TheAmerican CINEMATOGRAPHEU Vol. 2, No. 20 LOS ANGELES, CAL, NOVEMBER I, 1921 Fifteen Cents a Copy Mitchell Camera Company MANUFACTURERS OJT M< >TI< )N PICTURE CAMERAS and A( X ESS< )RIES 6019 SANTA MONICA BOULEVARD LOS ANGELES. CALIFORNIA October 19, 1921. The American Cinemat ographer , 325 Markham Bldg. , Hollywood, Cal. ATTENTION MR. S. E. SNYDER, Editor :- Gentlemen :- We wish to convey to you our appreciation of the gratifying results obtained from the publicity given us and our product through the medium of your magazine, and to say that it has overshadowed by far any other channel of advertising that we have thus far attempted. It develops that the inquiries resultant and traceable to your magazina, are not merely some that are prompted by curiosity, but in the preponderance of instances carry an earnest interest and desire for information such as would only come from a prospective purchaser, and this is the co.iviction that your matter reaches the very heart of the profession. We want to thank you fcr opening ycur columns to us as you have, and for tha many courtesies shown us by yourself, and all your members. MORE POWER TO YOU ! ! ! ! Sincerely yours, MITCHELL CAMERA COMPANY, HFB M J . Hy. F. Boeger, Pres't. The American Cinematographer The Voice of the Motion Picture Cameramen of America; the men who make the pictures. SILAS E. SNYDER, Editor ASSOCIATE EDITORS— ALVIN WYCKOFF, H. LYMAN BROENING, KARL BROWN, PHILIP H. WHITMAN. An educational and instructive publication espousing progress and art in motion picture photography, while fostering the industry. We cordially invite news articles along instructive and constructive lines of motion picture photography from our members and directors active in the motion picture industry. All articles for publication must be signed by name of writer. Meetings of the American Society of Cinematographers are held every Monday evening, in their rooms, suite 325 Markham Building. On the first and third Mondays of each month the open meeting is held; and on the second and fourth the meeting of the Board of Governors. Published Semi-monthly by The American Society of Cinematographers, Inc., Suite 325 Markham Bldg., Holly- wood, Calif. Terms: United States, $3.00 a year in advance; single copies 15 cents. Canada, $3.50 a year; foreign, $4.00 a year. Phone, Holly 4404. (Copyright by the American Society of Cinematographers) Contents of This Issue: JIMMY, THE ASSISTANT By Himself HOW IT ALL HAPPENED H. Lyman Broening, A.S.C. PANS AND TILTS Philip H. Whitman, A.S.C. THE LOG OF A GREAT PICTURE A Cameraman A CAMERA IN THE CONGO Victor Milner, A.S.C. COMPOSITION— WHAT IS IT? John Leezer, A.S.C. THE STILL CAMERA Shirley Vance Martin EDITORIAL Photographed by- ALHAMBRA — "The Great Adventure." Photographed by Charles Griffith and Henry Straddling. CALIFORNIA — "Camille." Photographed by Rudolph J. Bergquist, member of the A. S. C. CLUNE'S BROADWAY— "The Old Oaken Bucket." GARRICK — "After the Show." Photographed by L. Guy Wilky, member of the A. S. C. GRAUMAN'S — "Ladies Must Live. Ernest Palmer, member of the A. GRAUMAN'S RIALTO— "The Sheik. Wm. Marshall. HIPPODROME— MONDAY— "A Yankee Go-Getter." Wednesday — "Diane of Star Hollow." Photographed by Lucien Tainguy. HOLLYWOOD — Monday — "The Ten Dollar Raise." Photographed by Tony Gaudio, member of A. S. C. KINEMA— "The Idle Class." Photographed by Rollie H. Totheroh, member of the A. S. C. Photographed by s. c. Photographed by MILLER'S — "Doubling for Romeo." Photographed by Marcel Le Picard, member of the A. S. C. MISSION— "Molly-O." Photographed by Bob Walters and Homer Scott, members of the A. S. C. NEW APOLLO— Monday— "The City of Silent Men." Photographed by Harry Perry. PANTAGES, 7th and Hill— "Where Men are Men." Photographed by George Robinson. PANTAGES, Broadway — "The Rowdy." Photographed by Earl Ellis. SYMPHONY— "Never Weaken." Photographed by Wal- ter Lundin, member of the A. S. C. SUPERBA — "Red Courage." Photographed by Virgil E. Miller, member of the A. S. C. TALLY'S— "Gypsy Blood." WINDSOR — Monday — "King, Queen, Joker." Photo- graphed by Murphy Darling. J. A. Dubray, A. S. C, has just finished filming "The Call of Home," a six-reel feature from the book, "Home," by G. W. Chamberlain. L. J. Gasiner directed and pro- duction was made at the Robertson-Cole studios. William "Daddy" Paley, builder of the first practical motion picture news camera in the United States and the first cameraman to use a motion camera in war, was made an honorary member of the A. S. C, at the meeting of October 17, 1921. Daddy Paley lost both legs as the re- sult of accident on location, but he is still active and can do shop work as skillfully as ever. He is a consulting engineer on camera building and an authority on camera mechanics as well as photographic practice and effects. John Seitz, A. S. C, who photographed Rex Ingraham's productions of "The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse," "The Conquering Power" and "Turn to the Right," for Metro, will have charge of the camera work for Mr. In- gram's new production of "The Prisoner Zenda." Since completing the filming of "Turn to the Right," Mr. Seitz has been spending his time perfecting several new photo- graphic effects which he will introduce in this elaborate picture. Page Four The American Cinematographer oA Camera In the Congo Consider the ''Poor Cinematographer Who (joes Forth to Shoot Wild Life Under the Equator VICTOR MILNER, A. S. C. When I look back a few years to the days full of excite- ment when I was getting ready for a trip to Equatorial Africa, during which I expected to have a wonderful time, as well as to obtain a liberal education, I am inclined all the more to worship the god of enthusiasm. I got the education, all right, but very little of a good time. In writing of my photographic experiences in the "Pest Hole of the World," I will try to give an idea of the many things necessary to make a photographic trip in the trop- ics a success. The object of the trip was to obtain a series of pictures of native life on the Equator, their 1 habits, customs, social life, transportation methods, etc.; also animal life, scenic views and news stuff. I did not at the time think of this assignment as very hard, but soon changed my mind. It is best for anyone contemplating such a trip to divide it into three parts, namely: 1. Preparation. 2. Equipment. 3. Negative development on the field. By preparation I mean "reading up" as much as pos- sible on the climatic conditions of the part of the country where you intend to make your base; sociological condi- tions, transportation facilities, governmental status, etc., and to mave a good physician give you the once over. In considering equipment, of course, the first thing a cameraman looks to is a good outfit. When it comes to a camera we all have our pets, and my pet was a Pathe Professional, having the magazine on the top. other camera was a Gilon, a wonderful camera for this kind of work — light, compact, having inside magazines, a change- able lens mount. The selection of these cameras was a bloomer because of the fact that the Pathe and Gilon cameras have metal film beds, and, as it is very damp in the Congo, rust set in at once. A velvet lined aperture and film bed is most essential in the tropics. It will save ■the cameraman hours of worry and the trouble of packing the film aperture and bed with vaseline or oil, Exposed magazines are not advisable, owing to warping of wood but the Gilon stood up wonderfully well, and I nexer ex- perienced any trouble with it. Tools are essential, for an operator may have to repair his tripod, camera, etc. I arrived in London in good shape and set out at once to visit the Eastman Kodak offices on Kingsway, and there I was given all possible assistance and my ideas were carried out to the letter. We made up a series of tubes of developer in a tin container fully protected against climatic changes and ready to be dissolved in five gallons of water like an M. Q. tube. The negative stock I had packed in an extra dry room and put in a double container, the outside can being soldered, and I took along plenty of containers to pack developed negative. These were double container cans, made so in order to keep out dampness as well as a peculiar microbe, which seems to feed on the emulsion and leaves numerous pin holes. My developing outfit had to be practical and compact, and so I obtained the Pin Rack system which .no doubt, most cameramen have seen in use. The trays were nested in each other, each tray, with a capacity of about five gallons, and the rack was constructed so that it could be taken apart for carrying purposes. I had also a collapsi- VICTOR MILNER, A. S. C, AND HIS BLACK BOYS IN THE AFRICAN CONGO. ble drying drum, an ingenious invention, which accom- modated one thousand feet of film, with a crank attached for revolving same, and I had to regulate everything not to weigh over sixty pounds, as a native will not carry much more than sixty pounds on his head. By the way, the racks held only one hundred feet. For developing negative on the field I had a tent lined with black on the inside, roomy, plenty of ventilation and with folding tables to hold trays, pin i-acks, wratten light, etc. After getting my equipment packed and ready, as well as my personal stuff, such as clothing, a Burroughs, a Welcome medicine cabinet (for little did I imagine then that I would be called upon to pull teeth, cut swellings on natives' feet caused by hookworm, feed 'em calomel, etc.), I set out to obtain permission from John Bull to get my equipment out of the country. John Bull was at war then, and Little John Bull, in a dingy little office, knocked all my plans into a cocked hat by telling me in as few words as possible that chemicals, film, gold, food- stuffs, etc., were contraband and could not leave England. As my boat was sailing in a few days for the Congo River I felt like joining Hindenburg; then I decided to try the Belgian Colonial offices, where I explained my purpose in going to the Congo, and they managed to get me through. I secured passage on the , a Belgian steam- ship, Captain , commanding, and the first few days out we were kept busy dodging submarines. I set up my camera on the top deck and had visions of obtain- ing some wonderful shots of a submarine attack when the captain came along and, on being informed by me that I was laying for a submarine attack, he became red in the face and commanded me to take the camera down. He said he thought I had a lot of nerve to lay for a torpedo attack on his ship, and further stated that he would not be a bit surprised to see me signal for a submarine at- tack. The camera came down and I spent the twenty-one days on board enjoying myself and testing out my lenses and outfit. November 1, 1921 Page Five As we neared the mouth of the Congo my assistant and myself were both ready for action and we soon arrived at Boma, the official capital of the Congo, where I paid my respects to the Governor General and obtained from him a letter to all chiefs of posts to help me as much as possi- ble. From Boma my assistant and I went to Matadi by boat, a short run, and to my amazement they had a hotel there with baths, a dark room and manufactured ice. I thought, "holy mackerel, this can't be the Congo I have read about!" From Matadi we took (the word "matadi" means rock. The Congo natives call all officials by the name of Boola Matadi, meaning "rock-blaster." This name originated with Stanley when he sailed down the Congo and used dynamite to blast rocks in the Congo River to move his boats), the narrow gauge railroad for Kinshasa, the last government post of any size in the lower Congo, and there I made my plans to head for the interior. In Kinshasa I met a missionary, a Scotchman, who gave me a lot of information regarding the country and ad- vised me to stop at Bolenge, a mission station, operated by Americans, on the equator. This good missionary also got a boy for me to attend to my personal wants, like taking care of my laundry and getting my bath ready. By the way, as the crocodiles in the Congo River object very much to any one bathing there, I did not argue with them. My boy's name was Mamba, meaning bread, and he received a millionaire's salary of thirty francs a month, $5.00 in real money, and was looked upon by the fair sex as a great catch. Mamba was not slow to admit it. My method of communication with him was by signs as well as a few words of his language, which were given to me by the missionary. Thus water was "mazza;" bring me, "cupesa;" a lot, "mingi," etc. He at once named me Tala Tala, from my eye glasses, and so I was known all along the river. I made arrangements to sail on the next boat going up the river, and on Sunday my baggage was all piled up ready to go aboard the paddle wheel boat. My assistant was down with malarial fever, and the government doc- tor advised him to go back, so this left me in a pickle, alone and almost willing to return with my assistant. I'll make a confession here — the skipper of the boat, speaking English, alone decided me to keep going. From now on list to my tale of woe. After seven days in a two by four cabin on a two by eight river boat, sail- ing towards the equator, the thermometer hitting the top, my native boy drinking my bay rum and witch hazel, I finally landed at Bolenge. Mr. Moon, the missionary in charge of the station, received me with open arms, even if I was a movie man (Frisco papers please copy), and told me to make myself at home. Mr. Moon was a sport. He helped me considerably with the natives and accom- panied me on many of the expeditions into the interior, where a white man is such a novelty that children cried when they saw me. I had decided not to expose more than four hundred feet of film a day, so that I should not have to spend my remaining days developing in the Congo. I broke this rule almost the first day, as there is a world of material there to be shot and, with my dark room miles from my location, a return trip meant walking for hours through evil-smelling swamps and suffering almost unendurable hardships from heat, mosquitoes, and attacks of the dread- ful tse' tse' fly. So I shot quite a lot of footage and re- turned to Bolenge full of quinine but looking forward to an enjoyable time in the dark room. The tse' tse' fly is larger than an ordinary fly and you can quickly identify the infernal thing by looking at its wings, for the tse' tse' fly folds its wings one over the other on alighting on an object. They are deadly, as no cure for the sleeping sickness has yet been discovered. The tse' tse' flies have killed thousands of natives and, no doubt, will keep on doing so, as the natives do not know what ails them when they get sick. They simply lie down and die, for every native is not wealthy enough to buy the services of the autocratic medicine man. The great- est faker I ever beheld is the medicine man of the Congo; he puts it on strong, and has the natives scared to death of his medicine." Bolenge, as before stated, is on the equator, hot as blazes and no breeze. A piece of tissue paper held in your hand would hardly move. It took a lot of courage to step into that dark room, but dressed in pajamas, which were soon sticking to my body like glue, I dissolved my developer and went to work. One of the trays held a solution of formaline and the developer registered about seventy-two degrees. My next move was to put out the paraffin candle and put on the wratten light. As I did this the dark room became a pandemonium of mosquitoes. It's quite a job to wrap film on a pin-rack without dou- bling over the same pin, so I took it rather carefully, but in a few minutes my pajamas were on the ground and I was a la natural, the perspiration rolling off me and malarial mosquitoes singing all around me and landing on my back. The dread of being bitten and getting malaria made me almost crazy. One of the mosquitoes finally landed on my back. I laid the role of film down for a second, made a pass for A VICTIM OF SLEEPING SICKNESS CAUSED BY THE BITE OP THE TSE TSE. INSANITY USUALLY FOLLOWS THE BITE. THE TIMBER ATTACHED TO THE WOMAN'S ARM IS TO PREVENT HER DOING HARM ABOUT THE VILLAGE. the blood-thirsty murderer and, as I did so, the roll of film landed on the floor, barely missing a bucket of water. What I thought of the Congo at that moment would make a statue blush to hear. Finally I got the negative on, stuck it in the formaline solution first and then in the developer. The temperature of my warm hands did not help to cool off the developer and, in less time than it takes to tell it, the emulsion was floating like a cake of Pears' soap around the tray. Right there and then I de- cided to do less cussing and more thinking. I returned to the dark rom the next night at 2 A. M., the coolest part of the day, and prepared the water. The trays were all clean, and I set my developing tray in a large pan and surrounded it with salammoniac, which kept the tempera- ture of the developer down; also I was very careful not to put my hands in the solution. The negative was 0. K., and, after washing it with the assistance of my native boy, we put it on the drying drum; that done, and the boy cranking away to facilitate drying. I smoked up and thought the Congo was not so bad after all. Imagine my (Continued on Page H) Page Six The American Cinematographer The Still Camera oA Master of Still Photography Tells of the Value of Qood Stills in Selling a ^Motion Picture to the Public [This article has been especially written for The Ameri- can Cinematographer by Shirley Vance Martin, official staff photographer for the Jackie Coogan Productions. Mr. Martin has ingeniously linked the value of the still camera and operator with the rest of motion picture production, and his article is full of interesting angles that heretofore have been more or less submerged in the ruck of motion picture publicity. — Editor's Note.] Stills! Nope! Wrong the very first guess! Neither prohibition nor the manufacture of 2.75 has anything to do with the stills in this story in spite of its title. This might be called a little glimpse into that portion of the making of moving pictures of which the film habitue seldom hears, and which is least often written about. The genial press agent gives fans and fanettes daily dope on the doings of Dottie Dimple, the child-vamp; makes you pop-eyed with envy over accounts of the huge contracts and salary pulled down by Charlie of the funny, pants. The ever busy publicity man feeds the daily press full of anecdotes concerning the culinary prowess, the sweet simplicity of the domestic life of this charming young actress, and of the plans and programs of that director. Every point and angle of the game has been served up for your delectation except one single angle, one of the most interesting of all — that of the Still Camera Man. Honestly, did you ever know there was such an animal roaming round the movie lot? Probably not. The very next time you are visiting a studio and watching the film- ing of a picture, just ask the first director you meet where the still man is. Likely as not he'll tell you they keep him chained in the cellar, back of stage No. 6, or something like that, for while outside the lot such a person is quite unknown, and the value and importance of his work scarcely recognized, by the same token, inside the lot there are yet but a few relics of the pliocene age who do not realize and who refuse to be made to realize that upon the skill and resourcesfulness of the still man and the excellence of the pictures taken during the making of a film play depends to a very apnreciable extent the return upon the huge amounts invested in production. Still pictures are made for the publicity department to place in magazines, for advertising in trade journals and papers, and to shoot to the releasing ageocies. Even though a film has been disposed of through such an agency it has to be sold to you. dear public — in other words, made nopular: so it is self-evident that the finer the ouality of stills and the more truly they depict the dynamic mo- ments of a plav, the keener the competition among: exhib- itors to show the film, and — well, really and truly now, Clarice, iust what is it that takes you to the Little Star Picture Palace week after week? Yon and friend Edna pass the much decorated lobby, and it's "Oh, Edna- let's see what's on this week." And you consult what — the program? No, ma'am. You look at the still pictures on display, and if they are full of pep and virility, it is a copper riveted cinch you are coing to that show, and you see it because you liked the stills. Am I right, or about half right, anyway, — the other half being that you just had to see your very most favorite idol. And at that you find him — in the stills. Did you know that stills are printed literally by the thousands for vou? There is one actress who has mailed at times 12.000 pictures, usually character studies, of herself, in one week? She maintains a complete deoart- ment for the work, well knowing the v«ilue to herself of still nictures. One single order for 50.000 prints from one negative of a girl lately come into prominence, was placed not long ago. all to be sent to admirers. And as for the Handsome Hero, nearly all of him keep a secretary who maintains a filing system, cross and double-cross indexed, of the names of ardent fanettes who write for his latest picture. These still pictures create an interest in both person and play obtainable in no other fashion. Ask any old, hard-boiled publicity man and see what he says. He is always howling his head off for good stills; likewise howling my head off if they are not good, for he knows it is the stills which do the work at the box office. I repeat, however, there are a few directors who consider the still man a nuisance and grant him small chance to dis- play his ability and to do his share toward making the film a financial success. One of the keenest directors I ever worked under used to call me "George Stillman, the Human Pest." And was George ever given time or oppor- tunity to use his knowledge of composition, lighting, bal- ance, etc., etc.? He was not! It was: "Hey you! George Stillman! pop in there quick and get that! Hurry now! 'R'you through? Hurry yup; gosh ding it, what's holding yuh, anyway!" The movie camera man has had hours of consultation with director, electrician and technical man to work out and plan his composition and lighting effect; has miles of film on which to picture his action, letting it reach climac- tic effect in proper sequence. But George is given about 90 2-3 seconds to lug in his heavy box, set up to best ad- vantage, take infinite pains to get the heroine always beautiful, throw a becoming back light on the strong manly profile of the leading man, place his plate, grab the action by the tail, yell for lights, shoot, and get out. Next morn- ing he is expected to hand in a veritable Detaille or Verestchagen in beauty of detail and dramatic action. Sometimes the results embody exactly the very effects Mr. Director had in mind, and then does he go over and, smoothing the classic brow of George Stillman, compli- ment him on his clarity of vision and perfection of tech- nioue? Yes, he doesn't. He probably grunts or says: "M-m — hm — hm; yeh, that's my stuff!" Just the same, many a chuckle has been mine since mak- ing the discovery that every man jack on the lot — producer, director, leadiner iuvenile on down the list even unto the least one of us — likes to see himself or herself in the stills, and when the daily "take" is handed in, does Mr. Director look for "action"; does the technical man look to see how his pet scene photographed? No, not. He flips the prints through to see his own phiz smiling up at him, and if George Stillman has been hep to his job. Mr. Director finds himself, too. in one or more graceful poses. It's human nature. We all like it, but do you ever see one single picture with the still man in it. Jamais, jamais de la vie. In more than 400 still pictures I took of Kismet, I had to ask to have one taken including me. And that one showed my own handsome man in close juxtaposition to that of a two-humped camel. Can you beat it? Now, I ask you. Interesting problems to solve by hair-trigger judgment are of daily occurrence. Seldom are the many lights placed for the movie camera exactly suited to the still camera, and have to be quickly and effectively changed — broad and hard, with heavy shadows for strong action, or so daintily graded for a close up as to completely satisfy that most exacting of all human beings, a movie star. The youthful must be kept youthful, and the one not so youns; must be made to look younger. And woe betide the still man who by improDer arrangement of lights gives even a hint of a double chin, male or female. That of all crimes is the crime de luxe, so to speak, and the punishment ever- lasting "fired." A thousand deeply technical details of photography and optics — the nature of the action, whether love scenes or murder — all enter the problems to be worked out swiftly and surely. Every moment of the play must be followed, the November 1 , 1921 Page Seven climax mentally registered in detail that it may be swiftly built up again and caught in a still before the actors get "out of character" and the action gets cold. I am now busily engaged in photographing the new pro- duction of Jackie Coogan's, "My Boy." I was told to get the best possible stills, and I have spent no little time in that endeavor. Little Jackie is a most wonderful subject for photography. In all of the dozens of plates I have used, Jackie has not marred one. He takes a most excep- tional picture from every angle, and to say it is a pleasure to work with a subject such as Jackie would be putting it mildly, indeed. During the "Queen of Sheba," lately made in Hollywood, the writer was sent for to do some special portraits of the Queen. The time given me was merely between the morn- ing and afternoon shooting. In a little over two hours and thirty minutes I made fifty negatives 01' the young lady, each picture carefully and accurately posed, draperies placed properly, lights changed to accentuate the queen's beauty, and with three entirely different costumes. They were bully pictures, too. The lady herself was pleased, and I'll say that means something. That quick thinking and deftness of action are most essential is easy to believe. And take it from me, reader, tact is another essential, or your little actress's temperament bobs up and you might as well pack up your old kit bag and be on your way. I know a little leading woman who held up publicity of a huge production because she refused to be photographed by a still man who happened to fall under her ban. How- ever, she was right and he was fired. In the play of Kismet, with Otis Skinner in the stellar role,' the writer did the still photography, and the magnifi- cent scenic investitutre of that Arabian Nights dream gave many opportunities for rarely beautiful effects both in lighting and composition. At no time in all the nine weeks consumed in transferring the fantastic tale to a film rib- bon was there a moment which was not full of interest. Once in the prison scene, when Hajj the beggar recognizes his ancient enemy, Jawan, and, creeping over in the dusky half light, strangles him with those marvelously expressive hands of his, we were all literally enthralled, thrilled into silence with the intensity of the moment. T. Gaudio, first camera man, broke the strain, exclaiming, "In all my life, this is the first time I was so carried away I almost forgot to crank." Always when Mr. Skinner was on the stage the picture impulse ran high, and hundred of photographs might have been made, running the full gamut of his emotions. One particular portrait I made of him he com- plimented very highly as being the best of him ever taken in costume. "Location tomorrow" is the call which stirs the blood of every member of the company, but most of all that of the still man, for, usually, "location" means the mountains, the big woods, the picturesque rocky sea-coast, nearly always some spot of beauty, where his picture sense may be given full play and his fancy in glancing sunlight and shadow free rein. In one play location was up among the big pines, in the heart of the San Jacinto Mountains. Picturesque beyond my feeble powers of description, range after range of pur- pled mountains, tumbling brooks, waterfalls, a lake of exquisite beauty; nature giving everything to the camera man to be his very own. Small wonder his heart is in each picture made in such surroundings. On this same trip were several mornings of dense cold fog — a hundred feet away and one was lost. However, with all hands muffled to the ears and all cameras shrouded to the very lenses, to keep out the wet, many scenes were shot in the mist, weird uncanny figures creeping into view and gone again into the fog, almost instantly. "It's never been done be- fore in pictures," quoth the assistant director. This fog business was not in the scenario as written, but since it was forced upon us it was used; and let me say that when we returned to the studio, 150 miles or so from our moun- tain location, we reproduced that same effect perfectly with the sun broadly shining. That everything is possible in the movies is trite, but certainly and wonderfully true. Among other duties the still man has to keep his mental eye neeled for publicity stuff — off stage glimpses of actor, director, the mechanics of the movies, any bit of the game which might be of interest to the outside world. The director, the villain, the pulchritudinous hero and the dainty heroine "executing" Mme. Butterfly give us an inti- mate view of the family in a moment or two of relaxation. Standing astride the rafters forty or fifty feet above the stage, in the effort to obtain a publicity view of a ballroom with three hundred or four hundred people, lights, me- chanics, etc., is hardly considered a stunt by George Still- man. Airplane stuff is all in the day's work, nevertheless the hop off seldom fails to give a thrill, and it gets some exciting when, strapped in the cockpit, camera wired and guyed fast, you fly up and up, then suddenly feel a surge against breast and shoulder straps, find .your head where your feet ought to be — toward the earth — and a picture to take ! Somehow George gets the shot through, and once more on solid ground scarcely thinks the stunt worth mention- ing. A real thriller of a feat was to be lowered off a precipice in a rope swing with hundreds of feet of mere atmosphere below, to shoot a still of a movie stunt. I have perched on a mountain ledge picturing action at the mouth of a mine, head under the dark cloth facing the mountains, and my coat tails exactly a thousand feet from the nearest place to sit down. Some of the incidents in George's daily existence are highly humorous and lend spice and a certain variety to his otherwise dull existence. As, for instance, the time when on duty at a "rodeo," a husky steer about the size of a couple of mountains and with a perverted sense of the funny, made for me and the camera, head down and tail up. When he made his first move I was looking in the camera. When he moved next I was in the distant per- spective, almost I may say at the vanishing point, and the camera was distinctly on the horns of a dilemma, Everybody laughed but me. That one time I didn't get the picture. Only once in my camera career have I wished I was a coal heaver or in some other artistic position which would keep me always on dry land. In a Jack London play, at sea for some ten days, all went well when the sea was calm; but when we struck the open ocean and the gentle zephyrs got all snarled up, every soul of us was wholly, miserably ill. In some fashion the scenes were shot with the movie camera, while the still man lay limp in the lee scuppers, or whatever they were. When "Still man" was called, though, he got to his trembling pins, green of eye and gray of face, pressed the bulb feebly, and lay camly down in his beloved scuppers to die, and wondered why he didn't. But he got his pictures. Beside being a portraitist and shootin"- action, the still man's ordinary duties include photographing every per- son in the cast in character, to record all details of costume, make up, jewelry worn, etc. Scenes are shot weeks apart which in the finished film appear in continuity, so every character must have minutest details to follow — not depending upon memory. The recording of staare set- tings with all furniture' and props in place, testing of color schemes both in costumes and scenes, copying prints and illustrations in books at the libraries, picturing street scenes which have to be reconstructed, all combine to make his day a fairly active one, and more and more is he and the work he does becoming a factor in film making. The real necessity for a still man of experience and ability in each separate working unit is being recognized' to a greater degree every day. In fact, in most studios he is considered as essential a part of the personnel as direc- tor, camera man or electrician. The still man in Hobart Bosworth's company is an artist — I use that word with due discretion — and his pictures are marvels of beautiful lightinsr and composition. William Fox has lately written at length unon the value and importance of still pictures, while Mr. Allan Dwan has but recently brought to his Hol- lywood studio a famous photographer for special still work. So it truly may be that the still camera man is slowly, but very surely, to come into his own, his talent recognized and his work rewarded as it should be. Clarke Irvine, editor of The Cast, the house organ of the Robertson-Webb exchange, is producing the most scintillant publication of the kind in the country. Mr. Irvine has the faculty of getting hold of news stuff and presenting it attractively. Page Eight The A men can Cinematogra p h e r ^Pans and Tilts % philip H- whitman DEER OR DEAR? Paul Perry was in attendance at the last regular meet- ing of the A. S. C. but was forced to stand up throughout the entire session. This was due to the recent pack trip which Paul took into the Arizona wilds. In speaking of his trip Paul tells a most interesting tale about following the trail of the cootie and, to use his own words, he "heard a deer squeal just like a woman getting beat up." Paul, we will have to take your word for it. HE HAS IT ALL Now we know why Vic Milner is so lucky at the Casino Club. He has told us about a trip he once took to the Congo and how lucky he was to get home. It surely stays with him. A SUNLIGHT ARC The last open meeting of the Society broke up in con- fusion when Billy Foster departed with his diamond horse- shoe headlight. The members, left in darkness, were forced to disband. DISCONSOLATE Speaking of empty cellars. Did you notice how quiet Tony Gaudio was at the last meeting? WE'VE HAD IT TOO H. Lyman Broening has just returned from a location trip up north and reports that he encountered extremely foggy weather most of the time. In fact he claims the atmosphere had a decided dark brown tinge. We venture the opinion that what Lyman means is a kind of con- tinuous morning-after effect. SAFETY FIRST George Schneiderman is decidedly in favor of riding in an automobile. That is when he drives it himself. EXPERIENCE Norbert Brodin never stops to pet a strange kitty. No never! And thereby hangs a tale. A tale that Nobert doesn't like brought up. ASK ROSEN Charles Stumar is one cinematog who claims nothing gives him a thrill. May we not suggest that Charles enter the sacred" portals of the "Casino Club," sit in on the great national pastime with the boys and in due time say unto one Victor Milner, "I'll call you" which is, of course, one of the favorite Casino terms. Then, yes, then, will come unto Charles a thrill. BLAME VOLSTEAD Billy Fildew, just back from an ocean trip to San Fran- cisco, tells the following before you get time to run: "During the trip the captain called us into his cabin to hear his pet canary birds sing. At first they sang just like other birds, but finally, upon order of the captain, one of them sang a complete popular song just like you or I were whistling it." Yes, yes, Billy we know. Then all the fish swam up to the ship and joined in the chorus; and, say Bill, listen — you know what the Governor of North Carolina said to the gent who held the same job in South Carolina. •I III': JOYS OF CINEMATOGTNG. THE SNAPSHOT SHOWS L. GUY WILKY, A. S. C, SHOOTING MOTOR-BOAT STUFF AT NINETY MILES AN HOUR. THE DIRECTOR IS THE RECUMBENT FORM UNDER THE TRIPOD. Harvey Motion Picture Exposure Meter Endorsed by leading Camera Men. $2.00— Your dealer, or G. L. HARVEY I 05 S. Dearborn St. Chicago Friend Baker, A. S. C, inventor of the Baker Color Camera, now in process of perfecting at the shops of the Mitchell Camera Company, 6025 Santa Monica Boule- vard, Los Angeles, has been called to join the staff of Art Director Elmer Sheeley, in the Experimental Depart- ment, at Universal. Mr. Sheeley, one of the cleverest artists in the industry, inaugurated this department about a year ago for the purpose of making research into the realm of the unusual in photography. Philip H. Whit- man, secretary of the A. S. C, was called to Mr. Sheeley's assistance and together they sailed forth upon the un- chartered seas of photography. The results were so sat- isfactory that the Experimental Department was made a permanent unit of the production machinery at U., and with its expansion came the call for Mr. Baker's service. Rudolph Bergquist, A. S. C, who photographed Gareth Hughes' first three starring pictures to be filmed by S-L Pictures for Metro, and who did the camera work for all of Nazimova's Metro pictures, will again photograph Mr. Hughes in his new series of productions for Metro, which George D. Baker is directing. Dr. Gilbert Ellis Bailey, professor of geology of the University of Southern California, tells of an Indian ball game that extended over a course of forty miles and re- quired all day to play. His description of its strenuosity makes football look like a pink tea in comparison. Dr. Bailey suggests this game as an interesting camera sub- ject. CAMERAS REPAIRED Accurate Work and Prompt Service CALIFORNIA CAMERA HOSPITAL J. W. Peterson, Proprietor 321 O. T. Johnson Building. Los Angeles, Calif. Phone Broadway 7610 Established ten years November 1, 1921 Page Nine The AMERICAN CINEMATOGRAPHER To a cameraman standing- on the summit of Mount Lowe and looking- down upon "the cities of the plain" the whole marvelous panorama suggests nothing so much as a mo- tion picture of unspeakable beauty. The picture does not really move, but the constant shifting of the observer's vision from mountain peak to canyon, to valley, to hill, to sea, to sky, to cloudbank, to rugged trail, to valley mist, to the islands of the sea and back to the majesty of the mountains, every prospect softened by the magic touch of nature's color, produces the effect of motion and the whole scene seems to be alive. Standing at such a point of vantage it is not difficult to project the vision into the future and see spread out there below a city reaching from the Santa Monica Moun- tains to Sierra Madre, from Balboa far beyond Burbank and from the Beverly Hills to Santa Ana — a city mightier than any ever built by man — with as many millions as London and New York combined! And why not? "West- ward the course of empire takes its way" constantly, and, already, West is East. Is the movement to California and the West Coast sim- ply an hegira of some millions of people looking for soft living, or is it a very definite part of the plan of Divine Providence in the evolution of the human race? The world war ends and suddenly all nations turn their eyes toward the Pacific. Japan, already a child of the Pacific, suddenly looms as a tremendous power. For good or evil? That is what all nations are asking. Why? Because Japan in her spirit of Bushido (the Soul of Japan) asserts herself as the arbiter of her own destiny and proclaims her power and intention to fulfill that destiny. This takes concrete form in sundry strategic movements looking indubitably to the dominance of the Far East-China, Siberia and the islands of the sea which, translated into political import, means dominating the Pacific. We see Great Britain hastening to concentrate a gigan- tic fleet at Singapore; Australia openly disapproves of Japan's aspirations; China, awake too late, plays for time; the United States, with the Philippines on her hands, watches anxiously, while professional war-makers look for an opportunity to precipitate the struggle. And why all this shifting of men on the international chess board? Is what we see with our eyes all there is to these great movements of nations? It is worth remark, in view of these things, that stu- dents, teachers and writers of Theosophical subjects have interesting light to throw upon these phenomena, the out- standing headlands or which are: 1. That a new race is in the process of building here in Southern California. 2. That a new continent is in process of forming in the Pacific. 3. That the future great activities of the world are to find their theatre on the new continent and the coasts adjacent to it. It requires deep research into the strange and recon- dite books of the Theosophical religio-science to gain an understanding of the Great Plan of evolution of the Logos of our solar system; of the building of the root races and their differentiation into subraces; of the rise and fall of nations and the growth, the flourishing and the breaking up of continents. Western science now knows of the existence of the long- departed continent of Lemuria and of the more recently existing continent of Atlantis. If these two great conti- nents with their mighty civilizations came and went, why shall not others come and old ones go and why may not this great movement toward the Pacific be in truth the outward, visible sign of the working of a great cosmic law — a world movement according to the Great Plan of Divine Law? This same source of information tells us that the domi- nating race of the present day is the Teutonic (not in any sense the German nationality), including among oth- ers all the English-speaking peoples, and that this race is the Fifth Sub Race of the Fifth Root Race; that the next race to be developed is the Sixth Sub Race, the pio- neers of which are beginning to appear among the highest types of children of California; and that the glories of all present and former civilizations will pale before the glory of this new type of humanity in the ages to come. Of the Japanese we are told that they have a mighty destiny to fulfill which in no way interferes with nor detracts from the glory of any other peoples. The Theosophical message is, therefore, fraught with glad tidings of great joy to all peoples and especially to the people of Southern California and the West Coast. Let the new continent arise and the new race come forth to the glory of the God of races and, this time, the Divine panorama will not be lost to posterity, for our cameraman of Mount Lowe will be at his tripod ready to record the march of events the like of which in time past perished because their were no cameramen. Composition— W bat Is It? By JOHN LEEZER We are in an art salon where an exhibition of statuary and pictures is being held. Some wonderful paintings have been hung, but we have gone to the photographic department first. Here are several very fine specimens of our art and we glory in the fact that photography, as a medium of expression, ranks above all other mediums. There is one picture, however, in which we are espe- cially interested — a pastoral scene with horses and cows, oak trees and a stream. Did you ever look at a picture and be so impressed with its realness that you thought you were looking through a window frame at the real thing? This was the impression we had upon this occa- sion. We could even hear the swish of the horses' tails. They called it "Peaceful Valley," but in the final analysis what was the secret of its appeal? It was not the subject. The lighting was effective and had a decided bearing on the general effect, but what caused that restful, peace- ful sensation? Why, the sympathetic arrangement of sub- jects. There was nothing out of place — the balance was perfect (the law of balance holds true in art as well as in physics), it was a photographic symphony. Funda- mentally, what makes a picture? Subject, lighting and what we have been talking about, namely, composition. There are some who claim that certain laws govern com- position, but, frankly, I don't believe it. The composi- tion in a picture, whether it be still or animated, is YOU. Why be bound by any set rules? Let it be the expression of your own artistic sense. Art is original. Art is indi- vidual expression. Let us keep it in mind when we work. The Photorho matist is fortunite in having as its guid- ing genius Mr. Ted Le Berthon who apparently is not onlv an editor of great ability, but one who knows how to arouse enthusiasm in his co-workers. The Photodraiuati^t is not merely a device to get advertising, but is a valuable help to those aspiring souls who are really sincere in their efforts to learn and apply the art of photoplay construction. Page Ten The American Cinematographer The Log of a (jreat Picture '•Daily ^cord of the Filming of a Famous Feature from the Diary of the Cameraman Who Shot It DECEMBER 2 Work from 10:45 to 6:45. Stage 3. (If I'd tell what set it was you'd know what picture it was.) There are enough stars in this picture to make a sign of the Zodiac. Shot twenty-nine stills and seventeen hundred feet of film. A good day's work. Don't forget for location long legs, extra legs, small tripod, panchrom- atic film and filters. Rain in A.M.; sun P.M. DECEMBER 3 Work from 10:00 A.M. to 7:00 P.M. Stage No. 3. Shot thirty-one stills; nineteen hundred and fifty feet of film; five hundred feet of waste. A good day's work and sunshine all day. This director is a wonder worker. He builds his drama in mind before he calls for action. The lead, whom I shall call Smith, seems to be taking an interest in the Lady With the Listening Lamps. Hence- forth I shall refer to her as the "Lady." I don't often notice these things, but it looks like a budding romance to me. Don't forget for location long legs, extra legs, small tripod, panchromatic film and filters. DECEMBER 4 Smith arrives studio at 8:00 A.M. Early for Smith. Camera crew left studio at 11 for location at Pine Top. Lunch at San Berdoo; for menu see technical director's shirt front. Got a thrill when we had to take outside edge for truck coming down mountain. Pine Top at 5 :30. Cold; parked in double cabin with Smith and girl playing bit. Taps 9:15. The "grip" said it was fifteen degrees below freezing. Film 2475 feet; stills, thirty-on,e. DECEMBER 5 Breezed in at 6:30 to awaken my crew. My bright blue bathrobe startles Marburg (on second camera) into hallu- cination that Chinese mandarin is standing over him. Breakfast 7:35 and darned cold. Work at 8:20. Water thrown on road for rain scenes quickly turns to ice. Shoot till 1:15. Left Pine Top at 4:00. Took on gas at San Berdoo at 6; two hours going sixteen miles down grade. Dined at Harvey House; oh boy! Arrived studio at 9:35 lips chapped and eyes wind burned. Film 1665 feet; stills ten. Good work considering cold. Too busy and too cold for romance, but Smith blushed whenever the Lady talked to him. DECEMBER 6 Work 9:45 A.M. to 7:00 P.M. Sunshine all day. Five stars and the dog in action. In the projection room the director said he didn't know how, to act because there was nothing to crab about.' "Film 2530 feet; stills twenty. Smith seemed nervous a.nd preoccupied. The Lady is an actress to her finger tips. If they are both doing some real life acting the Lady will strike him out. That's my guess. Location again tomorrow. P. S. — I can see this picture coming fast. It's going to be' another B. O. attrac- tion. Glad to be shooting it. DECEMBER 7 Rained all night to 8:00 A. M. Set up on stage 2, but orders came at 10 to be ready for location in fifteen min- utes. Had to load un four hundred foot rolls instead of load of short ends of film. Location Los Angeles River used as trout stream. Grip falls in and reports water cold. Director tosses first aid to freezing grin in form of a flat flask. Marburg bravely stands in stream so that finders may be checked; did it to show off his new boots which, to his disgust, leaked. Smith rips new riding breeches and spoils scene with Lady. Return to studio to shoot rain stuff. Trouble placing lights to pick up rain. Smith and Miss C. very wet and miserable. Rain washes number off slates. Everybody wet, cold and peevish, even the camera lenses. Run Pine Top stuff. Good. Film 1155 feet; stills ten. DECEMBER 8 Work 10:00 A.M. to 7:00 P.M. Elsie Ferguson runs in from New York to give us the O. O. Music for love scene between Smith and Miss C. "Where Is My Wandering Boy Tonight." Bum music for a love scene. Branch of tree hurled through window by lightning. Director calls for retake because limb not big enough. Ten inch limb heaved in and nearly wrecks the Mace. Film 2437 feet; stills 18. Good publicity still and — pay day. DECEMBER 9 Work 9:45 to 7:15. Four stars working. Sunshine all day. A delegation from the National Publicity Society gave us the up and down. Director made it plain that he didn't want any such comments as: "Why doesn't he do this; why doesn't he do that, etc." Visitors on set are a nuisance. Better pictures would be made without them. Film 1978; stills twenty-three. (To be continued) Shoot the Stars With a Thalhammer Special Model A Tripod Special Range Head Quick-acting Leg Clamps Special Hinged Claw 42 Feet Its easy operation and rigidity insures your work against inaccuracy and loss of time. K. W. THALHAMMER Phone Main 15 74 5 50 So. Figueroa St. Los Angeles November 1, 1921 Page Eleven Jimmy the oAssistant DIRECTORS Directors is one of the biggest and most important wheels in the movie machine. Directors is to the movie plant what gasoline is to an auto. A good or- ganization with a bum director is like a $10,000 gas-hack burning coal oil. And versa-visa, a good director with a bum company is like running an 1876 tiivver with drug store gas hopped up with ether. It may blow hell out of the motor, but it sure perambulates while it lasts. The evolution of directors has evolved considerable since I first busted in. First place I ever was at was a dinky little hole way over on the East Side in New York, where you climbed over a lot of dago kids to get into the studio. The director was a fat guy in shirt sleeves, who prob- ably held at that time the all-American perspiring record, and he sounded like a swearing instructor demonstrating some new ones. He was swearing because the camera had ran out of film and an actor had moved. In them days, when the film ran out, everybody held still while the cameraman reloaded, and then continued the scene. How times has changed. Nowadays, when the film runs out, it ain't the actors that gets cussed out. Seemed like the director's pet idea at that time was to save film. Action was boiled down to the shortest possi- ble footage. It was not "how good," but "how short." Actors just natcherally developed into sprinters. Directors almost had to be hard boiled. Their work was more like football coaching than anything else. It took a lot of razzing to get the necessary speed out of the actors. But then, everything else was the same way. Frinstance, the negative which we today treat like it was a consumptive baby with a busted back, they then used to handle like they had 278 duplicates of it. After the negative man had done all the dirt he could they used to take it down in the cellar and project it at double speed on a worn-out projector that they couldn't use in theaters on account of it chewing the film all up. But them days is gone, and so has the case-hardened director. The successful director of today is a artist, business man, diplomat, fighter, dramatist, writer, for the most part, and a student of almost eve^y other snort, profes- sion, trade, and art in the world. These qualities is mixed in various ways, and that's why we have so many differ- ent kinds of directors. I've worked with about five or six of the best known types. The first one was of the old- fashioned blood and iron school. He had a fight on his hands every two minutes, and his favorite saying was: "Shut up; I'm the boss here!" He got along fine as long as he handled Manhattan cowboys, but later on, when stars begun to appear, they give him a temperamental stage beautv, and the first time he opened up she had him fired. That was the last I ever saw of him. The rest of his type met the same fate as far as I can find out. Then I got hooked up with a stage director who was taking a whack at the movies during an off season in the stage business. He used to rehearse for hours to get just the right inflexshun to the snoken titles and played most exerything in long shots. It took about nine hours to look at a reel of his stuff, it was so slow. No jazz nor pep, nor nothing. The first picture he made was a light little frothy thing about a idiot who goes crazy, wrote by CHICAGO LOS ANGELES Rothacker- Aller Laboratories Inc. Watterson R. Rothacker President Joseph Aller Vice-President and General Manager Los Angeles Office 5515 Melrose Ave. Hollywood 6065 NEW YORK LONDON Page Twelve The American Cinematographer a guy named Ibsen, I think it was. The director used 500 feet of action and 4500 feet of titles in the finished perduction. I worked three pictures with him and then got fired because I dropped a toothpick when he was re- hearsing. He afterwards got to be a pretty good director after he had learned something about the game. But he was a whole sackful of lemons at first. During the first two years in the business he got hired and fired oftener than I did, which is going some. I knew a director onct who new as much about pic- ture-making as he didn't know about business methods, and he new absolutely nothing about business. He got to the place where he never flivvred a scene, and his fin- ished perduction was wonderful. But the blamed idiot would fiddle around, and stall, and delay, and wait, and pretty soon shoot a scene; then call it a day. Then he'd get a inspiration and call everyone back and work all night. Then he'd decide Miss So-and-So wasn't the type, or else the whole sequence was a bum hunch and call it off. Or else he'd order 500 extras and get interested watching a spider or talking over the next story and not get a scene, or else decide he didn't need 'em after all, and let 'em go, only to remember he did need 'em at that, and calls 'em back the next day. His system seemed to be to spend money until the stockholders had to hock their socks for carfare, then double their investments for 'em over night with another knock out. I new another director who seemed to think that "big stuff" made the pictures. He'd rush through all the heart interest stuff so's to be able to spend lots of time on a big ball room set, which finally gets blowed up. He thought a perfect perduction was a series of battles, shipwrecks, automobile accidents, and mob scenes, and that plot and character building was a necessary evil. I've seen plenty of good pictures spoiled that way. This class of directors don't seem to savvy none that a story is a story, and that it's big. medium or skinny, accordin' to its story substance, and that "big stuff" can't be dragged in by the ears to make a thin story big or a big story bigger. There's directors, and directors and directors. There's probly as many different types of directors as there is directors. I've worked for lots of 'em. and I couldn't begin to describe 'em all, but I can say this: that a direc- tor, any director, is ultimately nothing more nor less than a story teller. All of his art, business, diplomacy, and the rest is learned so as to tell his stories better. Freak directors is going out of date; in fact,, freak everything is being eliminated from motion pictures. The types I've described is as scarce as dodos. They don't fit. The modern successful director is — well, in short, he's just what the average citizen thinks he is not. The future of the screen is in the hands of the directors. They constitoot the most powerful group in the perduc- ing ends, and, although the author is the source of a story, it's fate is determined by how it is put on. Maybe a good director can't improve on the work of a equally good author, but a bum director can sure make it look like a hunka. The big opportunity for the director is in the development of a new symbolizm for the screen. The devices in use at present is few and far between. In books they's all kinds of stunts like exagurated figures of speech and such like stunts, which, if you figure 'em out cold and lodgical is impossible and all that, but the public has got used to 'em and knows what is meant by 'em, and hence all is jake. Same way on the stage. Interior of De Puyster's draw- ing room has card board doors, but it gets by. Moon ef- fect in the last act, made on a transparency drop with a Klieg cloud effect like as not gets a hand, although it looks as much like the real moon as a roller skate looks like a Pierce Arrow. Take music, frinstance. This Frenchman, Debuzzy, makes all kinds of funny discords, and queer runs, and idiotic tunes, yet, when someone plays him who knows how the music becomes a language, telling lovely things that were too suttle to be expressed any other way. Painting purple and green shadows on a girl's face; yellow highlights, a light background. No more a copy of the sitter than nothing, yet it looks more like her than she does herself. Seven dabs of a brush and it's a loco- motive and you accept it as such. You're used to accept- ing such things, and that is why art, litterachure and music is so full of variety. They have the idiums with which to express ideas too unusual to be told in the con- venshunal way. The screen is mighty hard up for these handy little stunts. Fade out means end of sequence and lapse of time; lap-dissolve generally means retrospekt; small vignette, "what he sees," and that about winds up the arbitrary cymbolizm of pictures. Two of these stunts is altered stage devices. Seems to me like the big job for the director is the de- velopment of a idiumatick language for the screen. It's not a eas" job, 'cause the public is slow to learn, but 'tis got to be done if pictures is to advance, and the director is the logical man to do it. Realism is gradually being given second place to art and suggestion, rather than actual delineation, is being used more and more. And it should be. Suggestion is the most powerful thing in any of the other arts; why make a exception of the screen? I ain't much of a litterary critik, but I think the climax of Dante's story of Poolo and Francesca is the finest ex- ample of delikate suggestion I know of, and I don't see why such things can't be done on the screen. It won't be long before we can do such things, and then we can tell any stories without fear of the censors. The Mitchell Camera Company have sold their newest model motion picture camera to James C. Van Trees, who is using it to film the beautiful May McAvoy in "Baby Doll". The Mitchell is the first high grade motion camera to be manufactured on the West Coast. It is made in Los Angeles. I i l / I CINEMA STUDIO wUxMstx SUPPLY CO. ? f If / / 1442 GOWER ST. 1 ' I > ' Holly 819 LIGHTING EQUIPMENT FOR RENT WIND MACHINES R. (SPEED) HOSTETTER At Last, It's Here THE 2-INCH F 1.9 DALLMEYER We have also just received a new shipment of 3-inch DALLMEYER F 1.9 and 2-inch "PEN- TAC" DALLMEYER F 2.9. All our lenses are sold subject to 10 days' trial. Ask your laboratory man if he has heard of Houff Neol — the greatest advance in photo- graphic chemistry of recent years. It is some- thing NEW. H. C. BRYANT, Manager Retail and Motion Picture Departments G. GENNERT 208-10 S. Spring St., Los Angeles Phone Broadway 1395 Other Stores: New York, Chicago, Seattle November 1 , 1921 Page Thirteen 'How It All Happened cA Brief ^riew of the Beginnings of the oAmerican Society of Cinematographers