Norman Z. McLeod — This Business of Directing (1934) 🇺🇸
Secondary in importance to the stars of a motion picture, ranks the director. Why?
by Norman McLeod, Paramount Director
When John and Jane Public go to the theater to see the screening of a production, they usually pick the one that shows their favorite stars. At least this is the opinion of producers when planning to produce a picture. Apparently their theory is right, if box-office returns are considered a criterion.
The electric lights on the marquee board, the 24-sheet stands and the newspaper and radio advertising space all shriek the name, or names, of the stars. If one looks closely enough, the name of the director may be located — way down in one corner in small type. When the picture is unreeled, it will be found again but in no case so prominently displayed as that of the star’s.
On the other hand, the director is boss of his unit during the filming of a story. His word is the last word. The stars look to him for an interpretation of the scenes to be portrayed. The writers consult him on any changes in the dialogue or continuity.
Yet, more than seventy-five per cent of motion picture patrons never know who was behind the camera when the picture was screened.
“Why?” we ask again.
The director is supplied with a story, an adaptation, — or continuity. He has a cameraman to “shoot” the scenes and electricians to “light” his sets. He has players of experience to enact and interpret the scenes of his story.
Why, then, couldn’t any person with ordinary sense direct?
Why not give the office boy the script and tell him to follow the continuity, thereby saving the salary of a director? Couldn’t such a person deliver a picture that would please, providing the script was interesting and fundamentally correct?
The answer is, “No.”
Yet, on the face of the things, directing a picture seems fairly simple. What else does a director need outside of a continuity and a technical staff?
Continuity is a unique piece of writing. It is a screen story broken down into sequences, which are, in turn, broken down into detailed scenes. Every scene necessary to motivate the story is included. Every bit of action is described for the players — from “long shots” to “closeups.”
Following is a sample of the continuity in Paramount’s The Woman Accused, a unique story featuring Nancy Carroll and Cary Grant, written by ten of America’s leading writers — Rupert Hughes, Vicki Baum, Zane Grey, Viña Delmar, Irvin S. Cobb, Gertrude Atherton, J. P. McEvoy, Ursula Parrott, Polan Banks, and Sophie Kerr:
“He thrusts her away from him violently. She staggers against a table and in order to prevent herself from falling, her hand closes over a heavy bronze figure of Venus which is standing on the table. Leo, the ‘phone still in his hands, turns toward the girl and leers.”
The direction of such a scene seems simple, doesn’t it?
But, how would you group the players? Which is most important to the audience — the girl or the man? How is the playing to be emphasized? How long should the scene run in order to register the action without filming undue footage? A thousand and one questions are inspired by every scene and only a trained director can answer them.
That is why Hollywood’s directors are second in importance to the stars.
A writer can sit in his office, write continuity and visualize the action. However, he unconsciously presents problems that are not realized until actual filming of the photoplay begins.
For example, the geography of a set is something beyond . the writer’s control. The art department cannot, at all times, give the director settings the writer had in mind. Therefore very important decisions of this nature must be made by the director — decisions that may radically change the story later.
Then, there is the problem of scene grouping. Where should certain players be at certain times to obtain the most effective “shots?” How and when should they move about? The director must answer these important questions.
Although this point is rarely taken into consideration a director must see that his players act natural — not act. Directors, and audiences demand that players enact a situation just as human beings in real life would under similar circumstances. Artificiality is a cardinal sin. Sincerity is the keynote in the making of a picture. Neither is in the script.
However, many artists and technicians combine their talents in “breaking down a script.” Just mention the term inside a movie studio and the entire personnel will be seized with buck ague.
For it means increased activity and new responsibilities for nearly every person on the lot. It means that all department heads must make important decisions regarding a new and costly film production. It means that the execution of these tasks has a direct bearing on future film careers. “Breaking down a script,” to studioites, is no laughing matter.
Each movie script comprising, around 50,000 words, is sent to the stenographic department where 165 copies of each are mimeographed and distributed.
Here is where “breaking down the script” begins. Scripts go a-calling. The cameraman reads and visualizes only set-ups and angles. He determines the number of long, medium and closeup “shots, and whether perambulating, panoramic, crane or dolly “shots” are needed.
At the electrical department the head juicer “sees” special lighting effects. He spots electric signs that are a part of the story, looks for day and night sequences (for these make a vast difference in light requisitions). He determines the number and kinds of lights needed and the number of electricians and operators essential to “carry on.”
The property department in “breaking down the script” checks the story closely for “key” props; that is, articles appearing in the picture that play an important part in the plot, such as pistols, bibles, jewels, etc. Woe unto the property man if these “props” are missing when needed!
The set dresser chooses furniture, drapes, rugs, etc. In short, he’s an interior decorator. He senses the story period and the social standing of the occupants of an interior, and is guided accordingly.
As the casting director reads the script, hordes of characters, great and small, pass in review before his mind’s eye. He visualizes old men, flappers, crooks, mobs, business types, bankers, society dames — extras, bits and supporting players.
Only the outdoor scenes interest the Location Department. Transportation and feeding of extras must be arranged. Owners of deserts, woodlands, mountains, seashores, etc., must be contacted.
Songs and orchestral music interest the director of the Music Department. He also arranges to heighten dramatic effects by supplying incidental scores to scenes that suggest it.
As the sound man reads, he hears the train whistles, the shriek of police sirens, cow bells, wild animal growls, and the scream of the mother-in-law as site perishes from the effects of poison. He also prepares a microphone plot by a study of the set diagram and the players’ action and dialogue
The special sound effects department works in conjunction with the sound department.
The art department supervises the work of set dressers and wardrobe workers.
The business department head “sees,” as he “breaks down the script,” the salaries and pay items from star to the rent of the yellow canary.
Readers, assistant directors, script girls, grips, estimators, carpenters, laborers, research experts, plasterers, cutters, laboratory workers and hundreds of others are drawn into the huge production swirl as the script goes into the filming stage.
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Editor’s Note: Mr. McLeod the author of the above article, is now directing Charlotte Henry in Alice in Wonderland, having previously done that screamingly funny comedy Mama Loves Papa, and the dramatic picture A Lady’s Profession.
This is the seventh of a series of articles by and of the well known directors in the Hollywood studios.
Collection: Broadway and Hollywood “Movies”, January 1934