Mike Listens and Lens Blinks

Radio Record, Volume IV, Issue 12, 3 October 1930, Page 1

Mike Listens and Lens Blinks

ILL BISHOP and_ the Melody Four of 2YA Eight

O’Clock Revue fame have made a_ talkie-the first studio sound picture to be made in New Zealand. And this was done because so many admirers had wanted to see the very famous quintet. ‘To the microphone

and camera they have sung their best-liked numbers, and within a few weeks they will be able to be seen and heard

on the sound screen at the principal theatres in New Zealand.

They have been assisted by Signor A. P. Truda’s orchestra, who play for the titles, and both combinations can be seen and heard in the

Space of a very few moments. Both combina-

tions have proved popular with 2YA listeners, and this new departure must find favour with listeners. |

1 ER’S Wally? ’E should "ave bin ’ere at one .’clock to make this ’ere talkie," I heard in the best W.B. vernacular on arriving at the new studios of Filmcraft in Miramar on Saturday afternoon to see the first studio talkie made in N.Z. Of course W.B. doesn’t always talk like that, but he was just training for this talkie he was going to make. Wally was missing, and the boys were quite in a way abeut it. The camera man buify erecting his camera in the®pen air, and sensing something was wrong I asked, "But where is the studio?" "There," said Mr. Biere, who was controlling the camera, pointing to a brick wall that was covered with a futuristic-

ally coloured canvas, and in front of which was a piano and other studio fittings. Then it dawned upon me that this was open-air photography, to obviate the necessity of artificial lighting. While ‘W.B. and the Three Melody Boys were looking out for Wally I took the opportunity to examine more closely the workings of the many black suitcases around me. "Where are the glass boxes to shield the camera from the microphone?" I asked, as I understood that talkies had to be made in soundproof buildings with the cameras in glass cases, so that the very sensitive microphone ,

would not pick up extraneous noise and the purr "of the motors. : i "We have gone a little past that stage," explained Mr. Biere, "the electric motor is housed in a soundproof box and hung in sponge rubber. We no longer turn handles or anything like that. The motor is connected to an accumulator in that box over there and joined to the camera by a cable." You don’t use power from the mains, then?" I queried. "No. For outside work we must have our own power, and so have to be self-supporting. Besides, batteries are needed for the amplifiers." That was news to me, and I was just about to ask why this power could not be drawn from the mains when they were at hand, when W.B. came on the scene again. There was no Wally, and Mr. Biere was just threading the film through thé mechanism which enabled both pictures in‘te¥mittently and sound continuously to be recorded on the same film. "Car just cum in and no Wally!" "And there won’t be for another half an hour," I ventured, not knowing too much about the Miramar car service. . "Tf that’s’the case you will have to take — Wally’s place," said Uncle Billy addressing himself to me. "But " I stammered, for I had never sung a note in my life, and am not likely to. My excuses were cut short. The imperturbable Wally, as though nothing had happened, came ott the scene. "Hullo, boys. Rotten service they have out this way. Had to take a taxi or there would have been no talkie for me. Right oh, Bill.

Pll be with you in a few moments," and he disappeared into the dressing-room. Everything being in order, W.B. started talking about fades, close-ups, angles, and many other things about which I knew very little. But he seemed to know a great deal about the game. Afterward I learned that he had spent many years in an English picture concern, but before. the days of the talkies. All this time Mr. Biere was peering through a little finder that showed the scene as it was going to be filmed, and adjusting his camera accordingly. "Hi! I want the camera closer," called out W.B. "You are getting a close-up now," rejoined Mr. Biere, and then he explained that now: cameras were not moved

about; lens of different types were arranged on a turret over the regular lens, so that any desired size ot objects could be secured. There was one lens that could take a close-up at 100 yards. ‘You see, Mr. Bishop, things have altered during the last few years." At this stage my attention was attracted to another box which had just been opened. I was very interested in this, for there were three efficient-looking meters, the pointers of which .took up their respective places when a switch was turned by the gentleman responsible for the sound recordings, , Mr. McLean. There is somethine about meters

that always demands my attention, and my first task on seeing them is to find out what they all .mean. The one on the left was easy. It was marked "Volts D.C." and the pointer showed five. Of course that had to be multiplied by something, probably ten, I thought, as this was ' a portable outfit. I suggested that to Mr. McLean, and after he had removed two huge rubber-cupped phonés from his ears and asked me to repeat my question, laughed, and said that there were 500 volts, all battery supplied. "There must be no sign of a ripple, for, although it may not be perceptible to the ear, it will become evident when it is recorded on the film. So we provide batteries," he added, lifting the lid from the battery box and revealing a collection of some twelve 40-volt batteries of a make well-known to radio enthusiasts. All this time W.B. was rehearsing at the piano, and keeping in time with his voice was a small needle in the second meter on the amplifier box. Mr. McLean was watching this very closely, and giving instructions for the microphone to be moved. Ir was all very fascinating. There was Mr. Will Bishop singing a ditty about girls who were crazy over him, the sounds being picked up by the ultra-sensitive microphone (which, by the way, is made in Wellington and is better than an imported one), being turned into electrical vibrations, amplified by a ‘ stage in the microphone housing, and passed to the main amplifier. Being strengthened, these vibrations were going through the meter which showed. how the sound looked in electricity. From here they were going to the cell that had made the talkies possible. (Concluded on page 3.),

A Story which tells how a Popular BROADCAST COMBINATION made their first TALKIE |

Related by

C.W.

S.

The First Studio Talkie

(Continued from page 1.) I was particularly interested in this piece of apparatus, and Mr. Biere withdrew it’ from the camera to show exactly what was happening. The ~heell was sparking and the light differed in intensity according to the sound. There were bright sparks and dull ones, but there were thousands of flickers every second. These are admitted to the film through a slit onethousandth of an inch, and the slide of the film has a mark on it 1/1000th of an inch wide, of a density corresponding to the note sounded by subject. It was all very wonderful, There before me the little ditty being sung was being turned into electricity and amplified, then into light, and finally into black and white, and recorded. But the process was expensive, for the camera was valued at over a thousand pot s, the little photo cell ten pounds, jits jie ten hours. Eo . ejaculation-‘Hey, Sam, who after Katie of Kaiwarra?’ -interrupted my musing. "Don’t know, Bill-you wrote it, didn’t you?" "S’pose I did. Were’s some blimmen chalk," and W.B. disappeared into the building: and emerged a few minutes later with a blackboard inscribed by heiroglyphics that were intelligible only to the man himself. "Did Mr. Bishop write it himself?’ inquired one of the assistants who was near me at the time. I explained that he did, and that the other ditty that he was to sing, "Ode to the Kiwi’ (or some name like that, I have forgotten what the boys call it), was likewise original. "That is the beauty of the whole show to-day-it is original,’ added one ~Y,

of the Melody Four, who were nearby. The little cornfields ditty is our own arrangement." "Well, there will be no copyright problems," I added, remembering the efforts that had already been made by broadcasting artis to overcome this difficult’ situation. "Just once more, that introduction,

please, Mr. Bishop," I heard Mr. McLean ask, and in a few moments all was ready for the first studio talkie. It was bitterly cold, for the wind was cutting over the wall, sheltering Mr. Bishop and almost freezing everyone else. I noticed that some disappeared and came out with coats on.

I was regretful that I had left mine at the office, and tried to shelter behind a wing of the building, but it was hopeless. I was glad when a little later someone announced that there was some ‘tea inside. — The making of the talkie was no more than I had expected after the preliminaries; the camera was set in motion by the simple expedient of turning the switch, and W.B. just did his turn. When he had finished, camera-motor and sound-recorder were turned off, and the deed had been doné. "Well, ’ow did it come through?" "Fine," we all chorused, for it had been a good turn. "Did you like it, Walter?’ asked W.B., addressing himself to our old friend. "Too right, I did, Bill," was the pat rejoinder, for the opportunity to recall the broadcast patter was too good to miss, and Mr. Marshall rose to the occasion. While the films were being changed, the Melody Four took their position by the piano, the microphone was adjusted, and everything was in readiness. "Now once over to your Uncle Billy," and a dress rehearsal was staged. Half-way through W.B. picked up a piece of cinder and wrote something on the wall, and later added another word. "All right, boys, but there are a couple of things," and W.B. moved over and held a consultation. "Right

oh, lettergo," and the Melody Four mede their talkie. In the next and final act the five took part. It was the "Ode to the Kiwi," and even though we had heard it often it did not fail to raise a smile (for laughs were prohibited at this stage) when it was finally sung to the camera. A few moments after the last word had been uttered, the camera, ‘sound equipment and microphone were down and packed, for there was another film to be made that afternoon. ‘ This week, the famous Rotorua Maori party are to have a film recorded at Rotorua. "How does it feel like to be film stars?’ I queried. "Great, except we'll get a wire to take an aeroplane to Hollywood when they see this effort," said one of the boys. "When will the film be ready?" we asked Mr. Biere. "We'll develop it this afternoon, you can see it next week, and it will be out to the theatres a week hence, but when it will be released I do not know." "The ‘s fine," and ‘thinking that our readers would like to see a piece of the film I asked if we could get a print in time for this week’s issue. "Yes, I think we can manage that," said the photographer, and that is how tits unique picture is in the paper this week. : And so the first New Zealand studio talkie was made by broadcast artists. A 1YA Lecture-Recital Meas DAISY BASHAM, whose talks about famous composers are always so informative and interesting, will take for the subject of her next recital "Rossini." She will, on this occasion, be assisted by Mr. Len Barnes, baritone. Rossini, happily :emembered as the most modest and good-humoured musician who ever lived, holds his place on the operatic stage of to-day solely by "The Barber of Seville," which, in spite of its age, is one of the best comic operas the world possesses. His serious work, "William Tell," is no less worthy of affectionate regard, but except for the overture. it has apparently disappeared from the present-day theatre. It begins with a fine, tuneful section for the ’cellos in four parts, popular with ’cello players and with listeners alike. The section which follows describes a great storm among the hills; calm succeeds, and a quiet pastoral scene, and there is a stirring march, these combining to make the overture picturesque and graphic in a Way that the overture for the older Italian operas did not by any means always achieve. One of the numbers to be played by the 1YA Orchestra on the evening of the lecture-recital will be the "Semiramide" overture, only the overture of which now survives. It is interesting, however, to recall that the opera itself made something of a success when given under Rossini’s own direction at the King’s Theatre, London, in 1824,