What is Vitaphone? (1926) 🇺🇸

It was bound to happen — and it has! Talking pictures have arrived again. But this time the "talking picture" angle is not stressed nearly as heavily as it has been in the past; and yet, the chances of some real contribution have actually reached the stage of probability — but more of this anon.

by Dunham Thorp

At the present stage of its development, the future possibilities of the Vitaphone (the latest and, of course, best) are — well, whatever you wish to think them.

Therefore, I'll proceed with a bit more caution than the editorial writer of the New York Times, who speaks of "the performance of a seeming miracle in which the tongue of the dumb image was made to sing," and "the lyre of Orpheus that made the ghosts shed tears, soothed the tiger, and moved the oak with song."

Of course, it would be easier to work myself up to an ecstatic pitch, smite lustily where my lyre should be, and troll of Orpheus, Israfel, and Homer. And as the waves of my song carried me ever further, I might enter even deeper in the trance; and, adding myself, form a truly celestial quartet.

But, rather than take the risk of falling from the heavens to the back fence, I'll limit myself in this discussion to an examination of the instrument and its possibilities as is.

First, there is a little technical stuff to be hurdled. The main departure from all former at tempts is a basic one — the method of recording. Formerly, this was done on the film itself, through flutings on the margin, in the manner of the perforations of a player-piano roll; in Vitaphone, it is done by the engraving of a wax disc, in the manner of a phonograph record.

At first glance, the old process would seem extremely simple — in fact, almost fool-proof. If both sight and sound are recorded upon the same thing, how can there possibly be any slip-up between them? But the job lay mainly in the recording, and in the almost unbelievably delicate, electrical problems involved. Because of this, it was never a practical success. Also, if the film was to be run through the ordinary projector, the frame of the picture itself had to be made smaller than standard, so as to leave sufficient margin for the sound recording.

With the Vitaphone, on the other hand, the recording is simply an elaboration of the usual phonograph recording with a dash of radio thrown in. The filming is the same as is practiced in every studio. The task here lay in the synchronization of the two records, sight and sound. This was accomplished through an elaborate system of intricate and delicate electric motors, a description of which is beyond me, and out of place here.

Lastly, it is not the brain child of some obscure inventor puttering away in a lonely garret, but a product of the modern system of invention — the cooperation of specialized technicians in pure and applied science, grouped together in a modern industrial research laboratory.

At the opening in New York, no white-haired, near-sighted old man broke into tears at this consummation of a life of hope; rather, the honors were shared between the Western Electric Company, the Bell Telephone Laboratories, and Warner Brothers.

Now let us see what has actually been accomplished; and what can reasonably be expected to be done.

First, no talking picture, in the sense of a story carried by dialogue as well as action, has been made nor is there any probability of one in the near future. The opening program contained a speech by Will Hays: vocal, violin, piano, and orchestral music by various famous artists and the New York Philharmonic Orchestra; and a musical accompaniment to John Barrymore's latest profile vehicle, "Don Juan." But it is the rendition, not the quality, of the offering that interests us.

The rendition was exactly what I had expected.

The tone is that of the average good radio, not as good as the best under favorable conditions, nor nearly as bad as radio can be. It is not as good as that of the latest orthophonic phonographs.

And, again like radio, there were some things it could not handle to perfection, mainly volume. The opening chorus of "La Fiesta" was horribly garbled. As this was sung by the chorus of the Metropolitan Opera Company, it is not probable that the fault was the singers'. On the other hand, when Martinelli gave vent to the loudest bellow in his power — which is considerable — Vitaphone was in every way adequate to the task. But in this case there was only the one voice — not several competing tones.

And during the Philharmonic's rendition of the Overture from "Tannhauser." a shot was shown of the percussion corner of the orchestra. I saw the triangle struck at least two dozen times, but never heard its note. Through the natural medium of air, the triangle has a remarkable carrying capacity; through the medium of Vitaphone, the cymbals, which were near it, seemed to drown it altogether.

But the main failing is that there were times when, to me, it failed to give a complete feeling of oneness, of seeing and hearing one person, at the same time, in the same place, and from the same distance.

At first, I thought this was due to imperfect synchronization; but, try as I would, I could not prove it, even to my own satisfaction.

The only cause I could put my fingers on was a lack of the right proportion in volume and distance. A guitar sounded at least three times as loud as it would have if it had actually been played in that theater, and if I had been sitting where I was. Everything sounded as though it were at my elbow, yet my eyes told me the players were quite a distance away. My eyes and ears have been trained to compensate for any differences in the strength of the waves of light and sound due to distance. When the distance recorded by my eye is not recorded by my ear, the whole combination is thrown out.

But it is quite probable that this difficulty is not a major one, and will be overcome in the course of time.

Even in its present state it is not nearly as crude as the phonograph and radio — or, for that matter, the movies — were in the beginning, for it has built upon the foundations they have laid, instead of having to dig them for itself.

Now what do they intend, and what will they be able to do with it?

In the first place, there are not going to be any talking pictures. Even its sponsors are not thinking of this "new art" as anything but a possibility of the dim and distant future.

And there are several good reasons for this. One will be sufficient: consider the state of chaos that would enter a movie studio with Vitaphone. Suppose the strong, silent lover stuttered — and that is no groundless supposition. Is there any single person in any of the key positions — scenarist, director, actor, cutter — who could handle the double medium half as well as he can handle the present one?

The movies would enter the Dark Ages for a period of years. For it would take at least a few years before talking pictures could reach even the technical level of the present silent brand.

Even if, living in the hope of future reward, we were willing to do this, what assurance have we that the possible gain would offset the possible loss? It would undoubtedly help such half-breeds, "adapted" from literature and stage, as are unable to shift for themselves in terms of form and movement alone — but at what expense to others, such as "Moana," "The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari," The Last Laugh?

Therefore, the only immediate contribution projected by its owners is in the field of presentation, not production. On Broadway, a picture is accompanied by an orchestra of at least fifty pieces. They hope to bring this — or an even better — orchestral accompaniment into the smallest house of the smallest town. And when the picture is of sufficient importance to merit it, a prologue will be added. There will also be short subjects of one and two reels, presenting world-famous virtuosi, orchestras, singers, et cetera.

But, at present, even these things cannot be done; the instrument is far too delicate to admit of quantity production — some of the screws have to be threaded by hand under a powerful magnifying glass, one hundred threads to the inch!

So when we examine Vitaphone, we find that little has been accomplished; everything lies in promises for the future. At present, it is nothing but a novelty on exhibition in New York. Designed to give pictures a Broadway presentation in Smith's Corners, it has, so far, only succeeded in returning that presentation — in not quite its original perfection — to the street from which it was taken.

The electrical sound-recording system makes possible the synchronization of motion pictures with vocal accompaniment.

The Vitaphone introduces Marion Talley, the youthful prima donna from Kansas City, to motion picture audiences at the presentation of "Don Juan."

Collection: Picture Play Magazine, December 1926