by CHARLES LANG, A. S. C.
THE INTRODUCTION of Fast Film brought with it great benefits to all types of cameramen, and with it too, new problems to be surmounted. I doubt, however, if any class of cameramen received quite so many of either as have those of us who, either from preference or necessity, work with a low key of lighting. Here was a new film which can inherently make our work much simpler, but which also makes us adopt a new technique if we wish to utilize its greatest benefits.
In the first place, Fast Film allows us to use less light. In the second place, it is naturally inclined to yield soft gradations; I doubt if it is possible to get a really over-contrasty picture with it. But—and there’s the rub—this very tendency to soft gradation which is a great advantage to the normal worker, can be the undoing of the unwary low-key worker. The reason for this is that whereas the normal worker, sometimes intentionally, sometimes unintentionally, almost invariably lights his set for quite a high degree of brilliance, the low-key worker, on the other hand, habitually works with extremely soft lightings, which, when coupled with the naturally soft characteristic of the new film, is very likely to become over-soft, and flat.
Therefore, while the normal worker can adapt his technique practically unchanged to the requirements of Fast Film—and even derive an appreciable degree of benefit from its inevitable softening effect, the extreme low-key worker must devise a new technique by which to combine the soft, low-key lightings which he desires and the softness inherent to Fast Film. In other words, the man who works in a medium or even a high key of lighting can light his set in the manner he is accustomed to, and then, with scarcely any change other than replacing the globes in his lighting units with others of lower wattage, be ready to use the new film with confidence—and in fact, get even better results than before The low-key worker, on the contrary, can seldom do this, for if he does, he will find his work becoming gray and flat. Therefore, he must discover a new technique of lighting which will give him the effects he desires without the exaggerated softness which he does not desire.
It is easy enough to say this—but it is quite another thing to do it. For although we may proudly proclaim that lighting is an art, and is not therefore something to be done after a set fashion—by rote, as it were—most of us have a lamentable tendency to classify the situations most frequently met with, and then to always meet them in the same way. In a situation where one’s whole lighting technique can be modified uniformly— as in the case of workers who habitually use a higher key of light—this is not entirely a disadvantage; but in our particular instance, where the only remedy is altering the technique specifically to fit the individual occasion, it is far from helpful.
Here is our problem: we habitually work with a soft, lowkey lighting; we are given a new sensitive material which has an inherent tendency to softness, and which will, if we merely lower the overall intensity of our illumination, exaggerate that softness into flatness. How then are we going to utilize the economic and artistic advantages of this new film, and at the same time retain the soft but brilliant results which we desire?
The first step, naturally, is to take stock of what we have already at hand. The new film can be a considerable aid, for to offset its tendency to softness, it has several advantageous characteristics. First among these is its excellent color-separation. This represents a considerable improvement over the earlier emulsion. Second is its surprising faculty of penetrating shadows. Both of these can be turned to our advantage.
If we can contrive to see to it that our sets are not monochromatic— that there is a pleasing visual color-contrast in them — the superior color-rendition of the new emulsion, which closely approximates that of our eyes, will help us to get depth and brilliance into our sets. The surprising sensitivity of the new film, as shown by the way it reaches into the shadows, will also help us, inasmuch as it will allow us to concentrate more on the highlights, knowing that if some light strays into the shadows, there will be just about the degree of soft detail that we want to have in them.
So far, so good; but we have not considered our people. And our main object is to make them stand out properly. Well, having our set taken care of, we can concentrate on the actors. To my mind, the best method is to light them in quite a higher key, and rather more contrastily than usual. This, combined with the characteristics of the film—its soft gradation, its unusual shadow-detail, and its superior color-rendition—should give us what we want: a soft, low-key picture, yet with plenty of brilliance to point the action. Even if we somewhat exaggerate the contrast of the lighting on the players, the softness of the film will likely tone it down to very nearly what we want.
Of course, each cinematographer uses his individual lights differently, but personally I have found that the “Lupe” is invaluable in lighting people in scenes where there are but two or three players, and making them stand out more brilliantly in scenes of an overall low key. A particular advantage of this lamp is the fact that it is mounted on a stand which must be a cousin to the microphone boom, for it permits you to place your Lupe well in the center of your picture, and fairly high up, at quite the most advantageous angle to play a fairly concentrated, yet softened, front light on the faces and forms of your players —and at the same time leaves the camera a clear field below. Such a light, so placed, will, in conjunction with a moderate amount of general front and modelling light (the former of low wattage, and well diffused), do a great deal toward giving the exact effect of low-key brilliance that we want.
While speaking of photography, I cannot let this opportunity go by without putting in a good word for the campaign which the A.S.C., under the direction of President Arnold, has instituted with regard to improving the quality of release prints. Leaving aside the economic questions which are naturally of even greater importance to the industry as a whole, the artistic and professional sides to the question are of great importance to the cameraman.
After all, it is by the release-print that our work stands or falls. For while the cameraman does not as a rule secure a great deal of personal recognition from the people outside the industry—who are the principle ones who see the release prints —it is his business to give to them the best representation of the stars and story that is within his power. In other words, the best photography. If the photography in the final product —the release print that is sold to the public—does not exhibit the cast and story of the picture as perfectly as is possible, the work of all the other artists on the picture I to say nothing of that of the cameraman I is wasted, in exactly the proportion that the release print falls below its potential best. Every moment of the cinematographer’s working day is spent in striving to get the best possible picture on the negative. The master print used in the studio is of course the criterion by which he is judged by his immediate associates and by his employers, so he is personally safe enough regardless of the quality—or lack of it—in the release prints. But his job is not really complete, until his picture is on the screen and in the best possible form. In his work on the set, he must attempt to foresee every possible thing that can affect the quality of his picture between the time that it leaves his camera and the time that it reaches the screen, and inasmuch as may be possible, counteract it in advance. Motion picture photography is at best a complicated process, but when it is complicated by the unknown factor of today’s variable photographic quality of release-prints, it is doubly difficult. It is hard enough, heaven knows, in these days of forced-draught production, to turn out photography that combines originality and that elusive thing known as “quality,” but when one is trying to do this without any knowledge of the way that quality will be transmitted to the finished release print, it becomes all but impossible to do the best work. The freelance cameraman soon finds out the qualities and characteristics of the laboratory service of the different studios, and he is invariably happiest—and working at his best—in those whose laboratory service, whether maintained by the company or done by an outside firm, is such as assures him of a definite, standard quality in his release prints. Thus, for the good of the industry as a whole, whose success so greatly depends on photography, it is to be hoped that the photographic quality of release prints will soon become as standardized as is their physical form already. When that day comes, although it will be putting the whole question of photographic quality squarely up to the cameraman himself, I am confident that not only will our photography be better, but that our work on the set will be far more efficient.
from American Cinematographer October 1931
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