The court did not hand down its decision until July 6. But when it came, it said in blunt language that Brattle Films, Inc., had won without trouble. Justice Wilkins wrote in the decision, "We think that (the Sunday censorship law) is void on its face as a prior restraint on the freedom of speech and of the press guaranteed by the First and Fourteenth Amendments...It is unthinkable that there is a power, absent as to secular days, to require the submission to advance scrutiny by governmental authority of newspapers to be published on Sunday, or sermons to be preached on Sunday, or public addresses to be made on Sunday."

On the day that Brewer pleaded the Brattle's case, the State Supreme Court also heard the arguments in a similar suit brought by the Times Film Corporation. This firm was the distribtor of the French film The Game of Love and the controversial Swedish picture One Summer of Happiness, which the Beacon Hill Theatre in Boston wanted to exhibit. The lawyers for Times Flms used some arguments similar to those Brewer had employed. But they also tried to attack the blue laws as an infringement upon freedom of religion. Chief Justice Qua ruled that such arguments were irrelevant and ordered the counsel to sit down. The final decision of The Times case, however, depended on the Brattle ruling, stating that this precedent was "enough to dispose of this matter for all practical purposes."

When the Supreme Court of Massachusetts finished talking, the press started. "Censorship is dead," one Boston editorial announced. Associated Press stories proclaiming the victory over prudery ran in papers all over the country. But not all the reaction to the court decision was so noisy. The Commissioner of Public Safety, who never seemed too happy about acting as a censor anyway, quietly dismantled his screening room and went back to his main business of inspecting buildings. And without much fanfare, the Brattle Theatre finally showed Miss Julie.

If the Brattle's reaction was one of quiet, well-mannered relief, the management of the Beacon Hill Theatre made more flamboyant use of all the free publicity it had received. "I don't think the Brattle managers handled their publicity correctly," Benjamin Sack, owner of the Beacon Hill Theatre, explained. "I think Miss Julie deserved a longer showing." He himself proceeded to sign a contract with Times Films to exhibit The Game of Love, One Summer of Happiness, Manon, Le Plaisir, and Gigi--all of which are noted for their censorable subject matter.

The Boston city government took the loss of its censoring power with little grace. Under the police power of the morals code, the city still retains the right to stop the showing of any "lewd, indecent, or obscene" picture, to confiscate the film, and to fine the exhibitor or revoke his license. But before these powers can be exercised, the film must have been shown publicly at least once. Accordingly, on the night when The Game of Love opened a delegation from city hall, including the mayor, was on hand to debate the picture's obscenity. After some days of soul-searching, the mayor announced that he would let the showing continue.

Sneaking Censor

Sometime after Christmas, Sack will show One Summer of Happiness, a beautifully photographed and delicate film about a tragic summer romance. The theme of this movie is not particularly objectionable, but it does contain a nude bathing scene of the kind Sweden easily takes in stride. A sneak preview of the film was shown several weeks ago, and the Boston city censor came to the performance. Afterwards, he only commented to the Beacon Hill Theatre owner, "You will hear from me."

While the Boston city government is waiting to decide what action to take on any further objectionable films, the State legislature is already trying to re-insert a watered-down version of the Sunday censorship law. A bill now before Massachusetts Senate aims to revitalize the statute, but specifically excepts motion pictures from any pre-censorship. Apparently, Sunday censorship is still not quite dead, even though the screening room of the Commission of Public Safety no longer echoes to the snips of cutting scissors. "I could drive to the Commission blindfolded, I've been there so often," Halliday once said. He had better not forget the way completely