CHAPTER XXV

The question of detail has come up so often in the discussion of various directors and in their various discussions regarding directing that a few more words are, perhaps, due on the all important matter.

The injection of detail in a story is by right the work of the continuity writer. However, most of the directors that have been referred to here, as said, are either their own continuity writers or they exercise such close supervision or collaboration over and on their continuities that here at least the injection of detail is the director's duty. Even when a director follows a continuity closely without having had a hand in its construction he often realizes where detail will help the completed picture due to some peculiarity of setting and location, and so he may inject it of his own accord.

Detail is, without doubt, an element that often distinguishes good pictures from bad. A superfluity of story detail is a bad thing. If a director permits himself to wander off the main track and introduce irrelevant details believing that they have interest in themselves alone, he soon finds trouble getting back to the main track again.

On the other hand, knowing just where a little injection of detail, a little prolongation of this situation or that, will help a story, is a knack or a separate art that is by no means common among directors. To give this exceedingly technical matter a popular light it is best to cite an instance where a picture was lifted into the class of melodramatic masterpieces by the skillful use of it. This instance is represented by “The Law and the Woman,” a picture directed by Penrhyn Stanlaws.

This picture is based on the old Clyde Fitch play, “The Woman in the Case.” The situation established is this: A woman of no virtue whatever brings evidence to bear against an innocent man who thereupon is tried and convicted of murder and is sentenced to die in the electric chair. The man's wife, convinced of his innocence, enters into the other woman's circle of friends, plays the part of a sister under the skin and ultimately succeeds in forcing a confession from her that frees her husband—at the last minute.

This basic situation is rather old. It has appeared on the screen in various guises from time immemorial. The accused man—the last minute confession. The climax used to be the mad dash to the prison (the telephone wires were always out of order) and the rescue of the condemned just as the executioner was about to throw the electric switch.

Naturally then, a picture-wise being knows full well the outcome of “The Law and the Woman” even while he is in the thick of the situation. The director knew this too—knew that his audience was going to know how his story ended. How then to make them forget that they knew it? How to make them so interested in the happenings on the screen that they were caught up in them and lost sight of the foregone conclusion altogether? The answer: By the judicious use of detail.

This judicious application of detail is to be found in “The Law and the Woman” as directed by Mr. Stanlaws. The wife is several times about to hear the confession from the lips of the other woman. “It's coming now,” you think. But no! Some little detail arises to prevent it. The telephone rings and when the conversation is over the other woman's inclination for confidences has passed. Again the confession is about to come when the other woman (exercising the prerogative of her sex) suddenly changes her mind.

A half dozen other such little details halt that confession, the while the spectator has completely forgotten that he knows the outcome. All he is interested in is that confession.

In the final climax when the desired words are wrenched from the woman's lips detail is again brought admirably into play. The woman's superstitions are preyed upon. She is alone at a table. A door slams. A shade flies up. Her nerves grow ragged. So do yours. Throughout it all the utmost suspense is maintained until finally when the confession comes you breathe the same sigh of wonderful thanks and relief that is breathed by the wife.

For skillful use of detail then, Penrhyn Stanlaws' work in “The Law and the Woman” is commended. And in case I am not giving credit where credit is due, Albert S. LeVino prepared the continuity.