Possibly no one other thing has done so much to cause irritation between Canada and the United States as the film plays. As most of those used in Canada are manufactured in the United States, the jingoism they reveal arouses constant anger. During the war film plays were used as propaganda to arouse the American spirit and to awaken a pride in the achievements of American soldiers. Naturally these plays did not emphasize the heroism of the British and Canadians, and when exhibited in British territory, purely as a business venture, they did harm that no one stopped to compute. They earned money for their promoters and for the local movie houses, so what more need be considered? In the United States their political effect was admirable. They roused the war spirit of the people and stirred national pride. No one apparently took the trouble to give a thought to how these propaganda films would look to the returned soldiers of Canada and to a people nerve-racked by war. They would earn additional money in Canada--so let them go. Listen to any Canadian who is expressing ill-feeling toward the United States, just now, and you will find that nine times out of ten the irritation can be traced back to the movies. Wishing to learn if it would be possible to remedy this international evil I decided to go to the fountain-head of the trouble. A friendly publisher arranged to have me meet one of the master minds in a film-producing company of world-wide activities. The modern Prospero would see me at 3.30, in his office in one of "the cloud-capped towers." Knowing that I must shake off all philosophic languor for this interview I went at it as if I were going to make a running jump of a new kind. A mile away from my destination I climbed into a high-powered car (borrowed) and approached the great man's office at the speed limit. An express elevator shot me up to the proper floor and I burst into the presence of the outer guard. By this time I had acquired the necessary momentum and, in reply to his swift, interrogatory glance, snapped out a card and "flashed." "Mr. Swiftbrain--appointment--3.30." He grabbed a telephone, repeated my claim of an appointment, listened a moment, then waved me to an upholstered chair that looked rather better than the ones from the Kaiser's Throne Room that are now for sale in New York. "I am to send you in in five minutes!" I was glad of the respite, for it would enable me to recover my breath. Office boys who were in the waiting-room--ready to "Post o'er land and ocean without rest" in obedience to the autocrat of the switchboard--were so full of the jazz-time spirit of this temple of the movies that they couldn't keep still. Even when resting, their feet beat time to some inaudible, syncopated rhythm.