Writing the Photoplay

by J. Berg Esenwein; Arthur Leeds

THE MECHANICAL PREPARATION OF THE SCRIPT

Any successful photoplaywright will testify that the proper preparation of the photoplay script has much to do with its being accepted, especially if more than the mere synopsis is offered.

At first this may seem to be an extreme statement, but its truth will become more and more evident as we proceed. Furthermore, its importance should be accepted by writers early in the work because every stage of photoplay writing has its direct bearing upon, and looks toward, the preparation of the script. For this reason the present chapter is introduced at this point, though in actual time-sequence the preparation of the manuscript in its final form will usually come after all its several parts have been considered, blocked out, and arranged. It will be highly important, therefore, to review this chapter after finishing the sections of this volume which deal in particular with the several parts of the photoplay.

It is to be regretted, let us reiterate, that so much has been said, by manufacturers and others, to the effect that no literary training is necessary in order to write salable photoplays, for, as a result, countless absolutely "impossible" scripts are constantly pouring into the editors' offices—impossible, in a great many cases, not because of the lack of idea, for very often the illiterate writer has both a vivid imagination and the power to use it, but because frequently the good idea is expressed in such unintelligible language, and with such execrable spelling and hopelessly incorrect punctuation, that the thread of the plot, its meaning, and values, cannot be grasped by the editor. Even when the story itself is not utterly lost to the script reader, he is too busy a man to wade through it bit by bit, struggling to make something out of a jumble of confusing words. The demand for good scripts is greater than the supply—but the supply is increasing, and the standard is rising. This means that although there are dozens—to put it mildly—of men and women entering the field each week, easily three-fourths of these brand themselves as hopelessly unqualified when they drop their first script into the mail-box.

The repeated failures of the unprepared have given rise to the rumor that only the scripts of favored writers are read in editorial offices. The old trick of placing small pieces of paper between the sheets, in order to prove whether or not the script was read through, is as popular today as it was twenty years ago with story writers. The gentleman who has the first reading of all the scripts received by a certain company called the attention of one of the present authors to just such a script only recently. What was the result? Some of the minute pieces of paper fell out the moment the script was taken from the envelope for examination. That was enough. The script was almost immediately placed in another envelope and returned to the writer—with a rejection slip. Unfair treatment of the writer? Not at all! Following the discovery of the concealed particles of paper, a glance at the first page was sufficient to convince the editor that it was the work of another amateur who was foolish enough to add to a miserably prepared script the proof that he doubted the honesty of the editor to whom he had addressed his offering.

It is only reasonable to believe that every editor will read at least so much of every script as is necessary to convince him of its value or its lack of value to the firm by which he is employed. He draws a salary to discover stories which are worth while, and is always on the lookout for good, live, gripping stories which will make pictures calculated to add to the reputation of his employer. There is just one way he can find such stories, when the author's name is unknown to him, and that is by reading the script, either in whole or so far as to permit his trained judgment to pass fairly upon it. The editor who does not do this honestly either does not exist or will soon lose his position, for he will be sure to overlook valuable material by his negligence.

At the very outstart resolve to be professional in your methods, be businesslike, and play fair.

The advisability of constantly abiding by these three rules of the photoplay writing "game" must be apparent to any intelligent person. Though the field for the sale of photoplay scripts is likely to become much larger, and the prices paid promise to become better as time goes on, every day some new writer of proved ability (in the field of fiction writing, as a rule), enters this field. Against him, with his superior experience and knowledge of literary usages, you must compete. Therefore, in order to win, you must do as he does. He is fair to himself. From a mechanical point, his scripts are likely to be all that they ought to be; he sends them out knowing that they are in correct form to receive the proper consideration of the most exacting editor. And they do. In the same mail with his script comes one from a beginner. This unknown writer may have an idea—that most important requisite in picture-play writing—which is really fresher and even better than that embodied in the story of the experienced writer. But the merit of the idea is hopelessly concealed under a mass of misleading and unnecessary language; the script is poorly written—in longhand; it is badly spaced; spelling, punctuation, everything, betray ignorance or carelessness of what is expected in a properly prepared script. What chance, then, does it stand when placed beside that of the trained writer? And whose fault is it?

Give yourself a fair chance. From the day that you write your first photoplay, write it so carefully, prepare the script with so much regard for the accepted rules, that no editor will be able to point to it with a sigh and exclaim: "Oh, well, it has to be read. Here goes!" Make it a script that he will dive into with keen anticipation of finding something as good as its mechanical preparation would cause him to expect.

We now add a number of items of practical advice.