Writing the Photoplay Part 5

24--Interior of sheriff's office. Door at left, closest to working-line, leads to street. Door at back of room, when opened, shows exterior backing--

Enter Dr. Turner and Freeman. Sheriff and deputy step back as they enter and bar door the moment they have come in.

Steve sits on chair beside table, handcuffed. His face shows only a complete resignation to his fate. He is neither excited nor indifferent. Doctor speaks to sheriff, who nods.

Doctor goes to Steve with deputy, who unlocks handcuffs.

Doctor quickly examines Steve's wounded arm, then binds it up. _Meantime_ the sheriff is listening to Freeman, who tells him of all Steve has done for him, in helping to save the life of his child. Sheriff plainly much impressed. Looks across at Steve and shakes head, realizing his duty and yet filled with sympathy for the outlaw. Freeman continues to plead with him. Doctor finishes working with Steve and looks across at them. Sheriff and deputy whirl round and draw guns again as all hear sound of heavy blows on street door. (If position of door in set permits, show door shaken as if by blows upon it.) All realize that the mob means business. On back wall is reward placard similar to one posted outside (same card). Sheriff, turning to Steve, points to this.

Steve nods. Sheriff calls attention of all to back door.

Then, facing Steve again, he indicates, "If I let you go that way, will you live honestly hereafter?" Steve looks at him a moment, then crosses to placard and pointing to words proclaiming reward for "Aravaipa Steve," pa.s.ses other hand in front of eyes, as if in disgust at what he has been, then hangs head. Sheriff watches him a moment, then holds out his hand. Steve grasps it and turns to Freeman and Dr. Turner.

As deputy turns toward street door, hearing more knocking upon it, Freeman and doctor both shake hands with Steve, sheriff quietly opens back door, and Steve, after hesitating a moment, slips out. Sheriff bars back door and, turning around, runs across to street door and shouts to crowd on outside, haranguing them to gain time.

25--Rear of sheriff's office, showing corner of building and side wall, looking toward street. Several horses are tied all along side of wall, out of sight of the mob in front of building--

Steve, leaving door, which is just closing, creeps up to nearest horse, unties it, and leads it away from building (toward camera). Then he mounts and dashes away, out of picture.

26--Interior of sheriff's office, same as 24--

Sheriff, smiling at others in room, still arguing with crowd outside. Deputy, Freeman and Dr. Turner, also smiling, stand in center of room.

27--Front of ranch house, same as 5--

Steve rides up and dismounts, calling out to Jess. She presently appears in doorway. On seeing him safe, her face shows intense relief and thankfulness. Then she realizes that he is not yet out of danger. She points toward town. He indicates that the horse he has ridden belongs to someone in town. He takes money from pocket and hands it to her, indicating that he wishes her to give it to the owner of the horse. She a.s.sents. Steve then points inside. Jess invites him to follow her in. He goes up steps after her.

28--Bedroom, same as 4--

Jess enters, followed by Steve. He goes across to bed and bends over Norma, who is sleeping quietly. Turning around, he sees the photographs on the shelf on wall, Jess's picture among them. He looks at her as if hesitating to speak, then, pointing to her picture, asks if he may take it with him.

She is a trifle confused at first; then, realizing the change that has taken place in the man, she takes it down and is about to hand it to him, when he takes piece of pencil from pocket of vest and hands it to her, asking her to write her name on it. Jess looks at him, then takes pencil and writes on back of photo.

29--Bust of Jess's right hand holding photograph, showing back, on which is written:

WITH THE SYMPATHY AND BEST WISHES OF JESS FREEMAN. I SHOULD LIKE TO KNOW, A YEAR FROM NOW, HOW YOU ARE GETTING ON.

30--Back to 28--

Jess hands the photograph to Steve. He glances at what is written and looks at her as if longing to speak, but merely takes her hand and looks his great grat.i.tude, and determination to atone for the past, urged on by her encouragement. Then he turns to door and she follows him out of room.

31--Front of ranch, same as 5--

Steve mounted ready to ride away. He holds photograph in left hand, still bandaged. He puts out right hand again and takes Jess's, in a parting handshake. Then he puts photo in inner pocket of vest, and with a last word and a smile of grat.i.tude, rides quickly away. Jess watches him ride out of sight, then sits on steps and looks in direction he has gone, starting to weep softly.

_Leader--_

A YEAR LATER.

32--Kitchen, same as 8--

Jess laying table for meal. Norma a.s.sisting her (or, if a young child is used, playing). Freeman enters from outer door, as if just returning from town. He carries bundles, etc. Puts these down, takes letters from pocket, hands two to Jess. She looks at one and lays it carelessly on table.

After a glance at the other she signifies, "It must be from him!" Freeman and child do not observe her expression. She opens letter and reads:

On screen. Letter--

Dear Miss Freeman,

I am writing this from Winslow--it's as near to your home as I care to go. But I've got a good position in San Francisco, and thank G.o.d I'm living honestly where n.o.body knows my past record. I'd give anything to see you again. Do you think your father would bring you on a visit?

Gratefully yours,

Stephen Hammond.

Back to scene.

Jess's face lights up gladly. She goes to her father and gives him letter, which he reads. He looks at her narrowly.

She hangs her head in some confusion. He stands for a moment in deep thought. Then he takes Jess's hands and, as she looks straight into his eyes, he nods his head, draws her to him and kisses her. Norma comes up and puts her arms round her father as he and Jess stand there. Jess kneels and takes Norma in her arms.

CHAPTER VI

THE MECHANICAL PREPARATION OF THE SCRIPT

Any successful photoplaywright will testify that the proper preparation of the photoplay script has much to do with its being accepted, especially if more than the mere synopsis is offered.

At first this may seem to be an extreme statement, but its truth will become more and more evident as we proceed. Furthermore, its importance should be accepted by writers early in the work because every stage of photoplay writing has its direct bearing upon, and looks toward, the preparation of the script. For this reason the present chapter is introduced at this point, though in actual time-sequence the preparation of the ma.n.u.script in its final form will usually come after all its several parts have been considered, blocked out, and arranged. It will be highly important, therefore, to review this chapter after finishing the sections of this volume which deal in particular with the several parts of the photoplay.

It is to be regretted, let us reiterate, that so much has been said, by manufacturers and others, to the effect that no literary training is necessary in order to write salable photoplays, for, as a result, countless absolutely "impossible" scripts are constantly pouring into the editors' offices--impossible, in a great many cases, not because of the lack of idea, for very often the illiterate writer has both a vivid imagination and the power to use it, but because frequently the good idea is expressed in such unintelligible language, and with such execrable spelling and hopelessly incorrect punctuation, that the thread of the plot, its meaning, and values, cannot be grasped by the editor. Even when the story itself is not utterly lost to the script reader, he is too busy a man to wade through it bit by bit, struggling to make something out of a jumble of confusing words. The demand for good scripts is greater than the supply--but the supply is increasing, and the standard is rising. This means that although there are dozens--to put it mildly--of men and women entering the field each week, easily three-fourths of these brand themselves as hopelessly unqualified when they drop their first script into the mail-box.

The repeated failures of the unprepared have given rise to the rumor that only the scripts of favored writers are read in editorial offices. The old trick of placing small pieces of paper between the sheets, in order to prove whether or not the script was read through, is as popular today as it was twenty years ago with story writers. The gentleman who has the first reading of all the scripts received by a certain company called the attention of one of the present authors to just such a script only recently. What was the result? Some of the minute pieces of paper fell out the moment the script was taken from the envelope for examination. That was enough. The script was almost immediately placed in another envelope and returned to the writer--with a rejection slip. Unfair treatment of the writer? Not at all! Following the discovery of the concealed particles of paper, a glance at the first page was sufficient to convince the editor that it was the work of another amateur who was foolish enough to add to a miserably prepared script the proof that he doubted the honesty of the editor to whom he had addressed his offering.

It is only reasonable to believe that every editor will read at least so much of every script as is necessary to convince him of its value or its lack of value to the firm by which he is employed. He draws a salary to discover stories which _are_ worth while, and is always on the lookout for good, live, gripping stories which will make pictures calculated to add to the reputation of his employer. There is just one way he can find such stories, when the author's name is unknown to him, and that is by reading the script, either in whole or so far as to permit his trained judgment to pa.s.s fairly upon it. The editor who does not do this honestly either does not exist or will soon lose his position, for he will be sure to overlook valuable material by his negligence.

At the very outstart resolve to _be professional in your methods, be businesslike, and play fair_.

The advisability of constantly abiding by these three rules of the photoplay writing "game" must be apparent to any intelligent person.

Though the field for the sale of photoplay scripts is likely to become much larger, and the prices paid promise to become better as time goes on, every day some new writer of proved ability (in the field of fiction writing, as a rule), enters _this_ field. Against him, with his superior experience and knowledge of literary usages, you must compete. Therefore, in order to win, you must do as he does. _He is fair to himself._ From a mechanical point, his scripts are likely to be all that they ought to be; he sends them out knowing that they are in correct form to receive the proper consideration of the most exacting editor. _And they do._ In the same mail with his script comes one from a beginner. This unknown writer may have an idea--that _most_ important requisite in picture-play writing--which is really fresher and even better than that embodied in the story of the experienced writer. But the merit of the idea is hopelessly concealed under a ma.s.s of misleading and unnecessary language; the script is poorly written--in longhand; it is badly s.p.a.ced; spelling, punctuation, everything, betray ignorance or carelessness of what is expected in a properly prepared script. What chance, then, does it stand when placed beside that of the trained writer? And whose fault is it?

_Give yourself a fair chance._ From the day that you write your first photoplay, write it so carefully, prepare the script with so much regard for the accepted rules, that no editor will be able to point to it with a sigh and exclaim: "Oh, well, it has to be read. Here goes!"

Make it a script that he will dive into with keen antic.i.p.ation of finding something as good as its mechanical preparation would cause him to expect.

We now add a number of items of practical advice.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Essanay Producing Yard; Two Interior Sets Being Arranged for a Historical Drama]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Players Waiting for Their Cues in the Gla.s.s-Enclosed Selig Studio]

THE PAPER. This is an important matter, and you should _not_ follow your own preference or convenience. The paper should be of regulation Ms. ("letter") size, 8-1/2 by 11 inches, not transparent, and should be pure white.

The editor prefers not to examine odd sizes when he is used to the uniformity of the proper ma.n.u.script paper. Never use foolscap, or 8-1/2 by 13 paper. The writer knows one studio in which the different directors, all of whom write photoplays of their own, use the 8-1/2 by 13 size; but remember, it is the director's privilege to write his scripts on shop-keeper's wrapping paper if he so desires. So make it 8-1/2 by 11.