Some books receive far less attention at the time of release than they deserve. William Witney’s memoir of serial-making days is one of those neglected gems. It belongs in the library of every serial lover—not only for its undeniable historical value but also for its incredible warmth.

     William Witney, of course, was the pre-eminent chapter play director of the sound era, serving his apprenticeship during the rough-and-tumble days of Mascot Pictures and subsequently at Republic, where he guided (solo or with a partner) that studio’s greatest chapter plays, including Daredevils of the Red Circle, Zorro’s Fighting Legion, Drums of FuManchu, The Adventures of Captain Marvel, Jungle Girl, Spy Smasher, The Perils of Nyoka, and three of the Dick Tracy episoders. Working often with talented co-director John English, Witney set the standard for quality during what came to be known as the Golden Age of Serials. Although he is often credited with introducing "choreography" to movie fight scenes, Witney’s contributions went far beyond that. In a medium in which all aspects of a serial’s production were carefully laid out in advance of production, Witney (like English) always enhanced what he was given. Action sequences gained intensity. Sets and special effects looked more convincing. Performers, whatever their talent levels, consistently exceeded what might have been expected of them. While serials were very much a team effort, Witney, who enjoyed consulting with the various artisans during pre-production, made the team work better.

     Witney’s book begins with the future-director’s initial encounter with picture-making as a vacation-time cowboy extra in a Johnny Mack Brown serial for Mascot called Fighting with Kit Carson. The author’s narrative of a day on location amid wranglers and stunt men may be the best description of no-frills production at places like the fabled Iverson Ranch ever captured in print. It is as revealing and informative as it is amusing. Any reader who watches that old cliffhanger after reading the Witney recollection will surely see things by no means apparent before, and also identify with the young Witney, who was gathering knowledge with every command of "Action!" When Witney later entered the film business full time, his desire to learn merely grew, even if his first duties fell in the mimeograph room of Mascot. Here again, Witney’s evocation of day-to-day life at a small studio can sharpen a reader’s insight into moviemaking. As Witney learns, so does the person holding his book.

     By the time the 21-year-old Witney was pressed into emergency service as a director in order that The Painted Stallion (1937) could be completed, he was fully ready to take on regular helming duties, as he soon proved with SOS Coast Guard. It is hard to believe that Republic’s memorable The Lone Ranger was only Witney’s fourth serial directing assignment, and that it was followed in 1938 by The Fighting Devil Dogs, Dick Tracy Returns, and Hawk of the Wilderness (all with English). Author Witney takes the reader behind the scenes with absorbing, sometimes pithy, comments about these and many other serials. The heroes, heroines, villains, and production staffers become real people. Witney, by the way, liked most of them—but is not afraid to reveal his annoyance with a handful of individuals. (Generally, his dislikes were shared by others on the set, though a few of the targets for disdain may find defenders among readers.)Throughout the book, the author shares colorful recollections of shooting locales long part of the film memory of many serial fans.

     Into a Door . . . is filled with serial history, justification enough for writing, or reading, the book. But after one has reluctantly turned the final page, and the book has been placed upon that special shelf reserved for treasures, it may be the engaging vignettes that cling strongest to memory: the evening horseback ride with a young woman who, to Witney’s surprise, turns out to be the daughter of Buck Jones; the quiet departures of those who had worked on serials for decades and suddenly are gone; the winsome moments treasured by the author, as when, during breaks for lunch, Jungle Girl Frances Gifford would climb atop Bunny, her elephant friend, to frolic in the waters of Lake Sherwood; the off-camera misfortunes that are part of film making, from Robert Livingston’s serious accident while diving to the still adolescent Kay Aldridge’s mid-Nyoka breaking-out in measles. Witney’ courtship of his longtime wife, actress Maxine Doyle, is there too, as are the ups and downs of ordinary family life. The book ends as William Witney begins his World War II service in the military—offering the possibility of a sequel. In a Door . . ., however, is in itself all that a grateful reader could ask for.

©1998 by Raymond William Stedman.