Judge — December 25, 1915 — page 18: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

6 BETWE TH CURTAIN fell on the piled heap of defunct pirates and the empty treasure- pit of Captain Flint. The slight haze of smoke from the flint-locks of the forces of Right drifted across the tiny auditorium of the Punch and Judy Theatre as the audi- ence, convinced that it was all over but the triumphant finish, settled back in the seats —the seats at the Punch and Judy are com- fortable and roomy—and awaited the final scene. The Tired Business Man had a rapt expression, and I had to speak to him twice before he replied to my question as to his opinion of the performance. ‘What do I think?” he said finally. “Why, do you know, I’ve been absolutely thrilled to death—and I didn’t think there was a play in the world that could do that. I’ve read ‘Treasure Island’ dozens of times —who hasn’t?—and here they all are—Jim Hawkins, Long John Silver, Ben Gunn— right there before my eyes. And the Squire and the ‘Hispaniola’ and the tropical island floating around so that I can see ’em all, just as I’ve always dreamed of doing. This per- formance is Bully!” The Critic agreed, somewhat more re- servedly, but no less enthusiastically. “Tt is seldom that one sees a production so wholly satisfying,” said he. “From the scenic effects, of which I need say nothing, to the acting of every last character, the play is exceptional. I have really never hated anyone so much in my life as I have Mr. Ferguson as George Merry.” The Débutante sighed ecstatically. “That scene of the ‘His- paniola’ adrift made me actually seasick,” she ex- claimed. “I don’t see how Mrs. Hopkins ever had the courage to climb up that wobbly mast and shoot that horrid Israel Hands. Just suppose something had bro- ken! And I simply must E N By CYRIL ANDKEW have a parrot like ‘Captain Flint’!” From behind I heard along “Oooh!” of pure delight. I turned, and saw the Suburbanite and his small son, the latter responsible for the exhalation. The Suburbanite _himself looked perfectly contented, even though he had to catch the eleven-forty-two. No greater tribute was possible. Anything which can make us forget the doubtful divinities—such as time-tables—that shape our ends is worthy of all praise. The voice of the Critic was heard in the land. “<The Ware Case’—"’ he was saying. The Suburbanite sat bolt upright, startled from his peaceful enjoyment. “Please don’t talk about that show,” he said. “D’you want to spoil my whole evening? That play made me tired. Four acts, and he killed himself in the last one— and of course the third had to be a court- room scene. And the audience as the jury! Why, we were even cheated out of the fun of deciding the case, after sitting through all that wind!” The Critic, offended, retired into his col- lar. I tried to smooth things over by asking him whether or not he had visited the ThéAtre Frangais that week. “Do you mean ‘L’Abbé Constantin’ or ‘La Princesse Georges’?”’ he asked. “La Princesse Georges,’” I replied. “Excellent!” said the Critic. “The work of Andree Mery in particular lived up to the best traditions of the French School. The production was charmingly staged, too. curTaAINsS 0 It is an excellent thing to get into touch with the foreign element by way of the theatre; the Irving Place Theatre and the Théatre Francais furnish an opportunity frequently overlooked—an opportunity to obtain a sympathetic view of other people, as much through the audiences as the pro- ductions. And the productions themselves frequently excel our own. Sometimes 1 think that we don’t know the first princi- ples of the Drama.” “Broadway goes a long way toward prov- ing that,” I replied. But the Tired Business Man disagreed. “The Public doesn’t care about princi- ples,” he said. “It wants to be amused, not lectured.” “Broadway proves that, too,” retorted the Critic. “There isn’t a really great play in town. There hasn’t been for many long years, either. The function of the Drama——" “Ts to cater to the Public,” finished the Tired Business Man. “People want to be amused, as I’ve said. I'll admit that there aren’t any great plays here now, but there are an awful lot of good ones. Here’s ‘Treas- ure Island’ as an example of what I mean. T hate to hear people talk about the ‘Decline of the American Stage.’. The Stage hasn't declined; it’s only altered itself to suit public tast “That is hardly a compliment to public taste,” said the Critic, coldly. “Maybe not,” said the Tired Business Man. “But public taste determines what the shows are. Dramatists must write to please the majority of their audiences. It’s a good thing the produc- ers don’t think as you do.” “For the Public, or the producer?” inquired the Critic. “Both!” retorted the Tired Business Man,