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H. B. K.W/7/ix
Says: the measure of a film today is not the yardstick
And the
ET your mind's eye rove back to ^ the days when John Bunny was regarded as "perishingly droll" and Mary Pickford was only the little Biograph blonde.
If then the hero caressed the heroine before that last dismal, eye-straining flicker, your girl looked at the screen through the fingers of one hand while she slapped your affectionately exploratory arm with the other.
The Anthony Comstocks of the villages also took a hand. The film was branded as harmful to the growing mind unless the concluding caress was preceded by the sub-title: "I've got the license!' small town Will Hazes were not always sure that Our Nell had been treated white even then.
The adolescent youth of that day never hesitated to reproduce the sound, originated by lethargic cows as they pulled laggard hoofs from muddy and sodden barnyards, whenever the principals in the early cinemantics fell into a clinch. They scorned sentiment and made mock of it openly.
Maids with emotions in the same uncertain state, though they secretly approved of treacly twosomes in that heart of hearts, discovered by Laura Jean Libbey, waxed wroth when the yokels of their choice sought to put in effect those same simple principles as taught by the equally simple principals.
And this secret approval is the reason why necking has become the strongest weapon in the armory of the men-at-arms of the movies ; the reason why most producers will understand that you mean footage when you refer to the length of one of their products as "lippage."
The rule by which and with which one measures a film today is not a yardstick, but a lip-stick.
Movies Made for Maidens
kNE must always remember that movies are made for maidens, either early or antique, and that the maidens are made for the movies.
The movie-mad maidens tired early of chaste caresses and demure surrenders, of five reels of fight and fifty feet of frenzy.
[ust before olive drab became the correct thing for the man
of the hour, box-office cash-drawers coined the adage that one could trap more frails with mush than with muscles.
During the hectic wartime days the movie male with verdant chest and a penchant for portraying primitive passion had his inning.
Today the neophytes of the new art neck and neck and neck through more celluloid than ever came out of Troy, N. Y.
Charlie Ray, in The Coward, baled buckets of brine froir feminine tear-ducts but for another reason. His success as a heart-throbber, dating from that early day, cannot be raised to flaunt and taunt me. He twanged the maternal strings in damosels who had sent their one best bet off to France to bait the cannon and the mademoiselles. The man of mush and muscles still hit them where they loved.
Imported Products
But when the Johns came marching home again, wartime ways of the movie men at arms became all
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