Judge — September 8, 1917 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

B ET W E EN By ss ARDON ME, sir.” said the Drama Student from P Bridgeport, “but may [ ask what play I ought to see this evening? Lam in town only until tomorrow, and Lam very anxious to go to the one that is most worth while the most significant, | mean.” He was young and very earnest. “Have you seen ‘Business before Pleasure ’?"* inquired the Critic. “Yes.” admitted the Drama Stu- dent sheepishly. At all times sensitive to banter, he was most sensitive and confused of all when the teasing ex isted only in his imagination. “Went with Father. He insisted on going to something light and frothy.” At this his parent, who was none Munition Maker. broke into a chucl:le cy Rit other than the Tire remarking: “And when he got there, he laughed almost as hard as | The Drama Student affected to ignore this.“ But seriously though,” he asked. “which of the new plays do you consider the hat one.” What! You consider a conglomeration of Yiddish horse- play like ‘Business before Pleasure * deserves serious thought?” “T do.” The Tired Munition Maker was enjoying the situation more and more. He winked exasperatingly “But, Father,” protested the Drama Student, “he doesn’t mean that ‘Business before Pleasure’ is much of a play. He just means that it is interesting as representing a type—a period in the history of our drama—just the way ‘Uncle Tom's Cabin’ is a book that people ought to read, even though it is a tenth- class novel. Isn't that right?” The Critic, thus appealed to, shook his head. , confess I not only enjoyed ‘Business before Pleasure’ huge! but found it, in my opinion, a most adroitly-constructed play. anything but a ‘conglomeration.’” “Good!” exclaimed the Tired Munition Maker. “I'm delighted to hear you say that. [told him it was a first-rate show. But of course my opinion wasn’t professional enough for him.” “But what about ‘Daybreak ** not yet willing to admit defeat. “Ll understand that is play, with ideas and real dramatic action, and all that sort of thing,—not just Potash and Perlmutter rigamarole!” The Critic smiled sadly. A play, like a person, may said the Drama Student, erious take itself terribly seriously and yet be anything but thoughtful; and, on the other hand, it may pretend to be all farce-comedy, and yet be full of solid ideas. Suppose we compare these two plays. ‘Daybreak’ purports to be a realistic study of life in a fashionable New York home. Yet it is, in fact, absolutely unreal. Let me be specific. The story is of a wife who went to Honolulu to have her baby because she feared her tippling husband would kill it; and after returning home, she, from the same fear, kept the child secreted in an apartment uptown for over a year, visiting it by stealth; till at last it is taken sick, and she, stealing to it night after night, is finally detected in her queer excursions, and is accused of keeping assignations with her doctor. The artificiality, the preposterousness of such a situation is evident in every scene, N S$ aut every creak of the machinery. [t is so hopelessly unreal that not a single actor on the stage is able to play his part in a lifelike manner. None of them can think of the characters they at- tempt to represent as other than purely fictitious ones. Fred- erick Truesdell, as the husband, consumes innumerable drinks, tyrannizes over his employces, causes his wife a feeling of revul sion, in fact tries conscientiously to appear a monster; yet some- how we know he never imagines that he would have killed his baby. And neither can Blanche Yurka. as the wife, really think it of him for a moment. And neither can the insufferably *stagy’ doctor who is her confederate. No. The whole idea is more than they can swallow; and so, unable to /ite their parts, they merely strut, fume, or spout epigrams as required. For what actuates them is always plot necessity, never human motive “What a refreshing contrast to this is afforded by * Business hefore Pleasure’! Here you have a group of real persons doing and saying things which they can understand one hundred per. cent., both intellectually and emotionally. They live the action even when it becomes farcical. As for thoughtful ideas and themes, why, the piece fairly teems with them! There are enough to build a dozen less lavish comedies—the delicious grotesqueness of clothing manufacturers aventuring in the field of art; the complications arising from being a married man and the manager of a vampire; the tribulations of having to use your partner’s relatives as actors; and the endless absurdities and anomalies of a business that grows so fast that it can't keep its head. This is real satire, a clever showing up of actual condi- tions by means of the searchlight of humor. But more than that, when you come out of the theatre you feel that you have been on intimate terms with genuine personalities who revealed their natures to you without affectation, and: lived their lives before you. ‘The plot you may forget; but Potash and Perl- mutter, never. “And that is what a real play consists in: real people living through interesting events,—the latter being telescoped and dovetailed a bit because of time limitations.” The Swect Young Thing (sister of the Drama Student) had listened to this long harangue rather impatiently “What do you think of *Mary’s Ankle’?" she asked. “1 hear it’s awfully funny.” “Tt is amusing, though a bit drawn out. Zelda Sears, as the landlady who fancies herself an invalid, is inimitably droll. Irene Fenwick is an appealing heroine, and Walter Jones plays the conventional rich uncle very capably. But the hero and his ct most C U RTA I INDREW two pals overa irritatingly. “Oh, pshaw!” declared the Sweet Young Thing. “If everybody on the stage behaved just like everybody you meet, then what would be the use of going to the theatre?” And to herself she added: “After this I’m not going to pay any attention to the criti- cisms in the papers, if that’s the sort of per- son who writes them!