Casper Daily Tribune Newspaper, June 10, 1923, Page 8

‘The Direc QRECTOR, PENRHYN STANLAWS CONSULTING WITH ASST. DIRECTOR, ROBERT LEE AND STAR GETTY COMPSON AS TO CAMERA QUALIITES OF ORAPERIES. HEN a big building {s under enced architect furnishes artistic and constructive ideas; su- Iperintendents and’ foremen provide the worry and attention to detail which finally make of the architect's dream a completed whole. And so it is in the making of a motion picture. The photo-play di- rector has a tremendously important lob. To weave a story into an en- ertaining screen mosaic of charac- ers and incidents he must concen- rate every bit of his energy. Most rertainly he must not be bothered with petty details for the strain of nolding the plot action correctly lorbids the inclusion of anything hat might distract him from the main current of his production houghts. But sets must be ready, “props” at anid and players called. Some- ne. must accomplish these im- and and players called. omeone must accomplish these im- ortant features of picture-making— ind hence the evolution of the assist- int director. A Shock Absorber. The average playgoer thinks little f the assistant director. But the re- fults of his work, often running into ee sma’ hours”—are evident in very picture made. As a buffer to ibsorb the shocks and friction nat- raly resulting from handling large roups of people—he has @ distinct alue, Let me take you behind the scenes ith me for a few minutes, introduc- he you to incidents that have o rred to all of us who wear “A. D.” fore our names—and who cherish bnd thoughts of the days when we ne may erase the “A” and blossom out as full-fledged directors. Are you all set? Then here goes. Suppose we're going ta take scenes in a new Wallace Reld picture, at Mrs. Muchgold’s garden and swim- ming-pool, twenty miles from the studio, where I tip in on the pay- roll, We've never been at the ‘loca- tion’ before. The day previous to our 8 a. m. departure, when I post the call, I have made out a number of little slips giving exact directions for reaching Mrs. Muchgold’s—a very necessary precaution considering the network of roads around Los An- geles. This information,: which I have obtained from the ‘location man,’ I give to each chauffeur and to each member of the company who drives his own car. I feel that I’m pretty well “alibi-ed,” as we say, on that point, Next morning, however, just be- fore our departure, the transporta- tion department finds a change necessary. Jim, a chauffeur assigned to us, is withdrawn for other duty and Joe put at the helm of the car which carries, perhaps, the property- man and carpenter, and drags a trail- er containing the “props” and reflec- tors, to say nothing of the lunches. But, note, the road-directions still calmly repose in Jim’s vest pocket, just behind the little red book of clgarette papers, I don’t blame Jim; he's only human like the rest of us. Trouble Ahead. Joe's passengers pile in, and Joe says, “Well, where do we go?” “To the Muchgold place,” somebody shouts. As Joe lets in the clutch and swings away from the curb, ha asks casually, “You birds know where it is, do you?” * “Ya-a-a-a,” says the “grip,” “it's on Lemon Blossom Lane—we'll find it, Let's go!” So, with a yell at me, busy getting the extra people started, they’re off in a cloud of uncertainty. You've guessed it. They get lost. T arrive at the location a little before 9; the extra people and most of the cast are arriving. But there fs a certain amount of “dressing” must be given the pool and pergola, and there 1s no prop-man and no props. They're in the missing car, and be- gin to see the little cloud that warns of the approaching storm. The storm arrtyes simultaneously with the director, full of pep and ideas and rarin’ to go, He takes one look around, “Why the deuce haven't you got the set ready?” You've guessed it again—he’s talking to me. “You” means me, here I am in it again in spite of my seemingly fool- proof precautions again against just this occurrence. The director calms down, presently, but well you know how it {s, you people to whom re- sponsibility has been delegated. We're not using Mr. Reld in the first scenes, so he's called for a lit- “wt MAKING from protophone Cranamitter HOW THK FILAT 14 ADR | Me THE PICTURES TALK . HOW THE FILM TALKS Diagram showing method of recording and reproducing sounds for the talking moving picture, O make “talking moving pic- tures” so th the actors would be heard to speak uiting the action to the word” just in the case of the spoken drama {s problem which has for some time en worked upon by many in- ntors. The »duction of the unds of the voice by means enough, the phon it the trouble 4 hd the p i concerns it RE nchror that 1s, oc at exact the shas en 1 cess t a lucing in- 1 projecting. 4 has not love I because the the repair of fre S a edish miethod Ps = b | { 1 0 ' | which, as described in Nature, isnot new, but an apparently successful application of an older idea. Briefly, this idea is the photographing on the picture film of the fluctuations of sound waves of the speaker's voice in such a way that the sound waves may be reproduced at the same time &s the reproductoin of the picture. The mode of recording adopted 1s to obtain on the moving film an im- age of a slit, so that it is exposed to a ‘ow bar of light, whose intensi- ty is varying in accordance with the original. sound. The film, when de- veloped, shows a band varying in opacity as the length {s traversed, and looking very much like a dis- continued spectrum. The procedure for reproducing the - sounds from the films is very simple. All that is needed {is to focus the light from a narrow source upon the den Gleanings film, and to allow the Hght which penetrates the film to fall upon a selenium cell connected with a bat- tery and telephone recefyer. It is usually necessary to amplify the feeble telephone currents by means of thermionic valves, ‘The introduction of this new fea- ture into the motion picture business brings tho producers face to face with a number of problems in direct- ing and acting, as well as the merely mechanical problems. he first dif- ficulty that arose in adapting the in- vention to practical work in the movies was that of getting rid of the echo. ‘The sensitive film recorded not only what the actor said, but the comment of each of the four walls and the ceiling. As the voice or oth- er ‘sound was amplified more and more, the echo becamo more insist- ent. This problem was solved by upholstering the whole studio with felt, In making a scene before the talk- ing film, a director can not shout at his star and edit the film as it 1s made, because more talking by the director would be reproduced than by the actor, The director has to beckon and otherwise signal. The actors have to study their parts carefully instead of improvising, and each sceno has to be laid out and rehearsed with greater care than in the movies, because a thousand feet of talking film could be spoiled much more easily than a thousand feet of dumb drama. Another problem fs that of ad- justing the strength of the yolce to the apparent distance of the actor. The volce has to be strong enough to be heard all over the house, even if the actor is supposed to be at a distance and appears on the film in Mttle, But, on the other hand, if the actor’s yolce 1s expanded propor- tionately, when a distant view is changed to a close-up, he would speak in a voice of thunder. The pic- ture of a star often covers twenty or more square feet of film and would be entitled to accents like Niagara Falls. Whether close-ups are prac- tical at all in the talking films, and how far voices can be made faint or powerful to conform to the apparent distance of the actor, is one of the questions now being worked out. tor’s Right Han <2” TARELS 2 Zo: SFEa TO LUT Man OF LEOLLE YOU NEVER, 4“ LACE ON ZTHE SCRLAIV , PERE 'S WILLIAIT 26 DULLE (SRATED AL CLLL) AND THE STALL PEQU: CLOSE-T0P. AIS SHOULD Ee D FORA SINGLE ss : Le. ASSTSTANZ\OLECTOR GEORGE BIPPRED. eral weeks to get lighthouse scenes. That wouldn't be unusual. It may be a month after the cafe scene that we go to Chinatown for the “match- ing” exterior. Yet, when Miss Comp- s0n comes out the real door which was the model for the door built on the stage, her cloak must be draped exactly the same, her hair dressed identically as in the cafe. And she must be carrying her hat in the same hand! Otherwise, Mr. Critical Per- son in Kankakee will write a letter to our editorial department. And that leads me to say a pa- renthetical word about this same Critical Person in Kankakee, or Oshkosh, or Frizzellburg, or any of those towns that the funny men have made furious. I maintain that “C. P.” should not have to pay the war- tax on his theater ticket, because he doesn't go for entertainment. He goes to sit with a vigilant eye, look- ing for a place where he can say as he nudges Lizzie: “Look! Didja no- tice that? his sleeves are rolled up one turn more than they were in the tell you that fs as it should be. You see, the assistant has other things to do, and he isn’t always present when a scene is made. Naturally, the actor that works in it must be there, and he is expected to remem- ber details of his position and ward- robe. But’ here's a little extra girl, who is thinking more of how to pro- mote a date to the beach than she is about her work. She works one day, and maybe has a close-up. She shows up next day for scenes of the same time-sequence which must, of course, match exactly with those of the day before. Perhaps there is a crowd and the assistant is very busy. We shoot some ecenes. But here’s the “catch” in this tragic narrative. Over night, our little actress has decided that her gown needs an addition in back or a deduction in front, so, while waiting for her call, she has made the gar- ment conform to her aesthetic sense. “It's Just a matter of doing justice to my figure,” she says. “No one will notice.” ¢ ASSISTIANT QIGECZOR. CULLEN TATE MGAVIZNG- SATARY CHECKS £0R:"EXTRAAS" tle later than the others. Besides, by this time the other lost lambs have arrived, and we all go to work with such yim that we're soon ready to shoot. It's all in the day’s work, and they do say you can get used to anything except death and taxes. Matching Up. But our troubles don’t end with expected hitches on location. Take this matter of costumes, for instance, You know a picture is taken moro with reference to getting through with a “set” than to the continuity of the actlon—except by a very few directors, That means just this: that Betty Compson may run out ofa Chinese cafe into a narrow native street. Being in a hurry, she carries her hat and 1s ‘in the act of throw- ing a cloak over her shoulders as she goes through the door, Tho cafo scenes are “shot” on the stage; the street is an exterior, taken downtown. Perhaps we do the cafe first, and then go on location for sev- house!” With the friendliest feeling in the world; let me tell “C. P.” that he sees mighty few things that we haven't sen first, in the projecting room, after the scene is taken, and the film developed. “Checking” ts one of the hardest things we do. The month that has really elapsed between Miss Compson’s scene in the cafe and the one on the stret, down- town, is condensed on the screen to the twinkling of an eye, the two be- being immediate sequence. This is an open secret, but what I want to disclose is the identity of the poor harrassed slave who is responible for these scenes turning up right. Yes; the assistant, director! , Too Much Artistic Taste, It isn't the stars that grieve us most, and I only chose Miss Comp- son as an example because I never baye to worry about her costumes and “props.” She remembers those things herself, and sees that they “match.” And most assistants will Take {t from me, the most “notic- ing” man in the world presides on a motion-picture stage, and the direc- tor shouts, “Here; what have you done to that dress!” Then, through his megaphone to me at the other end of the set, placing the people, “Aleck, why in Blue Sunday blazes did you let Miss Highlight change that shoulder-strap!” So there you are! Men Tess Troublesome. Mind, that goes for the men, too, only their dress tends more to the uniform and ts less likely to cause trouble, And it does not apply to a lot of earnest, intelligent men and women who “use the bean” and work always for the best interest of the picture, They're the popular ones, of whom you hear it said among the Pharisees, “You know that Jane—the one with the coral bandeau (and don't {t scream fright- ful at her hair?)—hasn'‘t lost a day's work since the middle of March? It is not enough to be industrious; so are the ants, What are you industrious about? — Thoreau. Gawd, I don’t know how they do it!” Now, I don’t want to leave the im- Pression that a director and his as- sistant work at cross-purposes. To the contrary there {s close friendship and co-operation. There are direc- tors and assistants making pictures who have worked together as a “team” for two or three years and half that many dozen pictures. It not infrequently happens that a di- rector who leaves one picture com- pany to produce under another man- agement insists upon taking his as- sistant with him to the new affilla- tion. A Narrow Escape. I don't mean to say, either, that as- sistants are downtrodden unfortu- nates, too perfect for a cruel world which insists upon misunderstanding them. There are so many details to the work that it is inevitable we should sometimes overlook one. There was the time we had a crowd of over a hundred people working very late on a big set. In co-opera- tion with the studio manager, I ar- ranged with the street-car company to have special “owl” service that night. Deducting the people who lived near the studio and the ones who had their own automobiles, I had two trolley-cars ordered to ar- rive at 2 a. m. and wait until they re loaded before proceeding down- town. The director—with whom tt was my first picture—was one of these speed wizards, and he finished the work a little before one; in time, anyway, for all the extra people to get the regular cars or telephone to friends for a lift. I made out my report and went blithely on my own homeward way. I was in bed and just sinking off into forgetfulness when someiuing like a red sema- phore signal seemed to lift right up before my sleepy mind. “The cars!” Well, you can believe I hustled back to the studio, The cars were backing around there, locating a place to stop for the night—at a price per hour equal to my week's salary. There was @ narrow escape—and I've had others. But it’s all in the game, and it is a fascinating job. Jobs at a Premium, For some companies the assirtant has a great deal to do with the plan- ning of the work and has actually to negotiate and arrange for purchases and rentals, as well as hire the extra people. And it is to the assistant di- rectors that producers most often turn when seeking new blood in their directorial ranks. This fact makes assistant directors’ jobs always at a premium, and there are scores of ap- Plicants to each position. In the As- sistant Directors’ Association you can find men educated and qualified to engage in the learned profession— law, medicine and engineering. You could probably find several D.D.'s if you looked closely. Sometimes they come from the ranks of the actors; sometimes they go the other way, from property room and carpenter shop. But all in all, they're an earnest, straight-talking set of young mei having something to do and doing {i a place to go, and going, And always ahead the desired goal—directorship. “I'm proud of my job and my as- sociates. They're regular men."—By One. 2 George Ade not only wrote “Back Home and Broke,” but he toured the State of Connecticut with Alfred Green, the director, to find a “small town’? with the right kind of atmos- Phere for the picture. After visiting nearly all of Connecticut they toured Long Island and finally found what they wanted at Sag Harbor.