The Art of the Moving Picture | Page 6

the films. But most of these have gone back to the stage
by this time, with their managers as well, and certainly this chapter is
abundantly proved out.
Chapter XIII
--Hieroglyphics. One of the implications of this chapter and the one
preceding is that the fewer words printed on the screen the better, and
that the ideal film has no words printed on it at all, but is one unbroken
sheet of photography. This is admitted in theory in all the studios now,
though the only film of the kind ever produced of general popular
success was The Old Swimmin' Hole, acted by Charles Ray. If I
remember, there was not one word on the screen, after the cast of
characters was given. The whole story was clearly and beautifully told
by Photoplay Hieroglyphics. For this feature alone, despite many
defects of the film, it should be studied in every art school in America.
Meanwhile "Title writing" remains a commercial necessity. In this field
there is but one person who has won distinction--Anita Loos. She is
one of the four or five important and thoroughly artistic brains in the
photoplay game. Among them is the distinguished John Emerson. In
combination with John Emerson, director, producer, etc., she has done
so many other things well, her talents as a title writer are incidental, but
certainly to be mentioned in this place.

The outline we are discussing continues through
Book III--More Personal Speculations and Afterthoughts Not Brought
Forward so Dogmatically.
Chapter XIV
--The Orchestra, Conversation, and the Censorship. In this chapter, on
page 189, I suggest suppressing the orchestra entirely and encouraging
the audience to talk about the film. No photoplay people have risen to
contradict this theory, but it is a chapter that once caused me great
embarrassment. With Christopher Morley, the well-known author of
Shandygaff and other temperance literature, I was trying to prove out
this chapter. As soon as the orchestra stopped, while the show rolled on
in glory, I talked about the main points in this book, illustrating it by
the film before us. Almost everything that happened was a happy
illustration of my ideas. But there were two shop girls in front of us
awfully in love with a certain second-rate actor who insisted on kissing
the heroine every so often, and with her apparent approval. Every time
we talked about that those shop girls glared at us as though we were
robbing them of their time and money. Finally one of them dragged the
other out into the aisle, and dashed out of the house with her dear chum,
saying, so all could hear: "Well, come on, Terasa, we might as well go,
if these two talking pests are going to keep this up behind us." The poor
girl's voice trembled. She was in tears. She was gone before we could
apologize or offer flowers. So I say in applying this chapter, in our
present stage of civilization, sit on the front seat, where no one can hear
your whisperings but Mary Pickford on the screen. She is but a shadow
there, and will not mind.
Chapter XV
--The Substitute for the Saloon. I leave this argument as a monument,
just as it was written, in 1914 and '15. It indicates a certain power of
forecasting on the part of the writer. We drys have certainly won a
great victory. Some of the photoplay people agree with this temperance
sermon, and some of them do not. The wets make one mistake above

all. They do not realize that the drys can still keep on voting dry, with
intense conviction, and great battle cries, and still have a sense of
humor.
Chapter XVI
--California and America. This chapter was quoted and paraphrased
almost bodily as the preface to my volume of verses, The Golden
Whales of California. "I Know All This When Gipsy Fiddles Cry," a
song of some length recently published in the New Republic and the
London Nation, further expresses the sentiment of this chapter in what I
hope is a fraternal way, and I hope suggests the day when California
will have power over India, Asia, and all the world, and plant giant
redwood trees of the spirit the world around.
Chapter XVII
--Progress and Endowment. I allow this discourse, also, to stand as
written in 1914 and '15. It shows the condition just before the war,
better than any new words of mine could do it. The main change now is
the growing hope of a backing, not only from Universities, but great
Art Museums.
Chapter XVIII
--Architects as Crusaders. The sermon in this chapter has been carried
out on a limited scale, and as a result of the suggestion, or from pure
American instinct, we now have handsome gasoline filling stations
from one end