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HOW to write Scenarios that 
 
 Price 
 
THE 
 
 PHOTOPLAY 
 WRITER 
 
 BY 
 
 LEONA RADNOR 
 
 WRITER FOR THE MOTION PICTURE STORY 
 MAGAZINE AND SCENARIO EDITOR. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 LEONA RADNOR 
 
 118 EAST 28TH STREET 
 NEW YORK 
 
COPYRIGHT 1913 BY 
 
 LEONA RADNOR 
 
 ARRANGED AND PRINTED BY 
 
 THE QUAKER PRESS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 

 
 PHOTOPLAYS 
 
 Tlie demand for photoplays is greater to-day than ever 
 before, and, according to authoritative accounts, this de- 
 mand will go on steadily increasing. New companies are 
 starting up ; new theatres are being opened ; and everyone 
 who has made a study of this wonderful and fascinating 
 motion picture industry is of the opinion that it is merely 
 in its infancy. 
 
 Before getting right down to information and instruction 
 and advice, I am going to say a few words of encourage- 
 ment. I realize that among -those who will read this little 
 book are many who have ideas, but have lacked either the 
 courage or the technical knowledge or the power of ex- 
 pression to mold these ideas into stories or dramas. To 
 those timid or unversed ones, let me say emphatically that 
 photoplay writing offers great opportunities to them, pro- 
 vided, always, that their ideas are of such quality and 
 quantity as to form sterling photoplays. Here there are 
 no requirements of style and sparkling dialogue to fill; you 
 are not restricted to three or four acts into which all the 
 action must converge, as in the stage play; nor are you 
 called upon to display literary ability in the powerful and 
 graceful handling of narrative and imagery, as in a story. 
 
 All such difficulties are cleared away from the path of 
 the photoplay w r riter. When an idea occurs to him, he has 
 simply to jot it down and add to it as his imagination pic- 
 tures the developing plot (subject to a few simple rules) 
 until he has a sequence of incidents that form an interesting 
 story. 
 
 For that is all a photoplay is just a story told in pic- 
 tures. And everyone has a story if not a bag of stories 
 tucked away in the corners of his mind. One doesn't 
 have to live where life is teeming and surging in order to 
 write a successful scenario. Some of the most applauded 
 
phetopjays ?re those simple little tales of country or home 
 life in which the main theme is a strong heart interest. 
 This theme may be the love of sweethearts, of brothers and 
 sisters, of parents and children, and the story may be of 
 the simplest; but it must consist of incidents that reach 
 and hold the spectator and stamp upon his appreciative 
 faculties an impression that is not obliterated as soon as the 
 reel is finished. 
 
 For instance, one of the prettiest and most appreciated 
 photoplays I have seen is one by the Edison Company 
 called "Home. A Thanksgiving Story." It is the old 
 story of a patient and loving mother looking for her absent 
 boy's return. On Thanksgiving Eve she is preparing the 
 morrow's dinner. She goes out to the post-box at the gate. 
 The postman has just left the mail, but there is no letter 
 from the boy. Sadly she stands gazing down the road. 
 Her husband comes from the field, puts his arm about her 
 in sympathy and leads her back to the house. That even- 
 ing, the mother writes an advertisement and sends it to a 
 city paper. This is the advertisement: "My Child, come 
 home. Then it will truly be Thanksgiving Day. Mother." 
 
 Then follows a number of scenes showing tfhe effect of 
 this appeal on dwellers in the city. The first one to be 
 affected is the editor of the paper to which the advertise- 
 ment was sent. Upon reading it, he has a vision of his old 
 home in the country, and the longing comes upon him to 
 visit it. He puts on his coat and hat, and, to the astonish- 
 ment of the office force, he rushes out. A "man about 
 town," an actress, a clubman each in turn reads the ad- 
 vertisement and prepares to take a train back to the coun- 
 try home. The clubman, in his haste, throws the news- 
 paper out of the window. It falls at the feet of a boy a 
 boy who is down at heel and out at elbow, wandering the 
 streets looking for a job. And this is the boy for whom 
 the advertisement was intended. He picks up the paper, 
 reads the few appealing words, looks helplessly at his 
 
shabby clothes, feels despairingly in his empty pockets. 
 He has no money but he must go home. He goes to the 
 station and slips into a box car. He reaches home and 
 quietly enters the house without being seen or heard. 
 The lonely father and mother are standing at the table 
 saying grace over the Thanksgiving dinner. There is a 
 third place for the absent boy, and the wanderer ap- 
 proaches and stands with bowed head. When grace is 
 finished, the father and mother look up to fmd their prayers 
 answered their boy is home again and their Thanksgiv- 
 ing Day is made joyful. 
 
 You can see how simple, how everyday a story the above 
 is, yet each time that I have seen it, the spectators ap- 
 plauded heartily. It is the human interest, the heart throb 
 in it, that causes it to register. 
 
 Now, in everyone's life, there is at least one good story. 
 In every little village, there is a score of romances and 
 comedies. If one of them is not sufficient to fill out a 
 photoplay of the desired length (from fifteen to twenty 
 minutes), take incidents from several and weave them to- 
 gether. If the incidents are humorous, so much the better. 
 Every producer is anxious to get hold of humorous plays. 
 There is a great scarcity of them. The sort of humor want- 
 ed is not the rough variety not an attempt to make people 
 laugh at cruel jokes nor at accidents that mean injury to 
 someone, nor at mere foolishness. The incidents must be 
 of humorous situations that are innocently funny. 
 
 Another encouraging point in connection with photo- 
 play writing is that practically everything is possible in 
 photography. Scenes that could not be presented on a 
 dramatic stage are worked out by the moving picture actors 
 and the camera men. People can fall down cliffs; they 
 can be apparently blown up in an explosion; they can be 
 shown struggling for breath in a fire-swept mine so, if 
 you have a tale of extraordinary happenings to relate, don't 
 hesitate for fear that it cannot be produced. 
 
But also bear in mind that there are limitations. Be 
 sure to have your incidents, within the bounds of possibil- 
 ity; do not concoct a play that would tax the credulity of 
 spectators. 
 
 THE PRODUCTION OF PHOTOPLAYS 
 
 For the enlightenment of those who are in the dark, I 
 will give a brief account of the production of photoplays. 
 
 When a scenario is accepted by the scenario editor of a 
 producing company, he turns it over (perhaps with some 
 changes and suggestions) to the stage director. This di- 
 rector studies the scenario, alters it to suit his purpose, 
 makes a choice of actors from the stock company main- 
 tained by the producer, plans his scenes, and rehearses the 
 actors thoroughly (either in the studio or out of doors) 
 before the camera man is called in. Then, as the scenes 
 are gone through, the camera operator turns the crank that 
 reels off the film on which the photographs are being taken. 
 
 The film is a celluloid ribbon, the standard size being 
 one inch and three-eighths wide. Sixteen pictures a second 
 are taken, each picture being an inch wide and three- 
 fourths of an inch deep. ( The magazine of the camera 
 holds from 150 to 300 feet of filmj When that length is 
 used, another reel is put in and the picture-taking goes 
 on. These lengths are glued together (after the developing 
 and printing processes) thus making one continuous film. 
 
 The film in the camera is the negative, and, like kodak 
 films and the plates used in still photography, has to be 
 developed. From it many positives (also films) are print- 
 ed. These are tested in the factory by being thrown on a 
 screen. The photography and the acting are criticized. 
 Often the actors are present at these tests, and their faults 
 are pointed out to them by one of the managers or direc- 
 tors. Scenes that are poorly done are cut out of the film 
 and, if necessary, they are re-enacted. Defects in photog- 
 raphy are remedied, and, when the company is satisfied 
 
 4 
 
with the film, it is released to exchanges and these in turn 
 supply the theatres. 
 
 The developing and printing of those long ribbons of 
 films are very wonderful processes. They are wound on 
 frames and dipped into the developing baths, and, when 
 dry, are run through machines to be printed by electric 
 light. 
 
 When a photoplay is shown in a theatre, the film passes 
 from an upper to a lower magazine on the projecting ma- 
 chine. The pictures are magnified by a powerful lens 
 through which a very strong light is thrown from the 
 "lamp house/' or lantern, on the machine. 
 
 YOUR SCENARIO 
 
 "Scenario" is a term that has been brought into the 
 photoplay vocabulary from the dramatic stage. There 
 it is applied to the bare plot of a play its action as dis- 
 tinct from the dialogue. When the writing of photoplays 
 developed into a profession, the term "scenario" was 
 adopted as the most fitting for the form in which plays are 
 offered to film producers. It means an outline of the plot, 
 situation by situation, arranged in scenes as the action 
 changes its base of operations. 
 
 In the course of a talk with Mr. Horace G. Plimpton, 
 Manager of the Negative Production of the Edison Com- 
 pany, he said: "There is no secret, no mystery about the 
 writing of scenarios. All that is required is the ability to 
 think up good, effective plots, and the skill to present them 
 in scenes of telling action. And the best way to develop 
 ability and acquire skill is by going to moving picture the- 
 atres and studying the films." 
 
 From the start, you must get firmly fixed in your mind 
 the demand that something must be doing all the time. 
 There must be something interesting, something pointing 
 to the development of the story every second of the time. 
 You cannot have, as in a story 'or a spoken play, a couple 
 
of men sitting and calmly talking to each other, without 
 anything to explain the meaning of their conversation. Re- 
 member, the photoplay is dumb its meaning has to be ex- 
 pressed by action. 
 
 You will probably be puzzled at first as to the gauging 
 of the length of your play. You should plan to have it 
 last about fifteen minutes. When you have your plot 
 sketched out, it would be a good idea for you to take your 
 script and deliberately go through the action. Do not 
 hurry, for every scene is worked over by the director of 
 the company producing the play, and he fills in the chinks 
 with realistic and artistic details that tend to lengthen the 
 duration. 
 
 So, as I say, do not hurry when testing the time required 
 to go through your plaj r . If it covers about fifteen min- 
 utes, you can feel easy on the score of its length. Many 
 novices send in scenarios that could be reeled off in less 
 than ten minutes, while others send them in so crammed 
 with incidents that they would require over a thousand 
 feet of film (the usual length) if played as written. 
 
 Now, to get to work on your scenario. The first step 
 is, naturally, the idea for your plot. You may have a sin- 
 gle plot of consecutive events, or you may have a primary 
 and a secondary theme interlacing. 
 
 Be absolutely original, if you possibly can. If you take 
 an idea from a newspaper or magazine story, work it out 
 with original incidents. You Vill notice that magazine 
 stories are usually copyrighted. A disregard of that fact is 
 apt to bring punishment through the heavy hand of the 
 law. 
 
 Nearly every company has a scenario editor, and he, as 
 well as the directors of plays, is constantly on the lookout 
 for plots in newspapers, magazines, and books. So, unless 
 you inject originality into your play, you are liable to send 
 in a duplicate of one already written and produced, with 
 the result that you will have wasted your time and postage. 
 
Some writers have been unscrupulous and foolish enough 
 to write scenarios of photoplays that they have seen on the 
 screen, and have sent them to other companies. To say 
 nothing of the dishonesty of it, it is an absurd thing to do; 
 for scenario editors occupy their responsible positions be- 
 cause they know their business. And that business requires 
 that they be conversant with the productions of other com- 
 panies and that they detect at a glance if the plot of a 
 submitted scenario is stolen. They are also abreast of 
 magazine reading, so it is futile for a scenario writer to 
 attempt to "get by" with a plagiarized story. 
 
 Now that I have impressed upon you not only the advis- 
 ability but the necessity for originating your plots, we can 
 proceed with the writing of the scenario. 
 
 Some film companies advertise that they want only ideas, 
 but I would advise always sending in a scenario, as very 
 little is paid for mere ideas. And given a good plot, the 
 more workmanlike, the more professional a scenario, the 
 more money it will command. 
 
 To demonstrate the scenario form, I shall take the fa- 
 miliar story of "Cinderella." 
 
 The first step is to write a short synopsis that is, out- 
 line of the story. This synopsis must be as brief as it is 
 possible to make it and still give the reader a clear idea of 
 your play. Confine yourself to 200 words 250 words at 
 the most. Make it interesting, so that the reader will 
 wish to go on with your scenario. Write it on a sheet by 
 itself and let it be the first page of your script, so that it 
 will meet the reader's eye immediately. 
 
 CINDERELLA 
 
 Synopsis 
 
 Cinderella's stepmother and stepsisters, being ugly of 
 disposition as well as of feature, are jealous of her. They 
 ill-treat her and make a drudge of her. While they are at 
 a ball, Cinderella's fairy godmother pays the lonely girl a 
 visit. Learning how she is treated, the fairy transforms 
 
Cinderella's rags into beautiful clothes; turns a pumpkin 
 into a carriage/ and rats and mice into coachman, grooms, 
 and ponies. She then sends the radiant Cinderella to the 
 ball. There, she meets and charms the prince. She will 
 not tell who she is. Running from the ballroom at midnight, 
 she loses her little glass slipper. The prince picks it up 
 and, next day, goes in search of the wearer. He tries the 
 slipper on the feet of many girls. Cinderella's stepsisters 
 cannot squeeze their toes into it, but Cinderella slips it on 
 easily. The fairy godmother again appears and transforms 
 Cinderella into a beautiful princess, and the prince leads 
 her away to become his bride. 
 
 Now, from the synopsis we work out the scenario. Each 
 time the action changes from one place to another, it 
 means a new scene. A scene is the action taken by the 
 camera in one spot without stopping. 
 
 Besides numbering each scene, you must indicate the set- 
 ting that is, whether it is in a room, in the woods, on 
 board a ship, etc. Under the title of your scenario, write 
 out a cast of the characters of your play. 
 
 CINDERELLA 
 
 Cast of Characters 
 
 Cinderella The Prince 
 
 Her Stepmother The Fairy Godmother 
 
 Her two Stepsisters Guests at the ball, heralds, etc. 
 
 For the first scene, you have the picture of Cinderella's 
 home life. She is unhappy, being nagged and forced to 
 do drudgery for her stepmother and stepsisters, while they 
 think only of their own pleasures. Finally, they go up- 
 stairs to dress, while Cinderella crouches on the hearth, 
 sifting the ashes for the seeds the malicious stepmother has 
 thrown down just to make her work. 
 
 Now, that is all that can be shown in the first scene, for 
 that is all that takes place at that time in that set. So 
 the first scene will be as follows: 
 
 8 
 
SCENE I 
 An old-fashioned kitchen with large fireplace 
 
 Cinderella, in rags, polishing a copper kettle. Her step- 
 mother and stepsisters enter and begin scolding her and 
 ordering her from one task to another. These finished, the 
 stepmother maliciously throws a handful of pumpkin seeds 
 into the ashes on the hearth and commands Cinderella to 
 pick them out. Stepmother and daughters laugh at her 
 dismay and weariness and leave the room. 
 
 Note You cannot end your first scene with "Step- 
 mother and daughters go upstairs to their rooms and dress 
 for the ball." As the camera from its present position 
 cannot take the mother and her daughters in their room up- 
 stairs, we make another scene of that view. 
 
 SCENE II 
 Daughters' Room 
 
 The two girls are dressing for the ball. They powder 
 and rouge their faces and simper at their images in the 
 mirror. Mother enters, handsomely attired. They admire 
 her, arrange her hair, pin on a flower, etc. She does same 
 to them, then they all take court patches from a little box 
 and stick several on their faces. Quite satisfied with them- 
 selves, they leave the room. 
 
 SCENE III 
 Same as Scene I 
 
 Cinderella kneeling on hearth. Stepmother and daugh- 
 ters enter and flaunt their finery before the little drudge. 
 They give her final instructions, order her to open the door 
 for them, and sweep out, laughing among themselves. 
 Cinderella goes to the window and wistfully watches them 
 depart. 
 
 Note You cannot say "They sweep out, get into a 
 coach and are driven to the palace, where they enter the 
 ballroom and are greeted by the prince." As the camera 
 is focussed on the room,, the mother and daughters are out 
 of the scene as soon as they pass through the door. To 
 show them driving to the ball would entail another scene, 
 
and their arrival at the palace yet another. As there is no 
 interest attached to these incident $ t we omit them. 
 
 SCENE IV 
 Ballroom in the Palace 
 
 Guests are dancing the minuet. The prince is strolling 
 about. Stepmother and daughters arrive. The prince 
 greets them stiffly and passes on. Women smile at him and 
 attempt to interest him, but he pays no heed to them. 
 
 SCENE V 
 
 Kitchen, same as Scene I 
 
 Cinderella on the hearth sadly gazing at the fire. Sud- 
 denly her fairy godmother appears. She asks Cinderella 
 what is the matter and why she is in rags. The girl tells 
 her how she is made to drudge. The godmother treads a 
 measure of the minuet and, by gestures, asks the girl if she 
 would like to go to the ball. Cinderella answers "Yes" 
 enthusiastically. Fairy waves a wand and Cinderella is 
 beautifully dressed. She dances about in delight. Fairy 
 motions to door for Cinderella to pass out. Then stops and 
 points to figure twelve on large clock and indicates that 
 Cinderella must return by midnight. 
 
 SCENE VI 
 
 Ballroom, same as Scene IV 
 
 The friends of the prince urge him to dance. They 
 bring up beautiful women to present to him. He turns 
 them over to other partners and walks wearily away. 
 Nothing interests him. 
 
 SCENE VII 
 
 Garden in front of Cinderella's home 
 
 Cinderella and fairy godmother enter from house. Fairy 
 carries a trap containing rats and mice. Fairy waves a 
 wand over a large pumpkin and it is transformed into a 
 dainty carriage ; she waves wand over the rats and mice, 
 and they become coachman, grooms, and ponies. Cinder- 
 ella gets into carriage and is driven off. 
 
 10 
 
SCENE VIII 
 Ballroom, same as Scene IV 
 
 Guests dancing. Cinderella enters. She creates a sensa- 
 tion. The prince is immediately charmed with her. He 
 approaches and leads her into the dance. Her stepsisters, 
 not recognizing her, make deep curtseys as she passes 
 them with the prince. 
 
 SCENE IX 
 
 Leader : Midnight 
 
 An alcove off the main hall of the palace. Clock on mantel 
 
 or standing in corner 
 
 Cinderella enters as if trying to make her escape. She 
 looks at clock and starts toward the hall. A number of 
 young men rush in pursuit of her and surround her begging 
 for a dance. She refuses them all, glancing at the clock. 
 The prince enters and claims a dance. She is about to 
 place her hand in his, when she starts and listens, her 
 hand involuntarily keeping time to the strokes of the clock. 
 (Flash clock dial with hands pointing at twelve.) With 
 sudden resolution, she flings off the prince's hand and runs 
 out through the archway. One of her slippers drops from 
 her foot. The prince stops to pick it up, then runs after 
 her. He stops at the archway, looking in all directions. 
 He indicates that she has disappeared. 
 
 SCENE X 
 
 Kitchen, same as Scene I 
 
 Cinderella enters hurriedly, out of breath. All of her 
 finery has vanished, with the exception of her little glass 
 slipper, which she carries in her hand. She looks at it, 
 then thrusts it quickly into the pocket of her ragged skirt. 
 She sinks down upon the hearth. Her stepmother and step- 
 sisters enter in great excitement, talking and gesticulating. 
 They scowl at Cinderella and order her to help them un- 
 dress. 
 
 11 
 
SCENE XI 
 
 Leade^ : Next Day. A Street. 
 
 People leaning from windows. The prince and heralds 
 in street. The prince holds aloft the glass slipper. The 
 heralds proclaim (Cut in) : "The prince will wed the maid 
 who can wear the slipper." Girls press forward eagerly. 
 
 SCENE XII 
 
 A living-room 
 
 Stepmother and her daughters peering from window and 
 talking. They look at their feet and nod approvingly. 
 The sisters will try on the slipper. They begin to prink. 
 
 SCENE XIII 
 Street, same as Scene XI 
 
 The prince comes from a house. He shakes his head and 
 proceeds next door. Crowd is curious and tries to look in 
 window. Prince comes out shaking his head in discourage- 
 ment. 
 
 SCENE XIV 
 Living-room, same as Scene XII 
 
 Stepmother and daughters still looking from window. 
 Suddenly turn and assume dignified attitudes. They call 
 Cinderella and order her to open the door. She does so 
 and conceals herself behind the door. Prince and page 
 enter. Prince indicates that he wishes to try on the slip- 
 per. The sisters try to force it on, but they cannot squeeze 
 their toes into it. The prince is about to leave when he 
 catches sight of Cinderella. He calls her to him and tries 
 the slipper on. It slips on easily and she draws the mate 
 from her pocket. Enraptured, the prince kisses her hand. 
 The fairy godmother appears and, with a wave of the magic 
 wand, transforms Cinderella into a beautiful princess. The 
 prince leads her away, while her stepmother and stepsisters 
 look on with astonishment and envy. 
 
 There you have a model of the scenario form. This con- 
 tains fewer scenes than the majority of scenarios. \ From 
 
 12 
 
>!'*-***'. t**^^** _^ 
 
 t/ Tijf i w 
 
 eighteen to twenty-five scenes usualty go to make up a 
 photoplay, and as many as thirty-five have been used. 
 While it is not advisable to keep your characters in one 
 scene for any length of time (spectators grow restless if 
 one scene is kept in sight too long), it is also advisable not 
 to have your play cut up by a lot of short scenes. But 
 these points all hinge upon the nature of your play. In an 
 out-of-doors play, it may be necessary to move from place 
 to place rapidly. In a domestic' play, you may be obliged 
 to use the same setting repeatedly. You must use your 
 judgment in the matter. When the greater part of the 
 action passes in a certain setting, change frequently to an- 
 other setting, then come back to the former. In this way 
 you will obviate monotony. 
 
 Plan your action so that the play advances logically and 
 the scenes follow each other in natural sequence. When 
 characters are to appear later in a different setting, you 
 must first take them off the preceding scene; or, do not 
 have them appear immediately, but, instead, introduce an- 
 other scene in which they do not appear. 
 
 With the "Cinderella" scenario as a guide you should be 
 able to outline any plot. Some writers reverse the work- 
 ing plan I suggested they first write the play and then 
 the synopsis. 
 
 An invariable rule that will help you with editors is this: 
 Be as brief as possible ; don't fill your scenarios with trivial 
 explanations. 
 
 In Scene IX, in parentheses is the sentence: "Flash 
 clock with hands pointing at twelve." The terms "flash," 
 "close view," "cut in," and "screen" are used as directions 
 for the presentation of something outside the action of the 
 scene then progressing or something within the scene to be 
 enlarged. You have noticed in some motion pictures that 
 the action will be interrupted to show a hand, enlarged, 
 writing a letter or opening a locket, or, as in this scenario, 
 there will be a clock or watch dial showing the time; a let-' 
 
 18 
 
ter or telegram will be "screened"; there will be a "cut in" 
 of another scene shown for a few seconds only, to accentu- 
 ate a comparison or show what is taking place somewhere 
 else at the same moment. 
 
 You have also noticed that on motion picture films sub- 
 titles, or "leaders/* are flashed on the screen to explain the 
 coming scenes. When you write your scenario, it is not 
 necessary for you to put in these sub-titles. The* scenario 
 editor or the director supplies them as a rule; but if you 
 think you have a set of "leaders" that are to the point, 
 write each directly under the number of the scene it eluci- 
 dates. 
 
 Experienced writers usually furnish their own "leaders" 
 and indicate in parentheses the number of words used, so 
 that the director can see at a glance how many feet of film 
 will be required. For example: 
 
 Scene I 
 
 The Little Drudge. (3 words) 
 An old-fashioned kitchen with large fireplace 
 
 Cinderella, in rags, polishing, etc. 
 
 Scene VIII 
 
 The Belle of the Ball. (5 words) 
 Same as Scene IV 
 
 Guests dancing. Cinderella enters, etc. 
 
 Once in a while, it is permissible to use a sentence of 
 dialogue to emphasize the action. This usually comes at 
 the end of a scene and is often used as the sub-title. For 
 instance, you have a domestic episode the husband, leav- 
 ing the house, embraces his wife affectionately. He takes 
 out his watch, points to the figure two on the dial. "Meet 
 me at two o'clock." Or, a son has disgraced his family. 
 The father denounces his conduct and, in a rage, points to 
 the door. "Go! and never return!" 
 
 In the foregoing "Cinderella" scenario, in Scene XI, I 
 used the sentence: "The prince will wed the maid who can 
 wear the slipper." That bit of dialogue explains the 
 
 14 
 
proclamation of the heralds, and can be used as a sub-title. 
 But let me caution you against indulging in frequent dia- 
 logue at most, it must be only a short, enlightening sen- 
 tence. And use telegrams and letters only when absolutely 
 necessary to the working out of your plot. ''Leaders*' can- 
 not be more than twenty words in length, and the shorter 
 they are the better. Letters and telegrams must be as con- 
 densed as possible. A letter should not contain more than 
 thirty to forty words. 
 
 Always indicate an appreciable lapse of time between 
 scenes. If you have a scene between a young girl and a 
 boy, you must not, without warning, have them walk on in 
 the next scene years older. Designate the lapse of time 
 after the number of the scene, thus: 
 
 SCENE V 
 Leader: Ten Years Later 
 
 "Ten years later," used as a "leader" on the screen be- 
 fore Scene V is shown, prepares the spectators and makes 
 the situation clear. 
 
 When you have a vision or dream in your play, de- 
 scribe as follows: 
 
 Scene 6 A garden. 
 
 James enters. He greets the young couple. They shake 
 hands with him cordially, then walk away out of picture, 
 smiling and looking back. He looks after them and nods, 
 laughing. He seats himself under a tree, resting his head 
 against the trunk. He grows drowsy, closes his eyes, 
 sleeps. (Fade into DREAM.) 
 
 THE DREAM. 
 
 Scene 7 A busy city street. 
 
 James stands on a corner watching the passersby, as 
 though in search of someone. A young girl approaches his 
 corner. He starts, steps in front of her, and bows. Etc. 
 
 When the scenes of the dream are completed, write: 
 "(Dream fades away. Back to Scene 6.)" The number of 
 the next scene will follow that of the last scene of the 
 
 15 
 
dream. For instance, if the last scene of the dream was 10 r 
 the next scene will be 1 1 . 
 
 Sometimes, a vision is but momentary and does not re- 
 quire a change of scenes. In that case, express as follows: 
 "(Fade into vision.) THE VISION: Marie appears at 
 the door holding out her hands appealingly. (Fade away. 
 Back to picture.) Jack stares before him, etc." 
 
 If your play deals with a historical subject, give the 
 period under your cast of characters. 
 
 In your cast of characters, it is a good idea to signify 
 the occupation of each or his relation to the others ; for 
 instance, taking an imaginary cast: 
 
 Richard Price a mine owner 
 
 Jenny his daughter 
 
 John Wheeler a mining engineer 
 
 Philip Dean supt. of the mine 
 
 Mrs. Ross friend of John Wheeler 
 
 Jim a miner 
 
 Think up a good title for your play. A short one is 
 always preferable to a long one. The choice of a title 
 may seem a very simple matter, but I assure you that it is 
 of considerable importance. A commonplace or much-used 
 title will often discourage a tired editor before he begins a 
 reading of the play. Such obvious and ancient headings as 
 "A Mother's Love," "The Power of Gold," "Married in 
 Haste," and others that were old in story before moving 
 pictures were born, will not prejudice the editor in your 
 favor when he opens your envelope. Show originality in 
 the christening of your play as well as in its plot. Let the 
 name be expressive of the play, let it be crisp and a stimu- 
 lant to the editor's curiosity. 
 
 YOUR STORY 
 
 Your story must be of such strength and interest as to 
 hold the attention of spectators from start to finish. Be- 
 gin with a situation that rouses interest, then develop the 
 
 16 
 
theme logically, putting in only such minor scenes as are 
 indispensable, and work for a climax at the end. The last 
 scene should be the final clearing up of the preceding 
 events it should show the solution of the problem or puz- 
 zle, if there is one and should, when possible, contain a 
 surprise or "snapper/* 
 
 Remember that the central plot of a play must depict 
 some episode in the lives of two or three leading charac- 
 ters. Do not introduce others with side complications and 
 separate interests. It does not require a big cast nor a 
 pretentious stage-setting to make a big impression. A 
 good play, strong in its appeal, rarely demands more than 
 three or four leading characters. The other characters are 
 subordinate and should be kept in the background. Any 
 secondary business must serve merely as a "feeder" to the 
 main story. 
 
 Aim to have your story human; your characters natural, 
 true to life. Identify your principal characters in the first 
 scene or in those closely following. Have each one do 
 something characteristic of his position in life or of his dis- 
 position in a word, of his significance in your play. If he 
 is a villain, have him do something to establish that fact 
 immediately, so that the spectators, instead of being puz- 
 zled and irritated, will understand at the outset and follow 
 the picture absorbedly and without effort. 
 
 Never lose sight of the fact that the photoplay is dumb. 
 There can be no subtleties in it; the characters and their 
 acts must be obvious. Plots that are interesting and grip- 
 ping in short stories and novels are often unsuitable for 
 photoplay production, for the reason that on the screen 
 there can be no explanation of motives, codes of morals, 
 mental and spiritual processes. Nothing but action can be 
 shown and such underlying incentives and mental and spir- 
 itual workings as can be readily interpreted by gestures and 
 facial expression. Fear, worry, anger, horror, remorse all 
 these can be expressed by attitude and facial expression. 
 
 17 
 
But impulsive acts that cannot be easily understood and 
 other acts that are the result of certain trains of reasoning 
 that it would be impossible to explain in a picture must be 
 avoided. 
 
 It is probably superfluous to state that, in order to write 
 successfully, you must visualize your play you must in 
 imagination see your characters perform their parts. This 
 faculty of imagination must be cultivated, if you do not 
 possess it naturally. Otherwise, your efforts will lack con- 
 centration, sharpness, and strength and, consequently, 
 value. 
 
 Write about things with which you are familiar. Do not 
 write about people and localities of which you know noth- 
 ing. If you are not acquainted with the customs of certain 
 distinct types, such as the mountaineers of Kentucky, do 
 not attempt to dramatize them. Know the conditions you 
 wish to deal with before you commit yourself to paper or 
 your play to the critical scrutiny of an editor. 
 
 Visit motion picture theatres and familiarize yourself 
 with the essentials of the photoplay. Pay attention not 
 only to the manner in which the interest is kept up and 
 brought to a climax, but note also the technical side of it. 
 A study of the sequence of scenes, the "leaders," the "cut 
 ins," the exits of the characters in one scene and their en- 
 entrances in the following scene, will help you more than 
 you would at first deem possible. In fact, it is this study 
 that will give you "technique," which means an expert and 
 artistic handling of your story. 
 
 When you do not like a picture you are viewing, ask 
 yourself why; criticize it and try mentally to reconstruct 
 it so that it would be more interesting to your way of 
 thinking. When you like a play, think over the plot, the 
 manner of its presentation, scene by scene, and store it 
 away as a reference for future assistance not to copy, but 
 to recall as a guide when you are facing puzzling prob- 
 lems in the planning of your characters and scenes. 
 
 18 
 
BUILDING YOUR PLOT 
 
 A plot will not leap into your mind in a whole and fin- 
 ished state. It is a growth. You may be inspired with 
 the basic idea, but you have to construct your plot. Your 
 story must be thought over and dreamed over until you 
 have your facts. Then begin shaping it. Throughout the 
 growth of the plot, the problem is to build up the interest 
 by adding one complication after another. When the grand 
 climax is reached, the problem is to remove the complica- 
 tions in such a way as to retain the interest. 
 
 Every plot must have an object. That object must be 
 settled upon at the start, then kept distinctly in view as 
 the situations are introduced. When the plot is completed, 
 that object must have been accomplished. 
 
 A plot is made up of conflict, of struggle, of opposition. 
 There is always an obstacle to be removed; there is always 
 a problem to solve. If the action of a play were direct, it 
 would soon come to an end. The purpose must be retarded 
 by an obstacle; then the obstacle must be overcome; the 
 action speeds again toward the goal; it is again delayed; 
 and so on to the end. 
 
 The clash of interests between the characters is the 
 result of good motives being thwarted by bad motives. The 
 good must always win out in the end, though defeated in 
 some of the scenes in order to create suspense. The con- 
 flict of interests is not always confined to the virtuous and 
 'the wicked. Oftentimes, circumstances, misunderstandings, 
 selfishness, carelessness, ignorance, or indifference will 
 bring about situations as dramatic as if a villain had 
 planned the opposition. In comedy, the clash usually 
 comes about through misunderstandings or blundering. 
 
 The incidents of a plot must be "motived" ; that is, the 
 cause of every incident must be apparent in some incident 
 that has gone before and has established a motive for what 
 follows. Every event should grow naturally out of the 
 preceding incidents and lead naturally to those that come 
 
 19 
 
after. Without well-defined cause and effect, you have 
 only a string of episodes. You must learn that mere action 
 does not constitute a plot, nor does mere sentiment, nor 
 romantic scenes. Likewise, foolery or the playing of tricks 
 does not make a comedy. 
 
 An absolute requisite of your plot is SUSPENSE. It 
 is the art of keeping the solution of the complications 
 doubtful. Suspense begins with interest in the action; it 
 is increased through sympathy with the characters ; it is 
 further increased by curiosity as to the winding up of the 
 play. If spectators can be kept in doubt as to the out- 
 come, their interest is held to the end, and the writer has 
 achieved suspense. Suspense has been called the nervous 
 system of the drama. If it is a necessity in the spoken 
 drama, it is much more so in the photoplay. For, in the 
 former, dialogue can be made to absorb the attention, while 
 the picture play makes its appeal to the intelligence and 
 the sympathies solely through action. Suspense- should be 
 kept up to the very end, although it must be relieved from 
 time to time to loosen the tension and allow of its being 
 renewed with more force. Not until the end should it be 
 utterly removed and every vestige of doubt cleared away. 
 
 In each situation in which a clash brings about a result 
 that appears to be decisive, you have a CLIMAX. Climax 
 means the height of the action. It is the result of a 
 growth, a piling up of cause and effect to the apex of the 
 situation. There may be several climaxes in your play, 
 but each one must be stronger than the preceding one until 
 the GRAND CLIMAX is reached. The grand climax is 
 the turning point, the crisis, the goal of your plot. After 
 that comes the denouement, which means the untying of the 
 knot. In fact, the climax may be compared to a knot that 
 i.< gradually and forcefully formed by the action of the 
 plot. When it can be drawn no tighter, the grand climax 
 is reached and the untying begins. This untying, or clear- 
 ing up, is called the "anti-climax," or "fall." It must be as 
 
 20 
 
brief as possible, for when the strain of the suspense is 
 removed, the interest wanes rapidly and the effect of the. 
 preceding scenes is speedily lost. 
 
 A writer who intends to persist in this work should be- 
 gin to collect "scrap" clippings from newspapers and 
 magazines of incidents that strike him as suitable ideas for 
 photoplays, jottings of incidents that he witnesses or hears 
 recounted, imaginary happenings that flash into his mind. 
 All these should be kept in a scrapbook so as to be at hand 
 when needed. These are the germs of future plots. Wil- 
 liam T. Price, in his "Technique of the Drama," says: 
 "Every true play fashioned under a creative hand has its 
 germ. This germ may be a pregnant and suggestive trait 
 in some character, a happening of personal knowledge in 
 life, an incident in history, a paragraph in a newspaper 
 in short, a dramatic idea from any source. Charles Reade 
 admittedly sought with diligence the history of each day 
 as the press abundantly gathered its comedies and trag- 
 edies." 
 
 To illustrate what can be done with a suggestion, we'll 
 suppose that you have clipped from a - newspaper an ac- 
 count of the finding of the body of a young man in the 
 river. The article describes him as well-dressed, tells of 
 a label on his coat and identification card in a pocket. These 
 point to the fact that he cornes of a good family in Vir- 
 ginia. The police state that he has been involved in a num- 
 ber of bold robberies arid lost his life trying to escape after 
 a burglary. 
 
 Now, there you have the germ of a plot. The thing is 
 clouded in mystery. Why should this well-bred young man 
 become a burglar? What were his relations with his fam- 
 ily? How are you going to lift the veil? How are you 
 going to expand this meager account into complications, 
 conflict, climaxes? Let us work this out together. First, 
 what is to be the purpose of our plot? Shall we prove this 
 to be a case of mistaken identity and clear the young Vir- 
 
 21 
 
ginian's name and bring joy to his shamed family? Very 
 well. Then, we'll assume that the body is not that of the 
 young Virginian (we'll call him "Jack"). Then,, whose 
 body is it? And where did the drowned man get Jack's 
 clothes and pocket-book? Now, the plotting begins. We 
 must go back and account for Jack's being away from home. 
 We'll imagine that he has quarreled with his parents over 
 a girl whom they wish him to marry. He is infatuated with 
 a vaudeville actress. His father, in a rage, drives him 
 from the house. He goes to the actress; she laughs at him 
 when she learns that his family has cast him off. Humili- 
 ated, he goes to New York. There a thief steals his clothes 
 from his room. The thief wears the clothes. He belongs 
 to a gang of motor boat thieves. Running from a house 
 near the river, they jump into their boat. The thief wear- 
 ing Jack's clothes is last; he misses the jump, falls into the 
 water. The police are pursuing and the others will not stop 
 the boat. The thief sinks out of sight in the water. 
 
 Now, we have accounted for the drowned man and for 
 the mistaken identity. But where is Jack that he does not 
 deny the false report? We must have him away from the 
 city, in some place where he will not see the daily papers. 
 Suppose we take him up to a logging camp in the moun- 
 tains. Our big climax, we have settled, is to be an unex- 
 pected meeting between Jack and his parents, who sup- 
 pose him to be dead. We cannot go straight to that end, 
 for that would make the play too short and lacking in in- 
 terest and suspense. We must create conflict and suspense. 
 What obstacle can we introduce to make trouble for Jack? 
 We might have another character say a cousin, Bert who 
 is jealous of Jack and in love with the girl, May. This 
 cousin also expects to inherit from Jack's father, so he is 
 glad on every count that Jack is out of the way. We must 
 plan the scenes that lead to our big climax. For that rea- 
 son, we'll have Jack's parents, Bert, and May go to a 
 bungalow in the mountains. Before filling in the scenes, we 
 
 22 
 
must decide on the nature of our grand climax. It must be 
 as thrilling as possible, as it is the very height of the play. 
 A forest fire occurs to us, with Jack saving the lives of his 
 parents and May. But May has had so little to do so far. 
 We must invent something to make her more interesting 
 and sympathetic to spectators and to make it plausible that 
 Jack should love her at last. Suppose we have her rouse 
 Jack's father and mother, when she discovers the fire, and 
 guide them through the smoke to Jack. We can add to the 
 thrill by having her refuse to escape with Bert. That 
 brings another idea. Let us have Bert the cause of the fire. 
 Soon after his arrival in the mountains he will run across 
 Jack in the woods. He is startled and annoyed. He must 
 keep Jack from his parents ; so he pretends to be there 
 alone. He plans to have Jack driven from the camp. At 
 a card game in a cabin, he accuses Jack of cheating the 
 men he is* playing with. Jack calls him a liar. They 
 fight. A lamp is overturned ; the cabin burns ; the fire 
 spreads to the forest. Jack and men try to stop the blaze. 
 Bert rushes to the bungalow; gets out the automobile. He 
 calls May and tries to persuade her to escape with him. 
 She indignantly refuses. She rouses Jack's father and 
 mother and urges them to leave the bungalow. In the 
 smoke, they become bewildered. They rush toward a 
 clearing. Jack sees the party and goes to help them; saves 
 them from a falling tree. Here we have the grand climax. 
 There is an emotional meeting. Jack then leads them to a 
 safe spot. 
 
 Now, we have the fall, or anti-climax, which we must 
 get over as quickly as possible. The next day, Jack will 
 call at the bungalow. He will realize May's love for him 
 and will also realize that he is in love with her. But we 
 have not disposed of Bert. We could have him killed while 
 passing through the fire zone, or we could have the auto- 
 mobile run over the edge of a precipice, or we could have 
 him return the next day to see what has happened to May 
 
 23 
 
and the others. Perhaps this will be the best way. Some 
 lumber jacks see him and, blaming him for the fire, they 
 surround him and drag him from the car. They treat him 
 roughly. Jack and May arrive on the scene. Jack orders 
 the men to release Bert. Jack then advises him to go if 
 he values his life. He slinks away. 
 
 There you have an example of plot-building from an item 
 in a newspaper. Every paper is full of suggestions. Get 
 into the habit of reading with the intention of finding those 
 suggestions. Be curious as to the "whys and wherefores" 
 of every occurrence you see, hear of, or read of. You will 
 find that the practice will lead to a fertility of invention 
 that will often surprise you. When your plot is built up, 
 you are ready to construct your photoplay scene by scene. 
 And don't forget to boil down your plot into a synopsis of 
 250 words, as described in connection with the CINDER- 
 ELLA scenario. 
 
 WHAT FILM PRODUCERS WANT 
 
 All the companies demand original ideas. 
 
 Stories of everyday life stand the best chance of accept- 
 ance. 
 
 You have doubtless seen on the screen many photoplays 
 adapted from well-known dramas and novels. A company 
 that produces such plays prefers that its own editorial 
 staff prepare the scenarios. 
 
 As I said in the beginning, there is an unwavering de- 
 mand for comedy. What is wanted is novelty of plot or a 
 fresh, original treatment of an old theme. Comedy of 
 action must be there as well as the comedy of idea. An 
 ordinary, prosy series of events leading up to a comical 
 climax does not constitute a comedy; humorous situations 
 must follow each other as the play develops. And the de- 
 velopment must be logical and natural; forcing ridiculous 
 situations for the sake of a "scream" results in foolishness 
 that is far from what is desired. There is a lot of good 
 
 24 
 
comedy going on about us. For one who knows how to 
 grasp it and present it there is an avaricious and insatiable 
 market. 
 
 Comedies are usually only half a reel in length, as it is 
 difficult to find humorous incidents to fill a full reel. You 
 will sometimes see two comedies on a reel, or a comedy and 
 an industrial, educational, or scenic picture. 
 
 "Features'' are photoplays of unusual character and of 
 more than one reel. Every company likes to get hold of a 
 play that will make a good feature of two, three, or four 
 reels. In writing a feature photoplay, divide into parts, 
 heading each part "Reel 1," "Reel 2," etc. End each part 
 with: "End of Reel 1," "End of Reel 2," etc. Have the 
 first scene of each part follow numerically the last scene of 
 the preceding part, instead of writing it down "Scene 1.'* 
 If Reel 1 finishes with Scene 22, Reel 2 begins with 
 Scene 23. 
 
 When you go to a moving picture show, pay close 
 attention to the producers' names and note what class 
 of pictures they specialize in. Some of them prefer 
 cowboy plays, others like plays dealing with business, 
 others lean toward educational and social reform subjects. 
 By observing the preferences of the various producers, 
 you may save yourself many pangs of disappointment and 
 many postage stamps. 
 
 Producers do not care for scenarios requiring trick 
 photography. When in the mood to produce such a film, 
 it is originated and worked out by the company's staff. 
 
 Also take into consideration that a producer encour- 
 ages economy in the filming of the majority of his plays. 
 A scenario that demands expensive costuming and stage- 
 settings or such accessories as special trains, palatial 
 yachts, or aeroplanes will not receive as cordial a welcome 
 as one that makes more modest demands. 
 
 25 
 
TO SAVE YOUR ENERGY, TIME, AND POSTAGE 
 
 Do not send scenarios dealing with foreign subjects to 
 American companies. 
 
 Do not send cowboy and western plays to New York 
 companies, unless you know that they have western com- 
 panies doing field work. 
 
 Do not send plays with a Chicago setting to New York 
 companies, and vice versa. 
 
 Do not send plays with children dominating the scenes 
 to companies that use children but seldom and in only 
 minor parts. Learn through the films at the theatres 
 which companies favor children. 
 
 Do not send promiscuously scenarios requiring work of 
 trained animals. The Selig Polyscope Co. is the only 
 one I know of at present that maintains a menagerie. 
 
 Do not write plays containing acts of violence or crimes. 
 All photoplays have to be passed upon by the National 
 Board of Censors, and the censorship is very strict. If a 
 crime is committed, as an incident in the play, the method 
 of its commission may not be shown in the picture, but 
 the perpetrators must be caught and punished. If the 
 play deals with a minor offense, the culprit or culprits must 
 be shown repentant. Kidnapping must not be shown. 
 Also, there must be nothing in a photoplay to offend good 
 taste or morals, nothing to offend the various religious 
 creeds and nationalities. There is no reason for such plays 
 anyway there are so many phases of life strong in human 
 interest from which we can draw our plots. 
 
 Do not submit scenarios that are founded on copy- 
 right plays or stories. The penalty for the infringement 
 of a copyright is severe. If you draw your inspiration 
 from a play or a story that is not copyrighted, state the 
 source under the title of your scenario. 
 
 26 
 
PREPARATION OF YOUR SCRIPT 
 
 If it is possible, always have your scenario typewritten. 
 If you cannot type it yourself and know of no one who 
 can do it for you, write it legibly in ink. This advice is 
 very important, for the editorial departments of producing 
 companies receive so many scripts that they have no time 
 to puzzle over anything. Typewritten copy is always 
 given preference over handwritten; and some of the editors 
 refuse to read any but typewritten script. Among them 
 are the editors of the Vitagraph, Kalem, and Edison 
 companies. 
 
 Use either foolscap sheets or business letter size that 
 is, 8^/2 by 11 inches. 
 
 Write on one side of the paper only. Always keep a 
 carbon copy of your script; in the event of its being lost 
 in transit, you will not then have all your work to do over 
 again. But do not send the copy to a company while 
 the original is still under consideration with another. Wait 
 until your scenario is rejected before you submit it else- 
 where. 
 
 Do not roll your script. Fold it in as few folds as 
 possible and enclose in a legal size envelope with a 
 stamped and addressed envelope for return. It is best 
 to have the enclosed envelope a shade smaller than the 
 outside one in order to obviate folding it; yet it should 
 contain the script without making additional creases in 
 the latter. 
 
 Write your name and address on the first and last sheets 
 of each script. Do not trust to the return envelope it 
 may become separated from the script. A short time ago, 
 a play was accepted and immediately produced by one of 
 the big companies. The writer had neglected to send 
 either name or address, consequently he did not hear from 
 the producer. However, soon after the play was released 
 to the theatres, the author saw it and wrote in indignantly 
 to the producer practically accusing him of stealing the 
 
 27 
 
play. This time, lie did not forget to send his name and 
 address, so the company was able to explain the dilemma 
 and send the writer a check. 
 
 It is not necessary to write a letter when sending a 
 script to a producer. Your object is self-evident and, 
 if you do not forget to affix your name and address, you 
 will hear from the company within a couple of weeks. 
 But you need not worry if that space of time is exceeded; 
 you must make up your mind to be patient, for those 
 scenario editors are very busy men and they make their 
 decisions as promptly as is compatible with deliberate 
 j udgment. 
 
 PRICES PAID FOR SCENARIOS 
 
 It is usual to leave the price of a script to the judg- 
 ment of the editor, but if you have any definite idea of 
 what you want for your play, mark the price on the first 
 page. But I advise you not; to make it exorbitant. There 
 is a mistaken idea abroad that enormous prices are paid 
 for scenarios. It is as well to eradicate that idea at once 
 and save yourself future disappointment. Prices range 
 from five dollars to one hundred dollars, according to orig- 
 inality and value to the purchasing company. The average 
 price is twenty dollars. But any company is only too glad 
 to pay fifty dollars for a good plot that is worked out with 
 original situations. Such a scenario, they say, is a rare 
 find. A writer who gets as much as one hundred dollars 
 is either a writer of note or one who submits a wonderfully 
 brilliant piece of work. 
 
 So, don't listen to the wild tales of fortunes to be made, 
 but buckle down with the sane idea that there is a big 
 market for good photoplays and that for a writer who has 
 the ability and observes the suggestions laid down in this 
 book and works honestly, there is a nice little revenue 
 to be counted on. 
 
 28 
 
LIST OF PROD0CI$(* CG 
 
 AMERICAN FILM Co., Ashland Block, Chicago, 111. La 
 Mesa, California. (Western studio). The Chicago 
 studio wants plays of society life, dramas and comedies. 
 The Western studio wants modern cowboy dramas and 
 comedies. 
 
 BIOGRAPH Co., 11 E. 14th St., New York. Strong dramas, 
 comedies, and comedy-dramas. Comedies must be clean 
 and clever. 
 
 EDISON Co., Decatur Ave. and Oliver PL, Bronx, New 
 York. Plays of all types that are out of the ordinary. 
 Plays pointing morals or with educational tendencies, if 
 interesting and dramatic. Good, clean comedies. 
 
 ESSANAY FILM MFG. Co., 1333 Argyle St., Chicago, 111. 
 Original dramatic stories with strong heart interest. 
 Sparkling comedies with plenty of action. Not in the 
 market for Western plays. 
 
 GREAT NORTHERN FEATURE FILM Co., 7 East 14th St., 
 New York. Special features of great themes. Plots 
 must be of great originality and worth to be accepted. 
 
 KALEM Co., 235 West 23d St., New York. Strong dramas 
 of modern American life, novel in plot and full of action. 
 Split-reel (half a reel) comedies, novel, farcical, and 
 full of lively action. Western dramas, novel and full of 
 thrilling action. Military plays, based upon daring ex- 
 ploits and sensational military maneuvers in which large 
 armies may be shown in spectacular action. 
 
 KINEMACOLOR Co. OF AMERICA, 1600 Broadway, New 
 York. High-class comedies and dramas. 
 
 LUBIN MFG. Co., 20th St. and Indiana Ave., Philadelphia, 
 Pa. Plays of modern American life preferred society, 
 home, and business life. But plays of any character are 
 accepted if they possess strong, unusual features. 
 
 MAJESTIC MOTION PICTURE Co., 510 West 2 1st St., New 
 York. Strong, emotional dramas. Clever, original full- 
 reel comedies or comedy-dramas. 
 
 29 
 
PATHI& F#E$BS^ J'jGojrigress jSt 5 , Jersey City Heights, N. J. 
 All types' 'of plays. -. 'American comedies and dramas; 
 comedies preferred. 
 
 PILOT FILM CORPORATION, 120 School St., Yonkers, N. Y. 
 One-reel features dramas that are different from the 
 usual run. 
 
 RELIANCE Co., 540 West 21st St., New York. Strong 
 dramas of American life. Original and dainty comedies. 
 Emotional two-reel dramas those dealing with the big 
 social problems of present-day American life. Costume 
 plays not wanted. 
 
 SELIG POLYSCOPE Co., 20 East Randolph St., Chicago, 111. 
 Uses very few outside scripts. 
 
 SELIG WESTERN Co., Allesandro St., Los Angeles, Cali- 
 fornia. Plays in which the old missions can be used. 
 Historical plots or historical incidents introduced into 
 plays. 
 
 SOLAX Co., Fort Lee, N. J. Spectacular dramas. Stirring 
 melodramas. Clean, lively comedies. 
 
 UNIVERSAL FILM MFG. Co., 1600 Broadway, New York. 
 This is a company that controls those listed below and 
 considers scenarios for all of them: Bison Co., Cham- 
 pion Co., Eclair Co., Crystal Co., Gem Co., Imp Co., 
 Nestor Co., Powers Co., Rex Co., Victor Co. A re- 
 jection slip from one of these companies serves for all 
 of them, as the scenarios are read with reference to the 
 needs of each. 
 
 VITA GRAPH Co. OF AMERICA, East 15th St. and Locust Ave., 
 Brooklyn, N. Y. This company releases six reels week- 
 ly; their demand is therefore greater than that of any 
 other single company. They buy good dramas, melo- 
 dramas, comedies, and farces. Anything interesting, 
 strong, and original is available. 
 
 SO 
 

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