Volume I: Narrative History Volume I: Narrative History
In the motion picture industry at the time, scripts, usually referred to as scenarios, were casually prepared and consisted of simple notes outlining the intended action. One director, Etienne Arnaud, the Frenchman who was the primary director for the American Eclair Company in Fort Lee, New Jersey in 1912, proudly informed a reporter that he needed no scripts, and that a few ideas sketched on a paper or piece of cardboard were enough. Note
Edwin Thanhouser, who by 1909 had appeared in or directed hundreds of plays, knew that preparation of a detailed script in a film, as in a stage production, would result in a better finished product. Among Independent producers Thanhouser was a year or two ahead of his time in the dramatic content of his films and the care with which they were prepared.
Thanhouser was familiar with the dramas and comedies of the stage and knew which ones were popular and how to produce them. Numerous plays which he had acted in or directed were eventually adapted for use in Thanhouser Company films. Popular novels were another source of stories, as were fairy tales, poems, legends, and mysteries. Although at the Thanhouser Company the duty of script writing fell upon the shoulders of Lloyd F. Lonergan in the early years, nearly every player developed ideas for plots, and Lonergan soon found that he had a dozen or more advisors. Note
Lloyd F. Lonergan, who was the husband of one of Gertrude Thanhouser's sisters, Molly Homan, was educated at the United States Naval Academy and eventually became a journalist. By 1909, he had a well-paying position at the New York Evening World. At the outset of the Thanhouser film enterprise he remained at his World desk, and with the assistance of Gertrude Thanhouser crafted one scenario a week. Gertrude became a remarkably fine film editor, and Edwin Thanhouser was quick to credit her for this ability. During the early period, Lonergan maintained his residence in New York City and commuted daily to New Rochelle. By early 1913 he and his wife moved to Beacon Hall, an apartment building which was adjacent to Thanhouser's second studio location. Perhaps more prolific than any other scenario writer in the profession at the time, by the end of his career Lonergan claimed to have written over 1,000 scripts!
The New Rochelle Pioneer, February 27, 1915, carried an article which noted, in part:
His first story was written after Mr. Thanhouser, his brother-in-law, ordered him to this city, because he could not find a scenario editor. It was produced, but, according to Lloyd, never released. Aunt Nancy Telegraphs was its title, and it must have been good enough to have been produced, but it never saw the commercial screen. This was in December 1909, and since that time 800 stories have been projected, which undoubtedly makes Lonergan the greatest scenario writer that the world has ever produced. It is safe to say that December, his fifth anniversary as a screen writer, found his total about 1,000, which makes an average of 200 stories a year look like hard work....
"What are your best hours of work, Mr. Lonergan?" the scribe asked.
"Any old time when the spirit moves me. I have written at every hour of the day."
"How do you work?"
"My method is simple. I get an idea, dope it out roughly, smooth off the rough corners, then dictate to a stenographer. I often work on more than one script at a time. I find that while working on drama, it rests me to dash off a comedy in between."
Lloyd F. Lonergan remained with the Thanhouser studio until its business days were ended. He later wrote scenarios for several other studios. Lonergan died in 1937. Lloyd Lonergan's brother Philip was also employed by Thanhouser. His sister Elizabeth was a scenario writer and film reviewer and visited the Thanhouser studio regularly, but she never wrote a script for a Thanhouser film. It is highly likely that Lloyd F. Lonergan's name should be attached to nearly all of the scenarios written for Thanhouser films from 1910 to 1915 as well as to many later ones.
In The Moving Picture World, July 21, 1917, Lonergan wrote of his craft in an article titled "How I Came to Write Continuity," which told of his beginning days at the Thanhouser studio and of some of his later experiences as well:
Everybody knows what "continuity" is nowadays, but Edwin Thanhouser is the man who invented it. There wasn't such an animal in 1909 when he started his studio in New Rochelle. Inquiries developed the fact that it was all up to the director. "Just rely on him," Mr. Thanhouser was told. "A good director will take a company out, see something that will screen well, take it and write a story around it. Scenarios will be the least of your troubles."
But the man who is now my boss couldn't see it that way. He had had a long experience in the theatrical game, made a name for himself with a stock company in Milwaukee, and persisted in the belief that pictures were a form of dramatic art.
"When I had my theatrical company," he said, "I never told the director, "Go and put on a play," and trust it to his inventive genius. I selected the manuscript I liked, and he followed it. And I don't see any reason why the same course shouldn't be a success in the motion picture game."
And that's how I came to "write continuity," and see it put on the screen at a time when other companies let the directors do everything. I figured out one day that if all the negatives that have been filmed of my scripts were laid out in a path six feet wide they would make a celluloid road from New Rochelle to the shores of the Falkland Islands. Note
In the early days we didn't go in so much for quick, snappy action. A reel usually ran from 18 to 25 scenes, and people made exits and entrances much as they do on a legitimate stage. A year ago I saw a reissue of a picture which, when released some ten years ago, created a sensation, but how old fashioned does it appear now. For example, there was one scene that ran this way:
"Set: Corner of drawing room. Woman on with her husband. He bids her farewell and off. Gay Lothario enters. He and wife embrace, show alarm. Lothario goes behind curtain. Husband enters - says he is tired; reclines on lounge. Wife rubs his head; he goes to sleep. Lothario comes from behind curtain; wife gives him dagger and bids him slay her loving husband. He protests; she insists. He is about to do it, then drops knife. He and wife both repent and weep."
This is all one scene. Today it would probably be shown in some 40 flashes.
I wonder what has become of the old freelance writers, who, seven or eight years ago used to flood the studios with their offerings. Some of their scripts were so funny that I made notes of them, but not for screen presentation. Probably the most unusual story of the bunch came from a chap in the Midwest. It narrated the history of an unfortunate family that certainly had trouble in bunches. There was a mortgage on the old homestead, father had lost his job, brother was unjustly in jail, mother had consumption, and it was all up to the little ingenue daughter. And she wrote a motion picture script. Scenes of suspense while waiting for the returns to come in. And just as the villain was about to put everybody out in the snow, a letter arrived from the film company, enclosing a check that settled for all their troubles. And this supposed check paid for a one-reel script, for those were the only kind in those days. I often wish that that mythical company was in existence.
Another letter in my collection accompanied an offering from a small town in Pennsylvania. It reads as follows: "This play is written by my son, Thomas, who is 16 years old. He is too delicate to go to work, and since he had a bad fall two years ago has been very backward in school. The doctor thinks that in time he may outgrow his feeble mental condition, but in the meanwhile he has turned his attention to motion picture writing, and perhaps there may be a place for him there, so I send you this story which he wrote after supper last evening."
Another cherished gem of mine is a script which I figure conservatively would cost $250,000 to put on, and it was written for only two reels at that. The Flatiron Building is wrecked, there follows a panic among the spectators on Fifth Avenue (author indicated that this scene could be taken at night when traffic was light, and there would be nobody to interfere with our supers). There is a collision between two ocean liners, and a few other trifles. As a sample, look at Scene 28:
"Scene 28. An observation parlor car on a railroad. Mildred and Henry are on the back platform. He is making love to her. He looks ahead, around side of car, shrieks as he sees that bridge is open. Mildred, who is looking down the track, cries out that the next train is coming. Henry's train stops. Mildred rushes into his arms crying, "Save me! Save me!" As Henry holds her tight, the other engine crashes into the observation car. Henry and Mildred are hurled into the air, landing on the country road, alongside of the train, just as an auto dashes by. The chauffeur just dodges by them."
Yes, it is a great business, of scenario writing, but it is much more fun to read the stories sent in from outside - that is, if one has a sense of humor.
Films were low budget affairs in 1909 and 1910. Within the studio limited indoor scenes could be taken, but the surrounding landscape provided the greatest opportunities. Edwin Thanhouser recalled the early days of filming in the glass-roofed skating rink which could be seen from the Boston Post Road and which many people mistook for a conservatory Note
"Vintage of 1907 [sic]; the first place that outdoor sets were made under glass," said he. "Other producers were working on the roofs of storage warehouses, mercantile buildings, and in summer gardens topping the hotels. It was not an uncommon thing to see in early-day reels a library scene where newspapers, books, and documents were blowing out the window, or to be shocked by a cloud of steam [from a building's rooftop vent] romping through a nursery. My organization, the first Independent under cover, went out to raid the market. One-reelers were then the vogue. My wife selected the stories, wrote the scenarios, and cut the films. We had a general staff equipped with more energy than experience."
In addition to work in the studio, Thanhouser players used the streets of New Rochelle, the waters of adjacent Long Island Sound, Central Park in Manhattan, and the rolling hills of Westchester County as the backdrop for what they filmed. Planned civic events in New Rochelle, Manhattan, and other areas within easy reach of the studio were often filmed, and plots were constructed to include them. During the first several years of Thanhouser film production, various street parades, the Coney Island Carnival, May Day picnics in Central Park, police ceremonies, and other events were memorialized on film. In the summer of 1910, when Theodore Roosevelt returned from Africa, Thanhouser announced that a cameraman would be dispatched to record the proceedings. Similarly, when the United States Navy fleet visited New York harbor, Lloyd F. Lonergan used the occasion to craft a story about a sailor whose book of secret ciphers was spirited away by a seductress. Note Other film companies also capitalized on the same flotilla.
In that time of silent films, the actors spoke words so that their lips would move and give realism to the action. However, they soon learned that it was fun to make up all sorts of nonsense, for it really made no difference what they were saying. In later years, Edwin Thanhouser recalled an incident in which his players were enacting a solemn wedding ceremony, and the minister said, "I now pronounce you ham and eggs." Those in the background had a laugh at the time, of course. No one anticipated that the picture would be shown later at an institution for the deaf. The viewers, adept at lip-reading, laughed uproariously!
Copyright © 1995 Q. David Bowers. All Rights Reserved.