BEHIND THE SCENES IN A TALKIE STUDIO

Manawatu Times, Volume LV, Issue 7111, 8 January 1930, Page 5

BEHIND THE SCENES IN A TALKIE STUDIO

By Dorothy Manners.

IT was always a difficult thing to got into a motion picture studio iu Hollywood, hut it ■is doubly difficult nowadays. Producers early learnt the lesson of keeping ail strangers oif the sound sets. People seem to have a bad habit of sneezing, or tripping over a chair, or otherwise disturbing everything in the middle of a scene, this, of course, involving a costly re-take. ~ \ 1 was particularly fortunate, therefore, to be taken round the Paramount studios recently, as these are considered to be • the most difficult of all to * * crash.’ ’ Once inside the gates, however, all the official red-tape vanished like magic and I was treated with charming courtesy. My guide, one of the publicity staff, conducted mo to the studio restaurant for a snack of lunch before wo started in earnest. On the way wo passed half a dozen or more world famous personalities going about their work unconcernedly as though they did not realise just how famous they were.

Clara Bow was standing in the doorway of her dressing room, talking excitedly to a couple of girls. Ono of them I recognised as Nancy Carroll, the other I did not know. The restaurant was crowded. At one table my guide pointed out to mo a "alaxy of talent. Maurice Chevalier, the star of, “The Love Parade,” Ernest Lubitseh, the director of the picture; Guy Bolton, the author of the libretto; Victor Schertzinger, the composer of the music, Ernest Vadja, the story and Clifford Grey, author of the lyrics, also Victor Voyda, associate producer, were all sitting togehter. “It seems to be some sort of production conference,” I remarked. “Just what it is,” said my guide, “they often make the studio restaurant a rendezvous for discussing business connected with a new picture. ’

Leaving the restaurant, we stopped to talk for a moment with George Ban-

croft, who was on his way back to his dressing room after a hard night's work on his latest-talkie.. He was dressed in a smartly cnt military uniform with a string of decorations across his breast. He told us that he was rather tired and was going to spend the day in bed. My visions of glamorous, glittering Hollywood vanished altogether at this moment. Arrangements had been made for me to see part’ of Ma'urice Chevalier's “The Love Parade'' in production. I was particularly lucky in the selection of this picture, for it was the screen’s first* original operetta and a brilliant cast was working under the direction of the famous Lubitsch.

We passed through the huge double doors which formed the entrance to the sound stages. Plaring red notices, demanding “SILENCE'' met the eye at every turn. At the far end of the stag® was a blaze of light. Wo picked ojir ‘ -way carefully through- several ‘sets’ in the course of erection, my bewilderment increasing at every step. The set in use represented tho interior of a castle. The staircase was lined on either side of a row of soldiers dressed in the colourful red uniform of the mythical kingdom of Sylvania. At the foot a crowd of : courtiers, diplomats and others stood dressed in glittering uniforms and robes. An assistant? director was busily engaged rehearsing the “Extras” for the coming scene.

The camera booths (sound-proof enclosures which cut out the whirring of the cameras) stood directly in front of the set. Electric cables lay coiled over, the floor, and suspended above the

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heads of the players were Datterics of thin, tubular microphones. These were swung on cords that permitted their being moved to any part of the set. High up on tho wall overlooking the set I noticed a small glass-faced chamber, behind which a number of mechanics were . standing. My guide informed me that this was tho “mixing chamber,” where the volume of sound was controlled before it passed to the recording apparatus. To tho right and well out of range of the set was a 30-pieco orchestra, which had its own battery of microphones. It was tuning up iu readiness for tho next scene.

The actual recording apparatus of a sound studio is installed iu rooms entirely separate from tho stage. In the sound-on-iilm method, used practically exclusively at tho Paramount studios, the sound vibrations aro turned into electrical impulses by tho microphones. Tho recording apparatus picks up these vibrations and turns them into corresponding vibrations of light whicn aro recorded photographically on a strip of film running at tho same speed as the picture film in the cameras.

Cameras and recording apparatus aro perfectly synchronised. When eventually- developed, sound strip and pictures are printed on to the same iilin. By now preparations wore almost completed and the various technicians operating tho lights, microphones, cameras and other apparatus were standing at their posts. Lubitseh, Maurice Chevalier and Jeanette MacDonald walked on the set. After several rehearsals, Lubitseh walked to his chair. There was an instant hush. Tho sileuco was ceric. Then, in answer to his “All ready,” tho players took up their positions and a chorus of “O.K.’s” came from ail corners of the set. “Sink 'em” was tho next meaning to synchronise tho cameras and the recording apparatus. A gong sounded, then a few minutes later another gong. The soldiers on the stairs straight-

ened up. Maurice Chevalier took his place in tho hall facing tho stairway, surrounded by the throng of courtiers. Lubitsch gave a quick glance round, then pressed a button at his elbow. A red light flashed and at once tho orchestra broke into the “March of the Grenadiers. ’ ’

Slowly the big doors at the top of the stairs opened and Miss MacDonald, in a gorgeous bridal gown, slowly descended the stairs, followed by a retinue of bridesmaids and attendants. The chorus of soldiers took up the strains of tho march, following tho beat of the conductor, who was outlined with a small spotlight. Maurice Chevalier strode forward to meet Miss MacDonald and a group was formed in tho centre of the stage. Silently one of tho camera booths was moved forward on rubber-tyred wheels to get a close-up of tho sccuc. lhe chorus came to an cud and I listened to the voice of Chevalier in the short dialogue sequences. Suddenly a green light flashed. Everything stopped just where it was. “Cut,’’ came Lubitsch’s voice. It was all over. The players dropped once more into everyday life ana strolled slowly back to their chairs. A mechanic stepped in front of the cameras with a small board bearing Jiueer abbreviated signs, which was used to mark and number the scene) this system or tabulation becomes great importance when the picture is finally assembled.

“Lubitsch did not seem very satisfied with that sequence,’’ remarked my guide as we reached the sunlight once more. “It’s very probable that he will re-take it.’’