PLAY-WRITING.

Dominion, Volume 1, Issue 197, 14 May 1908, Page 11

PLAY-WRITING.

ART AND THE BOX-OFFICE,

an interesting address.

The writer of plays, said Mr. Alfred Sutro,, in his'interesting lecture on " Tho Playwright r i and tho Public" in London, rccontly, is in tho nature of' tilings, above all,- as it wero, a solitary, an observer; tho man who stands on the pavement and watches the pcoplo, hurrying by—who notes the trend of human life, the happiness and unhappiness, tho ambitions and -follies! It is his danger lest tho inevitable sorrow, disappointment, disillusion, that: he sees in tho background render him. forgetful of-.the actual, constapt joy or life." It is his danger that the misery and distress :that come under . his observation eAUsa him to forget that misery does not prodoioinato'rin tho -world, and that there 13 always sotrto measure of happine33 lurking ' somWhore; that, just as Naturo always contriyes ; that there... shall bo something o» beautj. even -in the most desolate, arid.spot, so is'there scarcely any human lifo that has not its ray of hope, its moments of love and glidness." Ther'dramatist himself is rarely a thinker ; ho. stands between the philosopher and 1 the .orbflrd;, it .is his miftnon > to pass on, to. popularise, the new thoughts from tho philosopher, to pAve the way .for tho. truths cf to-morrow.. There'-aro'timw'.when these tnitlia, that philosopher.hands him, weigh luni down ana depress him; his outlook on life liecomca aloomy and pessimistic, whereupon he is at > ■ once pulled up with a jerk by—the bos-office. lon may legitimately wonder at my dragging in 'this unpleasant machine immediately after having dwelt upon tho duties of the writer of play's.. Sut' there, is a subtle connection between'them.' The .dramatist who would have • influence. on .his generation may art one eye to Heaveiij the pther must squint at the box-offic6. Thß Expense ( of a Production. ; callous, and entirely unemotional machine he learils that the expenso of running a theatro amounts to £SOO or £900 a week; and that taking into account the sum spent on production,' the receipts must average. £1100 or £1200,.a week as a minimuni r for ' his play- to enjoy a run. This means • roughly that 6000 people must elect every week, to go to his play. Six thousand people I', And ;.these cannot bs lured into tho .theatre—advertisements will not help him; he; is Hot' like the proprietor of &. patent medicine', who, if his certain - cure for lumbago does'riot sell j can push it as a hairrestorer; .these six thousand\ people must be i brought into tho house by tr.e solid fact or their liking- the plfty and recommending it to . their friends. , If tho audience on the first ■ riight—that section Of the audience that has paid for its.- seats and does not care one . button about author, manager, or actors— • i if..that section; of tho paying public does not ; like the .play, .the' most .ilatfceriug notices'in not save it; its fate is sealed. It; may be taken off at once or struggle on , for, = a-v'ery few week*.; every. manager., in Loitdoii knows that the play is a failure, be-'. cauSo'"it. is'not drawing money, and every ' . manager in London will call it a failure, al- ; ' though it be hailed to the. skies as a masterpiece. a work of genius, And this,being so, ! it will; be more difncult for the dramatist to j get;his.next play produced; and should this ' one meet with- a: like fate, it .will almost bo impossible for him to bo admitted beforo , the'footlights ..again; he will find himself high arid dry, pertfhed on; a rock, for over. • out of tho reach of the .manager's smilo or : /the caress of tho box-office—thn solitary rcclc of . public disfavour. And for all the good ho : will be doing -himself or his generation he might, as well bo sitting on tho sea-shoro maKirig rOpes out' of ' sand, ot sadly and laboriously inventing last lines for Limericks.' Not Many Ibsens. : v -. many mute and inglorious"sihgers who ■■•'are: not'Miltons; ; rior does it follow that; because'he is unappreciated by his : gehoration, a man is therefore stamped with ' the hallmark'of superior power. The fact . that the public of to-day does not car© for an author's work is by no means a guarantee that posterity will reverse the verdict. To be adiiired by a coterie," by a "small section of superior critics, is a poor return for a dramatist who aims at 'coming near the heart of the people -for- whom: he labours.Genius'has its own laws; a man like Ibsen : could only write what he had to write, and popularity,, in the wide sense of the word, was:impossible for him. But thet'o are.fetv Ibsens, and tho men of-talent who fail to please 'their public will bo wise if they vattributo much of the blame to themselves. , . Those;who are mbst earnest in the belief that the theatre offers unrivalled opportunity for the' discussion bf tho vital tnumes of tho day mtlst be careful lest, in their disregard of;tho', legitimate requirements of their' patrons, they lessen. the influence of' tho theatro, and.rduce its prestige, . When the : lighter "forms of'entertainment, be it in the , direction of. musical comedy, farce, or melodrama, predominate ; in : the theatre -of a country, it is a sign that the dramatists of •that country have not kept in touch with tho ptlblio they-have/£o serve. 'It is the duty of the playwrights. Who havo brains_>to 1 provide their; patrons —the people, not; merbly'a cliquft or a coterie—With intellectual' plsvs that shall give them pleasure; and when , sucn a play fails to give' pleasure the cause .must not always bo ascribed to its over- . ; whelming . intellectuality.;,. There, is,, often division b&tween thq public and a dramatist the dramatist's- superior' attitude, , his conscious or unfiotlScious disdain for tho volco and' feelings of the crowd.'. But. it must b6 ■■ feniembered.. that every good, thoughtful play that succeeds is a distinct gain to the'community, a gain to every dramatist. _ It raises the standard, it brings people.back to the theatre, it makes the Way easier for" its successor. There can bo too . much art for art's sake: that is not the principle that: makes.nations more;artistic. ' And what-are we there for, wo writers of, ■ 'plays, if-not to popularise, widen the sphero and the influonce, of the art wo love so well?. .. Wants to See Them Kiss. ' Love is undoubtedly one of the most fascinating of conditions, and nothing feives the; warm-hearted playwright more plcasuro ' than'to gn'eep down, at tho end of'the play, tho little difficulties he has 'so laboriously erected in the middle, that divide his lovers. The dramatist regards love With tho greatest estwm ;■ he'recoghiseS'its potency as'a force; he his, occasionally been in love himself. But at tinl<ia there is a dirt conviction lurking; somewhere in'him that the love problem is hot the only problem agitating human jives; that thero aro others, others not as ilitArcSting perhaps, nOt as entertaining, but almost as vital and important. These others, however; are riot in favour with tho boxofflee, Tho very .Stage-carpentcr will toll ybtij-if you ijuostion his ripe experience, that the public "waht to See him kiss hor ■at: the finish.'.' That ,is axiomatic. The audienoo.'in the boxes, stalls, dress circle, upper boxes, pit," and gallery; the young ladjeS'who sell programmes; ; tho small pago bbys who call caDS; tho actors and actresses, tho- Scene-shifters, tho firemen, tho man who fetches tho beer—they all-want to see him kiss her at tho fihish!