International photographer (Jan-Dec 1941)

The CJNEMA TRIANqU By Virgil E. Miller i It's a far cry from the Holy Trinity to the more or less unholy tripod, but between them lies the gamut of triads, triangles, and trinities, involving the mystical number "three", that enters so largely, and sometimes uncannily, into the world's affairs. Our every day, our life cycle, our Universe, our religions, our Physical Science, and other phases of life's phenomena, may be graphically represented by our mathematical triangle and its adaptations. The triangle is symbolic of strength and symmetry; it lends itself to our conception of the completed cycle. That much for generalities. We will now look for a specific analogy in the work of producing motion pictures — the triangle that must obtain for a perfect producing organization. Needless to say, that triangle exists; sometimes equilateral, but too often irregular, thus giving rise to some of the problems of the studio. To complete the analogy: It is evident that the author, the scenario-writer, and the results of their labor, — the STORY, form one leg of our triangle. Looking further, we recognize the director as being very important, his work must be allotted a leg in our hypothesis. The third leg of this important triangle must be complementary to the other two legs, but just as important if the triangle is to become a strong, symmetrical whole; it must merge the story and direction into the perfect product, fusing them into a tangible asset, the picture on the screen. Thus we come to the DIRECTOR OF PHOTOGRAPHY. He must be the instrumentality joining the fundamentals of the other two sides, which, taken with their correlated angles (all other studio help) form our producing organization. Much could be written concerning the relation to each other of the three sides and three angles; each is dependent on the other, but, being variables, the dependence varies, hence our irregular triangles. Should any one of our three angles become obtuse (try to take in too much territory), the other two, by mathematical law, must become acute (suffer at the other's expense). In other words, should the author, the director, or the cameraman develop a case of ego that is permitted to manifest itself to the detriment of the others, they and their product suffer, their work loses it's intended value. A perfect story, perfectly directed and perfectly photographed, gives us the perfect picture — the perfect triangle. This should be the aim of these three most important units, but this consummation of their united efforts calls for perfect cooperation. Such co-operation most naturally manifests itself between the writer and the director; again, between the director and the cameraman ; seldom has it been apparent between the writer and the cameraman. No doubt this is accounted for in that the writer and the cameraman are not nearly so closely associated in their work as the other two groups, but it can be shown that their work is interdependable. and that they can be of much assistance to each other, to the benefit of all. Space does not permit of our dwelling upon the relation existing between the first two groups, only insofar as is necessary to present the relation between the writer and the director of photography — the general theme of this article. To be an author (and this includes the scenarist), presupposes a creative imagination, but a creative imagination unsupported by a knowledge of the cameraman's magic is terribly handicapped, for such knowledge equips him with the power of visualization; visualization is the picture alchemist's secret in the transmutation of thought into action. This crystallized thought-action is passed on, through the medium of the screen, to the audiences whose ultimate reactions are a measure of box-office returns, the only criterion of success or failure in this mighty industry. The cameraman-sculptor, with chiseled light and object composition, is the medium of this thought transference; if the screen fails to properly present the writer's thought, there is an evident weakness inherent in the structural set-up, the triangle is un-equilateral. Is this condition due to a certain disrespect accorded the cameraman because his work in the past has been partially manual? Perhaps, and if so, it has been reflected back in the lost potentialities of both story and direction. I do not like to think that the above condition exists at the present time, but I do believe that the cameraman has not received and does not receive the credit due him in the success of a picture; he too often has been considered a mere mechanic, instead of a person best fitted to clothe the writer's thought that it may be best presented to the world at large. A knowledge of the manual labor connected with the photographing of a production, and a general understanding of photographic terms and equipment, does not prove of much worth to the writer; he must know, or be told, of the ultimate results that may be obtained through trick work, composition, color values, and most of all, the multitudinous values of light and shade, for after all, photography is but the recording of light and its many manifestations. Let him master these fundamentals and he can then consider himself in a position to work more smooth ly with the man responsible for bringing to life his brain children. But since most writers do not have the time or inclination to master the details of cinematography, they should not ignore the help that a cameraman is always ready to give, not so much in plot-building, but in the rendition of characters and creating the proper atmosphere in which they work. As the writer's success is dependent on the screen success of his brain-children, we can readily see how poorly rendered characters, in an atmosphere that doesn't "ring true," will greatly off-set the picture's success, even with an excellent story plot, for the audience does not see the picture conceived in the writer's mind. The Director of Photography, knowing the desires of the author, can transfer them to the screen in such a way that the audience lives and laughs and cries and forgets that they are merely beholding a story's unfoldment. He can light his "sets" so that the intangible thing called "atmosphere" becomes tangible and real ; he can heighten any characterization or portrayal by lighting it in such a way that the audience associates it with their own ideas of such visioned environment; it exists as they imagine in their own experiences, and you have a sympathetic audience. It is not for me to detail the various types of lighting necessary in creating "atmosphere"; an underworld "den" may be weird, shadowy, and suggestive; underlighting, or from beneath, is associated with infernal fires, and so on through the whole gamut of effects. Suffice to say that the cameraman who can most nearly "bring to life" the visualization that a creative writer must possess in order to create, will most truthfully invest the characters and their environment with their proper and most believable picturization. The camera's magic and "untruthfulness," properly understood by both writer and director, may be made to augment the writer's conception as he writes; incorporating them in the original thought, they are not weakened as in the case of being added later as "lean-to's" or afterthoughts. Process backgrounds and projection printers make possible the impossible of a few years ago; they are the Aladdin's Lamps that transport us into the past or the future; make fantasy real and turn realities into fantasy. These things are possible because the camera can be made to tell untruths, but in "lying" it speaks a great truth. The camera is only a thing of metal, a dead thing until touched by a Midas of Thought. Guided by the cameraman's knowledge of its functionings, coupled with his years of experience in properly "balancing" the composition of objects International Photographer for May, 1941