2. MANUFACTURER. (a) Editor—Some reader will have to pass on your manuscript, in all likelihood, before the editor sees it. In both cases, the Synopsis becomes the gate of approval. They do not read the Scenario at all unless the Synopsis is eminently promising. An editor wants what he needs, rather than what he personally desires to see presented. Your manuscript might contain the most pleasing and producible play in the world, yet if it did not fit his existing needs it would be poor policy to purchase it. Your manuscript is its own appeal and needs no personal letter; it is advisable not to write one. Your title is surely going to influence the editor strongly for or against further perusal of the manuscript. The editor will naturally be partial to the short Synopsis, but do not coddle this partiality by making your Synopsis too bald. The editor does not accept a manuscript, as a rule, until he has held a conference over it—possibly with the managing-director of the company adapted to producing the type of story in question. A careful observance of the rule of economy—economy of supers and principals, of interior sets, of props, of difficult scenes, of energy, time and expense—is bound to be appreciated.
(b) Studio—In the term studio, we may include director, actor, stage carpenter, and interior lightings and effects. No one is more pleased with a simple and powerful story than the director, and frequently no one has quite as much to say about the acceptance of the manuscript as this same highest-paid employee. It has often happened that even a bought manuscript of undoubted merit has never seen the light of the screen because there have been several difficult scenes to master, either mechanically or emotionally. The manuscript must be concise and quick in showing the director how many sets must be constructed or got out, how many actors must be employed, what props and costumes must be bought, rented or ordered. It is in this relation, that a scene plot may be used to advantage, for it will enable the director to consider the matter of suitable locations for exteriors. Unless he has child actors available, the matter of juvenile leads may mean the rejection of an otherwise desirable play. Military, costume or period plays are sure to be frowned down unless it is the producing policy of the manufacturer to put them on. Unless the producer has at his command trained animals, either wild or tame, it will be a waste of postage to send him plays the scenes or situations of which depend upon animal acting. Several manufacturers maintain menageries! Each studio has a star or two of either sex who is best known for certain types of characters and plays. These high salaried artists must be kept busy. Study their needs!
(c) Photography—Such photographic marvels have been accomplished in motography, that the playwright is apt to forget that there is any boundary line to possibility in photographic effects. First of all, there is the matter of color; blue, for instance, becomes white on the screen, and red, black. Black and white alone are resultant except in kinemacolor or in tinted negative. When a situation or dramatic point depends upon color, it will have to be indicated either by caption or by insert. The camera is quicker than the human eye and more unfailing, in that it records everything that passes within its range of focus. Tyros have to be told again and again that exteriors cannot be made at night. The night scene would have to be artificially lighted by a flash, which would result in a daylight effect! Rain, night, lightning, storm and pictures taken in a darkened or over-lighted atmosphere, are usually “effects” artificially created. We do not see, for instance, bona fide lightning descending from the sky and simultaneously striking a man dead. The technical secret of portraying all difficult effects of this kind is by showing them in two or more scenes—first cause, then effect. First, we see lightning in the sky; then, we see the man the instant after being struck, collapsing. Night exteriors may be well simulated by having the action isolated under the rays of a street lamp or other direct rays of light, with darkness surrounding. Light and the want of it are the chief obstacles in the way of photography; the genius of the directors and their co-operators have made almost any conceivable “effect” possible. Frequently manuscripts call for exteriors in foreign countries. Very seldom can backgrounds and sets do anything more than make a cheap, wooden presentment of the Eiffel Tower, or the Pyramids or St. Paul’s, London. The playwright may accomplish his aim, by keeping his foreign scenes all interiors, with possibly a glimpse of the distant landmark thru the window.
(d) Manufacturer—Every manufacturing company has some producing policy or characteristic. The Kalem, for instance, is noteworthy for its war dramas, Edison for its leaning toward topical themes—and so on. In this relation, it may be well to remember that each company has a staff of salaried playwrights who furnish many of their typical features. The manufacturers both love and hate the spectacular; they feel that it is beloved by the public and the life of competition, yet they abhor the dangers, destructivity and tremendous expense and superhuman effort it entails. Some day they will realize that the public really loves simple drama more than they do sensational spectacle.
3. THE MANUSCRIPT (a) Technique—In fiction the deeds need only be probable; in photodrama they must be actually performable, because the audience must see them. For the photoplay must show whatever is vital. Keep your captions down to 15 words at the most, and your inserts to 20, as every word means a foot of film. Tell how your characters shall act, leave to the director where and how they enter and exit. Write mainly about characters that arouse the spectators’ sympathy. Our photoplay is not told, but acted. Photoplay happenings should transpire in the same order as they do in life. There is nothing so unconvincing as a multiplicity of coincidences. First become an expert on words, if you would be a master of thought. Be certain that you state briefly all crises, situations, and the climax in the Synopsis. Be sure that you feel all the emotions you plan to inspire in others and that you have a dramatic idea before you worry about technique.
(b) Preparation—Good English is essential to the photoplaywright, not merely because it is the badge of literacy, but because thru good, clear, forceful English alone can the playwright hope to give searching expression to an exquisite impression! Beside being a literary offering, the submission of a manuscript is a purely business venture. We offer our goods for sale; we put them up in an attractively neat parcel; we label them plainly with our name and address in the left-hand corner of the Cast, Synopsis and Scenario sheets only; we prepay the postage of the manuscript both to and from the prospective buyer, sustaining a good impression by inclosing a self-addressed envelope. A carbon copy of a manuscript is the only perfect safeguard in case of loss. The hand-written manuscript is as out-of-date as the hand printing press.
(c) Sale—You can not force a firm to buy what it does not want, and it is unbusinesslike to demand reasons or to censure it for its refusal to do so. You will be paid, naturally, what the manuscript is commercially worth and not what it may be valued at by you. You should always be conceded the privilege of refusing an offer, just as the buyer is given the right to buy. A photoplay cannot be copyrighted, thanks to a ludicrous Department of the United States Government. Happily, published works of Literature can—after a fashion—so that the aspiring playwright will do best to photodramatize only such plays, books, short stories and poems as he himself is author of. If you wish to reserve story or stage rights, make it clear in the receipt you sign. The photoplay market has a unique bit of etiquette—for a business transaction—that demands of you to submit your manuscript to but one manufacturer at a time. Sales are influenced, of course, by the excellence of the playwright’s product; but they are forced alone by the law of supply and demand.
A few important admonitions remain, chief among which is to eschew the sterile pseudonym of “moving pictures,” when photodrama is meant. Furthermore, scorn and cry down the derogatory and ignominious term of “movie” that stands between the playwright and his claim to a dignified profession.
Be original—and you can only acquire the virtue thru a constant attendance at the theaters, seeking what has been worn to triteness and learning what has never been done at all. Observe what “gets the hand,” and you will surely find what will get the heart! Be persistent—if you have faith in your play; keep revising it; keep sending it out.
PART II