In the opening chapter of this book cinematography is described as an illusion: that the eye believes it sees continuous animation in the pictures thrown upon the screen in accordance with the law of visual persistence. I referred also to the fact that an effort had been made to remove this illusory effect, and to produce upon the white wall by photographic agency results identical with those obtainable by the aid of the camera obscura. The outcome of these investigations, which have been pursued patiently for many years by one whose name is associated inseparably with the art from its earliest days, W. F. Greene, is a new type of camera and projector.

The camera is fitted with two lenses mounted side by side. It is as if two cameras of the usual type were clamped together to form a single instrument, the two film-moving mechanisms being driven by one handle, and a single shutter, mounted centrally, serving to open and close each lens in turn.

In this system two spools of film are required, one for each half of the camera, and an image is recorded upon each sensitised band alternately. The shutter with its opaque sector, being mounted between the two lenses, eclipses one while the other is exposed. The result is that two different cinematograph film records of the same subject are obtained. The left-hand camera photographs those incidents which are lost while the film is being moved in the right-hand camera during the fraction of a second the lens of the latter is covered, and vice versâ. If the camera is run at a speed of thirty-two pictures per second, representing sixteen pictures for each lens, either of the two films when run through the ordinary projector gives a faithful representation of the event photographed. At the same time, however, each film gives a different record, for the simple reason that one film carries the moving incidents which the other has lost during the regularly intermittent closing of the lens.

The projector works upon a similar principle. There are the two objectives with attendant mechanisms driven by a single handle, mounted side by side, and with a common shutter mounted centrally between. Projection is identical with recording. The picture is thrown from the right-hand objective, while the left lens is covered, and vice versâ.

At first sight the advantage of such a double system might seem somewhat obscure, but a little explanation will demonstrate its advantages. With the single camera and projector the pictures shown on the screen are isolated incidents—some phase of motion must be lost while the lens is closed to permit a further area of unexposed film to be brought into position behind the lens, although the interval of eclipse is very short indeed. With the double and alternating system complete continuous motion is photographed and projected.

As a matter of fact, this double camera and projector actually records and throws on the screen more than the eye sees. The human organ works upon the same principle broadly as the single camera, because the periodical eclipse of the eye by the lid, which is known as “blinking,” interrupts continuous vision, in just the same manner as the shutter of the lens in its eclipsing action. Although the lid falls and rises very quickly so that the interruption of sight is exceedingly brief, a certain phase of movement is lost. This is apparent when a very swiftly moving object passes before the eyes. In order to lose no part of the movement the eyes are strained, and the periodical action of the eyelid is postponed so long as possible. With the double cinematograph, therefore, as a section of sensitised surface always is exposed during the running of the machine, either through the right or left-hand lens, it follows that the whole of the movement must be photographed. In fact, the action is exactly the same as if the eyelids closed and opened alternately. It might be explained in connection with this physical action that no apparent interruption in the sight is conveyed to the brain, because the movement of the lids is very rapid, and owing to the principles of the law of visual persistence.

The pictures thrown from this double projector produce an effect upon the screen precisely similar to that of the camera obscura. There is only one difficulty attending its use. Unless the instrument is used in a large hall, and the picture is thrown from a great distance, the images do not superimpose correctly. They are thrown upon the sheet at converging angles to one another, and the rays of light accordingly from each lens do not strike the sheet at right-angles to the longitudinal axis of each objective. The result is that the picture is narrower slightly at one end than the other, and the position of the narrow end flits from one side of the sheet to the other, according as to whether the picture is being thrown from the left or right-hand lens. At short range and with a small picture this peculiarity is very pronounced, but as the length of the throw—the distance of the lantern from the sheet—is increased, it becomes less and less observable until at last it escapes detection.

Although the mechanism requires two spools of film, the total length needed to record faithfully a particular event is no greater than with a single camera and projector. In the latter case a minimum speed of about sixteen pictures per second is required. With the double instrument a similar number of exposures suffices, for the simple reason that each lens records one half the movement while the other photographs the second moiety of the movement. This means eight pictures per second for each lens, making sixteen pictures per second for the two—the same as by the ordinary instrument. The disadvantage, of course, is that two rolls of film are required to give a complete picture, and care has to be displayed to keep the positive films in pairs for the projector, while threading up the latter is a somewhat longer process. Again, should one film break and it become necessary to cut out a few pictures to obtain a perfect joint, it would be necessary to remove the relative pictures to an equal extent upon the second film. Under these circumstances, therefore, it would appear that the di-optic projector would be reserved to the more delicate phases of cinematography, such as scientific research.

The development of cinematography in the past has been attributable in a very great degree to the enterprise of the French nation, and that country still remains ahead of all others in this peculiar work. The valuable investigations of Dr. Marey never have been forgotten, and the work with which he was identified is continued still by enthusiastic investigators in cinematographic science. The “Marey Institute” is unique, in that it is the only establishment of its class devoted to what might be termed the higher branches of the art in the world. It is fitted with special and complete apparatuses for the prosecution of any especial research in which an experimenter may be interested, so that he can carry out his work under the most favourable conditions. The foremost scientists of the world, who realise in moving pictures more than a means of amusing the public, are members of the Institute, and the results it has achieved are of far-reaching value.

A typical illustration of the work carried out at this institution is described in Chapter XXIV. M. Lucien Bull, the assistant director, is one of many indefatigable workers in the particular field of operations with which the establishment is identified. Pioneer investigation is fostered, and accordingly often follows highly interesting lines, not only in regard to cinematography in its most popular form, but also in its collaboration with science in one or other of its varied branches.

For instance, M. J. Carvallo embarked upon a series of investigations to combine the Röntgen rays with the cinematograph so as to obtain an absolutely reliable moving-picture record of what takes place in the organs of the human body. It was a difficult undertaking, owing to the peculiar problems associated with the task. Many experimenters had endeavoured to work with the X-rays, but had failed. In the first place, M. Carvallo had to evolve and construct a special type of apparatus for his purpose. It is of a complicated character, more especially as the exposures had to be made at a high speed per second. Unlike M. Lucien Bull, whose apparatus I have described already, M. Carvallo resorted to the familiar intermittent motion, and in such a way that the number of exposures may be varied from every twenty seconds to one per hour, according to the character of the subject under investigation. The camera is driven by an electric motor, and the arrangement is of such a nature that once set in operation it demands no further attention, even if the experiment is prolonged over several days.

He found also that the standard cinematograph film, giving a picture one inch wide by three-quarters of an inch deep, was not suited to his purpose, so a special film was prepared to yield pictures of larger dimensions, while the sensitiveness of the emulsion was also augmented very appreciably. This was essential, inasmuch as the discharges in the X-ray bulbs are of variable duration, ranging, in fact, from 1/1200th to 1/1500th of a second.

By means of his apparatus he obtained some very interesting and instructive pictures, such as showing the process of digestion in the frog, mouse, chicken, etc. The subjects were fed with a peculiar paste, or the usual food combined with basic bismuth nitrate. As a result of these successful experiments a further application of moving pictures has been revealed. In combination with the X-rays the apparatus should prove highly useful for ascertaining what actually takes place under certain conditions in the various organs of the human body.

The Marey Institute undoubtedly is the cradle of cinematography, and similar institutions should be founded in every country for the prosecution of scientific research. Moving pictures have long since issued from the purely amusing stage, and although they will never lose their popular appreciation, the sterner phases of work open to this craft should not be neglected, for there is no science in which cinematographic records of certain phenomena would not serve to widen our knowledge, and at the same time offer conclusive evidence for the refutation of many popular fallacies, or enlighten us regarding the mysteries of others.

So far as the popular picture is concerned, every effort is being made to elevate what may be termed the cinematograph drama. Sensationalism is in keen demand, and is likely to maintain its measure of appreciation so long as it is free from demoralisation. An interesting illustration of the manner in which this movement may be fostered has been offered this year in connection with the International Exhibition at Turin. Prizes exceeding 40,000 francs were offered for the best films in a cinematograph competition, the subjects to include popular drama, science, and education. The Grand Prix of 25,000 francs was awarded to the Ambrosio Film Company for the subject entitled “After Fifty Years.” This concern has been responsible for many striking and magnificent productions, which have compelled attention as much for photographic quality, stage setting, and technical excellence as for dramatic force. Indeed, Signor Ambrosio, who was formerly a well-known Italian portrait photographic artist, and consequently was able to bring valuable knowledge and technique into the Italian cinematographic industry, forced his way into the closed American market by sheer merit, and forcibly impressed upon the American picture palace public the high standard of the films produced in his native land. “After Fifty Years” is a film of powerful dramatic intensity, full of that exciting incident, carefully blended with sentiment, which appeals so strongly to the picture palace clientèle, especially the vivid scenes of fighting in the streets between Austrian and Italian forces in the troublous times of 1859.

The Ambrosio Company also carried off the first prize of 5,000 francs for a popular science film dealing with “The Life of the Butterfly” and “The Bee.” This is one of the best natural history films that has been seen yet, for it illustrates the marvellous metamorphosis of the caterpillar into the butterfly in an attractive manner. The first prize of 5,000 francs for educational films was given to the Cines Company of Rome for a film entitled “The Little Sardinian Drummer,” which company also secured a prize of 4,000 francs for a dramatic subject, “St. Francis of Assisi.” There is no doubt that the example of the Turin Exhibition authorities will be followed in subsequent expositions of such an international character, and this tendency should promote a healthy competition and friendly rivalry between the various producers of all countries to excel.

Although the picture palace, with its attractive façade and brilliantly illuminated entrance, is a familiar building in our towns and cities, few people can form any idea of the grip this form of amusement has secured upon the public, of its commercial proportions, or of its rapid expansion. Fifteen years ago there was not a single theatre providing a complete entertainment with a programme of moving pictures purely and simply.

The picture palace had its birth in France, and the Parisian public extended such a warm greeting to the new diversion, which offered a welcome and novel relief to the prevailing forms of amusement, that it developed into a rage. In a short time the craze spread throughout the world, and moving-picture theatres sprang up like mushrooms in every civilised country between the two Poles.

At the present day there are some 4,000 picture palaces of all descriptions scattered throughout the British Isles, and these are patronised by the public in their tens of thousands daily. The money expended upon this form of entertainment is incalculable, but it rolls continually into the coffers of the theatres throughout twelve or fourteen hours every day, the larger proportion of these establishments offering a continuous show, with a programme lasting 1½ hours. The remaining theatres give two performances, afternoon and evening respectively, providing about three solid hours of recreation and education in each instance. The prices of admission for the most part are very low, though in the better class theatres they approach somewhat closely to those prevailing with the modern music-hall.

On the Continent the picture palaces aggregate several thousands, and are supported by the public with equal enthusiasm. Curiously enough, Germany has been the most lethargic nation. For many years an attitude of complete indifference was maintained towards the cinematograph. That country is now waking up, but so far as the manufacturing aspect of the industry is concerned, it is far behind the more progressive countries. The German picture palaces depend for their programme almost exclusively upon foreign films. Strange to say, the English productions appear to make the strongest appeal to Teutonic fancies, although the French, American, and Italian producers are striving hard to capture this highly promising and expanding market.

In the United States the development of the movement has been phenomenal. I have described already the wondrous boom in “store shows.” The greater majority of these “palaces” enjoyed a brief meteoric career, as they became superseded by more pretentious buildings with perfection in comfort and luxury. To-day there are about 14,000 moving-picture theatres appealing for support between the Atlantic and Pacific seaboards. It is computed that these establishments are visited by nearly 5,000,000 men, women, and children every day. Although low prices for admission rule, it is estimated that about $130,000,000, or £26,000,000, are spent by the American public upon this form of amusement in the course of twelve months.

The coming of the picture palace has created a new race of playgoers who find infinite delight in the varied programme offered upon the screen. At the same time, however, the legitimate and vaudeville theatres have been deprived of much of their support. This effect is reflected by the number of buildings originally built for dramatic presentations which have had to close their doors for lack of patronage. When converted and re-opened under the magic sway of the projector, film, and sheet, however, they have embarked upon a remarkably prosperous new lease of life.

The stage in Great Britain is threatened in a similar manner. A few years ago, when the music-hall entertainment was overhauled and an entirely new era was created, the legitimate theatre suffered severely. Bitter antagonism developed and has prevailed between the two caterers for public amusement. Now both are being threatened by a common enemy. The picture palace, which has been despised for so long, is making its influence felt. In London the competition is not experienced so keenly, perhaps, as in the provinces, where many theatres have succumbed to the attack of moving pictures.

There is no indication that the movement has gained the height of its success. Moving picture palaces are being built and opened on all sides every day. The irresistible force with which the cinematograph is sweeping forward is proved by the enormous quantity of film which is produced. Great Britain is an open market for producers throughout the world, and at the present day something like 150,000 feet of new subjects are offered to the picture palaces every week. If the present demand is maintained together with the rate of production, this volume will be doubled within the next five years. The output in America likewise is enormous, although in that country it is confined for the most part to the productions of home firms, the foreign film being allowed to enter only in small quantities. The Motion Picture Patents Company, composed of the largest members in the United States’ manufacturing industry, and swearing allegiance to the Edison patents, has an aggregate output of about 1,500,000 feet per week, each producer contributing from three to five new subjects to this total.

This community of interests, which was formed primarily to eliminate the objectionable pictures which were being shown extensively throughout the country, and which were responsible for considerable obloquy being hurled against the cinematograph, arranged on its formation to pay Mr. Edison a royalty of half-a-cent, or one farthing, upon every foot of film which they printed in the United States. On the above total output, therefore, it will be seen that the famous American derives a revenue of $7,500, or £1,500, per week from the American moving-picture loving public.

The financial investments in the industry in all its complex branches—film manufacture, play producing, machine making, picture palaces, etc.—represent several millions sterling, while tens of thousands of men, women, and children find employment in different capacities. Although it might appear that there are sufficient producers in operation at present for the world’s needs, this is far from being the case. New markets are being opened up constantly, while others are in the early stages of development. When the industry in these new centres commences to move forward in a manner characteristic of the expansion in the older countries, the demand for film will become twice or thrice what it is to-day. Consequently there is ample room for doubling the existing manufacturing facilities. The promise of the future is shown conclusively from the fact that the foremost film-play manufacturers in France, Italy, and the United States are extending and enlarging their plants to meet the increasing demands for their particular products.

One might naturally ask: How is Great Britain benefiting from this wonderful expansion? So far as film-play production is concerned, there is every indication that this country will profit now that conservatism is being abandoned. The fiscal position places the English manufacturer somewhat at a disadvantage, but this handicap can be removed entirely by the display of more financial confidence in the film-play producing business, where the law of the “survival of the fittest” is waged to its logical conclusion. A few years ago the British product was distinctly inferior to the foreign films, whether considered from the acting, dramatic, photographic, or any other point of view. Even to-day the British films are not quite up to the technical standard of the foreign manufacturers, while the histrionic quality is deficient. The plays likewise lack that grip incidental to the foreign picture dramas, and there should be excellent scope in this country for competent and imaginative picture-playwrights.

The British producers have failed also to recognise the merit of the stock company, on the plea that the public tires of seeing the same faces time after time in successive plays. The fallacy of this contention has been recognised at last, because the public now has its film idols on the screen, in just the same way as it has its footlight favourites on the stage. It is doubtful, however, whether the English producers will ever rise to the same plane in this respect as their contemporaries in the United States, who gamble practically for the exclusive services of actors and actresses. Some of the American cinematograph stars receive fabulous salaries, while even the smaller and more obscure members of the companies receive wages far in advance of what they would obtain for similar work on the legitimate stage. The protected nature of the American industry, however, favours such tactics, which probably will prevail only for a time.

There is every evidence that the British producers are making up leeway. The Hepworth Manufacturing Company, for instance, which is probably the foremost producing company in this country, recently has produced several powerful and excellent film-plays. They have extended the stock-company practice, and the increasing popularity of the “Hepwix” films offers convincing testimony to the value of this procedure. The Colonies have become satiated with the American products, and turn with relief to the English films, but the supply is not equal to the demand. Even the American public is nauseated with its home productions, and as it appreciates the work of British dramatists, so it approves of the British film play.

If England is behind her foreign rivals in the production of picture plays, it cannot be denied that London is destined to become the world’s clearing-house for films. Every large foreign manufacturer has his representative in the British metropolis, where the transactions in this article aggregate a large sum every week. The Colonial picture palace proprietor, film renter, or middleman retains a purchasing agent in London, who scans the new productions as they appear, to discover their suitability for the particular corner of the world for which he is acting. These agents are autocrats, and consequently the subjects have to be brought direct to them for approval. The manufacturers realise the situation, and as the Colonial market is highly promising, spare no effort to secure its capture.

The suggestion has been made that records of the most important events of to-day, such as the Coronation of King George V., the Unveiling of the Victoria Memorial, the Durbar, and so forth, should be preserved in a museum for the benefit of generations a century or more hence. Impressions of the voices of our greatest singers are being preserved for posterity, and the question has been asked why historical cinematographic films should not be treated in the same manner. This is by no means a new idea. Robert Paul advanced the same plea in the early days of the art, but there were many objections against the proposal which are just as acute to-day. The greatest is the perishable character of the celluloid film, and also of the photographic image upon the emulsion. Both would deteriorate, even if preserved in hermetically sealed cases, with the flight of time, and the chances are if a film were held for one hundred years that it would be found useless when opened at the end of that period.

The question often arises: What becomes of the films? Bearing in mind the thousands of feet of new subjects which are introduced to the market every week, it is but natural to think that there must be an immense accumulation of old subjects. When a new subject sees the light it passes through its first “run” among the foremost picture palaces of the country. Then it is returned to the renter, who dispatches it upon a second journey among the smaller halls. Once more it comes home, otherwise to the shelves of the renter, as a rule bearing sad evidences of its service. If of sufficient interest, the film undergoes a third run among the cheapest halls, and upon the completion of this round it is either shipped abroad to the smaller colonies, or, scratched and torn, it is offered for sale at a bargain price. The end is tragic: the film slips from sight in flame and smoke.