- man dog-trots. It is true that some of this breathlessness
carries with it a certain thrill for the spectator, but that thrill is by no means to be classed as an æsthetic emotion. It has nothing of that abiding joy which comes from the consciousness of restrained energy in art.
Much of this feverish activity, this "jazz" of the screen, is due to rapidity of projection; and yet the director is responsible, for he certainly knows the probable rate of projection and can control his composition accordingly by retarding actions or by selecting slower actions in place of those which cannot be retarded. Slowness of movement, where it is not unnatural, is pleasant to the eye, as we have said in preceding chapters, but it has a peculiar appeal for the emotions, too. It fills us with a sense of the majesty that none can shake, of the deep currents that none can turn aside.
How to produce a picture that shall impress an audience with its inexhaustible reserve is a secret that remains with him who has the power. So, too, with the other pictorial qualities discussed in this chapter. We know of no formulas by which the mysterious art-emotions can be aroused. Yet if directors and spectators alike ponder over these mysteries, it will surely help them to separate the gold from the dross.
Let us vision an ideal photoplay. It is entrancing, yet restful, to the eye. Its composition is both vigorous and graceful, as harmonious as music. Our sympathies are stirred warmly by the experiences of the persons in the story. We are held in keen suspense as to the dramatic outcome. And we get also the more subtle art-emotions. Our souls are shot through
