Part 6
Call-boy sitting in reckless position, reading novel. Carson orders him to put up signal lamps--no ears. Carson tosses heavy object on floor near him and boy nearly falls out of chair; starts off on “hot-foot” with lanterns.
[The audience must now be kept in touch with events happening at different points. The flashes of the desperados will show them moving toward a definite object, and we are satisfied. If we were shown the despatch-office, however, with Carson seated idly at his key, the scene would appear unnecessary, so the author introduces such “business” as that of the call-boy above. The author must hold his audience’s interest while bringing his characters together for the climax. However, don’t let such “business” be important enough to distract the attention from the main plot.]
Scene 17. _Mountain road._
Black Jack and Bird cantering.
Scene 18. _Exterior of station._
Call-boy reading novel and lighting lantern without taking eyes off book. Match burning fingers. Finishes job hastily.
Scene 19.
_Another section of mountain road._
Black Jack and Bird turn off main road into wood road.
Scene 20. _Despatch-office, as in 8._
Carson in reflective attitude. Dissolve, or a double exposure of--
Scene 21. _Big knotty tree, with swing._
Carson swinging Mary. Look much younger.
Scene 22.
_Clearing on ridge; station can be seen below._
Black Jack and Bird walk to brink of hill, point down, both start to descend.
Scene 23. _Railroad tracks._
Call-boy walking with switch signal lights, nose in novel, stubs bare toe, sprawls up holding toe, down track limping.
Scene 24. _Forked roads._
Four desperados cantering, pass sign-post: “Mason’s Cut, 1 mile.”
Scene 25.
_Woods opposite despatch-office._
Black Jack and Bird take observations; way is clear; start across.
Scene 26.
_At Mason’s Cut--railroad tracks._
Four bandits arrive, conceal themselves at points of vantage.
Scene 27.
_Down railroad track from 26._
Train No. 5 in distance, rounding curve.
Scene 28.
_Exterior of station, as in 18._
Black Jack sees poster near door with his picture. Reads: “$1000 reward for the capture, either dead or alive, of Jack Rindge, generally known as Black Jack. Was railroad despatch operator 1898 to 1907. Description:” (Follow with description of Black Jack.) Latter does bravado business, posts Bird as guard, and enters station.
[Two purposes are served by the author’s introduction of this poster. He has let us know that Black Jack is an unusually desperate character from the fact that so large a reward is offered, and, of even greater importance to the story, he has told us that Black Jack is a capable telegraph operator. Both are points necessary to the plot later on and skill is shown in introducing them indirectly now. How unconvincing it would have been to have Black Jack say later to Carson, “I am an old telegrapher operator,” and thus give the audience its first intimation of the fact.]
Scene 29. _Despatch-office, as in 8._
Carson studying train report. Office door being cautiously opened. Black Jack steps stealthily into room, covering Carson with automatic, closes door. Carson quickly turns. Carson registers, “Black Jack.” Latter makes threatening move toward Carson’s hands, saying, “Stick ’em up.” Carson hesitates, then slowly raises hands. Outlaw steps quickly behind and searches him, takes position in front of Carson.
Scene 30.
_Exterior of station, as in 18._
Close-up of Bird seated on door-step with Winchester across knee. Leisurely rolls cigarette.
Scene 31.
_Interior despatch-office, as in 8._
Black Jack studying order-book, tosses it on table, steps back on sleeping cat’s tail, disconcerted for a moment. Turns to kick cat. Carson about to leap at him. Black Jack turns back quickly, shoves automatic under Carson’s nose and backs him into seat. Keeping Carson covered, Black Jack settles down at table, studying order-book. Speaks--
SUBTITLE: “STICK OUT A RED FOR NO. 2 AT WIND RIVER.”
Carson sends message.
Scene 32.
_Close-up of desk._
Black Jack searches around until he finds railroad-map.
Scene 33.
_Close-up of special railroad-map._
Black Jack tracing plans on map. (To be cut into Scenes 33 and 34.)
Scene 34. _Despatch-office, as in 8._
Black Jack giving another order: “Give No. 5 order to meet No. 2 at Big Bend instead of Napavin.” Carson turns quickly on Black Jack in defiant manner. Registers, “For God’s sake, man, do you know that means a human slaughter?” Black Jack laughs mercilessly. Carson, strongly protesting, finally refuses. Black Jack leaps closer. “Send it, or I’ll bore you through and send it myself.” Carson realizes Black Jack is master of situation any way he decides. Slowly he comes to a decision, finally he reaches forward to key. Expression of Black Jack’s face shows what he is sending. Black Jack nods approval.
Scene 35.
_Down railroad track, as in 27._
Train No. 5 coming nearer.
Scene 36. _Despatch-office, as in 8._
Black Jack becoming sociable. Carson silent, as if under spell.
Scene 37.
_Close-up of Western Union sounder working._
Scene 38. _Despatch-office, as in 8._
Carson’s interest centers on Western Union receiver, ignoring Black Jack’s presence. Writes--
FLASH--close view of pad as he writes:
_From Bradford, N. H._
_Bob Carson, Castle Rock, Colo._
_Mary’s dying wish was to have you know that all her love and last words were for you, and that she hoped to meet you across the great divide.--Mrs. A. L. Carter._
Remorse creeps over Carson; shows weakness and thoughtfulness; gradually takes on strength and purpose. Offers a little prayer; his hand shoots forward to key. Black Jack up on his feet.
Scene 39.
_Close-up of two men over desk._
Black Jack registers, “Get away from that key.” Carson, working like mad, every muscle tense. Carson registers, “There’ll be no wreck to-night.” Sending message.
FLASH--message: _Hold No_--
Black Jack steps back, fires. Carson grasps breast, rises, slumps back into chair, falls forward on table. Black Jack studies him.
Scene 40.
_Interior of section-house, with bunks._
Superintendent and other telegrapher hear shot, pile out of bunks.
Scene 41. _Despatch-office, as in 8._
Black Jack, walking over to Carson, places revolver in hand, saying, “Remember, you committed suicide.” Bravado business; turns away, laughing. Carson weakly rolls over. Looks at revolver in hand in dazed manner; sees Black Jack, takes feeble aim, fires. Black Jack lunges forward, dead.
Scene 42.
_Exterior of station, as in 18._
Telegrapher and superintendent rushing up track, partly dressed. Bird fires. Fire returned, Bird topples over.
Scene 43. _Despatch-office, as in 8._
Carson, apparently dead, moves as if awakening from deep slumber, feebly arises to half-sitting and half-lying position. Wearing a queer little tired smile, feebly gropes as if in dark for the key, sends message.
SUBTITLE: “PUT 5 INTO CLEAR FOR 2--QUICK.”
Door bursts open, superintendent and telegrapher rush in. All suddenly tense.
Scene 44.
_Close-up view of sounder working, as in 37._
Scene 45. _Despatch-office, as in 8._
Superintendent takes pad, begins to write.
FLASH--close-up view of pad as he writes: _O. S. No. 2 by 3. 42. No. 5 heading out. Attempted hold up in express-car discovered, bandits captured._
Scene 46. _Despatch-office, as in 8._
Carson smiles wearily. Registers: “Black Jack got me. He was going to put them together to cover up the robbery. I gave all I had, boys. That’s all; I’m going now. She is waiting for me over there.” Slight flutter, scene fades.
IX
PICTURE-PRODUCING BY AMATEURS
Motion pictures have become so intimate a part of our life that it is only natural to see amateur theatrical societies and other organizations becoming interested to the point of staging their own productions.
To the amateur the ideal manner of staging a motion picture is, of course, to handle every detail of the production within the organization, merely going outside to rent a camera, purchase film stock, and finally for the factory work of developing and printing the film. The pleasure of “doing everything yourself” is almost too great to be resisted, but if a successful production is to be assured it is wise to call on professional help in other branches. Unless the organization has within its ranks a photographer of more than ordinary ability, who is willing to spend some time and money in preliminary study of the motion-picture camera, and in wasting film in experimentation, it is necessary that a professional camera-man be engaged. Again, were the organization to decide to dispense with the services of a professional photographer it might be necessary to purchase a camera--at prices ranging from two hundred and fifty dollars upward--since it would probably be difficult to find a company willing to intrust one of its cameras on rental to an amateur.
Should the organization be willing to go a step further in seeking the aid of professionals, the services of a capable motion-picture director would go a long way toward the betterment of the final production. We believe it possible for an amateur with the dramatic sense, following the director’s method of work as outlined in this book, to stage a satisfactory picture without the services of a professional director. But this would depend largely on the quality of the co-operation extended by the camera-man.
Let us proceed in this chapter on the assumption that you have decided to engage a professional camera-man, but you are going to place your trust for all other details on your own members.
The cost--that is the first question the amateur asks, and, naturally, the one that must be settled before any organization will embark on such a venture as the staging of a motion picture. We have told you in a preceding chapter that the film-producing companies calculate the cost of the average picture at one dollar per foot. With the amateur organization conditions are of course different, and this estimate furnishes no basis of comparison. In enumerating the items of expense to the amateur we must first consider the cost of film stock. This is about three and three-quarters cents per foot; positive film is a trifle higher than negative, but this figure may be taken as an average. It must be understood that there is always more film stock used than the length of the finished production would indicate. We will say that you intend to produce a three-reel picture, running approximately three thousand feet and providing three-quarters of an hour of entertainment. About four thousand feet of film would be used--a moderate estimate--allowing one thousand feet for film spoiled or omitted from the picture in the final assembling to improve the continuity and clarity of the story. The raw stock for the negative and positive prints would therefore cost three hundred dollars.
Then there would be the expense of developing the negative and printing the positive, which, including the printed inserts, would be about six cents per foot. The cost of our three-reel film, with one thousand feet allowed for waste, would now be two hundred and forty dollars, plus the cost of the raw stock, or five hundred and forty dollars. These calculations are based on the average market prices, though slight variations must of course be expected.
With the matter of film and printing settled, we take up expenses that cannot be so definitely decided. Under ordinary conditions the staging of a three-reel picture by amateurs should require about four weeks, somewhat longer than the professional would take, but not as long as the amateurs will require, unless the members are determined to work hard and use every available moment of sunshine until the picture is completed. Our estimate of four weeks is based on the understanding that the amateurs will be ready to start work at nine o’clock in the morning and, with the exception of a little over an hour for lunch, work until five o’clock. The salary of a photographer, supplying his own camera, would be between one hundred and one hundred and fifty dollars per week. The cost of our production now jumps from five hundred and forty dollars to ten hundred and forty dollars, figuring the camera-man’s salary at one hundred and twenty-five dollars per week. If it should be decided to engage a director the organization will be able to find capable men at salaries starting at the two-hundred-dollar level.
The salaries of players and the expense of purchasing a story do not enter into our calculations here. The matter of costuming is one that should not trouble the amateur either, for his story should be written so as to make the lightest of demands in this regard. The members of the organization should also be able to secure the necessary permission for the use of all exterior settings without paying for the privilege, as the film-manufacturing concerns must often do. It is also possible for the author of the story to so construct it that no interior settings are necessary, thus obviating the expense of engaging a studio or else of paying for portable lights to be used in the actual interiors mentioned in the story. The advantages offered by the locality in which the story is to be pictured will determine the decision to be made on these points. There is another point to consider; only organizations located near film-producing centers will be able to rent studios without the expense of transportation for the company.
On the story depends in great measure the success or failure of an amateur effort at screen production. While the principal idea, the plot, may be the work of one man, the work of production should not begin until every point in it has been threshed out by the combined wisdom of all the members of the committee in charge of the production. Test each bit of the action to see that it can be done with your facilities; don’t attempt an elaborate story and then be forced to rewrite it after the work of production has started. That means time lost--for which you are paying salaries--and a weakened production. Construct a story, as has been said above, that uses exterior scenes almost entirely. See that the locations are convenient; it does not require many journeys from one end of the town to the other to eat up valuable time. Don’t hesitate to use the same setting more than once. The points enumerated here would appear to be only “common sense,” yet it is our experience with the efforts of amateur photoplaywrights that they invariably lift the check-reins from their imaginations, allow the story to wander up hill and down dale, and seem to make a special effort to have each bit of action take place in an entirely new location.
If the organization holds within its membership-lists some players of more than ordinary ability it might be possible to successfully stage an ambitious drama. For productions of this type the light comedy form is, however, best suited. The rôles, being more natural, are better handled by the players, while at the showing of the picture the audience, instead of being in the seriously critical frame of mind induced by a drama, is receptive and ready to overlook minor faults. The exaggerated melodrama is probably the greatest favorite with amateurs.
Remember the words of advice in a preceding chapter about limiting the number of principal characters, and avoid the danger of confusing the audience by having too many important rôles. This is a matter for delicate handling in amateur productions where many members will be found to feel that they should not be slighted. It is of value in increasing the interest to include in the picture at least one or two scenes in which all the members of the organization have an opportunity to be photographed. A lawn fête, political meeting, or any such affair may be the justification for their appearing in the picture. But see that some action of value in the unfolding of your story happens in this scene, for it must appear natural, and not as if it were dragged in by the collar.
Give to the man you name “director” supreme charge after the story has been approved by the committee and the work of production is about to start. Except perhaps for evening conferences to decide on the next day’s plan of work the time has now arrived to place entire command in the hands of one man. Let him decide the order in which the scenes are to be taken, issue the “calls” for the players needed each day, rehearse the scenes, and give the final word when he deems it time to photograph the scene. The director should not be a person who is to play a part in the picture, unless it is to appear in one of the scenes we have mentioned which will allow the entire membership to be seen.
The director should have two assistants, a “location” man and a “property” man. The “location-man’s” task is to seek the various spots that will be used as settings and to make the necessary arrangements with the owners for their use on the date set. The “property-man” must see that all the necessary paraphernalia, such as carriages, swords, letters, or any article needed in the different scenes, is on hand and ready for use when the director calls. Both these aides must work from two to three days in advance of the director, so that there will be no annoying delays because a certain spot cannot be used on the day desired, or because a table and chair needed in one of the scenes is not at hand. These assistants, or others appointed, should also watch the staging of the scenes, with especial care for the minor details that might escape the eye of the director who is sufficiently burdened in seeking to interpret the story. The assistants, for example, will make notes of the clothes worn by the players in the different scenes, so that, a week later, when scenes are being taken that in the story are supposed to happen on the same day, there will be no absurd mistakes. Unless careful notes are made of these matters it is easy to slip and show us, when the picture is exhibited, a character starting out on an auto ride with a soft hat, Norfolk coat, and soft-collared shirt, only to arrive at his destination wearing a golfing-cap, severely cut business jacket, and immaculate in a stiff linen collar. In the case of female characters, with their more extensive wardrobes and innate desire for change, this danger of ridiculous errors is magnified. The lot of the director’s assistants will not be an easy one.
For the director himself the methods of work have been outlined in a preceding chapter. First, in collaboration with his assistants, a “scene plot” is laid out; that is, a list of the locations needed, and the number of the scenes in which they will be used. Similarly a “property” list is made out. Let him also determine, as we have shown the professional director doing, the order in which he will stage his scenes. A convenient plan now is to have the complete scenario typewritten, each scene on a separate sheet of paper, and placed in a loose-leaf binding in the order decided upon for production. The director will find that this makes it much easier to study the individual scenes thoroughly, to so “visualize” them as to secure their full possibilities.
In taking the scenes, let the director remember one particular point: Rehearse, rehearse, rehearse, before the camera is turned an inch. Once the camera starts to “grind” you are using film, and if everything is not perfect you are either wasting money on scenes that will have to be retaken, or else you are weakening the picture should the faults be overlooked. In rehearsing, the director must not only assure himself that the players are capably interpreting the emotions called for by the story, but he must also see that there is no danger of their stepping outside the lines of the camera’s vision in the excitement of the action after photography has started. Experience with two or three scenes will show the director that this happens more often than would seem possible. Before the final word of approval is given the players must go through their parts as though they were “second nature,” for the camera registers everything, and the look to the side-lines, the glance at the director for instructions that would go by unnoticed on the stage, will be caught by the camera and cannot be erased except by taking the scene over again.
After a rehearsal or two the camera-man will time the scene for the director so that he can tell how much film it will use, and if it is not in agreement with the estimate allowed in the scenario, make the necessary changes. The camera-man will lay out the boundary-lines of the stage for you and advise you on the distance from the camera to station the players. This will vary according to the number of characters in the scene and size of the stage required for the particular bit of action. For ordinary scenes it is wise not to allow the players to be farther than fifteen feet from the camera, and frequently for a tense bit of action in which a few players are seen they should be brought up to the ten-foot line. In acting the players should move a trifle slower, more deliberately, than they ordinarily would.
The length of your scenes is limited by the film capacity of the camera, usually two hundred feet. This would mean a scene of about three minutes’ duration, but you should be sparing in your use of scenes even approaching this length, as it does not require many of them to eat up an entire picture. If it should be necessary in developing the story to use a very long scene, see if some means of variation cannot be introduced by showing some bit of action in the story transpiring at some other point. Three minutes seem very short to the layman, but if you will time some of the scenes in the next picture you see you will find that very few run even a fourth that length.
If you do not happen to be near one of the large film-producing centers where there are plenty of laboratories, your camera-man may be relied on for advice in locating a plant to develop and print the film. It will be wise for the director to make the journey to the film plant and view the picture and assemble it there.
For showing to the organization’s members and friends a local theater may be secured; or else, should it be decided to use the clubhouse, a projection-machine can be rented and an operator engaged. Reference to the telephone-book of the nearest large city will give you the names of many accessory companies providing machines and operators for such engagements. It will probably be necessary, to comply with the local fire-department rules, to rent a portable asbestos booth. Rules vary, but you are apt to save considerable eleventh-hour trouble if you get in touch with the local fire and building departments before attempting to show the picture.
A parting word as to the time of the year to stage your picture. This will vary in some parts of the country of course, but in general it may be said that the spring and summer are the ideal times. Not only are conditions for exterior work not pleasant in the fall and winter, but a light snow-fall which you would imagine would only delay the picture a day may easily hold it up for many more until all the snow is off the ground, for otherwise you face the danger of showing scenes supposed to happen on the same day with snow on the ground in one view and none in sight in another.
THE END
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Transcriber’s note