A TILT AT THE THEATRE

Evening Post, Volume CXXIII, Issue 108, 8 May 1937, Page 26

A TILT AT THE THEATRE

It is a curious title for a book; but then there are many curious titles adorning the dust-covers of twentiethcentury literature. Scan O'Casey, however, is not a man to think he can gain any real effect by the intentionally bizarre, and his latest book, "The Flying Wasp: Essays on the Modern Theatre," besides warranting its unusual name, gives also that which has long been needed, a true, fearless criticism of the state of affairs on the boards of the modern theatre. It is announced by the publishers (Macmillan) as a "laughing look-over," but Mr. O'Casey has some irony behind the laugh that might well be taken to heart, and his satire is a pure joy to read. Throughout the book he is piquant and witty, and whether it be a good thing or a bad, many people will label him "iconoclast" before they have finished the first essay. Listen to what he says in the first in the book, "The Public Death of Shakespeare":— !!Sheakespeare's dead. Producers, actors, audience, and dramatists have all had a hand in it. He has been half kicked to death by bad production of his plays, and finished finally by having no production at all. There s a sigh of relief heard now that all is over, for he always stood in the way of bad drama, and we are so used to this now that it is all we want and as much as we need. Actors can go on serenely lisping their nancy numbers, mincing the English language into shrivelled murmurs; managers can safely take a chance with any damned thing that comes their way; dramatists can go on brocading the English theatre with one triviality after another; and the critics can go on writing their golden scriptures of criticism about bum plays without a single prod of pain assailing their artistic consciences. The public death of Shakespeare is the symbol of, the public death of the Theatre. . . . Were he dead, Coward (and Lonsdale and a score of others, for that matter) would surely squirm in their graves at this jibe. But Mr. O'Casey is ruthless. He attacks openly James Agate, Noel Coward, Emlyn Williams, and the Prime Minister, of England, though this last but indirectly. Here is another witty comment on the death of Shakespeare: "Millions of people have never seen a play by Shakespeare. Millions more w,ill soon be born, who, when they grow up and are asked what play by Shakespeare they have seen, will shout in chorus, 'We have all seen "Peter Pan",' but the old greybeards will' mutter that 'Peter Pan' was one of Shakespeare's worst works, and that his greatest opus was really 'The Private Life of Henry the Eighth.' Hardly a state of things for England to be proud of, or even to ignore." A play that visited New Zealand not long ago was "Night Must Fall." Mr O'Casey proceeds with the analytical' calm and'poise of a chemist to dissect this play and bring into startling vividness its faults and failings. Whether it is his devilish cunning or not, the play, as he shows it, certainly seems one of the weakest conceptions of the modern theatre. Many people will agree with him, no doubt, more people will violently oppose him, and the greatest majority will refuse to be stirred from their usual complacency, but Scan O'Casey's book may be recommended as one of tne cleverest pieces of satire since Dean Swift was alive. •