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By Howard Eliot
Posed spec/ally for Screenland by Pauline Starke and Ben Lyon.
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^sjHE attention given to a picture by the moron whose under any circumstances is but a vacant vacuum is no guide, criterion or indication of its virtues or qualities for entertainment. To all such a fly on a screen is as absorbing as a super-perfect de luxe production. But you take a man who in turn has taken a girl to a show and now you've got something to work with. There he is in the back row torn between the allure of the girl friend and the alarms of the flicker flashes. He is a bird whose mighty mentality is under terrific tension and all hail to a director who can inveigle such an one's attention to the point where he can grasp the galloping opus with the same lusty verve and dominance with which
he grapples the danger' jane, the dynamite debbie, by his side.
For you must realize you are dealing now with a reckless romanticist — a guy who not only knows what he wants but who has her with him. He is the philologist who put the sin in cinema.
Therefore if you wish to know whether a picture is a masterpiece of art and a goulash of glory look upon this dusky shape in the back where mystic shadows softly wreath their ebon spell and only man is vile. Here the truths concerning the pic ture are clearly seen even though the fused mass of cosmic urge is dimly to be perceived and in this darkened realm their very beings seem necks to noth' ingness.
If our indicators, the mercurial red hot mama and the student of com' parative thrills are rubbing noses, we may assume the picture is one of those rubber plantation mamapalaver shots with not an undershirt south of the perfect 36. Or perhaps it is an historic treatise of the Reverend Squint laying the corner stone of the Firemen's Pinochle Emporium. Apropos of the pose, you look 'em in the eye. You can see how they are going to move their hands. That's what every woman knows as well as other pugnacious individuals.
But when the director can rivet the gaze, hold the attention and drag into the meshes of his plot the mind which is attacked by so many other distractions, — what with seductive surfaces, intoxicating contours and exquisitely alluring curves and textures — then you have a director worthy of the name and a conqueror (Com. on page 99)
drama holds interest and holds his
hands.
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