American cinematographer (Jan-Dec 1942)

entirely in the sun, or entirely in the shade, for you can't satisfactorily compromise between the two. You're bound to lose one or the other. Reflectors — if conditions permit — help in closer shots. But you can't aways carry reflectors when you're on field sei-vice. I found a very passable substitute, however, when I had to grab a scene in a hurry while making "Trader Horn" in the African bush. It's luckily a substitute that is handily available in most foreigii parts, where gasoline usually comes in 5-gallori tins. I simply straightened out a couple of these tin cans, which made excellent "hard" reflectors. For "soft" reflectors, I appropriated the leading lady's bedsheets, which is a substitute you're not likely to find in an army in the field. Well, we used hers because she was the only one in the ti'oupe who rated sheets! Once you've exposed your film, dehydrate it and pack it as quickly as possib'e. ^ou can dehydrate your film in a very simple desiccator consisting of an air-tight, light-tight can just big enough to hold a few rolls of film. At the lower end of the can, fix a false bottom of • screening or perforated sheet-metal. Beneath this place a pan of calcium chloride. This chemical absorbs moisture from the air. Leave your film in the desiccator overnight or longer, and the calcium chloride will absorb the moisture in the air, and also the surplus moisture in the film. The chemical can be dried for re-use by simply placing it in a hot oven for a while. Then pack your film and seal it. Be sure and pack it in cans and black paper both of which are really dry. You can desiccate your packing materials with calcium chloride, but a simpler way to do is to simply put cans and black paper into an oven until they're thoroughly dry. You can easily tell when the paper is dry: normally, paper in the tropics is as limp as a wet dishrag. But when thoroughly dry, the paper will crackle when you handle it. Don't make the mistake of carefully sealing well-desiccated film in cans and paper that aren't dry: the moisture in the packing is quite enough to spoil your film. Plenty of professional troupes have found this out, very much to their sorrow! Finally, seal your film-can so it is airtight. The best way to do this is to apply adhesive tape, and then seal this thoroughly with paraffin or wax. If you do this, and have your film and its packing thoroughly desiccated, you'll find there's no reason to have your film shipped home in the ship's refrigei-atorroom (if any.) Just be sure, however, that it isn't stored too close to the heat of the boilers. In the arctic regions, your problem is strictly that of cold. If you know you're going to such a locality at a season when it's cold (don't forget that the Alaskan summer can be as hot and damp as that of Minnesota!) begin by preparing your camera to operate at abnormally cold temperatures. Don't depend too much on laboratory "coldroom" tests. We tested all our equipment that way to temperatures down to 40 below — and then when we got to Alaska we found that things worked very diff'erently in practice! Take the camera completely apart, and get every bit of lubricating oil and gTease out of the mechanism — including the lens-mounts. Replace this either with the special, low-temperature oils made for such purposes, or with the very finest gi'ade of watch oil you can get. If you can't get these special lubricants, you'd better let your camera — especially the ball bearings— run completely dry. In the low temperatures, the contraction of the metal will be quite sufficient to increase clearances so this can be done. You may find, however, that the batteries which normally have enough power to keep your camera at speed won't do it in the cold, for their power, too, drops with the temperature. You can get special batteries that will work in these temperatures; or you can use extra batteries in series. If your shooting is primarily exteriors, keep both cameras and film constantly at outdoor temperature. If you bring the camei'a indoors, where the air is warmer, moisture will condense on the cold metal, and especially on the cold glass of the lens. It will fog up your interior shots — and then when you take the camera out into the cold again, for more exteriors, it will freeze into ice, not only in the mechanism, but on the lens-surfaces, and you're likely to have no picture at all. If you can, keep two separate outfits, and two separate film-supplies, one for exteriors (kept at outdoor temperatures) and the other for interiors (kept at room-temperatures.) If you can't do this, resign yourself to completely cleaning and drying cameras and lenses every time you go from indoor to out, or from out to in. Working in arctic temperatures, you'll naturally wear heavy gloves or mittens most of the time. But you can't make precise adjustments with them on. So you'll find it a very good idea to wear a pair of thin silk gloves under these mittens. They'll permit you to make accurate adjustments, and at the same time keep your fingei's fi'om actual contact with the frigid metal. And if you ever stuck your finger or tongue against a bit of cold metal when you were a boy, you know that your skin, brought into contact with really cold metal, has an unpleasant tendency to adhere to the metal — and to stay there even when the rest of you moves away ! Shipping film from these excessively cold regions to more normal climes for development can be quite a problem. When we made "Eskimo" up in Alaska, we had a good deal of trouble from "static" Hashes. These are a result of flashes of static electricity which crackle, like sparks from a cat's back, when the film is unwound. On the screen they look like momentary flashes of a spraggly tree-trunk — usually right down the most important part of the frame. We found the trouble came from extreme and perhaps repeated changes in temperature. Our film went to Seattle by air, and remained pretty cold during this part of the trip. Then in the express office and in the rain on the way to Hollywood, it was suddenly brought to normally warm room tempei'atures. But when we saw to it that the film was transported in a way that permitted it to change from the temperature of the Alaskan winter to that of California slowly and gradually, our trouble was gone. Finally, remember that no matter how good a cameraman you may be when you're on your home grounds, when you get out into the foreign field you're likely to be working constantly under completely unfamiliar conditions of atmosphere and lighting. Working in the English climate, for instance, is very different from anything you'll encounter in the U.S.A. You'll meet entirely different conditions in the tropics, in Alaska, and almost everywhere you go. ■Make it a point, in strange and distant locations, to ask the man who already lives thei'e. You may not necessarily have to ask questions; just look up the local photographer — there's always one, I've found — and spend a little time getting acquainted. Look over his negatives and prints — especially outdoor shots — and indulge in a little pleasant photographic rag-chewing, and you'll probably get the tips you want in the process. That's an idea I've found pays big dividends. The first thing I do when I reach an unfamiliar location is to get acquainted with the local picture-maker, and I soon find myself on the right track to beating the local atmospheric hazards. As I say, there's nearly always someone who makes pictures, no matter where you go. He may not necessarily be a cinematographer; he may not even be a professional (some of these amateurs are as good as most professionals, anyway) but he knows the conditions of picture-taking in his locality. You'll find some exceedingly fine professional and amateur photographers in England, for instance. There are some crackerjack native cinematographers in India, all the way from Bombay to Calcutta. "Down under" in Australia, you'll find some excellent professionals, and some of the world's most capable amateurs, as well. If any of our camera crews get to Russia, they'll find many fine and friendly professional cinematographers there, too — surprisingly many who can and do read The American Cinematographer in its original English. Judged by those I and other members of the A.S.C. have met in our travels, you'll find them all eager to help you and cooperate with you, often in ways you wouldn't expect in such distant lands. There are some uncommonly capable cinematographers in Germany and Japan, too, but at pi-esent, I fear they're not inclined to be quite so cooperative or friendly. However, by the time enough Yanks have landed so our military camera units can get to work, it's very likely indeed that even these gentry may have decided that cooperation isn't such a bad policy, after all! END. 228 May, 1942 American Cinematographer