Again we assume it is eight o'clock in the evening, friend reader, when
the chapter begins.

Just as the Action Picture has its photographic basis or fundamental
metaphor in the long chase down the highway, so the Intimate Film has its
photographic basis in the fact that any photoplay interior has a very
small ground plan, and the cosiest of enclosing walls. Many a worth-while
scene is acted out in a space no bigger than that which is occupied by an
office boy's stool and hat. If there is a table in this room, it is often
so near it is half out of the picture or perhaps it is against the front
line of the triangular ground-plan. Only the top of the table is seen,
and nothing close up to us is pictured below that. We in the audience are
privileged characters. Generally attending the show in bunches of two or
three, we are members of the household on the screen. Sometimes we are
sitting on the near side of the family board. Or we are gossiping
whispering neighbors, of the shoemaker, we will say, with our noses
pressed against the pane of a metaphoric window.

Take for contrast the old-fashioned stage production showing the room and
work table of a shoemaker. As it were the whole side of the house has
been removed. The shop is as big as a banquet hall. There is something
essentially false in what we see, no matter how the stage manager fills
in with old boxes, broken chairs, and the like. But the photoplay
interior is the size such a work-room should be. And there the awl and
pegs and bits of leather, speaking the silent language of picture
writing, can be clearly shown. They are sometimes like the engine in
chapter two, the principal actors.

Though the Intimate-and-friendly Photoplay may be carried out of doors to
the row of loafers in front of the country store, or the gossiping