European movies that this reviewer has seen have three regrettable characteristics. The first is an irritating slowness of action, a habit of dragging out all scenes to the end and beyond. The director does not seem to trust the audience to understand what is going on merely by a series of flashes. He will portray a man crossing a field, not as in an American picture by a series of shots, but by dogging his footsteps with the camera. The second characteristic is a corollary of the first, the giving of extensive hysterical close-ups of physiognomies none too attractive, registering "emotion," what Dr. Cannon calls "Bodlly Changes in Pain, Hunger, Fear, and Rage." The third is a desire to show depth of motif and subtlety of handling by a series of obvious and eternally repeated symbolisms, such as flashes of a moving clock pendulum, burning candles, or lights being turned on or off to show the passage of time in a supposedly esoteric and artistic way. This method is admirable if not overdone, if not made ridiculous by an interminable attempt to deepen and mystify simple things.

The above implies in toto to "Karamazov," a German talking film at the Fine Arts Theatre. It purports to be taken from Dostoevsky's novel, "The Brothers Karamazov," but has only the vaguest resemblance to it, so that the plot may prove thrilling even to those who have read the book. The direction, typically Continental, is particularly Teutonic in its effort for detailed correctness of setting and costume--even the windows of the bar where the hero imbibes are lettered in appropriate Russian for beer, tea, and coffee. But it seems unnecessary to stress such perfection of immaterial details, especially as the characters do talk German and not Russian.

There are several features in the film which may be singled out for appreciation. Some gypsy Russian singing and dancing forms an admirable interlude, and there is some fine photography of trees. The best characterization is that of the idiot Smerdyakov, played by Fritz Rasp.