ABSTRACT
Before the war, novelist, poets, and playwrights could not avoid noticing the impetuous and incessant agitation of the curious, even anxious crowds created by the cinema. Some of these writers became fiercely indignant, showing deep contempt for such inferior spectacles; others, more numerous, shrugged their shoulders, whispering, que faire?—unfortunately, the usual outcome of common delusions in art; finally, others, more eclectic, gradually come to exercise their talent in this popular, or, to put it more pointedly, this universal form of expression. Then came the war: novels and poems fell into neglect, and those who wrote them became discouraged and confused. To compose old dramatic works for an audience so capricious was useless and dangerous; but movie theatres were close to bursting more than ever…
