Motography (Jul - Dec 1915)

514 MOTOGRAPHY Vol. XIV, No. 11. plot of a story is no more a film masterpiece than it is a short story masterpiece. Popular opinion today seems to insist that the writer of fiction must of necessity be able to write for film production. I insist that, all other things being equal, the trained scenario writer, the man who has made it a study, the man who has worked and perspired trying to master its technique, trying to understand just what effect result in a good screen story, and how to get those effects, can write a better scenario, or even the synopsis of one, than the best writer of fiction alive today who has not made a similar study. Why should he not? Does it not stand to reason? Here we have two men of the same age. Both, for the sake of argument, have approximately the same brain power. Both have seen about the same phases of life. One of these men, striving as most of us are doing, for a mode of expression, turns to the printed page. He does not learn to write short stories over night. He studies effects. He studies technique, the value of words and their combinations. He studies conversation. And in the course of time, let us presume that he learns to write a good short story. Now for the other. He decides to turn his back to the printed page and tell his story on the celluloid. Are they the same? Does he have to study the same things as his friend? Not at all. He studies effects, that is true, but not the effects of words. He has no use for them. He studies action and pictures of action. He studies scenes and combinations of scenes. He studies action and he trains himself to see in his mind's eye the action which must become a logical part of a sequence of thought. He studies what can be done with the camera and what can not. He studies the technique of telling his story on celluloid, or of visualizing his story with the same energy that his friend expended in learning to tell his story with the aid of printer's ink. Let us presume also that in the course of time he succeeded. Now we have two men who are able to tell stories. One uses printer's ink. The other uses celluloid and a screen. Nine out of every ten men will insist that the fiction writer should be able to write scenarios, but how many will even hint that the scenario writer should be able to write fiction? Do you know anyone who would? I don't. It seems that the answer lies in the fact that few men outside a scenario department even dream that there is such a thing as technique in scenario writing and that, since the scenario writer uses no words, all he needs is the plot. No one would think of saying, however, that the artist, because he uses no words, needs no technique. That would be manifestly absurd. But absurd as it seems in the one case, it is accepted fact in the other. Properly speaking, the scenarioist should not be called a writer. What he writes is not the story ; it is a series of memoranda done with such close attention to detail that a producer can read it without the aid of an interpreter. He does not tell his story by means of words printed on paper any more than does the artist. He sees a picture in his mind's eye and plans the action which the players are to follow so that collectively they may tell the story on the celluloid. And since their methods of telling their stories are so different does it not seem absurd to suppose that the plot for the one is, of necessity, a good plot for the other? As a matter of fact, there is no more similarity between the writer of fiction and the scenarioist than there is between a newspaper reporter and a dramatist. No, there are many modes of expression, many arts, if you prefer. There are music and the dance; there are painting and sculpture; there is verse, the drama, the short story, the novel and last of all there is the scenario. And it is quite as sensible to assume that any other two of them are interchangeable as to insist that the writer of fiction can fill the place of the scenario writer, without first having studied long to master the technique of this, the youngest of the arts. BRYANT WASHBURN, CLEVER ESSANA Y LEADING MAN Bryant Washburn, Essanay actor, has reformed. He is no longer the bold bad man, the skulking weakling and general all around evil character he was of yore. Instead he has blossomed out into a hero, a regular St. George, whose chief delight is to find the deadly dragons that infest society and to put them to an untimely death. For Mr. Washburn is no longer playing the villain parts in which he was famous. Mr. Washburn is one of the cleverest portrayers of character and one of the most deft in bringing out situations requiring subtle acting, and Essanay, recognizing his ability, has placed him in lead parts and characterization work in which he has proved eminently successful and has been gaining in popularity daily. Though Mr. Washburn now is being cast almost entirely for leads, he never hesitates to submerge himself in character work compelling complete disguise of his own personality. In the photoplay. "The Little Deceiver," he plays the part of an old man with such skill in acting and with such perfect make-up that he could not be recognized. This is one of the characteristics of the handsome new lead, that he is so devoted to the art in his work that he throws himself completely into the part he takes. In plays not requiring a special make-up, Mr. Washburn is one of the few actors who does not use grease paint or powder or even darken his eyebrows. Although only 25 years old he has had a wide experience both on the speaking stage and in photoplays. Southern territory sold this past week on the K & R Film Company's feature, "Silver Threads Among the Gold," consists of Alabama, Georgia, Florida and Tennessee to Albert Benzing, and Virginia, North and South Carolina to Harry Newman. Manager Garson of the Broadway Features Company bought Michigan and opened in Detroit, August 29