It is not a factory-made staple article, but the product of the creative force of one soul, the flowering of a spirit that has the habit of perpetually renewing itself.
Once I saw Mary Fuller in a classic.

It was the life and death of Mary Queen of Scots.

Not only was the tense, fidgety, over-American Mary Fuller transformed into a being who was a poppy and a tiger-lily and a snow-queen and a rose, but she and her company, including Marc Macdermott, radiated the old Scotch patriotism.

They made the picture a memorial.

It reminded one of Maurice Hewlett's novel The Queen's Quair.
Evidently all the actors were fused by some noble managerial mood.
There can be no doubt that so able a group have evolved many good films that have escaped me.