The soul of the moving picture (1924)

148 The Soul of the Moving Picture another sphere, and into another species of art, is always more or less sacrilegious. If done, it must be done well, and done completely. There is no room here for piecemeal work. The adaptation of a poem to the film calls for a re-creator who is a stranger to mercy; he dare not shrink from tearing up the tenderest flower by the roots and transplanting it to a new and strange garden. Anything that does not fit in with his purpose must be ruthlessly cast aside. Follow this recipe, and a work that is not appreciated by the uncultured, great though it may be, may be metamorphosed into a work that is appreciated, on the screen. Indeed, a new work of real art may arise in this way. In a case of this kind, the original poet may after all have his renown increased despite the fact that the film to which his name is still attached corresponds in no way to what he originally had in mind. Nor should we ever fancy that work of this kind is unnecessary. The Norse adaptation of Bjornson's Synnove Solbakken, one of Bjornson's short stories, written when he was still a young man, seemed, in its finished form, as if Bjornson had had the film camera in mind when he created it. Picture after picture was shown, and that at great length — and great breadth. Of Bjdrnson's unquestioned passionateness, however, which re