Like the quality of Walter Pater's Marius the Epicurean, or that of Shelley's Hymn to Intellectual Beauty, it will not satisfy the sudden and the brash.
* * * * * The reader will find in his round of the picture theatres many single scenes and parts of plays that elucidate the title of this chapter.

Often the first two-thirds of the story will fit it well.

Then the producers, finding that, for reasons they do not understand, with the best and most earnest actors they cannot work the three reels into an emotional climax, introduce some stupid disaster and rescue utterly irrelevant to the character-parts and the paintings that have preceded.

Whether the alleged thesis be love, hate, or ambition, cottage charm, daisy dell sweetness, or the ivy beauty of an ancient estate, the resource for the final punch seems to be something like a train-wreck.

But the transfiguration of the actors, not their destruction or rescue, is the goal.