Movie Makers (Jan-Dec 1938)

THE LOG OF THE TIMBER RUSH 287 An account of cinematic perils and achievements FRANCES CHRISTESON, ACL IT STARTED out to be a completely orthodox trip on a freighter, the Timber Rush, bound out of New York for Los Angeles. I had read every bit of the fine print on the back of the ticket, which hinted at all sorts of dire calamities, Pke hurricane and other acts of God, and what the company's rights were under such circumstances. I gathered the impression that we might get there unless a war turned us into a warship, or a typhoon into driftwood. The company seemed to think that we might make it, but it steadfastly refused to be party to any positive guarantee that, by sailing on or about October 25, we should arrive in San Pedro harbor on or about November 14. I had planned to film this great saga of the sea with a somewhat nebulous idea of using the ship herself as a continuity device. The idea was that every scene I made would be related to the ship and that thus I might wind up with a personality portrait of the Timber Rush, For five days, the ship remained in Philadelphia — -loading, loading, loading. And I loaded and unloaded film. The whole process of filling the yawning interior of the Timber Rush presented so many interesting possibilities for shots that I found myself in danger of not having any film left when I got to sea. I snooped around here and there, shooting from the dock as the loading platforms and big rope nets, filled with everything under the sun, were swung up and were lowered into the bottomless hold. Whole train loads of canned beer, Scott's emulsion, Castoria, fireplaces, coffee, hair tonic, tractors and farm machinery came aboard. I shot it all. I plagued the men running the winches until they stood so that they would not cast a shadow on the wire cables as they wound and unwound on the drum ; I hovered above the man who signals to the winch operators, fascinated by his art. Standing where he can see activity on the dock, he indicates to the winchman, with a slight movement of his hands, that the load is ready to come aboard. There follows a delicate play of fingers during the whole process, until, standing by the hatch combing, he guides the cargo to a gentle landing deep in the murky hold. Thus he is the link between three groups of workers — the men on the dock, the men at the winches and the men far down in the hold. I spent a whole morning getting this and was rewarded by a fine sequence, in which there was a beautiful opportunity for cutting back and forth from one series of scenes to another. Each day, I took a shot of the markings on the rudder post, which showed the change in the water mark as the loading went on. This makes a neat time lapse device to indicate our progress. At last came the day of sailing. Although we left in the dewy morning, there was enough light to film the slackening ropes and the churning water as the little tug backed us into the river. I caught shots of the descent of the dock pilot and of the steamy white salute of the cocky tug as it took him aboard. Then I filmed the tug as it backed away and left us on our own. That day saw an endless procession of freighters, like ourselves, passing us in the bay. I had a time restraining myself from taking a shot of every one as it went by. Down the Delaware, stumbling past Cape Hatteras, we went, to reach, at last, lazy days when the bow cut into the calm seas of the Caribbean — lazy days and big lazy clouds. I amused myself by looking for cloud shapes and for objects about the ship which I could get in silhouette against them. I waited an hour to get the mast and halyard spreader in just the right position to conform with a huge, billowy cloud which, for a few moments, fitted it like the sail it had never carried. The crew, by this time, thought that I was thoroughly demented and accepted as the final proof of this that I lay down on my back and filmed upward into the air. They could not see what I could, and what the camera recorded, the outline of one of the heavy geared wheels of the anchor capstan against a cloud, or the form of a boom, with its trailing festoon of rope looped through a block, against the sky. But the crew could understand my desire for pictures of fire drill, and they cooperated handsomely. Every Thursday, at one o'clock, we had fire drill, complete with a roaring whistle. the hoses being unrolled and the ocean being Frame enlargements sprinkled, first from one side of the ship and then r uti i r from the other. They swung the life boats over the " side while we stood on [Continued on page 312] the Timber Rush"