Chapter X: The Scenario or Continuity (2)

As has already been said, the bust picture in photoplay is like the spot-light in the regular theatre. It centres the spectator's attention on a certain object and holds it there until the important object is fully observed by the watcher. It "not only magnifies the objects, but it draws particular attention to them. Many points may be cleared in a five-foot bust picture which would require twenty to thirty feet of leader to explain, and the bust picture always interests. Sometimes in a newspaper illustration a circle surrounds some point of interest, or a cross marks where the body was discovered. The bust picture serves the same purpose, and answers, as well, for the descriptive caption that appears under a cut."[17]

[Footnote 17: Epes Winthrop Sargent, _The Technique of the Photoplay_.]

Bear in mind, then, that the introduction of a bust scene makes the succeeding portion of the action in that setting _another scene_, with its own consecutive number.

In the past few years, the number of scenes to the reel has been almost doubled, in most studios; and this is due to the increased use of the close-up. The bust and the close-up are entirely separate in their utility and effect, yet, properly used, each has been found a valuable addition to the technical devices of photoplay construction. It is now frequently the practice of many directors to bring the camera nearer to a certain character, or group of characters, at some important point of the action for the sake of emphasizing facial expression or certain bits of "business" that are vitally essential to a proper understanding of the plot.

This may be accomplished in three different ways--the method employed always depending upon the nature of the scene as well as of _the setting or location_. First, if the surroundings of the character at that stage of the action are important as having something to do with the "business" being carried out--if, for example, it is necessary to show, at close range, the actions of two characters who are seated at a table--the director has the camera moved down toward them, and that particular close-up, or series of close-ups, is taken usually, as has been said, after all the wide-angle scenes in that setting have been "done," for the obvious purpose of rendering unnecessary the frequent shifting of the camera.

If, on the other hand, the director merely wishes to emphasize at certain points in any scene the facial expression of his players, as affected by the humorous, startling, or other emotional "business" incidental to the plot at that point, and if the surroundings of the character or characters may be indeterminate without detracting from the value of the scene, the player or players may be brought _nearer to the camera_, and the close-up may even be made with the subjects posed against a plain, dark background. This method of obtaining the close-up is frequently resorted to, and, it may be said, is not always truly "artistic," if seriously considered, inasmuch as it tends to detach the character from the surroundings of the scene, and make the result more than ever in the nature of a figure in the spot-light. We have seen many pictures, particularly those with female "stars" featured--as, for example, the Mary Pickford pictures--in which the action of a scene would be broken several times, and the head of the pretty "star" shown photographed against a plain, very dark background.

The third method used in the studios is one which actually changes a wide-angle view into a close-up without breaking or interrupting the action in the slightest degree. This is accomplished by mounting the camera on a specially built platform on wheels--on a truck--which as a rule is operated on wooden tracks previously prepared to suit the action taking place in that set or location. Take for example the Babylonian setting (the principal Babylonian setting, that is) in the D.W. Griffith production, "Intolerance." When this scene is first thrown on the screen we see an immense open court, surrounded by banquet halls and long corridors, with walls reaching up to tremendous heights, the walls themselves banked with huge figures of heathen gods and images and great elephants, compared to which the human figures participating in the scene are mere pygmies. At the back of this enormous setting is a flight of steps, perhaps a hundred feet or more in width, upon which are probably a hundred girls going through the graceful motions of a religious dance. We are permitted, for several feet of film, to view the immensity and the grandeur of ancient Babylon in this wide-angle view. Then, smoothly and steadily, we approach the back of the set--the great flight of steps, with the dancing figures. Hundreds of details of architecture and sculpturing are unfolded as we draw nearer, and when the truck suddenly stops, we have a close-up of part of the steps with the dancing girls just finishing their performance.

The point is, simply, that if a mere close-up of a certain character or group of characters is all that is desired, either of the two methods first explained is used. But if the director has an unusually beautiful and imposing setting which he wishes to show off, the moving truck, with the constantly turning camera, gives him exactly what he wants to show. Close-ups of this type may be likened to the more frequently used panoramic scenes--"panorams"--obtained in open-air work by mounting the camera on a train, an automobile, or some other moving vehicle. Another point is that the ordinary close-up, produced as first described, is the one most used because it does away with the footage consumed in the gradual-approach method.

Suppose, now (following up the previous example of the use of the bust), that having shown Maud's hand holding up the broken-off point of what she believes to be her brother's knife, we go back to the wide-angle view of the room and show the two sisters together, and Maud casting the knife-point from her in horror. Let us imagine that they are supposed to suspect some other character--their brother, in fact--of having used the knife of which this is a part, to commit some crime. This character now comes into the room. We want to register certain expressions and, what is equally important, we want to isolate one character's expression from that of another, so that the eye and mind of the spectator will not be confused by the wide range of vision employed in the full--or wide-angle--scene. We show the brother as he comes into the room and stops, seeing the eyes of the two girls fixed upon him. How shall we isolate him? Not by the use of the bust, for the bust is now employed only to give a close view of an _inanimate object_. We use the close-up, and we write the scenes thus:

42--Living room, same as 15.

Maud comes in to find Ethel staring at an object lying on
the window sill. She crosses and stares down at it also,
then, with a shudder, picks up--the knife-point!

43--Bust of Maud's hand holding knife-point to show blood-stain in shape of rude star.

44--Back to wide-angle of room.

Maud flings the knife-point from her in horror, then turns
to Ethel and clings to her. Both look towards door as Frank
enters. He advances a pace or two, sees them, and stops,
aghast.

45--Close-up of Frank. His eyes suddenly drop, he sees the object lying on the floor, and, slowly, his hands go up over his eyes.

46--Close-up of Maud and Ethel. Maud slowly turns to her sister with a question in her eyes--"Is he guilty?"--and bows her head, then looks up quickly and fixes her gaze on Frank.

47--Close-up of Frank. With agony in his eyes, the boy protests his innocence. Suddenly he pauses, realizing that he is not making an impression.

48--Back to wide-angle of room.

Both sisters are staring at Frank. Maud's look is one of
unmistakable accusation. She looks down at the floor. Frank
follows her gaze. Maud stoops, picks up the knife-point, and
holds it out towards him. He slowly advances and takes it
from her. He knows what they expect--what they demand!
Slowly, hesitatingly, he draws a pocket knife out of his
pocket. The sisters come closer, drawn magnetically by the
horrible thing they fear to see--the meeting of the knife
and the broken point.

49--Close-up of Frank. A very close view to show him slowly opening the knife, the point of which is broken off. The other hand puts the bloodstained point to the broken blade. They match! They fit absolutely!

50--Back to wide-angle of room.

With an anguished face the boy cries:

_Leader_--"I DIDN'T!--OH! WON'T YOU BELIEVE ME?"

_Back to scene_.

He sees a hardening of Maud's face. Silently his hands
unclench; the knife-point falls to the table. Then, with an
access of fear, he closes his knife, thrusts it into his
pocket, and rushes wildly out, while the two girls merely
stare after him, too horror-stricken to move, to follow.

The foregoing is a good example of how "straight" action, all in one uninterrupted wide-angle scene, would not be half so convincing, dramatic or suspense-holding as the broken-up series of scenes, all in the same setting, all in the one situation. Incidentally, Scene 49 shows very clearly the distinction between the bust and the close-up. This is a very close view of the boy's hands, but it cannot be called a bust because of the fact that it is an action scene. The close-up compares with the bust in much the same way that any painting with supposedly human, moving figures compares with those pictures which come under the "still life" classification.

This illustration of the use of the bust and the close-up is taken from an actual script, prepared by one of the Vitagraph Company's staff writers. It will be noticed that the "description" of the scene following the bust scene is "44--Back to wide-angle of room," instead of "44--Back to 42," which it would have been had this Vitagraph writer followed the same rules of technique as were used by the writer of the script from which the example on page 159 was taken. The Vitagraph writer follows the same rule in writing the description of close-up scenes, also. Either form is correct, and it is optional which you use. There are certain technical terms as well as methods of writing for which there are no hard and fast rules, and this accounts for the fact that some writers will say "leader" when others use the term "sub-title," and so on.[18]

[Footnote 18: Compare the Vitagraph-made working scenario in Chapter XX with the one-reel scenario reproduced in Chapter V.]

Shortly before one of the present writers was appointed scenario editor for the Edison Company, Mr. Bannister Merwin, who for several years was one of Edison's chief contributing writers, gave up his work in this country and went to England to live. He is now active in the British film world and also a director--or "producer," as Mr. Merwin still calls it--for one of the largest English motion picture manufacturers. The present writer found that Mr. Merwin's work had left a considerable impression upon the methods of work of the various Edison directors, and, indeed, he has always been regarded as one of the leading authorities on photoplay technique. The three paragraphs which follow are taken from a letter written by Mr. Merwin to Mr. Epes Winthrop Sargent, and published in _The Moving Picture World_. Several important points in connection with the scenario are briefly but interestingly discussed. In connection with what we have just been discussing--the close-up--it may be said that, as Mr. Merwin himself says, all writers make use of the close-up at certain points of different scenes; but what this author-director says in addition may be taken as another warning against the _over-use_ of this effective technical device:

"My present notion of the best construction for long feature stories follows somewhat the lines of the stage play. The line of climactic development should be a series of ascending waves. After each crisis or climax there should be a slight lull. And the first few hundred feet, like the first ten minutes of a play, should be devoted to getting your audience acquainted with your characters and their relationships. To place a very important action in the first few hundred feet before the audience knows who the characters are or what they are to one another tends to create confusion. People will later say, 'Oh, was _he_ the one who did that?' Of course the characters must do things in these first few hundred feet, but they should be things that express their characters interestingly rather than things that have important significance in the plot development. Perhaps I put the point a little too strongly, for there are always exceptions, but you will know what I mean.

"The thing is to look at one's own work from the viewpoint of the audience, and continually ask one's self such questions as, 'Is it clear? Can I follow it without confusion of mind? Does it constantly keep my interest stimulated?'

"Now the question of breaking one's scenes with close-ups and varied shots from different angles. Of course, we all do this in preparing our scripts. But lately I have wondered whether it would not be better to leave the breaking up of the scene to the producer, except in very obvious cases. You see, I am now speaking as a producer as well as a writer. The value of the close-up almost always is governed in practice by floor conditions. I mean by this several things. For one thing, if the cast is not the ideal cast you have had in mind when writing the play the character you have set down for a close-up may not be able to express what it is essential to express in that particular close-up. The producer must then find some other means of punctuating the situation. For another thing, no producer is likely to build a set and handle his people in it in exactly the way you have conceived. For that matter, no two producers are likely to handle the set and the characters in the same way. It follows that very often the producer can secure a natural close-up in the course of the action where you have called for a special close-up scene. And on the other hand the producer may find that he needs a special close-up scene at a point where your conception of the movements of the characters has not made it appear necessary. Anyhow, the close-up is an interpretation. If, as I hold, the producer is an interpreter, would it not be better to leave this matter of close-ups to him, and write your scene straight, with emphasis on the points that should be brought out most strongly? I don't say that this surmise is right; I merely am wondering. In any event, we do not want to see the close-up overdone. We don't want too much of the Griffith staccato. It leads to what a certain friend of mine once called Tom Lawson's method of muck-raking--'The method of universal emphasis.'"

It is interesting to note in the first paragraph of the quotation from Mr. Merwin's letter that he advocates giving, in most pictures, "the first few hundred feet" to a proper introduction of the characters and to laying the foundation, as it were, for the story proper. This is in marked contrast to the method of a few years ago, when one-reel pictures were the rule, and when very little footage could be spared for such introductory scenes. Today, with very much longer pictures, there is no excuse for any writer's ever feeling himself cramped for room in which to make clear everything that the spectator ought to know in connection with his characters and his plot.

Finally, in connection with the _story_, as written by you, and the _picture_, as put on by the director, we again quote Mr. Sargent:

"If you _need_ a close-up, write it in, numbering it as a separate scene. If you do not need a close-up, don't write one in, even though you see innumerable close-ups used. Let the director make these as his fancy or judgment may dictate. He can see just where and how the use of the close-up can help the _pictorial_ quality of the picture. You are apt to concern yourself only with the narrative value of the close-up, employing it only where it is necessary in order to get the _story_ over clearly. You cannot possibly imagine the scene exactly as it will be set up or played, therefore you cannot tell where and how _pictorial_ close-ups or other effects will be useful. Leave that to the director and he will handle the numbering according to his special system. Number _your own_ close-ups, because they are separate scenes even though they are in reality a part of other scenes."

What this critic means by the director's "special system" of handling the numbering of close-ups that he may decide to use after the story has been placed in his hands is simply that such added close-ups will be inserted into the working script in this manner (40 and 41 being your original scene numbering):

40--(a) Henderson steps forward to give his prisoner
a better view of his face.

(b) Close-up of Trask and Henderson. In the
stronger light, Trask recognizes his old enemy
and his face is convulsed with hate.

(c) Henderson steps back, laughs, and holds out
the handcuffs, etc.

41--This scene as originally written.

It will be seen that the action contained in (b) is the inserted close-up action. In what remains (c) we get the end of the scene as written by the author.

_13. Visions, Memories, Dreams, and Other Devices_

We have already referred to the old method of obtaining certain effects in so-called fairy-tale pictures by "stop-camera" work, or by simply stopping the character at a certain point just prior to the scheduled appearance of some supernatural visitant, having the other characters hold their positions while the witch or the fairy character walks into the scene and takes her proper position in it, and then starting the camera again, the result on the screen being that the supernatural figure stands, in the fraction of a second, where nothing of the kind appeared before. Today, stop-camera work is used very seldom--as a rule only to obtain ludicrously sudden and unexpected effects in certain types of "slap-stick" comedy. A far more artistic effect, when it is desired to introduce visitors from other worlds, is obtained by "superimposure," or by taking the picture twice, as it were. On the first "take" the characters go through the business already rehearsed, and the director keeps careful track of just when each important move is made by counting while the cameraman turns the crank. If, at the count of "Eleven!" one character registers surprise and points excitedly at an unoccupied corner of the room, it is the first step in introducing the fairy, or the spectre, who is to appear there in the picture as shown on the screen. After the scene has been gone through with, following this rule, the film is run through the camera a second time, the "stage" being empty of players up to the count of "Eleven!" at which point the unearthly-visitor character is brought into the scene at the proper place in the setting, either appearing quite suddenly or being more gradually dissolved in, different studios having different methods of accomplishing this. The point is that visions of this kind are obviously written into the scene proper, just as you would introduce any new character. If it is a ghostly visitor of some kind, you simply say: "Harding looks in horror (at whatever point of the room or location you desire). Vision of Blake, standing quite still and pointing an accusing finger at Harding." Or, if Tom is in the city and has reason to believe that Frank, back on the farm, is taking advantage of his friend's absence to win his sweetheart away from him, write the scene down to the point where Tom straightens up in his office chair and stares (perhaps directly into the camera) with a worried expression, and then say: "Vision-in portion of the apple orchard, with Frank making love to Mary as they stand beneath one of the trees."

Everyone who has attended the motion picture theatres has seen dozens of examples of "visions," produced in one or another manner, and it should be easy to distinguish between "visions" and "thoughts" or "memories." The latter _may_ be introduced as part of another scene just as the vision (using the word in the sense of "apparition" or "supernatural visitant") is introduced; but it must be borne in mind that the photoplay spectators have in the past few years been gradually educated up to a rather perfect comprehension of what results different technical devices produce--even if they do not quite understand the technical why and wherefore; and for this reason it is best when writing action in which the characters are supposed to show what they are thinking about or describing to use the fade-out and fade-in device, as the meaning of this is now very clearly understood. The spectators are quite used to seeing the picture fade out, or "go black" at the end of certain scenes, just as they are familiar with the use of it at the actual end of the photoplay. Apart from these two uses, they have come to associate the fade-out with the thought of the immediate introduction of a "memory," either related to others or silently indulged in, or a mere thought, or, if the character is seen going to sleep, of a "dream."

If the fade-out is used, it means three scenes instead of one, of course, because following the introduction of the "memory," or whatever it may be, you return to the scene proper, just as you go back to the wide-angle view after using a bust or a close-up scene. They would be numbered, for example, 17, 18 and 19, and you would write the action as follows:

17--Library, same as 6.

Fenton continues to make love to Beverly, presently ending
what he is saying with an impassioned plea to fly with him
at once. For just a moment she seems on the point of
yielding; then she starts back and shows that she is
thinking of what it would mean. (Fade out into--)

18--Bedroom, same as 8.

Dean, lying in bed, wakes up and calls out, as if calling to
his wife. Then he falls back again on the pillow, exhausted.
(Fade back to--)

19--Back to 17.

Fenton reaches out to grasp Beverly's hand, but she draws
quickly back and urges him to stop pleading with her, at the
same time crossing etc.

If you are using the "dissolve" or "interpose" (see definitions in