Close Up (Jul-Nov 1927)

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CLOSE UP People are still apt to sneer when you talk of films being art. Even picture-goers. Movies are not the Salon or the Royal Academy, they are not the Louvre or the British Museum, they are not Dostoieffsky or Anatole France or Rudyard Kipling, they are not Beethoven or Debussy. They are not linked up. Nobody has related them to these people, and the catch is nobody can ! They aren't related to these people and the things they stand for. The movie is the new thing, the movie goes back to no tradition. And millions will deplore it. MiUions will sa.y ah, yes, you cannot expect a great art with no background, nothing behind it. But putting thousands against millions (which in a way proves the case for movies) people will say with me, the great and glorious thing about the movie is just that — just its utter newness. It has, it is true, its conventions, but they are as tiny runnels to the abysmal channels carved bj^ tradition in other arts out of which one must clim.b before seeing anything as anything is. The glorious strength of the movies is just that they have no past, no historj^ This aimless and senile clinging to the old, to the old, to the old, gives one at length black phobia. The newest artist will gloat and gloat because of this medium. Nightingales and roses have been in poetry until they are almost, if not completely destroyed for us. There is a point. The artist, who leaps on ahead pointing out beauty or truth must leap on ahead. He has to dance at the head of the procession, saying look look. If he can only point at the same thing always he becomes wearisome, no longer a teacher. He 8