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.