The talkies (1930)

120 THE TALKIES been selected for its incidental music are being checked over. At a sign from the operator in charge, someone goes over to a switch on the wall and the lights below fade from one colour to another, until, on the word "open," we catch a glimpse of the redplush curtains sweeping apart, as the operator beside us starts his electric orchestra with the flick of a switch, and the projector shears the darkness below with its dancing ray of drama-laden light. These men are the show now. The organ has gone, the orchestra has gone; only the ladies of the lamp and the girl in the pay-booth are left, with her automatic ticket machine, which spits out what you want almost before the words have fallen from your mouth, and pours a jingling cascade of change into your hand as soon as it glimpses the colour of your money. In manipulating the film the very greatest care has now to be taken to prevent damage to the sound-track, whose microscopic message is magnified nearly a hundred million times before it reaches the loudspeakers. A faint scratch, quite invisible to the eye, may emerge from the loudspeakers as a harsh background of noise which will disgust the most tolerant of audiences. Operators can no longer whirl their film rewind