LIEUT. VALLIN'S tragedy is one of the sincerest pieces of cinema that we have ever had. It is something to sing and be happy about. It signifies a change of cinema heart. Every single successful picture like Legions d'honneur adds weight on the right side, and gradually pulls down the scales until false trivialities and vulgarity and cheap philosophy are unable to hold their own. Court scenes open the picture. The Shchukin, who has learnt the Lenin strut of impatience, and has the exact Lenin build and profile. Accuracy of background is stressed in the programme, but the film is not heavy with it like the American reconstruction of history. Humanity it has, and restraint and strong understatement, even humour, except at one point when the invaders of the Winter Palace are warned in the heat of the attack that " this palace is full of priceless art treasures, so save your fire and use the butt end of your rifles, comrades." (Sayings that don't ring true—with apologies.) If I say that I believe that Russia still knows how to use a movie-camera with better effect than any other country, except France, someone is sure to accuse me of being a Red agent in disguise—but it seems to be only true to acknowledge that the most falacious causes are often served by magnificent instruments.