THE CINEMATOGRAPH THEATRE AND ITS EQUIPMENT
When moving pictures made their first claim on popular interest,
they did so in the form of an item to the programme of the ordinary
music-hall or vaudeville theatre. In the front rank of this movement
was T. J. West; in fact, he might be considered the pioneer of the
travelling cinematograph show. He had seen the popularity of the
cinematograph feature on the programme of Professor Treuwé, the
French prestidigitateur, during his appearance at the Regent Street
Polytechnic. The conjurer used a Lumière apparatus and operated
it himself. When his engagement was concluded, West decided that
the Polytechnic ought not to lose one of its greatest attractions;
accordingly he offered a complete entertainment in motion photography.
From this small beginning has grown up one of the largest individual
cinematographic exhibition businesses in the world. West realised the
possibilities of the craft, and with commendable enterprise organised
a touring show, with which he travelled not only through the towns and
cities of the British Isles, but even in the remote colonies. To-day
he has no less than twenty permanent establishments devoted to the
projection of moving pictures scattered throughout the British Empire,
providing employment for over 600 people.
The touring cinematograph proved conclusively the popularity of
entertainments devoted exclusively to animated pictures. Permanent
exhibitions were then tried, at first in a somewhat unpretentious
way. Empty shops in prominent thoroughfares, which could be rented
at a low price, railway arches, and so forth were acquired, and
converted at small expense into dark halls. A screen and apparatus
were purchased; the seating accommodation comprised hard wooden seats
similar to school forms. The show was continuous: it commenced about
mid-day and continued without intermission for ten or twelve hours,
sufficient pictures being secured to provide amusement for about one
hour, and repeated throughout the day. The prices of admission were
very low, averaging about one penny, or two cents; and as the expenses
were trifling, it did not require very extensive patronage to ensure a
substantial weekly profit upon the investment.
In the United States the same practice was adopted. The first steps
there were taken just as warily as in Great Britain; empty buildings
were hired at a low price and turned into temporary “store” theatres,
as they were called. If the enterprise proved unsuccessful, the
energetic showman simply closed down, vacated the building, and tried
his fortune in a more promising situation. This practice is still
followed extensively throughout North America and Canada, and the
initiative of the showman knows no limits. He seeks to instal himself
in a small community where there is no competition. The experiment
invariably proves successful from the financial point of view, because
in the outlying townships the cinematograph hall constitutes the sole
centre of amusement for miles around. If there is no available empty
building, the showman constructs a cheap wooden theatre. Often the
frontier moving picture palace is only a shack built of logs, capable
of seating 100 people or so, the price of admission ranging between
five and ten cents--2½_d._ to 5_d._ The cinematographic entertainment
in North America is known colloquially as a “nickel” or “dime” show,
from the prices charged for admission. In Great Britain it became known
in the early days as a “penny gaff,” which contemptuous colloquialism
still remains in use, though the price has gone up.
I have seen some very amusing and interesting manifestations of the
showman’s energy in remote districts of America. When I visited
Cochrane, a town which has sprung up in the wilderness of Ontario
within 175 miles of the shores of Hudson Bay, the picture showman
had planted himself firmly in its midst. There was only one masonry
building in the place, the majority of the 300 inhabitants living in
wooden shacks or tents, because the town was in the formative stage.
The showman had come up with the first settlers, cannily foreseeing
that a little colony 150 miles from the nearest town would need some
form of diversion to while away the long evenings. He acquired a site
upon one of the main streets, and ran up a cheap wooden building with
an attractive arched front, gaily bedecked with small red, white, and
blue lamps. There was not a unit of electricity or a cubic foot of gas
generated in the place, but the indefatigable showman overcame these
difficulties by recourse to substitutes. The theatre was thronged
the whole evening, a result due in a great measure to the fact
that Cochrane was situate in the Prohibition Area, and the theatre
consequently had not to compete with the lures of the liquor saloon.
The ranks of the inhabitants were swelled every day by gangs of workmen
passing to and from the great railway construction camps, and the
theatre was a distinct success and source of profit to the enterprising
operator.
I encountered another quaint outburst of initiative at a far more
inaccessible spot--the town of Hazelton around the Hudson Bay post
at the head of navigation on the Skeena River, in British Columbia.
Prince Rupert, 186 miles away, was the nearest town, and that port is
550 miles from Vancouver. A cinematograph showman arrived in Hazelton,
which at that time boasted a handful of white men, and several
Indians. The operator took over an excavation in the side of the hill
overlooking the town, which had been made for storing various goods,
but which at that time was empty. In this cramped, unventilated cellar
he rigged his screen and lantern. On the wooden door he nailed a large
sheet of paper, on which was scrawled the name of the “Theatre” and the
programme of films “now being shown.”
The preparations demanded only a few hours. Boxes, barrels, and logs
sufficed for seats, while a good many patrons sat or sprawled upon
the earthen floor. The little vault was packed to suffocation on the
opening night. The Indians were amazed and the whites were amused,
though the films would not have been tolerated in London or New York,
having long since passed their span of usefulness. The show was kept
going day after day until the audience became too small to defray the
cost of the illuminant, when the “theatre” was closed, and the showman
haunted the verandah of the hotel until he received some new subjects.
His supply of films was both uncertain and irregular. He had to order
them by post from Vancouver, whence they were brought up by boat. If
the fates were kind he received an entire change of programme in about
a fortnight; if the river were difficult to navigate, a month passed
before they reached him, and often the boat came up without his goods,
owing to lack of space. Probably no showman ever offered to amuse the
public under more difficult conditions. It was doubtful if he would
secure any films at all during the winter, as, the river being frozen,
communication between Hazelton and Prince Rupert had to be maintained
by dog trains, which carried letter-mail only.
In comparison with the luxurious conditions under which the triumphs
of the art may be seen in London, New York, or Paris, the “Hazelton
Picture Palace” was a half-pathetic, half-laughable spectacle--a
strange link between civilisation and the aboriginal. I saw it after
being immured for several weeks in the primeval bush; and though the
pictures in the cellar danced and flickered on the screen, they seemed
to me like a welcome handshake with the great world.
About four years ago the cinematograph theatre underwent a fresh
change. The success of the “halls” extemporised from empty shops and
railway arches induced a movement in favour of a theatre especially
designed for the projection of moving pictures. Companies sprang up
on all sides. At first empty buildings of all descriptions, disused
slaughter houses, empty factories, roller-skating rinks, chapels
without congregations, were taken over. Landlords who had despaired
of ever receiving an income again from their vacant property reaped
a golden harvest. In the first enthusiasm little discrimination was
displayed in the acquisition of premises. The interiors, having been
cleared down to the bare walls and ceiling, were redecorated, and
provided with comfortable theatre seats.
The converted building was not entirely successful. Moreover, the
cinematograph theatre needed established houses in order to compete
with the vaudeville and legitimate theatres. Managers became more
and more ambitious; and to-day rivalry is being displayed between
competitive interests to eclipse one another in the elaborate
construction and palatial appointment of the building.
Great improvement was made in the mechanical installations. Hitherto
they had been more or less haphazard; but expert electrical knowledge
naturally soon entered the field, and the electrical engineer has found
a new opportunity for the display of his ability. Every large company
retains a highly competent electrical engineer and an efficient corps
of assistants, and the success of the twentieth century picture palace
is dependent to a very great extent upon electricity.
Improvement in this particular field is probably responsible for the
fact that, taken on the whole, the British picture theatre is the best
in the world from every point of view, as an inspection of the theatres
on the Continent and in North America will readily show.
The picture houses under the control of the Provincial Cinematograph
Theatres, Limited, offer a good illustration of my point. This company
has studied the tastes of the British public and has set the pace in
elaborate and comfortable buildings. The day of the moving picture
theatre comprising only the box office and the dark hall screened
off from the street by heavy curtains is past; and the comforts and
conveniences of the vaudeville house and the legitimate theatre have
been incorporated.
[Illustration:
[_By permission of the Provincial Cinematograph Theatres, Ltd._
THE LUXURY OF THE MODERN PICTURE PALACE.
General interior view of the Picture House, Briggate, Leeds.]
Our illustration shows the Picture House at Briggate, Leeds, one of
the chain of theatres belonging to the Provincial Theatre Company. The
building is of fire-proof construction, as every moving picture theatre
should be; the decorative details have been carried out upon a lavish
scale, and the seating arrangements have every device of luxurious
comfort.
[Illustration:
[_By permission of the Provincial Cinematograph Theatres, Ltd._
THE LANTERN ROOM OF A MODERN CINEMATOGRAPH THEATRE.
The operating room of the Picture House, Briggate, Leeds, showing two
film projectors and slide lantern.]
The projecting hall has accommodation for about 600 people, and there
is a lounge, a tea-room, and a smoking-room. Such a liberal policy
brings the picture theatre on a level with the vaudeville house or
legitimate theatre.
British law demands that the operating room shall be insulated by means
of steel walls. In the early days a cupboard-like box built of iron
met this requirement; but nowadays larger accommodation is necessary,
because the compartment has to house far more than the mere projector.
When a continuous show is given, and the programme lasts about an
hour, the public insists upon full value for its money; consequently
the interval between each film must be reduced to the minimum. Under
ordinary circumstances 1½ minutes suffice, not only to enable the film
to be changed easily, but to give sufficient time for the audience to
change.
The projecting apparatus should be in duplicate, not only to provide a
reserve apparatus in case of accident, but to permit alternate use, so
that the lantern does not become overheated. Moreover, the advent of
Kinemacolor has made the 2-lantern plan essential. In colour work the
projector requires a special type of shutter with alternate sectors of
red and green glass, or screens, with intervening opaque sectors; and
thus, obviously, when black and white alternate with colour pictures
in the programme, a second projector is essential, to obviate the
necessity for repeated detachment and re-attachment of the Kinemacolor
shutter. A third lantern is required for stationary projections, such
as announcements, titles, and so forth. Under these conditions a
commodious lantern room is indispensable.
The front of the operating house is provided with small sliding
shutters through which the pictures are projected. If a film should
catch fire these doors, by a single movement, close either from within
or without the lantern room, the fire is confined to the lantern house,
and the public within the theatre need receive no intimation of the
mishap. As the lantern house is provided with an ample ventilating
system, no smoke or gases find their way into the main building.
In the modern theatre, however, the lantern room has to fulfil other
requirements beside merely housing the projectors. From it control of
the various electrical arrangements is effected. The picture palace of
to-day, instead of being entirely dark during projection, is suffused
with the subdued glow of ruby lamps, which do not affect projection,
or the brilliancy of the picture to any material degree. Under the
old _régime_ darkness prevailed from one end of the programme to the
other, save, perhaps, during a short interval; but now the lights
are turned up throughout the hall while the films are being changed.
The conversion from darkness to brilliant light, and _vice versâ_,
which is so detrimental to the eyesight, is not, however, carried out
instantaneously, but gradually. When the end of the film is reached the
hall is filled--for about five seconds--with a soft diffused light,
followed by full illumination; darkness comes on in the same gradual
manner when the next film is ready.
In the modern picture palace, such as we illustrate, the electrical
equipment is of the most elaborate character. The supply of current is
derived, as a rule, from the public supply service, and the pressure
has to be broken down to meet the requirements of the projector and of
the electric lighting arrangements throughout the building. The supply
service is generally in duplicate to guard against the failure of one
installation, while should the whole service break down some other form
of illumination has to be in readiness for use until the fault in the
electric system is repaired.
The electrical installation is essentially of technical interest,
appealing mostly to the engineer. In many instances the projector
mechanism is driven by electric power, a small motor being fitted for
this purpose. For natural colour work, indeed, owing to the number of
pictures projected per second, a motor drive is imperative to secure
satisfactory results.
After a film has been passed through the lantern it must be re-wound
upon another reel to bring the first picture into the starting position
once more. This operation is carried out with a film-winder. A large
number of these devices are on the market, all working upon the same
fundamental principle, but the “Empire” winders have achieved a high
reputation, being excellent machines for the work and capable of
withstanding hard wear. The operation is so simple that there is no
necessity to describe the apparatus, as the illustration, Fig. 12,
conveys its design and method of working.
[Illustration: FIG. 12.--THE “EMPIRE” FILM-WINDER
After a picture has been run through the projector it has to be
re-wound upon its spool for the next display.]
Occasionally when a film is being run through the projector it becomes
severed by some means or other. Before it can be used again the break
must be repaired by splicing the two parts together. This is a simple
task. The broken edge of one film is cut off about one-eighth of an
inch below the line dividing one picture from the next. The gelatine
emulsion upon this small section is removed with a knife. The other
part of the film is trimmed exactly at the dividing line between two
pictures, and the two facing surfaces of the film are treated with
film cement, applied by means of a brush, the overlapping edges then
being pressed tightly together and allowed to dry for about three
minutes. This cement is a combination of amyl-acetate and acetone
in the proportion of two to one for ordinary celluloid films. When
a non-inflammable film is used the constitution of the cement is
varied. To facilitate such splicing a small clamping device is used
generally, and, although it is not essential to effect a good joint,
its use certainly enables the task to be performed more neatly and
satisfactorily. Fig. 13.
[Illustration:
FIG. 13.--THE “EMPIRE” FILM MENDER. THE ILLUSTRATION SHOWS HOW A
BROKEN FILM IS REJOINED.
]
Though the excellence of a moving picture display depends primarily
upon the projector and the film, its brilliancy and clear definition
can be made or marred by the screen. When the pictures are being
thrown from the front of the house and the audience see a reflected
projection, the screen must be opaque and prepared from a suitably
woven cloth. It is stretched taut, and the surface is treated with a
good whitewash or matt white paint. Recently, various preparations have
been placed on the market to enhance the brilliancy of the picture.
They may achieve the result; but often at the price of introducing
other flaws, such as alteration of the tone values and occasionally the
impoverishment of the pure whites in the picture.
If the audience is viewing the picture through the screen--that
is, if the projector is placed at the back of the stage and out of
sight--the sheet must be made of transparent material. This practice,
however, has fallen into disuse. The screen must be set perpendicular
to the horizontal axis of the projector objective and condenser, and
if the machine is inclined slightly the sheet must be tilted in a
corresponding degree, or it will be impossible to secure a picture
which is clear and sharp all over, for the simple reason that some of
the rays of light from the projector will be shorter than others. If
the former are focussed sharp and clear the latter will be blurred,
and _vice versâ_. In hanging the screen a certain amount of care must
be taken to secure the best possible results. The edges are covered
with a black material--velvet is the best medium--carried for a small
distance on all sides of the sheet, giving the appearance of a white
surface being set in a deep black frame. Such an arrangement improves
the pictures by throwing them into stronger relief.
Within the past two or three years the idea has come into vogue of
accompanying movements in the pictures with characteristic sound
effects. When a horse gallops, the sound of its feet striking the road
are heard; the departure of a train is accompanied by a whistle and
a puff as the engine gets under weigh; the breaking of waves upon a
pebbly beach is reproduced by a roaring sound. Opinion appears to be
divided as to the value of the practice. Some more cultivated motion
photography lovers are opposed to it, on the ground that unless every
motion is given its distinctive sound, none at all should be audible;
others contend that sound imparts an additional realism to the scene.
There is no doubt that at times the sound effects come as an unpleasant
and disturbing shock, especially when they are neither in time nor
harmony with the motion--for example, when the realism of a mediæval
battle is heightened by the vigorous rattling of a machine gun, or when
horses galloping over the turf make a clatter that only a city pavement
could cause.
But, on the other hand, since sound effects are indispensable to the
legitimate stage, why should they not be extended to the moving picture
theatre? What would Macbeth be without the crashing of thunder, and how
could the impression of rattling hail, or the howling and shrieking of
the wind, be conveyed without recourse to various devices in the wings?
Even if the play be in pantomime, all sound is not suppressed. The
players may be mute, but yet one hears the slam of a door, or the crash
of an overturned chair as it strikes the floor, and so on. Accordingly
it would seem that sound effects are perfectly justifiable in moving
pictures, provided they are judiciously managed.
The first attempts to introduce sound effects provoked humorous
situations. The boy deputed to the task enjoyed the chance to make
a noise, and applied himself with a vigour of enthusiasm which
overstepped the bounds of common sense. Nowadays such effects are
employed with all the care and discrimination expended on the pictures
themselves, and the result is harmonious and pleasing.
Of course, it has been necessary to devise all sorts of contrivances
for realistic sound production, from the firing of a 12-inch gun to
the squeak of a mouse. The most interesting of these is the “Allefex,”
invented by Mr. A. H. Moorhouse. It is the most comprehensive and
ingenious machine ever made for the mimicry of sound, for although it
measures only four feet in height, by about three feet in width and
depth, it produces some fifty characteristic sounds, including the
howl of a storm, the rushing of waterfalls, the bark of a dog, and
the twittering of birds. Every artifice for producing these noises is
contained within a small cubical space, and the operation has been so
simplified that one man is sufficient for the task.
[Illustration:
[_Copyright the Hepworth Manufacturing Co., Ltd._
THE TRIAL SCENE FROM “RACHEL’S SIN.”
A striking example of a British picture play. From every point of
view this film is equal to the finest foreign work. The English home
producers excel in domestic drama of this character.]
A general impression of this machine may be gathered from the
illustration. It appears to be a maze of levers, cranks, plug-holes,
and bulbs, but each attachment performs some definite purpose and
produces one or more distinct sounds. Another striking feature is that
its operation demands the minimum of practice, for the majority of the
effects are produced by straightforward action. It is only here and
there that a little practice is required, such as, for instance, to
imitate the bark of a dog, or the cry of a baby.
[Illustration: HOW THE SOUND EFFECT ACCOMPANIMENTS TO PICTURES ARE
PRODUCED.
The ingenious “Allefex” machine, whereby over fifty distinctive noises
can be made.]
It would be impossible to describe in one chapter all the various
effects produced by means of this apparatus. I will confine myself,
therefore, to some of the more difficult sounds, many of them
apparently beyond the reach of mechanical mimicry. The shot of a gun
is imitated by striking a drum at the top of the machine, on which a
chain mat has been placed, a smart blow with a felt drum-stick as near
the centre as possible. The same device serves to represent successive
shots. The interior of the drum is fitted with three drum-sticks,
which are manipulated by the turning of a handle, the number of shots
varying, with the speed, according to the picture. At the bottom of
the machine is a large bellows worked by the foot. Their manipulation
in conjunction with one or other of the handles will produce the sound
of exhaust steam issuing from a locomotive, the rumbling of a train
rushing through a tunnel, and so on. Running water, rain, hail, and
the sound of rolling waves are obtained by turning a handle, which
rotates a ribbed wooden cylinder against a board set at an angle from
the top of which hang a number of chains. By varying the speed of the
cylinder any of the above sounds may be obtained with accuracy. The
puffing of an engine is made by revolving a cylinder with projections
against a steel brush; the crash of china, pots and pans, &c., is due
to the revolution of a shaft on which are mounted a series of tappets
striking against hammers, which in turn come into contact with a
number of steel plates. The crackling of a machine gun is caused by
turning a shaft having tappets which strike and lift up wooden laths,
subsequently releasing them to strike smartly against the framework
of the machine. The same device also serves for imitating the crash
attending the upsetting of chairs, tables, and so on. Pendant tubes
serve to produce the effects of church bells, fire alarm, ship’s bell,
and similar noises; the sound of trotting horses is caused by revolving
a shaft carrying three tappets which lift up inverted cups. This shaft
is slightly movable, so that by adjustment a trot can be converted
into a gallop and _vice versâ_, while distance effects are obtained
by a muffling attachment. Thunder is made by shaking a sheet of steel
hanging on one side of the machine; the press of a bulb gives the bark
of a dog; the bellows and another attachment operate the warbling bird;
while the cry of the baby is emitted by the dexterous manipulation of
plug-hole and bellows.
A machine like this is a distinct acquisition to the modern picture
theatre, for when skilfully controlled it provides a scientific and
perfect mechanical apparatus for the production of distinctive sound,
correctly, and at the proper moment. At the same time, it is so simple
that little practice is demanded to make the operator expert in the art
of mechanical mimicry.
During the past two years special attention has been devoted to what
is called “daylight projection,” _i.e._, the display of pictures in
broad daylight. A method evolved by Quentin for accomplishing this
end was adopted at the Cinéma Palace in Paris nearly three years ago.
Here the practice was to show the pictures upon the screen with half
the lamps in the theatre lighted, the projector being 66 feet from the
screen, the size of the picture being 10 by 8 feet, and the arc lamp
taking normally a current of 30 amperes from the supply mains of a
110-volt circuit. Another system to the same end was evolved by Antoine
and Prosper Poch, the image being projected upon a translucent screen
placed between the spectators and the projector. With this apparatus
the pictures could be thrown upon a screen measuring about 24 by 30
inches, so as to be clearly visible in the middle of the day by people
passing along the street.
For this work the screen demands special treatment. If it is to be
used only temporarily, the tracing cloth used by architects is a very
satisfactory material. One inventor produced what he called a “rainbow
screen,” prepared by soaking a suitable white material with fish glue
and attaching thereto a thin layer of tinted fabric. Moving pictures
“without darkness” have been exploited in the United States upon a
small scale, and on one or two occasions in this country. The object
of the plan, however, is not quite clear, for moving pictures can
obviously be seen at their best only in total darkness or a very slight
suffused red glow. It is claimed by the advocates of the daylight
pictures that the eyes are fatigued less under such conditions. The
advantage, however, has not been recognised by the public, for daylight
projection is no more popular to-day than it was in 1897, when the
appearance of a method for accomplishing it appeared and sank into
oblivion after causing a passing interest.
A prominent feature of the development of the cinematograph theatre
is the formation of “moving picture circuits,” or chains of theatres
controlled by one organisation. This practice was taken over, of
course, from the music hall and the legitimate stage; and its
application to the new field has been largely responsible for the
improved status of the cinematographic industry. Keen and growing
rivalry is displayed between the various circuits. Thus has developed
a spirit of healthy competition, resulting in the improvement of the
picture theatre as a building, and in the production of superior
programmes. When two or more rivals in a single town are making a
common bid for popular favour, the public naturally patronises the
establishment which offers the most refined pictures combined with
comfort in the seating arrangements. The inferior film is being driven
from the better class of cinematograph theatre, where a programme is
offered which is varied in character, and of the highest excellence
from the photographic, dramatic, and educational point of view, as well
as from that of sheer amusement.
In the United States the growth of the cinematograph theatre has
been phenomenal. The success of the first displays with the Lumière
machine at the Eden Musée prompted the proprietors of other places of
entertainment to introduce the biograph in their programmes. The news
of its success at the Alhambra in the English metropolis doubtless
likewise influenced the development on the other side of the Atlantic.
The first display in a New York music hall was at the Union Square
Theatre in the Keith vaudeville circuit. It did not meet with an
immediately enthusiastic reception; but in a few days it caught the
public fancy, and thereafter the house was always well filled. The
value of the moving picture machine to this house is reflected by the
average weekly receipts. At the time of its introduction the average
receipts were £600 ($3,000) per week; a month later they had risen to
£1,400 ($7,000)--the cinematograph more than doubled the revenue of the
theatre.
Within a year there was not a music hall of repute in the country which
did not possess its bioscope. Then came the first movement towards the
creation of a moving picture palace, in the same way that it occurred
in England. Empty shops were taken on all sides, and within a few years
there were no less than 600 of these “store” theatres, or “nickel”
and “dime” shows, in New York alone, while about 30,000 similar
establishments dotted the country between the Atlantic and the Pacific
Oceans, and from the Gulf of Mexico to the Great Lakes.
Men who started with no more capital than was barely sufficient to
purchase the outfit and rent the empty shop, found that they had
discovered an El Dorado. The more energetic started theatre after
theatre, and in a short time possessed “circuits” of twenty or more
moving picture shows. One of these pioneers, Marcus Loew, starting
unpretentiously in a suburban district, found himself in five years
possessed of forty theatres, from which the money rolled into his
banking account in forty steady streams. It must be borne in mind that
this fortune was accumulated from the public in five and ten cent
pieces.
At the present time the moving picture theatre in the United States
is in a state of transition. The palatial character of the British
cinematograph theatre has spurred ambitious spirits in the United
States to like achievements. Loew has built two palaces, spending some
$1,000,000 (£200,000) upon the buildings and appointments.
Moving pictures are rivalling all other forms of entertainment in
the United States. As suitable buildings fall vacant exorbitant
bids are made by rival factions to secure their acquisition, and
the rents paid are very high. William Fox, a man very similar in
character to Loew, who entered the field a year later than he, startled
the cinematographic world by acquiring the lease of a legitimate
theatre in the fashionable theatrical centre at a yearly rental of
£10,000 ($50,000), and converting it to cinematography. Scarcely had
the excitement died down when it was announced that he had rented
the Academy of Music at £20,000 ($100,000) per annum. The price
he is paying in rental to bring moving pictures before the public
continuously throughout the day represents one-third of the original
cost of erecting the building, so that the proprietors may be said to
have profited handsomely in the transaction. Gambling in sites for
the establishment of picture palaces in the United States has reached
a far greater climax than was ever attained in Great Britain in the
height of the enthusiasm. Here the bubble has been pricked, and the
same outcome is anticipated in the United States. Probably the most
luxurious picture palaces in the world are in South America; there
they are palaces in the fullest sense of the word. That territory has
scarcely been touched yet, and is one of the most attractive fields for
development. It is in the “land of to-morrow” that animated pictures
promise to attain their greatest heights of success.