Cinema: Children in Darkness

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David feels the change in her, a new depth of love and trust that makes a change in him too. He fights it. All the fear in him fights it. But he can't resist. He can't hold out against the terrible and wonderful warmth that steals through his limbs whenever he sees her, that makes his cheeks burn andhis eyes swim and his heart pound and his hand reach out to —No! A touch can kill! Death is in her hands! But love is in her hands too, and love conquers death. In terror, in bliss, his face a sepulcher torn open, his eyes a resurrection, David turns to Lisa, one lost child turns to another lost child and stammers the three little words that make him a member of mankind: "Take my hand." Based on a case history written with distinction by Dr. Theodore Isaac Rubin, David and Lisa was made in suburban Philadelphia by a director (Frank Perry), a scriptwriter (Eleanor Perry, the director's wife) and a leading lady (Margolin) who had never made a motion picture before. Amazingly, this gang of greenhorns has produced a minor masterpiece, easily the best U.S. movie released in 1962. The script is a tour de force of iatric intuition. The performances are stunningly good—Dullea in particular works with a subtlety, accuracy and intensity of feeling that indicate important talent. And Director Peiry, heretofore only an associate producer of Broadway plays, leaps to the public eye as a cinema natural. In his use of the camera, in the pace of his cutting, he displays in rare degree what Sergei Eisenstein called "the film sense." But in the inspiration and manipulation of his actors he reveals a more profound and significant gift: the sense for what is specifically human in human beings, the sense of the heart.