Film Fun (Jan - Dec 1917)

Running Back the Reel Twenty Years By RICHARD R. NEHLS iiiBiisiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiM Richard R. Nehls, manager of the American Film Company, has been in the film business from the time that it was considered merely a by-line of the mail-order houses. He is one of the few men who know the motion picture industry from every angle. He is now preparing an interesting series of articles which will contain much interesting data that has never appeared in print. Mr. Nehls wrote this short article for FILM FUN for this, its "Auld Lang Syne" Number. T^HE TWENTIETH anniversary of the founding of the film industry and your query as to its status twenty years ago have brought back to me many amusing memories of the days when motion pictures were first introduced. There were no film magnates then, unless you count the owners of the mail-order houses among the film magnates, for they were the first in control of the motion picture industry. They let it slip through their fingers, because they did not see the future values in it. Few people associate the motion pictures with the mailorder houses, but, just the same, they introduced motion pictures to the world. The first films I ever sold were sold in the stereopticon department of a mail-order house. Those were the days of the traveling operator and lecturer, usually a combination of the two. He wore a high silk hat, a Prince Albert coat, and generally bore a comfortable wad of tobacco in his left cheek. He gave his shows in the town hall and usually preceded them by sending a batch of notices of the show to the postmaster and the principal of the school, asking them to tack these notices up in the school, the post office and the drug stores of the town. The motion picture films were sold in connection with the magic-laniern slides and consisted of small strips of film, four or five feet long. Only the simplest of subjects were used — a donkey kicking his feet or a horse eating hay. The motion of the picture was the sensation. After showing the lantern slides for a quarter of an hour, the operator would switch over to the motion picture film and turn it around and around until he was tired, and then go back to the slides. The marvel was that the picture moved ! We sold the complete outfit. There was the stereopticon, the motion picture head for thi film, the slides, the gas-making outfit, the arc lamp and all the accessories. The operator had to be a resourceful chap, for where the town hall did not boast of an electric light, he had to supply a substitute with an outfit that produced a literal limelight from a block of lime and a combination of oxygen and hydrogen gas. If his blocks of lime happened to slake on him, as they sometimes did, the operator had to run out and get a block of lime somewhere and whittle it down to size. These short strips of film delighted the audiences. They would pay again and again to see the donkey kick or the horse eat hay. The showmen reaped small forlunes from them and acted on the principle that money must be :illlllllllllllll!lllllll[||||lll«l!llll!llllll!IIIIIUIIIII!llll!!lllllllll!llll!lllllllllllllllllllll!Illllllli: made while the sun shone, for none of them looked upon the motion picture as more than a transitory amusement that would flicker out when the stereopticon craze died down. Then a few enterprising men discovered the money that was being made with the short film. A machine called the ' ' optigraph' ' was brought out, and by means of this longer films could be easily shown. Pictures with any continuity of plot were unthought of. You may remember the furore the film of the Empire Express caused when it was shown. Hundreds packed the houses to see the picture of a train flying swiftly across the screen. It was considered a marvel. Anything that had action was considered good stuff. One of the first film men made a specialty of fire scenes. His camera man watched the fire alarms almost as closely as did the fire department. The camera was only a rod or two behind the engine when it dashed down the street, and these fire films had a wonderful vogue. About this time production on a small scale was begun. One of the first studios was in Chicago. I recall one of the first producers. He had been a baker. He made his own pictures in his backyard and dried the film in long rows on the clothesline, and he made so much money that he went into the business on a huge scale. His returns began to come in so fast that others jumped in. They hired anybody they could find who could be persuaded to come and act for two or three dollars a day. A regular actor or actress would have scorned any reference to the "movies." I recall one or two of them who berated a producer soundly for proposing such a thing, who only two years ago were pulling every string they could work to see their names in electric letters over a Broadway motion picture house. Ethics were nil in those days. Some of the very men who are now vigorously prosecuting film pirates to-day were the worst offenders in the early days. Film scenes were like the air — it was good to take all you could get. They sowed the seed themselves, and they are now reaping an abundant harvest. The picture show of those days was easy enough to put on. One could start in business for $200. All the exhibitor did was to rent a cheap store room, darken the windows with black curtains, put in a dozen or two of cheap kitchen chairs and hang up a white curtain for the picture to be shown against. The first operators of those days have made name and