“Way Down East” is a big picture; “Way Down East” can stand fairly, squarely, flatly on its own feet. “Way Down East” is worth two dollars of any man’s money.
We paid two dollars to see it—and we are going to pay again. Provided Mr. Griffith’s advertising writers don’t convince us that our money would be accepted as a response to the salacious; our two dollars a contribution to the cause of promoting motion picture censorship.
“Way Down East” lived its life on the American stage honored and respected—without the need of such truck and trash.
“Way Down East” made fortunes for its stage sponsors, and yet the “Way Down East” of the spoken drama was as an amateur’s weak-kneed effort to the stirring strength of the screen gem that Griffith has given us.
Then why the need for advertising what is cheap, tawdry and contemptible?
The “Way Down East” of the stage did not need, and the “Way Down East” of the screen does not need, an appeal that says:
“Why does every woman have to feel the straining power of seduction in one form or another—the hot, alluring breaths of deceits?”
The charming lady on the cover is not a bare back rider. Appearances are deceptive. It is Norma Nicholls, one of a sextet of Vanity Fair girls who, under Hal Roach’s protecting wing will delight the tired business man in comedies to be released by Pathe.
P. S.—The other five are just as pulchritudinous.