the screen our eyes would wander away to the dogs and the man, but they would wander back again to that strange shape, because it is a law of visual attention that the strangest and most unfamiliar shape attracts most strongly. We would be curious about that shape, and by the time we had decided that it was an Alaskan sled, the picture would fade out and we would have missed the message, namely the affectionate companionship of the man and his dogs.
If the sled had been more completely shown, or viewed from a different angle, or placed in a more natural position immediately behind a team of dogs, it would not have seemed strange and distracting. This composition could be greatly improved by simply eliminating the left third of it. If you cover up the sled and the two dogs nearest it with a sheet of paper you will see that what remains is a fairly pleasing arrangement, with considerably more emphasis on the man and the theme of his affection for the dogs, with a better pattern and more rhythmical lines.
If the director had simplified his composition as we have suggested he might have eliminated the wrong emphasis and secured the right emphasis in one stroke. The dark figure of the man framed roughly in white and gray would have attracted attention by its tonal isolation. Emphasis by isolation involves simplicity and economy, and for that very reason, perhaps, this device is so often neglected by less experienced directors. They breathe the poisonous air of extravagance and thrash their arms in the heretical belief that multiplicity is power. Compare, for instance, the "still" of "Polly of the Circus," facing page 79, with "The Banquet of the Officers of St.
