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lump is about and why can't the lump, for its own good, for its own happiness, for its own (to use the word goodness in its Hellenic sense) beauty, be leavened just a little quicker ? The leaven, regarding the lump, is sometimes curious as to the lump's point of view, for all the lump itself so grandiloquently ignores it, the microscopic leaven. And so with me or editorially "us" at just this moment. Wedged securely in the lump (we won't class ourselves as snifhngly above it), we want to prod our little microbe way into its understanding. Thereby having the thrill of our lives, getting an immense kick out of trjdng to see what it is up to, what I am up against, what we all, franc-tireurs, have to deal with.
First as I say, amazing prejudice. The movies, the cinema, the pictures. Prejudice has sprouted, a rank weed, where the growth of wheat is thickest. In other words, films that blossom here in Europe (perhaps a frail, little, appreciated flower) are swiftly cut and grafted in x\merica into a more sturdy, respectable rootstock. Take" Vaudeville", for example, a film that I didn't particularly revel in, yet must appreciate , Zolaesque realism which succeeded admirably in its medium; was stripped (by this gigantic Cyclops, the American Censor, of its one bloom. The stem is valuable, is transplanted, but the spirit, the flower so to speak of "Vaudeville", (we called it here "Variete" the thing holding its created centre, its (as it happens) Zolaesque sinceritj^ is carefully abstracted. A reel or in some cases an artist or a producer, is carefully gelded before being given free run of the public. This is no fault of the public. The lump heaving under its own lumpishness is
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