Jasper County Democrat, Volume 19, Number 104, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 March 1917 — Writing a Picture Play [ARTICLE]

Writing a Picture Play

; A Storf Showing That a Villain Can’t Be Made of a Good Model

By F. A. MITCHEL

One way in which women have dis : ta need 'men is in becoming movie stars. The plays that attract most are those written , for some woman. On 'the screen we see a dozen wbnSen stars to one man star. It stands to reason that women are best adapted to write scenarios for womeii heroines. I, a woman'. tried my hand at this kind of work and at my first attempt made a brilliant success. .Thus- eneousaged and having the proceeds of my. piav in my purse. I concluded to try again. Since I was working on Velvet—to use a slang expression—and since I thought to gather inspiration by visiting the location of my next play, I went to the country and put up at the Waverly km, a small family hotel delightfully located and overlooking a winding stream. The time I chose for my sojourn there Was when the leaves were budding and the birds mating. There Is no more delightful season to me i than this, when the sun, having return- ! ed from his winter journey southward, warms the earth to bring forth a new progeny. It is the season of love for > man, for beast and bird and everything endowed with that mysterious some- i thing which no scientist has yet been able to define—life.

The inn was surrounded by a farming country. For this reason I had chosen it, because I proposed that my play should portray a group of country persons. I bad not laid out a scheme, preferring that my play should be gradually evolved among the persons and the scenery to he put on the scieen. The only leatuie I |iad in mind was a love .affair hetwecif a country tad and lass. They Were to be my hero and heroine. What they should do, what other persons I should introduce, were either not decided upon or in embryo. Hearing that ttfere was to be a dance in a barn in the neighborhood, I concluded to attend it, hoping to get some material. The gathering took place early in the evening before the long twilight had fairly begun, and when darkness came it was softened by Chinese lanterns, There were plenty of young fellows and girls that I might use for models, and I selected one couple that were dancing together most of the time and who indicated by their bearing toward each other that they were incipient lovers. \ On the opposite side of the barn which 1 had taken my position as observer was a man whom I could not class, lie was not a countryman, and yet his rough dress ..did not mark 1 him for a, city man. lie "was ten years beyond the average age of the dancers and took no part with them. He sat on a farm machine of some kind that i had been pulled out of the way and ; lined up with other articles against I the barn’s side.

There was something about this onlooker that held my eyes to him instead of the material for my play. There was- an indolence about him which, taken with a certain dormant strength—rather in his facial expression than of muscle—almost compelled me to be interested in him. I wondered if I could not bring him into my play. To d<> this I must make his acquaintance. A woman, unless she is timid as to her actions being misconstrued, has a great advantage in this respect. She may either scrape an acquaintance or encourage a man to do so. At 10 o’clock the dance was ended, and we all left the barn. Assuming that in the country all know one another, finding myself beside the man who interested me I spoke to him. remarking upon the difference between a burn dance in the country aud a ball in the city, approving the lack of constraint in the former contrasted with the conventionalities of the latter. He evidently took my freedom from form in the spirit in which it was offered and replied hoth cordially and respectfully. We passed out into moonlight. and since our paths lay 4u the same direction we walked on together. On reaching 4»he inn he turned into it with me and said that he was stopping there. I was surprised, for 1 had not seen him there before.

The next morning after breakfast I sat on the veranda with pad and pencil before me trying to think up a plan for my play. The man l had walked from the bain with came out, and, I nodded to him. He returned my salute and, taking a chair, sat down and began to open mail that he had evidently just received. Later I picked up an envelope he had thrown away and read on it the name Edward Forrester. 1 After he had finished his mail he sat looking on a superb view spread out before us. ‘ Noting his expression. I fancied that he was a dreamer. 1 began to weave him in as a foil for'my boy hero. The latter was to be a simple rustic in love with a girl of his own station. Mr. Forrester was to appear on the scene and become a rival for the girl’s affections, representing intellect while the rustic represented only honesty and devotion. The heroine being attracted first by the one, then by the other, would be the motif of the play. I might get on without a model for my young farmer, coining him out of my Imagination, but for his rival I most have something tangible. Mr.

Forrester was either too" well Bred to take advantage of Hfly friendly ad-* ranees or was not disposed to be sociable. My scheme for a play depended largely on my being able to study him, and I threw away what I considered false modesty and resolved to spare no effort to submit him to my purpose. I soon convinced him that I desired his acquaintance, and, when sure that 'he would not be presuming, be reciprocated my advances, and. although there was no revelation of his inner self, we came to be on excellent terms. Every day my play Was taking Shape, the young couple I had seen at the barn dance being my leading man

and woman and to whom 1 had given the names respectively of John and Edna. I concocted pretty scenes between the lovers, interspersing them with periods of influence brought' to bear oil Edna by Forrester. The rules of dramatic procedure are imperative, and I found myself obliged to make Forrester the villain of my play. But if he must be a villain he should be a fascinating villain. i What Mr. Forrester was doing at the inn I did not know. If he did any work he must have done it in his room* for I hover saw him doing anything. But be seemed to be constantly dreaming and appeared to be top lazy to do anything else. At first I was curious | to know why he was thus spending his time, but I became so interested in my play that 1 thought very little about his occupation. When I had finished my story in the , rough before making a scenario eff it I resolved to submit it to Mr. Forrester, to whom I had confessed what I | Was doing, and ask for suggestions. He took my manuscript, promising to return it when read, with his criticism. I had named him in my story Alfred Denton, and I had no fear that he would recognize himself under this name. I don’t think he did. for when he returned the manuscript his chief criticism was that I had made rny villain a very attractive character' and my hero a country bumpkin. An audience would naturally sympathize with the condemn the latter.

j I was somewhat discouraged at this and resolved that if I could not key J up the rustic I would at least try to reduce the fascinating powers of his rival. One morning, taking up a newspaper, I noticed an announcement that Edward Forrester, the novelist, was taking a rest at the Waverly inn, in Calumet county. The words sent a | shock through me. Literary persons of note are besieged by amateurs and ! other scribblers for criticisms on their | work. I blushed at remembering that I had asked Mr. Forrester for an opinion on my work. After consideration I concluded to keep my knowledge of his -being a novelist to myself, permitting him to ! presume that I was ignorant of it. I labored to reduce the attractiveness of my villain, but found if impossible, i The truth is that I bad conceived an admiration for the model for Denton that would insist on coming out in Denton. After much working over the | character I found that the more labor | I put into it the more of a muddle I j made of It. Then, ip despair. I gave lup the whole matter. I was tired out 1 with it and determined to go home and undertake another work later. Before setting out I concluded to tell Mr. Forrester that notwithstanding his reticence I knew who he was. We sat on the veranda of the "hotel When I began by announcing that I proposed to leave the next day. 1 was looking him in the eye at the time, and, despite his control of himself, I saw that my announcement was something of a backset to him. “I am sorry for that,” he said. “I am a scribbler as well as you. I came here to write a novel, and I would like your opinion of it” “My opinion would be worthless,’’ I replied, “but such as it is I would be happy to give it to you. Let me have your manuscript, and I will read it before: I go.” He went to his room and brought his novel. I withdrew to a secluded spot and read till I had finished it When I had done so I saw Mr. Forrester sitting on the veranda. Returning his manuscript, I said: “It is singular that I must make the same criticism of your work that you made of mine. The woman whom you have made a foil for your he?oine should have been the heroine and the other the foil.” I was somewhat surprised to see on his face, instead of a look of disappointment, a smile. “What pleases you?” I asked. “I have UUcoijsciously and despite myself shown that a man cannot take for a model a woman he is interested in?ahd make her unattractive.” There was something in his tone and the way he looked at me when he’kaid this that called a blush to my cheek, “Your model was”— I asked, turning my eyes from his. “Yourself.” I presume I should have confessed that we had both fallen into the same error, but I did not I did not propose ! to tell him that I had tried to make a villain of him, but had failed because I admired him. He had not recognized himself in my character of Denton, and 1 was well pleased that he had not

We left together the next day for the city, and the evening after our arrival he called on me. ' His Calls became more and more frequent, and at last we became engaged. The next spring we made our wedding trip to the place where we had supposed we were engaged in literary work. It was then I .confessed that I bad failed in making a villain of him as he had failed in putting malice into me . ' -