of men, the dramatist must deal with subjects appealing to collective human nature and he must eschew themes of a more limited attraction."
How aptly that definition may be applied to the work of the photoplaywright! Yet, how often has it been violated in a field where its strict observance must inevitably be demanded.
The photodrama, above all other forms that the world has ever known, is the drama of the masses. The success of a picture play depends not alone upon the verdict of Broadway. Broadway cannot make a photoplay, though it can a stage drama. The final verdict, the artistic verdict, the box-office verdict, comes from the appeal the picture makes in the little neighborhood theatre, in the movie shrine of the slums, in the cinema houses of the village and the crossroads. It is seen by millions. It is seen by millionaires, and by paupers who can ill-afford to spend a precious dime for entertainment, but who go, seeking relaxation, refreshment, and inspiration—that their lives may be made just a bit more livable.
It is a vast audience, indeed, this audience of the photodramatist. And its vastness enlarges the scope of its demand. Only those themes which are common to all human life—those thrills and joys and sorrows and perplexities which fill the days of each and every one of us—will attract and maintain the interest of this great cinematic audience that stretches around the globe.
Therefore, we see the necessity of selecting themes that will appeal to all human kind. We have been reminded that we are writing for an audience, and an audience that has paid its hard earned money for something worth while. We are not writing for our own entertainment, or our friends' delectation. We are writing to entertain and interest millions. If we cannot do that, success will never come to us in the field of photoplay authorship.
The factory hand who comes home, washes the grime of a hard day's labor from his body and goes out with
