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bourhood, he will, or should, find it quite a different place when he approaches it with a view to portraying it on the screen. Instead of rushing out and filming the High Street, the Curiosity Shop on the corner, and shooting that dreadful pan from the weathercock on top of the steeple to the porch of the church, let him consider, perhaps for the first time, what it is that creates a certain character — atmosphere — about the place. Why is Swindon so different from Canterbury? Birmingham from Torquay? There is something more than sea or no sea, trains or cathedrals. The characters of the residents reflect that something; the shops, and the things they sell. That " something '* must be captured, and that is why I suggested the camera should be locked away for two weeks, until the producer has discovered what it is, and how to portray it. If the atmosphere of the past pervades the place, pictorial reference must be made to it. Why do those craft-workers, in the narrow street under the shadow of the cathedral, fit in so perfectly there. How out of place they would seem spinning next to vast engine sheds. Imagine rows and rows and rows of tiny depressing houses running past the walls of the cathedral. They "don't belong." Unfortunately, they are in their rightful place, framing vast locomotive shops. Watch the faces of workers in the one town, and the other. Estimate the different tempo of living. In rone street a horse dozes. In another it would cause chaotic traffic blocks. What dominates or influences life in Torquay that is so different from Birmingham? Holidays and work? Something more than that.
Along such lines I would plan the scenario in my mind. Certainly I should film the High Street and the crooked cottages, but only if they were real contributions to the story — if they built up the character — atmosphere — soul, call it what you will, of the place. Go to Wales and feel the effect of the valleys ; to Scotland and experience the stillness in the Highlands. Those who live there are used to such things, but unconsciously they reflect the spirit of the localities in a hundred ways which the camera can capture: the slowness of their walk; beards; bent shoulders; facial expressions; how they earn their livings — all are governed by their surroundings, and the screen can vividly show this to be so. But is that kind of thing enough? Is not a central theme a necessity? I believe the individual can best answer that question, but, personally, I feel a theme is essential, thereby closely linking the documentary to the fictional film. In Wright's excellent The Country Comes to Town the interrelation of town and country is extremely fine, and consolidates the whole film. The ending is brilliant. Crowds of city clerks hurry over London's bridges to work. The scene dissolves into long shots of fields and downs, and the commentary asks you to remember, every time you watch city crowds, to see just beyond them the
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