The First International Exposition

Below are excepts from a review of the International Trade Show that was held in New York in early July. I have included primarily the passages on music and sound effects. The full article, which contains many interesting bits about equipment available to exhibitors, can be accessed via Google Books in window at the end of the post.

The First International Exposition

Splendid Showing Made by the Various Branches of
the Motion Picture Trade and Contributary Interests

It was something of a venture on the part of the promoters of the First International Exposition of Motion Picture Arts when they suggested the project. As has been frequently observed in these columns, conditions in the trade were not favorable to such an undertaking, but that fact did not deter the promoters, the New York City Exhibitors' League. They framed their plans very carefully and toiled with great industry for the ultimate success.

Whether conditions of the trade changed to please the promoters of the exposition, or whether it was their energy that overcame adverse conditions, the fact remains that the exposition was a huge success. The big hall of the Grand Central Palace was tastefully laid out, the booths were artistically designed and decorated, giving the exposition a fairyland aspect when illuminated by the thousands of incandescent lights.

It would be impossible to publish all the complimentary remarks expressed by visitors, but they were enthusiastic to the last degree, and well they might be, for it seldom happens that a trade exhibit at Grand Central Palace is more comprehensive and attractive than this. A careful review of the displays follows:

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Just across the aisle from the big Wurlitzer instrument, that makes more noise than the band, the Dramagraph effects machine has to get in when the Wurlitzer man has a heart, but the novelty of the machine holds the crowds. It is a compact collection of drummers' traps and effects self-contained and supplemented by the usual bass and snare drum. The bass pedal has an arrangement whereby the cymbal or drum may be operated independently of the other or in unison. The other has a lever device for throwing off the snares and converting it into a tom-tom. Cranks, pulls and handles work all sorts of bells and a series of tubes work the whistles, and other pneumatic effects. There is a phonograph for use where the piano is absent, and an organ run by a crank for church scenes. A typewriter key effect has its accompanying bell, and the demonstrator claims that not a single sound asked for yet has not been replied to. The jokester who asks for "a noise like a nut" is given the laugh by the operator tapping his assistant's head.

Scott and Van Altena have their display in running order and show a collection of slides that it would be hard to beat anywhere. They are all straight photographic effects in combination instead of crude drawing, and some of the colorings are unusually effective. You are missing an eye treat if you go past this booth too quickly. The interior is darkened and a glass screen shows the effect of some of the numbers in the lantern.

Phonoliszt Violina is a pretty large mouthful of name. It belongs to one of the most unique musical instruments on the floor, a combination of two violins and piano. While there are four instruments for each violin, each violin using but a single string, all are completely strung and the combination of the eight give the full effect of two good instruments, the bowing being done by a circle bow and the stopping by mechanical fingers. Apart from the novelty the tonal effects are really good and the piano accompaniment leaves nothing to be desired, being neither obtrusive nor lacking in volume. Perforated paper rolls are used, these being made in Germany. There is another instrument giving a combination of piano and organ, a pleasing effect, and there is a pipe organ with effects for those who desire something of greater volume, all of them being handled by Ernst Bocker. There is more than plenty of music in the air, but it is good music.

[. . .] There is a full equipment of Deagan's bells. A. F. Berry is in charge of the exhibit, and he is aided by J. R. Hunter and J. R. Sweeney.

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The one thing that can make the Wurlitzer organ weary is the Yerkes bells mounted on the balcony railing and operated from a booth close to the entrance. Next exposition, it is rumored, they are going to put all the musical instruments in a special

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hall and let them fight it out, but the bells are holding their own well, and are attracting attention. They have other music makers, but the bells lead the rest.

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It isn't necessary to talk much about the Wurlitzer-Hope-Jones Unit Orchestra. It speaks for itself and in no uncertain tones. Every time it starts up—and it starts up about ten minutes after it runs down—the crowd hustles over and the only person in hearing who does not seem to like it is the man who tries to sneak in a demonstration of the Dramagraph each time they change a tune.

The W-H-J has to hustle some to live up to two hyphens, but it makes it every time and with plenty to spare. The Wurlitzer people might have filled that end of the hall with their various styles of instruments, but they centered on the Unit Orchestra and the band lost its job after the opening night, just as many orchestras have been replaced by one man at the W-H-J console. The best thing about it is that having only one man, a good man may be engaged, since he is the director over a mechanical instead of a human orchestra. The regular Wurlitzer catalogue lists machines all the way from $375 up, but no one ever discovered that they had more than one standard of excellence though a score of degrees of elaborateness.

The Berry-Wood people, at the other end of the hall—and have you noticed how these automatic players run to hyphens— have three instruments on display and many more in their catalogue.

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Source: “The First International Exposition,” Moving Picture World 19 July 1913, 324-27.

The Film in France

After visiting England, Germany, and Italy, W. Stephen Bush finished up his 1913 European trip with a stay in Paris. This is his letter from Paris, which deals briefly with exhibition in Paris, especially the Gaumont Palace.

The Film in France

By W. Stephen Bush

Paris, June 11, 1913.

Contentment and prosperity are the dominant notes in the kinematographic world of France, though of course there is no millennium, and at least one great and just cause of complaint. It is an old story that the burdens of the industry fall most heavily upon the exhibitor, and France is no exception to the rule. The government of Paris and of most of the large cities of the country exact a toll of ten per cent. of the daily receipts of the exhibitor “on behalf of the poor.” Every time and exhibitor opens his show the government is right there with its black-coated official, who in a both of his own supervises the cash, counts off ten per cent. “for the poor” and takes the money with him every night. This method of collecting the taxes “for the poor” is not only somewhat despotic toward the exhibitor but likewise decidedly annoying to the public, for after you have bought your ticket at the box-office you have to appear before the seat of the official, generally situated in the centre of the lobby, and you cannot get in until he gives you his approval. The government also tells the exhibitor how many officers he needs for the purpose of keeping proper order, and these officers, and these officers, absolutely useless in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, the exhibitor has to pay out of his own pocket.

United Interests

In spite of these hampering conditions the exhibitor is prosperous because the popularity of the pictures is greater than ever, and the number of theaters is constantly increasing. The day before I left Paris the great organization, which in France embraces manufacturers, exchange men, scenario writers, operators and exhibitors, met at its annual banquet in the Salle des Fetes to discuss things and to celebrate and to be happy and brilliant in the accepted French way. Ah! But there was the eloquence and the great applause every time. Monsieur Millevoy, a member of the Chamber of Deputies and a politician of some note, wagged his silver tongue and said much of the educational value of the motion picture. All the moguls of the French trade were there. M. Charles Pathe, Lumiere Freres, Max Linder, Nadar, Provost, Landry and very many others. A most interesting speaker was M. Benoit-Levy, who regretted the absence of the Minister of Education or some equally prominent statesman, who had sent his secretary instead of attending himself. He said, amid great applause, that the time will come when every government of the world will be anxious to have the moving picture for a friend and an ally, and when an invitation to attend a banquet of the organized motion picture interests will be deemed and honor and a privilege. There is one pleasant feature well worth mentioning in connection with this banquet. For the first time in the history of the French kinetamotograph the daily press of Paris had seen fit to devote considerable attention to the event, giving it in most cases due prominence on the first page. This is belated recognition when one considers how many million francs are invested in this industry in France.

The Three Great Names

Three names dominate the field of kinematography here and I give them in their alphabetical order: Eclair, Gaumont and Pathe. Among them they divide the French and indeed a goodly portion of the Continental market. With the notable exception of the Vitagraph films, which seem to lead American films in Europe almost everywhere, there is comparatively little sale of American-made films in France. It looks as if the motto were: French films for French audiences. Today mighty few films are sold in France, for the simple reason that the biggest firms, Eclair, Gaumont and Pathe, do no longer dispose of their reels through middlemen but deal directly with the exhibitor, to whom the films are not sold but merely rented. Of the foreign films sold, the Americans are well in the lead, with Italy a good second, while Germany looms up a distant third.

How They Show Their Pictures

As to the art of exhibiting pictures I cannot say very much for either Paris or France. There are, of course, some wonderfully fine show places, notably the Gaumont Palace and the Pathe Palace, where perfection is the order of the day. The Gaumont Palace, seating abut 6,000 people, is probably the largest and most successful moving picture theater in the world, with a scale of prices soaring up to somewhere near the dollar mark. The theater was well filled on the warm night in June when I visited there. I have seen some exceptionally fine projection in my day and have known many operators who were past-masters in the science of giving good light and a steady picture, but I never saw anything to surpass the projection in the Gaumont Palace. Even the most critical eye could not help being delighted by this picture—steady, always steady, without even the faintest trace of a tremble or a flicker. The most perfect order prevailed in the audience and what there was of vaudeville was tolerably good.

Outside these show palaces, however, the projection in Paris was generally poor and the pauses between the reels about ten times longer than even the most patient of our audiences would endure without plenty of hostile demonstrations. The service of the attendants and the music fall below the English and German standards. An American manager would get nervous prostration over the frequent breaks in the film, but here it does not seem to make any great difference to the public. I am inclined to think that the French exhibitor often cares more about a fine display outside than the show on the inside. I went, for instance, to the “Colisee,” on the Champs Elysees, one of the new and widely advertised theaters, in a very nice section of the city. For a fair seat I paid two francs. There is many a show on the lower East Side in New York with less pretense and far greater merit. The vaudeville shown was of the anthropoid variety which prevailed in many sections of our own country just about four years ago. The cheaper places are correspondingly worse.

Visit to Three Great Studios.

Of the studios I visited in Paris and its vicinity, none is more charmingly situated and better adapted to every need of the kinematograph than the Eclair plant at Epinay sur Seine, just outside the city limits. The grounds and a lovely chateau were purchased from a famous French naturalist, M. Lacepedo, who spent many years there. He had selected the place with a view to a leisurely pursuit of his studies, and what was well chosen for this admirer of nature was not ill chosen for the kinematograph, which is one of the secretaries of nature. The grounds cover about forty acres, of which but a small portion is occupied by the studios and the mechanical departments, while the rest consists of splendid and happily varied natural scenery. The Eclair Company [180] never leave its own premises to produce films—water, fountain, terraces, groves, romantic bits of forest or meadow—in fact, all the charm of outdoor scenery is found at home. The Eclair Company is now working on a new sensational feature in which it used the facilities of its outdoor studio to the uttermost, and I was told it would be better than “Zigomar.”

The Gaumont Company’s studio, like the others, is out of the city, and it is indeed a little community in itself, with a name of its own—Elge City—in honor of the initials of its founder, M. Leon Gaumont. What is most striking about this establishment is the spirit of “camaraderie”—good fellowship, which pervades every branch and characterizes every employee in every branch. This spirit, at once so agreeable and valuable, takes its source in a sense of deep and sincere loyalty to the chief of the great firm, M. Gaumont, who, at the time of my visit to his Parisian studio, was with characteristic energy demonstrating some of his new ideas to the public of New York. He has somehow imbued his staff with an ambition to do things well and to go forward without ceasing. The enormous plant of Gaumont’s now employs on an average of a thousand people, and from the last to the first they are capable, alert and industrious. As in every other establishment, I was fortunate in my guide. Mr. L. R. Aylmer, an Irishman who speaks French like a Frenchman, conducted me through every part of the works. Mr Aylmer, who is the “Chef du Service Cinematographique Societe des Establishments Gaumont,” is an ardent admirer of THE MOVING PICTURE WORLD, and especially of the Projection Department. He told me that he has often acted as official government examiner of French applicants for operators’ licenses, and he says he found Mr. Richardson’s hints full of the most practical value. He wanted me to thank our apostle of projection on behalf of France. A glad hand is waiting for F. H. Richardson at 57 Rue St. Roch, Paris. The Gaumont plant has been described in THE MOVING PICTURE WORLD before, but as this happened some years ago it is necessary to add that it has expanded in every direction and that as quantity has steadily gone forward, quality has never lagged behind. As a piece of Gaumont enterprise I might mention that they had the picture of the banquet of the moving picture men ready for exhibition within a few hours of the event. Manufacturers had it projected for me on the screen, and there surely was enough motion in it to make it suitable for a kinematographic reproduction.

The Pathe studio, which are partly in the ancient town of Vincennes and partly in Joinville, are most difficulat to describe. Everything has been planned and excuted on a gigantic scale, and it would take a giant’s pen to do the subject justice. Going through the various departments of the Pathe works is much like going through some great and world-famous gallery or museum—the human mind is limited in its ability to absorb impressions and properly digest them, and ordinary minds like my own begin to tire after four or five hours of steady exertion in watching and listening. Indeed, I should have given up the attempt of making a complete tour of Pathe works had it not been for the encouraging words and the ability to explain which is possessed in no small degree by M. Schoenmbaum, a young Alsatian who had been in America and who is an accomplished linguist. In the office of the great establishment on the Rue de Vigneros, I had the pleasure of meeting M. Charles Pathe and Mr. J. A. Berst, who happened to be in conference. They expressed in terms of great sincerity their pleasure at the opportunity of giving the readers of THE MOVING PICTURE WORLD some idea of their work here. Here indeed the workings of the kinematographic industry are displayed from Alpha to Omega. The Alpha is represented by huge qualities of sacks containing a white powder-like substance, which is the foundation of all film and which, according to my guide, is scientifically labeled “acetate de cellulose.” This raw material is found in varying qualities in all organic matter, and is therefore obtained easily and cheaply, It is not often that Nature throws out any very distinct hints to our intelligence beyond those we need to exist, but right here it seems is an unmistakable sign of the enduring character of the film; it is common almost as the air, and Nature locks it from none. I followed the white powder through the various stages of its chemical birth as a strip of film. I saw the powerful solvent kept in big iron casks. I saw the acetate and solvent mixed in numerous tanks and I saw the wheel upon which the mixture begins to take on the shape of film with which we are familiar. What infinite care was needed at every step, how difficult it seemed to guard the delicate embryonic substance against the rude intrusion of the light, of which even one strong ray or sudden glow would work decided havoc.

They have a system of tests which makes it, humanly speaking, impossible for one foot of defective film to leave the factory. The vast lengths are sent to every Pathe factory in the world, every inch is carefully marked and checked, and if any complaint comes home it is a matter of five minutes to trace every had which had anything to do with that particular section of film. I remember that even years ago it used to be a common saying among exhibiters that a Pathe film gave most excellent wear and long service. I have ceased to speculate as the reason for all of this, for even half an hour’s visit at Vincennes will make it clear. There is an educational and scientific department in the Pathe studio just as there is in the Eclair and Gaumont plants, and all three are intelligently active, though there seemed to be no effort to follow any definite system which might supply or at least supplement the textbook in the schools. Professor M. J. Comandon, a learned, capable and courteous gentleman, is engaged in interesting biological work in the Pathe kinematographic library. His work is almost entirely microscopic. As I will deal with the status of the educational picture in Europe in the course of another article, I must for the present content myself with this passing reference to one of the most promising aspects of the educational kinematograph.

The whole plant at Vincennes, vast as it is, belongs entirely to the negative production, while all the positive work is done at Joinville. Both at Vincennes and at Joinville one is struck by two things—the exceeding cleanliness of every part of the plants and the fact that so many employees of the company have held their present positions for many years. It is quite common to meet employees who have been with the firm since the very start. A merit system of the fairest possible type is in use. As a result, there are no “clock watchers” in the Pathe employ. Ambition and talent are encouraged at every step. There is a special department of invention and research, and this department is always busy, and in the words of my guide, “it has its ear wide open all the time.” Any workman who offers any practical suggestions for any kind of improvement will find his envelope somewhat bulkier than usual when Saturday comes around.

There is on the premises at Vincennes a large, well-lighted building which is labeled “Societe des Auteurs et Gens de Lettres,” in our idiom a sort of meeting place, where the “littery fellows” assemble on occasion and talk over the question of dramatic kinematography in general and with reference to their scenarios in particular. Authors are present while scenes from their plays are [181] being enacted, and there is no doubt many a friendly discussion which tends to make a better picture. Some of the choicest literary spirits of France belong to this society.

Censorship No Problem in France

There is no censorship in France—voluntary or otherwise. The public censor the pictures, and manufacturers and exhibitors are pretty clever in anticipating the taste and judgment of the public. Of course, the French taste is wholly different than ours, but there are well-defined limits which are observed with commendable consistency. A well-known exhibitor told me that there had been no interference on the part of the police or the legislators except two years ago when some misguided person wanted to show the details of a public execution on the screen. He was quickly stopped, and a law was enacted forbidding the portrayal of public executions in moving pictures. Censorship presents no problem in France. The industry here is about to grow, the picture is immensely popular and theaters are being built constantly. Conditions are likely to continue just as they are now.

Source: W. Stephen Bush, “The Film in France,” Moving Picture World 12 July 1913, 179-81.

Notes from Italy

Compared to his accounts of London and Berlin, Bush devotes little space to exhibition in Rome, and doesn't mention the musical practice at all. Overall, he seems not to know what to make of the country. He discusses the Italian film industry at length, but seems a bit perplexed by its uneven quality. He also notes that unlike England and Germany, American subjects do not play well in Italy.

Notes from Italy

A Lesson in Italian Kinematographic History—Italy a Poor Market, but Features Bring High Prices—Exhibitors and Their Leagues—Theaters and Projection—Visit to the Cines.

By W. Stephen Bush

Rome, May 29, 1913

In the history of the kinematograph in Italy there is much to cheer and comfort the friend of the motion picture. No other country furnishes ampler proof of the fact that the palm of success and the crown of merit go to the producer who is not afraid to aim high and whose appeal addresses itself to the intelligence, the good taste and the more sense of the public. In the beginning of things kinematographic in Italy the producer had on the one hand the advantage of extraordinary opportunities, while on the other hand he was beset by great temptations. His opportunities lay in the natural beauty of his county, in the weather and the climate. Nowhere has Nature set up a more glorious and complete studio than in this most favored of lands. He had the precious opportunity of becoming the interpreter of a deathless and most interesting of civilization. By means of the new invention which by reproducing motion gives the most perfect imitation of life, he had it in his power to show to the whole modern civilized world pictures of the life and culture of ancient Rome. He had but to set up his camera with the right intention and his very surroundings would furnish him with the inspiration needed to produce great films. His was and is the home of art.

In Rome and all through Italy are the plentiful remains of the arts which have created imperishable beauty, which to the end of time will delight the eye and stir the heart. All the vast treasure of art and of knowledge and of history and of literature which is heaped up here in richest profusion was at the constant and immediate service of the moving picture camera. Here was the birthplace of two civilizations of the greatest importance—the civilization of ancient and of Christian Rome. Here were born two of the richest and most expressive languages; here these languages reached their highest perfection, and here they served as the means of expression to some of the greatest minds among mortal men. The source of much which we still teach in every school of the world is here. The priceless heritage of Greece was often transmitted to us through Rome. It is hardly necessary to allude to the part which Rome and Italy played in the history of Christian civilization. If ever there was in the best sense of the word a paradise for the ambitious and intelligent producer it surely was in Italy. It was in the power of the Italian producer to place before the world in clear and living pictures what all the schools and text books of the centuries could do but imperfectly. If the producer chose to strike the educational chord and do some homage to the Muses of History and of Poetry and of the Drama, his success seemed to be assured. He had the world for an audience, for Rome and Italy had been the themes of countless poets and writers and teachers in various tongues for more than two thousand years.

Great, however, as his opportunities undoubtedly were, his temptations were no less great. First, there was the cry of that old, owlish, parrot-like chorus: “The moving picture is not here to instruct and educate, but only to amuse and entertain.” With all their fossilized arguments these parrots can never succeed in talking the educational value out of the motion picture. There was, however, a greater and plainer temptation in the path of the Italian producer. This consisted in the very potent fact that in modern Italy the taste of the public is decidedly low. Indeed it verges on the morbid and the on the vulgar.

Education here is still very far from being universal; even the most superficial of observers must recognize all around them the effects of centuries of political oppression and superstition. This is not the place to go into the causes of low taste and vicious instincts—I only state the fact and place it among the temptations which confronted the producer. If he took a narrow view of his opportunities it might well seem to him that the road to fortune must lie in playing down to the tastes of the vulgar. “To get the crowd” in Italy it was neither necessary nor advisable to put art and high ideals in his films.

Now when they came to the parting of the ways there was a sharp division among the producers. Three or four chose the road which for the moment seemed harder and less profitable, while the others chose the path with a downward trend, but with seeming assurance of immediate financial gain. To the former we owe many of the great masterpieces of filmdom—“The Fall of Troy,” “The Last Days of Pompeii,” “Dante’s Inferno,” “The Odyssey,” “Jerusalem Delivered” and “Quo Vadis?” In publishing such films the producers achieved a reputation the fruits of which brought them not only honor, but rich material rewards. They set a splendid standard not only for others, but chiefly for themselves. They gave assurance to every exhibitor of a high average quality in even their minor productions.

What of the other and far more numerous producers, who carefully kept away from the educational and the classic to cater to the lovers of the cheap melodrama? There are a score of them and perhaps more, but who out of Italy hears of them to any great advantage? They cast their lot with the “crowds” in Italy and now they are lucky to sell on an average three copies in Italy, with an occasional print for the French, Spanish or South American market. In our country and in Canada mightily little of their stuff is sold, and the buyers are generally sorry. It is quite true that the Italian market for the sale of films is the poorest in the world, and that even the best firms sell at the most five or six copies of their regular releases, whatever they may be able to do with the big features. It stands to reason then that the Italian producer depends very largely on his export. He could not live without the markets of the English-speaking countries and of Germany and Russia.

Italy is a poor market for the sale of American films—with one notable exception. The films of the Vitagraph Company are very popular here. The agent of the Vitagraph is selling as many films as the best native producers, and I believe at a little better prices. Maurice Costello is a name to conjure with in Italy. His recent tour through Italy, including a visit to the Cines studio in Rome, has been much like a tour of triumph. He was cheered in true Latin fashion when he showed himself to the people in the “Lux Et Umbra,” one of the principal moving picture theaters in Rome. The other American brands, with the possible exception of the Bison, are sold but little. Perhaps more might be done with other American films, but Italy at its best does not compare with such markets as England, Germany and Russia. Even little Holland and Belgium, orphans in the House of Motion Pictures, lag but little behind Italy. Of the great Selig film, “Christopher Columbus,” only seven copies were sold in the land of Christopher Columbus. Edison is represented in Genoa and the well-known exchange man Barattolo, who owns theaters in Rome, Naples and Turin, and who is a member of the Neapolitan City Council, is the agent for Selig and Kalem. Rex and Solax are in the hands of the Vitagraph agent; while all other American producers are sold via London. To revert for a moment to the financial advantage of turning out high quality, I might say that, according to statements published by themselves, both the Cines Company and the Ambrosio Company paid dividends of 11 per cent. in the past year.

The renting situation is curiously mixed in Italy. The supply of first runs greatly exceeds the demand, helping to accentuate competition. Daily changes of program are unknown except in one or two theaters in Napes. Pathe, Gaumont, Éclair, Cines, Ambrosio and Vitagraph are trying to place their first runs in Italy at the same time and the result may be imagined. Pathe, Éclair and Gaumont refuse to sell to middlemen and will deal only with the exhibitor directly. This, of course, causes quite a little friction. The renters are fighting Pathe and the end is not yet.

The multiple feature film has added to the confusion of the market. Very high prices are paid for “State rights.” Italy is for this purpose divided into five parts: Piedmont with Turin for its center, Lombardy with Milan, Veneto with Venice, Central Italy with Rome, and Southern Italy, including Sicily with Naples and Palermo. For the new Ambrosio film, “The Last Days of Pompeii,” for instance, the buyer for Southern Italy and Sicily paid 40,000 francs. This is more than some of our biggest States have brought for some of the biggest features. As a natural result the single reel suffers, being relegated almost entirely to the smaller towns.

The theaters in the largest city of Italy, Naples, are small. Outside of Rome there are few moving picture theaters with [1230] a large seating capacity, and in Rome there is but one with 1,500 seats. Licenses are quite low and the opening of theaters is free to anyone. The regulations for the safety of patrons are easy to the point of laxity. With the excitable nature of the Italians, a panic in one of even the medium-sized theaters might cause a terrible disaster. Prices of admission are almost as low as with us, ranging from six cents to a rare maximum of 30 cents. The average Italian moving picture house compares most unfavorably with the average theater in England, America or Germany. It recalls Mulberry Bend and Little Italy in Harlem in the days of the early Italian immigration. The odor in these places is penetrating, but far from agreeable. Chairs are poor, the attendants are normally sleepy and insistent for tips when roused into a state of passing wakefulness. The projection even in the very best theaters is not much, and in the average theater it is intolerably wretched. Clear, sharp and distinct pictures, and an even, steady supply of good, strong light are positively unknown. An Italian translation of Richardson’s handbook is one of the crying needs of Italian operators, and I have taken the matter up with an editor of prominence.

The personnel of the average exhibitor is better than one might expect. He is generally inclined to be progressive, but he seems incapable of understanding the advantages of one great and strong national organization. Concerted action by the exhibitor would count for much more here in Italy than, for instance, in Austria or Germany. Italy is a more democratic country and public officials are much quicker to respond to public demands. It is to be much deplored then that the Italian exhibitors cannot be united in one organization. There are at present two leagues of exhibitors and, what is worse, they are fighting each other instead of turning their faces against the common enemy. If the one league commends some measure to the government as beneficial to the industry, the other league comes along and adopts resolutions strongly condemning the proposed measure.

Italy has little just cause to complain of censorship. The power of censoring pictures was until recently exercised by the local authorities of each province, but not it is vested in a branch of the Ministry of Justice at Rome and its decisions are valid for the whole kingdom. To an American all censorship is of course odious, but the Italian censorship is very mild, with a semi-occasional fit of rigor.

I will carry away from Rome one very pleasant recollection: that of a long, instructive and very enjoyable visit to the splendid Cines establishment just outside the Porta San Giovanni. The grounds of the Cines studios cover 56,000 cubic metres. Of their six different studios there is but one for which artificial light is used and this studio is used but rarely, mostly indeed for the production of light effects and a species of a higher sort of trick photography. Four companies were at work when I visited the studio in the company of the courteous Signor A. Meille, the private secretary of the general director, Baron A. Fassini. The baron received the visit from a representative of the Moving Picture World with every evidence of pleasure and extended innumerable courtesies. He and indeed all of the staff and the artists of the Cines are ardent readers of the paper and the supply of copies is never large enough to go around. This saying of the baron and his secretary was a most handsome tribute to the international value and importance of the paper, and on behalf of the readers of the Moving Picture World I conveyed to him our sincerest appreciation.

The excellence of Cines photography is easily explained by the magnificent natural light which is at the disposal of the Roman producer at least ten months out of twelve. This light is dry and extremely clear. I noticed many things that seemed interesting and useful in the industry. They have most of their cameras fixed to a pivot-like arrangement on the ground. This makes it possible to turn the camera easily without disturbing it. I saw a ball scene with lots of dancing taken in this way and it impressed me as a new and useful innovation. Of course, the mechanical and shipping departments were up to a high standard, but the story of the Cines plant would not be complete without describing the large number of special departments which are to be found on the grounds. These work of these departments is unique and greatly helps explain the artistic success of the Cines films. Outside of about twenty compartments, each about 20 x 150, where the movable scenery is kept, there are two large buildings which are occupied by special departments, such as the manufacture of hats and the making of costumes. There is a perfect arsenal in which weapons of every age in all conceivable shapes are found, there is a floor devoted to woodwork and carving, larger quarters for the scene painters, a smithy and a most interesting department of pottery. All these things are kept with the greatest care and are in charge of capable men and women.

The department for the making of costumes contains well nigh ten thousand suits and dresses. It covers every period in man’s and especially woman’s history, form the famous fig-leaf to the hobby-skirt. Every period in history has its separate and carefully marked lockers. I was struck with the fine gowns of the French revolutionary and the Napoleonic periods and was told that the Cines have a great Napoleonic play under way. The same careful and scientific division characterizes this arsenal. Everywhere indeed are evident the traces of experts, the hand of the scholar and the historian has been at work. The pottery was a most instructive department. The men employed are adepts and as they have the best models of the world for almost every style of pottery they turn out a splendid grade of work. Art, system, study, hard work and capable direction characterize the conduct of every one of the departments.

I had the pleasure of meeting the director of “Quo Vadis?” Signor E. Guazzoni, a very modest and affable gentleman, who is thoroughly absorbed in his work. He had troubles of his own the morning I visited Cines, for he was trying to make a huge python do the right thing before the camera in connection with a version of “Cleopatra,” which the Cines will shortly put on the market. I also had pleasant chats with all the artists in “Quo Vadis?” except Nero and Petronius, who are not regularly with the Cines.

The very important cities of Turin and Milano I expect to see to-morrow, and as they are the film centers of Italy and the studios of Ambrosio and the Milano Film Company, will no doubt offer much of interest to our readers. There will be a second letter on Italy.

Source: W. Stephen Bush, “Notes from Italy,” Moving Picture World 21 June 1913, 1229-30.

Conditions in Germany

From London, where he posted three articles, W. Stephen Bush traveled to Berlin, where he was not much impressed with the governmental regulation, censorship or tax situation. He also found the German film producers to be on the whole very provincial. On the other hand, he had high praise for the exhibition, especially the musical practice.

Conditions in Germany

The Horrors of Government Supervision of Picture Theaters Described—American Pictures Favored.

Berlin, May 4, 1913

No just estimate of the conditions in the German film industry is possible without taking into account the attitude of the German government toward the maker and exhibitor of motion pictures. The great amusement trust in Germany is the government. Practically two-thirds of all the theaters, and actually all the theaters in the big cities, are managed by financial agents of the government. Within recent years just about the time motion pictures began to be popular in our own country, there was a sharp advance in theatrical prices. From popular prices, averaging about 60 cents, the scale was raised to an average well exceeding a dollar. A good seat in any of the first-class theaters of Berlin is not to be had to-day for less than two dollars and fifty cents and there are plenty for three dollars and more.

At this moment appeared the motion picture. The thrifty Germans gave it an enthusiastic welcome. The exhibitors were wise enough not to go too far below theatrical prices, but just far enough to become formidable competitors. Prices ranged from 25 cents to one dollar, with a few seats at a dollar and a half. At once a very desirable patronage was transferred from the high-priced theater to the moving picture house. Small theaters started up all over the city, but the government treated them with contempt.

It was not long, however, before one after another of the old legitimate theaters changed from the drama to the moving pictures. Presently new theaters were built rivaling in comfort and luxury the best of the legitimate houses and showing “straight” pictures to crowded houses. Now the government took the alarm. It was estimated that one big theater had taken in over $120,000 in one year. Perhaps the estimate was too high; but, at an rate, it was large enough to excite both the envy and greed of the government. The latter had two ways of coping with the situation—its weapons were censorship and taxation. We need not be any too proud of the position which the showman occupies in the eyes of our own law, but he is a pampered individual indeed when compared with the German showman. The government issues its edict and fixes a rate of taxation strictly to suit itself and with no thought of the probable fate of the exhibitor. I questioned a number of exhibitors and moving picture experts here and they agree that the government takes about twenty per cent. of the gross receipts of the exhibitor. The taxation begins with every ticket which is sold at 10 cents and the ratio increases rapidly as the tickets increase in value. I do not think there are half a dozen moving picture theaters here charging as low as five cents, but many have now gone to 9 cents just to avoid the tax.

Even the tax, however unjust and arbitrary as it seems to be, has failed utterly to hurt the popularity of the pictures. The government therefore used the bludgeon of censorship. The principles and methods of German censorship baffle description. They violate every rule of fair play and ignore the plainest mandates of equity. Prussia is a semi-despotic country; there is supposed to be a representative government, but it never goes any further than the police allow. From infancy the Prussian is taught that the serious business of life is to drill and be drilled. Implicit and unreasoning obedience to whatever the paternal government is pleased to ordain is second nature with the average subject of the Kaiser.

I asked an editor here: “If the police censor the pictures who censors the police?” and he could not understand. The “divine right” business is paying big dividends in Germany.

Censorship is not only severe, but hopelessly stupid. The producer takes his film to a police official who orders a couple of hundred feet cut out. No reasoning is possible. The producer who would contumaciously argue the point with the police official might be arrested and dragged off to jail for insulting a representative of the government. I understand that an appeal is technically possible, but it is attended with so much red tape and so great an expense that the remedy is about as bad as the disease. There is no system in this censorship. The whims and the temperament of an individual decide.

One of the most notorious enemies of the motion picture is a man known as Professor Brunner. He calls the motion picture a “national peril” and arranges public meetings in which the motion picture, the producer and the exhibitor are denounced as public enemies. This is the very man who has been asked by the police to assist in censoring the pictures. He does not want to compromise with the pictures; he wants to destroy them.

To mention just one example of the depths of stupidity of German censorship. The Gaumonts have released a series of “comics” showing the adventures of a little boy. The government censored these pictures and suppressed several of them because “they seemed to encourage rebellion against parental authority.” Pictures showing the most sordid and revolting conditions of the underworld and others chiefly dealing with the seduction of poor working girls by dreadful employers are passed without question.

It is a little short of marvelous that, despite all these handicaps, the picture thrives here better even than England. The chain of first-class moving pictures with large capacity and every possible improvement and convenience is constant food for wonder. The Cines Company and “Al” Woods, the American theatrical manager, own most of these theaters and are making them pay. All this is due to the American-made picture, without which no program is deemed complete. Almost all American manufacturers are represented in Berlin and if comparatively few of their products are advertised in the trade journals the cause must be sought in a well established market which takes care of itself.

American pictures suffer comparatively little from the censor. For the audiences here the screened description of American life, American customs and manners, American men, women and children seem to be specially attractive. While we often discriminate against foreign pictures, the foreigners seem to be prejudiced in favor of our pictures. American comedies are in great demand.

This demand for American pictures has set the German manufacturers thinking. They are looking for the secret of our success. They realize that their product must, in quality and from a moral point of view, seek to approach American standards. Some have hired directors with American experience and others are looking for American directors and willing to pay the price. At present not one of them has a studio of his own. Studios are hired by the day or week and the expense is often shared by a combination of two or three producers. Only one or two of the manufacturers have permanent staffs of actors. As a rule, their product is good in photography; some of their artists are capable, but the differences in taste and the demands of German audiences make very many of the German pictures ineligible for the American market. The German audience revels in detail. A death scene is reckoned a great sentimental luxury, which may be prolonged ad libitum. All “weepy stuff” is relished and must not be cut. Action is not deemed as important as sentiment. The German is cosmopolitan enough to find a source of wonder and delight in the foreign, especially the American picture, but he does like the native product best when it seems “to the manner born.” It must also be remembered that in spite of the effective educational system which prevails in all Germany the people outside of the cities are like most people in Europe—well contented to move in old conventional grooves. They have simple tastes and very little pleases them. They are the very opposite of critical. With these audiences almost any picture will make a hit. This accounts for an awful lot of trashy things, wretched photography and simply impossible in all other respects.

There are two things which are done much better here than on our side. I refer to music and to methods of presentation generally. Berlin has motion picture theaters in the finest parts of the city, which are wonders of artistic architecture and scientific management. When you enter one of these theaters, like Mozart Hall or the Cines Palace or the Kammer Spiele, you feel at once that you are a guest and the object of pleasing attention. The corps of ushers is well distributed and well trained. The visitor gets the idea that he is receiving individual attention. He is guided to a spacious and comfortable chair or a box; he gets a program for 2 cents and the usher either marks his program or tells him what picture is on the screen and how far it has run. If he wishes any kind of refreshment special waiters bring it at once and the price is very reasonable. There is a receptacle for glass or cup convenient to every seat. Your hat and coat are taken care of for a nominal sum. There are no swift or sudden changes from darkness to light or vice versa. The lights come on gradually and go out gradually. No noise from the operator’s booth ever gets to the ears of the audience. All seats are reserved and numbered, the higher the price of admission the further away from the curtain. The attendants are courteous to a fault. The interior of Mozart Hall reminds one of an opera house (not “opr’y house”), in its comfort and luxury.

The crowning achievement of the German theater, how- [900] ever is the music. Orchestras of fifteen and twenty pieces are not uncommon. The musicians are artists led by capable and experienced directors. The slightest detail is looked after. Every important psychological moment in the drama is effectively elaborated by the music and when a climax comes music aids motion in a most acceptable manner. I admired their music for comedies; it always fitted like a glove. No subject puzzles the musical director. I should imagine that music for a subject like the Ohio flood was not easy to select, but the accompaniment in the Cines Palace was strikingly adapted to the scenes on the screen. Awkward pauses are unknown. Nor are the show places the only ones exhibiting this fine regard for musical possibilities. The thing is typical of all moving picture theaters—large and small. Of course, the weekly change of program favors a proper selection and rendition of music, but I found that the music was just as good the first day of the program. I am firmly persuaded that the musical feature of the entertainment goes a long way toward reconciling the public to the big prices.

I cannot say much for the projection, which is on the whole little better than ordinary. All European pictures seem to be printed on poor stock and often reminded me of those terrible non-inflammable films which we saw in the latter part of 1909. Few films I saw were in perfect condition. The only exceptions ere some of the feature films.

The film market in Germany is in a most bewildering condition—confusion worse confounded. Pathe and Gaumont are dealing with exhibitors directly, releases are by no means regular and then there is the exclusive film, generally a feature of three, four and five reels sold on the State rights or world’s rights plan. I was told that “Quo Vadis” was rented at 10,000 marks ($2,500), for two weeks; another sensational film fetched a rental of 17,000 marks (over $4,000), in Leipzig, for a period of one month. There are a number of independent directors who form temporary alliances with distinguished artists of the big legitimate theaters and sell negatives to certain syndicates. This, to, helps to bedevil the market.

The exhibitors are well organized in Berlin and other large cities of the empire, but the national union is not strong and has but little influence. They are, as far as I have been able to observe, an intelligent body of men, with a proper realization of their responsibilities. They are greatly alarmed just now at the threatened action of the government, which in addition to levying an exorbitant tax, intends in October to take up the question of exacting a special yearly license. If this plan is carried out many places will have to close. The government will treat the theaters like we treated the saloons under the old high license system. If no proof of their necessity is forthcoming no license will be issued and of the necessity the government will be the sole judge.

In spite of all present troubles and allowing for further displays of hostility on the part of the government, I predict a great progress in Germany. There are only about 3,000 houses in the empire now, but I would not be surprised to see this number trebled in a year or so. There is no reason why this market cannot yield as fine returns to the American producer as the British market. Nothing more is needed than ordinary American energy and a proper understanding of the conditions.

For the benefit of other American moving picture men who may hereafter be tempted to visit here, I venture to set down a few observations which will, I trust, help them to understand some of the native customs. I must take special notice of the German elevator. In its normal state the German elevator dwells in sacred seclusion. It is strongly and safely locked up and the possession of the key to the elevator is the last and crowning emblem of janitorial dignity. When uncouth foreigners like myself wish to use the elevator—natives refrain from it out of regard for its sacred character—notice is given to the janitor, who in the exercise of a sound discretion may or may not admit the applicant. In any event, the news that the elevator is about to be used travels rapidly through the neighborhood and soon crowds of small boys and girls assemble and witness the unlocking and ascending of the elevator. The elevator ascends with imposing dignity and often attains a speed of a floor a minute. When you get out, the elevator immediately descends and is again locked up. If you fancy that upon topping the bell the elevator will re-ascend and brig you back to the ground floor you have a great lesson to learn. In the first place there is no bell. In the second place the elevator is not to be lightly molested. It has taken you up—please expect no more, walk down. What a sublime example of patience our German friends are setting us here. In the mad rush of elevators “up and down” we often are betrayed into violent comments on the slowness of the elevator service and are prone to speak rudely to the elevator man or the starter. We thus frequently compromise our dignity. Our German cousins would much rather walk down than imperil their philosophical calm.

I would also warn you away from what the Berliners call their circular system of suburban transit. It is fair, but false. Apparently it casts three and a half cents to ride in any direction of a distance of four stations. In the cheaper cars it is only 2 ½ cents. Naturally you feel elated. At this rate you can ride continuously for a year and never touch your savings bank. You ride, say a distance from Grand Street to 14th and blithely walk off, giving the ticket taker your ticket and a look of a hauteur. He sternly orders you to halt and explains that you have gone one station beyond the limit of your ticket. Thinks begin to look black. Passengers gather and view you with ill-concealed suspicion. Nobody has a kind word for you. You really begin to lose sympathy for yourself, when another uniformed railway employe leads you to a ticket office where you have to pay an additional 7 ½ cents. You mentally retract all you ever said about the Interborough and thereafter trust yourself to taxis, which are quite cheap. Marvels of cheapness are the electric stages. For two cents you can ride indefinitely. I agave a conductor three cents, for which I was rewarded with about a dozen rapid military salutes. I then tried him with four cents and he ignored every other passenger on the car for the rest of the journey. No doubt I could have bought the car for a dollar, but the cost of transportation might have killed my profit. The conductor gazed after me with wondering eyes and a last salute. I am only a poor film man, but I am always willing to do my share in sustaining our reputation as a nation of reckless spenders.

Source: W. Stephen Bush, “Conditions in Germany,” Moving Picture World 31 May 1913, 899-900.

W. Stephen Bush in England

As noted in the 3 May 1913 issue of Moving Picture World, in April W. Stephen Bush had sailed for Europe to investigate the state of the industry in the principal European markets: Great Britain, Italy, Germany and France.

Mr. W. Stephen Bush, of the editorial staff of The Moving Picture World, is making a business tour of England and the Continent. He sailed April 12th, and will remain abroad from six weeks to two months inspecting productions and making a study of the European market generally. It is expected that Mr. Bush will contribute some interesting stories upon the various phases of the motion picture business in Europe as presented to his critical eye for the benefit of readers of The Moving Picture World.

Source: “Facts and Comments,” Moving Picture World 3 May 1913, 463.

Through the early summer, Bush sent back detailed reports from the various cities he visited. Almost all of these reports contained descriptions of his visits to the local moving picture shows. Though Bush tended to visit the higher class theaters in each city, the comparisons he offers do give some sense as to how exhibition differed by country.

His first installment on the state of the film industry in London was published on 10 May 1913 and it is reprinted below.

Yankee Films Abroad

An Interesting Budget of Information on
Picture Conditions In Great Britain.

Written on the Spot by W. Stephen Bush.

If you want to realize what can be done with American-made films, do not fail to come to London. If you happen to be an exhibitor it might pay you to come and see, and then go back and put your experience into dollars and cents.

There are, indeed, in some of the very cheap sections in the East End, moving picture theaters where they charge as low as 1d. (2 cents) and 2d. (4 cents), but in the West End the prevailing price of admission is 6d. (12 cents) ranging upwards to as high as 10/6d. (2 dollars 62 cents). English capital which is hopelessly shy about supporting any film producing enterprise, is remarkably eager to invest in moving picture theaters or "cinemas" as they are called over here. The concrete and immediate strongly appeal to the British mind. While through the lack of financial support, English film making enterprises languish like an exotic plant on unfriendly soil, the city is dotted with modern superb moving picture theaters. I will not attempt on such short acquaintance as I have, to theorize about this, and to explain why the London exhibitors are generally prosperous and the British manufacturers generally poor, while the renters too are coming in for some of the cream. Perhaps the open market has something to do with this. Perhaps the liberal patronage of the London public may help to explain it, and perhaps it is the superior method of presentation or perhaps it is due to a combination of all these factors.

In the West End Cinema, where I attended a moderately good entertainment last evening, consisting of six reels, the scale of prices was as follows:

Orchestra Seats in the Rear 50 cents.
Orchestra Seats nearer the Curtain 25 cents.
Second Balcony 25, 35 and 50 cents.
First Balcony 60 and 75 cents.
Private Boxes $2.60.

At 10 o'clock the house was crowded. The seating capacity was only 800, but that is good enough with such a scale of prices. The furnishings were of a high order throughout. There was an invisible orchestra, which played music suitable to the pictures. Please take that word "suitable" in its actual, and not in its American or Pickwickian sense. No doubt the music had been carefully rehearsed, as it invariably struck home at the psychological moments. I have a painful recollection of an orchestra in New York engaged in an effort to follow the pictures with suitable music, and frequently coming to a dead stop at precisely the wrong moment, closing, for instance, with a crashing finale just a minute before the climax of the play on the screen. The highest price in the New York theater was 15 cents. I will leave it to the reader to draw his own conclusions. I characterized the program as moderately good, and barring the luxurious surroundings, the splendid music and the perfect management, I have seen moving picture entertainments at home a grade better than this, and charging no more than 10 cents. Again I leave the reader to draw his own conclusions which lie on the surface.

It is evident to even the inexpert eye that the exhibitor has a decided say in the moving picture industry hereabouts. Both the renter and the manufacturer respectfully consult his wishes. The progressive London exhibitor with possibly two or more theaters has his "viewers" or "selectors" scouting about projection rooms, and when the "viewers" or "selectors" commend something to the exhibitor, the latter suggests to the renter the purchase of the film, and as a rule the renter accepts the suggestion and acts upon it. The exhibitor's freedom in the selection of his program is absolute, and because he is able to grade his service according to the character, and demands of his audience, he gets the crowd, whether he is in a fine residential section or in a rougher neighborhood, or in a location where he depends on the transient trade.

Mr. Seymour Hodges, the Manager of the Marble Arch theater, admittedly one of the finest in England, was quite emphatic on the subject. "If," said Mr. Hodges who had had theatrical experience on our side, "we had to depend for our supply of film on just one single group of manufacturers we would soon suffer. The present arrangement enables us to select just what we think our patrons like best." The splendid crowd in the Marble Arch theater at 10 o'clock p. m. seemed to indicate that this particular exhibitor at least knew the tastes of his audience. Music, projection, management worked co-operatively toward absolute perfection, nor were there any first runs. The backbone of the particular program was an Edison subject, which an American friend at my elbow had seen at St. Louis three months ago, and which must have been in England at least a week or two. If the American film of today continues to hold an easy supremacy over the rest, it is due largely to the good judgment of the British exhibitor. There are not a few somewhat irresponsible men in the exhibiting business here, especially in the City of London, who have a small place, and can never under any circumstances, see one inch further than the entrance to their theater. But for them, the exhibitors organization in this country, would be a deal stronger than it is. These men, however, care nothing about the common weal and are stumbling blocks in the path of progress. The larger exhibitors, on the contrary, are keenly alive to the fact that harmony and co-operation make them strong and powerful, and they are well united. The result is, that they have a pretty free hand in the selection of their programs, and I think that helps to explain their success and prosperity. But a short time ago, there happened to be a short and sharp conflict of interest between the exhibitors and renters on the one hand, and certain manufacturing interests on the other. No attempt was made by any of the parties to the conflict to resort to "steam-roller" methods, there were amicable conferences, and a final agreement to disagree on certain matters and to re-unite on others. The liberty of the exhibitor to arrange his own program as long as he pays for it, remains in full force and vigor.

The only films which seem to appeal to the British public are the products of either purely American or partly American films. It is a high compliment to American-made films that they are hardly ever objected to by the Censor. The very fact that they are of American origin seems to create a presumption in their favor. I have seen a few French and German films, which would drag down almost any program to either the level of licentiousness or stupidity. The unadultered or rather unpurified French products are apt to rouse the ire of the Censor, while the ordinary German melodramatic films, mostly in two or three reels, have value only as an unfailing antidote for insomnia.

I have heard and read a whole lot about the superior projection in the capitals of Europe, and as far as London is concerned I have seen much actual proof of it. Projection varies here too, some of it is good, some of it indifferent, and some of it awfully bad, but the average is high. The trade conditions are far more settled here than they are on the other side of the water. There are no daily changes of programs here. Programs are changed twice or three times weekly, and this applies to the cheap as well as the expensive theaters.

It is a pleasure to relate that the educational film is doing well here in London. I have just had a long talk with Mr. Chas. Urban of the Kineto Co. Mr. Urban who is known on both sides of the water as one of the earliest pioneers in the educational field. He has retired from the Urban Trading Co., and is devoting all his energies to Kinemacolor, and educational kinematography both in natural colors and in black and white. I learned from him that the London County Council have had a plan of kinematographic instruction under consideration for some time. They wanted to add a kinematographic course of instruction to the program of the Polytechnic schools and after viewing a large variety of films submitted by the different manufacturers they arrived at the conclusion that the Kinemacolor would probably lend itself best to moving picture instruction. They have just completed an agreement with Mr. Urban, which provides for a trial of educational films extending over a period of six weeks. The conditions and details are as follows: At each one of the six Polytechnics (industrial schools, teaching. Carpentry, Machinery, Telegraphy, etc.) there are to be four exhibitions per day, each lasting from 45 to 50 minutes, each of these exhibitions are to be attended by classes of 1000. This means that there will be an attendance of 4000 children per day, or 20,000 per week or 120,000 for the entire period of the experiment. Children of all grades will be asked to attend these exhibitions, and the teachers intend to ascertain the value of kinematographic instruction by carefully questioning each child. If the results thus obtained are satisfactory, machines are to be installed at once. There is no question that this would then be the entering wedge for a general kinematographic course of instruction in all the schools of England, both public and private.

Mr. Urban tells me that he had a most interesting visitor in the person of a gentleman named Margunrien, who was authorized by the Greek Minister of Education to inquire in London as to the supply of educational films. He brought with him a letter of authorization, which I think will often

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be quoted by the future historian of kinematographic education. The document sets forth the fact that there are 4000 schools in the Kingdom of Greece, and that the Greek Minister of Education desires to make a thorough test if the moving picture as a means of teaching the young mind. It goes on to state that the Minister does not know how much of a supply there is on hand at the present time and he assures Mr. Urban that he will be able to absorb and utilize almost any supply that may be on hand at this moment. The Greek representative has had numerous interviews both with Mr. Urban and his General Manager, Mr. Hickey, and the probabilities point to a large order of machines and films. Mr. Urban will construct a special model of machine, which will generate its own electricity, and take a standard size of film. It seems probable then, that Greece, the mother of education, will be the first to make practical and general use of the new invention in schools of the modern Kingdom. Mr. Hickey will leave for our side with a large supply of black and white educational films on May 6th.

Mr. Urban was in a reminiscent mood, as he talked and recalled the early days of kinematography, here and in America. He spoke with some feeling of a memorable trip he made to our side of the water in the winter of 1910. He came with hopes running high, banking, as he said, on promises, which were not fulfilled. He spoke in grateful words of the assistance and encouragement which the late founder of the Moving Picture World extended to him. Mr. Urban has now been in London for 18 years and his enthusiasm in the cause of education still remains unabated. He is firm in the belief that eventually the moving picture as an educator will in importance far surpass the moving picture as a form of amusement.

Passing through Cecil Court, otherwise known as "Flicker Alley," I noticed the sign of "Warner Feature Film Co.," I walked in and found Sam Warner in full charge. He has been here for about one month, and has had a busy time of it familiarizing himself with conditions, and with the various denominations of British currency. He thinks this is an ideal market for an enterprising American picture man and he is going at full speed all the time. He is the latest American invader.

Source: W. Stephen Bush, “Yankee Films Abroad,” Moving Picture World 10 May 1913, 573-74.

Brass Band Accompaniment

Even when scores were composed for a particular film, the practice of accompaniment rarely demanded that it be used. The accompaniment was very much dependent on the venue where the film was screened. When in April 1913 the New York Exhibitor's League put on a benefit show for flood victims at the 60th Regiment Armory, they selected the New York Letter Carriers' Band to provide accompaniment for the five (!) hour show, which attracted more than 5,000 people. As the excerpt below suggests, the band's approach to playing the pictures was enthusiastically embraced.

[…]

Imagine that second reel of "War," by the "101" Bison Company, when accompanied by a brass band of fifty pieces. Try to imagine one of the most thrilling battle scenes ever produced being presented with the sound of ten trombones coming up the scale chromatically, with an equal number each of clarinets, cornets, altos and bassos working strong on the "hurry" stuff in counter melody, and you will get an idea of the right way to put that picture on. Of all the punches and thrills of the evening, that was the knock-out.

* * *
And, speaking of bands, a blind man would have enjoyed himself that evening for no other reason than listening to the New York Letter Carriers' Band, one of the best trade bands in America. When it comes to playing for pictures, their leader seems know just what to select.

Source: “New York League Benefit a Big Success,” Moving Picture World 26 April 1913, 369.

The Opening of the Music Hall

This item, which appeared at the end of April 1913, reports on the first couple of weeks of operation at the Music Hall in Cincinnati. An earlier notice on the Music Hall is available here.

The Music Hall, Cincinnati, seating 3,600 people, was opened with exclusive picture programs, March 29, by the Empire Exhibition Co., of New York. Licensed feature films are chiefly used. The house was opened with the "Prisoner of Zenda." A fourteen-piece, selected orchestra is used to accompany the pictures, and high class vocal and instrumental numbers are introduced during the intervals. John Bunny, the well known Vitagraph comedian delivered his special monologue during the first week, and Francis X. Bushman gave lectures the second week. Both these gentlemen scored big hits. Miss Florence Turner, another big Vitagraph favorite, has been booked for the week of Monday, April 14, to appear in a comedy skit, of her own composing. The admission to the Music Hall is 25 cents for evenings and Sunday matinees. For other matinees the charge is 10 cents. A. N. Smallwood and J. T. Hennegan are the managers.

Source: James McQuade, “Chicago Letter,” Moving Picture World 26 April 1913, 366.

Another short notice appeared the next week, this one covering Florence Turner's visit.

Miss Turner Entertained At Cincinnati
On the occasion of Miss Florence Turner's recent visit to Cincinnati, Ohio, where she went to appear at the Music Hall picture show, the Exhibitors' League of that city entertained her and Mr. Lawrence Trimble, her manager, at the Sinton Hotel, where an elaborate dinner was served. Miss Turner also received several beautiful floral tributes at the close of her engagement at the Music Hall; one large bouquet of American Beauty roses from the league, and one from A. C. Dingelstedt, president of the local.

Source: “Miss Turner Entertained At Cincinnati,” Moving Picture World 3 May 1913, 471.

A Day "At the Door"

This is a fictionalized account of one day in a manager's life running a small moving picture house, which includes some details about musicians.

A Day "At the Door"
By Hugh King Harris

LET us stand, if you will, for a moment in the place of the manager of the motion-picture theater, in the average town, and watch, for a day the different phases of the business. It is a most interesting proposition as viewed from various angles. If I burlesque some points a trifle, keep in mind that what I say is founded on actual occurences [sic] related by managers of various houses, on facts, not fancy.

The house is to open at ten o'clock A. M., the film is to come in by express, and there has been a wreck on the road, the feature has been billed heavily. The posters have been up and folks are looking toward seeing something worth while. Jacks, the manager, phones the express office. "Hello, that film in yet? What, a wreck on the P. & O.? The deuce! How soon do you expect it? By noon sure! Say, man, we open at 10, the thing's billed and we stand to lose a nice bunch of money."

He turns from the phone perplexed, the films of the day before are boxed ready for shipment out, on the train that the feature was to come in on. Morning business is always good here; to wait two mortal hours without films is to face a loss of the real profits of the day. But such is life. Just then the phone rings. "Hello, yes, this is Jacks; what, Mary sick, won't be down today? All right, I'll see what I can do."

More bad news, the cashier sick, some one must be pressed into service at once to handle the box office. It is close to ten and folks have already paused, lounging about the lobby, real money is waiting to be taken. Jacks scowls, a hurry call and he locates a girl he knows will be O. K. He is about to call the express office again but feels that will be useless, they know his plight and will send the film as soon as it comes.

Now a shrill whistle from the speaking tube to the operating booth gives promise of more trouble, and sure enough, the operator finds the projecting machine has a broken sprocket and it will take some time to fix it.

"Everything in bunches," mutters Jacks and tells the musicians who are waiting that nothing will be doing until noon. But as gloom is settling thick and fast the express wagon dashes up, and lo and behold, the unexpected has occurred, the film has arrived, twenty-five minutes late, yes, but that's a small matter under the circumstances. A sharp blow on the speaking tube whistle and the operator "thinks" ten minutes more will fix her. So finally all is ready and Jacks takes up his station at the ticket box. A well advertised feature has brought out a good crowd and soon the tickets are dropping merrily into the box.

The speaking tube whistle blows, it is another bit of trouble, possibly ten minutes or so. Instructions are sent down to the orchestra and the singer is forced into quick
action and by strenuous musical stunts the original ten minutes, stretched to half an hour, is passed.

"Gee, mister, I can't hang around here all morning; I came to see a show, not to hear a cheap concert.” It is a red-faced, portly man speaking. His nickel is returned without question. But the next party who departs snorts something about blanked fakes anyway, these snide cheap theaters. Jacks takes it all coolly. It is part of the daily grind.

Now all is going smoothly, it is some feature all right, folks commence to applaud and Jacks knows he has the crowd with him at last. As the audience departs comments of Bully," "Some class" or "It was awfully interesting, don't you think," take the sting out of the episode of the disgruntled folks who left earlier in the morning.

Noon comes; with the regular cashier off duty, Jacks eats a hasty bite and is soon back on duty. Here comes a big lady, loaded with bundles, a weazened little fellow, with sparse gray whiskers trails along meekly, in the rear.

He carries a tin pail with a card board cover tied on it, it seems very precious. The fat lady gurgles. "Oh say, mister ticket man, would you oblige a lady by taking care of the pail while we see the pictures? It is a present for Susan Ann, that's my husband's cousin. Gold fish, yes, she dotes on gold fish. But do be careful and don't set them so near the register, you will kill them; and do keep them out of the draft; don't spill the water. There's a good man, ever so much obliged, we won't be in long, come along Jasper" and she stalks down the aisle, Jasper following in the rear with never a word. Jacks heaves a sigh of relief and rapidly gathers in the pasteboards of the crowd who has had to wait for the fat lady to get rid of her burden and her tale of woe.

"Three men sat on a dead man's chest, yo heave ho"—bang, and the doors fly open, a whiff of onions and whiskey strikes Jacks' nostrils. A burly sailor, three sheets to the wind comes stalking in, bumps against the ticket box and leers cunningly at Jacks, who sees trouble in sight, right there.

"Say, old sport, shiver my timbers, let a man cast anchor, will you?"

Jacks none too gently shoves the sailor out the door, but just outside the entrance (Jacks is very glad it is outside), the sailor turns with an oath and raises a wicked slug shot; Jacks ducks, and luckily the officer passing is on time, the sailor is hauled away and Jacks resumes his duties.

"Mister, does the show run all day for a nickel?" it is a little old woman who asks the question. Jacks sizes up the rusty bonnet, the thin face and eager eyes. The gloves have no tips. "Someone from' God knows where, no money and wants to fill in time." Jacks sizes up things in a hurry. Kindly he explains that one may stay as long as one likes and she goes on in, and Jacks pretends not to notice the lack of a ticket.

Out in front, the big frame with the actors and actresses of the feature company is standing. A rural couple stroll up, gaze at the photos of the players and Hiram remarks in a loud nasal twang, "Guess, Marthy, that curly headed lad must be some good tenor singer. Let's go in and hear the concert." And in they enter, believing the place a regular theater and the players musical artists.

A smart young fellow comes in and leans against the back seat rail. He is one of the floaters and pretends to be so very much of the world. Suddenly on the street is the clang of the fire bells, the department is rushing by.

"Gee, there's a fire," the wise boy calls loudly to Jacks and dashes hastily out the door. Jacks scowls as he sees several patrons in the rear seats shift nervously.

"The fool," mutters the manager, "it takes less than that to start a panic, at times," he saunters carelessly down into the aisle and the folks keep their eyes on him, but his manner reassures them and no trouble comes of the incident.

Now the fat lady of the gold fish comes out and suspiciously inspects the gold fish with a sniff and no thanks to Jacks goes out.

"No dogs allowed in here, madam," this to a flashily dressed young woman who has a big bull terrier on the end of a chain.

"Well, you have a nerve. I have him chained and can sit in the rear." Her voice rises shrill and Jacks calms her as best he can, but she makes a nasty scene before she leaves and Jacks wishes she and her dog in most any place at all, so long as it is away from him.

The day goes on and many fool questions are asked and answered, a fight in the lobby is stopped, a "rough neck" in the audience subdued and ejected.

A short time for supper, and the night doorman comes on. Jacks has a bit of time to himself, but the singer, a young tenor, gets mixed up with some friends and doesn't show up for evening service on time. The extra singer is hastily secured, after a deal of grumbling, and goes on.

The advertising for the next day and the day after is gone over, the janitor makes a "touch," on the plea of illness, a new part is ordered for the machine, and many other duties are disposed of.

It is pretty late when Jacks gets to bed, tired, with some important matters to call him out early the next morning. He has had a "full day" surely, yet some folks sigh with envy at the manager's "job," a bed of roses, maybe, but every rose has its thorns, and every manager can point out a whole lot of these same thorns if you will but ask him.

Source: Hugh King Harris, “A Day ‘At the Door,’” Moving Picture World 19 April 1913, 270.

Pictures in Cincinnati Music Halls

This account of the opening of a new picture theater in Cincinnati demonstrates that by 1913 the idea of the picture palace was already well on its way to realization.

Pictures in Cincinnati Music Halls

Arthur Smallwood Plans Big Project for the Queen City's
Mammoth Palace of Amusements.

If the plans of Arthur Smallwood are successful, Cincinnati will have a picture show par excellence. This energetic young man, whose home is in Cincinnati, but who has been engaged in the advertising business in New York for the past few years, has secured a lease of the big Music Hall on Elm Street in that city and will put on a strong picture program beginning March 29.

Music Hall is one of the largest auditoriums in the country, seating several thousand people, and is used for grand opera and other big musical entertainments. The picture entertainment will be conducted by the Empire Exhibition Company, which was promoted by Mr. Smallwood and is under his management. Several large Cincinnati capitalists are interested, so there will be no lack of funds to finance the enterprise.

The picture program will consist of eight reels of the best pictures including features and single reels. This will be varied by vocal and instrumental solos by the best of talent, and a fourteen piece orchestra will play the pictures.

A feature of the program will be the frequent appearance of popular photoplayers. For the opening week Mr. Francis X. Bushman, a former Essanay star, has been secured. For the week of April 7 Mr. John Bunny, the popular comedy man of the Vitagraph Company, will be the feature, and during the following week Miss Florence Turner, the first of the motion picture stars and a Vitagraph player, will appear. Others are being negotiated for.

Mr. Smallwood has had some experience as a picture theater manager and is planning many little comforts for his patrons. He will have a chaperone for young children and a playroom with nurses for the babies. There will be lady ushers and a maid in the ladies' retiring room.

The scale of prices for the house will be ten, fifteen and twenty-five cents.

To popularize the venture Mr. Smallwood proposes to bill it like a circus. For the opening nine thousand sheets of paper will be posted on the billboards all over the, city. Elaborate heralds and other forms of advertising, including liberal newspaper space, will be used. Special advertising will be used for the feature pictures and the photoplayers.

Mr. Smallwood has been in New York for the past week getting ideas and features for his show. He announces the "Prisoner of Zenda" for the opening.

Source: “Pictures in Cincinnati Music Halls,” Moving Picture World 5 April 1913, 24.

Fotoplayer on YouTube

YouTube has a number of excellent videos of restored Fotoplayers. The videos show how the sound effects modules were operated by little rope pulls suspended near the top of the instrument. I've embedded two clips below, but there are many more (search under "fotoplayer," "photoplayer" and "photo player").

The Fotoplayer was a mechanical theater piano with sound effects and organ attachments. It was made by American Photo Player (hence the confusion in spelling). This article on the Photoplayer from the Encyclopaedia of Australian Theatre Organs provides an excellent introduction to this general class of instrument as well as some additional photographs.

(H/T Julie Brown)

Responses to Lee

Below are two letters and an editorial reply printed by Moving Picture World in response to Van C. Lee's The Value of a Lecture. The first letter sees the lecture as a preferable alternative to adding cheap vaudeville to the show. Note again the concern for declining attendance and for the difficulty in understanding the films.

The second letter also expresses concern that films are hard to follow and suggests, as a remedy, that filmmakers make more frequent use of intertitles. This is, of course, a solution that will eventually be adopted, but filmmakers and exhibitors were initially resistant because they saw it as a "waste" of film. The resistance also makes more sense once we recognize that most films of the time were a reel or less and that, as the editorial reply makes clear, film was rented by the foot rather than the title.

The editorial reply also notes that Kalem had already attempted the distribution of a lecture text with their film. The company would try again the following month, with the release of "The Scarlet Letter" (see “Trade Notes,” Moving Picture World 21 March 1908, 233). By 1909, Kalem would be publishing full lecture texts for one film a week in the trade press.

Dear Sir:— Permit me to say how pleased I was to read Mr. Lee’s article in your issue of February 8, on “The Value of a Lecture.” For some time I have been trying to convince the picture show managers here of the desirability, nay, necessity, of such an addition to their attractions. In most instances, while admitting the value in an artistic way of such a combination, they contend that while the public is willing to accept the pictures without the lectures, stories, dramas or poems, they (the managers) would be foolish to increase their expenses by the addition of the lecture. Yet the business here is beginning to languish. Various expedients are being tried to bolster it up, cheap vaudeville and drama, chiefly.

One reason, perhaps, for the non-use of the lecture or story is that all managers do not take your paper, in which they can find the story of the films, and supply houses do not send printed descriptions with the films; another reason is that qualified lecturers and readers are scarce. Lastly, because it is more or less of an innovation. But doubtless the first reason is the true one. The managers seem to think the public will not pay more than ten cents no matter what they put on and do not seem to realize that people grow weary of what they do not understand.

It is a pity that so many of the managers of the moving picture shows look at the business only from the commercial side and not from the artistic and educational. It is a business that can be made a tremendous force for good if rightly used, but if not it will soon run its course like other “fads” and become a thing of the past.
I am glad that you are putting things in the right light and hope that your efforts will meet the success they deserve.

Mr. B.R. Mitchell, of Augusta, called my attention to Mr. Lee’s article on the subject and I then showed it to several local managers.

Source: E. Esther Owen, Letter to the Editor, “The Value of a Lecture with the Show,” Moving Picture World 22 February 1908, 143.

Dear Sir:—I have been quite interested in reading your article in last issue of Moving Picture World wherein Van C. Lee suggests that the moving picture theater add a lecturer to the theater. Many a time I have watched a new film subject projected on the screen and though[t] to myself: If I only knew what this or that part of the picture meant, then I could get very much more enjoyment out of the entertainment. But how would it be possible for the theater manager to explain the film subjects unless the film manufacturer furnishes a printed description of each picture when they are sent out? I think that half of the time the theater manager himself does not understand the picture as it is projected on the canvas. If some film manufacturer would make every one of his film subjects explain themselves as they pass through the machine he would soon have all the business he could attend to. If instead of having a few words of explanation on his film about every 100 feet, as most of them do, they would have these explanations come in at ever 20 or 30 feet (or at every place on film wherein an explanation was necessary), then the theater manager would have no use for a lecturer.

W.M. Rhoads, Letter to the Editor, Moving Picture World 22 February 1908, 143.

The idea of a lecturette is a good one, but one that few proprietors will take the trouble to arrange. For instance, Kalem Company arranged a lecturette or resume of the story of Evangeline to go with that film; we understand that so few exhibitors applied for it that the company abandoned the idea of reprinting.

To issue titles every 100 feet would unnecessarily add to the cost of the film and is a little too much to ask renters to pay 12 cents a foot for title. We would blame the actors inasmuch as they did not render the story intelligently. A perfectly thought out plot, well put together, should tell its own story.

“Editorial Reply,” Moving Picture World 22 February 1908, 143.

The Value of a Lecture

In this article from early in 1908, Van C. Lee advocates for adding a lecturer to the program. Interestingly, his initial line of argument is that a lecturer "adds much to the realism of a moving picture." Evidently, this impression of realism rests on comprehensibility, as he immediately pivots after this statement, asking at the beginning of the next paragraph: “Of what interest is a picture at all if it is not understood?” He then makes the strong claim that few films are understood without the intervention of a lecturer to describe the action. For Lee at least, moving pictures evidently are not a universal language; the pictures do not, in fact, speak for themselves.

In the remainder of the article, there are hints that the nickelodeon craze is dying down and that many theaters are having difficulty drawing a sufficient number of patrons. Lee thinks films have lost much of their novelty and so it is no longer enough for films simply to show moving pictures; people now attend motion picture theaters for the content of the shows and audiences expect the film portion of the program to make sense. He is also seemingly dubious of fiction film, arguing that those subjects are generally better suited to the stage. "Let the picture theater, therefore, keep in its place; not show what is being shown every day on the stage." Lee seems to envision film as most suitable for a lyceum-type entertainment and, like many other writers at the time, Lee points to the practices of Lyman H. Howe, who combined lecturing with elaborate sound effects, as a model for exhibitors to emulate.

The following paragraph appeared in a recent issue of a theatrical magazine:

“Many moving picture theaters are adding a lecturer to their theater. The explanation of the pictures by an efficient talker adds much to their realism.”

It is indeed surprising that the managers are just awakening to the fact that a lecture adds much to the realism of a moving picture.

We might ask: “Of what interest is a picture at all if it is not understood?” And it may correctly be stated that the story of not more than one out of every fifty feature films is properly understood by the audience to whom it is shown unless it is adequately described.

In former articles, I have repeatedly urged, perhaps I should say suggested, that the managers of picture theaters demand of their renters a class of pictures which draw the crowds. The present-day subjects of drama, melodrama and tragedies, etc., are not a drawing card.

The demand of the public is now for the picture machine to bring to them its immense possibilities. Show to the patrons what they cannot see or realize in any other way except by attending these theaters.

Only a limited number can enjoy the advantage of having unlimited means with which to fully enjoy the pleasure of traveling, while unlimited is the vast majority who would like to see and realize what other parts of the world are like, if the opportunity was only theirs.

But it is theirs, and the picture machine is the instrument which makes it such, and which only a miraculous invention can ever put out of existence. Unlimited are the possibilities of this machine, and it can bring before the public what they cannot possibly see otherwise.

The majority will still go to the theater to see the stage enactments, but the stage cannot show what the picture machine is capable of producing.

Let the picture theater, therefore, keep in its place; not show what is being shown every day on the stage, but entertain its patrons with pictures which will hold their interest from the time they enter until they leave. But also, let them understand what they see; let them fully comprehend the meaning of every link of the film as it is being shown, and this can only be accomplished by the aid of a lecture.

Look, for instance, at Lyman H. Howe and other traveling moving picture exhibitors of note. Did you ever stop to think and wonder why it is that they can fill a large hall at high prices, right in cities and towns crowded with picture theaters, while these same theaters are almost begging for patrons at five cents admission?

There is only one answer. They show the kind of pictures people want to see, and those assembled are satisfied because they fully understand the subjects they are looking at.

Think of such subjects as “A Trip Through Switzerland,” “Daniel Boone,” or even “The Passion Play,” being thrown on the screen with not one word of explanation. Might just as well imagine that the public was invited to pay nickels to see merely an “invention” via a machine that can throw upon a sheet pictures which can actually move with life-like motion, as certainly the majority would not, any further than that, understand what they see.

Some time ago, in a theater in which I was employed, the subject of the pictures was “Napoleon Bonaparte.” Getting the printed description a few days in advance, I studied it out, changed it around to where I thought it would best suit the picture, and during the three nights it was shown described the life and history of Bonaparte as it was being portrayed upon the screen. And my lecture was quite lengthy, starting with an introduction preceding the exposure of the first scene and continuing throughout the length of the entire film.

On the second night, the management had invited the entire high school to attend in a body, free. The superintendent paid a visit to the management and he stated that the lecture, combined with the pictures, accomplished more by way of impressing upon the minds of his students the important phases in the life and history of Bonaparte than the best books on the subject in the library contained. The same may be said of a lecture combined with any moving picture.

Managers will do well to give it a trial. Note the difference in the interests shown by the audience. Watch, for example, some well-known peanut fiend, and notice how quick he forgets his peanuts as he watches the pictures with an interest never before shown.

[94] When managers will have awakened to the fact that they must first meet the demand of the people in the kind of pictures shown, and, secondly, interest their audiences by seeing to it that they fully understand what they see, they will have taken a decided step in advance, because the value of a lecture is incomparable and even though the speaker may not be a fluent talker, it is just as much of a necessity to show the pictures so that they are understood as it is to print a book for Americans to read in the English language.

Van C. Lee, “The Value of a Lecture,” Moving Picture World 8 February 1908, 93-94.