The educational screen (c1922-c1956])

From Hollywood 115 after that, the drying room, with its pit revolving wooden drums, where in high temperature constantly main- ed, the film dries in a short time. v he printing room was deserted for the e, except for a workman who was re- ring one of the machines. Here I id more intricate mechanism—devised time accurately and expose for the per fraction of a moment each of the een pictures in every foot of film. In here," said my guide. I found my- in a darkened cubby hole, watching loving picture flicker on a miniature sen. Without warning the tiny slice life plunged into blackness; the buzz- of the projector stopped; there came , click and flash of an electric light. Did you see it?" demanded my guide. No*, I didn't," I said startled. The at the machine laughed—not un- dly. They hardly ever do," was her com- nt. What was it?" I asked. A nick in the film." She reeled back strip of celluloid, holding it against light, until she found the flaw, and rked it with a slip of paper and a wire >. The light winked out and the pic- e flashed again on the baby screen. A ken title cut into the sequence—was le; a murmur came from the gloom n'nd me. What?" I demanded. No quotes around that title." I deter- led to be more watchful. The projector buzzed on. Fifteen min- s passed—twenty—half an hour; but : once did I detect a blemish, though least a dozen flips of paper were )ped to the film. My companions ghed at my chagrin, and said kindly t I had been too much interested in story to notice the rest. But I found iifferent explanation,—the same thing that had impressed me all along the line —the fact that motion picture production is not the hit-or-miss, happy-go-lucky business we have thought it, but a serious, highly complex industry, requiring spe- cialists in every one of its many branches. We followed the roll of film to the cut- ting room where a strong, sweet odor, curiously familiar, assailed us. There I watched another girl, seated at still an- other sort of machine, cut out the flawed bits and cement the ends of film together so accurately, so delicately, that when I held the strip up to the light, 1 could hardly discern the patches. The cut edges lapped a tiny fraction of an inch. Formerly, cutting and splicing of film was done by hand, the results being in- accurate and often insecure. Now, with a splicing machine, a perfect patch is made in a moment, the machine containing even a small heating element which dries the cement—a combination of ether and banana oil. (The strong, sweet odor ex- plained!) Last of all we visited the polishing room, where the final scratches are elim- inated, and the film washed in alcohol and polished by electrically driven buffers, be- fore it is sent to the shipping department. Yet all these activities represent merely one phase of motion picture production. They are almost entirely mechanical; but upon their efficient performance depends the success or failure of the dramatic and artistic achievements of the picture. A shade too much, one way or the other, in developing or printing, and the scenic beauty of a story is spoiled; a mistake in captions overlooked, and the thread of the story is lost; a slip in cutting, and a dramatic situation is ruined. The respon- sibility is heavy, but on the other hand, the opportunities are numerous; for— whisper it—often the laboratory alone is credited with beautiful and artistic ef- fects that authors and artists and direc- tors have labored in vain to secure.!