Chapter 5

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

That much action would be written about as follows:

1—Exterior of store.

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

2—Street.

Enter John. Passes down street and out of picture.

3—Exterior of bank on street corner.

John comes down street, approaches bank, and enters.

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

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

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

This point will bear repeating: A scene is so much of the entire action as is taken in one place without stopping the camera; in its photoplay sense,scenenever refers to the action between certain players, nor does a new scene commence when another character enters upon a scene already in course of action.

It is a mistake, in working out the scenario, to keep the action in the same setting too long at a time. Frequent changes of scene are advisable. In his article inThe Photoplay Authorfor March, 1913, Mr. C.B. Hoadley tells of a script written by a well-known actress who is also the author of several successful "legitimate" dramas. Having appeared in a notable picture drama, she determined to take up photoplay writing herself. Her first effort—a comedy drama—was returned. The lady was highly indignant; yet the reason for the rejection of her script becomes apparent when it is known that the entire action of her story occurred in a hotel corridor and in a room in the same hostelry. Only nineteen scenes were used,and of these, eighteen were to be played in the one room without a break in the settings. Imagine the monotony of such a production, even on the regular stage!

But while it is best to have a frequent change of scene, it is also a mistake to risk confusing the spectator by changing often from one scene to another far removed from the first, especially without the use of some explanatory insert.

In connection with the error of some amateur writers referred to onpage 146, of making what is (or would be, if their script was worked out as planned by them) actually one scene when they intend it to be two, it may be said that this is one of the commonest and most amusing errors of beginners. The mistake lies simply in their failure to observe the rule ofalways separating two different scenes in the same set or location by interposing a scene in a different setting, or by introducing a leader. If this rule is not observed, the result—even though it goes no farther than the amateur script—is decidedly funny. To illustrate, take the following example:

23—Bedroom, same as 12—

Thorn, still looking through contents of bureau drawer, stops, listens, indicates that he hears someone coming down hall, and then, closing drawer, crosses to the window again and makes his escape.

24—Bedroom, same as 12—

Tom is sitting at the table opening the letters laid there by the landlady. He opens one, etc., etc.

A glance at the foregoing will show that, if produced as written, the result on the screen would be a continuous scene in the bedroom setting. Thorn would be seen making his exit by way of the window, and theninstantlythere would be Tom sitting at the table, opening his mail! There would be lacking the logical action of his coming into the room, crossing to the table, and sitting down. The whole effect would be much the same as in those "fairy" plays produced several years ago, where "stop camera" work was resorted to to obtain the effect of a supernatural being suddenly appearing on the scene, greatly to the astonishment of the mere mortals present.

Introduce a scene showing Thorn just landing on the ground after sliding down a rain-water pipe from the roof of the veranda, or even insert a leader between the two scenes as now written, and the mind of the spectator is prepared for almost anything that he may find to be going on in that room when he sees it again. But too much care cannot be taken to guard against everything that may make for jerky or illogical action of this kind. The merciless scissors of a careless operator in the picture theatre may remove three or four inches of the film at a certain point, with the result that a character leaving one side of the room and starting to go out by the door on the other side may be made to cross the room at a bound, causing a surprisedlaugh at a very serious moment of your play. Do not approximate this ludicrous effect by writing your scenes as illustrated in the foregoing example.

Still another laughable error of the novice is to introduce into a scene certain action which could not be properly registered in mere pantomime. We lately examined an amateur script in which the following appeared as part of the action between a girl and a man in a farm location:

so (Mary) tells the stranger that her father is over in the next field, milking the cow. He starts to, etc.

Now, whether or not the spectator in the theatre were shown a previous scene in which Father actually milked a cow, the pantomime of Mary, in trying to make plain without the aid of a cut-in leader the fact that she was telling the man what her father was doing, would be extremely ludicrous, to say the least. You must give thought to every bit of action you write, remembering that it is of no use to say that so-and-so happens if the action described will not register clearly in pantomime. Here again experience will teach you what to put in and what to leave out.

9. The "Cut-Back"

Readers of the boys' story papers published a few years ago will remember how at the end of one chapter the hero would be left hanging by a slender vineover a yawning chasm, "one thousand feet deep." The next chapter, instead of continuing the logical sequence of action and explaining how he was rescued—or rescued himself—would begin: "Let us now return to Captain Barlow and Professor Whipple, whom we left facing the band of dwarfs at the mouth of the cave, etc." These stories exemplified practically the same technique as is employed today by photoplaywrights who use what has become known as the "cut-back," sometimes referred to as the "flash-back."

Mr. D.W. Griffith is commonly credited with having "invented" this technical device, which is simply a frequent switching from one scene to another, and then back again to the first, in order to heighten interest by maintaining the suspense. Its use has been well illustrated by Mr. C.B. Hoadley, who cites a play in which the contrasting pictures of "a gambler seated at cards with convivial companions, and his wife at home in a scantily furnished room keeping vigil at the bedside of their sick child," are flashed back and forth in such a manner as to keep the contrast before the spectators while yet developing the drama effectively.

Another good example of the use of the cut-back was shown in an old Biograph subject, "Three Friends." One of three friends who have sworn never to separate falls in love with a young woman of the village and marries her. A second of the trio is enraged to think that his friend has broken up the triangle; the third, of better nature, is merely very much disappointed. As a result of breaking up the trio, the two bachelors leave the factory to go to another town. A baby is born to the young married couple, and they are very happy for a time. Then the second friend, Jim, comes back to his old shop to take the position of foreman. As the result of a quarrel between him and the young husband, the latter is discharged. From that time on things go badly with the young couple, and soon bad is followed by worse. When they are on the verge of starvation, and the husband has returned home after a fruitless search for work, the wife goes out to try to beg a bottle of milk. While she is away, the husband, thoroughly disheartened, resolves to ask her to die with him, confident that neighbors will care for the child. She returns home empty handed, and, though at first shocked and horrified by his proposal, finally consents. Just as the husband covers his wife's eyes with his hand and raises the pistol, the two friends of former days burst into the room. One of the husband's shop-mates has told the third friend of how "Jim fired him"—as a leader tells us—and the reproaches of the third friend have been instrumental in bringing about a feeling of remorse in the heart of the foreman. The two hurry together to the little home, arriving just in time to prevent the tragedy.

All through this picture the cut-back is used most effectively. Early in the action, supposedly a day or two after the young man had met his future wife, we are shown the two other men waiting for him at the saloon, the three glasses of beer standing untouched upon the table. The scene then switches to the young man and the girl out walking, gazing from a bridgeinto the river. Back to the saloon again, and we see the two friends looking at their watches, about to leave, the third glass still standing untouched. Then, back to another pretty exterior, where the young man proposes and is accepted. Toward the climax, the use of the cut-back becomes even more effective: we see the wife go out to get the milk; the two friends at the same old table in the saloon; the husband bending over the child, taking out the revolver, and indicating what is in his mind to do; then the scene in the saloon, where the fourth man tells the kind-hearted friend how the foreman has discharged his former comrade; back in the house again, we see the man and the woman prepared to die together; then the exterior of the saloon, with the two friends coming out; another home scene leading up to the expected tragedy; the two friends hurrying down a street—and even though they are hurrying, we know that they are unaware of what is going on in the house which is their destination, and we are fearful lest they may arrive too late; the man with his hand held over the eyes of his wife, the revolver being slowly raised; the two friends at the gate of the cottage; and then the climax as they enter the room just in time to avert the tragedy. Thus the cut-back effect kept suspense and interest at highest pitch every moment.

Some years ago the same company released a drama, "The Cord of Life," in which the cut-back was used so effectively to heighten the suspense and add to the thrill that many people in the audience of the theatre were leaning forward in their seats and making excited comments—the supreme test of a picture "with a punch."

One caution is necessary in the use of the cut-back—do not use it as an excuse to digress. Above everything else, when you have started the ball of your plot rolling, keep it rollingforward. You must not switch back to some earlier scene for the purpose of picking up a point that you have overlooked. Nor is it possible to go back and follow the characters who have been temporarily dispensed with. If they reappear, it must be in a scene which naturally follows, and does not come with a sense of perplexing surprise. Remember this: When characters are reintroduced they must not have been too long absent from the plot-movement, but they must have been all the time consciously or subconsciously present in the mind of the spectatoras being essentially in the story.

Unfriendly critics of the photoplay—and there are some such—have said some harsh things about "the mugging close-up and the nerve-wracking cut-backs," nor have their criticisms been wholly without point and justification. But only, of course, when these technical devices are abused by over-use. Mr. Sargent has pointed out that the close-up of the silent drama is only another form of the spot-light used on the regular stage, and, similarly, the cut-back finds its duplicate in the "off-stage" sound-effects of the regular drama. Instead of the "galloping horse" effects of the legitimate stage, we get on the screen the actual scene of the horseman dashing ahead. But anything overdone is bad, and cut-backs and other similar devices are noexception to this rule. Not only is our attention called to the fact that the writer or director is working a certain technical trick to death, but in following the story its working out is spoiled for us as a result of the very thing used with the intention of heightening our interest.

"Even Griffith, in his big production, 'Hearts of the World,' taxes suspense too far at one point," says Mr. Sargent. "So clever a trickster as he (and, like Belasco, he is more the artistic trickster than the artist) has failed to realize that suspense, carried too far, becomes first tiresome and then amusing. This applies most directly to the single situation, but it is almost equally applicable to a situation strong in itself, but which is depended upon to yield suspense out of proportion to its value."

And, since Mr. Griffith's main suspense-producer has always been his self-invented cut-back device, the error of over-using this technical trick is made even more apparent by what this critic points out. Here again a careful study of the methods of several different leading directors is your best guide.

10. How Various Kinds of Inserts Are Used

The use of leaders, letters, and other inserts needs some treatment in connection with the scenario. The ordinary statement-leader, such as "Two years later. Bob returns to his old home," is used before the scene to which it applies. It shows the spectator the passage of time, and explains what is about to follow. Theordinary, before-the-scene, leader, is frequently employed to make such a statement as, "Tom accuses his brother of having forged the check." But the other way of telling the audience what Tom does is the use of the cut-in leader—of which more later. This enables us to read Tom's own words—the distinguishing mark of the cut-in.

This very effective form of the leader takes its name from the fact that it cuts in, or is inserted into, the midst of a scene. That the cut-in leader may tell all that is necessary much better than could a long statement of what is going on is evident because the direct words of a character are more effective than the same ideas expressed in the third person.

Another consideration is that using the cut-in and omitting the leader before the scene makes it possible to start the scene with action that does not at first disclose Tom's intention. Then when the proper moment arrives, the cut-in leader is flashed on the screen, and the result is that, instead of the spectator's anticipating what is about to happen, he is likely to be as much taken by surprise as is the guilty brother.

After introducing the cut-in leader, writeBack to scene, the same as after an inserted letter, telegram, newspaper item, or the like.

In what follows we give examples of proper scenario form, as well as examples of the way in which the leader, cut-in leader, letter, bust, and mask are used.

Lubin Studio stage

View of Stage, Lubin Studio, Los Angeles, California

Wardrobe Room

Wardrobe Room in a Photoplay Studio

Leader—TOM DISCOVERS HIS BROTHER'S CRIME

9—Maxwell's library, same as 4—

Tom enters, followed by Ralph. Tom goes straight to desk, opens it, and takes out envelope. From it he takes Ralph's letter and the check. Glances over letter again, Ralph standing by, watching him with nervous expression.

On screen, letter.

Dear Blakely:I send you enclosed my father's check to cover amount of my debt to you. Kindly send receipt to me at old address.Yours,Ralph Maxwell.

Dear Blakely:

I send you enclosed my father's check to cover amount of my debt to you. Kindly send receipt to me at old address.

Yours,

Ralph Maxwell.

Back to scene.

Tom lays letter on desk and picks up check, looking at it closely. Suddenly starts, frowns, glances at Ralph, and then looks intently at check again. Opens drawer of desk and takes out reading-glass. Holding check in left hand, he examines it closely through the glass.

10—Bust of Tom's left hand holding check, right hand grasping glass, focusing the glass upon the name signed to the check. This shows that the name has been written in a very shaky hand.

11—Back to 9—

Tom lays reading-glass on desk, looks at his brother accusingly, and then thrusts check close to his face.

Leader—"RALPH, YOU FORGED THIS CHECK!"

Back to scene.

Ralph looks at Tom despairingly, his face betraying his guilt. Tom hangs head in shame, at thought of his brother's crime.

12—Hallway, showing door of library—

Wilkins, the butler, kneeling before library door, his eye glued to key-hole.

13—Portion of library, same as 4, seen through key-hole—

Ralph is explaining to Tom how he came to owe Blakely the money, etc.

Now let us take up the different points just as they have been introduced in the foregoing example, and briefly explain each.

The leader is shown, first of all, simply as an example of an ordinary before-the-scene leader. In writing a scenario such as the one of which this might be a part, if you introduced the cut-in leader in Scene 11, there would be no necessity for giving also the ordinary bald statement-leader before Scene 9. The fact that "Tom discovers his brother's crime" is made plainer by Tom's own spoken words, in Scene 11, than an ordinary leader before the first scene in the library (in this example) could make it. In the middle of this scene (9) Tom reads his brother's unsent letter, and you write "On screen, letter," following this note to the director with the letter itself. After the letter youwrite "Back to scene," showing that the scene in the library is not ended and that the action which is broken by the flashing on the screen of the letter is continued just as soon as Tom lays the letter down—that is, as soon as it disappears from the screen.

The "bust" comes next, but since we wish to compare the bust with another technical device, the "close-up," let us pass it by in detail for the moment. But you must remember, when introducing a bust, that it is a separate scene, and must, therefore, be given a separate and distinct scene-number. The bust breaks the scene in the library as Tom scrutinizes the check through the reading-glass. The letter previously shown also broke the scene, or interrupted the action; but the bust, being considered as a separate scene, is given a scene-number—10.

After the bust (10), Scene 11 takes us back to the library; but we do not follow the scene-number (11) with "Maxwell's library, same as 4" (4, as the example shows, was the number of the first scene played in the library). Instead, we write "11—Back to 9," which shows that the action in the library is picked up and continued from the point where it ended (on the screen) when the bust picture was flashed.

11. Masks

After Tom has openly accused his brother of forgery, as shown by the cut-in leader, the scene changes to the hallway outside the library door. We see Wilkins, the butler, who is implicated in the plotagainst Ralph, kneeling and peering into the room through the key-hole. This is a very short scene, but it is necessary to show two things: not only that the brothers are being spied upon, for we are not interested in merely watching the butler kneeling there, but it is important for us to seewhathe is watching so intently—the action in the library. So, after we have shown the spy kneeling outside the door, the scene is shifted back to the continuation of the interview between Tom and Ralph. This time, however, we see it on the screen in a way that merelysuggeststhe butler kneeling outside the closed door. On the screen appears a large key-hole, and within its limits the scene between the brothers is acted.

The effect thus produced is termed a "mask." Ordinarily the lens of a moving picture camera is masked by a metal plate, rectangular in shape, one inch wide by three-quarters of an inch high. The use of this mask prevents the light from spreading up or down the film as it is being exposed. As explained inChapter III, each of the sixteen tiny pictures that make up a foot of film is termed a "frame," and, the camera being masked as described, the light is permitted to act upon only one frame at a time. But within this limit of one inch by three-quarters of an inch another mask may be used, cut in any form that the producer may desire. It may be a key-hole mask, as in the foregoing example; it may be simply circular, to suggest that the scene is viewed through a telescope; or a mask with hair-line bars, which will suggest that you are looking through a window. We examined a scripta short while ago in which a travelling salesman for an optical goods house amused himself in the interval before train time by watching through a pair of binoculars the street below and the buildings opposite his hotel window. The scene enacted in an office of a building not far away led him to believe that a murder was being committed, and the action which followed was extremely funny. The scene in the office, watched by the "drummer" through the binoculars, appeared on the screen as though viewed through a large and very round figure eight, lying on its side, thus:figure eight

The four just mentioned are the commonest forms of the mask; but we have seen masks cut in the shape of oak leaves, bottles, and other forms, though these latter were used merely to obtain novel effects.

The mask may be used as an inserted scene—as we have here chiefly considered it—or it may serve as a sort of excuse for the entire action of the photoplay, as in the case of the commercial traveller and his binoculars, and add effectiveness by its novelty of presentation.

12. The Bust and the Close-up

In former usage, the term "bust" was employed to describe any enlarged view, as a watch, a face, a hand turning a door knob. Now the term has been given a less wide range and has been superseded in its broadest meaning by another technical expression—the "close-up."

The bust now means any enlargedobject, such as a hand holding a watch, a box of cigars on a table witha note pinned to a cigar, or any object shown close to the camera,where no action is called for.

If Maud comes into a room and sees her sister staring at the window sill, crosses to the sister's side and stares also, it is natural that we wonder what it is that causes the consternation. The camera is manifestly too far away to show unmistakably what Maud picks up—say, a broken-off knife-point. Suppose that it is part of the plot to have the spectator also grasp the fact that there is a dark stain on the knife-point. We must get it closer. So we write the scene up to the point where Maud holds up the object, then we start another scene and say:

43—Bust of Maud's hand holding knife-point to show blood-stain in shape of rude star.

There is no action. The hand simply holds the object. A scene of this kind is usually taken before a black curtain or in front of some such indeterminate background. Later, this bust scene is inserted into the film at the proper point. A point worthy of notice is that bust scenes are always taken, and close-up scenes arenearlyalways taken, either before or (usually) after the scenes into which they break have been done. If the plot demands that a certain character examine his watch at a certain point, and if the spectator is supposed to see exactly what time the watch shows, the director is not going to stop his camera, bring the camera nearer to the player or the player nearer to the camera, as his method may be, make the bust picture, and then resume the taking of the "wide-angle," or full-size-stage, scene. Much time can be saved by making thedifferent kindsof scenes separately. This explains why every scene and every kind of scene in the entire scenariomustbe given a separate scene-number. The scenes in a photoplay may be likened to a cut-up picture puzzle, each part of which must be properly assembled and inserted in its proper place to make a complete, understandable picture.

As has already been said, the bust picture in photoplay is like the spot-light in the regular theatre. It centres the spectator's attention on a certain object and holds it there until the important object is fully observed by the watcher. It "not only magnifies the objects, but it draws particular attention to them. Many points may be cleared in a five-foot bust picture which would require twenty to thirty feet of leader to explain, and the bust picture always interests. Sometimes in a newspaper illustration a circle surrounds some point of interest, or a cross marks where the body was discovered. The bust picture serves the same purpose, and answers, as well, for the descriptive caption that appears under a cut."[17]

Bear in mind, then, that the introduction of a bust scene makes the succeeding portion of the action in that settinganother scene, with its own consecutive number.

In the past few years, the number of scenes to the reel has been almost doubled, in most studios; andthis is due to the increased use of the close-up. The bust and the close-up are entirely separate in their utility and effect, yet, properly used, each has been found a valuable addition to the technical devices of photoplay construction. It is now frequently the practice of many directors to bring the camera nearer to a certain character, or group of characters, at some important point of the action for the sake of emphasizing facial expression or certain bits of "business" that are vitally essential to a proper understanding of the plot.

This may be accomplished in three different ways—the method employed always depending upon the nature of the scene as well as ofthe setting or location. First, if the surroundings of the character at that stage of the action are important as having something to do with the "business" being carried out—if, for example, it is necessary to show, at close range, the actions of two characters who are seated at a table—the director has the camera moved down toward them, and that particular close-up, or series of close-ups, is taken usually, as has been said, after all the wide-angle scenes in that setting have been "done," for the obvious purpose of rendering unnecessary the frequent shifting of the camera.

If, on the other hand, the director merely wishes to emphasize at certain points in any scene the facial expression of his players, as affected by the humorous, startling, or other emotional "business" incidental to the plot at that point, and if the surroundings of the character or characters may be indeterminate without detracting from the value of the scene, the player orplayers may be broughtnearer to the camera, and the close-up may even be made with the subjects posed against a plain, dark background. This method of obtaining the close-up is frequently resorted to, and, it may be said, is not always truly "artistic," if seriously considered, inasmuch as it tends to detach the character from the surroundings of the scene, and make the result more than ever in the nature of a figure in the spot-light. We have seen many pictures, particularly those with female "stars" featured—as, for example, the Mary Pickford pictures—in which the action of a scene would be broken several times, and the head of the pretty "star" shown photographed against a plain, very dark background.

The third method used in the studios is one which actually changes a wide-angle view into a close-up without breaking or interrupting the action in the slightest degree. This is accomplished by mounting the camera on a specially built platform on wheels—on a truck—which as a rule is operated on wooden tracks previously prepared to suit the action taking place in that set or location. Take for example the Babylonian setting (the principal Babylonian setting, that is) in the D.W. Griffith production, "Intolerance." When this scene is first thrown on the screen we see an immense open court, surrounded by banquet halls and long corridors, with walls reaching up to tremendous heights, the walls themselves banked with huge figures of heathen gods and images and great elephants, compared to which the human figures participating in the scene are mere pygmies. At the back of this enormoussetting is a flight of steps, perhaps a hundred feet or more in width, upon which are probably a hundred girls going through the graceful motions of a religious dance. We are permitted, for several feet of film, to view the immensity and the grandeur of ancient Babylon in this wide-angle view. Then, smoothly and steadily, we approach the back of the set—the great flight of steps, with the dancing figures. Hundreds of details of architecture and sculpturing are unfolded as we draw nearer, and when the truck suddenly stops, we have a close-up of part of the steps with the dancing girls just finishing their performance.

The point is, simply, that if a mere close-up of a certain character or group of characters is all that is desired, either of the two methods first explained is used. But if the director has an unusually beautiful and imposing setting which he wishes to show off, the moving truck, with the constantly turning camera, gives him exactly what he wants to show. Close-ups of this type may be likened to the more frequently used panoramic scenes—"panorams"—obtained in open-air work by mounting the camera on a train, an automobile, or some other moving vehicle. Another point is that the ordinary close-up, produced as first described, is the one most used because it does away with the footage consumed in the gradual-approach method.

Suppose, now (following up the previous example of the use of the bust), that having shown Maud's hand holding up the broken-off point of what she believes to be her brother's knife, we go back to thewide-angle view of the room and show the two sisters together, and Maud casting the knife-point from her in horror. Let us imagine that they are supposed to suspect some other character—their brother, in fact—of having used the knife of which this is a part, to commit some crime. This character now comes into the room. We want to register certain expressions and, what is equally important, we want to isolate one character's expression from that of another, so that the eye and mind of the spectator will not be confused by the wide range of vision employed in the full—or wide-angle—scene. We show the brother as he comes into the room and stops, seeing the eyes of the two girls fixed upon him. How shall we isolate him? Not by the use of the bust, for the bust is now employed only to give a close view of aninanimate object. We use the close-up, and we write the scenes thus:

42—Living room, same as 15.

Maud comes in to find Ethel staring at an object lying on the window sill. She crosses and stares down at it also, then, with a shudder, picks up—the knife-point!

43—Bust of Maud's hand holding knife-point to show blood-stain in shape of rude star.

44—Back to wide-angle of room.

Maud flings the knife-point from her in horror, then turns to Ethel and clings to her. Both look towards door as Frank enters. He advances a pace or two, sees them, and stops, aghast.

45—Close-up of Frank. His eyes suddenly drop, hesees the object lying on the floor, and, slowly, his hands go up over his eyes.

46—Close-up of Maud and Ethel. Maud slowly turns to her sister with a question in her eyes—"Is he guilty?"—and bows her head, then looks up quickly and fixes her gaze on Frank.

47—Close-up of Frank. With agony in his eyes, the boy protests his innocence. Suddenly he pauses, realizing that he is not making an impression.

48—Back to wide-angle of room.

Both sisters are staring at Frank. Maud's look is one of unmistakable accusation. She looks down at the floor. Frank follows her gaze. Maud stoops, picks up the knife-point, and holds it out towards him. He slowly advances and takes it from her. He knows what they expect—what they demand! Slowly, hesitatingly, he draws a pocket knife out of his pocket. The sisters come closer, drawn magnetically by the horrible thing they fear to see—the meeting of the knife and the broken point.

49—Close-up of Frank. A very close view to show him slowly opening the knife, the point of which is broken off. The other hand puts the bloodstained point to the broken blade. They match! They fit absolutely!

50—Back to wide-angle of room.

With an anguished face the boy cries:

Leader—"I DIDN'T!—OH! WON'T YOU BELIEVE ME?"

Back to scene.

He sees a hardening of Maud's face. Silently his hands unclench; the knife-point falls to the table. Then, with an access of fear, he closes his knife, thrusts it into his pocket, and rushes wildly out, while the two girls merely stare after him, too horror-stricken to move, to follow.

The foregoing is a good example of how "straight" action, all in one uninterrupted wide-angle scene, would not be half so convincing, dramatic or suspense-holding as the broken-up series of scenes, all in the same setting, all in the one situation. Incidentally, Scene 49 shows very clearly the distinction between the bust and the close-up. This is a very close view of the boy's hands, but it cannot be called a bust because of the fact that it is an action scene. The close-up compares with the bust in much the same way that any painting with supposedly human, moving figures compares with those pictures which come under the "still life" classification.

This illustration of the use of the bust and the close-up is taken from an actual script, prepared by one of the Vitagraph Company's staff writers. It will be noticed that the "description" of the scene following the bust scene is "44—Back to wide-angle of room," instead of "44—Back to 42," which it would have been had this Vitagraph writer followed the same rules of technique as were used by the writer of the script from which the example onpage 159was taken. The Vitagraph writer follows the same rule in writing the description of close-up scenes, also.Either form is correct, and it is optional which you use. There are certain technical terms as well as methods of writing for which there are no hard and fast rules, and this accounts for the fact that some writers will say "leader" when others use the term "sub-title," and so on.[18]

Shortly before one of the present writers was appointed scenario editor for the Edison Company, Mr. Bannister Merwin, who for several years was one of Edison's chief contributing writers, gave up his work in this country and went to England to live. He is now active in the British film world and also a director—or "producer," as Mr. Merwin still calls it—for one of the largest English motion picture manufacturers. The present writer found that Mr. Merwin's work had left a considerable impression upon the methods of work of the various Edison directors, and, indeed, he has always been regarded as one of the leading authorities on photoplay technique. The three paragraphs which follow are taken from a letter written by Mr. Merwin to Mr. Epes Winthrop Sargent, and published inThe Moving Picture World. Several important points in connection with the scenario are briefly but interestingly discussed. In connection with what we have just been discussing—the close-up—it may be said that, as Mr. Merwin himself says, all writers make use of the close-up at certain points of different scenes; but what this author-director saysin addition may be taken as another warning against theover-useof this effective technical device:

"My present notion of the best construction for long feature stories follows somewhat the lines of the stage play. The line of climactic development should be a series of ascending waves. After each crisis or climax there should be a slight lull. And the first few hundred feet, like the first ten minutes of a play, should be devoted to getting your audience acquainted with your characters and their relationships. To place a very important action in the first few hundred feet before the audience knows who the characters are or what they are to one another tends to create confusion. People will later say, 'Oh, washethe one who did that?' Of course the characters must do things in these first few hundred feet, but they should be things that express their characters interestingly rather than things that have important significance in the plot development. Perhaps I put the point a little too strongly, for there are always exceptions, but you will know what I mean.

"The thing is to look at one's own work from the viewpoint of the audience, and continually ask one's self such questions as, 'Is it clear? Can I follow it without confusion of mind? Does it constantly keep my interest stimulated?'

"Now the question of breaking one's scenes with close-ups and varied shots from different angles. Of course, we all do this in preparing our scripts. But lately I have wondered whether it would not be better to leave the breaking up of the scene to the producer,except in very obvious cases. You see, I am now speaking as a producer as well as a writer. The value of the close-up almost always is governed in practice by floor conditions. I mean by this several things. For one thing, if the cast is not the ideal cast you have had in mind when writing the play the character you have set down for a close-up may not be able to express what it is essential to express in that particular close-up. The producer must then find some other means of punctuating the situation. For another thing, no producer is likely to build a set and handle his people in it in exactly the way you have conceived. For that matter, no two producers are likely to handle the set and the characters in the same way. It follows that very often the producer can secure a natural close-up in the course of the action where you have called for a special close-up scene. And on the other hand the producer may find that he needs a special close-up scene at a point where your conception of the movements of the characters has not made it appear necessary. Anyhow, the close-up is an interpretation. If, as I hold, the producer is an interpreter, would it not be better to leave this matter of close-ups to him, and write your scene straight, with emphasis on the points that should be brought out most strongly? I don't say that this surmise is right; I merely am wondering. In any event, we do not want to see the close-up overdone. We don't want too much of the Griffith staccato. It leads to what a certain friend of mine once called Tom Lawson's method of muck-raking—'The method of universal emphasis.'"

It is interesting to note in the first paragraph of the quotation from Mr. Merwin's letter that he advocates giving, in most pictures, "the first few hundred feet" to a proper introduction of the characters and to laying the foundation, as it were, for the story proper. This is in marked contrast to the method of a few years ago, when one-reel pictures were the rule, and when very little footage could be spared for such introductory scenes. Today, with very much longer pictures, there is no excuse for any writer's ever feeling himself cramped for room in which to make clear everything that the spectator ought to know in connection with his characters and his plot.

Finally, in connection with thestory, as written by you, and thepicture, as put on by the director, we again quote Mr. Sargent:

"If youneeda close-up, write it in, numbering it as a separate scene. If you do not need a close-up, don't write one in, even though you see innumerable close-ups used. Let the director make these as his fancy or judgment may dictate. He can see just where and how the use of the close-up can help thepictorialquality of the picture. You are apt to concern yourself only with the narrative value of the close-up, employing it only where it is necessary in order to get thestoryover clearly. You cannot possibly imagine the scene exactly as it will be set up or played, therefore you cannot tell where and howpictorialclose-ups or other effects will be useful. Leave that to the director and he will handle the numbering according to his special system. Numberyour ownclose-ups,because they are separate scenes even though they are in reality a part of other scenes."

What this critic means by the director's "special system" of handling the numbering of close-ups that he may decide to use after the story has been placed in his hands is simply that such added close-ups will be inserted into the working script in this manner (40 and 41 being your original scene numbering):

40—(a) Henderson steps forward to give his prisonera better view of his face.(b) Close-up of Trask and Henderson. In thestronger light, Trask recognizes his old enemyand his face is convulsed with hate.(c) Henderson steps back, laughs, and holds outthe handcuffs, etc.41—This scene as originally written.

It will be seen that the action contained in (b) is the inserted close-up action. In what remains (c) we get the end of the scene as written by the author.

13. Visions, Memories, Dreams, and Other Devices

We have already referred to the old method of obtaining certain effects in so-called fairy-tale pictures by "stop-camera" work, or by simply stopping the character at a certain point just prior to the scheduled appearance of some supernatural visitant, having the other characters hold their positions while the witch or the fairy character walks into the scene and takes her proper position in it, and then starting the cameraagain, the result on the screen being that the supernatural figure stands, in the fraction of a second, where nothing of the kind appeared before. Today, stop-camera work is used very seldom—as a rule only to obtain ludicrously sudden and unexpected effects in certain types of "slap-stick" comedy. A far more artistic effect, when it is desired to introduce visitors from other worlds, is obtained by "superimposure," or by taking the picture twice, as it were. On the first "take" the characters go through the business already rehearsed, and the director keeps careful track of just when each important move is made by counting while the cameraman turns the crank. If, at the count of "Eleven!" one character registers surprise and points excitedly at an unoccupied corner of the room, it is the first step in introducing the fairy, or the spectre, who is to appear there in the picture as shown on the screen. After the scene has been gone through with, following this rule, the film is run through the camera a second time, the "stage" being empty of players up to the count of "Eleven!" at which point the unearthly-visitor character is brought into the scene at the proper place in the setting, either appearing quite suddenly or being more gradually dissolved in, different studios having different methods of accomplishing this. The point is that visions of this kind are obviously written into the scene proper, just as you would introduce any new character. If it is a ghostly visitor of some kind, you simply say: "Harding looks in horror (at whatever point of the room or location you desire). Vision of Blake, standing quite still and pointing an accusingfinger at Harding." Or, if Tom is in the city and has reason to believe that Frank, back on the farm, is taking advantage of his friend's absence to win his sweetheart away from him, write the scene down to the point where Tom straightens up in his office chair and stares (perhaps directly into the camera) with a worried expression, and then say: "Vision-in portion of the apple orchard, with Frank making love to Mary as they stand beneath one of the trees."

Everyone who has attended the motion picture theatres has seen dozens of examples of "visions," produced in one or another manner, and it should be easy to distinguish between "visions" and "thoughts" or "memories." The lattermaybe introduced as part of another scene just as the vision (using the word in the sense of "apparition" or "supernatural visitant") is introduced; but it must be borne in mind that the photoplay spectators have in the past few years been gradually educated up to a rather perfect comprehension of what results different technical devices produce—even if they do not quite understand the technical why and wherefore; and for this reason it is best when writing action in which the characters are supposed to show what they are thinking about or describing to use the fade-out and fade-in device, as the meaning of this is now very clearly understood. The spectators are quite used to seeing the picture fade out, or "go black" at the end of certain scenes, just as they are familiar with the use of it at the actual end of the photoplay. Apart from these two uses, they have come to associate the fade-out with the thoughtof the immediate introduction of a "memory," either related to others or silently indulged in, or a mere thought, or, if the character is seen going to sleep, of a "dream."

If the fade-out is used, it means three scenes instead of one, of course, because following the introduction of the "memory," or whatever it may be, you return to the scene proper, just as you go back to the wide-angle view after using a bust or a close-up scene. They would be numbered, for example, 17, 18 and 19, and you would write the action as follows:

17—Library, same as 6.

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