rHEPHOTQPLA^ SYNOPSIS 
 
 A COMMON- SENSE METHOD OF 
 WRITING THE LATEST PHOTOPLAY 
 J>LQfT -FORM ""SYTSIOPcJlS ONLY "-: 
 SHOWING ITS DEVELOPMENT FROM 
 GIRM TO PLOT AND FULL SYNOPSIS 
 

 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 FROM 
 
 The Estate of H.F, Roberts 
 
Date Due 
 
 PN 1996.P88" ""'™™'"' """^ 
 iimi!}£!IE?J?.',?Y synopsis, 
 
 3 1924 027 109 952 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027109952 
 
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 THB PHOTODEAMA. The phi- 
 losophy of the photodrama. 
 
The Photoplay Synopsis 
 
 BY 
 
 A. VAN BUREN POWELL 
 
 author of 
 
 "everybody's girl," 
 
 "belinda puts her hair up" 
 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 Foreword by J. Berg Esenwein 
 
 THE WRITER^S LIBRARY 
 
 BDITHD BY 1, BIRO BaBNWBUI 
 
 THE HOME CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOL 
 
 Springfield, Mass. 
 Publishers 
 
A 713^.?^ 
 
 Copyright, 1919 
 THEiHoME Correspondence School 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 By J. Berg Esenwein 
 
 It has long been a favorite recreation of critics to 
 flout the opinions and counsels of other critics. "A 
 mere doctrinnaire !" they say, with a scornful sniff ; and 
 they are right, in so far as this attitude stresses the 
 value of experience in an art or a craft as over against 
 unpracticed theory. 
 
 The author of this book — which is all the more to be 
 commended because it not only blazes a new trail but 
 does so with the proverbial neatness and despatch — 
 combines the virtues of the theorist with those of the 
 "practical" man. Mr. Powell has long been an original 
 thinker on all matters that have to do with the photo- 
 play, a successful teacher of his theories, the author 
 of — literally — many successful screen-productions, the 
 adapter of fiction for film-showing, and a staff-member 
 of one of America's great moving-picture producing 
 companies. To this strong list of qualifications for 
 authorship let me add a word of personal approval of 
 one special phase of this work — ^yet more than a phase, 
 because it runs like a central strand through the whole 
 length of this well-woven cord: There is here de- 
 veloped, with the reader's active help, as it were, a 
 complete photoplay synopsis, from the germ, the first 
 crude out-reachings after plot-ideas, the conception 
 and development of the play-people and their essential 
 characteristics, the invention of incidents, and even the 
 following out and rejection of false leads up to the final 
 building together of the whole plot and synopsis. This 
 laboratory practice, especially when guided by a worker 
 who constantly sells his own photoplays, is in the last 
 degree valuable, and marks a distinctly original con- 
 tribution to the literature of the photoplay. 
 
TO 
 MY WIFE 
 
Table of Contents 
 
 Page 
 
 FOREWORD V 
 
 CHAPTER I— By Way of Preparation . 1 
 CHAPTER II— What You Should Be— and 
 
 Do 11 
 
 CHAPTER III— Knowing the "No's" . . 24 
 
 CHAPTER IV— Tabulating the "Ayes" . 34 
 
 CHAPTER V— The All-Important Plot . 43 
 
 CHAPTER VI — Capitalizing the Caption . 56 
 CHAPTER VII— Getting Down to Brass 
 
 Tacks 69 
 
 CHAPTER VIII— Sorting Out SoVe Points 90 
 
 CHAPTER IX— Driving Home the Points . 103 
 
 CHAPTER X— More Sorting and Pounding 114 
 CHAPTER XI— The Art of Being Cool 
 
 Warmly ...... 134 
 
 CHAPTER XII— The Last Big Drive . . 147 
 
 CHAPTER XIII— A Hooverized Who's Who 169 
 CHAPTER XIV— The Principal Synopsis- 
 Principles . . . . . .176 
 
 CHAPTER XV— How to Shake Hands . 192 
 CHAPTER XVI— As the Plot Thickens . 205 
 CHAPTER XVII— Some Synopsis Refine- 
 ments ....... 218 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII— Cultivating a Distinc- 
 tive Writing Style .... 233 
 
 CHAPTER XIX— A Matter of Form . . 245 
 
 CHAPTER XX— Off to Market ... 256 
 
 CHAPTER XXI— Some Always-Nevers . 264 
 COMPLETE SYNOPSIS: "Belinda Pots 
 
 Her Hair Up" . . V . "7 269 
 
 GENERAL INDEX 305 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 BY WAY OF PREPARATION 
 
 "Synopsis only !" 
 
 So says the motion-picture producer, through his 
 editor, to aspiring writers for the screen. 
 
 "Great news !" cries the Average Person. "No need 
 to bother with scenarios or technique. No time wasted. 
 I'll merely have to get an idea, slap it down on 
 
 paper " Just here the idea comes along. It is 
 
 "slapped down." 
 
 During the next week or so the sky is a rosy sea 
 upon the bosom of which cloud-argosies float toward 
 Mr. Average Person, to condense and pour down upon 
 him their burden of fat checks : while the wife of his 
 heart negotiates with the junk man for the sale of the 
 family "Flivver" and spends the rest of her hours in- 
 specting the new models in the show rooms of the 
 "Hammerhard Motor— Twin-Twelve." 
 
 In time the postman passes. Mr. Average Person 
 discovers that Uncle Sam has had a chance to cancel 
 the stamps grudgingly but providently placed on the 
 return envelope : he acquires a gloom equal to that of 
 a woman who must wear last winter's hat in the Easter 
 parade. He becomes a consistent complainer and tells 
 all who will hearken that "the companies don't want 
 good stories ; they do not encourage real genius ; only 
 the insider with a pull can hope to land." As for the 
 
I THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 big check, it is to him a species never yet seen in 
 captivity. 
 
 Laugh at him. Name him idiot. Pity his hopeless- 
 ness. But do not emulate him. He has gone out to 
 snare the big check with far less tact and care than is 
 displayed by the darky approaching the rear hoofs of 
 his balky mule. The "kick" is due him. He gets it. 
 
 There is a definite lesson to be drawn from the ex- 
 ample of Mr. Average Person. That lesson is as im- 
 portant to you as any ever assigned an earnest student. 
 It is the sole purpose of this chapter to hammer it 
 home, to lodge it so firmly in your consciousness that 
 nothing can ever displace it. The "slap it down" day 
 is far in the past! 
 
 The great cause for failure with most writers for 
 the screen is inability, or unwillingness, to realize this 
 fact. So, take a tight grip on those italicised words ; 
 carve them indelibly on the tablets of your memory. 
 They form a magic talisman, an "open sesame" that 
 will open the way into that cave wherein lies the 
 treasure you seek — success. With every step toward 
 that hidden goal, pronounce the powerful formula. 
 Thus you will drive away the demon of impatience 
 which ever seeks to lure you into the bHnd alley of 
 haste — an alley with a wide entrance and a smooth 
 surface, but an alley that bumps into an unsurmount- 
 able wall on which you will read your doom in the 
 word "Failure 1" for once you are well along the course 
 of that alley the way of retreat is turned into a quick- 
 sand. 
 
BY WAY OF PREPARATION 3 
 
 Say the protecting words again — now! The "slap 
 it down" day is far in the past. 
 
 A Skeleton of Yesteryear 
 
 If you will examine, in an attitude of comparison, 
 the picture plays of ten years ago and the feature 
 photoplays of the present, you will fully comprehend 
 the reason for the stress laid by the foregoing italics. 
 
 In days gone by, when the motion picture was an 
 infant, it attracted a public eager for novelty: as the 
 mere succession of ilickering photographs, projected 
 upon the screen in such a way as to give the eye an 
 impression of movement, lost the holding power of 
 sheer novelty, a fresh element was needed to sustain 
 the interest and patronage of the public. The picture 
 makers hit upon the idea of adding to the quality of 
 movement a further simulation of lifelikeness by pre- 
 senting story-ideas as well as action-ideas; in other 
 words, these picture makers introduced into their films 
 an element of plot. 
 
 The introduction of this story-quality gave the 
 motion picture a new lease on life. More than that, it 
 clianged the picture makers into prosperous producing 
 companies. 
 
 The public rapidly took to the condensed dramas 
 and comedies of the screen. Producing companies 
 found their market ever widening, the demand for 
 story-element in their pictures always increasing. 
 
 Although the field of inspiration for plot-material 
 was almost untouched, the producing companies were 
 
4 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 not always able to get ideas for their little productions. 
 Directors, the men who supervised the filming of the 
 pictures, could not be positively depended upon to find 
 "different" plots; their ideas were apt to fall into a 
 rut, for these directors had to "put on," or produce, a 
 picture in from two to six days, according to the length 
 of the subject. 
 
 In this matter of length the requirement was simple. 
 Motion pictures were, and still are, photographed upon 
 prepared strips of celluloid, known as "film." These 
 strips must be wound upon a foundation, or "reel," 
 which must be standard in size, so as to fit every pro- 
 jection machine, by passing through which the picture 
 is thrown upon the screen. The amount of film which 
 I the- standardized reel accommodated best was close to, 
 ^ 1 and usually just within, the limit of one thousand feet 
 ' J to each reel. Thus the "thousand feet of film" became 
 a standard of measurement controlling the subject 
 matter of the reel's contents. This thousand-foot-to- 
 the-reel standard is still the basis for motion-picture 
 measurement, though the limit of reels to a subject has 
 changed — a matter for discussion later on in this 
 chapter. 
 
 For purposes of easy handling, the producing com- 
 panies made their pictures conform to the reel-standard 
 by either filling a single reel with film containing a 
 single drama, comedy or other class of material, or by 
 dividing this single reel into several subjects, such as 
 an abbreviated comedy, to which would be added a 
 "scenic" or an "educational" picture. In the former 
 case, that of one subject to a reel, the material must 
 
BY WAY OF PREPARATION 5 
 
 not run over the allotted limit of footage or it would 
 choke the magazine or container when placed in the 
 projecting machine. In the case of the "split reel" — 
 where two (or sometimes three) different subjects, 
 comprising altogether a footage within the thousand 
 feet, would be put on the same reel and distributed as 
 a single unit — the condensation of story was amazing 
 in its retention of idea in compact, yet complete, story- 
 quality. 
 
 No film subject of those days comprised more than 
 one reel of film. Yet the producing companies and 
 their corps of directors had to seek their basic material, 
 or ideas, from an outside source, from some creative 
 brain beyond the studio walls, the brain with new 
 stories and novel methods of presenting these ideas in 
 pictured-story form. 
 
 Thus there arose a demand for a form of expression 
 which would convey these ideas from the imagination 
 of the creator to the understanding of the director. 
 Since the limitations of length were exceedingly con- 
 strictive in the amount of story that could be contained 
 within these limitations, the creator of an idea did not 
 bother to strive for a highly perfected form in which 
 to present his brain-child. He could "dash off" a bare 
 outline, a mere skeleton of his story. All he had to put 
 before the director was a statement of the underlying 
 plot of his creation, leaving the details of development 
 to the director himself. 
 
 A director could read a two-hundred-word outline, 
 call his people together, order several simple indoor 
 settings, secure a few outdoor locations, and "shoot 
 
6 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 the picture." He needed no elaborate scenario, or 
 manuscript detailing the continuity of scenes, for the 
 dramatic effects to be secured were elemental and he 
 could "carry the continuity in his head." 
 
 Thus the writer who had a fund of inventiveness 
 could expect to corral a considerable number of ten- 
 dollar checks with a comparatively small expenditure 
 of time and effort. He wrote merely an outline of the 
 main situation, hinting at relationship of characters 
 and the affairs that led up to the single real situation 
 required to satisfy the picture-eager public. 
 
 The Modern Synopsis 
 
 Now, all that is past. The producing of motion 
 pictures is an industry that is a veritable antelope of 
 progress, for it has advanced by leaps and bounds. 
 
 Today the single reel is a standard relegated to the 
 "slapstick" comedy and the "educational" subject ; and 
 even in these departments of production the better 
 grade of material finds expression in two reels and 
 even a greater length. As for the photoplays them- 
 selves, the subjects containing the more serious drama 
 and the comedy of greater complication, their limit of 
 length seems to be determined only by the power of 
 the story to hold interest. 
 
 The producer maintains high-salaried stars, with 
 talented and expensive directors, in costly studios, with 
 a profit proportionate to his ability to present a suc- 
 cession of vital, fresh story-ideas. 
 
 Since the story-idea is the commodity which the 
 producer must demand, and which you as a prospective 
 
BY WAY OF PREPARATION 7 
 
 writer expect to supply, it is a wise edict which decrees 
 that the material shall be prepared in its simplest, most 
 attractive form. 
 
 That form is the modern synopsis. 
 
 The present-day form of story for the screen copes 
 with its host of predecessors at a certain disadvantage : 
 the easily-thought-of ideas have all been utilized, and 
 as they were depleted, new twists, fresh developments 
 and novel methods of treatment, had to be devised to 
 disguise the old garments on the once-bare skeletons. 
 
 So it is natural that the sjmopsis should have ad- 
 vanced in the technique of its composition. Now, it 
 may be in the exposition of certain characteristics of 
 your play-people that you prove your right to be con- 
 sidered original; or it may be in the cleverness with 
 which you turn an old situation inside out ; or even in 
 the freshness and virility of your suggested conversa- 
 tion, bits of which can be employed in the modem 
 synopsis to reveal a trait of character, "put over" a 
 comedy point, or indicate the "punch" which a well- 
 turned speech may often give to a dramatic situation. 
 
 Sometimes the modern synopsis will run to twenty 
 or thirty double-spaced typewritten pages. It will 
 begin in such a way that the attention of the reader is 
 instantly caught. "Here is something worth while," is 
 his mental comment as he goes on with his perusal of 
 the neat manuscript, learning the names of the char- 
 acters and discovering their relationships, both to one 
 another and to the plot-development : discovering these 
 essential bits of information without realizing that he 
 is being "told," so easily are the essentials blended into 
 
8 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 the flowing action of the story's first "situation" or 
 plot-complication.^ 
 
 The Big Idea 
 
 "This is decidedly fresh," mentally approves the 
 reader, turning a page, to read a clear, concise descrip- 
 tion of the salient characteristics which have been 
 brought out in the principal figures of the story ; these 
 characteristics show themselves in the actions they 
 produce ; the play-people who display them seem just 
 like the folks on the street — natural, likeable or hate- 
 able as the case may be, living a vivid bit of their lives 
 in a way that holds the attention, promises something 
 even more interesting, and arouses the reader's sub- 
 conscious speculation as to how they will handle their 
 difficulties, how they will solve their problems. 
 
 "Great! I didn't expect that," the reader is 
 prompted to exclaim under his breath as the adroit 
 author springs some unexpected twist of idea. This 
 introduces a fresh measure of wonderment, of uncer- 
 tainty in the mind of the person perusing this example 
 of synopsis form; he is even more anxious than ever 
 to know what will happen. The situation seems almost 
 unresolvable, almost hopeless of explanation; the 
 leading character, the one about whose struggle against 
 circumstances or some antagonist all interest concen- 
 trates, seems powerless to find a means of extrication 
 
 " This, as well as the rest of the description of the modem 
 synopsis, is only a sketch. Every point introduced here is dis- 
 cussed at full length in its proper place in some later chapter. 
 This sketch is only to bring out the radical change in the form 
 required for the submission of ideas to motion-picture producers. 
 
BY WAY OF PREPARATION V 
 
 from the maze of Fate. Thus has the reader become 
 the guesser of a riddle propounded by the fashioning 
 of the story; his inability to solve the riddle, his 
 anxiety to discover if the vitally concerned play-person 
 will do so, creates an element of suspense that craves 
 a quick satisfaction. A sudden shift of mood, the swift 
 catching at a solution, brings the principal character 
 into a position dominating the situation ; the obstruct- 
 ing element in that life is swept aside and a triumphant 
 and satisfying termination of the struggle gives the 
 chief play-people their desire. 
 
 The reader sits back and decides that such a synopsis 
 merits consideration, the antecedent of purchase. 
 Why? Because its author has both presented a fresh 
 idea, and shown that he realizes the truth of the lesson 
 that : The "slap it down" day is far in the past. 
 
 This is the era of the carefully-thought-out idea, 
 worked up to its best advantage, and presented to the 
 prospective purchaser in a form that leaves no doubt in 
 the mind of that purchaser as to the inventive thought 
 and study put into it by its creator. 
 
 It can not be too often repeated that it is the fresh, 
 vital story-idea which is in demand : anything short of 
 this high type of plot is futile, a thing to clog the mails 
 and enrich the printer of rejection slips. 
 
 A Field for Serious Study 
 
 Do not go about this study lightly. Make up your 
 mind that you are not going to waste your time and 
 efEort by trying to rush through. If a surgeon or a 
 
10 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 lawyer went at his study in that spirit, who would have 
 confidence in either? You art; to be a composite 
 plot-arboriculturist and purchase-advocate: you will 
 prune your plots, operate upon them, patch them up, 
 make them strong and whole by grafting upon their 
 forms some new elements to take the place of those cut 
 away ; at the same time you will prepare the brief that 
 will present their argument so comprehensively that 
 the trial judge can only render a verdict of "sold!" 
 
 If you begin to feel that the preparation of a modem 
 motion-picture synopsis is something rather terrible to 
 contemplate, the impression has been created pur- 
 posely. Too many would-be writers fail because they 
 attack the matter without a proper sense of its need 
 for sincere study and real effort. In the days when 
 ten dollars paid for an idea, nothing in the nature of 
 hard work was worth while. Now that the story, if 
 suitable, presupposes a heavy addition to your bank 
 account — a check in three, if not four, figures — cer- 
 tainly you ought to be willing to do hard work to make 
 your thought productive. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 WHAT YOU SHOULD BE— AND DO 
 
 If you have made the contents of the previous chap- 
 ter a part of your understanding, you will already 
 answer the implied question of the heading for this one 
 by saying: "I must be in earnest. I must do some 
 hard work." 
 
 Other qualities you will undoubtedly cultivate ; other 
 things you will certainly have little time left to do, if 
 you do your work conscientiously. This is not to be 
 understood as a warning that you cannot pursue your 
 present vocation and at the same time learn to prepare 
 photoplay ideas in a salable form. What it does mean 
 is that you must work at your photoplay-synopsis study 
 every waking moment that is not devoted to that other 
 means of livelihood. 
 
 An understanding of the lines of effort along which 
 you will need to direct your study is, quite properly, 
 the second step of your progress. 
 
 Thinking in Action 
 
 The first thing you will need to do is to cultivate the 
 ability to visualize. 
 
 As you sit in the picture theatre, watching a film- 
 story develop in the liight upon the screen, your eyes 
 carry the impressions made by the light-waves to your 
 
12 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 brain, which completes the process of sight by trans- 
 lating the impression of those light-waves into the 
 brain-equivalent — thought! That is what happens 
 when you see a projected photoplay. As Sir Mortimer 
 folds the fair Angela to his mail-covered bosom your 
 eye is put into functioning vitality by the reflected rays 
 from the screen. The nerves flash the vibration to the 
 brain. The brain translates, and says to the con- 
 sciousness : "The knight loves the lady," and since you 
 see that she does not deny his love, logically it is made 
 manifest to the understanding that she accepts his 
 devotion. 
 
 Suppose that you wish to reverse the cause and the 
 effect : that is, you wish to have your own consciously- 
 evolved thought, "The Knight loves the lady," put 
 upon the screen. What is the first step? Naturally, 
 arbitrarily, it is the translation of that thought into 
 some tangible form that will enable you to express it 
 without speech. Your brain makes the reverse trans- 
 lation into the same thing which it would receive from 
 the screen — not light-wave or nerve vibration, truly, 
 but that which they conveyed — action. 
 
 When you devise a story for the screen you must 
 simply reverse the process of "seeing" a projected pic- 
 ture, leaving out, of course, the intermediate steps ; and 
 this reversal will be, in effect, a mental viewing of the 
 action into which your story should translate itself if it 
 is to be suitable material for the picture form. Neces- 
 sarily this statement demands the qualifying addition 
 that it is the theoretical idea only which may be com- 
 pletely translated from thought into action: in the 
 
WHAT you SHOULD BE 13 
 
 practical application of the idea certain things will be 
 found important enough to justify their retention in 
 the development of the idea, and yet impossible of 
 interpretation by any known gesture, physical attitude 
 or facial expression — ^that is, they cannot be conveyed 
 by mere action. Here, of course, you will have to fall 
 back on the explanatory aid given by words. Never- 
 theless, the idea most suitable for the photoplay screen 
 is the one that your mentality can visualize in action. 
 
 If your learn to think in action, you will find your- 
 self writing in action — that is, choosing words to 
 describe your thought, and making these words typical 
 of movement. Therefore, as you will acquire the habit 
 of visualizing your ideas, you will want to build a 
 vocabulary to express your visual embodiment of idea 
 in movement. 
 
 The Fiction Form and the Synopsis Form 
 
 There is one point of similarity between the writing 
 of fiction and the preparation of the photoplay synop- 
 sis: each is designed to conjure up picture-thoughts 
 in the mind of the reader. Yet in the manner of 
 attaining this object the two forms differ widely. 
 
 The fiction story may begin with a striking situation 
 which, in point of story-continuity, should be some- 
 where in the middle of the tenth paragraph — in which 
 place one finds the way-back-in-days-gone-by part of 
 the explanation.! A chapter or so later one discovers 
 
 * In the language of dramatic technique this explanation of 
 foundation or antecedent facts is known as "the exposition." 
 
14 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 with surprise that some character told a falsehood 
 when making a certain statement much earlier. 
 
 In the photoplay synopsis everything must run in a 
 sequence of natural development. The story must be 
 told very much as it will appear upon the screen : once 
 the plot begins to develop there is no time to go back 
 and explain some important point — it must be 
 "planted" in advance, as will be shown later. Char- 
 acters have to be made known, with their important 
 traits and dispositions; their relations one with an- 
 other are to be clearly stated so that no uncertainty 
 will cloud the mind of the reader at a vital point. 
 
 A fictionist draws his mind-picture with the aid of 
 dialogue and a whole vocabulary used for descriptive 
 characterization or for the clarifying of emotions and 
 thought-processes; but a screen-talester achieves his 
 result almost solely by means of vivid action ; and while 
 he necessarily employs words to put these actions into 
 form, his vocabulary is rich in expressions of move- 
 ment. He cannot use up whole pages to tell why to 
 Jim the thought of Agnes — cold and careless, stony of 
 heart, as she must be if her plan to wed an unloved 
 millionaire is fulfilled — is terribly depressing. He has 
 to weave his story so that one knows by a visual em- 
 bodiment of idea in action — or in some tangible thing 
 which establishes the idea — ^that Jim calls up a vision 
 of Agnes as his imagination pictures her. 
 
 Versatile as is the camera, with its tricks and possi- 
 bilities for deception, it cannot photograph thought. 
 If you disagree, feeling that you have seen pictures in 
 which the mental processes of a character were entirely 
 
WHAT YOU SHOULD BE 15 
 
 clear, think back carefully and see if you do not recol- 
 lect previous action or situation by the use of which 
 you were made to sense that important point. A woe- 
 begone lover is Jim, as we see him swaying at the rail 
 of the ship which takes him far from Agnes ; and if he 
 looks at the water and thinks of her, growing more 
 dejected, for a page or so of fiction, all is well. With- 
 out some previous situation to indicate what occupies 
 his thought and makes him lean dully over the rail, he 
 would impress you, in a synopsis, as merely a seasick 
 passenger. 
 
 For the photoplay synopsis of today, the writer 
 would provide more detail about Agnes ; he would, in 
 fact, never begin any synopsis with this picture of Jim. 
 Having detailed the relationship that might exist be- 
 tween the young man and the young lady, the screen 
 form, needing some foundation for future indication 
 of thought, would prompt him to show Agnes and Jim 
 together in some situation bringing out the facts about 
 Agnes, her contemplated plan, the predominating 
 selfishness of the girl, forecasting her ultimate decision 
 to marry for money rather than for love and pre- 
 sumable poverty. Quite possibly as Jim stands think- 
 ing of Agnes, this suggestion would be incorporated in 
 the sentence relating that situation : 
 
 "While Jim stands at the ship's rail he is reflecting 
 sadly on the course being pursued by Agnes. His fancy 
 conjures up a vision of the cold, careless girl in her 
 new home, surrounded by fawning men whose compli- 
 
16 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 ments seem to her to be genuine tributes to her beauty. 
 As the vision disappears Jim is more gloomy than 
 before." i 
 
 Another writer, preparing the same situation, might 
 describe it by the use of another device, somewhat 
 along this line : 
 
 "While Jim stands by the ship's rail, dejectedly 
 looking out toward the heaving water, Agnes is sitting 
 in the magnificent mansion her millionaire husband has 
 provided. She is surrounded by men who pay her idle 
 compliments. The compliments flatter Agnes. She 
 smiles delightedly, never dreaming that she is being 
 made a pawn, even when their flattery doubles with 
 the entrance of her husband. Jim's thought is almost 
 identical with this view of Agnes. He grows more 
 dejected than ever, more hopeless too." 
 
 In each case a substitute has been supplied for the 
 unphotographable brain-process of thought. 
 
 The technical use of certain arbitrary alternatives 
 for the expression of thought in visual form is a mat- 
 ter that need not concern you just now. These ex- 
 amples are presented merely to let you see how neces- 
 sary it is, if your synopsis is to be well considered, 
 that you think in action, and so can be certain of your 
 
 ' While not essential to a complete and satisfactory synopsis 
 preparation, nevertheless an understanding on the part of the 
 screen writer of at least the elementary requirements of scenario 
 technique would be a decided advantage in helping his treatment 
 of such situations. For a complete study of the photoplay in all 
 its manuscript-forms, see Writing the Photoplay (1919 edition), 
 by J. Berg Esenwein and Arthur Leeds, published imiform with 
 this volume in THE WRITER'S LIBRARY; and also The 
 Technique of the Photoplay, by Epes Winthrop Sargent. 
 
WHAT YOU SHOULD BE 17 
 
 methods when you will need to substitute for action 
 something approaching it in point of visual clarity. 
 
 Training Your Plot-Perception 
 
 At the same time that you are developing your 
 ability to visualize and acquiring a good vocabulary of 
 movement, you must begin to educate your plot-gather- 
 ing faculty. Train your perception to the end that you 
 may promptly recognize a bare shred of novel idea, 
 whether it springs into your mind, whether it is noted 
 in the course of your daily activities, betrayed to you 
 by some chance remark, or conveyed to your mind in 
 the course of your reading of the day's news. The 
 ability to catch hold of any slightest clue that may lead 
 eventually to the tracking down of a fresh plot is a 
 faculty only a little more important than is the mental 
 power of retention and tabulation, by the exercise of 
 which you can, so to speak, lay your hand upon the 
 shred of plot-material at the exact instant that it may 
 be needed in your work. 
 
 Storing Ideas 
 
 A continually replenished storehouse of raw material 
 is your vital necessity. You will be drawing upon it 
 constantly. You must not allow it to become depleted 
 of contents ; better far to have a vast reserve of ideas 
 than a paucity of them. So be always on the alert to 
 renew your supply. Train your eyes to note the 
 peculiar mannerisms of your neighbor, your business 
 associate, your seat-mates on train or trolley car, and 
 
18 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 school your memory to hold the impressions you 
 gather. Some odd twist of conversation, some queer 
 trait or mannerism of a person met by chance, may be 
 the basis for a character-trait that will inspire a wholly 
 new train of plot-development. 
 
 Do not depend alone upon your power of memory in 
 filing away plot-fabric. Keep a note-book about your 
 person. Jot down any stray thought, any chance im- 
 pression, any oddity of speech that you notice. If this 
 note-book is of the loose-leaf variety, so much the 
 better, for then you can detach the various notes at 
 your leisure, and put them in some sort of file, index- 
 ing them so that they will be a source of easy mind- 
 refreshment rather than something to clutter up your 
 desk. 
 
 What to Read 
 
 Read for inspiration along the lines of plot and 
 situation. Read widely. Read understandingly. Read 
 no trash! Let the material you discover in this field 
 be of high quality. Read books by standard authors, 
 and the best of contemporary fiction. Many a book or 
 short-story has provided an inspiration wholly aside 
 from its own contents. If you have quick perception 
 and a good plot-sense you can often catch one of these 
 tiartly mentioned ideas, these plot-germs that come 
 from the brain of another but are not properly his 
 since it is your brain that takes cognizance of the mere 
 hints and turns them to account. 
 
 Read the trade papers published in connection with 
 the motion-picture industry. They will do much for 
 
WHAT YOU SHOULD BE 19 
 
 you : they will tell you of the changes in production- 
 plan, of the changes in the personnel of the various 
 companies' acting-forces, of new producing companies 
 and their intentions, of the changes of address conse- 
 quent upon the removal of producing companies from 
 eastern to western or southern studios and back again. 
 In every way these newsy journals will be of benefit 
 to you: they generally review the principal produc- 
 tions of the day, week or month, printing a synopsis of 
 at least the basic plot of such productions; they in- 
 variably have a tabulated list of the pictures which 
 have been, are being, or are about to be put on the 
 market; and besides this, they carry virtually all the 
 advertisements that the producing companies send out, 
 so that you can keep track of the trend of the industry, 
 its probable needs, its discontinued demands. 
 
 Study the Screen 
 
 Go to the picture theatres at every opportunity. Do 
 not go to the same theatre every time, if your situation 
 permits you to vary your place of entertainment. 
 Study the pictures that you see : do not merely watch 
 them for the sake of their entertaining qualities ; dis- 
 cover, by later analysis, to what attributes they owe 
 their entertainment. Watch them, also, as the work of 
 your competitors in the idea-producing field. You will 
 be competing with some pretty bright rivals. Keep 
 track of their work, of their methods of presentation, 
 in so far as these are discernible in the screened story. 
 
 Go to the screen theatre for another purpose, as well 
 as to study the pictures : 
 
20 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Study Photoplay Spectators 
 
 Note how they receive the different types of stories. 
 Try to understand what quality makes a picture evoke 
 their appreciation, what it is that causes the restless 
 stir, the loss of attention, in certain pictures ; note the 
 reception given to each "star" who takes the principal 
 r61e in a picture, asking yourself at the same time 
 what particular things go into the story to make it 
 acceptable for production with that star. For it must 
 be understood that different screen favorites require 
 different types of stories, and, in some cases, radically 
 differing methods of story-treatment. The story for 
 Miss Kitty Gordon allows her to wear beautiful gowns, 
 for example : that point will be noted if you watch the 
 screen analytically ; it is a point you must consider in 
 submitting to any company for which that capable 
 actress appears. Douglas Fairbanks is so universally 
 known that it would be an obvious superfluity to say 
 that his method of handling a story is far different 
 from that employed, say, by Earle Williams. Yet, can 
 you say offhand just where the difference lies, and 
 what treatment would make a story better for Mr. 
 Williams than for Mr. Fairbanks? To be able to 
 judge of these varying methods of "doing a picture" 
 will be of great benefit in planning your stories, and of 
 inestimable value to you when you get to the marketing 
 stage. 
 
 Looking at Your Own Work with the Critical Eye 
 
 It is surprising to reahze what a great number of 
 people like to have a post to lean against. Not a few 
 
WHAT YOU SHOULD BE 21 
 
 of these are seeking to write motion-picture ideas into 
 synopsis form, and the post they search for is someone, 
 not to tell them where their mistakes lie, but a friendly 
 soul who will be kind enough to write their stories for 
 them, and then put them in shape so that the check will 
 come to the ones who do the leaning. 
 
 In other words, an inconsistent writer of this sort 
 possesses himself of an idea. To his untrained judg- 
 ment it looks like the pink of perfection. The editor 
 sends it back. Immediately this type of writer wishes 
 to find someone who can make that idea salable. He 
 will spend more time trying to get some editor to help, 
 asking some critic to rebuild and reshape and revise — 
 yes, and sell the idea! — than he would consume in 
 mastering the whole method of doing all this for him- 
 self. That no editor has the time to expend in culti- 
 vating waste ground, and that a professional writer can 
 more profitably devote his hours to producing some- 
 thing he can sell for himself than in working out an 
 idea for you, should be facts too self-evident to need 
 discussion. The moral of the illustration is: Stand 
 on your own feet. Do not waste time hunting for a 
 post to lean against ! 
 
 All this does not mean that criticism is valueless. 
 In fact, criticism from someone with a viewpoint at 
 variance with your own will often be helpful to you : in 
 proportion to its constructive, or building-up, quality, 
 such criticism will enable you to learn for yourself; 
 but if you could get someone to rebuild and revise and 
 sell for you, when you could not accomplish at least a 
 degree of consideration otherwise — well, you would be 
 
22 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 as badly off with your next idea. You would never 
 succeed. You could not succeed. 
 
 Cultivate the power to turn your eyes inward, to 
 analyze your own work. Treat this work as if it were 
 handed you by someone else for criticism, and "whale 
 into the thing" with the intention of discovering as 
 many flaws as possible. Make believe, for the time 
 being, that you are picking out the faults in the efforts 
 of your best friend. Having seen as many of these as 
 you possibly can, set out to tell this supposititious best 
 friend how to get around the drawbacks, how to re- 
 move them and reshape them into beneficial helps. 
 Forget (and you must!) the "wonderful" nature of 
 the material; remember that infl^ation shows up to 
 much better advantage in the bank deposit book than 
 beneath the hat-band. Be a harsh parent to your 
 brain-child, if by that method you can improve its 
 behavior in the company of editors. To be able to 
 acquire this attitude toward your work is equivalent 
 to a saving in postage wasted on poor material. Truly 
 Uncle Sam's rates are not unfair, but the backs of his 
 postmen are just ordinary human backs; consider 
 their carrying power when you can; conserve in the 
 matter of futile effort on their part and your own. 
 
 Last, But Not Least 
 
 Finally, and in a way, most important of all, mind 
 your "P's and Q's" ; resolve upon Patience and Per- 
 severance ; determine upon Quality in Quantity. 
 
WHAT YOU SHOULD BE 23 
 
 If you have come this far and are still resolved to 
 turn to the following page, your sincerity is beyond 
 question, your purpose is worthy of a reward, and 
 your constancy may result in the sight of your name 
 flashing from many a screen, as well as upon a bank 
 deposit book shamelessly displaying its plump figure 
 to the multitude of awed and envious Average Per- 
 sons — "one of whom you are not which." 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 KNOWING THE "NO'S" 
 
 When a fond father presents his youthful son with a 
 first air rifle, he is a wise parent if, before he divulges 
 the mechanics of marksmanship, he lays down defi- 
 nitely a warning about what not to shoot at : otherwise, 
 by the time that science is explained, it may be too late 
 to revive the careless chicken, unperforate the neigh- 
 bors' window shades, or unshatter the riven conserva- 
 tory glass. 
 
 By the same wisdom, it will be well, ere you set out 
 on your gunning trip for the Big Check, to acquire a 
 fair knowledge of the targets that are, for one reason 
 or another, taboo. 
 
 The person best qualified to present this information 
 is the one who passes judgment upon our efforts — the 
 studio script-reader. He reads books and other manu- 
 script, it is true, but he reads the multitudinous synop- 
 ses most of the time. He knows what is wanted, and 
 is in a position to tell you what is not desirable. Step 
 quietly into his office and unobtrusively let him do the 
 chattering. 
 
 Examining Some Synopses with the Studio Reader 
 
 Here is a rather amazingly bulky pile of manuscripts 
 — the day's receipts from the free-lance synopsis-writers 
 
KNOWING THE "no's" 25 
 
 whose minds are all bent on coaxing the game into a 
 suitable clearing where a lucky shot will acclaim the 
 huntsman's quality. 
 
 The first synopsis has a cheerful title — "The Funeral 
 Passes." Is it any wonder that the reader begins the 
 story with a morose mind? He discovers, in the 
 course of a "skippy" perusal of that sad tale, that the 
 hero, who has been sufficiently out-of-character to 
 spoil a girl's life, is brought to realize his sin too late, 
 when he sees the funeral passing. 
 
 No wonder that story is rejected. Yet you would be 
 surprised at the number of stories which, in a degree 
 perhaps less morbid, employ death as a means of bring- 
 ing about some great realization of error, or to produce 
 what the authors falsely believe is a "strong, dramatic 
 punch." Death is not a welcome subject in any form. 
 Sometimes it must be utilized, and when properly 
 managed and emphatically unavoidable, it is not the 
 real reason for rejection. Usually, however, writers 
 for the screen seem to have the impression that a death 
 scene is powerful. Of itself it is depressing. Tragedy 
 is the most sparingly used form of dramatic expres- 
 sion upon the screen. Morbidness is a thing to be 
 shunned as one shuns the leper. The haste with which 
 the reader consigns this particular story to its return 
 envelope is a warning that you should heed. 
 
 Tragedy on the Screen 
 
 Tragedy you will see sometimes. In fact, certain 
 stars affect it. But have you noticed the material they 
 
26 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 select ? It is invariably the work of some really great 
 playwright, novelist or poet. Only by reason of its 
 sheer power does such material find a place, and then 
 only when a player of unquestioned ability enacts its 
 principal r6le. It is a debatable question whether, even 
 then, such a production makes its distribution a very 
 wide one. The cases of successful tragedy-pictures 
 which have made a lasting impression are as rare as 
 the checks that free-lance photoplay writers receive 
 for such material. 
 
 Morbidness Is Undesirable 
 
 The morbid tale is even less wanted than the tragic 
 story. Some attempts have been made to distribute 
 pictures which, in theme or idea, are morbid. They 
 have created no vogue. One spectator who watched 
 Vitagraph's "Mortmain" (a tale of the grafting of the 
 hand of a dead man on to the living arm of another) 
 left the auditorium in a state of nervousness that kept 
 her away from picture-viewing for some time. 
 
 The "Over-Thin" and the "Over-Fat" 
 
 The next story the reader finds is a nice little idea 
 of a girl who comes back from her war-nursing in love 
 with a hero who is about to come back from the 
 trenches. His former sweetheart causes her to give 
 him up because that former sweetheart, a spoiled and 
 sickly woman, creates the impression that she and the 
 soldier are secretly married. The heroine finds out the 
 truth before her life is completely ruined. 
 
KNOWING THE "NO's" 27 
 
 Now that is not such a poor idea. But the reader 
 feels that it is too slender, as it stands, for a five-reel 
 production. The dramatic points are few and far be- 
 tween. Intermediate incidents will be "draggy" and 
 there is not enough strength in the basic situation to 
 enable it to hold interest over the slow spots. 
 
 Quite probably the reader will write the author a 
 more or less definite note about it, for the idea has 
 some possibilities. He cannot take time to say what 
 they are, but he is willing to suggest that the plot needs 
 some building. Had the author been a keen critic in 
 the first warmth of his inspiration, he would doubtless 
 have seen the possibilities for more "complication." 
 
 The matter of the war is a thing to be touched on in 
 passing. Some companies want it if the idea upon 
 which it is built is a powerful one. Others do not want 
 war. Their policies change with the changing condi- 
 tions of the country. That is something you have to 
 study individually — when to write on a topic, when not 
 to do so. 
 
 The next story chances to be an extremely compli- 
 cated one, with some twenty characters weaving in and 
 out of the plot. Their relations, one with the other, 
 are continually shifting. It is hard to keep them in 
 mind. The situations that develop are dependent on a 
 thorough understanding of these relationships — in 
 short, the story is over-complicated and would be con- 
 fusing to the spectator, without a plethora of explana- 
 tory sub-titles, or "leaders," as you prefer to name 
 them. 
 
28 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 So, it is a natural deduction that there is a happy 
 medium between the over-shght story and the too- 
 complicated idea. You will be able to find on the 
 screen, at times, examples of each type, stories which 
 possess some quality that has appealed to the producer 
 and caused him to overlook the definite drawback. 
 Your common sense will enable you to profit by a study 
 of pictures, to the end that your own offerings will be 
 satisfying on this score. 
 
 The Character Study 
 
 The next story to be read is one in which the plot is 
 subordinated to the development of character. This is 
 a type of idea far more suitable to the leisurely fashion 
 of long fiction than to the screen. Moods are more 
 necessary than movement, and the screen does not take 
 well to a lack of movement. Quite possibly the traits 
 of character which give rise to the action are sus- 
 ceptible of treatment in such a manner that they will 
 be surrounded with more "meat," or story-quality. In 
 no other case should such an idea be selected as the 
 basis for a picture plot, except in such cases as may 
 arise when a director of great talent is in close sym- 
 pathy and equally close touch with a writer who under- 
 stands him, knows his capabilities, and understands the 
 players to be used : then, of course, conditions govern 
 the production and the results are satisfying to the 
 extent that the director is able to put individuality and 
 feeling in the places usually occupied by movement and 
 situation. Do not waste time trying to meet his exact- 
 ing demands. 
 
KNOWING THE "no's" 29 
 
 The Wandering Tale 
 
 You will next watch the reader shift in his chair and 
 begin to dodge about on the pages of the submitted 
 script. Incident follows incident, but no definite theme 
 is visualized, no situations arise possessed of that close- 
 knit quality which compels interest. 
 
 Daisy comes to New York to make her fortune. 
 Hugh stays on the farm. Daisy meets a kind woman 
 and is taken into her home. Hugh makes his farm 
 pay. Daisy meets a theatrical producer. She is given 
 a chance to show her possibilities as an actress. She 
 succeeds. Hugh is popular, now that he is amassing 
 riches from his scientifically conducted farm. Daisy is 
 a popular idol of the stage. Hugh longs for her and 
 finally comes to the city and sees her acting. He meets 
 her after the show and begs her to give up the stage 
 and settle down on the farm. Daisy is sick of flowers, 
 flurry and finery. She agrees. Selah ! 
 
 At no time except at the start and the finish of this 
 tale is there a meeting between hero and heroine. 
 Nothing happens that is unusual or out of the regular 
 course of natural events. Each point is made by an 
 incident. No situations develop. The tale meanders 
 quietly along. It could start anywhere — and, Heaven 
 knows ! — end much sooner, so far as the reader is con- 
 cerned. You do not want to write the wandering tale. 
 You want to write something that will sell ! 
 
 Hackneyed Ideas 
 
 The story just outlined has another serious fault : it 
 contains no tiny bit of novelty. Freshness of idea is 
 
30 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 a necessary ingredient of the salable plot. True, there 
 are no "new" stories — every plot and, one would think, 
 every situation, has been utilized. But it is in the novel 
 combination of situations, in the fresh viewpoint, the 
 clever re-shaping of the garments which cover the 
 ancient skeletons, that a writer may work up to the 
 selling point. 
 
 The drunkard father, son or brother who is brought 
 to reform through the efforts of mother, sister or 
 daughter — these are deadly dull to all, for who has not 
 seen them time and time again! Yet who shall say 
 that a new treatment is impossible ? It is your duty to 
 yourself that should prompt you to be sure you have 
 something new in that line before you send out an idea 
 of the sort. 
 
 The same may be said of the child bringing parents 
 together. Still, the child appears, even today, and per- 
 forms its allotted mission: but in a new way, under 
 novel circumstances, or with a really powerful story- 
 environment. 
 
 The moment an idea is screened it naturally becomes 
 a hackneyed story — it may not be done that same way 
 again. So it is hopeless to tabulate a full list of the 
 themes or ideas which are not salable. From such a 
 list one writer has already found a half dozen inspira- 
 tions which worked into marketable — and check- 
 bringing — stories. 
 
 The best attitude to take is that pretty much any- 
 thing which comes easily to mind has done the same by 
 some other brain. Perhaps by a conscientious ex- 
 
KNOWING THE "NO's" 31 
 
 amination of the idea, a long series of revisions and 
 tearings-down, it may be rebuilt. But if it snaps into 
 your consciousness at a time when you have not had 
 much plot training, you can assume with certainty that 
 it is likely to have been used before. The pith of this 
 matter is expressed in the suggestion that you be not 
 too hasty to acclaim an idea as new and original until 
 you have given it a pretty thorough study, looked at it 
 from all angles, sought out every weakness, tracked 
 down every development it offers. If, after all this, 
 the idea, in a revised form, still looks "good," you ought 
 to justify your opinion by trying it on the producer — 
 but not before. 
 
 An Indefinite Writing Style 
 
 Turning back to the reader, you will see him puzzling 
 over a creased, shabby script that runs on in this way : 
 
 Jim loves Mary and Jack loves her and Grace is 
 crazy about him but he isn't interested in her and she 
 
 does not know that he cares about her . And so 
 
 on, without clarity, with pronouns so used that one is 
 totally at sea as to the relations of characters, as to 
 which person is being alluded to at any given point. 
 You do not have to be a fiction writer in your writing 
 style, but you must have a knowledge of the proper way 
 to describe your plot. That proper way is so clear 
 that no confusion can possibly exist as to what char- 
 acter you mean when you say "he" or "she." Going 
 further, that proper way is one in which interest 
 develops with the first sentence. Perhaps interest may 
 
32 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 not depend on a striking statement — the synopsis open- 
 ing may simply give the principal traits of Mary's 
 character. If these are worth while, the interest is 
 assured. 
 
 Other Unsalable Ideas 
 
 The reader will find other plots that court rejection : 
 among them the "sex" story which makes a display of 
 vulgarity or suggestiveness for no purpose other than 
 to cater to a low taste ; also, the story which promises 
 much at the start, and then falls flat ; as well, the story 
 that is filled with coincidence, such as the chance meet- 
 ing, the telephone call and a chance mix-up in connec- 
 tions which enables the hero to learn where the heroine 
 Is held prisoner, and, again, the coincidental fact that a 
 stolen child comes back, grown up, to work for her 
 father, who seeks to wed her and discovers their rela- 
 tionship through the accidental wearing of a locket — 
 purely because the plot needs such a twist. These 
 types of stories are unwelcome. So, too, is the idea 
 that strikes a blow at any religious sect or political 
 creed. Again, there is no demand for the type of plot 
 in which a too-long period of time must elapse, giving 
 children time to grow up, and losing sight of the 
 parents in a new interest centering about the newly 
 grown children. The interest of the spectators must 
 center about one definite character. While others may 
 share this interest, they do so to a minor extent, and in 
 no case does the interest shift from that original one 
 upon whom it was placed. 
 
KNOWING THE "NO's" 33 
 
 Knowing somewhat of the game that should not be 
 fired at, it is well that you discover that there is still 
 something left to justify your gunning. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 TABULATING THE "AYES" 
 
 In naming the desirable sorts of photoplay material 
 it will be useful to mention also the general as well as 
 the particular classifications into which these ideas fall. 
 
 Loosely, the photoplay is divided into two groups: 
 Comedy ideas and Drama ideas. Comedy, of course, 
 in this broad grouping, may be considered to be any- 
 thing that deals with the lighter side of life, anything 
 of a humorous nature, while drama naturally describes 
 the more serious problems of humanity, without levity. 
 However, changes of condition, new demands, spe- 
 cializing stars and other influences have allowed a more 
 definite subdivision of these broad classes. These sub- 
 divisions and their blendings may be named as follows : 
 
 True, or "Polite" Comedy 
 
 True comedy is the most highly refined type of 
 humor, depending on the amusing aspect of the basic 
 idea, rather than upon violence of situation or ludicrous 
 acrobatics. 
 
 In its best form, this "polite" or "parlor" comedy was 
 capably handled by Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Drew, though 
 they made no attempt, of course, to be the sole ex- 
 ponents of the type on the screen. The "polite" 
 comedy often pokes gentle fun at some pet folly of man 
 
TABULATING THE "AYES" 35 
 
 or woman, never in an offensive manner, never with 
 intent to do more than give rise to the chuckle of 
 recognition of the "human-ness" of the trait displayed 
 as a target for the easy satire of its author. 
 
 The basic ideas used in true comedy must be thor- 
 oughly true to Ufe. They must have no hint of illogi- 
 cality, or of being far-fetched, or of straining plausi- 
 bility to achieve situation. Every link of their con- 
 struction is soundly true to a widely recognized quality, 
 trait or defect of human nature. As an example of 
 the polite comedy, the "comedy of idea," the following 
 is offered : 
 
 A FAMILY FLIVVER' 
 
 Charley and his wife are adorably mated : each worships the 
 other. Charley decides to buy a small runabout for "Girlie's" 
 pleasuring. He selects a model, goes home and tells her of his 
 choice. She is delighted, and agrees to go, next day, and see the 
 model, to pronounce final approval. 
 
 When the two examine the small car, an adroit salesman subtly 
 calls her attention to a larger car, a sedan. Girlie argues that her 
 mother deserves some consideration, and "her family" would 
 disapprove violently of her flaunting poverty before the neighbor- 
 hood by driving a cheap runabout. After some argument, Charley 
 compromises with her on th§ basis of a trial spin in a five- 
 passenger car. 
 
 They make ready that afternoon. As they wait for the car to 
 arrive for the demonstration, Charley lets slip the information 
 that he has mentioned the demonstration to his mother, who will 
 drop in to go along: whereupon Girlie mentions that she has 
 made the same plan with respect to her own mother. There will 
 be plenty of room, so no harm is done. 
 
 But a complication arises. Ere the car has shown itself, the 
 news of the contemplated purchase and trial has spread through 
 the respective families of Charley and Girlie. Relatives rush to 
 the focal point of interest. Grandad to advise Charley, and take 
 a bit of air for his "rheumatics" — ^Auntie to help Girlie "choose" 
 rightly — and others to advise — and get an automobile ride. By 
 the time they are all collected it is evident that there is going to 
 be a shortage of riding room: consequent friction develops be- 
 tween the two families. 
 
 'One-reel polite comedy, Agnes Ayres and Edward Earle. 
 Vitagraph. 
 
36 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 The demonstration car has broken down in the meantime, and 
 the agent, eager to make a sale, gets hold of a ramshackle car — 
 anything will do for a demonstration. 
 
 By the time the ancient ark draws up before the door, Charley 
 and Girlie are at loggerheads, each drawn up with a line of rela- 
 tives, the two parties exchanging dagger-glances. The welcome 
 "honk I" of the car sends the crowd helter-skeltering out to pre- 
 empt positions. Manifestly the car is both inadequate and 
 unsatisfactory, so Charley and Girlie, realizing that they are 
 being "familied" out of their usual happy understanding of each 
 other, take this chance to refuse to consider the old car, and so 
 get rid of their relatives and resolve that they will do their 
 future purchasing without family coercion. 
 
 The eagerness of relatives to advise, to "mix in," 
 with a resulting confusion, is the human quality intro- 
 duced for purposes of humor. Not so much in action 
 as in the selection of types, and the classes of relatives 
 represented by each, is the idea developed. 
 
 This sort of material is not so easy to prepare as one 
 might think, offhand. It depends upon a certain 
 understanding of human nature that has to be even 
 more deep than the construction of other comedy-forms 
 necessitates. When it is found that you can devise 
 this sort of comedy, your market will be as steady as 
 the growth of intellectual attendance at the picture 
 theatre. 
 
 True Farce 
 
 A type of humor which appeals less to the intellect 
 and more to the appreciation of broadly drawn fun is 
 the farce. 
 
 Too frequently the still lower form of comedy which 
 is really acrobatic, or "slapstick," is described as farce. 
 A distinction should be made between the two types. 
 
TABULATING THE "AYES" 37 
 
 True farce is as dependent upon humor of idea as is 
 "polite" comedy, but in farce the idea is not so re- 
 stricted by logicality, nor do we insist on the absence 
 of mere coincidence in the plot-action. There must 
 also be a decided increase in the complications of situa- 
 tion in farce over those in true comedy. Yet there is 
 not the violence of leaping and tumbling that we dis- 
 cover in "slapstick." 
 
 The polite comedy example already given might be 
 given a farce-treatment by adding situations in which 
 further obstacles are presented to the enjoyment of 
 the anticipated ride. Grandpa might go out and buy a 
 car on his grandson's account, while Auntie would be 
 doing the same thing for her niece. Girlie might sell 
 hubby's diamond studs to get a first payment on the 
 car she desires, while Charley would, with the same 
 secrecy, be pawning her fur coat to make a like pay- 
 ment on his own choice. The resultant quarrels and 
 mixing up of purposes, situations and disclosures, the 
 far more broad treatment of the climax, would consti- 
 tute a handling that would place the story in the class 
 of the farce — which, obviously, is less true to life than 
 "polite" comedy. 
 
 "Slapstick" 
 
 The wildly vigorous type of picture in which a mere 
 thread of plot is required upon which to hang a series 
 of acrobatic falls and situations impossible from the 
 human point of view, is known as "slapstick." It 
 serves only to provide laugh-provoking "rough-house" 
 and in the degree that its continuity allows fresh ways 
 
38 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 for achieving indiscriminate mix-ups of bodies will it 
 be satisfying to an audience. Many people sneer at it. 
 But it is surprising how vast an appeal this wild form 
 of comedy makes. Possibly this popularity is due to 
 the vividness of contrast that "slapstick" presents to 
 the usually heavy "drama" which is generally made 
 the feature of an entertainment. The "slapstick" is 
 written in a running outline of description of the gen- 
 eral situations, so as to present the freshness of idea: 
 of all the dry reading in the world, that offered by a 
 perusal of the "slapstick" synopsis is the most labori- 
 ous, yet in inverse ratio to its dryness one may con- 
 sider its laugh-provoking possibilities the greater. 
 
 From the production standpoint, much depends on 
 the quality of mind of the director in making complete 
 demarcations among these three types of comedy. A 
 director accustomed to handling acrobatic players 
 could only spoil the refinement of the polite comedy by 
 handling his action in a ribald, knock-'em-down style. 
 In the same way, a quietly working director with a 
 refined sense of humor might make a dismal failure of 
 an attempt to get the laughs that lie in the rough-and- 
 tumble "slapstick," while neither of these directors 
 would be quite able to take the middle ground neces- 
 sary for the nice shaping of situations broad enough 
 of action, and yet sufficiently repressed, for the farce. 
 
 The "Type-Fitting" Comed y 
 
 The screen has developed certain specialists in either 
 eccentricity of face, figure, dress or make-up. Each of 
 these affects a distinctive manner of "getting over" the 
 
TABULATING THE "AYES" 39 
 
 points of the material that best fits him. Some do 
 "polite" comedy in a manner all their own; others 
 prefer farce as a vehicle for their peculiar traits ; and 
 the high development of refinement to which Charlie 
 Chaplin's quiet method has carried the "slapstick" is 
 universally recognized, and handsomely appreciated. 
 
 It is useless to ask this sort of comedian to state 
 particular desires. Many of the specialists work up 
 their own material. If you think you can "strike" the 
 style any one of them displays upon the screen, a sub- 
 mitted synopsis is the form your offering should take. 
 
 True Drama 
 
 The really sincere drama is as "polite" in its presen- 
 tation of human ideas as is its humorous counterpart, 
 the refined comedy. It depends on a human problem 
 or a widely recognized condition for its "obstacle" — or 
 basis for the dramatic struggle. It has no violence of 
 action, but develops the situations quietly, though none 
 the less powerfully, by reason of the repression in 
 action. No example need be given, as the true drama 
 is a form to be seen upon every screen. 
 
 Several classifications under True Drama may be 
 made: 
 
 Romantic Drama is merely a refinement of type, 
 specializing in its appeal to the sentimental chord in 
 every heart. 
 
 Historical Drama is a subdivision of type in which 
 the basic situation, or the principal character, is chosen 
 for historical accuracy. It is a seldom salable sort, 
 
40 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 though sporadic cases are citable where a company will 
 produce an historical drama when it is sufficiently 
 appealing by reason of the power of its central theme 
 or the value of its central character. 
 
 Costume Drama is really no different in aspect from 
 the historical, which necessarily imposes costume as an 
 adjunct to verity of epoch; except that a picture may 
 require costuming in its early scenes, if it has a pro- 
 logue going far enough back in point of time. It is not 
 welcomed by producers — many will not even consider 
 it. Only when correspondence with a film company 
 brings out a desire to inspect your product in this line 
 should you bother with historical or costume material. 
 
 Topical Drama is a decidedly salable sort of product, 
 granted that you are in touch with a company that 
 makes a specialty of themes of wide national or party 
 appeal — and granted also that you have something 
 truly "big" along the line of present interest, some- 
 thing that is thematic enough not to be "a back num- 
 ber" before the film can be produced and marketed. 
 
 Melodrama 
 
 The melodrama is of a less exacting quality of plot 
 than the true drama. In its best aspects it is no less 
 plausible than drama, yet in movement and in vigor of 
 action it strikes a much swifter pace. It may even 
 approach the line of farce, in broadness of situation. 
 This is especially noticeable in 
 
 The Melodramatic Serial, a form of melodrama 
 which is generally divided into separate and distinct 
 
TABULATING THE "aYES" 41 
 
 "episodes," one of these being released each week for a 
 predetermined period governed by the length of time 
 the interest can be held. The serial depends upon a 
 more or less logical central story-theme which runs 
 through the entire production : this story is so planned 
 that a crisis or a climax subordinate to the final climax 
 is made to fall about the end of each episode, in such 
 a way that it will not be definitely completed, but will 
 hold over its own solution until the beginning of the 
 next successive episode, when it will be explained 
 satisfactorily, whereupon the story-thread is taken up 
 again, to be carried to the crisis for that episode. 
 Many companies find this a remunerative type of pic- 
 ture, and while the ideas are frequently evolved by 
 staff-writers working in close harmony with star and 
 director, it is not to be thought impossible to land a 
 strong story of the sort, properly planned for the aver- 
 age length of thirty reels, or a fifteen-week series of 
 two-reel episodes. 
 
 "Ingenue" Stories 
 
 Many companies maintain profitably a certain type 
 of star who makes an appeal through youth, charm, 
 ingenuousness, naivete, beauty and what for want of a 
 more exact term might be called "girlishness." For 
 this star there is a demand in the line of stories which 
 will bring out the star's particular qualities of conduct 
 or manner. Usually these stories are not true dramas. 
 In many instances they combine a certain amount of 
 refined comedy, often limited to "comedy touches" 
 which build, and seem a part of, the natural plot of the 
 
42 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 story. Frequently they combine comedy and melo- 
 drama, usually of a somewhat refined quality. The 
 blending of the various classes, and the proper balance 
 to be maintained among them, is often dependent on 
 the especial traits or abilities of the star herself. 
 
 "Type-fitting" Drama 
 
 This brings us naturally to consider the suiting of 
 stars who have an individuality in dramatic, melo- 
 dramatic, or comedy-dramatic ability as sharply 
 marked as that of the already-noted comedy types. 
 Mabel Normand affects (when she seems best fitted in 
 material) the farce with melodrama for the constitu- 
 ent addition. Mary Pickford requires a type of story 
 entirely individual. Douglas Fairbanks is approached 
 by no other actor at present in his own especial field, 
 which the screen can show you better than a hundred 
 pages could explain. In planning to write to suit a 
 particular star, remember that it limits your market, 
 but possesses the off-setting advantage that to "land" 
 in this field means that you are "made." 
 
 Occasional Specialties 
 
 Once in a while the fantasy, the fairy tale, the "kid" 
 story, and the "sex" story will find a market. All re- 
 quire a thorough knowledge of the wants and policies 
 of the producers, and will be best reserved until you 
 are "taking orders ahead" and can afford to waste 
 time on them should they not prove salable types. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE ALL-IMPORTANT PLOT 
 
 The three essential elements that enter into the com- 
 position of a good photoplay synopsis are : 
 
 1st. A strong, vital plot. 
 
 2nd. A catchy, magnetic title. 
 
 jrd. A clear, smooth-reading style. 
 
 In this order of importance they deserve separate 
 examination and study. Each has an individual reason 
 for incorporation in your work. But it would be folly 
 to bother with the second or the third as ingredients of 
 the photoplay until you are thoroughly grounded in 
 their ranking superior — ^the plot. 
 
 What Is a Plot? 
 
 In most fiction, in the spoken drama, in the photo- 
 play itself, the plot is the chief concern of the author. 
 However, there is a discernible difference in the re- 
 quirements of the three mediums of expression, and 
 comparison seems the best way to bring out clearly the 
 points of variation. 
 
 In fiction, "The plot is such an arrangement of the 
 events in a story as will bring out effectively the basic 
 situation, the main crisis, the minor crises, if any, and 
 the denouement." ^ 
 
 ' J. Berg Esenwein and Mary Davoren Chambers, The Art of 
 Story Writing. 
 
44 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Put in a slightly different way, and speaking genet- 
 ically, "In its simplest, broadest aspect, plot is the 
 scheme, plan, argument or action of the story." ^ 
 
 But the plot of a fiction story very often hangs its 
 plot upon a complication which presents a struggle in- 
 disputably mental. Full license in the use of dialogue 
 and description serves to make the psychology clear. 
 In that respect the plot of the photoplay is more exact- 
 ing in its limitations. 
 
 From the standpoint of the spoken play, "The plot 
 . . . shows, by means of action, a soul in its hour of 
 crisis, what brought about the crisis, what constitutes 
 the problem, and how it is solved." ^ 
 
 Here is introduced a new element — suggested by 
 the phrase "in its hour of crisis." This element is the 
 second limitation on the screen type of plot — elimina- 
 tion of long time-lapses.^ 
 
 The fiction writer may interpolate a considerable 
 digression at a leisurely-moving point in his story, tell- 
 ing at length and fully of a time long past in which 
 some important action, condition or character-trait 
 developed which bears a strong influence upon the 
 present plot-crisis. The "regular" playwright, by 
 reason of his command of vocalized idea, may select 
 
 'J. Berg Esenwein, Writing the Short-Story. 
 
 ' Charlton Andrews, The Technique of Play Writing. 
 
 ' The student is advised to read The Plot of the Short Story, 
 Henry Albert Phillips ; and the chapters on plot in the following 
 treatises : The Short Story, Evelyn May Albright ; The Con- 
 temporary Short Story, Harry T. Baker; A Handbook on Story 
 Writing, Blanche Colton Williams ; ^hort Stories in the Making, 
 Robert Wilson Neal ; The Art of Story Writing, Esenwein and 
 Chambers ; and Writing the Short-Story, J. Berg Esenwein. 
 
THE ALL-IMPOKTANT PLOT 45 
 
 some important crisis of his plot for his start, using 
 some brief instant of pause in the movement of plot to 
 put into words some suggestion of the past which has 
 influenced, is influencing, or is about to influence, his 
 developing plot. But in this matter the photoplay plot 
 is held within much more restricted lines. It is not to 
 be supposed that an argument is being advanced for 
 the preparation of plots which occupy exactly as many 
 seconds in their telling as are lived by the chief partici- 
 pant in their crises. That is an ideal sporadically 
 striven for, seldom attained, and then quite frequently 
 proving unsatisfactory. The point is that extremes 
 should be avoided. The medium of expression at your 
 command is visible action; if you have reason to 
 present an influencing detail of the past, you must 
 develop it in action and by the sheer limitations of 
 your screen you must displace the present with the past 
 and so "hold up" your story until you can return to 
 the present. In moderation, this device is permissible, 
 but not with the latitude to which it may be indulged 
 in fiction or in the play. 
 
 Furthermore, the fiction plot has the aid of a chapter- 
 division to break off a crisis definitely, so that the next 
 passage may begin after a lapse of years, perhaps, with 
 a fresh situation ready to plunge into, the intervening 
 time being covered by a brief, or extensive, explana- 
 tion, as may be necessary, at another point of the story. 
 
 In the same way, the drama of the theatre lets down 
 a definitely halting curtain at the moment of high 
 tension, raising it upon a different scene, possibly a 
 new set of people who can, by the aid of dialogue, sug- 
 
46 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 gest their relation to the formerly-displayed playfolk, 
 and these new characters may chat over a cup of tea 
 as they make the spectator acquainted with some im- 
 portant development of plot which can be spoken of 
 more practicably than it can be acted. 
 
 The exact definition of plot, in its photoplay limita- 
 tions, must be more comprehensive, then, and at the 
 same time more elastic than that of either fiction or 
 the spoken play. It must recognize the exactions of 
 the screen and still permit the usual methods of pro- 
 duction to be stretched to a common-sense degree, for 
 the cultivated plot-sense will often discern strength of 
 situation sufficient to warrant a reasonable departure 
 from the set rules : in fact, it is in this wise observance 
 of the limitations of the screen plot, and in the clever- 
 ness displayed in a partial ignoring of their extent 
 while preserving their intent, that one marks the 
 difference between the amateur and the expert plot 
 manipulator. 
 
 For a definition of plot which states the exactions 
 of the screen, reduced to the simplest terms that will 
 cover the matter, contemplate this statement : 
 
 In photoplay, the plot is a vital episode in the life 
 
 of a human being, translatable into self-explanatory 
 
 action, showing how and why an obstacle is placed in 
 
 the life-current of that individual, what efforts are 
 
 made to overcome the obstruction, how these efforts are 
 
 rewarded, and what is the outcome of the success,^ 
 
 * In this definition the words "outcome of the success" are used 
 with purpose. A failure to triumph over the obstruction pre- 
 supposes a tragic end to the story. Tragedy is practially taboo. 
 A fuller explanation of this point will be found in a later chap- 
 ter, under the discussion of "the happy ending." 
 
THE ALL-IMPORTANT PLOT 47 
 
 zvith the least possible halt of progress between crises. 
 
 Since the plot is the one thing of absolute and para- 
 mount importance in your preparation of the salable 
 photoplay synopsis, it will be well to go a little more 
 completely into the essentials of this definition. 
 
 Plot Must Be a Vital Episode 
 
 First of all, a plot must have an underlying quality 
 of human-ness which will cause it to exert a wide 
 appeal. This vitalizing factor is achieved by selecting 
 a basic idea that does one of two things — presents a 
 problem founded on a national, or at least a geograph- 
 ically extensive, condition of mind, manners, environ- 
 ment or well-being, by choosing which you enlist the 
 attention of a majority of the people who are more or 
 less affected by this condition ; or by making the per- 
 sonally encountered obstacle that holds back the happi- 
 ness of your principal character so powerful in its 
 influence that the individual spectator will assume a 
 vigorous championship of that character, evince a keen 
 sympathy for the hoped-for triumph over the obstacle, 
 feel a keen sense of personal participation in the 
 problem. 
 
 In the first instance you reach the interest through 
 the appeal of the problem. Everyone is more or less 
 selfish and is therefore touched by anything threaten- 
 ing his or her own peace of mind, physical well-being, 
 or suitability of environment. 
 
 In the alternative method you create a sympathy for 
 the chief participant in your plot : you cause the sym- 
 
48 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 pathizer to assume the r61e, to feel the emotion, to 
 grasp the importance of the problem, and so, in the 
 eventuality, you achieve the same result. 
 
 The Obstacle or Complication 
 
 You might discover a problem of vital importance 
 to the whole world and yet fail to weave it into a plot 
 unless you incorporated an obstacle to the smooth run- 
 ning of the life-current of the character most con- 
 cerned. 
 
 To take an illustration, consider the topic which not 
 only concerns the whole world but which will be of 
 importance for a long while — not the problem of secur- 
 ing peace terms and exacting indemnities in the after- 
 math of the World War ; that is vital as this is written, 
 but it may all be settled when you read ; but, arising 
 from this problem is one of far more lasting vitality — 
 the problem of how to keep the various nations of the 
 world eternally in harmony, so that there will never be 
 another carnage like that which still lives vividly in 
 history and in the mind of every human being. 
 
 Fasten, then, upon the problem of eternal peace. 
 How is it to be ensured ? Your principal character be- 
 lieves that he knows the answer. At once he becomes 
 a figure of vital interest. He has a solution for a 
 world-puzzling question. Beside him the lover who 
 seeks to win Ethel in spite of her father's objection to 
 the color of his hair, pales into insignificance. Your 
 character is vital, powerful. Every one wants to know 
 what his idea is, how practicable it will prove. He ex- 
 
THE ALL-IMPORTANT PLOT 49 
 
 pounds his theory. Suppose he believes that by re- 
 moving any form of government which permits per- 
 sonal selfishness or aggressiveness to rule the wills of 
 the people, and by allowing the populace to participate 
 in every discussion touching national policy, every 
 difference of international policy will be adjusted 
 through a diplomacy dictated by the public will for 
 peace. Suppose that this idea is propounded to the 
 world, disseminated through the medium of willing 
 governments, interested newspapers, speakers and pub- 
 lishers. Suppose that the world accepts it gladly, puts 
 it into practice quickly, and finds it a completely suc- 
 cessful solution of the war-problem. 
 
 If you should handle your theme in that way, no 
 interest would attach to the plot, except the academic 
 interest presented in the theory expressed. Your chief 
 character would be merely a man with large vision. 
 He would encounter no difficulties, and so would 
 achieve no active interest. Such a treatment of the 
 idea would constitute an essay, not a plot. 
 
 But let your leading character tell a neighbor of his 
 idea. The neighbor takes an argumentative attitude 
 and proceeds to explain why he thinks the scheme 
 futile. Opposition is encountered. If one person 
 opposes, others undoubtedly would. The principal 
 character is not shaken in his belief in the basic value 
 of his plan. He determines to win over the opposing 
 neighbor. In his attempt he fights against odds — ^there 
 is introduced the element of struggle. By reason of 
 the apparently insurmountable obstacle of the neigh- 
 bor's tenacity to his own opinion, one is led to take 
 
50 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 more or less active interest in the ultimate outcome 
 according as one sides with the one or the other argu- 
 ment. 
 
 Therefore, a smooth account of the realization of an 
 ideal possesses no element of struggle. The adverse 
 opinion of the neighbor and the real opposition that 
 naturally results introduce a complication and so 
 creates active, rather than academic, interest in the 
 outcome of the stated ideal. 
 
 The plot may be further complicated, new elements 
 of opposition may be interposed between the exponent 
 of the idea and his success in proving it practicable. If 
 he wins the neighbor, he may have difficulty in reach- 
 ing the people who can help him to put his idea into 
 practice, or they may sneer at him, or he may eventu- 
 ally come to a dead halt by virtue of the fact that no 
 person in power will bother to aid him in putting his 
 theory to the test of actual trial. 
 
 Were the plot to end here, the definite halt at the 
 critical point in the idealist's life-struggle would con- 
 stitute a disappointing anticlimax instead of the ex- 
 pected successful climax, for he would have been taken 
 aip to the peak of his struggle and then dropped into 
 :an abyss of hopelessness. So the plot would end in 
 tragedy. As a plot it would be technically complete, 
 fiaving an argument of wide appeal, presentable for 
 the most part in action, with a complication creating 
 an obstruction (and so introducing an element of 
 struggle), an effort to surmount the obstacle, with a 
 resultant crisis (which by virtue of its relative impor- 
 
THE ALL-IMPORTANT PLOT 51 
 
 tance would be a climax), and a final conclusion, all 
 covering a reasonably consecutive period of time. Yet, 
 viewed as material for the modern "feature" photo- 
 play, this plot would be lacking in two qualities of 
 recognized value, both aside from its tragic ending; 
 that could be made more acceptable by a shift of cir- 
 cumstance to show to the principal character a vision 
 of the future in which he would be hailed as the 
 founder of a great and lasting peace-idea, thus satisfy- 
 ing his ambition, removing the tragedy and providing 
 the more satisfactory denouement. 
 
 The two qualities which are lacking do not properly 
 incorporate themselves in a definition of what a plot is, 
 though they merit a few words, for while material may 
 fulfill every requirement as a plot without them, their 
 presence within it makes much of the difference be- 
 tween the unsought and the desirable photoplay plot. 
 
 The first of these lacks is : 
 
 Length of Story Sufficient for the Modern Feature- 
 Picture 
 
 In its present form, the plot would not be successful 
 in a modern feature-subject. This is a matter of as 
 great importance as the procuring of material answer- 
 ing all other requirements for a plot. Of what use is 
 a plot to you if it is not susceptible of treatment in a 
 manner to make it salable? So the place to explain 
 that matter is here. 
 
 Physically, photoplays are, as you doubtless know, 
 a series of photographs taken on celluloid strips sensi- 
 
52 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 tized and otherwise made suitable to receive the im- 
 pression of light. These strips, connected and bound 
 in lengths accommodated by the reels which serve to 
 contain them, and from which they are unwound, in 
 process of projection, and wound upon other reels, are 
 standardized in length, each complete reel comprising 
 from nine hundred to a thousand feet of film. The 
 actual length of film to a reel is elastic enough to allow 
 of a few feet more or a very few feet less on a reel, so 
 as to permit the proper continuity of scenes and to allow 
 an important though minor crisis of the plot to occur 
 in the final section of each such division. This 
 standard reel requires approximately sixteen minutes 
 for projecting. 
 
 The present-day feature photoplay demands a gen- 
 eral standard of five such reels to the subject. 
 
 Manifestly, then, the present plot is inadequate in 
 the matter of its length, because to make it fill five 
 reels you would have to multiply situations showing the 
 efforts of the principal character to interest various 
 people or groups of people in his idea. This would 
 make for repetition, loss of interest, dragginess and 
 eventual dullness. 
 
 Therefore it is safe to deduce that a mere multi- 
 plicity of complications would not be the solution of 
 your difficulty. Yet you must conform to the standards 
 of length, or else drop your ambition to use the 
 material as a feature and relegate it to the less de- 
 manded type of two- or three-reel productions. 
 
THE ALL-IMPORTANT PLOT 53 
 
 A way out of the woods is offered by the discovery 
 and removal of the second point of inadequacy, 
 which is 
 
 The Love Interest 
 
 The moment you bring the form of heart-appeal 
 generally understood in the term "love interest" into 
 your plot you engage a fresh attention, provide a new 
 series of possibilities, allow for a great increase of 
 interest, and so permit a more lengthy treatment of 
 the idea. "All the world loves a lover," you know; 
 and certainly all the picture-going world becomes the 
 ardent champion of a man in whose behalf a sweet- 
 heart takes an active partizanship. Not every story 
 owes its love interest to the sweethearts, it is true ; in 
 some cases the same idea is accomplished by the mother- 
 love or the other forms of heart-interest that produce 
 human relationships, even the firm, staunch friend- 
 ship between man and man serving the purpose. 
 
 In this particular case, the possibilities for the intro- 
 duction of the feminine character as a help to the 
 formulation of further complications prompts the 
 selection of the sweetheart as an exponent of the 
 required quality. 
 
 Suppose the idealist has a sweetheart, a girl of fine 
 intellect, possibly even the daughter of a man who has 
 already flouted that idealist. The young woman be- 
 lieves in the ideal as firmly as does its originator. She 
 brings her efforts to bear in seeking to influence her 
 father to her way of thinking. There she brings 
 
54 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 about a complication for herself : and at this point it 
 is well to side-track the exposition of the plot long 
 enough to utter a warning — and a very serious warn- 
 ing — against the great danger of having 
 
 The Fatal Division of Interest 
 
 The man has begun the story; it is the man who 
 must accomplish his aim. To create an interest in 
 that character and then drop it in favor of another 
 interest is a step quite fatal to the attention-holding 
 possibilities of a plot. The plot that does not fasteti 
 interest upon one character and hold it throughout, 
 fails completely. You may allow another to share the 
 interest through contact with the principal, but never 
 must any other than the main character be given the 
 "center of the situation." 
 
 Getting back to our illustrative plot, it is safe to 
 allow the feminine character to attain a degree of 
 interest through her participation in the struggle. She 
 would usurp "the center of the screen" if she were 
 allowed to sacrifice her home ties by reason of a quar- 
 rel with her father, so it is better to have her exert a 
 sufficient influence to obtain her parent's consent to 
 the supporting of a test of her lover's idea. Perhaps a 
 large tract of land in some out-of-the-way corner of 
 the globe is owned by her father : this she can utilize. 
 So she coaxes for and receives a check that will enable 
 her to let the principal character outfit a small expedi- 
 tion, comprising some of his adherents. They may go 
 to the selected spot and there set up an idealized form 
 of government. 
 
THE ALL-IMPORTANT PLOT 55 
 
 The outcome of the experiment, the complications 
 that affect the developing and retarding of that experi- 
 ment, the perseverance and eventual triumph of the 
 exponent, in showing that his plan has not only "made 
 good" in the model form of government established, 
 but, as well, has influenced other nearby people — ^these 
 are possible adjuncts to the inner kernel of plot which 
 will produce all the contributory factors of length, 
 strength, holding power, "grip" (or "punch"), sus- 
 pense and — finally — satisfaction of the awakened hope 
 for success engendered in the spectator by the girl's 
 faith in her protege and his ideals. 
 
 So, when you have assimilated the definition of plot, 
 and have begun to discover for yourself material which 
 shapes itself into plots satisfying the formula, do not 
 lose sight of the necessity for testing that material also 
 for suitability in the matter of length, and for its 
 unified appeal to the heart and the sympathy of an 
 audience. If its basic idea is vital, endowed with the 
 genuine quality of human appeal, if it contains a suifi- 
 ciency of complications to hold up at least five reels of 
 story-essence, and if it engages the sympathy to a high 
 degree, you have that most elusive, most salable, most 
 immediately remunerative of all ideas — a good photo- 
 play plot ! 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 CAPITALIZING THE CAPTION 
 
 The catchy, magnetic title has been mentioned as the 
 second ingredient of a good synopsis and has been 
 placed ahead of the writing style in the scale of rela- 
 tive importance. Properly naming the photoplay is a 
 matter that is seldom understood by the picture-plot 
 creator; in fact, he frequently regards the ceremony 
 of christening his brain-child as a trivial affair, handi- 
 capping his mental offspring at the very start of its 
 career with some unsuitable, ordinary or carelessly 
 considered name, whereby he introduces it to the 
 motion-picture editor very much in this wise: "This 
 child is about like a thousand others. I could not 
 reasonably expect you to drop everything else and 
 interest yourself in its welfare. Sometime when you 
 are not busy, maybe you will take time enough to give 
 it a casual glance." 
 
 If you expect your out-of-the-ordinary brain-child 
 to be accorded a more sympathetic welcome, you must 
 provide it with a card of introduction more likely to 
 attract attention than the general run of photoplay 
 titles. To christen wisely, to furnish the right sort of 
 "Here I am, look at me !" you should understand the 
 functions of the title and know how to make it mean 
 something. 
 
CAPITALIZING THE CAPTION 57 
 
 Consider, then, what purposes are served by a 
 catchy, magnetic title : 
 
 What the Title Does for the Writer 
 
 From the standpoint of the author who writes with 
 a higher aim in view than the mere commencing of a 
 collection of rejection slips, the well-considered photo- 
 play title accomplishes a decidedly desirable object : it 
 serves as an advertisement of his novel line of goods, 
 creates in the mind of the consumer of such goods an 
 inclination to look at them without delay, and puts that 
 consumer in a frame of mind quite well disposed 
 toward his task. Any advertisement that does less 
 may very well be adjudged pitifully futile and not 
 worth bothering about. If you put yourself in the 
 editor's chair for a moment, you will grasp the idea 
 more readily. 
 
 Here is a comedy subject offered you for considera- 
 tion under the caption, "What Happened in the Tun- 
 nel." Who cares ? Anyway, the title is obvious. You 
 can guess the probable quality of the contents of that 
 manuscript from the ordinary, obviously tell-it-all 
 name it bears ; a casual glance at pages one, three and 
 five makes your conclusion a certainty; the story is 
 the old, worn-out one about the newly wed man who 
 thinks he is kissing his wife as their train passes 
 through a tunnel, to discover that he has been exchang- 
 ing osculatory endearment with a lady of dark com- 
 plexion and kinky hair. Old as the hills? The title 
 advertised that fact, for as editor you have seen title 
 
58 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 and plot together a hundred times before, and the re- 
 sultant reading was casual — a matter of editorial duty, 
 not of desire. 
 
 A drama, next, and its advertisement is embodied in 
 the trite, meaningless caption, "Two Sisters." Read 
 it ? Not now ! The untouched pile of manuscripts is 
 too bulky; lay this pale ghost of an idea aside till 
 leisure is becoming ennui, then pick it up to provide 
 yourself a smile or two, for manifestly the story it 
 contains cannot have any great vitality or its author 
 would have given a hint in his title. 
 
 Look at this as an example of a catchy, magnetic 
 advertisement for a comedy: "Twelve Good Hens 
 and True !" ^ It recalls the phrase that it juggles to 
 its own amusing twist — "Twelve good men and true." 
 Comedy, of course, and quite likely to be good comedy. 
 You want to see at once. You read, and discover that 
 the material embodied in the synopsis is worth second 
 consideration, and, you foresee, eventual purchase. 
 Regard the next title: "The Heart of Humanity." ^ 
 Drama is suggested, interest is challenged, and it takes 
 you only a few seconds to discover that the advertised 
 contents of the synopsis live up to their caption. 
 
 The first two examples given will not linger in your 
 memory any more than the picture plays they christen 
 will merit a second reading. The others are of a 
 different quality: they mean something. 
 
 • Polite comedy, produced with and by the Drews for Metro. 
 
 ' Drama of the War, produced by Allen Holubar for Jewel 
 Productions, Inc. 
 
CAPITALIZING THE CAPTION 59 
 
 If the titles you choose are made to mean something, 
 to stand for worth-while ideas, to claim attention, to 
 indicate your individuality, to influence reader or 
 editor toward favorable consideration of material, they 
 will repay you for the thought and time you bestow 
 on them. 
 
 What the Title Means to the Picture Producer 
 
 To realize what a producer looks for in a title re- 
 sume for a while your role of motion-picture editor 
 and turn from the reading of "outside" contributions 
 to the selecting of some already published story that is 
 to form the foundation for an "adaptation" — by which 
 is meant a story already Actionized or produced as a 
 stage play and put into scenario or scene-continuity 
 form. You see possibilities for a good picture in a 
 short-story of the "O. Henry" collection, a story which 
 has been titled by its originator with the rather fetch- 
 ing and "atmospheric" caption, "Brickdust Row." 
 Before you "give out" that story to a staff writer who 
 will have the task of putting the material into suitable 
 scenario form, run over to "the boss" and discuss the 
 matter with him. 
 
 "I like everything but the title," he will eventually 
 tell you. You wonder why he dislikes the undeniably 
 suitable expression, "Brickdust Row," for it seems 
 ideally fitted to a story of the city's crumbling tene- 
 ment houses. He will answer you promptly enough : 
 "It isn't a good 'selling* title." 
 
60 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 What does he mean by a "good 'selling' title?" 
 During a slight pause you recall that the motion-picture 
 manufacturer takes story-ideas and has them enacted 
 by his players before the camera, the resulting product 
 being a subject comprised in a certain number of 
 "reels," as already explained. Having brought the 
 story-idea to this stage, the next effort of the manu- 
 facturer must be directed toward disposing of the 
 subject. He does this by one of several methods : 
 
 If he is a manufacturer with a number of dis- 
 tributing centers maintained under his own super- 
 vision — each of which is located in some large city, 
 and from which the reels are sent out to the theatres 
 that will project the film — his method of distribution 
 will be this: He will send to each of these dis- 
 tributing centers, or "exchanges," a certain number of 
 complete subjects, or to put it more clearly, a stated 
 number of multiple-reel units, each containing the 
 complete film for that especial subject, and all of the 
 units containing the same film-story. The exchanges, 
 knowing in advance what the subject will be, have sent 
 salesmen — actually salesmen! — to the various theatres 
 which are in the particular section of the country con- 
 trolled or handled through that exchange, and it is the 
 business of these film salesmen to interest the ex- 
 hibitors in the subject to be distributed ; it is "up to" 
 these salesmen to make new contracts between the 
 exhibitors and the manufacturers' exchanges so that 
 the pictures will be taken at a certain rental by the 
 exhibitors. 
 
CAPITALIZING THE CAPTION 61 
 
 These salesmen must have every "talking point" of 
 the film story at their command. Of greatest impor- 
 tance is the title under which that story will be dis- 
 tributed. If the title is catchy, if it grips the fancy of 
 the exhibitor, if it seems likely to attract patronage, 
 he will be more interested, and can be finally induced 
 to take the subject it represents. 
 
 Every manufacturer of film-plays who maintains an 
 exchange system has these salesmen in every possible 
 territory. Naturally the salesman for one company 
 will try to work his way into the confidence of an ex- 
 hibitor who has been in the habit of using films dis- 
 tributed by another concern. He wants above every- 
 thing else some strong, snappy title to mention. It is 
 important to him to arrange contracts ; therefore he is 
 principally interested in the title. It is the affair of the 
 manufacturer himself to see that the story is as good 
 as the title warrants one to suppose. 
 
 Another way in which motion-picture subjects are 
 handled is what is known as "on the States-Rights 
 plan." Here the manufacturer has no system of ex- 
 changes. He sends out no salesmen. Usually he pro- 
 duces a single subject of national appeal, something 
 based on a "big" theme. This completed in the form 
 of a filmed play, possibly running to the length of seven 
 reels or more, he proceeds to advertise in trade papers 
 that his subject is so-and-so, and that the right to dis- 
 tribute it in certain territories is for sale. The man 
 who takes the place of the salesman and the exchange 
 in the former illustration is in this case what is known 
 as a "States-Rights buyer." He visits the producing 
 
62 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 firm, usually calling at the central business office. 
 Here he is taken into a small projection room, where 
 he is allowed to view the projected picture. He decides 
 upon its possibilities. Suppose he is confident that it 
 is meritorious. In that case he will pay the manu- 
 facturer a certain sum, say twenty thousand dollars, 
 for the privilege of handling or distributing the picture 
 in the territory comprised in the states of the Middle 
 West, for example. He takes his advertising "litera- 
 ture" and his contract with the manufacturer; with 
 these he proceeds to be his own salesman, or to engage 
 other salesmen to work under his supervision, thus 
 becoming, in himself, an exchange. The picture is 
 sold, or, to be more exact, the privilege to exhibit it is 
 sold, to as many theatre proprietors as can be induced 
 to pay for the special quality or strength of the subject. 
 Here there must be a strong, catchy, magnetic title on 
 which to base advertising talk, a title vital to the theme, 
 alluring in its promise of good entertainment — ^superior 
 to all ordinary subjects. 
 
 In still another way is the film-story put on the mar- 
 ket. Some producing companies do not maintain ex- 
 change systems of their own, but send out their sub- 
 jects through an exchange system which is a business 
 in itself, independent of any manufacturing company, 
 but taking the product of all manufacturers who 
 desire to avail themselves of the service. This inde- 
 pendent exchange system then sells the subject through 
 its own salesmen and by its own methods. The manu- 
 facturer may either receive a lump sum from the con- 
 cern operating the independent exchanges, when he 
 
CAPITALIZING THE CAPTION 63 
 
 turns the subject over to them, or he may take a per- 
 centage of the sum the various exchanges will get for 
 their distribution of the film to theatres. In either 
 case his photoplay story must be advertised by a strong, 
 catchy, attention-holding and speculation-engendering 
 title. 
 
 So, to come back to your chat with "the boss," you 
 realize what he means when he says that the picture 
 under discussion between you must have a "good 'sell- 
 ing' title." It must have a title which will help its 
 distribution, through some form of exchange or 
 States-Rights plan, to exhibitors — the title must sell 
 the photoplay. 
 
 "Why," you venture, " 'Brickdust Row' is a well- 
 known story by a well-known fiction writer. People 
 will recall it and want to see the picture. Shop-girls 
 will be especially drawn to see how the shop-girl in the 
 story meets men, innocently, on the street — ^because the 
 tenement she lives in has no place provided where the 
 girls can bring gentlemen — and how this innocent 
 meeting of various men outside her home comes to be 
 the big obstacle between herself and the man she 
 loves !" 
 
 But your enthusiasm for the story will not move 
 "the boss" just now. "All very fine," he will answer ; 
 "but how many shop-girls can you actually swear to 
 that have read the 'O. Henry' story? How many 
 people in these United States actually remember the 
 title of that particular story, or what it is all about? 
 Who will go three blocks from the home fireside on a 
 wet, sleet-and-snowy night to see 'Brickdust Row ?' " 
 
64 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 What can you say to him ? Pretty nearly unanswer- 
 able arguments he has, are they not? 
 
 "What you need is a title that we can sell, and that 
 the exhibitor will feel reasonably sure can be depended 
 on to yank the folks into his show house on that same 
 blustry, damp and chilly evening," says your mentor 
 and employer. 
 
 So you must cudgel your brains to find a caption ful- 
 filling every forestated requirement. What can it be? 
 Eventually, perhaps, you will decide that the innocent 
 act of the heroine in meeting men outside her resi- 
 dence entitles her to be christened "Everybody's 
 Girl !" 1 You mention that to "the boss" and you are 
 a friend of his for the rest of the day. "Everybody's 
 Girl" will arouse comment and curiosity, suggest and 
 yet withhold the problem that the heroine has been 
 forced to face. Besides, the title has a naive catchi- 
 ness — a quality hard to describe but one that will help 
 to "yank the people" into the picture house. 
 
 It will be realized, then, that a photoplay title is an 
 obligation upon the author of the story long after he 
 has disposed of the synopsis; if he has not met this 
 obligation he will see the advance-announcements of 
 his work put in this statement in the trade journals: 
 "The Graphoscope Company is producing a strong 
 
 ' The complete synopsis and the scene-continuity of Every- 
 body's Girl, as adapted from "O. Henry's" Brickdust Row by the 
 author of this book, A. Van Buren Powell, for the Vitagraph 
 Company, is reproduced by permission in the 1919 edition of 
 Writing the Photoplay, by J. Berg Esenwein and Arthur Leeds, 
 published uniform with this volume in THE WRITER'S 
 LIBRARY.— [Editor. 
 
CAPITALIZING THE CAPTION 65 
 
 story of the Canadian Mounted Police, with Pearl 
 Diamond in the principal role. The story bears the 
 working title of 'His Sister.' " 
 
 "The working title" means that you sold a synopsis 
 for its material, and notwithstanding its name. Maybe 
 you would have gotten fifty dollars more for the synop- 
 sis had your title been available. As it is, the brains 
 of every person in the editorial and sales departments 
 of the Graphoscope concern are being racked in an 
 effort to find a catchy, magnetic title for that story, a 
 title which will help to sell the product in its eventual 
 film form. 
 
 What the Title Means to the Exhibitor 
 
 The photoplay title provides the exhibitor with a 
 "drawing card" or magnet calculated to lure patrons 
 within his doors. He hears it fall trippingly from the 
 lips of the film salesman, takes a liking to it, repeats it 
 and finds it easy to remember: by these signs he 
 knows that the passerby will notice the title on the 
 posters the exhibitor will display in front of his theatre 
 lobby; he knows that if the story is good people who 
 see it will mention it to other people, who will in their 
 turn come to see it if he retains it more than one day ; 
 he knows that the word-of-mouth form of advertising 
 will, if it be a commendation, bring more people into 
 his auditorium than all the newspapers and posters in 
 the town. So he considers the title as a very important 
 adjunct to a good picture. 
 
66 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 IVhat the Title Means to a Picture-goer 
 
 Here is your final target — ^the eye of the man, womau 
 or child who views the completed, projected photoplay 
 as it flashes across the screen. Curiously enough, the 
 visitor to a picture theatre is always laying out his 
 money in advance of seeing the article he is, in effect, 
 purchasing — that is, entertainment. True, he may 
 read critical reviews if he is sufficiently interested, as 
 he generally is not! In most cases he buys "a pig in a 
 poke" and to the degree that the article purchased, on 
 being viewed, proves pleasing he will go away satisfied 
 and return again to "take another blind chance at see- 
 ing something good," as one exhibitor has very pithily 
 put the thing. 
 
 If he has seen a catchy, rememberable title preceding 
 a satisfying picture, he will not forget the title. Per- 
 haps he may even be chivalrous enough, having been 
 tickled by the title, to note the name of the author as it 
 is projected with the various announcements which 
 precede the actual photoplay; and if he meets you he 
 will pour nectar into your ears by the remark that he 
 has seen your "Tarnished Silver" and considers it the 
 brightest thing he has ever viewed; and you will be 
 glad that in spite of your title's context it was not a 
 dull caption. 
 
 Now, it is hoped, you see the importance of making 
 the title at the head of each story not only a suggestion 
 to the editor that you are more clever in creating 
 novelty than the usual run of his contributors, but, 
 beyond and beside that, of making it overflow with 
 
CAPITALIZING THE CAPTION 67 
 
 "selling" quality for the sake of the manufacturer, 
 packing it with magnetism for the sake of the ex- 
 hibitor, and, against the time when you will take a 
 "box party" of friends to see it "run" in your own 
 hotne town, devising it so that the manufacturer will 
 not change it in favor of another caption and so iill 
 your boasting soul with humiliation. 
 
 Title Tips 
 
 All that the title means to the producer, the ex- 
 hibitor and to the picture-goer it must also mean to the 
 author, for after all he is the salesman of his own 
 wares. 
 
 Make your title snappy! If two words will serve, 
 do not string the idea out into a multiplicity of phrases. 
 "Tarnished Silver" is a better title than "The Silver 
 That Has Tarnished." Yet you must use common 
 sense in applying this rule, and avoid sacrificing idea- 
 conveying quality for the sake of condensation. For a 
 reverse instance to the former example, "A Crusade 
 for Kitty" is more attractive than "Kitty's Crusade." 
 
 A title that does not begin with "The" is to be pre- 
 ferred, except that you must always consider the 
 "assonance" or pronounceable quality of a title as a 
 thing outranking any pre-verbal limitations. Say 
 this title aloud : "Sally's Kinsman's Face !" (Ah, it 
 vocalizes as "Sally skins man's face," does it not?) 
 Better far to use the article and make it, "The Face of 
 That Kinsman of Sally's," if you ever have to manage 
 such a tricky subject. Or, best of all would be a shift 
 
68 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 of angle, so that it would read: "Facing Fear," sup- 
 posing the latter to be equally appropriate to the sub- 
 ject-matter of the idea. 
 
 Make your titles fit the nature of the stories. 
 "Ashes of Hope" would never do for a "slapstick" 
 comedy title; "Hope and Ash-Hoppers" would, 
 though no drama could conceivably be suited with that 
 caption; "His Wife Got All the Honors" is apt as a 
 polite-comedy title; "A Fight to the Finish" pre- 
 supposes melodrama; yet neither is at all fit for the 
 alternative class of story. So it is with every type of 
 material ; one style of title-wording fits one manner of 
 tale, but seldom another. Avoid over-alliteration, the 
 too-sustained repetition of a first letter, in each word, 
 as in "Thirty Thousand Thirsty Throats." Used 
 adroitly, alliteration is good ; but in excess it is vicious. 
 
 Finally, make your title worthy of your plot, and 
 the two will make you worthy to live up to this title: 
 "An Endorser of Cheerful Checks." 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 GETTING DOWN TO BRASS TACKS 
 
 From the standpoint of sequence it would be proper 
 to devote this chapter to an examination of the third 
 ingredient of the complete synopsis : but that ingredi- 
 ent being the "writing style," and a writing style being 
 of little use without some concrete idea with which to 
 illustrate it, you may very easily allow the discussion 
 of it to wait until a more thorough assimilation of the 
 plot- and the title-requirements put you in possession 
 of knowledge wherewith more discriminatingly to 
 apply the rules of form and expression as they govern 
 the final preparation of the photoplay synopsis. The 
 expert picture-writer sometimes feels that a point in 
 his story will have more force if it is held back until a 
 point later than that in which it would logically 
 appear; he conceals it, therefore, until the time is ripe, 
 then divulges it in a manner to allow it to gather dra- 
 matic power by reason of the things that precede it. 
 Thus will the third step of synopsis preparation be 
 delayed, so that it will strike you more forcibly at a 
 later point in your progress. 
 
 Heretofore the chapters have dealt with the general 
 rules and basic principles considered necessary to a 
 reasonable comprehension of the actual process of 
 starting to work. These chapters have, in a sense, 
 taken the form of platform lectures, addressed to you 
 
70 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 in a somewhat impersonal way. They have given you 
 an insight into the frame of mind in which you should 
 approach your photoplay writing, placed danger signs 
 on the roads unfit for travel, sketched roughly the 
 routes that lead to Salestown as well as given an ink- 
 ling as to the quality of those roads, described the 
 general aspects of your vehicle of plot and suggested 
 the best way to advertise your approach. Much has 
 necessarily been compressed into a relatively small 
 number of pages and the platform-lecturer's aloofness 
 from his hearers has been sustained. Now, with all 
 these assorted facts kaleidoscoping about in your mind, 
 you may quite well be like the schoolboy who, asked by 
 his teacher to name the fur-bearing animals he had 
 seen, replied : "Mother and auntie !" 
 
 He knew his facts, but did not understand their 
 proper application: or else he had been denied the 
 illuminating object-lesson of a trip to the zoo. 
 
 In your case the trip to the zoo will be well replaced 
 by a ramble through the devious ways of actual plot- 
 getting, plot-building, criticism, analysis, reshaping and 
 final completion. That trip must take you outside the 
 schoolroom, and so, with your permission, the lecturer 
 will come down from the platform, and accompany 
 you to a mutual destination. It will be a sort of one- 
 sided collaboration, truly; but it will permit a talk- 
 right-to-you, straight-from-the-shoulder style impos- 
 sible to maintain in any other way and undoubtedly 
 more suitable to the discovery, examination, analysis, 
 revision and ultimate completion of a marketable 
 picture-plot than the platform manner. 
 
GETTING DOWN TO BRASS TACKS 71 
 
 Getting an Idea 
 
 Now that we are ready to begin photoplay-plot 
 making, what shall we do first? If we were working 
 separately this might be already answered by the 
 simple expedient of letting inspiration supply some 
 subconsciously evolved material, some full-fledged 
 plot needing only a little bolstering up here and there. 
 When you do plot alone it is quite likely that you will 
 often get a start that is almost a complete plot, coming 
 into your mind ready-made and needing only to be 
 analyzed, tested for plausibility and adherence to the 
 definition of plot, dressed up with the final label 
 attached, and shot out to an editor. Often you may 
 find your mind revolving a title, recasting it, finding 
 it a good selling-title for you, for the picture maker, 
 and for the exhibitor of films. Then, before you are 
 quite aware of the process of evolution, you have a 
 plot to fit the title. In such a way do most of my 
 polite comedy ideas come to me; that is the way "A 
 Family Flivver" was created— ^the title popped into my 
 mind ; and in about half an hour, during which time 
 no conscious efifort was made to evolve a definite plot, 
 the story was makiiig itself real in almost the exact 
 words of the previously given synopsis. 
 
 Such a process is not really plot-evolution : it is the 
 result of long practice in taking the slow, laborious 
 steps of building^^^a practice that comes, in time, to 
 achieve the intermediate steps almost without the 
 necessity of conscious consideration. 
 
72 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 But that inspired-idea method will not serve here, 
 for you have a right to participate in the steps of evo- 
 lution, at least in a passive way. So it will be a good 
 thing for us to consider some other ways by which 
 plots are "started." 
 
 We might consult our respective note-books, or you 
 may look with me through my suggestion-file — this 
 card-index box with scraps of note-book leaves pasted 
 on cards which are indexed under the general headings 
 of "Comedy" and "Drama," with sub-guides to indi- 
 cate the "polite," the "farce" and the "slapstick" divi- 
 sions of the first, and others to make it easy to find 
 suggestions for various divisions of the latter — as 
 "male-lead melodrama," "girl stories," specialties for 
 the ingenue type, and so on. 
 
 This makes a handy reference file, easily gotten at, 
 readily indexed, quickly searched in case an editor 
 sends some story back with the brief comment that his 
 company much prefers to examine material of a cer- 
 tain kind ; then we merely have to turn to the proper 
 classification-card, and find, in one of the notes there 
 filed, a tonic for our hesitating inspiration. 
 
 Or, we may discuss some abstract truth, some gen- 
 erally accepted maxim, or some widely accepted con- 
 dition of life, and using the selected point in the form 
 of a theme, found our building upon this understruc- 
 ture. The theme is a good thing to understand, and if 
 you can formulate one and properly interpret it, you 
 will have a fine chance of getting attention. 
 
GETTING DOWN TO BRASS TACKS 73 
 
 Again, we may view a picture or a theatrical per- 
 formance together, or see some chance occurrence on 
 the way thence; from these, as well as from books, 
 ideas may be secured. 
 
 Still again we may, either of us, know some person 
 who has a most decided view upon some more or less 
 important point. This viewpoint of our acquaintance 
 may serve as a rock upon which to base the super- 
 structure of our idea. 
 
 Some of these methods are worth more careful and 
 illustrative examination. 
 
 Working from Notes 
 
 Let us see if we can evolve a single-reel idea for a 
 comedy — ^polite, perhaps — working from material in 
 our files of notes. 
 
 Suppose we lay aside the card bearing this : "Saw 
 girl's pump come off while she crossed muddy street." 
 In itself it does not offer much inspiration, though an 
 amusing incident is suggested. Let us seek further, 
 feeling that we may find something to add to it. Here 
 we have another note: "Three spinsters trying to 
 amuse young man clearly anxious to talk to girl his 
 own age." There is a situation! Not a story, but a 
 situation for a story. Let us see if we can combine 
 these two things — an incident and a situation. 
 
 First of all, the young man and the young girl sug- 
 gest a love-interest. Suppose we use the pump inci- 
 dent as a means of bringing the two together. Let's 
 try it this way : The girl is wearing new pumps, a little 
 
74 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 too large for her; while crossing a muddy street she 
 loses one. Along comes the boy — in an automobile, 
 let us say, to give him "class" and make him seem 
 worth while. He sees the girl's predicament and lifts 
 her into his car, then, rescuing the pump, suggests 
 taking her home. 
 
 Well, we have a start. Now how about the three 
 spinsters? Perhaps they need not be spinsters after 
 all. They can as easily be girls a little older than the 
 girl of the pump. Her sisters ? No, we would not be 
 logical in having so many girls so closely related, all so 
 nearly of the same age; better to make them chums. 
 How about making them four girls sharing a room, or 
 an apartment ? That is better. 
 
 Now, of course, we want contrast. If we propose to 
 have the others take a violent interest in the young 
 man, we want the girl of his choice to be somewhat 
 retiring, or even bashful. Naturally she will take him 
 home, ask him in when he stops before the door. We 
 can see some fun in a view of the others peering from 
 the window, excited at the youngest bringing home a 
 man. Let her take him in and present him. He begins 
 to assume characteristics of his own, for he must be 
 antipathetic to the fuss being made over him by the 
 three newly-met girls. Each sees in him a possibility, 
 a man with a car! Poor Little Miss Mousey-quiet; 
 she must take a back seat; but in that very fact we 
 give her added interest and sympathy if she tries to be 
 "nice" but is not given a chance. 
 
 Now we have used incident and situation. Where 
 next shall we take our plot? Suppose that inspiration 
 
GETTING DOWN TO BRASS TACKS 75 
 
 does not come, though it should. Let it be suppressed 
 for the time, and we will comb our notes through 
 again. Here ! "Salt in pudding — awful !" That shred 
 fits now. We can use it. Let us have the young man 
 go away, planning to try to see the girl outside ; but we 
 get a further complication, working toward that salt, 
 by having one of the girls beg him to come at such- 
 and-such a time. He agrees, reluctantly, but we will 
 make him show a hope that the girl of his choice will 
 understand and be on hand. Now we will work in the 
 salt in this way : we will have each of the three com- 
 peting girls plan a dish for his delectation when he 
 calls. Suppose they plan to have, respectively, a rare- 
 bit, a cake, and a freezer fuU of ice cream. Little Miss 
 Moiisey is not consulted or asked to contribute. Now 
 let us be careful. We do not want her to do any salt- 
 ing; that would be un-nice on a heroine's part. We 
 must keep everyone in character, or, in other words, 
 preserve the harmony of their characteristics. Very 
 good. The three will each do some salting (to improve 
 a bit on our notes). 
 
 But what about Miss Leading Lady ? We must pro- 
 vide for her. Let us make the trio of spinsters do it 
 for us. Each plans to make her hook a dress, or curl 
 hair, or something of the sort to keep her too busy to 
 get dressed, the while the three alternately dash to the 
 kitchen to supervise their respective cookery. Surely 
 we can build a good situation when the young man 
 arrives and each of the trio tries to be his especial 
 entertainer, while at the same time each tries to keep 
 an eye on the things in the kitchen. We have disposed 
 
76 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 of Miss Mousey, and given her some more sympathy 
 by showing her dressing dolefully. Now, let each of 
 the trio of competitors salt the concoctions of the other 
 two, making a triple and unsuspected salting of each 
 article, and the climactic situation will be easy to 
 imagine, with a suggestion that the young man try 
 every artifice known to his growing, necessity-born 
 ingenuity, to get rid of the doses of salt he is handed 
 innocently. 
 
 Let us look ahead: we can leave the present situa- 
 tion to do so. What about bringing the lovers to- 
 gether? Why not let Miss Heroine go out disconso- 
 lately to a delicatessen shop and. buy some crackers and 
 sauer — pardon ! Liberty Cabbage ! — and a dill pickle or 
 so. She brings these home to eat a solitary luncheon 
 in the kitchen. Let us suppose that the trio meanwhile 
 "gets wise" to the facts about the salt, by natural, and 
 actable deduction. The young man has a forgivable 
 impulse to "scoot." Let him, but we will make him 
 take the wrong door in his confusion and so land in the 
 kitchen, to find his own girl-choice quite willing to let 
 him share the nectar of dill pickles, flavoring them with 
 a kiss as our discomfited trio observes and deserves.^ 
 
 For the sake of seeing whether polite comedy can 
 accord with our previous definition of the proper con- 
 stituents of a plot, let us pause and run back over the 
 completed idea, in an analytical way. 
 
 A plot, we recall, must deal with a vital episode in a 
 human life : this plot is the vital hour in the life of the 
 
 * As Courting Betty's Beau this idea was built as here described, 
 and sold to the Edison Company. 
 
GETTING DOWN TO BRASS TACKS 77 
 
 leading character, the Mousey Girl ; it is the important 
 time when "her love is threatened — with, seemingly, no 
 characteristic developing in her by the aid of which 
 she can surmount this obstacle. There, you see, we 
 have vitality of situation, and thus induce suspense, 
 interest, sympathy, and a bit of pity, perhaps. It is 
 easy to see that we have a struggle, and while at first 
 glance it seems as if we were making the struggle one 
 for the man, thus shifting our center of interest, and so 
 breaking a law (for the maintaining of interest in one 
 character as the chief person of concern amounts to 
 law, in the inevitableness of punishment for its break- 
 ing), yet we do not really shift the center of interest; 
 rather, we accentuate it, place it the more definitely 
 upon the girl by the very fact that the man makes such 
 decided, though seemingly hopeless, attempts to get to 
 the point where he can lay siege to her heart. And by 
 showing her as willing to accept his court, but unable 
 to surmount the obstacles thrown in her path by the 
 other characters, we pre-vision catastrophe — and then 
 shift our point of attack so that a surprise is possible 
 in our disclosure of the manner in which the obstacle 
 is removed, giving the happy ending that is so desir- 
 able in screen writing. 
 
 We have made a story which tells itself almost 
 wholly in action, and the time that elapses between the 
 various crises is really negligible, actually being not 
 more than a day or so in each of three periods of plot- 
 inactivity which must be bridged by time-passage, 
 since nothing happens that is important to the develop- 
 
78 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 ing plot. It seems, then, as if we have covered all the 
 points of the definition. 
 
 Building Around a Theme 
 
 Before we can begin to plan a plot which we will 
 base on a theme, we must be sure that our knowledge 
 of the meaning of "theme" is accurate. 
 
 A really surprising number of people have the im- 
 pression that "theme" means the brief statement of the 
 plot. For example, many would state their idea of the 
 theme of the comedy we have just built in much this 
 fashion : 
 
 Betty loves Jack after she meets him when her pump comes off 
 on a muddy street and he helps her home ; but three girl friends 
 become rivals for his affection, and after much ado and an after- 
 noon of vying for Jack's commendation by the three girls, while 
 Betty is kept out of it, the three girls by salting secretly the 
 dishes prepared by one another, drive Jack to Betty and happiness. 
 
 That is, emphatically, not the theme! That is a 
 single-sentence statement of the principal points of the 
 plot. 
 
 We do not care to be bothered with any more defini- 
 tions, so we will not run back through other books to 
 discover what especial words one or another employs 
 to define the theme of a story. Let us, instead, dis- 
 cover what is the theme of this story, and then we can 
 compare it with the mistaken example previously 
 shown, and see for ourselves the right way to recog- 
 nize a theme and the proper way in which to state it. 
 
 We already see that a theme is not a condensatioh of 
 the story. Yet we have a general idea that it is a con- 
 
GETTING DOWN TO BRASS TACKS 79 
 
 densed something. And so it is — it is the backbone of 
 the idea, rather than the skeleton complete. So, in our 
 comedy, the theme is expressible thus : Selfishly ambi- 
 tious people, by their disregard for others, provide the 
 means through which their own purposes are defeated. 
 
 Now we had no such complete idea when we began 
 our plotting. In fact, we did not actually realize that 
 we were going to have a theme at all. Yet since a 
 theme is really the basis on which every plot is fabri- 
 cated, and by the existence of which that plot gains 
 strength and resilience to carry it safe to recognition, 
 any good story would shape itself around and upon 
 such a fundamental base, though the author might not 
 be consciously attemptihg to point any moral as he 
 begins work. 
 
 Some stories acquire a theme with the conceiving of 
 their title, especially if that title is the start of the 
 plot-building. For instance, a title like "You Can't Get 
 Away With It !" provides at least a loosely formulated 
 theme, which could be more concretely and adequately 
 carried out in this final crystallization of idea : // you 
 try to practise deception you will he found out. 
 
 So you see that a theme is often really like the 
 moral you would print at the end of a fable. Of 
 course we never intend to do that in a motion picture ; 
 we will seek, rather, to devise our material in such a 
 way that the theme will be self-evident, not needing a 
 definite expression in words to itiake it plain. 
 
 Not every story has a positive theme, feadily retog- 
 nizable, easily statable. And of course not all themes 
 
80 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 take the forms of truisms like the foregoing. In some 
 stories the theme may be very hazy, indistinct in con- 
 ception, imperfect in formula, or not fully worked out 
 in the material as planned. Sometimes, even, a story 
 may seem entirely devoid of theme, unless you are 
 willing to accept its pure purpose to amuse as a theme. 
 Yet it is generally a fact that the best and most endur- 
 ing photoplays, like the real stage successes, can, upon 
 analysis, be found to possess a fairly discernible 
 foundation of moral content, or theme. 
 
 More Building 
 
 Having dissected one plot to lay bare the backbone, 
 let us see if that backbone is of use to us in any other 
 plot : that is, let us see if we can utilize for the ground- 
 work of some other plot the theme which incorporated 
 itself into our comedy. Having a theme, let us rear 
 another structure upon it. 
 
 The method of work is different from that which we 
 employed in the previous instance. Then we took an 
 incident, a situation and a suggestive shred of idea 
 from our catalogued reserve and combined them in 
 such a way that, though unconscious of the actual 
 intent so to do, we developed a story possessed of a 
 theme. Now we must lay that theme before us and 
 search out characters, incidents, situations and other 
 plot-material to put around and upon the basic theme. 
 
 Let us state the theme once more, so that we may 
 have it definitely in mind : Selfishly ambitious people, 
 by their disregard for others, provide the means 
 through which their own purposes are defeated. 
 
GETTING DOWN TO BRASS TACKS 81 
 
 We may take one character from the descriptive idea 
 embodied in "selfishly ambitious." We will endow this 
 character with an aim in life, worthy enough in itself, 
 but rendered unworthy by the characteristic way in 
 which our "lead" "goes after" it. Let us name the 
 first thing that comes to mind in the way of ambitions : 
 perhaps a political ambition — a desire, we might 
 assume, to be the governor of a state. 
 
 Now let us give our principal character a name — ^he 
 is to be John Graham. He wishes to be the governor 
 of his state. This presupposes some political standing 
 already gained, so we will start him off as the mayor 
 of his own city. For the sake of making our theme 
 more definite, let us employ the device of contrast: 
 John is a good mayor, a respected man; thus by 
 developing the selfishness of his ambition through the 
 beginning of the story we will accentuate it, as in con- 
 trast to his former unselfishness. 
 
 We must, then, have an opening incident to portray 
 the unselfish quality of our hero. (In the comedy, 
 you recall, we had our "villainesses" — as far as the 
 three girls justified this theatrical classification — to 
 carry out the moral ; here we will try to work it out 
 with a hero.) A hero would not be such, you may 
 argue, if he were shown as selfish and self-centered. 
 Wait ! That selfishness is to be our complication,, the 
 obstacle in the path of his happiness. If he realizes 
 that it is there and can overcome it in time, we rename 
 him hero by virtue of his accomplishment. 
 
 So comes the element of struggle into our hazy 
 beginning. Struggle in this case will be with a quality 
 
82 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 within the man, rather than with some visible, tangible, 
 outside force. Perhaps it will also include something 
 of the latter ; we shall see. At any rate, we are run- 
 ning ashore, for we have only one character, and we 
 cannot make a picture with one character. Let us 
 introduce someone else who will be more or less 
 affected by John Graham's struggle with his own inner 
 selfishness. A daughter? Well, we had better look 
 further, for a daughter involves youth, and youth in- 
 volves love, and love is apt to make the daughter and 
 her sweetheart rather too prominent for the definite 
 purpose we have in view — ^the purpose of moralizing 
 pictorially, of building to fit our theme. How about 
 using John's wife? She looks to be good material for 
 our purpose. Let us call her Janet. 
 
 How will Janet Graham be affected by John's 
 change from unselfishness? Will she be affected? 
 Or may she even be the instrument to bring about the 
 change? Let us endow Janet with definite character 
 so that we may tell what to do with her, or what she 
 will do best with herself. We might make her sweet 
 and unselfish. Then she would suffer as she discovers 
 her husband's growing self-centeredness. Or, she 
 might be selfish and careless of any other person, thus 
 inducing a like spirit in her husband. In the first case 
 she would remonstrate with him f utilely, until he could 
 be brought to realize how right she was in her protests ; 
 in the latter case she would go along with John, some- 
 what unpleasantly burdening the plot with an overplus 
 of selfishness. 
 
GETTING DOWN TO BRASS TACKS 83 
 
 Let US take her sweetness and love for John as the 
 principal attributes of her character. We will find 
 another cause for her husband's change to selfishness in 
 his ambition. We will throw John Graham into the 
 society of low, self-centered politicians, and allow him 
 to gather to himself the same base motive, yet being 
 unconscious of its growth, which we can mirror in the 
 eyes of Janet. Perhaps, to look ahead, we may make 
 her the "goddess in the machine" by whose efforts he 
 is brought to realize the danger of complete destruc- 
 tion to his ambition which is imminent (for this must 
 not turn out to be tragedy ; we must keep our eyes on 
 the eventual "happy ending") ; or we may make John 
 see his danger and realize his folly, and then let him 
 save himself. 
 
 But why go on to the point of tediuna? You see 
 the method of building upon a theme — carry out the 
 successive steps for yourself. There is no need to 
 finish the plot, since the purpose of the present discus- 
 sion is achieved. Besides, we are going to work, very 
 soon, on a plot which we will take through every stage 
 of development, so that we can examine, discuss and 
 apply every technical device of which we will learn, in 
 order that we will, at the finish, have the thing for 
 which you are aiming — a. marketable feature-photoplay 
 synopsis. What shall it be based upon — notes, or a 
 theme? Perhaps both, possibly neither. Before we 
 decide, let us take up one more way of beginning a 
 plot, and see if that helps us to an idea. 
 
84 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Basing Plots on Life 
 
 In the lives of our families, the neighbors and 
 friends we know, the people we work with, even the 
 folk we hear and read about, a capital opportunity is 
 offered us for the gathering of plot-material. But 
 before we ever think of basing our plots on such a 
 foundation, let us make one point very clear : We must 
 not write into stories the actual lives of people! 
 
 There is no more futile way to plan a story than this 
 one of making it a facsimile of the life-story of some- 
 one we know.^ We may take some incident or situation 
 from that life and weave our imaginary developments 
 around and through that, but if we try to follow it out 
 to the conclusion it reaches in the actual existence of 
 the subject we are going to find it tame and flat. Very 
 few people — ^an almost negligible number, in fact — live 
 any really continuous series of related, motivated, 
 interest-clutching circumstances. It is in our ability to 
 select the dramatic (or humorous) points from their 
 life-histories, and to combine with these our own in- 
 
 ' The incident narrated is taken from life. The incident is 
 selected, as also is the plot eventually developed from it, with 
 special purposes in mind. It is not offered as a standard plot, 
 nor is the process through which it is built intended as arbitrary. 
 It has been recently evolved by the author, and successfully mar- 
 keted in the form given eventually. That form may not be 
 adhered to by the producing company, for here the viewpoint of 
 the director enters into consideration. It may never see the 
 screen, for one never knows what conditions may compel a manu- 
 facturer to change policy overnight and so shelve a story indefi- 
 nitely or permanently, whether in synopsis, scenario of produced- 
 film form. However, the story contains certain elements that 
 make it adaptable to the illustration of a good many points of 
 plot- and synopsis-preparation. If you ever view it on the screen, 
 you will have an interesting chance to compare the eventual 
 product with the embryo idea and its evolutionary steps. 
 
GETTING DOWN TO BRASS TACKS 85 
 
 ventions, that we may hope for profitable utilization of 
 this method of plotting. 
 
 We will not, then, write the life-history of Marion, 
 which has been recalled to me by this discussion ; nor 
 will we call upon her family for other characters. 
 What we will do is to consider Marion's point of view, 
 and see if from that simple shred, and some others, we 
 cannot construct a suitable, marketable, five-reel pic- 
 ture play in plot-form first, then in the eventual 
 synopsis. 
 
 Starting a Five-Reel Picture Plot 
 
 Glance over the notes kept by me in the matter of 
 Marion's possibilities as picture material : 
 
 Marion, 17. Father and mother, four sisters and a brother, the 
 children all older than M. Father and mother always speak of 
 M. as "our baby." Sisters and brother never refer to her in any 
 other way than as "the baby," or "the kid." Marion wears hair 
 down her back and goes along the line of lest resistance in life, 
 never realizing that she is no longer, in actual fact, a "baby." 
 Worth watching if she wakes up. 
 
 6 mo. later. Marion "woke up" with a vengeance. Heard that 
 she met a man who induced her to go into vaudeville. Family 
 unable to comprehend the thing — dazed. 
 
 A week later. Marion brought home. Sulky. Vows she will 
 "show them" (her folks). Probably means she will show them 
 that she can't be "tied down." 
 
 2 mo. later. Marion a disappointment. Family forgiving. M. 
 all over her sulks. Has met a "nice" fellow, and so ceases to be 
 unhackneyed plot-material. 
 
 These are some memoranda made at various times 
 from my indifferent acquaintance with Marion's 
 family — of course Marion is not really her name. 
 
86 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Obviously, Marion's life-story has had its "vital epi- 
 sode," and it ended in semi-tragedy, and yet in a way 
 far less tragic than "it might have been." 
 
 Yet when a letter comes from a certain film company 
 asking for an "ingenue" story with some comedy, a 
 touch of drama, and a possible melodramatic finish, let 
 us seize upon Marion and make her the point of de- 
 parture for our possible plot intended to suit a known 
 requirement. 
 
 Obviously the family is too large. Such a "crowd" 
 of sisters, a brother, a father, a mother, would confuse 
 the main issues that we may seek to develop. We will 
 eliminate everyone except our little lady-with-her-hair- 
 down. 
 
 There is a good idea involved in her breaking over 
 the wall, and it leads to the formulation of a possible 
 theme, which may be stated in this way: Youth ever 
 seeks the privileges of older years, only to find them 
 bitter fruit. That is a truth easily indisputable. Who 
 does not understand the dreams of youth, dreams of 
 being "grown up," with a consequent planning of what 
 one would do and be in such a case? Who, having 
 come to more mature years, will not admit, if only in 
 the secret confessional of conscience, that the care-free 
 days of childhood were far happier, in the main, with 
 fewer burdens, fewer pains, than the years of discre- 
 tion? 
 
 This theme is worth testing for plot-possibilities. 
 Turning back for a further perusal of the notes on 
 
GETTING DOWN TO BRASS TACKS 87 
 
 Marion, let us eliminate at once all that is futile matter 
 for thought, and see what is left of the actualities of 
 the young lady's life. 
 
 We will dispense with the man who induces her to 
 run away. He is trite. Perhaps we may employ the 
 general type in another form ; that will depend upon 
 our future plot-trend. 
 
 Let us delete the vaudeville affair ; it also is hack- 
 neyed, overdone. Something else will occur when we 
 need it, no doubt. 
 
 The "nice" young man comes along too late to be 
 material, unless we advance his position in Marion's 
 life. We can see later on if that will help us any. 
 Just now, let us examine the main thread of plot sug- 
 gested by what we know of Marion and that part of 
 our knowledge which is available for the developing 
 of our stated theme : 
 
 Marion is treated as the "baby" of her family. 
 
 That is a good idea to use. It offers possibilities for 
 comedy, and also for eventual drama. Shall we, in 
 getting this main thread woven together, have Marion 
 discover that she is growing too old to be treated as a 
 "baby?" Or shall some outside influence bring the 
 matter to her attention? The latter method is more 
 pictorially possible. So we will condense it thus : 
 
 Marion is made to realize that she is growing up, a fact not 
 comprehended by her family. 
 
 Since we have eliminated the family as it stood in 
 the first memoranda, we must substitute another 
 family, for we do not want Marion to be an orphan. 
 
88 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 The members of the family need not be evolved just 
 now — we will follow our basic plot-thread : 
 
 Marion decides to "break loose" and make her family realize 
 that she is not a "baby." 
 
 We have our basic complication in the fact that 
 Marion discovers, through some incident or occurrence 
 which can be worked up, that she is not being allowed 
 to "grow up!' as fast as she would like. We introduce 
 the beginning of her struggle to overcome this obstacle 
 (not a very pronounced struggle as yet, for we have to 
 build from minor to major crises, and must not expend 
 all our ability on the first situation). Now we want 
 to decide how Marion will overcome her obstacle. We 
 may suppose that she will do it visibly, so : 
 
 Marion puts her hair up and lengthens her skirts to show her 
 family that she is grown up already. 
 
 Here is something suggestive of further complica- 
 tions, as well as presenting possibilities for touches of 
 real psychology. The complications may come through 
 the resistance of the family to her idea of growing up, 
 or through something that happens as a result of her 
 growing up. 
 
 The psychology can be made plain in the statement 
 that the mere donning of long skirts and the dressing 
 of one's hair does not constitute an actual advance in 
 sophistication. This bit of psychology offers us tre- 
 mendous possibilities for complications of the second 
 type — those arising as a result of Marion's attempt to 
 grow up, which she does in the matter of dress, but not 
 immediately in the matter of mind-development, of 
 growth in understanding, of sophistication. 
 
GETTING DOWN TO BRASS TACKS 89 
 
 We will be able to set down our next length of plot- 
 thread thus : 
 
 Marion's changed appearance makes people take a different atti- 
 tude toward her. They accept her as grown up in a new acquisi- 
 tion of beauty. But the mind develops gradually, and so Marion 
 is not equipped to avoid the pitfalls of her new state. Through 
 this unsophistication she is placed in a position of danger, 
 brought about by someone who looks at her as a woman, no 
 more a mere child. The powerful reaction of this danger pro- 
 duces the change in her that makes of her a woman in fact, and 
 while she copes with the situation successfully through her new- 
 found sophistication, she realizes the folly of having sought to 
 anticipate the gradual growth of the years. 
 
 Now we have set down a definite plot-line — in a 
 sketchy way, it is true, but nevertheless we have a 
 definite working plan which bears out our theme. 
 
 Since we cannot revise, rebuild, eliminate from, or 
 add to this sketch without a discussion of some techni- 
 cal points of plot-building, let us just now accept the 
 present form as a workable plot-basis evolved from 
 our knowledge of Marion's life, yet without adhering 
 to that life-story except in fundamental suggestion. 
 
 We want a five-reel picture-plot to fit the editorial 
 requirements we have read. Here is our start. Per- 
 haps we may not finish at our preconceived destination, 
 for plots are chameleons for changeableness ; but, at 
 all events, we're off! 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 SORTING OUT SOME POINTS 
 
 If that enthusiastic "we're oif !" at the close of the 
 preceding chapter gave you a sense of starting on a 
 frantic race with imagination, turn back and re-vision 
 that earlier saving talisman — the "slap-it-down" way 
 of seeking sales is done with forever! 
 
 The way we began our work was by "getting down 
 to brass tacks." We are sensible and not impatient; 
 therefore we are not going to bungle the job by accept- 
 ing commonplace carpet tacks. If The Complete Life 
 of Marion has yielded us all that we can use without 
 showing ourselves to be unskilled tack-handlers, let us 
 also prove that we are not lazy by searching for the 
 right sort of material wherewith to carry on our work 
 still further. 
 
 We have already looked, but not very thoroughly, in 
 what is likely to prove the storehouse of some good 
 points, so let us turn again to consider The Matter of 
 Length. 
 
 Footage as a Factor in Plot Building 
 
 As the artist must choose his treatment of a subject 
 with some regard for the adaptability of that subject 
 to the size of his canvas, so must we plan the treat- 
 ment of our plot with some consideration of the limits 
 
SORTING OUT SOME POINTS 91 
 
 of our footage. As has been previously explained, 
 filmed photoplays are marketed as "one-reel," "two- 
 reel," and larger multiples of the standard of length, 
 the reel. This "reel" is an enlarged duplicate of the 
 little metal reel on which you generally find Under- 
 wood typewriter ribbons wound. Just take a look at 
 such a spool when you are near a typewriter salesroom 
 some day and you will see what is meant. The picture 
 reel fits on the spindle of the projecting machine, and 
 from it the strip of film winds through the projecting 
 apparatus on to another reel, from which it is after- 
 ward rewound upon its original reel, to get it front- 
 foremost again. The reel is easy to handle, easy to 
 ship, and offers a convenient way to prevent the film 
 from becoming scratched or twisted. The reel has, 
 therefore, become a standard of measurement for films, 
 and since the usual reel holds comfortably a strip of 
 approximately one thousand feet of film, that amount 
 is understood to be "one reel of film." When a photo- 
 play requires five of these reels to contain it, the photo- 
 play will comprise about five thousand feet of film — a 
 five-reel film. 
 
 The exhibitor of pictures runs his reels through the 
 projectors at a speed that gives a time-limit of between 
 fifteen and eighteen minutes to the showing of each 
 thousand feet of film. Thus the aggregate running- 
 time of a five-reel picture (the present length for the 
 usual feature-subject) will be about an hour and 
 twenty or an hour and thirty minutes : The time varies 
 because the operators sometimes "slow up" a little at 
 dramatic points when they turn the machine-crank by 
 
92 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 hand, and "rush her some" when melodrama is being 
 shown, feeling that they are helping the picture. It is 
 this general habit which prompts me to allow a varia- 
 tion in the projecting time. For our purposes, how- 
 ever, this variation may be ignored and we must figure 
 our material to occupy a footage of about five reels, a 
 running time of close to an hour and twenty minutes. 
 
 How are we to know if we have enough — neither 
 too little nor too much — ^plot to meet these require- 
 ments? This is one place where we would be helped 
 considerably by an understanding of the technique of 
 scenario preparation, for such knowledge presupposes 
 the cultivation of the abihty to visualize, or imagine 
 pictorially, the action that we would write into scene- 
 continuity, and we would thus be able to estimate, by 
 the scene-contents of our script, if we were within the 
 margin of safety. But, without this scenario technique 
 to aid, we must substitute a pretty-well-fostered fund 
 of common sense, aided by a careful study of the 
 screen pictures we have seen. If we watch the pic- 
 tures carefully, and learn to imderstand, by our sense 
 of proportion, how much action, sub-titling, situation 
 and — above all else — idea goes into a five-reel photo- 
 play, we can apply that knowledge to the judging of 
 our own material. 
 
 It will be obvious, even to the most embryonic 
 understanding of this matter, that the plot we have 
 sketched from Marion's life is totally inadequate in 
 amount of situation and action to fill the regulation 
 feature-number of reels — five. If we build incidents 
 to show the girl playing with cats, pigeons, puppies and 
 
SORTING OUT SOME POINTS 93 
 
 ponies, before we plunge into the real story, we can 
 supply some of the lacking footage, but such scenes, 
 while "cunning" in a school or kindergarten educa- 
 tional reel, do not help to tell our story: they can be 
 used only if they contribute to, and come within, the 
 strengthening of the essential story-idea. We must, 
 then, find some other way to build than by padding 
 with meaningless incidents, either at the beginning, or 
 after Marion has begun her "growing up," or toward 
 the close of the picture. The only way we can add 
 acceptably is by adding to our plot. Before we can do 
 this, we must see if our present foundation lacks in any 
 respect other than in its inadequate length. This 
 brings us to another factor in planning the extension 
 of plot-material, and that factor is Strength of Idea. 
 
 Strength of Idea in Its Influence on the Footage of a 
 Subject 
 
 The artist in oils, previously mentioned in a com- 
 parative way with ourselves, might plan to cover a 
 foot-square canvas. If his Art had not gone to his 
 head he would certainly never attempt to achieve fame 
 by painting, upon so small a canvas, a panorama of a 
 world-battle, with its infinite detail, its need for atmos- 
 phere, characterization, and space. He must select 
 some idea more suitable to a confined latitude of ex- 
 pression. But put before him a canvas half the size of 
 his studio wall, and his conception of a battle panorama 
 would be feasible material. No longer would his 
 thoughts be confined to some small idea; he would 
 think and visualize in a way commensurate with the 
 
94 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 expanse of his canvas. Would he think of painting a 
 picture of a lonesome kernel of corn, environed by 
 nothingness? Do not laugh 1 If you could but see 
 how vast is the quantity of waste paper sent into the 
 studios' editorial offices by those who have sought to 
 cover a five-reel expanse of footage with a single 
 kernel of lonely, lost idea! 
 
 Perhaps a genius of the palette and brush might fill 
 his huge canvas with a visible, but seemingly empty 
 battle field — ^torn earth, shattered cannon, upthrown 
 and encrimsoned heaps, just heaps, their constituent 
 substance undiscernible ; all one vast emptiness, one 
 deep silence. Yet your eye focuses suddenly on one 
 figure that has an attitude and semblance of life. Just 
 a small girl it is, standing there in all that expanse of 
 wreck and nothingness — a tiny child with clasped 
 hands, looking out at you, her eyes finding yours, no 
 matter how you shift your position, her face seeming 
 dazed and shocked, her blue eyes asking you "Why !" 
 Forgotten is your own present, its pica)mne selfishness, 
 its narrow and sordid purposes and ends: all your 
 mind holds is a great sympathy for that minute figure 
 in all that waste of space, that figure only the more 
 compelling by reason of the contrast — and perhaps 
 there is a dfmness in your eyes as you realize that you 
 are powerless to answer the question her eyes are 
 asking. 
 
 That work of genius would be equivalent to the use 
 of a small figure to typify an idea ; but, oh, the power 
 and appeal of that idea! Your present collaborator 
 realizes that most genius is recognized only after the 
 
SORTING OUT SOME POINTS 95 
 
 one responsible for its expression is no longer of this 
 world : so no claim of genius is made ; all that will be 
 attempted is the pointing out of how the everyday 
 artist must, in his pictureplaywriter equivalent, plan 
 his subject to meet the extent of his canvas. 
 
 In so far as our ability drops below the requisite 
 standard of power of a single idea to fill a large canvas, 
 to that extent must we find alternative methods of 
 lending to it the necessary strength. We cannot sur- 
 round it with atmosphere, and depend upon that 
 ethereal quality of environment to give it the needed 
 quality; we must not depend alone upon the compli- 
 cating effect of more characters to furnish additional 
 strength, for mere characters with no fundamental 
 connection with the plot are like a lot of loose branches 
 stuck around a Christmas tree — they do not help any- 
 where, they have no reason for being there. We must 
 gain strength for our story by adding the things it 
 lacks, the elements of human interest, heart-appeal, 
 by-plot and "punch." As soon as we are sure of the 
 nature of these four elements, we can stop sorting 
 tacks for a while, and do a bit of driving. But first, 
 let us examine our four kinds of tacks. 
 
 Human Interest 
 
 Somehow it is as difficult to put into cold words a 
 definite expression of the human appeal of a picture as 
 it would be to set down a bald definition of soul and 
 expect everyone to comprehend just what that actually 
 means. The dictionary definitions do not seem to go 
 
96 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 down deep enough, in either case, to stimulate our 
 minds to achieve a conception of the depth, the vital 
 rooting in life itself, of these two expressions — "human 
 appeal" in a picture, "soul" in man or woman. To say 
 of "human interest" that it is the quality that finds a 
 response in every human soul is not enough. It does 
 more than find response — it stirs one to the very 
 depths of one's nature, does this evanescent, elusive, 
 yet vitally powerful human appeal. 
 
 Granting that you could view an adequately carried 
 out picture done by a genius from the suggestion of 
 the child alone on a battlefield, what things would you 
 feel and think as you stood chained by the horror- 
 tensed lips, the deeply troubled, questioning eyes that 
 constantly sought your own? Sympathy you would 
 feel, for a child alone in such a place; pity would be 
 aroused by the implied devastation of all that she has 
 known as an environment, by the deductible loss of 
 parents. In a word, you would think: "Poor little 
 thing 1" Then, away down deep within you would 
 come an understanding of the personification, in that 
 figure, of all the children suffering from war's devasta- 
 tion, not understanding it, mutely asking "Why !" And 
 you would take unto yourself that mute horro| in the 
 face of the terrible inhumanity of war, its necessarily 
 wanton destruction of homes, and even of ideals ; and 
 as you stood silent, that unspoken question in the eyes 
 of the child would find itself rising in an unspoken 
 question within your own soul — "Why?" and you 
 would turn away sobered and a little touched and 
 somewhat thoughtful. Your reflections would be 
 
SORTING OUT SOME POINTS 97 
 
 deeper, more upon mankind than upon your next day's 
 work: in brief, you would have been lifted out of 
 yourself by the quality of human appeal in the picture. 
 
 So, anything of a power and depth of -feeling capable 
 of lifting humanity, in the individual or in the mass, to 
 a higher level of thought, to a more unselfish contem- 
 plation of life and its problems, is possessed of the 
 human appeal. Sacrifice of an unselfish nature makes 
 this appeal. Deeds of valor for an avowedly good 
 purpose will awaken it. The sight of a man with the 
 face of a satyr and the seeming baseness of a snake, 
 going out of his way to stop and help an innocent child 
 to fix a "leaky dolly wif ' ve sawdus' all runnin' out !" 
 — ^that is a situation that touches the deeper conscious- 
 ness in some intangible way — ^but touches it none the 
 less powerfully. 
 
 Not every picture that you will write, not every pic- 
 ture that you will see, can contain this human appeal in 
 its widest meaning; but the pictures as well as the 
 books and the plays that will endure beyond their usual 
 allotted — and generally brief — space of popularity will 
 last because of their possession of this deep, human 
 quality that makes its presence felt in the conscious- 
 ness of /he dock laborer as well as in that of the in- 
 tellectual scholar, and stirs them both. 
 
 Heart-Interest 
 
 We have already had some acquaintance with the 
 element of heart-appeal and have discovered that it is 
 the quality which arouses our sympathy and interest, 
 
98 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 as in the case of parted lovers or a mother separated 
 from her child. Father-love, mother-love, any regard 
 or affection borne by one person for another, awakens 
 our sympathy and our championship if any adverse 
 circumstance occurs to emphasize this regard through 
 separation, or other accentuation. 
 
 More generally, heart-appeal is conceded to be the 
 power in a story which makes us love, hate, sympathize 
 with, or champion, some one or another of its charac- 
 ters. The appeal to the heart is necessarily a lighter 
 one than that deep appeal made by human interest to 
 the soul. The former evokes a quick response and is 
 readily dismissed when the occasion for it ceases to be ; 
 the latter is something far more lasting in its impres- 
 sion. 
 
 By-Plots 
 
 "By-plots" — No! do not say that we mean "sub- 
 plots." The two expressions have only one thing in 
 common — a hyphen. The stage-play often introduces 
 characters in a sub-plot to provide a comedy relief for 
 heavy drama, and these characters have about as close 
 an affinity to the basic plot of the play as is possessed 
 by the hen with a brood of tiny chicks for the hover- 
 ing and dangerous hawk. The sub-plot is a sort of 
 tied-on appendage that could be cut away without 
 affecting any vital part of the basic story-idea ; though 
 sometimes, of course, these characters, handled by a 
 clever playwright, may weave in and out of the general 
 situations in a deceptively intimate way. Invariably 
 they serve a set purpose and are devised so to do : that 
 
SORTING OUT SOME POINTS 99 
 
 purpose is to be in contrast to the basic form of classi- 
 fication of the drama; or, in a comedy, to provide a 
 means of adding compHcations which could not be 
 drawn from the logical basic idea and the characters 
 who evolve it. 
 
 Therefore, since the sub-plot is a thing partially 
 separable from the main plot, it can be done away with, 
 and invariably is, in picture plotting. If you ever 
 view the adaptation of a stage-play in its screen trans- 
 lation, or film form, you will, on comparison with the 
 original play, discover that "Maggie, the maid" and 
 "Bill, the taxi-driver" have lost all their individual 
 interest, have ceased to love one another to the enter- 
 tainment of our drama-leisure with chipper dialogue, 
 and have become what they should be — a quiet maid, 
 and a driver whose car is hired. 
 
 Therefore, when we seek to augment our basic 
 material with additional story-elements, we do not 
 employ the sub-plot. ^ We employ something which is 
 definable in diiferent terms, and which has a diiferent 
 purpose. We call it the "by-plot" because it is like a 
 little byway that turns from the highway to bring us 
 to some particularly impressive view, but that returns 
 at once to the highroad, of which it is essentially a part 
 in material and usefulness. 
 
 The by-plot of the motion-picture story is like that. 
 It is not a sub-plot put in to provide comedy relief for 
 a dramatic subject; it does not deal with separate and 
 distinct characters who could be dropped without in- 
 juring the continuity and power of the elemental story- 
 idea. We should argue that it is a sort of weaving in 
 
100 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 of new characters who will take up an appointed place 
 in the plot proper, and will, by their introduction of 
 new elements, make it the more powerful. A by-plot 
 is part and parcel of the main story-idea as it finally 
 develops, giving the elemental idea a strength and grip 
 it would not otherwise possess. 
 
 If Mabel and George love one another and Dad 
 objects to George because he has whiskers, and George 
 won't shave off his whiskers till Mabel gets him to 
 drop off to sleep and lets her little brother, Ted, lather 
 them with glue, the consequent stiffening forcing 
 George to take them off and so win parental acceptance 
 by an action really committed in self-defense — ^that 
 is a main plot-thread, albeit a farcical one. If, now, 
 we introduce a pair of kitchen-lovers, a cook and a 
 coachman, and allow their antics to be in contrast to 
 those of our main characters, that would introduce a 
 sub-plot. But if the cook and the coachman had some- 
 thing essential to do with the development of the 
 whiskers-off part of the story, and yet had a little 
 affair of their own, behind the scenes, as it were, the 
 fact that they were essential characters, and that they 
 built up and embellished the basic idea, would make 
 their introduction a constituent part of the real story- 
 idea, and we would be employing them in a by-plot. 
 
 The proper and wise employment of by-plot is of 
 great help in building to length, and it often affords a 
 way to build in strength as well. 
 
 "Punch" 
 
 The fourth of our catalogued necessities for pro- 
 
SORTING OUT SOME POINTS 101 
 
 cedure is the misunderstood "punch." People often 
 describe the "punch" as "something thrilling." Very 
 well, let us use that definition and see where its use 
 lands us. You will admit that there is nothing more 
 thrilling than to see a sky ruddy with the tokens of a 
 terrible conflagration, to hear the swift fire-fighting 
 apparatus speed down the next street, to see the leap of 
 flame like the crest of a furious sea, to hear the roar as 
 a roof crashes inward. Let us use these things as a 
 start for our Marion-story and so give it a "punch" at 
 the very opening. No? Why not? Because it does 
 not have anything to do with the story, and so is 
 merely incidental — as lacking in plot-basis as were the 
 dogs and cats and ponies. Right! So "punch" is 
 more than something thrilling. 
 
 In fact, "punch" is kinsman to human appeal, and if 
 your stories possess tlie latter quality they cannot pos- 
 sibly be devoid of the former, for the real meaning, in 
 the photoplay sense, of the "punch" is the power of any 
 plot-situation to grip and impress. A house on fire is 
 thrilling. So are the efforts of the firemen to subdue 
 their arch enemy. But, alone, they do not put "punch" 
 into a picture. Yet in so quiet a situation as the effort 
 of a man, \vith memory gone, to formulate the vague 
 impression called into his brain by the playing of 
 "Annie Laurie" by his wife, whose face he does not 
 recognize, and who looks on yearningly as his mind 
 battles with its problem — we have "punch." Look at 
 it in your mind's eye. Does it not grip you and 
 impress you ? Do you not long to see the man regain 
 his mental equilibrium? Is there not suspense in your 
 
102 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 heart as you watch his efforts slowly relax in a futile 
 hopelessness? Do you not wish — long! — to see the 
 fingers of the choking wife touch once more the old 
 familiar keys that bring forth the melody ? Perhaps it 
 will succeed. Why doesn't she try! And as she does, 
 and the final chord brings a slowly dawning compre- 
 hension — think you that the eyes of the spectators 
 would be dry? That is "punch." 
 
 Any situation so powerful in its relation to the basic 
 story-idea, and so strong in dramatic content that it 
 will make the audience sit breathless, bend forward 
 eagerly, or furtively attempt to conceal a little teardrop, 
 may be considered to have "punch." Any play or book 
 or picture-play that can accomplish such wonders with 
 the usually blase auditor, reader or spectator, has 
 "punch." Watch for it as you view the film-plays. 
 Study its psychology, if you care to go into that aspect 
 of the matter ; but whether you study it or not, when 
 you write, get it into your picture-story just as posi- 
 tively as the manufacturer of a picture will put it into 
 the resulting check, for there is no more definite 
 "punch" existent than that involved in those magic 
 words — "Pay to the order of" — you! 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 DRIVING HOME THE POINTS 
 
 Now that we have selected a certain number of 
 usable "tacks," it is our next purpose to see how we 
 can put them in place. Certainly we cannot take a 
 handful of "human interests" and follow their inser- 
 tion with a row of "heart appeals" and then some "by- 
 plots," terminating our labor by driving in a half dozen 
 "punches." We must mix the tacks in a clever pattern, 
 so that none of them will stand out beyond any others. 
 Then if we employ an upholstery of imagination to 
 make our work attractive and worthful, we shall re- 
 ceive a reasonable recognition for our efforts. 
 
 We cannot set about our tack-driving in any other 
 way. Knowing the source of each sort of material, we 
 must not be hindered by the knowledge, but must keep 
 it in the back of our heads,, so that we will recognize 
 each sort of tack as it comes to our hands ; but the 
 pattern in which we place these different tacks must be 
 created, governed by imagination, yet made to keep 
 within the limits of our needs. 
 
 Let us recall our little seance with Marion. We 
 based our idea-gathering upon some notes set down at 
 various times, covered by a complete period of about 
 thirty-five weeks. At once we know that the lapses of 
 time that occurred in actual experience are not in 
 harmony with our idea of the limitations of the defini- 
 
104 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 tion of a picture plot; such a plot must have as few 
 time-lapses between incidents and crises as our in- 
 genuity will allow, and yet make plausible and lifelike 
 the continuity of events. We decided to have Marion 
 "babied" and let her realize that she was "growing 
 up." Then she decided to "grow up" all at once, and 
 as a result we got the complication so necessary to 
 plotting — through the employment of the fact that 
 merely donning long skirts and dressing the hair does 
 not give a girl sophistication. Also we got a further 
 suggestion of complication in the changed attitude of 
 those about Marion — people who always treated her 
 much as had her family, but who now regarded her as 
 a young lady. From this arose the main crisis in her 
 life — through her finding herself in some (unstated) 
 danger, which came to a climax in its bringing her 
 womanhood to maturity, so that she could cope with 
 and conquer her obstacle and danger. Then we got 
 out our moral and brandished it by having her realize 
 that she had yielded up her youth for the bitter fruit 
 of mature experience. 
 
 Now we want to lengthen these strands into a five- 
 reel feature-plot, and strengthen them to the same end : 
 we desire to incorporate human interest, heart-appeal, 
 by-plot and "punch." Keeping these points in the sub- 
 consciousness, that is, "in the back of our minds," we 
 will seek to lengthen, and see if we do not achieve our 
 full result. 
 
 Let us be more expansive in dealing with the 
 material we already have. Let us put a situation in 
 the place now occupied by the generalization that 
 
DRIVING HOME THE POINTS 105 
 
 Marion "encounters some danger." We will set down 
 some concrete, visible danger there. What shall it be ? 
 The fact that it comes through the changed attitude of 
 some person, logically implies a man — a man who con- 
 siders Marion to be growing (in charm and, let us say, 
 allurement by virtue of her altered appearance) and 
 who therefore desires to be possessed of these charms 
 for his own: we presuppose him a villain, for the 
 heroic type would not suggest a danger in such a situa- 
 tion. So we arrive at the natural deduction that a 
 man, potentially a villain, who has so far treated 
 Marion as a child, now, upon her growing up "on the 
 outside," decides that she is a personable creature, 
 whose charm appeals to him, and whose naive and 
 innocent acts make her exceedingly desirable, to his 
 way of thinking. 
 
 But let us halt imagination here, for we are not 
 being creative, as we should be; the villain who gets 
 the girl into a personally dangerous situation is "old 
 stuff" and very trite. The situation loses dramatic 
 value in proportion to its hackneyed quality. Truly, 
 we may still employ such a situation, but only if we 
 make it productive of some fresh development, or sur- 
 round it with some novel characters, or endow it with 
 some vital and plot-aiding purpose. So let us lay that 
 villain-and-girl situation away as unusable just now, 
 since we have none of the things at hand with which 
 to freshen or vitalize it. But we will call creative 
 imagination to our aid, and without being able to trace 
 exactly the chain of reasoning by which we reach the 
 suggestion, we find that we are thinking : "Why not let 
 
106 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 the danger come through the villain's wife?" New? 
 Yes, and fertile of possibility. 
 
 How can the girl be endangered by another woman ? 
 Hate ? Can hate on the part of the other woman, be- 
 cause Marion is sought by her husband, create a 
 danger for Marion? Indeed it can! But shall we 
 employ it? And if we do, what form shall the danger 
 assume ? And who is to rescue Marion from it — shall 
 she be her own rescuer, or shall we employ a third 
 person, perhaps the villain himself ? No, not that, for 
 that would take him out of character, make him do 
 something not in harmony with the traits that make 
 him a villain. 
 
 Perhaps Marion will do her own saving. Let us go 
 back a short way in our plot and build up to the situa- 
 tion so that we may see how this suggestion works in. 
 Suppose we say that Marion is treated as a "kid" by a 
 man — just a man, at present — who has a wife. We 
 will not gain any plot-material until we endow our 
 characters with characteristics or traits which will 
 underlie, and influence, their acts. For the present, let 
 us say that the man is fond of other ladies besides his 
 wife. (This suggests an incident which may come to 
 something, showing him with another charmer, per- 
 haps in another town or city.) When he sees Marion 
 in her changed aspect, he decides : "There is a bet that 
 I have overlooked." His characteristic trait, his light 
 shifts of aifection, will also presuppose a determined 
 and stubborn purpose to attain whatever ends he may 
 conceive. 
 
DRIVING HOME THE POINTS 107 
 
 Now for his wife. She may be jealous, she may be 
 unaware of her husband's other loves; she may be 
 both unaware and inclined to jealousy. Perhaps be- 
 cause he likes to flit away on occasion, he tries to 
 occupy her time with a gratification of her presumable 
 vanity, allowing her plenty of money, and by that very 
 act making her so useless to herself and to the world 
 that she has little to occupy her mind except jealous 
 thoughts. 
 
 Now we will give Marion a little more definite char- 
 acterization. If she is going to fall into the net of such 
 a man we are sure that she must be naive and inno- 
 cent of the world's ways. Also, she must be a good 
 deal of a child in her actions, to make her more 
 attractive to the man when she assumes the garments 
 of maturity. Again, she must be capable of eventual 
 clever thinking and quick acting, for we have laid out 
 a general plan for her future that will call these 
 abilities into play. 
 
 Now we have three definite, lifelike people to deal 
 with. 
 
 Marion must have some sort of family. Let us give 
 her a father who will, naturally, be dotingly fond of 
 her, or else he would not "baby" her so much. Maybe, 
 with creative imagination to help, we may find him a 
 more definite reason for "babying" his daughter ; but 
 for the present let him stand merely as a doting father. 
 Then we shall need some other member of the family 
 so as to furnish a contrast with the manner in which 
 
108 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 he treats Marion, and that other member of the family 
 might well be an older sister, who also would "baby" 
 Marion. 
 
 Now we may suppose that the villain, after Marion 
 has "grown up," seeks to win her, his wife being 
 ignorant of his purpose. Let her find out this purpose 
 and we have Marion in danger. The wife is jealous. 
 She contrives to get Marion to come to see her. Then 
 she threatens to shoot Marion, and Marion, by cleverly 
 "playing" her, humoring her, manufacturing a clever 
 explanation that will remove any cause for jealousy, 
 soothes the roiled waters, her awakening of soul com- 
 ing with the shock of realizing what "she is up against" 
 in the man's behavior and intentions, her growth in 
 womanly intuition and understanding being indicated 
 by her solution of the problem that endangers her. 
 
 But as we look at that climax-situation, we stop, 
 with the sickening realization that we have not made 
 it novel enough. The use of the wife is fresh — differ- 
 ent, if you will — ^but the resulting situation is not 
 strong enough for a "big" picture. It has not sufficient 
 "punch," either. There is very little heart-interest in 
 the story as now planned, and the human appeal is 
 practically negligible. The introduction of the wife 
 as an endangering agent, and the showing of her cause 
 for jealousy, and her resulting importance to the story 
 in its present stage, does furnish a by-plot, indeed, 
 but we are still "short" in the points of length of sub- 
 ject, and strength of idea involved. 
 
 The introduction of an eligible lover for Marion 
 would furnish us with more heart-appeal, and, too, we 
 
DRIVING HOME THE POINTS 109 
 
 might use him to save her at the climax. But that 
 would take the center of the stage away from Marion 
 at a point where she should be the big figure of inter- 
 est. Therefore, let us side-track our villain-and-wife 
 by-plot and take the suggested "hero" as a new point 
 of departure, seeing if his induction into the plot will 
 furnish us grounds that will justify our drafting and 
 retaining him in our growing army of characters. 
 
 Where, in our main plot-line, shall we bring in this 
 lover? To give Marion a sweetheart at the start will 
 deprive her of a certain amount of verisimilitude in 
 her character of the baby of the family, for if she has 
 even a boy-and-girl affair, it makes us feel that she is 
 "wiser than her years" in matters of the heart, and 
 she would, then, not be so apt to fall in love with, or 
 even be attracted by, a man of so avowedly inferior a 
 type as our villain has shown himself to be. 
 
 Let us try a different point of introduction for our 
 heroine's sweetheart. Let him become such at the 
 logical and psychological • moment when she changes 
 her appearance. He may have regarded her in the 
 same light as did the rest of the people about her — ^as 
 a youngster. Then she becomes, outwardly, a young 
 lady, and love awakens. Ah! — and see here! (Cre- 
 ating again) suppose that we have him attached to the 
 sister at the start of the plot ! That is a good idea, and 
 gives us a chain of situations that are worth investi- 
 gating. If he loves the sister it is a bad idea, though, 
 to have him shift over so carelessly to another heart- 
 interest for himself. It is much better to have him 
 merely consider himself in love with the sister; still, 
 
110 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 then he would be governed by a reasonable manliness, 
 and would "stick" to the sister. Well, that offers us a 
 heart-appeal by throwing an obstacle in the path of 
 true love. May it not develop another and more 
 crucial situation? Let us see. 
 
 Take it for granted, for the sake of our hero's 
 future acts, that he is tacitly engaged to Marion's 
 sister — engaged by the general understanding that has 
 arisen from his steady visits to the house, his constant 
 regard for the sister. But no ring — no spoken word. 
 Then he sees Marion as a young lady, and in some way 
 comes to realize that she is really the one and only 
 focus of his regard, that he has been showering little 
 tokens of brother-in-law-ly affection upon her when 
 actually he has been subconsciously in love with her all 
 the time. 
 
 This also brings a complication into Marion's life, 
 for she must fight against his love, which, logically, 
 she will discover that she returns. She must, being the 
 child in intellect that she is, reason that he has loved 
 the sister and that she, Marion, must make him be 
 true to that affection, no matter what the cost to her. 
 This is unselfish. It possesses a suggestion of the 
 quality of human appeal. It makes us think a bit, 
 perhaps, as to whether she is right or wrong. Any- 
 way, we must not stop to moralize, but scurry along 
 while inspiration urges. 
 
 Logically, we may suppose that Marion will seek 
 some definite barrier to erect between herself and the 
 love of this young man who, in Marion's way of look- 
 
DRIVING HOME THE POINTS 111 
 
 ing at it, has been her sister's affianced. Marion might 
 now turn to the villain, not supposing him to be such, 
 since he has always treated her much as the others 
 have done : she may be innocently seeking to make the 
 hero jealous, thinking thus to drive him away from 
 her. She might ask the villain to help her out in this, 
 and so, by her innocent act, and wholly without inten- 
 tion, create in the mind of the spoiled wife a suggestion 
 of jealousy, which would ^eek and find, in the develop- 
 ments that seem to be coming so naturally, more cause 
 for hatred toward the innocent Marion. Now we 
 have given Marion an added sympathy, on account of 
 her innocently falling into what will prove to be a trap 
 for her innocence ; we have endowed her with a fresh 
 charm by reason of her steadfast refusal to accept a 
 love that she feels belongs to her sister. 
 
 "Where do we go from here ?" 
 
 We are at a standstill ! We have a fresh idea in the 
 handling of a girl who decides to grow up all at once, 
 without waiting for the regular development of the 
 years; we have a good heart-interest in a hero's 
 realization that he loves Marion after he has appar- 
 ently come to be the accepted suitor of her sister ; we 
 have elements of human appeal in his struggle to be 
 true to his ideals, as well as in Marion's efforts to 
 drive him away, though she longs to have him for her 
 own sweetheart; we have another by-plot when 
 Marion turns to a married man, innocently asking him 
 to aid her in driving the hero away ; and another by- 
 plot in the jealousy of his wife, which jealousy makes 
 for a climax. But the climax is not big, for it is easily 
 
112 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 foreseen that Marion will extricate herself from her 
 danger, the only point unknown being her method. 
 
 Thus, taken separately, the elements are not in them- 
 selves big enough for a feature picture, and, taken in 
 sum, they seem to lack some binding force, something 
 to knit them into a close fabric that is woven to with- 
 stand the wear of public fickleness. We must find that 
 element. 
 
 The father of Marion does not seem to oflfer us any 
 great possibilities as he stands; nor does imagination 
 at this time seem to help us with him. The sister plays 
 a minor part in the story as it stands. She does not 
 appear to have any immense possibilities. In fact, to 
 build up any of the present characters would make the 
 ones built up apt to dominate the plot. Such a domi- 
 nation would deprive Marion of her rightful place in 
 the spotlight, so to speak, and the leading character 
 must always dominate the central idea ; minor charac- 
 ters must always remain such. To take the interest 
 away from the central figure is, as has already been 
 hinted, at several points, a dangerous and generally 
 fatal procedure. 
 
 Let us find some weakness, and by building it to 
 strength, see if we can achieve a new situation. From 
 the standpoint of plausibility, the trapping of Marion 
 by the villain is somewhat weak. Girls in real life, 
 girls in plays, girls on the screen, often plunge blindly 
 into a fascinating net spread by some personable 
 villain. The very frequency of such plunges makes 
 this one a weakness in our story, lending to it a degree 
 of triteness that makes for tameness. We must see if 
 
DRIVING HOME THE POINTS 113 
 
 we can find some way to overcome this, and in seeking 
 that way, we must lay aside our plot once more, and 
 take a look at a few more "tack" assortments, for we 
 have used heart-appeal, human interest, by-plot and 
 punch (the latter in the developing of the situations 
 by adroit handling, which we will talk of in proper 
 sequence) and yet we have not a close-knit, unified, 
 satisfying plot-structure. 
 
 Therefore we will turn from plotting to sorting our 
 tacks, if you please, and to maintain our purpose of 
 thoroughly mastering every step before we plunge 
 forward to the next one, we will pause and reflect 
 upon the various tacks we have found so far, and then 
 run back over our hammering, and so make certain 
 that we have not lost our ability to recognize them in 
 their applied forms. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 MORE SORTING AND POUNDING 
 
 The active half of our present collaborative team 
 has a superstitious faith in the magic of numbers. We 
 have employed plot-aids to the sum of four; we are 
 at a standstill, and our quartet is not apparently able to 
 further our aims. Let us add a trio of tacks and grip 
 our problem with the aggregate figure of seven helpers, 
 for seven has always been conceded to be a powerful 
 talisman. 
 
 The trio we shall investigate consists of the follow- 
 ing: Motivation, Suspense and Surprise. Of these, 
 the first is the most important, so let us discuss it 
 without delay. 
 
 The Importance of Plot-Motivation 
 
 In the motion-picture plot, the providing of a motive 
 or reason for every act performed by any and all char- 
 acters is as important in the perfecting of the plot as 
 a rudder is to the proper handling of a ship. Our 
 play-people must not do things just because we want 
 to arrive at a foreordained finish-line with them : the 
 plot must not "boss" the characters — they must man- 
 age the direction of the plot. If our imaginary people 
 are but chips, skittering along over the bay before the 
 breeze, we cannot expect others to take an active inter- 
 est in their destination ; but if — to abandon the figure 
 
MORE SORTING AND POUNDING 115 
 
 — our playfolk have lifelikeness and purpose, we shall 
 see them achieving a greatly-to-be-desired interest in 
 the eyes of others than ourselves. Thus we must let 
 the characters play out their as yet unseen destinies, 
 rather than have them mere pawns of our own fanci- 
 ful wills. 
 
 The ship without a rudder can only drift aimlessly, 
 arriving at no haven of safety from the adverse winds 
 and the buffeting waves: a plot without motivation 
 can but ramble hither and yon, never reaching any 
 convincing conclusion. 
 
 Often in real life you perform an act that leads to 
 some situation of interest to yourself; yet you have 
 not analyzed your reason for doing as you do — your 
 motive is not apparent to you. Perhaps later on you 
 wonder why you did thus-and-so; and you can dis- 
 cover a more or less cogent reason for your per- 
 formance. In the motion-picture plot, every situation, 
 every crisis, every progressing step, must arise from 
 some definitely understood motive on the part of the 
 character controlling that particular situation, crisis, or 
 advancing step. 
 
 There we put our fingers on an essential weakness 
 of our Marion-story, in its present stage of progress. 
 Let us look back and see just how this weakness is 
 apparent. 
 
 Has Marion a motive for "growing up?" Yes, her 
 motive lies in her antagonism to her present stage of 
 development and its restraints. Has the villain a 
 motive for his pursuit of Marion? Yes, his motive is 
 
116 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 apparent when he finds Marion a woman in appear- 
 ance. Has the wife a motive for endangering Marion ? 
 Yes, it is revealed in the jealous hatred provoked 
 by her realization of the true state of affairs as regards 
 Marion and the villain. Has Marion a motive for re- 
 jecting the affection of her sweetheart? Yes, in her 
 knowledge that he is already pledged to her sister there 
 lies a motive — Marion's unselfish desire to keep him 
 true to himself and to her own idealization of him as a 
 man worthy of her love. Has Marion a motive for 
 turning to the villain? She has, in the purpose she 
 reveals — the purpose of seeking to drive the hero from 
 her ; and, more powerfully motivating the idea, we can 
 show that she turns deliberately to a married man 
 because she feels that such a presumable affinity on 
 her part for a man already wived will produce in the 
 hero a disgust more potent for his repelling than any 
 mere affair with another single man could produce. 
 
 But — Marion has no reason, no motive, to make her 
 continue her affair with the married villain ! She can- 
 not really care for him, for we have not suggested her 
 character as capable of cherishing an infatuation for 
 a married man. To create such a motive would be to 
 carry the plot into channels even more hackneyed than 
 those it now follows, so we will not take that argument 
 to supply a motive. 
 
 What motive could a clean, sweet girl possibly have 
 to give her a reason for plunging into an affair which 
 will be sustained through the rest of the story? To 
 take the line of least resistance, we will assume. that 
 the hero refuses to be disgusted by Marion's attempt 
 
MORE SORTING AND POUNDING 117 
 
 to repel him : he clings to his love for her, and so pro- 
 vides her with a motive for a continuation of her 
 relationship with the married villain. Is that a satis- 
 fying motive ? No ! 
 
 Here we must pause long enough to see why it is 
 not satisfying, and to note a further exaction in the 
 matter of motivation. 
 
 To have Marion continue her affair for the reason 
 that the hero has not been disgusted, is weak motiva- 
 tion — it is not logical. What takes away its logicality? 
 The simple fact that it is not displaying common sense 
 on the part of our heroine. She might, quite logically, 
 seek to disgust the hero by a brief affair with the mar- 
 ried man, but if that did not "work" she would, if we 
 grant her the boon of common intelligence, just say, 
 "Hero, I won't have anything to do with you. This is 
 final!" 
 
 Motive, then, must be logical, or it is worse than no 
 motive at all. Logicality means reasonableness. 
 Motive answers the question, "Why do you proceed 
 along that certain line ?" with, "Because both my story- 
 character and my own reason compel me to take that 
 line." Logical motive adds to this answer by continu- 
 ing: "You know the facts; you understand the con- 
 ditions of my situation; therefore your own reason 
 will compel you to agree with me that there is no other 
 sensible, reasonable course for me to follow." 
 
 Logical motivation, then, is the arbitrary line of 
 most reasonable procedure. If there is an alternative 
 line of action that could be taken more reasonably, the 
 
118 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 motive for the less sensible act is not logical. Keep 
 this very firmly in mind whenever you are seeking 
 motives for the conduct of your characters. If you 
 make the conduct logical, not susceptible of criticism 
 on the ground of naturalness, you have a well-motivated 
 plot. That sort of plot you must provide. 
 
 With the present set of characters, with our present 
 by-plots, we cannot find any soundly logical reason to 
 explain Marion's persistence in conducting her affair 
 with a married man to the point where the wife of 
 that man can have logical motive for displaying suffi- 
 cient jealousy and hate to put Marion in danger. Let 
 us leave her to cogitate upon her problem for a 
 moment, while we proceed with our examination of 
 our still incompletely explained trio of new tacks — our 
 logical motive being a desire to know with what ele- 
 ments we are to work before we actually begin to labor. 
 
 Considering the Element of Suspense 
 
 If we are to sustain interest throughout our five 
 reels of story-idea, we must create within the plot a 
 quality of suspense. This quality is of two differing 
 types: There is what may be termed a "secondary 
 suspense," which is equivalent to the passive interest 
 obtainable through the statement of some fact that pre- 
 supposes a further development of idea, to the end 
 that another fact may be plausibly brought to light. 
 A friend meets you on the street, let us suppose, and 
 tells you : "My wife has decided to buy that $400 fur 
 coat, although we have saved only half the amount it 
 will cost." You are interested. You wonder how the 
 
MORE SORTING AND POUNDING 119 
 
 difference will be made up ; or whether common sense 
 will not dictate the wisdom of waiting longer until the 
 required amount is in the bank. You do not become 
 violently excited. You will not catch your friend by 
 the shoulders and demand, eagerly, "Tell me, at once ! 
 How will you get the coat for her ?" Your interest is 
 genuine, but passive. Before many minutes have 
 passed your friend will expand the statement, and con- 
 fide his solution of the problem. You can wait until 
 that is done; your curiosity is real, but not active 
 enough to make his problem seem to be your own. 
 Until you are put in possession of the final solution of 
 his problem, your suspense is passive, or secondary. 
 
 Any motion-picture plot that is worthy of the name 
 of story-idea will contain many examples of secondary 
 suspense — ^in fact, this element will be created as soon 
 as a character is faced with a complication, confronted 
 by an obstacle. The spectators viewing such a picture 
 on the screen will be in an attitude of partial suspense, 
 not able to foresee just how the obstacle will be over- 
 come, not caring to prophesy how the complication will 
 affect the future of the main character, yet willing 
 enough to sit and watch, to be informed, in proper 
 sequence, on the obscure points. Thus the plot will 
 induce a secondary suspense, a passive interest. 
 
 The more important type of suspense, and the one 
 you have to create, whether your plot has the second- 
 ary suspense or not, is the "primary" suspense, the 
 active, eager, participating interest. If you should see 
 a friend racing across a field, toward a sheltering 
 fence, with a mad bull in hot pursuit, you would be 
 
120 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 actively interested ; you would wish to help the friend, 
 to throw some obstacle in the path of the pursuing 
 bull ; you would be in a flutter of uncertainty as to the 
 eventual outcome of the situation. Should your friend 
 stumble, your heart would be in your mouth until he 
 rose and got away, just in the nick of time. Should 
 the bull step into an unseen depression of the earth, 
 and fall to his knees, you would exult, and call out 
 for your friend's reassurance, "Hurry ! He's down !" 
 Until your breathless friend might roll to safety under 
 the fence, your interest in his fate would be sustained, 
 and even if your help should be prohibited by reason 
 of your aloofness from the scene, in point of distance, 
 you would mentally and vocally take sides against the 
 bull. 
 
 That sort of suspense is vital. It is dive, and takes 
 hold of all picture-play spectators. It creates a cham- 
 pionship for the oppressed, or endangered, or helpless 
 character. 
 
 In our story of Marion, we have a secondary sus- 
 pense, created by her decision to "grow up." Specta- 
 tors would be interested in the idea, would be willing 
 to see the outcome, would be ready to be shown how 
 Marion accomplishes her object, how this affects her 
 future. They would not become eager participants in 
 her problem, though, unless she were actually threat- 
 ened by some danger, or put in some situation from 
 which her extrication is problematical. If a spectator 
 is able to "guess ahead," and so arrive at a certain 
 knowledge of the outcome of any situation, there is no 
 primary suspense — the interest is merely that passive 
 
MORE SORTING AND POUNDING 121 
 
 interest which awaits the solution, feeUng sure that 
 judgment has pre-visioned it accurately, merely wait- 
 ing to see if the guess is right. 
 
 "But," you no doubt argue, "you have told me that 
 motivation must be shown definitely ; it must be logi- 
 cal, arbitrarily the 'only way.' How, then, can there 
 be any suspense ?" Your point is well taken, and your 
 question deserves an answer. 
 
 Granted that a logical motive is necessary, it must 
 truly be the only plausible controlling power over 
 action. Nevertheless you can be clever enough to out- 
 guess your eventual spectators. To do this you must 
 provide motives that accord with all the requisites; 
 then you must create unexpected developments in 
 situation, new twists in plot, fresh and not-easily- 
 thought-out solutions to the problems you propound. 
 Here we come to the third factor in our trilogy of 
 governing devices : Surprise. 
 
 The Element of Surprise in Plot 
 
 If your plot runs along regular lines, taking the line 
 of least resistance, motivated soundly though it be, 
 your onlookers are going to guess the end as sure as 
 taxes ! 
 
 Your cleverness as a plot-builder will lie in your 
 ability to devise plot-threads that look quite simple, 
 that seem easy to follow, and then to give them a 
 sudden, unexpected twist, previously planned in your 
 mind but not readily suspected of being possible. 
 Thereby you "fool" the spectators, yet do not make 
 
122 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 fools of them — a nice distinction, and an important 
 one, let me assure you. You can make the onlookers 
 gasp and mentally exclaim, "Why didn't we think of 
 that!" You cannot, dare not, make them gasp and 
 then realize that the thing they have been surprised by 
 is dragged in for that purpose alone, a thing not of 
 the plot at all, but interpolated like the sting of a harsh 
 practical joke, creative of antagonism, not of surprise. 
 
 The element of surprise in a plot must be very 
 craftily handled, very carefully considered. If you 
 start off on a plot-thread with Agnes in love with 
 Billy, and make the girl's mother object because Billy 
 has no income, you create secondary suspense by caus- 
 ing interest to center about his probable attempt to 
 overcome maternal antagonism. If you start Billy out 
 to seek employment, let him have no experience and so 
 prevent him from "getting a job," you proceed along a 
 logical channel, his action being properly motivated by 
 his anxiety to win Agnes. If, then, you show him 
 desperate, impersonating some plausible money-getter, 
 such as a street-corner beggar, you show commendable 
 ingenuity of imagination, and the spectator will say, 
 "Ah, now he will get the money and can marry 
 Agnes." Now for your surprise. You take Billy to 
 Agnes in a hurry and a taxi. And he finds? — Agnes 
 announcing to her mother that she has just met and 
 married a junk peddler l^ 
 
 The spectators will gasp! Oh, yes, indeed — they 
 will gasp ! But not at the revelation. The sudden in- 
 
 ' The "surprise" here instanced is taken from an actual script 
 that came to me some time ago for criticism. 
 
MORE SORTING AND POUNDING 123 
 
 take of breath will be caused by the effrontery of an 
 author who so insults their intelligence as to expect 
 them to credit that sort of situation. 
 
 That is not surprise: that is foolishness. To give 
 an example of the right sort of "jolt" let us go back to 
 the point just preceding the insult to intellect, and re- 
 build. Suppose that Billy hurries toward Agnes, and 
 neglects to remove the masquerade of mendicant. 
 Agnes meets him, and greets him enthusiastically. He 
 rushes away to continue his acquisition of money — 
 and bang! he is seen by Mother leaving the house, 
 grabbed by her Amazonian arms, chucked into the 
 open cellarway and locked in while Mother bawls for 
 a policeman. Now the gasp has been rationally se- 
 cured. The contratemps is certainly reasonable. The 
 (logical) unexpected has happened, and thereby you 
 have made a new twist in your plot-thread. 
 
 Surprising twists in plot are slightly different from 
 the ordinary introduction of complications, in this 
 respect : Complications come from a natural evolution 
 of the plot-elements, the character traits, the growing 
 situations; surprises come from the unexpected, 
 though logical, introduction of some point that could 
 be foreseen by a clever guesser but not by the mass of 
 interested spectators. 
 
 Now that we have defined our three additional tacks, 
 let us see how their combination with the other four 
 will give excuse for the previously mentioned faith in 
 the magic powers of seven. 
 
124 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Putting the Three Elements to Practical Use 
 
 First we will secure a logical motive for Marion's 
 adherence to the villain in our plot. She is a sweet, 
 innocent, unsophisticated girl, yet she is not so idiotic 
 as to be unaware of the marriage tie and what it 
 means. Let us examine some possible motives, not 
 rising out of our present plot-material necessarily, but 
 simply motives that may induce a solution of our 
 present problem. We will tabulate them and discuss 
 them as they come up, to avoid the danger of con- 
 fusing one with another : 
 
 (a) Marion might continue to be seen with the 
 villain because of a childish desire to spite the wife of 
 the latter. That is in harmony with her unsophistica- 
 tion. But it does not lead us toward any "big" de- 
 velopments : it supplies no fresh ground for building. 
 
 (b) She might continue her affair because her father 
 or sister, or both, violently upbraid her for the first 
 little mischievous affair with the villain, her motive 
 being pique at their unjust inference, as well as a spite 
 against them. But that involves considerable explain- 
 ing in sub-titles on the screen, and also lacks sustain- 
 ing power, since a girl able to continue the association 
 with such a motive would be aware of danger, and so 
 would be able to avert calamity. We must seek 
 further. 
 
 (c) Marion might continue her association with the 
 villain, even knowing him to be such, if she knew that 
 he held in his possession some secret of importance to 
 her own future well-being ; or, to remove any taint of 
 selfishness from her character, we might say that the 
 
MORE SORTING AND POUNDING 125 
 
 secret would be such as would threaten the future 
 welfare of someone near and dear to her. 
 
 That looks hopeful. Let us test it further by trying 
 it in, around, and with our plot. 
 
 It would be entirely within the character of the 
 villain, as we have sketched him, to hold the power of 
 some secret over Marion's father, or perhaps her 
 sister. But to involve the father in the situation does 
 not seem to bring much creative inspiration, for he 
 seems rather a hazy figure; to bring in the sister 
 would involve more of the mix-up in the relations of 
 the womenfolk, and so put too much of the sex-play 
 element into our story, an element that is already there 
 in a proportion amply sufficient, though not too pro- 
 nounced. 
 
 How about having the secret involve the future 
 happiness of the hero ? Somehow that looks unpromis- 
 ing ; and, in another light, it would be dangerous, put- 
 ting too much stress on the young man. He stands 
 sufficiently strong in his present relation to the plot. 
 
 Some as yet untouched character must be sought. 
 Perhaps we can get a clue to this character if we con- 
 sider the possible nature of the secret. Perhaps the 
 villain knows something about a crime that has been 
 committed some time back, for which some person 
 dear to Marion is paying the penalty of a jail sentence. 
 That looks promising because it induces sympathy for 
 the character we seek, and, as well, for Marion — a 
 sympathy the more pronounced if we assume that the 
 character is innocent, but cannot prove it. Not very 
 new, but susceptible of many fresh treatments. 
 
126 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Now, accepting this as the secret, let us see who the 
 unknown character shall be. Would it surprise you 
 to have me suggest Marion's father ? Not her "pres- 
 ent" father ; that is, not the character we have so far 
 sketched hazily ; but a real, fiesh-and-blood, sympathy- 
 inducing parent, now in jail. That is a fine point of 
 departure for a strong by-plot. Let us follow it out. 
 Suppose that Marion's own father is serving a life- 
 sentence in prison for the shooting of someone in days 
 gone by. Suppose that we give this situation definite- 
 ness by placing the father in a bank, and making the 
 crime that of shooting another member of the bank 
 force. This suggests the making of our villain the 
 bank president, or some such character, who could be 
 involved and yet not be suspected. Now we are pro- 
 gressing. Let us say that the father is incriminated by 
 circumstantial evidence and sent to jail when Marion 
 is a baby. (In later work we will consider this lapse 
 of time and how to handle it.) Let us say that Marion 
 is adopted as a tiny baby by — who more promising of 
 dramatic evolution of situation than the man who 
 sentences her father! 
 
 Now our story begins to knit together. Let us allow 
 creative impulse free rein for a while, and pick up the 
 skipped threads as we discuss the later devices by 
 which we shall perfect our work. 
 
 Marion is adopted by the man who sentences her 
 father, on circumstantial evidence, for the crime of 
 shooting a fellow bank clerk, or some such character. 
 The evidence is the hackneyed one of a pistol found 
 
MORE SORTING AND POUNDING 127 
 
 beside the body over which stands Marion's father. 
 (We will try to give this freshness later on, tOo.) 
 Marion grows up in ignorance of her real relationship 
 to this foster father, who is, of course, a judge; and 
 this fact, that he is still a judge, and must be inter- 
 related with others of our building characters, suggests 
 that we stamp the location of our story as a small 
 town where everybody knows everybody else. 
 
 Now we have a motive for the judge's "babying" of 
 Marion. What is the motive? His eagerness to keep 
 from her the knowledge of the stain that threatens to 
 blacken her future life ; he will keep her young as long 
 as he can, preserve her ignorance. This stamps his 
 character definitely. 
 
 Now the complication comes in Marion's life when 
 her real father escapes from prison (a logical sur- 
 prise) and is bound toward the judge's home, where he 
 (presumably) knows that Marion is being brought up. 
 This involves a threat to the judge who sentenced the 
 (self-styled) innocent father of Marion. 
 
 The coming of this threatening person suggests that 
 we may need a sheriff; let us introduce a sheriff and 
 keep him in the back of our heads in case he should be 
 needed. At once the idea suggests itself to me that the 
 sheriff should have known all about the previous 
 crime, the sentence, and the status of Marion. Then 
 he would be something of a friend of the judge's, and 
 this suggests to me that he would be usable when we 
 want to plant, or fore-vision, the story of the past, 
 while we are writing our synopsis, for we will not 
 resort to the old subterfuge of a "preamble," or "pro- 
 
128 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 logue," but will use some other device. So we will 
 accept the sheriff as good material, and can foresee 
 comedy possibilities which will be part of the story and 
 so not "sub-plot." Very well, then, let us hurry along. 
 We will have Marion decide to grow up, and then 
 we will foreshadow danger or at least complication in 
 her life by hinting at the escape of her real father from 
 prison (Introduction of primary suspense — What will 
 happen? Will he molest the judge? Will he change 
 Marion's life? Will she even discover her true rela- 
 tionship to him?). The sheriff will hear of it, thus 
 telling our spectators by telling the judge. They will 
 agree not to tell Marion, hoping the father will go 
 away and not come near (Further primary suspense). 
 
 Marion will "grow up" at some novel party or in 
 some clever way, and that night the hero will realize 
 his love and declare it. Marion will resist, and will 
 turn to the villain to help extricate her from her posi- 
 tion ; but she will not tell him her purpose, masking it 
 under some other guise, and thus will induce jealousy 
 in the heart of the villain's wife (Fast-moving building 
 in of by-plots, with complications coming in each). 
 
 Marion will not realize the true situation with re- 
 gard to the villain and his wife and herself, but will 
 feel at the end of that evening's affair that she has 
 accomplished her purpose toward the hero. Then the 
 sheriff will get word that the escaped convict is near 
 (Fresh gathering of suspense) and will decide to "stick 
 around" the judge's house to capture his man if he 
 shows up there. The sheriff will hear a noise outside, 
 after all have gone to bed. No ! Wait, let us change 
 
MORE SORTING AND POUNDING 129 
 
 that. Marion will be up — in the parlor, say — thinking 
 over the sudden disclosure of the pains of becoming a 
 young woman too quickly ("Growing pains" suggests 
 itself as material for a future sub-title). The sheriff 
 will not be aware of the fact that Marion is still up, 
 and will go out to investigate. The escaped father will 
 seize this chance to slip into the house and so will con- 
 front Marion, recognize her (There is a "punch" situa- 
 tion) and then, as Judge comes down, the situation will 
 disclose the relationships (More "punch"). 
 
 Then we spring a surprise : the sheriff appears at a 
 window. The father, who has just been found, and 
 who has declared his innocence, is to be taken away. 
 Marion believes in him, and declares she will use every 
 effort to prove him guiltless. Then the inevitable 
 happens; the judge admits the sheriff. He has to. 
 (Sympathy for the judge.) The sheriff is not tickled 
 with his job, but he must do his duty (Human touch; 
 heart appeal). The girl is in torture. Her father has 
 just come into her life, only to be taken out of it again. 
 (Pathos.) How will this situation develop? She will 
 take him aside to say her final parting words (Pathos; 
 suspense) and then, suddenly (Surprise) she will 
 snatch down some portieres and fling them over the 
 head of the sheriff, and so enable her father to get 
 away to some place of hiding she has already planned. 
 (Suspense: What will happen to the escaped man?) 
 The sheriff will get free and go to search. We will 
 leave the situation thus, to hold or preserve the element 
 of suspense. 
 
130 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 The next morning Marion will, as eager as the spec- 
 tators, go to see the sheriff, and he will tell her (A 
 comedy-relief sub-title suggests itself) : "You'll be 
 glad to know I caught nothing but a cold last night." 
 Marion's problem is to supply her father with food 
 and send notes. How ? Let us say that she has a dog 
 which has been trained to take little parcels from town 
 to some favorite hiding place of Marion's play-time; 
 why not a small cave ? 
 
 Then we must go back and "plant" the dog earlier 
 in our story, and show that he is trained, so that his 
 tricks will not seem a dragged-in surprise. 
 
 Marion finds out that the villain had something to 
 do with evidence at the trial, a fact her judge-foster- 
 father tells her. She decides to go and cultivate the 
 villain for the sake of getting evidence to save her 
 father (Human appeal). The villain surmises the 
 real truth, though she will not divulge her father's 
 presence in hiding. He, the villain, decides to turn his 
 advantage over her to his own account. Let us say 
 that he has already had an affair with — say — a cabaret 
 girl. He is seeking a fresh conquest; Marion is vital, 
 young, and personable. He will "kid her along," make 
 her think he is helping her, while he gets her in his 
 toils. His wife can be made to suspect, and later to be 
 certain. 
 
 But let us not neglect the hero. He will go man- 
 fully to the sister and tell her how he feels, and thus 
 learn from her that she is not really in love with him, 
 and so is willing to release him from their tacit engage- 
 ment. He tries to tell Marion, but she only drives him 
 
MORE SORTING AND POUNDING 131 
 
 away, and he thinks she is sticking to the villain to 
 disgust him, the hero, while she is really hunting evi- 
 dence to clear her father (Double purpose, and so, a 
 bit of complication and some heart appeal). Marion 
 will realize, at last, the danger, and the fact that the 
 villain is not helping her (Punch) and yet she must 
 continue against her better judgment, else she may 
 lose the help he might be forced to give, for now she 
 will begin to suspect him of complicity in the former 
 crime, if not of active participation in it. 
 
 Now we must spring another surprise. As Marion 
 is at the cave, at night, secretly, telling her father what 
 has developed, the villain shows up and discovers the 
 hiding place and its occupant (Surprise and suspense 
 — primary, of course) . He turns the affair to his own 
 end, and the next day informs Marion that she must 
 go away with him. His wife suspects all along, and 
 now she sends for Marion and springs another sur- 
 prise — ^partial to the spectators, complete to the girl 
 (and therefore promising sympathy for her) — by say- 
 ing: "Now that you've come between me and my 
 husband, are you willing to help me get a divorce?" 
 (Punch line for sub-title). 
 
 The situation may run on from here with the villain 
 discovered in his true colors by some knowledge in 
 Marion's possession, but that is not sustaining enough. 
 Her object is to make him disclose any knowledge he 
 possesses that will free her father ; he holds the whip 
 hand by his knowledge of her father's presence in 
 hiding. Let us introduce a twist of plot : 
 
132 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 The wife runs away, saying she won't stay in such a 
 mockery of a home, leaving Marion in the presence 
 (and power) of the villain. Then someone comes 
 along ; why not the forsaken cabaret girl ? She is good 
 material here, for we can suppose that she has some 
 knowledge by which the plot can be more quickly un- 
 raveled. She may know that the villain was actually 
 implicated in the crime for which Marion's father has 
 suffered. This suggests that she may have been the 
 original cause of the first crime. Suppose we go 
 further, and see if we cannot define her better. Let us 
 say that she was the daughter of the village postman, 
 that she ran away from home, induced to do so by our 
 villain (a fact to be hidden at the start of our story 
 and held for a surprise). She and he started away, 
 let us say, and were seen by the now-dead bank 
 cashier. He later "held up" the villain by his knowl- 
 edge of the villain's complicity in the seduction of the 
 girl, for her father, the postman (a growing character 
 now), swore to avenge her loss. The villain had to 
 silence this dangerous cashier, and sought to do so by 
 murder, shifting the blame to the shoulders of another. 
 He placed a revolver near the vault doors, and when 
 the two men were in the vault, the villain fired a shot 
 from another revolver and so killed the cashier, throw- 
 ing his own revolver out of the window into a handy 
 rain barrel where it would never be sought, since its 
 existence would not be suspected. (The use of the two 
 revolvers puts a fresh vitality into this circumstantial- 
 evidence situation. Also, this situation will be re- 
 served as a climactic surprise and "punch" for Marion 
 to deduce.) 
 
MORE SORTING AND POUNDING 133 
 
 Let US say that Marion knows nothing of this true 
 story of the crime, but some word dropped by the girl 
 who has since become a cabaret singer gives Marion a 
 clue, and she deduces the plot of the villain, and so 
 surprises him into a confession. Thus she obtains her 
 ends, freeing her father. 
 
 How about the hero ? He must work in off and on, 
 saving Marion from the villain at some road-house, 
 perhaps. Of course he will come in at the finish, and 
 since the sister has no real use for him, and can be 
 shown to have "taken up" with a returned officer from 
 France, we can let Marion have her hero all to herself. 
 
 As for the villain's wife, she would be better off 
 never to come back, but we may need her to clear up 
 some point of the past, and so can hold her in abey- 
 ance. As for the judge and the sheriff, they have 
 played important though minor parts in our by-plots, 
 and now they can participate in Marion's happiness. 
 
 Hurrah! We have actually found, built and com- 
 pleted, a five-reel feature-picture plot. All that re- 
 mains to be done with the plot itself is a little polishing 
 up, and that we can do quickly enough. So, let us lay 
 it aside to "get cold" before we do any actual polish- 
 ing. The plan of letting material lie fallow for a while 
 is good ; it helps us to get a fresh viewpoint and avoid 
 a few pitfalls, which, very logically, will be the motive 
 of our next chapter. Now we can stop work and cele- 
 brate our acquisition of a real, honest-to-goodness 
 feature-plot, with motive, by-plot, suspense, surprise, 
 human interest and heart-appeal, and punch. The 
 "magic seven" did work well, did it not ? 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE ART OF BEING COOL WARMLY 
 
 Did you notice the flourish of excited trumpets 
 heralding the last bang of the plot hammer ? Perhaps 
 it reminded you of that furious blare of brass with 
 which the country circus band ushers into the ring 
 "The Stupendous Caravan of Scintillating Marvels to 
 Wend its Glittering Way Around the Ring in Advance 
 of the Aggregation of Superlatively Gifted Perform- 
 ers." You know ! — the band blows "like sixty" and out 
 comes one scrawny donkey, a mangy camel, several 
 lame ponies and a clown with a lame sense of humor. 
 Noise and bluster are expected to conceal the skimpi- 
 ness of the actuality. 
 
 Yet such was not the purpose of the fanfare with 
 which the last chapter closed. The real scheme was to 
 reward Imagination. Imagination is a good deal like 
 a faithful servant, needing only a tiny bit of praise to 
 make that servitor "work his head off" for you. Maybe 
 the zeal of the worker or his excitement makes him try 
 too much or do too many things in too little time, but if 
 he is faithful and really means well, you can generally 
 turn his efforts to very good account by the use of a 
 little praise, and then while he is off resting you can 
 touch up the bare spots in his work without much 
 trouble. So the praise was given, and now that Imagi- 
 nation is through for the day, we can look over the 
 work calmly and yet without too much inclination to 
 
THE ART OF BEING COOL WAEMLY 135 
 
 lose heart in it because of a few places where it may 
 need retouching. In fact, we have to coax Imagination 
 by getting all worked up over his speed and accom- 
 plishment ; but now that we have him out of hearing, 
 let us see if there are any little discrepancies in his out- 
 put of plot. 
 
 Stripped of all camouflaging figures of speech, we 
 are to set to work on the most difficult task a writer 
 has : that of analyzing his own inspired product. We 
 must not approach this ordeal with the least trace of 
 self-esteem in our attitude, for to do so would prevent 
 us from seeing flaws. Nor must we go at the thing 
 with a frigid determination to find fault, with our 
 minds made up to the fact that the work is valueless, 
 for in that way we should kill all chance to improve. 
 There is a nice middle course to be followed, where 
 we keep cold reason to the fore, but temper its harsh- 
 ness with the saving grace of a restrained enthusiasm : 
 reason tells us where we have gone wrong ; enthusiasm 
 keeps us from losing heart in the whole matter, and so 
 helps us to improve until reason's chill is overcome. 
 
 We have striven very hard to ascertain the nature 
 of the photoplay plot, its limitations and its possibili- 
 ties ; we have sought dilligently to discover the things 
 such a plot must contain, and have managed to incor- 
 porate them ; now we must use an equal effort to learn 
 what a plot must not contain, and if we find any of 
 these must-nots, we will exchange our hammer for a 
 tack-puller and get rid of the undesirables. 
 
136 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Let us "halt the action" long enough to chat over 
 these unwanted things that creep into a plot. In num- 
 ber they are three: "implausibility," "coincidence" and 
 "divided interest" — and the "gratingest" of these is 
 "divided interest." 
 
 It is always best to dispose of your worst weeds at 
 the start. Therefore, let us dig down and see about 
 this threatening creeper — for it does creep in unawares. 
 
 Divided Interest — The Unforgivable Sin 
 
 We have decided, at certain times, not to do this or 
 that with our plot, for fear some character would get 
 the center of the stage away from our leading play- 
 lady. Possibly we have not lingered with the reason 
 sufficiently long to realize the emphasis with which it 
 should be stressed. Now is the time to get the thing 
 very clearly in mind, and get it straight : 
 
 The plot must fasten the attention of the spectator 
 upon one principal character, and this focused atten- 
 tion must never he allowed to shift to any other char- 
 acter. 
 
 When the leading lady of a musical-comedy com- 
 pany sings the "big song" the house- and stage-lights 
 are dimmed and she is the one focusing point of a 
 battery of spot-lights. The chorus behind her moves 
 to and fro ; occasionally one or another member of the 
 chorus will be within the radius of the brilliant glare, 
 and of course there is sufficient light on the stage to 
 permit the spectator to see the ensemble; but always 
 
THE ART OF BEING COOL WARMLY 137 
 
 the point of attraction is the singer, even when the 
 chorus lifts tuneful (or strident!) voices in support of 
 the star. 
 
 The whole effect would be spoiled, the entire "pic- 
 ture" would be destroyed, if one ambitious chorus- 
 lady should step, even for the briefest instant, into the 
 heart of the lighted circle. 
 
 As the evolutions of the chorus bring one or an- 
 other of its members into proximity to the star, and so 
 lends that one a brief illumination, so may your sub- 
 servient characters share the interest that beats down 
 upon your star, but only in such wise as to emphasize 
 clearly the place of such an one as part of the back- 
 ground. 
 
 Far oftener than not, the writer of a screen-plot 
 sails along merrily with a story in which the fair 
 Rosamond is the "whole works" — up to a certain 
 point! Then she drops into the background of his 
 developing idea, and Xanthippe predominates as a 
 mentioned name just as the lady of that cognomen 
 dominates the shaping of the plot's destiny. To be 
 sure of giving full measure, in quantity, the writer in 
 question then adds a few situations with Joshua for 
 their chief figure. When such a mixed party appears 
 above the editorial horizon, that famous phrase of the 
 French is hung up for that day's motto — "They shall 
 not pass !" 
 
 Often enough, Mary marries Harry, and the stork 
 appears with little Mariette or Hal. Then Mary de- 
 cides to run away from home, and does it. The infant 
 
 10 
 
138 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 develops — by the elision of a time-obstacle — into a fair 
 damsel or a handsome youth. Mary and Harry are 
 dead, perhaps — anyhow, they are negligible plot-shap- 
 ers. The girl, or the boy, meets new folks, makes love, 
 has complications of more or less concern, and then 
 marries — ^but why go on to the end, which may still be 
 generations removed from the start of the plot-less- 
 ness? 
 
 Again, Tom loves Sarah — and then meets a charm- 
 ing vampire. Sarah broods and pines away to a 
 shadow. Miss Vampire is won to be a nice person, 
 through Tom's wonderful control over her by the love 
 way. Tom loves the reformed vampire, and it is with 
 these that the rest of the plot-shy outline deals. May- 
 hap Mary marries a minister, or else she dies. So does 
 that sort of story ! 
 
 This is by no means intended to warn you that it is 
 impossible to start off with one generation, and then 
 pass to the next to complete your story, any more than 
 it is meant for a danger-signal against using vampire 
 types — if you can use them freshly, convincingly. But, 
 aside from the time-consuming quality of the two- 
 generation story, the use of such material is commend- 
 able only when the people who gave the story cause 
 are still the center of attention when the plot reaches 
 completion ; and the vampire is all right if she is con- 
 sistent and does not attain sufficient success with her 
 lures to charm you away from your main love — ^the 
 perfect plot. 
 
 If Tim and Jessie start a story, and Jessie is the 
 center of interest, they may marry, have children who 
 
THE ART OF BEING COOL WARMLY 139 
 
 grow up and become involved in the plot: all will be 
 well so long as Jessie is the dominating figure, so long 
 as the complications are hers to be met and conquered, 
 so long as the interest is shifted to any other character 
 for only one purpose — that of strengthening the hold 
 of the plot on Jessie. Never let Jessie slide back into 
 oblivion while Tim does a buck-and-wing dance in the 
 spotlight. Never let the children become so promi- 
 nent, plotfuUy, that they overshadow Mamma Jess. 
 
 Sometimes, while you are building with the help of 
 an eager imagination, it is impossible to halt progress 
 and examine and balance every character with respect 
 to the whole effect, but after the enthuoiasm dies out, 
 look out for the creeper of divided interest, or it will 
 strangle your plot. 
 
 Let us now take up our own little construction- 
 exercise and compare our figures with the principal, 
 one at a time, so that we can analyze all relationships 
 and arrive at a correct estimate of the importance of 
 each. If any one threatens Marion's place in the sun 
 we must do some tack-pulling. 
 
 The Judge-Father is decidedly not a danger ; neither 
 is Sister, for neither becomes prominent in the plot to 
 an extent likely to command preeminent attention. 
 The hero merely shares the interest. The real father 
 comes in for a good deal of attention, by virtue of his 
 declaration of innocence, but it is Marion who draws 
 to herself the lion's share of the complications in the 
 situation, and, you will recall, the "old man" is craftily 
 secreted in a cave where he cannot photograph him- 
 
140 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 self into the story too often. The villain is surely no 
 endangering factor — in point of fact, his threat over 
 the girl removes his threat to the interest. The villain's 
 wife has no qualities to make her interesting, itie 
 postman and his daughter figure only casually — to 
 supply a plot-thread, not to assume the direction of the 
 pattern into Vi^hich it is woven. It looks as if we were 
 safe on the point of freedom from divided interest. 
 So far, so good. 
 
 Implausibility — The Unhuman Element 
 
 Now we must tackle a matter that is seldom given 
 the proper amount of thought by the average writer. 
 It shows itself as a distressing lack of understanding 
 of human nature or of the logical development of 
 character. Editors call it "illogicality of situation." 
 Here is an example : 
 
 An ignorant, uneducated girl whose life has been 
 spent in the slums meets a rich young man. They fall 
 in love, but he cannot marry her, for if he does his 
 family will disown him. So he tells her the sad news, 
 and they part. But the girl is resourceful! (Note 
 that!) She has some money left her (by chance and a 
 pleasingly convenient dying relative), and with this 
 she buys many fine garments, much rouge and face 
 powder, has her hair curled a la Mary Pickford, and 
 goes into society ! She does a lot of other things, and 
 finally, having endeared herself to the foolishly reluc- 
 tant parents of Mr. Hero, she is able to wed him.^ 
 
 ' A plot submitted to a picture-company contained this situa- 
 tion, exactly as stated. 
 
THE ART OF BEING COOL WARMLY 141 
 
 How in the name of all that is sensible could an 
 ignorant, uncultured girl "get away with" any scheme 
 like that? She could not read, she could hardly write 
 a legible hand, she spoke with the colloquialism of the 
 slums and the dialect of Italian parents, yet she is so 
 resourceful that she can assume the aspect, attributes 
 and qualities of mind that will enable her to "get by" 
 with highly cultured people of society. She is super- 
 himian, of course ! No real person of the slums could 
 accomplish the feat. 
 
 That story (how the word is abused!) was not 
 plausible. It was prepared by someone without any 
 understanding of human nature, its capacity for 
 accomplishment, or the limitations of that capacity. 
 
 Had the girl been formerly a well-to-do person or 
 even a widely read student, or one who might have 
 associated with some person who knew society life, 
 she could conceivably have acquired a sufficient degree 
 of mental cultivation to enable her to "make good." 
 But as it stood, the situation was illogical. 
 
 Illogicality of plot, of situation, of character, arises 
 to condemn an idea just as soon as that idea is allowed 
 to treat with any element that is not within human 
 capability, that is beyond human capacity for accom- 
 plishment, that is out of harmony with the character- 
 istic traits of the story-people. 
 
 Never devise a plot in which a bookkeeper (who in 
 real life always handles a pen) suddenly leaps at a 
 typewritten cipher-message and figures in a Sherlock- 
 Holmesian manner that it was written on a double 
 
142 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 shift-key Corona with the capital shift and the figure 
 shift alternately depressed. Such a man could not 
 logically know "all that much" about the machine in 
 question unless you could save the logic by making him 
 use such a machine before the situation came up. To 
 expect a pen-writer to know the intricacies of a type- 
 written cipher on a special make of machine is asking 
 too much of a credulous public. 
 
 To the same class of illogicalities belongs the girl 
 who is always washing dishes and crimping her hair, 
 till the forest catches fire and the engineer who handles 
 the one engine on the single-track road which will 
 bring some cornered souls out of the fire-swept woods 
 is all bunged up with locomotor ataxia ; then she leaps 
 to the throttle of the engine and the audience leaps to 
 its feet and the picture exhibitor leaps to the phone and 
 cancels that brand of picture forevermore. In the 
 same category is the village maid who sees some cheap 
 "tank" drama, goes to the city, cannot get a chance to 
 "act," and so haunts the theatre where her favorite 
 male lead disports his matinee-idol charms. Then the 
 lady star has a fit of temperament, or becomes sud- 
 denly tongue-tied, and up leaps the village damsel, to 
 grab off the honors of that part and wed the leading 
 lady's own (stage) hero. There are plenty of other 
 characters that are unhuman. Sufficient unto the plot 
 is the implausibility thereof. 
 
 Test every strand of your every plot for fear that it 
 may tax credulity by reason of its implausibility. If 
 you are a common-sense human being yourself, decide 
 if the situation under advisement would be reasonable 
 
THE ART OF BEING COOL WARMLY 143 
 
 to you, provided it were to be someone else's work. 
 If the decision is against its logicality, change it 1 
 
 Have we any implausibility in the affairs of Marion ? 
 Does she do anything that a "human" girl could not or 
 would not do ? Let us think it over. She does nothing 
 that is out of harmony with the disposition and the 
 character we have given her ; no situation arises that is 
 incompatible in its developmenet with the traits and 
 mental attitudes of Marion or of the people with whom 
 we have surrounded her. So it may be safely said 
 that the plot is not implausible. 
 
 Coincidence 
 
 The third of the undesirable plot-hinderers is the 
 matter of coincidence. The coincidence is of two 
 types : the minor, or condoned sort, and the major kind 
 which in itself becomes practically an implausibility. 
 
 The minor coincidence shows itself in many ways. 
 In real life it is occurring to virtually every living 
 person in one way or another. You walk along the 
 street and turn a corner — to bump into a friend you 
 have not seen for "ages" and who is in town for only 
 a day. You stroll around your own residential neigh- 
 borhood some evening and meet a man with whose 
 family you boarded ten years ago ; he has been living 
 around the corner from you for the past fifteen 
 months ; you meet him now by the odd coincidence of 
 both being out at the same time and taking the same 
 stroll. The examples could be multiplied into infinite 
 numbers. 
 
144 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Since such coincidences occur in daily life, one might 
 assume that they would be practicable material for use 
 in picture plots; frequently they do appear. The 
 minor ones are condoned and often accepted if they 
 are not utilized often enough to make them vicious. 
 The use of these minor coincidences is much like the 
 employment of alliteration : enough is "a plenty," too 
 much is unpleasing. 
 
 In our Marion-taking-the-grown-up-airs plot we 
 have minor coincidences : such a coincidence is notice- 
 able in the fact that her father arrives at the house on 
 the very night that her party has taken place ; but that 
 can be excused by reason of the forceful drama that 
 develops therefrom. Every probability points to his 
 coming; it is spoken of, expected, and in a way pre- 
 pared against on that very evening by the sheriff. 
 Such a coincidence is the arrival of the villain at the 
 cave when Marion is with her father; but we can re- 
 move the coincidental quality to a great degree by hav- 
 ing the villain "planted" as using his car till the gaso- 
 line is all gone, which occurs in such fashion that he is 
 near, not at, the cave ; and the fact that he is attracted 
 to the cave by seeing the dog takes away the coinci- 
 dental quality still more, for it would be a major coin- 
 cidence, indeed, to have the villain go into the cave at 
 that time merely because the plot demands it. So we 
 may use minor coincidence with circumspection, taking 
 care to recognize it and nullify its glaring character by 
 every possible device. If we should have to have a 
 man meet a woman at a certain street corner, it would 
 be necessary to indicate or suggest some reason why 
 
THE ART OF BEING COOL WARMLY 145 
 
 each is at that place on the way to some other; it 
 would not do for us merely to let them meet there by 
 accident. Every accidental meeting must be through 
 the designing arrangement of the author, who must 
 manipulate his plot-constituents so that the coincidence 
 is made as indistinguishable as may be; plot-people 
 must not "just meet by chance" if their meeting can be 
 shown to be the outcome of some definite line followed 
 by each. Such things simply "happen" in real life — 
 for the screen they must "come about," not "happen." 
 
 Major coincidence is a serious offense. It may be 
 illustrated by such an elementary idea as the follow- 
 ing: A little girl, stolen by gypsies, grows up and 
 wanders into the very house where her father and 
 brother are living, to be loved by the brother.^ Again, 
 this brother, ignorant of the relationship, tries to lure 
 the sister into an unwedded association, and at the time 
 when he is seeking to drag her, resisting, away, the 
 very gypsy of all gypsies who knows the connecting 
 relationship steps in through the window ! 
 
 These coincidences are forced developments of plot- 
 ideas along arbitrary lines : they do not make for good 
 plots ; they detract from the plausibility of any story- 
 idea. Rigidly avoid major coincidences. There are 
 none in our working plot. Had we allowed Marion to 
 run away from home, stop over night in some house by 
 the roadside and there meet her father, who would be 
 hiding after his escape, that would make a major coin- 
 cidence. Again, did this chance to occur, and the girl 
 
 ' Besides the objection on the ground of coincidence, there is 
 the demerit of absolute triteness in this situation — it has been 
 worked to death. — [Editor. 
 
146 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 "happen" to display some identifying relic of the past, 
 such as a ring of her mother's, so that the relationship 
 could be established, that would be a major coinci- 
 dence. It is not a coincidence that the banker is the 
 very person who can solve the secret of the father's 
 past, for they both grew up in the town together. To 
 have brought them both to the same "strange" town 
 after the crime, would be coincidence. You see by this 
 time, of course, and will keep your eyes open when you 
 work alone. 
 
 Always study carefully after imagination has sped 
 your plot to a desirable completion: study to the end 
 that your imagination may not, in its zeal, unwittingly 
 lead you into planting some one or more of the trio of 
 undesirable weeds ; if you do not pull them out before 
 your idea is well grown, it is not likely that any editor 
 will trouble himself to do the weeding for you. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE LAST BIG DRIVE 
 
 A scrappy Hibernian, imbued with the fondness of 
 his race for a shindy, eagerly sought to enlist for over- 
 seas duty in the army. He declaimed his intentions 
 toward "thim same others" to all who would hearken. 
 Then, of a sudden, he lost interest, became sullen and 
 morose. 
 
 "What's wrong, Pat?" asked a friend, "Shure, and 
 ye are not blue because ye are finally goin' over the 
 top!" 
 
 "No," said Pat, "but look how far ye must go before 
 ye can start." 
 
 Perhaps your attitude toward synopsis-writing is 
 now much the same. But be patient for yet a Uttle 
 longer. Hearten yourself by touching that magic 
 talisman put into your keeping at the very start of this 
 study, to the end that your "synopsis only" would be 
 more than a S3mopsis only. To make our feature-plot, 
 which we have found satisfactory in length and other 
 essentials, a still better picture-story, let us make our- 
 selves familiar with the polishing ingredients of char- 
 acterization, "planting," and the technical device that 
 is known as "fading back," to reveal some incident of 
 the past; also, such arbitrary devices as the com- 
 pulsory happy ending. An understanding of what 
 
148 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 these devices are for, and of when, how and why th^ 
 must or may be used, will not come amiss. 
 
 Characterisation 
 
 By characterization is meant the showing of some 
 character-trait that is important to the developing plot ; 
 or else, some inherent characteristic of a play-person 
 who is of such interest to the spectator that it is worth 
 a slight digression from the forward movement of the 
 story. The first-named type of characterization is a 
 part of the plot-development itself ; the second is less 
 an actual part of plot-development, although it is em- 
 ployed, even in a digressive incident, to make clear 
 some later development of the plot, and in that way it 
 really becomes a valuable adjunct, if not a portion, of 
 the plot itself. 
 
 To illustrate: If Marion possesses an impulsive, 
 childlike nature, the fact may be made clear in the 
 form of a statement in your final synopsis ; but it will 
 be conveyed much more convincingly to the spectators 
 by the introduction of some incident that will show 
 Marion doing something that will convey the fact un- 
 obtrusively and yet pictorially — our medium of ex- 
 pression being action — ^so that the onlookers will ac- 
 quire the necessary information without having it put 
 before them in cold print. 
 
 Since we are going to use our heroine's dog, and 
 want that animal to be recognized and accepted at once 
 as her pet, we might devise some incident in which 
 Marion and the dog will figure. If we want to get the 
 
THE LAST BIG DRIVE 149 
 
 dog's status cleared up at once, we might as well open 
 our story with this characterization incident. To do 
 so will also give us a chance to introduce our leading 
 figure while we are beginning a continuity of events 
 that will drive right into the plot; and we might as 
 well go farther and so devise the incident as to include 
 a touch of comedy, and perhaps a chance to use a 
 speech by the girl to the dog, thus developing her 
 character in action and establishing her relations with 
 the dog and getting the introduction of his name out 
 of the way (though that is not so important a matter) 
 by a sub-title that will be seemingly spoken, rather than 
 merely a statement of fact. 
 
 We can accomplish all this by showing Marion with 
 her dog on the porch of her home. She sees the dog 
 scratching (not a difficult thing for the director to 
 make the dog do), and grabbing him, turns him on his 
 back, and runs her fingers through his furry neck- 
 covering. Then she springs back, dismayed, and cries : 
 "Major ! I told you not to associate with that war dog! 
 He's just back from the trenches!" The inference is 
 obvious, of course; and the shaking of skirts by 
 Marion will serve also the purpose of emphasizing the 
 brevity of the childish skirts in contrast to her length 
 of limb. Since the short skirts are a part of her char- 
 acteristic youthfulness, this fact is worth establishing. 
 
 Thus do we secure an incident to characterize our 
 leading lady, her ownership of and friendliness with 
 the dog, and her youthful costume. Such is charac- 
 terization of the second type, which establishes impor- 
 tant things in an incident that is not an actual part of 
 
150 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 the plot-development, and yet contributes its bit of 
 comedy and gives the picture a natural start. From 
 this point we may go right on into the story by having 
 Marion look up, see the Judge, and rush to him. Their 
 greeting will be characteristic, and if we have the 
 Judge bring home another costume of a sort as youth- 
 ful and girlishly abbreviated as the one Marion is 
 wearmg, we may characterize directly, while also de- 
 veloping plot, by showing how she rebels inwardly at 
 the acquisition of still another of these ungrown-up 
 costumes, though she is to all outward appearances 
 simply "tickled to pieces." The first example shows 
 indirect, or incidental development of character traits, 
 aside from plot progression; the second gives us a 
 combination of plot-advancement — since the story is 
 unfolding its first and exceedingly small crisis — and of 
 character building, by showing an additional trait of 
 love for the old man too strong to allow her to injure 
 his evident faith in his ability to choose appropriate 
 garments for his daughter. 
 
 Characterization by incident-not-vital-to-plot-pro- 
 gression is not to be indulged in frequently. At the 
 beginning of a story it is satisfactory, and, at rare 
 intervals, when there comes a definite halt in the ad- 
 vance of the idea, due to the ending of an episode or a 
 life-epoch of some important character, the device of 
 characterizing in this manner may be used ; generally, 
 though, it is much better practice to devise your char- 
 acter-revealing incidents so that they may clearly for- 
 ward the story. 
 
THE LAST BIG DRIVE 151 
 
 It is generally wise to stamp a character definitely 
 with all of his or her important traits at the very earli- 
 est possible point in your plot, unless there are traits 
 which can be brought out or revealed only as a result 
 of some crisis or development that occurs later in the 
 story. Generally speaking, a characteristic must be 
 firmly evidenced before the situation arises which is 
 shaped by that trait; though it may conceivably hap- 
 pen that you will wish to hide the motive for some 
 action and must therefore conceal the characteristic 
 governing that motive, lest the plot-structure be de- 
 stroyed by a too-early -discovery of some necessarily 
 hidden point. This will most frequently occur in plan- 
 ning stories that contain a mystery that is solved late 
 in the development of the story : as, in the case of our 
 villain's wife, to show her as jealous at the first intro- 
 duction would forecast her ultimate action quite accu- 
 rately. She must be stamped as a suspicious wife, but 
 it will not be until the mystery of her phone-call to 
 Marion is given explanation by her sudden demand for 
 evidence to help her get a divorce that the audience 
 will realize fully how jealously spiteful she is. Thus 
 they will achieve this knowledge at the same time that 
 it dawns upon Marion, lending the situation a psycho- 
 logical "punch" not otherwise to be secured. 
 
 In the same way, the postman must not be made a 
 vengeful man "all over the screen" as he is introduced. 
 His sourness and his moroseness are to be stressed, 
 but only when he actually comes into the climax can 
 we disclose his venomous intention, else the spectator 
 
152 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 will ask why others in town did not know all about 
 him and so suspect him at once of the crime he finally 
 commits. 
 
 Characterization must be given, whenever possible, 
 in action. Try to avoid mere statements of character- 
 traits : let the action disclose these traits. Once, in a 
 projection room, some prospective purchasers were 
 watching a picture that had been made by an "inde- 
 pendent" director, who sought to dispose of state rights 
 to the production. The picture started off with a long 
 statement-leader or sub-title — so long, in fact, that it 
 had to be divided into six sections, each in fine-type, 
 close-packed lines. Several men rose and left the 
 room. One of them, stopped by the surprised director, 
 said that his theatre catered to a crowd that did its 
 book-reading at home. "But," argued the director, 
 "our leading man has to do a thing for a certain 
 reason." The departing man kept right on going. 
 "Why in Tophet," he flung back over his shoulder, 
 "don't you let him do it, and leave the reasoning to the 
 audience?" Had the director been clever, he would 
 have substituted a hundred feet of action for his hun- 
 dred feet of sub-title and put his characterization into 
 the mind by suggestion instead of by flat statements. 
 
 Orientation, or "Planting" 
 
 "When some writers want a tree to fall on their 
 hero," says a scriptwright of much experience, "it does 
 not seem to bother them at all to discover that the same 
 little hero is in the middle of the Sahara desert. 
 
THE LAST BIG DRIVE 153 
 
 *T-r-e-e' goes the typewriter, and lo! up springs a 
 mighty oak, all fixed to flop over at the right instant. 
 How did that oak get into such a place? What has 
 kept it alive in that unfertile and arid spot? Nothing 
 but the tap of the typewriter keys. If a writer must 
 get his surprise by having a tree fall on a chap in the 
 desert, for goodness' sake let him go out before he 
 starts his story and plant that tree!" 
 
 Orientation, the previous planning for some event 
 that is likely to cause wonder as to its logicality, means 
 a careful bit of preparation for that event. The case 
 of the tree in the desert was a bit far-fetched, it is true, 
 but it serves to emphasize the point in question by its 
 very inconsistency. If you were watching a picture in 
 which the hero was in a desert, and suddenly he found 
 himself beneath a big oak, your mind would be diverted 
 from the close attention needed to follow the story; 
 you would wonder how in the world a tree got there ; 
 you would lose interest in the story, because your 
 interest would be centered about the solving of that 
 knotty point concerning the tree and its presence in 
 such an unexpected location. Only in one way could 
 the author have held your interest close to his situa- 
 tion, and that way would be by having prepared your 
 mind for the seeing of that tree in that place by some 
 previous incident accounting for the fact that a tree 
 was, logically, in that place. If he could not devise an 
 acceptable reason for the tree's presence there, he 
 might better do the sensible thing and omit or essen- 
 tially alter the whole situation. 
 11 
 
154 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Any situation, any action, any and each point in a 
 story that is hkely to cause speculation as to its veri- 
 similitude, requires careful foreplanning, a suggestion 
 of its possibility that does not reveal its approach, 
 though it makes the thing seem natural when it does 
 occur. 
 
 The method of accomplishing this preparation varies 
 considerably with varying story-needs. In no case 
 should the preparatory evidence be such as will enable 
 the onlookers to guess its purpose and so leap ahead to 
 the prophesying of what is going to happen. In other 
 words, you intend to "spring" something in the nature 
 of a surprise. You do not say, "Look here! I am 
 going to surprise you." You merely introduce some 
 previous bit of action centered, though not obtrusively, 
 around the thing that will cause the surprise. When 
 the "big stunt comes ofif" the spectators will instantly 
 recall that previous bit of preparation, and then see 
 for the first time what it meant. For instance, in our 
 working plot, we have decided to let Marion send her 
 father to a cave that she knows about. We do not 
 want to have our cave a secret from the spectators, but 
 we do want to have its eventual purpose concealed 
 from them. You could wait until the cave is to be 
 used, and then have Marion sit down and say to her 
 father: "There is a cave off in the hill just north of 
 the old mill ; I use it for a play-place. You go there 
 and I will contrive to send you food and words of 
 cheer." But, my-oh-my, what a dreadfully weak thing 
 that situation would become if handled in that wise! 
 The spectators would know that Marion planned to 
 
THE LAST BIG DRIVE 155 
 
 help her father to escape. They would thus lose the 
 surprise occasioned by her sudden act of unexpected 
 succor to her father; they would know that he must 
 elude the sheriff later on and go to the cave. The 
 suspense would be gone. 
 
 Instead of that, it would be wise to prepare in such 
 a way that the cave may seem unimportant, and even 
 likely to be forgotten, yet there it is when it is needed, 
 and its presence and use, as well as Marion's knowl- 
 edge of its location, become readily understandable. 
 And of course the preparation must be comparatively 
 quiet and unobtrusive. 
 
 Again, the dog is to carry food and messages to the 
 cave. We cannot wait till the time we need him be- 
 fore indicating that he is a trained animal. Let us 
 prepare for both the stated contingencies with one 
 little incident: Let us take Marion when she is dis- 
 gusted with her youthful costumes, send her down 
 town with the dog and let her purchase some cakes and 
 other tidbits to eat and put these in some sort of 
 carrying device on the dog's back, then send him off, 
 while she goes elsewhere on some errand that will 
 advance the plot. The dog will be shown arriving at 
 the cave. "Oh! He is trained to do that," says the 
 audience, "How cute !" Yet the matter is forgotten in 
 the rise of tension occasioned by bigger things. Marion 
 will go to the cave later on, and we will know that she 
 hides away there when she is blue, or when she wants 
 to be by herself to think. Now when she says goodby 
 to her father, and then helps him to get away from the 
 sheriff, we do not intimate that she has told him of the 
 
156 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 cave. Possibly someone will guess where he is going, 
 but there is no certainty. When the dog is sent off by 
 the girl the next morning with some food, the cave may 
 be recalled by some ; the recollection will do no harm 
 to surprise or suspense, for the guess will be shown to 
 be correct almost immediately after it is thought of. 
 Thus we orient, or "plant," the trick of the dog, the 
 existence of the cave, the use to which it is put by 
 Marion. 
 
 A further thing we accomplish: Since the dog is 
 already known to have carried away little parcels for 
 Marion, no one in town would connect the dog's trick 
 with any possibility of a convict in hiding, as they cer- 
 tainly would were we to show the dog being sent off 
 thus for the first time after the convict was seen in 
 the town and known to be her father. 
 
 If any character in a story of yours suddenly 
 snatches a revolver from a table drawer in a lady's 
 boudoir, you must prepare the audience for that sur- 
 prise by some previous incident showing that the re- 
 volver is habitually kept there, and that the character 
 in question knows that fact. If you intend to have 
 some player pull down a rope to bind a prisoner, the 
 fact that a rope is logically there must be previously 
 hinted at — not harped on, but made understandable; 
 it may be a bell rope, and it may be used in the course 
 of some situation when the lady of the house rings for 
 a maid. That does not suggest that the rope will be 
 needed later, it merely seems a part of the action of the 
 situation, and still it enables the spectators to accept 
 the rope as a reasonable thing when it is needed. 
 
THE LAST BIG DRIVE 157 
 
 Dealing with the Past 
 
 Sometimes in planning a plot you will find it abso- 
 lutely necessary to depart from a closely-following con- 
 tinuity of events, for the reason that some incident 
 that happened years before has a vital bearing on some 
 big point in your plot. 
 
 There are several ways in which you can deal with 
 the previously-happened. You have the prologue to 
 fall back on ; there you merely plan the previous inci- 
 dent as a start for your plot, and put it at the begin- 
 ning of your plot-outline just as you will eventually 
 place it at the beginning of your final synopsis. 
 
 But there are several drawbacks to this method: 
 First of all, it keeps the leading character out of the 
 start of the story, and that is not a good plan. "Stars" 
 like to be seen right from the beginning of a picture, 
 and spectators like to see them that way. Often, too, 
 the telling of the past happening as a present one at 
 the opening of a story necessitates the introduction of 
 a set of characters governing that situation, and then, 
 when you come to the real story, the relationships and 
 the grown-older people have to be introduced all over 
 again, for both have changed with the lapse of the 
 years, perhaps even necessitating a new set of actors. 
 In still another case you will feel that to tell your past- 
 tense matter as an opening for the story will put too 
 much information in the possession of the spectators — 
 it will enable them to foretell your climax. 
 
 Taking up the working plot again, we can see plainly 
 that if we open the synopsis with a relation of past 
 
158 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 events we lose the surprise occasioned by the discovery 
 that Marion has a supposedly criminal father. Besides, 
 the spectators begin to suspect the real villain at the 
 very start, and they will know that the postman is 
 going to find out who took his daughter to the city; 
 thus the whole story drops into insignificance. 
 
 Suppose that we do not tell the prologue as such. 
 Let us plan, instead, some way of telling parts of the 
 past where they will be most effective to our plot de- 
 velopment. We can let the sheriff tell about the former 
 crime, presumably informing his wife — but of course 
 really informing the spectators — at the time that he 
 gets word of the convict's escape. The spectator finds 
 out only what the sheriff knows: that Marion has a 
 father in jail; that the sheriff had rushed into the 
 bank that previous night and seen that father standing 
 over the dead cashier, a pistol at his feet; that the 
 bank manager (our villain) had dashed in to shout, 
 "Why did you do it?" So the mystery is preserved, 
 and later on in the story we can reveal a little more of 
 the past, until, at the final big moment the last bit of 
 evidence can be explained, and we have neither 
 digressed tediously from our present plot-movement 
 nor foretold what we intend to do with our tangled 
 plot-threads. 
 
 Many authors, and especially those who write the 
 spoken drama, exclusively or as a side-line, argue in 
 favor of the old precept that "You must tell your 
 audience everything ; keep secrets from the characters 
 as much as you wish, but never hide anythhig from an 
 audience." Many photoplay directors, graduates from 
 
THE LAST BIG DRIVE 159 
 
 the stage-play school of producing, hold this same 
 opinion. Yet plays succeed wonderfully well when 
 they break this supposed rule of structure; and pic- 
 tures do the same, and will continue to be successful 
 notwithstanding their sacrilegious violation of the pre- 
 cept — provided they have merit that is enhanced by 
 reason of the departure from precedent. 
 
 Some stories will be better for a straightaway expo- 
 sition. If the past influences the present situation, 
 but does not clearly prophesy it, the prologue is proba- 
 bly the better method of detailing the previous happen- 
 ings, since the story is thus left free to develop without 
 any delays. If the past would, by its revelations, tend 
 to give away the probable development of the present 
 situations, the alternative manner of introducing it 
 would be found more satisfactory. 
 
 The Happy Ending 
 
 Now for a word about the necessity for a "happy 
 ending" to virtually every screen-story. The manu- 
 facturers of picture plays generally require a twist of 
 plot to bring about the lovers' embrace, or the satisfy- 
 ing removal of any obstacle to the future happiness of 
 the leading play-folk. The demand for the happy 
 ending often seems to spoil a good plot — from the very 
 nature of their themes, some stories cannot logically 
 end with the cheerful "clinch," yet seldom does such 
 a story find acceptance. If it is purchased, the studio 
 staff man has to "whack it into shape," and it is this 
 arbitrary and conventional demand that makes so 
 
160 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 many stories seem weak and flat at the finish. Yet the 
 producing firms know, from long experience, that the 
 majority of people in a screen-theatre want to be enter- 
 tained and taken out of themselves ; they do not want 
 to see tragic endings ; they like to be gripped by a story 
 with a human appeal that is deep enough to send them 
 away with an undercurrent of serious thought for 
 future pondering ; but they want, even above that, to 
 be sent away from the theatre with a feeling that the 
 problem is not essentially a tragic thing, that in its 
 present solution it has not blasted the lives of the 
 people concerned. Let your story clutch the heart- 
 strings and draw them taut with sentimental sympathy ; 
 let it bring tears to the eye ; let it bury all light matters 
 of self beneath a gripping profundity of serious im- 
 port to the mass ; but if you want that story to keep 
 going and bring you orders for more stories, let it 
 finish up with a smile — not a "horse laugh," just a 
 smile, engendered by the realization that hope still lives 
 in the world, for no matter how black the horizon, no 
 matter how burdensome the load of care or suffering, 
 no matter how insurmountable the obstacle, your play- 
 folk have come out of it all right, and by so doing they 
 have created a fresh optimism, subconscious but bene- 
 ficial, in your spectators. 
 
 Clinching Our Tacks 
 
 Our "getting there" has been long, but now we can 
 put the finishing touches to our plot, and to its analysis, 
 without any further digression for the purposes of 
 acquiring necessary knowledge. It is all at hand. 
 
THE LAST BIG DRIVE 161 
 
 We shall lay out our plot in the form of a sketchy 
 plot-outline — a very different thing from a final synop- 
 sis; don't forget that. In this outline we shall set 
 down merely plot-essentials. They will serve to re- 
 fresh our minds for the future work of building up 
 the expanded form, or the final synopsis. 
 
 In order to enable us to see how much we have 
 accomplished, and what polishing still remains to be 
 done, suppose we make a series of consecutively num- 
 bered footnotes, as we go along. These will call our 
 attention to the final needs when we want them, and 
 yet will not clog up, or confuse, the plot-material itself. 
 
 A Plot Outline 
 
 Marion a baby. Father works in small town bank, with 
 others, including man to develop as villain. Villain has met 
 the village postman's daughter, won her, though he is already 
 married; gets postman's daughter to run away and join hini 
 in city. They are seen by cashier, who forces villain to "cough 
 up hush money" and becomes so avaricious that villain cannot 
 pay enough. Villain fears the postman's vengeance if cashier 
 tells on him, so plans to kill cashier, putting blame on an- 
 other — selects Marion's father as target for circumstantial 
 evidence. 
 
 That night villain has contrived so all are working in bank; 
 cashier and Marion's father in vault; villain puts a revolver 
 on floor near vault ; cashier comes out, villain shoots him with 
 another revolver from main room, flings his pistol out of 
 window into an old rain barrel.' 
 
 ' In order to facilitate comparison between this outline and the 
 developed synopsis of the same idea, and to show where the 
 latter is built to remove the flaws mentioned in the course of this 
 outline, the footnotes, as just mentioned in the text, are con- 
 secutively numbered with similar numbers "keyed" into the 
 synopsis where the point referred to in each footnote is handled. 
 For instance : Hero we need to "plant" rain barrel, if we tell 
 this as a prologue ; but if possible all this must be told some other 
 way than in a prologue. 
 
162 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Sheriff hears shot, rushes in to see Marion's father standing 
 by dead body." 
 
 At trial, evidence is all against the circumstantially guilty 
 father. The judge sentences him to life imprisonment for the 
 crime.' 
 
 Judge sorry for convicted man and motherless infant. 
 Marion. Adopts her.* 
 
 Marion grows up with Judge and his daughter. Kept in 
 ignorance of past by Judge. He tries to keep her youthful 
 as long as possible, believing that girls of today grow up too 
 rapidly, have the saddening experiences of maturity too early 
 in life. Marion wakes up to a realization that her develop- 
 ment is retarded." 
 
 Marion decides not to waste time becoming young lady in 
 usual way; she will grow up all at once. 
 
 Her real father escapes from prison and both sheriff and 
 Judge expect him to come there to see his daughter.' 
 
 Judge's daughter in love with young man, who treats 
 Marion as a prospective "kid sister-in-law." 
 
 Others in village have same attitude toward Marion, villain's 
 wife among them. 
 
 She sends out invitations to a party at which she will sur- 
 prise the friends she has made, by "growing up," putting her 
 hair up, donning garments of a "young lady." 
 
 Wife of villain has shared Marion's secret scheme for party 
 surprise, being only woman in village who knows "clothes" 
 and being Marion's close friend.' 
 
 ' We must plan to have villain clinch guilt of the victim of the 
 scheme by some saying as he rushes in. 
 
 ' Reason needed why sentence is not death : there must be 
 some slight ground for doubt, and premeditation not proved. 
 
 ' This ends the prologue of our story. We will decide, later 
 on, whether to have our synopsis follow the same line as the 
 plot-sketch, or whether to use the facts of the prologue in a later 
 position than at the opening of our synopsis. 
 
 • Incident needed to emphasize this. 
 
 ' It must be explained that father knows that Judge has adopted 
 Marion — Judge probably sent him letters. 
 
 ' This supplies motive for Marion and villain's wife "getting 
 together" to strengthen the later separating influences. 
 
THE LAST BIG DRIVE 163 
 
 Party takes place. Marion, in new guise, noticed by sister's 
 lover: he realizes she is grown up, attitude changes.' 
 
 Marion meets complication ; hero's declaration of love, with 
 realization he must be true to sister.' 
 
 She plans to make him turn against her, and, innocent of 
 wrong intent, employs villain. His wife misconstrues situa- 
 tion; jealous of Marion when the villain shows interest in 
 Marion." 
 
 Party over ; Marion alone thinking out her problem : how 
 to keep hero at arm's length, knowing he will not long remain 
 "disgusted." " 
 
 Her real father appears, recognizes Marion. Judge appears, 
 admits truth of real relationship. Father declares he is inno- 
 cent of crime he is accused of. Marion declares she will 
 prove him so. Sheriff shows up. Marion aids father to 
 escape, sending him to cave she has known of, with secretly 
 imparted directions in very face of sheriff." 
 
 Next day Marion finds father is safe. Sends him note and 
 food by using her pet dog." 
 
 She talks with Judge, about the past, and learns the story of 
 her father as it came out in court." 
 
 ' Situation must be built here to emphasize the point so briefly 
 sketched. 
 
 ' The sister should be worked into a situation here so as to 
 strengthen Marion's purpose, as well as for the purpose of keep- 
 ing her affection for the hero in evidence. 
 
 " Situation must be built to emphasize this point. The wife 
 must see the Y'llain's conduct with Marion in a different light 
 from hero — that which it really means must be hidden from these 
 two, but known to spectators. 
 
 " This is a mental process on the part of Marion, so we must 
 previously "plant," or forecast, some evidential motive. 
 
 " Novel way must be planned to aid father's escape so that it 
 will come as a surprise, the method being logical, and always in 
 evidence, though unsuspected. 
 
 " We must devise an incident, or several, to "plant" the dog 
 and his knowledge of the cave, and his trick of taking things 
 to it. 
 
 " If we have already used prologue, we will not need to do more 
 than allow this situation to carry itself : if we have not used the 
 material previously, we can use it here, "fading back," as will be 
 described later on. 
 
164 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 She fastens on villain as man most likely to be able to help 
 her prove father's innocence. Goes to him. He agrees to 
 help, really admiring girl's beauty, having designs on her. 
 He has another inamorata in another city, but is tiring of 
 her." 
 
 Hero has talk with Marion's sister and is released from 
 tacit engagement. He sees Marion's "carryings-on" with 
 villain, misconstrues; villain's wife ditto. 
 
 Marion discovers villain's real intentions toward herself. 
 Disillusioned, fiees from him." 
 
 Marion home: "Villain really guilty?" 
 
 She goes to cave, finds father away, while villain drives 
 about country in his car." 
 
 Villain's wife suspicious : he is out, has been seen with 
 Marion. Wife broods, hatred for Marion grows. 
 
 Villain's car breaks down. He sees dog near cave, suspects 
 something." 
 
 Father has returned meanwhile; has found pistol in rain 
 barrel." 
 
 He and Marion wonder about it. Villain discovers them ; 
 pretends he will keep it secret, but realizes he has a powerful 
 hold on Marion. He goes. She tells father she will send 
 him money, and hurries home." 
 
 " This other inamorata will, of course, develop to be the post- 
 man's daughter ; but we will reserve that knowledge, possibly for 
 a later surprise. 
 
 " The hero could very well come into this situation and "save" 
 Marion. 
 
 " Incident needed to give him motive — perhaps he has seen 
 the deserted city girl, and has been threatened by her? 
 
 " Villain must be shown previously as knowing, from the 
 papers, of escaped convict's identity, enabling situation to "carry." 
 or "get over," fact that he knows why girl is so anxious to know 
 about past ; also making it clear that villain suspects father is 
 hiding in cave, from seeing Marion's dog there. 
 
 " We must have this incident expanded, to show how and why 
 he leaves cave, how he gets near rain barrel, how he finds pistol, 
 for the pistol and its hiding place will be Marion's clue to solve 
 the mystery surrounding her father, later on. 
 
 " Incident needed here to show an obstacle put in the way of 
 Marion's sending father money that night, as he will be needed 
 later in the plot and must have reason for remaining in cave 
 when he knows his hiding place is known to villain. 
 
THE LAST BIG DRIVE 165 
 
 Next morning villain sends Marion word she must go away 
 with him. He has her in his power. He has a row with his 
 wife, and plans to desert her. 
 
 Marion gets phone-call from villain's wife — "Come over." 
 Goes, and is asked if she will help wife get divorce, since she 
 has come between wife and husband. Awakening for Marion. 
 Protest. 
 
 Postman's daughter shows up."" 
 
 Postman's daughter takes a hand; situation develops, with 
 villain's wife gone, villain realizing he must get away with 
 Marion, or postman's daughter may make trouble and en- 
 danger his life if her father learns truth about past.'^ 
 
 Postman shows up outside house with mail.'' 
 
 He hears excited conversation, and eventually learns from 
 daughter's statement, which he hears from below, that villain 
 was really guilty of her seduction. He shoots villain. 
 
 Marion is the only one who sees him do the shooting. 
 Sheriff and hero arrive." 
 
 " The postman's daughter must have several small situations 
 previous to this, with the villain, so that there can be logical 
 reason for her to come in at the opportune time. It may be that 
 she "turns nasty" when she realizes she has been deserted, and 
 wants to make trouble. Anyway, it will be her presence that will 
 reveal the later link of identity between herself and the postman, 
 and that will help Marion solve her problem of the villain's motive 
 for his former crime, for which her father has suffered. 
 
 " This will all have to be carefully planned by previous "plant- 
 ing" of hints, so that the situation will carry without much ex- 
 planation, for we are getting into fast-moving melodrama, and 
 cannot stop for explanations. 
 
 " Postman must be "planted" as on his route, so that he will 
 arrive without the seeming coincidence of his arrival and the 
 speeches upstairs. 
 
 " The shooting must be carefully planned so that it will be 
 logical for Marion to be there, and the daughter of the postman 
 also, and yet Marion only can give evidence of actually having 
 seen act committed. Reason : Marion must always dominate 
 situations. 
 
166 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Marion's real father gets a note from her saying she is 
 going away. He figures out the real situation, knowing hold 
 villain has on Marion, and starts out, careless of capture, to 
 stop daughter. He hears of the shooting, goes there, and, 
 seeing daughter presumably accused of crime, takes it upon 
 himself." 
 
 Marion realizes her father's acceptance of guilt is not justi- 
 fied ; she is inclined to save him at cost of the postman's life — 
 logically, as the latter committed crime.^ 
 
 But she sees love of daughter and postman father, realizes 
 her own love for her own father, his act of heroism in coming 
 forth and taking guilt, and she tries to save him without dis- 
 closing identity of real criminal, actuated by motives of com- 
 mon humanity, feeling that postman was really justified." 
 
 By clever thinking Marion is able to collect evidence enough 
 to prove that her father could not have been there at time 
 crime was done; saves him and yet does not admit knowing 
 identity of real criminal." 
 
 The villain is not killed, and revives now enough to become 
 involved sufficiently to allow him to say something that will 
 give Marion a clue to the motive for the former crime; 
 whereupon she connects the villain with the former crime, and 
 recalling the two-revolver crime just committed — one revolver 
 in room, other in possession of real criminal — makes shrewd 
 guess as to how former crime was done, and gets it right. 
 Villain confesses. She saves her father, later learns sister 
 is not in love with hero, she and he can "get together" as have 
 postman and daughter, while it is suggested that Marion's 
 own father will be cleared, eventually to find happiness with 
 her. Sister must have another fiance — soldier, say. All happy 
 but villain, recovering for a long stay behind the bars he let 
 close about Marion's father. 
 
 " Need here for some visual connection for father to suppose 
 daughter criminal — another revolver, as in former crime, may 
 help ; it might belong to villain's wife, in which case it must have 
 been "planted." 
 
 " Marion must either have heard, or now hear, the true story 
 of the postman's daughter, from his own lips, to give her motive 
 for siding with him, and so justify her shielding of a criminal for 
 the time being. 
 
 " If we have properly "planted" all our motives and all our 
 explanatory material, this situation will clarify in action. 
 
 " Marion must deduce, and tell in action, what happened on 
 the night of the crime ; that is, her story must not be speech, but 
 picture. Refer to the original crime, in prologue, and see if this 
 is not a pictureable crime. 
 
THE LAST BIG DRIVE 167 
 
 From the footnotes you may gather the impression 
 that there is still much to be done before the story can 
 be put into synopsis form. This would be true in the 
 case of an author who is not thoroughly familiar with 
 the manipulation of the various devices we have gone 
 over; in many cases, though, the work of final build- 
 ing can be accomplished while the synopsis is being 
 drafted from this sort of plot-outline. For instance, 
 we have set down the plot here in exact sequence, in- 
 cluding the "past" as a prologue. But we have already 
 decided not to handle it in that way in the final synop- 
 sis, so we will plan along the lines previously suggested 
 in respect to this part of the plot. Also, many of the 
 incidents which will "plant" the necessary advance 
 information on certain points may be evolved while the 
 plot is expanding in the drafting of the synopsis. 
 
 To go through all the steps by and through which 
 the discrepancies noted are covered would be tedious 
 writing and would make tedious reading. Certainly 
 you have been shown the processes well enough to 
 enable you to learn all you desire to know about the 
 evolution, from a comparison of outline, footnotes and 
 final synopsis. 
 
 One thing that you have doubtless noticed is the 
 deliberate omission of any names for characters, ex- 
 cept in the case of the already-christened Marion. The 
 omission was purposeful. 
 
 It has always been my own personal practice to go 
 this whole distance in the road to plot building without 
 finally selecting a name for a single character, using, 
 instead, either the theatrical characteristic or the rela- 
 
168 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 tionship of each, so that there could be no possibility 
 of confusing my mind by forgetting what Bill was, 
 whether the judge or the janitor. If a man is a judge, 
 such he is called; if a girl is the leading character's 
 sister, she is so referred to. In that way relationships 
 do not become involved or over-complicated, for if one 
 has to remember that a character is the sister-in-law 
 of the mother-in-law of the step-child of the hero, the 
 complexity is instantly apparent, and its illogicality is 
 on the way to being corrected. The practice of so re- 
 tarding the character-naming is not urged upon you ; 
 it is merely a matter of choice; you may prefer to 
 name everybody before you have gone very far in your 
 own plotting. But here the practice was adhered to 
 for another reason : because the naming of characters 
 has an importance all its own, like choosing a good 
 title. Neither of these processes is, properly, plot- 
 evolution, so they have been held back, and now 
 deserve attention in a little rest-pause in our work of 
 plotting, with a separate chapter to lend them exclu- 
 siveness. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A HOOVERIZED WHO'S WHO 
 
 "What's in a name?" inquired the well-remembered 
 bard, insisting that definiteness was not required of 
 floral nomenclature. Though your specter haunt me, 
 Mr. Bard, the answer to that question will always 
 come from me in this wise: "What's in a name? — a 
 heap!" 
 
 No doubt it would influence the perfume-end of a 
 rose to no extent whatever if that flower were re- 
 christened a Jimson weed; yet who would bother to 
 hunt it up under that despised description? Shakes- 
 peare asked no one to see a pound of flesh exacted by 
 a gesticulatory Izzy, nor did that "quality of mercy" 
 speech fall from the rouged, coquettish lips of a 
 Susette. It was no sportive Ariel who wanted to de- 
 cide whether "To be, or not to be." Where would 
 Rosalind's romantic flavor go were she to be repro- 
 grammed as Lizzie? 
 
 Why do we allude to a deductive person as a veri- 
 table Sherlock Holmes? Because that name was so 
 ideally suited to the fictional character who bore it 
 that it was readily remembered, and incorporated into 
 our language of description; would the same char- 
 acter have met that same approbation with such a 
 name as Bill Billson? Poe's detective is mentally on 
 a par with his later rival, yet you could ask many a 
 
170 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 man-on-the-street "Who was Poe's detective?" and get 
 little information; Dupin's name is not so readily 
 recalled. 
 
 In our photoplay work, the naming of characters is 
 nearly as important a function as is the choosing of a 
 catchy caption for the picture-play. If your story is 
 titled to gain af tention, your play-people must hold that 
 attention, and accomplish other things : they must be 
 readily remembered, and easily distinguished one from 
 the other ; they must have names that suggest, as far 
 as possible, their age, station in life, principal traits. 
 There must be no possibility that one will be confused 
 with another. The editor or other reader of your 
 story must not be required to stop reading and look 
 back to the introduction of a character in order that he 
 may refresh his mind as to what or who that one is. 
 Choose names for characters with all this in mind — as 
 we shall now go on to amplify. 
 
 First of all, name your principal person with a 
 glove-fitting cognomen. Make that name the one most 
 easy to keep in mind. Make the name a suitable one 
 for that type of character. 
 
 The name should, whenever feasible, carry its own 
 suggestion of the characteristics of the leading player : 
 if a vain, silly, selfish girl, do not call her by a name 
 that seems to breathe the very essence of dignity, as 
 would the name of Laura — Coralie would suit her 
 much better ; if a man of twenty, very much in love 
 with himself, absurdly egotistical, you would hardly 
 be reasonable if you were to name him Henry Clay 
 Carrington, which seems more suitable for a man much 
 
A HOOVERIZED WHO's WHO 171 
 
 older, really serious but mellowed into a broad under- 
 standing of the world and his own inconspicuous place 
 in it; better to call your little self -esteemer by a less 
 dignified name, such as Sammy, or a pretentious one, 
 like Percival. Again, in naming your leading char- 
 acter remember that he must be liked, so try to have 
 him named so that he will be liked ; some names have 
 a quality of "niceness" and others seem to repel us. 
 Billy, Jim, Bob, Clif, Hal — all seem to belong to fel- 
 lows worth knowing ; yet we are apt to take a dislike 
 to a character with a cold, harsh name — plenty good 
 enough for a rascal. It is better to let you fill out such 
 a list for yourself; one never knows what uninten- 
 tional offense might be given by arbitrarily suggesting 
 names for villains ! A sweet-girl lead ought to have a 
 cuddlesome soundy name: Babs, Sue, Molly, for 
 instance. The name of Marion does not seem quite 
 suited to the character we have developed for our little 
 plot-work. We will see, a little later, if it cannot be 
 improved upon. 
 
 Less important characters require less care in their 
 naming. It is usually a good plan to use first names 
 for the people who "carry the plot" except when some 
 of these are old people, when the family name is a 
 better choice. In our story, first names would be wise 
 for the leading lady, her sister, the hero, and the villain 
 and his wife: but for the Judge, the girl's real father, 
 the sheriff, last, or family names, without any Mr. are 
 best — except, of course, when a mere title is used, like 
 "the Judge." 
 
172 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Th e Cast of Characters 
 
 It is a good plan, though not an arbitrary require- 
 ment of synopsis-preparation, to have a cast of char- 
 acters as a separate part of the whole submitted manu- 
 script, generally preceding the synopsis itself. This 
 cast or list of characters should be on a separate sheet 
 of paper, bound in with the synopsis, just in front of 
 the first synopsis sheet. The cast of characters should 
 be arranged in an orderly fashion, with the names of 
 the principal people coming first, and in the order of 
 their ^/oi-importance : the leading character at the 
 head of the list ; next the one most nearly related to 
 the chief character in point of plot-carrying impor- 
 tance (not blood-relationship, necessarily) ; then the 
 lesser figures, and, finally, the smaller fry whose 
 presence contributes to the story in a minor degree. 
 In the cast of characters it is well to give a brief state- 
 ment of the salient traits of character as each person is 
 named.i 
 
 The cast of characters is a help to the editor or 
 other reader because it enables him to see how large a 
 cast of players is required, what types are needed, and 
 how much of a minor cast of extra or supernumerary 
 people is called for. 
 
 ' The Cast of Characters given in this volume with the 
 developed Synopsis will show you both the accepted form for this 
 portion of your manuscript, and the way in which the characters 
 are arranged and their traits described. No arbitrary rule can 
 be laid down for the naming or describing of characters ; it is a 
 matter for your own judgment to govern : some writers merely 
 give a word or so of character description, or mention relation- 
 ships ; others go into more detail. Either method is satisiactory. 
 
A HOOVESIZED WHO'S WHO 173 
 
 We will not go into the discussion of how and why 
 our own characters are named ; but it will be well for 
 us to consider just one more detail concerning names. 
 Once in a while, the selecting of a name for the prin- 
 cipal character will provide you with a good suggestion 
 for a title for the whole play. If your leading char- 
 acter is possessed of some dominant trait, so powerful 
 in its influence on the plot that everything is, to all 
 intents and purposes, subservient to the development 
 of that one trait, you may decide to give the character 
 a name that will, of itself, make a good caption for 
 the whole picture. "Samson" was a picture titled so, 
 because its leading character pulled down the temple 
 of his own ambition about his ears in order to crush an 
 enemy whose chains of cunning bound the hero's life 
 and he had to take the only way of escape offered. 
 
 In other cases, the securing of a certain title for your 
 picture will arbitrarily influence the naming of at least 
 your leading player; and to give an illustration, sup- 
 pose we seek a name for our own built-up plot. 
 
 The Influence of the Picture-Title on the Naming of 
 the Principal Character 
 
 There is a certain type of picture-title that is widely 
 favored by most companies, at the time this is written ; 
 whether it will be so when you write your own stories 
 cannot be prophesied, yet the popularity of the type of 
 title may continue. The sort of caption in question is 
 that which embodies the name of the principal char- 
 acter and a catchy phrase. "Amaryllis of Clothesline 
 
174 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Alley" is a good example ; so is " A Romance for 
 Roma." "Molly Make-Believe," "Annie-For-Spite," 
 "The Mysterious Miss Terry," are differing illustra- 
 tions of the same general class of titles which possess, 
 when cleverly planned, all the qualities of catchiness, 
 and magnetism for the box office. 
 
 Suppose we seek out a title of the kind. We do not 
 want to name our plot with any hopelessly trite, though 
 suited-to-material, title such as "Her Sacrifice." We 
 do not wish to handicap interest with a dull title like 
 "The Awakening." We can find a number of suggested 
 titles in an examination of our central plot-thread : A 
 girl wearies of being kept young, and decides not to 
 delay her coming into maturity ; she will "grow up" all 
 at once. There we have a title — "Marion Grows Up." 
 That is not at all catchy, though. It has no magnetism. 
 We must seek some more pleasing arrangement to 
 carry out the same idea. Let us seek it in her method 
 of "growing up." She dons long dresses? Then we 
 might say, "Long Skirts for Marion." That would be 
 quite a good little caption; but it has one drawback: 
 the fashions in women's garments change so fre- 
 quently, the length of skirts varies so much with the 
 differing styles of dress, that we are likely to have our 
 theme obscured by a misunderstanding ; the exactness 
 of the meaning is not clear enough. How else does 
 Marion "grow up ?" Ah\ she puts her hair up ! Now 
 there is a phrase that is very widely associated with 
 the coming of a girl from childhood into the realm of 
 Miss-dom. The phrase is catchy ; it has quite an exact 
 meaning. But there is no magnetism in saying 
 
A HOOVERIZED WHO'S WHO 175 
 
 "Marion Puts Her Hair Up." Let us alter the name 
 of our leading lady to get a quality of smoothness and 
 magnetism into that phrase. Here we have it! We 
 will call her Belinda! That name comes trippingly 
 from the tongue. Linked with the rest of the phrase, 
 it will make a catchy, meaningful, magnetic title. 
 
 So here is the one apt title for our story : 
 
 "Belinda Puts Her Hair Up." 
 
 All right. Now let us get busy and help her do it! 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE PRINCIPAL SYNOPSIS-PRINCIPLES 
 
 At last we have come to that third ingredient, that 
 thing of paramount importance in the preparing of the 
 synopsis-only form of picture writing; and the last 
 step is the hardest one of all, the step where many, 
 many writers stumble to an ignominious fall. The 
 all-important plot these writers can devise, the capti- 
 vating caption they can provide ; but when it comes to 
 putting the former under the latter in an interesting, 
 compact, tell-it-all-and-no-more synopsis, they are 
 "stumped." 
 
 The cause for their failure is not nearly so much a 
 lack of ability to write as it is a complete misunder- 
 standing of the first principles of synopsis-preparation. 
 For instance, one class of writers continually crops up 
 with this question : "How much action must you put 
 into a synopsis ?" Action ? Why, it is all action ! The 
 motion picture is essentially a pantomimic form of 
 dramatic expression; it naturally follows that any 
 material designed for presentation in that form must 
 be conceived as action, plotted for action, then synop-- 
 sized in language calculated to visualize in action. 
 What these careless mishandlers of their craft really 
 mean is, "How much detail must be put into a synop- 
 sis?" Detail! That is the thing they really want to 
 know about. It is important, while action is essential ! 
 
THE PRINCIPAL SYNOPSIS-PRINCIPLES 177 
 
 Another group of never-will-be writers naively in- 
 quires : "How many words do you have in a synop- 
 sis?" How many eggs shall we put in a basket? How 
 many houses must we build in a block? How many 
 sentences do you have in a paragraph ? All-embracing 
 answer : Enough, and no more ! 
 
 Words are necessary, detail is important, action is 
 essential; but you cannot apportion your words by 
 any set rule, you cannot incorporate detail by the 
 observance of any set formula, you cannot "get action" 
 by virtue of any set number of words, details or char- 
 acter-movements . 
 
 Writing a plot into its synopsis-expansion is a matter 
 of individuality of treatment. No one can formulate 
 rules that will fit the vast differences in treatment 
 required by different plots. All that can be done to 
 help you here is to tell you what a synopsis is, what it 
 is for, what it should accomplish. Synopsis writing is 
 like music composing : every piece calls for a different 
 handling; individuality of expression enables one to 
 override mere technical mechanics and secure the best 
 possible effect. You can buy ruled music-writing 
 forms, but the melody, the rhythm, come from your 
 heart. So with synopsis writing; you can get ready- 
 made rules (start, tell it all, stop), but the thing that 
 puts your story before an editor so that he sees what 
 you saw in it, feels what you felt in it, is something 
 more than an observance of rules of procedure. That 
 which gives your cold type warmth and feeling — ^lif e ! 
 — is an ability to say what you mean, to say it with un- 
 
178 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 misted clearness, to say it with enough fluency to make 
 good reading, and yet without fulsomeness of phrase. 
 
 This brings us to a consideration of what a synopsis 
 actually is : 
 
 The modern photoplay synopsis is a clear, compre- 
 hensive statement of a motion-picture plot, written in 
 readable, interesting fashion, giving sufficient detail of 
 incident and situation to enable a scenario'^ writer to 
 visualize the story in suitable form for production as 
 a photoplay. 
 
 The points of importance in this definition are : the 
 need for clarity, the essential of comprehensiveness of 
 matter, the readableness and interest-holding qualities 
 of the material, and the sufficiency of detail to make 
 your idea resolvable into the scenario form by someone 
 who is not close enough to consult you upon obscure 
 points. 
 
 Each of these importances deserves separate con- 
 sideration, more expansive discussion. But, knowing 
 what a synopsis is, let us defer this detailed discussion 
 until we examine the conditions under which it must 
 be considered; in other words, let us define what a 
 synopsis is for, and what it accomplishes (if it fulfills 
 its mission). 
 
 A synopsis of a motion-picture plot is a simple 
 method of putting the author's idea in a compact form 
 
 ' Every studio maintains a staff, even if that staff be but one, 
 competent to transfonn the idea embodied in a synopsis into a 
 suitable scenario, or smooth, actable continuity of scenes. Such 
 a translator submerges personal individuality when handling a 
 story from "the outsider," and only asserts that individuality 
 when the originator of the idea fails to supply an understandable 
 explanation of the idea, or provides an idea that is not actable. 
 
THE PRINCIPAL SYNOPSIS-PRINCIPLES 179 
 
 before the studio reader, editor and director, so that 
 they may judge the merits of the idea as quickly and 
 with as little effort as possible. 
 
 When the properly prepared synopsis passes the first 
 reading — usually a task performed by a reader who 
 does no writing but merely judges the merits of sub- 
 mitted manuscripts — it goes to the editor, who has 
 more complex matters to take into consideration when 
 judging the value of that idea for his particular com- 
 pany. If the editor likes the idea and finds it suitable 
 for production with any star in the roster of the com- 
 pany he buys for, he hands the synopsis to the director 
 who manages the productions in which that particular 
 star appears ; and if the director — and usually also the 
 star — stamps the story with approval, the result is a 
 check for the originator of the story. 
 
 Therefore, the synopsis has certain things to do, so 
 to say, and must take into consideration certain mental 
 angles. It must convince three or four different 
 people, with widely diverging viewpoints, of the worth- 
 whileness of the story it tells. This, then, is the pur- 
 pose of the synopsis ; the thing it is written for. 
 
 Besides all this, and even beyond all this, the synop- 
 sis must accomplish a definite thing : 
 
 The photoplay synopsis must give the staff scenario- 
 writer everything he needs to enable him to make a 
 workable scenario which will retain the freshness of 
 the originator's viewpoint and not merge his individu- 
 ality with that of the script-writer who must translate 
 the idea into actable scenario form. 
 
180 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 It has been my own experience with many an idea 
 sent in synopsis form to be made into a scenario that 
 the originator of the idea has failed to convey to me 
 his exact meaning, has left too much to be taken for 
 granted, has neglected to be thorough enough in 
 describing some situation for which novelty of idea 
 was claimed. In such a case what can the staff-writer 
 do but write, under the rush-it conditions usually 
 found in the studio, with his own individual idea of 
 the treatment to be given these incomplete points? 
 
 The Essential Nature of Clear Expression 
 
 Knowing what a synopsis is (or should be), whom 
 it must appeal to, and what it must accomplish for the 
 originator when placed in the hands of the staff 
 scenario-writer, the importance of making yourself 
 clear should stand sufficiently emphasized. Yet the 
 point of clarity is amazingly neglected by even the 
 supposedly know-better fiction writers who send their 
 ideas to the studios, and it is practically ignored by 
 the mass of screen writers. 
 
 What treatment would you give a situation described 
 in this wise ? — and this situation was characterized in a 
 separate letter sent with the script as a "brand-new, 
 fresh handling of a big punch" : 
 
 Ellen knows her husband goes out with others. (Other hus- 
 bands f) She will do the same! (Go with other husbands?) 
 But she cannot bring herself to go out with strangers so she calls 
 on his (husband's, we think) best friend, and says to her (stuck! 
 Thought it was husband's best man-friend, now it is a "her'') 
 and asks her to loan her her husband to go out with and as they 
 are going out he comes home and sees her with him. . . . 
 
THE PRINCIPAL SYNOPSIS-PRINCIPLES 181 
 
 Merciful Heaven! Enough! At sea and no life- 
 belt handy. Who is "he," whose wife is which, and 
 how will what happen? Is it any wonder that such a 
 conglomeration was eventually "passed up" as hopeless 
 of comprehension? 
 
 If Ellen has that sort of husband, •call him some- 
 thing, as she probably would. Refer to him by the 
 name you hand him. Give the best friend a name, and 
 say whose best friend she is. If that best friend is the 
 wife's, and the best friend has a husband, let him 
 also be named and referred to by name every time he 
 is alluded to. Make relationships clear. Make motives 
 clear. Make it plain that you are talking about this 
 one or that one. Do not get excited and begin to 
 sprinkle in the pronouns as you would drop raisins into 
 cake dough. 
 
 Authors of original ideas often complain — and the 
 worst complainants are usually writers of "big" fiction 
 who send in dashed-off ideas to the companies "in be- 
 tween" their more "important" activities — that the 
 "hack" writer in the studio has "butchered" the won- 
 derful originality of the submitted idea, has made it a 
 hopeless jumble, has crushed it into an unrecognizable 
 shapelessness. In nine cases out of ten the fault has 
 been originally that of the idea-provider who did not 
 make his idea sufficiently clear, or whose manner of 
 writing misled the staff-writer as to the real purpose 
 the originator had in mind. 
 
 If you want your accepted material to come upon the 
 screen with your individuality of idea retained, trans- 
 ferred intact, set down that idea clearly. Staff 
 
182 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 scenario-writers are invariably graduates of the school 
 
 of originality themselves ; but they do not usually take 
 
 a side-course in mind reading. You may know what 
 
 you want: if you expect someone else to grasp the 
 
 idea and put it finally on the screen, tell that one in a 
 
 way that cannot be misunderstood what you do want. 
 
 If you expect your translator into screen-action to 
 
 make your work mean what you say, it is "up to you" 
 
 to make the synopsis say what you mean ! 
 
 Do not allow any possible confusion to creep into 
 
 your statements. Be ever watchful of your words. 
 
 Examine this bit of synopsis : 
 
 Tommy loves Mary devotedly. He calls on Miss Jones one 
 night. She is crazy about him. They become engaged. Jessup 
 leaves to get the ring, etc. 
 
 Tommy and Jessup seem to be one and the same. Is 
 Mary also Miss Jones ? Are we sure of it? Might not 
 Tommy love Mary, and yet become engaged to a Miss 
 Jones ? There is no certainty in the synopsis. 
 
 Stick to one name for each character, and don't use 
 Jones, Smith and Brown. We are going to call our 
 lady-who-puts-her-hair-up Belinda. Let us never 
 refer to her as Miss Lee (the daughter of the Judge) 
 or as Miss Sanford (if that be her real father's name). 
 Keep the identity of every character clear by adhering 
 to one name for each throughout your synopsis. 
 
 If you are writing the above bit of synopsis, say : 
 
 Tommy loves Mary devotedly. He calls on her one night, and 
 as she is "crazy about him," they become engaged. Tommy 
 leaves, etc. 
 
 And, if he must go to get "the ring" tell what ring 
 he gets ; maybe they will be wed secretly, or at any 
 
THE FKINCIPAL SYNOPSIS-PRINCIPLES 183 
 
 rate without delay ; then the wedding ring is meant ; 
 it seems scarcely needful otherwise for him to go get 
 a ring at once, but if it is the engagement ring that he 
 is after in such a hurry, put that fact clearly before 
 the reader. 
 
 The Value of Comprehensive Statements 
 
 Even when you have managed to acquire the habit 
 of being absolutely clear in everything you put into a 
 s3mopsis, you must go still further, and say not only 
 what you mean, but, as well, you must say all that you 
 mean. In a sense, this is also a matter included in the 
 art of being clear, but it goes deeper than mere clarity 
 of expression, for it demands full expression as well. 
 
 Examine this series of excerpts from a synopsis : 
 
 Kathie screams as the shot is fired in the dark hall. John sinks 
 in a heap. Kathie rushes to the hall door, then turns back to 
 John, and finds that he is beyond need of a doctor. She phones 
 for help. 
 
 Kathie wonders what her brother was doing out of his sick-bed 
 that day. She questions him, but he cannot understand her 
 allusions, and she dreads to be explicit. 
 
 Kathie saves Bob, when the judge is about to sentence him for 
 John's murder, by explaining the events of that past day, when 
 she saw her brother in the hall ; sensation ! Tom is the culprit ! 
 Kathie begs to be heard, and continues, explaining that she knows 
 that the man who . . . fired the shot was the one she saw taking 
 her brother's clothes out of his wardrobe and replacing them, 
 cleaned — but with powder stains in the pocket where the pistol 
 had been thrust by the guilty man — the valet, Perkins I 
 
 We pause at the disclosure. It seems to be all right, 
 yet we look back to the situation of the murder and 
 find nothing about a man in the hall or about the girl's 
 seeing such a man, much less any allusion to her mis- 
 take in thinking the shot is fired by her brother. In 
 
184 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 the light of the final revelation we understand the 
 second excerpt, and know why Kathie is so anxious to 
 question her sick brother and yet not let him discover 
 her purpose. Taken each by itself, the points are 
 obscure, their meaning does not come out fully untit 
 the final statement. Yet each of the first two is a 
 clear and unmistakable statement, except that there is 
 little of the real meaning of the second to be gathered 
 as one reads it. The girl said nothing of her suspicions, 
 so the author did likewise. He might have explained, 
 if questioned, that he meant the scenario man to go 
 ahead and fill in the discrepancies when he prepared a 
 scenario, that he did not want the man in the hall 
 shown at the time, or, as a third possibility, that he 
 wanted the girl to register, or make apparent, that she 
 saw someone, without letting the spectators know 
 whom she saw. But you see in how many ways that 
 bit of synopsis might be interpreted. When you want 
 a thing done, in order to carry out your full purpose 
 in a story you must be more than merely clear as to 
 who's which and why's what : say all that you mean. 
 Do not forget for a second that the man who will make 
 a scenario for you is not gifted with clairvoyance — 
 that he can understand only what he reads, not what 
 you thought while you were writing. 
 
 The Importance of Readableness 
 
 A thing may be said fully, clearly — and yet be a dry 
 compendium of statistics. A synopsis must be more 
 lively, more vital, than a dictionary, the book of full, 
 direct, clear definitions. 
 
THE PRINCIPAL SYNOPSIS-PRINCIPLES 185 
 
 The synopsis must be readable : that does not mean 
 merely typewritten, easy to read; it means more — 
 much more ! Here is a situation in point : 
 
 Enters Sarah, ready to leave, her husband argues, she is firm, 
 they quarrel again, she leaves, he determines to let go his hold, 
 to have a wild carouse, while Sarah goes home, and her mother 
 won't let her stay there, and she has no place to go, and her 
 husband is having a wild night and she gets home and finds him 
 and . . . and . . . and . . . 
 
 And! . . . back that synopsis traipses to its 
 author. It is flat and unreadable. Even if it should 
 possess extremely novel qualities they would be lost in 
 a maze of "ands." 
 
 Other forms of unreadableness exist: sometimes a 
 synopsis is all choppy sentences, no variation in length 
 of sentence being considered necessary by careless 
 authors; sometimes involved sentences destroy the 
 reader's interest; perhaps the author is habitually 
 "dry" in his statements, and does not seem able to 
 moisten them with a little lubricative style-freshness. 
 
 Try to get your typewriter to talk in lively, pictorial 
 statements of fact. Make your synopses smoothly 
 readable. Make your facts seem to be endowed with 
 a vitality of their own, and your manuscripts will be 
 more likely to pass the reader and get into the hands of 
 both editor and director. 
 
 The studio reader is maligned, in a good many in- 
 stances, as a man who maintains a "show me!" atti- 
 tude. If this is sometimes the case, if the reader is 
 antagonistic toward the "average" synopsis, the reason 
 is found in the "average" synopsis itself. If you had 
 to sit a good many hours a day, every day, every week, 
 
 13 
 
186 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 months and years on end, going over dry-as-dust type- 
 writing, with no redeeming novelty of plot in it, you 
 would come pretty close to pessimism regarding the 
 probable invasion of your sanctum by anything "differ- 
 ent." It is your mission in life, if you expect to sell 
 continuously, to break down this barrier of possible 
 pessimism. In actuality, most readers are ready 
 enough — eager, in fact — to find some new reading 
 material that gives "John loves Mary, Bill hates John" 
 a chance for a vacation. The reader is paid to read 
 synopses ; it is his duty to the company to give every 
 submitted synopsis "a show." This he does. If he 
 sees the "old dope" written in the old, uninteresting 
 manner and style, he is apt to make the "show" he 
 gives it a pretty short entertainment. But let him get 
 hold of something readable, and his craving for change 
 will keep him reading until he is convinced, beyond 
 chance for doubt, that the story so managed is not 
 suitable for his company's stars or policies. 
 
 Let him find that story suitable, and he will cheer- 
 fully read it again, make his little comments, and 
 "shoot it in" to the editor, who, in his turn, will be en- 
 chanted to discover a writer with sufficient interest in 
 his brain-child to give it a look-at-able garmenture. The 
 editor reads for a different angle of production from 
 that maintained in the reader's consideration of manu- 
 script. The reader judges suitability for policy, weeds 
 out the worst and most hopeless stuff and gets it back 
 into the mails as rapidly as possible. When he passes 
 a story on to the editor, that is a sign of merit in the 
 story; perhaps it fits a star in the pay of that com- 
 
THE PKINCIPAL SYNOPSIS-PRINCIPLES 187 
 
 pany, possibly it has some fresh twist of plot that 
 makes it worth more consideration. Anyway, when it 
 gets to the editor, he looks at it for actable possibilities, 
 considers the (approximate) cost of production, fitness 
 of material for not only stars but for other players as 
 well, and, eventually, if he finds the material satisfying 
 from these angles as well as from the story-quality 
 viewpoint, he will pass it on to director, or director and 
 star together. The director looks for action, for scenic 
 beauty of. environment or story, background, for 
 novelty of idea-presentation. The star looks for his or 
 her own opportunities to display ability in a new role. 
 Each and all of these good folk would rather be shot 
 than to have to "wade through" a bunch of dry facts. 
 You must aim to catch their interest and hold it. The 
 smoothly-written, nicely-worded, neatly-typed manu- 
 script with a real story to tell seldom fails to "make 
 good." The only reasons for a rejection in such a case 
 are the changes of production-policy that come over 
 night in big picture-making concerns, and the total un- 
 suitability of the material, however good, to any star's 
 ability. Policy-changes come through an overabun- 
 dance of a certain type of productions ; through the 
 loss or acquisition, or replacing, of a star ; through the 
 reports from exhibitors that such-and-such a style of 
 story is not wanted by the majority of spectators. 
 These things are beyond the control of the best writer 
 living, but there are a million other reasons for the re- 
 jection of stories that are not readable, and the million 
 reasons are all summed up in that cold, unsympathetic. 
 
188 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 injure-your-feelings little slip that comes along instead 
 of a letter when your work is not up to standard. 
 
 The quality of readableness presupposes an enter- 
 taining style sufBciently powerful to gain, and hold, 
 attention. Attention begets interest. If you can write 
 in a breezy style, not too flowing, not too long-winded, 
 telling all there is to tell about your plot, and if you 
 have a good plot to tell about in this way, interest is 
 bound to result, and the interest is quite apt to extend 
 beyond that story and attach itself to you in the form 
 of a request from the editor for more of your work. 
 So strive to make your stories readable, plan your plots 
 for strength, and you will be safe in approaching the 
 pessimistic reader, the editor, the director, the star, and 
 the man who signs the checks. 
 
 The Importance and Limitation of Detail 
 
 To answer the inept question of "how much action" 
 that really means "how much detail" is somewhat 
 difficult, for the reason that every story needs a differ- 
 ent method of treatment, requires individual manage- 
 ment by its author. 
 
 In general, the best rule that can be given is this : 
 
 Say clearly and fully everything that is important to 
 the full, complete development of your plot. 
 
 Detail can be too far indulged in, and lack of it may 
 often spoil the chances of a story otherwise apt to be 
 salable. 
 
THE PRINCIPAL SYNOPSIS-PRINCIPLES 189 
 
 You must be thoroughly conversant with the diifer- 
 ence between detail of action and explicitness of 
 description. First of all, then, let us look at an 
 example of detailed action : 
 
 Sally and Joe are in love. As she stands by the garden wall he 
 comes to her, takes her hands, she does not resist, and he, won to 
 bravery by her acceptance of the act, asks her the vital question 
 affecting his future. 
 
 There is nothing fresh or novel in that situation, 
 nothing out of the ordinary run of lovers' meetings 
 that result in a proposal. The detail is too complete, 
 too full. All the editor needs to know of such an 
 ordinary, widely understood situation is that the two 
 lovers plight their troth by the old garden wall, giving 
 situation, as well as setting it in a picturesque location, 
 but not a novel one. 
 
 Do not go into lavish detail in describing ordinary, 
 everyday, easily-pictured situations. But if you have 
 a fresh manner of presenting such a situation, some 
 novel touch in action or in setting (background), it is 
 wise to tell all there is to tell about it. For instance, 
 do not say : 
 
 Peter meets Phyllis in a novel locality, and proposes in a way 
 quite different from the usual cut-and-dried fashion of lovers. 
 
 That means nothing at all to the editor, and far less 
 than nothing at all to the scenario-writer, who must 
 take what you give and make a scenario from it. 
 Really, however, it does mean something! — it means 
 that you are not competent to think of an original 
 location or a unique method of making love. 
 
 Often it is in the novelty of some little opening 
 incident of a story that you find your chance to catch 
 
190 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 editorial attention, to predispose the possible picture- 
 player in favor of your story-idea. When you can do 
 so, that is the time for detail of descriptive explicitness. 
 Do not, even then, go into long-winded descriptions of 
 every action, but set forth the things wherein the 
 freshness lies. For instance, it is out of the usual run 
 of love-situations to have hero and heroine on a garden 
 seat beside a little lake wherein swans are seen, to have 
 the heroine winding a ball of yarn, see that the hero 
 intends to propose, use the feminine prerogative of 
 "putting off" the inevitable and drape the yam over 
 his out-held hands while she winds ; and he could be 
 visualized as clever enough to get around the blockaded 
 intention. In such a case you are justified in going 
 into reasonable detail, as you might in such a case, 
 something like this : 
 
 Bob loves Betty. She knows it, too, and when even the swans 
 in the lake by which their bench stands fail to divert him from 
 a proposal, she suddenly takes a hank of yam from her knitting 
 bag and makes him "hold his hands" while she winds it from 
 them into a ball : but Bob can still talk, and he urges her to 
 marry him. . . . 
 
 That could be revised, too, into a form that would 
 give it more interest, somewhat thus : 
 
 Swans in a lake won't stop Bob from asking Betty to be his — 
 "Your swan?" asks she, and when he tries to take her hands, a 
 hank of yam is deftly draped over his wrists, while mischievous 
 Betty winds wool. But Bob can talk, and he eventually makes 
 Betty's hands drop into her lap, where the hank of yam binds 
 them as he loops it over them and compels attention. 
 
 That is not too much detail to allow where you have 
 novelty of incident to display. 
 
 With any important situation in your story you must 
 be explicit, getting the idea clearly before the mental 
 vision of the reader. To draw an incomplete picture 
 
THE PRINCIPAL SYNOPSIS-PRINCIPLES 191 
 
 of the plot is worse than leaving it untitled. A staff- 
 writer can "make up" and supply the lack of title, but 
 how is he going to invent what you do not describe? 
 Only by throwing aside your synopsis and using his 
 own brain: then you will wail vigorously and plain- 
 tively because he has not carried out your idea. 
 
 All of your synopsis must be action! Ordinary 
 situations, unimportant to your story's vital essence of 
 freshness, can be subdued, sketched with broad, brief 
 strokes. But whenever you have any point that is im- 
 portant, and any incident or situation that must be 
 clearly stamped as out of the ordinary, be sure that 
 you describe it with sufficient detail to permit the 
 reader to see as much novelty in it as you think it 
 holds. 
 
 If you have been in the habit of writing the scenario, 
 or action-continuity, in scenes, for your stories, be 
 watchful that you do not carry into your synopsis- 
 preparation a too full depicting of minor acting-direc- 
 tions. The knowledge of scenario technique is a great 
 help in aiding you to "see" what will make good 
 scenes; but you must not write "scenes" in your 
 synopsis: just write a clear, comprehensive, under- 
 standable, readable, reasonably detailed statement of 
 your plot, and the result will be a good synopsis. If 
 plot and title are as good as the synopsis, the whole 
 thing will add to your prestige and credit — especially 
 at the corner grocery. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 HOW TO SHAKE HANDS 
 
 The brain-child is a curiosity: it has only one 
 parent. That parent is itself a monstrosity, possessing 
 a deep love for, and faith in, its offspring, yet never 
 happy until that "young un" has left home for good, 
 grumbling and growling if it returns from a visit to an 
 editor, and elated if the beloved undesirable can be 
 surrendered into slavery in exchange for cold dollars ! 
 
 You are no exception to this rule of authorial con- 
 duct, nor am I. We bring up our respective idea- 
 babies with loving tenderness, and then drive them out 
 into a cold, unfeeling world. But we differ from the 
 greater part of the photoplay-writer group in one re- 
 spect: we are consistent enough to give our brain- 
 babies every chance in the world to make a good im- 
 pression when they do sally forth from beneath our 
 cranial roofs. 
 
 But to be consistent in this respect we must do more 
 than merely "doll up" our infants in attractive apparel 
 — we must teach them the gentle art of making the first 
 hand-clasp of introduction, and of making it the start- 
 ing point of their self-advertising search for a new 
 home. 
 
 Did you ever stop to consider the psychological im- 
 pression that is made upon you by the various manners 
 of men and women who have shaken hands with you ? 
 
HOW TO SHAKE HANDS 193 
 
 ^ored, listless Miss Laisey proffers a limp hand ; you 
 take it and feel, in the unresponsive digits, a total lack 
 of interest in you and even in herself. You mentally 
 decide that you won't waste much time cultivating her 
 ■acquaintance. Flighty, inconsequential Miss Hastie 
 dances over and touches your fingers with her own, 
 simpers a "glad-to-see — " and is off again like a butter- 
 fly seeking a more attractive flower. Do you follow 
 her? Not if you are a steady-going, sensible person. 
 Rich, idle, cigarette-smoking young Mr. DuUe proffers 
 you a flabby hand ; if any shaking is done it is all on 
 your muscular effort. You wouldn't care a continental 
 if you never come within a thousand miles of Mr. 
 Dulle again. 
 
 The salesman for Texas oil-stock breezes into your 
 office on the heels of the girl who brings in his card. 
 Before you have more than glanced at his name he 
 has your hand in his own — just how, you are not fully 
 aware. His grip is warm and strong, breeding con- 
 fidence and liking. He has not yet finished that instan- 
 taneous pressure of the hand before he is telling you, 
 "The man next door to you made a thousand in oil this 
 morning!" Do you have a chance to catch your 
 breath? Not in the presence of Mr. Sellemoil! He 
 convinces you that there is lots of time to take breath — 
 later on; but now you have just a second in which to 
 sign your name on the dotted line and write a check 
 and get your stock or else lose the big dividend that 
 the company is about to declare. Facts — or at least 
 assertions — pour from his lips in a stream; you feel 
 yourself swept along on the current that their falling 
 
194 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 torrent produces and when he has safely "landed you" 
 (in several senses of the words) after the little voyage 
 upon to-you-unknown waters, and you are stilled by 
 the prospect of oil that is ever visible on the surface, 
 you cannot do anything less than admire the ability 
 displayed by your pilot, even if you still feel unwilling, 
 or unable, to take his proffered shares. Did Mr. Sell- 
 emoil come in with the hand-grip of Mr. Dulle, his 
 stay in your office would be brief, indeed. 
 
 The Miss Laiseys, the Miss Hasties, the Mr. Dulles, 
 send their mental offspring into many studios. These 
 brain-children "take after" their parents; in fact, all 
 three sorts "take after" the parents as quickly as the 
 reader can put them into their return overcoats. And 
 once in a blue moon the bright salesman sends in some 
 of his, and they captivate the editor, the director, and 
 the check. 
 
 Thus does Miss Laisey's child shake hands : 
 
 Belin da isa girl whos fat her isin jail, So she do not knowthis 
 but think she is daughter of judg eLee which is amans he is 
 livin gwith. . . . 
 
 and so on, spelling hopeless, spacing irregular, words 
 run together or unsuitably divided into sections, style 
 nil, method of expression showing either gross ig- 
 norance or net carelessness. The writer of such work 
 is lazy. Ignorance does not excuse such an one, for 
 ignorance can be surmounted ; laziness is the obstacle, 
 not ignorance. In this land of free education no ex- 
 planation except sheer laziness will serve to account 
 for such a style on the part of an author — forgive me. 
 Heaven, for that libel on the fair craft ! 
 
HOW TO SHAKE HANDS 195 
 
 Thus does Miss Hastie teach her child to grasp the 
 editorial hand : 
 
 Belinda's in love with a chap and he loves her sister only she 
 isn't her sister but is the daughter of the father that Belinda 
 thinks is hers only he isn't for her father is in jail and so Belinda 
 is kept young by him so she won't know and .... 
 
 Well, that is a running start, at any rate, but the very 
 swiftness has led to involved confusion: the ideas 
 came faster than the fingers could deliver their typed 
 translation, or else the writer was so anxious to get 
 the story into the mail that she could not bother with 
 punctuation or with clarity. The editor also will be 
 anxious to get that script into the mail, only his eager- 
 ness will be from a different cause. 
 
 Mr. Dulle has this manner in handshaking to send 
 along with his offspring: 
 
 Belinda is a girl. She is somewhere around seventeen years 
 of age, and she is very fond of cats, dogs and her sister and her 
 father, the Judge, named Lee, who is the one she lives with, and 
 she thinks he is her father. 
 
 Belinda likes cats, but especially dogs, and she has a dog. . . . 
 
 We thought, even with the dullness of the start, that 
 something was going to come of that mention of a man 
 who is considered to be a father. But nay! That 
 would be brightening up the thing too much, so Mr. 
 DuUe's child rambles off on a new trail, and not a very 
 entertaining one, since it has nothing to do with the 
 previous facts and will not, you may be sure, lead to 
 anything that is to come later. 
 
 How doth the busy salesman's representative greet 
 the editor? Probably in this wise: 
 
 Belinda's father is serving a life-sentence in prison for murder. 
 She has been kept in ignorance of this fact. 
 
196 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Bang! A grab-you fact right in the first sentence. 
 That girl with a father in prison is worth "holding 
 hands with" long enough to find out why she is kept in 
 ignorance of the blot on her life. Such a "punch-fact" 
 as that first one is bound to hold the attention of a 
 reader long enough to enable the next fact to be 
 developed. 
 
 This is not by way of saying that your child must 
 put up a threatening left fist as a proof that its right 
 hand is worth shaking. Nevertheless, to stretch the 
 figure a bit, that first hand-grip must get a firm hold 
 on the editorial attention. 
 
 The Importance of the First Paragraph 
 
 Securing interest with your opening paragraph is 
 half the battle. While the synopsis must run along 
 the lines of smooth, logical story-development, in 
 reasonable orderliness of evolution through cause, 
 complication, situation, climax, denouement, the first 
 paragraph may break this rule if there is no other way 
 open by which to secure attention. Sometimes a story 
 must begin with comparatively unimportant situations, 
 but the synopsis for that sort of story must have some 
 signs of life injected into its premier paragraph or the 
 later "punches" of the idea will never be read. Such 
 a story is our "Belinda" plot. The big things do not 
 transpire until a good deal of important characteriza- 
 tion and plot-cause have been developed. So we must 
 plan to prevent our synopsis-start from advertising a 
 probable tameness that is misleading, in view of later 
 
HOW TO SHAKE HANDS 197 
 
 Story-events. The thing that will most seriously affect 
 Belinda later on is the escape of her father from 
 prison. If we "plant" the father-in-prison idea we 
 induce in the reader's mind a primary suspense as to 
 what the fact of the imprisonment may mean to the 
 heroine. After that sort of interest is aroused, we can 
 build in our less gripping facts, and so long as we do 
 not drop into dull preachment in setting them forth the 
 interest will be maintained until further developments 
 include the father's escape. With the imprisonment 
 as a starting fact, every minor development will take 
 on a new importance. 
 
 Do not take this as an arbitrary method of synopsis- 
 opening. By the nature of its contents every story 
 must govern the manner to be employed in securing an 
 interest-compelling first paragraph for your synopsis 
 of that story. In general, it may be safely said, the 
 opening paragraph needs to include some hint of a later 
 plot-development to carry interest over the apt-to-be 
 monotonous introductory material. 
 
 Do not hunt up a dime novel to be used as a guide in 
 beginning your synopses. The dime novel is granted 
 to be a wonderful "attention-grabber," for "Dead-eye 
 Dick's trusty rifle" barks with the first written words, 
 and you keep on reading to discover whether it was an 
 Indian or a chicken-hawk that "bit the dust." The 
 style in which these ruddy tales are cast is too lurid, 
 too melodramatic, for the synopsis. However, if the 
 dime-novel method is unsuitable, at least the dime- 
 novel quality of securing attention is worth consider- 
 ing : for attention you must secure in the very begin- 
 
198 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 ning, if you expect your work to get past the first 
 reader's glance at the first page. Even though your 
 story-idea be a character-development, tame until the 
 eighth or ninth page of its synopsization, you must 
 hunt out some "punch fact" to vitalize the opening 
 paragraph. 
 
 Perhaps the "punch" may be secured by the mere 
 statement of the principal trait of the character you 
 intend to develop. For instance : 
 
 Elda has been brought up among the worst criminals in the 
 slums of the huge city. Yet the parents she never knew endowed 
 her with their own high moral sense, now dormant, awaiting the 
 awakening touch of some better environment, some noble 
 influence. 
 
 There is a suggested possibility, which amounts to a 
 probability, of later complication and consequent 
 struggle. The reader is more than likely to be some- 
 what eager to know what form the conflict of moral 
 endowment with physical environment is going to take. 
 
 In such a case care must be taken not to let your 
 statement of facts be beflowered with fancy phrases. 
 The example just given has the inclination to be a little 
 high-flown, but it is made so purposely, for that para- 
 graph has characterization, and, above that, a creating 
 of "atmosphere," for its mission. Some stories depend 
 as much upon their atmosphere as upon the develop- 
 ment of character through mental conflict. "Such 
 stories do not possess action enough for the screen !" 
 you may think. Look at the pictures made by Mr. D. 
 W. Griffith, the peer of the greatest directors in 
 handling stories of feeling, sympathy, heart-appeal, 
 atmosphere. If you will analyze the screened stories 
 
HOW TO SHAKE HANDS 199 
 
 that have benefited by the supervision of this master 
 of pictorial craftsmanship, you will find them abound- 
 ing in Uttle touches of atmosphere, touches that have 
 made these pictures live long past the allotted time of 
 the ordinary plot-crowded thriller. The story of char- 
 acter and atmosphere, given a wide human appeal, is a 
 wonderful, a powerful, picture-idea. When you have 
 such an idea, make noticeable in your first synopsis- 
 paragraph the qualities in which it is supreme. 
 
 Danger Signals 
 
 Look out for these things : Do not begin a synopsis 
 with atmosphere alone. Atmosphere is, of itself, unin- 
 teresting. It is the environing of powerful idea with 
 suitable atmosphere that gives the latter quality reason 
 for existence. Do not, then, start a synopsis in this 
 way: 
 
 Dark was the night, and the huge clouds rolled across the 
 moon's face intermittently, throwing grotesque shadows over the 
 tossing billows that leaped against the cliffs of that forsaken 
 shore, only to fall, gather force and leap again, as though to 
 snatch into their arms the solitary figure. . . . 
 
 That is "nice" description, and that scene would no 
 doubt be a very effective background for some power- 
 fully human drama-situation, granting the possibility 
 of achieving it photographically (strong light is needed 
 for camera work, remember), but you are not writing 
 synopses for scenic or educational subjects; you are 
 writing story-idea in synopsis form, and so you must 
 have story, or at least a strong hint of a story to come, 
 even if you begin your synopsis with atmosphere- 
 
200 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 creating words ; these must also include some hint of 
 a powerful story underlying, or surrounded by, the 
 atmosphere you create. 
 
 Do not begin with a slam-bang start if in the later 
 paragraphs of your synopsis you are not going to live 
 up to that sort of opening. Do not, in anything except 
 the most lurid-serial writing, hunt for the "punch" 
 that is a blow ! Few editors want to go ahead after 
 this sort of opening : 
 
 Anna grips the gun tightly as she cries, "Marry you! I'll die 
 first I" 
 
 She dislikes the idea of marrying James because he is namby- 
 pamby, and while he has money, he has no brains. 
 
 Fire, blood-and-thunder, arson, are suggested by the 
 first two lines ; and then the tamest sort of situation is 
 shown to be the actual fact. If you start with a real 
 "bang" it must be because your story is cast in the 
 mold of melodrama of the furious sort. Do not try to 
 smash the editor between the eyes with a crushing blow 
 in your first sentence and expect him to part with a 
 huge check on the strength of an introduction like that, 
 before he recovers and realizes that the story that 
 follows is as tame as the Filipino Head Hunters they 
 exhibit in the dime museums — head hunters from the 
 darkey contingent of a Missouri hamlet. 
 
 Gain interest honestly. Do not cheat by making a 
 false start. The penalty will be an editorial refusal to 
 bother with any more of your shouts of "Wolf ! Wolf 1" 
 
 Do not attempt to tell your whole story in the first 
 paragraph. Let that series of sentences be a promise 
 of future good things, rather than a display of all your 
 goods. 
 
HOW TO SHAKE HANDS 201 
 
 Try to avoid the trite statements so generally used in 
 beginning the synopsis: such statements as, "Mary 
 and Jack are lovers," "Peter loves Susan but her 
 father objects," "Tom comes from college," "Lily is 
 called from boarding school by the death of her father" 
 — or mother, or aunt, or sister, or some other relative. 
 In fact, avoid all the ordinary, everyday ideas that 
 your story contains, and seek out some "different" 
 thing to say when you ask your brain-child to shake 
 hands with the editor. 
 
 Keep your starting-off paragraph reasonably short, 
 or it may run to a full page before you can stop it, and 
 too-long paragraphs have the psychological effect of 
 "looking dull." The short paragraph seems to possess 
 an aspect of briskness, of businesslike clearness. But 
 do not err on the side of too much condensation. Say 
 what you have to say as clearly and interestingly as 
 you possibly can, choose your opening with the length 
 of paragraph in mind, and you will be reasonably safe 
 from this danger of paragraph-prolixity. If you do 
 not have the too-much-to-say-briefly fault, there is no 
 likelihood of your running over the bounds. 
 
 Introductions 
 
 While your first paragraph is gaining attention for 
 your brain-child, let the handshake be either accom- 
 panied or followed by a logical introduction of the 
 developing points of the story, and, more important 
 still, let each character in your plot-complement of 
 people be presented clearly — ^individualized, as it were 
 
 14 
 
202 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 — SO that the reader may know all there is to know 
 about the characters and their relationships, one to 
 another, each to the rest, as he assimilates the unfold- 
 ing plot. If you speak of Belinda while putting for- 
 ward your "punch" opening, present her characteristics 
 immediately afterward, and at the same time so word 
 your sentences that they may not be cold statements 
 like: 
 
 Belinda . . . sweet, clever, seventeen. 
 
 That sort of description belongs in your cast of 
 characters, if you include such a cast. 
 
 Having spoken of Belinda as a girl who does not 
 know that her real father is serving a life-sentence in 
 prison for murder, go ahead and tell what sort of girl 
 she is, and here you may employ such a device as the 
 characterizing incident which we developed while 
 building our plot. See that you make the editor under- 
 stand what kind of girl Belinda is, as well as tell him 
 what she is doing, and then bring the Judge-father 
 along, if you can build your story along with his 
 presentation. Let his advent in the story come as 
 smoothly and logically as if he were walking "on" in a 
 stage production, where everyone either is spoken of 
 or speaks for himself or herself. If the sheriff comes 
 along with the Judge, to show that they are friends, let 
 your story continue, develop, build; and have the 
 sheriff so clearly put before the editorial eye and mind 
 that that personage will not need to stop in the middle 
 of page sixteen and turn impatiently back to the start 
 of the story, or refer to the cast of characters, to find 
 out who and what and why the sheriff is. 
 
HOW TO SHAKE HANDS 203 
 
 If the person who is introduced is important, let 
 your first presentation give interesting — but not un- 
 necessary — details about that one; if a minor char- 
 acter is brought into play, let the reason for the intro- 
 duction be seen, though not so much space is to be 
 devoted to unimportant characters as you allow for 
 the thorough first-presentation of the principals. 
 
 Except in the case of some character who is so 
 dominant in trait that he or she deserves a place in the 
 spotlight, do not let your introduction of characters 
 definitely halt your story. Try to arrange your synop- 
 sis-description of the plot so that the characters will 
 seem to come into the action of the story naturally, and 
 at the same time will almost describe themselves. 
 
 When Belinda has been presented, with her dog, 
 and she looks up, it is time to progress the action by 
 presenting the Judge and the sheriff. This is one way 
 in which you can do it : 
 
 Belinda sees kindly, lovable old Judge Lee coming, and rushes 
 to greet the man she has always considered to be her father, as 
 well as to smile at the whimsical display of a new "badge" by the 
 Judge's long-time friend, now Sheriff Wingate. 
 
 Thus the action is going forward, Belinda is not for- 
 gotten, and, in verity, it seems to be Belinda who is 
 taking us to meet the Judge and the Sheriff, not the 
 author of the synopsis. 
 
 Having presented the Judge, established his relation- 
 ship with Belinda, her own with him, his friendship for 
 the Sheriff, Belinda's liking for that "whimsical" offi- 
 cial (her smile at him shows her liking, and hints at his 
 being a comedy-character as well as does the badge). 
 
204 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 you proceed to develop the story, and whenever a new 
 character comes along, you make that character seem 
 a part of the story, and while you seem to be going 
 right ahead with your plot, you really incorporate your 
 characteristics and relationships in a quietly unob- 
 trusive fashion that helps a great deal toward the 
 attainment of that necessary ingredient of your synop- 
 sis — the smooth, readable style of writing. 
 
 To sum up : Make the handshake a good, firm grip 
 that wins confidence. At the same time, start your 
 "selling talk," which is, really, your description of the 
 plot. Keep the plot always moving, even if slowly, 
 through characterization-incident. And as you present 
 new faces make them photographically clear in the 
 reader's mind, making these new acquaintances seem a 
 part of the progression of the plot while you actually 
 introduce them. 
 
 If you are careful to manage this inculcation of ideas 
 of deportment in your brain-child, that offspring will 
 have a fine chance of being editorially invited to "stay 
 to dinner and meet the director and the star." 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 AS THE PLOT THICKENS 
 
 Just as soon as you have gotten a secure hold on 
 attention and interest with a punchful first paragraph, 
 and bridged the possible break in idea that may arise 
 from using some late-in-the-story point for that punch, 
 get right down to a statement of what your plot begins 
 with. That is to say, "let the plot thicken." But how- 
 ever you begin to thicken it, do not let that plot be- 
 come inpenetrably dense. Keep it clear, no matter how 
 complicated it becomes. 
 
 To do this requires a little weighing of words, a con- 
 siderable classifying of plot-attributes, and an enor- 
 mous amount of being-careful-beforehand to avoid 
 being sorry afterward. 
 
 While the plot must begin to move right off the reel, 
 so to speak, you must not try to make it move too 
 rapidly, or you are going to lose clearness of compre- 
 hension on the part of the reader. The moving for- 
 ward of plot-events can, and should, be calculated to 
 maintain interest and prevent confusion. At the be- 
 ginning of a synopsis it is wise to have the plot move 
 in a somewhat leisurely development — not lagging, by 
 any means, but progressing always, even if at a pace 
 slow enough to enable you to keep it absolutely clear. 
 If you try to say too much about your plot on the first 
 few pages, you are going to run upon the snag of con- 
 
206 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 fused statements, dulled points, or uneraphasized 
 matters of importance. 
 
 Planning th e Leisurely Start That Will Not Be Draggy 
 
 The idea of beginning without hurry may seem in- 
 harmonious with the previous likening of a good synop- 
 sis to the methods of a capable oil-stock salesman, yet 
 the similarity can be maintained, even here: The oil- 
 stock salesman delivers some punch-fact at you along 
 with his handshake; he does not stop talking at that 
 point, but neither does he let you wonder whether he 
 is trying to sell you egg-beaters or oil-pumps ; he puts 
 his proposition into lucid words that hold your atten- 
 tion and make you acquainted with important facts 
 while they do not drown you with detail, even if the 
 flow of speech is torrential — they bear you along on 
 their surface, just as he intends that they shall. 
 
 The punch-paragraph of the synopsis gets attention, 
 but if the pace were to be excessively swift in the fol- 
 lowing paragraphs, too much would be condensed into 
 too limited a space for ready assimilation by a reader. 
 
 Therefore it is better to set the tempo of your first 
 page or two to a slow plot-movement, without allowing 
 it to become draggy or saggy. A snail does not pro- 
 gress with a hare's swiftness, yet the snail surely does 
 keep right on advancing. Perhaps the snail's pace is 
 not so good at the conclusion of a race, but then, a 
 synopsis is not a race — it is a form of plot-statement. 
 
 A nice discrimination must be exercised in choice of 
 tempo. If the plot is a melodrama, the slow opening 
 
AS THE PLOT THICKENS 207 
 
 must be laid aside in favor of a slam-right-into-it pace. 
 In writing "slapstick" comedy the "stunts" must be 
 noticeable in the very introductory matter, if that is 
 possible with the particular material you have to set 
 forth. In polite comedy, though, and in the higher, 
 more serious forms of drama, even of comedy and 
 melodrama combined, the leisurely, thorough ground- 
 ing in plot-essentials is to be preferred to the hasty, 
 rush-to-it way of putting everything into the first few 
 paragraphs, then going back and expanding later in the 
 synopsis. This manner of writing is not to be com- 
 mended ; the condensation of plot into a bare skeleton, 
 to be expanded later, makes the ribs of the plot stick 
 out too prominently, and there is not so radical a 
 difference between ribs, nowadays, as there is between 
 fashions of covering them. It is far better to tell the 
 story in its expanded synopsis-form right from the 
 start, and leave the condensed-plot preface out. If 
 your "punch" is in the first paragraph, the reader will 
 follow it up by reading further. So long as you do not 
 maintain the snail's pace beyond the reasonable point of 
 clear foundationing, there will be no loss of attention. 
 
 What the Leisurely Beginning Should Achieve 
 
 The leisurely beginning for your synopsis should not 
 be a wordy dissertation on the merits of your plot, or 
 a Active introduction of dialogue and characterization ; 
 those things, carried beyond sensible limits, serve only 
 to destroy interest in the principal thing you are put- 
 ting forth for sale — the action of your plot. 
 
208 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 You must always keep in the forefront of your 
 mind the realization that you are preparing, in your 
 synopsis, a story that must be put into a continuity of 
 scenes, or scenario form, from which it will be pro- 
 duced in action, photographed for ultimate display in 
 a consecutive film-version for spectators who know 
 nothing about the story. If you do not make every- 
 thing quite clear to the editor, the scenario constructor, 
 the director who produces the eventual acted scene- 
 continuity, how can you expect these entirely human — 
 and therefore not infallible — beings to preserve the 
 individuality and freshness of your ideas? Another 
 thing is to be borne in mind : You are writing in action, 
 or at least describing a plot that lends itself to the 
 acting-manner of story-telling development. You 
 must try to devise movement-pictures that will be 
 readily understandable without the necessity for a 
 superabundant employment of explanatory matter. 
 Good in its place, both explanatory sub-titles and 
 quoted spoken matter become a bore when the on- 
 lookers discover that the action of the picture is merely 
 an illustrating of the same explained facts. 
 
 These things being arbitrarily true, and therefore 
 beyond dispute, you must plan your synopsis to show 
 that your grasp on the essential quality of action is 
 firm. The leisurely beginning for a synopsis is one 
 calculated to foster a thorough plan for and a logical 
 motivation of the story-idea, so that when the rush of 
 situations culminating in the climax is being written 
 vou do not have to slacken the tension of the situations 
 in order to explain, or to make the editor or reader 
 
AS THE PLOT THICKENS 209 
 
 turn back to some previous page to discover if Gladys 
 is climbing out of the window in her boudoir robe be- 
 cause her father objects to her marriage to a man with 
 blue eyes, or if she is doing this ladder-act to spite that 
 prudish aunt who says that ladies must always be seen 
 on the street in sober and coversome garments. 
 
 Granting the quality of your plot to be good, the 
 editor will prefer to read several pages of compara- 
 tively slow-advancing plot-detail at the start if by so 
 reading he can fully grasp the big "punches" when 
 they leap into type. 
 
 Your synopsis-beginning, exclusive of that "punch- 
 ful" opening paragraph, is that portion of the story- 
 depiction in which you thoroughly explain all char- 
 acter-relations, all vital characteristics and traits, all 
 necessity for "planting" motives or things — all of 
 every essential that can be treated at this point in the 
 story. In a word, the opening must secure a clear 
 comprehension on the reader's part of all basic facts, 
 must achieve an increasing interest in the future plot- 
 developments, and must produce an eagerness to dis- 
 cover the outcome of all the fundamental points. 
 
 The Gradual Increase of Tempo in Synopsis Writing 
 
 Just as quickly as you possibly can, commensurate 
 with your desire to make every basic fact clear, you 
 must discard your snail as a speed-regulator and 
 choose some swifter pacemaker. 
 
 As you get things thoroughly clarified in the start, 
 so must you continue to maintain clarity, but with a 
 
210 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 gradual increase of tension in your story-development 
 as complications come along, situations are incor- 
 porated and surprises are sprung, up to the eventual 
 climax, where everything must be understood and 
 readily accepted, so that the reader's mind may be free 
 of all distracting considerations and can grasp the full 
 value and power of your biggest "punch." 
 
 Through the body of the synopsis the pace at which 
 the plot develops must constantly seem to accelerate. 
 Put your snail into motion and let him proceed to the 
 railway station where he will be placed on an express 
 train that will start up a short acclivity, only to gather 
 momentum as it races down the other slope, till its very 
 highest speed is reached just previous to that swift 
 putting on of brakes which will bring it to a quick, 
 gentle, satisfying stop where you want to alight. 
 
 If it takes three pages of double-spaced typewritten 
 matter to make your introductory facts so clear that 
 they cannot be misconstrued by reader, editor, script- 
 wright and director, go ahead and use those three 
 pages. If it takes ten sheets of paper so covered with 
 double-spaced typing to get you into a big situation, do 
 not despair. If the later pages increase the story tempo, 
 heighten the tension, accelerate the movement of the 
 plot, with an ever-growing swiftness, your slow start — 
 not your draggy start I — will have been worth while. 
 
 How is this increasing plot-speed to be accom- 
 plished? That is a question that depends for its 
 answer upon your own writing-ability. You must 
 practice writing action-description at every oppor- 
 tunity. You must be a keen and a merciless self- 
 
AS THE PLOT THICKENS 211 
 
 critical analyst. You must never feel that it is a waste 
 of effort to tear up a few pages and rewrite their con- 
 tents if by so doing you can secure a smoother-reading 
 manuscript. You must lay out your plot-material in 
 some sort of skeletonized form, so that each fact of 
 the plot-progression is separate from all others, so that 
 each stands out baldly before you, so that each can be 
 weighed in your mind for its plot-value and the amount 
 of typewriting (number of sentences) it will take to 
 put that single fact clearly on paper. You must, until 
 you can "do the stunt in your mind," employ some 
 such mechanical plot-visualization as will be secured 
 by a separation of the various plot-factors into their 
 distinctive groups. Thus you will be able to gauge 
 the importance of each factor and the value of it in 
 relation to the other factors in its group. With the 
 value of the separate and of the grouped factors 
 clearly in mind, the matter of arranging them in an 
 orderly fashion with the tempo of the writing-progres- 
 sion as a governing power should not be difficult for 
 you. 
 
 If it is necessary for you to employ a thoroughly 
 mechanical brain-assistant, the following plan may be 
 valuable: Put down on slips of paper, or cards, the 
 various single factors of your plot ; put only one on a 
 slip or card, and place it at the top of the slip or card. 
 Then arrange these factors in related groups. Have 
 the facts that begin your plot in the first group, the 
 second containing the developing facts, the third group 
 bringing up complications and further plot-developing 
 
212 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 factors, and so on to the climax-group and the final 
 untwisting of the threads on your last cards. 
 
 Without altering the plot itself, consider which fact 
 can best be used as a "punch-opening" for your first 
 synopsis-paragraph. Before you decide finally, weigh 
 all the other factors, and make sure that you have the 
 right one, having in mind the smooth unfolding of your 
 plot in a consecutive, though not necessarily chrono- 
 logical, order of events. 
 
 On the "punch-card," write your first synopsizing 
 paragraph, or at least sketch out its contents. Then 
 gather the first group of basic facts and sketch on their 
 cards the sentences that will best — ^most concisely and 
 with the greatest clarity — ^make them understandable 
 as a part of an eventual synopsis. Proceed thus, even 
 though it seems a tedious process, until you have your 
 skeletonized facts supplied with developing sentences 
 or paragraphs as the cases may require. Then arrange 
 them in a logical order of progression, and revise their 
 synopsis-producing contents until you have a smooth, 
 readable continuity of ideas. Go over the sentences 
 carefully ; see that the early cards are full enough in 
 their explanation; cut down the explanation in the 
 later ones to the essence of swiftly moving description. 
 Then — criticize, analyze, for the sake of being sure 
 that you have not neglected any important matter, and 
 go ahead with the typing of your synopsis from these 
 guide-cards. 
 
 This is not a rapid method of synopsis preparation, 
 but is undoubtedly a wonderful practice in plot-evolu- 
 
AS THE PLOT THICKENS 213 
 
 tion and synopsis-expansion from plot-factors to com- 
 pleted and acceptable synopsis form. 
 
 It would not be a bad idea to employ the card- 
 system when you work out your plot, instead of merely 
 writing it down in a rough skeleton or outline form. 
 You will be amazed to see how much you can shift the 
 plot-factors around, how many groupings they will 
 provide, and how much can be discarded, as well as 
 how much can be added, to this loose and elastic form 
 of plot-visualizing. 
 
 Too much trouble, you think ? Oh, no ! Remember 
 that you are not preparing to try for a ten-dollar check. 
 You must expect to do hard work if you intend to keep 
 the bank cashier's respect for your deposits. 
 
 With" the cards before you it is no difficult thing to 
 assure yourself that your plot is in its most consistent 
 form ; it is no impossible task to arrange the complete 
 plot in its best form for a synopsis-exposition; and, 
 best of all, you can discard some inspired inanities 
 that are likely to creep into your first few synopses 
 from the anxiety you will feel for a good style. One 
 writer sent a synopsis to a studio — ^his first synopsis to 
 its first destination. He said: 
 
 ". . . with a last farewell look around the room, he turned 
 on the gas. 
 
 "The vapor flung itself in sinuous coils about him ; then you 
 cut to his wife taking a bath, then back to him dead." 
 
 Imagine! "Sinuous coils" certainly are not photo- 
 graphically possible in the case of vapor. And the 
 lady! The writer knew there must be a "flash" to 
 some other action, for he had seen the pictures on the 
 
214 'iJIli PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 screen, but he failed to consider the propriety of the 
 "flash" he used, just as much as he failed to under- 
 stand that a synopsis is not a full scenario. Besides 
 showing you how senseless some hasty synopsis- 
 preparation can make the writer look in editorial 
 offices, this brings us to the natural discussion of the 
 amount of scenario technique that is required of an 
 author who submits his work to be put into scenario 
 form by some studio writer. 
 
 The Influence of Scenario Technique Upon the 
 Synopsis 
 
 It has been suggested, previously, that an under- 
 standing of the technique of scenario construction is 
 a valuable asset to the writer of the synopsis for a 
 motion picture. The statement is now repeated, and 
 emphatically stressed. The knowledge of the proper 
 method of visualizing action in its scenario form, its 
 continuity of developing scenes, will give you a great 
 deal of help in preparing your picture-plots in the 
 synopsis form. 
 
 The medium of expression in the scenario and in the 
 synopsis is the same — story-telling by action. You, as 
 well as the scenario writer, must feel, think and write 
 action. 
 
 The scenario develops a story in action, by employ- 
 ing a succession of logically related, consecutively pro- 
 gressive scenes, combined with a proper amount of 
 explanatory material. These scenes must start with a 
 moderate action-tempo, gradually accelerated to the 
 
AS THE PLOT THICKENS 215 
 
 culminating point of high tension. So, also, your 
 synopsis must begin with the same thorough impres- 
 sionizing of facts upon the ultimate spectator and then 
 logically develop with gradually increasing speed and 
 tension to a culmination as swift and as satisfying as is 
 possible with the idea embodied. 
 
 But the understanding of scenario technique, valu- 
 able as it is in its aid to your proper visualizing of 
 developing plot in action, can be carried to a point in 
 synopsis-practice where it will be a detriment rather 
 than a help. 
 
 You will do well to familiarize yourself with scenario 
 technique, with the art of expressing plot in logical 
 scene-sequence of smooth, understandable action, but 
 you must apply the resultant information with a cer- 
 tain amount of common sense when you prepare your 
 synopsis. 
 
 The story must, in each form of development, run 
 along the lines of smooth, logical development. But 
 the synopsis must not be a series of "scenes," in the 
 photoplay meaning of that word: a scene being so 
 much of the action of a photoplay as can be taken in 
 one place at one period of the story-development with- 
 out stopping the camera. In the scenario this "scene" 
 is described in terms of character-action. In the 
 synopsis it would be explained in terms of plot- 
 development. 
 
 You must not, if you understand scenario technique, 
 allow that knowledge to turn your synopsis into a de- 
 tailed scenario in its adherence to action-explicitness 
 
216 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 or Strict scene-development continuity. Rather, you 
 must turn the knowledge to account by making it help 
 you to see action in a possible sequence of scenes, so 
 that you will not write into your synopsis any material 
 that is impossible from the camera standpoint, as the 
 "sinuous coils of vapor." Also, you must use your 
 knowledge to help you in achieving the best, most 
 logically coherent, plot-development ; but you dare not 
 be influenced by scenario technique in describing situa- 
 tions, for in a scenario situations are often developed 
 by contrasting "runs of action ;" that is, a girl is seen 
 in her boudoir, a man is shown riding a horse at break- 
 neck speed, another man is breaking in the boudoir 
 door, the wife is seen almost fainting, the door is 
 broken in, a flash is given of the horseman leaping 
 from his steed, there comes a scene where the wife 
 struggles in the villain's grip, the horseless man is now 
 fighting with the villain's accomplice downstairs, the 
 woman is shown struggling, the two men are shown 
 fighting, and so the scenes flash to and fro to keep all 
 the building-threads of action in mind until they con- 
 verge and finally blend in a single scene. 
 
 In your synopsis you must not use this method of 
 conveying parallel plot-threads. You would in such a 
 case simply say that while Freda is waiting for her 
 husband, who is riding home on his swift horse, Jordan 
 comes to the boudoir door, and, not gaining admittance, 
 smashes in the panels. Freda struggles in his grasp, 
 and is finally rescued by her husband's timely arrival. 
 
 Do not be circumstantial in describing "scenes" in 
 your synopsis. Give a coherent description of one 
 
AS THE FLOT THICKENS 217 
 
 event, then pick up the parallel event and bring it up 
 to the situation wherein the two combine. Make the two 
 parallels clear and let the scenario writer build in the 
 "cuts" and "scenes." 
 
 Not always is it wise to have your synopsis built in 
 the same continuity of events that will appear on the 
 screen. The scenarioist strives to achieve this perfec- 
 tion of continuity in his script, but what you want to 
 do is to tell the editor, the scenarioist and the director 
 all you know about your plot. The plot may — nay, 
 must ! — have suspense and the other elements we have 
 discussed; but it must clearly state your story-idea, 
 and so it may often begin with a detailing of some 
 situation that will not develop in the final picture until 
 the story is half told. Again, your punch-paragraph 
 may allude to a murder that will not be shown, even 
 hinted at, in the scenario until the characters are all 
 moving along their allotted lines, and most of the 
 introductory matter is disposed of. Still again, the 
 synopsis might begin with an allusion to the past, 
 matter in point of time being logically the story's 
 start; the scenario might reserve that allusion to the 
 past for a "fade-back" way of divulging the points. 
 Or, you might use the "fade-back" method and some 
 director would decide to tell the story "straight." 
 
 Often, though, you can decide about the proper way 
 to plan your parallel situations, your runs of action, 
 your method of including information about the past, 
 through an understanding of scenario ways and tech- 
 nique, without allowing yourself to fall into the error 
 of making your work that hybrid, unsalable, half- 
 
218 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 baked incongruity, the scenario that is not sucli any 
 more than it is a synopsis. A synopsis may run along 
 the lines of development that would be followed by a 
 scenario, but neither distinct form must be merged 
 with the other, or the result will be worse than futile. 
 
 How Many Words 
 
 Some writers wonder what limit is set upon their 
 garrulity in describing plots in synopsis form. The 
 limit of words is quite an elastic one. The best rules 
 to follow are: 
 
 Do not use ten words where two will suffice. 
 
 Do not use two words if ten are required for abso- 
 lute clarity. 
 
 Write constantly in the synopsis form — that is, write 
 description of action and plot at every possible chance. 
 Practice, study your use of words, seek to increase 
 your vocabulary of movement-words, try to discover 
 how to say a thing that will mentally take on the typi- 
 fying form of action. 
 
 Do not say that "Marguerite has all the sensations 
 of joy, anticipation, eagerness, delight, as she slips on 
 her coat, dons her hat, and sets out for her shopping 
 trip, which is a thing she never grows weary of, even 
 though she indulges in a shopping trip every day." 
 
 Say, "Marguerite goes shopping with her usual 
 delight in the habitual trip downtown." 
 
AS THE PLOT THICKENS 219 
 
 Do not write, "Felicia hates Jack's tie" when you 
 mean, by "tie," the marriage relation that binds him to 
 Felicia's rival-woman. 
 
 Be clear. Be as concise as clarity permits, with due 
 regard for the smoothness and readability of clarity. 
 Be leisurely in making basic things clearly apparent. 
 Then get into motion for a faster pace that will eventu- 
 ally rush to the big race and the finishing point. 
 
 Do not be a slave to scenario technique; be its 
 master and it will serve you well in helping your 
 action-visualization in words put into synopsis con- 
 tinuity. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 SOME SYNOPSIS REFINEMENTS 
 
 The points to be discussed in this chapter are those 
 which add a touch of refinement to the synopsis — ^give 
 it, so to speak, a higher quality of literary merit and, 
 at the same time, interest. 
 
 It is with some hesitation that these things are intro- 
 duced, for it is not my purpose to confuse you and 
 cause you to overshoot the mark in preparing synopses 
 for the photoplay market. It would be an easy matter 
 for you to overshoot the mark by incorporating the 
 elements we are about to consider, unless you main- 
 tained a due regard for their value to your particular 
 type of story, or if you did not have a complete under- 
 standing of their use and the danger of their abuse ! 
 
 However, for the "you" who have intelligence enough 
 to attack this synopsis-writing as a serious study, and 
 who can temper the danger of too much knowledge 
 with a calm discretion in its application, it is only fair 
 to set forth all the possible ways by which a synopsis 
 may be improved, trusting that you will not be like the 
 photoplay scenario-writing novice who discovered that 
 the studio director said a certain effect would not 
 "register," and found that "to register" was to put 
 forward an emotion in such a clearly defined manner 
 that it could not possibly be mistaken ; whereupon Mr. 
 Novice wrote his scenes thus : 
 
SOME SYNOPSIS REFINEMENTS 221 
 
 Billy registers he loves her, and May registers tbat he registers 
 with her, and both register at the hotel desk and so register that 
 their names register. 
 
 It was too bad that he did not include a reference to 
 the hot-air-register in the heating arrangements of the 
 hotel. The (possible!) smile having faded from your 
 countenance, let us see what moral there is to be regis- 
 tered from this little digression ; here it is : Any tech- 
 nique is dangerous if its purpose is not understood, and 
 its use marks one as hopelessly unintelligent except 
 when the use is logical, and shows a full understand- 
 ing and appreciation of the wherefore. 
 
 Hence, when you discover that sub-titles may be 
 helpfully suggested by the synopsis writer, do not try 
 to see how many sub-titles you can suggest. When 
 you find that "contrast" is a nice adjunct to emphasis 
 of situation, do not pore anxiously over your plot- 
 essence, seeking to imbue it with contrasting elements 
 wholly incompatible with its character. If you find 
 that a little comedy is beneficial to a drama, do not 
 hurriedly plan to have the erring wife tweak her hus- 
 band's nose just so that there will be comedy-relief in 
 a tense situation. Use the succeeding bits of valuable 
 information as though they were old shoes that fit per- 
 fectly and were entirely comfortable — not as if you 
 were breaking in some especially squeaky boots. 
 
 When properly, deftly embodied in the synopsis, a 
 suggested sub-title is a valuable thing. We may devote 
 a little space to its consideration. 
 
 The Revealing Speech in Photoplay 
 When a point of plot cannot be made clear by the 
 
222 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 employment of pantomimic expression alone, descrip- 
 tive material must be embodied in the film at that place 
 in the story so that there may be no misconception of 
 the clear meaning of the unactable point. 
 
 Usually, you will see statements coming on the 
 screen in advance of scenes. If Bill must be presented 
 to the spectators, the scenario writer will often sub- 
 title, or explain by means of a printed statement, 
 thrown upon the screen in advance of Bill's appear- 
 ance, that "Bill reads Turkish but does not understand 
 it." Then we are prepared, if we see Bill apparently 
 absorbed in some Turkish-looking document with a 
 sidewise cast of the eye toward the professor of lan- 
 guages standing beside him, that Bill is "playing oflE" 
 on that chap. Without the explanation we might 
 wonder if Bill is contemplating an exploration of the 
 old gentleman's pockets, or what the whole thing is 
 about anyway. This explanatory, scene-preceding 
 form of statement is known to the craft as either a sub- 
 title or a leader, according to your preference in terms ; 
 they both mean the same thing, technically. With 
 this form of sub-title the synopsis writer has little con- 
 cern, except in some such event as this: If you can 
 plan some catchy, snappy way of saying an introduc- 
 tory thing about some character, it will do no harm to 
 embody it in your synopsis, making its prominence 
 apparent by use of the underlining key of your 
 machine, if you so desire, in order to set it apart from 
 the other material describing the character. Thus : 
 
 Bill can read French, but he does not understand it, his educa- 
 tion having been acquired in the hard school of the streets. 
 
SOME SYNOPSIS REFINEMENTS 223 
 
 This device is more useful in writing the comedy- 
 type of synopsis than in the straight drama. 
 
 There is another form of inserted descriptive matter 
 that is really equivalent to the spoken dialogue of the 
 stage play, though its use in the synopsis is to be vastly 
 more infrequent. This is what is technically known as 
 the "speech title" or "cut-in speech." It takes the form 
 of a speech supposedly delivered by one character to 
 another, and is, like the sub-title proper, a device of 
 scenario technique. For comedy material, it may be 
 employed quite beneficially in the synopsis if you are 
 clever at devising bright sayings, or if you have some 
 fresh way of expressing the thought or feeling of a 
 character. 
 
 For instance, suppose that you are planning a situa- 
 tion in which, for comedy purposes, a girl is to be 
 caught blowing bubbles with her daddy's favorite 
 smoking pipe. He is naturally dismayed. This situa- 
 tion would be amusing in itself: but it could be en- 
 hanced, several more smiles could be tweaked out of 
 it, by having the insertion of several little speeches re- 
 vealing the facts and showing the girl's aptness at 
 repartee; you would not say that these quoted 
 speeches were suggestions for sub-titles or cut-in 
 speeches, but would emphasize them by an underline, 
 or in some other way, as will be mentioned in a later 
 chapter on the script form. But here is an example of 
 the use of the technical device in your synopsis : 
 
 Mayda is blowing bubbles with her daddy's favorite pipe. He 
 catches her at it, and exclaims in dismay: "It was the best pipe 
 J ever had I" Contrite, but undismayed, Mayda assures him: 
 "They were the best bubbles I ever made I" 
 
224 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Used with discretion, to bring out character, to 
 emphasize some important comedy-situation, the pat 
 reply is a guide to the author's conception of his pic- 
 ture-folk and their manners of speech, whereas over- 
 indulgence in the speech spoils its good effect. Some- 
 times the use of speech is actually essential, as in the 
 writing of a synopsis of a story containing a character 
 with some peculiarity of speech, or to bring out the 
 atmosphere of a locality that has its own readily recog- 
 nizable colloquialisms. In the S3niopsis, and finally 
 the scenario, of "Kitty Mackaye" (a stage-play adapted 
 to film production for Vitagraph) my problem was to 
 emphasize the comedy of the pecuHar Scotch dialect 
 or lose the characteristics and atmosphere of the whole 
 play. Such couplets as "Ye have polish" responded to 
 by the girl with, "Aye, Sir, an' so has brass!" gave the 
 girl a chance to show her wit ; while pure characteriza- 
 tion of the old Scotchman who was presumably Kitty's 
 father lay in her reply, as follows: Meeting the old 
 dominie, she was asked why her father did not come to 
 the "kirk" and her answer came : "Aye, but he doesna 
 come to the kirk because he can sleep better at home." 
 
 The original play was full of little clevernesses of 
 the dry, brusk dialect, and so had many suggestions 
 for cut-in speeches. Used adroitly, the little speeches 
 in your synopsis may mean the difference between 
 cleverness and dullness of idea ; used maladroitly, they 
 can only indicate the latter. 
 
 Other Forms of Interpolated Explanatory Matter 
 
 In some sorts of stories a good deal of dependence 
 
SOME SYNOPSIS REFINEMENTS 225 
 
 may be put upon the wording of a will, a telegram, or 
 some such device. These interpolated forms of com- 
 munication are frequently resorted to as a better means 
 of conveying information to an audience than the usual 
 slap-you-in-the-face statement of fact in a sub-title. 
 The letter, telegram, will, or other form of written or 
 printed communication of idea, is thrown upon the 
 screen as though one sees it over the shoulder of the 
 character who is photographed as looking at it, hence 
 the important fact comes to the spectators as if they 
 were being taken into the confidence of the character. 
 
 This is another device of scenario technique that 
 must not be used just because you know it can be used ; 
 it is to be employed only when, to get your own idea 
 thoroughly in the mind of the reader or the editor, you 
 must resort to a letter from one character to another, 
 or a telegram, a portion of an important will or other 
 legal document, and possibly a particularized news- 
 paper item. If you merely want Molika to throw a 
 note over the harem wall so as to have the note found 
 by a youth you expect to have climb in and find the lady 
 anxious to escape, you need not particularize the note : 
 leave it to the scenario writer to decide whether there 
 is not enough conveyed-idea in the tossing of the paper 
 and the resultant wall-scaling. But if the note must 
 contain some important bit of information, you can 
 incorporate your idea of that in the synopsis — under- 
 lined, if you wish, or simply quoted. As I have said, 
 these inserted idea-conveyors are not to be used as a 
 means of showing your knowledge of their purpose, 
 but only when needed — as in the case of the note 
 
226 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 which Belinda sends her father (in the synopsis used 
 later on as a form), in which it is imperative that the 
 girl say a certain thing in a certain way, so as to give 
 her father a motive for his consequent action and 
 mental attitude. 
 
 Sometimes you need only explain what the general 
 contents of a note, newspaper clipping, or like insert is 
 to be, leaving the exact wording to the discretion of 
 the scriptwright ; but if your plot, or any important 
 development of it, hinges on a clear understanding of 
 some exactly-worded insert, write it into your synop- 
 sis. Here is an example of a bit of drama-synopsis 
 showing both an inserted information-conveying 
 device and a resultant clarifying speech : 
 
 Tottie gets the note so hastily dashed off by Jim before he 
 accepted his father's offer of a million dollars for his absolute 
 adherence to parental demands for one year. She reads : "Well, 
 kid, it's all blooey! I'm off for the unknown 'somewhere.' The 
 old man says he will shoot you some dough to salve your feelings 
 at losing noble me, your misled, affectionate Jim." She looks at 
 her friend as the latter is allowed to read the note, then observes, 
 concealing her real heart-break: "Them rich guys think us 
 chorus girls is all alike — ^love, with us, is spelled 'm-o-n-e-y !' " 
 When the sympathetic friend goes, Tottie gets her big idea : she 
 will show the rich ones their error in her case, at least. 
 
 In no other way could the characteristic trait of the 
 easily-led-away rich youth be linked with his miscon- 
 ception of the girl's genuine affection for him. In case 
 you can utilize these devices and not abuse them, you 
 are safe in incorporating them when required in your 
 synopsis. 
 
 Contrast as an Aid to Emphasis 
 
 Another little technicality of scenario practice that 
 may be found useful at certain points in synopsis 
 
SOME SYNOPSIS REFINEMENTS 227 
 
 writing is the close juxtaposition of opposed ideas — 
 the employment of contrast to build up emphasis of the 
 contrasting ideas. 
 
 If a rich youth has everything his idle heart can 
 desire, and later on he is to meet and be influenced by 
 a girl whose income can be totaled on her right hand 
 digits, it will help to emphasize her poverty if she is 
 mentioned in closer (synopsis) relation to the state- 
 ment concerning the rich man than the plot would logi- 
 cally demand. For example, she might not need to be 
 employed as a plot-character until about page four of 
 your synopsis ; but you could emphasize interest, and 
 gain contrast of ideas, by using her in an -allusion such 
 as this : 
 
 Jim Randall has so many dollars that he could not count them 
 in two lifetimes. His life is idle, careless, useless — far different 
 from that of little, poverty-stunted Myrtle, whose four dollars a 
 week keep her body together — as for her "soul," it may amuse 
 Jim some day to discover if she has one or no. But not now : he 
 is too busy keeping track of butterfly Beatrice. . . . 
 
 And SO the story runs back on to its track, no bit 
 harmed by the switch to another character, for one 
 instinctively sympathizes more with little Myrtle by 
 reason of the allusion to her here than one might if 
 she were not mentioned until Jim, possibly having 
 gone oif on a mad "spree," wakes up in her tenement, 
 whither she has conveyed him from the gutter. 
 
 Whenever you have totally diiferent associations of 
 opposed idea, you emphasize each by its close prox- 
 imity to the other. The scenario writer would, having 
 discovered Myrtle, "cut in" or provide a scene showing 
 her, off and on, in some bit of "business," keeping her 
 in the story: you need not bother to emphasize each 
 
228 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 of the possible "cuts" — your reference to her at the 
 appropriate point has shown a possibility for contrast. 
 Often there is to be secured a considerable heightening 
 of suspense by the employment of contrast, the 
 scenario writer jumping from action to quiet, in some 
 situation like this, described without "cuts" by you : 
 
 Up on the roof the men are fighting together, Red Dorgan 
 against his three assailants ; he breaks free, and rushes to the 
 fire escape, down which he gets to the room where his wife has 
 been quietly sewing, unaware of the excitement. 
 
 Contrast is used in a synopsis merely to indicate its 
 presence and call attention to its possibility for em- 
 ployment by the scenario writer. So do not go around 
 hunting up opposed ideas just for the sake of display- 
 ing a knowledge of the device, or there may be a con- 
 siderable contrast between the editor's idea and yours, 
 of the advisability of exchanging the synopsis for a 
 check. 
 
 Comedy-Relief in Drama 
 
 The use of comedy-relief in a dramatic situation is 
 not, as you might think, improperly placed here : it is 
 not plotting, or synopsis-writing, exactly — it is more in 
 the line of developing little "touches" or bits of "busi- 
 ness," to enhance some point or to emphasize some 
 situation. As contrast of opposed envirorunent en- 
 hances and emphasizes both the opposed ideas, so does 
 a bit of comedy, adroitly applied, sometimes help to 
 make the drama of a situation more forcible. It is in 
 the higher refinements of synopsis-preparation, such as 
 the clever employment of touches of this sort, that the 
 careful craftsman stands head and shoulders above his 
 
SOME SYNOPSIS REFINEMENTS 229 
 
 less able colleagues. Yet his superiority in height is 
 not advantageous unless it is rightfully his : one can- 
 not stand out by merely knowing what a bit of comedy- 
 relief is: one must feel the need for it, sense its value ; 
 in short, have that divine gift by which we recognize 
 the work of genius — (no, there are not any of these 
 touches in my work with you on "Belinda"). 
 
 The proper meaning and employment of the touch 
 of comedy-relief is about as difficult to set down on 
 paper as is the real, inner meaning of the "human 
 appeal." One has to grasp the thing intuitively — less 
 through reading than through an innate power of 
 higher creative ability. Still, it is one of the refine- 
 ments of good synopsis-writing, so here is an attempt 
 at setting the thing clearly before you. 
 
 The fine touch of comedy-relief in a dramatic situa- 
 tion is achieved by the introducing of some tiny bit of 
 "business" that serves to break the tension of the situa- 
 tion, let down, as it were, the keyed-up spectators, let 
 their tears turn to laughter. In the rare cases where it 
 is employed by a genius, such as one may safely assert 
 Mr. D. W. Griffith to be at his sentimental, whimsical 
 best, the intrusion of a bit of comedy-relief at the cul- 
 mination of an enthralling incident or situation pro- 
 vides that situation with a peculiar emphasis, gives to 
 it an added touch of drama. 
 
 That is a crucial test for comedy-relief: it must 
 provoke no ribald mirth; rather, it should allow one 
 to chuckle a bit, perhaps ; or, better, to sigh, and allow 
 the held breath to go in and out about its usual busi- 
 ness once more. 
 
230 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Suppose you have a situation of this sort : A soldier 
 is dying in a hospital, surrounded by nurses, the doctor, 
 and several privates who have bunked with him. His 
 wife arrives, panting — ^hurriedly summoned. If her 
 influence can be made to tell upon her soldier it will 
 give him the one chance for life — ^the one slim chance 
 he needs. She strives to speak his name, choking back 
 the lump in her throat, but she can only gasp out the 
 first syllable. He continues to toss and moan. She 
 drops beside his cot, and catches his hand. He turns 
 his face : he does not seem to know her, for he twists 
 away his head impatiently. The wife looks up, agony 
 in her eyes. "God," she breathes a silent prayer, 
 
 "Make him to know " and her head bows. The 
 
 doctor shakes his head at one of the nurses, and the 
 nurse, her face working with pity and sorrow, moves 
 forward to tell the wife that the stillness into which 
 the face of the soldier has fallen is not to be broken on 
 this side of the Grey Wall. But the wife shakes off 
 the hand of the nurse, and rising, wild, eager, listens. 
 Far and faint come the strains of a violin. She is gone 
 from the room but a moment, returning with the instru- 
 ment, snatched almost forcibly from a surprised but 
 not funny soldier. No, there is no comedy wanted 
 here I The wife is back in the room where already the 
 doctor is bending over that silent, quiet form. Then, 
 sweet and clear, thin like the call of a bird to its distant 
 mate, comes the muted sound of the first soft note of 
 the "Miserere" — ^his favorite ! Softly, slowly, the bow 
 moves across the sobbing strings, while there is not a 
 breath drawn in that room: only the doctor's face 
 
SOME SYNOPSIS KEFINEMENTS 231 
 
 shows the futility of the struggle. But is it futile? 
 Cannot that earnest prayer be answered, even 
 though a soul be winging its way to another realm? 
 Steady is the hand that wields that bow across the 
 singing string ! But not steady the lips that form the 
 words of the song. The still hand on the cover moves ! 
 The eyes unclose, and the moveless lips yet seem to 
 frame a word of which the eyes seem to hold knowl- 
 edge. With a sob the wife drops the instrument crash- 
 ing to the floor as she bows over that face, and by the 
 doctor's change of face we know there is hope. Then 
 the bunkies obey a sign from the doctor, and tiptoe out, 
 one catching up the fragment of broken violin as he 
 passes the bowed form beside the cot. And in the 
 doorway that bunkie pauses for just an instant, and 
 suddenly draws in a breath which he expels in a sharp 
 "Whoof!" The spectators would suddenly discover 
 themselves imitating that soldier — ^letting go of the 
 held breath in a quick relief that would stimulate the 
 impressiveness, the tension, of the long fight for a 
 life. That sudden "Whoof!" would be a genuinely 
 human bit of "business," and it would be a touch of 
 comedy-relief. 
 
 That is as close as I can come to making you see 
 what, how and where the comedy-touch belongs in a 
 dramatic situation. Some authors would make the 
 situation ridiculous by having the owner of the violin 
 sobbing or hugging his spoiled instrument. Others 
 would show him leaping after the wife. Still again, 
 others might have the soldier pick up the violin, and in 
 that tense room, look at it with a wry expression. Any 
 
232 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 of these would be relief, but not true, sincere, human 
 comedy-relief: any of them would spoil the whole 
 situation. To take the soldier out a-tiptoe, and then 
 "spring" the relieving sigh, would make every spec- 
 tator realize how much he had been like that soldier, 
 build within him a full comprehension of just how 
 deeply he had felt, and give him a chance to chuckle. 
 Can you do it? 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 CULTIVATING A DISTINCTIVE WRITING 
 STYLE 
 
 A director came to me one day with a considerable 
 sheaf of photoplay-synopsis manuscripts. He flung 
 them disgustedly upon my desk and groaned. "I wish 
 you'd skim through these," he said. "I've tried to read 
 a couple, but they are so blamed dull and flat that I 
 can't 'see' the ideas at all." 
 
 Examined without prejudice, the manuscripts were 
 found to contain fairly worth-while plot-ideas. That 
 is why they had passed the first reading and reached 
 the director through the editor's hands. The writers 
 had managed to state their plot-developments quite 
 fully, but every synopsis in that group was written in 
 a cold, unentertaining style, with the essential facts set 
 down as dispassionately as one would see them in an 
 old-fashioned plot-sketch of the infancy days of the 
 pictures. Not a single synopsis possessed the slightest 
 spark of vitalizing style. They contained no atmos- 
 phere, no attractiveness. It chanced that the company 
 to which they had been submitted had in its employ a 
 reader who was conscientious above the average, a 
 reader who felt that he owed a duty to every con- 
 tributor with ideas. He would read for plot, and fre- 
 quently he would find enough to justify him in his 
 conscientious but tedious wading through the mass of 
 material he always had before him. 
 
234 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 That reader was an exception, one may say without 
 injury to the reputation of the host of other studio 
 readers. He was an exception in the possession of this 
 abnormal sense of duty to the outside contributor ; for, 
 curiously enough, this superconscientiousness was the 
 cause of his downfall — he read so thoroughly, so care- 
 fully, for plot, that he was always failing to keep up 
 with the inpour of fresh material. In time, complaints 
 began to reach the editor, wails over long-held-up 
 manuscripts, growls from writers who had received 
 some story back after three months' delay. What 
 happened? The inevitable: a reader was found who 
 could keep his desk clear, and yet give the authors a 
 reasonably just consideration for their material. 
 
 The over-conscientious reader gave equal considera- 
 tion to the work of the expert and the effort of the 
 novice, and he could not possibly find enough quality- 
 material in the latter class of submissions to justify him 
 in holding up the work of all till it became unseason- 
 able or otherwise useless to another company. 
 
 Every company expects its readers to be just, and, in 
 fact, retains the reader for the express purpose of 
 seeking good plot-material in the mass of submitted 
 manuscripts. But the company wants its contributors 
 to feel that their work will be given prompt, as well as 
 just, consideration. 
 
 It is humanly impossible to read every word of every 
 synopsis in the mass that comes into the editorial de- 
 partment of the average studio. By long experience 
 the readers have come to know that the writer who 
 has originality of idea, cleverness of conception, fresh- 
 
CULTIVATING A DISTINCTIVE WRITING STYLE 235 
 
 ness of viewpoint, has, as well, a confidence in his own 
 work that makes him give it the best that is in him. 
 The novice at synopsis-writing, or the person who 
 lacks ability to plot or to provide the novel twists that 
 make even the old plots appear new, does not seem to 
 put much thought or effort on his work, and this shows 
 in his output. 
 
 A dry, matter-of-fact arrangement of plot-factors in 
 orderly sequence may make an interesting plot — that 
 is, a plot imbued with interesting possibilities for the 
 screen — ^but such a dull plot-arrangement is quite likely 
 to exert a chilling influence on the reader's enthusiasm 
 for the idea, and if he is rushed with work, or has had 
 a run of impossible ideas in his day's reading, he is 
 very likely to drop the dry facts of a plot and select 
 some bright, vivaciously virile synopsis from a writer 
 who has been as conscientious in his study of all the 
 ways to help his brain-child as he expects the reader 
 to be in welcoming that offspring. 
 
 The reader who had too much conscience held to the 
 opinion that if a plot had any merit it should reach the 
 editor, the editor in question agreed with this opinion, 
 and so the dry synopsis would "get by" the reader by 
 virtue of the interest in its plot. 
 
 But when these dull statements got into the hands of 
 the director, who made his entrance with the start of 
 this chapter, that person, a fair representative of his 
 class, felt the lack of virility, missed the picturizing 
 influence of a smooth, visualizable writing-style, and 
 could not overcome the handicap thus placed before 
 his imagination. 
 
236 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 It may seem to you like waste of time to discuss th« 
 attributes of mind which evolve the good directorial 
 qualities in a man. Yet such a discussion will provide 
 you with an understanding of the "whyfore" of the 
 cultivated writing-style. If you do not care to spend 
 time enough to develop your own style to the point of 
 highest excellence, it will be best for you to skip ahead 
 to the next chapter and let this one go; the present 
 discussion is aimed at those who intend to succeed, not 
 once, not accidentally, but always, and inevitably, 
 through the cultivation of every talent that makes for 
 success. 
 
 "The director," said a chap who has written for a 
 goodly number of the men in question, "is a very odd 
 sort of genius. All he ever gets to work with is a 
 crowd of likely people (sometimes!) and a bunch of 
 cold, typewritten words. From these he is expected to 
 evolve living, soulful screen-plays. Admitting that the 
 players have talent for expressing idea in action, ad- 
 mitting that the bunches of words embody a workable 
 idea, nevertheless, you or I, set down on the studio 
 floor with those same players and the same workable 
 ideas, would probably turn out a sizable bunch of 
 'junk' film. Why? We are capable of seeing action, 
 else we would not be writing scripts. We can pre- 
 conceive the logical continuity of idea-development. 
 We can go the limit when it comes to telling a director 
 what to do — ^but could we do that which we explain so 
 lucidly to him? You might; but not any for me. 
 When I'd look around and see players who draw 
 thousands a week waiting to be ordered into action. 
 
CULTIVATING A DISTINCTIVE WRITING STYLE 237 
 
 when I'd see stage-hands putting up a 'set' that might 
 cost a thousand dollars by itself, when I'd realize that 
 there was little me, about to spend around fifteen thou- 
 sand 'bucks' of the firm's money — for which sole re- 
 sponsibility would rest on my young shoulder blades I 
 — ^then I would rise me up and vanish from there. 
 
 "And yet I sit up here at my desk and dictate the 
 things that the director who has the 'nerve' to accept 
 the responsibility must do, the sort of settings on which 
 he must spend a lot of money. Then I holler 'bloody 
 murder' if he comes up and tells me I haven't simply 
 tickled him silly with my orders for his execution (no, 
 I should say executing, for I don't want him killed off 
 by my scripts!). 
 
 "He tells me he can't 'see' my stuff. He means that 
 it does not make pictures in his mind. He is all wrong, 
 of course, from our point of view ; yet let one or the 
 other of us get down there with one of his scripts, and 
 — wow ! Nothing to 'see' in it at all. 
 
 "He has all the responsibility of spending a heap of 
 the firm's money. His is the blame for a poor produc- 
 tion. If his pictures don't bring boost-letters from ex- 
 hibitors he is yanked up on the mat before the boss 
 and asked why. I'd want the same leeway in making 
 what I like, if mine was the same amount of responsi- 
 bility. I certainly would not try to make pictures from 
 anything that did not look like pictures to me." 
 
 There you have an argument by a writer in favor of 
 the director's mental attitude toward scripts, whether 
 in scenario form or synopsis form. Seldom does a 
 writer achieve a broadness of mind sufficient to enable 
 
238 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 him to grasp the directorial attitude toward either 
 staff-written or outside-contributed material. 
 
 The director is justified in his attitude toward these 
 ideas : his is the task of making sellable pictures ; his 
 is the blame if they become shelved for any of many 
 reasons — weakness of story, poverty of action, in- 
 competency of cast, as a whole or individually. He 
 will strongly object to accepting any story that does 
 not arouse his enthusiasm, appeal to his executive- 
 creative combination of faculties for making words 
 live in action. 
 
 If you were put down on the studio floor and given 
 a chance to direct, only to have your first picture come 
 out as a flabby, weak semblance of the original idea, 
 you — being human — would fall back upon your origi- 
 nal contention, made by many directors, that "the 
 idea didn't look like much — ^you put it on against your 
 better judgment." 
 
 That is an "alibi" that is the property of every 
 director. When a scenario writer becomes a director 
 by the acquiring of the needful "nerve" and a fortu- 
 nate combination of circumstances, it is really quite 
 amusing to observe the suddenness with which he 
 acquires every attribute of the directorial class, in- 
 cluding the above-mentioned "alibi" against faulty 
 production. 
 
 But, all lightness aside, the director is right in desir- 
 ing to produce that material which inspires him. The 
 point we must make, the lesson to be drawn from this 
 little dissertation, is that the synopsis-writer's work is 
 
CULTIVATING A DISTINCTIVE WRITING STYLE 239 
 
 generally submitted to the director for approval. If 
 the director "sees" it, there is only the formality of the 
 business office between the writer and a check. Of 
 course some companies restrict directorial prerogatives 
 in so far as they may be limited by the fact that "the 
 boss," himself, does the picking-out of the stories. In 
 either case, the aim of the writer must be the same : he 
 must make director or "boss" realize the vitality and 
 reality of his story by the vitaUty and realism of his 
 writing-style. 
 
 Individuality of idea-conception is enhanced by indi- 
 viduality of writing-style. Simplicity and directness 
 are the two prime essentials of your word-manipula- 
 tion. But there is an art in giving to simplicity and 
 directness of expression a vitalizing fire, a quality of 
 actuality. If you have the power to feel the emotion 
 you write about, certainly you should be able to trans- 
 mit that feeling through your written words to the 
 reader. 
 
 This does not mean that you are to go into lavish 
 pictorialism of expression. There is a very nice dis- 
 tinction between the fiction-form of action-expression 
 and the photoplay-synopsis embodiment of the same 
 quality. However, it is not likely to harm your chances 
 of a sale if, in "getting it over to the director" you 
 allow yourself an occasional splurge of the fictional 
 style, keeping it within bounds, using it only for the 
 purpose of making a situation "feelable." 
 
 Unless you are sure that you can apply the feeling 
 in a sensible way, and so that it will not make a novel- 
 ette out of your photoplay-synopsis, it will be best for 
 
240 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 you to stick to the straight-forward, direct-statement 
 style, and take your chances on the conscientiousness 
 of the readers to whose desks your work may travel. 
 
 "I write what I feel," said a man who has many a 
 photoplay to his credit, "then the directors feel what I 
 write." He has the art of synopsis-expression culti- 
 vated to the nth degree. He never gushes and yet he 
 can make you "see" his stories unfolding before your 
 mind's-eye as though already flickering on the picture- 
 screen. 
 
 It is impossible to acquire a flowing, "feeling" writ- 
 ing-style on the instant. That is a quality to be striven 
 for earnestly, fostered, cherished, matured, by gentle 
 care and much practice. You can learn to plot — ^by 
 rule, almost — though such plotting stifles originality of 
 creative conception ; still, that plot-building way is not 
 impossible. But the free-and-easy, get-hold-of-you 
 style comes in one of two ways : by gift of Providence, 
 or after many, many scripts have been written, torn 
 apart, discarded or revised, and then rewritten. 
 
 If you can write feelingly, and harness that tendency 
 toward lavishness of phrase that is so apt to be the 
 partner of a mistaken idea of what feeling really is, 
 your ideas will have an added value in the eyes — physi- 
 cal and mental — of the director. Dry, hard statements 
 do not picturize to him. Lavish exuberance of ex- 
 pression is the other extreme of writing, and this over- 
 use of pictorial color is apt to befog the very effect you 
 seek to obtain — ^the injection of feeling into your 
 writing. 
 
CULTIVATING A DISTINCTIVE WRITING STYLE 241 
 
 The Pictorial Present Tense 
 
 One of the things that will help you to get your ideas 
 into pictorial aspect is the use of the present tense in 
 your synopsis. 
 
 Your aim is to make reader, editor and director 
 
 "see" your picture material. It is obvious, then, that 
 
 you should use a mode of expression that will best 
 
 create the desired impression of "now-ness." The 
 
 idea of that which took place long ago does not seem 
 
 half so vivid as does that one which comes along and 
 
 happens before our eyes. Try this on your mind's-eye : 
 
 Walworth stood over the body. He felt a growing horror. His 
 hand had held the implement of death. . . . 
 
 That is not happening before you : it has happened, 
 any length of time before you read about it. The 
 effect is that impersonal sensation which comes to you 
 when you read about a murder in the newspaper : you 
 are shocked, but the criminal means nothing vivid to 
 you, there is no personal interest attached to him ex- 
 cept the general class-feeling that crime must be pun- 
 ished. So with the past tense when used in your 
 synopsis. It gives a subtle feeling of being unreal, un- 
 present. Walworth stood over a body. You do not 
 "see" a picture in that, half as readily as you would in 
 this recasting of tense : 
 
 Walworth stands over the body I He feels a growing horror. 
 His hand holds the implement of death. . . . 
 
 There he stands, right in front of you. He is a 
 person of the present. His horror is a present, a feel- 
 able emotion. His hand holds "the implement of 
 death." You see it, you feel the tenseness of the situa- 
 
 17 
 
242 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 tion. That is why the present tense is the better one 
 for use in synopsis writing. 
 
 For the sake of your hoped-for reputation, do not 
 switch to and fro between the two tenses! Land 
 knows! there are writers galore who do not seem to 
 know much about tense. But, at any rate, do not try 
 to write at all if you cannot hold to one form. Even 
 if the past or pre-story time plays a part in your synop- 
 sis, you can describe the action as if it were happening 
 in the present, by referring to it in this fashion : 
 
 John sits by the fire, dreaming of the past. He sees himself 
 going to school, he sees the taunting finger, hears the cry of 
 "teacher's pet" and knows that some day he will thrash that 
 taunting bully, Bill. 
 
 Back to the present comes John's mind as the door opens and 
 the bully of his retrospect walks in, a grown man. 
 
 There you have taken John's thoughts into the 
 period-past, but you have kept your picture in the 
 story-present. 
 
 Never allow yourself to become careless enough to 
 mix your tenses. See this : 
 
 Dorothea lifts her dark eyes to the face bending over her. 
 "Where am I ?" she asked, and he told her she was in his boat, 
 he was her rescuer. She thanks him with her eyes and then they 
 closed 
 
 You may smile at this, but see that you do not fall 
 into a like error in your next synopsis : many a writer 
 studies photoplay-technique, reads cheerfully about the 
 use of the present tense — and turns in and mixes 
 tenses as carelessly as a chef scrambles eggs. Then he 
 wonders why his synopses come back so promptly. 
 The tense-mixture may be one cause for rejection — 
 and not so remote as it might seem, if the mixed tenses 
 tend to confuse the reader. 
 
CULTIVATING A DISTINCTIVE WRITING STYLE 243 
 
 Fitting Style to Subject 
 
 In still another way may an author achieve a greater 
 degree of picturability for his synopsis. This is by 
 adapting his style, to a degree, to the subject-matter 
 that forms his story. 
 
 Words mean action-depiction to the photoplay- 
 synopsis writer. They may mean more: they may 
 mean atmosphere creation, conveyance of feeling, and 
 a subtle suggestion of the lightness or seriousness of 
 the situation they describe. 
 
 If your story is cast in sordid surroundings, your 
 choice of words should build that depravity and 
 poverty so logically to be found in such a low environ- 
 ment. If the tale leaps into the millionaire's mansion, 
 the shade of your word-painting should be lighter, the 
 tone more in harmony with the new atmosphere. 
 
 If your story is cast in the mold of drama, your 
 introductory material and all that follows must be 
 framed in serious, simple phrase. 
 
 If you are writing comedy, the lighter manner of the 
 action should be reflected in your writing-style. 
 
 Take a situation for the sake of illustrating the point. 
 We will say that Billy is rich, and that he loves a girl 
 whom he has met in the slums by accident. As a 
 drama, the story would develop perhaps with his re- 
 nunciation of his riches for the sake of his love, 
 parental opposition seeking to prevent him from taking 
 the seemingly wild leap into poverty. The whole thing 
 would be in deadly earnest. You might write a bit of 
 your synopsis in this sober strain: 
 
244 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Billy looks about the gorgeous room, disgusted with his cling- 
 ing to afSuence and magnificence, while down in the squalor of 
 the slums Rhoda holds his heart in her hands and calls with her 
 soul, though her lips repel his purpose to give up wealth to make 
 himself a man and worthy. 
 
 Mayhap the same situation might be planned for 
 
 comedy, developing along lighter lines. In such a case 
 
 you would adopt a less sober description and cast your 
 
 sentences more in this wise : 
 
 Billy's magnificent home appeals no longer, for love beckons 
 from the tenements. Rhoda hates money. Why not? She has 
 none to love. Billy decides that he will "chuck" out the gold 
 and let Cupid guide him along the road to Rhoda's esteem. 
 
 Melodrama calls for crispness and brevity in its 
 
 tense moments. Polite comedy requires a pleasing, 
 
 semi-whimsical treatment. Slapstick is the least style- 
 
 ful of all synopsis types, for it must merely describe 
 
 things that could not be made to read humorously 
 
 without a loss of clarity of situation. Slapstick 
 
 demands terse, dry statements. 
 
 Fit your garmenture to the brain-child it is to cover, 
 and do not forget that the most charming gown may 
 have the fewest "fancies" on it ! 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A MATTER OF FORM 
 
 There is no arbitrary rule governing the manuscript- 
 form in which a photoplay synopsis is to be presented 
 for consideration. There are several methods of 
 arrangement which may be suggested as most easy to 
 handle, and therefore most likely to receive a readier 
 welcome. 
 
 There is an emphatic rule, however, in respect to the 
 typographical aspect of the synopsis, and that rule 
 must be obeyed : 
 
 A photoplay synopsis must he typewritten. 
 
 It will do you no good to try to get around this im- 
 perative mandate by saying that your penmanship is 
 perfect, that you write the vertical hand so suitable for 
 librarians, and reasonably easy to read. If you will 
 not play the game according to the rules laid down by 
 the picture manufacturers you need not expect to re- 
 ceive courteous consideration for your work at the 
 hands of their readers, not to mention the others you 
 seek to reach. 
 
 Put yourself in the reader's chair, facing a desk full 
 of manuscripts, watch the postman or the office boy 
 dump an armful of new contributions, realize that 
 there are only so many hours in a day, so many days in 
 a week, and that new material will be coming in every 
 day. That deskful is going to assume mountainous 
 
246 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 proportions if you take time to read everything that 
 comes in — ^thoroughly read and consider each submis- 
 sion. Add to your mental state the realization that 
 seven impatient scribes have sent letters to your 
 department head, the editor, complaining because their 
 scripts have been delayed several months. Pick up a 
 neatly typed, businesslike manuscript and its desk- 
 mate, that pale-inked, pen-written screed, with the 
 erasures and the interlineations. Your eyes are weary, 
 your brain is jaded. Which of those scripts will get 
 first attention? Which one will be found lacking in 
 plot with the least effort on your part? The answers 
 are too simple to merit utterance. 
 
 It has been found through years of experience that 
 the writer who has brains enough to prepare a good 
 plot has sense enough to play the game according to 
 the desires of the companies ; but so many writers are 
 either too lazy or too careless to meet these expressed 
 wishes, so for all such the wish has come to be an 
 order — and not for more stories, either. 
 
 You and Your Typewriter 
 
 If you have made up your mind to become a success- 
 ful author of photoplay-synopses, you owe it to your 
 confidence in yourself to get a typewriter. The 
 machine you own need not be a brand-new, just-f rom- 
 the-factory typewriter; if the type is clear and the 
 mechanism in good order, a second-hand machine is 
 perfectly satisfactory for your requirements. But 
 some sort of typewriter you ought to possess. Some 
 authors rent a typewriter. If you do not feel that you 
 
A MATTER OF FORM 247 
 
 care to lay out the amount that will bring you even a 
 rebuilt machine, perhaps you can rent a good one in 
 your vicinity from a typewriter agency at an outlay of 
 from three dollars a month to ten dollars for three 
 months, the figure varying with the agency and the 
 quality of the machine you select. 
 
 It is urged upon you that you own a typewriter, if 
 possible, for the reason that it is one of the tools of 
 your profession. At any rate, have one under some 
 arrangement. Use it whenever you can. Practice as 
 faithfully as you can. Learn the "touch system" of 
 writing, if you are able, at the very start. If you have 
 not learned it and already own or rent a machine, at 
 least keep in practice so that your typed work will not 
 be full of mistakes in the matter of spacing and letter- 
 ing. 
 
 You may argue that it is simpler to have some type- 
 writing friend, or some paid typist, put your work into 
 shape. This expedient is all very well if you are just 
 "dipping into the game for a try-out." But the plan has 
 disadvantages. First of all, you may depend upon it, 
 the work of some outsider is not likely to be as thor- 
 ough as your own. The errors will not be as carefully 
 eradicated as would be the case were you typing your 
 own work for the ambitious purpose of adding as many 
 dollars to your check as you can by showing neat, care- 
 ful, clean typing. Secondly, you will have to pay for 
 this outside work, and if you turn out many synopses 
 the cost will aggregate a sum more taxing to your purse 
 than would be the rental of a good machine for your 
 personal use. In the third place, scripts, however 
 
248 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 carefully handled in the studios, are bound to show 
 marks, become soiled, erased, unsightly. Just as surely 
 as you send out a worn manuscript, you are saying to 
 the reader, "Tenth trip !" and he gets the psychological 
 import of that double-nine-times traveling to and from 
 other studios. Your work must always look neat and 
 fresh, as if each trip were the maiden voyage. It helps 
 the ready consideration of the material. Every studio 
 likes to have the first chance at good material. You 
 have to "josh them" a bit and let them think your work 
 is going to them on its original birthday, not after 
 many other rounds. 
 
 If you have a machine in your possession you can 
 retype a soiled page, or put on a fresh cover, whenever 
 these things are required to keep the manuscript look- 
 ing neat and clean. 
 
 Typewriter Ribbons 
 
 Always use a record ribbon on your tjrpewriter. 
 There are copying ribbons : they are used when a copy 
 of a letter is made with a moist cloth and a copy-book, 
 in business offices. But the first time that your copy- 
 ribbon script gets near moisture the copying ink will 
 smudge, and even run, until the typing can scarcely 
 be deciphered. The record ribbon makes a permanent 
 manuscript that will neither run nor smudge. 
 
 There is a wide latitude in the choice of ribbon- 
 colors. Most modern typewriters will handle a two- 
 color ribbon — the sort with a black upper half and a 
 red lower half, say. These two-color ribbons are use- 
 
A MATTER OF FORM 249 
 
 ful in certain forms of synopsis-preparation, as, for 
 instance, when emphasizing suggested letters, sub-title 
 material and speeches, which can be typed in red while 
 the body of the manuscript is in the readable black. 
 Purple and red, brown and blue, are other possible 
 color-combinations, if you wish to use this sort of 
 ribbon. But for the average utility, and the longest 
 wear, a solid-color ribbon, preferably all-black record, 
 is the best. When one portion of the ribbon — the 
 upper strip, say — has become worn so that it does not 
 make sharp, readable impressions, the ribbon-shift 
 device on your typewriter can be set for the alternative 
 color, and since the ribbon is all one color, the unused 
 half will be put into play. 
 
 The importance of a clear, easily readable impres- 
 sion from the clean, sharp type, cannot be over- 
 emphasized. Too many scripts are sent out with their 
 contents pale, scarcely to be made out, because their 
 authors are too stingy to put a new ribbon on their 
 machines. Pale typing is almost as bad a practice as 
 pen-writing. 
 
 Paper for Your Manuscript 
 
 There are many writers who seem to think any sort 
 of paper is satisfactory for their synopses, so long as it 
 will run through the typewriter. They use "legal cap," 
 or excessively long sheets, and fold them into four 
 folds. If you will take up about twenty sheets of this 
 sort of paper, fully typed, and fold it in that way, and 
 then try to make out comfortably what is on it, you 
 
250 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 will never fall into the error of employing out-of-size 
 paper for your own scripts. 
 
 The proper sort of paper to use is a medium-weight 
 bond paper, not thick enough to be stiff, nor too thin 
 to carry without getting crushed and wrinkled in the 
 mails. The paper known as "twenty pound" is not a 
 bad weight of paper to select. The weight indicated 
 is that of the sheets in a ream — 500 sheets — of paper, 
 cut to the size you want. You can buy this weight and 
 size in boxes, all ready for the machine, of course, or 
 you can buy it in larger quantities, perhaps from your 
 local printer, at something of a reduction from the box 
 price, if you happen to be friendly with the printer in 
 question. Anyhow, get the paper of a texture that will 
 not allow the typewriting on one page to show through 
 the succeeding page. When the print shows through it 
 makes hard reading for the studio man, let me assure 
 you. Your mission in life is to make his job as easy 
 as possible, so that he may have more brain-force to 
 put upon the judging of your "grand" ideas. 
 
 Do not depart from the standard of size for your 
 paper. Universally, the eight-and-a-half by eleven inch 
 ("letter size") cut of paper is accepted as a standard 
 manuscript size. Do not have this cut into half-sheets. 
 Keep it full size. 
 
 The Overcoats 
 
 Gkjing and (not too often, it is hoped) coming back, 
 your manuscript will need three different overcoats. 
 The first one is a cover. 
 
A MATTER OF FORM 251 
 
 The manuscript cover should conform to the shape 
 of the manuscript you send out. If you fold your 
 paper in two creases, making a three- fold oblong pack- 
 age for it, the cover will not need to be anything other 
 than two clean sheets of paper, front and back, on 
 which to type your name and address — on the front 
 sheet — as well as the name and na"ture of the story. 
 
 If you send out flat manuscripts, and this is more in 
 harmony with the up-to-date practice of professional 
 writers who make things easy for the reader as a mat- 
 ter of habit, your covers are to be moderately heavy — 
 not bulky, but of a weight to help them bear the brunt 
 of the mail-man's sometimes uneasy handling. The 
 covers supplied for legal documents, of a rather heavy 
 blue, or buff, paper, quite tough and yet flexible enough 
 to run through the typewriter, make good manuscript 
 covers. 
 
 The other two overcoats are the going envelope and 
 the return envelope. The former is to be large enough 
 to contain both the manuscript and the return covering, 
 which, of itself, is to be sufficiently large to allow the 
 manuscript to slip easily into it. If you send out the 
 twice-folded manuscript, the oblong Government en- 
 velopes, known as No. 7 and No. 8 are satisfactory, 
 and may be had already printed with a stamp ; or plain 
 envelopes of similar size may be had at your stationer's. 
 For flat manuscripts you will want tough manilla 
 envelopes, one large enough to contain the manuscript 
 the other large enough to slip in the return envelope, 
 with the script. 
 
252 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 It would seem almost like idiocy to repeat the neces- 
 sity for fully prepaying the postage on your submitted 
 material, yet there are many writers who do not keep 
 this important matter in mind. The return postage 
 should be prepaid by affixing the necessary stamps on 
 the inner envelope before the outer one is sealed. If 
 you will take your first few manuscripts to the nearest 
 postoffice and have them weighed you will always be 
 sure in the later days of putting the right amount of 
 postage in place, for you will know what it takes to 
 send a given number of sheets, with cover and en- 
 velope. Figuring from the weight of your paper, the 
 calculation of your postage is a simple problem in 
 arithmetic. 
 
 The Acceptable Form 
 
 If you propose to fold your manuscript, it is enough 
 to suggest that you double-space your typewritten 
 synopsis, leaving decent margins at top, bottom and 
 sides of the paper. 
 
 Your name and address should appear on at least 
 the first page and at the bottom of the last page of 
 your synopsis, as well as on whatever sort of cover 
 you put over the work. If you do not fasten the pages 
 together in any permanent way (as will be discussed 
 presently) your name should appear at the top of each 
 sheet, and every sheet of the synopsis must be con- 
 secutively numbered, excepting, of course, the opening 
 sheet, which identifies itself by the caption and the 
 story-start. 
 
A MATTER OF FORM 253 
 
 If you send material in the flat form, which is prefer- 
 able because it makes reading an easy matter, there are 
 two ways of putting up your script: The first is to 
 leave a goodly space at the top of each sheet when you 
 write, then at the finish put two or three holes through 
 the top, on a line with each other across the sheets, and 
 insert in these holes brass binders with big, rounded 
 heads and two strips to be bent apart to form a semi- 
 permanent fastening for the sheets. In such a case it 
 is not necessary to have your name on each sheet ; if it 
 is on the cover, and upon first and last synopsis sheets, 
 you will be sufficiently identified. 
 
 The second manner of putting up the flat manu- 
 script is by leaving a wide margin along the left-hand 
 side of the paper, and putting the three holes vertically 
 along this margin, using the fasteners, and so making 
 the whole open and read as a book — ^^except that but 
 one side of the paper is typed on. 
 
 In any case, your cover should be prepared as a sort 
 of advertisement for your work. Your name should 
 appear on it, and the title of the story, as well as a 
 description of the class or type of story, as, "Comedy 
 Drama for female lead." If you have sold any stories 
 to motion-picture companies, note that fact, so that 
 your cover will, except for spacing, somewhat resemble 
 this form: 
 
 Jim Jones 
 
 Sitka 
 
 Alaska 
 
 Submitting at regular rates 
 
254 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 THE LOST LANDLADY 
 A comedy for female lead 
 - by - 
 JIM JONES 
 author of 
 "Selling Samuel" 
 (Mary Mix - Crytogram Co. ) 
 
 and so on with your "sold" stories. To mention them 
 shows that you have already made your initial sale, or 
 perhaps more than one, and so influences the reader in 
 your favor, since he knows that you do not come 
 within the class of never-wills. The parenthetical 
 reference to the star who will play, or has played, in 
 that picture by you, and to the company that released 
 or marketed tlie picture, substantiates your ownership 
 of the story, for the facts are easy to verify, and so it 
 would be senseless to claim stories by other authors. 
 
 In this connection it might amuse you to know that 
 a writer came to me one day and wanted me to read 
 and criticize a synopsis he had. Time was a bit easy, 
 so the favor was granted. He had himself down on 
 the cover sheet as the author of a Vitagraph single- 
 reel comedy, "Suing Susan." It gave me considerable 
 pleasure to prove to his discomfiture that the author 
 was no other than his humble critic. His story was 
 hopeless, by the way ; it is not likely that he has since 
 claimed Suing-anybody as his work. 
 
 Whatever marginal space you decide to leave, in 
 conformation with your pre-decided method of sub- 
 mitting the script, put your story-title in a prominent 
 place on the cover. If the title is catchy and magnetic. 
 
A MATTER OF FORM 255 
 
 the interest is aroused at once. Also, the title and the 
 class of story must appear, with name and address, and 
 the inevitable statement of your submitting the manu- 
 script at regular rates, on the first synopsis sheet, thus : 
 
 Jim Jones 
 
 Sitka Submitted at 
 
 Alaska Regular Rates 
 
 THE LOST LANDLADY 
 
 A comedy for a female lead 
 
 - by - 
 
 JIM JONES 
 
 SYNOPSIS 
 
 Then you start your "punch-paragraph" about three 
 spaces below the last word, "Synopsis," and continue 
 to write, using a double space between lines. 
 
 If you use letters, inserts, or such explanatory 
 material, let them run right along in the body of the 
 synopsis, and simply put them in quotation marks, or, 
 if you prefer, emphasize them by underlining, or by 
 using another color for them, if you employ a two- 
 color ribbon on your machine. 
 
 The form may be studied in the synopsis provided 
 as a "sample," so it need not be enlarged upon here. 
 
 Whatever form you choose, whatever color of ribbon 
 you prefer, be sure that you typewrite, carefully avoid- 
 ing errors, and with a ribbon that is fresh enough to 
 give a strong, sharp impression of the type. Do not 
 try for fancy color-combinations in your ribbons ; they 
 are not impressive. And of course you will address 
 the return overcoat to yourself. Maybe it might bring 
 back the check. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 OFF TO MARKET 
 
 There are two ways to submit photoplay manuscripts 
 to the producing companies. The first way is directly, 
 by your own mailing of the manuscript, addressed to 
 the editor of scenarios ; the second way is by employ- 
 ing an agent — or photoplay broker, as they are some- 
 times called — who handles the work for you. 
 
 The first way is, by all means, the better one. This 
 is not meant in any way to disparage the agents or their 
 methods, but there are certain definite advantages to be 
 derived from the conduct of your own affairs. First 
 of all, you know whether your work is gaining in favor, 
 for if it is, perhaps you will get little scribbles of en- 
 couragement from the reader, and as you progress 
 some editor may send you a bit of a letter. Besides, 
 when you submit for yourself there are no agents' 
 commissions to pay. Your postage, retyping and 
 other incidentals form your sole expense. 
 
 If you prefer to have an agent handle your work, it 
 is necessary to select a trustworthy person who has an 
 established reputation, as well as good standing in the 
 various studios. Some writers feel that such an agent 
 can "jack up the price" for them. Certainly it is to 
 the agent's advantage to attempt to do this, for his 
 commission is generally a percentage of the amount of 
 the check. Some agents exact a reading fee when 
 
OFF TO MARKET 257 
 
 they look over your manuscript to see if it is worth 
 handling. 
 
 Little will be said in the matter of selling through 
 an agent. It is not a matter for anyone to decide but 
 yourself. The agents who are to be recommended 
 generally prefer to handle the work of writers with an 
 established reputation, and others had better not be 
 dealt with. 
 
 If you intend to submit your work in the regular 
 way, from yours.elf direct to the editor, and always by 
 mail, there are some suggestions that will keep you 
 from antagonizing the editor. 
 
 In the first place, you must keep always before you 
 a realization that there is no use in trying to curry 
 favor with an editor by sending him a long or woeful 
 letter, describing how badly you need the money he 
 ought to send for the enclosed story. This is always 
 considered silly and a mark of inability to write ideas 
 that will stand without the aid of whines to win sym- 
 pathy for their sad lack of quahty. Besides, the letter 
 will probably not be read through. You are offering 
 for sale photoplay plots, not whine-letters. Put your 
 whole mind on the plot, the synopsis, the businesslike 
 handling of your salesmanship ; no whining salesman 
 ever sells goods. 
 
 Do not address your manuscripts to any person. If 
 you hear that Peter Sinkman is editor for the Quag- 
 mire company, forget all about it and address your 
 manuscripts to the Editor of Scenarios of the Quag- 
 
258 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 mire Company, at such-and-such an address, wherever 
 the city is, and state the state. 
 
 There is a law, you know, against the promiscuous 
 opening of mail addressed to an individual, by some 
 other person. Peter Sinkman may have been "fired" 
 by the time your script gets to its destination : in that 
 case he cannot buy it if it is forwarded to him, and 
 the company cannot open the envelope. If Peter is the 
 editor, and he sends you nice letters, you may answer 
 them nicely, but let the outer envelope of your script- 
 submission go always to the Editor of Scenarios, never 
 to an individual. If Peter is still there, he will get it. 
 
 Listing Markets 
 
 Do not be misled into the idea that there is to be any 
 list of companies or of markets in this section. There 
 are many logical reasons why a list of the sort should 
 be omitted here. The first and most important reason 
 is a desire to make your study of some value to you. 
 Oddly enough, a list of markets is never of any 
 authoritative help to a writer in the photoplay field, if 
 such a list be published in a book, other than to furnish 
 a general list of producers. This is why: The film 
 companies move from New York or its vicinity to the 
 Western Coast studios without much notification to 
 authors. Sometimes the companies move to Florida in 
 the winter. Often the companies will build new 
 studios, and forget all about writing to the book pub- 
 lishers, asking them to bring out a new edition includ- 
 ing the new address. A company may have studios in 
 
OFF TO MARKET 259 
 
 Fort Lee, New Jersey; in Florida; in California — ■ 
 while the scenario editor, in the business offices on 
 Broadway, New York, may be reading scripts all the 
 time. 
 
 Authors have eagerly copied lists of salesplaces as 
 published in books, and wasted a large amount of 
 postage discovering that only a few companies out of 
 the whole lot listed have remained where the list 
 decided to have it. 
 
 No, don't you depend on any published list that is 
 not revised every month. The film-manufacturing 
 business is, frankly, set on shifting sands, and the Will- 
 make brand may be in business today and out of busi- 
 ness tomorrow, while its place is taken by the Can't fail 
 company, which will suddenly alter plans and jump 
 out to the West coast, or to Oshkosh, perhaps, for a 
 summer picture. 
 
 Make Your Own List 
 
 If you want to keep your stories going to the correct 
 addresses, you must devise your own list of companies 
 and of addresses. 
 
 First of all, you will want to subscribe for a good, 
 live trade- journal pertaining to the picture-making 
 industry. Do not mistake the meaning of this, and 
 take as your criterion the photoplay magazines that 
 cater to picture "fans." These are all very good for 
 the "fans," and they are useful if you want to read 
 their personality-sketches of "stars," though these 
 sketches generally emanate from the facile typewriter 
 
260 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 of a good press-agent, but when you want to find out 
 what the picture-companies are doing, where they are 
 located, when they intend to move, who has quit being 
 their "star" and has jumped to another connection, you 
 must select some trade-paper such as The Moving 
 Picture World or the Motion Picture News, or Motog- 
 raphy. There are others, but these three would seem 
 to be best suited to the writer's purpose. The Moving 
 Picture World is particularly valuable. In it is a 
 department for the photoplay writer that is, at this 
 writing, conducted by one of the most able, astute, 
 sincere masters of photoplay technique in the country, 
 Mr. Epes Winthrop Sargent. His crisp comment on 
 conditions, his little notes of warning or of cheer, his 
 memoranda of company changes, are fully worth your 
 while. The other journals are also of helpfully 
 accurate news-conveying quality. 
 
 As you read your trade paper — or papers, if you 
 can manage more than one subscription — ^keep track of 
 company-changes, star-shifts and address-alterings in 
 your card-index. You will keep an index to note the 
 comings and goings of your scripts, of course, and this 
 record may be kept in the same receptacle as holds the 
 other data, if you wish. A small box with a packet of 
 cards and the usual alphabetical guide-cards is very 
 useful to the script-writer. On the alphabetical cards 
 jot down the addresses of companies that begin with 
 the letter on the card ; the plain cards use as records, 
 putting on each the name and class of a story, and 
 then noting below this the company to which it is sent, 
 alongside of that the date it is sent, and, if the tale 
 
OFF TO MARKET 261 
 
 returns, the date of its receipt by you to be jotted down 
 alongside the date of the next out-passing. Thus : 
 
 A TALE OF TWO TRIFLERS 
 COMEDY-DRAMA, 5 Reels 
 
 TO SENT RET'D 
 
 Quagmire Co. Mar. 3, '19 Mar. 18, '19 
 Petty Pictures Mar. 18, '19 Sold, May 30, '19 
 
 In this way an orderly record of the scripts will be 
 always at hand. Each title-card is to be dropped in 
 the box behind the letter of its first word, except when 
 "A" or "The" begins the title, in which case the second 
 word of the title is your alphabetical file-guide. Thus, 
 the card suggested above would be filed under "T." 
 
 If you subscribe for the trade-journals you will find 
 advertisements that will give you at least the ofiice- 
 address of most companies. If there is no other way 
 to get an editorial address, a short and polite note to 
 the main business office, with a stamped and self- 
 addressed envelope accompanying it, will bring you the 
 latest, most accurate information for your address list. 
 Then if your work is at all worth while, the editor will 
 tell you of any change in submission-conditions. 
 
 It is wise to study the screened pictures of as many 
 different companies, and of their various "stars," as 
 you possibly can view. Note on your cards, perhaps 
 with the address of a company, any special thing you 
 notice about a "star's" talent, capability or peculiarities. 
 Do not write stories entirely to fit these traits, but 
 keep them in mind so that when you do have a story 
 that ought to fit them you will know where to send it 
 to give it the best possible chance of selling. 
 
262 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Keep your eyes open, and do not skip through the 
 trade-journals, or you will miss some change of address 
 or notice of a company's dissolution and be sending 
 scripts to a defunct address. Keep your list up-to-the- 
 minute, noting changes wherever you learn of them — 
 in "stars," policies or wants of the various manufac- 
 turers, and particularly addresses. 
 
 If you watch the "stars" on the screen, you will not 
 have to ask an editor what he wants; his company 
 wants stories to suit its "stars' " capabilities, not stories 
 like those you see, but stories with similar qualities but 
 a different plot. 
 
 At the present writing the companies are taking con- 
 siderable time to consider material. It is not always 
 easy to judge how long a company should be allowed to 
 hold a story. In general, if your story does not come 
 back within a month, it is either lost in the mails or 
 being particularly considered. Some companies are 
 courteous enough to write you, in the latter case; 
 others do not bother. If you put your return card 
 (your own name and address) on the going envelope, 
 there is little danger of a misfire in the mail handling. 
 If you do not hear from your story within six weeks, 
 it will be wise to send the editor of scenarios a politely- 
 worded inquiry as to whether the script reached him, 
 having been sent on such and such a date by you. If 
 you enclose a self-addressed stamped reply-envelope 
 he will let you know the facts. 
 
 Make the submitting of your material just as much 
 a study of types, needs and company-changes as you 
 can ; make each submitted script do its own talking. 
 
OFF TO MARKET 263 
 
 and do not ask a serious drama to sell itself to a com- 
 pany as notably restricted to high-class farce as that of 
 Charlie Chaplin. 
 
 One thing more may be said about the marketing of 
 scripts: that is the utterance of a solemn warning 
 against the prevalent, propagandist-sounding assertion 
 that all companies steal their picture-material from 
 such as you. It is false! The company that will 
 spend up to sixty thousand dollars to produce a picture 
 cannot afford to stoop to stealing ideas when it has that 
 much money to devote, at least in part, to paying for 
 ideas. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 SOME ALWAYS-NEVERS 
 
 Always bear in mind the fact that plot is the thing 
 you will sell: never allow yourself to imagine that 
 clever synopsis-writing will conceal the absence of real, 
 human-life story-quality. 
 
 Always remember that a plot is a human document, 
 an episode of vital concern to its chief participant, 
 bringing him or her into sharp conflict with some 
 genuine obstacle that must be overcome before the 
 smooth current of life can flow onward in channels of 
 happiness and contentment. Never be satisfied with 
 any plot-material that falls short of this ideal. 
 
 Invariably expend your utmost effort on the prep- 
 aration of a strong, vital plot before you even think 
 about your synopsis. In no circumstances begin your 
 synopsis until you are certain of the completeness of 
 your plot, until you know that plot intimately, back- 
 ward and forward, and until you are convinced that it 
 is impossible for you to improve it. 
 
 Always give your creative imagination full sway 
 when you are working out your plots. Never allow 
 your imagination to get the better of your calm com- 
 mon sense when plausibility of idea is in question. 
 Continually allow imagination free rein in order that 
 there may be freshness and virility in your plot- 
 structure. At no time let imagination run away with 
 
SOME ALWAYS-NEVERS ,265 
 
 judgment, lest your plot become inconsistent, or illogi- 
 cal, or inharmonious in its characters and their rela- 
 tion to its situations. 
 
 Without fail, choose your vitally-concerned char- 
 acter as the pivotal figure in your plot, and make that 
 one the focal point of every plot-development. In no 
 circumstances allow any other character, however near 
 in relationship to that central figure, to absorb the 
 interest that should rightfully be continuously, and 
 permanently, held by your chief character. 
 
 Always keep your plot moving along the straight 
 line of logical development — never permit digressive 
 side-issues to confuse the real course of the plot. 
 
 Persistently seek themes possessed of a powerful, 
 widespread human appeal, an absorbing heart-interest, 
 a grip- and "punch-possibility;" in no case must you 
 omit these essentials of strength. 
 
 With unrelenting vindictiveness pursue the danger- 
 ous weeds of digression, implausibility, illogicality; in 
 no moment of weakness permit them to gain a foot- 
 hold in your idea-garden. 
 
 Always be your own keenest critic, and apply the 
 acid-test of analysis to your plots, to the end that these 
 plots may be as perfect as you can possibly make them. 
 Never relax your critical attitude toward your work 
 because it is your work. 
 
 Invariably think, plan, visualize, plot, and write in 
 terms of screen-action. In no circumstances deceive 
 yourself into imagining that thought, unrepresented by 
 
 IS 
 
266 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 some visible sign indicative of that thought, will photo- 
 graph. 
 
 Persistently plan the first paragraph of each synop- 
 sis to secure attention, gain interest, create pleasant 
 anticipation, engender a liking for the story and its 
 chief character. Never allow yourself to fall into the 
 errors of dullness, long-windedness, discursiveness. 
 
 Always seek to create an atmosphere in harmony 
 with the general nature of your story, by your manner 
 of writing, your choice of movement-words. Never let 
 style in writing overshadow story-quality. 
 
 Throughout your entire synopsis keep the interest 
 of the reader on an up-grade, building the tension and 
 suspense until they reach their highest pitch in the 
 climax-moment. Shun a draggy story-development as 
 you would avoid a plague. 
 
 Always untangle the threads of your plot at the end 
 of your story, as swiftly and satisfyingly as you know 
 how. Never leave any chance for disappointment in 
 the ending that you provide. 
 
 Always typewrite your synopses, and never write on 
 both sides of the paper. 
 
 Continually set the good appearance of a manuscript 
 above any slight saving to yourself occasioned by the 
 use of cheap, easily torn paper, poor, shoddy-looking 
 covers, or slimpsy, insecurely-sealing envelopes. Never 
 show carelessness or lack of faith in your stories by 
 sending them out in such shabby, poor condition. 
 
 Always address your outer envelope to the "Editor 
 of Scenarios;" never to an individual. Invariably 
 
SOME ALWAYS-NEVERS 267 
 
 omit any personal letter, other than a possible short, 
 courteous note mentioning the fact that you appreciate 
 any favor or comment that may have come previously 
 from the editor ; but never permit yourself familiarity 
 on the strength of a bit of well-meant criticism coming 
 from reader or editor. 
 
 Consistently preserve an optimistic attitude toward 
 the film manufacturers and their inherent honesty of 
 intention toward your work. Never accuse a film 
 concern of theft because you see some situation in one 
 of their filmed stories that seems to resemble some 
 situation in a story of yours that they have returned : 
 there are no new ideas, and many coincidences of 
 similarity in idea have happened, with the multitude of 
 people writing and the quantities of stories that have 
 been produced. Be justly reasonable; don't "fly off 
 the handle" unless you are convinced that there is in- 
 tentional, unmistakable duplication of your rejected 
 idea. 
 
 Always make, and preserve, a carbon copy of each 
 synopsis you prepare. Never send this carbon copy 
 away, but retain it in case your original may be lost in 
 the mails. 
 
 Always make up a list of markets from sources that 
 you can depend upon for accurateness, such as the 
 address that each company will supply to you, if you 
 request it, of their home (business) office, with an 
 enclosed return-envelope, stamped and addressed to 
 yourself. Never depend on lists of studio addresses 
 published in a book; obviously, these lists can not be 
 absolutely up-to-the-minute. 
 
268 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 never spend the checks until you get them. 
 
 Always keep a record of your synopses, the places 
 you send them, the date they are sent, and the date of 
 their return to you, or of their acceptance by the com- 
 panies. In no circumstances must you trust to your 
 memory in this important matter, else you are apt to 
 find yourself wondering where "Lazy Ladies" went 
 last, and will be asking the Flickerfilms people for it 
 when they are considering "Busy Buying." 
 
 Persistently strive to improve your mind by reading 
 widely, studying the screen, observing humanity, to 
 the end that your creative power may attain its highest 
 degree of perfection ; to the end that your stories may 
 reach their greatest simulation of life-actuality. Never 
 be content with mediocrity in your plotting or in your 
 big checks that come in exchange for big ideas : but 
 writing. 
 
 Always make your picture-plot s)Tiopses worth the 
 big checks that come in exchange for big ideas: but 
 never spend the checks until you get them. 
 
A COMPLETE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 
 
 By 
 A. Van Buren Powell 
 
 NOTES 
 
 "Belinda Puts Her Hair Up," the synopsis of which 
 follows, has been accepted by the Vitagraph Company 
 of America and is being produced by them as this 
 volume is going to press. The Vitagraph Company 
 owns and controls all photoplay rights in this plot and 
 its production. The plot and its synopsis are fully 
 covered by copyright and all writers and others are 
 earnestly warned against attempting to use or sell this 
 story, in whole or in part. 
 
 Production by the Vitagraph Company is mentioned 
 here in order to show that the author's work, developed 
 in detail throughout this volume and given thus in 
 complete synopsis form, is not a mere academic 
 example of plot-building and synopsis writing, but is 
 based on actual studio practice. While the idea and 
 the synopsis were orginally developed for use in this 
 volume, the author feels that the stamp of editorial 
 approval already received will add to the instruction- 
 value of the synopsis. 
 
 Naturally, this synopsis is not offered as an arbitrary 
 form to be followed by the writer of picture-play 
 material in slavish fashion : it is given merely as the 
 
270 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 author's individual conception of the treatment best 
 suited to the particular plot it outlines. It may be 
 said, however, that the form is one entirely acceptable 
 in literary form and in typographical arrangement, and 
 one containing a motion-picture plot that is satisfac- 
 tory material for screen production. The treatment 
 given the embodied idea is somewhat comprehensive — 
 that is, the situations are expanded in more detail than 
 is absolutely necessary, although not more circum- 
 stantially described than is consistent with a thorough 
 definition of the story-idea. 
 
 The marginal numbers printed alongside the synop- 
 sis call attention to points brought up in Chapter XII 
 of this book, and show how the discrepancies and 
 deficiencies mentioned in similarly numbered footnotes 
 in that chapter are handled in the s3mopsis. 
 
 In the original manuscript the speeches were typed 
 in red record-ink ribbon, while the body of the manu- 
 script was in black record, making the speeches stand 
 out without having to separate them from the body 
 of the material or even to underline them. 
 
BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 
 
 271 
 
 A. Van Bureii Powell 
 
 Address 
 
 City and State 
 
 Submitted at Regular Rates 
 
 BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 
 
 A Comedy-Melodrama for Ingenue Lead 
 
 By 
 
 A. Van Buren Powell 
 
 BELINDA 
 
 BOB 
 
 ROSE 
 
 JUDGE LEE 
 
 JOHN SANFORD 
 
 CAST 
 
 Living with her foster-father, 
 Judge Lee, and resentful of his en- 
 deavor to "baby" her beyond what 
 she considers to be a reasonable 
 limit of years. 
 
 Eventually Belinda's sweetheart, a 
 clean, wholesome, likeable young 
 man. 
 
 Judge Lee's own daughter, some- 
 what older than Belinda. 
 A lovable, kindly old gentleman 
 who has sentenced Belinda's own 
 father to a life-term for murder 
 and who seeks to keep Belinda 
 young and free from mature 
 knowledge and consequent sorrows. 
 Belinda's real father, who breaks 
 out of jail and comes into his 
 daughter's life. 
 
272 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 HORACE PRENTISS A mean, unprincipled man, presi- 
 dent of the town bank, married but 
 not very glad of it. 
 
 FLORENCE His wife, a jealous, spiteful woman 
 
 who has too little to do. 
 The village postman, John Hobbs. 
 His daughter, now a cabaret dancer, Lorita. 
 The dancing partner, Carlos. 
 The village sheriff, Wingate. 
 Storekeeper, Servants in Lee home, Village types. 
 Belinda's Newfoundland, Major (no especial tricks). 
 
 A. Van Buren Powell 
 
 Address Submitted at Regular Rates 
 
 City and State 
 
 BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 
 
 By 
 
 A. Van Buren Powell 
 
 SYNOPSIS 
 (1) Belinda does not know that her father is serving a 
 life-term in prison for murder. This fact has been 
 kept from her deliberately by the judge who sentenced 
 her own father and who has brought her up. So eager 
 has he been to keep her youthful, so consistently has he 
 "babied" her, that Belinda is far less developed in 
 sophistication as well as in actions than the usual girl 
 of seventeen. 
 
 ' Handling of plot will be apparent. "Planting" of rain-barrel, 
 comes in a later part of synopsis, as does all of Prologue. 
 
BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 273 
 
 (13) An example of her naivete is seen as she watches her 
 big Newfoundland dog, Major, assiduously scratching: 
 she rushes across the big porch of the suburban villa, 
 and, overturning the dog, runs her lingers exploringly 
 through his neck-fur, to spring back, dismayed, shak- 
 ing her abbreviated skirts and crying in reproof: 
 "Major ! I told you to keep away from that war-dog ! 
 He's just back from France and I don't want any 
 trench-souvenirs !" Her attention is distracted by the 
 arrival at the gate of kindly, adoring Judge Lee, the 
 "big man" of his community, accompanied by the 
 newly elected Sheriff Wingate, who is very much "set 
 up" over his new badge. 
 
 Judge Lee makes a great secret of the parcel he car- 
 ries, and Belinda affects to ignore it, fixing her atten- 
 tion on the star that Wingate tries hard not to display 
 proudly. As they go to the house, she congratulates 
 Wingate, who smiles expansively as he says: "Yep, I 
 got elected at last, by the grace of Heaven and your 
 Pa's political pull." Belinda dares him to arrest her 
 as they enter the house. 
 
 In the cozy library back of the parlor. Judge Lee 
 
 (5) allows Belinda to open the secret-containing parcel — 
 
 disclosing its contents to be a dress, which she excitedly 
 
 holds up before her ; but her face drops, for it is no 
 
 longer of skirt than the one she has on, and she says : 
 
 "Daddy, I'm getting to be a pretty big girl " but 
 
 Judge Lee's face clouds and he is so openly hurt that 
 she hides her discontent and tells him how wonderful 
 
 " "Planting" dog. Trick of going to cave comes later. 
 ° See corresponding number in Chapter XII. 
 
274 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 the dress really is, now that she looks at it more care- 
 fully. He is mollified. With a kiss she hugs the new 
 garment close and rushes out of the room. 
 
 In her own dainty boudoir Belinda opens a closet, 
 revealing a row of similarly short dresses, and as she 
 compares them with the new one she sighs and says to 
 her dog. Major, who has followed her : "Oh, dear ! I 
 wish Daddy would realize that I'm too old to be so 
 young !" and she hangs up the dress with a little frown. 
 Youth always seeks maturity, never realizing its 
 burdens, its pains ! 
 
 Over cigars. Sheriff Wingate and Judge Lee frater- 
 nize, and finally Wingate observes : "Don't you 'baby' 
 Behnda a mite too much ?" Judge Lee bends forward 
 quickly to say : "Of course I 'baby' her. I want her to 
 remain care-free as long as she will." Earnestly, not- 
 ing the comprehension on Wingate's face. Judge Lee 
 expands his idea, saying : "The girl of today grows up 
 too soon. She has experiences at eighteen that make 
 her weep for having been over-eager to exchange her 
 dolls for the pains and responsibilities of womanhood." 
 Wingate, aware of the circumstances of Belinda's re- 
 lationship with the Judge, agrees, and when, going out, 
 he meets Behnda, off for a ramble, he paternally chucks 
 her under the chin and otherwise makes such a baby 
 of her that she with difficulty conceals her annoyance. 
 He goes home, to have his adoring wife give him an 
 extra big dinner in honor of his new star of service. 
 
 Belinda takes Major down to the sell-everything 
 store and there buys crackers, tea-biscuit, and sweets. 
 With her packages she starts down the street, but as 
 
BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 275 
 
 she nears the bank she meets the president of that insti- 
 tution, Horace Prentiss, about to get into his new and 
 racy-looking motor car. He hails her as one chum 
 would hail another, and she stops only long enough to 
 adjust a "shopping harness" on Major. The shopping 
 harness is an arrangement of leather straps to fit the 
 (13) dog so that he can be made to carry small parcels. 
 Having adjusted this and whispered to the dog, which 
 trots off alone, Belinda jumps into Prentiss's car. It 
 is evident that Prentiss likes her as a man of forty 
 would like a child of thirteen — for her precocity in 
 being able to handle his car, for her naivete and fresh- 
 ness. 
 
 They set off for a wild though short ride, under the 
 wheelmanship of Belinda. Major races contentedly 
 along till he gets to a small hill outside town, where he 
 goes through some cleverly arranged brush and lies 
 down within the small cave which is Belinda's favorite 
 retreat and where she keeps all her dolls and girlish 
 treasures. 
 
 Belinda ends her joyous ride in front of the Prentiss 
 home, but does not go in, merely waving a gay greeting 
 to Florence, the spoiled, time-wasting wife, who has so 
 little to do that she makes frequent trips to the nearby 
 city to buy clothes and discontentedly cast them aside 
 (7) when they come home. She likes Belinda, for the lat- 
 ter is about the only girl in town who does not look 
 upon Florence as a waster and a "silly." 
 
 " "Planting" trick of the dog, and later, the cave. 
 ' See Chapter XII. 
 
276 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Florence snaps up her husband when he tells her 
 that he must make a trip to the city, and be away for a 
 day or so. She wants to go along, but he vetoes the 
 idea bruskly — there is little love lost or gained between 
 these two. 
 
 Belinda goes to her cave and relieves Major of his 
 parcels and harness ; then she gives him a share of the 
 goodies as she sits reflecting, with growing discontent. 
 Of a sudden her dissatisfaction comes to a climax, and 
 crystallizes into a determination to take action to re- 
 move its cause. She grabs Major and tells him: 
 "Everybody treats me as a child : I'm tired of it !" and 
 as the assertion brings a swift train of thought to com- 
 pletion she cries : "It takes too long to 'grow up' the 
 regular way ! I'll have a 'growing up' party and do it 
 all in one evening." Eagerly she considers the idea, 
 and when she is at home she gets some correspondence 
 cards, on which she writes happily. 
 
 Rose, the daughter of Judge Lee, and regarded as an 
 older sister by Belinda, is sitting in an arbor on the 
 lawn with needlework, when her "young man," Bob 
 Somers, a clean, wholesome chap a year her senior, 
 drops in on his way from the bank, where he is cashier. 
 There is no pledge between the two, but his constant 
 calls and evident regard have come to create between 
 them, as well as among others, the feeling that they 
 will be bride and groom in time. While they are chat- 
 ting, Belinda comes in with a package of addressed 
 envelopes. Meeting the surly-looking old village post- 
 man, Jim Hobbs, she naively asks : "I'm out of stamps. 
 Would it be making you break the law if I were to ask 
 
BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 277 
 
 you to deliver these with just a stamp of my foot?" 
 He is so surprised that he does not answer, but finds 
 his hand holding the envelopes as Belinda laughingly 
 rushes off to avoid his refusal. He goes with a frown. 
 Belinda sees a name on the envelope the postman 
 has given her, and with a whoop calls for Rose. Lo- 
 cating her in the arbor, Belinda rushes over, and, be- 
 fore she can stop, bumps into Bob, who is leaving. He 
 treats her, as would any other young man-friend in 
 town, as a "kid," and shakes her well. Belinda escapes 
 and runs to Judge Lee, to coax and wheedle until he 
 indulgently gives her several bank-notes of respectable 
 size, but without finding out her intended use for the 
 money, for Belinda is most mysterious about the whole 
 affair. 
 
 With the money she races to the general store, buys 
 fashion books, several bolts of silks, some paper pat- 
 terns, and with these rushes to Florence, the only 
 woman in town whose ideas of clothes-style appeal to 
 Belinda. Apprised of the new scheme, of its impor- 
 tance and its secrecy, Florence consents to help Belinda 
 with her new preparation of garments. But when 
 Belinda sees how long it is going to take to make 
 clothes, she throws her hands in the air and says she 
 will go to town and get some, all ready to put on. 
 Florence gives her the names of some good shops in 
 the nearby city. 
 
 The errand of Prentiss in town proves to be the 
 (21) visiting of a cabaret, where he meets one of the 
 
 " First "planting" of postman's daughter, Lorita. No allusion 
 to her real identity. 
 
278 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 dancers, Lorita, who "shakes" her dancing partner, 
 Carlos, to leave with Prentiss, while Carlos scowls his 
 displeasure over a bottle of wine. 
 
 Belinda asks her foster-father. Judge Lee, that eve- 
 ning : "How many bills would you pay without asking 
 questions ?" and will say no more, teasing and coaxing 
 until the amused Rose says: "Belinda is planning to 
 elope. Father — with all this secrecy." Belinda retorts : 
 "Not planning to elope with secrecy — ^but with — ^who 
 knows? It may be Bob." A little shadow crosses 
 Rose's face and Belinda teases and "pretends" till Rose 
 might be justified in thinking there is something con- 
 cealed behind the banter. 
 
 The next morning Belinda is off, bright and early, 
 for the city, where she has a gay time with her shop- 
 ping. As she is looking into a shop window she is 
 hailed jovially by Prentiss, in his car. He offers to 
 take her 'round, but she will not listen, although she 
 agrees to save return railway fare by letting him drive 
 her back home. They arrange for him to meet her at 
 five that afternoon, and he goes for another call on 
 Lorita, the dancer. 
 
 Back in the village. Sheriff Wingate is called to his 
 phone to be informed that a spectacular prison-escape 
 has set at liberty one John Sanford, a "lifer." Win- 
 gate is greatly excited, and then perturbed. He says 
 to his wife : "I wonder what it will mean to Belinda." 
 And when she presses for an explanation, he tells how, 
 (4) years before, the village sensation came about. This is 
 his recollection : 
 * Prologue partly told here instead of as start for synopsis. 
 
BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 279 
 
 First of all, Jim Hobbs, the postman, finds that his 
 daughter has left home, a note saying that she is for- 
 saking dullness for life, light and laughter. Then, on 
 top of that, Wingate is walking home from an attempt 
 to console the furious postman when he hears a shot 
 fired, and, rushing into the bank, which is open late 
 because of some shortage in an account, he sees John 
 Sanford standing dazed over the body of a dead bank- 
 teller, a revolver lying on the floor by his foot. The 
 bank president, Horace Prentiss, rushes in from the 
 main room to the scene of death before the open vault 
 
 (2) and cries : "John — why did you ? — " And the dazed 
 man does not reply. 
 
 At the trial, the postman, bereaved of his runaway 
 daughter, briefly tells how, delivering mail that morn- 
 ing in the bank, he heard a quarrel between the dead 
 teller and John Sanford over a shortage in some 
 account — a quarrel interrupted by the pacificatory 
 efforts of Prentiss. No extenuating circumstances 
 can be shown, and Judge Lee, presiding on the bench, 
 with great sorrow delivers the eventual sentence, 
 
 (3) modifying it to life imprisonment, since Sanford has 
 declared his innocence, and no actual eye-witness could 
 say the shot was fired by him. Judge Lee then adopts 
 
 (6) the thus fully-orphaned Belinda, Sanford's child, a 
 
 tiny babe. 
 
 Coming back to the present. Sheriff Wingate hurries 
 
 off to tell Lee of the news of the prisoner's escape. 
 
 ' Villain's speech covers fixing of guilt without seeming forced. 
 " See Chapter XII. 
 
 ' It will come out later — in a speech he will make to her — ^that 
 Sanford knows. This speech will carry a marginal (6) also. 
 
280 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Belinda meets Prentiss in the city where she has been 
 shopping and they drive home, passing his wife, Flor- 
 ence, in such haste that they do not see her. Florence 
 does not attach any importance to the companionship 
 of the two at the time, but it is to come up in her mind, 
 later. 
 
 Judge Lee, on being informed of the escape of San- 
 ford, tells Wingate how he dreads an explanation to 
 Belinda. Wingate tells him: "If Sanford comes 
 around, as he likely will, I hope I see him first; then 
 Belinda — won't need to — know!" Here they let the 
 matter rest. 
 
 Belinda notices a look of worry on the Judge's face 
 when she comes in, but she has a secret of her own 
 and realizes the justice of his reminder that others 
 have the same privilege, for he cannot bring himself 
 to speak now — it is harder than ever. 
 
 Bob, at his home, receives from the postman one of 
 the correspondence cards written by Belinda, and he is 
 both surprised and amused to read : 
 
 SAT-UR-DAY, EIGHT-THIRTY P. M., BE 
 AT THE HOUSE AND YOU WILL SEE 
 
 THAT WHICH WILL MUCH SUR-PRISE THEE, 
 A WON-DER-FUL CHANGE IN 
 
 BELINDA LEE. 
 
 IF YOU don't COME, I'll be 
 
 M AD ! ! ! 
 
 There is no doubt in Bob's mind that Belinda means 
 what she says in her postscript. He decides to humor 
 her mysterious whim. Others in the town get invita- 
 
BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 281 
 
 tions, including Wingate and his wife, a half-dozen 
 other friends of Belinda, and also Prentiss. Florence 
 is invited, but for another purpose and in another way. 
 
 As the fateful evening arrives, Florence is the first 
 to appear, and is whisked upstairs by Belinda, after 
 the parlor doors have been securely locked. Belinda 
 has been opening huge boxes of garments, and has been 
 so impatient that she has tried several hats on the 
 disgusted Major. Now she allows Florence to take 
 charge of things. 
 
 The locked parlor contains a line of chairs set facing 
 an improvised curtain, portieres strung across the 
 room on a picture wire so that they can be drawn off 
 to one side gradually. What is behind them no one 
 must yet see, for Belinda has locked the communi- 
 cating folding doors to the library. 
 
 Wingate, arriving, and squinting through the key- 
 hole as Judge Lee takes him into the library, is unable 
 to see anything, and turns to inform Lee that the es- 
 caped convict was reported in a nearby hamlet the 
 evening before ; so he is inclined to stay at the Judge's 
 home all night, a suggestion agreed to by Judge Lee, 
 in view of the likelihood that Sanford will come here 
 to try for a glimpse of his daughter, or of Lee, whom 
 Sanford holds to blame for the sentence. 
 
 Rose comes down and helps Lee entertain Wingate 
 and his wife, and the two women are deep in a discus- 
 sion of "dress" when Bob arrives. He waits in the 
 hall, not caring to go into the library, hoping that Rose 
 will come out. And as a vision of feminine loveliness 
 comes lightly down the stairs, a veritable young lady 
 
 19 
 
282 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 (8) in long skirts and with hair done in the most approved 
 style, he swings about. The lady, startled, trips and 
 falls into his arms. He starts to apologize, when sud- 
 denly he observes a wonderful truth, and gasps: 
 "Belinda! — You scamp!" 
 
 Belinda gets free, but Bob holds her hands, a grow- 
 ing admiration in his eyes as he notes her changed 
 appearance. Finally he says : "Won't you give me one 
 transitory kiss ?" She deliberates, then says : "Well — 
 for my future brother-in-law — " and she purses her 
 lips most primly. But as Rose, breaking from the 
 Sheriff's wife, pauses in the dark back-portion of the 
 hall, her eyes convey something to her brain that is like 
 a scorpion-sting, for in the kiss between Belinda and 
 Bob she senses that something takes place that means 
 much to them all : He suddenly feels the tense passion 
 of awakened, realized love, while she yields her supple 
 body and gives pressure for pressure — then breaks 
 
 (9) free, and with a little catch in her voice rushes to the 
 parlor door, unlocks it, dashes in and slams it, just in 
 time to see Rose, with a choking sob, flee past Bob and 
 up the stairs. 
 
 Belinda, in the parlor, stands transfixed. Suddenly 
 she realizes what that kiss meant, and what Bob's 
 fervor signified. She is dismayed, and then firm, as 
 she decides that she must not yield to the new passion 
 flaming in her heart; and being unsophisticated, un- 
 grown in spite of her change of garments, she selects 
 a course of procedure that would show flaring danger- 
 
 ' Developed situation to emphasize dawn of mutual love. 
 • Sister sees, to make Belinda's realization more complete. 
 
BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 283 
 
 signs to a worldly-wise person. Rose, in her own 
 room, sobs a bit at the revealment of Bob's real regard 
 for Belinda, but she is not deeply in love with him 
 herself, though Belinda is unaware of this. 
 
 Presently other guests arrive and Belinda is com- 
 pelled to unlock the door and retire out of sight. When 
 Prentiss, Florence, Bob, Rose and the other guests have 
 assembled, the portieres begin to sweep slowly aside. 
 They halt part way, revealing to the gaze of the spec- 
 tators first the parlor sofa, on which are spread the 
 many rattles and other toys of Belinda's babyhood, 
 with her infantile garments draped on the back of the 
 sofa. A further move of the portieres discloses the big 
 easy-chair, with books, dolls and the like, and a sugges- 
 tion of a six-to-twelve-year-old array of garments. 
 Then another drawing aside of the curtains still more 
 exposes the garments Belinda has recently worn, as 
 well as the skates, books and dolls that go with the 
 suddenly discarded age. 
 
 At last Belinda herself stands revealed, and the 
 applause is spontaneous. But Belinda looks rather 
 doleful as she says : "I had meant to say an incanta- 
 tion of revocation to all my young-day things — " and 
 she smiles weakly ; "but it seems sort of silly — in these 
 clothes !" 
 
 The spectators vociferate their denials, but Belinda 
 is firm, brightening as she says : "But there's cake and 
 things — we needn't revoke them," and she demurely 
 leads the way to the dining-room, where she sees to it 
 that Prentiss is seated next to her, while Florence, 
 thinking nothing of this arrangement, sits some ways 
 
284 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 off, with Bob and Rose ostentatiously placed together. 
 Then Belinda, totally unmeaningful of harm, whispers 
 to Prentiss, and intimates that she thinks Bob loves 
 her. Prentiss grins, and hints that Bob is a "lucky 
 devil;" but she intimates that she is not sure, and 
 wants Prentiss to help her find out "by seeing if Bob 
 is jealous of me — and you!" Prentiss sees growing 
 suspicion and anger in his wife's jealous eyes, and 
 agrees, more to spite Florence than for other reason; 
 and Belinda, never dreaming of the pending havoc, 
 plans only to disgust Bob so completely by her "carry- 
 ings-on" with a married man that he will "stick" to 
 Rose. 
 
 Florence is the first guest to prepare to go, and she 
 hurries upstairs to get her wraps from Belinda's room, 
 while, the tableaux "stage" still set, Belinda waits with 
 Prentiss in the hall until Bob appears, when she begins 
 to stare into Prentiss's eyes with a gone-madly-in-love 
 look, while he "pretends" an admiration that he is 
 actually beginning to feel as he watches the grown-up 
 girl being submerged in the old "babyish" actions, and 
 yet struggling to be triumphant as a grown-up. Bob 
 
 (11) is disheartened, but not disgusted; rather, he wishes 
 to protect Belinda from what he considers a bad break ; 
 but she dismisses Bob shortly, while from the upper 
 
 (10) hall Florence watches her and Prentiss, and grows 
 more jealous than ever as she recalls how these two 
 flashed past her in the auto, and intuitively feels the 
 change her husband is undergoing in his attitude 
 
 " See Chapter XII. 
 " See Chapter XII. 
 
BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 285 
 
 toward the budding young woman he has so far treated 
 as a child. 
 
 Florence's good-night is sugary, but there is spiteful 
 anger in her eyes, and somehow it "gets" Belinda, 
 making her creep into the parlor later, alone with 
 Major, to sit in the dark, feeling surprisingly old and 
 care-burdened, yet helplessly young and inadequate. 
 
 Wingate prevails on Judge Lee to be allowed to stay 
 in the library that night. Lee leaves him and goes up 
 to his room without noticing Belinda in the dim 
 parlor. 
 
 On his lonely walk homeward Bob makes up his 
 mind to be manly enough to see Rose and tell her the 
 truth; Rose, in her own room, after a few moments' 
 thought, feels no resentment toward Bob for his 
 change. 
 
 The house settles into a midnight stillness and the 
 moon peeps in through the front window of the parlor, 
 to see Belinda sitting doleful and downcast. Sheriff 
 Wingate thinks he hears a sound, and rising, goes into 
 the hall, and thence through the back of the hall, 
 eventually to go out on the side porch and leave the 
 door ajar while he takes a look outside. Belinda hears, 
 and wonders. She stills Major, and goes to the front 
 window, to see what the Sheriff is doing outside the 
 house, having seen him disappear down the back of 
 the hall after his quiet steps had aroused her. 
 
 Out on the side porch, the door is seen softly drawn 
 to from the inside by some unseen force. There in the 
 moonlight outside the front of the house Belinda can 
 
286 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 see the Sheriff looking about. Then she wheels, as a 
 quick, sharp gasp comes from the dim hall beyond her. 
 Sanford has gotten in and locked the Sheriff outl 
 Sanford, the convict at large, is looking into a patch of 
 moonlight and seeing a vision of his dead wife ! No ! 
 it is not that — it is Belinda, clinging to Major, stilling 
 his growl. As she looks in fright, the agony of the 
 man in the hall wrings from him the gasp : "Belinda ! — 
 Daughter !— " 
 
 Wingate goes back to the side door and finds it 
 locked. He does not know how else to get in without 
 rousing someone and having to explain, so he tries 
 several windows. 
 
 Just then Judge Lee, anxious about his friend's 
 comfort, comes down and is horrified to see facing the 
 dazed Belinda the man whom he sentenced. Lee 
 switches on the hall light. Sanford wheels, and as he 
 sees the Judge, cries: "It's lucky for you that my 
 daughter has been well cared for !" 
 
 Belinda is amazed, somewhat stunned, as the rela- 
 tionship is mentioned; then, as her face shows her 
 lack of comprehension, the convict turns back to Lee, 
 who is suffering an agony of remorse and self-depreca- 
 tion, and sneers: "Preferred to pose as her Pa, and 
 not let her know her Dad was a jailbird!" Then as 
 he sees the suffering in Belinda's eyes he stops, and 
 Belinda, reading acknowledgment of the truth in 
 answer to her questioning glance toward Lee, runs to 
 her real father. But, seeing the prison garb showing 
 as his old, makeshift protector of an old, torn coat 
 drops back, she recoils. 
 
BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 287 
 
 When Sanford sees that look in her face — the revul- 
 sion and the growing horror — he is stung with sudden 
 remorse and, almost sobbing, he says : "Maybe — may- 
 be it was better that she didn't know — " Then as the 
 fire of injustice done flames up in his bosom, he cries 
 fiercely : " — Though God knows I am innocent !" 
 
 Belinda stares, sees the misery in Lee's eyes, the pain 
 in those of this convict-father, and at his declaration 
 she leaps into his arms. Then she looks keenly into 
 his face, probing his soul. The look in his eyes drives 
 all doubt away — ^he IS innocent ! She can see it, feel 
 it! With a sob she holds him tightly as she cries: 
 "Father ! — I'll give the rest of my days to proving you 
 innocent ! — I will — " but sobs stifle her utterance. 
 
 And at that instant the three freeze into stone as the 
 face of Wingate appears at the window of the parlor ; 
 he is the Law, come to wrest away its prey ! 
 
 Trapped, the prison-breaker looks about like a 
 hunted animal, but he makes no move, for Belinda is 
 clinging to him, choked with sobs. Judge Lee goes 
 heavily to the front door, and opening it, lets the 
 Sheriff in. Wingate enters, looking like a man in no 
 wise fond of his duty, though he must do it. Belinda 
 looks piteously at Wingate, and then asks if she may 
 have a moment to say farewell. Wingate nods, and 
 (12) goes to the piano, near the door between parlor and 
 hall, while Lee stands near him, his lip quivering — and 
 Belinda draws her father to the sofa, flings aside her 
 infant-dresses and draws him down to a seat, clinging, 
 her lips to his. Nor does she betray by a sign the real 
 " See Chapter XII. 
 
288 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 purpose hidden by her farewell words, whispered with 
 a tremulous mouth. 
 
 Finally the girl leaps up and buries her head in the 
 portieres at the side by the piano, while Sanford rises 
 heavily and moves toward Wingate. Like a streak of 
 light, Belinda whirls and leaps, carrying the massed 
 portieres over the Sheriff, and bringing him down in 
 a helpless heap, while Sanford leaps past Lee and out 
 of the door to freedom ! 
 
 Belinda snatches the revolver that Wingate has 
 dropped, and holds it over him until she feels that the 
 pose is useless longer, when she reluctantly surrenders 
 it, and Wingate leaps out the door, though hopeless of 
 finding his escaped quarry. 
 
 Belinda, choked with emotion but sweet, puts an arm 
 
 about quivering Judge Lee to say : "I've found a father 
 — but I still love my 'Daddy- Judge' !" And Lee can 
 only draw her close — ^yearningly, hungrily. 
 
 The next morning Belinda answers the phone in the 
 hall, and hears Wingate's whimsical statement : "You'll 
 be interested to know that I caught nothing but a cold 
 last night." Belinda is deeply interested, and as her 
 suspense is dissipated, the reaction brings on tears. 
 Rose, demanding an explanation, is assured: "It's 
 only that — I'm growing up too fast — ^and the growing 
 pains — hurt !" Rose feels keen sympathy, not knowing 
 of the events of the previous midnight, and thinking 
 that Belinda loves Bob. 
 
 Belinda hurries out, gets Major, puts on his shopping 
 harness and goes down town. There she makes some 
 
BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 289 
 
 purchases, and putting the packages in Major's harness, 
 she is about to go with him when she runs abruptly 
 into Sheriff Wingate. She has just time to bend and 
 whisper to Major, and to let the dog trot off alone, then 
 she faces Wingate and apologizes a little tremulously 
 for her assault the night before. He waves her plea 
 aside with pretended gruffness; but who can accuse 
 Wingate of hard-heartedness ? 
 
 Major goes to, and into, the cave, and there Sanfor<l 
 is ! He calls the dog, finds that the packages contain 
 food, and makes friends with Major by feeding him. 
 
 Belinda goes along with the Sheriff, and he tells her 
 (14) all he knows of the incident of her father's crime, as he 
 told it to his wife. Belinda thanks him, and goes off 
 alone to think. She can reach but one conclusion : one 
 face only seems to linger through the recollection of 
 the past — ^that of Prentiss : he can help her. 
 
 She hurries to the bank — Bob stops her, asking her 
 to listen to him, but she brushes past him and is ad- 
 mitted to Prentiss's, office. He smilingly lays down the 
 paper he has been reading, and notices the trimness 
 and development of the figure that looked so spare in 
 its short-skirted days, as he listens to Belinda saying: 
 "I have just learned the truth — about my — father." 
 (18) Saying nothing of the report of the criminal's escape, 
 of which he had just read in his paper, he nods as she 
 begs : "You were there — that night ! Please help me 
 to establish his innocence." Prentiss sees unexpected 
 
 1* Repeating only hints of the past here, to keep the crime in mind. 
 " See Chapter VII. 
 
290 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 good fortune thrown into his hands, and while his 
 purpose is not such a generous one as one might hope, 
 he allows Belinda to see him as wiffing to aid her, as 
 he says : "We must work together — and of course we 
 must see a good deal of each other." Belinda agrees 
 eagerly and innocently, and hurries away to seek Major 
 and send by him a note of cheer to her father. Prentiss 
 (21) nods to himself, and it is surmisable that now Lxjrita 
 will be neglected — just as his old fancy, Florence, was 
 neglected in the pursuit of Lorita. 
 
 Bob, seeing Belinda go otit, allows her to pass with- 
 out speech, though he wonders what she has been to 
 see Prentiss about. Belinda sends a note to Sanford, 
 tucking it under Major's collar and letting him out the 
 front door. That evening Prentiss calls in his car, and 
 suggests that they go for a ride and talk things over. 
 Belinda agrees, and while Rose, seeing, does not ap- 
 prove, the latter says nothing to Judge Lee, who seems 
 sunk in a stupor of sadness. 
 
 Bob calls on Rose and explains his true feeling, and 
 she very gently assures him that she understands and 
 is not too badly hurt by his defection. 
 
 The night-rides in the car continue, and they usually 
 take into their radius a stop at the Evergreen Inn, a 
 "fast" roadhouse in the city suburbs. Belinda is too 
 innocent to see that the explanation of the need for 
 quiet is the camouflage for Prentiss's true, eventual 
 intention. The frequent absences of Belinda are 
 noticed by Bob when he calls to see her, and when he 
 
 " Referring again to Lorita, lest she be forgotten. 
 
BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 291 
 
 asks Rose she explains, and Bob worries — ^to such an 
 extent that finally one evening he hires a car for him- 
 self and when he sees the racer dashing away with 
 Belinda beside its driver, Bob pursues discreetly. 
 
 (21) In the meantime Lorita has begun to wonder that a 
 promised visit has not been paid by Prentiss. The 
 protestations of love by her dancing partner annoy her 
 and she breaks the partnership and goes away "on her 
 own," secures an engagement at the Evergreen Inn 
 cabaret, and is singing and dancing when Belinda 
 comes in with Prentiss on this fateful evening. Lorita 
 falters in her song, but catches it up. Prentiss has seen 
 her, however, and is eager to get out of her sight be- 
 fore she finishes. He beckons a waiter and whispers 
 to him. Bob is an unostentatiously interested witness 
 at another table. Prentiss tells Belinda: "I have 
 brought you to see someone — of importance in our 
 search." Eagerly Belinda accompanies him to an 
 upper floor. The room door shuts behind them, and 
 
 (16) Belinda, wheeling in surprise, as no one else is seen in 
 the room, notices the look on his face and shrinks back ; 
 then she cries: "You coward!" and leaps back as he 
 advances. 
 
 Bob, below, calls the waiter, and for appropriate 
 gold, the latter explains what Bob wants to know. 
 Meanwhile Lorita is fuming as she realizes that she is 
 thrown aside; anger becomes a purpose of spiteful 
 vengeance. Bob knocks at the door of the room signi- 
 
 " Lorita again used, to keep her in sight and build her eventual 
 motives gradually. 
 
 "Note how far differently sequence runs in synopsis and in 
 plot outline. 
 
292 THE PHOTOPLAV SYNOPSIS 
 
 fied by the waiter, and hearing the cry of Belinda, 
 breaks in the door and tackles Prentiss. There is a 
 brief struggle, and then Prentiss sinks down, van- 
 quished. Bob seizes Belinda and with compressed lips 
 leads her out and to his car. 
 
 The drive home is a silent one, for Belinda is 
 stunned and humiliated. Bob, too, is quiet, grim. 
 
 (17) Lorita drops in on Prentiss as he is washing his 
 bloody face, and her vituperative tongue inflames him 
 to the point where he flings out of the room, leaps into 
 his car, and rides furiously about the country, ignoring 
 speed-laws or the endurancei-possibilities of the "gas" 
 supply. 
 
 Bob leaves Belinda at her home-door, saying noth- 
 ing. She goes up to her room, and there, sitting down 
 with Major at her feet, she thinks over her sad plight. 
 
 Florence, alone at home, is beginning to wonder 
 about these nocturnal trips of her husband, and she 
 guesses rightly as to their reason, though she fails to 
 appreciate Belinda's real sincerity of purpose in this 
 association with a married man. 
 
 Suddenly, in her room, Belinda starts to her feet, 
 hand pressed to heart! A great comprehension has 
 come over her : The man she has been zvith does not 
 intend to help her! — He may even he guilty himself! 
 Startled, and forgetting the light she leaves burning, 
 Belinda hurries off with Major to seek her father and 
 communicate her unaccountable yet intuitive suspicion. 
 She reaches the cave : her father is not there ! What 
 
 " See Chapter XII. 
 
BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 293 
 
 has happened? Is he safe? Terrified, in utter 
 suspense, she waits. 
 
 Meanwhile, Prentiss reaches home fagged out and 
 meets a furious, sarcastic Ftorence. He does not re- 
 fute her accusations, but turns and leaves again, once 
 more resorting to furious driving as the only oiitlet for 
 his fury — while Florence becomes suddenly yery calm, 
 even as Lorita at the Inn is lashing her hate into wilder 
 emotion. 
 
 Belinda, at the cave, hears a step : she is in a torture 
 of dread until the moonlight reveals her father's face 
 as he stoops and enters the cave. At its mouth they 
 talk: he listens to her suspicion, but does not seem 
 able to credit such a surmise as that Prentiss fired the 
 fatal shot — ^how could he? — he was in another room. 
 Then he draws an object from his pocket, and while 
 he holds a rusty, water-soaked revolver, he explains 
 (19) to Belinda how, just having taken a night-ramble to 
 visit the scenes of his former residence, he has passed 
 the bank, seen Hobbs, the postman, evidently coming 
 home late, and hid from him in a huge old rain barrel 
 in an alley alongside the windows of the bank. Fortu- 
 nately, the barrel is nearly empty, and in its secure 
 hiding he has found this old weapon. He wonders 
 what to do with it, and finally decides to keep it, as he 
 feels that he must not stay too long at the cave, and he 
 wants something to help protect him if he ventures out 
 and is assailed. 
 
 Prentiss drives till his gasoline runs out, and then 
 starts to walk home on the lonely highway. His atten- 
 
 " See Chapter XII. 
 
294 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 tion is attracted by the sight of Major prowling near a 
 hill. He pays little attention until the dog seems to 
 respond to a call. Carelessly Belinda has allowed 
 Major to wander, and it is her own call that brings 
 suspicion on the dog and leads Prentiss to investigate 
 the dog's sudden disappearance. He comes near the 
 cave. Belinda stops breathing; her father crouches, 
 but she holds him with main strength as a match is 
 struck outside, and Prentiss fires some brush and 
 thrusts it into the cave — recognizing Belinda — and 
 Sanford I 
 
 Hopeless, dismayed, Belinda comes forth into the 
 moonlight. Prentiss has thought swiftly, and instead 
 of being the man she expects him to be, ready to use 
 his powerful hold upon her, he appears very sympa- 
 thetic and apologetic, and assures Belinda, as she pleads 
 piteously, that her secret will be safe. He urges her 
 to go with him, but she refuses, and he leaves by him- 
 self, while Belinda is torn with misgivings, and tells 
 her father : "I will get money for you — and you must 
 go away at once." 
 
 Taking sad leave of her father, she calls Major and 
 (20) hurries home : but her plan is upset, for the neglected 
 light in her room has aroused Rose, who, finding 
 Belinda not there, has awakened Judge Lee. Both, 
 worried, are waiting, and so sternly does Judge Lee 
 speak to Belinda, in the light of Rose's revelations of 
 the association between Belinda and Prentiss, that the 
 poor girl dares not speak the truth, and dawn is break- 
 
 » See Chapter XII. 
 
BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 295 
 
 ing before she can get to her room. It is manifestly 
 too late for Sanford to attempt escape. 
 
 The next morning Prentiss discharges Bob sum- 
 marily, and there is quite a scene as the young man 
 states his opinion of Prentiss. He goes, however, 
 downcast. 
 
 About noon Belinda gets a note from Prentiss, and 
 it carries a threat that her father's safety lies in her 
 hands. The writer suggests that she pack at once for 
 a "little trip to New York." Helplessly Belinda accepts 
 her fate, to save her father. She packs quietly. Major 
 keeping close, as if knowing something is amiss. 
 
 Finally, after dinner, Belinda writes a note to her 
 father and tucks it under Major's collar, and as the 
 clock strikes two in the lower hall she lets him out. 
 Rose coming in at the same time, sees but says nothing, 
 guesses nothing. 
 
 Rose has scarcely gone upstairs when the phone 
 rings, and to Belinda's surprise the voice of Florence 
 suggests that she run over for just a minute. Belinda, 
 wondering, agrees. 
 
 (22) In the meantime, L,orita has been making some in- 
 vestigations, and on discovering that Prentiss is mar- 
 ried she determines to visit his wife and then wreak a 
 belated vengeance on her deceiver. Carlos, smarting 
 under her flouting, has found out where Lorita is now 
 engaged as a dancer and hurries to the Evergreen Inn 
 to see if she will not listen to him. 
 
 Florence has dismissed all the servants, and now 
 " Building situation from here on to carry climax in action. 
 
296 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 with her own hand she admits Belinda and takes the 
 wondering girl past the umbrella rack in the lower 
 hall, up the stairs to her second-floor boudoir, where 
 with a strange, tense quiet in her manner she turns and 
 faces Belinda. Suddenly Florence says: "You have 
 come between my husband and me : are you willing to 
 help me get a divorce?" Belinda is stunned, and can- 
 not speak for a moment. Florence will not listen when 
 Belinda does try pitifully to explain; she rises to 
 terrific heights of fury and vituperation, and suddenly 
 snatches a revolver from a table drawer. Belinda 
 springs forward and the two struggle for the weapon. 
 Panting, Belinda secures it at last, and drops it on the 
 table, backing against the table to prevent Florence 
 from reaching the revolver. 
 
 Neither knows that Prentiss, having left the bank 
 early, is in his own room, adjoining the boudoir, an 
 intensely interested spectator. Florence suddenly 
 changes front, and cries out: "Since you can make 
 him happy, I leave you to make a home for him !" She 
 rushes out, and as Belinda starts after her she is 
 arrested by Prentiss's detaining hand on her arm. 
 She turns with a shrinking dread, and sees his evil 
 smirk. He makes a gesture to indicate that he will let 
 his wife go, and while Belinda pleads with him he re- 
 mains adamant, and finally, with a shrug, says he will 
 get his bag and they can start. 
 
 He goes into his own room, and Belinda hesitates 
 between escape and compliance, when she sees a 
 woman standing in the doorway, eyeing her with 
 surprise. 
 
BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 297 
 
 Lorita, having reached the house just as Florence is 
 fleeing, sees the door open and walks upstairs un- 
 molested. Seeing Belinda, close upon her view of the 
 runaway woman, Lorita sneers : "I came to drive out 
 the Missus, but you beat me to it, Kid !" 
 
 Belinda stares in horror as she comprehends the 
 other's meaning. Then she turns and, with all her 
 force and earnestness displayed in her tremulous, 
 working features, tries to explain. The unexpected- 
 ness of Belinda's attitude, her evident unsophistication, 
 touches some chord in Lorita's heart, and she ceases her 
 sneering as Belinda says : "I'm only trying to clear my 
 father — John Sanford." 
 
 Lorita starts, and goes close to Belinda, a great sur- 
 prise m her eyes. As they stand there, the one ques- 
 tioning, the other bearing her searching look with the 
 sincerity of honest purpose, Prentiss comes back into 
 the room, while downstairs the postman, Jim Hobbs, 
 
 (23) seeing the door open, steps into the hall to lay some 
 mail on the rack. 
 
 In the boudoir Lorita , throws her head back and 
 laughs, as she says : "And 'you came to John Sanf ord's 
 old associate to find out about the crime ? Why, Kid, 
 Horace Prentiss has got more reasons than one for — " 
 
 (24) Just then Prentiss comes in and flings Lorita, 
 stunned, into a corner. And outside, Carlos, who has 
 pursued his love in a taxi, is seeking to discover the 
 number on the open door. 
 
 " See Chapter XII. 
 
 « See Chapter XII. 
 20 
 
298 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 Before Lorita can recover her senses, Prentiss has 
 caught Belinda by the arm. She has flung herself free 
 and given him a push. In the dark hallway outside the 
 door, a shot lights up the gloom, and Prentiss staggers 
 into the room, reels, and drops in a heap. His watch 
 has dropped out and been broken in the fall, and has 
 stopped. 
 
 Lorita, recovering, gets to her feet, and looks dazedly 
 about. Carlos is seen rushing for his taxi, around the 
 corner. Belinda, oddly, leaps from the room: then it 
 is apparent why, for she turns into an alcove, and 
 catches hold of Hobbs, the postman, and is about to 
 scream — ^but he stills her with a face positively com- 
 pelling sympathy. Belinda hesitates, and, snatching his 
 slender opportunity, Hobbs tells her: "You couldn't 
 blame me, if you knew — " Stammering, he calls up a 
 vision of the past, of his daughter Laura — ^yes, of her 
 
 (15) who is now known as Lorita! — and of her sudden dis- 
 inclination to be happy at home, of his finding of the 
 note, his anger toward the unknown "man in the case," 
 
 (26) of his discovery just now that his daughter and 
 Prentiss were together — ^that Prentiss was the blam- 
 able man. 
 
 Belinda hesitates, and then a call from Lorita causes 
 
 (26) her to turn — and at that instant Hobbs slips past her 
 and is gone down the stairs. 
 
 Meanwhile Bob has called to see Belinda and has 
 been told by Rose where she went. He is anxious, and 
 
 " See Chapter XII. 
 " See Chapter XII. 
 
 "The story is told here to avoid delay in a swifter situation 
 later. 
 
BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 299 
 
 goes to the Prentiss house, and so hears the shot. He 
 joins Wingate as the latter rushes up the steps, meets 
 the postman and inquires what is wrong. Hobbs dis- 
 sembles, and Wingate, taking Hobbs by the arm, mo- 
 tions to Bob and the trio go in and up the stairs. 
 
 There is a cry from Lorita — or Laura — as her father 
 steps into the room, and with a face convulsed with 
 sorrow she leaps across and clings to him, begging 
 forgiveness, pleading her sorrow and longing to atone. 
 
 Wingate sees the body of Prentiss and signs for Bob 
 to call for a doctor. Then, after a hasty examination, 
 he shakes his head, and he bids Bob and Hobbs take 
 the limp form into the bedroom. Then he turns on 
 Belinda, viewing her with amazement. Wingate then 
 recognizes Lorita as Laura Hobbs, and demands what 
 this business means, seizing the revolver from the table 
 at the same time. Belinda is torn between her sense of 
 duty and her sense of human justice : she knows that 
 Hobbs shot Prentiss ; she, alone, was a witness and in 
 the flash of light had recognized the postman. Lorita 
 lay stunned in the corner at the time. Lorita clearly 
 does not suspect her father. Shall Belinda speak the 
 truth? 
 
 Bob stays in the other room, but Hobbs comes out, 
 and at sight of the year'ning in the father's eyes, the 
 remorse in those of the daughter, Belinda is touched 
 with pity, and as Wingate demands : "Who done this ?" 
 Belinda closes her lips tightly. Wingate recalls her 
 association with Prentiss and his heart misgives him', 
 though he hates to suspect her, and turns, instead, 
 
300 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 accusingly toward Lorita; but Belinda speaks up in 
 her sister-woman's defense, without implicating Hobbs. 
 Sanford has received Belinda's note, having torn it 
 in removing it from under Major's collar, so that a 
 bit still remains there. The contents of the note have 
 alarmed him so much that he has decided to risk cap- 
 ture in order to see Belinda and warn her of danger, 
 for he suspects the use to which Prentiss has put his 
 powerful grip upon the girl. Sanford, with Major, 
 reaches the Prentiss home, hears of the shooting from 
 the gaping crowd at the gate, and rushes in with Major 
 at his heels. The coroner comes after him, and both 
 hurry up the stairs. 
 
 There is a sensation when Sanford steps into the 
 room, but he is paying attention only to the look on 
 (25) Belinda's face, and the view he gets of the pistol which 
 Wingate has again laid on the table. He is worthless, 
 a jail breaker! He must save Belinda! He steps for- 
 ward and takes the guilt on his own shoulders. 
 
 Belinda is again torn with doubt: Shall she speak 
 and clear her father? The coroner comes from the 
 other room with the broken watch, displaying it, and 
 Belinda, seeing it, suddenly sees a way to compel them 
 to clear her father of at least one suspicion : she turns 
 to her father, and asks him if he got the note. He 
 produces it and she sees that the corner is torn off. 
 Rose and Judge Lee, summoned, come in, and Belinda 
 stays their eager questions as she turns to the Sheriff 
 and asks : "How long would it take for a dog to run 
 from my home to the cave in the North Hill ?" Win- 
 
 » See Chapter XII. 
 
BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 301 
 
 gate, amazed and stunned to know where Sanford has 
 been hiding, summons his fortitude and replies: 
 "About a quarter of an hour — running!" Belinda 
 nods, and asks again : "And how long would it take a 
 man to run from the cave to this house ?" The Sheriff 
 considers, then says: "It couldn't be done under a 
 half hour!" Belinda shows her first signs of elation 
 as she hands him the note and shows the torn bit under 
 the dog's collar, then asks Rose: "When did I let 
 Major out?" and she visualizes the clock striking two, 
 and Belinda shows the watch, marking 2.25 — her 
 father could not have accomplished the journey to the 
 house, and this is clear to all. Then suspicion turns 
 again upon Belinda, but Hobbs steps forward and 
 declares himself guilty, with a forlorn look at his 
 daughter — who breaks down. 
 
 The coroner comes to ask Belinda into the adjoining 
 room, and as he ushers her in, Prentiss, still alive and 
 somewhat recovered from the shock of the bullet, sees 
 the crowd in the other room, the boudoir. As Belinda 
 comes in he snaps, querulously, to Bob, who is still 
 with him : "I tried to run away with another girl once ; 
 that time one man saw me — this time — it looks as 
 though the whole town turned out." 
 
 Belinda starts, and her mind begins working like a 
 flash. Sirddenly she wheels, while Sanford, Wingate, 
 Rose, Judge Lee, Hobbs and Lorita come in by the 
 bed. "YOU committed the crime for which my father 
 has paid!" she cries. But Prentiss lifts himself by 
 frantic strength and cries : "It's a lie ! The man who 
 shot me did it !" and he points to Hobbs. But Belinda 
 
302 THE PHOTOPLAY SYNOPSIS 
 
 will not listen, and she silences Hobbs' protestations 
 as she says to Prentiss : "I will tell you how you did 
 (28) it I" Swiftly she visualizes Prentiss with the younger 
 Laura-Lorita, on the way to a train, seen by the dead 
 teller ; later the teller demanding a huge sum of hush- 
 money ; Prentiss planning the quarrel between Sanford 
 and the teller ; Prentiss seeing a chance to silence his 
 threatening enemy and put blame on another ; the work 
 later than usual; PRENTISS PUTTING A RE- 
 VOLVER BEFORE THE VAULT IN WHICH 
 SANFORD HAS STEPPED WITH THE TEL- 
 LER; PRENTISS FIRING A SHOT FROM AN- 
 OTHER REVOLVER, THROUGH THE DOOR 
 FROM THE OTHER ROOM, AND FLINGING 
 HIS OWN WEAPON THROUGH THE OPEN 
 WINDOW INTO THE RAIN BARREL. 
 
 Sanford at this point in Belinda's accusation hauls 
 out the weapon — it is marked "H. P.," and the accused 
 man collapses, confessed guilty by his face. The 
 coroner assures them : "He'll live to serve quite a spell 
 behind bars," and Wingate takes Hobbs with him, 
 while Belinda takes leave of her father ; and a small 
 boy, running in out of breath, gasps : "I seen the feller 
 what done it !" The amused Sheriff asks : "What did 
 he look like ?" and the boy pants : "Looked like he was 
 in a thunderin' big hurry !" This takes off the strain 
 as the group begins to break up: and later on it is 
 refreshing to see Belinda with her exonerated father, 
 and the smiling Judge Lee, meeting Rose's real love, 
 a dashing young officer back from France; while a 
 
 " See Chapter XII. 
 
BELINDA PUTS HER HAIR UP 303 
 
 rather sombre and repentant Lorita is forgiven by her 
 father. 
 
 Thfin Bob knocks on the door from the parlor, where 
 the group is massed, and Belinda runs to see what he 
 wants. He wants her, of course, and as he takes her 
 hand he asks : "Once you had a kiss for your future 
 brother-in-law. Who will get one now?" Belinda 
 dimples and is mischievous as she cries: "Nobody, 
 smarty!" and puts the table between them. But Bob 
 has a low cunning that prompts him to dive under the 
 table and so, as he grabs her, he demands once more 
 who will get a kiss, and the answer comes, with bent 
 head : "The future husband of the future Mrs. Bob." 
 And it isn't fair to ask the camera-man to stay any 
 longer on the job. 
 
INDEX 
 
 Proper names are set in capitals, titles in italics, and 
 subjects treated are in ordinary, or Roman, type. 
 
 Action, 11-13, 176, 191, 
 
 208, 214, 215. 
 Andrews, Chaklton, 44. 
 Art of Story Writing, 
 
 The, 43. 
 Atmosphere, 198, 199. 
 Ayees, Agnes, 35. 
 
 B 
 
 Belinda Puts Her Hair 
 
 Up, 175, 269-303. 
 Brickdust Row, 59, 63, 64. 
 By-plot, 98-100, 128. 
 
 Cast of characters, 172, 
 
 173. 
 Chambers, Mary D., 43. 
 Chaplin, Charlie, 39. 
 Character studies, 28. 
 Characterization, 148-152. 
 Characters, 80-84, 106- 
 
 113, 148-152, 169-175, 
 
 201-204, 265. 
 Clearness of statement, 
 
 180-184, 209, 210, 219. 
 
 Coincidence, 143-148. 
 Comedy, 34-36, 72, 243, 
 
 244. 
 Comedy relief, 228-232. 
 Complication, 8, 9, 48-51 
 
 88, 127, 128. 
 Comprehensive state- 
 
 ments, 183, 184. 
 Contrast, 226-228. 
 Courting Betty's Beau, 76. 
 Cut-back, 216, 217. 
 Cut-in, 223, 224. 
 
 D 
 
 Detail, Use of, 188-191. 
 
 Director, The, 236. 
 
 Divided interest, 54, 55, 
 136-140. 
 
 Drama, 38-40, 72. 
 
 Drew, Mr. and Mrs. Sid- 
 ney, 34, 58. 
 
 E 
 
 Earle, Edward, 35. 
 Edison Company, 76. 
 Episodes, 41. 
 
306 
 
 INDEX 
 
 EsENWEiN, J. Berg, 16, 
 
 43, 63. 
 Everybody's Girl, 63. 
 Exhibitor, The, 65. 
 Exposition, 13, 159. 
 
 Fade-in, 217. 
 Fairbanks, Douglas, 20, 
 
 42. 
 Family Flivver, A, 35, 36. 
 Farce, 36, 37, 72. 
 Fiction contrasted with 
 
 photoplay, 13-15, 44-46. 
 Film exchanges, 61. 
 Footage, 4, 5, 90-93. 
 
 Gordon, Miss Kitty, 19. 
 
 H 
 Hackneyed ideas, 29. 
 Happy ending, The, 159- 
 
 161. 
 Heart-interest, 97, 98, 
 
 265. 
 Heart of Humanity, The, 
 
 58. 
 "Henry, O.," 59, 63, 64. 
 HoLUBAR, Allen, 58. 
 Human interest, 95, 129, 
 
 130, 265. 
 
 Ideas, 73-80, 93-95. 
 Implausibility, 140 - 143, 
 265. 
 
 Incidents from life, 84-89. 
 Ingenue stories, 41. 
 
 J 
 Jewel Productions, 58. 
 
 K 
 Kitty Mackaye, 226. 
 
 L 
 Leaders, 27, 131, 221-226. 
 Leeds, Arthur, 16, 63. 
 Length, 51, 52, 177, 178, 
 
 218, 219. 
 Love-interest, 53, 54. 
 
 M 
 Manuscript form, 245- 
 
 255. 
 Marketing the synopsis, 
 
 256-263. 
 Melodrama, 40, 41. 
 Metro, 58. 
 Morbidness, 26. 
 Motivation, 114-118, 124- 
 
 128. 
 
 N 
 Naming the characters, 
 
 169-175, 182. 
 NoRMAND, Mabel, 42. 
 Notes, Uses of, 18, 73-80, 
 
 85. 
 Novelty of idea, 8. 
 
 O 
 Opening the synopsis, 
 192-204, 205-212. 
 
INDEX 
 
 307 
 
 Orientation: See "Plant- 
 ing. 
 
 P 
 
 PicKFOKD, Mary, 42. 
 "Planting," 127, 128, 152- 
 
 156. 
 Plot, 8, 9, 17, 43-55, 71- 
 
 89, 90-102, 103-113, 
 
 114-133, 205-216, 217, 
 
 264, 265. 
 Preparation : See "Plant- 
 
 ing. 
 Producer, The, 59-65. 
 Prologues, 157-159. 
 "Punch," 100-102, 129, 
 
 212, 265. 
 
 R 
 
 Reel, 4. 
 
 Scenario, 178, 180, 214- 
 
 218. 
 Scene, 215, 216. 
 Selling methods, 60-64. 
 Serials, 40-41. 
 Slapstick, 36-39. 
 Struggle, 48-51. 
 Style in writing, 31, 32, 
 
 185-188, 233-244, 266. 
 Sub-plots, 98-100. 
 
 Sub-titles : See "Leaders." 
 Surprise, 121-124, 129. 
 Suspense, 118-121, 128, 
 129, 217. 
 
 Technique of Play Writ- 
 ing, The, 44. 
 
 Tempo of plot-movement, 
 206-212, 214, 215. 
 
 Theme, 78-84, 265. 
 
 Thinking in action, 11-13. 
 
 Time-limits, 90-93. 
 
 Titles, 25, 56-68, 173-175. 
 
 Tragedy, 25-26. 
 
 Training for photoplay 
 writing, 1-3, 17-23. 
 
 Twelve Good Hens and 
 True, 58. 
 
 U 
 Unsalable ideas, 24-33. 
 
 V 
 ViTAGRAPH, 35, 224, 269. 
 
 W 
 
 Williams, Earle, 20. 
 Writing the Photoplay, 
 
 16, 63. 
 Writing the Short-Story, 
 44. 
 
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