Cliff-Hangers

As the train comes roaring round the bend, a figure (a bird? a plane?) hurtles through the air. He races the locomotive to the broken rail. Suddenly the screen goes black. Will Superman (who looks slightly flabby in the flesh) reach the broken-rail in time to prevent the wreck? Will he weld the rail with the glare of his X-ray eyes? Or will he straight-arm the train to a stop? Find out next Saturday in the next thrilling chapter of Superman!*

Here, in a superhuman cliche, ends the first chapter of Columbia's newest serial, finished last week. Superman, which cost $350,000, is one of the most expensive serials ever made. It will not be seen on Broadway, nor reviewed in the papers, but it will play in 7,000 U.S. movie houses and hundreds of schools. After 36 years, the serial (trade name: cliffhanger) is still a profitable Hollywood industry.

The Manly Smile. Each chapter is constructed as rigidly as a classical sonnet around a single major "hazard" to the hero or heroine, and invariably ends just as death's jaws close. Serial writers ran out of hazards years ago, have been working switches on them ever since; the loose cotter pin on the stagecoach, for example, has been used an estimated 7,000 times.

As morality plays, serials unvaryingly make everything black & white. Hero & heroine are Good; villain and assistant villain (brain & brawn) are Evil. Love finds its strongest expression in a frank, manly smile. Sex never, never rears its snuggly head. (One serial director recalls that when Carole Landis first reared her chest in serials, it was sternly taped flat by the make-up department.)

In the serial's heyday, women were the stars (Pearl White in 1913-14 in The Exploits of Elaine and The Perils of Pauline). But in 1935, Republic made millions out of The Phantom Empire, starring Gene Autry, and ever since it's been a man's world.

The Change of Hat. Serials now cost so much to make (four times as much as they used to) that the whole trick is speed and economy. Stock shots of escapes and chases are lifted from old films. All horses except the hero's and the villain's are picked for their nondescriptness; wheeled back & forth in front of the camera, five of them do the work of 50. In the same way, extras are multiplied by frequent changes of hat. Serial units frequently shoot 125 scenes, up to 18 minutes of finished film, in one day. Average for an A picture: two minutes a day.

The real gravy in the serial business comes from abroad. Serials flop in Britain, but they are regularly dubbed in French, Dutch, Italian, Swedish, Turkish, Portuguese, Chinese. In Latin America and Spain, where the fans can't wait, whole serials are often run off at one sitting.

* For other news of Superman's trials see PRESS.

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