American cinematographer (Jan-Dec 1945)

Shooting Production Under Fire (Continued from Page 297) minated from one side by a window, we would duplicate the effect with our lights, letting the other side of his face go black with just enough fill to bring out detail. Similarly, we used top-lighting and back-lighting only to separate our char¬ acters from the background and give them depth. Certain sequences called for unusual lighting, such as one set-up in the operating room of a field hospital, which demanded an effect as if all the light on the scene were coming from a single shaded bulb over the operating table. Another sequence utilized candlelight as an integral part of its subject matter and we had to produce high, flickering shadows on the walls while maintaining an effect as if all our light were coming from that single candle source. These effects were difficult to achieve with our “dish-pan” floods, but by careful place¬ ment of lights, manipulation of the barn¬ door masks, and the use of our two homemade spots, we were able to pro¬ duce these moods quite realistically. The key of the lighting was always slanted to the subject matter. Certain sequences definitely demanded low-key, while others were only effective when brightly lit. In every case, however, the lighting was keyed solely to the dramatic demands of the sequence, and not to what the cinematographer thought might look nice on the screen. Our shooting at Thionville proceeded without incident except for the fact that now and then the shelling became so intense that cast, crew, and equipment were forced to retreat to the air-raid shelter until it had subsided. We were able to get the “front-line” feeling into this sequence by shooting uncontrolled footage of our mortar and artillery positions shelling the Germans in the other half of town. Then we set up our camera on the top floor of an abandoned observation post, zeroed in our 12-inch lens, and filmed some screen¬ filling close-ups of our shells blasting enemy targets on the other side of the river. The enemy must have spotted re¬ flections of the sun on our lenses, be¬ cause the observation post suddenly be¬ came a hotly pounded target. We got out of there just in time to see a shell knock the top floor of the building off. Meanwhile Sgt. Coogan left the unit to become 1st Sergeant of the company. He was replaced as operating camera¬ man by T/5 Donald L. Perrine, a genial Texan, who is a fine camera craftsman. We received word from Army intelli¬ gence that the city of Metz was about to fall, and we made plans to go in with the first waves of Infantry. It was es¬ sential to our story that we record the atmosphere of the city as it was imme¬ diately after falling, as the character of a town tends to change rapidly once the fighting has ceased. We stripped our equipment and per¬ sonal belongings down to bare essentials. We mounted a tripod in the back of our three-quarter-ton truck so that we could whip the truck into position and be ready to shoot a scene on slightest no¬ tice. I took a small hand-held Eyemo and sat ready in the jeep to film “grab” shots as we entered the town. We had studied every inch of the map of Metz. We knew exactly where to go to locate our photographic objectives. Our entrance into Metz was a dra¬ matic sort of thing. We looked like something out of “Grapes of Wrath” with cameramen hanging all over the jeep. But we were in on a big show — so big, in fact, that we wondered how we were going to get it all on the screen. There were dying horses thrashing about in the streets, wounded soldiers receiv¬ ing first aid from combat medics. Whole buildings exploded into powder. No civ¬ ilians were to be seen — only tanks surg¬ ing forward laden with Infantrymen. Snipers took pot-shots at us from build¬ ings. It was a field day of action. We ground away at the scenes, capturing on film the atmosphere of a dying city. We knew that there was only one way to cover a situation so huge in scope and that was to narrow down our shoot¬ ing to specific items which would convey the impression we were after. We filmed some establishing shots, then moved in for huge selective close-ups: the face of a dead storm-trooper, tank-treads crush¬ ing a German steel helmet, a shell-hole in the center of a huge Nazi flag draped down the side of a building. Other combat units were getting gen¬ eral newsreel coverage of the situation, so we filmed only what our script told us we needed for the story of Civil Affairs. The soldiers and the tanks swept be¬ yond the city to continue the battle. Three strong forts still held out, and their shells screamed overhead. But the city itself was dead, not a soul on the street, nothing that yet livid. We filmed this silent wreckage in all its jagged reality. Then we moved our truck into the town square and took up a vantage point. Knowing that the sight of a camera always prompts subjects to look directly into the lens we lowered the tarp on the back of the truck so that only the lens peeked out of the small flap opening. We mounted an array of long focal length lenses on the camera turret. Then we waited for the next phase of our script to develop. We didn’t have to wait long. Army Psychological Warfare personnel set up speakers in the square and began broad¬ casting the fact that the city was now liberated, and offered assistance to the civilians. From the cellars and other deep hiding places the dazed civilians slowly emerged and stood listening. Our cameras began to grind. We spotted various human interest types in our finder, flipped lenses for a change of image size, and got the shots our script told us we needed. Shooting through the small tarp-flap with the 12inch telephoto lens we were able to get screen-filling close-ups of people thirty feet from our camera without those peo¬ ple realizing that they were being pho¬ tographed. We used this “candid” technique in later sequences whenever we wanted nat¬ ural, unstudied, poignant shots of the populace. We would set up our lights for an interior sequence, then park the camera behind a door with just the lens peering out. Then when a dramatic bit of action developed we would start the camera grinding, flip lenses and have the sequence “in the can.” Although we avoided any forced cine¬ matic techniques, there were sequences in the film that very definitely called for dolly shots. Since the Army didn’t pro¬ vide us with any booms, we managed to build a very acceptable dolly from a low steel cart of the type used to haul heavy boxes. It had rubber wheels and we built a wooden camera platform on top big enough for the camera, camera¬ man, and an assistant to follow-focus. This dolly was portable and efficient for interior work. For exteriors we placed the camera in the back of the jeep, let some of the air out of the tires for smoothness, and we had a very passable camera boom. We shot footage on the activities of Civil Affairs for thirty days straight, during twenty-one of which the city was subjected to heavy shelling from the forts that still stubbornly held out. That, plus the ever-present snipers made things hectic at times. We filmed every phase of the recon¬ struction work: the refurnishing of pub¬ lic utilities, emergency water-purifica¬ tion and distribution services, the dis¬ tribution of captured enemy food to the hungry civilians, the registration of townspeople and regulation of civilian travel, the huge job of caring for thou¬ sands of abandoned slave laborers of every nationality. From time to time our script demand¬ ed that we shoot atmospheric street scenes for inter-cutting to show the gradually mounting tempo of life in the city as it gradually came back to life again. Naturally a great deal of our action had to be controlled, but it was present¬ ed strictly according to the actual situ¬ ation, and was directed with emphasis on the human interest phases of the story. We wanted our audiences to know these people as they really were, to understand their problems, and to see what Civil Affairs was doing to help their plight. Most of the cast were civilians, and my biggest difficulty in directing them had to do with language differences. (Continued on Page 315) 306 September, 1945 • American Cinematographer