The educational screen (c1922-c1956])

From Hollywood 333 noise. Those around you—men in over- alls and some women in street clothes— speak in undertones. They seem to be waiting for something—something you can not understand. You begin to have a curious, detached feeling. Is it-is it—? And then it clutches you completely -that sense of the unreal! You see the corner of a room elaborately furnished, peopled by immaculate figures in evening clothes and saffron faces, who are doing nothing in particular. "There's the star," whispers Soandso "See him over there?" You see him. He looks infinitely bored as he leans against something and smokes and waits. A rustle at your side as the leading lady flits past you, and a vague impression of blue-black hair and a red rose and the flash of a silver frock.— Someone claps his hands. "Hit 'em!" a casual voice commands from a group around the camera. A click of metal, a flood of purplish light that turns the yellow faces ghastly, a humming sound: the star disposes of his cigarette and steps forward to place an arm around the silver girl's shoulders. They pose smil- ing while the camera man turns his crank. Click! The lights are gone; the humming stops; star and leading woman turn away, relaxed. The men at the camera talk to- gether in low tones. Everybody seems again to be waiting. "What for?" you ask. "I dunno," says Soandso. "Lights, may- be." "How long do they have to wait?" "I dunno. Half an hour, maybe." You leave them waiting, and wander away, to come upon another part of the room. This time it is a cafe. "There's the star, at that table, See him? They're taking a close-up." Soand- so's voice is close at your ear. The star is smiling at a lady in filmy black. There is the same purplish light, the same humming sound; the camera, set close to the actors, begins its monotonous little racket. A hand is waved: Click! Silence, and gloom after the purple bril- liance. The star darts out of the set, ind a moment later he is smoking with quick, nervous puffs. The blonde lady at the table lays a rose against her cheek and smiles at somebody—not you. You move on with Soandso to an at- tractive living-room set. Another blonde lady, giving directions. A grave-faced man sitting beside the camera nods as she speaks. "Try it that way if you like," he says. A lady of some importance, evidently. So- andso pulls at your arm. This star is pecu- liar, he tells you; it makes her nervous to be watched. You shrink behind a piece of scenery so far that you can see nothing at all: you do not wish to make anybody nervous. So you turn away, and presently discover another cafe scene. Attention seems to be centering on a sort of alcove where a man and woman are seated at a table. They look familiar to you, and you rack your memory, while Soandso points out the deserted tables in the foreground. "This morning," he says, "they were shooting the whole set, but now they're making close-ups. There's the director." He names a famous name, and indicates a quiet man in a peaked hat. You gaze, rapt, for this is a celebrity. Then, "What are they waiting for?" "I dunno." A dowdy little figure in a blue dress slips past you, between the tables, and into a third chair at the alcove table. Click! The lights hum—flicker—die. Silence. "Now what are they waiting for?" "I dunno. Shall we go?" You recall with an effort that this is not new to So- andso. You turn and follow him behind scenes, through dark passages, over more miles of snake-like tubing coiled on the floor, through small canvas doors. You catch your breath suddenly, as a tall man in riding clothes saunters towards