■;:>.. ... ,
37417 NilesBivd SV./j 510-494-1411
Fremont. CA 94536 www.nilesfilmmuseum.org
Scanned from the collections of Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum
Coordinated by the Media History Digital Library www.mediahistoryproject.org
Funded by a donation from Jeff Joseph
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2012 with funding from
Media History Digital Library
http://archive.org/details/photodramaphilos01phil
THE AUTHORS' HAND-BOOK SERIES
THE PHOTODRAMA
THE PHILOSOPHY OF ITS PRINCIPLES, THE NATURE
OF ITS PLOT, ITS DRAMATIC CONSTRUCTION
AND TECHNIQUE ILLUMINED BY
COPIOUS EXAMPLES
TOGETHER WITH
A COMPLETE PHOTOPLAY AND A GLOSSARY
MAKING THE WORK
A PRACTICAL TREATISE
BY
HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS
Author of "The Plot of the Short Story," "Art in Short Story Narration,'
Formerly of Staff of Pathe Freres, Successful Contestant in
Vitagraph-Sun Contest
INTRODUCTION BY
J. STUART BLACKTON
Pioneer Manufacturer and Producer and Secretary of The Vrtagraph Company of America
{SECOND EDITION)
THE STANHOPE-DODGE PUBLISHING COMPANY
LARCHMONT, NEW YORK, U. S. A.
Copyright, 1914, by
HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS
(Published September, 1914)
The Waiiam G. Hewitt Pre* Brooklyn, New York
TO ALL LITERARY WORKERS
WHO STRIVE TO ELEVATE AND DIGNIFY THE PHOTODRAMA
I DEDICATE THIS LITTLE VOLUME
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTION ix
FOREWORD . „ xv
PART I.-THE PRINCIPLES OF THE PHOTODRAMA.
I.— A NEW MEDIUM OF ARTISTIC EXPRES- SION 27
The Premise of All Art; the Battle of New Standards; the Drama of the Eye; Not "Mov- ing Pictures"; All the World's the Stage; a Field Without Limitations.
IT-DIFFERENTIATION 32
How Photodrama Differs from Stage Drama in Construction, Technique and Expression; Also from Fiction Construction and Narra- tion in General and the Short Story and Novel in Particular. III.-PARTS OF THE PHOTOPLAY AND THEIR
PURPOSES 39
Title; Synopsis; Cast of Characters; Author's Remarks; Scenario; the Scene; the Setting.
IV.-VARIOUS DEVICES-THEIR USE AND MIS- USE 48
The Caption; the Insert; the Close- View; the Vision; Dialog; Breaking Up Long Scenes; Preserving the Illusion.
V.-VISUALIZATION 65
Its Relation to Action; Importance of Vocabu- lary; Literature; to Register; Interpretation; in Terms of Emotion; the Part of Imagination.
VI.-CHARACTERIZATION 75
Identity and' Personality; Characteristics and Idiosyncrasies; Description and Delineation; Establishing Relationship; Motives; Expression; Contrasts.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
VII.— THEME, TREATMENT AND THE CENSOR 87
Morals and Ethics; Crime; National Board of Censorship; Taste; Inspiration and Influence.
VIII.-RULES OF THE GAME 97
Duration and Number of Scenes; Perpetual Motion; the "Now" Element; Effective Form; Natural Laws; Scene Principle.
IX.-BROMIDES WORTH REPEATING . . .107 The Virtue of Economy; Producing Policies; Period and Costumes; Animals; Copyright and Carbon Copies; Relation of Author's Work to His Audience; to the Manufacturer; to His Manuscript.
PART II.-THE PLOT OF THE PHOTODRAMA.
I.-WHAT PLOT MATERIAL IS .... 119 The Plot Germ; the Premise Advanced; Ancient Theme and Original Treatment.
II.— WHERE TO GET PLOT GERMS . . .124 Observation; Reading; Employment of Facts; the Daily Newspaper; Dangers; Propriety; Originality; the "True Story"; Importance of Notes; Titles; Plot Classification.
III.— BEGINNING WITH THE END . . .132 Seeking the Climax; When to Begin the Photo- play; Ever-Forward Movement; the Live Be- ginning.
IV.-DEVELOPMENT AND CONTINUITY . . 138 Each Scene Contributes to the Climax; Element of Time and Chronological Sequence; Problems of Continuity; the Central Theme; pthe Return; Instantaneous Sequence; Time Indicatives.
V.— THE CLIMAX AND COMPLETED PLOT . 146 Sequence and Consequence; Logical Cause and Complete Solution; Sustained Climax; All Expectations Fulfilled.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
PART IH.-DRAMATIC CONSTRUCTION OF THE PHOTOPLAY.
I.-DRAMA AND PHOTODRAMA . . . .150 Definition; Principles; Structure is Everything; the Dramatic Idea; Emotion is the Secret; Desire the Motive Power; Drama and Melo- drama.
II.-DRAMATIC EXPRESSION . . . .155 The Laws of Movement and Action; Character and Motive; Relation to Audience and Char- acter; Dramatic versus Dynamic; Realism; Romanticism and Idealism.
III.-SEQUENCE AND SUSPENSE . . . .161 Cause and Effect; Effects Due to Arrangement; the Raw Coincidence; Suspense Motors; Battle of Opposing Motives; Motive as Well as Idea.
IV.-THE POTENTIAL SITUATION . . . 166
Contrast; Situation's Relation to Audience; Harvesting Situations; Peril and Death; Climax and Punch.
V.-UNITY PLUS HARMONY EQUALS EFFECT. 175
Questions in the Mind of the Audience; Reason; Truth; Struggle; Solution; the Title; Harmony Values.
PART IV.-FORMS AND TYPES OF THE PHOTOPLAY.
L- 185
Drama and Melodrama; Tragedy; Comedy; Other Forms; "Split Reel"; Short Play; Long Play; Spectacle; Adaptations; Play Divisions.
II.-A SPECIMEN PHOTOPLAY . . . .192 The Effectiveness of Typography; "The Salt of Vengeance,"— a Short Play Drama,
GLOSSARY 212
The Most Used Terms Defined, with Many Suggestions for Revision and Alternative Terms, vii
INTRODUCTION
AS one of the pioneers in the most wonder- ful art-science of the age — the motion picture industry — the writer feels doubly qualified perhaps to throw some light upon a subject equally interesting to author and pro- ducer.
A few years ago to the uninitiated "moving pictures" spelt little more than pantomime, buffoonery or sensational catch-penny device. To-day, there are few who maintain this view, and they are the unenlightened; for to the vast majority of those familiar with the art and interested in its progress, the word has become symbolic of things important and far- reaching.
Literature is literally the basic foundation upon which the already gigantic edifice of picturedom has risen.
Ten or twelve years ago picture manu- scripts were unknown — office boys, clerks, camera operators, any one with an "idea" furnished the material from which motion pic- tures were produced. Plot was unknown, ix
INTRODUCTION
technique did not exist, and literary and con- structive quality was conspicuous by its ab- sence. The art, however, developed rapidly. It was found possible to do more than portray outdoor scenes of moving trains and other objects, or simple pantomimes with exagger- ated gesture a la Frangaise. Methods were discovered and evolved whereby powerfully dramatic scenes could be reproduced, subtilty of expression in either serious or humorous vein could be communicated to numberless people — their emotions played upon, laughter or tears evoked at will — in other words, the Silent Drama was born.
Classic and standard literature was then re- produced in photodrama. Shakespeare, Dick- ens, Thackeray, Scott and Hugo became known to millions of people whose previous acquaintance with their famous works was either very slight or non-existent. It was at this stage, when literature was combined with other arts allied in picture production, that the real impetus was given and the tri- umphant onward march of the world's great- est educator and entertainer commenced.
To-day, millions are invested in great in- x
INTRODUCTION
dustrial plants for the creation and manufac- ture of the wordless drama ; thousands of peo- ple rely upon it as their sole maintenance and profession. Millions upon millions of men, women and children all over the world look upon this form of entertainment as their prin- cipal recreation and, incidentally, are being unconsciously educated to understand and ap- preciate the higher forms of art.
Bernard Shaw says : "The great artist is he who goes a step beyond the demand and, by supplying works of a higher beauty and a higher interest than have yet been perceived, succeeds after a brief struggle in adding this extension of sense to the heritage of the race."
There is no doubt that the works of higher beauty and interest accomplished by the real artists in the motion picture profession have been widely productive of the "extension of sense" above quoted.
All this brings us to the practical purpose of this discussion — the dissemination among those who write of the intelligence that a new and fruitful field is open for the works of their pens. The short-story writer who gets from one hundred to five hundred dollars xi
INTRODUCTION
for magazine stories can get a similar amount from the picture manufacturers ; the authors of international fame, who make thousands in royalties, can make thousands more from picture royalties — and in every case without interfering with their magazine or book rights. In fact, the greatest advertising a novel could receive would be a preliminary exhibition all over the world in pictures.
Many of the best modern authors have al- ready gone into this field and many more will. For the day has arrived when, in ad- dition to producing well-known plays and suc- cessful books, there is a need for big original features, especially written for pictorial pre- sentation.
The motion picture has narrowed the field of the playwright, but there is another and broader pasture awaiting both the play and fiction writer when he has mastered the tech- nique of the "life portrayal."
It is the writer's belief that a gripping, com- pelling story, hitherto unknown and unpub- lished, properly picturized and bearing the name of one of the best known writers of modern fiction, would be a greater success xii
INTRODUCTION
artistically and financially than a revived popular play or "best seller." The words "properly picturized" emphasized above are significant. ,
The motion picture manufacturer stands to the author in the position of publisher — he needs you — you need him. There are good and bad publishers. You, whose name is an asset, would not deal with a publisher of questionable methods; ergo, when seeking out a market for your work, deal with none but the highest class and best and old-estab- lished motion picture concerns.
Picturedom is looked upon by many as the New Eldorado. Many misguided fools are rushing in where experienced angels fear to tread. Many theatrical concerns are now "going into the moving picture business," and they blithely announce their intention to up- lift the motion picture and show the public some real stage productions done in pictures. The few that have come to light so far have been very sad affairs, as is but natural. The average theatrical man makes about the same brand of pictures as the average picture pro- ducer made five years ago. To quote again xiii
INTRODUCTION
the invaluable Shaw, "Vital art work comes always from a cross between art and life.''
The art of the picture is to convey an im- pression of absolute realism in a manner artistic. The theatrical stage manager has been proven to be utterly useless in picture production until he has unlearned all tradi- tions of the stage and acquired an entirely new technique. It is unfortunate that many stock- jobbing, security-selling schemes are be- ing offered to investigators and the public un- der the magic "movie" name. Many royalties are being promised that will never be paid and of many of these cardboard houses great will be the fall thereof. "A word to the wise is sometimes money in pocket."
All summed up in a paragraph, the answer is, without a story motion pictures would be what they were styled at their inception — a novelty or a fad. So literature is indissolubly linked with the future and success of the greatest of the allied arts. The "life por- trayal" or "thought visualized" is perhaps better than all "literature realized."
J. Stuart Blackton. xiv
The coarse passion of the Crowd constitutes 'What the public wants" in the way of productions; the re- fined emotion of the artist must discipline, guide and gratify it by his appealing creations.
FOREWORD
WRITERS of fiction and dramatic literature have been less apt to re- spond to the call of a new literary vocation, than a world-wide public has been ready to flock to the appeal of a new dramatic art.
A wonderful event has come to pass in the annals of dramatic literature thru the develop- ment of cinematography. So wonderful in- deed was this new addition to the art of effective dramatic expression, that even after a decade of existence, scarcely a dozen suc- cessful writers of literature had realized its potentiality and had allied themselves with the new drama.
The public's first recognition of cinematog- raphy was as a novel diversion. People flocked to see these presentations that crudely xv
FOREWORD
reproduced not merely static likenesses, but moving realities, just as they had appeared before the camera. In those early days only the elemental reproduction of moving objects was attempted. The photography was miser- able; the presentation itself a blurred, eye- racking ordeal.
Luckily for the waning novelty, the possi- bilities for the trick picture were suddenly realized and cinematography took on a new lease of life. But once the wonder, amaze- ment and speculation that surrounded the unnatural phenomena of these animated photographs wore off, they became deadly monotonous for the mature mind. Once again cinematography hovered near the abyss of oblivion.
Something significant, however, had tran- spired: the trick picture had blundered, as it were, into the realms of misadventure and laughter. Slap-stick farce supplemented and finally succeeded the trick picture. Cinematog- raphy as an entertainment acquired a tre- mendous commercial impetus immediately. In less than a year the puling infant became a healthy youngster, and the five-cent theater xvi
FOREWORD
began to take its rightful place as "the poor man's playhouse."
Thus we have arrived at the beginnings of a need for a literature to provide for the screen portrayals. What had previously been the device of a moment or the conception of an hour, on the part of some ingenious — or in- genuous— director, together with the com- bined aid of all concerned, now became a matter of serious consideration in order more nearly to meet and to co-operate with the mechanical requirements of length of film, speed of operation and duration of projection. All products were "home-spun" and in no way belied their crude sources. In a very short while it was discovered that there were surprisingly few funny ideas and situations in real life. The comedy personalities of clever actors were worked to death trying to put something new into old, frowsy and threadbare saws.
But a world-old, child-young desire had been awakened. The now vast audiences wanted to be told a story — logical, dramatic, gripping, living ! They did not quite realize — as they never do — what they were clamoring xvii
FOREWORD
for, and the producers had paused aghast, as tho conscious of the new and Silent Drama that stood at that moment on the threshold of cinematography.
The first cinematograph stories were hu- morous. Most of them were pathetic — which is the case when any but a story teller tries to tell a funny story. The serious story was attempted with even worse results. The ar- rogance of the trained writer of fiction or of drama and the price of the producer were still beyond conciliation.
The first borrowings may have come in tak- ing excerpts from history to make the modest spectacles that gave a new note to cinematog- raphy. Suffice it to say, that soon familiar masterpieces of fiction and dramatic literature began to appear. The moment that the ex- haustless stores of literature were opened to the needs of cinematography we may say that the photodrama really had its inception. In the voracious search for a story, borrowing became more general, descending from the greater to the lesser lights. At first, borrow- ings were looked upon by both authors and publishers almost good-naturedly. Not until xviii
FOREWORD
the intrinsic commercial value of literary work, from a photodramatic point of view, became obvious was the virtue of the copy- right called into effect.
Several successful suits by publishers brought the fear of the copyright into the producers' hearts. The scenario editor and the photoplaywright became a power from that time on.
All said and done, a large percentage of the photoplaywrights developed in the me- chanico-commercial atmosphere of the early days of cinematography were bound to be limited in their range of vision, in their con- ception of artistic drama and in their ideas of the needs of the ever-widening audiences. From the five-cent show, with its audiences of crude farce- and melodrama-loving people of small or limited education, had sprung the million-dollar theaters, including the rich and poor, the learned and the ignorant, the young and the old in their vast, changing throng of patrons, demanding something always better.
Is it any wonder — with the heads of the companies becoming wealthy magnates by the hour — that many of them gave little thought xix
FOREWORD
to anything else but the income end of their wonderful business, forgetting the output al- most to the point of killing the goose that laid the golden egg? Many of these men had not the slightest conception what the word drama meant; altho their employees had grown up with the business, yet they knew nothing of those more cultured professions of literature and drama. Drama to them meant only the production of so many feet of "pictures."
On the other hand, the consummate hand- lers of plots, the trained writers of fiction and dramatic literature, who had made writing their profession and had given years of their life to demonstrating their ability to make men laugh and cry and wait, by means of dramatic pictures on page or stage — they had stood aloof. The studio-bred photoplay- wright smiled indulgently as tho an insuper- able barrier separated these literary mas- todons from their preserves; the writers scanned the field arrogantly as tho viewing the common herd. Neither was giving the other his due.
It is true, many well-known writers have failed as photoplay technicians ; but it is even xx
FOREWORD
more true that most photoplaywrights would fail as writers of fiction or stage drama.
Thus we arrive at our point: photoplay writing is a new profession, for the simple reason that the photodrama is a new form of dramatic expression, tho in many ways like, yet in even more ways differing from, either fiction or stage drama.
The studio-bred photoplay wright needs just as much to study and to learn the valued art of choosing, developing and completing the dramatic idea artistically, as the writer of fic- tion or stage drama needs to master the diffi- cult and effective technique of the photoplay.
The photodrama is more sophisticated than either the writer of other forms of literature, who dabbles with it, or the studio-bred photo- playwright, who struggles with it, at first sus- pects. Each new test of illusion that is put to it has been met effectively, maintained real- istically and completed convincingly — provid- ing it has had the artistic co-operation of director, actors and appropriate scenic effects.
It was but a natural consequence that years of dearth of play material and practical appren- ticeship should have brought to the surface xxi
FOREWORD
many promising photodramatists from among the studios. While there have been a limited number of plays effective from a purely artis- tic standpoint, and depending thruout on emotional situations, there have been thou- sands upon thousands of productions, start- ling because of dynamic spectacles, with scarcely a dramatic suggestion outside of out- landish peril. The clash of souls is lost sight of in the orchestral crash of falling buildings ; the climax in the struggle of a heroic spirit is hidden behind locomotives coming head-on and smashing themselves into junk; the pa- thetic twilight closing over some wonderful character depiction is lost in the glare of a bona-fide fire advertised to cost thousands of dollars. These are melodramatic sensations, not drama.
Just as the average person can seldom ap- preciate a startling sensation except for the first time, so we find producers, directors and audiences clamoring for something new and surpassing all that has gone before, resenting repetition or spectacles that are keyed below the highest pitched sensation they have already witnessed. One visit to the circus a year suf- xxii
FOREWORD
fices most people ; tho few of us are contented with a weekly attendance at the theater with the promise of a good drama. Dramatic re- vivals are always welcome.
And so we see the feverish daily change of program, and films that flare for a day and then, like the reams of cheap reading trash of the hour, are literally thrown into the waste- basket and justly perish.
Many problems have been met with wonder- ful facility in this new art. The actor, for in- stance, has had to mould himself to new re- quirements, demanding of him oftentimes a more exquisite art than the spoken drama comprehends. A vast number of actors have acquired something near perfection.
A power has risen in the production of the photoplay, however, that has often hampered the progress of the new drama. All authority, in too many instances, has been given to the director. Even tho the meaning of the word classic was as remote from his understanding as the study of astronomy, yet all manuscripts were subject to his interpretation, alteration and elimination, from "Lucile" to "Lear." Too often actors en masse have had no xxiii
FOREWORD
further intimation of what they were doing than the vociferous bellowings of a director beyond the camera. Thus was the writer de- prived of his most necessary ally in the inter- pretation of his finer dramatic ideas. If many directors cannot "see," and possibly perceive every scene and situation of a manuscript with all their five senses, they have been known to return it to the author as "impossible for pro- duction." In true drama our five senses — in photodrama but one, sight — merely act as the agent of the emotions, the real participant in the drama.
The photodrama is bound to be taken seri- ously in the end. We have theaters, we have actors, manufacturing plants, we have a world- wide audience — but no vital drama worth mentioning yet. When we are supplied with good plays the millennium of the photodrama will begin, which, in its universality, will eclipse anything known in the realms of artistic expression. The photodrama needs thinkers, not tinkers. There must come writers with ideas as well as methods. The future has room only for swayers of world-wide emotion, and not mere footage producers, xxiv
FOREWORD
The trained writer has only a slight advan- tage over the untrained writer, because he must reject all his well-grounded rules of fiction and dramatic technique. The novice has a better chance in photoplay writing than in any other field of expression, providing he is mentally and temperamentally equipped to take it up.
Photoplay writing is bound to become a dignified profession despite the obloquy that seemed to rest upon it for so long. But the photoplaywright must elevate himself thru his artistic product and thru a demand for recognition of meritorious work by appropri- ate compensation and also by credit of his name to appear on the screen as author of his plays.
It is to further these high aims in the reali- zation that the photodrama needs students earnest in their desire to become honest arti- sans and true artists — that this book has been written by an ardent student of the new art.
Henry Albert Phillips. May 18, 1914.
xxv
PART I
THE PRINCIPLES OF THE PHOTODRAMA
The writer of the Silent Drama must portray emotions that may be felt by all mankind, and create heart- beats that may be heard round the world.
CHAPTER I
A New Medium of Artistic Expression
the premise of all art \ the battle of new standards; the drama of the eye; not "moving pictures" ; all the world's the stage; a field without limitations.
IN all expressions of true art we find the portrayal of a message from the soul, mind and emotions of one man to those of his fel- lows. The message may be graven in stone, wrought in iron, blended in color, soaring in song, poured thru a pen, or spoken from the stage. If it be art none may pass by without 27
THE PHOTODRAMA
a portion of it entering his soul and enrich- ing his experience.
There is one essential condition, however, that precedes all participation in, and mutual enjoyment of, art — only true believers may enter the shrine of complete illusion. The ob- server, the reader, the listener, the participator in a work of art, must concentrate the atten- tion of his body, mind and soul upon the emo- tional message it contains, regardless of the artificial mediums employed in giving it ma- terial existence. For art consists simply in an endeavor to express thru an outward and visi- ble symbol some inward and spiritual truth, or struggle.
All new and unfamiliar forms of art, there- fore, are subject to superficial criticism, if not ridicule, on the part of the uninitiated, who either fail, or refuse, to see the underlying truth interpreted by a work of art. Upon be- ing shown one of the splendid marbles of Angelo they see but a piece of chiseled stone and not the wonderful vision that inspired the artist. To them one of Turner's symphonies of color is but a daubed canvas.
But once let appreciation of art values be- 28
A NEW MEDIUM OF ARTISTIC EXPRESSION
come part of a people's understanding, and the glories of a new and more wonderful world is opened to them, which brings us to the conclusion that there is a division of opinion regarding even the Fine Arts — some of which are patronized by the few, others are participated in by the many. Among the latter we find the devotees of fiction and dramatic literature far outnumbering all others. The reason, without doubt, for the wider popular approval of these two mediums of artistic ex- pression lies in their portrayal of a segment of life with all the vicissitudes, settings, char- acters and contributing elements that lead to its dramatic climax, as opposed to the single static incident that the artist has limned in stone or wood or on canvas.
Stage drama takes even a step in advance of fiction literature in its approximation of realistic illusion. The characters of the play become the breathing, living, walking and talking persons conceived by the playwright and anticipated by the audience. Audiences laugh and weep, rejoice and sigh, despite themselves, wherever good stage drama is offered.
29
THE PHOTODRAMA
Thus we come to the inception and intro- duction of a new medium of artistic expres- sion that is destined to be numbered among the Fine Arts. While the Photodrama is closely allied and dependent upon both Fiction and Dramatic Literature, yet it has a construc- tion, an expression, and a production so uniquely its own that it is even more unlike than like its allied sources. The Photodrama is notable, too, in being science's first contribu- tion to the Fine Arts.
The Photodrama has had to fight its battle of the new standards. The day was when we scoffed at the possibility of a mere animated photograph making an artistic appeal to us sufficient to stir our emotions. The conquest of the lighter emotions is already a reality, as any one may learn who will take the trouble to step into a photoplay theater while a good comedy is being run. But the supreme test of the appeal of art — the drama that loosens the treasured tears of a self-conscious, con- servative audience — is still the unattained, but attainable, goal of the new profession.
Too often the message of fiction or stage drama is limited, by the printed or spoken 30
A NEW MEDIUM OF ARTISTIC EXPRESSION
word, to the understanding of one's own peo- ple; but the drama of the screen is told in terms of world-wide action, spelt in a tremor of world-old emotion, and writ in the simple language of the human heart — regardless of culture or color, clime or creed. He who has eyes to see may readily understand.
31
In Photodrama, as in real life, we are never permitted to reverse the hand of Time and relive the deeds of yes- terday— except we pass thru the gateway of visions and dreams.
CHAPTER II
Differentiation
how photodrama differs from stage drama in construction, technique and expres- sion ; also from fiction construction and narration in general and the short story and the novel in particu- LAR.
THE very first impulse that comes to the photoplaywright, as a true exponent of literary art, must be stifled — he cannot clothe his message in glowing words that will ravish the ear and please the eye of an esthetic public. Rather, he must construct a silent, technically wordless picture. He must smother his vo- cabulary under a mass of technique. He must hide the light of his diction under a bushel of "business/'
32
DIFFERENTIATION
Nevertheless, there must be the message to radiate, the story to tell, the gratifying ma- terial for entertainment. Granted an idea worth artistic exploitation, there remains the exercise of one of the most difficult processes known to literary or dramatic construction.
A photoplay is composed primarily of me- chanical units, technically termed reels. A full reel consists of 1,000 feet of film and oc- cupies approximately twenty minutes to dis- play its contents upon the screen. By contents, we mean to include everything that is pro- jected: trade-mark frame of manufacturer, including title of play and name of the author ; cast of characters, with Board of Censorship notice at the end. The foregoing take approx- imately two minutes of valuable time and are merely incidental to the play. They concern the writer only in so far as they act as limita- tions. The essential photodrama itself in- cludes portrayal of dramatic action of the characters ; printed words contained in cap- tions and inserted dialog; close-views for the purpose of emphasis; inserted printed matter bearing upon the unfolding of the story.
We find a distinct advantage in the con- 33
THE PHOTODRAMA
struction of the short stage play over that of the short photoplay in the fact that the former permits us approximately as long a time for its single scene as we are allowed for the en- tire photoplay composed of from 25 to 60 scenes ! Again, the short stage play is merely episodical in^an intensive sense, developing a single dramatic situation to an immediate and effective climax; while the short photoplay is usually expansive in character, comparable to the wider boundaries of the short story in se- lecting a supreme dramatic moment in the life or lives of characters and portraying even the remote cumulative incidents that began, con- tributed to and compelled the climax, and pos- sibly containing many situations, tho of les- ser power than the climax itself. Aside from the incidental employment of a mob now and then, we may say that a vital characteristic of the short stage play is economy, often two and seldom more than five characters appear- ing in the play. Because of its multiplicity of scenes, however, the short photoplay normally includes the employment of many extra char- acters who establish and naturalize settings, and seldom employs less than five important 34
DIFFERENTIATION
characters, for the reason that frequent change of scene is necessary to photoplay development and effect.
(EXAMPLE i.) In a short photoplay it may be necessary for our hero to visit his club, to gamble and to lose the money that he is holding in trust. While he and the villain, his opponent in the game, are the two principal characters, it is essential to introduce many others to make the club-setting natural. We might call these "setting characters."
(EXAMPLE 2.) We must always take into con- sideration those scenes that act as a foil for those in which our principal characters appear in their important situations. Photoplay scenes without the prop of dramatic dialog begin to lose power after being sustained for two or three minutes. New power is provided by reverting to another scene that has a direct cumulative bearing upon the scene in hand. With but two characters, or only a small group that must be kept together for effect, quick changes would keep the characters moving unnatu- rally fast.
An examination of the three-act, or long, stage play and a comparison with either short or long photoplay, likewise disclose some ad- vantages in favor of the stage drama. Each act of the long play allows the playwright approximately forty minutes in which to at- 35
THE PHOTODRAMA
tain a desired effect, or about one hour and twenty minutes of combined action in all. By means of the condensed method and rapid ac- tion of photoplay drama, we may often get a three-act play into a single reel of photoplay action, while a solid evening's entertainment may include several short plays, and one long one, equivalent in itself to a meaty drama.
The great advantage of photodrama over stage drama, however, lies in the playwright's privilege to fill in all essential action of the most infinitesimal character in exactly the order and degree of its occurrence, so that the spectator gets everything first-hand and not thru hearsay. Furthermore, the photoplay begins at the beginning of things essential.
(EXAMPLE 3.) Stage drama, thru the use of a few well-chosen phrases, will often make clear to the audience the relationship between characters and the cause for the struggle that is the basis of the play. Photoplay construction takes us back to the causal act, tho it may have happened months before the opening of the bigger situations.
The great problem that confronts the photo- playwright is how to make his story convinc- ing without words, how to interpret every
36
DIFFERENTIATION
emotion into pure action. He must learn the truth of that axiom which states that "actions speak louder than words."
With fiction construction and expression, the photoplay has much in common. The short photoplay, as we have pointed out, is expanded to practically the same degree as the short story, while the multiple-reel, or long photoplay, has within its scope the complete and satisfactory dramatization of the novel or many-volumed literary work, thus enriching the dramatic field with new forms of surpass- ing material which must forever have been denied millions of people who abhor reading even the glorious treasures of fiction literature.
The two fields — of fiction writing and photoplay writing — diverge into opposite di- rections the moment we discuss the narra- tion of one and the visualization of the other. In fiction narration, we resort unequivocally to words to express our inmost vision and weave our story; in the photoplay our words merely indicate the line of action. The effec- tiveness to be gained thru descriptive writing is barred to us; we must confine our descrip- tion to a line at the head of each scene. Fine 37
THE PHOTODRAMA
paragraphs on introspection, or mental agony, or deep feeling are helpless, unless they have their counterpart in vivid action. Artistic nar- ration is a handicap ; expressive vocabulary is essential. We must express ourselves, then, in terms of action rather than in periods of rhetoric.
But does not the absence of the spoken word make it easier to give expression to the universal language of the heart? All motives and emotions must be made to appear on the surface. Even sounds must be silently, yet effectively, portrayed. The music artist peo- ples the imagination of his audience with a glorious phantasmagoria. There is a music of vision that delights the beholder of motion and action, typifying life, health and sanity. We have only to give photoplay art its premise and we may find it ranked among the muses. In artistic photodrama we perceive with the ears of the heart and the soul, gifted, it would seem, with a new soul organ. The day of the skilled spectator must follow the dawn of the art of the ideal interpreter.
38
Here we do not want that mechanics of motion which labors and creaks, revealing the machine; but rather that poetry of silent action which translates itself emotionally into visualized motive and visible drama.
CHAPTER III
Parts of the Photoplay and Their Purposes
title; synopsis; cast of characters; au- thor's REMARKS ; SCENARIO ; SCENE J SCENE- PLOT.
WE find the presentation of the photo- play in manuscript differing widely from that of both fiction and stage drama, in that it represents a mechanical point of view. Whereas the entire fiction manuscript is sub- mitted verbatim as it will appear before the reader, and the stage play manuscript contains every word as it will be heard by the audience, the photoplay manuscript contains only a few lines of captions and possibly several inserts 39
THE PHOTODRAMA
which alone of the actual manuscript will ap- pear on the screen.
The first item that appears on the manu- script, the title, is coming more and more to be regarded from its literary and story-ful- filling point of view. We must ever bear it in mind, however, chiefly as a commercial asset. First, will it attract and reach the pocketbook of the hesitating public and add a drawing power to the poster displayed in front of the theater? Second, will it success- fully compete with the ever-increasing number of releases brought to the attention of the ex- hibitor to choose for his daily or weekly change of program? Third — and in a lesser degree — will it appeal to the photoplay editor because of its promise of high-class literary or dramatic material ? It is possible in nine cases out of ten to combine all these desirable fea- tures, but not without careful thought.
The synopsis of the photoplay is something more than a mere synopsis, it is an abridg- ment, a condensation of the scene contents. To write a perfect synopsis requires the ex- ercise of rare literary skill. By this is not meant rhetorical flow, but the power of such 40
PARTS OF THE PHOTOPLAY
a choice and command of words that enables the writer to reduce possibly several thousand words of instructive scenario to a few hundred words of suggestive synopsis without missing a single essential point. There must be a style of telling the photoplay story that is terse, crisp and suggestive. There is a studio con- vention that seems to have limited the length of the synopsis to 250 words. It is unfair to make a hard-and-fast rule governing the syn- opsis, for the reason that most aspirants get an erroneous impression. Experience demon- strates that most clean-cut, vivid plots may be perfectly delineated in a synopsis of even less than 100 words. On the other hand, the power of the slight play made great thru pure dramatic artistry would suffer from a too brief synopsis. The refined emotional play free from all the coarser strain of exaggerated melodrama and sensational spectacle would sacrifice its finer points if it did not touch upon them and reveal their beauty in the synopsis. Employ as few words as you can to amplify and completely tell the abridged story of your play!
The synopsis is designed primarily for the 4i
THE PHOTODRAMA
convenience of the editor or reader who takes up your manuscript with a view to its accept- ability. The synopsis is its recommendation. If it does not tell him all its dramatic possi- bilities in a brief space, its opportunity is lost, for the editor seldom has time or inclination to peruse the scenario. Should the manu- script meet with acceptance, the synopsis is thereafter used as a guide for the director.
(EXAMPLE 4.) Showing how little side-lights are thrown on character, and shades of emotion may be revealed in the synopsis: "Frail, piquant Rosalie, with whom Malcolm is in love, is often piqued be- cause he never comes to the point in anything. . . . Malcolm prefers to sit on the porch and dream of his coming deed. . . . Douglas is a doer of things and immediately carries out the music in his heart in appealing words."
The cast of characters should mention in- dividual characteristics if possible and clearly show the relationships at a glance. The cast is for the convenience of the director in com- puting the number of players necessary, in selecting actors for the parts according to their talents and personal characteristics.
(EXAMPLE 5-) MALCOLM FRENCH .... (Lead) . ... In love with Rosalie; Artist, Dreamer. 42
PARTS OF THE PHOTOPLAY
ROSALIE .... (Ingenue-lead) .... Piquant, im- patient, frail, flirtatious.
Characters that appear singly should be mentioned singly; those appearing in groups, or mobs, described en masse, so that the direc- tor may form at a glance a comprehensive idea of outlay in characters, costumes and possible character props.
There should be a distinct part of each photoplay manuscript known as "Author's Remarks. " These should be brief and contain such helpful suggestions as a mention of the period of the play, its locale, where ideal loca- tions may be found near particular studios, the need of extraordinary properties and where they might be obtained (possibly the author might have in his possession a coin, MS., or oddity), maybe the suggestion of specific actors whom you have in mind for im- portant parts. Confine these remarks to 50 words or less.
The part of the manuscript next to appear is the scenario, or enumeration of scenes, in- cluding the respective action taking place in each. After numbering the scene, a single line is devoted to the description of the scene oaf 43
THE PHOTODRAMA
setting. This is the only space permitted the writer for description, and one or two words are supposed to suffice unless he wishes a certain arrangement of setting that will have dramatic bearing on the development of the action.
(EXAMPLE 6.) Scene 3— FRONT OF SHOP (Window plainly lettered: L CADWALLADER— ANTIQUE JEWELS).
Despite the fact that it is the same in name as a division of stage drama, a photoplay scene is by no means identical with a stage play scene. An apt parallel may be drawn by say- ing that while a stage scene is all that is seen and acted in one setting without dropping the curtain, a photoplay scene is all of the setting and action that is photographed without stop- ping or changing the position of the camera. If the position of the camera is changed an inch, or if we should return to the same scene a score of times, viewing it from the identical point, it must bear another scene number and be treated as a new scene. There is one ex- ception to this rule. When a scene is broken by an insert or a close-view we "continue" the scene, for the reason that the scene is not in- 44
PARTS OF THE PHOTOPLAY
terrupted at all in the taking, the film being cut to insert either close-view or other in- serted matter.
(EXAMPLE 7 J Scene 24.- INTERIOR PAWN- BROKER'S. Broker takes necklace from case, ex- amines it, eyeing Douglas all the while, examines jewels with jeweler's glass, then turns, with shake of head: INSERT 4 . . . . "I DON'T RECEIVE STOLEN GOODS. GET OUT OR I'LL CALL THE POLICE!" Scene 24— (Continued). Douglas slinks out with a scowl.
It is presupposed that every scene set down in the manuscript is absolutely necessary, and by necessary we mean essential to the cumula- tive advancement of the play. The contents of the scene itself consists of the writer's proc- ess of visualizing his story thru appropriate directions for the movement of the characters and a description of the resultant action, vividly, tersely and suggestively told in the present tense. The same economical care should be practised in the selection of only essential material and the rejection of unes- sential details as one observes in the construc- tion of the short story. While the writer is supposed to tell only what is to be done and not to presume even to suggest how, yet there 45
THE PHOTODRAMA
are many subtile emotions the perfect inter- pretation of which he may have in mind. A happy suggestion may often save the busy and hurried actor or director time, and ex- press exactly what the writer has in mind in- stead of making it necessary to guess at his thoughts.
As the writer plans the effect to be pro- duced by his completed play, so he must keep in mind a desired effect to be accomplished by each scene. The length of a scene is deter- mined precisely by it attaining the single ef- fect for which it was created. Thus a scene has a unity of its own which is comparable with that of the complete play : Introduction, or establishment of relationship sufficient for the audience to grasp the significance of the action ; rising development ; pronounced cli- max, which is the signal for its termination — for a scene never has a denouement. The succeeding scene always carries the play a step forward or higher.
(EXAMPLE 8.) Scene 52- ON THE BAL- CONY. Malcolm singing with his whole soul in his expression. Scene 53 — JEWEL ROOM. Douglas still kneeling before the cabinet, suddenly pauses, his face contorted with painful memory.
46
PARTS OF THE PHOTOPLAY
Much confusion would be eliminated, and clearness and precision affected, if there were a change in terminology calling scenes "acts," for they are distinct units of action and defi- nite and complete acts in the development of the play. The scene, as its etymology indi- cates, has primarily to do with the scenery or setting. The same scene is repeated over and over again, tho it always bears a new num- ber. The same act is never repeated (except in facsimile in the vision scene), so that the consecutive numbering of acts from beginning to end of play would have a specific value, just as the consecutive numbering of repeated scenes is decidedly confusing.
SPECIAL NOTE.— In Part IV of this volume will be found one complete photoplay, embodying all points discussed in these chapters, and from which, in the main, illustrative examples have been chosen. A Glossary contains a modified definition of all technical terms employed.
47
Artifice is the edged tool of Art which, when zvielded skilfully, may carve lines of life in a piece of clay and bring fame to the artificer; when handled clumsily it is sure to mar the material and may injure the hand of the artisan.
CHAPTER IV
Various Devices — Their Use and Misitse
the caption; the insert; the close-view; the vision; dialog; breaking up long scenes ; preserving the illusion.
DO not seek to write photoplays that are sufficient in themselves and do not need the aid of tricks of the trade, devices or arti- fices. Such plays must need be crude because, even tho perfect in plot, they are bound to ap- pear cut-and-dried, clipped and cured, and wanting in all those little human touches which by piercing the emotions and gaining the sym- pathies of the audience, do more than win the approbation of the mind. The impression that the perfect play is the one which can dispense
48
VARIOUS DEVICES — THEIR USE AND MISUSE
with any of the legitimate devices, no doubt comes from a misconception of the precise potentialities of these artifices. It is true, if they do not serve as a means to an end; an integral part of the play ; units in the develop- ment of the story; then they not only may, but should, be dispensed with, by all means. We employ nothing — property, actor, scene, spectacle, spoken word, insert, incident or device — in the perfect photoplay that has not a bearing on the climax of the play.
The caption — variously miscalled leader, sub-title, etc. — is the most necessary, the most difficult and the most powerful of the illusory agents employed in screening the dramatic story. Its importance to the writer may be reckoned from the fact that it is one of the few small parts of the photoplay that is sup- plied by the author and shown intact to the audience. The caption is an action-title and, like the chapter headings of a novel, portions and savors the great bulk of the story and collectively gives its gist.
(EXAMPLE 10.) Take, for instance, the cap- tions of "The Coming of the Real Prince" (Reliance), and we have the big moments in the play that made
49
THE PHOTODRAMA
it impossible for the audience to lose its vital sig- nificance: (i) ANNIE'S WIDOWED MOTHER, LEFT PENNILESS, OPENS A BOARDING HOUSE; (2) THE DRUDGE; (3) ANNIE FINDS SOLACE IN "CINDERELLA"; (4) THE DREAM OF PRINCE CHARMING AND THE WON- DROUS CITY BEGINS; (5) "NO, BUD, I HAVE GIVEN MY HEART TO A WONDERFUL PRINCE;" (6) THE COMING OF THE PRINCE; (7) THE FOLLOWING SUNDAY THEY GO FOR A STROLL IN THE ENCHANTED FOREST; (8) THE FAIRY TREASURE— HID- DEN BY ANNIE'S MISERLY FATHER; (9) THE PRINCE SEES AN EASY OPPORTUNITY TO FILCH TWO TREASURES; (10) THE FLIGHT TO THE WONDROUS CITY OF DREAMS; (11) THE MAGIC AWAKENING OF MOTHER-LOVE; (12) "FOR THE PRINCE WAS A MIGHTY GOOD FELLOW!" (13) THE GLORY OF THE PRINCE'S DOMAIN BEGINS TO FADE; (14) ((YOU WOULDN'T HAVE ME, MOTHER, SO I DREAMED OF A PRINCE!" (15) THE COMING OF THE REAL PRINCE . . . And there's the complete story, which any one with imagination can readily fill out.
A play screened without captions or inserts would be wanting in all the little human, inti- mate and sympathetic touches that warm the heart and pitch the emotions of the audience. The figures that flitted thru the play, unintro- 50
VARIOUS DEVICES — THEIR USE AND MISUSE
duced, would be identified by the spectator as this or that actor, and not as Tess, or Mr. Barnes, or Sherlock Holmes — all characters of delightful memory. Pantomime sufficiently powerful to suggest every relationship; cos- tume and accompaniments obvious enough to establish every environment ; and action violent enough to interpret every emotion without the aid of captioned or inserted matter, belong to the elemental days of photodrama.
First of all, the caption should never be em- ployed to tell of an action that is to follow in the scene, for a caption should never be used if it is possible to translate its essence into action :
(EXAMPLE ii.) For instance, in the following scene: Scene 56. JEWEL ROOM — Douglas has just finished forcing open the door of the jewel cabinet and holds the necklace in his trembling hand . . . it would have been superfluous to have captioned, DOUGLAS STEALS THE NECKLACE.
Too often important points are unsuccess- fully left to the imagination of the audience because they have been so clear in the mind of the writer. Frequently these points are essential to preserve an unbroken continuity, yet too subtle to be conveyed by action, de- 5i
THE PHOTODRAMA
duction, suggestion, inference, implication or relationships.
(EXAMPLE 12.) (a) To economise, by getting right into the pith of the story: ANNIE'S WID- OWED MOTHER, LEFT PENNILESS, OPENS A BOARDING HOUSE . . . introduces us to Annie and her mother, tells that her father has died, they are penniless, they must work, the place we find them in later is their boarding house, (b) To indi- cate a lapse of time and tell what worth-while has happened: THE SPRING COMES—AND WITH IT HER PRINCE . . . the previous scene had been in the winter, Annie has been dreaming of her prince and we might not have identified the weak, flashy young man as such; the caption is, also, a link in the suspense, (c) To communicate a mental or psychological process: THE DREAM OF PRINCE CHARMING AND THE WONDROUS CITY BEGINS. . . . contains the very essence of the climax and reveals the psychological trend of the entire play.
We must bear in mind that there is some- thing more important than sequence of visible action, and that is unbroken continuity or per- fect cohesion of story unity — of which every intelligent audience is ever conscious — that knows no such thing as gaps, breaks or retrogressive movement. The caption is the 52
VARIOUS DEVICES — THEIR USE AND MISUSE
bridge that spans these and supports, quick- ens and gratifies the imagination in addition. The caption can be made to fulfill its most artistic function by combining all the essential qualities, already referred to, and also by serv- ing as the action-title for a complete sequence of dramatic action. Thus one caption may cover all the scenes in a sequence, each caption adding a link in the development of the story and all together giving the gist of the story itself (as illustrated by Example 10). Thus the caption becomes a distinctive aid in build- ing the dramatic plot, a contributory force in its expression, and a gratifying parallel to lead, guide and fulfill the action for the audi- ence. Captions are not labels, but means of suggesting beyond the visible action and of furnishing deeper motives than those on the surface. There are beauty and harmony cap- tions which often add a poetic touch, or an emotional tone, and intensify the dramatic efifect.
(EXAMPLE 13.) THE FLIGHT TO THE WONDROUS CITY OF DREAMS . . . but we must take care that the poetic title is not a part of the harshly realistic play, for we are seeking integral
53
THE PHOTODRAMA
harmony. For example, in HELL — SECOND- HAND, we find captions to suit the theme: 10 MIN- UTES THIS SIDE OF ETERNITY! . . . THE LIFE-BLOOD RED FLAG.
An insert is filmed matter which is inserted in the appropriate place in a scene, the film being cut for this purpose. This matter must appear and be known as an insert to the writer and manufacturer only; to the audience, it becomes the normal, logical and only natural phenomena that could be presented under the circumstances and sustains and strengthens the illusion of reality. From the point of view of the screen, an "insert" would suggest some- thing stuck in, or a patch; therefore it must never be recognized as such except in the workshop. Technically speaking, all inserted matter is inserts. From a mechanical point of view, the film must be cut in order that captions, printed or inscribed matter, close- views, visions, spoken lines, etc., may be in- serted. But we should ignore the manufac- turer's construction and consider inserted mat- ter only as an essential to the perfect visualiza- tion of our dramatic story.
The letter, telegram and newspaper insert 54
VARIOUS DEVICES — THEIR USE AND MISUSE
are dangerous expedients to employ too fre- quently in the artistic photoplay. They are so easy to stick into a play that, like slang, they become a ready makeshift for the lazy mind, with results that are damaging to dignity.
We cannot repeat too often that everything employed in the photoplay is done so with a specific purpose, for a progressive effect, and for no other reason. Likewise, it must bear some cumulative and contributory relation to the climax. Thus inserts and captions must be something more than mere explanatory mat- ter by becoming important contributory data.
The insert is a great factor for economy, and when properly used in this respect may contribute to heightened effects thru sugges- tive condensation.
(EXAMPLE 14J The following letter insert not only saves many scenes but teems with revelation: "Dearest — You simply cant stand it any longer. Come with me to the city at daybreak. Meet me in the office." What it has told fills the gap; what it promises because of this audacious proposal makes the play.
The telegram is similar in character, only it
allows still greater condensation :
55
THE PHOTODRAMA
(EXAMPLE 15). "Meet me in the office at day- break" It serves as a further amplification of the same example, tho there is an obvious inconsistency in conveying such startling intelligence by wire.
The employment of the newspaper heading and paragraph is a decided novelty in convey- ing artistic data. The seeming awkwardness of the medium must be overshadowed by a simple and convincing naturalness on the part of the character in obtaining information from this source that strengthens its plea as dra- matic material :
(EXAMPLE 16.) LIBRARY— Nelson enters with tray containing letters and papers. Shelburne opens paper, reads, pauses, laughs: INSERT 0 . . . (News item heading)
WEALTHY SOCIETY WOMAN LEARNS SHE HAS MARRIED BOGUS BARON
Scene (Continued)
Shelburne thoughtful. Mary steals in and places her hand over his eyes. The fact disclosed in the item wiped out all the past that stood between Mary and Shelburne. The library scene was made more natural by the reading of the paper and what followed was inevitable. Neither the sense of the scene nor any conceivable action alone could have told ade- quately what really transpired. An insert alone filled the purpose.
Perhaps the most effective use of the insert
56
VARIOUS DEVICES — THEIR USE AND MISUSE
is to establish the premise of the plot, to cover the causes leading up to the opening of the play and possibly the relationship of the char- acters :
(EXAMPLE 17.) "Dear George:— As I write this I am preparing to run off with the Baron Komiskey. To be frank, I've gotten tired of not seeing you take any interest in anything. Forgive your former fiancee,
PETRONELLA."
In which we see the characters of both Petronella and George laid bare, besides furnishing a motive for George's change of character and future actions. This insert breaks the first scene.
The theory of breaking scenes with inserts has been discussed and has grounds for objec- tions from an optical point of view only. The argument advanced against their use is based on the persistence of vision with which the eye retains for a considerable period the image of that which has passed before it, obscuring that which follows. This theory would be- come seriously operative when applied to in- serts should we look upon them as extraneous matter — as for example the vaudeville acts that intervene between the parts of the long photoplays produced in many of the variety theaters. But, far from it, the ideal insert is 57
THE PHOTODRAMA
contributory dramatic material that rather precludes a possibility of gaps, jumps or dis- continuity of dramatic sequence. The perfect insert emphasizes an otherwise too modest period of action. Optical delusion is a negligi- ble quantity in the face of dramatic illusion, which sweeps everything mechanical before it.
To speak of inserts as explanatory matter is objectionable, because of the natural inference that the story is to be interrupted and the audience button-holed while a formal explana- tion is inserted. Unless an insert becomes essential interpretive material, quickening the movement of the play and heightening the in- terest in the story, something must be wrong with the construction. Inserts should be classed with all other forms of essential in- terpretive material, such as expressive action, gestures and attitudes; logical characters and effective settings ; and should be mercilessly dispensed with unless they fulfill a specific mission in carrying the story forward toward an inevitable climax.
The term, close-view, makes a finer distinc- tion, signifying that an object or a portion of it is magnified, or that a close-view of a segment
58
VARIOUS DEVICES — THEIR USE AND MISUSE
of the action is seen on the screen at close range by itself.
(EXAMPLE 18.) "-;..'.'. Annie reads letter, a great joy breaking over her face: INSERT LET- TER. . . . "Dearest — Come with me to the city at daybreak."
In which the letter is presented for our perusal with the same care that it would be inserted in a story at the proper moment. It is part of the story.
In the same manner a calling card, an in- scription on a grave-stone, a monogram on a ring, a miniature photograph, may be brought, as it were, close to our eyes. The illusion is ingeniously preserved by the presence of the character's trembling or tracing fingers fol- lowing the emotion in his soul.
The close-view, however, may take a step farther than merely photographing an inani- mate object; it may dramatically emphasize a segment of exquisite action.
(EXAMPLE 19.) INSERT CLOSE-VIEW of title page of "Cinderella" Annie's trembling hand tracing first word .... INSERT CLOSE-VIEW of Annie's face, she closes her eyes, her lips move with a smile of ecstasy.
The close-view is indispensable for acute emphasis; for peculiar dramatic effect; for 59
THE PHOTODRAMA
discernment of some essential object too small to be sufficiently noted or noticed otherwise; for the display of the finer and more subtle emotions; for the revealment of some other- wise hidden object or action important in un- folding the scene and developing the action. The last named takes the same latitude as fic- tion in bringing in essential data beyond the discernment of the human eye. The optical process, too, of looking at distant objects thru a strong glass is effectively reproduced by the close-view. A rather bizarre use is made of the same device by showing a sectional view of some inclosure :
(EXAMPLE 20.) The hero may be eavesdrop- ping on the villain and be concealed in a box or a barrel; this fact is disclosed by means of the sec- tional view. Or a man crawling thru a tunnel and shaking the earth beneath the scene of action.
The close-view has no equal for breaking dangerously long scenes in a manner so natu- ral and potential that oftentimes it makes a brilliant presentation of something that would in all probability have become tedious.
The vision insert is treated more particu- larly later on, under other captions. Suffice it 60
VARIOUS DEVICES — THEIR USE AND MISUSE
to say, that the vision insert simulates the more subtle mental processes of thought and fantasy — such as reflection, introspection, dreams and hallucination — that have a simul- taneous dramatic bearing on the conduct of the character and on the psychological develop- ment of the story.
(EXAMPLE 21.) CAPTION .... AFTER FIVE YEARS WITHOUT HER.
Scene 31. Simply marked grave in cemetery.
Malcolm discovered kneeling, closes his eyes. Fade to
INSERT VISION .... Reproducing scene 20 in part (great rock above beach, etc.). Fade to
INSERT VISION CLOSE-VIEW Malcolm
looking intently at Florence, whose eyes disclose her tender love for him. Fade to
Scene 31 (Continued) Malcolm has opened his eyes, arms opened as tho to take Florence.
A helpful distinction between the simple in- sert and the close-view insert — tho they are both close-views, as a matter of fact — is to designate all static and inanimate matter that is neither alive nor in motion, as simple in- serts; and that which is properly part of the action and has life, motion and expression, as close-view inserts.
61
THE PHOTODRAMA
(EXAMPLE 22.) Letters, telegrams, news ex- cerpts, printed, carved, engraved matter, miniatures or other likenesses reproduced, and objects incapable of automatic effort are simply inserts. Close-views of a hand, face, or other part of the anatomy under the stress of emotion, or merely revealing a con- tributive peculiarity, remote objects with their con- tingent action brought near, and fragments of action isolated for emphasis, are close-view inserts.
The question of the employment of dialog at all in the photodrama has been widely dis- cussed. It would seem to hinge on the mean- ing of the word "dialog." If the word is used in its strict sense of "a conversation between two or more persons," then we may eliminate it from the photoplay without further ques- tion. The photoplay is no place for conver- sations. But there are occasions upon which the apt employment of a spoken line of dialog has no equivalent or substitute. It becomes one of the fine contributory elements that establishes and preserves the illusion. The effective use of the spoken line is usually as an insert, being timed to appear simultane- ously with the representation of its utterance :
(EXAMPLE 23.) To be precise, the insert follows its actual utterance:
62
VARIOUS DEVICES — THEIR USE AND MISUSE
Scene 23. Vine-covered arbor.
Follows business both pathetic and ludicrous of Budd proposing: Annie smiles, shakes head.
INSERT SPOKEN LINE .... "NO, BUD, I HAVE ALREADY GIVEN MY HEART TO A WONDERFUL PRINCE !"
Scene 23. (Continued) Bud broken up but manly.
The spoken line is occasionally used also as a caption, giving voice to the climacteric senti- ment or situation in a single scene, or series of scenes, that follows :
(EXAMPLE 24.) CAPTION 6 . . . . "TO BE HANGED BY THE NECK UNTIL DEAD!" is
followed by a courtroom scene. The nature of the proceeding is obvious. The judge rises and pro- nounces the conventional sentence of death that gives dramatic significance to the entire sequence of action that follows.
The spoken line has a poignant directness in it that is scarcely equaled by any other piece of business. The mental process should be so cunningly imitated that the enthralled spectator hears the words he craved just as distinctly as tho they had beat upon the drums of his ears instead of the drums of his soul. The words pierce the spectator with personal sympathy, or antagonism, and fairly thunder
63
THE PHOTODRAMA
thru the silence. Like all other inserted mat- ter and devices, the spoken line must not be used if it can be dispensed with to the artistic betterment of the play. It must come naturally and bridge a possible gap. It must be used as a supplement to, not a substitute for, effective action. Visualized action takes first and fore- most place in the photoplay ; all other matters are harmonious trappings and devices or illu- sion that decorate creaking mechanics with esthetic realities.
Inserted matter, unless artistically used, be- comes theatric instead of dramatic. It be- comes a sign of weakness and appears in the same light as clumsy explanations in stories written by inexperienced writers. The perfect photoplay leaves no doubts, offers no explana- tions, starts nothing it can not finish — it is all action, action, ACTION ! And by action we mean technically visualized interpretation of whatsoever nature that convincingly contrib- utes to the perfect illusion of emotionally seeing a dramatic story.
64
Visualization consists in giving tan- gible form to Inspiration; clothing Thoughts in flesh; creating living matter from Ideas; transmuting Emo- tions into thrilling substance; and peopling the imaginations of millions with the glorious company of Dreams come true, Desire gratified, Justice fulfilled, Brotherhood universal and Love triumphant I
CHAPTER V
Visualization
its relation to action; importance of vocabulary ; literature ; to register ; in- terpretation ; in terms of emotion ; the part of imagination
TECHNIQUE and rules, idea and action are as chaff on the threshing floor of the photodrama compared to visualization, which is the precious kernel to be sought. Visualization is both the key and the keynote of all photoplay-writing.
Hitherto, too much emphasis has been laid
65
THE PHOTODRAMA
on the importance of action, with but a half- formed idea of the true technical definition of the term, which is "the connected series of events upon which a piece depends ; the main subject or story, as distinguished from an in- cidental action or episode." Too often has the novice had in mind the violent, whirling, feverish and physical action, familiarized by the "going into action" of the battlefield. Such action is always dynamic and spectacu- lar, but not necessarily dramatic or inter- pretive. Everything is on the surface. It is all a matter of primal passion and primeval emotion. It is the stuff that melodramas are made of. But the deeper, more powerful and moving emotions of a civilized people are not surfacial. Their true interpretation is not ex- pressible in immediate violent action. Cul- ture and civilization are recognized and real- ized thru their repression of passion. Even the savage and the dumb beast have their re- fined emotions, expressed most vividly thru unwonted inertness or carefully concealed cunning.
(EXAMPLE 25.) The eternal mother-heart broods in dark corners over its dead offspring; it 66
VISUALIZATION
softly croons over and gently caresses its babe; deepest hate is manifested by the savage or sage thru cunning, soft-footed revenge and veiled thrust.
There are two sides to the technical diffi- culties that confront the photoplaywright. Given the conception of an idea worth while, he must first have the power to visualize its phenomena to himself; he must then be able to represent its dramatic development visibly in terms of action and symbols of emotion. The power to visualize a story to one's self can neither be taught nor learned ; its exercise lies in the gift of imagination. The ability to represent this story in a form that may be readily interpreted depends on a practical as- similation and a working knowledge of dra- matic construction and photoplay technique. It resolves itself into the task of telling the story indirectly with "business," instead of by direct discourse.
A careful examination of the conditions of photoplay acceptance has revealed a curious and valuable piece of information. An unusu- ally large percentage of the manuscripts re- ceived by producing companies contain good ideas, but they are very often rendered
67
THE PHOTODRAMA
unacceptable because of imperfect and unillu- minating expression. The editor, the director and the actor must understand from your scenario exactly what action, interpretation and suggestion your words are intended to convey. Many big ideas, striking situations and splendid scenes never see the light of the screen because of the photoplaywright's pov- erty of expression.
A broad vocabulary hesitates at no flight of inspiration, no matter how transcending; it falters at no wave of emotion, no matter how profound; it pauses at no thought, no matter how beautiful. "Beyond words," "inexpress- ible" and "indescribable" are confessions of literary and dramatic weakness that disappoint editors and bring manuscripts back by return mail. There are human words to express every impression that the human mind records. The language of the heart, of the soul and of the photoplay is the language of the dictionary. Familiarity with words begets fluency and ac- curacy in their use. There is but one word to express one situation under a given condi- tion ; do not be content until you find it. That diligence alone will make the finished and suc- 68
VISUALIZATION
cessful writer. Given inspiration, the right words to express it will carry it to production, perhaps fame.
Perfect visualization, then, demands an ex- quisite command of language capable of nicely interpreting the finest shades of pathos, the deepest wells of passion, the most delicate waves of emotion, and a thousand grades of feeling.
Passing from the literary construction of the manuscript and play, we must become familiar with the mode of translating ideas, which must be clearly indicated by the writer. The three possible modes are by means of psychological action, suggestive attitude and mimetic expression. These are the elements of the new mimetic art of the photodrama just as the notes and keys are to music ; words and sentences to literature; pigments and brushes to painting.
The secret of visualization lies in the nice employment of symbols of emotion. The dan- ger lies in over-emphasis, which the writer can forestall by using an indirect or relative method, which means a constant exercise of repression.
69
THE PHOTODRAMA
(EXAMPLE 26.) A girl is made to show pity for a sister-woman who is weeping because of some fell blow. She does not go over and embrace her; that would show sympathy and participation. Pity comes into her face, her poise of the head, her .wist- ful attitude. And if sympathy, she would probably stand with hand half-raised in helplessness if the woman was bereaved. If some lighter grief, she would gently caress the other and smile encourage- ment. Gentleness is poignant!
It is the thoughtful addition of the little human touches and scenes that makes the great plays and gives appropriate expression to great ideas.
(EXAMPLE 27.) In scene 8, of "The Coming of the Real Prince," we see Annie being driven from the kitchen by her unfeeling mother. The gist of the story would have been clear without dilating on this sequence. But the tragedy in Annie's heart that was responsible for the play needed further visualizing, so we see Annie passing up the back stairs with a broken-hearted look in her eyes; we see her cast herself upon her miserable cot and sob as tho her heart would break.
(EXAMPLE 28.) In scene 22, of the same play, we see the very depths of Annie's soul visualised. First in the caption: THE DREAM OF PRINCE CHARMING AND THE WONDROUS CITY BEGINS. 4nnie, in grotesque position in bed
70
VISUALIZATION
beside battered lamp, reading "Cinderella." Close- view shows her face, with lips moving, anecstatic smile lightening her features. We return to the scene and see the book slip from her fingers, and in her dreaming sleep her hands clasp on her breast; she raises her hand as tho she saw someone ap- proaching. A vision-scene pictures Prince Charm- ing in doublet and hose. Returning to the scene again we find Annie wakened, with her hand over her eyes as tho what she saw was too brilliant to look upon.
The photoplay is silent only technically. In order that convincing illusion be accomplished, there must be a successful registration of all such sounds as affect the characters and ac- tion in the normal and natural development of the play. We are interested only in such sounds as have a direct bearing on the matter that holds the attention of the audience. In other words, it must — like all other inter- pretive matter — be contributory.
In indicating that the character hears a par- ticular sound, we say that he "registers" it. The term register has been used too generally in photoplay construction to indicate what actors shall do under the stress of every emotion.
7*
THE PHOTODRAMA
(EXAMPLE 29.) For instance, "Annie registers anger/' or "hate," "that she will not consent to something," "that she is displeased." A character who registers anything taking place in his own heart or soul becomes merely an actor — he is pretend' ing. Characters do not pretend — they ARE. They do not register their feelings — they FEEL them with results unquestionably natural.
Sounds are recorded then thru reflex action, or registration, just as they actually reflect against the drums of the ear, telling the hearer that vibrations have been produced af- fecting the ear. Sounds are visualized by showing the appropriate affect on the charac- ter or characters.
(EXAMPLE 30.) We might have a deaf old father and his daughter. Her forbidden lover is behind a stone wall. He whispers softly several times before she is conscious of his call. She turns, joyously, and the two pantomime behind the old man's back.
Sounds are even more effectively visualized thru the employment of one or more cor- relative scenes.
(EXAMPLE 31.) In one case we see someone in the act of calling; in the next we see the call regis- tered. The intervening distance may be gauged by the amount of energy expended by the character. 72
VISUALIZATION
Or we may see a man escaping from peril, he stum- bles and falls. The next scene shows the captors registering the noise of his fall.
In the elemental days of the cinematograph, it seemed improbable that music could ever be effectively registered. The visualization of strains of music, however, has met with most successful accomplishment. It is effected thru a careful imitation of the auricular and mental process of recording sound, combined with the use of symbols of emotion.
(EXAMPLE 32.) "The Lost Melody" (Vitagraph) is a play the plot of which is based on visualized sound. A strain of music sung and heard by a man under most virtuous circumstances is repeated when he is on the point of committing a crime, and it saves his soul. . . . In one scene we see the four leading characters walking along and singing each his love song, with his soul in his face; next we see the dancers at the club pausing and listening, some of the rapture of the singers faintly trans- mitted to their faces; in the roadway an automobile party stops, they put their hands behind their ears and listen, two keeping time, the other two put the spirit of the song in action and steal a lover's kiss.
(EXAMPLE 33.) Five years later the song is sung to save Douglas. The mental process of re- ceptivity is imitated. We see Malcolm on the ter- race singing; a close-view is then screened of a line
73
THE PHOTODRAMA
of the music and words; then we see Douglas paus- ing in his act of robbing his best friend, registering in alarm; then what he suddenly sees in his mind and heart is visioned, being the scene of that wonder- ful night years ago.
Thus the silent drama may become vibrant with emotional music and resonant with tongues that need no interpreter, for all na- tions understand the universal language of the heart. The most sublime characters and val- iant deeds, ravishing color and mellifluous voices, are in our soul; sublime sympathy is in our world-old heart; profound understand- ing is in our God-given reason, and this multi- glorious human marvel is gratified to the ut- most in having its humanity called into active being.
74
The leading characters must become the center of all action; the super- numeraries are nothing more or less than animated portions of the set itself.
CHAPTER VI
Characterization
identity and personality ; characteris- tics and idiosyncrasies j description and delineation j establishing relationship ; motives j expression | contrasts.
IF we will view characters and characteri- zation as elements of interpretive and con- tributory matter, along with inserts, setting and action, it should aid us in building perfect climaxes. This view would protect us from that error resulting from the leading characters seizing the bit in their teeth, so to speak, and running amuck with the story. Characters are subservient to climax. We have no use for any manifestations of their character outside of the needs of properly developing the big 75
THE PHOTODRAMA
moment of the story. Character is the most effective means to our photoplay end.
Photoplay actors in particular should be- come exquisite interpreters of character. Di- rectors should be skillful managers and direc- tors of interpretation and other mechanical detail. The photoplaywright alone should be the originator and creator of ideas and an ex- pert in their expression. But, because photo- playwriting has been in a crude elemental state, and the new mimetic art of photoplay- acting has had to be slowly and thoughtfully developed, abuses have crept in. Too often the director becomes the self-appointed cre- ator, interpreter and adapter, withholding complete knowledge of the play from the actors and remaking the author's artistic ideas according to the mold of his own mental and emotional understanding, and the mechanical and material equipment he has at his com- mand, or deems essential. Still, we cannot too harshly blame the officious director until the photoplaywright has become an indubitable master of expressive and comprehensive "business."
Photodrama differs radically from the short
76
CHARACTERIZATION
story, in that there are at least two leading characters, instead of a single predominating, all-absorbing character. Such a character would be capable of little else than the devel- opment of itself thru introspection, reminis- cence and possibly ambition, which would re- sult in a character study. A character study is next to impossible in photodrama. An internal struggle of one being with himself can sustain but a few scenes at most. There must be two, or more, souls (and bodies) struggling to ac- complish, overthrow or maintain a certain end. We find in the photoplay, then, two leads, or leading characters, at least; while there may be often three or four. All the important action surrounds these characters. We see the characters in their characterizations stand- ing out clearly as symbols of the motives and forces in the play. The hero and the heroine battle for, and accomplish, the gratifying con- clusion ; the villain and his accomplices employ their villainous designs in an unprincipled ef- fort to overthrow the good, wholesome and happy elements. Obstacles thrown in the path of one side constitute suspense, and in their removal form a situation. 77
THE PHOTODRAMA
After the leads, there may be an economical number of supernumeraries to carry the action along with logical environment and natural life-likeness.
(EXAMPLE 34.) A courtroom, a busy street, the Ho or of the stock exchange, or any other setting wherein other characters should appear to naturalize it, must be appropriately peopled. These characters are animated portions of setting and contribute to harmony.
The early identity, or differentiation be- tween the leads themselves, and between the minor characters is of vast moment and im- portance. The moment a character appears, or is discovered in a scene, his identity must be disclosed, and his relationship to the other characters and the action made known.
There are three ways of establishing iden- tity: (a) thru personality, which discloses strength or weakness of character and the manner in which it dominates or is subservient to others with whom it comes in contact; (b) by means of idiosyncrasies, or marked per- sonal oddities, deformities, or deportment; (c) vocational garb, national characteristics, uniform or peculiarity of personal ensemble.
78
CHARACTERIZATION
(EXAMPLE 35.) (a) The line, "Mother weep- ing and Annie supporting her," in Scene 1 of "The Coming of the Real Prince," foretells a certain strength and weakness that manifests itself thru the two characters, (b) A character exhibits a continual frown, or sniffs, or winks, or limps, or has a scar or deformity, (c) As a soldier, policeman, a charac- ter would wear his uniform, or a foreigner might wear all or part of his native costume, etc.
Strong personalities flourish in the serious drama, while the leads in comedy are usually distinguished by peculiarities. Each human being has his normal characteristics that dif- ferentiate him from the rest of his fellows ; this must become well marked in photodrama, tho not exaggerated to the point of becoming a personal oddity. They must be clearly brought out and maintained in a dignified manner thruout the play. In the serious play, character is but a means of developing a mov- ing personality, and personality is but the out- ward symbol of the internal truths of the story. Personality is motive visualized.
Your few words describing your characters and indicating their actions must be sug- gestive enough to enable the combined efforts of director and actor to delineate truthfully 79
THE PHOTODRAMA
the personality that is part of your dramatic vision. Nothing stands still in the photoplay ; therefore characters must be delineated in terms of emotion — repressed or active — or de- scribed in words of action — commonplace or dramatic. The audience should be informed unimstakably who and what your characters are thru what they do. The motives of the leading characters must come to the surface at once in order to ignite the audience's in- terest with the dramatic spark. There must be sufficient insinuation in what your charac- ters do, to reveal why they do it. Altho a character, during the action of the play, may develop from weakness to strength, yet each bit of action has a determining character of its own, that is either weak or strong.
The immediate and unmistakable identity of your characters is essential to knowing your characters ; the early and clear establishment of relationship between characters is essential to grasping your story. A profound study of the subject yields the conclusion that the simplest, most economical, quickest and most effective means of revealing the identity and establishing the relationship of the character 80
CHARACTERIZATION
is the caption. Without the caption we must resort to the inartistically obvious and more or less clumsy devices, such as doors labeled "Private Office of John Smith"; trade-signs, as "Solomon Isaacs, Pawnbroker," or have the actors overgesture their parts in a laborious ef- fort to tell the audience who and what they are.
(EXAMPLE 36.) A perusal of six produced plays discloses the unanimous use of the caption for the combined purposes of identity and relationship. These captions usually appear early in the play — before the second or third scene: (1) GEORGIA WANTS TO BE A LEADER OF HER SEX AND NOT A DRUDGE; (2) ANNIES WIDOWED MOTHER LEFT PENNILESS; (3) COLONEL FARRINGTON FORCES HIS DAUGHTER ON MARSTON, HIS SUPPOSED BENEFACTOR; (4) MALCOLM DECIDES TO WAIT AND MAKE HIS PROPOSAL TO ROSALIE AN ARTISTIC OCCASION; (5) SHELBURNE, HARD HIT, TURNS AGAINST HIS IRRE- SPONSIBLE LIFE; (6) ARCHER DURAND AND HIS WIFE ARRIVE IN THE MINING DISTRICT HALF STARVED.
The letter insert can be employed with equal effectiveness. The characters once in- troduced effectively, their future actions are easily understood — providing they are logical 81
THE PHOTODRAMA
and natural. The relationships, as they are established by the first appearances of the characters, form the premise of the plot and the argument of the story that are readily fol- lowed, if the scenes are well-knit and the story interesting.
In conjunction with the caption or letter, then, something occurs immediately to grasp the attention and offer insight into characters, their relationships and motives. Furthermore, both vocation and character may be indicated by environment, make-up, costume, tools, man- ner and culture. Contrasts in action, appear- ance and conduct between characters is always effective in clarifying characterization. Where there are no voices and many characters, great care must be exercised to differentiate. The sooner the writer realizes the difficulties that beset actor and director in differentiating character, the quicker he will begin to econo- mize on the number he employs and to strengthen personalities. It is an axiom of photodrama that the bigger the idea, the fewer the characters! Thus it is seen that too many important characters make too great a demand on the audience. 82
CHARACTERIZATION
In order that the character may exhibit the motive underlying the action, the writer must visualize it, and the actor must realize it. There must be mimetic harmony, sympathy and naturalness.
We are cautioned by some savants never to tell the actor how to act a line, but tell them only what to do. We disagree. Providing the writer has become an expert in the writing of business and dramatic expression, he can scarcely infringe on the director's right, the actor's profession, or injure the prospects of his play by offering an analysis of the con- struction of the characters he himself has created. Co-operation is too often lacking from the fact that the actor seldom knows exactly what he is trying to do. The director extricates a jumbled part from the inseparable whole of the play, recites it extempore for the actor and drills the requisite action into him. How, then, can the actor be expected to in- terpret things and put them in that were in the mind of the writer ? He must guess at the harmony of the composition, surmise the re- lationships, and consequently lose all the nice touches that the true artist would incorporate
83
THE PHOTODRAMA
in the well-made play. It is the actor's sole business and art to interpret ideas. He is the living motive of the play and the most im- portant symbol in the expression of its inner truth. When will actors learn their lines in order to catch the very soul of your play, in- stead of yah-yahing at each other when a visualized exchange of words is necessary? But the writer will have to write the essential words — perhaps that's the rub?
Violent action will always excite and thrill the mind; but it takes passive repression to move the soul. The body that suffers, writhes and flings itself about; the hurt soul shrinks back and lies stunned. The prick of a pin will make a strong man jump spasmodically a foot in the air ; a sharp word will make the noblest soul sink deep into gloom. We actors, direc- tors and playwrights are seeking the artistic expression of the life of the soul ; the existence and agency of the body are merely means to that end. We should be striving to capture the soft lights and shadows of mental impres- sionism; and not be struggling to imprison the bold sunlight and harsh lines of physical photography. Deep emotion and its character-
84
CHARACTERIZATION
ization lies not in the bold step forward, but in the shrinking half-step backward; not in the brazen eye, but in the shy, drooping eye-lid; not in the defiant word, but in the silent, quiv- ering lip; not in the blow of the fist, but in the gentle, stroking hand; not in the violent embrace, but in the tender caress; not in the sudden turn on the heel, but in the shrug of the shoulders — one is a matter of physical mechanics, the other emotional art. If emo- tional art is put first in our endeavors, all the range of physical mechanics will follow logically, but secondarily.
Our writers have been frightened away from suggestive artistic detail, and have fallen upon the evil way of bald physical mechanics that leave nothing to the imagination. The gentle gesture, the poise of the head, the trembling lip, the downcast eye, of the story vision are usurped by the over-emphasized action. Decisive action is essential in the photoplay, but the producer's version is too often another story.
Characters should tend to personify and visualize the tender twilights of pathos; the soft shadows of pain and sorrow; the gentle
85
THE PHOTODRAMA
glow of goodness and nobility ; the serene sur- face of happiness. They should build the lives of the audience anew; inspire them to noble deeds ; let them touch the hem of the garment of sublimity and teach them life's lessons of humility, forbearance and faith.
86
The playwright should never take advantage of his audience's moral weakness to display "strong" scenes of character depravity; but rather he should employ a character's weakness to strengthen his audience's morality.
CHAPTER VII
Theme, Treatment and the Censor
morals and ethics ; crime j national board of censorship; taste; inspiration and influence.
WHAT shall we write about, and how shall we write it?
Here the playwright must pause and look his fellow men, his friends, his parents, his children, his wife, and his conscience square in the eye. They are one and all his intimate audience. They will be influenced by his product, be pleased or offended in its produc- tion, and thru it see his heart with all its strength and weakness laid bare.
Broadly, our theme shall be Life — Life in
87
THE PHOTODRAMA
all its aspects : the gorgeous and the thread- bare ; the noble and the sordid ; the happy and the sorrowful; the righteous and the sinful; the healthy and the ailing; the youthful and the aged; the strong and the weak. But it must be the life that we know — not necessarily thru experience, but possibly thru study, ob- servation or intuition.
Choice of theme is a matter requiring, chiefly, a respectful observance of the general popular demand and the particular needs of the studios, unless you are genius enough^ to initiate and lead the popular tastes. But the subject of treatment is one requiring a far more delicate exercise of judgment. Any con- ceivable theme may be spoiled by an indiscreet or injudicious viewpoint
The playwright conveys powerful person- alities to his characters, but remains passively impersonal himself. He immovably records truth, never interposing himself, his opinions or his bias. His characters pursue their own lives; they are neither automatons nor mario- nettes ; they live according to their individual natures and have provokingly free wills.
The photoplaywright has but to remain on 88
THEME, TREATMENT AND THE CENSOR
the side of right and justice, good citizenship and decency. He communicates nothing thru the symbols of his play that he would hesitate, refrain or be ashamed of telling those nearest, dearest and most sacred to him. Public audi- ences are daily made up of millions of people, who are highly impressionable, of tender age and of simple susceptibilities. Providing our play is effective, it contains a very positive influence, that means either a rise or a fall in moral values in every community wherein it is exhibited. The playwright must be the fig- ure of justice that shows no mercy to the wrongdoer; the sword of retribution he carries in one hand, in the other he holds the scales of just rewards. There simply must be a moral ending.
It is more essential that the villain be van- quished, than punished. Our story is not vengeance, but is usually concerned with the victory of the good element — or hero — and the incidental adventures of circumventing the villain and misfortune. Stories in which the good element is overcome by the bad, thus placing a premium on the bad, are unmoral. Stories or plays showing the delights to be
89
THE PHOTODRAMA
gained from illicit pleasures or pursuits, fol- lowed or not by adequate punishment or re- tribution, are immoral.
(EXAMPLE 37 J Thus the so-called "white slave," "drug terror" and underworld plays, reeking with de- pravity, leering with lasciviousness and groveling in intemperance, are actually immoral. Their symbols of vice are all-powerful, and any symbols of virtue introduced are usually wishy-washy in comparison. The hero or heroine is usually a weak character, in- stead of a strong one. We see vice exercising a bane- ful influence, robbing its victim of will, health and life. Vice conquers. We do not need "examples" of what not to do. We should be inspired by the no- bility of good, and not cowed by the fear of evil. The countless throngs that crowd the exhibition of these so-called plays for the most part are craning to get a view of gleaming Hesh quivering in pools of forbidden passion, rather than seeking a glimpse of a tortured soul — neither one being an edifying enter- tainment.
At first thought, it would seem as tho crime were the most frequent factor among the sources of dramatic construction. As a matter of fact, accomplished crime does figure power- fully in more than two-thirds of all dramatic productions, including the highest class. Ac- tive vice, the venial and deadly sins and poten- cy
THEME, TREATMENT AND THE CENSOR
tial crime occur even more frequently thruout the course of our dramatic development. It would seem as tho we should have no little difficulty in making our good characters walk the straight and narrow path among such a net work of pitfalls.
But even the writer of the most moral plays should glory in the omnipresence of sin and crime, tho never glorify it. Good would be colorless as dramatic material, were it not for evil. Evil is the foil for goodness; it is the contrast that delivers goodness from monot- ony; evil is the shadow that gives the high- light of goodness its chiaroscuro ; it is the salt that saves it from saccharinity. When evil, misfortune, or bereavement oppose us, they oftentime bring to the surface and develop our otherwise hidden virtues, making them illuminate the lives of others and add a ray of undying nobility to the world's fiction ex- perience.
(EXAMPLE 38.) Five produced plays selected at random reveal the following facts in relation to the employment of crime: (1) THE COMING OF THE REAL PRINCE — An immoral, flashy man of the city attempts to seduce an innocent, visionary country girl. He is thwarted by the rousing of dead mother-
91
THE PHOTODRAMA
love and of a sublime nobility in a country yokel; (2) THE LOST MELODY — The memory of his sweet, innocent dead wife, brought back to him thru hearing a forgotten melody, stays a man's hand from robbing his best friend; (3) UNTO THE CHILDREN— A boy inherits the vice of gambling from his father, but it is burnt forever out of his nature, by the sub- lime heroism and sacrifice of his mother at the critical moment; (4) THE STRUGGLE — The brutal assault of strikers on a strike-breaker, brings the capitalist and laborers face to face on a common plane of pity and nobility; (5) BRANDED FOR LIFE— An ex- convict, striving in vain for reinstatement in the eyes of society, is enabled thru a noble and inspiring sacrifice to win the respect of all men.
A play will exert influence in the same pro- portion as it is artistically effective; which is as much as to say, the greater the artist the greater his power for good or evil. To become over-zealous in presenting morality leads to propaganda; to be too realistic and careless in the portrayal of immorality leads into the mire of obscenity. True art has nothing to do with morality, for or against; it is intrinsically noble, uplifting and inspiring. Whether the life of the artist is exemplary or not is a matter of his own conscience; the life of his character creations must keep with- 92
THEME, TREATMENT AND THE CENSOR
in the bounds of decency, be amenable to the laws of the country and subject to the rewards and punishments gratifying to the best im- pulses of the wholesome minded.
Tragedy is an exception, in that we often see a good character overwhelmed by circum- stances, environment and nature. But tragedy should conform to inspiration, in that we be- hold the doomed character revealing un- guessed sublimity in the unequal struggle.
Together with this question of treatment comes that of, "How real do we want our real- ism ?" It is answered indirectly by saying that just so much of any of life's experiences as we may disclose or relate in promiscuous com- pany, in the presence of innocent — not neces- sarily * puritanic — understandings and quick perceptions, may be delineated on the screen. Each age has its own broadnesses and limita- tions in this respect, of which every refined and intelligent person is cognizant. Drama is not dependent upon frank discussions of re- volting or lascivious subjects; entertainment is its prime function. A searching analysis of either vice or virtue is contrary to the princi- ples of dramatic action. 93
THE PHOTODRAMA
The actual commission of crime is not as important as the cause and effect of it. Morbid curiosity is the only excuse for the sight of a deed of murder, suicide, or other vicious crime. Hozv a crime is committed is an element of criminology, not drama.
We have to thank the National Board of Censorship for the exclusion of actual deeds of crime. This censoring body, unfortunately, has been composed almost wholly of persons who are theoretically the very antipodes of crime and naturally intolerant to its employ- ment at all. Time may bring us a less biased exercise and a broader view of their powers.
(EXAMPLE 39.) Criminal deeds are easily and effectively handled in photoplay. For instance, mur- der— we see the culprit and the victim in separate scenes: a man at his desk in one scene; the murderer breaking into the office, in another. Another scene brings us to the instant BEFORE the deed — the weapon poised, or culprit and victim in mortal com- bat. We may here interpose a scene of someone registering a pistol shot, or hearing the scuffle. In another scene we return to the crime and find it has just been committed. Any crime may be effectively delineated in this manner.
In the matter of casting characters, no 94
THEME, TREATMENT AND THE CENSOR
character can properly be cast a villain unless his actions comprehend a conscious knowledge of guilt. Our hero oftentimes commits a crime or misdemeanor unwittingly, or in that stage of his character development before the ele- ments of the story itself change him from weak to strong. The thoroly bad character must remain bad, just as he would in life ; the good character may be bad temporarily and become bettered, but we must make him suffer from his misdeeds. In other words, our char- acters become living people who are endowed with human traits of which their every action is the natural outcome.
Good taste in the selection and treatment of theme brings us back again to the same ad- monition of exercising the simple quality of being well-bred. Just as we would not think of startling a drawing-room assembly by forc- ing our personal bias upon it, so we must select our dramatic matter in a serious, hu- mane and delicate manner. There are potent commercial reasons, as well as the dogma of good taste, for not caricaturing races, ridicul- ing creeds, satirizing politics and making fun of physical deformities and mental infirmities. 95
THE PHOTODRAMA
Occasion, occupation and environment each has it own propriety and convention that must carefully be observed by the photoplaywright. This is not a matter of delicacy so much as it is one of producing conviction thru naturalness.
(EXAMPLE 40.) The seashore is an occasion for women wearing extremely abbreviated costumes that would be improper in the street; the occupation of the doctor is one that pern. its women to enter his quarters alone with propriety; tlie environment of the Orient makes it a convention for women to smoke and guests to sit on the Ho or.
In summing up this most important phase of the photodrama, we may say briefly : Let your sympathies ever be found with the purest, best and noblest there is in life; make your story show your condemnation of the low and evil. But don't be a prude or a preacher ! Do not permit yourself to be accused of trying to teach better things, but let your work inspire them!
96
Technique is the Training School of all organized knowledge; Art is its Life: Technique is a matter of Rules and a space of study; Art is one of principles and eternity.
CHAPTER VIII
Rules of the Game
duration and number of scenes; per- PETUAL motion; the "now" element;
EFFECTIVE FORM ; NATURAL LAWS \ SCENE PRINCIPLE.
IN no literary effort is technique more im- portant or essential than in the construc- tion of the photoplay. There are arbitrary rules that must be followed and con- ventions that cannot be ignored. We must cater to the manufacturer's possibilities; we must conform to fixed mechanical limita- tions; we interpret our art thru "busi- ness"; we must gather the world-wide vision within the narrow focus of the camera's eye. Our play-form and technique 97
THE PHOTODRAMA
must be sufficiently potent, suggestive and revealing to enable competent co-operators to discern, interpret and manufacture an effec- tive concrete and vividly alive reproduction of our abstract vision, so that it may be readily recognized and emotionally realized by inde- pendent audiences the world over.
The photoplaywright is the only literary craftsman who does not carve, model and per- fect with his own handiwork the actual pre- sentment of his creation offered to the public. And, greatest obstacle of all — our photoplay- wright must accomplish his eloquent task by remaining technically silent ! We come to the inevitable conclusion that construction and technique are equal in importance — if not su- perior— to idea or conception of the writer.
The matter of bare photoplay form is but the slightest move in the direction of perfect effect. It is the subject of effective photoplay form and how to produce the effects that really count.
We may set down as one of the first princi- ples of photodrama, that the playwright must make his rule of construction: People go to the theater to see a deed and not to read or
98
RULES OF THE GAME
hear about it. There are several ways of con- struing a breach of this principle. The first is that of telling the story indirectly by means of captions and inserts, instead of directly thru consecutive action. This is the method of the poor plotter and shallow artificer who sticks in a caption or insert whenever he en- counters an obstacle, oftentimes skipping the climacteric situations and showing the trifling details.
(EXAMPLE 41 J AFTER THE RIOT JOE KEPT IN BED WITH BROKEN ARM . ... Au- diences simply will not accept that broken arm as con* vincing unless their reasons can vouch for the violence that led to it. But riots are more easily skipped than successfully delineated. All climacteric scenes must be shown and not merely referred to. We always take the commonplace for granted; but never the extraordinary.
Next we deal with an offending heritage from short story fiction, the story within a story or, as we shall here call it, a story within a play. It should never be resorted to ; it need never be done. It breaks the thread of one story to insert another that in nearly every case is stronger than the original, forming an anti-climax instead of contributing to one, 99
THE PHOTODRAMA
Its use means that the play has not been care- fully plotted, that it has not been begun early enough, or in the right place, and that it is trying laboriously to explain something that would not stand by itself.
(EXAMPLE 42.) In the Vitagraph's "A Million Bid'/ the quasi-hero is picked up again after having been absent for more than a reel, and sets in to tell what has happened to him while he has been away! Most of it was entirely "another story'' but much of it might have been effectually interwoven with the progressing action of the play. As it was, it was most difficult to grasp the fact that we had been hauled months back in point of time. In the mental melee we lost sight of the main theme altogether, and most of us never quite got back to it. All of us were befuddled to some extent. It was intended, no doubt, that the audience should not know the identity of the narrator until the heroine herself found it out, which would have made it worse in thus having an entire stranger break into our story and consume nearly one-third of the entire play!
The most common form of a story within a play is the one in which the hunter, or the veteran, or the old person blighted in love, or some such character sits down, with a younger person usually, and in the end there is a laborious effort to make the experience of the 100
RULES OF THE GAME
older person play a part in the younger's career. There may be exceptions to a hard- and-fast rule of avoiding these devices, but usually it will be found that there is a remedy in the principles of the photodrama itself that say begin your action back at the very begin- ning and always go forward.
The third pitfall, is that of trying to record speeches — dramatic tho they be — by sup- posedly visualizing what the speaker is re- ferring to; of trying to tell the story of a crime, for instance, thru the trial of the cul- prit, rather than by showing the events pre- ceding and causing the trial in their chrono- logical order. Here, as in the former instance, the vision is resorted to. The vision is apt to be employed in dramatizing the detective story that is primed with a surprise in the climax in which the method of its revealment is dis- closed by going back and showing the steps. Let it be a rare exception that makes you ever turn backward; for neither time nor drama can do it without violating a natural law.
To be explicit, the photoplay is a now play ! The now may be a thousand years ago, but it must be relived again, now. All of which
IOI
THE PHOTODRAMA
should warn us to avoid long lapses of time, occurring especially in the one-part play.
Nothing quite emphasizes the "now" quality of the photodrama as the invariable practice of employing nothing but the present tense in writing the photoplay. Synopsis and scenario are seemingly conscious of the things they are engaged in doing now. Past deeds and future prophecies — employing their respective tenses — frequently occur in captions and inserts, however.
(EXAMPLE 43.) From a letter: "I have never seen you take any interest in anything." Caption: "In fifty minutes your child will be on the scrap heap, tooT
The laws of natural movement and action should never be violated by the characters themselves. Any character who is to appear in the next scene must always be seen to leave the present scene, disappearing from view in that action, and again be seen to come on the scene that follows. It is unnecessary to accompany the character thru the various and uninteresting steps between his leaving one scene and arrival on the next. If something dramatic happens to him en route then we 102
RULES OF THE GAME
should see it. Contrary to fiction construction, scene precedes character in presentation. We are carried to the new scene and meet the character at the door as it were, and the illu- sion is complete. A preliminary fragment of action transpiring in the following scene, be- fore the appearance of the character, will lend a further contribution to naturalness.
(EXAMPLE 44.) In scene 27, of "All Power for a Day," we find Alice hurriedly leaving the crowd when she has seen the face of the man she hates. In scene 28, the room, in her boarding-house is shown, her landlady — her enemy's confederate — snooping for a bit among her things before she enters.
Characters must not be left in one scene and be discovered in the next following. They are not clothing dummies or marionettes, to be picked up bodily and helplessly and placed in set poses for the inspection of the audience. If another scene intervenes in which the same character does not appear, then it is not neces- sary for him to "come and go," since we pre- sume he has had time and freedom for the necessary action while we were engaged with the alternate scene.
The scene principle in the photoplay is one 103
THE PHOTODRAMA
of reflective power. One scene reacts, re- bounds, reflects, reverberates from the scene that precedes it to the scene that follows it; all bear a cumulative relation toward the climax.
(EXAMPLE 45-) In "The Master of the Lost Hills" we have six scenes all different, yet showing the reflective power with tremendous force: (i) Mary aims gun out of window and tells brother to step back or she will shoot; (2) Brother hesitates in his advance; (3) Close-view of Mary taking aim; (4) Just at edge of woods Mary's desperate lover is taking aim at her; (5) Portion of dense forest show- ing sheriff and posse, who have come to rescue Mary, lost; (6) Exterior of shack shows mob drawing closer.
Another scene principle that we have learned is that every time the camera is shifted an iota we have a new scene. Theoretically, the eye of the camera never moves, excepting in the disillusioning practice of some operators to follow the movements of energetic char- acters by "panoram-ing."
Our rule for length, duration and number of scenes is governed by the unalterable unit of the reel, or 1,000 feet of film. A short play — one reel — may consist of from 25 to 50 scenes; according to the directness, tone, 104
RULES OF THE GAME
treatment by the author and the method of the director. The exciting play of comedy, adventure and peril moves along rapidly, with short, quick scenes and many "returns," just as in fiction we use short sentences and employ words and phraseology that remind us of and constantly revert to the hero's imminent peril. The duration of a scene is in direct ratio to the vital relationship of its action to the climax.
(EXAMPLE 46.) In "The Salt of Vengeance" the grief-crazed father of an injured child sets a bomb under the rails that will blow to atoms the child of the man who is responsible for the injury. The lunatic pens up the guilty man, taunts him with the swiftly approaching fate of his precious child. This scene endures for several minutes. The next is a mere "flash" of a speeding railroad train occupying several seconds.
It is a natural law of drama that demands the establishment of identity almost the mo- ment that a character appears. This is espe- cially requisite in photodrama because of the rapid panorama of scenes that hurry on and off, at the rate of 75 to 200 an hour. One moment's doubt on the part of the audience — so incredibly swift and fleeting is the hurry 105
THE PHOTODRAMA
of photoplay events — may mean the misunder- standing or losing of a year of the hero's life.
Learn and follow rules always with a will- ing mind ; but never let them lead you around by the nose. The man who cannot take a single step without consulting his rules will become a wooden worker. "The way to make rules really valuable is to thoroly learn them, then literally forget them by perfectly prac- ticing them." Now and then we see some- thing in a play that is superior to rules and technique; something that would have been cramped and crushed by rules. At present the photodrama has many superficial rules and a technique that is often archaic and lacks the element of futurity.
All said and done, we are not teaching technique, or laying down rules ; rather, we are trying to interpret the laws of human conduct, the science of being natural and the art of entertaining effectively.
106
Real success is not as likely to come to the man who grinds out a play a day, year in and year out, as it is to him who writes "the play of the day" once a year; Aim footage is not the measure of photoplay fame.
CHAPTER IX
Bromides Worth Repeating
the virtue of economy; producing poli- cies; period and costumes; animals; copyright and carbon copies; relation OF author's work to his audience; to the manufacturer; to his manuscript.
SO many volumes have been written merely describing the photoplay, repre- senting it primarily as a manufactured article and larding the treatises with an appalling number of "dont's," that the author of the present work has made an especial effort constructively to analyze photodrama, to embody it as a new and complete form of drama-literary art, and show the student not 107
THE PHOTODRAMA
only what to do but how to do it. Hitherto, photoplay inception and construction have been carried on chiefly with a view to facilitating its manufacture. It is about time that we took the profit-yielding audiences into consideration by supplying the artistic entertainment for which they are crying. The manufacturing end is well able to take care of itself; the actor has demonstrated in a vast number of instances that he is able "to deliver the goods" — if he is supplied with them; a large number of directors have demonstrated remarkable ability in assembling and directing the material elements that per- fectly interpret and visualize the story of the playwright. All that is needed is the trained writer in adequate numbers to supply the in- finite demand. By the trained writer, is meant the man who needs the artistic co-operation of editor, director, actor and manufacturer, and not the mechanical collaboration with them.
It takes, then, a knowledge of the things that enable you to do your good idea effec- tively ; a negligence of the don'ts will not make for the flawless play, yet alone would not succeed in smothering the great idea. 108
BROMIDES WORTH REPEATING
There are three relationships of the writer that will bear repeated cautions and dont's : (i) The Audience; (2) The Manufacturer — (a) editor, (b) studio, (c) photography, (d) manufacture; and (3) The Manuscript — (a) technique, (b) preparation, (c) sale. We shall discuss these considerations in the order named.
1. THE AUDIENCE.— Your audience in general is world-wide. Because of the brevity of the plays, the cheapness of admission to the theaters, and the quick and universal ap- peal to the emotions our first and most numer- ous patrons are the lower classes and espe- cially the children. For these reasons alone, suggestiveness, the portrayal of crime in such a way as to show how it is done, or as to inspire its commission, are not to be exploited. Taking sides with either the masses or the classes; with labor or capital, or with the white race versus races of color, is not only in- artistic but dangerously incendiary. Politics are too local as play material, as we must always bear in mind that our play is to appear in Timbuctoo as well as in Tonopah. Re- ligion is too delicate, too cherished and too 109
THE PHOTODRAMA
sacred a subject for anything but dignified and unprejudiced treatment. Films that in any way reflect upon the Roman Catholic Church will be barred out of many Catholic countries. The European market is a most profitable source of income to many American manufacturers. In this connection we have but to remember that the human heart has the same strength and struggle, the same weak- nesses and tragedies the world over. Differ- ence of language, however, raises a few minor pitfalls. For example, placards of warning, ransom, rewards and other matter which play a part in the story thru the audience's reading it in the picture, should be eliminated. These points are easily circumscribed — and made more effective — by the use of the insert. Just as captions have to be made in the language of each exhibiting country, so do the proper inserts.
2. MANUFACTURER, (a) Editor — Some reader will have to pass on your manu- script, in all likelihood, before the editor sees it. In both cases, the Synopsis becomes the gate of approval. They do not read the Scenario at all unless the Synopsis is no
BROMIDES WORTH REPEATING
eminently promising. An editor wants what he needs, rather than what he personally desires to see presented. Your manuscript might contain the most pleasing and producible play in the world, yet if it did not fit his existing needs it would be poor policy to purchase it. Your manuscript is its own appeal and needs no personal letter ; it is advisable not to write one. Your title is surely going to influence the editor strongly for or against further perusal of the manuscript. The editor will naturally be partial to the short Synopsis, but do not coddle this partiality by making your Synopsis too bald. The editor does not accept a manu- script, as a rule, until he has held a conference over it — possibly with the managing-director of the company adapted to producing the type of story in question. A careful observance of the rule of economy — economy of supers and principals, of interior sets, of props, of diffi- cult scenes, of energy, time and expense — is bound to be appreciated.
(b) Studio — In the term studio, we may
include director, actor, stage carpenter, and
interior lightings and effects. No one is more
pleased with a simple and powerful story than
in
THE PHOTODRAMA
the director, and frequently no one has quite as much to say about the acceptance of the manuscript as this same highest-paid employee. It has often happened that even a bought manu- script of undoubted merit has never seen the light of the screen because there have been several difficult scenes to master, either me- chanically or emotionally. The manuscript must be concise and quick in showing the director how many sets must be constructed or got out, how many actors must be em- ployed, what props and costumes must be bought, rented or ordered. It is in this re- lation, that a scene plot may be used to advantage, for it will enable the director to consider the matter of suitable locations for exteriors. Unless he has child actors available, the matter of juvenile leads may mean the re- jection of an otherwise desirable play. Military, costume or period plays are sure to be frowned down unless it is the producing policy of the manufacturer to put them on. Unless the producer has at his command trained animals, either wild or tame, it will be a waste of postage to send him plays the scenes or situations of which depend upon 112
BROMIDES WORTH REPEATING
animal acting. Several manufacturers main- tain menageries ! Each studio has a star or two of either sex who is best known for cer- tain types of characters and plays. These high salaried artists must be kept busy. Study their needs !
(c) Photography — Such photographic mar- vels have been accomplished in motography, that the playwright is apt to forget that there is any boundary line to possibility in photo- graphic effects. First of all, there is the mat- ter of color; blue, for instance, becomes white on the screen, and red, black. Black and white alone are resultant except in kinemacolor or in tinted negative. When a situation or dra- matic point depends upon color, it will have to be indicated either by caption or by insert. The camera is quicker than the human eye and more unfailing, in that it records everything that passes within its range of focus. Tyros have to be told again and again that exteriors cannot be made at night. The night scene would have to be artificially lighted by a flash, which would result in a daylight effect ! Rain, night, lightning, storm and pictures taken in a darkened or over-lighted atmosphere, are ii3
THE PHOTODRAMA
usually "effects" artificially created. We do not see, for instance, bona fide lightning de- scending from the sky and simultaneously striking a man dead. The technical secret of portraying all difficult effects of this kind is by showing them in two or more scenes — first cause, then effect. First, we see lightning in the sky; then, we see the man the instant after being struck, collapsing. Night exteri- ors may be well simulated by having the action isolated under the rays of a street lamp or other direct rays of light, with darkness surrounding. Light and the want of it are the chief obstacles in the way of photography ; the genius of the directors and their co-opera- tors have made almost any conceivable "effect" possible. Frequently manuscripts call for ex- teriors in foreign countries. Very seldom can backgrounds and sets do anything more than make a cheap, wooden presentment of the Eiffel Tower, or the Pyramids or St. Paul's, London. The playwright may accomplish his aim, by keeping his foreign scenes all interi- ors, with possibly a glimpse of the distant land- mark thru the window.
(d) Manufacturer — Every manufacturing 114
BROMIDES WORTH REPEATING
company has some producing policy or char- acteristic. The Kalem, for instance, is note- worthy for its war dramas, Edison for its leaning toward topical themes — and so on. In this relation, it may be well to remember that each company has a staff of salaried play- wrights who furnish many of their typical fea- tures. The manufacturers both love and hate the spectacular; they feel that it is beloved by the public and the life of competition, yet they abhor the dangers, destructivity and tremendous expense and superhuman effort it entails. Some day they will realize that the public really loves simple drama more than they do sensational spectacle.
3. THE MANUSCRIPT (a) Technique — In fiction the deeds need only be probable; in photodrama they must be actually perform- able, because the audience must see them. For the photoplay must show whatever is vital. Keep your captions down to 15 words at the most, and your inserts to 20, as every word means a foot of film. Tell how your char- acters shall act, leave to the director where and how they enter and exit. Write mainly about characters that arouse the spectators' 115
THE PHOTODRAMA
sympathy. Our photoplay is not told, but acted. Photoplay happenings should tran- spire in the same order as they do in life. There is nothing so unconvincing as a multiplicity of coincidences. First become an expert on words, if you would be a master of thought. Be certain that you state briefly all crises, situations, and the climax in the Synopsis. Be sure that you feel all the emotions you plan to inspire in others and that you have a dra- matic idea before you worry about technique, (b) Preparation — Good English is essential to the photoplaywright, not merely because it is the badge of literacy, but because thru good, clear, forceful English alone can the play- wright hope to give searching expression to an exquisite impression ! Beside being a liter- ary offering, the submission of a manuscript is a purely business venture. We offer our goods for sale; we put them up in an attrac- tively neat parcel ; we label them plainly with our name and address in the left-hand corner of the Cast, Synopsis and Scenario sheets only; we prepay the postage of the manu- script both to and from the prospective buyer, sustaining a good impression by inclosing a 116
BROMIDES WORTH REPEATING
self-addressed envelope. A carbon copy ot a manuscript is the only perfect safeguard in case of loss. The hand-written manuscript is as out-of-date as the hand printing press.
(c) Sale — You can not force a firm to buy what it does not want, and it is unbusinesslike to demand reasons or to censure it for its refusal to do so. You will be paid, naturally, what the manuscript is commercially worth and not what it may be valued at by you. You should always be conceded the privilege of refusing an offer, just as the buyer is given the right to buy. A photoplay cannot be copyrighted, thanks to a ludicrous Department of the United States Government. Happily, published works of Literature can — after a fashion — so that the aspiring playwright will do best to photodramatize only such plays, books, short stories and poems as he himself is author of. If you wish to reserve story or stage rights, make it clear in the receipt you sign. The photoplay market has a unique bit of etiquette — for a business transaction — that demands of you to submit your manuscript to but one manufacturer at a time. Sales are in- fluenced, of course, by the excellence of the 117
THE PHOTODRAMA
playwright's product ; but they are forced alone by the law of supply and demand.
A few important admonitions remain, chief among which is to eschew the sterile pseu- donym of "moving pictures/' when photo- drama is meant. Furthermore, scorn and cry down the derogatory and ignominious term of "movie" that stands between the playwright and his claim to a dignified profession.
Be original — and you can only acquire the virtue thru a constant attendance at the the- aters, seeking what has been worn to triteness and learning what has never been done at all. Observe what "gets the hand," and you will surely find what will get the heart! Be per- sistent— if you have faith in your play; keep revising it ; keep sending it out.
118
PART II THE PLOT OF THE PHOTODRAMA
A photoplay Plot is the unpolished material for a COMPLETE decisive action; it is composed of cumulative and interesting incidents rising to a dramatic climax, and terminating in a manner calculated to gratify and warrant the interest roused in its beginning.
CHAPTER I
What Plot Material Is*
the plot germ; the premise advanced; ancient theme and original treatment.
TO the producer a plot is material cap- able of being dramatized thru visualized action into a life-like story. To the play-
*"The Plot of the Short Story— an Exhaustive Study, Both Synthetical and Analytical, with Copious Examples, Making the Work a Practical Treatise," is recommended to students desiring to study this important subject exhaust- ively.
119
THE PHOTODRAMA
wright a plot is suggestive material capable of being developed into the nucleus of a story.
The average plot builder makes the mis- take of looking upon plot material as ready- made plots. He thus confuses plot germ (or material) with complete plot. Plot germs lie about us by the score ; complete plots are hid- den in the most evasive creases of our imagina- tive genius. The plot germ is merely an item of suggestive plot material, which may be lost sight of entirely in the search for the logical incidents to complete the plot that is eventually led up to. Plot germs, then, are ready-made ; but complete plots are made-to-order.
The source, manifestation and aim of all plots is Man (or humanity), his desires (or passions) and his emotional relationships with his God and his fellow-man. A plot germ is an isolated incident, phase, deed, rela- tionship, fragment, or moment, vitally con- nected with and suggestive of man's emotional life. A plot germ is seldom used exactly in the form in which it originally presents itself. It is valuable principally as suggestive ma- terial. Like other germs, it must be pregnant 1 20
WHAT PLOT MATERIAL IS
with a life of its own that will vitally affect any other mass upon which its energies are concentrated. Carrying the simile further, we find that plot germs, too, often so change the nature of the ideas they fasten upon, that they lose their own identity in the master idea.
(EXAMPLE 47 J Man's relations with the Devil is in itself plot material, but too general. We must become more particular. Crime is one of man's re- lationships with the Devil, but that is not available as definite plot material; at least it is not a plot germ as yet. We further particularize, and select sub-divisions of crime: Bomb, Thief and Finger prints. Here again is elemental plot material, but there are further steps still to be taken before we can class them as legitimate plot material, or plot germs. At last, we arrive upon pregnant material — among the items of the daily newspaper — which we can seize upon as plot germs: "Bomb Throwers Trailed by a Boy;" "Caretaker Locked in Closet by a Thief;" and "Take Finger Prints of Everybody."
The discovery of a plot germ, however, merely marks the beginning of the exercise of one's plotting power. This starts our thoughts in a definite train in search of an idea. The idea proves to be something big that comes to pass; that is our story. Now we will be- gin to build our plot by seeking a cause for 121
THE PHOTODRAMA
the great deed that culminates the story. That cause becomes the beginning of our play. The effect of the causal condition, ambition or deed, results in the events that happen between the beginning and climax of the play, and raises three standard questions that our com- plete plot must answer : ( i ) What is the Cause? (2) What is the Effect of the cause? (3) What Climax does the effect lead to?
A great photoplay plot should concern a ludicrous, a pathetic, an heroic or a tragic episode in the lives of two or more people. A complete plot is, in fact, a perfect syllogism. We advance our first premise for the action to follow in the Cause ; our second premise is the Effect, or action ; there can be but one conclu- sion, which we demonstrate in the Climax.
Original themes are few in number and were all used scores and scores of times be- fore this generation was born; original plots are inexhaustible and admit of as many varia- tions as there are products in literature from different minds based upon the original twen- ty-six letters of the alphabet. Do not be afraid of the ancient theme, because the fact that it still survives shows its popular sway; but 122
WHAT PLOT MATERIAL IS
your survival as a playwright depends on your originality in treatment of plot material in its application to theme.
123
Plot material is the tell-tale dust of Deeds that lies heavy behind the cur- tain of Commonplace Events; in the crevices pried open by Ambition; in the niches worn by Crime; and in the knot-holes gnarled by Nature.
CHAPTER II
Where to Get Plot Germs
observation; reading; employment of facts; the daily newspaper; dangers; propriety; originality; the "true story ;" importance of notes; titles; plot classification.
DAILY life is filled with dull routine and monotonous detail; but drama is con- trary to actual life, in that it picks and chooses the events it requires for its purposes, isolat- ing, magnifying and suppressing them ac- cording to its needs. Drama demands that there be a keynote of human interest, a bond of vital relationship, in the life of man, or the revealment of a soul's supreme moment un- der pressure of struggle. 124
WHERE TO GET PLOT GERMS
To have one's eyes open in his search for plot material is not sufficient ; the plot seeker's imagination must be sensitively alert, and his emotions prepared to throw some feeling into the impression. Thus equipped, he may ac- quire visions thru observation, and not mere mental photographs. Bear in mind that this matter of creating Literature and Drama draws just as heavily on the emotions as it does on brains. The imagination is the frontier post between the two.
(EXAMPLE 48.) A plot germ resulting from ob- servation: A man sits in his office looking out of the window when a blinding Hash assails his eyes. It proves to be a boy passing the window opposite with a bright can in his hand which refracted the sun. A plot germ instantly suggests itself: He visions an old house, set back from the road; surrounded by shrubbery; he is the hero who sits in his own home some distance away; the Hash; he gets his glasses and sees a woman in distress — there is productive material for a play. Scarcely a vestige of the original suggestive matter remains.
It is more beneficial for a student of litera- ture or drama to associate with the works of a master than with the master himself. Few successful artists are successful teachers ; their 125
THE PHOTODRAMA
success lies in their having absorbed and for- gotten technique. Thus in hearing and see- ing drama and reading literature, the promis- ing student should normally feel all that is noble and great within him rise — like a host on the wings of inspiration — to meet and do honor to the master creatures of thought and feeling created by the playwright and author. Exaltation is the coveted gateway to inspira- tion, thru which every artist-creator must pass.
(EXAMPLE 49.) A visit to the drama might yield a plot germ in the following manner: Let us say we saw Douglas Fairbank's noteworthy impersonation of Bertie in "The New Henrietta." We were inspired at once with a story surrounding "The Boy Who Couldn't Be Bad" — which is the title and theme of our incipient play.
In employing facts to any large degree, the photoplaywright will encounter danger in two particulars : ( 1 ) The more commonplace the plot material, the more subtile the dramatic art necessary to make it attractive as a play; (2) The more extraordinary the fact material, the greater the tact requisite to make it seem plausibly real. The simple rule is, Dramatize 126
WHERE TO GET PLOT GERMS
your facts before you employ them ! Develop the dramatic habit in all your five senses ; bet- ter still, create a sixth and call it the Sense of Drama.
Little tragedies, romances and dramas are constantly happening in the circles of people with whom we come in daily contact — therein lies danger, however. More than a mere change of scene or character is necessary. The actual, intimate happening must form, if employed in any degree, but a suggestive plot germ, or only an episode in an entirely new story. The best way to avoid disaster in this relation is to see to it that the development and elaboration of your resultant plot is not the same as that of the incident upon which it was based.
(EXAMPLE 50.) The almost daily sight of an old character who is brow-beaten by his entire family, inspires speculation as to how he lost his nerve and prestige, possibly a fortune too? For the purpose of our plot, we say that he gambled away his for- tune. He had a theory of beating the market. He and his wealthy son-in-law become friends, and be- fore anyone realizes it he has induced his son-in-law to put his whole fortune back of the old theory!
The daily newspaper is perhaps the most 127
THE PHOTODRAMA
prolific source of plot germs. Take special note that this does not mean complete plots. The question of originality arises — for suppose other seekers choose the same news clipping for development? In answer to this, it may be said that not two persons in a thousand — providing they employ only the suggestive germ and do not try to follow verbatim the news story — will take the same point of view, will assume the same mood, will employ the same plot development, or will choose the same plot manifestation. True originality consists in doing the much-done thing in a new way. Be sure that you are not trite, then go ahead.
The newspaper is most useful, perhaps, as a source of novel situations, which are in con- stant demand in the development of the photo- play. We arrive at a pass in the progressive building of our plot and find that we are about to use an incident that has been worn threadbare. If our press clippings are classi- fied, all we have to do is to turn to the proper classification, and in all probability we will make a discovery worth while.
(EXAMPLE 51.) Suppose we are seeking some 128
WHERE TO GET PLOT GERMS
new way of catching a thief, some of the following ought to be illuminating: (i) Clue to Leegson Mur- der; (2) Join Dictograph to Telephone; (3) Police Hoax Brings Gunmen's Capture; (4) Women Sleuths Catch a Fugitive; (5) Bomb Throwers Trailed by a Boy. Here are five items of plot material, plot germs and dramatic situations.
Beware of "true stories" as plots. They lack the essential ingredients of the fiction story, or dramatized play. They are loaded with deadly personal detail that is usually too localized for the world-sweep of the photo- drama. They need most of their prime facts ripped out and to be larded with choice bits of invented detail. True stories make excel- lent anecdotes; but not one in a thousand bears any resemblance to a complete photo- play plot.
Plot material is useless unless it is stored in sufficient quantities to enable the consulting plot seeker to make use of it without being cramped in his selection. Photoplaywriting is too arduous labor to resort to slip-shod methods such as trying to remember items of plot material. It is part of the author's busi- ness to store up energy and ideas. The appli- cation of a simple system, along the line of 129
THE PHOTODRAMA
that which follows, will permit the playwright to catalog, classify and file all of his plot ma- terial (notes, clippings, pictures, etc.) in a manner that will enable him to file or find any conceivable item instantaneously.
(EXAMPLE 52.) This classified plot directory and catalog is elastic and universal. The ambitious stu- dent may readily carry it to completion along the lines indicated. There are easily a thousand sub- divisions possible. There are 7 grand divisions: (I) The Heart of Man; (II) The Ambition of Man; (III) The Flesh of Man; (IV) The Soul of Man; (V) The Mind of Man; (VI)NoUMan; (VII) Humor. We will divide but one of these grand divisions: (I) THE HEART OF MAN—(i) Man; (2) Woman; (3) Love; (4) Marriage; (5) Children; (6) Family; (7) Home; (8) Friendship ; (9) Separation; (10) Re- union. The sub-divisions of (4) Marriage: (a) Name; (b) Money; (c) Bigamy; (d) Deception; (e) Beauty; (f) Blunder; (g) Runazvay; (h) Micegina- tion; (i) Morganatic; (j) Eugenics.
A final suggestion as a source of plot ma- terial (as well as a harvesting of titles for plays and stories) is a persistent search for, and a diligent setting down for future use, of happy phrases, which may be heard, read or conceived by the playwright. He will find that a large percentage of these phrase-titles 130
WHERE TO GET PLOT GERMS
are the nucleus of plots in themselves. In most cases they suggest the coveted big story.
(EXAMPLE 53-) The Tides of Fate; When a Man Cannot Pay; Give Him a Chance; Somebody Had to Do It; To Those That Have; Who Live in the Past; The Quality of Youth; For A' That; For Good and All; One Chance in a Hundred.
Plot material is the stuff that souls are made of; it is the composition from which careers are moulded; it is sparks from the forge of nobility and salt distilled from the tears of humanity. Plot material means a record of man's activities outside of the four dull walls of Convention and beyond the dominion of the Commonplace.
131
The great principle that governs the construction, outcome and solu- tion of all organizations, plans and plots, is the ever-conscious FORE- KNOWLEDGE AND FORE- SHADOWING of the objective mis- sion, the sum of all the parts and the decisive action
CHAPTER III
Beginning With the End
seeking the climax; when to begin the
PHOTOPLAY ; EVER-FORWARD MOVEMENT J THE LIVE BEGINNING.
THE great question in the minds of the audience is, What will be the outsome of it all ? Audiences generally take all beginnings of plays for granted. No ambitious play- wright, however, can afford to take and em- ploy plot beginnings as a mere matter of chance. Every particle employed in the build- ing of a plot is the part of a conscious, pre- arranged design — most especially the begin- ning.
132
BEGINNING WITH THE END
In the first place, we must find something to write about; some condition, experience or deed that is worthy of a plot, a story or a play. As we consider this or that item of plot ma- terial, in our search for a plot germ, we pause and ask of it: To what end? To what good? The moment we discern the culmination of a big moment, or the performance of a decisive action, or the accomplishment of a great deed, we have found our plot germ. This is not the beginning of our play, but its culmination, or climax. We at once set about to clarify, strengthen and heighten this climax. The process should fill us with inspiration, give our thoughts the impetus of flight and point our course clear and straight. Thus inspired, equipped and confident, we set out to begin our play.
(EXAMPLE 54.) We may peruse newspapers, read books, witness plays and give our attention to plot material in vain and then stumble over a pregnant plot germ in an unexpected quarter. For instance, we suddenly discern in our old neighbor whom we have seen around all our life, a picture of tragedy, that echoes Lear. He had slouched around the place, scolded by his wife and brow-beaten by the grown children until he seemed the acme of the common-
133
THE PHOTODRAMA
place. Tears in his eyes one day suggest a story. He was the plot material; his tears the plot germ; how to make the old man happy in the last great mo- ment of his life, is the climax and aim of the pros- pective play.
The climax resolves itself into a definite purpose to guide the playwright ; for he writes every scene with ..a view to its influence on the climax; if it has no influence on the climax, that is sufficient evidence that it is not neces- sary for his play purposes. The writer who sits down to write his play with no definite idea of the outcome is bound to be swayed by every new development that appears on the horizon of his imagination. His characters will lead him around by the ears, tweak his nose and play blind man's blufif with him — as the resultant play will show.
We begin our photoplay with the incident that marks the beginning of the vital rela- tionship between one of the principal charac- ters and the climax. The birth of the plot, however, does not mean the birth of the char- acters. The ever-forward trend necessitates our going back only once — when we begin.
{EXAMPLE 55.) To resume our plot of Example 134
BEGINNING WITH THE END
54: Having resolved on the climax to bring the affairs of our old-man hero to the greatest moment of his life, we must turn now from the facts entirely and weave our fiction tale: The old man in his youth was a gambler; he lost the fortune for which his wife married him; he won his family's everlast- ing disregard; he had always had a "system" which he knew could beat the market; this is what they all say; one of his daughters marries a well-to-do, genial young man; he becomes the old man's friend; the old man confides his "system" to him and man- ages to make him believe in it; these two plan to invest all he has; they do; the family discover it too late; they drive him out; the son-in-law's fortune is apparently lost; the tide turns and he wins a fabulous amount; it is he who brings the old man back — ready to die now that he has proved his precious "system" Since our play concerns the old man's relations with his son-in-law, we may properly begin it just previous to that young man's engage- ment with his daughter. Our first scene could be cap- tioned: "Ill-treated Half His Life for Losing the Money Ma Married Him For" The action would establish the old man's relations with his family. To go back to the old man's losing his fortune would be to run the risk of telling another story and necessitates the "years later" breach in the develop- ment.
By a live beginning we mean one that quickly gets into the heart of the theme with 135
THE PHOTODRAMA
as few scenes as possible. It can be done in the first scene very often, especially if pre- ceded by a meaty caption. The first scene must be suggestive at least of the climax.
(EXAMPLE 56.) In the first scene of "All Power for a Day" we establish the irrascible character of Col. Farrington that led to his attack on Ridgway and his death that brought about the big moment of the play . . . In "The Salt of Vengeance" the first scene depicts Dalton discovering the rotten bridge that later precipitated the train that maimed his child and caused him to seek vengeance. . . . In "The Master of the Lost Hills" the letter is screened that jilts Shelburne and sends him out to the Lost Hills on the great adventure that makes the play.
Our course lies between beginning the play too early and injuring the continuity by "years-later" breaks ; or not beginning it soon enough and having to resort to explanations, thru hitching visions, of many important scenes depending upon something that has gone before. Try to begin at that point where the first scene in the vital action occurs ; make the identities powerful and clear ; establish re- lationships that nothing will efface from the minds of the audience. Then go ahead with 136
BEGINNING WITH THE END
as little loss of time as possible, for the audi- ence is apt to be skeptical at first and sit back demanding, "Well?"
137
Every scene should develop the plot a step in advance and contribute to the climax, or it has no reason for being in the play.
CHAPTER IV
Development and Continuity
each scene contributes to climax; ele- ment of time and chronological se- quence; problems of continuity; the central theme; the return; instan- taneous sequence; time indicatives.
AS we have learned, that which happens in our play happens NOW. All time is present time, therefore all things must happen chronologically correct. Whatever period of time we carry our audience back to in our first scene constitutes the beginning of all things, as far as our present purpose is concerned. Affairs relentlessly and inevitably move for- ward. In this relation, special care must be taken in the screening of simultaneous action in different scenes. Perfect continuity can be
138
DEVELOPMENT AND CONTINUITY
maintained always by having the contributory scenes obviously bear upon the principal theme, or that which is held in suspense.
(EXAMPLE 57-) In "The Master of the Lost Hills" our principal scenes are those picturing the hero himself. The contributing scenes are those showing the peril that threatens him. Scene 95 dis- closes Shelburne dodging missiles as he barricades door; 96 shows angry mob outside; 97 gives a rear view of the house showing his personal enemy build- ing a fire against shack. Subsequent deeds follow this simultaneous action.
In the photoplay we have no wait, as in stage drama, while the scenes are being shifted, therefore we must have perfect con- tinuity of time. We cannot digress with irrelevant matter; we must fill in with con- tributive material always. An episode is an isolated incident that has no place in the photoplay. The plot begins with the cause of it all and can never pause until it has arrived at a satisfactory solution. Lapses of time should never appear to be gaps or voids, but become well rounded periods suggestively filled by artistic construction. We have seen how only forward or simultaneous action can win conviction of actuality. A very fine phase 139
THE PHOTODRAMA
of this principle is essential when a vital causal action demands an immediate view of the ef- fect. In other words, instantaneous sequences must follow instantaneously.
(EXAMPLE 58.) A man is about to commit suicide in one scene; he lifts the revolver — the next scene shows his frivolous wife, the cause of it all; laughing and chatting in the next room; she springs up suddenly in horror — another scene shows the in- stant following the shooting. Or, a man breaking thru a door in one scene, appears instantly in the next scene.
This method of showing immediate conti- nuity is also employed to accelerate action and maintain suspense. It is called the "cut- back," which term has the objectionable qual- ity of suggesting "going back." What we do is to revisit, or return, to a scene previously screened. The strict application of the "cut- back"— or Return, as we shall hereafter desig- nate it — is in the case of a rapid sequence of action wherein the Return reoccurs for an ex- tended period in almost every other scene. We find its abuse in the "chase" picture, which by some directors is still considered drama. Rarely we find that one scene need sustain the action for a longer period than is 140
DEVELOPMENT AND CONTINUITY
apt to be interestingly safe. In that case we must break up the scene with one or more Re- turns of another scene, or action, that has a contributive effect on the thematic scene which we have broken. A long scene may be broken effectively by the insertion of a Close- view. All of these constructive possibilities must be resorted to in building the effective plot. In other words, we must test each scene by visualizing it before we write it out. Our rough draft is our plot, that may be changed to meet, create and strengthen dramatic exi- gencies. Remember that we must suggest even more than fiction, since we must tell the director and actor what must be done, as well as show the audience a moving drama !
Definite actions, or tasks, that take consider- able time in the execution, are readily en- compassed by the Return, or the introduction of new material of a cumulative nature.
(EXAMPLE 59.) A mob's march of a mile or so; the burning of a house containing prisoners; the dig- ging of a tunnel in order to escape; the cutting down of a tree in which the hero is perched — progressive stages in the task are shown, alternating with scenes bearing upon the result that readily present them- selves to the playwright.
141
THE PHOTODRAMA
A play should progress even when it ap- pears to go back. This seeming paradox is concerned especially with the employment of the Vision. It means that every scene should contribute action — and every insert supply data — that advance the play in the mind of the audience, by indirectly clearing away some obstacle that has stood in the way of its further progress, or by supplying material that heightens lingering suspense, or by directly adding new action that impetuously drives the development toward a climax.
(EXAMPLE 60.) In "The Lost Melody" we are shown, thru a vision, the picture that is passing thru Douglas's mind NOW; its presence was necessary to clear away the great obstacle that barred Douglas's reformation (the Climax) ; the play bounded forward in interest as it was visualized.
We do not advance far in the construction of our photoplay plot before we realize that variety is the spice of its life. Simplicity of theme is essential, but simplicity of plot seems out of the question. This, in a large measure, is true. It is the parting of the ways from the short story, for in that the single, simple plot is essential; in the photoplay the complicated 142
DEVELOPMENT AND CONTINUITY
plot is not only best but next to essential in creating cumulative suspense. Our theme should be so simple that we may state it in a few words. It is the subject-matter of the play; the Climax is its direct outcome; our hero is with it thru thick and thin because his body and soul are made of it; it is the play. All else is contributive matter. The theme is comparable to the main line of a railroad that is fed and sustained by way-stations and branch lines; if we expect to reach an im- portant destination we can arrive only by way of the main line.
Continuing this view of the complications as tributary material suggests a method of plot building that has exceptional merits. We shall call it the building by dramatic se- quences.
(EXAMPLE 61.) We shall quote "The Coming of the Real Prince," in this connection again. A se- quence includes a definite section of action marking the dramatic crises in the play. In the instance of this play a caption has designated each sequence. I. Annie's Widowed Mother Left Penniless Opens a Boarding House; 2. Better Times But No Sympathy From a Busy Mother; 3. Annie Finds Solace in "Cinderella" ; etc. We take 1. Annie's Widowed
143
THE PHOTODRAMA
Mother Left Penniless and append all the tributary scenes we can conceive; possibly not in the exact order in which they are finally employed; (a) Arrival home after the funeral; (b) Failure of the boarding house; (c) Servants discharged; (d) Annie becomes the drudge. And so on, in each sequence until the Climax is reached.
The only rule is to keep as close to the central theme as possible, for the completed action must be so perfectly woven that all matter fits as a perfect whole with no sugges- tion of patches, so artistically is the construc- tion hidden.
The element of time is the secret of logical sequence in the photoplay — always make cer- tain that the following scene is without ques- tion the scene that follows. Perfect continuity insures perfect illusion.
One of the big little problems that lies be- fore the playwright is to invent a time indi- cative without the monotonous mention of time at all — at least by means of such trite Captions as "The Next Day," "Two Years Later," "That Night," etc. Lapses of time in the continuity of essential action are inevitable. It is vitally necessary to an appreciation of the dramatic significance of a scene that the 144
DEVELOPMENT AND CONTINUITY
audience know whether a day or a year has elapsed. The Caption alone proves to be the only reliable source of information. The real difficulty lies in eliminating the aforementioned type of time indicative.
(EXAMPLE 62.) The solution seems to rest in incorporating time significance to the entire Caption phrase, or at least in transposing the actual time words from an isolated position to a relative place in the Caption itself. Instead of, "The Next Day. Ridgway Returns Tho Forbidden Ever to Trespass/' why not, "Tho Forbidden Ever to Trespass Ridgway Returns the Next Day"? It is infinitely stronger. "Alice Reconciled to Fate HAS BECOME Gov. Marsten's Secretary." "Mrs. Dalton Learns the Truth AFTER TWO MONTHS' Deception/' "AFTER the Operation." "SUMMER Brings Hope for Dalton." (The capitalization is for the student's benefit only.)
Plot building is simply carrying a dramatic premise to a dramatic conclusion.
145
In the Beginning of the Plot we have seen the Cause; in its Develop- ment we have felt the Effect of that cause; in the Climax we cannot avoid its inevitable Consequence.
CHAPTER V
The Climax and Completed Plot
sequence and consequence; logical cause and complete solution; sustained cli- max ; all expectations fulfilled.
WE have learned that we must create in- terest with the very first scene by sig- nificant action, and that our characters must win admiration or dislike upon their first ap- pearance, but the fond hopes that we create in the beginning and excite thruout the develop- ment of the play must not be gratified till the Climax is reached. Nevertheless, thru pains- taking construction, it is usually the unex- pected that happens in the Climax, tho always that which is logical and has been the secret desire of the audience. A premise once ad- 146
THE CLIMAX AND COMPLETED PLOT
vanced in the beginning of the plot must be conclusively proved, right or wrong, in the issue of the Climax ; that is all there is to the play.
(EXAMPLE 63.) In the plot introduced in Ex- ample 53, we picture the old man in such a way that he wins the audience's immediate sympathy and thus premise and promise to do all in our play-power to win his emancipation from abuse. We make the audience hope that he will win out with his "system" that once lost his fortune. To put every obstacle we can in his path marks the dramatic development of the plot; to remove them is the part of the Climax — providing it is not designed to be a tragedy.
Climax brings the suspense to its summit and determines the outcome of the play in a single scene. What follows should be rapidly disposed of, and constitutes the Conclusion. The most effective drama is that which con- cludes with and is one with the Climax. This leaves an impression with the audience that minor details in a drawn-out Conclusion often efface.
(EXAMPLE 64.) In "The Salt of Vengeance/' the Climax comes in Scene 39; D alt on makes a super- human effort to wave his handkerchief with the speeding train bearing down on him. 40 shows the
H7
THE PHOTODRAMA
cab of the engine, closing the throttle just in time. 41 shows the Climax still sustained but waning; Dalton has collapsed and the little girl whom he had risked his life to save, running toward him. 42 is the real Conclusion taken some time later with inimical factions all united in perfect happiness. In "All Power for a Day," we find the Climax and Conclu- sion synomynous ; Marsten, who has hammered, jailed and almost had our hero executed for a murder he himself had committed. The release of the hero and accusation drives him to suicide. The hero claims the heroine and they are handed a telegram for Marsten which tells them that Marsten has won that for which he had labored all his life — he is dead; it is the hero who holds all things. That is the end of the play.
That our characters are married, have chil- dren and live happily forever after, are sepa- rate outgrowths of our present play and re- quire a new plot to handle any story they may contain. The play deals solely with removing the obstacles that stand in the way of our hero in his accomplishment of a definite ob- ject. The obstacles once removed, his object must be within his grasp, if the play is prop- erly plotted. Preliminary to the Climax, the plot deck must be cleared for a decisive ac- tion; minor characters must be disposed of 148
THE CLIMAX AND COMPLETED PLOT
and nothing permitted to interfere with the titanic struggle for supremacy between the hero and his foes. The instant one or other receives the mortal blow, our plot has achieved its purpose ; our tale is told ; our play is over.
149
PART IIII
DRAMATIC CONSTRUCTION OF THE PHOTOPLAY
Drama is the presentation of man laboring under the stress of an Emo- tion that personifies Pathos; a Pas- sion that flames into Struggle; or a Desire that embodies itself in Deeds — sufficiently entertaining and edify- ing to make mankind pause, feel, think and be benefited.
CHAPER I Drama and Photodrama
definition ; principles j structure is every- thing ; the dramatic idea; emotion is the secret; desire the motive power j drama and melodrama.
PHOTODRAMA is— as we all know— a coherent series of animated photographs projected life-like and life-size on a screen, realistically visualizing a dramatic story. The ISO
DRAMA AND PHOTODRAMA
one word "animated" eliminates forever the authority to employ the word "picture" in this relation. "Moving pictures" or "motion pic- tures" may be pictures that are standing, or moving, or dancing, or jumping — for all the adjective suggests — but it is impossible to make the term synonymous with photodrama. It is, to say the least, a misnomer that misleads — especially the playwright. Photodrama is not pictures, but life!
The man who writes photoplays should study and master the principles of dramatic construction. Before all things he is a play- wright. Later he will learn that photodrama is the older dramatic art and something be- side, requiring a new type and a new school of artists. He will learn that what is in de- mand with fiction and stage drama is in vogue with the photodrama. He should realize by this time that dramatic art is both a faithful reflection of the vital and contemporaneous emotional, mental and spiritual life of the civi- lized world, and an appeal to the elemental passions of humanity. With the perpetuating of existing literature and drama in photoplay form, the independent playwright will have 151
THE PHOTODRAMA
little to do, as this work usually falls to the lot of the staff writer. It is collaborative rather than creative work.
As plot is the science of structure, so dra- matics is the art of treatment. Plot is a matter of selection; drama one of application of the selected material. We take it for granted that all plot material is inherently — tho crudely, perhaps — dramatic. We hint at both plot and treatment when we state that drama is a su- preme human experience interpreted by char- acters in terms of emotion with piercing effect. It is the clash of soul against soul in visualized struggle. It is spiritual conflict. It is not the contention of ideas merely, for that could be expressed only in words ; nor is it the strife of matter, for that could be expressed only in dynamic and spectacular action — it is a clash of interests that involves both.
(EXAMPLE 65.) In the play "The Struggle'* (Kalem) the methods of producers in going out of their way to make spectacle of drama is shown. The plot was built on the idea of the struggle of Labor against Capital, which in itself is essentially dramatic. The dramatic construction developed two characters symbolizing their respective classes. The contrast was essentially dramatic. They were made to see —
152
DRAMA AND PHOTODRAMA
not each other's strength to crush and kill, but each other's power of human kindness under the test of sympathy. That was the idea of the author. The following line on the posters shows that the pro- ducers had ideas of their own which substituted spectacle for drama: "See the great iron mill in operation and the sensational rescue from lire!" Neither of these contingencies had been a part of the original play !
Thus we find our first essential is to make sure that our plot germ is dramatic. Our plot development has conditions and needs of its own that carry us forward logically to the point of successful treatment. Finally, we are prepared to proceed with our dramatic con- struction, which is to convert a mechanical framework into an appealing play. Plot con- struction is a matter of form; dramatic con- struction one of effect. Provided the plot construction is excellent, dramatic construc- tion resolves itself into the task of arrange- ment and re-arrangement of the matter con- tained in the plot.
The secret of all dramatic effects is emo- tional impression on the audience. To endure, such an impression must contain a big drama- tic idea; one that involves an emotional ex- 153
THE PHOTODRAMA
perience that, under the given circumstances, might happen to anybody anywhere. Love, Sacrifice, Honor, Reconciliation, Re-union and Retribution are a few of the great themes that never fail to stir the hearts of audiences the world over. The success of the photoplay- wright lies in his dramatic skill and originality in weaving new situations from old relation- ships.
Addison's statement of the nature and quali- fications of drama still stands : "First, there must be one action; secondly, it must be an entire action; thirdly, it must be a great action."
Melodrama is pure drama exaggerated. The hero and the heroine are very, very good ; the villain and the adventuress are very, very bad ; their manner is extraordinarily vio- lent; their method is to startle both the audi- ence and each other by their actions and deeds; all emotion with them is passion; they accomplish superhuman tasks and are gener- ally untrue to all conception of real life. Daring spectacle is one of their favorite re- sources.
154
Actions are only the Alphabet of Drama, which must be spelt into critical Words of Emotion and co- herent Sentences of Suspense before they express Deeds — the common Language and Bond of all human heart Interest.
CHAPTER II Dramatic Expression
the laws of movement and action j char- acter and motive; relation to audience and character ; dramatic versus dynam- ic ; realism, romanticism and idealism.
IN drama we make no attempt to reproduce facts, but to induce reality. Illusion is all things. The dramatist deliberately sets about to make the hour that an audience gives to seeing his play become one of the greatest events in their emotional history. He does not merely imitate or mimic life, he lives the life, and then, thru his dramatic and technical skill — or Art — translates it into such familiar terms that all who see can understand. 155
THE PHOTODRAMA
Strictly speaking, action is but the external conduct of the characters, or actors. Great danger lies in the playwright's failure to un- derstand and appreciate the marked difference between movement and action. Movement is the internal undercurrent of real dramatic progression. That actors come and go rapidly across the screen, or that their actions shall be violent or punctuated with gestures, is not by any means sufficient. Actions must express and portray an internal struggle with which the audience is in sympathetic understanding. There must be an underlying emotional mean- ing for every prominent action that is dis- played on the screen. Thus the dramatic ele- ment is perceived by the audience thru its effect upon the characters and their conse- quent actions. This is called motive, as well as movement; it begins and continues in the guise of cumulative insinuations from the very first scene, reaching its full stage of develop- ment in the climax. This requires the most skillful and technical execution on the part of the playwright, who must throw his whole soul into it without once showing his hand. In other words, dramatic effects must come
156
DRAMATIC EXPRESSION
about as naturally as the normal actions of the characters. Too often photoplays are nothing more than a series of continued pictures, any- one or more of which might be cut out with- out affecting the final scene. To the contrary, drama is a living thing, and amputation will either maim, or mar, or kill it outright.
(EXAMPLE 66.) A single scene from a play in which a girl who has discovered and developed a talent in a man is thrown off by him in the moment of his triumph, shows the difference between Move- ment and Action: (Action) Forbes is standing in the center of the room, the lion of the hour; ladies crowding around him. in excited contest; one seems to get the major share of attention. (Movement) Alica, the heroine, enters with joy and pride on her face; steps forward to shake his hand; at first he pretends he does not know her; then accompanies his handshake with a curt nod; turning away almost rudely to the other woman. . . . Showing that the chief difference lies in action affecting the character and movement affecting the audience.
Movement, then, is that which is felt more than it is seen. It brings us face to face again with the power of suggestion, which is one of the secret springs of dramatic effects. By means of it everything is made to play a dramatic part in our drama. 157
THE PHOTODRAMA
(EXAMPLE 67.) In a scene picturing the hour a man has selected to declare his love, we find a moonlight effect; they sing a love song; <(the time, the place and the girl" are all harmonious. . . . In another scene we depict this man's poverty by showing his threadbare room; there are many sug- gestions of better days; his manner shows refine- ments that suggest his former affluence and make his surroundings pathetically dramatic.
The finer points in dramatic construction are equivalent — and just as necessary — as those of fiction narration. Dramatic construc- tion and expression are modulated according to the nature of the theme. Realism, Roman- ticism and Idealism each has its methods of producing effects. We must guard against the vulgarity of ultra-realism and bear in mind that all idealism must be edifying and roman- ticism refined. Realism is materialistic and calls for gross details and convincing spec- tacle; Romanticism is luxuriant and revels in the vagaries of youth, the desire for love and the intoxication of adventure ; Idealism is deli- cate and speculates in beauty, dreams and per- fection. The three are like solids, oil and water that can never mix. If our play be a romance, its contributive elements must be
158
DRAMATIC EXPRESSION
romantic to produce the desired romantic effect.
(EXAMPLE 68.) The three plays following are examples of Realism, Romanticism and Idealism, as their titles appropriately suggest: "The Salt of Vengeance," "The Coming of the Real Prince" and "The Lost Melody." The first is a play of revenge and does not mince matters in delineating it; there is a wreck, a thrilling hold-up scene and a sacrifice involving bloodshed. The second shows the blow- ing and bursting of the romantic bubble of a visionary country girl. The third depicts the effect of a youth- ful ideal upon a man later in life.
There are grave dangers, as we have hinted, in substituting dynamic or spectacular action for dramatic movement, as illustrated in the foregoing chapter by Example 65. Even mel- odrama can be ruined by it. The toppling over of a house, the realistic battle between two armies, or the smashing of two locomotives, obliterates the fine mechanism of the drama with a realism that satiates and makes every- thing that follows insipid. The play, the characters and the audience are lost in the debris both literally and artistically. Our ob- ject in dramatic expression is to enthrall, not to paralyze. Every distraction of attention 159
THE PHOTODRAMA
from the elemental mediums of pure art is an obstacle thrown into the clear channel of re- ceptivity. Spectacles are for the most part acts that concern themselves and not deeds that are an intrinsic part of the drama. The characters and the action step back as it were, while the precipitated spectacle usurps the stage and the attention. Unlike the circus, drama has no legitimate side-shows. We are not interested in anything that happens or that a character may do, but only in what his ac- tion indicates and reveals of the story. Spec- tacles are real "moving pictures"; what we want is moving drama. True drama appeals to the heart; spectacular theatrics assault the nerves.
We should employ the spectacle then, not as an adjunct to drama, but as a vital neces- sity— which will be rarely. When you can honestly say that what you have written is good drama, and that you cannot do without one or more spectacular scenes, then make use of them by all means.
160
Suspense marks each dramatic Situch Hon, and consists in retarding its Crisis and withholding its solution as long as it is feasible.
CHAPTER III
Sequence and Suspense
cause and effect ; effects due to arrange- ment; the raw coincidence; suspense motors ; battle of opposing motives ; mo- tive as well as idea.
SEQUENCE in photodrama may almost without exception be called consequence, so continuous and binding are the presence and relationship of cause and effect thruout the photoplay. The very first scene must contain a definite cause, followed by more or less sus- pense until the effect is revealed. Each effect develops a new cause for suspense which ac- cumulates in volume — if skillfully constructed — until it becomes an almost unendurable bur- den of expectation, speculation and anxiety in the Climax, or biggest Situation, wherein it is effectively solved.
161
THE PHOTOBRAMA
(EXAMPLE 69.) In the first scene of "The Master of the Lost Hills/' the hero's fiancee writes him that she is jilting him. This is really the cause of the entire play that does not find complete solution un- til the last scene. The second scene of the play shows us the effect of the first upon the hero. Hard hit, he turns from his irresponsible life. Seeing his valet sending annual gifts to the poor whites on his Southern estate becomes the cause of which his sudden departure to the estate of Lost Hills in person is the effect. The startling adventures that follow are the logical consequences,
Unless scenes are fragmentary, that is mere supplementary "flashes," an analysis will dis- close a uniformity of development, that has a counterpart in the structure of the play itself, namely : Introduction, Situation, Crisis and Solution.
(EXAMPLE 70. ) We take a scene from "All Power for a Day/7 wherein Ridgway is discovered by his sweetheart with a gun in his hand and sus- pected of killing her father who lies dying on the floor: (Introduction) Servants rushing in; Ridgway discovered ivith smoking revolver in his hand gazing dully at Colonel who lies writhing on floor. . . . (Situation) Alice enters, rushes to father's side. He points accusingly at Ridgway. . . . (Suspense) Ridg- way comes forward pleadingly; Alice hesitates and starts at what her father is saying; at length nods 162
SEQUENCE AND SUSPENSE
yes. . . . (Crisis) Alice repulses Ridgway with a gesture; father falls back dead. . . . (Solution — at least of the scene in hand) The sheriff enters and arrests Ridgway.
The progressive effects of scene or play are due to arrangement, as may readily be seen. Each minor effect, tho begun in the first scene, must heighten and tighten the Climax. It ac- complishes this by bearing constantly and cumulatively upon the main theme of the play. No matter how many contributive scenes may be necessary, the main theme, or medium, must again predominate. We should engender sus- pense by so arranging incidents that a vital desire is manifested in the character first; many things may happen before the next unit of sustaining suspense rises — Opportunity to gratify the Desire; the third unit of prolong- ing suspense is the Frustration of the Oppor- tunity to gratify the Desire. On the other hand, suspense is terminated immediately by the advent of Change, Decision or Fulfillment. The instant that the playwright feels that sus- pense is being overstrained, he should bring it to a close. The minor incidents of suspense are not closed, however, until they have dis- 163
THE PHOTODRAMA
posed of themselves by contributing an ele- ment of suspense to the main theme that will be felt in the climax itself. For, after all, sus- pense is merely a suspension of the Climax; each suspension is marked by a crisis, or minor climax. We sustain interest by sus- pending the Climax.
In drama nothing should be left to motive- less chance, or raw coincidence. Suspense is a promissory note to the audience that the culmination they have been waiting for is worth while, and not a hoax by the author or a termination by an "act of God."
(EXAMPLE 71.) Writers often get their char- acters in a dilemma that defies solution on their part, upon which an unsuspected treasure is made to appear; or an unhinted-at rescuing party helps the author and hero out; or someone "marries the girl" rather than leave her unprovided for at the con- clusion of the play; or it becomes necessary to kill off the unpunished villain or hero-who-has-gone-to- the-bad.
Suspense is much stronger than mere ex- pectation. We may say that expectation is the hope that something will happen; sus- pense is the fear that something may happen. Suspense is not always occasioned by the 164
SEQUENCE AND SUSPENSE
emotional strain of the character ; that is only tension of action. If there is an emotional strain on the audience, then there is sheer sus- pense. The most dramatic suspense is possible thru the suggestion of impending catastrophe of which the character is blithely and emo- tionally ignorant, but of which the audience has seen ominous portents in alternating scenes. Thus, in photoplay, we are permitted the excitement of seeing the progress of both sides in the battle of opposing motives. For in drama we must have the swiftly-moving mo- tive as well as the big idea. The course of dramatic sequence follows the line of this motive, the only deviations being those made for the purpose of creating suspense.
165
Contrast is the essence of all striking Situations — meaning a contrast be- tween characters or their conditions or environments, resulting from or leading to relations between them.
CHAPTER IV
The Potential Situation
contrast; situation's relation to audi- ence; HARVESTING SITUATIONS; PERIL AND DEATH ; CLIMAX AND PUNCH.
THE most poignant dramatic effect is that obtained by contrasting a character with his most coveted — tho ungratified — condition. The most powerful situations are those in which a character is confronted with that which should have been, that which might might have been, or that which can never be. Therein we plunge into the deepest wells of pathos.
(EXAMPLE 72.) As a case of that which should have been, we find the man who failed suddenly coming into the presence of the man who is prosper- 166
THE POTENTIAL SITUATION
ous because of his failures. That which might have been, we see illustrated in the man and woman meet- ing years later — the husband and wife of others — when a silly misunderstanding is all that separated them. That which can never be is pathetically shown by an old man making the acquaintance of a youth, who alone can accomplish what he himself wishes to do. These are all dramatic situations of the highest order.
Since drama is an artistic process of ob- taining striking and gratifying effects upon the emotions of an audience, the situation is the most frequent and positive means to that end. The situation is what lends novelty, fire and brilliancy to the progressive units of the play. It places the characters in a galvanic relationship with each other or with their con- dition or environment. It means the intro- duction of the unexpected — either from the point of view of the character or of the audi- ence. Its introduction marks the beginning of Suspense, and raises the question, What will he do about it? For it means a relationship about which something must be done imme- diately, and that something is a Crisis. The Situation itself is of short duration but of tremendous power and effect. It succeeds the 167
THE PHOTODRAMA
introductory action, or a sudden revealment to the audience, of which the character may re- main in ignorance, or an unlooked-for entry, or an undreamed-of relationship disclosed — that suddenly change the whole aspect of development.
(EXAMPLE 73.) A woman's old father has sent for the police to arrest the young criminal whom he has raised from a foundling — when the daughter discloses that the boy is her illegitimate son, and his grandson! A girl betrays a man to the mob for mur- dering her wealthy benefactor whom she has never seen — when it is seemingly too late the man proves to her that he is the benefactor, and that her brother murdered his valet! In both cases the audience was aware of the relationship and reveled in the chat" acters' embarrassment.
The foregoing Example has touched a point that should be driven home. It concerns the extent to which the author shall take the audi- ence into his confidence. In this relation, writers will have to discard in photoplay writ- ing what in story writing is undoubtedly one of their greatest assets ; namely, the withhold- ing of some of the important details in order to build the delightful surprise at the end. In the photoplay we must take the audience into 168
THE POTENTIAL SITUATION
our confidence, for the simple reason that everything is screened in the order of its oc- currence. That is the first principle of perfect illusion — perfect continuity. The second prin- ciple is, that all that is essential must occur on the screen, which is the principle of perfect progression. Both the spoken drama and the fiction story permit a development that is con- trary to these principles of photodrama. The writer of those forms builds up a fabric of de- ception, as it were, around the real events that hides the truth and makes it seem as tho it were just the opposite — until the grand sur- prise at the end. He does this by means of cleverly framed innuendoes, artificial explana- tions offered by various persons in the play or story and the delay of misleading evidence that is cleared up in speeches and dialog, that in turn explains why they made the mistakes. The photoplay gains power by being more direct.
We do not try to outwit our audiences ; we take them into our confidence. If we can do this cleverly and suggestively, we can equal, if not surpass, any of the effects to be obtained by other forms of dramatic expression. 169
THE PHOTODRAMA
(EXAMPLE 74.) We see a crime about to be committed, but all of the criminal that appears is a hand — possibly scarred — slipping thru the parting of the portieres. When the hero who was robbed or assaulted by that hand finds the ring, the audience finds the criminal. Another instance of showing the essential progressive action, but reserving the full disclosure till the climacteric Situation, is found in the finding of a woman's lost boy by the man she loves. Later she is led to believe that the boy has gone the evil way he started for. She comes to the man she had scorned, for help; the man takes her to a boy's school where her boy is the leader. We had only seen the lover find the boy and then we re- turned to the main line of action.
But are not the audiences' hopes and fears heightened by omniscence? Their knowledge does not mean foreknowledge, by any means. The hero must work out his own salvation and overcome the villain just the same. The fact that they know that the hero is sitting on the box that contains the treasure for which he is looking is a hundred times more dramatic than if they are not told till the end, when the circumstance may be forgotten. The finest Situations are those wherein he does not realize the true state of affairs that the fore- going scene has fully disclosed to the audience. 170
THE POTENTIAL SITUATION
(EXAMPLE 75.) In "Madame X" we find the young barrister defending his own mother who has committed murder. At first neither mother nor son is aware of it. The audience knows, and this knowl- edge makes of this scene one of the most powerful Situations in all Drama.
The Close- View — in the capacity of show- ing only a small portion of the physical action magnified — is most effective in producing Sit- uations. Again, it brings that to the knowledge of the spectator of which the recipient is blithely ignorant.
(EXAMPLE 76.) A Close-View shows us the hand of the villain stealing the priceless scarf-pin; or the herd's wallet that means his all.
Or again, the Close- View can bring close what the audience witnesses almost unemo- tionally from a distance, possibly showing the burglar's ugly face where they saw but a head in the foliage. The Close-View is, in fact, one of the most effective devices at the command of the playwright.
The Caption, too, is capable of doing service
as a Situation, by rousing a thrill in drama
just as they rouse a laugh in comedy. Our
difficulty in this relation is to prevent it from
171
THE PHOTODRAMA
robbing the scene, or scenes, to follow of surprise or suspense.
(EXAMPLE 77.) The following strengthens a fact that has half-dawned in the mind of the audi- ence. Without the Caption the fact would have passed without particular notice: "Mrs. Donnelly Handles Dalton's Deadly Messenger, Neither Dream- ing That She Is the Intended Victim." Again we impress a Situation that must not be lost sight of: "Marsten Thinks the Mortgage Lost That Has Slipped Into the Lining of the Coat."
Thus we have seen that even infinitesimal, tho important, points may be made potential Situations by bringing them "down front" in the spot-light, or giving them the advantages obtained thru introspection in fiction.
Death in itself is neither dramatic nor a Situation. Drama is dependent on life, strug- gle and complication; and a Situation may be evolved out of a perilous circumstance in which the character is threatened with death. A Situation always germinates further life- action ; death terminates a line of action and eliminates forever an active participant. Death is never the Climax, but the end.
Since Situations are a matter of such conse- quence to the playwright, it behooves him to 172
THE POTENTIAL SITUATION
harvest them with the same diligence that he garners plot material. He may readily file and classify them under the same captions and sub-divisions as he does his plot material. Again, the same sources of material are available, especially the daily press, which graciously condenses Situations and Climaxes in the large type of its head-lines.
(EXAMPLE 78.) Ten are chosen at random from current newspapers: (1) Bee Upsets Big Auto; (2) Deceived by His Valet; (3) Two Women Claim Boy; (4) Finds Woman Stowaway; (5) Claims Wife — She Laughs; (6) Woman Gives Away Coins (7) Prince Weds a Commoner; (8) President Is Cap- tured; (9) Blind Man Made to See; (10) Identified by X-Ray.
Among the great number of technical terms that photoplaydom has acquired is one identified with literary work-shop slang as well — the "Punch." It is more expressive than elegant, however. The Punch is the Climax and something more. It must first be an effective Climax; secondly, it is the ef- fect of that Climax. The Punch is the mo- mentous event that is the excuse for the play. It is the tremendous moment of revealment, when the dramatic struggle that has waged 173
THE PHOTODRAMA
uncertainly from side to side suddenly pitches forward with the victor for good and all — just as the audience had been schooled either to hope or be afraid that it would. The issue of the Climax-Punch must be sufficient to make the audience literally hold its breath, or emotionally rise to the occasion. It is the thing that hits you square between the eyes with an effect that stuns and lasts. If a play has no Punch, it is not a perfect play.
(EXAMPLE 79.) In "The Coming of the Real Prince," the Climax of the first part was the coming of the bogus prince; the Punch came at the end of play when the real prince came. The first was a city "tin horn Sport"; the second was the plain grocer's boy, who had been Annie's neighbor all her life, and a real prince too — that was the Punch!
The Punch, then, is the motive-idea of the play summed up in a cumulative stroke. It bears the same relation to the story that the climax does to the plot. It is not the big culminating action so much as it is the effect that dawns on the audience. It is the emo- tional truth of the author's vision come home to dwell in the heart of each one who sees the vision. The Punch is the recognition by the au- dience of a visible symbol of spiritual struggle. 174
A successful play must be able to claim an honorable place among the most important emotional experi- ences of the spectators — Unity and Harmony must have induced ex- quisite Reality.
CHAPTER V
Unity Plus Harmony Equals Effect
questions in the mind of the audience; reason ; truth j struggle j solution ; the title; harmony values.
UNITY resolves itself into a rule of reasonable cause; Harmony becomes solely a matter of consistent effect. Unity has to do with selection, and is a part of the plot ; Harmony with arrangement, and is essential to dramatic expression. One is the perfect re- lation of the parts; the other the perfect ex- pression of the whole.
First of all, there are unities of language that must be observed to insure perspicuity, precision and perfect presentation of the idea. 175
THE PHOTODRAMA
This demands a command of words, a knowl- edge of grammar and an exercise of rhetoric. The illiterate writer is beyond imagining and might be compared with a blind painter or a mute singer. The next step toward eventual harmony is the choice of an appropriate idea and a subsequent coherent development. The units of development should not merely stick together ; they must cling to each other. Thus we fulfill the unities of impression, which is the simpler part of our task.
Perfect unity in expression is harmony. There is a measure, a key, a pitch, a tone — or a color scheme, if you will — that cannot be violated. The main theme is the refrain, or motif, to which we continually hark back, until we build up a volume of melody that re- leases itself in a grand finale of harmony. We describe a crescendo — tho it is not a perfect arc, in that its highest point is near the end instead of the center, when it descends rapidly to the plane of its beginning. That is the mark of the perfect artistic production : Bal- ance, the last bar pitched in the same key- note as the first ! This suggests the entire play in a single effective impression. 176
UNITY PLUS HARMONY EQUALS EFFECT
(EXAMPLE 80.) In the -first scene of "The Master of the Lost Hills," Shelburne receives a let- ter from Petronella Dupuyster saying that she is jilting him for Baron Komisky. The blow shatters his ideas of women, and he cynically thinks none of them is worth while. . . . In the last scene it is the morning of his coming marriage to Mary. He reads an item in the paper saying Petronella is seeking divorce from her bogus "Baron" ; Mary enters and he takes her in his arms, making it clear that he has found THE woman.
Every element must be in unison, then, in the perfect play. The poetic play must be rendered every artificial aid available to de- lineate, identify and appeal to poetic feeling. The same is true of romantic, realistic, ideal- istic, or any other specific type. Each play, for that matter, has its own peculiar exigen- cies that call for unity auxiliaries for the sake of harmony. The character must have his consistent traits, condition must have its ap- propriate environment, situations may be heightened by setting, deeds are strengthened by atmosphere — just as the effect is enhanced by harmony. Thus we disclose one of the most vital reasons why the least element in the play should become a factor in the Climax; 177
THE PHOTODRAMA
why it should contribute to, color, culminate and sustain the desired effect of totality to be left in the mind of the audience.
(EXAMPLE 81.) In "The Lost Melody" we be- gin with the Caption: "Malcolm Decides to Wait and Make His Proposal to Rosalie an Artistic Oc- casion." This typifies Malcolm's character that loves to luxuriate injhis own dreams. We next find him a collector of rare jewels, of which his business-like rival, Douglas, only realizes the monetary value. The night of the proposal, Rosalie mistakes Malcolm's dreaming for lackadaisical disregard. Douglas seizes the opportunity and proposes. The setting is a glorious, lover-like night. They sing the melody that intoxicates Malcolm and sobers Douglas. When Malcolm has detached himself from his ideal state, he -finds Rosalie in Douglas' arms. They part forever. Douglas, true to his type of sordid materialism, rises and falls thru his desire for money. Malcolm becomes the big artist we have felt he might be. And so, till the lost melody is found again, we find a potent strain of harmonizing units building a per- sistent effect that will haunt the audience after see- ing the play.
The literal construction of the photoplay has evolved a method of writing the manu- script that peculiarly lends itself to the com- position of dramatic "business." While ac- tion is the language of emotion, brevity vivifies
i78
UNITY PLUS HARMONY EQUALS EFFECT
action. Terseness is a potential factor, then, in the construction of the manuscript, and there are several ways in which terseness may be suggestively conveyed thru the physical treatment of written action. In this connec- tion, we must bear in mind that verbs are natively action words; adjectives are color or quality words; and adverbs are essentially drama words.
(EXAMPLE 82.) A simple analysis of the fiction value of the nine parts of speech reveals that (1) ARTICLE is insignificant and is to be used as little as possible; (2) ADJECTIVE is a quality word that visualizes the image and description cannot do with- out it; (3) NOUN tells what or who we are talking about; have no more nouns than you want the reader to see objects, and no object unless it is clearly visible; (4) VERB is the action word, the dynamo of emotion, the important word in drama; (5) PRONOUN is he, she or it — nothing more and the noun is always to be used in preference, if its repitition permits; (6) ADVERB is the word of color, manner, time, subtilety, charm and emotion and tells HOW, which is what the reader wants to know; (7) CONJUNCTION joins together qualities, ob- jects, groups and may connect short statements and break long ones; (8) INTERJECTION is the less art- ful way of expressing emotion; (9) PREPOSITION
179
THE PHOTODRAMA
is the word of passing, the bridge, pause at it and you have suspense.
The Synopsis, while it does not permit of unctuous detail, yet there seems no reason why it should not follow the rules of all narration and be written tersely, but in full, rounded sentences, instead of in the abbreviated forms suggested for the Scenario.
(EXAMPLE 83.) Some writers employ the comma thruout the entire scene: "Donnelly reading over letter girl has written, scowls, roars for girl," etc. Others use the dash in the same manner: "Don- nelly reading letter — scowls — " etc. A more effective way is suggested by the use of the semi-colon and the use of sentences. Each sentence is to mark either all the consecutive action of one character, or the short sequences of action in which possibly all the characters are involved: "Donnelly reading over letter girl has just handed him; scowls; roars for girl; reprimands her brutally. Boy enters; says Dalton is outside; Donnelly shakes his head can't see him; boy says it is urgent. Donnelly nods and turns belligerently to receive Dalton." There is vivacity in the short periods and the reader almost instantly falls into the recurring sequences with perfect understanding.
We come to the conclusion at length that 180
UNITY PLUS HARMONY EQUALS EFFECT
idea, technique, situation or dramatic atmos- phere alone is not the thing, but the harmony of all of these. And in attaining this harmony we find that delineation is essential, while de- scription is incidental, for the simple reason that the characters and setting describe them- selves the instant they are seen. The physical picture saves all the space fiction devotes to visualization.
There is nothing more distracting to har- mony than the method of some directors in accelerating action by means of perpetual short scenes, regardless of the nature of the theme. If used to excess, this continued employment of the Return sinks its subject to the low level of the "chase" picture that was the curse of the early attempts at dramatic depiction. The time will come, it is hoped, when the chase, the crude pantomime and the actor who flirts with the audience, will become taboo just as the telephone dialog, the soliloquy and the aside are avoided in the best spoken dramas. Both the Return and the Flash are merely alternatives to be employed as special devices for special occasions and not stable units upon which the entire play may be built. They are 181
THE PHOTODRAMA
merely effective accelerators of contributive action and secondary to the main theme.
Unity is agreeable accord; harmony is ar- tistic concord. Unity is a perfect assemblage of the parts (seen from the constructive view- point) ; harmony is the spontaneous chord shed by the newly created instrument (felt from its perfect operation). In unity we make the parts absolutely consistent with well-known rules ; in harmony we make the whole naturally real according to the principles of life and experience.
Strictly speaking, the photodrama is not governed by the so-called Dramatic Unities, restricting dramatic operation to a single Time, Place and Action. For the photodrama, thru the latitude permitted in its multitudinous scenes, may cover continents and span genera- tions. The old order remains unchanged in the matter of Action — there can be but one Action. There is an axiom in drama, how- ever, that applies equally to spoken drama and to screen drama: The nearer a play approxi- mates the actual time consumed in a definite, continuous and centered story that it repre- sents, the more convincing is its effect likely 182
UNITY PLUS HARMONY EQUALS EFFECT
to be. In other words, if the consumation of a deed required exactly fifty minutes in actual- ity and took fifty minutes to be acted, it would be a perfect unity in point of time. But how rare it is to conceive a deed, every consecutive second of which is dramatically worth while !
Finally we come to the harmonious element that appears first on the manuscript, but is conceived wisely last — the Title. The title must fit the play like a glove, and hide its com- plete nature as tho it were a glove.
Fortunately, photoplays are not chosen — by either public or producers — because of their titles, as books and short stories are often selected. Yet, because of the seeming lack of importance attached to this part of the play, writers, editors and manufacturers do not always accord it the important place it de- serves, and will eventually demand. Good, fitting and perfect titles to plays are a distinct commercial asset, beside being a requisite to artistic and harmonious completeness. The title is the head, the handle, the greeting, the introduction, the pleasing personality, the cue and the bid to favor of the as-yet unread manuscript and the as-yet unseen play. A 183
THE PHOTODRAMA
title should be exquisite — like a finely-carved casket, obviously containing a precious treas- ure— its exterior suggesting mystery, wonder, and delight that must follow its revealment. The title must suggest the individuality of the play without revealing its identity as shown thru development, climax and denouement.
Unity we may find if we look for it; Har- mony cannot be discovered by the keenest critic, for it is not hand-made but born. When the flesh and form of the play is perfectly built, Harmony enters in a breath — it is the soul of the play! Harmony is the last word of drama!
184
PART IV
FORMS AND TYPES OF THE
PHOTOPLAY
Above all things Drama is human — it has its hours for laughing and weep- ing, for strife and death; it is gov- erned by both free will and destiny — it calls its moods Drama and Melo- drama; Comedy and Tragedy.
CHAPTER I
drama and melodrama; tragedy; comedy; other forms; "split reel"; short play; long play ; spectacle ; adaptations ; play divisions.
PHOTOPLAY audiences arrived at a stage of mature understanding and appreciation of the photodrama long before the manufacturers and producers had emerged from the jungle of crudity. The latter are inclined to remain money-makers and not be- come art producers; they are filling their
185
THE PHOTODRAMA
pockets today from the emptied brains of yesterday and forcing tomorrow to go beg- ging. With few exceptions the plain drama is exaggerated into melodrama, startling the audiences thru the violent acts of the char- acters, or dynamic spectacle, or extraordinary setting — rather than thru the simple medium of pure dramatic construction that stirs the imagination and sways the emotions with a semblance of real experience. Drama is one of life's exquisite emotional phenomena brought home to an audience thru the pic- tured experience of others.
Melodrama is easiest to write, since it is all high-lights and black shadows. It demands the concoction of a series of violence and spectacle to happen in a logical and progres- sive order. Melodrama resembles farce, in that the characters are cursed with all the ear- marks of the deepest-dyed type they portray — the beetle-browed villain, or the ludicrous Jew- Irishman-Nigger. In the true drama we meet men and women who live poignantly in our lives — tho we see them for the first time. The melodramatists had things their way be- cause the few artists had no co-operation. 186
FORMS AND TYPES OF THE PHOTOPLAY
Comedy is most difficult to write, and is easiest to sell — meaning, of course, pure comedy. It is more difficult, for instance, to keep an audience laughing for twenty minutes than it is to keep them in suspense over a dramatic story for an hour or more. The photo-counterpart of the Play of Manners, or the Polite Comedy, is bound to become one of the future developments of the Photo- drama. Photoplay Comedy has been in the hands of the Philistines since its inception. Rarely do we see anything but the rollicking farce. Polite Comedy has its exquisite mo- ments that mingle delighted smiles with pa- thetic tears; Rollicking Comedy is all wide- mouthed laughter.
If we are careful in distinguishing from its coarser parasite — "slap-stick" farce — we may say that Rollicking Comedy is an art worthy of one's serious effort. There are certain temperaments, however, incapable of comedy in any form. These playwrights are self-con- scious of their failing! The Polite Comedy is marked by grace, repression and humor. It is a delicate cameo of the serious drama — only it avoids the villainies, perils and horrors
i87
THE PHOTODRAMA
of life, substituting in their place the failings, fantasies and prejudices that are both humor- ously and pathetically human.
In the Rollicking Comedy, then, everything must be comical. The term "everything'' is imperative; it means idea, title, plot, every situation, every scene, every insert, every ref- erence, every character, every setting, every action, every suggestion. "It is to laugh!" Comedy demands exhaustive treatment of detail. It is insufficient to say that a character performs an act in a funny way ; we must tell in detail how the action is done to make it so funny. Comedy must always be delineated good-naturedly, and never with satire or animus. Misfortune is not a comedy subject.
In all good drama— whether it be drama, melodrama, comedy or tragedy — there must be an idea in the material, a motive in the char- acterization, a definite end to be attained; a reasonable cause, a logical effect and a climac- teric deed ; a plot.
In all drama there is struggle with an
obstacle. In pure drama and melodrama we
have the hero struggling against the obstacles
and pitfalls placed in his path by the villain;
1 88
FORMS AND TYPES OF THE PHOTOPLAY
in comedy the character struggles against the ludicrous situations that rise in his course; in tragedy evil circumstances overwhelm the hero no matter how heroic his struggles are against them.
The reel, or unit of photoplay length, has both its advantages and its disadvantages. The "Split reel" play is under a disadvantage. If it be only a plotless farce — which it is most frequently — it makes little difference, since that form is only a fragment, or series of them.
There are many ways in which the Short Play — or one-real — may be compared to the Short Story, and the Long Play