Movie Makers (Jan-Dec 1938)

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Henle from Black Star MAKING MOTION MEAN SOMETHING 178 EPES W. SARGENT, ACL BACK in 1895. William Holpin, an astute showman, took one of the then new motion picture projectors down to the Atlanta exposition in the expectation of sweeping up the midway. But, the first few days, the only reaction Holpin got was a protest from adjacent concessionaires that his ticket taker snored so loudly he interfered with their ballyhoos. The cashier stayed awake because she was reading a novel under the protection of the ticket ledge. People by the hundreds stopped to read the displayed newspaper clippings, but they passed on. I [orpin got out and mingled with the crowd, catching a sentence here, a remark there. Next morning, he had a new sign in front of the concession. It offered free admission to all and sundry, but, if the pictures really moved, the audience paid as they left the crude theatre. It worked. By the end of the week, he was "standing them out." \\ ord got around that the pictures really did move. What Holpin discovered was that most persons "knew" that photographs could not move, so, in spite of all the newspaper clips, this must be just another lantern show with a new and fancy name. In those days, motion was all the pictures had to offer. Express trains rushed along the track, fire engines dashed down No movement, but yet a good scene for a travel reel the street, two babies squabbled over a bowl of porridge or the Lumiere workmen left the factory, streaming through the gate for a Saturday half holiday. All motion, but, at that time, motion alone was sufficient for those who never before had seen a moving photograph. Movement alone sufficed for about a year. Then they took to making little one and two minute comedies. A boy stepped on the garden hose, shutting off the flow of water. The gardener looked at the nozzle, the boy stepped off and the gardener took a ducking, so he turned the hose on the lad. A "belly laugh" in show business today, here was the beginning of slapstick comedies. Gradually, the length was extended, permitting more careful development, until the one reel size was attained, which, in time, became the five reel feature. The greater possibilities brought into the business a more competent force of stage directors, and, by slow degrees, more restrained acting became the thing, reaching its peak shortly before the advent of sound. Today, it seems as if the development of amateur movies were following along the same lines. Too many novice camera workers are still at the first stage. They feel that, if they make motion pictures, they must have movement all the time. Many of them have heard that every scene must contain action, and they follow that injunction implicitly. As heretical as it may seem, it is not necessary that there be movement in every scene f a film. On the stage, the value of an occasional pause in action or a temporary silence is well recognized, and likewise the static shot in a scenic film has its uses. There is something more in the motion picture than just motion. It is the association of scenes on the screen that tells the story and entertains the audience. Action is one of the tools that the film uses in presenting its story on the screen ; it is not an end in itself. Another error that the new filmer is likely to encounter is mistaking calisthenics for action. Sometimes, he gets his volunteer players to flail their arms like a Boy Scout practicing wigwag signals without the flags. For example, the cameraman is making a shot of a beautiful landscape. He has been told that the introduction of human figures is helpful, if not absolutely necessary, so he impresses a couple of friends and sends them into the scene to act. They do — in the best "10-20-30" manner. Instead of strolling quietly into the scene and admiring its beauty — a silent invitation to the audience to do likewise — they walk briskly into the field and energetically point out the attractions of nature with large and imposing gestures. They indicate Mt. Vesuvius and the Bay of Naples with the same animation that they employ in locating Farmer Jones's red barn and his Jersey bull. They gesticulate so much that the spectator looks at them instead of at the beautiful scene which forms their background and the real reason for the shot. It's all wrong! Stage actors know that a single gesture on the part of a minor player may spoil a star's best scene by distracting the audience's attention. For a concrete example, we made a war picture at Lubin's. Harry Coleman, one of the comedy stars, was cast to play a brief bit as a courier who brings the bad news to the General. He entered, saluted smartly, and the General opened the envelope. The director transferred his attention to this action, and it was not until he [Continued on page 194] When movies move, they must move to a purpose