We will have the photoplaywright who is a reporter, who reflects upon the screen, bits of life snatched from the daily maelstrom of human struggle. We will have the psychologist who, like Ibsen, deals in motives, their causes, their results—a surgeon who plumbs the recesses of the human brain, and presents his findings upon the silver sheet.
There will be the philosopher of the screen, the humorist, the satirist, the preacher. And there will also be those who will simply tell stories, men and women who are born story tellers, who invent clever tales for the sheer joy of telling them, and who could not stop their flow of screen fiction if they wished.
Each of these types of mind will have his own partic ular themes, his own particular brand of photoplay. The public will come to recognize them, to understand their styles and to appreciate them or dislike them. For tastes vary widely. Otherwise this world of ours would be exceedingly dull and drab. And instead of going to "the movies" as many now do, our cinematically educated public will choose with some discrimination the types of stories and the authors whose works they enjoy.
And it need not be presumed for a moment that these experts in screen creativeness and cinema technology will all be gray-headed. Nothing of the sort!
On the contrary, past experience has proved that the dramatist may win fame and fortune both from the stage and screen in the very hey-day of youth. It has been done, time and time again. For the demands of drama are the demands for originality, for inventive cleverness—and these are possessed in abundance by youth.
The best work of the novelist, on the average, comes in middle age. The literary flavor that makes a great fiction writer comes from the seasoning of experience, from youthful energy refined in the crucible of life's constant struggle; from hard, grinding work toward the goal of perfection.
