IN THE GRAND GUIGNOL

Dominion, Volume 23, Issue 33, 2 November 1929, Page 31

IN THE GRAND GUIGNOL

■ / MASTERPIECES OF HORROR I set out last week to spend an evening at the Grand Guignol, the little Parisian theatre which for many years has specialised in the production of “horrors” (writes a London correspondent of the Melbourne “Age”). has fallen into disrepute, but these little plays are masterpieces of their kind. They manufacture their thrills with a gusto which the modern “thriller” lacks. Old Pere Didon, who preached for many years in the little village of Montmartre, at tbe back of tbe Cite Chaptai, would have been greatly shocked could he have foreseen the fate of his beloved little Gothic chapel. After his death it passed into the hands of a manufacturer of religious ornaments, who used it as a showroom. Later, it became the studio of the painter Rochegrosse. In 1896. it was opened as the Theatre Salon, which in the following year became the Grand Guignol. The name was magic. It has reached to the ends of the earth and passed into at least one other langunge. A more suitable building for the purpose could hardly have been found. At the end of a narrow, winding little street, squeezed between gloomy old buildings, it has an eerie atmosphere. The entrance hall, panelled in dark wood, is dimly lit, and hung with pictures of the most terrifying scenes from previous productions, with a lavish display of red ink. One.-by.an artist of repute, is a thing of biting satire. . A German soldier, expiring in agonv on a heap of his comrades, scrawls in blood on the wall beside which he is lying the words, “Got nut uns.” ' Similar decorations line the auditorium. The administration of tbe Grand Guignol, having decided to terrorise the public, sets out wholeheartedly to fulfil its mission. Tbe reputation of the theatre was established by a succession of plays staged by M. Max Maurey before the war. It endeavours to reach a high standard. Some of the best playwrights of their time have specially written for it, among them being Courteline, author of the beloved “Boubourouche',” Henri Duvernois, Oscar Metenier, and Level. The present programme is excellent. Comedy alternates with drama. It would be impossible to maintain the tension of excitement for three hours. “Rosalie,” the opening piece, is a clever one-act sketch of a provincial servant girl. This is followed by “L’lcone , qui s’eteint,” dealing with the horrors of the Russian revolution. Next is another short farce, and then “Les Pantins du Vice,” a two-act drama by Charles Mere. The plot is simple. It is midnight Old Elipbas and his daughter are putting the finishing touches to two lifesize dolls, the work of 10 years. They represent a shepherd and shepherdess, the girl being extraordinarily beautiful. Dread sounds are heard outside, and a demoniac face appears at the window. Elipbas fires, but the face remains, grinning fixedly. “You cannot, ’it savs, “kill Death.” The stranger enters, followed by a woman crying piteously. He declares himself to be Professor Heintz. The woman is his ward Annia, hypnotised and condemned to follow him everywhere as punishment for having hated him. He is in love with the female doll. He demands it, but Elipbas refuses to part with it. The professor commands Annia’s soul to leave her body, and proceeds to demonstrate what he will do to the old dollmaker. Annia’s heart is removed in full view of the audience, and Elipbas, terrified, cries he will agree. Elated,, the professor prepares for bls greatest achievement, tbe transference of Annia’s soul to the body of tbe doll. While he is engrossed in the attempt Eliphas’s daughter, who has been hiding, creeps up behind him and stabs both the hypnotist and tbe doll, which is slowly coming to life. Annia’s soul is liberated <it lust. The play is loosely constructed in parts—it is not explained why the professor calls himself and Is invulnerable—but the acting is splendid, and the atmosphere so cleverly created (hat minor inconsistencies are lost sight of. In tbe sphere of unadulterated melodrama I doubt whether tbe Grand Guignol has much to fear from Mr. Edgar Wallaea,