The Motion Picture Director (1925)

THE DIRECTOR Vol. 2, No. I JULY, 1925 Th the Directors Chair Budgets O you remember those happy days of a decade ago when the majority of us who have since made our living in the direction of motion pictures were timidly graduating from the realm of illusion behind the footlights into an even more illusive domain behind the camera? Those indeed were salubrious hours, though none the less hectic, as we experimented with and juggled our ideas to accommodate the demands of camera and screen. They were particularly happy because we were not saddled with the horrors of the modern budget system and the present insistent efforts toward economic production plus the advent into the studios of miles of auditors’ and accountants’ cages that are said to typify “good business.’’ It is perhaps just as well that we were not thus burdened and harassed. Had we been so we are inclined to think that many of us who are now shouting “Camera!’’ would have become so utterly discouraged with the attention devoted to expenditure rather than to the excellence of the picture, that we would have stuck out our tongues, made wry faces, and quit. We were idealists seeking to transfer our ideas directly to the screen without being overcome by the mastodonic machine of mathematics. Diference in Costs Of course we realize that costs in every department of the industry in those days can not compare with those current now, and for that reason we do not decry the use of the budget system. We think it a good thing and know that the industry and its finance would be like a ship lost at sea without it. What we do condemn more particularly is its abuse. Our confidential agent, who is pretty slick in some ways, and who has the habit of meandering about the various studios in Hollywood and New York, has reported to us some amazing abuses of this budget system. Indeed they are so flagrant that they cause us to wonder really whether the budget is serving the purpose for which it is intended. May we pause to discuss one incident in particular. At the general conference of the heads of the different departments of a certain studio just prior to their launching one of those so-called “super-masterpieces,’’ a working schedule or budget was outlined for the benefit of all concerned so that each might see what was demanded of his department during the progress of the picture. The technical department was called upon to supply so much material, so many sets and so many workmen, and this work was to be completed in so many days. And thus the round robin went until a complete map of the production was passed to the director and his crew. The script called for the construction of a mighty set in which perhaps two or three thousand extra people were to have worked. The Big Set From then on the studio became a veritable beehive of activity until the set in question was finished to the satisfaction of all concerned. The director was allowed a certain number of days, according to schedule, to complete the scenes to be staged therein. Then he started work. In a business-like, yet leisurely manner, he approached the more important scenes first, so that he might have plenty of time to concentrate later on the massive scenes requiring the presence of the larger groups of people. In one way or another some of his break-a-ways failed to operate; some of his mechanical devices refused to live up to the terms of the budget that had been so carefully planned prior to the start of the picture. Repairs had to be made and sturdier properties assembled. More powerful lights were required. All of this, of course, gobbled up a lot of time which was not in the cards, so that when the time came for this director to work out the sequence of his mob scenes, he discovered that he was literally at the end of the schedule allotted him for this set. 3