The soul of the moving picture (1924)

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30 The Soul of the Moving Picture imagination can dispose of by virtue of its own power much better than words can tell, failure raises its austere visage; for imagination, if not left alone, slinks into the corner in disgruntled mood and proclaims from its safe but sinister seat that the entire performance is a fraud, that what seems like splendor is nothing but cheap paint. It is not the mute but the monosyllabic character that the motion picture develops. We are becoming aware of the fact that there is a pronounced tendency in this modern age toward greater brevity; we are turning away from the prolix and diffuse; we are endeavoring more and more to say a great deal in a few words, and to use expressions that carry comprehensive meaning. The man of the motion picture is related by affinity and by his very being to the man of the first quarter of the century. In the hands of a disciplined and experienced film writer the text, as a tool of the trade, disports itself benevolently, and is a handmaiden of the arts. In the hands of an inferior writer, it murders art and slays the canons of art; for the text becomes an end in itself, and its aesthetic lassitude as well as its gradual effacement, or rather extinction, robs in time the legitimate gestures of their specific meaning and their general significance.