(EXAMPLE 43.) From a letter: “I have never seen you take any interest in anything.” Caption: “In fifty minutes your child will be on the scrap heap, too!”
The laws of natural movement and action should never be violated by the characters themselves. Any character who is to appear in the next scene must always be seen to leave the present scene, disappearing from view in that action, and again be seen to come on the scene that follows. It is unnecessary to accompany the character thru the various and uninteresting steps between his leaving one scene and arrival on the next. If something dramatic happens to him en route then we should see it. Contrary to fiction construction, scene precedes character in presentation. We are carried to the new scene and meet the character at the door as it were, and the illusion is complete. A preliminary fragment of action transpiring in the following scene, before the appearance of the character, will lend a further contribution to naturalness.
(EXAMPLE 44.) In scene 27, of “All Power for a Day,” we find Alice hurriedly leaving the crowd when she has seen the face of the man she hates. In scene 28, the room, in her boarding-house is shown, her landlady—her enemy’s confederate—snooping for a bit among her things before she enters.
Characters must not be left in one scene and be discovered in the next following. They are not clothing dummies or marionettes, to be picked up bodily and helplessly and placed in set poses for the inspection of the audience. If another scene intervenes in which the same character does not appear, then it is not necessary for him to “come and go,” since we presume he has had time and freedom for the necessary action while we were engaged with the alternate scene.
The scene principle in the photoplay is one of reflective power. One scene reacts, rebounds, reflects, reverberates from the scene that precedes it to the scene that follows it; all bear a cumulative relation toward the climax.
(EXAMPLE 45.) In “The Master of the Lost Hills” we have six scenes all different, yet showing the reflective power with tremendous force: (1) Mary aims gun out of window and tells brother to step back or she will shoot; (2) Brother hesitates in his advance; (3) Close-view of Mary taking aim; (4) Just at edge of woods Mary’s desperate lover is taking aim at her; (5) Portion of dense forest showing sheriff and posse, who have come to rescue Mary, lost; (6) Exterior of shack shows mob drawing closer.
Another scene principle that we have learned is that every time the camera is shifted an iota we have a new scene. Theoretically, the eye of the camera never moves, excepting in the disillusioning practice of some operators to follow the movements of energetic characters by “panoram-ing.”
Our rule for length, duration and number of scenes is governed by the unalterable unit of the reel, or 1,000 feet of film. A short play—one reel—may consist of from 25 to 50 scenes; according to the directness, tone, treatment by the author and the method of the director. The exciting play of comedy, adventure and peril moves along rapidly, with short, quick scenes and many “returns,” just as in fiction we use short sentences and employ words and phraseology that remind us of and constantly revert to the hero’s imminent peril. The duration of a scene is in direct ratio to the vital relationship of its action to the climax.
(EXAMPLE 46.) In “The Salt of Vengeance” the grief-crazed father of an injured child sets a bomb under the rails that will blow to atoms the child of the man who is responsible for the injury. The lunatic pens up the guilty man, taunts him with the swiftly approaching fate of his precious child. This scene endures for several minutes. The next is a mere “flash” of a speeding railroad train occupying several seconds.
It is a natural law of drama that demands the establishment of identity almost the moment that a character appears. This is especially requisite in photodrama because of the rapid panorama of scenes that hurry on and off, at the rate of 75 to 200 an hour. One moment’s doubt on the part of the audience—so incredibly swift and fleeting is the hurry of photoplay events—may mean the misunderstanding or losing of a year of the hero’s life.