Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1916)

Direction: A Matter of Period 1910 The Pioneer Age READY with yer horse? How about them bandits half a mile down the road? What? You gave 'em seventy-five cents apiece? You know we never paid more than fifty cents before. We ain't got it! Fire two of 'em; we'll only use four. That'll kinda even things up. Here, Bill — when you ride off pick up something off en the ground: your handkerchief, say. Ain't got one? I'll loan you mine. Bessie, when Jim ties you up in the log cabin don't fight like you did last Sattiday. You busted two chairs and a center-table and I had to pay for 'em myself. Give him the wallopin'. He can stan' it, and we don't have to pay for him. All right, Bill. Got your cattridges? And say — do it right when you do it. You know we can't have no more'n fifty feet o' retake. If we do, the fillum cost is up to me. What — the Wildcat company frequently takes 'leven hundred feet for a thousand to show? Well, let the fools waste their money. They can't last. What's that, Bess? Your sunbunit got tore on them bushes Sattiday an' you want a new one — what do you think this is — Marshall Field's, or Macy's or somethin'? Your costume bill last month was near seven dollars — they won't stan' it, I tell you ! Who's makin' two-reelers? That's just a fad. Fifteen cents for a drink o' whiskey and thousand feet for a picture is world standards. Never be any different. I know what I'm talkin' about. Ready! Camera! 1916 The Material Age B' UT, my dear fellow, you have a Louis XV chair in a Louis XIV interior! Positively wrong! The chair came from Versailles? Send it back to Versailles. What if it is ninety feet from the camera? Some one might see it, and the whole artistic ensemble of this million-dollar five-reeler would be ruined. Oh, dismiss the company ! I don't care what you do with the company. What are their salaries to me? You've hurt me, you've wounded me deeply with this chair — I wouldn't have believed it possible. . . . Well, a poor man can'f choose. I suppose I must take the banquet of the Duke of Wellington this morning, then. Have you the four original Gainsboroughs? What — the British Museum would loan but three? Did you tell them / wanted them? Why didn't you? That's different. No, I can't wait. I must get this scene finished — I'm running across to get Windsor Castle for some exteriors — oh, yes ; George's invitation. He said he considered it an honor to the crown — something like that — guess I threw his letter away. And Harry — have you the gold service from Tiffany's for that banquet scene? And just a minute, Harry — did you get those seven compartment cars from the Pullman company to throw down Grand Canon? What? Oh, hang the cost — don't mind a little thing like — James, I'told you I didn't want scenery; I want a real house to burn. Oh, spend $30,000 — we'll cheat a little on this one. No company here for the Duke of Wellington's banquet? My dear fellow, / don't need a company. When I get through with them they'll all be stars. Get the prop-room boys and the telephone girls and the janitor. . . . Come on, now ! Ready? Lights! Shoot it! 1922 The Spiritual Age TAKE away that curtain. Cut out the Cooper-Hewitts. Give me a gray drop behind them. That's it — I want nothing that will interfere with expression. One light will do. In the dimness I can see their souls walking. Take her hand, Eustace. Seem to speak to him, Guinevere, but do not speak. If there were words, some one might try to read them. No, Guinevere, I wanted a formless gown. The people must be conscious of nothing but your esoteric self. And you, Eustace — you have combed your hair too carefully ! Oh, how could you ! Now some one will notice that your hair is combed . . . the message will be forgotten. Are you quite ready with the chronicling machine, Harold? Then you may take carefully. Eustace, do not move!! Upon my word, you behave like a motion picture actor ! No, Guinevere, you must not wink. Your eyelashes are too beautiful. Some one might see them. Then the significance of our soulcharade would quite disappear . . . quite . . . yes. quite. Stop breathing, Eustace ! I know it's difficult, but with practice you'll contrive, somehow. The movement of your chest is so gross — upon my word, it's almost vulgar ! Ah — h ! That is sufficient. Harold, you may cease. 114