We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
May 1942
FILMINDIA
The man looked like a poor imitation of Garbo in "Queen Christina".
through a slow process of suffocation and melting. Every door had to be closed and no fans are allowed to work, so the room was like an oven. To add to this the room was crowded with extras and artificial trees and huge lights played down on the scene. The scene was a village one. The soldier son of an old villager returns to his village covered with glory after the war and the village is rejoicing. Dancers dressed in rather attractive blue costumes pranced wildly about brandishing obviously make-believe swords. Around the dancers sat what looked like a hungry group of unemplcyed mill workers. Those were supposed to be the villagers.
Actually they were film extras and are paid the tremendous sum of as. 12/ a day for sitting around and looking unintelligent. Girl extras, I was told, are paid Rs. 2-8 a day.
At one end of the scene was a dais on which sat two bearded old men whose grease-paint was melting and running into their mouths.
One cf them was probably supposed to be the father of the soldier hero. I was afraid to ask all the questions I would have liked to because every little while someone would shout "silence" and bang two wooden sticks together.
The man who seemed to have the most to say about the shooting of this scene was a long haired in
dividual who looked like a poor imitation of Garbo in "Queen Christina". He was a dancing master. He kept one eye on the dancers and one on us to see if we were impressed by his masterful handling of the scene. The actual director was nowhere to be seen, until the end when he hurried in, said a few words to the dancing master and then lapsed into an impressive silence. He came out of his trance once to blow a whistle, which blast no one took the slightest notice of.
By this time Miss Carlyle and I were little more than grease spots on the floor so we took the first opportunity to slither out of the studio.
I don't think I shall visit a film studio again. Maybe I went to the wrong studio or maybe I went on the wrong day. Maybe there's something wrong with me. Anyway take my advice and don't be a Paul Pry. Enjoy the films you see at your lecal cinema but don't try to see them in the making or they'll lose their glamour.
41