Better Movies

Gone is Bushman--Gone Are Spotty Films, Title Readers

Pitying the cinema has attained the proportions of a national pastime. Breathes there a man with brain so dead that he has not repudiated those curly co-eds eating ice-cream cones on the campus; those red-blooded "Society folk" with midnight bathing parties; those flat-footed vampires; Will Hays? In denizens of the greater metropolis where journalistic criticism has reached the semi-intelligent stage this upturning of intellectual noses is comprehensible. But in our more rural citizens the attitude is not so easily defined.

It is impossible because it reveals a sadistic intolerance. The millions who bewail the blunders of the gelatine generals should rather offer paeans of respectful thanksgiving. The modern movie, clumsy as it is, is simply crowded with virtues of omission. The cinema first flickered across the screen of civilization about two decades ago. Think for a moment of the original sins now eliminated.

Meditate upon heroes. The day is easily recalled when Francis X. Bushman was the brightest star of evening. He was the squarejawed, peg-top hero who resembled models of elegance of the Sears-Roebuck Co. Nowadays it is Rodolph Valentino, his fame somewhat muddied of late, but still Rodolph.

Then the gentle gods have escorted away to the unknown distances those delightful old vocalists who sang Love Is a Beacon on Life's Stormy Sea. A series of lovely tinted views supplemented the singing. Some of those views may still be discovered in the postcard racks of small country drug stores.

There was also that noted individual who read titles aloud. Humorous writers have made vast currency from him--or usually her. He has virtually vanished The advance in national impudence has told him, with final severity, to shut up.

Deported are spotty, flickering pictures. Gone are the five-minute waits while the operator pasted together broken film. Gone are the pendent curls of the ingenue. The two-reel love dramas have suffered a final fadeout.

Though large quantities of truck are still delivered by the movie moving vans, 20 years have brought us The Covered Wagon and Little Old New York. Almost every hamlet has a good film once a week. These things should prompt praise as well as pity. In many aspects the progress of the movies is miraculous rather than ridiculous. W.R,