_Long shots, intermediates and close-ups--“Hogging_
_the camera” and ingenious leading men--_
_Keeping one’s poise under fire._
While the actress will exert herself in every “shot” or “take”--as
the separate exposures of a scene are called--she comes to know that
the result of her acting upon the screen is greatly influenced by the
distance from the camera that she has worked.
There are, for our present purposes, three different distances which
we work from the camera. There is the long shot, the intermediate and
the close-up or insert. With the gradations of these we need not now
concern ourselves.
The long shot is usually taken to establish the atmosphere and setting
of a scene. In this the actress finds herself ordinarily so far from
the camera that her facial expression registers indifferently. For
that reason the body movement, with which she is playing a character,
substitutes for facial expression. She is known to the audience by her
costume and carriage and makes her appeal largely through these.
Most of the dramatic action is now played at three-quarters length;
that is from the face to the knees. As we weave in and out of a
scene, very often the entire body is shown and the feet have their
opportunity for expression--they assuredly act!--but the majority of
the intermediate shots through which the dramatic action is conducted
cut off the lower part of the body.
Here, in brief, is the combination of facial expression and bodily
movement that establishes the actress. It will be through the
intermediate shots that my candidate will make or break. All our
preparation for a part and our fitness for it are here brought to the
test.
An important item in this phase of screen acting is the effect that
those playing opposite will exert upon one. The good actor or actress
helps one. Things seem to swim along. Work becomes a pleasure!
But very often the actress will find that she is forced to work
opposite other actresses or actors whose style is disagreeable. If
they are too loud or too full of antics it has the effect of taking
your mind off your work--if you let it! In such a case very often the
director will observe the difficulty and a word of caution spoken in
private to the offending actor or actress will improve conditions.
But sometimes the director is not observing and you are forced to make
the best of conditions. I recall one rather well-known actor who,
to use a frank expression, “spits as he talks.” If I should ever be
compelled to play opposite him again I should prepare myself either
with an umbrella or a bathing suit. I think it was only his total
unconsciousness of this habit that made it possible for me to continue.
We women are told that we are very vain. Perhaps we are. But if my
experience with male actors may be taken as a criterion I should say
that vanity has been pretty well distributed throughout the world.
With a few notable exceptions, I make bold to affirm that the leading
man counts that day lost when he has not stolen the camera from the
star (poor girl!) not once but several times. In the profession we call
this “hogging the camera.”
The tricks that some of these amiable gentlemen will play to keep
themselves in the immediate center of the foreground deserve nothing
less than a volume. This leads to many amusing experiences.
I remember one leading man who had a habit of falling back from the
camera during the progress of a scene. The result of this, of course,
was to turn me toward him, leaving my back exposed to the camera. He
was very ingenuous. I thought, at first, the habit was unintentional.
But as work upon our play progressed he repeated this maneuver often
enough to convince me that I was dealing with a rather clever artist in
his way. I began to anticipate him. When he started to drop away from
the camera, instead of turning toward him, as I had previously done, I
stood still and practiced talking over my shoulder.
This had the value, at least, of showing my face and not my back to the
audience. In addition it gave me an unequal prominence in the picture,
since he was standing three or four feet behind me. Realizing his
disadvantage he quickly resumed a position beside me and thereafter
abandoned his little trick.
Since that time, however, I have seen him in other plays and he is
quite as original as ever.
I might go on indefinitely with such instances. Enough that the artist
must be on her guard for it seems to be acting-nature to want to “hog
the camera.” But as the stars and directors are aware of this tendency
its accomplishment has become more difficult.
It is particularly trying, too, to play opposite one of your own sex
who insists upon over-acting. This is a common case. This kind of
actress generally realizes that she has but a few important moments
before the camera and is determined to make the best of them even if
she has to “act the star off the set.” I have actually felt sometimes
as though I were being pushed from the stage by some actress, who,
without any particular reason, has come in like a whirlwind.
[Illustration: _A long shot, the author, and some screen beginners in
the days of “Hoodoo Ann.”_]
The beginner will find himself best off if he does not let the style of
those playing opposite him affect him too much. If the style is good
take advantage of it. It will be real help. If it is bad one should the
more concentrate upon his part and thus maintain his own poise under
difficulties.
If in these important intermediate shots where the most of the dramatic
action is sustained we remember the various points that we have
discussed we should come off acceptably.
The silent drama is silent only in its completed product. Before the
camera lines are spoken and it is of utmost importance that they be
pronounced clearly and with feeling.
In spoken sub-titles that are expressively mouthed and well-timed in
the cutting, the sub-title seems to blend in with the voice--though it
be unheard--of the speaker, particularly so to the spectator who is
clever at lip-reading.
While it is not necessary to memorize a great number of lines, as on
the spoken stage, it is necessary that those lines which are read be
given with the correct shade of feeling, just as they should be on the
dramatic stage.
Lines are particularly important to many persons who show a maximum of
expression while speaking. Here the silent voice is a genuine asset.
Most close-ups, or inserts, as we call them, are of the face alone.
Sometimes there may be a close-up of a hand, a foot, etc., but the most
acceptable style of direction these days seems to be not to overdo in
this respect.
In the close-up the face of the actress is usually about 24 inches from
the camera. Every line of her face, every thought, indeed, her very
soul, will now be more or less registered. Nothing, in the whole range
of screen acting, is more effective than the close-up.
The insert is always to depict a particular emotion. In a single scene,
in the intermediate shots, we have perhaps expressed several degrees of
feeling but in the insert it is a matter of one emotion at a time.
Here we are not aided by the action or expression of any brother
artist. It is entirely a matter of imagination or feeling. The lens of
the camera, like the eye of a Cyclops, is staring sheerly at us and
it is not necessary to feel its breath to believe that it is a living
thing.
When called upon for an insert we know precisely the emotion that we
are supposed to express and will bend every effort to concentrate upon
it.
To begin with there are two important things to remember in the insert.
One is that the make up should be very much lighter than in the long
or intermediate shots; the other, that the action will be slower.
The reasons are fairly obvious. If the same make up that is used in the
dramatic action is continued it becomes immediately too conspicuous.
Slower action is necessary because at the distance of two feet the
camera is limited in the speed of movement that it can faithfully
record.
In the insert we are ever reminded of the value of repression. The mere
expression of the eyes may be all that is necessary to convey to the
audience the emotion of the player. The truth is that the effectiveness
of the close-up seems to be in inverse proportion to the amount of
facial action in it.
When we behold an insert in which there is much grimacing and
contortion of the face we realize that there is no real depth of
feeling. It is playing at feeling.
On the other hand I have seen vital emotion so delicately expressed
in the insert that its effect was haunting and beautiful. Observe in
“Broken Blossoms” and “Way Down East” the close-ups of Lillian Gish.
Much as the good old “back spot” is popular among the fluffy blonds,
so is the insert welcomed by all screen actresses. We believe that
it shows us off at our best and brings us nearer, as it were, to our
audiences.
Yet there are some actresses favored over others by the insert. One
whose features are naturally coarse, or hard, loses something when
in close contact with the camera. Others, like myself, who have small
features, and believe, therefore, that we are often at a disadvantage
in the long and intermediate shots, are only too glad of the
opportunity to prepare for an insert.
Indeed, our directors sometimes make a jest of saying that we seem to
want a drama of inserts. But it is never quite so bad as that.