The first large film production, “The Passion Play,” running to 3,000 feet, made its appearance, as we have seen, as far back as 1897—the result of unquenchable American ambition to be first in every field. It proved an amazing success; but it was regarded with greater favour by the public than by the manufacturers. They all acknowledged it to be a wonderful piece of work, but the prevailing opinion was that the public would tire of a picture lasting nearly an hour, and monopolising the greater part of the entertainment.

Moreover, such films were considered to be too speculative. The expense of staging them upon a scale suited to their length and importance was so heavy that the film-producers doubted whether the sales would be adequate to recoup the initial outlay. That fallacy, however, has been completely exploded. What was a marvel in 1897 is to-day a commonplace. The “Big Picture Play” is as much part and parcel of the cinematograph industry as the spectacular stage play is of the legitimate theatre.

The movement was established and developed by the firm of Pathé Frères. Having fixed their popularity upon a firm basis and developed their organisation to a high pitch of efficiency and resource, they decided to launch out upon a large scale into the new field. Striking historical subjects, especially of the French revolutionary period, offered them the greatest scope for gorgeous mounting; they had some apprehension about the attitude of the public toward such subjects, but their anxiety was quickly dissipated, partly, no doubt, because the plays were carried through with a vigour and sustained interest that defied the possibility of boredom.

French history has been a rich mine to the picture-play producer. The Reign of Terror and the Life and Times of Napoleon are the melodramatic episodes which offer such peculiar scope to the film play. They make an appeal to popular sentiment, especially to the French audience; the incidents in the career of the Little Corporal never failing to strike a strong emotional chord.

Such productions impose great responsibilities upon the producer, and demand a mastery of stage-craft, both in mounting the scenes and in handling the necessarily large companies of actors and actresses. There can be no consideration of expense; money must be poured out like water. Weeks and even months must be expended upon preliminaries; in order to achieve realism as many as possible of the scenes must be enacted in their natural surroundings, or else research must be carried out in order to stage the action with absolute fidelity—an exacting task, for the public is hypercritical.

In the first attempts the management of the crowds was perhaps the most troublesome factor. Large bodies of supernumeraries were enrolled, many possessed of stage experience. They had to be marshalled and put through their paces time after time, first without the principals, and then with them. Often days elapsed before the incidents in a scene dove-tailed tightly together, but the patience and perseverance of the manager were rewarded. Such scenes as the execution of Charlotte Corday, or the arraignment of the aristocrats before the Tribunal of Robespierre when thrown upon the screen stirred public enthusiasm to an extravagant degree.

From the perfect manner in which the French producers carried out this peculiar work, films of French origin attained a well-deserved world-wide appreciation. At first the American trade ridiculed the idea, maintaining that the heavy expense attending the production of elaborate film plays never could be recouped, and that the movement was purely ephemeral. But their contentions were doomed to disappointment. The cinema-loving public received films of this character with open arms: they were a welcome relief to the tawdry domestic drama or comedy with the thread-bare plot, and, in which, perhaps, only half-a-dozen or so players participated. Accordingly the American producers were forced to embrace the movement, though somewhat tardily. They made striking headway, but the most elaborate American film productions never have compared with those of European origin, although such firms as the Edison, Selig, Vitagraph, the American Biograph, Kalem, Lubin, and one or two other companies have been responsible for many notable achievements. Technically their films are in every way equal to the product of the leading European manufacturers.

The Vitagraph production of “A Tale of Two Cities” is a splendid example of the best American work. It tells Dickens’s story in three chapters, otherwise three reels, and from every point of view—photographic, staging, and acting—it is an excellent production. By the time the 3,000 feet containing 48,000 pictures reached the public £4,000 ($20,000) had been expended, while the preparations for staging occupied no less than three months. Curiously enough, although the Americans are keen admirers of the novelist who taught us how to laugh and cry, the demand for this film came from Europe, and it is in Europe that it has met with its greatest success. Within two or three weeks of its appearance over 300,000 feet of this film were sold in London alone.

The same firm produced another wonderful play on the life of Napoleon. Mr. Stuart Blackton spent three months in France searching records and archives to secure unimpeachable historical accuracy of details. The country was ransacked also for furniture of the period, and for the staging of the interior scenes. No less than £6,000 ($30,000) were sunk in this enterprise.

Another American producer who has achieved world-wide fame from the striking and expensive character of his films, is Mr. William N. Selig. His studios are located in Chicago and California, while other studios are extemporised from time to time in other parts of the country. Mr. Selig’s name is most intimately associated with daring and elaborate productions associated with life in the jungle, and some of his plays of this character have been amazing. He may be said to be the father of this type of picture-play. It was an ingenious idea and he has carried it to perfection. When he decided to exploit this untouched field he concluded rightly that unless the subjects were handled comprehensively and realistically the results would be indifferent, so his first move was the acquisition of an elaborate menagerie. This was one of the most difficult proposals, inasmuch as menageries are not to be purchased at a moment’s notice, because the market therefor is, to say the least, extremely limited. Fortune assisted his resolve. The opportunity to purchase a collection of wild animals, complete enough to do credit to a large city, arose, and he grasped it. The purchase comprised 12 lions and lionesses, 9 lion cubs, elephants, 3 camels, 10 leopards, 7 leopard cubs, 5 pumas, 3 bears, 2 deer, 10 eskimo dogs, 8 grey wolves, as well as monkeys and other animals. As an investment this menagerie represented several thousands sterling. This zoo has its home at Chicago, special arrangements having been completed, at enormous expense, for its accommodation under the most perfect conditions. From time to time additions are made to the collection, until at the present day the zoo is about twice its original size.

The next matter in hand was the selection of the jungle. Would it be necessary to transport the actors and actresses, human and otherwise, to Africa in order to secure the natural surroundings? It was decided that Florida would suit just as well, because the flora near the coast is similar to that of some parts of the African jungle. The menagerie, together with the stock company of 30 performers, as well as supernumeraries, travelled by special train from Chicago to Florida, a journey of several hundred miles. As African natives were impossible, Florida negroes were employed.

The production of the plays was naturally a thrilling affair, and many unexpected scenes were recorded. The animals were under the care of experienced trainers, but there was an occasional reversion to original habits under the influence of the familiar environment. In one scene the heroine was supposed to have lost herself in the dense bush, and to sink down from sheer fatigue. A leopard was to rush from the brush to spring upon her prostrate form. The scene was rehearsed time after time to secure the requisite dramatic effect; the operator was to stop the camera when the leopard was in the air springing towards the girl.

But when the picture was being taken the heroine did not accept her cue with sufficient alacrity. She was late in falling, and the leopard arriving exactly on his cue caught her in the act. The woman had the presence of mind to bury her face in her hands, but the animal’s claws dug into her scalp. Had she made a movement, the leopard would have mauled her terribly, but she kept still, and when the trainer cracked his whip the animal scuttled off according to pre-arrangement. It was a narrow escape, but it gave the film a touch of vivid reality.

In another picture the heroine was protected by two tame leopards who mounted guard over her dwelling. The scene represented an attack upon her by a fierce lioness. The girl released her two leopards, and a terrific animal combat was the result. The beasts took the matter seriously, and fought until the lioness was killed by the two leopards. During the fray the operator, but a short distance away, kept the camera handle turning as unconcernedly as if the battling beasts were in a cage. Surely such an unusual spectacle is sufficient to meet the most querulous demands of the public for realism!

From the tropical jungle with its dense vegetation, to the Arctic circles with its monotonous wastes of snow and ice, is a far cry, but the Selig company dispatched its company northward to secure another powerful film play. The plot was slender, but the scenes portrayed the life of the frozen north with great fidelity and vigour, showing the Eskimo fishing through the ice, and hunting the polar bear and walrus by his primitive methods. A valuable polar bear was sacrificed to the desire for realism. The Jungle play has become a speciality of the house of Selig, and owing to the manner in which the subjects are handled, giving no offence to humanitarian or animal-loving feelings, they have proved unparalleled favourites with the public. It is hard to estimate the educational service of scenes like these in broadening the outlook of an untravelled, perhaps unlettered, audience. And what they must contribute to the expanding imagination of the child, one would need to be a child again to know!

In the United States there are many theatres which can show bigger receipts at the box office from the presentation of moving pictures than from the staging of a play. Why are many of the foremost producers of stage plays forsaking the “legitimate theatre” to produce film plays, if not because they recognise the future of the latter and the scope offered for their technical ability.

Perhaps at this point I may be permitted to tell the story of the cinematograph in Italy, since its success there is phenomenal in its completeness. Less than ten years ago the cinematograph was scarcely a feature of the Italian amusement world. It suffered from the hostility of the theatres, and there was but meagre enterprise enlisted in it. The example of other countries gradually caused increased popular demand, which was at first satisfied by French films. Then the Italians saw their opportunity, money and talent came to the service of the new development, and the languishing enterprise not only came to rank among the largest of Italian industries, but introduced its own wares with great success into other countries. There seems good ground for this state of things, and a special fitness in the Italian success. The average Italian is artist by temperament and a born actor; the Italian stage has long been famous for technique and stage-craft; and these factors, with the clear atmosphere, brilliant sun, and picturesque landscape, make Italy the natural home of the highest success in cinematograph production. Financially also the Italian producers had an advantage over all competitors. Luxurious picture plays could be staged in Italy for half the cost they have entailed in France, England, or America. A French producer informed me that supernumeraries alone cost him from 10s. 6d. to 18s. ($2 to $4.50) a day, and that the salaries of the principals were rising to high figures. In Italy the remuneration was less than one-half. But as time progressed the Italian supernumerary realised his value. He demanded recompense upon the scale of his French colleague, and to-day is in receipt of remuneration upon a similar scale. But the early financial advantage facilitated the firm foundation of the producing industry in Italy, and it still ranks as the premier country for “Big Picture Plays,” the high cost of such works notwithstanding.

In this development the Cines Societa Italiana has played a prominent part. It had long been established in Rome, but its efforts were purely conventional. In 1908 new blood was infused into the undertaking, and its first ambitious effort was the pictorial representation of Alexander Dumas’ famous novel, “The Three Musketeers,” which lent itself admirably to handsome mounting, and fine acting in pantomime. The film ran to 1,500 feet. It made an instant success. In Great Britain alone over 50 copies of the film found an immediate sale, and a far greater number in Italy, France, Germany, and Russia. In Australia its reception was particularly enthusiastic. Other most successful presentations were “Macbeth,” which cost £2,000 ($10,000) to produce, Shakespeare’s tragedy being condensed into 23,360 pictures, occupying 1,460 feet of film; “The Triumphant Hero,” “Faust,” “The Sacking of Rome,” “Agrippina,” and so on. Its greatest triumph was the film version of “Quo Vadis?” This film ranks as the biggest success ever known in the cinema world. It built the fortunes of several showmen; in fact, one man made a round £50,000 ($250,000) therefrom in less than a year.

One might be inclined to suppose that some of the foregoing subjects were somewhat beyond British taste, but their success here has proved otherwise. As many as 80 copies of one of these big films have been sold in Great Britain alone, the total output for the world aggregating some 400 copies.

The experience of the Cines Company appears to confirm the theory that historical subjects make the strongest appeal. The public is fairly well acquainted with the milestones in European history, particularly those in connection with the rise and fall of Rome. Moreover, Italy is especially rich in beautiful landscape and historical sites, where the scenes can be re-enacted in their original setting—an advantage which the large companies realise to the uttermost.

The Cines Company is to-day one of the largest film-producing establishments in the world. It has three studios devoted to the staging of picture-plays, the premises in Rome having an area exceeding 128,000 square feet. Everything is installed upon a large scale—100,000 feet of film can be turned out every day. Six new subjects of travel, educational, and dramatic interest are placed on the market every week. The big productions, however, entail a strong element of risk. The first difficulty is to select a subject which will make a world-wide appeal. When the negative has been obtained “sample” positive prints are prepared and dispatched to the great cities. At each centre the firm attracts a certain number of patrons—possibly the aggregate of the first order may be only forty copies. Since a film running to 3,000 feet entails an outlay of £50 ($250) on the part of the renter, it is not surprising that he displays caution in making his purchases, because half-a-dozen copies of varied ordinary subjects can be acquired for the same money, with the additional advantage that the risks are spread over six subjects instead of being centred upon one. The initial order is fulfilled, and should the venture prove popular, a steady stream of orders may be expected to follow. However, the producer does not breathe freely until the two hundredth copy has been dispatched. Should the play fail to please the public, the manufacturer is faced with a heavy loss. The system has certain drawbacks, but it ensures the showman and the public being given the very best material, and causes very keen rivalry among the producers to eclipse one another’s efforts.

There are certain subjects, however, which rarely fail of popular success, those of religious interest being foremost in the group. The “Life of Christ” was possibly the most successful venture of this description. It cost some £2,000 to stage. There were thirty-nine epochs, divided into four parts, and ranging from the “Nativity” to the “Crucifixion.” Over 3,000 feet were required for their presentation. The film was largely purchased by religious societies. A certain “renter” is said to have amassed £30,000 from this single film. The “Miracle,” the story of “Cain and Abel,” “The Trial of Abraham’s Faith,” “The Fall of Babylon,” “Samson and Delilah,” to name only a few, have proved powerful magnets. In the last-named the great scene was the destruction of the temple. The edifice was built of cardboard, and when Samson bent his strength in a final effort upon the columns, the whole structure came crashing to the ground.

The development of the “Big Film” has been responsible for a new movement in cinema circles. A firm which sinks, say, £10,000 ($50,000) in one subject, naturally is anxious to recoup this outlay with all possible speed. This can be accomplished only in one way—the disposal of the sole rights for each country exclusively to speculating and enterprising individuals, instead of by the slower sale of copies in the open market to renters. It was not difficult to carry out operations upon the new basis. Cinema circles teem with bold and daring spirits. Unfortunately the development of this principle led to a certain degree of wild gambling. Fancy prices, out of all proportion to the intrinsic or showing value of the films, became the rage, high water mark being reached with an Italian version of “Antony and Cleopatra,” the limited rights in which for the British Isles alone were sold for about £8,000 ($40,000).

Despite the antagonism of the “renter,” the attitude of the public is distinctly favourable to the long film. Its production in Italy is being carried out with great vigour.