American cinematographer (Jan-Dec 1952)

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Showing TV alignment — outlining active re¬ ceiver area, and Academy (sound) aperture. Write For Details CAMERA EQUIPMENT COMPANY 1600 Broadway New York, N. Y. over the arcs playing on them. As a re¬ sult, their skin assumed an extraordi¬ nary soft-glowing texture. Concerning the stairway, interesting is the manner in which the risers lighted and extinguished in such perfect time with Guetary’s dancing feet, as he moved up and down the stair. The risers were made of glass, with a circuit of lights behind each one. Each riser was on a separate circuit, controlled by a mercury switch. All circuits ran to an ingenious master drum controller, de¬ vised by Sid Moore of the MGM elec¬ trical department. During the takes, the controller was operated by Gene Kelly’s able dance director, Carol Haney. Be¬ cause of her complete familiarity with the music and routine, she was able, after a few rehearsals, to operate the controller in perfect sync — as smoothly as a musician in the orchestra his instrment. Another lighting example involved the closing scene of the picture in which Kelly, on the balcony outside the Blackand-White ballroom, watches Caron and Guetary running away, down a long stairway to the street below. This was a night shot made in daylight. We pho¬ tographed only the lower part of the scene; the upper part representing the sparkling Paris skyline at night was later filled in by a “Newcombe process shot” — a method of special effects pho¬ tography devised by Warren Newcombe. This set is shown in the lower left photo on page 19 from reverse camera posi¬ tion, with the camera platform and camera and crew at the top. Our part was to mask off the scene before the camera in an irregular line at the top, corresponding to the area to he filled in by Newcombe process, and to photograph the lower part of the scene to give the illusion of night. Shooting day for night with Techni¬ color film, we drastically cut exposure and used exceptionally strong practical light globes in the lamp standards lining the stairway. In addition, we had deco¬ rators paint the light effects on the walls of buildings to our left to further the illusion of night illumination coming from the lamps. The real key to effec¬ tively lighting this set was shooting it with the soft light of low, late-afternoon sun. The stage setting where Oscar Levant gives his “dream concert” called for un¬ usual lighting treatment. It was neces¬ sary to show Levant playing with a large symphony orchestra — first as guest soloist at the piano, then, in quick succession, replacing a number of the musicians, then conducting the orches¬ tra — even applauding himself from one of the boxes — all in the course of a number which the entire orchestra is playing with much brio. To do this, we lighted the whole set without actually lighting the faces of any of the mu¬ sicians, the conductor or of the audi¬ ence, so that all appeared in silhouette. Thus, Levant could be placed in any of these positions as a dark figure pre¬ liminary to making a close shot, during which he would lean slightly one way or another so as to bring himself into a closely controlled key light, and thus disclose himself to the audience. The fine multiple-image shots of Le¬ vant in this sequence were made by Irving Ries’ optical effects department. A most interesting set both to light and to shoot was the scene of the Blaekand-White Ball — a vast set crowded with dancers. The costumes and decor were all jet black or real white — a chal¬ lenge for Technicolor film. I think all will agree these scenes turned out very well. The concluding ballet sequence was filmed a long time after the picture in its original format was completed, and was not part of my assignment. I went to see An American In Paris recently with Buckley MacGurrin, the old friend with whom I first saw Paris, nearly twenty years ago. MacGurrin, no longer a struggling artist, is now paint¬ ing in California. He had some nice things to say about the picture, and I would like to close, quoting him thus: “However spavined and windbroken the expression may be, it is still authen¬ tic and inescapable: Paris is all things to all men. Seen through a million pairs of eyes, Paris is a million different cities, and each one of them is fiercely loved. “The aspect of the unique city which is treated with such sympathetic insight in An American In Paris is to me the most endearing of all. since it is the one I knew so well for so long — the Paris of the young expatriate painter, intoxi¬ cated by his first real contact with great works of art. “Selecting the Butte Montmartre as locale for much of the picture was an admirable thing, for while I suppose there have been more artists in the Montparnasse area than in Montmartre for the last forty years or so, the heights of Montmartre, dominating the city, have great value as a symbol of the young painter’s aspirations. “In the same connection, those who have lived on the venerable hill will re¬ member it, I am sure, as a shabby quarter whose slippery cobblestones, be¬ tween the leperous walls of dilapidated stone buildings, shine dully with rain from low-hanging, sulphurous clouds for much of the year. They will not have forgotten the soggy shoes and the cold, damp feet; the persistent cough; the steamy little cafes where tired over¬ coats drip onto the floor; the cold, 38 American Cinematocrapher January, 1952