I fancy that the true explanation is this. It often happens that the real tragedies of life occur in such an inartistic manner that they hurt us by their crude violence, their absolute incoherence, their absurd want of meaning, their entire lack of style. They affect us just as vulgarity affects us. They give us an impression of sheer brute force, and we revolt against that. Sometimes, however, a tragedy that possesses artistic elements of beauty crosses our lives. If these elements of beauty are real, the whole thing simply appeals to our sense of dramatic effect. Suddenly we find that we are no longer the actors, but the spectators of the play. Or rather we are both. We watch ourselves, and the mere wonder of the spectacle enthralls us.
A movie doesn't come all on one big reel. It comes on a few. So someone has to be there to switch the projectors, at the exact moment that one reel ends and the next one begins. If you look for them, you can see little dots, come into the upper right corner of the screen. That's the cue for a changeover. He flips the projectors, movie keeps right on going and nobody in the audience has any idea.