whose name is on the tip of every tongue, a household word—ah, I repeat, ladies and gentlemen, the lawst hawf of the week, Carmen, played by—played by"
Stymied again, the speaker dropped his eyes in one frantic glance at the sheet of painstakingly memorized publicity clutched in his left hand, then finished triumphantly:
"Miss Jessie Lasky!"
The story proves nothing, but it seems to me to characterize the industry, its public blurb and its private perpetual uncertainty and distrust of itself. There is plenty to be said of the movies as an institution, an art and an influence on modern life, and plenty are saying it. I confine myself to personal grievances. First, the art does not appeal to me as an actor. The appeal of acting to those who practice it lies in the enkindling of the emotions of an audience and the reward of applause, laughter and tears then and there. This is the actor's daily bread, and the movies offer him a stone. One cheer in the hand, as far as I am concerned, is worth ten thousand in the bush. I would not swap the audible applause of the couple in the last row upstairs for all the fan mail in the post-office. So both the movies and I are satisfied.
[170]
