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THE AMERICAN FILM
each progressed without a litter of titles; the one telling of the warm, dark-skied south with its rich foliage and crystal water; the other of the bitter cold and ice, with the wind sweeping across the snow fields. Both films ended on a note of rest. Moana with the betrothed pair swaying in their dance against the sinking sun; Nanook with the moaning wind and the howl of the sleigh dogs. Each film told of the immensity of living; the urge to live; the width and breadth of the universe. Of the two, Moana was perhaps the finer. It had a warmness, not physical but spiritual, in handling that was missing in the coldness of Nanook.
Each of these superb films was made by Flaherty with private finances, but in order to continue producing pictures he was forced to accept a contract from Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. It is said that he was to have had the making of White Shadows in the South Seas, but reasonably enough rejected the offer on account of the inclusion of a story and two stars. Instead, it was made by W. S. Van Dyck. To Flaherty must go the credit then, of inspiring the new movement in the American cinema that gave rise to such films as Grass, Chang, Stark Love, White Gold, White Shadows, and Trader Horn.
Van Dyck is of secondary importance to Flaherty. White Shadows, good as it was in places, cannot be compared to the quality of Moana. If Flaherty had made the former, there is little doubt that he would have surpassed Moana. If it were possible to consider White Shadows apart from the nonsense of the acting interest, a badly faked model of a shipwreck and a moral of white men ruining the sanctity of the islands, there remained some very beautiful landscape scenes. Nevertheless, it is to be noted that the cameraman for this film was also Flaherty's cameraman on the shooting of Moana. It is interesting to recall, moreover, that Van Dyck at one time was making westerns, being responsible for a series of Buck Jones's pictures, The Desert's Price, Hearts and Spurs, and Ranger of the Big Pines. There would seem some reason, therefore, to place the credit for the best parts of White Shadows to Bob Roberts, leaving the blame for the story handling to Van Dyck. Who made the film does not matter very much, but it was significant, on the other hand, that Flaherty was contemporaneously kicking his heels at MetroGoldwyn-Mayer's expense in Culver City, that suburb of Los Angeles. White Shadows, despite its cheapness of story, will remain memorable for its liquid sunlight, its gently swaying palms, its white clouded skies, its
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