The screen writer (Apr-Oct 1948)

path. The Biograph stage might be an erstwhile piano warehouse, its theaters converted shops, and its players small-time actors come to pick up five dollars a day. But the movies would develope. They, too, would find a place for themselves among the arts. The movies only needed people with the right faith, the right ideals. When he finished talking, I had caught some of the man's faith and ideals. He converted me to films by his belief, just as his pictures were to convert people by the millions throughout the world. I signed a contract with him. The man was David Wark Griffith, the person who was to contribute most to the development of the cinema. There are those who revere David Wark Griffith because he created the blueprint of the feature length motion picture as we know it today. To the men and women who were fortunate enough to work with him, he will always be cherished as the man who produced and directed great motion pictures straight from the heart. He was an idealist who firmly believed that films could be as important an art as painting, sculpture, architecture and music. A flame of perfectionism burned within him, and made him refuse to accept the second-rate from himself or his co-workers. A poet who sang his song in celluloid, he was the first to break down the militant prejudices against the motion picture and motion picture makers when films were young. He had visions of great accomplishments for the medium, and he imparted his faith to others. Mack Sennett I first worked for D.W. as a comedian — some people might say a "so-called comedian" — at the old Biograph Studios in New York. Those were the days when an actor who could chew the scenery never starved. D.W. liked actors but he liked them natural and to behave like real people in a picture. One day I was in a scene that he was directing. It was a dramatic part — we comedians could be versatile then — but I did nothing, no acting in the usual sense. At the end of the take, D.W. came over and said to me, "That was great." "But I didn't do anything," I said. "That's why you were great," he smiled. "You were perfectly natural. If I can make actors look like human beings on the sceen, we'll make great pictures." Another time, he had me cast in a comic role. When lunch was called, I asked him if I could get a funny hat from wardrobe. He thought it might be a good idea, but he wanted to see the hat I'd worn to work that morning. I showed him my fine black derby and put it on for him. "That's the hat," he said. "It's just right for the scene. Wear it." "But the cop breaks it in the scene !" I said. Despite all my protests, I had to wear that derby — and it was ruined. The studio gave me a new one but I never had a hat since that I was so fond of. It was my first derby and I guess I wore it like one and D.W.'s shrewd eye detected the fact. That's what he wanted in the scene. Later on, D.W. made me a comedy director and it was under him that I developed the wild and woolly, knock-'em-down and drag-'em-out comedies. Our money men also sat on the board of Baldwin Locomotive, a stuffy, snooty lot who disapproved of "the Sennett style of fun." They were shocked when I'd tumble a lady into a ditch of water. They wanted Griffith to fire me but he refused, saying, "We are making entertainment for the whole world, and if the world laughs at it, it's good entertainment." I never started a picture until I'd consulted with him because he had a wonderful story mind. I was a young kid then, full of gags, but I had to learn how to use a gag properly. D.W. taught me all that, particularly how to fit the gag to the story line, how to motivate it so that it wasn't just dragged in. He was a great judge of people and personalities, too. When he was casting, he'd call a group of actors together and study them for just the right person to fill the part. Often, he'd pick some unkown because he or she would look more authentic as a person than a trained actor who had developed mannerisms. At that time, extras were paid very little. If D.W. heard one of them was hard up, he'd start talking about a part that hadn't existed until that moment, how well that extra fitted it, and then cast him for it. Actors, extras and all the little guys in the crew loved him for his kindness and consideration. His story for a picture usually consisted of one or two typed sheets of paper — the outlines of the theme and the motivations for the main situations; the rest of the story came out of his head as he directed the scenes. No one ever knew what the continuity would be before rehearsals. Scenes were rehearsed over and over with their action worked out as he went along. You can't do that today because it keeps the front office out of the act. He'd consult cast and crew, asking for suggestions — for reactions from other eyes that were watching. He wanted to be sure that pictures and visual business were telling the story he was making. Luncheon for a good idea was his method of paying off and he never failed to credit the originator of the suggestion or piece of business. Can you blame us old timers for loving him? He was a wonderful character. Mack Sennett, whose comedies are motion picture history, became Griffith's partner in 1915 in Triangle Pictures. Pradit Prabang (Continued from Inside Front Cover) Prajadhipok is the withdrawn film, the story of our recent king who once visited your country. Politics, I presume. It may be replaced by Khao Thailand, but that title has already been changed to Khao Siam since the decree of Rama VI has been changed and Thailand is once more Siam which is much relief to those of us who have to spell it. Pradit Prabang, author of the celebrated sea story, Krat, is one of Siam's outstanding screen ivriters. 20 The Screen Writer, August, 194