Analysis of the fundamental design in Derby Day (above). See [page 64].
Upon this line the whole design is built, and rather cleverly, too, for our attention is controlled by the subtle ordination of accents. At the right end of the line is the most unusual and striking shape in the picture, namely, the curved figure described by the wagon-cover and the wheel. Such a strange shape, as we have pointed out earlier in this chapter, has a strong attraction for the eye, and in this picture marks emphasis Number One. Emphasis Number Two occurs near the middle of the road at the turn, where four or more lines meet to form a cross. These lines are produced by the basic line already described, by the conspicuous tree, and by the hedge which runs up to it from the left side of the bottom frame. Here again are illustrated visual laws already discussed. The third emphasis in this picture is where the road runs out on the left, our eyes being drawn in that direction by the familiar device of converging lines. Observe that the mass of trees in the background forms a distinct wedge with the point toward the left, that the wagon train itself tapers sharply, that the three trees along the road are successively smaller toward the left, and that the field on that side of the road tapers somewhat in the same direction. The combined effect of these converging lines and tapering shapes carries our vision along the road so insistently that we follow it in imagination beyond the frame.
Thus by the magic of pictorial design our vision is caught and so controlled that a single glance, sweeping the picture in the direction ordained by the artist, gives us a definite feeling of movement. No matter who looks, or how often, he will see the accents in the order we have named—covered wagon, turn of the road, far end of the road—and will thus get the main story of the picture in the shortest time, the simplest terms, and with the right emphasis. If this picture were to be thrown upon the screen for only a second we are confident that every spectator would instantly get the primary meaning, (1) wagon loads of merry-makers (2) are swinging (3) up the road. There are minor interests, too, such as the comic figures and actions of the characters, the prancing of dogs and horses, the rustic cottage, the tops of trees, clouds, etc.; but these are kept subsidiary in the design and yet, as they emerge one by one, they are found to be in complete harmony with the main theme, the movement of merry-makers along a country road.
Of course, if a scene like this were filmed and thrown upon the screen, the wagon train would actually be moving, and we would perceive the motion, rather than infer it or feel it, as we do from the fixed design of the drawing. Yet, if the cinema director were indifferent as to where he placed his accents, and trusted to chance for his pictorial pattern, we would surely not perceive that motion in its full significance. Now, if lines, shapes and tonal values in a certain arrangement can clarify and emphasize the message of a picture, it is obvious that in some other arrangement they could obscure and minimize that message. For example, if “Derby Day” were filmed, and the composition were left to accident or to the bungling of some director ignorant of the laws of design, it is quite probable that he would “feature” the “picturesque” cottage, or perhaps a “cunning” dog, a “scenic” tree, the “patriotic pull” of the flag, or the “side-splitting” corpulency of a woman. No spectator would then see or feel the dominant idea of this subject, which is the joy of going away on the open road.
Right here it is a pleasure to state for the benefit of any reader who may not have seen “The Covered Wagon,” that James Cruze, the director of that photoplay, did not bungle his composition. Always the historic wagon train of the pioneers strikes the dominant note of the scene, seeming to compose itself spontaneously into a pictorial pattern which accents the dramatic meaning. This is true even when there is no physical movement. In the arroyo scene, for example, facing [page 93], the wagons, drawn up into formation for a camp, harmonize sternly with the savage-looking cliffs, and their zigzag arrangement somehow suggests the sharp action of the fight with the Indians which fate holds in store for this very place.
Enough has now been said to illustrate how design in a picture can control our attention during the pauses and arrested moments on the screen, and by so doing can relieve the eyes of unnecessary, wasteful work and give unity and emphasis to the message of the picture. But still other powers reside in design. While it hastens our grasp of meanings, and even accentuates those meanings, it can affect the mind in other ways that are still more important. And if we delve deeper into these ways we shall come out with a clearer vision of the artistic possibilities of the movies.
CHAPTER V.
RHYTHM AND REPOSE IN FIXED DESIGN
Directness, ease, emphasis, unity—these are the things which we have just demanded of cinema composition, the pictorial form which contains, and at the same time reveals, the story of a photoplay. But we demand something more. We do not get complete æsthetic pleasure from any composition which merely contains and reveals something else. The vessel, while serving to convey its treasure, should have a charm of its own. In poetry, for example, we are not satisfied with the language which merely expresses the poetic content in clear and forceful style. We crave poetic language, too, words and sentences that sound like music and that by their very form appeal to our fancy.