But though the actors glower and wrestle and even if they are the most skilful lambasters in the profession, the audience gossips and chews gum.
Why does the audience keep coming to this type of photoplay if neither lust, love, hate, nor hunger is adequately conveyed?
Simply because such spectacles gratify the incipient or rampant speed-mania in every American.
To make the elevator go faster than the one in the Metropolitan Tower is to destroy even this emotion.

To elaborate unduly any of the agonies or seductions in the hope of arousing lust, love, hate, or hunger, is to produce on the screen a series of misplaced figures of the order Frankenstein.
How often we have been horrified by these galvanized and ogling corpses.
These are the things that cause the outcry for more censors.

It is not that our moral codes are insulted, but what is far worse, our nervous systems are temporarily racked to pieces.

These wriggling half-dead men, these over-bloody burglars, are public nuisances, no worse and no better than dead cats being hurled about by street urchins.
The cry for more censors is but the cry for the man with the broom.
Sometimes it is a matter as simple as when a child is scratching with a pin on a slate.

While one would not have the child locked up by the chief of police, after five minutes of it almost every one wants to smack him till his little jaws ache.