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.