World Film and Television Progress (1938)

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I do not intend this to sound as if I were "arty" about my work. On the contrary, I am extremely workmanlike. Perhaps it is explained by the fact that I have never — except when I am actually working — been able to realise that I am known as an actress. You have no idea how grateful I am for this frame of mind in Hollywood, where it is not easy to keep a normal outlook on oneself as a person. While I am acting I am living in an imaginary world, bringing imaginary people to life, just as I used to "live" the fairy stories I read when I was a little girl. And I think it's the grandest game in the world. Whether or not I am always successful at it, I am constantly trying to make my audience know these "phantom" friends of mine as well as I do. When the director and I have agreed on the appearance of the character, the head costume designer (Mr. Orry Kelly) and I confer for hours. He makes many sketches which we discuss as to their suitability for both her and me, and when we have finally decided what she is going to wear, the pins, shears and needles start flying in the workroom. Fitting and sewing costumes year in and year out, the skilful women in the workroom are faithful and loyal to their stars. Though they receive no credit for the final product, they are as interested as we are in seeing that gowns are perfect in every detail. Often they are more patient than we during the long hours we must stand for fittings. They know how the camera will emphasise the slightest wrinkle or bad line, and avoiding these defects is a matter of pride with them. The completed gowns must be tested before the camera. This is very important, for even though our costume designers are trained to know what colours, materials and body lines are photographically "right", they sometimes make mistakes. A costume which is charming to the eye often proves most unattractive photographically, and must be replaced or changed. Preliminary tests of wardrobe may save the studio large sums of money which might otherwise have to be spent on retakes during production. "Hair tests" are necessary for the same reason. If the camera doesn't happen to like our hairdress, it can do disastrous things to us. And unless the cameraman is accustomed to working with us, he usually wants to make photographic tests to discover our best "angles" and the most effective lighting for our features. By the time all of these tests have been made and approved by the director and the. production head, we are ready to start on the actual work of making the picture. All of this, as I said, is the customary preparation for a simple, modern leading role. If, however, I am assigned to portray a famous character from history or a wellknown fictional character, or a person with an accent unfamiliar to me, the little duties really start piling up. Endless hours must be spent in reading about them, studying their lives and habits, until I feel I know them so well I couldn't possibly do anything inconsistent with their characterisation. Imagine how much preparation Paul Muni must have spent on Pasfeur and Zola. I also collect pictures of these people at all stages of their lives if they are historical, so as to be able to BETTE DAVIS (Vicky) resemble them as closely as possible physically. Make-up must be minutely tested to get the nearest facial similarity wc can, and the costumes of the period must be studied thoroughly to avoid anachronisms and errors in detail. For a fictional character such as Mildred in Of Human Bondage, the novel is used as a textbook — read and re-read until I am thoroughly acquainted with her every thought. Scattered descriptions are carefully checked for indications of dress and mannerism. Once we start working on a production, that is all we are able to do until it is finished. After hours, an actress who is conscientious about her work is too tired mentally and physically to think of anything but a nice, long, beautiful rest. Fortunately or unfortunately, I am one of those. If the material in the picture is worthless, one has to work twice as hard to make something of it ; but I have a sincere desire always to be able to say when the picture is finished that I have done the very best I could with the part. You smiled when I said we get dog-tired. The surest way I know to convince you of this is to show you just how we work, by describing an average shooting day. I get the gentle but compelling touch on the shoulder between six and six-thirty in the morning — depending on how far I am living from the studio and how elaborate my makeup is for the picture I am doing. After I have arrived at the studio, it takes at least two hours to have my hair dressed and dried and my make-up applied. There is usually just time to get to the set by nine o'clock and put on my costume. 1 am then ready to rehearse for the first scene of the day. The amount of rehearsing we do is entirely dependent on the director. Some directors believe that lots of it insures a better performance when the cameras start grinding. 1 agree with them. As far as I'm concerned, there can never be too much rehearsal, for during this time the cast learns to work together and often discovers bits of business that give the screen play naturalness and smoothness. When we have finished rehearsing, the cameraman is given free rein to light the set. Stand-ins, resembling the actors in height, weight and general colouring, go through the action to be shot, while the cameraman arranges the lights. This gives the cast a chance to cool off, refresh their make-up, see that all the curls are where they belong, and to discuss the scene with the director if necessary. Then one final rehearsal for the actors, the camera and the sound department — and the scene is ready to be taken. If a scene is shot only once, the incident is recorded as a major miracle. More commonly it has to be repeated from three to as many as fifteen times. Before a take is O.K.d it has to be right for the director as far as performances are concerned, for the cameraman, and for the sound department. The last is a particularly exacting master. The sound man must hear every word distinctly, unimpaired by outside noises such as airplane motors, passing trucks, coughs, footfalls, or any of a million and one other incidental sounds. Since the members of the crew know how difficult it is to keep a scene alive beyond the third take, they do everything in their power to keep things going smoothly. You never saw such a display of mass patience and precaution! Often, of course, the actors themselves are responsible for spoiling the shot. We just can't get that "something" the director is looking for — and we have been known to muff lines. The success of a day on the set is determined by the degree of co-operation between director, crew and players. An hour for lunch, then back to freshen make-up and hairdress and begin again. The day is usually over at six, after which most of us spend half an hour in a projection room seeing the rushes of the previous day's shooting. Now we go to our dressing-rooms, remove make-up, put on street clothes — and go home, arriving there between seven and eight o'clock, slightly the worse for a working day of from twelve to fourteen hours. But that is not the end of it. Dinner, then off to a quiet corner with the script, to batten down enough dialogue to carry us through to-morrow. For us, ten-thirty is bed-time; there's very little a make-up man can do with circles under our eyes. A day's work, and work it is — every minute of it. I don't think you can name any other profession that requires so many actual working hours spent in producing something to be seen and judged by millions of people the world over. It is largely our awareness of responsibility to all those people that makes the actual shooting of a picture so nerveracking. Every take must be approached as if it were the one which you will see in your theatre. Everything we've got must go into everything we do. Fortunately, inside most of us is the love to create, and we are more than willing to devote the best years of our lives to it. Hollywood pays us well, but the applause we receive from our audiences stimulates us to go on and do finer things. We want you to let us know you like us. Call it childlike if you will: but since our profession is dedicated to bringing you moments of pleasure, the measure of our success is your response to what we do. You, the audience, are literally the fuel that keeps the fire going. Never for a minute think we are bored by your praise. It is what we live for. Extracted from Bettc Davis's contribution to ' We Make the Movies' by kind permission of the publishers, Faber & Faber. The book is reviewed on page 96. 67