Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1927)

32 A Country Boy and a Siren This specially constructed set, representing the heart of a big city, and covering an area of about two square miles, is perhaps the largest and most elaborate ever built for a movie. film is the symphony. Each movement must earn the theme in a gradual crescendo on toward a natural climax. The watcher — in a sense the listener — is exhilarated ; emotion succeeds emotion, as he is swept on in his soul by the symphony. A picture must be built up as a composer combines musical notes on a staff. ''And a simple story is best — one with the real drama of ordinary people. As in 'Sunrise.' No names have the characters. They are A Boy. A Girl, A Woman of the World. The village might be any hamlet, the city any metropolitan center." Gladsome moments, naive joys, vague unrests growing into a tragedy that leaves in its wake a numbness, heartbreak, slow, agonized tears wrung from human hearts. Light and shadow merged, sadness, gayety, scenes of a hushed, breathless beauty with a melting, poetic translucence — that is "Sunrise." At first Murnau did not wish to reveal to me the twists of the plot but it required only a bit of gentle persuasion to lead his benign good humor into confidences. ' The boy and girl are young, they have felt only simple emotions, the first youthful love. They marry, they are happy. Neither has ever known real temptation. It is, you see, so natural to them to love, but it is not a tried and proven love, it is not happiness built on knowledge. "The "woman of the world comes. She is beautiful. She arouses desire in the boy. Old, old, yes, but what can man or woman feel that has not come down through the centuries? The woman — how do you say? — bewilders the boy so that he promises to arrange an accident on the lake. He Avill drown his wife, but no one will guess. He is absorbed by this hideous madness. He tries to fight it off, but can't resist it. He takes his wife out in the boat, out on the lake. There is a storm. And almost F. W. Murnau, who came across from Germany to direct the film, works on the theory that making a movie {is much the same as composing music. there happens that which he has planned in his frenzy. He thinks she is drowned. "He sees before him the terrible thing he has done, you see. He knows truth then, and remorse. The wife is saved, of course, and there is the happy ending. Life is almost always kind to young people. With open eyes now, and hearts that have expanded from pain. the boy and girl face the sunrise together — the sun that rises in their souls with a new and deeper sweetness." Oddly, Murnau differs from other directors in that he places his camera first, figuratively, and then builds his set around it. That is. instead of erecting a set and then standing his camera here and there to get the best shots, he decides upon his angles first and builds his set with these in mind. For instance, a natural hollow was selected, on the slopes of which was built the city. When viewed from the valley just below camera range, this city assumed massive proportions, stretching far into the misty distance. Similarly. Murnau selected his camera angles from the lake, then built his picturesque village along its shores. Seldom is there such harmony on a motion-picture set as existed during the making of "Sunrise." Janet Gaynor. George O'Brien, Margaret Livingston, and the others of the small cast fairly adored their genial boss. Murnau's magnetic personality was a potent factor in creating not only enthusiasm but general cordiality and contentment. He does not explode when things go wrong — he always directs quietly, and is invariably good-natured. His grin seems to grow out of the crinkles into which his twinkling brown eyes disappear ; it spreads in a glow over his ruddy countenance, as vital always as the red of his hair. He so endeared himself to his cast Continued on page 107