"Arthur Porges - Movie Show - A Story for Lincon's Birthday" - читать интересную книгу автора (Porges Arthur)

The sound was awful, and Joel explained that heтАЩd had to improvise by
cleverly hooking up to a not-very-good radio. And the actors were no better. WeтАЩre
used to the slick stuff, modern movies with high-tech, surround-sound equipment,
which has subtly replaced the slow, stumbling, inarticulate conversations of real life.
These people swallowed many of their words, so we couldnтАЩt really tell much about
the trial. I should add that the man who played Lincoln had a high-pitched voice
nothing at all like the organ-tones weтАЩre used to in classic movies. And the cast, as a
whole, had no sense of theater; they moved about aimlessly, blocking each other
from the camera, and with none of that controlled grace of professional actors.
Lincoln seemed particularly awkward, a clumsy bumpkin. YouтАЩd think he was going
to pitch forward on his nose any minute. I felt relieved when he sat down next to his
partner, whispering something that made the fellow roar with laughter. Yet, in spite of
all this, or maybe because of it, the events had a remarkable effect of realism.
Looking at the crowded courtroom, I couldnтАЩt help wondering what had motivated
the old recluse to round up so many extras, and, presumably, pay them, to make this
film.

The three accused men were evidently supposed to be terrified of lynching, to
judge from the hostility of the spectators who jammed the sweltering room.
Certainly, they acted like frightened criminals, huddling together, white-faced, with
wide eyes that repeatedly scanned the jury.

The prosecutor was quite ferocious, and hammed up his part, describing in
terms no judge would permit today their callous murder of a man named Fisher. He
was deliberately inciting the mob, I felt, and it was touch-and-go whether the
accused trio would live to get an official sentence.

While the prosecutorтАЩs diatribe was going on, Lincoln just sat there, placid,
almost smug, a faint smile on his craggy face, which was ugly, yet somehow
endearing, so that I suddenly decided Mr. Grain hadnтАЩt done such poor casting after
all. No beard then, of course; this was the young country lawyer, nothing at all,
though, like Henry Fonda. He didnтАЩt seem at all concerned about mounting a
defense.

Unfortunately, the film broke off long before the trial ended, almost before it
was even well under way. There came the slapping of the tag-end against the reel,
and Joel turned on the lights.

I immediately cornered the boy and questioned him about the odd bit of
movie. It seems the film had been made by an old recluse, one Elmer Grain, who, as
I noted earlier, must have been some kind of a genius, who turned out in his garage a
host of crazy inventions that probably worked well enough, but had no important
applications or economic value, except for one, a very versatile plastic. That he had
sold for a big enough sum to let him devote his last years to whatever interested him,
which apparently was almost everything nobody else cared about.

Anyhow, when the old guy died in a fire, Joel found the blistered, blackened
tin of film in the Dumpster, and took it home, where he figured out, quite
ingeniously, I felt, how to run it and even get words out of the sound-track, a feat
that still baffles me, since marks on the edge, near the sprocket-holes, were all he had