In a Biograph Theatre.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLV, Issue 19, 10 May 1911, Page 33

In a Biograph Theatre.

Humour, Pathos, and Sensation on the Film.

By

GEORGE S. GUY.

6T~T S you sit in an electric theatre y I watching the pictures on the z J screen. sometimes moved to tears by a sympathetic scene, sometimes to laughter by a huni>.rou = one. vou have no time to wonder how these effects are brought about. B :t when you leave the building you may feel that you would like to know bow it is all done. In the first place the actors a.id actresses who perform the piece before the camera in order to obtain the ti'.n are. many of them, well-known people on the musie-hall or regular stage. So great is the demand for films that special buildings have b *en built in ordei that pictures may be taken indoors as well as in the open air. One of the finest of these, belonging to the Hepworth Manufacturing Company, is situated at Walton. It has twenty arclamps. each producing a light of six thousand candle-power, so that when they are all alight no less than one

oral hundred pounds. The expenditure on a single film sometimes amount: to nearly a thousand pounds. But the cost of an ordinary comic picture is much lower than this—say. on an average,, a hundred pounds. Very large salaries are paid to certain artistes who have become public favourites. It has been state! that a certain actress in America has received over two thousand pounds a year for acting for film-pictures of this kind. The first thing, of course, is to obtain a really good plot. After this has been secured it is divided into different scenes, and it is no uncommon thing for an ordinary comic film to be divided into fifteen or twenty scenes. The stagemanager then calls the company together. explains the plot to them ful’y, and allots the different parts. After each has "made up” to represent his or her character, the company starts rehearsing. The mind of every artist must be con-

fur the word to start. “Are you ready?” lie rails. "Go!” The machine buzzes merrih round, the artists ad as if Itefore a crowded house, while the stage manager is shouting warnings and directions. When the taking of the first scene is complete the scene-shifters are busy preparing for the next mimic. So the work goes on until all the scenes are finished. It may Im* several days Im* fore the whole film is completed.

The length of the films varies, but one of a thousand feet, which is considered a full length, contains no fewer than sixteen thousand separate pictures and takes about an hour and threequarters to develop. The time taken to display this picture on the screen is nearly twenty minutes. So much for indoor work. But many scenes are taken in the open air. The artists who devote their time to this kind of work are more liable to serious accidents than those who work in the more tranquil atmosphere of the -theatre. An accident that happened in Surrey is probably still fresh in the public mind. A man was tied to the railway lines, and it was arranged that a train should approach as near to him as possible, when he was to have been rescued just in the nick of time. Owing. however, to the greasy state of the metals, pie train was unable to stop dead, and the engine passed over the unfortunate performer. Fortunately, this kind of accident very seldom happens. Another case that might have had an unhappy ending was that of a young lady who was depicted as being thrown into the water by the villain of the piece and then rescued by the hero from a watery grave. The impression was that sin* could swim, but when she was immersed the operators soon found out their mistake, tor. to their consternation. it was some time before she reappeared. half-drowned and scarcely conscious, on the surface. Happily, she was soon rescued, and quicklv recoveied. Only a short time ago a scene from the French evolution was being acted. A guillotine had been erected by the roadside, and a howling mob had assembled about it. ’rhe mimic execution was going on in the most lifelike manner. The dramatic moment had arrived: the condemned man. with the priest beside him. stood under the glittering knife: tin* savage faced mob waved its arms in fierce exultation—when a touring car swept round a curve in tin* road. Some ladies in the car. finding themselves face to face with this extremely realistic picture, broke into piercing screams, while the startled chauffeur brought his machine to a stop. The disturbance was too much for the actors, and the condemned man. tin* ...

*T.xiu-m* me. sir.” said one of the company. "but you can’t g<» through now.” "( an’t go through? Why not. indeed?” thundered the old gentleman. "BeraUM* we arc just going to -tart.” replied the actor. *Oh. really!” snap|M*«l the old man. "Oh. really! I’m a ratepayer, and I’ll see what thi- constable ha- to -ay on the subject.” He walked up to a near-

by constable and demanded the meaning ot it all. "Can’t 'elp it. sir.” said the constable, stolidly, barring the way as he spoke. "These people have bought the road for a time, ami you can't pass.” And he didn't pass till they had finished. nor did he discover that the constable was an actor ready for the part. We stated at the head of this article that we proposed to say something about the humour, the pathos, and the sensation of what lias now become one of the most popular of all entertain nients. Let us. in the first place, con sider the subject of humour. It will be readily understood that where the whole play consists of action without words anything like suht’ety of wit is out ol the question. The effects must be of the broadest possible kind. bordering on

horseplay. It has been said that in the* theatre the most sparkling epigram is less effective in arousing laughter than tin* spectacle of a man sitting down on his hat and this is entirely the kind of humour on which the bio graph theatre has to depend for its effect. Perhaps the most popular series <>f films of this nature are those which are known as "The Adventures of Fools head.” in which a person whose char acter is well conveyed by his name go through a series of most astonishing adventures, and conics to grief in a score of different ways. Foolshead is an assistant in a large store, and is so enamoured of the

through the chute for parcels in the basement, where he lands on a pile of hat boxes. as shown in the first of our pictures s(*h*<*t<‘<l from this film. Recovering liis senses. I'ool>hea<l lalmriously climbs up the chute to the shop. when, seeing the proprietor coming into view with a party of customers. hr hides ladiind a pile of furniture and carpets, which, by an un-

lucky movement, he precipitates upon the party. He next gets behind a big stall of plaster statuettes, and the crash here, as the others appear, is greater than ever. Finally, Foolshead opens the door of a large cupboard, into which the pursuers rush whereupon the door is slammed to. and he and his sweetheart sit on the overturned cupboard and parley with the father until his consent is given to an

early marriage. His adventures, however, are by no means at an end. and another picture shows the great little comedian as a chauffeur, whose car breaks down in a tbusy thorough fore. Water being required for cooling purposes, he obtains a supply, but in a leaky watering-can. Petrol is next required, which he obtains in his usual hurry, knocking two policemen into a tank in the process. The petrol is no sooner in the tank than a tyre bursts. lie now goes off in an even greater hurry for a tyre, upsetting, in the way shown in the photograph, the contents of the shop before being suited. On his way back he meets a friend. They celebrate the occasion, and when Foolshead returns—of course, without the tyre —the car is blazing furiously. As might be expected, the modern sport of roller-skating oilers Foolshead an

exceptional opportunity for the exercise of his unique gifts. It is his weakness f<»r tin* fair sex which leads him into trouble. Meeting a lady in the street, nothing will satisfy him but that they should go linking together. Foolshead signalises his entry by bowling over a couple of linkers, and then, seeing his lady friend skating towards the refreshment room with another cavalier, he gives chase. In an outer room he keeps his feet with difficulty by clinging to the curtains at the doorway, and then, venturing away from their support, saves him self by grasping the long white beard of an elderly skater, whom he wheels round several times before bringing him to the floor with a crash.

I he lady and gentleman skate gracefully between the chairs and tables in the refreshment rooms, but Foolshead.

following, brings furniture and diners down together, and leaves inextricable confusion la-fore he again reaches the floor. This exhausts the patience of the manager, and Foolshead is thrown into the street. He lands outside a house <loor. where stands one of the large wicker arrangements used by children learning to walk quickly. Creeping inside this,

he progresses down the street in triumph, save for one tumble caused by unexpectedly meeting his late fair companion and her new attendant.

We now pass to another favourite of the biograph theatre. Max Linder, who impersonates a youth supposed to be smitten with the charms of two damsels. Timidly, yet with a certain amount of determination, he follows them through the streets, and all hints that his presence

is not desirable are lost upon him. Annoyed at his presumption, the two girls resolve to make him pay for his audacity. With very little effort he is lured into a confectioner’s shop and compelled to consume a quantity of unwholesome cakes as a penalty. A visit to the dentist follows, and before he is well aware of it he has lost a couple of good teeth.

He is full of pluck, however, and continues the chase, with a handkerchief pressed to his face, and is soon inveigled into smoking some cigarettes which they press upon him. These, however, as another photograph shows, put the finishing touch to his discomfort, and the young lady-killer is finally vanquished. The humorous side of the question has detained us so long that ,ve have scarcely space to touch upon the pathetic and the sensational. However, of the former, let us take as a typical example the film entitled “The Call of the Heart.” It tells the story of a widowed mother, who, finding herself near death, instructs her little daughter to trust God and seek a shelter where He may direct her. She pins a note to the little one’s dress, telling of her mother's death, and soon after the child has left the mother dies. By some strange disposition of Fate, the

child is led to the comfortable home of a hard-fisted old miser who thinks of no one but himself. The little girl is cared for by the housekeeper, and taken to the old man, who has just awakened from a dream, in which his conscience has been aroused. He realises his hardhearted meanness, having been brought by his dream to an appreciation of the blessings of charity. When he sees the .little orphan and the note slip ihas brought with her, the old fellow cannot resist her winning ways. He takes her to his heart and home, ana leiomes as a child himself. Now. finally, for a sensational scene, of which as good an example as any is that entitled “The Power of the Press.”

Bill Mawson, mayor of a small American town, is on bad terms with a local editor, whom he has succeeded in driving out of the town. John Marsden, the new editor, arrives, and Mawson attempts to make him his tool. On Marsden refusing the Mayor starts a conspiracy to get rid of him, but his niece, Nettie, overhears the plot, and warns Marsden. He refuses to fly, and is soon afterwards "held up ” by some masked men, among whoan he recognises Bill Mawson, the Mayor. They drag him to a tree and put a rope round his neck, as shown in our last picture, but he still refuses to obey the mayor. Everything is ready, when Nettie dashes up with the police and rescues her lover from death. Marsden takes Nettie in his arms and graciously intervenes for the release of Mawson, who extends his hand and promises to mend his ways. Such, then, is the quality of the fare

provided by the biograph theatre, and if it is true that it does not appeal essentially to the “superior |>erson,” but to an infinitely wider public, there is no reason why it should 'be regarded as any the worse for that.