Advertising by motion pictures — Reading Notes
Edition facts
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Ernest A. Dench, a former vice-president of the Photoplay Authors’ League, published Advertising by Motion Pictures in 1916, when cinema was still a young industry. The book’s table of contents lists forty-five chapters, each targeting a specific sector—shoe manufacturers, railroads, publishers, real estate agents—suggesting a systematic attempt to map the medium’s commercial possibilities. Dench draws on contemporary examples, such as the Krohn-Fechheimer Company’s film “A Footwear Romance,” which featured stars Ruth Stonehouse and Bryant Ashburn, and a German trick film where letters rearrange into “Dorndorf.”
Rather than a theoretical treatise, the work reads as a practitioner’s handbook, blending promotional strategies with warnings about audience resistance. The excerpts reveal a tension between enthusiasm for film’s persuasive power and awareness of its potential to alienate viewers—a tension that shapes the book’s advice.
Case Studies as Evidence
Dench grounds his arguments in specific campaigns. The Krohn-Fechheimer film is described in detail: a Pullman-car encounter, a detective plot, and a twist involving a servant girl. The company offered a synopsis and a card of introduction to local dealers, integrating the film with retail. Dench notes that the film was “handled by a Red Cross dealer in every town,” showing how distribution mirrored existing sales networks.
Another example is the Dorndorf Shoe Stores’ trick film, where a “jumbled heap of letters” forms the company name, and a second film shows shoe-boxes moving unaided. The subtitle “Dorndorf Shoes Sell Themselves” encapsulates the desired message. These cases are not merely illustrative; they serve as templates. Dench’s reliance on named companies and players (Ruth Stonehouse, Bryant Ashburn) gives the advice a concrete, reportorial feel.
The Photoplayer’s Critique
Chapter XXIII, “Film Advertising from the Photoplayer’s Viewpoint,” introduces a dissenting voice: actor Edward Earle. Dench frames the interview as a contrast between business and art. Earle argues that film advertising’s compulsory nature—captive audiences in darkened theaters—creates resentment. “Nothing is more abhorrent to the people of this democratic country than compulsory methods,” he states, contrasting film with print ads that readers can ignore.
Earle’s critique is not dismissed. Dench lets it stand, and the chapter’s placement—midway through the book—suggests he takes the objection seriously. The exchange complicates the manual’s promotional tone, acknowledging that forceful methods may backfire. This self-awareness distinguishes the book from pure boosterism.
Structure and Scope
The book’s organization mirrors its practical aim. Early chapters cover general principles (“Telling Your Advertising Story by Motion Pictures”), then narrow to specific industries: shoes, automobiles, agricultural machinery, real estate. Later chapters address slides, circulation, and future developments. The final chapters return to slides, suggesting that slide advertising remained a core concern despite the title’s focus on motion pictures.
Dench’s prose is direct, often using bullet-like lists in the table of contents. The excerpts show a preference for short paragraphs and concrete details—names, dates, company names. He avoids abstract theory, instead offering actionable advice: how to secure theater screenings, how to design slides, how to appeal to children. The book’s 1916 publication date places it at a moment when cinema was transitioning from novelty to mass medium, and Dench’s advice reflects that fluid landscape.
Tensions in the Medium
Throughout the excerpts, Dench grapples with film advertising’s dual nature: its power to captivate versus its risk of irritating. The Krohn-Fechheimer campaign succeeded by leveraging star power and narrative intrigue, while the Dorndorf trick film relied on visual gimmickry. Yet Earle’s warning about compulsory attention hangs over these successes.
Dench also addresses the challenge of reaching audiences without alienating them. In the chapter on approaching the working classes, he likely considers class-specific appeals. The book’s structure—moving from slides to films to star endorsements—suggests an evolving understanding of what works. The final chapters on slides indicate that even as motion pictures advanced, static slides remained a staple. This tension between old and new media, between persuasion and annoyance, gives the book its texture.
Readers approaching Advertising by Motion Pictures should treat it as a period document, not a timeless guide. Dench’s examples—from “A Footwear Romance” to Dorndorf’s trick films—offer a snapshot of early commercial cinema. The book’s value lies less in its prescriptions than in its documentation of a medium in flux. Pay attention to the voices Dench includes, especially critics like Earle, and to the industries he prioritizes. The manual rewards those who read between the lines for what it reveals about 1910s marketing, audience psychology, and the uneasy marriage of art and commerce.
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