UNIVERSAL CITY

Hokitika Guardian, 17 July 1926, Page 4

UNIVERSAL CITY

(By T. .1. Henry, in a Sydney paper.) IJ. i NTER rOR G LIMPSES. Having roamed over the outside expanses of the mile-square " eitv ” and heheld the interesting objects described in tin: former article, wo entered one of the large buildings abutting on the main avenue. Unlike some of the “ fake ” structures tve hud admired, the huge indoor studio possess no architectural merits. It is a plain structure of wood, little more than a huge shell, having :i lofty roof and immense floor space. There is practically no glass in the roof, and what there is serves merely for ordinary lighting purposes. Interior scenes nowadays are “shot” hy artificial light. The vast floor was littered with all kinds of “ sets ” —wide stair-cases which in a picture would set off some noble mansion, drawing-rooms, restaurants, kitchens, bedrooms, and, in fact, almost any kind of interior required to display either high life or low lile. There were also many appliances for giving versiinilitude to sensational pictures; a wind machine, which consisted of an engine with an aeroplane propeller; a stationary motor car mounted on springs, and used for “ close-ups ” of passengers, who really remain in the one spot, but apparently would he travelling forward, and other ingenious contrivances. There were piles of scenery which could he made to represent the walls of rooms and so forth. Studios of different sizes are marked off from the general area by movable partitions. We stationed ourselves among the little group of spectators—actors waiting for their calls, miscellaneous employees, and a couple of musicians—and watched the preparation of some scenes. Ihe most conspicuous personage was the director,

a tall man. who for comlort had removed his coat, waistcoat and collar. The scene represented an elaborately furnished private .billiard-room. Two gentlemen in evening dress, whose faces were elaborately “ made up,” were playing at the table. After a tow strokes they left off and engaged in an animated conversation, moving about.

and displaying emotion. They actually spoke, but in tones too 'low to be distinguished. Simple as the scene appeared to be. the director insisted on it being rehearsed time after time. He would personally demonstrate how certain movements should be made, or send a young lady who had change of the “scrip” to point out passages to. the players. In spite of being so exacting that the actors must have felt infinitely bored, lie never got excited or lost his temper. He was always suave and calm. I was told that the roaring, bullying type has practically died out. Possibly huge crowds in spectacular outdoor nieces occasionally’ require forcible exhortation, but the actors would not stand such in indoor

Bill Id. IA N’T ILLUMINATION. Most of the time there was simply a moderate light, which had a greenish tint, thrown on the actors. . But now and then the director would call on the electricians to produce the full photographic power, so that he could judge how the scene would appear when being “shot.” It was a blaze indeed. About 15ft above the floor a platform ran round the studio. On this stood or moved from place to place as ordered by the director seven or eight men. each of whom bad charge. of a powerful searchlight, mounted on a wheeled stand. On the floor itself stood as many more. I counted 14 powerful lights. All being ready and the director satisfied, the word -to “ shoot ” was given. Electricians, carpenters, and others who might interfere skipped out of focus, a couple of musicians played soft crooning music on a violin and harmonium, the lull light was turned on, and the camera men turned the handles until the scene was finished. Then another scene was taken no. This time it was one of the actors. Mr Robert Kirkwood, a young man with regular features and a refined, aristocratic expression, completing his .toilet before a mirror, with an obsequious valet standing by and assisting him to put on his coat and see that it “sat” properly. This scene, again was gone through till everyone must have boon tired out. After the novelty of seeing how the photographing is done wears off there are lew penances worse than having to watch the rehearsals.

A “ COMIC.” I'!lit wo soon sow a “shooting” which was Jess tedious. Every now ainl then as we watched the scenes above described we heard wild shouts and yells some, little distance away. The noise .suggested the spasmodic outbursts of “ barrackers ” at a football match. Intent on solving the mystery, we traced the sounds to their soiyee, and found ourselves in another of the several studios in the same large building. We had stumbled on the making of the final scene in one of Joe Rock’s two-reel comics, called “ Rack Fire.” This may not be its definite name, as sometimes the titles are changed before the film is “ released.” This scene represented a burlesque children’s party. The participants, of whom there were about a dozen, were almost all dressed in over-emphasised juvenile attire, notwithstanding that they were mostly grown-ups. The comic housemaid of course was among those present. But the outstanding feature was the presence, of three very fat men. One was the fattest man I have ever seen. I learned that he turns the scale at 29st. 'ict he was active and alert in every way. and quite a young man. The director, Mr Charles La Mont, insisted on the scene being done again and again. It was a wild alarm, in which the actors rushed about, jumping through windows, hiding hurriedly behind furniture, or roling themselves in rugs. No accessory music was needed to inspire these wild antics. The players made their own music, and stimulated themselves bv wild shouts and yells, hi one of the intervals between the successive repetitions of the action, one of the players. .Mr Lewis Sargent, whom 1 had met previously and who is a friend of one of the ladies I was accompanying, came forward, and kindly gave us interesting particulars about the film. At last the exigent director was satisfied, and with many ear-splitting yells, which would have given local colour to a Wild West Show, the wearied actors .went through the scene while the lights blazed from many angles and • the cameras were cranked.

SPOKEN V. SILENT DRAMA. Alter seeing several scenes ” shot in Universal City, and previously in l.asky’s Famous Players studio. I have come to the conclusion that the person who really acts is the director. His lira in conceives how the parts should be performed. He thinks out

every movement, every facial expression. every piece of ” business.’ and insists that the players scrupulously obey. It is easy to imagine that any young man or woman with features which “ register ” on the film, and endowed with natural intelligence, and mimetic faculty, could lie made into a more than passable artist in the hands of a cajiable director. Of course, some great artists are their own directors. Another impression is of the extreme tediousness of picture acting. M bat first struck me when a couple of years ago I saw a scene rehearsed which necessitated a number of young lady courtiers was the bored and petulant

expression these young women wore when they were sitting and lounging round waiting to he drilled' again and again in their parts. Such is a natural consequence of repeatedly going over the one scene. The silver sheet drama contrasts in its rehearsals with those of the spoken stage. In the stage play the action moves in its correct sequence. One incident leads naturally to another, and the interest is sustained. Jlut in the movies all considerations give way to topical convenience. For example, we see on the screen ail outdoor scene in which a number of crooks are chased through a door bv the police. Immediately we see the interior of the room with the crooks therein. On the film the actions are successive and rapid. But in preparation the first scene may take place in the open air, the second in an indoor studio, 'flic second may actually precede the first hy days or weeks. Thus the actors arc not inspired by any interest in the particular scene they are engaged on. The individual scenes are merely disconnected mosaics, fitted together in intelligible sequence later on. Also, a scene which slips through the lantern in two minutes may have taken two hours in preparation. Even after completion some

scenes may he unsatisfactory and have to he done over and over again, and much of the tedious work repeated. Til the “ cutting room,” too, scenarios are often found to he over-long and drastically shortened. Tt is computed that for every foot of celluloid finally shown 10ft are wasted. The moving picture can never supersede the old spoken stage drama. Even “speaking films” will seen uncanny and fail to make the definite impression which actors of flesh and blood make. In a few hours we forget the details of the acting in the best films; in a great spoken drama we remember them forever. The stage players are objective and actual: the movie actors truly “Come like shadows, so depart.”