The moving picture camera, it is well to remember, is of no light weight when set up on its massive tripod.  The cameraman cannot place it in position to take all the pictures that you might be able to take with a snap-shot camera held between the hands.  The body of the camera, without the tripod, may be placed upon the overhead beams in a studio in order to get some novel scenic effect below; or a special platform may be built for camera and operator when the director is determined to get a scene on the side of a cliff, where no neighboring cliff or rocky platform was furnished by nature; but when the director goes to such pains as these to obtain an effect there is a reason, and generally the reason is an unusually strong story that justifies special effort on the part of all concerned in its production.

Mr. William E. Fildew, one of the foremost screen cameramen, long associated with director William Christy Cabanne, says in The Moving Picture World: 

“As to what constitutes the greatest difficulty in the making of motion pictures, I should reply the insecurity of the tripod in the making of outdoor scenes.  Exteriors require the greatest amount of attention from the cameraman because of the varying light and shade and the mobility of the camera itself and its liability to accident.  The location chosen by the expert may be all that is desired, and there may be a whole lot of trained performers, but you can’t get a trained camera.  The tripod must be nursed like a contrary child.  It must be firmly set.”  Mr. Fildew speaks of the difficulty he had, on one occasion, when he was obliged to follow the progress of an express train while operating his camera from an aeroplane, they being constantly buffeted by pockets of wind, while flying for many miles at a low altitude in order to keep within the desired focus.  He cites another case, when he was photographing the sea scenes for the Fine Arts picture, “Daphne and the Pirates,” the waters outside San Francisco Bay being chosen for the locale.  A pirate ship crew was to board a merchant ship, and a big battle to follow on the latter’s deck.  A heavy storm came up just as the two ships came together, and Mr. Fildew, 120 feet up in the air, holding to a mast that swayed like a pendulum, was compelled to go through with what was a most difficult and dangerous piece of work, which, however, resulted in some exceptionally fine scenes.  In these instances, of course, it was a matter of the director’s planning almost everything just as he wanted to take it; the point we insist upon is that it is better to write certain difficult scenes more in the form of a suggestion than as if it were absolutely necessary to take them just as you have visualized them.  Not a few successful writers try to think of two different ways in which an important part of the story may be “put over.”  Thus, just as an off-hand example, you might suggest that the running fight between the bank robbers and the police may take place in a couple of automobiles or in an auto and a locomotive.  Rest assured that the director will provide the locomotive instead of the second automobile if he can procure one.