Cinema Papers January 1974

DAVID WILLIAMSON INTERVIEWED/ PRODUCTION P R O F IL E - THE CARS THAT ATE PARIS/ FRANCIS BIRTLES— KODAKER/ TARIFF BOARD REPORT/ PERFORMANCE SCRIPT EXTRACTS/ RAY HARRYHAUSEN— CREATOR OF SPECIAL VISUAL EFFECTS/ DIRECTED BY KEN G. HALL/ GILLIAN ARMSTRONG— ONE HUNDRED A DAY.

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GEORGE WHALEY • JACKI WEAVER • PENNE HACKFORTH JONES • ELLI MACLURE • NOEL FERRIER • JILL FORSTER with a special guest appearance by ABIGAIL. Produced by HEXAGON COLOR Featuring the music of Brian Cadd

Released by ROADSHOW — the Australian Company

AUSTRALIA WIDE RELEASE DECEMBER 20

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2 — Cinema Papers, January

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We can make it happen even though you don 't know where to go at first!

THE FILM & TELEVISION BOARD of the AUSTRALIAN COUNCIL FOR THE ARTS P.O. BOX 302 NORTH SYDNEY, 2060 Cinema Papers, January â&#x20AC;&#x201D; 3

Everyday of the week 62i50*people overseas see Australia on film Film Australia sees to that More and more Australians are seeing these films too. Count yourself in . . . become a registered borrower with the State Film Centre in your capital city.

FILM AUSTRALIA Eton Road Lindfield NSW 2070 PO Box 46 Telephone 46 3241 Telegrams FILMAUST SYDNEY â&#x20AC;&#x2DC; B ased on o ffic ia l film usage re p o rts, J a n u a ry /M a rc h , 1973.

UK and Europe USA and Canada Canberra House 636 Fifth Avenue 10-16 Maltravers Street New York NY10020 USA The Strand London WC2 UK Telephone (212) 245-4000 Telephone 01-836 2435

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CONTENTS

EDITORIAL BOARD Peter Beilby Philippe Mora Scott Murray MANAGING EDITOR Peter Beilby DESIGN AND LAYOUT Keith Robertson ADVERTISING Barbara Guest Melbourne — 42 2066 Maxine Godley Sydney — 771 3333 CORRESPONDENTS Ken Quinneil — Sydney Jeremy Thomas — London Philippe Mora — New York David Hay — Los Angeles David Jones — Montreal .

SECRETARIAL ASSISTANCE Elizabeth Taubert Susan Korchma DISTRIBUTION Gordon and Gotch (Australasia) Limited)

David Williamson . . ...........

Ray Harryhausen: interview.........

Peter Weir Profile . . ......... ..........

Production Report: The Cars That Ate Paris . . .

Comics and F ilm ............................

Tariff Board Report ........... ..........

Anthony Ginnane: Interview.........

Gillian Armstrong: Interview . . . .

Filmography: Raymond Longford Victorian Film Laboratories . . . , Graeme Blundell ......... . . . ...............

Le Samourai . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Solaris ................... ..........................

Dalmas .............................................

27A ................................... ..

Performance...............................

Ken G. Hall: Interview . . . . . . . . .

CINEMA PAPERS IS PRODUCED WITH FINANCIAL ASSISTANCE FROM THE FILM AND TELEVISION BOARD OF THE AUSTRALIAN COUNCIL FOR THE ARTS.

I I I I I

Signed articles represent the views o f their authors and not necessarily those o f the Editorial Board. Whilst every care is taken o f manuscripts and materials supplied for this m agazin e, neither the E ditors nor the Publishers accept any liability for loss or damage which may arise.

This magazine may not, by way. o f trade, be rep rod u ced in w h o le or in p a rt, by mimeograph, microfilm or any other means, nor stored in a retrieval systemv without the prior permission o f the Copyright owner.

Cinema Papers is published every three months by Cinema Papers, 37 Rotherwood Street, Richmond 3121 (Telephone 42 2066).

Printed by Waverley Offset Printers Pty. Ltd., Geddes Street, Mulgrave, 3170.

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fl Front Cover: Sequence from David Baker's The Family Man. One of the four parts of Libido. (See pages 10 and 11 for full sequence).

* Recommended price only

Cinema Papers, January — 5

Dave Jones talks with

DAVID W ILLIA M S O N Three years ago, hardly anyone interested in Australian film or theatre had heard of David Williamson. Now, anyone who hasn’t is not interested in Australian film or theatre. In the past three years, Williamson has written three stage successes — Don’s Par­ ty, Jugglers Three, and The Removalists — and currently a fourth play, What I f You Died Tomorrow, is playing in Sydney.

In this same three-year period, he wrote the script for Tim Burstall’s Stork, the first commercially successful feature film in Australia since the government began assisting film production, and for David Baker’s The Family Man, which most critics regard as the best of the four stories comprising Libido. He recently completed an original feature screenplay for Tim Burstall, and is now adapting two of his plays and a Frank Hardy novel to film scripts.

A very busy writer, Williamson should be as busy as he likes for a long time. His work reveals a strong sense of structure, quick-moving dialogue, adequate if sometimes inconsistent characterization, a concern for themes which have both popular and social interest, and a flair for both visual and verbal humour.

In addition, Williamson has the ability to work intensely and quickly.

In this interview, Williamson’s mode of working with directors, his style of writing, his thematic concerns, and his views on the Australian film industry are explored.

CINEMA PAPERS: Y ou ’ve ex­ pressed some concern about local film-makers being taken in by the "Auteur ” theory.

WILLIAMSON: Well, I think there are very few films that don’t have to be closely and painstakingly written before they’re shot — in other words, planned in great detail. It may be that the director does the writing, like Bergman does with his films.

M a y b e a n o th er d ir ecto r g ets someone to do the initial writing and then helps with the rewriting. In any case, someone or other has got to do the writing, but there is a tendency in young film-makers to forget the process of carefully planning the shooting of the film. They get a Bolex in their hand and go out shooting birds and flowers and trees, hoping that it will all come together in the end as a film, I think there needs to be far more discipline.

Either a writer has to start off with the discipline of sitting down at a typewriter and mapping out a struc­ ture or the director’s got to do it, or there’s got to be a collaboration. I think the simple “Auteur” theory tends to posit that the film’s the thing and that’s it.

CINEMA PAPERS: In fact the kind of “Auteur” theory you’re talking about'is not really true “Auteur” theory. It’s a misinterpretation of it.

The “Auteur” theory is not the claim that the director should also be the writer, that he should be the sole creative force, but rather that in a director’s work, body of work, even though he may have had a lot of G. Glenn

writers, you find certain consisten­ cies. I think a lot of what you’re talk­ ing about, the denigration of the writer on the basis of the “Auteur” theory, is based on a misunder­ standing of the theory.

WILLIAMSON: Yes, I’d certainly agree with that, but I think that it is a particularly widely-held misunder­ standing in this country. As for the true “Auteur” theory, a certain filmwriter may show a certain con­ sistency across a lot of directors that do his work. I mean the thing could work in reverse.

CINEMA PAPERS: That’s right.

That hasn’t been studied to my knowledge.

W ILLIAM SON: I think it ’s a product o f the American thirties when the writing really was hack writing to some extent, and the writing was bad writing that was rescued by talented directors. I think this is where the theory gained a lot of its momentum, but I don’t think there’s any reason why good writers can’t salvage mediocre directors, why it can’t work the other way around.

CINEMA PAPERS: In Australia I think there are at least two directorwriter teams emerging. One is M ichael T hornhill with Frank Moorhouse and the other yourself with Tim Burstall.

W ILLIAM SON: Y es, w ell, I ’m working again with Tim on a new film that’s just about to be shot. I don’t know what the name is yet. It’s called Campus, but that’s just a

working title which someone else thought up and no one likes. This will be the second full-length feature on which I’ve collaborated. By the way, my com m ents about the mediocre director were certainly not directed at Tim. CINEMA PAPERS: I know you didn’t mean Tim. WILLIAMSON: Tim’s been very good on this one right from the start.

He rejects flatly the simplistic ver­ sion of the “Auteur” theory. He regards film as somewhat of a social art in which creative cameramen, writers, the director, and actors all contribute to the final film. Of course the director does have an overseeing hand that does permeate the film in all of these areas.

C IN E M A PAPERS: L o o k in g through the original screenplay of Stork and then the shooting script, I noticed that your writing tended to be almost com pletely dialogue, character development, and perhaps a bit of action description, and that Tim apparently went through it and put in all the camera angles and what we might call “cinematic” stuff. Is that a fair description of how you work together?

WILLIAMSON: Oh yes. I see my role as developing the basic struc­ ture, characters, emotional under­ currents in dialogue, but I certainly don’t specify camera angles or any of the visuaLstuff.

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you ever have a desire to?

WILLIAMSON; N o, not so far, anyway. \ CINEMA PAPERS; When you saw Stork did you have the feeling of “Yeah, this is the way I ipiagined it,” or were there som e im portant differences?

WILLIAMSON: There were some areas, in retrospect, where I differed with Tim, but this is inevitable. I think Bruce Spence was directed a little bigger than I would have liked to have seen him directed. There were a few off-hand lines that were punched out as heavy gag lines, stuff that was slightly heavier than I would have liked it to be. I think it would be amazing if there were no feeling on the writer’s part that things were a little bit different from the way he wanted them to be. It would imply that the director was merely an extension of the writer’s creative capacity.

CINEMA PAPERS: There could be a case when the writer imagines a film having a certain pervasive quali­ ty as he writes it, but the finished film, because of the directorial style, strikes him as quite d ifferen t, radically different, enough to make

his work almost unrecognisable to him. I take it that this hasn’t happen­ ed with you.

WILLIAMSON: There is a high degree of congruence between my emotional feelings about a script and T im ’s,, so certainly this h asn ’t happened. If it did I’d be loath to undertake projects with him.

CINEMA PAPERS: When you write a script, do you think in terms of how it might be shot?

WILLIAMSON: N o, I think very much about the characterizations and the emotional undercurrents, the reality of the people involved. At this stage I’d rather get on and write the screenplay with fairly sparse action directions and get the thing over and done with.

CINEMA PAPERS: In Stork Tim emphasized brief takes in one-shots or occasionally two-shots. Another director might have taken the same script and have tended to use lots of long takes and wide angles with more than two people in the frame. Now had that happened — if you can im­ agine Stork having been shot in that way — would it have made any difference to you? Or do you think of these things at all?

WILLIAMSON: Ah, yes, I do. Stork was a pretty simple film, and I think that it probably called for pretty sim­ ple camera techniques.

CINEMA PAPERS: I didn’t mean to say they were simple.

WILLIAMSON: Well, I regarded those camera techniques you were describing as pretty sophisticated camera techniques. The long shots and long takes perhaps were more suited to a more introspective mood piece like Claire’s Knee, where there’s a lot of close interpersonal ac­ tion, not slapstick comedy. I feel that the simple style in Stork was appropriate to the simple script.

CINEMA PAPERS: David Baker directed The Family Man (one of the four stories in Libido), for which you Wrote the script. O f course it is a very different film from Stork, but do you think there were any differences between the films due to their having different directors?

WILLIAMSON: No. I think a lot of the continuity comes from the actors.

The actors do have a feeling about a script. When they want to do it in a certain way, they’ll talk to the direc­ tor about this. I think this happened with both David and Tim, They are both influenced by what the actors say and feel about it, and so I felt there wasn’t a huge difference in directorial style between the two films. I may be wrong, but again it seemed a pretty simple shooting style. There were a lot o f head shots Cinema Papers, January — 7

David Williamson

and an occasional two-shot. There was nothing very tricky or com­ plicated about the camerawork. But they’re both scripts dealing mainly with interpersonal interaction.

They’re not “visual” films as such.

CINEMA PAPERS: I don’t know, you know. I wouldn’t say that. I think that one of the strengths of the film is that the face and gesture can reveal much, and that even a film about interpersonal relationships is potentially as “visual” as an action picture — only that the visual elements are quite different.

WILLIAMSON: Oh yes, sorry. I was thinking more o f wide shots of sunsets and stuff like that. The Fami­ ly Man wasn’t a visual film in the sense o f having lyrical nature shots and so forth.

CINEMA PAPERS: In The Family Man, I thought there was one part that reflected really good writing or directing, perhaps both. It was when Jack Thompson, in his frustration at not making much progress with the girls after getting their clothes off, threw the one girl out the door and slammed the door behind her before he’d quite realized what he was doing. Then there was an immediate cut to the outside where the girl was standing nude, locked out. This was very, very funny. Thinking about it, I realised that it was funny because it was instantaneously apprehended, that one couldn’t write it as an inci­ dent in a literary story and make it funny. And reading the script, it probably wouldn’t be funny. Can you recall if you suggested to Baker how to achieve that effect, or was that his contribution?

WILLIAMSON: Well, I saw it as rather bluntly funny that when the girl actually did strip off her clothes, which was supposedly the end to which Jack Thompson was working, there was some kind of puritanical male-chauvinistic rejection o f her as a sort of a slut figure because she’d done this. That was definitely in the writing — that he was to violently chuck her out and slam the door on her before he realised what he was doing.

CINEMA PAPERS: And the cut to the girl?

WILLIAMSON: Well, that was my next sequence.

CINEMA PAPERS: So it was in the script in effect.

WILLIAMSON: The timing would have been Baker’s there.

CINEMA PAPERS: Was the draft I read of Campus, which is your first original screenplay, the first or se­ cond draft?

WILLIAMSON: You’ve read the amended first draft.

CINEM A PAPERS: W hat will happen to that next?

WILLIAMSON: Tim will convert it to a shooting script. H e’s probably in the late stages of doing this now, because he goes into rehearsals quite soon. If he wants to change dialogue he’ll get in touch with me. If he feels there’s something wrong with the scene he’ll get in touch with me. This hasn’t happened so far, but what will happen is that I’ll be there during the rehearsal week with Tim and the ac­ tors. If I feel that there is something desperately wrong with a scene, we’ll 8 — Cinema Papers, January

just work on it right there. This is. what happened in Stork. There was one very crucial scene where Anna comes into the kitchen and tells the group that she’s pregnant. As I originally wrote that scene, the two guys who were on with her reacted very coolly when they learned that the other two, Stork and West, could also be the father of the child. In the rehearsals, Tim called me up and said, “There’s something very wrong with this scene; the actors are unhap­ py, I’m unhappy, we don’t know what it is, come and have a look.”

They didn’t want to blame the writing first up, but it was the writing.

The emotional structure of the scene was completely wrong. The two men would not under any circumstances react as mildly as I had written. So the fault was mine. I went into the back room and rewrote it on the spot.

CINEMA PAPERS: Did you get a kick out of that? Writing “on your feet” , so to speak?

WILLIAMSON: Yeah, that’s a good feeling. When you come in and spot the flaw and rectify it you feel like a mechanic coming in to fix the car or something. It’s rather good.

C IN E M A P A P E R S : S o y o u w ouldn’t n ecessarily see T im ’s shooting script unless he felt there were certain problems.

WILLIAMSON: No. He called me in a few times on Stork over a. few of the lines and a few of the reactions.

One of the things Tim was wanting was a bit of fruit-throwing at the wedding scene. Initially I wasn’t very happy about that . . . He’s good in the sense that he won’t change anything unless he consults me.

CINEMA PAPERS: Would you be consulted on a problem discovered in the editing stage?

WILLIAMSON: N o. There was one sequence in Stork which worked very well as a sequence, but Tim and the editor felt that when edited together with the preceding and following se­ quences, it slowed the whole pace of the film down. So while it worked quite well as a single scene, they told me that they were going to cut it out, and they cut it out. I trusted their judgement . . . I think there were a few scenes dropped here and there that were just slowing the thing down, scenes which were not essen­ tial.

CINEMA PAPERS: You seem to have com e into prom inence in th e a tr e and f ilm a lm o s t simultaneously. You had Stork and The Family Man on film, and meanwhile The Removalist, Don’s Party, and Jugglers Three were do­ ing extremely well. And now you’re actually adapting two of your plays to the screen as well as writing an original screenplay and a screen adaptation. Do you distinguish much between the two modes of writing?

Are they in fact two different modes of writing? And if so, which do you prefer?

W ILLIA M S O N : W hether I ’m writing a screenplay or a stage play, it will be about social or interper­ sonal relations, because that’s what I’m terribly interested in. But when you’re doing it for the stage, your dialogue can be much denser. In a

sense the thing can be more static.

I’m very aware that up on a screen you can have a large close-up of a head, you can convey an awful lot by the twitch of an eyebrow. You can show facial reactions and take away a lot of the need for dialogue. In other words, film-writing for a start tends to be far sparser. And you tend to feel that there needs to be greater velocity. You tend to think there’s a h u ge b ig scr een and I w an t something to be happening. I don’t want people to be just chatting, whereas on the stage it can work.

And you want to use film’s affinity for tim e-flexibility. In fact, the original screenplay I wrote takes a man’s life over the course o f six months to a year. You can do that so easily with film. You can cut from sequence to sequence to sequence, and you can take a long extended time-sequence from the person’s life.

Devices like these are terribly phony on the stage. I think film does it so much better that I can’t bear writing any devices in the stage work any more. All that I have is an on-going social interaction between people, and the only time I’ve cut it is in The Removalist, when I cut from a scene in a police station to a scene next day at the sister’s flat. But I still felt un­ easy about doing that, whereas I wouldn’t at all in a film. So in the film stuff I write, I feel that I can do an extended time-span, I can make the sequences far more hard-hitting and less verbal, whereas the stage stuff is much denser, it takes place over a single evening and con­ centrates on intricate patterns of relationship between people all in the one room at the same time. The film is more narrative and episodic.

CINEMA PAPERS: You’ve done a bit of acting, and I think you’ve directed a play.

WILLIAMSON: Yeah.

CINEMA PAPERS: Are you in­ terested in directing your own plays in the future or directing your own films — that is, the films that you write — or would you prefer to re­ main as a writer?

WILLIAMSON: I did enjoy directing the play. It wasn’t my play, and that probably helped a bit. It’s a very social sort of act. You feel that your human resources are being called on as well as imaginative ones. When you’re sitting at the typewriter plonking away there’s not much social interaction. I rather enjoy the social thing of working with people, so perhaps at some future date — I’ve got so much writing work now I can’t contemplate it — I wouldn’t rule out the possibility of doing some directing, assuming that somebody wants me to do some.

CINEMA PAPERS: Its attraction lies mainly in the pleasantness of the activity, or has it also to do with some feeling that perhaps you’d like to write some things that could best be realised by yourself?

WILLIAMSON: Well, I haven’t got to that stage yet where I’m feeling so shat off with all the directors who are doing my plays and films that I feel I have to do them myself. It’s more the other thing at the moment that I ac­ tually like, or find challenging, in the business of directing. Writing by

itself is such a solitary, introverted sort of endeavor. I used to teach a lot, but I haven’t been teaching for a year. I suppose I’m missing th a t. . .

But I haven’t been completely happy with some of the stage productions.

I’ve interfered with quite a lot of them. But then again I’ve had the ex­ perience o f seeing a stage play being directed absolutely perfectly on two Occasions, with inventive things be­ ing brought out that I wouldn’t have thought of if I had directed them. So it cuts both ways.

CINEMA PAPERS: We’ve discuss­ ed an instance of visual humor in your work. Now for an example of verbal humor. It occurs in Jugglers Three during a c o n fr o n ta tio n between Elizabeth and Neville, who are separated. They grow more and more angry, hurling insults and ac­ cusations at each other. Finally, Neville recounts what to him was the worst outrage of all, that he had received a phone call at 2 a.m. from a woman screaming at him for having run out on Elizabeth. Elizabeth replies, “That was me.” Neville counters, “ I might have known!”

That’s an extremely funny verbal ex­ change in the context, as the fact that N eville only might have known reveals the extent to which he is e m o tio n a lly e s tr a n g e d from Elizabeth. It was both very funny and thematic.

WILLIAMSON: Yeah. Well, I think that humour is often aggression released, and I think that humour and aggression are often related in my work. There’s an awful lot of aggression in the world, and one way of coping with higher levels of in­ terpersonal aggression is rather black, sardonic, cynical humour.

CINEMA PAPERS: In this instance it wasn’t the character who was being cynical or sardonic, as I read it, but it was the author.

WILLIAMSON: Yeah.

CINEMA PAPERS: More often, though, your characters are that way. In much of your work there seems to be one character who is wry, sardonic, very cynical.

WILLIAMSON: Yeah, in some o f the p lays, yeah, there is this character who is like that, but I think that to some extent it may be the shared characteristics o f Australians and Americans. I think there is an aw ful a m ou n t o f cy n icism in Australia. Anyone who starts to have higher motives or expound on the more spiritual aspects of life gets put down in an awful hurry in an Australian context and perhaps in an American one. I remember years ago being impressed by the wave o f the American satirical novel, novelists like Heller and Purdy and Barth, who seem to have this black, cynical conception of life.

CINEMA PAPERS: Cops figure in your stuff a lot. Are you preoccupied with police, or is it mainly as a dramatic focus for aggression that you’re interested in them?

WILLIAMSON: N o, Im really not p r e o c c u p ie d w ith ' th e m . The Removalist came about because the situation in part was related to me by a removalist. I thought it was a great dramatic situation. The cop in Jugglers Three was perhaps a bit

David Williamson

gratuitous in retrospect. He added a s lig h tly fa r c ic a l e ffe c t to the proceedings. But the one in the new film, well, I think Tony Peterson brings it on his own head. He virtual­ ly wants the cops to bash him up.

H e’s in such a dejected frame of mind that he provokes them, and I certainly don’t see it as being a com­ ment on police brutality. I think that if anything the cops just wanted to take him quietly to the police station.

CINEMA PAPERS: Beer or alcohol seems to figure in your stuff a lot.

You use it to allow characters to change their line or change their at­ titude to something. Is that because o f its a lleg ed p rom in en ce in Australian society?

WILLIAMSON: (laughter) Yes, it has got an alleged prominence in Australian society, yeah. It is a social lubricant to the extent that more telling things are revealed un­ der its influence. That’s perhaps why I’ve used it. People who get plastered tend to say things that they otherwise wouldn’t. This certainly happened in D ons Party. Alcohol gave rise to events that wouldn’t have otherwise occurred. In the latest play, What If You Died Tomorrow, there’s quite sparse drinking in it, so maybe I’m conscious o f the fact that perhaps I’ve used too much grog in my earlier days.

CINEMA PAPERS: (laughter) I didn’t necessarily mean it as a criticism.

WILLIAMSON: Other people cer­ tainly have. They say, “A lot more beer cans,” but the fact is that the three plays were written in the space of a year, so there are bound to be common elements in them, and there was beer in each of them.

CINEMA PAPERS: Aggression — verbal and physical — seems to per­ vade your work.

WILLIAMSON: Yeah. The plays are concerned with the sexual and the aggressive impulses that most of us do have, and I’m interested in the way that people cope with them. For example, The Removalist should be a w orrying p la y , b ecau se the -audience laughs right through it at o f t e n q u ite g r a t u it o u s and pleasurable violence. The sergeant enjoys beating Kenny, and Kenny in a strange way for most of the play is enjoying being beaten up, or at least he’s egging the sergeant on to greater heights of violence. It’s a society­ wide problem, because violence and sex are the most expedient ways of coping with the great modern problem of sheer boredom. The sur­ ge of gratuitous violence in most Western countries is related to the boredom of most people’s lives.

Young guys just go out no\V and roam around in cars and find somebody to beat up. It alleviatestheir boredom. There should be other ways of doing it, but I’m terribly in­ terested in this sort of problem.

CINEMA PAPERS: In your work so far, you seem to have described this problem of gratuitous violence fairly thoroughly and consistently, but there doesn’t so far in your work seem to be a vision of some possible alternative. Are you, in your future work, interested in exploring other possibilities, even if they might not

be real ones?

WILLIAMSON: Well, I can’t see any role for me as a writer in the social and political restructuring of society, which is the ultimate answer.

It’s a question of people’s attitudes, and in the present materialist and capitalist type of society, there is a permanent disadvantaged group. All our western suburbs show the highest rate of bashings and gratuitous violence simply because the young guys are industrial prisoners. They work in boring, shit-house jobs. They are given no social esteem what­ soever. They very smartly realise they’re the shit at the bottom of the barrel. The only way to gain any relief from the boredom and gain group identity is to elevate a negative characteristic like brutality to a positive mode of identifying.

CINEMA PAPERS: Your plays suggest that the perhaps less disad­ vantaged groups like the middle class or the upper middle class are equally violent, equally bored, but that the higher one goes up the social ladder the more verbal the violence gets.

WILLIAMSON: Yeah, it’s only a change in emphasis because it’s a relative thing . ..

CINEMA PAPERS: There seem to be no reasonably sound people in your work. I mean, most of them are equally guilty, except the really bad cop in The Removalist, perhaps.

WILLIAMSON: No. Actually, I felt rather sympathetic towards the two cops in The Removalist, because I accepted the fact that the sergeant got a bit of gratuitous pleasure from the violence, as he usually kept this sort of thing within human bounds . . . It was just that the sergeant let the situation go beyond the normal bounds that he could handle.

CINEMA PAPERS: From what you’ve said, there seems to be a political context to most of your work. But there’s never been any political content overtly in it. Do you think you prefer to keep it that way, or do you think that later you may explore some of these questions even if you don’t know what the answers are?

WILLIAMSON: Oh, I’m intensely interested in exploring them per­ sonally, but not in my writing. I’d rather write about the situation as it is, because I really don’t pretend to know the an sw ers. I ’m quite b ew ild ered . Do we opt for a homogenous society with only one set of values as in China, or do we adopt a pluralist society in which there are an incredible number of at­ titudes and value systems to choose from? There are unpleasant side effects in both. Do we nave some in­ termediate type of system which allows . . . As I say, I’m completely bewildered.

CINEMA PAPERS: I take it from that that your hesitance to be overtly political in your plays and Films is not from any theoretical antagonism towards political writing, but from what you feel to be your particular talents and abilities.

WILLIAMSON: Well, it’s more that I have no firm belief in any political line. I just observe and report. . . But reporting and commenting on society without specifying the political solu­

tion can still be useful politically in that other people can cogitate on it.

It may be a spur to other people to press for some solutions. I don’t know. I do have certain beliefs. I think there’s something, wrong with excessive materialism. (And here I am. I own a quite spacious house here in the bush.) I can sort of see the disaster to which materialists are striving. They’re bleeding the world at the moment. And if anything, there’s that sort of vague feeling in the back of my head that humanity’s got to be diverted from its basic pur­ suit of material acquisition to in­ terpersonal harmony. But how one does it, Christ knows.

CINEMA PAPERS: Can I infer from what you say that economically y o u ’ve been q u ite su cce ssfu l recently? Have people expected you to feel guilty because a lot of people want to see your plays?

WILLIAMSON: (laughter) Yeah, very much so. It seems that the minute one starts to make a living out of writing, one comes under in­ tense suspicion. I make no bones about the fact that I hope what I do is entertaining. I’m sure it’s not just entertaining, but with anything I write there is the hope that it can be appreciated by a fairly large crosssection of the population.

CINEMA PAPERS: Among the p eop le th at you w orked with originally, the people in Carlton in the Pram Factory, there was quite a bit of political thinking in what they were doing, wasn’t there? A political consciousness or something like that?

WILLIAMSON: It’s always been a matter of contention, because no one in Carlton has yet successfully translated a particular political line into interesting theatre . . . The Pram Factory’s best shows in terms of boxoffice have been things like Dimboola, a play about a wedding recep­ tion where people just come and par­ ticipate in the wedding. There’s nothing terribly political about that.

There was one exception. There was one very well attended show. It was a women’s play, written and devised by women, created by women, and acted by women. It was political on women’s issues. That’s the' only successful one, and it wasn’t a dogmatically political line. It’s very difficult'to make political theatre in­ teresting. To draw people to see it.

CINEMA PAPERS: Carlton did pul on two of Brecht’s “didactic” plays.

I went to see the production, and there was hardly anyone else in the audience, at least that night.

WILLIAMSON: Yeah CINEMA PAPERS: Have you seen any of Godard’s films?

WILLIAMSON: No, I haven’t.

CINEMA PAPERS: Apparently you are making a decent living now on an audience th at’s alm ost purely Australian. Is that right, or are there things that I don’t know about overseas?

W ILLIA M S O N : Y eah , I have productions overseas, but that’s not where my money is coming from. It’s coming from Australian audiences.

CINEMA PAPERS: Are there any other playwrights who can make a living from Australian audiences?

Are you the only one?

WILLIAMSON: Alex Buzzo has liv­ ed for some years as a playwright, and Jack Hibbard is able to now that Dimboola is getting commercial productions.

CINEMA PAPERS: That strikes me as a really good sign. In films, too.

Stork made money in Australia, didn’t it?

WILLIAMSON: S tork’s got its money back plus 30 per cent to date, and it’s still making money. This is pretty healthy for the industry. It’s got to the point where Australian audiences want to see some represen­ tation of their own life-styles on screen, on stage. They don’t, God help us, want to see only that, but the balance has been for so long the other way that there’s been practical­ ly no representation of ourselves on film or stage. The balance is in the process of being redressed.

CINEMA PAPERS: It’s interesting that although there is very little political content overtly in the films or in the talk about the Australian film industry, developments here seem to be in some ways analogous to what has happened in Brazil and other countries, where you had a public that would only accept Hollywood’s image of them. They wouldn’t respond to local produc­ tions, and they didn’t really want to see themselves unless it was through Hollywood eyes. But then after years of effort — but it was heavily political in Brazil — people started making films and finding ways to distribute them, and slowly built up an audience who would now rather see a Brazilian version of Brazil than a foreign one. Similar things have been happening here, except that the in itia tiv e is la rg ely from the government.

WILLIAMSON: I think that gaining a degree of national identity is not necessarily harmful. I don’t like ram­ pant nationalism, but I think that it’s a legitimate human need to see one’s country through its own eyes. I believe it’s happened in Canada to some extent, Quebec in particular.

CINEMA PAPERS: With all that’s happening in Australia now, how do you see yourself in the future of the Australian industry? Do you have many ideas as to which direction Australia should go? Things that should happen and things that shouldn’t?

WILLIAMSON: There are two basic philosophies: do we go for commer­ cial films, that is, films whose criterion is whether they’re going to make their money back or not, or do we go for so-called “quality” or “art” films that are judged to have certain artistic merits and are sub­ sidised on that basis. It’s a very dif­ ficult area. There are obvious faults with government support for films which are commercial in the sense that their only objective is to make money. On the other hand, one doesn’t feel particularly sympathetic to pouring budgets of $250,000 into film s that are incredibly selfindulgent pieces which are only going to appeal to a few thousand people or appeal to other experimental film­ makers. This is not to say they

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One might say that a 50 foot gorilla led Ray Harryhausen to his chosen career. Soon after KING KONG’s initial release in America a young Ray Harryhausen visited the Chinese Theatre in New York to witness a creature, seemingly accomplishing impossible feats. He was so impressed with the special visual effects used for the film that he knew three dimensional stopmotion animation was the work he wanted to do.

Born in Los Angeles, Harryhausen attended City College there studying photography, dramatics and sculpture. At the university of Southern Califor­ nia he took up art direction and film editing. During this period he also ex­ perimented with animation on a 16mm project of his own which he called EVOLUTION OF THE WORLD. Most of the experiments were concerned with the dinosaur age. Unfortunately he was never to complete this but at that time he met Willis O’Brien who after seeing some of this sample footage, en­ couraged him in his experiments. After graduation from university he worked with George Pal animating the Puppetoons series, and then went into the ser­ vice during World War II. Following the war he began work on his own 10 minute 16mm sound versions of Grimms fairy tales which later sold very well to most of the schools in America.

It was then in 1946 that Ray Harryhausen realised a lifelong ambition. He began work on his first feature film MIGHTY JOE YOUNG as assistant and head animator for Willis O’Brien. In 1953 Ray Harryhausen was in complete charge of special visual effects for the film, THE BEAST FROM 20 THOUSAND FATHOMS. The movie was adapted from a short story by Ray Bradbury (who is a good friend of Harryhausen) called THE FOGHORN. It was after this picture that he became associated with the producer Charles H. Schneer on IT CAME FROM BENEATH THE SEA in 1955. With the success of this film they made THE EARTH VERSUS THE FLYING SAUCERS (1956) and TWO MILLION MILES TO EARTH (1957). As an alternative to the monster type movies Harryhausen and Schneer made THE SEVENTH VOYAGE OF SINBAD in 1957 in which Harryhausen developed the spectacular Dynamation process. It was also the first of their colour films which continued into the 1960s with THE THREE WORLDS OF G U L LIV ER , M Y ST E R IO U S IS L A N D and JA SO N A N D TH E ARGONAUTS. The last became a classic epic for which Harryhausen created such famous sequences as the battle with the skeletons, the bronze god Talos, and the superbly executed fight between Jason and the seven headed Hydra. In 1964 Schneer decided to shoot a film in Cinemascope. This became an adaptation of H . G. Wells’ THE FIRST MEN IN THE MOON. This again set new problems for Harryhausen as no stop-motion animation had ever been developed for the complicated process of the anamorphic lense. In 1967 Harryhausen for the First time in many years, completed special effects for a film without the assistance of Schneer. The film was ONE MILLION YEARS B.C. which was an adaptation of the earlier 1930s production from the Hal Roach Studios.

For many years Ray Harryhausen had wanted to film an original idea of Willis O’Briens called THE VALLEY OF GWANGI. This he did in 1969, again in conjunction with Schneer. It could almost be said that this particular film is Harryhausen’s own tribute to the pioneer animator.

His latest film just completed, is SINBAD’S GOLDEN VOYAGE, which again reverts back to mythical legends. “We used all the true Arabian Knight situations in the original Sinbad,” says Harryhausen, “so now we have to ex­ tend the story into new areas while keeping the same flavour.” This gives free reign to Harryhausen’s imagination and leads young Sinbad to encounters with a centaur, a griffin and an eight foot high, six armed statue — each arm bran­ dishing a sword.

Ray Harryhausen now makes his home in London.

Charles H. Schneer was born 5 May 1920 in Norfolk, Virginia and was educated at Columbia College. He joined Columbia pictures on completion of his studies and served as assistant to the vice-president of the corporation between 1939-1942.

During the war he served for four years with the Signal Corps Photography Centre at Long Island. On demobilisation in 1946 he worked as a producer at Universal Pictures. Between 1947 and 1955 he worked on many Columbia films as associate producer and producer.

In 1956 he became president of Morningside Productions Inc. for vvham he made several pictures for Columbia release. These include THE SEVENTH VOYAGE OF SINBAD, BATTLE OF THE CORAL SEA, HELL-CATS OF THE NAVY and TWENTY MILLION MILES TO EARTH. The following interview with Ray Harryhausen was conducted by CINEMA PAPERS’ London Correspondent Jeremy Thomas.

C IN E M A

PAPERS: M r.

Harryhausen, could you tell us what influenced you to start in animation of this sort?

HARRYHAUSEN: Well the first thing was King Kong. I think I was 13 when I saw it and I was enor­ mously impressed. Before that I was w orking with dioram as, little m iniature settings you find in museums. I was fascinated by the dioramas at the Los Angeles County Museum depicting the La Brea tarpits — we lived not far from them.

The idea that animals were preserved in the- tar was of great interest to me.

I’d taken courses in sculpturing and when I saw King Kong I saw a method of bringing them to life.

the footage I had when I decided to stop shooting came in handy as an example of what I could do.

CINEMA PAPERS: Did you work with Willis O’Brien?

HARRYHAUSEN: Yes I did. I met him at MGM when he was making War Eagles. It was a great pleasure after all my heroic admiration for his work over the years. I showed him all my experiments and I don’t think that there was another kindred soul that I had met at that time that was i n t e r e s t e d in th is ty p e o f photography. He was quite intrigued with all my experiments and so he signed me up as his assistant on Mighty Joe which took two years to make. < - .,r.

KING KONG (1933) places Anne Darrow (Fay Wray) in the fork of a tree as he prepares to do battle with the Tyrannosauras.

CINEMA PAPERS: What was your

CINEMA PAPERS: What was the

first job in the film business?

HARRYHAUSEN: My first job was at George Pal’s around 1938 when he first came over from England. He started the short subjects called Puppetoons for Paramount Pictures and I spent several years animating them for him. Before that I was do­ ing experiments in 16 mm. I bought my own 16 mm. camera and just ex­ perimented, I wanted to produce a picture called Evolution, which was terribly ambitious on 16 mm. I wanted to show how the world was formed, but when Fantasia came out I lost interest in it.

CINEMA PAPERS: Was this all go­ ing to be on stop-frame?

HARRYHAUSEN: Yes it was all go* ing to be stop-frame. I m adba test with a dinosaur which, of course catrte iii handy because the dinosaurage had fascinated me the most. All

first project you did solely by yourself?

HARRYHAUSEN: Well Beast From Twenty Thousand Fathoms was my first sole project.

CINEMA PAPERS: Who was that for?

HARRYHAUSEN: That was for an independent company headed by Jack Dietz and I think Hal Chester was the producer.

CINEMA PAPERS: When did you first start working with Charles Schneer?

HARRYHAUSEN: Well that came afterwards. Several projects started and then I went back to my 16 mm. andAried to finish some uncompleted projects*. I started the Tortoise and the Hare which was the sixth of a series o f 10 minute subjects. I had in mind making 30 o f them for televi­ sion but when I realised how long it Cinema Papers, January — 13

Ray Harryhausen

would take I discarded the idea.

While I was working on the Tortoise and the Hare a friend of mine called me up and wanted me to meet Charles. He said that this producer had an idea about pulling down the Golden Gate Bridge with a giant oc­ topus. That intrigued me so I went over to talk to him. We’ve been associated for a good many years pvpr

CINEMA PAPERS: And it’s still a successful partnership today?

HARRYHAUSEN: Yes, after all these years it is.

CINEMA PAPERS: How many films have you done together?

HARRYHAUSEN: Good lord we’ve done quite a few, about eight or ten.

throughout the picture.

CINEMA PAPERS: Why do you think there has been a revival of in­ terest in your films?

HARRYHAUSER: I think it’s fan­ tasy. For a lot of people fantasy fell out of favor for a good many years in favor of sex, but I think that phase is passing. People are becoming aware that sex has been around for 5000 years and is not really new.

CINEMA PAPERS: Your films always deal with fantasy, the olden­ time and pre-historic monsters, as well as with modern day or later time subjects.

HARRYHAUSEN: This medium was always identified with the din­ osaur days because of I'he Lost World. Willis O’Brien had a great in­ triguing desire to put a dinosaur on the screen. I think he was the first one to do so in animation. And there’s really no other way to do it. If you take a lizard or an alligator and glue a fin on its back, it always looks like an alligator or a lizard with a glued fin on its back.

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you always follow closely the bone structure of the monster?

HARRYHAUSEN: Yes, if we re making a dinosaur picture I go to the

Harryhausen’s Rhedosaurus menaces the inhabitants o f New York City.

superbly that there’s no point in try­ ing to duplicate it. We choose our subjects more from the mythological and the grotesque. I had a very dif­ ficult time peddling the idea of The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad, but finally Charles became very interested in it and we brought it to the screen.

By then we’d used up most of the Arabian Nights on Sinbad and The Thief of Baghdad. We didn’t want to repeat these things so we had to devise completely new situations but still keeping to the Sinbad theme.

We could have used Joe Dokes or Buparoo or somebody like that but they don’t have presold names. Sin­ bad is always known, it’s an adven­ ture.

For Sinbad’s Golden Voyage we tried to dig out new ideas that would be in harmony with the Arabian Nights. .1 think we’ve got a rather un­ usual story in this particular film that you seldom see on the screen, plus some spectacular sets.

CINEMA PAPERS: From the reports I hear in America the sets look as if Cecil B. de Mille had a hand in them.

HARRYHAUSEN: That’s what I

like to hear! I think it’s a visual medium and for a spectacle like Sin­ bad’s adventures you must have some visual impressions that are above the normal ones you find in an average film. We strive to do that in most of our films.

CINEMA PAPERS: When you decided on the idea how did you go about setting up this picture? It was so different to the normal sort of pic­ ture and a Dynamation picture hadn’t been made for such a long time.

HARRYHAUSEN: We looked high and low for another story after we made Gwangi some years ago, but the film industry had changed course into the realm of the permissive film and it was very difficult to find sub­ jects that were suitable for this medium. I finally devised a series of 12 drawings over quite a long period of time and wrote a rough outline of the idea that I had in mind and presented it to Charles. He became quite interested in it and we got Brian Clements to work on it with us. He developed a screen play and then we got Columbia interested.

CINEMA PAPERS: And Columbia

Producer Charles H. Schneer peers through the Mitchell camera during a setup for THE GOLDEN VOYAGE OF SINBAD. Harryhausen is on the right.

CINEMA PAPERS: I’ve always wondered how you manage to keep complete artistic control over your part of a film when there are so many other people involved. Do you keep it completely separate from the very beginning of the project?

HARRYHAUSEN: Well we’ve tried to because you’ve got to have some point of view on a film of this nature otherwise it can run wild. Of course, anything a writer can dream up you can do, but it sometimes costs so much money that you really don’t have enough left to finish the picture.

This type of film has to be very carefully conceived so that they don’t get out o f hand cost-wise. That’s one of the big problems. Charles and I have had a good understanding for many years. We work together and try to keep it down cost-wise as well as retaining some sort of artistic point of view that can be developed 14 —- Cinema Papers-, January

museum and do a great deal of research because the public is very aware of the museum displays of prehistoric animals. They’ve got an idea planted in their minds of what a dinosaur looks like. So we try to keep them scientifically accurate from the structural point of view. But of course, you have to take the license of putting humans in it otherwise you’ve got no size com­ parison.

CINEMA PAPERS: Your latest film is called Sinbad’s Golden Voyage. B efore this you made another Sinbad film called The

Seventh Voyage of Sinbad.

HARRYHAUSEN: Yes, we made The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad, which was a huge success, in 1957. The sub­ ject lends itself beautifully to this medium. You can’t be in competition with a cartoon of Disney’s because he can do the cute and the coy so

SINBAD’S GOLDEN VOYAGE (1°73): Sinbad fights the Centaur.

Ray Harryhausen

financed the picture completely?

HARRYHAUSEN: Yes. CINEMA PAPERS: And when will we be seeing this on the screen?

HARRYHAUSEN: Well, we hope Christmas or Easter in America, but I believe it will be a Christmas presentation in London. There are very few films that you can take the whole family to today.

CINEMA PAPERS: I hear that your ultimate ambition is to make a Dynamation Frankenstein.

HARRYHAUSEN: Yes, I wanted to do it some years ago, but then of course Willis O’Brien wanted to before the first Frankenstein was made, but he couldn’t get it off the ground. A few years will have to go by until Frankenstein’s good name is remade. They’ve made so many parodies like Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein, and they’ve pok­ ed so much fun at it in the Munsters.

CINEMA PAPERS: Even a Carry

dimensional animation is quite a challenge.

CINEMA PAPERS: You often use miniature background for the large sequences. Is this the usual process?

HARRYHAUSEN: No, it’s not a usual process. It’s been done before though. We’ve done it and other companies have done it. It’s one of the ways of achieving a spectacular effect if your budget doesn’t allow you to build elaborate sets 50 or 60 ft. high. These backgrounds also enable you to achieve a sense of fan­ tasy and spectacle.

CINEMA PAPERS: You have no apprentice to learn your skill. In fact, there doesn’t appear to be anybody else doing this sort of animation.

HARRYHAUSEN: Various people have experimented with it. They’ve mainly been fans who have become professional.

CINEMA PAPERS: How did you find working with Hammer on One

on Frankenstein.

HARRYHAUSEN: (laughs) Yes. I

Million Years B.C.?

HARRYHAUSEN: It was a great

think a few years will have to go by before we even think about it seriously.

C IN E M A PAPERS: I th in k Dynamation would be perfect for Frankenstein.

HARRYHAUSEN: I would have thought so. There are many subjects, mythological subjects that are great for fantasy.

CINEMA PAPERS: What about Ulysses?

HARRYHAUSEN: We were think­ ing about Ulysses but it’s been done.

I think Kirk Douglas did it some years ago. It was made in a different way than we would do it.

CINEMA PAPERS: Have you any desire to direct motion pictures apart from Dynamation films?

HARRYHAUSEN: Yes, I would.

I’ve always wanted to be a director but I won’t be under the conditions one has to make pictures today. The schedules are so short that it’s very difficult to keep going over things and get what you want on film.

CINEMA PAPERS: When you’re on the floor during shooting you have a director directing the artists while you stand by to watch the technical aspects. Don’t you find that very difficult? Obviously it’s your conception to begin with and somebody else is directing your work. Don’t you find this rather frustrating?

HARRYHAUSEN: Yes, many times it is, but then it’s a big job to direct a film. It’s not as easy a job as it appears on the surface. I feel that I would neglect some o f my work if I attempted to do that. Most of the time we’ve been very fortunate to have directors who can understand the point of view. That’s one reason why I make these big drawings, so that we have a unity and we all know where we’re aiming ahead of time.

We usually have very co-operative d ir ecto rs who u nd erstan d the problems, and we work together on them. Gordon Hestler directed this latest film. He’s done some very in­ teresting things on other projects, not necessarily fantasy. We’ve also had Jerry Durrant and Don Chaffey and we’ve all gotten along. They find that working with new media such as

pleasure, I liked it very much.

CINEMA PAPERS: And working with Raquel Welch?

HARRYHAUSEN: We all got along very well and I think we put out a rather unusual product. The first pic­ ture came out in 1935, I think it was called Man and His Mate. One Million Years B.C. was a remake of that. In those days they used large lizards, and although some of them were quite effective they could never be considered dinosaurs by the wildest stretch of the imagination.

tually use Dynamation, they use men in suits and a high-speed camera.

CINEMA PAPERS: I saw a film called King Kong versus Godzilla and the animation was very jerky and jumpy.

HARRYHAUSEN: Well it wasn’t animation, it was live action. You see, they build a little miniature set on the floor and then they put a man in a Godzilla suit, or a King Kong suit, and he goes clomping through these miniatures while they shoot it at high-speed. I’ve never seen anima­ tion used in the Japanese films. A lot of people think it’s animation but only because the creatures are large.

They use men in rubber suits. I’ve seen some of it done that has been quite effective, but more in a science fiction vein than a Godzilla vein.

CINEMA PAPERS: Could you tell us something about the stop-motion photography you employ?

HARRYHAUSEN: Stop -m otionphotography - dimensional - anima­ tion is as old as a cartoon really — it dates back to about 1910. Willis O’Brien, as far as I’ve been able to determine, was the first man to ex­ periment with dimensional models in stop-motion. The cartoon of course developed into a big industry and Disney reached the ’peak of perfec­ tion with his technique. You can do a cartoon with a great many people, you can make an industry out o f it using an assembly-line method where you have the animator and a whole departmentalised set-up. With model animation it’s usually a question of

A giant Allosaurus attacks Raquel Welch in ONE MILLION YEARS B.C. (1967).

CINEMA PAPERS: They couldn’t get them to fight properly?

HARRYHAUSEN: No, and they had to hide their Allosaurus behind a bush. All you saw was a little eye peeping out. It was so atrocious — a man in a dinosaur suit. A man’s anatomy will just not fit a dinosaur’s; his legs bend the wrong way and the result looks just like a refugee from a costume ball.

It was a pleasure to re-do the film with proper dinosaurs.

CINEMA PAPERS: What do you feel about the Japanese copies of Dynamation?

HARRYHAUSEN: They don’t ac­

two or three, or maybe four men working by themselves. It’s very dif­ ficult to form an assembly line method. It’s all done frame by frame.

C IN E M A PAPERS: D o you superimpose the models over a background which is projected onto a screen?

HARRYHAUSEN: Yes. The big ad­ vantage of the dimensional medium is when you combine it with live ac­ tion. It doesn’t stand out like a car­ toon figure. A cartoon figure is flat but the 3 dimensional model blends in with the people. If it’s done properly you can get quite a realistic

effect — from a fantasy point of view.

CINEMA PAPERS: How do you overcome the problem of these se­ quences looking as if they’re shot in layers?

HARRYHAUSEN: Well, there are various techniques that have been developed over the years. Sometimes we use rear projection, sometimes travelling mattes and sometimes split screen and matte painting. There are many different techniques.

CINEMA PAPERS: Perspective must be very important. They always look as if they’re in the right positioning all the time.

HARRYHAUSEN: The perspective is a very important thing, one of the things you really have to keep an eye on during the shooting. Take a se­ quence like the sword fight in The Golden Voyage of Sinbad where the six-armed goddess is Fighting Sinbad and four of his men. I had the problem of keeping track of all these people so they wouldn’t actually in­ terfere with the figure of the goddess which was put in six months later.

I have to be on the set with the pic­ ture right from the beginning to the final dubbing. Charles and I have worked together on a good many of these and we have a system of our own which we find works.

CINEMA PAPERS: The models themselves are sitting in your office, there are cabinets Filled with the models you’ve built. They look very real and when they’re on the screen they move just like I imagine the animals would have. How in fact do you make them?

HARRYHAUSEN: They have an in­ terior skeleton, which is very impor­ tant, made out of jointed metal. They are covered with, a rubber substance which is flexible and gives the appearance of flesh, and then they’re painted. But it’s how you photograph them that gives them the convincing appearance that you see on the screen CINEMA PAPERS: I heard a story recently from a friend of yours that when you first saw King Kong you were so fascinated that you went to your mother’s wardrobe, took her fur coat and modelled a Kong. Is this true, or just a rumor?

HARRYHAUSEN: No, it’s quite true, only it wasn’t a Kong it was a cave bear. I needed the fur to cover a model cave bear. I was desperate to get some fur and the only thing I could see was the piece of fur in the closet. I should have asked, I sup­ pose.

CINEMA PAPERS: When your films are cast, do you have a large say in who is going to play the parts?

HARRYHAUSEN: Oh yes, we all discuss it. A film is never made by one person. We discuss it witn everyone and we try to get someone who is most suitable, but there aren’t too many people to choose from today. It’s either that a person’s busy or tied up for a good many months and you can’t start your picture un­ less you wait for them. There are many problems in casting people which cause concern.

CINEMA PAPERS: It must be very difficult to cast your heroines.

HARRYHAUSEN: Yes, it’s very difContinued on page 70 Cinema Papers, January — 15

RICHARD BRENNAN: INTRODUCTION Richard Brennan has worked with Peter Weir on several pro­ jects since their association began at the Commonwealth Film Unit. In 1971 he produced and acted in Weir’s ‘Homesdale’.

Since then Brennan has taken up a one year appointment as Director of the Australian Film Institute.

In the following article Brennan writes about working with Peter Weir.

Peter Weir and I worked together during Film Australia’s “ Young Turk” era when film makers were given opportunities to work with un­ precedentedly large budgets in what seemed to be the first steps towards feature film making. It was a good period and everything that churned off the assembly line seemed to be a winner — Bullocky, The Gallery, Paddington Lace, The Line, Tempo, Seven Days, Country Jazz, soared

out of Eton Road, Lindfield, and returned wreathed in laurel and dripping with decorations.

U n q u e stio n a b ly , the m ost successful of these was Three To Go, a trilogy on the theme of youth — photographed by Kerry Brown, edited by Wayne Le Clos and shaped and supervised by Gil Brealey. The three episodes have approximately equal numbers of supporters. Gillian Hansen and Bob Ellis preferred Toula, Mike Thornhill and many others regarded Judy as the major success but Peter Weir’s Michael was, like it or not, the embodiment in people’s minds of the series and of the great leap forward which the unit was taking. Press coverage of this period at the unit — “ Shoot out at Circular Quay” , “ Pushing into Unchartered Territory” , “ Hard Sell for the three Young Turks” , “ Flower Power Swingers Leave the Salt Bush” , was almost inevitably accom­ panied by photographs of tanks rumbling into Circular Quay or one or other of us fondling a machine gun and surveying the world outside Lindfield. The three film makers became polarised in people’s minds as the reviews appeared. Oliver Howes, Toula, was a sort of Henry Cornelius figure — deceptively gentle, compassionate and with a good eye for detail. Brian Hannant, 16 — Cinema Papers, January

Judy, was another Howard Hawks

— a wily old pro and a substantial craftsman. Peter, M ichael, em­ bodied the talents and excesses of a Frankenheimer or an Orson Welles — tremendous surface flair but one had nagging, doubts as to whether he could discipline and channel his prodigious talents. In fact these stereotypes were far removed from the film makers and their concerns but they existed in the minds of the cognoscenti who weren’t whiling away their lunch hours at Lindfield playing croquet — or in my case betting on it.

Eventually Peter’s episode won the Grand Prix at the 1970 A.F.I. Awards and was greeted with an ex­ tremely mixed reception. Mike Thornhill wrote “ Brian Hannant is not a whiz kid or a genius but he’ll be around making good movies when Peter Weir’s type of razzle dazzle is on the scrap heap of movie history.”

He was talking about the film and not the film maker but I expect that it hurt.

I was not directly associated with Michael. I costed the production, suggested a minor script change to Peter and helped co-ordinate the bat­ tle sequence at Circular Quay. Mine is the first face seen in the production — pushing back a soldier’s helmet and manfully trying not to remind myself of Robert Mitchum in One Minute to Zero. We worked briefly, and separately, with Bob Ellis on the script of an abortive production built around a fictional country tour of Bob’s ‘Legend of King O’Malley’.

When shooting or work ended I would split to a party, bar or poker game. Peter immersed himself in work quite relentlessly from the time he began scripting Michael until he left for America some two years

America and edited by Wayne Le We worked together on Keith Clos who is now cutting Cars that Gow’s Tempo — Peter as co-writer, Ate Paris. He also had arranged help and myself as production manager. with makeup, wardrobe and props. I It was a protaean effort filmed over probably almost blew Wayne’s par­ four months on a generous budget ticipation by reading the script aloud and schedule. I wrote letters which to him and playing all of the parts began “ further to yoiir letter of myself, but he is loyal to com­ September 1st” and Peter worried mitments and retained his com­ elements of selfdonsciousness or posure.

P e te r and I did a s c rip t humourlessness out of the script with a ferocious zeal. The crew were breakdown, not only by sequence but forever away on Mount Isa, or at by camera set-ups. We had very Ayers Rock or Hobart, and Peter definite ideas as to who and what and I were left to cast the actors and should be included and excluded, which we adhered to rather faithfully extras in the film.

He told me the basic idea of although not with Hitchcockian Homesdale one lunch time — it was precision. We were both then im­ very like The Cat and the Canary mersed in T ruffaut’s book on with a slew of guests in a boarding Hitchcock. In one section Hitchcock house having their throats cut and in discusses Ju d ith A n d e rso n ’s each case the tracks of chicken feet m alevolent presence which is leading away from the corpses. The heightened by her appearing and murderer was eventually revealed as never being seen to enter or exist. the character played by Grahame The same technique was applied in Bond who had been wielding a pair introducing James Dellitt as the of secateurs with an attached chicken manager. The cast with one excep­ foot. tion was chosen by Peter — Geoff The plot was not really wild but Malone, a solicitor, as the seemingly Peter’s description of the possibilities passive Mr. Malfry, James Lear as was involving and I was intrigued at an octogenarian, Barry Donnelly as his interest in this genre — I have a neurotic war veteran, Doreen Warloved horror films since I was ten. burton as a displaced refugee. The The only alternative offer was as two star parts were written for production manager on a prose poem Grahame Bond (with whom Peter with a group of people who kept had worked on Buck S h o tte , drunkenly saying, “ Let’s face it, Michael, ‘Mavis Bramston’ skits and we’re all professionals.” When I hear Architecture Revues), and for Kate somebody say “ Let’s face it” I Fitzpatrick. Kate had recently believe I’m about to be lied to and as appeared in ‘Legend of King I was still fighting a rearguard action O’Malley’ and was the toast of for a Public Service Board film on whatever area people propose toasts which I had worked, Homesdale’s in. Of the smaller parts, Shirley May sights seemed suitably elevated. Donald played a nurse, Phil Noyce a Work at Lindfield consisted more malevolent gardener named Neville and more of balancing ledgers, and Kosta Akon the Chief Robert. checking work requisitions and sub- Peter and I played his henchmen — m ittin g v a r ie d p r o g r a m m e me brutal and him stupid. allocations, whose existence and Back at the ranch I was startled to crewing depend on non-available be charged with being in possession government funding from Treasury. of Indian hemp, which gave By mid-February I had commenced somebody the idea that I would be pre-production work on Cec Holmes well suited to cost and schedule a Gentle Strangers (then called Some series of films on the dingers of drug Strangers in the Land) and Peter and dependence. Homesdale was to be I had got round to discussing a crew. shot in Peter’s rather vast Church B asically he wanted the film Point residence, and after work we photographed by Anthony Wallis spent several days nutting out a vast with whom he later worked in list of props. He has a fascination ia ic i.

Peter Weir

with gadgets that is reflected in all of his films and this is combined with a considerable flair for not allowing them to swamp his actors. Most of th e b iz a r r e so u n d e f f e c t s in Homesdale (such as Grahame Bond igniting an enormous gas cigarette lighter) emerged from Peter’s throat.

Gary McUunald who was first choice for the part of Mr. Malfry bowed out as did our lighting man.

The last piece of abstract prepara­ tion was a rather ludicrous wardrobe discussion, the usefulness of which was hindered by a number of visitors who had not read the script, but who were anxious to be of assistance.

Anthony shot high key and low key test sequences on three types of stock using his wife Jennifer, Peter and myself. Seven days before shooting commenced we were still short by an electrician, an assistant cameraman, a sound recordist, a first assistant, a makeup girl and a continuity girl.

Brian Hannan agreed to be first assistant and Peter Gailey, whose father Bruce is a p rofession al lighting technician, debuted as an electrician. Ken Hammond was recommended as a sound recordist and Jon Rhodes as an assistant cameraman, Adrienne Read and Monica Dawkins who were engaged for Gentle Strangers took on con­ tinuity and makeup.

Supreme Sound Studios generous­ ly lent us a considerable amount of equipment and we were ready.

Almost the entire shoot was com­ pleted between March 3rd and 7th at the rate of nearly forty set-ups a day.

It was exciting but very exhausting.

On the first day we had scheduled the sequence where doddery old Mr. Levy is duped into thinking that he has shot Robert Two at a clay pigeon practice. I stood Peter at a safe dis­ tance of fifty feet and told James to aim at him. One minute later Peter was being rushed to hospital to have the blank bullet removed from his arm, while we rehearsed the “ready for phase two” scene.

The next day we film ed the treasure hunt. One of our personnel had left a play after refusing to ex­ ceed the call of duty. She told us how the cast and management had back­ ed her to the hilt as she strode proud­ ly into a new dawn. This was somewhat obscured by the testimony of a friend of mine who had been acting as her chauffeur (“the gig says ‘Sorry lady you’ve had the empty’ and she stands there looking like the original egg roll”). Geoff Malone collided with the camera during the treasure hunt sequence and was taken to hospital for a couple of stitches. At the end of the second day we \yere tired to the point o f hallucination and stopped filming for a Couple o f hours before pressing on with,some night for night sequences.

The third day was quieter, disturb­ ed only when Peter’s wife ran her car off the steep road winding up past Peter’s house from where the guests set off on the treasure hunt. Tensions began to flare and cast and crew began to polarise into bullies and bullied. Preoccupation with my 'current legal hassles combined with a rather sullen indifference to the mounting1saga of heavy falls, un­

satisfied fetishes and magnificent obsessions, cast me firmly as a psy­ chopath. My role as Robert One was enlarged to allow me to leer at. a hyp­ notised Geoff Malone, string him up by his heels and eventually lead a frenzied group of guests in beating him up.

Anthony Wallis particularly suf­ fered during filming. He has a gentle disposition and receptive manner which makes him an ideal target for thugs. Nevertheless he ignored the increasingly atavistic atmosphere and contributed the remarkable visual design of the film with its blend of grey on grey. The long tracking shot up the hill where Grahame Bond questions Mr. Malfry about his dead dog Sniffy was effected by Peter Gailey and myself carrying him on an improvis­ ed platform and almost every setup is hand held and shot on a zoom. The lighting effects which he and Peter Gailey achieved did not seem possi­ ble considering the lack of equipment available to us.

On Saturday we filmed the ferry sequences and the arrival of the guests. A fter lunch we filmed Malfry’s return from the treasure hunt. At night we filmed the post murder sequences and retired to our various distractions which in ­ creasingly reflected the content of the film.

The presence of Sunday news­ papers slowed down the last day, plus the arrival of a lady from Vogue. I was paranoically determin­ ed that no advance plot details would be allowed to leak and my interview was short. “ W hat is the 'future o f the Australian film industry?” “ I couldn’t care less.” “ I think you might be good at writing comedy.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” “ A re you P e t e r ’s c r e a tiv e collaborator?”

“No, I go around and switch off the taps at night.”

Three nights later we filmed the dinner sequence.

The next Saturday we filmed the assembly sequences, some dawn shooting and the final confrontation between Malfry and the manager.

This was a total of fifty-five set ups and it took its toll on Sunday when we filmed leftovers. We filmed the shower sequences and the dinner par­ ty over two more nights.

Performances in rehearsal had become increasingly perfunctory but Peter is an extraordinarily sym­ pathetic director and the rot was halted. At this stage a summons had been issued for me on the bewilder­ ing drugs charge and caused a certain degree of distraction.

Work at Lindfield had taken a new turn — Gentle Strangers was about to erupt and I was involved in an in­ creasing number o f sessions about the syntax of my letters. We had decided to enter Homesdale in the Benson & Hedges Awards and the pressure of getting it ready before Peter left for America was tremen­ dous. We had a rough-cut ten days after the last day’s shooting leaving a bit less than three weeks to prepare titles, record extra effects, record

music and lay tracks, do a sound mix, have this transferred to an op­ tical sound neg, do a neg cut, get an a n sw er p rin t b ack from th e laboratory and lodge it with the Sydney Film Festival while we waited on a release print. An applica­ tion for extra money from the Ex­ perimental Film Fund was knocked back and I was forced round the traps for another $1300.

My own funds were well below the Plimsoll line but our advance PR campaign was in high gear and educated opinion had it that we were on a winner. Of course we were! I decided to gamble on winning the Benson & Hedges Award and plung­ ed deeply into debt.

The film eventually cost $3200 with a few savers — the musical chorus in Homesdale consists of Grahame Bond, Rory O’Donoghue and myself multiply re-recorded.

When the release print was return­ ed to us it was not as bad as I had ex­ pected — it was considerably worse.

The print had fingerprints and tape patches on it. One shot had been cut and made into two separate scenes and several scenes had been matched incorrectly. After I had rejected a se­ cond print the laboratory replied “Whilst we are of course sorry for the errors, I must point out that if perfection is required, there is no such thing as a time schedule, or deadline . . . I hope this letter helps sort out any problems and if I can be of further assistance, please do not hesitate to contact me.” Peter had left for A m erica and Anthony followed a couple of days later. Gen­ tle Strangers had blasted well into the stratosphere interspersed with occasional appearances in Court at which police referred to a mystery witness against me. The witness presumably died of old age before the day of judgment at which the magistrate returned the only possible verdict and dismissed the charges a gain st m e. A third print o f Homesdale proved close to accep­ table and a fourth was fine.

Only cast and crew had seen the film by now and when it premiered at the Benson & Hedges Awards con­ gratulations from well-wishers flow­ ed plentifully. That was about the best part of the day. Brian Davies’ excellent Brake Fluid won a split decision. I went to the same losers party at which Jorn Donner was ex­ pressing some hostile sentiments to the film. “To me — it was so incredi­ ble — that anyone would come to a place like that — for entertainment — that I fell asleep — after two minutes.” Ever aware that these competitions are nothing but a lottery I picked up a glass of wine with which I could Wet him a little bit. Caution prevailed. His colleague S kolim ow sk i had an excellen t reputation as an amateur boxer and if I had to be decked somewhere I didn’t want it to happen at a rather effete cocktail party.

The result backfired into a massive sympathy vote for us. Channel 7 purchased Homesdale for a good sum and it won the Grand Prix at the 1971 A.F.I. Awards.

And now Peter has made the leap.

The Cars that Ate Paris are hurtling

towards us and he is already plann­ ing his next feature. Few people if any wish him ill. He is a very likeable director to work with, unpretentious and mercifully willing to delegate tasks that distract him. Bob Efiis has compared him with Polanski, Phillip Adams with Ingmar Bergman and Ian Stocks with Mr. Coles (of funny picture books).

Amongst Homesdale’s earliest supporters was the Sydney Film Makers Co-operative who screened it frequently on generous terms. It has acquired more, rather than less, respectability with the years. A plea­ sant lady from Lauriston Girls School recently showed me an exam paper which had been set for her fifth form students. Peter and I have each seen the film sixty or seventy times but flunked badly.

Q.l: Homesdale has been describ­ ed as a fantasy and as a comedy with horror film overtones. How would you describe it? Give reasons.

Q.5: The film has a “priceless and brilliant central performance” by Grahame Bond as the butcherpopstar. Do you agree? Give ex­ amples.

Q.7: Does the switch from fantasy to “ straight” horror when Mr. Malfry kills Grahame Bond work?

Have you any praise or criticism for this sequence?

Q.10: What did you understand by the ending? Was the ending satisfac­ tory?

It was a bridge for both of us. We have only seen one another half a dozen times in the past two years but in an attractive way, he is unchanged by his now unquestioned status as one of Australia’s outstanding direc­ tors. Even people who have seen none of his films appreciate his skill, but he has th e sa m e o p en mindedness, energy and candour that characterised him in the snidger days when a bright star twinkled over Lindfield and we all huddled in the wings waiting for the spotlight to hit us.

PETER WEIR: FILMOGRAPHY

Count Vim’s Last Exercise: 16 mm b/w , 15 mins. W /dir. (1967).

The Life and Flight of the Reverend Buckshotte: 16 mm b/w , 33 mins. W/dir. (1968).

Michael: part one of the trilogy Three To Go. 16 mm b/w , 30 mins.

W/dir. (1969).

Stirring The Pool: 16 mm color, 10 mins. Dir. (1970).

Homesdale: 16 mm b/w , 50 mins.

Co-w/dir. (1971).

Incredible Floridas: 35 mm color, 12 mins. Dir. (1972).

Three Directions in Australian Pop Music: 16 mm color, 10 mins.

W /dir. (1972).

Whatever Happened to Green Valley: 16 mm color, 50 mins. Weir coordinated the project which involv­ ed five residents of Green Valley each taking a camera and filming their impressions of the town. Weir also chairs the debate at the end of the film. (1973).

The Cars That Ate Paris: 35 mm Panavision, Eastmancolor. Still in editing stages. Estimated running time, 100 mins. Filmed in 1973, com­ pleted 1974.

Cinema Papers, January — 17

— Peter Weir demonstrates the reactions o f a driver blinded by headlights

G. Glenn

PRODUCTION REPORT

THE CARS THAT ATE PARIS

18 — Cinema Papers, January

THE CARS THAT ATE PARIS: Introduction After completing Homesdale in, 1971, Peter Weir travelled overseas for six months on leave from the Commonwealth Film Unit. During that period the basic idea for ‘The Cars That Ate Paris’ was conceived; an isolated country town whose inhabitants live by causing road accidents. Originally the film was to be a comedy centred around Graeme Bond, but Weir felt he had made a mis­ take in trying to create humorous situations rather than exploiting the comic potential of everyday events, and the shooting script was shelved.

With Keith Gow and Piers Davies who had both worked on ‘Homesdale’, Weir began to rework the draft in a more serious vein. Scripting sessions usual­ ly consisted of acting out the various roles to test for any inconsistencies in characterisation and once the script was fully expanded Weir began to finalise the dialogue himself.

After the limited distribution of Homesdale, Weir hopes that ‘The Cars That Ate Paris’ will be seen by as wide an audience as possible. In his next film, ‘Picnic At Hanging Rock’, the macabre elements will be less apparent in an attempt to reach an even greater audience. Weir doesn’t believe in films having to make a point, he is more interested in moving an audience through the stimulation of their emotions. This he feels is best achieved by the controlled use of mood within a scene. “ I try to make my films in a way that will touch the spectator’s dream world, to use areas of uncertainty, touching the twilight of people’s thoughts — because this is where com­ munication takes place.”

— John Boorman

Gordon Glenn and Scott Murray conducted the following interviews during the final week’s shooting of ‘The Cars That Ate Paris’. The location was on a highway 20 miles from Bathurst, NSW, where a reduced crew was filming se­ cond unit cut-ins.

CREW LISTING Producers............................................................................................Jim McElroy ..........................................................................................Hal McElroy Director ....................... .......................................................................... Peter Weir Dir. o f Photography....................... '..............................................John McLean Camera Operators ..............................................................................Peter James ........................................................................... Richard Wallis Focus Puller..........................................................................................David Burr Clapper/loader ...............................................................

JimmyAllen Sound R ecord ist......................................................... : .............. Ken Hammond Boom O perator................... .............. .......................................... Mike Middland Key Grip ..................................................................................... Graeme Mardell G a ffer...................................................................................................... Tony Tegg Best Boy ..........................................................................

Robbie Young Third Electrics............ .......................................................

MickMorris Continuity .................

Jill Barrachi M a k e-U p ...............................................................

LizMitchie W ardrobe........................................................................................... Ron Williams Assistant Directors.........................................................

1st: Hal McElroy ................................................................2nd: Ross Mathews ............................................

3rd: Chris Noonan Senior E ditor........................................................... -.................... Wayne Leclos Assistant E d ito r............... *....................................................... Tom Pokorney Production Secretary .......................................................................... Pom Oliver Accountant...........................................................................

PaulineRyan Sound E d itor....................................................... ......................... .. Doug Holder CAST LISTING Terry Camilleri .............................................................................................. Arthur John M e illo n ................... ;........... ........................................................... Mayor Melissa J a ffa .....................

Beth Kevin M ile s ......................................................................................... .Dr. Midland Max Gillies .....................................................

Metcalfe Peter Armstrong . . . * . . ............

Gorman Edward Howell ............................................... ..................................... . Tringham Bruce Spence ................................................................................................Charlie Derek Barnes..........................................................................................................Al1Smedley Charlie Metcalfe ..................................... . .x.......... .. Clive Smedley Chris H ey w ood ...................

Daryl Tim Robertson ...................

Les Max Phipps ..................................................... ............................. Rev. Mowbray Frank Saba ............................................................................................Con Lexux Joe Burrows...................................... ...................................................Max Mudge Rick Scully ......................... ....................................................... Arthur’s brother

The Cars That Ate Paris

— Peter Weir (director) and Jim McElroy (co-producer)

Informal discussion with Jim and Hal McElroy and Peter Weir HAL: About two years, maybe three years ago, we got together a project that Peter had written the script for but the finance fell through at the last minute — the old story. So our friendship has gone back a long time and our business association three years. When Peter wrote this script he originally drafted it in one form which he was hoping to produce but then he decided to change it slightly, change the flavour.

CINEMA PAPERS: This was just after Homesdale?

HAL: Well I can’t really remember when he wrote it but the rewrite was certainly after Homesdale.

CINEMA PAPERS: However your association with him went back before Homesdale?

HAL: No after. Homesdale is actual­ ly quite old now.

CINEMA PAPERS: It was a while before it got released. It won all the awards and went through those sort of channels.

HAL: Yeah, that’s right. It was after Homesdale and he wrote this and we couldn’t get it going. He then came to us early this year with the new script and asked us to produce it. He was hoping at that time to get the money from the A.F.D.C. He in fact succeeded so as Jim said it was a sort of unusual situation where the direc­ tor wrote the script — and originated the project — and approached us as producers to produce it for him. It appears to have worked successfully.

I suppose it’s fair to say that there are even less people producing in Australia than there are competently directing and there’s not very many really good directors.

CINEMA PAPERS: A lot of people see the lack of producers as one of the really big problems here.

JIM: A lot of people say that there’s no good scripts here, there’s no good actors. Really th a t’s not the problem, it’s the producers, because 20 — Cinema Papers, January

if you have good producers they can marshall these sort of things. That’s really the lack though we’re not say­ ing we’re good producers by any means.

CINEMA PAPERS: What have you been doing prior to this?

JIM: We have a partnership called M cElroy and M cElroy which specialises in production manage­ ment — production and manage­ ment for film and television. And we provide a production management service for commercial work, series or features, whatever that’s going.

That’s basically oUr background.

CINEMA PAPERS: And what are some of the things that you . . .

HAL: We are fortunate enough to have worked on the bulk of the inter­ national features and from this we got our basic experience. You know, starting with Age of Consent, Adam’s Woman, The Return of the Boomerang, Ned Kelly, Hands of Cormack Joyce, Sunstruck, Don Quixote and Alvin Purple. Also the series Riptide and Spyforce, but always in a specialised area of production and adm inistration.

We’ve always specialised in that.

CINEMA PAPERS: Did you have anything to do with the original financing of those projects?

HAL: No nothing. We only played a sort of employee role on all of them.

This is the first time that we have in fact set up production ourselves.

JIM : T h a t’s the thing about producing, if you have a good product that’s not hard to market, I really don’t think it-’s hard to get money to back it. Our only private investor, apart from the A.F.D.C. which is a different ball game, is Royce Smeal Film Productions.

Well we presented them a proposal and it was a good business proposal with a good possibility of return and they bought it.

CINEMA PAPERS: Have any dis­ tributors been approached?

JIM: Well I think we could say at this stage that we’ve had four offers

in Australia and one in America, and They are two super speed lenses we’ve given Roadshow first right of which are T 1.2 and it’s given us refusal. It’s going to be up for grabs about three stops and that’s even if as far as we’re concerned but we’re you don’t want to over-expose or also very interested in talking to the push anything. And in the night se­ Hoyts chain and Twentieth Century quences it literally meant that we because we feel they’re both ready could use half the lighting gear or ev6n a quarter that we would have for an Australian product.

HAL: The thing is that we didn’t normally used. For the night se­ need any form of distribution tie-up quences most cameramen would or obligation in advance to get the have had a line of brute arcs down picture made. Our investors, the one side of the street, but we had, six A.F.D.C. and Royce Smeal, were mini brutes or eight mini brutes and prepared to invest anyway, so we’re some enairo’s and Chromo’s and in a lot better bargaining position. that was it.

(Enter Peter Weir) JIM: Paul Harris gave them the CINEMA PAPERS: One thing that details of how much the gear was we heard yesterday was that Royce worth a week and I think the initial Smeal had insisted on Panavision. reaction of a lot of cameramen HAL: No. He suggested it because would be ‘Oh Christ that’s expen­ he’s the agent for Panavision. We sive’, or directors, producers or considered it and Peter decided to go whatever but the time saved is just ahead as it helped the western feeling enormous. of the film. Some scenes have now HAL: And the camera and rental been increased quite dramatically costs. through the use of Panavision.

JIM: There was just literally half the JIM: We’re really happy about that, light required. no question. . CINEMA PAPERS: You’ve used CINEMA PAPERS: You haven’t those superspeed lenses a lot? had any big problems with it?

HAL: Yeah, Peter very rarely uses a PETER: Oh, it took me a long time zoom. to get used to it though I wouldn’t CINEMA PAPERS: Even in the say that I’ve got it now. After all daylight stuff. those years of 16 mm. this was a HAL: Oh yeah. tremendous shock but I’m starting to PETER: ’Cause they are such good learn a lot about it. The terrific thing lenses. about it was that I’ve always loved CINEMA PAPERS: We heard wide shots and I like details, par­ something in the car about a ticularly with humour. The wide shot hurricane lantern. always works so well for that sort of JIM: Yes, we did a test. We just held gag. Once you start cutting about the hurrican lantern up beside it, and you can often lose the joke because it was beautiful. the audience is jarred slightly. It all HAL: In pitch dark. It was during becomes unsubtle. Panavision is just the electricity black-out. like your eye-sight masked off by JIM: We used battery power to run hands placed at the side of your the camera and just put on the park­ head. That’s the wider angle lens ing lights, it was fantastic. There’s a anyway. So you can have somebody similar sequence in the film. over in the corner there doing PETER: He actually put in one light something funny and your main ac­ though. tion going on over here and you can H A L: Y es it w as j u s t fo r look between the two of them. It’s so background. exciting. You don’t have to say now PETER: No, it was just .. . you had we’ll cut in and see what he’s doing better ask John, but I think there was over there and then you’ll think Oh, a little back light., it’s not really very funny. Is it worth CINEMA PAPERS: What about the that special close-up? sound? Is it going to be all postCINEMA PAPERS: Did you con­ synced or location sound? ceive the script in Panavision?

JIM: Very little, probably 95 per cent PETER: No, not at all. As a matter of it is location sound. of fact I think it was always in my CINEMA PAPERS: Who is the mind a sort of black and white film sound recordist? and certainly not that wide format, JIM: Ken Hammond is the sound and after the initial reaction, which recordist but we haven’t worked out was one of excitement, I started to - who we’re doing the mix with. think it may be wrong for the film. I CINEMA PAPERS: That has been a went and saw a couple of Panavision big problem in the past hasn’t it? films immediately after the news that JIM: It sure has, though we haven’t we were going to use it, and I saw a had any trouble yet as we haven’t bad one which gave me a shock. It reached that stage, but we are •seemed to be such a crass format or treading very warily. We’ve got to something. Then I began to think play it as we see it. The only thing we about the town and the western feel­ are going to have regardless is sound ing of the film which is so strong, as quality that’s acceptable in England.

Hal was just saying.

That’s just no question. Where we’ll CINEMA PAPERS: Are you pleas­ get it and how is irrelevant, we’ll just ed with your rushes? get it. People put up the argument PETER: Yes, given the normal ‘I that you can’t have the product leave wish I’d done this a bit better’ and the Country incomplete but that’s that sort of thing. ridiculous if the product’s no good. If CINEMA PAPERS: But overall the you can’t sell the bloody product in Panavision is . . .

England or America because one HAL: Superb. I think it’s also given part of it is no good, where are you? us advantages, technical advantages, CINEMA PAPERS: Does the crew because of the superb bits of equip­ size seem different from those, for in­ ment like the lenses that we’re using. stance, in the C.F.U.?

The Cars That Ate Paris

PETER? Oh yes quite. Crew size

and type. I’ve never had people as good in each department and that in some ways has made this film easier than any other film I’ve done, although the hours have been longer and I’ve never worked for such a consistently long period. Obviously in a feature you’re going for a long time, in this case five weeks, but you get such back up. Normally I’m running about from thing to thing.

You’ve got someone on props who’s done a bit of prop work but you ask them if things are ready and they a re n ’t or things a re n ’t right.

Mistakes are still made but the point is that when you ask for something or describe it, you get it and you get it how you describe it. Usually in other films I’ve been at the last minute doing this sort of thing while here you get total support.

CINEMA PAPERS: You don’t get ‘It can’t be done’ all the time.

PETER: No, well if you say that you want it, provided it is within reason.

People will argue or suggest other ways if it’s not practical but if you really want it for the shot and they trust you obviously you’ll get it.

CINEMA PAPERS: Have a lot of the crew had experience working on features before?

JIM: Yeah. Probably the majority have done most of the features. In Australia you can only mount one feature crew at a time and this is really it, the nucleus. You’ve got a Tony Tegg, John McLean, Graham Ardell, Ken Hammond. They’ve all done features before, a lot of feature films.

HAL: I suppose it’s a pity that a small group continues to get all the experience but they have to be the best and we can’t afford as a group to hire anybody else but them, because they are the best.

PETER: But it must be happening because this Campus is going too.

JIM: But this is the point. They’re generally not feature trained.

PETER: Yes but they aren’t getting their experience.

HAL: Oh sure, that’s true.

CINEMA PAPERS: Copping’s done a couple now and . . .

JIM: But only within the provisor of his own organisation.

HAL: They have a very definite style and I think it’s more a personal thing. It’s hard to describe but this film is very traditional in its organisation, very much based on the English or'American system. I don’t think it’s necessarily wrong though.

Tim and Rob tend to make films in the sort of French style with sverybody being very much involved in the physical creative process whilst this is a lot more autocratic.

CINEMA PAPERS: We talked a lit­ tle to Tim about his films and he strongly disagrees with the Auteur theory, saying that a director is as important as anybody else and no more.

PETER: I don’t accept that.

JIM: No neither do I. Somebody’s got to make the bloody film.

Somebody’s got to be responsible for it.

CINEMA PAPERS: I think he’s a bit worried because I don’t think he likes the films he’s making at the moment.

PETER: That’s true. He said the same thing to me, which is a d iffere n ce. If I was m aking somebody else’s films that I didn’t want to make then maybe you could support that theory, but I only make films which I want to make, which are very much a part of me.

CINEMA PAPERS: So Cars is a personal film.

PETER: Oh yes.

CINEMA PAPERS: It’s been going for a long time hasn’t it? I remember you saying at LaTrobe, which was last year, that you were trying to get it going.

PETER: That’s right. Yes, isn’t that funny, it’s a long time ago. It seemed so impossible back then. Yes I can remember the exact feeling and say­ ing ‘I’ve got this film I’d like to do’.

HAL: It’s funny you know, because when we first started working on this . . . you have a certain amount of confidence and a certain feeling of hopelessness because you know there’s been 100 people before you treading exactly the same path, all believing their projects are right and are going to make it.

JIM: But then when you get it together and the excitement is so great you wake up the next morning

HAL: We were going to have big lunches and champagne and all that sort of stuff. But then it’s ‘O.K. that’s fine we’ve got that money, now we go on . . .’

PETER: The funny thing is that you start talking about the next one. You start to think ‘My God, how am I go­ ing to do this’ CINEMA PAPERS: Have you got a next one?

PETER: Yes. CINEMA PAPERS: You’ve written the script?

PETER: No, it’s not my script. It’s a break from my films. Ha. CINEMA PAPERS: Is it in any way similar, because this one seems to have obvious connections with Homesdale and even in many ways connections with that film you did on the composer in Adelaide.

PETER: Richard Meale.

CINEMA PAPERS: Yes. Rumour has it that you weren’t particularly happy about making it, but there were still certain elements that were similar to Homesdale.

PETER: That’s not quite true, I en­ joyed making it actually. But it’s true that they are part of a style.

CINEMA PAPERS: And this next one will be similar?

PETER: Yes, I suppose you could say that, but it’s not my script. It will have a different kind of feeling to it although it will certainly be in the realm of the strange or whatever you call it . . . the unusual.

C IN E M A PAPERS: Has th at production’s finance been arranged?

WEIR: No, the script is being written, that’s all really.

CINEMA PAPERS: Who’s writing it?

PEJER: Cliff Green. It’s Picnic at Hanging Rock. Everybody’s wanted to make it.

CINEMA PAPERS: Everybody’s wanted to make it, I know . . . How did you beat them all?

PETER: Oh, I know the company which holds the rights and they approached me. Pat Lovell runs the company and we’re planning to make it next summer. Hal and Jim will be involved on the production side.

CINEMA PAPERS: What have you planned between this and Hanging Rock?

PETER: I’m going back to the Film

Unit, and I’ve got a book to write for Angus and Robertson’s on filmmaking, on my film-making. It’s full of photographs and is a sort of ‘Handy Hints for Directors’.

HAL: A kind of ‘How to . . .’ book.

PETER: We always have a band-aid handy, just in case.. . .

T. Tegg, J. McLean, P. Weir, R. Wallace and D. Burr.

INTERVIEW WITH JIM McELROY — PRODUCER

JIM: One thing I would like to say is

that it is possible, and we’re proving it, to make films for under $250,000 and the reason you’ve got to make under that, is that the rough ratio to get a return for your money is for every four dollars spent at the box of­ fice by your audience, producers will make about one dollar back. So if you want to make a movie and you want to get a bit of money, you’ve got to make a million dollars on a $250,000 picture before you can ex­ pect to make your costs, and a million dollars is a fair amount of money.

That’s why you have to keep your production costs down, because for every $50,000 that you have on production, you’re more likely to make your money back. That’s why we try very hard to keep it under budget, and it’s not impossible. It re­ quires a tremendous amount of dis­ cipline on the director’s part. I think you’ve possibly noticed that Peter was generally happy with the first takes. It was only a technical problem that would make him go to three or four takes. Was that your impression?

CINEMA PAPERS: Yes, I spoke to him about that. He’s also very calm on the set. It’s amazing the control he has without ever really exerting pressure. Yes, he’s extremely calm.

JIM: He also does his homework and knows what he wants to shoot the next day, and he also sticks to the script except on dialogue changes.

He disciplines himself and that’s why he’s a successful director. He doesn’t go on'to this creative wack where the director’s got to have freedom, though a director should be given as much freedom as possible, but if he’s going to be changing things, there is going to be a problem. An important thing that he brought up today — which frankly I don’t notice because I’ve been with it ever since I started working in the industry — is the tremendous back up he receives with a big crew and that’s because they are so experienced. All he’s got to worry about is his directing and trust other people in what they’re doing.

He’s working in an ideal situation where he can generally sit back and relax. Certainly there are mistakes but as a rule all he has to worry about is what’s there on the screen.

You’ll notice that Hal also runs the set like a first assistant should and you can understand the tremendous load off Peter’s shoulders that is. A lot of directors get into this thing where they feel that they’ve got to run the set. Well now it can only detract from their work. All Peter’s got to do is worry about the creative aspects of the film and obviously he’s going to get a better result. (That was directed at a couple of Australian directors.)

One other thing I should point out is that we’re not trying to make an Australian film. This is for a number of reasons: there’s no point to it, it’s not a selling thing and we’re more in­ terested in sales everywhere, as much as possible. Not only that, it’s just not an Australian type of film; it doesn’t show an Australian character Cinema Papers, January — 21

The Cars That Ate Paris

nor does it make a study of anything particularly Australian. The story could have happened anywhere, in A m erica, France, England orwherever, just that the scenery is slightly different. That’s the only thing that’s different about it. So you can see we’re not being nationalistic in any way.

Practically everybody who asks us about the film asks us about distribu­ tion but we really believe that we’re in a very fortunate situation. We have our money and we can make the film without having to get into a deal because the inevitable thing is they’re going to screw you, and I suppose that’s business. However you can get into a situation where they’re going to screw you as little as possible by having a good product that’s already packaged. I had a letter from a con­ tact in Melbourne today re Hoyts, and the gentleman who we’re speak­ ing to at the moment (he’s a friend of the family by fortune) said to us: ‘make sure that the thing you show us is ready for the screen’. When you think of it, it’s like going to an in­ vestor and saying ‘well we’ve got a bit of an idea here, what do you think of it?’ He doesn’t want that. What he wants is a proposal, something that he can see almost in black and white saying ‘this is what it’s going to cost you and this is what you could make’. Now you could approach a distributor in a similar way. You show him your product and say ‘we want this’ and you’re going to be in much better shape than just going to him with a script which to all his in­ tents and purposes is a bunch of crap.

I mean it’s not made, it’ll probably be changed completely and may in the end not work at all. That person may not get the money or the right stars, all that sort of thing. Now if you’ve got the commodity there and you can see it on the screen, after all that’s all he understands, then you’ve got a different ball game. It’s useless going to a distributor and showing him rushes because he’s not used to seeing those and it’s the same-with an investor. It’s no use showing them something that they won’t unders­ tand or have trouble understanding.

CINEMA PAPERS: So your script does not mean anything to an in­ vestor?

JIM: Well it depends very much bn the investor. I think that first of all he’s got to have confidence in you or the director, whoever needs the money. That’s the main thing. Then he’s got to be shown something that in his language will work. Now with Royce we showed him the script and we presented a proposal stating ex­ actly what he was going to be up for and exactly what he was going to be returned. There was a certain amount of negotiation and then the deal was done. Now he’s a rare in­ vestor because he’s got a rare ability and he’s able to trust people, but that’s the ideal situation.

CINEMA PAPERS: What sort of figures would you use to back up a proposal when you present it to an investor? A statement on what he could possibly make out of the film?

JIM: Right. Well, I probably wouldn’t project as to how much the film would make because I think 22 — Cinema Papers, January

— The main street of Sofala, the location for Paris

that’s crazy. No one knows, but if you say that to him then at least you’re in position one. Firstly Royce is in a unique situation in that he owns equipment and gear and facilities. So the way we presented it to him was by saying: ‘Here is your gear, here’s your facilities and some of your people. Now we can use them at less cost than it would normally cost us, so you’re going to make on that because your involvement is go­ ing to be on a retail basis and for that you’re going to get that slice of the percentage which is due to the producers’. Then the. only thing you’ve got to talk to them about is why the budget is of that particular size. I’ve explained the reason for us having our budget at 215 and the only way of showing its pqtential is to show the potential of other movies — Australian movies like ‘Bazza McKenzie’ which has made two million in Australia — and if he knows the subject Bazza McKenzie that’s a way he can compare.

CINEMA PAPERS: Does that budget of $215,000 represent a return to the producer, is it included in that?

JIM: Yeah, there’s $20,000 deferred costs which is our, or part of, our in­ volvement. That’s as producer and director. How it’s set up is that Hal, I and Peter get a section of that $20,000 each and we also get a percen­ tage. What happens on this par­ ticular deal which is fairly normal is that Royce Smeal, the A.F.D.C. and the producers get their money back on equal terms until all the money is returned and then it reverts to a percentage. So that as soon as the picture is on, the producers and in­ vestors are making money, along with the distributor of course. For in­ stance, if it’s a 70 percent to the dis­ tributor and 30 percent to the producers, the producers and in­ vestors are getting their percentage of that 30 percent. But you can see how it does tend to thin out a little bit because a lot of people take a few pickies on the way out, don’t they?

CINEMA PAPERS: Sure.

JIM: First of all there’s theatre hire and prints and advertising costs that have to come out and then there’s the distributor’s percentage and then eventually the producer’s percentage, which is then split up amongst the in­

vestors and producers. So it’s a long way to go but I mean it’s not im­ possible by any means.

CINEMA PAPERS: This is where the one dollar out of four dollars comes in.

JIM: Right. That situation may im­ prove as deals get better for the producers. It could be three to one by the time we get a deal going, you never know.

CINEMA PAPERS: It’s one reason for waiting, I suppose.

JIM : I th in k th a t for every Australian film that does well it can only help everybody else. Christ, there’s four films being made at the moment and if every one of them does well that’s great. It would be marvellous because it’s just going to make it easier to market Australian products. I think they’re finally being accepted but I don’t want to get into that argument, it’s a tired old arg u m e n t, d o n ’t you agree?

Everybody goes on about why don’t the Australian films get a go. If they’re of good standard and the audience likes them then they’re go­ ing to get a go. It’s just business isn’t it?

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you think you could have been in a position to make the same deal with a dis­ tributor say three or four years ago, that you hope to make now?

JIM: No. I think the situation is much better and that’s to do with a number of other things: like govern­ ment pressure and industry pressure, and also b e tte r film s, m ore marketable films.

CINEMA PAPERS: You think con­ ditions have now improved to a stage where it’s a case of making good films and then getting good deals.

JIM: I agree, yeah. I’ve actually no bone against any distributor, because mind you I haven’t dealt with any yet, but I’m-sure we’ll get a good deal.

Interview with JOHN McLEAN and TONY TEGG CINEMA PAPERS: We heard in Melbourne that the American direc­ tor on The Hands of Cormack Joyce didn’t think much of the Australian crew. . McLEAN: No, I think that’s rub­ bish. I think probably what you’re referring to is the fact that at the very start of Cormack Joyce we had a group of young technicians who are experts in their field at Crawford Productions, producing programs like Homicide and Division 4, which I must admit I’m a great viewer of. I enjoy Homicide very much but those people are experts only in that par­ ticular field. When they got into a field where they have never been in­ volved before, a motion picture like Cormack Joyce with an inter­ national director, they were a bit out of their depth. Purely because it wasn’t their system and it would probably have taken the duration of the film — five weeks — to get them to understand fully the workings of that particular system. So if you have to use any word, they were replaced with people who were more familiar with that system. However, I don’t think that should in any way rub off on their abilities, because in their own situation they’re excellent, which I think the results of Homicide show. So I really think that that sort of statement is'irresponsible.

CINEMA PAPERS: The main problem in that situation then, was the lack of feature experience?

McLEAN: Yes. I think you’d probably agree with me that Hector Crawford has set up a system of working that is ideally suited to the type of production he’s involved in, but it isn’t an international system.

It’s not the system that’s accepted all over the world.

CINEM A PAPERS: Y ou presumably didn’t have any trouble at all on that project?

McLEAN: Well we all have our problems but we all came out of it relatively successfully. The film went very close to getting into the final three or four at the Emmy awards last year. I wouldn’t like to say for what reason it didn’t win but it was nominated. It was in the final nominations for best director, best photography and best drama for television. That’s not a bad effort.

CINEMA PAPERS: You’ve had a lot of experience working on feature films up to that point?

McLEAN: Not so much by inter­ national standards. Cormack Joyce was the third and this is the fifth feature that I’ve shot. If you take it from clapper-loader to director of photography it’s 25 or 26, something like that., Tony would probably be the same.or more. So if you take it over a carebr it’s a lot and certainly

by Australian standards it’s a lot.

TEGG: You see, there’s a certain routine that is normally used in feature films. We’re rather fortunate here in Australia in that some of us have Been fortunate enough to work on co-productions. We’ve been ex­ posed to a lot of overseas technicians and" we’ve had the opportunity to learn from them. One month it will be an American production and then

The Cars That Ate Paris

maybe an Italian and then an English, and from that you get ex­ posed to the international system of working on films.

CINEMA PAPERS: Jim McElroy said before that he thought there was virtually only one complete crew in Australia who were capable of shooting feature films, with the possible exception of Tim Burstall’s alternative crew in Melbourne. Do you feel that that’s true?

TEGG: I don’t think it’s true.

McLEAN: It’s hard to say over a cross-section of a crew that encom­ passes a lot of skills. I would say that some short time ago it was probably close to the truth. I wouldn’t like to say now. The industry is expanding, a lot of things are being done now to try and get other people involved so that they learn the skills from the ex­ perience that I’ve-had, and Tony’s had, and all the other members of this unit have had. One of the things I would like to see very much, at least from the cameraman’s point of view, is that every film that has got A.F.D.C. money be obliged to take one or two people from the film school or other bodies supplying young people to the industry. I don’t know how they would organise it, in a paid capacity as runners or what have you, but at least so they would have the opportunity of being in­ volved. That could be an innovation that could stand the industry in good stead for the future. We have a cou­ ple of young fellows here from the film school w orking -as third assistants and what have you and I’m sure that'they’ll be the better for it.

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you think there’s any alternative to the Holly­ wood crew system that was used by the people on Cormack Joyce? Do you think we have to standardise on a system like that, and that people learn their job by moving through the various tasks in such a crew?

McLEAN: Very much so. I think the classic example of that is the situa­ tion in Australia where there’s a tremendous shortage of camera operators. Camera operating isn’t just moving a camera from A to- B. Unfortunately so many people here who perhaps think of themselves as good camera operators don’t unders­ tand that there is more involved, and only by going through the various stages and perhaps working with ex­ perienced people, either here or overseas, are they going to learn. It’s a tremendous problem here.

CINEMA PAPERS: When you say there’s more involved, is this simply a matter of skill or is it other things like the knowledge of a particular routine?

McLEAN: Yes, it’s both. It’s a skill and a routine. It’s a routine whereby an operator has his eye glued to the camera watching exactly what I’m doing and what Tony’s doirtg, so that the moment we infringe into the area that’s going to be photographed we’re told about it; and not have to wait for the second rehearsal to find out if there’s a lamp in the picture.

That’s only a very small facet of the job. Overseas an operator is con­ sidered so skilled at his job that the director doesn’t consult him as to, whether the shot was any good. He

takes it for. granted that it will be and with sign language. Tony knows we’ve got to attain that standard, what it’s, all about and he directs his otherwise it’s pretty expensive. That boys similarly. man’s the only man who knows One of the things about lighting is whether that take was any good or the variety of units that are now not because he’s the one looking available and the ones Tony’s bought through the camera. So he has a vast from overseas are such that they responsibility and he must be aware really complement natural type of it. lighting. You can light quite con­ CINEMA PAPERS: You were say­ siderable interiors with very few un­ ing before that you prefer not to its if you use them in the right way. operate yourself.

One of my favorite lamps is the 2K McLEAN: Only because I don’t broad that Tony got. Now I would think you can do two very important imagine that most people would use jobs well. We have a fluctuating light those as background fillers or vir­ situation today and because we’re a tually consider them eye lights, but reduced unit I said I would operate they’re not, they’re very interesting myself. I found that I had to stop in lamps. We lit the ballroom interior the middle of a shot because the light with four of them and then put in one fell. That probably wouldn’t have or two other units as keys, point to happened if I was just looking after point sort of lighting as the major ac­ my job because I’d have the time to tors walked in to the light to deliver a gaze at the sky and make sure the speech. With those four broads we break we shot in was long enough to virtually lit an area 40 x 30 and it sustain the length of the shot. You suited that sort of atmosphere. It’s a can’t do these two jobs well. country barn and it should look like CINEMA PAPERS: Do you have a it. The correct use of the correct unit p a r tic u la r system when you I think is the key to good, rapid approach a set up? lighting.

McLEAN: Tony and I have worked CINEMA PAPERS: Do you use together a lot and the system that we' much back light? have used just developed. Tony and McLEAN: Very little. I think the I, with the director, usually look at days when one considered it the shot and the director gives us his necessary to have a kicker or a back thoughts on what he wants to light have gone. One sometimes has happen. Having done that we usually a kicker or back light to lift an actor put the actors slowly through the out of a background or to make him situation, then we get together and the focal point of a scene, parti­ take it from there; light it and set the cularly with Panavision where you camera into position, and generally might have a wide shot with five get it ready for a rehearsal. On a pic­ other actors. Other than that I don’t ture show like this you don’t have the go out of my way to put back lights time to rehearse and rehearse, and or kickers in. then stop to do an adjustment to the CINEMA PAPERS: What have you lighting. We’ve found through work­ been using as keys in the interiors? ing together over the years, that nor­ McLEAN: All sorts of things. mally the. first walk-through is TEGG: Well the conventional keyenough for us to know exactly what fill situation really doesn’t exist any we’ve got to do. One of the tremen­ more, does it? Until a couple of years dous advantages of Tony’s lamps is ago you usually intercepted a that they’ve now progressed to a cameraman by thinking first of all degree where, being very small units about his key and then his fill. The with considerable output, one doesn’t conventional key-fill-kicker routine. really need a lot of light and so that These days the style is such that cuts down lighting time by using there’s a sort of standardised lighting three, or maybe four units only on arrangement which doesn’t operate som etim es very big in terio rs. that same way.

Anyway that’s how we work together CINEMA PAPERS: This is because and how it’s developed — and it’s a you prefer the lighting to reflect very good system I think. features of the location or establish­ CINEMA PAPERS: Will the direc­ ed lights? tor continue working with the actors McLEAN: I think it’s probably a lit­ while you set up the lights? tle bit of both. An example is that McLEAN: Well, that’s his choice. I quite often on a larger type interior I think you establish that right at the work out the basic foot-candle level I beginning of the picture with want to work to and then put in what whoever is the director. I always ask is virtually a very low fill light. And on Tony’s and my behalf what only then will I start to consider what system he would like to use because sort of key I’ll use. I might then lift sometimes they don’t like you wav­ the key half or one stop, whatever the ing your arms and whispering across foot candle equivalent is, and then I the room while they’re working with usually work the whole sequence the actors. Generally we try to ex­ through on the stop that’s applicable plain to them that the system we use to that foot candle reading. I very is a very quiet system and that we seldom alter it. It might fluctuate by prefer to at least make some progress a third of a stop at the most. The that might in the end give him more inky dinkies are excellent keys if you time to rehearse his actors. call them keys. They’re excellent lit­ CINEMA PAPERS: What have you tle units, tidy, hide away easily and been doing with Peter Weir? are easily rigged in actual locations McLEAN: Doing exactly that. We and natural interiors. They are little work while Peter’s rehearsing his ac­ Italian quartz lights. tors and we have a system of signals CINEMA PAPERS: What are those that we’ve built up that is pretty again? comprehensive, usually very little McLEAN: They are little Italian talking’s done at all. We do it all quartz lights.

CINEMA PAPERS: One of the

main criticisms of quartz lights is that they are difficult to control. Do you find this?

McLEAN: Yes, that’s true. I think mini brutes are difficult to control too, but it is possible if you use them in the right context though it does become a nuisance at times. If you do get into a low light situation the leak is very pronounced, but there are other ways and means of con­ trolling it.

CINEMA PAPERS: What is the level you’ve been working at on your interiors?

McLEAN: I suppose if you took overall the whole picture it would be between 16 and 25 foot-candles, which is very, very low.

CINEMA PAPERS: What stop does that give you on 5254?

McLEAN: Well that depends on what sort of effect you’re going for, but it can give you 2.3 to 2.8.

CINEMA PAPERS: And the Pana­ vision lenses have performed well at those apertures?

McLEAN: Very well. We’ve got four lenses. I always take the word of manufacturer that 1.4 is 1.4 and we’ve done a couple of shots wide open at 1.4 and they seem to work quite well.

CINEMA PAPERS: What about on exteriors. What have you been using for fill and has there been a lot of sun?

McLEAN: I like to use mini brutes.

Tony has a system of six light mini brutes. I’ve never really considered six light mini brutes because nine light seems to be the normal situation. However, I now find that if one has to work out a budget, the way Tony’s worked it out has given me more six light mini brutes than I could have of nine light mini-brutes, and I’d rather have the number of sources than the larger units.

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you use reflectors much?

McLEAN: I don’t like reflectors much but we have used them. I think mini brutes give you a much nicer color and a more controllable situa­ tion because with reflectors if you have fluctuating light conditions the source fluctuates as well, whereas with the mini brute it doesn’t.

CINEMA PAPERS: And the problem with color would be that the reflected light tends to be the same color as sunlight . . .?

McLEAN: I don’t know that so much as that in a fluctuating situation, if the light fails, your under-exposure changes both the contrast and the color but with the mini brute it doesn’t. And also as the sun goes down your foreground ac­ tion stays the same, it’s constant.

O ne m ig h t a c c e p t th a t th e background changes in color but you don’t accept that your actors do. So I prefer mini brutes. They’re a great investment for use as fill light.

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you use much fill?

McLEAN: No very little, usually a third of a stop over what the normal reading is, no more. I find that it looks more natural, otherwise you have your actors, particularly in low light situations, glowing like neon tubes. It’s not normal.

Cinema Papers, January — 23

The Cars That Ate Paris

CINEMA PAPERS: What about

filling with sunlight, like shadow areas?

McLEAN: That’s in that situation.

Where it’s a back lit situation I get Tony to rig one, or maybe two, mini brutes depending on what the action is. For the first time in this film Tony’s put spots in a couple of the mini brutes, and in very high light situations where there is full sunlight they’re marvellous. Where it’s very low like today I think the mediums are quite adequate. It’s the same whether it’s overcast or bright sun, the mini brute is a much better proposition as a fill light.

CINEMA PAPERS: What about arcs?

McLEAN: People say arcs are old fashioned but they’re not. They serve a very useful purpose. Unfortunately here in Australia they’re either ex­ pensive or difficult to get into locations like this, and you’ve got to toss up between a workable crew and one that’s able to handle arcs.

There’s not much point in having an arc if you haven’t got the men to operate it correctly, by that I mean quickly, because you use an arc to save time and they do. They’re also very handy when you get into bad light conditions as you can continue on with them where you couldn’t with a lot of other types of lighting.

However I’ve found the mini-brute lighting to be quite adequate.

CINEMA PAPERS: Tony, your equipment is obviously something special.

TEGG: Yes, well I was very for­ tunate two years ago to have received a grant from the Australian govern­ ment to assist me travel around the world and have a look at the gear that was being manufactured. As a result of that I think I’ve made con­ siderable purchases of gear. It ends up on a film of this size because of the number of fairly large lighting set ups, especially night exteriors. We were able to light that all from one two-ton truck. Three years ago we would have had at least two four-ton trucks. The small size of the units now available and the necessity to move a lot quicker than we used to because of low budget, enables you to light a fair size job much easier with much less equipment than was once necessary.

Anyway, I’ve got lamps from F ran ce, Ita ly , A m erica and Australia.

CINEMA PAPERS: You imported them all yourself?

TEGG: No, no in some cases they are already imported into Australia.

They do have agents in Australia but there hasn’t been much use made of the latest developments in lamps overseas. I think it will come very rapidly once it becomes known just w hat lamps are available in Australia. We have access to virtual­ ly any lamp that’s manufactured in the world now and there really have been big steps made in the last couple of years.

The big improvement is a reduc­ tion in the size and weight of the housings. We can now suspend and operate them in situations where the use of a conventional lamp of the same type would be out of the 24 — Cinema Papers, January

the ratios of contrast and which way you point the camera. It will never exactly match, but what we’re hop­ ing for is that the separation between the sequences, plus the drama of the "particular sequence we’re shooting day for night, will cover it. The reason we’re doing it day for night is that it culminates in a big accident with the caravan and a car running off into the ravine. To light such a scene would take a tremendous amount of lighting, in fact certainly more than is available to us; and day for night is therefore the only prac­ tical way. You find that the average person accepts day for night for what it is. Sophisticated audiences now realise that it is day for night and I think you should approach it like that.

CINEMA PAPERS: Who is process­ ing the original?

McLEAN: Colourfilm.

CINEMA PAPERS: A re you satisfied with their work?

McLEAN: (smiles).

CINEMA PAPERS: It’s a tricky area.

McLEAN: It’s a tricky area to talk about. Their work has been very good. I’ve always used Colourfilm.

It’s a situation where if you’re very happy with an organisation you’re very reluctant to change. I’m sure that other labs would try as hard but Colourfilm are excellent.

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you take any part in the grading of your films, or the matching?

McLEAN: Oh yes if I’m given the opportunity, which sometimes is dif§ ficult because you move on to o another job. However, if I’m given d the opportunity I’m more than delighted to. Unfortunately what is — Peter Weir and John McLean at turnoff to Paris inclined to happen, not so much with — Tony Tegg adjusts the mini-brutes for travelling shot this particular type of film but with question. You work with a freznal- CINEMA PAPERS: Yes. some other films that I’ve done, is; fronted 2K housing and we’ve got McLEAN: There’s a great big shed that by the time you’ve sat down and units on this production which weigh cum garage where a tow-truck brings graded an answer print you then bow only 12 pounds each, as compared to in various cars and 20 or 30 people out of it and somebody that isn’t the normal 25 pounds for the conven­ get together and strip the things and closely associated with it steps in, tional 2K, and this enables us to that’s all supposed to happen at sees it, probably doesn’t like it and hang them off things like picture night, though we shot some of that in changes it. It’s a matter of personal rails or anywhere we can nail a piece daytime and blacked out the whole taste of course. So it’s really wasting of timber. The freznal-fronted 2K area. There’s a lot of quite big ex­ your time in the first place, but I’d be gives the cameraman some control terior scenes at night which require very happy if we joined all this work over the beam, whereas to suspend lighting the street as naturally as print together and printed it just as it the conventional 2K in such areas possible and using the porch lights is. It’s an excellent work print. would be out of the question. Thus it and what already exists in the makes it easier for the cameraman to buildings as the source of light. use a lamp that he can control in the CINEMA PAPERS: There is proper manner, in the way he wants something of a preference toward to. My job is of course to give the soft lighting and shadowy interiors at cameraman what he wants as quickly the moment. Do you go along with and efficiently as I can. this?

CINEMA PAPERS: The superspeed McLEAN: I think the preference is Panavision lenses must have helped towards realism in lighting but you lighting problems a great deal. always encompass problems like McLEAN: They’re very good. We this. For instance all the sequences shot a scene last week in what is the today are day for night.. Weather Mayor’s house and all I used in the conditions aren’t exactly perfect for scene was the bed-side lamp and two it because it’s very fiat light. What I tiny inky dinky’s as a bit of fill. I would have liked is quite bright had about 12 foot candles and that sunlight in early morning or late was adequate, plenty of exposure for afternoon with cross shadows on the that sort of scene. You don’t need a road and what have you. Our big lot of light and I think Eastman- problem is that we’ve actually shot a color is now designed to work at its lot of night footage and it’s got to best when you don’t use a lot of light. match in. We’re using an 81EF filter CINEMA PAPERS: Have there which is a specialist filter. A lot of been a lot of interiors? people do it different ways but I like McLEAN: Oh yeah a lot. We shot a to do it that way as well as heavily lot of the big ones. Have you seen the under-exposing it. The only thing town? that you have to be careful about are

The Cars That Ate Paris

up ceiling.

We shot a scene, which was sup­ posed to be in the town hall of Paris, in a room about 25 by 50. In an area like that the idea is to reduce the size of the room acoustically. To do this all you’ve got to do is to tack these drops of felt along half the dimen­ sions of the room. It cuts down the big decay time that you have in a large hall — although, Peter Weir asked me to retain quite a bit of room sound, particularly in the town hall and hospital sequences. He doesn’t want it to sound like it’s been post-synched, it has to sound as if it’s been done in a hall or hospital.

Even so, you still have to take some precautions, otherwise your dialogue becomes unintelligible on wide shots. If you’re in a very r e v e r b e r a n t room and y o u r microphone is six feet away it’s hopeless unless you’re trying for a particular effect.

CINEMA PAPERS: Where will you do your post-synching?

HAMMOND: It hasn’t been decided yet, but it will be done in Sydney at one of two places.

CINEMA PAPERS: Which ones?

HAMMOND: Either APA or United Sound: either of them would be __ technically quite capable of doing it. ° The most important thing is that the ° post-synching is done by a soundman Ken Hammond — sound mixer who understands the problems of dialogue and doesn’t just put background noise.

KEN HAM M OND Interviewed. everyone ten inches away from the C IN E M A P A P E R S : H as the CINEMA PAPERS: Ken, could you Panavision camera affected your microphone. There’s no perspective tell us what sort of equipment you’re recording techniques? or dimension in the sound if you do it using? that way.

HAMMOND: Well, yes, sometimes.

HAMMOND: Well, I’m using Nagra You can usually go for the side of CINEMA PAPERS: You won’t be Mark IV recorders, Sennheiser 815 frame with your mike, but the doing it vourself? gun-mikes, that’s the long one, and Panavision ratio of 2.35:1 makes this HAMMOND: No I won’t be doing it.

Sennheiser 415’s, the shorter version just about impossible. Even in I come off this picture and go with the broader pattern. medium close-ups your side of frame straight on to another. In any case We’ve mainly "used the 815 on ex­ is going to be a hell of a long way it’s usually a field that is handled by terior dialogue: it gives you a better from a person’s mouth, unless it’s the resident sound mixer in the presence on wide shots and helps to one of those freak shots where the studio involved, unless the location overcome problems with background actor is on the side of the frame. On mixer is asked to come and do it. the whole, the Panavision camera is CINEMA PAPERS: Did you have noise.

CINEMA PAPERS: How far away very good for sound, it’s very quiet. just the one assistant, the boomdo you like to work with a gun-mike CINEMA PAPERS: Can you hear it operator? on exterior dialogue? at all on interiors?

HAMMOND: Yes. In Australia it HAMMOND: Well outside on .a HAMMOND: You can hear it on in­ seems to be normal just to have a quiet day such as this, between two teriors if you’re working in a small sound mixer and a boom operator as and three feet is an ideal distance, room and can’t get the camera very a sound crew. In the last week I’ve either underneath or overhead. You far away from the subject or the been on my own but it’s only sound can even get quite good dialogue microphone. It can be a problem, but effects down at knee level, providing the ac­ on all the interiors I’ve tried to C IN E M A PA PER S: Are you tion isn’t taking place walking along dampen the acoustics. recording all the effects on location? a crunchy gravel road, or something CINEMA PAPERS: How? HAMMOND: Oh yes. It would be like that. But if two or three people HAMMOND: With a type of felt that impossible for me to duplicate the are standing in a group talking like we have. Not your ordinary carpet special sound effects that we have this you could get quite good sound laying underfelt, that’s too messy for recorded. These cars are mocked up down at knee level with an 815. This the cameramen to tolerate — all with special noisy exhausts and particularly applies in the afternoons those bits and pieces falling into his things like that. The sound effects when you’ve got a slanted sun and camera. This stuff is about a quarter are a very important part of this pic­ the action is always front or side lit, of an inch thick and you can tack it ture. making it impossible to get a boom to almost any wall with a staple gun CINEMA PAPERS: Do you have any special techniques for recording overhead. You’d be ten feet away in a matter of seconds. trying to get overhead so it’s better to CINEMA PAPERS: Where do you effects?

HAMMOND: When I had a boom go knee height, or even lower. You’d get it? be surprised how far away you can HAMMOND: I think it came from operator with me I was always using get from underneath. The pattern of Grace Bros, in Sydney. It’s the stuff two microphones for the sound the speech coming out of the human they put over furniture for removing effects. I’d use a gun-mike and an mouth tends to flow down rather and storing. I’ll certainly try and get Electrovoice 667, a broader pattern it in Melbourne for this next picture. mike, and it seemed to give the than up.

But using a gun-mike on exteriors You really have to do something to effects much more body and realism. can sometimes work against you. the acoustics for interior dialogue. The gun-mike would bring out the The action may take place with a You just can’t walk into a room and presence and the other mike would river in the background, and even expect tQ record decent quality pick out the body of the sound.— though the river may be a hundred dialogue unless the room has thick give it a bit more guts. yards away if it’s a quiet day you can carpets on the floor, heavy drapes on CINEMA PAPERS: Who will be do­ to 16 mm.? pick up an extraordinary amount of the wall and an acoustically broken- ing the transfers from

HAMMOND: It’s all being done at

Royce Smeal’s. They provide all the equipm ent and do the sound C IN E M A PAPERS: Have you worked on many overseas produc­ tions?

HAMMOND: I’ve worked on quite a few features, some of which have been overseas productions made here. This year I worked on a Universal picture in Hong Kong.

CINEMA PAPERS: What was that?

HAMMOND: It’s shooting title was “Thunderbolt” : an American negro hero type thing directed by an old timer called Henry Levin who did “ Journey to the Centre of the Earth” .

The Americans didn’t seem to worry whether you got the sound or not. The whole idea was: “We’re go­ ing to post-synch the bloody stuff anyway, so just get a guide track and get the hell out of it — don’t fuck up the shot” .

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you have a team you work with?

HAMMOND: There are a couple of fellows in Sydney that I prefer to work with because they have had the experience. It’s pretty hopeless hav­ ing a boom-operator on a picture who’s never done it before. I know you’ve got to learn somewhere but it’s best that they learn on commer­ cials or something like that. There’s too much at stake on a picture and if a boom operator doesn’t know what he’s doing, straight away he’s going to get on the wrong side of the cameraman who usually doesn’t want to know about sound. Some cameramen are more sympathetic than others but they have to shoot the picture and they can’t make too many compromises on account of the sound department.

C IN E M A PA PER S: T h a t’s a notorious disagreement between soundmen and cameramen.

HAMMOND: It is. I haven’t found too much trouble with any of the cam eram en I ’ve worked with because I like to think that I unders­ tand their problems, and I realize that if it’s impossible to record the sound well enough it can be postsynched.

But generally if you don’t make yourself obnoxious by demanding to have a microphone overhead 18” away, then you usually find a cameraman will try and help you. I know John McLean does.

CINEMA PAPERS: Does he make special provision in the lighting for a boom?

H A M M O N D : Well look, any lighting cameraman knows that he has to light for sound as well as pic­ ture. Some cameramen who haven’t done it before just don’t realise that.

Even some that have done it before still refuse to realise that they are shooting a sound movie.

At the same time soundmen have got to realise that they’re not recording a radio serial. They’ve got to realise that they’re shooting a sound movie and you’ve got to give snd tskc CINEMA PAPERS: What do you think of sound quality in Australia?

HAMMOND: Oh it’s come up. The sound recorded in Australian series Cinema Papers, January —- 25

The Cars That Ate Paris

and pictures in the last few years has gone some of the way to equalling American quality, but there’s still a lot left to be desired. I think it’s mainly in the mixing and re­ equalizing on ' the post-production side.

On very low-budget pictures you may find bad sound sometimes, because it simply is a low budget pic­ ture and they don’t have the money to employ the right people to record the sound or h ire th e rig h t equipment.

Sound is usually looked upon as secondary to the picture, and so if there are any compromises to be made then they’ll be made firstly in sound — which is a pretty sad state of affairs but I suppose a natural one. If a young bloke is making a lit­ tle film with say, $10,000, there’s not much else he can do. If the story is good and it’s reasonably well acted and well photographed then the sound will just have to get along the best way it can.

I think the audience that goes to see that type of film realises this and makes that sort of mental adjust­ ment to it. I know it is pretty horrify­ ing to hear some of the sound that is recorded on some little-budget pic­ tures, but that’s the reason.

CIN EMA PAPERS: Often in Australian films when someone lights a match it’s thunderous, or if a car door slams it’s an incredible bang. Is that just a mixing problem or . . . ?

HAMMOND: There’s two reasons.

The first is that the location sound, recordist hasn’t anticipated those noises, and in some cases it isn’t possible because it’s too close to dialogue. But if there’s no dialogue coming along right when a match is struck or a car door slammed then there’s no reason why the location

mixer can’t drop his sound level to get the desired effect.

In other instances where you’ve got dialogue dangerously close to effects like that it’s probably safer, particularly if the mixer hasn’t a lot of experience, to leave the effect up and let them take care df it in the mix. Either physically edit it out and cut a new effect in, or take the level down then bring it back up again.

CINEMA PAPERS: Would you say that the problems with Australian sound occur mainly through lack of experience?

HAMMOND: There’s a lack of ex­ perience in the field and there’s a lack of experience in the mixing theatres. But what have they got to practise on? Hundreds of commer­ cials I suppose, but usually that’s 30 seconds of dialogue at the most.

C IN E M A PAPERS: Sound recording seems to be regarded as a hack job.

HAMMOND: I don’t think it’s regarded as a hack job. I think a lot of people, when they go into the film business, want to become directors or editors or cameramen, but there’s not too many who want to go into sound for some reason. Perhaps it’s too technical, or not artistic enough.

CINEMA PAPERS: Well the sound­ man’s credits are usually a tiny line down the bottom after everyone else.

HAMMOND: That’s right. This is just the way tradition has it, and I suppose it’s pretty right. There are a lot more important people in a feature crew than a soundman.

You’ve got your cameraman, writer and all the rest. The focus puller and camera operator are all way above the soundman, because once they’ve done their job it’s there for evermore.

But if a soundman does a particular­ ly bad job it can be post-synched — and no-one ever knows if it’s done

Smedley’s garage and wrecks on Sofala hillside 26 — Cinema Papers, January

well.

CINEMA PAPERS: Where can a recordist get the experience to tackle a feature film?

HAMMOND: A television series is probably the best place for a location mixer to get experience, because in television series work there is very little' post-synching allowed for. If you don’t get it on the actual shot then you’ve got to wild track it. Postsynching is absolutely the last resort.

You can get so much experience when you’re doing a 26 episode series: your techniques sharpen up so much, because sooner or later you’re going to meet just about every situa­ tion that you’re going to be faced with in about five years of feature recording.

Commercials aren’t bad, but by the time you get into the swing of the day’s work it’s all over and you may not do another sync-sound shot for a week.

CINEMA PAPERS: The whole area of sound continuity is obviously a very important one.

HAMMOND: Yes it is. Obviously you can’t get a wide-shot and then go immediately'to a close-up and leave your microphone in the same posi­ tion in both shots. Just as obviously you shouldn’t go too near on your close-ups. If you’ve got a bloke on the screen and you can barely see his forehead and chin it’s no good having a microphone three inches under his mouth. It just sounds ridiculous.

You’ve got to strike a reasonable balance. The audience expects to hear a closer perspective sound when they see a close-up.

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you ever change microphones to get this effect?

HAMMOND: The only reason I’d change a microphone during the one scene with the one artist would be for

a wide-shot followed by a close-up. It would be better to use a gun-mike such as the Sennheiser 815 on the wide-shot and a 415 on ther close-up.

Both microphones have the same characteristics if they are used properly. I usually cut into a 415 for close-ups on interiors.

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you work as close as you can on the wide-shot?

HAMMOND: Yes. CINEMA PAPERS: And for the close-up . . . ?

HAMMOND: You strike a balance that you can only arrive at through knowing how it’s going to sound because you’ve done it before or heard it before and made a point of studying it.

CINEMA PAPERS: So it’s a matter of seeing the result on the screen?

HAMMOND: Well you should know from your headphones what the cor­ rect distance is. Quite often you ask your boom-operator to drop the microphone out a bit because he tends to think you want him to go as close as he can — but that’s not the case, particularly with condenser microphones. They’ve got much greater presence than the old dynamic and using a modern con­ denser microphone — it’s just chalk and cheese. But then again they’re not as robust as the dynamics. With an Electrovoice 667 I’ve had terrible bashes and no harm at all. But if you drop a condenser mike a couple of feet to the floor you’re lucky to es­ cape without damage of some sort.

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you ever use multiple microphones for groups of people?

HAMMOND: Yes . . . and this is one area where some sound mixers get into trouble with the cameraman. If there’s foregound and background dialogue, or side to side dialogue, they insist on using one microphone and swinging the boom right across the set. I think it’s much better if you can use two microphones and mix them, even if you have to get some odd bod or third assistant to hold one microphone. It may ,-only be for three words in the background, but rather than try to swing right across the set and cause problems with boom shadows it’s better to put another microphone in?

C I N E M A PAPERS: Do you equalise your original track?

HAMMOND: Well I think it’s just about absolutely essential that you try to infprove the sound rather than just plugging a microphone into a Nagrb recorder and hoping that it’s going to be alright. In some cases it may be, but you usually find par­ ticularly on wide-shots, that unless ybu’ve got some means of boosting the presence on a recording the high frequency end of the speech will fall off so quickly that you’ve got to boost it a little. To do this you’ve got to have a dialogue equalising mixer with a couple of curves of presence, which I have.

CINEMA PAPERS: What make is it?

HAMMOND: It was made by a gentleman named Arthur Smith who has been in sound since the early days of Cinesound. He’s probably engineered m ore p ic tu re s in Australia than anybody else.

IS N 'T T H E

SUPERMAN

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A N IM A T E D C A R T O O N M O VIE T H R ILL IN G , T CLARK? r

I'M A F P A I D IT'S A LITTLE TOO EX C ITIN G FO R ME 1

T A LK OF THE TALKIE INDUSTRY— THE FAVORITE ENTERTAINM ENT OF MILLIONS..

THAT'S THE SUPERMAN MOVIE CARTOON! BUT THO THE FILMS IN T H IS S T IR R IN G S E R IE S THRILL A NATION, THEY CAN BE A SOURCE OF ACUTE EMBARRASSMENT TO CLARK KENT, PARTICULARLY IF LOIS LANE HAPPENS TO ACCO M PANY HIM TO ONE OF THEM! W HY? READ THE ADVENTURE OF "SUPERMAN, M A T IN E E ID O L ".,..

Cinema Papers, January — 27

IPS AND S.SNO S. DBAC <S AND M SS NO L N <S>

NOTES ON COM CS NEMA O R : PU J

INTRODUCTION: These notes will demonstrate the close connection between the comic strip medium and the film medium. This connection is an area of media study, which hasn’t been widely explored, and bear­ ing in mind the current media-freak fascination with establishing a ‘'semiology o f cinema”, the comic strip-film relationship is very relevant.

1. THE PASSING OF TIME: What time does the comic strip start?

Both theatre and film have in common the feature that the viewer/audience watch the play/film for a pre-set, controlled period of time; that is, assuming you don’t walk out, you are go­ ing to watch the film for ninety minutes or so. Assuming the theatre doesn’t burn down, etc., this is also true of plays. The viewer/audience is in a sense trapped for a certain period of time.

By contrast, comic strips (and novels) have no “time trap”, that is the viewer/audience/reader can take ten minutes to read a Mandrake strip or one week or a year.

Comic strip as Medium Shot.

Comic strips have close ups, medium shots, wide shots, etc. Of in­ terest here is that comic strips in the early days(1905) were basically in the medium shot or wide shot format. But then so were films. Film and comic strip were imitating the ‘theatrical angle’. The visual potential of close ups, etc., were yet to be dis­ covered and exploited. This potential, of fundamental importance to the nature of film, was shared only by the comic strip.

In conclusion, the time factor in film/theatre is under the con­ trol of the creator of the film/play, and in comic strips/novels, th e t i m e f a c t o r is u n de r t he c o n t r o l o f t he viewer/audience/reader. For this (and other) reasons theatre has been traditionally regarded as being closer to film than other mediums.

2. THE VISUAL ANGLE: Stage versus Camera.

The fundamental and traditional visual difference between theatre and Film is that the viewer/audience watching a play, sees it from a fixed angle. Despite the tact that various modern theatre directors try and overcome this visual disadvantage by having ac­ tors leap about the theatre still doesn’t alter the basic fact. Using cinema jargon, a theatrical play is a wide shot. Unless some enthusiastic actor jumps on you, you don’t see any close ups, or zooms up skirts etc. The only visual medium approaching the multiple-visual-angle possibilities of film is the comic strip.

28— Cinema Papers, January

Fine art feedback: Roy Lichtenstein.

Comics and Film

3.

PAINTING AND COMIC STRIP: The Missing Link.

In terms of the history of art, it is an accurate simplification to say that comic strips emerged as the proletarian version of ‘f ine art’. The comic strip medium has for years been regarded as junk by the social elite. This snobbism has found its most perverse in­ version in Pop Art. Now that you pay thousands of dollars for a Lichtenstein ‘fine art’ painting o f a comic strip, instead of 10 cents for the real thing, comic strips are beginning to receive serious regard as exciting radical chic. (Let us leave aside the political and cultural implications of ‘fine art’ and ‘pulp art’ for the moment, or as Robert Oppenheimer may have said: “Let’s get back to the technicalities.”)

In film terms, a painting could be described as a one angle, in­ finitely held freeze frame. But the comic strip is in this sense, a series of freeze frames. By virtue of this, a comic strip is more overtly a narrative form. The comic strip is the missing link between painting and film. Static like painting, but a series of ‘shots’ like a film. Created by hand like a painting, but massconsumed like a film. ffO O H E R OR LATER THE W HOLE W CRLP

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4. THE CUT: Andre Bazin liked long takes — he probably didn’t like comics.

Traditionally, 'montage’ has been regarded as unique to film — the juxtaposition of visual images in a (time) sequence. The change from one angle to another, one scene to another, one character to another, etc. But one can argue that the comic strip with its sequence of ‘shots’ in a narrative form also contains this characteristic of ‘montage’. The creator of a strip cuts from one sequence/shot to another in the same way as a film editor.

5. PULP: Is Walt Disney Leonardo da Vinci? No, but Mickey Mouse is the Mona Lisa.

Because of films’ commercial origins in nickelodeons, etc., and the many early slapstick films with their obvious debt to vaudeville theatre, it took quite a while for film to gain respec­ tability as an art form. Cultural snobs looked down on film. It would seem that the very accessibility of film to a large audience was regarded as some kind of intrinsic failure. This same pre­ judice applied to comic strips and to some extent still does — how many kids still have to read comics under a blanket with a torch?

This elitist concept of art finds its corollary in the notion that the

more obscure or esoteric a film or painting is, the more it qualifies as ‘A rt’. Simplicity is an aesthetic virtue, and this idea of accessibility as a devaluating factor is an irrational prejudice.

6.

THE ULTIMATE FILM: One can argue that an animated cartoon film is in one sense the ultimate form of film-making — because the director/creator has total control over what he shoots — he draws his actors, land­ scapes etc. And is not a comic strip but an animated cartoon film with the intervening frames (creating the illusion of movement) cut out? In this connection it is of interest to note that Winsor McCay, the creator of Little Nemo, one of the masterpieces of comic strip art, created one of the first cartoon films - Gertie the Dinosaur (1909). Fellini used to draw Flash Gordon strips in Italy. Resnais is a comic strip collector and connoisseur. It may seem something of a quantum leap from making Last Year in Marienbad to collecting comics, but bearing in mind the above notes, it is no more than a twitch. If in doubt, take a look at Eisenstein’s storyboards/sketches for Ivan the Terrible. If still in doubt, look at a few strips from Herriman’s Krazy Kat. If even then you are still in doubt, relax, cultural snobs aren’t arrested in our society.

P H IL IP P E M O R A

Last Year in M arienbad/Little Nemo. Visual complexity in montage.

Cinema Papers, January — 29

FRANCIS BIRTLES — Cyclist, Explorer, Kodaker —

INA BERTRAND Australians have always shared civilised man’s fascination for the primitive, particularly if it can be enjoyed from the comfortable security of an armchair or a cinema seat. In spite of our reputations for being hard-riding, hard-drinking outback individualists, most of us spend, and have spent for close to a century, most of our lives in the cities or suburbs. Because we can enjoy the far outback only vicariously, we listen spellbound to the real adventurers, explorers and surveyors who have pitted their human weakness against nature and the elements. Francis Birtles was such a man, one of the many whose exploits were followed with enthusiasm by the Australian public through newspapers and journals, books and films, in the first quarter of this century.

Francis’ grandparents, James and Jane, and their son David, had arrived from Macclesfield, England, in the 1870’s. David married another Jane, and their son Francis was born 7th November 1882 in Melbourne. Francis was educated at South Wandin Primary School, and then took up a life of adventure which included sailing twice round the world before he was seven­ teen years old, becoming an apprentice seaman on , a tramp steamer in the Indian Ocean, jumping ship to join the Boer War, and acting as a police trooper in Zululand. Though he returned to Australia, the wanderlust was still strong, and he began a series of long-distance push-bike rides, all notable either for their length, speed or difficult route, and many of them establishing records.

He took four months to ride from Fremantle to Sydney in early 1907, attempted the Melbourne to Sydney push-bike record in January 1907, travell­ ed from Sydney to Sydney via Brisbane, Darwin, Adelaide and Melbourne, covering 8300 miles in thirteen months from August 1907, took only 44 days to ride more than 3000 miles from Fremantle to Sydney via Broken Hill in late 1909 and travell­ ed round Australia once more from Sydney between February 1910 and January 1911. Others attempted similar feats in this period: cycling in fact briefly became, with press encouragement, something of a national sport.

Birtles, however, differed from his rivals in one vital respect: he had developed an interest in still photography while working as a lithographer and on his trips he always carried photographic equipment. He was not the first to take a camera The Australian Photo-Review, Sept. 22, 1910.

into the outback: that honour probably belongs to Professor Baldwin Spencer, who pioneered ethnographic film in Australia by recording the ceremonies of the Aranda tribe at the turn of the century. But Birtles was the first whose outback adventures were recorded in a commercially pop­ ular form.

At first he took only still photos. For instance, on the run from Fremantle to Sydney in 1909 he carried a No. 3A Graflex, made in Sydney by Baker and Rouse, the predecessors of Kodak, and sufficient film for 500 post-card size exposures.

The camera was protected inside its copper case by his clean shirt and socks, and the film was stowed in tins with cotton wool packing and seal­ ed with sticking plaster, so that he was able to report how well the camera stood up to the “bad spills and jolting” of the journey.1 From 1910 onwards he carried a developing tank as well, and developed as he went. The results were used to il­ lustrate his first book,2 and various newspaper and journal articles,3 all of which helped to finance further journeys. The dramatic descriptions which these writings contained, of adventures such as swimming “alligator-infested” tidal streams with his accessories strapped to his back, and the strik­ ing photographs of scenes like camel caravans or aboriginal murderers in chains, brought him to the notice of the Gaumont Film Company.

Most film programmes at that time were made up of two or three short features, perhaps half an hour long, and a number of shorter “scenics” (travelogues), “industrials” (films depicting in­ dustrial or agricultural processes) and “gazettes” (newsreels). Australian feature films were just beginning, but by 1910 there was a vigorous Australian industry producing shorter films, and local audiences were always eager to see the latest local news on film. Birtles could provide both news and drama, and so the Gaumont Company in 1911 sent a cameraman, Richard Primmer, to accompany Birtles from Sydney to Darwin by bicycle, and to record: “ . .. moving pictures of interesting scenes, incidents, studies of native life, habits and customs, kangaroo and crocodile hunting, and in fact anything of interest . . .” 4

The resulting film was shown in Sydney in May 1912, and in Melbourne in July. It was 3000 feet long, and the reviews published at the time reveal the attitudes and motives of the film-makers as

well as the content of the film.

Audiences were still delighted to be able to see things previously beyond their experience, things like emus running across the plains, the sugar in­ dustry in Queensland, the pearling industry on Thursday Island, the tree on the Flinders River where Burke and Wills carved their initials in January 1862. But already the need to inject spec­ tacle and sensation was recognised, and so the film also contained a “thrilling encounter” between a dog and a seven feet red kangaroo, showed a snake and an iguana exhausted by their long combat, and included a variety of sports en­ joyed by the two explorers. Even this was not enough, and so a fight was staged between “settlers” and aborigines. A reviewer noted that “the blacks” were “good actors” , who “entered into the performance with great zest when they were informed that the fight was a ‘white man’s corroborree’.”5 To engineer such a spectacle would have been anathema to an ethnologist like Spencer, whose purposes were rather more serious than to entertain an audience. Birtles’ work was also different from the Flaherty school of documentary film-making, in which, despite an acknowledged intention to produce a commercial­ ly acceptable product, the only tampering with the “truth” occurs in the editing (though Flaherty himself departed from this precept in Man of Aran, by re-introducing the characters to a trade long abandoned — trawling). At this stage Birtles probably did not even consider himself as a film­ maker. It was Primmer who was responsible for the filming: for Birtles, the finished product was useful primarily as publicity to encourage spon­ sors for further trips, and the money won from screening the film was simply useful to keep the pot boiling between journeys.

The promoters of the film set up an essay com­ petition asking children to consider “ Do pictures educate?” , with special reference to Across Australia with Francis Birtles, and the film ran for ten days to an enthusiastic audience in the Lyceum, “crowded to overflowing, both after­ noon and evening” .6 In Melbourne, W est’s presented the film on a programme with a “ Danish dramatic masterpiece” called For Another’s Guilt, with the Grand National

Steeplechase, Distillation of Orange Flowers, Arthur Chubb and the Widow, some gazettes, and “operatic selections, overtures and incidentals by West’s Premier Grand Orchestra” .7 But it surviv­ ed for only a week, from Monday 15th to Satur­ day 20th July 1912.

This was not the first time that Birtles had appeared before the public on film, for after Primmer left him in Darwin to return to Sydney with the film for editing and preparation, Birtles went on to Broome and Perth and from there completed his most famous push-bike ride: Fremantle to Sydney, 3175 miles in the record time of 31 days and two hours. He arrived in Sydney 1 February 1912, to be greeted by an enthusiastic crowd, and this welcome was filmed

by Gaumont and presented as part of a gazette on 3 February 1912.

Birtles subsequently abandoned the bike for a car, his first long-distance run being from Fremantle to Sydney in a 10 h.p. single-cylinder vehicle, accompanied by Mr. Sicf. Ferguson and a bull-fox terrier pup called “ Rex” . Though this trip took less than a month, he found cars less reliable than bikes: “ . . . and with a car it is all worry; with a bike it is all work. Personally, I prefer the work.”8

By June 1912 he had travelled 70,000 miles in six years, seven times across Australia and twice around it, and his exploits were well-known to the majority of Australians through newspaper reports and journal articles, even if few had yet had the opportunity to see him on film. Further car trips in 1912 and 1913 took him from Melbourne to Sydney, Darwin, Adelaide, then to the Gulf country via Birdsville, accompanied by his brother Clive. Unhappily, no movie record was made of these exploits.

Cinema Papers, January — 31

5<I8

THE AUSTRALASIAN PHOTO ■REVIEW.

ALLEGED

MU RD E RE R S

IN

S e p t. 22, 1910

CHAINS.

NEWS FROM BIRTLES C yclist, E xplorer, K odaker— w ith four illustrations.

Francis Dirties, mounted on his An­ thony Hordern Universal Bicycle, is now well on his way homeward bound for Syd­ ney, and should be heard of very shorn!\, His last letters were written from Vic­ toria River Police Camp, in the Northern t e r r i t o r y , and were full of interest. lie says, “ 1 have got safely thro ugh the Great Australian Desert b y .. what ls called the M u rra n jt T rac k , but had an anxious time for over a m on th— sleepless, watch­ ful nights after days of hard work in scorching' -heat, with treacherous a b origin­ als continually hovering around.

Many a time I could he ar the m a g p i e ­ like call of the ever-ready lubras, who are ceaselessly on the “ w a lk-a round.”

On one occasion a “ b u c k ” threatened me, and wanted my tucker, and 1 had fin­ ally to fire low a m o n g s t a bun ch of them.

Thev disappeared, and 1 travelled ha rd till night, but owing to the heavy sand and scrub, could only make 18 miles, and camped, hidden in a thick scrub , of tim ­ ber. Mere 1 spent a miserable mosquitobitten night. A few days later I had again to use mv rifle, as I certainly would have been finished off.

Francis Birtles

In 1914 Birtles was commissioned by Australa­ sian Films Ltd to return to the Gulf country to make a documentary film. He chose as his cameraman Frank Hurley, a young man whose film of the Mawson antarctic expedition, Home of the Blizzard, had recently been acclaimed in England and Australia. The two travelled exten­ sively, till a message arrived, dramatically carried in a cleft stick by an aboriginal tracker, inviting Hurley to return at once to join Shackleton in a further Antarctic expedition. Birtles and Hurley hurried back to Sydney, and Hurley embarked within days for Buenos Aires to meet Shackleton.

It seems unlikely that Hurley had time to develop and edit the film before he left, so perhaps this was Birtles’ introduction to the technical com­ plexities of movie film. In any case, Into Australia’s Unknown reached Australian screens in early 1915, and was widely acclaimed: Dr. Gilruth, administrator of the Northern Territory, described it as “altogether a remarkable produc­ tion” .9 From the advertisements it seems to have been a far more objective documentary than Across Australia, paying far less attention to the exploits of the white adventurers, and offering more film of native customs and the flora and fauna of the area. It ran for two weeks in both Sydney and Melbourne and was released also in Adelaide and Brisbane.

Birtles’ next trip took him back once again to the Gulf country, again by car. This time, however, he had the specific intention of retracing the route of the Burke and Wills expedition of 1862, and reconstructing the story in film. He left Adelaide in March 1915, followed the tracks of the expedition to the depot at Cooper’s Creek, where he found the stockade still standing and filmed the famous tree under which the provisions had been buried: indeed, the inscription “ DIG” was still visible. He then continued north, found thirteen of the fifteen marked trees mentioned by King in evidence before the Commission of En­ quiry, and followed in the tracks of the expedition right to the mangrove swamps near the coast.

Despite serious car trouble, he returned to the area where King had been rescued by aborigines, and took testimony from several who recollected the incident and had cared for King. Since this evidence contradicted some of the statements made by King to the Commission of Enquiry, the papers which reported Birtles’ trip happily reviv­ ed an old controversy. The expedition had its own sensational moments too. Birtles raced the flood waters of the Georgina River for 150 miles to reach a ford, only to find the river already more than fifty yards wide at that point. He ran the car back 100 yards and raced at top speed for the water. Stopping the engine and throwing out the clutch just before reaching the flood, he let the car drift. This took him half way across and a boat waiting for him on the other side towed him the rest of the way. He also described how he had driven with deflated tyres over sandhills during bad duststorms when to stop the engine would have meant that the car would have been buried in ten minutes. Across Australia in the track of Burke and Wills was shown at two Melbourne Hoyts theatres concurrently over the Christmas and New Year period in 1915-1916, with great success. This seems to have been the first film for which Birtles was himself wholly responsible.

Further car trips round and across Australia followed in 1917 and 1918, but no film record of these was made.

In 1919 the arrival of Sir Ross and Sir Keith Smith in Australia after their historic flight from England was very much in the news. Frank Hurley had flown with them on the last stage from Darwin to Sydney, and his film of this experience reached theatres in the capital cities in mid-1920.

Birtles, unlike Hurley, had not travelled with the aviators, but he hit on the idea of covering their route on the ground, and made a film: Through

Australian Wilds: across the track of Ross Smith.

It had its premiere in Brisbane in July 1919 and reached Sydney in February and Melbourne in

March 1920. It was shown on a programme of films produced by Austral Photoplays Ltd, of which Birtles was now a director. However, though the film was shown for a week in both cities, its reception was less than enthusiastic. The Argus dismissed it without ceremony: “Through Central Australia, by Francis Birtles, was an offering of much interest. A number of aborigines were shown.” 10

But Birtles’ reputation as an “overlander” was now good enough for the Commonwealth Govern­ ment to commission him to survey the proposed overland telegraph route from Adelaide to Darwin, independent of the official government survey party. Roy Fry was his companion. They completed their task and were returning from Darwin with all the records of the trip (including 3000 feet of film) when the car exploded in flames just outside Elsey Station in the Northern Territory. This accident rocketed Birtles to the headlines again. He waited till Fry, seriously in­ jured, had sufficiently recovered to travel, then returned to Melbourne. The car and its contents were not insured, and the Commonwealth govern­ ment refused to re-fit the party. Undeterred, Birtles arranged to take his first aeroplane flight, in an aerial survey plane to complete the task.

Some film was taken during this expedition, but I have been unable to find any reference to its com­ mercial screening: perhaps it was used in gazettes.

The next three years are not well-documented, but in 1924 another film, Australia’s Lonely Lands, appeared in Sydney. It was described as “a five-reel thrill” , with the added attraction of Birtles appearing in person twice daily. A reviewer described it as “ Mr Francis Birtles’ journey of 13,000 miles in a motor car through parts of Australia which are seldom visited by the white man.” 11 Another exploit of this period was a dramatic trip from Sydney to Darwin and back. Birtles was accompanied by M. H. Ellis (who described himself as “Special Commissioner of a powerful group of Australian newspapers, headed by the Sydney Daily Telegraph, and of the Australian Meat Council” 12) and J. L. Simpson of Messrs.

Bean Cars Ltd. of Dudley, England. There was, unfortunately, no movie record of this trip. On his return, Birtles made preparations for his longest trip yet, by car from England to Australia. He made two starts: on the first he only reached In­ dia, but he set out again from London in September 1927 and reached Australia in July 1928. Though his progress was reported in great detail, a disappointingly small reception was ac­ corded to him on his arrival in Sydney.

Birtles’ last film, Coorab in the Island of Ghosts, was released in Melbourne in June 1929, and soon after this he returned once more to north Queensland. He had frequently expressed a belief in the mineral potential of Arnhem. Land, but when he finally found gold there he had difficulty in obtaining financial backing. He managed to get capital for an expedition in 1933, and left Sydney with six men and plenty of equipment. After dis­ appointments both at the mine and the Stock Ex­ change, Birtles “went bush” on his own: the mine was suddenly successful and the news reached him by letter dropped by a search plane. In 1935 he married, and was able to give his wife as a wedding present no less than a gold mine. And so, in 1935, he could conclude his autobiography with muted grandeur: “ And that is my story. Like most yarns it has a postscript. I am now enjoying being a man of means and leisure. I’ve got some of the things I’ve always wanted — the sort of things a man of my taste dreams of owning when he hasn’t got a cracker . .. and all the while I’m planning to go back.” 13

He did go back, repeatedly, on caravan trips with his wife. But his health deteriorated, and he died in July 1941, aged 58. The Sydney Morning Herald wrote of him: “ Mr Birtles’ work was of inestimable value to Australia. He journeyed across the continent by cycle, car and aeroplane, gathering important information and recording many exciting events. He claimed to

have travelled 500,000 miles overland and to have crossed Australia 88 times. He pioneered the EnglandAustralia car route through Europe and Singapore in 1927, and as far back as 1912 undertook journeys that led to the opening of motor-roads between Fremantle and Sydney and Adelaide and the Gulf of Carpen­ taria.” 14

All this is true, and undoubtedly reflects the achievements which Birtles himself valued, since he saw himself as an adventurer and explorer above all else. But it overlooks his considerable contribution to the history of Australian filmmaking. Two feature films were made o f him and a further four by him, and they pioneered a genre that has survived in almost the same form to the present day.15 The most recent cycle began with Keith Adams’ Northern Safari and the Leyland brothers’ Wheels Across the Wilderness in 1967, but these followed in a direct line from Charles Mountford, Frank Hurley, and other less well-known producers back to Birtles himself. Characteristically, such films have been produced independently and record the adventures of their makers in distant and dangerous parts of Australia. Frequently, the film-makers have been responsible themselves for the promotion of their films, even to the hiring of halls and projection of the film personally, getting to an audience being all that mattered. Men like Hurley and the Leylands, for whom the film was at least as important as the adventure, later m ov-' ed closer to the commercial cinema. But others, like Birtles, saw the film always as secondary to the adventure, a tool to make further adventures possible. Money for the adventures was rounded up from sponsors: Harrington’s photographic supplies began this by equipping Birtles and com­ missioning articles for his 1907 cycle trip around Australia, and Dunlop Tyres and Shell Oil backed his last big venture from London to Melbourne.

At the same time the films themselves were good publicity, keeping Birtles’ name before the public and thereby making further sponsorship more likely.

The films, with one exception, seem to have dis­ appeared without trace. Birtles Across Australia probably returned to England when the Gaumont Company closed its Sydney offices at the out­ break of World War 1. Into Australia’s Unknown belonged to Frank Hurley, and perhaps may yet turn up in a private collection. Of Birtles’ own films, the three travelogues have completely vanished. Some years ago, Coorab in the Island of Ghosts was discovered in a garage and donated to the National Library in Canberra, where it can still be seen. It is a very interesting picture, both for its content and for the problems which it raises in research concerning Birtles.

For it is impossible to reconstruct the story of the making of this film from available evidence.

The best I can do is to present a hypothesis, con­ sistent with the known facts, but not necessarily true because there are so few facts to go on.

The sheer weight of Birtles’ achievements had created problems for him. The opening up of the continent, to which he had contributed in no small measure, had proceeded so far that his exploits appeared less and less extraordinary: stories of running out of petrol, becoming delirious with thirst in waterless wastes, having to make im­ promptu repairs to carry on to the next outposts of civilization, encountering snakes and crocodiles and buffalo and spiders and ants, all recur with in­ creasing familiarity in his articles and diaries. The cool reception accorded in 1924 to Australia’s Lonely Lands suggests that the public were no longer so responsive to the old formula. Frank Hurley had also discovered this: his Pearls and Savages (1921) was well received in Australia but less successful in U .S.A . because of its lack of story-line and sex interest, which tempted him to add story to his next two films, Hound of the Deep and Jungle Woman. Birtles may have decided, too, that his next film should have a plot, or this may have been suggested to him by the Southern Cross Co., which originally backed Coorab. But if the film was to be fiction there was no need to Cinema Papers, January — 33

Francis Birtles

A CAMEL CARAVAN CROSSING THE GRASSY DESERT make a special trip to film it, when Birtles already had what must have been the best collection of stock footage of outback Australia in existence. If Coorab was in fact composed largely of extracts from earlier films this would explain: (i) The disappearance of the earlier films. There are countless other ways these films could have disappeared, but this is at least a possible ex­ planation. Descriptions of scenes in earlier films could well apply to scenes from Coorab: for in­ stance a crocodile hunt and a native tree burial were shown in Into Australia’s Unknown, a corroborree appeared in Birtles Across Australia, Into Australia’s Unknown, and In the Track of Burke and Wills, and all the films contained shots of native animals like those which are used in Coorab to illustrate the totems. (ii) The lack of documentation of any trip which was explicitly planned round the making of Coorab. Some sources speak of it being filmed in 1926, but as Southern Cross Productions folded up in 1923 this would not be possible. There are gaps in the story of Birtles’ life when such a trip

34 — Cinema Papers, January

could have been made, but it is unlikely that it would go unrecorded if a film had been made dur­ ing it. Written descriptions of scenes from the film occur in two sources: in a series of articles published in Sea, Land and Air in 1922, and in Birtles’ autobiography published in 1935. In both cases mention is made of living on Cape York Peninsula, which was the setting for Coorab, with a native ‘boy’ called Moses and a dog named Dinkum, and internal clues suggest that these two references apply to the same trip, at some time during the years 1916 to 1920. Some scenes and incidents described in these sources fit perfectly scenes and incidents from Coorab. One instance of this is the initiation ceremony: The young men were being subjected to endurance tests to prove their Fitness or otherwise for the status of manhood, among which was starvation. They had been required to spend a day and a night, without protection in a mosquito-infested swamp, leaving it at moonrise in the evening; they had been forced to lie all day, naked, in the blazing sun. To increase their torment their heads had been swaddled in soft paper-bark. While they lay ■there, coolamons of stinging insects had been poured on their sweating bodies. They were forbidden to cry out

or exhibit any sign of suffering.16,

(iii) The extreme variation in picture quality, which is quite distracting at times and gives the impression of either poor editing or the use of several different kinds of stock and/or film shot at different times. O f course, technical difficulties of film-making in these conditions were enormous.

The film had to be developed immediately to pre­ vent heat damage, so it was washed at night in the edge of the river by the light of a carbide lamp, when the surface was in danger o f being eaten off by “shrimps”. Taking film at night was also dif­ ficult: Birtles tried on one occasion to use magnesium flares, but these had been damaged by exposure and leapt about like fire crackers, quite destroying the spirit of the occasion. Many scenes in Coorab which are intended to be at night, par­ ticularly parts of the initiation ceremony, nave ob­ viously been shot in daylight, and this detracts both from their effectiveness as entertainment, and from the conviction they would otherwise carry of authenticity.

On grounds, then, of print quality, clues of the

Francis Birtles

time at which it was filmed, lack of evidence that a special trip was made to film it, and the dis­ appearance o f the earlier films, I am inclined to think that Birtles’ contribution to Coorab was in the form of stock footage, from earlier trips or even from earlier films. Anyway, whether tnis is so, or whether he actually made a special trip to Cape York to film it, at some time prior to 1926 he abandoned the project. Again, no evidence remains to account for this: perhaps he became ill, or found fiction not to his taste, or became ab­ sorbed in plans for his trip to England, or perhaps the film passed out of his hands when the Southern Cross Co. ceased operations. But in 1927 Torrence Maclaren was reported to have gone north to round up the aborigines and comlete the film. Maclaren was an Englishman, who ad travelled extensively and worked for the V itagraph Co. in N ew Y ork. H e had a photographic studio in Melbourne and had been connected with Southern Cross Films so it is possible that he was engaged with Birtles on the project before the demise of that company. He had also been commissioned on several occasions to investigate investment possibilities for John Wren, and there is an interesting suggestion that Wren may have had a financial interest in Coorab, though Stan Perry was quoted as being responsi­ ble for sending Maclaren to complete it.

How much of the film can be credited to Maclaren and How much to Birtles remains a matter for conjecture, but as the style is so very different from anything Birtles had yet attempted, and he does not appear to have shown any per­ sonal interest in its exhibition (no personal appearances and his family did not even know it had been made), it seems reasonable to assume that Birtles had no part past the first rushes (or, if my compilation theory is correct, the stock footage or the earlier films). But his name was used to publicise the film: it was introduced to Melbourne audiences by a Colonel Pottinger, who recounted Birtles’ experiences and explained native customs, illustrating his talk with lantern slides.

When Maclaren had set out to finish the film, reference had been made to it as an Australian Moana.17 In one sense this is true. As the life story of an aborigine from birth to death it was the first

Australian film in which no white man appeared, and where the natives were presented sym­ pathetically, as having a dignity and a way of life that deserved respect. This contrasts strongly with the stereotypes of the aborigine found in other commercial films of the time: the savage who is looking for the opportunity to run through any white man he sees, the cringing whining hanger-on who begs for hand-outs, or the faithful servant who acts as police tracker or station rouseabout.

If anyone could break the stereotype it should have been Birtles: he lived with the aborigines for long periods, had learnt much of their bushcraft and appeared familiar with their customs and way of life. The best parts of Coorab depict this way of life very vividly, particularly the initiation rites and the crocodile hunt. There is a strong sense of the unity of the tribespeople, who, regardless of living in very different terrains and following a life-style controlled largely by this, yet gather together in a larger family for special occasions like the initiation.

On the other hand there is a strong paternalistic attitude, which, while a sign of progressive and even radical thinking at the time, appears patronising now. Coorab and his childhood sweetheart Coowangama are presented as being forbidden to marry, both because she is already promised to an elder of the tribe, and because their totems are incompatible. Coorab disposes of his rival, Ooian, by means of a crocodile, but the totemic prohibition is conveniently side-stepped to satisfy the white audience’s romantic leanings.

A white man’s interpretation is frequently placed on action, particularly when comic relief is in­ tended: so eating ravenously is a sign of sheer gluttony, a boaster makes the white man’s familiar gesture to show the size of the fish that got away, and the “belle of many corroborees” is clearly a figure of fun to be laughed at derisively by the white audience. The titles express this paternalism (and the sentimentality also typical of this period) most clearly. Towards the end of the film Coowangama is shown leading the aged Coorab back to the camp each evening, “Till one bright sunny morning when the waterlilies were in bloom the primitive soul went winging its way back to the last hunting grounds . . .”

Though there is some doubt whether final

responsibility for the film rests with Maclaren or Birtles, Birtles’ writings express a similar attitude to the aborigines. In 1908 he described the dirt and degradation of one tribe whose camp he had passed through, and commented that they had held a corroboree in his honour,, “to demonstrate the brotherhood of man from their standpoint, but I could not find heart to admire the brothers of this northern land.” 18 This attitude remained with him throughout his life, in spite of the oc­ casions when he lived alone with the tribespeople in remote areas where his health and safety were often dependent on them. The limitations this at­ titude imposes on the film, and the technical limitations already described, prevent Coorab from coming close to the artistry of its model, Moana. But it remains a fascinating film, one which tells us something of the way of life of the Cape York aborigines, and a great deal about the white man’s attitude to them at this time.

The story of Francis Birtles and his films, par­ ticularly Coorab in the Island of Ghosts, contains many disappointing gaps. Perhaps these will one day be filled if people can be found with long memories and more records of the time, but his contribution to the beginnings of Australian film, and particularly to the independent travelogue genre, may be recognised even now.

FOOTNOTES 1. Australian Photo-review, 22 Dec. 1909, p.661.

2. Francis Birtles, Lonely Lands, Sydney, 1909.

3. Articles were published in Australian Photo-review, Lone 4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

13.

Hand, Australian Leather Journal, Australian Photographic Journal.

Australian Photo-review, 22 May 1911, p.295.

Argus, 11 July 1912.

Sydney Morning Herald, 27 May 1912.

Argus, 15 July 1912.

Lone Hand, 1 July 1912, p.259.

Argus, 18 Jan. 1915.

Ibid., 15 Mar. 1920.

Sydney Morning Herald, 24 May 1924.

M. H. Ellis, The Long Lead, London, 1927, p. vi.

Francis Birtles, Battlefronts of Outback, Sydney, 1935,

pp. 286-7.

14. Sydney Morning Herald, 2 July 1941.

15. See comments on this genre by Dave Jones, in Lumiere, Apr. 1973, p.9.

16. Battlefronts of Outback, p.164.

17. Flaherty’s film had been released in 1926.

18. Australian Leather Journal, 16 Nov. 1908, p.371.

FRANCIS BIRTLES BEING FAREWELLED IN M ELBOURNE, 1926

From newsreel held by Mrs. Morrison.

Cinema Papers, January — 35

A View of the Tariff Board Report on Motion Picture Films Although the Tariff Board’s charter was to in­ vestigate the need for assistance to the local mo­ tion picture and television industry, its final deliberations do not adequately reflect the Board’s awareness as to the restrictiveness of its approach to the problem. Whilst acknowledging the limitations of standard efficiency criteria in an industry study of this type, the Board still does not pursue the ramifications of such a remark. In its Criteria & Objectives Section (p.l & 2) the Report makes some token gestures to the need to foster artistic endeavour in film-making by quoting some worn-out rhetoric from Dr. Coombs. It makes no attempt to delineate the cultural backdrop, or definite fundamental questions in terms of supporting various direc­ tions film-making might be encouraged to follow.

Thus the Board is trapped by its own superficial assumptions as to the relevance of film-making activity and precise shape it should take. The Board even prides itself about not being prescrip­ tive as to types of film-making to pursue thereby avoiding basic issues in recommending structural changes to the industry. N ot only does it neglect the whole issue of the increasing disparity between film-making activity and the traditional mass audience, but it hardly attempts to evaluate the current market situation.

Granted basic information was lacking in these areas, this does not excuse the Tariff Board for blithely placing its recommendations in limbo, an act tantamount to an admission that the relation­ ship between film-making and a nation’s social and cultural context is beyond determination.

If the Board’s concern was with the mainstream o f current commercial film-making in Australia and public access to such product, the Report showed little attempt to relate this issue to the im­ plicit assumptions and objectives of government intervention in the film industry thus far. Ob­ viously it considered certain cultural and aesthetic questions outside its domain, and thus raised the question as to whether it should have been allotted the task of investigating the film industry in the first place.

THE B O A R D ’S P R IN C IP A L RECOMM ENDATIONS. The Board put forward two major recommen­ dations for the Australian film industry:— (1) The formation of an Australian Film Authori­ ty (AFA) envisaged as the main body charged with the function o f fostering and developing the industry producing theatrical films in Australia.

(2) The divestiture of 13 theatres from the major chains in Australia and the divorcement of ex­ hibition from distribution.

(1) THE AUSTRALIAN FILM AUTHORITY: According to the Board the AFA would com­ prise four branches:— * (i) A Project Branch — which would replace the existing AFDC. (ii) A Film Distribution Branch which would: (a) take over distribution for the Com­ m o n w ealth Film U n it (now Film Australia). (b) act as an export agency for Australian films.

36 — Cinema Papers, January

(c) subsidise exhibition outlets for those filmsmore vigorous regulation of commercial exhibi­ with special marketing problems. tion and distribution interests than exists at the (iii) A Special Funds Branch primarily concerned moment. Obviously these proposals have invoked with:— the wrath of these interests; further the threat of (a) awards to films without Government regulation has invited vigorous lobbying by finance as well as films of special merit. theatre chains in order to ensure that their ac­ (b) the allocation of funds for — tivities will not be curbed. The stringent action the Experimental Film Fund recommended by the Tariff Board in relation to the Film & Television Development Fund the power and concentrated ownership of the Educational and Archival Grants. chains indicates an insufficient recognition by the (iv) the Industry Supervision Branch which would Board of the most meaningful intervention by the act as overseer of commercial exhibition and Government in Australia’s mixed economy. By distribution interests and would supervise the moving into support areas of film activity com­ divestment of the theatre chains. pletely outside the ambit of existing commercial In these proposals the Report does not ade­ film institutions and practice the Government is quately explain the extent to which the AFA offering alternatives which highlight the archaic supercedes or replaces existing structures es­ view of the industry in relation to its product. tablished by the preceding Liberal Government Apart from the historically evolving pressure of and also the new Labor Government. Both the rationalising world production, exhibition and Department of the Media and the Film and distribution the Government can exert indirect Television Board have recently sprung into being pressure by engendering an awareness of the in­ — both are operating in some of the areas dustry’s archaic view of the nature of the product. designated for the AFA. Nowhere is there any dis­ In this respect the Board paid little attention to cussion of how the AFA would be reconciled with the industry’s very arbitrary view o f the these institutions. Further the AFA might result consumer/cinema-goer and its general unwilling­ in the growth of a much larger bureaucracy than ness to investigate further his responses and at­ already exists which might well conflict with the titudes. In recent years the commercial industry current efforts of the Film and Television Board has tended to display a persistent contempt for the to disperse power and decision-making amongst a rights of cinema-goers, and cinema-goers have host of bodies already in existence, a number of accentuated this by adopting a totally passive role which have evolved from grass roots movements. as consumers.

The AFA embodies new proposals to improve (2) DIVESTITURE AND DIVORCEMENT OF the distribution of local product, as well as a much THEATRE CHAINS: The Board proposed that theatres be divested from the chains if the existing ownership con­ centration o f the chains violated the following rules:— (i) Over 25 per cent theatre ownership in Sydney and Melbourne. (ii) Over 33 1/3 per cent theatre ownership for other cities where the population exceeds

200,000 . (iii) Over 33 1/3 per cent theatre ownership for any one state.

On these criteria the Board calculated that the chains would lose the following theatres in various cities: G U O .................................................. 7 HOYTS ............................................2 V IL L A G E ........................................3 A C E .........................

1 T o ta l................................................ 13 Apart from recommending these restrictions on horizontal integration the Board suggested that no vertical integration between distribution and exhibition should be allowed. The Board’s Report argued that the existing nexus resulted in a dis­ criminatory preference structure for the product of certain distribution majors.

If the divorcement Occurred the major chains — Hoyts, GUO and Village — would have to relinquish their distribution ties. The Report’s stated reason for divorcement and divestiture is “to create a substantially greater degree of genuine competition within the industry and through this, to provide the opportunity for all films, whether Australian or overseas to compete

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for exhibition rights on the basis o f their own merits rather than having their success rely to a significant extent on their origin” .

The Board expects that its divestiture proposals would induce the chains to dispose of their old, larger and less efficient theatres. The Board also believes that such action would result in a greater diversity of product shown — this would further encourage the development of stronger inde­ pendent distributors.

Divesting chains of some of their key theatres is a questionable move since there is little evidence to suggest that independent operators will in­ troduce greater efficiency or even new marketing approaches; such operators may well be con­ ditioned by the same commercial market for­ mulae that preceded them.

The Board is over-optimistic about the possible changes in the supply conditions of feature films as a result o f divorcement and divestiture proceedings. Reducing the bargaining- power of the chains may in fact strengthen the market power of the distribution majors. The latter would still continue to dominate film supply in Australia irrespective of their links with theatre chains.

Moreover it is difficult to specify the extent of horizontal and vertical conspiracy in exhibition and distribution. Undoubtedly there are many cases of discrimination by film suppliers against independent exhibitors; indeed vertically in­ tegrated combines accentuate; discrimination against independent exhibitors. Nevertheless in­ tegration and concentration of theatre ownership may explain a high degree of collusion between chains and suppliers in the continued imple­ mentation o f protection periods but one should not forget that distributors can still dictate supply conditions irrespective of this type of market structqre.

Because o f the distributor’s intrinsic power in copyright control they can manipulate print supp­ ly in accordance with their own assessment of revenue from potential outlets. Unless exhibition outlets are established by subsidieis with specific cultural objectives in mind (like an NFT and or even a film-maker’s co-operative theatre) they will still be bound by the rules of the market place that will continue to prevail whether the exhibi­ tion structure is atomistic or not.

Certainly one might argue that the normal notions of competition are not relevant when con­ sidering how to improve the state of exhibition in Australia. For government intervention is re-, quired to manipulate the marketing conditions in the private sector (in spite of obvious shortfalls) but rather to offer alternatives to the public under the guise of cultural altruism. Already the Film and Television Board is fulfilling an important function in this area.

Although the Tariff Board’s Report pretends to be critical of the structure of the commercial film industry, it does not pay enough attention to assumptions underlying the operation of the mainstream of commercial exhibition and dis­ tribution and how these continue to inhibit the public’s understanding of the nature of film and film activity. Thus from one point of view the Tariff Board can be accused of skating over deeper problems in its final verdict on the in­ dustry.

Also the Board has not realised the full im­ plications of breaking the vertical nexus. In reduc­ ing the power of the chains, by divesting first-run outlets, the countervailing power between chains and distribution majors is disturbed. Given the traditional role of distribution majors it has been necessary for the chains to have bargaining power to match the distribution majors.

First-run outlets are the chains’ prime bargain­ ing instrument when negotiating terms with film suppliers. Thus if the traditional power blocs are destroyed or substantially weakened the whole system for allocating prints through runs and clearances needs to be revised.

For Australia in the past even the non-linked distribution majors have tended to comply with the selling conditions and release patterns laid down by the vertically integrated combines. Cer­ tainly this high degree of conformity is un­ desirable; however there are signs that this rigidity is breaking down with the exigencies of a changing market situation, and that changing marketing at­ titudes may be sufficient to modify supply con­ ditions.

In casting aspersions on the Tariff Board’s plan of attack for horizontal and vertical integration in the industry I am not trying to be an ardent defender of the status quo, but I feel the Board is perhaps a little naive in its expectations as to the beneficial results of the relatively drastic action it proposes. In the light of redrafted restrictive trade practices legislation, the abuses of vertical and horizontal integration might well be approached from a different perspective rather than the heavy handed intervention implicit in the Board’s divestiture proposals. * P. 21-22 — Barrett Hodsdon Cinema Papers, January — 37

'H o w are things on the G aza Strip? 7 Independent distribution: an interview w ith lo n y Ginnane CINEMA PAPERS: Could you tell us how you bought Wind from the East? Did you have to go overseas to get it?

GINNANE: No, at that stage we didn’t have enough finance to go overseas. Since my film society days I had been spending every cent I had on film publications and magazines, so I had some knowledge of what was available. We just wrote off to Polifilm in Rome who were one of the producers. They didn’t reply and we noticed that Bob Shaye of New Line Cinema Corporation in the States had picked the film up. So I wrote to Shaye and he did a deal for us with Polifilm.

CINEMA PAPERS: What were the terms of the contract?

GINNANE: The flat licence fee was $ A 1,000 for a five year licence — theatrical and non-theatrical for A u str a lia , N ew Z ealan d and associated territories. It was a typical example of an outright buy — you purchase the film, if you make a dollar, w e ll. . . you’ve made a dollar.

We subsequently learnt that it would have been a great deal better just to go directly to Godard — we may have got the film for a lot less.

The distribution machinery with which I’m now working is a lot more oriented to sharing the risks and profits with the producers of the film.

Our deal on Godard’s latest film Tout Va Bien with Montand and Fonda was a lot different from the Wind from the East contract. On Tout Va Bien we paid an upfront fee o f $U S800 which also included rights to exploit Godard’s Pravda and Letter to Jane. After we recoup our costs — print costs, freight, agents handling charges, duty, cen­ sor screening fees and sundry adver­ tising which probably brings the sum up to about $2,000 — we then split the proceeds between the producers of the film and ourselves.

This is the way we are working at the moment with Robert Kramer on Ice, with the Mekas brothers and hopefully with Straub for some of his films next year. We try to work it so that if we know a film is coming out here for a Film Festival or an NFT screening we arrange for the print coming in to be available to us for distribution and thereby save on freight charges.

CINEMA PAPERS: What is the size o f the Australian market for this type of product?

GINNANE: Incredibly small in com38 — Cinema Papers, January

G. Glenn

Tony Ginnane is an independent working in the fiercely competitive field of film distribution. He imports films which for one reason or another major dis­ tributors will not handle, and his catalogue includes such diverse listings as Godard’s ‘PRAVDA’ and the ‘exploitation’ films ‘SUCCUBUS’ and ‘THE CORPSE GRINDERS’.

Ginnane’s initial experience in film distribution was gained organising specially imported seasons of Dreyer, Godard and Bresson for the Melbourne University Film Society. In 1969 he directed a 68 minute feature called ‘SYMPATHY FOR SUMMER’, but despite favorable reviews discovered that only the small and struggling circuit of independent cinemas in Australia were prepared to screen it.

Ginnane subsequently formed associations with independent Melbourne ex­ hibitors Robert Ward of the Dendy Cinema and Brian Davies of the Grand Cinema, gaining further experience in film exhibition and distribution. It was during this period that Ginnane started to examine the nature of foreign ownership of Australian exhibition houses.

In 1971 Ginnane and Davis established a distribution company called Studio Films and purchased Godard’s ‘WIND FROM THE EAST’ at a cost of $2,600. Through the distribution of this film they discovered the potential for making marginal profits from off-beat, limited audience films that major dis­ tributors and exhibitors would not handle.

In the following interview, conducted by Rod Bishop and Peter Beilby, Tony Ginnane discusses how he, became involved in distributing both ‘non­ commercial’ and ‘exploitation’ products; the problems facing independent ex­ hibitors and distributors; the Cannes Film Festival; his submission to the Tariff Board Inquiry and the potential for the low budget ‘exploitative’ film produc­ tion in Australia.

parison to a territory like the States where they charge $ 150 or more for a sin g le screen in g . A film lik e Godard’s Sympathy for the Devil (One plus One) can take $500,000 in a season on campus tours, but in Australia you might get $2,000 for the duration of the licence. So we can’t survive distributing just this type of material — it has to be incor­ porated with a more commercially oriented product.

We have to be less discriminating with the commercial product — the kinds of films available to indepen­ dent distributors have been, for one reason or another, rejected by the major distributors. They have agents all over the world and if it’s good they will have bought it. If they haven’t bought it, then there is some strange reason why they haven’t.

Maybe they have too many horror films of that kind, maybe they have som e deal with an op position producer who wants to stab the other guy in the back so they don’t buy it on purpose.

We bought The Vampire Happen­ ing as our first commercial film. I thought it might be a reasonably in­ teresting film with Freddie Francis as director and Pia Degenmak in the cast. We got the film for a sum a lit­ tle higher than Wind from the East, but the profit margin on Vampire has been quite outstanding — easily our most successful film to date.

CINEMA PAPERS: How did you distribute the Vampire Happening?

GINNANE: W ith The Vampire

Happening, The Corpse Grinders, Outlaw Riders, Succubus and other films of that ilk, our distribution pattern was modelled on our past ex­ hibition experience. We had seen a small group of independent dis­ tributors in Melbourne and Sydney screw the product because of the ine­ quitable terms of the American dis­ tributors. Practices like “time-bars” which prevent independents from screening films for long periods of time after they have been screened by the majors, or “full-line forcing” which the majors engage in — selling one or two good movies on contract with four or five pieces o f junk that should go out as second features, if at all.

We tried to—service the in­ dependents, so we released Vampire Happening at selected independent theatres: Dendy Brighton and Sandringham Drive-In, followed by a release at Gala Dandenong and

Anthony Ginnane

Forest Hills; the Panoramic at M orwell and other independent country exhibitors; Leisure Time Entertainments in Brisbane which at that time were an independent ex­ hibition group; City Theatres in Perth which were at that time in­ dependent; and the Wallis Group in South Australia who are virtually an independent Drive-In circuit. So with the exception o f NSW where there are virtually no independent ex­ hibitors, we have tried to work through what exists of independent exhibition houses across Australia.

We had our successes and have developed close relationships with Wallis and City Theatres but we were definitely ripped off by some of the country theatres who put in false returns. To a degree I don’t blame them — they have been given such a bad spin for such a long time by the major distributors that they have just got into the habit of sending back phoney returns. We offer all our films on a 25% flat deal or sometimes a 25% formula deal, with a 25% base figure. If they take less than their ex­ penses then they are not going to have to pay any more than 25%, which we regard as an equitable deal.

You can run any theatre anywhere on 25% film hire. You can’t run a theatre on 50% film hire, which in many instances is what the major distributors charge. We don’t release with “time-bar” or “ full line for­ cing” .

C IN E M A P A P E R S : H ow did Studio Films become involved with Community Aid Abroad?

G IN N A N E : C o m m u n ity A id Abroad through its subsidiary, Trade Action, decided to establish a com­ plex in the city which would include a cinema to exhibit the kinds of films Studio Films had been distributing in Australia. The complex is planned to commence construction next year and early on in the piece we decided th e only way a cinema o f that type could function would be to have a guaranteed supply o f its own product. We agreed on the form of product the cinema would have and decided that in the future Studio Films would restrict itself to com­ m e r c ia l f ilm s li k e Vam pire Happening. We also decided that a new distribution organisation should be set up by C om m unity Aid Abroad/Handicrafts of Asia and called Cine-Action Australia. I went overseas earlier this year, principally to go to Cannes, and bought 40 films for Cine-Action including; Tout Va

Bien, Blood of the Condor, Themroc, Going Home, Punishment Park, An­ tonio Das Mortes, Valparaiso, Valparaiso, Tupamaros, Letter to Jane, The Gladiators, Dream Life and Pravda, Therefore a dichotomous buying organ isation has been set up, although all the physical distribution o f the films is done by Studio Films.

Studio Films import commercial material, Cine-Action Australia bring in the off-beat stuff. Studio F ilm s distributes the two and hopefully both organisations will be increasing the quantity o f films dis­ tributed in the near future. : One o f the big problems facing the independent distributor is continuity

o f p ro d u ct. T he in d ep en d en t producer might handle one or two films a year, but the independent dis­ tributor must run at least 20 films a year and the only way to do this is to acquire some sort o f franchise. If I can tie this up during my overseas trip at the end of the year, we will have a library of 25 unreleased com­ mercial films and a continuing supp­ ly of 8-10 exploitation films a year.

CINEMA PAPERS: Does Studio Films deal with the major Australian exhibitors — Hoyts, Greater Union and Village?

GINNANE: One has to mellow a bit.

We started off very aggressively in­ dependent, my own attitudes were firmly set against selling to any of the major distributors. I still think you have to be as wary as ever of overtures made to you by the major exhibitors. On the other hand, there is a definite need for an openness in the Australian film industry and in one way the Tariff Board Report has aired a lot of dirty linen. Hopefully it will elicit a much saner attitude from all sides. As far as Studio Films are concerned, in this post-Tariff Report stage we are now being approached by the major exhibitors — previously we weren’t. It could be that in the past we just didn’t have the product to interest them, but it would be foolish to think the Tariff Report and the Restrictive Trade Practices Bill going through the Senate at the moment didn’t have something to do with this “new” attitude. From a financial point of view it’s obviously far more profitable for us to secure a r e le a s e th ro u g h th e s e m ajor channels. M ost cinemas have a character and personality all their own and it may be that one of our films would go better in Village’s R ivoli 2 than it would at the Independent Sandringham Drive-In. CINEMA PAPERS: How do your deals with major exhibitors compare with thWfc made with independent exhibitors?

GINNANE: We haven’t had all that much experience with the majors as yet. We have had one film released through Village and are about to have another released through Hoyts in Brisbane. But once the major ex­ hibitor decides to take your product our experience has shown that the deal we get from them compares favorably with the deal they might give a major distributor. There could be some exceptions in that you might find the second week’s minimum percentage might be lower for you — i.e. a minimum o f 15% as opposed to 20%. They m ight also be less prepared to match advertising costs with you than they are with major distributors, and perhaps less keen to give you prime exposure time; Or October or November which are traditionally the ‘silly seasons’ for box office. But these are intangible things, I haven’t had enough ex­ perience with them to cite any specific examples. But I think if you wanted to be cynical you could draw the inference from Andrew Gatty’s Seven Keys organisation who deal with Hoyts, They have had about eight films awaiting release all of this year and suddenly they are all com­ ing on at the same time — the Oc­

tober/November silly season. The inference from this might be that these films have been intentionally held up and placed at the least profitable time. The exhibitors of course would counter that by saying the films weren’t as good as those placed at prime time — which of course may be true.

CINEMA PAPERS: Is there any an­ tagonism between you as an indepen­ dent distributor and the major ex­ hibitors?

GINNANE: I don’t know about an­ tagonism — as film critic and film commentator I’ve said some nasty things about the m ajors. I ’ve probably said more nasty things about Greater Union than I have about Hoyts or Village, but the latter two have banned me from free lists at their theatres, while Greater Union have kept me on their lists for five or six years. I don’t want to give the im­ pression that antagonism exists, but if there is any on my part it’s an­ tagonism directed at some of the practices distributors engage in from time to time like excessive film hire, full-line forcing, distance and time bars etc. — in other words practices between major distributor and in­ dependent exhibitor or even between major exhibitor and independent dis­ tributor.

CINEMA PAPERS: Could you tell us a little more about film buying?

GINNANE: It’s important to es­ tablish the dichotomy between the foreign-owned distributors and the independent locally owned dis­ tributor. The biggest difference between the two is that the major dis­ tributor has a continuing supply of product from tied sources — i.e.

BEF have a continuous supply from Anglo-EMI, CIC have continuous supplies from Param ount and Universal. Roadshow have a con­ tin u o u s su pp ly from W arner Brothers, American International Pictures and others. On the other hand the independents like ourselves, Filmways, Blake and others virtually have to buy films one by one. You may buy three films at tne one time from the one man, but there is no c o n tin u o u s assu red sou rce o f product. The majors are always looking for that special independent film on the world market, but by and large they are assured o f a certain number of box office hits a year and a certain level of income. They have vertically integrated organisations with tie-ins in exhibition chains — there is virtually no way they can fail. On the other hand, we have to go after every film individually.

There are disadvantages for the ma­ jors however — they don’t have a great deal of muscle with the people who have given them the franchise.

It’s difficult for them to knock back a Machine Gun McCain or a Mafia or a Flames across the Adriatic (although they know they won’t get their money back on them), because they won’t get the big money makers if they do —. the Lost Horizons and the What’s Up Doc’s, the Easter eggs that come with the bad ones. But for an independent distributor, we don’t have to take a film that we don’t think we can recoup our expenditure on. When I buy a film I’m sure that

we will get our investment back.

With commercial films I make sure it has a package o f exploitable elements, so I know in advance that I can make an advertising campaign that will sell it to the public. When I buy a film I’m always conscious of how I’m going to advertise it, where I’m going to release it, how the ex­ hibitors are going to react to it when they see it, how the audience will react and what ‘word of mouth’ reac­ tion there is likely to be. But the audience reaction element is the last thing I’m conscious o f because our c o m m e r c ia l film s , b e in g e x ­ ploitations films, are largely ‘get in’ and ‘get out’ affairs. So if somebody doesn’t like a movie, and lots of peo­ ple don’t like Succubus, it doesn’t really matter because they have been pulled by the advertising campaign that we have used to bring out tne best . ..

CINEMA PAPERS: You mean you have trapped them?

GINNANE: N o, not trapped them.

But every movie we buy must have a gimmick — by that I don’t mean supplying nurses a f Drive-in doors with heart resuscitators to revive audiences freaked out by a horror film or give away free contraceptives at our sex education movies — but the film must have something within it that we know audiences are in­ terested in. We promote this and other elements in the campaign.

CINEMA PAPERS: What happens after you have made an initial approach to a producer or dis­ tributor overseas?

GINNANE: It comes down to one of two deals. The first is buying a film outright — it could be a horror film for about $U S2,500. For that you get total rights to exploit the film in your te r r ito r y fo r 5-7 y ea r s w ith theatrical, non-theatrical and TV rights. The $2,500 is a licence fee — on top o f that there are extra costs: $1,500 for the print including purchase cost; the freight on that print ($300-400); customs agents fees ($100 per print); duty ($350-400 per print) and screening fees (about $ 100).

When the states gave up their cen­ sorial rights to the Commonwealth, they ensured that the revenue they had previously gleaned from this ac­ tivity would continue to be paid in the form o f a flat fee — i.e. $25.00 for Victoria. So if the print cost plus the licensing fees come to $4,000 and you get six prints, your total outlay comes to about $12,000. Working on the thumb rule of 25% of receipts from film hire the box office takings will have to be $48,000 to give the distributor his $12,000 back. This isn’t difficult to do on a horror ex­ ploitation movie and should be possi­ ble in just the takings from the two major states. So, if you think the film is going to be good, an outright sale is probably the wisest move you can make.

You can argue that it may not be the most equitable deal and that more should be shared with the producers, but often when dealing with these commercial films you find that it isn’t the producer you have to deal with but some middle man who has bought the film outright off the Cinema Papers, January — 39

starring

Anthony Ginnane

producer for some incredibly small sum.

The second way of buying a movie is a participation deal. For example, you might begin with a minimum up­ front guarantee of $US2,500 and the deal would be that after the dis­ tributor has recouped certain expen­ ditures (which are usually the amount of that guarantee plus the cost of the prints, plus censorship, plus duty, plus customs handling, plus freight), then there might be a participation back to the producer or his agent of something like 25%. It could be higher — 50% or even 70%.

So if we take the outright deal ex­ ample, we see that under the par­ ticipation agreement, once the film grosses $48,100, the producer is en­ titled to 25% of the 25% the dis­ tributor gets as film hire. In this ex­ ample he would be entitled to 25% of $25.00. The payments are generally made monthly for the first two years and quarterly after that. A lot depends on the producers knowledge of the market. If he thinks he’s got a winner, then probably he will be more likely to seek a participation deal rather than an outright sale. But it doesn’t always work that way.

Som etim es the producer doesn’t know who the fuck you are or where the hell Australia is. He may be quite happy to do a participation deal on a film with England or the Continent where he can make an unscheduled stop in a matter of hours and check audience figures in person, but Australia isn’t really on anybody’s through-flight plans, so he may just take an outright sale to be on the safe side.

This brings us to the area of overseas trips. If a letter from Studio Films in Melbourne lands on some guy’s desk in Los Angeles, he doesn’t know who the hell we are and probably hasn’t ever dealt with Australia before. So he rings up a 'mate who has and he says: “Yeah, well Headless Blood Suckers is a neat little movie, cleaned up in San Francisco, better ask for $25,000.”

So we battle around with the guy and we might get it for $15,000, but generally speaking he won’t do any more than that. He knows he can sell the film to television as a package som etim e in the future, and if Australia doesn’t want to buy it for his price, well, screw them. And even if he never sells it, sometimes producers take the attitude that it’s better never to sell a film than create a precedent on a low price. But if you go over there, sit down, talk to the guy, clap him on the shoulder and say, “ How are things going on the Gaza Strip?” and buy him a bottle of Scotch, well, things are terrific. You think they are cute, they think you’re cute and everything works out fine.

But it can be tricky — we had to deal with a guy who must be ranked among the top two or three film sellers in the world. He quoted us a figure “X ” and we suggested “X-20” and he said “bye-bye” . Four or five months later after he had probably tried everyone else in Australia (and nobody is that keen on Sam Fuller movies anyway) we got it at the figure we wanted.

It doesn’t always work that way of

course. At Cannes I had a deal vir­ been sold by the time they hit the tually tied up with a producer at screen or have been marked up 500% what I thought was a reasonable because they were chosen for the of­ price when her co-producer, who was ficial events. Away from those three the money-man, thought: “Hell, I’m cinemas is the Marche de Film, the not shifting this film fast enough,” Cinema Market, which occupies and gave it to the N o. 1 film every other cinema in Cannes — salesman in Paris. Before we manag­ about 20 in all. These cinemas con­ ed to sign the contract he had the stantly screen films from 8.00 a.m. to price lifted by 25%. Just a matter of 12 midnight. twenty minutes.

One of the important things that But getting over there, meeting the came out of Cannes for me, was the guys, having a meal and a talk — willingness of people like Nick Hartwell, there’s no substitute. Most of Williams from The Other Cinema in the dealing these guys have had with London, Claude A n toin e from Australia in the past has only been France, Roc Demers from Canada with the majors and they are general­ and the Tri-Continental people, to ly unaware of the growing strength of handle on a reciprocal basis any independent exhibition and distribu­ Australian material thought to be of tion here. Yet they are warm to deal­ interest to them and their market. ing with independents, because they The opportunity to meet and inter­ have been getting screwed themselves view directors was enormous at for the last 30 years, they are well Cannes. The Directors Fortnight had aware of the Paramount litigation of use of a large house near the Grande the late 40’s, they know what it is still Salle and anytime you felt like it, you like in the States to a certain degree could just wander in there and have a and they have some idea of what it chat with whoever was about — it must be like in Australia. could be Straub or Pascal Aubier, CINEMA PAPERS: What is a TV for example — they would just be sale worth for you? sitting around having cups of coffee GINNANE: If we had The Poseidon and getting free food. Another im­ Adventure we would probably try to portant lesson learnt from Cannes, sell it in a package with a couple of and something the Australian Film duds like Eagles Over Israel and And Institute or someone must do next Hope to Die. Television sales in year, is to do what the Canadians did Australia still go in packages, and hire a cinema. The Canadians hired the Vox and all day every day although this has largely ceased to be the case in the USA. So we have to they kept screening the 10 or 12 films they had brought with them, even if wait until we have got a few good films which we can sell with a few there were only a couple of people in the theatre. They consistently adver­ duds. The price goes something like this: $500 for a dubbed Continental tised the films in the daily press and movie like an Eddie Constantine or a just kept presenting the product Chabrol; an American movie with a before the people attending the couple of stars might fetch anything Festival. They had a large office in between $l,000-$7,000; a big picture the C arlton H o te l, w ith free like “Ryan’s Daughter” or “Lion in giveaways like plastic carry-all bags Winter” might get anything between with Cinema Canada printed on $8,000-$20,000. You might be able them. This is the second year the Canadians have done this and their to get a little from some of the in­ overseas sales tally is impressive. dependent country stations, but that There is no discrepancy about who would only be something like $50.00. can show films and who can’t — if So TV income is virtually negligi­ you’ve got a movie you can screen it. ble for us at this stage, particularly as so much of our library is sub­ The Australian Film Institute would have as m uch ch an ce as the titled.

CINEMA PAPERS: How important Canadians of hiring the Vox for next is a Festival like Cannes for in­ year’s show. All they have to do is book the cinema, fly some movies dependents like yourself? over (no duty) with a couple of guys GINNANE: There is a sort of maxim equipped with press sheets and get a that you start your deal at Cannes couple of rooms at the Carlton and and sign the contract later, because every guy’s got to pay for his own we’re in business. I’d do it for them myself. hotel room and the Scotch he is buy­ ing you over the contract has CINEMA PAPERS: Did you buy probably been accounted for in the any films during the Festival? money you’re forking out for the GINNANE: Most I bought later, but movie. There are a lot of built-in fac­ at the Festival itself I got a pool film tors in actually paying the money for called The Player starring Minnesota a movie at Cannes. However the Fats for the commercial side of Studio Films, Dream Life (Mireille Festival is the most important event in the film year, equalled perhaps by Danereau), Etcetcet (Nick Reid), the MIFED Festival in Milan, but Themroc (Claude Faraldo), Dillinger MIFED doesn’t have the aura of is Dead (Marco Ferreri), and Blood Cannes. of the Condor (Jorge Sanjines).

The Festival has the official CINEMA PAPERS: Were these all screenings at a theatre about the size being screened at Cannes? of the Palais, two or three times a ' G IN N A N E : Som e o f them — day. Then there are a couple of other Themroc was screened as was theatres running the Director’s Fort­ Etcetcet. The guys Selling Etcetcet night which was set up in ’68 as an had a mobile bus equipped with a alternative to the official festival. It’s video console. They had driven down in these other theatres that we are from Paris and sent out a release say­ ing “ You don’t have to go to the likely to see films that are of value to the independent. Those shown at the theatre to see Etcetcet, we will bring official screenings would have either it to you in the bus” . So buyers just

rang them up on the portable phone they had in the bus, they drove it around to your hotel and you sat down at the bar in the bus and watch­ ed the movie on the portable video machine . . .

CINEM A PAPERS: Were there other Australian distributors com­ peting with you for these films?

GINNANE: We beat 20th Century Fox and BEF for a film they were in­ terested in, but in most cases the films we were interested in were not attractive to the majors. There was no film that I went after that I didn’t get at the price I wanted, apart from the occasional film we might want for Drive-Ins. There isn’t that much overlap between us and the majors, mainly because we aren’t competing for films for hard top cinemas.

CINEMA PAPERS: Was much in­ terest expressed in Australian film production?

GINNANE: A great deal, especially am ong A m erican in d ep en d en t producers, when they had some idea of the local situation — things like grosses on exploitation movies in all States. There was also interest from people like Adolfas Mekas who wants to make a movie here next year, and Godard who wants to come here on a lecture tour on his way to Japan.

But in terms of finance and back­ ing for films here, we weren’t able to talk about that very much because of the pressure of time in seeing films and buying them. There’s a great problem at Cannes — so much is be­ ing screened that you want to see, you end up with very little time in which to talk business. The real value is in getting to meet people who you might follow up at some later date.

My trip to Cannes should prove valuable when I remeet people on this coming trip to L.A. and London — especially with regard to two films that m ight be co-financed for production in Australia next year.

CINEMA PAPERS: So you see yourself branching out into film production?

GINNANE: Initially, I hope to produce a couple of films from scripts I’ve written. One is a crime drama involving drugs and the abor­ tion. enquiry, and the other is a m ed ical dram a in v o lv ed w ith National Health and beyond. Both of them are straightforward fiction narrative cinema and are what some people might denigrate as “ ex­ ploitation” movies. They lie in an area that I think is the last outpost of a certain trait in American cinema, almost extinct since the end of the 50’s and the coming of the intellec­ tuals to Hollywood during the 60’s.

I’m interested in action movies — films that hit you rather than confuse you, and I feel the films I’m planning will resemble the kind of movies I’ve liked from American cinema. The only area in which this is continued in the States today is in the cheap, low budget “exploitation” movies o f the Roger Corman variety. We think we can do that sort of movie out here on a low budget of around $50,000 — half from overseas and half from local sources. We know that a film costing $50,000 can make $200,000 plus from the Australian drive-in and Cinema Papers, January — 41

Anthony Ginnane

hard top market. We have proved it through our own distribution.

CINEMA PAPERS: Will you tie up overseas markets for these films?

GINNANE: That’s one of the pur­ poses of the overseas trip. I hope a reciprocal distribution agreement can be established which will guarantee us access to the product of our financiers. There are various ways to finance films like these. Get the money from the Bank, which holds the negative until the loan is repaid, and then proceed to sell the film territory by territory. Another way is to get a distributor interested in the beginning: it ’s a better procedure in some ways — the dis­ tributor has an interest in having the film do well in his particular territories. Or if you are really good, sell the film territory by territory even before production has been completed — on the basis of the treatment and the stars.

CINEMA PAPERS: Is it possible to have your film s financed one hundred percent by A ustralian sources?

GINNANE: I think so, but at the moment we want to build up as close a relationship as possible with distributor/exhibitor contacts in the world market and we feel we can do this best through a joint financial deal.

CINEMA PAPERS: Will you use Australian actors, actresses and crew?

GINNANE: That’s looking a fair way ahead at the moment but I en­ visage it as probably being 100% Australian crew with possibly one foreign member in the cast. But for this type of film the names in the cast don’t really mean anything anyway — as long as they are English soun­ ding. This means we can cast with a lot of freedom, not having to worry about the box office potential of the stairs CINEMA PAPERS: Will Studio Filsm distribute Australian films both nationally and internationally?

GINNANE: We are into two areas — the virtually non-commercial and the exploitable. I envisage us distributing non-com m ercial film s both in Australia and overseas. I have plans to take a couple of Australian films with me in December to show overseas contacts. I hope the deals I can get on them would be the same as we get on other films — a 50/50 split with expenses out.

T h e re is a b ig in t e r e s t in Australian films, we are constantly being asked by overseas people why we haven’t got more Australian films in our catalogu e. The answer specifically is that we have been building up our skills, and now that we have them, we can begin using them on distributing Australian films. It might be better just to act in a consultative fashion. The profit margin on off-beat products by name directors like Godard or Rocha is so small that if we did a 50/50 split on local products it could really mean the difference between the success or failure o f the film. We wouldn’t want to distribute to the detriment of the Australian film maker. The impor­ tance of the distributor’s role for the lo c a l prod ucer sh ou ld be his 42 — Cinema Papers, January

knowledge of conditions and prac­ tices in all parts of the world. He should be able to advise the producer of the right cinema and distributor for his film in every world market.

There are very few people in Australia who can do this.

CINEM A PAPERS: Could you detail the important aspects of your submission to the Tariff Board in­ quiry into the Australian film in­ dustry?

GINNANE: I made a submission on behalf of Filmways (the Dendy Independent Distribution Com ­ pany), Studio Films, Independent Theatres and others.

GINNANE: Most of our arguments were commented on in the Board’s report in one form or another. We argued for a restructuring of the duty structure charged on importing film into the country. At the moment any print of number of prints brought into the country is liable to a charge of five cents per foot which totals, for an average 35 mm., feature, at around $300-$400. For independents

like us, bringing in non-commercial films, this amount can be a crucial factor in deciding whether or not to sign the contract. We suggested a scheme something like the New Zealand scheme where no duty is charged on bringing films into the country but rather a percentage be taken off the gross film hire that pic­ ture accrues in the country. Our variation on this was that the first print imported would be free of duty and a sliding scale be worked out for subsequent prints of that film. This is based on the assumption that once a distributor goes to a second and sub­ sequent prints of the same film, he is into profit. The scale we suggested meant that for a distributor who gets up to seven prints of the one film, he would be paying twice the duty he would have previously paid for the initial print. We thought this was more equitable and suggested the revenue gleaned from this, an es­ timated 15 or 16 million a year, cou ld be ch a n n elled in to the Australian Film Development Cor­

poration of whatever body that becomes.

We also argued for an amendment to the Income Tax Assessment Act, so that there would not be preferen­ tial taxation treatment' for overseas owned film distributors in Australia as there are at the moment. We argued for a tightening o f the Restrictive Trade Practices Act which the Board said was outside its control. We argued indirectly for a divorcement or splitting of exhibition and distribution from production, and a further splitting of exhibition from distribution. We argued for a divestiture of some of their cinemas by the majors. We weren’t so bold as to suggest the divestiture in as many words, although the Board’s report took the divestiture proposal to its logical level — a physical handing down of cinemas by the major cir­ cuits — Hoyts, Village and Greater Union. We also aired a lot of prac­ tices and activities suffered by in­ dependent exhibitors which I don’t think was touched on by the major exhibition and distribution groups.

We showed that a very definite duopolization exists in the exhibition structure in Australia by Greater U nion/H oyts/Rank and Fox respec­ tiv e ly . W e sh o w ed th a t th is duopolization resulted in restrictive trade practices being used against in­ dependent exhibitors. We argued against a seat tax and an imposition of an Australian quota. We thought film production should be funded through a restructuring of the duty structure. Most of our submission was incorporated into the Board’s report with the major exception of the duty structure amendments.

Of course, the fate of the report is quite another question. There has been incredible lobbying by the ma­ jors and there has been comments in some quarters about potential af­ filiations between McClelland and various worthies within the ex­ hibition/distribution set up. I think myself, that divestiture of cinemas in the hope of promoting more advanc­ ed competition in the industry could only come about through the revised Restrictive Trade Practices Bill go­ ing through Parliament at present. If that gets through, then for the first time it will be possible for an in­ dividual to take anti-trust action.

Previously the matter had to be referred to the Commissioner of Trade Practices in Canberra and it was up to him to make a report. If he found that sections of the Act were being flaunted, it was up to him to take action — this however was con­ sistently not done in regard to the film industry.

Perhaps being a Government organisation, like most Government prosecuting organisations they like to keep a pretty high success record and if the case doesn’t shape up as clear-cut they like to stay clear of it.

If nothing else, the Tariff Report, for whatever motives, has got dis­ tributors and exhibitors-bending over backwards at the moment to take as many Australian films as they can lay their hands on, and even make token investments in production.

If I was an Australian film producer I’d be laughing behind my

Anthony Ginna.ie

back at the moment. The question is, how long will it last? When the heat goes off, will the distributors return to their previous form? The Board’s report suggests that the Board will meet in three or six years’ time to reconsider the situation and see if the necessary element o f competition has developed. The Board considered that if reformation of exhibition takes place, then reformation of distribution wouldn’t be necessary. If that turned out not to be the case, the Board thought there might be provision under the Broadcasting and Television Act — Section 92 concerning overseas ownership of communications media, to divest the foreign holdings from the major distribution companies. It’s hard to know just how effective the Board suggestions will be and it’s easy to be cynical of their potential legislative powers when you read a press report this week detailing Greater Union’s plans for a Triplex of cinemas in Pitt Street, Sydney — merging the Liberty with the Gala and adding another.

The problem I can foresee with this scheme is that it could force the m ore conservative sta te s like Queensland, Western Australia and perhaps New South Wales to retrieve the censorial powers they have handed over to the Commonwealth, While I support the notion of a total abolition of censorship, at practical level it could be detrimental if we have to revert from the uniform censorship existing at present, to the previous piece-meal situation, where different prints would have to be provided for different censorship levels in different states. For a lot of our non-commercial films, this difficulty would probably prove insurmountable. I think the way the “ R” certificate is drifting at the moment is from minus soft core sex and violence to plus soft core sex and violence, although we are still a long way from hard core material. While the “ R ” certificate is ahead of and leading community standards, it is not very far ahead at least in the ma­

or exhibitors cut “ R” certificate films to fit other categories?

GINNANE: It is quite common for distributors to authorise the censor to cut certain material to fit certain categories. We have never cut a film that we knew the producer or direc­ tor really cared about, although we are thinking about cutting The Corpse Grinders — which is a straight exploitation film, and I know the producer and director would be in accord with us in reduc­ ing the film to censorial level that would maximize its return at box of­ fice.

CINEMA PAPERS: Are films rated “ R” because of violence, likely to make less money than films rated “ R” because of sex.

GINNANE: Definitely yes — violent exploitation films that don’t have anything else going for them would definitely succeed better as an “ M” than an “ R” . In my experience the major audience for violent films are children between the ages of 10 and

The G ala was owned by an Australian family until this merger took place. Greater Union are only gaining one theatre but doing it at a time when they are supposed to be losing them. Village are building five theatres in Sydney at the moment, plus a twin at Bankstown. The ex­ hibitors don’t appear to be taking the Board’s report all that seriously.

CINEMA PAPERS: Do your exploitation films have censorship dif­

ficulties?

GINNANE: We have had very few problems. Wind from the East is our only film that has been cut to date — the words “ full of shit up to your eyeballs” and “cocksuckers” were deleted as subtitles. However that was before the ‘R’ certificate. But we do have problems with advertising material — I think the Board takes an unreasonable attitude to imported advertising matter. Any imported still, slide or poster has to be sub­ mitted to the censor with the film and the trailer. The trailer gets a classification, like a normal film, and the advertising material is either passed or rejected. I don’t think advertising material is any of the censor’s concern. If the material is o ffe n siv e , then th ere w ill be necessary Police Offences legislation in the relevant states to deal with it, as there is with other printed material. Apart from that, the new­ | spapers censor advertising material 5 as well — papers like the Sun and ® Herald. But as far as we are con, .. .. cerned, our relationships with the jor capitals. I think that within the . 17 who han’t see “ R ” material, censor have been pretty cordial. The next two or three years the “ R” will -CINEMA PAPERS: The advertising most significant development on the be expanded enough to include most ' for the American “ R” certificate c e n s o r s h ip s c e n e is S e n a to r - of the material distributors may wish film Walking Tall appeared very Murphy’s proposal o f a further to bring in. But in the United States similar to the'Australian “ R” film relaxing of the censorship laws to where a shut down on hard core Dalmas. Yet Dalmas went to four allow distributors to import material material seems imminent, many weeks in initial release and Walking that could not be screened commer- directors are publicly stating that Tall only one. Is th^ just discrepancially, but would be available for their production plans for the next cies between theatres^ private screenings. However, this few years will not include the kind of GINNANE: If I had%a choice of would not absolve those concerned material they have used in the past. where to put Walking Tall I think I from being prosecuted under the Thus, if we ever reach a situation in would have tried to put it ih East End state police laws if it was decided Australia, that hard core could be 2 and repeat the Billy Jack success that the matter was pornographic. A shown commercially, distributors with it — given it the almost idensimilar situation existed in America might find that very little 35 mm. tical treatment and sell that Billy before the Supreme Court decision material is available.

Jack had. earlier in the year.

CINEMA PAPERS: Do distributors CINEMA PAPERS: The reason I’m

asking the question is that films like

Walking Tall which has grossed something like $15,000,000 in the States, seem to me to be the kind of low budget, no-stars, exploitation movie that could quite easily be made in Australia. If they are made here how do we push them through the distribution channels?

GINNANE: Firstly, you would want to keep the violence sufficiently in tow to get the film an “ M ” cer­ tificate, or shoot sufficient violence to get the film an “ R” certificate in certain markets — like the Spanish market, where they love gore. And then get a proper cinema and a sensi­ ble advertising campaign. That would have got Walking Tall off the ground — the exhibitors here just didn’t try.

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you have trouble purchasing sub-titled prints?

GINNANE: In the States over the past couple of years all but the most entrenched and secure Art Houses have turned from art to pornography of either the “straight” or “gay” variety. Most of the Art House owners didn’t show “ art” films because they were “ b e t t e r ” , “heavier” and “intellectual”, but mainly for their sex content. With the increasing variety of American sex movies and the hard and soft core pornography — the quality film was no longer a drawing power for all but a select audience in the States. And as the States was the major source of supply for sub-titled prints, the op­ portunity to get these in Australia has of course been affected by the decrease in demand on the American scene. There is no question that the minority audience for sub-titled “art” movies is smaller than it has ever been, and what audience does exist is increasingly satisfied with Film Festivals, N.F.T. screenings and film societies. But worthy though these bodies are, and sterling though their efforts may be, there is still an incredible number of films that don’t get to Australia.

CINEMA PAPERS: Could you tell us how you plan an advertising cam­ paign?

GINNANE: With the usual material that comes with the film and what we know o f the lo c a l m a rk et. I sometimes think up catch lines on buses, trams, taxis — virtually anywhere. Even if I think up a catch line for a movie I haven’t got, I write it down in case it comes in handy.

Like for Vampire Happening we had “a kinky orgy of perverted erotica” , for the Corpse Grinders we’ve got “ an essay in gornography” , for Succubus we had “ a p sych oerotic bloodfeast of nymphomaniacal lust” — although with a title like Succubus you don’t really need much more. Art films are a different problem and with them we con­ centrate more on reviews, festival prizes, directors’ names and story lines. But with our commercial product, there are certain words that turn people on, so what we try to do is get as many of them as possible into the catch line. The idea is to find out the kind of audience you’ve got and .yvhat turns them on — sort of like running a brothel, I suppose.

Cinema Papers, January — 43

G. Glenn

G ILLIAN A R M ST R O N G

Gillian Armstrong

S X N ro m Gillian Armstrong is one of the 12 students in the Interim Training Scheme of the Australian Film School — a one year, course that requires the completion of three films; one 15-minute fictional film based on the work of an Australian writer, a documentary o f free choice and a 40 minute color fic­ tional film. Ms. Armstrong’s budgets have been $2000, $1800 and $4000 respectively.

‘One Hundred a Day’ is the first of her films at the School and is based on an excerpt from ‘How Beautiful Are Thy Feet’ by Alan Marshall. The film is set during the 30’s and concerns the struggles of a girl to survive the working day at a shoe factory after a backyard abortion.

‘One Hundred a Day’ is perhaps one of the most powerful and moving films made in Australia.

The following interview was conducted by Scott Murray at the Australian Film and Television School, November 1973.

CINEMA PAPERS: One of the almost too planned because David things that impressed me most about often complained that we should One Hundred a Day was its editing have gone to a wide shot at a par­ style. It is very tight and confident. ticular point when we didn’t have ARMSTRONG: Yes, well I plan the one, and so on. whole editing style beforehand, ex­ C IN E M A PAPERS: You never cept where I know I can allow myself covered yourself with master shots? freedom on the set. I may, for ex­ ARMSTRONG: No we didn’t. One ample, want close-ups of machinery time we really felt we had to go out that are hard and harsh. Well I can to a wide shot so we used the end of just go out and pick all the bits say­ my opening shot. When I originally ing ‘shoot that . . . and that’. Then wrote the script I didn’t,see it coming I’d give the bits to Dave and he’d sit out at that point, it was only during on his own and work out the mon­ the editing that I saw the need to. tage, because he knew what I CINEMA PAPERS: David obvious­ wanted. Basically though, the main ly had a large say in editing the film. structure of the film was planned, all Do you like working with other the sound and so on. Remember that editors? scene where the two girls are talking ARMSTRONG: I really like to have in the waiting-room? You then cut an editor because I’m still learning a back to the factory where Rosalie’s lot from working with them. I edited already sick and you’re still on her all my own stuff at Swinburne face. During that close-up the fac­ although I learnt a lot doing it. tory noise goes very quiet — it’s a C IN E M A PAPERS: How many sort o f pause before going back to films did you make there? the two girls who are now laughing ARMSTRONG: In the final year you very loudly. Well all o f that was make three films: one ten minute, planned, though during shooting I one commercial and an experimental thought that when we go back to the film which is anything you want to girls they should be harsh and cold make for six minutes. They train you and that it should all fit in with the to do everything — write, edit, direct mood. I’ve tried to work the film so etc.; and you read about all the direc­ that the sound, the image and even tors and so on. It was really good ex­ the movements of a scene react with cept that I ruined my first film, another one. which is about a man and his dog, CINEMA PAPERS: Some directors because I didn’t know how to edit. I have every shot so determined before was trying for over six months to shooting that the film is edited to stickytape all those little pieces begin with. Did you go that far, or together. were you more concerned with the mood o f scene?

C IN E M A PAPERS: I find the ARMSTRONG: Yeah I did. The ending a very well executed se­ finished film’s almost exactly the quence. Was that the way you sam e as the script I gave the originally planned it? cameraman and actors, except where ARMSTRONG: That was a very dif­ ficult scene to do. It was a little Rosalie is sick. I knew basically how I would edit it so there would be that human drama happening amongst all build up of tension, but I wasn’t too that machinery and repetition. I sure exactly how many times to cut wanted to say at the end: ‘That’s between her and her hands. I that, now back to the factory.’ therefore had to shoot it loosely and Originally I wrote it with both the I just said to her to sit at the machine noise o f the siren and some factory and work herself up. We did that all noise, but it’s very hard making in one shot with a couple of different decisions about real subtleties like framings. However it was planned in that. I didn’t w’ant it to be too heavy and overstated so I thought the siren that I knew I was going to use that shot gradually through the film. I would be enough. That’s I think the one weakness, I really think I should had all the directions and camera have had that factory noise start up movements planned out and only changed a few things when we got a again.

CINEMA PAPERS: I can’t agree. I new idea. Actually I think it was

think the tracks past the houses, and especially the dissolve, are sufficient because they give that impression of: ‘well that was today’s problem, now back to work like everyone else.’

ARMSTRONG: Yes, well that’s the impression I wanted to give and I thought it was obvious — but everyone keeps saying there should be factory noise as well. Actually that last shot was very tricky because we had to do day-for-night and when Ross King originally shot it, the houses turned out too dark, although the actors were fine. This is where Storry*was really good because he and Fred Schepisi saw the rushes and said to do a reshoot, which meant getting all those girls and the nurse back again — that’s why it went over budget. It was really good to have their support and to know they felt your film mattered as much as you thought it did.

CIN EM A PAPERS: The film ’s soundtrack is excellent in heighten­ ing the tension. In fact it’s almost a music track.

ARMSTRONG: Well we were work­ ing on it for weeks and weeks. When we originally went to do the mix we couldn’t because the factory at­ mosphere we recorded wasn’t strong enough. When we played it on their equipment it peaked and sounded all messy. As I needed a good, driving sound track we gave it away and went to the A.B.C. Sound Library and listened to every single factory sound they had. We ended up com­ posing the track like an orchestra; with a deep bass from a weaving fac­ tory, another from a cot factory and lots of stitching effects. In fact we ended up using all types of factory noises to build up the bass, rhythm and so on.

CIN EM A PAPERS: How many tracks did you have?

ARMSTRONG: Two dialogue, three effects and I think two loops. Yeah we had exterior atmosphere and in­ terior atmosphere with stitching on loops. Peter Fenton o f United Sound mixed it.

CINEMA PAPERS: Where did you get production help?

ARMSTRONG: Weil Peter Weir and Fred Schepisi came to the School as film advisers, in fact the whole thing about 15 minute films based on Australian writings was Fred’s idea. Anyway he selected four crews and each crew was supposed to do three films though it wasn’t really rigid. I was meant to use Ross Wood as cameraman when he pulled out a few weeks before shooting. I was really desperate when Bill Constable recommended Ross King. I was a bit nervous about it because I thought there would be big age gap problems.

Anyhow I gave Ross the script and he liked it which I was really pleased to hear. He then came round with me

and checked out the locations while I hurriedly explained about the film school, who I was, what the script was about and why we had to do a shoot in a ladies’ toilet in Balmoral at five o’clock in the morning. We started the next day and we had a really good working relationship.

Ross was the cameraman on Spy Force for four years and has a lot of experience. We did have a few problems in the beginning because he’s so used to shooting in a conven­ tional manner and would want to cover everything, do pickups and stuff like that.

CINEMA PAPERS: Was he insis­ tent about not cutting the line and things like that?

ARMSTRONG: He was a little bit.

In one scene I wanted a dialogue line shot from floor level and Ross said: “Shouldn’t we shoot from eye level?”

We generally compromised and shot both alternatives.

CINEMA PAPERS: The film is ex­ tremely well shot. The window, for example, is marvellous in bleeding just enough to suggest a gap between inside and out.

ARMSTRONG: Yeah, on the set I kept saying ‘Are you sure it’s bleading in, are you sure it’s bleading in?’

CINEMA PAPERS: What did you shoot it on?

ARMSTRONG: We shot on rever­ sal, this funny stock from Ferrania that we got cheap. Ross was a bit worried about it, it’s a bit grey and the definition’s not really good.

CINEMA PAPERS: What role did Storry play in the film’s production?

ARMSTRONG: Oh Storry was real­ ly good on One Hundred a Day because he knew that my film needed more time than had been allowed and he didn’t hold me to the deadline. He now realises you can’t do as much in a year as he thought you could, like this should have been finished by March not June. But that didn’t worry him because the film mattered more than anything else.

Then came the documentaries and he started to play his producer games, the ‘You’re here to learn’ bit. He didn’t see the final mix because I decided I’d had enough of producers after showing him a few cuts and stu ff. Storry decided that our documentaries would be an exercise in working with a producer, planning everything with him before we started. Also the editing time was really strict, only two weeks.

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you think it was just Storry or pressure from the boards?

A R M S T R O N G : I th in k th ere p rob ab ly w as so m e p ressu re.

Toeplitz started in August and he began wanting reports on what we were doing. However I still think that it’s in Storry’s mind that we Cinema Papers, January — 45

Gillian Armstrong

should be practising under industry conditions. I understand industry conditions and I understand the con­ ditions here. The half-yearly assess­ ment also contributed to the pressure because we didn’t have enough money and it was decided that if we went over on our documentary it would come out of our final film.

When I did a reshoot I used Bill Constable who’s here at the Film School, and though I didn’t pay him I had to make out my budget as if I had. So I was there screaming: ‘You’re not going to have this money taken out of my final film because Bill did the reshoot.’ If I was out in the real world I would, but I’m not. I know it’s not real money and that it’s still here for my final film.

CINEMA PAPERS: One Hundred a Day is a very controlled film. One also feels that the actors are tightly directed.

ARMSTRONG: Well some of those people never had dry rehearsals.

After I cast them, which took ages, I sent them the script and all the infor­ mation I could dig up from Alan, and the libraries. There’s also a lot of character development that happens in Alan’s story that I perhaps should have used, but it would have made the film too long. We went into all sorts o f detail like what they did every day, whether they smoked and what movies they liked watching. I found that all out from Alan who said the girls then liked to imitate movie stars. The detail he could tell me was amazing. You know he pull­ ed out these bits of old paper with snatches o f dialogue he had written down when he was an accountant in a factory during the thirties. In case I wanted to extend any of the dialogue scenes he gave me lots of slang and the phrasing people used, but I ended up sticking pretty close to the dialogue of the story.

Anyway I got the actors in here and we did a read through and they just did it straight off and it was so good and natural that I didn’t want them to do it again. I felt it would get stale because they reacted off each other so well. In the end I went away and thought: ‘Jesus I wonder if that always happens — maybe I’m being too easy.’

CINEMA PAPERS: Will you aim to use professional actors in the future or will you choose people on their suitability for a part, irrespective of their acting experience?

ARMSTRONG: Well those three girls were all professional actresses.

Jenee Welsh went to N .I.D .A . and has done a lot of work for Craw­ fords. She’s also the maid in Seven Little Australians. Rosalie I know learnt drama somewhere and worked with the Queensland Theatre Com­ pany for a while before coming back to Sydney. The A.B.C. casting lady recommended her after she had this small part in one of the Norman Lindsay episodes. Virginia was about the second girl to come arid see me and she looked so right that I asked her if someone had told her the film was set in the thirties. She hadn’t been, she just loved the era and had been in things like Hot Pants, and was originally a dancer. At the time she was with the E nsem ble in 46 — Cinema Papers, January

Goldilocks and the Four Bears,

One Hundred a Day, and this in con­

which I went along to see. I wasn’t really meant to audition, so I just gave the girls a read through. Rosalie came in and when she started speak­ ing it sounded so sad I just knew she was right. Virginia I thought I might have trouble with because she’d only been on stage — but she was the most natural and added a lot of little things herself.

CINEMA PAPERS: Going back to the break-down scene, I thought Rosalie was quite excellent, as was the close-up p rofile you used.

However, why did you use that cutaway of the needle going berserk, I don’t think you needed it?

ARMSTRONG: What happened was we had to find the right shoe factory for the period, because I couldn’t af­ ford to hire a factory and have 3000 extras sitting there machining. The pay is so bad these days that young girls don’t work there, only married women and Italians and I don’t know whether there were many Italians in Australia in 1930. So we had to disguise people and keep shifting them around. There was only one girl with young hands which could be Rosalie’s in the close-ups, and it happened she was Yugoslavian and couldn’t speak any English. She was so nervous she sewed all over the place, and I thought: ‘Well, that’s what happened and i t ' looks like som eone who is really having trouble.’ So it just stayed in during editing and somewhere someone’s shoe has been ruined.

CINEMA PAPERS: Does the film have for you any feminist overtones?

ARMSTRONG: Well it does, but only because my feelings about the film came out and because I was working with girls of my age who worked together well. Our script assistant was pregnant at the time and told us a few good bits and pieces. I have been approached by the Sydney Women’s Film Group who want to show it to housewives as a discussion film, which I hadn’t originally planned. Som e people have even com e to the School because they want to make social documentaries but I’m too selfish to think like that. I suppose if you feel deeply enough about something it comes out in the film regardless. I am more affected by a Ken Roach film than a documentary on mental asylums for instance, because I’m the sort of person who gets involved with the characters and narrative and it affects me emotionally in that way.

CINEMA PAPERS: In realising your films, how important to you is the theory of film?

ARMSTRONG: I try to be as free as possible but naturally all the books I’ve read at Swinburne are now a part of me. I mean there are different styles o f directing and handling ac­ tors, how much improvisation you do allow and so on. In the documentary I tried to allow as much freedom as possible and just follow the actors with the camera. I have a strong visual style but here I decided to let the cameraman go, I’d tell him what the action was and leave it up to him to m ove around and cover it.

Anyway everyone hates it, probably because they were expecting another

trast appeared to be so loose. Actual­ ly what I was trying to do was get a sort of naturalism, because the film’s planned for school audiences and I wanted to do something that 5th and 6th level kids could really identify with. So I told all the people to be themselves and see what happened.

When I first saw the film during the mix I felt so fresh because you realise th ese p eo p le are real, sim p ly themselves. It’s a film I really en­ joyed making and I want to play it to a high school audience and find their reaction.

As for my final film I’ve decided to go back to me and my expression.

I want to try that improvisational style as well as lots of other methods.

All I have to do is be given lots of money — it’s such an expensive game after all.

CINEMA PAPERS: You have been trying for a while to do Clay.

ARMSTRONG: Yes well I found Clay about three years ago and I’ve always wanted to do it. Storry wrote away to Patrick White and it was an excellent letter. However Mr.AVhite wrote back saying that Miss Gillian Armstrong may be the greatest film director ever and what Australia has been looking for and I wish her every success, but after my associations with Australian film-makers I wish never to be associated with any again — especially with the growing pains of a young film-maker. I believe he really has this thing about the media.

Storry wrote back saying that we could understand his feelings but that’s what the Film School’s for, to change this image by hopefully lifting the standard of Australian film-making, but he never wrote b ack . Actually" we are rea lly favoured to get a reply. I don’t know . . . I often think of camping on his front lawn or writing him a letter every day for six months.

CINEMA PAPERS: Could you then tell us something about your final film?

ARMSTRONG: Well I was writing my own script for it when Storry told me I should be concentrating on directing. So I started reading all sorts of stories and I even thought I may do another Alan Marshall as he’s so good to work with. However everything o f Alan’s was too short.

All his best short stories make a short statement, bang like that. I wanted to do a longer film with some sort of character development. So I locked m y self in the M itchell Library for two weekends and read stacks o f ‘Coast to Coast’s’ and ‘Meanjin’ thinking there must be some young Australian writer just waiting to be discovered ; . . Well I’m really disappointed in Australian writers, and absolutely amazed by the sameness o f all their stuff.

CINEMA PAPERS: Were you look­ ing for a particular type o f story?

ARMSTRONG: Well I didn’t want to do a straight narrative again nor a period film.

CINEMA PAPERS: One Hundred a Day is hardly a period film. The faces and clothes are well chosen but it’s in no way a costume film.

ARMSTRONG: Well I was really aware o f that and didn’t want to get

carried away with cars and stuff like that. Everybody knew that I really liked the thirties and that I would dress the girls that way j— in fact half the clothes they wore are mine.

Som etim es I felt everyone was laughing at me, thinking I was just having a wank — just because I like to indulge and wear red lipstick.

CINEMA PAPERS: So is this new one, isn’t it?

ARMSTRONG: Yeah I know . . .

Anyway this one is narrative, just like I said I wouldn’t do and it’s also set in the past. I’m a bit worried because I don’t want to be cast as some sort of period film-maker, but it’s such a great story. I was looking for a completely different type of script, something like the Gunter Grass style o f writing. He does the absurd in a very real way, with strange things occurring on the edge of surrealism, but I can’t find an Australian author who writes like that. Maybe the good ones are never published. Everything I read was set on a farm or orchard.

CINEMA PAPERS: Why only look at Australian writers?

ARMSTRONG: C o p y r ig h t problems.

CINEMA PAPERS: What about authors who died over 50 years ago?

ARMSTRONG: Well I was looking for a present day story, though I realise you can take the basic idea and convert its period. I just had this feeling that there must be somebody writing who would show the in­ fluence o f European writers. Well I just couldn’t find any and in the end I was just going out of my mind. Then I found Hal Porter’s Cats o f Venice and this story called Gretel. I originally thought ‘no’ because it’s a period narrative, but it’s just so good.

CINEM A PAPERS: Could you say something about it?

ARMSTRONG: W ell it’s about childhood innocence and beauty and not knowing about adult concepts of madness. To know that something you did to someone in your past, has affected you for the rest of your life. * Storry Walton, Director of the A ustralian film and T elevision School.

GI L L I A N ARMSTRONG: FILMOGRAPHY Early Swinburne: Small films of one to five minutes, d o u b le s y s te m . C o u p le o f animations.

Final Year Swinburne: Old Man and Dog. The Roof Needs Mowing.

Shit Commercial.

Kingcroft Productions Sydney: 1972.

Editor: New Life New South Wales for Immigration D e p a r t m e n t —— 2 0 minutes.

L ev is P r o m o tio n a l Trade Film — 15 minutes.

Ballina Country Town for Wilmore & Randall — 12 minutes.

Australian Film & T.V. School

Interim Training School: 1973 One Hundred a Day. Satdee Nite.

Gretel (in production).

Gillian Armstrong

Original Screenplay

by Gillian Armstrong SCENE 1

INTERIOR FACTORY DAY. 6.57 AM

1939.

THE DAY BEGINS IN A GIANT SHOE FACTORY IN AN INNER SUBURB. IT IS A HOT STUFFY MORNING — IT IS 6.57 AM. WORK STARTS AT 7.00 SHARP AT THE SOUND OF THE FACTORY WHISTLE. MANY UNIFORMED MEN AND WOMEN ARE D O T TE D O VER TH E HU G E FACTORY FLOOR. THERE IS A STRANGE HUSH, THE WHISTLE BLOWS AND WITH A DEAFENING ROAR OF MACHINERY WORK COMMENCES...

SCENE 2

INTERIOR FACTORY DAY. 7.00 AM MONTAGE OF PARTS OF MACHINES P O U N D IN G , T U R N IN G P R E S S IN G , CUTTING. PARTS OF SHOES POUR OUT OF THE PRODUCTION LINE. R E P E T IT IO N , P R O D U C T IO N , UG LY GRINDING NOISES, MOVEMENT. NONE OF THE OPERATORS ARE VISIBLE EXCEPT FOR PARTS OF HANDS. THE FACTORY, THE MACHINE HAS COME ALIVE. SCENE 3

INTERIOR FACTORY DAY. 4.05 LAVATORY AFTER WORK. TUESDAY SADIE, MABEL AND LEILIA ARE THREE YOUNG MACHINISTS. SUDDEN QUIET AFTER MACHINERY NOISE. LEILIA, VULNERABLE AND BEWILDERED IS D R A G G E D BY HER T O U G H E R FELLOW WORKER, SADIE INTO ONE OF THE TOILET CUBICLES. MABEL, SADIE’S BEST GIRLFRIEND IS SEATED ON THE TOILET FIDDLING IN HER BAG FOR THE MONEY SHE HAS MANAGED TO GET TOGETHER TO HELP PAY FOR THE ABORTION THEY HAVE ORGANISED FOR LEILIA. THEY WHISPER AND CONSPIRE. SADIE: Now Mabel has raked up a quid too. Did you get three?

LEILIA: Yes. MABEL (TO SADIE): Put it in your bag.

BENCHES. NEVER-ENDING M ACHINENOISES. SADIE: No I think Leilia should keep it. She will have to do the paying. You keep it Leilia.

LEILIA: When do I have to pay? Do I pay when I go in?

SADIE: As soon as she says she will do you.

LEILIA: She will do me straight away though won’t she?

SADIE: Not all in one night. You will have to go again. I think. You get rid of it yourself like.

LEILIA: I’m frightened.

MABEL: Hundreds go through it. It won’t be so bad.

SHE RENEWS HER LIPSTICK LOOKING INTO HER COMPACT. LEILIA SHUDDERS. SCENE 4

INTERIOR FACTORY DAY. MACHINISTS SECTION. LEILIA. SADIE. MABEL. 15 MACHINISTS WEDNESDAY. 8 AM. THE MACHINISTS SECTION IS PART OF THE HUGE SHOE PRODUCTION LINE. ABOUT TWENTY WOMEN MACHINISTS IN UNIFORMS AND HAIR COVERS ARE STITCHING UPPERS AT MACHINES SET. IN ROWS ON BENCHES. NEVER-ENDING MACHINE NOISE. THE THREE GIRLS ARE MACHINING BUSILY. LEILIA IN THE FOREGROUND AND THE OTHER TWO AT THE BENCH

BEHIND HER. LEILIA WORKS RAPIDLY HER HANDS WITH RED NAILS GUIDING THE STITCHING OF EACH UPPER SCENE 5 . EXTERIOR NIGHT SADI E. MAB E L . LEI LI A. NU RSE. ABORTIONISTS FRONT DOOR. 8.00 PM TUESDAY NIGHT. STRANGE HUSH. SADIE’S FINGER WITH ITS HARSHLY PAINTED NAIL PUSHES THE FRONT DOORBELL. THERE IS NO SOUND OF RINGING. THE T H R E E IN HATS AND G O O D DRESSES STAND CLOSE TOGETHER ON THE SM ALL VERANDAH, A LITTLE FRIGHTENED AND OVERAWED. MABEL: It is one of those bells that ring in a back room.

THEY ALL WATCH AS A LIGHT FLASHES ON IN THE HALL BEHIND THE GLASS PANELLED DOOR. A SHADOW APPROACHES AND THE DOOR OPENS. THE ELDERLY NURSE’S FACE APPEARS AT THE HALF OPENED DOOR. SHE SPEAKS COLDLY AND BRIEFLY. NURSE: What do you want?

SADIE: We want to see you for a moment.

NURSE: What about?

SADIE NODS HER HEAD TOWARDS LEILIA. SADIE: She’s in trouble.

T H E N U R S E L O O K S AT L E I L I A SU SPIC IO U S LY . LEILIA ’S FINGERS TWINE ONE WITHIN THE OTHER. NURSE: Come inside.

SHE STANDS ASIDE TO LET THEM IN. SCENE 6

INTERIOR FACTORY DAY. MACHINISTS SECTION WEDNESDAY 9 AM SADIE. MABEL. LEILIA. BACK TO PRODUCTION. LOUD LOUD MACHINING. IT IS THE NEXT DAY. LEILIA IS MACHINING DESPERATELY TRYING TO CONCENTRATE. SHE SETS HER TEETH. SHE MUST NOT LET HER PAIN S H O W . HER B O D Y IS S L O W L Y ABORTING. SHE HAD NO ALTERNATIVE BUT TO REPORT TO WORK. ECONOMIC DEPRESSION. OTHER GIRLS WAIT AT THE FACTORY DOOR EVERY MORNING HOPI NG FOR VAC ANC I E S . SADI E MACHINING BEHIND HER GLANCES UP CONCERNED YET NEVER ALTERING THE PACE OF HER MACHINING. SCENE 7

TUESDAY 8.05 PM INTERIOR NIGHT BACK TO T HE P REVI OUS NI GHT. ABORTIONISTS LOUNGE ROOM. SADIE AND MABEL. STARK, SEVERE ROOM, HEAVY FURNITURE. SADIE AND MABEL UNCOMFORTABLY SEATED ON A COUCH AGAINST THE WALL. SUDDEN LOUD SNIFFING. TWO HEAVILY MADE UP FACES. THEY CHAT IN LOUD WHISPERS AND LIGHT CIGARETTES NERVOUSLY AS THEY WATCH THE DOOR THAT LEILIA AND THE NURSE HAVE DISAPPEARED BEHIND. SADIE: I don’t like the.smell of this place.

MABEL: Neither do I. But no place smells as nice as your home.

SADIE: This doesn’t smell like a home. You smell it. It smells like a hospital.

THEY BOTH SNIFF AGAIN. CAMERA PANS FROM THEM AROUND THE ROOM PAST THE TICKING CLOCK AND THE FADED PHOTOGRAPHS OF CHILDREN ON THE MANTELPIECE TO THE CLOSED

DOOR. SADIE: I wonder what she is doing to Leilia now.

MABEL: Poor Leilia wouldn’t it be awful if she faints or something.

SADIE: We could get into a lot of trouble for this you know.

MABEL: Yes I know. I wish they’d hurry.

The quicker I get out of this place the better I’ll like it.

SCENE 8

INTERIOR FACTORY DAY. MACHINISTS SECTION 9.35 AM WEDNESDAY. LEILIA. SADIE. MABEL. SUDDEN RASPING NOISE OF MACHINING. HOT, NOISY. LEILIA’S MACHINE TEARS AT THE LEATHER. SHE WATCHES THE ROW OF STITCHING FLEEING FROM THE NEEDLE’S DARTING POINT. WAVES OF G ID D I NE SS . MAYBE SHE WILL COLLAPSE IN FRONT OF HER ROOM MATES. SHE WAVES DIZZILY MOMENTARILY, THEN STEADIES HERSELF. SADIE AND MABEL BOTH GLANCE UP FROM THEIR MACHINING WORRIED. SCENE 9

INTERIOR NIGHT BACK TO THE PREVIOUS NIGHT. 8.16 PM ABORTIONISTS LOUNGEROOM. SADIE. MABEL. LEILIA. NURSE. SUDDEN RAUCOUS GIGGLING. SADIE AND MABEL HAVE SETTLED SLIGHTLY IN THE STRANGE ROOM AND ARE BEGINNING TO ENJOY THE WHOLE DRAMA OF THE SITUATION. SADIE: Les would look if he saw you com­ ing out of here.

MABEL: Oo! Wouldn’t it be awful to be seen by anybody.

SADIE: Have you found out if Les is married?

MABEL: No. SADIE: You watch him. Don’t want you coming here too.

MABEL: Is it very awful.

SADIE: Yes it’s terrible. It hurts like anything, and sometimes it takes days. It happened to Nora Smith one day when she was working. It was awful. They carried her home in the boss’s car. She got the sack over it.

MABEL: What about Leilia. She has got to work.

SADIE: Yeah we will have to watch her tomorrow.

MABEL: If her old man found out he would kick her out. Her mother would take a fit Leilia reckons.

SADIE: They won’t find out.

THE NURSE ENTERS LEILIA BEHIND HER. LEILIA TRIES TO SMILE BACK AT THE OTHERS. THE NURSE ADDRESSES LEILIA. NURSE: Tomorrow night at nine.

SCENE 10

INTERIOR FACTORY 1 PM WEDNESDAY. DAY. MACHINISTS SECTION. SADIE. MABEL. LEILIA. TH E R O O M HAS B E C O M E EVEN STUFFIER AND HOT, THE NOISE MORE INTENSE. LEILIA TERRIBLY PALE AND SWEATING REELS AT THE MACHINE, EYES TRYING TO FOCUS ON THE STITCHING, HANDS TRYING TO STEER THE UPPERS. SHE SITS WITH HER KNEES TOGETHER HARDLY DARING TO MOVE. SADIE AND MABEL GLANCE AT HER MORE OFTEN.

MABEL PASSES LEILIA’S BENCH ON THE WAY TO THE LAVATORY. HER VOICE AS SHE PASSES. MABEL: I have the runs today Miss Richards.

THE AFTERNOON WEARS ON — LEILIA’S PAIN BECOMES MORE AND MORE INTENSE. SHE HOLDS ONTO THE MACHINE.' SHE HEARS THE OTHERS VOICES ALL. GABBLING TOGETHER. SADIE: Miss Richards don’t you think Leilia should lie down for a few minutes.

She doesn’t look well.

MISS R: What the devil is the matter with that girl? Are you sick Leilia: Perhaps you’d better lie down for a few minutes.

SCENE 11

DAY. INTERIOR FACTORY LAVATORY 2.00 WEDNESDAY LEILIA. EXTRAS. VIOLET AND RENE. THE FACTORY’S SICKBAY IS A TABLE IN THE LAVATORY CONFRONTING THE OPEN DOORLESS TOILET CUBICLES. LEILIA SLUMPED ON THE TABLE. A TOILET FLUSHES AND A GIRL LEAVES. GIRLS SEATED IN THE CUBICLES SPEAK TO LEILIA. VIOLET: God you look white. W hat’s wrong?

RENE: What you want is a good stiff gin.

VIOLET: Snap out of it Leilia.

SCENE 12

INTERIOR FACTORY. DAY. 2.20 WEDNESDAY. MACHINISTS SECTION.

LEILIA. LEILIA IS BACK AT THE BENCH TWENTY MINUTES LATER. SHATTERING MACHINE NOISE, HEAT, DUST. FINAL BUILD UP OF STRAIN AND NOISE. HER HANDS G UIDE UPPER AFTER UPPER. S H E HA S S U C C U M B E D T O T H E INEVITABILITY OF HER PAIN. THE MACHINE HAS TAKEN OVER. SHE ROCKS SLIGHTLY AS SHE WORKS PALE AND TAUT. SCENE 13 DAY. INTERIOR LAVATORY LEILIA. LEILIA ROCKS DOUBLED UP SEATED ON A TOILET IN THE EMPTY LAVATORY. SCENE 14

EXTERIOR NIGHT. ABORTIONISTS’ HOUSE. WEDNESDAY NIGHT 9.15 PM LEILIA. SADIE. MABEL. NURSE. THE DAY AT TH E F ACT ORY HAS FINISHED. THE GIRLS HAVE RETURNED TO THE NURSE’S HOUSE. THE ABORTION IS NOW OVER. MABEL HELPS LEILIA OUTSIDE. SHE IS PALE AND SUNKEN. THE NURSE S H U T S THE DOOR QUICKLY. THE THREE GIRLS FEEL THEIR WAY DOWN THE DARK STEPS. LEILIA WHISPERS. LEILIA: My baby's gone.

SADIE: Don’t talk about it.

MABEL: It’s over now.

LEILIA: I would have had a baby, it’s gone.

THEY STAND SHELTERING LEILIA ON THE STEPS. THEY BECOME TINY DARK FIGURES ON THE STEPS OF ONE HOUSE THE SAME AS ALL THE REST OF THE HOUSES IN THE STREET. ROW~ON ROW OF DRAB R EPETITIVE HOUSES IN DAYLIGHT. AND PRODUCTION GOES ON.

Cinema Papers, January — 47

■Si

48 — Cinema Papers, January

Cinema Papers, January â&#x20AC;&#x201D; 49

50 â&#x20AC;&#x201D; Cinema Papers, January

Raymond Longford

With Ray Longford, Cinema Papers begins a series of filmographies of prominent personnel, artistic and technical, Involved in Australian Cinema.

1908

1909

1911

1911

1911

1911

1911

BURNS-JOHNSON FIGHT, p.c: C. Spencer & H. D. McIn­ tosh. ph. & ed: Ernest Higgins. 4,000ft. dist: Spencer’s Theatrescope & others, released: Syd. Stadium 29/12/08.

Partial prints in existence. Significance: probably the first film Longford worked on.

LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF JOHN VANE, THE AUSTRALIAN BUSHRANGER, p.c: Spencer's Pictures, d: Steve Fitzgerald, ph. & ed: E. Higgins (?) I.p. R. Longford, J. Gerald, L. Vane, M. Clifton, released: Syd. Lyceum 12/3/10.

CAPTAIN M ID N IG H T — THE BUSH KING, p.c: Spencer’s, d: A. Rolfe. ph. & ed: E. Higgins (?) I.p. R. Longford, A. Rolfe, L. Dampier. 2,000ft. released: Syd. Lyceum 9 /2 /1 1 .

A G E N T L E M A N O F TH E ROAD — C A P T A IN STARLIGHT, p.c: Spencer’s, d: A. Rolfe. sc: adapted by C. Spencer from ’Robbery Under Arms’ by R. Boldrewood. ph. & ed: E. Higgins. I.p: L. Dampier, R. Longford, A. Rolfe. feature length, dist: Spencer's, released: Syd. Lyceum 16/3/11.

THE FATAL WEDDING, p.c: Spencer’s, d. & sc: R. Longford .fro m Meynell & Gunn’s stage play based on R. M. Clay's^novel. ph. & ed: Arthur Higgins. I.p: R. Longford, L. Lyell, W, Vincent, H. Fergus, T. Cosgrove, H. Saville, G. Ellis, Henderson, Clare, feature length, dist: Spencer’s, released; Syd. Lyceum 2 1 /4/11 . significance; Featured ‘the Tin Can Band’. Claimed by Longford as ‘the first interior picture taken in Australia; cost 350 pounds, took 18,000 pounds in Australasia’.

LIFE OF RUFUS DAWES, p.c: Spencer’s, d: A. Rolfe. sc: adapted by Spencer from 'For the Term of His Natural Life’

by M. Clarke, ph. & ed: E. Higgins (?) I.p: R. Longford, L. Dampier, A. Rolfe, S. Walpole, A. Neville, feature length, dist: Spencer’s, released; Syd. Broadway 19/6/11.

1914

1914 1915

1915

1916

1916

1917

1918

1918

1920

1920

1921

1921

1922

1923

24/11/23.

1923

AN AUSTRALIAN BY MARRIAGE, p.c: Commonwealth

1923

AUSTRALIA LAND OF SUNSHINE, p.c: Commonwealth

Government, d. & sc: R. Longford, ph: A. Higgins, released: Syd. Kings Cross 30/11/23.

THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND, p.c: Fraser Films, d:

e a r |je r

1914

POMMY ARRIVES IN AUSTRALIA or POMMY, THE FUNNY LITTLE NEW CHUM, p.c: Fraser Films, d & sc: R.

Longford. I.p: T. Cosgrove. L. Lyell, T. Hogue, H. Fergus, feature length, dist: Fraser Films, released: Melb. Snowden . 13/9/13. significance; Longford once claimed it as the first all comedy film made in Australia.

1913 ‘NEATH AUSTRALIAN SKIES, p.c: Commonwealth Film Producing Co. d: R. Longford. I.p: L. Lyell, R. Henry, G. Parke, M. Keith, C. Villiers, M. Barrington, W. Warr, T. Archer, F. Phillips, J. Williams, & extras playing stockmen, station hands, troopers, boundary riders. 4,500ft. dist: CoOperative Film Exchange, released: Syd. Waddington’s Grand 2 /1 2/13 .

1914 THE SWAGMAN’S STORY, p.c: Commonwealth Film Producing Co. d: R. Longford, sc: V. Pettengel, ph; T.

Higgins. I.p: J. Martin, C. Stevenson, L. Lyell, G. Corti. 2 reels, dist: Commonwealth Film Producing Co. released: Syd. American Picture Palace 2/3 /1 4 .

R. Longford, sc: L. Scott from novel & play by M. Grey. ph. & ed: T. Higgins, sets: J. Ricketts, E. Bedford. I.p: H. Thomas, Keegan, N. Kemberman, B. Adams, A. Shirley, L. Lyell, J. Martin, A. Clyde, N. Brooks, C. Villiers, Little Tuppenny, Little Rebe Grey. 3,800ft. dist: Fraser Film Release & Photographic Co. Ltd. released: Syd. Palace 13/6/14. significance; Wrongly claimed as the first use of the close-up in a film in the world; there were others much

THE. ROMANTIC STORY OF MARGARET CATCHPOLE.

p.C: Spencer’s, d. & sc: R. Longford from the play & historical novel, ph. & ed: E. Higgins. I.p: R. Longford, A. Neville, W. J. Coulter, E. W. Melville, F. Hardy, W. Vincent, F. Twitcham, M. Lavan, J. Goodall, J. Howard, H. Parker, J. Eldridge, C. Swain, S. Wilde, L. Lyell, ‘Arno’ — Spencer’s specially imported dapple-grey horse, feature length, (2,145ft in Britain), released: Syd. Lyceum 7 /8 /1 1 . significance; If release length was 2,145ft. then the National Library holds about 2/3rds of original film, laboriously step-printed frame by frame by the late Mr A. G. Harbrow of Melbourne.

1911 SWEET NELL OF OLD DRURY, p.c: Spencer’s, p: G. Musgrove. d: R. Longford, sc: R. Longford (?) or G. Musgrove from the play by P. Kester. ph. & ed: E. Higgins.

I.p: A. Neville, C. Lawrence, S. Clyde, W. Ladd, L. Woods, W. Edgeworth, W. Bastin, F. Pettit, H. Westall, A. Kendall, W. Vincent, E. Montaigne, P. Frances, W. Hindt, N. Vane, E. Rennis, P. Laing, D. Clarke, A. Keogh, R. Vane, Miss Nellie Stewart. 4 reels, dist: Spencer’s, released; Syd. Lyceum 2/1 2/11 . significance; First time an internationally famous Australian actress had been recorded on celluloid in her most famous role, c.f. Sarah Bernhardt in QUEEN ELIZABETH (1912).

1911 TIDE OF DEATH, p.c: Spencer's, d. & sc: R. Longford, ph. & ed: Tasman Higgins. I.p: A. Neville, L. Lyell, F. Harcourt, B. Harvey, D. Dalziel, D. Sweeney, G. Flinn, F. Twitcham, A. Steel, J. Hamilton, L. Cumming, Little Annie Gentile, J. Goodall, F. Laurence, R. Henry, O. Cottey, A. Clyde, E. Olliffe, E. Melville, A. Holroyd, R. Rennis, ‘Arno’ the horse, feature length, dist: Spencer's, released; Syd. Lyceum 15/4/12.

1912 THE MIDNIGHT WEDDING, p.c: Spencer’s, d. & sc: R. Longford, from W. Howard’s play. ph. & ed: E. Higgins. I.p: A. Neville, J. Barry, N. Kemberman, A. Smith, V. Loydell, T. Howard, T. Leonard, D. Judge, H. Saville, R. Henry, D. Dalziel, G. Parke, L. Lyell, F. Twitcham, J. Goodall, R. Hall, B. Barrington, P. Filmer, O ’Toole, A. Levy, and ‘Arno’ the horse. 3 reels, dist: Spencer’s, released; Syd. Lyceum 7/1 2/12 . significance; First film taken in Spencer’s new studio at White City, Sydney, then considered ‘one of the most up-to-date studios in the world’ (Longford).

1913 NAMING THE FEDERAL CAPITAL OF AUSTRALIA, p.c: Spencer’s, d: R. Longford, ph. & ed: E. Higgins. 1,020ft. dist: Spencer’s, released; Syd. Lyceum, March 1913. significance: Although one of over a hundred Australian gazettes that Spencer and his crew produced, it is impor­ tant because Australia and Brazil are two of the few nations of the world to have a cinematic record of the founding of their national capital. A complete copy is held by the National Library.

1913 AUSTRALIA CALLS, p.c: Spencer’s, d. & sc: R. Longford from a J. Barr & C. A. Jeffries story, ph. & ed: Ernest & Arthur Higgins. I.p: W. E. Hart, A. Warr, also large number of Australian Chinese extras as troops. 4,000ft. dist: Spencer's, released: Syd. Lyceum 19/7/13. significance; Depicted an invasion of Australia by Asian troops and Sydney bombed from the air. First film about the ‘Yellow Peril’; first tim e mass extras used (from Sydney's Chinatown); and first time model photography exploited in an Australian film. Longford also claimed it as the first film in the world to show wireless (Father Shaw’s wireless sta­ tion at Coogee Heights). Note; not to be confused with a Commonwealth immigration film of the same title made by Longford in 1923.

1913

-■

1924

1925

TAKING HIS CHANCE, p.c: Higgins-Longford Films, d. &

sc: R. Longford, from a H. Lawson poem. ph. & ed: Higgins Bros. (?)

TROOPER CAMPBELL, p.c: Higgins-Longford Films, d. & sc: R. Longford from a H. Lawson poem. ph. & ed: Higgins Bros. (?)

MA HOGAN’S NEW BOARDER, p.c: Fraser Films, d. & sc: R. Longford, from story by A. Wright. I.p: C. Evans, B. Gilbert, Q. Cross, E. Vockler. released: Syd. Strand Kinema de Luxe 1/7/15. irs A LONG WAY TO TIPPERARY, p.c: Higgins Bros. d. & sc: Higgins Bros (?), G. Dean (?). I.p: Adele Inman.

Longford mentioned this in his own filmography but specifically said the direction was by the Higgins Brothers so possibly he played some other role in its production, released: Syd. Lyceum 16/11/15 (?).

A MAORI MAID’S LOVE, p.c: Vita Film Corporation, d: R. Longford, sc: R. Longford & L. Lyell. ph: W. Franklyn Barrett (?) I.p: L. Lyell, R. Longford, K. Carlisle. 5 reels, dist: Eureka Film Exchange, released: Syd. Alhambra 10/1/16. significance; One of the first of many Australian films to be made in N.Z. (?)

MUTINY OF THE BOUNTY, p.c: Crick & Jones, d. & sc: R. Longford, ph: W. F. Barrett, C. Newham. I.p: G. Cross, J. Storm, D. A. Dalziel, W. Power, R. Collins, E. Crosetto, H. Beaumont, C. Villiers, M. Taupopoki, M. Amohau, G. Adams, L. Miller, A. Guilford, L. Lyell. 5 reels, dist: Crick & Jones, released: Syd. Hoyts, George St. 2/9/16. significance; Described by Longford as 'the first historical film taken in Australia, sic. — in fact it was shot mainly in N.Z. and his own Margaret Catchpole, Rufus Dawes etc. were earlier ‘historical films’.

THE CHURCH AND THE WOMAN, p.c: LongfordPugliese. d: R. Longford, asst, d: Pat McGrath, sc: R. Longford from the novel 'The Priest’s Secret’ by Edmund Finn. ph. & ed: E. Higgins. I.p: P. Walsh, H. R. Roberts, L. Lyell, B. Irwin, P. McGrath, N. Conrade, J. P. O’Neill, R. W. Phillips, Miss Hillyer, G. K. C. Bonar. 6 reels, dist: C. F. Pugliese. released: Syd. Theatre Royal 13/10/17.

THE WOMAN SUFFERS, p.c: Southern Cross Feature Films Co. d. & sc: R. Longford, ph: A. Higgins. I.p: B. Irwin, C. Martyn, P. Baxter, C. R. Stanford, I. Gresham, E. Black, C. H. Francis, R. Conway, L. Lyell, L. Dunbar, T. Woodville, J. Martar, H. Beaumont, H. Walsh, M. Morton, H. Goodfellow, D. Wadham, B. Lawrence, W. Miller, W. Pritchard, P. Wadham. 8 reels, dist: Southern Cross Feature Film Co. & Mr. Wiseman in Syd. released: Adelaide Theatre Royal 23/3/18.. significance; ‘For no reason ever given, and despite Longford's pleas and questions put to the Chief Secretary in the Legislative Assembly, by Mr. Broodfield, the film was banned in N.S.W. on 22/10/18.’ (M.J.W.) Despite this it was popular in all other states.

THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE, p.c: Southern Cross Feature Films, d: R. Longford, sc: R. Longford & L. Lyell from the verses by C. J. Dennis. I.p: A. Tauchert, L. Lyell, G. Emery, M. Reid, H. Young, B. Coulter, H. Fergus, C. Keegan. . feature length, dist: Southern Cross Feature Film Co. world’s distribution handled by E. J. & Dan Carroll, released: Melb. Town Hall 4/10/18. Significance; The only true Australian classic. Reputed to be have cost 2thousand pounds — made a great profit here and overseas. Copy with piano sound track preserved at National Library. One of the few Australian films for which the original full shooting script was discovered by R. Cooper.

GINGER MICK, p.c: Southern Cross Feature Film Co. d. & sc: R. Longford, sc: L. Lyell from C. J. Dennis verses ‘The Moods of Ginger Mick’ and ‘Doreen’, ph. & ed: A. Higgins, ed: A. Higgins, R. Longford. I.p: G. Emery, A. Tauchert, L. Lyell, Q. Cross, J. Tauchert. 5,500ft. dist: E. J. & Dan Carroll (Aust.), Gaumont (U.K.). released: Melb. Town Hall

1926

1926

1926

1926

1926

1932

1932

1933

1933

1933

1933

2 / 2 / 20 .

ON OUR SELECTION, p.c: E. J. Carroll, d. & sc: R.

Longford from Steele Rudd’s novel, ph: A. Higgins, titles Syd. Nicholls. I.p: P. Walshe, B. Esmond, F. Coleman, C. Beaumont, A. Wilson, O. Willard, T. Ordell, E. Johnson, N. Bissell, A. Greenaway, C. Coleman, D. Edelston and several others not credited including those who played ‘Cranky Jack’ and Billy Bearup, as well as Betty Cashel and P. Agnew aged 2 and 3 weeks respectively, who represented the newborn twins. 5,130ft. dist: E. J. Carroll, released: Brisbane West’s Olympia, 24/7/20. significance; A complete copy is held by National Library.

RUDD’S NEW SELECTION, p.c: Southern Cross Picture Productions Ltd. d: E. J. Carroll, d. & sc: R. Longford from Steele Rudd's ‘On Our New Selection', ph. & ed: A. Higgins.

I.p: J. P. O’Neill, A. Clyde, T. Ordell, L. Lyell, C. Beaumont, L. Fors, B. Williams, E. T. Hearne, D. Varley, C. Marsh, M. Renne, the Ramiers (twins). 6,000ft. dist: E. J. & Dan Carroll, released: Syd. Strand & Lyric 28/5/21.

THE BLUE MOUNTAINS MYSTERY, p.c: E. J. & Dan Carroll, d: R. Longford, asst. d. & sc: L. Lyell from Harrison Owen's ‘Mount Marunga Mystery’, ph: A. Higgins. I.p: M. Osborne, V, Edwards, I. Shilling, R. Barry, B. Vere, B. William^, J. de Lacey, J. Faulkner. 6,000ft. dist: E. J. & Dan Carroll, released: Syd. Lyceum 5/11/21, THE DINKUM BLOKE. British title: A GENTLEMAN IN MUFTI) p.c: Longford-Lyeir Australian Picture Productions Ltd. d. & sc: R. Longford, asst. d. & sc: L. Lyell. ph: Lacey Percival, I.p: A. Tauchert, L. Lyell, B. Gow, G. Cross, L. Thompson, C. B. Scott, R. Sandeman, J. Raymond, D. Daye. 6,200ft. dist: Paramount in Australia, Gaumont in Britain, released: Syd. Hoyt’s de Luxe 2/6/23. significance; Cost 84,846/16/8. — grossed £5,831/17/6 from 511 Australian exhibitors in less than 16 months, and before end of 1923 Gaumont paid £2,796/16A for distribution rights in Britain.

AUSTRALIA CALLS, pc: Commonwealth Government, d. & sc; R. Longford, ph: A. Higgins, released: Syd. Rialto

1934

1934

1940 1941

Government, d. & sc: R. Longford, ph: A. Higgins.

FISHER’S GHOST, p.c: Longford-Lyell Australian Film Productions, p: Charles Perry, d. & sc: R. Longford (& L. Lyell?) ph: A. Higgins. I.p: R. Purdie, L. Esmond, J. Faulkner, W. Ryan. 5,000ft. dist: Longford-Lyell Australian Film Productions, released: Syd. Hoyts de Luxe 4/1 0/24 .

THE BUSHWHACKERS, p.c: Longford-Lyell Productions, d. & sc ; r. Longford (& L. Lyell?) ph: A. Higgins, assoc, d: C. E. Perry, asst, d: F. Twitcham. I.p: E. Reilly, S. Southern, B. Gow, R. Blandford, G. Chalmers, feature length, dist: Australasian Films Ltd. released: Syd. Lyric, Wintergarden & Lyceum 25/7/25.

THE PIONEERS, p.c: Australasian Films Ltd. d: R. Longford, sc: L. Lyell from novel by K. S. Pritchard, ph: A. Higgins, ed: A. Higgins & R. Longford. I.p: A. Neville, G. Chalmers, V. Beresford, W. Dummitt, R. Purdie, W. Thorn­ ton. 8,U00ft. dist: Australasian Films Ltd. released: Syd. Lyceum & Haymarket 5/6 /2 6 .

TALL TIMBERS, p.c: Australasian Films Ltd. d: Dunstan Webb, (doubt exists as to whether Longford directed on this film or not) sc: D. Webb from a story by Louis Esson. ph: Lacey Percival, (?) I.p: E. Landeryou, B. Sim, G. Willoughby, C. Holland, R. Wilson, J. McMahon, C. Beetham, D. Gallagher, N. Ferguson, R. Watson, J. O ’Neill, B. Murray, H. Levinsohn. 7,000ft. dist: Australasian Films, released: Syd. Lyceum & Lyric Wintergarden 21 /8/26 .

SUNRISE, p.c: Australasian Films, d: Stuart-Whyte (but R. Longford finished it but never mentioned it as one of his films) sc: Mollie Mead, M. Keith, ph: Len Roos. I.p: R. Travers, Z. Clinton, H. Hodson, D. Webb, P. dii Barry.

6,000ft. dist: Australasian Films, released: Syd. Empress & Lyric Wintergarden 26/10/26.

PETER VERNON’S SILENCE, p.c: Longford-Lyell, film. d. & sc: R. Longford (& L. Lyell?) ph: A. Higgins. I.p: W. Hunt, L. May, R. Blandford, B. Gow. 5,830ft. dist: Australasian Films Ltd. released: Syd. Empress 30/10/26.

HILLS OF HATE, p.c: Australasian Films, d. & sc: R. Longford, s.p: Victor H. Longford (his son), a.d: F. Twitcham. sc: E. V. Timms from his novel, ph: A. Higgins.

I.p: D. Gordon (Andrea), G. Collingridge, ‘Big Bill’ Wilson, C. Toone, K. Wilson, S. Lonsdale, W. Thornton, C. Stratton, T. Dalton, K. Gallagher, E. Paton, J. Laurie, A. Ryan, R. Olive. 6,000ft. dist: Australasian Films Ltd. released: Syd. Lyric Wintergarden 27/11/26.

THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE, p.c: Efftee Films, d; F, W. Thring. sc: C. J. Dennis, ph: A. Higgins. I.p: C. Scott, R. Fisher, T. Ordell, A. Tier, D. Mostyn, K. Desmond, W. Ralston, K. Towers, released: Melb. Hoyts de Luxe 26/3/32. significance; Complete copy held by National Library. (Longford claimed he 'was associated' with E. T. Thring on this & other Efftee films.)

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, p.c: Efftee Films, d: F. W. Thring: sc: adapted by C. J. Dennis from a story by George Wallace, ph: A. Higgins, m: Alaric Howitt. a.d: W. R. Coleman, sd: Alan Mill. I.p: G. Wallace, M. Crosby, J. Dobbie, F. Tarrant, D. Warne, L. Vernon, C. Milton, N. Taylor, J: Fernside, E. Brett, F. Fisher, B. Walkley. 87 mins. b. & w. dist: Universal, released: Melb. Hoyts de Luxe 29/10/32.

Longford once claimed he ‘was associated with F. T. Thr­ ing on this & other Wfftee films, significance; Complete copy held.

DIGGERS IN BLIGHTY, p.c: Pat Hanna Productions, d. & sc: Pat Hanna, assoc, d: Longford, ph: A. Higgins, sd: Alan Mill, s.d: W. Coleman. I.p: P. Hanna, J. Valli, G. Moon, N. French, J. d’Arcy, P. Irving, T. Scott, I. Ci;ossley, R. Longford (he played a German), G. Hastings, G. Randall,.

A. Frith, feature length, dist: Pat Hanna Productions, released: Melb. Hoyts de Luxe 11/2/33. significance; Complete copy held by National Library.

HARMONY ROW. p.c: Efftee Films, d: F. W. Thring. Assoc d; R. Longford. I.p: G. Wallace, M. Crosby, E. Brett, J. Dobbie, B. Kerr, P. Baker, feature length, dist: Efftee Films, released: Hoyts de Luxe 11/2/33. significance; Complete copy held by National Library.

WALTZING MATILDA, p.c: Pat Hanna Productions, d. & sc: P. Hanna, assoc d: R. Longford. I.p: P. Hanna, J. Valli, N. French, D. Parnham, J. Lang, N. Mortyne, F. Fisher, C. Browne, J. Ambler, released: Melb. Hoyts de Luxe 2/12/33.

THE HAYSEEDS, p: Beaumont Smith, d: R. Longford. I.p: C. Kellaway, J. Moore, S. Dale, T. Ordell, K. Towers, A. Clarke, M. Raynor, K. Brampton, feature length, dist: Beaumont Smith, released: Syd. Civic 9/1 2/33 .

THE MAN THEY COULD NOT HANG, p.c: Invicta Films, d: R. Longford. I.p: R. Roberts, A. W. Sterry, E. Bashford, O. Sinclair, P. Minchin, E. Gabriel, C. Barnes, S. Stern, L. Wharton, G. Doran, V. Fitzherbert, B. Beaumont, W. N. Carroll, feature length, dist: Invicta Films, released: Syd. Civic 1/6/34. significance; An incomplete copy is held by the National Library.

SPLENDID FELLOWS, p. — d: Beaumont Smith. I.p: E. Coleman, F. Leighton, I. Mahon, F. Bradley, A. Higginson, L. Franklyn, P. Ross, feature length, dist: Beaumont Smith, released: Syd. Lyceum 17/11/34. (Longford said he was associated with Mr. Beaumont Smith on this and HAYSEEDS.) significance; A copy is held by the National Library.

WINGS OF DESTINY, p.c: Enterprise Films, d: Rupert Kathner. I.p: P. McDonald, J. MacMahon, G. Lloyd, M. Crosby, R. Longford, released: Syd. Capitol, 13/9/40.

THE POWER AND THE GLORY, p.c: Argosy Films, d: N. Mortkman. I.p: K. Rosselle, E. Bush, L. Vernon, P. Finch, E. Reiman, S, Wheeler, J. Valli, C. Kilburn, B. Wenban, R. Longford: released: Syd. Mayfair, 4 /4 /4 1 .

COMPILED BY: R. F. Cooper and M. T. Wasson.

SOURCES: Mrs. E. Longford fo r typescript of Longford’s films. M. W asson, L> W asson, A. P ike, R. C op per (u npublished manuscript). Research by Joan Long. E. Reade: Australian Silent Films (Lansdowne, Melb. 1970) and The Talkies Era (Lansdowne, Melb. 1972). ; KEY:

p.c: production company p: producer d: director sc; scenario ph: photography asst, ph: assistant photographer

asst, d: assistant director asst, p: assistant producer a.d: art direction mus: music I.p: leading players ed: editing

Cinema Papers, January — 51

I want on Interpositive Reversal Composite Pan Master Dupe Negative Reduction Print with a Hi-Con Interneg Work P rin t!! , .

Peter Watson, Managing Director VFL

VII,.

In the first of a series of articles on Australian film laboratories, V incent M onton visits the V ictorian Film Laboratories in Melbourne. In the following interview Peter W at­ son, the managing director of V .F.L., discusses laboratory prices, the Eastman color analyser, Super 16, the new 7247 color negative, and ways in which a laboratory can assist in the produc­ tion of a film.

Vincent Monton, a freelance cameraman, has recently return­ ed from an overseas tour during which he visited major laboratories in England and Europe.

CINEMA PAPERS: Could you tell us how the lab. got started?

WATSON: I started off originally with a fellow called Stan Adams in 1946. We formed a company called Adams Film Service, which later became AFS Labs. Stan dropped out in 1954 and I formed this company with Peter Lord in 1959.

CINEMA PAPERS: Did you start with 35mm processing?

WATSON: N o, we started off with 16mm exclusively and didn’t start any 35mm till 1963.

CINEMA PAPERS: Has the use of 35mm increased over the past 10 years?

WATSON: N o, I think it’s on the decrease. As emulsions improve and the need to keep costs down becomes more important 35mm will fall off except for theatrical feature release.

At the same time there’s a tendency to use 16mm original and a 35mm blow-up release print.

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you see much future in 16mm and Super 16mm blow-ups?

WATSON: Yes, I think there’s a future in it. Emulsions are the only limitation, but Pm sure they’ll con­ tinue to improve.

CINEMA PAPERS: Lrs. Swanberg, the technical director o f the Swedish Film Institute told me that in the near future 35mm would be reserved for wide-screen anamorphic use and release printing — the rest would be taken over by 16mm.

WATSON: This is quite possible.

52 — Cinema Papers, January

The only reason why 16mm isn’t be­ ing used more in theatres for release material is that you simply don’t get the illumination on the screen.

CINEMA PAPERS: One of the ma­ jor exhibitors apparently plans to in­ stall 16mm projection facilities in all their new cinemas.

WATSON: Yes, but as I say, the problem is screen intensity.

CINEMA PAPERS: Would you recommend a 35mm release print for sound quality too?

WATSON: I think that in the future sound quality will be one of the lesser worries. Getting a brilliant picture is the main thing. New stocks are becoming available for 16 sound which should be perfectly compatible with 35mm.

CINEMA PAPERS: I remember a few years ago everyone would tell you not to touch 7254, the 16mm negative, whereas now it’s quite acceptable, and in fact preferred to reversal for many jobs.

WATSON: Well when it was first available Kodak didn’t recommend it, they would only supply it on order — they didn’t consider that the grain or definition was good enough. H ow­ ever, although they’ve never claimed it, I think that the emulsion has been improved in the last few years.

CINEMA PAPERS: How good is the new 7247 negative?

W A TS O N : F rom th e K od ak demonstration film the impression I got was that a print from 7247 was comparable to a 7387 print from

................. Dump These in the Soup !

7252 in grain and definition.

CINEMA PAPERS: Kodak claim for their 7247 negative the same latitude and speed as their 7254 negative. So what we appear to have is a stock with all the positive aspects o f the negative, i.e. speed and latitude and all the positive aspects of the reversal, i.e. reduced grain and greater definition.

WATSON: Yes. CINEMA PAPERS: So it’s almost all we’ve ever wanted in a 16mm stock.

WATSON: Yes, and there are ad­ vantages in the processing too. It’s a much quicker process, there are smaller amounts of chemicals in all the baths, and the waste pollution aspect of it is much better — you don’t put out so much objectionable chemicals into your drains as you do with the 7254 processing.

CINEMA PAPERS: Is it a cheaper process?

WATSON: I think that it will be, y es, b eca u se you use less o f everything. But o f course i t ’s quicker, and that’s the main' thing, you save time.

CINEMA PAPERS: When do you think it will be available in this country?

WATSON: I was speaking to John Clements at Kodak yesterday and he said that they wouldn’t take any 7247 until they can get all their re­ quirements — not mixed lots of 7254 and 7247 as they were going to be supplied. They don’t anticipate this until at least June ’74, and possibly even later.

CINEMA PAPERS: Will any trial footage be available before then?

WATSON: Kodak Australia are about to issue laboratory trial rolls to various production houses and these will be sent to Rochester in America.

C IN E M A PAPERS: D o es th e change-over to the new negative re­ quire much equipment conversion lor a laboratory?

WATSON: It depends on the rare at

which it will be processed — we reckon it will cost us about $40,000.

CINEMA PAPERS: Will 7247 print onto regular print stocks?

WATSON: It’s completely compati­ ble as far as printing stocks are con­ cerned. There is a new color positive coming which will be processed in a similar type of rapid process, but we needn’t get too concerned about that yet because Kodak are continuing the existing high speed release stock 7383 CINEMA PAPERS: What impact do you think these new emulsions will have on the industry?

WATSON: I think they will have a big impact. You’ve got to remember though that that film is starting to have to justify itself as a medium.

T here are v a rio u s e le c tr o n ic processes which are formidable rivals to film, and unless we do keep com­ ing up with better film stocks and means of saving money, film as a medium hasn’t got very much future.

At present though it seems to be holding out. Kodak are pushing film as hard as they can — and there are a lot of resources at Kodak.

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you think that they are working on emulsions they won’t release for another five years?

WATSON: This is a well known fact.

As one Kodak man said to me — If one of our opposition comes out with some new product that we haven’t got, we just go down to research and say, pull out research project number so and so, and there it is. For in­ stance, Agfa Gaevert came out with a color positive that would process in Kodak Eastmancolor solutions and had, on paper at least, better resolv­ ing power and finer grain than the Eastmancolor positive stock. Well Kodak had their improvement on that one out in ten months flat. Not only that, but they dropped the price by 20%.

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you think there would be more technical break­ throughs if another corporation was

Victorian Film Laboratories

competing vigorously with Kodak?

WATSON: Com petition always breeds success. I do think that it’s a pity Kodak don’t have more opposi­ tion — they can beat all of the other manufacturers in quality and price as a general rule.

C IN E M A PAPERS: A lo t o f cameramen complain that in 16mm they cannot get CRI internegative or wet gate printing in this country.

Why doesn’t any lab. in Australia offer this service?

WATSON: It’s a question of cost and turnover. I think that both Atlab and Colorfilm are presently putting in CRI machines. As for wet gate printing, we have offered wet.gate for seven or eight years — but it’s not the latest system where the film goes through a totally enclosed bath. The wet gate itself is not that expensive, only about $3-$4,000, buf it’s a question of what sort of printer you’re going to put it on, and it’s really only for blow-up work. There’s no application for wet gate printing on a 1:1.

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you process color reversal?

WATSON: N ot yet. At present we’re getting a very good service from Kodak overnight. There is a promise from Kodak that eventually all the color reversal materials, including CRI, will go through the same bath — which is a very desirable state of affairs for a laboratory. I would like to feel that we wouldn’t go in for reversal until that happens.

CINEMA PAPERS: Can V.F.L. handle Super 16 without scratching the additional information area?

WATSON: Yes, our processing machines have the soft touch rollers which wouldn’t put a mark on it — they’re rubber dimpled rollers.

CINEMA PAPERS: What about work printing?

WATSON: Well it would be printed on a continuous printer which prints righ t a cro ss th e film w ith ou t scratching it.

CINEMA PAPERS: In other words V.F.L. can now handle Super 16 short of blowing it up?

WATSON: Oh yes.

CINEMA PAPERS: Other labs, in Australia that I have contacted say they can’t do it because their rollers will scratch the information area.

WATSON: I suppose we can do it because we have the latest Eastmancolor machine in the country.

CINEMA PAPERS: What future do you see for Super 16 in Australia?

WATSON: I don’t know. I’ve heard a lot of people talking about it but nothing much has been done about it.

The production companies here have a lot of 35mm gear and haven’t thought about it much yet. On the other hand films like Stork, Libido and The Naked Bunyip have been blown up from 16mm — Super 16 could have been used there.

CINEMA PAPERS: A complaint that one often hears in Australia is that lab. prices here are much dearer than overseas. What are the reasons for this?

WATSON: It’s volume. A lab. of this size, which might put through 23 million feet a year, naturally has higher costs than one that puts through 100 million feet a year, as in

England.

CINEMA PAPERS: But what about larger labs, like Atlab in Sydney, which put through more than you do — they don’t have lower prices.

WATSON: I think that Atlab have almost over-capitalised — they’ve got absolutely the best of every­ thing. They have millions tied up and stockholders to answer to. Their prices would be strictly controlled to keep the enterprise at a certain profitability. On the other hand we are a private company and can be fairly flexible. Prices in our price list are subject to various discounts to various people. For instance there is a standing discount of 10% for pay­ ment in cash within 30 days. We do

labs, have lost even more; It all kicks back against the industry in the long run because the money has to come from somewhere.

CINEMA PAPERS: In England all the labs, demand cash on delivery.

WATSON: We are tending to do the same. We have been caught by com­ panies that have been doing well for years, then all of a sudden they stop doing so well. Suddenly you realise that they’re several months behind in the payments, up into the five figures or so, and bang! off they go.

CINEMA PAPERS: On the subject of grading, I noticed that some Swedish labs, insist that the director of photography be present during the grading of the first answer print. Do

Laboratory supervisor Steve Mitchell adjusts a contact printer in readiness for a “ run’

John Hartley (standing) and Tony Manning discuss a shot on the Eastman Color Analyser

what we can to help: for instance we give considerable discounts to students and people on Experi­ mental Film grants. We have also recently dropped the price of color rushes on Eastman negative by about 60% to encourage people to have color workprints.

One o f the things that has tended to keep prices high is the number of companies that have gone into li­ quidation owing the labs, large amounts of money. We’ve lost a lot of money like this, and the Sydney

you encourage this?

WATSON: We’ve had people who like to do this, but if everybody did it we wouldn’t get through as much work. Most film-makers seem to prefer to leave it to us.

CINEMA PAPERS: Is it possible for a cameraman who isn’t very familiar with the equipment to make judgments from the image thrown up on the screen of the color analyser?

WATSON: Yes, particularly on the Eastman color analyser that we have.

CINEMA PAPERS: Cameramen who have worked on the Hazeltien system often complain that the im­ age on the screen is not true, and that it is subject to interpretation from the operator.

WATSON: What you see on the screen of the Hazeltien is a television picture limited by the phosphers of a color mask in the tube. Whereas the colors in the Kodak analyser come from photographic filters — Wratten filters which revolve in front of a black and white picture, and are therefore capable of being more closely matched to the dyes in the film. Both systems are electronic — it’s simply that in the final display the colors in the Kodak system, in­ stead of coming from phosphers which produce a certain wavelength of light when acted upon by the electron beam inside the tube, come from filters which absorb the un­ wanted light. You have far more con­ trol over filters than you have over phosphers which are limited in the colors you can get from them.

CINEMA PAPERS: Many film­ makers apparently have difficulty communicating with laboratories. If a film-maker is planning a project how can you help him before he starts shooting?

WATSON: He has to plan his film in relation to a lot of things: what the film is designed for; what exhibition it is going to have; the number of prints required . . . He might be after a theatrical release or he might in­ tend to show it only in the classroom .. . What sorts of special effects and tricks he wants to put into it — this can have a great bearing on the filmstock to use.

CINEMA PAPERS: What would be an ideal procedure for a cameraman who is going to work with a stock he is not familiar with and a laboratory he has not used before?

WATSON: Go out and shoot a test roll, get it processed and look at it.

CINEMA PAPERS: What would an ideal test be, an 18% grey card?

WATSON: Yes, but I’m more inclin­ ed to go for average scenes with plen­ ty of faces and close-ups — shoot the sort of stuff that is going to be used in the film. If you start to get scien­ tific with grey cards and things it’s no use unless you do it properly — which means graphs and sensitometers and densitometers. You could easily finish up blinding the cameraman with science. This is part of communication: communication is being understood. You’ll find that if you talk to someone you think is a real genius, he’ll seem to be talking in m uch s im p le r te r m s th a n somebody who seems to know a lot about a subject but you don’t follow because he’s using too many long words.

CINEMA PAPERS: Would you recommend a film-maker to go directly to a technician for advice, or should he approach you first?

WATSON: In certain cases go directly to the person concerned, but we do have to protect them from too much con tact with cu stom ers, otherwise they would never get their work done. The bugbear is the customer pressuring the individual to get work out at impossible schedules.

Cinema Papers, January — 53

GRAEME BLUNDELL Until quite recently there have been few film acting oppor­ tunities in Australia. For some actors the situation is now reversed: there are more parts available in film than either theatre or television.

Graeme Blundell began as a University actor and worked his way through La Mama and the Melbourne Theatre Company.

This was followed by an association with the Australian Perform­ ing Group which included directing the Pram Factory’s first production.

Blundell’s first major film role was in John Murray’s ‘The Naked Bunyip’, in which he played a naive researcher tracking down Australian attitudes to sex. The comic character portrayed in this film has since been developed by Blundell in television work and Tim Burstall’s latest feature ‘Alvin Purple’.

In the following interview conducted by Scott Murray, Blundell discusses the relationship between theatre and film and the impor­ tance o f professionalism in acting.

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you feel restricted by the small number of op­ portunities available to an actor in the film industry?

BLUNDELL: Yes I think that’s cer­ tainly true in my situation. Also there hasn’t been a great deal of choice involved, although I’ve often, 54 — Cinema Papers, January

not been given parts that I feel I could have played. I have been stereotyped as either a young in­ nocent, or a petty little crim.

However it has been a training ground, and I regard that as being pretty important. The training you get working for Crawfords is in­

valuable because it’s fairly raw, and you have to work things out for yourself, often quite quickly.

CINEMA PAPERS: So you take acting in a five minute spot as seriously as you would in Alvin

Purple.

BLUNDELL: I think you have to. It is such a cut-throat business you’re only as good as your last job, and that might just be a Matlock. You’re under as much scrutiny in that as you would be in a feature. In that way a professional approach is important to my work — I take it that seriously.

Als.o there are other people work­ ing with you to whom you have an obligation, whether it is the crew, a group of actors or the director.

Y ou’ve been chosen for certain reasons and I think you have an obligation to fulfil their expectations of you. That’s a professional thing too.

CINEMA PAPERS: H ave you fou n d d iffe r e n t c o n c e p ts o f professionalism in theatre, as oppos­ ed to film? You once criticised the

A.P.G. for a lack of it.

BLUNDELL: Well I wasn’t the only person during that time to be con­ cerned with an apparent lack of professionalism. Over the years a lot of us had been trying to develop what we felt was a different type of professionalism — a rigorous, dis­ ciplined approach to work that wasn’t reliant on a commodity oriented sort of situation. However that hadn’t eventuated by that stage and the rehearsal situation was very loose. It’s different in an ensemble context where it may become very casual and slack, because both employment and a form of aesthetic development is guaranteed. You are working with the same people for a year and that can lead to a decrease of discipline in the work, and that’s where it’s different to the cut-throat job to job situation. I thiak that’s one of the things that works against ensembles and why, looking back, I have changed some of my ideas. I’m not so sure whether an ensemble, a group of people trained to work together for a long period o f time, is necessarily a better theatre entity

Graeme Blundell

than a group o f ad hoc actors tossed together for one show.

What really impressed me about Alvin Purple was the way people could just come together like that.

It’s quite remarkable the way ad hoc things can just take off, given the right conditions — in this case Tim’s strong and reasonably astute direc­ tion.

CfKlEMA PAPERS: During the shooting of Alvin Purple, how impor­ tant was the system developed by crew and actors?

BLUNDELL: Well Tim is good as far as actors go. His system is to have extensive rehearsals, which I find very conducive to my way of working.

CINEMA PAPERS: Were these rehearsals held on location?

BLUNDELL: N o they were basically at one place, though there was the occasional lightning visit to a loca­ tion if a problem came up. Tim went through the whole script with all the actors, and as far as possible with members of the crew. For actors this is a fantastic anchoring period because many o f the character problems can be sorted out, and all sorts of relationships can be explored and discussed in a way that’s not possible on the .set given the tension and pressure of a 15 hour shooting day. During these rehearsals the ac­ tors can develop a form of ensemble shorthand, a working vocabulary that’s very useful throughout the production.

However not all films require this, type of rehearsing beforehand. I find the more I prepare at home for The Box, the more I get ballsed-up in the rehearsals and the more tense I become during the taping. I now just get the lines roughly down and take a very quick sketch of the actions.

CINEMA PAPERS: Does Burstall direct you while the lighting crew gets into position?

BLUNDELL: Yes. What I tend to do first-off is run through the dialogue with the rest o f the actors. This familiarity period seems more com­ mon with theatre trained actors than those cinema trained. Tim then spends a few minutes reminding peo­ ple o f what has been rehearsed before closing down the set for a full actors’ rehearsal. There’s this dead period where the performance is everything, after which the crew continues to fix the set. I personally find it quite useful working with all that noise because it forces you to really concentrate - CINEMA PAPERS: With regard to this part o f production, are there any c o m p a r iso n s you co u ld m ake between Tim and other directors?

BLUNDELL: The Naked Bunyip was very different because there was only a tiny crew and most of it was not sync sound. This allowed a freer, more improvisatory style of acting.

John Murray largely left me to ex­ plore whatever props there were at the time and to develop the thing as it happened. Often we just flew it, setting up the cameras and recording whatever occurred.

Tim is more systematic. H e’s very concerned that you are relaxed, that you know exactly what you’re doing and that you are totally confident

Graeme Blundell and Dina Mann from Alvin Purple

about it. The crew were also very concerned about the quality of the performances and would all work in their own way to help the actors.

CINEMA PAPERS: The characters you have played in The Naked Bunyip, Alvin Purple and the BHP and Chrysler commercials, are all fairly similar. Is there a character you are trying to evolve through successive films?

BLUNDELL: I think when you get onto a good comic character, or comic style, it’s worth pursuing fully.

There is a character who I’m still not really on top of yet, and I would like to explore it much more, maybe through a TV series or another film.

CINEMA PAPERS: What sort of character is Don Cook in The Box? BLUNDELL: Much straighter — horrifyingly so. He’s a bit of an in­ nocent, but a reasonably bright young fellow. Has ambition but not too much. Basically a recognisable stock character in the traditional soap opera form.

CINEMA PAPERS: Does a director usually make you aware o f the nature of the shot, and what lense he is using? If he does, to what extent does that modify the way you play that shot?

BLUNDELL: Totally. Tim or Robin will always tell you exactly what the shot is and what the lens is, and if it’s a difficult sort of shot you can look through the camera. These days I always like to know because it does so greatly affect the way you play it.

The sequence and style are complete­ ly modified, shot by shot — they have to be.

CINEMA PAPERS: Is that simply in terms o f things like facial ex­ pressions?

BLUNDELL: Facial expressions, use of the body and relationships with other actors. It might not be possible to give an actor as much as you would like on a certain lense, so you o r g a n is e s o m e th in g a m o n g s t yourselves to help out.

I find television very difficult because you work sequence by se­ quence, rather than shot by shot. For example you could be in a really tight close-up, then the camera zooms out to a wide master shot, then bang back to another close-up. You just have no chance, it’s schizophrenic trying to cope with it all. After a while you just play it as you would in the theatre. Then when you see the rushes you find some patches o f ex­ traordinarily bad acting in the closeups.

The position of the mike can also affect your acting style.

CINEMA PAPERS: Could you call the theatre one infinitely held wide shot?

BLUNDELL: That’s true in one way, but only for presedium arch theatre.

I had three years o f it before becom­ ing involved in th e a tre in th e rou n d, which I prefer. I was with the Pram Factory which is a more formal space than La Mama, being bigger and demanding a more formalised style o f choreography. But at least the people are close, so you have this extraordinary concentration on the performance which is a very different sort of concentration to that which an audience brings to a presedium arch production. The actors con­ centration must be there from the start and continue throughout the whole performance. There is no way you can turn off — you have to act totally in the round all the time, both

physically and vocally. When you act in presedium arch you can turn off for a while, or indulge in upstaging someone. N ot only can’t you do this when someone’s nearly in your lap, but you’ve got to get used to people b rea th in g dow n your n eck . I remember the first couple of times I worked in film, I had all these heavy scenes to do. I was very disheartened because everyone was so occupied doing their technical chores that no one noticed what I was doing. More than anything else acting in films is a constant battle with the fucking machinery, and because you’re battl­ ing it all the time you just don’t have time to get involved in anyone else’s ti sssIgs CINEM A PAPERS: D oes this depersonalise the set?

BLUNDELL: It certainly can, but it depends on what sort of attitudes you adopt towards it, and the techniques you acquire to cope with such situations.

C I N E M A PAPERS: Is y o u r preference still for theatre?

BLUNDELL: I’m not sure that it is any more. I haven’t worked in theatre for just on a year, and I have no real burning desire to go back to it at the moment. It’s also a matter of job possibilities because I am just not offered jobs in the theatre very often.

In fact in all the years that I directed at the Carlton Theatre I was only ever offered one directing job. There are unlimited possibilities in film and television at the moment, so I guess I’ll stay doing that.

THEATRE Directed first production of David Williamson’s Don’s Party — La Mama.

Directed Jack Hibberd’s Dimboola.

Directed Marvellous Melbourne by Jack Hibberd and John Romeril — the first production at Melbourne’s Pram Factory.

Directed Barry O akley’s The Shoes O f Daniel Mannix.

Directed Alexander Buzo’s The Front Room Boys.

Directed Norm and Ahmed — a censor-plagued production for which Blundell was prosecuted.

Directed John Romeril’s I Don’t Know Who To Feel Soory For. Acted in Hibberd’s White With Wire Wheels.

A cted in R o m eril’s C h icago, Chicago.

FILM Appeared briefly in 2000 Weeks (1968) and Stork (1971) — both directed by Tim Burstall.

Lead role in John B Murray’s The Naked Bunyip — a study o f sex and censorship in Australia (1969).

Lead role in Alvin Purple — a sex comedy directed by Tim Burstall (1973).

Appeared in Brian Davies’ Brake Fluid and Ben Lewin’s Carson’s Watermelons.

TELEVISION V arious roles in D ivision 4, M a tlo ck P o lic e and H om icide (Crawford Productions).

At present plays Don Cook, the floor manager, in The Box (Craw­ ford Productions).

Cinema Papers, January — 55

Jeff Ccstello (Alain Delon) held at gunpoint by the Gunman (Jacques Leroy)

M ELV ILLE LE SAMOURAI

“There is no greater solitude than that of the Samurai, unless it be that of the tiger in the jungle.’’

Le Samourai (The Godson), the tenth of JeanPierre Melville’s 12 features since 1947, first entered Australia in 1969. Apart from a couple of screenings in a French showcase at Sydney’s Ascot Theatre, this masterpiece of almost seven years’ standing still awaits commercial release.

Melville’s Films are “difficult” , but not comfor­ tably so as are Bergman’s or even Antonioni’s; they have not won acceptance on the Australian art house circuit. Leon Morin, Pretre and Le Doulos, both made more than a decade ago, now receive limited distribution to cultural and educational groups through the French Embassy; Le Cercle Rouge, impaired by distributor cuts, has scraped through the odd miserable week at city blood houses and drive-ins within a couple of years of its production (1970); Le Samourai still languishes for want of an exhibition outlet.

In his own way Melville is as uncompromising toward his audience as Bresson, Dreyer or Mizoguchi. Severe, unremitting attention is re­ quired of the viewer; a fearful joy may be the reward for his pains. Yet to many Anglo-Saxon reviewers Melville’s attitude has seemed perverse 56 — Cinema Papers, January

because of his evident predilection for the thriller form without moralising. He is a self-confessed addict of the structure and ethos, but not the tone, of the Hollywood crime genres.

Thus his films, despite their formal affinity with some of the Japanese masters, have perplexed those seekers after cinematic “significance” who prize difficulty, so long as it is self-announcing and amenable to the literary intelligence.

As might befit one who took not merely his professional but his everyday name in tribute to the author of Pierre: or the Ambiguities, his style purifies the forms while it compounds the responses. In Le Samourai Melville combines.the cumulative what - happens - next tension of the crime thriller with a meticulous pictorial for­ malism which holds the life-style of a criminal assassin open to contemplation, as if under glass.

The assassin is a solitary, he knows the loneliness of the tiger in the jungle. An enigma whose gestures seem polished into expressions of alienation wilful and self-reliant, he makes his devotions to the singularly efficient performance of his calling; he lives in the world of the irreversi­ ble act where life — his or another’s — is at stake; and he moves with a saintly calm.

Melville’s achievement is to create within us,

By John Flaus despite the studied mid-shot detachment of his style and the ambivalence of our feelings, an ab­ sorption in the figure of Jeff Costello analogous to Jeff’s self-absorption.' On the evidence of the films we have seen in this country, Melville would in­ cline to the dictum that artifice is a necessity, and evident artifice a virtue. He does not seek to simulate the world but to create anew from the materials of the world. The severe form, the precise detail, the delicate effect are part of a style which shows rather than refers to its subject.

The tone of the film is established in an extraor­ dinary opening shot under the titles: the shot looks down the length of a plain, even dingy, room to a man stretched out on a bed beneath two win­ dows, smoke curling up from a cigarette. There is apparently nothing for the eye to fix upon as es­ pecially informative or dramatic; natural sound apparently incidental and remote; distance ap­ parently fixed, yet we find our perception of dis­ tance is subtly altering; apparently monochrome, yfct the cigarette point glows red for an instant (an exquisite detail: we begin to wonder if anyone can have gone to the extraordinary [though not en­ tirely unprecedented if we have seen Wellman’s Track of the Cat] lengths o f setting up an every­ day prospect in which all the natural hues outside

Le Samourai

grey happen to be missing). Within the un­ interrupted duration o f a few minutes, purely by formal means, the apparently unremarkable has begun to communicate a sense of disturbance.

Melville has explained: “ My intention was to show the mental disorder of a man who un­ mistakably had a tendency to schizophrenia.

Instead of simply resorting to the now almost classical technique of a track back compensated by a zoom forward, I used the same movement but with stops. By stopping the track but continu­ ing the zoom, then starting the track again, and so on, I created an elastic rather than classical sense of dilation — so as to express this feeling of dis­ order more precisely. Everything moves, but at the same time everything stays where it is.” He has also explained that he hadjoanknotes and labels printed in black and white. This helps to delay the viewer’s aesthetic adjustment away from monochrome; for many viewers even the flesh of face and hands is drained of color, or carries only a hint of it which their perception must struggle either to admit or reject.

In either case the shot has done its work.

Although the visuals will continue to be severely controlled for the ensuing 90 minutes, there is no need for another shot of such extreme stylisation.

Our confidence in our perception has been curiously shaken; for the remainder of the film we can not afford our usual complacency in taking for granted much of what passes in our visual field.

The action proceeds; only narrative at first, then plot can be discerned; already there are thematic impressions but not yet thematic struc­ tures. The man rises from the bed and busies himself with unremarkable preparations for going outside. His movements are distinguished by a remarkable economy which might be mechanical if it were not for their equally remarkable grace.

He counts his money, acknowledges the bird which is his only companion, puts on belted coat and hat as if they were a uniform, makes two fingertip adjustments to the brim in a richly epiphanic gesture, and leaves. Later we will learn that he is Jeff Costello, an independent contract assassin of Paris on his way to carry out an assignment.

In the street he selects a parked car and installs himself behind the wheel with a ring of ignition keys at hand. Methodically and impassively he tries them one by one. A shot from outside the car through the rain-streamed windscreen shows what a passer-by might notice: a handsome young man sitting, perhaps a little stiffly, in his car. Paradox­ ically, it is the shot from outside which allows us to shift our sympathy to “inside” the character.

■ There are slight differences between our perusal and that of the passer-by. Their slightness is significant. The shot is not travelling, the distance is a little less, the duration a little more. This makes for a higher level of contemplation which does not vanish when the image itself does. The interposition of the streaked glass reminds us metaphorically of the artifice which mediates between what we see and what we make of it.

Already we know more about Jeffs action at this moment than a shot from that angle can show; the action which is engaging his criminal caution and expertise is : ’x d from out view. The fascina­ tion of seeing nun L orn the outside in his innocent aspect draws us inside to the suspense and audaci­ ty of his action. Narrative and contemplation con­ tend and balance; the film is taut.

Eventually the car starts; Jeff glances behind and pulls away from the kerb; his concentration has not eased despite the physical sense of release.

An attractive woman motorist catches his eye; there is time for smiles to be exchanged amidst the traffic. This is a freely recurring molecule of behavior in our culture and beyond — one may be tempted to call it “natural” — yet the gesture of attraction is not reciprocated, and the man drives on.

He drives to a backstreet garage and pays a criminal contact for false number plates. Their

talk is laconic, professional, with an edge of something that might be respect or affection.

Thence he proceeds to engineer the two parts of his alibi and carry out the assassination, which he does, brisk and business-like in the office of a night club. The plot gets complicated when he comes face to face with a witness in the corridor outside. The witness is also an apparition — a beautiful young woman as poised as he, an enter­ tainer with black skin and white dress. She is also an enigma: why does she show no fear but gaze steadily?

It is a crucial moment* for Jeff; to ensure sur­ vival he should kill her, but he refrains. Subse­ quently she denies recognising him in a police line­ up. He is drawn to see her again but she is unwill­ ing (unready?) to become involved. The hazards in his life increase. The police inspector still suspects him, harrasses him with bugs and shadows, then tries to pressure Jeanne, the girl who has provided part of Jeffs alibi. She is staunch, but the pressure will increase. The pay-off man’s attempt to kill Jeff indicates that his faceless employers fear he will be broken by the police. He dresses his own wound no more nor less calmly than everything else he does. When he learns that the witness is marked for assassination by his hand, he eludes a heavy surveillance team of police, tracks down the contract boss and kills him. Now the practice of his vocation is closed to him. He returns to the nightclub, approaches the entertainer and draws a gun, only to be cut down in a blast of police gun­ fire. His own gun is empty. Jeff Costello, the man who said “ I never lose, not really” , having chosen the place, the time and the executioner, has com­ mitted ritual suicide.

Ambiguities abound, there is no explanatory dialogue or omniscient narrator but only in­ ference about observed behavior. We will not all infer the same things from Jeffs behavior and situation, especially in the early part of the film before a plot can be discerned. Yet even then we know his style, and can deduce or intuit some judgments about him. It would be out of style for him to have either snubbed the smiling woman motorist or failed to notice her. More likely — just because it is more aesthetically pleasing — that he merely had no feelings to spare for her, no surplus energy to spend on manners, the poor man’s ritual. His needs are few and regular; his in­ terests in life have long since converged.

He cannot relax, merely rest; he cannot deviate, merely improvise in a tricky situation. He exists without play. His life is, in a sense, completed. It is in this sense, I believe, that Melville referred to the Samurai in an interview as already dead in the opening shot, “laid out in death” . This notion is communicated initially by pic­ torial means and confirmed by subsequent in­ stances of his behavior. Images do not state propositions, nor do thematic structures. Le Samourai is an amalgam of the starkly plotted and the elaborately visualized. Severity of line and dimness of hue do not prevent the images from be­ ing richly and consistently expressive in their depiction of the surfaces of behavior and milieu.

But such an amalgam carries many temptations for us to explicate it by simile, the imaginative process of “as i f ’.

Even the auteur himself is given to discussing the content of his film by this process. When Melville says it contains “several parallel worlds which never overlap but merely brush against each other from time to time” , I can turn to the work itself for confirmation; and his reference to Jeff as a lone wolf would have occurred to most viewers through its proverbial connotation. But I can not find in the film the occasions for simile which justify him in equating the aftermath of Jeffs being shot in the arm with the notion that “when a lone wolf is wounded he becomes more dangerous but is considered to be finished” . I can­ not accept Melville’s comment that the police in* We may be reminded of the Gene Coon script for Siegel’s The Killers (1964), in which the drive to solve a similar enigma is the mainspring of the plot.

spector is (as if) Destiny, although I recognise the analogy of functions: not to execute personally but to set the machinery in motion. I can see no more than a heavy conceit in saying that Jeff falls in love with his own death in the person of the black woman clothed in white, and relating this to the white woman clothed in black who personified death for the poet in Orphee.

On the other hand, I have been tempted to assert a number of similes and constructions which will seem strained to others. Even my attempt at a simplified synopsis is interpretative as much as descriptive.

Nevertheless, I believe it to be both valuable and appropriate to explore and compare our responses to a film like Le Samourai, to assist each other in trying for common ground in “as i f ’ territory. It is another paradox of this work that it should be so rigorously self-strictured and yet liberate the figurative imagination in its viewers.

The Samourai is embodied in pretty boy Alain Delon, Europe’s answer to Tony Curtis. In addi­ tion to the behaving skills which make them stars, both possess considerable acting skills. Delon may not have the flexibility and passionate drive that his Hollywood counterpart can produce when the challenge is there, but he is finely attuned to the extremes of introversion and extroversion, and has a more beautiful “surface” .

The character of Jeff Costello is ascetic, selfabsorbed, professionally dedicated; he is one of those rare beings whose every gesture is expressive of the values he lives by. Inasmuch as the crime film is a depiction and examination of an ethos, the central character is the film.* Delon’s Samourai has such qualities of polish, strength and impenetrability that metallic similes suggest themselves: I am reminded of Faulkner’s Popeye, the man of death in Sanctuary, who had “the vicious depthless quality of stamped tin” , with fingers “cold and light as aluminium” , and wore a hat “ all angles like a modernistic lampshade” . Tom Milne speaks of Jeffs “steely, passionless mind” . Melville has made of Delon a marvellous artifact. He has wrought one of the finest examples of the cinema’s own “hammered gold and gold enamelling” .

Melville in an interview has stressed that he is not a documentarist. Le Samourai is not a social document; he has taken pains not to locate the events in an historically definable place and time.

His frames of reference are stringent and dispense with much establishing data we may feel we have a “right” to expect. We can only speculate upon Jeffs background and career, his relationship with Jeanne, the social position of the man who lets the assassination contracts (Melville had in­ tended to grant him Cabinet status but decided such information was gratuitous.) It may still need to be said, since some of us are still naive in our expectations of realism, that a film can have precision and particularity and yet diverge far from documentary.

Melville’s achievement and the delight — albeit a cold delight — we may take in it illustrate the paradox that severity is a form of indulgence.

Behind the simplicity we may be able to find a finely wrought complexity which disguises itself; beneath the stillness a firmly leashed power; beyond the conventions there may be intimations of the sublime, orphic transports induced and moderated by classical restraints. For many of us who harbor literary standards of worth and significance in our evaluation of movies this will be an artistic truth hard won and long resisted.

Le Samourai is a film to change your concept of film. The ethos of solitude and the mythos of kill­ ing are beheld in an ethereal suspension. The con­ tending pulls of contemplation and narrative are poised in an exquisite balance. The entire work is so phased that it is utterly still because it is utterly tense. * In this respect we may consider some honorable comparisons of recent years: Marvin in Point Blank, Ventura in The Big Risk, and with perhaps as much restraint but less rigor, Scott in The Last Run, Mitchum in The Friends of Eddie Coyle.

Cinema Papers, January — 57

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Cinema Papers, January

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count for it in the same way. With this prospect in mind it is natural for us to conclude that all mystery, all ineffability, must be banished from the world.

Modern physics has blasted the primitive mechanistic world view sky high; it provides laws, but it does not provide reasons for its laws. Its laws are no longer in an absolute framework but are strangely arbitrary, distilled out o f a context not of absolute order but o f flux. In modern physics mysteries reign in every quarter; the world view which it promises eventually to offer will be more counter-intuitive and exotic and utterly mysterious than that which any philosophical or religious system o f the past has dared to dream up. In this lies an awesome spiritual potential.

I have dwelt on this question o f the spiritual pregnancy of the scientific world view because 2001 is a scientifically oriented film which is deep­ ly imbued with spirituality, a new mode of spirituality, the spirituality of the space-age.

In Solaris, Tarkovsky doubts all this with per­ suasive pessimism. In the projected area in which humans are investigating the weird planet Solaris, space-travel has become a routine, humdrum af­ fair. This testifies to man’s boundless capacity to adapt to strange, unhospitable conditions by limiting his imagination, rendering those con­ ditions familiar, habitable, and before long, banal.

Space becomes just a dreary emptiness, inducing not awe or euphoria, but a nagging boredom.

When Chris, the hero, enters the space station on Solaris he finds himself exploring what is a traves­ ty of the flawless ships depicted in 2001. Broken wires slump from the panels lining the walls, all kinds of junk — even children’s toys — litter the corridor; the whole place has a shoddy and much lived-in look.

Chris himself is a psychologist. This offers an immediate key to the film. He has been dispatch­ ed to investigate the odd goings-on that are rumored to have been taking place aboard the space-station. Goings-on which have nothing to do with technical failures or scientific problems or unforeseen external hazards; rumor has it that there is madness in the space-house.

The occupants of the station, when Chris finally discovers them — or those who remain — are cer­ tainly disturbed. But even apart from their excep­ tional afflictions we learn that there are certain disturbances which affect all men who dwell semi­ permanently in space: they are consumed with nostalgia for the environment o f earth, for terrestrial nature. The occupants o f Solaris sta­ tion resort to a pathetic device: they hang paper tassels from the airconditioning fans in order to create the rustling sounds which they claim re­ mind them o f the earth wind in the leaves o f trees.

This underlines a point made at the beginning of the film when we see Chris, still on earth, obsessively immersed in contemplation o f nature, wandering in his rustic garden in the rain, trans­ fixed. by the undulations o f long leaves in the depths of a pond. So much of our brave new con­ cept o f nature. Instead o f attaining, or even aspir­ ing to, a new consciousness, the genuine fulfilment of the original Copemican break-through, man, the cosmic explorer, is simply and pitifully pining.

Chris, instead o f conducting his appointed in­ vestigations, immediately becomes embroiled in a web of his own most ultimate fantasies which revolve around the facts of his past personal life; facts which would be entirely unexceptional in. any era. The other scientists on the station are likewise in the grips of emotional crises. The fact that they are in a little cabin in a part o f the galaxy beyond the solar system, anchored to a planet whose properties are beyond the most apocalyptic dreams of scientists in all previous eras, in no way deflects their attention from these personal issues, nor modifies their perspective on them. This is the message o f the film, or the beginning of it. A man will continue to be dominated by his emotions no matter how his view of the universe may expand; the scientific enterprise will never succeed in mak­ ing man objective with respect to himself.

Some ruminations on Its theme. Freya Mathews.

The advance publicity for Andrei Tarkovsky’s film Solaris described it as ‘Russia’s answer to 2001’.This blurb was entirely accurate. The film is an extended and, I think, profound dialectical argument addressed to the view that was given such ecstatic expression in the film 2001. 2001 is the thesis out o f which Solaris carves its an­ tithesis.

In 2001 Kubrick gives a faithful rendering of the utopian, bedazzled, sublime and naive vision o f the future that is expounded by Arthur C. Clarke in all his writings. In this vision, the aesthetic potential o f technology has at last been grasped by humanity; machines have been in­ tegrated into the concept of nature, which is to say, the concept o f nature itself has undergone a transformation. It no longer evokes in the im­ agination only the traditional images o f green jungles, forests, valleys and fields, but in addition, and predominantly, the awareness of cosmic chasms o f incomprehensible dimensions, and of alien, celestial objects. O f crucial importance to us is the fact that the structures and motions of these celestial objects, however alien they may appear to our terrestrial eyes, nevertheless ex­ emplify to our scientific eye the laws o f physics: our knowledge o f these laws is our passport to the universe, not only in an obvious practical sense, but in an aesthetic and subjective sense as well. To whatever realms we may be transported our knowledge of the laws of physics will ensure that we shall feel at home, for it will enable us to in­ terpret our surroundings in familiar terms, thereby decoding them, stripping them of the mystery which, in such circumstances, would perhaps terrify and overwhelm us.

With this new imaginative appreciation for the geometric essence of nature, machinery would naturally acquire for us a high degree of aesthetic appeal. 2001 was an exploration of this new aesthetic consciousness: the beauty of those in­ tricate, infinitely fragile space-ships falling serenely, eerily, through the inter-planetary chasm s will forever haunt anyone who has seen the film.

Arthur C. Clarke’s vision does not concern only the aesthetic elements in the new, space-age con­ sciousness: he is concerned too with the spiritual elements inherent in it. Spirituality is nourished on mystery, it rests on a perception of the numinosity o f certain aspects o f reality, and on a sense o f the ineffable, a feeling that no theory can explain why things are as they are and work as they do, nor why anything exists at all. When in the post-Copernican world the concept of science began to crystallise, leading eventualW to a whole new conception o f the purpose ana the proper form o f intellectual inquiry, it emerged that there was a privileged genre o f explanation — scientific explanation — which could in principle extend to all domains, and which, when it was effective, ‘demystified’ the phenomena to which it was applied. Such explanation gave the ‘natural causes’ o f an event, and in the new scientific out­ look, once the natural causes o f any event had been discovered there was nothing further to add, or to ask. In this atmosphere materialism and determinism flourished, and materialism was regarded as a reductionist philosophy reducing all natural phenomena to mechanical phenomena, and thereby, in principle, providing an exhaustive account o f them. This mechanistic philosophy was felt to be hostile to religion, to all spirituality, since it supposedly drained the mystery from the world. In fact it did not do so — since the fact of existence itself is the ultimate and totally im­ penetrable mystery, regardless of whether what exists is a machine, or a person, or a ghost. Never­ theless we can see how this feeling came about, for in a certain sense it is possible to give an ex­ haustive explanation of a machine: we can detail the workings o f all its parts and given the ex­ istence of raw materials of which it is constituted, we can explain how the machine originated, how it came to be constructed. If the universe is regarded as a machine, we may feel we can exhaustively ac­

Cinema Papers, January — 61

Solaris

Natalya Bondarchuk and Donatas Banionis

However, Tarkovsky is no dogmatist, and although this is the view that is represented in the person of the hero, I am not sure tnat it is the view that is ultimately endorsed. The true hero of the film may be the unsympathetic character called Sartorius. Sartorius is as tormented as the others by his private obsessions, but unlike them he refuses to succumb to them and tries to continue with his scientific work, seeing the ideal of objec­ tive knowledge as the only worthwhile value, the only way in which man can fulfil himself. So realising the potential of the one endowment peculiar to him — his intellect.'

Chris, the champion of ‘humanism’, does not understand Sartorius’ point of view. The final shot of the film suggests that this is to his im­ measurable detriment, for we are shown that Chris’ surrender to his emotions has caught him in a stunning trap — absolute because it is to him in­ visible. Unaware that he is caught, he is unable to conceive of escaping. The trap is like an eternal manifestation of his own self-indulgence and his surrender to subjectivism and ignorance. One feels confident that Sartorius still has his feet firmly on the floor of the station and is still struggling to understand the objective nature of Solaris, thereby avoiding being swallowed up by it.

It is this ambivalence in Solaris which makes it such an interesting film: it contains a dialectical tension of its own, as well as providing a powerful1 counterpoint to the view embodied in 2001. It ex­ poses the naivety of that view, but at the same time I think it wants to co-exist with it in the same spiritual, or ideological, neighborhood, for it too seems to affirm the ideal of objective knowledge, of the spiritual liberation which is offered by science when science as a concept is properly un­ derstood and practised as a way of life. But in Solaris we are shown that that is an ideal which is supremely difficult to aspire to. The struggle to liberate ourselves from trivial personal concerns, and to bring our whole heart as well as intellect to the confrontation with the universe, the struggle to achieve the deep and concerning interest in the objective world, which alone will equip us to become true inhabitants o f the universe, is a struggle that will be more formidable than we have envisaged. And few men, if any, will capitulate. Sartorius does not capitulate, but as the price of his resistance he is visited by 62 — Cinema Papers, January

monstrosities of which we are only permitted sub­ liminal glimpses; his total cynicism towards his own suffering and that of his companions alone betrays the full extent of his ordeal. Yet, as I have suggested, he is the idealist. He pursues his ideal — the ideal that nurtures the scientific enterprise — and pays a grotesque price for doing so; yet because of his refusal to succumb, he remains free.

In the final analysis, Solaris is a true synthesis, the dialectical product of initial arguments: the psychology of the space-age will not be as straight forward and euphoric as 2001 would lead us to believe. But nor need we altogether despair of it being realised. Our struggle with our own deeply conservative nature, our struggle to change the image of ourselves that is rooted in primeval terrestrial soil, may well turn out to be the most traumatic aspect of the space-age. But it will not necessarily be a trauma which will truncate our eventual development.

Already we can discern some of the com­ plicated psychological consequences of space travel amongst the handful of present day veteran astronauts. At first the awesome banality of the standardised astronaut’s personal style struck and rather shocked the world. But to react in this way to this studied lack of personality and originality is to miss the point, for these men represent a new genre of hero — the genre celebrated in 2001, The scientist-astronaut-hero sheds his peculiarities, his eccentricities and his regard for personality per se, because the confrontation in which he is involved is so great that the nuances of interpretation that would issue from the idiosyncracies of his per­ sonal outlook would be pathetically insignificant.

More importantly, it is his responsibility to in­ terpret his experience as objectively as he can in order to transmute it into science, and thereby pave the way for an even deeper comprehension and communication of the confrontation.

This is the model to which our present astronauts seem so successfully to aspire.

However the cynicism expressed in Solaris with respect to the possibility of living up to it is beginning to be confirmed: we hear of retired astronauts undergoing curious religious conver­ sions and undertaking sentimental crusades jarringly incongruous with their previous hardheaded and antiseptic image.

The case which best illustrates this trend is that

of Buzz Aldrin, o f the Apollo 11 lunar mission, described by LIFE magazine as ‘the best scientific mind in space’, and described by himself as ‘a sort of mechanical man’. Aldrin was obsessed with the idea o f challenge, of excellence, and for him, a fighter pilot, the highest challenge was space.

‘You come down to the ultimate’, he said, ‘the space program . . . Some people don’t think they have a chance and don’t bother to try. Others say, “I’ll accept that challenge” .’ He was a 2001 man, blasting off into a 2001 universe.

That was in 1969. A couple of months ago it was reported that Aldrin had suffered a severe nervous breakdown. It may have been just the tristesse that would inevitably succeed the euphoria of those Apollo 11 days. But it may have been something more subtle. For a man so acutely attuned to challenges, that extraterrestrial landing may have been obscurely, subconsciously, painful: it may have somehow shown him, as he was fulfill­ ing the greatest conceivable challenge of his life, the insignificance of that specific challenge and hence of all challenges conceived within human horizons.

In other words, while space can inspire it can also impose a nihilistic sense of our lives and our goals, and hence of our existence. It was this shadow-side of the experience — and the flight from it into purely personal preoccupations — which Tarkovsky was concerned to explore in

Solaris.

Postscript: One often hears that complaint nowadays that romance has been banished from the screen. This is perfectly true if we are con­ sidering romance in the old idiom. But the reason for this is that people have largely seen through romanticism in its old guises; they no longer believe in it, however nostalgic they may feel for it or for the time when they could believe in it.

Just as aesthetics and spirituality in general may find a new idiom in the coming era, an idiom consonant with the scientific world-view, so within the domain of cinema science fiction is the genre within which romanticism may be presented in a believable form, believable because not im­ mediately recognisable. Romanticism in the old idiom has become a fossil, a dead cliche; science Fiction offers a new and viable idiom for it as I think t h e fi lms 2001 and Solaris fully demonstrate.

r \ reviewor uamas It’s not really the done thing to knock the local product at present, but there have to be limits even to the bestintentioned tolerance, the striking thing about D alm as being the ease with which it defines these limits and then so effortless­ ly outstrips them. One wonders, indeed, why one of our critics should be on record as urging his readers to “crawl five miles over dirty heroin syringes to see this film” when the pain threshold demanded by D alm as is so high that a mere five miles over the syringes would provide at best the most modest of warmups for the ordeal. The intelligent filmgoer can only look forward to the time when every film will bear, in addition to its mandatory ‘R’ certificate, a Dalmas Coefficient, this latter being a scientifically calculated in­ dicator of the film’s triteness, narcissism and general capacity to bore an audience.

D alm as itself, as the progenitor of this uniquely desirable consumer protection plan, would be entitled to a straight mark of 100; it is considered unlikely that many films would approach this score.

It’s difficult to single out any one fac­ tor as responsible for D alm as’ irrepressi­ ble badness, probably because the choice is so wide. Could it be the stereotyping of every possible character from Hom icidestyle cops to lovably eccentric acid-dealer to bug-eyed junkie living alone amid mountains of garbage? Or simply the rotten acting (in the parts that are acted as distinct from the parts that really happen)? Could it be the appalling dialogue, the regulation psychedelic palace scene, the lousy sync, the question­ begging, the gestures toward social com­ mitment, the Higher School Certificate philosophising, the environmentalist cliches, the fake spontaneity, the needleinto-arm stuff, or, most likely of all, the failure of one acid-maddened actor to wipe out director and cast with a very promising-looking axe? Take your pick.

Better still, take them all.

What appears to have happened to D alm as is this: it began life as a relatively straightforward moronically plotted drug movie . . . cop from Drug Squad suc­ cumbs to combined lure of acid and supercool hippie girl .. . only to be taken over on political grounds by the cast. As it quickly became obvious (one deduces) that no more actual acting was going to take place the director seized upon the in­ genious copout of devoting the remainder of his footage to an examination of the actors and of their discussions and justifications of what they had done; this being a film possessed of the theoretical maximum Dalmas Coefficient and thus of a staggeringly high degree of nar­ cissism he experienced no difficulty in getting this course adopted and in thus

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succeeding in infiltrating his own roseate and chubby features into the non-action at regular intervals. Result: some fivesixths of the Dalm as we get is devoted to the m eanderings, both mental and physical, of the cast of an entirely different (and mercifully uncompleted) Dalm as. But it’s deep, baby. It comes together.

Like for a start: you’re probably puzzl­ ed as to how actors take over a film on political grounds, and what they do after their coup. Dalmas tells it like it is: the director, really, is just a director, whether he means to be or not; like it’s a function of the fuckin’ role. He sits there and tells people what to do. He directs, for chrissake. It’s unreal. I mean we’re all human beings, we’re all equal, right? So he has to go. Being smart, and unable to lick, he joins. Everybody is going to make this goddam movie. People are more im­ portant than art, dig? The stage is set for an explosion of anarchistic creativity, but crushingly, inexpl i cably, nothing happens, there seems nowhere to go ex­ cept into discussions of why nothing is happening. From this emerges an axiom: structured bad, unstructured good. The old kind of narrative doesn’t work any more, it’s just not equal to the demands of our unique experience in making this aw­ ful picture. So we’re going to have an un-. structured movie, right? But people won’t like it. Okay, so they’ve still got a lot to learn, we’ll freak them, change their con­ sciousness. But what about Viet Nam, this film won’t ever be shown in Viet Nam. Well, tough shit for the slopes, we’ll change everybody’s consciousness here and get to them later. We’ll go to Lake Tyers, get blocked and play footy with the boongs, be involved, dig, and,

Peter Cummins will freak out on the beach and nearly drown, then we’ll re­ enact it for an actor pretending to be a tyrannical TV director making a movie about us making this movie about us.

That way Bert Deling can come on at the end and do his bit about the multi-layered nature of reality. But let’s keep it unstruc­ tured, right? And since nothing’s happen­ ing we’ll keep talking and talking and the camera can wander interminably over our spaced-out faces while we rap and touch and groove and dig whole foods, you know? Because this is what it’s about, this is our reality now. None of this story shit.

But look; we got blocked and played foo­ ty with the abos and gave their kids lollies and it was beautiful, don’t get me wrong, it was really beautiful, but they’re no better off, are they? Right, you’re ab­ solutely right, and the first thing we can do to help them is to get people to stop go­ ing to American movies. As long as peo­ ple want structured stories the abos are buggered. You dig? And now that we’ve calmed down this guy with the axe we’ll change everybody’s consciousness with some Viet Nam demo footage, conga lines, the lot, and then they’ll begin to see, see? I know the war’s over, I know that, I saw it in Ramparts, but the stuffs here and we’re going to use it, right? It’s all a matter of what’s in your head, and if you don’t get my point then it’s your fault.

Because what's in M Y head, but sealed o ff too disturbing, is the realisation that I ’ve come to the ultimate, the inevitable im p a sse o f the c o m fo r ta b ly se lfflagellating middle-class: so concerned am I with my own problems, with my own way o f doing things, that I cannot believe, cannot afford to believe, that these are not everybody's problems; that not everybody’s problems can be solved by focussing all my attention on myself.

Thus I cannot admit a concept o f art that predicates a coherent rendering o f a reali­ ty any broader than my own immediate perceptions; I cannot afford to believe that some people are more truly artistic than others . . . than me, perhaps. Struc­ tured reality . . . ‘art' if you like . . . is un­ democratic because it may fail to include me sufficiently, and threatening in that it demands a combination o f intellectual and intuitive effort which I have rejected in favor o f wishful thinking and phoney revolutionism. In flight from art I take refuge in the arty, in pointless chaotic narcissistic exercises like “Dalmas”: fo r with acid enlightenment and its con­ comitants I need no brain, no conscience, no capacity fo r thought, action, dis­ crimination. A ll I need is me. That's what “Dalmas” is all about. Just keep the camera on me.

Cinema Papers, January — 63

27A

27A is a remarkable new Australian feature film made by a group of Sydney based film-makers who work under the name Smart Street Films, which consists primarily of Esben Storm (who wrote, edited and directed 27A), Haydn Keenan (the producer) and Peter Cherny. Together with Malcolm Williams (camera operator), the group has been making films for four years.

27A is based on a real incident and concerns the experiences of a middle-aged alcoholic who requests treatment in a Queensland mental hospital only to find that he is prevented from leaving.

Robert McDarra plays the alcoholic Bill Donald and Bill Hunter portrays a twisted hospital attendant, Nurse Cornish.

27A was shot in colour in and around a Christian Brothers mental hospital in Kurrajong, New South Wales, in March 1973.

The following interview with Esben Storm and Haydn Keenan was conducted by Peter Boyes at the offices of Smart Street Films in Surry Hills, Sydney.

27A has since won the Australian Film Development Cor­ poration Award of $5000 and a Gold Award in the fiction category at the Australian Film Awards held in Melbourne on December 2. The Hoyts prize for the best performance by an ac­ tor went to the Film’s lead Robert McDarra.

BOYES: Could you tell us how you first became involved in making films?

STORM: We all went to University High School in Melbourne together and were really firm friends. After that I did the film course at Swin­ burne Tech. and met Malcolm Williams, who’d done the technical side of plays at school. Malcolm lik­ ed shooting and other technical things while I was only interested in writing and direction. We then made a film with all our friends in which Haydn played the lead and various girl-friends the other parts. That was Doors (1969). We were kicked out of Swinburne and Malcolm got a job as an assistant cameraman while I stacked film cans. I then showed Doors to Gil Breeley at the C.F.U. in Sydney and got a job as production assistant. In 1970 Haydn directed a film which Malcolm shot and I acted in called One Man Bike. It was like two sides of the same coin. Haydn then became a production assistant at C.F.U. in Sydney and we made In His Prime (1971) which was the first time we paid any actors.

psychopathic murderer who would otherwise be released from prison.

But once a government has.those sort of powers over an individual they have to be enacted very carefully. A man like Bob Somerville has never caused any harm to the community.

BOYES: Where did the idea for the film come from?

STORM: I read an article about Bob Somerville being kept in a mental home. There was also a sixteen-yearold boy who was virtually put in jail under the act. I kept the article as a potential idea for a film then showed it to Haydn, Michael Edols (our cameraman) and to Richard Bren­ nan. They all felt it had potential. I contacted Somerville, stayed with him in a cheap hotel in Queensland for a couple of days and tape record­ ed a long account of his life and what had happened to him. H e’d stopped drinking then. The case gave him a reason to exist — but when it blew over he started drinking again. I wrote a treatment, and then later that year I wrote a script while Haydn tried to raise the money to make the film. This was in 1972 — the article appeared in February, and KEENAN: It was the first time we scripting and money raising began organised a film in a professional about July. I lived in a house in way. We learnt, in practical terms, Queensland and spent a couple of how to organise a film while working months writing the script. But it had at the Unit. We used the best aspects been in my head for five months of commercial film-making while before that. I came back with a long still keeping it on a friendly basis, us­ script which Haydn, Cecil Holmes ing people we felt we could work and I ran off and cut down. with. We shot half an hour of film in BOYES: Were you nervous about two weekends, with a lot of different making your first feature? set-ups and scenes. The people we STORM: No. It’s harder to handle a were using weren’t involved with bad actor than a good actor, and it’s film, but they were involved with us. harder to handle a person who isn’t We felt for the first time that the film an actor than one who is. really took off. But we made KEENAN: We knew how to make Stephanie (1972) in a different way, th e f i l m , p r a c t i c a l l y an d with professionals from the industry aesthetically. It was just a question who were also friends of our own of doing it. It was a natural progres­ age. This was also shot in a weekend. sion from the half hour thing. Esben BOYES: What is 27A? and I think in cinema terms, so we STORM: Act 27A is the Act in jumped naturally from half an hour Queensland under which people are to ninety minutes. held in mental hospitals. Every BOYES: How much did the film cost country has an act similar to it. to make?

Perhaps it’s needed to curb, say, a KEENAN: It cost $40,000. We got 64 — Cinema Papers, January

$13,000 from the Arts Council and the rest from the 27A Syndicate, which is a group o f businessmen who put up $1000 each. None of them will lose any money — it’ll be written off as a tax loss. We’ve proved we can bring in a film on time and within the budget; now we’ve got to prove we can sell it. They’ll put up more money if we can prove it’s commer­ cial. Before the 27A Syndicate we spent a lot of time trying to raise money. You start to pick the really rich people from those who only say they’re rich: the really rich ones don’t say they can get money — you can just feel it coming out of them.

STORM: People in the industry have put us down and given us a hard time.

KEENAN: They feel we’re a group of upstart boys. We’re the outsiders, the production assistants. When you make a feature you’re supposed to have certain people as photographer, sound man, etc. When you go outside that area you rub against the grain.

STORM: People say, “You can’t make a film about a drunk. It doesn’t go. It’ll flop no matter how good it is.”

KEENAN: APA, who produce The Evil Touch, told us, “ Don’t do it.

You’ll never make it for $40,000.

It’ll end up on the shelf.”

STORM: These people’s opinions are respected. Commercial to them means sex, horror, a can of beer and a surf board. The AFDC turned down our application for $15,000 because the film wasn’t “commer­ cial” .

KEENAN: We were sent out to get “letters of interest” . Channel 9 gave us one: they participated in the farce.

The AFDC’s attitude delayed our raising the money, and prevented us from raising as much as we could have otherwise.

STORM: The assessments done on the script for 27A for the AFDC said “This is a film that must be made.”

The AFDC said “You can’t make it for $40,000. It’s not a worthwhile film. You can’t shoot it in three weeks.”

KEENAN: And we did all those things. And now they’re telling our investors to cut their losses and run.

It might not make money here, but i t rs g o in g to m ake m on ey in America. They’ve told us our next scenario, about an aboriginal boxer (the only black in the cast), would only be successful in South America, Harlem and Africa!

STORM: A guy on the North Shore wanted me to film a story he had about a hermit in a valley who has sexu al ad ven tu res w ith som e Catholic schoolgirls. He’s been given $5000 to work up a script.

KEENAN: Their concept of com­ mercial is six years out of date.

Commercial doesn’t necessarily mean Mary Poppins.

STORM: The AFDC was set jup to finance films that will make money.

The more films they finance that are puerile, the more they’re going to reiterate and reaffirm a puerile taste.

KEENAN: For every five surf movies — without trying to sound preten­ tious — they could make a 27A. That might start to move community taste.

BOYES: Were there production problems?

STORM: The film was shot in only three weeks, which is a very short time for a film with a lot of different scenes and a cast of 45. I realised after we made it we shouldn’t have attempted a film with that size cast on that sort of budget.

BOYES: How did you find your ac­ tors and crew?

KEENAN: The crew were all friends who’d worked together and with Esben. They liked the script.

STORM: Everyone knew for 12 months we were going to make this film: we passed scenarios round at the C.F.U. Six months before we started shooting we knew who the crew would be.

KEENAN: We got all the actors from agencies I knew about while working at the Unit. We were Fighting against this type-casting of actors. We’d tell the agent there was a part with a bit of sex in it, and a girl would turn up with nothing on — and we’re sitting there as scared as she is.

As soon as Bob McDarra walked in, he was it. It couldn’t have been anyone else.

S T OR M: A c t o r s c o m e w ith predetermined ideas of what a casting thing would be. They’d say “OK, what do you want me to read?” We didn’t ask them to read anything: it was just that if they look­ ed right, you presumed they had a modicum of talent. The main thing was if we thought we could work with them.

KEENAN: Once you’d picked the ac­ tors the process was to break down their preconceptions of how they work on a film. We told them “We’re going to be living in a mental asylum for three weeks in 15 tents.”

When they get there they can’t tell the crew from the actors. It’s just a whole group of people living up there. You break down the psy­ chological partition between the crew and the cast. Everyone’s enthusiastic about the job they’re doing, they’re paid and fed. You get 70 people all going towards a goal, and that’s a really exciting feeling.

BOYES: How did you choose the location?

KEENAN: Our original location at Concord was cancelled a week before shooting began.

STORM: We knew the Kurrajong location was available, but we hadn’t arranged ca terin g or a c c o m ­ modation.

KEENAN: Four people went up to Kurrajong,, and when we got there everything was set up — wood chopped, the power on. Actors and crew were mixed up in the same tents. The Brothers at the hospital bent over backwards to help us.

They’re humanists in the real sense of the word.

BOyES: Were any changes made in the script after changing location?

STORM: In some scenes — for in­ stance, the chase scene was going to be done in the swamp at Concord, but it was filmed instead around the river. It worked out all right.

KEENAN: B efo re we sta rted shooting, Cecil Holmes told us the cheapest part of a film is the plan­

27 A

ning, and it’s the most important part. That was where we spent most time. Everything was planned so that almost any eventuality was catered for. Weather and things didn’t bother us at all. There were minor m ishaps, but nothing that in ­ terrupted the flow of the film.

STORM: You just accept that you’ve got to make a film within the finan­ cial limits set. We worked out a film that was very gritty, had to move along, was shot quickly, was very natural and was not grandiose in any way. A lot of it is hand-held — it’s straight to the point. Making the film was free, like Mad Dogs and Englishmen — there were dogs, girl­ friends, and their friends.

KEENAN: They all knew they could do what they wanted, bring anyone along they wanted, as long as it didn’t interfere with the work. Which a crew really likes — you treating them as people.

STORM: It carries over into produc­ tion. You don’t enforce the normal roles of director, cameraman, assis­ tant director to a great extent.

A nyone on the set can m ake suggestions.

BOYES: When was the film shot, .and when was it completed?

STORM: We finished shooting on March 17, edited for about 12 weeks, mixed for a week. The print was ready in mid July.

BOYES: How have you tried to have the film released?

KEENAN: We spent three hours with people from Village, who were enthusiastic about the film, then said in effect they didn’t want it.

STORM: 'T'hey said they could maybe arrange a release, but didn’t; then later claimed we had failed to contact them about it.

KEENAN: We showed it in Brisbane and they didn’t like it and told us so straight out. That was really good.

Neither of the offers we’ve had are particularly appetising. The dis­ tributors'think it’s a good film, but they realise it’s going to be hard to sell. It’ll need imagination, initiative, and a very well thought out advertis­ ing campaign. Most of the com­ panies here aren’t geared to initiate that sort of activity in relation to a film like 27A. STORM: Village or BEF could do it, but they won’t. 27A was very popular at the Perth Film Festival, where it was screened with international films. The director of the Festival loved it, compared it favoarably with Family-Life, which had a long run in Melbourne.

KEENAN: We won’t sign anything till after the AFI awards. We know it has a market in the US. We won’t throw it away for a pittance. We have faith in the film.

STORM: I don’t think people would leave the film feeling cheated. We feel confident it would go well if given a chance. They’re really scared o f taking that chance. It’s not really a big financial risk. It could be quiet­ ly successful. I’d tell my friends to see it. McDarra and Hunter give per­ formances of depth. I think they too believe in the film. I think everyone who participated in m aking it thought it was a worthwhile ex­ perience.

Robert McDarra in 27A Cinema Papers, January — 65

Chas (James Fox) cleans his gun

1971 it was promptly banned. The distributor made cuts, but the “reconstructed” version was banned too. With the introduction of the R certificate late in 1971, the dis­ tributor tried again. The film was banned again and the ban was upheld by the Board of Review. The film was exported, and there the matter rested until it was re-imported by the S ydn ey and M elb ou rn e Film Festivals for a special season of “lost” films presented as part of the from the Madding Crowd, The Mas­ 1973 Festivals. Following these que of the Red Death and many of screenings, the film was finally the Richard Lester films). Roeg has registered R without cuts and could stated in an interview that there was be publicly screened in Australia, never a “finished” shooting script for five years after it was made.

On the surface (the only level Performance: that the project began from a few pages Cammell had scratched by Variety and, inciden­ written about a gangster in London’s tally, most Australian critics whose underworld and the relation of treatment of the film was un­ criminal- violence to the violence believably shabby) the film tells the found in human nature. A screenplay story of a hot-headed hoodlum Chas was prepared (by Cammell) to secure (James Fox), who works as a strongthe necessary funds to commence arm man for a homosexual London shooting, but the co-directors (with gangster Harry Flowers (Johnny Roeg also handling the photography) Shannon). During the course of a worked closely together on the personal feud, which Flowers has material throughout production. strongly warned him against, Chas is beaten up by one of his own victims, R o e g sa y s th e fin ish e d film represents a 50-50 co-operation, Joey Maddocks (Anthony Valen­ though in the light of his two subse­ tine), but manages to grab a gun and quent films (Walkabout in 1971, kill him. On the run from both the Don’t .Look Now in 1973) it would law and his own associates, Chas ac­ seem that one of the film’s major cidentally hears about the availabili­ themes is carried forward into his ty of a room in a Notting Hill owned

by Turner (Mick Jagger), a retired later work.

Performance had a chequered pop singer who lives with two girls, production history. It was shot in the d om in an t Pherber (A n ita 1968 when Seven Arts had control of Pallenberg) and the boyish Lucy Warner Bros. Soon afterwards a new (Michele Breton). Quickly realising regime took over at the studio, and who he really is (he has passed the powers that be so hated the film himself off as a juggler), Turner and that it was shelved. In the summer of the girls bemuse Chas with drugs and 1970 it was brought off the shelf, sex until he is careless enough to give after much re-editing, and trade- his hiding place away. Flowers’ men screened in the U.S. with less than come to get him, but he shoots and spectacular results (“Substandard kills Turner before he leaves. crime rneller with sadism and sex The above synopsis would indicate hypes. Dull b.o. outlook. For the a re-make of The Petrified Forest psychedelic set.” — Variety.) When (runaw ay g a n g ster H um phrey a print found its way to Australia in Bogart hides out with Leslie Howard The first thing that must be said about Performance is that it must rank with Citizen Kane, Strike, A Bout de Souffle and Pather Pancahli as one o f the c in e m a ’s m ost remarkable debuts. Donald Cammell and Nicolas Roeg had, of course, both worked in the medium before: Cammell as scriptwriter for Robert P arrish’s thoroughly innocuous Duffy (1968) and Roeg as lighting cameraman on a whole series of ma­ jor productions (Fahrenheit 451, Far

66 — Cinema Papers, January

and Bette Davis and shoots Howard at the end) or Cul-de-Sac (runaway gangster Lionel Stander hides out with Donald Pleasance and Francoise Dorleac and is himself shot at the end) or any number of similarly themed movies. But the film clearly has a more ambitious purpose as the references to Argentine writer J. L. Borges (whose Theme for a Traitor and a Hero was the basis of Bertoluc­ ci’s The Spider’s Strategy) testify: one of the gangsters is twice seen reading a Borges book, and when Turner is shot at the end of the film it is the face of Borges that fills the screen. (In Borges’ work the criminal usually appears as an epic hero). The other strong influence on the film­ makers seems to be R. D. Laing and Performance is rich in ideas on divid­ ed selves and multiple identity. “ I know who I am!” says Chas more than once: yet Turner shows him a side of himself he certainly never suspected. And Cammell and Roeg show us that almost everyone in the film is duplicated. Turner, in using the dynamism of Chas (a top-flight “performer” in underworld jargon) to recover his own lost “demon” (without which he can no longer “perform” as a singer), contrives that the befuddled Chas shall look like him; and it is actually Turner, not Chas, who drives away to a cer­ tain fate at the end of the film.

(Though by this time Turner, in reality, is apparently dead). But there are other and m ore com p lex duplications; by use of a mirror, Pherber plays with Chas’ body and face, apparently giving him one of her breasts.

When sitting for his passport photograph, Chas looks uncannily like the supercilious lawyer so p e r f e c t ly c r e a te d by A lla n Cuthbertson in the film’s early se­ quences (where the film-makers make brilliant use of cross-cutting and overlapping dialogue to point out the parallels between corporate

big business takeovers and criminal standover tactics). Because they wear the same dressing gown, Turner and Lucy often appear to tak e/each oth er’s place, w hile the perky daughter of the charlady who talks about Turner’s past “performances” and who walks, in calmly on a bathroom orgy bearing a tea tray, often looks very much like Lucy too.

The Jamaican whom Chas overhears talking to his “mum” in a station snackbar (and through whom he hears about the Turner house) speaks in the same style as Harry Flowers (“So I said to him, I said, ‘My son . . .’ ”).

Performance is, in fact, so rich that it repays repeated viewings.

Only then can one fully appreciate the intricate detail (and surely those final editors must have been very sensitive to the Cammell-Roeg con­ cept): the accurately funny un­ derworld dialogue (“ Bloody foreign w om an d r iv e r !” m u tte r s th e gangster’s chauffeur in an orgy of prejudices), the superbly handled scenes of violence (the torture of the lawyer’s chauffeur, the beating of Chas) and the insidious way Turner’s world takes over from that of Chas (in this the directors are aided by superb art direction and a first-rate music score). And all the acting is ex­ emplary, from James Fox (his last performance before apparently turn­ ing to religion) as the narrow-minded gangster whose mind is explosively expanded and Mick Jagger (astoundingly good in his first screen role — the film was made before Ned Kelly) down to the smallest bit part. As mentioned earlier, Roeg’s subse­ quent films have also delved into the theme of a man (Turner in Perfor­ mance, the Aboriginalin Walkabout and J oh n B a x ter — D o n a ld Sutherland — in Don’t Look Now) who is aware of forces that may drive him to his own death but who cannot — or will not — call a halt to them.

— David J. Stratton

Performance

extracts from the original screenplay of Performance

by Donald Cammell.

SHOT — FLOWERS Raises his glass.

FLOWERS Took over? No-o-o, Joey, the word is merged! You been merged, my son! (toast to JOEY) To Old England!

He slaps MADDOCKS’ back. Beaming: FLOWERS Joey, you’re one of us now, one of me own. United we stand, divided we’re lumbered.

MADDOCKS But, Harry, that shop — it’s my whole life, you — (know what I mean? — FLOWERS Exactly! Mine too, Joey, mine too!

CHAS is approaching. FLOWERS raises his voice a bit — to DENNIS. FLOWERS . .Speaking of which, Dennis, I’m not at ail happy about the — disrespectful manner in which Joey was brought here in .. (to CHAS) Chas, I told you not to bother Mr Maddocks, didn't I? CHAS (to BARMAN) " Whisky for me, please, Dave. (to HARRY) I gave Mr Maddocks every respect, Harry — FLOWERS (explosively)

Making him wash my bloody car?

My limousine? Right outside this door? My god! You call that respect?

CHAS Harry, let’s take this little chat upstairs, shall we?

FLOWERS Upstairs? Why? Who dp you think you are — the Lone Ranger?

CHAS I know who I am, Harry.

FLOWERS (suddenly charming) Well, of course you do, son.

We all know who you are — you’re Jack — the lad, eh?

I’ve known a few performers in my day, I know the breed, and I can tell you this — you’ve got the gift, boy. Right, Denny?

DENNIS (abominably) He enjoys his work. That’s the half of it.

FLOWERS You think he does, Denny?

CHAS Oh I do, Harry. I get a load of kicks out of it —

Pherber (Anita Pallenberg) and Lucy (Michele Breton)

FLOWERS — Which is a good thing, Chas — CHAS (looking at JOEY) .. putting a bit of stick about — putting the frighteners on flash little twerps — I definitely enjoy that, don’t I — FLOWERS — But it can also be a tricky thing, see, and I’ll tell you why, ‘Cos you can get to enjoy your work too much, my son — and it can slip your mind that you’re bloody working for me, you burke!! (crashes fist on bar — pause) And when I say me, boy, I mean .. . tell him what I mean, Jack.

HARRISON You mean, er — you, Harry — DENNIS The business. That’s what he means.

FLOWERS The business! Right in one, Den! (slaps JOEY’s back) This terrific little democratic organisation, eh? Us! Right, Joey?

MADDOCKS (pause) Right, Harry .. .

FLOWERS (emphatic gesture) Same again all round, Dave.

MADDOCKS (interjects) Let me do this one, Harry — FLOWERS (to CHAS) Listen son. The world’s a dodgy place, I can’t help that, but we’ve got progress — look at the Yanks!

DENNIS The New World.

FLOWERS Organisation!

DENNIS You’re a cog, boy. Don’t forget it.

CHAS (casually) You go to hell, Dennis.

DENNIS — A cog in an organ, and it’s the business of business to push the buttons (stops) What?"

CHAS Harry, I got to shoot off now, but 1 been thinking . . .

I don’t know what I am really.

Only I’m alive and well, I can tell you that. (indication JOEY)

You push the buttons on that thing.

CHAS moves to stairs. FLOWERS says after him.

FLOWERS Charlie — you take a little rest. You’re tired.

CHAS glances at him, nods, as he exits.

FLOWERS to DENNIS, without emotion: FLOWERS I'm worried about that boy.

He’s in bother . . . (tapping his head) . . . up here.

DENNIS (nods) He’s an ignorant boy. An out-of-date boy.

They both nod in unison.

INT. KITCHEN. 6.30 P.M. ANOTHER SHOT CHAS nibbling the piece of cake. He tries to look as if he likes it. TURNER crossing to window to look out.

CHAS . . . speaking of the public — I was just having a word with my agent just now. On the blower. About my new act. (pause) Tell me, Turner, did you ever — when you were, you know, active — did you ever worry about your image?

TURNER turns — looks at him — turns back to window.

TURNER Of course. We had a regular love affair. Passion — jealousy — yawning boredom. My image was a whore. Indifference, finally.

There was a time I loved beautiful whores.

CHAS Yes. I see what you mean. (pause) The thing is, he thinks — my agent — that I should try a change, “You’re back in swinging London”, he said, “your image” he said — “Why not try something

. . . colorful?” (pause) I can see his point. Anyway, what I t- this will sound silly — TURNER I think you look fine — You look what you are.

CHAS No, but what I thought — Little Lorraine set it off. (pause) A moustache.

Pause. TURNER weighs up various thoughts. CHAS manages to look selfconscious.

TURNER A moustache . . .?

CHAS Yes, and what I thought was .. .

I saw you had a camera up there — in the — the living room . .. one of those instantsnap jobs, right?

A pause.

TURNER I see. (pause) You’re tired of your face, too, eh?'

SHOT — PHERBER — CHAS PHERBER laughs; puts her arm round CHAS’ neck and kisses him. TURNER takes a photo. (He makes a comment; PHERBER perhaps does likewise.)

Thp Indian shirt is gone. She is putting a loose open shirt on him — an older and simpler garment.

PHERBER This is Persian. The shirt of an Assassin. Look . . .

CHAS An assassin .. .? This shirt?

PHERBER The followers of Hassan-iSabbah . . . The Old Man of the Mountains, were called the Hashishin. Near to his castle, Hassan had made a garden. Are you listening?

CHAS Yes.

SHOT — TURNER TURNER Marco Polo went there.

(He has a book he reads) “There was a fortress at the entrance to the garden, strong enough to resist ail the world”

SHOT — PHERBER & CHAS TURNER reads on TURNER “. . . And he would have given to them, the young men of his court, a certain potion, or drink, which made them fall into a deep sleep. And when they awoke, they were in the Garden. And the girls there played with them and made love to them, and told the young men that they were in Paradise.

SHOT — PHERBER TURNER So, when the Old Man wished a prince to be slain, he would say to One of these young men — “Go thou and slay this man.

And when you return, my Angels will take you in to Paradise. . . . And shouldst thou die,

* Cinema Papers, January — 67

Performance

naytheless I will send my Angels to carry thee back into Paradise” (TURNER closes the book) The drink he gave them was made.from Hashish. Those who kill princes we call Assassins.

ANOTHER ANGLE — PHERBER

INT. BEDROOM. PHERBER AND CHAS Sitting on the bed; face to face. PHERBER cross-legged, (‘lotus’ position) — She’s wearing a djerba or some other loose gar­ ment. On the table by the bed is a ‘N argilah’ — (an Arab w ater pipe).

PHERBER is shoving one of CHAS’ feet into position, so that he too is squatting on the bed. She looks amused. She puffs on mouthpiece of the narghilah.

PHERBER So — D’you feel like a Hashishia, now?

CHAS blinks. PHERBER re-defines.

PHERBER An Assassin?

CHAS Me? . .. Never! Never on your life, dear.

PHERBER, amused and turned on, chuckles.

PHERBER No . . . You feel great.

She opens his shirt, puts both her hands on his chest. She rubs his skin, firmly. Both a caress and a massage. Smiling.

PHERBER You feel just great. I love the way you feel.

CHAS I(unsure) I feel a bit . .. funny.

PHERBER You fool.

With a slow, sensual sort of precision, she takes his wrist; as if feeling his pulse. Then she takes his arm firmly; pushes up the sleeve; kisses him on the inside of his arm; raises her eyes to watch his face. She looks mischievous.

CHAS, guiltily, almost involuntarily, glances towards TURNER. PHERBER How d’you think he feels?

CHAS Who? PHERBER Don’t be obtuse. My boyfriend.

How d’you think he feels?

CHAS I dunno. Choked, I’d say.

(Moving self consciously; heartily — to TURNER) Here — Turner. What’s she on about?

FLASH . . .

TURNER (O.S.) Who knows?

Chas (James Fox)

Kneeling now, close to CHAS, kissing his neck. She is playful but also passionate.

She pulls open his shirt a bit.

PHERBER You feel great. Very silky.

Very female.

CHAS Who? . .. Me? She takes his hand, places it on his own chest.

PHERBER Not bad, eh?

CHAS Don’t be silly.

PHERBER moves his hand to her own neck.

PHERBER 'Feel that. I have my female side. And my feminine side too. I mean three. I have three sides.

(Opening her robe) What d’you think of my physique? Triangular, eh?

This muscle — what’s it called?

CHAS Urn . . ..The pectoral. Your pectoral muscle, that is.

PHERBER (looking at herself) What d’you think of it?

CHAS Fine. Very nice.

PHERBER Feel it — CHAS feels it; tentatively and quickly.

Withdrawing his hand ..

CHAS Nice condition.

PHERBER I’m sixteen, nearly.

CHAS Eh? PHERBER I’m fourteen, I said. Nearly.

She kisses him in a very childish fashion.

SHOT — PHERBER Kneeling right at top of bed. She’s naked.

She laughs. (Note — The object of this scene is not exposure of PHERBER’s bare skin, but rather that she and TURNER are playing with CHAS; which is not primarily of a sexual nature . . . In any case, several of the SHOTS will be through the gauzy In­ dian “mosquito netting” curtains of the bed.)

CHAS is facing her; (his back to TURNER’S position) looks dazed.

He stares at her as she takes off her rings.

Her laugh ends in a smile, a sigh, as she remarks his expression.

Chas (James Fox) collects his belongings after a beating by Joey Maddocks

PHERBER Dear, dear. Deair Johnny.

You need a rest.

(Then realising) Tsk. You can’t lie on your back can you?

TURNER (O.S.) That’s a problem.

CLOSE SHOT — TURNER

SHOT — TURNER ,

Pulling picture from camera. Casually, not looking at them.

TURNER Who understands women, Johnny?

(Moving his tripod) I feel fine, incidentally.

Don’t mind me.

Standing at end o f bed, behind CHAS. (He may have pulled aside curtain) CHAS doesn’t move.

TURNER (to PHERBER) He’d better lie on his front, eh?

PHERBER, arranging a cushion or two, subsides on bed — stretching — CHAS is now looking, with a sort of awe or fascination, at TURNER. PHERBER He’d do better to lie on me.

TURNER (visibly brightening)There you go!

(To CHAS) O.K. with you, Johnny?

BACK TO CHAS CHAS I don’t get it. What’s this all about?

PHERBER Oh, shut up. Here — I’m nursing you, that’s what it’s about. I’m making you better, curing you in body and mind.

(Holding out mouth­ piece of pipe) Here . . .

CHAS takes the ivory mouthpiece.

68 — Cinema Papers, January

Pherber (Anita Pallenberg)

CLOSE UP — CHAS Stoned perplexity.

Performance

goes towards the basem ent stairs, ROSEBLOOM and MOODY emerge from the ground floor front door (an empty, un­ used room). They are very polite, very dis­ creet; the saw n-off shotguns barely perceptible under the raincoats of two OTHER MEN. One of them remains close to the window of the ground floor room; keeping an eye on the street.

CHAS On . . . on her . . . ? On top her, you mean?

ANOTHER SHOT - f PHERBER & CHAS He has moved. He leans awkwardly (ten­ tatively) over PHERBER. She watches hfs face — eyes narrowed.

PHERBER Come here.

TURNER (O.S.) Go, you can do it, baby —

t wi t : * ‘ ;

POV THROUGH DOOR FROM HALL

'M

■ yi y* ,:jsr. i < ■ :f| Jf *

Llel ■ %. '%v . :

-

— TURNER

ROSEBLOOM speaks in his calm, con­ siderate way; like a doctor who has come to take away a madman, accompanied by ambulance orderlies.

CHAS asks, “How did you get in?”

ROSEBLOOM says, "We entered.”

CHAS says, “I’ll come quietly if you get Harry; if not, you’ll have to top me . . . here.”

ROSEBLOOM agrees to call HARRY^ (without protest; he has no status problem) but as he enquires, “Where’s the phone?” the MAN at the window calls: “Rosie — "

t i . ' * ***;& V tnit: * / *:

focussing his camera.

TURNER (continuing) You’re a fair to middling liar, no doubt about it. (pause)

Ye-e-eah . . .

FLASH He takes picture.

POV THROUGH WINDOW A Rolls Royce limousine — the same model as Harley-Brown’s — rolls up to a stop outside.

HARRY FLOWERS has decided to come anyhow.

CLOSE UP — PHERBER & CHAS He’s more or less lying on her. She’s bestowing gentle kisses on his face and ears! leisurely, sensual, affectionate. It’s apparent that he’s responding now. He doesn’t notice as they are lit by a FLASH.

INT. BEDROOM

ANOTHER SHOT — PHERBER & CHAS He’s aroused now. He kisses her with passion, clumsily, rather aggressively — (a reminder of his usual relations with DANA, LOUISE, etc.) PHERBER detaches herself gently but decisively.

PHERBER No, no. You mustn’t be violent, baby. I don't dig violence.

(Then . . . ) — It’s so tiring.

CHAS, a little out of breath, shakes his head as if to clear it.

CHAS You’re kinky. That’s what you are, Pherber, kinky.

He raises himself — looks round. His ex­ pression Changes. TURNER has gone.

INT. MALCOLM’S BEDROOM. CHAS has dressed in TURNER’S clothes.

He is fitting his various belongings — money, gold bits and pieces and gun — into the pockets of TURNER’S velvet jacket: while LUCY shows him the pictures in her Marrakesh book. She says “I'm go­ ing to take you to Marrakesh. We’ll go tonight. ; . it’s such a gas just getting there . . . you get the train to Paris, and then go over to the Gare du Lyon and catch the Iberian Express to Madrid . . change for Malaga, where you stay for a rest and then catch the boat that goes to Tangiers. Then it starts to get complicated . . . ” CHAS watches her face while she rattles on. She stops, and says you're scared Of foreign countries, aren’t you?

He says I dunno, I’ve never been in one.

He kisses her. She goes to get in the bath.

CHAS finishes packing TURNER’S suitcase with his own gear.

There is a wail from the bathroom . . .

“Merde, merde, merde . . . ”

Chas (James Fox) and Pherber (Anita Pallenberg) during love scene photographed by Turner

>.« 'i • t *-■

TURNER, getting up, goes to the bedroom window, digs the view. He notices the Rolls Royce — with minimal curiosity. Just as he is about to draw the curtains (to keep out the daylight) be sees CHAS cross the street . . .

EXT. MELBURY TERRACE

*Jtf

“ ft

<t f-

CHAS reaches the car — the CHAUFFEUR opens the door.

From the back — HARRY FLOWERS’ voice: “Hullo, Chas. Hop in.”

The CHAUFFEUR closes the dpor.

>! ft *,«■'; ■

r' h l* * V ■ i < • %* £ I ■

RESUME — INT. BEDROOM From the window, TURNER watches the Rolls pull away.

* Y i t ?#./■

INT. BATHROOM (BASEMENT) LUCY waits in the bath, reading her book.

Bored, she calls . . . “Chas?” No answer.

She gets out of the bath' goes to look for him . . . he has disappeared.

J a | '• -: i ■

INT. STAIRS LUCY looks for CHAS.

INT BIG ROOM LUCY looks for CHAS.

INT. TURNER’S BEDROOM. Chas (James Fox) and Pherber (Anita Pallenberg) during love scene photographed by

LUCY enters, says: "W here’s Chas?”

TURNER tells LUCY: “I think he’s gone for a walk.”

TURNER is intuitively aware that CHAS has been taken back into the dark places; then he finds something that confirms his premonitions.

INT. BIG ROOM TURNER finds CHAS’ camel-hair coat, neatly folded. Stuck in the breast pocket of the coat, a note.

It says: “Dear Lucy; I have gone to Marrakesh. Love, Chas."

TURNER gives the note to LUCY. She doesn’t understand why he left in such a hurry. TURNER improvises an explanation.

He takes the coat upstairs.

INT. BATHROOM CHAS enters. LUCY says: The Japanese oil is now upstairs. It is in­ dispensable. CHAS doesn’t question its necessity. He says, I’ll get it love, (looking at his watch — it’s nearly 11 o’clock. When he looks again at LUCY, her head wrapped in a towel, his punishment truly begins).

INT TURNER’S BEDROOM. PHERBER is just waking up. TURNER enters. He and PHERBER say one or two Inconsequential things: then he says, in an off-hand way, that CHAS has left.

INT. STAIRS (2nd FLOOR)

INT. TURNER’S BATHROOM.

CHAS goes upstairs, enters bathroom.

TURNER comes in, hangs up the coat.

INT. TURNER’S BATHROOM.

EXT. HYDE PARK.

CHAS enters quietly. He gets the bubblebath.

.INT- STAIRS (1st FLOOR) AND HALL. CHAS comes downstairs to the Hall. As he

Chas (James Fox) and Pherber (Anita Pallenberg) during love scene photographed by Turner

The Roils Royce — followed at a discreet distance by the grey Ford — passes slowly through Hyde Park. Morning sunshine, some kids on their way to school, a dog or two . . .

Cinema Papers, January — 69

Ray Harryhausen

ABOVE: A complex scene from SINBAD’S GOLDEN VOYAGE. Sinbad and four of his men fight the six armed goddess. - BELOW: Harryhausen’s pre-production sketch for-the above scene.

ficult to find a new Fay Wray (laughter).

CINEMA PAPERS: Have you got a special hankering after M aria Montez?

HARRYHAUSEN: (Laughter). I wish you hadn’t asked that. No, the reason was that she made a series of Arabian Night pictures that Univer­ 70 — Cinema Papers, January

sal did many years ago with John Hall. They were sort of Arabian Night operettas.

CINEMA PAPERS: Would you say

kitsch?

HARRYHAUSEN: I wouldn’t use that word, but they were done more or less tongue in cheek, merely cops

and robbers and baggy pants. The in­ way, taking modern day-subjects and dustry had a stronger term for them rather than using mythological which I won’t use. They' made a figures use today’s fantasy? series, all done on a mundane level, HARRYHAUSEN: Well, we have not from a fantasy point of view. used today’s fantasy. The Beast from T h a t’s why K orda’s T hief of Twenty Thousand Fathoms was a Baghdad was such a pleasure to see. present day type of thing. It Came It was one of the few pictures that From Beneath the Sea, and of course was elaborately done; beautifully The Earth Versus the Flying Saucers designed and made with integrity, us­ were both contemporary pictures at ing the fantasy which is the essence the time they were made. It’s been used that way so it’s not really new. of the Arabian Nights.

In order to produce them very We find it most effective with quickly, many studios simply talk mythology because mythology has a about the fantasy and put the more romanticism about it, whereas if you mundane things on the screen — go into the future there is a coldness; such as the standard chase, which is you’re dealing with gadgets, usually an invasion or a lot of people mechanical things and political points of view. I think films are es­ chopping each other with swords.

CINEMA PAPERS: You always use sentially romantic. Adventure is a very well known composers like Ber­ ro m an tic p o in t of view and nard Herrman or Miklos Rozsa. Do mythology, the things of the past, are you find this very beneficial to the much more effective than things of picture? the future.

HARRYHAUSEN: By all means, That’s why we’ve concentrated in because fantasy needs music and it that direction, but there’s no reason needs a composer with a great im­ why it couldn’t be used for a agination, great experience, and one futuristic film of science-fiction or who won’t simply Mickey Mouse it. mythological nature.

Film scoring is such an integral part CINEMA PAPERS: What can we of fantasy. I’ll always remember expect from you next? what Jack Warner said in the early HARRYHAUSEN: Don’t ask me days, when Warner Brothers had the that question now! We’ve just finish­ top music department of any studio. ed one. It takes three years to get a He said that films are fantasy and proper story that is suitable to this medium and it requires some thought fantasy needs music.

I think all films are fantasy before we enter. One doesn’t like to whether it’s a drama or a bizarre fan­ devote so much of one’s life to a pro­ tasy such as we make. You’re putting ject that will be just another picture a frame around an object, and if on the market. So it takes a bit of you’re going to interpret it from the thought but I hope we’ll come up point of view of the director or the with something soon. producer or even the company that’s C I N E M A PAPERS: M r. making it, you want a unity, because Harryhausen, thank you. you’re putting out a story. You’re not trying to say, I ’m copying RAY HARRYHAUSEN — filmography realism, because I don’t believe MOTHER GOOSE STORIES (1946 16mm there’s such a thing as a realistic USA) STORY OF LITTLE RED RIDING film. The minute you put a frame on THE HOOD (1949 16mm USA) a small part of the whole you’ve got a MIGHTY JOE YOUNG (1949 RKO USA) point of view.

THE STORY OF KING MIDAS (1951 You’d see some Films, in the 30’s, 16mm USA) STORY OF RAPUNZEL (1952 16mm 40’s and 50’s that were’ beautifully THE USA) scored, beautifuMy acted. and THE BEAST FROM 2& T H O U SA N D beautifully put together with, a lot of FATHOMS (1954 Warner Bros USA) thought and imagination. I don’t IT CAME FROM BENEATH THE SEA Warner Bros USA) think they can really be appreciated (1955 A NIM AL WORLD (1956 W arner Bros until you see what damage the pre­ USA) sent type of film-making has done. THE EARTH VERSUS THE FLYING The audiences have dropped away SAUCERS (1956 Columbia USA) MILLION MILES TO EARTH because they’re not being told a TWENTY (1957 Columbia USA) story. There’s a whole new concept THE SEVENTH VOYAGE OF SINBAD today that you don’t have to have a (1958 Columbia-Morningside USA) beginning, middle and an end. I THE THREE WORLDS OF GULLIVER Columbia-Morningside UK) think that’s nonsense. The film in­ (1960 MYSTERIOUS ISLAND (1961 Columbiadustry has gradually been destroyed Morningside UK) by a new group of Dadaists that first JASON AND THE ARGONAUTS (1963 came to light in the early twenties. Columbia-Morningside UK) F IR S T M EN IN T H E M OON (1964 They wanted to do something Columbia-Morningside UK) different to traditional things, not O NE M IL L IO N Y EA R S B.C. (1967 because it was better, but simply Hammer-Warner Bros-7 Arts UK) T H E V A L L EY O F G W A N G I (1969 because they wanted a change.

Morningside-Warner Bros-7 Arts UK) C IN E M A PAPERS: There’s a SIN BAD ’S GOLDEN VOYAGE (1973 saying: “ If you’ve got a message, Columbia UK) send it by Western Union” .

HARRYHAUSEN: That was Sam N ext issue: Special effects Goldwyn’s quote and he was so right. animator Allan Osborne discusses, Of course you’ve got to have a the films and techniques of Ray message picture occasionally, but I Harryhausen. don’t think you have to flog the Mr. Osborne has recentlyTetumed market with them. If you try to send from a tour of the United States and too many messages, you’re entering E ngland w here he m et w ith the propaganda field.

Harryhausen and other special CINEMA PAPERS: Dynamation is effects animators and model builders such a marvellous process. Couldn’t including Jim Danforth, David Allen it be used in a completely different and Marcel Delgado.

In box-office terms Ken G. Hall remains the m ost s u c c e ss fu l film -m ak er in Australia’s history, having made 18 feature films — 17 of them for the Cinesound production company. It was chiefly due to H all’s success with Cinesound that the Australians of the 1930s were provided with an uninterrupted flow of features which were produced entirely in Australia. While Hall’s contemporaries — notably Frank Thring Snr. and Charles Chauvel — were making films of variable achievement Hall managed to make films o f a consistent competitive quality. This was no accident.

Trained first in journalism then in motion picture publicity, Hall was schooled early in the mechanics of showmanship. His ideal was the cinema of Hollywood, his goal the establishment in Australia of a flourishing feature film industry. On both counts, h o w ev er, h is dream never r e a lly materialised. He never garnered the finan­ cial empire which was the bedrock of the Hollywood system; and so the future of each film relied on the profitability of the last, while the Americans could always out­ bid him for the stars he had introduced to the screen. Further, the industry and creative energy that marked Australian film production in the 1930s sprang from the assumption that Sydney and Melbourne could compete with Hollywood on its own terms.1 It was left for the Second World War to demonstrate that the Australian film industry was at best a light-weight amalgamation of a few talented and

dedicated people; when subjected to highlevel pressure from British and American production and distribution companies it cracked. The rot also set in from within the industry. The war dispersed the production crews, actors, and actresses, so pain­ stakingly collected over the years, and many film s were overbudgeted, thus frightening potential investors. The Australian feature film industry virtually disappeared after 1947. The few films which subsequently appeared represented the final flourish of a past experience. The most significant of these were Hall’s SMITHY (1946) and Charles Chauvel’s SONS OF MATTHEW (1949); and, as a portent of the future pattern, H all’s film was made with American money. A vacuum had developed in indigenous feature film production — and it was filled by the British and the Americans.

The successes of the Australian Film In­ dustry of the 1920s and 1930s have not been repeated. It was a time when home-grown production companies launched on to the open market films which were acceptable to the public and Cinesound Productions was the most consistently successful. Ken Hall was in charge of Cinesound and was its feature film producer-director during this period. The casual film-goer interested in Australia’s achievements in the 1930s is more than likely to find that the films he regards as among the best were directed by Ken G. Hall.

Cinema Papers, January — 71

BIOGRAPHY Hall’s background lay in public relations rather than in production: from the start of his working life he was associated with newspapers and publicity, as a cadet reporter on the Evening News in Sydney, and after 1918, as a member of the publicity department of Union Theatres. His first months in Union Theatres gave him a solid background in the detailed processes of publicity, from the writing of press releases to the design of advertising dis­ plays. To extend his experience further, Hall, although still in his ’teens, was placed by the Managing Director of Union Theatres, Stuart Doyle, in the posi­ tion of Manager of the Lyceum Theatre in Sydney, and eventually, at the age of 21, he was made publicity director for the entire Union TheatresAustralasian Films complex. His rapid rise in Doyle’s organisation was an ear­ ly indication of the enthusiasm and commitment that Hall brought to his work in the film industry; far from deriving his energy from financial incentives, Hall seemed to draw most from a developing sense of ‘showmanship’ which became the guiding philosophy behind his production activities in the 1930s.

From Union Theatres, Hall moved to the Sydney branch of the American production and distribution company of First National Pictures, where he again directed the work of the publicity department. There, Hall’s interest-in production began to develop: in 1925 he was sent by the company to Hollywood to broaden his knowledge of the American industry, and had ample opportunity to observe productions in progress. Like Charles Chauvel who also spent some time as an observer in Hollywood, Hall learnt a great deal from his experiences there; but unlike Chauvel who returned to Australia to emulate the public manner of the more extroverted Hollywood producers, Hall returned with a sharpened awareness of the business organisation of production and a respect for budgets and time schedules.

After his return from Hollywood, Hall had his first opportunity to become 72 — Cinema Papers, January i

directly involved in production. As publicity director at First National he had often been given the task of re-editing imported films, either to avoid cen­ sorship problems, or to improve a film’s popular appeal. In 1928, First National imported a German film, The Exploits of the Fmden which included scenes showing the sinking of the Fmden by H.M.A.S. Sydney during the First World War. Hall was given the task of re-filming certain scenes in the film to relieve the German bias to the story and casting and make the film stronger local appeal. The new scenes, both written and directed by Hall, did much to make the film a highly successful venture for First National.

In 1929, Hall returned to Union Theatres to supervise a publicity campaign for the opening of Doyle’s most ambitious building, the State Theatre block in Sydney. This major public relations job was followed by appointment as Doyle’s personal assistant, and it was in this position that Hall was assigned to investigate the commercial worth of experiments with new sound-recording equipment then being conducted at Australasian Films’ laboratory.

Thereafter, Hall became increasingly responsible for the application of the new equipment to the production of short films, and it was only a natural ex­ tension of his duties that he should be assigned by Doyle to direct the first ma­ jor test of the equipment in the production of the feature film, On Our Selec­ tion, and to be appointed General Manager of the new company Cinesound Productions when it was formed in June 1932.

Hall remained General Manager of Cinesound until 1956, personally super­ vising nearly all of the studio’s huge output of newsreels, sponsored short films and advertisements, and writing and directing eighteen full-length feature films between 1932 and 1946.

In 1956, Hall resigned from Cinesound and became the chief executive of­ ficer of Frank Packer’s Television Corporation which operated Channel 9 in Sydney. He remained there until his retirement in 1968.

The following interview was conducted by Philip Taylor on October 25, 1972 at Mr. H all’s home in Bellevue Hill, Sydney.

The biographical notes and credit lists which accompany the interview were com­ piled by Andrew Pike.2 The Editors and Mr. Taylor wish to extend their thanks to Mr. Hall for his co­ operation and assistan ce during the preparation of this interview.

TAYLOR: Ken, could you describe

your early life, and your first en­ counter with motion pictures?

HALL: I was born in Paddington, Sydney — when it wasn’t fashionable to be born in Paddington — on 22 February 1901. I was the son of Charles Thomas and Florence Edith Hall. I ’m a second generation Australian with four English grand­ parents. My father was a news­ paperman on the mechanical side, and my brother followed him, but I had no desire to do that sort of thing.

I was schooled at North Sydney Public School and North Sydney High School.

Now having been born in the year that I was, I grew up with so many fantastic things. I grew up with mo­ tion pictures, I grew up with the a e r o p la n e . I grew up w ith gramophones, and later with radio and television. Both pictures and gramophones had been born before I was, but they didn’t amount to anything. In 1906 or 1907 I saw my first motion picture as a very small boy on North Sydney Oval. Some people known as “Jerdans Pictures” erec ted a ,-et on th e oval and had a p ro je c to r th ro w ­ ing out of a g ra n d s ta n d , a small grandstand, and with a most God-awful motor that broke down every time the picture got interesting.

The motor, of course, was supplying power. It might have been limelight at first, but I still remember the chug-chug-chug of the engine and it dying and everyone being disap­ pointed to see the picture gradually fade on the screen. You sat on both sides of the screen and got the action back to front on one side, but that didn’t make any difference to

anybody. The heroes of those days were all French and Italian, no Yanks at all; Tontolini, Max Linder, people like that. Every short film of five hundred or a thousand feet finished in a chase.

I can see Tontolini walking down a French Street after somebody gave him a bottle of hair restorer because he was bald. His hair started to grow miraculously and every time the camera cut the hair was longer, till finally it was dragging ten yards behind him. This brought a lot of in­ terested French spectators. This is the innocence of the film of that day -that’s all there was to it. That’s how simple films were when they were born. He took to his heels finally, and everyone else took to their heels and tripped over his hair, and that’s it.

I still have a vivid memory of something that makes me in favor of censorship of motion pictures. What is now the Independent Theatre at North Sydney was a motion picture theatre in 1912. It had played vaudeville before that, but apparent­ ly vaudeville went phut. I might have been 11 or 12 and I went to see a film there which was French. A woman was lying on a bed and somebody cut her throat — in all its gory realism.

That picture is still implanted very clearly in my mind.

TAYLOR: Was there a close-up?

HALL: Mid shot. Now this is what is known as realism. This is what I believe to be brutally and horribly wrong. Censorship is a necessity in motion pictures. For books no, I won’t have it, I don’t believe in it, but for motion pictures, where kids can see it, it leaves a lasting impression.

Certainly I didn’t cut anybody’s

throat, but I had the horrors for H is to r y an d G e o g ra p h y . months afterwards. It might have Mathematics I was afraid of — to had some psychological effect on me, this day I’m scared stiff of them. I I don’t know. don’t know many people in the Well, after Jerdans’ Pictures in creative field at all who know maths.

North Sydney came the tent shows, I Some of them might. Frank Clune was still in primary school. The tent was a Tax Accountant. He was a shows were Waddington’s Pictures prolific author but he wasn’t creative. He was a researcher and and MacIntyres Pictures.

MacIntyre’s Pictures in North wrote down what he saw. There’s all Sydney was a huge tent holding eight his books in the book case there. He or nine hundred people. You might used to send them to me hoping that be interested to know that the I would make pictures out of them!

M acIntyre, Hercules Christian Well at high school in my day the MacIntyre — who’s as big as his most glamorous thing you could name, six foot five and now 83 — is think of to be was a newspaper my closest friend and plays golf with reporter. To a boy of my age a me twice a week. He’s a man and a reporter was really something. Well half. He had two brothers as big as in second year a chance came up to himself, who long pre-deceased him. be a cadet reporter, so I dumped Each went a long way in the film High School in a flash, I didn’t think business. His brothers Gus and Hugh twice. I had a little trouble with my were working on the Panama Canal Dad who wanted me to continue on but they took off from there because with my schooling, but with me of the Yellow Fever and saw this jumping about the job he helped me new-fangled thing, a Biograph, get it. I wanted the job basically I brought it back to Australia and suppose because it was glamorous started up. W ell, they began and adventurous, secondly because it Haymarket Theatres in Sydney and let me write a little. As a junior Hercules MacIntyre, the youngest, reporter I learned an enormous eventually became the boss of amount.

Universal Pictures. He was manag­ TAYLOR: Did you at any stage con­ ing director of Universal Pictures for sider anything else as an occupation?

40 years and he’s the best known HALL: I used to draw, and I went to name in film d istrib u tio n in an art class with a very famous A u s tra lia . He backed every teacher, D’Attilo Rubbo, an Italian.

Australian film he could get his I studied for a time, not very well. hands on. None of mine, but all of You learn these things temporarily, Chauvel’s, and he helped a lot of like when you start to play the piano other people including Thring. Mac­ — somebody kicks a football outside Intyre released every one of Thring’s and you don’t practise. This is a pity pictures, and Chauvel’s. Chauvel had because I would rather play the two real commercial successes, Forty piano or conduct an orchestra than Thousand Horsemen and Sons of anything else.

Matthew.

TAYLOR: Prefer that to making TAYLOR: What about Rats of films?

Tobruk?

HALL: No, not to making films!

HALL: No.It didn’t do well. Chauvel They are the second choice. Most was an artistic fellow. He’d come off directors have a yen to be a conduc­ a standing figure and let the camera to r and I have conducted an run down and finish on a skull or a orchestra, in a very small way. dead animal in the desert. He had TAYLOR: In Mr. Chedworth Steps these moods to convey, and he did Out the daughter at the finals was them very well. singing, and you had a big shot of the TAYLOR: Did the First World War girl framed to one side with an outhave any effect on' you? o f - f o c u s c o n d u c to r in th e HALL: A great effect. I was 13 and I background. Was the emphasis on was in High School on a scholarship. the conductor there intentional?

I got there on a scholarship because I HALL: That’s right. I meant to do found at school that some teachers that. I wanted to bring the conductor could grasp my attention and fire my in. That was Hamilton Webber, the imagination and I could do well. In man who wrote or arranged all the my final primary year there was a music for most of my early- pictures, teacher named Frazer who did this. and had to run a twice-a-day show as He fanned my interest in English, a musical conductor at the State Cinema Papers, January — 73

Ken G. Hall

Theatre as well.

TAYLOR: Which newspaper did you join?

HALL: I got a job as a cadet on the Sydney Evening News, long since defunct, but one of the oldest papers in Australia, at thirty bob a week which was a big, big salary in those days for a 15 year old. I was one of the rich kids! It was a court award thing and I had to join a Union, the A.J.A. of course. It rose to fifty shillings and seventy shillings in se­ cond and third years. At school I played football and swam, but my thing — as you would say now — was being a newspaper reporter.

TAYLOR: When did you leave the newspaper business?

HALL: When I’d been on the news­ paper for two years my father was in touch with a man named Bob Dex­ ter, who was the head of Union Theatres’ publicity. He’d lost all his staff because they’d all been called up in Billy Hughes’ “ Hughesliers” — very reluctant and unwilling, the Hughesliers. They used to march them through the streets to stir up the people. They didn’t get to first base, of course. At any rate, I was now getting two pounds-ten a week, second year cadet, and my father said, “Go and see Bob Dexter, he’s got a good job. You’ll increase your figures, and you’ll still be a writer'— as a publicity man.”

TAYLOR: So you didn’t join Union Theatres to enter into show business as a career?

HALL: Oh no, I went in for more money, but I was interested in theatre. We used to have little theatres at home, and the kids used to play in them, but not in a big way.

During my “great” career as a news­ paperman—and this is a word or two against critics — I was 16, and the Chief Sub-editor said to me one night, “Here’s a couple of tickets, go up to the Theatre Royal and write a review on the picture that’s running there.” It was a motion picture with Madge Kennedy called Twin Beds.

Madge Kennedy was a Broadway star and in silent pictures. So I went on this assignment and all the background knowledge I had was 16 years of no experience. I wrote the hell out of it. I said this picture was blah, blah, you know. They asked me to be a critic and critical I was! The , film happened to have been made by a man named Samuel Goldwyn!

TAYLOR: In Mr. Chedworth Steps Out I remember a scene where Peter Finch gets a job with the crooks to earn more money, then falls into debt through betting and has to ask his father for some money to cover the loss. In fleshing out Finch’s character were you drawing on your own experience of the bright young man bettering himself financially?

HALL: Yes, I would be thinking sub­ consciously of these things. Subcon­ sciously they’re in your mind, so you don’t stop and think about them, but you would have an affinity with the character. I never had to ask my father for money because I was lucky enough to get a fair income. In 1918, six quid a week was probably as much as my father was earning as a newspaper man. Anyway, we all liv­ ed very well. We weren’t really 74 — Cinema Papers, January

affluent, but we all ate well, dressed all right, and lived in a nice comfor­ table house. Circumstances govern everything; that was a long time ago and there wasn’t any basic wage. To carry on: as I was saying, publicity men got a lot of opportunities in many fields, and that’s basically how I got into film production. All this film flowing into Australia then was coming in through Australasian Films. Every Monday night we publicity characters, and one or two others, were required to go down and sit in the projection room and watch films. They had two screens side by side and we used to run two pictures at a time. I can flash-read titles and would watch both of them, and then we’d write reports on both of them; their worth, where they should go, what theatres they should be in, how they might be exploited, and all those factors. Sometimes we’d spend a full day doing this as well as at night.

There was an enormous flow of film.

TAYLOR: Can you remember any in particular?

HALL: Oh yes. I can remember sitting with Carleton and saying, “That girl, oh boy she’s a corker isn’t she? She’s better than just being in a Mack Sennett comedy. She’s beautiful and she’s petite and I bet she’d make a great actress.” Well, it was Gloria Swanson. There were also a couple of young fellows, Charles Ray was one, and Dick Barthemuss. I’ve always had a bit of a' flair for picking people, you know.

Not that I had that many oppor­ tunities for picking them up here, there weren’t that many about. There still aren ’t. But th ey ’re rare everywhere. We got onto quite a few and some of them clicked overseas, as you know. Anyway, this went on and it gave me a great insight into motion pictures, because I could study how a film was made. No-one ever told me how to make a film and I’d never read a book before I started because there weren’t any books published. But that wasn’t the point. I didn’t want to know how some great genius wanted to make films. Anyway, I became publicity director of Union Theatres after three years; Dexter went to America, Carleton went to Selznick and they offered me the job. I was 21. It was a bit tough for a kid. Before that they gave me executive training by putting me into the Lyceum Theatre for six months as Manager, publicity direc­ tor, floor washer, the lot. I used to start work at eight o’clock and Finish at 12 every night. But I learned show business. First of all you’ve got to learn about your market, the people.

What do they want? Never mind about the art and the craft and the culture and all that. First of all know what you should be making to please the people you’re going to be selling to. Because if they don’t buy your goods brother, you’d starve in a gar­ ret, This is the way it has to be look­ ed at — realistically, down-to-earth.

I learned that by building a tremen­ dous publicity campaign for a picture then seeing it fall flat on its face.

Now there’s nothing worse than that.

They never blame the film. The boss came round and said, “Well, what happened? The publicity must have

been wrong.” But then you take side of the motion picture business another one that had no real and an opportunity came when I was qualities, and find an angle of approached by the Managing Direc­ publicity on it, and bang! It would go tor of First National Pictures of up like a rocket. I found a film called America, which became Warner Hail the Woman. It was a piece of Brothers’ — First National Pictures, cheese, really, but we got behind it and I joined them in 1924. It was forand sold it with a half-naked woman tuitous for me that I did because I — we did it in silhouette, we didn’t greatly widened my experience, and I dare do otherwise — and we had got the opportunity to become what chains falling off her hands, and the I’d always subconsciously wanted to catchline T H E ARGUMENT FOR be — a film director. When I was THE WOMAN’ and all that. This watching those films two at a time, was Women’s Lib. in 1920. We made and gripping the technique of mak­ out that women had a rough time, ing pictures flow from image to im­ and they surely did. age — and they weren’t flowing too TAYLOR: And the women went ruddy well in those days, I’ll tell you along?

— this is what I knew I wanted to do HALL: They flocked to it! We didn’t and I said, “You dope, you haven’t get many men, but if you’re a wise got a chance. You’re a scrawny kid publicity man — if you’re a wise down here in Australia and with no entrepreneur in anything — you’re experience.” aiming first at women. Never mind Anyway, to get back to the story, I about the men, because they’ll come went over to First National about along with the women. Basically, the 1924, and it was a good thing that I women decide where they’ll go, es­ did. Again the Too Hard basket pecially because they’re married. came my way and this time it was And they still do. They’ll say, “We’ll Censorship. Censorship at that time go and see so-and-so” , and for the was controlled by a Methodist laymost part the men will go along with preacher. Now I’ve got nothing what the girl wants. This is the psy­ against Methodists or lay-preachers, chology we always worked on. but they’re entirely the wrong people TAYLOR: As the publicity man you to be censors. He was a hard-faced, handled many films from the United stiff, cold, public-servant.

States, Britain and Europe. Did you TAYLOR: His name? handle any Australian films?

HALL: Cresswell O’Reilly. He’s got HALL: Some. Dexter handled a name that suggests anything but Longford’s film, The Sentimental Methodism, but he was a Methodist.

Bloke, but I did the plug writing for And I remember when I first went to the newspapers and the rushing sit beside him — because the dis­ round to see the editors with stills in tributor was allowed to have one my hand, and all that. I knew representative beside the Censor — Longford slightly then. I handled and he’d switch on his light and you Hurley’s early pictures — his two knew you were gone. Every time he dramas made in New Guinea — and switched on his light he wrote a note they were not exactly masterpieces. for an ‘excision’ as he called it, or an Frank’s documentaries however, ‘elimination’. were superb: Pearls & Savages, and TAYLOR: Did he ever say on what the Shackelton pictures for the An­ grounds? tarctic. We handled all those, not HALL: He didn’t have to. knowing that he was going to come TAYLOR: Did you ask him? and work with me years later. Stuart HALL: Yes, you’d ask him, that’s Doyle was the boss at the time and he why you were there, you did your was a very, very good showman. I best. But often he’d say, “No, I don’t learned a great deal from him like it” . That’s all. But you look your because he knew show business, what notes. the public would go for. That’s where TAYLOR: Was there any method to I got my background knowledge, his excisions? Did he tend to cut which is the most valuable asset I’ve some things out more than others got, without any doubt. The most because of some personal bias? valuable asset you can have as a film HALL: No, there was only the pre­ maker or in show business anywhere judice of an ultra-religionist who in the world, is an instinct for what should never have been in a job like the public might go for. Goldwyn that. He certainly didn’t represent had it. Zukor had it. De Mille had it. average public opinion. Censorship, Harry Conn had it. You can go on, if it’s got to be there, has got to be David Selznick, who sent me that from a man with an impartial mind.

Oscar over there in 1943. I am not TAYLOR: Were religious issues cen­ for a minute putting myself in their sored? exalted class, but without that kind HALL: Oh yes! You’ve got no idea of understanding you may as well not what censorship was like. You see get mixed up with the production Of under the Production Code in films because if you don’t make the America then you couldn’t put a man films that the public want to look at, and a woman in bed together, you you’ll lose the people who will back could only have people in twin beds. you with large amounts of money. Oh, a million things like that. You Think of the half dozen or so films had to watch the length of a kiss. made here in the last five years which They’d tell you how long a man have cost Australian investors could kiss a woman. This was laid millions of dollars. down in the Production Code.

At this stage of my life, I am still A nything th at looked like a in publicity. I am still in charge of passionate kiss — out like a flash.

Union Theatres and Australasian Anyway, sitting beside this man, see­ Films throughout Australia. I am ing the way his mind worked, my ambitious, and always have been. I mind was Working, thinking “How wanted to look at the distribution can I alter this picture to get it past

Ken G. Hall

him?” And this is where I learned about film editing. This is an essen­ tial for any director. He’s got to know a goddam lot about the cutting room. It’s the best training ground in the world for the job. I think one of the world’s great directors is David Lean, and he was a film editor when I knew him first.

TAYLOR: Yes, one of his earlier pic­ tures was In Which We Serve.

HALL: Yes, he was put on to help Noel Coward because Coward didn’t know where the camera should go, or how to keep continuity — or keep the action flowing. But Coward quickly resigned in his favor and let him go on virtually controlling direc­ tion and camera control. Smart for Coward. His cutting room ex­ perience is essential, and this was a valuable thing that happened to me. I was there to outwit the censor. I would take the film away and re-edit it, after putting new titles into it to make the action say something more acceptable than the producer in­ tended; We had title artists here who could copy the American title style and we had the labs that could get the same tint, because lots of films were tinted. We could tint it up, run the new title in, and you couldn’t tell.

So I wrote many times: AND SO

THEY WERE MARRIED. The hellions were never married at all, they were still living in sin! I remember Sylvia Bremer, who was an Australian silent star born in Melbourne. She was living with a man (in a film of course) and she had a ring on her finger which was a dia­ mond ring and which she wore on her engagement finger — it was one of those ten-year-long “engagements” , you know. In the symbolism of silent pictures she held her hand up, took the diamond, and turned it round so that the diamond went underneath and the band became a wedding ring.

So I just cut the bit where the dia­ mond was on top and Presto! she had a wedding ring on! It got past the Censor.

TAYLOR: After you had cut these out and got the film past the Censor would you ever put them back in again?

HALL: Oh no! No. You were liable to a dreadful fine plus being hung, drawn and quartered. They took the film, you had to give them every scrap. Then it came down that you could have the print before the Cen­ sor got it. We went to the Don Chipp of the day — I can’t remember his name — and he agreed to let us have pre-censorship screenings. So we

used to cuFthem and then take them up to the Censor, but we took every cut with us because they would measure them against the length — they’d get the lengths from America when it came in under bond. I got my training like that. Then they stopped that. So my boss, who was no fool and a bloody good showman too, said, “ Ken, you’re going to get on the boat to New Zealand on Friday.”

I said, “ For God’s sake why?” I was just married, and I knew that I was going to have a lot of wife-trouble about that. And he said, “ I want you to go over there on the boat leaving on Friday, and arriving on Tuesday.

You can cut the film in New Zealand; we’ve got a print in bond over there. Get it out, cut it, put it back into the bond, and re-ship it into Australia, and it’ll already be cut.” So I did that. Friday afternoon on the boat, got to New Zealand on Tuesday, and came back on the following Friday’s boat with the cut film. It sounds amusing, but it wasn’t exactly a laughing matter because wives don’t take too kindly to all this. But it was invaluable experience for me. I can’t stress how heavily that weighed in my future career — not that I kid myself how great my career was. I don’t. But I suppose I

did reasonably well under the dif­ ficult circumstances.

Well, the Americans appreciated it when I saved them a few films that they would have lost to censorship, and I saved them more than a few.

They w ould have lo st them altogether, or had them emasculated by the censor, which would have cut down their earning power. So in 1925 they gave me a trip to the States. I hadn’t left when they wrote and said “How would you like to go to Hollywood?” and I said, “Would I whatV’ But I went as a publicity man.

TAYLOR: Why you in particular?

HALL: It was a reward. The Americans do these things. They’re smart! They win your loyalty, and they’re doing a good turn for themselves.

TAYLOR: Who was in charge of your organisation at the time?

HALL: John C. Jones. He was the Managing Director in Australia of First National Pictures, which was already rapidly becoming Warners’.

TAYLOR: How did he compare with your earlier boss, Stuart Doyle?

HALL: Well he was a keener mind, he was more erudite. He brought the late Dr. Frank Lowat, a top lawyer in Sydney and a lecturer at the

The Three Fate* Cinema Papers, January — 75

Ken G. Hall

University, and put me and two or three others in a debating club just to develop our ability to talk to people.

This was before I went to meet those Americans because he knew how tough they could be. That is the sort of thing he did. And he probably thought, “Well this youngster’s done fairly well, he should get a look round over there, he should expand his publicity knowledge.” But I was more interested in expanding my knowledge of how to make pictures.

So I went on the old Aorangi on her first trip up the Pacific. She was a brand-new motor vessel, the pride of the Union Company’s fleet. I went up the Pacific on a fantastic trip for a young man of 24 — unbelievable.

TAYLOR: Later you made Lovers and Luggers partly on location and partly in the studio with backprojection. Did you draw on the observations you made of the Pacific Islands during the trip for this film?

HALL: Oh yes. Some of them un­ doubtedly. I’m fascinated by the Tropics.

TAYLOR: How do you feel about shooting indoors, on location, in preference to shooting in the studio using back-projection?

HALL: I like shooting outdoors and I would’ve gone into it more and more, but it’s not economical. I had to make films cheaply.

TAYLOR: Would you rather have made films outdoors?

HALL: Much rather. As I’ve said, I’m fascinated by the Tropics. I was mad keen to make Lovers and Luggers, I couldn’t get at it fast enough. But I couldn’t go up to the Tropics myself; I had to send Hurley, because I couldn’t afford the time to go, and he made the back-projection plates I wanted. I loved the subject. I think I like it best of all the pictures that I ’ve made. Because of the backgrounds. I’d go tomorrow to make a film about the Tropics.

Quick! And I think we ought to be doing that in television, right now, and making it on authentic locations.

The world has always had a yen to be a castaway on a tropic isle — with a beautiful blonde of course!

TAYLOR: Right. Now you went to Hollywood.

HALL: Hollywood was a great big village in 1925, and a fascinating, wonderful, wonderful place. I’ve been back many times since but it’s never been the same as it was then when everybody seemed to know each other. I went in as a publicity man and quickly found there wasn’t an awful lot the Americans could teach us in publicity, because we read all their magazines and trade papers and we had our own ideas and they often copied ours. While I was with First National, we produced a policy book setting out every film we were offering for sale to exhibitors. All that we had at that stage was a title.

Sometimes you knew who the star was to be, but you didn’t really know the story. And you had to design and write a full page glossy reproduction with really nothing to go on. The Americans were impressed "with all this because they didn’t know all that much about some of the films they hoped to make themselves. Anyway, I was there as a publicity man and I 76 — Cinema Papers, January

was asked to address a convention. I remember the man who first put “ Tarzan” on the screen — Sol Lesser. He got up and said, “We’ve got men here from Germany, and we’ve got men from England, .and we’ve got a man from a tiny little island down in the South Pacific.”

That was me. And I stood on my hind legs later when I got the chance and I said that we weren’t a tiny little island, that we were a fairly big people, that we had a whole five million people, and I said that the city of Sydney was as big as Los Angeles — which it was about that time. Well by golly you can imagine those Yanks. This Mr. Sol Lesser, who later became famous as a producer of stars and series that went on and on ad infinitum, said, “ Listen son, when you come among people like us you don’t want to talk a lot of bull like that about Sydney being bigger than Los Angeles. Goddamit, this is a big city!” So I learned a lesson. Don’t ever talk up too big in front of Americans if you want to keep on side with them.

TAYLOR: At La Trobe University you m entioned th a t while in Hollywood you visited some sets, and met a few directors. Can you remember the films, and can you remember the directors?

HALL: Yes, I did. I went on the set often. I was deeply impressed as a young man, and ve,ry impressionable too when a good looking female was around, like Dolores Del Rio, then in her early twenties. Lewis Stone who later became famous in the Andy Hardy series was her leading man.

TAYLOR: Did you meet any of the com edians: C haplin, K eaton, Langdon?

HALL: Harry Langdon I met. Also Chaplin on a later trip. I got very close to Colleen Moore and her husband, John MacCormack. I had done a lot of publicity down here to put Colleen Moore over. She was a remarkable and very attractive woman with one blue eye and one brown eye. This gave them trouble in photographing her, but they used filters on the lights, and she made some very big hit pictures: Sally, So Long Letty, Flaming Youth, So Big, and others. I was fortunate to be the guest of Colleen and her husband at the premiere of Sally in a downtown theatre in Los Angeles, the first time I’d ever sat beside a big movie star at a premiere. I was on quite good terms with her by then. I’d been home to dinner with her and her hus­ band and we went down to the theatre and I sat beside her. That was a thrill for a start! She had beautiful hands, and all the way through the picture she chewed her fingernails — they were in tatters on her right hand. But she needn’t have worried, the film was a tremendous hit. It didn’t occur to me that I was to suf­ fer the frightening, shattering, ex­ hilarating experience of my own “premiere” 18 times, at a later date.

Colleen Moore in Sally was one of the great hits of the twenties. She made many more hits, but like so many others, she didn’t carry over into the talkies because her voice didn’t work that well.

After Hollywood I went to New

York and there was a lot of produc­ tion going on there also. Now because I’m so tall I used to wear a pretty wide hat in the twenties, I ■needed it. When I got to America, wide hats were out and short-brim hats were in, just as they have been for the last 10 years here. I went up to a studio in New York. I met some quite famous people; Milton Sills, who was the star of The Honour System, The Sea Hawk, and God knows how many big pictures, Corrine Griffith, Alma Rubens, and Lord knows how many more. Well at the studio my hat disappeared. I was a bit of a centre of attention because the Australian accent was something that intrigued all Americans. They used to sit round and say “Go on, talk.” And the first thing they would always say was: “Oh you’re from Orstrelia, eh?” I’ve often heard the word. Well I don’t have a great accent. I don’t have a good voice, but one of the things I’ve guarded against is the Great Australian Accent. Anyway, then I must have had some because they used to listen.

When my hat came back it was autographed by all these big stars, they had written all round the brim. I went out and bought a new hat. It was a marvellous experience during that period because you could go up into Harlem, there was no problem then, you didn’t take a chance on getting yourself killed. I went with a couple of fellows from the Company up into the famous Cotton Club in Harlem where there were highyellow girls and a lot of colored men about. But nobody worried, there was no problem. There was no Uncle Tomism, or ‘You’re white and I’m black’; we just sat in there and had a ball.

T A Y L O R : Th is was d u rin g Prohibition.

HALL: It was during Prohibition, yes. I saw a lot of that too. There was a lot of very bad liquor, it was a dangerous thing to drink. You went into a man’s office at 10 o’clock in the morning, he opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of Scotch, just to show that he had it. And he’d say, “Go on boy, that’s the real stuff, you drink that.” Probably blow the top of your head off! Well, from New York I went to Chicago. I went over to New York from Los Angeles in the Southern Pacific railroad which took me right through New Mexico and the South. I was in Chicago dur­ ing its peak crime period when you really were scared to go outside the pub at night. Some gangland massacre had occurrred not long before. They were bumping them off all over the place. I then went from Chicago back to New York, to Niagara Falls, then by courtesy of the Company on to the CanadianPacific Railroad and over the Cana­ dian Rockies which is still in my view, the most beautiful part of the world that I’ve seen — and I’ve seen a few parts. Really marvellous. Then back home, again on the Aorangi.

TAYLOR: Did you get any ideas about experimenting with film while you were there: color, or tinting, or titling, or sound?

HALL: Sound pictures weren’t any more than just an idea in 1925. One

thing they used to say, “Some day they’ll make them talk” , then the other guy would say, “That’ll be the day!” I wasn’t interested in color at all and neither was anybody else. We were interested in tinting the film — the print that is. When a fire came up we put it into anYimber tint, and I did that in The Squatter’s Daughter. In silent days I didn’t get many ideas of how a director worked on his people because they didn’t really work on them then. A woman showed emo­ tion by heaving her breasts rapidly up and down, and that would have to cover almost the whole gamut of emotions from A to B. One of my great screen loves when I was a young man was Norma Talmadge.

I’d climb over broken glass for Norma — only she didn’t know about it! Well, she Would show em otions in the way I have described, and she had something worth heaving in the way of chests I can tell you.

TAYLOR: One final question on Hollywood, Ken, what was the ex­ perience like for you — the studio system, the star system, the power of the producers over the pictures?

HALL: Well that was what I was learning. A producer/director said to me one day while we were on the set, “Oh Orstrelia, eh? Oh yeah, god­ damit I got a hundred dollars from down there the other day.” That was his percentage in other words. These big directors were mad on percentage arrangements. I was encompassed by the glamor of Hollywood: the beautiful women, the big sets — Venice, Rome — anything you wanted to look at, there it was. At Universal, I think, they were building the cathedral for The Hunchback of Notre Dame. I’ve got a picture of myself standing in a street beside a car and a huge, vast ship blocking the end of the road.

The ship was 25 miles from the sea in Fox studios. That was in ’35. They couldn’t move the ship — it seemed as big as the Queen Mary — so the dock was set on rollers and the camera was on the dock, they’d move the dock and it would appear the ship was going out. The genius of Hollywood was in the people who created things like this. It’s not just the film-makers, it’s the people who help the film-makers make films.

The same applies here, of course.

TAYLOR: Could you say on the other hand that the inspiration for the film comes from the director, and that the production crew carry out his orders to the best of their ability?

HALL: In a way yes, but basically that isn’t right. The inspiration com­ es from the producer originally: he decides what they’re going to make, who’ll write and direct and so on.

The author writes down on the side, for instance “The Amberly Mansion, it has four rooms, and it’s got this and it’s got that” , and that’s all he says. The producer gets it because the producer appointed the writer anyway. He also casts'it and decides who’ll star, and works out the set with the Art Director. He’s the boss man. This is the Hollywood system.

There is the producer and there is the director, and the producer could fire the director any minute of the day,

Ken G. Hall

and they often did, and they still do.

There was an instance which I witnessed, of a man being fired after four days shooting because they didn’t like his rushes.

TAYLOR: Right, now you came home.

HALL: I returned from Hollywood in 1925 and almost immediately afterward I married my late wife.

She died in January ’72.

TAYLOR: Where did you meet your wife?

HALL: Here in Sydney. She was in the mail order departm ent of Farmers’ store.

TAYLOR: She wasn’t connected with the trade?

HALL: No, never was a professional at all, I never wanted her to be.. But I wasn’t a film producer when I met her, I was in publicity. When I was courting her I was managing the Lyceum Theatre, Sydney, as part of executive training. Well, I married and immediately the Company, again being very gracious, gave us a honeymoon trip interstate. But there was a tag to it. I had to handle a film as I went along — The Volga Boat­ man, I think it was, with Bill Boyd, who has just died — Hopalong Cassidy. He was then a young man, a pretty good actor, and a good type of man, and The Volga Boatman was a hell of a good film. At any rate I rustled up all the Russians I could find throughout the country, and some of the Russian choir had stopped here after a tour. We found them in Melbourne. So we conned together this choir of any odd Russians we could find round the place to sing ‘The Volga Boatman’.

Any of the young local lads who weren’t quite sure of their Russian were taught phonetically; I can still remember some of it. We put on presentations and kicked up hell, and the film was. a great success.

Anyway, we got back to Sydney, and again the old Too Hard Basket comes out, because John C. Jones —who I said was a good showman— reading overseas journals, read that the Germans had made a film called The Exploits of the Emden. There was a hell of a kick up here when the Sydney sunk the Emden. And only when I came to make the picture did I realise that she should have bloody well sunk the Emden, and she should have sunk her without one single Sydney man being injured. She had no right to-bombard a wreck up on a reef, with no chance of retaliation just because the surviving Germans had not lowered their flag, so they poured another five salvoes in and killed 50 men. I can’t agree that this was the right thing to do and I got into an awful row when I had Bob Raymond make the Emden for Television in the Project ’63 series.

W ell I had him m ake th ese statements and did the old boys of the Sydney association get on my back! “ You bloody traitor” , they said. But it was only the truth, and history has shown it to be so. Cap­ tain Glossop R.N., let it be noted, should never have brought the Sydney within range because she out­ gunned, out-ranged and outsped the Emden. She had only to stay away and blow the German ship out of the

water, that’s all. But he got 11 killed, through making this mistake, so they sent him back to England after his ‘great’ victory.

TAYLOR: And the German film?

HALL: John Jones imported The Ex­ ploits of the Emden, we. looked at it and it was terrible. It really was.

A ustralians were portrayed by square-headed Germans. The uni­ forms looked ridiculous. The whole thing was stupid and it would have failed completely in the theatres.

Now Jones was already in for con­ siderable money. So he said, “What can we do about it?” and I said we could remake the Australian section.

I got hold of an ex-Sydney man who gave me background, and I wrote a story giving the Australian aspect of it, using dramatic and comedy scenes with Australians in them. The exSydney rating told me of a fellow who went round and collected all his debts before they went into action, things like that.

The next thing was: How to make it? So I went to Melbourne and saw the current Minister for the Navy, and talked him into loaning me the Sydney. I was to take a camera crew to Jervis Bay, and Sydney’s skipper (a new one) and an Aussie crew were to co-operate. And they did. I had newsreel cameramen, Ray Vaughan and Claude Carter both of whom became close life-long friends, and we proceeded to make these scenes.

It was shot in dramatic style based on what I’d seen in Hollywood and w h at I knew from my own background.

TAYLOR: Before you continue here, Ken, had you seen Eisentein’s Battleship Potemkin before you began work on the Emden?

HALL: I hadn’t seen it, and I never have seen it up to how. I don’t want to be influenced by these things.

When I do something I’d rather go off on my own bat and if I make a mess of it, then that’s me. At least I did it myself. I wasn’t in a half-baked way copying somebody else. In all my films I used the American style, the American style of making films and I’d try and get them as slick and as fast as I could.

Not many of my films dragged much, they moved fairly fast.

Our opening shots for the Emden film were of the Sydney firing. They told us that the ship would move as she fired the broadside. So I said to the boys on the handcranked cameras, “Watch yourselves! When the bells go ding-ding-ding, any time after that, Bang!” So when she went ‘Bang!’ the ship jumped a foot sideways, and the cameras went thataway. That was the end of that shot. But the tragedy of it was, they all scrambled and got their cameras back up and we waited for those non­ explosive practice shells to be fired at a target being towed by the Platypus, which was a biggish naval ship. We were all watching the target and nothing happened, then all of a sudden we all switched to the Platypus and poof-poof-poof these big white gouts were going up all round the Platypus. Well, God Almighty, you’ve never seen such a flutter — flags went whizzing up and down, heliographs were flashing

frantically, and everything round the place was on. You see, the guns were out of gear and the range finders out of whack, and they were too old anyway, and the gunnery officer got fired I think. The whole bloody lot was a shambles. And the Captain sent for me and said, “ You’ll see that those scenes are cut out, Mr. Hall” . I said, “There’s no need for that, Sir, we didn’t get them. We nearly fell overboard.” Anyway, from then on, they poured it on for us. They put bursts round the ship simulating shell fire, and the lot, they did a wonder­ fully good job. I had to write the film, produce it, direct it, bring it back and cut it — because there were no film editors in those days. All I had was a girl in the film exchange who used to clean and join film. Well I cut it and she joined it and we got the film together, I wrote the sub­ titles and cut them in. It went into the Prince Edward theatre, which was then one of Sydney’s top theatres, and followed into major theatres all round the country. It did very well.

After the Emden, in about 1929,John C. Jones had a row with Warner Brothers, who’d taken over FirstNational,and resigned. He made sure that I’d go out with him and rejoin Stuart Doyle who was then opening the State Theatre. I became Publicity Director of the State Theatre, back under Doyle’s wing. This was just about the time of the Wall Street crash. Doyle had a very big show. We brought in an American musical director, Will Prior and Clyde Hood, an American producer, because we had a perma­ nent stage show and a ballet of 16 girls. Clyde Hood was later lost on the Southern Cloud when the plane disappeared flying to Melbourne.

Some independents made a film about it at Cinesound not long after, directed by A. R. Harwood. They called it Secret of the Skies. Clyde was going down to see his girl friend, an actress in Melbourne; the plane disappeared and wasn’t found until 25 years later.

But, anyway, the Depression had come, and with the world beginning to fall apart round our ears, the theatres began to empty. This was after October 1929 and in 1930.

About 1931 I was made assistant to the Managing Director — not Assis­ tant Managing Director, they’re two very different things. But again I was getting all the stuff that was in the Too Hard Basket. Into my spot as Publicity Director went H. G. Haywood, who’s now chief of the Films Commission in New South Wales — he later became chief of Publicity for Cinesound. Well Doyle was desperate because the theatres were losing money hand over fist — they were losing between six and eight thousand pounds a week. It was all right -until the end of 1929; 1930 weakened badly; 1931 was desperate.

But it was in that year that a man I’d never met walked into my office and said “Your name’s Ken Hall. Stuart sent me round to see you. My name’s Bert Bailey and I believe we’re going to make a picture together.” I said, “That’s great. I couldn’t be more happy about it, but I wish somebody would tell me." He said, “ You’ll

hear” . So we discussed it and it was going to be On Our Selection. I couldn’t tell him but I was im­ mediately against making On Our Selection. I was one of those high minded young men who didn’t want to see Australia “degraded” by any of these dreadful Dad and Dave things. Oh no! Not for me!

TAYLOR: Were you influenced by the memory of Longford’s film?

HALL: No. There was no memory of Longford or his film at all.

TAYLOR: But he had made On Our Selection earlier.

HALL: True. But that didn’t concern me. I simply remembered that everybody said “This was the wrong image of Australia to present” . And they said it on the very day that On Our Selection was released. “ It’s go­ ing to do us no good overseas” .

TAYLOR: Did you have any idea of the ‘right’ image of Australia to present?

HALL: I didn’t think about images.

Doyle the showman made me see the light. “We need a hit” he said. If I had thought about an image, it would have em erged in The Squatter’s Daughter — the young man of the bush, hard riding, the out­ door type. Because the bush seemed to offer the opportunities, and we had to think of overseas. What would they like to see about Australia?

They wouldn’t like to see Australia in city-life very much; they had that themselves and they couldn’t care less about it. But tens of thousands of sh eep , and b u s h -fire s , and kangaroos, and they’d come to it, because it was different. Well Bert Bailey brought me his old stage script of On Our Selection which had all his own notes and marks on it, direction marks — plus “business” .

Then I began to learn about the theatre. I didn’t know much about it up to that time. I’d done stage presentations with silent films — a singer and a ballet and all that, but that was all I knew about theatre.

TAYLOR: What was your impres­ sion of theatre and films at the time?

Did you think that actors from the theatre should act the same way in films?

HALL: Y es, we all did then.

Hollywood did.

TAYLOR: The great gesture.

HALL: Yes, the great gesture. I had to live and learn. The Hollywood films of the late twenties and early th irties were, “ Ooooh Sonny Booyy” , with the sweeping arm, you know. Don’t believe it only happened in Australia, it happened there too — see any late, late movie on TV. But I want you to know that when Doyle said, “ Make this film” he was only able to say it as a result of what had happened when young A rthur Sm ith came up from Tasmania. He was a radio engineer and came to Sydney convinced that he could get sound on film. Australa­ sian Films had a laboratory out at the old Skating Rink at Bondi where they made the silent For The Term of His Natural Life. Arthur was, and still is at 74, a shy man. I have a great affection for Arthur and there would have been no Cinesound without him — as I’ve said a million times.

Cinema Papers, January — 77

Ken G. Hall

Bert Cross, in charge of the lab. had taken Smith in and they ex­ perimented for over a year on optical track development. One day Bert brought Smith in and they showed me what they said was sound on film.

Well I saw the sound track and heard it run in the theatrette. It was only a track, no picture image, but I was deeply impressed.

TAYLOR: The Americans had op­ tical track by now.

HALL: Some of them had optical tracks on film. Everyone had had all the trouble in the world with records going out of sync. Warner Brothers had promulgated the record idea which had to be discarded of course.

When it was out of sync, it was murder. But The Jazz Singer was on disc.

Well, Smithy had this strip and I could see and hear it. I said, “ It’s here!” And wildly enthusiastic, I took it into Doyle. He hot-footed round to the theatrette with a man named Frank Marden who had been in charge of the studio in the days of Adorable Outcast, and other films which hadn’t succeeded very well.

They had also made Raymond Longford’s Tall Timbers out there, which flopped. He must have knock­ ed Doyle down because he said, “Christ! I don’t think much of this.

Look Hall, if you want to be my assistant you’d better be more cautious in your judgments. Don’t get wildly excited about things like that!” I said, “ Mr. Doyle this is good sound on film. Now I’m no techni­ cian but I think this is good sound and I’d be very happy to have a crack at it” . The truth is that both he and M ard en did n o t bel i eve an Australian could invent a sound system when the great American studios were still struggling with it.

He said, “Well, I don’t know” .

Something strange must have happened because two weeks later Bailey, as already recounted, said we were going to make a film. Doyle had been around obviously to hear that track again with somebody else, probably his wife or his secretary, and he was sold this time. It was very strange because they ran the same bloody track for him! I said, “You heard the new track?” but it was the same old one.

TAYLOR: You were learning.

HALL: Oh brother, I was learning!

How to handle the big shots! I never quite knew how to handle Frank Packer but I learned how big he was!

But back at the ranch it was on.

Once Doyle had made a decision he couldn’t go fast enough: “Get started next week” . I said, “Next week!

We’ve got to write the script and Bailey’s got to get his cast together” .

We had to build a small box-like studio about 30 by 40 feet inside the skating rink and fill it up with all the old silent day arc lights, hot as hell.

We put Wally Sully, who was a newsreel cameraman, inside a bungalow to stop the clatter of the camera, which was a relic from the silent days too. They had bought a high speed gate for it, which with the synchronous motor Smith designed, brought the picture up to 24 images a second, sound speed. We were entire­ ly in the hands of Arthur Smith in 78 — Cinema Papers^ January

this department.

clapper board — you know what camera — you know, sound and pic­ happens—to get synchronisation. I ture in one.” Well he said, “You’ve Smith’s optical track was an original found a hut outside Penrith, about got to do something about it Hall, I concept. eight miles out, at a place called want it done.” That’s Doyle. I said, HALL: An original concept in Castlereagh, with the Blue Moun­ “All right, but it’ll take time. Maybe Australia although the glow-tube tains behind it. It was a made-to- three weeks!” Poor old Hall, the principle involved was well known. order On Our Selection house, it was sucker that he was. But I’m glad The Americans came out and crawl­ just it. I had to pick that house because it was a great experience. I ed all over it trying to find out where anyway, because there was a power detached Bert Cross. I said, “You we’d breached their patents. line running near the front and we find some cameramen, and go TAYLOR: It was his idea, he’d never were going to tap in off the power searching round and find some been to the States? line. It happened- to be perfect cameras.” Well Greater Union -HALL: He’d never been outside of because it was facing east, which Theatres owned a place called Tasmania until he came here. meant we could work all morning National Theatre Supplies and they TAYLOR: Now sound before that round the front, and in the afternoon had a lot of German hand cameras was on wax recordings. Do I unders­ shoot round the back. And you had called leas. Bitch machinery! They tand you correctly that he was the that beautiful line of mountains were terrible things. Hand-held, first man to put sound on film? breaking up most of the shots. It was spring-drive, and they scratched, and HALL: No. The first man to put ramshackle, it was tumbledown, the th’ey jam m ed , and they did sound on film here. As I’ve said Fox cattle were poor, and everything was everything possible; at the crucial moment when the girl was falling off had. Western Electric and R.C.A. great. had developed optical tracks, but So here we are with practically no the bridge-or something, the newsreel their system was different to ours. experience whatever. Technically always stopped. Boom! Or just We had no sound at all at Australian nobody really knew how we were go­ before the finish of the horse race.

Films. It was a laboratory. It used to ing to make a sound film because Well we started out with these, and make the Australasian Gazette, but nobody among us had made one. Jim Cross got cracking finding staff. He -that finished about 1928.

Coleman built a mike boom with an talked to me on the ’phone every TAYLOR: Would you say he in­ upright and a timber arm. You morning — I’m in Penrith — and vented the sound system? couldn’t retract or extend, you we’d decide what we’d cover. I’d go HALL: He did invent that particular couldn’t do anything much. The out and work all day on the feature sound system without any shadow of mike weighed a ton, it was a big old and twice a week I’d drive back to a doubt! condenser; you could swing it but town. The first night I edited all the TAYLOR: That fact has never been you couldn’t do all the refinements material with a cutter, and got an acknowledged in the histories of the you can do now. So the actors were idea of continuity. Wrote the con­ cinema. talking up louder than they should tinuity the next night up there, then HALL: I doubt it, but I’ve said it have done. Smithy was 'always drove back on the Wednesday night many times. It’s like so many things grumbling about the outside noise, and recorded it with C harlie technicians do, not enough of them “ I can hear a cow over there . . .” Lawrence, that was it. There was no get the credit. I’ve never stopped giv­ And there was a famous occasion music behind it because we had no ing credit to Smith, and he’s the first when he flew out from inside, his method of re-recording at that time. to acknowledge the fact. He was truck and said, “There’s a fly in me We didn’t have it on On Our Selec­ made ‘Man of the Year’ this year by mike!” All the actresses went over tion. There was just the voice. the Cinema Pioneers. He’s a creator. backwards. That was the trouble, the Charlie Lawrence was the top man in He invented and built the sound blowflies used to get round the mike radio and community singing and all system and it was still operating at and you couldn’t hear any dialogue. that, and he was humorous. We built Cinesound when I left in 1956 — Well, we overcame all these dif­ the newsreel’s success on this flair for with improvements of course. He put ficulties and we got a film that was a little bit of comedy every now and on squeeze track and all the things funny. But it wasn’t easy to make. I then. Charlie was pretty corny, but that the Americans thought of, and a remember one day while I was in the the public liked corn. On Our Selec­ lot that they didn’t. It wasn’t the middle of an important scene a tion struggled out and the newsreel highest standard in the world, it fellow came up on a horse and he’d struggled out, and me crucifying wasn’t up to the standard of Western ridden over from where there was a myself rushing up and down and Electric top quality, and you couldn’t telephone. He said, “A Mr. Doyle getting goddamn little sleep. Anyway expect it to be, because they had has rung up for a Mr. Hall.” And I all good things come to an £nd. The spent and were still spending many said, “Well I’m Hall.” And he said, Melbourne Herald started its own millions in research. What we had “Well he wants you to come in and newsreel because the Victorian was his original thought. see him.” This was Doyle all over, Government put in a quota, and the I started out to make On Our ‘Just come back and see me.’ I said exhibitors could comply with the Selection virtually with a newsreel “Tell Mr. Doyle that I do happen to quota by running a weekly newsreel.

•cameraman and Arthur Smith. He be making On Our Selection which Rupert Murdoch’s father started the recruited Bert Cross’s young son, he knows about, and I’ll come back newsreel and Tom Gurr, who later Clyde, who was about seventeen and tonight because I can’t leave the set.” became editor of the Sunday Sun, who later became a recording After sundown I drove back forty was running it, but they quickly ran engineer for most of the pictures. miles to Sydney to see Doyle. He into trouble, and our newsreels Smithy went over to research. Bert said, “This Movietone news thing is swamped them down there. So Doyle Cross, who became technical super­ getting too strong and they’re asking decided to take them over, which he visor, had been cameraman on both the world for their newsreel. I want did. We got some of their gear — a of Norman Dawn’s pictures. And to start a newsreel of our own.” I great big heavy Pathe camera that Jim Coleman as Chief Property said, “O.K. When do you want it?” was no ruddy good for news work. It man. He’d been in everything. He’d He said, “Want it? I want it next took three men to get it up onto the been in many of Longford’s pictures Monday.” I said, “Now just go easy truck. I was glad to get it because it — actor, set designer and builder.

— we’re making a picture with all was a potential feature film camera They said of Jim, “Give him two actors and staff, and our one which I could use in the studio. At butter boxes and he’ll build you a ' cameraman, they’re all up there. least it was silent. set” and it was damned nearly true.

You can’t make a newsreel without TAYLOR: What gauge was it? Six­ He’d knock up sets out of anything. cameras or cameramen. You’ve got teen millimetre or thirty-five?

We had quite a few sets in On Our to get them located all round HALL: No, sixteen wasn’t even Selection; Prior to it I had been out Australia. Movietone’s American, thought of. In all the time I was in looking for locations knowing that very well equipped, with top-line production.nobody everf thought of we couldn’t run synchronous sound staff and cameras, sound cameras. sixteen. Not until television. It was outdoors. Without access to power, We don’t have one sound camera. there later in the thirties, but it was we had no way of doing it. So I had We’ve got the one I’m using up there, for amateurs."The ^technicians using to get near a power supply, 240 volts but it’s double system (i.e. sound and it later on called it ‘spaghetti’. to drive the camera motors and the image separate) and that’s next to TAYLOR: Wasn’t the First World sound motors to get sync. We let useless for high speed newsreel work. War documentary footage shot on them run to get speed then clap the I’ve got to have a single system sixteen?

TAYLOR: Now let’s get this clear:.

Ken G. Hall

HALL: No, no, every bit of it on thirty-five. All World War Two Australian material was shot on thirty-five orthochromatic film, which was slow. Well, we finished cutting On Our Selection. This is where I should talk about people who made a contribution. One of the foremost was George Malcolm who was in the laboratory at the time editing whatever went by. He was very bright. He’s still got his own business here in Sydney — George D. Malcolm Productions. I quickly grabbed him to edit this film since there was nobody else knew anything about it. George cut it with me beside him. You’d look at the rushes and you’d pick out what you wanted day by day. They are assembled by the editor, and he cuts them the way he thinks that sequence ought to go after consultation with you, and with constant reference to the script, knowing that you’ve got down on the script how you think the film should go.

TAYLOR: So you wanted control over all aspects of production?

HALL: Oh yes. Someone has to have, you know, and I was controll­ ing a newsreel too — throwing ideas at them and helping solve problems for them.

TAYLOR: Now you mentioned at La Trobe that Bert Bailey directed the actors and you directed the camera and sound. How did that system work?

HALL: This is important. Bailey was the very experienced actor, and Doyle had no confidence in my abili­ ty to direct actors at all. He put me on to it sort of, in the way David Lean went on beside Noel Coward.

Bailey was a great entrepreneur, he had a big name, and he’d made a for­ tune from the stage play. I was to look after the filmic and technical side of it, but Doyle didn’t really give any instructions so I soon took over automatically, with Bailey directing the dialogue as he had on stage. Bert and I became great friends during the writing of the screenplay because I used to refer to him all the time.

We used to kick around ideas. I’d say, “ Bert, I’ve got a marvellous new gag.” And he’d say, “ Boy, tell me no new gags. You tell me a new twist on the old ones and I’ll be in it.” He was so right. When you came up with a new gag you’d very often die on your feet. The bulk of the public have to be told when to laugh. It’s a pretty wise man who telegraphs the laughs coming if he’s playing to a normal audience — you’re not playing to University students.

Bailey was the entrepreneur behind On Our Selection; he owned the rights, and he put the rights in against what we were putting up — I think it was on fifty-fifty basis, I never bothered to learn the details of the deal because he and Doyle made it. From then on Bailey and I worked without Doyle, we never had a con­ tract of any sort, it was just an under­ standing between Ken and Bert, that was it, and his ^daughter is still getting royalties off some of the films. They’re still earning money.

Bert produced the dialogue and I was in charge of everything else. He knew where the laughs came in, how they 80 — Cinema Papers, January

should be gotten out, but when it came to the dramatic sequences they were miles over-played. He hadn’t yet learned, as I hadn’t, the vast difference between the stage actor and the screen actor. He had been used to the theatre and getting it over to the man in the back stalls, so he talked louder and he made the big gestures, he was larger than life.

Then suddenly we realised that the audience was right there where the camera lens was. Their ears, the microphone, just above it. So all through my pictures you’ll find the cast coming down and down and down in projection as I learned and the actors learned. Don’t forget the actors had never seen a sound camera and had never been anywhere near a film before. Nor had anybody.

This is what can be overlooked when they talk about the crudity of On Our Selection. And it was crude — nobody knows better than me because I made it. But looking back I wonder why it wasn’t so much more crude. It was stagily acted, and Bert Bailey’s long speech where he talked about the floods and the drought and the fires — we were all greatly mov­ ed by this but it was overdone to hell.

Audiences in the theatre only a year before had almost been in tears with this scene because this was how peo­ ple behaved in the theatre. This was the theatre. In The Sentimental Bloke on stage Bert Bailey played Ginger Mick, I saw it in the Palace T h eatre too. Today it would probably be laughed at, but then it was a very different kettle of fish.

TAYLOR: Later you directed and

produced your films but in On Our Selection there were clearly defined areas of responsibility divided between you and Bailey. Whose film was it?

HALL: It was my film. I think Bailey quickly gave way to me as I said Coward did to David Lean — and believe me, I’m making no com­ parisons! But he still controlled the dialogue because I was prepared to let him do it. I knew little about dialogue, and I didn’t appreciate — because .1 didn’t have enough knowledge— that people were over­ acting. But I controlled the film from start to finish right up to the final print. Bert was first the star, then the dialogue, director.

TAYLOR: Some films have been released with two credited directors, such as Melvin Frank and Norman Panama’s Above and Beyond.

HALL: It’s never really successful.

TAYLOR: Would you say that On Our Selection was a two director film?

HALL: No. You see everywhere in the world at that time they had dialogue directors — they still have them in many places— and they usually came from the theatre. All the big directors in Hollywood even John Ford, had dialogue directors when he started to make talking films because they weren’t trained in stage technique or dialogue, and how emphasis should go, and all that sort of thing — all the little tricks that the stage actors have learned. Dialogue directors always got a good credit. I had them after Bailey left. Frank Harvey came to me as' a dialogue

director, not a writer. The picture was my film because it went the way I wanted it to. Bert used to argue the point unmercifully with me every night in the shower. We used to get back and get under the showers and Bert used to talk to himself. He wasn’t nuts, he had a brilliant mind, and was one of the best after-dinner speakers I’ve ever heard. Anything b u t a D ad an d a Da v e — sophisticated, slick, and he could hold any audience anywhere and I don’t care who they were, from the Governor-General down. A great, great showman. But we’d go home, have a beer, say hello to the wives and then get into the showers. Bert would be in the next stall to me. He wouldn’t realise what he was saying and he’d say, “ Ken, you can’t do that, old boy, it should go this way,” and he’d have a terrible argument with me, not knowing I’m even listening because he was talking to himself. In other words he was speaking his thoughts. I used to listen to these things and I used to laugh my head off, until there was a famous occasion when I came in in a hurry and dashed into the shower ex­ pecting to hear Bert take off into one of his monologues and instead I heard a female voice singing! I thought, I must be in the wrong shower, and I was. I was in the women’s shower. It was Tim Bailey, Bert’s daughter, in the stalls next to me. This was in a pub up in Camden.

But to get back to the story, I was troubled because I wanted to get music into the last speech that I had written very proudly for Bert Bailey

Raymond Longford’s Sentimental Bloke (1918)

Ken G. Hall

about this glorious country — ‘The sun rising over this glorious country, and may all the people who come after us, etc — you know, the stuff that audiences during that period loved. They hadn’t become as cynical as your generation. We had no re­ recording equipment, no dummies (re-recorders are dummies, they’re synchronous heads that just run the sound track only. We got them later, but not then). George Malcolm found the way, he double-printed the sound — the music first, then the dialogue, and by God it worked. My hat’s off to him. He also built the projection printer we had — made it out of Meccano parts and an old camera. We made wipes, lapdissolves, and fade-outs. Well this film was shown at a preview at the State Theatre on a Sunday night and it had them rolling in the aisles.

But as we came out I met this stupid person who said, “Very funny Ken, very funny, but I hope the English won’t get the wrong impression” . I just said “ I don’t think so.” I had to put up with a lot of that. This in­ feriority complex we Australians had at that period and still have, I fear.

We were always worried what the goddam English or someone else were going to think about it. Of course the Amer i c ans made hillbillies and hicks and all sorts of stuff like, that, and they didn’t get self-conscious about it. And the Bri­ tish made the George Formby pic­ tures in which he was a goon, and all that, but some Australians thought it was wrong to have Dad and Dave.

The Australian bush was, and still is, full of Dads and Daves. I’ve met them. This is why these pictures were so successful, and this is why they’re still running in the bush, because the bush people know and understand the type. When Rudd wrote this stuff he was exaggerating and I ex­ aggerated further — although we pulled the exaggeration down as we went from one picture to another in that series. We pulled them all back until in the last one, Dad Rudd M.P., they were mostly normal people slightly burlesqued in characterisation.

TAYLOR: Your next picture was The Squatter’s Daughter.

HALL: Yes we started that almost immediately after On Our Selection in 1932. Again it was selected by Doyle because it was owned by Bert Bailey, who’d written it with Ed­ mund Duggan.

TAYLOR: So you were capitalising on the success of On Our Selection?

HAJ.L: Straight away. The parent Company had no money at all, and the money from Selection went straight back into the next picture.

Doyle formed Cinesound as a sub­ sidiary of Greater Union Theatres after the success of On Our Selection and I was appointed General Manager and Producer and Direc­ tor. I was 30.

TAYLOR: It was a bit of a burden because yoii were editor-in-chief of th e newsreel; you wer e Producer/Director; you were in overall charge of the laboratory; and anything else around the place.

HALL: It was a lot. Anyway, with The Squatter’s Daughter I tried the

a completely different theme from Australian writers. I tried E.V. those of your first two pictures. Why Timms immediately. He was writing drop Bert, and why the change in a lot of books about that period and theme? he was a very popular author, but he HALL: We didn’t drop Bert, and you was no go for films. I tried author don’t make the same sort of picture after author and finally went back to Bob Dexter, who had been my chief one after the other. That’s foolish.

Bert, who was a mighty great friend in my Publicity days. He had been to right up to his death at 84, was never America and had done a lot of anxious to go on. He always had to writing over there. He wrote the final be pressed to come back, saying he screen play after a lot of consultation was too old. and, between us, we got it off. This again was overacted because now TAYLOR: Well with the commercial idea — if the public want that sort of Doyle and Frank Marden still didn’t believe that Hall knew enough about thing why not continue to give it?

HALL: This new one was commer­ the stage, which was true. So they got an old actor named George cial also. We had Bert in the first Cross, he came out of Bert Bailey’s two. He appeared in one, and we had his rights in the second. The third school, and he was far “stagier” than Bert. He was a ham but a lovely one was an old English play for fellow and I’ve had a great regard which the “rights” were owned by a friend of Doyle — one Joe Lippman. and respect for him. I could control Doyle and I went out to Hurstville to him to some extent. see the Rockdale Amateur Society TAYLOR: More so than Bert? playing ‘The Silence of Dean HALL: Well earlier it was Bert’s Maitland’, in its original state and property; George worked for me. But we ended up in a fit of uncontrollable I didn’t control him enough. A lot of laughter. The play was written in the stuff on The Squatter’s Daughter 1870 and they hadn’t changed a line was overacted to hell. But that was of it, and they really were the the way it was and nobody objected Rockdale Amateur Society! We to it at the time. The press didn’t tear were nearly thrown out because the me apart and say ‘This is dreadfully people in the audience were crying. overacted’. I don’t blame George When the Dean was kneeling near Cross for it because I could have the cross over his child’s body in the altered anything and I constantly churchyard and the cross fell over we did. had to leave. And I said to Doyle, TAYLOR: You said you were unsure “That’s great, but we’ve got to do of yourself on On Our Selection. things with this” . So there again the Were you still unsure of yourself on old battle of finding a writer who The Squatter’s Daughter? could adapt this dreadful old play HALL: I was unsure of myself, but — but basically right, a good now I .had a success behind me I’d melodrama. Very good melodrama. made it, and the other people who A Dean who gets a girl into trouble were making pictures were falling by and lets his best friend go to prison for murder in his stead. And finally the wayside all round me. Don’t get getting up and confessing his sins me wrong. I wasn’t getting cocky, but I was' getting more security before God and the populace from because about this time I was beginn­ the pulpit — that’s a very good . ing to gather people. I had a Set dramatic situation. It’s not im­ Designer, I had a workshop staff. I possible, it could happen. Anyway knew what I wanted the action we floundered around again for a played in front of and when to let the writer, and finally got a very good set designers take over. After On Our ABC writer named Edmund Barkley. Assisted by Bob Dexter he Selection Frank Hurley came in to turned in the script. I put George do the photography.

Cross .into casting, and we took an TAYLOR: Did you ask for him?

American George D. Parker from HALL: No. He was a friend of Williamsons, as dialogue director.

Doyle’s. Doyle spoke to me about ... Parker, was .much more, slick .in his.. him. He said “What about Hurley?” handling of dialogue. Although with Wally Sully had gone to Fox that film we were still not far away Movietone. Frank stayed with me from the silent era, there was for the next four features and then nevertheless not nearly so much over headed up our Industrial Film acting and overemphasi s as Department. previously. By this time we were TAYLOR: Was The Squatter’s. coming down to earth.

Daughter a success?

TAYLOR: The film was very em­ HALL: The Squatter’s Daughter was barrassing for many people. Do you enormously successful. What is now think you were treading close to the the Barclay Theatre was then known edge of turning people away from the as the Haymarket, and it was box-office? devoted entirely to Australian film HALL: You mean embarrassing for production. The Squatter’s Daughter religious reasons? To some maybe, was the first one in there. Well again but the film was an overwhelming we ran a preview to a packed success here and an even bigger audience in the State Theatre. The success in England. bushfire climactic scenes were TAYLOR: I was thinking about in­ something of a sensation. We all got volving the Church because Dean burnt shooting it, it was the real Maitland was a Minister? thing with no back projection. The HALL: Of.course he was. He was a camera blimp even caught fire.

Church of England Minister. Yes, we TAYLOR: Almost a year later you were taking some risk but Lwentback released The Silence of Dean to St Thom as’ Church, North Maitland. Bert Bailey was not Sydney, where I once — as a kid — associated with it, and you dealt with sang in the choir (it was the family

church) and they loaned me the Church. I didn’t pull the wool over their eyes over what it was to be about, and they let me use the Church for long shots, we put extras in there and got vital major scenes in long shot. We had reproduced the whole nave of the Church in the studio and did all the rest there.

George Kenyon was with us by then.

They r epr oduced the church perfectly, you couldn’t tell the difference. We had the real church furniture, we got it from the right people. I knew we were taking a risk — letting a churchman get a girl in the family way, even though she promoted it — she laid for him — but then he let his friend' go to jail, "and he didn’t have to. We were dari ng, but it all came out reasonably, there was no strain about it and no public protest at all. Only Cresswell O’Reilly. He got hot on to the scene where I had the lead roll over on this girl and then dissolved over a wave at the bottom of the cliff.

Well, the censor made me cut the wave in a lot earlier! To shorten the controversial “ Dean’s Kiss” as the press called it. I remember my wife and I went off for a spell when the picture was ready for the censor. I didn’t go near it. We were down at Moss Vale having a holiday. The Sun newspaper came up with ‘THE DEAN’S KISS’ right across the front page. The Dean’s Kiss Cen­ sored’, that was the best news I had heard for a long time. But Haywood and the fellows in Publicity had been chasing all that in the wake of the newspapers. It was great publicity, it was a great help for the film. But there was no protest at all.

TAYLOR: Did you learn from that?

Today, for example, the best thing you'can do is have your film banned.

HALL: Not banned. But the best thing was to get it censored and then st art a fuss. Chauvel did it deliberately in nearly every picture he made. He usually had a nude woman somewhere. In Forty Thou­ sand Horsemen he had a whole flock of troops, nude soldiers, riding into the surf on horses. And they cut that out. But when you’re doing comedy there’s no need for it.

TAYLOR: Next came .Cinesound Varieties.

HALL: That was made to fill in the first half of the program with The Silence of Dean Maitland. It was made in two weeks over in the showground because Chauvel was making a film here at the studio. It was shot in the dog pavilion I think.

It was written in a hurry and it was a bad effort. I’m not at all proud of it.

TAYLOR: After that came Strike Me Lucky.

HALL: That was another bunch of trouble.

TAYLOR: You’ve described this film as a “mistake” and that “the trouble with Roy Rene was that he was not at his best in front of a camera in'the studio” .

HALL: . Lacking an audience Roy waited for the technicians to laugh.

They did sometimes — if they were listening. But at the next run through, they didn’t laugh of course — and Roy lost heart. American ex­ vaudeville comedians do the same Cinema Papers, January — 81

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thing in a film studio.

TAYLOR: Is that the only reason why you’re dissatisfied with the film?

HALL: That isn’t the only reason at all. The basic reason why it was wrong was that the script was wrong.

And I as the Producer am responsi­ ble for the script. I had as writers, George Parker and a fellow who used to be the gag writer for Rene in the theatre, I ’ve forgotten his name. It was not well controlled and it was my fault basically that the script was wrong. Rene would never have been a film comedian I think because he had to have an audience to work on.

TAYLOR: Was it true that people used to walk out of his stage perfor­ mances?

HALL: Oh some used to walk out of the Old Stiffy & Mo shows, and there’d be protests in the newspapers.

Stiffy and Mo used to be considered to be very “blue” .

TAYLOR: Wasn’t Hal Lashwood with, him at this time?

HALL: Oh no. This was in the teens and early twenties. Lashwood was in radio with Mo in the late thirties.

TAYLOR: How did you come to make Strike Me Lucky?

HALL: Because Mo was pretty pop­ ular and I was wrong in my judgment. I thought that what he was doing in Sydney and Melbourne — and the names Stiffy and Mo were catch-words everywhere — was enough. I thought it was enough again with Will Mahoney later on, but it wasn’t, and unless you get to the family audience you don’t get anywhere. Roy Rene was not for the family audience, they didn’t want him. Sydney and Melbourne are not Australia. The film wasn’t good, but when we took it to Bathurst they wouldn’t even come in the door to see it. They wouldn’t come because Rene was in it, and he was not “fami­ ly entertainment” .

TAYLOR: I remember a scene between Roy Rene and the little girl outside the tailor shop. That scene and those characters reminded me of Charlie Chaplin’s The Kid. Had you seen the Chaplin film before you made Strike Me Lucky?

HALL: Yes of course. I had handled The Kid as publicity man, but that didn’t influence me at all. It came out of the script and it was a way of getting Rene mixed up with this little girl — for plot reasons. We had to be very careful about letting a comic of his type become the friend of a little girl. But they handled it very well.

TAYLOR: Yes, I was thinking of Cresswell O’Reilly again.’

HALL: Well, not O’Reilly so much.

The public would be against you if you offended, and it would be against your own personal wishes and beliefs anyway. You’d have to watch that, and we did.

TAYLOR: Then Grandad Rudd.

HALL: Yes. About the end of 1934 we began shooting the second Bert Bailey picture Grandad Rudd, which had also been a stage play and which we had adapted to the screen with Bert Bailey and the same cast. It wasn’t as successful as the first Selection picture. It didn’t have as much comedy in it, although it had some very good comedy. The highlight was a bush cricket match,

which was quite amusing, and still is a'musing on T V. There’s a lot of Other good family comedy, too.

From there came Tall Timbers. It had nothing to do with Raymond Longford’s picture, which I had never seen. Bert Cross, who was with me all this time right through the Cinesound period, often spoke of it.

It was a film that had not done well, and which, unfortunately for Longford, had failed about the time he was looking to come back to Greater Union Theatres as the boss man. Of course, a director is as good as his last picture. They never remember what you did in 1918, it’s what you did last — that goes for Hollywood and the whole world, usually. Anyway, we set about getting this off the ground from a story by Frank Hurley, the story which Frank Harvey, who had just joined us, turned into the screenplay Tall Timbers. It all arose out of con­ versation I had with a friend of mine who had a property up on the north coast. He told me about a timber drive — how they got rid of a hillside of timber by half cutting the trees, then dropping the back row as “killers” . This is usually how a film evolved with me. I got a climax first, then worked back. Almost always.

And I think this is the thing to do.

There were no bush fires or anything like that in The Squatter’s Daughter in the stage play; except for the title, it was original. So Tall Timbers was an original story which hinged on this great timber drive. It (the drive) is still, technically, a minor master­ piece for Australia. The public who saw it recently on the A.B.C. had no idea that ninety per cent of it was shot in the studio, and that again was a great tribute to George Kenyon whom I unearthed from J. C. Williamson’s. An Englishman who had come here after the war, he worked as a scene painter, and became my special effects man and was a tower of strength. He died recently in Victoria after being Art Director for J. C. Williamson’s for the last twenty years. Anyway that film, because of its good fast action, succeeded both here and overseas because the British market was wide open for good second features. They like to make their own first features, naturally, but they were after good second features like these we provided. When it was good action or good comedy you had no trouble selling them at all. We sold all our pictures in England, right from the first one on. They changed the title in many cases: Selection became Down on the Farm. They changed a George Wallace picture which I called Let George Do It. They bought the pic­ ture, changed the title, and put the original title on a George Formby picture! They were hot, hot as mustard, but we couldn’t stop them; you can’t copyright a title.

TAYLOR: Would you agree that the plot in Tall Timbers was weak?

HALL: Oh yes, weak as hell.

TAYLOR: Weaker, perhaps, than those in your other films?

HALL: Possibly.

TAYLOR: I remember the scene in the bush clearing where the two men fight for a gun. That was pretty bad.

HALL: Yes, pretty bad.

TAYLOR: Especially because im­

mediately afterwards there is that tremendous scene of the trees falling.

The contrast is so sharp.

HALL: It didn’t live up to it at all.

This was Harvey’s first entry. He took over and wrote the screenplay from Hurley’s original story. He was dialogue director and wrote himself into a good part — which was all right with me because he’d get extra money that way. But he brought back the old theatre and I let him get out of control somewhat. But you see the public likes a slice of ham now and then. The people who succeed best in pictures are often hams.

Wallace Beery was one of the greatest hams who ever lived, but he was also one of the most beloved ac­ tors that ever lived. So was Marie Dressier. So was Humphrey Bogart, Edward G. Robinson, Cagney and a score more. They’re larger than life, they’re there to create an illusion.

Hollywood’s a dream factory.

You’ve got to take people out of their mundane everyday lives and transport them into another, makebelieve world. You have to, this is your job as an entertainer, not to create ‘a new art form’, or expose, at someone else’s cost, your personal ego.

TAYLOR: Mmmmm.

HALL: I detect disbelief in that sound! Let me qualify that. There are two divisions. You’re Division 2.

Division 1 is to provide entertain­ ment for the masses of the world.

Division 2 is to create something that can become art in due course. But don’t try to mix one with the other too closely or you’ll fall between the divisions.

TAYLOR: In reference to On Our Selection you said once that first of all “ Film is an art form” , and that secondly “ Film is a commercial proposition” . You also said that the most important of the two forms is the second one because commercially successful films must be made to es­ tablish the market. After that is ac­ complished you can do what you like. Is that right?

HALL: That’s right, more or less. I tried to make the point, and I’ll try to make it again, though I’ve said it a thousand times: Without commer­ cially successful films there will be no film industry in Australia. There will not be. There can’t be. Because they provide the foundation. Don’t forget that Hollywood grew up to its greatness — and it did reach greatness — on an early diet of com­ edy and westerns and melodrama, Pearl White on the railway line and the train’s coming — The Perils of Pauline. This was what Hollywood was founded on, this is the diet that I grew up on.

TAYLOR: The difficulty is that Hollywood developed after that. The success of men such as Howard Hawks points to something else — that many commercial films can also be described as artistic.

HALL: Of course they can! Provided a capable man such as he is doing the mixing: But he was hot consciously “arty” . ’ TAYLOR: I’d like to quote Robin Wood here if I may: ‘The Hollywood

cinema represents a kind of art that has largely disappeared: to find anything comparable we have to go back to the Elizabethan drama. No other contemporary art form has been able to speak to all social and intellectual levels simultaneously and show a comparable achievement.’

T h i s of c o u r s e is w h e r e Shakespeare’s example is relevant.

With that in mind how can you draw the distinction between “ Film as an art form” , and “ Film as a commer­ cial proposition” when they both can go together?

HALL: I don’t think you or the writer you quote have succeeded in drawing any real distinction at all.

All that I’ve heard from you up to date has been a slight tendency to disparage the commercial director.

I’m sure Howard Hawks considered himself a commercial director. I repeat — it depends on who is doing the mixing. But what I wanted to talk about now was going back to America.

TAYLOR: All right.

HALL: Right after Tall Timbers I went to the States again because I was interested in picking up equipment. We now had some money in the kitty and although the Company needed it badly to save its dying theatre chain — in spite of the Depression gradually losing its grip — I had to get something. So I went over mainly to find out something about this new-fangled idea called ‘b a c k - p r o j e c t i o n ’ or, as the Americans called it, ‘process’. So T went over and brought it, and Helen Twelvetrees, back for Thoroughbred.

I went through all the studios. As I said before there was a tremendous amount of co-operation between the studios, they’d open every door to you. Nothing was a secret. If they didn’t know they’d ring up a guy in the next studio and ask him. I asked some things about process at Fqx while they were engaged in making Dante’s Inferno which was filled with remarkable trick photography, and had Spencer Tracey in it.

There were fantastic special effects going on and there was backprojection.' I knew I had to have it because this was the inexpensive way of making fairly spectacular pic­ tures. Where we couldn’t spend a for­ tune we could either conjure up something that was very funny, or something that was fast-moving, melodramatic. But for an action pic­ ture you required process or B.P. But nobody wanted to sell you anything.

Fox was really still experimenting with it at that time. There was a little German man who had made a back projector out of an old Bell and Howell camera gate because it had a pilot-pin movement — it held the picture rock steady. They put a big arc behind it, and they had to watercool the gate to stop the film burning and the slides breaking. Well* we got the equipment. Clyde Cross was there. Not allowed to work because no foreigner was allowed to work in Hollywood — that’d put a Yarik out of work, so you had to pay the Yank his salary for just standing by if you wanted to get a job. A few of my fellows went over but they couldn’t get a job for that reason. Anyway, Cinema Papers, January — 83

Ken G. Hall

Clyde Cross got onto the electrical side to study the Selsen motor system. You’ve got three motors: one on the camera, one on the projector and one on the sound equipment; you’d turn one over, by hand and they’d all turn over in sync, you couldn’t go out of sync. But nobody told us how to use B.P. I couldn’t af­ ford to send George Heath over — he’d taken over from Hurley by now and he was a brilliant young man. So we had to find out how to use it. We knew nothing about “hot spots” and all that because these Americans, busy pushing ahead, were too involv­ ed to talk too much about it. And we didn’t really know what questions to ask them. None of us did. When you make a back-projection shot you’ve got to have the lens mathematically dead centre on the screen and look­ ing directly into the eye of the lens of the projector. If you don’t the picture will fall'off one side or the other and you don’t see it until it comes up in development and you’re dark on one side. So we had to go through all this trial and error till finally we had the floor of the studio surveyed by a sur­ veyor and marks put down, so we were accurate all the time. Then Heath had to learn how to light foreground people and whatever setting that I wanted so that it would merge into the background. We had a lot of accidents there. But we had process in Thoroughbred, which was. the first picture. This is the point I want to make. They would tell you anything at all if they could in Hollywood in those days. Nobody ever closed a door to me, and nobody ever refused to answer a question.

This is why Hollywood has been so successful because that same spirit exists among all their people. It brought about the Academy because they all get together in the Academy and swap ideas, not just to give out Oscars. It’s a fine, fine spirit and there ought to be more of it all round the world. While there I made con­ tact with many people. I looked for a writer because we had the writer trouble that they’ve still got here today. But we had the problem magnified a thousand times! I brought out a man who had worked for Disney named Edmond Seward.

We hired him at one hundred pounds a week as a writer and he laughed at it, but he said he would like a trip to the South Seas, and he came for one hundred pounds a week and brought his wife. He didn’t know all that much as it turned out. You take risks when you’re hiring people unknown to you, you can’t tell.

TAYLOR: Can I come back to the earlier question about the division between art and the commercial cinema? From your point of view is it possible to find art in commercial cinema?

HALL: Now look, there’s plenty of art in commercial cinema, only we don’t call it art, we call it enter­ tainment. Artistry is a part. I was trying to show you in Melbourne when the projector gave trouble, a commercial film o f miae ffia^wais ar-i tistic — the fauna sequences in Orphan o fth e Wilderness were really artistic. That film developed so that you had the deepest possible sym­ 84 — Cinema Papers, January

pathy for those animals and there was nothing phony or faked about it.

It was quite beautiful and quite ar­ tistic and I’m still very proud of it and the magnificent photographic work of George Heath. This is the way they can come together, and that film was very successful commercial­ ly both here and overseas. True the human actors weren’t nearly as good as the kangaroos. They lacked the artistry of the uninhibited fauna.

TAYLOR: Well while we’re on the subject you’ve been quoted as saying in The Forgotten Cinema: “ Master­ pieces don’t make money. Only com­ mercial films make money at the box-office and all my films were strictly commercial. Only one of them out of the seventeen films I made for Cinesound didn’t make money and that broke even.” Now putting that beside the comment by Robin Wood quoted earlier can you draw out the difference?

HALL: The word ‘money’ is used so often and I haven’t used that word that many times. That is a misquote to that extent — ‘money, money, money’. As if I was interested in money!

TAYLOR: I’m not suggesting that at all.

HALL: I know but that’s what Mike Thornhill’s trying to imply with that quote.

TAYLOR: What I’m trying to get at is the idea of the art film and the commercial proposition being the same thing. I don’t think you’ve answered the question here as yet.

You’ve said that it' is possible to make an art film full stop, and it is also possible to make a commercial film full stop.

HALL: I did say “ Don’t try to put the two together, unless you are very sure of the knowledge and experience of the man who is doing the mixing.”

TAYLOR: Yes you did say that. I’m wondering that in some films you can put the two together. This has been done. Now what I want you to answer is: what is the definition of a masterpiece, and what is the defini­ tion of a commercial proposition?

HALL: That’s not easy to answer because what is art? Let’s start with that, what is an art film? Now you can’t answer that question and neither can I. TAYLOR: Well, the old idea of an art film was a film that was shown in an art house.

HALL: The old idea of an art film was a film that flopped. In the film business they’d say, “ How’d you like the chances with this film, Joe?” Joe would be the theatre manager, and he’d say, “Oh, Jesus, the critics like it, I don’t think we’ve got a chance” .

They would say that. I don’t think you can say, or I can say, what is art and what is not. Art to me is com­ plete simplicity. I don’t see that art has to be greatly involved and I think that it comes into good films quite naturally and without any effort on the part of the director. In that Holly wood trip I was talking about a few moments ago I was on the set at Fox and it was George White Scan­ dals in . production. I was going to watch this film right through from start to finish. It was only shot at night because Mr. White had been in

the theatre in New York and he wouldn’t work in the daytime!!!

Hollywood used to bow down before the great in those days. At any rate the director was shouting and yelling all the time, and this went on for days. Then after four days I came back and he was there no longer. I said to my guide, “What’s wrong?” and he said, “Well he shouted a lot, but his rushes were no good!” Then I went down to another studio, always with my guide you know, and there was a big stage and a man was sitting in a director’s chair and there were a few actors. Peace, calm, quiet. And if he wanted to talk to an actor, he’d call him over, or he’d walk over there and talk to that fellow. Not a shout, not a sound. Bells would ring, cameras would roll, that was all. And I said, “What’s this man’s name?” and they said, “John Ford” . This was the difference. This is a man who is truly - an artistic director in my view, and yet who makes very com­ mercial films like The Quiet Man, very commercial films', but very ar­ tistic films, I believe. This is where art and commerce merge. Now I want to tell you something about Ford. I got to know him and I’ve always admired his pictures, he’s always had a devoted following. He said to me, “You know the critics keep on telling me about things that I had no particular intention of putting there. I’m glad that they were there, but I didn’t know they were there.

They keep on seeing things that I had no particular intention of putting there. I’m glad that they were there, but I didn’t exactly set out to put them there. They keep attributing things to me that I had no deliberate intention of doing.” What is on the screen is what naturally comes out of the direction. This is the way crea­ tion has got to be.

TAYLOR: I would agree with that.

There was no self-consciousness about the work of Ford or Hawks.

HALL: This is what I’m trying to convey to you. I think if I worked now I would be much more inclined to make a film that you would think artistic, but I’d be dead. Howard Hawks was a straight commercial producer and director in his day and he was not rated all that highly. He never ever won an Academy Award to my knowledge. He was a good ac­ tion director. He got his job done, he was a workmanlike, very able man.

He made very good commercial films and has far more “artistic” recognition now than he had then.

But what I keep yelling about here is that if you want to make “artistic” films you’ve got to have a foundation from which to make them. When Metro got to be a colossus it could take a risk on Shakespeare for prestige reasons when they knew they’d fall flat on their faces with it at the box office. And they did. They even put in “extra dialogue by Sam Wood” . Now Metro had a brilliant producer named Irving Thalberg. He could sometimes get away with “art” , but he leaned out too far.

You’ve'got to fej 1 se that even Metro was not big enough to withstand theshock of those losses in the long run.

They had already made a fortune out of Wallace Beery and Jackie Cooper,

Clark Gable, and Norma Shearer, and all those mundane things, you know, called commercial films. They could then let him have his head because they wanted prestige above all. They wanted to win Academy Awards and trophies knowing full well that they would lose some of their money. But you can’t do that in Australia. Every post has got to be a winning post until you’ve got a very firm foundation underneath you, and we haven’t begun to get that founda­ tion yet.

TAYLOR: In the light of all that you’ve said would you still divide film into the two categories that you outlined earlier, or would you allow the fact that artistic masterpieces can be commercial successes?

HALL: It’s a question of definition.

Is Gone With the Wind a master­ piece? I think some people regard it as one. But it wasn’t in its day. The critics took shots at it but it was a great box-office commercial film.

But now when they see the great score it has racked up they say this film must be something to write about — a masterpiece perhaps. Like wine, you have to mature before they think you’re any good at all. I had a great respect for David Selznick because he was a great and artistic showman. Yet his films had the appearance of art, The Song of Ber­ nadette, for example, but it was straight commercial. A compromise then, art and entertainment gently mixed — but with the emphasis strictly on the latter.

TAYLOR: On Thoroughbred you brought in an American writer and American actress. Back in the twen­ tie s th er e w as an A m e r ic a n photographer on For the Term of His Natural Life. Now this practice of bringing Americans in to do our work, would you agree with it?

HALL: No, I don’t. Well not any more. We brought in the American writer because we were desperately short of writers. There was no train­ ing ground for writers. The theatre was dead. Theatres were closed up in many cases. Thring walked into a closed down J.C.W . theatre in Melbourne and made a studio out of it. Musicians were out on the street playing instruments on corners. The talkies did all that. If I wanted actors I picked them up on the street, that’s where I found most of them. Or I took them out of radio, and they were pretty hopeless. They didn’t know how to move, they had nothing on their faces, they spoke every line with a bored pan, and they couldn’t remember two lines of dialogue.

A t this point I questioned Ken on the chronological sequence o f his film s, especially the dating o f TALL TIMBERS and THOROUGHBRED. We found that he had become con­ fused when he had spoken earlier o f TALL TIMBERS following GRANDAD RUDD. The correct sequence is as listed by Eric Reade in his . book THE TALKIES ERA: 1935 — GRA NDA*D:R XfDD; — O R P H A N OF' THE W IL D E R N ESS and THOROUGHBRED; 1937 — IT ISN 'T DONE and TALL

Ken G. Hall

TIMBERS. N O T E : T h e s e a r e t he RELEASE dates only.

TAYLOR: Was it true that in one year you made five films?

HALL: N o that’s all wrong. Three pictures irt the one year was the most ever and for\one small company and one producer-director that’s a hell of a lot. Any published date is usually a year after the production date, the published date always being the release date.

TAYLOR: In It Isn’t Done the story revolved round an Australian family who inherit a baronial hall in England.

HALL: Well this was the ‘fish-out-ofwater’ formula I favored in comedy.

Cecil Kellaway was an actor in White Horse Inn. He came out to see me and said that he had a script that he had been writing between the Acts because he wanted something to do.

He told me the story like actors always do. He recited it and acted it right out in my office. I was in­ terested in it because it was right on the formula, and I knew Kellaway was a very, very sound actor. It was reversing the Dad and Dave process — this was before Dad and Dave Come to Town. So I said send me the script. W ell, nothing happened.

Kellaway went to Melbourne with White Horse Inn, and I kept on wir­ ing him and ringing him up. And finally up came the most God-awful collection you’ve ever seen, it was written on the backs of envelopes, on this and that, on lavatory paper and serviettes and anything! So I got on the ’phone and spent the Company’s money — in those days, it was a big deal — and I said “Cecil, what in hell is this?” He said “Oh well! That’s my secretary.” Actors , you know. He said, “ I’ll tell you what she’s done, I said to send you the script, well she’s sent.you the scrap!” Actor’s alibi, have you ever heard worse? Well there never was anything besides that. So Harvey and I got together and worked it into a script, retaining all his basic ideas, and the basic theme, because the original idea appealed to both of us. Harvey was very English, educated at Winchester where ‘Manners maketh the man’ was the motto, you know. Very E n g lish . G eorge K enyon was English, and he created the sets.

TAYLOR: Do you actually put ceilings on your sets?

HALL: No, we put them on glass.

This was Kenyon’s brilliance. We built the sets up to the ten foot level, and had a sheet o f optical glass in front o f the camera. George painted the ceilings in from there on the glass. Have you seen It Isn’t Done?

TAYLOR: Yes. HALL: Well, do you remember that big baronial hall?

TAYLOR: Yes. HALL: That was all in the studio only up to ten feet high. You know the gates where they kept coming out with the big mansion behind?

TAYLOR: Yes. HALL: They were at an orphanage up Baulkham Hills way. All we had was the gates. We put the castle in behind. This is where people who are talented are a godsend. But you have to know yourself. You see those

gates and you say, “ I’ll get George to glass the castle there,” and he will go out and spend a couple of days painting it. This went on a lot.

TAYLOR: Was there meant to be any social significance in the film?

Did you intend to rubbish the British as much as you did?

HALL: G en tly ru b bish ing the B r it is h . G e n tly r u b b is h in g Australians too. That’s why the film succeeded in both England and Australia. There was no dirt thrown at any time. It was a ‘sling o ff, as we say in the vernacular, but it was still pro-British in sentiment. Don’t forget that the Australian people were tremendously British-oriented round that time.

TAYLOR: What about you per­ sonally? Remember, you did put them in a baronial hall, and not a smaller house.

HALL: Of course. That helped to in­ tensify the pressure on Kellaway’s character. You put him in this great baronial hall and he’s an old farmer from Tilba Tilba. It overwhelmed him. That baronial hall was there by design, and Harvey played the English nobleman. He laid it on a bit

thickly and I didn’t stop him; although he had learned a great deal I didn’t stop him over-emphasising his own snobbishness. Remember what I said about a slice of ham.

TAYLOR: Then Dad and Dave Come to Town.

HALL: This was entirely original, the plot of which I wrote myself because Harvey had resigned on hearing about that one. He said, “ I can’t write comedy, I’m going to resign, I can’t think of a plot.” So I dictated the plot, such as it was, it didn’t amount to anything much. We had conference after conference here with Jim Banks, Hal Carlton, Billy Maloney, friends of mine and people whom I knew knew theatre, and Harvey, and we evolved it. Think up the funny sequences and work them into the plot.

TAYLOR: Broken Melody.

HALL: This was a film that I’m par­ ticularly keen about still. It was made about 1938, and it was audacious. We bought the book off Frederick Thwaites because it was a runaway best seller. As a piece of literature it was not good. But it had a tremendous sale and that persuad­

TOP: Hollywood actor Lloyd Hughes & singer Diana DuCane in Broken Melody.

BOTTOM: Shirley Anne Richards in It Isn’t Done.

ed me to buy the book and we found we had a great deal of re-writing to do. And I wanted to get music in. We lea rn ed how w h ile I w as in Hollywood. Clyde Gross had learned the technique of how to break up a sound track and mark it for playback. You see you were working off positive tracks then, you couldn’t play it back off a tape, there was no such thing. We knew that technique and we took on this operetta. I com­ missioned Alfred Hill, the great Australian (or N.Z.) composer of that period, and his music is still strongly in vogue. He wrote the operetta section. Then we had to find people who could sing it because the girls we had couldn’t sing a note.

Rosalind Kennerdale was a fine actress but she was no singer, and I had to find a woman to sing for her.

And the leading woman, who was an English musical comedy actress, got very upset because I wouldn’t let her sing opera — ; after all she sang musical comedy! Alfreda Hill sang it, but she was never seen.

TAYLOR: Mr. Chedworth Steps Out. HALL: I brought Cecil Kellaway back. He had been picked up almost immediately the Americans saw It Isn’t Done in exactly the same way they picked up Ron Randell after they saw Smithy. Straight away.

Boom! They’d recognise personality and talent. Cecil had been in Hollywood ever since, but when I put up my finger and asked him to come back because we had found Mr. Chedworth adapted from an English book somebody had sent me, Cecil said, “Yes, I’ll come back.” He was getting much more money than we had offered him but he felt that he owed us something. He graciously said on the A.B.C.’s T.V. intro to It Isn’t Done that “ Ken Hall gave me the keys to Hollywood.” That was what probably brought him back, and I think that we made a pretty good picture.

TAYLOR: The characters were warmer than in It Isn’t Done or Tall Timbers.

HALL: Oh there’s no comparison with Tall Timbers, I told you we had progressed from there. It was less corny than It Isn’t Done.

TAYLOR: Where do you think the film’s success lies? The direction?

The actors?

HALL: Kellaway’s personality and his great ability. Direction doesn’t sell pictures, it helps them.

TAYLOR: You can help draw characters out.

HALL: Well of course. Kellaway and I had a lot of rapport. I knew that he was worried about himself. He was personally insecure, he could never remember his lines, and he had his mind on the racetrack all the time.

As soon as I’d say ‘Cut!’ he’d be off like a rabbit up a bank and out the back to the radio to hear what had won the last. He was a mad punter.

TAYLOR: That’s interesting because he had a reluctant bet in the film.

HALL: That’s right. He accused his son, “ Betting? At your age?!” The whole crew broke up in a loud laugh at rehearsal. They’d never previously heard the script of course.

TAYLOR: His son in the film was Cinema Papers, January — 85

Ken G. Hall

Peter Finch. Where did you find his neck — that was part of his him? vaudeville act. He said, “Can you use HALL: Peter Finch was a copy boy it?” and I said, “Of course we can fit on The Sun and did a bit of radio it in” . So we had a scene written work, and somebody told me about specially for a comedy sequence — him. It was his second picture for the first time in Australia — and we me. He was in Dad and Dave Come had a trio that sang in the bar. to Town in a funny scene with Bailey.

Wallace got great laughs out of that I wanted a gangling youth who’d had trio. It really surprised the public some experience. George Cross said, when four extras started to sing in an “There’s this kid, who has been Australian picture with an integrated hanging around here” . He was a score. It staggered them. Wallace long, skinny, cadaverous looking had tremendous ability as a fallcountry yokel. When I saw Peter I down dancer; nobody could fall gave him a few lines and he spoke better or easier. Every comic I know them beautifully in character, and worshipped at the throne of Wallace from then on there was no doubt for the way he could fall without about Finch. But we didn’t know he hurting himself. This is a very dif­ was going to be Great; nobody knew ficult thing to do, you know, he was going to be Great. But he was although George had little short legs s h o w in g s ig n s o f it in M r. and almost no distance to fall!

Chedworth, although he was only 18 TAYLOR: The next film was Dad or 19 then, you know, couldn’t have Rudd M.P. been much more. He was good, ex­ HALL: We were coming close to the ceptionally good. end and we didn’t know it. The war TAYLOR: The next film was Gone to was closing in all ajound us, it was the Dogs obvious it was going to happen, and HALL: This was ,the second George we didn’t know that Cinesound was Wallace picture. I had already made coming to its end too. Perhaps we Let George Do It. It was a howling could have behaved differently, but I success, really big at the box-office don’t think we could have because and with audiences. What’s on the both were inevitable. We were well screen now on ABC-TV is the , started on Dad Rudd. We had made English edited version of the original the Will Mahoney picture in between p ictu re. T hey cut them down times, Come Up Smiling, which went regardless to make a specific time, to out eventually as Ants in His Pants. make it into a second feature. They It was quite successful too after a said that they wouldn’t buy the pic­ bad start. It was well received on ture unless they got the negative. So television because it’s a funny pic­ the Company gave them the negative ture — that fight scene, for example, and they cut the bloody thing. What with Alec kellaway and little Will we got back was 55 minutes out of a Mahoney. Dad Rudd was the last 75 minute film. They cut out a lot of picture and probably the slickest of good comedy, to suit their own ends; them all. Even though it was a Dad to get it to second feature length and and Dave we had all become more to pinch the title. sophisticated in our approach. The TAYLOR: Now how would you com­ direction was more sophisticated and pare George Wallace’s comedy with so was the acting, which was now that of Roy Rene, particularly in down to earth, not overstressed or your working relationship with exaggerated. This was a very good them?

Film when I saw it on television last HALL: There’s no real comparison year — and I hadn’t seen it for 30 because they were entirely different years. I hadn’t seen any of those personalities. Roy Rene had been Films for so long that I got the kick of hailed by the press, by journalists — my life. I was never very interested in the film that I had just completed. let me stress that — as being the top Edited it and went to the preview and comedian. Possibly because he was as blue as he was and they could that was that. I never saw them again retell his jokes. Wallace, on the other — or very rarely, if there "was some hand, was a visual comic and easily, special occasion. My immediate in­ in my opinion, the best comedian terest was in the next one, that was the way it had to be. Get on with it. I that this country has produced. He knew that the regime that had been was a pantomime comedian in the in for the last four years didn’t want Chaplin tradition which belongs on film production at all. Norman the screen. He didn’t have to say the words, he could tell it all with a look, Rydge had his faith in theatres, bricks and mortar. He was an ac­ an expression or a m ovem ent.

Wallace was a naturally funny man. countant and therefore bricks and No ‘funny’ make-up such as Mo mortar were much safer than the used. Just himself. He didn’t get as highly hazardous business of film far as he should have done, although production. So I knew in my heart he did exceptionally well for us and that the end was coming, and the war we had great success with his pic­ made sure that it came. After Dad tures. In saying this I am not decry­ Rudd M.P. was finished we closed ing Roy Rene, the great Mo. He was down production and I turned my a very funny man, wonderfully crew over to Charles Chauvel, who talented. But he wasn’t a “ family had been in once before to make In the Wake of the Bounty. He’d made comic” . You didn’t take the kids.

TAYLOR: Did you let them work two or three films with other studios, out their own routine? like Heritage and Uncivilized, which HALL: No, we worked every detail I’m afraid didn’t get over the hump out with the writers. But George of box-office success. The film that would have something that he’d done he made as I finished was Forty in vaudeville and he’d show me. For Thousand Horsemen, and it was a instance, in Let George Do It he colossal success, a bigger success slides across the scene on the back of th an a n y b o d y had ever had 86 — Cinema Papers, January

previously. It cost a lot of money of course, but it was, once again, back­ ed by an Am erican Com pany.

Universal Films. You hear a lot of talk about what the Americans didn’t do but they did plenty for Chauvel. Here MacIntyre of Univer­ sal, an Australian, was keen about supporting Australian production/ Well, after Chauvel had finished that film we closed down and went straight over to wartime propaganda production, and nothing but.

TAYLOR: John Baxter has indicated that at this stage Australian film production was signed over to overseas interests. Do you know anything about that?

HALL: The industry was never sign­ ed over and is still not signed over.

Frankly, Baxter’s book is a sickening mass of inaccuracies. He wrote for instance a chapter about my work — and never had the common sense, or was it the courage, to call me up.

Nor did he seek information from Elsa Chauvel when he wrote about Charles. So he got his “facts” from h earsay, I gu ess, and th a t’s dangerous practice.

British Empire films, which handl­ ed all my productions, and was own­ ed by Greater Union Theatres, also the parent of Cinesound, is still in ex­ isten ce and is still h andling Australian films — when they come up and when they’re good enough.

Chauvel’s films were all released through Universal. Mr. Baxter made a derogatory statement in this regard and Elsa Chauvel was very dis­ tressed. Baxter, the researcher who did no research, said that Chauvel died a pauper, that he was made a pauper by these dreadful Americans who ground him down. But every single film Chauvel made was handl­ ed by an American company and every time it was Universal, and I know how much every one of them earned because its Managing Direc­ tor right through that period was my great friend Hercules MacIntyre.

Now Chauvel died in 1959. One afternoon he called my office at Channel 9 and left a message to ring him back. When I rang back he was dead, that’s how dramatic it was. In

his will he left 32-thousand pounds.

In 1959 that was a tidy sum and cer­ tainly not penury. Mr. Baxter as an author is a washout.

In Chauvel’s favor let it be said that he did a great job for Australian films. He made a lot of mistakes, like I made a lot of mistakes, he made some bad pictures, like I made some bad pictures, but he made a con­ tribution.

T A Y L O R : Wh a t w a s y o u r relationship with Chauvel," did you get along together?

HALL: Yes, of course. I’m still a great friend of Elsa. She made a film about Charles Chauvel — Charles Chauvel: Action Director. At her re­ quest I appeared in it, and spoke well of him. I wrote a foreword to her b ook , M y L ife W ith C harles Chauvel. Charles Chauvel wanted to make great epic pictures, so he made films like Heritage.

I have said, the war came, we clos­ ed down production, and went over to w a r tim e p ro p a g a n d a and newsreel. The Academy Award we got for that work came largely from the courage and photographic skill of Damien Parer. I formed a close association with Damien, saw his talent, picked him up and boosted his stature everywhere I could. He became a famous name and made, with Cinesound, many famous war­ tim e shorts. Am ong them was Kokoda Front Line. Damien later went over to Paramount Newsreel and was killed in action. I had a great admiration and respect for him.

TAYLOR: The Oscar was for Kokoda Front Line HALL: Yes, a full length newsreel.

Damien came back with the negative and said, “ I’m sorry, Ken, it’s not what I hoped, it’s not as good as I thought” . I said, “Well, let’s just see what we can do with it” . We worked all night and did something with it.

Let’s skip the war. Chauvel made a great success" with Forty Thousand Horsemen, but unfortunately had a bad miss with The Rats of Tobruk — made at another studio. . Well during the war Norman Rydge sold half of Greater Union

ABOVE: Cecil Kellaway and Jean Hatton in Mr. Chedworth Steps Out.

Ken G. Hall

Theatres to the Rank Organisation of England — that made Arthur R a n k 50 per c e n t ow n er o f Cinesound. In 1944 Columbia Pic­ tures of America had a lot of money stacked up here that it couldn’t ex­ port because o f a governm ent regulation. Nick Perry, its boss, ask­ ed me to make a film. What would I like to make? I said, “What do you want?” and he said, “Something about a great Australian” . He said, “ Who are the b e s t - k n o w n Australians in the world?” After con­ sideration, I said “ Probably Melba and Kingsford-Smith” . We decided it had better be Kingsford-Smith because Melba would be far too ex­ pensive. We couldn’t find the voice, and European Opera houses and all th a t w ould be to o c o stly to reconstruct. So we made “ Smithy” .

I began it in 1945 and finished it in the same year and it was released in 1946.

TAYLOR: Why did they pick you to make this film and not Chauvel or Monkman?

HALL: I don’t know. They knew my record. They knew about Chauvel’s.

Monkman had a reputation as a documentary film maker, but his two features had failed.

TAYLOR: Columbia could have worked from precedent and brought in an American director.

HALL: They could have, but they didn’t.

TAYLOR: Do you know why they didn’t?

HALL: No. They just approached me and asked me if I wanted to make a film, and I said “Yes, of course” .

T h e y k ne w me. A f t e r all, Cinesound’s record at the box-office was pretty good and that’s what counts. They couldn’t overlook the fact that we had made a great many highly successful commercial films.

In 1945 as I have said, Norman (now Sir Norman) Rydge sold half of Union Theatres to the J. Arthur Rank Organisation. In 1946 he was persuaded by H. C. MacIntyre on whom he depended for American film, to back Chauvel up to the ex­ tent of 10,000 pounds in the making of the film called The Sons of Matthew. To mollify me in case I was upset about it, and I wasn’t, he sent me over to visit the Rank Organisation to buy equipment, with the idea of starting up a big deal with Ealing Studios and Micky Balcon, now Sir Michael Balcon. We were going to go into production in a big way in the Pagewood Studios, which is now General Motors. I bought a lot of equipment — new background projection, new cameras, all the stuff we had so long needed, I had it all ordered. Anyway, now came the tragedy of Cinesound. Chauvel went on and on and on making Sons of Matthew, and the 10,000 pounds that Rydge put in originally was now up well over 60,000 pounds — and he was terrified. N o picture of mine had ever cost over 22,000 pounds, and they almost immediately got their costs back. Well they didn’t know what they were going to do about this. When they were finished the cost was up near 150,000 pounds, a frightening figure for an Australian film.

The last frame of Dad Rudd M.P. (1940)

All this was shattering Cinesound and shattering Norman Rydge.

When the film came up and Univer­ sal saw it they were disappointed, so they took Chauvel and the picture and Elsa and the lot to Hollywood.

They re-cut it, and fixed it up over there for world release. The man who did all this was A1 Daff, who was born in Melbourne, was an office boy at Universal under MacIntyre and rose to become president of the Universal-International Company.

TAYLOR: Are you saying that Sons of Matthew was the film that ruined Cinesound?

HALL: No I’m not saying that at all, that wouldn’t be fair. I’m saying that it probably helped. N ot that Sons of Matthew failed, because in fact it succeeded very well. It succeeded here but flopped at first in England.

They sent over from here a man named Gordon Ellis who was a great salesman and a great exploiter. He went to England and put the steam into the English campaign and the film finally succeeded very well over there. It finished up making a lot of money, it was highly successful. But its brush with disaster had its effect here. About that time John Davis was head man of the Rank Organiza­ tion — he’s still boss. The men who wanted Australian production were J. Arthur Rank himself and Sir Michael Balcon, because they had a great success just after the war with a film called The Overlanders — en­ tirely British made — and they thought that this was the place! Well Davis thought differently. He was also an accountant, and he and N orm an R yd ge’s mind ran in parallel in some things. He made a trip to Australia in 1947 and in my presence he said to Rydge, “You know I can never see any reason why you should be fooling round with

making pictures here in Australia.

We’ve got Pinewood and Denham, we’ve got Ealing, and we’ve got 4,000 people on our payroll. We’ve got a chain of 600 theatres in Britain. We can make all the films that you need.

I can’t see any reason for you to be risking money here. We can make all the films and you’ve got the outlets here” . That was the death knell for Cinesound and I knew it. From then on there was no use trying with Rydge. Perhaps I should have gone out and had a go on my own. I did try and had something going with Micky Balcon, but he broke with Rank soon after. Then the govern­ ment came down and wouldn’t allow you to form a company for anything but something of national impor­ tance, and film-making wasn’t of national importance. This was when all the money restrictions were on.

They wouldn’t let me form a com­ pany. Fadden was the Treasurer and I went to see him. We talked about it but I didn’t get anywhere. “You’ll have to wait” I was told. And by this time my tail was down I frankly ad­ mit. I wanted to do what I knew we could do, but the crew had been dis­ persed, they had gone all over the place. We couldn’t hold them, they had to work.

TAYLOR: When did you go? ' HALL: 1956.

TAYLOR: Where did you go after leaving Cinesound?

HALL: Well I had been completely frustrated for 10 years. I poured all I could into the newsreel and built that up to something. I gave it an edi tori al pol i cy and made it worthwhile so that it counted for something. I was pouring all my own frustrated creativity into this little thing. And Jim Banks, my late great friend and himself creative, used to say to me, “Why do you do this,

Ken?” and I’d say, “ I’ve got to do something or I’ll burst” . This is why.

I couldn’t get a chance to make a film because nobody wanted to make films. Chauvel’s Jedda flopped and the few others at that time crashed too. The British came in and made a number o f film s like S iege o f Pinchgut but they all went down the drain.

TAYLOR: Could the circumstances which influenced Columbia to hire you to make Smithy be repeated?

HALL: No, because the money was no longer blocked from going out.

You see it was a war-time measure only.

TAYLOR: Were the restrictions relaxed some time after Smithy?

HALL: It was a long time after. Not until 1950 or later. They couldn’t ex­ port their dollars. You had to get permission to export money. If you wanted to import anything you had a long line o f public servants to go th rou gh . T he Ame r i c a n s had millions built up. Only one of them put it into celluloid, that was Colum­ bia, the company that this man Bax­ ter said “ owned half o f Union Theatres” , which was an utterly ridiculous statement. It was Rahk who owned half o f Union Theatres and he said Columbia! With a state­ ment like that they could have had him up for defamatiori or something, because Greater Union didn’t want to be owned by an American com­ pany or to be thought to be owned by one!

TAYLOR: What happened to you after 1956?

HALL: Here in my home one night at midnight — so typical of the man who was calling — the phone rang and Frank Packer was at the other end. I’d known him for a lot of my life and we were always good friends.

He said, “ Ken, how’d you like to Cinema Papers, January — 87

Ken G. Hall

come and work for me?” I said, “ I might like it very much but it depends on what I’d be doing” . He said, “Well how would you like to come round and see me in the mor­ ning?” He lived just round from my home and still does. I went round and he offered me the job of taking charge of Channel 9 as Chief Ex­ ecutive.

TAYLOR: Now you’ve worked un­ der Stuart Doyle, you’ve worked un­ der Rydge and you worked under Frank Packer. You were saying before that you and Stuart got on together quite well, and the same goes to a certain extent with Rydge

HALL: Yes we got on well enough, but at heart our interests were entire­ ly different.

TAYLOR: On the credits to all your films you have had written ‘Directed

by Ken G. Hall’. Why not Ken Hall, or Kenneth Hall?

HALL: I don’t like Kenneth, I’ve never liked the name Kenneth.

TAYLOR: Why the ‘G’? This is an American practice.

HALL: Yes, American practice, Ken G. G for George TAYLOR: What was your opinion of N o e l Mo n k ma n and his two features: Typhoon Treasure, released in 1938, and The Power and the Glory, released in 1941?

HALL: I knew Noel Monkman quite well and I was impressed by him.

Especially his microphotography and his underwater photography. I wasn’t impressed by his first feature, Typhoon Treasure. His next one made in 1940, The Power and the Glory, had a pompous title. It was all wrong because it showed Australia being saved by a Wirraway Airforce in 1940 when the war was closing in around us. But Monkman’s direction was very good I thought.

TAYLOR: Down at La Trobe University you mentioned a film that you shot in close-up with a telephoto lens. Can you elaborate on that?

HALL: I was thinking about On Our Selection. On Our Selection closeups were shot, not on telephoto but on a six inch lens, because you couldn’t put the camera anywhere near the microphone. You had to get the camera well back because you’d

hear that telltale whirr in the track.

Despite blankets and blimp and all the stuff you’d put on it you’d still hear it. So you’d use a long lens and have a soft focus background. You’d sharpen on the figure of course and let the background go soft. The ideal and most used lens for shooting cinemaphotography was the two inch lens which has a reasonable depth of focus and throws you up a nice round image.

TAYLOR: All the men who grew up and developed with motion pictures, men such as John Ford and Howard Hawks, admit a lasting debt to D. W. Griffith. When you began your film-making career had you seen Birth of a Nation and Intolerance?

HALL: Oh yes, I saw them and I was overwhelmed by them and by Hearts of the World, Way Down East and all those other great silent films. I bow­ ed down before D. W. Griffith as everybody else did. His ability to create action on the screen was and is legendary. He was the first. I believ­ ed and still believe that action is basically what the screen is all about.

If you have a moving picture then for God’s sake make it move. Too many pictures are made with two people sitting talking to each other. Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap, because some writer with an axe to grind thinks it’s brilliant and some director thinks it’s brilliant dialogue. But it’s often not entertainment. Virginia Woolf was a classic example on the screen: a brilliant cast, brilliant dialogue, a brilliant director — and a brilliant flop! Film-makers everywhere have been influenced by Griffith because he did make them move. The great spectacle of Intolerance and The Birth of a Nation — they were the beginnings of all spectacles. Birth of a Nation of course, was a marvellous success, but Intolerance was a flop all over the world. Not generally known, because you’ve got to be on the inside of the film business to know about these things.

TAYLOR: Ken, how would you like to be viewed by history? You’ve described yourself as a showman, and you’ve described yourself as an industry man, would you describe yourself as an artist?

HALL: If I ’m viewed by history at

Ken Hall directs. A production still from “It Isn’t Done”.

88 — Cinema Papers, January

all, I wouldn’t describe myself as an films made which have succeeded. artist. I would like to have been an TAYLOR: Now with some of these artist. During the war I made a few cases some o f these films may not films that were quite artistic — in my have been made with the audience in view — because I didn’t have to mind. worry about the box-office.

HALL: I don’t think there’d be too TAYLOR: Were you always restrain­ many of them. If that happens it’s a ed by the box-office? fluke. It has to be a fluke, unless HALL: Always, always. I felt myself you’ve surveyed and planned for the bound to it, I felt it was my duty to market you propose to enter. Flaher­ stay with that. I knew that if I didn’t ty made Nanook of the North, which make successful films not only me, came off as a success. It was a but all those people I had a great documentary about Eskimos. regard for, would have been out of TAYLOR: Are you saying that films work. One big flop and we would should follow a formula? have been out. Now this is a great HALL: I think films should follow a responsibility Phil, this is a great formula within reason, and should responsibility. I really cared for the always have the audience in mind. people I had around me. I’m still ‘Entertainment’ should be the vital loyal to them and I think they’re still factor, following certain formulas loyal to me. This is important. This without.adhering too rigidly to them. is why we were able to get results Many directors and producers have because the people were loyal to me broken new ground and found and I was loyal to them. I didn’t try success but they have never deviated to earn a lot more money than they far from the all-important factor had, I didn’t care about money at all. which is, obviously, entertainment.

I wanted the industry to succeed and This applies to film designed for the so did they all. Take Arthur Smith, average theatre. Highly artistic films somebody said to him in an interview can be made for art theatres and a I read the other day, “Why did you degree of success can be found. But work like this?” And he said, “Well not the kind of success which will we didn’t think about money. When found a great industry. Art theatres production closed down they cut me are small and consequently the down from $15 to $12 a week. We returns are small. didn’t think about money” . And we TAYLOR: One final question Ken. didn’t.

I’ve noticed that in all your films No, no I’m not an artist. I’m a there appears to be little or no man with a strong sense of show­ camera technique. Was this acciden­ manship. I have a good sense of the tal or intentional? public, I think I know what they’ll go HALL: The fact that there’s no for. In honesty I must try to pick a noticeable camera technique in my film that will succeed. Not one that pictures is because I strove to get an will merely enhance my personal absence of technique. I believe that reputation. One that gives a fair the camera is a recording instrument return to its backers and thus helps through which a story is told — retain their support for the future. smoothly, and without bizarre effect.

For instance when a great many You are not conscious of the rushing critics, and some others, were raving pencil or crackling typewriter, when about what they called this “great” you read a book. Or the way the Australian film Wake In Fright, and author parts his hair. Your interest is the media were bursting with it, I had the story. And it’s exactly the same the temerity to say that it would fail. t hi ng wi t h f i l m. H a v i n g the That was long before it went on cameraman hang by the heels from public trial in a theatre. United Ar­ the chandelier to get a better look at tists took it up for so-called “world a woman’s cleavage does not impress release” but that’s a misnomer of me. The more I see a director strain­ course because there are so many ing after “effect shots” the more I countries which are not covered. All recognise his immaturity. He has to the Iron Curtain countries for a get attention somehow. Artistically start! framed, beautifully composed shots I went down to the recent Tariff in abundance — yes of course. But I Board Inquiry and I heard the have always believed that the United Artists representative give to audience should not be conscious of the Board a run down on what the camera. And I will go on believ­ happened to it all round the world. It ing it. failed absolutely in every situation.

Because it was wrong! It should never have been made! If you make a Notes film that has no appeal to women 1. Ross Cooper has suggested that the reason why a local feature film industry crumpled you risk failure right from the begin­ so easily was that it failed to produce ning. You cannot afford to take that anything typically ‘Australian’. kind of risk. Additionally Wake In Australian film-makers kept running faster after what they thought was the Hol­ Fright portrayed sadistic cruelty to lywood key to success. This was one of our animals and that alone is fatal. Ask great faults — we kept trying to make an Disney.

“American film” instead of looking for an indigenous Australian one.

TAYLOR: Could if be argued that if Ross Cooper, ‘Australia Does Have a someone made a film that was Film H eritage’, Cinema Papers: The original, and which had his own per­ A ustralian Film New spaper, N o. 5, sonal stamp on it, and he also 2 February 1970, p.8. — thought about the audience, do you 2. Andrew Pike is at present re-writing his think that that film could be a M .A. thesis on Ken Hall and Cinesound for publication in the near future. success?

HALL: Oh it could be easily, but not 3. The Editors and Mr Taylor also wish to thank the organisers o f the Australian Film necessarily so. It doesn’t have to be Seminar, Media Centre, La Trobe Univer­ an orthodox film to be a success. sity, for their assistance in the preparation of this interview.

There have been most unorthodox

Ken G. Hall

nmoQR/jmY: 1. On Our Selection (Released in July 1932) (Alternative title: Down on the Farm in U.K.) Cinesound Productions Limited and Bailey and Grant present “ON OUR SELECTION” Adapted from the Works of Steele Rudd Cinesound Recording Produced by Bert Bailey Screen Version ..........................................Bert Bailey, Ken G. Hall Photographer................................................... . .Walter H. B. Sully Recording E ngineers............................Arthur Smith, Clive Cross Production Manager ..................................................... John Souter Film Editor ............................................................... George Malcolm Production Supervision................................................... Bert Cross Directed by Ken G. Hall The Cast: Bert Bailey as . . . .. Dad Rudd Fred MacDonald . ............Dave Alfreda Bevan . . . ............Mum John McGowan .. . . . .Maloney Molly Raynor ............Kate Richard F a ir ........ ..........Sandy John Warwick . . . .. Jim Carey Billy D risco ll........ ..........Uncle Lilias A d e s o n ___ .. Lilly White .. Old Carey Len B u d ric k ........

Bobbie Beaumont ..........Sarah Ossie Wen ban . . . ................Joe Fred Kerry ..........

Cranky Jack Dorothy Dunckley . Mrs. White Billy Bearup Fred Browne ___ Arthur Dodds

Billy K e r r ............

Fred MacDonald George Lloyd . . .

Claude Turton ..

W. Lane Bayliff .

Rodney Smith ..

Les W arto n ........

Douglas Herald .

Leal Douglas . . .

Carlton Stuart ..

Cyril Maitland Jnr. ..................Granfer ..............Bill Grove

A clergyman, Cyril Maitland, allows his best friend to be imprisoned for a crime committed by Maitland himself.

Twenty years later, when confronted by the hatred and bitterness of his old friend, Maitland is at last driven to confess his sins in public.

Episodes of life on the Rudd family’s ramshackle farm; their fight against drought and an oppressive landlord; the romances of the children; and the slapstick farce of Dad and Dave in their daily routines.

2. The Squatter’s Daughter (Released in September 1933) (Alternative title: Down Under in U.K.) Stuart F. Doyle on behalf of Cinesound Productions Limited presents THE SQUATTER’S DAUGHTER Based on the Play by Bert Bailey and Edmund Duggan Cinesound Recording Photography....................................Frank Hurley, George Malcolm Recording E ng ineer........................................................ Arthur Smith Dialogue Production ....................................................George Cross Technical Supervision........................................................ Bert Cross S creen p lay............................................Gayne Dexter, E. V. Timms Film Editing ..........................William Shepherd, George Malcolm Production Manger ................................................... John Warwick Art Direction..........................................................................Fred Finlay Musical N u m b e rs ................................. Frank Chappie, Tom King Wardrobe ..............................................Madame Pellier, Joan Grey Furnishings......................................................... Bebarfald’s, Sydney Directed by Ken G. Hall The Cast: Jocelyn Howarth a s ................................................... Joan Enderby Grant Lyndsay (Richard F a ir )..............................Wayne Ridgeway John Warwick ....................................................... Clive Sherrington Fred MacDonald ..................................................................A Shearer W. Lane Bayliff ............................................................ ‘Old Ironbark’ Dorothy D unckley................................................. Miss Ramsbottom Owen A in ley...............................................................................Jimmy Kathleen E s le r............................................................................... Zena Claude Turton ..................................................................... Jebal Zim George L lo yd ....................................................................... A Shearer Katie Towers .................. ......................................Poppy, the Cook George Cross .........................................................................................

Will G ilb e r t...............................................................................................

Les Wartin ...............................................................................................

Victor Knight ...........................................................................................

‘Bidgee’ .....................................................................................................

A mysterious stranger helps a lone woman in her fight to save her sheep station against crooked neighbours, the conflict ending in a spectacular bushfire.

3. The Silence of Dean Maitland (Released in May 1934) Stuart F. Doyle on behalf of Cinesound Productions Limited presents THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND Founded on the Novel by Maxwell Gray A Cinesound Production Adaptation and M " ,<,rnisation ..................................Gayne Dexter Dialogue and Co; t y ....................................... Edmund Barclay Dialogue Rehearsal ..............................................George D. Parker Casting Supervision....................................................George Cross Production Manager ............................................... .. John Warwick Music D irection.......................................................Hamilton Webber Photography................................................................... Frank Hurley Special Effects............................................................................GeorgeMalcolm Recording E ng ineer..................................................... Arthur Smith Film Editing ............................................................William Shepherd Art D irector......................................................................... Fred Finlay 4. Strike Me Lucky Chief Mechanist ....................................................... Edward Bedford (Released in November 1934) Modern Furnishings............................... Grace Bros. Ltd., Sydney Cinesound Productions Limited present Roy Rene (‘Mo’) in Produced and Directed by Ken G. Hall STRIKE ME LUCKY A Farce with Music The Cast: Cinesound Recording John Longden as .........................................................Dean Maitland Copyright MCMXXXIV by Cinesound Productions Limited Charlotte Francis ................................................................. Alma Lee Jocelyn H o w a rth .................................................................Alma Gray Photography....................................... Frank Hurley, George Heath John W arw ick................................................................. Henry Everard Scenario ...................................Victor Roberts, George D. Parker John P ic k a rd ............................

Tommy Everard Recording E ngineer.............. ................................... Arthur Smith Patricia Minchin .........................................................Marion Everard Film Editor ............................................................. William Shepherd Audrey N icholson.........................................................................LillianMaitland S ettin g s............................................................................ Frank Finlay

M u s ic .............................

L y ric s .............................

Assistant D irecto r.........

Dialogue Production ..

Casting M anager..........

Classical Ballet ............

Gangster B a lle t..............

Costumes .......................

Chief Mechanist ............

Furnishings......................

Directed by Ken G. Hall The Cast: Roy Rene a s ..................

Yvonne Blanchard . . . .

Lorraine S m ith..............

John D’A r c y ..................

Eric M asters..................

Alex McKinnon ............

Dan A g a r........................

Baby Pamela Bevan Molly Raynor ................

Bert le Blanc ................

Les W arto n ....................

Harry B urgess...............

Fred Kerry .....................

Marie D 'A lton................

Arthur Dndris

............... Hamilton Webber ................... Victor Roberts .......... . . . John Warwick ............George D. Parker ..................George Cross ..................Leon Kellaway ..................Richard White ................ Jocelyn Poynter ................Edward Bedford Grace Bros. Ltd., Sydney

.........................’Mo’ ........................Kate .. Margot Burnett Larry McCormack ..........Al Baloney ................... Donald . . . .Major Burnett .. Miriam Burnett ...................... Bates ..........Lowenstein ....................... ’Bull’ ..................... ‘Mike’ ...............Castaway Mrs. Huckleberry

Charles W h e e le r.....................................................................................

Jack O’Malley .........................................................................................

Charles Keegan.......................................................................................

Nellie Small .............................................................................................

Eva Sheedy ............................................................................................

Mo, a Jewish hobo, befriends a little girl who has ryn away from her wealthy parents; after entanglements with gangsters, wild Aborigines, and a treasure hunt, hap­ piness is restored to Mo and his little friend.

5. Grandad Rudd (Released in February 1935) (Alternative title: Ruling the Roost in U.K.) Cinesound Productions Limited and Bailey and Grant present Bert Bailey in GRANDAD RUDD Adapted from the play by Steele Rudd ......................................... Bert Bailey Produced by ..............

Photography................... ........Frank Hurley, George Heath ......................................Arthur Smith R ecording....................... ........................... William Shepherd Film Editor ..................... ................................. John Warwick Assistant D irecto r.......... ..................................... John Souter Production Manager . . , .........................................Fred Finlay S etting s........................... ............................. Edward Bedford Chief Mechanist ............

Screen Adaptation ........

Victor Roberts, George D. Parker Furnishings..................... ..............Grace Bros. Ltd., Sydney Directed by Ken G. Hall The Cast: Grandad Rudd Bert Bailey as ................ ...................Dave Fred M acD on ald............ .....................Dan George Llo yd ................. ..................... Joe William M cG ow an.......... ............... Madge Kathleen Hamilton ........ ........................Lil Lilias A d e so n .................. .............. Regan Les W arto n ..................... ............... Betty Elaine Hamill ......... . . . Tom Dailey John C am eron................ .. Henry Cook John D’A r c y ....................

Amelia Banks Molly R a y n o r........

William S te w a rt.............. ..............Banks Marie D’A lto n .................. . . . Mrs. Banks Peggy Yeoman ..............

Marguerite Adele ..........

George Blackwood........

Ambrose Foster ............

Percy D anby....................

Further adventures of Dad and Dave on their farm: Dave and his brothers try to squeeze more money from their parsimonious father, while Dad contrives to prevent his daughter from marrying a scoundrel.

6. Thoroughbred (Released in May 1936) Stuart F. Doyle presents Helen Twelvetrees in THOROUGHBRED A Cinesound Production

Original Screenplay....................................... ..Edmond Seward Photography...........................................................George Heath Sound ....................................................................... Clive Cross Film Editing ....................................................William Shepherd Musical Director ............................ .......... Hamilton Webber Settings......................................... Fred Finlay, J. Alan Kenyon Assistant Director..............................................................RonaldWhelan Dialogue Supervisor....................................... George D. Parker Unit Management........................ John Souter, Harry Strachan Casting................................................................... George Cross Gowns / ..............Farmers (Sydney), Mavis Ripper (Melbourne) Furnishings......................................... Grace Bros. Ltd., Sydney Directed by Ken G. Hall The Cast: Helen Twelvetrees a s............................................................Joan Frank Leighton .................................................. Tommy Dawson John Longden ................................................................Bill Peel Nellie Barnes........................................................................JudyCross Elaine Hamill .......................................................................Linda Ronald Whelan ..................................................................Genna Les Warton........................................................................Grafter Harold Meade .........................................................Russell Peel Nellie Ferguson.......................................................‘Ma’ Dawson George Lloyd..............................................................Sleepyfeet Lynton Moore ...................................

HopsWarton John D’Arcy ................................................................jack Dent Alf Stanton .............................................................Midget Martin Don McNiver ..........................' ...................................................

Ruth Craven (courtesy Frank Neil) .................................. . ’ . ’ ^ ‘Stormalong’ ..........................................................................

(Edmond Seward ....................................................’ ' M r Terry) A spirited woman who manages her own stud farm trains a magnificent horse for the Melbourne Cup, in defiance of a gang of organised criminals who try to stop her.

Cinema Papers, January — 89

Ken G. Hall

7. Orphan of the Wilderness

Based on the Original Story by ..............................Frank Hurley (Released in December 1936) Photography................................. ..........................George Heath (Alternative titles: Chut, Orphan of the Wilderness in U.K.; Wild Sound ......................................... ................................Clive Cross Innocence in U.S.A. Art Director.................................. ........................Eric Thompson Cinesound Productions present ORPHAN OF THE WILDERNESS Special Effects D irector............ ........................ J. Alan Kenyon From the ‘Cosmopolitan’ and ‘Nash’s’ magazine story by Dorothy Film Editing ................................ ....................William Shepherd Cottrell Assistant D irecto r...................... ........................Ronald Whelan Music D irection.......................... ............................ Lindley Evans Photography................................................................. George Heath Dialogue Supervision................. ............................ Frank Harvey Sound .................................................................................Clive Cross Production Management ........

John Souter, Harry Strachan Film Editor .............................................................. William Shepherd Casting......................................... ............................George Cross Assistant D irecto r....................................................... Ronald Whelan Costumes ..................................... .............................

Mavis Ripper Production Manager .......................................................John Souter Music Direction ................................................Hamilton Webber Directed by Ken G. Hall Art Direction................................................................. J. Alan Kenyon The Cast: Casting............................................................................ George Cross Frank Leighton as ..................... . . . . Jim Thornton (Screenplay ........................................................... Edmond Seward) Shirley Ann Richards................. . . . Joan Burbridge Directed by Ken G. Hall Campbell C op elin....................... . . . . Charles Blake • Frank H arv e y ............................... ...................... Darley The Cast: Harvey A d a m s .............................

Stephen Burbridge Brian Abbott a s ............................................................................... Tom Henton Aileen B ritton............................... ........Claire Darley Ethel S a k e r....................................................................................... Mrs.Henton Ronald Whelan ........ ................ ..........Ludwig Rich Gwen Munro .................................................

Margot Joe Valli ....................................... .......................Scotty Harry A b d y ...................................................................................ShortyMcGee George Llo yd ............................... ..............•............Bill Ronald Whelan ...........................................................................

Mel Letty Craydon ............................. ................ Rosanna Joe Valli ............................................................... Andrew McMeeker W. Lane Bayliff ........................... ...................... Gavan • Sylvia K ellaw ay.................

Jill Peter Dunstan ............................. .................... Robbie June Munro .................................................................................... June Edna Montgomery ...........................................................................Nell A timber company fights a rival to win a major contract: Claude Turton ..................................................... Dan, the Shepherd despite sabotage, Communist infiltration and murder, the Arthur Cornell ........................................................ Circus Watchman day is won with a spectacular timber drive in which the Leo Cracknell................................................................................... OttoArbigres principal enemies are killed.

Sid K nowles...................................................................................Beller John S o u te r.................................................................................Grocer Victor Fitzherbert, Jack Solomons.......................

Seconds 10. Lovers and Luggers Capt. A. C. S tev en s.....................................................................Burke (Released in December 1937) George S c o tt.............................................................The Strong Man (Alternative title: Vengeance of the Deep in U.S.A.) Dick Ryan . . . ’ ...........................................................................The Kid Cinesound Productions present Lloyd Hughes in LOVERS AND ‘Chut’ ........................................................................................................

LUGGERS with Shirley Ann Richards ‘Blue B a b y '...............................................................................................

‘Mike’ ........................................................................................................

Screenplay and D ialo gu e........................................... Frank Harvey Story Treatment ..................................................... Edmund Barclay Chut, an orphaned kangaroo, is reared on a farm until he Photography................................................................. George Heath is old enough to join a boxing act in a travelling circus; Thursday Island Exteriors ........................................ Frank Hurley there Chut is maltreated but after an exciting chase he es­ Art Direction.................... ........................Eric Thompson capes back to his friends on the farm.

Special Effects................ ........................J. Alan Kenyon Sound ............................. ................................Clive Cross 3. It Isn’t Done Film Editor ...................... ....................William Shepherd [Released in February 1937) Assistant D irecto r.......... ........................Ronald Whelan Stuart F. Doyle presents IT ISN'T DONE Production Management John Souter, Harry Strachan From the Original Story by Cecil Kellaway Dialogue Supervision . . . ....................... Frank Harvey Cinesound Production Casting............................. .......... ............George Cross Adaptation ...... ...............................................................Frank Harvey Musical Direction .......... ....................Hamilton Webber Photography................................................. .............. George Heath Costumes ........................ ............................. Mavis Ripper R ecording..................................................... ..................... Clive Cross Directed by Ken G. Hall Film Editor ............................................................. William Shepherd The Cast: ........................Eric Thompson S ettings............................

Lloyd Hughes as . . . . . . . . Daubenny Carshoot ........................ J. Alan Kenyon Scenic A r t ........................

Shirley Ann Richards ................Lorna Quidley . . . Mavis Ripper (Melbourne) Costumes ........................

Sidney W heeler........ ..............Captain Quidley ........................Ronald Whelan Assistant D irecto r..........

James Raglan .......... ............Craig Henderson ............................Frank Harvey Dialogue Supervision . . .

Elaine Hamill ............ ........................Stella Raff ....................Hamilton Webber Musical Direction ..........

Frank Harvey ............ ___Carshott’s Manager ..........................George Cross Casting..............................

Ronald Whelan ........ ........................... Mendoza John Souter, Harry Strachan Production Management Alec Kellaway............ ...........................McTavish Directed by Ken G. Hall Leslie V ic to r.............. ............................ Dormer Campbell Copelin . . . ................................Archie The Cast: Charlie Chan ............ ..........................Kishimuni . Hubert Blaydon Cecil Kellaway as . . .

Patricia Blaydon Marcelle Marnay .................................. Lotus Shirley Ann Richards . . . Peter Ashton Horace C le a ry .......... ......................China Tom John Longden ..........

Claude Turton .......... . . . Lord Denvee ................Charlie Quong Frank Harvey ............

Bonnie H u n t.............. . . . Mrs. Blaydon ....................Lady Winter Nellie Ferguson........ ...................Jarms Paul Furness ............

Professor of Psychology Harvey A d a m s .......... . .Ronald Dudley Charles Zoli .............. ..............Carshott’s Valet Campbell Copelin . . . . . . Lady Denvee Bobbie H u n t..............

To prove his manhood, concert pianist Daubenny ................... Potter Leslie V ic to r..............

Carshott vows to bring his wealthy fiancee a pearl from . Lord Addersley Harold Meade .......... beneath the waters off Thursday Island. His experiences . . . . Mrs. Dudley Rita Pauncefort........ on the island make him realise the falseness of his earlier .. Harry Blaydon Douglas Channell . . . . . . Elsie Blaydon Sylvia K ellaw ay........ life as a ‘lounge lizard’ and he settles down to marry a . . . . Mrs. Ashton Hilda D orrington___ white island girl. .................Perroni Ronald Whelan ........ . . . The Swaggie Les W arto n ................

11. The Broken Melody ............ Mr. King Frank Dunn ..............

(Released in June 1938) ........

The Doctor William E dgley..........

(Alternative title: The Vagabond Violinist in U.K.) Cinesound Features present THE BROKEN MELODY A genial Australian farmer inherits an English title and Based on the Novel by F. J. Thwaites takes his family to their new estate. They find the English S creen play...................... ............................. Frank Harvey aristocracy too formal for their liking and after many far­ Photography.................... ..........................George Heath cical encounters with high society they contrive to return Sound ............................. ................................Clive Cross to their Australian home.

Film Editor ...................... ....................William Shepherd Art Direction.................... ........................Eric Thompson 9. Tall Timbers Special Effects................ ........................ J. Alan Kenyon (Released in August 1937) Assistant D irecto r.......... ........................Ronald Whelan Cinesound Productions Ltd. present TALL TIMBERS with Frank Production Management John Souter, Harry Strachan Leighton, Shirley Ann Richards Dialogue ......................... .............................Frank Harvey S creen play.....................................................................Frank Harvey Casting.............................. .......................... GeorgeCross

Ken Hall directs William Morris Hughes in SM IT H Y

90 — Cinema Papers, January

Costumes ...........................................

Original Operatic Score and Violin Theme ...........................

Incidental Music .......................................

Conductor...................................................

The Cast: Lloyd Hughes a s .......................................

Diana Du Cane .........................................

Frank Harvey .............................................

Rosaline Kennerdale ...............................

Alec Kellaway.............................................

Harry A b d y .................................................

Rita P auncefort.........................................

Harold Meade ...........................................

June Munro ...............................................

Ronald Whelan .........................................

Lionello C e c il.............................................

Letty Craydon ...........................................

Produced and Directed by Ken G. Hall

................Mavis Ripper ......................Alfred Hill ................. Horace Keats ........Hamilton Webber ..........John Ainsworth ......................Ann Brady Mon. Jules de Latanac ........Madame le Lange ...................... Joe Larkin .....................Sam Harris ................................. Bella ___Michael Ainsworth ............Nibs Ainsworth ........................... Bullman .......................The Tenor ................London Maid

Unjustly disowned by his wealthy father, John Ainsworth becomes a vagabond, earning pennies by playing his violin on street corners. One day his music is heard by an entrepreneur and he quickly becomes an international celebrity as a violinist and a composer. He marries an opera singer who had also risen from destitution, and is eventually reunited with his family.

12.

Let George Do It

(Released in June 1938) (Alternative title: In the Nick of Time in U.K.) Cinesound Productions present George Wallace in LET GEORGE DO IT S creen play..................................... George Wallace, Frank Harvey Adapted from an Original Story b y ......................Hal H. Carleton Photography .. .•................................................. ......... George Heath R ecording................................................... ....................Clive Cross Art Direction.................... ................................Eric Thompson Special Effects................ ............................... J. Alan Kenyon Film Editor ...................... ............................William Shepherd Assistant D irecto r.......... ................................Ronald Whelan Production Management . . . . John Souter, Harry Strachan Casting............................. ............................

George Cross Musical Direction ..........

Hamilton Webber, Maurie Gilman Water Ballet .................... ..................................... Jan Kowsky Produced and Directed by Ken G. Hall The Cast: George Wallace a s .......... ................Joe Blake Letty Craydon .................. ...... ............. .Clara Joe Valli ............................ ___‘Happy’ Morgan Alec Kellaway.................... . . . Mysto the Great Gwen Munro .................... ...........................Molly George Llo yd .................... ........................... ‘Unk’ Harry A b d y ........................ ..............Elmer Zilch Neil Carlton ...................... ..........John Randall Leal Douglas .................... ................ Mrs. Burp Jack S e ttle ........................ ___Stage Manager Millie D o ris ........................ . . . Madame Montez Sid D oody.......................... ___Poultry Farmer Lou Vernon ........................ ....................... Martini Butt and B errigan............

Dean and Donovan Charles Lawrence............ ..................... Solicitor Stan Tolhurst.................... ................The Drunk Dud Cantrell’s Vocal Trio ............Vocalists Pat Doonan ...................... ........................ ‘Patsy’ Frank Perrin ...................... ....................... ‘Monty’ Dan A g a r............................ .....................Chemist

George is to receive a fortune from the will of a relative but his efforts to complete the formalities are nearly dis­ rupted by a gang of ruthless crooks. After a slapstick speedboat chase on Sydney Harbour, George wins the in­ heritance and finds happiness with his friends.

13. Dad and Dave Come to Town (Released in September 1938) (Alternative title: The Rudd Family Goes to Town in U.K.) Cinesound Productions present Bert Bailey in DAD AND DAVE COME TO TOWN Based on the works by Steele Rudd Screenplay ............................................. Frank Harvey, Bert Bailey Photography.................................................

George Heath Sound .......................................................

Clive Cross Art Director.................................................................Eric Thompson Special Effects...........................................................j . Alan Kenyon Film Editing ........................................................... William Shepherd Wardrobe and Fashion Parade ................................Mavis Ripper Music Direction........................Hamilton Webber, Maurie Gilman Assistant D irecto r..................................................... Ronald Whelan Production Management .............. John Souter, Harry Strachan Casting.............................................................................George Cross Montage Effects ........................................... John Kingsford Smith Hosiery...............................................................................\ Holeproof The Cast: Bert Bailey as ...........................................................

Dad Rudd Shirley Ann Richards......................................... j||| Fred M acD on ald............................................................................ Dave Billy Rayes ................................................... ................... j j m Bradley Alec Kellaway......................................................................

Entwistle Sidney W h ee ler............................................................................ Pierre Connie M a rty n ........................................................................ .Mum Ossie W e n b a n .................................................................................. Joe Valerie S can lon....................................................................[. Sarah Muriel F o rd ............................................................

Myrtle Leila S te p p e .........................................................................! !! Sonia Marshall Crosby ....................................... ....... .............. Ryan Snr Peter Fin ch ....................... .....................................................Bill Ryan Cecil Perry ...............................................................................Rawlings Billy S tew a rt..................................................... ; . . . . Bob Thompson Marie D’A lto n ................................................. ................. Miss Quince Leslie V ic to r................................................................................. Brown George Lloyd, Jack Settle, Sid Doody, Cyril NorthcoteThe Bailliffs Produced and Directed by Ken G. Hall Fu rther ad ven tu res of th e R udd fam ily w h en th ey in herit a w o m e n ’s fashion store in th e city. A lth ou gh th ey have tro u b le co pin g with so ph isticated city so ciety th eir fo rthrigh t rustic en e rg y m a k e s th e store a h u g e success at th e e x p e n s e of th eir c ro o k e d rivals.

Ken G. Hall

14.

Mr. Chedworth Steps Out

(Released in April 1939) C inesound P roductions present Cecil Kellaway in MR CHADWORTH STEPS OUT Adapted from the Novel by Francis Morton Howard Screenplay . . . . . . . Frank Harvey Photography.. . . . George Heath Sound ............ . . . . . . Ciive Cross Art Direction .. .. Eric Thompson Special Effects .. J. Alan Kenyon Film Editor . . .

William Shepherd Assistant D irecto r..................................................... Ronald Whelan Production Management ..............John Souter, Harry Strdchan Casting...........................................................................George Cross Musical Direction ................................................. Hamilton Webber Millinery............................................................................. Valerie West Produced and Directed by Ken G. Hall The Cast: George Chedworth Cecil Kellaway as James Raglan . . . ..........Brian Carford .. Gwen Chedworth Joan Deering Rita Pauncefort .. . . . Julie Chedworth .. .Susie Chedworth Jean Hatton ........ . .Arthur Chedworth Peter Fin ch .......... . . . Fred Chedworth Rodney Jacobs ..

Sidney W h e e le r., ..........Leon Fencott Ronald Whelan .. ........................ Benny ......................... Leslie Leslie V ic to r____ ............MacGuire Cecil P e r r y ........ ............Ada Fencott Charmaine Ross ........................Mason Harvey Adams .. .........................Welch Ben Lewin . . . . . . ___Perce Faulkiner Barrett Lennard . ................The Bailiff Field Fisher........ ..........Mrs. Blundell Letty Craydon .. ..............Sol Barnes Les W a rto n ........

Phil S m ith .......... ............Estate Agent

A mild-mannered, hen-pecked clerk discovers a bag of money hidden in a warehouse and gains enough con­ fidence to start enjoying his life for the first time. Although the money later turns out to be counterfeit and he is almost killed by the gang responsible, Mr. Chedworth’s confidence remains and his days of worry are over.

15.

Gone to the Dogs

(Released in September 1939) Cinesound Features Pty. Ltd. present George W allace in GONE TO THE DOGS Original ScreenplayGeorge Wallace, Frank Harvey, Frank Coffey Original Musical Numbers ................ ‘We’ll Build a Little Home’ Lyrics and Music by George Wallace Arranged by Henry Kripps ‘Gone to the Dogs’ Lyrics by Harry Allen Music by Henry Kripps ..........................George Heath Photography.................... ................................Clive Cross Sound .............................. ....................William Shepherd Film Editor ...................... ........................Eric Thompson Art Direction.................... ........................J. Alan Kenyon Special Effects................ ........................Ronald Whelan Assistant D ire c to r..........

John Souter, Harry Strachan Production Management ..........................George Cross Casting M anag er............ ............................Henry Kripps Musical Direction .......... ..............................Valerie West M illinery............................

The Cast: .........................George George Wallace a s ............................... ___Jean MacAllister Lois Green ........................................... ,.-. .Henry Applegate John Dobbie.......................................... ___Jimmy Alderson John Fleeting........................................ .........................Willard Ronald Whelan .................................... ..................Mad Jack Alex Kellaway........................................ ___Mrs. MacAllister Letty Craydon ...................................... ..........Irene Inchcape Kathleen Esler...................................... .......... Ted Inchcape Howard Craven....... ............................ ............Mr. Inchcape Harold M eade....... ........................

Doctor Sundermann Lou Vernon........................................... ............................. Quin George Lloyd........................................ ............................ Hogg Harry A bdy............................................ ...................... Benson Reginald Collins ................................... ............ Head Keeper Jack Settle ........................................... ......................Sing Lo Stephen Doo ........................................ . . . Aloysius, the Dog ‘Hughie’ ................................... ..........

Produced and Directed by Ken G. Hall George accidentally discovers a substance which accelerates the speed of greyhounds. Despite the efforts of a crooked dog-racing gang to sabotage his work, George and his friends succeed in winning an important race.

16.

Come Up Smiling

(Released in December 1939) (Alternative title: Ants In His Pants for later Australian release) Cinesound Features Pty. Ltd. present Will Mahoney in COME UP SMILING with Shirley Ann Richards, Jean Hatton, Evie Hayes, Alec Kellaway, Sidney Wheeler.

Adapted from an Original Story by John Addison Chandler* S creen p lay............................................................. William Freshman Original Musical Numbers . ‘That’s the Way to Handle Your Man’ Lyrics by Bob Geraghty, Ronald Whelan ‘Poor Little Sheep’ Lyrics by Will Mahoney, Ronald Whelan Musical arrangement by Bob Geraghty, Henry Kripps ‘Come Up Smiling' Lyrics by Harry Allen Music by Henry Kripps Photography....................

Sound .................... ......

Film Editor ......................

Art Direction....................

Special Effects................

Assistant D irecto r..........

Musical Director ............

Production Management Casting................ .............

Wardrobe ........................

..........................George Heath ................................Clive Cross ................... William Shepherd ............................ Eric Thomson ........................ J. Alan Kenyon ........................Ronald Whelan ............................Henry Kripps John Souter, Harry Strachan ..........................George Cross ..................... Dorothy Richards

M illinery............................ ........

Produced by Ken G. Hall Directed by William Freshman The Cast: Will Mahoney as ........................

Shirley Ann Richards................

Jean H a tto n ...............................

Evie Hayes ............ ..................

Sidney W h ee ler.........................

Alec Kellaway.............................

Guy H astings.............................

John Fleeting.............................

Ronald Whelan .........................

Harry A b d y .................................

Lou Vernon.................................

Harold Meade ...........................

Charles Zoli ..............................

Bob Geraghty ...........................

Jack Dunleavy...........................

(Chips Rafferty..........................

Valerie West

...............Barney O’Hara ................. Eve Cameron ....................................Pat .................... Kitty Katkin .. Worthington Howard ..................... Th e Killer’ ........Colonel Cameron..............John Wynyard .................................. Max .......................... Sharkey ..........Signor Rudolpho ..............Sir James Hall ..........Rudolpho’s Valet ........................Pressman ............................Referee ‘Extra’ in circus crowd)

G. J. Montgomery-Jackson ................................................... Warner Gundy H ill........................................................................... ............Lyon In Person:............................ The Rt. Hon. William Morris Hughes ............................................................. Capt. P. G. Taylor ................................................................... John Stannage

The life and death of the pioneer flying ace, Sir Charles Kingford Smith.

In addition to his 18 feature films, Hall directed literally hundreds of short films — most of them sponsored by government departments during the war, or by private companies before and after the war years. No record is available of these films either from Hall himself or from the company he worked for, Cinesound Productions Pty. Ltd. Of these sponsored films, two semi-fictional wartime films gained unusual attention at the time of their release and have been preserved in the Film Division of the National Library of Australia: 100,000 Cobbers and

South-West Pacific.

‘ John Addison Chandler is a pseudonym for Ken G. Hall

100,000 Cobbers Narrative film for recruiting drive.

Credits from film: Presented by the Department of Information A Cinesound Production Produced and Directed by Ken G. Hall Film Editor ................................................. ........... William Shepherd Camera ...........................................................................Bert Nicholas 17. Dad Rudd, M.P. Sound ..................................................... Arthur Smith,.Clive Cross (Released in June 1940) Story Treatment ..........Frank Coffey, John Lennon, Ken G. Hall Cinesound Features Pty. Ltd. presents Bert Bailey in DAD RUDD, The Cast: M.P. St. John Fleeting, A.I.F.....................

Peter Founded on the Works of Steele Rudd Joe Valli, ex-A.I.F. ...................................................................... Scotty Screenplay ............................................. Frank Harvey, Bert Bailey Sig. Barry Ross, A.I.F....................................................................Bluey Photography................................................................. George Heath Pte. Grant Taylor, A.M.F................................

Bill Sound ................................................................................. Clive Cross Gilbert E llis........................................................................................ Jim Special Effects...........................................................J. Alan Kenyon Aileen Britton......................................... .................................................

Art Direction............................................................... Eric Thompson Shirley Ann Richards.................................................................... : . . . .

Film Editor ............................................................. William Shepherd Lornal W estbrook...................................................................................

Musical Direction .........................................................Henry Kripps Patricia F irm in .........................................................................................

Assistant D irecto r..................................................... Ronald Whelan Length: 40 minutes Casting.......................................................................... George Cross Released in Sydney: March 1942 Unit M anagem ent.......... ..............John Souter, Harry Strachan Distributor: B.E.F. Wardrobe .................................................................Dorothy Richards Present Location: Australian War Memorial and National Library Millinery........................................................................................Valerie West of Australia.

Produced and Directed by Ken G. Hall South West Pacific The Cast: Documentary about Australia’s role as the main Allied base in the Bert Bailey as ...................................................................... Dad Rudd South West Pacific.

Connie M a rty n ...........................................

Mum Yvonne E a s t..................................................................................... AnnRudd Credits from film: A Cinesound Picture Fred M acD on ald............................................................................ Dave Ossie W e n b a n .........................

Joe Written b y .............................................................................Tom Gurr Valerie S can lan.......................

Sally Assistant Director and Alec Kellaway...............................................

Entwistle Film E ditor..................................................... William Shepherd Frank H a rv e y ................................................................................ Henry Webster Photography........ ....................................................... Bert Nicholas Grant T a ylo r...............................

Jim Webster Sound ................................................................................. Clive Cross Jean Robertson............................................................................... Mrs.Webster S ettin g s.......................................................................Eric Thompson Barbara W e e k s .............................................................................. SybilVane Special Effects........................................................... Ronald Horner Ronald Whelan .............................................................................Lewis Produced and Directed by Ken G. Hall Letty Craydon ............................................................... Mrs. McGrury The Cast: Marshall Crosby ............................................................................Ryan Alec Kellaway a s ........................................................... The Mechanic Joe Valli ...................................

MacTavish John Nugent-Hayward................................. The Factory Manager Field Fisher.................................................................................Jenkins Bert Bailey .........................................................................The Farmer Billy S tew a rt................................................................................ Bloggs Bill Perrym an......................................................... The Road Builder Natalie R a in e .................................................................................Susie Muriel Steinbeck........................................... The Munitions Worker Lorna Westbrook .......................................................................Minnie Walter P y m ...........................................................................The Sailor Leo Gordon .....................................................

Fordham George R an d all........................................... The Merchant Seaman Chips Rafferty .......................................................................... Fireman Peter Finch...................................................................... R.A.A.F. Pilot Dad is persuaded to stand for parliament, and although Ralph S m a rt.................................................................

R.A.A.F.Pilot Joe Valli .................................................................R.A.A.F. Mechanic his wealthy land-owning opponent conducts a dishonest Chips Rafferty .......................

R.A.A.F. Mechanic and dirty campaign, Dad wins the popular support of the Wayne Froman .................................................... U.S.A.C. Mechanic small farmers and takes his place in parliament to fight Grant Ta ylo r.....................................................................A.I.F. Soldier for freedom and justice.

Ron R a n d e ll...................................................

U.S.Soldier Length: 40 minutes 18. Smithy Released: mid-1943 (Released in June 1946) Distributor: B.E.F. (Alternative titles: Southern Cross in U.K.; Pacific Adventure in Present Location: Australian War Memorial and National Library U.S.A.) of Australia.

Columbia Pictures SMITHY The Immortal Story of Sir Charles Kingsford Smith with Ron Randell FILMS: Screenplay ......................................... John Chandler, Alec Coppel All of Ken Hall’s feature films are preserved In the Film Based on an Adaptation b y ....................Ken G. Hall, Max Afford Division, National Library of Australia.

Photography.............. ....................George Heath FILMED INTERVIEWS: Second Cameraman ....................H. L. Nicholas Art Director................ .................. J. Alan Kenyon Interviews with Hail are contained in the following com­ Assistant Art Director .......................George Hurst pilation films: Assistant Director . . . ..............William Shepherd (1) Forgotten Cinema (1967, Anthony Buckley) — copy Film Editor ................ ......................... Terry Banks held by the Film Division, National Library of Sound Engineers . . .

Clive Cross, Arthur Smith Australia.

Special Effects.......... ................... Jack Gardiner (2) Roy Rene (1969), an episode in the TV series, Interior Decoration .. ....................... Joyce Brown Memoirs, produced by United Telecasters Sydney Music and Musical D irection.................................

Kenry Kripps Ltd. (Channel TEN) who hold all copies.

Pacific Score .......................................................................Alfred Hill Recorded by ....................................Sydney Symphony Orchestra PRINTED SOURCES: R esearch.......................................................................Norman Ellison Gowns Designs b y ...............................

Mavis Ripper Interview with Ken Hall by R. Trindall in Industrial Gowns Made by ..................................................... David Jones Ltd. Photography and Commercial Camera, vol. 6, no. 4, U niform s...........................................................Wardrop, Melbourne April 1968, pp. 32-36.

RAAF Liaison Officers Wing Commander John Kingsford Smith, B. Chandler, ‘A Hall of Doubtful Fame’, in Film Digest, ............Squadron Leader G. R. Chaseling Dec. 1965, no. 6, pp. 3-7.

Produced by N. P. Perry Current Affairs Bulletin, 18 December 1967, vol. 41, Directed by Ken G. Hall no. 2 — issue entitled ‘The Australian Cinema?’

The Cast: Sydney Cinema Journal, no. 3, Winter 1967 — issue Ron Randeli as .

Charles Kingsford Smith devoted to Australian cinema.

Muriel Steinbeck ......................Mary Powell M. Thornhill, 'The Australian Film Industry Observed', John T a t e .......... ......................Charles Ulm in Masque, May-June 1968, vol. 1, no. 5, pp. 8-11.

Joy Nichols........ ........................Kay Sutton Nan Taylor ........ ___Nan Kingsford Smith R. Kathner, Let’s Make a Movie (Sydney, 194?)

John Dunne ___ . Harold Kingsford Smith R. Rene, Mo’s Memoirs (Melbourne, 1945) . . , . Capt. Allan Hancock Alec Kellaway. . .

F. Legg and T. Hurley, Once More on My Adventure John Dease ___ ..........Sir Hubert Wilkins (Sydney 1966) Marshall Crosby ...................Arthur Powell H. Porter, Stars of Australian Stage and Screen Edward Smith .. ........................Beau Sheil (Adelaide, 1965) Alan H erbert___ ........Tommy Pethybridge E. Reade, Australian Talkies (Melbourne, 1972) John Fleeting . . . ................Keith Anderson ..............................Stringer Joe Valli ............

J. Baxter, The Australian Cinema (Sydney 1970).

Barney, a timid tap-dancer in a circus side-show, is ac­ cidentally signed to fight The Killer’ in the boxing ring.

With the aid of his friends, Barney miraculously outwits ‘The Killer’ and wins enough money to pay for an opera­ tion to save his daughter’s singing voice.

REFERENCES

Cinema Papers, January — 9 1

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27 stonnington place, to o ra k, victo ria , 3142, australia telephone: 20 5329 cables: 'sharfilm s' melbourne

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS LE SAMOURAI: Frame enlarge­ ments courtesy of Mr Bob Ward, Dendy Cinemas.

PERFORMANCE: Warners.

KEN. G. HALL: National Library.

Special thanks to Mr Andrew Pike.

H A R R Y H A U S E N : The private c o l l e c t i o n s of Me ss rs Ray Harryhausen and Alan Osborne.

BLUNDELL: Hexagon Films.

LONGFORD: Ross Cooper.

ONE HUNDRED A DAY: Frame enlargements courtesy Miss Gillian Armstrong, and the Australian Film and Television School.

THROW AWAY YOUR BOOKS, LET’S GO INTO THE STREETS: A. Ginnane.

THEMROC: A. Ginnane.

CORPSE GRINDERS: A. Ginnane.

L IBID O : Fram e enlargem ents courtesy of B.E.F. and Mr David CARS THAT ATE PARIS: Still of Panavision camera courtesy of Mr Jim McElroy.

HOMESDALE: Mr Richard Bren­ nan.

SOLARIS: VPS DALM AS: Australian Film In­ stitute.

27A: Australian Film Institute.

Williamson

WILLIAMSON: I’d say that one

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shouldn’t be made. I just don’t know where government support should go. I haven’t got a clue.

CINEMA PAPERS: Well, as it stands at the moment I think that there is nowhere else in the world with a comparable set-up, because there is assistance here for both sorts of films you are talking about. You can* make a very low-budget film with the help of the Experimental Film Fund. I’d agree with you that when you’re talking about $200,000 or whatever, then there’s no way around it. That money has to be justified by getting that much back at least in entertainment, even if the film may not actually get all its money back. I mean it has to have some kind of public interest if you’re going to spend public money on that scale.

WILLIAMSON: The Experimental Film Fund is presumably enabling pure experimentation to take place. I think that a film-maker would have to have a pretty substantial proposi­ tion which would appeal to a poten­ tially large audience before he could justify $200,000 worth of public money. A couple of years back, Warhol was doing a single shot for eight hours. In terms of techniques, this is pretty revolutionary — to shoot just a corner of a building for eight hours — and maybe it’s impor­ tant in terms of film history, but I wouldn’t like to be handing out $200,000 for this exercise, which ob­ viously is only going to interest other experimental film practitioners. I’d say, “ Gee, that’s an innovative breakthrough, we never thought of taking a still for eight hours.”

CINEMA PAPERS: But of course that sort of question never comes up, because that’s the sort of film that could be made for fifty bucks.

WILLIAMSON: I’m always terribly suspicious of the far reaches of ex­ perimental art forms of any kind, b e c a u s e t he p h i l o s o p h y , the rationale, is the transcendent thing at that stage. You get sculptors who are wrapping up cliffs in yellow plastic, and it’s an original act.

Nobody’s thought of doing that before. But I object to the incredible philosophic bilge that goes with i t . . .

I think a lot of it is pretentiousness at the far fringes. Maybe it’s valuable' pretentiousness in the long run, but basically I’m only interested in my observations of real people doing real things, and it’s just a personal preference. I’m not very interested in stylistic innovations, although I can conceive their value.

CINEMA PAPERS: One could take a slightly different approach from yours to this problem of public money. One could agree that yes, you shouldn’t spend $250,000 for a film which is going to have very limited appeal, but the solution is not necessarily or exclusively to spend $25 0 , 0 0 0 on a film that has guaranteed mass appeal, but rather — or as well — to learn how to make films much cheaper, so that one can malfe films on an econom ically sound basis which need only a limited audience, even, if he hopes for a larger one.

would need some justification of some wider appeal than just other ex­ perimental film-makers to justify a huge expenditure of public money.

I’m not saying that you have to make thousands of B a rry M c K e n z ie s or S to r k s , God forbid. One would hope that the industry would move on. But there’s nothing inherently wrong in hoping that a few people will come and see your film. And you don’t have to consciously write down. I did consciously write down in S to r k , we all did. The industry was in such a precarious state that we felt it had to be a commercial success, and so we compromised. But there’s no reason why you can’t write films about real people doing real things and real social problems, and have people come and see them. Most of the films I’ve been interested in have been socalled commercial films emanating from America and other places, films like F ive E a sy P ieces, K in g o f M a rvin G ardens, important films . . .

CINEMA PAPERS: Do you have any reservations about government assistance to writers?

WILLIAMSON: No . . . Good novelists have a good case for sub­ sidy. And when I say a good novelist, I mean a novelist who doesn’t appeal just to two or three of his mates, but who really does appeal to a fairly in­ telligent but small cross-section of the population. As for dramatists, there’s some case for supporting them if they’re getting productions, if they’re getting a positive response from a fair cross-section of the pop­ ulation, and good critical response, but not having enormous box-office success CINEMA PAPER'S: I take it a film­ maker, then, who was “experimen­ tal” in a sense that his films weren’t of the kind that would easily appeal to a wide audience, but who was serious in communicating something and was devising a way to do it, would gain your support?

WILLIAMSON: Yeah. But the situa­ tion gets a little more complex, because the writers . . . all the equip­ ment they heed is a typewriter, but a film-maker needs all those exorbi­ t a n t e q u i p m e n t , s t o c k , and laboratory costs. I don’t know whether it’s feasible to grant a film­ maker a sort of living allowance plus additional specific budgets for the films he’s going to make. I don’t know how you could handle ex­ perimental film-makers in any other way than they are at the present, with the project-type fund. Can you think of an alternative?

CINEMA PAPERS: I think the way Australia’s doing it now is extremely impressive. I just hope Australia doesn’t give it up. There’s some talk of getting rid of the Experimental Film Fund.

WILLIAMSON: Oh, no! Look, for all my criticisms of experimental film-makers, I’d be violently oppos­ ed to curtailing the Experimental Film Fund. I, was down-grading ad­ vances before, because I think my particular interest happens to be writing content stuff, but I don’t really mean that in a broader sense.

It’s pretty vital that the experimenta­ tion goes on.

Cinema Papers, January — 93

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AHEADTHAT'S HAPPYTQ HELP Derrick Wynne of London He’s Studio Corporation’s new Commercial Director, heading our expanding professional client service.

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(for Fans and Professionals) Magazines always carried include: Sight and Sound Focus on Film Film Quarterly Monthly Film Bulletin Take One Films and Filming American Cinematographer Radical Software and many more.

Books: The full Tantivy range.

Marcorelles, Louis. LIVING CINEMA $4.80 St. John Marner T. (ed) DIRECTING MOTION PICTURES $4.65 C a m p b e l l R. ( ed) P R A C T I C A L M O T I O N P I C T U R E PHOTOGRAPHY, $3.65 Campbell R. (ed) PHOTOGRAPHIC THEORY FOR THE MOTION PICTURE CAMERAMAN, $3.65 Walker, Alexander STANLEY KUBRICK DIRECTS, $3.00 Rilla Wolf, THE WRITER AND THE SCREEN on writing for film & television, $8.40 Rossen, Robert. THREE SCREENPLAYS — ALL THE KING’S MEN, THE HUSTLER & LILITH, $3.50 Vronskaya, Jeanne, YOUNG SOVIET FILM MAKERS, $6.15 Bukalski, P. J. (compiled), FILM RESEARCH, $12.60 Baer, D. Richard (ed). FILM BUFF’S BIBLE of motion pictures (1915-1972), $14.95 and countless others.

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CHECK THE- W I D E R A N G S OF BOOKS O N F/LAA A T “THE- P R E S B Y T E R IA M B o o K R o o n n ... V i e h a v e "Film s c r ip t's , r e so u r c e b o o k s, c a ta lo g u e s q n d b o o k s o n F ilm S t u d y f d ir e c to r s , a n im a tio n a n d la te s t* techniques. We c a rry PFIaum and rnanu other v/ell know* publishers (.in c lu d in j title s yov can’t qe*t" qnyinhere else in M e lb o u rn e)

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/^e l s o ^ r n E Cinema Papers, January — 95

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CINEM A PAPERS 37 Rotherwood Street, Richmond, Victoria, 3121

NEXT ISSUE: IN PRODUCTION: Another report from a feature film set.

FILMOGRAPHIES: More filmographies of Australian producers, directors, actors, script writers and technicians.

N.F.T.A.: New seasons and new plans of the National Film Theatre of Australia.

FILM FESTIVALS: What are the films, who are they for and is it enough?

THE AATON: A report on a revolutionary new French camera

by Vincent Monton.

SOUND RECORDING: An interview with sound recordist Ron Green.

FILM MUSIC: The new soundtrack, an article by composer Ron Nagorka.

PETER WEIR: A discussion on Homesdale, Michael, In­ credible Floridas and his latest feature, The Cars That Ate Paris.

SANFORD LIEBERSON: Producer of Performance and Swastika interviewed on agents.

FILM-MAKERS CO-OPERATIVES: The first of a series of articles on the Australian Film Co-operative Movement.

ABORTION — A WOMAN’S RIGHT: The production of a documentary by the Melbourne Women’s Film Group.

ATLAB: Another look at an Australian laboratory — its facilities, services and personnel.

SPECIAL EFFECTS ANIMATION: Alan Osborne begins a series of articles on special effects animators including Ray Harryhausen, Willis O’Brien and Jim Danforth.

JAPAN: New Japanese cinema. A report with interviews from Andrew Pike and Tokyo.

THE M EDIA CENTRE PRODUCERS OF INNOVATIVE EDUCATIONAL FILMS

Winner of The Department of the Media Award for the most imaginative„use.of film techniques to depict an aspect of Australian life or endeavour.

The Centre produces films for Universities and tertiary colleges, for television, for industry, for government agencies and other educational and commercial organizations.

Media Centre films are available for hire Contact: The Centre for the Study of Educational Communication and Media, School of Education, La Trobe University, Bundoora, Victoria, 3083. Phone: 478 3122 96 — Cinema Papers, January

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