In spite of the fact that the programme of the average picture palace of to-day is chiefly occupied with film plays, nevertheless the greatest attraction is undoubtedly the “topical picture.” British audiences were first introduced to its possibilities by seeing the 1896 Derby re-run before their eyes on the screen in the Alhambra Theatre, creating a tremendous sensation. In fact, the reproduction of this classic British horse-race upon the white sheet twenty-four hours after it was run excited more attention than the actual race itself. In those days cinematography was unfamiliar to the general public, and those who followed the race upon the screen could not resist rubbing their eyes in amazement: it seemed scarcely credible. Certainly, very few items of sensational interest have ever created such a deep impression and brought such heavy receipts to the box-office of this famous vaudeville house as the first Derby film.

The manner in which the film was obtained was typical of Paul’s quiet, unassuming methods. His “animatograph” had become established firmly at the Alhambra, and he was always on the alert to secure new and striking subjects. When he decided to attempt the representation of the classic race, he told no one, and sought no favours to obtain commanding positions from which to photograph the contest. On the morning of the race he appeared at Epsom. He chartered a wagonette, upon the seats of which he intended to set up his tripod and camera. He hoped to be able to secure a good position unobserved, but he came near to having his plans upset.

When he arrived on the course, one of the itinerant booth-holders, a pugnacious, gipsy-like individual, thought the vehicle was some form of rival side-show and barred its progress. An altercation ensued, but Paul drove on with the enraged gipsy in pursuit. The latter, seeing that his irate remonstrances were of no avail, threatened to take the law into his own hands and to upset the offending vehicle and its strange contents. Paul thwarted this contingency by tying the wheels of his vehicle firmly to the rails, along-side of which he had taken up his position, and the film was secured without further untoward developments.

From the night on which the Derby was run at the Alhambra, the success of the topical film has been established. Scarcely an item of absorbing public interest escapes being recorded. Probably no topical film has created such enthusiasm as that which Paul secured of the “Prince’s Derby” when the late King Edward VII., as Prince of Wales, carried off the blue riband of the British turf. The Alhambra Theatre was converted into a reproduction of the famous course, for the entire audience cheered the moving pictures with as much gusto as if they were following the actual struggle on Epsom Downs, and would not desist until the film had been passed across the screen three times. Paul cinematographed the Derby on no less than six consecutive occasions, and there is probably no established British annual event which he has not recorded.

In the early days, as Paul was practically in full possession of the topical film field, there was an entire absence of that haste of competition. Then it was immaterial whether the film were shown one or two days after the event. The many processes which had to be carried out between the securing of the negative and the production of the positive print for the projector were not hurried, and in fact could not be accelerated very well, if good results were desired. But as other firms appeared on the scene, keen rivalry sprang up. The various establishments left no stone unturned to be first in projection, and the theatres, of course, encouraged the enterprise. Consequently the race against time and rivals became more and more bitterly contested.

As a natural result, great improvements were made in the developing, drying, and printing operations. Whereas twenty-four hours or so had been required to produce a positive ready for use, it now became possible to reduce the time of preparation to about eight hours. To-day a subject can be thrown upon the screen four hours after it has occurred. The topical film appears while the subject to which it refers is still absorbing public interest; and accordingly meets with overwhelming success. The men armed with the camera have the same zeal that animates the reporter bent on securing exclusive information for his paper. No effort or expense is spared to outstrip a rival, as the following incident shows.

An American firm required a film of an event which it thought would be of absorbing interest to the American public. It communicated with its agents in London to “get it, and ahead of anyone else.” The outlay was such that the firm could only hope to recoup itself by capturing the entire market for that particular firm. As it happened, only one other firm decided to exploit the same topical subject in the United States. The first firm secured commanding positions for its camera operators, and the films as they arrived were packed and dispatched to New York by special messenger. The competitors failed to show such initiative, and had their films transmitted in the usual manner. Not only did the first firm receive its negatives within the shortest possible space of time, but it found itself in undisputed command of the whole country, for the rival’s product went astray in transit! The successful establishment expended £300 ($1,500) in acquiring the negatives, but it proved an excellent investment.

The Americans, however, have not made such a speciality of the topical film as it has become in England, where there are several firms excelling in this particular field of activity. Under energetic management it is one of the most lucrative branches of the industry, success attending those who display the greatest amount of energy and initiative.

The power of the topical picture was demonstrated most convincingly by the Coronation festivities of King George V. For some weeks after that event the picture play fell into second position. The Coronation films were in urgent demand on every hand, not only in Great Britain, but in the Colonies as well. Some theatres even found it profitable to give an extended run exclusively to Coronation films and kindred subjects. The most remarkable outcome of the popularity of the Coronation films was the establishment of “Kinemacolor” in the favour of the public. Cinematography in natural colours had not in the earlier stages attracted more than passing interest, and had languished somewhat. But when the royal festivities were reproduced in the full glow and brilliancy of colour, the success of this development of the art became assured.

The Coronation has probably been responsible for more achievements in the work of topical cinematography than any other event. On all sides the keenest competition was displayed among the rival firms. In London, ere the Royal procession left Westminster Abbey after the crowning ceremony, films were being shown of the morning procession to the Abbey; and before the crowds in the evening were gazing upon the illuminated streets, the return journey to Buckingham Palace was being thrown upon the screen of a multitude of theatres throughout the country. Possibly the most remarkable feat was that whereby English residents in Paris and the French nation were enabled to see the ceremony within a few hours of its occurrence. This was an achievement of the English branch of the well-known Gaumont Company, which is probably unexcelled in time-saving ingenuity.

This firm had cameras and operators scattered freely along the route of the Royal procession, and all the films which were secured up to the time of the arrival at Westminster Abbey had been packed and entrusted to a special messenger. The train was due to leave Charing Cross at 2.20 p.m. The clock had barely struck two when the return journey commenced to Buckingham Palace. The operator stationed near the Abbey, in a position to secure one of the best views along the route, was suddenly seized with the idea to set up a new record. A taxi-cab was engaged and held in readiness. At about ten minutes past the hour the procession drew within the field of the camera and the filming commenced. Within about four minutes the coach bearing their Majesties had passed beyond the lens. The film was slipped out of the camera, and the second operator, snatching it up, entered the cab and drove off at full speed to the station. The train was caught in the nick of time, the film was handed over to the special messenger, and before the whole procession had left the precincts of Westminster Abbey, the film bearing the passing of the crowned King and Queen was bound for the French capital, where the pictures were thrown upon the screen late that night.

On the occasion of the investiture of the Prince of Wales at Carnarvon an even more astonishing performance was accomplished by the same firm. A London manager, Mr. Laurrilard, of the Marble Arch Electric Theatre, desired to show the ceremonies on the evening of the day they took place, if that were humanly possible. He approached the Gaumont Company, which decided to make the attempt. A great difficulty was sure to be encountered in dispatching the film, on account of the enormous crowds and the strictness of the traffic regulations; moreover, it was plain that in order to project the film in London the same evening it would have to be developed and prepared on the train. With the greatest difficulty, owing to the abnormally heavy traffic and arrangements already made for a large number of extra trains, the Gaumont firm succeeded in chartering a special train on the London and North-Western Railway. The railway company stipulated that the train must leave Bangor at exactly the time designated by them, in order not to interfere with the departure of trains after the ceremony was over.

Two brake vans (each measuring 50 feet in length) were coupled up and converted into temporary dark-rooms. They were fitted with tanks for developing, fixing, and washing, together with a printing machine and a large drum upon which the films could be dried quickly. A great difficulty was an adequate supply of water for washing the films, 75 gallons at least being required for the purpose. Another quandary was the impossibility of obtaining electric current to use with the printing machine; special lamps had finally to be acquired to enable this task to be carried out. By the time the arrangements were completed over a ton of apparatus had been erected within the two vehicles.

This train was kept under steam at Bangor ready to start at the pre-arranged minute. The distance between Bangor and Carnarvon had to be covered by motor-cars chartered from Chester, 94 miles distant. The police arrangements would not permit these vehicles to approach within one-and-a-half miles of the castle, and the latter stretch had to be covered on foot.

The whole ceremony was recorded by operators posted at convenient points, each of whom had to carry his film-box at top speed to the waiting motor. All worked smoothly. There was some fear lest the final scene in the ceremony would have to be omitted, but by keen judgment and quick work the last operator secured his film and left the scene, the ceremony concluding at 4 p.m. The schedule had been drawn up so accurately that a little delay at any one point would have thrown the whole arrangements to the four winds.

However, the train was caught and punctually to the minute the special drew out. In addition to the cinematograph dark-room on wheels a third dark-room, similarly improvised from a baggage car, was attached for the Daily Graphic, in order to enable this paper’s photographic correspondents to develop their plates ready for the preparation of the process blocks for the next day’s issue. The complete character of the arrangements enabled the developing of the films to proceed without a hitch, despite the fact that the train was making a steady sixty miles an hour. Within two hours the negatives had been developed, washed, and were being dried upon a huge drum. Printing was taken in hand, and a single positive was hurried through its processes. The parts were connected together in proper sequence, and the various titles and sub-titles, prepared in both English and Welsh, were duly inserted. By the time the train reached Willesden the film was completed and wound up ready for slipping into the projector. Arriving at Euston seven minutes late, the film was received by a waiting motor-car; and at 10.15 a large audience followed for some twelve minutes a ceremony which had been performed six hours before over 200 miles away. The film was 750 feet in length. As it was the only moving picture record of the Investiture of the Prince of Wales seen in London that night, as may be supposed it created no slight sensation. By working all night the firm made over 100 copies of the subject, varying from 500 to 1,000 feet in length, and by seven o’clock had dispatched them to all parts of the country. Copies were hurried to the Continent, and were seen in the French capital several hours ahead of any rival.

A prize-fight between two famous champions provokes extraordinary energy on the part of the cinematographic artists. Fabulous prices are paid for exclusive rights to photograph the contest, and no expense is spared to secure a continuous record. In order to obtain adequate illumination of the ring, a battery of powerful electric lamps has to be set up, and the glare of tens of thousands of candle-power concentrated upon the combatants. If the battle is short and sharp the results are disappointing both to the cinematographer and his public, but if it be long, requiring several hundred feet of film, he is happy. The prize-fight film, however, is meeting with considerable opposition, which should be welcomed as a healthy sign even by the film-producers themselves. The cinematograph can surely do more elevating, profitable and entertaining work than the recording of a prize-fight. Furthermore, the result has not always paid the speculators concerned, and one or two more heavy losses in the field, combined with popular censorship, will result in the prize-fight being eliminated entirely from the category of “topical” films.

At the present moment the largest film-producing establishments refrain from practising in the “topical” world, as the special requirements necessary to get the films quickly upon the market upsets the arrangements of a well-organised factory, where the day’s work must be very carefully scheduled. When a topical subject is under contemplation, it must be decided whether the financial results will compensate for the losses arising from the disorganisation of the film factory. This point of view is responsible for the apathetic American attitude towards the “topical,” as it is called in Great Britain.

Topical work, however, not only possesses its fascinations, but is beset with considerable danger at times. A calamity of such dimensions as to send a deep thrill around the world is a powerful topical subject, and in their haste to secure striking films, the operators occasionally run extreme risks. The Messina earthquake was a striking case in point. The first authoritative news of that catastrophe precipitated the rush of a small army of operators and cameras to the spot. Scarcely had the earth ceased its mighty devastating shivers when the cinematographer was among the tottering ruins securing records of the disaster. Now and again there was a rush to a point of safety to escape a collapsing wall. Sometimes the flight was so hurried that the operator had to abandon his camera, and saw it buried beneath thousands of tons of débris. Occasionally the operator himself was too slow and was overwhelmed while pursuing his dangerous work.

It is always possible for the film producer to realise large profits on a great national disaster of this kind, provided he displays the requisite energy and initiative. Colliery accidents, conflagrations, railway collisions, are all sources of income to him. He has often to contend with innumerable adverse factors—the weather may be bad, or the lighting conditions unadapted to this work; but the film must be obtained by some means or other. The public sometimes find fault with the quality of such pictures, expecting the brilliance and perfect definition incidental to the average picture play, and ignoring the fact that the film may have been exposed upon a dreary, wintry day in the pelting rain, or when the scene was enveloped in a blanket of fog.

Now and again a stirring item of news enables striking success to be achieved. During the battle with the anarchists in the East End of London, an enterprising firm dispatched its operators and assistants to the scene without loss of time. In the course of an hour a short length of film arrived at the factory, which, upon development, was found to be capable of producing a sensation of the first rank. Instantly telegrams with replies prepaid were dispatched to all customers throughout the kingdom announcing that a film had been secured. Of course, the event constituted at the time the sole topic of conversation in every walk of life. The films were brought in as fast as possible; and by four o’clock in the afternoon eighty copies thereof had been dispatched to all parts of the British Isles; in several instances being shown on the screen that evening whilst the newsboys outside the theatres were shouting out the latest details concerning the episode.

The topical film is a favourite in the British Colonies, for it enables audiences in the most remote parts of Greater Britain to become more vividly familiar with incidents and events in the Home Country than they could in any other way. The Derby may be run in the Antipodes six weeks after the horses have sped over the course at Epsom; a prominent Royal function may have slipped from memory, but the film revives it in all its freshness. When the film shows such subjects as the funeral of King Edward VII., the unveiling of the Queen Victoria Memorial, or the Coronation of King George V., the sale of the films in the Colonies aggregates several thousand feet per subject.

To be successful in the production of topical films one must have not only an extensive and well-equipped organisation, but also facilities for working at high pressure. The business, moreover, is speculative to a degree; for the average topical film is little more than a six days’ wonder—many of them are less—and the manufacturer can make a profit only by flooding the market within an hour or two of the occurrence of the incident. Every hour means money, and every day depreciates the value of the film from the showman’s point of view.

Some of the firms concerned in the work of topical film production, however, are jeopardising its future by doing work of very indifferent quality. This is partly due to heavy cutting in prices. It is possible to purchase topical films for fifty per cent. less than the price charged per foot for film plays; at which figure the margin of profit is slight and quality must suffer. The public is displaying its disapproval of these tactics, and unless a radical improvement comes, the topical film will be ousted from the picture palace by force of popular opinion. Indifferent workmanship certainly does not assist those who are endeavouring to lift this form of entertainment to its highest level.

If the topical film brings a glimpse of the great world into remote and unsettled corners of the earth, the scenic film, on the other hand, does a like service for the dweller in cities; it brings sweeping panoramas of nature, magnificent and unfamiliar landscapes before his eyes. He has the joys of travel without stirring from his comfortable chair in the cinematograph theatre! In fact, the best scenic film is that taken from the front of a railway locomotive, with the camera and operator mounted upon the cow-catcher or its equivalent. In this instance the illusion is conveyed that the audience are seated in the moving train; the panorama is unfolded on all sides, and there are the gleaming metals and the flitting in and out of tunnels to assist in the illusion of actually travelling. The railway scenic film has been modified recently to conspicuous advantage. Instead of taking the picture from the front or rear of the train, the practice of taking the film from the carriage windows has been introduced with strikingly convincing effects. The camera is mounted near the rear of the train with the lens pointing towards the engine. The result is that when the train swings round a sharp curve a glimpse of the leading carriages is caught, giving a highly realistic result.

When the Urban Trading Company sought to record some of the natural marvels of the Tyrol in order to bring them before large audiences in distant theatres, valuable assistance was extended by the Imperial Austrian Railway Ministry, which placed a special engine and carriage at the disposal of the cinematographer, so that he might be enabled to obtain his pictures under the best and most advantageous conditions. Similarly when Kinemacolor set out to harness the gorgeous beauties of Nature among the Rocky Mountains of British North America, the Canadian Pacific Railway, which co-operated in the enterprise, provided a special engine attached to a dark-room on wheels. This “Kinemacolor special” moved at leisure among the snow-clad giants, and some very impressive and beautiful pictures were obtained to delight vast concourses.

The cinematographer of to-day acts in the capacity of an explorer. At great risk he ventures into unknown or forbidden territories, and brings back scenes of wonderful interest, though in many instances he has to resort to novel subterfuge to secure his results. For instance, when some films of the country, habits and customs of the peoples of inland China were desired, it was considered too dangerous to entrust a white man with the work. Instead, an intelligent and highly cultured Chinaman was obtained. Months were devoted to initiating him into the mysteries of the camera, and when at last he obtained proficiency he sallied out upon his perilous mission.

Equally daring was the expedition of the Urban Trading Company into Central Africa. The cinematographer followed the route of the Cape to Cairo Railway so far as practicable, securing magnificent film records as he proceeded along the line, and then pushed on into the interior. When the railway was left a number of native porters had to be pressed into service to fulfil the work of the iron horse, the members of this human pack-train bearing the camera and its innumerable accessories, together with the impedimenta of the operator, upon their heads.

The Victoria Falls upon the Zambesi River have proved a happy hunting ground for the cinematographer, and this enormous tumble of water promises to rival the famous Falls of Niagara as a cinematographic centre of attraction. Since the bridge has been thrown across the gorge excellent coigns of vantage have been provided to secure impressively beautiful films of this cataract. One of the most powerful pictures of this wonder of Nature, however, was a close view of the Boiling Pot, and the recording of the seething water bubbling and frothing provided a unique and thrilling experience for the operator. There was only one means by which a close view of this awful spectacle could be secured—that was to lower the operator and camera by ropes from the bridge overhead to within a few feet of the raging waters. The ropes were snubbed round friendly posts and the operator with his camera was lowered over the side for a distance of about 400 feet, being steadied as much as possible while in that unenviable position by his comrades on the bridge above. It was an eerie sensation dangling in mid-air, and the cinematographer, after swirling round at the end of the ropes, like a joint on a roasting-jack, gave a breath of relief when he was hauled up and felt his feet touching the roadway of the railway bridge once more.

Possibly the greatest triumph of scenic cinematography is the convincing manner in which the sensitised celluloid band brings before the teeming thousands of the crowded cities of civilisation the terrible difficulties confronting polar exploration. The still-life studies of the interminable wastes of snow and ice which were brought back by Nansen, Jackson, Sverdrup, Captain Scott, and other intrepid spirits who ventured into the silent, cold strongholds around the poles, were indelibly powerful, but they failed to convince the man in the street of the bitter hostility of those icy climes in such a vivid manner as those produced in movement upon the screen, which were taken for the first time during the Shackleton expedition. This daring explorer indicated a new opportunity for motion photography, and since that expedition no other party has ventured into those forbidding wastes without a cinematograph and a few thousand feet of film. Captain Scott has a complete cinematographic equipment, and his films initiated the masses into the inconceivable difficulties, privations, and peculiar existence of the small communities determined to penetrate Farthest South.

Similarly, the Duke of the Abruzzi brought before one and all the topmost heights of the Himalayas. The Roof of the World has been wrapped in much legend, and has been the scene of many remarkable mountaineering exploits, but the task of scaling those dizzy peaks has never been conveyed so realistically to the man in the armchair before as by the films that were taken on this occasion. In a like manner another daring explorer has penetrated the innermost recesses of New Guinea, and in the heart of the unknown has made several exposures, the value of which is not confined to the satisfaction of the curious. The pictures are also of incalculable value to geographical and ethnographical science, as we see how these unknown natives move, live, and have their being, just as vividly as if we were transported to the spot by a magic carpet, and viewed the sights with our own eyes, while we become acquainted with the physical characteristics of the country. Theodore Roosevelt also brought back striking films of life in the lesser-known recesses of the African jungle. It is stated that the cinematographic records of his journey cost no less than £2,000 ($10,000), which affords an insight into the expense incurred to bring the uttermost parts of the earth to the city dweller.

Nowadays an explorer may reap appreciable financial benefit by the display of a little forethought. The manipulation of the moving picture camera does not demand a long course of tutelage to enable pictures to be taken. Accordingly, whereas formerly the hand camera constituted a prominent part of the impedimenta, the cinematograph now occupies the pre-eminent place. The films obtained command a distinct value, which fluctuates according to the popular interest created in the particular exploration achievement to which they refer. Any film manufacturing firm will undertake readily to place the subjects upon the market under a handsome royalty. The Gaumont firm has displayed considerable initiative in this direction; for it introduced the films of Shackleton’s famous Antarctic expedition to the masses, and has recently acquired the films of Captain Scott relative to his Antarctic expedition, and also those of the daring journey into the innermost parts of New Guinea.