Talking pictures : how they are made, how to appreciate them (c. 1937)

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Talking Pictures The first point concerns the sentence with which this chapter and this book started: "Say, I could make a better picture than that!" The second is tied with the second sentence: "Why, it isn't like the book at all !" For these reasons it seems essential to interrupt the easy flow of that scene you have just witnessed, to break it into its component parts. Only in this manner can a motion picture ever be evaluated accurately. During the latter part of the seventeenth century, Antonio Stradavari, an Italian violinist working in Cremona, designed over a score of violins which represent the work of a genius. Some of these rare treasures are in existence today. When a great violinist like Heifetz runs his bow across the strings of a Stradivarius, two major elements are involved. There is first the magical power of a long dead Italian violin maker to breathe extraordinary sound reproducing quality into a few pieces of wood and a few catgut strings. And second, there is the Godgiven, instantaneous reactions within the muscles and subconscious mind of the artist himself. In this case, and in that of a painting by Rembrandt, allotment of praise is relatively simple. But in a motion picture the problem is more diffuse. A photoplay is a mosaic of many different arts and vocations, to be exact, 276. Take but one tile from this mosaic, the perfected work of a single artisan, and we detract from the charm of the whole. In the basement of one immense laboratory in which one hundred fifty million feet of film are processed [4]