Moving Picture World (Jul-Sep 1914)

1072 THE MOVING PICTURE WORLD "First Runs" By W. Stephen Bush. MANY of us remember the day when the "first run" was regarded with superstitious awe. As the fihn was brought into the exchange by the express man a reverent silence fell upon the office force. The errand boy took the cigarette out of his mouth, clerks and bookkeepers suspended their casual conversations, exhibitors took off their hats and the owner of the exchange expanded with the pride of possession. It was heresy to question the supreme and sovereign value of a "first run." It never occurred to even the boldest of exchange men or exhibitors to inquire into the quality of a "first run." Every "first run" was simply above criticism by the very fact of its being what it was. The man who used even one "first run" qualified thereby into the upper grades of exhibitors, while the man showing an all "first run" program was regarded as a demigod. The belief in the all-conquering virtues of the "first run" was rooted deeply in the exhibiting mind. The demand for "first runs" was riotous. It was the first conviction of the average exhibitor that people cared absolutely nothing about the quality of a picture. He held that, no matter how good the Monday release of the Company might be, it could not possibly cope with Tuesday's release. There were exceptions ; in some parts of the country the "first run" craze never took much of a hold. Curiously enough, these parts of the country remained free from the destructive influences of competition for "first runs." They were exceptions, however, and favored by fortune. At a time when the supply of film fell far short of the demand and when men went into the exhibiting profession with no thought for tomorrow, anxious only to "get in on the boom of a novelty," the idolatrous worship of the "first run" was scarcely to be wondered at. Even now the "first run" madness is still with us. A far larger supply, a radical change in the personnel of the exhibitors, the knowledge of improved methods of presentation, the change in the place of exhibition and many other causes have helped to localize the evil effects of the "first run" idiocy. If you, good reader, care to give a little attention to the subject you must have noticed that the real exhibitors of the new era and, indeed, mostly all showmen who give motion picture exhibitions only, have realized the folly of exalting the "first run" above the picture of quality. The men who constitute the blind army of "first run" men today are recruited from theatrical men. These men, inexperienced and inexpert, with a sublime but wholly unwarranted faith in their powers of judgment, are seeking to revive the "first run" age of motion pictures. But recently we saw, not without a lively sense of amusement, a theatre on Broadway announcing in electric pyramids and in other megaphonic methods, "First run" programs. While The Vitagraph theater and The Strand were giving selected programs and running them for not less than a full week, filling their houses at solid and substantial prices of admission, this theater trumpeted forth the "first run" and its deadly twin brother the "daily change." It did not last long. We do not want to say that the "first run" and the daily change may not be successful, but we seem safe in asserting that they cannot survive in competition with houses conducted along progressive lines and in the light of seven years' practical experience. A similar attempt to revive the "first run" tactics in destroying competition was made in a big neighboring summer resort and here too failure camped on the trail of the ancient superstition. The best judgment of film experts is that the general public never did care half as much for the "first run" as the exhibitors seemed to believe. In the very early days, of course, in the age of the store-room and the short length film, the audience wanted new things, but who constituted the audience? The half-grown boys in the neighborhood and people who had little taste and discrimination. In those days the poor exhibitor would often blanch and tremble when one or two of the unwashed youths on the front benches in withering scorn uttered the fearful words : "I seen dat before." I surely do not blame the unwashed youths. Boys between eight and sixteen are naturally eager for something new. The dime novel of yesterday is never as welcome as the dime novel of today and tomorrow. Nobody, however, would dream of making boys the supreme arbiters of literature and place Henty above Shakespeare, Milton, Dante, Homer and other "old fogies." This is exactly what some of our early producers and exhibitors did, or at least attempted to do. I shall never forget the scorn with which a well-known director in the infant days of the industry received my mild and diffident suggestion that it might be possible to film Shakespearian plays. He never even deigned to enter into the question. He did not claim it was impossible to film such plays, but he derided the idea that people would ever go to see such films and pay an admission. It is strange how this lack of faith in the possibilities of our art still persists in quarters where one might expect intelligence. Every time a great production is put on the market these Cassandras, small-visioned prophets of evil, are heard in grating chorus. We heard them when "Quo Vadis" flashed across the kinematographic sky like a coruscating meteor and we heard the same pessimistic song when "Cabiria" swept all records aside. "People will not pay a dollar to see motion pictures," said some, and others croaked something about the "subject being too deep" or the "films being too long." I would just like to take the doubters around to the Knickerbocker Theater on any old night, no matter how hot, and show them long lines of men and women waiting and fighting to pay real U. S. dollars for seeing motion pictures. Quality is advancing slowly and is breaking down all the ancient barriers by which the motion pictures was kept in commercial confinement. One of the worst foes of quality has been the time table release, manufactured in response to an artificial demand. Gradually we are beginning to discover that the public is really interested in quality. Pictures are not merchandise in the sense that cheese and sausages are. Let me say in conclusion that quality now lies within reach of every exhibitor who intends to mak'C quality his watchword. I do not say quality lies within easy reach, for it does not. Quality has be hunted. Everywhere we are building theaters for motion pictures of high quality. Some who have been hunters of quality even in the days when quantity seemed supreme say that the supply of quality is still short of the demand. They claim it is difficult to maintain a uniformly high grade of entertainment with even but one change a week. This latter class, however, is strictly confined to the big cities. The exhibitor in the smaller towns often far away from the exchanges has perhaps the more difficult problem to solve. He cannot select a program from various sources as easily as his brother in the big city with one or two or more exchanges.