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Updated: July 23, 2025
The above was done several times a day in the New York studio of the Comet Film Company, which was engaged in making moving pictures. The play went on through the various acts. Only part of it was being "filmed" now the interior scenes. Later, others would be taken outdoors. "Time out hold your positions!" suddenly exclaimed the operator. "Film's broken. I've got to mend it."
"Oh, this film's finished," she said impatiently, examining her camera. "I'll have to stop and reload. Oh, Gladys, do you mind if I open the trunk here on the road? My extra films are all in there." "Go ahead and open it," said Gladys good-naturedly, handing her the key.
You can make the rounds of the studio and get a vote on whether I've done it or not. Put it up to your Public; they'll mighty soon let you know whether the film's a money-getter. If it is, your business as general manager and president of the Acme Film Company is to get Bently Brown in line for the production to go on.
Now, the film as a means of transcribing actual life is admittedly of absorbing interest and great educational value; but, owing to this false start, we cannot get it swallowed in more than extremely small doses as a food and stimulant, while it is being gulped down to the dregs as a drug or irritant. Of the film's claim to the word art I am frankly sceptical.
And the war dance with radium flares in the camp fires to give the light-effect? That film's in big demand yet, they tell me. I'll never be able to put over stuff like that with made-up actors, Martinson. You know I can't." "I don't know; you're only just beginning to hit your gait, Luck," the manager soothed.
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