The soul of the moving picture

by Walter Julius Bloem

But Golem lay apart; it was a unique picture. The swirling, over-decorated flourishes of this world which had become so introspective, which had retired unto itself, and which retires unto itself again and again and at every opportunity, did not somehow make the right replies to the questions of our soul. The final echo, the longed-for repercussion of those wishes that creep into the hearts of the children of men, are always and invariably lacking in phantastic art. Such art may cause curiosity to grow; on such curiosity may batten; but it is never the creation that at once constitutes the longing and stills the longing that has been aroused.

The film is not the art in which a visionary fancy may rage until its rage is over. On the contrary, the film represents the most perfect union of active and modern life with the symphony of feelings. And it is not until we reach the point where the film dips down into hard reality—whether it be the reality of the present or of bygone ages is of but little consequence—that its art of decoration is confronted with those problems and tasks at the sight of which the human eye begins to glisten with ardent enthusiasm—is confronted with those works of the film in which every picture, every feeling, and every gesture preaches its Tua res agitur.

Settings befitting reality do not necessarily have to be smooth, unconditional, and unconditioned copies of reality. The chief desideratum is to have life and atmosphere in them; they must be filled with tender emotion, gentle animation. The following pictures belong to this category. Illustration No. 12 reveals in a kindly, loving way the milieu of a South German village. It is full of fancy, yet it is faithful to reality. The sole point in connection with this picture lies in this question: A German film company made this picture; very few people took part in it. Would it then not have been better and, in the end, less expensive, if the company had actually gone to one of the countless South German villages and taken the photographs on the spot?

Illustration No. 13 is a trick setting from Lubitsch’s Sumurun. It is only a few yards in height, and the effect produced is so natural that one fancies one is really surrounded by colossal buildings that stand out all alone.

Illustrations No. 14 and 15 offer an interesting study in comparisons. In No. 14, the grandiose scene from Madame Dubarry (smaller minds have all too often been influenced by this scene, to their own detriment), we have a chaotic fullness from the masses, and an architectural ensemble in the buildings included that is rather hard to study in the right perspective. It seems on the whole somewhat disconnected. But in this very lack of composition the picture reveals a fabulous fidelity to life; this is just such a scene as real life throws on the canvas. In contrast to this we have the bold composition of the pictures from Anne Boleyn. It is in beautiful style, in the manner of the Meininger Stage. There is fullness and there is order; it shows genuineness instead of truth.

A continuation in the development of this imitation, which in this case is ramified and multiplied down to the last and minutest bit of gim-crack on the houses, is no longer possible. Such additions as may be made will have to consist, not in making the decoration more intensive, but in making it more extensive; it must have to do with surface and not with depth (as in the buildings of the Indisches Grabmal), for the limit in intensity and depth has been reached. This being the case, the only thing that can be expected in the future is a sort of wild goose-chase after every conceivable species of scenic extravaganza. One architect tries to outdo the other in building high buildings and big buildings and complex buildings, with the result that the firm that has the greatest resources, or the best credit, will, in the end, carry off the prize. The man who really tries to further art will be forced into the background; the material, the mass makes itself felt.

Scenic views have, in truth, already been constructed every detail of which, and there are many, rather militates against real effect so far as the film is concerned. This is proof that the way of film setting is unique unto itself; there are such things as faithful imitations of indispensable film style, but to follow them is to be led out on to distant paths that are alien to the essential objective; for lavishness is never a sign of control.

The prime prerequisite of a good film picture is that one glance is sufficient to take it in; from this truth there is no escape. And despite this, the film picture dare not lack atmosphere. The imitation of reality is all right in itself and quite beautiful. But so soon as the reality that is imitated becomes excessive in detail so that easy survey of it is impossible, we have to depart from it with an indulgent farewell, otherwise it will become distorted, caricatured, and naturally annoying where it is meant to be illuminating.

Film decoration calls for an elaborate and calm flow of lines, lines which surround the action like a mighty and manifold frame, but which do not wean our attention away from the film itself; on it our eye at least must be kept riveted. Those details, which are as expensive as they are useless, are to be avoided, while emphasis is to be placed on the essentials in the scenery.

Illustration No. 16 is on the border line between a faithful copy and a clever diversity or manifolding. The scene is extravagant only in composition; the details have been worked out with just enough completeness to give the impression of absolute reality.