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fact that the movies are fundamentally human is proven by their career. They passed through an infancy that was as celebrated and profitable as their own Jackie Coogan's, and as long as Mary Miles Minter's; now they have entered upon the romantic age.

Today, the screen is all littered up with love (in the old fashioned sense of the word.) Stars who, four years ago, were content to appear in immaculate evening dress, sport shirts or natty cowboy togs are now going in for jerkins, suits of armor; doublets, crinolines and other antiquated articles of regalia.

Villains who once were willing to be killed with blank cartridges, are now being punctured with lances, rapiers and dirks. Fencing instructors in Los Angeles and vicinity are growing opulent and fat.

Chins that were once as smooth as an oil stock promoter are now hidden behind Van Dyke beards. The Hollywood barbers are starving.

It is indeed a strange situation, in a world that is sufficiently strange to begin with.

How, you may ask (and probably won't), did it all happen?

romantic age on the screen started on a chill December afternoon in 1920, at the Capital Theatre on the desert isle of Manhattan. The occasion was the first film to be imported from Germany since the invasion of Belgium in 1914. The picture was "Passion"—a costume drama if there ever was one.

When Passion—or Du Barry, as it was originally called—reached the unfriendly shores of these United States, it confronted a situation difficult enough to scare off the most determined invader. As the shortage of bananas had not become acute at that time, the popular song of the moment was, "Yes, We Want No Costume Pictures."

Romantic dramas, said the wise-ones of the movie industry, were as out of date as yesterday's shave. Any producer who dared to suggest that he would like to make a picture with scenes laid in the good old days of 1911—or previous—was told to buy a one way ticket to Samoa and take time to think it over.

The film rights to old novels were in the same dormant condition with the proverbial Ford Service Station in Jerusalem.

", however, surprised everyone (including its sponsors) by making a big hit. It was bought on a basis of German marks, but it was sold to the local public for 100 per cent. American dollars.

Moreover, it made a profound impression on the Hollywood aristocracy. Movie people decided that they would like to direct like Ernst Lubitsch and act like Pola Negri. When that idea had been firmly implanted in their minds, the silent drama started to shake off the cocoon that had stifled it and emerged from its infancy.

The results of this tremendous upheaval have been startling.

Aside from these incidental aspects of the situation that I have mentioned above—the opulent fencing masters, the impoverished barbers, etc.—there have been many revolutionary changes on the screen. What is more, the public has accepted them.

Following Passion and its Teutonic brethren—Deception, Gipsy Blood, All for a (Continued on Page 84)