To get the shot, it had been planned to lower a camera man over the precipice with ropes, allowing him to crank very slowly as he was lowered. But the natural difficulties were too great. The distance that the camera man would have to be lowered, to secure the necessary effect, proved to be enormous. There was too much danger. The director was willing to go ahead, but the camera man balked. He said the director could go over the cliff and crank the camera himself if he wanted to—he’d be willing to risk his camera. But the director didn’t want to. All he was willing to risk was his camera man.
Looking at the picture after it was nearly ready for release, the producers decided that the thrill of the accident would be much greater with that ground-jumping-up-at-you shot, that everybody had been afraid to make, included. And the art director came to their assistance. He said he’d make the scene for them in the studio without danger, for fifteen dollars. They opened their mouths, in astonishment, and when they could get their breath, told him to go ahead.
He took a piece of bristol-board and in a few minutes sketched on it a rough, blurred view of open country, such as you might imagine you’d see looking down from a high cliff. Then he photographed it at normal speed, moving it rapidly toward the lens and turning it a little as the camera was cranked. Result, secured in connection with the other scenes already made: the thrill of falling in an automobile through the air, and seeing the ground fly up at you.
Courtesy Goldwyn Pictures Corporation.
A Movie “Miniature.”
Representing Alaska in Southern California, for the Rex Beach picture “The Silver Horde.” A supposed “long shot” or distant view of such a set as this appears full size upon the screen. In reality, the camera is only a few feet away when the picture is taken.
Courtesy Goldwyn Pictures Corporation.
A Snow Scene Made of Salt.