Aces of the Camera — Charles Lang (1942) 🇺🇸

Aces of the Camera XXIII: Charles Lang, A.S.C.

by Walter Blanchard

The story of how Charles Lang, A.S.C., made his way up the cinematographic ladder to an Academy Award and secure recognition as one of the industry’s foremost directors of photography does not run true to the form of the usual “success story.” True enough, he worked and waited long enough for a chance to photograph a picture as a First Cameraman: but when that opportunity came, he certainly didn’t stick to the Alger formula and magically enchant the star with his glamorizing camerawork, and romp off to success from the first day’s work.

Quite the reverse! He admits that he flopped on his first picture, and was sent scurrying back to grinding second camera, very much in the dog-house. He waited years for another chance, and then acquitted himself with so little distinction that he was generally regarded as washed out — until he made a decision which at long last set him on the high road to success.

His story really begins about twenty years ago, when he was an earnest young law student at the University of Southern California. Officially, you know, he’s Charles Bryant Lang, Jr.; his father, Charles R. Lang, Sr., was one of the industry’s best laboratory experts, and was at that time heading a department in the laboratory of the now-forgotten Realart Studio. Charlie, Jr., was a particular pal of Frank Garbutt, Jr., whose father was Realart ‘s head. And Garbutt, Jr., persistently urged Lang, Jr., to forget his law-books and join the rest of the two families in the technical end of Realart’s production.

Eventually the younger Lang said yes, and went to work as a helper in Realart’s lab, washing tanks and helping mix chemicals by day, and poring over his law-books in night classes, as he wasn’t yet completely sure he wanted to trade a legal career for a photographic one.

But in time, that question was settled for him. Successive advancements in his work kept him busier and busier, with increasing responsibilities as he went through increasingly responsible posts in the various departments, until he found his time so fully taken up that he had no more time to study torts and malfeasances.

After a thorough grounding in all phases of laboratory work, he found an opening in camerawork and started in as assistant to H. Kinley Martin, one of Realart’s ace cameramen, and a pioneer member of the A.S.C. After passing the usual apprenticeship as an assistant, he finally became what was then called a Second Cameraman.

“In those days,” he will tell you, “the Second Cameraman had a very different job from that of today’s Second or Operative Cameraman. It was the practice in those days to have two cameras on every shot: one, operated by the First Cameraman, photographed the negative used for domestic prints. The other, operated by the Second Cameraman, stood beside it and made the negative used for foreign prints.

“The Second Cameraman made all the inserts — usually on his own — and very often when there was need for what today we’d call a second unit, or some atmospheric shots, it was the accustomed thing to send the Second Cameraman out to get them, while the First Cameraman carried on with the more important scenes in the studio.

“Then the Realart studio shut down. And I stayed. I got Second Camera jobs where I could, and occasionally shot First Camera for independent ‘quickies,’ for producers whose only idea was to get something on the film for as little money as possible. It was, as I look back on it now, grand training; but it was absolute hell to go through. Most of the time I didn’t know where my next day’s work was coming from (or when!) and plenty of times I was even more worried as to where I’d pick up my next meal or my next week’s lent.

“Finally, though, I managed to get on at the old Lasky [Jesse L. Lasky] studio — one of the forerunners of today’s Paramount — as a fairly regular Second Cameraman. Realart had been a Lasky subsidiary, and I found friends there among the executives, directors and cameramen who had been with Realart.

After a while they gave me a chance to do a picture as a full-fledged First Cameraman. It was about 1926, and the picture was an unimportant little thing called Ritzy, starring Betty Bronson. The less said about that picture, the better! I got through it somehow, but not in any fashion to distinguish myself or make the producer happy.

“I went back to Second Camera — and liked it!

“Two or three years later, they gave me another break as First Cameraman. This time I did better — but not too much better. I’d learned a good deal shooting second with some of Paramount’s older and more experienced hands, but I still didn’t cover myself with glory on the screen. I got by — but by a margin that got slimmer and slimmer all the time.

“Finally I reached a point where I knew that if I didn’t do better on my next picture, I’d better get ready to go back to shooting second, or dig out the law books. And I tried to analyze my past work to see if I couldn’t find out what was lacking.

“Finally I reached the conclusion that, consciously or otherwise, I’d been imitating what I saw the other cameramen doing too much. I’d approach a scene and try to light it the way I thought Harry Fischbeck or Al Gilks [Alfred Gilks] or Vic Milner [Victor Milner] would do it. Naturally, what I was putting on the screen was a pretty pale imitation of Fischbeck, or Gilks or Milner. It didn’t have any real character of its own. And even in the ‘B’ pictures I was doing, it was a misfit.

“So on this picture — which I was pretty sure was likely to be my last — I decided to forget about what the other fellows might do, and try and photograph it for Charlie Lang. At least, I’d go out on my own mistakes, rather than on the mistakes I’d make trying to copy somebody else’s good work!

“Luckily for me, that picture was a melodrama — one that could stand strong pictorial treatment, with ‘arty’ compositions and rugged effect-lightings. I gave it the works. Where before I would probably have hesitated, and tried to play things on the safe side, this time I went the whole hog on sketchy, dramatic lightings.

“And it clicked!

“Instead of being fired, I got a raise, and a chance at better pictures. I worked for a while with Dorothy Arzner, the celebrated woman director. In one of the pictures, I photographed Ruth Chatterton, who was then Paramount’s top star. And she liked the way I made her look on the screen so much that on her next picture she asked for me. And when a studio’s biggest box-office star asks for a cameraman, she usually gets him. I stayed with her until she left the studio.

“From that time on, things have rolled along fairly well for me. I’ve gotten my fair share of the studio’s best photographic opportunities and, I hope, not done too badly by them. I’ve never been completely satisfied with any of my pictures, but other folks luckily haven’t usually seen all the faults in them that I do.

“But the start of the whole thing was that decision to try and stand on my own feet, photographically, rather than to keep on safely imitating somebody else.

“I think that would be the keynote of any advice I’d give a younger cinematographer today. If my present Operative were to be promoted to a directorship of photography today, I’m sure I’d urge him not to pattern his work after mine a minute longer than was absolutely necessary in getting a good start on his own. After that, for pete’s sake forget there ever was such a person as Charlie Lang: go out and shoot things as you yourself see them, not as you think Charlie Lang or Vic Milner or Joe Doakes would shoot them!

“And above all, if the story will possibly stand it, don’t be afraid to go strongly for effect-lightings! They’re a sure-fire winner of the average nonphotographer’s praise (you never saw any cinematographer miss on a mystery or horror picture, did you?) and while you may fail to satisfy yourself on some of the more conventional shots, in details only a cinematographer would notice, if you get in a good sprinkling of really striking effect-lightings and forceful compositions, you’ll find the front office, the director and the stars are all likely to pat you on the back as a rising young artist!

“Once you’re established that way, and off to a good start, you’ll find time enough to take yourself in hand and smooth off those rough spots which only you, as a cameraman, can see. You’ll never be completely satisfied, anyway, if you appraise your work with real sincerity. Even if they hand you an Academy ‘Oscar’ for a picture, you’ll still be able to look back on that picture with a bit of a blush and tell yourself, ‘Gee, I wish I could do that scene again — I could do it so much better now, I could avoid this mistake I made, or that opportunity I missed!’

“As a matter of fact, I find that looking back over some of my past pictures is helpful in more ways than one. A good look at yesterday’s mistakes keeps you from feeling too self-satisfied, and it can often give you very helpful pointers on what to do today, too.

“When I start a picture, of course my first step is to study the script as carefully as possible, and try to visualize clearly what I see in each scene and sequence, and figure out in advance how to get it on the screen. Then, when I’m sure my mental picture and that of the director, the producer, and others coordinate, I start casting back in my memory for some other picture I’ve done in which I’ve used a similar treatment.

“When I find it, I get a print of that picture and study it on the screen. That way, I can see objectively just how that treatment worked out in practice. If I see something good — something that can be adapted to my new assignment — I know precisely what I did to get that effect, and what I must do to get it under today’s conditions.

“And I also see the opportunities I missed before. If there’s any parallel in the new picture, I at least have advance warning of them…a tip-off on what I should do, even if I didn’t do it before. I’ll probably make plenty of mistakes, and miss plenty of opportunities: but at least they’ll be different ones!

“I’ve often thought it would be interesting to have an opportunity to re-do with today’s materials and methods some picture I’d photographed in the past. Even in black-and-white, with today’s advances in film and lighting, and particularly putting today’s ideas in cinematographic treatment to work, it would give an entirely different result. And using Technicolor would be like playing a familiar piece with a symphony orchestra in place of a single, tinny piano —! “And while speaking of advances, don’t forget the changes that have taken place in the camera crew itself. Today’s Operatives and Assistants are infinitely more important to the director of photography and to the picture than were the Second Cameramen and Assistants of yesterday. They used to be more or less cogs in a machine… and cogs you could do without, in a pinch. But today, the director of photography can stand or fall on the performance of his crew. Of course, he creates the lightings and plans the compositions: but if the Operative doesn’t work in perfect coordination with him, they’re not likely to reach the screen intact. If the Assistant doesn’t do his work in following focus perfectly… well, nobody can tell about it until the rushes are screened the next day! And the blame falls more on the Chief’s head than on the subordinate’s. Perfect team-work is essential. The director of photography must have confidence that his operative crew has the ability to perform whatever is required, and the integrity to admit immediately if they’ve missed a shot. They, on their part, must have confidence that their chief won’t ask the impossible, and that he’ll back them up when they need it.

“That’s why I’ve so little patience with some cinematographers who seem to feel they’ve got to be as arbitrary as a Prussian major with their crews. Of course some sort of discipline is often necessary if we’re to get things done; but it should be the discipline that grows out of mutual respect and confidence — the sort that builds up democratic teamwork on the set in just the same way it does in the Army or on a sports team. And I think most of us, if we compare what our crews are doing with what we did when we were working as Second or Assistant cameramen, will have to respect them for doing a much more intricate job, under more difficult conditions — and probably doing it much better than we would have!”

End.

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Collection: American Cinematographer, December 1942

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see other entries of the Aces of the Camera series