In these days of national uncertainty and nervous anxiety we crave antidotes of any kind to relieve us from the thought of overshadowing responsibilities. The "movie" number of the Lampoon bursts upon Cambridge today and presents unrestricted sensationalism that has ever aroused undergraduate enthusiasm. All the country's celebrities with whom our gilded youth are most intimately acquainted are described and portrayed in the bold and naked phrases of Lampy's best style. The abandon that characterizes this detailed exposure of the cinematograph world convinces the reader of the utter unreality of that film land of wonders.

We have all longed to know the life stories of our screen favorites, their ideals, their triumphs, and their sorrows. The dramatic pages of the daily papers have given us personal interviews with "Flary Flickford," "Clara Bara" and "Valeska Sewerat," but all such articles seem to suppress the essentials we cry for. At last the barriers are down, Lampy has made the flickering screen transparent, and our curiosity is entirely satisfied.

The tormenting question of "Where are my children?" is adequately answered at the very beginning. The editor have labelled the article "censored" but whether this last is a joke in itself must be left to the mind of the individual. The reasons given for our favorite joining the movies seem quite comprehensive. In fact one recognizes at once that they were fitted for no other profession in this wide world.

As educational films are used now to cover various and sundry sins, Lampy suggests that their scope be limited and that they merely unfold the mysteries of the animal and vegetable kingdoms viz. the clam and the onion. The latest Pathos Weekly shows the uncomfortable adventures of a Harvard pacifist. In fact the movie number lacks nothing to make it a humorous encyclopedia of the new art. A glance through its pages will give anyone an amusing pass into the forbidden precincts of film land.