a widely accepted gospel. Too often we find that the dazzling flood of rays from a strong searchlight blazes over several square yards of the silver screen, while at the same moment, on adjoining parts of the same screen hang the deep shades of night. The contrasts are sharp as lightning, not only in the scenes, but also in the sub-titles which are cut in between. Our eyes gaze and twitch and hurt, until it is a real relief to step out and rest them upon something comparatively moderate, like the electric signs on Broadway.
If there were some mechanical difficulty which made this clashing effect of the motion pictures necessary, we could never hope for beauty on the screen; for no art can achieve beauty by producing pain. But we know from the work of such directors as James Cruze, D. W. Griffith, Allan Dwan, Rex Ingram, and John Robertson, that the moving picture camera is capable of recording light gray and dark gray, as well as steel white and ebony. They have shown us that it is possible to produce sub-titles with light gray lettering against a dark gray ground, and that such a combination of tones is pleasing to the eye. They have shown us that it is possible to screen a lady of the fairest face and dressed in the snowiest gown so as to bring out the softest tones of light and shade, yet show nothing as dazzling as snow and nothing as black as ebony.
Some of the "stills" in this book give a hint of the sharp contrasts in the inferior films, but it is only a hint, because the white portions in those illustrations can be no whiter than the paper of the page, which is dull in comparison with the blaze on the screen. The
