The Cinema
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To SAWYER." Tan PLAZA.
" DREYFUS." THE LONDON PAVILION..
LAST week I went to several films which it would be kinder to the reader not to mention by name. Because I spent as boring an evening as London's entertainment world can provide, which is saying a good deal, and I would not wil- lingly inflict even an echo of my yawns on others. But I came at least to one conclusion—that, in spite of anything you may hear or see advertised, it is a lucky fortnight which produces more than one new film worth an averagely intelligent person's notice. I am no highbrow, heaven knows, nor do I care two hoots about technical experiment or anything else when the film remains dull, but look at (or rather, don't) the sort of stuff one has to wade through before coming across anything with more real entertainment value than a pint of chemical bitter.
Take the average American " baby " picture, films which continue to fill half the cinemas in London, including some of the big West End houses. Here is a specimen piece of dialogue from any one of them :
" ' Say, you're just the sweetest kid—' ' Yeah, big boy ? ' Yeah ! I'm just crazy 'bout you! ' Oh, yeah ? "
Yeah, but after all, I've heard that too often before. When will the public be glutted with such drivel ? Then as an antidote we have the heavily facetious lecturer giving away the secrets of nature, or showing us round the world, pon- derously : " The won-der-ful is-land Empire of Ja-pan." They drive me mad, such people, rendering utterly null and void any merits the pictures they talk about may have.
They should go to Mickey Mouse and see how travel and adventure can be set to jazz music, which is infinitely more amusing. And, thirdly, there is the continental film, so frightfully marvellous because it is not British, but in truth almost likely to be dull and pretentious as anything out of Elstree. The only two fairly general rules which seem to apply are, firstly, that the better the film the less you will see it advertised and written about, and secondly, that all the best pictures at present are those made from books or taken direct from history.
This does not say much for scenario writers, but it is surely undeniable. I, anyhow, should not insult anyone by recom- mending them to go to any of the pictures I have seen lately
except the two that come under those heads respectively, Tom Sawyer, from the book, and Dreyfus, from the famous Dreyfus case. Incidentally, I heard from what I- thought a reliable source, that Tom Sawyer was just the usual feeble comedy, but I did not find it so. To my mind it is full of really good fun, taking faithfully enough after the book, and with Jackie Coogan (as Tom) coming on considerably as an actor. Aunt Polly, too, is delicious. But too much
of the picture has been made in the studio, and the rare opportunity for scenic beauty from views of the Mississippi is completely neglected. Mark Twain's comedy is here, but none of his fine nature description.
As for Dreyfus, this is a good British picture which should be seen by anyone at all interested in the cinema. It is
sincere, and, so far as it goes, a dramatically exciting piece of work. Cedric Hardwicke's performance as Dreyfus is alone worth seeing, for here is acting altogether above the heads of American stars without exception. I have no space here even to outline the Dreyfus case, that appalling miscarriage of French justice (at best a flimsy and hysterical business) with all its tedious detail and implicit barbarism. I can only say that while the film itself is not tedious, the barbarism is
well brought out in vivid and realistic scenes. The excep- tions are those in Dreyfus' home, which are rather em- barrassingly bad, and some of the closing scenes. The fault here, of course, may be history's (though not entirely), but the story tails off so feebly towards the end that we have to consult the programme to find out what happened, and even then there are loose threads. But I should certainly like to see more films of this kind—and particularly more Cedric
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