The educational screen (c1922-c1956])

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From Hollywood Conducted by M. T. O. AN April morning, a blue sky, warm sun—perfect setting for a pageant. And I was bound for Douglas Fairbanks' studio, where pa- geantry held sway.* Long before I reached the place, I caught tantalizing glimpses of battle- mented towers, bulking high in the air, and even as I stepped into the office, there came the sharp, clear call of bugles. The open window framed a mass of vi- brating color, and my ears caught the busy hum of crowds. Presently I was out in the open, and, my eyes too busy to watch my careless feet, I went stumbling into medieval England! The chatter of many voices, the flutter of many flags, the flash of gaudy pavill- ions, the glitter of armor, the soft thud of horses' hoofs on turf, and over it all, the frowning castle walls. Suddenly, silence, except for the whirring of cam- eras. The drawbridge dropped slowly, and almost before it touched ground, it was filled with marching figures—pages, who angled sharply to the left, drawing up in single file to blow a blast on their bugles. And then the King, followed by his knights afoot and on horseback. Down the slope they marched, a royal procession—down past the crowded stands to the steps of a great throne, the King bowing in gracious acknowledge- ment of the plaudits of the crowd. Richard, the Lion-hearted! From a high platform, director and camera men commanded the scene. A row of big reflectors caught the sun- light and threw the stands into full de- tail. A band blared noisily somewhere, until a harassed-looking man with a megaphone silenced it. Directions from the platform; and the procession filed back into the castle, the a drawbridge rising slowly after. An as sistant came running. "Band! Band! The bugles are yotfi cue. And—play a livelier march." Ht was off. "Listen," said the leader of the band "Listen, what do you want? Listen!' His voice rose: "That king marchei slow." A waving of arms from the re ceding assistant. "Alright, alright, we'll keep time witl him." The leader came back to hii place. "Play 'em the 'Dead March' " came tin suggestion; but the laugh was cut shor by a shrill whistle, as the drawbridg* dropped, and once more the brilliant cav alcade issued forth. Meanwhile, from the lists at the right sounded the stamp of horses' feet. * / white horse caparisoned in swirling sil ver velvet stood waiting, while a maile< knight galloped up and down on a darl mount swathed in black. Presently cam» to the white horse a sturdy knight ii chain mail and cloth of silver. The Ear of Huntingdon, said some—but other, called him Douglas. "Where's that lance?" he asked I helper in plain twentieth-century Eng lish; and being furnished, he rode off t< his own devices. A third time, and ; fourth, the King's procession poure< from under the barred portcullis. But at last it was over, and there cami a stir and change. The King sat on hi: throne, and the silver knight watche( from below. "Now, ladies," the director addressee the crowds at some length. " and," he concluded, "when th« King says Huntingdon is to be his sec ond in command, you cheer." Again there was that expectant hush broken this time by the roar of a moto: 192