Here are five minor characters, and yet, if the director desired, he could use only two people to play all five parts. Mrs. Brown's maid in 9 and 11 could easily change to a trained nurse for 22. The actor playing the policeman in 15 could just as easily make up as a blind beggar for 27; and he would then be able to change again and go on as a colored porter in 28, the next scene.

A point that many who are not familiar with the inner workings of the studios do not realize is that although Scene 10, let us say, is "done" on one day, Scene 11 may not be taken until the following day, or even a week later. It frequently happens that one set is allowed to stand for several days, on account of "re-takes" that have been found necessary, or because a director has difficulty in obtaining a certain lighting effect. In such cases certain players are required to play the same part over and over again, even though between the "re-takes" they may "work" for other directors in the same studio.

6. Actual Work on the Cast

You will probably find that the best and easiest way to prepare your cast of characters is to keep a rough list of all the people who take part in the action, as you write the scenario. Because, of course, although the cast of characters is the second division of the script, it should have its final preparation after the scenario has been completed, for the same reason that the synopsis is also finally prepared when the scenario has been finished.

Keep a sheet of paper beside you as you write your scenario. First put down the names of all your principal characters so as to have them before your eyes as you write. Then as you work out your scenario, scene after scene, set down every character introduced; for example, if you use a doctor, who merely pays one visit to a patient appearing in only one scene, set down the following on your memorandum sheet:

and so on. At the time you write Scene 2 you may think that that is the only one in which you will use the doctor; later on, perhaps as you are giving the action of Scene 16, you may find that you have occasion to introduce a doctor again. Unless Scene 16 is supposed to be located in another part of the country, the chances are that you might just as well bring in the same physician again, and you then simply make it

7. Naming the Characters

Of course it is unnecessary to give a name to everyone appearing in a picture. The cast of characters is made up of the names only of those whose work in the photoplay materially advances the action in some way or another. On the "legitimate" stage any character who has even a "line" to say may be said to have a "speaking part." Only these are supposed to be in the cast proper. Similarly, in the photoplay no one whose work in the picture is not in some way necessary to the working out of the plot need be given a name. In the same way that you would write "Doctor, in 2 and 16," or "Policeman, in 8," write

The following is quoted from Mr. Epes Winthrop Sargent's weekly department, "The Photoplaywright," in The Moving Picture World. He says all that could be said upon a subject that is of the greatest importance, no matter on what division of the photoplay script you are at work—the necessity for simplifying everything so as to make it quickly and easily understood by editor and director alike:

"When you start to write a play decide what you are going to call your characters, and adhere to your decision. If you have a character named Robert Wilson, do not indiscriminately call him Bob, Robert, and Wilson. Decide on one of the three and use that one invariably. If your character travels under an alias, being known as Montgomery in society, and Jimmy the Rat in the underworld, do not call him Montgomery in the society scenes and The Rat when he gets among his proper associates. Call him Montgomery straight through, and the first time he changes from Jekyll to Hyde tell the audience, in a leader, that he is known as the Rat; but in the plot of action hold to Montgomery, because you started with that and do not want to confuse the director. The editor is going to read in a hurry the first time through, and he cannot continually consult the cast to identify your constant changes in cognomens.

"Be careful in selecting your names. Do not let them sound too much alike, or confusion will arise. Often a story will be sent back that might be regarded more carefully were the characters more individually named, and perhaps fewer of them named. Too many names are apt to be confounded with each other. Names too much alike or not possessed of individual sound are apt to be confusing. In either case your story is not readily understood on a first reading and never passes to a second perusal. Take pains with your literary baptisms."

It seems scarcely necessary to point out that it is both easier and better to call the young people by whatever Christian name you decide to give them and to refer to their elders by their last name. You can say Freeman or Mr. Freeman, when speaking of Jess's father, but do not say that Tom and Miss Freeman are discovered by her father making love. Simply say Tom and Jess. If Jess's father is a farmer or a miner, it may seem more natural to say Freeman, or Jess's father. If he is a banker or a stock broker, you may choose to speak of him as Mr. Freeman. The most important thing is to make the name, as clearly as possible, suggest the age, rank, and general characteristics of the person to whom it is given.

A good deal has been written concerning the advisability of using only short and simple names for most characters in the photoplay. Others have advised photoplay authors to try to discover unhackneyed names for their characters. There are, of course, hundreds of short and appropriate "first" names for people of different nationalities; the trouble, especially with amateur writers, is that such names as Tom, Jack, Jim, and Charley, and May, Mary, Grace, Ethel, and Kate, are used over and over again, and without any regard to the surname which follows them. Simple and common names are desirable, so long as they really fit the characters who bear them. John and Tom and Mary and Kate are names that will be used over and over again, both in fiction and in photoplay. But unusual names are desirable too, provided they fit the characters. The work of an amateur writer can almost always be told by the names he gives his characters.

In the writing of photoplays, where the author has no description to rely on to explain who and what his characters are, there is especial need of names that will help to indicate the social status of his different characters. In real life, a bank president is as likely to be a Casey or a Smith as he is to be a Rutherford or a Pendleton, but the chances are that, when given to a great banker, either of the last two names would make a greater impression on "popular" spectators. Again, certain names instantly make us think of villainy, while others as plainly tell us that the owner of the name is an honest man. The authors of the "good old" melodramas used exaggerated names that today would probably be laughed at. "Jack Manly" and "Desmond Dangerfield" would hardly "get by" in modern drama or in present-day picture plays; but the idea of appropriateness that was responsible for such names being used is what is needed by photoplaywrights who desire to name their characters convincingly. Percy certainly does not suggest a prizefighter, any more than Miriam portrays a cook.

By all means keep a special notebook in which to jot down new and unusual names to fit characters of every nationality and of every station in life, but try to get names that are short and easily pronounced. Very few photoplaywrights adhere to only one line of writing. A clever and ambitious writer may "do" a story of city life this week, and one with the scenes laid in Mexico the next. You can get plenty of names for your "down East" story, but will you be able to find eight or ten really appropriate names for your photoplay of life in "Little Italy" or the Ghetto? The following methods of obtaining suitable names—especially surnames—for characters have been found very helpful:

1. If you live in a city, cover the different foreign quarters thoroughly and note in your book names of every nationality that strike your fancy.

2. If the public library in your town gets French, Italian, or other foreign papers (all great city libraries do, of course), go over them and get similar lists of foreign names. You can never tell when a typical Russian surname, or an Italian Christian name, may be wanted for one of your stories. This will prevent your calling a Spaniard "Pietro" or an Italian "Pedro."

3. Buy an old or a second-hand city directory. An out-of-date New York or Chicago directory contains names enough, of all nationalities, both Christian names and surnames, to last you a life-time and will cost you little. But directories are not absolutely trustworthy after all.

4. When reading novels and short-stories, copy any names that particularly strike you. Use only the first or the last name in every case, of course, and do the same when selecting names from the directory or from signs in the street. You would not name your hero Richard Mansfield, nor his uncle John Wanamaker, but you might wish to call the uncle Richard Wanamaker and make John Mansfield the hero.

5. Select from regular theatre programs names that please you, but transpose the first and last names as recommended above. If you choose a French Christian name from one of Henri Bernstein's plays, do not take the surname of another character in the same cast to go with it. Rather take it from another French play, or from a French story in a magazine.

You do not wish to find, when the time does come for your cast of characters to be thrown upon the screen, that the director has found it necessary to change half of your names. Make them so good and so appropriate that there will be absolutely no excuse for altering them.

One thing to be remembered, however, is that the picture spectators of today have been gradually educated up to expecting and approving many things which the spectators of a few years ago would have looked upon as too "highbrow." This is due in no small degree to the many screen adaptations of literary classics and fictional successes generally which have been made, as well as to the large number of stage plays that have been transferred to the screen, for, of course, the authors, publishers and dramatic producers have always stipulated that the casts be kept as they originally were made out—except that occasionally certain characters who in the stage-production of a certain play were merely spoken about and described have been, in the photoplay form, actually introduced, and thus added to the cast. But the point is that there is no longer the frantic striving to keep everything as "short and simple as possible" that once existed, and this applies to everything in the nature of inserts quite as much as to the names used for characters in the picture. Little by little "art" in motion picture production is becoming a reality instead of being merely a high-sounding word used occasionally by the press-agents.

8. Describing the Characters

Since there is no restriction placed upon the way in which a cast of characters is made out, the writer may choose between the simple statement-form, when giving the names of his characters, and that in which the appearance and dominant traits of the character are set forth. You can say:

or you can draw a picture of the man himself in the very way you describe him, thus:

Silas Gregory, an extremely wealthy and eccentric miser; a bachelor and a man who both by his appearance and his nature repels the friendship of his fellow men; inclined to practice petty cruelty on children and animals; suspicious of and seeming to hate everybody except his old body-servant, Daniels, to whom he is strangely attached.

While the foregoing is a rather long description of a character to be included as part of the cast-outline, and while some of the points in connection with Gregory's nature could be more forcibly demonstrated by having him do little things in the action that would make them apparent, the point is that you are supplying these items of information for the benefit of the editor and the director, and that, as must be apparent, the fuller their understanding of your meaning in everything you write, the better will be their interpretation and production of your story.

It is very important to keep this point constantly in mind. Seldom is it today that the cast appears on the screen exactly as prepared by the author. Almost all the big companies at the present time are given to long sub-titles, and to lengthy statements in connection with the introduction of the principal characters. Many readers will see the similarity between the second of the foregoing descriptions of the old miser and the printed statement, in connection with a similar character, shown in the Triangle and Paramount pictures written by C. Gardner Sullivan, as well as in many others. The statement on the film which introduces a principal character, today, is much more in the nature of an actual leader than it is a mere announcement of the names of the character and the player. Thus, in Universal's feature production of "The Kaiser," the heroic blacksmith of Louvain was introduced in this way:

In writing out your cast, give your most important characters first. Try, also, to simplify it and eliminate unnecessary words, first writing the name of a principal character and then giving the others in the order of their relationship, as:

This will save words and show at a glance just how the other five characters are related to or connected with Charles Waldron.

Make it a rule to write your cast on the last sheet of your synopsis if you have plenty of room left after finishing the synopsis. Otherwise, use a separate sheet. Don't crowd the two divisions as if you were trying to economize paper. In the cast proper, give the names or occupations of every character whose work in the action really helps to advance the action of the play. Also name the scenes in which appear the various characters—other than the principals, who are likely to dominate nearly every scene.

The first two sample casts which follow do not give the characteristics of the different people concerned in the plot. They are simply reproduced as examples of photoplay casts which have been printed in the manufacturers' bulletins and other advertising matter, after the photoplay itself had been produced and was ready for release. The third and full cast is altered, so as not to be recognizable, from a photoplay which has not yet been produced. This last of the three forms is the one we recommend you to follow.

PIERRE OF THE NORTH

by

Elmer N. Wells

Pierre, a French Canadian trapper.......
Baptiste, his brother...................
Duncan McLain, a trapper................
Mary McKenzie, the factor's daughter....
John McKenzie, the factor...............
Mail Carrier............................
Half Breed..............................

Produced by the Selig Polyscope Company

THE OLD MUSICIAN

by

W.A. Tremayne

FranÇois Vian, an old musician
Pierre le Noir, his neighbor
Oscar Muhlbach, a German spy
Bertha le Noir, Pierre's sister
General of the German army
Infantry officer
Gendarme

Produced by the Vitagraph Company of America

THE SOPHOMORE'S SURPRISE

by

X Y Z

TED CARSON	President of the Freshman class at College; twenty, blonde, bright, athletic, full of gay spirits.
FAY NORTON	The college co-ed beauty, inclined to love Ted, who loves her.
NITA CARSON	Ted's twin sister; a freshman co-ed, in love with Hal Coates.
HAL COATES	President of the Sophomore class; twenty-four, dark; athletic rival of Ted, whom he looks down upon. A college leader; lover of Nita.
DAN WILLIS	Ted's chum; a slim and mischievous Freshman.
"BUCK" SLAGLE	Hal's chum; an unprincipled Sophomore.
DEAN HALL	A nervous professor; comedy character.
POLICEMAN	In 16, 17 and 18.
STUDENTS	Throughout.
WAITERS	In 16, 17 and 18.
CO-EDS	In 4, 6, 7, 10, 13 and 17.

---

again, altering the "business" slightly or hurrying the action a little to reduce the footage consumed in a certain scene. A point worth noting is that the director can seldom figure in advance the exact amount of footage a certain scene will require—even after it has been rehearsed and timed several times; whereas he can always tell the exact number of feet he must give to each of the various inserts, because "insert footage" is reckoned in advance, a certain number of feet being allowed for each word.

Photoplay audiences have gradually been educated up to an appreciation of sub-titles, or leaders, when they are all that they ought to be (a point which we shall presently discuss); and less attention is paid to the rather selfish cry of the illiterates in the audience who insist that "they came to look at pictures, and not to read a book." As one of the most prominent theatre managers in San Francisco recently said in the Motion Picture News: "In many pictures the big scene is 'put over' by a sub-title. The wording of a sub-title in a big situation can make or break a picture, and it is therefore false economy to allow this work to be done by any person other than one with real literary talent, who is thoroughly conversant with the art of expression."

We have already pointed out that in most studios the work of writing leaders and inserts is now attended to by one specialist—the "sub-title editor," as he is usually called. Just as much care is put into the preparation of everything in the nature of an insert as attends the making of the scenes of the picture.

1. Why Inserts Are Used

Before the advent of pictures of five and more reels, with their consequent greater room for inserted matter in addition to the necessary scenes, the general opinion was that the perfect photoplay had no leaders and needed none. Certainly, such a picture would be ideal if a photoplay were to be a motion picture and nothing more than that, since it would be so perfectly acted and so self-explanatory that no inserted explanation of any kind would be necessary. Practically, however, the only photoplay that can be made without the aid of at least a few leaders or other inserts—that is, that can be nothing but pictured action—is one on the order of the Vitagraph Company's one-reel release of several years ago, "Jealousy," in which the entire picture was made in a single set. In it Miss Florence Turner was the only actor, telling the whole story clearly, coherently, and with strong dramatic force, and making every phase of the plot clear, the only outside assistance she received being the momentary appearance of two other hands than her own—a man's and a woman's—through the curtains covering the doorway. This, of course, was pure pantomime, and most artistically performed; the woman's every thought, so to say, was portrayed, and understood by the spectator as if the play were accompanied by a printed synopsis of the story.

But it would seem to be impossible to produce a photoplay having changes of scene, plot complications, from six to a dozen or more characters, and lapses of action-time between the different scenes, without employing any inserts. Even in a small group of scenes it is often extremely difficult to make a certain important point in the action "register"—that is, show the spectator what is in the minds of the characters as the scene is worked out. In such a case, even though the scenario as planned by the author does not contain an insert at that point, the director may deem it advisable to introduce one to make the situation clear. The use of inserts, then, is necessary.

2. The Over-Use of Inserts

The over-use of them, on the contrary, is not only entirely unnecessary but a positive drawback to the director, and frequently one of the reasons why an unavailable manuscript is returned to the writer. A good rule is to employ inserts only when it is impossible to progress and still make every point of your plot clear and effective without their aid. This need for an insert of some sort at a given point may be inherent in the material and therefore desirable as well as needful, but do not admit such a necessity without serious thought. Ingenuity accomplishes wonders. Remember, the use of a leader is in most cases a frank confession that you are incapable of "putting over" a point in the development of your plot solely by the action in the scenes—you must call in outside assistance, as it were. A scenario written by a novice often contains many leaders which he considers necessary to tell his story, yet the same plot in the hands of a trained writer could be made into a photoplay with many less sub-titles. Like fire, the leader is a good servant but a bad master. Once you discover that you are getting into the habit of introducing an explanatory insert before almost every scene, it is time to remodel your idea of what constitutes proper technique.

But when a leader can be used to advantage, do not hesitate to insert it—it has a distinct value and that value must not be despised. True, any leader halts the action because it destroys the illusion to some extent, and diverts the attention from the picture to the explanatory words. But it is also true that it puts the mind of the spectator in a mood to accept and appreciate the action which is to follow. Therefore, use the leader, or any other insert—discreetly.

We have repeatedly advised the would-be photoplaywright to study the pictures as he sees them on the screen, and to gain therefrom a knowledge of what is required by the manufacturers. At this point, however, we would warn writers not to copy the example of certain companies whose pictures are nearly always overloaded with sub-titles which appear to have been introduced for no other reason than to afford the sub-title editor an opportunity to do some clever writing.

Many critics have asserted—not entirely without cause—that the type of photoplay comedy-dramas originated by Douglas Fairbanks are less than one-half action, the rest being merely clever but often unessential sub-titling. While this criticism is rather severe, it cannot be denied that certain stories of the kind mentioned, featuring this star and others, have been far too dependent for their appeal to the spectator upon the humorous, epigrammatic sayings of the characters. True, it is usually after leaving the theatre, and reviewing the picture in retrospect, that the spectator realizes that the accent has been too definitely on the sub-titling and not enough upon the action, but when he does realize it, he feels disappointed—and watches the next release featuring the same star to see if it will be repeated. More than ever before, in this day of feature photoplays, there is a constant opportunity to use leaders and other inserts with telling effect. The point simply is that with more leeway than the writer has ever been given before, you should learn to take advantage of every shining opportunity to work in a really effective sub-title, while constantly guarding against the temptation to introduce one on the slightest excuse.

Let such inserts as you do use be phrased in clear, terse language. The old example in the schoolbook, that it is simpler and therefore better to say, "A leather apron" than, "An apron of leather," holds good with inserts, and especially leaders. Short, clean-cut sentences strike the eye and penetrate the mind the most quickly and effectively. If you doubt this, look at a good advertisement. So do not only dispense with every needless insert, but cut out from each insert every needless word.

3. The Danger of Over-Compression

In cutting, do not go too far. Use enough words to be clear and definite. Vagueness is an abomination and confusing pronouns make an author as ridiculous as his scene is unintelligible. Remember that the leader is shown on the screen for only a moment, and it is for you to assist the spectator by making your leader so plain "not that it may be understood," as Quintilian used to say, "but that it must be understood."

It is quite as possible to use too few inserts, especially leaders, as it is to use so few words in them as to mar their meaning. Young writers are often more eager to follow the advice of their mentors than they are bold to use their own common-sense; and having had the importance of brevity well pounded in, they produce scripts with the double fault of not having enough action to make the plot clear, and not enough inserts to help out the action.

As an example of this tendency toward over-compression, take the script of one amateur writer. It contained a scene in which Mary, the heroine, constantly abused by a drunken step-father, steals out of the house at night as if about to start for some other town where she can make her own living and be free from the step-father's abuse. In Scene 7, Mary, carrying a suit case, leaves the farm-house where she had always lived. Scene 8 shows her "plodding wearily" along the road leading to town. Then in Scene 9 we are back in the kitchen at the farm-house. "The room is deserted. (Everyone supposed to be in bed.) The door opens and Mary enters, carrying suit case, which she puts down just inside the door. She staggers to the rocking chair and drops wearily into it, as if completely fatigued." And so on.

On reading the script, one's natural supposition is that Mary has thought it over while "plodding wearily" toward town, and, remembering the comfortable bed which awaits her at the old home—even though the next morning will bring more ill treatment at the hands of the step-father—has returned to make the best of it. After reading three more scenes, however, we learn that Mary had not only reached the town, but had gone so far as "the big city," from which she had returned after a fruitless search for work. Scene 9 is really supposed to take place two weeks after Scene 8!

Now, laying aside the fact that no scenes are introduced to show what happened to her after she went to the city, the script does not even give a scene showing her boarding a train to go, so there is nothing even to hint that Scene 9 did not take place on the same night that Mary left home.

The point of all this is that, had this script been accepted at all, and even had not the producer chosen to introduce any scenes showing Mary in the city, a leader of some kind between Scenes 8 and 9 would have been absolutely necessary. This, of course, was an amateur script, and the whole story was impossible from the standpoint of logic and the sequence of events; but in more than one picture that has been shown on the screen we have noticed the omission of a leader at a point in the action where one was very necessary, as a consequence of which the spectator was left—for the space of two or three scenes at least—to guess at what was what.

It is worth remembering that you are not an accomplished photoplaywright until you can produce a story that is thoroughly understandable all the way through by action and inserts. You are a clever writer, undoubtedly, if you can produce a "leaderless" script. But it is no indication of cleverness merely to leave out a leader—only to find, when your story is produced, that the director has found it necessary to add what you have simply cut out or never put in. He is a foolish and short-sighted writer indeed who gives any director such an opportunity to doubt his knowledge of photoplay technique.

In this connection, let us quote Mr. Frank E. Woods, who, besides being well known as a critic, photoplaywright, director and supervisor of productions under Mr. David W. Griffith, is an acknowledged expert in editing motion pictures.

"Many a picture," says Mr. Woods, "has been ruined by inadequate sub-titles. The makers of the picture have assumed that because they understood the meaning of every action, the spectators should also understand, forgetting that the spectators will view the picture for the first time. The moment a spectator becomes confused and loses the sense of what he is seeing on the screen, his interest is gone. While he is wondering 'What are they talking about now?' or 'Who is the chap in the long coat?' or 'How did he get from the house in the woods?' the film is being reeled off merrily and the spectator has lost the thread of the story. Going to the other extreme and inserting sub-titles where the meaning is perfectly obvious, or telling in sub-titles that which is to be pictured immediately after, should also be avoided, although pictures are sometimes criticized for having too many titles when in fact the keen-eyed critic is the only one who finds them too many. The average spectator is none too alert.... The sub-title should be in complete harmony with the story and should never divert interest from the story. It should never be obtrusive. It should be there only because it belongs there. Therefore all sub-titles should be couched in language that harmonizes with the story. Every word should be weighed. Nothing should ever shock the spectator out of his interest in the picture by its incongruity, extravagance or inanity. Too much in a sub-title is as bad as too little—like seasoning in a pudding. The function of the sub-title is to supplement and correct the action of the picture, to cover lapses in the continuity, and to supply the finer shades of meaning which the actor has been unable to express in pantomime."[22]

In passing, let us note one point of considerable moment. Notwithstanding the fact that many pictures are shown in which a leader immediately follows the title, it is much better not to arrange it so. Let your title be followed by a scene—by action—even though the scene be a short one. Then, if necessary, introduce your first leader. If when the photoplay opens the title is flashed upon the screen, and immediately a leader is shown, there is a chance that, having taken in the title almost at a glance, the spectator may momentarily divert his gaze and so miss your first leader, only turning his eyes toward the screen again when he notices that a scene is being shown. Again, even though he may be watching closely, the spectator is seldom quite so attentive to an explanatory insert which is shown before the opening scene as he is to one introduced later, when he has already become interested.

Most critics are also agreed that the use of leaders introducing the principal characters (usually accompanied by a few feet of film in which the character named is also pictured, perhaps in the act of bowing to the audience, or in some pose characteristic of the part he plays) is a mistake, when such "introducing" is done before the first scene of the story has been shown. Undoubtedly anything coming before the first scene is really out of place—so far as its being part of the story is concerned. Again Mr. Sargent stated a fact when he said that "What goes before the first real scene of a story is no more a part of that story than the design-head is a part of the fiction story. No magazine editor expects the author to be his own artist and supply an illustrated title. Start your story with the first scene of action, and let the director supply the preliminary scenes [close-ups of the principals] and leaders to suit himself."

As a matter of fact, though, the very best reason for not introducing from three to six or eight characters before the opening scene is that by the time the story has advanced a little many of the spectators have forgotten "who is who," whereas they have a much better opportunity to fix a character's name and occupation—so to speak—in their minds if that character is briefly but properly introduced at the point of his first entrance into the action of the play. Only the fact that we were already familiar with the faces of the contemporary historical characters shown in such features as Ambassador Gerard's "My Four Years in Germany" made it possible for us to keep track, during the first few scenes in which each one appeared, of the persons shown. No one could possibly have memorized the "panoramic" leader giving the cast, with its thirty or more names of characters and players.

4. Four Special Functions of Leaders

Properly used, leaders can accomplish four results very satisfactorily: (a) Mark the passage of time; (b) clear up a point of the action which could not otherwise be made to "register;" (c) "break" a scene; and (d) prepare the mind of the spectator to enter into the scene in the right spirit.

(a) Marking the passage of time. In the amateur script previously discussed, we found the need for this use of the leader. The introduction, between scenes 8 and 9, of a leader telling the spectator that the events in Scene 9 were supposed to happen "Two weeks later" than those taking place in Scene 8, would have gone a long way toward clearing up the plot of the story. In this case, of course, it would have been necessary to add to the statement concerning the passage of time another statement as to what had happened in the interval, the complete leader reading: "Two weeks later, Mary returns home after failing to get work in the city." Or, better still: "After two weeks of fruitless search for work in the city, Mary returns to her old home."

Try to get away from the monotonous use of the "Next day," "The next day," and "Two years later," style of leader. Say: "The following afternoon," "After five years," "Later in the evening," or "Six months have passed." Even though you find when your story is produced that the director has seen fit to omit altogether the leader that you "wrote in" at a certain point of the action, you have the satisfaction of knowing that, had he used one there, he could not have improved upon the one you wrote.

(b) Clearing up a point in the action is too obvious a use of the leader to require much discussion. Some things mere actions cannot express, and some explanations must be verbally made because pantomime suggestion is inadequate. To take their proper place in the photoplay all such leaders should be more than merely explanatory: they should have genuine dramatic value—just as much as an important speech would have in a "legitimate" dramatic production. In the pictured drama the leader really fills in a significant part of the plot which could not be portrayed by wordless action.

Miss Lois Weber, a well-known photoplay author who has also produced some very fine feature photoplays, says in The Moving Picture World: "Often the right words in a leader or other insert are the means of creating an atmosphere that will heighten the effect of a scene, just as a tearful conversation or soliloquy, at a stage death-bed will move the audience to tears where the same scene enacted in silence would leave it dry-eyed. Naturally, the wrong words may have the opposite effect, but that is no argument against the leader; it only argues that the wrong person wrote it."

(c) "Breaking" a scene with a leader may be explained by an illustration, which at the same time will serve to exemplify how the mind experiences a more or less unconscious (d) preparation for the ensuing scene.

Suppose you have a comedy scene showing a bathtub gradually filling with water because the faucet was left open. In the time required to fill the bath and cause it to overflow, five or six hundred feet of film would be used up if the scene were not changed. Instead of this waste of film, you could, after registering the fact that the running water was rapidly filling the bath, introduce a leader: "Ten minutes later—the tide rises."

Such a leader prepares the spectator for the funny scene that is to follow; and when the next scene is shown, in which the water is overflowing the bath and turning the bathroom into a miniature lake, the spectator realizes what has happened in the ten minutes which, according to your leader, has elapsed since the last scene was shown.

Or, in your story, a lumberman may be injured by having a tree that he is chopping down fall on him. To show the whole process of felling a good-sized tree would take too long—it would consume too much footage, and be monotonous to the spectator. Also, it is the effect and not how it is obtained that makes a picture of this kind successful. For these reasons the man should be shown as he starts to chop down the tree. Then after he has made some perceptible progress you might introduce a leader. "The accident;" and, following the leader, show the man pinned to the ground by the fallen tree; then proceed with the succeeding action. You may be sure that the audience will understand that the man has been knocked down by and pinned under the tree as it fell; it is only necessary to show these two scenes.

A leader, however, should never be employed to "break" a scene unless there is absolutely no chance to introduce in its stead a short scene, the showing of which will help the progress of the plot; or unless a leader will serve the double purpose of breaking the scene and supplying the audience with an explanation that is important just at that time.

Taking the two examples just given, in which a leader is used to break the scene, there is scarcely any doubt that, were you writing these scenes in scenario form, you might easily substitute scenes that would help the action of the story and allow you to dispense with the leaders altogether. For instance, you could show the scene in which the absent-minded man leaves the water running into the bath and goes out of the room. Then, show a scene in his bedroom, where he is contentedly removing the studs from his shirt. Suddenly he remembers that he has left the water running. With an expression of dismay, he jumps up and runs out of the room. Flash back to the bathroom scene. The tub has overflowed and the room is filling with water. As the excited man opens the door, the flood pours out into the hall. The short scene in the bedroom makes the leader unnecessary. Better fifteen feet of film showing the bedroom scene than five feet of leader.

Again, after the lumberman had started to chop down the tree, you might flash a short scene showing a couple of other men at work in another part of the forest. All at once they both stop work and register that they have heard something that startles them. One speaks excitedly to the other, and both run out of the picture. You then show the scene with the man lying beneath the fallen tree. Presently the two men who heard his cries for help come running up to him.

5. Cut-in Leaders

One very effective form of the leader is the cut-in, described in Chapter X. It takes the form of the speech of one of the characters, being written in quotation marks. This device of throwing on the screen the supposed words of a certain character at the moment of action enables the photoplaywright to tell all that is necessary much better than he could by a long statement of what is going on—a point that is well worth remembering. Directors are now using the explanatory cut-in leader as much as possible, to the exclusion of the ordinary one which merely states facts. This does not mean that they are trying to substitute "dialogue" leaders, but that wherever the newer form can be used to advantage it is less objected to by the audience than is the bald statement-sub-title—doubtless because it is in line with the illusion of reality in using the player's words, and is not merely an insertion by the director or the author, as other inserts evidently are.

For the reason that all leaders more or less interrupt the action of a scene, some directors prefer decidedly not to use cut-ins more than is necessary, their argument being that for a few seconds following the right-in-the-middle-of-the-scene leader, the mind of the spectator is engaged with the import of what he has just read on the screen, and the action immediately following the leader is at least partially overlooked.

Yet a cut-in leader is usually one that suddenly discloses an important point of the plot. It may be that one of the characters, when the scene is about half through, unexpectedly makes a statement which amounts to a confession of some crime. We read on the screen, "Judge, she said that to save me. That is my revolver!" No sooner has the cut-in been shown, and the action resumed, than the eyes of every spectator are fastened upon the face of the character in the scene who should, by all logical reasoning, be most affected by that confession. If a scene is important enough to require a cut-in leader, it is reasonable to suppose that it has the full attention of the spectator after the first few seconds of action. This being so, it would seem that the spectator is far less likely to miss a point of the action immediately following a cut-in than he is to miss what occurs at the beginning of a scene, following an ordinary between-the-scenes leader. It is a fact that a few directors drag the action of a scene for the first few seconds following an ordinary leader for the purpose of again centering the attention of the beholder on the action itself, before developing—in action—another point of the plot.

We have already referred to "panoramic" leaders giving long casts of characters, the leader moving upwards on the screen instead of sidewise as in panoramic scenes. Today, the panoramic sub-title, as well as the panoramic letter or other insert, is quite common, especially in feature pictures. Those directors who, notwithstanding all, still favor the use of introductory matter before the first scene, frequently resort to long panoramic sub-titles as a means of making the spectator familiar with the theme of the story before starting to tell it, just as Kipling has so frequently introduced an introductory paragraph of the same nature in his short fiction. To our way of thinking, a thematic sub-title of this kind, used before the opening scene, is far less out of place than the ordinary introductory titles merely having to do with the characters, because it really does help prepare the spectator for the kind of story he is about to view.

Then, again, it may be added that the present-day length of leaders greatly modifies what we say—as a sound guiding principle—in Section 7 of Chapter XVII. A great many excellent detective-story films have been produced, either from original synopses or as adaptations of the work of fiction writers. In these, there has been no hesitation on the part of the director and sub-title editor to use just as many words in a leader as might be necessary to make every point of the story entirely clear and interesting. Paramount's "The Devil Stone," showing the train of tragic events that followed the stealing by a wicked Norse queen of the great emerald belonging to a certain Breton priest, was one example of an intensely interesting detective story in which sub-titles supplied much more than a third of the story—and supplied it, apparently, quite unobtrusively. Here, again, only common sense and experience can show you what to do.

Before leaving the subject of leaders let us say once more that you must seek to find the golden middle ground between the leader that is too flowery in its language and the other that is too stilted and prosaic. Again, in connection with the length of leaders, study the two following from Universal's feature, "The Kaiser, the Beast of Berlin," the first of which contains only seven words, while the second contains fifty-five.

Notice, also, that as is being done with many feature pictures of this or similar type today, the producers have adhered throughout to the past tense in wording their sub-titles.

6. The Use of Letters, News Items and Similar Inserts

The great thing in using inserts other than leaders is to be able to tell what would be most effective in scoring a point of the plot at an important place in the story. You may start to "write in" a letter and then suddenly get the idea that the same point might be better explained if a newspaper paragraph were used. But no matter what other kind of insert you employ, it will doubtless seem to be more a part of the action than will a plain leader. For this reason it is best, whenever possible, to use a letter, telegram, news item, or some similar insert, in place of a leader. A carefully worded letter introduced at just the right time will sometimes tell the audience as much concerning the complications of the plot as would five or six scenes.

Letters should be short and to the point, but they should also tell as much as possible of what can not be told in action. Better a single letter of thirty-five words which tells everything than two or three notes of a line or two each that only suggest what the writer means. Some of the so-called "letters" which are seen on the screen are simply ridiculous on account of their very brevity. If it is a mere note that is dashed off and sent to one of the characters, or a note left where it will be found by someone after the writer has gone away, its brevity is allowable; but when a "letter" is written by a man to an old friend of his—a friend who, he is told, is living in a distant city, when for years he has supposed him to be dead—and contains but seventeen words, it is likely to make the spectator doubt the strength of the former friendship.

It is not always necessary actually to write a long letter; but it is best in such instances to suggest that a long letter has been written. This may be accomplished in two ways: You may either show a paragraph in the body of the letter, with a line or two just before and just after it, thus:

On screen, letter.

or you may write out the ending of the letter in such a way as to suggest that much more has been said in the forepart of the message, thus:

On screen, letter, folded down to show only this:

To illustrate the way a letter will consume footage, we reproduce one for which fifteen feet were allowed.

As we know, a letter will sometimes be written by a character in one scene, but the spectators will not learn its exact contents—though they may know just about what he is writing—until a scene or two later, when the letter is delivered to and read by the one to whom it is addressed. On the other hand, we sometimes see an actor write a letter, immediately after which, as he reads it over, it is flashed on the screen. Then, later, we see it delivered, but although the one receiving it is seen to read it, it is not flashed upon the screen again, because the beholder has so recently been shown what it contains. But it sometimes happens that more than one letter enters into the development of the plot at a certain point, and hence there may be some slight confusion caused by the spectator's not knowing which of two letters the player is supposed to be reading. It is to avoid this confusion that directors generally flash a few feet of the letter a second time, simply to identify it. Thus, if the letter that Tom wrote to Nelly in Scene 6 is delivered to her together with one from her friend Kate in Scene 8, you may write:

Postman hands Nelly two letters. She registers delight upon noticing handwriting on one envelope. Opens it immediately and reads: