Hollywood Spectator (1937-39)

Hollywood Spectator Page Thirteen “That is screen technique. If you had done in the close-up what you naturally felt like doing there would be too much head movement in the close-up on the screen. The thought you wanted to project would have been confused by unnecessary head movement.” “I see. So that is clarity.” “One form of clarity.” “Then I don’t do what is natural for me to do!” “You make it appear as if it were natural.” “But if, as Mr. Beaton says, the screen is not an acting art, why can’t I do what I wish? Why do I have to keep my head still in a close-up?” “It helps you to do what charming Mr. Beaton calls ‘projecting your personality’.” “Now, I’m ga-ga; well, another thing, do you remember that long speech I had yesterday, the one with the seventeen takes?” “When you were angry and told) the girl what you thought of her?” “Yes. I still don’t know why the director made me do it so many times.” “You arrived at your climax, vocally and emotionally, too soon. You had nothing left for the finish.” “But I was mad at her. I felt that way.” “True, but that was a speech which, as we say, had to be built up. It is one of the first rules one learns.” “Rules of what?” “Of acting.” “Oh! But I wouldn’t feel natural doing it that way.” “That’s probably because you have not had much experience in reading long speeches.” “You mean there’s a technique in speaking lines even before the camera?” “Ask any director.” “Then the screen does demand that a person know how to act?” “Again I suggest that you ask any director. Do you remember Luise Rainer’s telephone conversation in The Great Ziegfeld ?” “Yes.” “That scene should prove to you that technique in acting is necessary on the screen.” “Well, now I’m scared stiff.” “What about?” “My next picture.” “Why?” Do You Like GOOD FOOD — GOOD BEDS AND ALL THE COMFORTS OF HOME? Then Stop at the SANTA MARIA INN SANTA MARIA. CALIFORNIA Frank J. McCoy, Manager 174 miles from Los Angeles — 271 miles from Sen Francisco On Highway 101 “It’s a costume part; the role of an 18th century poet, sort of a gay fellow, takes snuff and all that.” “I see.” “Now I can’t play myself because my manners are too modern.” “Then you must characterize.” “Sure, but how? How does a fellow take snuff, how doees he handle his handkerchieef, how does he walk?” “My young friend, all those things are part of the repertoire of a trained actor, whether he appears on the screen or on the stage, but your director will teach you.” “Well then, the screen must be an acting art.” “Certainly; the screen is an acting art for thos,e who have the ability to make it so. If you want proof, study the performances of trained actors: Beulah Bondi in Make Way for Tomorrow ; Adolphe Menjou in Cafe Metropole, notice how with a look or a half-turn he builds a line for a laugh without sacrificing character; Helen Westley in the same picture; Joseph Schildkraut in The Garden of Allah ; Frank Morgan and Charles Ruggles in any of their pictures; these, and many more trained actors whom I could name should prove to you that the screen is an acting art; that the camera is kind to the actor who thinks in character and deadly to the actor who merely recites memorized lines.” “Well, I’m going to write Mr. Beaton a letter and ask him what he thinks of your point of view.” “Please don’t.” “Why not?” “Let him enjoy his vacation; let him enjoy his roses; let him enjoy his belief that the screen is not an acting art; and while he is thus occupied, young people like yourself, with the help of director and cutting room, will still go on projecting your personalities and trained actors will, I hope, still go on supporting you by just acting!” The Young Actor unstraddled himself, waved his hand and strolled away. As he went, the Character Actor murmured to himself: “Suit the action to the word; the word to the action, with this special observance, that you o’erstep not the modesty of nature!”