_The story, make-up and costuming--Rouge riots and_
_their disadvantages--The blond_
_and the “back spot.”_
In any art or profession the ability to seize opportunity when it
presents itself is important. This is especially true in motion
pictures. Things move very fast there. It is like a game where the
knack of doing the right thing at the right time determines one’s value.
After the beginner has done his extra work, or small bits, if he is of
the right stuff, he will some day be given a part. He may be unaware of
it, but that will be the biggest moment of his screen career.
When doing extra work or small bits the critics, the public, and the
profession have paid little attention to the beginner. But once the
beginner secures a part he comes instantly into the eye of everyone
interested in the screen. We are all diverted by new faces.
Thus the impression that the beginner will make in his first part is
one that will for a long time endure. It comes very near making or
breaking him. This may seem hard. Often it is unjust--a beginner may
have a part forced upon him for which he is unfitted. But it is true.
And we have to deal with conditions on the screen as we find them.
For that reason when the big moment comes, and the part is secured,
the beginner must do everything within his or her power to be as well
prepared as possible.
There are in this respect three important mechanical details that must
be looked after. I should list them as follows:
(1) Studying the story.
(2) Studying make-up.
(3) Studying costuming.
The beginner will be given the story--or script--typewritten in
continuity form. Continuity means the scene by scene action through
which the story is told. Ordinarily there will be some three hundred
scenes or “shots” to the average photoplay.
The beginner will first look to the plot and theme of the story. We
want to know what the author is telling and how he is trying to tell
it. We find the big situations and the action that precedes them. More
important, we locate the why of it.
When I have established the idea of the play I immediately go over the
script again with an eye alert for business. By business I mean the
tricks, mannerisms, and the apparent unexpected or involuntary moves
that help to sustain action.
The value of good business cannot be over-rated. It goes a long way
toward making up for the lack of voice. Without clever business any
photoplay would drag. The two-reel comedy, which I have observed is
popular with audiences of all ages, is usually but a sequence of
business.
If the business that is planned upon seems natural to the
character--the wiggling of a foot when excited, the inability to
control the hands, the apparent unconscious raising of an eyebrow,
etc.--I am sure there can be no real objection to it. The audience, who
are the final critics, love it.
Just the other night I saw Mr. Douglas Fairbanks in a play the final
scene of which depicted him in the act of making love to his intended.
That there might be some privacy to the undertaking they were screening
themselves from the view of the guests--and the audience!--with a large
silken handkerchief.
The girl might have stood still. If she had there could have no
criticism. Neither would there have been much of anything else, as her
face was hidden from view. She laid her hands over a balustrade and
wiggled her fingers. The audience roared.
These are the things which keep a photoplay from dragging. They give
the action a piquancy and charm.
Now while the audience may believe that these things are done on the
spur of the moment the facts are very contrary. These bits of business
must be planned in advance and it is only an evidence that they have
been well planned when they appear to be done unconsciously.
While it is true that we have all discovered very telling bits of
business during the actual photographing of a scene, we can count this
as nothing but good fortune. To leave the matter of business until the
director called “Camera!” would be fatal.
Thus in going over a script I look for business. I think of all the
business I can, knowing that much of it will prove impracticable and
will have to be discarded. Nor is that all. When the scenic sets upon
which we are to work are erected at the studio or on location, I look
them over very carefully in the hope that some article of furniture,
etc., will suggest some attractive piece of business. An odd fan, a
pillow, a door, in fact, anything may prove valuable.
I should suggest to my candidate that he or she be just as alert for
good business as the star is. The good director is always open to
suggestion. Business may make all the difference between a colorless
and a vivid portrayal of a part. Thus for the beginner who, in
obtaining a part, has reached the most vital moment of his career,
the value of keeping an eye open to the possibilities of business is
apparent.
[Illustration: _Mary Pickford’s love radiates from the screen. A scene
from “Pollyanna.”_]
Make-up, like much of everything else on the screen, is a personal
matter. There are, however, some general rules that can be followed to
advantage.
I should instruct my candidate not to make up too much. It seems to me
that I have observed a tendency in this direction recently.
Some actresses have laid on lip rouge so thickly that their lips seem
to run liquid. Rouge photographs black. The result has been that this
riot of lip paint has given them the appearance of having no teeth.
Others have used too much and too dark make-up about the eyes. Nothing
more quickly ruins expression. Such eyes have the look of holes burned
in a blanket and for dramatic purposes are only slightly more useful.
Since my candidate will have youth, good health and vitality he or she
will not have to resort to tricks of make-up. There are many such. I
recall the case of one actress who is considered a beauty on the spoken
stage. On the screen she discovered that the motion picture camera is
not very kind to some people. The lines and flabbiness which were in
her face were accurately reproduced. She thought, of course, they were
exaggerated.
She was in despair until she found that by laying heavy strips of
adhesive tape over her ears and behind her neck--she wore a wig--these
lines and flabbiness were overcome. The tape pulled her face into
shape! But, I am sure it must have been painful.
Another actress, it is an open secret, undergoes periodic operations
for the removal of the flabby flesh underneath her chin. Others
afflicted with the hated “double chin” rouge the guilty member heavily
with more or less success. Still others wear collars and necklaces to
thwart flabbiness.
None of us need laugh; that is if we are in motion pictures. If we stay
there long enough we may be driven to similar measures.
In make-up, to begin at the top, is to consider the hair. Let me say,
first of all, that this should always be kept very clean. The camera
has a way of treating us unpleasantly if it isn’t.
Some actresses have set styles of hair dress which they seldom vary. I
think of Madge Kennedy’s “band of hair,” Dorothy Gish’s black wig and
the Pickford Curls.
Dorothy Gish had tried many styles of hair dress and found none of them
to her liking. She experimented with a black wig and was delighted with
the result. It contributed something to her expression--brought it
out, as it were--which she felt had been lacking. Since “Hearts of the
World” she has never stepped before a camera without her trusty B. W.
But while most of us have a favorite style of wearing our hair most
of us are forced often to lay aside that style to suit the character
we are playing. Playing a child we let our hair hang. The length or
abundance doesn’t seem to particularly matter.
If enacting the daughter of a well-to-do business man then we may have
our hair plain or marceled to suit our fancy. Plain hair seems to
suggest sweetness. If playing a saucy character we must contrive some
dress that will convey the desired effect.
Blonds, in motion pictures, are traditionally fluffy-haired. There is a
very good reason for this, by the way. Some years ago Mr. Griffith--who
usually does everything first--discovered that by leveling a back
spotlight on Blanche Sweet’s fluffy, blond hair it gave the appearance
of sunlight showing through.
On the screen it was beautiful. Since that time the “back spot” has
been worked to death. In spite of the fact that it is an old trick it
is one that is still very much respected by the actress--or us blond
actresses, as it were.
The back light shining through the hair has a tendency to take away all
the hard lines of the face. It leaves it smooth and free from worry.
How often in a motion picture have I heard the involuntary expression,
“How beautiful!” when such a shot--usually a close-up--is shown.
Many of you may have wondered why a blond seems to have dark hair in
many interior scenes and blond hair out of doors. Here is one fault,
at least, that we can shift to other shoulders. If a blond’s hair is
dark indoors it is because the cameraman has failed in his lighting
arrangement.
But even with the most expert manipulation of lights there is no rival
in motion pictures for the sun. For blonds and brunettes alike he is
Allah.
And now since this matter of make-up requires more space and this
chapter is growing long we shall skip to the next.