The New Pictures

Power and the Land (RKO Radio). Dutch-born Joris Ivens (pronounced eevuns) is a sturdy pioneer in the neglected art of documentary films. Since 1928 he has been lugging his camera far & wide, cranking away on scenes of commercial fishing in Holland (The Breakers), mining in Belgium (Borinage), fighting in Spain and China (Spanish Earth, The 400,000,000). Trying to sell his product in competition with the fast freight from Hollywood has taught Ivens he must unwind his factual, sometimes statistical, accounts without making his reel resemble a Fitz-Patrick Travelogue or a photostatic copy of a balance sheet.

Year ago, hired by the U. S. Rural Electrification Administration, Documentarian Ivens marched his crew onto the small dairy and crop farm of lean, leathery William Parkinson in the rolling hills of eastern Ohio. Purpose: to show the rich rewards brought to the Parkinsons by the Federal Government's rural-electrification program. During the first half of Ivens' casual 36-minute report, the Parkinsons plod through their chores with such outmoded equipment as kerosene lamps, a wood-burning stove, a backyard privy, an old hand pump to the water well. One day the farmers are told about REA's cooperative units for bringing electricity to remote areas. In a nonce, poles go up, wires are strung into the farms (Voice: "long wires--there's a tune as the wind blows through the wires") and work soon becomes a matter of flipping a switch. The Parkinsons stand around with puzzled, happy grins as they examine their hot & cold running water, incandescent lamps, electric stove and shiny white washing machine.

High point of Power and the Land is the earthy, simple commentary written by Poet Stephen Vincent Benet and read in a hayseed drawl by Radio Actor William P. Adams. Typical Beneticism: "This is good land--not the best and not the worst. But it has raised five kids, and that's good work for any land. . . . Kids are just about the best crop there is."

Spring Parade (Universal). As a social document, Spring Parade arrives one war too late. Its tender treatment of walrus-mustached old Emperor Franz Josef of Austria leaves the impression that the imperialistic monarchs dethroned after World War I were just costumed Good-fellows whose apparent preoccupation with the pomp of politics could be easily sidetracked in order to help untangle a romance. When Spring Parade's Franz Josef cozily wrinkles his nose at a pretty peasant girl (Deanna Durbin) sometime circa 1896, he means that he is going to make sure she gets the drummer (Robert Cummings) in the Emperor's band with whom she has had a nasty spat. This is the essence of the plot around which bounding little Producer Joe Pasternak has molded installment eight in the endless success story of Deanna Durbin.

When Producer Pasternak made his customary champagne toast to cast & crew at the beginning of the first day's shooting, he saw before him many of the associates who have helped convert Deanna from the sweet-voiced, awkward, 15-year-old daughter of a Los Angeles machinist to a wealthy, 18-year-old songstress with a bright flair for comedy. Directing was dark, bespectacled Henry Koster, with whom Pasternak made--on a shoestring--the first Durbin success, Three Smart Girls. Supporting the Durbin stardom were such reliable oldtime actors as Henry Stephenson playing the Emperor, Samuel Hinds as the Emperor's steward, rubber-faced Mischa Auer as a country slicker.

With this lineup, Pasternak launched his Trilby on her first joust with a period piece. Like its predecessors it emerges light and titillating as a feather duster, short on drama, rich on tunes, sprinkled with comedy. Dressed in Victorian frills and furbelows, Deanna shows she has hurdled the awkward stage without a stumble, become an attractive young ingenue who can calmly submit to her third cinema kiss with no cause for reproach from the Parent-Teachers Association. Singing three waltzes (Waltzing in the Clouds, When April Sings, Blue Danube Dream), she injects enough Viennese flavor to justify the costumes without producing the heavier aroma of a Jeanette MacDonald operetta.

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