at the acting in the photoplay is likely to be misled and to mislead us. He may not observe, for example, that a film which has bad joining of scenes, or a bad combination of figure and setting, is a bad cinema composition, however superb the acting may be. And the critic who writes, "The photography is excellent,"—a rubber-stamp criticism—is of no help to art-lovers, because the photography as such may indeed be excellent while the composition of the scenes photographed is atrocious. Cinema criticism, to be of any real value to the "movie fan," must be complete. And that means that he must be enlightened concerning the nature of pictorial design and pictorial progression, as well as concerning the plot, the acting, and the mechanics of photography.
All of us are beginners in this pioneer work of analyzing the motion picture as a design-and-motion art. But the prize is well worth the adventure. Certainly the danger of making mistakes need not alarm us unduly, for even a mistake may be interesting and helpful. At the start we need to sharpen our insight by learning as much about the grammar of pictorial art as we know about the grammar of language, by respecting the logic of line and tone as highly as the logic of fictitious events, by paying tribute to originality in the pattern of pictorial motions no less than to the novelty in fresh dramatic situations. Beyond that the prospect is alluring. Our new understanding will give us greater enjoyment of the pictorial beauty which even now comes to the screen, and the rumor of that enjoyment, sounding through the studios, will assure of us of still greater beauty in the future.
