THE LONDON THEATRE

Auckland Star, Volume LVII, Issue 270, 13 November 1926, Page 21

THE LONDON THEATRE

A VISITOR'S NOTES. MANY GOOD FIAYS. (By PILGRIM.) The bad state of the drama in the capital of the Empire is a perennial subject in the English newspaper and periodical. We are invited to look upon art tongue-tied by authority and commercialism, and to compare its sad condition with the vigorous life of the drama in other countries. That commercialism does hamper the dramatist nobody can deny. The extraordinarily high rents charged lor West End theatres are a grievous burden on this branch of art. I am certain, however, that things are not nearly so bad as some' people believe them to be. I was struck by the number of good plays staged during the four months I was in England, and the range of their subjects. Go back a generation, and you will not find anything like the same range or the same originality. The renaissance in the British drama during the last twenty or thirty years has been extraordinary, and though a sad mass of rubbish is produced in London, the theatre there reflects the new spirit of the age.

To illustrate this let mc run over the productions I saw—Shaw's "St. Joan," at the Lyceum; "Romeo and Juliet," at the Old Vie; "Caroline," by SomeTsetMaughan, at the Playhouse; "Billeted," by Tennyson Jesse, at the Royalty; "The Last of Mrs. Cheyney," by Frederick Lonsdale, at St. James'; "A Month in the Country," by Turgenieff, at the Royalty; "The Farmer's Wife," at the Court (Eden Phil potts); "The Pillars of Society" (Ibsen), at the Everyman, Hampstead; "The Plough and the Stars," by Scan O'Casey, at the Fortune; "Prince Fazil" (the author does not matter), at Wyndham's; and a double bill, Barries "Truth About the Russian Dancers" and the French farce "Sleeping Partners," at the Savoy. Some of these were of little account. Both "Billeted" and "The Last of Mrs. Cheyney" are pleasant enough comedies, but without much substance, and I doubt if I would have gone to them if they had not furnished the only opportunities of seeing Gerald dv Maurier, Gladys Cooper and Denis Eadie. "Prince Fazil" was abysmally bad, and it was tragic to see so fine an actor as Henry Ainley wasting his time on such rubbish. Those of my readers, however, who follow the drama will recognise in this list the names of several fine plays, and, of course, it is not pretended that the list is exhaustive. I did not see Galsworthy's latest, "Escape," which promises to have a long run; or Scan O'Casey's first success,. "Juno and the Paycock"; or the revival of that very remarkable play, "Outward Bound"; or the matinee at the Court of "Hamlet" in modern dress; or that striking portrayal of middle-class life, "Distinguished Villa," at the Little Theatre. The day I left London for home the Old Vie. reopened with "King John," and preparations were in full swing for a Gilbert and Sullivan season at the Prince's. I minded missing the Savoy operas much more than not seeing "King John" again. Their continued popularity is another cheering sign. "St. Joan." That so little of Shaw was seen this season in London is probably taken by him (publicly at any rate.) as proof of the philistinism of the British people. I have been told, however, that one reason why Shaw is not played more, in the West End is the size of the royalty he demands. There was, however, "St. Joan," a wonderful play wonderfully acted. If you think I am extravagant in describing it as the finest play in English since Shakespeare", will you tell mc of another one that is as good 1 A mellower Shaw is revealed here, a Shaw rather less disposed than before to reduce life to terms of a Puritanical rationalism. The play grips you right through; it has conflict, passion and poetry. Technically, nothing is more remarkable than the way Shaw holds his audience through long periods of theological discussion. The much discussed epilogue I found most moving. It is a pity that Shaw could not altogether put "aside the temptation to gibe at the country in which he has lived for forty years and made a fortune. The character of the English priest who talks like a committee composed of Mr. Leo Maxse, Mr. Charles Whibley and the "Morning Post," is absurd. Mr. Shaw is said to have given as his reason for choosing the maid as a subject that he wished to save her from Mr. Drinkwater. Is it not possible that the opportunity of again tilting at the English had something to do with it? Brilliant Casts. The knowledge that a play is almost certain to be well cast adds greatly to the enjoyment of London theatre-going. So does the more intimate nature of many of the theatres. In New Zealand theatres are built for general utility; they may house a society comedy one week and a pantomime the next. In London many of the theatres are quite small, and most plays are more enjoyable in such a setting. In a play where every line of the dialogue tells, a big theatre is apt to be a handicap. In a small house a delightful "intimacy is established between players and audience. The theatres are very comfortable; for one thing, facilities for obtaining refreshment are far ahead of those in New Zealand. Casting is easy because there are so many capable players to choose from. The producer is able to pick an actor both for his physical characteristics and his ability. The result is a delightful harmony" and balance. "St. Joan" had no weak spot. "The Last of Mrs. Chevney," with Gerald dv Maurier, Miss Gladys Cooper and Miss Ellis Jeffreys in the cast, was a fine display of finished acting. Gerald dv Maurier plays society parts to the life; it is an education to see him wear his clothes and walk into a room. He is in danger, however, of being too much himself; that is. of playing part after part in which his natural gifts for wearing cloir.es and walking and talking like an English gentleman are exercised —and little else. The revival of Somerset Maugham's "Caroline" —a very agreeable bit of froth —was remarkable for its cast. Aubrey Smith —in physique and manner quite perfect —was one reluctant lover; Irene Vanburgh was the other; Edith Evans and Marie Lohr were her two friends. Edith Evans has quickly reached the first rank. I had seen 'her at the Old Vie as the nurse in "Romeo and Juliet," a performance which rightly exhausted the adjectives of the critics. In "Caroline" she had an entirely different sort of part—that of a young light-minded society woman —and she was delightful. " The Old Vie, by the way, seems to be permanently established. You may see there Shakespeare well done at "cheap prices. The Romeo I saw there was really young and ardent; the Juliet really young and beautiful? the

G^ Ut i° h -ndsome, intellectual and _HJ2£ U * ms **&*_> of " A pfcg™ on both your houses," £.» whisper as f H Z ed ~y° v "-M hear every syllableis something I shall always remember. The Irish Players. No collection of London actors, however, is quite so rernarkab i e as the Irish n p 76 "", L S , aw the first ni g h t of Scan 2J-W?, The Plou S h --d the Stars," which followed the success of "Juno and the Paycock." "Six months ago," said a London newspaper man to mc, "O'Casey was earning £2 a week as a plasterer. I hrye just offered him £50 for an article, and I don't think I will get him." 1 his newest light in the Irish literary world has a wonderful gift of the theatre, and he peoples his plays with types he has observed in Dublin tenements. They have been observed carefully, and are sharply drawn. Some of these characters are highly repulsive, but they live, and attract the public. An Irish playwright starts out with a great advantage over his English rival, in that he has a common speech that is fiery, vivid and tender ia turns, and to the English ear had all thet charm of the exotic. Readers of Synge know how arresting this Irish idiom can be in the hands of a master; Mr. O'Casey has widened the territory that Synge explored. ,< I had laughed immoderately over "The Farmer's Wife," which is pure farce-comedy. Though "The Plough and the Stars" works up to dreadful tragedy, and is streaked with repulsiveness, I laughed more that evening at the Fortune than I had at the Court. The sentences of these tenement dwellers, inimitably spoken by great artists like Maire O'Neill, Sara Allgood, and Arthur Sinclair, rocked the house. "Why is she always thryin' to speak proud thinjs, an' lookin' like a mighty one in the congregation of the people?" How much more expressive is this than the_ English idiom. To hear Maire O'Neill say that it always gave her "a kind o' thresspassin' joy" to feel herself "inovin' along in a mournin' coach" was °. nee c theatrical experiences of a lifetime. "I'm not goin' to keep an unresistin' silence," says the same lady, "an' her scattherin' her festherin' words in mc face, stirrin' up every dhrop of decency in a respectable female, with her restless rally o' lies that would make a saint say his prayer backwards." Outside the West End. One of the signs that the state of the theatre in England is healthier than it was is the activity outside the glittering world of the West End. In the last generation Manchester created a Manchester school of drama. Barry Jackson's work at Birmingham—he it was who produced Shakespeare in modern dress— is we_ known to all students of the theatre. Did it not bring him a knighthood? In the provinces there has never been so much interest in serious drama as there is to-day. In London there are "outside" theatres that.have left their mark on the drama. The Everyman, at Hampst id, has done much to popularise Shaw. I went out there to see an admirable production of "The Pillars of Society," by Ibsen. Having been tried out there, it was brought into the West End, and was running there when I left London. I believe the same procedure was followed with "The Wild Duck," with excellent box-office results. There is also the Lyric, at Hammersmith, which Mr. Nigel Playfair found in the depths of depression and brought to fame and fortune with "The Beggar's Opera" and other notable productions. The Lyric is now an institution. The programme I saw there was highly original and diverting—a medley of burlesque and resurrection of old Victorian favourites in sentiment and humour. Do any of my readers remember the 'Tommy, Make Room For your iJncte'f* Browning used it in the most imr adent of his rhymes—to "ranunculus." We had this in costume, and "We Met, 'Twas in a Crowd," sung tearfully by a lady in a full gown, seated at a table that bore waxed fruit under glass. The cleverest thing in a very bright evening was a parody of a Russian play. The. young man who in the middle of a football match had walked away from his goal-keeping because it suddenly came over him that it did not really matter whether goals were scored or not, and at the end of the play shot the best man instead of the bridegroom, and then exclaimed that it was just like him, he never did anything properly—this young man, from what I have read and seen of Russian plays, was a delightful exaggeration of reality.