> + +<p>After all this foundation work, containing the general information and +instructions necessary to enable the photoplaywright to take up +intelligently the actual planning, building, and writing of the story, +we enter upon a second group of discussions, chapters <a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII</a> to +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII</a>, +which are essentially lessons in <i>how</i> to write the photoplay.</p> + +<p>The third section, from <a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">Chapter XIII</a> to the end, takes up the details +of instruction and information in such a way as to supplement the main +points before discussed—minor yet really important points which are +sure to be of value to the photoplaywright in his work of turning out +a script that will need little or no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> changing on the part of the +director or the staff-writer.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>1. Importance of the Title</i></span></p> + +<p>Nearly everything that has been written on the subject of titles for +novels and short-stories applies quite as much to titles for "regular" +plays and the photodrama. No photoplaywright who is earnest in his +desire to turn out only the best and most original work should neglect +to read thoroughly the <a href="#CHAPTER_VII">chapter</a> on "The Title" in each available book +in the list of works on the writing of the short-story in <a href="#APPENDICES">Appendix A</a>, +at the end of this work. Do not be satisfied with what has been +written specially for writers of the photoplay; go deeper; study what +has been written for fiction writers and dramatists, and so equip +yourself thoroughly. We should like to write at the beginning and end +of every chapter of this book this reminder: Only those who are +thoroughly equipped will be able to remain in the ranks of +photoplaywrights when once the various manufacturers have drawn out +enough competent writers to keep them supplied with scripts. There +will always be room for the competent writer, but a competent writer +he must be. And as one element in competency this matter of the title +is important, vitally important, when it comes to selling your script.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>2. General Functions of the Title</i></span></p> + +<p>"The title has for its main function the advertising<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> of the story to +the public."<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> Is not this, even if there were no other, a sufficient +reason for making your title as attractive, interesting and +appropriate as you possibly can? True, there are thousands of +picture-play patrons who go to their favorite theatre night after +night, prepared to see anything that may be shown for their +entertainment. But there are also thousands who are <i>not</i> regular +attendants. Many go only when attracted by the title of a picture +based on some well-known book, poem, or play. A great many more are +guided in their selection of moving-picture entertainment by the +attractiveness of the titles displayed on the posters and banners +announcing the regular daily programs. As a means of attracting all +such, the advertising value of the title is important.</p> + +<p>"A good title," Barrett has said<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> "is apt [appropriate, fitting], +specific [concerning itself with, and narrowed down to, something +individual enough to grip the attention], attractive [interesting and +calculated to inspire attention], new [fresh and unhackneyed], and +short." The bracketed comments, of course, are ours.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>3. Titles to Avoid</i></span></p> + +<p>Judging from the titles of many dozens of scripts that the writers +have seen slipped into the "stamped addressed envelope enclosed" and +sent back to amateur photoplaywrights, one of the greatest mistakes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +that the young writer makes in his choice of titles is in making them +commonplace and uninteresting. When an editor takes out a script and +reads the title, "The Sad Story of Ethel Hardy," would he be +altogether to blame if he <i>did</i> put the script back into the return +envelope utterly unread, as so many editors are accused of doing yet +really do not do? To anyone with a sense of humor, there is more cause +for merriment in the titles that adorn the different stories that a +photoplay editor reads in the course of a day than is to be found in a +humorous magazine. Yet it is as easy for some writers to select a +good, attractive title for their stories as it is difficult for +others.</p> + +<p>Do not choose a title that will "give away" your plot. The title +should aid in sustaining interest, not dull the spectator's attention +by telling "how it all ends." To quote Mr. Harry Cowell, writing in +<i>The Magazine Maker</i>: "A title is a means to an end. The end of a +story should justify the title. If the title gives the story away, the +writer may have to give it away, too, or sell it for a song, which is +bad business." Let the title suggest the theme of the story, by all +means; but keep your climax, your "big" scene, safely under cover +until the moment comes to "spring it" upon the spectators and leave +them gasping, as it were, at the very unexpectedness of it. Avoid +titles beginning with "How" or "Why," for they are prone to lead in +this direction. A good exception is the well-known play, "Why Smith +Left Home."</p> + +<p>If you use a quotation or a motto for a title, be sure it is not +overworked. Variations of "The Way<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> of the Transgressor," "And a +Little Child Shall Lead Them," "Thou Shalt Not Kill," and "Honesty Is +the Best Policy" are moss-covered.</p> + +<p>Avoid baldly alliterative titles, such as "The Deepening of +Desolation," "Elizabeth's Elopement," and "Tom Truxton's Trust." Had +not the three elements mentioned in the title, "Sun, Sand and +Solitude," practically made the story possible, it would never have +been used; even so, it is really too alliterative. Usually, the +over-use of alliteration is artificial and suggests a strained effort +to be original.</p> + +<p>For more than one reason, names, as titles for photoplays, are not +very desirable, especially for original stories. To entitle a +photoplay "Andrew Jackson," or "Jane Shore," if the plot is chiefly +concerned with either of those two personages, is, of course, the +proper thing; but the class of historical stories indicated by these +or similar titles is usually turned out by the film company's own +staff of writers. Once in a while, however, it happens that an +original story of modern life is written around one character who so +completely dominates the action that the name constitutes the very +best title that could be given to it. Two good examples of stories +having names as titles are "Mickey," in which Mabel Normand played the +title rôle, and "Innocent" (the name of the heroine), produced by +Pathé and featuring Fannie Ward.</p> + +<p>One-word titles are good only when they are especially apt. Such +titles as "Jealousy," "Retribution,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> "Chains," "Rivals" and +"Memories" have been worn threadbare.</p> + +<p>"Eschew titles that are gloomy, as 'The Sorrow of an Old Convict,' +Loti; or old style, 'Christian Gellert's Last Christmas,' Auerbach; or +trite, 'The Convict's Return,' Harben; or newspapery, 'Rescued by a +Child;' or highly fantastic, 'The Egyptian Fire Eater,' Baumbach; or +anecdotal, 'A Fishing Trip;' or sentimental, 'Hope,' Bremer; or +repellent, 'A Memorable Murder,' Thaxter."<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></p> + +<p>"The American editor, like the heiress, is willing, anxious, to pay +big money for a genuine title; only she is on the lookout for an old +one, he for a new," says Mr. Harry Cowell, in <i>The Magazine Maker</i>. +And though he speaks of titles for fiction stories, what he says +exactly fits when applied to photoplay writing. Again, Mr. Cowell says +that "the best of titles, once used, is bad"—for re-use, of course.</p> + +<p>Mr. Epes Winthrop Sargent remarks: "There are dozens of instances of +title-duplication to be noted in the past year, some of the titles +being used more than twice. A matter of greater moment is to avoid +duplication of plot." It is of still greater moment to avoid both. +Because he discovered that the Essanay Company was about to release a +picture called "Her Adopted Father," a certain writer changed the +title of one of his stories from "His Adopted Mother" to "The Bliss of +Ignorance." This avoided, not a duplication, but a too great +similarity in titles; at the same time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> the change was an improvement, +when one considers the theme of the story.</p> + +<p>As a photoplay author, you should subscribe for one of the +trade-papers, if for no other reason than to keep posted on the titles +of the various subjects released by the different manufacturers. In +this way you will have a much better chance of avoiding the repetition +of titles. It goes without saying that originality in a title is only +less desirable than originality in a plot; yet every now and then some +manufacturer will release a picture with a title similar to, or even +quite the same as, one already produced by some other company. For +example, on July 15th, some years ago, Lubin released a picture called +"Honor Thy Father." Four days later, on the 19th, Vitagraph put out a +picture with the same title. Yet this was the merest coincidence. On +August 17th of the same year Reliance released "A Man Among Men," +while Selig's "A Man Among Men" was released November 18th. The plots +were totally different, and the Selig story was written and produced +in the plant before any announcement of the Reliance picture was made. +Again, on January 8, of the next year, Selig released "The Man Who +Might Have Been." Twelve days later, Edison put on the market "The Man +<i>He</i> Might Have Been," by James Oppenheim.</p> + +<p>The exhibitor is the one who suffers as a result of these similarities +in titles; many people see the poster and imagine they have seen the +picture before, not noticing the difference in the make of film, and +so go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> elsewhere to see some show that is entirely fresh to them. +Therefore keep posted, as fully as possible, as to what the +manufacturers are putting out.</p> + +<p>Of course this matter of title-duplication has a bearing, though a +remote one, on titles that are similar yet not identical, as when +Artcraft releases "Wolves of the Rail" (with William S. Hart) and +Triangle puts out "Wolves of the Border" (with Roy Stewart). Perhaps +there is no valid objection to such similarity, which can be called +imitation only when the themes are more or less alike, but it actually +seems to have been the policy of many companies to follow the line of +least resistance when selecting titles for their pictures, using a +title, provided it is good in itself, and appropriate to the picture +under consideration, regardless of whether or not it is already +familiar to the public as the title of another photoplay, fiction +story, or legitimate drama. Needless to say, this has led to a great +deal of confusion—and, in one or two cases, to law suits.</p> + +<p>Bear in mind that the titles of already published fiction and already +produced stage plays are not the lawful prey of the photoplaywright +merely because he is working in a different literary field. More than +one librarian has told us of the confusion caused by reason of Anna +Katharine Green's title, "The Woman in the Alcove," having been used +later by another popular woman novelist. Again, such a unique and +thoroughly distinctive title as Gouverneur Morris's "It" has been used +for a very different type of short-story by another writer. +Occasionally, we will admit, this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> happens by the merest +chance—although not when a certain motion picture concern puts out a +picture showing life in an American factory town and bearing Kipling's +well-known title "The Light That Failed." Your literary conscience +must dictate what you should do—willing as we are to admit that there +is, very frequently, a great temptation to use the title already +employed by another writer because of its extreme appropriateness to +your own story.</p> + +<p>It may be said that most photoplay producing companies are led to use +unoriginal titles because of the poor and inappropriate titles given +the stories sent in to them by the authors themselves. Your duty, +then, is to help to keep the producing company from "going wrong" in +this respect by supplying them with the very best and most original +title you can devise for every story of yours which you are fortunate +enough to sell.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>4. Where to Look for Titles</i></span></p> + +<p>Good titles are everywhere—if you know how to find them. The Bible, +Shakespeare, all the poets, books and plays that you read, newspapers, +even advertisements on billboards and in street cars, all contain +either suggestions for titles or complete titles, waiting only to be +picked out and used. But be sure that someone else has not forestalled +you!</p> + +<p>Sayings, proverbs, and well-known quotations are a fruitful source of +titles, as we have already intimated. But sometimes the real +significance and value of such a title are not apparent to a great +many of the spec<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>tators until they have witnessed the climax of the +picture. This arises from their ignorance of literature and is, of +course, their loss. Many good and extremely appropriate titles of this +character are taken from the Psalms, from Shakespeare, and other +poets. Frequently these quotations, used as titles, are so well known, +and their meanings so apparent, that almost every one of the +spectators will at once understand them, and catch at least the theme +or general drift of the story from the title. Sometimes, again, the +real significance of a title is best brought out by repeating it, or +even the complete quotation from which it is taken, in the form of a +leader at the point in the action where its significance cannot fail +to be impressed upon the spectators. For example, a certain Selig +release was entitled "Through Another Man's Eyes." Before the next to +the last scene, which showed the ne'er-do-well lover peering in at the +window, while his former friend bends over to kiss his wife—who might +have been the wife of the wayward young man, had he been made of +different stuff—the leader was introduced:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"How bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through +another man's eyes!"</p> + +<p style="text-align: right">—<span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span>, <i>As You Like It</i>.</p></div> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u">5. <i>The Time to Choose a Title</i></span></p> + +<p>Notwithstanding that the title is the first in position on the +writer's script, as well as on the film as exhibited, it is frequently +the last thing decided upon. A writer may have his theme well in hand, +know every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> motive of every character, have settled to almost the +minutest detail just how his scenes are going to work out as they +unfold his story, yet, when he begins his first draft of the script, +he may not have the slightest idea of what title he will eventually +give it.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, he may create a story <i>from</i> the title. Having hit +upon an expression that suggests a story by starting a train of +thought, he may find that it is directly responsible for the way in +which he builds his plot; its very words suggest the nature of the +story, and supply at least a suggestion of how it can be +developed—they hint at a possible plot, suggest the setting, and +show, almost as one might guess the theme of a novel by glancing for a +moment at one of the illustrations, what the probable outcome of the +story will be. Hence the expression becomes a natural title for the +photoplay.</p> + +<p>As an example of the foregoing, in "The Fiction Factory," by "John +Milton Edwards," the author says that "the sun, sand and solitude of +the country God forgot" did, or caused, or made something—just what +does not now matter. The point is that those ten words supplied one of +the present authors with not only titles for two of his photoplays, +but with the plot-germ for the plays themselves. Both are stories of +Arizona: "Sun, Sand and Solitude," and "In the Country God Forgot."</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>6. Choosing the Title Last</i></span></p> + +<p>But you may decide to leave the naming of the story<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> until after you +have made the rough draft of both synopsis and scenario. Your story is +told; you know the motives that have prompted your different +characters to do what they have done; you know the scene; and you +understand the theme, or <i>motif</i>—as the word would be used in +music—which underlies the whole action. The question arises: To what +do you wish to have your title call <i>particular</i> attention? If a +woman, or a girl, has the leading part, and it is what she does in +your play that really makes the story, it would be best to feature the +girl and her deed of cleverness or daring in your title, as in "The +Ranch Girl's Heroism," "A Daughter's Diplomacy," or "A Wife of the +Hills." Or you may attach most importance to the locale of your story, +the background against which the rest of your picture is painted, and +call it, for instance, "A Tragedy of the Desert," "In the North +Woods," "A Tale of Old Tahiti," or one of the titles of Arizona +stories, just cited. Again, the interest in your story may be equally +divided between two, or among three, people, as in "The Triangle," +"The Girl and the Inventor," and "The Cobbler and the Financier." Note +that every title here given is the actual title of a picture play +which has already been released. Bear in mind, too, that many +photoplays are released bearing poor, commonplace, and inappropriate +titles, and the foregoing are not so much named as models as for the +purpose of illustrating the specific point now being discussed—that +the <i>feature idea</i> may often direct your choice after the story is +worked out.</p> + +<p>A great many comedies have titles which state a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> fact, or specifically +make an announcement concerning what happens in the photoplay, as +"Arabella Loves Her Master," or "Billy Becomes Mentally Deranged." +Photoplays with such titles are, as a rule, the product of the +European makers. Once in a while a dramatic picture will be given such +a title, as "Tommy Saves His Little Sister"—a picture made in +France—and "Annie Crawls Upstairs," the last a beautiful and touching +picture by the well-known writer of magazine stories and photoplays, +James Oppenheim, produced by the Edison Company. Again, there are more +general titles exploiting the theme of the story, as "The Ways of +Destiny," "The God Within," and "Intolerance." There are also +symbolical titles, which have, naturally, a double meaning, playing +upon an incident in the plot, as "A Pearl of Greater Price," and +"Written in the Sand."</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>7. The Editor and the Title</i></span></p> + +<p>Some successful writers have expressed dissatisfaction when editors +have ventured to change the titles of their scripts after having +accepted and paid for them. Doubtless some of these objections have +been not without reason. Many editors and directors have, in the past, +taken entirely too much upon themselves, in this and other respects +taking liberties with the scripts received which, if known to the head +of the firm, would have led to their being at least reprimanded. But +in such studios, the editors, and especially the directors, worked for +days at a time without having once come in contact with the head of +the firm;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> as a result, they all did pretty much as they liked. During +the last few months, however, changes have been made in every studio +in the country, and at the present time the scripts that writers send +in are not only handled much more carefully, but, if the title of a +story is changed in the studio, there is usually a very good reason +for so doing.</p> + +<p>Let us suppose, for example, that a certain company (such as, at this +writing, Goldwyn) is featuring women stars only. A writer sends in an +unusually good script entitled "Not Like Other Girls"—which, by the +way, is a well-known book-title. At about the time that his script is +received at the Goldwyn scenario department, the company decides to +feature, in addition to its women, a certain male star. This writer's +story, while one with a "woman lead," is also one whose plot is +capable of being worked over and slightly altered so as to provide a +good vehicle for the leading man who has just been engaged. On the +strength of this fact, the company buys the author's story without +even informing him of their intention to make alterations in it—or +they may, of course, tell him of the contemplated alterations and +request his help in recasting the story. Not only is the action +changed in different ways, but the title is sure to be altered to make +it appropriate for a male leading character—and all quite +justifiably.</p> + +<p>In this condition of affairs, by no means infrequent, the +photoplaywright may find a strong reason for being familiar with the +people composing a certain company, for the actual structure of the +play as well<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> as the title will influence its acceptance in some +instances. It is well to ask: Are men or women featured in their +pictures; or do they put out stories with a male and a female "lead" +of equal strength? Your story should be good enough to make it +acceptable to any editor; yet, if you plan to send it first to a firm +that features a woman in most of its pictures, as you have the +opportunity of knowing if you study the pictures you see on the screen +and read the trade-papers, do not write a story with a strong male +"lead," and do not give it a title that draws attention to the fact +that the principal character is a man.</p> + +<p>Remember, once again, that your title is the advertisement that draws +the public into the theatre. The title is to the public what the title +combined with the synopsis is to the editor—the all-important +introduction to what is to follow.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>THE SYNOPSIS OF THE PLOT</h3> + + +<p>The synopsis is a brief—a clear, orderly outline—of the plot of your +story. However, before considering the preparation of the synopsis, +one important element must be considered:</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>1. What Constitutes a Plot</i></span><a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></p> + +<p><i>A fictional or a dramatic plot is the working plan by which the story +is made to lead up to the crisis (or complication, or cross-roads of +choice), and then swiftly down to the outcome (or unfolding of the +mystery, or untying of the knot, or result of the choice).</i></p> + +<p>There can be no real plot without a complication whose explanation is +worked out as the story draws to its close. A mere chain of happenings +which do not involve some change or threatened change in the +character, the welfare, the destinies of the leading "people," would +not form a plot. Jack goes to college, studies hard, makes the +football team, enjoys the companionship of his classmates, indulges in +a few pranks,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> and returns home—there is no plot here, though there +is plenty of plot <i>material</i>. But send Jack to college, and have him +there find an old enemy, and at once a struggle begins. This gives us +a complication, a "mix-up," a crisis; and the working out of that +struggle constitutes the plot.</p> + +<p>So all dramatic and all fictional plots give the idea of a struggle, +more or less definitely set forth. The struggle need not be bodily; it +may take place mentally between two people—even between the forces of +good and evil in the soul of an individual. The <i>importance</i> of the +struggle, the <i>clearness</i> with which it is shown to the spectator, and +the sympathetic or even the horrified <i>fascination</i> which it arouses +in him, have all to do with its effectiveness as a plot—note the +three italicized words.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>2. Elements of Plot</i></span></p> + +<p>Dividing the subject roughly, in this brief discussion, three +important elements of plot deserve consideration:</p> + +<p><i>(a) The preliminaries</i> must be natural, interesting, fresh, and +vivid. That is, they must not seem manufactured. It is all well enough +to say that Jack has made an enemy at College, but <i>how</i> did the +enmity arise? The young men will not become opponents merely to suit +the photoplaywright. You must think out some natural, interesting, +fresh, and vivid cause for the antagonism. Such a logical basis for +action is called <i>motivation</i>. And so with all the preliminaries<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> on +which your plot is based—they must motivate what follows. Remember +that forces or persons outside the two characters may lead them to +quarrel. Swiftly but carefully lay your foundations (mostly out of +sight, in the manner of a good builder) so that your building may be +solid and steady—so that your story may not fall because the +groundwork of the plot does not appeal to the spectator as being +<i>natural, convincing, interesting, fresh, and vivid</i>; these words bear +reiteration.</p> + +<p><i>(b) The complication</i>, or struggle, including all its immediately +surrounding events, must be (usually) surprising, of deep concern to +the chief character, and arouse the anxiety of the spectator as to how +the hero will overcome the obstacles. Jack discovers that the girl he +has just learned to love is the well-loved sister of his college +enemy. How will this complication work out? An interesting series of +movements and counter-movements immediately becomes possible, and any +number of amusing or pathetic circumstances may arise to bring about +the denouement—which simply means the untying of the knot.</p> + +<p>The struggle in a plot may be either comical or tragic. Mr. Botts +ludicrously fights against a black-hand enemy—who proves to be his +mischievous small son. Plump and fussy Mrs. Jellifer lays deep but +always transparent plans to outwit her daughter's suitor and is +finally entrapped into so laughable a situation that she yields +gracefully in the end.</p> + +<p>And so on indefinitely. Hamlet wars against his hesitating nature. +Macbeth struggles with his con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>science that reincarnates the murdered +Banquo. Sentimental Tommy fights his own play-actor character. Tito +Melema goes down beneath the weight of his accumulated insincerities. +Sometimes light shines in the end, sometimes the hero wins only to +die. To be sure, these struggles suggest merely a single idea, whereas +plots often become very elaborate and contain even sub-plots, +counter-plots, and added complications of all sorts. But the basis is +the same, and always in some form <i>struggle</i> pervades the drama; +always this struggle ranges the subordinate characters for or against +protagonist and antagonist, and the outcome is vitally part and +substance of all that goes before—the end was sown when the seeds of +the beginning were planted. This touches upon the third element:</p> + +<p><i>(c) The Denouement</i>, or disclosure of the plot just before its close, +is one of its most vital parts.</p> + +<p>"Novelty and interest in the situations throughout the story, with an +<i>increasing</i> interest in the denouement, are the essential demands of +a plot."<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a></p> + +<p>It goes without saying that you must interest your audience, but you +must also satisfy them—gratify the curiosity you have earlier +aroused. It is all very well to write an "absorbing" story, in which +the excitement and expectation are sustained up to the very last +scene, but be sure that the theme is essentially such that <i>in</i> the +last scenes, if not before, your action will unravel the knot that has +become so tantalizingly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> tangled as the play proceeded. No matter how +promising a theme may be in other respects, it is foredoomed to +failure if from it comes a plot of which the spectator will say as he +goes out, "It was a pretty picture—but I couldn't understand the +ending."</p> + +<p>Another thing: If it is important that, in every case, the spectators +must be "shown" what happens in the working out of a plot, it is +equally important that they be shown <i>why</i> it happens. This also has +to do with sound and comprehensible motivation. "It is not so much a +case of 'show me,' with the average American, as a common recognition +that there must be a reason for the existence of everything created. +He is inclined to give every play a fair show, will sit patiently +through a lot of straining for effect, if there is a <i>raison d'être</i> +in the summing up, but his mode of thought, and it belongs to the +constitution of the race, is that of getting at some truth by +venturesome experiment or logical demonstration."<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a></p> + +<p>Bear that truth in mind, no matter what you write of, and never start +anything that you can't finish—which is simply one way of saying, do +not start to write a story <i>at all</i> until you have every scene, +situation, and incident, so thoroughly planned, motivated and +developed in your mind that when you come to write it out in action in +the scenario you cannot help making the audience understand the plot. +Never attempt to introduce even a single situation without a logical +cause; be sure that "there's a reason."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Break away from the old lines," advises Mr. Nehls, of the American +Company. "Try to write scenarios that will hold the interest with a +not too obvious ending, with sudden, unexpected changes in the trend +of the story."</p> + +<p>If the story contains a mystery, do not allow the end to be guessed +too soon. Interest thrives on suspense and on expectation. The +surprising thing, yet the natural ending, swiftly brought about, marks +the climax of a good photoplay plot. Many a promising photoplay script +has failed because it did not make good its prophecy. The plot opened +well, but "petered out"—the complication was a good one, but the +unfolding of the mystery, the result of the struggle, the aftermath of +the choice, were disappointing.</p> + +<p>And one final word in this connection: The <i>photoplay public loves a +"happy ending"—unless it must be forced</i>.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>3. The Study of Plot-Structure</i></span></p> + +<p>A careful study of fictional and dramatic plot will well repay the +photoplaywright. But little more can be said here on the technique of +plot, though it deserves a treatise in itself; but much will be gained +if these few words are taken seriously, and no stories are submitted +except those revolving about <span class="smcap">original, clear-cut, plausible +situations showing the lives of human beings in their hour of crisis, +and working out the after-results of that crisis with lively, dramatic +human interest</span>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> + +<p>This advice applies even to humor, for humor takes things which are +ordinarily serious and by introducing the incongruous makes them +laughable. It is the sudden interruption of smooth going, the +unexpected shifting of the factors in the problem, the new and +surprising condition of affairs, the swift disappointment—it is any +of these in countless variety that makes plot possible.</p> + +<p>Learn to invent plots. Invent them wholesale—by day, by night. Turn +the facts of everyday life into plots. Draw them from jests, from +tragedies, from newspapers, from books, from your own heart—and don't +omit the heart, whatever else you do omit. At first, invent merely +complications; later work out the situation entire. Thus you will +cultivate an inventive attitude and at least <i>some</i> good plots are +sure to result.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>4. Preparation of the Synopsis</i></span></p> + +<p>The synopsis of the plot is the first part of the script to be read by +the editor, for from it he decides whether the whole script is worth +reading further. For this reason, even were there no other, the +importance of the synopsis should need no argument. Besides, many +companies now are willing to consider "synopsis only."</p> + +<p>The <i>final</i> preparation of the synopsis should be the last stroke in +the completion of the script. We emphasize "final" because, as has +been briefly pointed out in a previous chapter, the writer should at +the very outstart draft a rough, or working, synopsis, to be used<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> as +a guide while working out the various scenes in his scenario.</p> + +<p>The reasons for reserving the synopsis for improving and polishing at +the very end of the writing may easily be understood. Suppose an +author were to write the complete synopsis of his story first, and +then in writing his scenario follow that synopsis rigidly, adding no +scene not indicated in it, introducing no character that it does not +mention, and otherwise being bound by his earlier work. He might +indeed produce a good scenario, but would it be quite as good as it +might have been had he allowed himself a freer rein in working it out? +Might there not have been a scene or two added that would have aided +materially in making every little detail of his plot clear to the +spectators?</p> + +<p>Again, a writer will frequently find, when working out his scenario, +that he can improve his story by transposing some of the scenes as +originally planned. In fact, there are a dozen ways in which the story +may be altered for the better while in course of construction. Why, +then, should the author hamper himself by obstinately adhering to his +original plan or synopsis of it? In photoplay writing an author should +not promise himself never to change his mind.</p> + +<p>An experience of a certain writer will serve to illustrate the +impracticability of writing the final form of the synopsis first. A +few years ago, when all editors were asking for the complete script, +and when most companies were insisting upon a synopsis of +approximately two hundred and fifty words, the editor of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> company +for which he writes suggested that, instead of preparing the complete +script before submitting it, the author should merely write out his +synopsis in the usual way and send that in. If the synopsis was +satisfactory, his being told to go ahead and finish the script would +mean that the story was as good as purchased. Appreciating this +kindness, three synopses were submitted by the writer, and two of them +accepted; the third was for certain reasons unavailable. It was +necessary, then, to write out and send in the scenarios for the two +satisfactory synopses, and the author started in. Notwithstanding that +the firm in question places no restriction on the number of words in +the synopsis of scripts submitted to them, and that this author, for +that reason, seldom sent in, even in those days, a synopsis of less +than a thousand words, giving the theme and details of the plot, he +found that in working out the scenarios of both stories the original +plots could be improved, strengthened, given a more decided "punch," +by making some changes. In one, he added a character and transposed +several scenes, thereby strengthening the whole plot. In the other, +elimination of two scenes of minor importance made it possible for the +director to give more footage to a big scene. These changes being made +in the scenarios, the original synopses could not be used. It was +therefore necessary to write two new ones which corresponded with the +scenarios that went with them. Thus the original synopses of the two +accepted stories really amounted to nothing more than working, or +first-draft, synopses.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u">5. <i>Length of the Synopsis</i></span></p> + +<p>How many words should be allowed for the writing of a synopsis still +remains a matter of opinion. Almost every writer wishes that he could +use, within reason, an unlimited number. The acceptance or rejection +of the script depends so almost entirely upon the interest the editor +takes in the synopsis, that it unjustly hampers a writer to be limited +in the number of words he may use. This is peculiarly true if the plot +should happen to be one that requires the explanation of several +minor, yet important, details of the story. And even though you are +sending to a company that asks for the complete script, you must bear +in mind that some editors base their decisions wholly upon what they +get from the synopsis.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, more scripts suffer from having the synopses +loosely and wordily written than from being over-compressed. The young +writer especially cannot be too careful in drilling himself in the art +of clear-cut, concise, yet effective expression. To be able to tell a +story in outline, using few but vivid words, is an art worth +cultivating.</p> + +<p>However, now that the market has expanded from one to five, and even +more, reels, the limit of words is not so closely drawn. Indeed, +today, whether the studio is one that asks for the complete script or +insists upon examining the synopsis only, you may almost feel safe in +sending in a synopsis containing <i>just as many words as are really +needed</i>—which means, simply, that the editor's first consideration is +to be able<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> to "get" your whole story from one reading of your +synopsis, whatever its length. It <i>should</i> be concise; it <i>must</i> be +clear and readily understandable. A busy editor has no time to waste +in re-reading certain paragraphs or even sentences the meaning of +which is obscure. One of the first things to remember is that certain +companies send out the call for "synopsis only" because they prefer to +have their staff writers do the continuity of scenes (write the +scenario), instead of accepting the scenario prepared by the author +and upon occasion, altering it in the studio to suit their special +requirements. Why so many concerns prefer to do this is easily +understood. Instead of cutting up the originally submitted scenario +and substituting different settings or locations, and perhaps, even, +different large and difficult-to-obtain "props," they simply provide +the staff writer with the synopsis of the story purchased from you, +and tell him to go ahead and prepare the continuity, knowing as he +does, and keeping in mind while at work, to just what approximate +expense the company is prepared to go, just what sets are available or +can be built, what necessary locations can be reached within a +reasonable time, and what players—especially if they must be +distinctive types—are in the company or may be readily engaged. +These, of course, are matters over which the outside writer can have +no control; if he is selling to a concern that demands the synopsis +only, he must make up for what he does not know about the inside +workings of the studio by giving the editor and (especially) the staff +writer <i>every needed detail</i> of his plot. Only by so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> doing can he +feel sure of eventually seeing the story on the screen in the form of +an artistic and satisfactory working out of his original idea.</p> + +<p>Some companies that request the synopsis only also like the writer to +submit two synopses. The first, for the special benefit of the editor, +and <i>shorter</i> than the two-hundred-and-fifty-word synopsis of a few +years ago, is intended to show the editor or his reader almost at a +glance if the story is what that particular company could use at all. +The second synopsis, of course, is the longer and more detailed one +from which both he and the staff man can get <i>all</i> the necessary +details if your story is purchased. By reading the market departments +of such magazines as <i>The Writer's Monthly</i>, and the various trade +journals, you can keep posted as to which concerns like this double +synopsis. For your own good, always observe the rule if the company +lays it down, and remember that it is an easy matter to make a brief +synopsis from the longer one already prepared.</p> + +<p>Again, while it is also necessary to observe strictly the rule of +sending the "synopsis only" to companies that demand it, one of the +present writers has found that many firms welcome the author's +continuity, <i>after the story has been purchased on the strength of its +synopsis</i>, for the sake of the finer details of action and the +technical and mechanical suggestions contained in it, and even though +they use it merely as an additional aid to the staff writer in +preparing <i>his</i> continuity. Such a company, of course, merely gives +the writer a courteous "thank you" for his continuity, as contrasted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +with those that pay a certain amount for the synopsis and, usually, +double that amount if the scenario also is <i>called for</i>; but the +earnest writer has the satisfaction of knowing that, with the +additional details supplied in the scenario, or continuity, the staff +writer stands an even better chance of perfectly preparing the blue +print, as it were, of the story from which the director will work +while building the photoplay.</p> + +<p>These things being so, this writer works along the following lines: +From a rough draft, or working synopsis, he prepares the complete +scenario, just as he would do for a company that was having a story +done to order. To this, in any case, must be attached a synopsis. He +therefore writes a very complete, detailed synopsis, preparing it in +the manner which will presently be described. In addition, it is a +very simple matter to write a synopsis of from one hundred and fifty +to two hundred and fifty words, according to the story, and have it +ready in case he finds it advisable to submit to a "two synopses +requested" concern.</p> + +<p>Now, whether the company is or is not one of those that will accept +the author's own continuity as an additional guide for the staff +writer, if it is a concern that asks for a complete, detailed +synopsis, this writer sends in what he has more than once humorously +termed a "camouflaged continuity." He does not, so to speak, send in +the "plot of action"—the full continuity—with the technical +directions and scene numbers left out, but a genuine, +specially-written synopsis, in proper narrative form. However, it is +written <i>directly from</i> his own complete, detailed continuity, and +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> action, though in narrative form, is made to run along exactly as +it does in the continuity. This, it may be said, is almost the same +process which was followed by writers a few years ago, when complete +scripts were first in demand, and which we advocate earlier in the +present chapter. But you must bear in mind that the method here +outlined is used <i>in connection with</i> the writing of a synopsis of +from three thousand to six thousand words, or even more, if really +necessary, as contrasted with the two-hundred-and-fifty-word synopsis +generally demanded a few years ago. Furthermore, the synopsis is +written in such a way that anyone could separate this writer's +sentences and paragraphs by drawing a lead pencil between the lines, +thus dividing it into almost the exact number of scenes, with the same +continuity of action as shown in the scenario. The minor details of +action are omitted, of course, and there are little side remarks +written in, in connection with characterization, etc., which would be +out of place in the scenario.</p> + +<p>As for its mechanical preparation, this synopsis is double spaced, +with a left-hand margin of one and one-half inches. As the story runs +on, many statements are made which give the staff writer an +opportunity to use a leader (sub-title) at that point if he wishes to; +but if in his own scenario the writer whose practice we are quoting +has a number of leaders (frequently ordinary statement, or +before-the-scene, sub-titles, but usually cut-in, or dialogue, +leaders) which he really feels are of special importance, and worded +just right, they go into the synopsis <i>written in red</i>, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> started +in the left margin at "0," with double space both above and below +them. In this way they stand out clearly and give the staff writer or +the sub-title editor (if the firm employs someone to attend to that +special work), a chance to pick them out quickly and decide whether or +not he wishes to retain them. Even more important than the matter of +keeping in the sub-titles after the picture has been produced is that +of directing the action of the players when putting on the picture, so +as to work directly up to the leader that fits into the action at a +certain point. Knowing this fact, the writer gives the director help +in the way just described; what necessary changes are made after the +script has been sold is a matter over which no free-lance writer has +any real control.</p> + +<p>At the end of this chapter is reproduced a <a href="#Page_109">page</a> from one of this same +writer's synopses, illustrating just how far he usually goes in giving +details of the action when writing a complete synopsis, and showing +how the suggested inserts are separated from the narrative of plot. +Let us repeat, however, that not all companies that ask for the +detailed synopsis care to have also the scenario, even as a gift. This +explains the introduction of little bits of detail and certain +suggestions which ordinarily would have no place in the synopsis were +it not that, in order to insure as fully as possible the proper +interpretation of his story, the writer inserts them in this way for +the benefit of both editor and—especially—staff writer.</p> + +<p>The importance of trying to acquaint yourself with the preferences of +the different editors as to the length<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> of the synopsis should be +apparent to any writer—although it is well to remember that editors +change and studio rules change with them. For a feature-story of five +reels or more you may have, say, from six to twelve typed pages—the +length of the synopsis, of course, depending upon the nature of the +story and the action it contains. You must be especially careful to +ascertain the preferences of an editor who reads scripts for a star +such as Douglas Fairbanks, because you know that a story prepared +especially for his use (although not written to order) may not sell +elsewhere if his company rejects it. However, regardless of its +length, the object of the synopsis is to present a clear, interesting +and comprehensive outline of the story—of what is worked out in +action in the scenario, if you send one—and to give editor, staff +writer and director all the help you possibly can without for a moment +making it appear that you are trying to teach them their business. +This does not mean that if you know <i>your</i> business you need hesitate +to send in a scene-plot diagram as your suggestion for a certain +important set, or supply historical or other needed data, or give your +own idea of how best a certain effect can be obtained. All +broad-minded and progressive directors are glad to receive such help. +But do not attempt such suggestions until you have thoroughly mastered +the technique of photoplay writing and have also seen on the screen +many examples of how different effects have been procured in the past. +It is not out of place to say now what is enlarged upon in a chapter +to follow:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> The screen is, after all, the greatest of all schools for +the would-be professional photoplaywright.</p> + +<p>Here are some wise words from Mr. Epes Winthrop Sargent, in <i>The +Moving Picture World</i>:</p> + +<p>"The successful seller of synopses first makes his story interesting, +not through inflated literary style, but through clearness in the +exploitation of idea. He makes his second point through the fullness +of the <i>necessary</i> detail. His third point is made through the +omission of <i>unnecessary detail</i>. His last advantage is that he knows +when to give scenes that are out of the ordinary and leaders that will +be useful to the continuity writer. He undertakes to sell no more than +an idea, and, selling an idea, he does not confound it with history +nor expect the buyer to be a mind reader. That is the great trick in +synopsis writing. Learn what to put in and what to leave out. Learn to +tell what the continuity writer needs, and learn to omit the things +that will suggest themselves to the imagination of any intelligent +plot-handler."</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>6. The Form of the Synopsis</i></span></p> + +<p>An examination of the scripts of some amateur photoplay authors shows +that there is a frequent tendency to misunderstand the form in which +the synopsis should be written. This may be due to the writer's being +impressed with the necessity for not making his synopsis too long. At +any rate, the examples we have in mind are written—the story is +told—exactly as the scenario <i>should</i> be written, only even more +briefly and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> without being subdivided into numbered scenes. Thus, +instead of writing: "Blake conceals himself behind a boulder and, as +Tom is about to pass him, steps out and orders him to throw up his +hands. He compels Tom to surrender his revolver and cartridge belt, +hastening Tom's actions, when he momentarily hesitates, by firing a +shot close to his head;" the writer may say: "Blake sees Tom +approaching up path. Hides behind boulder. As Tom is about to pass +boulder, he is held up by Blake, who makes him strip off gun and +cartridge belt. Tom too slow in actions, so Blake shoots past his +head. Tom drops belt and gun on ground, etc." Obviously, the mistake +consists in not writing the synopsis in narrative form.</p> + +<p>It is well to note another point also. Although some manufacturers in +preparing synopses of their stories for the trade journals write them +in the past tense, it is always advisable to tell your story in the +present tense. In the scenario, you <i>must</i> follow this custom, and in +the synopsis you <i>should</i> do so.</p> + +<p>In adding bits of characterization to your synopsis, and particularly +in pointing out the dramatic incidents of your plot, consider the +value of suggestive words and phrases. Not <i>many</i> words, but words +that suggest pictures, call up whole scenes, tell entire stories, are +needed. And this is particularly true when you are writing to meet the +"synopsis only" demand. Don't over-adjective your synopsis, but such +qualifying words as you use should be vivid, clear and precise. One +specific word outweighs a score of general statements. Consider the +difference between "horse" and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> "broncho;" "house" and "bungalow;" +"woman" and "sour spinster." Be definite.</p> + +<p>A careful examination of any well-written synopsis will convince the +novice that several rewritings are not too many to give to a synopsis +before deciding that it is <i>clear, concise, and interesting</i>. Each of +these points is well worth considering carefully. Interest, no one can +teach you; conciseness may be attained only by cutting out needless +words and <i>studying</i> how to express the utmost in terse language; and +clearness is surely equally worthy of conscientious effort to master. +A first-class rhetoric, like Genung's, or Hill's, will be of great +value in acquiring conciseness and clearness of style, as well as +other good qualities of expression. One point only is there time to +dwell upon here: the lack of clearness arising from the careless use +of personal pronouns. For example, compare the relative clearness in +these two statements:</p> + +<p>"In a moment of excitement, Harley strikes Jim a heavy blow. The whole +thing dazes him, and he scarcely knows what to do. After a few hours, +he determines upon revenge and, after taking his brother into his +confidence, warns him that he will shoot him on sight, etc."</p> + +<p>"In a moment of excitement, Harley strikes Jim a heavy blow. The whole +affair dazes Jim, and he scarcely knows what to do. However, after a +few hours, he determines upon revenge, and, after taking his brother +Ted into his confidence, he warns Harley that he will shoot him on +sight, etc."</p> + +<p>In the following 248-word synopsis, we have a model<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> of clearness, +conciseness, and interesting statement. The same general form, applied +to a longer synopsis, should satisfy any editor. For the second, or +short, synopsis, demanded by certain companies, one of about this +length, and as carefully prepared, would undoubtedly be entirely +acceptable. Add to the conciseness and clearness of this Vitagraph +synopsis the suggested inserts, leaders, etc., already described in +connection with the synopses usually sent out by one of the present +writers, and you have what comes pretty near to being the ideal form +when the wishes of the editor, staff writer and director are all +considered. You will find other synopses in chapters <a href="#CHAPTER_V">V</a> and +<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">XX</a>.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center">A WASTED SACRIFICE</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Produced by the Vitagraph Company</i></p> + +<p>With all his faults, Jack Martin, an Arizona gambler, has one +redeeming quality, a deep love for his motherless child. The baby is +taken sick. Leaving her with Aunt Jane, the Mexican housekeeper, Jack +goes for Doctor Winton, who is also the sheriff. The child dies. +Crazed with grief, Jack gets drunk and shoots the town Marshal. +Leaping astride his horse, he escapes into the desert. Far out on a +sandy plain, he comes across the dead body of a young Apache squaw, +who has been bitten by a rattlesnake. By the side of the lifeless form +he finds a child who has nursed from its mother's breast and imbibed +the poison.<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> Jack thinks of his own child and his heart goes out to +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> little one. Jack has eluded his pursuers and his horse has +dropped from exhaustion. He knows that he is free to escape. He +hesitates, but determines to save the little papoose by doubling back +on his tracks and meeting the posse, of which the doctor-sheriff is +the leader. On rounding a curve in the canyon, he comes upon his +followers, who cover him with their weapons. Holding out the child to +the doctor, he begs him to do something for it. The sheriff examines +it and discovers that it is dead. Jack, with tears in his eyes, stands +ready for his capture, conscious that inasmuch as he did it for one of +God's little ones, he has not done it in vain.</p> + +<p>Mr. Epes Winthrop Sargent has well epitomized some important +principles in synopsis writing when—in <i>The Writer's Monthly</i> for +April, 1918—he says that "the good synopsis:</p> + +<p>"Starts with a 'punch' fact.</p> + +<p>"Tells the story clearly in full detail as to facts, with as few words +as possible.</p> + +<p>"Identifies as fully as possible all the leading characters at their +first introduction.</p> + +<p>"Fully establishes minor personages as they enter the story.</p> + +<p>"Gives <i>all</i> of the facts required by the staff writer in the +construction of a continuity.</p> + +<p>"Presents these facts fluently and interestingly, with some suggestion +of literary charm, but without the use of florid phrase or elaborate +descriptive writing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Presents facts in their logical order, but not necessarily in the +exact order of their happening.</p> + +<p>"Is as brief as is consistent with clearness of statement, but may run +5,000 words or more <span class="smcap">if</span> fewer words will not permit the story +to be clearly told."</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<img src="images/image11.jpg" alt="Paint Frame" width="400" height="306" /> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><b>Paint Frame on Which Scenery is Painted</b></p> + +<p> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><img src="images/image12.jpg" alt="Checking Extras" width="400" height="305" /></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><b>Checking "Extras" Used in Rex Beach's Photodrama, +"The Brand." Produced for Goldwyn at its Culver City Studios</b></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> + +<p> </p> + + + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<img src="images/image13.png" alt="sample script page" width="651" height="854" /></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>THE CAST OF CHARACTERS</h3> + + +<p>The expression "the cast of characters" may be used in any one of +three senses: the list of principal characters as it is thrown on the +screen to serve the purpose of a theatre program; the actual group of +actors used in the production of the photoplay; and the complete cast +of characters as made by the writer for his script. Of course it is +not necessary here to consider each of these three uses of the term, +but it will be quite easy to avoid confusion if we bear the +distinctions in mind.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>1. Showing the Cast on the Screen</i></span></p> + +<p>Introducing the cast of characters as a printed part of the pictured +drama is a comparatively recent improvement in the art of the +photoplay. For many years the picture "fans," as we have come to call +them, were kept in ignorance of the real names of the players who +entertained them on the screen. Then in Great Britain the exhibitors +came to realize that the added interest that would come of having the +various artists known to the public by name would mean an increase in +the box-office receipts, and they began to give out fictitious names +for such favorites as Mary Pickford, Florence Turner, and Mary Fuller. +This opened the eyes of some of the manufacturers to the wisdom of +giving on the films the names of the players as well as the names<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> of +the characters represented by them, and the Edison studio, of which +Mr. Horace G. Plimpton was then manager, was one of the first American +concerns to give the cast of characters in connection with the +pictured story. Leaving aside the wishes of the public, it was an +injustice to the players not to have included the casts sooner, just +as the names of actors and actresses are given in a "legitimate" +theatre program.</p> + +<p>Following the first showing of the casts on the films, different +manufacturers began to see the wisdom, as well as the additional +artistic effect, of showing the name of the author of the photoplay, +and this practice has gradually grown until, today, it is very seldom +that the name of the writer is omitted. There are patrons who feel +that, at the present time, the preliminary announcements on most +films, especially "features," are rather overdone, inasmuch as they +usually give the names of the author of the story, the writer of the +scenario, or continuity, the director, the cameraman, the "art title" +maker, and the supervising producer. However, most writers and actors +feel that the manufacturers are quite welcome to go as far as they +like in this direction, so long as they continue to give the credit +due to those who write and enact the story.</p> + +<p>Undoubtedly, one reason why the manufacturers hesitated about giving +all this information on the film in the days of the single-reel +photoplay was that they had the matter of footage to consider. With an +even thousand feet to a reel, and a reel to a story, no footage could +be spared for preliminary announcements without crowding the +story-part of the film. Today, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> one-, two-, three-, and a few +four-reel pictures, and feature productions of from five reels up, +less attention need be paid to the matter of footage consumed by both +preliminary statements and the regular leaders and inserts, as further +pointed out in <a href="#CHAPTER_XII">Chapter XII</a>.</p> + +<p>Again, today, one company at least—the Essanay, of Chicago—has +broken away from the old rule of making pictures run to one, two, or +more even reels. They decided to let all their photoplays run on until +the story was logically told (with the aid of the printed inserts) and +then to end it, regardless of the length to which it had run. Then, +instead of announcing in the trade-papers that the picture was in so +many reels, or parts, they simply stated that the screen-time of the +picture was so many minutes, or an hour and so many minutes. From +this, the exhibitor may easily reckon the approximate length of the +picture. The important point in this connection is that it would seem +that the foolish old custom of making a picture run to an arbitrary +length, either by padding it out or by cutting it down, regardless of +all reason and logic, will soon be a thing of the past. The harm done +to certain productions in the past by forcing them to adhere to a +certain number of feet—so many even reels—can hardly be estimated. +Imagine stage plays being written to run so many even hours, instead +of ending logically when the story is fully and consistently worked +out!</p> + +<p>At any rate, today, and especially in the case of those concerns which +call for the synopsis only, the free-lance photoplaywright has a much +better opportunity to centre his attention on turning out a good +story,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> without having constantly to keep in mind the matter of how +many reels of film it will take to tell it—which, of course, is as it +should be. Thus, as has just been shown, the gradual breaking of the +restrictions on footage has resulted in proper screen-publicity being +given to the cast.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>2. The Time for Showing the Cast</i></span></p> + +<p>The methods adopted by producing companies in presenting the names of +characters and players on the screen are varied. Indeed, no set rules +are followed. The producer's whole object in each case seems to be +simply to present every cast-announcement of this kind in as striking +and artistic a way as possible. Some companies list the characters at +the very outset—or all the principal characters, at least—with the +names of the players. Others open with a statement-leader, which +gives, so to speak, the "theme" of the story to follow, this leader +being at once followed by the name of the leading male or female +character, sometimes with and sometimes without an additional +descriptive statement. With the particular method followed by the +producer the author is little concerned. His best plan is simply to +make out a complete list of the people in his story, following one of +the forms given later in this chapter. At the present time, nearly +every big concern employs a sub-title editor whose duty it is to +eliminate, alter, or add to the writer's own leaders and inserts, and +this person also "fixes up" to comply with the firm's rule any +additional wording that may be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> attached by the author to the names of +his characters when the cast is made out.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>3. The Number of Characters</i></span></p> + +<p>The "legitimate" dramatist, especially the untried dramatist, must be +very careful to use only as many characters in his play as are +absolutely necessary. Every theatrical manager knows that he is taking +a chance, and a big chance, when producing the work of a new writer. +The writer, also knowing this, and realizing that every additional +character means an addition to the salary list—and therefore to the +manager's risk—wisely uses no more characters in the unfolding of his +plot than he can help. Even when an actor "doubles" two parts, he +expects a proportionately larger salary for so doing.</p> + +<p>In the moving picture studios, on the other hand, the players are paid +by the week, to work, as it were, by the day. The photoplay actor +plays as many different parts as the director finds it necessary to +cast him for. If necessary, in a big production, a director can draw +on any or all of the players making up the stock company, provided he +does not prevent them from playing the parts in another picture then +in course of production, for which they have been previously cast. So +that, so far as salary is concerned, unless certain "types," either +men or women, are specially engaged for a production, the film +manufacturer does not need to worry about how many "principals" are +needed to take part in a picture. He has, of course, to consider the +salaries of the "extra people," or supernumeraries,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> when a picture +calls for their employment. But the principal reason for keeping the +photoplay cast as small as possible is that the fewer the principal +characters the more easily understood is the story. In this respect, +better twenty extras and five principals than twenty principals and +two extras.</p> + +<p>Remember, then, to use as few principal characters as possible in +developing your plot. This does not mean that you may be prodigal in +your use of extras; quite the contrary. But, since extras who are +posing as cowboys, soldiers, guests at a ball, bystanders in a street +scene, or saloon loungers, are easily distinguished from the +principals, it is a matter of small importance how many are used so +long as the scene is full enough to harmonize with the idea. It would +be silly, of course, actually to specify the number of "travellers and +bystanders" used in a scene at a railroad station at train time. The +director will employ as many as he thinks necessary.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>4. How the Director Assigns the Cast</i></span></p> + +<p>It frequently happens that members of the regular stock company are +used to fill in in certain scenes, although they may not be cast in +the picture at all. When, for example, the scene is laid in a +ballroom, or when boxes and orchestra chairs in a theatre are shown, +the director uses as many of the regular company as are +available—knowing that they may be relied upon to sustain the +necessary action, and feeling sure that they will "dress" the scene +suitably. Extras<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> are then drawn upon for as many more people as he +may require.</p> + +<p>A distinction must be made between extras who merely fill in or dress +a scene and those who play a small part, or "bit," in one or more +scenes. In every studio there are men and women who are known as +"regular" extras—people who are on hand every morning and who remain +until they are either told that they can work in a certain picture or +that they will not be required that day. Practically all of these +regular extras are experienced actors and actresses, and most of them +continue to report daily in the hope that, being given a small part to +play, they may in this way attract the attention of the director and +eventually be offered positions in the stock company. Many of the best +known photoplayers in the country today made their start in +moving-picture work in this way after having forsaken the "legitimate" +stage.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>5. Planning the Cast</i></span></p> + +<p>Strictly speaking, it is no longer advisable, nor even possible, to +plan your cast ahead, when writing photoplays, any more than it would +be possible to state exactly in advance how many characters you would +introduce if you were setting out to write a novel. Today more than +ever before the demand is for good <i>stories</i>. Given a good story, a +competent director will do the rest. He will not hesitate to engage +for that production just as many people as may be necessary, whether +they are special "type" players, male or fe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>male, or for "straight" +parts. Your cast, in other words, must inevitably be a result of the +final working out of your story. The one thing you <i>can</i> do in advance +is determine whether you are going to write what is simply a good +story or is a story designed as a vehicle to exploit some particular +"star."</p> + +<p>This latter procedure is always a risky one for the writer to adopt. +The story planned and worked out to fit the talents of a certain star, +especially if designed to feature the very unusual work of such a +player as Douglas Fairbanks, may not sell at all if it fails to sell +to the one for whom it was planned, and the writer's work goes for +naught. By far the wisest plan is to write for certain particular +stars <i>only under contract</i>, or at least to write only stories that +stand a chance of selling elsewhere if rejected by the firm at which +they were first aimed.</p> + +<p>If you <i>are</i> writing "to order" for a certain star, and if you are +reasonably sure that the supporting players are permanent members of +that particular company, you may plan your story so as to give the +director a chance to use all the people at his disposal to the best +advantage, for today, while character-actors are just as busy as ever, +it is the actual "type" that is usually cast for a certain part if +such a man or woman is procurable at all.</p> + +<p>As for whether a certain "small" part is played by an "extra" or by a +regular member of the stock company, you need not worry. The director +will do his best for every part, however small.</p> + +<p>One thing that you should <i>not</i> overlook in making<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> up your list of +characters, we repeat, is to show the director how he may cast his +available people to the best advantage. To do this, you should not +only mention every character, no matter how unimportant, but in the +case of all those characters who do not actually come under the head +of principals in that particular picture, you should give the number +of the scene or scenes in which they appear. This will, in many cases, +enable the director to use some of his people in more than one +character by "doubling" two minor rôles.</p> + +<p>As an example, let us suppose that you have written down your +principals—the ones who will keep the one part through the whole of +the action. You can then write:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Mrs. Brown's maid, in 9 and 11.<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a></p> + +<p>Trained nurse, in 22.</p> + +<p>Policeman, in 15.</p> + +<p>Blind beggar, in 27.</p> + +<p>Colored porter, in 28.</p></div> + +<p>Here are five minor characters, and yet, if the director desired, he +could use only two people to play all five parts. Mrs. Brown's maid in +9 and 11 could easily change to a trained nurse for 22. The actor +playing the policeman in 15 could just as easily make up as a blind +beggar for 27; and he would then be able to change again and go on as +a colored porter in 28, the next scene.</p> + +<p>A point that many who are not familiar with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> inner workings of the +studios do not realize is that although Scene 10, let us say, is +"done" on one day, Scene 11 may not be taken until the following day, +or even a week later. It frequently happens that one set is allowed to +stand for several days, on account of "re-takes" that have been found +necessary, or because a director has difficulty in obtaining a certain +lighting effect. In such cases certain players are required to play +the same part over and over again, even though between the "re-takes" +they may "work" for other directors in the same studio.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>6. Actual Work on the Cast</i></span></p> + +<p>You will probably find that the best and easiest way to prepare your +cast of characters is to keep a rough list of all the people who take +part in the action, as you write the scenario. Because, of course, +although the cast of characters is the second division of the script, +it should have its final preparation after the scenario has been +completed, for the same reason that the synopsis is also finally +prepared when the scenario has been finished.</p> + +<p>Keep a sheet of paper beside you as you write your scenario. First put +down the names of all your <i>principal</i> characters so as to have them +before your eyes as you write. Then as you work out your scenario, +scene after scene, set down every character introduced; for example, +if you use a doctor, who merely pays one visit to a patient appearing +in only one scene, set down the following on your memorandum sheet:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Doctor, in 2.</p></div> + +<p>and so on. At the time you write Scene 2 you may think that that <i>is</i> +the only one in which you will use the doctor; later on, perhaps as +you are giving the action of Scene 16, you may find that you have +occasion to introduce a doctor again. Unless Scene 16 is supposed to +be located in another part of the country, the chances are that you +might just as well bring in the same physician again, and you then +simply make it</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Doctor, in 2 and 16.</p></div> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>7. Naming the Characters</i></span></p> + +<p>Of course it is unnecessary to give a name to <i>everyone</i> appearing in +a picture. The cast of characters is made up of the names only of +those whose work in the photoplay materially advances the action in +some way or another. On the "legitimate" stage any character who has +even a "line" to say may be said to have a "speaking part." Only these +are supposed to be in the cast proper. Similarly, in the photoplay no +one whose work in the picture is not in some way necessary to the +working out of the plot need be given a name. In the same way that you +would write "Doctor, in 2 and 16," or "Policeman, in 8," write</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Guests at ball, in 13.</p> + +<p>Stock brokers and clerks, in 22.</p> + +<p>Clubmen, in 27.</p></div> + +<p>The following is quoted from Mr. Epes Winthrop Sargent's weekly +department, "The Photoplaywright," in <i>The Moving Picture World</i>. He +says all that could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> be said upon a subject that is of the greatest +importance, no matter on what division of the photoplay script you are +at work—the necessity for simplifying everything so as to make it +quickly and easily understood by editor and director alike:</p> + +<p>"When you start to write a play decide what you are going to call your +characters, and adhere to your decision. If you have a character named +Robert Wilson, do not indiscriminately call him Bob, Robert, and +Wilson. Decide on one of the three and use that one invariably. If +your character travels under an alias, being known as Montgomery in +society, and Jimmy the Rat in the underworld, do not call him +Montgomery in the society scenes and The Rat when he gets among his +proper associates. Call him Montgomery straight through, and the first +time he changes from Jekyll to Hyde tell the audience, in a leader, +that he is known as the Rat; but in the plot of action hold to +Montgomery, because you started with that and do not want to confuse +the director. The editor is going to read in a hurry the first time +through, and he cannot continually consult the cast to identify your +constant changes in cognomens.</p> + +<p>"Be careful in selecting your names. Do not let them sound too much +alike, or confusion will arise. Often a story will be sent back that +might be regarded more carefully were the characters more individually +named, and perhaps fewer of them named. Too many names are apt to be +confounded with each other. Names too much alike or not possessed of +individual sound are apt to be confusing. In either case your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> story +is not readily understood on a first reading and never passes to a +second perusal. Take pains with your literary baptisms."</p> + +<p>It seems scarcely necessary to point out that it is both easier and +better to call the young people by whatever Christian name you decide +to give them and to refer to their elders by their last name. You can +say Freeman or Mr. Freeman, when speaking of Jess's father, but do not +say that Tom and Miss Freeman are discovered by her father making +love. Simply say Tom and Jess. If Jess's father is a farmer or a +miner, it may seem more natural to say Freeman, or Jess's father. If +he is a banker or a stock broker, you may choose to speak of him as +Mr. Freeman. The most important thing is to make the name, as clearly +as possible, suggest the age, rank, and general characteristics of the +person to whom it is given.</p> + +<p>A good deal has been written concerning the advisability of using only +short and simple names for most characters in the photoplay. Others +have advised photoplay authors to try to discover unhackneyed names +for their characters. There are, of course, hundreds of short and +appropriate "first" names for people of different nationalities; the +trouble, especially with amateur writers, is that such names as Tom, +Jack, Jim, and Charley, and May, Mary, Grace, Ethel, and Kate, are +used over and over again, and without any regard to the surname which +follows them. Simple and common names <i>are</i> desirable, so long as they +really fit the characters who bear them. John and Tom and Mary and +Kate are names that will be used<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> over and over again, both in fiction +and in photoplay. But unusual names are desirable too, provided they +fit the characters. The work of an amateur writer can almost always be +told by the names he gives his characters.</p> + +<p>In the writing of photoplays, where the author has no description to +rely on to explain who and what his characters are, there is especial +need of names that will help to indicate the social status of his +different characters. In real life, a bank president is as likely to +be a Casey or a Smith as he is to be a Rutherford or a Pendleton, but +the chances are that, when given to a great banker, either of the last +two names would make a greater impression on "popular" spectators. +Again, certain names instantly make us think of villainy, while others +as plainly tell us that the owner of the name is an honest man. The +authors of the "good old" melodramas used exaggerated names that today +would probably be laughed at. "Jack Manly" and "Desmond Dangerfield" +would hardly "get by" in modern drama or in present-day picture plays; +but the idea of appropriateness that was responsible for such names +being used is what is needed by photoplaywrights who desire to name +their characters convincingly. Percy certainly does not suggest a +prizefighter, any more than Miriam portrays a cook.</p> + +<p>By all means keep a special notebook in which to jot down new and +unusual names to fit characters of every nationality and of every +station in life, <i>but try to get names that are short and easily +pronounced</i>. Very few photoplaywrights adhere to only one line of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +writing. A clever and ambitious writer may "do" a story of city life +this week, and one with the scenes laid in Mexico the next. You can +get plenty of names for your "down East" story, but will you be able +to find eight or ten really appropriate names for your photoplay of +life in "Little Italy" or the Ghetto? The following methods of +obtaining suitable names—especially surnames—for characters have +been found very helpful:</p> + +<p>1. If you live in a city, cover the different foreign quarters +thoroughly and note in your book names of every nationality that +strike your fancy.</p> + +<p>2. If the public library in your town gets French, Italian, or other +foreign papers (all great city libraries do, of course), go over them +and get similar lists of foreign names. You can never tell when a +typical Russian surname, or an Italian Christian name, may be wanted +for one of your stories. This will prevent your calling a Spaniard +"Pietro" or an Italian "Pedro."</p> + +<p>3. Buy an old or a second-hand city directory. An out-of-date New York +or Chicago directory contains names enough, of all nationalities, both +Christian names and surnames, to last you a life-time and will cost +you little. But directories are not <i>absolutely</i> trustworthy after +all.</p> + +<p>4. When reading novels and short-stories, copy any names that +particularly strike you. Use only the first or the last name in every +case, of course, and do the same when selecting names from the +directory or from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> signs in the street. You would not name your hero +Richard Mansfield, nor his uncle John Wanamaker, but you might wish to +call the uncle Richard Wanamaker and make John Mansfield the hero.</p> + +<p>5. Select from regular theatre programs names that please you, but +transpose the first and last names as recommended above. If you choose +a French Christian name from one of Henri Bernstein's plays, do not +take the surname of another character <i>in the same cast</i> to go with +it. Rather take it from another French play, or from a French story in +a magazine.</p> + +<p>You do not wish to find, when the time does come for your cast of +characters to be thrown upon the screen, that the director has found +it necessary to change half of your names. Make them so good and so +appropriate that there will be absolutely no excuse for altering them.</p> + +<p>One thing to be remembered, however, is that the picture spectators of +today have been gradually educated up to expecting and approving many +things which the spectators of a few years ago would have looked upon +as too "highbrow." This is due in no small degree to the many screen +adaptations of literary classics and fictional successes generally +which have been made, as well as to the large number of stage plays +that have been transferred to the screen, for, of course, the authors, +publishers and dramatic producers have always stipulated that the +casts be kept as they originally were made out—except that +occasionally certain characters who in the stage-production of a +certain play were merely spoken about and described<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> have been, in the +photoplay form, actually introduced, and thus added to the cast. But +the point is that there is no longer the frantic striving to keep +everything as "short and simple as possible" that once existed, and +this applies to everything in the nature of inserts quite as much as +to the names used for characters in the picture. Little by little +"art" in motion picture production is becoming a reality instead of +being merely a high-sounding word used occasionally by the +press-agents.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>8. Describing the Characters</i></span></p> + +<p>Since there is no restriction placed upon the way in which a cast of +characters is made out, the writer may choose between the simple +statement-form, when giving the names of his characters, and that in +which the appearance and dominant traits of the character are set +forth. You can say:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Silas Gregory, a miser,</p></div> + +<p>or you can draw a picture of the man himself in the very way you +describe him, thus:</p> + +<p>Silas Gregory, an extremely wealthy and eccentric miser; a bachelor +and a man who both by his appearance and his nature repels the +friendship of his fellow men; inclined to practice petty cruelty on +children and animals; suspicious of and seeming to hate everybody +except his old body-servant, Daniels, to whom he is strangely +attached.</p> + +<p>While the foregoing is a rather long description of a character to be +included as part of the cast-outline,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> and while some of the points in +connection with Gregory's nature could be more forcibly demonstrated +by having him <i>do</i> little things in the action that would make them +apparent, the point is that you are supplying these items of +information for the benefit of the editor and the director, and that, +as must be apparent, the fuller their understanding of your meaning in +everything you write, the better will be their interpretation and +production of your story.</p> + +<p>It is very important to keep this point constantly in mind. Seldom is +it today that the cast appears on the screen exactly as prepared by +the author. Almost all the big companies at the present time are given +to long sub-titles, and to lengthy statements in connection with the +introduction of the principal characters. Many readers will see the +similarity between the second of the foregoing descriptions of the old +miser and the printed statement, in connection with a similar +character, shown in the Triangle and Paramount pictures written by C. +Gardner Sullivan, as well as in many others. The statement on the film +which introduces a principal character, today, is much more in the +nature of an actual leader than it is a mere announcement of the names +of the character and the player. Thus, in Universal's feature +production of "The Kaiser," the heroic blacksmith of Louvain was +introduced in this way:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Marcas, the blacksmith of Louvain, was a mighty man. This +man, Marcas, lived in faith and love and friendship, and, by +the sweat of his brow, had won peace and happiness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> + +<p>MARCAS......................ELMO LINCOLN</p></div> + +<p>In writing out your cast, give your most important characters first. +Try, also, to simplify it and eliminate unnecessary words, first +writing the name of a principal character and then giving the others +in the order of their relationship, as:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Charles Waldron, a wealthy rancher.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Waldron, his wife.</p> + +<p>Bessie, his eldest daughter.</p> + +<p>Jean, his youngest daughter.</p> + +<p>Dick, his son.</p> + +<p>Graydon, Waldron's foreman.</p></div> + +<p>This will save words and show at a glance just how the other five +characters are related to or connected with Charles Waldron.</p> + +<p>Make it a rule to write your cast on the last sheet of your synopsis +<i>if you have plenty of room left after finishing the synopsis</i>. +Otherwise, use a separate sheet. Don't crowd the two divisions as if +you were trying to economize paper. In the cast proper, give the names +or occupations of every character whose work in the action really +helps to advance the action of the play. Also name the scenes in which +appear the various characters—other than the principals, who are +likely to dominate nearly every scene.</p> + +<p>The first two sample casts which follow do not give the +characteristics of the different people concerned in the plot. They +are simply reproduced as examples of photoplay casts which have been +printed in the manu<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>facturers' bulletins and other advertising matter, +after the photoplay itself had been produced and was ready for +release. The third and full cast is altered, so as not to be +recognizable, from a photoplay which has not yet been produced. This +last of the three forms is the one we recommend you to follow.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"> +PIERRE OF THE NORTH</p> +<p style="text-align: center">by</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Elmer N. Wells</i></p> +<p> +Pierre, a French Canadian trapper.......<br /> +Baptiste, his brother...................<br /> +Duncan McLain, a trapper................<br /> +Mary McKenzie, the factor's daughter....<br /> +John McKenzie, the factor...............<br /> +Mail Carrier............................<br /> +Half Breed..............................<br /> +</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Produced by the Selig Polyscope Company</i></p> + +<p> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center">THE OLD MUSICIAN</p> +<p style="text-align: center">by</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>W.A. Tremayne</i></p> + +<p>François Vian, an old musician<br /> +Pierre le Noir, his neighbor<br /> +Oscar Muhlbach, a German spy<br /> +Bertha le Noir, Pierre's sister<br /> +General of the German army<br /> +Infantry officer<br /> +Gendarme<br /> +</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span><i>Produced by the Vitagraph Company of America</i></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center">THE SOPHOMORE'S SURPRISE</p> + +<p style="text-align: center">by</p> + +<p style="text-align: center">X Y Z</p> + +<table border="0" summary="cast" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse"> + <tbody> + <tr> + <td>TED CARSON<br /> + <br /> + </td> + <td>President of the Freshman class at<br /> + College; twenty, blonde, bright,<br /> + athletic, full of gay spirits.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>FAY NORTON<br /> + </td> + <td>The college co-ed beauty, inclined<br /> + to love Ted, who loves her.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>NITA CARSON<br /> + </td> + <td>Ted's twin sister; a freshman<br /> + co-ed, in love with Hal Coates.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>HAL COATES<br /> + <br /> + <br /> + </td> + <td>President of the Sophomore class;<br /> + twenty-four, dark; athletic rival of<br /> + Ted, whom he looks down upon.<br /> + A college leader; lover of Nita.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>DAN WILLIS<br /> + </td> + <td>Ted's chum; a slim and mischievous<br /> + Freshman.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>"BUCK" SLAGLE</td> + <td>Hal's chum; an unprincipled Sophomore.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>DEAN HALL</td> + <td>A nervous professor; comedy character.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>POLICEMAN</td> + <td>In 16, 17 and 18.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>STUDENTS</td> + <td>Throughout.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>WAITERS</td> + <td>In 16, 17 and 18.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>CO-EDS</td> + <td>In 4, 6, 7, 10, 13 and 17.</td> + </tr> + </tbody> + </table> + +<p> </p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>THE SCENARIO OR CONTINUITY</h3> + + +<p>The first step in the preparation of the scenario—or continuity of +scenes—is not a step at all—it is a state of mind: the mood of +visualization.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>1. The Picture Eye</i></span></p> + +<p>No matter how easy it may be for you to write a clear, brief and +interesting synopsis of your story, nor how successful you may be in +drawing up your cast of characters, you will fail in producing the +right kind of scenario to accompany them until you acquire or +cultivate the picturing eye. To possess it is simply to be able to +visualize your story as you write it—yes, even before you write it. +You must not only write that "Hal Murdoch steals his employer's +letter-book so as to find out some important facts," but you must +yourself first <i>see</i> him do it, just as you expect to see it on the +screen. On the regular stage, the "business" of the actors—important +as it is—is nevertheless of secondary consideration; dialogue comes +first. On the photoplay stage it is just the reverse—at all times it +is action that is of primary importance. It is what your characters do +that counts. Leaders, letters, and other inserts help to make clear +what you are trying to convey to the audience, but for a proper +understanding and interpretation of your plot the spectators depend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +upon what they see the characters do; so how can you expect the +editor, the producer, or the spectator, to "see" your plot +understandingly unless you yourself are able to visualize every scene +and incident distinctly as you are putting your thoughts on paper? +This is what Mr. C.B. Hoadley has to say on this subject, quoted from +<i>The Photoplay Author</i>, now <i>The Writer's Monthly</i>:</p> + +<p>"Suppose you have a story that has all the requirements for an +acceptable motion-picture play. You seat yourself to write it, chock +full of enthusiasm and faith in the idea, and in the exuberance of +your spirits you see visions of a substantial check. Very well. But +have you a visualization of the story? Can you close your eyes and see +it on the screen? Or will you 'get stuck' about the tenth scene when +it appears to be running smoothly, and then finish along the lines of +least resistance, mentally concluding that the plot is so excellent +that the editor or director will finish the work you have so +enthusiastically planned? This happens to about fifty per cent of the +authors."</p> + +<p>Mr. Phil. Lang, former editor of the Kalem Company, offered this +sensible advice in reply to a question as to whether his company could +use psychological scripts. We quote from <i>The Moving Picture World</i>:</p> + +<p>"The successful photoplaywright is the one who has developed the +'picture eye.' If you will visualize each scene of this scenario, +abandoning the 'psychology' which inspired it, you can readily +determine how it will appear to the picture patron. The psychology of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +an action or the development of an act in the photoplay is only +psychology when the natural pantomime and business make it clear to +the spectator. By the process of visualizing you can readily determine +if your play offers anything different from others of the same +character which have been done."</p> + +<p>Strive, then, to cultivate this ability to see your scenes in action, +remembering that it is the thing of all things most calculated to help +you in writing a clear-cut, logical, and interesting scenario of your +plot. What you cannot clearly visualize is not worth writing.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>2. Identifying the Characters Early</i></span></p> + +<p>There is nothing more annoying to the spectator or more calculated to +insure the widespread condemnation of your photoplay after it has been +produced than to fail in establishing the identity of all your +principal characters early in the action. The basic relationship of +each character to the others should be made clear just as soon as +possible after each makes his first appearance in the picture, if, +indeed, it is not made clear just before his appearance by the +introduction of an explanatory insert.</p> + +<p>We urge this clear identification of characters so that your +spectators may be saved the annoyance of needless speculation, and be +able to yield to the play their instant attention and sympathetic +interest. Furthermore, this course will enable you to tell your story +and develop your plot with much greater ease, since the onlookers, +understanding who everybody is, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> how they are disposed towards +each other, will grasp the points of the plot more quickly. Remember +that the motives actuating the different characters are virtually sure +to be the very foundations of a photoplay plot.</p> + +<p>Almost everyone has sat half through a photoplay which was perfect in +all other respects, but far from pleasing because it left the +spectators guessing for minutes as to "who's who."</p> + +<p>"Keep your first characters on the screen, even though in different +scenes, long enough to get everyone familiar with them and their +environment in the story before introducing a new and unexpected phase +in the tale. To fail in this is faulty construction."<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a></p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>3. Prompt Beginning of the Action</i></span></p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> the +opening—make the wheels of the plot actually commence to revolve in +the first scene—<i>plunge</i> 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 dashing 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.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>4. Sequence in the Action</i></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>To be sure, this does not mean, as we explained in the +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">chapter on +Plot</a>, 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 <i>is</i> the +progressive, logical development of the story in good climacteric +style.</p> + +<p>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."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> 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.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>5. The Interest of Suspense</i></span></p> + +<p>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 <i>not</i> knowing what is coming next.</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>Naturally, this requires careful planning. About twenty years ago, one +of the high-class 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 embarrassed by +<i>his</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> 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 +<i>The Dramatic Mirror</i>: "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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>6. Action May Be Too Rapid</i></span></p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> 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 <i>suggest</i> 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.</p> + +<p>Imagination is the writer's greatest asset, 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.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>7. Centralizing the Interest</i></span></p> + +<p>It is almost impossible to produce a really effective photoplay +without centering the attention of the spectator on one of the +principal characters and holding it there until the end. Even when the +principal char<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>acters 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 shifting interest. In such a play as "Romeo and +Juliet," many would find it difficult to determine which of the two +principal 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 "principal." 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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> 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 shifted 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 shifted interest.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Use as few principals 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 principals, and especially the <i>two</i> principals who +make possible nine-tenths of all the stories written.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>8. Managing Changes of Scene</i></span></p> + +<p>In preparing the scenario it is important to remember that if a leader +is introduced <i>before</i> 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 <i>original</i> 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:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>14—Sheriff's office, same as 5—</p></div> + +<p>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 <a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Chapter VI</a> 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 space between the +number and the description of the scene. Bridge this space 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.</p> + +<p>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:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>But now suppose that when the fireman starts up the ladder the +cameraman "follows him"—tilts his camera so that the result is a +"shifting 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, constitutes 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 aëroplane leaving the ground and rising in its +flight, a band of horsemen 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 direc<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>tion to the director to obtain the +effect in this way but writes them in as two scenes.</p> + +<p>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 <i>abrupt</i> shifting from one +locality to another that constitutes a "change of scene" in the +photoplay.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>8—Library, same as 2.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Tom looks on floor, fails to find locket, and then goes into +one room after another searching for it.</p></div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>It is quite as incorrect to divide into two or more parts the action +of what should be one scene, as already<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> explained, as it is to try to +make one scene out of two or more by running them together in the way +illustrated 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:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Scene 4. John comes out of the store, walks down the street +for a couple of blocks, and enters the bank on the corner.</p></div> + +<p>That much action would be written about as follows:</p> + +<p>1—Exterior of store.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>John comes out of store and walks down street, out of +picture.</p></div> + +<p>2—Street.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Enter John. Passes down street and out of picture.</p></div> + +<p>3—Exterior of bank on street corner.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>John comes down street, approaches bank, and enters.</p></div> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>nothing</i> 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 <i>omit nothing</i> that will tend to produce +the same result.</p> + +<p>Going back to the example just given, we would point out that we +purposely introduced into it an example of what <i>not</i> to do. Scene 3 +is described as the "exterior of bank <i>on street corner</i>." 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>This point will bear repeating: A scene is so much of the entire +action as is taken in one place without stopping the camera; in its +photoplay sense, <i>scene</i> never refers to the action between certain +players, nor does a new scene commence when another character enters +upon a scene already in course of action.</p> + +<p>It is a mistake, in working out the scenario, to keep the action in +the same setting too long at a time. Frequent changes of scene are +advisable. In his article in <i>The Photoplay Author</i> for March, 1913, +Mr. C.B. Hoadley tells of a script written by a well-known actress who +is also the author of several successful "legitimate" dramas. Having +appeared in a notable picture drama, she determined to take up +photoplay writing herself. Her first effort—a comedy drama—was +returned. The lady was highly indignant; yet the reason for the +rejection of her script becomes apparent when it is known that the +entire action of her story occurred in a hotel corridor and in a room +in the same hostelry. Only nineteen scenes were used,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> and of these, +eighteen were to be played in the one room without a break in the +settings. Imagine the monotony of such a production, even on the +regular stage!</p> + +<p>But while it is best to have a frequent change of scene, it is also a +mistake to risk confusing the spectator by changing often from one +scene to another far removed from the first, especially without the +use of some explanatory insert.</p> + +<p>In connection with the error of some amateur writers referred to on +<a href="#Page_146">page 146</a>, of making what is (or would be, if their script was worked +out as planned by them) actually one scene when they intend it to be +two, it may be said that this is one of the commonest and most amusing +errors of beginners. The mistake lies simply in their failure to +observe the rule of <i>always separating two different scenes in the +same set or location by interposing a scene in a different setting, or +by introducing a leader</i>. If this rule is not observed, the +result—even though it goes no farther than the amateur script—is +decidedly funny. To illustrate, take the following example:</p> + +<p>23—Bedroom, same as 12—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Thorn, still looking through contents of bureau drawer, +stops, listens, indicates that he hears someone coming down +hall, and then, closing drawer, crosses to the window again +and makes his escape.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> + +<p>24—Bedroom, same as 12—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Tom is sitting at the table opening the letters laid there +by the landlady. He opens one, etc., etc.</p></div> + +<p>A glance at the foregoing will show that, if produced as written, the +result on the screen would be a continuous scene in the bedroom +setting. Thorn would be seen making his exit by way of the window, and +then <i>instantly</i> there would be Tom sitting at the table, opening his +mail! There would be lacking the logical action of his coming into the +room, crossing to the table, and sitting down. The whole effect would +be much the same as in those "fairy" plays produced several years ago, +where "stop camera" work was resorted to to obtain the effect of a +supernatural being suddenly appearing on the scene, greatly to the +astonishment of the mere mortals present.</p> + +<p>Introduce a scene showing Thorn just landing on the ground after +sliding down a rain-water pipe from the roof of the veranda, or even +insert a leader between the two scenes as now written, and the mind of +the spectator is prepared for almost anything that he may find to be +going on in that room when he sees it again. But too much care cannot +be taken to guard against everything that may make for jerky or +illogical action of this kind. The merciless scissors of a careless +operator in the picture theatre may remove three or four inches of the +film at a certain point, with the result that a character leaving one +side of the room and starting to go out by the door on the other side +may be made to cross the room at a bound, causing a surprised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> laugh +at a very serious moment of your play. Do not approximate this +ludicrous effect by writing your scenes as illustrated in the +foregoing example.</p> + +<p>Still another laughable error of the novice is to introduce into a +scene certain action which could not be properly registered in mere +pantomime. We lately examined an amateur script in which the following +appeared as part of the action between a girl and a man in a farm +location:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>so (Mary) tells the stranger that her father is over in the +next field, milking the cow. He starts to, etc.</p></div> + +<p>Now, whether or not the spectator in the theatre were shown a previous +scene in which Father actually milked a cow, the pantomime of Mary, in +trying to make plain without the aid of a cut-in leader the fact that +she was telling the man what her father was doing, would be extremely +ludicrous, to say the least. You must give thought to every bit of +action you write, remembering that it is of no use to say that +so-and-so happens if the action described will not register clearly in +pantomime. Here again experience will teach you what to put in and +what to leave out.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>9. The "Cut-Back"</i></span></p> + +<p>Readers of the boys' story papers published a few years ago will +remember how at the end of one chapter the hero would be left hanging +by a slender vine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> over a yawning chasm, "one thousand feet deep." The +next chapter, instead of continuing the logical sequence of action and +explaining how he was rescued—or rescued himself—would begin: "Let +us now return to Captain Barlow and Professor Whipple, whom we left +facing the band of dwarfs at the mouth of the cave, etc." These +stories exemplified practically the same technique as is employed +today by photoplaywrights who use what has become known as the +"cut-back," sometimes referred to as the "flash-back."</p> + +<p>Mr. D.W. Griffith is commonly credited with having "invented" this +technical device, which is simply a frequent switching from one scene +to another, and then back again to the first, in order to heighten +interest by maintaining the suspense. Its use has been well +illustrated by Mr. C.B. Hoadley, who cites a play in which the +contrasting pictures of "a gambler seated at cards with convivial +companions, and his wife at home in a scantily furnished room keeping +vigil at the bedside of their sick child," are flashed back and forth +in such a manner as to keep the contrast before the spectators while +yet developing the drama effectively.</p> + +<p>Another good example of the use of the cut-back was shown in an old +Biograph subject, "Three Friends." One of three friends who have sworn +never to separate falls in love with a young woman of the village and +marries her. A second of the trio is enraged to think that his friend +has broken up the triangle; the third, of better nature, is merely +very much disappointed. As a result of breaking up the trio, the two +bachelors leave the factory to go to an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>other town. A baby is born to +the young married couple, and they are very happy for a time. Then the +second friend, Jim, comes back to his old shop to take the position of +foreman. As the result of a quarrel between him and the young husband, +the latter is discharged. From that time on things go badly with the +young couple, and soon bad is followed by worse. When they are on the +verge of starvation, and the husband has returned home after a +fruitless search for work, the wife goes out to try to beg a bottle of +milk. While she is away, the husband, thoroughly disheartened, +resolves to ask her to die with him, confident that neighbors will +care for the child. She returns home empty handed, and, though at +first shocked and horrified by his proposal, finally consents. Just as +the husband covers his wife's eyes with his hand and raises the +pistol, the two friends of former days burst into the room. One of the +husband's shop-mates has told the third friend of how "Jim fired +him"—as a leader tells us—and the reproaches of the third friend +have been instrumental in bringing about a feeling of remorse in the +heart of the foreman. The two hurry together to the little home, +arriving just in time to prevent the tragedy.</p> + +<p>All through this picture the cut-back is used most effectively. Early +in the action, supposedly a day or two after the young man had met his +future wife, we are shown the two other men waiting for him at the +saloon, the three glasses of beer standing untouched upon the table. +The scene then switches to the young man and the girl out walking, +gazing from a bridge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> into the river. Back to the saloon again, and we +see the two friends looking at their watches, about to leave, the +third glass still standing untouched. Then, back to another pretty +exterior, where the young man proposes and is accepted. Toward the +climax, the use of the cut-back becomes even more effective: we see +the wife go out to get the milk; the two friends at the same old table +in the saloon; the husband bending over the child, taking out the +revolver, and indicating what is in his mind to do; then the scene in +the saloon, where the fourth man tells the kind-hearted friend how the +foreman has discharged his former comrade; back in the house again, we +see the man and the woman prepared to die together; then the exterior +of the saloon, with the two friends coming out; another home scene +leading up to the expected tragedy; the two friends hurrying down a +street—and even though they are hurrying, we know that they are +unaware of what is going on in the house which is their destination, +and we are fearful lest they may arrive too late; the man with his +hand held over the eyes of his wife, the revolver being slowly raised; +the two friends at the gate of the cottage; and then the climax as +they enter the room just in time to avert the tragedy. Thus the +cut-back effect kept suspense and interest at highest pitch every +moment.</p> + +<p>Some years ago the same company released a drama, "The Cord of Life," +in which the cut-back was used so effectively to heighten the suspense +and add to the thrill that many people in the audience of the theatre +were leaning forward in their seats and making ex<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>cited comments—the +supreme test of a picture "with a punch."</p> + +<p>One caution is necessary in the use of the cut-back—<i>do not use it as +an excuse to digress</i>. Above everything else, when you have started +the ball of your plot rolling, keep it rolling <i>forward</i>. You must not +switch back to some earlier scene for the purpose of picking up a +point that you have overlooked. Nor is it possible to go back and +follow the characters who have been temporarily dispensed with. If +they reappear, it must be in a scene which naturally follows, and does +not come with a sense of perplexing surprise. Remember this: When +characters are reintroduced they must not have been too long absent +from the plot-movement, but they must have been all the time +consciously or subconsciously present in the mind of the spectator <i>as +being essentially in the story</i>.</p> + +<p>Unfriendly critics of the photoplay—and there are some such—have +said some harsh things about "the mugging close-up and the +nerve-wracking cut-backs," nor have their criticisms been wholly +without point and justification. But only, of course, when these +technical devices are abused by over-use. Mr. Sargent has pointed out +that the close-up of the silent drama is only another form of the +spot-light used on the regular stage, and, similarly, the cut-back +finds its duplicate in the "off-stage" sound-effects of the regular +drama. Instead of the "galloping horse" effects of the legitimate +stage, we get on the screen the actual scene of the horseman dashing +ahead. But anything overdone is bad, and cut-backs and other similar +devices are no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> exception to this rule. Not only is our attention +called to the fact that the writer or director is working a certain +technical trick to death, but in following the story its working out +is spoiled for us as a result of the very thing used with the +intention of heightening our interest.</p> + +<p>"Even Griffith, in his big production, 'Hearts of the World,' taxes +suspense too far at one point," says Mr. Sargent. "So clever a +trickster as he (and, like Belasco, he is more the artistic trickster +than the artist) has failed to realize that suspense, carried too far, +becomes first tiresome and then amusing. This applies most directly to +the single situation, but it is almost equally applicable to a +situation strong in itself, but which is depended upon to yield +suspense out of proportion to its value."</p> + +<p>And, since Mr. Griffith's main suspense-producer has always been his +self-invented cut-back device, the error of over-using this technical +trick is made even more apparent by what this critic points out. Here +again a careful study of the methods of several different leading +directors is your best guide.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>10. How Various Kinds of Inserts Are Used</i></span></p> + +<p>The use of leaders, letters, and other inserts needs some treatment in +connection with the scenario. The ordinary statement-leader, such as +"Two years later. Bob returns to his old home," is used before the +scene to which it applies. It shows the spectator the passage of time, +and explains what is about to follow. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> ordinary, before-the-scene, +leader, is frequently employed to make such a statement as, "Tom +accuses his brother of having forged the check." But the other way of +telling the audience what Tom does is the use of the cut-in leader—of +which more later. This enables us to read Tom's own words—the +distinguishing mark of the cut-in.</p> + +<p>This very effective form of the leader takes its name from the fact +that it cuts in, or is inserted into, the midst of a scene. That the +cut-in leader may tell all that is necessary much better than could a +long statement of what is going on is evident because the direct words +of a character are more effective than the same ideas expressed in the +third person.</p> + +<p>Another consideration is that using the cut-in and omitting the leader +before the scene makes it possible to start the scene with action that +does not at first disclose Tom's intention. Then when the proper +moment arrives, the cut-in leader is flashed on the screen, and the +result is that, instead of the spectator's anticipating what is about +to happen, he is likely to be as much taken by surprise as is the +guilty brother.</p> + +<p>After introducing the cut-in leader, write <i>Back to scene</i>, the same +as after an inserted letter, telegram, newspaper item, or the like.</p> + +<p>In what follows we give examples of proper scenario form, as well as +examples of the way in which the leader, cut-in leader, letter, bust, +and mask are used.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><img src="images/image14.jpg" alt="Lubin Studio stage" width="400" height="305" /></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><b>View of Stage, Lubin Studio, Los Angeles, California</b></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><img src="images/image15.jpg" alt="Wardrobe Room" width="400" height="309" /></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><b>Wardrobe Room in a Photoplay Studio</b></p> + +<p> </p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + + + +<p><i>Leader</i>—TOM DISCOVERS HIS BROTHER'S CRIME</p> + +<p>9—Maxwell's library, same as 4—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Tom enters, followed by Ralph. Tom goes straight to desk, +opens it, and takes out envelope. From it he takes Ralph's +letter and the check. Glances over letter again, Ralph +standing by, watching him with nervous expression.</p></div> + +<p><i>On screen, letter.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Dear Blakely:</p> + +<p>I send you enclosed my father's check to cover amount of my +debt to you. Kindly send receipt to me at old address.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right">Yours,</p> + +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Ralph Maxwell</span>.</p></div> + +<p><i>Back to scene</i>.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Tom lays letter on desk and picks up check, looking at it +closely. Suddenly starts, frowns, glances at Ralph, and then +looks intently at check again. Opens drawer of desk and +takes out reading-glass. Holding check in left hand, he +examines it closely through the glass.</p></div> + +<p>10—Bust of Tom's left hand holding check, right hand grasping glass, +focusing the glass upon the name signed to the check. This shows that +the name has been written in a very shaky hand.</p> + +<p>11—Back to 9—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Tom lays reading-glass on desk, looks at his brother +accusingly, and then thrusts check close to his face.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Leader</i>—"RALPH, YOU FORGED THIS CHECK!"</p> + +<p><i>Back to scene</i>.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Ralph looks at Tom despairingly, his face betraying his +guilt. Tom hangs head in shame, at thought of his brother's +crime.</p></div> + +<p>12—Hallway, showing door of library—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Wilkins, the butler, kneeling before library door, his eye +glued to key-hole.</p></div> + +<p>13—Portion of library, same as 4, seen through key-hole—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Ralph is explaining to Tom how he came to owe Blakely the +money, etc.</p></div> + + +<p>Now let us take up the different points just as they have been +introduced in the foregoing example, and briefly explain each.</p> + +<p>The leader is shown, first of all, simply as an example of an ordinary +before-the-scene leader. In writing a scenario such as the one of +which this might be a part, if you introduced the cut-in leader in +Scene 11, there would be no necessity for giving also the ordinary +bald statement-leader before Scene 9. The fact that "Tom discovers his +brother's crime" is made plainer by Tom's own spoken words, in Scene +11, than an ordinary leader before the first scene in the library (in +this example) could make it. In the middle of this scene (9) Tom reads +his brother's unsent letter, and you write "On screen, letter," +following this note to the director with the letter itself. After the +letter you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> write "Back to scene," showing that the scene in the +library is not ended and that the action which is broken by the +flashing on the screen of the letter is continued just as soon as Tom +lays the letter down—that is, as soon as it disappears from the +screen.</p> + +<p>The "bust" comes next, but since we wish to compare the bust with +another technical device, the "close-up," let us pass it by in detail +for the moment. But you must remember, when introducing a bust, that +it is a separate scene, and must, therefore, be given a separate and +distinct scene-number. The bust breaks the scene in the library as Tom +scrutinizes the check through the reading-glass. The letter previously +shown also broke the scene, or interrupted the action; but the bust, +being considered as a separate scene, is given a scene-number—10.</p> + +<p>After the bust (10), Scene 11 takes us back to the library; but we do +not follow the scene-number (11) with "Maxwell's library, same as 4" +(4, as the example shows, was the number of the first scene played in +the library). Instead, we write "11—Back to 9," which shows that the +action in the library is picked up and continued from the point where +it ended (on the screen) when the bust picture was flashed.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>11. Masks</i></span></p> + +<p>After Tom has openly accused his brother of forgery, as shown by the +cut-in leader, the scene changes to the hallway outside the library +door. We see Wilkins, the butler, who is implicated in the plot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +against Ralph, kneeling and peering into the room through the +key-hole. This is a very short scene, but it is necessary to show two +things: not only that the brothers are being spied upon, for we are +not interested in merely watching the butler kneeling there, but it is +important for us to see <i>what</i> he is watching so intently—the action +in the library. So, after we have shown the spy kneeling outside the +door, the scene is shifted back to the continuation of the interview +between Tom and Ralph. This time, however, we see it on the screen in +a way that merely <i>suggests</i> the butler kneeling outside the closed +door. On the screen appears a large key-hole, and within its limits +the scene between the brothers is acted.</p> + +<p>The effect thus produced is termed a "mask." Ordinarily the lens of a +moving picture camera is masked by a metal plate, rectangular in +shape, one inch wide by three-quarters of an inch high. The use of +this mask prevents the light from spreading up or down the film as it +is being exposed. As explained in <a href="#CHAPTER_III">Chapter III</a>, each of the sixteen +tiny pictures that make up a foot of film is termed a "frame," and, +the camera being masked as described, the light is permitted to act +upon only one frame at a time. But within this limit of one inch by +three-quarters of an inch another mask may be used, cut in any form +that the producer may desire. It may be a key-hole mask, as in the +foregoing example; it may be simply circular, to suggest that the +scene is viewed through a telescope; or a mask with hair-line bars, +which will suggest that you are looking through a window. We examined +a script<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> a short while ago in which a travelling salesman for an +optical goods house amused himself in the interval before train time +by watching through a pair of binoculars the street below and the +buildings opposite his hotel window. The scene enacted in an office of +a building not far away led him to believe that a murder was being +committed, and the action which followed was extremely funny. The +scene in the office, watched by the "drummer" through the binoculars, +appeared on the screen as though viewed through a large and very round +figure eight, lying on its side, thus: +<img src="images/image25.jpg" alt="figure eight" width="35" height="20" /></p> + +<p>The four just mentioned are the commonest forms of the mask; but we +have seen masks cut in the shape of oak leaves, bottles, and other +forms, though these latter were used merely to obtain novel effects.</p> + +<p>The mask may be used as an inserted scene—as we have here chiefly +considered it—or it may serve as a sort of excuse for the entire +action of the photoplay, as in the case of the commercial traveller +and his binoculars, and add effectiveness by its novelty of +presentation.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>12. The Bust and the Close-up</i></span></p> + +<p>In former usage, the term "bust" was employed to describe any enlarged +view, as a watch, a face, a hand turning a door knob. Now the term has +been given a less wide range and has been superseded in its broadest +meaning by another technical expression—the "close-up."</p> + +<p>The bust now means any enlarged <i>object</i>, such as a hand holding a +watch, a box of cigars on a table with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> a note pinned to a cigar, or +any object shown close to the camera, <i>where no action is called for</i>.</p> + +<p>If Maud comes into a room and sees her sister staring at the window +sill, crosses to the sister's side and stares also, it is natural that +we wonder what it is that causes the consternation. The camera is +manifestly too far away to show unmistakably what Maud picks up—say, +a broken-off knife-point. Suppose that it is part of the plot to have +the spectator also grasp the fact that there is a dark stain on the +knife-point. We must get it closer. So we write the scene up to the +point where Maud holds up the object, then we start another scene and +say:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>43—Bust of Maud's hand holding knife-point to show +blood-stain in shape of rude star.</p></div> + +<p>There is no action. The hand simply holds the object. A scene of this +kind is usually taken before a black curtain or in front of some such +indeterminate background. Later, this bust scene is inserted into the +film at the proper point. A point worthy of notice is that bust scenes +are always taken, and close-up scenes are <i>nearly</i> always taken, +either before or (usually) after the scenes into which they break have +been done. If the plot demands that a certain character examine his +watch at a certain point, and if the spectator is supposed to see +exactly what time the watch shows, the director is not going to stop +his camera, bring the camera nearer to the player or the player nearer +to the camera, as his method may be, make the bust pic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>ture, and then +resume the taking of the "wide-angle," or full-size-stage, scene. Much +time can be saved by making the <i>different kinds</i> of scenes +separately. This explains why every scene and every kind of scene in +the entire scenario <i>must</i> be given a separate scene-number. The +scenes in a photoplay may be likened to a cut-up picture puzzle, each +part of which must be properly assembled and inserted in its proper +place to make a complete, understandable picture.</p> + +<p>As has already been said, the bust picture in photoplay is like the +spot-light in the regular theatre. It centres the spectator's +attention on a certain object and holds it there until the important +object is fully observed by the watcher. It "not only magnifies the +objects, but it draws particular attention to them. Many points may be +cleared in a five-foot bust picture which would require twenty to +thirty feet of leader to explain, and the bust picture always +interests. Sometimes in a newspaper illustration a circle surrounds +some point of interest, or a cross marks where the body was +discovered. The bust picture serves the same purpose, and answers, as +well, for the descriptive caption that appears under a cut."<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a></p> + +<p>Bear in mind, then, that the introduction of a bust scene makes the +succeeding portion of the action in that setting <i>another scene</i>, with +its own consecutive number.</p> + +<p>In the past few years, the number of scenes to the reel has been +almost doubled, in most studios; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> this is due to the increased use +of the close-up. The bust and the close-up are entirely separate in +their utility and effect, yet, properly used, each has been found a +valuable addition to the technical devices of photoplay construction. +It is now frequently the practice of many directors to bring the +camera nearer to a certain character, or group of characters, at some +important point of the action for the sake of emphasizing facial +expression or certain bits of "business" that are vitally essential to +a proper understanding of the plot.</p> + +<p>This may be accomplished in three different ways—the method employed +always depending upon the nature of the scene as well as of <i>the +setting or location</i>. First, if the surroundings of the character at +that stage of the action are important as having something to do with +the "business" being carried out—if, for example, it is necessary to +show, at close range, the actions of two characters who are seated at +a table—the director has the camera moved down toward them, and that +particular close-up, or series of close-ups, is taken usually, as has +been said, after all the wide-angle scenes in that setting have been +"done," for the obvious purpose of rendering unnecessary the frequent +shifting of the camera.</p> + +<p>If, on the other hand, the director merely wishes to emphasize at +certain points in any scene the facial expression of his players, as +affected by the humorous, startling, or other emotional "business" +incidental to the plot at that point, and if the surroundings of the +character or characters may be indeterminate without detracting from +the value of the scene, the player or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> players may be brought <i>nearer +to the camera</i>, and the close-up may even be made with the subjects +posed against a plain, dark background. This method of obtaining the +close-up is frequently resorted to, and, it may be said, is not always +truly "artistic," if seriously considered, inasmuch as it tends to +detach the character from the surroundings of the scene, and make the +result more than ever in the nature of a figure in the spot-light. We +have seen many pictures, particularly those with female "stars" +featured—as, for example, the Mary Pickford pictures—in which the +action of a scene would be broken several times, and the head of the +pretty "star" shown photographed against a plain, very dark +background.</p> + +<p>The third method used in the studios is one which actually changes a +wide-angle view into a close-up without breaking or interrupting the +action in the slightest degree. This is accomplished by mounting the +camera on a specially built platform on wheels—on a truck—which as a +rule is operated on wooden tracks previously prepared to suit the +action taking place in that set or location. Take for example the +Babylonian setting (the principal Babylonian setting, that is) in the +D.W. Griffith production, "Intolerance." When this scene is first +thrown on the screen we see an immense open court, surrounded by +banquet halls and long corridors, with walls reaching up to tremendous +heights, the walls themselves banked with huge figures of heathen gods +and images and great elephants, compared to which the human figures +participating in the scene are mere pygmies. At the back of this +enormous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> setting is a flight of steps, perhaps a hundred feet or more +in width, upon which are probably a hundred girls going through the +graceful motions of a religious dance. We are permitted, for several +feet of film, to view the immensity and the grandeur of ancient +Babylon in this wide-angle view. Then, smoothly and steadily, we +approach the back of the set—the great flight of steps, with the +dancing figures. Hundreds of details of architecture and sculpturing +are unfolded as we draw nearer, and when the truck suddenly stops, we +have a close-up of part of the steps with the dancing girls just +finishing their performance.</p> + +<p>The point is, simply, that if a mere close-up of a certain character +or group of characters is all that is desired, either of the two +methods first explained is used. But if the director has an unusually +beautiful and imposing setting which he wishes to show off, the moving +truck, with the constantly turning camera, gives him exactly what he +wants to show. Close-ups of this type may be likened to the more +frequently used panoramic scenes—"panorams"—obtained in open-air +work by mounting the camera on a train, an automobile, or some other +moving vehicle. Another point is that the ordinary close-up, produced +as first described, is the one most used because it does away with the +footage consumed in the gradual-approach method.</p> + +<p>Suppose, now (following up the previous example of the use of the +bust), that having shown Maud's hand holding up the broken-off point +of what she believes to be her brother's knife, we go back to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +wide-angle view of the room and show the two sisters together, and +Maud casting the knife-point from her in horror. Let us imagine that +they are supposed to suspect some other character—their brother, in +fact—of having used the knife of which this is a part, to commit some +crime. This character now comes into the room. We want to register +certain expressions and, what is equally important, we want to isolate +one character's expression from that of another, so that the eye and +mind of the spectator will not be confused by the wide range of vision +employed in the full—or wide-angle—scene. We show the brother as he +comes into the room and stops, seeing the eyes of the two girls fixed +upon him. How shall we isolate him? Not by the use of the bust, for +the bust is now employed only to give a close view of an <i>inanimate +object</i>. We use the close-up, and we write the scenes thus:</p> + + +<p>42—Living room, same as 15.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Maud comes in to find Ethel staring at an object lying on +the window sill. She crosses and stares down at it also, +then, with a shudder, picks up—the knife-point!</p></div> + +<p>43—Bust of Maud's hand holding knife-point to show blood-stain in +shape of rude star.</p> + +<p>44—Back to wide-angle of room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Maud flings the knife-point from her in horror, then turns +to Ethel and clings to her. Both look towards door as Frank +enters. He advances a pace or two, sees them, and stops, +aghast.</p></div> + +<p>45—Close-up of Frank. His eyes suddenly drop, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> sees the object +lying on the floor, and, slowly, his hands go up over his eyes.</p> + +<p>46—Close-up of Maud and Ethel. Maud slowly turns to her sister with a +question in her eyes—"Is he guilty?"—and bows her head, then looks +up quickly and fixes her gaze on Frank.</p> + +<p>47—Close-up of Frank. With agony in his eyes, the boy protests his +innocence. Suddenly he pauses, realizing that he is not making an +impression.</p> + +<p>48—Back to wide-angle of room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Both sisters are staring at Frank. Maud's look is one of +unmistakable accusation. She looks down at the floor. Frank +follows her gaze. Maud stoops, picks up the knife-point, and +holds it out towards him. He slowly advances and takes it +from her. He knows what they expect—what they demand! +Slowly, hesitatingly, he draws a pocket knife out of his +pocket. The sisters come closer, drawn magnetically by the +horrible thing they fear to see—the meeting of the knife +and the broken point.</p></div> + +<p>49—Close-up of Frank. A very close view to show him slowly opening +the knife, the point of which is broken off. The other hand puts the +bloodstained point to the broken blade. They match! They fit +absolutely!</p> + +<p>50—Back to wide-angle of room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>With an anguished face the boy cries:</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader</i>—"I DIDN'T!—OH! WON'T YOU BELIEVE ME?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Back to scene</i>.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>He sees a hardening of Maud's face. Silently his hands +unclench; the knife-point falls to the table. Then, with an +access of fear, he closes his knife, thrusts it into his +pocket, and rushes wildly out, while the two girls merely +stare after him, too horror-stricken to move, to follow.</p></div> + + +<p>The foregoing is a good example of how "straight" action, all in one +uninterrupted wide-angle scene, would not be half so convincing, +dramatic or suspense-holding as the broken-up series of scenes, all in +the same setting, all in the one situation. Incidentally, Scene 49 +shows very clearly the distinction between the bust and the close-up. +This is a very close view of the boy's hands, but it cannot be called +a bust because of the fact that it is an action scene. The close-up +compares with the bust in much the same way that any painting with +supposedly human, moving figures compares with those pictures which +come under the "still life" classification.</p> + +<p>This illustration of the use of the bust and the close-up is taken +from an actual script, prepared by one of the Vitagraph Company's +staff writers. It will be noticed that the "description" of the scene +following the bust scene is "44—Back to wide-angle of room," instead +of "44—Back to 42," which it would have been had this Vitagraph +writer followed the same rules of technique as were used by the writer +of the script from which the example on <a href="#Page_159">page 159</a> was taken. The +Vitagraph writer follows the same rule in writing the description of +close-up scenes, also.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> Either form is correct, and it is optional +which you use. There are certain technical terms as well as methods of +writing for which there are no hard and fast rules, and this accounts +for the fact that some writers will say "leader" when others use the +term "sub-title," and so on.<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a></p> + +<p>Shortly before one of the present writers was appointed scenario +editor for the Edison Company, Mr. Bannister Merwin, who for several +years was one of Edison's chief contributing writers, gave up his work +in this country and went to England to live. He is now active in the +British film world and also a director—or "producer," as Mr. Merwin +still calls it—for one of the largest English motion picture +manufacturers. The present writer found that Mr. Merwin's work had +left a considerable impression upon the methods of work of the various +Edison directors, and, indeed, he has always been regarded as one of +the leading authorities on photoplay technique. The three paragraphs +which follow are taken from a letter written by Mr. Merwin to Mr. Epes +Winthrop Sargent, and published in <i>The Moving Picture World</i>. Several +important points in connection with the scenario are briefly but +interestingly discussed. In connection with what we have just been +discussing—the close-up—it may be said that, as Mr. Merwin himself +says, all writers make use of the close-up at certain points of +different scenes; but what this author-director says<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> in addition may +be taken as another warning against the <i>over-use</i> of this effective +technical device:</p> + +<p>"My present notion of the best construction for long feature stories +follows somewhat the lines of the stage play. The line of climactic +development should be a series of ascending waves. After each crisis +or climax there should be a slight lull. And the first few hundred +feet, like the first ten minutes of a play, should be devoted to +getting your audience acquainted with your characters and their +relationships. To place a very important action in the first few +hundred feet before the audience knows who the characters are or what +they are to one another tends to create confusion. People will later +say, 'Oh, was <i>he</i> the one who did that?' Of course the characters +must do things in these first few hundred feet, but they should be +things that express their characters interestingly rather than things +that have important significance in the plot development. Perhaps I +put the point a little too strongly, for there are always exceptions, +but you will know what I mean.</p> + +<p>"The thing is to look at one's own work from the viewpoint of the +audience, and continually ask one's self such questions as, 'Is it +clear? Can I follow it without confusion of mind? Does it constantly +keep my interest stimulated?'</p> + +<p>"Now the question of breaking one's scenes with close-ups and varied +shots from different angles. Of course, we all do this in preparing +our scripts. But lately I have wondered whether it would not be better +to leave the breaking up of the scene to the producer,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> except in very +obvious cases. You see, I am now speaking as a producer as well as a +writer. The value of the close-up almost always is governed in +practice by floor conditions. I mean by this several things. For one +thing, if the cast is not the ideal cast you have had in mind when +writing the play the character you have set down for a close-up may +not be able to express what it is essential to express in that +particular close-up. The producer must then find some other means of +punctuating the situation. For another thing, no producer is likely to +build a set and handle his people in it in exactly the way you have +conceived. For that matter, no two producers are likely to handle the +set and the characters in the same way. It follows that very often the +producer can secure a natural close-up in the course of the action +where you have called for a special close-up scene. And on the other +hand the producer may find that he needs a special close-up scene at a +point where your conception of the movements of the characters has not +made it appear necessary. Anyhow, the close-up is an interpretation. +If, as I hold, the producer is an interpreter, would it not be better +to leave this matter of close-ups to him, and write your scene +straight, with emphasis on the points that should be brought out most +strongly? I don't say that this surmise is right; I merely am +wondering. In any event, we do not want to see the close-up overdone. +We don't want too much of the Griffith staccato. It leads to what a +certain friend of mine once called Tom Lawson's method of +muck-raking—'The method of universal emphasis.'"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is interesting to note in the first paragraph of the quotation from +Mr. Merwin's letter that he advocates giving, in most pictures, "the +first few hundred feet" to a proper introduction of the characters and +to laying the foundation, as it were, for the story proper. This is in +marked contrast to the method of a few years ago, when one-reel +pictures were the rule, and when very little footage could be spared +for such introductory scenes. Today, with very much longer pictures, +there is no excuse for any writer's ever feeling himself cramped for +room in which to make clear everything that the spectator ought to +know in connection with his characters and his plot.</p> + +<p>Finally, in connection with the <i>story</i>, as written by you, and the +<i>picture</i>, as put on by the director, we again quote Mr. Sargent:</p> + +<p>"If you <i>need</i> a close-up, write it in, numbering it as a separate +scene. If you do not need a close-up, don't write one in, even though +you see innumerable close-ups used. Let the director make these as his +fancy or judgment may dictate. He can see just where and how the use +of the close-up can help the <i>pictorial</i> quality of the picture. You +are apt to concern yourself only with the narrative value of the +close-up, employing it only where it is necessary in order to get the +<i>story</i> over clearly. You cannot possibly imagine the scene exactly as +it will be set up or played, therefore you cannot tell where and how +<i>pictorial</i> close-ups or other effects will be useful. Leave that to +the director and he will handle the numbering according to his special +system. Number <i>your own</i> close-ups,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> because they are separate scenes +even though they are in reality a part of other scenes."</p> + +<p>What this critic means by the director's "special system" of handling +the numbering of close-ups that he may decide to use after the story +has been placed in his hands is simply that such added close-ups will +be inserted into the working script in this manner (40 and 41 being +your original scene numbering):</p> + +<p> +40—(a) Henderson steps forward to give his prisoner<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">a better view of his face.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(b) Close-up of Trask and Henderson. In the</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">stronger light, Trask recognizes his old enemy</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">and his face is convulsed with hate.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(c) Henderson steps back, laughs, and holds out</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">the handcuffs, etc.</span><br /> +<br /> +41—This scene as originally written.<br /> +</p> + +<p>It will be seen that the action contained in (b) is the inserted +close-up action. In what remains (c) we get the end of the scene as +written by the author.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>13. Visions, Memories, Dreams, and Other Devices</i></span></p> + +<p>We have already referred to the old method of obtaining certain +effects in so-called fairy-tale pictures by "stop-camera" work, or by +simply stopping the character at a certain point just prior to the +scheduled appearance of some supernatural visitant, having the other +characters hold their positions while the witch or the fairy character +walks into the scene and takes her proper position in it, and then +starting the camera<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> again, the result on the screen being that the +supernatural figure stands, in the fraction of a second, where nothing +of the kind appeared before. Today, stop-camera work is used very +seldom—as a rule only to obtain ludicrously sudden and unexpected +effects in certain types of "slap-stick" comedy. A far more artistic +effect, when it is desired to introduce visitors from other worlds, is +obtained by "superimposure," or by taking the picture twice, as it +were. On the first "take" the characters go through the business +already rehearsed, and the director keeps careful track of just when +each important move is made by counting while the cameraman turns the +crank. If, at the count of "Eleven!" one character registers surprise +and points excitedly at an unoccupied corner of the room, it is the +first step in introducing the fairy, or the spectre, who is to appear +there in the picture as shown on the screen. After the scene has been +gone through with, following this rule, the film is run through the +camera a second time, the "stage" being empty of players up to the +count of "Eleven!" at which point the unearthly-visitor character is +brought into the scene at the proper place in the setting, either +appearing quite suddenly or being more gradually dissolved in, +different studios having different methods of accomplishing this. The +point is that visions of this kind are obviously written into the +scene proper, just as you would introduce any new character. If it is +a ghostly visitor of some kind, you simply say: "Harding looks in +horror (at whatever point of the room or location you desire). Vision +of Blake, standing quite still and pointing an accusing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> finger at +Harding." Or, if Tom is in the city and has reason to believe that +Frank, back on the farm, is taking advantage of his friend's absence +to win his sweetheart away from him, write the scene down to the point +where Tom straightens up in his office chair and stares (perhaps +directly into the camera) with a worried expression, and then say: +"Vision-in portion of the apple orchard, with Frank making love to +Mary as they stand beneath one of the trees."</p> + +<p>Everyone who has attended the motion picture theatres has seen dozens +of examples of "visions," produced in one or another manner, and it +should be easy to distinguish between "visions" and "thoughts" or +"memories." The latter <i>may</i> be introduced as part of another scene +just as the vision (using the word in the sense of "apparition" or +"supernatural visitant") is introduced; but it must be borne in mind +that the photoplay spectators have in the past few years been +gradually educated up to a rather perfect comprehension of what +results different technical devices produce—even if they do not quite +understand the technical why and wherefore; and for this reason it is +best when writing action in which the characters are supposed to show +what they are thinking about or describing to use the fade-out and +fade-in device, as the meaning of this is now very clearly understood. +The spectators are quite used to seeing the picture fade out, or "go +black" at the end of certain scenes, just as they are familiar with +the use of it at the actual end of the photoplay. Apart from these two +uses, they have come to associate the fade-out with the thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> of +the immediate introduction of a "memory," either related to others or +silently indulged in, or a mere thought, or, if the character is seen +going to sleep, of a "dream."</p> + +<p>If the fade-out is used, it means three scenes instead of one, of +course, because following the introduction of the "memory," or +whatever it may be, you return to the scene proper, just as you go +back to the wide-angle view after using a bust or a close-up scene. +They would be numbered, for example, 17, 18 and 19, and you would +write the action as follows:</p> + +<p>17—Library, same as 6.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Fenton continues to make love to Beverly, presently ending +what he is saying with an impassioned plea to fly with him +at once. For just a moment she seems on the point of +yielding; then she starts back and shows that she is +thinking of what it would mean. (Fade out into—)</p></div> + +<p>18—Bedroom, same as 8.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Dean, lying in bed, wakes up and calls out, as if calling to +his wife. Then he falls back again on the pillow, exhausted. +(Fade back to—)</p></div> + +<p>19—Back to 17.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Fenton reaches out to grasp Beverly's hand, but she draws +quickly back and urges him to stop pleading with her, at the +same time crossing etc.</p></div> + +<p>If you are using the "dissolve" or "interpose" (see definitions in +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">Chapter III</a>) you introduce the device in the same way as above; but +bear in mind that the dissolve is somewhat harder to accomplish than +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> fade, and, again, while it merges one scene into another in an +artistically beautiful manner, it is not so readily recognized by the +spectator as an announcement, so to speak, of what is to follow.</p> + +<p>The diaphragm (in or out), as the definition in <a href="#CHAPTER_III">Chapter III</a> states, is +used to indicate a lapse of time in the action of a story without +using a leader. Also, in scenes between which there is supposed to be +only a very brief interval, but which nevertheless call for a definite +break of thought, the diaphragm is resorted to. Some directors will +say "Circle out!" that being the effect on the screen—the oblong +picture changing to a circle, which gradually becomes smaller and +smaller until the diaphragm of the camera is entirely closed and the +film "goes black." The reverse of this, of course, is called +"diaphragming in."</p> + +<p>As several critics have pointed out, the fade and the diaphragm should +never be used to denote synchronized action. Action occurring in two +places at practically the same moment should be cut one into the +other, for this is the primary function of the cut-back. At no time +should the diaphragm be used in this connection, either as a means of +fading out or to reduce the field, for this robs the action of any +suggestion of immediate change. Here the use of cutting back is +imperative, and no other device should be substituted.</p> + +<p>As has been indicated, photoplay terminology is, even yet, only in +process of formation. The terms given and defined in <a href="#CHAPTER_III">Chapter III</a> are +the terms in common daily use in the majority of studios, but there +is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> no ancient precedent to compel any writer to adhere to any of +these terms if he is in the habit of using others. There is too great +a disposition on the part of amateur writers to split hairs over the +correct technical term. A matter of far more importance is to turn out +a good story.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>14. Camera Tricks and Special Effects</i></span></p> + +<p>With the way most trick-effects are produced in the studio the average +writer need be little concerned except as a matter of interest.<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> +The object of discussing them here is to show how certain plots, or +parts of plots, are made possible as a result of knowing how these +things <i>may</i> be accomplished, whereas without this knowledge the +writer with a good idea might fear to include it in his story in the +belief that it was impossible of production. It may be remarked that +what is said here has a bearing on <a href="#CHAPTER_XV">Chapter XV</a>, in which is discussed +the matter of expense in picture production. Some of the very +companies who a few years ago were warning the beginning writer +against introducing action that would necessitate too great an outlay +of money are today producing features seemingly regardless of expense. +Yet most concerns are really exercising a wise economy and getting +some wonderful results with cleverly planned trick-camera work.</p> + +<p>For example, in one episode of the Wharton serial, "The Eagle's Eye," +the German conspirators in New<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> York, seeking to injure the cause of +the Allies and lay the blame on the American 'longshoremen at the same +time, arrange to have a train of freight cars, crossing on barges from +Manhattan to Jersey, dumped into the North River by removing the means +by which they are held in place on the tracks of the barge and +"letting 'em slide." The effect on the screen is wonderfully like what +a long-range photograph of such an actual event would show. All that +was needed to produce the scene was a tank of water with a miniature +barge pushed along by a tiny tug-boat, the latter steaming up very +realistically. When the toy barge and tug-boat were right in the +middle of the "stage," three or four toy freight cars were allowed to +slide off into the water. Above the tank, as a background, was hung +some white or light colored cloth, making everything from the +waterline up a white blank. Against this blank was superimposed, by +running the film through the camera twice, a picture of the New York +sky-line as seen from the Jersey shore. The unruffled surface of the +water in the tank—so unlike the wavy North River—was almost the only +thing to show certain of the spectators that the scene was not the +real thing. In another episode of the same serial, after the German +spies have caused an Allied grain ship to be loaded on one side only, +so that she will turn turtle as soon as released from her moorings, +another very realistic scene shows the ship actually turning over, as +much as the comparative narrowness of the slip will let her, after +they have cut the ropes holding her to the dock. Here, again, a model +vessel in a built-up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> miniature slip supplied the means of obtaining a +startlingly realistic effect. The scene lasted only a few seconds, so +that little opportunity was given the spectator to see how it was +worked, but the effect of the brief scene was very convincing.</p> + +<p>In scores of feature productions models or miniatures of various kinds +have been resorted to to obtain startling or novel effects, and have +saved the outlay of thousands of dollars in the production of certain +pictures. Double photography, or superimposure, is a ready ally when +the director wants to get an effect showing a specially arranged +fictitious scene played against a real and frequently well-known +background, as in the North River scene just described. In the same +picture, "The Eagle's Eye," the Whartons, who produced it, displayed a +new feature in photography—a genuine photographic device rather than +a trick—in what they described as "the triple iris"—three diaphragms +opening at once and disclosing the heads of Boy-Ed, Von Papen and Dr. +Albert, and then fading and showing a scene in which these three +characters were seen grouped in conversation.</p> + +<p>Another effect which might, perhaps, be classed as a trick was used in +the Mary Pickford feature, "Amarilly of Clothes-line Alley." It was in +reality merely a clever scene intended to take the place of a leader, +while being also an improvement on a leader because of the fact that +to almost everyone in the audience it instantly "put over" the idea +back of the action at that point of the story. At the time that +Amarilly's good-hearted but socially impossible mother, with her +little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> brothers and sisters, are being entertained by the rich +hostess who desires to shame the little girl from the tenements in the +eyes of her son, there is flashed on the screen, against a dark +background, an empty glass gold-fish bowl with the fish themselves +wriggling and gasping on the table beside it. The idea of "fish out of +water" was very apparent to the spectators. Later, when the +tenement-bred family had returned to their humble home, another +picture showed the gold-fish contentedly swimming about in a +well-filled bowl. It is such an effect as this that any clever writer +might think of suggesting in his scenario, and it is legitimate in +every way—far more so, in fact, than some of the tricks of +diaphragming and fading so frequently made use of by certain +directors.</p> + +<p>A startlingly novel effect was shown some time ago in the Vitagraph +Company's production of Arthur Stringer's story, "Mortmain." Just as +Mortmain was put under ether the scene proper faded out, giving place +to a dull blur in which the faces of the doctor and his attendants +were brought right up to the lens of the camera and then withdrawn for +several feet, the action being extremely rapid, and being repeated +several times, by means of the camera mounted on a truck, as already +described. This was accompanied by another dark-background strip of +film, across—or rather down—which shot fiery streaks, like the tails +of discharging sky-rockets. The whole effect of anæsthesia was vividly +reproduced, and the effect on the audience was most marked. The idea +of what Mortmain experienced in his last conscious moments "got<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +across" in no uncertain way. Especially startling and realistic—to +those who have been there—was the effect of the patient's feeling +himself dropping, dropping, dropping through space into—oblivion.</p> + +<p>It is extremely unlikely that this work will be made use of by anyone +who has not visited the picture theatres often enough to have seen ten +times as many camera tricks, special effects, and examples of the use +of different technical devices as are herein described. But if you +<i>are</i> taking up photoplay writing without having seen many photoplays +on the screen, you are but half equipped, notwithstanding all the help +you may receive through text-books and trade-journal articles. In +other words, we urge upon you the wisdom of keeping in mind that the +real finishing school for screen writers is the picture theatre +itself.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>15. Dual-Character Double Exposures</i></span></p> + +<p>Undoubtedly, the gradual perfecting of the double exposure +(superimposure) device in motion-picture making has made possible the +screening of innumerable good stories which would otherwise have been +almost impossible of production. When only a few years ago the +Vitagraph Company made their very creditable production of Charles +Dickens's "A Tale of Two Cities," the two leading male characters, +Sidney Carton and Charles Darnley, were played by two different +actors—the final action of the plot turning on the fact that these +two were "doubles," for this fact makes possible Sidney Carton's +supreme sacrifice for his friend and the woman he loves. There was a +fairly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> close facial resemblance between the two actors who played +these parts—enough, with the aid of the wigs they wore and other +make-up, to make the picture convincing. Today, no director would +think of putting on such a picture with two different actors in the +dual rôles of Carton and Darnley. When, in 1917, the Dickens classic +was released as a William Fox feature, William Farnum played both +rôles, and some really remarkable results were obtained in scenes +where both characters were present at the same time. Almost everyone +has seen pictures containing examples of the possibilities offered by +double exposure in making pictures of this nature.</p> + +<p>In the first place, when two characters are supposed to be "doubles," +it is certainly more convincing to have one player portray both rôles. +Again, any additional trouble that is attached to making pictures of +this kind, on account of the double exposures involved, is confined to +those scenes in which both characters are present in the scene at the +same time, and even then the difficulty is minimized by the use of +close-ups.</p> + +<p>For example, to show Carton in one scene where Darnley is not present +is simply to take an ordinary scene in an ordinary way. Then, suppose +you wish to show Carton seated in a chair at one side of the room +while Darnley leaning against the table at the other side of the room +talks with him. In pictures of this kind the director frequently uses +more close-ups than usual merely to avoid the necessity of making +double exposures, in connection with which the greatest trouble is +always the keeping track—by counting, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> instance—of the moves of +the two different characters. But it is a much easier matter for the +dual-rôle actor, made up as Carton, to be photographed singly in one +part of the room as he goes through with the action of one or more +scenes, after which, dressed as Darnley, he goes through the +synchronized action of that character. Synchronization—or harmony of +movement in time—of course demands that the action of both characters +be properly matched—to use a common and easily understood term—but +it will be seen that when the spectator watches only one character at +a time there is not the need for the <i>perfect</i> synchronization of +action that is always demanded of the wide-angle double-exposure +scene, in which one man, playing two different characters, must face +himself and keep the action natural and convincing at all times.</p> + +<p>Very few things in the development of motion picture art have advanced +so noticeably as this trick of portraying dual characters on the +screen by means of double exposure of the film. Theoretically, it is +extremely simple. There is a middle—or at any rate an +arbitrary—dividing line to the stage. A mask being placed over +one-half of the camera lens, the film is run through and the action of +Carton in a certain scene in which he is supposed to face Darnley is +taken. Careful track is kept of just what important moves he makes at +different stages of the count. Later, after he is made up as Darnley, +the first half of the lens is masked in the same way as before, while +the second half is exposed and the action of Darnley is gone through +with, with the gestures and other action prop<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>erly timed to +synchronize with the action of his "double"—and that is all there is +to do. But the skill of the director is tested in his timing of the +moves of the characters, just as his knowledge of lighting and +backgrounds is tested so as to avoid showing the line where the two +differently exposed parts of the film join. Then, too, certain +directors have, of late, procured some "double" effects which well +deserve to be called wonderful, as when in a certain William Fox film +the two different characters, played by the one woman, are made to +meet and kiss each other most naturally.</p> + +<p>To repeat, double exposure (to use the simplest term for this camera +trick) has made possible the writing of many stories for the screen +which a few years ago would have been rejected because of the +inability of the company to procure two people similar enough in +appearance successfully to portray the "doubles." No author with a +really fine idea for a dual-character story need hesitate to offer it +to the film companies today. But there is still enough additional +trouble attached to the production of this kind of story to justify +the editors in rejecting everything but the very best in the way of +plots.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>16. Features</i></span></p> + +<p>The most surprising thing, when one looks back and considers the +single-reel stories of a few years ago, is that a complete, logically +told story could ever have been produced in one thousand feet of film, +part of which was consumed by sub-titles and inserts. Of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> course, the +sub-titles and inserts <i>helped</i> to tell the story in those days, just +as they do now, but even so, the comparatively small amount of footage +allowed to each picture seems even less than it actually was in the +light of the five- to eight-thousand feet and more to which we expect +feature pictures to run today.</p> + +<p>The fact remains, however, that for several years one-reel pictures +were the rule; and a still more important fact, considered from the +standpoint of the writer, is that many—a great many—of the stories +that were then confined to one thousand feet of film were far better +<i>stories</i>, if not quite so pleasing as <i>pictures</i>, than many that are +now being put out in lengths of five-thousand feet or more and labeled +as features.</p> + +<p>The reason is clear; there simply could not be a clearer or more +undeniable reason: When a story had to be told in one thousand +feet—perhaps a few feet less than that, but never a foot more—it had +to be <i>all story</i>, all meat. "Padding" was a thing quite unknown in +1909. The wonder was that so much story could be crowded into so few +feet of film. Good as was the Famous Players five-reel production of +Dumas' "Monte Cristo"—judged by the standards of the year in which it +was released—a great many people who saw it were struck by the fact +that this feature production had very little more actual story in it +than had the carefully condensed one-reel version of the same +novel-play that was put out by the Selig Company in 1908. What it did +have was more detail, and a great deal more opportunity for pictorial +effects. The one-reel Selig release gave every essential detail of +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> romance, with the necessary explanatory inserts in the way of +leaders, letters, etc. The Famous Players feature production gave the +essential details plus innumerable details that were by no means +essential—although very effective as helps to a better understanding +of the locale, the period in history, and the author's +characterization.</p> + +<p>The Famous Players "Monte Cristo," however, was not, at any point, +"padded." It might have been two reels longer—and probably would have +been three reels longer had it been produced a little later—without +giving too much of the wealth of picture-material contained in the +complete story of Edmond Dantes. We mention these two pictures solely +for the purpose of drawing a comparison between the kind of stories +put out in 1908 and those that were beginning to appear about six +years later. But "padding"—the filling up of the picture with +non-essential and often very extraneous details or pictorial +effects—has steadily increased with the yearly increase of the +so-called "features," and has unquestionably been responsible for the +falling-off in interest among countless former photoplay "fans." They +have gone into the theatres expecting to see a "big star" in a "big +story"—and have come out after having seen only the "big star." Just +who is responsible for this very unsatisfactory state of affairs it is +sometimes hard to say. Occasionally the story, if written by an +"outside" writer, is lacking in plot-material in the first place, and, +having been purchased on account of its having, none the less, several +good situations, is allowed to go into produc<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>tion without being built +up in plot (which is quite another thing from "padding") by one of the +studio staff-writers. Or it may be that, the logical length of that +particular story being five thousand feet, the director lets it run on +for another reel, or even two, in order to be able to work in several +hundred feet of quite unnecessary close-ups of the female "lead," who +chances to be his wife, and whose popularity he is naturally anxious +to maintain. This actually has happened; but even a conscientious and +otherwise artistic director may occasionally "stretch a picture out a +little" in order to take advantage of the beautiful natural locations +of the part of the country in which he is working.</p> + +<p>All these things being so, it becomes more and more the duty of the +author to see that his story <i>has</i> plenty of <i>story</i>. Give the +director a strong, well-developed plot and he will have far less +opportunity and much less excuse for introducing anything that will be +in the nature of padding. Moreover, so evident is it that photoplay +audiences have come to recognize the padded story when one is shown, +that the producers have started to call a halt on this foolish +practice, and as a result stories accepted from the outside are +closely scrutinized to see if they are full length in actual material.</p> + +<p>So far as any special rules in connection with the writing of the +feature picture is concerned, there are really none—unless the +admonition to try to make a five-reel story five times as interesting +and five times as cleverly plotted as a one-reel story may be called +a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> rule. In other words, the writer who can turn out a salable +synopsis for a one-reel story ought to be able to write an equally +good synopsis for a five-reel feature; and similarly, if you can write +the continuity for a one-reel story—if you can write a single-reel +scenario of the kind that would have been acceptable in any studio a +few years ago—you undoubtedly can write a five-reel continuity that +is up to the technical standard demanded by those companies that +accept complete scripts today. And of course the same applies to the +"synopsis only" script.</p> + +<p>The one thing that you cannot do, unless you are actually on the staff +of a certain company, is obvious, and has been referred to in the +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">chapter on "The Synopsis"</a>: You cannot write any story with the +certainty that it will be entirely unchanged after being accepted for +production. Any one of a dozen very good reasons may demand that some +alteration, addition to or elimination of certain scenes or parts of +scenes in your story must take place while it is in the director's +hands. There is a vast difference between the necessary changes +carefully made by an artistic and painstaking director and the +indiscriminate slashing to pieces of a writer's story common among a +certain variety of directors in the past. Fortunately for the writer, +this class of director is rapidly being outlawed, and the +photoplaywright should write at all times in the confident belief that +his perfect-as-he-can-make-it story will be adequately "put on" by a +director who knows his business and is, as Mr. Merwin says, an +interpreter of the author's plot.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> + +<p>We need only repeat here one other thing that we said in +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Chapter VIII</a>: +No matter what the length of the story, today, it is always run +through—in all but the very smallest and most out-of-the-way theatres +and towns respectively—without interruption, because two projecting +machines are used, and another reel is started as soon as one +finishes, there being no perceptible break in the action on the +screen. For this reason, if you are writing a five-reel feature-story +with, say, forty scenes to a reel, you start with Scene 1 and number +straight through to Scene 200. There should be a series of rising +climaxes, but no special forward-looking climax exactly at the end of +each thousand feet.</p> + +<p>Also, of course, it is quite unnecessary to have an equal number of +scenes to each part. The action of your first reel—more or less +introductory—may demand only thirty or thirty-five scenes, whereas +when your story gets to moving rapidly you may see the necessity for +running up the number of scenes by introducing several short scenes, +or "flashes."</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>17. Serials</i></span></p> + +<p>We advise a rereading of the definition of the term "<a href="#SERIAL">serials</a>" given in +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">Chapter III</a>. In addition to what is there said, it may be stated that, +as a rule, it is best not to write a complete serial—even though only +in synopsis form—unless you have what is beyond question a sure +market. As a matter of fact, most serials are written at present by +big-name writers of fiction—such as Arthur B. Reeve—or "inside" +writers, such as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> George B. Seitz, who has been responsible for +several successful Pathé serials. The comparatively few "outside" +writers who have "made good" with serials follow the plan of writing +the synopsis of the first four or five episodes (which in film form +would mean eight or ten reels), which they submit for the editor's +approval in the regular way. If the editor likes the idea, or theme, +of the story, and thinks it would make a successful picture, he will +commission you to finish it. Four or five episodes of well-planned, +suspense-holding plot will be sufficient to assure him that you are +capable of keeping up the same speed and making the story consistently +interesting all through.</p> + +<p>To reiterate what was also pointed out in the definition in +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">Chapter +III</a>, you must bear in mind that while the end of each separate reel in +an ordinary feature need not end with a forward-looking climax, the +end of each <i>episode</i> in a photoplay serial <i>must</i> be a climax of a +most thrilling nature, or, at any rate, must be such a climax as will +greatly excite the interest of the spectator and insure his coming to +the theatre when the next episode is shown. The serial photoplay is +exactly like the well-written and carefully edited serial story of +fiction. Judged from the box-office viewpoint, the supreme test of a +good photoplay serial is its ability to keep the same spectators +coming to the theatre where it is being run week after week.</p> + +<p>What has been said as to the thrilling climax at the end of each +episode, or chapter, must not be interpreted as meaning that a mere +thrilling <i>situation</i> is all that is required. In the boys' +story-papers of a few<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> years ago, referred to in our discussion of the +cut-back, the hero was frequently left hanging over the edge of the +cliff, or tied to the railroad track, or waiting for the timed fuse to +reach the keg of powder. These situations in themselves were +sufficient to make juvenile readers wait anxiously for seven whole +days in order to find out what would happen "in our next." It has been +demonstrated, however, that what holds the attention of the photoplay +spectator, young or old, is the mystery connected with the story, and +it is the solving of this mystery that must constantly be kept in +mind. "Who is the masked stranger?" "Who is the owner of the +mysterious clutching hand," "Who is the mysterious and ominous +personage who inevitably sends a telephone message of warning when +about to strike down a new victim?" These are the questions that keep +them guessing from week to week and draw them back to witness every +episode. Your climax may be a thrilling situation—should be, in +fact—but it must also be a definite way-station on the journey to the +point of discovery.</p> + +<p>While there is still a great deal of absolute nonsense—viewed from +any standpoint of common sense and logic—in most photoplay serials, +and while the long-drawn-out mystery is often made possible only by +the introduction of weird and unnatural happenings not even possible +in real life, there is now a tendency toward serials more true to life +and more dependent for their success upon plots that will stand the +acid test of logical reasoning. The very fact that each separate +episode, with its various situations in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> working out of the +mystery, had to be depended upon to draw the crowds back again to see +the next episode, was taken as sufficient excuse for the introduction +of situations that would make the wildest exploits of "Diamond Dick" +or "Old King Brady" read like the Sunday-school stories of a +generation ago.</p> + +<p>The Wharton serial, "The Eagle's Eye," already referred to, was the +first in which historical facts were reproduced in their logical +order, held together and made more interesting by a veneer of fiction. +The fictional head of the Criminology Club and the daring woman Secret +Service operative seemed almost to be secondary characters compared to +the much-talked-about agents of the Imperial German Government whose +nefarious acts made so much trouble for the American detectives and +Secret Service agents headed by ex-Chief Flynn, under whose +supervision the serial was made.</p> + +<p>The future holds out immense possibilities for producers and writers +of thoroughly good photoplay serials. Whereas in the past many serials +were to be seen only in the second-rate houses, on account of the fact +that their impossibly thrilling situations and weird plots appealed +only to the juvenile and less intelligent spectators, now with the +improvement in the <i>stories</i> of serial pictures has come an increase +in the spectators who follow them up, and a consequent introduction of +serials into theatres where at one time nothing of the kind would have +been tolerated.</p> + +<p>In conclusion, it may be said that for purposes of plot-study the +photoplay serial can hardly be sur<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>passed. Good, bad or indifferent, +every photoplay serial reveals a sheer ingenuity of plotting that is a +genuine inspiration to the writer of often better material. And a +careful following-up and study of a <i>good</i> serial is a liberal +photoplay-writing education in itself.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>18. Final Points</i></span></p> + +<p>More and more, in those—all too few—studios where full scripts are +desired, the directors of ability and intelligence are welcoming the +help extended by the author—if the author himself is known to be a +finished workman. Elsewhere we have quoted Mr. Bannister Merwin, who, +long before he became one himself, held that the director was +rightfully an interpreter—a reader of and builder from the blue +print—of the author. Mr. Merwin was also one of the first +photoplaywrights to submit what might be called a fully elaborated +script—one in which every scene was so carefully worked out that the +<i>motive</i> behind every action of every character was made absolutely +plain. Notwithstanding the greater length of such a scenario, or +continuity, its advantages are emphatic, and directors are, as has +been said, approving it more and more as they learn that the author's +intention is to assist—to insure a proper interpretation of his +thought—and not merely to try to teach the director his business. The +script that opens up a way into the very heart of the character so +that the actors and the director may be guided in interpreting it, is +certainly vastly superior, in that regard at least, to the scenario<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> +which concerns itself chiefly with external action. Motives and the +whole inner life of the man, set down clearly and briefly, are in the +last degree valuable in showing what a character really is and <i>why</i> +he does what he does.</p> + +<p><i>Conciseness.</i>—But this desirable sort of scenario elaboration +<span class="smcap">must not</span> lead to over-expansion. Brevity and conciseness are +not necessarily one, any more than are fullness and prolixity. Be +concise—cut close to the line; having started your action by setting +forth a basic incident at once interesting and plausible, keep the +wheels of your story in motion, letting it accumulate speed as it runs +on, and never slow down until after the climax has been passed. Keep +your eye—your "picture eye"—on your characters as they move about +and carry out the actions which you have planned to have them perform; +but describe those actions, as well as the motives which actuate them, +in just as few words as possible. Do not trifle with the tendency to +be wordy, or even to introduce too many scenes.</p> + +<p>The time is rapidly coming when the production of a photoplay will +mean the earnest and intelligent coöperation of the author, editor, +and director. But there is a very decided difference between including +in the paragraphs of action everything really necessary to the proper +understanding of the motives actuating the different characters and +the indiscriminate introduction of extraneous details that neither +assist in telling the story nor help in making it interesting.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Over-Condensation.</i>—On the other side of the golden middle-ground +lies the weakness of too great brevity, and this is the very fault +that some otherwise good writers at times permit themselves to +display. Their plots are strong, and their work is so well and +favorably known that their scripts are accepted; but because they have +over-condensed it becomes necessary for the editor or director to add +to the business of a certain character, or possibly to devise +explanatory inserts. Too little is worse than too much. In many cases +it is the writer's failure to include a few words describing a bit of +by-play or a short piece of business that makes the scenario faulty, +even though it may find a grudging acceptance.</p> + +<p><i>The Number of Words.</i>—The question has frequently been asked by +amateur writers: "How many words are there in a full-reel +photoplay—what is the average number of words to a scene?" and so on. +No such consideration as the number of words in a script enters into +the production of a motion-picture drama. "Photoplays are put on," +said one prominent producer, "with a stop-watch in one hand and a +yard-stick in the other." It is the number of feet of film used, and +not the number of words contained in the scenario, with which the +director is concerned. There can be absolutely no set rule—in from +ten to fifteen words you may say all that is necessary in the +description of a scene that will use up three hundred feet of film. +Another scene which consumes one hundred feet may require five times +as many words, or more, to make perfectly clear to the director a +short but very im<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>portant bit of business. If you leave out the +non-essentials, you will save on the number of words, but you should +never hesitate to tell all that is necessary in order to make clear +the motives and actions of your characters.</p> + +<p><i>Simple, Clear English.</i>—The scenario is really nothing more than the +synopsis rewritten in detail and divided into scenes. Observe that the +paragraphs of action are written in the present tense to help +<span class="smcap">you</span> keep the action simple and vivid and <span class="smcap">present</span>. +Absolutely nothing is to be gained by attempted "fine writing," yet it +is true that the best-paid writers today are for the most part the +ones who are giving attention to clearness and precision of detail and +description when writing the third division of their scripts. But +description does not mean hifaluting word painting—<i>it means clear, +concise setting forth of exactly what a thing is</i>.</p> + +<p><i>The Uselessness of Dialogue.</i>—Dialogue, naturally, is out of place +in the scenario. If Frank asks Ethel where she hid the letter, and she +replies by opening a volume which she takes from the bookcase and +taking it out, that is all that is necessary. Do not write a line of +dialogue which tells just what Frank says to her, except as may be +required for an occasional cut-in leader. Neither is it necessary to +say what words of hers accompany the action of taking the letter from +the book where it has been concealed. Yet there is one way in which +dialogue may serve a useful purpose in writing the scenario. If by +writing a single phrase you can tell the <i>editor</i> and the <i>director</i> +as much as you could by writing several lines of action, there is no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> +reason why you should not use the line—not as dialogue, however, but +as stage directions.<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a></p> + +<p><i>Exterior Backgrounds Valuable.</i>—In planning your scenario remember +that for scenes that do not positively demand indoor settings it is +best to provide an exterior background, or location. No matter how +well provided with scenery a studio may be there is always a certain +amount of time lost in erecting sets. Even though the director does +not take the scenes in the order in which they are written, he will be +able to save a great deal of time if, between the scene that is done +in the library and the one enacted in the court-room, he can take his +people out and get three or four, or even more, scenes in the open +air, where the setting is ready for him. Carefully plan every scene +<i>before you write it</i>, and see, for instance, if Dick could not +propose to Stella in the garden, or on a bench in the park, just as +well as he could in the drawing room or in the ball-room. Help +yourself to more sales by helping the director to easier work.</p> + +<p><i>Human Interest.</i>—In the Biograph photoplay, "Three Friends," +previously referred to in this chapter, there was one short scene that +was especially effective—one of those human-interest bits that are +characteristic of photoplays that sell. After the arrival of the two +men, and the reconciliation between the foreman and the young woman's +husband, the former hurries the latter off to the factory, promising +to "give him back his job." The third friend hangs behind,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> and, +realizing that the wife is without money to buy food, hands her a +banknote. She hesitates to take it; but he, noticing the revolver +which she now holds, takes it from her and thrusts the money into her +hand in its place, indicating that he is only buying the "gun" from +her. The woman smiles gratefully, and the kind-hearted friend hurries +out after the other two men.</p> + +<p>It will pay the student to remember all the little human touches of +this kind that he sees in the photoplays of others, and, while by no +means copying them, try to work into his own stories bits of similar +value.</p> + +<p>Human interest must be woven in the plot, and not thrown in in chunks. +As for how to do it, "Each mind," says Emerson, "has its own method. A +true man never acquires after college rules." But of one thing make +sure: Plan your human appeal from the start, so that the actual climax +may loom up distinctly from the time you write your very first scene. +As Jean Paul has said, "The end we aim at must be known before the +way."</p> + +<p>In conclusion, we offer a short catechism that the writer will do well +to consult before sending out his script:</p> + +<p>Is my plot really fresh?</p> + +<p>Could it be called a colorable imitation of any magazine story, book, +or play?</p> + +<p>Is it strong enough?</p> + +<p>Is it logical?</p> + +<p>Does it suit the time of year?</p> + +<p>Is the plot not only possible but <i>probable?</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> + +<p>Is the material desired by the producer to whom I am sending it?</p> + +<p>Does the company make that style of story?</p> + +<p>Are the points properly brought out, that others may see them as I do?</p> + +<p>Can I make it better by altering it?</p> + +<p>Will it pass the Censors?</p> + +<p>Even if it does, will it offend even one spectator?</p> + +<p>Do the synopsis and scenario match properly, or have I hinted at +action in my synopsis which is not adequately worked out in the +continuity? On the other hand, does the synopsis tell everything that +happens in the scenario?</p> + +<p>Is it impracticable for the camera?</p> + +<p>Have I introduced scenes that would cost too much to produce?</p> + +<p>Is the cast too small?</p> + +<p>Is it too large?</p> + +<p>Finally, some anonymous writer has said: "Don't let go of your script +until you are positive that you have made every detail clear, that +your layout of scenes has told the story in self-explanatory action, +and that you have answered every prospective 'Why?'"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>THE SCENE-PLOT AND ITS PURPOSE</h3> + + +<p>It has been said in an earlier chapter that it is optional with the +writer whether to submit a scene-plot with his complete script; +nevertheless, we believe that it is advisable.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>1. Why Prepare a Scene-Plot</i></span></p> + +<p>The reason is a plain one: Until the writer has become known as a +professional, it is the spirit in which the scene-plot is sent rather +than its actual value to either editor or director that counts in his +favor. It indicates his willingness to help both these busy men so far +as lies in his power; further, it shows that he is willing to do at +the beginning of his career that which he would never for a moment +think of leaving undone after his complete scripts are once in demand; +but, most of all, it shows that he has enough confidence in his work +to believe that—provided the story is acceptable—it will be produced +essentially as he has planned it.</p> + +<p>Naturally, it often happens that the director adds scenes to those +planned by the author, and even oftener some of the author's scenes +are cut out; in either case, however, so much of the scene-plot as +remains un<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>changed will have its value. The author may feel that the +director's alterations are unwarranted, but that functionary rarely +makes additions or cuts unless he works an improvement.</p> + +<p>The writer sends the scene-plot along so that, in case no drastic +changes are necessary, the director may have all ready his list of +scenes arranged in proper chronological order. From these he will +prepare his regular scene-plot diagram, which the carpenters and +mechanics will use in building the scenery, and by which the stage +hands and property men will be guided in setting the scenes and +placing the furniture and other "props."</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>2. The Scene-Plot Explained</i></span></p> + +<p>Let us now explain the difference between the <i>only kind of scene-plot +with which the photoplaywright is concerned</i> and that which the +director means when he uses the same term.</p> + +<p>Practically all directors have had experience as theatrical producers, +or stage directors, or stage managers, before entering the +moving-picture field. What is known as a scene-plot in regular +theatrical work is a list of the various scenes, or sets, showing +where the different "hanging pieces" (drops, cut-drops, fog drops, +foliage, fancy, kitchen, or other borders) are hung, and how all the +various pieces of scenery that are handled on the floor of the stage, +as wood and rock wings, "set" pieces, "flats," and "runs," are to be +arranged or set. Almost every stage carpenter has, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> addition to +this list, a supply of printed diagrams showing the exact position on +the stage of everything handled by the "grips," or scene-shifters, as +well as the proper arrangement on the set of the furniture and larger +props. Both the list and the diagram are usually printed on one sheet, +and this, known as the scene-plot, is sent ahead to the stage managers +of the theatres in the next towns to be played. At the same time, a +"property plot," being simply a list, act by act, of the various props +not carried by the company, is sent to the property man of the house.</p> + +<p>Now, the principal difference between the regular and the +moving-picture stage is that, in making photoplays, <i>natural</i> +exteriors are used, in almost every case. Consequently, landscape and +other exterior drops are almost unknown in moving-picture work. As +actual drops they <i>are</i> unknown; when such painted backgrounds are +used, they are usually painted on canvas or a sort of heavy cardboard, +which is stretched over or tacked to a solid framework. So that even +in making out his working scene-plot diagram, a director finds that +there are many technical terms which he constantly used in his +theatrical work but seldom or never employs in his capacity of +photoplay producer. Nevertheless, he still uses a scene-plot diagram, +drawing it himself on regular printed forms.</p> + +<p>As may be gathered from the foregoing, the scene-plot diagram for a +photoplay setting is entirely different from the diagram of the +setting for a scene on the regular stage. The former shows, printed, +the comparative shape and dimensions of the "stage," and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> gives, in +figures, the depth of the stage and the distance from the camera to +the "working line," below which (toward the camera) an actor must not +step if he wishes his feet, therefore his whole body, to show in the +picture.</p> + +<p>To say "the depth of the stage" is to say that the printed diagram is +marked off in a scale of feet from the camera's focus. The figures at +the right side of the sheet indicate the distance in feet from the +camera, while those at the left show the width of the field, or range +of the camera lens, at different distances. Only that portion of each +piece of furniture which is marked a solid black in the diagram is +supposed to show in the picture. Thus half of a table may be "in" and +half "out" of a picture, or scene. This diagram-form is made out by +the director for virtually every set that shows an interior scene, and +he frequently draws one also for exteriors, where a building, or even +what appears in the picture to be a complete, permanent structure, is +set up by the carpenters and mechanics out of doors. Such a <a href="#Page_216">scene-plot +diagram</a> is reproduced at the end of this chapter.</p> + +<p>The scene-plot which you as a photoplay author are called upon to +prepare, however, is simply a list of the scenes used in working out +your scenario. Here you must distinguish between "scene" and "set" (or +setting) in photoplay writing. We know that the scene is changed every +time that the camera is moved. One scene or ten may be taken, or +"done," in the same set—that is, a half-dozen scenes might be taken +successively in a business office without changing the set<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> at all. +Therefore, although you have two hundred <i>scenes</i> in your five-reel +scenario, only twenty <i>sets</i> may be needed in which to play them.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>3. How Scenes and Sets Are Photographed</i></span></p> + +<p>We know that a scene is ended when the cameraman stops "grinding;" we +understand, also, that a change of setting is brought about by moving +the camera, even though, in the case of taking two exterior scenes, +the camera is only moved enough to take in a new "stage" three or four +feet to either side of that shown in the last scene.</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<img src="images/image16.jpg" alt="Reception of King Robert" width="400" height="281" /></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><b>The Reception of King Robert of Sicily by His Brother, +the Pope—a Historical Photoplay Produced in the Essanay Studio, +Chicago</b></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<img src="images/image17.jpg" alt="Players Getting Ready for Action" width="400" height="286" /></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><b>Same Set, with Players Getting Ready for Action. The +Three Poplar Trees are Real, while the Rest of the Background is a +Painted Drop</b></p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>The word "scene" seems to be a stumbling block for some beginners. +Take for example the setting showing the bedroom in the ranch house, +as listed in the scene-plot of "Without Reward," and given in this +chapter. In doing the five scenes that take place in that room, Scene +4 would be taken, the camera would be stopped, and, in some studios, a +large white card with the figure "9" painted on it in black would be +held a few feet in front of the lens. About a foot of film would then +be exposed, which would thus register the number <i>of the next scene</i> +to be taken in the same set.<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> Then Scene 9 would be done. This +scene<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> being ended, the numbering-of-the-scene process would be +repeated, the next scene being number 17. Then, in turn, would come +scenes 28 and 30—or, rather, although listed on the scene-plot as two +scenes, 28 and 30 would really be photographed as one unbroken scene, +for, as a glance at the scene-plot will show, Scene 29 is a bust +scene, which means that the film would be cut at the proper place +after the scene had been taken, thus dividing it into two scenes, +separated by Scene 29 in the finished photoplay.</p> + +<p>Now, since Scene 30 is the last to be taken in the bedroom setting, +let us suppose that the setting showing the interior of the sheriff's +office is standing on the studio floor right next to the bedroom set. +The camera is merely shifted over and set up as required to take the +two scenes (24 and 26) done successively in that set, and the same +process is gone through that was followed in making the five scenes in +the bedroom.</p> + +<p>This, then, is the one thing that the photoplaywright must remember: +All the <i>scenes</i> that are to take place in one <i>setting</i> or location +are made before the camera is moved an inch, and, in one way or +another, according to the particular studio, the film is marked after +each scene so as to show the number of the scene coming next. The +reason is plain: because scenes 28 and 30 (which are subsequently +divided by the bust picture) and scenes 4, 9 and 17, are all done in +the same set, if the camera were not stopped and the film marked +before each new scene with the number of that scene, the operators in +the cutting room, where the different parts of the film are assembled, +would—un<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>less guided by the director—mistake <i>all</i> that part of the +film showing the bedroom setting for one unbroken scene.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>4. How Scene-Plots Are Handled by Directors</i></span></p> + +<p>The scene-plot for the writer's story, "Without Reward," just referred +to, follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Exterior of Sheriff's office, main street of town, 1, 23.</p> + +<p>Dr. Turner's office, 2.</p> + +<p>Exterior, Freeman and Doctor riding to ranch, 3.</p> + +<p>Bedroom in ranch house, 4, 9, 17, 28, 30.</p> + +<p>Corner of ranch house, looking toward stable, 5, 7, 16, 22, +27, 31.</p> + +<p>Exterior, supposedly at distance from, but within sight of, +Ranch, 6.</p> + +<p>Kitchen of ranch house, 8, 10, 32.</p> + +<p>At door of stable, 11.</p> + +<p>Foothill trail, 12.</p> + +<p>Rocky part of hillside, showing entrance to cave in side of +cliff, 13, 15.</p> + +<p>Interior of cave, 14.</p> + +<p>Exterior, Steve riding to town, 18.</p> + +<p>Road on outskirts of town, 19.</p> + +<p>Same road, farther on, 20.</p> + +<p>Exterior of Dr. Turner's house, 21.</p> + +<p>Interior of Sheriff's office, 24, 26.</p> + +<p>Rear of Sheriff's office, showing corner of building and +side wall, 25.</p> + +<p>Bust of Jess's right hand, holding photograph, 29.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> + +<p>Here, it will be seen, there are four interior and thirteen exterior +sets, or backgrounds. Scene 14, the interior of the cave, was counted +as an exterior when giving the number of interior and exterior sets +following the title in writing the synopsis. This was because, +although in the picture it would appear to be taken inside a rocky +cave, the chances are that it would really be made in some recess of a +rocky cliff-side, where there would be enough light to make the +photography distinct, without allowing the rays of the sun to cast any +shadows that would make it seem unnatural, since the cave was +supposedly dimly illumined from the daylight outside. At any rate, it +would not be a studio setting—whether the stage was an indoor or an +open-air one—so it would be classed as an exterior.</p> + +<p>After the cameraman had taken Scene 3, which shows Freeman and the +Doctor riding to the ranch, he could probably find a suitable +background for the scene showing Steve riding toward the town, by +merely turning his camera half way around. Thus Scene 18 might be +taken after Scene 3; after which, by again moving the camera only a +short distance, a suitable spot might be found in which to take Scene +12. Scenes 19 and 20 were intended to be taken on a fairly well-kept +piece of roadway, supposedly on the outskirts of the town, and it +might be necessary to travel some distance to find the desired spot. +So it will be seen that the order in which the scenes are written has +nothing to do with the order in which they will be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> taken. Scene 29, +so called, is really a part of Scene 28, being simply a bust of the +girl's hand holding a photograph. The words written on the back of +this picture have an important bearing on the action which follows; +therefore it is important that they should be read by the spectators. +So, the much enlarged bust picture is introduced, in which, as has +been explained in the <a href="#CHAPTER_X">preceding chapter</a>, the hand with the photograph +is held so close to the camera that when the picture is shown on the +screen the writing is easily read. In writing out the scene-plot, +never omit mentioning the bust picture, if one is used, and give it a +number as if it were a distinct interior or exterior, but when giving +the total number of interior and total number of exterior settings +(which follows your title in writing the synopsis), do not include it +as being either one or the other. It is not even necessary to say "One +bust picture." On the other hand, close-ups are regarded as regular +interior or exterior scenes, and must be counted as such and so +mentioned when giving the number of scenes, as described.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>5. How the Director Provides the Sets</i></span></p> + +<p>The director having gone over the author's scene-plot to aid him in +preparing his own diagrams of the various settings, it is merely +necessary, so far as the exteriors are concerned, to go out himself, +or send out his assistant, to pick the natural settings required. In +fact, in most modern studios, an elaborate card index system of +listing locations, sometimes situated miles from the studio, is +maintained. Unless an ex<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>terior scene calls for a log cabin, church +front, or some building of special construction other than such real +buildings as may be easily found in the neighborhood of, or within a +reasonably short distance from, the producing plant, he does not have +to draw a special diagram-plot for the scene. Even when a new building +is needed, it is only necessary to instruct the carpenters to build, +say, a log cabin of a certain size on the location he points out, with +a door, windows, etc., as determined by him for the requirements of +the scene.</p> + +<p>With the interior scenes it is different. The sets for these are +planned by the director to obtain the very best stage- and scenic +effects possible from the standpoints of architecture, lighting, and +arrangement of properties.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>6. The Director</i></span></p> + +<p>A first-class company will employ from four to ten, or even twelve, +directors. Frequently a new director is recruited from among the +actors in the stock company. "Director" and "producer" mean +practically the same thing in photoplay parlance; a man will <i>direct</i> +the acting of the players while engaged in <i>producing</i> a picture. As a +rule, if a man is known as a "dramatic" director, he adheres to that +kind of work, just as a first-class comedy man will seldom touch any +other kind of production.</p> + +<p>There is always a certain amount of friendly competition among the +directors in any studio, since they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> constantly vie with each other in +obtaining the most artistic settings for the various scenes of their +respective stories.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>7. Writing the Scene-Plot</i></span></p> + +<p>The actual writing of the scene-plot should come after the scenario +has been completed. One way of doing it is to go over the scenario and +write out the various settings, and then give the numbers of the +scenes played in each. This, however, is a very roundabout and +tiresome method. The best and simplest way is to keep a slip of paper, +similar to the one on which you make note of the characters when +writing the cast, and jot down the settings as you come to them, +adding the number of the scene. In this way as you work on the +scenario you have before you a list of every setting used, and can see +at a glance what scenes are played in each different setting. Then +when your scenario is finished you have simply to slip a fresh sheet +of paper into your typewriter and make a neat copy of the complete +scene-plot. As a safeguard, it is better, before recopying, to check +up so as to make sure that you have every scene accounted for, by +counting from "one" to whatever may be the number of your last scene.</p> + +<p>In writing the scene-plot it is only necessary to give a list of the +exterior and the interior settings; at the same time, it is sometimes +advisable, especially in the case of exterior scenes, to add a few +words that will help the director to understand just what the setting +is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> intended to be without having to refer to the scenario, where such +details would naturally appear.</p> + +<p>The following example is selected from the scene-plot of "Sun, Sand +and Solitude," a <a href="#Page_216">scene-plot diagram</a> from which we reproduce on a +succeeding page. The theme of this story is the discontent of a young +wife, caused by seeing, month in and month out, the sun-baked +stretches of the Arizona desert.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Exterior, showing desert, 17. For this scene, select an +extremely barren and unpleasing bit of desert landscape.</p> + +<p>Another exterior, 24. A stretch of desert landscape; if +anything, more barren and solitary than 17.</p> + +<p>Another exterior, 28. While still typical desert landscape, +it is much less barren and desolate than either 17 or 24.</p></div> + +<p>There is no law of writing, and no studio rule, to compel you to do +any of these little things to help a busy editor or an earnest +director, but, just because they are busy men, why not try to help +them? So long as the "help" is not overdone, and is intelligent, +clear, and concise, it is sure to help your script toward an +acceptance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> + +<p> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<img src="images/image18.png" alt="scene-plot diagram" width="613" height="786" /></p> + +<p> </p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> +<div class="blockquot"><p>The scene-plot diagram reproduced on the opposite page is +the author's original diagram for the "Living room of ranch +house" setting in his photoplay, "Sun, Sand and Solitude." +With a little study of this diagram the reader will be able +to judge just how the scene would appear in the picture on +the screen. Of course, it is neither customary nor necessary +to send such a diagram as this when you are submitting your +script. There is a possibility, however, that the producer +might use the author's diagram as a guide in preparing that +particular setting, should the photoplaywright send one +similar to the one here reproduced.</p> + +<p>The dotted lines show the dimensions of the enlarged stage +for special very large sets. Since the line <i>E</i> represents +the background of this enlarged stage, it will be seen that +it is almost twice as wide as the background for the +interior setting here shown. By "background" is meant the +space on the diagram between <i>B</i> and <i>D</i>, not the "desert +backing," which, if the scene were taken inside the studio, +would be simply a painted background, taking the place of +the "drop" which would be used on the regular stage. It will +be noticed that, although there are a couple of steps +leading to the veranda, there is only one post indicated on +the diagram. This, of course, is because a post at the other +side of the steps is unnecessary, that point being "masked" +by the piece of scenery representing the back wall of the +room. The open door shows a portion of the veranda railing +and the post on the left of the steps. As the scenario +shows, Dean is carried up these steps, and into the bedroom +on the left, after he has been thrown from his horse. To the +right of the door, and looking out upon the veranda, is a +bay window, forming a window-seat. Attention is called to +the fact that what is so frequently called a "bay window" +is, properly, a "bow window," the three sides of a bay +window being at right angles to each other. The sideboard at +the right of the stage is absolutely essential to the climax +of the plot, though only half of it—enough to show the +upper left-hand drawer distinctly—need appear in the +picture.</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>THE USE AND ABUSE OF LEADERS, LETTERS AND OTHER INSERTS</h3> + + +<p>A full reel contains approximately one thousand feet of film. The +ordinary five-reel feature is therefore somewhat less than five +thousand feet in length. With far less stress laid upon the admonition +to "Make your leaders and inserts brief" than formerly, the writer +still must keep in mind the fact that the major portion of a +five-thousand-foot film must be devoted to <i>scenes</i>—to action which +the spectator merely watches—and that the inserts, of whatever +nature, must never be allowed to crowd this action-part of the +picture.</p> + +<p>At the same time, any story with the average amount of +plot-complication can be told—the action-portion, that is, can be +fully worked out—in from 3,800 to slightly over 4,000 feet; which +means that something less than one thousand feet of film may be, and +frequently is, given up to the various inserts.</p> + +<p>This matter of footage is one which demands the attention of both +director and cameraman. On the side of the motion-picture camera is an +indicator, by which is computed the exact number of feet exposed each +time the cameraman turns the handle. At the conclusion of each scene +the director cries "Cut!" The cameraman stops turning, looks at the +indicator,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> and announces "Seventy-five!" or whatever the number of +feet used. In some cases it is necessary to take the scene again, +altering the "business" slightly or hurrying the action a little to +reduce the footage consumed in a certain scene. A point worth noting +is that the director can seldom figure in advance the exact amount of +footage a certain scene will require—even after it has been rehearsed +and timed several times; whereas he <i>can</i> always tell the exact number +of feet he must give to each of the various inserts, because "insert +footage" is reckoned in advance, a certain number of feet being +allowed for each word.</p> + +<p>Photoplay audiences have gradually been educated up to an appreciation +of sub-titles, or leaders, when they are all that they ought to be (a +point which we shall presently discuss); and less attention is paid to +the rather selfish cry of the illiterates in the audience who insist +that "they came to look at pictures, and not to read a book." As one +of the most prominent theatre managers in San Francisco recently said +in the <i>Motion Picture News</i>: "In many pictures the big scene is 'put +over' by a sub-title. The wording of a sub-title in a big situation +can make or break a picture, and it is therefore false economy to +allow this work to be done by any person other than one with real +literary talent, who is thoroughly conversant with the art of +expression."</p> + +<p>We have already pointed out that in most studios the work of writing +leaders and inserts is now attended to by one specialist—the +"sub-title editor," as he is usually called. Just as much care is put +into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> preparation of everything in the nature of an insert as +attends the making of the scenes of the picture.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>1. Why Inserts Are Used</i></span></p> + +<p>Before the advent of pictures of five and more reels, with their +consequent greater room for inserted matter in addition to the +necessary scenes, the general opinion was that the perfect photoplay +had no leaders and needed none. Certainly, such a picture would be +ideal if a photoplay were to be a motion picture and nothing more than +that, since it would be so perfectly acted and so self-explanatory +that no inserted explanation of any kind would be necessary. +Practically, however, the only photoplay that can be made without the +aid of at least a few leaders or other inserts—that is, that can be +nothing but pictured action—is one on the order of the Vitagraph +Company's one-reel release of several years ago, "Jealousy," in which +the entire picture was made in a single set. In it Miss Florence +Turner was the only actor, telling the whole story clearly, +coherently, and with strong dramatic force, and making every phase of +the plot clear, the only outside assistance she received being the +momentary appearance of two other hands than her own—a man's and a +woman's—through the curtains covering the doorway. This, of course, +was pure pantomime, and most artistically performed; the woman's every +thought, so to say, was portrayed, and understood by the spectator as +if the play were accompanied by a printed synopsis of the story.</p> + +<p>But it would seem to be impossible to produce a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> photoplay having +changes of scene, plot complications, from six to a dozen or more +characters, and lapses of action-time between the different scenes, +without employing any inserts. Even in a small group of scenes it is +often extremely difficult to make a certain important point in the +action "register"—that is, show the spectator what is in the minds of +the characters as the scene is worked out. In such a case, even though +the scenario as planned by the author does not contain an insert at +that point, the director may deem it advisable to introduce one to +make the situation clear. The use of inserts, then, is necessary.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>2. The Over-Use of Inserts</i></span></p> + +<p>The over-use of them, on the contrary, is not only entirely +unnecessary but a positive drawback to the director, and frequently +one of the reasons why an unavailable manuscript is returned to the +writer. A good rule is to employ inserts only when it is impossible to +progress and still make every point of your plot clear and effective +without their aid. This need for an insert of some sort at a given +point may be inherent in the material and therefore desirable as well +as needful, but do not admit such a necessity without serious thought. +Ingenuity accomplishes wonders. Remember, the use of a leader is in +most cases a frank confession that you are incapable of "putting over" +a point in the development of your plot solely by the action in the +scenes—you must call in outside assistance, as it were. A scenario +written by a novice often contains many leaders which he considers +necessary to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> tell his story, yet the same plot in the hands of a +trained writer could be made into a photoplay with many less +sub-titles. Like fire, the leader is a good servant but a bad master. +Once you discover that you are getting into the habit of introducing +an explanatory insert before almost every scene, it is time to remodel +your idea of what constitutes proper technique.</p> + +<p>But when a leader can be used to advantage, do not hesitate to insert +it—it has a distinct value and that value must not be despised. True, +<i>any</i> leader halts the action because it destroys the illusion to some +extent, and diverts the attention from the picture to the explanatory +words. But it is also true that it puts the mind of the spectator in a +mood to accept and appreciate the action which is to follow. +Therefore, use the leader, or any other insert—<i>discreetly</i>.</p> + +<p>We have repeatedly advised the would-be photoplaywright to study the +pictures as he sees them on the screen, and to gain therefrom a +knowledge of what is required by the manufacturers. At this point, +however, we would warn writers <i>not</i> to copy the example of certain +companies whose pictures are nearly always overloaded with sub-titles +which appear to have been introduced for no other reason than to +afford the sub-title editor an opportunity to do some clever writing.</p> + +<p>Many critics have asserted—not entirely without cause—that the type +of photoplay comedy-dramas originated by Douglas Fairbanks are less +than one-half action, the rest being merely clever but often +unessential sub-titling. While this criticism is rather severe, it +cannot be denied that certain stories of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> kind mentioned, +featuring this star and others, have been far too dependent for their +appeal to the spectator upon the humorous, epigrammatic sayings of the +characters. True, it is usually after leaving the theatre, and +reviewing the picture in retrospect, that the spectator realizes that +the accent has been too definitely on the sub-titling and not enough +upon the action, but when he does realize it, he feels +disappointed—and watches the next release featuring the same star to +see if it will be repeated. More than ever before, in this day of +feature photoplays, there is a constant opportunity to use leaders and +other inserts with telling effect. The point simply is that with more +leeway than the writer has ever been given before, you should learn to +take advantage of every shining opportunity to work in a really +effective sub-title, while constantly guarding against the temptation +to introduce one on the slightest excuse.</p> + +<p>Let such inserts as you do use be phrased in clear, terse language. +The old example in the schoolbook, that it is simpler and therefore +better to say, "A leather apron" than, "An apron of leather," holds +good with inserts, and especially leaders. Short, clean-cut sentences +strike the eye and penetrate the mind the most quickly and +effectively. If you doubt this, look at a good advertisement. So do +not only dispense with every needless insert, but cut out from each +insert every needless word.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>3. The Danger of Over-Compression</i></span></p> + +<p>In cutting, do not go too far. Use enough words to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> be clear and +definite. Vagueness is an abomination and confusing pronouns make an +author as ridiculous as his scene is unintelligible. Remember that the +leader is shown on the screen for only a moment, and it is for you to +assist the spectator by making your leader so plain "not that it <i>may</i> +be understood," as Quintilian used to say, "but that it <i>must</i> be +understood."</p> + +<p>It is quite as possible to use too few inserts, especially leaders, as +it is to use so few words in them as to mar their meaning. Young +writers are often more eager to follow the advice of their mentors +than they are bold to use their own common-sense; and having had the +importance of brevity well pounded in, they produce scripts with the +double fault of not having enough action to make the plot clear, and +not enough inserts to help out the action.</p> + +<p>As an example of this tendency toward over-compression, take the +script of one amateur writer. It contained a scene in which Mary, the +heroine, constantly abused by a drunken step-father, steals out of the +house at night as if about to start for some other town where she can +make her own living and be free from the step-father's abuse. In Scene +7, Mary, carrying a suit case, leaves the farm-house where she had +always lived. Scene 8 shows her "plodding wearily" along the road +leading to town. Then in Scene 9 we are back in the kitchen at the +farm-house. "The room is deserted. (Everyone supposed to be in bed.) +The door opens and Mary enters, carrying suit case, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> she puts +down just inside the door. She staggers to the rocking chair and drops +wearily into it, as if completely fatigued." And so on.</p> + +<p>On reading the script, one's natural supposition is that Mary has +thought it over while "plodding wearily" toward town, and, remembering +the comfortable bed which awaits her at the old home—even though the +next morning will bring more ill treatment at the hands of the +step-father—has returned to make the best of it. After reading three +more scenes, however, we learn that Mary had not only reached the +town, but had gone so far as "the big city," from which she had +returned after a fruitless search for work. Scene 9 is really supposed +to take place two weeks after Scene 8!</p> + +<p>Now, laying aside the fact that no scenes are introduced to show what +happened to her after she went to the city, the script does not even +give a scene showing her boarding a train to go, so there is nothing +even to hint that Scene 9 did not take place on the same night that +Mary left home.</p> + +<p>The point of all this is that, had this script been accepted at all, +and even had not the producer chosen to introduce any scenes showing +Mary in the city, a leader of some kind between Scenes 8 and 9 would +have been absolutely necessary. This, of course, was an amateur +script, and the whole story was impossible from the standpoint of +logic and the sequence of events; but in more than one picture that +has been shown on the screen we have noticed the omission of a leader +at a point in the action where one was very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> necessary, as a +consequence of which the spectator was left—for the space of two or +three scenes at least—to guess at what was what.</p> + +<p>It is worth remembering that you are not an accomplished +photoplaywright until you can produce a story that is thoroughly +understandable <i>all the way through</i> by action and inserts. You are a +clever writer, undoubtedly, if you can produce a "leaderless" script. +But it is no indication of cleverness merely to <i>leave out</i> a +leader—only to find, when your story is produced, that the director +has found it necessary to add what you have simply cut out or never +put in. He is a foolish and short-sighted writer indeed who gives any +director such an opportunity to doubt his knowledge of photoplay +technique.</p> + +<p>In this connection, let us quote Mr. Frank E. Woods, who, besides +being well known as a critic, photoplaywright, director and supervisor +of productions under Mr. David W. Griffith, is an acknowledged expert +in editing motion pictures.</p> + +<p>"Many a picture," says Mr. Woods, "has been ruined by inadequate +sub-titles. The makers of the picture have assumed that because <i>they</i> +understood the meaning of every action, the spectators should also +understand, forgetting that the spectators will view the picture for +the first time. The moment a spectator becomes confused and loses the +sense of what he is seeing on the screen, his interest is gone. While +he is wondering 'What are they talking about now?' or 'Who is the chap +in the long coat?' or 'How did he get from the house in the woods?' +the film is being reeled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> off merrily and the spectator has lost the +thread of the story. Going to the other extreme and inserting +sub-titles where the meaning is perfectly obvious, or telling in +sub-titles that which is to be pictured immediately after, should also +be avoided, although pictures are sometimes criticized for having too +many titles when in fact the keen-eyed critic is the only one who +finds them too many. The average spectator is none too alert.... The +sub-title should be in complete harmony with the story and should +never divert interest from the story. It should never be obtrusive. It +should be there only because it belongs there. Therefore all +sub-titles should be couched in language that harmonizes with the +story. Every word should be weighed. Nothing should ever shock the +spectator out of his interest in the picture by its incongruity, +extravagance or inanity. Too much in a sub-title is as bad as too +little—like seasoning in a pudding. The function of the sub-title is +to supplement and correct the action of the picture, to cover lapses +in the continuity, and to supply the finer shades of meaning which the +actor has been unable to express in pantomime."<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a></p> + +<p>In passing, let us note one point of considerable moment. +Notwithstanding the fact that many pictures are shown in which a +leader immediately follows the title, it is much better not to arrange +it so. Let your title be followed by a scene—by action—even though +the scene be a short one. Then, if necessary, intro<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>duce your first +leader. If when the photoplay opens the title is flashed upon the +screen, and immediately a leader is shown, there is a chance that, +having taken in the title almost at a glance, the spectator may +momentarily divert his gaze and so miss your first leader, only +turning his eyes toward the screen again when he notices that a scene +is being shown. Again, even though he may be watching closely, the +spectator is seldom quite so attentive to an explanatory insert which +is shown before the opening scene as he is to one introduced later, +when he has already become interested.</p> + +<p>Most critics are also agreed that the use of leaders introducing the +principal characters (usually accompanied by a few feet of film in +which the character named is also pictured, perhaps in the act of +bowing to the audience, or in some pose characteristic of the part he +plays) is a mistake, when such "introducing" is done before the first +scene of the story has been shown. Undoubtedly <i>anything</i> coming +before the first scene is really out of place—so far as its being +part of the story is concerned. Again Mr. Sargent stated a fact when +he said that "What goes before the first real scene of a story is no +more a part of that story than the design-head is a part of the +fiction story. No magazine editor expects the author to be his own +artist and supply an illustrated title. Start your story with the +first scene of action, and let the director supply the preliminary +scenes [close-ups of the principals] and leaders to suit himself."</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, though, the very best reason for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> not introducing +from three to six or eight characters before the opening scene is that +by the time the story has advanced a little many of the spectators +have forgotten "who is who," whereas they have a much better +opportunity to fix a character's name and occupation—so to speak—in +their minds if that character is briefly but properly introduced at +the point of his first entrance into the action of the play. Only the +fact that we were already familiar with the faces of the contemporary +historical characters shown in such features as Ambassador Gerard's +"My Four Years in Germany" made it possible for us to keep track, +during the first few scenes in which each one appeared, of the persons +shown. No one could possibly have memorized the "panoramic" leader +giving the cast, with its thirty or more names of characters and +players.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>4. Four Special Functions of Leaders</i></span></p> + +<p>Properly used, leaders can accomplish four results very +satisfactorily: (a) Mark the passage of time; (b) clear up a point of +the action which could not otherwise be made to "register;" (c) +"break" a scene; and (d) prepare the mind of the spectator to enter +into the scene in the right spirit.</p> + +<p><i>(a) Marking the passage of time.</i> In the amateur script previously +discussed, we found the need for this use of the leader. The +introduction, between scenes 8 and 9, of a leader telling the +spectator that the events in Scene 9 were supposed to happen "Two +weeks later" than those taking place in Scene 8, would have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> gone a +long way toward clearing up the plot of the story. In this case, of +course, it would have been necessary to add to the statement +concerning the passage of time another statement as to what had +happened in the interval, the complete leader reading: "Two weeks +later, Mary returns home after failing to get work in the city." Or, +better still: "After two weeks of fruitless search for work in the +city, Mary returns to her old home."</p> + +<p>Try to get away from the monotonous use of the "Next day," "The next +day," and "Two years later," style of leader. Say: "The following +afternoon," "After five years," "Later in the evening," or "Six months +have passed." Even though you find when your story is produced that +the director has seen fit to omit altogether the leader that you +"wrote in" at a certain point of the action, you have the satisfaction +of knowing that, <i>had</i> he used one there, he could not have improved +upon the one you wrote.</p> + +<p><i>(b) Clearing up a point in the action</i> is too obvious a use of the +leader to require much discussion. Some things mere actions cannot +express, and some explanations must be verbally made because pantomime +suggestion is inadequate. To take their proper place in the photoplay +all such leaders should be more than merely explanatory: they should +have genuine dramatic value—just as much as an important speech would +have in a "legitimate" dramatic production. In the pictured drama the +leader really fills in a significant part of the plot which could not +be portrayed by wordless action.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> + +<p>Miss Lois Weber, a well-known photoplay author who has also produced +some very fine feature photoplays, says in <i>The Moving Picture World</i>: +"Often the right words in a leader or other insert are the means of +creating an atmosphere that will heighten the effect of a scene, just +as a tearful conversation or soliloquy, at a stage death-bed will move +the audience to tears where the same scene enacted in silence would +leave it dry-eyed. Naturally, the wrong words may have the opposite +effect, but that is no argument against the leader; it only argues +that the wrong person wrote it."</p> + +<p><i>(c) "Breaking" a scene</i> with a leader may be explained by an +illustration, which at the same time will serve to exemplify how the +mind experiences a more or less unconscious <i>(d) preparation for the +ensuing scene</i>.</p> + +<p>Suppose you have a comedy scene showing a bathtub gradually filling +with water because the faucet was left open. In the time required to +fill the bath and cause it to overflow, five or six hundred feet of +film would be used up if the scene were not changed. Instead of this +waste of film, you could, after registering the fact that the running +water was rapidly filling the bath, introduce a leader: "Ten minutes +later—the tide rises."</p> + +<p>Such a leader prepares the spectator for the funny scene that is to +follow; and when the next scene is shown, in which the water is +overflowing the bath and turning the bathroom into a miniature lake, +the spectator realizes what has happened in the ten minutes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> which, +according to your leader, has elapsed since the last scene was shown.</p> + +<p>Or, in your story, a lumberman may be injured by having a tree that he +is chopping down fall on him. To show the whole process of felling a +good-sized tree would take too long—it would consume too much +footage, and be monotonous to the spectator. Also, it is the effect +and not how it is obtained that makes a picture of this kind +successful. For these reasons the man should be shown as he starts to +chop down the tree. Then after he has made some perceptible progress +you might introduce a leader. "The accident;" and, following the +leader, show the man pinned to the ground by the fallen tree; then +proceed with the succeeding action. You may be sure that the audience +will understand that the man has been knocked down by and pinned under +the tree as it fell; it is only necessary to show these two scenes.</p> + +<p>A leader, however, should never be employed to "break" a scene unless +there is absolutely no chance to introduce in its stead a short +<i>scene</i>, the showing of which will help the progress of the plot; or +unless a leader will serve the double purpose of breaking the scene +and supplying the audience with an explanation that is important just +at that time.</p> + +<p>Taking the two examples just given, in which a leader is used to break +the scene, there is scarcely any doubt that, were you writing these +scenes in scenario form, you might easily substitute scenes that would +help the action of the story and allow you to dispense<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> with the +leaders altogether. For instance, you could show the scene in which +the absent-minded man leaves the water running into the bath and goes +out of the room. Then, show a scene in his bedroom, where he is +contentedly removing the studs from his shirt. Suddenly he remembers +that he has left the water running. With an expression of dismay, he +jumps up and runs out of the room. Flash back to the bathroom scene. +The tub has overflowed and the room is filling with water. As the +excited man opens the door, the flood pours out into the hall. The +short scene in the bedroom makes the leader unnecessary. Better +fifteen feet of film showing the bedroom scene than five feet of +leader.</p> + +<p>Again, after the lumberman had started to chop down the tree, you +might flash a short scene showing a couple of other men at work in +another part of the forest. All at once they both stop work and +register that they have heard something that startles them. One speaks +excitedly to the other, and both run out of the picture. You then show +the scene with the man lying beneath the fallen tree. Presently the +two men who heard his cries for help come running up to him.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>5. Cut-in Leaders</i></span></p> + +<p>One very effective form of the leader is the cut-in, described in +<a href="#CHAPTER_X">Chapter X</a>. It takes the form of the speech of one of the characters, +being written in quotation marks. This device of throwing on the +screen the supposed words of a certain character at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> moment of +action enables the photoplaywright to tell all that is necessary much +better than he could by a long statement of what is going on—a point +that is well worth remembering. Directors are now using the +explanatory cut-in leader as much as possible, to the exclusion of the +ordinary one which merely states facts. This does not mean that they +are trying to substitute "dialogue" leaders, but that wherever the +newer form can be used to advantage it is less objected to by the +audience than is the bald statement-sub-title—doubtless because it is +in line with the illusion of reality in using the player's words, and +is not merely an insertion by the director or the author, as other +inserts evidently are.</p> + +<p>For the reason that all leaders more or less interrupt the action of a +scene, some directors prefer decidedly not to use cut-ins more than is +necessary, their argument being that for a few seconds following the +right-in-the-middle-of-the-scene leader, the mind of the spectator is +engaged with the import of what he has just read on the screen, and +the action immediately following the leader is at least partially +overlooked.</p> + +<p>Yet a cut-in leader is usually one that suddenly discloses an +important point of the plot. It may be that one of the characters, +when the scene is about half through, unexpectedly makes a statement +which amounts to a confession of some crime. We read on the screen, +"Judge, she said that to save me. That is my revolver!" No sooner has +the cut-in been shown, and the action resumed, than the eyes of every +spectator are fastened upon the face of the character in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> scene +who should, by all logical reasoning, be most affected by that +confession. If a scene is important enough to require a cut-in leader, +it is reasonable to suppose that it has the full attention of the +spectator after the first few seconds of action. This being so, it +would seem that the spectator is far less likely to miss a point of +the action <i>immediately following a cut-in</i> than he is to miss what +occurs at the beginning of a scene, following an ordinary +between-the-scenes leader. It is a fact that a few directors drag the +action of a scene for the first few seconds following an ordinary +leader for the purpose of again centering the attention of the +beholder on the action itself, before developing—<i>in</i> action—another +point of the plot.</p> + +<p>We have already referred to "panoramic" leaders giving long casts of +characters, the leader moving upwards on the screen instead of +sidewise as in panoramic <i>scenes</i>. Today, the panoramic sub-title, as +well as the panoramic letter or other insert, is quite common, +especially in feature pictures. Those directors who, notwithstanding +all, still favor the use of introductory matter before the first +scene, frequently resort to long panoramic sub-titles as a means of +making the spectator familiar with the theme of the story before +starting to tell it, just as Kipling has so frequently introduced an +introductory paragraph of the same nature in his short fiction. To our +way of thinking, a thematic sub-title of this kind, used before the +opening scene, is far less out of place than the ordinary introductory +titles merely having to do with the characters,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> because it really +does help prepare the spectator for the <i>kind</i> of story he is about to +view.</p> + +<p>Then, again, it may be added that the present-day length of leaders +greatly modifies what we say—as a sound guiding principle—in Section +7 of <a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">Chapter XVII</a>. A great many excellent detective-story films have +been produced, either from original synopses or as adaptations of the +work of fiction writers. In these, there has been no hesitation on the +part of the director and sub-title editor to use just as many words in +a leader as might be necessary to make every point of the story +entirely clear and interesting. Paramount's "The Devil Stone," showing +the train of tragic events that followed the stealing by a wicked +Norse queen of the great emerald belonging to a certain Breton priest, +was one example of an intensely interesting detective story in which +sub-titles supplied much more than a third of the story—and supplied +it, apparently, quite unobtrusively. Here, again, only common sense +and experience can show you what to do.</p> + +<p>Before leaving the subject of leaders let us say once more that you +must seek to find the golden middle ground between the leader that is +too flowery in its language and the other that is too stilted and +prosaic. Again, in connection with the length of leaders, study the +two following from Universal's feature, "The Kaiser, the Beast of +Berlin," the first of which contains only seven words, while the +second contains fifty-five.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p><div class="blockquot"><p>Joy died, Hope fled. Desolation became supreme.</p> + +<p>Then came the Master crime. An unoffending people was ground +into extinction beneath an iron heel. A nation was +destroyed. The Crime against Belgium being completed to its +fullest, the Prussian stalked onwards with his twin +comrades, Frightfulness and Horror. A new blotch of +infamy—the <i>Lusitania</i>—was added to the Black Name of the +Beast.</p></div> + +<p>Notice, also, that as is being done with many feature pictures of this +or similar type today, the producers have adhered throughout to the +past tense in wording their sub-titles.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>6. The Use of Letters, News Items and Similar Inserts</i></span></p> + +<p>The great thing in using inserts other than leaders is to be able to +tell what would be most effective in scoring a point of the plot at an +important place in the story. You may start to "write in" a letter and +then suddenly get the idea that the same point might be better +explained if a newspaper paragraph were used. But no matter what other +kind of insert you employ, it will doubtless seem to be more a part of +the action than will a plain leader. For this reason it is best, +whenever possible, to use a letter, telegram, news item, or some +similar insert, in place of a leader. A carefully worded letter +introduced at just the right time will sometimes tell the audience as +much concerning the complications of the plot as would five or six +scenes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> + +<p>Letters should be short and to the point, but they should also tell as +much as possible of <i>what can not be told in action</i>. Better a single +letter of thirty-five words which tells everything than two or three +notes of a line or two each that only suggest what the writer means. +Some of the so-called "letters" which are seen on the screen are +simply ridiculous on account of their very brevity. If it is a mere +note that is dashed off and sent to one of the characters, or a note +left where it will be found by someone after the writer has gone away, +its brevity is allowable; but when a "letter" is written by a man to +an old friend of his—a friend who, he is told, is living in a distant +city, when for years he has supposed him to be dead—and contains but +seventeen words, it is likely to make the spectator doubt the strength +of the former friendship.</p> + +<p>It is not always necessary actually to write a long letter; but it is +best in such instances to <i>suggest</i> that a long letter has been +written. This may be accomplished in two ways: You may either show a +paragraph in the body of the letter, with a line or two just before +and just after it, thus:</p> + +<p>On screen, letter.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>and it was from him that I learned the truth.</p> + +<p>I'll leave for Wheeling on the first train tomorrow, and +hope to clasp your hand again before Monday night.</p> + +<p>Honestly, old man, it seems too, etc.</p></div> + +<p>or you may write out the ending of the letter in such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> a way as to +suggest that much more has been said in the forepart of the message, +thus:</p> + +<p>On screen, letter, folded down to show only this:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>so I'll leave for Wheeling on the first train tomorrow, and +hope to clasp your hand again before Monday night.</p> + +<p>Honestly, old man, it seems too good to be true. I won't be +able to believe that what Morgan told me <i>is</i> true until I +see you with my own eyes.</p> + +<p>Until then, believe me to be</p> + +<p style="text-align: right">As ever, your sincere friend,</p> + +<p style="text-align: right">Stephen Loring.</p></div> + +<p>To illustrate the way a letter will consume footage, we reproduce one +for which fifteen feet were allowed.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Lord Cornwallis:</p> + +<p>Am now within forty miles of Charlottesville. Thomas +Jefferson and the entire Virginia Assembly will be my +prisoners today.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right">Tarleton.</p></div> + +<p>As we know, a letter will sometimes be written by a character in one +scene, but the spectators will not learn its exact contents—though +they may know just about what he is writing—until a scene or two +later, when the letter is delivered to and read by the one to whom it +is addressed. On the other hand, we sometimes see an actor write a +letter, immediately after which, as he reads it over, it is flashed on +the screen. Then, later, we see it delivered, but although the one +receiving it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> seen to read it, it is not flashed upon the screen +again, because the beholder has so recently been shown what it +contains. But it sometimes happens that more than one letter enters +into the development of the plot at a certain point, and hence there +may be some slight confusion caused by the spectator's not knowing +which of two letters the player is supposed to be reading. It is to +avoid this confusion that directors generally flash a few feet of the +letter a second time, simply to identify it. Thus, if the letter that +Tom wrote to Nelly in Scene 6 is delivered to her together with one +from her friend Kate in Scene 8, you may write:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Postman hands Nelly two letters. She registers delight upon +noticing handwriting on one envelope. Opens it immediately +and reads:</p></div> + +<p>On screen. Flash two or three feet of Tom's letter, same as in 6.</p> + +<p>Back to scene.</p> + +<p>Few spectators will object to the introduction of letters, telegrams, +newspaper items, and the like—provided there are not too many such +inserts—because these seem to fit into the picture as a part of the +action, and are not, like leaders, plainly artificial interpolations +by the author. It need hardly be pointed out, however, that letters +and other written messages must not be introduced except for logical +reasons. More than one case has been known in which the scenario +submitted to an editor specified that one character was to write and +hand to another a note which the second character was to read—the +note, of course,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> was to be shown on the screen—when the contents +were simply the words which, on the regular stage, the first actor +would speak to the other! Of course, no director would allow such a +thing to take place in his picture. In a situation where the story +could actually be advanced by showing the beholder what a certain +player was supposed to be saying to another, it would be only +necessary to introduce a cut-in leader, as previously described.</p> + +<p>We have spoken of substituting a newspaper item for a letter. Wherever +this can be done, it is well to do it; the newspaper item, being +printed, is at least readable. One or two of the studios use letters +in which the handwriting is so poor that before all the spectators +have read the contents of the letter it has disappeared and the scene +has been resumed.</p> + +<p>Let us suppose that Edith—not knowing that her friend Eleanor has +fallen in love with Jack Temple, whom they met at a resort the +previous summer—writes Eleanor a letter in which she says:</p> + +<p>On screen, letter.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>and I'll send it in my next letter.</p> + +<p>By the way, I heard a report that Jack Temple—the fellow +that you thought was so bashful—was seriously injured in +the wreck of the Buffalo Express last week. I</p></div> + +<p>Back to scene.</p> + +<p>The expression on Eleanor's face, as she reads this, would be the same +as if she had picked up a newspaper and read:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p><div class="blockquot"><p>at the time of the collision.</p> + +<p>Among those reported injured are James T. Appley, Syracuse, +N.Y.; Lloyd W. Stern, Boston, Mass.; Mrs. Geo. P. Rowley, +Bangor, Me.; and John Temple, New York City.</p> + +<p>Conductor Thomas Hammond told a <i>World</i> reporter that as +soon as the report</p></div> + +<p>Of course, at some point in the action previous to the scene in which +Eleanor reads this report in the newspaper, you will have made the +spectators familiar with the hero's name by means of a leader or some +other insert.</p> + +<p>"Where the information is brief," says Mr. Sargent,<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> again, "it may +be better displayed as a newspaper headline. A two-column display head +is better shaped for use on the screen than the deeper single-column +head. A deal of information may be conveyed in a headline and the +spectator seems to read the item over the character's shoulder rather +than to have been interrupted by a leader."</p> + +<p>Mr. William Lord Wright, author of "The Motion Picture Story," has +this to say on the subject:</p> + +<p>"Nearly all photoplays now contain a flash of newspaper headline. It's +a good way of putting over the information essential to the plot, but +it is suggested that the headlines be properly written. Perhaps the +author of the playlet was a novice in writing headlines, or maybe the +director was a know-it-all. If not a newspaper man and a headliner, we +would advise the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> author who wishes to use headlines in his action to +get some newspaper man to write them for him. Some of the would-be +newspaper heads we have read on the screen lately are not impressive +or well written. Headlining is a difficult art."</p> + +<p>If you have occasion to use a will, mortgage, or other legal document, +in telling your story, you will realize that the property man in every +studio has the blank forms on hand for anything that you may +introduce. It is therefore only necessary to show, say, the back of +the mortgage on the screen, with the names of the principals written +upon it. Then, later in the scene, or in some other scene, you can +show the body of the mortgage. But if you show the body of such a +document in Scene 10, after having shown the outside in Scene 4, it +would be well to flash the outside, or cover, again in 10, before +displaying the contents—for the purpose of identifying it, as in the +case of the letter.</p> + +<p>In passing we may mention the letter or other document which is +actually written by the actor who is <i>supposed</i> to write it. Such a +piece of writing, of course, must be, and is, not an "insert," but +rather a part of a close-up scene. It might appear in the scenario +thus:</p> + +<p>27—Close-up of upper part of Allison's body, right hand writing in +pencil on one of Enderby's letterheads. He writes:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>It took eleven years to get you, Enderby, as I swore I +would, some day. Now that I've kept my oath, I'm ready to +pay the price, and you will</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is comparatively seldom, however, that this kind of close-up is +made use of—usually because the actor or actress does not write a +sufficiently clear hand for satisfactory "screening." More often the +player will be seen starting to write the note, and then the close-up +of another hand, <i>supposedly</i> that of the player, will be shown, +writing the words designed to be read by the spectator. In either +case, they are close-ups, but the wording must be given in full, just +as if you were writing an ordinary letter or other insert to be shown +on the screen <i>after</i> it has been written. But do not confuse what we +have just said with the fact that, nowadays, nearly every letter that +is screened is shown in what is literally a <i>bust</i> picture, the letter +or document being held in the hands of the player as he or she reads +it. This is merely an additional realistic touch added in the studio; +the writer supplies his insert in the regular way.</p> + +<p>The proper use of leaders and other inserts is a part of the technique +of photoplay writing that is best learned by practise. Be sure to keep +a carbon copy of your script. Then, if your story is accepted and +produced, when you are watching it on the screen note the leaders +carefully, comparing them with the ones you originally wrote, and +profit by what you see. If the producer has seen fit to make changes +of any kind, there is a reason, and it is generally safe to assume +that it is a good one.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>THE PHOTOPLAY STAGE AND ITS PHYSICAL LIMITATIONS</h3> + + +<p>By "the photoplay stage" we mean all that sweep of view which is taken +in by the range of the camera, whether in the studios or out of doors. +At first this may appear to be of very wide area, but the <a href="#Page_216">scene-plot +diagram</a> (see <a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Chapter XI</a>) will give a good idea of space-limitations in +staging the picture.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>1. Scope of the Stage</i></span></p> + +<p>To begin with, the actors must be constantly on the alert to avoid +"getting out of the picture" while the scene is being taken. Suppose +an actor is seated in a reclining chair that has been "set" where the +line <i>A</i> cuts it in half, so to speak. If he is leaning forward, he +will be completely in the picture. But if he forgets himself and leans +back it is likely that the upper part of his body will not appear when +the film is developed. To avoid this, the V-shaped lines shown on the +scene-plot are actually marked on the floor, in some studios. A piece +of strong cord, or sometimes wire, is stretched tightly from <i>B</i> to +<i>C</i> and thence to <i>D</i>. Within this V-shaped space the complete set +must be made, and within these limits the entire scene is played. In +the case of a set requiring more than the ordinary amount<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> of depth, a +larger stage is obtained by setting the back part of the scene (or +set), as shown by the dotted line <i>E</i>, and laying down a special pair +of V lines to cross the permanent ones on the studio floor. When the +camera is placed at the apex of this larger V, the picture is, +naturally, made many feet deeper, with a corresponding width of +background as the lines diverge.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>2. Number of Stages Used</i></span></p> + +<p>As a rule, there are at least four of these V-shaped stages side by +side on the floor of the studio in any of the big producing plants. +Thus four entirely different sets may adjoin each other; and, as was +pointed out in a previous chapter, a director may finish Scene 8 in +Set I and move directly to Set II, where the scene "done" may be 9, or +any later scene, depending very often upon whether the players will +have to make a change of costume or make-up. A careful director will +always try to avoid waits by having his scenes set up in the order +that will allow him to proceed with as few delays as possible.</p> + +<p>In some studios, the fact that walls and ceiling are of glass permits +the taking of most scenes, on a bright day, without the aid of +artificial light. In the majority of studios, however, all scenes +taken indoors are produced with the aid of artificial light, daylight +being excluded. Natural lighting, in <i>indoor</i> studios, has been found +to be rather unsatisfactory; artificial lighting,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> with constant +experimentation in an effort to produce better "effects," is what is +most used today.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>3. Stage Lighting</i></span></p> + +<p>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 glass 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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>have</i> a shadow in a certain +place.</p> + +<p>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 glass walls, and a ceiling which constitutes 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> as eight different ordinary sets may be +erected side by side at one time.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 assistant 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>4. Rehearsals of Scenes</i></span></p> + +<p>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 +de<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>veloped, 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 rehearsed before being "done." Sometimes +running over the scene once or twice is sufficient, while other big +scenes may be rehearsed fifteen or twenty times. Not only to obtain +the best effects in action and grouping is a scene rehearsed 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.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>5. Respect for Stage Limitations</i></span></p> + +<p>At all times you must keep in mind the limitations of the photoplay +stage. If you have the picture eye, as described in <a href="#CHAPTER_X">Chapter X</a>, 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 illustration of +camera limitation that should guide photoplay authors in determining +what not to write:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Suppose you've written a chase scene. A band of horsemen 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 passed over +in favor of one that can be made without so much fuss."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The moving picture camera, it is well to remember, is of no light +weight when set up on its massive 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>Mr. William E. Fildew, one of the foremost screen cameramen, long +associated with director William Christy Cabanne, says in <i>The Moving +Picture World</i>:</p> + +<p>"As to what constitutes 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 +<i>must</i> 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 aëroplane, they being +constantly buffeted by pockets of wind, while flying for many miles at +a low altitude in order to keep within the desired focus. He cites +another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> case, when he was photographing the sea scenes for the Fine +Arts picture, "Daphne and the Pirates," the waters outside San +Francisco Bay being chosen for the locale. A pirate ship crew was to +board a merchant ship, and a big battle to follow on the latter's +deck. A heavy storm came up just as the two ships 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 <i>or</i> in an auto and a locomotive. Rest assured that the +director will provide the locomotive instead of the second automobile +if he can procure one.</p> + +<p>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 <i>worth while</i> in the case of <i>your</i> story? +This is a point that you must determine before venturing to specify +that particular effect. Do not be carried away<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> by the fact that it +<i>is</i> 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.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>HOW TO GATHER IDEAS FOR PLOTS</h3> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>1. Watching the Pictures</i></span></p> + +<p>Unless you are already a successful fiction writer when you first +determine to write photoplays it is not going too far to assert that +you have never yet really watched a motion picture. You have +<i>witnessed</i> many, but only the playwright and the theatrical man may +be said to <i>watch</i> 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 attitude is partly a matter of inborn dramatic instinct, but +it is even more a matter of training and habit—therefore cultivate +it.</p> + +<p>Not only does the professional photoplaywright remain wide awake when +watching real photoplays, but he often finds as much plot-suggestion +in other classes 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> in watching a film picturing the making of tapioca in the +Philippines.</p> + +<p>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 <i>leave out</i>, as well as what to put in; we may learn +much from the mistakes of others.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> from an +"outsider." In either case, look out for and carefully study the +pictured stories produced by writers who are "putting them over."</p> + +<p>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 <i>good</i> 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."</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>2. What to Look for in a Picture</i></span></p> + +<p>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 <i>not</i> see—to be able to pick up an idea +that he <i>might</i> have employed in working out his story, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> 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.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"> </p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<img src="images/image19.jpg" alt="William S. Hart" width="400" height="304" /></p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><b>William S. Hart, Leaning on the Camera, with +part of His Supporting Company and the Cameraman and His Assistant in a Scene +from "The Poppy Girl's Husband," an Artcraft Picture</b></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><img src="images/image20.jpg" alt="Harry Beaumont" width="400" height="304" /></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><b>Harry Beaumont Directing Fight Scene Between Tom +Moore, Goldwyn Star, and the Villain, in "A Man and His Money"</b></p> + +<p> </p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>3. The Note-Book Habit</i></span></p> + +<p>To have the plot-instinct is a great blessing for the writer. Lacking +this, however, the most valuable asset he can possess is the note-book +habit. Carry one with you <i>constantly</i>. 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 circumstances. 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> developed +plot—even though you may have to use hot-house methods and force its +growth. </p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<i>is</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>4. The Borrowed Plot</i></span></p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>The one safe way is to use the plot-germ, and <i>only</i> 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 <i>should</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<i>copy</i> a story from a newspaper item and to <i>get</i> 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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> sensations of the day. But then, the +practised writer can find ideas anywhere.</p> + +<p>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 <i>persona non grata</i> 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.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>5. Keeping Well Informed</i></span></p> + +<p>The best means of avoiding unconscious plagiarism and the use of old +material is to keep informed as fully as you possibly can of what is +released week by week. You cannot be too well posted on what is going +on in the photoplay business-world. Your selling-average will be +higher as a result. The editor knows what is old and what is new, and +so must you, though doubt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>less not so perfectly. Every editor's office +is stocked with books, reference works, magazines, trade publications, +and files of newspaper clippings. These all contain something of +practical value in working up the bare ideas bought from contributors +or in writing his own story—for editors as well as producers often +write photoplays.</p> + +<p>You can hardly go too far in making a study of the various +motion-picture trade journals, because, quite apart from the material +furnished by the different studio publicity departments—which +material, for a certain week, may be practically the same in all the +publicity mediums—each periodical may be depended upon to have at +frequent intervals if not in every issue some good special article +that will either help to instruct the writer or furnish a "tip" as to +the immediate needs of a certain company. While we make special +mention of <i>The Moving Picture World</i> because of the fact that it has +had Mr. Sargent's department as a regular feature for over eight +years, we also recommend the student to keep regularly in touch with +what is published in the <i>Motion Picture News</i> (New York), the <i>New +York Dramatic Mirror</i>, <i>Motography</i> (Chicago), and—for the sake of +their critical reviews—any other trade periodicals he may be able to +procure. Apart from the trade journals, you can always be sure of +finding well-written special articles or regular departments of +interest to photoplaywrights in such monthly and semi-monthly +magazines as <i>Photoplay</i> (Chicago), <i>Motion Picture Magazine</i> and +<i>Motion Picture Classic</i> (Brooklyn, N.Y.), <i>Picture-play Maga<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>zine</i> +(New York), and <i>Moving Picture Stories</i> (New York). Many popular +magazines also print excellent photoplay material frequently and such +craft-periodicals as <i>The Writer's Monthly</i> (Springfield, Mass.) are +always especially helpful to authors. All such tools of the writer's +trade you should get as regularly as you can—and <i>use</i> them.</p> + +<p>So long as you get your plot-ideas honestly, where you get them is +altogether your own matter. But get them you must, for, as A. Van +Buren Powell has said: "Everyone will grant that in photoplay writing +'The Idea's the thing.' The script of the beginner, carrying a +brand-new idea, will find acceptance where the most technical +technique in the world, disguising a revamped story, will fail to coax +the coy check from its lair."</p> + +<p><i>So, let your ideas be original.</i> Get your inspiration, your +plot-germ, from any source, but be sure that, before you claim the +story for your own, you have so changed and reconstructed the original +that it is absolutely yours.</p> + +<p>Here is a paragraph by Mr. Eugene V. Brewster, in <i>Motion Picture +Magazine</i>, of which he is editor: "It is extremely difficult to think +out a plot that has not been done before. You may not have seen it +before, you may have invented the whole thing out of your brain, but +the probabilities are that the manufacturers have done the same thing, +with slight variations, time and time again, and that the same idea +has been submitted to them dozens of times. You may think you have +worked out something entirely new, but you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> should remember that the +regular writers employed by the manufacturers have been reading and +thinking for years in an effort to devise something new, and that they +have been trained to do this very thing."</p> + +<p>True, it <i>is</i> difficult to think out a plot that has not been done +before; but this very fact, instead of discouraging the writer, should +offer him the greater incentive to discover original ideas for his +stories. That the manufacturers are once in a while forced to make +over their old plays should convince the photoplaywright that they are +more than willing to buy new ones if they are the kind they are +looking for, and that he should study the market to see what the +manufacturers want, and then write the kind they <i>are</i> looking for.</p> + +<p>Lastly, we would say most emphatically that the staff-writers employed +by the different companies have absolutely no advantage over the +trained and intelligent free-lance author in the production of +original plays. It is just as hard to think up original plots if one +is on the salary list of one of the manufacturers as it is for you who +do your work at home and turn out only one script a month. The +important fact is, that the staff-writer would never have been offered +the position he holds had not the editor recognized his ability to +keep up a fairly steady output of plays with plots and technical +points of more than average merit. He was an original writer <i>before</i> +he became a member of the staff, <i>not because</i> he is in the employ of +the producer.</p> + +<p>The field is wide and growing, but nowhere is there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> room for +untrained, incompetent, hit-or-miss dabblers. The man who is in +earnest, who keeps in touch with what is going on in the trade, who +watches the pictures to gain ideas and inspiration, who studies the +life about him to find plot-suggestions and motives, and who, once +started, keeps at it—working, working, working—cannot fail to find +that his reward will justify the effort.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>WHAT YOU CANNOT WRITE</h3> + + +<p>The caption of this chapter must be taken as a serious warning that +there are certain things which you cannot write into a script unless +you wish to insure its rejection. These specific warnings are based on +the experiences of amateurs who have had their scripts returned with +the brief and unsatisfactory statement that they were "not available +for present use," or that the "cost of production is too great."</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>1. Asking the Impossible or the Impracticable</i></span></p> + +<p>It is a constant source of mingled amusement and dismay to editors to +read some of the impossible or impracticable things that amateur +photoplaywrights wish to have done in the course of the action of +their stories. Three things are responsible for this common fault in +photoplay plotting: the writer's very limited knowledge of the +limitations of the photoplay stage; an intense desire to be original; +and the fact that, having seen in the pictures themselves so many +evidences that the manufacturers do not let the question of expense +stand in the way of attaining spectacular and realistic effects, they +go blindly ahead and introduce scenes to take which would so +enormously run up the cost of producing the picture that the expense<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> +involved would be out of all proportion to the value of the scene as a +part of the story.</p> + +<p>Better to illustrate these points, we reproduce a paragraph from an +article by Mr. R.R. Nehls, manager of the American Film Manufacturing +Company:</p> + +<p>"Ordinary judgment should tell a writer about what is possible in the +way of stage equipment to carry out a plot. We can provide almost +anything in reason, such as wireless instruments, automobiles, houses +of every description, cattle, etc., but we cannot wreck passenger +trains, dam up rivers, and burn up mansions merely to produce a single +picture. There is no rule to guide you in these matters save your own +common sense."</p> + +<p>Now, the foregoing paragraph was written by Mr. Nehls some six years +ago. We include his opinion in this volume, however, because it is +absolutely necessary to consider expense when planning a story for the +screen. On the other hand, it must be said for the benefit of the new +and talented writer who really has or can evolve big situations for +his stories that never in the history of the motion picture have +manufacturers been so ready to do the big thing in a big way as they +are now. That is to say—and this whole statement should have your +most careful consideration—the only thing that a manufacturer +considers today is the question of whether or not a certain effect, +scenic, mechanical, or whatever it may be, is <i>worth</i> the money which +would have to be spent to obtain it. It would be folly to say that +train wrecks, burning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> houses, destroyed bridges, and the like, are +"impossible" in a film story, after every patron of the picture houses +has seen on the screen everything from the wrecking by earthquake of a +whole village to the burning of a huge sailing vessel—have seen, in +very fact, almost everything that it is possible to see on the earth, +above the earth, or in the waters under it. We have indeed reached a +period of amazing spectacular effects, produced, in most cases, at +enormous cost. And yet today a far closer watch is kept on the cost +than ever before.</p> + +<p>How are we to reconcile these two apparently conflicting statements? +The answer is simple: Nothing is too costly if it pays for itself—as +reckoned by the sale of prints when the picture is placed on the +market. If, for example, "The Birth of a Nation," "Civilization," +"Cabiria," "Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea," and ever so many +other super-features that have been made since these were produced, +had cost twice as much as they actually did, they would still have +been exceedingly profitable ventures for the ones who put them out. If +you have the story to justify the big scenes and effects you will +unhesitatingly be provided with all the effects the story calls for. +Today, economy is practiced <i>after</i> the story has been purchased; the +unusually good plot is not persistently returned because of the +expense attached to putting it into film form. Ways and means are +found within the studio to produce, for every thousand dollars paid +out, an effect—a result—such as to make it appear that from three to +five times that amount has been ex<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>pended. Sometimes, indeed, an +effect produced at comparatively trifling expense, often by trick +photography or by "faking" or substituting for some expensive +property, is even <i>more effective</i> than the real thing would have +been. As an example, the effect on the screen of a miniature—a +"fake"—Zeppelin falling through the clouds, a blazing mass, was +convincing, thrilling and easy to produce, whereas from the +spectator's point of view it would have been well nigh impossible to +make a satisfactory photograph of a real Zeppelin consumed by flames +and falling to destruction, even though it had been both possible and +financially worth while to burn a real dirigible.</p> + +<p>Another thing to be remembered is that Mr. Nehls wrote his statement +at a time when one-reel pictures were the rule; and what would have +been considered enormously expensive for a single-reel story is not +thought so much of when it is to be included in a production of five +reels or over. A good rule, followed by many successful writers, is to +plan your story—estimating as well as you can according to what +unusual effects or settings, are called for—so that a five-reel +subject, say, will not call for more than five times the outlay +demanded by a single-reel picture. It is not an easy thing to do, we +will admit; but you can do your best to figure the expense in this +way. Many manufacturers are willing to pay out as much for a +thoroughly good five-reel picture as some others would pay for a +six-or seven-reel feature; if they do so in the case of <i>your</i> story +so much the better for you, in the light of the additional credit you +will receive for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> having turned out an especially fine piece of work. +The point is: Don't be too ready to add to the expense merely because +it is a multiple-reel story. The test should be: Is the expensive +scene or effect absolutely essential to a proper unfolding of your +plot? If it is, include it; if not, leave it out or find as good a +substitute effect as you can. In any event, omit expensive scenes for +minor parts of your plot.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>2. Considering the Expense of Settings</i></span></p> + +<p>Do not write a scene into your scenario that will necessitate too much +work for scenic artists, carpenters, and property men. A truly big +theme is, of course, entitled to careful, and even elaborate, staging; +but it is usually only necessary to set forth the big theme and +describe the setting in a general way; the producer will do the rest. +Do not be extravagant in your requirements. This should be one of your +first considerations when you start to write a scene: could it be +played as well in some other setting that would not require so much +"staging?" Perhaps, in the setting that you thought of first, it might +be necessary to use several extra people, thereby adding to the cost +of production. No doubt it would be very pretty and effective to have +Ralph make up his quarrel with Dorothy as she sits down close to the +camera in the crowded ball-room; but, if the play did not already +contain a ball-room scene, could not the reconciliation be shown just +as well in the library or on the street near her home or in a +drawing-room scene where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> only a few guests are assembled, the guests +all being regular members of the stock company?</p> + +<p>Some pictures calling for special properties and extra people fully +justify the additional expenditure; others do not. He is a wise writer +who knows his own script well enough to be able to judge.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>3. How Some "Too Expensive" Scenes Were Taken</i></span></p> + +<p>In a great many cases, pictures containing aëroplanes, burning oil +wells, railroad wrecks, houses that are completely gutted by fire, and +other exceptionally spectacular features, are the result of the merest +chance. For example, a few years ago the Thanhouser studio at New +Rochelle, N.Y., caught fire and burned to the ground. The fire was a +spectacular one, as the chemical contents of the building burned like +powder, and there were several explosions. The fire occurred at 1.30 +o'clock in the afternoon, and many of the players were at lunch at +their hotels when the alarm was turned in. But the players, the +cameraman, and the director quickly got together, and even before the +fire was well out they had produced a thrilling fire picture, "When +the Studio Burned," in which was shown the rescue of the "Thanhouser +Kid" by Miss Marguerite Snow, then leading woman of the company. Thus +advantage was taken of an unfortunate happening to add to the fame of +the Thanhouser company.</p> + +<p>Again, it may happen that several scenes of a big fire are taken while +it is in progress, and the film laid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> aside until a suitable photoplay +is either written by a staff-writer or sent in by an outside author. +Then the picture is completed, the fire scenes previously taken being +inserted between other scenes showing the action of the plot.</p> + +<p>One of the most thrilling and realistic fire pictures ever produced +was "The Incendiary Foreman," released by Pathé Frères early in 1908. +It had a well-developed plot that kept the dramatic interest keyed up +every moment, but the features of the film were the many thrillingly +realistic fire scenes, in which the Parisian fire department battled +with the flames while several enormous buildings were being destroyed. +One of the earlier scenes depicted the yard of the Pathé factory, and +showed a quarrel between the foreman and one of the workmen. The +ensuing action led one to believe that this was the factory that was +consumed by the flames, but one or two of the later scenes made it +plain to those who could read French and who watched the picture +closely that the actual fire scenes had been taken during the +destruction of an immense oil refinery. Yet the combination of the +rehearsed scenes and the views of the real and disastrous +conflagration made a picture that drew record-breaking houses to every +theatre where it was exhibited.</p> + +<p>Again, whether or not the producing concern releases a weekly or +semi-weekly current-events reel, every company at times makes use of +portions of such pictures, either made by themselves or procured from +other firms. In the same way, educational pictures of every kind are +made use of—certain parts of them, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> is—to provide fitting and +convincing atmosphere for original stories. When the Whartons put out +their very fine patriotic serial, "The Eagle's Eye," written and +produced with the intention of exposing the plots formed in the United +States by agents of the Imperial German Government, the first episode +was called "The Hidden Death," and showed on the screen exactly how, +in all probability, the sinking of the <i>Lusitania</i> was brought about +by Count von Bernstorff and his various agents. The actual +advertisement placed in New York City newspapers by the German Embassy +at Washington, warning all travelers that they sailed on steamers +belonging to Great Britain at their own risk, as a state of war +existed between that country and Germany, was shown on the screen, as +were several photographs of newspaper first pages with news of the +crime after it had been perpetrated. Also, the <i>Lusitania</i> was shown +sailing down the North River toward the Upper Bay, starting on her +last voyage. This picture, of course, was at least three years old at +the time the film was shown in the theatres, and may have been much +more than that, since many pictures of this and other great ocean +liners have been made in years past, and at times when no one could +possibly have guessed their ultimate fate.</p> + +<p>Practically every photoplay of the Great War that has been released up +to the present time has been made up in part of scenes taken on one of +the fighting fronts, at the American, British or other training camps, +or during street parades and military reviews, these pictures having +first been made for news weeklies, official<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> war pictures, or for +patriotic propaganda purposes. Fitted in as a part of a war story, +they greatly enhance the effect of those scenes which are entirely the +creation of the author's brain.</p> + +<p>On one occasion, a certain Edison director was putting on a feature +which showed—as originally written—the sinking in mid-ocean of a +great liner. While rehearsing the scene on deck which showed the +passengers taking to the life-boats, he made repeated experiments with +certain lightning effects, none of which quite satisfied him. He also +had some trouble with one of the made-to-order life-boats. Finally, +rather disgusted with the way things were going, he decided to cut out +the lowering-of-the-boats scene and to have a fire at sea instead of a +mere foundering. In a very few minutes, with the aid of "smoke-pots" +and "blow-torches" a thrilling burning-ship scene was made, with the +people scrambling toward the life-boats. Later, several long-distance +views of the burning of a real ocean vessel, made by the company +several years before, were introduced with most convincing effect, +while the action of the story was in no way interfered with on account +of the change. The scene described, of course, was made in the studio, +with a specially built deck scene. Had there been other scenes aboard +ship needed in the story's working out, the director would undoubtedly +have secured permission to take all the scenes needed aboard one of +the ocean liners always to be found in the port of New York.</p> + +<p>So it is that hundreds of pictures released every year contain +thrilling, unusual, and beautiful effects<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> which the author has never +dreamed of writing into his scenario, but which have been supplied by +a careful director with a memory for what the company has made in the +past. And the thing to be remembered, of course, is that while it is +very easy for a director to use something which is already made and in +the company's possession—or readily procurable from another +company—it is not so easy, at times, <i>to make</i> the big scene or +effect that the novice introduces into his story.</p> + +<p>Leaving aside the staff-writers, in almost every company<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> there are +one or two photoplaywrights; in many cases the leading man is also the +director of the company, writing and producing a great many of the +plays they turn out. Where this is so, that company is in a position +to take advantage of any unforeseen happening or accident. Being in +the vicinity of a railroad wreck, they hurry to the place and take the +scenes they need. Then, probably many miles away, and on an entirely +different railroad line, with the permission of the company and +possibly at a slight extra expense, they take the other railroad +scenes—perhaps a week after taking those at the scene of the wreck.</p> + +<p>Thus the unthinking amateur writer, seeing the result of the +producer's efforts on the screen, takes it for granted that the +company has gone to the expense of buying up several old coaches and +an engine or two and producing an actual wreck merely for the sake of +supplying some thrilling situations in a railroad drama.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> True, +head-on collisions have been planned and pictured, box-cars have been +thrown over embankments, automobiles have been burned, aëroplanes have +been wrecked, and houses have been destroyed, to furnish thrilling +episodes in the pictures produced by various companies, but unless the +story itself fully justified the additional expense and trouble, it is +safe to say that the company, having the opportunity to purchase some +old engines and coaches cheap, took advantage of this to write and +produce a picture in which their destruction could be featured—that +is, the photoplay was the result of the special scene, and the scene +was not made specially for that particular plot.</p> + +<p>To repeat, in introducing scenes that call for additional expenditure +on the part of the manufacturer, the question to ask yourself is, +<i>will the resulting effect really justify the added cost of +production</i>?</p> + +<p>As a striking example of how unusual and—from the standpoint of what +may be artificially arranged—seemingly impossible scenes may be used +in photoplays, consider the following—and then avoid the introduction +of such scenes unless you know <i>absolutely</i> just how your effect may +be obtained.</p> + +<p>The Vitagraph release, "A Wasted Sacrifice,"<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> more fully described +in the <a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">next chapter</a>, contained a scene in which a young Indian woman, +stepping upon a rattlesnake, was bitten, and died. One scene showed +her walking along, with the papoose on her back, all unsuspecting of +the danger that threatened. Then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> came a close-up showing the rattler +coiled with head raised. The next full-sized scene showed the woman +just about to step upon the snake concealed in the grass. In the +second close-up which followed, showing only the snake and the woman's +moccasined feet, the reptile struck with startling swiftness and +savageness. The whole effect was thrilling in the extreme—and we do +not doubt that more than one young writer was tempted to write a story +with a similar scene. But how often would a producer be able to obtain +such an effect? It seems obvious that the scene was in stock and the +play built around it, but the truth is that the scene was specially +made. The snake was caught, and its poison extracted, and then the +scenes were taken. In the close-up scene the snake was inside an +enclosure stretched on the ground. The first close-up showed the +snake, coiled. In the second, the girl was in the enclosure with the +snake. But the close-up did not show the enclosure, of course. And +rattlesnakes are not readily obtainable "props"!</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>4. Animal Actors</i></span></p> + +<p>Another mistake frequently made by the beginner is in writing stories +that require the assistance of trick animals. We know one +motion-picture actor who, at the time when he was on the extra list of +a well-known Chicago company, wrote to a New York producer that he +would furnish the working scenarios for two or three plays in which +his trick dog could work provided that he himself were allowed to +direct the scenes in which the animal took part. He was told to go +on,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> and carried out his part of the contract as offered. The result +was several very exceptional pictures in which his dog's clever work +was featured. But how many writers are prepared not only to write the +script but also to furnish the dog and direct its acting? It is better +to leave the writing of such stories to some member of the company +owning the trick animal.</p> + +<p>The Selig Company maintains a large menagerie, as does also the +Universal Company; and a script in which caged animals are used might +be accepted by them. Even a story requiring animals that were +unconfined might "get by;" but it would be advisable, in either case, +first to try to find out whether the director who would take such a +picture considered the story worth while writing. That is, we think +the photoplaywright would do well—although no such suggestion has +been offered by either company—to send a <i>short</i> synopsis of the +story he intends to write, showing just how the animals would be made +use of. We have no doubt that the editor would let you know if he +considered the idea a good one; and if he did, you could complete your +script or detailed synopsis. It would be understood, of course, that +his approving your idea would in no way guarantee the acceptance of +your script. But of one thing you might be sure: if your idea were not +purchased, it would not be used at all, as every reputable company +pays for everything they use.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>5. Child Actors</i></span></p> + +<p>What applies to animals applies equally to child<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> actors: it is always +best, before submitting a story in which a child plays an important +part, to be reasonably certain that the company has such a juvenile +player, or that they can procure a child with the necessary ability to +perform the part. Several concerns have as members of their stock +companies child actors of marked ability. In some studios, however, +the director finds it necessary to "send out" for clever children of +whom he may know—sometimes the child has acted under his direction +before; sometimes he has heard the reports from directors of other +companies—and if there is doubt in the director's mind that the child +can handle the part, your story may be rejected as a result.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>6. Costume Plays</i></span></p> + +<p>In the <a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">chapter</a> on "What You Should Write" we discuss the question of +writing historical dramas, which come under the head of costume plays. +It should be said here that, merely as an economical consideration, +you should always avoid sending scripts calling for special—and +therefore expensive—costuming to any company unless you know that +they are in the habit of producing plays of that nature. By studying +the pictures you see on the screen you can easily learn what companies +go in for costume or historical plays; such companies are always glad +to receive really strong and interesting stories of this character +from outside writers.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>7. Lighting</i></span></p> + +<p>We have already touched upon the use of special<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> lighting arrangements +in special scenes, but it is well to say again that it is best to let +the director decide how a scene shall be lighted. He will consider the +matter from the standpoint of practicability and expense; you are very +likely to think only of the effect. Don't be too ready to write scenes +calling for verandas hung with electric lights in supposed night +scenes, Japanese lanterns at garden parties, unique moonlight effects, +and similar things that will make for expense—even if they are +practicable.</p> + +<p>Finally, economy should always be the guide followed by the author in +writing his story. If, after it has been accepted, the director +chooses to stage it with more than ordinary care and expense, so much +the better. But the director and not the author will be the one to +decide how it is to be staged. If the story is good, it will not be +slighted in its production.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>WHAT YOU SHOULD NOT WRITE</h3> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>1. The Work of the Censors</i></span></p> + +<p>From the time that you begin to write moving-picture plays, one +important fact must be borne constantly in mind: The National Board of +Censorship inspects and passes on all films before they are permitted +to be released, and this Board will not pass any subject it considers +objectionable. It is not our province to discuss the methods of the +censors in making decisions, though in some sections the local board +carries the censorship idea to extremes, even barring some subjects +that have already passed the National Board. It is safe to say, +however, that the folly of hacking to pieces a film portraying +Shakespeare's tragedy of "Macbeth," on the ground that it contained +too many scenes showing murder and other crimes, will soon become +apparent even to over-zealous police and other censors of certain +cities. As Mr. W. Stephen Bush writes in <i>The Moving Picture World</i>: +"A very small and a very short-sighted minority of motion picture +manufacturers, together with occasional lapses of National +Censorship," are responsible for the exceedingly silly and +presumptuous system now existent in some localities.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is because of this "small and short-sighted minority" that we offer +this advice: Write as your conscience and a sense of decency as an +individual and as a good citizen dictate. The chances are that then +your photoplay will meet with no serious objection. Do not introduce a +crime-scene into your picture simply because when you saw a similar +scene in a photoplay it aroused a moment's thrill among the +spectators. The fact that it passed the National Board and the local +censorship committee—if your city has one—does <i>not</i> mean that it is +the kind of picture the better class of theatre patrons want, and the +better class ought to be set up in your mind as the judges of all you +write. A bad example will not justify you in writing a play containing +objectionable scenes. The safe ground is the best ground because it is +right.</p> + +<p>The following list of features disapproved by the National Board of +Censorship gives a good general idea of the things that may be +regarded as under the ban, not in one or two special cities, but +throughout the country. It is not a copy of an official list, as, to +the best of our knowledge, none such is sent out; it is merely a draft +prepared by Mr. John F. Pribyl, then with the Selig Company, after he +had had a conversation on the subject with the Secretary of the +National Board, Mr. Walter Story, and courteously transmitted by Mr. +Pribyl to the authors of this volume.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Disapproved by the National Board of Censorship</span></p> + +<p><i>The Unwritten Law:</i> The Board does not recognize<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> the so-called +unwritten law as a justification for the killing of any being.</p> + +<p><i>Crime:</i> 1. When crime is the obvious purpose of the picture—that is, +when the whole story hinges on the perpetrated crime.</p> + +<p>2. When the crime is repulsive and shocks the spectator.</p> + +<p>3. The shooting in "cold blood" of any being.</p> + +<p>4. Any crime that portrays a unique method of execution.</p> + +<p><i>Suicide:</i> The Board will not pass a picture in which there is a +suicide or any suggestion of a suicide, with incidents leading +thereto. The purpose of the Board is to prevent all suggestion of +self-destruction to those who are morbidly inclined.</p> + +<p><i>Burglary:</i> There is no objection to a burglary scene in a picture so +long as there is no actual demonstration of the act of burglarizing; +for instance, the burglar may be shown entering through an open +window, but must not be shown in the act of "jimmying" the window. He +may be shown with his back to the audience, opening a safe and +extracting therefrom money or papers, but he must not be shown opening +the safe by any means known to the art of burglars.</p> + +<p><i>Vulgarity:</i> All vulgarity and suggestion must be avoided. For +instance, flirtations with women who are unmistakably of easy virtue. +Letters making appointments with such women are objectionable, as is +any "rough-house" conduct with them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Mischief:</i> The Board objects to pictures that will suggest to the +mind of youth acts of mischief, such as mutilation or destruction of +property for the purpose of perpetrating a joke on someone, especially +playing jokes on invalids or cripples.</p> + +<p><i>Lynching:</i> Lynching is only permissible when the incident happens in +the days when Lynch Law was the only law, i.e., in the early days of +the Far West when the Vigilantes were the only effective means of +enforcing order.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>2. Other Objectionable Subjects</i></span></p> + +<p>The foregoing, of course, is not a complete list, as points are coming +up continually. For instance, scenes showing kidnapping are forbidden +by the police of many cities, and the introduction of that form of +crime into a film story is frowned upon by the National Board. The +point is that scenes of crime and violence are not absolutely barred, +nor are offenses against the moral law, but where permitted these must +not be presented offensively, and they must be <i>essential</i> to the +story, rather than the <i>purpose</i> of the play. This is a difficult +point which nothing but common sense and experience can perfectly +interpret.</p> + +<p>As an example, a story written about a murder or a robbery will not be +passed, but such an incident may be allowed in a story in which it is +not the leading feature. In any event, the incident must serve to +point a moral and not serve as a spectacle.</p> + +<p>Another thing to remember is that—aside from the moving-pictures +exhibited in the various "regular"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> theatres—dozens of incidents +which are shown on the regular stage without being questioned in any +way, would never be allowed on the screen. This is partly due to the +fact that such a large percentage of the attendants of moving-picture +theatres are children and undiscriminating adults. The writer of +fiction entering the field of photoplay writing will do well to bear +this further fact in mind: the very incident that might be the means +of selling a story to a certain magazine might be the cause of a +rejection if introduced into a moving-picture plot. The photoplay has +standards all its own.</p> + +<p>"One type of the unpleasant drama," says a writer in the <i>Photoplay +Magazine</i>, "is the kind showing scenes of drinking and wild +debauchery, where some character becomes drunk and slinks home to his +sickly wife, beats her, and then, finally, after reaching the last +stages of becoming a sot, suddenly braces up and reforms." The same +writer also remarks: "The only time that murder should be shown, <i>and +that very delicately</i>, is either in a detective drama or else in good +tragedy, where the removal of some character is essential to the +plot." "Every one of Shakespeare's tragedies tells of crime," says an +editorial in <i>The Moving Picture World</i>, "but does not exploit it, and +never revels in the harrowing details to produce a thrill."</p> + +<p>It is not to be denied that careless and unthinking directors are +responsible for a good deal of what is objectionable on the screen. At +the same time—and this is especially true of comedy subjects—the +director is merely, as a rule, carrying out the author's +<i>sugges<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>tions</i>, if not his actual directions. The best way is not to +give the director the opportunity to adopt objectionable +features—leave even questionable incidents out of your photoplay.</p> + +<p>For example, the elopement is legitimate moving-picture material, +provided it is not introduced in such a way as to instill mischief +into the minds of young men and women. At least one picture was +produced a year or so ago which showed two high-school girls eloping +with a couple of young rakes who in another part of the photoplay +"registered" that they were by no means the kind of young men who +would ever have received the sanction of the girls' parents to marry +their daughters. Such a picture may have been conceived innocently +enough, but as a subject that would be shown to thousands of young +people all over the world it was decidedly deserving of censure. And +yet some of the very incidents that served to make the picture doubly +objectionable in the eyes of grown people, especially fathers and +mothers, might have been the result of the director's unthinkingly +adding certain scenes that served to portray young men in a bad +light—incidents which were not even thought of by the author when he +planned his picture of a youthful escapade. We sympathize with the +lovers when Dorothy's father refuses to let her marry Jack, to whom +she is plainly devoted. But when, in another scene, we see Jack +wasting his time in pool-rooms or lounging in a saloon, we give the +father credit for being a good judge of character, and not simply a +harsh and stubborn guardian.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> + +<p>Writers should remember that even though a film is passed by the +National Board, if it gets into a city in which the local censorship +board objects to one or two scenes, these scenes will be literally cut +out for exhibition in that city. Afterwards, they may be put back; but +if this happens in several communities, the film is likely to be +shortened by many feet, since in cutting and re-splicing each cut +means the loss of at least two "frames," or pictures, and even more if +the operator does not know his business—not to mention the loss of +the actual scenes cut out. Suppose that two or three of a writer's +"strong" scenes are cut when his picture is shown—in Detroit, for +instance—the result on the screen is more likely to become an +illogical and incoherent jumble than the powerful "drama with a punch" +he had intended it to be. But "Censorship realizes," says Mr. A.W. +Thomas, in the <i>Photoplay Magazine</i>, "as does every editor and author, +that morality is to be desired, and to this end, crime or suggestion +of crime is presented, as a rule, to convey the moral. 'Crime for +crime's sake' is to be condemned. Sensationalism and forbidden themes +are seldom seen nowadays."</p> + +<p>Aside from murder and suicide, why is it that so many young authors +imagine that to be strong a story must have at least one violent or +tragic death-scene? That there are hundreds of gripping stories, +pictures with the biggest kind of "punch," in which no death or +suggestion of death is shown, is well-known to every photoplay patron +whose mind and heart are in good working order. And yet editors are +every day<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> returning scripts in which a murder, a suicide, a death as +the result of a duel, or a death arising from disease or accident, is +shown—all for no other reason than that the writer imagines he is +thereby producing a strong drama.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>3. Depressing Dramas</i></span></p> + +<p>Death in a picture is neither undesirable nor out of place—<i>provided +it is necessary to the proper and inevitable development of the plot</i>. +But the mistaken idea that to snuff out a human life in a thrilling or +a heart-rending manner, when there is really no logical necessity for +it, makes a picture either strong or dramatic is responsible for +scores of unaccepted scripts. Yet it would not be well to try to apply +to all picture stories Mr. George Cohan's motto, "Always leave them +laughing," for, as every intelligent exhibitor knows, and as a certain +producer once said, "they come to weep as well as to laugh." The point +that seems to have escaped many young writers is this: There is very +often a more decided, a more convincing, and a far more welcome, +"punch" in a scene which shows the saving of a human life than there +is in one which shows a death, even of the most unworthy character in +the cast. To have your villain nursed back to life by the man whom he +has so persistently and cruelly persecuted, and then to have him show +the change of heart that one would expect in him in the circumstances, +will be far more dramatic and gripping in the eyes of an intelligent +audience than to have your hero<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> "hurl the black-hearted ruffian to +his doom" over a cliff a thousand feet high.</p> + +<p>There is a distinction, with a very decided difference, between the +picture that fills the spectators with gloom and the one that simply +allows them to have what many women would call "a good cry." "It is a +great thing to be able to lift the spectators out of their seats with +a big, gripping melodrama," remarks Mr. Sargent, "but it is a far more +creditable thing to send them home with a tear in their eyes while a +smile hovers about their lips."</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>4. The Use of Deadly Weapons</i></span></p> + +<p>It is understood, of course, that the use of guns, knives, and other +weapons is seldom objected to by the censors when they are employed in +a historical picture, or one that shows pioneer life. The trouble is +that some young writers, knowing that they are granted more license in +this direction when doing "Western stuff," make the mistake of abusing +this liberty. Mr. R.R. Nehls, of the American Film Company, says: "The +most noticeable fault with manuscripts dealing with Western life is +the natural inclination to run too much to gun play, stagecoach +robberies, etc. Please remember that we do not wish to distort +conditions in the great West—rather we seek to portray it as it +really exists today."</p> + +<p>Mr. Nehls, it will be noticed, says "the great West ... as it really +exists today." It should be apparent to any writer that in turning out +stories of the present-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>day West there is even less excuse for +promiscuous gun-play than in a story, say, of California in the days +of the Forty-Niners. But Indian massacres, soldier warfare, Indian and +cowboy fights, usually come under the head of "historical" subjects +and are therefore permissible.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>5. Plays Offensive to Classes of Patrons</i></span></p> + +<p>It seems scarcely possible that any intelligent photoplay writer would +introduce into one of his stories an incident calculated to offend the +religious or political faith of any patron, and yet in the past +different pictures of this kind have been the cause of more than one +unthinking moving-picture theatre manager's losing some of his best +patrons. People as a rule have no objection to being preached to in a +mild and entertaining way when they go to a picture show, but they do +object to having their feelings hurt. A man who is over-fond of drink +may sit through a play on the screen in which the evil results of +intoxication are depicted and come away filled with a determination to +reform his way of living, but the man who after paying his admission +is asked to sit through five or more reels of film almost every foot +of which is a shock to his religious or his political sensibilities +will come away filled only with the determination to avoid that +theatre in the future, if not, indeed, to eschew moving-pictures +entirely.</p> + +<p>During 1911 and the early part of 1912 several pictures were released, +both by European and American manufacturers, which were so objected to +by Roman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> Catholic picture-patrons that not only were they suppressed +but the whole film-manufacturing industry was aroused and put on its +guard against producing more pictures of this kind. Here is a rule of +photoplay writing that you must not violate: Do not offend the +religious beliefs of a <i>single patron</i> if you wish to retain the good +will of the editors and manufacturers. And have you stopped to think +how broad that statement really is? Have you taken into consideration +the many different nationalities, with their widely different creeds +and religious convictions, which see the pictures daily put upon the +market? As one critic says: "The photoplay film goes to Europe and +Australia and South Africa. Some of them even get to China; so you can +realize that what may seem foolish to you may be sacred to someone +else, and exhibitors have to be careful."</p> + +<p>To say that you must be careful not to write stories that will be +likely to arouse the ire of certain photoplay patrons because of the +way a political theme is handled does not mean that you cannot +introduce political themes at all. If, for instance, you have a +particularly good suffragist story—one which contains both heart and +human interest—there is little doubt that it would sell. Several such +pictures have been shown in the past year or two. Or if you have a +story in which the leading male character is a Socialist, it may be +appreciated by many photoplay-goers without giving offense to those +whose views do not coincide with the hero's. But, to quote the editor +of <i>The Coming Nation</i>, stories are not wanted "where the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> hero arises +and makes a soap-box speech on Socialism, converting all by-standers." +And at all times you must keep in mind that, no matter what political +theme you exploit in your story, heart-interest must predominate if +you wish it to sell—another way of saying that unless you are sure +that you have a very strong and unusual story, it is best to leave out +politics. That form of journalism which is best known as muck-raking +is also out of place in the pictures.</p> + +<p>Few films, however, outside of the sectarian subjects which were the +cause of so much disturbance a year or so ago, have given displeasure +to so many people as those—fortunately, they have not been +many—which revealed and held up to the public the secret and dark +sides in the lives of famous men and women of history. "There are some +things that are sacred," says a writer in <i>The Moving Picture World</i>, +"even from the hand of the most circumspect of picture makers." It is +a source of regret that even a shadow of reproach should be cast upon +distinguished men, particularly when the question of blame is +debatable, as when, for instance, a picture portraying the love affair +between Sir John Millais, the artist, and Ruskin's wife, was actually +produced by a well-known company.</p> + +<p>No matter what the opportunity to produce what seems to you to be a +strong or interesting story, never offend against good taste. "Plays +that antagonize the finer element in an audience," says Mr. Louis +Reeves Harrison, "had better never be shown at all. There is nothing +funny in what is cruel, though vulgar brutality<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> in a play may get a +laugh from a few who have not yet emerged from primitive egoism."</p> + +<p>That last sentence should constantly be borne in mind.</p> + +<p>A certain film, "Adrift," released back in 1912, showed an incident +that in real life would have been impossible. The rejected suitor of a +woman who is afterwards seen on the downward path seeks to relieve his +lonely existence by the adoption of a child. Because a certain little +girl in an orphan asylum bears a striking resemblance to the woman he +has loved and lost, he decides to adopt her. And he does; they are +seen leaving together, the child being turned over to its new guardian +in the most off-hand way imaginable. Of course, later, the child, +having grown to womanhood, falls in love with and marries her +guardian; but in real life how little chance there would be of a +foundling institution's giving one of its girl charges over to a young +bachelor in this informal manner, if, indeed, he were allowed to adopt +her at all. Of course, it is not always possible to say whether the +script for such a picture was the work of an outside writer or whether +it was written by the director himself. But it sometimes happens that +a picture <i>is</i> produced <i>because</i> it was written by the director +himself, whereas the same story, sent to the editor by an outside +writer, would be returned with a warning to avoid similar scenes or +situations in the future.</p> + +<p>The difference between the photoplay and prose fiction, or even the +regular drama, is illustrated by the so-called problem plays and +novels. These are accept<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span>able mainly because their themes can be +explained from every point of view, and treated in a manner that +renders them less objectionable, when skillful dialogue and discussion +are used in telling the story, than if they were to be acted in +pantomime. Besides, to give the same story in motion pictures would +necessitate the use of more leaders and other inserts than would be +practicable, even in a feature picture, unless the director were to +risk offending the public, if not the Censorship Board, by putting on +scenes that, insufficiently explained, would be far too risqué for the +photoplay stage. Furthermore, when there are so many good, pleasant, +and interesting themes to choose from, why elaborate what is +unpleasant or morally objectionable?</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>6. Themes Unsuitable to the Producing Company</i></span></p> + +<p>In the <a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">chapter</a> on the limitations of the photoplay stage we have +already said something about the inadvisability of calling (in your +scenario) for elaborate snow-and rain-storm effects. But of course it +is another matter to plan stories with winter or with summer +backgrounds. Take into consideration that most of the Eastern +companies, once the winter season is at hand, look for stories that +may be done mostly in the studios, with interior settings. If the +company has a branch studio in California or in Florida—facts which +you can easily learn from the trade publications—they will very +probably take suitable stories calling for outdoor scenes. As the +winter season approaches its end you begin to offer scripts that call +for exterior scenes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> though, of course, there are some scenes which +it would not be possible to do until summer is well advanced.</p> + +<p>It is impossible here to lay down any exact rules for submitting to +any company; you must be guided by your good judgment and your +acquired knowledge of how the company to which you submit your scripts +has its field-forces distributed. But in order to make scripts +acceptable for production by a company that has a field-force working, +say, in the Adirondacks, it is necessary to get your stories to them +in good time. Therefore, post yourself concerning the movements of the +various companies, and when you learn that a certain concern has a +field-company in the West Indies, send them the best script you have +or can write, suited to the locality in which they are working. If it +is accepted, you may be sure that the editor will be very glad to keep +you informed as to how long they are going to stay. In that way you +will avoid sending to a company a story with a Jamaican background +when the field-company has been moved to the Delaware Water Gap +region.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>7. Hackneyed Themes</i></span></p> + +<p>Here is a list of subjects no longer wanted by the editors—unless the +theme is given a decidedly new twist—because they have become +hackneyed from being done so often. Many such lists have been printed +in the various motion-picture trade-papers and the different magazines +for writers. We give the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> tabooed themes that have so far been listed, +and others drawn from different sources. A careful study of this list +may save you from wasting your time writing a story that has already +been done—perhaps two or three times, in one form or another—in +every studio.</p> + +<p>(1) The brother and sister, orphaned in infancy, parted by adoption +and reunited in later life. They fall in love, only to discover the +blood relationship.</p> + +<p>(2) The little child stolen by gypsies, and restored to her family in +later life, generally by means of a favorite song.</p> + +<p>(3) The discharged workman who goes to do injury to his former +employer, but who performs some rescue instead and gets his job back.</p> + +<p>(4) The poor man who attends a fashionable dinner. He conceals in his +clothing delicacies for his sick wife. A ring or other valuable is +lost. He alone of the party refuses to be searched. The valuable is +found and his story comes out.</p> + +<p>(5) The man who assumes his brother's crime for the sake of the girl +he loves, and who, he thinks, loves the brother.</p> + +<p>(6) The child who reunites parted parents or prevents a separation.</p> + +<p>(7) Baby's shoes. Edison, Vitagraph, Universal and other companies +have worked out all the sentiment attached to them. Bannister Merwin, +Robert E. Coffey and other authors have reunited separated couples by +means of baby's shoes. Don't do it any more.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span></p> + +<p>(8) Two suitors for the hand of a girl. They go to one of the parents +to decide, or she gives them a common task to perform. One wins by +foul means. He is found out, and she marries the other.</p> + +<p>(9) The convict who escapes and robs an innocent man of his clothes, +thereby causing another to appear temporarily as the jail-bird.</p> + +<p>(10) The story of the girl's name and address written on the egg which +is relegated to cold storage for twenty years, then to be discovered +by a love-lorn man who seeks out the writer, who by this time has at +least one unromantic husband and a brood of children.</p> + +<p>(11) The pathetic "Mother" play in which Thanksgiving and pumpkin pies +tug hard at the heart-strings.</p> + +<p>(12) The play in which the rich crippled child is contrasted with the +poor strong child, and in which the two are brought together and +exchange confidences—and money.</p> + +<p>(13) The husband jealous of his wife's brother, whom he has never +seen.</p> + +<p>(14) The burglar who breaks into a house, to be confronted by his own +child, who has been adopted by the family.</p> + +<p>(15) The policeman who calls on the cook and removes his hat and coat, +which are used by another.</p> + +<p>(16) The child who reunites parents and children separated through an +unapproved marriage.</p> + +<p>(17) The child who redeems the criminal or who saves the discouraged +from the downward plunge.</p> + +<p>(18) The employee who gets an interest in the busi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>ness, and his +employer's daughter, either with or without opposition from the +foreman or the junior partner.</p> + +<p>(19) The bad small boy.</p> + +<p>(20) The sheriff who is rescued by the outlaw and who later allows him +to escape, or prevents his being lynched.</p> + +<p>(21) The revenue officer who falls in love with the moonshiner's +daughter, and who is forced to choose between love and duty.</p> + +<p>(22) The Southern boy who enlists in the Federal army, and is cast out +by his father for so doing. Or the young Northerner who, acting as a +Federal spy, falls in love with a Southern girl, the daughter of a +Confederate officer. There are dozens of variations of the Civil War +"brother against brother" plot, but all have been done so often that, +unless you can give such a theme a decidedly new "twist," it is much +better not to send it out. And note that merely to give the old theme +a "Great War" setting is <i>not</i> to render it more acceptable.</p> + +<p>(23) Stories requiring too much trick photography, and stories based +upon "love pills," "foolish powders," and other "influences."</p> + +<p>"Editors and public tired long ago of the poor boy whose industry at +last brought him the hand of his employer's daughter; the pale-faced, +sweet-eyed young thing whose heroism in stamping out a fire enabled +her to pay off the mortgage; the recovery of the missing will; the +cruel step-mother; answering a prayer which has been overheard; the +strange case of mistaken<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> identity; honesty rewarded; a noble revenge; +a child's influence; and so on to a long-drawn-out end."<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a></p> + +<p>In avoiding trite subjects the surest teachers are common sense, a +wide reading, the constant study of the photoplays seen on the screen, +a friendly critic, and the printed rejection slip. <i>And do not forget +this most important point</i>: It is not so much the time-worn <i>theme</i> +that makes a story hackneyed as it is the threadbare <i>development</i> of +the theme. A new "twist," a fresh surprise, coming as the climax to an +old situation, may redeem its hackneyed character. But when you can +combine a fresh theme with a new treatment you have reached the apex +of originality. Time spent in working on unhackneyed lines will save +you many later heartaches.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>8. Inconsistent Situations</i></span></p> + +<p>A word or two concerning inconsistencies in film stories. While the +inconsistencies and absurdities occasionally seen on the screen are +often traceable to the director alone, the writer must do his share +toward eliminating what is incorrect or out of place. Take for +instance the Red Cross in war-pictures. The introduction of the Red +Cross into American Civil War pictures was something that one of the +present writers had commented upon and criticized two or three years +before Mr. Herbert Hoagland, of Pathé Frères American company, wrote +his helpful little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> book on the technique of the photoplay<a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a>, but, +since Mr. Hoagland puts it so comprehensively in that work, what he +says is quoted here:</p> + +<p>"In a Civil War story the scenario called for a field hospital with +the Red Cross flag flying from a staff. Well, the Red Cross wasn't +organized until the closing year of the war, and then it was done in +Switzerland. The Southerners and the Yankees never saw this emblem of +mercy <i>during the whole four years of strife."</i></p> + +<p>Following the foregoing paragraph in his book, Mr. Hoagland speaks of +another script in which an officer in Confederate uniform is informed +by a courier—in Confederate uniform—that war had been declared +between the North and the South. "But," the Pathé censor of scripts +remarks, "there was no gray uniform of the Confederacy before the +C.S.A. was formed!"</p> + +<p>As one critic has remarked, "Screen credit for the author may not +bring him the credit for which he is looking." In other words, if the +director bungles a scene or allows some historical or other inaccuracy +to creep into the picture, the blame may be placed by the unthinking +spectator on the author—or even, in case of the picture's being an +adaptation of a novel, on the writer who prepared the continuity, or +scenario. Thus, while what Mr. Hoagland wrote was written in 1912, the +Red Cross flag was seen waving bravely in Paralta's "Madame Who?", +produced in 1918, and we feel sure that neither Mr. Harold MacGrath, +who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> wrote the novel, nor Mr. Monte M. Katterjohn, the staff-writer +who wrote the scenario, was responsible for the error.</p> + +<p>So it will be seen that the photoplaywright may easily find himself +under the fire not only of the professional critic, but also of the +lay patron and of his brother writers. Do not, therefore, risk +anything that may, so to speak, make it easier for the director to "go +wrong." To quote Davy Crockett's motto, "Be sure you're right; then go +ahead."</p> + +<p>As an example of what may happen if you fail to observe this warning, +consider the Vitagraph release, "A Wasted Sacrifice," referred to in +the <a href="#CHAPTER_XV">previous chapter</a>.<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> The big "punch" in this story, as already +pointed out, was where the young squaw steps on the concealed +rattlesnake. Women in the audience screamed; men felt the proverbial +"cold chill" run down their spines. Then came the climax, in which the +young Westerner, hoping to save the life of the papoose, takes it away +from the dead mother and hurries back to meet the doctor-sheriff who +is pursuing him with the posse. The doctor tells him that the child is +dead; his sacrifice—from which the story derives its title—has been +unnecessary. The poison, drawn from the breast of the stricken woman +by the nursing child, has killed the baby. A real "punch," indeed! But +wait. A prominent physician in an Eastern city writes to the producing +company protesting that it is impossible for a child to draw poison +into its system in the manner described. And the physician<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> <i>knows</i>! +In other words, what happened in the picture could not happen in real +life. The backbone of the plot has been broken! Seven in ten people +might not know the difference; they would never question the +probability of the scene. The other three in ten <i>would know</i>, and, +seeing your name on the film, would put you down as a first-class +"nature faker," or else as a very careless and badly informed writer. +And remember that even though the director may be the one most to +blame for not taking the trouble to verify the action introduced into +your story before putting it on, <i>you</i> will be the one blamed by those +in the studio, and your next story will undoubtedly be looked at +askance, and probably rejected.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>WHAT YOU SHOULD WRITE</h3> + + +<p>"With inventiveness and imagination the most commonplace, the +everyday-life subject, such as the ills and cares we have to bear, +becomes, by a proper exposition of human nature under those +conditions, a story both entertaining and instructive. But +<i>entertaining</i> first, instructive second; to <i>try</i> to be instructive +is to cease to be entertaining.</p> + +<p>"The strength of a story consists in the eloquence, vividness, and +sincerity with which a given problem in human life or character is +presented. Human nature is made up of all sorts of +traits—selfishness, cupidity, self-sacrifice, courage, loyalty. All +life is made up ... of a compromise between elements in the struggle +for happiness. These elements make for the story, happiness being the +chief factor for which humanity is searching."</p> + +<p>Though written for short-story writers, these words from an article by +Mr. Floyd Hamilton Hazard are so true, and so applicable to the +writing of photoplays, that we reproduce them here.</p> + +<p>Substantially similar ideas were advanced by Mr. Daniel Frohman, the +theatrical impresario, in an interview in the New York <i>Sun</i>, and no +one will doubt the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> close relationship which exists between the +general principles of plot-structure as applied to the "legitimate" +drama and to the photoplay.</p> + +<p>We may now see the first big element in all vitally dramatic themes:</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>1. The Human Appeal</i></span></p> + +<p>"Your script," wrote a certain editor in returning a young writer's +photoplay, "needs to be introduced to the 'H.I.' twins—Heart Interest +and Human Interest. Those two elements are responsible for the sale of +more manuscripts than anything else with which the writer has to do."</p> + +<p>In choosing a theme for your photoplay, then, constantly bear in mind +the great truth that, no matter how original, how interesting, or how +cleverly constructed your plot may be, it will be sadly lacking unless +it contains a goodly percentage of one or both of these desirable +qualities. The frequently-quoted formula of Wilkie Collins, "Make 'em +laugh, make 'em cry, make 'em wait," simply sums up the proper +procedure when you set out to win the interest and sympathy of the +spectators. "The greatest aid in selling scripts is the injection of +the human-interest bits. Every effective bit of business concisely +told helps the sale because it helps the editor," Mr. Sargent remarks +in one of his criticisms. "Reach your readers' hearts and brains," +says Arthur S. Hoffmann, editor of <i>Adventure</i>, in <i>The Magazine +Maker</i>. And then, after citing the dictum of Wilkie Collins, he adds: +"Make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> 'em hate, like, sympathize, think. Give them human nature, not +merely names of characters."</p> + +<p>When all is said, you can hope to reach the minds of the masses only +by first reaching their hearts.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>2. Writing for All Classes</i></span></p> + +<p>Notwithstanding the great advances in the art of moving-picture +production during the last few years, and the corresponding +improvement in the film-stories shown, the great mass of photoplay +patrons are still, as they always were, of the middle class. Better +pictures have gradually drawn into the picture theatres a more highly +educated type of patron, but very few exhibitors would stay in +business if the middle-class spectators were to discontinue their +attendance. The average working man can take his little family to the +picture theatre, say once a week, for fifty cents, whereas it would +cost him about that sum for one poor seat in a first-class regular +theatre. Hence the immense popularity of the picture theatre, and +hence too the necessity for effort on the part of the theatre manager +to please <i>all</i> his patrons.</p> + +<p>First, of course, he must please the majority, but he must by no means +overlook the tastes of the minority. Every man, as the wise proprietor +knows, enjoys most what he understands best. The plain people are not +necessarily the unintelligent ones, for the working man can both +understand and enjoy pictured versions of Dante's <i>Inferno</i> and +Sophocles' <i>Oedipus Rex</i>, but he will feel more at home while watching +a picture of con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>temporary American life; and who shall say, provided +the photoplay be a good one, that he is not receiving as much profit +therefrom as from the film version of either of the classics!</p> + +<p>The really successful photoplaywright is nothing if not versatile. +Unless he is content to have a very limited market, he more than any +other type of professional writer must be able to write for all +classes.</p> + +<p>Furthermore, he must be able to write on a variety of themes. The +photoplaywright who can produce only Western dramas, or stories +dealing with slum life, will find his sales averaging very low as +compared with the author who can construct a society drama, a Western +story, a photoplay of business life, a story of the Kentucky +mountains, or still other types. To be able to write photoplays that +will appeal to every class of photoplay patron is the supreme test of +the photoplaywright.</p> + +<p>These words of a celebrated French novelist and playwright, Ludovic +Halévy, are worthy of attention:</p> + +<p>"We must not write simply for the refined, the blasé, and the +squeamish. We must write for that man who goes there on the street +with his nose in his newspaper and his umbrella under his arm. We must +write for that fat, breathless woman whom I see from my window, as she +climbs painfully into the Odéon omnibus. We must write courageously +for the <i>bourgeois</i>, if it were only to try to refine them, to make +them less <i>bourgeois</i>. And if I dared, I should say that we must write +even for fools."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span></p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>3. A High Quality of Imagination Demanded</i></span></p> + +<p>Another well-known French dramatist, Marcel Prevost, who is a +photoplaywright as well, in a recent issue of the Paris <i>Figaro</i> +replied to a question whether motion pictures are harmful to the +legitimate theatre, by stating that, while he likes the pictures, +their authors are lacking in imagination.</p> + +<p>That there is a great deal of truth in what M. Prevost says seems to +be proved by the fact that when famous playwrights and best-selling +authors have supplied photoplay plots to the manufacturers, they have +been exceptionally well paid. We refer, of course, to stories +specially written for the photoplay stage, for when a film +manufacturer produces a story by a well-known fiction writer, which +originally appeared in novel or in short-story form, the manufacturer +does business with the author's publishers, unless the author has +specifically reserved for himself all dramatic rights—a practice +which, by the way, is becoming more and more general.</p> + +<p>An editorial in <i>Motography</i> says: "The best motion picture dramas +produced today are reproductions of literary classics. These films do +not achieve immortality; they merely further assure the immortality of +the original work. Why cannot a photodrama be produced that is fine +enough to live on its own merit—why must the picture always seem to +be secondary while literature and the drama continue to furnish the +primary motives?</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<img src="images/image21.jpg" alt="Electric Lights" width="400" height="303" /></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><b>Arrangement of Electric Lights in a Photoplay +Studio</b></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<img src="images/image22.jpg" alt="Dressing Room" width="400" height="305" /></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><b>An Actor's Dressing Room in the Selig Studio</b></p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>"The answer lies in the peculiar requirements of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> photoplay +authorship. The writer of printed fiction is a master of <i>words</i>. He +revels in artful phrases and unique constructions. He woos immortality +not by his plots, but by his clever handling of words—his 'style'." +And then the editor goes on to say that the photodrama will become +great when it has developed its own great men. "The photoplay author +of fame," he says, "must be a specialist."</p> + +<p>This also is true; but at the same time he must, as in any other +profession, first of all be a student. He must serve his +apprenticeship; and while he <i>is</i> serving his apprenticeship he must +cultivate the imagination which M. Prevost declares to be so +essential.</p> + +<p>Imagination cannot be developed by remaining in a rut. Experience is +not only the best teacher, but the very finest developer of thought, +and of a vivid and facile imagination. Thus constant practice causes +the building of plots to become a sort of second nature.</p> + +<p>Granting that you have the technical skill to develop the plots you +evolve, the question which you have to answer is: What are the most +suitable themes for photoplays?</p> + +<p>No one can give you such a list, though he may do what has been +attempted in another chapter—furnish a moderately full list of what +<i>not</i> to choose as themes. Some general positive principles, however, +are important, and these are now to be considered.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>4. Write of What You Know</i></span></p> + +<p>The fact that the market is wide makes it the less<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> excusable when a +writer courts rejection by attempting themes with which he is not +familiar. If you live on an Eastern or Middle-West farm, or in a small +town, remember that—especially between the months of May and +September—the film companies almost without exception are looking for +good stories of country life. Then why try to write stories of +business life in a large city, of society, of theatrical or circus +life, or even of the far West, until you have succeeded with a few +stories that might easily be set within a short distance of where you +live? Correct and faithful local color, at times, has much to do with +selling a story, though you always need a good idea and a clever plot.</p> + +<p>The same rule, naturally, should be followed by the young writer whose +home is in a large city. If you can turn out a good, original story +truthfully portraying New York's East Side, Broadway, or Wall Street; +Chicago's "Loop" district; the social and political life of +Washington, or any other such background, there is an editor waiting +to purchase that story.</p> + +<p>All this is <i>not</i> to say that you must write only of things which are, +or have been, within the range of your personal experience. Many a +writer has successfully built his story on well-verified second-hand +knowledge. If you are not familiar with the subject at first-hand, and +cannot get direct, personal information, get the knowledge from books +and periodicals, <i>but get it exactly—squeeze the last drop of +information</i> from the subject. If there is no library in your town, +search your own as well as borrowed books and magazines until you find +at least enough correct data to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> enable you to turn out a script that +will not betray second-hand knowledge. Jules Verne had only indirect +knowledge of most of the countries which he depicted, yet to read his +books one would believe that he had travelled everywhere. Because he +had read up on and investigated his subjects he was able to produce +such thoroughly convincing, and always interesting, books as "A Tour +of the World in Eighty Days," "Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea," +and "The Clipper of the Clouds," in which he wrote, and apparently +authoritatively, of almost every country on the globe.</p> + +<p>Until your work is pretty well known by the editors, it is just as +well not to attempt to write historical dramas. But if you do write +them, the greatest care must be taken to adhere closely to facts, +especially in composing scripts in which famous historical personages +figure. Three or four years ago a certain company that made a +specialty of two- and three-part historical, Western, and military +dramas, was called to account by an army officer in Washington for +having brought out a photoplay of pioneer life which held up a +well-known officer of the United States army in a rather bad light by +making him responsible for an act of great injustice to a famous +Indian chieftain. The author of the photoplay—whether a staff-writer +or a free lance—was doubtless unaware that he was doing an injustice +to the memory of a gallant and kind-hearted American soldier; but, +however the picture came to be written, it elicited the strong +disapproval<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> of someone <i>who knew</i>, and who did not hesitate to tell +the makers that a mistake had been made.</p> + +<p>Manufacturers have to be careful; they cannot afford to offend anyone. +Moreover, the motion picture has come to be looked upon as a great +educational factor, and no picture can be truly educational that is +not strictly accurate. If you want to write historical photoplays +after you have become known to the editors, very well; but be sure +that you adhere closely to historical facts. It is far better to spend +a week in the reference room of the public library than to have to +suffer a rebuke from a manufacturer, even though the director be also +to blame for not being familiar with the subject before attempting to +make the picture. And the loss of your prestige may prove harder to +bear than the rebuke.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>5. Write on What Interests You</i></span></p> + +<p>Next in importance to writing on a subject with which you are familiar +is to write about that with which you are in sympathy. You cannot +interest your audience unless you yourself are interested in your +theme when the story is written. If you would arouse fire in your +spectators you must first feel fire within you. To write a story +merely because it is timely is not to do yourself justice. Suppose, +for instance, it is about time for a new president to go into office. +It may occur to you that to send in a script bearing upon that timely +subject will be a sure way of "coaxing a check from the editor." You +have some slight knowl<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>edge of politics and of Washington life, but +you are not particularly interested in either. You are, however, +anxious to sell a script, so you read up on the subject and work up a +photoplay. The chances are that you will continue to own the script, +for you did not put the snap into it that you would have done had you +been both familiar with your theme and genuinely interested in it.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>6. Write on Unusual Themes</i></span></p> + +<p>Many a writer is deterred from developing an unusual theme for fear +that no company will be found to produce it. Enough has been said on +this subject to warn the photoplaywright against writing impracticable +scenes. But with this limitation in view every effort should be made +to strike into untravelled fields. In a day when most of the big +manufacturers have two or three, or even more, field-companies +operating in different parts of the country, when almost every maker +of films has an Eastern and a Western organization, and when several +companies have a "globetrotting" troupe working in some distant part +of the world, there is very little chance of a thoroughly good and +desirable photoplay plot's failing to find acceptance, provided it is +intelligently marketed. No matter where you may live, no matter what +you may write of, if it is good it will sell—<i>some</i> editor is waiting +for it. But you must find that editor.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>7. Write Stories Requiring Only Action</i></span></p> + +<p>In selecting your theme, ask yourself if either<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> dialogue or +description may not be really required to bring out the theme +satisfactorily. If such is the case, abandon the theme. The +comparatively few inserts permitted cannot be relied upon to give much +aid—the chief reliance <i>must</i> be pantomime.</p> + +<p>For this reason it is inadvisable to write detective stories, unless +you have a plot that can be easily and convincingly told in action. +The average fictional story of this class depends more upon dialogue +and the author's explanation of the sleuth's methods of deduction than +upon rapid and gripping action. In a fictional detective story, the +crime usually has happened before the story opens. In a film story, +this would be impracticable, unless a long explanatory insert were +introduced either before or after the first scene or two. But long +inserts are not wanted, even in multiple-reel stories. Since events in +a photoplay must appear in chronological order, you cannot depict +murder without showing the murderer in the act, and that will soon +bring you counter to the censors.</p> + +<p>Aside from the consideration of the censorship is this point: in a +fictional detective story the real murderer is not revealed, in most +cases, until the last chapter. In the photoplay, on the other hand, it +would be necessary to show the spectator almost at the first who the +real murderer is—the other characters in the picture, and not the +spectators, being the ones in doubt as the story progressed.</p> + +<p>This is a difficult condition to bring about effectively. Still, it +can be done, and there is a chance for a writer who can produce +logical and interesting detective<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> scripts, as there is always a +market for any uncommon theme that is both original and handled with +technical correctness.</p> + +<p>An author who is anonymous has said "While the story may have for a +plot a subject involving complication, or mystery, each scene must be +easily understood, or the audience, taxed by trying to fathom motives +or emotions with which it is unfamiliar, or with which it is not in +sympathy, loses the thread of the story, and consequently pronounces +the photoplay lacking in interest. Remembering the brevity of the film +drama, compactness and simplicity in every feature are to be desired. +It does not require a great cast of characters nor unusually +spectacular scenic work to produce the big idea. The depths of human +woe and suffering, or the very heights of joy and attainment, can be +pictured in a flash. The dramatic story should consist of a strong and +preferably unique plot, simple and direct in its appeal to the heart, +and expressed or conveyed to the audience by a logical sequence of +episodes or incidents, all having direct bearing on the story, and +each one of sufficient strength to hold the attention of the +spectators. The story must be human, the characters and their motives +and actions human and true to life. <i>The drama is perfect as it +reflects a correct imitation of nature.</i>"</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>8. Write Mainly of Characters That Arouse the Spectator's Sympathy</i></span></p> + +<p>Each hero must have his opposite, as each great cause must have its +protagonist and antagonist. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>deed, as we have seen, it is this +warfare that makes all drama possible. But it will not do to glorify +the doer of evil deeds and thus corrupt the sympathies of the +spectators. The hero and not the "villain" must swing the sympathies +of those who see. Be certain, therefore, that pity for, and even +sympathy with, a wrong-doer is not magnified, through the action of +your play, into admiration by the onlookers, for in the photoplay as +in the legitimate drama the leading character may be a great offender. +This way danger lies, however, and you must walk with extreme caution, +or the censors "will catch you—if you don't watch out!"—to say +nothing of the lashings of your own conscience.</p> + +<p>Without repeating what was said in <a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">Chapter XVI</a> regarding the +introduction of crime into film stories, we would impress upon the +photoplaywright the necessity for always having a fully sufficient, +though not necessarily a morally justifiable, motive for any crime +that is introduced in a story; besides, the introduction of a crime +must be necessary to the action and not a mere spectacular scene. But +remember that it is not sufficient to avoid "crime without motive;" +the motive must be one which will, after the crime has been committed, +leave no doubt in the mind of the spectator that the crime was +virtually inevitable, if not absolutely unavoidable. If it is the hero +of the story who commits the crime, the very greatest care must be +taken to show that he had a really powerful motive for his act, if he +is to have the sympathy—though not the approval—of the audience +after yielding to tempta<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span>tion.<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> This, of course, does not refer to +deeds of violence which are really not only excusable but actually +right, in the circumstances—like the killing of an attacking +desperado in self-defense.</p> + +<p>As an example of the point we are trying to emphasize, take a story +like "The Bells," the play in which Sir Henry Irving appeared so +often. Mathias the innkeeper, who later became the Burgomaster, was a +character, who, by reason of Irving's superb art, won and held the +sympathies of the audience from the start. Yet after Mathias had +murdered the Polish Jew and robbed him of his belt of gold, even the +art of Irving could not have made us sympathize with the character had +we not been shown that Mathias was urged on to his crime—a crime for +which he was constantly tortured ever afterward, and which occasioned +his tragic death—by two very compelling motives. His primary motive +was the urgent need of money. But he had a two-fold need of money: he +had been notified by the landlord that he must pay his over-due rent +or be turned out of his home; and he had been told by the doctor that +unless he could immediately remove his sick wife to a milder climate +she would certainly die. Thus, impelled by the thought that only by +the speedy acquisition of sufficient money could he hope to save the +life of his wife, he commits the deed which he would never have +committed had his only motive been the necessity for raising money to +pay the rent. Mathias was esteemed by his neighbors as an honest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> man; +he was a man whose conscience smote him terribly when he was +contemplating the murder of the Jew; and after the crime had been +committed—fifteen years later, in fact—that same guilty conscience, +wracking his very soul, drove him on to his death.</p> + +<p>Shakespeare's Macbeth is a character with whom we are forced to +sympathize measurably, because we know that he is not naturally a +criminal. Yet, after all, Macbeth is a man who—as Professor Pierce +has pointed out—"has been restrained in the straight path of an +upright life [only] by his respect for conventions." Mathias, on the +other hand, is not held in check by conventions; he is <i>essentially</i> +an honest man. He commits a crime, but what stronger motive could a +man have than the one that drove him on to its commission? And +yet—and this is the mistake that we wish to point out to the young +writer—seven years ago a certain company released "The Bells" as a +two-part subject, in which, according to the synopsis published in the +trade journals, Mathias's only motive for committing the most +detestable of all crimes was that he was behind in his rent! Even the +magazine that gave in fiction form the story of the picture failed to +mention what is brought out so strongly in the play—the innkeeper's +distress at the thought that his wife's life depended upon his being +able to raise the money to send her to the south of France without +delay. The author <i>mentioned</i> that Mathias had a sick wife, but that +was all. The whole treatment of the story in fiction form, moreover, +was farcical, such names as "Mr. Parker" being intermingled with those +of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> well-known characters, "Mathias," "Christian," and "Annette," +while the wealthy, dignified Polish Jew was turned into a typical +East-side clothing merchant. The real fault lay with the producer who, +ignoring the great and pressing necessity that prompted Mathias's +crime, garbled the original plot to the extent of allowing the +innkeeper to murder the Jew because (according to the fiction-version +in the magazine) he needed one hundred and seventy-five dollars to pay +the rent! First, last, and all the time you must remember that your +story <i>is not</i> a good story if the leading character is not, at all +times, deserving of the spectator's sympathy, even when his action is +not worthy of approval.</p> + +<p>It is a matter for real regret to have to be compelled to state that, +in spite of the many artistic advances made in motion-picture +production during the past six or seven years, this most important +point was deliberately overlooked when the Pathé Company made its very +fine feature-production of "The Bells" in the Fall of 1918. We say +"deliberately overlooked" because the writer who prepared the scenario +for this modern five-reel version had the same opportunity as had the +scenarioist who made the other adaptation, years ago, to read the +original stage-play and to introduce this most compelling motive for +Mathias's crime. If anything, the fault is more glaring in the Pathé +production than in the older picture, for the wife is shown as a woman +in apparently perfect health, although naturally worried by the fact +that her husband's inability to raise the required amount of money may +result in their losing both their home and their means of livelihood.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> +All the fine acting of Mr. Frank Keenan as Mathias, and all the +wonderful scenic and lighting effects, were not sufficient to make us +lose sight of the fact that the ones responsible for the picture's +production had not given proper thought to the necessity for showing +that the innkeeper had an unusually compelling motive for taking the +life of and then robbing his guest. And, make no mistake, no matter +how fine the production may be in other respects, this sort of thing +is not overlooked by the intelligent, right-minded spectator of the +photoplay.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>9. The Theme and the Market</i></span></p> + +<p>With regard to what are known as "costume plays"—and what we say is +intended to apply to original stories, since it is never wise to +attempt an adaptation of a popular book or play, even though you are +armed with the right to do so, unless you have previously taken the +matter up with some producing company—there is, perhaps, as was +pointed out in <a href="#CHAPTER_XV">Chapter XV</a>, twice as much chance to sell such stories +as there was a few years ago, since today every company is doing +things in a much bigger way than in former years. But this must not be +construed as meaning that the different companies are simply looking +about for new ways to spend money. On the contrary, economy—sensible +economy—is becoming more and more the keynote of film production. In +every department, unnecessary expense is done away with. This applies +to both the purchasing and the producing of photoplays. Better prices +are being paid, yes; but stories calling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> for what appears to be +unnecessarily expensive settings or costuming are usually rejected. +That is why you may rest assured that no costume plays will sell +unless they have a strong and unusual story back of them. Again, by +"costume" plays we mean stories ranging all the way from Bible times +down to American Civil War times. What is regarded by the editor as a +costume play, also, may not be wholly that; it may be a story in which +only a few of the scenes are laid in a past age, as when, in the +Paramount production of "The Devil Stone," the heroine, in a series of +"visions," sees herself as the wicked Norse queen of centuries before, +and learns how the fatal emerald first came into her possession.</p> + +<p>There is absolutely no way of knowing what company will be most likely +to buy a so-called costume play. If you honestly believe that you have +the material for an unusual story calling for settings or costumes of +other days—or even of our own day but of foreign lands—go ahead and +write a comprehensive synopsis of it. If you send it to a company +which asks for synopses only, you will be playing safe whether it +interests them or not. If, on the other hand, you plan to submit it to +a concern which likes to pass on a full script, with both synopsis and +scenario, you can send in the synopsis alone and explain that if they +are at all interested in <i>that</i>, you will submit the continuity of +action.</p> + +<p>As might be expected, stories of this kind are usually written in the +studio, because the staff-writer has the opportunity of finding out +just when and where the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> picture can be made, what types of male and +female players will be able to take part in it, and what special +effects he may include. Still, to repeat, many of the bars against +costume plays and stories calling for foreign and other hard-to-get +settings have been taken down in the last year or two; but the demand +for only strong, interesting stories is more insistent than ever, and +you must still observe the rule—which, it may be added, will never +change—of acquiring a thorough knowledge of the different markets if +you wish to sell your stuff regularly and to the best advantage.</p> + +<p>Themes! They are everywhere. The pathetic, the tragic, the +humorous—countless admirable photoplays are to be drawn from these +sources. And the most encouraging thought is this: Given the same +basic idea for a plot, no two people will work it out in exactly the +same way. Individuality will make a difference. "Happiness," as Mr. +Floyd Hamilton Hazard has said, "does not always mean the same thing +to everybody. It means many different things to different people. It +is a theme upon which many varied tunes can be played."</p> + +<p>In conclusion, we quote and warmly endorse this advice from Mr. +Herbert Hoagland, censor of photoplays for Pathé Frères.</p> + +<p>"Select for your theme an idea which embodies <i>good</i> things. Avoid +anything coarse or suggestive. Make your stories clean, wholesome, +happy—a dainty love story, a romantic adventure, a deed gloriously +accomplished, a lesson well learned, an act of charity +repaid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>—anything of a dramatic nature which is as honest as daylight. +Good deeds are just as dramatic as wicked deeds, and clean comedy is +far and away more humorous than coarseness. Keep away from scenes of +brutality, degeneracy, idiocy or anything which may bring a poignant +pang of sorrow to some one of the millions of people who will see your +story in the pictures, unless the pang will be one of remorse for a +bad deed done or a good deed left undone. In a word, help the +film-makers produce films which will help those who see them, and make +the whole world a little better for your work."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>THE TREATMENT OF COMEDY</h3> + + +<p>Let it be remembered that the lines of division between the several +sorts of comedy are not sharply defined, for one often overlaps the +other; nor is a rigid adherence to type insisted upon by either +playwright or public—for example, on the regular stage we have +farce-comedy, and other hybrids.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>1. Types of Humorous Plays Distinguished</i></span></p> + +<p><i>Comedy</i>, strictly, is a lighter, more refined, type of humor than +farce. It deals with those amusing situations which do, or may, happen +every day, without the introduction of the extravagant and the +unnatural. True comedy is distinctly probable. Its humor is the humor +of reality, however laughable it may be. It may press humor to an +extreme, but that extreme must never strain our credulity.</p> + +<p><i>Farce</i> is essentially extreme. It deals with the absurd, the +ridiculous, not with the physically impossible. Though not in itself +probable, all its actions proceed just as though the basis on which it +is worked out were probable.</p> + +<p>To illustrate both types, we may recall an extremely humorous comedy +situation which was worked out by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> Miss May Irwin some years ago in +"The Swell Miss Fitzwell." One of the characters had conspired with a +physician to deceive the former's wife by pretending to break his leg. +As a matter of fact he tumbles down stairs with an awful clatter and +the leg is actually broken. The doctor comes in, according to the +scheme, and, not knowing that the leg is broken, begins to twist it +with fine professional vigor. The victim howls and protests that he is +in agony, but the doctor merely whispers in a cheerful aside, "Keep it +up, you are playing your part beautifully!" And so the play goes on.</p> + +<p>All this might easily have happened in real life, and the audience is +tickled—not to see a man apparently suffer, but at the humor of the +biter being bit. The very incongruity is the foundation of the +humor—incongruity, mingled with surprise.</p> + +<p>But farce would not be content with twisting the leg, it would go to +any absurd extreme imaginable. Suppose, for example, that the doctor's +twisting of the victim's leg should so enrage him that he would leap +upon the doctor and bite the torturer's leg in the manner of a dog. +The wife, coming in, might think that her husband had hydrophobia, and +a whole train of farcical results might follow. We have all seen +unnatural yet uproariously funny situations to which such a +complication might lead in farce.</p> + +<p><i>Burlesque</i> takes a well-known and often a serious subject and hits +off its salient points in an uproarious manner. One might burlesque +"Hamlet" by causing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> a red-nosed Prince of Denmark to do a juggling +act with "poor Yorick's" skull.</p> + +<p><i>Extravaganza</i> deals with the unnatural and the impossible. The +super-human antics of the acrobatic buffoons in Hanlon's perennial +"Superba," and those of the Byrne Brothers in "Eight Bells," are +familiar examples.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>2. Comedy a Difficult Art</i></span></p> + +<p>A writer in one of the photoplay journals, advising writers who are +struggling to succeed, concludes by admonishing them either to avoid +stories which because of prohibited themes are likely to make them +unpopular with editors, or else to "try comedies."</p> + +<p>It may be that this writer is one of those who have never tried to +write comedy scripts, or possibly he is one of the favored few who +have a special talent for humor. Whichever may be the case, +notwithstanding this well-meant advice, the truth is that the +thoroughly effective comedy script is the hardest of all to produce, +and this is proved by the fact that, no matter how many manufacturers +announce that they "will not be able to use any more Western, slum +life, or war stories for some time to come," they <i>never</i> declare that +they are "over-stocked with good comedy scripts." There is <i>always</i> a +market for a fine, clean comedy.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>3. Comedy Requires a "Full" Treatment</i></span></p> + +<p>But superior comedy scripts, we insist, are hard to write. One of the +less obvious reasons is that there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> are generally about twice as many +scenes in a comedy script as in any kind of dramatic story. This does +not mean, of course, that the comedy script is hard to write merely +because it takes longer to write it. The labor expended on its +mechanical preparation is trivial compared to the brain-work necessary +to the building of a story which, while having almost double the usual +number of scenes, must still display lively action, logical sequence, +and convincing (which in the case of comedy means probable) situations +from beginning to end.</p> + +<p>Especially in comedy must each scene tell; hence there can be no +excuse for "writing in" a number of scenes which have no dramatic +value whatever, for that is palpable padding. True, you may have seen +many comedy subjects in which one or two fairly good ideas were +stretched out until you could almost picture the director kneeling in +front of the camera, stop-watch in hand and megaphone at lips, wearily +pleading: "Ginger up! Work fast! It will soon be over." Unfortunately, +there have been many such "funny" plays, and there will be more, for +the right kind of comedy is not to be had for the asking. The number +of scenes in a comedy photoplay arises from the necessity that the +action be brisk, scene follow scene rapidly, and the whole be played +from a full third to a half faster than is the case in a dramatic +subject.</p> + +<p>To say that comedy requires a fuller script-treatment than is needed +for a dramatic subject does not mean that in writing comedy scripts +you should write in line after line of action that would only be +useful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> to give the director a few details which he could very well +think of himself. No matter what part of the script you are writing, +be constantly on the alert to avoid including non-essential details. +Take pains, of course, to show the director just what bit of by-play +it is that is responsible for a certain situation that will "get a +laugh," but do not be verbose, and do not go into tiresome details. +"It is a very easy matter, for a writer fired with enthusiasm, to +overwrite."</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>4. Length of Comedy Photoplays</i></span></p> + +<p>Seemingly, the day of the split-reel comedy is past. A few years ago, +when one thousand feet was considered the proper length for the +average dramatic subject, a full-reel comedy was the exception. They +ran from four hundred to six hundred feet, the remainder of the reel +being taken up with a scenic or other educational subject. Thus we had +what came to be known as "split reels," as we have previously +explained. Today, even the slap-stick comedies are produced in not +less than one full reel, and they usually run to two reels. On the +other hand, there are one or two comedy-producing companies which +adhere to the single-reel length for their light comedies of domestic +life.</p> + +<p>Far more than in writing dramatic scripts, you must be guided in +deciding the length of your comedy photoplay by the company to which +you are submitting. This entails taking a chance as to whether you +sell at all or not, in the event of your story's not being suitable +for the market at which you have aimed it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> For example, those writers +who have both sold to and had scripts rejected by the editor who looks +after the wants of such a comedy team as Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Drew know +that if a script does come back from them it is seldom "placable" +anywhere else. For markets such as this, the fact that a synopsis only +is usually called for is a real benefit to the writer, saving him much +time and disappointment in the event of non-acceptance.</p> + +<p>Another thing that experienced writers know is that certain of the +larger producers of slap-stick comedy are not in the market for +outside material. After being deluged with all kinds of "comedy" +stories for years, the Keystone Company finally found it necessary to +announce that nothing could be considered from free-lance writers, on +account of the peculiar nature of the comedies produced by them and +the necessity of having them written by inside writers who were +familiar with the studio, its players, and the surrounding possible +locations.</p> + +<p>Thus, in its way, the market for comedy scripts or synopses is more or +less limited, and yet there is, as has been said, a good demand for +first-class humorous stories for the screen. One important rule to +keep in mind is that they should be, in every case, just as long as, +<i>but no longer than</i>, the idea that is back of them. You must never +pad a comedy plot, or even a comedy idea; to do so is fatal to the +attainment of artistically perfect results, if not to its acceptance +by the editor.</p> + +<p>In writing dramatic stories, on the other hand, more freedom is +allowed. To be sure, here padding is bad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> also, but in a dramatic +subject the central idea is almost always big enough to justify one of +the several lengths to which screen dramas now run; but, largely +because comedy action is played so much faster than dramatic action, +you must firmly refuse to allow yourself to expand a humorous story by +even so little as a single scene beyond its logical and natural end.</p> + +<p>Comedy ideas, perhaps more than any others, should be carefully +classified, and in classifying you should try to determine, from the +very first, the length to which that particular story ought to run. +Having once arrived at your decision, keep to it. It is +quality—clever situations and funny action—and not quantity that +counts in the writing of humorous photoplays. Most of the good comedy +themes have been worked over so often, either by the authors +themselves or by the director, that it requires considerable skill to +give them that much-desired new twist<a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> that is necessary to make +them acceptable. In the writing of dramatic photoplays, a word or two +will often suggest the necessary "business" of a certain character, +but in comedy it is especially important that every action, every bit +of by-play, should be made to count; and for that reason it is +necessary to give each scene a much fuller treatment in the script +than would be necessary in describing dramatic action.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>5. Classes of Photoplay Comedy and Their Requirements</i></span></p> + +<p>While the written-and-spoken drama recognizes not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> only the four major +types of humorous plays already referred to, but several sub-types in +addition, there are only three general classes under which humorous +photoplays are usually grouped: (a) Comedy-Drama, (b) Light-Comedy and +(c) Farce.</p> + +<p>Of the comedies, two kinds are in almost constant demand—the comedy +of society life, and the comedy of everyday life, with special +emphasis upon domestic scenes. In treatment, these two kinds may be +cast in any of the three foregoing forms, but usually they will adhere +to the principle of comedy, even when they may verge on farce, or take +on certain aspects of the more intense dramatic tone.</p> + +<p>When writing photoplay comedies, remember always that comedy of +<i>action</i> is more important than comedy of <i>idea</i>. That is, it is not +enough that you work up to a funny climax, but the action leading up +to the climax must be funny as well. A humorous idea underlying your +comedy is good, but unless this idea is constantly worked out through +humorous action, the effect is largely lost by its being too subdued. +In fact, the photo-comedy <i>cannot</i> be purely the comedy of idea. On +the regular stage, most light-comedies succeed by reason of the bright +and humorous dialogue which the author puts into the mouths of the +players. Funny "business," and the by-play of the players, help, of +course, but the humorous lines of the piece are depended upon to make +it a success.</p> + +<p>It is just the opposite in photoplay; dialogue (unless cut-in leaders, +taking the form of a speech made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> by one of the characters, may be +called "dialogue") is entirely absent, and humorous action and funny +situations must take its place.</p> + +<p>The requirements of a comedy script are very definitely covered by Mr. +Sargent in the following, taken from his department in <i>The Moving +Picture World</i>:</p> + +<p>"In photoplay ... the majority of the scenes must each have its own +comedy action while the narrative is advanced, and it is here that the +average writer of comedy falls short. If a scene is not naturally +funny, put some humor into it. Do not force the comedy action, but +invent something that is germane to the plot and natural to the +situation. If you can do this you can write comedy, but until you can +get a laugh in every scene you are not writing comedy, no matter how +funny the central idea may be. As a rule the central idea furnishes +the comedy for only one scene; not for the entire play. In comedy you +must play faster, work harder, and strive constantly for the natural, +unforced laughs. And remember that the editors go to vaudeville shows, +the same as you do. They know the old sketches and the whiskered +jokes. If they wanted them they would write them themselves."</p> + +<p>The success of a comedy composition lies fundamentally in the novelty +of its plot, or in some new and interesting phase of an old situation; +it prospers in proportion to its interest-holding qualities, its +natural logic, its probability, and the constant humor of the +individual scenes and situations. There is a wide<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> difference between +comedy and comic pictures, and the difference lies chiefly in that +comedy depends largely for its humor on the cleverness displayed in +the construction of the plot, whereas the comic picture is usually +merely a series of funny situations arising from one basic situation, +but having little or no plot. In the "comic," the scenes are loosely +connected, while the humor of the picture depends upon the uproarious +fun in each scene. These comic pictures, usually of the slap-stick +variety, would naturally be classed as farces; but even in photoplay +it is possible to produce a better and more natural brand of farce +than that which depends for its humor upon the silly antics of +different characters in a series of loosely connected scenes, which +have no logical or consistent plot.</p> + +<p>There is steady demand for the unusual and genuinely humorous light +comedy—by which is meant the kind of photo-comedies that approximate +the legitimate plays usually employed as vehicles by Mr. John Drew and +Mr. Cyril Maude. They may treat of society, of business life, or of +life in the home, but on account of the light, airy, and subtly +humorous way in which the situations are developed they take far +higher artistic rank than may be accorded to farce. There is also a +good demand for comedy-dramas in which there is a strict regard for +dramatic values in handling the different scenes, and in following out +the plot, which has its serious elements, but in which the +comedy-element remains comedy from first to last.</p> + +<p>The domestic comedies produced by Metro, featuring Mr. and Mrs. Sidney +Drew, of which we have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> already spoken, are so well known, and these +artists are so universally popular, that a word or two from Mr. Drew +on the subject of screen comedy should be interesting and instructive:</p> + +<p>"Comedy is and always will be an amusing story humorously told," says +Mr. Drew. "If it <i>is</i> a good story, well told, then it is a comedy, +but if it has no story or cannot be told humorously, then no amount of +bolstering will ever make it into a comedy. You may add a lot of +knockabout and perhaps get an acceptable farce, or you can write in +sensation and get travesty, but you cannot by these means change the +unfit into comedy, and the broad use of 'comedy' to apply to anything +intended to be diverting is a misuse of an ancient and honorable +word.... To my way of thinking comedy is first of all a good story. It +is a story and not merely an incident or a collection of incidents. +There must be a plot to obtain and hold the interest. This plot does +not necessarily require profound depths, but there must be a distinct +and clearly defined objective upon which the interest may be centred, +and the interest must arise from mental processes and not from mere +mechanical appeal.... Humorous action does not mean gross horseplay. +The action itself may not always be marked to be amusing. To take a +crude illustration, suppose that a character in the story is about to +thrash his ancient enemy. He feels so certain of victory that he +bribes the policeman on the beat not to interfere. Now he goes to the +field of battle and unexpectedly gets the worst of it. He is the first +to call for the police, and the scene flashes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> between the suborned +officer placidly smiling at the sounds of the affray and never +dreaming that it is his patron who is calling for aid. There is +nothing humorous in the spectacle of a policeman on a street corner. +In a comedy of incident he would have to suffer indignity to get a +laugh. In the comedy with a plot, the plot makes the action humorous. +We are not, in reality, laughing at the policeman. He is merely the +symbol of the idea. We are laughing at the predicament into which our +hero has thrust himself. It is this thought, and not the sight of the +policeman, at which we laugh. The policeman merely stands for the +thought, yet it is humorous action within my meaning of the term in +that the policeman represents the thought.</p> + +<p>"In our own comedies Mrs. Drew and I seek to appeal to the mind as +well as to the eye, but to appeal to the mind <i>through</i> the eye. We +value the advantage of brightly-written sub-titles, but believe that +these should supplement and not replace the comedy in the action. The +clever leader may either prepare for the comedy-situation or may +follow and intensify it, but it is always an accessory and not the +chief aim. It is absurd to talk of the leader as an intrusion to be +avoided. It should be avoided only when it really is an intrusion. The +cleverness of an author displays itself in the expertness with which +he handles leaders rather than in his skill in avoiding them."<a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>6. General Advice</i></span></p> + +<p>It is most important that, having started to write a farce, for +instance, you <i>keep it a farce</i> throughout. One fault of many amateur +scripts is that they show a tendency to be a little of everything. A +strong emotional drama may—even should—have its "comedy relief," but +it is a very unwise thing to introduce a note of tragedy into a farce +or even into a straight comedy composition.</p> + +<p>At this point it will not be out of place to say a few words in +connection with this matter of "comedy relief," of which we have just +spoken, as used in writing <i>dramatic</i> stories. The over-use of comedy +relief, so called, is mostly due to misguided directors who have seen +the success attending its introduction by prominent directors who +really understood how and when to use it. A departmental writer in the +<i>Motion Picture News</i>, speaking of the small army of directors "who +worked with Griffith," says:</p> + +<p>"Probably the most obvious of all the blunders made by the men who +seek to emulate the wonderful work of Griffith is their introduction +of comedy, chiefly through the medium of domestic animals, when they +are forced to stop the action of their story to do so. Griffith's +comedy is always spontaneous, incidental—it seems to have been +inspired at the moment and runs in as part of the main action. The +comedy of the men 'who worked with Griffith,' while perhaps inspired +at the moment, rises not from the situations of the story but from the +contemplative mind of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> director himself. This is the general rule, +at any rate. There are exceptions, of course, and notable ones, too, +but that all-powerful <i>motif</i> of 'comedy relief' often gets the better +of the director's judgment and results in a product that is so +unbalanced that much of the illusion is destroyed. In fact, comedy +relief is a difficult element to gain. It should always be purely +incidental, unforced, arising from some major situation, and so +creating the desired contrast. When it is obviously sought after and +introduced without regard for its suitability it is not comedy relief +but comedy-out-of-place."</p> + +<p>Since this, like the over-use of the close-up, is something for which +directors are largely responsible, it is the photoplaywright's duty to +help by being very careful about how he himself writes in comedy +intended to "light up" tense, serious, dramatic action.</p> + +<p>No matter what class of humorous photoplay you may be writing, you +must keep in mind what we enlarged upon in <a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">Chapter XVI</a>: Nothing is +funny that offends against good taste, or that, in any way, causes +pain to any number of the spectators. Comedy, to be worthy of +appreciation, must always be good-natured. National types as +caricatured by many comedians with the aid of eccentric costumes and +weird make-ups are usually as far from being real national types as +one could well imagine. Humor must have more than mere extravagance or +caricature for its basis. Even in farce and in musical comedy, as well +as in vaudeville, the once familiar green-whiskered Irishman, the +Frenchman who is all shrugging shoulders and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> absurd gestures, the +negro who walks as if he were trying to take two steps backward for +every one forward, and whose most noticeable facial feature is an +enormous mouth, and the "Busy Izzy" type of Jew, who when not getting +robbed himself, or being otherwise abused, is doing his best to +defraud others, are gradually going out of fashion. And in the +photoplay, which is now seen by all classes of people and is for all +the people, racial characteristics must be treated in at least a +fairly accurate manner, <i>and always good-naturedly</i>. Six or seven +years ago, more than half the comedies produced were based upon a +chase, or else depended largely upon slap-stick humor to raise a +laugh. Not a few of them had as their chief comedy-incident an act of +downright cruelty to some animal, or even to some human being. Today, +when manufacturers are vying with each other to produce better, +cleaner, and more universally enjoyable pictures, the script that +violates Censorship rules or studio ethics by including any of the +foregoing undesirable subjects stands but little show of reaching the +production stage, if, indeed—which is extremely unlikely—it is +accepted at all.</p> + +<p>"Good sense is at once the basis of and the limit to all humor. He who +lacks a fine perception of 'the difference between what things are and +what they ought to be,' as the always-to-be-quoted Hazlitt expressed +it, can never write humor. All the way through we shall find that +mirth is a matter of relationships, of shift, of rigidity trying to be +flexible, of something shocked into something else.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Let us think of a circle on which four points have been marked:</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<img src="images/image23.jpg" alt="circle diagram" width="500" height="272" /></p> + +<p>"Beginning with a serious idea, we may swiftly step from point to +point until we return to the serious, with only slight variations from +the original conception. Take the perennial comedy-theme of the impish +collar, and visualize the scenes:</p> + +<p>"1. A man starts to button his collar. Nothing is less comical, as +long as the operation proceeds normally.</p> + +<p>"2. But the button is too large and his efforts begin to exasperate +him, with the result that his expression and movements become +incongruous. We see, and laugh—though he does not.</p> + +<p>"3. He begins to hop around in a mad attempt to button the +unbuttonable, and soon rips off the collar, addressing it in +unparliamentary language. He is ludicrous, ridiculous, absurd.</p> + +<p>"4. In his rage he violently kicks a pet dog that comes wagging up to +him. Our laughter subsides, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> the fellow is more contemptible than +amusing—a deeper feeling has been born in us.</p> + +<p>"5. The little dog limps off with a broken leg—we are no longer +amused, we are indignant. What is more, not only have we gotten back +to the serious, but there is no amusement left in any of the previous +scenes.</p> + +<p>"Still applying the test of the <i>extent</i> of the variation from the +normal as shown in the effects, we conclude that <i>serious consequences +kill humor</i>. The mere idea of such consequences, when we know that in +the circumstances they are really impossible, may convulse us with +merriment, as when we see a comedian jab a long finger into the mouth +of his teammate and the latter chews it savagely. In real life this +might sicken us with disgust—I say 'might,' because we can easily +conceive of such a situation's exciting laughter if the victim were +well deserving of the punishment. It is human for us to laugh when the +biter is bit; indeed, variations on this theme are endless in humorous +writing.</p> + +<p>"<i>Sympathy also kills humor.</i> The moment we begin to pity the victim +of a joke—for humor has much to do with victims—our laughter dies +away. Therefore the subject of the joke must not be one for whose +distress we feel strong sympathy. The thing that happens to a fop is +quite different in effect from that which affects a sweet old lady. +True, we often laugh at those—or at those ideas—with whom or with +which we are in sympathy, but in such an instance the ludicrous for +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> moment overwhelms our sympathy—and sometimes even destroys +it."<a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a></p> + +<p>This one thing bear especially in mind: <i>clean</i> comedy is even more +essential than clean drama. It is so easy, when writing humorous +material, to go wrong without intending it—indeed, even without +knowing it. Under the guise of comedy some producers are responsible +for scenes and situations that manage somehow or other to pass the +censors, whereas the same scene in a dramatic photoplay would not be +tolerated for a moment. But these are exceptions.</p> + +<p>The marital relation should be touched upon only in a way which admits +of no offense being taken by right-minded and refined people. Real +infidelity had far better be left out of humorous photoplays +altogether. Here more than in any other branch of photoplay writing +you should remember that what merely <i>might</i> be tolerated on the +regular stage would never do on the screen. It is well to remember +also that just as the American public has tired of the chase and the +foolish powder, it has also sickened of the coarse, suggestive, and +even the questionable subjects that could once be depended upon to +"get a laugh." There is absolutely no excuse for introducing anything +into a picture today that would offend the good taste of any member of +an audience. The local censorship boards of some cities have made +themselves ridiculous in the eyes of thinking photoplay patrons, but +the work done by the National Board of Censors has been the means<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> of +slowly and surely causing the lower class of photoplay patrons to +acquire an appreciation of good dramatic subjects as well as more +refined comedy.</p> + +<p>It may be said in passing that not all the companies producing +farcical photoplays or slap-stick, as it is generally called—exclude +the work of the outside writer. Such firms as do accept outside +scripts of this kind are prepared to "go the limit" in the matter of +expense in order to make their pictures superlatively funny and +unusual in the matter of staging. The Pathé comedy, "Cleopatsy," +featuring the famous clown Toto, was a striking example of how a +slap-stick comedy today is unhesitatingly given as elaborate and +sumptuous a scenic investiture as was accorded a few years ago to +screen-versions of Shakespearean or other "classic" plays. The laughs +in this Pathé production were produced, principally, by the +introduction of business and situations that simply could not have +happened in the time of Cleopatra, Antony and Cæsar. Thus we saw +traffic policemen with their Stop and Go signals in the middle of the +Sahara; telephones, check books, motorcycles and automobiles in use, +and so on. In addition, the leaders were filled with modern business +and other slang; and the spectacle of a huge negro wrapping Cleopatsy +in a modern Axminster rug and carrying her in to show her to Antony +(instead of, as according to history, Cæsar) kept the spectators in a +roar of laughter. For an originally-worked-out idea such as this there +is nearly always a ready market.</p> + +<p>Finally, remember that comedy-action should run as smoothly as a +well-oiled machine. Start with a good,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> fresh, funny idea and then +make each scene run smoothly and logically into the next. There are +certain series of comic pictures in the comic section of the +newspapers which might well serve as your models for progressive and +logical action. Mr. Bud Fisher's well-known "Mutt and Jeff" and Mr. +George McManus's "Bringing Up Father" series are excellent examples. +Particularly in the McManus pictures do we get funny, logical, and, +above all, generally natural—in the sense of its being +probable—comedy action. Take as an example the one which is +sub-titled "It's a pity the valet left—he would have been such a nice +playmate for Father." "Father," as we know, is the very much +hen-pecked husband of a socially impossible woman who holds her place +among the "400" only by reason of her husband's wealth. It is Father's +constant ambition and determination to spend as much of his time as +possible amongst his old "roughneck" working-man pals, instead of in +attending his wife's receptions and other society functions. A +sociable companion of his own class is what he constantly seeks. In +this picture there are, as is usual in the Sunday supplements, twelve +scenes. The action of the picture may be roughly synopsized as +follows:</p> + +<p>Scene 1. Mrs. Jiggs introduces Mr. Jiggs—"Father"—to the new, and +very English, valet—who "waited on Count de Miles until he died." To +which Father (possible sub-title) replies: "No wonder he died!"</p> + +<p>Scene 2. The butler, in Father's room, announces<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> that he "thinks +he'll like the job and that Father won't find him hard to please."</p> + +<p>Scene 3. Shows Father making a critical inspection of the statue-like +valet, and muttering that "his folks must have been fond of children, +to raise him!"</p> + +<p>Scene 4. Shows Father glancing up at a shield and some ancient +battle-clubs, spears and axes, hung on the wall. We can easily guess +what is passing in his mind.</p> + +<p>Scene 5. Father takes the valet over to the window and stands him +facing out, saying that he wishes to show him the wonderful view. +Behind his back Father holds one of the war-clubs.</p> + +<p>Scene 6. As the valet gazes out of the window, Father swings the club +upward, preparing for a mighty blow, muttering as he does so: "It's a +duty I owe my country."</p> + +<p>Scene 7. Just as Father is about to strike, the valet glances down at +something on the corner of the dresser, and exclaims: "Ah! A pinochle +deck! My favorite game!" To which Father replies: "<i>Oh!</i> Do you play +cards?"</p> + +<p>Scene 8. Here they are in the middle of an exciting game, Father +winning everything, the chips piled high before him. The valet asks: +"Will you pardon me? I'll see if I can get some of my wages in +advance."</p> + +<p>Scene 9. In the lower hallway. Shows the valet asking Mrs. Jiggs for +his salary in advance, adding that "the count always paid him ahead."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span></p> + +<p>Scene 10. Back in the room upstairs, with Father at the table, on +which are piled the valet's clothes, while the constantly losing valet +plays his last hand from behind a screen.</p> + +<p>Scene 11. Shows the entrance of the butler, who tells Father that Mrs. +Jiggs "wishes to see him at once."</p> + +<p>Scene 12. Shows the inglorious dismissal of the pinochle-loving valet, +dressed only in three of Mrs. Jiggs' hat boxes, the bottoms of which +have been knocked out. When Mrs. Jiggs declares "Pack your things and +get out immediately—you are fired!" the valet answers gloomily: "I +have nothing to pack, Madam!"</p> + +<p>This, although merely an idea drawn out into a dozen pictures, is the +sort that might easily be made the foundation for a laughable short +comedy. Barring the fact that one or two of the scenes are played (so +to speak) in the same setting, with no leader or other scene +separating them—as would be the case in photoplay—this newspaper +"funny" is much better put together, much more logical, and is just +about the same number of scenes as were many of the split-reel +comedies of a few years ago. Almost all of the more popular comic +series in the newspapers, in fact, may be studied with profit by the +would-be writer of screen comedies. There is action, and often very +funny action, in every picture, and the plot moves quickly, logically, +and without the slightest sign of unnecessary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> detail or irrelevant +action, to an extremely funny climax, which, best of all, is usually a +surprise to the reader.</p> + +<p>Apply the same working-principle to the writing of humorous +photoplays, especially the plan of having a surprise climax followed +by a quick denouement, and you can hardly fail to produce a comedy +that will cause the editor to notify you favorably.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>GETTING THE NEW TWIST</h3> + + +<p><i>No</i> story is an old story if you give it a new "twist"—a fresh turn, +an original surprise, an unexpected course of narration. As a matter +of fact, this is what fiction writers and dramatists have been doing +for hundreds of years; taking an old idea, they have twisted it about, +enlarged upon it, provided a new setting for the story, and created +something new, yet in truth far from new, from the idea furnished by +another writer. Who evolved the "original" plot in any certain case is +a question that will forever remain a question, for the earliest plays +and stories are no longer extant. But this we do know: there are only +a very few original or primary plots, and all the plays, novels, and +short-stories that have been written are variations of these. Some +writers have made the twist more pronounced, and their work, judged by +present-day standards, is classed as original. Others, without trying +to conceal the source of their plots, nevertheless give them new +treatment, and so are not charged with plagiarism. Therefore we may +conclude that that writer is entitled to be called original who is +capable of so twisting and remodeling the theme used by another writer +that it is, in the remodeling, virtually recreated.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span></p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>1. An Example from Fiction</i></span></p> + +<p>As a concrete example, let us compare Poe's short-story, "The Cask of +Amontillado," with Conan Doyle's "The New Catacomb." In both of these +the theme is revenge, brought about by having the one seeking to +entomb his enemy alive—the same theme, precisely, as Balzac had used +earlier in "La Grande Bretêche," and Edith Wharton in later years in +"The Duchess at Prayer." In "The Cask of Amontillado," Montresor +desires to be revenged upon Fortunato because the latter has both +injured and insulted him. Exactly how he has been insulted we are not +told; nor do we know the extent of his "injuries." It is sufficient +for the purpose of the story that we know that his Latin blood has +been roused sufficiently to make him eager to compass the death of his +enemy—who is none the less his enemy although, up till the very +moment when Fortunato realizes the awful fate that is to be his, he +(Montresor) pretends friendship for his victim. After Montresor's +revenge has been accomplished by walling up Fortunato in a +subterranean vault, the perpetrator feels no remorse. He has completed +what he set out to do, and is satisfied. He has "punished with +impunity" and he has made the fact that he is the redresser felt by +"him who has done the wrong."</p> + +<p>What chiefly impresses the reader is the lack of motive for +Montresor's crime—for crime it surely is, whatever his real or +fancied wrongs—other than the motive of a madman. At the conclusion +our sympathy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> for the unfortunate victim of Montresor's hate is +perhaps as great as is our pity for Montresor himself.</p> + +<p>But note that Doyle's story is not only an original piece of +fiction—as we have just interpreted that expression—but also one in +which we recognize that the seeker after revenge is thoroughly +deserving of our sympathy, even though we do not entirely approve of +his bringing about the death of even so unworthy a creature as we know +his enemy to be. In Doyle's story, as in Poe's, the background is +Italy, but Italy of the present day, so we feel that we understand the +motives of the characters better because they are of our own time. +There is a definite and grievous wrong committed against the young +woman with whom the central character is in love, therefore the wrong +is committed indirectly against the lover himself. We are made to +realize the despicable nature, the utter heartlessness, of the young +woman's betrayer, and we actually <i>hate</i> him as soon as the facts are +made clear to us. We realize how great has been the love for her +cherished by the man who finally punishes the one who has wronged her, +by causing him to be entombed alive in a Roman catacomb which he +himself has but recently discovered.</p> + +<p>In Poe's story, Fortunato is chained to the wall of the vault, after +which he is literally walled up and buried alive. In "The New +Catacomb," the redresser of the wrong takes the evil-doer down into +the catacomb and leaves him while he finds his own way out by means of +a trail of cord, knowing that the other, unable to follow him, is +being left in what will be his tomb.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span></p> + +<p>The dramatic intensity of Doyle's story is just as great as in that +written by Poe; the "hero" is as much deserving of our sympathy as the +"villain" merits our condemnation; and the treatment of the theme, +from first to last, makes Doyle's an absolutely original story, +although there is little doubt that it was suggested, or, at least +influenced, either by the one written many years before by the +American master of the short-story, or by Balzac's remarkable tale +referred to above.</p> + +<p>The discriminating photoplaywright will have no difficulty in making +the application of this illustration of how an original story may grow +out of an old theme. <i>But be careful not to turn this liberty into an +excuse for adhering closely to a borrowed theme.</i></p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>2. Plagiarism</i></span></p> + +<p>In justice to writers in general it is only fair to believe that most +cases of plagiarism are quite unintentional. The fault usually is in +the writer's memory. Turn your eye inward, and form the habit of +tracing the origin of your inspirations—sometimes it may chagrin you +to find how near to unconscious imitation you have been. You may get +the inspiration for a story and write it; it may be accepted and +produced; then, after its release, some friend will casually remark +that it reminds him of a Vitagraph picture that he saw a year or two +ago. And only after he has called your attention to it do you realize +that that Vitagraph story, seen and forgotten, <i>was</i> the source of +your "inspiration"—and perhaps you have committed an unconscious +theft.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span></p> + +<p>In an earlier chapter we have urged photoplaywrights to keep in touch +with the market so as to avoid writing on trite themes. But that +practise will not help the conscious plagiarist. Why should he invent +a new twist when he can steal one? This would seem to be his +short-sighted logic. Fortunately, there are not many unscrupulous +writers who deliberately attempt to sell to editors stories which are +simply adaptations of more or less well-known stories or plays. A +great deal has been said about editors and their assistants being +familiar with standard literature and current books, plays, and +magazine stories. But no editor is infallible, and once in a while a +stolen story "gets by." We know of two companies, each of which within +the space of six months produced stories that were plainly +recognizable as adaptations of "The Adventure of the Norwood Builder," +the second story in "The Return of Sherlock Holmes." Another company +released a picture that was simply Maupassant's "The Necklace" so +carelessly re-dressed that we wonder the editor did not recognize it +after reading the first paragraph of the synopsis.</p> + +<p>The final test of whether a story really resembles another closely +enough to suggest intentional plagiarism is when the similarity +between the two is recognized immediately by people in many different +parts of the country—yet that is too late to help any one involved! +The short-stories of "O. Henry" have been so widely read that when a +new story appears that closely resembles one of his it is not long +before comparisons are made. Three or four years ago a certain company +made a two-part picture that so closely resembled O.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> Henry's "The +Reformation of Calliope" that after its release one of the present +writers received letters of inquiry from photoplaywrights in five +different cities commenting upon it, three of the letters being from +young writers who, recognizing the resemblance, asked if it were +"permissible to take the principal plot-idea of a copyrighted story +and, by changing it about slightly, make it into a salable photoplay." +As might be supposed, they were earnestly advised to refrain from +doing so.</p> + +<p>A dozen years ago there appeared in the English edition of <i>The Strand +Magazine</i> a story in which a retired Indian officer, at a dinner given +to a party of his friends, displays a remarkably fine diamond. The +jewel is unset, having been taken—as most jewels in stories of this +kind are—from the head of an Indian idol. The stone is passed around +for inspection. The Hindoo servant is clearing some of the things from +the table, and the diamond has just been admired by an old gentleman +in a rather frayed dress-suit, when the attention of everyone present +is drawn away from the table for a moment or two. When they turn +around, the diamond has disappeared. Naturally, the guests are +embarrassed, but they all offer to allow themselves to be searched, +with the exception of the shabby-genteel old gentleman. While he +protests that he knows nothing of how the stone has disappeared, he +stubbornly refuses to allow them to search his clothes. The effect +upon the other guests may easily be imagined. Later, however, one of +the guests having followed him home, it is discovered that the poor +old man has merely filled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> his pockets with different delicacies from +the table, and has taken them home to his sick grandchild. +Subsequently it is discovered that the Hindoo servant has taken the +jewel, and he is arrested and punished. In the moment that the +attention of the guests was directed elsewhere, after the old +gentleman had laid it on the table, the servant had snatched up the +jewel and dropped it into a half-filled water glass, where it remained +undiscovered while the servant was searched with the others. It is +pretty generally known that an unset pure diamond, if dropped into a +glass of water, becomes invisible.</p> + +<p>Some time during 1911, one of the producing companies released a +picture entitled "The Class Reunion." To get the plot of the photoplay +story, simply substitute an impecunious professor for the old +gentleman in the short-story. Instead of the Hindoo servant, have one +of the pupils—if our memory serves—turn out to be the thief, and +have him drop the jewel—which is a ruby, and not a diamond—into a +glass of red wine instead of into a glass of water. In all other +particulars the two stories were identical.</p> + +<p>Only a few months later, this plot cropped up again—in fiction +form—in a prominent American magazine. Then, in the release of +another well-known company, of January 13, 1913, it again did service +in the photoplay "The Thirteenth Man," where the inevitable banquet is +the annual reunion of "The Thirteen Club." The theme has now become so +hackneyed that, as the list given in <a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">Chapter XVI</a> shows, it is no +longer serviceable for photoplay purposes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span></p> + +<p>Obviously, these facts are cited not to discredit the companies +referred to, but solely to emphasize the difference between the +genuinely new twist as exemplified in Conan Doyle's "The New +Catacomb," and the dangerously close similarity as exhibited in at +least one of the two photoplays just referred to as following the plot +of the <i>Strand</i> story.</p> + +<p>It must not be inferred, however, that all cases in which the themes +of short-stories are developed into photoplays with very little change +are plagiarisms, either conscious or unconscious. Many important +companies are negotiating constantly with the magazines for the right +to photodramatize their most suitable short-stories. Sometimes this is +done with the consent of the author and the plot of the story used +substantially without change, while in other instances the plot is +freely changed, only the germ being used. It is particularly in such +cases that we must be careful not to charge plagiarism.</p> + +<p>In this connection it is important to note that the photoplaywright +cannot be too careful in respecting the rights of publishers and +authors in their fictional properties. To many writers it is not clear +precisely what rights an author parts with when he, without any other +stipulation, sells a short-story or a longer piece of fiction outright +to a magazine, so he must be careful in offering moving-picture rights +to a company unless he is <i>sure</i>, from a clear <i>understanding</i> with +the magazine publisher, that he is at liberty to do so. If these +points are not altogether in the clear to you, nevertheless it is +certainly wise to be definite in se<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span>curing your own copyright on +stories, when that is possible, by agreeing with your publisher for +the release to you of all dramatic rights.</p> + +<p>To return once more to the subject of originality, in W.W. Jacobs's +story, "The Monkey's Paw," the thrillingly terrible crisis begins when +the father, much against his will, makes use of the second wish +granted to him as the possessor of the fatal paw and wishes his dead +son alive again. In the night he and his wife are aroused by a +familiar knocking on their door. The mother, believing it to be their +son returned to life, rushes to let him in, but while she is trying to +unlock the door, the husband, remembering the terrible condition of +the son's body, he having been crushed to death by some machinery, +utters the third and last wish. The knocking ceases, and when the +woman succeeds in getting the door open, the street lamp flickering +opposite is shining on a quiet and deserted road.</p> + +<p>Substantially the same plot is used in a story published in <i>The Blue +Book</i>, "The Little Stone God," the principal difference being that, +when those in the house hear the knocking on the door, they refuse, in +utter terror, to answer the summons. The knocking ceases; and the next +morning they learn that a telegraph messenger boy called at the house +with a message on the previous night and, after knocking several times +in vain, went away again.</p> + +<p>The foregoing are only a few examples of plots which strongly resemble +one another. How it comes that they resemble one another it is not our +province to discuss any further—the point is that if your story<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> is +inspired by the work of another writer, give it such an absolutely +original treatment that you can conscientiously refer to it as +original.</p> + +<p>"Don't waste time in rewriting other people's brain-children, for the +scenario-editor goblins will catch you sure as fate, and once you get +a reputation for plagiarism, not a film-maker will dare to buy any +manuscript from you for fear it is copyrighted."<a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a></p> + +<p>In photoplays as in novels and short-stories nothing is so +disappointing as a story whose title is inviting, and the first few +pages—or scenes, as the case may be—interesting, but which soon +begins to reveal itself as nothing more than a story with which we are +already familiar, though slightly changed in a few particulars in the +hope that it may be welcomed as an original work. We say "slightly +changed," for if the all-important new twist is not given the story +cannot escape detection as being what it is—a mere copy of the +original.</p> + +<p>"The formula upon which the plot is built is of venerable antiquity," +says Frederick Taber Cooper, in <i>The Bookman</i>, in reviewing a certain +novel. Then, although he commends the purpose of the story, he +concludes: "But the book is not really an important one, because there +have been scores of books equally well written which have already said +much the same thing. The author has not had any new twist to give to +the old theme—and, worst of all, we know from wearisome past +experience just how the plot will work<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> out, just how inevitable it is +that Kenneth will achieve fame, and his father will be reconciled, and +Jean, convinced of her injustice, will tearfully plead for +forgiveness." Don't lay yourself open to such a criticism.</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>3. What Is Originality?</i></span></p> + +<p>"Popularly, we call that man original who stands on his own feet, uses +the thoughts of others only to stimulate and supplement his own, and +who does his best to color borrowed thought with the hue of his own +personality. Such a man, if he be not a creator, is at least a +thinker, and a thinker need never be a literary thief. The entrance of +any thought that will set the mind to working should be welcome +indeed."<a name="FNanchor_34_34" id="FNanchor_34_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>Speaking of the way in which a writer may take an old plot and work it +over, Frank E. Woods, the former "Spectator" of the <i>Dramatic Mirror</i>, +says:</p> + +<p>"That is precisely what every author does in nine cases out of ten. He +utilizes and adapts the ideas he has gained from various sources. It +is when he follows another author's sequence or association of ideas +or arrangement of incidents so closely as to make his work appear to +be an obvious copy or colorable imitation, that he is guilty."</p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="u"><i>4. The New Twist Illustrated</i></span></p> + +<p>As an example of the way in which an old theme may be given a new +twist, let us compare the plot of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> Browning's "Pippa Passes"—which, +by the way, was wonderfully well produced in motion-picture form by +the Biograph Company in 1909—and James Oppenheim's photoplay, "Annie +Crawls Upstairs," produced by the Edison Company.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<img src="images/image24.jpg" alt="Daylight Studio" width="400" height="299" /></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><b>Preparing to Take Three Scenes at Once in a Daylight +Studio</b></p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>In each, the theme is the spiritual redemption of several different +characters through the influence of the heroine, who in each case +accomplishes this worthy end quite unconsciously. Pippa, the +mill-girl, spends her holiday wandering through the town and over the +countryside, singing her innocent and happy-hearted songs. It is the +effect of those songs upon those who hear them that gives the +poem-story its dramatic moments and makes up the plot. In Mr. +Oppenheim's story, the heroine, Annie, is a tiny, crippled child who, +wandering out of the tenement kitchen where her half-drunken father is +quarreling with his wife, crawls painfully up one flight of stairs +after another, innocently walking into each flat in turn, and in each +doing some good by her mere presence. On one floor a wayward girl is +so affected by meeting with the crippled child that she remains at +home with her mother instead of going out to join a party of friends +of questionable character; on another floor she is instrumental in +preventing an ex-convict from joining his former pals in another +crime; in the flat above, she brings together two lovers who are about +to part in anger; in the next flat she comforts a busy dressmaker who +has lost patience with and scolded her little girl for being in her +way while she is at work, and who realizes on seeing Annie that she +should at least be thankful that her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> child has health and strength, +and does not, therefore, add the care and worry of sickness to the +burden of poverty. Finally, on the top floor, a young man, heart-sick +and weary of the vain search for work in a strange city, coming out of +his room finds little Annie asleep, her head resting against the frame +of the door. As he carries her down to her own flat, he picks up +courage, banishes the thoughts of suicide which a few moments before +had filled his brain, and resolves to try again. The picture ends with +the mother and father, their quarrel forgotten, bending over the +child. </p> + +<p>Thus, consciously or unconsciously, Mr. Oppenheim has used the same +theme that Browning used; but he has given it a new twist with the +introduction of each new incident in the story. The little lame child +of the tenements does not seem to speak a word in the picture, and the +scene between the two young lovers parting after their quarrel is +totally unlike the scene between Ottima and Sebald in Browning's poem, +yet we feel that the good influence that changes the heart of the +burglar, as he sits there planning the new crime, is the same as that +which shakes the guilty wife and her lover when Pippa passes beneath +the window of Luca's house, singing:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>God's in his heaven—<br /></i></span><i> +<span class="i0">All's right with the world!</span></i><span class="i0"><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>We have read of a Western script in which the outlaw, wounded and +bleeding, is given shelter by the heroine. When the sheriff arrives, +he sees the basin containing the bloody water and inquires how it +comes there. Even while he is looking at it, the girl cuts her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> hand +with a knife, and declares that, having cut herself before the +Sheriff's arrival, she has just washed her hand in the basin.</p> + +<p>This incident, or situation, is almost identical with one in the +Ambrosio Company's "After Fifty Years," which won the first prize of +twenty-five thousand francs ($5,000) at the Turin Exhibition, and +which showed as one of its many thrilling situations the Italian +heroine gashing her hand with a knife held behind her back, to explain +to the Austrian soldier who is in search of her lover the presence of +blood on her sleeve.</p> + +<p>Yet this could not be called a theft, or even a re-arrangement of +another writer's plot. The plot, characters, and setting were entirely +different in each play—it was only that one situation that was made +use of; and it seems likely that it was from the Ambrosio picture, or +the account of it, that the author of the Western story got his +inspiration. Yet who can really tell? Thoughts are marvellous things, +and both writers may have gotten their ideas from some other +original—or even conceived them in their own brains.</p> + +<p>After all, as has been pointed out, the trouble with many young +writers is that they are not content with copying a single situation. +They have not been "in the game" long enough to realize either the +risk that they are taking or the wrong that they are doing a fellow +writer, so they not only adapt to their own needs a strong situation +in another's story but precede and follow it with other incidents and +situations which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> are substantially the same as those surrounding the +big situation in the original story.</p> + +<p>But giving an old theme a new twist is a trick of the trade that comes +only with experience, and experience is gained by practice. Experience +and practice soon teach the photoplaywright not to rely too heavily +upon the newspaper for new ideas, for almost every day editors receive +two or more plots which closely resemble each other, simply because +the writers, having all chosen the same theme, have all worked that +theme up in the same way—the <i>obvious</i> way, the <i>easiest</i> way, the +way that involves the least care, and therefore the least ingenuity.</p> + +<p>"Where do the good plots come from, anyhow?" asks John Robert Moore. +"We people in universities often amuse ourselves by tracing stories +back to their origins. The trouble is that we often reach the limit of +our knowledge, but rarely find the beginning; for the <i>plot</i> seems to +be as old as the race. What, then, has been changed in a story which +has been raised from a mediæval legend to a modern work of art?</p> + +<p>"In such cases, the setting and the moral content are almost +invariably altered. An absurdly comic story about an Irishman and a +monkey, which was current a couple of centuries ago, became 'The +Murders in the Rue Morgue' in the hands of Poe. The central plot +remained much the same, but the whole of the setting and the +intellectual content assumed a new and vastly higher significance. +'The Bottle Imp' harks back to the Middle Ages; but Stevenson made a +world-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span>famous story of it by giving it the flavor of the South Sea +Islands which he knew so well."</p> + +<p>So there are both discouragement and cheer for those who accept the +Wise Man's dictum that there is nothing new under the sun. In the one +aspect, there seems little chance for the novice since the primary +plots are really so few; but in the other view, fresh arrangements of +old combinations are always possible for those who see life with open +eyes, alert minds, warm hearts, and the resolve to be as original as +they can.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>COMPLETE FIVE-REEL PHOTOPLAY SCRIPT<br /> +"EVERYBODY'S GIRL"</h3> + +<p style="text-align: center">Adapted from "O. Henry's" Short-Story, "Brickdust Row," by A. Van +Buren Powell, and Produced in Film Form by The Vitagraph Company<a name="FNanchor_35_35" id="FNanchor_35_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></p> + + +<p>The mere reading of the following photoplay script will not do you any +good. To get any benefit from it you must <i>study</i> it.</p> + +<p>The script, which is an adaptation—the short-story of a famous +author, "O. Henry," translated into screen technique—is in the form +in which it was accepted for production. An adaptation rather than the +script of an original idea is chosen for two reasons: the story from +which it was made is accessible in every library, and the translation +into production-form offers certain problems which make it a more +effective lesson in idea-building.</p> + +<p>Pretend that you are a staff writer, and that you are to "do" a +certain story by "O. Henry." Get from your library the book of +short-stories by the famous author which contains "Brickdust Row"—the +volume is en<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span>titled "The Trimmed Lamp." Read the story—read it until +you are thoroughly familiar with its every word. Read it analytically. +You are to make an adaptation of it. What must that adaptation have +for its fundamental purpose?—the preservation of "O. Henry's" charm +of atmosphere; the utilization of his cleverness with words, wherever +possible in leaders; the emphasizing of his purpose in writing the +story. What was that purpose? Was it not to show how a man's code of +ethics, mistakenly clung to, resulted in his misjudging a perfectly +innocent girl, with resultant tragedy? And, contributory to this, was +it not the aim of the original author to emphasize and excuse the +conduct of the girl—conduct arising naturally from her environment +and station in life?</p> + +<p>These things must be conveyed, then, through the medium of +characterization, with the help of little human touches. The girl must +be shown as sweet, clean, without a wrong thought; the man must be +clearly depicted, his reason for being so seemingly churlish and +careless of the duties imposed upon him by his ownership of many +tenements must be handled in such a way that he will not be an +unsympathetic character.</p> + +<p>Then we are confronted with certain studio conditions. The story must +be made of feature length—five or more reels. Again, tragedy is not +welcome on the screen. Arguments might be offered to show that the +original story will lose strength through the addition of the "happy +ending." We cannot help that—in fact, we must surmount that obstacle. +We must <i>make</i> the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> story equally strong and try, if we can, to add to +its lesson. We cannot air our ideals, and write just as we wish; we +must conform to the set rules of our particular studio, as well as to +the general rules covering screencraft.</p> + +<p>The change of title is governed by so many factors that it need only +be said that the alternative title was given as possessing a greater +advertising and drawing power.<a name="FNanchor_36_36" id="FNanchor_36_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a></p> + +<p>Now we have dissected "O. Henry's" original story. We have decided +what we must do with it. Comes the director for consultation. He feels +that the story is not long enough. It need not be padded, but an +additional character might be introduced to bring out and emphasize +the true character of our leading woman, and at the same time the +required dramatic element and the contrasting of his character with +that of the leading man may be achieved by his presence.</p> + +<p>So, agreeing with the director, we write our script.</p> + +<p>Throughout, notes will call your attention to certain points that will +help your understanding of the technical purposes of certain material.</p> + + +<p> </p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"><b>"EVERYBODY'S GIRL"</b></p> + +<p style="text-align: center">SYNOPSIS</p> + +<p>Florence is a shop girl, of the quiet, sweet, clean type. She finds it +hard to make ends meet. Her more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> practical, more worldly-wise friend, +Ella, the shoe-store cashier, suggests that they share her present +quarters in "Brickdust Row"—a decaying tenement block. By this +division of expense they can both save "enough to buy an extra pickle +for lunch once in a while."</p> + +<p>When Florence sees "Brickdust Row" she is depressed by its dull +aspect, its dreary environment. But she accepts Ella's proposal, and +the two girls begin their sharing of the tiny room as cheerfully as +possible.</p> + +<p>Through a terrifying experience with a male flirt Florence comes to +learn that Ella has long been used to accepting attentions and escort +from men outside the home atmosphere. Ella explains that since the +owner of "Brickdust Row" is so avaricious that he allows the parlors +to be rented out, no place is provided where the girls may entertain +men properly, and so the society of the opposite sex must be sought +and enjoyed "here, there and everywhere."</p> + +<p>The idea is repugnant to Florence, who is unusually fine in her ideas +of propriety; but she comes to see that Ella's way is the only outlet +for youth and the desire for companionship, brightness, life.</p> + +<p>She is very choice in her selection of escorts, and never permits any +young man she meets to discover even where she lives.</p> + +<p>The owner of the tenements is a bored, money-spoiled young +man—Alexander Blinker. His lawyer tries to make him take enough +interest in his tenements to change the leases so that the girls can +have a place<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span> to meet gentlemen with the shield of propriety. Blinker +is too anxious to get to a golf tournament even to listen.</p> + +<p>Florence grows used to her rôle of "Everybody's Girl," and while she +is decidedly decorous, she learns the arts and affectations of the +"street meeting."</p> + +<p>Blinker has to come to his lawyer in order to sign some important +documents; they are not prepared. He must stay in the city over +Sunday. The idea fills him with disgust; he longs for the hunting trip +he has planned. In sheer desperation he decides to do that which his +butler considers equivalent to jumping from the window, in view of his +social status—Blinker determines to go to Coney Island.</p> + +<p>His experiences may be imagined as he is pushed and jostled by the +rough-and-ready pleasure-seekers. He gets on the boat and is seen by +Florence, who regards him as a prospective escort and so conducts +herself that he is virtually forced into conversation, and with no +experience to guide him in this strange method of introduction, he +manages to bear himself suitably, to the end that the two debark at +the island of pleasure-seeking and set out to enjoy themselves, +Florence being the guide, by virtue of her experience.</p> + +<p>At first Blinker feels entirely out of his element, but Florence shows +him the spirit in which to accept the tinsel and the rude fun-making. +He soon comes to like it—and to think very well of the naively +"different" girl beside him.</p> + +<p>He is treated like all her other cavaliers at the time and place of +parting—she goes home alone. He re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span>turns to his apartment with a new +idea of the city's possibilities.</p> + +<p>That same evening Florence finds an intruder unceremoniously invading +her room—a "gang" leader who believes the shot he has just fired at +an adversary has been fatal in its effect. He tells her his story, but +says he did not do the shooting. She believes him, and when the police +come to her door in their search for the culprit, she pretends that +the man opposite her at the table is her brother.</p> + +<p>Later she learns that he has told her a falsehood, but she does not +deliver him to justice, and when she finds that the man who was shot +is not fatally injured, she sends the shielded one away in safety; for +which display of her fine sense of loyalty he becomes a veritable +watchdog, never intruding his presence upon her, but being always near +to observe the quality of the companions she still allows herself.</p> + +<p>Blinker meets her by appointment the next evening, and the faithful +Watchdog follows them to Coney Island, vigilant, feeling sure than a +man of the evident social status of Blinker can mean no good to a girl +in Florence's station.</p> + +<p>On the boat, coming home, Blinker tells Florence that he loves her. So +accustomed is she to this display of sentimentality in her cavaliers +that she merely laughs. He persists, and she indicates a belief that +he is just like the rest. Mention of "the rest" awakes question in +Blinker. He learns that she meets men indiscriminately. He has a +horror of this evidence of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> what he considers to be moral laxity, and +when Florence sees this she is amazed. <i>He</i> has met her in the same +way, yet he is shocked that she should meet others! In justifying her +course she explains what sort of place "Brickdust Row" is, and how the +girls are driven out.</p> + +<p>A fire is discovered on the boat, and in the excitement Blinker and +Florence are separated and the Watchdog is unable to find the girl he +worships. She has jumped into the water as the flames drew too close +to her.</p> + +<p>Later she is found at home by the Watchdog, safe though suffering from +shock. He discovers that the shock is less from exposure than from her +discovery that Blinker was serious, and that he refused to condone her +mode of meeting men.</p> + +<p>Blinker is visited by his lawyer, and in their conversation, a +reference to "Brickdust Row" gives Blinker the knowledge that he is +the owner of that tenement—that it is his own fault which gives rise +to such unconventional practices as Florence has innocently indulged +in. It is too late, he thinks, now—too late to change things. His +dream of love is rudely dispelled.</p> + +<p>However, after a visit from the Watchdog, in which the gangster +loyally champions Florence's character and "lays down the law" to +Blinker, the latter sees Florence again, realizing his own great fault +in being too quick to judge—and the reconciliation is made sweeter by +his willingness to have Florence do her will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> with the remodeling of +the tenement, while the Watchdog finds comfort in the smiles of Ella.</p> + + +<p> </p> + + +<p style="text-align: center"> +CAST OF CHARACTERS<a name="FNanchor_37_37" id="FNanchor_37_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a></p> + + +<table border="0" summary="characters" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse"> + <tbody> + <tr> + <td>FLORENCE<br /> + </td> + <td>A sweet, innocent girl, whose environment<br /> + shapes her conduct; + sympathetic type.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>BLINKER<br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + </td> + <td>Rich, idle, careless of responsibility,<br /> + and as much a victim to his<br /> + own station as is Florence; slightly<br /> + affected; but must not lose sympathy<br /> + or create distaste.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>ELLA<br /> + <br /> + <br /> + </td> + <td>Snappy, shop-girl type; keen contrast<br /> + to Florence, and used to build<br /> + up and emphasize the fine nature of<br /> + Florence.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>BILL<a name="FNanchor_38_38" id="FNanchor_38_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a><br /> + <br /> + <br /> + </td> + <td>A typical slums character—gang<br /> + leader; generally living by his wits,<br /> + but possessed of a deep-rooted devotion<br /> + to anybody who is "square" + with him.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>FRANK</td> + <td>A typical street-flirt.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>LAWYER OLDPORT</td> + <td>A quizzical man of the "old school."</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Types of the tenement district. Police, etc.</td> + <td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Typical crowds at Coney Island, and on boat.</td> + <td> </td> +</tr> + </tbody> + </table> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span></p> +<p> </p> + +<p style="text-align: center">SCENARIO, OR CONTINUITY OF SCENES</p> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>THUS DOES FLORENCE COAX A FEW RELUCTANT DOLLARS INTO HER +WEEKLY PURSE.</p></div> + +<p>1—Interior small hat-trimming shop.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The diaphragm opens to show Florence trimming a hat. She is +a pathetic figure as she looks down at the hat and realizes +that such finery is beyond her owning. She looks up and +smiles gratefully as the owner of the place comes from +paying others in view, and drops an envelope on table before +her.<a name="FNanchor_39_39" id="FNanchor_39_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a></p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>THE SHOP GIRL'S CONSTANT PROBLEM—MAKING ENDS MEET—HELPS +FLORENCE WEAR OUT MANY A PENCIL.</p></div> + +<p>2—Boarding house steps.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence is discovered sitting on step, figuring out her +accounts with a stubby pencil on back of an old envelope. +She looks disconsolately at her figures. Then as she glances +up her eyes brighten and she waves a hand.<a name="FNanchor_40_40" id="FNanchor_40_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a></p></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span></p> +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>FRIEND ELLA, OF THE SHOE-STORE CASHIER'S CAGE.</p></div> + +<p>3—Street near boarding house.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Ella, whose face is piquant with recognition, waves in a +snappy, "Oh! Hello, Kid" manner, and goes toward boarding +house.</p></div> + +<p>4—Boarding house steps, as in 2. Close-up of two girls.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Ella comes on and greets Florence in breezy way; Florence is +pleased, but her manner of salutation is more quiet, though +equally sincere. Ella drops on step, looks at figures, and +grins. Florence indicates her depression, due to the figures +that will not balance with her meager income. Ella makes a +proposition, saying:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"WHY NOT SHARE A ROOM WITH ME? WE MIGHT EACH SAVE ENOUGH TO +ADD A DILL PICKLE TO OUR LUNCH."</p> + +<p>Florence is impressed, and Ella bids her come along and see +the place.<a name="FNanchor_41_41" id="FNanchor_41_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a></p></div> + +<p>5—Wider view of steps.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>As Florence rises, she hesitates, and seems to be averse to +putting her friend to inconvenience. Ella grins gayly, and +says:</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"WHEN YOU SEE 'BRICKDUST ROW'—WHERE I LIVE—YOU WON'T THINK +I'M DOING YOU ANY FAVOR."</p> + +<p>She urges Florence to come along. Two girls leave scene.<a name="FNanchor_42_42" id="FNanchor_42_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a></p></div> + +<p>6—A street corner.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>A blind man is selling pencils. Ella and Florence come on. +Florence pauses, fishes coin from her purse and buys a +pencil. Then, as Ella keeps right on, turning corner, +Florence smiles gently and pauses again.</p></div> + +<p>7—Street corner—close-up of hands.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence gently slips the purchased pencil back into hand of +blind man, allowing her hand to rest commiseratingly on his +arm an instant.</p></div> + +<p>8—Wider view of street corner.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Ella turns to see what is keeping Florence, who is hurrying +away to avoid the man's "Bless you, and the Saints protect +you!"<a name="FNanchor_43_43" id="FNanchor_43_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a></p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"BRICKDUST ROW," WITH ITS DREARY MONOTONY AND CRUMBLING +DECAY, IS A PLACE TO SIGH OVER—NOT TO LIVE IN.<a name="FNanchor_44_44" id="FNanchor_44_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a></p></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span></p> +<p>9—Long view of street with typical tenements.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Showing the dreary atmosphere of the place as Florence and +Ella come along street and pause at a doorway.</p></div> + +<p>10—Closer view doorway.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Emphasis of atmosphere. Ella unlatching door as Florence +touches side-rail of low stoop and looks downcast, +shuddering a bit. They go in.</p></div> + +<p>11—Lower hall of tenement.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>A worn whisk-broom hangs on wall. There is a comedy touch as +Ella and Florence come in, and the latter notices the +whisk-broom.</p></div> + +<p>12—Bust view. Wall.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Showing whisk-broom.</p></div> + +<p>13—Wider view of hall.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Ella laughs, and says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"THE FIRST TIME YOU START OUT FROM THIS DUST-FACTORY YOU'LL +KNOW WHY THAT'S THERE!"</p> + +<p>Florence is dubious about liking the place, but follows Ella +up the rickety, dust-laden stairway.</p></div> + +<p>14—Ella's tiny but neat room—window on fire-escape.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Ella brings Florence in. Ella throws out hands in gesture of +"Here it is—not much, I'll admit." Florence exclaims in +reassuring affectation of delight and says she will take +Ella's offer.</p> + +<p>Diaphragm out.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>WE NOTE ONE BLINKER—ALEXANDER BLINKER—OWNING TENEMENTS +GALORE, AND LEADING A GENERALLY USELESS LIFE BECAUSE HE HAS +BEEN BROUGHT UP THAT WAY.</p></div> + +<p>15—Oldport's legal office. Close-up at door.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Diaphragm in to a close view of Blinker, introducing him in +a very unpleasing humor, evidently sour about something.<a name="FNanchor_45_45" id="FNanchor_45_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a></p></div> + +<p>16—Oldport's office—wider view.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Showing Oldport looking quizzically at the fuming Blinker as +the latter advances, saying:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"IF I <i>MUST</i> SIGN THOSE DISGUSTING LEASES, LET US GET IT +OVER. I HAVE A GOLF TOURNAMENT ON—"</p> + +<p>He advances and slumps pettishly into a chair by desk.</p></div> + +<p>17—Close-up of Oldport.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Oldport looks around at Blinker, with an expression showing +more pity than annoyance.</p></div> + +<p>18—Close-up of Blinker.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker makes a gesture of impatience and shifts in his +chair.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span></p> + +<p>19—Ella's room. A few touches indicating the refining influence of +Florence.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Ella is getting ready to go out. Florence questions. Ella +says, "I got an afternoon date." Then she vents her +annoyance at the owner of the buildings by saying:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in-leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"THE DUB THAT OWNS THIS DUST-BIN IS SO MEAN THAT HE RENTS +THE PARLORS—SO US GIRLS HAS GOT TO MEET OUR GENTLEMEN +FRIENDS SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE—WE CAN'T ENTERTAIN IN OUR ROOMS, +CAN WE?"</p> + +<p>Florence shakes her head, and refuses an invitation to +accompany Ella, who goes out.<a name="FNanchor_46_46" id="FNanchor_46_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a></p></div> + +<p>20—Oldport's office.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker signing papers. Finishing, he rises. Oldport lays a +restraining hand on his arm, taking another paper. Blinker +shudders in distaste, as Oldport turns and says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"THERE IS A MATTER CONCERNING THE RENTING OF THE PARLORS IN +ONE OF YOUR BUILDINGS—YOUR FATHER HAD INTENDED TO REMODEL +THEM, SO—"</p> + +<p>Blinker shrugs, and rises, protesting, imploring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> Oldport to +let him get away. Oldport rises, and follows him to door, +where he stops him.</p></div> + +<p>21—Close-up door of Oldport office.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Oldport is serious, almost pleading, as Blinker wheels. +Oldport says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"BECAUSE THE PARLORS ARE RENTED AS ROOMS, THE GIRLS, MOSTLY +SHOP WORKERS, MUST DO THEIR ENTERTAINING OF +MEN—ELSEWHERE—"</p> + +<p>Blinker turns deprecatingly, and says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"DEAR OLD MAN—ANOTHER TIME, <i>PLEASE</i>!"</p> + +<p>He hurries out. Oldport frowns with annoyance, then shrugs.</p> + +<p>Diaphragm out.</p> + +<p>Diaphragm in:<a name="FNanchor_47_47" id="FNanchor_47_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a></p></div> + +<p>22—Front of hat-shop where Florence is employed.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Frank, a typical street-flirt, is lounging, watching some +girls pass; they laugh and nudge each other; then Florence +comes out of shop and Frank, lifting cap, falls into step +beside her. Depict innocence on Florence's part—she does +not "get his drift."<a name="FNanchor_48_48" id="FNanchor_48_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a></p></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span></p> +<p>23—Exterior of golf club.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker arrives in haste, to find friends and players +waiting. Emphasize his egotism and self-centeredness as they +start off for the golf links.</p></div> + +<p>24—Street in tenement district.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Frank is keeping up with Florence as she comes on. He takes +her arm. She stops dead still. Sudden fear shows in her +face. Tearing herself free, she fairly runs from the scene, +Frank staring in surprise, and indicating "Holy +Mackerel—stuck up little skirt!"</p></div> + +<p>25—Door in Brickdust Row.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence comes hurrying on, looks over her shoulder to be +sure she is not followed, and rushes into house.</p></div> + +<p>26—Golf course.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker tees up and drives. He shows satisfaction as he +watches the flight of the ball, then sets off, smiling at +his caddie's muttered "Some drive!"</p></div> + +<p>27—Ella's room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence is coming in. She is panting. Still shaking with +fright and mortification, she flings herself across the bed.</p></div> + +<p>28—A street corner.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Ella is parting from a "gentleman friend" and thanks him for +a "swell time," then starts for home as he turns, hat +lifted, and goes.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span></p> + +<p>29—Golf course.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Show Blinker's egotism as he wins match amid plaudits of his +friends.</p></div> + +<p>30—Ella's room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence still on bed as Ella comes in. "What's up, Kid?" +Florence explains. Ella laughs, and tells her the lad meant +no harm, then rising in denunciation of their environment, +she exclaims:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"LORD, KID! A GIRL CAN'T STICK IN THE HOUSE AND BE A DRIED +PRUNE WITHOUT NO FRIENDS. IF SHE CAN'T BRING 'EM HOME—SHE +HAS TO MEET 'EM WHEREVER SHE FINDS 'EM."</p> + +<p>This is a new idea to Florence, and it impresses her, though +she is dubious about it. Finally, reconciling herself, she +agrees, saying:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"YES, A GIRL HAS <span class="u">GOT</span> TO HAVE <span class="u">SOME</span> FUN. I GUESS IT'S NO +HARM TO LET <span class="u">NICE</span> FELLOWS SPEAK, AND TAKE YOU OUT +SOMETIMES."</p> + +<p>Ella assures her that it is no harm. Florence is less +dubious.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span></p><div class="blockquot"><p>DUN, DREARY MONOTONY DRIVES FLORENCE TO THE ONLY +ENTERTAINMENT HER ENVIRONMENT PERMITS.</p></div> + +<p>31—A park entrance.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence allows a neat chap who has been flirting to take +her arm, and they go off together.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>SOMETIMES THE MOVIES—</p></div> + +<p>32—Outside moving picture house. Night.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence is laughing as she comes on with ANOTHER +nice-looking chap who takes her in to see the show.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>SOMETIMES MOONY SPOONING—</p></div> + +<p>33—Park seat near lake. Moon on water for pretty view.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence is allowing a different fellow to sit close and +hold her hand. (No inclination to get "fresh.")</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>BUT ALWAYS THE SAME TACTICS, AND EACH TIME WITH A DIFFERENT +CAVALIER.<a name="FNanchor_49_49" id="FNanchor_49_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a></p></div> + +<p>34—Front door, Brickdust Row. Evening.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence comes on, with an impatient swain, but she gives +absolutely no indication that this is where she lives, and +they pass off.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span></p> + +<p>35—Street corner.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence and companion come on. She says "good night" and +refuses to let him go further. When he is gone around the +corner she retraces her steps toward home.</p> + +<p>Diaphragm slowly out.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>AH, THE TRIBULATIONS OF BLINKER!</p></div> + +<p>36—Oldport's office.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker comes in, disgusted. Oldport laughs at him somewhat +sardonically as Blinker says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"WILL THOSE PAPERS NEVER BE DONE WITH? WELL—HURRY. I'M +PACKED TO START FOR THE NORTH WOODS TONIGHT."</p> + +<p>Oldport grins cheerfully, saying:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"THE WORST HAS NOT BEEN TOLD YOU. THE PAPERS WILL NOT BE +READY TILL MONDAY—SO YOU WILL HAVE TO AMUSE YOURSELF FOR A +DAY AND A HALF—"</p> + +<p>Blinker flings out, disgusted.</p></div> + +<p>37—Ella's room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence comes in, in her work-day clothes, and prepares to +get out a quite new summer frock.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span></p> + +<p>38—Blinker's apartment.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker in, and man taking off coat, etc. Summer garb. +Blinker disgusted with life. Reads paper. Man +obsequious—comedy touch with proffer of numbers of +varieties of cigarettes.</p></div> + +<p>39—Ella's room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence dressed in summer frock. Wonders what to do with +herself—plans, counts money—decides and goes out.</p></div> + +<p>40—Apartment.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker reads "ad." in paper and suddenly says to his man:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"SIMONDS, I'M GOING TO CONEY ISLAND."</p> + +<p>Man bows as if he had said he was going to drown himself. +Blinker bids man fetch some cool outing flannels—he acts as +if he were preparing to go to be shot, but must face it. +Ennui driving him.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>FOR ONCE HOI-POLLOI JOSTLES, BUSTLES AND HARASSES THE +ARISTOCRATIC BLINKER.</p></div> + +<p>41—Dock, gangplank.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Comedy with Blinker in a mob of "kidders" on the way to a +Coney Island boat.</p></div> + +<p>42—Deck chair or camp stool, on Coney Island boat.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence is staring out over water. Turns. Sees something.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span></p> + +<p>43—Deck location.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker coming out of mob—catching hat, effect of tipping +it.</p></div> + +<p>44—Deck, wider view.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence affects to be freezing. Blinker notices her, and is +abashed.</p></div> + +<p>45—Close-up of Florence.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence freezing, says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"HOW DARE YOU LIFT YOUR HAT TO ME, SIR?"</p> + +<p>Haughty.</p></div> + +<p>46—Close-up of Blinker.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker stammers:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I DIDN'T—"</p> + +<p>Then starts, admiring.</p></div> + +<p>47—Close-up of Florence.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence freezing, yet eyes twinkle.</p></div> + +<p>48—Wider-angle view.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker quickly corrects himself by adding:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I DIDN'T SEE HOW I COULD HELP IT—AFTER I <i>SAW</i> YOU."</p> + +<p>She appears mollified. He sits.</p></div> + +<p>49—Closer view, toward water.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence says:</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I DON'T ALLOW GENTLEMEN TO SIT BESIDE ME TO WHOM I HAVE NOT +BEEN INTRODUCED."</p> + +<p>Comedy as Blinker rises, then sits as he sees she is joking. +They begin to "get together."</p></div> + +<p>50—Same scene, different angle.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>He asks Florence:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"ARE YOU GOING TO CONEY ISLAND?"</p> + +<p>She comes back at him:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"CAN'T YOU SEE I'M RIDING A BICYCLE UP THE WOOLWORTH TOWER?"</p> + +<p>He is abashed, then gets her idea, and says quite +attentively:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I'VE NEVER BEEN TO CONEY. MAYN'T WE SEE IT TOGETHER?"</p> + +<p>She is surprised, then appraises him and temporizes.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>IN DUE COURSE ONE IS DASHED INTO THE WALKS AND AVENUES OF +FAIRYLAND GONE INTO VAUDEVILLE.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span></p> + +<p>51—Steeplechase Amusement Park.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>A long view to show the "atmosphere."<a name="FNanchor_50_50" id="FNanchor_50_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a> Florence and +Blinker in the crowd.</p></div> + +<p>52—Closer view.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker and Florence. "Tough" with girl. "Tough" blows cigar +smoke in Blinker's face. Florence tactfully prevents a +"scrap." She can't afford to have cavalier "pinched." Off +they go.</p></div> + +<p>53—Some open-air amusement, as "The Whip."</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker and Florence on—he is disgusted. She is aflame with +excitement. He looks disgustedly at the amusement, and she, +divining—dejectedly—goes off with him.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>FLORENCE IS DIVINELY HAPPY—FOR IS SHE NOT WITH HER +MAN—KEEPER OF THE KEYS OF FAIRYLAND?</p></div> + +<p>54—Front of a show.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence in ecstasy. Overcomes chagrin. Goes in with +disgusted but subdued Blinker—subdued by a battle royal +with the mob around ticket wicket.</p></div> + +<p>55—Inside the show.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>As Blinker helps Florence into a seat, an Italian woman with +bunch of candy-sticky kids comes along. In they pile, +candying Blinker, who disgustedly hops out, with Florence, +somewhat dis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span>comfited and provoked at him, following. He +backs away, and she after him.</p></div> + +<p>56—Closer view of the two.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence sizing up Blinker—delivers her opinion:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"IF YOU EXPECT TO HAVE ANY FUN, YOU'VE GOT TO JUMP IN AND +ACT AS NUTTY AS THE REST OF THEM."</p> + +<p>Blinker is subdued, but hard to convince. Then he looks at +the wistfulness of Florence's eyes, and somehow he decides +he will try to enter into the spirit of the thing. She sees, +is starry-eyed—drags him off, ecstasy in her face.</p></div> + +<p>57—The flying horses.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker about to get on, with Florence pulling him. They get +on. "They're off!"</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>BY THE MAGIC OF FLORENCE'S ENTHUSIASM BLINKER SUDDENLY SEES +CONEY ISLAND IN ITS TRUE GUISE.</p></div> + +<p>58—Flash on horse.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence all ecstasy.</p></div> + +<p>59—Another horse—parallel.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker watching Florence—sudden change to delight.</p></div> + +<p>60—Horses on track in Steeplechase, running parallel.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span></p><div class="blockquot"><p>The two horses are going away from the camera, and as +Blinker turns to smile at Florence, she smiles at him, and—</p> + +<p>The scene interposes into—</p></div> + +<p>61—A rolling open field.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Taking the place of the Steeplechase horses, we see Florence +and Blinker riding at a gallop on real horses, typifying +their imagined visualization. The scene interposes back into—</p></div> + +<p>62—Steeplechase horses.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker laughs merrily at Florence, and both "work" as hard +as they can to send the horses faster.<a name="FNanchor_51_51" id="FNanchor_51_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a></p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>NO LONGER DOES BLINKER SEE A RABBLE. HE IS AMONG HIS +BROTHERS, ALL SEEKING AN IDEAL.</p></div> + +<p>63—Front of tawdry amusement place.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker is with Florence. As they come up and listen to the +"ballyhoo" man—</p> + +<p>The scene interposes into—</p></div> + +<p>64—Front of fairy castle.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence and Blinker as Prince and Princess.</p> + +<p>The scene interposes back into—</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span></p> + +<p>65—Front of amusement place.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker and Florence rush in with crowd, all gay and +hilarious.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>SO BLINKER ROLLS UP THE SHIRTSLEEVES OF HIS MIND, AND +BECOMES AN IDEALIST TOO.</p></div> + +<p>66—A show (Slide).</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Good comedy to get some people coming down a slide, with +Blinker and Florence among them.</p></div> + +<p>67—Bottom of slide.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker and Florence get out, gay as can be—and as they +stroll off, there is a touch of sentiment.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>THE PARTING.</p></div> + +<p>68—Park entrance. Night.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker and Florence. She stops him. He wants to go on with +her, but she says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I MUST LEAVE YOU HERE. I DON'T WANT TO SPOIL THE FAIRYLAND +BY SHOWING YOU—'BRICKDUST ROW.'"</p> + +<p>He tries to persuade her. She is firm. Another "date" for +tomorrow. Off she goes. He the other way.</p></div> + +<p>69—Room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence in—lights up. Sits to dream of happy day.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span></p> + +<p>70—Blinker's apartment. Lit up.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker in to find Simonds waiting. Dismisses man, who might +interrupt dream of happy day by proffer of something—comedy +chase out, then Blinker back to smoke and smile.</p></div> + +<p>71—Florence's room. Gas-lit.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence rises to remove dress, pauses to look at herself in +mirror—girlish vanity.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>WHEN GANG-LEADER MEETS GANG-LEADER—</p></div> + +<p>72—Front of "Brickdust Row." Night.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill sauntering. Pauses to light cigarette. A rival +gang-leader comes on. Flash—pistols—bang—other man fires +first. Bill wings him and turns.</p></div> + +<p>73—Corner. Night.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Cop" hears shooting. Listens to locate it.</p></div> + +<p>74—Front of "Row." Night.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill hides gun in coat. Dodges into door.<a name="FNanchor_52_52" id="FNanchor_52_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a></p></div> + +<p>75—Corner. Night.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Cop" looking around—sees—</p></div> + +<p>76—Front of "Row." Night.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Man lying still.</p></div> + +<p>77—Corner. Night.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Cop" blows whistle and runs off.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span></p> + +<p>78—Hall. Gas-lit.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill listening. Up the stairs! He may get away!</p></div> + +<p>79—Front row. Night.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Cop" and others gather about man. Several "cops" on at a +run.</p></div> + +<p>80—Ella's room. Gas-lit.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill looks in doorway. Florence at mirror, about to loosen +dress. Turns. Bill comes in. He says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"LISTEN, SIS—A GUY CROAKED ANOTHER FELLOW—A COP THINKS I +DONE IT—I DIDN'T—SO HELP ME GOD!"</p> + +<p>He is so pathetic in his fright that she is torn with +sympathy.</p></div> + +<p>81—"Cops" before "Brickdust Row." Night.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Cops" decide to look in house—go in.</p></div> + +<p>82—Ella's room. Gas-lit.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence moves close to Bill and finds gun. He nods—says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"THAT'S WHY I'M SCARED—IF THEY FIND IT THEY'LL PINCH +ME—"<a name="FNanchor_53_53" id="FNanchor_53_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a></p> + +<p>She nods. Both start, as at a sound.</p></div> + +<p>83—Hall. Gas-lit.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Cop" bounding up the stairs.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span></p> + +<p>84—Ella's room. Gas-lit.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill in terror. Florence sees the abject fear in his eyes, +and the tenderness and protective sympathy of her nature are +instantly roused. Dropping the gun in a table drawer, and +sitting down, she motions Bill to sit opposite, and command +himself. She picks up needlework, and proceeds to chat with +Bill as unconcernedly as if he were a constant visitor at +the place.</p></div> + +<p>85—Outside the door of Ella's room. Gas light in room; dimmer light +in hall.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The "cop" comes softly to door, listens, and then pushes +door quietly inward.</p></div> + +<p>86—Ella's room. Gas-lit.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>As the police officer opens the door and looks in, Florence +is quietly sewing, and Bill is leaning back, at his ease, +though it is an effort for him to be unconcerned. He is +smoking. The officer hesitates. Hold suspense of situation.</p></div> + +<p>87—Front of "Row." Night.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Ambulance attendants busy over man. Street crowd being +driven away by several policemen.</p></div> + +<p>88—Ella's room. Gas-lit.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The officer moves forward, his eyes on Bill. Florence does +not betray the slightest sign of dismay. She looks at the +intruder as much in reproof as in surprise. Her steady look +disconcerts the policeman; he shuffles, clears his throat, +and explains his search, glancing toward Bill. Florence +says:</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"LIVING IN THE BACK OF THE HOUSE WE DON'T HEAR MUCH—OR MY +BROTHER WOULD HAVE GONE DOWN TO SEE WHAT WAS UP."</p> + +<p>Bill takes up the lead she gives by pretending eagerness as +to what happened, but the officer, after a hasty look out +over the fire escape, turns and hurries from the room. Bill +sighs relievedly, and looks at Florence with the same sort +of light in his eyes that one sees in those of a faithful +dog. This dog-like devotion is to be the developing keynote +of Bill's character.</p></div> + +<p>89—Roof of house. Night.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Policeman comes up on roof, looking around.</p></div> + +<p>90—Ella's room. Gas-lit.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill is thanking Florence. She tells him that she will go +down and see whether the coast is clear, and he sits down +with a grateful look as she goes quietly out.<a name="FNanchor_54_54" id="FNanchor_54_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a></p></div> + +<p>91—Front of "Row." Night. From the tenement doorway.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The injured man is being made to stand. Florence comes into +the scene, pausing on stoop of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span> the "Row" and watches as the +injured party feigns great pain, and gasps:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"HONEST—HE NEAR CROAKED ME. I'M DYIN'—ALL SHOT TO PIECES. +AN' THE WORST IS I DIDN'T GIT A CHANST TO SHOOT BACK AT +HIM."</p> + +<p>The ambulance men laugh and tell him to be on his way; he is +more scared than hurt. Florence's face becomes tense. Her +lips form the thought that flashes into her mind. "He +lied—to me!" She turns and goes into house.</p></div> + +<p>92—Ella's room. Gas-lit.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill looks up eagerly as Florence comes in. Then he stares +as she goes swiftly toward the table drawer. He is quick, +but not swift enough, in his rush to forestall her as she +gets his revolver and "breaks" it, so that the empty +cartridge and five loaded ones drop into her hand.</p></div> + +<p>93—Bust of hand holding discharged cartridge.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Register the fact that it has been fired.</p></div> + +<p>94—Back to 92.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence looks up slowly. Bill figures that she will give +him up now, and gives a quick, hunted look around as +Florence closes the weapon and lays it on the table, fully +convinced that she has been lied to. She stands looking down +at the weapon, her face brooding. Suspense. What will she do +about it?</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span></p> + +<p>95—Roof of house. Night.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Cop," with another. No use looking further. Separate, one +going down into tenement again, other across roof toward +another descent.</p></div> + +<p>96—Ella's room—looking toward door. Gas-lit.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill in an agony of terror as he hears policeman tramping +toward door. Florence looks up, and moves toward Bill, who +cowers. The door starts to open. Florence pities Bill now.</p></div> + +<p>97—Ella's room—from hall, through opening door. Gas-lit.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The policeman is going to be crafty; he opens door, very +softly, and as he peers in, he sees—Florence slipping her +arms about Bill's neck, giving him a sisterly kiss as she +says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"GOODNIGHT, BUDDY. GIVE THE KIDDIES A KISS FROM ME."</p> + +<p>Convinced, the officer draws away and goes from scene. Bill +can be seen touching cheek Florence kissed, looking at +finger as if expecting it to show the mark of contact.</p></div> + +<p>98—Close-up in room, from another angle, to get Florence in profile.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill slowly and reverently takes Florence's hand, and with +devotion in every line, says fervently:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span></p><div class="blockquot"><p>"KID—YOU'RE <i>CERTAINLY</i> WHITE! AND YOU <i>ARE</i> 'LITTLE SIS' +TO ME FROM NOW ON!"</p> + +<p>Saying nothing more, but looking at her with devoted eyes, +as she stands smiling her gentle smile, he goes to fire +escape, and as he descends—Fade slowly out.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>BILL BECOMES THE FAITHFUL WATCHDOG, ASKING ONLY A PAT, AND +IS ETERNALLY VIGILANT LEST HARM COME TO THE OBJECT OF HIS +DEVOTION.</p> + +<p>Diaphragm in:</p></div> + +<p>99—Park entrance.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence waiting. Bill is coming down path. He sees her and +advances—but she meets Blinker, who is gay and delighted. +They go.</p></div> + +<p>100—Close-up of Bill.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>No jealousy—but suspicion. Bill thinks such a man can mean +no good. He starts off.</p></div> + +<p>101—Wider view.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill seen to be shadowing Blinker and Florence.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>CONVINCED THAT "A GUY" OF BLINKER'S <i>APPARENT</i> AFFLUENCE CAN +MEAN NO GOOD TO A "SKIRT LIKE SIS," THE WATCHDOG INVADES +FAIRYLAND.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span></p> + +<p>102—Steeplechase Pier.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Crowd coming off boat. Florence and Blinker. After them, +shadowing, comes Bill.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>THIS TIME, THERE IS NO TIME LOST BY THE INFATUATED BLINKER, +IN GETTING INTO THE SPIRIT OF THE REVELRY.</p></div> + +<p>103—Any different amusement device.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker with Florence—having a grand time. Show Bill aloof +but watchful, evading discovery carefully.</p></div> + +<p><i>Leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>THE WALKING BEAM OF A CONEY ISLAND BOAT MAKES JUST ENOUGH +NOISE TO ENABLE TWO TO CONVERSE COZILY ALOOF FROM THEIR +NEIGHBORS.</p></div> + +<p>104—By walking beam.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Wide enough to show several couples—Florence and Blinker +among them; narrows down to those two, after Bill is +established in background, watchful but not interfering.</p></div> + +<p>105—Close-up of Blinker.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker, in spell of love, says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"FLORENCE—I—LOVE YOU!"</p> + +<p>Waits, breathless.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span></p> + +<p>106—Close-up of Florence.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>She laughs a little tremulously but recklessly and says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"THAT'S WHAT THEY ALL SAY."</p> + +<p>She begins to hum.</p></div> + +<p>107—Close-up of Blinker.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>He is a little impatient, and says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I AM RICH. I CAN GIVE YOU MANY THINGS—"</p> + +<p>He is interrupted.<a name="FNanchor_55_55" id="FNanchor_55_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a></p></div> + +<p>108—Close-up of Florence.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>She laughs a little, and says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"THAT'S WHAT THEY ALL SAY."</p> + +<p>She is playing with him, and yet telling truth.</p></div> + +<p>109—Close-up of Blinker.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>He is impatient at this repetition. Says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I DON'T LIKE YOU TO KEEP SAYING THAT!"</p> + +<p>He is annoyed. She is not taking him seriously.</p></div> + +<p>110—Close-up of Florence.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>She looks at him—wonders—says:</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"WHY SHOULDN'T I SAY IT? THEY DO!"</p> + +<p>He is puzzled.</p></div> + +<p>111—Close-up of Blinker.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Surprised—puzzled—angered—says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"WHO ARE—'THEY'?"</p> + +<p>Jealous and anxious.</p></div> + +<p>112—Close-up of Florence.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Surprised—innocent. Says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"WHY, THE MEN I MEET."</p> + +<p>What is he driving at?</p></div> + +<p>113—Both—in wider view.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence wondering. He changes expression. Growing tension. +Asks her:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"WHERE DO YOU MEET—THESE MEN?"</p> + +<p>She looks wide-eyed—surprised—answers:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I MEET THEM—AS I DID YOU—"</p> + +<p>Blinker aghast. Asks:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"DO YOU KNOW SO MANY?"</p> + +<p>She allows herself a laugh—says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span></p><div class="blockquot"><p>"WELL I'M NOT EXACTLY A WALL FLOWER."</p> + +<p>He turns away.</p></div> + +<p>114—Close-up of Blinker.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Growing tension—it is sinking in, and finally his +expression grows harder.</p></div> + +<p>115—Close-up of Florence.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>She wonders—finally asks:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"WHAT'S WRONG?"</p> + +<p>Her lips part in amazed terror.</p></div> + +<p>116—New angle. Close-up of Blinker.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Swings upon her and cries:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"EVERYTHING'S WRONG! WHY DON'T YOU SEE THESE—THESE MEN—AT +YOUR HOME? IS IT NECESSARY TO MEET EVERY TOM, DICK AND +HARRY—OUTSIDE?"</p> + +<p>He is growing furious. So that is the sort she is!</p></div> + +<p>117—Profile close-up of Florence.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>She laughs. Her voice is brassy-hard, saying:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"IF YOU COULD SEE 'BRICKDUST ROW' YOU WOULDN'T ASK THAT. THE +FELLOW WHO OWNS IT DOESN'T GIVE US ANY PLACE TO RECEIVE—AND +WE CAN'T TAKE FELLOWS TO OUR ROOM—SO—"</p> + +<p>Shrugs.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span></p> + +<p>118—Wider-angle view, with Blinker nearest camera.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Tension. Big scene as he gets over his horror and disgust +and she realizes it, and rising, disillusioned—exactly as +he feels that <i>he</i> is disillusioned about <i>her</i>—Sudden pause—</p></div> + +<p>119—Deck, <i>ad lib.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Fire! Excitement. "Where?"—"What'll we do?"<a name="FNanchor_56_56" id="FNanchor_56_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a></p></div> + +<p>120—Deck, another part.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Panic. Woman screams.</p></div> + +<p>121—Walking beam.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Excited scattering of crowd. Florence turning away—Bill +coming forward—Blinker listening. He grabs Florence by arm. +She draws away. He compels her to go.</p></div> + +<p>122—Deck.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Tension. Wild scene.</p></div> + +<p>123—Walking beam.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill follows, crowd intervening, as Blinker takes Florence +off. Bill gets after them.</p></div> + +<p>124—Boat davits.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Wild scene. Officer. Sailors. Fire and smoke. Blinker with +Florence. Takes her away—another boat!</p></div> + +<p>125—Another boat.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span></p><div class="blockquot"><p>Crowd more orderly. Women being helped into boat. Blinker +on with Florence. Takes her to boat.</p></div> + +<p>126—Boat davits.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Sailors shot at by officer. Surge away and off.</p></div> + +<p>127—Fire blazing. Sailors lose heads—dash back from fire and +toward—</p> + +<p>128—Other boat.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Fire coming. Florence by boat. Sailors rush on and fight. +Get officer's gun. Surround Florence and Blinker.</p></div> + +<p>129—Different angle.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker fighting to save Florence.</p></div> + +<p>130—Different view.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Fire coming on. Bill fighting way toward Blinker and +Florence.</p></div> + +<p>131—Other boat.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Blinker fighting. Florence separated from him. Bill fights +way to his side. They notice one another as men with same +idea—join back to back. Florence forced away. They try to +get to her. Surge of sailors over-runs them.<a name="FNanchor_57_57" id="FNanchor_57_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a></p></div> + +<p>132—Deck rail.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence staggers on. Flames coming. Great God! What shall +she do? Off she races.</p></div> + +<p>133—Boat davits.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Flames leaping. Florence just in time to see boat lowered +away. Too late. Driven back.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span></p> + +<p>134—Other boat.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill and Blinker together. Several sailors done for, others +lower boat and go. Men peer about, but smoke too thick for +them to see.</p></div> + +<p>135—Rail.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence in terror. Sudden blast of flame. On rail. Leaps.</p> + +<p>Diaphragm out.<a name="FNanchor_58_58" id="FNanchor_58_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a></p> + +<p>Diaphragm in:</p></div> + +<p>136—Blinker's apartment.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Man caring for Blinker, somewhat burned. Sad and downcast. +Man admits Oldport. Lawyer listens to story.</p></div> + +<p>137—Hospital entry.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill comes out, discharged—head bandaged. He takes a card +out of pocket—looks and puts back. He does not know what to +do, then decides, and goes off.<a name="FNanchor_59_59" id="FNanchor_59_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a></p></div> + +<p>138—Ella's room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence in bed. Ella attending. Bill knocks, is admitted.</p></div> + +<p>139—Blinker's apartment.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Oldport sees Blinker is able to talk business. He assumes +quizzical air, says:</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"MAYBE I CAN KEEP YOU HERE LONG ENOUGH TO TAKE UP THAT +DEFERRED MATTER—"</p> + +<p>Blinker wearily assents. Oldport begins:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"YOUR FATHER INTENDED THAT THE PARLORS OF CERTAIN BUILDINGS +SHOULD BE USED BY THE GIRL-TENANTS AS PLACES WHEREIN TO +ENTERTAIN THEIR MALE CALLERS."</p> + +<p>Blinker gives start of surprise—query—agony—cries out:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"'BRICKDUST ROW,' FOR A MILLION!"</p> + +<p>Oldport smiles:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I BELIEVE THE GIRLS HAVE SOME SUCH NICKNAME FOR IT. WHAT +SHALL I DO?"</p> + +<p>Horrible! Blinker in spasm of anguish:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"BURN IT! RAZE IT! DO WHAT YOU LIKE—BUT I TELL YOU—IT'S +TOO LATE, MAN—IT'S TOO LATE!—"</p> + +<p>He flings away.</p></div> + +<p>140—Ella's room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill chatting with Ella. Seems to have good feeling for +her—devouring hot-cake she has made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span> as he talks with +Florence, who is sitting up. He takes out card, says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"THAT GUY YOU WAS WID—IS HE ON THE SQUARE?—HE AST ME TO +CALL ON HIM—"</p> + +<p>Florence suddenly recalls all that has happened. She turns +her face away, unable to control tears of despondency.</p></div> + +<p>141—Blinker's apartment.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Oldport goes. Blinker "chases" his man, sits in bad mood, +sour and lovelorn by turns.</p></div> + +<p>142—Ella's room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill dismayed—demands what he has said. Florence sits +up—controls herself. Says, gently:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"HE—HE ISN'T GOING TO—SEE ME ANY MORE—I GUESS."</p> + +<p>Bill is all anger—"Why?" She tells him:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I DON'T THINK—OUR—WAYS OF LIVING—"</p> + +<p>She breaks down.</p></div> + +<p>143—Close-up of Bill.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The son of a brat!"—so he has chucked "Little Sis" has he, +the rich piker? Well, Bill can see about that! Of course he +thinks the worst of Blinker.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span></p> + +<p>144—Wider-angle view.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill rises and tiptoes out. Florence weeping softly with +Ella comforting—rough yet tender.</p></div> + +<p>145—Blinker's apartment.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Man admits Bill and is dismissed. Blinker hearty—then sees +Bill's anger. Rises. Big scene where Bill denounces him, +saying:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"YOU GOT TO BE SQUARE WITH THAT KID!"</p> + +<p>Blinker misunderstands. Bill comes near to throttling him, +before Blinker can gasp:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND—IT WAS ONLY A DIFFERENCE +OF—OPINION—"</p> + +<p>Bill waits to find out. Blinker hesitates, then, seeing +threat, begins to explain.</p></div> + +<p>146—Ella's room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence seems to be asleep, and Ella sneaks off for some +milk or something. Florence gets up, sad and despondent. +Slowly begins to dress.</p></div> + +<p>147—Blinker's apartment.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill amazed at Blinker, who ends up:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"IT'S A QUESTION OF ETHICS—"</p> + +<p>Bill glowers and snaps:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span></p><div class="blockquot"><p>"ETHICS BE DAMNED! IT'S A QUESTION OF—ARE YOU GOIN' TUH +BLAME HER FOR THE VERY THING YOU MADE HER DO?"</p> + +<p>Blinker begins to consider.</p></div> + +<p>148—Ella's room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence dressing (suspense: Does she recall that revolver +and want to add her tragedy to the dreary ones of "Brickdust +Row?")</p></div> + +<p>149—Blinker's apartment.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Big realization—"All my fault." Blinker goes off with Bill.</p></div> + +<p>150—Ella's room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Ella soothing Florence. Latter does not wish to live. All +life is black before her.</p></div> + +<p>151—Hall outside door.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Comedy relief as Bill and Blinker come on and latter draws +back in a natural suspense as to his reception and Bill +tells him to "beat it on in!" Blinker knocks, and goes in. +Bill pauses.</p></div> + +<p>152—Ella's room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence looks up. Ella surprised. Blinker pauses. Ella +seems to be attracted by something.</p></div> + +<p>153—Crack of open door.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill is making violent gestures to get Ella out.</p></div> + +<p>154—Ella's room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Ella catches Bill's idea, and moves unostentatiously out. +Then Blinker strides to Florence. He says:</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"IT'S ALL WRONG. I'VE COME TO SQUARE IT."</p> + +<p>Florence is reserved, chilly, as she says:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"YOU MEAN—ABOUT THE PARLORS?"</p> + +<p>Blinker is beside her, and catching her hands he cries:</p></div> + +<p><i>Cut-in leader—</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I MEAN—ABOUT <span class="u">YOU</span>!—AND <span class="u">ME</span>!"</p> + +<p>In spite of herself, Florence is forced to lift her eyes, +and as she reads the look in his own she is compelled to +realize that the air is cleared at last and that the +happiness that seemed dead is again alive—palpitant +happiness that draws her into his ready arms.</p></div> + +<p>155—Hall outside Ella's room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bill "fixes it up" with Ella to "travel double." She wants +to rush in and tell her chum, but Bill stays her: "Nix—let +'em do some clinchin' first!"</p></div> + +<p>156—Ella's room.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Florence and Blinker embracing.</p> + +<p>Circle diaphragm closes to blackness.<a name="FNanchor_60_60" id="FNanchor_60_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a></p></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>MARKETING THE PHOTOPLAY SCRIPT</h3> + + +<p>Writing the photoplay is essentially an art; marketing the photoplay +script is a business; and the sooner the writer adopts intelligent, +up-to-date business methods in offering his stories, the sooner he is +likely to find the checks coming in. It is not enough merely to send +out your script; it must be sent to that editor who is in the market +for the kind of script you have written. As one editor has said, +"Don't send a Biblical photoplay to a firm that makes a specialty of +Indian and cowboy subjects."</p> + +<p>Your first care, then, should be to have as complete a knowledge as +possible of what every company is doing, what kinds of stories they +need at the time, where their field-companies are working, and, above +all, what kinds of scripts certain companies positively do <i>not</i> want +at <i>any</i> time. For of course, there are companies with definitely +fixed policies, besides concerns that announce from time to time that +they are unable to use stories of this or that sort.</p> + +<p>The most important aids to a thorough knowledge of the photoplay +market are the different moving-picture trade-journals and the +magazines published exclusively for writers.<a name="FNanchor_61_61" id="FNanchor_61_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a> By studying them you +will equip your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</a></span>self with a first-hand knowledge of what the different +studio editors need, and so be on the right road. Don't take a +gambler's chance by sending out your scripts without knowing precisely +what is a good prospect.</p> + +<p>In almost every one of the foregoing chapters we have raised points +that bear upon the selling of your story as well as affect the +particular part of the script then being discussed. To repeat one +instance, you were advised not only to satisfy yourself that a company +is in the market for society stories, but to look into the nature of +the stock-company producing their plays. If the company you select is +one that features a woman in most of its picture-stories, and yours is +a photoplay with a strong male lead, you would be unwise to submit it +there. True, it might be accepted and one of the studio writers +commissioned to rewrite it in order to give the "fat" part to the +leading woman, but your check would be proportionately smaller to +compensate for the rewriting—you would, in fact, be paid little more +than if you had sold the bare idea.</p> + +<p>In submitting your script to a given company, do not address it to +individuals, unless there is a very good reason for so doing—and +there seldom is. Address your letter either to the "Editor, Blank Film +Company," or to the "Manuscript Department." Most useless of all is +the practice of sending to some person who is known to be associated +with a certain company, without knowing just what his position is.</p> + +<p>Once the photoplaywright has begun to sell his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</a></span> scripts, he will +usually prefer to do his own marketing. If, he argues, he is able to +write salable photoplays, why should he share his checks with authors' +agents or photoplay clearing houses? Yet many writers find an agency +to be advantageous. But you had better take the advice of an +experienced friend before committing your work to an intermediary—not +all are capable and not all are honest.</p> + +<p>One thing the writer should remember: <i>Send a script to only one firm +at a time.</i> There is one company at least, and there may be more, +which announces that no carbon copies of scripts will be considered. +The implication, of course, is that they are afraid to pass on carbon +copies for fear that at the time they are looking over a script it may +have been already purchased by some other company. If you <i>do</i> send +out a carbon copy of your script, make it plain to the editor in your +accompanying letter that the original script has gone astray or been +destroyed, and you are sending the carbon in its place for that +reason. But why send a carbon script at all? If you think enough of +your work to want to see it well-dressed, make a clean, fresh copy and +take no risks.</p> + +<p>It is literally true that many an author has spoiled his chances of +ever selling to certain companies because he sold a story to a second +company before making certain that it had been rejected by the first +to which it was sent. Imagine the complication of receiving a check +from B shortly after the author has had word that A has purchased the +same story!</p> + +<p>A manuscript should <i>never</i> be rolled—it irritates a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</a></span> busy editor to +have to straighten out a persistently curling package of manuscript.</p> + +<p>The sheets should not be permanently fastened together. It is simple +diplomacy to make the reading of your script an agreeable task instead +of an annoyance.</p> + +<p>Do not fold an 8-1/2 x 11-inch sheet of paper more than twice. Fold it +but once, or else make two even folds and the script will be in proper +form to fit the legal-sized envelope. Heavy manilla envelopes are the +strongest, but we have never had cause to complain of the white, +stamped envelopes to be had at any post-office. If you choose to use +these, ask for sizes 8 and 9. Your script, folded twice, will fit +snugly into the size 8, which is to be the self-addressed return +envelope. Do <i>not</i> put your MS. in the return envelope. In enclosing +the smaller envelope, turn it with the open side down, so as to avoid +having the flap cut when the outer envelope is opened with a paper +knife.</p> + +<p>Attach the full amount of postage to <i>both</i> envelopes; never enclose +loose stamps—and <i>never</i> forget to stamp the inner envelope if you +wish to get your manuscript back in case of rejection. At this writing +(February, 1919), a three-cent stamp will bring it back to you, but +you will have to pay whatever else is due before receiving the letter; +and if the story sells, and you receive nothing but the check, you +will have the satisfaction of knowing that you have not been stingily +economical in sending it out.</p> + +<p>See that your name and address are on the upper left-hand corner of +the going envelope; be sure, too, that the return envelope is properly +self-addressed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</a></span></p> + +<p>We should not advise the young writer to put the price demanded for +his script in the upper right-hand corner of the first sheet, though +this is where it should go if he does wish to stipulate the amount for +which he will sell it. It is very much better simply to write: +"Submitted at usual rates." Even after you have sold to a given +company, it is better, as a rule, to leave the matter of payment to +the editor. You may be sure that he will pay you just as much as your +story is worth, being governed only by the price-limit fixed by the +manufacturer. Today, almost every manufacturer realizes that the day +of getting "something for nothing" is past. In other words, he +realizes that the script—the story—is the very keystone of the +photoplay arch, and if the story is purchased from a free-lance +writer, he must be prepared to pay a fair price for it.</p> + +<p>It is impossible, in a work of this kind, to say what certain +companies are in the habit of paying, but it may roughly be said that +the minimum price <i>per reel</i> today is $50. Most of the larger +producing companies are glad to pay a minimum of $100 per reel for +satisfactory material, and $1,000 for a five-reel script—or even for +a five-reel story in synopsis form, if that is the company's +policy—is regularly paid by those who are entitled to be called "the +leading producers." Most companies have a fixed, uniform price-scale; +and it would be silly for any one to say that you will be paid a +certain amount for your story "if it suits them." We have in mind a +certain large company that is in the habit of paying $1,000 for all +the five-reel synopses<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</a></span> it purchases. If your story is not what this +company wants, of course it will not be purchased at all. If your +story does suit them, you may be certain of receiving a check for +$1,000 at least—and we say "at least" because they have been known to +pay still higher prices if the story is really unusual and hence +especially valuable to them. This same company—as do nearly all +concerns—frequently pays a price greatly exceeding $1,000 for the +work of authors with "big names," because, of course, the value of the +big name is not to be denied.</p> + +<p>Experience alone will teach you which companies pay the best prices; +after you have sold several scripts, and have become acquainted with +the price-scale of different studios, you will, if the play suits that +particular market, naturally offer your material first to the company +that has paid you best. But just as soon as a script comes back from +one company—so long as you feel certain that it is not in your power +to improve it before letting it go out again—send it out to another, +and then to another, until it is either accepted or so worn or soiled +that it is politic to recopy it. And don't wait too long to do this +simple act of justice to your brain-child. Whatever you do, don't stop +with three or four rejections—keep at it until you are <i>sure</i> the +market is exhausted. But be certain to review your script for possible +improvements each time it comes back to you.</p> + +<p>Keep up your output. Do not write one story, send it out, and then +wait patiently for its return, or for the editor's check. Plan a new +story, write it, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</a></span> send it out. Then plan another and follow the +same course. Photoplay marketing is a business, and a business man is +usually "on the job" six days a week.</p> + +<p>It is best not to write a letter to the editor, to accompany your +script, unless there is a very special reason for so doing. Nor should +the writer rush a letter of inquiry off in case he does not hear from +the editor within a week or two after submitting his story. Delay may +be a hopeful sign. If you hear nothing in two months it is time enough +to write—briefly and courteously. Nearly all companies, however, will +report well within that period.</p> + +<p>It is utterly impossible in a work of this nature to include a list of +the requirements of every photoplay editor. The policy of the +manufacturers is always subject to change. Their requirements are +governed by the number of scripts of each kind they have on hand, the +disposal of their field-companies, the season of the year, the ability +of their directors to turn out the various kinds of pictures, and also +by individual preferences.</p> + +<p>The way to keep posted on the current needs of the various companies +is to study on the screen the pictures of the different producing +firms; to read in the trade-journals the synopses of all the releases +that you do not have the opportunity of witnessing; and to keep in +touch with the announcements made by the manufacturers themselves in +the weekly and monthly journals mentioned in <a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">Chapter XIV</a>.</p> + +<p>"Where and How to Sell Manuscripts," by William B. McCourtie, issued +by the publishers of this book<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</a></span> ($2.50), contains a frequently revised +list of over 5,000 markets for literary material of all sorts, +including photoplays.</p> + +<p>Keep a record of every script you send out. Here is one simple form +for a manuscript book or card index:</p> + +<table border="1" summary="form" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="1"> + <tbody> + <tr> + <td>Title</td> + <td>Sent to</td> + <td>Returned from</td> + <td>Date</td> + <td>Sold to</td> + <td>Date</td> + <td>Price</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + </tr> +</tbody> +</table> + + +<p>Do not let the printed rejection slip humiliate you. Really great +writers get them, constantly. This statement is equally true of both +fiction and photoplay writing. It would take too much time and money +for an editorial staff to write personal letters to all who offer +unsolicited manuscript.</p> + +<p>Never write petulant or sarcastic letters when your offerings are +rejected. You may need the good-will of that editor some day. Although +personal pique seldom actuates him, he may be frail enough to be +annoyed when his well-meant efforts are assailed.</p> + +<p>In conclusion, we urge the writer to remember the words of Dr. +Johnson:</p> + +<p>"All the performances of human art at which we look with praise or +wonder are instances of the resistless force of perseverance; it is by +this that the quarry becomes a pyramid, and that distant countries are +united with canals."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="APPENDICES" id="APPENDICES"></a><i>APPENDICES</i></h2> + + +<h3>APPENDIX A</h3> + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Some Books Dealing with Plot in Fiction</span></p> + +<p>1. <span class="smcap">Moulton, Richard G.</span>; <i>Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist</i>, +Oxford Press, New York, 1885.</p> + +<p>2. <span class="smcap">Price, William T.</span>; <i>Technique of the Drama</i>, Brentano, New +York, 1892.</p> + +<p>3. <span class="smcap">Barrett, Charles Raymond</span>; <i>Short Story Writing</i>, Baker & +Taylor, New York, 1900.</p> + +<p>4. <span class="smcap">Perry, Bliss</span>; <i>A Study of Prose Fiction</i>, Houghton, +Mifflin, Boston, 1902.</p> + +<p>5. <span class="smcap">Albright, Evelyn May</span>; <i>The Short-Story</i>, Macmillan, New +York, 1907.</p> + +<p>6. <span class="smcap">Hamilton, Clayton</span>; <i>Materials and Methods of Fiction</i>, +Baker & Taylor, New York, 1908.</p> + +<p>7. <span class="smcap">Esenwein, J. Berg</span>; <i>Writing the Short-Story</i>, Home +Correspondence School, Springfield, Mass., 1909 and 1918.</p> + +<p>8. <span class="smcap">Phillips, Henry Albert</span>; <i>The Plot of the Short-Story</i>. Out +of print. See any large library.</p> + +<p>9. <span class="smcap">Pitkin, Walter B.</span>; <i>The Art and the Business of Story +Writing</i>, Macmillan, 1912.</p> + +<p>10. <span class="smcap">Esenwein, J. Berg,</span> and <span class="smcap">Chambers, Mary B.</span>; <i>The +Art of Story Writing</i>, Home Correspondence School, 1913.</p> + +<p>11. <span class="smcap">Wells, Carolyn</span>; <i>The Technique of the Mystery Story</i>, +Home Correspondence School, 1913.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</a></span></p> + +<p>12. <span class="smcap">Neal, Robert Wilson</span>; <i>Short Stories in the Making</i>, +Oxford University Press, New York, 1914.</p> + +<p>13. <span class="smcap">Notestein, Lucy Lilian</span>, and <span class="smcap">Dunn, Waldo Hilary</span>; +<i>The Modern Short-Story</i>, Barnes, New York, 1914.</p> + +<p>14. <span class="smcap">Phillips, Henry Albert</span>; <i>Universal Plot Catalogue</i>, +Stanhope-Dodge, 1915.</p> + +<p>15. <span class="smcap">Pain, Barry</span>; <i>The Short Story</i>, Doran, New York, 1916.</p> + +<p>16. <span class="smcap">Baker, Harry T.</span>; <i>The Contemporary Short Story</i>, Heath, +Boston, 1916.</p> + +<p>17. <span class="smcap">Williams, Blanche Colton</span>; <i>A Handbook on Story Writing</i>, +Dodd, Mead, New York, 1917.</p> + + +<p> </p> + + +<h3><a name="APPENDIX_B">APPENDIX B</a></h3> + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Especially Helpful Books on Photoplay Writing</span></p> + +<p>1. <span class="smcap">Sargent, Epes Winthrop</span>; <i>The Technique of the Photoplay</i>, +Moving Picture World, New York, 1913. Third edition, 1917.</p> + +<p>2. <span class="smcap">Phillips, Henry Albert</span>; <i>The Photodrama</i>, Stanhope-Dodge +Co., Larchmont, N.Y., 1914.</p> + +<p>3. <span class="smcap">Powell, A. Van Buren</span>; <i>The Photoplay Synopsis</i>, Home +Correspondence School, Springfield, Mass., 1919.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="INDEX" id="INDEX"></a>INDEX</h2> + + +<p>Names of authors and companies are printed in capitals; titles, and +names of magazines, are printed in italics; and other topics are set +in plain, or "Roman" type.</p> + + +<p> </p> + + +<p> +A<br /> +<br /> +Action, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>-141, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Adrift</i>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Adventure</i>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>After Fifty Years</i>, <a href="#Page_360">360</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Albright, Evelyn May</span>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ambrosio Company</span>, <a href="#Page_360">360</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">American Company</span>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Animals, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Annie Crawls Upstairs</i>, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>-360.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Artcraft</span>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +B<br /> +<br /> +Backgrounds, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Balzac</span>, <a href="#Page_348">348</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barrett, Charles Raymond</span>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bells, The</i>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>-320.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Biograph</span>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Blue Book, The</i>, <a href="#Page_355">355</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bookman, The</i>, <a href="#Page_356">356</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bottle Imp, The</i>, <a href="#Page_361">361</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brewster, Eugene V.</span>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Brickdust Row</i>, <a href="#Page_363">363</a>, <a href="#Page_365">365</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bringing Up Father</i>, <a href="#Page_343">343</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Browning, Robert</span>, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>-360.<br /> +<br /> +Burlesque, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bush, W. Stephen</span>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Bust, The, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>-166.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Byrne Brothers</span>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +C<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cabanne, William Christy</span>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Camera, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Cameraman, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Camera tricks, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>-185.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Cask of Amontillado, The</i>, <a href="#Page_348">348</a>-350.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</a></span>Cast, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>-130, <a href="#Page_370">370</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Censorship, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>-289, <a href="#Page_341">341</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Center of interest, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>-143.<br /> +<br /> +Changes of scene, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>-161.<br /> +<br /> +Characters, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>-130, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>, <a href="#Page_337">337</a>, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Child actors, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Class Reunion, The</i>, <a href="#Page_353">353</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Cleopatsy</i>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Climax, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Close-up, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>-176.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Coffey, Robert E.</span>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cohan, George</span>, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Collins, Wilkie</span>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<a name="COMEDY">Comedy</a> Photoplays, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_324">324</a>-346.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Coming Nation, The</i>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Complication, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Conciseness, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Continuity: See "<a href="#SCENARIO2">Scenario</a>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cooper, Frederick Taber</span>, <a href="#Page_356">356</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Cooper-Hewitt lights, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Cord of Life, The</i>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Costume plays, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Count of Monte Cristo, The</i>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cowell, Harry</span>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Crime in photoplays, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Cut-back, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>-157.<br /> +<br /> +Cut-in, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>-161, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>-237.<br /> +<br /> +Cutting, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +D<br /> +<br /> +<i>Daphne and the Pirates</i>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Denouement, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Devil Stone, The</i>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Dialogue, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Diaphragm, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Diaphragming-in and -out: See "<a href="#FADEIN">Fade-in</a>," and "<a href="#FADEOUT">Fade-out</a>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dickens, Charles</span>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>-187.<br /> +<br /> +Director, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>-214.<br /> +<br /> +Doing a picture, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<a name="DOUBLE">Double exposure</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>-188.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Doyle, A. Conan</span>, <a href="#Page_348">348</a>-351, <a href="#Page_354">354</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Dramatic Mirror, The</i>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_357">357</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Dramatic photoplay, The, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Dreams, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>-181.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Drew, John</span>, <a href="#Page_333">333</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Drew, Mr. and Mrs. Sidney</span>, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>, <a href="#Page_333">333</a>-335.<br /> +<br /> +Dual-character films, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>-188.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Duchess at Prayer, The</i>, <a href="#Page_348">348</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</a></span><span class="smcap">Dumas, Alexander</span>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +E<br /> +<br /> +<i>Eagle's Eye, The</i>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>-183, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Edison</span>, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>-360.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Editing a Motion Picture</i>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Editor, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Educational films, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Edwards, John Milton</span>," <a href="#Page_82">82</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Eight Bells</i>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Episode, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Essanay</span>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Everybody's Girl</i>, <a href="#Page_363">363</a>-407.<br /> +<br /> +Expense of production, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>-281.<br /> +<br /> +Exteriors, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Extras, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Extravaganza, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +F<br /> +<br /> +<a name="FADEIN">Fade in</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<a name="FADEOUT">Fade out</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fairbanks, Douglas</span>, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>.<br /> +<br /> +"Faked" scenes, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>-272.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Famous Players</span>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Farce, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_324">324</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Farnum, William</span>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Feature photoplays, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>-193.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Fiction Factory, The</i>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Fiction writing an aid to photoplay writing, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>-16.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Figaro, Paris</i>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>, <a href="#Page_309">309</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fildew, William E.</span>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Film, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fine Arts</span>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fisher, "Bud,"</span> <a href="#Page_343">343</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Footage, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Fox, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>-188.<br /> +<br /> +Frame, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Frohman, Daniel</span>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +G<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goldwyn</span>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Grande Bretêche, La</i>, <a href="#Page_348">348</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Green, Anna Katherine</span>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Griffith, D.W.</span>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_336">336</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +H<br /> +<br /> +Hackneyed themes, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>-300.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Halévy, Ludovic</span>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Hamlet</i>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Harrison, Louis Reeves</span>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hazard, Floyd Hamilton</span>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hazlitt, William</span>, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Heart-interest, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Hearts of the World</i>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Henry, O.</span>," <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_351">351</a>, <a href="#Page_352">352</a>, <a href="#Page_363">363</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hoadley, C.B.</span>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[Pg 422]</a></span><span class="smcap">Hoagland, Herbert Case</span>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, <a href="#Page_356">356</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hoffman, Arthur S.</span>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>, <a href="#Page_306">306</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>How to Write a Photoplay</i>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_356">356</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Human interest, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>, <a href="#Page_306">306</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Humor: See "<a href="#COMEDY">Comedy</a>."<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +Idea, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>In the Country God Forgot</i>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Incendiary Foreman, The</i>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Insert, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>-161, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>-244.<br /> +<br /> +Interest centralized, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>-143.<br /> +<br /> +Interpose, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_387">387</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Intolerance</i>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Irving, Sir Henry</span>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Irwin, May</span>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +J<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jacobs, W.W.</span>, <a href="#Page_355">355</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Johnson, Samuel</span>, <a href="#Page_415">415</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +K<br /> +<br /> +<i>Kaiser, The</i>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kalem</span>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Katterjohn, Monte M.</span>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Keenan, Frank</span>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Keystone Comedy</span>, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +L<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lang, Phil</span>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<a name="LEADERS">Leaders</a>, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>-161, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>-244.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Leavenworth Case, The</i>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Letters, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>-242.<br /> +<br /> +Lighting, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>-249, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Little Stone God, The</i>, <a href="#Page_355">355</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Location, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lubin</span>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +M<br /> +<br /> +<i>Macbeth</i>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">MacGrath, Harold</span>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">McManus, George</span>, <a href="#Page_343">343</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Magazine Maker, The</i>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Manuscript record, <a href="#Page_415">415</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Marketing the photoplay, <a href="#Page_408">408</a>-415.<br /> +<br /> +Mask, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>-163.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Maude, Cyril</span>, <a href="#Page_333">333</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Maupassant, Guy de</span>, <a href="#Page_351">351</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Memories, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>-181.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Merwin, Bannister</span>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>-175, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Metro</span>, <a href="#Page_333">333</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Monkey's Paw, The</i>, <a href="#Page_355">355</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Moore, John Robert</span>, <a href="#Page_361">361</a>, <a href="#Page_362">362</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Mortmain</i>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[Pg 423]</a></span><i>Motion Picture Classic</i>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Motion Picture Magazine</i>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Motion Picture News</i>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_336">336</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Motion Picture Story, The</i>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Motivation, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Motography</i>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Moving Picture Stories</i>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Moving Picture World, The</i>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>-122, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>, <a href="#Page_334">334</a>, <a href="#Page_335">335</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Multiple reel, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Murders in the Rue Morgue, The</i>, <a href="#Page_361">361</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Mutt and Jeff</i>, <a href="#Page_343">343</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +N<br /> +<br /> +Names, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>-126.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Necklace, The</i>, <a href="#Page_351">351</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Negative, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nehls, R.R.</span>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_291">291</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nestor</span>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>New Catacomb, The</i>, <a href="#Page_348">348</a>-350, <a href="#Page_354">354</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +O<br /> +<br /> +Objectionable subjects, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>-303.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Old Musician, The</i>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oppenheim, James</span>, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>-360.<br /> +<br /> +Originality, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>-262, <a href="#Page_347">347</a>-362.<br /> +<br /> +Outdoor scenes, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Over-condensation, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>-225.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +P<br /> +<br /> +Padding, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.<br /> +<br /> +"Panorams," <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Paramount</span>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Part, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pathé</span>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Phillips, Henry Albert</span>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Photographing, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>-210.<br /> +<br /> +Photoplay:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">construction of, defined, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>-4;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">kinds of, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">terms, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>-28.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Photoplay Author, The</i>: See <i><a href="#WRITER">The Writer's Monthly</a></i>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Photoplay Magazine</i>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pickford, Mary</span>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Picture-Play Magazine</i>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Pierre of the North</i>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Pippa Passes</i>, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>-360.<br /> +<br /> +Plagiarism, <a href="#Page_350">350</a>-357.<br /> +<br /> +Plot, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>-95, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>-266.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Plot of the Short Story, The</i>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[Pg 424]</a></span><span class="smcap">Poe, Edgar Allan</span>, <a href="#Page_348">348</a>-350, <a href="#Page_361">361</a>, <a href="#Page_362">362</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Positive, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Powell, A. Van Buren</span>, <a href="#Page_363">363</a>-407.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Prevost, Marcel</span>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pribyl, John F.</span>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>-285.<br /> +<br /> +Print, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +R<br /> +<br /> +Red Cross, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<a name="REEL2">Reel</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Reeve, Arthur B.</span>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Reformation of Calliope, The</i>, <a href="#Page_352">352</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Register, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Rehearsals, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Release, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +S<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sargent, Epes Winthrop</span>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>-122, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, +<a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<a name="SCENARIO2">Scenario</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>-54, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>-203, <a href="#Page_371">371</a>-407.<br /> +<br /> +Scene, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>-161, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>-217, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Scene-plot, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>-217.<br /> +<br /> +Script, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">its component parts, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>-33;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">mechanical preparation of, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>-71.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Seitz, George B.</span>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Selig</span>, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>-285.<br /> +<br /> +Sequence in the action, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>-137.<br /> +<br /> +Serials, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Set, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>-217.<br /> +<br /> +Setting, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>-217.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Short Story, The</i>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Short-Story Writing</i>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Situation, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Split reel: See "<a href="#REEL2">Reel</a>."<br /> +<br /> +Stage, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>-254.<br /> +<br /> +Stock people, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Stop-camera work, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>-181.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Story, Walter</span>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>-285.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Strand Magazine</i>, <a href="#Page_352">352</a>, <a href="#Page_354">354</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Stringer, Arthur</span>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Struggle, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Studio, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Subject, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Sub-title: See "<a href="#LEADERS">Leader</a>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sullivan, C. Gardner</span>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sun, New York</i>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sun, Sand and Solitude</i>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Superba</i>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Super-imposure: See "<a href="#DOUBLE">Double exposure</a>."<br /> +<br /> +Suspense, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>-140, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Swell Miss Fitzwell, The</i>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[Pg 425]</a></span>Synopsis, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>-37, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>-109, <a href="#Page_365">365</a>-370.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +T<br /> +<br /> +<i>Tale of Two Cities, A</i>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>-187.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Technique of the Photoplay, The</i>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thanhouser</span>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Themes, desirable, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>-323;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">undesirable, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>-303.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Thirteenth Man, The</i>, <a href="#Page_353">353</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thomas, A.W.</span>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Three Friends</i>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Tinting, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Title, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>-86.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tremayne, W.A.</span>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Triangle</span>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Trite themes, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>-300.<br /> +<br /> +Typewriting, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>-70.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +U<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Universal</span>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +V<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Verne, Jules</span>, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Visions, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>-181.<br /> +<br /> +Visualization, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Vitagraph</span>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>, +<a href="#Page_350">350</a>, <a href="#Page_363">363</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +W<br /> +<br /> +<i>Wasted Sacrifice, A</i>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Weber, Lois</span>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wells, Elmer N.</span>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wharton</span>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>-183, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wharton, Edith</span>, <a href="#Page_348">348</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Without Reward</i>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>-54, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>-212.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Woods, Frank E.</span>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>, <a href="#Page_357">357</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wright, William Lord</span>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Writers of photoplays,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Previous training of, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>-16.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i><a name="WRITER">Writer's </a>Monthly, The</i>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Writing for the Magazines</i>, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>-341.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Writing the Short-Story</i>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_357">357</a>.<br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="FOOTNOTES" id="FOOTNOTES"></a>FOOTNOTES</h2> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The photoplay has come to have a language of its own, +which we must observe even when, as in this case, we lose somewhat in +finer word-values. In their lists of releases (photoplays released or +made available for public presentation at a specified date), +manufacturers usually classify as "comedy" subjects all photoplays +which are without any serious dramatic moments or situations. Thus, in +the lists of releases published in the various trade journals, what +are obviously "comedy-dramas"—some of them, such as certain of the +Douglas Fairbanks productions, even bordering on farce—are classed as +"dramatic" subjects, and this, apparently, because they are strongly +dramatic in certain scenes. Thus, again, genuine farce (as +distinguished from "slap-stick" comedy), social comedy, burlesque and +extravaganza are all classed under the head of "comedy," just as +comedy-drama, tragedy, melodrama, and historical plays are classed as +"dramatic." These two broad classifications will be used throughout +this work except where finer distinctions are needed in order to treat +varieties of subjects. The regular spoken play naturally invites these +distinctions more than does the photoplay, at least at present. In +preparing your manuscript, however, you will be taught to follow the +accepted form among photoplaywrights and, in writing the synopsis, +after the title, specify the class of subject, as "dramatic +photoplay," "farce," "comedy-drama," "historical drama," "society +drama," etc.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> "What Chance Has the 'Outside' Writer?" by Arthur Leeds, +<i>Moving Picture Stories</i>, October 5, 1917.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> J. Berg Esenwein, <i>Writing the Short-Story</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> <i>The Plot of the Short-Story</i>. See also our later +discussion of the nature of Plot.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Charles Raymond Barrett, <i>Short Story Writing</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> A discussion of the present-day requirement of "synopsis +only," as announced by some companies, will be found in + <a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Chapter +VIII</a>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> This story was originally entitled "The Love That Leads +Upward." After being accepted by the Universal, for production by the +Nestor Company, the title was changed to meet with some necessary +changes in the scenario. The scene-plot for this story is reproduced +in <a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Chapter XI</a>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Evelyn May Albright, <i>The Short Story</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Charles Raymond Barrett, <i>Short Story Writing</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> J. Berg Esenwein, <i>Writing the Short-Story</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> The student is advised to read <i>The Plot of the Short +Story</i>, Henry Albert Phillips; and the chapters on plot in the +following treatises: <i>The Short Story</i>, Evelyn May Albright; <i>The +Contemporary Short Story</i>, Harry T. Baker; <i>A Handbook on Story +Writing</i>, Blanche Colton Williams; <i>Short Stories in the Making</i>, +Robert Wilson Neal; <i>The Art of Story Writing</i>, Esenwein and Chambers; +and <i>Writing the Short-Story</i>, J. Berg Esenwein.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> Evelyn May Albright, <i>The Short Story</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> Louis Reeves Harrison, in <i>The Moving Picture World</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> The scientific inaccuracy of this statement need not now +be considered.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> Meaning <i>scenes</i> 9 and 11. Of course, you can only make +this arrangement <i>after</i> your scenario has been blocked out, scene by +scene.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> Herbert Case Hoagland: <i>How to Write a Photoplay</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Epes Winthrop Sargent, <i>The Technique of the +Photoplay</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> Compare the Vitagraph-made working scenario in + <a href="#CHAPTER_XX">Chapter +XX</a> with the one-reel scenario reproduced in <a href="#CHAPTER_V">Chapter V</a>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> See Homer Croy's <i>How Motion Pictures Are Made</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> Note the introduction of occasional bits of dialogue in +the "action" portion of the O. Henry story in <a href="#CHAPTER_XX">Chapter XX</a>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> Different studios have different methods for recording +the number of the next scene to be taken. Some use the numbered card +system—as explained in the body of the text—in which a stand, or +tripod, having a rack on top with cards numbered from 1 to 50, and +other cards marked "Retake," etc., is placed on the working line +between each scene. In other studios the film itself is marked with +the number of the scene, just as one writes the name of a picture on +the film when using an "Autographic Kodak" camera.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> "Editing a Motion Picture," by Frank E. Woods, in <i>The +Moving Picture World</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> Epes Winthrop Sargent, <i>Technique of the Photoplay</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> "Company," as here used, refers to the group of players +working under a certain director, several such groups making up the +stock company maintained by the film manufacturing concern.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> The synopsis of this photoplay is given in + <a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Chapter +VIII</a>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> J. Berg Esenwein, <i>Writing the Short-Story</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> Herbert Case Hoagland, <i>How to Write a Photoplay</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> See synopsis in + <a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Chapter VIII</a>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> To make this basic motive clear, natural and unforced is +what we call good motivation in fiction and drama.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> Treated in + <a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">Chapter XIX</a>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> Sidney Drew, "Comedy Picture Production," in <i>The Moving +Picture World</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> J. Berg Esenwein <i>Writing for the Magazines</i>; published +uniform with this volume in "The Writer's Library."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> Herbert Case Hoagland, <i>How to Write a Photoplay</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_34_34" id="Footnote_34_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> J. Berg Esenwein, <i>Writing the Short-Story</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_35_35" id="Footnote_35_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> Used by permission. Copyright, 1918, by the Vitagraph +Company of America. All rights reserved.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_36_36" id="Footnote_36_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> In Mr. Van Buren Powell's new book, <i>The Photoplay +Synopsis</i>, published uniform with this volume in "The Writer's +Library," he explains why this title was changed.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_37_37" id="Footnote_37_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a> It will be observed that Mr. Powell uses now and then +slightly different methods of type-arrangement and nomenclature from +those used by Mr. Leeds. These are all unimportant variations.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_38_38" id="Footnote_38_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a> Bill is the interpolated character, whose purpose will +be seen in script.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_39_39" id="Footnote_39_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a> Nothing important happens here, but the scene is devised +to gain sympathy for the girl at once.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_40_40" id="Footnote_40_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_40"><span class="label">[40]</span></a> Continuing atmosphere of sympathy for Florence, and +beginning story in leisurely manner in harmony with its lack of +dramatic opening.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_41_41" id="Footnote_41_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41_41"><span class="label">[41]</span></a> Ella definitely introduced; relationship of the girls +established. Note characterization in leader.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_42_42" id="Footnote_42_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42_42"><span class="label">[42]</span></a> Note planting of tenement name in leader—bringing +forecast of atmosphere.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_43_43" id="Footnote_43_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43_43"><span class="label">[43]</span></a> Three scenes contain "human touch." Note the "close-up" +as differing from "bust" used later on.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_44_44" id="Footnote_44_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44_44"><span class="label">[44]</span></a> O. Henry's atmosphere.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_45_45" id="Footnote_45_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45_45"><span class="label">[45]</span></a> We are handling O. Henry's incident now, and must use +his leader-material, so the next situation must be broken into various +"close-up" views to prevent having too long a scene and too irksome a +run of spoken matter in one scene.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_46_46" id="Footnote_46_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46_46"><span class="label">[46]</span></a> Contrast to Blinker; also forecasts by association of +ideas the coming together of characters; hints at plot.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_47_47" id="Footnote_47_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47_47"><span class="label">[47]</span></a> The close of one incident and beginning of another, no +leader being required.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_48_48" id="Footnote_48_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48_48"><span class="label">[48]</span></a> This scene-sequence develops character, with contrast of +the two leads; also registers that Florence's future conduct is +influenced by Ella—not voluntary.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_49_49" id="Footnote_49_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49_49"><span class="label">[49]</span></a> Note the progressive series of leaders to emphasize +Florence's characteristic morality.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_50_50" id="Footnote_50_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50_50"><span class="label">[50]</span></a> The boat- and amusement-park scenes can only be +lightly sketched in, as much depends on the director and his +locations, so skeleton action is given.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_51_51" id="Footnote_51_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51_51"><span class="label">[51]</span></a> The technical "interpose into" and its resultant "back +into" are technical devices to indicate the merging of one scene into +another—and the effect here noted, as well as the following one, +while very significant if well done, must not be taken as models—they +were specially planned with the knowledge that a director could and +would secure them adequately. See definition of "<a href="#INTERPOSE">Interpose</a>," + <a href="#CHAPTER_III">Chapter +III</a>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_52_52" id="Footnote_52_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52_52"><span class="label">[52]</span></a> Here Bill is not introduced by leader, but is allowed to +characterize himself in action.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_53_53" id="Footnote_53_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53_53"><span class="label">[53]</span></a> It is, of course, clear to the spectators that he is not +telling the truth, though not so to Florence.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_54_54" id="Footnote_54_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54_54"><span class="label">[54]</span></a> Compare the present scene and the one following, in +respect to varying treatment of conveyed information. Here the girl +merely indicates what she intends to do, and her statement of the fact +is not given as dialogue-in-scene, since the next scene will make +clear her unregistered words; but see how dialogue-in-scene is +employed in the scene that comes next, emphasizing in the briefest way +just what the player feels by what she thinks and unconsciously forms +with her lips.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_55_55" id="Footnote_55_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55_55"><span class="label">[55]</span></a> Sketchy, because in this case, "O. Henry" leaders are +the important thing—and they give sufficient clue to the action +required.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_56_56" id="Footnote_56_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56_56"><span class="label">[56]</span></a> Sketchy, as this sort of material has to depend on boat, +crowd, director, etc. Continuity only required.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_57_57" id="Footnote_57_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57_57"><span class="label">[57]</span></a> Necessary departure from O. Henry, to build up Blinker's +good qualities, and achieve a preparation for new finish.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_58_58" id="Footnote_58_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58_58"><span class="label">[58]</span></a> Purposely uncompleted to give suspense strength to hold +over into next—slowing—episode.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_59_59" id="Footnote_59_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59_59"><span class="label">[59]</span></a> Observe how girl's fate is withheld till disposition of +less important characters is shown.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_60_60" id="Footnote_60_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_60_60"><span class="label">[60]</span></a> This is the script before it reached production. If you +see the picture you will no doubt observe directorial alterations that +came up during production. In that case you will have valuable +experience in seeing the difference between the original—the +script-writer's conception—and the directorial interpretation.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_61_61" id="Footnote_61_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor_61_61"><span class="label">[61]</span></a> See + <a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">Chapter XIV</a>.</p></div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WRITING THE PHOTOPLAY***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 17903-h.txt or 17903-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/9/0/17903">http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/9/0/17903</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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