A study in contrasts is Cecil B. DeMille's "The Volga Boatman," now showing at the Fenway. In this, and in many other respects, the film is typical of De Mille's technique as a director. His scene is Russia in 1917, his theme the strife between the blue-blooded aristocrats and the Russian Reds. It is a film showing all of DeMille's excellences and all his defects. The scenario was written by a Rumanian, Konrad Bercovici, and its original motive is the song of the same name, made famous in this country by the Chauve Souris. Incidently the song is better than the movie, but at that the film is not bad.

It is only fair to say that no sides are taken by the director in the presentation of the revolution. At the Fenway, it is true, the balcony clapped the Reds, and the orchestra applauded the Whites, but the film painted both sides equally black at times, equally white at others. The hero, William Boyd, is a Red, the heroine, Elinor Fair, a White. What could be more fair?

The director of "The Ten Commandments" succeeds pretty well in keeping in the background the revolution, and concentrates his plot upon the three main characters a prince, a princess, and a boatman. For once there are no gold bathtubs, and panorama effects give way to close-ups as the emotions of the three principles are pictured.

Contrasts, we have said, feature. In the initial chapter, ragged men, broad-shouldered and deep-chested, strain every muscle to drag along the heavy Volga barges. As they trudge along they sing, and the Wurlitzer accompanies them with most sombre effect. In the final chapter, we have the same music, the same words, but with true DeMillian touch, the characters have changed. The prince, in his emaculate uniform, the princess, in her satin slippers and glittering evening gown, and others in like garb, have replaced the ragged horde that formerly stumbled along the narrow tow-path.

This the up-turn caused by the revolution, is the powerful theme that makes "The Volga Boatman" worth while. Still there are obvious defects. Especially noticeable is De Mille's over-emphasis of symbolisms. It is all right to show occasional close-ups of isolated parts of the body. But one does become tired of hundreds of feet devoted to nothing but showing first the wornout boots of the peasants on the tow-path, and later the dainty ankles of the aristocrats in the same position. Then, too, there are endless shots of hands to bring out the contrast between those of the nobility and those of the workers. The face of a clock is shown so often that the sight of it becomes more harrowing to the spectator than to the victim whose span of life it is clicking off.

To our mind, at least, the best bit of acting is done by the unsung supers, the Tsarist officers, in a scene at an Inn. The princess, mistaken for a peasant girl has been given over, unknowingly, by her fiance, the prince, to the officers of his guard. DeMille has the officers seated around a table, snatching here and there at the girl's clothes, until, so well do the faces of the extras register, that one is led to believe, without seeing the princess, that she has very few clothes covering her.

Of the accompanying piece at the Fenway, the least said the better. "Forbidden Waters" is its name, Priscilla Dean its featured player. It is presented at 2.45, 5.25, and 8.15. Making due calculations for Daylight Saving Time, those are precisely the hours to leave