Movement, then, is that which is felt more than it is seen. It brings us face to face again with the power of suggestion, which is one of the secret springs of dramatic effects. By means of it everything is made to play a dramatic part in our drama.
(EXAMPLE 67.) In a scene picturing the hour a man has selected to declare his love, we find a moonlight effect; they sing a love song; “the time, the place and the girl” are all harmonious.... In another scene we depict this man’s poverty by showing his threadbare room; there are many suggestions of better days; his manner shows refinements that suggest his former affluence and make his surroundings pathetically dramatic.
The finer points in dramatic construction are equivalent—and just as necessary—as those of fiction narration. Dramatic construction and expression are modulated according to the nature of the theme. Realism, Romanticism and Idealism each has its methods of producing effects. We must guard against the vulgarity of ultra-realism and bear in mind that all idealism must be edifying and romanticism refined. Realism is materialistic and calls for gross details and convincing spectacle; Romanticism is luxuriant and revels in the vagaries of youth, the desire for love and the intoxication of adventure; Idealism is delicate and speculates in beauty, dreams and perfection. The three are like solids, oil and water that can never mix. If our play be a romance, its contributive elements must be romantic to produce the desired romantic effect.
(EXAMPLE 68.) The three plays following are examples of Realism, Romanticism and Idealism, as their titles appropriately suggest: “The Salt of Vengeance,” “The Coming of the Real Prince” and “The Lost Melody.” The first is a play of revenge and does not mince matters in delineating it; there is a wreck, a thrilling hold-up scene and a sacrifice involving bloodshed. The second shows the blowing and bursting of the romantic bubble of a visionary country girl. The third depicts the effect of a youthful ideal upon a man later in life.
There are grave dangers, as we have hinted, in substituting dynamic or spectacular action for dramatic movement, as illustrated in the foregoing chapter by Example 65. Even melodrama can be ruined by it. The toppling over of a house, the realistic battle between two armies, or the smashing of two locomotives, obliterates the fine mechanism of the drama with a realism that satiates and makes everything that follows insipid. The play, the characters and the audience are lost in the debris both literally and artistically. Our object in dramatic expression is to enthrall, not to paralyze. Every distraction of attention from the elemental mediums of pure art is an obstacle thrown into the clear channel of receptivity. Spectacles are for the most part acts that concern themselves and not deeds that are an intrinsic part of the drama. The characters and the action step back as it were, while the precipitated spectacle usurps the stage and the attention. Unlike the circus, drama has no legitimate side-shows. We are not interested in anything that happens or that a character may do, but only in what his action indicates and reveals of the story. Spectacles are real “moving pictures”; what we want is moving drama. True drama appeals to the heart; spectacular theatrics assault the nerves.
We should employ the spectacle then, not as an adjunct to drama, but as a vital necessity—which will be rarely. When you can honestly say that what you have written is good drama, and that you cannot do without one or more spectacular scenes, then make use of them by all means.
Suspense marks each dramatic Situation, and consists in retarding its Crisis and withholding its solution as long as it is feasible.
CHAPTER III
Sequence and Suspense
CAUSE AND EFFECT; EFFECTS DUE TO ARRANGEMENT; THE RAW COINCIDENCE; SUSPENSE MOTORS; BATTLE OF OPPOSING MOTIVES; MOTIVE AS WELL AS IDEA.