Alf Tunwell — Pity the Poor Cameraman (1935) 🇬🇧
A news-reel cameraman's job is not a happy one," Gilbert might have written had he lived a quarter of a century longer and paid less respect to the laws of scansion.
And he would have been right. So far as difficult jobs go, the Gilbertian policeman cannot hold a candle to the news-reel cameraman.
The news-reel cameraman is wedded to his camera. He can call no time of the day or night his own. A fire breaks out in the middle of the night; there is a train smash in the Midlands. The cameraman must be on his way to the scene with all possible haste. The loss of a few minutes may ruin a story.
He must be prepared to take on a special assignment at a moment's notice; he must fight his way through to obtain the best positions; he must see that the negative arrives at the printing laboratories with all speed so that his company will be the first to show the pictures the kinema screens.
Such is the cameraman's code. A pictorial journalist, he has the same enthusiasm in beating a rival to a story as has a newspaper reporter.
The good cameraman is no mere automaton, either. Imagination, resource, and daring, allied to profound" technical knowledge and skill are the necessary attributes of an ace cameraman. He must keep a cool head and in whatever circumstances must keep "turning."
Those graphic pictures of the assassination of King Alexander of Yugoslavia, taken in very difficult circumstances, would never have been obtained had not this precept been remembered.
Perhaps the most unpleasant experience I have had during my many years as a cameraman was on the occasion when I was given the assignment of a full calibre shoot on H.M.S. Malaya. The only position I could secure was in the gun turret, far too near the huge gun barrel to be healthy.
Whenever the gun fired, I thought my ear drums had broken — this, despite the totally inadequate wads of cotton wool I put in my ears to try to muffle the din. Moreover, the vibration all but had the camera over the top. What with getting pictures, keeping the camera in a horizontal position, and having my head nearly split open by the terrific din, I have never been more relieved when I finally reached the security of the deck.
But the cameraman's life has its compensations. There's a fine feeling of complacent satisfaction to be had when one sees a good "shot" or a good story of one's own on the screen, and it's fine to know that all comers have been beaten. Then again, we sometimes get some really enjoyable trips; such as being sent off in an air liner to Syria or some such place to take pictures of an Asiatic ceremony, or as a guest of the Royal Navy on board a battle cruiser, from which we take pictures of manoeuvres in the picture-blue Mediterranean.
Next time you attend a public event, a big sporting match, a social function, or a Royal wedding, and see us in the best positions, do not let envy creep into your thoughts — "I wish I were a cameraman. They always have the best views and all they do is take photographs. It's money for jam."
Pity the poor cameraman, and remember the "jammy job" is the exception. It's sheer hard work and his life is far from an easy one.
Hollywood comes to London.
Hollywood has come to London. So many of America's most famous stars are now working in British studios that visiting the smart West End hotels almost any night is like walking into the Brown Derby.
What are they like, these people whom we have hitherto known only as glamorous shadows on a silvery sheet?
Picturegoer wants you to meet them as they really are.
Next week we will introduce them to you in a special "Hollywood Guest number" of Britain's leading "fan" magazine.
The issue will contain, among other absorbing articles, wonderful exclusive interviews with famous Hollywood visitors to Britain, beautiful illustrations and all the usual popular Picturegoer features. Don't miss this fine issue. Order your copy now. Do your friends a good turn — tell them.
Collection: Picturegoer Magazine, January 1935