MOVING PICTURES

  HOW THEY ARE MADE AND WORKED




CONQUESTS OF SCIENCE

_Uniform with this Volume._


BY FREDERICK A. TALBOT

  THE OIL CONQUEST OF THE WORLD

  LIGHTSHIPS AND LIGHTHOUSES

  THE RAILWAY CONQUEST OF THE WORLD

  STEAMSHIP CONQUEST OF THE WORLD


  PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
  LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN




[Illustration:

                                                  _Frontispiece._

TRICK CINEMATOGRAPHY--THE AUTOMOBILE ACCIDENT.

The producer giving instructions to the principal actor and his double,
the legless cripple. The dummy legs in the foreground.--_See page 211._]




  _CONQUESTS OF SCIENCE_

  MOVING PICTURES

  HOW THEY ARE MADE AND WORKED

  BY
  FREDERICK A. TALBOT

  NEW EDITION

  _ILLUSTRATED_

  PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
  LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
  1914




                                _First Printed, January, 1912_
                              _Revised Edition, December, 1912_
                                _New Edition, November, 1914_

  _Printed in England._




PREFACE


The marvellous, universal popularity of moving pictures is my reason
for writing this volume. A vast industry has been established of which
the great majority of picture-palace patrons have no idea, and the
moment appears timely to describe the many branches of the art.

I have endeavoured to deal with the whole subject in a popular and
comprehensive manner. I have been assisted by several friends, who
have enabled me to throw considerable light upon the early history of
motion photography and the many problems that had to be mastered before
it met with public appreciation:--MM. Weiss and Bull, the Director
and Assistant-Director respectively of the Marey Institute in Paris;
M. Georges Demeny; Messrs. Frank L. Dyer, the President of Thomas A.
Edison, Incorporated; W. F. Greene, Robert W. Paul, James Williamson,
Lumière & Sons, Richard G. Hollaman, the Eastman Kodak Company, Dr. J.
Comandon, F. Percy Smith, Albert Smith, and the numerous firms engaged
in one or other of the various branches of the industry.

I am indebted especially to the editor of _L’Illustration_, the
well-known Parisian illustrated weekly newspaper, in conjunction with
the Société des Établissements Gaumont, for permission to publish the
photographs illustrating Chapters XIX., XX., and XXI., as well as the
frontispiece; also to Mr. A. A. Hopkins, the author of “Magic,” and to
Messrs. Munn & Co., the proprietors of _The Scientific American_, of
New York, U.S.A.

The book makes no claim to being a practical manual, because thereby
intricate technicalities would have been unavoidable. The information
respecting the various mechanical aspects of cinematography are set
forth in a readable manner, so that the broad principles may be
understood.

While the most popular features of motion photography are described
fully, I have not omitted to introduce the reader to the educational
and scientific developments, which are more wonderful and fascinating.
Indeed, the cinematograph will probably achieve greater triumphs in
these fields than it has accomplished already as a source of amusement.

                                        FREDERICK A. TALBOT.




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE
       I. WHAT IS ANIMATED PHOTOGRAPHY?                                1

      II. THE FIRST ATTEMPTS TO PRODUCE MOVING PICTURES               10

     III. THE SEARCH FOR THE CELLULOID FILM                           23

      IV. THE KINETOSCOPE: THE ANIMATOGRAPH: THE CINEMATOGRAPHE       30

       V. HOW THE CELLULOID FILM IS MADE                              50

      VI. THE STORY OF THE PERFORATION GAUGE                          57

     VII. THE MOVING PICTURE CAMERA, ITS CONSTRUCTION, AND
            OPERATION                                                 65

    VIII. DEVELOPING AND PRINTING THE PICTURES                        76

      IX. HOW THE PICTURES ARE SHOWN UPON THE SCREEN                  88

       X. THE STUDIO FOR STAGING MOVING PICTURE PLAYS                103

      XI. THE CINEMATOGRAPH AS A RECORDER OF TOPICAL EVENTS:
            SCENIC FILMS                                             116

     XII. THE CINEMATOGRAPH THEATRE AND ITS EQUIPMENT                130

    XIII. HOW A CINEMATOGRAPH PLAY IS PRODUCED                       146

     XIV. MOVING PICTURES OF MICROBES                                161

      XV. SOME ELABORATE PICTURE PLAYS AND HOW THEY WERE STAGED      169

     XVI. PICTURES THAT MOVE, TALK, AND SING                         179

    XVII. POPULAR SCIENCE AS REVEALED BY THE CINEMATOGRAPH           190

   XVIII. TRICK PICTURES AND HOW THEY ARE PRODUCED.--
            I. THE FIRST ATTEMPTS AT CINEMATOGRAPH MAGIC AND THE
            ARTIFICES ADOPTED                                        197

     XIX. TRICK PICTURES AND HOW THEY ARE PRODUCED.--
            II. DANCING FURNITURE: STRINGS, CORDS, AND WIRES: “THE
            MAGNETIC GENTLEMAN”: THE “STOP AND SUBSTITUTION”: “THE
            AUTOMOBILE ACCIDENT”: REVERSAL OF ACTION                 207

      XX. TRICK PICTURES AND HOW THEY ARE PRODUCED.--
            III. MANIPULATION OF THE FILM: APPARITIONS AND GRADUAL
            DISAPPEARANCES BY OPENING AND CLOSING THE DIAPHRAGM
            OF THE LENS SLOWLY: “THE SIREN”: SUBMARINE EFFECTS       218

     XXI. TRICK PICTURES AND HOW THEY ARE PRODUCED.--
            IV. LILLIPUTIAN FIGURES: “THE LITTLE MILLINER’S
            DREAM”: THE “ONE TURN ONE PICTURE” MOVEMENT: HOW
            SOME EXTRAORDINARY INCIDENTS ARE PRODUCED: “THE SKI
            RUNNER”                                                  231

    XXII. TRICK PICTURES AND HOW THEY ARE PRODUCED.--
            V. “PRINCESS NICOTINE” AND HER REMARKABLE CAPRICES       242

   XXIII. TRICK PICTURES AND HOW THEY ARE PRODUCED.--
            VI. SOME UNUSUAL AND NOVEL EFFECTS                       254

    XXIV. ELECTRIC SPARK CINEMATOGRAPHY                              264

     XXV. THE “ANIMATED” NEWSPAPER                                   277

    XXVI. ANIMATION IN NATURAL COLOURS                               287

   XXVII. MOVING PICTURES IN THE HOME                                301

  XXVIII. MOTION-PHOTOGRAPHY AS AN EDUCATIONAL FORCE                 312

    XXIX. RECENT DEVELOPMENTS: THE GROWTH AND POPULARITY OF THE
            CINEMATOGRAPH: SOME FACTS AND FIGURES: CONCLUSION        319




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                          _To face page_
  Trick Cinematography--The Automobile Accident           _Frontispiece_

  Dr. E. J. Marey’s Famous Experiments--Photographic Gun of 1882      16

  Consecutive Pictures of a Gull Flying, taken with the
      Photographic Gun                                                16

  Chronophotographic Apparatus for taking Consecutive Pictures
      upon a Single Glass Plate                                       16

  Dr. Marey’s Animated Pictures made in 1884–6 for the Analysis
      of Motion                                                       17

  Edison’s First Kinetoscope                                          32

  Edison Film made about 1891 for the Kinetoscope                     33

  Edison Film made in 1911 for the Cinematograph                      33

  Paul’s Camera showing Mechanism for moving the Film
      intermittently past the Lens                                    36

  The First Kinetoscope Film made in England                          36

  The “Black Maria,” the First Edison Studio for making
      Kinetoscope Films                                               37

  The Dissolving Room                                                 52

  The Mixing Barrel                                                   53

  A Battery of Celluloid Mixers                                       54

  The Liquid Celluloid Storage Room                                   55

  Paul’s Rotary Perforator                                            60

  The First Cinematograph Studio-Stage                                60

  The Williamson Film Perforator                                      61

  The Perforating Room of the Cines Company in Rome                   66

  The Film-moving Mechanism of a Cinematograph Camera                 67

  Paul’s Complete Developing, Printing, and Drying Outfit             70

  The First Developing Room in Great Britain, at Robert Paul’s
      Pioneer Film Factory                                            70

  After Development and Washing the Films were transferred
      from the Racks to the Cylinders                                 71

  The Drying Room, showing Films wound on the Drying Drums            71

  The Developing Room at the Pathé Works                              78

  The Drying Room at the Pathé Works                                  79

  A Row of Printing Machines in the Rome Works of the Cines
      Company                                                         82

  The Williamson Printing Machine                                     83

  The Projector and Mechanism                                        100

  The Complete Projecting Installation                               100

  The “Chrono” Projector                                             101

  Outstripping the Human Eye                                         101

  An Early Open-Air Studio-Stage for producing Cinematograph
      Plays                                                          104

  The Scene-Painters’ Shop at a Pathé Studio                         105

  Battle Scene from “The Siege of Calais”                            108

  Exterior of the Modern Edison Film-Play-Producing Theatre          109

  Building a Solid Set for “The Two Orphans”                         109

  Building a Scene on one of the Pathé Studio-Stages for a Film
      Play                                                           112

  The Wardrobe Room at the Selig Film Factory                        113

  The Selig Stock Company at Los Angeles                             113

  The First Topical Film                                             118

  The Fall from the Balloon                                          119

  The Luxury of the Modern Picture Palace                            134

  The Lantern Room of a Modern Cinematograph Theatre                 135

  The Trial Scene from “Rachel’s Sin”                                140

  How the Sound Accompaniments to Pictures are Produced              141

  The Film-Play Producer at Work                                     148

  Taking Three Picture-Plays Simultaneously                          149

  The Fight for the Boats in “Atlantis”                              152

  “Sauve qui peut” at the Wreck of the Liner                         152

  The Sinking of the Liner “Roland”                                  153

  Sorting, Examining, and Joining the Strips of Film                 156

  Preparing the Titles                                               157

  Dr. Comandon’s Apparatus for taking Moving Pictures of
      Microbes                                                       164

  The Phenomenon of Agglutination in a Fowl’s Blood                  165

  The Blood of a Fowl suffering from _Spirochæta Gallinarum_         165

  A Triumph of the Cinematographer’s Art                             172

  The Gigantic Horse being Hauled by the Greeks under the Walls
      of Troy                                                        173

  “The Fall of Troy”                                                 173

  The “Battle of Waterloo” upon the Film                             176

  Building the Scenery for the Film Performance of “Hamlet”          177

  The Ghost Scene from “Hamlet”                                      177

  Nature and the Cinematographer--Mr. Percy Smith at Work            192

  Fly Seated in a Diminutive Chair Balancing a Cork                  193

  An Unfamiliar Juggler--Bluebottle Balancing a Piece of
      Vegetable Stalk                                                193

  Fly Lying on its Back Spinning a Wheel                             194

  Juggling Flies                                                     194

  The Fly Walking Up the Turning Wheel                               194

  The Life of the Butterfly                                          195

  The Magic Sword: A Mediæval Mystery Explained                      200

  A Christmas Carol: How Scrooge saw Bob Cratchit’s Home             201

  “Ora Pro Nobis,” and How it was Produced                           202

  The Secret of the Haunted Curiosity Shop                           203

  Motoring Round the Ring of Saturn                                  204

  The Car Circling the Sun                                           204

  The Animated Swords                                                205

  The Travelling Bed                                                 208

  The Magnetic Gentleman                                             209

  The Pursuing Man-hole Cover is a Wooden Property                   210

  The Lamp-Post is a Stage Article Hinged in the Centre              210

  The Trick Picture--The Automobile Accident: The Actor being
      replaced by the Legless Cripple with the Dummy Legs            211

  The Taxi-cab Running over the Sleeper and Apparently Cutting
      off his Legs, but in Reality Displacing the Legless
      Cripple’s Property Limbs                                       212

  Observing the Effects of the Disaster, the Doctor Proceeds to
      Replace the Severed Legs                                       213

  The Limbs Replaced, the Patient and Doctor Shake Hands             213

  The Roysterer, after being run over by the Taxi-cab, Sitting
      up and Brandishing his Severed Limbs                           214

  The Legless Cripple being Prepared for the Act                     214

  The Fountain of Youth                                              215

  Pumpkins Running Up-hill                                           215

  The Revolving Table                                                220

  The Secret of the Fairy’s Disappearance: While a Length of
      Film is being exposed the Diaphragm is closed slowly           221

  The same Length of Film is re-exposed after the Fairy has
      entered the Picture, under a slowly opening Diaphragm          222

  The Effect of Double Exposure under closing and opening
      Diaphragm                                                      223

  The Mystery of “The Siren”                                         226

  The Mystery of “The Siren” revealed                                227

  A Workshop in which Tools move without Hands                       238

  The Skater approaching the Factory Chimney                         238

  The Result of the Collision with the Chimney                       239

  The Ski-runner Disappears into Space                               239

  Princess Nicotine--A Dainty Trick Film                             246

  The Fairy, Buried in the Heart of the Rose, Smoking a Cigarette    247

  The Diminutive Form of the Fairy on the Table                      247

  The Fairy Imprisoned in the Bottle. This effect is obtained by
      double exposure                                                250

  The Fairy, after Coquetting with the Bachelor, is driven away
      by the Smoke from his Cigarette                                250

  The Fairy proceeds to Build a Bonfire with Matches                 251

  The Fairy, her Accomplice, and Properties, which are Enlarged
      Reproductions of the Actual Articles                           251

  The Dissolution of the Government                                  258

  The Latest Craze in Trick Cinematography: Silhouettes with
      Models                                                         259

  A Quaint Advertisement Film                                        260

  Mr. Asquith in Cartoon                                             260

  A Novel Curtain Idea                                               260

  The Human Butterfly: How are the Effects Obtained?                 261

  M. Lucien Bull’s Complete Apparatus                                270

  The Novel Camera showing Stereoscopic Lens                         270

  A Bee Cinematographed in Full Flight                               271

  A Dragon Fly in Flight                                             274

  Cinematograph Film of a Bullet Fired through a Soap Bubble         275

  Preparing the Pathé Colour Films                                   288

  The Pathé Colour Machine-Printing Room                             289

  The Kinora Camera                                                  302

  The Mechanism of the Kinora Camera showing Paper Negative
      Film in position                                               302

  The Reel of Positive Prints                                        303

  The Kinora Reproduction Instrument                                 303

  The Bettini Glass Plate Cinematograph                              308

  A Section of a Bettini Glass Plate Record                          308

  The Birth of a Flower                                              309

  Waging a Health Campaign by Moving Pictures                        309

  Cinematographing Africa from a Locomotive                          314

  Mount Etna in Eruption: Looking into the Crater of the Volcano     315

  The Plumes of Smoke as seen from the Observatory                   315

  The “Cradle of Cinematography”: The Marey Institute in Paris       322

  The latest marvel in Moving Pictures: Combining the X-rays
      with the Cinematograph                                         322

  After Fifty Years. This Film won the First Prize of 25,000
      Francs at the recent Turin Exhibition                          323




CHAPTER I

WHAT IS ANIMATED PHOTOGRAPHY?


From the day when it was found possible (by the aid of sunlight) to fix
a permanent image of an object upon a sensitised surface, inventors
steadily applied their ingenuity to the problem of instantaneous
photography. In other words, they strove to realise the possibility of
photographing an object in motion.

In our days the idea of “snap-shot” photography is such a commonplace
that we can no longer realise the proportions of the task which
confronted the early inventors. Probably most of us are unacquainted
with the conditions under which the first photographs were taken.
The writer has often heard a member of his family relate the amusing
story of an ordeal which, as a lad, the latter underwent at the hands
of the Frenchman, Daguerre. He was seized upon by the inventor as an
experimental subject and was forced to sit in the brilliant sunlight
for a long time. It seems incredible, but it is true, that when
photography was in its infancy, an exposure of six hours was required
to secure a recognisable impression of an object--a circumstance which
left practically nothing but still life as feasible subjects for
photography.

The problem which confronted the pioneers of instantaneous photography
was the reduction of the period of exposure from about 20,000 seconds
to a mere fraction of a second. Considering the magnitude of this
difficulty, it is not surprising that the average person was sceptical
as to its solution. The possibility of fixing a horse in the act of
jumping, a bird in the act of flying, or an orator’s lips at the
moment of uttering a word, must have seemed nearly as remote as the
discovery of the Philosopher’s Stone. It is interesting to imagine
the sensations of the sceptic of one hundred years ago, to whom
instantaneous photography appeared a chimerical idea, should he be
recalled to life to-day and be shown first a procession passing down
the street, and a few hours afterward the same procession repeating
itself before his eyes upon a screen in a darkened room, with all the
semblance of reality in colour and animation.

In the end, it was the chemist who solved the problem of instantaneous
photography, without which animated photography as we know it to-day
would never have been even conceivable. He carried out innumerable
laboratory experiments for the purpose of rendering the sensitised
surface more and more susceptible to light--accelerating its actinic
speed, as it is called--until at last he revolutionised photography, as
he has changed nearly every other field of our modern industrial life.
He succeeded in preparing a surface, or emulsion, so sensitive to light
that it can take a picture clear, distinct, and full of detail, not
merely in the space of one second, but in less than a thousandth part
of a second--a picture equal, if not superior, to those which in the
early days of photography required an exposure 20,000,000 times as long!

The wonderful achievement of instantaneous photography assumed at
first a scientific rather than a commercial value. Many a “snap-shot”
is taken which does not betray whether the plate has been exposed
for six hours or only one-thousandth of a second; but, on the other
hand, a “snap-shot” of a quickly moving subject may seize upon and fix
an interesting or characteristic motion. It was this fact which led
certain ingenious minds to perceive in instantaneous photography a
valuable means of analysing motion. If a single photograph reproduced
the exact posture of a moving subject at any given instant of time,
they argued that a series of such photographs, if taken in sufficiently
rapid succession, would form a complete record of the whole cycle of
movements involved, for instance, in the jump of a horse or the flap
of a bird’s wing.

Here, again, the inventor encountered a difficulty almost as great as
the initial one of instantaneous photography. Not only had the chemist
to devise a new sort of sensitised plate with a gelatine coating better
and more convenient to handle than the medium before employed, but the
mechanical engineer, the optical instrument maker, and the lens maker
had to co-operate on a special sort of camera which should minimise the
interval between successive exposures.

As earlier inventors had reduced the duration of the period of
exposure, modern ones have succeeded in their turn in reducing the
interval between exposures to a minute fraction of a second. When this
result was achieved animated photography became a reality.

It was possible to secure a long series of consecutive snap-shots,
or instantaneous pictures depicting motion, recorded at such brief
intervals that when they were passed swiftly before the eyes they
produced the _illusion_ of movement.

At this point it is best to consider the physiological basis upon
which animated photography rests. The word illusion, as used above,
correctly describes what takes place. The eye sees a swift succession
of instantaneous photographs; but it is deluded into believing that it
sees actual movement.

We have all marvelled at the magician who causes bottles, eggs, birds,
and animals to appear and disappear mysteriously before our very eyes.
We know that it is trickery, pure and simple: that the eye is being
deceived. The camera is a far more perfect trickster than the most
accomplished illusionist that has ever lived, and moving pictures are
the most cunning illusion that has ever been devised.

In order to convey this delusion, the photographer has taken advantage
of one deficiency of the human eye. This wonderful organ of ours has
a defect which is known as “visual persistence.” Briefly defined,
this means that the brain persists in seeing an object after it
is no longer visible to the eye. I will make this clear by further
explanation.

The eye is in itself a wonderful camera. The imprint of an object is
received upon a nervous membrane which is called the retina. This is
connected with the brain, where the actual conception of the impression
is formed, by the optic nerve. The picture therefore is photographed
in the eye and transmitted from that point to the brain. Now a certain
period of time must elapse in the conveyance of this picture from
the retina along the optic nerve to the brain, in the same manner
that an electric current flowing through a wire, or water passing
through a pipe, must take a certain amount of time to travel from
one point to another, although the movement may be so rapid that the
time occupied on the journey is reduced to an infinitesimal point and
might be considered instantaneous. When the picture reaches the brain
a further length of time is required to bring about its construction,
for the brain is something like the photographic plate, and the picture
requires developing. In this respect the brain is somewhat sluggish,
for when it has formulated the picture imprinted on the eye, it will
retain that picture even after the reality has disappeared from sight.

This peculiarity can be tested very easily. Suppose the eye is focussed
upon a white screen. A picture suddenly appears. The image is reflected
upon the retina of the eye, and transmitted thence to the brain along
the optic nerve. Before the impression reaches the brain the picture
has vanished from the sight of the eye. Yet the image still lingers in
the brain; the latter persists in seeing what is no longer apparent to
the eye, just as plainly and as distinctly as if it were in full view.
When the image does disappear, it fades away gradually from the brain.

True, the duration of this continued impression in the brain is very
brief. In the average person it approximates about 2/48ths of a second,
which appears so short as not to be worth consideration. Still, in a
fraction of time a good deal may happen, and in the case of animated
photography it suffices to bring a second picture before the eye ere
the impression of the preceding image has faded from the brain. The
result is that the second picture becomes superimposed in the brain
upon the preceding image; and being stronger and more brilliant, it
causes the disappearing impression to merge or dissolve into itself.

Indeed, one might go farther, and say that the brain acts in the same
manner as a dissolving lantern. This apparatus is very familiar to us
all, and in its most approved type one view is dissolved into another.
For the purpose two lanterns are required, placed either side by
side or one above the other, and both focussed upon the screen. For
the purpose of illustrating our complex point we will consider that
they are one above the other. A slide is projected brilliantly from
the uppermost lantern. Presently the moment arrives to change the
slide. If the operator withdrew it from the upper lantern and inserted
another there would be a defined break or blank interval upon the
screen betraying the change. So he inserts the new slide in the lower
lantern, at the same time increasing the volume of light emitted from
that lantern, and diminishing the volume thrown from the upper lantern.
The result is that the picture projected from the upper lantern
becomes fainter and fainter, while that shown by the lower lantern
becomes stronger and stronger, until only the latter is seen upon the
screen--the former has merged or dissolved into the latter.

The same action takes place in the brain in connection with
cinematography. A picture is thrown upon the screen, and remains
visible for 1/32nd part of a second. It is then eclipsed by the
shutter, and--supposing that the photographs are taken at the rate of
sixteen pictures per second--for the next 1/32nd part of a second the
screen is darkened owing to the passage of the shutter. This division
of time is not strictly correct, as we shall see later, but for present
purposes I have considered the intervals of exposure and eclipse to be
of equal duration.

Now as a picture will linger in the brain for 2/48ths of a second
after it has vanished from the sight of the eye, the brain retains
the impression during 1/32nd part of a second, while the shutter is
passing across the lens. The second picture now comes before the eye,
and although the previous picture still will remain in the brain
for another 1/96th part of a second--the difference between 1/32nd
and 2/48ths--the new picture, being the more brilliant, becomes
superimposed upon that already obtained, and consequently causes the
former dying image to merge into the later and brighter impression.
This successive dissolution of one picture into the other continues
until the whole string of snap-shots is exhausted. It will be noticed
that every picture remains on the screen for 1/32nd of a second,
followed by a period of darkness of nearly equal duration, the pictures
thus being projected at the rate of sixteen per second.

The illusion of movement is enhanced by the fact that all fixed and
stationary objects retain their relative positions in each succeeding
image. Suppose, for instance, that a series of pictures, depicting a
man walking along a street, are being shown upon a screen. In the first
picture the man is shown with his left foot in the air. This remains in
sight for 1/32nd of a second, and then disappears suddenly. Though the
picture has vanished from the eye, the brain still persists in seeing
the left foot slightly raised. One thirty-second part of a second
later the next picture shows the man with his left foot on the ground.
The shops, houses, and other stationary objects in the second image
occupy the positions shown in the first picture, and consequently the
dying impression of these objects is revived, while the brain receives
the impression that the man has changed the position of his foot in
relation to the stationary objects, and the left foot which was raised
melts into the left foot upon the ground. The eye imagines that it sees
the left foot descend. Another 1/32nd part of a second passes, and
the right foot is seen elevated, but the fixed objects retain their
positions still, and so on. The brain only notices the difference in
the position of the moving objects, and thus secures an illusory idea
that movement is taking place. I have taken a very simple example
to illustrate the idea. As a matter of fact, moving pictures of men
walking are seldom perfectly successful, generally having a jerky
movement.

Thus we have seen what we describe as animated photography is not
animation at all. All that happens is that a long string of snap-shot
photographs, taken at intervals of 1/24th or 1/32nd part of a second,
are passed at rapid speed before the eye. If the pictures are projected
at the rate of one per second they resemble ordinary magic lantern
projections. As the operator slowly and gradually increases the
speed, the figures shown in the pictures assume a spasmodic motion,
as if their limbs were moved jerkily by means of strings; this action
becoming less and less pronounced as the speed is accelerated, until,
at last, when the operator gains the requisite rate of projection, the
jerky movement becomes resolved into steady rhythmic action.

In the early days it was difficult to convey the impression that motion
was being shown, because the movement of the shutter cutting off the
picture was so emphasised as to convey a distinct sense of blankness
between the successive images. This regular intermittent occurrence of
invisibility, described as “flicker,” caused tremendous strain to the
eyes, and provoked nauseating headache. When the flicker was eliminated
the strain ceased; the illusion was rendered more perfect as well.

In order to satisfy one’s self that the semblance of animation is an
illusion, one has only to compare the projection of a moving object
upon the screen, and its appearance in the _camera obscura_. In the
latter case absolute continuous motion is shown. It may be said that
complete animation by photography is quite out of the question with the
single camera and projector. How it can be avoided and a more perfect
_camera obscura_ effect produced upon the screen is described later.
Mechanical ingenuity has not succeeded yet in achieving such a result
by means of a single lens.

As a matter of fact, only one-half or less of the movement that
actually takes place is recorded upon the film. What is lost occurs
during the period the shutter is closed after exposure, in order to
permit a fresh area of sensitised surface to be brought into position
behind the lens. However, the lapses are equal in point of time; and
when sixteen pictures are taken per second, the interruption in the
movement is not detected by the brain.

It may be asked why the operator confines himself to photographing
at a speed of about sixteen pictures per second. This question is
governed for the most part by economical motives. Film is expensive,
and therefore the obvious point is to consume the minimum of material
to secure the illusion. When Edison produced the kinetoscope, at
least thirty pictures per second were necessary to bring about the
illusion, but Messrs. Lumière and Paul, by means of their apparatuses,
which were the first commercial cinematographs, reduced the number to
sixteen pictures per second. If twenty-four photographs were taken and
projected per second the result would be practically no better than
when only sixteen pictures were made in the same period, so that the
additional eight pictures and their requisite length of film represent
so much wasted effort and material.

This law in regard to visual persistence concerning the number of
pictures per second holds good only so long as pictures are taken and
projected in monochrome or black and white. When animation in colour
is introduced, the illusory effect produced upon the brain becomes
disturbed, as is explained in the chapter dealing with this latter
development of the art.

An interesting illustration of the fact that the eye is deceived may
be narrated. A film of a train passing through a tunnel was required.
Two trains were secured for the purpose, and at the rear of the leading
train the camera was mounted in order to photograph the one following,
care being observed to keep them an equal distance apart. In the
darkness of the tunnel the question of illumination for the purposes
of the exposures was somewhat perplexing. Various expedients were
attempted, but all to no avail, and it appeared as if the task would
have to be abandoned.

One of the party thereupon suggested a novel solution of the
difficulty. A section of the track was marked off, and subdivided into
short sections. The train was brought to the first mark and there
stopped, when a flashlight photograph was made. It was then advanced
to the next mark, and another flashlight instantaneous picture was
secured. This process was repeated several times, the train being
moved forward about eighteen inches between each exposure. About fifty
exposures were made in this manner, and the length of exposed film thus
obtained was multiplied to form a continuous picture of great length.
When projected on the screen several hundred photographs were passed
before the audience at the speed of sixteen pictures per second, and
the semblance of motion was perfect, the train having the appearance of
travelling through the tunnel at express speed.

This is one of the most interesting examples known to me of illusion by
animated photography, and although it was not motion at all that was
recorded, still it sufficed to convey the impression of movement to
the public. In the course of the following chapters, however, various
successful illusions caused by this means are described, especially in
regard to “trick pictures.”




CHAPTER II

THE FIRST ATTEMPTS TO PRODUCE MOVING PICTURES


The idea of producing apparent animation by means of pictures is by
no means new. The origin of the most primitive form of moving picture
device is lost in the mists of antiquity; but it is certain that long
before photography was conceived animated pictures were in vogue, and
constituted a source of infinite amusement among children. The illusion
was secured by a simple device known as the Zoetrope or the “Wheel of
Life.” It consists of a small cylinder, mounted on a vertical spindle
in such a way that it is free to revolve horizontally. A band of thin
cardboard, or thick paper, on which is painted a series of pictures,
generally in colour, depicting successive stages in a particular
movement, such as a horse jumping, a child swinging, or two youngsters
playing see-saw, is placed horizontally around the inside of the lower
half of the cylinder. The upper half is pierced at regular intervals
by long narrow slits or vertical openings, which come opposite the
pictures and extend only about half-way down the length of the wall.
When the cylinder is rotated sharply and one looks through the slits,
the pictures portray apparent motion--the horse rises and falls in the
jump, the swing moves to and fro, and the see-saw goes up and down--in
accordance with the laws of visual persistence.

Each successive picture, it must be pointed out, is interrupted by the
space in the surface of the wall between two consecutive slits through
which one peeps into the cylinder. We have, in fact, a cinematograph in
the most primitive form; the space between the apertures corresponding
to the opaque sector of the shutter of the camera and the projector,
whereby one picture is eclipsed from view on the screen to permit the
next to be brought before the lens. Indeed, one can easily convert the
zoetrope into a cinematograph if, instead of painted pictures, prints
of a cinematograph film are mounted in the same way. As a matter of
fact, some ingenious person followed this practice years ago, thus
unconsciously producing the first animated pictures by photography, and
in a crude way anticipating the kinetoscope.

From time to time the zoetrope was modified and revived in the
praxinoscope, phenakistoscope, zoopraxinoscope, and a number of other
forms with awe-inspiring names. In every instance, however, it was
merely our old friend in a new guise. One of these modifications
created a flutter of excitement in France in 1877. It was called the
“praxinoscope,” and its creator, M. Reynaud, for the first time enabled
a large audience to see animation upon the screen.

In this case projection was carried out in a highly novel manner.
The front, or proscenium opening, of the stage was occupied by a
large white screen, such as is used for magic lantern projection, the
operator and his apparatus being on the stage behind, out of sight.
Accordingly the audience saw the picture through the sheet. At the back
of the stage a limelight lantern was set up, from which a still life
picture was thrown, filling the greater part of the surface of the
screen. The picture thus shown formed as it were the setting for the
animated picture, in just the same way as the scenery comprises the
environment for a stage play.

Below the level of the stage was a large rectangular table, at each
corner of which were placed small vertical rollers. At one end of the
table were two large spools, fitted with handles which were revolved
horizontally. One spool carried a long band of transparent material, on
which were painted at regular intervals silhouette figures in colour in
successive stages of movement. The band led from this spool round the
vertical roller immediately adjacent, then along the side of the table
to the next corner, on to the next corner, on to the third corner,
back to the fourth corner, and then to the empty reel, on which it was
wound. By simultaneously rotating the loaded spool with the left hand,
and the second reel with the right hand, the transparent picture band
was passed round the table from one spool to the other.

Centrally with the sheet, and on a level with the table, there was a
second limelight lantern, the back of which was towards the audience.
This lantern threw its rays upward at an angle of forty-five degrees
or so. As the band of pictures travelled along the table edge from the
first to the second corner roller, it was passed through this second
lantern, which projected the silhouette picture into a mirror hung
overhead at the back of the stage, which in turn reflected the image
on the screen. The figures on the band thrown from the second lantern
appeared in the scene of the slide shown by the first lantern. As the
band was moved forward, bringing successive phases of action upon the
screen, apparent motion was produced. In fact, animated pictures were
shown, and it was possible with a number of spools of painted bands to
produce a comedy, tragedy, or other stage play in pictures. This crude
apparatus was the first attempt to portray moving pictures upon a sheet
before a large audience.

As instantaneous photography developed and efforts were made to adapt
photographic records instead of painted pictures to the praxinoscope,
great difficulty was experienced in securing the consecutive pictures
sufficiently close to one another so as to reduce the loss of action
between two successive pictures to the minimum. The cameras available
were not suited to this work. Too much time was lost in removing the
exposed sensitised surface to permit another unexposed area to be
brought before the lens.

About 1872 Mr. Muybridge, an ingenious Englishman, resident in San
Francisco, conceived a novel means of obtaining snap-shot photographs
in rapid succession. He maintained that such photographs taken at
regular intervals, reproduced in such a manner as to simulate natural
animation, would reveal the peculiar attitudes of animals in motion and
would prove of invaluable service to artists. He approached Governor
Stanford and unfolded his scheme. Stanford was so impressed that he
placed every facility at Muybridge’s disposal for the completion of
the experiment, including the use of his valuable stud of horses and
exercising track.

As it was impossible to secure the desired end with a single camera,
Muybridge built a studio beside the track, in which twenty-four cameras
were placed side by side in a row. On the opposite side of the track,
facing the studio, he erected a high fence, painted white, while across
the track between the studio and the screen twenty-four threads were
stretched, each of which was connected with a powerful spring, which
held in position the shutter of a camera.

When all was ready, a horse was driven over this length of track at a
canter, gallop, trot, or walk, as desired, and as the animal passed
each camera, it broke the thread controlling its shutter, so that
the horse photographed itself in its progress. In these experiments,
however, Muybridge made no effort to secure detail. The photographs
were taken in brilliant sunlight, and the white screen threw a dazzling
reflection, causing the objects to stand out in bold relief, so that
the record appeared in silhouette. As these photographs were taken for
a specific purpose--the analysis of movement--the screen was subdivided
into panels, whereby it was possible to determine the distance between
each successive picture. (Fig. 1.)

[Illustration:

                    [_By Permission of “The Scientific American.”_

FIG. 1.--THE FIRST MOVING PICTURES.

Twelve successive photographs, by Mr. Muybridge, of a horse in full
gallop. In the last figure the horse is seen standing still. The speed
of the horse was about 1,142 metres (3,746 feet) per minute.]

As Muybridge’s experiments were carried out upon a somewhat private
basis, the information about them that reached Europe was of a
very meagre description. In France, however, they aroused a strong
curiosity and peculiar interest, especially in artistic and scientific
circles. They appealed especially to one man--Meissonier. The great
artist, whose accuracy in the most minute detail was proverbial, was
fascinated. He had observed very closely the curious attitudes that
horses assume when in rapid motion, and had committed the observations
to his canvases, only to meet with strenuous hostile criticism
from his colleagues and the public. So when Governor Stanford, while
visiting Paris, displayed some of Muybridge’s photographs, the great
painter spent hours in studying them, and characterised them as an
incalculable aid to art. Through Governor Stanford, he extended an
invitation to Muybridge.

In the following year the Anglo-American experimenter--who might be
described as the father of animated photography--visited the French
capital, and received a warm greeting by Meissonier. The artist
had been criticised for his views concerning muscular action, as
displayed by the animals on his canvases, yet here was a man who could
demonstrate, by the conclusive evidence of photography, that his views
were correct. Meissonier arranged a private demonstration, which ranked
as one of the most important social events of the year in Paris. Among
those who accepted the invitation to witness the new wonder were
Gerome, Goupil, Steinheil, Detaillé, Alexander Dumas, and Dr. Mallez.
Muybridge had brought a representative collection of photographs with
him, showing horses in movement, dogs, deer, and other animals running
and jumping, as well as men wrestling, leaping, and performing other
athletic exercises.

The pictures were examined at great length individually. Then by means
of the zoopraxoscope, a form of the wheel of life, whereby pictures
in action could be thrown upon the screen, they were displayed in
animation, thereby conclusively demonstrating the fact that what
appeared so incredibly singular an attitude in a painting or an
individual photograph was in reality part of a graceful harmonious
natural movement.

There was one feature of Muybridge’s work which must not be overlooked,
and which decidedly restricted its application. A battery of cameras
had to be employed, placed side by side. It was as if a number of
photographers, standing in a row, pressed a button the instant the
object in motion was opposite their respective cameras. All the
photographs were broadside views, and taken from the same relative
position. The results were not as the following eye of one person
saw them, but as the eyes of twenty or thirty persons standing side
by side grasped a glimpse of motion during the five-thousandth part
of a second. If Muybridge had attempted to take 900 photographic
impressions, such as the cinematograph camera records in the space of
a minute to-day, he would have required nine hundred cameras for the
purpose.

Of course, such a plan had no commercial possibilities. Its real
value lay in the fact that it stimulated the ingenuity of a host of
inventive brains towards the solution of animated photography. One
and all were bent upon securing the same result that Muybridge had
achieved, but with a single camera and from one point of view. Among
these experimenters the names of Greene and Evans, Acres and Paul stand
pre-eminent in Great Britain, while France and the United States had an
equal number of contemporaneous investigators engaged upon the problem.
Even Muybridge himself attempted its solution, for he realised only
too well that a battery of cameras was impracticable to ensure the
commercial success of animated photography.

It appears to be a sorry trick of fortune that every great invention,
or development, should produce a bevy of claimants for the honour
of being the “original inventor.” The word “original” is somewhat
obscure and ambiguous, but it is employed frequently. As a matter of
fact, it is a wise invention that can single out its creator. Animated
photography has been no exception to the rule. Lawyers and the courts
have reaped a rich harvest from protracted litigation in the effort to
settle the question once and for all, with the inevitable result--the
law has left the matter in a more hazy condition than ever.

The claim to the discovery of animated photography can scarcely be
sustained by any one man. Desvignes devised an apparatus in 1860; Du
Mont formulated the first tangible scheme of chronophotography, as
it is called, in 1861, which Donisthorpe put into practice in 1876,
while a host of other experimenters contributed to the problem in some
particular detail. It was not invention, for the simple reason
that there was nothing to invent; it was merely evolution and the
perfection of details. As we have seen, what the experimenters had to
accomplish was the reduction of the length of time occupied in bringing
one sensitised surface before the lens after the preceding sensitised
surface had been exposed. This was a matter of mechanical detail,
for the chemist accelerated the speed of the sensitised surface more
and more, and finally evolved the celluloid film. Various means of
bringing successive sections of a sensitised surface before the lens
were evolved, and produced a plethora of patents; but the perfection
of details does not affect the fundamental principle of animated
photography. In Great Britain many investigators were energetic in the
quest, but the great majority never succeeded beyond the model stage;
that is to say, their apparatuses never possessed any practical value,
and only served to emphasise once more the truth of the well-worn axiom
that there is a great gulf between the creative mind of the inventor
and the commercial world with its enormous capacity for development and
exploitation.

Among the early British experimenters was W. F. Greene, who, like
others, was handicapped by having to make use of glass plates. In
1885 he displayed his first apparatus for taking and producing moving
pictures, and two years later exhibited some pictures taken on glass
in the window of his premises in Piccadilly. This unusual display
created such interest, and the curiosity-provoked public so crowded the
pavement that traffic was impeded, and the police called upon Greene to
remove his pictures.

In France even greater things were being accomplished. Dr. E. J.
Marey took up Muybridge’s work at the point where the Anglo-American
abandoned it. Marey followed rather the lines laid down by the
astronomical investigator Jansen, who in 1874 evolved a photographic
revolver to secure records at short intervals of the transit of Venus
across the sun’s disc. Marey constructed a photographic gun in 1882,
with which he studied the flight of birds, and which worked on the
principle elaborated by Jansen eight years before. The object of his
quest was the analysis of motion. It will be seen, therefore, that
in its very earliest stages the value of animated photography was
conceded to be rather in the field of science than that of amusement.
This celebrated French experimenter realised the inestimable value
of “chronophotography” for the study and investigation of moving
bodies, the rapidity in the changes of the position or form of which
was impossible to follow otherwise. Marey, however, made no effort
towards synthesis or reproduction of the motion thus obtained; he did
not seek projection upon a huge scale upon the screen, but regarded
chronophotography rather as a means of enabling photographic results to
be resolved into diagrams for examining and elucidating obscure points
incidental to motion.

[Illustration: DR. E. J. MAREY’s FAMOUS EXPERIMENTS IN CINEMATOGRAPHY.

1. Photographic gun of 1882, to photograph birds in flight. 2.
Consecutive pictures of a gull flying, taken with the photographic gun.
3. Chronophotographic apparatus for taking consecutive pictures upon a
single glass plate, showing mechanism.]

[Illustration: DR. MAREY’S ANIMATED PICTURES MADE IN 1884–86 FOR THE
ANALYSIS OF MOTION.

1. A man jumping. 2. A man walking. 3. A duck flying. 4. A man leaping.

The objects, clothed in white, passed before a black screen, and the
exposures averaged about 1/200 of a second.]

Special apparatus was evolved and was set up at the Physiological
Station in Paris, and some wonderful results were communicated by this
industrious scientist to the French Association for the Advancement of
Science at Nancy in 1886. Investigations were being carried out upon
a large and advanced scale in France while the English were merely
dabbling with the idea. Marey secured records of action intermittently
from a single point of view by the revolution of a handle, and to a
pronounced degree anticipated the present-day cinematograph.

Marey’s camera was successful in its details, especially considering
the extreme difficulties attending the use of glass plates. He
ascertained that in order to secure continuous motion it was imperative
to cut off the light from the plate at regular intervals; and he
accomplished this interruption by rotating an opaque disc, pierced with
small radial slots, which permitted the light to reach the plate only
intermittently. The general design of Marey’s camera is shown in Fig.
2. The camera, of the ordinary bellows type, was mounted in the upper
part of a wooden frame clamped to a special support. Beneath was the
handle, which rotated the shutter through gearing. This shutter moved
at the back of the bellows, occupying the same position relatively as
the focal plane shutter used in very rapid still-life instantaneous
photography. By means of this shutter, the passage of a body across
the field of the lens was split up into a number of consecutive units.
The interval between two successive images, and the time of the
exposure, could be altered merely by varying the revolving speed of
the shutter. As a rule, the exposures were made at the rate of ten per
second, but in some cases the length of the exposure was only 1/2,000th
part of a second, with an interval of one-fifth second between two
consecutive pictures. Marey used a black background, and his figures
were clothed in white.

[Illustration: FIG. 2.--MAREY’S CAMERA, SHOWING SHUTTER WITH RADIAL
SLOTS.]

There was an important reason for this reversal of Muybridge’s
procedure. In the latter the shutter of each camera had to be opened
as the horse or other object passed the lens. In Marey’s system the
sensitised surface of the plate is directed against a dead black
screen, and the lens may be left open without exercising any ill
effect upon the photographic plate, because the latter receives no
light. When a man clothed in white passed across this black surface
in full sunlight, only his figure was recorded upon the sensitised
surface, and thus was thrown in strong relief against the black
background.

Special arrangements, however, had to be made to ensure the success of
the result. A flat plane black background did not suffice, as a certain
amount of light was reflected therefrom into the lens, resulting in
the plate becoming fogged. The black screen employed was in reality a
black cavity, known as “Chevreul’s black.” The cavity may be likened
to a shed, the front wall of which is removed, and the whole interior
blackened. In the screen used by Marey at the Physiological Station in
Paris, the back of the shed was hung with black velvet, the floor was
covered with pitch, while the sides and ceiling were treated with a
dead black medium.

These arrangements enabled Marey to secure more useful results than
were possible to Muybridge. From the scientific point of view they
proved of incalculable value. His marvellous pictures widened our
knowledge of animal motion to a remarkable extent, and provided
incontrovertible records of action. Professor Marey ultimately recorded
the sum of his experiments in a volume, _Movement_, which is now
regarded universally as a classic in physiological science, and even
to-day is consulted freely for the purpose of elucidating complex and
obscure phases of motion.

Other investigators at about this time were General Sebert, M. L. Soret
of Geneva, and Ottomar Anschütz of Berlin. Soret succeeded in analysing
some very intricate movements, while Anschütz produced a curious “wheel
of life,” which was called the “electrical tachyscope.” A special
camera was evolved whereby photographs were taken in rapid succession.
From these negatives glass transparencies similar to lantern slides
were produced, and mounted in sequence around the rim of a large wheel,
which had to be of sufficient diameter to contain the whole series
of pictures. It was mounted upon a massive iron pedestal, and was
revolved from the rear by means of a handle.

Behind the wheel, and at the highest point, which corresponded to the
level of the eyes of the average person while standing, a small box
was placed. The front of this box was open, the size of this aperture
corresponding exactly to the dimensions of the transparency. It was
fitted with a small electric light--a Geissler tube, in fact, through
which a current was passed from a Rhumkorff coil--and this light was
switched on and off by each picture as it passed before the front of
the lamp box. As each picture came into position before the aperture a
contact was established, and an impulse of electricity was discharged
through the lamp. It was a mere flash, but it served to illuminate the
transparency immediately in front, so that the people gazing at the
wheel received a brilliant and well-defined impression of the picture,
which was shown in an apparently stationary position, though, in fact,
the wheel was revolving continuously. When the wheel was rotated with
sufficient speed, the flashes occurred in such rapid sequence that, in
accordance with the phenomena of visual persistence, the illusion of
animation was secured.

This was an extremely ingenious apparatus, but was too complicated,
expensive, and elaborate to command any commercial value. It was
regarded generally as a scientific toy. It was on view in London,
in the Strand near Chancery Lane, for a little while, but failed to
arouse very marked enthusiasm. However, the “inventor’s fiddle,” as the
Anschütz tachyscope was popularly called, was adopted by several other
inventors with certain modifications, but its application was naturally
extremely limited. Comparatively speaking, only a very few pictures
could be carried in the rim of the wheel, and as the travelling
speed was somewhat high in order to convey a tangible impression of
continuous motion, a subject was exhausted in a few seconds.

Associated with Dr. Marey in his experiments was another indefatigable
spirit, M. Georges Demeny. He displayed considerable ingenuity in
breaking down the peculiar difficulties associated with this work.
Unfortunately the value of M. Demeny’s efforts have never been
appreciated; but he brought his mind to bear upon the subject at a
critical period, and devoted all his energies, time, and thought
to the solution of complicated problems that defied contemporary
experimenters. He proved an indispensable colleague to Professor Marey,
which the author of _Movement_ did not fail to acknowledge. So far as
France is concerned, he rightly deserves to be regarded as the pioneer
in cinematography. He not only photographed motion, but he reproduced
it upon the screen, and devised an ingenious camera and projector to
achieve his end.

M. Georges Demeny was forestalled in Great Britain by Messrs. Greene
and Evans, who produced a chronophotographic apparatus which they
patented in June, 1889, wherein the film was drawn intermittently
before the lens for exposure. Two months previously, in April, 1889,
another inventor, Stern, had filed a patent also, and these constitute
the first intimation at the British Patent Office of the pending
developments in cinematography. Neither issued beyond the experimental
and model stage, for the simple reason that they were not reliable in
their operation. There was no satisfactory mechanical means for moving
the sensitised surfaces forward an equal distance after each exposure,
and this omission of an indispensable feature proved fatal to their
success.




CHAPTER III

THE SEARCH FOR THE CELLULOID FILM


In the struggle towards the perfection of animated photography the use
of glass plates was a great hindrance. Investigators were hampered
very seriously; they were thwarted at every turn. True, the appearance
of the dry plate somewhat facilitated their efforts, but nevertheless
the inevitable glass was bulky, heavy, fragile, and awkward to handle.
Finally, the number of pictures obtainable upon a single surface was
limited.

Realising the restrictions incidental to this sensitised medium, the
energies of many investigators were devoted to the discovery of a less
bulky, lighter, and more convenient substitute. Gelatine appeared
promising at first sight, but failed to give the anticipated results
because it lacked stability, and when immersed in the developing
solution precipitated a variety of unexpected disasters which placed it
out of court completely. The next expedient was the use of transparent
paper, similar to what we call grease-proof paper, covered with the
gelatine emulsion, invented by Morgan and Kidd, of Richmond. When
the exposures were made, the paper was opaque and resembled ordinary
bromide paper, the essential transparent effect being secured by an
operation after development and fixing. This failed to give a clear,
distinct positive, and the grain of the paper so broke up the resultant
picture that this alternative was abandoned. A suggestion advocated by
the Rev. W. Palmer also was attempted. The picture, after development
and fixing, was stripped from its opaque support, and attached to a
stiff sheet of insoluble gelatine. This gave a somewhat better effect,
but it was a round-about method, and the stripping operation was one of
great delicacy, involving extreme care, and uncertain in its results.

These substitutes failing one after another, the hopes of the
experimenters became centred upon celluloid, which from every point of
view appeared the most suitable medium. The application of celluloid
to photographic purposes had been advocated many years previously, but
there were many obstacles of a technical character which prevented its
use at the time. The investigator, however, continued the struggle
towards bringing the celluloid film into the realm of practicability.

He was baffled in one particular direction. Celluloid could not
be employed with the collodion process, for the collodion which
constituted the sensitive surface in the old wet process with glass
plates, and which in itself is a solution of pyroxyline, a kind of
gun-cotton--one of the basic constituents of celluloid--dissolved
the celluloid which was coated with it. The perfection of the
gelatino-bromide process removed this defect.

Then another difficulty loomed up. Celluloid at that time was not made
in sheets sufficiently thin to render it applicable to photography,
and the manufacturers of the commodity could not be prevailed upon
to prepare the substance in this form. They argued that there was no
promise of a sufficiently remunerative market to warrant the design of
special machinery for the manufacture of such a product. Consequently,
the experimenters were forced to prepare their own film bases.

The experiences of those who grappled with this question and faced
trials and tribulations innumerable in this particular phase of
operations make interesting reading. One reduced the celluloid to
a liquid consistency and poured the plastic mass over large glass
plates, rolling it out to form a thin skin. The surface of the glass
previously was cleaned carefully to prevent the mixture adhering
thereto. The pouring had to be carefully done so as to secure an even
thickness, and to avoid the formation of air bubbles. In this way a
thin sheet was secured--a decided forward step. In the dark room this
“base,” as it is called, had next to be covered with a thin layer of
sensitised emulsion, and the whole left to dry. Afterwards the sheet
was cut into strips of the width required for the camera and apparatus.
Unfortunately, in drying, the celluloid was found to play many sorry
tricks. It buckled, twisted, and shrank into strange contortions, and
the films thus produced were still somewhat too substantial, being, in
fact, very similar to those used in the pack-film camera of to-day.

Another worker was more fortunate. By dint of importunity he succeeded
in inducing one manufacturing firm to produce sheets of celluloid
no thicker than drawing paper for his experiments. But when the
sheets were delivered they were far from being satisfactory, being
deficient in uniformity of thickness. Before the surface could be
coated with sensitised emulsion a tedious task had to be performed.
The inequalities had to be scraped and pared off, and finally the
whole sheet had to be made thinner by being rubbed down with emery
cloth and sandpaper. Hours were occupied in this process, and often
a maddening accident happened in the final stages which irreparably
injured the sheet and wasted not only time, but costly material. Even
when sensitising was carried out successfully, it was found extremely
difficult to keep the material flat. It is not surprising that after
a prolonged experience of these disadvantages, this particular
investigator abandoned his experiments for a time.

In the majority of these efforts the pictures obtained were about four
inches in width by three inches deep, while the modern cinematograph
film is only 1⅜ of an inch in width by three-quarters of an inch deep,
and almost as thin as a shaving. The celluloid made at that time was
not very transparent, and as the pictures were somewhat dense, the
results were far from being satisfactory.

It began to look as though celluloid were doomed to follow in the wake
of the other expedients that had been tested and found wanting. Such
would have been the case but for the indefatigable efforts of one
man who persevered with his experiments in the face of heartrending
failures and disappointing results. This was Mr. Eastman, of Rochester,
in the State of New York, who worked in conjunction with Mr. Walker.
These two gentlemen had established a dry photographic plate
manufacturing process, which had developed into a conspicuous success,
and become known as the Eastman Dry Plate Company, now familiar as the
Eastman Kodak Company.

The story of their innumerable experiments and ultimate success
constitutes a fascinating chapter in the story of animated photography.
As early as 1884 Mr. Eastman realised that a substitute for glass was
in demand to facilitate ordinary photography. Accordingly he set out to
discover a system of photographing on films. As he admits himself, it
was by no means a new idea. From time to time spasmodic attempts in the
same direction had been made by enterprising inventors, the earliest
known dating back as far as 1854, a year or two before the invention
of Parkesine, now known as celluloid, by Mr. A. Parkes, of Birmingham.
All of these experimenters, however, had been baffled by the technical
difficulties confronting their quest, and Mr. Eastman had no tangible
assistance to aid him in his work of research. He was compelled to
create the foundation upon which to carry out his developments, and to
reap success from mortifying failures.

In 1884, when Messrs. Eastman and Walker commenced operations, the
problem to be solved in the production of a suitable film, and the
evolution of the means to handle it in the camera, were formidable
obstacles. The mechanical part of the work proved the easier, and
in 1885 roller photography, which has revolutionised the art of
photography, at any rate from the amateur point of view, was invented
and put on the market. This principle is now well known. A length of
film, wound upon one roller, is passed behind the lens in sections
for exposure, and then rolled up on a second roller, until the whole
has been exposed. The device simplified the process very appreciably,
and it may fairly be accused of being the parent of the modern “Kodak
fiend.”

Though the mechanical part of the problem had thus been solved
successfully, the film question was perfected only partially at this
time. The film itself was far from satisfactory, but it sufficed to
meet the requirements of the day, and to enable roller photography to
come into vogue.

To meet the peculiar demands of roller photography, Mr. Eastman had set
himself the task of producing a transparent base or support for the
sensitised emulsion. That is to say, he sought and produced a stable
substitute for the glass plate upon which the sensitised emulsion
to record the image could be mounted. It was no easy search, as he
speedily found to his cost, for it involved scores of experiments, one
after the other, all of which resulted in heartrending failure. He
sought to build up such a base as he had in mind by means of successive
layers of collodion and rubber, but the result did not possess
sufficient substance and strength.

Then he had recourse to paper, which he used merely as a temporary
support. The roll of paper was first coated with soluble gelatine, and
afterwards with the sensitised emulsion, which was rendered insoluble
in itself by the addition of chrome alum. This produced a substantial
film which was exposed by means of the roll holder attached to the
ordinary camera. The image was developed and fixed. Then, still
attached to the paper, the film was placed while wet, immediately after
washing, upon a piece of glass coated with a thin solution of rubber.

As soon as the surface had dried, hot water was applied to the paper,
which as the gelatine dissolved became detached, leaving the film
adhering to the surface of the rubber-coated glass. In place of the
paper a moistened thin sheet of gelatine was substituted. When the
whole had dried thoroughly it was detached from the glass, and the
result was a perfectly transparent negative.

The process was necessarily somewhat intricate and occupied some time,
but the results obtained were sufficiently practicable to render it
commercially exploitable. Mr. Eastman, however, soon recognised the
fact that the trouble of transferring the image from the temporary
paper base to the gelatine support decreased the practical value of
the process. He decided to dispense with the paper support entirely,
and in his search for a suitable substitute his thoughts turned toward
celluloid. He communicated with the various manufacturers of that
material, but not one was prepared to supply him with the substance in
sheets of sufficient size and thinness. Consequently he was compelled
to devise ways and means to supply the deficiency; and this was
achieved partially by accident.

In the early part of 1889 some experiments were being made to discover
a varnish to take the place of the gelatine sheets. One of his chemists
drew Mr. Eastman’s attention to a thick solution of gun-cotton in wood
alcohol. It was tested to prove its suitability to take the place of
the gelatine, but was found wanting in practical efficiency. However,
Mr. Eastman recognised the solution as one which might prove to be the
film base for which he had been searching. He had had such a medium
in mind when engaged in his first experiments in 1884, which resulted
in the production of the stripping film. He decided to utilise this
solution of gun-cotton in wood alcohol and to fashion it into the
foundation for the sensitised emulsion, so that stripping and other
troublesome operations of a like nature might be avoided. He was
moved to this experiment because this solution could be made almost
as transparent practically as glass. Accordingly he set to work to
devise a machine to prepare thin sheets such as he required from this
mixture. Success crowned his efforts, and in 1889 the first long strip
of celluloid film suited to cinematograph work appeared in the United
States.

Messrs. Eastman and Walker had not been alone in their quest. In
England experiments were being carried out in the same field. Curiously
enough, the main idea in this instance was to evolve a form of roller
photography, the British experimenter being Mr. Blair. He likewise met
with success; and the film was manufactured at St. Mary Cray in Kent.
Though this film was far from being perfect, showing considerable
variation in thickness, it served to assist the experiments in animated
photography to a marked degree. The celluloid strip thus produced
was about twice the width of that now used in cinematography, and as
in the early attempts towards moving pictures, no effort was being
made towards projection--the illusion was received by looking into
an instrument through which the film travelled, and behind which a
light was placed--it was made with a matt surface, so that it closely
resembled ground glass, upon which the images stood out distinctly and
brilliantly. The width of the film was gradually decreased; but this
film-manufacturing industry never got a firm foothold in England. The
Blair company was merged in that of the Eastman company in America,
and it was not until many years had passed that another bid for
participation in the manufacture of celluloid film for moving picture
purposes was made by a British firm.

So soon as it leaked out in America in 1889 that Mr. Eastman had
succeeded in his difficult search, and that a film with a transparent
rigid support which was no more difficult to handle than a glass plate,
and yet which was flexible and free from fragility, was commercially
available, another experimenter appeared on the scene. He had been
labouring in the field for some years, but, realising the futility of
glass plates, had postponed his investigations until such time that a
substitute could be obtained. His apparatus was ready, but the film was
the missing link. Immediately it was available he secured some of the
material and completed his apparatus. That man was Thomas Alva Edison,
and his “Kinetoscope,” was the first commercial appliance to show
pictures in natural movement. Animated photography was lifted from the
realm of experiment into that of commercial practicability.




CHAPTER IV

THE KINETOSCOPE: THE ANIMATOGRAPH: THE CINEMATOGRAPH


_The Kinetoscope_

The World’s Fair at Chicago drew huge crowds from all parts of the
world in 1893. The innumerable and varied side-shows evinced keen
rivalry to obtain popular patronage. But there was one building
sheltering a small instrument which made a particularly bold bid for
public favour. It was a novelty, something that the man in the street
had never seen before.

The announcement ran that “Edison’s Kinetoscope, showing photographs in
motion, was to be seen for the first time.” It worked automatically,
and to investigate the new wonder the curiosity-provoked sightseer
dropped a nickel--a coin equal in value to 2½_d._--into the slot,
and applied his eye to the peep-hole, when he was treated to a new
sensation for about 30 seconds. He saw photographic pictures flit
before his gaze in such rapid succession that they appeared to be
imbued with life. Children skipped, the lips of an orator moved in
speaking, and so on. It certainly was a marvellous device, and those
who availed themselves of the opportunity to see it in operation by
means of the nimble nickel, expressed undisguised wonderment; to many
it appeared uncanny.

The Kinetoscope, Fig. 3, was housed in a wooden cabinet with a hinged
door at one side. Within was a wooden frame _A_, which carried a series
of small reels _B_ and _B¹_ arranged in two horizontal rows at either
edge of the frame. At the top of the frame there were two larger
wheels _C_, between which was a magnifying lens _D_. Behind the latter
there was a small electric lamp and reflector _F_. In front of the
magnifying lens there was a disc having a narrow radial slot near its
edge, which constituted the shutter. This was rotated continuously, and
completed one revolution during the passage of each image across the
eye-piece or magnifying lens.

[Illustration: FIG. 3.--EDISON’S FIRST KINETOSCOPE.]

The ribbon of pictures, printed as transparencies upon a strip of
celluloid film, somewhat dense so as to bring out the detail, formed an
endless band _E_, 40 feet in length. This was threaded over the various
reels in the manner shown in the illustration, and finally passed over
the first large wheel _C_, thence to the second large wheel _C_, and
back once more on to the reels _B B¹_. Though 40 feet constituted
the average length of film employed, longer ones could be used within
certain limits, by increasing the number of reels on the frame. As
the film passed from one of the large wheels _C_ to the other, it had
to traverse the field of the magnifying lens, and the light, striking
through the transparency, gave the person looking through the eye-piece
a slightly magnified view of the picture.

The cabinet stood on end, so that one had to bend over the instrument
to peer through the small eye-piece. When the coin dropped into the
slot, an electric motor was started, setting the film and shutter
in motion. The film travelled from left to right, while the shutter
rotated in the opposite direction, cutting up the band of pictures
into separate images, so that only one was seen at a time. The band
travelled continuously, and each image was momentarily rendered
visible by the light flashing through the radial slot in the shutter,
the effect being the same as if the electric incandescent lamp were
extinguished and relighted intermittently, at very brief intervals.

[Illustration: EDISON’S FIRST KINETOSCOPE.

This machine, completed about 1890, was very crude. It was known as the
“peep-hole,” because one peered into the cabinet through the eye-piece
at side.]

The shutter had to be revolved at sufficient speed to bring the radial
slot near its edge centrally over an image; in other words, the shutter
had to complete its revolution with sufficient speed to bring the
opening over the picture at the moment the latter on the travelling
celluloid film came into the centre of the field of the lens. When
this operation was carried out with sufficient velocity, the images
were seen in such rapid succession as to convey the idea of continuous
motion, by virtue of the principle of visual persistence.

One point must be borne in mind. The band of pictures travelled
_continuously_. It did not, as in the machine of to-day, make a
momentary pause as it came between the light and the lens. The movement
to-day is intermittent, not continuous, though, curiously enough, all
the early experimenters strove first towards the perfection of the
latter arrangement. Continuous motion of the film has proved to be
impossible, because the shutter must revolve at such a speed that
the illumination is not sufficient to produce a bright impression upon
the screen.

In order to prevent the film slipping in any way while travelling over
the smooth reels by friction, a toothed sprocket was introduced to
ensure the film being fed regularly and steadily before the lens; and
to secure a purchase upon the film the latter was perforated uniformly
along the margin to engage with the sprocket teeth. Edison found, as
a result of his experiments, that four perforations per picture, on
either side of the film, gave the best results, though in his earliest
investigations he confined himself to perforating only one edge in this
manner.

[Illustration: Edison Film made about 1891 for the kinetoscope.

Edison Film made in 1911 for the cinematograph.

TWENTY YEARS’ HISTORY OF MOVING PICTURES IN FILMS.

The only difference between the two films is that the kinetoscope film
had to be made very dense. The size of the picture, 1-inch wide by
¾-inch deep, and perforation gauge, are identical.]

Although many years have passed since the Kinetoscope first startled
the public, the film has undergone but little change. The width
remains the same; the dimensions of the picture are identical; and
the perforation gauge has never been revised in regard to the number
of holes per picture. The only salient difference between two Edison
films, taken at intervals of twenty years, relates to the density of
the picture, which nowadays, being projected upon a screen instead of
being followed through a magnifying glass at short range, is thinner
and lighter.

Brilliant as the Kinetoscope was, it made no great impression upon the
public. It became known as the “peep-hole machine,” and was regarded,
like the telephone in its early days, as a scientific toy. Edison
appears to have failed to grasp its possibilities and the important
part it was destined to play in our complex life, for he did not patent
it in Great Britain.


_The Animatograph_

Among those who saw the instrument at the World’s Fair were two Greek
visitors from London. One was a greengrocer, the other a toy-maker.
With shrewd business instinct they perceived here an opportunity to
make a fortune in England. The Kinetoscope was known only by name in
London, and the search for novelty in regard to new forms of amusement
inevitably brings a rich reward to the ingenious exploiter. The two men
acquired a machine and brought it home with them, their intention being
to make duplicates and instal them in public places, to work upon the
penny-in-the-slot principle.

The two Greeks evidently were not animated by very lofty ideas of
business integrity, for they did not trouble to ascertain if the
Kinetoscope were patented in Great Britain.

Upon arrival in London they sought for a man who could duplicate the
machine they had brought with them; and they approached Mr. Robert
W. Paul, an electrical engineer and scientific instrument maker,
who at that time had his workshops in Hatton Garden. They brought
the Kinetoscope to him. He had never seen it before, and was deeply
interested in its operation. When, however, they suggested that he
should produce copies of it to their order, he declined, for he felt
sure that Edison never would have omitted to secure its protection in
Great Britain. He pointed out to the Greeks that reproduction would
probably be illegal, and that both he and they would expose themselves
to litigation and heavy damages for infringing a patent.

His clients expressed dissatisfaction at this decision and departed
with the instrument. After they had gone, Paul was prompted to make a
search at the Patent Office, and to his intense surprise he found that
Edison had not protected his invention by taking out British patents.
He was thus at liberty to build as many machines as he desired, and
forthwith he set to work, not only for his Greek visitors, but also for
his own market.

The experience with the Kinetoscope in the United States was duplicated
in Great Britain, as, indeed, it was in every other country where it
was placed on exhibition. Several machines were set up at apparently
suitable points, but the public failed to respond. Two factors
contributed to this result. In the first place, the machines were
weighty, and as the electricity for driving the motor and lighting the
incandescent electric lamp was drawn from accumulators, the whole
apparatus was somewhat bulky and awkward to move from place to place.
Besides, it was difficult to secure the necessary films; sufficient
variety could not be supplied for the machines. Only one company was
engaged at the time in their production--the American Kinetoscope
Company--and the only studio in operation was at Orange in New Jersey,
the output of which was relatively small. Under these circumstances
public curiosity could not be sustained.

The difficulty with the film supply presently became still more
acute. The American company learned that the Kinetoscope was being
manufactured in England, and that American films were being used with
English machines. As manufacture could not be prevented, owing to
Great Britain being an open market, and as, consequently, Paul was
perfectly justified in his action, the American company decided on a
novel method of frustrating Mr. Paul’s efforts. Two agents, Maguire
and Baucus, came to London and endeavoured to corner the English
market. They secured the output of Kinetoscope films from America, and
declined to sell them to anyone in Great Britain who did not possess an
American-built machine. The result was that all the purchasers of the
Paul Kinetoscopes found themselves unable to secure further films; even
Paul himself could not obtain supplies.

The Americans regarded the outlook with complete self-satisfaction.
They believed that the English market was within their grasp. But they
reckoned without their host. Paul was determined not to be vanquished
so easily, especially as he had sold Kinetoscopes to customers in
all parts of the world, and had a steady stream of buyers flocking
to his workshops from points as remote as Tokio, South America, and
New Zealand. Many of these early purchasers of the British-built
Kinetoscopes have since become famous in the world of cinematography
either as producers or manufacturers, notably Monsieur Charles Pathé,
the founder of the celebrated French cinematograph film manufacturing
establishment, who was one of Paul’s first customers.

Now although Paul had manufactured several Kinetoscopes, he realised
the disadvantages of the instrument. Only one person at a time could
see the picture in animation. What was required in order to popularise
moving pictures was to devise a way to enable several hundreds, or even
thousands, of people to witness the same subject simultaneously.

Paul’s first idea was to convert the ordinary Kinetoscope into a
projecting apparatus. While he was quietly considering the feasibility
of this scheme he was introduced to another inventor Mr. Birt Acres,
at that time in the employment of a firm engaged in the manufacture of
dry plates and bromide papers. Acres had conceived a mechanical means
of printing on bromide paper from glass negatives a number of copies
of a subject at a very rapid rate, and had committed to paper his
crude suggestion. He submitted his drawing to Paul. The negative was
to be set in a frame, beneath which the bromide paper travelled over
rollers in a continuous length. The coil of paper was to move a certain
distance--the length of the negative, in fact--and then to pause; when
a flat pad, carried at the end of a lever beneath the paper, was to
rise up and press the latter flatly and tightly against the negative.
When the exposure had been made the clamping device, as it was called,
fell back, and permitted the paper to travel another short distance to
bring a fresh unexposed surface beneath the negative, when the same
cycle of operations was repeated.

[Illustration: PAUL’S CAMERA SHOWING MECHANISM FOR MOVING THE FILM
INTERMITTENTLY PAST THE LENS. THE FILM WAS CARRIED IN DETACHABLE DARK
BOXES.

THE FIRST KINETOSCOPE FILM MADE IN ENGLAND.

The manufacture of films was commenced in England by Robert Paul to
thwart the American attempt to corner the British market.]

When Acres brought his sketch to Paul, the latter was wrestling with
the problem of photographing objects in motion. It was imperative
to perfect a camera in order to defeat the machinations of the
Americans bent upon the capture of the English film market. In this
task, however, the most satisfactory means of securing intermittent
motion was the stumbling block. He thought for a time that Acres’s
ingenious method of printing bromide prints might offer a clue. Being a
mechanical engineer, Paul recognised the inefficiency of Acres’s ideas
as far as its application to cinematography was concerned, because
the clamping device was not actuated by a positive drive. But the rough
drawing which Acres had made of his bromide printing process set Paul
thinking, and gave birth in the end to an entirely different project.

[Illustration: THE “BLACK MARIA,” THE FIRST EDISON STUDIO FOR MAKING
KINETOSCOPE FILMS.

It was a rambling building of cheap construction mounted centrally upon
a pivot. It revolved upon a circular track to face the sun.

                                                  _See page 105._
]

His efforts were accelerated by the tactics of Maguire and Baucus,
and it was not long before he produced a camera working with an
intermittent motion. With this camera some excellent films were
obtained, and in the first instance these were employed with the
Kinetoscope. The purchasers of the Paul machines consequently
experienced no difficulty whatever in getting all the films they
wanted, and the American product was ignored. It was not comparable
with the English films in excellence or variety, and Maguire and Baucus
retired from the scene completely discomfited. The attempt to obtain
possession of the English market was a dismal failure owing to the
unexpected enterprise of Robert Paul.

Paul had already attempted to apply the principle governing the
operation of the Kinetoscope to the projection of a picture upon the
screen. He had contrived a special lantern through which the film was
run continuously, the revolution of the shutter serving to cut out
each picture on the film, and throw it individually upon the sheet,
thereby bringing it into a stationary position for a minute fraction
of a second. But the projecting efforts were somewhat disheartening.
The illusory effect was produced; but the picture was so faint as to
render the result of no commercial value. The conditions attending the
watching of the pictures at a range of about six or eight inches, as
in the Kinetoscope, and at one of ten times as many feet, when thrown
upon a whitened wall or screen, were vastly different. The shutter had
to revolve at such a rapid rate to prevent blurring that a sufficient
volume of light could not be passed through each picture in the short
interval the shutter was open--less than 1/1,000th of a second--so the
resultant image was faint and ill-defined.

It was evident that the film would have to be brought momentarily, by
some means or other, into a fixed position behind the lens, so as
to enable sufficient light to pass through to the screen, to yield
a picture comparing with that of a slide projected from a magic
lantern; and, further, that the picture would have to be moved during
its eclipse by the shutter, in order to allow the next image to be
brought into place. In other words, instead of the film moving forwards
continuously, it would have to advance with a jerky or intermittent
motion while the shutter was passing across the lens, and cutting off
the light from the screen.

Paul concentrated his energies upon this problem. It was by no means
a simple undertaking, for there were no previous efforts in the same
direction to assist him. The great point was how to bring successive
pictures into position before the lens. He thought out a clamping
device, which is known as the “gate,” and which he attached behind the
lens. This gate was formed of two parts, one fixed and the other having
a swinging or opening movement. The fixed part was pierced with an
aperture which could be reduced by a sliding diaphragm. The aperture
of the second part was of the same shape and dimensions as the picture
on the film. The film was wound on a spool, and from this it passed
through the gate and thence over a sprocket, the teeth of which engaged
with the perforations in the edge of the celluloid band.

The sprocket had to move intermittently, in such a way that a length
of film corresponding to the depth of a picture was drawn through the
gate at each movement, while the shutter momentarily cut off the light,
otherwise there would have been a confusion of two consecutive pictures
projected at the same time. How this movement was evolved is described
in Chapter VII. It seems a simple task, but it proved exasperatingly
difficult to secure accuracy, smoothness of motion, and the steadiness
of the picture when thrown on the screen.

About three o’clock one morning, in the early months of 1895, the
quietness of Hatton Garden was disturbed by loud and prolonged
shouts. The police rushed hurriedly to the building whence the cries
proceeded, and found Paul and his colleagues in their workshop, giving
vent to whole-hearted exuberance of triumph. They had just succeeded
in throwing the first perfect animated pictures upon a screen. To
compensate the police for their fruitless investigation, the film,
which was 40 feet in length and produced a picture 7 feet square, was
run through the special lantern for their edification. They regarded
the strange spectacle as ample compensation, and had the satisfaction
of being the first members of the public to see moving pictures thrown
upon the screen.

In February, 1896, the first public demonstration with this projection
apparatus, described as the “Theatrograph,” was given at the Finsbury
Technical College, and it caused a thrill of excitement and interest. A
few days later, on February 28th, 1896, the apparatus was shown in the
library of the Royal Institution. Again it stirred enthusiasm, and Mr.
Robert Paul was congratulated warmly upon the success of his work by
many of the leading British scientists of the day. This was the first
demonstration of animated photography before a scientific institution
in Great Britain. The films displayed were those which had been taken
by the patient experimenter and his collaborators for the Kinetoscope,
and included, among other things, a “Shoeblack at work in a London
street,” and of “A Rough Sea at Dover.”

The fact that the display was given before one of the foremost
scientific bodies in the world stamped it as being a development of
signal importance. The interest it created was universal. Among those
who saw the demonstration was Lady Harris, the wife of the famous
impresario, Sir Augustus Harris, who evinced the keenest enthusiasm in
the apparatus, and who plied the experimenter with searching questions
as to how the apparent animation was obtained.

Next morning Paul received an urgent invitation from Sir Augustus
Harris to join him at breakfast. The latter had heard from Lady Harris
all about the remarkable exhibition at the Royal Institution, and, with
a showman’s keen instinct, desired to glean further details without
delay. He said that he had heard in Paris of a French invention
similar to Paul’s. This took the English experimenter by surprise, for
he had been labouring in absolute ignorance that other men were at work
in the same field. However, the impresario was on business bent. He saw
the possibilities of the Theatrograph as a form of amusement, and Paul
was asked if he were willing to permit its being exploited at Olympia,
which Harris had acquired.

“Well, I don’t know,” rejoined the experimenter. “I have no idea of its
value from the public point of view.” He thought that the indifference
of the British public to the Kinetoscope did not augur well for the new
development.

“Now look here,” continued Sir Augustus Harris. “It won’t draw the
public for more than a month. They soon get tired of these novelties.
Are you prepared to come in on sharing terms, say, 50 per cent. of the
receipts? Do you agree?”

Paul was somewhat doubtful of the results, but he acquiesced, and
the agreement was drawn up there and then. The sequel showed how
ill-founded his apprehensions had been. The Theatrograph caught the
popular fancy, and proved the most powerful amusement-magnet at
Olympia. It was the first picture palace in the world, that is to
say, the first establishment devoted exclusively to the projection of
moving pictures as a complete entertainment. From it the whole modern
development of cinematography may be said to have sprung.

Indeed, it is difficult to realise the effect produced upon the world
at large, through the skill and industry of Robert W. Paul. So far
as Great Britain is concerned, he certainly fathered the enterprise
of animated photography, as is evidenced by the fact that in British
cinematographic circles he is known popularly as “Daddy Paul.” The
lapse of time has not effected any essential change in the construction
of the apparatus. The camera and projector as used to-day are
fundamentally the same as those Paul first employed. Modifications
have been made in details of the mechanism, but they are of slight
importance. When the outcry against the danger of the cinematograph was
raised in the early days of the industry, as a result of the fire at
the Charity Bazaar in Paris, it was found that Paul had realised the
danger and had endeavoured to guard against it, though his idea, being
somewhat premature, was disregarded at the time.

The success of the “Theatrograph” at Olympia caused a wholesale demand
for the new marvel. People wanted to attach the device to existing
magic lanterns, so that animated pictures could be produced upon the
screen whenever desired. Paul still cherished such little faith in
his invention that he sold the projector attachment for the small sum
of £5 ($25), and it could be fixed to any lantern. He was inundated
with orders from all parts of the world. Many enthusiasts acquired a
complete projecting outfit, the price of which at that time was about
£80 ($400). The capacity of the workshop in Hatton Garden proved quite
inadequate to the demand. The men worked night and day turning out the
projecting apparatus, and the sale aggregated several hundreds sterling
per week during the years 1896 and 1897. Provincial showmen lost no
time in acquiring the novelty, or arranged with the inventor to provide
such an item in their programmes. Within a short time twenty machines
were being operated under Paul’s personal direction in the provinces.

London was by no means backward in following up the development.
The first to introduce moving pictures to a metropolitan vaudeville
audience was Mr. Moul, the energetic manager of the Alhambra Theatre.
Like Sir Augustus Harris, however, he regarded it merely as a
nine-days’ wonder, and did not think that the sensation it had created
could be sustained for more than a week or so, which shows how even
the most astute showman may sometimes err in gauging the public taste,
and also parenthetically the professional estimation of the idea. An
arrangement was made whereby Paul undertook to give a display with
the “Animatograph”--this name had been substituted for the original
“Theatrograph”--at the Alhambra Theatre, for a fortnight from March
25th, 1896. According to the terms of the contract, if the display
proved popular, it was to be prolonged upon the same terms until moving
pictures fell from public favour. That engagement of fourteen days
grew into one of four years! For over 1,000 nights Paul personally
superintended his moving pictures at the Alhambra; and then retired
only because of pressure of work in other directions. Of course,
other music halls in the metropolis acquired the apparatus. Operators
were scarce, and they could not be trained rapidly enough to meet the
demand. As a rule, men manipulating the limelight in the theatres
were found to be the most suitable for the purpose, and they readily
accepted an opportunity to earn £4 ($20) per week for a few minutes’
work every day. Times have changed since then, and to-day operators can
be secured for about half that sum as weekly wage.

At one time in the early days Paul had no less than eight theatres in
London demanding his personal attendance, involving a nightly journey
of twenty miles. It is significant of the tremendous enthusiasm that
was aroused by the moving pictures that the managers of the various
halls had to arrange their programmes to suit the convenience of the
operator, so that there might be no interference with his carefully
prepared time-table of his evening’s movements from one place to
another.

The exigencies of the manufacture of apparatus and films became at
last of such a character that Paul found the strain of operating to be
intolerable, so he retired from active work in the projecting world.
His film manufacturing business attained considerable proportions,
and this was continued until the latter part of 1908, when he
abandoned all active participation in the industry he had initiated,
to devote himself to his work on precision instruments for electrical
measurements. His association with cinematography to-day is very
slight, being confined mostly to collaboration with eminent physicists
and scientists in illustrating scientific subjects by the aid of motion
photography.


_The Cinematograph._

While Robert W. Paul was busy in his laboratory, problems identical
with his own were engaging the attention of French experimenters,
and notably of Messrs. Lumière and Sons, of Paris and Lyons, a firm
famous in the manufacture of photographic apparatus, dry plates, and
paper, whose efforts to solve the problem of natural colour photography
are well known to the world. Their attention, like Paul’s, was
first directed to this new field by the Kinetoscope, which made its
appearance in France about 1893. Messrs. Lumière instantly realised its
drawbacks and limitations, the greatest of which, from their point of
view, was the fact that the long ribbon of instantaneous pictures was
visible to one person only. Then again they considered the number of
pictures shown per second--thirty--to be too high.

They sought to devise an apparatus operating with an intermittent
action, whereby a short length of film corresponding to the depth of a
picture was jerked into position behind the lens while the light was
eclipsed by the shutter, and afterwards to project the same pictures by
a similar mechanism.

With the Kinetoscope as a basis they set to work, and, by means of a
reciprocating motion given to a hook frame under the movement of a
triangular piece of mechanism, they succeeded in stopping and starting
the film alternately with such a degree of nicety that the successive
sections of film were brought into position before the lens without
damaging the guiding perforating holes or films. This constituted the
salient feature of the Lumière device and the fundamental principle of
the patent.

The Lumière camera was distinctly ingenious, simple and positive in its
action, as well as being light and compact. The mechanism whereby the
film was jerked down sufficiently after each exposure to bring another
section of sensitised surface before the lens, may be likened to two
projecting fingers which engaged with a hole on either side of the
film. These two pins, or hooks, by the revolving action of a triangular
eccentric, were brought forward towards the film and engaged with the
perforations. When the shutter swung across the lens, thus cutting off
the light, this pair of fingers dropped down, smartly jerking the film
with them. The latter was then gripped and held firmly in position
during the next exposure, when the two fingers withdrew from the
perforations, rose sharply upwards, and clutched the film once more by
the next pair of perforations.

While the Lumière experimenters adopted the width of film used in
the Kinetoscope and secured pictures of the same dimensions, yet
they made an important deviation from Edison’s idea. Instead of
making four perforations per picture on either side of the film at
regular intervals, they made just one round hole on each side of the
image. These perforations were placed 20 millimetres--approximately
4/5 inch--apart. The reason for this deviation from the Edison method
was that they had refrained from the use of toothed sprockets such as
Edison and Paul had adopted, and which had to mesh with the film so
as to feed it regularly and steadily forward before the lens in both
the camera and the projector. From the mechanical point of view theirs
was a preferable method, inasmuch as the comparative closeness of the
perforations in the Edison gauge somewhat weakens the strength of the
film, and can easily result in tearing.

There is every reason to believe that Messrs. Lumière were in
ignorance of the efforts of Paul, in just the same way as the British
investigator was oblivious of the work of the Frenchmen. In France the
Kinetoscope failed, as it did in England and the United States. From
the French point of view a unique opportunity existed to establish a
new industry; accordingly they manufactured several films upon their
principle.

The original bands of pictures were 17 metres--nearly 56 feet--in
length. Unfortunately for the Lumière firm, the Kinetoscope had, thanks
to Paul, been purchased more generally than was at first thought
possible; while Paul had marketed in England a considerable number
of films carrying the Edison standard perforation. The result was
that they could not dispose of their films to people who were already
possessed of the moving picture machine, and who demanded films of
the Edison gauge. Messrs. Lumière ultimately abandoned the single
perforation on either side of the picture in favour of that which had
come into vogue through the Kinetoscope and the work of Paul.

[Illustration: FIG. 4.--THE EARLY LUMIÈRE PROJECTING SYSTEM SHOWING
WATER CONDENSER B.]

The early Lumière projector was very interesting. Realising the high
inflammability of the celluloid film, and the intense heat produced
by the focussing of the electric arc light through the condenser upon
the film, the experimenters sought to remove the danger of fire by
counteracting the heat production of the rays of light. A spherical
bottle, filled with water, was placed between the electric arc and
the lens to act as condenser, Fig. 4. The bottle _B_ was encased in a
metal cylinder _E_, fixed to the front of the lantern _A_ by four rods,
each terminating in a screw _V_. The metal cylinder _E_ was continued
forwards in the form of a tube _F_, the end of which was fitted with
a hinged shutter _G_ carrying a small piece of ground glass _H_. When
the film was set in motion this hinged shutter was lifted and laid back
upon the top of the tube to which it was attached.

The spherical bottle, which was filled with distilled water to which
a few drops of acetic acid were added, acted in exactly the same way
as the glass condenser of to-day. But it possessed this advantage. The
luminous rays were concentrated, and there was no loss of luminous
light; only the heat rays were absorbed almost entirely by the water.
Another beneficial result was that the light thrown through the
picture, and thence on to the screen, was whiter, because the condenser
glass is greenish, and imparts that tint to the light passing through
it.

In the course of about 30 or 40 minutes the water under the action of
the heat rays commenced to boil, but no inconvenience resulted. A piece
of coke _D_, attached to a short length of wire _C_, was suspended
in the decanter and placed just below the surface of the water, thus
causing it to boil with complete evenness; there was no spurting of the
contents, and no bubbling to interfere with the light. If the sphere
of water were removed or broken during the operation of the lantern,
as the condensation of the light rays immediately ceased there was no
danger of the film being set alight. It may be pointed out, in passing,
that Edison introduced a bulb of alum water between the electric lamp
and the film as a heat absorbent in his Kinetoscope.

Although highly efficient, this expedient possessed certain drawbacks,
and consequently in the course of time it was superseded by the
glass condenser. Mechanical ingenuity succeeded in devising a means
of minimising the danger of combustion or provided some method of
smothering it in its incipient stage.

Although the Lumière invention proved a great success in France, and
was the first commercial apparatus produced in that country, it did
not get a foothold in Great Britain, owing to the contemporaneous work
of Paul. The Lumière apparatus was a well-built mechanism, typical of
French workmanship, but if anything rather too light for general wear
and tear. It was introduced to the English public by Professor Treuwé,
the famous French conjurer, at the Regent Street Polytechnic in 1896,
but failed to provoke a sensation, because Paul’s “Theatrograph” had
already been seen at Olympia and held first place in public esteem. On
the other hand, it created widespread interest in the United States,
where, at the time of its arrival, projection upon the screen was
unknown. Paul’s machine had not penetrated to North America, because
the British market demanded his whole attention. It is a curious irony
of fate that, although animated photography was first made possible
in America by the ingenuity of an American inventor, and the only
films then available were the product of the Edison “Black Maria” at
Orange, yet it was a French apparatus which laid the foundations of the
cinematograph industry in the United States. The product of Messrs.
Lumière was introduced mainly through the enterprise of one man, Mr.
Richard G. Hollaman, the energetic president of the Eden Musée Company.

Mr. Hollaman saw the Kinetoscope at the Chicago World’s Fair in
the summer of 1893, but as it was crude and did not arouse great
enthusiasm, he took no especial interest in it. In the following year,
however, he acquired an improved Kinetoscope from Berlin, which had
been made by the celebrated electrical engineering firm, Siemens and
Halske. This machine was circular in shape, and showed the pictures
in movement in much the same way as Edison’s contrivance. Two of the
machines were installed in the Eden Musée and remained there for six
months. At the end of that time they were abandoned for the reason that
no new films could be obtained.

In the spring of 1896 an exhibition was given in a shop in Park Row,
New York City. In this instance the pictures were thrown upon the
screen. The machine had been devised and built by an experimenter named
Latham, but it was exceedingly faulty. The pictures shown depicted two
prize fighters, but the images vibrated so violently on the screen,
and were so scratched and imperfect, that the eyes of spectators were
subjected to a fearful strain, and the apparatus was commercially
valueless. Mr. Hollaman sought out the inventor with a view to the
perfection of the device for his theatre, but learned that lack of
capital prevented Latham from perfecting his apparatus.

A little later the president of the Eden Musée received a communication
from a firm named Raff and Gammon. They offered him the State rights
for a moving picture machine which had been designed by Edison, and of
which they were empowered to dispose on his behalf. They invited Mr.
Hollaman to a demonstration at Koster and Bial’s theatre, where they
threw a picture upon the screen which measured about 10 feet in width
by 6 feet in depth. Mr. Hollaman has told me that he recalled very
vividly two of the films he saw there. One depicted “Mammy washing her
child,” while the other was “The Gardener playing the Hose.” Both these
films were made by Lumière and Sons at Lyons.

In the autumn of 1896 the Lumière apparatus appeared in the United
States. It was introduced by Mr. Hurd, acting as agent for the
French manufacturers, and this was the first practical cinematograph
apparatus to be seen in North America. A demonstration was given, and
Mr. Hollaman, realising the tremendous strides it represented in the
projection of moving pictures, made a contract for its installation
at the Eden Musée. The picture thrown on the screen by this projector
measured 22 by 16 feet. From the day the “Cinematographe” was first
shown to the public in the Eden Musée in 1896, it has constituted a
permanent feature of the place. In fact, Mr. Hollaman has been the
pioneer of all developments in the field of cinematography in North
America. The French machines had been in use for some time, when
Lumière’s agent, who had let them out on lease, suddenly called in all
the projectors and retired from active operations in the United States.
Another machine had to be secured for the Eden Musée, and for three
months a Joli instrument was used, followed by an American apparatus
operated by its maker, Eberhard Schneider.

Another change was made in September, 1897, when Mr. Charles Urban,
now identified with Kinemacolor, but at that time acting as salesman
for Maguire and Baucus, who had endeavoured in vain to oust Paul in
London and who had retired from the scene after meeting with failure,
approached the Eden Musée with a new projector, which was installed.
Some time later Urban introduced a new machine which he had made
himself, and as it possessed several improvements it was adopted. This
was the first “Bioscope,” as it was called, that was ever shown to the
public.

Shortly afterwards Maguire and Baucus, in company with Urban, left
the United States for London, to establish an English cinematograph
firm under the name of the Warwick Trading Company. In 1900 Mr.
Hollaman secured the services of Frank Cannock, an expert operator and
mechanician, for his cinematograph department, which had now become of
paramount importance; and since that date the latter has manufactured
all the machines required by the Eden Musée.

I have given a brief outline of the most interesting chapter in the
story of cinematography, the epoch in which experimenters in different
countries were struggling to perfect the same idea, independently of
one another, and by different methods. Several other investigators
were engaged in the quest, but their work was not of such importance
as that of Edison, Paul, or Lumière. The first evolved the crude idea,
and the latter two, in their respective countries, produced successful
apparatuses entirely different from one another. The work of Robert
Paul should command the greatest appreciation; for the Bioscope, which
amuses the multitude from morning to night every day between the two
Poles, is fundamentally the same as that which he introduced to the
theatrical world for the first time on March 25th, 1896.




CHAPTER V

HOW THE CELLULOID FILM IS MADE


I have already shown how the perseverance and ingenuity of Eastman and
Walker aided in solving the problem of animated photography. Their film
was used for the first time experimentally in the United States as far
back as 1889, although it did not enter the general market until about
two years later. From that time there was an increasing demand from
the host of experimenters for large quantities of the narrow, thin
sensitised strip of celluloid. As the demand increased the chemists
associated with the subject redoubled their efforts; their product was
still far from perfection, and even to-day they will admit that many
abstruse problems remain to be unravelled.

Although the present-day consumption of celluloid film for
cinematograph purposes is enormous, aggregating several million feet
per week, the manufacturing process is of such a peculiar character
that the number of firms identified with its production can be counted
upon the fingers of one hand. In the United States it is controlled by
the Eastman Kodak Company, who have extensive factories at Rochester
in the State of New York, and a large establishment at Harrow in
England. In France Messrs. Lumière and Sons, and in Germany the
Gaevert firm, have large factories. British effort is represented by
the Austin-Edwards Company, which produces an excellent film, but the
home industry is in its infancy. The three first-named firms supply
almost the entire demand. The Eastman firm has the largest output,
about 3,500,000 feet per week, which is due to the fact that in the
United States there are over 14,000 picture palaces open every day from
morning until midnight, and many large firms engaged in the preparation
of the film subjects. Most of the Eastman supply is used in the United
States and Great Britain. Aside from it and the French and German
products, some of the large European film producers prepare their own
stock, as the celluloid base is called. If all these totals were added
together, the sum of them would show something like 6,000,000 feet of
film, in both negatives and positives, consumed every week.

Each country has millions of pounds invested in the enterprise. It is
difficult to gauge the proportions of the entire industry. If all its
varied branches are taken into consideration, it probably ranks as one
of the largest in the world. And the whole of this development has
taken place within twenty years.

In order to gain an idea of one branch of the industry, the manufacture
of the film, one must pay a visit to the extensive works of the
Eastman Company, the plant of which is able to turn out no less than
7,200,000 lineal feet of film for moving pictures every week--truly a
tremendous output. This capacity has not been taxed to the utmost yet,
but when the requisite machinery was laid down, the company decided
to anticipate the future. Should the present pace of development be
maintained, there is no doubt that, before the end of another twenty
years, this firm will find its present installation barely sufficient
to meet the demand. Continued chemical research and improvement of
processes is tending to reduce the cost of the material, and while at
the same time the moving picture business itself is expanding on all
sides, fresh markets are constantly being opened up for the products of
the manufacturers.

At the Eastman works is to be seen a striking illustration of the
growth in the manufacture of celluloid film. In the room where the
ingredients are mixed together there is a small barrel, which will
hold 500 pounds of the film mixture. This little barrel, together with
another of the same capacity, sufficed to meet all requirements in the
year 1891. In the same building is a battery of fifty huge barrels,
each with eight times the capacity of the small one, and these are run
night and day to meet the present demand for the material. The little
barrel is no longer used; but it is preserved as an honoured relic
of the past and an eloquent witness of the tremendous growth of the
film-manufacturing industry for cinematography.

The ingredients for the film are gun-cotton, known technically as
pyroxylin, and wood alcohol. The pyroxylin is prepared by treating
cellulose devised from such vegetable materials as flax or cotton
waste, with a mixture of sulphuric and nitric acids. The ingredients
are associated in large cylindrical tanks ranged in long rows
upon the upper floor, and discharged through trap doors into the
barrels beneath. The gun-cotton is then dissolved in the alcohol by
mechanically rotating the huge barrels. It is possible to treat in this
way some 200,000 pounds of material at one time. The mixing process
reduces the gun-cotton and wood alcohol to a viscous liquid of the
consistency of extracted honey, which substance forms the base of the
film, or support for the sensitive emulsion, and is known technically
as cellulose-nitrate.

When the gun-cotton has been dissolved to the requisite degree, the
syrup-like mixture is drawn from the barrels and stored in cylindrical
tanks.

The next step is the conversion of the mixture into sheets of the
requisite thinness. It is not rolled out, but poured upon suitably
polished supports, and spreads out, like varnish, in a thin film. The
Eastman patent specifies three distinct kinds of receptacle for the
pouring process: a long sheet of polished glass, an endless polished
metallic belt, and a revolving drum having a highly polished surface.
Any of the three will produce the result; and in each case the deposit
has to be permitted to dry to a certain degree.

[Illustration:

                    [_By permission of the Eastman Kodak Company._

THE DISSOLVING ROOM.

The ingredients for the celluloid film are dissolved in large tanks.
The liquids are drawn off and led through the trap doors into in-mixing
barrels.]

When the drying is achieved, the thin coating of transparent flexible
material, resembling a skin, is stripped from its support and
coated with the sensitive emulsion. The latter is of two degrees
of sensitiveness, according to whether the film is to be used
as a negative or a positive. The former is of the very highest
sensitiveness to light that it is possible to obtain, since under
normal circumstances it is only exposed for the fraction of a second;
while the film required for the positive, which is used for projection,
is rendered less sensitive, as it can be given a longer exposure in the
printing operation.

[Illustration:

                    [_By permission of the Eastman Kodak Company._

THE MIXING BARREL.

This picture conveys a striking impression of the growth of the film
manufacturing industry. Two small barrels, each holding 500 pounds,
made all the film base or “dope,” as it is called, in 1891. The larger
barrel behind holds 4,000 pounds.]

The base, with its sensitised coating, is now permitted to become
dry and hard. At the conclusion of this operation the length of thin
celluloid sheeting, technically called a web, which is about 3½ feet
wide, is slit into strips of the standard width now used in all
cinematograph cameras and projectors--1⅜ inches wide.

Extreme care has to be taken to secure a uniform thickness. The plant
at the Rochester works has reached such a degree of accuracy that the
thickness of the film which is taken from the polished rolls, although
the web measures 2,000 feet in length, does not vary above the standard
by more than 1/4,000th part of an inch.

As I have already said, however, after all this care, the product is
far from being perfect, and it sometimes displays strange caprices.
They are most pronounced in the tropics. Owing to the volatile
character of the ingredients employed in its manufacture, the film
undergoes considerable shrinkage in hot climates owing to evaporation.
I have seen film shrunk so much that it failed to conform with the
standard gauge, and the teeth of the sprocket in the printing machine,
instead of engaging with the holes, played upon the outer smooth
edges of the film. To maintain the prime condition of the film it is
necessary to keep it somewhat moist, and accordingly the packing boxes
carry a certain amount of damped material. But in tropical countries
where the heat is intense, it is by no means a simple matter to keep
the film in condition; and for this reason it is often difficult to
secure satisfactory pictures of scenes in tropical countries. A firm
which dispatched an operator to Central America to secure a series
of scenic and industrial films failed to obtain a single length of
pictures worth showing. I saw the results of the expedition. The film
was badly distorted, and the pictures in some instances were so thin
or indistinct as to defy projection. £500 ($2,500) had been expended
without result.

There is another eccentricity displayed occasionally by some films in
tropical climes, which is difficult to explain. An operator will expose
several hundred feet of film, which, when developed, fails to show the
slightest sign of exposure. I have seen the results of a first-class
cinematographer working between the limits of Capricorn and Cancer. His
films when developed were as clear as if they had never been exposed
to the action of light. The firm took one section of the exposed film
and re-exposed it on a London street. It showed on development the
image of London traffic, being as bare of any other image as if it had
never seen the jungle. Heat and dry atmosphere seem to exercise some
obscure chemical action, which prevents the sensitive surface of the
films from being affected by exposure; yet when the film is returned to
a naturally moist climate, like that of England, it appears to recover
its original qualities.

As the component parts of a cinematograph film are of an inflammable
nature, the resultant fabric is naturally also highly inflammable.
This danger in the early days severely menaced the development of
the industry, especially since those occupied in projection were
careless of the most elementary precautions. The film, after passing
through the lantern, fell a dishevelled mass into a basket, where it
formed a tangled heap of thin combustible material, as inflammable
as petrol-soaked shavings. Celluloid emits a vapour of an explosive
nature, and it is always dangerous to use a naked light in its close
proximity. Yet custom rendered the operator heedless of the danger.
The outcome was inevitable. Legislation stepped in and ordained that
the projector should be encased in a steel fire-proof chamber for the
protection of the public. The result was that the cinematograph was
barred from many places where the magic lantern was used.

[Illustration:

                    [_By permission of the Eastman Kodak Company._

A BATTERY OF CELLULOID MIXERS.

Fifty barrels, holding 200,000 pounds of the “dope,” are run
continually day and night.]

Moving pictures could not be shown at such establishments as schools,
merely because they did not possess a fire-proof chamber in which
to operate them. A non-inflammable film was, of course, the next
demand. To attempt to render celluloid non-combustible was akin to
rendering gunpowder non-explosive. An absolutely new film-base had
to be found. Cellulose as a basic constituent could not be dispensed
with--in fact, chemical research has not yet succeeded in discovering
an efficient substitute. Efforts were concentrated upon the treatment
of the cellulose in such a manner as to prevent it being readily
combustible, with the resultant production of the preparation known
as cellulose-acetate, which is practically non-inflammable. But while
this substance complies with the letter of the law and does not burst
into flame, it does melt, however, under the influence of heat, and in
so doing sometimes emits copious clouds of smoke, which are capable of
producing panic in an audience quite as readily as an outburst of flame.

[Illustration:

[_By permission of the Eastman Kodak Company._

THE LIQUID CELLULOID STORAGE ROOM.

When the ingredients are mixed thoroughly the syrup-like mass is stored
in cylindrical tanks until required by the machines to be made into the
film. Each vessel is of five tons capacity.]

Under ordinary circumstances, this non-inflammable film is quite safe
to handle, and from that point of view is adapted for the purpose
of exhibiting in buildings where a special chamber is not provided.
The heat produced by the focussed rays in the lantern, or the
inadvertent contact of a naked light, do not promote combustion. The
cellulose-acetate merely chars or melts, the action being purely local.

The celluloid film is supplied generally in lengths of 165 feet, which
is approximately the capacity of the average film box. The actual
picture itself upon the film measures one inch in width by ¾ of an inch
in depth.

The question naturally arises as to what becomes of the films which
have passed through their allotted span of life. When the celluloid
film was first placed on the market this material was of a certain
value. The sensitised gelatine emulsion was stripped off, and the base
was converted into varnish. But this practice has fallen into disuse.
Practically speaking, old films have no economic value. As a rule
they are burned. If the junk film is obtained in sufficiently large
quantities, a slightly remunerative by-product can be obtained in the
form of metallic silver from the ashes, but the yield is so small and
silver is so cheap that the trouble involved does not pay unless the
waste is destroyed in tremendous bulk.

This is the era of the profitable utilisation of waste products, and
no doubt a large fortune is awaiting the chemist who succeeds in
evolving a cheap process for turning the useless cinematograph film to
commercial account. Newspapers, old iron, and other metals, rubber,
sawdust, and even garbage, possess a certain economic value, and there
is no reason to suppose that used celluloid film is an exception to
this general rule of utilising waste products. One by-product, as we
have pointed out, is certain of reclamation--the silver--but the other
constituents might prove just as valuable if a cheap, inexpensive
method were contrived for their commercial reclamation.




CHAPTER VI

THE STORY OF THE PERFORATION GAUGE


We have seen that before the film can be used in the camera it has to
be perforated on either side in order that successive areas of film ¾
of an inch deep--the equivalent of a picture--can be seized and brought
into position behind the lens. This perforation has become standardised
in accordance with what is known as the “Edison Standard Gauge,” which
is 64 perforations per foot on either side. This perforation is of an
elongated form, measuring about ⅛ of an inch in width by approximately
1/16th of an inch in depth.

The preliminary operation is carried out with a machine, which stamps
the holes by means of specially hardened steel punches. Extreme care
has to be taken to carry out the task with mathematical accuracy, in
order that the film may be used with any type of camera and projector.
Without it steadiness of the picture upon the screen is absolutely
impossible.

It seems strange that all films should have to be perforated according
to the Edison system, when it is remembered that the first commercial
cinematographic apparatuses for the projection of pictures upon a
screen were made, not by Edison, but by Paul and Lumière, who, one
might think, would have established their own gauges. This important
point involves an interesting little story.

In the very earliest days of cinematography, when a film of greater
width was used than at present, it was advanced by friction. Rollers,
or clutches, gripped the edges of the film tightly, and moved it
forward the desired extent. But their action was uncertain. Sometimes
the rollers became slack and the film slipped, the celluloid ribbon
varied in thickness or was a trifle slippery, with the result that
the forward movement was irregular, and the pictures did not appear
in rhythmic succession. Some were askew, others were overlapped by
the preceding or succeeding image, or a wide gap was left between
consecutive pictures.

In order to overcome the drawback, attempts were made to devise a
system of moving the film forward by the aid of pins engaging with
holes in the sides. But the apparatus employed was mechanically
defective. The film dragged, and the holes were either torn or became
so worn that they did not engage accurately. Square holes were
first tried, but the wear and tear set up by the pins or sprocket
teeth soon gave them a circular or elongated shape. Then circular
perforations were adopted, but they soon became elliptical. The
number of perforations per picture was varied also in the hope of
securing steadiness of the film both in the camera and more especially
in projection, but every effort appeared to refuse to remove the
difficulty.

One of the early investigators was discussing the subject one night
with Lord Kelvin. The eminent scientist became deeply interested in
this trouble with regard to the perforations, and the disadvantages of
the respective shapes shown to him. After a few minutes’ reflection, he
remarked, “Why not use perforations of triangular form? They will not
wear round or square. They will always retain their shape more or less,
and at all events will give improved steadiness in running.” The advice
of Lord Kelvin was followed, and the triangular holes were found to
give the best results achieved up to that time.

Meanwhile the shape of the perforations and the gauge had settled
itself in a curious manner. The kinetoscope appeared with small
rectangular perforations, numbering four to each picture, on either
side of the film. Edison had settled on this plan for his apparatus,
finding that it afforded him the best results. The machines were made
and despatched to various parts of the world. To maintain the interest
in the novelty, a number of films were prepared and sold to various
customers possessing the kinetoscope.

When Messrs. Lumière brought out their projecting apparatus, only
one brand of film available for demonstration purposes was on the
market--that made for the kinetoscope. When Paul first entered the
manufacturing field, he, of course, prepared films for use with the
kinetoscope of his own manufacture, and he naturally adopted Edison’s
gauge. As already narrated, Lumière made an attempt to set up an
independent gauge, with one hole each side per picture, but the
Edison and Paul films with an identical gauge had become too firmly
established, especially as the famous American inventor commanded
the situation in the United States. There was no market for either
machines or films deviating from Edison’s gauge. Exhibitors who had
bought kinetoscopes and films, when they acquired a Lumière projector,
demanded that it should be so designed as to use the films which
they owned already, and which were highly expensive. When other
film-picture manufacturers entered the arena they followed in Edison’s
footsteps, because there was no market for their wares if they did
otherwise. Consequently the Edison perforation gauge became more and
more firmly established as time progressed, until at last it became
regarded as the standard. It must be pointed out that this result was
largely attributable to Paul, who became the largest manufacturer of
kinetoscope films in the world.

Yet it must not be thought that the settlement came about smoothly.
There has been a battle of the gauges in the cinematographic as in the
railway world. The Edison standard gauge has its admitted drawbacks,
the greatest of which is that there are too many holes per picture,
which weaken the film and tend to precipitate tearing. Two, or even
one, hole per picture on either side would suffice, as demonstration
has conclusively proved.

An American rival attempted to swerve from the standard in another
direction, using a film 2¾ inches wide--double the width of the
kinetoscope film. He eventually abandoned the wide band, partly on
economic grounds, as a ribbon half the width produced pictures in
every respect equal to those obtained from the wider film. On one or
two occasions the gauge has been revised slightly, but the variations
merely affected the dimensions of the hole to a microscopic degree.
Fundamentally, the gauge as set by Edison for the first commercial
apparatus for showing photographs in motion prevails to-day, and is
universally accepted.

The film is received from the manufacturers in a plain ribbon, and the
perforation has to be done shortly before the film is taken in hand for
exposure. The film manufacturers cannot possibly supply it perforated,
because the celluloid base undergoes continuous physical change while
in storage. Under varying climatic conditions it shrinks and expands
to an extent which may not be observable to the eye, but becomes
pronounced when the picture is projected upon the screen.

The necessity for mathematical precision in the matter of perforating
is somewhat obscure to the uninitiated, but its effects may be
demonstrated very easily. Compare the vibrating or oscillating
flickering picture of 1896 with that shown upon the screen to-day,
in which the effect produced comes very close to that of the _camera
obscura_. If the perforation errs the hundredth part of an inch,
steadiness in the picture is forfeited. The films have to be punctured
with the same mathematical accuracy that goes to the production of a
tiny screw intended for the most delicate piece of mechanism.

[Illustration: PAUL’S ROTARY PERFORATOR.

To punch the holes in the margins of the film before it is exposed.]

[Illustration: THE FIRST CINEMATOGRAPH STUDIO-STAGE.

Built by Robert Paul, at New Southgate, London. It faced north. The
camera and operator were mounted on a platform which travelled upon
rails.

                                                  _See page 104._
]

This is especially the case in regard to the perforation of the
negative film. If this is not absolutely true to gauge, the existing
error will be magnified in the passage of the film through the camera;
and should the latter be ever so slightly at fault, the defect
becomes intensified still more. By the time the picture reaches the
projector the infinitesimally small defect in the first instance
becomes increased fourfold or even more. The picture will jump and
flutter in the most distressing manner, and no matter how dexterous the
operator may be, and despite the excellence of his projector, he cannot
by any means rectify or mitigate very appreciably defects arising from
indifferent perforation.

The contribution of imperfect perforation to unsteadiness in projection
was recognised in the earliest days; and great technical skill was
devoted to the elaboration of machines to puncture the film with
scientific precision. Marvellous appliances have been produced for this
purpose; but despite the infinite labour bestowed upon their production
the possibility of error is ever present. Still, it has been reduced to
infinitesimal proportions, and, given a careful operator, a film can be
perforated with the holes varying not a thousandth part of an inch from
the gauge.

The very earliest type of perforating machine was known as the “Rotary
Perforator,” Paul leading the way in this, as in several other
ramifications of the industry. The machine was driven by a mechanism
identical with that utilised in the camera and projector; because the
film had to be advanced intermittently beneath the punches, which were
provided with an oscillating movement. This type of machine is shown
in the illustration. Paul’s first appliance has always ranked as more
simple, efficient, and reliable than any other.

During recent years the rotary perforator has fallen from favour,
on the plea that it soon becomes imperfect in working; but such an
accusation cannot fairly be brought against Paul’s machine, since its
designer used it continuously for four years, during which time it
punched millions of holes, and to-day is as correct in its work as when
first used.

It is impossible within the scope of this book to describe all the
various types of perforation apparatus now in vogue, more especially as
their interest lies mainly in highly technical details. I will content
myself with describing three machines which exemplify the three most
important methods of perforation.

As this operation has to be carried out in the dark room in the dim
light of a ruby lamp, it is imperative that the machines should be of
the most simple design and operation, demanding the minimum of labour
on the part of the operator.

[Illustration: THE WILLIAMSON FILM PERFORATOR.

              _For explanation of design and operation see page 62._
]

In the Williamson perforator, four holes on either side of the film
are punched at one time, and two films are perforated simultaneously,
the sensitised surfaces being face to face. This arrangement obviates
the danger of scratching or rubbing the sensitised surface during the
operation. One coil of plain film is mounted on the spool _A_, and
another on the lower spool _B_. The leads from these two spools are
taken between the rollers _C_ on to a small platform or guide gate _D_,
where the two superimposed films are brought accurately together to
pass under the punches. These are mounted in two rows, the requisite
distance apart, in a moving head piece _E_, which descends at the
critical moment, the punches piercing the films cleanly and sharply,
the pieces of detached celluloid falling into a receptacle on the floor
beneath.

When the head containing the punches rises, the two hooked fingers or
claws _F_ engage a hole on either side of the films, and pull them
forward ready for the punching of the next four pairs of holes. In
addition to carrying four pairs of punches, the head _E_ carries four
pairs of projecting pins, set to the same gauge, and before the punch
descends these guide pins engage with the four preceding pairs of
holes, so that the distance between the sets of four holes on either
side is bound to be exactly the same as between any two consecutive
holes made simultaneously. The result is that the holes are perforated
with absolute mathematical accuracy.

As the film emerges from the perforator proper, it is passed between
two guide rollers and a toothed sprocket _G_, which meshes with the
perforations, and thence the lower film passes to the re-winding spool
_H_, and the upper film to the spool _J_. Between the perforating plate
and the respective rollers _C_ and _G_, small loops will be observed.
These are provided for the purpose of obviating any pull upon the
film while in the guide gate, and beneath the punches, which might
otherwise destroy the alignment and accuracy of the gauge. These loops
remain constant, but they can be altered at will while the machine
is running without disturbing the actual perforation. The Williamson
perforator can be run under power at a relatively high speed, the wheel
_K_ being capable of 400 revolutions per minute without impairing the
accuracy of the work in the slightest degree.

[Illustration: FIG. 5.--THE N.S. FILM PERFORATOR.]

A different type of machine is represented in the “N.S.” perforator,
Fig. 5. In this instance the coil of plain film _A_ is set up in a
convenient position away from the machine, but in such a manner that
the feed thereto is in an easy curve. The film enters the machine
through two roller guides, _C_ and _D_, to a channel _F_, and then
under the dies in the top plate _L_. The punctured pieces of film fall
away clear of the instrument through the tube _N_, so that there is no
probability of such particles fouling the mechanism and thus possibly
upsetting the accurate working of the apparatus. After being perforated
the film is moved forward by means of guide pins, and finally issues
through a guide _B_ to be re-coiled. This apparatus is very convenient
for driving by power, is simple, efficient in its operation, and owing
to the solidity of its construction there is little possibility of
the precision of the gauge being upset by wear and tear, or by other
external influences. The gauge, moreover, can be altered, if desired,
to as small a degree as 1/100th of an inch per foot. As the positive
film shrinks somewhat after development, it is an advantage to be able
to compensate for the contraction when perforating. When the film is
dry, although it may have shrunk a trifle, it is found that the gauge
is perfectly accurate.

In the Urban-Joy perforator, only a single pair of holes is punched
at a time--one on either side of the film. At first sight this method
appears somewhat slow, but there is the distinct advantage that the
holes are made with incontestable scientific precision, and after all
this is the all-important factor. This machine is capable of the very
finest adjustment, it being possible to vary the stroke of the punch to
the millionth part of an inch. Its simplicity of operation is another
distinct point. All strain upon the film is avoided for the simple
reason that it is passed through the machine by the pendulum action of
the punches. When these are disengaged the film is held in position by
a clamp working in opposite step to the action of the punches.

Years of labour have been expended upon the evolution of the
perforator. The fruit of these efforts, however, is a material
improvement in the steadiness of the picture upon the screen.

[Illustration: THE PERFORATING ROOM OF THE CINES COMPANY IN ROME.

The operation has to be carried out in ruby light.]




CHAPTER VII

THE MOVING PICTURE CAMERA, ITS CONSTRUCTION, AND OPERATION


Although it was as far back as 1894 that the first commercial moving
picture camera appeared in Great Britain, the years have not produced
many marked departures from the design as elaborated by Paul. Time has
proved his plan to be the most reliable and efficient. But as the art
has developed and many minds have been concentrated upon the apparatus,
it has undergone modification and improvement in minor details, all
tending towards greater excellence in the ultimate results.

Paul’s camera was a small wooden cabinet, measuring only about six
inches each way. It contained merely the requisite intermittent
mechanism to bring successive depths of the film before the lens, and
the tube to enable focussing to be carried out easily from the back,
and in such a way that it was impossible for the film to become fogged
when the tube was left open inadvertently.

This instrument was a model of simplicity, compactness, portability
and convenience. The film was carried in separate dark boxes of a size
to hold 160, 350, or 700 feet, according to requirements. These were
detached from the camera itself, the box of unexposed film slipping
into a device on top of the camera in such a way as to ensure a
light-tight joint, and locked into position to prevent accidental
detachment. From this box the film was led through the camera
mechanism, past the lens and into a second box, similarly detachable.
The apparatus therefore was resolved into three main parts--the camera,
and the unexposed and exposed film boxes.

The modern cinematograph camera is completely self-contained; the film
boxes are incorporated within the case that carries the mechanism for
moving the film forward. Further improvement is hard to imagine. Bulk
and dimensions are reduced to the minimum, with, at the same time, the
maximum of efficiency.

The cinematograph camera, unlike most machinery, is called upon to
face exigencies, and to perform exceedingly hard work under the most
adverse conditions. To-day it may be in the broiling sun on a tropical
desert; a few weeks hence it is plunged into the extreme cold of the
Arctic circle; a little later it is well-nigh submerged in a reeking
swamp or vapour bath. Such varying conditions subject the material and
workmanship of the instrument to a supreme ordeal. Consequently the
greatest care has to be exercised in the selection of material, the
fashioning of the component parts, and their fitting together. Only
the best seasoned mahogany can be utilised to withstand the strains of
warping, shrinking, and expansion under extremes of heat and cold, and
climatic fluctuations.

In the ordinary stand camera used for still-life work, there is a
bellows which can be racked to and fro to enable the subject to be
focussed sharply upon the ground glass screen. The cinematograph camera
has no bellows, and there is no fixed screen for focussing purposes. In
the simpler and cheaper cameras, suited to amateur use, the operator is
not troubled with focussing details at all, the lens being of a fixed
focus as in certain types of snap-shot hand cameras; but in the more
expensive instruments, designed for producing the finest classes of
work, focussing facilities are incorporated.

In order to grasp the operation of the camera, we will open the hinged
door with which it is provided on one side, and gain access to its
interior mechanism. It would be invidious to select any special type of
camera, inasmuch as they all work more or less upon the same principle,
the differences being only in minor details.

By reference to the illustration it will be seen that the apparatus is
in three main parts. The rear half of the cabinet carries two square
compartments, _A_ and _B_, one above the other. These are for the two
film boxes, _A_ carrying the unexposed, and _B_ the exposed film. It
will be noticed that the cinematograph works upon the system of roller
photography. Indeed, it might be described almost as a semi-automatic
application of the familiar snap-shot camera using roll-films.

[Illustration: THE FILM-MOVING MECHANISM OF A CINEMATOGRAPH CAMERA.

The spool of unexposed film is carried in dark box A. From this it
is led over sprocket D, through the “gate” between the lens and the
focussing tube C, where it is exposed. The film is then jerked down the
depth of a picture through the gate by claws F, over sprocket and into
exposed film box B, where it is wound on a bobbin. E is the eye-piece
of the focussing tube.]

The lens is set centrally in the front face of the camera, and carries
a screw, by means of which focussing is effected by moving the lens
itself to and fro a short distance within a horizontal tube, which
corresponds to the bellows in the ordinary camera. In addition it
is fitted with stopping facilities working upon the well-known Iris
principle, whereby the size of the aperture may be increased or
diminished by a rectilinear movement. Behind the lens, and on a line
with it in the interior, a tubular connection _C_ extends transversely
through the width of the camera to the rear, and through the outer wall
to the external face of the case. This is the focussing tube, into
which the operator looks through the small circular orifice _E_ in the
back face of the camera, known as the eye-piece.

The mechanism by which, with an intermittent motion, the film is
jerked forward three-quarters of an inch after each exposure, is of
the simplest design. The film as it issues through a narrow slit from
the unexposed film box _A_, is passed under a small guide roller,
having a smooth face. Thence it passes upwards over a second roller
and down under the sprocket wheel, the teeth of which engage with the
perforations in the edges of the film, and thus guide it forward. As
the film passes upwards from the sprocket wheel, it is kept in mesh by
another guide roller, which maintains an easy pressure upon the film to
keep it in contact with the wheel, this grip being ensured under the
tension of a spring. The roller is mounted on the end of a small lever,
which can be moved slightly so as to release the grip upon the sprocket
wheel in order to insert the film. The arrangement adopted enables the
contact roller to ride over any variations in the thickness of the
films should such exist--a remote possibility in view of the wonderful
mathematical accuracy with which the films are made to-day. It is
impossible for the film to jump the sprocket wheel, even when the
machine is run at a very high speed. The contact roller is so mounted,
however, that it offers no resistance to the free passage of the film.

The film now passes behind the lens for exposure, travelling through
what is known as the “gate,” which consists of two parts, one fixed and
rigid, the other having a slight swinging movement. By means of the
gate the film is guided evenly into position, and held rigidly behind
the lens during exposure. The swinging part of the gate is clamped to
the fixed section by means of a spring catch, so that when the gate
is closed the film is imprisoned between two sheaths which hold it
firmly, and keep the surface flat and even during exposure. The end of
the focussing tube _C_ presses against the moving part of the gate and
tends to hold it rigid.

The film is pulled through the gate by an ingenious plan. There are
two claws or hooks _F_, the points of which engage with a perforation
on either side of the film. These two fingers are controlled by an
up-and-down cam movement attached to the bottom sprocket. As the latter
revolves, the hooks are lifted and carried upward. Reaching the limit
of their upward travel, they drop upon the film, clutching it by the
perforations, and as the claw action has a sharp downward movement,
the gripped film is pulled down suddenly and smartly through the gate
three-quarters of an inch at a time. The extent of the downward travel
reached, the claws are lifted so as to disengage with the film, are
swung upwards once more, and the same cycle of operations is repeated
until the whole length of film has been exposed.

After the exposure is made, the film passes downwards and through
mechanism which is almost a duplicate of that immediately above the
lens. It passes under the rocking contact roller, which keeps the
perforations meshed with the teeth on the sprocket wheel, after
passing round which it continues under a guide roller, and enters the
lower film box _B_, where it is wound on a bobbin.

Action is imparted by the rotary movement produced by the turning
of the handle through suitable mechanism, which is carried in a
small space on the opposite side of the camera to that containing
the film. The handle, however, not only supplies the drive to the
intermittent film moving action, but also rotates the shutter steadily
and continuously, through gearing. The shutter is mounted in a small
special compartment behind the lens and in front of the film. It is
adjustable; that is, the opaque sector can be increased or reduced
in area so as to increase or diminish the size of the opening; thus
the period of exposure can be varied according to the light, and as a
supplement to the stopping down of the lens. The gearing is practically
the same in all English cinematograph cameras, namely, 8 to 1, and
the turning speed should be two revolutions per second, which is
practically the slowest speed permissible.

The preparation of the camera for exposure is as follows. The operator
has selected his working position, and the camera has been set up
rigidly and firmly on its tripod, so that no oscillation can occur
during exposure. The side of the camera is opened, and the loaded
film box, from the slit in the bottom of which the end of the film
protrudes, is slipped into the upper compartment.

Next the subject is focussed. The eye-piece of the focussing tube
is made telescopic, as a rule, so that it can be extended a slight
distance from the back face of the camera case to facilitate focussing;
it is fitted invariably with a light-tight screw cap or gravity fall
shutter, which closes over the eye-piece so that no light may enter
through the tube to fog the film. For focussing purposes a piece of
transparent film with a rough “Matt” surface is used. This is inserted
in the film gate to act in the same way as the ground glass screen in
the ordinary stand camera. The object is focussed by turning the screw,
which racks the lens forward or backward as desired. When the picture
appears sharp and clearly defined the matt film is removed, the cap is
replaced on the eye-piece, and the latter is pushed home flush with the
surface of the wood casing.

The film is now threaded. It will be observed that a slight loop is
made at either end of the gate. This is necessary in order to give
sufficient play to the film to enable the latter to be jerked down
without any strain with each movement of the hook-claws behind the
lens. If it were pulled directly off the top sprocket the film would
be torn. The loops are kept constant, the upper being connected to the
lower sprocket through mechanism so that they revolve simultaneously.
Consequently three-quarters of an inch of film is fed into the top loop
gate at the same time as three-quarters of an inch of film is jerked
through the lower side of the gate.

In loading, care must be taken that the sensitised surface is brought
towards the lens, and that the object is not taken through the
thickness of the celluloid base. In order to thread the film through
the gate the focussing tube is pushed back slightly--it is made
telescopic for the purpose--the spring catch of the gate is released,
and the moving part swung back. The film is now slipped into the
gate, care being taken to see that the hooks of the device whereby
it is intermittently pulled down after each exposure engage with the
perforations. The gate is now closed, and the focussing tube under the
action of a spring returns to its original position. Finally the film
is led into the unexposed film box, where it is secured by a clip to
the spindle of the reel. The box is shut, the handle is given a turn
to make sure that the mechanism runs evenly and smoothly, and then the
camera is closed, all being ready for taking the pictures.

There is a popular impression that the operation of the cinematograph
camera is as simple as turning a coffee-mill or a barrel-organ, and
that the cinematographer has nothing else to do but to revolve the
crank. Never was there a greater fallacy.

[Illustration: PAUL’S COMPLETE DEVELOPING, PRINTING AND DRYING OUTFIT.]

[Illustration: THE FIRST DEVELOPING ROOM IN GREAT BRITAIN, AT ROBERT
PAUL’S PIONEER FILM MANUFACTORY.

                                                  _See page 77._
]

Turning the handle appears remarkably easy at first sight, but a short
trial proves that appearances are deceptive. It is essential that
the handle should be rotated at uniform speed, and occasionally it is
no easy matter to resist the desire to slow down. For instance, when
a funeral is passing, there is an almost irresistible inclination to
slacken speed. The amateur responds to this desire, and is astonished
at the dislocated character of his pictures when projected upon the
screen. As a matter of fact, the slowest funeral procession has to be
taken with the same number of revolutions per second, and the same
number of exposures--sixteen pictures per second--as an express train
travelling at 60 miles an hour; the crawl of the tortoise has to be
photographed just as rapidly as a horse race, in order to secure
natural motion. If a subject has been photographed too slowly it cannot
be corrected by accelerating the speed in projection. The judgment of
the actinic value of the sunlight, and the requisite stop for the lens,
as well as the adjustment of the shutter, are factors which only can be
determined from experience.

[Illustration: AFTER DEVELOPMENT AND WASHING THE FILMS WERE TRANSFERRED
FROM THE RACKS TO THE CYLINDERS.]

[Illustration:

                          [_Photos by permission of Robert Paul._

THE DRYING ROOM, SHOWING FILMS WOUND ON THE DRYING DRUMS.

                                                  _See page 77._
]

Possibly the box _A_ contains a roll of film measuring 300 feet,
whereas the subject photographed only demands the exposure of 60 or 100
feet. Then one makes a few punch marks on the film by the manipulation
of a small brass knob projecting from the outside of the camera, and
marked “film punch.” When the film reaches the developing room, the
operators working in the ruby light can tell by these marks the ends of
a series of exposures.

When the upper box has been exhausted of film, the lower box, now
charged with exposed film, is removed, the empty upper box is slipped
out of its compartment and re-inserted into the lower recess, to serve
in turn as a receptacle for film after exposure, and a fresh loaded
film-box is placed in the upper space, the mechanism being threaded
as before. The operator can ascertain at a glance how much film still
remains to be used, because on the outside of the case is a dial which
registers in feet the amount of film exposed, and which is set to zero
whenever a fresh box of film is inserted.

The task of the operator is increased in difficulty where the subject
being taken is moving at great speed horizontally and vertically at
the same time, when the object passes in a very short while beyond the
field of the lens, and in order to secure a good record the operator
must follow the movements steadily and smoothly in such a way as to
keep the object near the centre of the picture. The development of
aviation has taxed the capabilities of the cinematographer to a supreme
degree; for in photographing moving objects in the air the camera has
to be trained in two directions at the same time.

For this work a special tripod is required. It has a flat table, but by
means of two gear wheels the camera can be swung round panoramically,
that is, in a horizontal direction, while another wheel will move it
up or down through as large a vertical arc as required. Rigidity and
freedom from oscillation are essential to secure sharp, well-defined
pictures, and consequently this moving table has to be of massive
construction, while the worm and wheel gearing has to be heavy to
ensure steady movement. The camera is fitted with a direct view finder,
whereby the operator can train his instrument so as to keep the subject
well in the picture. Both horizontal and vertical training movements
are carried out by means of hand-wheels.

One of the finest examples of the operator’s skill that I have ever
seen was a film of Wilbur Wright’s flying exploits in France, on the
occasion of his first visit to Europe. The camera was manipulated
by two men. One concentrated his energies on the revolution of the
photographing handle, while the other, with his eyes glued to a special
direct view-finder devised for this particular operation, kept the
camera steadily and regularly trained both horizontally and vertically
upon the aviator as he described his evolutions in the air. Their joint
efforts were so successful that they produced a film free from that
dislocated or jerky action which as a rule characterises the lateral
or vertical movement of the camera while exposures are being made; the
results were just as if the camera had been kept stationary during the
whole time.

The ordinary tripod is used generally for outdoor work. Many American
and Continental film producers, however, resort to a special type of
support for the camera in the studio or for indoor operations, such
as the filming of plays. This is a solid metal pillar, recalling a
machine-gun mounting, fitted with wheels to facilitate movement from
point to point, and other adjusting devices. It is an excellent support
for indoor work, as it ensures a solid foundation for the camera, free
from vibration. In many instances the camera is driven by an electric
motor.

It is sometimes desirable to secure two negative records of an
important event or subject, so that, should one film prove defective,
the mechanism break down, or the film be damaged or destroyed, the
duplicate is available and prevents a total loss. For this purpose the
camera is in duplicate, though contained within a single case, with two
lenses mounted side by side as in a stereoscopic camera. Both sets of
mechanism are operated by the single handle, and one person suffices
for the operation of the instrument.

Within a few years, cinematography has widened its sphere of usefulness
in a novel and unexpected way. Forty years ago no expedition of
importance set out without some member who possessed artistic ability,
that pictorial records of the life and character of the new country
might be brought back to civilisation. As photography developed, the
artist of palette and brush was superseded by a man armed with a
camera. To-day the latter gives way in his turn to the cinematographer,
who brings back to us marvellous animated pictures of the remote and
unknown corners of the globe.

An ingenious camera has been devised for this especial field of
enterprise. It contains a unique feature that had not been previously
applied to the art. Two investigators, Newman and Sinclair, by dint
of considerable experiment and labour, have succeeded in producing
a moving-picture camera with a reflex attachment, and this without
increasing the size of the case, or interfering with the action of
the short-focus lenses. By means of this apparatus focussing can be
accomplished in fifteen seconds, without disturbing the film in the
gate, which is threaded up, ready for use, before the camera is taken
from the dark room. In this way the camera can be operated in much
less time than is possible by means of the ordinary cinematographic
apparatus.

As may be seen from the diagram, Fig. 6, the internal mechanism of this
handy little camera differs radically from the description given in
the first part of the present chapter. The two film boxes are placed
side by side instead of one above the other. The film goes into and
out of them through narrow mouths, which, when the camera is closed
and light-tight, are automatically increased in size to facilitate the
passage of the film, and automatically decreased again when the camera
is re-opened. In order to see, arrange, and focus the picture, it is
only necessary to raise a knob on the top of the camera, which renders
the image visible by means of a magnifying eye-piece without disturbing
the film. The shutter is also adjusted from the outside of the camera,
and can be closed to give an exposure of 1/100th of a second.

[Illustration: FIG. 6.--THE NEWMAN-SINCLAIR REFLEX MOVING PICTURE
CAMERA.]

This camera is one of the most compact, portable, and lightest
cinematograph instruments yet evolved for the purposes of hard work.
It is designed to carry either 400 or 500 feet of film, and, when a
picture is finished, the end of the subject on the film is indicated
by a device which cuts a tongue-shaped opening in the film, and which
can be readily detected by touch when the film is uncoiled in the
dark room. It is an ideal instrument for travellers, explorers,
scientists, and others to whom quick work is imperative. Its many
excellent qualities received recognition from Captain R. Scott, R.N.,
who included it in the scientific equipment for the latest British
Antarctic expedition.

For special work, the usual form of camera is altered in certain
details, or equipped with special devices. Such modification is
emphasised particularly for the purpose of taking trick pictures, to
which subject reference is made in subsequent chapters.




CHAPTER VIII

DEVELOPING AND PRINTING THE PICTURES


The history of the cinematograph impresses upon us at every turn the
necessity which experimenters were under of devising special facilities
and improved apparatus in all of the numerous fields that impinged upon
their work. They were obliged to break ground in every direction. For
instance, besides securing the right kind of film, they had also to
find the best means of developing it. A thin, narrow ribbon of pictures
40 feet in length is a vastly different thing to handle from a rigid
glass plate. Its flexibility presented many perplexing obstacles which
had to be overcome. Those who used the old roll film with the snap-shot
hand-camera of the early days, can relate pathetic and humorous
stories of the trials and tribulations they suffered in passing
the awkward length of film through the developing and other baths.
When it was unwound from the roller preparatory to immersion in the
developing solution, it persisted in buckling and twisting into strange
contortions. Development was carried out in an uneven or patchwork
manner, some parts of the film being fully developed before others had
betrayed the slightest sign of yielding the latent image.

The plight of the animated photographer was even more unenviable;
the handling of sensitised celluloid about as thick as a substantial
wooden shaving, was infinitely more exasperating than that used in
the ordinary hand camera, for the latter was wider, thicker, and far
shorter.

The developing methods at first advocated were of the crudest nature
possible. Messrs. Lumière tried to assist the tyro by comprehensive
explanation of a very simple way to carry out the task. They suggested
suspending the coil of exposed film upon a rod slipped through the
centre of the bobbin to form a kind of spindle, upon which the coiled
film was free to revolve over the bath. The operator was then told to
unwind the coil very rapidly by hand, passing it into the bath between
the fingers, which acted as a guide.

It appeared an absurdly simple operation, but without considerable
practice it defied success. One had to be extremely careful not to
damage the delicate sensitised emulsion of the film while uncoiling it;
that no greasy matter, such as perspiration from the fingers, might
come into contact with the gelatine surface; and no bubbles must be
produced while feeding the slippery strip into the bath. Mr. Robert
Paul experienced these troubles, and displayed considerable ingenuity
in the evolution of special means to avoid them. The efficiency of his
method is proven by the fact that in the main it is practised to this
day.

[Illustration: _By courtesy of Messrs. Butcher & Sons, Ltd._

FIG. 7.--HOW THE FILM IS WOUND UPON THE WOODEN FRAME FOR DEVELOPING.]

His solution of the problem was simple, safe, and satisfactory from
every point of view. He took a light, square wooden frame, similar to
that in Fig. 7, which rested loosely upon two uprights in such a way
that it could revolve. The free end of the film was fixed to one side
of the frame, and the film was then passed from one side to the other,
as if being wound upon a wheel, as it was uncoiled from the spool, the
inner end of the film being likewise secured to the frame. This rack
was dipped first into a vertical tank to soak the film, and then was
placed in a flat tank or trough to be developed in the same way as an
ordinary glass plate. By this means every part of the exposed surface
was developed equally. Development carried to the requisite degree, the
frame was withdrawn, washed, and finally immersed in the fixing tank,
which was of the same horizontal design. When the image was fixed it
was placed in another tank and received a thorough washing, to remove
all traces of the fixing solution, as in the ordinary developing
process. This task completed, the film was uncoiled from the flat
rack to be re-coiled upon a wooden drum, which was suspended from the
ceiling in the drying chamber, until the film was dry and hard.

As may be supposed, different factories practise different methods
of carrying out this operation. Nowadays a film may be as much as
300 or 400 feet in length, and consequently special methods have to
be employed. I have been in some establishments where development is
carried out upon an extensive scale, in which the films, as withdrawn
from the camera film box, are wound at once upon a large wooden
reel, seven feet or so in length, suspended upon brackets above the
developing bath. When the drum has received its full length of film
it is lowered into a deep tank containing the desired solution, and
there kept revolving slowly and steadily until the treatment has been
completed. Then the reel is withdrawn by two men and lowered into the
next bath; and so on until at last the reel finds its way into the
drying room, where the film is uncoiled from the developing drum and
re-wound upon the drying reel. The disadvantage of this process is that
two men are required to handle the reel, whereas, when a frame is used,
one pair of hands is sufficient.

[Illustration: THE DEVELOPING ROOM AT THE PATHÉ WORKS.

The films are wound upon wooden frames and immersed in large tanks
containing the various solutions.]

The developing and printing rooms in a large film-picture factory
are highly interesting hives of activity. Large troughs and tanks
containing the various solutions are on every hand, together with
adequate supplies of running water. Everything, of course, is carried
out in semi-darkness, the only light available being that emitted from
ruby lamps. The fixing solution after it has served its purpose is
not thrown away, but is subjected to a chemical treatment to recover
the bromide of silver which the hyposulphite of soda has dissolved
from the sensitised emulsion on the film. The silver in suspension is
precipitated by chemical action in a thick sediment. In large works
this recovery process is profitable, several pounds of this metallic
silver being secured every week.

[Illustration: THE DRYING ROOM AT THE PATHÉ WORKS.

This illustration shows the wooden frames upon which the lengths of
film are wound and the overhead racks from which they are suspended.]

The solution employed for development is either a combination of
hydroquinone and metol, or a bath of rodinal, developing agents which
are familiar to the amateur photographer, while the fixing bath is a
solution of hyposulphite of soda. The developing formula is modified
by various firms as a result of individual investigation. The drying
operation is one that has to be carried out very carefully; the
temperature of the chamber must be evenly maintained, and the air which
is circulated through the room must be filtered before admission, in
order to arrest all particles of dust which otherwise might settle upon
the gelatine surface and wreak appreciable damage.

In the early days the fickle character of the film was a serious
difficulty. If it were dried too rapidly it evinced a tendency to
curl, and severe shrinkage often ensued. To guard against this trouble
the film was glycerined before being dried, by being passed through a
bath containing a solution of glycerine and alcohol. The improvements
effected in the manufacture of the film, however, have enabled this
subsidiary treatment to be dispensed with. In cases where a topical
film must be rushed out quickly to catch the public in the height of
its interest, however, drying is accelerated by subjecting the film to
a bath of alcohol in some form or other.

Although a spool of film, measuring perhaps 300 feet in length, is
handed over for development, possibly that 300 feet carries two, four,
or more exposures, _i.e._, different sections were exposed at different
times, on different days, or under different conditions of light, &c.
The camera operator has indicated the end of each exposure by means of
the camera punch. When the developing operator receives the spool, he
first searches for such marks as he uncoils the film, and the latter
is severed at those points, and each exposure is developed separately.
When the developing process is completed, therefore, the film relating
to one subject is in a fragmentary condition. These odds and ends
have to be sorted out, all useless parts cut away, and then arranged
in sequence and joined together to form a continuous band containing,
in the ordinary case, the whole subject. If the series of pictures
runs into two or three thousand feet, the aggregate will be divided
into 1,000 feet sections, which is the approximate capacity of the
spool mounted on the projector. The sections are united by means of a
transparent cement, known as amyl-acetate.

When the negative is dry and the gelatine surface has hardened enough
to permit the sections to be handled and joined together, the next
stage is taken in hand. This is printing the positive. Obviously a
printing frame, such as the amateur uses for printing from a single
glass plate, is quite out of the question with a negative several
hundred feet in length. Invention born of necessity has met this
question in a novel manner, and the printing process is one of the
most interesting phases in the preparation of a picture. Considerable
mechanical ingenuity has been displayed, and various types of printing
machines produced; but for the purposes of explaining the subject most
lucidly and comprehensively two typical machines will suffice. Before
printing, however, the raw film or stock intended for the purposes of
the positive or transparency must be perforated, an operation which is
similar to that followed in perforating the negative film.

Printing is carried out by contact; that is to say, the sensitised
surface of the positive film is pressed tightly against the emulsion
side of the negative film at the instant the exposure is made. One
image is printed at one time. The two films are given an intermittent
action, the consecutive images on the negative film and the
corresponding sections of sensitised surfaces on the positive film
being brought before the illuminant during the brief period that the
light is cut off from the printing box by the passage of the shutter.

[Illustration: FIG. 8--FRONT AND SIDE VIEWS OF NEWMAN-SINCLAIR PRINTING
APPARATUS.]

In the Newman-Sinclair apparatus, Fig. 8, the negative film is wound
upon spool 1, while the positive film is carried on spool 2, both being
supported upon the projecting bracket 3. The negative passes over the
guide roller _A_, and descends with the positive film to the toothed
sprocket 4. At this point the two films are brought together with the
gelatine surfaces inside, while the teeth of the sprocket mesh with the
perforations in each. The two films pass from this sprocket, form a
loop, and together enter the gate, which clamps them tightly and flatly
together, with their respective perforations exactly coinciding.

At the point where the two films come opposite the aperture through
which passes the light from the lamp, there is a mask, by which the
position of the picture relative to the exposure hole is corrected.
The mask also determines the shape of the positive picture. It may
be rectangular, oval, circular, or have rounded corners as desired.
Immediately behind the film, in line with the exposing aperture, is a
red screen, over which a shutter slides. When this shutter is opened,
the operator can see the negative image through the positive film,
and thus can ascertain that the position of the picture is correct in
relation to the exposure aperture, and also that the perforations on
the two films are in synchrony. The light by which the exposure is made
is contained in a light-tight box, or may be placed on the outside of
the wall of the printing room, an aperture being cut in the partition
to admit the light to the printing apparatus, which is screwed to the
wall. Between the light and the film there is a revolving shutter, as
in the camera, which cuts off the light intermittently, enabling the
succeeding negative image and area of positive film to be brought into
position before the exposure orifice.

[Illustration: A ROW OF PRINTING MACHINES IN THE ROME WORKS OF THE
CINES COMPANY.

This establishment is able to print 100,000 feet of film per day.]

The film is drawn through the machine by a pair of fingers or claws
which engage with the perforations of the two films and pull them
downwards together. As the pictures are printed, the negative and
positive films pass into boxes or other suitable receptacles to be
re-wound on their respective spools. The machine can be operated either
by hand or power according to the requirements of the establishment.
As the sensitised surface of the positive film is slower than that of
the negative, printing is carried out at a reduced speed, the average
recommended with this apparatus being about five pictures per second.

Another printing machine has been recently produced which is regarded
as the simplest, most mechanically perfect, most compact, and
self-contained apparatus yet devised for this work, and which compels
attention as much from its efficiency as from the point of view of
mechanical excellence. This is the Williamson printer. It is a complete
unit, and can be moved from place to place with facility.

[Illustration: THE WILLIAMSON PRINTING MACHINE.

For making the positive films.--_For explanation see page 82._]

It comprises a large rectangular box or cabinet, standing on one end.
The front face carries the printing mechanism, while the interior,
divided into two compartments, contains the driving mechanism and the
illuminating agency for printing. The apparatus is so designed that
after printing the films are wound upon separate spools at once, thus
saving time, and dispensing with the necessity of a box or basket to
gather the loose films, which is both a dangerous and an unsatisfactory
process, inasmuch as the films are liable to become damaged by curling
and cracking, and through the surfaces rubbing against one another.

The negative film is placed upon the spool _A_ immediately below
which is the positive film spool _B_. The sensitised surfaces of the
two films face one another, and the two are brought together as they
pass under the grip rollers and over the toothed sprocket _C_, where
the teeth mesh with the perforations in the respective films. Issuing
from this sprocket a loop is formed, and then the films enter the gate
_D_ over the printing aperture. This gate is side-hinged, and when
closed it presses evenly upon the whole surface of the films under
exposure, ensuring a perfect even contact. There is a small red screen
_E_, which, when released by means of a small lever, drops down, thus
enabling the negative to be examined without danger of the positive
film being fogged in the operation. By this means the printer can
satisfy himself that the picture is central to the exposure hole.

As the picture is printed, a simple claw device _F_, resembling two
hooked fingers, engages with the perforations in the two films and
draws them downwards. This claw device is of very simple construction,
working on a cam, so that when the film has moved downwards the proper
distance--sufficient to bring the succeeding picture and its area of
unexposed positive film before the printing aperture--the fingers
disengage themselves from the films, rise, and move upwards to drop
into other perforations and repeat the operation.

As the film descends, it forms a loop, and passes under a double
smooth-faced roller and a toothed sprocket _G_, at which point the two
films part company, the positive to be wound upon the bobbin _H_, while
the negative film is wound upon the lower bobbin _I_. These lower
spools are driven by belt and pulleys from a bevel gear wheel, which
carries a spindle actuating the claw giving the intermittent movement
to the films, and which by means of another spindle rotates the upper
and lower sprockets _C_ and _G_ so that the loops above and below the
gate remain constant. By this arrangement no pull or strain is imposed
upon the films by the sprockets, which act merely as guides and not
tractive devices.

The compartment _J_ is lined with asbestos, and contains the illuminant
by means of which the printing is done. An electric lamp of 50
candle-power, having a filament in the form of a grid, is placed
directly opposite the window through which the exposures are made. This
lamp is mounted upon a slide controlled by a lever on a quadrant on
the face of the machine, by means of which it may be moved as required
from 2 inches to 10 inches from the printing window. The power of the
light may be varied according to the density of the negative by means
of a controller, which increases or decreases its intensity in much
the same way as a gas jet can be turned up or down, it being possible
to secure six variations in light intensity ranging between 16 and 50
candle-power. When the door of the chamber is closed the compartment is
perfectly light-tight, though ample ventilation is secured.

The lower compartment _K_ carries the electric motor by means of
which the apparatus is driven, and the speed of printing is altered
at will by means of a controller. The motor is of 1/12 horse-power,
and six direct speeds can be obtained. The drive is communicated to
the mechanism through a system of cone pulleys, which enable three
speeds to be obtained; and as each of these three speeds can be given
one of the six speeds of the motor by means of the regulating switch
or controller, the apparatus can be driven at eighteen different
speeds, according to requirements. Wide range of action, combined with
simplicity of control, characterise this apparatus. The printing speed
varies according to the density of negative and the intensity of the
light, but the average speed in printing from a normal negative is
about 500 exposures of pictures per minute.

The positive film, after being exposed, is developed by a method
similar to that used for the negative. Both these developing processes
demand considerable skill and experience in order to ensure the best
possible results. An accomplished developer, like his colleague
working with glass plates, can rectify many deficiencies arising
during exposure. The camera operator often has to work under the most
adverse conditions concerning light, and it is the task of the man in
the dark room to obtain the utmost from a poor negative. By care and
attention, combined with experience and knowledge, he will be able
to improve, make up for under-exposure, and mitigate the evils due
to over-exposure. It will be realised that development is the most
critical stage in the whole operation, for upon the manner in which
it is carried out much of the excellence and merit of the projected
picture depends.

The fact that the cinematograph camera is being regarded more and
more as an indispensable unit in the impedimenta for travelling and
exploring expeditions has resulted in attention being devoted to the
perfection of a small portable developing outfit to enable films to
be developed at once, instead of sending them home for treatment, as
hitherto has been the case. The “N.S.” developing apparatus is an
excellent appliance of this character. It has been taken by Captain
Scott, R.N., upon his Antarctic expedition, and forms part of the
photographic outfit carried by Mr. Cherry Kearton upon his travels.
The developing apparatus consists of a rotating cylinder and two or
more semi-circular troughs. The film is wound spirally upon the drum,
being held in position by means of wire staples, and the apparatus is
so designed that the drum with its film can be moved from one trough
to the other by the simple movement of a lever. The design of the
apparatus ensures economy in the quantity of developer required. Three
pints of solution are sufficient to treat 75 feet of film, and the bath
can be thrown away when work is finished or bottled for further use.

After washing, the film is wound upon a collapsible drum, which folds
into a small space when not in use. The outfit is made of pine, with
waterproofed joints, the whole of the woodwork being treated with
paraffin wax to render it impervious to the action of chemicals and
moisture. When packed, the apparatus, capable of dealing with 50 feet
of film, measures 3½ feet in length, by 26 inches wide, and 18 inches
deep. The outer packing constitutes the support for the apparatus when
in operation.

Waste is absolutely unavoidable in the cinematograph industry, and
no matter how carefully operations may be conducted, it is bound to
assume impressive proportions. In a travelling expedition the operator
records pictures of what he deems to be sufficiently interesting from
various points of view--scenic, ethnographic, historical, or merely
anecdotal and humorous. When the films are developed and a trial
positive is struck for projection before the powers that be, to receive
official approbation and sanction to enter the market, the critics in
the private projecting room sometimes fail to see eye to eye with the
cinematographer, and deem this and that to be lacking in the essentials
which render a film attractive to the public. Accordingly, these
sections are eliminated. From 300 to 3,000 feet may be destroyed in
this manner.

The waste is still greater in the filming of picture plays. Sometimes a
scene, occupying 100 or 150 feet of film, will have to be photographed
three or four times. I once saw a scene, taking 200 feet of film,
recorded six times before it gave satisfaction. It was a picture
involving the movements of a large crowd, and in five instances
something went wrong at one point or another, despite the fact that
rehearsals had been prosecuted with such energy and persistence that
at last everything appeared to move with the precision of the wheels
of a watch. A thousand feet of film were spoiled in this particular
case, which, at an average of 1½_d._ (three cents) a foot, represented
a waste of £6 or $30 in film alone. Yet this is by no means an isolated
instance; the proportion often approximates 20 per cent.; that is to
say, 200 feet out of 1,000 feet are useless. The bigger the production
being recorded, the heavier the waste in this direction.

When the positives have been dried and hardened sufficiently to enable
them to be handled, they are sent to a room where the different
sections are identified and allotted to their positions in the subjects
to which they belong. The sections are joined together, the lengths
of film bearing the explanatory sub-titles are inserted in the proper
places, and the whole subject, after a final examination, is wound upon
a spool ready for the market. The examination of the films is carried
out rigorously, those suffering from the slightest blemish or coming
below the firm’s standard being discarded.

It has been seen from the foregoing that the preparations for
developing and printing are somewhat elaborate, and demand expensive
apparatus in order to insure the most satisfactory results. These
considerations react against the amateur cinematographer. But should
one fall a victim to the fascinating glamour of cinematography, one
need not apprehend difficulties in connection with developing and
printing. There is no necessity to acquire perforators, to establish
a complete developing room, or to invest in a printing machine. The
majority of cinematograph manufacturing establishments undertake to
develop negatives, and to supply positive prints ready for projection
at a nominal figure. It is far better to entrust the work to a skilled
staff, who can be trusted to handle the film successfully, than to
attempt to wrestle with unknown difficulties with a serpent-like film
200 feet long, in the murky gloom of the dark room.




CHAPTER IX

HOW THE PICTURES ARE SHOWN UPON THE SCREEN.


Having obtained the positive film, with its string of consecutive
pictures, we now proceed to reproduce upon a large scale the animation
which has been, so to speak, harnessed by the camera. For this purpose
three essentials are necessary--a projecting apparatus, a powerful and
brilliant illuminant, and a white surface or screen, upon which the
pictures are thrown.

In its general appearance the projector resembles the magic lantern,
which before the advent of the cinematograph held the field as a
favourite source of amusement. It has the small box or cabinet in
which the light is placed, and the condenser whereby the rays from the
illuminant are converged into a powerful beam to be thrown through
the picture and the lens upon the screen. This part of the apparatus
is practically the same as that required for the purpose of showing
still-life lantern slides. It is the mechanism required to bring the
consecutive pictures singly before the lens in rapid succession that
constitutes the real difference between the modern projector and the
old stereopticon.

The projecting mechanism has the same task as the camera for securing
the pictures. That is to say, a small section of film corresponding
to the dimensions of a picture has to be brought into position before
the lens in such a way as to permit the powerful concentrated beam
of light from the lantern to pass through it and throw an enlarged,
brilliant, and clearly defined picture upon the screen. The image rests
on the screen for the fraction of a second, to be followed by the
next picture. One does not observe the change from one picture to the
other, as there is a revolving shutter, the opaque blade or blades of
which cut across the screen at regular intervals. While the shutter
is passing the lens, thereby interrupting the passage of light to the
screen, the succeeding picture is brought into position; and when the
opaque blade has passed, it is exposed in its turn and makes way for
the next picture, this alternate action continuing until the end of the
film is reached. It will be seen that an intermittent motion has to be
given to the film in projection, in precisely the same manner as is
required in the camera for exposure.

Although the evolution of a smooth-working and perfect camera taxed
mechanical ingenuity to a high degree, the proportions of the task were
not to be compared with those involved in the design of the projector.
Many factors had to be taken into consideration. In the first place,
it was imperative that each picture should be superimposed exactly
upon its predecessor, that when the image reached the sheet it should
stand as steadily and as still for the minute fraction of a second as
if it were a lantern slide, and that the change from one picture to the
other should be carried out in such a way as to render the change as
imperceptible as possible to the spectator. In short, every effort had
to be made to reproduce by intermittent motion the effect obtainable
with the _camera obscura_.

The perfection of this illusion has demanded years of unremitting
experiment and research. When animated pictures first came before the
public they had a violent flickering, oscillating, and jumping motion,
which proved exceedingly painful to the eyes. The effect was somewhat
similar to that produced by gazing at a picture which is vibrating,
and blinking rapidly meanwhile, or when a flicker-disc is rotated very
rapidly before the limelight centred upon a stage scene and actors.

By dint of persistent effort and the perfection of mechanical details,
this serious flickering and jumping effect has been eliminated; that
is, so far as is possible with an apparatus designed to convey the
impression of continuous motion by intermittent action. The projecting
mechanism is of substantial design, while the moving parts subjected
to wear and tear are made of the strongest metals. The wear and
tear, however, is tremendous, and as all the moving parts are liable
to displacement they must be fitted with adjusting devices whereby
all slackness can be taken up and the apparatus be kept tuned to a
high pitch of efficiency. Great ingenuity has been displayed in the
conception and manufacture of these details, and the cinematograph
projector of to-day is a wonderful piece of mechanism.

[Illustration:

                    [_By courtesy of Messrs. Butcher & Sons, Ltd._

FIG. 9.--THE OPTICAL PRINCIPLE OF THE CINEMATOGRAPH.]

The optical principle of the cinematograph is exactly that of the magic
lantern. Reference to Fig. 9 will explain it fully. The illuminant is
represented by _L_ and the centre of the light is opposite the centre
of the condensers _C C_, which receive the rays and condense them, the
point of convergence being in the lens or objective _O_, from which
they pass out in the form of an expanding cone of light to fall upon
the screen. The rays in passing from the condensers penetrate the
picture _F_ on the film in position before the lens. It will be seen
that the lens has to be mounted so that its longitudinal axis is level
with the light. The distance of the light _L_ from the condensers, and
similarly the distance of the lens or objective _O_ from the picture
_F_ is governed by the focus of the objective.

It is obvious, therefore, that the picture to be projected must be
brought to a stop in a position central to the lens, and for this
purpose there is a film trap or gate, where it makes a momentary halt,
in precisely the same way that the unexposed film is arrested in its
progress through the camera.

The film to be projected is carried upon a spool mounted on an arm or
bracket above the mechanism, with the pictures upside down as in the
ordinary magic lantern. The spools used are of the open or the closed
type. The former is permissible in countries where there is no rigid
legislation governing cinematograph displays, or where non-inflammable
films are used; but in Great Britain the film must be wound upon a
spool enclosed in a metallic case, to provide protection against fire.
The best spool boxes are lined with asbestos, which ensures a greater
degree of safety.

From the spool the film is threaded over a toothed sprocket, which
engages with the perforations, and also under a spring grip roller
which keeps the film in contact with the sprocket. A loop is then
formed, and from this the film passes into the gate behind the lens.
This gate consists, as in the camera, of two pieces, one rigid, the
other swinging and hinged to the first, so that it may be opened to
enable the film to be introduced. When closed, the film is held flat
and rigid. As the shutter passes across the field of the lens, cutting
the picture off the sheet, the film is given a sharp jerk downwards
to bring the next picture into exactly the same position in the gate
before the lens as that occupied by the preceding image. The descending
film passes round a second toothed sprocket, with its grip roller, and
thence into the second spool box, where it is coiled upon the bobbin.
The machine is operated either by hand or by power and belting passing
over a pulley.

I have described the broad principle upon which the projector
operates; the details of the mechanism vary according to the ideas of
various makers. There are several excellent projecting mechanisms on
the market, each possessing departures in detail, to some of which
reference is made later.

The great difficulty was to impart intermittent motion to the
mechanism which feeds the film to the lens at regular intervals from a
continuous rotary drive, the handle being revolved at uniform speed.
It occurred to Paul, who was the first man in England to attack the
problem scientifically, that it might be feasible to employ the type of
intermittent gear used in watches, known as the Geneva stop. He decided
to adopt this mechanism.

The driving wheel when it completes a revolution falls into a notch
of the driven wheel, and in continuing its rotary movement moves the
latter forward the extent of one notch, but no more, owing to the
convex space between each notch, or concave rim of each tooth, which
coincides with the curve of the driving wheel and fits closely against
its circumference. When the driving wheel makes its second revolution
it engages with the second notch, and so on, with the result that in
this case the driving wheel makes seven revolutions to one of the
driven wheel. Each notch coincides with a picture; that is to say, each
time the driving wheel forces the second wheel forward one notch, a
picture on the film is brought before the lens for projection.

This novel gear gave the desired result, but it underwent considerable
modification, the number of teeth in the driven wheel being ultimately
reduced to four. The driving wheel was also altered. Instead of being
notched as in the Geneva stop movement, it was fitted with a pin,
which, when the wheel made a complete revolution, fell into one of the
deep notches in the driven wheel, and so moved it forward. By this
modification the gearing was reduced to 4 to 1; the driving wheel made
four revolutions to one of the driven wheel, and each notch of the
latter corresponded to a picture. Owing to the fact that the notches in
this driven wheel resemble a Maltese cross in form, the device became
known as the “Maltese Cross” movement. It is in use to-day. The notched
Maltese cross wheel is attached to the spindle of the sprocket wheel
below the lens, and the movement forward of one notch suffices to jerk
the film down smartly three-quarters of an inch or the depth of one
picture.

The advantage of this movement is that the film is pulled down very
quickly, and as a result the flicker is reduced to a negligible
quantity. The gear is noiseless and enables a very steady picture
to be obtained upon the screen. On the other hand, not being a true
mechanical movement, the forward motion of the film is accompanied by
a certain degree of shock, which not only imposes a strain upon the
fragile film, but at the same time sets up great wear and tear in the
mechanism itself.

For these reasons another system of bringing the film into place was
evolved. A wheel having an eccentric movement is introduced below
the film gate. This wheel carries a projecting roller, and with each
revolution the roller strikes the film which passes over the wheel, and
pulls it down the depth of a picture. This type of action is known as
the “dog” movement, and is incorporated in a variety of ways for the
purpose of facilitating the smooth and regular movement of the film
through the gate. Its disadvantages are that it is noisy; and secondly,
that it is almost impossible to secure a steady picture upon the
screen, as the dog strikes the film so smartly as to set up a vibration
which is communicated to the picture in the gate. But it is simpler
than the “Maltese cross” movement, while the wear and tear upon the
mechanism itself is so slight as to be almost non-existent.

These two movements have divided the cinematograph world into two
camps, one adhering to the “Maltese cross,” the other staunch in its
support of the “dog” movement. But the former appears to be increasing
in favour, despite its acknowledged defects. Some years ago Paul
indicated an improvement on it which demands attention because it
converts an indifferent mechanical movement into one scientifically
correct. The principle is shown in Fig. 10. Instead of having four
notches or slots in the driven wheel, as in the Maltese cross, he has
only three slots. The driving member _A_ has an arm _C_ carrying a
roller _E_ at its outer edge. The driving member _A_ when it completes
a revolution, enters the slot _c_ in the driven wheel _B_, and at the
moment of entering the slot is at a tangent to the circular path _a_
of _E_, with the result that the roller _E_ enters the slot without
setting up any shock whatever, carries the wheel _B_ round, and leaves
the slot at a similar tangent to its path, at the same time bringing
the next slot tangent to the path of the roller _E_ on arm _A_. Thus
the film is given increasing speed without the slightest strain, and as
the movement enables the images to be changed rapidly without jarring,
it is possible to reduce the period of eclipse to almost nothing.
For this reason, the opaque sector of the shutter can be cut down to
one sixteenth of the area of the circle described by the shutter.
With the other movements the sector of the shutter must cover at
least one-quarter of the superficies. In other words, the three-slot
wheel cuts down the period of eclipse to less than one-quarter of
that possible by any other mechanism, and as the sector only covers
one-sixteenth of the circle, the period of light thrown through the
film on to the screen is increased, with an accompanying increase of
brilliancy and a complete absence of flicker.

[Illustration: FIG. 10.--PAUL’S IMPROVED “CROSS” DRIVING MECHANISM.]

The shutter is one of the most important features of the projector. In
the majority of cases it is placed before the lens, but in the Gaumont
“chrono” machine it is placed between the condenser and the picture.
In order to secure the best results, the area of the opaque surface
covering the lens while the next picture is brought into position
should be reduced to the minimum, and the eclipsing action should be
so carried out as to reduce the flicker, which is directly due to
the cutting off of one picture to enable the next to be brought into
position. In the early days the shutter had one blade only; when a
brilliant light was used, the alternate periods of light and darkness
could be easily distinguished, and the eyes suffered accordingly. An
effort to remedy this disastrous effect was made by the introduction
of a violet-coloured sector of similar area to the opaque sector, and
set opposite to the latter, which gave the shutter the appearance of
a two-bladed propeller. This is effective to a certain degree; but it
has been superseded by a shutter having three blades. The shutter is
mounted upon a spindle in front of the lens, the distance therefrom
being determined by the focus of the objective.

The heat concentrated upon the film by the converging rays of light
from the condenser is tremendous. The effect is identical with that
produced by focussing the sun’s rays with a lens upon a piece of paper.
If the rays are permitted to play upon one part of the celluloid film
for four or five seconds it will become ignited. So long as the film is
moving little apprehension need be entertained; the danger arises when
the film is stopped to attempt focussing with a stationary picture,
or the film breaks during projection and stops in the gate. Several
disastrous catastrophes have arisen from the firing of the film during
projection. It is impossible to lay too great a stress upon the danger,
for the average operator is little more than a cog in the machine,
and fails to concentrate attention upon the work in hand so as to
anticipate and meet emergencies.

Manufacturers have tried to remove the danger by the evolution of what
is known as an automatic safety cut-off. This is a second shutter,
which, when the projector is at rest, drops between the light and
the lens. The shutter is connected to the balls of a governor. As the
revolving speed of the governor is increased by the turning of the
driving handle, the balls assume a horizontal circle of rotation, and
in so doing, lift the shutter until it rises clear of the aperture in
the gate, through which the light strikes the picture. In the same way,
as the revolving speed of the governor is decreased, the balls fall and
the shutter descends.

The introduction of this automatic cut-off is somewhat to be deplored.
It makes the operator less careful; he trusts blindly to his automatic
friend, which, though it functions admirably, is, like all such
mechanisms, liable to fail at a critical moment. When such a breakdown
does occur, the average operator is invariably caught napping, and the
film is fired before he realises what has happened. The older system,
whereby the cut-off, a shutter working upon a hinged flap principle,
had to be operated manually, was far safer. Its opening or closing
constituted a part of the cycle of operations in the preparations for
projection, thus calling for a definite movement on the part of the
operator.

The most efficient safety appliance yet associated with the projector
itself is the Urban-Joy-Harris anti-firing device, Fig. 11, a very
simple arrangement, whereby the rising and falling gate is converted,
to all intents and purposes, into a fire-proof box. When the film
is threaded through the gate, only that part before the lens, upon
which the light rays are converged, is exposed to the air on the side
nearest the light. On the opposite side the exposure hole is contained
in a tube, holding the lens, which consequently forms an air-tight
chamber upon that side. Should the film catch fire while stationary
in the gate, the air contained in the lens chamber _A_ becomes
heated suddenly, and expands, so that the products of combustion are
discharged through the exposure hole of _H_ into the air. The fire
cannot creep up and down the film, as small bars exactly above and
below the exposure hole successfully prevent such action.

[Illustration:

  FIG. 11--THE URBAN-JOY-HARRIS ANTI-FIRING DEVICE. THE DOTTED
        LINES SHOW ACTION OF MECHANISM CLOSING SHUTTER _C_ WHEN
        FILM _F_ BREAKS AT _K_.
]

In addition there is the Harris safety shutter, which in the event of
the film breaking below the gate, and thus preventing its own passage
owing to the interruption in the driving effort, shuts off the light
from the film, and also stops the electric motor, should the machine be
driven by electricity. This safety-shutter _B_ holds a semi-circular
flap _D_, which is connected by a small lever to a rectangular flap
_C_. The flap _D_ is so adjusted as to hang over the loop in the film
_E_ between the sprocket and the entrance to the film gate. Under
normal conditions the loop _E_ does not come into contact with the
shutter _D_, but when the film _F_ becomes broken below at _K_, the
loop _E_ is enlarged suddenly owing to the film not being able to pass
through the gate, with the result that it forces the flap _D_ to a
vertical position, and this in turn throws the flap _C_ down over the
exposure hole. There is a tube _I_ which contains about half-an-ounce
of mercury with an electrical contact at either end, the object of
which is to change the centre of gravity of the flap _D_, and also to
cut off the supply of electric energy to the motor. When the machine is
running smoothly this tube _I_ is in a horizontal position making the
electrical connection at either end, but when the flap _D_ rises, owing
to the enlargement of the loop _E_ in the film, the weight of mercury
is thrown to one end of the tube, causing it to cant in such a way as
to retain the flap _D_ in a vertical position. If the film should take
fire, only the picture before the lens is consumed. Even the perforated
edges remain untouched, so that the film is not severed, and can
continue its travel through the machine when the breakdown is repaired.

To supply the light necessary to projection, acetylene, the
oxy-hydrogen limelight, and the electric arc have all been used; but
the last is the illuminant most generally favoured. It enables the
maximum amount of light to be collected by the condenser. When the
projection of moving pictures was first attempted an arc light was
unavailable, because that form of lighting had not been adapted to
the magic lantern. The late T. C. Hepworth, the eminent authority
on the lantern, was wrestling with the problem, but there was no
commercial apparatus suited to the cinematograph. In using electric
light a resistance is required to absorb or dissipate in the form of
heat the current over and above that required for the light. Many
types of resistances have been devised for this purpose, to suit
varying requirements. This method of dealing with the surplus current
is, however, distinctly wasteful, and accordingly, where picture
projection is being carried out on a large scale, a motor generator is
adopted. The current derived from the supply main is utilised to drive
an electric motor, which in turn actuates a dynamo, whereby current
is furnished for the light. This seems a roundabout process, but it
effects a great economy in the consumption of electricity.

The mounting for the lantern is also important. As there is continual
movement in the mechanism owing to the communication of driving
effort, either by hand or by power, the mounting chosen must be of a
sufficiently massive character to absorb all the vibration set up.
Paul devised an iron pillar, to one side of the top of which the
lantern was fixed, while the projector was attached to the other.
The principle was similar to that used for the mounting of a machine
gun, and although the idea met with considerable criticism, yet Paul
succeeded in producing steadier pictures than were possible with other
forms of mounting. That his idea was sound is witnessed to-day, for
the principle he advocated has been resuscitated in the Brockliss
Motiograph, which is mounted on a rigid pillar, and undoubtedly throws
a steadier picture than is possible from any other system of supporting
the projector.

In the majority of projecting mechanisms a second lens is mounted
upon the frame, in line with and beside the cinematograph objective.
This second lens is used for the projection of lantern slides for the
illustration of a song, title announcement, or other purposes. In order
to bring the light of the lamp into line with this second lens the
lantern is moved bodily sideways the requisite distance; the projector
itself is not touched--it remains a rigid fixture.

Paul also adopted a driving system which might be revived profitably
to-day where manual operation is practised. Instead of the small handle
placed somewhat high, calling for quick rotation and fatiguing wrist
movement, he used a large wheel mounted at such a height that the
operator, when standing beside, had the lowest travel of the handle
almost at arm’s length. The wheel being of large diameter, a slow,
steady revolution was sufficient, which caused no fatigue, the drive
being transmitted through a pulley or chain to the projector. In many
of the latest picture palaces, however, the apparatus is driven by
an electric motor, which yields a more uniform speed and conduces to
steadier projection.

I will now take up the distinctive features of some of the best
known makes of projector. A comparison of the latest Edison model,
the “B Underwriter,” with the first kinetoscope, affords a striking
illustration of the advance of cinematography in twenty years. The new
machine is constructed throughout of metal, is wonderfully compact,
and the mechanism has been reduced to the acme of simplicity. All
moving parts subject to heavy wear and tear are made of lignum vitæ.
The shutter is of the three-bladed type, while the intermittent action
is conveyed by the Maltese Cross movement. Being rigidly mounted upon
a heavy stand, the picture projected is very steady and free from all
disconcerting lateral and vertical movement.

In the “Gaumont Chrono” projector, the salient characteristic, as I
have mentioned already, is the position of the shutter, which is placed
between the film and the condenser. The film-trap is worthy of notice
because it conduces very materially to the steadiness of the picture
thrown with this machine. The edges of the film are gripped by means
of burnished steel runners or vertical clamps, and they secure it in
position during exposure with the exact degree of tension required
to obtain steadiness, yet without hindering the travel of the film
through the gate, or inflicting injury upon the celluloid. The trap is
fitted with an asbestos shield, which serves to insulate the film while
passing through the trap from the intense rays of the light, which is
continually playing upon the metal around the exposure hole.

The dog movement has been adopted in this apparatus, but upon an
improved principle. Instead of striking the film one smart blow to jerk
it through the gate, it imparts a steady pushing action. The result is
that the film does not suffer any injury. A massive dog striking the
film heavily is apt to produce cracks across the perforations at the
points of impact, which in time become weak spots in the film. This
well-conceived machine has met with remarkable popularity among moving
picture theatres in this country; it is an excellent example of French
engineering skill, wherein lightness is combined with strength and
simplicity.

[Illustration:

  The projector and mechanism.     The complete projecting installation.

THE LATEST EDISON DEVELOPMENT IN CINEMATOGRAPHY.

This outfit is in striking contrast to the original “peep-hole” machine
facing page 32.]

The Ernemann “Imperator” projector commands deserved attention. It is
built stoutly so as to last and withstand rough usage. Steel forms
the constructional material throughout, and a noticeable feature is
that motion is communicated to all driving parts through heavy gearing.
In this machine the “Maltese Cross” movement has been brought to its
highest pitch of perfection, being of large substantial construction,
and so designed as to obviate the objections to its use. The driven
part is made of hardened silver steel, and there are means of taking
up all slack arising from wear directly it becomes manifest. Instead
of the cross being struck by a pin on the driving wheel, the latter
carries a roller which picks up the slotted wheel without jar or noise.
The mechanism is kept cool by running in an enclosed oil bath, which
tends to reduce the wear and tear to a minimum, while at the same time
the machine is light and easy running, a feature which appeals to the
operator.

[Illustration: THE “CHRONO” PROJECTOR.

The main feature of the Gaumont lantern is the position of the shutter
between the film and the light, instead of outside the lens.]

[Illustration:

                                                  _See page 319._

OUTSTRIPPING THE HUMAN EYE.

The Greene di-optic projector which shows on the sheet what the organ
of sight misses during blinking.]

Another machine which possesses many interesting points is the “Silent
Knight,” its chief claim to attention being, as its name implies,
quietness in running, combined with easy operation and steadiness of
the pictures projected. It has the fire-proof gate already described,
and also aluminium fire-proof spool boxes. The movement is the Maltese
Cross. Simplicity has been studied to the last degree, and the
necessity to withstand hard wear and tear, as well as rough handling in
inexperienced hands, has not been overlooked. All the vital parts are
made of chilled steel running in an oil bath, with the necessity for
adjustments reduced to the minimum, though capable of being carried out
easily when the necessity arrives.

The foregoing by no means exhausts the variety of machines on
the market. There is the Pathé machine, a masterpiece of French
manufacture; the Kamm projector, the “Empire,” remarkable for its many
ingenious devices to secure protection against fire, the chief of which
is a contrivance whereby the light is cut off automatically in the
event of the film breaking, although the machine is still running, and
so on. In every instance the direct aim is the evolution of a projector
which will produce an absolutely steady picture, free from flickering
and fluttering, and as noiseless in operation as human skill can
contrive. In this particular field England and the Continent are ahead
of the United States manufacturers. Except in one or two instances the
American product is distinctly inferior. It looks attractive, but its
results fail to stand comparison with the British and French machines.
The projecting features of the moving picture industry in the United
States have not advanced to the high state of excellency attained in
Europe.

In projecting, the pictures have to be thrown upon the screen at the
same speed as that at which they were taken by the camera, that is, if
steady continuous motion is to be secured. The average speed is, as
I have said, about sixteen pictures per second, and it is essential
that the handle should be rotated at a regular uniform pace. Outside
influences appear to exercise a distinct effect upon this manual
action, just as we have seen them do in the process of taking the
original picture. The musical accompaniment is likely to induce the
inexperienced operator inadvertently to accelerate or retard the speed
of projection. For this reason, power driving is coming more and more
into use, the motion being communicated to the mechanism by means of a
small electric motor. The results are far superior to those produced
by the average operator, though not comparable to projection by a
practised and intelligent hand. The latter can tell the approximate
speed at which the pictures were taken, and can adjust his speed to
a far greater nicety than is possible by a mechanical agency which
maintains a constant speed.




CHAPTER X

THE STUDIO FOR STAGING MOVING PICTURE PLAYS


When the cinematograph made its bow to the public the latter were
satisfied with the reproduction in animation of scenes and incidents
associated with every-day life--rather trivial unrehearsed incidents
which were void of newspaper interest. There was the shoeblack at work,
the firing of a big gun, athletes at practice, and so on. Humour was
presented in Mammy washing her young hopeful, a great favourite for
many years, likewise in a set of films depicting a mischievous youth
indulging in pranks with the garden hose.

But the popular taste changed in the course of time. The audience
became fastidious, and demanded novelty. There was a clamour for
picture-plays. The man in the street saw no reason why dramas,
tragedies, comedies and farces should not be reproduced in pantomime
upon the screen. This popular demand was by no means easy to meet.
Obviously plays could not be photographed upon the ordinary stage in
the theatre owing to difficulties of lighting. Special arrangements
would entail a certain outlay, to be entered upon without knowing
whether the results would justify the expense incurred. A further
complication lay in the attitude of the showmen themselves. They wanted
plays, but not with actors and actresses, or “anything theatrical”; and
they protested against the incursion of the “legitimate” into their
field.

Robert Paul decided to test the public taste with a little comedy which
he called “The Soldier’s Courtship.” The roof of the Alhambra Theatre,
in Leicester Square, was extemporised as a stage, and Mr. Moul, the
manager, who had realised the possibilities of the cinematograph,
acted as stage manager. Scenery and properties were brought up from
the theatre below, and the assistance of one or two actresses and
actors were enlisted. With much difficulty a film measuring 40 feet
in length was obtained--the standard length of the time, though it
appears insignificant in comparison with the films of to-day, which
vary between 500 and 3,000 feet in length. In 640 consecutive pictures
a pretty little “tabloid” comedy was expressed.

Some apprehension was entertained as to the reception the effort would
receive. However, all doubts and anxieties melted instantaneously when
the picture was shown for the first time. The audience gave it a hearty
welcome, and a new era dawned in the history of cinematography. This
initial effort--the first animated “picture play” produced in Great
Britain--tempted Paul to more ambitious undertakings.

A plot of land was acquired at New Southgate in North London, and here
the first building was erected designed essentially for the staging
of picture plays. It was a combination of a theatre with an ordinary
photographic studio utilised for portraiture, in a commodious lofty
hall, with a proscenium opening measuring 18 feet in width by 13 feet
in height. The stage level was about 8 feet above the ground, the under
part being available for working effects from below, such as bridges,
stage traps, and other artifices of the playhouse. The front wall,
which faced the northern sky, was divided vertically so as to permit
the sections to be opened out on either side to any required extent to
reveal the interior. The front roof, set at a sharp angle was glazed to
give top light.

[Illustration:

                    [_By courtesy, “The Scientific American.”_

AN EARLY OPEN-AIR STUDIO STAGE FOR PRODUCING CINEMATOGRAPH PLAYS.

It was on the flat roof of a building in New York City. The camera and
operator were accommodated in the small hut. The whole revolved on a
massive iron turn-table so that the stage faced the sun throughout the
day.]

A special platform, running on a wheeled carriage and track, the deck
of which was level with the floor of the stage, was laid opposite
and at right angles to the proscenium opening, to accommodate the
camera and operator. Looking into the studio from this point, one saw
a familiar theatre stage, with wings, flies, and other facilities.
Such was the earliest venture in what is now one of the most
important branches in the cinematographic industry. Upon that stage
Paul himself produced several hundred plays of infinite variety,
comedy, tragedy, melodrama, farce, and magic.

[Illustration: THE SCENE-PAINTERS’ SHOP AT A PATHÉ STUDIO.

The back-cloths and flats of canvas are stretched like carpets upon the
floor for the artists.--_See page 109._]

In the United States a crude attempt in the same direction was made by
Thomas A. Edison in order to produce films for his kinetoscope. His
building was unpretentious in the fullest sense of the word.

It was of the flimsiest character, with a movable top, and covered
externally with roofing material. It became known colloquially as the
“Black Maria,” a singularly appropriate name. A notable feature was
its central mounting upon a pivot, and a circular track for wheels
placed under the extreme edges of the building. The structure could
thus be rotated in either direction like a turn-table, according to the
position of the sun, so that the studio could be used at any time of
the day. As the kinetoscope failed to arouse public enthusiasm, work
in the studio was abandoned, until Edison, who had seen the tendency
towards projecting pictures upon an enlarged scale before audiences,
was able to perfect his projector.

At about the same time another American firm commenced work in the
same field--the American Mutoscope Company. Their studio was open-air
in the fullest sense of the word; the stage was the roof of their own
building in New York City. A heavy network of steel beams was laid
down, upon which the stage was erected. Opposite was a small hut built
of corrugated iron, which housed the camera, its accessories, and
operator. The stage could be swung round upon its track so that the
bright sunlight fell squarely upon the scene, and similarly the camera
house could be moved over its wheeled track to assume the desired
position for taking the pictures.

American enterprise, however, grew dissatisfied with the short lengths
of the picture films then produced. Certain interests in New York
resolved upon a masterstroke. They cherished the idea of preparing
something staggering in its sensationalism: the production of a
gigantic film upon some striking subject which should startle the
cinematographic world, and completely eclipse all previous efforts in
the field. They succeeded to an extent which surpassed their own most
sanguine anticipations.

After prolonged discussion it was decided that the “Passion Play”
would prove a powerful magnet with the public. But where was the man
to be found sufficiently daring to attempt to carry out the project?
With the crude facilities available at that time the task was one not
lightly to be undertaken. The New York interests approached Mr. Richard
G. Hollaman, the President of the Eden Musée, who had been intimately
identified with the popularisation of moving pictures ever since the
days of the kinetoscope.

Mr. Hollaman was somewhat startled by the proposals, and at first
considered the task entirely out of his province, and quite beyond him.
However, he deliberated upon the suggestion, and at length consented
to undertake the work. He secured the assistance of Mr. John Vincent
as stage manager, and Mr. Albert Eaves as costumier. No expense was to
be spared in its mounting--it was to be the most gorgeous production
of the day. The Salmi Morse version of the “Passion Play” was prepared
especially for the cinematograph, and the company was enrolled.

The next obstacle was in getting the play staged. No studio-theatre
existed in America at that time, and the open air roof-stages were far
from being suited to the work even if they had been available. As a
result the producers had to make their own arrangements. The roof of
the Grand Central Palace in New York was selected, and in the middle
of November, 1897, rehearsals commenced. Several weeks were devoted to
the preparation, and no less than $16,000 (£3,200) were spent upon the
preliminaries. The film ran to three reels, or about 3,000 feet, and
some 48,000 separate pictures. It was the first three-reel film subject
ever produced in the United States, if not in the world.

The first exhibition took place at the Eden Musée, and required about
55 minutes to project. It created a tremendous sensation. Some idea of
its popularity may be gathered from the fact that it ran continuously
for six months. Copies of the film were printed off and sold broadcast
throughout the United States, the success of the New York display
ensuring it a warm reception wherever it was exhibited. Few films
have created such enthusiasm as did the “Passion Play,” and it has
never lost its popularity. As Mr. Hollaman was not associated with the
film-manufacturing side of the industry, he accepted the first offer
he received for the negative. Thus the “Passion Play” passed into the
hands of Edison, who starred the production in his catalogue of films
for a considerable period.

Meantime the movement went on in Great Britain. Shortly after Paul
brought his studio stage into full swing, a second establishment came
into existence at Hove, on the Sussex coast. The promoter of this
enterprise was Mr. James A. Williamson, who, as the founder of the
Hove Camera Club, had been introduced to the cinematograph in his
official duties. He became fascinated with the work, and procured a
projector, but at first confined his efforts to showing moving pictures
for the edification and enlightenment of his interested club-fellows.
Then he decided to participate in the taking of the pictures. The
camera at that time, however, was so expensive that he resorted to an
ingenious expedient. He took the lantern projector, which is similar
in its design and operation to the camera mechanism, and fitted this
into a light-tight box carrying the spools for the unexposed and
exposed films. With this apparatus he secured many interesting albeit
conventional subjects, with which the public was content at that time.

Meanwhile, Mr. Esmè Collings, the well-known portrait photographer,
had entered into partnership with W. F. Greene, who produced the first
model of a cinematographic or chronophotographic apparatus, as it was
called. With his camera Mr. Collings secured an excellent varied series
of pictures. But after a time he lost interest in cinematography,
when his stock of films was acquired by Mr. Williamson. The latter now
decided to enter the stage-picture film field, and a commodious and
well-equipped studio was erected on the outskirts of Hove. His films,
owing to their high technical or photographic qualities, attracted
widespread attention, especially in America. In fact, the United States
constituted his most valuable market, the Williamson productions being
in great demand. Several of his pictures, as well as those of Paul,
created a sensation, and these two producers practically controlled
the play-picture film market of the world for many years. The period
between 1896 and 1900 was most critical in the cinematograph industry,
and it was due mainly to the perseverance of the two pioneers that it
became firmly established. Lovers of moving pictures to-day realise
little of the innumerable difficulties which confronted Paul and
Williamson, and the puzzling obstacles which they had to break down.
They were dependent upon their own resources and ingenuity, and had to
learn by their own mistakes instead of by the example of others. They
had to be photographic artists, scene painters, stage carpenters, and
stage managers.

Both Paul and Williamson have now retired from the play-picture
producing business, the first-named to revert entirely to his original
occupation, and the second to the mechanical side of the industry, the
manufacture of perforators, printing machines, and so forth. His studio
was acquired for the production of Kinemacolor films, and is in active
use to-day during the summer months of the year for the production of
plays in natural colours.

[Illustration: BATTLE SCENE FROM “THE SIEGE OF CALAIS.”

This film, produced by Pathé Frères, is the most ambitious ever
attempted, 2,500 men and horses taking part therein.]

Paul and Williamson led the way in the manufacturing of picture films,
and for a time controlled the market. They were followed by several
others, until about half-a-dozen studio-theatres were scattered
over the country. The scope of their work was somewhat limited, yet
their products commanded a wide sale. They dominated the American
market; Williamson alone furnished some 60 or 80 films a week for the
cinematograph theatres of the United States, and he was patronised also
by the German public. Unfortunately, however, the industry in Great
Britain did not develop so promisingly as these early achievements
augured. The British producer does not appear to be able to gain the
confidence of the capitalist; he is still as ambitious and as capable
as ever, as witness the production of Tennyson’s “Maud,” but he is
handicapped on every side. He finds it increasingly difficult to
compete with his foreign rivals. To-day there are only two fields in
which he reigns supreme--popular drama and comedy; and this slight
modicum of success is due rather to the fact that the British public is
somewhat insular in its tastes; it does not understand foreign humour,
and will not tolerate foreign tragedy.

[Illustration: EXTERIOR OF THE MODERN EDISON FILM-PLAY-PRODUCING
THEATRE.

This structure contrasts with the “Black Maria.” It is a lofty glass
building, 100 feet long by 60 feet wide and 45 feet high, and cost
£20,000.--_See page 112._]

[Illustration: BUILDING A SOLID SET FOR “THE TWO ORPHANS.”

This scene, on one of the Selig open-air stages, shows the care and
expense taken to mount a modern film-play.--_See page 112._]

About six years ago the cinematograph play underwent a great change. Up
to that time the productions were somewhat conventional both in plot
and mounting. The scenery was commonplace, and the _dramatis personæ_,
as a rule, comprised only about half-a-dozen persons. Moreover, the
pictures betrayed a sad deficiency in stage technique, a result due
entirely to the fact that the producers were not conversant with
stage-craft.

The French producers saw a unique opportunity, and grasped it promptly.
Foremost in the movement was the firm of Pathé Frères, which is to-day
one of the largest and most enterprising film-producing establishments
in the world. They launched out upon the most elaborate lines. Huge
stages or studios, with the latest appliances, which from the technical
point of view would rival the famous Drury Lane stage, were constructed
at immense cost, eminent stage managers, versed in every phase of the
technique of production, were obtained from the theatres, while the
services of the foremost French actors and actresses were secured. The
scenery was prepared upon an extensive scale, the mounting was lavish,
and plays which hitherto had been considered beyond the scope of the
picture-producer were taken in hand boldly. If the British producers
introduced the stage-play to the cinematograph film, the French
certainly perfected the idea, and set the elaborate production upon
its feet. Some of the plays which the French producers have filmed
are extremely bold in their conception, as well as being wonders of
stage-craft, scenery, and photography. At the present moment the Pathé
firm has no less than eight stage managers engaged in the production of
picture plays of every description; the Gaumont establishment, which
is pressing the Pathé hard for first rank, has six producers, while
several other firms in the same country have elaborate organisations.
Gorgeousness of production is the predominant key-note, associated
with acting excellence; and the policy has been attended with merited
success.

The triumph of the British and subsequently of the French film
producers reached the United States. Like a huge wave the European
films overwhelmed the country. In comparison, the American productions
were trash. The native firms were confronted with extinction unless
they made a bold and united stand, which was hardly to be expected,
for at that time the American cinematograph world was in a state of
chaos. Litigation was raging on all sides. Edison was engaged in a
deadly struggle to maintain his position according to his original,
or kinetoscope, patent. As a result of the turmoil, the industry
became unsettled, and the money which should have been expended in
the furtherance of the craft, simply went to fill the pockets of
hungry lawyers. Edison triumphed at last; his claim was sustained by
the Supreme Court. The establishment of this contested point cleared
the air, and one outcome was the formation of a Cinematograph Trust
or community of interests to resist foreign invasion. Several firms
enlisted under the banner of the Edison patent--other interests which
still disputed his claim combined to form a second trust.

The first move of the combination was to eliminate the foreign
competition from which it was suffering so disastrously. Special terms
were drawn up which European firms were compelled to observe under
threat of their films being forbidden to the country. The European
producers, foreseeing the loss of a valuable market, tried desperately
to mitigate this drastic policy, but in vain. The American terms were:
either limited sale, as stipulated by the trust, or else complete
boycott. The British producers saw their most remunerative market
eliminated at a stroke. Williamson suffered particularly from the
decision, for all standing contracts were cancelled. As he never had
made strenuous attempts to cultivate the British market, which was open
to producers in all parts of the world without the slightest restraint,
but had concentrated his efforts upon pleasing his United States
clients, he concluded that retirement from play production was the
wisest course, especially as the mechanical side of the industry was so
full of attractive promise.

The American producers, entrenched firmly behind the wall of
protection, set to work energetically to make up for lost time. The
story of the automobile industry, which was similarly hindered in
its infancy by patent wars, was repeated. The Americans imitated the
French example and embarked upon the most elaborate enterprises. Keen
rivalry was displayed between the various concerns to acquire the best
managers of the legitimate stage, with the result that the theatre
suffered heavily. Several stage managers, seeing the trend of events,
and realising that cinematographic picture plays possessed a tremendous
future, abandoned their old field and gave their energies to the new
one, which offered such great scope for their abilities.

The American stage, like that of Great Britain, France, Germany, and
Italy, had regarded the picture play with disdain, and had ridiculed
the possibility of its ever becoming a spirited competitor to their
particular interests. To-day the American stage is engaged in a
struggle for supremacy with the moving-picture theatre. The American
picture producers erected huge studio-theatres, with every convenience,
capable of producing any type of play demanded, and giving the author
greater opportunity for effect than ever the legitimate stage could
hope to offer.

It is difficult to realise the proportions which these American
studio-stages have attained, or the work they can carry out. Take the
Edison Company for instance. We have seen the humble little “Black
Maria” which sufficed to supply the film needs of the Kinetoscope in
1892. The present Edison studio, which cost something like $100,000
(£20,000) to build, is a huge glass building measuring 100 feet in
length, by 60 feet in width, and has a height of 45 feet. The stage has
a proscenium opening of 30 feet and an area of 2,400 feet. In addition
there is a huge water-tank with a capacity of 130,000 gallons, which is
used for aquatic spectacles.

The Edison establishment is but one of many. In Brooklyn the Vitagraph
Company has a huge building, the Lubin films are produced in spacious
studios in Philadelphia, while Chicago boasts the famous Essanay
and Selig plants. The latter is especially noteworthy owing to its
great size and the remarkable plays which it produces for the delight
of moving-picture lovers in all parts of the world. It is devoted
exclusively to making films, and finds employment for 400 hands. The
main studio, in which are two stages, measures 179 feet in length by 80
feet wide. In addition to this indoor establishment, there are between
two and three acres of surrounding land which have been enclosed
for outdoor work. This field, if such it may be called, presents a
strange sight. It is dotted with little groups of scenery. Here is a
mediæval castle with ruined battlements; a few yards away to the right
is a modern street; while on the left is the interior of a stately
drawing-room. In one corner are a number of artificial hills fashioned
by the dumping of earth, criss-crossed with paths and trails. It is
an incongruous medley of periods and scenes, but one and all little
assemblages of back-cloths and wings represent a stage, and one and all
face the southern sun. Upon these little stages the plays are produced.

[Illustration: BUILDING A SCENE ON ONE OF THE PATHÉ STUDIO-STAGES FOR A
FILM PLAY.

The stage is fitted with every possible device, such as overhead
bridges, to facilitate the moving and setting of scenery as well as for
the working of effects.]

The Selig organisation is one of the largest in the United States,
having, in addition to the Chicago establishment, another theatre at
Los Angeles on the Pacific coast, devoted to the portrayal of pictures
having a western setting. There is the Pacific Ocean on one side
to form a background for marine incidents; the Sierras, frowning down
upon the coast, provide a natural background for subjects set among
the mountains; while within easy reach is the vast stretch of Nevada
desert, where the atmosphere of the Sahara of Africa, or the great
wastes of Australia, can be reproduced. The Chicago studio is provided
with an artificial pool of 60,000 gallons, where a lake, lagoon, or
swamp environment to a picture can be secured.

[Illustration: THE WARDROBE ROOM AT THE SELIG FILM FACTORY.

Over 7,000 costumes of all descriptions are stored ready for instant
use.]

[Illustration: THE SELIG STOCK COMPANY AT LOS ANGELES.

The remarkable development of the picture-play industry has resulted
in the acquisition of leading actors and actresses by the largest
producers. High salaries are paid for the exclusive services of eminent
artistes.]

The modern cinematograph studio-stage is far more elaborately equipped
for the production of effects than its counterpart behind the
footlights, while the attendant plant is overwhelmingly extensive.
The stage of Drury Lane Theatre in London and of the Opera House at
Paris respectively are considered marvellous homes of stage-craft,
and regarded as models of equipment. But compared with the great
French, Italian, or American cinematograph studio-stages, they are
insignificant. Large, well-lighted and spacious rooms are set apart for
the stage carpenters and the scene painters to prepare the back-cloths,
wings, and flats. This work alone, owing to the high pressure at which
production is maintained, affords employment to a large staff. As
the average output is three films per week--the Edison establishment
produces four or five subjects in that time--the scene painters are
kept busily engaged from morning to night. All scenery has to be
painted in black and white, and the excellence of the work plays an
important part in the effect of the picture, for the camera is ruthless
in its exposure of indifferent work. The scene may be the interior of a
shack, or a sylvan valley with a river winding like a ribbon of silver
among the trees and a stately castle rearing above the foliage. In each
instance the same artistic care is demanded, for it must be remembered
that by the time the picture reaches the screen it is of the same
dimensions as the original, or even larger.

As the picture-play producer roams through all the periods of history
in all countries, a large stock of properties and an extensive wardrobe
must be maintained. The Selig establishment in Chicago has a wardrobe
in which are carefully packed and labelled ready for instant use no
fewer than 7,000 costumes, of all countries and peoples scattered
between the Arctic and Antarctic circles, and ranging from prehistoric
times through the picturesque middle ages to the prosaic twentieth
century.

From morning to night the studio-stage echoes the ring of hammers and
the shouts of the stage carpenters as they set this scene or strike
that. Frowning masonry castles are pulled down, and suburban villas
rise up with greater speed than their jerry-built prototypes in bricks
and mortar. The numerous dressing rooms are busy hives, where actors
and actresses change swiftly from one costume, age, and clime to
another, separated from it by centuries.

When the play is cinematographed indoors, a battery of powerful
electric lights is placed overhead in front of the stage, corresponding
to theatrical top-lights, and throwing a powerful glare upon the
scene. They are controlled by switches, so that the light can be
concentrated as desired. When the lights are in full blast, more than
80,000 candle-power may be thrown upon the stage. In addition, other
lights are disposed for the purpose of producing different effects, so
that upon a large studio-stage a body of well-trained electricians is
indispensable.

The scene itself occupies but a small space, generally about 12 or 16
feet in width. As a rule the camera is brought within a few feet of
the picture, in order that the actors may be photographed as large as
possible. On the floor on either side battens are laid to indicate
the limits within which actors and actresses must move. Beyond these
confines is to vanish from the scene, and the stage manager may be
heard over the whirr of the camera shouting peremptorily to one or
other of the company to keep in the picture.

The large producer thinks expense is a secondary consideration in
the preparation of plays. A simple conventional modern comedy costs
about £50 ($250), while a gorgeous production runs well into £6,000
($30,000). On the average, about 150,000 feet of film are placed
on the British market every week, and this quantity is steadily
increasing. It is computed that there are some 50,000 picture theatres
scattered throughout the world, and as the number thereof is increasing
daily the supply of films has by no means yet reached the limits of
demand.




CHAPTER XI

THE CINEMATOGRAPH AS A RECORDER OF TOPICAL EVENTS: SCENIC FILMS.


In spite of the fact that the programme of the average picture palace
of to-day is chiefly occupied with film plays, nevertheless the
greatest attraction is undoubtedly the “topical picture.” British
audiences were first introduced to its possibilities by seeing the 1896
Derby re-run before their eyes on the screen in the Alhambra Theatre,
creating a tremendous sensation. In fact, the reproduction of this
classic British horse-race upon the white sheet twenty-four hours after
it was run excited more attention than the actual race itself. In those
days cinematography was unfamiliar to the general public, and those who
followed the race upon the screen could not resist rubbing their eyes
in amazement: it seemed scarcely credible. Certainly, very few items
of sensational interest have ever created such a deep impression and
brought such heavy receipts to the box-office of this famous vaudeville
house as the first Derby film.

The manner in which the film was obtained was typical of Paul’s quiet,
unassuming methods. His “animatograph” had become established firmly at
the Alhambra, and he was always on the alert to secure new and striking
subjects. When he decided to attempt the representation of the classic
race, he told no one, and sought no favours to obtain commanding
positions from which to photograph the contest. On the morning of the
race he appeared at Epsom. He chartered a wagonette, upon the seats of
which he intended to set up his tripod and camera. He hoped to be able
to secure a good position unobserved, but he came near to having his
plans upset.

When he arrived on the course, one of the itinerant booth-holders, a
pugnacious, gipsy-like individual, thought the vehicle was some form
of rival side-show and barred its progress. An altercation ensued, but
Paul drove on with the enraged gipsy in pursuit. The latter, seeing
that his irate remonstrances were of no avail, threatened to take the
law into his own hands and to upset the offending vehicle and its
strange contents. Paul thwarted this contingency by tying the wheels
of his vehicle firmly to the rails, along-side of which he had taken
up his position, and the film was secured without further untoward
developments.

From the night on which the Derby was run at the Alhambra, the success
of the topical film has been established. Scarcely an item of absorbing
public interest escapes being recorded. Probably no topical film has
created such enthusiasm as that which Paul secured of the “Prince’s
Derby” when the late King Edward VII., as Prince of Wales, carried
off the blue riband of the British turf. The Alhambra Theatre was
converted into a reproduction of the famous course, for the entire
audience cheered the moving pictures with as much gusto as if they were
following the actual struggle on Epsom Downs, and would not desist
until the film had been passed across the screen three times. Paul
cinematographed the Derby on no less than six consecutive occasions,
and there is probably no established British annual event which he has
not recorded.

In the early days, as Paul was practically in full possession of the
topical film field, there was an entire absence of that haste of
competition. Then it was immaterial whether the film were shown one or
two days after the event. The many processes which had to be carried
out between the securing of the negative and the production of the
positive print for the projector were not hurried, and in fact could
not be accelerated very well, if good results were desired. But as
other firms appeared on the scene, keen rivalry sprang up. The various
establishments left no stone unturned to be first in projection, and
the theatres, of course, encouraged the enterprise. Consequently the
race against time and rivals became more and more bitterly contested.

As a natural result, great improvements were made in the developing,
drying, and printing operations. Whereas twenty-four hours or so had
been required to produce a positive ready for use, it now became
possible to reduce the time of preparation to about eight hours.
To-day a subject can be thrown upon the screen four hours after it
has occurred. The topical film appears while the subject to which it
refers is still absorbing public interest; and accordingly meets with
overwhelming success. The men armed with the camera have the same zeal
that animates the reporter bent on securing exclusive information for
his paper. No effort or expense is spared to outstrip a rival, as the
following incident shows.

An American firm required a film of an event which it thought would be
of absorbing interest to the American public. It communicated with its
agents in London to “get it, and ahead of anyone else.” The outlay was
such that the firm could only hope to recoup itself by capturing the
entire market for that particular firm. As it happened, only one other
firm decided to exploit the same topical subject in the United States.
The first firm secured commanding positions for its camera operators,
and the films as they arrived were packed and dispatched to New York by
special messenger. The competitors failed to show such initiative, and
had their films transmitted in the usual manner. Not only did the first
firm receive its negatives within the shortest possible space of time,
but it found itself in undisputed command of the whole country, for the
rival’s product went astray in transit! The successful establishment
expended £300 ($1,500) in acquiring the negatives, but it proved an
excellent investment.

The Americans, however, have not made such a speciality of the
topical film as it has become in England, where there are several
firms excelling in this particular field of activity. Under energetic
management it is one of the most lucrative branches of the industry,
success attending those who display the greatest amount of energy and
initiative.

[Illustration: THE FIRST TOPICAL FILM.

The Derby of 1896 cinematographed by Robert W. Paul, and shown the day
after the event at the Alhambra Theatre, London.--_See page 116._]

The power of the topical picture was demonstrated most convincingly
by the Coronation festivities of King George V. For some weeks after
that event the picture play fell into second position. The Coronation
films were in urgent demand on every hand, not only in Great Britain,
but in the Colonies as well. Some theatres even found it profitable
to give an extended run exclusively to Coronation films and kindred
subjects. The most remarkable outcome of the popularity of the
Coronation films was the establishment of “Kinemacolor” in the favour
of the public. Cinematography in natural colours had not in the earlier
stages attracted more than passing interest, and had languished
somewhat. But when the royal festivities were reproduced in the full
glow and brilliancy of colour, the success of this development of the
art became assured.

[Illustration:

  [_By permission of the British and Colonial Kinematograph Co., Ltd._

THE FALL FROM THE BALLOON.

Sensationalism is a powerful feature in the modern cinematograph drama.
The above incident alone cost £300 ($1,500) to obtain.]

The Coronation has probably been responsible for more achievements
in the work of topical cinematography than any other event. On all
sides the keenest competition was displayed among the rival firms.
In London, ere the Royal procession left Westminster Abbey after the
crowning ceremony, films were being shown of the morning procession
to the Abbey; and before the crowds in the evening were gazing upon
the illuminated streets, the return journey to Buckingham Palace was
being thrown upon the screen of a multitude of theatres throughout the
country. Possibly the most remarkable feat was that whereby English
residents in Paris and the French nation were enabled to see the
ceremony within a few hours of its occurrence. This was an achievement
of the English branch of the well-known Gaumont Company, which is
probably unexcelled in time-saving ingenuity.

This firm had cameras and operators scattered freely along the route
of the Royal procession, and all the films which were secured up to
the time of the arrival at Westminster Abbey had been packed and
entrusted to a special messenger. The train was due to leave Charing
Cross at 2.20 p.m. The clock had barely struck two when the return
journey commenced to Buckingham Palace. The operator stationed near the
Abbey, in a position to secure one of the best views along the route,
was suddenly seized with the idea to set up a new record. A taxi-cab
was engaged and held in readiness. At about ten minutes past the hour
the procession drew within the field of the camera and the filming
commenced. Within about four minutes the coach bearing their Majesties
had passed beyond the lens. The film was slipped out of the camera,
and the second operator, snatching it up, entered the cab and drove
off at full speed to the station. The train was caught in the nick of
time, the film was handed over to the special messenger, and before
the whole procession had left the precincts of Westminster Abbey, the
film bearing the passing of the crowned King and Queen was bound for
the French capital, where the pictures were thrown upon the screen late
that night.

On the occasion of the investiture of the Prince of Wales at Carnarvon
an even more astonishing performance was accomplished by the same
firm. A London manager, Mr. Laurrilard, of the Marble Arch Electric
Theatre, desired to show the ceremonies on the evening of the day
they took place, if that were humanly possible. He approached the
Gaumont Company, which decided to make the attempt. A great difficulty
was sure to be encountered in dispatching the film, on account of
the enormous crowds and the strictness of the traffic regulations;
moreover, it was plain that in order to project the film in London the
same evening it would have to be developed and prepared on the train.
With the greatest difficulty, owing to the abnormally heavy traffic
and arrangements already made for a large number of extra trains, the
Gaumont firm succeeded in chartering a special train on the London and
North-Western Railway. The railway company stipulated that the train
must leave Bangor at exactly the time designated by them, in order not
to interfere with the departure of trains after the ceremony was over.

Two brake vans (each measuring 50 feet in length) were coupled up and
converted into temporary dark-rooms. They were fitted with tanks for
developing, fixing, and washing, together with a printing machine
and a large drum upon which the films could be dried quickly. A
great difficulty was an adequate supply of water for washing the
films, 75 gallons at least being required for the purpose. Another
quandary was the impossibility of obtaining electric current to use
with the printing machine; special lamps had finally to be acquired
to enable this task to be carried out. By the time the arrangements
were completed over a ton of apparatus had been erected within the two
vehicles.

This train was kept under steam at Bangor ready to start at the
pre-arranged minute. The distance between Bangor and Carnarvon had to
be covered by motor-cars chartered from Chester, 94 miles distant. The
police arrangements would not permit these vehicles to approach within
one-and-a-half miles of the castle, and the latter stretch had to be
covered on foot.

The whole ceremony was recorded by operators posted at convenient
points, each of whom had to carry his film-box at top speed to the
waiting motor. All worked smoothly. There was some fear lest the final
scene in the ceremony would have to be omitted, but by keen judgment
and quick work the last operator secured his film and left the scene,
the ceremony concluding at 4 p.m. The schedule had been drawn up so
accurately that a little delay at any one point would have thrown the
whole arrangements to the four winds.

However, the train was caught and punctually to the minute the special
drew out. In addition to the cinematograph dark-room on wheels a third
dark-room, similarly improvised from a baggage car, was attached for
the _Daily Graphic_, in order to enable this paper’s photographic
correspondents to develop their plates ready for the preparation of the
process blocks for the next day’s issue. The complete character of the
arrangements enabled the developing of the films to proceed without a
hitch, despite the fact that the train was making a steady sixty miles
an hour. Within two hours the negatives had been developed, washed,
and were being dried upon a huge drum. Printing was taken in hand,
and a single positive was hurried through its processes. The parts
were connected together in proper sequence, and the various titles and
sub-titles, prepared in both English and Welsh, were duly inserted.
By the time the train reached Willesden the film was completed and
wound up ready for slipping into the projector. Arriving at Euston
seven minutes late, the film was received by a waiting motor-car; and
at 10.15 a large audience followed for some twelve minutes a ceremony
which had been performed six hours before over 200 miles away. The film
was 750 feet in length. As it was the only moving picture record of the
Investiture of the Prince of Wales seen in London that night, as may be
supposed it created no slight sensation. By working all night the firm
made over 100 copies of the subject, varying from 500 to 1,000 feet in
length, and by seven o’clock had dispatched them to all parts of the
country. Copies were hurried to the Continent, and were seen in the
French capital several hours ahead of any rival.

A prize-fight between two famous champions provokes extraordinary
energy on the part of the cinematographic artists. Fabulous prices are
paid for exclusive rights to photograph the contest, and no expense
is spared to secure a continuous record. In order to obtain adequate
illumination of the ring, a battery of powerful electric lamps has
to be set up, and the glare of tens of thousands of candle-power
concentrated upon the combatants. If the battle is short and sharp the
results are disappointing both to the cinematographer and his public,
but if it be long, requiring several hundred feet of film, he is happy.
The prize-fight film, however, is meeting with considerable opposition,
which should be welcomed as a healthy sign even by the film-producers
themselves. The cinematograph can surely do more elevating, profitable
and entertaining work than the recording of a prize-fight. Furthermore,
the result has not always paid the speculators concerned, and one or
two more heavy losses in the field, combined with popular censorship,
will result in the prize-fight being eliminated entirely from the
category of “topical” films.

At the present moment the largest film-producing establishments
refrain from practising in the “topical” world, as the special
requirements necessary to get the films quickly upon the market
upsets the arrangements of a well-organised factory, where the day’s
work must be very carefully scheduled. When a topical subject is under
contemplation, it must be decided whether the financial results will
compensate for the losses arising from the disorganisation of the film
factory. This point of view is responsible for the apathetic American
attitude towards the “topical,” as it is called in Great Britain.

Topical work, however, not only possesses its fascinations, but is
beset with considerable danger at times. A calamity of such dimensions
as to send a deep thrill around the world is a powerful topical
subject, and in their haste to secure striking films, the operators
occasionally run extreme risks. The Messina earthquake was a striking
case in point. The first authoritative news of that catastrophe
precipitated the rush of a small army of operators and cameras to the
spot. Scarcely had the earth ceased its mighty devastating shivers when
the cinematographer was among the tottering ruins securing records of
the disaster. Now and again there was a rush to a point of safety to
escape a collapsing wall. Sometimes the flight was so hurried that the
operator had to abandon his camera, and saw it buried beneath thousands
of tons of _débris_. Occasionally the operator himself was too slow and
was overwhelmed while pursuing his dangerous work.

It is always possible for the film producer to realise large profits
on a great national disaster of this kind, provided he displays the
requisite energy and initiative. Colliery accidents, conflagrations,
railway collisions, are all sources of income to him. He has often to
contend with innumerable adverse factors--the weather may be bad, or
the lighting conditions unadapted to this work; but the film must be
obtained by some means or other. The public sometimes find fault with
the quality of such pictures, expecting the brilliance and perfect
definition incidental to the average picture play, and ignoring the
fact that the film may have been exposed upon a dreary, wintry day in
the pelting rain, or when the scene was enveloped in a blanket of fog.

Now and again a stirring item of news enables striking success to be
achieved. During the battle with the anarchists in the East End of
London, an enterprising firm dispatched its operators and assistants
to the scene without loss of time. In the course of an hour a short
length of film arrived at the factory, which, upon development, was
found to be capable of producing a sensation of the first rank.
Instantly telegrams with replies prepaid were dispatched to all
customers throughout the kingdom announcing that a film had been
secured. Of course, the event constituted at the time the sole topic of
conversation in every walk of life. The films were brought in as fast
as possible; and by four o’clock in the afternoon eighty copies thereof
had been dispatched to all parts of the British Isles; in several
instances being shown on the screen that evening whilst the newsboys
outside the theatres were shouting out the latest details concerning
the episode.

The topical film is a favourite in the British Colonies, for it enables
audiences in the most remote parts of Greater Britain to become more
vividly familiar with incidents and events in the Home Country than
they could in any other way. The Derby may be run in the Antipodes six
weeks after the horses have sped over the course at Epsom; a prominent
Royal function may have slipped from memory, but the film revives it
in all its freshness. When the film shows such subjects as the funeral
of King Edward VII., the unveiling of the Queen Victoria Memorial, or
the Coronation of King George V., the sale of the films in the Colonies
aggregates several thousand feet per subject.

To be successful in the production of topical films one must have not
only an extensive and well-equipped organisation, but also facilities
for working at high pressure. The business, moreover, is speculative to
a degree; for the average topical film is little more than a six days’
wonder--many of them are less--and the manufacturer can make a profit
only by flooding the market within an hour or two of the occurrence of
the incident. Every hour means money, and every day depreciates the
value of the film from the showman’s point of view.

Some of the firms concerned in the work of topical film production,
however, are jeopardising its future by doing work of very indifferent
quality. This is partly due to heavy cutting in prices. It is possible
to purchase topical films for fifty per cent. less than the price
charged per foot for film plays; at which figure the margin of profit
is slight and quality must suffer. The public is displaying its
disapproval of these tactics, and unless a radical improvement comes,
the topical film will be ousted from the picture palace by force of
popular opinion. Indifferent workmanship certainly does not assist
those who are endeavouring to lift this form of entertainment to its
highest level.

If the topical film brings a glimpse of the great world into remote and
unsettled corners of the earth, the scenic film, on the other hand,
does a like service for the dweller in cities; it brings sweeping
panoramas of nature, magnificent and unfamiliar landscapes before his
eyes. He has the joys of travel without stirring from his comfortable
chair in the cinematograph theatre! In fact, the best scenic film is
that taken from the front of a railway locomotive, with the camera
and operator mounted upon the cow-catcher or its equivalent. In this
instance the illusion is conveyed that the audience are seated in the
moving train; the panorama is unfolded on all sides, and there are
the gleaming metals and the flitting in and out of tunnels to assist
in the illusion of actually travelling. The railway scenic film has
been modified recently to conspicuous advantage. Instead of taking the
picture from the front or rear of the train, the practice of taking
the film from the carriage windows has been introduced with strikingly
convincing effects. The camera is mounted near the rear of the train
with the lens pointing towards the engine. The result is that when the
train swings round a sharp curve a glimpse of the leading carriages is
caught, giving a highly realistic result.

When the Urban Trading Company sought to record some of the natural
marvels of the Tyrol in order to bring them before large audiences in
distant theatres, valuable assistance was extended by the Imperial
Austrian Railway Ministry, which placed a special engine and carriage
at the disposal of the cinematographer, so that he might be enabled to
obtain his pictures under the best and most advantageous conditions.
Similarly when Kinemacolor set out to harness the gorgeous beauties
of Nature among the Rocky Mountains of British North America, the
Canadian Pacific Railway, which co-operated in the enterprise, provided
a special engine attached to a dark-room on wheels. This “Kinemacolor
special” moved at leisure among the snow-clad giants, and some very
impressive and beautiful pictures were obtained to delight vast
concourses.

The cinematographer of to-day acts in the capacity of an explorer.
At great risk he ventures into unknown or forbidden territories, and
brings back scenes of wonderful interest, though in many instances he
has to resort to novel subterfuge to secure his results. For instance,
when some films of the country, habits and customs of the peoples of
inland China were desired, it was considered too dangerous to entrust
a white man with the work. Instead, an intelligent and highly cultured
Chinaman was obtained. Months were devoted to initiating him into the
mysteries of the camera, and when at last he obtained proficiency he
sallied out upon his perilous mission.

Equally daring was the expedition of the Urban Trading Company into
Central Africa. The cinematographer followed the route of the Cape to
Cairo Railway so far as practicable, securing magnificent film records
as he proceeded along the line, and then pushed on into the interior.
When the railway was left a number of native porters had to be pressed
into service to fulfil the work of the iron horse, the members of this
human pack-train bearing the camera and its innumerable accessories,
together with the impedimenta of the operator, upon their heads.

The Victoria Falls upon the Zambesi River have proved a happy hunting
ground for the cinematographer, and this enormous tumble of water
promises to rival the famous Falls of Niagara as a cinematographic
centre of attraction. Since the bridge has been thrown across the
gorge excellent coigns of vantage have been provided to secure
impressively beautiful films of this cataract. One of the most powerful
pictures of this wonder of Nature, however, was a close view of the
Boiling Pot, and the recording of the seething water bubbling and
frothing provided a unique and thrilling experience for the operator.
There was only one means by which a close view of this awful spectacle
could be secured--that was to lower the operator and camera by ropes
from the bridge overhead to within a few feet of the raging waters.
The ropes were snubbed round friendly posts and the operator with his
camera was lowered over the side for a distance of about 400 feet,
being steadied as much as possible while in that unenviable position by
his comrades on the bridge above. It was an eerie sensation dangling
in mid-air, and the cinematographer, after swirling round at the end
of the ropes, like a joint on a roasting-jack, gave a breath of relief
when he was hauled up and felt his feet touching the roadway of the
railway bridge once more.

Possibly the greatest triumph of scenic cinematography is the
convincing manner in which the sensitised celluloid band brings before
the teeming thousands of the crowded cities of civilisation the
terrible difficulties confronting polar exploration. The still-life
studies of the interminable wastes of snow and ice which were brought
back by Nansen, Jackson, Sverdrup, Captain Scott, and other intrepid
spirits who ventured into the silent, cold strongholds around the
poles, were indelibly powerful, but they failed to convince the man
in the street of the bitter hostility of those icy climes in such a
vivid manner as those produced in movement upon the screen, which were
taken for the first time during the Shackleton expedition. This daring
explorer indicated a new opportunity for motion photography, and since
that expedition no other party has ventured into those forbidding
wastes without a cinematograph and a few thousand feet of film. Captain
Scott has a complete cinematographic equipment, and his films initiated
the masses into the inconceivable difficulties, privations, and
peculiar existence of the small communities determined to penetrate
Farthest South.

Similarly, the Duke of the Abruzzi brought before one and all the
topmost heights of the Himalayas. The Roof of the World has been
wrapped in much legend, and has been the scene of many remarkable
mountaineering exploits, but the task of scaling those dizzy peaks has
never been conveyed so realistically to the man in the armchair before
as by the films that were taken on this occasion. In a like manner
another daring explorer has penetrated the innermost recesses of New
Guinea, and in the heart of the unknown has made several exposures,
the value of which is not confined to the satisfaction of the curious.
The pictures are also of incalculable value to geographical and
ethnographical science, as we see how these unknown natives move, live,
and have their being, just as vividly as if we were transported to
the spot by a magic carpet, and viewed the sights with our own eyes,
while we become acquainted with the physical characteristics of the
country. Theodore Roosevelt also brought back striking films of life
in the lesser-known recesses of the African jungle. It is stated that
the cinematographic records of his journey cost no less than £2,000
($10,000), which affords an insight into the expense incurred to bring
the uttermost parts of the earth to the city dweller.

Nowadays an explorer may reap appreciable financial benefit by the
display of a little forethought. The manipulation of the moving
picture camera does not demand a long course of tutelage to enable
pictures to be taken. Accordingly, whereas formerly the hand camera
constituted a prominent part of the impedimenta, the cinematograph now
occupies the pre-eminent place. The films obtained command a distinct
value, which fluctuates according to the popular interest created in
the particular exploration achievement to which they refer. Any film
manufacturing firm will undertake readily to place the subjects upon
the market under a handsome royalty. The Gaumont firm has displayed
considerable initiative in this direction; for it introduced the films
of Shackleton’s famous Antarctic expedition to the masses, and has
recently acquired the films of Captain Scott relative to his Antarctic
expedition, and also those of the daring journey into the innermost
parts of New Guinea.




CHAPTER XII

THE CINEMATOGRAPH THEATRE AND ITS EQUIPMENT


When moving pictures made their first claim on popular interest,
they did so in the form of an item to the programme of the ordinary
music-hall or vaudeville theatre. In the front rank of this movement
was T. J. West; in fact, he might be considered the pioneer of the
travelling cinematograph show. He had seen the popularity of the
cinematograph feature on the programme of Professor Treuwé, the
French prestidigitateur, during his appearance at the Regent Street
Polytechnic. The conjurer used a Lumière apparatus and operated
it himself. When his engagement was concluded, West decided that
the Polytechnic ought not to lose one of its greatest attractions;
accordingly he offered a complete entertainment in motion photography.
From this small beginning has grown up one of the largest individual
cinematographic exhibition businesses in the world. West realised the
possibilities of the craft, and with commendable enterprise organised
a touring show, with which he travelled not only through the towns and
cities of the British Isles, but even in the remote colonies. To-day
he has no less than twenty permanent establishments devoted to the
projection of moving pictures scattered throughout the British Empire,
providing employment for over 600 people.

The touring cinematograph proved conclusively the popularity of
entertainments devoted exclusively to animated pictures. Permanent
exhibitions were then tried, at first in a somewhat unpretentious
way. Empty shops in prominent thoroughfares, which could be rented
at a low price, railway arches, and so forth were acquired, and
converted at small expense into dark halls. A screen and apparatus
were purchased; the seating accommodation comprised hard wooden seats
similar to school forms. The show was continuous: it commenced about
mid-day and continued without intermission for ten or twelve hours,
sufficient pictures being secured to provide amusement for about one
hour, and repeated throughout the day. The prices of admission were
very low, averaging about one penny, or two cents; and as the expenses
were trifling, it did not require very extensive patronage to ensure a
substantial weekly profit upon the investment.

In the United States the same practice was adopted. The first steps
there were taken just as warily as in Great Britain; empty buildings
were hired at a low price and turned into temporary “store” theatres,
as they were called. If the enterprise proved unsuccessful, the
energetic showman simply closed down, vacated the building, and tried
his fortune in a more promising situation. This practice is still
followed extensively throughout North America and Canada, and the
initiative of the showman knows no limits. He seeks to instal himself
in a small community where there is no competition. The experiment
invariably proves successful from the financial point of view, because
in the outlying townships the cinematograph hall constitutes the sole
centre of amusement for miles around. If there is no available empty
building, the showman constructs a cheap wooden theatre. Often the
frontier moving picture palace is only a shack built of logs, capable
of seating 100 people or so, the price of admission ranging between
five and ten cents--2½_d._ to 5_d._ The cinematographic entertainment
in North America is known colloquially as a “nickel” or “dime” show,
from the prices charged for admission. In Great Britain it became known
in the early days as a “penny gaff,” which contemptuous colloquialism
still remains in use, though the price has gone up.

I have seen some very amusing and interesting manifestations of the
showman’s energy in remote districts of America. When I visited
Cochrane, a town which has sprung up in the wilderness of Ontario
within 175 miles of the shores of Hudson Bay, the picture showman
had planted himself firmly in its midst. There was only one masonry
building in the place, the majority of the 300 inhabitants living in
wooden shacks or tents, because the town was in the formative stage.
The showman had come up with the first settlers, cannily foreseeing
that a little colony 150 miles from the nearest town would need some
form of diversion to while away the long evenings. He acquired a site
upon one of the main streets, and ran up a cheap wooden building with
an attractive arched front, gaily bedecked with small red, white, and
blue lamps. There was not a unit of electricity or a cubic foot of gas
generated in the place, but the indefatigable showman overcame these
difficulties by recourse to substitutes. The theatre was thronged
the whole evening, a result due in a great measure to the fact
that Cochrane was situate in the Prohibition Area, and the theatre
consequently had not to compete with the lures of the liquor saloon.
The ranks of the inhabitants were swelled every day by gangs of workmen
passing to and from the great railway construction camps, and the
theatre was a distinct success and source of profit to the enterprising
operator.

I encountered another quaint outburst of initiative at a far more
inaccessible spot--the town of Hazelton around the Hudson Bay post
at the head of navigation on the Skeena River, in British Columbia.
Prince Rupert, 186 miles away, was the nearest town, and that port is
550 miles from Vancouver. A cinematograph showman arrived in Hazelton,
which at that time boasted a handful of white men, and several
Indians. The operator took over an excavation in the side of the hill
overlooking the town, which had been made for storing various goods,
but which at that time was empty. In this cramped, unventilated cellar
he rigged his screen and lantern. On the wooden door he nailed a large
sheet of paper, on which was scrawled the name of the “Theatre” and the
programme of films “now being shown.”

The preparations demanded only a few hours. Boxes, barrels, and logs
sufficed for seats, while a good many patrons sat or sprawled upon
the earthen floor. The little vault was packed to suffocation on the
opening night. The Indians were amazed and the whites were amused,
though the films would not have been tolerated in London or New York,
having long since passed their span of usefulness. The show was kept
going day after day until the audience became too small to defray the
cost of the illuminant, when the “theatre” was closed, and the showman
haunted the verandah of the hotel until he received some new subjects.
His supply of films was both uncertain and irregular. He had to order
them by post from Vancouver, whence they were brought up by boat. If
the fates were kind he received an entire change of programme in about
a fortnight; if the river were difficult to navigate, a month passed
before they reached him, and often the boat came up without his goods,
owing to lack of space. Probably no showman ever offered to amuse the
public under more difficult conditions. It was doubtful if he would
secure any films at all during the winter, as, the river being frozen,
communication between Hazelton and Prince Rupert had to be maintained
by dog trains, which carried letter-mail only.

In comparison with the luxurious conditions under which the triumphs
of the art may be seen in London, New York, or Paris, the “Hazelton
Picture Palace” was a half-pathetic, half-laughable spectacle--a
strange link between civilisation and the aboriginal. I saw it after
being immured for several weeks in the primeval bush; and though the
pictures in the cellar danced and flickered on the screen, they seemed
to me like a welcome handshake with the great world.

About four years ago the cinematograph theatre underwent a fresh
change. The success of the “halls” extemporised from empty shops and
railway arches induced a movement in favour of a theatre especially
designed for the projection of moving pictures. Companies sprang up
on all sides. At first empty buildings of all descriptions, disused
slaughter houses, empty factories, roller-skating rinks, chapels
without congregations, were taken over. Landlords who had despaired
of ever receiving an income again from their vacant property reaped
a golden harvest. In the first enthusiasm little discrimination was
displayed in the acquisition of premises. The interiors, having been
cleared down to the bare walls and ceiling, were redecorated, and
provided with comfortable theatre seats.

The converted building was not entirely successful. Moreover, the
cinematograph theatre needed established houses in order to compete
with the vaudeville and legitimate theatres. Managers became more
and more ambitious; and to-day rivalry is being displayed between
competitive interests to eclipse one another in the elaborate
construction and palatial appointment of the building.

Great improvement was made in the mechanical installations. Hitherto
they had been more or less haphazard; but expert electrical knowledge
naturally soon entered the field, and the electrical engineer has found
a new opportunity for the display of his ability. Every large company
retains a highly competent electrical engineer and an efficient corps
of assistants, and the success of the twentieth century picture palace
is dependent to a very great extent upon electricity.

Improvement in this particular field is probably responsible for the
fact that, taken on the whole, the British picture theatre is the best
in the world from every point of view, as an inspection of the theatres
on the Continent and in North America will readily show.

The picture houses under the control of the Provincial Cinematograph
Theatres, Limited, offer a good illustration of my point. This company
has studied the tastes of the British public and has set the pace in
elaborate and comfortable buildings. The day of the moving picture
theatre comprising only the box office and the dark hall screened
off from the street by heavy curtains is past; and the comforts and
conveniences of the vaudeville house and the legitimate theatre have
been incorporated.

[Illustration:

  [_By permission of the Provincial Cinematograph Theatres, Ltd._

THE LUXURY OF THE MODERN PICTURE PALACE.

General interior view of the Picture House, Briggate, Leeds.]

Our illustration shows the Picture House at Briggate, Leeds, one of
the chain of theatres belonging to the Provincial Theatre Company. The
building is of fire-proof construction, as every moving picture theatre
should be; the decorative details have been carried out upon a lavish
scale, and the seating arrangements have every device of luxurious
comfort.

[Illustration:

  [_By permission of the Provincial Cinematograph Theatres, Ltd._

THE LANTERN ROOM OF A MODERN CINEMATOGRAPH THEATRE.

The operating room of the Picture House, Briggate, Leeds, showing two
film projectors and slide lantern.]

The projecting hall has accommodation for about 600 people, and there
is a lounge, a tea-room, and a smoking-room. Such a liberal policy
brings the picture theatre on a level with the vaudeville house or
legitimate theatre.

British law demands that the operating room shall be insulated by means
of steel walls. In the early days a cupboard-like box built of iron
met this requirement; but nowadays larger accommodation is necessary,
because the compartment has to house far more than the mere projector.
When a continuous show is given, and the programme lasts about an
hour, the public insists upon full value for its money; consequently
the interval between each film must be reduced to the minimum. Under
ordinary circumstances 1½ minutes suffice, not only to enable the film
to be changed easily, but to give sufficient time for the audience to
change.

The projecting apparatus should be in duplicate, not only to provide a
reserve apparatus in case of accident, but to permit alternate use, so
that the lantern does not become overheated. Moreover, the advent of
Kinemacolor has made the 2-lantern plan essential. In colour work the
projector requires a special type of shutter with alternate sectors of
red and green glass, or screens, with intervening opaque sectors; and
thus, obviously, when black and white alternate with colour pictures
in the programme, a second projector is essential, to obviate the
necessity for repeated detachment and re-attachment of the Kinemacolor
shutter. A third lantern is required for stationary projections, such
as announcements, titles, and so forth. Under these conditions a
commodious lantern room is indispensable.

The front of the operating house is provided with small sliding
shutters through which the pictures are projected. If a film should
catch fire these doors, by a single movement, close either from within
or without the lantern room, the fire is confined to the lantern house,
and the public within the theatre need receive no intimation of the
mishap. As the lantern house is provided with an ample ventilating
system, no smoke or gases find their way into the main building.

In the modern theatre, however, the lantern room has to fulfil other
requirements beside merely housing the projectors. From it control of
the various electrical arrangements is effected. The picture palace of
to-day, instead of being entirely dark during projection, is suffused
with the subdued glow of ruby lamps, which do not affect projection,
or the brilliancy of the picture to any material degree. Under the
old _régime_ darkness prevailed from one end of the programme to the
other, save, perhaps, during a short interval; but now the lights
are turned up throughout the hall while the films are being changed.
The conversion from darkness to brilliant light, and _vice versâ_,
which is so detrimental to the eyesight, is not, however, carried out
instantaneously, but gradually. When the end of the film is reached the
hall is filled--for about five seconds--with a soft diffused light,
followed by full illumination; darkness comes on in the same gradual
manner when the next film is ready.

In the modern picture palace, such as we illustrate, the electrical
equipment is of the most elaborate character. The supply of current is
derived, as a rule, from the public supply service, and the pressure
has to be broken down to meet the requirements of the projector and of
the electric lighting arrangements throughout the building. The supply
service is generally in duplicate to guard against the failure of one
installation, while should the whole service break down some other form
of illumination has to be in readiness for use until the fault in the
electric system is repaired.

The electrical installation is essentially of technical interest,
appealing mostly to the engineer. In many instances the projector
mechanism is driven by electric power, a small motor being fitted for
this purpose. For natural colour work, indeed, owing to the number of
pictures projected per second, a motor drive is imperative to secure
satisfactory results.

After a film has been passed through the lantern it must be re-wound
upon another reel to bring the first picture into the starting position
once more. This operation is carried out with a film-winder. A large
number of these devices are on the market, all working upon the same
fundamental principle, but the “Empire” winders have achieved a high
reputation, being excellent machines for the work and capable of
withstanding hard wear. The operation is so simple that there is no
necessity to describe the apparatus, as the illustration, Fig. 12,
conveys its design and method of working.

[Illustration: FIG. 12.--THE “EMPIRE” FILM-WINDER

After a picture has been run through the projector it has to be
re-wound upon its spool for the next display.]

Occasionally when a film is being run through the projector it becomes
severed by some means or other. Before it can be used again the break
must be repaired by splicing the two parts together. This is a simple
task. The broken edge of one film is cut off about one-eighth of an
inch below the line dividing one picture from the next. The gelatine
emulsion upon this small section is removed with a knife. The other
part of the film is trimmed exactly at the dividing line between two
pictures, and the two facing surfaces of the film are treated with
film cement, applied by means of a brush, the overlapping edges then
being pressed tightly together and allowed to dry for about three
minutes. This cement is a combination of amyl-acetate and acetone
in the proportion of two to one for ordinary celluloid films. When
a non-inflammable film is used the constitution of the cement is
varied. To facilitate such splicing a small clamping device is used
generally, and, although it is not essential to effect a good joint,
its use certainly enables the task to be performed more neatly and
satisfactorily. Fig. 13.

[Illustration:

  FIG. 13.--THE “EMPIRE” FILM MENDER. THE ILLUSTRATION SHOWS HOW A
        BROKEN FILM IS REJOINED.
]

Though the excellence of a moving picture display depends primarily
upon the projector and the film, its brilliancy and clear definition
can be made or marred by the screen. When the pictures are being
thrown from the front of the house and the audience see a reflected
projection, the screen must be opaque and prepared from a suitably
woven cloth. It is stretched taut, and the surface is treated with a
good whitewash or matt white paint. Recently, various preparations have
been placed on the market to enhance the brilliancy of the picture.
They may achieve the result; but often at the price of introducing
other flaws, such as alteration of the tone values and occasionally the
impoverishment of the pure whites in the picture.

If the audience is viewing the picture through the screen--that
is, if the projector is placed at the back of the stage and out of
sight--the sheet must be made of transparent material. This practice,
however, has fallen into disuse. The screen must be set perpendicular
to the horizontal axis of the projector objective and condenser, and
if the machine is inclined slightly the sheet must be tilted in a
corresponding degree, or it will be impossible to secure a picture
which is clear and sharp all over, for the simple reason that some of
the rays of light from the projector will be shorter than others. If
the former are focussed sharp and clear the latter will be blurred,
and _vice versâ_. In hanging the screen a certain amount of care must
be taken to secure the best possible results. The edges are covered
with a black material--velvet is the best medium--carried for a small
distance on all sides of the sheet, giving the appearance of a white
surface being set in a deep black frame. Such an arrangement improves
the pictures by throwing them into stronger relief.

Within the past two or three years the idea has come into vogue of
accompanying movements in the pictures with characteristic sound
effects. When a horse gallops, the sound of its feet striking the road
are heard; the departure of a train is accompanied by a whistle and
a puff as the engine gets under weigh; the breaking of waves upon a
pebbly beach is reproduced by a roaring sound. Opinion appears to be
divided as to the value of the practice. Some more cultivated motion
photography lovers are opposed to it, on the ground that unless every
motion is given its distinctive sound, none at all should be audible;
others contend that sound imparts an additional realism to the scene.
There is no doubt that at times the sound effects come as an unpleasant
and disturbing shock, especially when they are neither in time nor
harmony with the motion--for example, when the realism of a mediæval
battle is heightened by the vigorous rattling of a machine gun, or when
horses galloping over the turf make a clatter that only a city pavement
could cause.

But, on the other hand, since sound effects are indispensable to the
legitimate stage, why should they not be extended to the moving picture
theatre? What would Macbeth be without the crashing of thunder, and how
could the impression of rattling hail, or the howling and shrieking of
the wind, be conveyed without recourse to various devices in the wings?
Even if the play be in pantomime, all sound is not suppressed. The
players may be mute, but yet one hears the slam of a door, or the crash
of an overturned chair as it strikes the floor, and so on. Accordingly
it would seem that sound effects are perfectly justifiable in moving
pictures, provided they are judiciously managed.

The first attempts to introduce sound effects provoked humorous
situations. The boy deputed to the task enjoyed the chance to make
a noise, and applied himself with a vigour of enthusiasm which
overstepped the bounds of common sense. Nowadays such effects are
employed with all the care and discrimination expended on the pictures
themselves, and the result is harmonious and pleasing.

Of course, it has been necessary to devise all sorts of contrivances
for realistic sound production, from the firing of a 12-inch gun to
the squeak of a mouse. The most interesting of these is the “Allefex,”
invented by Mr. A. H. Moorhouse. It is the most comprehensive and
ingenious machine ever made for the mimicry of sound, for although it
measures only four feet in height, by about three feet in width and
depth, it produces some fifty characteristic sounds, including the
howl of a storm, the rushing of waterfalls, the bark of a dog, and
the twittering of birds. Every artifice for producing these noises is
contained within a small cubical space, and the operation has been so
simplified that one man is sufficient for the task.

[Illustration:

                [_Copyright the Hepworth Manufacturing Co., Ltd._

THE TRIAL SCENE FROM “RACHEL’S SIN.”

A striking example of a British picture play. From every point of
view this film is equal to the finest foreign work. The English home
producers excel in domestic drama of this character.]

A general impression of this machine may be gathered from the
illustration. It appears to be a maze of levers, cranks, plug-holes,
and bulbs, but each attachment performs some definite purpose and
produces one or more distinct sounds. Another striking feature is that
its operation demands the minimum of practice, for the majority of the
effects are produced by straightforward action. It is only here and
there that a little practice is required, such as, for instance, to
imitate the bark of a dog, or the cry of a baby.

[Illustration: HOW THE SOUND EFFECT ACCOMPANIMENTS TO PICTURES ARE
PRODUCED.

The ingenious “Allefex” machine, whereby over fifty distinctive noises
can be made.]

It would be impossible to describe in one chapter all the various
effects produced by means of this apparatus. I will confine myself,
therefore, to some of the more difficult sounds, many of them
apparently beyond the reach of mechanical mimicry. The shot of a gun
is imitated by striking a drum at the top of the machine, on which a
chain mat has been placed, a smart blow with a felt drum-stick as near
the centre as possible. The same device serves to represent successive
shots. The interior of the drum is fitted with three drum-sticks,
which are manipulated by the turning of a handle, the number of shots
varying, with the speed, according to the picture. At the bottom of
the machine is a large bellows worked by the foot. Their manipulation
in conjunction with one or other of the handles will produce the sound
of exhaust steam issuing from a locomotive, the rumbling of a train
rushing through a tunnel, and so on. Running water, rain, hail, and
the sound of rolling waves are obtained by turning a handle, which
rotates a ribbed wooden cylinder against a board set at an angle from
the top of which hang a number of chains. By varying the speed of the
cylinder any of the above sounds may be obtained with accuracy. The
puffing of an engine is made by revolving a cylinder with projections
against a steel brush; the crash of china, pots and pans, &c., is due
to the revolution of a shaft on which are mounted a series of tappets
striking against hammers, which in turn come into contact with a
number of steel plates. The crackling of a machine gun is caused by
turning a shaft having tappets which strike and lift up wooden laths,
subsequently releasing them to strike smartly against the framework
of the machine. The same device also serves for imitating the crash
attending the upsetting of chairs, tables, and so on. Pendant tubes
serve to produce the effects of church bells, fire alarm, ship’s bell,
and similar noises; the sound of trotting horses is caused by revolving
a shaft carrying three tappets which lift up inverted cups. This shaft
is slightly movable, so that by adjustment a trot can be converted
into a gallop and _vice versâ_, while distance effects are obtained
by a muffling attachment. Thunder is made by shaking a sheet of steel
hanging on one side of the machine; the press of a bulb gives the bark
of a dog; the bellows and another attachment operate the warbling bird;
while the cry of the baby is emitted by the dexterous manipulation of
plug-hole and bellows.

A machine like this is a distinct acquisition to the modern picture
theatre, for when skilfully controlled it provides a scientific and
perfect mechanical apparatus for the production of distinctive sound,
correctly, and at the proper moment. At the same time, it is so simple
that little practice is demanded to make the operator expert in the art
of mechanical mimicry.

During the past two years special attention has been devoted to what
is called “daylight projection,” _i.e._, the display of pictures in
broad daylight. A method evolved by Quentin for accomplishing this
end was adopted at the Cinéma Palace in Paris nearly three years ago.
Here the practice was to show the pictures upon the screen with half
the lamps in the theatre lighted, the projector being 66 feet from the
screen, the size of the picture being 10 by 8 feet, and the arc lamp
taking normally a current of 30 amperes from the supply mains of a
110-volt circuit. Another system to the same end was evolved by Antoine
and Prosper Poch, the image being projected upon a translucent screen
placed between the spectators and the projector. With this apparatus
the pictures could be thrown upon a screen measuring about 24 by 30
inches, so as to be clearly visible in the middle of the day by people
passing along the street.

For this work the screen demands special treatment. If it is to be
used only temporarily, the tracing cloth used by architects is a very
satisfactory material. One inventor produced what he called a “rainbow
screen,” prepared by soaking a suitable white material with fish glue
and attaching thereto a thin layer of tinted fabric. Moving pictures
“without darkness” have been exploited in the United States upon a
small scale, and on one or two occasions in this country. The object
of the plan, however, is not quite clear, for moving pictures can
obviously be seen at their best only in total darkness or a very slight
suffused red glow. It is claimed by the advocates of the daylight
pictures that the eyes are fatigued less under such conditions. The
advantage, however, has not been recognised by the public, for daylight
projection is no more popular to-day than it was in 1897, when the
appearance of a method for accomplishing it appeared and sank into
oblivion after causing a passing interest.

A prominent feature of the development of the cinematograph theatre
is the formation of “moving picture circuits,” or chains of theatres
controlled by one organisation. This practice was taken over, of
course, from the music hall and the legitimate stage; and its
application to the new field has been largely responsible for the
improved status of the cinematographic industry. Keen and growing
rivalry is displayed between the various circuits. Thus has developed
a spirit of healthy competition, resulting in the improvement of the
picture theatre as a building, and in the production of superior
programmes. When two or more rivals in a single town are making a
common bid for popular favour, the public naturally patronises the
establishment which offers the most refined pictures combined with
comfort in the seating arrangements. The inferior film is being driven
from the better class of cinematograph theatre, where a programme is
offered which is varied in character, and of the highest excellence
from the photographic, dramatic, and educational point of view, as well
as from that of sheer amusement.

In the United States the growth of the cinematograph theatre has
been phenomenal. The success of the first displays with the Lumière
machine at the Eden Musée prompted the proprietors of other places of
entertainment to introduce the biograph in their programmes. The news
of its success at the Alhambra in the English metropolis doubtless
likewise influenced the development on the other side of the Atlantic.
The first display in a New York music hall was at the Union Square
Theatre in the Keith vaudeville circuit. It did not meet with an
immediately enthusiastic reception; but in a few days it caught the
public fancy, and thereafter the house was always well filled. The
value of the moving picture machine to this house is reflected by the
average weekly receipts. At the time of its introduction the average
receipts were £600 ($3,000) per week; a month later they had risen to
£1,400 ($7,000)--the cinematograph more than doubled the revenue of the
theatre.

Within a year there was not a music hall of repute in the country which
did not possess its bioscope. Then came the first movement towards the
creation of a moving picture palace, in the same way that it occurred
in England. Empty shops were taken on all sides, and within a few years
there were no less than 600 of these “store” theatres, or “nickel”
and “dime” shows, in New York alone, while about 30,000 similar
establishments dotted the country between the Atlantic and the Pacific
Oceans, and from the Gulf of Mexico to the Great Lakes.

Men who started with no more capital than was barely sufficient to
purchase the outfit and rent the empty shop, found that they had
discovered an El Dorado. The more energetic started theatre after
theatre, and in a short time possessed “circuits” of twenty or more
moving picture shows. One of these pioneers, Marcus Loew, starting
unpretentiously in a suburban district, found himself in five years
possessed of forty theatres, from which the money rolled into his
banking account in forty steady streams. It must be borne in mind that
this fortune was accumulated from the public in five and ten cent
pieces.

At the present time the moving picture theatre in the United States
is in a state of transition. The palatial character of the British
cinematograph theatre has spurred ambitious spirits in the United
States to like achievements. Loew has built two palaces, spending some
$1,000,000 (£200,000) upon the buildings and appointments.

Moving pictures are rivalling all other forms of entertainment in
the United States. As suitable buildings fall vacant exorbitant
bids are made by rival factions to secure their acquisition, and
the rents paid are very high. William Fox, a man very similar in
character to Loew, who entered the field a year later than he, startled
the cinematographic world by acquiring the lease of a legitimate
theatre in the fashionable theatrical centre at a yearly rental of
£10,000 ($50,000), and converting it to cinematography. Scarcely had
the excitement died down when it was announced that he had rented
the Academy of Music at £20,000 ($100,000) per annum. The price
he is paying in rental to bring moving pictures before the public
continuously throughout the day represents one-third of the original
cost of erecting the building, so that the proprietors may be said to
have profited handsomely in the transaction. Gambling in sites for
the establishment of picture palaces in the United States has reached
a far greater climax than was ever attained in Great Britain in the
height of the enthusiasm. Here the bubble has been pricked, and the
same outcome is anticipated in the United States. Probably the most
luxurious picture palaces in the world are in South America; there
they are palaces in the fullest sense of the word. That territory has
scarcely been touched yet, and is one of the most attractive fields for
development. It is in the “land of to-morrow” that animated pictures
promise to attain their greatest heights of success.




CHAPTER XIII

HOW A CINEMATOGRAPH PLAY IS PRODUCED


When a stirring drama or uproarious farce is projected upon the screen
the actions are so natural, the situations develop so obviously--in
fact, the whole thing proceeds so smoothly--that the average person
concludes that the production of a picture play is the simplest thing
in the world. But the average person was never more mistaken. A visit
to a studio-theatre to follow a production from the beginning to the
end undeceives him very promptly and thoroughly.

The stage management of a play before the celluloid film is far more
exacting than the staging of a play behind the footlights. Situations
have to be handled which never develop on the legitimate stage. The
picture play is essentially pantomime and the camera is a searching,
unequivocal critic. It produces a stern, matter-of-fact representation
of what is enacted before it. There is no dialogue to conceal
blemishes, or mitigate the deficiencies of the actors and actresses.
Words have to be converted into action and gestures. In a picture-play
every muscle of the body has practically to be called into use to
convey to the spectator a lucid and coherent idea of the progress of
the plot, since there is nothing but the action to tell him “what it is
all about.”

Furthermore, everything must be condensed to the irreducible minimum
without forfeiting coherency. The plot must be unravelled without
the slightest interruption of the main thread of the story. Once the
spectator loses grip of the theme, interest is lost. As brevity is the
soul of wit, so terseness is the keynote of success in a picture-play.

The producer must be a man of many parts. He must have a keen instinct
for dramatic situation, possess wide histrionic ability and experience,
have a sharp eye for minute detail, be supplied with unlimited energy,
and capacity to extract the utmost from his company. One factor is
all-important to him--time. The stage-manager works on a time-schedule,
not of minutes, but of seconds; it must be remembered that every second
of time is equivalent to twelve inches of film. A producer will spend
five minutes in the effort to condense by five seconds the action
necessary for a certain situation.

In what form does the picture play reach the stage-manager’s hands
for production? Does the playwright prepare the contribution in
detail complete with dialogue and business, as if for the theatrical
stage, or does he supply a bare outline? The answer varies according
to the dramatist, and to the stage-manager for whom he is working.
Some authors cannot convey their ideas coherently without extensive
dialogue. Others can achieve their end in 200 words. Again, one
producer fails to see eye-to-eye with the author’s idea unless the
latter is worked out minutely, while another will grasp the whole
situation instantly. As a result, it is impossible to lay down any
hard and fast rules, as to how to write a picture-play; but, generally
speaking, the briefer the scenario or story of the play, the more
likely it is to find favour, all other things being equal.

I have seen both methods in execution. In one case the author’s
story had been worked out to the smallest detail, the manuscript
covering some fifty pages. On the other hand, a friend of mine who
has produced many, eminently successful picture films, scribbles the
bare idea on a single sheet of paper--the back of an envelope suffices
sometimes--briefly indicating the progress of the plot step by step,
retaining all the stage business in his head, and modifying his ideas
as he proceeds, to suit the circumstances.

Equally divergent is the practice followed in production. Among the
French producers the general method is to write out all the parts
complete with dialogue, and to hand the lines to the members of the
company concerned, to be committed to memory in the usual way. Actors
and actresses thus become familiarised with the atmosphere of the
story, and are left to a great extent to their own histrionic instinct
to interpret the character assigned, the producer introducing his ideas
as rehearsals proceed.

On the other hand, many producers prefer to keep the members of
their company in ignorance of the plot. The story is carried through
in brief sections, step by step, the lengths of each section being
between 45 and 100 seconds or thereabouts. The actors and actresses
are given instructions as to how to make up their characters, and
are then marshalled upon the stage. The first situation in the play
is taken, the producer showing each character concerned how the part
is to be played. The members are put through their paces time after
time, rehearsing being continued until the whole company moves like a
machine, and then the camera films the incident. Sometimes the producer
himself will undertake a part, and shout instructions on the stage
as the action proceeds, keeping every actor and actress moving just
as he desires. This method is followed very extensively in America.
Its advantage is that the members of the company, not knowing what is
coming next, are kept acutely expectant in order to fall naturally into
the spirit of the parts and plot; they work themselves to a high pitch
of intensity; and this gives the play the vim and animation which are
peculiarly requisite for a picture-play.

[Illustration: THE FILM-PLAY PRODUCER AT WORK.

Rehearsing at the Edison Cinematograph Theatre. This picture shows
the stage setting, the powerful battery of electric top-lights for
illuminating the scene, and the electrically driven camera.]

By this method also the stage-manager compels the actors and actresses
to interpret his ideas, which he regards as suiting the man in the
street. The members of the company have no opportunity to thrust
their own impressions before the camera. When the lines are given out
beforehand to the members of the company, each naturally forms an
individual opinion as to how this or that part should be played, and
once this impression has taken root, it is difficult for the producer
to modify it upon the lines he has conceived. Another disadvantage
of the latter method is that an actor or actress sometimes fails to
regard a part with sympathy, and the result lacks realistic effect.
Repeated rehearsals also tend to dull enthusiasm; the members of the
company become somewhat lethargic; and there is a marked absence of
zest and swing in the resultant picture.

[Illustration: TAKING THREE PICTURE-PLAYS SIMULTANEOUSLY.

This photograph of the Selig Cinematograph Studios, in Chicago, shows
how scenes are set side by side. The battens on the floor indicate the
boundaries of each stage.]

When the play reaches the producer’s hands the first point is to
settle the length of film to which it shall run. This depends upon the
character of the play itself. The average length varies between 600
and 1,000 feet, occupying from ten to sixteen minutes to project upon
the screen. If an elaborate or novel production is contemplated of a
character able to sustain the interest of the audience, the length may
be doubled or quadrupled. The film version of “A Tale of Two Cities,”
for instance, ran to 3,000 feet, which meant that the screen was
occupied for some sixty minutes. That was an exceptional production,
however, and there are few plays which could rivet the attention of an
audience for an hour.

The actors and actresses, like the producer, are drawn from the
legitimate theatre. The majority of the large organisations collect and
maintain their own stock companies, ready to produce any character for
any description of play. This idea was first practised, and is still
continued to a limited extent, in Great Britain, the company averaging
six or eight principals. But in the early days the public resented
the too frequent appearance of the same face upon the screen; so the
studios which were situated in the vicinity of the metropolis began to
draw their material from the theatrical market, securing an excellent
selection, and at the same time plenty of variety.

Cinematograph studios situated farther afield availed themselves of
the touring theatrical companies, whose members benefited appreciably
from the introduction of the film-play; as it gave them an opportunity
to increase an otherwise meagre weekly wage. The practice is still in
vogue in the British provinces, and has been found very profitable to
the producer, because the varied experience of the average touring
actor or actress is a valuable asset on the picture-play stage.

The film-play does not offer any opportunity to the amateur theatrical
individual. The camera emphasises far too acutely any weak points in
histrionic ability. The professional is the essential raw material,
and the heart-breaking drill of the legitimate stage renders the actor
or actress all the better adapted to the exacting requirements of
the film play; though at times it demands indescribable patience and
perseverance, if not bullying, on the part of the producer to compel
the professional to adapt himself to changed conditions and realise
the difference between the two phases of the histrionic art. Many
producers, in fact, prefer to maintain their own stock company, every
member of which can grasp in an instant what the stage-manager demands,
thus saving much valuable time. The nucleus is increased as necessity
demands for special occasions or particular characters from the ranks
of available touring companies, while the supernumeraries are likewise
recruited from a wide field.

The selection of the actors and actresses is by no means easy.
The cinematographic stage has its own peculiar requirements. The
pre-eminent one is that the actor or actress must not only act but look
the part. A young man cannot make up to take an old man’s part--he must
be an old man. A woman of middle age may on the legitimate stage excel
in a young girl’s _rôle_; but she may not take it on the camera stage.

Make-up has to be reduced to the minimum, because the huge enlargement
which the picture undergoes in projection renders such artifices
hideous. Facial make-up is practically out of the question. Nowadays
the practice is to abandon general make-up entirely, and to whiten
all the faces. Under the glare of many thousand candle-power emitted
by several electric lamps it is possible in this way to secure
striking contrasts in facial expressions. When the features are torn
by malignant hatred, or uproarious mirth, the shadows formed by the
wrinkling of the skin as the muscles are brought into operation
emphasise the expression. There is another reason for the whitening
process. An actor or actress may have a natural high colour, or
dark complexion, when the face comes out with a dark or black tone,
conveying the impression that the part has been performed by a negro
or mulatto. This method of making up, however, it must be explained,
applies only to black and white cinematograph production.

There is no dearth in the supply of actors or actresses, consequently
the producers are able to carry out a weeding process in order that
they may secure the very best histrionic ability. One large American
company supplies every aspirant with a form in which to record full
particulars of his or her stage career. If the applicant has had no
professional experience he or she is told at once that the company
needs none but experienced artistes.

Certain American producers have not only acquired a large stock
company, but have also, by offering large salaries, attracted old
favourites, whom they star precisely as in the legitimate theatre.
Posters and photographs of their leading actors and actresses are
circulated broadcast, and the public has its favourites on the
cinematographic as on the legitimate stage. The Edison Company has
fourteen principals at Orange, in New Jersey; and in addition a company
of seven stationed in Western America for plays having a western
setting. The Selig Company has thirty players permanently attached
to its Chicago and Los Angeles establishments. The practice has by
no means fallen into disuse in Great Britain. The Hepworth Company,
from whose studios come some of the best films prepared especially to
suit British and Colonial tastes, maintains two stock companies at
Walton-on-Thames; while the Kinemacolor plays are produced by a stock
company of twelve players, augmented as occasion demands, which divide
their time between the studio-stages at Hove and Nice, frequenting the
former during the English summer, and spending the remaining six months
of the year in the south of France, being transported to and fro each
season.

There has been considerable complaint, to some extent justified, of the
indifferent character of the British film play productions. British
producers have not received sufficient encouragement to enable them
to incur great expense in mounting or in the maintenance of a large
and excellent stock company. However, there are signs of a change; and
as the technical quality of the picture is improving it should not
be long before the British film play industry attains a position of
importance. As soon as this happens a wide success will be reaped; for
this country possesses unique and extensive opportunities for producing
plays capable of making a world-wide appeal, and is rich in the natural
settings so much in demand for the attainment of atmosphere.

Let us follow the production of a picture play at a large establishment
having between three and six producers at work every day from morning
to night. The players upon arrival consult the “call-board” to see when
rehearsals commence, upon what stage, and for what productions. One
artist may appear in two or three plays in a single day, as a play is
occasionally not photographed complete through all its scenes; it may
be interrupted for several days from some reason or other.

[Illustration: THE FIGHT FOR THE BOATS IN “ATLANTIS.”]

[Illustration:

                          [_By permission of the Nordisk Co._

“SAUVE QUI PEUT” AT THE WRECK OF THE LINER IN “ATLANTIS.”]

At the pre-arranged time the company assembles upon its allotted
stage. The manager marshals those required in the scene and explains
precisely what he wants each artist to do. The business on the stage
is demonstrated, and those in waiting are told just how to make
their entrances, and all exits are indicated very concisely. The
stage-manager rehearses the first episode before those concerned,
to convey a general idea of his requirements, and they immediately
repeat it. No dialogue is written, but the actors of professional
experience realise what words are demanded for different situations,
and accordingly extemporise as they proceed. In the reproduction the
movement of the lips renders the action distinctly more conclusive and
realistic; moreover, the enunciation of suitable dialogue induces the
correct facial expression, one of the most important requirements in
the picture play, and the audience must at times derive from it the
significance of the situation.

In this fragmentary manner the producer carries the company through
the incident, and it is now rehearsed time after time, little
modifications and improvements being made on each occasion to animate
the action still further. Those waiting to enter are given the cue,
and when an exit has to be made it is announced in an emphatic manner
by the manager. The scene is repeated perhaps a dozen times before it
goes with the swing that the producer desires. Then what may be termed
a dress rehearsal is carried out. Watch in hand, the camera operator
follows it through from end to end. The producer has decided the length
of film the whole play shall occupy, and has allotted to each incident
a certain number of seconds, that is, of feet of film. The final
rehearsal completed, the producer inquires, “How long?”

“Seventy seconds,” replies the operator.

“Too long,” remarks the producer, and forthwith the scene is rehearsed
once more, the producer abbreviating it as the action proceeds, by
shouting stentorian orders to the players to make a quicker entry,
cutting short a situation, or by sharply and unceremoniously telling a
member to “get off” if there is a sign of lingering in the exit.

“Fifty-five seconds,” remarks the operator.

It is still too long by five or six seconds. The producer sees where
he can compress the scene still more, so decides to do this while the
camera is working. The operator takes his position, and then a scene of
great animation is witnessed.

“Are you ready?” shouts the manager. The actors come to the alert.
“Right!” The camera commences its rhythmic purring, and as the first
strains of the buzz break out the manager gives vent to a loud “Go!”

[Illustration: THE SINKING OF THE LINER “ROLAND.”

The Nordisk Company of Copenhagen filmed Gerhardt Hauptman’s striking
novel “Atlantis,” the most sensational feature in which is the sinking
of a liner in Mid-Atlantic. This play cost £20,000 ($100,000) to
produce.]

The whole time the picture is being filmed the producer is shouting
instructions, giving abrupt cues, and sharp orders as to how to improve
the business. Although orders and commands are delivered in an endless
stream, not a single player loses his head. One and all proceed as if
the manager were non-existent. It is a babel of noise; the producer
raps out breathless orders such as “Look towards the camera”--“Shout
out the dialogue”--“Come towards the front”--“Get off!”--“Look
happy”--“Not so quickly”--“Come in”--“Roll your eyes”--“Don’t move
your hands as if you were playing the piano”--“Cry!”--“Hurry up!” and
so on without ceasing. The actors are worked up to an exciting pitch,
each man and woman singling out the comment which concerns him or her.
The scene is brought to a climax, and there is a shout of “Stop.” The
purring of the camera ceases immediately.

“How many feet?” inquires the producer.

“Fifty-three,” replies the operator.

“Good! Next scene! Twelve years later,” and forthwith every artist
receives further explicit instructions.

Perhaps the operator finds that he has not enough film in the box
to carry him through the whole of a scene. In such a case, when by
reference to the dial on the camera he finds that the film is on the
verge of exhaustion, he cries “Stop!” Immediately the actors become
rooted to the spot and remain motionless until a new loaded box of
film is inserted into the camera and threaded up, an operation which
takes half a minute or so. Occasionally the “Stop” call is given
at an awkward moment, when the stage hands rush forward to support
artists who have been interrupted in the middle of some action, and
are caught in difficult positions. When the word “Go!” is given once
more, the supporters rush off the stage and the acting is resumed as
if there had been no interference. The first few pictures upon the new
film are afterwards cut out, and the connection between the two bands
is effected so neatly that no evidence of a break in continuity is
revealed upon the screen.

As on the legitimate stage, so here also there is a tendency to pay
more and more attention to realistic detail. Once upon a time it
sufficed for a frontier scene if a shack were painted on the back
cloth. Every time an actor touched the cloth a series of undulating
waves went across it, with ludicrous effect. A disconcerting ripple of
laughter would run through the house, even in the midst of an intensely
tragic situation. The public soon lost interest in plays so ill
mounted, and their dissatisfaction, of course, generated the necessary
improvement.

Audiences demand nature and realism, and the producer responds. Instead
of improvising a railway station in canvas and battens upon the stage
the producer transports his company, lock, stock, and barrel, together
with all the properties in motor cars or cabs to an actual station to
secure the required results in a natural setting. If a scene is laid in
a given thoroughfare, the company is sent thither to act the story.

In the United States the demand for realism has developed almost into
mania. The American Biograph Company had arranged to produce a film
version of the famous Indian novel “Ramona,” in which the great scene
is the devastation of a white settlement by Indians. The story is laid
in California; so the firm assembled a company of sixty-five artists
and dispatched them across the continent from New York to the Pacific
Coast, where they stayed five months so as to become saturated with
the environment. In order that the sacking and destruction of homes
might be correct in every detail, a small village was purchased and
fired! In another instance the same company wanted a modern fire scene.
They rented a plot of land, upon which they built a house of the style
required; then they set it on fire and burned it to the ground. But the
Selig Company eclipsed even this performance. One day a fire broke out
in a large department store in the heart of the city of Los Angeles. It
was a unique opportunity to obtain a powerful play; so the producers,
after securing over the telephone the sanction of the fire brigade
authorities, hurried principals and operators to the conflagration.
The film hero was garbed in the uniform of a fireman, and at the
head of a squad equipped with a hose, he dashed into the burning
building; the whirring of the camera testified that this incident had
been recorded. Shortly after, a woman--one of the best actresses of
the company--was observed at an upper window surrounded by fire and
smoke. She uttered a despairing cry for “Help!” and in response, the
pseudo-fireman made a frantic rush up the ladder, broke in the window,
and snatched the prostrate form of the actress from the flames. The
players ran great risks, but the film producer was satisfied. He had
secured a sensational fire rescue in an actual big fire in a crowded
thoroughfare, with the fire engines, a towering building, smoking and
well alight, and a huge crowd looking on as a setting. It is hard to
imagine a stage-manager attempting this feat under similar conditions
in London or any other European city.

The feverish clamour for realism has occasionally met the reward of
rashness. In South London, in a scene where a railway locomotive played
an important part, one of the men in the act was run over and killed;
in another case an actor was drowned while engaged in a thrilling
water scene. Mr. Edison relates that during the filming of a Boer War
play by his company, one of the actors dropped a lighted match into a
glass vessel containing gunpowder! He has been picking stray pieces of
glass from various parts of his anatomy ever since! In another instance
a superannuated cannon was used, which killed one or two actors and
injured many others.

An elaborate production, which is a great favourite in the United
States, is “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” which lends itself admirably to film
treatment. On the legitimate stage “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” has become
to the touring American manager what “East Lynne” is to his English
contemporary. It will fill a house; and it has established the same
rank for itself in the cinematograph theatre.

As an amusing comment on this fact, I must tell the story of the
introduction of the cinematographic version south of Mason and
Dixon’s line. The stage version had never been played in the Southern
States--managers feared it would kindle smouldering fires in the
breasts of the white population. An invisible barrier was drawn
across the country south of which the play never ventured. The
same apprehension was entertained in regard to the moving picture
production. However, one manager took the risk and presented the film
to a crowded house in New Orleans. It had been announced for a night or
two only, but its success was so overwhelming that it held the screen
for two or three weeks, the house being crowded at each projection.

[Illustration:

                              [_By courtesy of Pathé Frères._

SORTING, EXAMINING AND JOINING THE STRIPS OF FILM.

The positives are prepared in varying lengths. The different sections
of a subject have to be identified, trimmed, and connected together to
form a continuous ribbon.]

[Illustration: PREPARING THE TITLES.

This is an important operation. The title is designed upon a flat
table, and under powerful electric lights is photographed from
above, the lens of the camera pointing downwards vertically. The
cinematographer may be seen watch in hand, with his instrument.--_See
page 87._]

The moving picture producer is even capable of turning to account
a disaster to his own plant. While a play was in progress upon a
studio-stage in New York the building caught fire, and unrehearsed
scenes were enacted. The camera operator seized the opportunity. While
the building was blazing, and the company were rushing wildly to and
fro, he kept his handle turning lustily, and as a result filmed the
whole subject. In order to secure a dramatic automobile disaster the
Edison Company drove a motor-car to the top of a lofty cliff. A dummy
was seated in the vehicle to take the part of the character who had
been acting in the play up to this point, the steering-wheel was fixed
in its hand, the car was started up, and it was driven at full speed
to the edge of the cliff, over which it plunged. The film operator
caught it falling through the air, as well as the splash produced by
its headlong dive into the waves. Another company desired to secure
a dynamite explosion at sea. For this purpose it purchased an old
schooner for £200 ($1,000), stocked it with dynamite, towed it beyond
sight of land, where the charge was detonated, and a stirring series
of pictures of the disaster was recorded from the deck of a yacht
chartered especially for the occasion.

Sometimes the struggle after realism provokes humorous situations.
The Edison Company once wanted a riot scene, so they produced one in
a quiet country district by the aid of their company and a number
of local supernumeraries, who entered into the plot with tremendous
enthusiasm. While the mock riot was at its height the myrmidons of the
law swept down and arrested all the ringleaders, who, naturally, were
the principals of the play, and promptly incarcerated them. The players
expostulated that it was all make-believe, but the police were not to
be hoodwinked; they had heard that story before. Some time elapsed
before the mock rioters were released from gaol; but the manufacturers
scored, because the interference of the police imparted additional
versimilitude to the whole proceeding.

In Germany an hilarious party was rowing up a river. Suddenly all the
gay company were seen struggling in the water--the boat had capsized.
There was a rush from all sides to bring help; boats put off hurriedly,
while spectators either were rooted to the spot in horror or dived into
the water on rescue bent. The scene was intensely dramatic, and it was
not until one of the swimmers, while bearing the frail form of a girl
to the bank, hearing a strange buzzing near his head, looked round and
saw an amused operator a few feet distant, nonchalantly turning the
handle of a camera. Then the fact dawned upon everyone that the anxious
rescuers had unconsciously contributed to the greater success of a
cinematograph play.

The French producers Pathé Frères once disturbed the peaceful life of
a sleepy village by acting a scene in the deserted main street. While
the work was in progress one of the most prominent citizens hurried
up. He was bursting with righteous indignation at the noisy caprices
of the crowd of roysterers. While he was expostulating and uttering
dire threats of action, a policeman appeared, and clapping a firm hand
upon the shoulder of the interfering person, threatened to arrest him
for inciting a breach of the peace! The admonished resident, somewhat
amazed at the turn of affairs, moved crestfallen away, and departed
homewards. He omitted to look round at the emissary of the law, and
ignored the guffaw of laughter which burst out at his discomfiture. Had
he done so he would have observed a merry twinkle in the eye of the
gendarme, who was a member of the party!

A company desired to secure a love scene between an engine-driver and a
country maiden; so a small railway with the whole of its rolling-stock
on the outskirts of a town was hired for a single day. Another firm,
the Kalem Company, decided to picture a series of Irish stories.
Instead of passing off American scenery as that of the Emerald Isle,
the company and properties were dispatched across the Atlantic to
the heart of the country which the author had selected as the scenes
of his stories. Recently, the Gaumont Company, of London, dispatched
its company to Scotland in order to stage Rob Roy. The Duke of Argyll
graciously assisted in furthering the fidelity of the setting, by
permitting scenes to be enacted upon his estate and extending
invaluable aid, volunteering suggestions in order that everything might
be as correct as was humanly possible.

The Vitagraph Company undertook the filming of Fennimore Cooper’s
“Leather-stocking” stories. They sent their company straightway to
the scene of Natty Bumppo’s adventures, and although the forest has
disappeared long since, they pressed the lake into useful service.
Williamson, the English producer, filmed a picture version of the
tragic story of Lady Jane Grey, and the Tower of London formed the
stage for some of the incidents in the sad story, culminating in the
execution of the “nine days’ queen.”

Where do the moving picture producers obtain their plots? I have
heard this question asked on many occasions, and the answer might be
“everywhere.” They have such an inexhaustible mine in which to delve
that there is never any difficulty in finding an episode upon which
to base a straightforward simple drama, comedy, tragedy, or farce. In
this respect the cinematograph producer is far better off than his
rival on the real stage. Situations, scenes, and episodes incapable
of production by the latter, can be produced very simply on the
film. Novels, short stories, plays, the Bible, Greek inscriptions,
inventions, little episodes and incidents in everyday life--anything
and everything is grist for his mill. Of course, fashions change
just as in any other phase of our complex life. To-day there is a
demand for subjects of mediæval English history; to-morrow the French
revolutionary period holds the stage; three weeks hence there is a
cry for Bible or ancient history subjects; or a demand for something
modern. It is not difficult to meet each and every need. Most of the
large producing establishments retain competent writers who know how
to prepare plots for the picture producer, and in addition there is
a staff to consider plots submitted from outside sources. The Edison
Company receives 150 scenarios a week, and other companies as large
or even a larger number. It will be discouraging but salutary to the
beginner to hear that the chances of acceptance are very slender,
the number of suitable scenarios being not more than one per cent.
of those submitted. The remuneration varies according to the merit
of the work. It may be taken merely for the title or one incident in
the story, and may be worth only four shillings or a dollar to the
producer; on the other hand, it may command £25 ($125). There is no
fixed scale. The trained dramatist has realised that in the picture
play he has a new and increasing source of revenue, and as he is the
best fitted for the task, so he makes the greatest success in it.
French writers were the first to take advantage of the market, and
plays have been written and produced from the pen of many of the
foremost dramatists--such accomplished men as Capus and others.

The entrance of the dramatist has precipitated a new situation. The
suggestion has been discussed that well-known playwrights should
decline to part with their work for a fixed sum, but that they should
earn a royalty precisely as they do from their stage productions. It
is an intricate question to solve, but there is no doubt that the time
will come when such writers will receive a certain percentage upon the
price realised from the sale of every film copy of a picture play from
their pens.

A recent outcome of the development of the picture play has been the
appearance of “independent producers,” who are in evidence mostly on
the Continent. These men enrol their own companies, rent or build a
studio, paint their own scenery, and hire whatever properties are
required from a theatrical costumier. The plays thus produced are sold
to some recognised manufacturing firm. This “free lance” producer has
an extensive market at his disposal, but his enterprise demands a large
initial outlay. Yet it is a movement worthy of being fostered, inasmuch
as such a producer is thrown entirely upon his own resources, and it is
only the merit of his work from all points of view which secures him a
market. The practice stimulates competition. Indeed, some manufacturers
have found that in this manner they can secure work superior in
character and treatment to that produced in their own establishments.




CHAPTER XIV

MOVING PICTURES OF MICROBES


During the past two or three years the cinematograph has entered a new
field, which, fifteen years ago, would have been regarded as quite
beyond its reach. With truly wonderful ingenuity the camera is attached
to the microscope in such a way as to make possible the production of
the actual processes of germ life.

The microscope is always a source of infinite interest. The thought
of a whole world of organisms, existent, material, yet so small as to
be invisible, has a peculiar fascination, and we are eagerly curious
to get some conception of their structure and movements. But the
possibility not merely of magnifying the red and white corpuscles of
the blood till they appear like huge hoops, or the parasite of the
sleeping sickness to a length of some two feet, to follow the attacks
of these foes upon the human organism--such a possibility makes one
feel that there is no limit to the power of man over the natural world.

Micro-cinematography is surely one of the serious triumphs of animated
photography. Here again the latter offers itself as a coadjutor to
scientific research, and proves its title to rank among the educational
influences of the age.

Micro-cinematography may be divided into two broad classes--the study
of bacteria, the most minute living organism which the scientific
photographer has ever attempted to catch in motion, and popular
microscopy, or the study of insects, plants, pond life, and so on.

Bacteriological micro-cinematography is an abstruse and difficult
subject for investigation. The microbe is so sensitive to various
influences, and so difficult to handle, that it is a formidable task to
bring it within reach of the sensitised celluloid film and seize it in
its normal condition and environment.

A French professor, Dr. J. Comandon, of Paris, has been for years
absorbed in the study of the blood, its structure, functions, and the
continuous warfare that is waged between the corpuscles, and a host of
parasites as seen under the microscope and the ultra-microscope.

One supposes that the microscope is an ideal instrument for the
investigation of those objects which are so minute as to be beyond
the capacity of the human eye. This, however, is far from being the
case. Briefly described, the microscopic investigation of bacteria is
carried out by one or more of three broad processes, which are regarded
almost as standardised methods. All three, however, possess numerous
shortcomings. Often the bacteria has to be destroyed; and the slide
has to be stained by means of aniline dyes, in order to bring up the
details of the object sufficiently strongly for examinations; for the
majority of the organisms under investigation are transparent, and
their image stands out faintly against the brilliant light. Greater
success is possible with the ultra-microscope than with the microscope.
By its means objects so minute as to be invisible, even with the
microscope, can be thrown as bright points upon a black background,
not necessarily with sizes and forms clearly defined, but yet in such
a way as to enable their positions and movements to be ascertained and
followed.

The disadvantages of ordinary microscopic investigation are obvious.
In many instances as the investigator has to kill the germ before he
examines it, he has perforce to content himself with the study of
coloured corpses of these infinitesimally small organisms.

It occurred to Dr. Comandon that possibly the microscope could be
combined with the cinematograph in such a manner that the microbes
could be photographed distinctly and brilliantly upon the film, and
subsequently projected upon the screen with tremendous magnification,
without the organisms suffering any distortion or other ill-effects.
He realised that if this could be achieved, the scientist would
be provided with a more powerful weapon for the examination of a
particular microbe than hitherto has been available. Furthermore, if
the object could be thrown on to the screen with perfect detail, then,
owing to the tremendous magnification obtained, the study of the life,
movement, and habits of the parasite would be possible under easy and
congenial conditions.

The eminent French investigator approached Messrs. Pathé Frères,
and unfolded his ideas. The technical difficulties in the way were
prodigious, and the field was untested, both in microscopy and
cinematography. However, as there was the possibility of some startling
results being achieved, Pathé Frères decided to collaborate, and
promised to provide Dr. Comandon with every facility he desired.

The work was commenced without delay, and the manufacturers proceeded
with the construction of the special apparatus that was required. This
had to be of an elaborate character, owing to the peculiar conditions;
and exasperating failures attended the early work.

Although a cinematograph picture only measures approximately 1 inch in
width by three-quarters of an inch in depth, the first magnification
was considerable, ranging in the case of bacteria to 300 diameters or
more. This had to be carried out with punctilious sharpness of detail,
because when it came to projection, the magnification was multiplied
enormously, and any error in the original picture or negative would be
proportionately increased.

Bacteria are extremely sensitive to light and heat. Sunlight spells
certain death to the microbe, and as a ray of electric light is
the nearest artificial approach to the luminosity of our sun, its
destructive component, the ultra-violet rays, had to be eliminated.
Again, as the rays from the electric arc in the lantern focussed a
strong heat upon the object, and as this likewise would bring about the
sudden demise of the organism, the heat rays had to be mitigated as
much as possible.

[Illustration: DR. COMANDON’S APPARATUS FOR TAKING MOVING PICTURES OF
MICROBES.

The peculiar difficulties attending cinematographic work with germs
demanded the preparation of special appliances. About twelve months
were spent in experiments.]

These two adverse factors were removed entirely by a novel arrangement.
The illustration shows one of the apparatuses used by Dr. Comandon to
secure his wonderful pictures. It is mounted on a rigid bench, and the
parts which have to be moved to and fro to obtain adjustment, slide
upon a horizontal triangular metal base, to which they are clamped in
the requisite positions to secure rigidity. The lantern is mounted at
the extreme end, and the light, supplied from an electric arc of 30
amperes, is concentrated into a thin ray, or pencil, which falls upon
the object to be photographed, through which it passes to the film. The
illumination may be either direct--that is, it may pass in a straight
horizontal line from the lantern--or it may be reflected by means of
a mirror in a direction perpendicular to the axis of the instrument,
or at right angles, as in the ultra-microscope. The principle adopted
varies according to the subject under observation. The organisms
contained in a drop of blood, for instance, are dropped on to a
carefully cleansed glass plate, which is inserted in the microscope in
the usual manner.

At the opposite end of the bench is the cinematograph camera, which
in this case is provided with extending bellows, as in the ordinary
camera, for purposes of focussing. At the back of the camera is a small
attachment whereby the bacteria, greatly magnified, can be focussed
sharply and clearly upon the film. On top of the camera is mounted
a small box containing the spool of unexposed sensitised film. When
the contents of this are exhausted the box can be removed quickly and
easily, and another charged film box substituted. The film drops from
this box through the gate in the camera, and issues below into a second
film box, which can be removed similarly when filled, to permit another
empty case to be introduced. The mechanism of the camera itself is
the same as that of the usual animated photographic camera, and it is
operated in the same way, by the turning of a handle.

For the purpose of absorbing the heat rays, which in the
concentrated beam of light would kill the microbes within a short space
of time, a glass cell is inserted outside the lantern through which the
focussed beam of light is passed. A stream of cold water is circulated
continually through this water condenser, thus absorbing the greater
proportion of the heat contained in the ray of light, without affecting
its luminosity in any way. It will be observed that this is a reversion
to the first projecting system evolved by the firm of Lumière for the
cinematograph.

[Illustration:

                                    [_Copyright, Pathé Frères._

CINEMATOGRAPH FILMS OF MICROBES.

1. The phenomenon of agglutination in a fowl’s blood.

2. The blood of a fowl suffering from _Spirochæta gallinarum_.]

In order that the organism under photography should not be subjected to
the action of the light any longer than is necessary, a revolving disc,
or shutter, is placed between the microscope and the lantern. This
shutter is fitted with opaque sectors or blades, corresponding to those
in the camera, which at regular intervals eclipse the lens to enable
the film to be jerked forward the depth of a picture intermittently
after each exposure. This cut-off revolves with the camera shutter, so
that when the lens aperture is closed, the light is also cut off from
the organism slide in the microscope. By this arrangement the light
passes through the slide of bacteria only during the fraction of a
second that the celluloid film in the camera is exposed.

The evolution of this ingenious apparatus occupied several months of
continuous work and hard thinking. Indeed, nearly a year was spent in
experiments before a perfect film, suited to public exhibition, was
produced.

As a result of the persevering and patient experiments on the part of
Dr. Comandon and Messrs. Pathé Frères, a new and strange world has been
revealed. The cinematograph, in conjunction with the microscope, has
opened the gates of a kingdom long considered beyond the reach of all
but the privileged few. Not only this; the bacteriological scientist is
provided with facilities to study at ease intricate subjects which had
hitherto baffled his skill. What the microscope is to the naked eye,
the micro-cinematograph is to the microscope.

Some of the pictures obtained by Dr. Comandon are startling to such a
degree as to be incredible. It was my privilege to see one of the first
experimental films thrown upon the screen in the Paris Laboratory.
It depicted the main blood stream of the frog magnified about 25,000
times. The corpuscles were plainly visible, being about the size of
dinner plates. But most extraordinary was the form and movement of
the parasite in the blood stream. This foreign organism resembled
a tadpole in general appearance, and it darted with lightning-like
rapidity to and fro, pressing home its attack upon the corpuscles of
the blood with tremendous energy. One could scarcely believe that the
eye was following the movements of an organism which under natural
circumstances is beyond the scope of that organ. One had the sensation
of gazing into a pond, where the spawn of the frog was in course of
incubation, with specimens of the reptile in its first stages, darting
hither and thither through the water.

Dr. Comandon introduced the spectator to still greater wonders in the
under world. One may see in movement on the screen a drop of blood such
as courses through one’s own body. There are the red corpuscles, or
cells of circular shape as large as saucers, and some are to be seen
piled upon one another like coins. The extent of the magnification
in this film may be seen when it is borne in mind that a cubic space
measuring 61/1000000 of an inch contains some 5,000,000 and 6,000 red
and white blood cells respectively.

But the most fascinating spectacle to which we have been introduced by
Dr. Comandon is the attack of the parasites upon the blood corpuscles,
and the defensive tactics followed by the latter. There is one film
showing blood infected with the trypanosome, discovered by Sir David
Bruce, who was dispatched to Uganda by the Royal Society to investigate
sleeping sickness. This malady is communicated by a species of the
Tsetse-fly, which wreaks tremendous devastation among herds of
cattle and horses in South Africa. For the purpose of this film Dr.
Comandon inoculated a mouse with the parasite, and by the aid of the
micro-cinematograph he shows the action of the disease germ through
successive stages until the animal succumbs.

In the early part of the film the parasites are few in number; they
are seen to dart to and fro among the blood cells with striking vigour
and rapidity, jostling the corpuscles violently in all directions, and
causing them to bounce against one another like india-rubber balls. As
the film advances, showing the progress of the disease, the parasites
are to be seen increasing rapidly in number. At last they appear to
overwhelm the blood corpuscles, this multiplication continuing until
death supervenes some four or five days after injection. The film was
shown lately before a gathering of medical men, and created widespread
interest, as it introduced them to a phase in the life of the parasite
which hitherto had been beyond their comprehension.

Another film shows the “phenomenon of agglutination.” The white cells
of the blood act as the policemen of the stream and maintain a vigilant
outlook for criminals in the form of parasites. When the microbe
offenders come within the strong arms, or embrace, of this guardian,
either they are seized, or serum substances are thrown out by the white
corpuscles, which agglutinate, kill, and dissolve these enemies.

The film shows the blood of a fowl infected with spirochætes. In the
first instance, the microbes are to be seen swimming about actively
in the plasma--the liquid in which the red and white corpuscles are
held. The bird is recovering from the malady; one sees the white cells
engaged in their task of restoring law and order in the blood stream.
The spirochætes commence to congregate, become sluggish in their
movements, forming first strings, and then star-shaped groups. The
white cell appears on the scene, and these enemies gather round him
in a dense clump. The policeman grasps them in a sticky embrace from
which they cannot escape, and in a short time all the spirochætes have
joined one or other of the gatherings about a policeman. The latter
continues to throw out the agglutinate, which locks the enemies as
tightly together as if they were handcuffed. At first they wriggle
and endeavour to escape, but the white blood cell is too powerful.
Their struggles become weaker and weaker until at last they cease. The
policeman completes his victory by devouring the corpses.

One must see these pictures in animation upon the screen to observe the
wonderful definition, detail, and brilliancy which they reveal. The
magnification is immense--the thousandth part of an inch is increased
to three feet or more. When the picture on the screen measures some 16
feet in width, the organism is magnified as much as 50,000 or possibly
100,000 times; a flea is so increased in size that it represents a
fearful prehistoric monster as large as an ordinary dwelling house. A
magnification of 100,000 times the diameter of the original, however,
by no means indicates the limits of the eminent French investigator’s
work. When the necessity arises, the enlargement can be carried to a
far greater degree without any sacrifice of essential details.

Dr. Comandon’s dogged perseverance in the face of disappointments has
been crowned with complete success. Micro-cinematography is on the
threshold of a vast field in which it has tremendous opportunities, the
limits of which it is impossible to define.




CHAPTER XV

SOME ELABORATE PICTURE PLAYS AND HOW THEY WERE STAGED


The first large film production, “The Passion Play,” running to 3,000
feet, made its appearance, as we have seen, as far back as 1897--the
result of unquenchable American ambition to be first in every field. It
proved an amazing success; but it was regarded with greater favour by
the public than by the manufacturers. They all acknowledged it to be a
wonderful piece of work, but the prevailing opinion was that the public
would tire of a picture lasting nearly an hour, and monopolising the
greater part of the entertainment.

Moreover, such films were considered to be too speculative. The expense
of staging them upon a scale suited to their length and importance was
so heavy that the film-producers doubted whether the sales would be
adequate to recoup the initial outlay. That fallacy, however, has been
completely exploded. What was a marvel in 1897 is to-day a commonplace.
The “Big Picture Play” is as much part and parcel of the cinematograph
industry as the spectacular stage play is of the legitimate theatre.

The movement was established and developed by the firm of Pathé
Frères. Having fixed their popularity upon a firm basis and developed
their organisation to a high pitch of efficiency and resource, they
decided to launch out upon a large scale into the new field. Striking
historical subjects, especially of the French revolutionary period,
offered them the greatest scope for gorgeous mounting; they had some
apprehension about the attitude of the public toward such subjects,
but their anxiety was quickly dissipated, partly, no doubt, because the
plays were carried through with a vigour and sustained interest that
defied the possibility of boredom.

French history has been a rich mine to the picture-play producer. The
Reign of Terror and the Life and Times of Napoleon are the melodramatic
episodes which offer such peculiar scope to the film play. They make
an appeal to popular sentiment, especially to the French audience; the
incidents in the career of the Little Corporal never failing to strike
a strong emotional chord.

Such productions impose great responsibilities upon the producer,
and demand a mastery of stage-craft, both in mounting the scenes and
in handling the necessarily large companies of actors and actresses.
There can be no consideration of expense; money must be poured out
like water. Weeks and even months must be expended upon preliminaries;
in order to achieve realism as many as possible of the scenes must be
enacted in their natural surroundings, or else research must be carried
out in order to stage the action with absolute fidelity--an exacting
task, for the public is hypercritical.

In the first attempts the management of the crowds was perhaps the most
troublesome factor. Large bodies of supernumeraries were enrolled,
many possessed of stage experience. They had to be marshalled and put
through their paces time after time, first without the principals, and
then with them. Often days elapsed before the incidents in a scene
dove-tailed tightly together, but the patience and perseverance of
the manager were rewarded. Such scenes as the execution of Charlotte
Corday, or the arraignment of the aristocrats before the Tribunal of
Robespierre when thrown upon the screen stirred public enthusiasm to an
extravagant degree.

From the perfect manner in which the French producers carried out
this peculiar work, films of French origin attained a well-deserved
world-wide appreciation. At first the American trade ridiculed the
idea, maintaining that the heavy expense attending the production of
elaborate film plays never could be recouped, and that the movement was
purely ephemeral. But their contentions were doomed to disappointment.
The cinema-loving public received films of this character with open
arms: they were a welcome relief to the tawdry domestic drama or comedy
with the thread-bare plot, and, in which, perhaps, only half-a-dozen
or so players participated. Accordingly the American producers were
forced to embrace the movement, though somewhat tardily. They made
striking headway, but the most elaborate American film productions
never have compared with those of European origin, although such firms
as the Edison, Selig, Vitagraph, the American Biograph, Kalem, Lubin,
and one or two other companies have been responsible for many notable
achievements. Technically their films are in every way equal to the
product of the leading European manufacturers.

The Vitagraph production of “A Tale of Two Cities” is a splendid
example of the best American work. It tells Dickens’s story in
three chapters, otherwise three reels, and from every point of
view--photographic, staging, and acting--it is an excellent production.
By the time the 3,000 feet containing 48,000 pictures reached the
public £4,000 ($20,000) had been expended, while the preparations for
staging occupied no less than three months. Curiously enough, although
the Americans are keen admirers of the novelist who taught us how to
laugh and cry, the demand for this film came from Europe, and it is in
Europe that it has met with its greatest success. Within two or three
weeks of its appearance over 300,000 feet of this film were sold in
London alone.

The same firm produced another wonderful play on the life of Napoleon.
Mr. Stuart Blackton spent three months in France searching records and
archives to secure unimpeachable historical accuracy of details. The
country was ransacked also for furniture of the period, and for the
staging of the interior scenes. No less than £6,000 ($30,000) were sunk
in this enterprise.

Another American producer who has achieved world-wide fame from the
striking and expensive character of his films, is Mr. William N. Selig.
His studios are located in Chicago and California, while other studios
are extemporised from time to time in other parts of the country. Mr.
Selig’s name is most intimately associated with daring and elaborate
productions associated with life in the jungle, and some of his plays
of this character have been amazing. He may be said to be the father of
this type of picture-play. It was an ingenious idea and he has carried
it to perfection. When he decided to exploit this untouched field he
concluded rightly that unless the subjects were handled comprehensively
and realistically the results would be indifferent, so his first move
was the acquisition of an elaborate menagerie. This was one of the most
difficult proposals, inasmuch as menageries are not to be purchased at
a moment’s notice, because the market therefor is, to say the least,
extremely limited. Fortune assisted his resolve. The opportunity to
purchase a collection of wild animals, complete enough to do credit
to a large city, arose, and he grasped it. The purchase comprised 12
lions and lionesses, 9 lion cubs, elephants, 3 camels, 10 leopards,
7 leopard cubs, 5 pumas, 3 bears, 2 deer, 10 eskimo dogs, 8 grey
wolves, as well as monkeys and other animals. As an investment this
menagerie represented several thousands sterling. This zoo has its home
at Chicago, special arrangements having been completed, at enormous
expense, for its accommodation under the most perfect conditions. From
time to time additions are made to the collection, until at the present
day the zoo is about twice its original size.

[Illustration: A TRIUMPH OF THE CINEMATOGRAPHER’S ART.

A thrilling incident from Zola’s “Germinal,” filmed by Messrs. Pathé
Frères, showing the dramatic episode in the flooded coal mine, which
was built above ground.]

The next matter in hand was the selection of the jungle. Would it be
necessary to transport the actors and actresses, human and otherwise,
to Africa in order to secure the natural surroundings? It was decided
that Florida would suit just as well, because the flora near the coast
is similar to that of some parts of the African jungle. The menagerie,
together with the stock company of 30 performers, as well as
supernumeraries, travelled by special train from Chicago to Florida, a
journey of several hundred miles. As African natives were impossible,
Florida negroes were employed.

[Illustration: The gigantic horse being hauled by the Greeks under the
walls of Troy.]

[Illustration: “THE FALL OF TROY.”

The repulsion of the Greeks. Over 800 actors appeared in this scene. An
ambitious film produced by the Itala Company.--_See page 175._]

The production of the plays was naturally a thrilling affair, and many
unexpected scenes were recorded. The animals were under the care of
experienced trainers, but there was an occasional reversion to original
habits under the influence of the familiar environment. In one scene
the heroine was supposed to have lost herself in the dense bush, and to
sink down from sheer fatigue. A leopard was to rush from the brush to
spring upon her prostrate form. The scene was rehearsed time after time
to secure the requisite dramatic effect; the operator was to stop the
camera when the leopard was in the air springing towards the girl.

But when the picture was being taken the heroine did not accept her
cue with sufficient alacrity. She was late in falling, and the leopard
arriving exactly on his cue caught her in the act. The woman had the
presence of mind to bury her face in her hands, but the animal’s claws
dug into her scalp. Had she made a movement, the leopard would have
mauled her terribly, but she kept still, and when the trainer cracked
his whip the animal scuttled off according to pre-arrangement. It was a
narrow escape, but it gave the film a touch of vivid reality.

In another picture the heroine was protected by two tame leopards
who mounted guard over her dwelling. The scene represented an attack
upon her by a fierce lioness. The girl released her two leopards, and
a terrific animal combat was the result. The beasts took the matter
seriously, and fought until the lioness was killed by the two leopards.
During the fray the operator, but a short distance away, kept the
camera handle turning as unconcernedly as if the battling beasts were
in a cage. Surely such an unusual spectacle is sufficient to meet the
most querulous demands of the public for realism!

From the tropical jungle with its dense vegetation, to the Arctic
circles with its monotonous wastes of snow and ice, is a far cry, but
the Selig company dispatched its company northward to secure another
powerful film play. The plot was slender, but the scenes portrayed the
life of the frozen north with great fidelity and vigour, showing the
Eskimo fishing through the ice, and hunting the polar bear and walrus
by his primitive methods. A valuable polar bear was sacrificed to the
desire for realism. The Jungle play has become a speciality of the
house of Selig, and owing to the manner in which the subjects are
handled, giving no offence to humanitarian or animal-loving feelings,
they have proved unparalleled favourites with the public. It is hard to
estimate the educational service of scenes like these in broadening the
outlook of an untravelled, perhaps unlettered, audience. And what they
must contribute to the expanding imagination of the child, one would
need to be a child again to know!

In the United States there are many theatres which can show bigger
receipts at the box office from the presentation of moving pictures
than from the staging of a play. Why are many of the foremost producers
of stage plays forsaking the “legitimate theatre” to produce film
plays, if not because they recognise the future of the latter and the
scope offered for their technical ability.

Perhaps at this point I may be permitted to tell the story of the
cinematograph in Italy, since its success there is phenomenal in its
completeness. Less than ten years ago the cinematograph was scarcely a
feature of the Italian amusement world. It suffered from the hostility
of the theatres, and there was but meagre enterprise enlisted in it.
The example of other countries gradually caused increased popular
demand, which was at first satisfied by French films. Then the Italians
saw their opportunity, money and talent came to the service of the new
development, and the languishing enterprise not only came to rank among
the largest of Italian industries, but introduced its own wares with
great success into other countries. There seems good ground for this
state of things, and a special fitness in the Italian success. The
average Italian is artist by temperament and a born actor; the Italian
stage has long been famous for technique and stage-craft; and these
factors, with the clear atmosphere, brilliant sun, and picturesque
landscape, make Italy the natural home of the highest success in
cinematograph production. Financially also the Italian producers had an
advantage over all competitors. Luxurious picture plays could be staged
in Italy for half the cost they have entailed in France, England, or
America. A French producer informed me that supernumeraries alone cost
him from 10_s._ 6_d._ to 18_s._ ($2 to $4.50) a day, and that the
salaries of the principals were rising to high figures. In Italy the
remuneration was less than one-half. But as time progressed the Italian
supernumerary realised his value. He demanded recompense upon the scale
of his French colleague, and to-day is in receipt of remuneration upon
a similar scale. But the early financial advantage facilitated the
firm foundation of the producing industry in Italy, and it still ranks
as the premier country for “Big Picture Plays,” the high cost of such
works notwithstanding.

In this development the Cines Societa Italiana has played a prominent
part. It had long been established in Rome, but its efforts were purely
conventional. In 1908 new blood was infused into the undertaking,
and its first ambitious effort was the pictorial representation of
Alexander Dumas’ famous novel, “The Three Musketeers,” which lent
itself admirably to handsome mounting, and fine acting in pantomime.
The film ran to 1,500 feet. It made an instant success. In Great
Britain alone over 50 copies of the film found an immediate sale, and a
far greater number in Italy, France, Germany, and Russia. In Australia
its reception was particularly enthusiastic. Other most successful
presentations were “Macbeth,” which cost £2,000 ($10,000) to produce,
Shakespeare’s tragedy being condensed into 23,360 pictures, occupying
1,460 feet of film; “The Triumphant Hero,” “Faust,” “The Sacking of
Rome,” “Agrippina,” and so on. Its greatest triumph was the film
version of “Quo Vadis?” This film ranks as the biggest success ever
known in the cinema world. It built the fortunes of several showmen; in
fact, one man made a round £50,000 ($250,000) therefrom in less than a
year.

One might be inclined to suppose that some of the foregoing subjects
were somewhat beyond British taste, but their success here has proved
otherwise. As many as 80 copies of one of these big films have been
sold in Great Britain alone, the total output for the world aggregating
some 400 copies.

The experience of the Cines Company appears to confirm the theory that
historical subjects make the strongest appeal. The public is fairly
well acquainted with the milestones in European history, particularly
those in connection with the rise and fall of Rome. Moreover, Italy is
especially rich in beautiful landscape and historical sites, where the
scenes can be re-enacted in their original setting--an advantage which
the large companies realise to the uttermost.

[Illustration:

  [_By permission of the British and Colonial Kinematograph Co., Ltd._

THE “BATTLE OF WATERLOO” UPON THE FILM.

This desperate conflict was re-fought in England for the cinema at a
cost exceeding £5,000 ($25,000).]

The Cines Company is to-day one of the largest film-producing
establishments in the world. It has three studios devoted to the
staging of picture-plays, the premises in Rome having an area
exceeding 128,000 square feet. Everything is installed upon a large
scale--100,000 feet of film can be turned out every day. Six new
subjects of travel, educational, and dramatic interest are placed on
the market every week. The big productions, however, entail a strong
element of risk. The first difficulty is to select a subject which will
make a world-wide appeal. When the negative has been obtained “sample”
positive prints are prepared and dispatched to the great cities. At
each centre the firm attracts a certain number of patrons--possibly the
aggregate of the first order may be only forty copies. Since a film
running to 3,000 feet entails an outlay of £50 ($250) on the part of
the renter, it is not surprising that he displays caution in making
his purchases, because half-a-dozen copies of varied ordinary subjects
can be acquired for the same money, with the additional advantage that
the risks are spread over six subjects instead of being centred
upon one. The initial order is fulfilled, and should the venture
prove popular, a steady stream of orders may be expected to follow.
However, the producer does not breathe freely until the two hundredth
copy has been dispatched. Should the play fail to please the public,
the manufacturer is faced with a heavy loss. The system has certain
drawbacks, but it ensures the showman and the public being given the
very best material, and causes very keen rivalry among the producers to
eclipse one another’s efforts.

[Illustration: Building the scenery in a Devonshire bay for the film
performance of “Hamlet.”]

[Illustration:

                    [_By permission of the Gaumont Co., Ltd._

SIR HENRY FORBES ROBERTSON’S APPEARANCE BEFORE THE MOVING PICTURE
CAMERA.

The Ghost scene from “Hamlet.”

Cinematography is far more realistic and convincing for this
Shakespearean play than the legitimate theatre.]

There are certain subjects, however, which rarely fail of popular
success, those of religious interest being foremost in the group. The
“Life of Christ” was possibly the most successful venture of this
description. It cost some £2,000 to stage. There were thirty-nine
epochs, divided into four parts, and ranging from the “Nativity” to the
“Crucifixion.” Over 3,000 feet were required for their presentation.
The film was largely purchased by religious societies. A certain
“renter” is said to have amassed £30,000 from this single film. The
“Miracle,” the story of “Cain and Abel,” “The Trial of Abraham’s
Faith,” “The Fall of Babylon,” “Samson and Delilah,” to name only a
few, have proved powerful magnets. In the last-named the great scene
was the destruction of the temple. The edifice was built of cardboard,
and when Samson bent his strength in a final effort upon the columns,
the whole structure came crashing to the ground.

The development of the “Big Film” has been responsible for a new
movement in cinema circles. A firm which sinks, say, £10,000 ($50,000)
in one subject, naturally is anxious to recoup this outlay with all
possible speed. This can be accomplished only in one way--the disposal
of the sole rights for each country exclusively to speculating and
enterprising individuals, instead of by the slower sale of copies
in the open market to renters. It was not difficult to carry out
operations upon the new basis. Cinema circles teem with bold and daring
spirits. Unfortunately the development of this principle led to a
certain degree of wild gambling. Fancy prices, out of all proportion
to the intrinsic or showing value of the films, became the rage,
high water mark being reached with an Italian version of “Antony and
Cleopatra,” the limited rights in which for the British Isles alone
were sold for about £8,000 ($40,000).

Despite the antagonism of the “renter,” the attitude of the public is
distinctly favourable to the long film. Its production in Italy is
being carried out with great vigour.




CHAPTER XVI

PICTURES THAT MOVE, TALK, AND SING


When Edison invented the “Kinetoscope,” his ambition was, not only to
produce movement by the aid of pictures, but sound by the aid of the
phonograph. But it proved a hopeless quest; and accordingly Edison
confined his efforts for the time being to the perfection of animated
photography.

In an earlier chapter I have described some devices for imitating
sound. In this chapter I am speaking, not of imitation, but of
reproduction. In order to secure perfect combination of movement and
sound, it is essential to secure absolute synchronism in the actuation
of the camera and that of the talking machine. This was Edison’s
insuperable difficulty. A single motor was utilised for both machines;
but the phonograph was easier to stop and to restart than the camera,
owing to the fact that the latter had to be driven at sufficient speed
to secure 46 pictures per second.

The moving and singing picture machine known as the “Kinetograph,”
which worked upon the automatic “nickel-in-the-slot” principle, had a
very brief existence. It was placed in cigar shops, railway stations,
and other convenient public places, but it failed to interest the
public, and was withdrawn in a short time.

Yet Edison did not relinquish his original plan. He cherished the
idea that combined pictorial and audible records were feasible, and
for nineteen years he devoted his energies to the consummation of the
task. It was only a short time ago that the great inventor announced
that he had succeeded at last. In the meantime, however, he had been
anticipated by industrious and energetic experimenters in Europe.

In 1908 an attempt to produce motion and sound was made commercially
with the “Cinephone.” The solution presented in this apparatus is
undoubtedly novel, but the results are very unsatisfactory, and its
success is dependent entirely upon the skill of the operator. The
“Cinephone” is designed to accompany the motions of acting with the
sounds pertaining thereto. The pictures are fitted to the talking
machine records--that is to say, the cinematographer merely takes a
gramophone record and produces a film suitable thereto. Edison’s plan
was far more comprehensive. His idea was to prepare the phonographic
record at the same time as the film pictures were made--for example,
while a football or baseball match was being cinematographed, the
phonograph was to record the applause, cheers, shouts--in short, make
as complete a record for the ear as the camera did for the eye.

The principle governing the operation of the Cinephone is extremely
simple. An ordinary talking machine is employed, without any
modification beyond the addition of a small box with a governing
dial, and a similar dial in the pictures upon the screen. The dial
in each instance is fitted with a revolving hand, similar to that of
a clock, and all that the operator is called upon to do is to keep
the respective hands in relative positions by the manipulation of the
projector.

The talking machine is mounted upon a baseboard, which is extended in
front a sufficient distance to carry a small box the front face of
which is fitted with the dial. The clock-like hand is transparent,
and when an electric lamp, or other suitable illuminant, is placed
within the box, it becomes illuminated, so that its rotation may be
followed easily. The circle described by the hand is indicated at its
four quarters by a small transparent point, through which passes the
light from within the box. These four spots of light can be eclipsed
and revealed by the movement of a shutter lever. When the lights appear
the operator knows that the talking machine is ready. The hand of
the rotating dial is actuated by mechanism driven by the motor of the
talking machine, through a horizontal spindle.

In the bottom left-hand corner of each picture thrown on the screen
is a duplicate of the talking machine dial. The position of the hand
on each successive picture varies correspondingly with that on the
gramophone, because in the preparation of the pictures the speaking or
singing characters have accompanied the gramophone with their acting.
When the picture is shown the speed of projection gives a steady
forward motion to the hand on the picture dial.

When the apparatus is brought into play in the moving picture theatre
the talking machine is placed on the stage in such a way that its
illuminated dial is visible to the cinematograph operator. The latter’s
duty is to run the film through the machine at such a speed that the
position of the hand on the picture dial keeps step with that of the
talking machine dial. If this is done with precision, the action in the
picture coincides with the sounds emitted from the talking machine.

This apparatus can be applied to any type of projector without any
preliminary preparations whatever, and the mechanism of the latter has
not to be modified or touched in any way. But, on the other hand, there
are grave defects. Synchrony between picture and talking machine is
dependent upon the operator, and until the latter has become accustomed
to the combination, the results are disconcerting. It is no simple
matter to keep the hands of the two dials rotating harmoniously. When
the film lags behind the talking machine, a pronounced speeding up is
requisite to bring the two hands into synchrony. The increased work
thrown upon the operator is also far from being a negligible quantity.
He has to watch the two dials intently, and cannot centre his mind upon
the projector, as he should be free to do. More than once I have seen a
film snap under the strain imposed in the effort to catch up with the
talking machine, or the light has demanded attention, and the result
has been far from pleasing. However, the appearance of the “Cinephone”
served to stimulate inventive effort in this particular field, and
proved to the public that the production of pictures that talked and
sang, as well as moved, was by no means so forlorn a possibility as had
been imagined generally.

The next attempt in the same direction met with better success--in the
“Vivaphone,” perfected by the Hepworth Manufacturing Company, Limited.
In this machine the two dials were eliminated in favour of a single
electric control or synchroniser.

In the projecting box by the operator’s side is a small, compact case.
This is the synchroniser, consisting primarily of a vertical needle,
which can move to the right or to the left. The movement or deflection
of this needle is effected by means of two electromagnets. One exerts a
pull upon the needle towards the right, while the other draws it in the
opposite direction. These two electromagnets are electrically connected
to the cinematograph and to the talking machine respectively.

[Illustration: FIG. 14.--THE ELECTRICAL SYNCHRONISING ATTACHMENT TO THE
TALKING MACHINE IN THE “VIVAPHONE.”]

The attachments to the projector and the gramophone are very simple.
The electrical contact device or commutator is attached to the handle
to establish connection between the two parts of the apparatus. On the
gramophone is another commutator (Fig. 14). It consists of an arm,
one edge of which rests on the case of the talking machine, while
the opposite end engages with the motor spindle of the gramophone
projecting vertically through the turn-table.

[Illustration: FIG. 15.--THE ELECTRICAL WIRING SYSTEM OF THE
“VIVAPHONE.”]

The installation of this apparatus (Fig. 15) is likewise simple.
The synchroniser _A_ is placed in a convenient position in the
operator’s box, while the gramophone _B_ is set upon the stage. From
the projecting handle commutator _C_ a pair of wires are run and
attached to the connections _K_ in the synchroniser, while similarly
a pair of wires are carried from the talking machine commutator to
the connections _G_ in the synchroniser. Two wires are led from the
terminals _B_ in the synchroniser to the battery _F_. Sufficient energy
for the electric current is furnished from a 4 or 6 volt accumulator,
such as is used in automobile practice, or from a dry storage battery.
Ordinary bell wire suffices for the purposes of the connections. If the
distance between the screen and the projecting box is very great it is
advisable to introduce an auxiliary cell _D_ in the gramophone circuit.

Behind the vertical needle of the synchroniser is a narrow transparent
slot, which, when the synchrony is perfect, is covered by the needle
itself. The upper end of the needle is fitted with two small glazed
apertures or spectacle glasses, one on either side, fitted with red
and green glass respectively. When the apparatus is in use the two
electromagnets controlled by the cinematograph and the gramophone
respectively exert a pull in opposite directions--the gramophone
endeavours to draw the needle one way, and the projector electromagnet
attempts to pull it in the other direction. If the projector is
lagging, the needle moves over, bringing the red spectacle before
the light aperture, and the red light thus shown warns the operator
to accelerate the projector. On the other hand, if the projector is
running too fast, the needle moves in the opposite direction and brings
the green light into prominence. The degree of the deflection of the
needle indicates how far the synchronisation is disturbed. When the
opposing forces of the electromagnets are exactly equal, the needle
maintains a vertical position, and shows absolute synchrony. It will
be seen that the signalling system is very sensitive and accurate, and
at the same time enables the operator to have complete control over
projection. In fact this is the most perfect system of synchronising
the pictures with the sounds emitted from the gramophone that has been
yet produced in the combination of sound and movement. Some excellent
subjects have been produced with this machine, one of the finest being
the sound and movement reproduction of “Faust.”

But, after all, these devices are far from representing the ideal
singing and talking cinematograph. The drawback is this: the conditions
prevent the pictures being secured at the same moment that the relative
sounds are being recorded by the gramophone.

While Edison was striving with the problem, French investigators
were active, and the first practical success in the field must be
credited to Monsieur Léon Gaumont, the head of the French cinematograph
establishment of that name. He succeeded where Edison failed; or
rather, he anticipated the famous American inventor by several years.
It was as far back as November 7th, 1902, that Monsieur Gaumont
introduced his achievement for the first time before the French
Photographic Society. The apparatus was not yet perfect, but it served
to demonstrate that the synchronous production of sound and movement
by the aid of the cinematograph and the talking machine was within
measurable distance of attainment. The demonstration was held primarily
to show how perfect a synchronising mechanism had been evolved. The
great difficulty encountered was in regard to the sensitive character
of the material required for taking the records of sounds from a
distance. The ordinary process then in vogue was far from being
suitable. By the aid of several interested friends and collaborators,
however, Monsieur Gaumont was able to conquer this obstacle, and on
December 27th, 1910, the “Chronophone,” as the new invention is called,
was submitted to the approval of the French Academy of Sciences and was
regarded as eminently successful by that distinguished learned body.

Synchronism--both in producing and reproducing--between the
cinematograph and the talking machine is secured by electrical
connections between motors which furnish the requisite power for
driving the two essential parts of the apparatus. In evolving such a
combination as this the inventor had to bear in mind that portability
and simplicity were two fundamental requisitions, so that resort to
heavy, bulky, and intricate mechanism was quite out of the question. In
comparison with the Cinephone and Vivaphone, the Chronophone appears
somewhat complicated. But this is only relative. The apparatus is
almost entirely automatic in its operation. Yet it can be operated by
hand if necessary. If the latter method is adopted, the energy required
to secure synchrony is derived from batteries or accumulators.

Synchrony is obtained by means of a patented system, which may be
briefly described. The two motors required for driving the talking
machine and the cinematograph respectively are of identical design,
of approximately the same power, and are operated by the same direct
current. The armatures of each motor are divided into sections, and the
corresponding sections of the two armatures are connected together.
By means of this arrangement the two armatures are rotated at the
same speed, notwithstanding the slight differences in the mechanical
resistance opposed to the machines.

The talking machine, driven by an electric motor, is of the disc
type, fitted with two horns, so as to diffuse the sounds through
the building. If the theatre is spacious the number of horns may
be increased, while the sound waves projected into the hall may
be intensified in volume by means of compressed air, as in the
Auxetophone devised by the Hon. C. A. Parsons, which is also capable
of considerable adjustment, so that the volume of sound may be
accommodated to the acoustic properties of the building.

[Illustration: FIG. 16.--THE GAUMONT “CHRONOPHONE.”]

In comparison with the ordinary bioscope mechanism the Chronophone
projector appears somewhat intricate, but here again everything has
been simplified to a remarkable degree, while all adjustments are
carried out automatically. The projector installation (Fig. 16), in
addition to the lantern _A_ and projecting mechanism _B_ employed in
the ordinary equipment, consists of a small motor _C_, which drives
the projector mechanism proper and a differential _D_, whereby error
between sound and movement is corrected, driven by a small motor _E_.

To start the apparatus, the first picture of the film, say that of the
title, is placed in the film gate before the exposure aperture, and the
needle of the talking machine sound box is placed on the first groove
of the disc record. The talking machine motor is started, and the table
carrying the record commences to revolve. Directly the needle reaches
the point in the disc groove where the first sound wave has been
recorded, an electrical contact is established, which is transmitted to
the projector, and sets the latter in motion. But it may be that the
speed is too much or not enough; the pictures move too slowly or too
quickly, and the tone of the sound emitted by the talking machine is
unnatural. In this case the operator moves the rheostat handle _F_ over
its contacts, this movement accelerating both the talking machine and
the projector until the correct natural speed has been secured.

Again it may be that the pictures are slightly in advance of the
phonograph, or _vice versâ_; the movements of the lips of the singer or
actions of the performer do not coincide with the emission of sound.
This error may be rectified instantly. There is a two-way commutator
on the control board, which the operator moves in one direction or the
other according to requirements. This instantly starts up the small
dynamo _E_, the power of which is transmitted through belt and pulley
to the differential gearing _D_, which works on the same shaft as that
driving the projector. If the projector is lagging it is speeded up, so
as to overtake the talking machine, or if the pictures are in advance
of the sound, it is retarded until synchronism is restored. This device
is particularly useful, inasmuch as the talking machine is somewhat
sensitive to outside disturbance; if the machine is not set quite
level, or receives a violent vibration, the needle jumps suddenly from
one groove into another. By accelerating the projector this lead can
soon be reduced without touching the talking machine in the slightest.

The operator need not follow the movement of the pictures upon the
screen, or listen to the talking machine in order to ascertain that
synchrony is perfect. He merely keeps his eye on an ingenious, simple
“control board,” which is set up in a convenient position beside the
projector operator. It includes a starting gear, whereby the talking
machine is set in motion, and which in turn actuates the cinematograph
by the disc electrical contact, an electric switch, a volt meter, which
acts as a speed indicator, its readings, in fact, having a constant
relation to the revolving speed of the talking machine turn-table; and
a two-way commutator, where the differential motor is started up.

The differential gearing is somewhat interesting. It belongs to the
four-wheel type. There are two driven cog wheels 1 and 2 keyed to the
ends of the interrupted shaft of the projector motor, and between these
two wheels, and set at right angles thereto, are two satellite wheels
3 and 4, which mesh with the former wheels. If the cinematograph and
the talking machine are moving in exact synchrony, the wheels 1 and 2
run at similar speed, but in opposite directions, and in harmony with
wheels 3 and 4. To the short end of the interrupted shaft a needle is
attached, and when synchrony is prevailing this needle maintains a
vertical position. Now, if the phonograph runs away from the projector,
this needle moves either to the right or to the left, and as it slides
over a graduated scale the operator can detect in an instant how
many pictures the projector is lagging behind the talking machine.
The cinematograph projector accordingly must be speeded up, and the
operator moves the commutator on his control board in the desired
direction. Then instead of the two satellite wheels meshing evenly with
the two wheels 1 and 2, they become displaced, with the result that the
shaft driving the projector is rotated more rapidly, and overtakes the
talking machine, the needle on the dial meanwhile moving towards zero,
until, when it reaches its vertical position, the differential gearing
and its motor are stopped. If the projector should have advanced
before the talking machine, it is retarded, the needle deflecting in
the opposite direction and requiring to be restored to zero. It will
be seen that the speed of the talking machine remains constant. Any
correction that has to be made is effected by means of accelerating or
retarding the speed of projection.

As, however, the records of movement and sound are made in synchrony,
and in view of the fact that both projector and talking machine run
at the same speed, if started simultaneously no displacement of one
in relation to the other should result. The differential, however,
provides a means of correcting any accidental displacement of the
phonograph needle when reproduction is carried out.

The Gaumont apparatus has proved highly successful, and has been
turned to useful account already; we have excerpts from operas,
ballets, recitations, and so forth recorded and projected with a
perfect relationship between sound and movement. Through the energy and
perseverance of Monsieur Gaumont the value of animated pictures has
received a decisive forward impetus.

Edison has devoted his energies in the solution of the problem to the
perfection of a more sensitive material than the wax hitherto employed.
Naturally he has confined his attention to adapting to this work the
phonograph or cylinder talking machine in preference to the disc
machine, the former being his own invention.

What is the future of the phono-cinematograph? In the first place,
until the peculiar nasal sound is eliminated from the talking machine
it will not prove popular. It is well-nigh impossible, unless a
speaker or singer has peculiar characteristics, to identify voices
on this instrument. Furthermore expression in tone is practically
non-existent. Though the cinematographic world be flooded with talking
and singing pictures, unless they are of some peculiar interest, the
majority of picture-theatre lovers, after the first wave of excitement
and curiosity, will patronise those establishments where they can see
movement alone.




CHAPTER XVII

POPULAR SCIENCE AS REVEALED BY THE CINEMATOGRAPH


The average audience before the micro-cinematographic film is very
much in the attitude of the schoolboy in the natural history lesson.
Scarcely any other subject holds such possibilities of interest for
him; yet the instruction must be given in some vivifying form, or it
fails to touch his latent sympathy, and becomes a tiresome repetition
of formulæ and inexplicable processes. Similarly an audience will sit
absorbed before a film displaying infinitesimal organic life; but only
on condition that its human instincts are in some way appealed to.
Science lessons must be humanised, when they rival the most dramatic
films in interest.

Unfortunately the supply of this kind of film is extremely limited.
Producers are not convinced of the heartiness of the demand; and the
labour, expense, and anxiety attending the preparation of such subjects
prevent their development upon any but a small scale.

An account has been given of Dr. Comandon’s wonderful achievements in
bacteriological micro-cinematography, through the firm of Pathé Frères.
In popular science the world’s market is practically supplied by an
English company, Kineto, Limited.

This fact is due mainly to Mr. F. Percy Smith, who possesses the happy
faculty of investing his subjects with a quaint fascination which
compels appreciation. It is doubtful whether any film has stirred
popular interest so intensely as that which he prepared for the purpose
of illustrating the physical energy possessed by the common house-fly.

When this film appeared the newspapers far and wide associated the
cinematographer with strange powers, and the capacity to train the
bluebottle in much the same way as the lion tamer subdues the King of
the Forest. Nothing was farther from the truth. The scientist merely
devised unusual and novel devices to illustrate the points which he had
in mind, and the fly was left more or less to follow its own devices.
For instance, it was seen to walk again and again up the rim of a small
wheel in a vain effort to reach the highest point. “Trickery!” was the
verdict when the film was seen first, and it was hard to make people
believe that the picture was genuine. As a matter of fact, the fly
performed the operation quite naturally, though in order to induce it
to do so the experimenter had to resort to an ingenious device.

A dark box was prepared with a very small door of thin glass at one
end. This piece of glass was fitted with a narrow slit in which a small
toothed wheel, similar to a watch escapement wheel, was fitted in such
a way as to be free to revolve. The imprisoned fly, seeing the daylight
entering through the glazed end of the box, attempted to escape in
that direction, but found its passage obstructed by the glass. When it
struck the latter, it received a smart tap on the head from a tooth in
the wheel, which was caused to move through the fly’s frantic efforts.
Time after time the fly threw itself against the glass door, and on
every occasion it received a rap on the head. At last frenzy gave way
to tractability, and it came to the conclusion that the best means of
escape was by walking up the wheel. Of course, as it advanced the wheel
slipped round in the opposite direction. While the insect was walking
like a criminal on a treadmill, the pictures were taken.

The results with the fly under restraint, however, were not entirely
satisfactory, so the experimenter set up the wheel in the open, and
withdrew a fly from its prison after it had become tractable. Time
after time the blue-bottle would fly away directly it was placed on the
wheel. The camera, however, was kept in readiness for exposure the
moment a fly did attempt to walk along the rim, and at length it was
successfully caught in the act. Again, the fly was laid upon its back
beneath the wheel, and was seen to revolve the disc with its legs. The
simple explanation of this seemingly clever juggling trick was that the
fly thought it was walking in the same way that it walks up a wall or
along the ceiling.

One fly in the same film was seen seated in a diminutive chair nursing
a smaller fly, or balancing and juggling with articles such as tiny
dumb-bells, but of large size in comparison with its own bulk. In this
instance the fly was secured by a thin strand of silk passed around
its body; but here again, in performing the apparent juggling feats,
it was merely following its instinct. Being prevented from flying, it
naturally endeavoured to make progress by walking.

The fly was to be seen endeavouring to balance a piece of cork, and
intense amusement was caused when it was seen to wipe its feet, in the
same way that a man rubs his hands together, preparatory to making some
kind of effort. In reality, the fly found that the suckers on its feet,
by means of which it secures a grip upon a surface when walking upside
down, were somewhat dusty. The apparent preparation for a herculean
attempt was nothing more than the fly cleaning its organs to achieve
its purpose.

This film occupied several weeks in preparation. Extreme patience had
to be exercised, and when a desired phase of movement had been secured,
often it was found defective from the technical point of view, so
that the wearying round had to be repeated. Recently Mr. Smith has
continued his investigations, and has produced another fascinating
film, demonstrating still more clearly the tremendous physical energy
possessed by the bluebottle, and the wonderful powers of its proboscis,
the movements of which, to assist the legs, are shown very distinctly.

[Illustration: NATURE AND THE CINEMATOGRAPHER--MR. PERCY SMITH AT WORK.

Great Britain has taken the lead in bringing the wonders of science
popularly before the public.--_See page 190._]

Another of Mr. Smith’s achievements is the film showing the hatching
of a chicken’s egg. The period of incubation is extended over 21
days--about 500 hours--and the egg naturally has to be preserved at
an even temperature the whole time, so some special means had to be
devised to make the film without imperilling the life of the embryo.
The opaqueness of the shell constituted a formidable stumbling-block.
Moreover, in the initial stages the embryo is so small, and its
movement so slight, that little difference is observable for the first
50 hours or more. Direct photography was seen to be out of the question.

[Illustration: FLY SEATED IN A DIMINUTIVE CHAIR BALANCING A CORK.]

[Illustration: AN UNFAMILIAR JUGGLER--BLUEBOTTLE BALANCING A PIECE OF
VEGETABLE STALK.]

An incubator was acquired, and the eggs were placed in it. At regular
and frequent intervals during the incubation, some were withdrawn, and
opened to ascertain the size and position of the embryo.

From these data diagrams of the early stages were prepared. They were
drawn carefully to scale and accurate in every detail. This task had to
be continued during the first 54 hours--the period when the movements
of the embryo were unknown--and involved the preparation of no fewer
than 1,000 diagrams, prepared in such a way that they resembled
photographs. From the number of these records and the period occupied
in incubation, it will be seen that they were prepared at intervals of
about three minutes during both day and night. This consecutive series
were then cinematographed upon the film, and thus a natural development
lasting 2½ days was reduced to a period of about one minute upon the
screen.

The early part of the film is not so interesting to the public as
that showing the chick coming out of the shell. Here again an initial
difficulty was encountered. The hatching, of course, could not be
cinematographed inside the incubator; and to remove the egg from the
temperature of 103° in which it had been kept was to arrest the process
at once.

Fortunately the experiment was being made in summer, and the
thermometer read 103° in the sun. The camera was set up, and at the
moment the chick gave signs of breaking through its shell, the egg was
removed from the incubator and placed upon a table in the full glare
and heat of the sun. In a few seconds the chick made further efforts
to break down the walls of its prison, and very soon made the first
breach in the shell. As the heat of the sun was exactly that of the
incubator, hatching was continued under precisely natural conditions.
It was not long before the hole in the shell was widened sufficiently
to enable the chick to wriggle its way into the world. From the
cinematographic point of view, the hatch was as perfect as could be
desired, especially as the chick was strong and active after hatching.

Mr. Smith once ventured into the Sussex woods, to obtain some animated
photographs of the British adder in its natural haunts. He succeeded in
tracking down an excellent specimen, of which some first-rate pictures
were taken. Then he proceeded to record on the film the methods by
which this reptile may be caught and handled in safety. While holding
a large specimen in his hand he provoked it to fury, and caused it
to strike out savagely, so as to secure on the film some life-like
pictures of an adder striking, as well as details of its mouth and
fangs. As a contrast, he then decided to show how an adder should _not_
be handled. He took the precaution to chloroform the reptile before
mis-handling it, but the snake recovered too soon from the anæsthetic,
and striking out with its fangs, caught the investigator a smart blow
on the hand, leaving two minute punctures. The bite of the adder is
seldom fatal, but, contrary to popular belief, it is far from harmless,
producing delirium and precipitating collapse, recovery from which
occupies several hours, or in some cases even weeks, as Mr. Smith found
to his cost.

An unusually successful popular science film is the one showing the
development of a flower from seed to blossom. It has been encored more
than once on being presented.

The average plant demands several weeks from seed to blossom. Mr. Smith
made an ingenious apparatus for securing a continuous representation of
growth. The seed was shown first in the initial stages until the embryo
burst from the protective or outer shell or husk; and then continuously
from the moment the first sign of the shoot appeared above the level of
the soil.

[Illustration:

                          [_Copyright, Urban Trading Co., Ltd._

1.

2.

3.

DEMONSTRATING THE PHYSICAL ENERGY OF THE FLY.

1. Fly lying on its back spinning a wheel. 2. Juggling flies. 3. The
fly walking up the turning wheel.]

[Illustration: THE LIFE OF THE BUTTERFLY.

This remarkable film, prepared by the Ambrosio Company of Italy,
illustrates the fascinating evolution of the butterfly from the
caterpillar. It secured the premier award of 5,000 francs for the best
natural history film in the cinematograph section of the recent Turin
Exhibition.--_See page 324._]

The camera was set up and an automatic apparatus attached thereto,
which enabled an exposure to be made at predetermined intervals both
during the day and night. The apparatus was driven by a curious motor
which obtained its power from dripping water; and the arrangement was
such that, after the exposure was made, the film was moved forward
to bring the next area of sensitised surface before the lens. The
receptacle containing the seed was placed at the correct distance
to ensure a large picture, and for the purposes of illumination at
night a special device was connected to the driving mechanism of the
camera, whereby the subject was brilliantly illuminated at the instant
of exposure. The exposures were made at average intervals of thirty
minutes, giving forty-eight exposures at different stages of the growth
in the course of the twenty-four hours. When projected on the screen
at the normal rate of sixteen pictures per second, it looks as though
the growth of the plant had been forced to about 30,000 times its usual
speed, with the camera continuously in operation the whole time.

The great secret of Mr. Smith’s success is the simplicity of the
apparatus he employs for his work. Each subject demands special
arrangements. His contrivances for the most part are extemporised from
crude materials; even the microscope, which he sometimes uses, being
of the simplest and cheapest pattern. He has found that elaborate
apparatus often complicates his work without producing such good
results as are procurable by the most primitive devices.

Work in this field is attended with some curious results. The eyes of
some of the lower animals are extremely fine lenses, and unless care is
bestowed some sorry tricks are played at the expense of the scientist.
Mr. Smith related to me that on one occasion he secured an excellent
series of pictures of the frog at close quarters; and congratulated
himself upon his success. His dismay was great when he projected the
pictures for the first time. Although the frog itself was beyond
reproach, interest in it paled before the unexpected sight of the
operator turning the handle of the cinematograph, reflected with great
distinctness in the frog’s eye.

There is one great difficulty attending the photography of the
smaller organisms of Nature which is very difficult to surmount; that
is, unnatural results arising either from the disturbance of the
object under examination, or its photography in a false environment.
This complexity is emphasised very strongly in connection with
cinematography. If it is desired, for instance, to record garden pests
engaged in their destructive work, it is trying indeed to convey a
correct pictorial description of their methods. Troubles concerning
illumination are particularly baffling of solution. Mr. Smith has
devised a special apparatus, which is very similar in its general
characteristics to a heliograph, mounted upon a tripod stand so that
it can be revolved in any direction. With this parabolic reflector
the sunlight can be brought into position and concentrated upon the
subject under cinematographic observation without disturbing it. The
photographs by this means of insects at work, no matter how unreal
they may appear at first sight, are absolutely true to Nature, and
are taken under incontestably natural conditions. In fact, the ray of
illumination thrown upon the object by this means is so brilliant as to
enable subjects to be photographed in their natural colours; which fact
may in the future afford scientists a wonderful opportunity of studying
protective colouring in insects.

It is probably beyond dispute that the popular scientific film, treated
in such a manner as is indicated in this chapter, is certain to command
the approval of the public in the end. At the present moment the
popular scientific cinematograph picture is in its infancy. It will
be only through the perseverance of the scientist who has the happy
faculty of amusing as well as entertaining a general audience that this
class of film ever will have a vogue. The tendency towards this state
of affairs, happily, is improving every day, for the cinematograph
is appealing more and more to the cultured classes, who, after all,
constitute its most substantial support.




CHAPTER XVIII

TRICK PICTURES AND HOW THEY ARE PRODUCED

_I.--The first attempts at cinematograph magic and the artifices
adopted_


As soon as the cinematograph had established itself firmly in popular
favour, and there was every indication that it would become a
permanent form of entertainment, it entered one field after another of
popular interest. We have seen how the picture play was evolved from
unrehearsed episodes in everyday life; and when the studio-stage became
an indispensable acquisition to the picture play producer, another
movement was created. This was the trick film. The pioneers realised
that the intervals between the exposure of successive sections of
film corresponding to an image offered extreme opportunities for the
practice of chicanery, and the presentation of weird, fantastic, and
mystifying effects.

The trick-film owes its inception to a well-known French
prestidigitateur, Monsieur Mélies. He was among the first to embark
upon the manufacture of film subjects, and it naturally occurred to
him to impress magic into the service of the industry. His first
attempts were of the simplest description. He confined himself to the
performance before the camera of the same tricks that he offered an
audience from behind the footlights.

Having by this means tested the public and found it responsive, he
introduced all the devices known to the “Black Art.” Furniture danced
upon the screen, and moved hither and thither about a room; skeletons
gambolled capriciously; weird displays of “Black Magic” were shown;
all sorts of inanimate objects were imbued with life; dolls and toy
animals and birds were given the semblance of natural action. The films
amused and mystified the public exceedingly, and the Mélies trick films
enjoyed a remarkable vogue.

Meanwhile, Robert Paul in England had been considering the feasibility
of the same idea, but had feared that the personality of the magician
would be missed. Seeing the success of the Frenchman, he decided to
embark upon a similar line of activity. He saw the possibility of
producing far more startling effects than even the most accomplished
and dexterous magician ever could hope to achieve. But the task
bristled with difficulties. The stage had to be overhauled and
equipped with elaborate devices to facilitate sudden disappearances,
apparitions, etc. A workshop also was necessary for the preparation of
the properties, and the character of the work rendered indispensable
the services of an expert magician.

Cinematographic knowledge was in its infancy; and accordingly some
of the methods used in the late nineties seem somewhat involved as
compared with those practised to-day. But it was upon these early
struggles and failures that the present adequate equipment was built
up. Indeed, from the point of view of the audience many of these first
films have never been surpassed.

To describe the methods adopted in the production of every trick
picture is obviously impossible in the compass of this volume, but I
am able, through the courtesy of Mr. Robert Paul, to explain how many
of the strange effects in his most striking trick films were achieved.
The processes most generally practised were the “stop-motion” and
“double printing,” which are explained fully in the next chapter,
but in addition to these methods he devised many others, some of
which have been superseded by easier operations. For example, where
gradual disappearances and appearances were desired, instead of
using a rectilinear diaphragm stop in the lens as is now usual, Paul
occasionally resorted to the chemical dissolution of the emulsion and
image from the film--an intricate and delicate manipulation entailing
considerable time and care, because if the dissolution process were
carried too far or undertaken by unskilled hands, the film was spoiled
and much labour fruitlessly expended.

Sometimes the desired result was brought about by means of two special
detachable stops, which were placed in the lens. Each of these stops
had a V-shaped opening of identical dimensions, and were set at
right-angles to one another. As they were gradually drawn apart the
aperture formed by the intersection of the V-openings through which
the light passed to the film was enlarged, while, on the other hand,
as they were moved towards one another, the aperture was decreased,
until at last the film scarcely recorded any impression of the subject
photographed. The gradual synchronous movement of these two V-shaped
stops was somewhat difficult. To-day their place is taken by the
rectilinear stop in the lens, whereby the same effect can be produced
much more easily.

One of the best and most successful trick films Paul ever produced
was the mediæval mystery entitled “The Magic Sword.” It appealed to
the grown-up because of the astonishing effects introduced, and to
the children for the reason that it provided an intimate glimpse of
fairyland with its giants, witches, good and bad fairies, and other
strange beings not encountered in this world. It was sumptuously
produced, and many of the tricks were introduced to the public for the
first time.

The first scene shows a gallant knight meeting his lady-love on the
battlements of the castle at midnight; a ghost appears, towards which
the knight advances, but it melts from his grasp. A witch rides over
the dark sky on her broom, and the knight in turn endeavours to seize
her, but she eludes his attack and departs, shaking her fist in rage.
An ogre no less than fifteen feet tall thrusts his head and shoulders
over the battlements, seizes the damsel and bears her off through the
sky. The lover is in the depths of despair, but a good fairy comes to
his aid, gives him a flaming sword, and bids him go in search of his
lady-love.

The battlemented castle gradually dissolves into a witch’s cavern,
to which the frightened lady is brought captive by the witch, and
transformed into a second hag. Many adventures follow; finally the good
fairy triumphs over evil, and the witch is converted into a roll of
carpet, on which the lovers float through the air to fall from the sky
upon the lady’s parents while they are banqueting in the castle grounds.

The trick effects in this film were produced almost entirely by double
printing, two negative films being superimposed to make a positive.
The accompanying illustration shows how the appearance of the ogre
was obtained. The scene with the two principal players, the knight
and the lady, first was acted and photographed upon one film. The sky
was a neutral back-cloth with a crescent moon painted on it. Then the
second film was prepared bearing the ghost, the witch, and the ogre
respectively. The spectral effect of the ghost named was realistically
conveyed by under-exposing the second film, so that the stone of
the battlements could be distinguished plainly through the form of
the figure. The ogre was an actor of ordinary height, but as he was
photographed with a short-focus lens from a point nearer the object
than the characters in the first scene, when the print was made he
appeared to be more than twice as tall as the other performers. In this
scene the wall over which he reached was covered with black cloth.

[Illustration: THE MAGIC SWORD: A MEDIÆVAL MYSTERY EXPLAINED.

Scene A was photographed first. The ogre was photographed against a
neutral background upon a second film, B, the camera being brought very
close to the figure. When the two films were superimposed and printed
the startling picture C was obtained.]

In order to get the effect of the witch riding in the sky, Paul
invented a novel movement in the camera, which is now in general use
in trick cinematography. The lens was arranged to be raised or lowered
in relation to the area of film in the gate, but still independently
of the film itself. This was done with a small gearing device whereby,
when the gear handle was turned, the lens was moved upwards or
downwards. The witch astride her broom stood upon the floor of the
stage, which was covered with black cloth, against a background of
similar material. By turning the gear handle of the lens attachment
the latter was raised, until the witch riding on her broom was lifted
to the upper corner of the film and there photographed. Although she
simulated the action of riding through space in the traditional manner,
in reality she merely moved across the black-covered floor of the stage.

[Illustration: A CHRISTMAS CAROL: HOW SCROOGE SAW BOB CRATCHIT’S HOME.

The scene of the Xmas dinner, A, was photographed with the space at
right. On the second film Scrooge and the spirit, B, were obtained.
These two films were placed together for printing the complete picture,
C.]

The strange effects produced in the witch’s cave were obtained both by
double printing and the “stop motion,” as well as by the manipulation
of the stop in the lens. The conversion of the captured lady into a
witch was accomplished by stopping the camera; and while the lens was
covered by the shutter, introducing a second actress, already made up,
who stepped into the position occupied by the lady, while the latter
quickly left the stage. The other actors maintained a rigid position
while the camera lens was closed and the substitution took place. The
conversion of the witch into a roll of carpet was effected in a similar
way. When the “stop” call was given the witch disappeared from the
stage, and a roll of carpet took her place.

The journey of the lovers through space upon the magic carpet was
carried out by the manipulation of the rising and falling lens already
described. When the solution of the baffling trick is given it appears
absurdly simple, but the elaboration of the idea entailed several
weeks’ preparation, combined with hard thinking on the part of the
producers, while the filming alone occupied several days.

Paul’s studio was excellently adapted to producing strange variations
in stature. He could make a giant or Lilliputian at will. The camera
was mounted upon a special trolley, which could be moved forwards and
backwards in relation to the stage over a pair of rails similar to a
railway track. The closer the camera was to the stage the larger were
the figures. A photograph at a distance of fifteen feet presented
people of normal height. But when the camera was advanced close to
the stage the players photographed were of immense stature, an effect
emphasised still further when one film was printed over the other.

By varying the distance between the camera and the stage Paul produced
some delightful results. One picture was called “The Cheese Mites,”
or “Lilliputians in a London Restaurant.” A traveller entered a café
and took his seat before a window. When he had finished his meal
the waiter brought him a mug of beer, out of which, to the intense
surprise of the traveller, a little sailor about six inches in height
climbed and executed a hornpipe on the diner’s plate. The sailor then
went to the cheese, which was about his own height, and produced a
lady therefrom. The sailor and the lass were engaged in an animated
conversation when another little man appeared on the scene. The two men
ultimately quarrelled and there was a spirited contest.

This introduction to modern Lilliput is simple to explain. On one film
the diner and his actions were photographed, the camera being, say,
fifteen feet distant. After this film was secured a second film was
made of the Lilliputians, who, of course, were not midgets, but people
of normal stature. They acted against a background of neutral tint; but
the camera was set about 150 feet from the stage, and a long-focus lens
was used. The consequence was that the figures appeared very tiny upon
the second film, so that when the two films were superimposed for the
purposes of printing the positive the contrast between the diner and
the sailors was strangely impressive, the latter being no taller than
the jug upon the table.

Some very astonishing results can be obtained by this superprinting
operation, either straightforwardly or in combination with the
variation in the photographic range as described in the previous
paragraph. The soldier dying on the battlefield sees his home and
mother in a dream which occupies the whole of one corner of the
picture; there is the vision of Marley’s Ghost, and so on. One of the
earliest of Paul’s simple trick subjects was a film illustrating the
song “Ora Pro Nobis,” wherein the starving, ill-clad orphan was seen to
sink in collapse in the snow outside the church door, the climax being
the death of the waif and the descent of the angel to receive and bear
her spirit heavenwards. This was effected purely by double printing,
the ascending and descending action of the angel being carried out by
means of the gear-operated falling and rising lens of the camera.

[Illustration:

                                    [_By courtesy, R. W. Paul._

“ORA PRO NOBIS” AND HOW IT WAS PRODUCED.

The scene A was first recorded upon a film; then B was cinematographed,
the angel and child being taken against a neutral background. A special
device provided the ascending movement of the angel with the spirit of
the waif. By placing B over A in printing the result C was obtained.]

[Illustration:

                                    [_By courtesy of R. W. Paul._

THE SECRET OF THE HAUNTED CURIOSITY SHOP.

The scene, A, was photographed first, the black space representing
the interior of a wardrobe. Another film, B, was made of the skeleton
against a neutral background. When the two films were superimposed and
printed the skeleton appeared to be imprisoned within the cupboard upon
the positive, C.]

“The Haunted Curiosity Shop” was a well-executed and startling trick
film. A floating skull was transformed into the bust of a charming
lady, while the second half of the body walked in and attached itself
to the upper half. The dealer attempted to grasp his strange visitor
around the waist with a view to stealing a kiss, but to his disgust
the fair damsel changed into a grinning negress. In anger he thrust
her into an old wardrobe, where she became white again. The outline of
the fair prisoner could be seen through the woodwork of the cupboard;
changing first into an Egyptian mummy, then a living Egyptian, and next
into a skeleton. The dealer made a lunge at the skeleton with a sword,
but the weapon struck the breast-plate of a man in armour. The latter
was then torn limb from limb, and the dismembered body was thrown
into a huge jar, from which rose three gnomes, who finally resolved
themselves into one. He was thrust back into the jar, and a dense cloud
of smoke rose, from which the dealer fled in terror, while a large head
appeared from the smoke and advanced towards the audience.

This picture was produced by recourse to “stop-motion” and double
printing. The changes from white woman to negress, mummy, Egyptian,
skeleton, and man in armour, were produced by substitution while the
lens was closed by the shutter. The space indicated by the wardrobe
was a recess having a black back-cloth, against which the skeleton was
photographed, and which when the two negatives were superimposed was
shown to be standing before the astonished dealer. The photographs of
the girl were taken with the wardrobe doors open and well-exposed, so
as to obtain a strong image, which could be seen through the other film
showing the wardrobe doors closed. The dismemberment of the man in
armour was carried out with properties, while the grotesque head was
obtained by bringing the camera within a short distance of the stage
so as to secure an enlarged photograph of an actor made up to suit the
part.

“The (?) Motorist” was an extraordinary example of Paul’s handiwork.
The effects were so startling and the situations so unconventional
that the spectators were sorely puzzled as well as vastly entertained.
The picture opens with a motorist and a lady entering a small
two-seated car. They set off, but presently a policeman attempts to
stop them. He is picked up and dropped over the back of the automobile.
The motorist continues on his way, with the offended emissary of the
law in pursuit. Presently a public-house bars the road, but the car,
on reaching the obstruction, runs up the wall, to the dismay of a
large crowd, and shoots into space. Without a pause it speeds over
the clouds, visits the sun, which it circles calmly, and once more
swinging into space runs over the clouds until it reaches Saturn. The
ring round this planet constitutes an ideal motor track, around which
the automobile rushes in mad glee. Finally it shoots off this unusual
highway and drops through space, to crash into a court of justice.
After striking terra firma in this unconventional manner, the car
continues its journey out of the building, followed by policemen,
magistrate, and other officials. To their amazement, however, just as
they are about to arrest the delinquent it vanishes, leaving in its
place a countryman’s cart, in which a smock-frocked farmer and his wife
are seated. When the pursuers are at a safe distance, the cart changes
back to the motor, and makes good its escape.

The point beyond the comprehension of the public was the journey
of the motor across the clouds and round the sun and Saturn. It
looked precisely as if the planets and the car were viewed through a
telescope. To get this effect models were used. A suitable back-cloth
was prepared painted with clouds, stars, the planets, etc. On the stage
a large model was set up to represent Saturn with its ring. A small
model of a motor-car was prepared, in which two dolls representing the
motorist and his companion were placed, and propelled round the ring at
increasing speed.

[Illustration: Motoring round the ring of Saturn.]

[Illustration: The car circling the sun.

THE ? MOTORIST--A STARTLING TRICK PICTURE.

Both car and planets were small models.]

A model of the sun was suspended upon the stage before the back-cloth.
The model of the car was attached to an arm, which was pivoted to the
back of the sun, like a clock hand, so that the wheels of the model
car rested on the circumference of the model of the planet. This was
revolved, thereby swinging the motor-car round and round, conveying
the impression that the car was travelling round the sphere under its
own power. For the journey through the clouds the model of the car was
photographed against a back-cloth. The idea of falling through space
was conveyed by the manipulation of the rising and falling lens. The
success of this novel trick film prompted many imitations. Working with
models, however, is by no means a simple operation, because, unless
they are prepared and manipulated very skilfully, the deception is
palpable.

[Illustration: THE ANIMATED SWORDS.

The public is mystified by the manner in which inanimate objects
apparently come to life. This picture shows one means of accomplishing
this end. The swords are manipulated by invisible wires, indicated in
this illustration to show method of application.--_See page 209._]

Another of Paul’s films was the representation of a railway collision.
The scene represented a single railway line threading mountainous
country. A goods train came in sight and overshot the danger signal. An
attempt was made to back the train, but before it could reach safety an
express dashed from the tunnel ahead and crashed into the stationary
train, precipitating a scene of wreckage. Carriages, locomotives, and
goods wagons were hurled down the embankment and piled upon one another
by the force of the impact. Many people who saw this film marvelled
at Paul’s good fortune in being on the scene to photograph such a
disaster. They were convinced that it was genuine. As a matter of fact,
the scene of the accident was a field, in which the scenery was erected
with considerable care, and a long length of model railway track
was laid down, while the trains were good toy models. The film only
measured forty feet, as it was designed originally for the kinetoscope;
but its popularity was so complete that it was adopted extensively for
the cinematograph. Certainly it produced forty of the most thrilling
seconds it is possible to conceive, for the disaster was perfect in its
swiftness and wreckage; and the cinematograph film images being less
sharp and decisive than those obtained by a hand camera, the illusion
was conveyed very convincingly.

Scores of trick pictures of infinite variety were produced by Mr.
Robert Paul during his active connection with the cinematograph
industry. In common with other producers of trick films, Paul found
that the time involved in their production was out of all proportion
to the financial results. It was no uncommon circumstance for a
subject approximating 100 feet in length to absorb a week or more of
continuous work. Moreover, his most successful subjects were seized by
American houses and “duped”--as unauthorised reproduction is called in
cinematographic parlance in that country: no copyright law existed on
the subject. Some of the subjects thus exploited met with a phenomenal
success, from which he never received the slightest benefit or even
recognition.




CHAPTER XIX

TRICK PICTURES AND HOW THEY ARE PRODUCED

  _II.--Dancing Furniture: Strings, Cords and Wires: “The Magnetic
        Gentleman”: The “Stop and Substitution”: “The Automobile
        Accident”: Reversal of Action._


The achievements of Mélies and Paul set a very high standard of
excellence in trick pictures. Their popularity precipitated a “trick
film” fever. The market became inundated with so-called magic pictures,
of which the majority were inane or conventional. The inevitable
happened; the public appetite became satiated. Consequently, to-day,
the popular taste demands extreme novelty. Unless the subject is
original in theme, and the atmosphere of mystification is sustained,
the effort is regarded with indifference, if not with absolute
contempt. On the other hand, a first-class trick film commands the
highest admiration, is regarded with as much satisfaction as were
the products of the past masters in cinematographic magic of fifteen
years ago, and when once seen is not forgotten very readily. There
are certain producers who specialise in trick films with considerable
success; but their number is small.

On the other hand, trick devices are introduced to a considerable
extent into the ordinary picture play. I recall a film which depicted
a scene at sea, where the vessel upon which the action took place was
shown rolling and plunging in a truly appalling manner, and was swept
from stem to stern time after time by the angry waves and scud. Wonder
and admiration were expressed by the public at the daring of the
producer in venturing upon a small boat under such terrible climatic
conditions merely to procure a sensational picture.

That scene was produced in the serenity and quietness of the
glass-covered studio under the glare of electric lights. The boat
deck was a stage property, comprising a platform built to resemble
the deck of an actual vessel, mounted upon rollers in such a way that
when the latter were set in motion the boat was caused to rock, roll,
and pitch in the most alarming manner. The angry waves seen on the
horizon as the craft dipped its nose or rose upon a crest were no more
than back-cloths and flats worked out by the scene painter, and set up
by the stage carpenter, while the driving spray and water came from
nothing more formidable than hydrants.

Behind the property boat deck, and disposed in concealed positions,
were stage hands, equipped with hoses and nozzles. By manipulating
these streams of water dexterously as the craft dipped, the jets of
water were played upon its sides at varying angles, causing the foaming
liquid to shoot into the air to produce the precise effect of a rolling
boat dropping into the trough of the sea and smashing into an angry
wave in its descent. The company suffered a severe drenching, it is
true, and one of the actresses was afflicted with an acute attack of
_mal-de-mer_ provoked by the violent movement of the platform!

In another instance the public was shown a seaport town bombarded by a
hostile cruiser. In the foreground were two big guns on the vessel’s
deck, while in the distance was the town. There was a puff of smoke,
and the next instant the buildings struck by the projectile were
observed to crumble into heaps of debris. The illusion was produced
very simply. The big guns were fabrications of wooden laths and painted
canvas, the smoke was a cloud of steam, and the buildings collapsed
because they were built up with hinged sections, which were pulled
down at the critical moment by means of concealed wires and cords,
controlled from the back of the stage.

Through the courtesy of the Gaumont Company, of London and Paris, who
are in the front rank of masters in film magic, at all events as far
as Europe is concerned, I have been allowed to go behind the scenes in
their studio, and am in a position to explain to a puzzled public the
secret of many an apparent miracle.

[Illustration: THE TRAVELLING BED.

The progress of the bed down the public street provokes amusement to
the pedestrians and consternation to its owner, but its movement is due
to the fact that it is being pushed by concealed stage hands.]

The film called “The Travelling Bed” is a typical subject of
mystification. An aged tenant has fallen into arrears with his rent,
and the long-suffering landlord at last commands his eviction. The
bailiffs duly arrive upon the scene, but are spared all trouble by the
fact that directly they appear the chairs, table, and other articles
burst into life. They move about the room, and finally file out of the
door, in the most methodical manner, to pass in a procession into the
street. Meanwhile the unhappy tenant is reclining upon his bed in the
depths of despair. He has no home and does not know where to search for
one. The bed, however, promptly sets out to solve the problem. It bears
its owner into the public highway. The owner is overwhelmed with fright
and dismay at the unexpected development, and indulges in frantic
gesticulations as the bed canters merrily down the centre of the road,
with the passers-by pursuing the unusual spectacle. The mystery of the
Travelling Bed is easily explained. It moves for the simple reason that
it is pushed from behind by stage hands. These men are concealed from
the camera, which merely records the movement of the bed, the alarm of
the owner, and the excitement of the crowd.

This is the simplest and most usual means of imparting animation to a
lifeless object. With such an article as a chair, which cannot hide a
stage hand, recourse has to be made to wires or strings manipulated
from a point in the wings, this being contrived in such a way as to
be invisible to the public. For instance, a gendarme is astonished to
see his sword whisked away from him. The accompanying illustration
shows precisely how this is accomplished, the cords responsible for the
action being made visible purposely to explain the mystery, whereas in
the actual film these strings would be impossible of detection.

[Illustration: THE MAGNETIC GENTLEMAN.

The man-hole cover rises to pursue, and the lamp-post crashes over
to strike the actor by the aid of wires, a common expedient in trick
cinematography.--_See page 210._]

There is no limitation to the variety of effects which can be produced
by the invisible medium of cords, strings, and wires. Probably their
possibilities are revealed to the most pronounced degree in such a
film as “The Magnetic Gentleman.” This unfortunate individual has been
the victim of an attack by Paris Apaches, and forthwith vows never to
venture through the streets again without a protective coat of mail
beneath his conventional waistcoat. But he unintentionally comes into
close proximity to a dynamo, with the result that his protective coat
becomes highly magnetised. As he passes shops where metallic articles
are displayed for sale, they jump towards him and cling tenaciously
to his person. To one and all of these articles thin wires or strings
are attached, the free ends of which are held either by stage hands or
by the magnetic gentleman himself. At the critical moment the cords
are pulled, and as the wires stretch across the path along which the
magnetic gentleman is passing they appear to jump towards him. The
articles which actually adhere to his person are connected to cords
held by the actor himself, who merely pulls them to him as he passes
the shops.

Presently the magnetic gentleman passes over a man-hole cover set in
the middle of the pavement. To the amazement of the audience, the
cover is seen to rise up on its edge and to bowl along the street in
pursuit of its disturbing factor. The cover is a stage property made of
wood, manipulated by wires controlled by the actor. When the cover is
raised there is a short “stop” while a stage hand enters the picture
to give the cover its hoop-like impetus necessary to start it rolling,
the actor then pulling it along by means of a wire, so that the cover
follows hard on the heels of the luckless individual, until its career
is arrested by two workmen, who struggle with the strange runaway.

[Illustration: The pursuing man-hole cover is a wooden property.]

[Illustration: The lamp-post is a stage article hinged in the centre.

HOW THE MAGNETIC GENTLEMAN TRICK FILM WAS PRODUCED.]

But the magnetic gentleman’s misadventures have by no means ended.
He is passing a lamp-post, when suddenly the metal, attracted by the
coat of mail, endeavours to jump towards him, with the result that
the post snaps in twain. The lamp-post is a dummy or stage property,
hinged at about half of its height so as to permit the upper part to
heel over like a flap. Wires are attached to the upper half, and as
the individual passes they are given a sharp tug from the stage hands
stationed outside the picture, or by the actor himself, and it falls
over.

In such instances as these the deception is improved by the scenes
being enacted in the public streets. Every action appears to be
carried out so naturally, and the properties are designed so well and
manipulated so carefully at the critical moments, that the spectators
are led to believe in the actuality of the episodes.

Of course, a film of this character demands considerable preparation,
and photographing it occupies a long time. The picture is built up
incident by incident, in the same way that a picture play is produced,
there being an interval of time between each series of exposures to
permit the arrangements for the next episode to be made; and each phase
is rehearsed over and over again before being filmed. When the pieces
of film are connected to form a complete band, the continuity in action
is so perfect that the public is unable to detect the points where the
sequence was interrupted.

[Illustration: TRICK PICTURE--THE AUTOMOBILE ACCIDENT.

The actor being replaced by the legless cripple with the dummy legs.]

A film which created a sensation when it appeared was the “Automobile
Accident.” A workman, who has imbibed not wisely but too well, is
homeward bound, and describes grotesque geometrical patterns as he
advances along the thoroughfare. Presently he is smitten with an
irresistible desire to sleep. Although the couch is hard and dangerous
he lies down in the middle of the road, and in a few seconds is in the
arms of Morpheus. While he is sleeping peacefully a taxi-cab comes
along at a smart pace, and, not observing the slumbering form of the
roysterer, the chauffeur drives over him, cutting off both his legs.
The shock awakes the man rudely, and he is surprised to find his lower
limbs scattered across the roadway. The chauffeur is horrified by the
unfortunate accident; but his fare, on the contrary, a doctor, is not
much perturbed. He descends from his carriage, picks up the dismembered
limbs, replaces them in position, assists the afflicted man to his
feet, and after shaking hands each proceeds on his separate way, the
workman resuming his journey as if nothing had happened.

[Illustration: TRICK PICTURE--THE AUTOMOBILE ACCIDENT.

The taxi-cab running over the sleeper and apparently cutting off his
legs, but in reality displacing the legless cripple’s property limbs.]

The requirements for this terrible calamity were very few. They
consisted of three actors, to take the parts of the intoxicated
workman, the driver, and the doctor respectively; a cripple who had
lost both legs through an accident, and for properties a taxi-cab and
a couple of artificial limbs. The legless cripple is, of course, the
key to the whole situation. The great difficulty was to find such a
luckless individual, and, when he had been discovered, to bribe him
to participate in a picture play. Probably the unfortunate had never
before found his misfortune so profitable to him.

[Illustration: Observing the effects of the disaster, the doctor
proceeds to replace the severed legs.]

[Illustration: THE AUTOMOBILE ACCIDENT.

The limbs replaced, the patient and doctor shake hands.]

In a trick film like this, success depends essentially upon what may be
described as the “Stop and Substitution” action.

When the legless cripple was found, the leading actor was made up
in such a manner as to be his exact counterpart. The company then
proceeded to the scene of the accident, which was in the Bois de
Vincennes. The camera was set up and the producer outlined the story to
the participants.

In taking the film the operations were as follows: The leading actor,
dressed like a French workman, ambled down the road simulating
inebriation, and presently prepared his couch in the dust. While he was
lying prone and asleep, the taxi-cab drove up quickly in such a way as
to run over the sleeper’s legs just above the knees. Of course, this
did not actually take place, the chauffeur drawing up a short distance
from the prostrate form. At precisely this point the camera stopped
working, and the cab slowly continued its way until its front wheels
touched the prostrate man’s legs at the required point. The tracks of
the vehicle’s wheels were plainly visible on the road.

[Illustration: TRICK PICTURE--THE AUTOMOBILE ACCIDENT.

The roysterer after being run over by the taxi-cab sitting up and
brandishing his severed limbs.]

[Illustration: The legless cripple being prepared for the act. The
second artist is made up as the cripple’s double.]

At this juncture the producer stepped forward with the legless cripple
mounted on his self-propelled wheeled truck, from which he was lifted.
The principal actor now got up and left the scene. The cripple took
his place in the road, and the artificial legs were laid against
his stumps in a natural position. Care had to be taken that the
cripple occupied exactly the same position as that of the actor he had
displaced, so that no sign of the substitution could be observed on the
film.

The cab was now backed to its former starting point and then
re-started, the chauffeur making it follow the tracks made by his
wheels on the former journey. As the automobile reached the point where
it had stopped in the previous picture, the camera started working
again, and the cab ran over the prostrate cripple, cutting off both his
legs--in reality displacing the dummy limbs and tumbling them across
the road.

Suddenly awakened in this rough manner, the sleeper beholds his severed
limbs with dismay, and then hops after the vehicle which had been the
cause of his disaster. The cab stops, the doctor alights, picks up the
severed limbs, and, while the cripple is seated on the ground, restores
the displaced artificial limbs to their natural positions.

The camera now stopped working once more. The cripple was restored
to his wheeled carriage and transported out of the picture, while
the dummy legs were thrown on one side. In the place of the cripple
the principal actor reappeared, and when the camera started again it
photographed him sitting upon the ground. He is helped to his feet and
resumes his journey.

In this picture we have seen two “stop and substitution” movements,
once when the principal actor was withdrawn from the scene to make way
for the legless cripple, and again when the reverse change was made.
Owing to the neat and skilful manner in which the change from the actor
to the cripple, and back from the cripple to the actor, is effected,
the public fails to observe either the stop or the substitution, and
thinks that one man acted the rôle throughout. The fact that the
accident occurs on the high-road, and the possibility of a man being
run over in this manner, helps in the deception.

The “stop and substitution” movement is probably practised more
extensively than any other artifice in cinematography. In picture
dramas where a situation is presented such as the throwing of the
villain over a cliff, or before an approaching train, or some other
scene impossible to picture without sacrifice of life, the camera
is stopped immediately before the incident. The actors engaged in
the scene become rooted to the spot when the “stop” call is given,
signifying the fact that the camera has ceased its purring. At this
juncture the villain disappears from the picture, a lay or dummy figure
being substituted for him. When the camera resumes operation the
episode is completed with the dummy.

Perhaps the best example of this expedient is that represented in the
film illustrating the “Fountain of Youth,” a version of the fable in
which a beggar woman is transformed suddenly into a beautiful maiden by
the kiss of a young gallant of good heart. A chivalrous young prince is
strolling through a wood when he is confronted by an old and wrinkled
witch, who makes supplication to him. In an instant the audience
realises that her sombre garments have left her for brighter attire,
and that the haggard face has been converted into youthful beauty.
This wonderful transformation is worked by recourse to the “stop
and substitution” action. After the “stop” call is given and while
the lens is closed by the shutter the hag leaves the scene, a young
actress, suitably attired, assumes her position, the actor retaining
his position while the change is effected. As the new actress assumes
the exact pose of the witch when the camera starts again, there is a
complete continuity of action recorded, and the audience cannot detect
that a pause and change has taken place between the two consecutive
pictures.

The “stop” movement is, as a rule, the secret to all instantaneous
disappearances. It enables people in the scene to vanish and reappear
apparently from space. It explains the wrestling match, in which
the audience is startled to see that the challenger has disappeared
suddenly--leaving his antagonist wrestling with the air--only to
reappear just as startlingly in another part of the picture. When
the time arrives the “stop” call is given. The disappearing actor slips
out of the scene, while every other holds the position in which he has
been caught by the last exposure. When the camera is re-started and the
actors continue their movements, the wrestler proceeds as if gripping
an opponent. When the “stop” call is given again a little later, the
elusive opponent steps into the picture once more, assumes a suitable
attitude, and his movements are continued when the camera resumes
operation.

[Illustration: THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH.

The film is stopped between pictures 2 and 3 to permit the actress to
change her costume.]

[Illustration: PUMPKINS RUNNING UPHILL.

This unusual effect is obtained by running the film backwards through
the projector.

THE “STOP AND SUBSTITUTION,” AND “REVERSAL OF ACTION” TRICK PRACTICES.]

The power to stop the camera and arrest the action at any point
provides the trick-film maker with boundless possibilities which are
denied to his contemporary behind the footlights. On the legitimate
stage the sudden disappearance and appearance has to be made through
a trap door, and, no matter how smartly the operation may be
performed, the public nevertheless sees the action taking place. In
the moving-picture record not the slightest trace of the movement can
be noted. The actor is seen in one picture and is missing from the
next. He appears to have dissolved into thin air, and his reappearance
is just as magically produced. This mystification of the public is
rendered all the more complete by the environment in which the action
is photographed. When performed by a magician or illusionist on the
stage, the public naturally thinks that it has been effected by the
medium of a trap door or some other artifice. When the magic takes
place in the public street, where no such trick facilities exist, the
natural surroundings lend the last touch to the illusion.

Another class of picture which causes considerable speculation as
to how it is contrived is that in which all natural action becomes
reversed. Horses, cabs, omnibuses, motor-cars, and cycles run
backwards, pedestrians walk backwards, and smoke, instead of escaping
from a chimney, appears to flow into it. Everything is topsy-turvy: the
laws of gravitation appear to be defied. This novel result is produced
by “reversal of action.” The action may be photographed in the natural
forward manner, but when the film is placed in the projector, the
last picture taken by the camera is shown first, and consequently all
movement becomes reversed.

[Illustration: FIG. 17--THE “EMPIRE” TRICK CAMERA.

It can be turned upside down while the film can be driven both forwards
and backwards.]

Obviously the task could be simplified if the travel of the film
were reversed through the camera during exposure, but in ordinary
circumstances this would involve rotating the handle in the reverse
direction, and cause unsteadiness in the picture. However, the camera
manufacturer has solved this problem. When a reversed motion is
required, the camera may be inverted upon its tripod, both top and
bottom faces having facilities for screwing to the turn-table. When
the camera is set upside down, the handle is rotated in the natural
forward manner, but as the film is travelling backwards past the lens
all movement is reversed. By this means the necessity to run the film
backwards through the projector is avoided. It is not even necessary to
turn the camera upside down now. Some manufacturers provide a second
driving spindle, on to which the handle is slipped and rotated in the
usual manner, the film being caused to travel backwards through reverse
gearing.

Some astonishing and highly ingenious pictures can be obtained in this
manner. For the purposes of illustrating the subject I have taken one
of the most simple results. It depicts a “Pumpkin Race,” in which the
vegetables are seen to roll up a slope, to give one or two preliminary
bounces, and then to fly into the air through an open window. When this
film was taken the pumpkins were thrown out of the window, bounced and
rolled down the declivity in the usual manner, but as the film for the
purposes of the exposure was run backwards through the camera, when
shown on the screen the opposite and apparently impossible effect is
produced.

Some years ago Mr. James Williamson produced a subject of this class
which provoked remarkable hilarity. It was called “The Workman’s
Paradise.” A building was in course of construction, and the bricklayer
duly arrived upon the scene to carry out his task, but he never stirred
a hand. As he stood on the ground the bricks jumped by invisible effort
into the hod and set themselves side by side in the most approved
manner. Then the load rose through the air to the scaffolding; the
bricks fell from the hod to the scaffold floor, and finally leaped into
the air one by one to settle themselves in position upon the growing
wall. Meanwhile the bricklayer surveyed the scene with his pipe in his
mouth and an air of supreme satisfaction.

When the photographs of this picture were taken, the action was just
the reverse of that seen upon the screen. The wall was standing, and
the camera in reality photographed its demolition and the transport
of the bricks to the ground. But the film was run through the camera
backwards, so that the last picture made became the first projected
upon the screen, and so on.




CHAPTER XX

TRICK PICTURES AND HOW THEY ARE PRODUCED

  _III.--Manipulation of the film: Apparitions and gradual
        disappearances by opening and closing the diaphragm of the
        lens slowly: “The Siren”: Submarine effects._


There are many curious and bewildering trick effects which cannot be
produced by recourse to the methods I have already described. It is
impossible to detail every artifice employed; for every film possesses
some individual characteristics. Only the broad outlines of the general
processes employed can be described in the course of these chapters,
but the information thus afforded will enable one to fathom how the
majority of these miraculous pictures are elaborated.

We have all laughed and enjoyed the class of trick-film portraying
frantic haste and its concomitant disasters or escapades. The scene
may represent a public street, a park, a hotel, or even a private
residence. The fact that the ordinary members of the public figuring
in the scene move at the normal speed throws the frenzied haste of
the principal performers into more striking contrast. I recall two
excellent films of this character. In one case the story represented
the operation of a wonderful little machine which, when its handle
was turned, radiated a magical influence of acceleration upon
everyone within a certain range, precipitating ludicrous incidents
and situations. One saw the vehicles and pedestrians flying along
the crowded Regent Street of Paris with terrible speed. The dawdling
nursemaid was galvanised into life when the apparatus was brought
within a few feet of her--she rushed her perambulator and charged along
the boulevard with the velocity of a racing car; while the errand-boy
completed his duties at the pace of an aeroplane, and so on. Mr. James
Williamson was responsible for the second film of this character, which
portrayed the British Workman “waking up” and becoming a “hustler”
of the first water. The bricklayers ran up and down the ladders like
squirrels racing up a tree, while the bricks were laid so rapidly that
one could not detect the movements of the workman’s hands, and the
carpenter plied his saw so vigorously that it appeared to be a mere
streak of light.

This peculiar effect may be produced easily by either of two
methods. One is to turn the handle of the camera very slowly while
photographing; but when the film is being shown to rotate the handle
of the projector at a very high speed. The result is that the pace
of every moving object in the picture is increased upon projection
four, six, or eight times that recorded by the camera. In this case
every moving object in the picture moves at the same pace. There are
no contrasts between frantic movement on the part of some and slow,
natural motion on the part of other people in the scene to enhance the
ludicrous effect; moreover, the required result is left very much in
the hands of the operator.

Accordingly, another and superior expedient was evolved and is
now adopted universally. The picture is taken at the normal speed
of sixteen pictures per second, but the film thus obtained after
development is taken in hand, and its length is reduced by cutting out
every other picture --or perhaps even more. If every alternate image
is eliminated in this manner, and the remaining pieces of film are
re-joined, the length of the film is reduced by one half, and when
thrown upon the screen at the normal speed of sixteen pictures per
second, the moving objects travel at twice the speed at which they were
moving when photographed.

This removal of the images from the string of consecutive pictures is
known as “manipulation of the film.” It is a tedious and delicate
process, because joining together properly a series of images measuring
only three-quarters of an inch in depth demands skill and patience.
By its means, however, some bewildering effects may be obtained, one
of which is shown in the illustration. This film depicts a lad who
has been hypnotised. When he enters a dwelling his presence sets the
furniture dancing violently, while a circular table round which four
people are seated, revolves at a dizzy pace. For the purposes of this
film the table and those seated around were mounted upon a pivoted
platform free to revolve, which was driven from beneath the stage
or from some other convenient point. At the right moment the table
commenced to spin around--at a comparatively slow pace, so as not to
unseat the performers by the results of centrifugal force--the camera
meanwhile recording the movement. After the film was developed images
were cut out at certain points, these excisions being so made as to
reduce the length of film devoted to the table-spinning incident from
100 feet as recorded by the camera to twenty-five feet or so for the
projector. Accordingly, when the film was thrown upon the screen at a
speed of sixteen pictures per second, the table appeared to whiz round
at a fearful velocity.

[Illustration: THE REVOLVING TABLE.

The puzzling trick effect of a table rotating at dizzy speed is
obtained by cutting out pieces of the film. The white lines show where
excisions have been made.]

If double printing be associated with this manipulation of the film
far more mirth-provoking and astounding situations can be produced.
For instance, such stories as that of the magical apparatus described
above, which spurs into unwonted velocity the traffic in a crowded
street, may be prepared as follows:--The camera is set up in a
suitable position overlooking the thoroughfare, and one film is taken
very early in the morning, when the traffic is either absent or very
insignificant. Here and there may be a pedestrian or vehicle, but
their presence only heightens the effect. Perhaps 125 feet of film
are expended upon this subject. The camera is then left until later
in the day, when the traffic is at its highest, and another film is
secured of the now busy street from the same point of view. Thus the
stationary objects--the shops, lamp-posts, and so forth--occupy the
same relative positions in each film, with the result that when
they are placed one on the other a single impression of these fixed,
inanimate objects is obtained. The second film, however, is longer than
the first--perhaps it is 250 feet in length--but by cutting out each
alternate image its length is reduced to 125 feet. The two films are
now of the same length; one is placed on the other, and the positive
print is made.

When the picture is thrown upon the screen the greater part of the
wheeled traffic is observed to fly along in mad haste, while here and
there a pedestrian or vehicle is seen sauntering in a very leisurely
way--almost at a crawl by comparison. The latter are those photographed
upon the first film which has not been touched, while the hastening
vehicles and people are those photographed upon the second film, which
has been manipulated into half its length.

If the excisions are made more heavily, and instead of every alternate
picture being cut out, three out of four consecutive images are
eliminated, the results are more ludicrous still. Suppose a man
is being pursued, and runs as for dear life; if 100 feet of this
episode are photographed, and the negative subsequently is reduced
to twenty-five feet by manipulation, the man will not appear to be
running when the picture is shown upon the screen, but will seem to
be eluding capture by a series of long hops. In this instance two
films and superprinting are requisite to give the most satisfactory
result, the runaway being recorded upon one film and the pursuing crowd
upon the second. Then while the man is shown to be leaping in a most
extraordinary manner down the street, the crowd will be seen running in
a perfectly natural manner.

Whereas the “stop” call is employed to effect sudden appearance
or disappearance, a different method is essential for a gradual
disappearance. Let us suppose the scene represents a magic cave in
which the daring young hero is imprisoned by the wicked magician.
Instead of the good fairy springing into the picture through a
trap-door in the floor of the stage, as is the practice in legitimate
pantomime, she is seen to materialise from nothing. The first sign of
her advent is a slight nebulous haze in a certain part of the picture.
This mist grows stronger and stronger, until at last it reveals the
filmy outlines of the fairy, who in due course becomes as distinct
and as clearly defined as the young hero she has come to assist. When
the moment arrives for her disappearance she vanishes in the same
mysterious manner, her body seeming to dissolve into thin air.

This apparition effect always provokes considerable interest and
curiosity. It necessitates the use of a camera of such a design that
the film can be driven both forwards and backwards, instead of in the
first-named direction only. It must be fitted also with a special
measuring indicator, and an easily adjustable diaphragm stop to the
lens. The latter is of the rectilinear type, the results therewith
being produced more easily and positively than by any other means.
All these requirements are fulfilled in the “trick” camera, which is
especially designed for work of this character.

[Illustration: THE SECRET OF THE FAIRY’S APPEARANCE.

1. While a length of film is being exposed the diaphragm is closed
slowly.]

For the purposes of explaining this operation I have obtained three
films (see illustrations) by looking at which the process will be
clearly understood. It is well known that as the aperture of a lens is
closed, the quantity of light admitted to the sensitised surface behind
is reduced, and if this action is carried out gradually by means of the
rectilinear stop, without any variation in the length of the exposure,
the image upon successive sections of the film will become fainter
and fainter until nothing at all is recorded. The reverse action
takes place as the lens aperture is increased in size by opening the
diaphragm to admit a greater volume of light.

[Illustration: THE SECRET OF THE FAIRY’S APPEARANCE.

2. The same length of film is re-exposed after the fairy has entered
the picture, under a slowly opening diaphragm.]

I will first explain the operation in its simplest form. The stop call
is given and all the actors become stationary while the fairy stands
alert to receive her cue to enter. The operator notes the point upon
his indicator of the length of film used up to the time the stop call
is given. For our purposes we will say it is 100 feet. The operator
continues turning the handle at the same speed, but while so doing he
gradually closes the lens aperture by means of the rectilinear stop,
so that the images, owing to decreasing volume of light admitted
through the lens, become fainter and fainter, until at last merely a
haze is recorded. The effect of closing the stop in this manner is
shown in the first film.

[Illustration: THE SECRET OF THE FAIRY’S APPEARANCE.

3. The effect of double exposure under closing and opening diaphragm.
The subjects photographed twice upon the same length of film stand out
with uniform distinctness, but the fairy being photographed only once
gradually materialises apparently from thin air.]

The operator consults his film register and finds that two feet of film
have been consumed, representing thirty-two exposures, to carry the
picture gradually to extinction, the indicator accordingly registering
102 feet at the conclusion of the operation. The fairy now receives her
cue and steps into the required position in the picture. The operator
resumes his turning, and during the next two feet of film, that is,
another thirty-two exposures, he opens the stop just as gradually as
he closed it, to its former aperture, the image upon the film thereby
becoming stronger and stronger as increasing light is admitted through
the lens.

The effect produced by this process is shown in the illustration.
The first picture taken after the fairy has entered is scarcely
discernible; then it becomes a slight haze in the next image, and as
the aperture is increased her form slowly materialises until at last
she is quite as distinct as that of the other actor in the scene, who
meantime has retained his rigid position during the whole 64 exposures.
When this second series of exposures have been completed, the film
indicator registers 104 feet, two feet of film having been used in
closing and another two feet in opening the lens aperture.

Now if the film is cut at the point representing 102 feet, and this
second part of the film is superimposed upon the first in such a way
that the second thirty-two exposures coinciding with the opening of
the diaphragm are laid upon the thirty-two exposures representing the
closing of the lens aperture, in the resultant positive the actor and
the surroundings will stand out with uniform brilliancy throughout
the superimposed section, and be equal in brilliancy and distinctness
to the remainder of the film, for the simple reason that image
33--representing the first exposure under the opening of the stop
and consequently the most indistinct picture--comes over image 1 in
the stopping-down series of pictures, which is, of course, the most
brilliant picture. Image 2 comes under image 34, and so on throughout
the whole thirty-two pictures. As the pictures grow fainter on one
film they become correspondingly stronger on the other film, with the
result that when the two are overlapped and printed the sum of the two
exposures produces a complete and fully-detailed picture, the second
film supplying to the first precisely the complement of its incomplete
exposure, in the case of each image.

But this action only affects the actor and scenery recorded upon the
two sections of film. The fairy, having entered at picture 33, when the
unstopping process was commenced, appears at first very indistinctly,
like a small patch of mist, the nebulous haze resolving itself into
her form slowly during the successive thirty-one pictures. The sum
of this double exposure is represented by the third illustration,
where the fairy is to be seen slowly materialising, the other parts
of the picture under the double printing being of uniform brilliancy
throughout.

This was the method adopted in the early days, but it was somewhat
involved, and demanded recourse to double printing. The perfection
of the camera mechanism has enabled the process to be considerably
simplified. Now the operator makes a double exposure, with closing and
then opening diaphragm upon the same length of film. When the “stop”
signal is given he observes the indication on his film register. We
will say it is 100 feet, as in the previous case. The actor becomes
motionless and the operator resumes his turning while closing the stop
slowly, until 102 feet of film are registered upon the dial, thirty-two
exposures, or two feet of film having been made during stopping
down. He now winds the film backwards into the upper film box until
his dial registers 100 feet once more, the lens being capped during
this operation. Thus he has regained the point upon his film where
stopping-down commenced, and the two feet used in this process are
ready to be exposed again.

At this point the fairy steps into position. The camera is re-started,
and while the first thirty-two exposures are being made the lens
aperture is opened, just as slowly and gradually as it was closed
during the previous exposures. The result is that the portions of the
films which in the first instance received a diminishing volume of
light now receive a compensating increasing illumination, so that the
effect upon this particular two feet of film, so far as the figure
on the left and the scenery are concerned, is just as if they had
been exposed once under a full aperture. The fairy, however, having
been photographed only during the second exposure, appears at first
very indistinctly. The result of the double exposure is shown in the
illustration; and the gradual appearance of the fairy may be followed
very easily. The outcome is exactly the same as obtained by double
printing; but it is infinitely easier, and far more positive in its
action than the delicate process followed by Robert Paul in the early
days--the dissolution of the emulsion from the film by chemical action.

Exceedingly clever effects are obtainable under this double exposure
process. Transformations from one scene to another are carried out in
a manner that completely eclipse the handiwork of the stage-manager
behind the footlights. Success depends to a great degree upon the
skilfulness of the operator, because it is imperative that the stop
of the lens should be closed and opened equally, in order that the
combined exposures upon each successive image should be equal to a
single exposure with a full aperture, so as to provide a uniform
intensity and brilliancy throughout all the images.

The magic disappearances are worked in precisely similar manner, only
in this instance the character leaves the picture at the moment the
last image under the closing diaphragm has been taken. The film is
wound back as before to the point where the “stop” call was given, and
is subjected to a second exposure under an opening stop.

There are no limitations to the application of this form of trickery.
Spirit forms can be produced to float in the air, recourse to the
rising and falling lens front being made in conjunction with the
manipulation of the diaphragm. Sylphs can be materialised from evening
vapours; and articles of furniture can be transformed into human
forms. Many of the pictures obtained in this manner are startlingly
weird and magical. As a matter of fact, the manipulation of the
diaphragm may be considered as one of the most useful weapons of
trickery and magic in the hands of the cinematographic wizard.

Another miracle is performed when the public is introduced to the
bottom of the sea to make acquaintance with the denizens of the deep,
and the strange mermaid population. The audience is convinced that
the pictures have been taken in the actual surroundings, because
divers descend into the depths and they can see the air-bubbles rise
from their helmets during respiration. The effect is certainly very
realistic, and as the difficulties attending under-water photography
are well-known, one wonders how these pictures can be obtained.

They can be produced by two methods. One is by using a large tank with
a glazed front, in which the properties are distributed, while behind
is a painted back-cloth to represent a submarine scene. The tank is
filled with water, and fish are introduced to heighten the effect.
Divers are employed to carry out their evolutions in the tank, which
is brilliantly lighted, so that the sensitised ribbon in the camera
disposed before the front window may be able to secure a well-defined
image.

It is obviously impossible to introduce mermaids actually under water,
since they could not breathe there; so for this part of the effect
recourse to trickery is indispensable. A narrow tank with glazed back
and front is set up on the stage, filled with water, and a few fish.
The camera is brought as near as possible to this large aquarium and
photographs the tank, the pictures being slightly under-exposed.

[Illustration: THE MYSTERY OF “THE SIREN.”

A beautiful woman is observed to be swimming gracefully in the depths
of the sea, and the public is mystified as to how she can exist under
water.]

The tank is then removed, and a scene depicting the floor of the sea
is prepared upon the stage, with a back-cloth of a grey neutral tint.
Perhaps a property ship to represent a sunken wreck is set up to
enhance the effect. Actresses made up as mermaids disport themselves
upon the sea-bed, and divers are observed to make their descent from
the surface, which in this instance is the “flies” of the stage.
The film which the operator has exposed already upon the stage tank is
now exposed again before this scene, and the commingling of the two
produces a very mystifying effect when shown upon the screen.

[Illustration: THE MYSTERY OF “THE SIREN” REVEALED.

The camera was placed in the flies with the lens pointing downwards
upon the actress moving on the floor.]

A fascinating film of this character was made by the Gaumont
establishment under the title of “The Siren.” A beautiful woman was
observed to be swimming and diving in the watery depths with various
fish as her companions. Her movements were so graceful and natural that
it seemed impossible for them to have been produced while the actress
was suspended from the “flies” by the aid of wires. How was it done?
was an expression I heard on several occasions during projection in the
picture palaces. The solution is very simple.

In the first place, a large aquarium was set upon the stage. It was
stocked with fishes, which gambolled in a realistic manner, and the
tank was photographed. When this exposure was completed the “Siren” had
to be introduced.

The floor of the stage was cleared, and upon it, like a carpet, was
laid a large back-cloth of a grey neutral tint, bearing faint designs
of submarine growths, shells, weeds, and so forth, the work of the
scenic artist. The operator carried his camera into the flies, and from
a central point overhead set it up with the lens pointing downwards,
and focussed the flat background spread out below. The actress then
entered, and lying prone upon the back-cloth, carried out the movements
necessary to simulate swimming and diving, moving the arms and legs
and writhing the body to convey the correct natural impressions of
under-water movement.

The rehearsals completed, the operator re-exposed the same film which
had been previously exposed before the aquarium, and which had
received a faint impression thereof. When the picture was projected
the public was completely deceived; for the actress moved to and fro,
in the company of fishes which darted from point to point, apparently
unperturbed by the existence of the fair feminine form in their midst.
In such operations as this, however, where a photograph has to be taken
of an aquarium in the first instance, special attention has to be
devoted to the lighting arrangements, so as to prevent the camera and
the operator being reflected upon the film--since the water acts in the
same manner as a mirror.

The audiences in picture palaces are sorely puzzled at the antics of
motorists, cyclists, and others who, being pursued by an infuriated
crowd whose anger they have raised for some reason or other, elude
capture by turning their vehicles and running up the vertical walls
of houses and buildings. The methods used in the presentation of the
“Siren” are adopted here also. A cloth carrying a painted impression of
the wall with its windows, doors, stack-pipes, and so forth, is laid
upon the floor, and the camera lens is pointed thereon from a position
in the flies. The vehicles are driven over this back-cloth, and the
film conveys the idea that they have performed the impossible feat
of riding up the wall. The effect is often improved by following the
upward progress of the vehicle. This may be accomplished in two ways.
Either the camera is moved horizontally along a track in the flies
in synchrony with the advance of the vehicle, or else the rising and
falling front of the lens is brought into use. Another means is to have
resort to the “stop” action, the camera being rigid and the back-cloth
moved across the floor a certain distance between each series of
exposures.

For the production of elaborate trick pictures an extensive assortment
of properties is demanded. When the episodes are accompanied by
ludicrous catastrophes and smashes the public is moved to extreme
mirth. In many of these pictures the performers are obtained from the
vaudeville stage, being accomplished masters of knock-about, tumblers,
cyclists, etc. Suppose a chase over house-tops is shown, accompanied
by falls through the roof, the actors and actresses tumbling from
floor to floor down to the basement. These pictures are prepared in
sections. The first scene represents the roof, which is built up on
the stage, while a back-cloth affords a vista of chimney-pots. At
certain points in the roof are concealed trap-doors which, when the
first actor brings his weight on them, collapse by the movement of the
bolt or other support concealed beneath. The performers fall through
the opening on to a soft mattress within, the extent of the fall being
about four or five feet. In the next scene members of the company in
turn fall through the ceiling of the sixth floor of the building. This
scene is built up on the floor of the stage, the performers being
stationed out of sight in the flies. The ceiling is represented by a
piece of painted canvas with attached pieces of cardboard and canvas to
resemble splintered woodwork and broken plaster. The ceiling is intact,
but when the cue is given the leading actor jumps or falls through
the painted canvas followed by a mass of débris and dust. The débris
is merely properties thrown through the opening, while steam or smoke
driven through the hole serves as dust. Perchance a party is dining in
the room when the tumblers make their unexpected entrance through the
ceiling, and the scene undergoes a complete disturbance as a result
of the interruption. The next floor is reproduced in turn in the same
manner upon the floor of the stage, and so on until the players come
to a dead stop in the basement, when the cardboard and canvas débris
produced by their hurried descent falls and practically buries them.
The force of the latter is increased by men stationed in the flies, who
hurl the material down pell-mell from their points of vantage through
the hole the tumblers have made. As seen upon the screen it appears
as if the house were cut in two from top to bottom, and the audience
were permitted to follow the tumblers in their descent from floor to
floor; instead of which, as we have seen, each floor is reproduced
individually upon the stage. There is no indication whatever of this
piecemeal preparation, although if the picture is followed closely it
is readily apparent, because the performers in their descent do not
comply with the laws governing the momentum of a falling body.

The laughable incidents showing men climbing laboriously through narrow
chimney flues are attributable likewise to trickery. The chimney is
merely a stage property, and generally is laid flat upon the stage,
with the operator and his camera stationed in the flies, as in the
production of the “Siren”; though, from the public point of view, the
players appear to be crawling upwards through the narrow vertical
brickwork passage, gathering an accumulation of soot in their advance.
The latter is applied to their faces by the actors themselves as they
move forward.




CHAPTER XXI

TRICK PICTURES AND HOW THEY ARE PRODUCED

  _IV.--Lilliputian figures: “The Little Milliner’s Dream”: the
        “one turn one picture” movement: how some extraordinary
        incidents are produced: “The Ski Runner.”_


In Chapter XVIII. I made some reference to early methods of producing
a class of films in which the principal performers were diminutive
figures scarcely six inches in height. This kind of picture has never
lost its hold upon the public. Indeed, experience has proved that it
constitutes one of the most popular subjects which it is possible to
throw upon the screen, especially when the tiny actors and actresses
are introduced into a play having a well-defined plot carried to a
logical conclusion.

I have related how Paul obtained the effect of pigmy actors by
combining the possibilities of superprinting and photographing at
varying distances from the stage. This method is practised nowadays in
somewhat modified form. The stage is made so deep that there is no need
to move the camera.

Two of the most attractive films of this description produced during
recent years were “The Little Milliner’s Dream” and “Princess
Nicotine.” Curiously enough, they represent two widely divergent
methods of achieving the same result, as practised by French and
American producers respectively. Both are associated with many features
of interest in cinematographic magic.

In “The Little Milliner’s Dream,” a young and charming milliner’s
assistant is sent by her employer to deliver a creation to a customer.
The girl sets out with the milliner’s hat-box on her arm. On the way
she pauses to admire the glittering array of precious stones and
gewgaws in a jeweller’s shop. While she is gazing at the articles
longingly an old beau advances, makes himself known, and tries to force
his company upon her. With a coquettish shrug of her shoulders she
rebuffs him and resumes her journey, but presently, overcome by the
heat, she sits down upon a seat in the street to take a rest. Presently
she falls asleep.

In her dreams she sees the lid of the bonnet-box open, and from the
interior steps the old gallant. At first he is no taller than a
coffee-pot, but he grows until he has attained life-size proportions.
Next, in the space occupied by the upturned lid of the bonnet-box, a
bevy of dancing girls appear. They likewise are only a few inches in
height, but they increase in size until they assume normal stature.
To her astonishment each dancing girl proffers the apprentice a
magnificent present. In an instant, as if under the magic spell of
a fairy’s wand, she finds herself attired in the rich clothes of a
lady of rank, and taking the arm of her admirer--who, by the way,
shoulders the bonnet-box--they march off together. The bonnet-box is
suddenly dropped and instantaneously becomes a luxurious motor-car. The
apprentice passes through many startling adventures in the world of
fashion and gaiety, but the final scene reveals her still seated upon
the seat, and being roughly awakened by a gendarme from her delightful
dreams.

The first essential in such a picture as this is a deep stage, so as to
secure the impression of distance. The Gaumont Theatre, from which this
film emanated, is one of the best designed and largest in the world,
and the preparation of such scenes as “The Little Milliner’s Dream”
offers them no difficulties. The street scene was merely a back-cloth
painted to resemble one side of the street, with its shops, the
roadway, and the kerb of the second pavement. Before this was set up an
ordinary seat, such as is provided for the convenience of pedestrians
along the highway, and it was upon this that the little milliner
snatched her brief rest with the bonnet-box beside her, and but a few
feet from the camera.

When she fell asleep the lid of the bonnet-box was opened by means
of invisible wires, and the lid came to rest in a vertical position
against the back of the seat, the top of the side of the box being
level with the back rail of the seat. The inner surface of the lid was
a dead black.

At this moment the “stop” call was issued. While the camera lens was
closed the stage hands entered, took away the bonnet-box lid, and
removed a panel in the back-cloth of the same shape and dimensions as
the bonnet-box lid, and immediately behind it. This left a hole in the
back-cloth, through which could be seen the stage behind. The lens of
the camera, however, was on a level with the top of the bonnet-box, so
that the floor of the stage behind the back-cloth could not be seen
through the panel. At the extreme rear of the stage another back-cloth
of black velvet was hung. Consequently, looking at the picture from the
lens point of view, the black velvet, seen through the panel in the
scenic back-cloth, appeared to be the inner surface of the bonnet-box
lid; and the audience imagines that what follows takes place upon
the inside of the lid, whereas it is, of course, seen through the
back-cloth, and enacted upon the back or rear half of the stage.

The camera is started up again. Suddenly the diminutive figure of the
old gallant is observed to rise from the interior of the bonnet-box. As
a matter of fact, he is at the extreme rear edge of the stage, against
the velvet back-cloth, but seated below the line of sight of the camera
until he received his cue. The little milliner in her dream turns her
head as if to gaze more closely into the lid of her box--in reality she
is looking through the window in the back-cloth upon the scene taking
place behind her. The old beau, having risen to his feet at the extreme
rear of the stage, and six or more times as far away from the camera
as is the milliner herself, appears, in accordance with the laws of
perspective, to be no taller than a bottle, this peculiarity being
accentuated by the distortion of the lens as in every camera.

The old beau lifts his hat and instantly commences to grow in size.
This transformation was caused by his advancing towards the hole in the
back-cloth, which, as the distance between him and the lens decreased,
caused his stature to enlarge. At last the actor advanced to the limit
of his forward movement, when his figure occupied the full depth of
the opening, or of the supposititious bonnet-box lid. At this moment
the camera paused to permit the actor to walk round the back-cloth,
representing the street, and when the camera was re-started he was seen
before the bonnet-box as if he had stepped out of that receptacle.
Being as close to the camera as the milliner, he was now brought to
life-size.

The spectacle of the dancing girls was carried out in the same
manner. When the little milliner was urged to look into the lid of
the bonnet-box once more, she peered through the back-cloth window.
To her amazement she saw six diminutive dancing forms rise up as if
from the interior of the box, but in reality from the floor against
the black background, at the point where the beau had first appeared.
They danced their way to the opening to a point marked on the floor of
the stage behind the scenic back-cloth, thereby growing gradually in
stature. Then the camera made pause to permit the girls to come round
the back-cloth and to assume the required position before the milliner
near the camera, where likewise they were brought to normal size. They
presented their gifts to the delighted girl, and then there was another
pause on the part of the camera.

During this stop the milliner changed her attire for that of a lady
of fashion. At the same time the stage hands replaced the panel in
the back-cloth, while the original bonnet-box lid was brought in and
restored to its former position.

When the camera began again it recorded the beau closing the lid of
the box, and while he picked it up with one hand he offered his other
arm to his fair friend and escorted her along the street. Presently
he dropped the box. Another “stop” call was given, during which the
bonnet-box was taken away by the stage hands, and an automobile
brought into position at the point where the hat-box was dropped.
When the camera re-started it revealed the bonnet-box converted, like
Cinderella’s pumpkin, into an automobile. Entering the vehicle, the
couple drive off to the ball. The process of “stop and substitution,”
which has been described already, is carried out from time to time
to present sudden transformation effects; the audience sees only
the continuity of motion as produced by joining the pieces of film
together; and they marvel at the result. The film was produced
very cleverly and skilfully, and it certainly ranks as one of the
masterpieces of the Gaumont establishment.

Another favourite artifice, with which some truly bewildering effects
can be produced, is known as the “stop motion,” or “one turn one
picture,” movement. As may be imagined from the latter explanatory
title, it resolves itself into a pause between each picture, instead of
continuous exposure to record sixteen images per second.

This feature may be illustrated by reference to a popular film which
appeared a short time ago, called “Animated Putty.” A lump of this
material was shown upon a table. Suddenly it was observed to become
agitated, and to resolve itself gradually into statues and busts of
well-known people, so cleverly wrought as to be instantly identified.
In a similar picture a rose was seen to detach its petals, which became
scattered over the floor; and just as mysteriously the petals came
together once more and assumed their former positions. Another picture
shows “Boots” going to sleep at his task, and the foot-wear cleaning
itself while he dreams, brushes running to and fro to remove the
dust, apply the blacking, and to give a vigorous polishing off. Upon
waking, Boots gives vent to a self-satisfied smile upon beholding the
completion of his work without any effort on his part.

In reality this is one of the simplest of trick effects; but it is
at the same time one of the most tedious to perform. The method can
be best explained by taking the “Animated Putty” film as an example.
The lump of material lies upon the table, to be fashioned into a bust
of the King, of the American President, or some other illustrious
personage. The camera is set up. The modeller advances to the table
whilst the shutter is closed and moves the clay slightly towards the
desired result. He then steps out of the picture, and the camera
handle is turned sufficiently to expose one picture and to cover
the lens again. The modeller comes forward once more and advances a
little further with his work; after which he retires from the scene,
and the second stage is recorded upon the next picture. Again the
modeller approaches the material to mould it a further step, and upon
his retirement the third picture is taken. This alternate process of
shaping the putty a little at a time, and photographing every separate
movement, is continued until the bust is completed.

It is essential that the progress should be very gradual, or else
the material would look as if it took shape by spasmodic jumps, and
the illusion would be destroyed. Some films of this character demand
slighter movement between each exposure than others. It depends
entirely upon the subject. It will be observed, however, that this
magical effect is not produced in accordance with the generally
accepted principles governing cinematography. It is merely a series of
snap-shots taken at certain intervals, and could be produced just as
well by a hand-camera if one had sufficient plates or film.

As may be supposed, the task calls for unremitting patience and
perseverance, because it is so exasperatingly slow. Several hours
and even days are often expended in producing a single film of this
character. If, for instance, the film measures 200 feet in length,
no less than 3,200 distinct operations have been carried out and
photographed consecutively; yet when such a film is thrown upon the
screen at the rate of 16 pictures per second, the successive snap-shots
follow one another so regularly as to convey the impression of
continuous motion.

The same operation is practised with the rose, the petals being torn
apart a little for each successive exposure, while to convey the effect
of rolling along the table they are moved a minute distance between
each exposure, and supported from behind in the requisite position
while the shutter is opened and the film exposed one picture at a time
between each movement of the rose. In the case of the “Boots” who has
his work done while he sleeps, the brushes are manipulated by invisible
wires. The interruption in exposure can often be detected unless the
task is carried out with consummate skill, because the movement appears
to be jerky in the picture.

An amusing film of this type appeared some time ago, in which cotton
and wool appeared to be imbued with life. The cotton arranged itself
into fantastic designs upon the table, while a stocking was knitted
before the eyes of the audience by unseen hands. So far as the cotton
designs were concerned this was the “one turn one picture” movement
in its simplest form, the design being furthered little by little
between each exposure. With regard to the mysterious knitting, this
was achieved by a combination of the “one turn one picture” and the
“reverse action” artifices.

While the picture was being taken the producer stood behind a table,
concealed by a black cloth somewhat after the manner practised in
“black magic.” What the camera actually recorded was the unravelling of
the stocking stitch by stitch, the needles being manipulated meanwhile
in the opposite direction. As the stocking was unravelled the wool
was pulled gently through a tube extending up the producer’s sleeve
to his back, where it was secured by a confederate and rolled into a
ball. In this way the length of wool between the needles and the ball
was kept fairly taut, as would be the case if a person were knitting.
Each movement of the needles was photographed, the operator setting
the needles in the requisite position and then withdrawing his hands
from the scene. The task was continued step by step until the sock had
been completely unwound, the last stitch pulled out and the end of the
cotton and the needles were shown lying on the table. The film itself
was driven backwards through the camera while the exposures were made,
so that when the picture was printed and thrown upon the screen the
movements were reversed--the destructive action recorded by the camera
became constructive movement in the projector. The public first saw
the loose end of the wool and the needles. They observed the needles
rise up, form the first stitch, and then watched the sock grow at an
amazing speed until it was completed, the needles moving in a perfectly
natural manner to form the stitches. Further realism was imparted to
the picture by the needles and work being jerked every now and again to
release a little wool from the ball.

The Americans have brought the “one turn one picture” movement to
a high state of perfection, and have produced some astonishing
pictures as a result of its application. One is introduced to a magic
carpenter’s shop, where tools are manipulated without hands and
where the wood springs from the floor to the bench, is planed, sawn,
chiselled, and fashions itself into a box or whatever article is
desired by an apparently mysterious and invisible force.

[Illustration: TWO NOVEL TRICK EFFECTS.

A workshop in which tools move without hands.]

[Illustration: A.--The skater approaching the factory chimney.]

The apparently impossible is brought about in this instance by resort
to a combination of the “one turn one picture,” the “reversal of
action,” and manipulation by wires, strings, and threads. To secure the
rising of the plank from the floor to the bench the camera is stopped
when this incident is reached. The plank is laid on the bench and a
string is attached to it. The camera operator runs his film forward a
certain distance, say twenty-four inches, which is indicated upon the
dial while the lens is covered. He then gives the signal, and the stage
hand, by pulling the wire attached to the plank, causes it to fall to
the floor. The operator of the camera meanwhile runs the two feet of
film backwards past the lens, thus photographing the plank falling to
the floor. But as he has advanced his unexposed film two feet forwards
and runs it backwards during exposure, he has reversed the motion of
the falling plank, and the first image records the plank, not as it
moves off the bench, but as it strikes the floor, while the other
images up to the thirtieth show it in the air; and the last exposure
displays it lying flat on the bench. Of course, when the film is thrown
upon the screen the last phase of the action is shown first, and the
first movement is the last image, so that the plank appears to rise
from instead of falling to the floor.

[Illustration: B.--The result of the collision with the chimney.]

[Illustration: The ski runner disappears into space.

THE SKI RUNNER.

The methods adopted for the production of this novel trick film are
described in the text.]

The movements of the saw, chisel, and plane are carried out upon the
“one turn one picture” principle, the tools being moved a slight
distance between each exposure. In planing, when the shaving rises
after the tool has reached the end of its stroke, a piece of thread
attached to the shaving is given a sharp jerk to flick it out of the
way, simulating the natural movement of the carpenter, who invariably,
as he draws the plane back with his right hand, whisks the previous
shaving out of the tool with his left. The hammer, chisel, and
screwdriver can be manipulated by means of threads to give the varying
positions of the particular tool in the driving process, and so on.

A film which appeared some months ago aroused a lively interest and
speculation. It depicted a mysterious banquet where viands and liquors
were consumed by unseen guests. The knife came suddenly into action to
cut the bread, the various dishes were served and disappeared, while
glasses of wine were filled and raised into the air by invisible hands;
toasts were given, the glasses were tilted for the act of drinking,
and became empty. The effect was somewhat uncanny, but it afforded a
striking instance of the possibilities attending the utilisation of the
“one turn one picture” movement, in conjunction with wires and threads.
Each glass of wine was lifted into the air by two invisible threads,
one being placed around the stem of the glass, while the other was
connected to the bowl. These threads were controlled by stage hands on
the overhead bridge. The glasses were lifted a slight distance between
each exposure and photographed, and when the drinking act was demanded,
while the thread attached to the bowl was held stationary, the second,
attached to the stem, was steadily raised, giving the desired tilt. The
liquid as it escaped from the glass fell to the floor, but its escape
in this manner was not shown upon the screen, for the simple reason
that the liquid fell out and was caught in a vessel held by a stage
hand while the lens of the camera was closed, the exposure being made
after the slightest quantity had fallen from the glass, this process
being repeated until the toast was drained.

In the early days of the art superprinting was the favourite subterfuge
used by the cinematographer magician to produce strange effects; as I
have described already in regard to the pioneer work of Robert Paul.
The composite construction of pictures has not been abandoned by any
means, despite the advances in cinematographic magic. Indeed, some of
the most startling productions seen to-day are prepared in this manner,
two or even three films being used for the purpose. One of the most
telling recent examples of this method is evinced in the pictures of
the “ski-runner.”

When first seen the actor is skating along a track in the usual manner.
He approaches a towering factory chimney; but instead of avoiding the
obstruction he crashes into it. The solid mass does not bring about
the skater’s extinction, but instead collapses to the ground. In the
last picture the demon skater is seen ski-ing through the air, over the
clouds, into oblivion.

The first part of the scene was taken in the vicinity of the Gaumont
factory, and the chimney seen in film _A_ belongs to the works of the
company. The skater seems to strike the side of the chimney, but as a
matter of fact he glides behind it, as might be supposed, and the film
is cut short at this point. If one examines the film _B_ closely it
will be observed that the chimney there shown under collapse is not the
same as that depicted in film _A_. As a matter of fact, the scene was
changed. When this film was taken in hand the producers had heard that
a chimney was to be felled in a certain place by the method of cutting
away the masonry base, and supporting the structure temporarily upon
wooden members, which are afterwards burned through to raze the chimney
to the ground. Accordingly a camera and operator were dispatched to
the scene to film this interesting operation, and a striking picture
of the falling chimney was secured.

The combination which presented the illusion that the chimney was
knocked over by the ski-runner was carried out as follows:--A special
back-cloth of a neutral grey tint was prepared for the studio stage.
When the ski-runner ran across the stage before the camera only the
actor himself was seen in the resultant film. When this film of the
ski-runner was superimposed upon that showing the demolition of the
chimney, the former was seen to be forging ahead through the air after
apparently knocking the structure out of his way. It will be observed
that the idea is so worked out that the ski-runner appears to pursue
the chimney as it crashes over, conveying the impression that he is
continuously pushing the crumbling mass out of his way.

For the final disappearance of the skater into thin air two similar
films were prepared. One was exposed to a cloudy sky, the lens
being stopped down very severely to give a small aperture and an
under-exposed result. In the studio the skater once more rushed across
the stage before the neutral-tinted background, the lens stop in this
instance being more open so as to secure a stronger image, but when the
end of his mad career was required, the closing diaphragm was adopted.
The first film was superimposed on the second to print the positive,
and the result on the screen is of the ski-runner moving like a spectre
through the clouds, to disappear finally into a haze. This film proved
a conspicuous success owing to its novelty and realistic appearance.




CHAPTER XXII

TRICK PICTURES AND HOW THEY ARE PRODUCED

_V.--“Princess Nicotine” and her remarkable caprices_


“Princess Nicotine” ranks as one of the finest trick films ever made in
the United States, and was the handiwork of two producers who rank as
the leading American exponents of this strange craft--Messrs. J. Stuart
Blackton and Albert S. Smith. In its production, all the subterfuges
known to the cinematographic trick art were pressed into service,
rendering it completely mystifying from beginning to end.

Some years ago these two artists were responsible for a trick-film,
“The Haunted Hotel,” which was so puzzling and so cleverly worked out
that it was regarded as a masterpiece of cinematographic chicanery.
It was a prodigious success; some idea of its widespread popularity
may be gathered from the fact that over 150 copies of the subject were
disposed of in Europe alone, while its total sales were well over
400 copies; for its success in the land of its origin was quite as
marked as that which it scored in the Old World. For a long time it
ranked as the finest trick-film the United States had produced, and it
precipitated a “boom” in “haunted” subjects. The success of that film,
however, threatens to be surpassed by “Princess Nicotine,” which, in
addition to being a distinct novelty, is dainty in its conception,
fascinating in its theme, and finished in its production.

The story of the play may be briefly related. The scene opens with a
young bachelor reclining in an armchair at a table. Before him are
scattered the indispensable adjuncts to a bachelor’s comfort--a box of
cigars, a tobacco-box, a corncob pipe, a box of matches, a square white
bottle standing upon the cigar-box, a bottle of whisky and a syphon
of soda-water. In addition, there is a large, round reading-glass
with a handle. The bachelor fills his pipe, lights it, leans back and
dozes. Suddenly the lid of the tobacco-box is opened and a small fairy,
Princess Nicotine, jumps out and falls over the pipe, which arrests her
attention and gives her a brilliant idea. Laughingly she returns to the
tobacco-box and helps out a second and smaller sprite, whom she leads
to the pipe and unfolds her scheme. The fairies are no larger than the
man’s hand, and the contrast between their diminutive figures and the
bachelor is decidedly grotesque. At first sight one might think the two
tiny forms were dolls, but their movements are so graceful, steady, and
natural that this idea is quickly abandoned.

The two wee plotters pull out the tobacco, and the smaller fairy jumps
into the bowl and is buried beneath a layer of the shredded weed,
which is pushed in by Princess Nicotine, who afterwards hides in the
tobacco-box.

The bachelor wakes up, and after yawning turns to his pipe once more.
To his amazement the tobacco will not light, and he looks at it
closely. He starts in amazement and picks up the hand-magnifying glass
to examine the contents. He reveals what he sees to the public, for the
magnifying-glass is held up as it were before the spectators, who see
the elfish face of the fairy peeping from the tobacco and enveloped in
wreaths of smoke.

The startled bachelor then inverts the pipe and raps out the contents
in true smoker’s fashion upon the table, emptying the fairy in the
process. She struggles to her feet from the tobacco débris, and rushes
to the tobacco-box, into which she jumps, pulling the lid down after
her. Princess Nicotine thrusts her arm out of the box, which the
bachelor grasps, but instead of withdrawing the fairy, he seizes a
rose, which he proceeds to smell; but he is seized with a violent fit
of coughing caused by a cloud of smoke which issues from the flower. He
examines the rose through the magnifying glass, this view as it appears
to him being held before the audience as before, so that it sees the
form of the fairy embedded among the petals, smoking a cigarette. The
man drops the rose and rushes out of the room. The rose falls to pieces
gradually, the petals accumulating on the table and turning into a
cigar. The bachelor re-enters, picks up the cigar, lights it, the smoke
rises and whirls round rapidly, and presently rushes into the white
bottle. Startled at the extraordinary action of the smoke, the bachelor
picks up the bottle, examines it and sees the fairy imprisoned within
and vainly endeavouring to escape. The man breaks the bottle, and the
fairy is seen standing on the tobacco-box. She picks up a packet of
cigarettes, proffers one to the bachelor, and dances before him on the
table.

The bachelor commences to tease Princess Nicotine. He lights a match
and holds it towards her. She shrinks from it in fear, and in revenge
she approaches the match-box, extracts the matches, stacks them in a
pile, and lights them. The magnifying-glass is held up as before, and
the audience sees the pile of matches burning like a big bonfire. The
last scene shows the man, somewhat terrified at the blazing pile on
the table, picking up the soda-syphon and endeavouring to quench the
outbreak, at the same time deluging himself in the process.

Through the kindness of Messrs. Blackton and Smith I am able to explain
how this apparently miraculous picture is produced, and the various
tricks employed. In describing the “Little Milliner’s Dream” I have
shown how the appearance of a fairy can be produced, by placing the
performers fulfilling the _rôle_ at the very back of the stage, a
long distance from the camera, whereas the principal actor is caused
to carry through his part but a few feet away from the lens. The same
effect can be produced by the aid of a mirror placed at the back of the
scene; when the players fulfilling the _rôles_ of fairies enact their
parts on a stage placed beside the camera, the film records simply
their reflection in the mirror, and the impression of extremely small
stature is conveyed. By pressing the mirror into service a great saving
in stage space is gained.

[Illustration: FIG. 18.--HOW THE STAGE WAS SET FOR TAKING THE TRICK
FILM “PRINCESS NICOTINE.”]

Two stages are required for the effect: the set stage on which the
scene is built up, and on which the bachelor figures, and a temporary
stage placed beside the camera, whereon the fairies carry through their
parts. The diagram, Fig. 18, shows the setting of the stage. The mirror
is placed some distance behind the back-cloth of the stage scene,
immediately behind a curtained window, which is really an opening in
the back-cloth. As the action takes place at night all is darkness
outside the window. The lens is exactly flush with the top of the table
in the scene, so that when the reflections of the fairies are caught
they appear to be moving upon the top of the table. The mirror at the
back of the stage is so disposed as to appear to be the glass in the
window of the back-cloth behind the actor, and is arranged so skilfully
as to betray no evidence of its existence. The stage set up beside
the camera is of such dimensions that it keeps the actresses taking
the parts of the two fairies within the limits of the centre of the
table; while its floor is marked accurately for other purposes, which
will be described later. If the principle adopted for presenting the
diminutive players in “The Little Milliner’s Dream” had been followed
in this instance instead of using a mirror, the fairies would have had
to carry out their work at a point equal to twice the distance between
the camera and the mirror to present the same effect. It may be pointed
out, in passing, that during the whole play the actor fulfilling the
part of the bachelor sees nothing upon the table in front of him beyond
the articles placed there for his own comfort.

[Illustration: PRINCESS NICOTINE--A DAINTY TRICK FILM.

This subject, produced by the Vitagraph Company of America, has proved
to be one of the most popularly successful subjects of this description
seen during recent years.]

The _rôle_ of Princess Nicotine was fulfilled by an actress of average
height, while her companion was a little girl of about twelve years
of age. In addition, certain properties were required, all of which
were enlarged facsimiles of objects in daily use. These comprised a
cigar-box of huge dimensions capable of permitting the fairies to stand
up-right within it; a huge corn-cob pipe, the bowl of which was as big
as a barrel; a property match-box containing matches measuring about
thirty inches in length, with paper rolled round one end to convey the
impression of phosphorus heads; a property packet of cigarettes
nearly six feet in height, containing cigarettes thirty-six inches
long formed of rolls of paper stuffed with straw, and more straw to
represent the tobacco. These properties had to be prepared carefully
to scale, while the actresses themselves had to be accomplished
performers. The play demanded searching rehearsals, as in a trick
picture of this character the slightest slip in the acting destroys the
illusion.

[Illustration: The fairy, buried in the heart of the rose, smoking a
cigarette. The blossom is a large paper property flower.]

[Illustration: PRINCESS NICOTINE.

The diminutive form of the fairy on the table. The bachelor, although
astonished, in reality sees nothing.]

The properties were used on the second stage beside the camera
operator, and when reflected in the mirror they appeared no larger
than the smoker’s companions lying upon the table. Behind the fairies’
stage a back-cloth of black canvas was stretched, so that all their
movements were against a black background, and this served to sustain
the impression of darkness behind the back-cloth window of the scene,
beyond the window in which the mirror was placed.

In addition to these properties stage hands were required at various
intervals to complete certain operations, but were concealed out of the
sight of the lens of the camera. Their tasks also will be described in
due course.

In the opening scene the bachelor uses his own materials lying upon
the table. The camera stops, and in the interval their place is taken
by the properties, which are placed upon the second stage to produce
a reflection in the mirror. When the fairy appears to jump out of the
bachelor’s cigar-box on the table she actually steps from the property
cigar-box on the second stage, the lid of which is opened by means of
a thread pulled by a stage hand concealed behind. The antics of the
fairies, which appear to take place on the table before the bachelor,
are carried out upon the second stage, beside the camera, the smaller
fairy climbing into the property pipe.

When the bachelor wakes up and tries to light his pipe the fairy stage
properties are removed from the fairy stage, and those of the bachelor
replaced upon the table. Accordingly, the audience see him vainly
endeavouring to light his own pipe, which finally he examines with the
magnifying-glass. When the scene revealed to the smoker is flashed
to the public on the screen in such a way that the audience appear to
be looking through the magnifying-glass, they are not looking at the
bachelor’s pipe, but at the property one. To produce the effect of
magnification the second stage is photographed directly from a short
distance instead of by means of the reflection in the mirror. The smoke
curling lazily about the smaller fairy and issuing from the pipe is
produced by steam, there being a tube carried beneath the table and
connected to the bottom of the bowl of the property pipe.

When the scene is flashed back once more, and the bachelor is again
seen seated at his table, photographing is resumed of the mirror’s
reflected image.

The second stage is cleared again, and we see the man empty the
ashes of his pipe upon the table. The débris containing the fairy is
again thrown upon the screen in an enlarged form, as if through the
magnifying-glass; that is to say, the second stage and its properties
are being photographed once more to show the little lady laughing and
running among the smoking, half-burnt tobacco. The tobacco is straw and
the smoke is steam.

The scene reverts to the table showing the man. By reflection the
fairy is observed to jump into her property cigar-box, leaving an arm
protruding. This is a property arm built to scale in the same manner as
all the other properties used on the fairies’ stage, and when the man
seizes it, in reality he grasps the stem of a paper property rose of
natural size protruding from the cigar-box standing on his own table.
He turns the rose over to smell it, but beneath the table is a stage
hand, who puffs a stream of smoke through a flexible pipe connected to
the stalk of the rose which the bachelor is holding; the smoke provokes
a fit of sneezing and coughing, and the bachelor has recourse to his
magnifying-glass to examine the rose. Again the second stage is brought
into play, a large property rose lying thereon, revealing the head of
the fairy within smoking a cigarette.

Every time the audience is permitted, as it were, to see what the
bachelor discovers beneath his magnifying-glass the second stage is
photographed direct, the camera being placed about eight feet away.
The fact that the properties used are of large dimensions does not
strike the public, as they put themselves in the position of the
bachelor at the table and look through the magnifying-glass at the
articles lying upon the table, which naturally would undergo tremendous
magnification. This “flashing” to and fro, as it is called, is so
cleverly accomplished that the public does not realise the fact that it
is being deceived. Everything that the bachelor handles on the table
is of natural size; every duplicate article which the audience sees
through the magnifying-glass belongs to the large-sized properties upon
the second stage.

In the next scene the bachelor is seen to drop his rose and flee from
the room. The rose instantly falls gradually to pieces, petal by petal,
each of which runs across the table to roll into and form a cigar.
To produce this effect recourse has to be made to the “one turn one
picture” movement described in the previous chapter. Each petal is
displaced by hand and moved a slight distance by the stage-manager
between each exposure. This destruction of the rose and fabrication
of the cigar from the petals occupies hours, but it passes across the
screen in the course of a few seconds.

When this strange act is completed, and while the camera is not
working, a real cigar is substituted on the table for that apparently
made from the rose. When the bachelor returns he picks it up and
lights it. Thenceforward various tricks, the principle of all of which
has been described already, are practised in rapid succession. For
instance, the bachelor as he puffs the smoke into the air is astonished
to see it whirling rapidly, instead of curling slowly in the usual
way. The film is manipulated to produce this effect, as explained in
Chapter XX. The actor retains a fixed position, puffing while the
operator runs a few feet of film to record the smoke. After development
several images on the film--perhaps fifty per cent. of the movement
obtained--are cut out, and thereby the smoke is accelerated in its
motion so as to become a whirl upon the positive.

While smoking the bachelor is somewhat astonished to see the smoke
disobey natural laws by rushing into the square bottle beside him. This
illusion is produced by reversal of motion. The operator placed the cap
upon the lens and ran the film forward a certain distance, observing
the length of its travel on the measuring device. The camera action
was reversed, and the film run backwards the length of the unexposed
section. The smoke in the bottle was supplied from beneath the table,
there being a hole in the base connected to a pipe, through which steam
was driven. Naturally the steam flows from the mouth of the bottle, but
by turning the film backwards the smoke is made to appear to rush into
the bottle. When this incident has been recorded the lens is capped,
the film run forward the distance it was reversed, and everything is
ready for the next episode.

The bachelor, somewhat puzzled by the behaviour of the smoke, picks
up the bottle and looks at it. To his astonishment he sees the
fairy within dancing and endeavouring to escape. He picks up his
magnifying-glass and examines it closely, and the bottle containing the
girl, as seen through the glass, is seen by the audience. The illusion
is produced by double exposure, a process fully described already. The
bottle was stood against a dark background and photographed. Then the
reflected image of the fairy was photographed upon the same film. The
stage upon which she acted was marked out, and she had to keep within
these limits while making her assumed efforts to escape. Thus the whole
of her movements are brought within the area of the image of the bottle
already secured upon the film, so that when the latter is developed she
appears to be imprisoned within the bottle. If she should step outside
the limits during this incident, the reflection would be shown outside
the bottle and the illusion would be lost.

[Illustration: The fairy imprisoned in the bottle. This effect is
obtained by double exposure.]

[Illustration: PRINCESS NICOTINE.

The fairy, after coquetting with the bachelor, is driven away by the
smoke from his cigarette. The smoke effect is produced with steam.]

The man breaks the bottle with a hammer, and the released fairy is seen
standing upon the cigar-box. The “stop motion” has been requisitioned
to produce this effect, the camera being stopped when the bottle is
broken to enable the fairy to assume her position upon the property
cigar-box on the second stage, the box and bottle on the table in the
meantime having been removed. Gratified at her release, the fairy
stoops down and draws out a packet of cigarettes--the property package
concealed behind her property cigar-box on the second stage--and
withdrawing one of the cigarettes she offers it to the bachelor.
Although the cigarette she holds is three feet long, the reflection in
the mirror representing her standing apparently on the table, brings
the cigarette down to the natural size. The bachelor holds out his hand
to receive it, and at this point the “stop” is called to enable the
bachelor to place a real cigarette in the position of the property one,
the stage-manager informing the actor when the real article covers the
reflection, because the actor himself can see nothing. The property
cigarette is withdrawn, and the camera resumes. The bachelor places the
cigarette in his mouth, and as the audience cannot detect the “stop” it
appears as if he had taken the cigarette from the fairy.

[Illustration: Enraged, the fairy proceeds to build a bonfire with
matches. The property matches are used for this purpose.]

[Illustration: PRINCESS NICOTINE.

The fairy, her accomplice, and properties, which are enlarged
reproductions of the actual articles.]

The smoker lights the cigarette and takes a fiendish delight in blowing
the smoke at his diminutive companion, meanwhile coquetting with her.
The little lady resents the smoke; and as the bachelor again takes up
the magnifying-glass the public apparently looks through it at her
plight. The fairy is surrounded with cigarette smoke, coughing and
sneezing and shaking her fist furiously at the bachelor, who is out of
the picture, because in this instance, as before, the actual scene is
photographed direct, and not its reflection in the mirror.

The magnifying-glass is laid down and the audience sees the bachelor
strike a match, from which his tiny visitor shrinks in fear. The man
laughs heartily at her discomfiture. The fairy is bent upon revenge,
and steals stealthily towards the match-box. The bachelor follows the
fairy’s operations through the magnifying-glass, and the scene is
flashed to the spectators. They see the infuriated fairy tearing out
the matches and stacking them into a pile. Of course she is handling
the property matches, which, as I have already said, are good-sized
sticks. She strikes a match and fires the pile upon her stage.

The scene is flashed back to the table, but in the meantime the real
matches have been taken out of the smoker’s box and arranged in a pile,
which is burning upon the table, so that they appear to have been
fired by the fairy. The bachelor picks up the syphon of soda-water and
directs a stream upon the burning mass of matches. A final glimpse of
the fairy is given through the magnifying-glass as a stream of water,
this time from a hose, plays upon the blazing property pile, and she
falls over and disappears.

The preparation of a film of this character involves the utmost care in
stage management, so that there may be no disconcerting interruptions
in the continuity of the action. The greatest difficulty is to obtain
exact overlapping of the reflected and the real articles upon the
bachelor’s table; moreover, as the actor cannot see anything, but has
to act to an imaginary diminutive person on the table, his every action
has to be guided by the producer. The actresses must be faultless in
their movements. A film of this description requires days to prepare,
especially since it entails resort almost to every subterfuge known to
trick cinematography.

It will be observed that the work resolves itself into two essential
parts--the photographing of the bachelor in his sitting-room when in
company with the fairies, as shown by the mirror reflections, and the
photographing of the fairies and their properties. Whenever the latter
have to be taken, the idea of looking through the magnifying-glass is
adopted, and is artfully conveyed by the circular mask of the picture.
The magnification explains the apparently abnormal proportions of the
articles used; but the public do not realise them as properties because
they have been watching the little ladies on the table. Naturally, when
the magnifying-glass is turned upon them, the audience thinks that
the fairies and their attributes have been enlarged proportionately,
whereas, as a matter of fact, they are not enlarged at all, but are
photographed direct from a distance of only a few feet. In such a film
as this the producer, having sketched out the work and arranged the
scenes, photographs all the incidents pertaining to the reflection one
after the other, and subsequently photographs the views apparently
taken through the magnifying-glass upon either the same or another
stage. The trick effects, such as the conversion of the rose into the
cigar and so forth, are taken at other times. When the numerous strips
of film are developed the various sections are sorted out and placed in
rotation, to be connected up to form one continuous subject showing the
natural progress of the play.

Such is the story of the production of one of the prettiest and
apparently most miraculous trick-films that has ever been seen. It
should be said that such charming and mystifying productions as
“Princess Nicotine” appear only at very long intervals, but their
rarity is compensated fully by their fascination and novelty, which,
it may be pointed out, is a salient feature of the productions of the
Vitagraph Company in this particular field.




CHAPTER XXIII

TRICK PICTURES AND HOW THEY ARE PRODUCED

_VI.--Some Unusual and Novel Effects_


At times a trick picture cannot possibly be produced by any of the
methods I have so far described. Accordingly, the producer has to
rely upon his own ingenuity and inventiveness to cope with an unusual
situation or effect.

Some years ago an extraordinary film was produced by Mr. James
Williamson which created no little astonishment. It was entitled “A Big
Swallow,” and was decidedly startling in its effect. It depicted a man
to whom the sight of a cinematographer acted as a red rag to a bull.
On this occasion he was goaded to such desperation that he advanced
towards the camera with open mouth. Upon reaching it he gave a terrific
bite, and swallowed the whole apparatus and operator, the final scenes
showing him retracing his footsteps apparently enjoying his strange
meal, and satisfied that he had disposed of one cinematographic fiend
at least.

Curiously enough, although the idea adopted in this instance offers
illimitable possibilities, it apparently has never been exploited
since. This particular film never failed to arouse the enthusiasm of
the public, and there was considerable speculation upon all sides as
to how it was carried out. Through the courtesy of Mr. Williamson I am
enabled to unravel the mystery.

It is well known by amateur photographers that when a person is
focussed a certain distance from the camera, if he steps towards the
instrument the focus is immediately upset. When the individual is
taken in motion, and in such a way that he comes right up to the lens,
this difficulty is enhanced. It is impossible to keep adjusting the
focus of a cinematograph camera while the subject is advancing, because
the focussing tube is obstructed by the passing of the film through the
gate.

Accordingly, Mr. Williamson resorted to a combination of the
cinematograph with the racking bellows of the ordinary camera.
The latter, of special design, was attached to the front of the
cinematograph instrument, the bellows attachment carrying the lens. The
camera was set up, and the distance between the apparatus and the actor
was measured and marked off upon the ground. Observations were made to
ascertain at what points the actor in advancing should be re-focussed,
and these points were indicated upon the ground. The camera bellows was
then racked out until the figure was focussed sharply once more, and
this point was indicated upon the base-board of the bellows. The figure
then advanced still closer, until a similar result was observed, when
the bellows was racked out a little farther, focussed, and a second
mark was placed on the base-board corresponding to that on the ground.
The process was continued until the figure had advanced right up to the
camera.

The picture had to be taken under the “stop motion” principle.
At the word “Go!” the actor advanced to the first mark, where he
stood stock-still, while the camera bellows was racked to the point
indicating the correct focus. The second picture was taken under the
same conditions, and so on, until the actor’s face almost touched the
lens of the outstretched bellows. In the first photo the actor was
seen at full length, with the lens set in a horizontal line with his
mouth. As he approached the camera, less and less of the lower part of
his body was to be seen in each successive picture. Presently only his
head was recorded; then nothing but the open mouth and teeth; and at
last, when he almost touched the lens, nothing but a black cavity was
revealed upon the film.

The actual swallowing operation had now to be carried out. For this
purpose a large window opening into a darkened room was required. The
window was covered with dead-black material, leaving only the opening.
The camera was set upon a stage, and the window cavity focussed in
such a way that the opening occupied the whole of the picture. On the
inside of the building a thick mattress was placed with stage hands in
readiness. The camera and operator were set up before this cavity as if
photographing the approaching irate individual, and were photographed
by a second camera. This was intended to represent the former scene
from the moment where the man’s mouth only was visible upon the picture
in the form of a black space, and for which the opened window sufficed.

At the critical moment the camera was pushed gently over through the
window opening, and immediately afterwards the operator dived into
the chasm, the last sign of him being his upturned feet as he fell
downwards head first into the interior through the window, to alight
upon the mattress placed below to receive him.

When he had disappeared in this manner the third scene had to be taken.
This represented the actor stepping back from the camera after he had
devoured his antagonist. When he retreated to the mark on the ground
nearest to the camera, the bellows was racked in to its corresponding
mark on the base; then the second backward step was made by the actor
to the next mark on the ground while the bellows was racked back to
the next mark, this succession of stop-motions being in the reverse
direction to the advance. As the actor retreated, his teeth were seen
to close with a snap, and the look on his face as it came into view
revealed intense satisfaction with his strange feast. Retreat was
carried out in this series of steps until the actor had regained his
original position.

In this film the difficulty of keeping an advancing and retreating
figure in focus was solved very ingeniously; and when the pictures were
projected upon the screen the illusion was perfect, not the slightest
sign of a stop between the exposures being detected. As a matter of
fact, the advance and retreat series of pictures were produced at
one time, the disappearance of the camera and operator being taken
later; and upon the development of the negatives, the last episode was
introduced between the other two at the correct point. As the area of
the open mouth when close to the lens more than covered the sensitised
picture, the opening in the blackened window as it appeared upon
the screen gave no intimation as to the manner in which an ordinary
individual contrived to swallow a camera, tripod, and operator at one
gulp.

During a recent General Election infinite amusement was provoked by
the display upon the public screens, which appear to have become an
inseparable feature of such political events, of a film depicting
“The Dissolution of the Government.” The dissolution was complete in
the fullest sense of the word. A picture--a conventional portrait--of
one of the members of the Cabinet was thrown upon the screen. Slowly
it was observed to undergo a strange and ludicrous transformation.
An eye slipped down into the collar, the chin fell away, the nose
was lengthened abnormally, and the forehead narrowed to nothing. The
conditions presented were the most extraordinary to conceive, and the
manner in which the features melted into oblivion leaving a transparent
surface, or only a series of indecipherable streaks, aroused
indescribable merriment in the crowd. It is certain that no “election”
film ever has proved such a diversion as this trick picture.

The idea was worked out by Mr. F. Percy Smith. Like many other displays
of cinematographic magic, its success was due to its simplicity. Every
amateur photographer in his earliest days has endeavoured to force the
drying of a glass plate after development by placing it before the
fire. Invariably the effort ends in disaster. The gelatine melts and
causes the emulsion to run all over the plate, producing grotesque
results.

In order to produce this bizarre film a primitive apparatus was
contrived, consisting of a small tank the back and front of which were
cut out to admit pieces of glass. This tank was filled with water
and placed upon an ordinary spirit stove. The cinematograph camera
was placed in front, and at the rear a powerful electric light was
arranged in such a manner that the illumination was diffused equally
over the rear glazed part of the tank. A transparency portrait of the
politician was then copied upon a small glass dry photographic plate,
developed and fixed. It was then suspended in the small tank between
the camera lens and the electric light, so that the illuminating
rays passed through it, throwing the features in the picture up
brilliantly. The water was heated by the spirit lamp beneath, the
rise in the temperature being followed closely with a thermometer;
and when the requisite degree of heat was obtained, the features upon
the transparent plate, owing to the melting of the gelatine emulsion,
commenced to slip and slide about over the glass surface, and were
caught in the act by the camera.

[Illustration: THE DISSOLUTION OF THE GOVERNMENT.

One of the most mystifying and amusing trick films ever produced.]

Although the process appears absurdly simple, considerable time had to
be expended upon the subject to secure the most grotesque results. One
portrait frequently had to be prepared and boiled in this manner six or
more times before a sufficiently ludicrous effect was secured. Owing
to the capriciousness of the gelatine emulsion, occasionally the whole
coating would slip bodily off its glass support. The temperature of
the water had to be judged to a nicety, and suitable arrangements had
to be made to prevent the boiling water from marring the photographic
effect upon the celluloid film by the interposition of bubbles. Our
illustration shows a member of the Government under photographic
dissolution in this manner. The treatment has almost infinite
possibilities, for no two plates are affected alike. This film appealed
to the American taste. After the British Government had been dissolved
in this manner, a second film had to be prepared, in response to the
demand from the United States, dealing with the dissolution of the
American Government at the time of the last Presidential Election, the
portraits subjected to this drastic and peculiar treatment being those
of members of the United States Cabinet. This film created just as
great hilarity in the United States as attended its exhibition in this
country.

[Illustration:

                                    [_Copyright, C. Armstrong._

THE LATEST CRAZE IN TRICK CINEMATOGRAPHY.

Silhouettes with models.]

During the past two years the silhouette trick film has come to the
front owing to the novelty of the fundamental theme and the successful
combination of humour with mystery. We all know the old shadowgraph
play, wherein the actors carry through their parts behind a white sheet
before a powerful light, which casts their shadows upon the screen.
The idea is now applied to cinematography. One or two films of this
character made their appearance some time ago from foreign sources,
but it has been left to an English experimenter, Mr. C. Armstrong, to
reduce this ingenious trick subject to an exact science.

In an American attempt in this direction, living actors were used, but
the outcome was scarcely happy, inasmuch as the trick effects were very
limited, being confined mostly to weird contrasts in the sizes of the
figures thrown upon the screen, arising from the proximity of the actor
to the light. If he stood near the illuminant his stature was that of
an immense giant, while if he enacted his _rôle_ near the screen, his
shadow was just life-size. Mr. Armstrong has improved upon this method
by resorting to the use of models, constructed of flat material, with
jointed limbs, like dolls, in order to secure ludicrous poses and
situations and impossible statures.

Seeing that only silhouette figures are required, it seems a very
simple and easy matter to fashion the models and move them through
their parts to obtain the desired effect; but such is far from being
the case. Both preparation and manipulation demand unremitting care and
patience. It may be pointed out at once that exclusive use has to be
made of “the one turn one picture” movement, the models being shifted a
small fraction of an inch between each exposure. When one has a group
of figures to move in this manner, the work is exceedingly tedious,
weeks often being spent upon the production of a single film.

When Mr. Armstrong embarked upon this enterprise he concluded that the
work could be accomplished without any great effort, but he was soon
disillusioned. Moreover, he found, to his dismay, that in order to
produce really striking trick effects, combined with complex movements,
perfect in every detail, it was not only the construction of the
models which presented many difficulties and required great mechanical
skill, but that the most intricate part of the work, involving a vast
amount of patience and extremely delicate manipulation, proved to be
the actual taking of the negatives. Innumerable failures attended the
first attempts. It was only after months of practice, and after he had
devised numerous special accessories, that Mr. Armstrong gradually
brought his methods to perfection. The outcome of his perseverance was
seen at the Palace Theatre, London. The film was entitled “The Clown
and his Donkey,” and it provoked the audience to unrestrained mirth.

Such work not only demands the conception of a suitable subject,
its adaptation to technical requirements, and the preparation of
the negatives to express humour and produce movements portraying
distinct traits of character and temper; but, as I have said, the
construction of the models presents singular difficulty, in view of the
complexity of the movements. It is indispensable that the person who
takes the negatives should also construct the models, the mechanical
peculiarities of which must be understood to a nicety.

The supplementary devices necessitated by the work seem to be without
limit; and to overcome the constantly recurring technical obstacles, it
is essential that the operator should be endowed with quite exceptional
mechanical resourcefulness; otherwise he will be baulked time after
time. Frequently he will find himself faced with a difficulty,
successful extrication from which, without compromising the subject
upon which he is working, will tax his ingenuity to the last degree.

[Illustration:

                                    [_Copyright, C. Armstrong._

THE POSSIBILITIES OF TRICK SILHOUETTE CINEMATOGRAPHY.

1.

A quaint advertisement film.

2.

Mr. Asquith in cartoon.

3.

A novel curtain idea.]

The most lucrative field for silhouette trick cinematography should lie
in its application to the production of animated advertisements and
caricatures; for the idea possesses the indispensable attribute of
novelty, which is the mainspring of commercial success.

[Illustration:

                                    [_Copyright, R. W. Paul._

THE HUMAN BUTTERFLY: HOW ARE THE EFFECTS OBTAINED?

The search for novelty in trick cinematography is very keen. This
illustrates a new idea which so far has never been exploited. _See page
263._]

As for caricature, despite the promising look of the field, there are
certain practical obstacles to success: first, the time occupied in
production, and second, a hostility on the part of the theatres to
political films of a party character--an attitude easily explainable,
as it is the aim of such establishments to appeal to one and all.

We give a few illustrations showing, in caricature, Mr. Asquith
speaking. The various attitudes clearly show the wonderful
possibilities of silhouette trickery, and also demonstrate strikingly
what can be done by a skilful operator with finely executed models. The
ones in the illustration are made of metal.

In regard to advertising, the innovation is unquestionably of real
importance, and I am told that use has been made of it with conspicuous
success by a prominent European cigarette manufacturing company.
This concern acquired a film measuring 300 feet in length, which
figured continuously in the programmes of the picture palaces. It was
most ingeniously conceived and worked out, the actors being a large
burly figure endowed with a movable nose, which changed from snub to
aquiline, a baby boy, and a chimpanzee, all of which characters are
shown in the illustration. The movements were carried out with perfect
realism. The burly figure is at one side of the stage, while the words,
“The Best Cigarette is----” appears at the top of the picture.

The chimpanzee and the baby come forward from opposite sides, each
picks up a rod from the ground, by means of which the letters forming
the name of the firm are jerked up alternately. They then drop the
rods; a box comes flying along, and is caught by the monkey, who
tenders it to the baby. The latter takes out a cigarette, which he
throws across the stage straight into the burly figure’s mouth; he
then does a somersault across the monkey’s back, steps on to one of
the hands of the large figure, and after he is raised to the requisite
height, the baby produces a match and lights the cigarette. The burly
man puffs away, demonstrating his satisfaction with the quality of
the cigarette by facial contortions. In the meantime the baby has
descended, and the large figure having lowered the hand holding the
cigarette leisurely, the baby seizes it, and, placing it in his mouth,
sends forth a big puff of smoke.

The effect of this absolutely novel advertisement seems to have been
extraordinary in Germany. One company after another is being formed in
that country, systematising publicity in the picture halls, affiliating
a number of them under contracts involving sole rights for showing
advertising films on terms of payment according to the length of film
shown. The halls seem, naturally, to prefer humorous and trick films
to sober industrial subjects. Things seem to move more slowly in this
country. Many halls would no doubt welcome good trick advertising
films, which would yield them an additional substantial income, and at
the same time would amuse and mystify their audiences.

Finally, we would refer to the excellent purposes to which this
invention is being applied in the matter of announcement films, to
replace the conventional lantern slides. A typical subject of this
description, “Ta-Ta, Come Again,” is illustrated. The actors comprise a
baby elephant, a jackdaw, a chimpanzee, and a tiny monkey.

The elephant and jackdaw alternately draw letters from a box and throw
them into the air to form the title. The last letter, N, while being
slowly raised into position by the elephant, is snatched up by the
jackdaw, who flies away to set it in position. The tiny monkey then
appears, carrying an exclamation sign, which he balances on the tip of
one of his feet, and finally tosses into its place. He then steps on to
the tip of the elephant’s tail. The chimpanzee now advances, seizes the
elephant by the trunk, and pulls him sliding off the stage.

Silhouette trick films, the production of which has become the
speciality of this manufacturer, lend themselves to vast development.
I have seen some subjects produced by European and American firms
which represent possibly the high-water mark of this form of magic
cinematography. But the enterprise has one distinct disadvantage.
The preparation of the films is slow, and the process is unavoidably
expensive.

Novelty in trick cinematography, which is essential to popular success,
is difficult to hit upon. Some years ago Mr. Robert Paul experimented
with a new idea, the result of which is shown in the illustration. The
strange poses of the actor will occasion interest and speculation as
to how they were obtained. The camera, while the exposures were being
made, was revolved, the actor on the stage meanwhile maintaining his
feet. The resultant pictures conveyed the impression that the subject
photographed was rolling over and over, and flying through the air.
This idea does not appear to have been exploited, although it should
offer opportunities to produce some highly bewildering effects.

Time and cost are the most adverse factors in this ramification of
moving pictures. The market could absorb four times the number of trick
subjects that are produced at present, so long as they were comparable
with “The Little Milliner’s Dream” and “Princess Nicotine.” But their
popularity would not always compensate the producer for the time and
expense of the preparation. Under the present conditions governing the
manufacture of trick films, distinct arrangements and facilities must
be provided for their manufacture, so as not to disturb the routine
preparation of ordinary subjects. These are the main reasons why to-day
trick films worthy of classification in the first rank are so rarely
seen--the majority of so-called trick films are pure inanities. In
fact, the trick film of the highest order is in danger of extinction,
because for every trick film that is produced half a dozen ordinary
film plays can be placed on the market.




CHAPTER XXIV

ELECTRIC SPARK CINEMATOGRAPHY


Although we commonly think of the human senses as very acute, yet in
reality they possess many imperfections. For instance, our vision
is too slow to follow the excessively rapid and brief movements of
insects. Strive as one may, one cannot detect the flapping motion of a
fly’s wing, or follow the different methods of flying practised by the
dragon-fly and the bee. I have spoken early in this work of Marey’s
wonderful researches, which were spread over a prolonged period, and
carried out with the express object of extending our knowledge of
animal motion.

Marey’s experiments, however, were limited in their scope, as he soon
realised. The dry glass plate was not a convenient medium for recording
the impressions of rapid motion, while extreme difficulties were
encountered in connection with the illuminant and the exposure. These
drawbacks became baffling when it was attempted to record the movements
of insects. He endeavoured to solve the problem by concentrating a
pencil of brilliant sunlight upon a condenser, so as to secure such a
powerful luminous cone of light as to enable an exposure to be made in
1/42,000th of a second.

Marey wrestled with the task in a most determined manner, and his
efforts were supported by eminent physiologists in other countries;
but the obstacles were so formidable and the available resources so
limited that they could not arrive at any practical result. It has been
left to Monsieur Lucien Bull, the accomplished assistant director of
the Marey Institute, to overcome the difficulty. Through his courtesy
I am enabled to describe his fascinating researches, as well as the
peculiar and efficient apparatus he has evolved for the purpose. The
beautiful and highly interesting results he has achieved are shown in
the accompanying illustrations.

It was obvious at the outset that the familiar cinematograph camera and
its system of operation were unsuited to recording such excessively
rapid movements as take place in the oscillation of a fly’s wing.
Intermittent motion was quite out of the question. No device working on
this principle was capable of enabling one hundred exposures or more to
be made in the short space of one second. If it were attempted the film
would only be torn and twisted before it had moved twelve inches. In
its place continuous motion on the part of the film was imperative, and
finally this requisite was supplied in a decidedly novel manner.

The general characteristics of the apparatus conceived and fashioned
by Monsieur Bull may be gathered from the illustrations. As the usual
illuminants were unsuited to photography of extremely rapid motion,
recourse was had to the electric spark, which is of tremendous luminous
intensity. These sparks are generated at uniform intervals and as
rapidly as the exigencies of the experiment demand. In order to grasp
the details of the installation a vertical sectional diagram, Fig. 19,
is given, and by its means the design and operation of the apparatus
may be gathered.

[Illustration: FIG. 19.--DIAGRAM OF APPARATUS EMPLOYED BY M. LUCIEN
BULL TO PHOTOGRAPH INSECTS IN FLIGHT.]

Instead of the ordinary camera there is a cylindrical wheel _R_,
mounted rigidly upon a shaft supported on brackets at either end. The
flat rim of this wheel carries the sensitised film, which, as the wheel
is 13½ inches in diameter, is 42½ inches in length. This band is of the
standard width and is sufficiently long to receive fifty-four pictures
of the ordinary cinematographic dimensions during one revolution of
the wheel. As the pictures are only three-quarters of an inch in
depth, the deformation arising from the impression being made upon a
curved surface is so slight as to be unworthy of consideration. The
arrangement adopted has the advantage of enabling the wheel to be
rotated very rapidly, so that consecutive pictures may be taken at very
brief intervals of time.

As the work is carried out in the laboratory in full daylight, the
wheel carrying the ribbon of sensitised film is enclosed in an
octagonal light-tight box _B_, the upper half of which is hinged so
that when the box is dismounted and taken into the dark-room it can
be opened easily to permit the exposed film to be withdrawn and a new
strip inserted.

The shaft upon which the cylinder revolves is fitted with an
interrupter _I_, whereby the primary circuit of the induction coil _A_
may be broken at regular intervals during the revolution of the wheel.
If desired, as many as 2,000 interruptions can be made in one second,
by rotating the wheel at a very high speed, if the necessities of the
experiment demand such a high number of exposures; each interruption
producing an electric spark in the spark gap _E_ placed behind the
condenser _C_. This condenser converges the luminous rays into the
objective _O_, which is mounted in front of the travelling sensitised
ribbon.

The lens is mounted in a small box _V_ attached to the front vertical
face of the octagonal box, the latter being pierced at this point to
permit the light to pass from the objective to the film behind. In this
lens box, between the back of the objective and the exposure aperture,
there is a mirror _M_, attached at its top to a horizontal rod having
a milled screw head. When the mirror is in the position shown in the
diagram, the image reflected therein through the lens is thrown on to
a ground-glass screen _D_, set in the top of the lens box. This serves
consequently as a view-finder. When the exposures are to be made the
screw controlling the mirror is turned, and this swings the mirror
upwards like a flap until it lies flat against the under side of the
ground-glass _D_, forming a light-tight joint.

The wheel carrying the sensitised film is driven by an electric
motor, the shaft of the wheel being extended beyond the box on one
side to carry a small grooved pulley, the drive from the motor being
transmitted through a small belt. The motor may be driven at varying
speeds, so that the number of exposures per second may be varied
according to the revolutions of the box completed in that period of
time.

The interrupter--also mounted outside the film-box--whereby the make
and break in the primary circuit of the induction coil is controlled,
and consequently the frequency of the spark between the points _E_
in the secondary coil circuit, is a disc of ebonite, into which are
compressed fifty-four strips of copper spaced equidistantly--each strip
corresponding to a picture on the film--which are pressed by two metal
brushes as in the commutator of the ordinary dynamo. As the copper
strips in the ebonite disc pass beneath these two brushes the electric
circuit of the induction coil is opened and closed, thereby producing
an electric spark in the secondary circuit of the coil. The intensity
of the spark is augmented by means of a small condenser _L_, which is
placed in parallel in the secondary circuit.

The sparks are produced between two pointed magnesium electrodes, less
than 1/12th of an inch in thickness, while the spark is about 1/25th
of an inch in length. The spark is very rich in the ultra-violet rays,
which possess a powerful photographic quality. In order that these
rays shall not be absorbed during their passage through the condensers
_C_, the latter are made of Iceland spar. To secure improved results,
a small condenser _c_ is sometimes placed immediately in front of the
spark-gap _E_. The general arrangement of the apparatus for operation
is shown on page 266, the whole being mounted upon a bench with the
induction coil upon a shelf beneath.

The photographs obtained in this manner, however, are purely of a
silhouette character, and often it is very difficult to interpret
correctly the movement of the wings of an insect from such a result. In
order to obviate this drawback, Monsieur Bull introduced a stereoscopic
system, wherein two lenses are mounted side by side before the film
box, with two spark-gaps in the same circuit. This enables two sparks
to be produced simultaneously with each interruption of the primary
circuit, to give two images of the object upon the sensitised celluloid
films.

In order that the two exposures should be made upon the films exactly
at the same time, a special type of shutter had to be evolved, whereby
the exposure apertures were opened simultaneously at the critical
moment when the cylinder commenced to revolve, and which closed in
concert when the rotation was completed, because, as the films were
travelling continuously, there was no necessity for an alternate
closing and opening shutter movement, as is required in ordinary
cinematography working upon the intermittent motion principle. The
interval between the sparks acts in the same manner as a shutter
swinging across the lens, and serves to secure a succession of
instantaneous pictures upon the films. The images are obtained in such
rapid succession that there is no possibility of the films becoming
fogged through the objective apertures being open the whole time the
wheel completes a revolution. The two sparks being in the same circuit,
they must be produced in absolute synchrony.

The crucial question was how to open and close the shutter
simultaneously at the critical moments. This was solved in an ingenious
manner. The shutter itself is made of brass and is placed close to the
film. There are two apertures, side by side, corresponding to the size
of the image upon the cinematograph film.

[Illustration: FIG. 20.--THE INGENIOUS STEREOSCOPIC SHUTTER TO THE BULL
CAMERA.]

The operation of the shutters is shown in Fig. 20. When the cylinder
is at rest, the exposure holes are closed by a single curtain _A_,
consisting of a thin sheet of steel of sufficient length to cover
the two holes. It is held in position by means of an electromagnet
controlling an extended spring. When the cylinder commences to revolve
the spring connected to the shutter is released under an electric
impulse discharged through the electromagnet. The shutter falls,
exposing the two apertures _f1_ and _f2_. When the cylinder has
completed its revolution, another electric impulse releases a second
steel curtain _B_, held in position by a second spring, controlled by
an electromagnet, so that it drops also and falls over the exposure
holes. This system is both simple and positive in its operation, and
it may be pointed out that this control is quite independent of the
interrupter, which works in conjunction with the electric spark.

The interval of time elapsing between each picture is determined by
means of a tuning fork making 50 double vibrations per second, which
operates an electric signal. This tuning fork is set up in such a
manner that the ends of its vibrating tongues are photographed upon the
film throughout the experiment. As the vibrations of the tuning fork
are known, it is only necessary, in order to determine the interval
of time between each exposure, to count the number of photographs
taken successively during a complete vibration of the tuning fork. As
a result of experiment, however, it has been found that the ear can
be trained to determine with astonishing accuracy the speed at which
the apparatus revolves--and consequently the number of pictures taken
per second--by the succession of sparks produced by a tuning fork the
vibrations of which are known. This means that in conjunction with the
photographic record, the speed at which the exposures were made can be
determined without effort, and this velocity can be varied very easily.
In addition, a measured scale, engraved on glass, is placed in the
field of the lens, whereby the investigator is enabled to determine
the exact displacement of the insect in the field of vision within a
given period. Such is the apparatus, devised so far back as 1904, with
which Monsieur Lucien Bull has accomplished some remarkable work of
incalculable value to science, and with striking precision.

[Illustration: M. LUCIEN BULL’S COMPLETE APPARATUS.]

[Illustration: THE NOVEL CAMERA SHOWING STEREOSCOPIC LENS.

Taking 2,000 moving pictures per second.--_See page 265._]

I will now proceed to explain how the photographs are taken. In
the first place, in order to obtain natural and conclusive data
regarding the flight of insects, it is imperative that they should be
cinematographed while in full liberty, but the point arose as to how to
control the instrument so that the camera and film did not commence to
revolve until the moment the insect entered the field of the lens. The
habits of insects vary greatly. Some fly off immediately they are
released, while others hesitate for a minute fraction of a second. As
the apparatus makes only one complete revolution at a time, and that
in the fraction of a second, the control has to be of such a finely
adjusted character that the record obtained is of movement purely and
simply, and not of the insect in a quiescent state preparatory to
flight.

[Illustration: A BEE CINEMATOGRAPHED IN FULL FLIGHT.

At the left is the glass tube from which it has escaped.--_See page
273._]

Another question was how to induce the insect to cross the field of
the lens. All insects instinctively fly towards a light. The apparatus
therefore was set near a window, the insect being released from the
side away from the window, so that in order to reach the light it had
to traverse the field of the lens. As the latter is very small, it was
essential that the release should be carried out in such a way that the
insect did not fly above or below the field of the lens during exposure
of the film.

At first sight these obstacles appeared insurmountable. It was
obvious that the release of a fly from the hand would be too slow and
uncertain, while the movement of the insect after securing its liberty
would be unnatural, because no matter how delicately it might be
handled, there would be the liability of injuring its fragile frame.
The governing point was to devise ways and means of opening the shutter
just at the moment the insect started to fly from one side of the lens
field to the other, under completely natural conditions.

This delicate problem was resolved by Monsieur Bull in an ingenious
manner, but not before he had carried out innumerable experiments
attended by dispiriting failures. At last he succeeded in evolving
means whereby the insect automatically and instantaneously opened the
shutter of the camera at the moment it started to fly. The artifices by
which this end was achieved are shown in Fig. 21. The system, however,
had to be modified for different types of insect. That marked _A_ was
used for the ordinary house-fly and for dragon flies. It comprised a
small pair of pincers, or clamp, which held the fly firmly captive by
means of a small electromagnet, but in such a way as not to inflict
the slightest injury. This clamp was introduced in the stereoscopic
shutter electrical circuit. The two legs of the clamp have a natural
tendency to fly apart under the action of a spring, but are held closed
by a tooth at the end of a rocking arm, mounted on one leg, engaging
with a fixed tooth on the second leg of the clamp. The latter is
placed in an electrical circuit with the shutter of the camera. When
all arrangements are completed, the experimenter closes this circuit.
This action causes the electromagnet of the clamp to pull down the
projecting end of the toothed arm; the two legs are allowed to fly
apart, liberating the insect, and as the clamp releases the fly the
stereoscopic shutter is opened.

[Illustration: FIG. 21.--THE INGENIOUS DEVICES EMPLOYED BY M. LUCIEN
BULL TO RELEASE THE INSECT AT THE CRITICAL MOMENT.]

This system, however, was of no avail in connection with the
_Hymenoptera_ group of insects, since wasps, bees, and similar insects
hesitate slightly before they seek safety in flight. Consequently the
device _B_ was evolved. This consists of a small glass tube, in which
the insect is introduced at one end. The opposite end is cut obliquely,
and is fitted with a very light hinged shutter of mica, having a
fragile spring, which covers about one-half of the opening. The spring
closes the electric circuit operating the stereoscopic shutter of the
camera.

Let us suppose a bee is to be cinematographed in flight. It is pushed
head foremost into the free end of the tube, which is large enough to
carry it comfortably, and the half-closed mouth is pointed towards the
window. The insect naturally endeavours to approach the light, and
accordingly crawls along the tube until at last it reaches the mica
shutter, beneath which it endeavours to escape. As it crawls out of the
tube it lifts the mica flap, and the circuit is broken. But the shutter
does not open, because at this moment the operator himself closes the
contact. By this time the insect has emerged a sufficient distance from
the tube to complete its final preparations preliminary to flying away.
Just as it springs from the tube the mica shutter falls, the electrical
circuit is closed once more, the shutter is opened, and pictures of the
bee on the wing are recorded upon the celluloid film.

For the _Coleoptera_ group of insects--beetles--where there is still
a more marked hesitation before flight, the device C was prepared. In
this instance Monsieur Bull compels the weight of the insect, which
is relatively heavy, to establish the necessary contact to operate
the shutter. A glass tube without an oblique mouth is used for this
purpose, and instead of the mica flap, a very light horizontal plate of
aluminium, balanced by a counterweight at one end, is passed through
the tube. This plate is mounted on a central pivot, and extends a
certain distance from either end of the tube. The counterweight is
slightly lighter than the weight of the insect, and rests in contact
with a platinum point. The beetle is introduced into the tube at this
end, and crawls along the rod towards the opposite end. When it has
passed about half-way through the tube, and has crossed the fulcrum of
the beam, it causes the contact end to rise like a see-saw, thereby
breaking the electrical contact. In this case, as with the device B,
the operator recloses the break in the circuit. The beetle continues
its journey, and finally emerges from the tube upon the flattened
end of the beam, on which it completes its arrangements to fly away.
Directly it leaves the platinum beam, the latter, under the action of
the counterweight, falls upon the platinum point, re-establishes the
contact, the circuit is closed, the shutter is opened, and the flight
is caught upon the sensitised band.

Monsieur Bull has devised a wide variety of these ingenious appliances,
whereby he is able to secure the flight of any insect, and by the
employment of which the chances of failure are reduced to the minimum.
Indeed, when the apparatus is set up correctly, is in the hands
of a skilled operator, and every arrangement has been completed
satisfactorily, failure can only result from one cause--the refusal
of the insect to fly away. The best results are obtained from insects
which are in a fresh, healthy condition. If they have been imprisoned
for too long a period, or are fatigued, the chances are that the
results will be very disappointing. The records which Monsieur Bull has
secured, showing insects in flight, illustrate some very interesting
facts, and are of far-reaching value from the scientific point of view.
At the present moment they are of additional interest owing to the
absorbing fascination of aviation, inasmuch as they enable us to study
with ease the movement of the wings of powerful, speedy fliers, which
hitherto has been impossible under natural conditions, owing to the
excessive velocity with which the wings move, and the brief character
of the motion. With such an apparatus as I have described, any very
rapid motion can be cinematographed, for the system is very elastic,
and capable of very extensive application.

[Illustration: A DRAGON-FLY IN FLIGHT.

At left is the electric clamp from which the insect has been released,
and at right the tuning fork to determine the interval of time between
successive pictures.]

Another vast field of research which has been opened by the
cinematograph is the study of the flight of projectiles. This subject
has occupied earnest attention among military authorities for some time
past. A few years ago Professor Vernon Boys carried out some wonderful
experiments in this direction, and produced some very striking results.
His work has been continued recently, by cinematographic means, by an
eminent German investigator, Dr. C. Cranz, professor at the Berlin
Military Academy. He has succeeded in accelerating the exposures of
the film to such a degree that 500 consecutive pictures can be taken
in 1/10th of a second, the exposures varying from 1/1,000,000th to
1/10,000,000th part of a second, the last-named period being such an
infinitesimal fraction of time as to be beyond human comprehension.
The pictures obtained are of the standard dimensions, and a striking
feature, despite the tremendous speed at which they are taken, and the
extremely brief exposure, is the clearness and definition obtained.

[Illustration: CINEMATOGRAPH FILM OF A BULLET FIRED THROUGH A SOAP
BUBBLE.

The flight of the missile may be followed easily. It will be seen
that the bubble breaks not when the bullet enters, but when it
emerges.--_See page 276._]

In this instance, also, the electric spark is called upon to serve as
the illuminant to enable the images to be recorded upon the sensitised
band, but the means whereby the interruption of the primary circuit of
the induction coil is secured differs materially from that practised by
Bull. Obviously the film travels with a continuous, instead of with an
intermittent, motion, the sensitised band in this instance being run
over two steel cylinders. The tremendous speed at which the film moves
may be gathered from the fact that, at the rate of exposures made, over
280 feet of film must pass before the exposure aperture in the short
space of one second--more than 2½ miles per minute.

The apparatus evolved by this German investigator is more complicated
than that of his French contemporary, and the method of operation is
widely dissimilar. The arrangements, too, for preventing the film
receiving more than one series of pictures--the film is rotated before
the exposure aperture in the form of an endless band--demanded a
special electrical contact control system, while the manipulation of
the apparatus varies according to the character of the experiment.

The results obtained are startling. Although taken at such a tremendous
speed, the pictures when thrown upon the screen under normal conditions
enable every motion to be followed quite easily because everything
moves slowly. For instance, one can see the hammer of an automatic
pistol fall, and follow exactly what takes place during the whole
firing operation, and the ejection of the spent cartridge. Similarly,
when the pistol is fired, and the bullet is photographed as it emerges
from the muzzle or when it strikes, passes through and emerges from a
steel plate, the movement can be followed with complete facility, as
it appears to move across the screen no more rapidly than a person
walks, because, although the exposures are made at the rate of 30,000
pictures per second, they are projected at a speed of only 16 pictures
per second. By this means analysis of extremely rapid motion in all its
details can be effected--a result of far-reaching possibilities to the
study of ballistics.

Facilities are provided to enable the progress of the missile, both
vertically and horizontally, to be measured, so that the speed of the
projectile may be determined with unimpeachable accuracy. Fluctuations
in the speed of a missile can be ascertained and investigated. Suppose
the speed of the projectile is measured as it emerges from the arm,
and again as it reaches the end of an extensive free trajectory;
losses in velocity due to resistance of the air and other causes
can be calculated. Individual pictures, when enlarged--and the
sharp, well-defined character of the images on the band enables this
enlargement to be carried out to a very wide limit--supply a ready
means to investigate any particular phase and phenomenon at close
quarters.

It is not generally known that about twelve years ago the British
Government set up such an installation at Devonport to investigate the
phenomena of bullets in flight. Here also illumination was carried
out by means of the electric spark, but the rate of exposures was
considerably slower. The results of the work of Monsieur Bull and
Professor Cranz, however, has opened up another and more wonderful
province for the cinematograph, and the investigation of rapid motion.
The efforts of these two scientists prove conclusively that motion
photography is capable of recording the most rapid movements known
with perfect success, although the circumstances may demand such
extraordinarily short exposure as the 10,000,000th part of a second.




CHAPTER XXV

THE “ANIMATED” NEWSPAPER


We have seen how the topical picture has developed into one of the most
attractive and extensively appreciated phases of the art. Events of
annual occurrence like the Derby or the Grand National, or those which
have been advertised widely on all sides, such as an aeroplane race,
are always anticipated with a keen curiosity.

At the same time, however, there are many incidents of daily occurrence
which are of absorbing passing interest, such as the launch of a
battleship, a railway collision, a big fire, or a public demonstration.
Such subjects are not adapted to presentation as individual films of
great length, being insufficiently momentous to grip the public for
several minutes in the same way as the International Yacht Race, or
some other dramatic item in our complex social and industrial life.

For some time occurrences like these were ignored. Sometimes weeks
slipped by without any public event being presented on the screen,
owing to lack of opportunity.

At this juncture one or two enterprising firms conceived a brilliant
idea of turning these events to interesting and profitable account.
Why not secure short lengths of film on various subjects of passing
interest, and join them together to form one film between 200 and 350
feet in length, to provide a regular weekly topical feature? These
little “topicals” were secured--a few feet of this, and a few feet of
that, subject depicting the most striking or interesting phases in each
news feature--and joined to form a continuous miscellaneous moving
mirror of the world’s happenings.

When the idea was first carried into execution the film could
scarcely be described as “topical.” There was no attempt to serve up
the pictures to the public in a “red-hot” condition. The incidents
portrayed in many instances had passed beyond the allotted nine days
of wonder, and having been almost forgotten, aroused but a flicker
of interest. The experiment recalled the days when newspapers first
resorted to photographic illustrations; when the pictures were
published often two or three days after the occurrence of the event to
which they referred.

Yet the results achieved sufficed to prove that a new and promising
field in cinematography had been tapped. Great possibilities awaited
enterprise and energy. All that was required was to supply the
pictures while the events were still fresh in the minds of the public.
Haphazard methods promised only failure; a special organisation was
essential to cope with the situation. In order to emphasise the motive
of the undertaking, the topical film, which presented in tabloid form
an assortment of news, was given a newspaper title; the animated
“Chronicle,” “Gazette,” and “Graphic” appeared; while to render the
newspaper idea more pronounced, the exteriors of the picture palaces
were emblazoned with placards drawn up in the most approved newspaper
style.

In the course of a few weeks, as the operators displayed keener
competition to outstrip rivals in securing the first pictorial
representation of something of importance, and the pictures assumed
a more and more up-to-date aspect, the moving picture newspaper
established its significance. Showmen were tempted to assist in the
enterprise by being able to purchase the newspaper film at a lower
price than the ordinary subject. Although the animated newspaper has
been amongst us for only a few months, yet it has already developed
into an institution. Many people would as soon think of missing the
“newspaper” item as they would think of overlooking an opportunity to
see the Derby re-run upon the screen.

From a cursory view no difficulty appears to be attached to the
preparation of a film of odds and ends of topical interest; but as
a matter of fact the task is quite as exacting and strenuous as the
production of the morning newspaper.

The work can be handled successfully only by a firm having an extensive
organisation, and with better chances of success if it has specialised
in the ordinary “topical.” There must be an editor to direct operations
and to prepare the film. He must possess a large and scattered staff,
so that no part of the world is left uncovered by a cinematograph.
His scouts must be active and keen, always on the alert, and ready to
secure on the instant a few feet of any incident of importance in their
respective localities. In the offices a number of skilled operators
must be ready to hurry off at a moment’s notice to any desired spot.

The first-named emissaries constitute the special foreign
correspondents, while the office staff feed the film in the same manner
that the newspaper staff reporters supply the columns of the morning
newspaper with material.

There is one feature in which the man with the camera holds an
undisputed advantage over his _confrère_ armed with notebook and
pencil. He gives a truthful pictorial account of what takes place, not
the garbled product of a vivid imagination. As a result the editor of
the animated picture newspaper is spared the menace which hangs always
over the head of the newspaper director. He is immune from the pains
and penalties of the libel law!

In order to secure a more intimate impression of the work of the
moving newspaper, we will go behind the scenes of one of the most
flourishing and successful of these animated news-sheets--_The Gaumont
Graphic_--and follow it through its successive phases of production.
When the proprietors of this pictorial record embarked upon this new
development, they had the experience of some twelve years’ work in
the “topical” field, and their machinery and staff had acquired the
instinct to “get there first.”

There is, of course, the editorial sanctum in which the presiding
genius holds autocratic sway, and directs the many threads which
control the acquisition of news. At his elbow the tape machine ticks
merrily the livelong day. The telegraphic ribbon reels out the bald
announcement that a big fire is raging in the City, that a devastating
explosion has spread death and ruin somewhere in the north of Scotland,
or that a Transatlantic liner has run on the rocks off some remote part
of the coast. An operator is rushed to the scene, and there left to his
own devices to secure a sensational few feet of film. He may succeed or
he may not; it all depends upon the circumstances and conditions. Maybe
he may have to wait four or five hours perched in an uncomfortable
position, but if a few feet of film can be exposed to advantage he will
not have failed.

The country is divided up into districts where cinematographic
reporters are retained in readiness for any emergency, and they have
command over a certain radius around that centre. For instance, if
an accident happens in northern Scotland a telegram to the operator
responsible for that locality hastens him to the spot. The editor of
the _Gaumont Graphic_ has branch offices at Newcastle--which covers the
north-east of England--at Glasgow for Scotland, and at Liverpool and
Manchester for the north-west of England, the Liverpool operators being
ready to proceed to Ireland or the Isle of Man should the necessity
arise. In addition, there are what might be described as sub-offices at
Bristol and Birmingham, whence any point in the Midlands and the west
of England can be gained, as well as another at Scarborough, so that
the whole of Great Britain may be said to be mapped out and covered
cinematographically.

As far as the foreign areas are concerned, owing to offices being
established in all the large centres from China to Peru, no difficulty
is experienced in gathering items of interest from all parts of the
world. Operators are searching constantly for films of general interest
from the industrial, commercial, scenic, travel, or some other point
of view, and in the course of their work secure pictorial snippets
of topical interest. As a result a steady stream of items recorded in
animation pour in constantly from all parts of the world. The European
and Asiatic items in the form of lengths of film pass to the French
headquarters in Paris, while those of Canadian and Australian interest
flow to London. A daily record of the films of a news interest received
from foreign correspondents is received from France for the London
editor to sift and select what he considers of interest. When this has
been done, he telegraphs to Paris for what he requires--so many feet of
this and so many feet of that film.

In addition, he has a tabulated statement of what may be described
as “fixed” functions, such as a race meeting, a motor competition,
a flying-machine test, a society wedding, and what not, to which
operators are dispatched.

In due course the small lengths of exposed film filter in by train and
post. So soon as they arrive they are developed and printed. Proofs are
handed over to the editor to be scanned and revised, sections which he
considers the most suitable and likely to interest the public being
snipped from each film-proof, by the aid of the indispensable scissors.
Possibly much of the material when it reaches the editor’s eye fails
to win his appreciation, and meets an inglorious and premature end in
the editorial waste-paper basket. A certain amount of wasted effort is
unavoidable; for space, that is to say, length of film, is limited,
and when the _Graphic_ appeared only once a week, sifting was of
a searching character. When a considerable amount of incident has
occurred and has been cinematographed during the week, the selection
process is by no means easy; many interesting items find themselves
crowded out to be held over until the next issue, or destroyed.

As the pieces of each film are selected, they are “pasted” together,
and each incident receives its full explanatory title and sub-title.
These revised proofs are connected up so as to form a continuous length
of film, and copies are reeled off in the printing, developing, and
drying rooms at tip-top speed, the operation corresponding with the
printing machine room of the newspaper. The first complete proof is
submitted to the editor’s approval by being projected on the screen
just as it will be submitted to the public. Further revision may be
requisite, in which event the film undergoes another trimming process
with the scissors, or possibly some late news has been received, and
space has to be found for its inclusion at the expense of some other
item.

The “composition,” or, as it is called, the “make-up,” of the animated
news film is just as complex as that of a newspaper or magazine. It is
essential that it should be diversified in its contents so as to appeal
to the tastes of all classes of the community. There are the big items
which stand pre-eminent, and which range from London to South America,
and from Paris to China. Around these have to be disposed various other
features of lesser importance.

Seeing that the length of the film newspaper is limited to between
500 and 650 feet, and is built up of from ten to seventeen subjects
which vary in length according to their respective importance, careful
discrimination is necessary. The public has become hypercritical in
regard to animated pictures, and the appeal has to be made to the great
majority. As a rule, endeavour is made to incorporate regular features
in each issue. Sport is represented by some one or other of the many
branches of athletics and racing; society finds itself displayed in a
wedding, garden-party, ball, or other fashionable function; the woman’s
page has its equivalent in the animated portrayal of the latest Paris
fashions as displayed by the manequins--generally in order to give an
enhanced effect this section is reproduced in colour--and so forth.
Effort is made also to incorporate, if possible, a special function of
some description performed by some personage looming prominently in the
public eye. Variety is the keynote of success as much in the successful
cinematograph newspaper as in its ink-and-paper contemporary.

The _Gaumont Graphic_ has an extensive and influential foreign and
colonial circulation, and accordingly special attention has to be
devoted to the requirements of these readers, or rather spectators.
The special topical films are ransacked, and little excerpts made. For
instance, in the Coronation number of the _Gaumont Graphic_, two or
three of the greatest features of the long Coronation film were cut out
and pasted together to form a prominent item of news; the same applies
to the inter-University boat race and other sports, the Derby and great
race meetings, the Football Final; in short, to every important annual
event. This procedure is necessary, for the animated newspaper reaches
remote parts of the world, where perchance the complete film of an
individual event may never find its way.

One noticeable feature is the friendliness extended to the
cinematographic news-gatherer, who often meets with greater
appreciation than his _confrère_, the Press snap-shotter. The latter,
armed with his small camera, often allows his zeal and enthusiasm to
overstep his discretion--a fact that is particularly noticeable with
regard to society and royal events. The cinematograph operator, on the
contrary, being burdened with a somewhat cumbrous apparatus, is forced
to remain at a fixed point. The apparent drawback is really a blessing
in disguise, because special care is invariably taken to afford him an
advantageous position. The outcome is that cinematographic portraiture
ninety-nine times out of a hundred is far better than that secured by
the snap-shotting fiend, who thrusts himself forward and catches his
quarry, perchance, in an unhappy moment.

Yet the editor of the film newspaper is not relieved from worries and
anxieties. Cinematography is dependent mainly upon a bright light; thus
the success of a film, at least in Great Britain, is never certain
beforehand. When the elements are adverse it is difficult indeed to
collect the news. The operator may wait for hours to film a subject,
or perhaps he makes his exposures in despair, and with a blind trust
in luck. When heavy fogs hang like blankets over the great centres,
passing events of importance defy recording, and it is a sheer waste of
film to endeavour to secure pictures. As a result the film newspaper
is much easier to produce in summer than in winter, and this climatic
influence probably constitutes a unique feature in newspaperdom.

The animated newspaper even has its stop-press feature; that is to
say, it can deal with pictorial records of events which occur after
the paper is being printed off or has been circulated. A short film
of some great incident trickles into the editorial room. It cannot
be delayed until the next issue--by that time public interest in the
item will have vanished. Consequently it is rushed through, and all
subscribers scattered throughout the country are advised by telegraph
that a record of such-and-such a topical subject has been obtained, and
can be dispatched at once for display in the form of supplement to the
animated newspaper now being shown. The late item is sent out, and upon
arrival at the picture palace is attached to the end of the newspaper
film already received, its inclusion perhaps necessitating sacrifice of
some other item of less importance.

When the _Gaumont Graphic_ first appeared, it was issued weekly, and
accordingly corresponded to the weekly illustrated newspaper. Now it
is published twice weekly, and with increased success. Indeed, the
pictorial news film reaches its subscribers in the colonies and foreign
countries contemporaneously, or even prior to the arrival of the
illustrated weeklies, which are dispatched by mail.

In Australasia, Canada, India, and the smaller British colonies, the
idea of giving the week’s news in animation has met with a remarkably
hearty reception, inasmuch as it serves to bring the world’s happenings
far more vividly before the public in those remote parts of the world
than can be done in a brief newspaper cablegram or a single photograph
published in the pages of the illustrated weeklies. The history of the
world is re-enacted before them; they are brought to the localities
where the episodes occurred--a miracle of transportation not to be
effected by any other known scientific means.

How does the film newspaper affect the cinematograph theatre? What
is the attitude towards the idea? Does the showman regard it with
favour? These are questions which naturally occur to the mind.
Opinion is best reflected by the success of the enterprise. Now that
the picture paper is published twice a week, the expenditure of the
showman is doubled; but this fact does not appear to have exercised a
deterrent influence. When the _Gaumont Graphic_ was published weekly,
its circulation approximated 200 copies per week. In other words, 200
showmen subscribed towards this feature. This, by the way does not
represent its full circulation, as a single subscriber may control two
or more halls in one city, and very often the one film suffices for
several picture palaces under one control. These 200 copies of the
film newspaper, then, were seen, at a modest computation, by several
millions of people weekly. Seeing that the subscriber is unable to
hire the film newspaper for the week, but has to purchase it outright
at a uniform price of 2½_d._ (5 cents) per foot, and that its average
length is 600 feet, his outlay amounts to £6 ($30) for a subject, the
exhibition life of which is restricted to three or seven days. As the
average showman is a keen and shrewd business man, it is not to be
supposed for a moment that the investment of such a sum every week is
otherwise than remunerative from his point of view.

Will the cinematographic newspaper ever supplant its printed rival?
By no means. It acts rather as an illustrated supplement to printed
details; it renders the latter more comprehensive by bringing scenes
and actors vividly and naturally before the eye, thereby causing a more
living and detailed impression than can be obtained through the medium
of words. On the other hand, it is beginning to rival the illustrated
paper, which depends upon photographic contents, and this competition
will be felt more keenly as time goes on.

The day is probably still far distant when a man, instead of giving a
penny for a printed daily newspaper to see what has happened during
the previous twenty-four hours, will spend the same sum to enter a
picture palace, and devote a quarter of an hour to seeing in full
animation what paper and ink merely describe. The modern business
man acknowledges that he only has time to glance through the staring
headlines of his morning newspaper; and surely comprehensive titles and
a series of excellent pictures would perform the same service for him,
and more besides. Producers would aid the development by giving careful
attention to titles and headlines.

Thus the era of the daily cinematographic newspaper is not so remote as
may be thought at first sight. The _Gaumont Graphic_ is quite ready to
appear daily if the demand should arise. The organisation is perfect
so far as the news-film collecting, printing, developing, and other
technical details are concerned. A complete paper could be turned out
in four hours. That is to say, films could be received up to about
ten o’clock at night, and the newspaper could be ready for projection
by two o’clock in the morning. The early special trains which now
leave the great cities at express speed for the delivery of printed
newspapers to remote parts of the country may yet be called upon to
carry small boxes of daily news-film for similar distribution. The
manufacturing cost of the film is being constantly reduced; and once
this essential is brought to a very low figure, enterprising showmen
will not hesitate to spend a few shillings per day to reproduce in
animation before the general public the chief episodes of the preceding
twenty-four hours.




CHAPTER XXVI

ANIMATION IN NATURAL COLOURS


The perfection attained in the projection of animation upon the screen
in black and white naturally stimulated efforts towards the achievement
of similar results in natural colours. As a matter of fact, experiments
in this direction were undertaken long before monochrome cinematography
was perfected. W. F. Greene indicated the development when he produced
his instrument in 1889; while as far back as 1897 Frederick E.
Ives, celebrated for his efforts to solve the problem of still-life
natural colour photography, outlined a means of applying his process
to cinematography with glass plates, the celluloid film not having
appeared at that date. No doubt he was urged to this development by the
wonderful results achieved in chronophotography with glass plates by
Dr. Marey in Paris.

Since that year experimenters without end have grappled with the
problem; but little material success has been achieved. Indeed,
commercial cinematography in the true colours of Nature appears to
be as far from realisation as a simple process of still-life colour
photography. Nature defies the photographic investigator to capture and
reproduce the myriad tints and hues in which she is garbed.

We see colour pictures upon the white screen, but with one or two
exceptions the tints are the result of the artist’s handiwork. An
ordinary black and white film is taken, and then coloured, in the same
way that the photographic artist tints his portraits. If the work is
skilfully performed the results are distinctly pleasing and effective.
After one has been watching brilliant black and white pictures, the
introduction of a coloured film comes as a restful interlude to the
eyes. The coloured cinematograph film was introduced by Robert Paul,
shortly after he established his studio. As lantern slides could be
coloured by hand with brush and paints, he saw no reason why a film 40
feet in length should not be treated in the same way. Accordingly he
enlisted the services of an expert artist to make the experiment. But
it was a laborious undertaking. A picture measuring only 1 inch wide by
¾ths of an inch in depth is a base of operations quite different from
a lantern slide measuring 3¼ inches square. A magnifying glass had to
be used, and a considerable length of time was needed to treat a whole
film.

One of the earliest colour effects to which the public were introduced
was a film produced by James Williamson, in the ’nineties of the
last century. It depicted a fire. The conflagration was enacted
realistically, an abandoned house being used for the purpose.
The flames and the entire scene were coloured, giving additional
sensationalism to the picture. At that time the coloured film was very
rarely seen, owing to the expense involved in its production, and when
Williamson put his handiwork on the market it received an extraordinary
reception. The lurid tinting of the flames caught the public fancy.

[Illustration: PREPARING THE PATHÉ COLOUR FILMS.

The colour system perfected by this famous French firm produces
beautiful effects.]

When the film measuring 400 feet or more came into vogue it was
recognised that hand colouring was no longer feasible. The method was
too slow and costly. Accordingly a stencil process was evolved, and is
in use to-day, giving many of the beautiful effects seen in the moving
picture theatres. A mechanical method of tinting the films by means of
these stencils was next taken in hand, and finally, after prolonged
experiment, was perfected. In this development the French firm of Pathé
Frères played the most prominent part, and to-day, despite the strides
made in natural colour cinematography, their productions still rank
first in popular estimation, owing to the delicacy of the colouring.
This Parisian firm has made the colour film a prominent feature of its
business, and laid down an extensive and well-equipped establishment
especially for colouring operations.

[Illustration: THE PATHÉ COLOUR MACHINE PRINTING ROOM.]

Probably everyone knows what a stencil is. It is a pattern cut out of
a solid thin flat surface, which is afterwards laid upon the subject
to be treated, and paint applied by means of a brush or some other
medium. The colouring only can reach the surface beneath the cut spaces
in the plate, and consequently is applied just where it is desired.
The process is practised freely in the printing of wall-papers, and in
applying designs to other surfaces, as it is both cheap, rapid, and
highly effective.

Cutting the stencils for a moving picture film is a long and exacting
task. Three stencils have to be prepared for each subject. In the
first the spaces corresponding to the red tones in the picture have
to be cut; in the second, those for the yellow; and in the third
stencil, those for the blue. By putting one over the other the various
mixtures and tones are obtained. The process may be likened to the
preparation of the three process blocks for heliochromic illustrations
in letterpress printing. Since each picture measures only 1 inch wide
by ¾ths of an inch in depth, we may gather some idea of the labour
involved for the treatment of, say, 8,000 pictures contained in a film
500 feet long. It follows that unless a film is likely to have a large
demand, colouring is not attempted. In one case which I have in mind,
the firm will not attempt colouring unless they are certain of the sale
of 200 copies of the subject. The colours--aniline dyes--are applied
successively by means of rollers, the film to be coloured being passed
through special machines contrived for the purpose.

In view of the expense and time entailed, it is not surprising that
many inventors have devoted their energies to devise ways and means of
taking colour pictures direct from Nature. Greene evolved the first
cinematographic process for taking and projecting moving pictures
in natural colours, and his patent constitutes the base upon which
all other experimenters have worked, just as to-day in America the
kinetoscope is regarded as the progenitor of the cinematograph. Six
months later another process working upon the same broad principle was
patented by Lee and Turner. But Greene’s process was premature; at that
time it was unworkable. The Lee and Turner system, fundamentally the
same, suffered from a similar defect, as I shall explain a little later.

Natural light is the result of waves oscillating at a tremendous speed
per second, just as other waves, heavier and travelling far more slowly
in comparison with light waves, produce sound. Our familiar conception
of natural light, or daylight, is that it is white; but we also know
that when a narrow beam is permitted to fall upon a length of glass
of triangular section, known as a prism, the light which on the outer
side appears white is found to be resolved into colours on the opposite
side. In passing through the prism the beam of light has been deflected
from a straight path, and the result is that the waves of varying
length, of which white light is composed, have been sorted out. The
shortest rays are red, while the longest rays have a violet tinge. The
analysis of light, as revealed by the spectrum in a dark chamber, is
performed for us by Nature in the rainbow.

If we examine that phenomenon we shall see that the innumerable tints
constituting it fall into three broad groups--red, green, and violet.
These therefore are regarded as the primary colours. By combining any
two, or all three, of these, the multitudinous hues with which we
are familiar may be produced. The average person, when he hears red,
green, and violet described as the primary colours, is inclined to
remonstrate. At school or when using his box of paints, he was taught
to regard yellow, red, and blue as the primary colours, and green, a
mixture of blue and yellow, as a secondary or complementary colour.
But the two instances deal with totally different forms of light.
The former is transmitted, and the second is reflected, light. This
confusion of thought led to the undoing of many early experimenters in
colour photography. They took their images through successive screens
of red, yellow, and blue, and when projecting used the complementary
coloured screens--orange, green, and violet. The results were
startling. It was not until Greene took his pictures through the red,
green, and violet screens, and subsequently projected them through
screens of the same colours--that is to say, the picture taken through
the green glass was projected through the green glass, the red through
the red, and the violet through the violet--that any tangible progress
was made.

When the celluloid film came into vogue the experimenters lost no time
in commercialising a system of natural-colour cinematography. The idea
was to take a picture through each successive screen. In other words,
the first picture was taken through the red screen; the film was jerked
forward, and the second picture was taken through the green screen;
lastly, a fresh area of sensitised surface was brought before the lens
and third or violet screen. Thus three consecutive pictures, taken
through three different screens, were secured. The screens comprised
sectors of red, green, and violet respectively, each colour screen
being succeeded by an opaque sector. Thus the shutter was divided into
six parts--three colour screens and three opaque sectors alternately.
After exposure through one screen, as the following opaque sector
flitted across the lens, the film was jerked into position to bring
a fresh surface of sensitised surface before the next screen in the
revolving shutter.

When the red screen is brought into position before the lens, the
colours in the object are filtered, as it were, only the red rays
being permitted to pass through the screen to the film. The picture
on the film, therefore, is a photograph of the red tones in the
subject. Similarly the green screen absorbs all but the green rays,
and photographs a record of the green tones in the subject. The same
is true of the violet screen. The developed film possesses no tinge
of colour in itself. It is merely a black-and-white image. Close
examination of three consecutive pictures, however, reveals varying
densities according to the filtering action of the respective screens.
In projecting, the picture taken through the red screen is thrown
through a red screen, the green image through a green screen, and
the violet though a violet screen. Thus the lantern reconstructs upon
the sheet what the camera dissects when photographing the object.
Experimenters anticipated that, in virtue of the law of visual
persistence, if these pictures were projected at a sufficient speed
upon the sheet, the three images taken through the red, green, and
violet screens would be superimposed one on the next, thereby conveying
to the eye a faithful colour record of Nature.

It sounds feasible and seems attractively simple to perform; but Nature
has not been caught yet.

At the very outset the investigators were baffled. The sensitised
emulsion on the film was too slow to render the application possible.
Every photographer knows that the red light is non-actinic--he uses
it for the illumination of his dark-room while developing his plates.
Obviously, therefore, it was hopeless to endeavour to take a photograph
through the red screen in 1/100th part of a second. For this reason
Greene’s process failed, as did also that of Lee and Turner.

Then another miscalculation was revealed. With black-and-white pictures
a speed of sixteen pictures is the minimum capable of conveying the
impression of continuous motion to the brain. As the pictures are in
monochrome, the perfection of the illusion is facilitated. But when
it came to projecting the pictures taken in three different colours,
one after the other, this law was seriously upset. When only sixteen
pictures per second are shown, the eye and brain are able to single
out the respective colours. The pictures do not run together to give
a natural colour-effect, but are merely successive flashes of red,
green, and violet light. Accordingly, the rate of projection had to be
increased three times at least--forty-eight pictures per second--and
the strain of this speed upon the film was so great that often it
succumbed.

Consequently, before colour-cinematography could advance beyond the
year 1899--when the first patent was filed by Greene--the chemist had
to be called in once more to accomplish a miracle and make possible
the dreams of inventors. The sensitised emulsion had to be speeded
up to such a degree that it was sensitive even to red light. By
this means the film is made “panchromatic,” as it is called; that is
to say, it becomes so sensitive that it will permit an exposure to
be made as rapidly through the red as through the green screen. But
“panchromatism” brought its own drawbacks. The film could no longer
be handled in the dark-room illumined with a ruby lamp, for fear of
becoming fogged.

It has not been found practicable to impart panchromatism to the film
at the time it is manufactured. I do not mean to say that it cannot be
done at that stage, but the demand for such a film is so small that it
is not worthy of present consideration on the part of the manufacturer.
Until colour-cinematography becomes generally practised, those engaged
in its exploitation will be compelled to render their film panchromatic
preparatory to exposure.

This means that the film as it arrives from the manufacturer must be
submitted to a preliminary operation to augment its sensitiveness to
light. For this purpose it is passed through a “colour-sensitising”
solution. The precise constitution of this sensitising bath is
jealously guarded, though the materials employed in the process are
well known, and several formulæ which will render a film panchromatic
have been published. Any one of three chemicals can be utilised to
render the ordinary film so sensitive to light that the ruby lamp
will fog it. These are pinachrome, pinacyanol, and ethyl-violet. The
proportion of these fundamental chemicals varies, the majority of
investigators having evolved a particular formula which they have
found to be the best suited to their own requirements. The published
formulæ, however, have proved quite reliable, and have been productive
of some excellent results; and they provide the experimenter with a
basis upon which to carry out his work. Recently a further development
has been recorded. W. F. Greene, the pioneer, has successfully employed
a new colour sensitiser, which is faster than either of the three
above-mentioned mediums.

Panchromatising is a tedious operation. The work has to be carried out
practically in total darkness, or at the utmost in the faint glimmer of
a blue-black light. Even this slight illumination has to be used very
sparingly, being switched on only for a few seconds at a time. After
being passed through the colour sensitiser the film is wound upon a
large drum and dried, this operation being accelerated by rotating the
drum at a high speed in a current of warm air. When dry the film is
wound upon the spool ready for use. As may be supposed, the operation
is somewhat slow, about three hours being occupied under the most
favourable conditions in the process of sensitising and drying.

It is imperative that the film, after being sensitised, should be used
as soon as possible. It deteriorates rapidly; the sensitiveness of the
emulsion to red light becomes impoverished through keeping, the life of
stock so treated being, as a rule, one of only a few weeks.

Another objection to colour cinematography is the expense. When the
three primary colours--red, green, and violet--are used, demanding
a photographing and projecting speed of forty-eight pictures per
second--sixteen per second through each screen--as compared with
sixteen pictures per second with black and white work, three times
the quantity of film has to be used. Accordingly, the expense of
the film alone is three times as heavy. The further necessity for
panchromatising the film before use increases the cost of the material
still more. By the time the “stock” has been treated with the colour
sensitiser its cost is increased from 1½d., or 3 cents, to about 3½d.,
or 7 cents, per foot.

When tricolour cinematography is attempted, three feet of film are
required to record the movements of the subject during the space of one
second, as against one foot for black and white work. With a view to
reducing this heavy cost, inventors concentrated their attention on the
possibility of securing _approximately true_ natural colours by the aid
of two screens only--the green and the red. In this way a third less
film was required and the cost was reduced by an equal proportion.

This development was led by W. F. Greene. Realising the disadvantages
of the three screens, he abandoned that system--although it has since
been exploited--and in 1905 perfected the first practical method of
natural-colour cinematography through two screens--red and green.
A demonstration was given in the Library of the Royal Institution
on January 26th, 1906. This was not Greene’s first demonstration in
two-colour work, as in 1900 he devised a machine for achieving the same
object, which was exhibited before the Royal Photographic Society in
that year.

Another diligent investigator in this field was Mr. Albert Smith, who
was striving towards colour cinematography at the same time as Greene,
but independently of him. The art fascinated him in the early days;
and although he prosecuted his experiments first in black and white,
the result of Ives’s efforts in still-life colour photography prompted
him to wrestle with the problem of producing natural colours in moving
pictures. The elimination of the third or blue screen was his special
study, and years were expended in researches to this end, involving
countless experiments with the red and green screens, varying in
density and intensity from the colour point of view, and in relation to
one another. For instance, one screen, say, of emerald-green and the
other of orange-red would first be used. This proving unsatisfactory,
the proportion of the red in the one screen was increased, the green
remaining untouched. Then the green would be varied, and then the red
again, the process being continued until a satisfactory result was
obtained. The search was rendered all the more exasperating when the
screens which produced satisfaction on one day with a subject, failed
altogether with another subject the next day, owing to variation in the
light. At last, in 1906, Mr. Smith’s patent, known as “Kinemacolor,”
made its appearance some eighteen months behind that of Greene; though
it was not perfected sufficiently to be introduced to the public until
1908.

Undoubtedly “Kinemacolor” is at present the best-known commercial
natural colour system. The appearance of this process has stimulated
the movement in colour cinematography to a pronounced degree, and its
improved appearance in 1911 created a sensation. Some of the effects
produced have been very beautiful, and although they are far from
perfect, as those identified with the process will readily admit, yet
it constitutes an excellent stepping-stone for further improvement.

The statement that the blue screen has been eliminated will doubtless
provoke discussion as to how the hues of a pronounced blue or purple
effect so common in nature can be obtained. If one picture is
photographed through the red screen and the second through the green
screen, this alternation of exposure being continued throughout the
film, it seems certain that the result will be pictures wherein only
green and red tones exist, since no combination of these colours
will give purple. This, in fact, is the case, and it constitutes
the foremost imperfection in “Kinemacolor”; the pictures do have a
prevailing green or red tone. But these tints become modified slightly.
The essential blue tone is partially supplied in two ways. In the
first place there is a certain proportion of blue associated with the
green screen; secondly, when the electric arc light is used there is a
pronounced blue tone in the light. The combination of these factors,
to a certain but very small degree, compensates for the absence of the
blue screen.

On the other hand, resort to the two screens serves to emphasise the
direct colours. The red and green tones do stand out with startling
purity--“unnaturally vivid” is a criticism that I have often heard--but
the intermediate tones, particularly those of the browns, are
strikingly soft. Some of the pictures are assailed as being unnatural
in tone; and to a certain extent the criticism is a just one. In some
instances, however, it is due to the fact that the spectator has never
actually concentrated his attention upon colour effects in Nature. His
eye has never given him a faithful report of their quality.

That “Kinemacolor” has severe limitations cannot be denied, especially
when it comes to dealing with Nature direct. Fidelity to the myriad
hues of Nature, ranging from one extreme end of the spectrum to the
other, cannot possibly be obtained by recourse to two screens.

One searches in vain for the true blue and the rich, deep purple,
while the pure yellow also is absent, being represented by varying
tones of orange. So far as the blues and purples are concerned, they
never can be obtained by resort to the two screens--red and green
respectively--because what is known as the lower end of the spectrum
is lost entirely by “Kinemacolor.” The hues stop short at the boundary
where green meets blue.

The public has sometimes drawn attention to another defect in colour
cinematography. It appears to photograph the subject in a brilliant
sunlight, regardless of the fact that sunlight kills colours. Every
amateur photographer knows that if he exposes his plate upon a
brilliantly lighted subject the tones are hard, everything being
practically resolved into an intense white and black, while the leaves
of trees appear to be covered with snow. When such a disadvantage
afflicts the black and white worker, what can be said of a colour
subject taken under the same conditions? The brilliantly lighted points
are lacking in tone, and some very bizarre effects are produced in
consequence. When an essentially scenic subject is thrown upon the
screen these defects are very manifest, but when it is applied to such
a subject as the Coronation of the King the flaws are overlooked,
because public interest is concentrated upon the principal actors.

It cannot be denied that from the popular point of view the Kinemacolor
records of the Coronation, the Investiture of the Prince of Wales, and
other Royal subjects of the same time left little to be desired. They
brought the scene before millions with a wonderful realism and gorgeous
blaze of colour such as never before in the history of moving pictures
had been witnessed upon the screen. The excellence of these portrayals
established “Kinemacolor” firmly in the mind of the public.

Another disconcerting feature which has aroused considerable comment
in the public mind is the apparent duplication of the outlines of
figures near the camera. The most uninitiated observer cannot fail to
see the outlines in green and red, as if the superimposition were out
of register. “Fringing,” as this defect is called, is difficult to
eliminate in many instances, and although often it is only momentary,
it is decidedly distressing. It is due to diffraction, the glass screen
as the light passes through acting somewhat as a prism, and splitting
up the light into its component parts or groups of wave-lengths.

“Kinemacolor” has vast possibilities in the presentation of
picture-plays; indeed, this may be said to be its true province. Here
one can prepare the scenery and costumes to come within the limitations
of the two screens adopted; the drawbacks can be eliminated by proper
staging, and all those colours omitted which cannot be faithfully
reproduced. Even if the latter expedient is not practised, the
colour-distortion is not seen upon the screen. The audience cannot see
that a rich purple cloak has turned to a whitish-green, or a brilliant
yellow become reddish-orange.

In justice, however, it must be said that Kinemacolor is only in its
infancy; it occupies the same position to-day that black-and-white
cinematography did in the early ’nineties. The combined efforts of
several independent investigators will eliminate the defects one by
one and effect steady improvements. Black-and-white cinematography
has passed beyond the formative period and reached an advanced stage
of development; natural-colour cinematography must go through the
self-same ordeal. Operators have not become accustomed to the new order
of things, and have not realised the many new factors that have to be
taken into consideration. The sooner they do so, the more profitable
will the art become.

A new rival, “Biocolor,” has recently made its appearance. This process
is based upon the Greene patents, and the results achieved so far, in
combination with this indefatigable experimenter’s latest discoveries,
represent a marked advance in the art. Not only are the tones purer to
Nature, but “fringing” and other defects have been eliminated, while
the process is much simpler and cheaper.

Considerable attention has been centred upon a new natural-colour
cinematographic process which has recently made its appearance. The
three primary colours are used, and are projected upon the screen
simultaneously to present merely one image before the public, as in
the Ives system of lantern-slide colour-projection. The pictures are
projected at the rate of sixteen per second in groups of three, and the
lighting arrangement is carried out upon different lines. Instead of a
revolving shutter eclipsing the red image to permit the green picture
to be brought into place, the light is extinguished, projection being
carried out upon a flash system, whereby a powerful beam of light is
thrown momentarily through the three images and screens, the pictures
being changed in the period of darkness. The flashing must be carried
out with uniformity, which is assured by electric-mechanical means,
independently of the operator. The results, it is stated, show the most
distinct advance so far made in natural-colour cinematography.

Although colour-cinematography has made remarkable strides, the
monochrome picture has become established more firmly than ever.
The appearance of the new rival has stimulated perfection in the
technical excellence of the latter process. The monochrome possesses
one overwhelming advantage over its competitor--it is far cheaper.
A subject which in black and white requires, say, 500 feet of film,
demands, as we have seen, 1,000 feet, or twice the quantity of
material, for the two-colour record of the same subject. At present
also the monochrome film possesses finer and more brilliant detail, is
clearer, and, from the photographic standpoint, leaves little to be
desired.

It is becoming quite a common practice to relieve the monotonous
black-and-white by the introduction of colouring effects. For instance,
the impression of a bright moon-light night is conveyed by giving
the pictures a prevailing blue tone; for other scenes brown or red
tones are given. These effects are secured by steeping the film in a
chemical solution in precisely the same way as platinotype and bromide
papers are tinted after development.

“Toning,” as it is called, is coming into extensive use, especially
in connection with the most artistic films. The treatment imparts a
solidity to the figures in the picture, and gives a pleasing softness,
so that the pictures upon the screen possess a quasi-stereoscopic
effect highly pleasing to the eye. The beauty of this treatment is
revealed very significantly in the films of Italian manufacture, and
especially in the “art” productions of the Cines Company, of Rome.
There is no limitation to subsequent improving processes such as
these, and their effect is to implant the monochrome pictures more and
more firmly in public estimation. Consequently, the black-and-white
picture is far from being eclipsed by its new rival; in fact, such a
contingency is more remote to-day than it was ten years ago.




CHAPTER XXVII

MOVING PICTURES IN THE HOME


Will the cinematograph ever enter home life? Will the world and
his wife ever become wedded to a camera with which they can secure
life in motion by some simple and easy method, just as now they can
obtain still-life pictures by the aid of the hand-camera? Will the
cinematograph become as popular as the ubiquitous Kodak?

There is no doubt that the widespread favour extended to cinematography
has brought about a popular desire to follow the art in an amateur
manner, as is possible in ordinary photography. Hitherto certain
obstacles have stood in the way of the amateur enthusiast; but these
difficulties have been broken down in an ingenious manner. The desire
to practise the new cult has been increased by the number of firms
engaged in the making of topical pictures and by the increasing
demand for such subjects. Occasionally pictures command a high value,
fluctuating in proportion to public interest. For instance, the
dramatic manner of Blériot’s flight across the Channel caught the
professional cinematographers by surprise. Elaborate arrangements
had been made to secure pictorial records of this journey, but only
one man, a wide-awake amateur, obtained a film of the embarkation.
Although his film was deficient in technique and photographic quality,
it commanded a high price; and the enterprising photographer never had
occasion to regret his enterprise, for his initial expense was recouped
several times over.

The cost of the camera and the expense of the film are the chief
drawbacks to the popularisation of cinematography; the bulkiness of
the apparatus has also militated against its adoption by the amateur.
Recently, however, these admitted drawbacks have been overcome, and by
methods which claim the distinct merit of ingenuity and resource.

About 1886 a novel device known as the “Kineograph” appeared. It was an
anticipation of the “Mutoscope,” which made such a bold bid for public
appreciation in the early ’nineties and, like the Kineograph itself,
failed to make its mark. A number of instantaneous photographs were
printed and mounted upon separate leaves. The pictures were placed in
consecutive order and bound at one side to form a kind of book. When
the leaves were turned over rapidly, giving fleeting though distinct
glimpses of the successive pictures, the idea was conveyed that motion
was being represented.

Recently this idea has been revived in the “Kinora” motion photography
system. This likewise made its first appearance some years ago, but
failed of success, although it was distinctly ingenious. It offered
to the home in pictures just what the phonograph provides in regard
to sound--the capture of a particular incident to be reproduced at
leisure. In a highly improved form the same device has recently
reappeared, and its reception augurs well for its future.

The amateur is provided with facilities for taking his own photographs,
a special camera having been evolved for the purpose of simple design
and operation. In general appearance it resembles the ordinary
hand-camera, measuring 9⅛ inches in length by 6⅝ inches wide by 7⅝
inches deep. When loaded it does not weigh more than 7¼ pounds.
Externally it possesses few fittings. There is the lens, which can be
focussed by moving the lens tube to and fro in an outer sleeve, as in a
telescope; the view-finder, placed on the top, and the actuating handle
at the right-hand side. At the rear is the dial, whereby is indicated
the length of film exposed, a focussing tube and the device whereby
focussing is carried out.

[Illustration: The Kinora camera.]

[Illustration: The mechanism of the Kinora camera showing paper
negative film in position.

MOVING PICTURES AT HOME.]

The mechanism of the camera is very simple. The sensitised ribbon
is placed in a circular spool box and then is threaded through the
film-gate and the intermittent gear, to be taken finally in a second
circular spool-box. The intermittent gear differs entirely from that in
the ordinary camera, which works upon a claw or finger system with the
film running over sprockets. In the Kinora camera below the gate there
are two eccentric rollers, mounted side by side, acting in the same way
as the rollers of the domestic mangle. These rollers are split at one
point through their entire length, and when these two edges, rotating
synchronously but in opposite directions, come together and in contact
with the film, which is fed between them, they grip and pull it down
the depth of one picture. It may be pointed out that a similar movement
was adopted in the very earliest cinematograph cameras built by Greene
and other experimenters, in order to secure the requisite intermittent
motion. Their imperfection was the uncertain motion of the rollers; but
in the Kinora camera this defect has been completely overcome.

[Illustration: The reel of positive prints. The pictures are mounted
separately upon leaves fixed to a core.]

[Illustration: MOVING PICTURES AT HOME.

The Kinora reproduction instrument. It resembles a stereoscope, and the
pictures are exposed singly by rotating the handle.]

The apparatus can be used either with a paper negative or the
celluloid film. The former is very satisfactory and inexpensive, and
it may be stated that this is the first occasion in which the paper
negative has been applied successfully to motion-photography. The
camera is adapted to carry forty feet of ribbon, which is sufficient
for 640 consecutive pictures, the latter being precisely of the same
dimensions as those obtained upon the ordinary celluloid cinematograph
film--one inch in width by three-quarters of an inch deep. Paper is
suited to ordinary work, although the grain destroys sharpness to
a slight extent; however, as such sensitised ribbon costs only 1s.
6d. (36 cents) per length of forty feet, the drawback is slight. If
desired, celluloid film can be used, in which case the ribbon is one
inch in width--three-eighths of an inch narrower than the standard
cinematographic film, although there is no variation in the size of
the image, since the necessity of perforating the edges has been
obviated. Celluloid film printed in this manner cannot be used for the
purposes of projection upon a screen. Moreover, the celluloid film is
expensive; the paper sensitised ribbon is more suitable for home-work.

The paper negative is developed in the ordinary manner, but as the
operation is somewhat delicate, the exposed ribbon should be sent to
the manufacturers, who also prepare the positive for a modest outlay.
In any case, the positive must be prepared by the manufacturers, as it
is a somewhat intricate process, demanding resort to special machinery;
the pictures have to be printed one by one, on successive leaves in
rotation, and attached by one end to a bobbin so as to present a
circular reel for use in the Kinora projecting apparatus, as shown
in the illustration. The pictures are printed upon bromide paper in
such a way that the image stands upon a black background. The latter
is obtained by exposing the sensitised paper surrounding the negative
image to the light at the same time that the negative is printed; and
as it becomes thoroughly exposed, development brings it out perfectly
black. It looks as though the positive were printed upon paper and
afterwards cut out and mounted upon a black background.

The positive has next to be submitted to a treatment whereby the back
of the paper is coated with a dead black. The strip of paper carrying
the images is then cut to the requisite size by means of special
machinery, so that each picture forms a leaf about 3½ inches long by 1
inch deep. The blank end of each leaf is attached to a central core or
reel, some 640 leaves being mounted edge-wise in this manner, and the
positive is then ready for projection.

The apparatus by means of which the motion is reproduced varies
slightly in the different types. In its simplest form it recalls the
stereoscope in design, only instead of two lenses it has one large
rectangular magnifying-glass. The reel is mounted upon the opposite end
of the instrument in a horizontal manner so that the pictures stand
vertically and parallel to the lens. There is a small handle at one
side whereby the reel of pictures is rotated through simple gearing,
while a metal finger rests lightly upon the extreme outer edge of
the leaves in such a way as to permit only one picture to turn over
at a time. When this handle is turned and one is looking through the
magnifying-glass, the leaves fly over in rapid sequence, producing a
vivid illusion of animation. In the second type of machine the reel
is mounted in a cabinet, which is fitted with two or more lenses,
so that two or more people can follow the movement of the pictures
simultaneously. The actuating mechanism is driven by clockwork, as in a
gramophone.

Endless pleasure can be obtained with this instrument in the home.
Pretty little incidents of domestic life, such as children playing,
animals gambolling, and so forth, can be photographed and reproduced
upon the reel! If one is more ambitious one can cinematograph great
events, such as a horse race, a boxing contest, an express train at
full speed--in short, anything in motion. It is only necessary to set
the camera upon some rigid foundation, if a tripod is not carried, to
secure steadiness during exposure.

There is one great benefit accruing from the use of this apparatus.
Unless wanton carelessness is displayed, one need not worry about
under- or over-exposure. The paper negatives are coated with an
exceedingly rapid emulsion of considerable orthochromatic quality, so
that true colour-values are ensured.

A very noticeable feature is the ingenious focussing device. Instead
of opening the camera and removing the film from the gate, as in
the ordinary cinematograph camera, one has merely to slide a stop
projecting from the back of the camera to the length of its slot. By
so doing the whole of the internal mechanism is moved bodily to one
side to bring a small square of ground glass attached to the gate into
position before the lens-tube, when focussing can be carried out very
easily and readily.

As already pointed out, if celluloid films are employed with this
camera, they cannot be used for projection purposes, because positives
cannot be printed from them upon the standard perforated positive
film. Consequently, the amateur who wishes to take motion pictures for
projection on the screen will find the Kinora system valueless. It
was designed especially for the production of positive bromide prints
mounted upon a reel to be used with the special viewing machine.

The true future for this ingenious development of the art undoubtedly
lies in the possibility of purchasing at a reasonable price reels of
“star” events and subjects of general interest or picture plays, in the
same way that one can purchase talking-machine records. In this way
motion-photography can indeed be brought to the fireside.

How can the art of cinematography be brought within the reach of the
amateur? This is the absorbing question of the moment. Moving pictures
having become so popular, the traveller wishes to secure animated
records of the scenes which he has witnessed in foreign climes, to
reveal them to his friends, exactly as he saw them, within the home
circle. Unfortunately, such an achievement is impossible under existing
conditions. The apparatus, both recording and projecting, is expensive;
the film is costly; while the problem incidental to the illuminant is
not easily solved in the average home.

Obviously, in view of the fact that the film is so expensive, some
other system of recording and projecting animation must be employed. At
the same time, any invention of this character aspiring for commercial
success must be simple, inexpensive, immune from danger, and compact.
At first sight it seems an almost impossible quest to secure all these
essentials in a single stroke. But it has been accomplished, and what
is more, with absolute perfection. To-day the amateur can take moving
pictures and project them upon a screen at will, for the edification of
his friends, more easily and cheaply than he can “Kodak” and project
snap-shots by lantern-slides. Moreover, the results thus obtained
and shown are far superior to those obtainable with the methods and
apparatus now in vogue.

This revolutionary achievement has been attained through the efforts of
an indefatigable Italian worker, M. Gianni Bettini. This persevering
inventor recognised that a totally different system would have to
be evolved to meet the requirements of the millions. The celluloid
film was quite impracticable, so he reverted to the early days when
investigators strove, and in vain, to utilise glass for their purposes.

The early experimenters, as I have described already, followed the
principle of one plate one picture. The operation of changing the
standard-size plate in its holder, no matter how deftly accomplished,
occupied an appreciable interval of time, which disturbed the rhythmic
character of the action photographed. Monsieur Bettini recognised this
insurmountable drawback, so set to work to devise a means of taking
several successive images upon a single plate, and his success in this
direction constitutes one of the vital features of his invention.

The pictures are taken in a series of rows--sixteen to a row--and at
the rate of sixteen per second. But there is a radical departure from
prevalent practice. With the ordinary cinematograph apparatus the lens
is fixed and the film is moved intermittently. In the Bettini system
the sensitised surface is held rigidly, and it is the lens which
moves. Now, this raises an important and novel point. As the lens is
moved continually to and fro a matter of 4¾ inches--no two successive
pictures in a row, in fact, are taken at the same focus--one would
naturally expect that the pictures would vary in sharpness. But such is
not the case: the picture at the left-hand extremity of the row is as
sharp as that at the opposite end.

The whole principle of the Bettini _cinema-à-plaque_, as it is called,
is entirely new. The camera itself, a small contrivance, wrought
in aluminium, measuring some 8 inches in length by 4 inches wide
and 3½ inches high, is no larger or heavier than a Kodak snap-shot
camera. This box contains the actuating mechanism, which comprises a
longitudinal shaft, carrying a peculiar thread, on which is mounted,
and along which moves, the objective, motion being imparted thereto by
the revolution of the handle in the ordinary way. The sensitised plate,
instead of being slipped in position at the rear of the box and facing
the lens, is inserted at one side and at right-angles to the front
aperture. The objective is a combined lens and a prism mounted upon the
travelling part. The light, passing through the front aperture, enters
the prism and thus is bent at right-angles through the objective on to
the plate.

The plate itself measures 130 by 215 millimetres (5¼ by 8½ inches),
and is mounted in a toothed rod on one side. This rack is vertical and
is moved downwards, 6 millimetres (¼ inch) at a time, by the mechanism
on which the objective is mounted, when the latter has completed its
length of travel. The plate is held in its holder upon the left-hand
side, but the top and bottom edges of the respective first and last
rows of pictures are flush with the edge of the plate. The latter is
slipped into the camera and travels downwards intermittently. Instead
of a slide being used there are light-tight bags, both top and bottom,
forming the magazines. Directly the plate has passed through the camera
it falls into the lower bag, while simultaneously a second plate
follows in its train through the camera from the upper bag.

[Illustration: THE BETTINI GLASS PLATE CINEMATOGRAPH.

The camera is used for projection in conjunction with an ordinary
lantern. The glass plates are mounted in a rack, passed through the
projector and collected in a magazine bag beneath.]

[Illustration: A SECTION OF A BETTINI GLASS PLATE RECORD.

The plate measures 8½ inches long by 5¼ inches wide. There are sixteen
successive pictures, each measuring ¼ in. by 3/16 in., to a row and 36
rows, representing 576 images, on a plate.]

As mentioned previously, the depth of a row of pictures is one-quarter
of an inch, while the width of each image is three-tenths of an inch.
In commencing operations, we will suppose that the objective is at the
left-hand side of the plate, and the first row of pictures is to be
taken. The handle is revolved, and the lens moves across the sensitised
surface intermittently, until it reaches the right-hand edge. The
first row of pictures is completed. At this moment, while the shutter
is closed, the plate descends the depth of a picture--one-quarter of
an inch--thereby bringing another strip of unexposed surface before
the objective. The lens now travels in the reverse direction, _i.e._,
to the left-hand side of the plate, in a similar manner. When it
gains the limit of its travel, the plate again drops the depth of a
line of images, and the lens moves once more from left to right, this
see-sawing across the plate in parallel rows continuing until the
bottom edge of the plate is reached. As the toothed rack of the
exposed plate falls away the toothed holder of the succeeding plate
is taken up by the mechanism and the cycle of operations continued
until the incident is recorded. There is no break whatever between
two successive plates, as the feed is positive and accurate, while
similarly there is no interruption in the animation when the travelling
lens reaches the end of a line, because the movement of the plate takes
place during the fraction of a second when the lens is covered by the
opaque sector of the shutter.

[Illustration: THE BIRTH OF A FLOWER.

A wonderful Kinemacolor film. The pictures represent the
stages of growth on the second, fourth, sixth, and eighth days
respectively.--_See page 194._]

[Illustration:

                                    [_Copyright, Kineto, Ltd._

WAGING A HEALTH CAMPAIGN BY MOVING PICTURES.

This film, representing flies upon putrid meat, was used in the United
States in the war against the house fly with conspicuous success.]

As each plate carries 36 rows of pictures, each line containing 16
images, it will be seen that no less than 576 images, each measuring
three-tenths of an inch in width by one-quarter of an inch in depth,
can be recorded upon a single plate. Although so small the pictures are
remarkably sharp, clear, distinct, and full of detail; indeed, they
rival the images upon the celluloid film in this respect.

Having obtained the negative, the positive is obtained by contact
printing upon another glass surface as with a lantern slide. Now, for
projection the operator uses the camera with which the pictures were
taken, in conjunction with an ordinary projecting, or magic, lantern,
and the movement of the apparatus is precisely the same as in taking
the photos. The positive plate in its toothed rack is slipped into the
camera and the handle revolved, thereby causing the lens to travel
across the plate intermittently. When it reaches the end of a row of
pictures, the plate is forced downwards, one-quarter of an inch at a
time, while another rack and positive plate are inserted when one plate
is exhausted.

The principle of projection is decidedly novel and may be understood
from the accompanying diagram, Fig. 22. The objective with its prism is
mounted on one side of the plate, while on the other side of the latter
is a second prism on the longitudinal axis of the lantern condenser.
The light from the lantern _B_ strikes the prism _C_ and there is bent
at right-angles towards the image on the plate _A_. Passing through the
plate, it enters the lens _D_, to which the prism _E_ is attached, and
once more the ray is deflected at right-angles to be thrown upon the
screen _F_. An ordinary magic lantern suffices for the purpose, and the
incandescent mantle and gas may be used as an illuminant--petrol gas
and acetylene are equally suitable--if electricity or the oxy-hydrogen
light is not available. The picture on the screen may be of any desired
dimensions, inasmuch as the small images, owing to their sharpness,
clearness, and striking wealth of detail, enable enlargement to be
carried to any degree, so long as the illuminant is sufficiently
powerful.

[Illustration: FIG. 22--THE OPTICAL PRINCIPLE OF PROJECTION WITH THE
BETTINI _cinema-à-plaque_.]

There is one point which must be explained. When the lens in the camera
is at the left-hand edge of the plate, owing to the greater distance
of the objective from the object photographed, everything will be of
smaller proportions than when the lens is at the right-hand edge, as
then it is brought 4¾ inches nearer the subject. In other words, as
the lens moves across the plate from left to right, the dimensions
increase; on the other hand, they diminish as the lens moves back
again. This might be considered to be an insurmountable obstacle, but
it is not, because when the positive is projected a different effect is
produced. The picture at the left-hand edge of the plate, which in the
camera was the smallest, owing to its greater distance from the object,
now becomes enlarged to a greater degree than that at the opposite end
of the row, since the former is 4¾ inches farther from the screen.
By this arrangement a correction takes place, the objects in all the
images in a row being brought to a uniform size.

Seeing that continuity of motion is governed purely by the feeding of
the plates, it will be seen that the whole of the longest incidents may
be photographed. A magazine can take twelve plates, or more, according
to desire. In the former instance a total of 6,912 pictures may be
obtained. Seeing that each row of pictures upon a plate is equivalent
to a foot of celluloid film, a single plate will carry the same number
of pictures as thirty-six feet of the latter. On this basis a dozen
plates will be equivalent to 432 feet, or more than two spools of
celluloid film, seeing that a spool as fed into the camera generally
represents a length of 200 feet.

The most influential factor, however, is that of running costs, if the
expense in regard to sensitised surface may be so termed. A strip of
film thirty-six feet in length, the equivalent of a Bettini plate, at
2½d., or 5 cents, per foot, would represent 7s. 6d., or approximately
$2. The glass plate costs two pence or four cents (both negative and
positive), so that with the Bettini glass plate system an incident
recorded in 6,912 pictures, and occupying about seven minutes to take
and project, would cost only 4s. ($1) for both negative and positive
plates, as compared with £4 10s., or $22.50, for positive and negative
film, to carry the same pictorial record.

The possibilities of the Bettini _cinema-à-plaque_ system, therefore,
are obvious. The invention brings the art of cinematography within
reach of the amateur; introduces moving pictures to the drawing-room as
completely and cheaply as the phonograph conveys sound to the fireside;
provides the photographer with a far more fascinating hobby; while its
professional applications are illimitable.




CHAPTER XXVIII

MOTION-PHOTOGRAPHY AS AN EDUCATIONAL FORCE


There remains no doubt whatever that the cinematograph has completely
won over the great public--the many millions who are constantly
seeking fresh fields of amusement and diversion. Of all the classes
that patronise the moving-picture entertainment, the children form the
one most open to its influence and most responsive to what it offers
them; and it is this well-known impressionableness of the young mind
that has set people thinking of the educational responsibility of the
moving-picture show. From this it is but a step to the question, May
not the cinematograph be brought into the schoolroom?

The subject has several aspects that are worth treating somewhat
at length. The firm of Pathé Frères has here, as in so many other
directions, been first in the field. Let us examine some of its
educational films.

The peculiar properties possessed by the magnet are profoundly
mysterious to the child. Text-books may be written in the simplest
language and freely illustrated with diagrams, but the points still
remain somewhat obscure. This French manufacturing company has prepared
a film, “The Magnet,” in which the well-known subject-matter of the
school book is illustrated, and the phenomena described therein are
demonstrated in a simple manner by visual records of the peculiar
properties possessed by the magnet.

The familiar experiments with the magnet and iron filings are treated
simply and with endless variety. If the pupils see the teacher
perform the manipulations with filings and magnet in the usual way,
the experiment conveys no tangible idea, and interest is not greatly
aroused. But when the same magnet is thrown upon the screen in
movement, and is ten feet or so in height, while the iron filings are
so magnified that they resemble not dust, but thorns or long pins, a
more convincing and indelible impression is conveyed.

One may have seen many diagrams showing the lines of force, as they are
called. But no diagram can produce the unforgettable impression gained
by the sight of the phenomenon itself occurring before the eyes. The
iron filings may be seen resolving themselves into the two distinct
groups about the poles, as if imbued with life, and the process may be
followed from beginning to end with perfect ease, owing to the size to
which the filings are magnified in projection.

The operation of natural laws is indelibly impressed upon the schoolboy
when he is shown some novel experiment in physics carried out upon the
screen. Physiology and anatomy can be taught by producing pictures
taken by X-ray photography.

History ought surely to be a successful field for the educational
cinematograph. The portrayal by Pathé Frères of episodes during the
Reign of Terror and the Napoleonic era; the representation of the
Normans landing in England, the discovery of America by Columbus--these
and similar pictures have already shown the wide possibilities of the
historical film. Of course, great care must be taken to adhere to
strict historical truth in fact and setting; when they will greatly
serve to fix in the pupil’s mind events and historical atmosphere, and
aid him in distinguishing various periods.

A film worthy of introduction into the class-room is that described in
Chapter XVII., showing the birth of a flower. The fact that this film
is produced in natural colours enhances its effect; a schoolboy would
be hard indeed to impress if he failed to appreciate the wonderful
significance of this evolution of the hyacinth from the bulb to the
flowering stage. Again, he is enabled to witness upon the screen the
birth of the common house-fly, and its entire span of existence. He can
see how ants work and live, and how the bee manufactures its honey.
As a corollary to the matter-of-fact and uninteresting text-book the
cinematograph film cannot be excelled. It presents in actual movement
what mere words, which have to be committed to memory, seek to convey
without any durable result. Indeed, there is not the slightest doubt
that a thousand pictures will impress themselves upon the schoolboy’s
mind, and impart to him more definite knowledge of their subject in
one minute than hours of hammering with the aid of text-book and
blackboard. Even actual ocular demonstration fails to be so convincing
as a projection upon a whitened sheet, where everything immediately
concerned is magnified to an extreme degree.

[Illustration: CINEMATOGRAPHING AFRICA FROM A LOCOMOTIVE.

In order to secure scenes along the Cape to Cairo Railway a special
platform was erected over the cow-catcher of a railway engine for the
convenience of Mr. Butcher and his cameras.--_See page 125._]

The inventor of the Kinetoscope, Mr. Thomas Alva Edison, is of
opinion that the cinematograph will displace all other methods in the
schoolroom for the teaching of geography. Both teachers and pupils
will be inclined to agree with this dictum. A teacher may talk for
hours about the tremendous height of the peaks in the Andes, the racial
characteristics of the natives of Abyssinia, or the manner in which
rivers are born on the flanks of mighty glaciers. But words sometimes
convey very little to the immature mind. Throw upon the screen a series
of pictures of an actual journey, and the youngster gleans the facts
without the slightest effort. He sees the towering, snow-capped rocks
with their precipitous flanks; the melting snow and ice flowing down
from the mighty glacier and forming a tempestuous, rushing river; he
sees in their natural surroundings the folk of a hundred strange and
distant tribes. Perhaps he is transported for the time to the deck of a
steamer driving its way up through the St. Lawrence River and the Great
Lakes. Books and pictures have given him but a faint idea of these
noble waters; but when he sees their beauty, and witnesses the enormous
traffic carried upon their broad bosoms, figures and facts take on new
significance, and are never forgotten. Whatever scene he sees, from
the Atlantic to the Pacific, from the Arctic to the Antarctic circle,
that scene becomes henceforth not a mere spot on the map, but a living
reality.

[Illustration: Looking into the Crater of the Volcano.]

[Illustration:

                [_By permission of Jury’s Imperial Pictures, Ltd._

MOUNT ETNA IN ERUPTION.

The plumes of smoke as seen from the Observatory. One of the most
daring and striking cinematograph films ever taken.]

One of the most remarkable series of pictures worthy of inclusion
in this category is that obtained of Mount Etna in eruption. The
cinematograph operator displayed wonderful daring in venturing to the
verge of the crater of this vent to internal fires. The reward for his
intrepidity certainly conveys a more realistic and vivid impression of
a belching volcano than the most imaginative flights of description in
text-books.

The success of the educational campaign of the cinematograph depends
upon the suitability of the film. The cinematographer has roved
through all the fields of science securing interesting pictures in
metallurgy, natural history, manufacturing industries, electricity,
agriculture, horticulture, and so forth. The educational value of the
films now produced is beyond dispute; but it may be that they are
somewhat too old for children. The film manufacturers have, up to the
present, chiefly consulted the tastes of adults; and the films of a
distinctly educational character which they produce appeal to the
mature rather than to the child mind. On the other hand, it should
not be at all difficult to produce films which, like the one already
described, representing experiments with the magnet, would give regular
instead of incidental instruction upon subjects actually treated
in schools--animated text-books, in short. But as yet the picture
producer has not received sufficient encouragement from the educational
authorities to warrant him in preparing such films.

Unfortunately, the feeling against the moving picture has not
been entirely eliminated, despite its tremendous popularity.
Once an energetic Board of Education realises the possibilities
of cinematography as a supplement to the information conveyed by
text-books and manuals, the film manufacturers will hasten to supply
the demand thus created. The last obstacle will have been removed; for
the field presents no special mechanical difficulties, the only serious
one having been removed by the discovery of the non-inflammable film.
The perfecting of this film has obviated the necessity of confining the
installation within an iron box--a requirement which militated very
appreciably against the introduction of the cinematograph into schools.

A striking illustration of the educational value of moving pictures is
revealed in the beautiful series of “Empire” pictures which are being
secured by Messrs. William Butcher and Sons. They are completing what
may be described best as a cinematographic encyclopædia of Greater
Britain--its peoples, resources, industries, sports, and scenic
beauties. Every corner of the Empire is being searched for entrancing
pictorial contributions to this project.

As might have been expected, others beside educational institutions
have seen in the moving-picture show a powerful instrument of
propaganda. Political, charitable, municipal, and numerous other
organisations have pressed the celluloid ribbon into service to
aid them in their crusades. It has been of far-reaching utility
in preaching the gospel of sanitation and prosecuting the war
against disease, for the films convey their lessons in a terribly
realistic manner. The Americans have produced a striking film for
the dissemination of information as to how to combat advantageously
the ravages of the great “White Plague” of consumption. The various
American hygiene associations also have pressed home their campaign
against the common house-fly with commendable vigour by means of the
cinematograph. Other photographs of a similar character have been
produced in various places for the purpose of initiating the public
into the causes of certain diseases and maladies, and the best means of
prevention or treatment.

Medical science has profited materially from the perfection of the art
and its application to surgery. It is not always possible for students
to be present at a peculiarly delicate and abnormal operation. Although
the subject may be described at length in the technical papers, words
fail to be so emphatic as a pictorial reproduction of the feat. Not
only can the operation be followed closely when reproduced upon the
screen, but, if desired, any particular phase in the achievement can
be selected, and by enlargement upon photographic paper it can be
subjected to closer and more minute investigation at leisure.

Even the Government has not failed to recognise the power of the
cinematograph. Some years ago Mr. Robert Paul applied to the War Office
for permission to film scenes in a soldier’s life. The facilities were
granted, and some first-class pictures were obtained. They proved
immensely popular with the public, and were far more potent as a
means of inducing enlistment with the colours than the most glowing
word-pictures painted by glib, persuasive recruiting sergeants. This
idea has been copied by other nations, and to-day the cinematograph is
regarded as an indispensable weapon for attracting recruits to the land
and sea services.

Religious institutions have not been backward in realising the value
of animated pictures in preaching the gospel of faith. The producer,
by means of the stage and actors, can present any episode from the
Creation to the Resurrection. The world before the Deluge, the toil of
the Israelites in the land of the Pharaohs, the Sacrifice of Abraham,
the Passage of the Red Sea, with the destruction of the Egyptian
hosts, the story of Samson and Delilah, the Fall of Babylon, scenes
from the Life of Christ--all these and many others help to familiarise
both old and young with the Bible stories, and add wonderfully to
their convincingness, as the following episode shows:--A teacher was
describing the Passage of the Red Sea. The children followed his
words intently; and his peroration was accompanied by a piping voice
exclaiming:

“Yes, teacher, I know that is right!”

“Why?” asked the somewhat startled teacher.

“Because I saw it!”

The teacher was perhaps prepared to chide at this flight of
imagination; but the child soon explained that the previous evening she
had been to a picture theatre and had seen the Israelites crossing the
Red Sea.

Among the American preachers the significance of the cinematograph is
beginning to be recognised. Ministers see in the projector a valuable
adjunct to their teaching, and are disposed to introduce it into their
churches. I am at liberty to quote in this connection a letter from
one of the leading luminaries in American church circles, which was
received by Mr. Richard G. Hollaman. The divine wrote: “My opinion is
that the moving picture is the coming great educator. This I believe
to be true, not only in the education of the youth, but in the church.
I believe in a very few years every well-equipped church will have a
moving-picture apparatus, so that the minister will appeal to the eye
more than to the ear.”




CHAPTER XXIX

  RECENT DEVELOPMENTS: THE GROWTH AND POPULARITY OF THE
      CINEMATOGRAPH: SOME FACTS AND FIGURES: CONCLUSION


In the opening chapter of this book cinematography is described as an
_illusion_: that the eye believes it sees continuous animation in the
pictures thrown upon the screen in accordance with the law of visual
persistence. I referred also to the fact that an effort had been made
to remove this illusory effect, and to produce upon the white wall by
photographic agency results identical with those obtainable by the
aid of the _camera obscura_. The outcome of these investigations,
which have been pursued patiently for many years by one whose name
is associated inseparably with the art from its earliest days, W. F.
Greene, is a new type of camera and projector.

The camera is fitted with two lenses mounted side by side. It is as if
two cameras of the usual type were clamped together to form a single
instrument, the two film-moving mechanisms being driven by one handle,
and a single shutter, mounted centrally, serving to open and close each
lens in turn.

In this system two spools of film are required, one for each half
of the camera, and an image is recorded upon each sensitised band
alternately. The shutter with its opaque sector, being mounted between
the two lenses, eclipses one while the other is exposed. The result is
that two different cinematograph film records of the same subject are
obtained. The left-hand camera photographs those incidents which are
lost while the film is being moved in the right-hand camera during
the fraction of a second the lens of the latter is covered, and _vice
versâ_. If the camera is run at a speed of thirty-two pictures per
second, representing sixteen pictures for each lens, either of the
two films when run through the ordinary projector gives a faithful
representation of the event photographed. At the same time, however,
each film gives a different record, for the simple reason that one
film carries the moving incidents which the other has lost during the
regularly intermittent closing of the lens.

The projector works upon a similar principle. There are the two
objectives with attendant mechanisms driven by a single handle, mounted
side by side, and with a common shutter mounted centrally between.
Projection is identical with recording. The picture is thrown from the
right-hand objective, while the left lens is covered, and _vice versâ_.

At first sight the advantage of such a double system might seem
somewhat obscure, but a little explanation will demonstrate its
advantages. With the single camera and projector the pictures shown on
the screen are isolated incidents--some phase of motion must be lost
while the lens is closed to permit a further area of unexposed film
to be brought into position behind the lens, although the interval of
eclipse is very short indeed. With the double and alternating system
complete continuous motion is photographed and projected.

As a matter of fact, this double camera and projector actually records
and throws on the screen more than the eye sees. The human organ works
upon the same principle broadly as the single camera, because the
periodical eclipse of the eye by the lid, which is known as “blinking,”
interrupts continuous vision, in just the same manner as the shutter
of the lens in its eclipsing action. Although the lid falls and rises
very quickly so that the interruption of sight is exceedingly brief, a
certain phase of movement is lost. This is apparent when a very swiftly
moving object passes before the eyes. In order to lose no part of the
movement the eyes are strained, and the periodical action of the
eyelid is postponed so long as possible. With the double cinematograph,
therefore, as a section of sensitised surface always is exposed during
the running of the machine, either through the right or left-hand
lens, it follows that the whole of the movement must be photographed.
In fact, the action is exactly the same as if the eyelids closed and
opened alternately. It might be explained in connection with this
physical action that no apparent interruption in the sight is conveyed
to the brain, because the movement of the lids is very rapid, and owing
to the principles of the law of visual persistence.

The pictures thrown from this double projector produce an effect upon
the screen precisely similar to that of the _camera obscura_. There
is only one difficulty attending its use. Unless the instrument is
used in a large hall, and the picture is thrown from a great distance,
the images do not superimpose correctly. They are thrown upon the
sheet at converging angles to one another, and the rays of light
accordingly from each lens do not strike the sheet at right-angles to
the longitudinal axis of each objective. The result is that the picture
is narrower slightly at one end than the other, and the position of the
narrow end flits from one side of the sheet to the other, according
as to whether the picture is being thrown from the left or right-hand
lens. At short range and with a small picture this peculiarity is very
pronounced, but as the length of the throw--the distance of the lantern
from the sheet--is increased, it becomes less and less observable until
at last it escapes detection.

Although the mechanism requires two spools of film, the total length
needed to record faithfully a particular event is no greater than
with a single camera and projector. In the latter case a minimum
speed of about sixteen pictures per second is required. With the
double instrument a similar number of exposures suffices, for the
simple reason that each lens records one half the movement while the
other photographs the second moiety of the movement. This means eight
pictures per second for each lens, making sixteen pictures per second
for the two--the same as by the ordinary instrument. The disadvantage,
of course, is that two rolls of film are required to give a complete
picture, and care has to be displayed to keep the positive films in
pairs for the projector, while threading up the latter is a somewhat
longer process. Again, should one film break and it become necessary to
cut out a few pictures to obtain a perfect joint, it would be necessary
to remove the relative pictures to an equal extent upon the second
film. Under these circumstances, therefore, it would appear that the
di-optic projector would be reserved to the more delicate phases of
cinematography, such as scientific research.

The development of cinematography in the past has been attributable in
a very great degree to the enterprise of the French nation, and that
country still remains ahead of all others in this peculiar work. The
valuable investigations of Dr. Marey never have been forgotten, and the
work with which he was identified is continued still by enthusiastic
investigators in cinematographic science. The “Marey Institute” is
unique, in that it is the only establishment of its class devoted to
what might be termed the higher branches of the art in the world. It is
fitted with special and complete apparatuses for the prosecution of any
especial research in which an experimenter may be interested, so that
he can carry out his work under the most favourable conditions. The
foremost scientists of the world, who realise in moving pictures more
than a means of amusing the public, are members of the Institute, and
the results it has achieved are of far-reaching value.

A typical illustration of the work carried out at this institution is
described in Chapter XXIV. M. Lucien Bull, the assistant director, is
one of many indefatigable workers in the particular field of operations
with which the establishment is identified. Pioneer investigation is
fostered, and accordingly often follows highly interesting lines, not
only in regard to cinematography in its most popular form, but also in
its collaboration with science in one or other of its varied branches.

[Illustration: THE “CRADLE OF CINEMATOGRAPHY”:

THE MAREY INSTITUTE IN PARIS.]

[Illustration:

          [_By permission of the Director of the Marey Institute._

THE LATEST MARVEL IN MOVING PICTURES.

Combining the X-rays with the cinematograph. One of Monsieur Carvallo’s
remarkable films.]

For instance, M. J. Carvallo embarked upon a series of investigations
to combine the Röntgen rays with the cinematograph so as to obtain an
absolutely reliable moving-picture record of what takes place in
the organs of the human body. It was a difficult undertaking, owing
to the peculiar problems associated with the task. Many experimenters
had endeavoured to work with the X-rays, but had failed. In the first
place, M. Carvallo had to evolve and construct a special type of
apparatus for his purpose. It is of a complicated character, more
especially as the exposures had to be made at a high speed per second.
Unlike M. Lucien Bull, whose apparatus I have described already, M.
Carvallo resorted to the familiar intermittent motion, and in such
a way that the number of exposures may be varied from every twenty
seconds to one per hour, according to the character of the subject
under investigation. The camera is driven by an electric motor, and the
arrangement is of such a nature that once set in operation it demands
no further attention, even if the experiment is prolonged over several
days.

[Illustration: A sensational incident. The heroine gashing her hand to
explain the presence of blood on her sleeve to the Austrian soldier.]

[Illustration: A mimic fight in the public street to produce a
realistic battle scene between the Italian and Austrian forces.

AFTER FIFTY YEARS.

This film won the first prize of 25,000 francs for the Ambrosio Company
at the recent Turin Exhibition.]

He found also that the standard cinematograph film, giving a picture
one inch wide by three-quarters of an inch deep, was not suited to his
purpose, so a special film was prepared to yield pictures of larger
dimensions, while the sensitiveness of the emulsion was also augmented
very appreciably. This was essential, inasmuch as the discharges in the
X-ray bulbs are of variable duration, ranging, in fact, from 1/1200th
to 1/1500th of a second.

By means of his apparatus he obtained some very interesting and
instructive pictures, such as showing the process of digestion in the
frog, mouse, chicken, etc. The subjects were fed with a peculiar paste,
or the usual food combined with basic bismuth nitrate. As a result of
these successful experiments a further application of moving pictures
has been revealed. In combination with the X-rays the apparatus should
prove highly useful for ascertaining what actually takes place under
certain conditions in the various organs of the human body.

The Marey Institute undoubtedly is the cradle of cinematography,
and similar institutions should be founded in every country for the
prosecution of scientific research. Moving pictures have long since
issued from the purely amusing stage, and although they will never
lose their popular appreciation, the sterner phases of work open to
this craft should not be neglected, for there is no science in which
cinematographic records of certain phenomena would not serve to widen
our knowledge, and at the same time offer conclusive evidence for the
refutation of many popular fallacies, or enlighten us regarding the
mysteries of others.

So far as the popular picture is concerned, every effort is being made
to elevate what may be termed the cinematograph drama. Sensationalism
is in keen demand, and is likely to maintain its measure of
appreciation so long as it is free from demoralisation. An interesting
illustration of the manner in which this movement may be fostered has
been offered this year in connection with the International Exhibition
at Turin. Prizes exceeding 40,000 francs were offered for the best
films in a cinematograph competition, the subjects to include popular
drama, science, and education. The Grand Prix of 25,000 francs was
awarded to the Ambrosio Film Company for the subject entitled “After
Fifty Years.” This concern has been responsible for many striking and
magnificent productions, which have compelled attention as much for
photographic quality, stage setting, and technical excellence as for
dramatic force. Indeed, Signor Ambrosio, who was formerly a well-known
Italian portrait photographic artist, and consequently was able to
bring valuable knowledge and technique into the Italian cinematographic
industry, forced his way into the closed American market by sheer
merit, and forcibly impressed upon the American picture palace public
the high standard of the films produced in his native land. “After
Fifty Years” is a film of powerful dramatic intensity, full of that
exciting incident, carefully blended with sentiment, which appeals so
strongly to the picture palace _clientèle_, especially the vivid scenes
of fighting in the streets between Austrian and Italian forces in the
troublous times of 1859.

The Ambrosio Company also carried off the first prize of 5,000 francs
for a popular science film dealing with “The Life of the Butterfly”
and “The Bee.” This is one of the best natural history films that has
been seen yet, for it illustrates the marvellous metamorphosis of the
caterpillar into the butterfly in an attractive manner. The first prize
of 5,000 francs for educational films was given to the Cines Company of
Rome for a film entitled “The Little Sardinian Drummer,” which company
also secured a prize of 4,000 francs for a dramatic subject, “St.
Francis of Assisi.” There is no doubt that the example of the Turin
Exhibition authorities will be followed in subsequent expositions of
such an international character, and this tendency should promote a
healthy competition and friendly rivalry between the various producers
of all countries to excel.

Although the picture palace, with its attractive façade and brilliantly
illuminated entrance, is a familiar building in our towns and cities,
few people can form any idea of the grip this form of amusement has
secured upon the public, of its commercial proportions, or of its rapid
expansion. Fifteen years ago there was not a single theatre providing a
complete entertainment with a programme of moving pictures purely and
simply.

The picture palace had its birth in France, and the Parisian public
extended such a warm greeting to the new diversion, which offered a
welcome and novel relief to the prevailing forms of amusement, that it
developed into a rage. In a short time the craze spread throughout the
world, and moving-picture theatres sprang up like mushrooms in every
civilised country between the two Poles.

At the present day there are some 4,000 picture palaces of all
descriptions scattered throughout the British Isles, and these are
patronised by the public in their tens of thousands daily. The
money expended upon this form of entertainment is incalculable, but
it rolls continually into the coffers of the theatres throughout
twelve or fourteen hours every day, the larger proportion of these
establishments offering a continuous show, with a programme lasting
1½ hours. The remaining theatres give two performances, afternoon and
evening respectively, providing about three solid hours of recreation
and education in each instance. The prices of admission for the most
part are very low, though in the better class theatres they approach
somewhat closely to those prevailing with the modern music-hall.

On the Continent the picture palaces aggregate several thousands, and
are supported by the public with equal enthusiasm. Curiously enough,
Germany has been the most lethargic nation. For many years an attitude
of complete indifference was maintained towards the cinematograph.
That country is now waking up, but so far as the manufacturing aspect
of the industry is concerned, it is far behind the more progressive
countries. The German picture palaces depend for their programme almost
exclusively upon foreign films. Strange to say, the English productions
appear to make the strongest appeal to Teutonic fancies, although the
French, American, and Italian producers are striving hard to capture
this highly promising and expanding market.

In the United States the development of the movement has been
phenomenal. I have described already the wondrous boom in “store
shows.” The greater majority of these “palaces” enjoyed a brief
meteoric career, as they became superseded by more pretentious
buildings with perfection in comfort and luxury. To-day there are
about 14,000 moving-picture theatres appealing for support between
the Atlantic and Pacific seaboards. It is computed that these
establishments are visited by nearly 5,000,000 men, women, and children
every day. Although low prices for admission rule, it is estimated that
about $130,000,000, or £26,000,000, are spent by the American public
upon this form of amusement in the course of twelve months.

The coming of the picture palace has created a new race of playgoers
who find infinite delight in the varied programme offered upon the
screen. At the same time, however, the legitimate and vaudeville
theatres have been deprived of much of their support. This effect is
reflected by the number of buildings originally built for dramatic
presentations which have had to close their doors for lack of
patronage. When converted and re-opened under the magic sway of
the projector, film, and sheet, however, they have embarked upon a
remarkably prosperous new lease of life.

The stage in Great Britain is threatened in a similar manner. A few
years ago, when the music-hall entertainment was overhauled and an
entirely new era was created, the legitimate theatre suffered severely.
Bitter antagonism developed and has prevailed between the two caterers
for public amusement. Now both are being threatened by a common enemy.
The picture palace, which has been despised for so long, is making its
influence felt. In London the competition is not experienced so keenly,
perhaps, as in the provinces, where many theatres have succumbed to the
attack of moving pictures.

There is no indication that the movement has gained the height of its
success. Moving picture palaces are being built and opened on all
sides every day. The irresistible force with which the cinematograph
is sweeping forward is proved by the enormous quantity of film which
is produced. Great Britain is an open market for producers throughout
the world, and at the present day something like 150,000 feet of
new subjects are offered to the picture palaces every week. If the
present demand is maintained together with the rate of production,
this volume will be doubled within the next five years. The output in
America likewise is enormous, although in that country it is confined
for the most part to the productions of home firms, the foreign film
being allowed to enter only in small quantities. The Motion Picture
Patents Company, composed of the largest members in the United States’
manufacturing industry, and swearing allegiance to the Edison patents,
has an aggregate output of about 1,500,000 feet per week, each producer
contributing from three to five new subjects to this total.

This community of interests, which was formed primarily to eliminate
the objectionable pictures which were being shown extensively
throughout the country, and which were responsible for considerable
obloquy being hurled against the cinematograph, arranged on its
formation to pay Mr. Edison a royalty of half-a-cent, or one farthing,
upon every foot of film which they printed in the United States. On the
above total output, therefore, it will be seen that the famous American
derives a revenue of $7,500, or £1,500, per week from the American
moving-picture loving public.

The financial investments in the industry in all its complex
branches--film manufacture, play producing, machine making, picture
palaces, etc.--represent several millions sterling, while tens of
thousands of men, women, and children find employment in different
capacities. Although it might appear that there are sufficient
producers in operation at present for the world’s needs, this is far
from being the case. New markets are being opened up constantly, while
others are in the early stages of development. When the industry in
these new centres commences to move forward in a manner characteristic
of the expansion in the older countries, the demand for film will
become twice or thrice what it is to-day. Consequently there is ample
room for doubling the existing manufacturing facilities. The promise
of the future is shown conclusively from the fact that the foremost
film-play manufacturers in France, Italy, and the United States are
extending and enlarging their plants to meet the increasing demands for
their particular products.

One might naturally ask: How is Great Britain benefiting from this
wonderful expansion? So far as film-play production is concerned, there
is every indication that this country will profit now that conservatism
is being abandoned. The fiscal position places the English manufacturer
somewhat at a disadvantage, but this handicap can be removed entirely
by the display of more financial confidence in the film-play producing
business, where the law of the “survival of the fittest” is waged
to its logical conclusion. A few years ago the British product was
distinctly inferior to the foreign films, whether considered from the
acting, dramatic, photographic, or any other point of view. Even to-day
the British films are not quite up to the technical standard of the
foreign manufacturers, while the histrionic quality is deficient. The
plays likewise lack that grip incidental to the foreign picture dramas,
and there should be excellent scope in this country for competent and
imaginative picture-playwrights.

The British producers have failed also to recognise the merit of
the stock company, on the plea that the public tires of seeing the
same faces time after time in successive plays. The fallacy of this
contention has been recognised at last, because the public now has its
film idols on the screen, in just the same way as it has its footlight
favourites on the stage. It is doubtful, however, whether the English
producers will ever rise to the same plane in this respect as their
contemporaries in the United States, who gamble practically for the
exclusive services of actors and actresses. Some of the American
cinematograph stars receive fabulous salaries, while even the smaller
and more obscure members of the companies receive wages far in advance
of what they would obtain for similar work on the legitimate stage.
The protected nature of the American industry, however, favours such
tactics, which probably will prevail only for a time.

There is every evidence that the British producers are making up
leeway. The Hepworth Manufacturing Company, for instance, which is
probably the foremost producing company in this country, recently
has produced several powerful and excellent film-plays. They have
extended the stock-company practice, and the increasing popularity
of the “Hepwix” films offers convincing testimony to the value of
this procedure. The Colonies have become satiated with the American
products, and turn with relief to the English films, but the supply is
not equal to the demand. Even the American public is nauseated with its
home productions, and as it appreciates the work of British dramatists,
so it approves of the British film play.

If England is behind her foreign rivals in the production of picture
plays, it cannot be denied that London is destined to become the
world’s clearing-house for films. Every large foreign manufacturer has
his representative in the British metropolis, where the transactions in
this article aggregate a large sum every week. The Colonial picture
palace proprietor, film renter, or middleman retains a purchasing agent
in London, who scans the new productions as they appear, to discover
their suitability for the particular corner of the world for which he
is acting. These agents are autocrats, and consequently the subjects
have to be brought direct to them for approval. The manufacturers
realise the situation, and as the Colonial market is highly promising,
spare no effort to secure its capture.

The suggestion has been made that records of the most important events
of to-day, such as the Coronation of King George V., the Unveiling of
the Victoria Memorial, the Durbar, and so forth, should be preserved
in a museum for the benefit of generations a century or more hence.
Impressions of the voices of our greatest singers are being preserved
for posterity, and the question has been asked why historical
cinematographic films should not be treated in the same manner. This
is by no means a new idea. Robert Paul advanced the same plea in the
early days of the art, but there were many objections against the
proposal which are just as acute to-day. The greatest is the perishable
character of the celluloid film, and also of the photographic image
upon the emulsion. Both would deteriorate, even if preserved in
hermetically sealed cases, with the flight of time, and the chances
are if a film were held for one hundred years that it would be found
useless when opened at the end of that period.

The question often arises: What becomes of the films? Bearing in mind
the thousands of feet of new subjects which are introduced to the
market every week, it is but natural to think that there must be an
immense accumulation of old subjects. When a new subject sees the light
it passes through its first “run” among the foremost picture palaces
of the country. Then it is returned to the renter, who dispatches it
upon a second journey among the smaller halls. Once more it comes home,
otherwise to the shelves of the renter, as a rule bearing sad evidences
of its service. If of sufficient interest, the film undergoes a third
run among the cheapest halls, and upon the completion of this round it
is either shipped abroad to the smaller colonies, or, scratched and
torn, it is offered for sale at a bargain price. The end is tragic: the
film slips from sight in flame and smoke.




INDEX


  Abruzzi, Duke of, cinematography, 128

  Acetylene, as illuminant, 98

  Acres, experimenter, 16

  Actors and Actresses, 149–151;
    accidents, 156, 157, 173;
    special companies, 151;
    kinemacolor, 151

  Advertisements, moving, 261, 262

  “After Fifty Years” (film), 324

  “Agrippina,” film, 175

  Alhambra Theatre, London, 4;
    Derby film, 116

  Allefex, sound producer, 140;
    special sounds, 141, 142

  Amateur operators, 87;
    Bettini glass plates, 306 foll.;
    Blériot’s flight film, 301;
    “Kinora” system, 302 foll.

  Ambrosio Film Company, 324

  American Biograph Company, 155

  ---- Kinetoscope Company, 35

  ---- Mutoscope Company, studio described, 105

  Aniline dyes, 289

  Animated advertisements, 261

  “Animated” newspapers, 277 foll.;
    circulation, 284;
    compared with printed newspaper, 285;
    effect on picture theatre, 284;
    length of film, 282

  Animated photography (_see_ Cinematography)

  “Animated Putty” (film), 235

  Animatograph, 33 foll.;
    at Alhambra Theatre, 116

  Announcement films, 262

  Anschütz, Ottomar, 20

  Anti-firing devices (_see under_ Fire)

  “Antony and Cleopatra,” film, 178

  Apparitions, 222–225

  Armstrong, C., 259–260

  Asquith, Right Hon. H. H. (film), 261

  Austin-Edwards Co., 50

  Automatic safety cut-off shutter, 95

  “Automobile Accident” (film), 211

  Auxetophone, 186


  Back Cloth, in trick pictures, 241, 228

  Ballistics, 276

  Barker, William, 174

  Base, definition, 25

  Baucus (American agent), 35, 49

  “Bee, The” (film), 324

  “Best Cigarette, The” (film), 261

  Bettini glass plate cinematograph, 306 foll.

  “Big Picture Play,” 169, 175, 177–178

  “Big Swallow A,” (film), 254

  Biocolor, 298

  “Black Maria” (studio), 105

  Blackton, J. Stuart, 171;
    trick pictures, 242

  Blair, roller photography, 28

  Blair Company, 29

  Blériot’s Channel flight (film), 301

  Blinking, compared with action of shutter, 320

  Blockless Motiograph, 99

  Blue-black light (in panchromatising), 294

  Blue screen, 295;
    compensation for absence, 296

  Boys, Prof. Vernon, flight of projectiles, 274

  Bull, Lucien, 264;
    experiments, 265 foll.;
    Marey Institute, 322

  Bull Camera (illus.), 269–270

  Butcher and Sons, 316


  “Cain and Abel,” film, 177

  Call-board, in theatre, 152

  Camera, 65 foll., 107;
    Bettini camera, 306 foll.;
    double camera, 319;
    electric spark apparatus, 265 foll.;
    for explorers, 73;
    preparation for exposure, 69, 70

  ---- obscura, 7, 321

  Cannock, Frank, 49

  Capus (picture playwriter), 160

  Carvallo, M. J., 323

  Celluloid film, 24 foll.;
    accidental discovery, 28;
    Blair’s experiments, 28;
    development of industry, 51;
    Eastman and Walker, 26 foll.;
    effect of climate, 53;
    inflammability, 54;
    length, 55;
    manufacture, 52;
    manufacturers, 50;
    non-inflammable, 55;
    waste product, 56, 330

  Cellulose-acetate, 55

  “Cheese Mites, The” (film), 201

  Chemist:
    instantaneous photography, 2;
    colour cinematography, 292

  Chevreul’s black, 20

  “Chronicle” (animated), 278

  Chronophone, 185;
    differential gear, 188;
    Green’s apparatus, 107;
    projector, 186

  Chronophotography, 16;
    development, 322 foll.

  _Cinema-à-plaque_, Bettini, 306 foll.

  Cinematograph (Cinematographe), 43–49

  “Cinematograph fiend,” 11

  Cinematograph plays, 146 foll.;
    dress-rehearsal, 153;
    production, 152;
    realism, 155

  ---- Theatre, 130 foll.;
    in remote districts, 132;
    development, 133;
    electrical equipment, 136
    (_see also_ Picture Palace)

  ---- Trust (American), 110;
    effect on British trade, 111

  Cinematography (or Animated Photography):--
    (1) _General_:
      Amateurs, 301;
      army recruiting, effect on, 317;
      action of brain in connection with, 5;
      educational value, 312 foll.;
      effect on theatre, 174;
      expansion of industry, 327;
      litigation, 110;
      optical principle explained, 90;
      scientific value (_see_ Scientific Research);
      various uses, 316–318;
      waste in the industry, 86
    (2) _History and Development_:
      Instantaneous photography, 1–3;
      early attempts, 10–22;
      kinetoscope, 30–33;
      animatography, 33 foll.;
      cinematograph, 43–49;
      micro-cinematography, 161 foll.;
      in Italy, 174;
      phono-cinematography, 180;
      electric spark cinematography, 265 foll.;
      natural colour cinematography, 287 foll.;
      recent developments, 319 foll.;
      growth and popularity, 323 foll.

  Cinephone, 180

  Cines Company (_see below_)

  ---- Societa Italiana, 175–177;
    “Life of Christ” (film), 177;
    toning, 300;
    Turin Exhibition films, 325

  “Clown and his Donkey” (film), 260

  Collins, Esmé, 107

  Collodion process, defects, 24

  Colour pictures, 287;
    “A Fire” film, 288;
    aniline dyes, 289;
    colour sensitiser, 293;
    compared with monochrome, 299;
    Coronation records, 297;
    stencil process, 288

  Colour-sensitising solution, 293

  Comandon, Dr. J., 162;
    investigations, 166

  Commutator, 182

  Composition of news film, 282

  Continuous motion, 32;
    for excessive speed, 265

  Control board of chronophone, 187

  “Coronation” film, kinemacolor, 297

  Coronation films, competition for, 119

  Cranz, Dr. C., 274


  Daguerre, exposure experiment, 1

  Daily cinematograph newspaper, prospects of, 286

  Dancing furniture, 209

  Daylight projection, 142

  Demeny, Georges, 21

  Derby film, 116, 117

  Desvignes, 16

  Detaillé, 15

  Developing apparatus, 85, 86

  ---- solution, 79

  Development of pictures, 76 foll.;
    long films, 79, 80

  Diaphragm, manipulation in trick pictures, 226

  ---- stop, in trick camera, 222

  “Dime Show,” 131

  Di-optic projector (_see_ Double Projector)

  “Dissolution of the Government, The” (film), 257

  Dog-movement, 93;
    in Gaumont chrono, 100

  Donisthorpe (experimenter), 16

  Double camera, 219 foll.;
    disadvantage of, 321

  ---- exposure process, 225

  ---- printing, 200

  ---- projector, 320 foll.

  Drying operation, 79

  Dumas, Alexandre, interest in Muybridge’s experiments, 15

  Du Mont (experimenter), 16

  “Duped,” 206


  Eastman and Walker, 26

  Eastman Dry Plate Company, 26

  ---- Kodak Company, 26, 50

  Ebonite disc in electric spark apparatus, 267

  Eden Musée--“Passion Play,” 106

  Edison, Thomas Alva, 29;
    educational films, 314;
    film production, 113;
    the kinetoscope, 30;
    litigation, 110;
    projector, 100;
    royalty on films, 328;
    studios, 105, 112

  Edison Company, 151;
    riot scene, 157

  _Edison’s First Kinetoscope_, 31

  Edison standard gauge, 57;
    drawbacks, 59

  Educational film, 312 foll.

  Election films, 257, 258

  Electrical tachyscope, 20, 21

  Electricity as illuminant, 98

  Electric spark, 268

  ---- spark apparatus, 265;
    copper strips, 268

  ---- spark cinematography, 265 foll.

  Electrodes, magnesium, 268

  _Empire Film Mender_, 138

  _Empire Film Winder_, 137

  “Empire” series of pictures, 316

  _Empire Trick Camera_, 216

  Essanay plant, 112

  Ethyl-violet, 293

  Exposure of film, 274

  Eye, as camera, 4


  Fairy, production of, 244

  “Fall of Babylon” (film), 177

  Faust, film of, 175;
    on the Vivaphone, 184

  Film, 23 foll.;
    American, 171;
    British, 328;
    European, 171;
    exposure, 274;
    firing of, 95;
    “Hepwix,” 329;
    for kineto, 305;
    length, 149;
    manipulation in trick pictures, 220;
    non-inflammable, 316;
    repair, 137;
    waste product, 56, 330;
    weekly output, 327

  ---- gauge, 33, 57

  ---- punch, 72

  ---- tinting, 288, 289

  Film-trap, 100

  Film-winder, 137;
    illus., 77

  Financial investments, 328

  Finsbury Technical College: Theatrograph, 39

  Fire, protection against, 136;
    anti-firing devices, 95, 96;
    in Empire projector, 101

  _First Moving Pictures_, 14

  Fixing solution, 79

  Flashing: in trick pictures, 249

  Flicker, cause of, 7

  Flight of projectiles, 274 foll.

  “Fountain of Youth” (film), 214

  Fox, William, 145

  Free-lance producer, 160

  Fringing, 298;
    elimination, 299


  Gaevert firm, 50

  Gate, 38

  Gaumont, Léon, 184 foll.

  _Gaumont Chronophone_, 186

  Gaumont chrono projector, 100

  ---- Company, 110;
    “Automobile Accident,” 211;
    chronophone, 185;
    Coronation films, 119, 120;
    Rob Roy, 158;
    The Little Milliner’s Dream, 231;
    The Magnetic Gentleman, 210;
    The Siren, 227;
    The Travelling Bed, 209

  Gaumont Graphic, 279;
    bi-weekly issue, 284;
    branch offices, 280;
    circulation, 282;
    Coronation number, 283

  “Gazette” (animated), 278

  Geissler tube, in Anschütz tachyscope, 21

  Gelatine, proposed use, 23

  Gelatino-bromide process, 24

  Gerome, interest in Muybridge’s experiments, 15

  Glass plates, Bettini system, 306 foll.

  Goupil, interest in Muybridge’s experiments, 15

  Grand Central Palace, New York, roof stage, 106

  Grand Prix film, 324

  “Graphic” (animated), 278

  Green screen, 291;
    Smith’s experiments, 295

  Greene, W. F., 17, 107;
    biocolor, 298;
    colour sensitiser, 293;
    double camera, 319;
    natural colour cinematography, 289;
    three- and two-screen systems, 295

  Greene and Evans, 22


  Harris, Sir Augustus, and the Theatrograph, 40

  Harris Safety Shutter, 96

  “Haunted Curiosity Shop, The” (film), 203

  “Haunted Hotel, The” (film), 242

  Hazelton Picture Palace, 132, 133

  “Hepwix” film, 329

  Hepworth, T. C., 98

  Hepworth Company, 151

  ---- Manufacturing Co., Ltd., 329;
    Vivaphone, 182

  Himalayas, scenic films, 128

  Hollaman, Richard G., 47;
    production of Passion Play, 106

  Hove Camera Club, 107


  Iceland spar, for condenser, 268

  Illuminant, 98;
    electric spark, 265

  Imperator projector, 100

  Independent or “free-lance” producers, 160

  Insects, flight of, 270;
    apparatus for photographing (illus.), 266, 272;
    Coleoptera records, 273;
    Hymenoptera records, 272;
    scientific value, 274

  Instantaneous photography, 2;
    analysis of movement, 13

  Intermittent motion, 32;
    Lumière’s camera, 43;
    Paul’s camera, 38, 92;
    for excessive speed, 265

  International Exhibition, Turin, film competition, 324

  Interrupter, electric spark apparatus, 267

  Inventor’s fiddle, 21

  “Investiture of the Prince of Wales,” Kinemacolor, 297;
    monochrome, 120–122

  Ives, Frederick E., 287;
    Ives’s system, 299


  Jansen, Astronomer, 17


  Kalem, manufacturing firm, 171

  Kelvin, Lord, film perforation, 58

  Kinemacolor, 295 foll.;
    apparatus, 135;
    Coronation films, 297;
    “fringing,” 298;
    limitations, 297;
    picture plays, 298;
    scenic films, 125;
    stock company, 151;
    studio-theatre, 108

  “Kinemacolor Special,” 126

  Kineograph, 302

  Kineto, Ltd., 190

  Kinetograph, 179

  Kinetoscope, The, 30;
    heat absorbent, 46;
    Edison’s studio, 105

  Kinora, 302 foll.

  Kramm projector, 101


  Lantern Room (_see_ Operating room)

  Latham, apparatus, 47

  Laurrilard, Mr., of Marble Arch Electric Theatre, and “Investiture of
        the Prince of Wales” film, 120

  Lee and Turner, natural colour process, 290

  “Life in the Jungle” (film), 172–174

  “Life of Christ” (film), 177

  “Life of the Butterfly, The” (film), 324

  Lilliputian figures, 231 foll.;
    explanation, 202

  “Little Milliner’s Dream, The” (film), 231–235

  “Little Sardinian Drummer, The” (film), 325

  Loew, Marcus, 144

  Lubin, of Philadelphia, 158;
    studio, 112

  Lumière and Sons, 43 foll.;
    manufacture of film, 50;
    perforation of film, 44;
    projector (illus.), 45;


  “Macbeth,” picture play, 175

  “Magic Banquet” (film), 239, 240

  Magic pictures, 207 foll.;
    explanation, 209 foll.

  “Magic Sword, The” (film), 199–201

  “Magnet, The” (film), 312

  “Magnetic Gentleman” (film), 210

  Maguire, American agent, 35, 49

  Make-up of news films, 282

  Mallez, Dr., 15

  Maltese Cross movement, 92, 101

  Marey, Dr. E. J., 17 foll., 322;
    camera, 18, 19;
    experiments, 18, 264

  Marey Institute, 322, 264

  _Marey’s Camera showing Shutter with Radial Slots_, 19

  Mask, of printing apparatus, 81

  Medical science and cinematography, 316;
    micro-cinematography, 161

  Meissonier, interest in Muybridge’s experiments, 13, 15

  Mélies, French conjurer, 197

  Microbes, moving pictures of, 161 foll.

  Micro-cinematography, 161 foll.;
    Dr. J. Comandon, 162;
    difficulties, 163;
    experiments with blood, 166;
    magnification, 168;
    “phenomenon of agglutination,” 167;
    popular science, 190;
    shutter, 165;
    sleeping sickness, 166

  “Miracle (The),” film, 177

  Mirror, in trick pictures, 244;
    in electric spark apparatus, 267

  Monochrome cinematography, 299

  Moorhouse, A. H., 140

  Motion, records of, animal motion, 13;
    flight of insects, 273;
    flight of projectiles, 274 foll.

  ---- Picture Patents Company, 327

  “Motorist, The (?)” (film), 203–205

  Moul, Mr. (of Alhambra Theatre), 41;
    picture plays, 104

  Mount: for projector, 99

  ---- for sensitised emulsion, 23, 24;
    Eastman’s experiments, 27

  “Mount Etna in Eruption” (film), 315

  Movement, illusion explained, 6;
    illustrated, 8

  “Movement,” record of Marey’s experiments, 20

  Movement and sound combined, Edison, 179;
    Gaumont, 184;
    Hepworth Company, 182

  Moving picture circuits, 143

  ---- Pictures: (_see_ Cinematography)

  Mutoscope Company, 105

  Muybridge, 12–16;
    demonstration in Paris, 15;
    studio, 13


  Natural colour cinematography, 287 foll.;
    “Biocolor,” 298;
    expense, 294;
    Greene’s process, 289;
    “Kinemacolor,” 296;
    Lee and Turner, 290;
    new process, 299;
    three screens, 291;
    two screens, 295

  ---- light, 290

  New Guinea, films, 128

  Newman and Sinclair Camera (illus.), 73

  _Newman-Sinclair Printing Apparatus_, 81

  _Newman-Sinclair Reflex Moving Picture Camera_, 74

  Nickel show, 131

  _N.S. Film Perforator_, 63


  Olympia: First picture palace, 40

  “One turn one picture” movement, 235–240;
    by Americans, 238;
    in silhouette trick films, 259

  Operating room or lantern room, 136;
    law relating to, 135

  _Optical principle of the Cinematograph_, 90

  _Optical principle of projection with the Bettini cinema-à-plaque_,
        310

  “Ora Pro Nobis” (film), 202

  Oxy-hydrogen limelight as illuminant, 98


  “Panchromatic” film, 293;
    deterioration, 294

  “Panchromatism,” 293;
    process, 294

  Paper, as base, 24, 303;
    Eastman, 27

  ---- negative, 303

  Parkes, A., 26

  Parkesine, 26

  Parsons, Hon. C. A., 186

  Passion Play, 106

  Pathé, Charles, 35

  Pathé Frères, 109;
    colour pictures, 288;
    development of picture play, 169;
    film, 312;
    “The Magnet,” 312;
    micro-cinematography, 163;
    projector, 101;
    village scene, 158

  Paul, Robert W., 34;
    camera, 37, 66–69;
    colour pictures, 288;
    intermittent gear, 92;
    mount for lantern, 99;
    “Ora Pro Nobis,” 202;
    “Railway Collision,” 205;
    “Scenes in Soldier’s Life,” 317;
    “The Magic Sword,” 199;
    “The Cheese Mites,” 201;
    “The (?) Motorist,” 203;
    topical films, 116 foll.;
    trick pictures, 198

  _Paul’s Improved “Cross” Driving Mechanism_, 94

  Peep-hole machine, 33

  “Penny gaff,” 131

  Perforating machines:
    “N-S” perforator, 63;
    Rotary perforator, 61;
    Urban-Joy, 64;
    Williamson perforator, 62

  Perforation gauge, 57;
    Edison standard, 57;
    Lumière’s, 59

  ---- of film, 33;
    necessity for mathematical precision, 60;
    Lord Kelvin’s suggestion, 58;
    Lumière’s method, 44

  Phenakistoscope, 11

  Phono-cinematograph (_see below_)

  Phonograph, with cinematograph, 180, 181, 189

  Photographic gun, 17

  ---- revolver, 17

  Picture House at Briggate, 134

  ---- Palace, 144;
    effect on legitimate theatre, 326;
    British Isles, 325;
    France, 325;
    Germany, 326;
    U.S.A., 144, 326;
    facts and figures, 325 foll.

  ---- plays, 103 foll.;
    development, 109 foll.;
    the “Big Picture Play,” 169 foll.;
    educational service, 174;
    financial risk, 177;
    historical subjects, 170;
    Kinemacolor, 298;
    Pathé firm, 110;
    playwright, 147;
    plots, 159;
    popular subjects, 176–177;
    religious subjects, 177;
    staging, 103 foll.;
    studio (_see under_ Studio);
    “After Fifty Years,” 324;
    St. Francis of Assisi, 325;
    The Passion Play, 106, 169;
    “The Soldier’s Courtship,” 103

  Pinachrome, 293

  Pinacyanol, 293

  Poch, Prosper, 142

  Polar exploration films, 127

  Political films, 257

  Popular science, 190 foll.;
    films, 324

  Portraiture, cinematographic, 283

  Praxinoscope, 11;
    records, 12

  Primary colours, 290

  “Prince’s Derby,” 117

  “Princess Nicotine,” 242–253;
    illustration of staging, 245;
    trick explained, 244

  Printing, 80;
    Newman-Sinclair apparatus, 81–82;
    Williamson printer, 82–84

  Projection:
    kinetoscope, 8;
    praxinoscope, 11;
    rate of monochrome films, 6;
    colour films, 292

  Projector, 37, 88 foll.;
    for amateurs, 309, 310;
    double, 320, 135;
    driving system, 99;
    intermittent motion, 38;
    rate of projection, 6, 292;
    second lens, 99;
    shutter, 94, 95;
    “B Underwriter,” 100;
    Gaumont Chrono, 100;
    “Imperator,” 100;
    Lumière, 45

  Provincial Cinematograph Theatres, Ltd., 134

  Prozynski, 306

  “Pumpkin Race” (film), 217


  Quentin, daylight projection, 142

  Quo Vadis (film), 175–176


  Racking bellows, 255

  Rainbow screen, 142

  Realism, in picture plays, 155 foll., 172

  Red screen, 291;
    failure, 292;
    panchromatic film, 293;
    Smith’s experiments, 295

  Religious institutions and cinematography, 317

  Renter, or middleman, 178

  Reversal of action, 215

  Reynaud’s praxinoscope, 11

  Rheostat handle, 187

  Rhumkoff coil, in Anschütz tachyscope, 21

  Roller-photography, 26;
    Blair, 28

  Roosevelt, T., and cinematography, 128

  Rostand, picture plays, 160


  “Sacking of Rome” (film), 175

  Safety shutter, 95–98

  “St. Francis of Assisi” (film), 325

  Sample prints, 176

  “Samson and Delilah,” (film), 177

  Scenery (_see_ Realism)

  Scenic films, 125–129;
    Polar exploration, 127;
    Victoria Falls, 126

  Scientific research, 161 foll.;
    electric spark cinematography, 265 foll.;
    explorations, 73, 127;
    medical science, 316

  Scott, Capt. R., 127

  Screen, 138;
    daylight projection, 142;
    in natural colour photography, 291

  Selig, William N., 172

  Selig organisation, 112;
    company, 151;
    fire-rescue film, 155;
    production of the jungle play, 172–174;
    at Los Angeles, 112;
    studio, 112;
    wardrobe, 114

  Sensitised emulsion, 2;
    in colour photography, 292

  Shackleton expedition, 127

  Shadowgraph play, 259

  Shutter, 94;
    automatic safety, 95;
    electric spark apparatus (illus.), 268, 269

  Siemens and Halske, 47

  Silent Knight, projector, 101

  Silhouette trick films, 259;
    advertisements, 261;
    in America, 259, 263;
    “The Clown and the Donkey,” 260

  “Siren, The” (film), 227

  “Ski-runner,” 240–241

  Smith, Albert, 242;
    Kinemacolor, 295 foll.

  Smith, F. Percy, 190;
    apparatus, 195;
    experiments, 191–195;
    magic film, 257

  “Soldier’s Courtship, The” (film), 104

  Soret, M. L., 20

  Sound effects, 139;
    production, 141

  ---- and movement combined, 179 foll.

  South America, progress of cinematography, 145

  Spool box, 91

  Sprocket, use of, 33

  Stage, 104 (_see also_ Studio)

  Stage properties, 204, 208;
    for “Princess Nicotine,” 246

  Stanford, Governor, interest in Muybridge’s experiments, 15

  Steinheil, interest in Muybridge’s experiments, 15

  Stencil, 289

  Stereoscopic shutter (illus.), 269

  ---- system, in electric spark cinematography, 268

  Stern, inventor, 22

  Stock, 294

  Stop, of lens, 199

  ---- and substitution action, 212–215

  ---- call, 215, 222

  Stop-motion, 201;
    method illustrated, 236

  Stop-press news, 285

  Studio for picture plays, 103 foll.;
    American Mutoscope Co., 105;
    Edison, 105, 112;
    equipment, 113;
    Kinemacolor, 108;
    Lubin, 112;
    Muybridge, 13;
    Pathé Frères, 109;
    Paul, 104;
    Selig, 112;
    Vitagraph Co., 112;
    J. A. Williamson, 107

  Submarine effects, 240

  Superprinting, 240

  Synchroniser, 182 foll.

  Synchronism, 185


  Tachyscope, electrical, 20, 21

  “Tale of Two Cities, A” (film), 171

  Talking machines, 180 foll.

  “Theatrograph,” 39

  “Three Musketeers” (film), 175

  Three-roll film, 106

  Three-screen cinematography (tricolour), 291;
    cost, 294;
    latest process, 299

  Toning, 300

  Topical pictures, 116 foll.;
    dangers, 123;
    competition, 118;
    Coronation of King George V., 119;
    East End battle with anarchists, 124;
    Investiture of Prince of Wales, 120;
    prize-fights, 122

  Transformations, 225

  “Travelling Bed, The” (film), 209

  Travelling show, 130

  Tree, Sir H. B., picture play, 174

  Treuwé, Professor, 130

  “Trial of Abraham’s Faith” (film), 177

  “Trick” camera, 222

  Trick pictures, 197 foll.;
    manipulation of film and camera, 219;
    M. Mélies, 197;
    R. Paul, 198;
    miscellaneous, 228–230, 237;
    two stages, 246;
    wires and threads, 238 foll.;
    “Animated Putty,” 235;
    “Automobile Accident,” 211;
    “Boots,” 235;
    “The Cheese Mites,” 201;
    “The Dissolution of the Government,” 257;
    “Fountain of Youth,” 214;
    “The Haunted Curiosity Shop,” 203;
    “The Haunted Hotel,” 242;
    “The Little Milliner’s Dream,” 231;
    “The Magic Carpenter’s Shop,” 238;
    “Magic Knitting Needles,” 237;
    “The Magic Sword,” 199;
    “The Magnetic Gentleman,” 210;
    “The (?) Motorist,” 203;
    “The Mysterious Banquet,” 239;
    “Princess Nicotine,” 243;
    “Railway Collision,” 205;
    “The Siren,” 227;
    “Scene at Sea,” 207;
    “The Travelling Bed,” 209;
    “The Workman’s Paradise,” 217

  Tricolour cinematography (_see_ Three-screen cinematography)

  Tripod, for camera, 72, 73

  “Triumphant Hero (The),” (film), 175

  Tuning fork, in Bull camera, 270

  Two-colour work (_see below_)

  Two-screen cinematography, 295

  Tyler-Ernemann “Imperator” projector, 100


  “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” (film), 156

  Union Square Theatre, New York, 144

  Urban, Charles, 48, 49

  Urban-Joy anti-firing device, 96

  _Urban-Joy-Harris Anti-firing Device_, 97

  Urban Trading Company, 125


  Vincent, John, 106

  Violet-rays, 268

  Violet screen, 291

  Visual persistence, 3;
    “blinking,” 321;
    in colour photography, 292;
    in monochrome, 8

  Vitagraph Company, 112;
    “Leather Stocking” stories, 159;
    “Tale of Two Cities,” 171

  Vivaphone (illus.), 182–184

  V-shaped stop, 199


  War Office and cinematography, 317

  Warwick Trading Company, 49

  West, T. J., 130

  Wheel, cylindrical, of electric spark apparatus, 265–267

  “Wheel of Life,” 10

  “White Plague” pictures, 316

  Williamson, James A., 107 foll.;
    colour picture, 288;
    “A Big Swallow,” 254–257;
    “The Workman’s Paradise,” 217

  Williamson printer, 82

  “Workman’s Paradise” (film), 217

  Wright, Wilbur, flight film, 72


  X-rays, and cinematography, 322


  Zoetrope, 10

  Zoopraxinoscope, 11

  Zoopraxiscope, 15


      PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY R. CLAY AND SONS, LTD.,
    BRUNSWICK ST., STAMFORD ST., S.E., AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.




Transcriber’s Notes


Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they
were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation
marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left
unbalanced.

Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between paragraphs
and outside quotations. Some have been moved closer to the text that
references them. In versions of this eBook that support hyperlinks, the
page references in the List of Illustrations lead to the corresponding
illustrations.

The index was not checked for proper alphabetization or correct page
references.