American cinematographer (Jan-Dec 1928)

Eighteen AMERICAN CINEMATOGRAPHER August, 1!J28 engineering, awarding diplomas or licenses to the applicant after he has shown his efficiency by a test. As Bandoeng is in the mountains it is cool at night and the water in the bath too cool for comfort. They have what they call a "hot bath." This is a nickled glass appliance, "By Professor Junkers," so it says on the name plate and requires quite as much figuring out as the light switches. When I did get it going a luke warm stream of water dribbled out of its spout. An appropriate name for the appliance would be the first syllable of the professor's name. I visited the native theatre, which was very interesting. The admission was fifteen Guilders cents (about 6 cents in American money). Inside it was a huge place with an earth floor. Natives walked about and patronized the dozens of eating and native drink stands. On one side a picture was being screened, "Charlie Chaplin's 'The Gold Rush'," and the natives got just as many laughs out of it as any other audience in any part of the world. Farther down the theatre a native opera was being staged and, on the right-hand stage as I went in, I saw native dancers swaying to the peculiar music of the country. The place was jammed and was as interesting a theatre as I have ever seen. The scenery enroute to Bandoeng is extremely interesting. Rice fields rise in terraces on the hills and the landscape looks like a huge checker-board. It appears as though every square inch of land in Java is under cultivation. Every time they rang the bell of the train (which was quite frequent as they have native engineers and firemen) I expected to hear: "All aboard for Natchez, Cairo and St. Louis!" The bell has exactly the same tone as the one used by the "Two Black Crows." Their record is just as popular in this part of the world as I imagine it is at home. At all hours during the day native peddlers call at the hotels and attempt to sell a standard line of curios to the guests. They do not bother the male guests much, but concentrate on the "weaker sex." (The bird that coined that phrase never saw a Dutch lady.) The lady in the room across the road from me has frequent set-tos with them, and if a sport writer was asked to cover the affair he would probably turn in copy reading something like this: "OUT IN THE NINTH ROUND" "The crowd was on its feet as the boxers sparred for an opening in the center of the ring. For eight hard rounds the battle had raged, points first to one gladiator and then the other. It was anyone's fight when suddenly the White Hope stepped back and . "In the jargon of the motion picture studios," the scene will now slowly dissolve to ." An European lady seated in a comfortable chair on the veranda of her hotel room in the Hotel Nederlanden, Weltevreden, Java. The scene is the same as the one described above, except there is no crowd and the sparring is between the "Mem" (Lady, Mistress, etc.,) and a native peddler of silks, lace and cross-stitch linen. The "Mem" has her mind set on a certain bit of lace. The argument, over the reduction of one guilder from the price, has been going on for some rounds. The peddler has handed out some snappy lefthooks (adjectives), counter blows of fractions, of a Guilder and is attempting a clinch of the sale. The "Mem" has stood her ground and retaliated with short, straight lefts and rights (Tidas) "No." Time is almost up for the peddler. If he can hold out for the odd Guilder, he is sure of a decision in this round. He changes his tactics and assumes a bored expression at the same time making a movement to repack the display on the verandah floor. The "Mem" counters this lead by picking up a book and leaning back in her chair. The peddler lands a quick chop of ten cents off the disputed Guilder but "Mem" counters this by hooking over a wicked "Pigi" (go — be off — get away). The peddler takes the count and accepts the two Guilders for the lace. The "Mem" smiles as she pays him thinking of the pleasure she will have telling her friends at home of her smartness in bargaining with the native of Java. The native smiles to himself as he pockets the two Guilders. He has had a very pleasant argument and the purse of two Guilders was his original price anyway. I reached Talkie Talk By Phil Gersdorf "Unless motion picture producers show more wisdom than they have in the past, the movie will go through the same phase of imitation of the speaking stage with the introduction of talking devices, that it passed through in its early history." That is the warning sounded by Ralph Block, who is producing twelve of the twenty-eight pictures of the new Pathe program. Block is one of the few producers in Hollywood who came to motion pictures with a mature knowledge of the stage behind him. Before he entered motion pictures nine years ago, he was dramatic critic of the New York Tribune, and was also associated with the New York Theatre Guild in its early history. "The motion picture is an entirely different form of entertainment from the stage," Block explains. "It has its own laws, its own capacities and limitations and it differs in its vital aspects. Nevertheless, stage technicians who have never had anything to do with the camera are already being imported to Hollywood to produce talking pictures. The result undoubtedly will be, for a while, a long series of movies photographed directly for .'tageaction, with the introduction of close-ups to provide for mechanical speech. "Sound and mechanical devices which make dialogue a possible substitute for written titles in a motion picture, only extend the possibilities of the camera. But a lot of bad pictures will be made with dialogue before producers wake up to the fact that they are sti'l de_,1i,no' with film and camera — because the microphone is as much a camera for sound as the motion picture camera is necessary for vision. "The idea of talking pictures may be basically sound, but to think of giving up all the advances that have been made by the movies in the past few years in the use of pantomime — which without a doubt early sound pictures will surrender — is to throw away everything of value that has been built by the best minds of the industry. The easiest way, of course, will be to reproduce the scenes, story development and business of stage plavs with dialogue inserted in close-ups where it is necessary, but the public will soon tire of this kind of bastard art. "The use of spoken dialogue certainlv wi'l int^n^fv and add to the forcef ulness and vitality of motion picture entertainment. This will be especially tru" vhe^ i+ is used to develop the ideas that the camera itself has established. But it would be unthinkable to give up the fine pantomimic humor and drama that the motion picture camera had developed to such a hicrh de^e-1. The use of dialogue will also decrease the difficulties that motion picture scenario writers now have in building exposition, if it is used with imaginative insight. "Motion picture technique is no great secret, nevertheless it demands experience in its use. Where the movie will benefit greatly, however, is in the fact that these increased facilities will attract imaginations and creative intellects from among the world of writers who have hitherto refused to become interested in the screen — aside from the money they were able to get from it — because of the fact that the use of spoken language, with all its intonations, inflections and implications was denied to them." the ring, I mean the veranda, at this stage, and might have saved the peddler punishment, if I had reached the scene of battle earlier, by throwing in the towel in the first round as I have watched the "Mem' for several days and know her ability in an argument. The peddler was arguing out of his class, but it must have been a great bout. Tomorrow, the "Mem" will have a six-round, no decision argument with a seller of brass ware. It should be an interesting and exciting "go" for followers of this sport. As this about completes my 2500 words for this month, I will strike the arc and display the slide that says: "PAUZ" — Until Next Month.