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the announcement that The Big House must be seen because it is the first time that real machine guns were used successfully for machine gun noises? If television, which is now at the start, can keep as relatively free and comparatively courageous as radio, the cinema's going to have an awfully difficult time. Because what we put into it won't be there. I already find I am getting more and seeing more out of a three-quarter-postcard-size image of the heads and shoulders of a not-first rate artist singing rather poor songs (usually film hits) in my televisor each morning than I do, say, from HelVs Angels, Check and Double Cheeky Common Clay, and so on. There seems more point in tuning in a televisor, in view of what they already do with such amazingly limited means, than in going out to one particular talkie which will be so well-made (though' not in the main so well-photographed lately), so slick, so amusing, so like all the others that you get nothing at all of cinema. You can only wait for the real film to come, and even Turksih isn't the end. It isn't a " call to live men to search for a new type of picture because that call has been made vainly for years before Mr. Carter ever saw Turksih, We hail Turksih because we recognise it ; we hail television because we recognise in it what the cinema will not do. . .
London correspondence ends with' The Silver Horde, remarkable for using the new beam microphone. The stars are Evelyn Brent and a salmon.
Robert Herring.
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