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The School of the Moving Pictures
By DOROTHY DONNELL
There are Moving Picture theaters everywhere. In the backwoods of Maine and the mining camps of California, on the lonely plains, and blazing in white-and-gold bravery in city streets, they seem to spring up overnight, and, magnet-like, they attract the children — the ragged and well-dressed. All who possess a nickel may be co-sharers in the wonders of the Moving Picture show. They swarm thru the doors, pulling impatiently at grown-up skirts, and settle in their seats in breathless anticipation. The shutter clicks, the lights go down, and, presto ! the miracle is performed !
Soldiers march by in all the bravery of saber and uniform ; pretty peasant girls dance folk dances on the village green; picturesque fishermen haul in their silver-laden nets; the waves roll in the sunlight; carriages pass thru crowded city streets, and little boy hearts throb quickly as the battle wages fiercely on the shifting screen, in clouds of white smoke. Little girl eyes sparkle as they watch a troop of fairies romping in dim blue moonlight in a secret forest way.
The Moving Pictures are story books to the children, full of new ideas and knowledge. What are they learning from them? Let us see. It has been claimed that the Motion Pictures are somewhat responsible for juvenile wrongdoing; that by the suggestion of pictured crime they incite theft, arson and truancy. However true that may have been in the early days of the Photoplays, it is assuredly not true since the establishment of the national board of censorship. This unprejudiced organization examines every film, and passes judgment on it before it is allowed to be shown. No
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picture injurious to the morals of young people is approved. But Motion Pictures are not merely harmless amusements. They offer wonderful chances for education and instruction.
History, thrown upon the screen, becomes alive and full of keen interest to the child who ordinarily dreads to open his history book. Dull word accounts of great battles do not make the lasting impression on the mind that is produced by a picture of the same battle, with foam-flecked horses, cannons, and whirling troops of cavalry.
The other day I saw a splendid production of "The Fall of Troy," in which two thousand actors took part, dressed in complete armor. Every detail of that ancient life was accurate, and the old story of the tragic love of Trojan Paris for the beautiful Greek Helen was told with historic exactness; but how much more vividly than any history could tell it! There before our very eyes was Helen herself, whose name ' ' was a glory and a shame"; there was Menelaus, her husband, a stern and fierce avenger; and there was the slender, lovestricken Prince of Troy. Chariots rattled by; Grecian ships of war, with painted sails and carved figureheads, put out to sea. The great walls of Troy were stormed with sealing ladders and moving towers, while crossbowmen defended them from the ramparts. By moonlight the Grecians, hidden within the great wooden horse, climbed out, and with torches, flaming yellow, fired the city. A last glimpse showed the doomed lovers looking thru the marble pillars of the palace at the red destruction whirling over the city; then the picture flashes out, but the story of Troy's fall is fruited