Part 4

In practice positive printing is done by a machine using for its essential principles the shutter and feeding devices that we have seen in the motion-picture camera. Negative and positive stock are perforated alike, and when superimposed the perforations fall in alignment. The film-feeding device of the printer engages in these perforations just as we saw it do in the camera, only in this case it is moving the negative and positive film along simultaneously. What would be the lens in the camera is here the place where the light is allowed to pass through. Once more the shutter serves its purpose of shutting off the light while the required length of film for one small picture is shifted into place. As in the camera, care is taken that the light strikes no portion of the film but the three-quarter-inch strip that is being exposed. The action of a printer is practically automatic, but the human touch is evident in determining the brilliancy of the light, its distance from the film, and the speed at which the printer will be run, all points determined by the condition of the negative.

[Illustration:

(_Selig_)

DRYING-ROOM IN THE FACTORY--THE FILM IS WOUND ON THE LARGE DRUMS]

The developing of positive film is a process much similar to that we have just described for the negative film. The chemicals used in the formulas are much the same, though the proportions vary. As positive film is less sensitive to light than negative, the developing need not be done in a dark room, though even here daylight, or the “yellow” light of the common electric bulb, is not permissible. To the eye positive and negative film appear much alike, and, in truth, they differ only slightly to render them more adaptable to their different uses. The drying of both positive and negative film, following the various operations, is accomplished by means of large drums, on which hundreds of feet may be wound.

The picture producer may now decide to tint some portions of his film and to tone others. Tinting is nothing more than giving the film a bath of dye; toning is a chemical process by which the dark portions of a picture are intensified and given certain color tones, while the high lights are not affected. Though photography at night is now attempted very frequently, tinting is the means more commonly employed to give the impression of action taking place at night. Toning does not appear so artificial as tinting, since it does not affect the high lights, and an artistic director may easily arrange his scene so that the coloring appears natural on those parts that are affected. The toning of film is accomplished by placing it in chemicals which affect the silver deposits on the surface, permanently changing its color. Where there is no silver deposit, as, for instance, in the snow-bank we have so often mentioned, there would be no change. The process of fixing follows.

It might be well to explain here the usual method of photographing subtitles and other explanatory reading-matter in a picture. This is done by means of an ordinary camera using glass plates, which points downward at the subtitle, which is in white letters on a black background. What is known as a “plate-printer” is then used to put this impression on the positive motion-picture film. In this process the transparent negative of the subtitle secured on the glass plate is placed in a cabinet between a condenser lens and a smaller projecting lens. Before this small lens there is a film-gate, the positive film being fed into it in the same manner that we have seen employed in the camera and the positive-printer for ordinary work. Thus when the light passes through the condenser and the negative of the subtitle, the small lens casts a reduced image of it on the small bit of positive film passing before the gate. In ordinary printing of motion-picture film negative and positive are superimposed and passed before a light; in this case the image cast by the small lens takes the place of the negative film, but the principle is the same.

The factories of motion-picture plants must be as delicately handled as any piece of intricate machinery. The temperatures of the various rooms, and also of the chemical baths used in the different processes, must be kept constant at certain points. Dust must be conspicuous by its absence, for the slightest particle of foreign matter may scratch and otherwise harm valuable film. The water used in the factory is an important item, and in cases where the regular supply has been shown to be inferior by chemical analysis, picture companies have often gone to the expense of drilling artesian wells to secure a pure supply. This was one of the moves made at a factory near Philadelphia, which boasts of its ability to turn out six million feet of positive film each week. Though most motion pictures made in the United States are produced in California, practically all of the factory work is done in the East. This is largely due to the fact that New York is the distributing point and business center. Not all of the companies known for their film productions have developing and printing plants. Many of the factories do the mechanical work for numerous other firms. In addition there are scores of companies doing only factory work and staging no pictures of their own.

The picture is now all but ready for the market. Most of the directors take part in the assembling stage when the film is cut to its proper length, the subtitles inserted, and the finishing touches applied that make the picture ready to meet the eyes of the outside world. This is indeed one of the most important stages in the making of a picture, for here the work of the best of directors may easily be unalterably ruined, or, perhaps, a poorly staged picture made into a passable or even good one.

It is an impossibility for a director in staging a picture to photograph just the amount of film that will be required for the production that is offered to the public. In the first place, even the most experienced of picture-men cannot hope to accurately estimate the amount of film that will be needed to portray certain actions; and secondly, a director will often find, when he has his players working before the camera, that a certain scene is worthy of more space than originally planned for in the script. So that, even after throwing out the scenes that were spoiled for one reason or other, there is still some paring to be done before the picture is cut to the length that the film editor thinks the subject worth and the business office says is most likely to be profitable. Commercial reasons still demand, for instance, that pictures consist of a certain number of full reels, each containing approximately one thousand feet. If the film editor finds that his picture is at its best at five thousand three hundred feet he faces the unwelcome task of cutting three hundred more feet, though each scene now in the picture may appear to him essential. Natural-length pictures, which would run the exact length demanded by the story, with the remainder of the reel, if necessary, filled out with an appropriate short picture, are frequently seen, and their advocates are many. But they are not in strong favor commercially.

VI

THE BUSINESS SIDE

The business organization of the motion-picture field can find no counterpart in any other line of commercial activity. In some of its aspects it is akin to the theatrical world, in others it resembles publishing, but there are many points distinctly unique. The commercial organization is an evolution peculiarly adapted to picture conditions, and it is still in a state of transition, continuous and even more radical than that evident in the producing methods.

In its most interesting feature the system used in the United States resembles the newspaper syndicate, through which an article is published simultaneously all over the country in dozens of newspapers. In this case the article is supplied to the different newspapers in advance, with the statement that it is “released” on a certain date; that is, the newspaper may publish it on and after that particular date, but not before. This explains the surprise of the young man who travels away from home for the first time when he finds that the newspapers of the city he is visiting carry many of the special features he reads in the papers at his home city, and that they publish the articles simultaneously. In a similar manner motion pictures are shipped far in advance to the exchanges, the local distributing agents. A certain “release” date has been chosen, and on that day the picture is shown for the first time in theaters throughout the country. New York, in the heart of the film world, thus boasts of no advantage over the city a thousand miles away. The use of the word “release” in this connection is similar to that in the newspaper syndicate field, which explains a point that invariably proves confusing to the layman seeking information in filmland.

We are told in the chapter dealing with the history of the motion picture of the formation of the first large distributing organization. The system followed by this combination will give an idea of the method employed by the older organizations in handling the short pictures that make up the bulk of the film output. In forming the combination a group of pioneer picture manufacturers bound themselves together to release their product to the theater-owners through the one channel. Exchanges are located in the principal cities of the country and the distributing organization purchases from the manufacturer the number of positive prints of each picture needed to supply these exchanges. A manufacturer’s popularity with the exhibitors and the public is shown, of course, by the number of positive prints that the distributor must purchase from him to meet the demand. These manufacturers profited both by the sale of their prints and, through their direct interest in the distributor, from the earnings of the latter. There are two other large distributing agents organized along the lines of the pioneer to handle the output of other manufacturers. In the one the union between producer and distributor is not as close as that of the pioneer, while in the other producer and distributor are practically identical.

From these distributing agents the theater-owner secures his program, the usual practice being to pay a stated weekly rental price, dependent on the number of reels he secures and their freshness. The exhibitor who shows the pictures on the day they are released naturally pays a proportionately larger rental for this “first-run” privilege than the theater-owner who is satisfied with pictures that may be days or weeks old. The latter runs the risk of showing pictures that his patrons have already seen in other theaters, and, naturally, he must expect film that has received the wear and tear of many performances since the day it was released.

This method sufficed for the short picture, but the coming of the feature, a production of three or more reels, changed matters considerably. It brought a score of independent producers into the field, and these men set about seeking their own methods of marketing. The first step was the development of “state rights” buyers, usually independent exchange owners who bid for the exclusive rights to handle the feature productions in their territories. The producer sold the rights and the necessary positive prints for the different territories to the highest bidders, and after that he washed his hands of the production, though, of course, he still had the negative, should additional positive prints be needed. The purchaser of the “state rights” was now in absolute control of the picture in his territory. His income was secured by renting the picture to the theater-owners.

“State rights” are at present heard of only seldom; they have been succeeded by the “feature program,” a combination of manufacturers of long pictures similar in many ways to the older combinations of the producers of short pictures. The chief advantage of the feature program lies in its certainty. To the theater-owner it offers an assurance of a steady supply of pictures of a certain quality, and in addition he knows the pictures that he will show far enough in advance to properly advertise them. To the picture producer the feature program offers a steady market, with an income that he can estimate, and thus he is enabled to make greater expenditures on each picture and to plan more extensively for the future than would be the case were each production to be sold separately.

Each of the feature programs has its own type of organization. Some are practically closed corporations handling only the productions of a certain group of manufacturers. Others are comparatively elastic in their organization, and, while releasing all the productions of certain manufacturers, will also contract to handle the pictures made by independent workers. The manufacturer usually receives his income from the feature program through a percentage of the rental earnings of his pictures. In the case of distributors who sign monthly or yearly contracts with exhibitors to supply them with a stated number of pictures each week it can be seen that the manufacturer’s return will be almost a constant figure, affected only slightly by the merits of the individual picture. This is, in fact, one of the most important defects of the closely bound program, it tends to place all the pictures on a common level. While this may work to the producer’s advantage in the case of a poor picture, he also finds it irksome when he attempts to secure the proper return from a picture that cost him an unusually large amount to produce. The feature program that secures its income from the per diem rentals of each picture, with no long-term contracts to fall back upon, is a trifle more elastic.

We now come to the latest step in the evolution of the business side of the motion picture. This is, in many ways, a return to the methods of the theatrical producer. The manufacturers found that they could not expect to secure a reasonable profit from pictures that cost extra-large sums of money and many months of preparation if they were marketed through the ordinary channels. So they resolved to take a leaf from the stage producer’s book and turn exhibitors themselves. With such productions as “The Birth of a Nation” the manufacturer handles the presentation himself in the large cities, and the picture, like the spoken play, is presented as long as it attracts patrons. If the picture succeeds, an engagement to packed houses of many weeks, or even months, is assured, so that it can be seen that the manufacturer’s profits are tremendous. Different methods are used following the metropolitan engagements. Sometimes the manufacturer will sell the rights to the territory he has not touched, just as in the old days he sold “state rights.” Or perhaps he will send out many different prints of the picture to tour the country under his own management in the same manner that the theatrical manager sends out a number of companies to present the piece that has succeeded in New York. The original company will be seen only in New York, and possibly Chicago and a few other large cities, while the other companies will tour the “one-night stands,” up and down the map. Just as the prestige of success in New York aids a play, so it also proves valuable to a picture.

The earnings of a motion-picture production are as fluctuating as the rise and fall of stock prices in Wall Street. The cost of a thousand-foot picture is usually placed at the average of a thousand dollars, and the manufacturer selling his positive prints at ten cents a foot and releasing through established channels markets twenty-five prints, though the number may run many more or less, according to the efficiency of the selling organization and the popularity of the particular type of picture. He may thus be seen to have more than doubled his investment. His foreign sales may double this figure again. But this instance treats of the manufacturer who has been years in business, and who is releasing through one of the combinations strong enough to practically guarantee a market. Even in these cases inferior-quality pictures or a change in the tastes of the public may quickly force a drop in the number of prints sold. Likewise it does not require a very great increase in the cost of production to eat up the profit.

The manufacturer of long pictures faces even greater uncertainty. His investment in each picture will average between ten and twenty-five thousand dollars, and it does not require many high-salaried stars or spectacular scenes to reach the higher figure. Nor have we considered the overhead expense of maintaining a studio and offices and the heavy outlay to market the picture. A poor picture can lose all of the original investment and even more, the latter if a strenuous effort is made by means of advertising and so on to sell it. A good picture can double the investment, and the outlook for a picture of unusual strength is rosy indeed. Many very costly productions have been forgotten a month after they were released; many very good pictures are still earning money for their producers two and three years after they first came on the market. The life of the negative is without limit, and after the original investment has been recovered, the cost of supplying new positive prints for those that have worn out is a small item.

Theater-owners who show the long-feature productions pay an average of fifty dollars per day for the rental. If competition is strong between the producers the price may go lower, and long-term contracts to use the output of certain organizations may also make the cost of his pictures less to the theater-owner. But frequently he will pay more than this sum for the picture that has proven its popularity. The theater using short pictures--showing three or more subjects at a performance--contracts for its service at a stated weekly rental price, ranging from fifty dollars to two hundred and fifty dollars or more. For the top-notch price he will receive “first-run” pictures, that is, pictures he is allowed to show on the day of release. For the intermediate price his program will be varied; it is apt to include one “first-run” picture, one week-old subject, and others that have been released a greater length of time.

VII

PRACTICAL HINTS ON PHOTOPLAY-WRITING

In a preceding chapter we have endeavored to drive home what we conceive to be the first and most important lesson in the art of photoplay-writing; that is, a respect for the work and willingness to devote serious attention and study it. Regardless of what the correspondence-school advertisements say, writing photoplays is no easy task, and selling them a still more difficult one. The screen is not a retreat for hackneyed, broken-down plots that failed of a sale everywhere else, nor is it likely to pay you for the idea that you dash off in a few idle moments. True enough, you can see many mediocre stories, many trashy ones, when you attend the picture theater, but the aspirant for success should not take the worst specimens for his ideal. It is bad enough for the staff writer to be forced to turn out such material to keep step with the swift pace of production, but the fact that he can do it so much easier than the outsider means that the latter’s efforts must be top-notch to bring forth the welcome check that comes with acceptance.

The would-be photoplaywright must first undergo a process of self-examination. He must be certain that he possesses the power of observation that enables him to see the germs of stories in the little incidents that would ordinarily be passed by with scarce a moment’s thought. He must be gifted with the imagination that will enable him to create a full-bodied story--a plot--from this germ. Lastly, he must possess the story-telling ability, or, more properly for photoplay-writing, the knowledge of dramatic principles necessary to relate his story in such a manner that the interest of his audience mounts steadily and is held to the end. These qualities the beginner must have at the outset. He can learn later the possibilities and limitations of the silent drama by studying the pictures in the theaters. Likewise, by imitation of a sample form he can learn how to prepare his manuscript in the correct technical form.

Let us take up in greater detail the necessary qualities that we have enumerated. We will imagine that you have pencil and paper before you and have set out to write a photoplay. Your brain is barren of ideas, but you can’t afford to wait for an inspiration; you might sit there all day, chewing the end of your pencil, before a plot-germ would come to you out of the empty air. But there is your note-book--first aid to the power of observation--let’s see if there is anything there to jog the imagination. Turning the pages of the note-book, you see brief jottings that represent weeks of observation. Here is a note prompted by a newspaper account of a train hold up in which the lone bandit blunderingly made away with the mail-bag, leaving thousands of dollars in currency untouched. The newspapers said the laugh was on the robber, but as you read the thought flashed through your mind, “Supposing a fugitive from justice, wrongfully accused, knew that in the mail carried by this train there was a letter concerning the condition of his wife who was critically ill back East, and that he braved arrest and possible death, not for money, but because of the strength of his love?”

There are possibilities in that idea, but somehow or other, as you revolve it in your mind now, your enthusiasm does not increase. For one thing, you know that newspaper accounts are dangerous bits of inspiration. Possibly fifty or a hundred other photoplay writers in all parts of the country have read the same story, followed similar lines of thought, and are about to write stories with this as the central idea. The staff writers have also seized upon it. Then, again, the only plots your imagination gives you to build around the idea are trite and ordinary. So you decide to let this plot-germ rest in the note-book until some future moment, when another jotting, or perhaps a bit of happy inspiration, will give you the material to make a strong, original story out of it.

Over the pages of the note-book you go again. There are accounts of humorous little incidents that you witnessed or heard about, and which will one day furnish inspiration for comedies. There are notes concerning unusual faces, features that, to an observant eye, seem to be pregnant with stories. A two-line note may describe the odd-looking house you saw on your walk last Sunday that brought to mind visions of ghosts and goblins. This is what we mean by the power of observation. Without it you cannot hope to succeed as an author, for there is no such thing as inspiration _per se_; observation is the seed of inspiration. Cultivate this power, use your note-book, never lose a moment in search of an idea, spend your time developing the plot-germs that you have found at the best of sources--real life.