The Moving picture world (November 1925-December 1925)

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QJoup Equipment H Seruice for you^Jheatre Owner^BuiUkr^Stuxib-^ ^ Caboraiori^ Sxchanqe txecuttue --Jrom, IJourJrujLe SditecL bif cA. Van Buren Powell 9— i fleaven Will Protect The Woikin' print HEAVEN WILL protect the workin' goil, goes the old warble. Well, Heaven don't protect ME — what am I goin' to do? I'm a poor, hard-workin' print — and my lot in life is curses and abuse ! Oh, good, kind Mr. Exhibitor — oh, kind, good Mr. Exchange Man— why do you scowl at me and curse me? Why do you blame me for that which is not my fault? Why do you rough-house me and then say : "Dx!??*x that rotten print!" Lord knows I try to do my best for you. But who can stand up under the cruelty that is my portion in life? Who gets ripped up the back and torn down the sides and cracked up and slashed apart more than I do? And when I get out in front of an audience and try to give them the best that is in me, and then, weakened from abuse and want of a little gentle handlin' I break down and go all to pieces — all I hear is, "D ! !***x that rotten print!" And then, when I go back to the exchange, all tore up and heart sick and yearnin' for a little kind patchin' up and maybe some strengthenin' tonic to make me hold togther and get strong again, all I hear is, "Dx*!?? that rotten print !" I ti-y to live up to the best that's in me. Mr. Eastman and the other gentlemen who had the fixin' of my career in their hands — they spent thousands upon thousands of good, hard dollars to give me a strong constitution. Mr. DeMille, or whichever of the splendid directors it was that took charge of my bringin' up, got the finest of fine casts and the expertest of bright camera lads to make me letter-perfect in the part I was to play before many a audience of payin' people. Then Mr. Rothacker — or it could of been any other real laboratory owner — took every kind of pains to bring out the very best that was to be got out of my developed talent for amusin', or thrillin', or makin' people cry and think a little. Then, good, kind gentlemen, I come to you, all hopped up with the part I was goin' to play in helpin' you to make money. Heaven protect me! what did I get? Oh, yes — I know what you're sayin' right this minute. You, Mr. Exchange Manager, you're sayin', "Well, if them blamed exhibitors would quit sendin' back my prints all chewed up I could keep on sendin' out good prints." And Mr. Exhibitor — I can hear you sayin' "That exchange hands me such rotten splicin' and patchin' it's no wonder I can't give my people any decent shows." And all the time you're both handin' me a dirty dig every once in a while — lettin' a projector chew half my perforations off, or makin' a patch with cement that ain't goin' to hold no longer than a snowball lasts in the place you both are condemnin' me to go to. And yet I'm the link between hundreds of thousands of hard dollars of producin' cost and the people's quarter paid at the box office. Have a little pity on me, good, kind gentlemen. "Protect the print and help the industry !" If I could only get you to see that. Of course there is a plenty of you that does. Many an exchange has got the best of cement to help patch up my damages which come along with natural wear and tear; yes, and high grade help that takes me and looks me over and knows what a splicin' machine and a rewinder and cement is for — and goes to the home office and gets film when parts of my skeleton is so broke down that I need new ribs, as you might say. There's plenty of exhibitors that I've worked for which has sure enough projectionists which sees that the boss understands the reason why they have GOT TO HAVE that new intermittent assembly, and that sends me back to my original startin' place in good health. But ALL don't! Can it be that them are the exhibitors who says they can't get the crowds? — and who also says they can't afford to fix up the old projector? Can it be them sort of exchanges that argues that they give the exhibitor all he's payin' for? — and that says it's the exhibitor that's to blame and so the next guy can suflfer? This ain't a plea for mercy on my own account, gentlemen—it's a cry for protection FOR YOUR OWN SAKE. If I'm sent back to an exchange all busted to pieces and chewed up like a bulldog had been my travelin' comrade, can the exchange man be blamed for not carin' so particular? If I land in a projection room in such bad shape that they ain't nobody in the audience goin' to know what act I'm tryin' to put over — can the exhibitor be blamed for feelin' that it's no use to do the right thing by me? But theatres are closin' because people are, it's claimed, losin' interest and not comin' like they did! And exchanges has to alibi why they don't fill what's called their quota on the next crop of my brothers and sisters the'y've got to put over. A lot of it because I'm treated like a step-child in some places. So, good, kind folks, I pleads: Make your equipment — "Protect the print and help the industry!"