A-B-C of motion pictures

by Robert E. Welsh

We are nearing the climax, and you will find that long ago the plot has taken the reins into its own hands; it needs no more spurring. Through the rooms of the darkened house there one day sounds the mother’s cry, “I see! I see!” After the first glad embrace of the girl her cry is for her son’s letters. Desperate, the girl urges her to wait until the morrow, after the surgeon has said that she may read. While the mother is protesting the girl suddenly tears herself away and flees hysterically from the house. She walks blindly down the hillside to the railroad tracks, then throws herself down on the grass to weep. She hears voices. Peering through a near-by bush, she sees a gathering of tramps hovering over a fire, a whisky-bottle passing around the circle. Frightened, she turns to run, but a slight noise betrays her, and the tramps, drink-crazed, start after her. All but one run only a few steps, but this one, more daring than the rest, continues the pursuit. She stumbles and he comes upon her. With a despairing scream she turns to look into his leering face, and—it is the son and sweetheart.

There is your climax. End your story in any one of the many ways that are possible, but, above all, end it quickly. It is a wise author who knows when his story is done. Withstand the temptation to start another story at the point where this one ends. You do not have to follow your characters to the grave; the interest of the audience is over when the crisis is past. You may spoil the effect of a good story by trifling with its interest after that. That is part of the story-teller’s art that we spoke of as the third essential—the ability to know where to begin the story, so that no time is lost in useless detail, while at the same time making the necessary points clear, a knowledge of what incidents to introduce and how to group them so that they merge smoothly into the climax and the gift of stopping when the story is done.

Thus far our talk has been on points that might apply with almost equal force to any line of literary endeavor. Let us now take up some points more closely identified with the photoplay. We have learned how to look for ideas, we have seen how a plot is built; now we must find out how to tell our story on the screen. It should be unnecessary to tell aspirants that since all photoplays are told by means of pantomime, “action” is a prime necessity. The audience wants to see the characters do everything worth while in the story. It feels cheated if you insert a subtitle saying, “Helen loves John because he saved her from death in a factory fire.” The screen’s purpose is to show the fire, to show John performing his heroic deed. No matter how good your story is, if it is of such a type that it cannot be “acted out,” then it does not belong on the screen. Printed inserts are unwelcome necessities—they are not the substance of which the motion picture’s popularity is made. Cultivate the “picture eye,” the faculty of visualizing each incident in your story, to discover if it is possible of being explained to an audience by means of action without the aid of words.

Make each scene tell its own story, either by carrying the action of the whole a step further, or by giving an insight into the character of a person important in the story. For instance, instead of the bald statement, “John Jenks is a crusty old bachelor,” why not a scene showing Jenks in his home irascibly ordering his servants about?—let the audience see for itself the type of man he is. Have your scenes follow one another logically, but—here the printed insert shows its usefulness—don’t show uninteresting action that can be covered by a brief subtitle. For example, if your characters are at the seashore for one scene, and the next important bit of action occurs at the city home, instead of the uninteresting scenes showing the characters boarding a train, arriving in the city and so on, use a brief insert, “Back in the City,” and take up your action there. The insert saves a lot of uninteresting action that would only bore the audience, while on the other hand, if you were to switch your characters suddenly from the seashore to the city without a word of explanation the spectator would be mystified and in doubt as to just what was happening.

Remember that the more principal characters you introduce in your story the more difficult you make it for the audience to follow the thread of the plot. Of course, you can have all the minor characters, such as servants, that you like, but have your story told by the actions of a few principals. This regard for simplicity should be followed in the manner of telling your story.

“What subjects are in demand?” For the outside writer the market is always best for the shorter pictures, comedies or dramas running one, two, or three reels in length. Comedies of merit are in greatest demand, not because more comedies are produced—the reverse is actually the case—but because less good comedy is written. Follow the pictures that are being shown in the theaters if you would keep in definite touch with the studio demands, or else read one of the trade journals that give theater-owners advance information of the pictures that are to be produced.

The trade journals will also be your guide when it comes to selling your photoplay. By reading the manufacturers’ advertisements there you will learn the type of picture each company is producing, and this is the first and most important lesson in the marketing of photoplays. Follow the players, and if you have a story especially suited to a certain player send it to his company first. The trade papers must also supply you with your list of addresses, for any roster printed in a book is certain to be out of date within a few months after the book is off the press.

Typewrite your manuscript. Here are other rules of the game which the beginner often disregards: Write on only one side of the paper; use white paper about eight and a half by eleven; put your name and address on the first page of the manuscript; and, most important of all, inclose a stamped and addressed envelope for the return of the story should it be unavailable. Make carbon copies of all your stories.

Make certain that your story is good by all the tests you can devise, and then pin your faith to it and keep it in the mails until it sells. Don’t hesitate to rewrite it, however, if after a few months you feel that it can be improved.

Were we asked to confine our advice to would-be photoplaywrights to one sentence, we could give no better hint than, “Study the screen.” There, in three words, is contained the one big secret of success in the picture field. See all the pictures you can, occasionally see them more than once, and study them.