American cinematographer (Jan-Dec 1941)

THROUGH the EDITOR S FINDER A I'll TURE was recently previewed, the work of an outstanding director of photography who made with it his debut as a director. Next morning we noticed the trade press went violently out of its way to damn the direction — almost as rabidly as though the man in question bad refused to take advertising space in their pages. Unfortunately, we did not see the picture, though we intend to. So we can't say whether or not that condemnation was justified. Offhand, we'd say from what we personally saw on the set that it wasn't. And we know of plenty of instances where these trade-paper authorities have reviewed first-production efforts from "directors" drafted from other fields, where the direction, to our mind at least, was most pungently amateurish, and sidestepped the issue by ignoring direction, and concentrating their verbal bricks and bouquets on cast, writing, and similar aspects. We can't help wondering why, in this case, they went so far out of their way to slap a good man down. Maybe they expected too much. That is almost always the case when a cinematographer turns to direction. Press, producers and all seem to expect him, because of his technical mastery of the medium, to be able to do more than miracles — to rise above all the limitations of story, casting, budget, schedule and the rest, and make a cinematic silk purse out of a dramatic sow's ear. No conceivable amount of technical mastery can make this super-miracle possible. Well, we're going to see that picture. We want to see for ourselves whether the august trade-paper demigods are correct in their unrestrained slams at direction, or whether it might be good direction handcuffed by less than Bpicture budget and schedule, implausible story-construction and dialog, and a cast which (as we recall the printed credits) seems to exude a strong aroma of bam and fine old whiskey. WE can't think of anyone to whom the camera profession owes a bigger debt of gratitude at this time than Gregg Toland, A.S.C. Opinions may differ as to the technical and artistic merits of what he did in bringing Orson Welles' "Citizen Kane" to the screen, but it cannot be gainsaid that the arresting visual treatment he gave that film has done more than any other single achievement of the last twenty years to make the public at large conscious of the cinematographer and the creative part he plays in making a motion picture. Moreover, even within our own ranks Toland's "Citizen Kane" technique has acted like a tonic. Some cinematogra pliers are fervently enthusiastic about it, pointing out that while it is based on obvious and familiar photographic principles, the particular combination Toland devised, and their application to practice as in "Citizen Kane" constitute one of the very few radically new cinematographic concepts in the last decade or so. Others, with equal vigor and sincerity, hold that this technique means a departure from all the standards of good photography toward which we have been striving for so many years. In other words, good or bad, "Citizen Kane's" photography is making the industry's cinematographers think more seriously about what constitutes good cinematography than any picture since Karl Freund's "Variety" of fifteen years ago and the pioneer Billy BitzerD. W. Griffith achievements some ten or fifteen years before that. As such, it is doing the entire camera profession a good turn — jolting it out of the complacent acceptance of doing things thus and so because that is the accepted way, which has been all too apparent in almost every studio. "Citizen Kane" and its "pan-focus" technique may be a flash in the pan; we're as yet too close to it to know. But in making the industry's cinematographers think and talk analytically about their work, it is serving a useful purpose. After all, we can't make much progress in anything unless we've a clear mental impression of what we're striving for. And even to those cinematographers who disagree most violently with Toland's ideas, the controversy is giving a new and clearer perception of the kind of camerawork they consider the goal to be attained. AS more and more Technicolor pictures are being made, an interesting professional problem is developing. Is it, or is it not advisable that the production cinematographer have with him a Technicolor cinematographer? Both sides of the question have ardent advocates, and good arguments to commend them. Those who feel the production cinematographer should work alone point to the fact that it has been done, and successfully, in several instances. They point out that the Technicolor cinematographer, as an employee not of the studio but of the color-company, tends inevitably to take the conservative path, avoiding innovations in lighting and similar techniques. And they say that only by taking some chances — by trying an occasional daring experiment — have we advanced the artistic scope of blackand-white camerawork: therefore, taking the safely conservative course can hinder the advance of color. And for their crowning argument many of them point to the constantly-increasing use of Technicolor as an indication that eventually all major productions will be made in color: so, they say, there will certainly not be enough Technicolor specialists to make possible that sort of teaming then — so why do it now? Those who take the opposite view have equally good arguments. Color is new, they point out, and failures even more expensive and embarrassing in color than in black-and-white. Therefore why not take advantage of having with you a man who is thoroughly' versed in the proven limitations and possibilities of the process After all, it's to your own benefit! Further, many of them state, modern production has become so complicated that even in blackand-white it would be of great advantage to the cinematographer and studio alike that the director of photography have associated with him an associate director of photography to lessen the physical demands of what is actually a strenuous two-man job. In color, with its greater complication and acknowledged technical limitations, such collaboration is even more desirable, so since it is already an established practice, by all means continue and encourage it. With such valid arguments on both sides of the question, we're certainly not taking sides. But it seems to us it could stand more extensive discussion, both in these pages and elsewhere. We can't help wondering if the present shortage of materials used in making amateur cine-cameras and equipment may not, in the long run, turn out to be actually beneficial. The Government agencies charged with conserving our supplies of aluminum, steel, copper, etc., for use in defense industries point out that many articles ordinarily made of these metals can very well be made, not only as well, but possibly better, from modern plastics. We have an idea that 16mm. and 8mm. home-movie cameras might very well be in this class. After all, even since the advent of sound some thirteen years ago, studio cine-cameras have been making use of plastic gears; some European studio cameras have made use of plastics for film-magazines and similar parts, and at least one we've seen made use of tough, semi-resilient plastic, reinforced by a single, steel frameplate, for the entire camera-housing. Accoi'ding to some of the reports we've read, there are plastics now available that offer much the strength of steel, and which can be moulded, shaped and machined in ways sometimes superior to the way we are accustomed to handling metal. So is it too far beyond the range of possibility to look forward to a home-movie camera which, with the exception of its steel spring and glass lens, would be made wholly of light, strong plastics, and capable of even greater mass-production than our present types of construction? 424 Sep i lit 11 American Cinematograimiek