The advice that Horace gave to the son of a friend, when the boy showed an inclination to follow literary pursuits, may well be heeded. It was written centuries ago, but it fits the photoplaywright's problem today. Here is what Horace wrote:
Are either shown upon the stage, or told,
Most true, whate'er's transmitted thru the ear,
To mind and heart will never come so near,
As what is set before your eyes, and each
Spectator sees, brought full within his reach.
Yet do not drag upon the stage what might
Be much more fitly acted out of sight;
Much, too, there is which 'twill be always well
To leave the actor's well-graced speech to tell.
Let not Medea kill her boys in view,—
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If things like these before my eyes be thrust,
I turn away in sceptical disgust.
Motion pictures are far remote from the day and the wisdom of Horace; yet his voice comes resounding down through the ages with a bit of homely advice for those who would compel the attention of the millions through the silver sheet.
In its naturalness, in its faithful reproduction of life as we see it every day, lies the greatest strength of the photoplay. Through the all embracing eye of the camera we may reproduce life with a faithfulness of detail that will never be possible either in the printed word or upon the stage. Yet, that very realism—the tremendously interesting scope of its possibilities—may lead us into the trap that Horace so wisely warns us to avoid.
Keep away from the sordid, or at least the sordid outlook upon life. If your story requires its picturization of some of the unpleasant incidents of life, as drama often does, do not go to offensive excesses in realism. Leave something to the imagination. And leave the elevating
