The soul of the moving picture (1924)

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118 The Soul of the Moving Picture seething and turgid vapor of such degeneracy, culture is stifled, purity is unable to raise its lovely head, and what might be the hills and high places of art are converted into waste places. This disgusting drama that poisons the people is the everlasting nuisance and eternal bugbear of those who have faith enough in them to feel that the time should come when the motion picture is a proud and pure art. We all know how matters stand: each individual has the dignity of mankind at his disposal, after all. It can never be the duty of the motion picture to use the magic song of love, such as all true poets have sung to their peoples, in order that it may drown out the vulgar street ditty with its lines of illicit passion and its refrain of indecency. The real motion picture poet, however, the one in whose heart there vibrates and pulsates a culture that is natural to him and given him of the gods, will always be able to fill his figures with a noble and royal sensuality that shines out in bright effulgence over and beyond the flat, greedy, paralytic doings of the love that knows not inspiration and to which the staleness of everyday carrying-on is first and second nature. His soul, recruiting in the interests of human kind, will move like a storm across the hills; there will be love in its