Judge — April 6, 1918 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

Drama and Digestion By Figaro LL me, Doctor,” stage-whispered the Dowager at the samovar, “‘have you seen ‘Mrs. Warren’ 's Professi “Yes. saw it last evening.’ “And is it—is it very dreadful?” “T hate to disappoint you, but I confess that I found it rather tame.” “But, then,” persisted the Dowager, still hopeful, “you’re a medical man and used to such subjects. That’s how I dared ask you about it.” “Even if I weren’t a doctor,” he said smilingly, “there’s nothing about the play that’s spicy or particularly shocking—except that the plain truth is val: ‘ays more or less startling when one hasn’t been thinking of it.” “Then why was the play ever suppressed?” “Ah, that’s another matter. At the time it was first produced here, a number of years ago, it was a bit too strong for the public’s tumm “You mean the popular taste?” “There is no such thing, lam sorry to say. Only individuals, and few enough of them, have taste. The dear public has only a tummy. The managers have learned the regulation diet—same old stutf—must be digestible without an _effort—not calcu- lated to cause any dreams—must be the sort of thing one can forget a moment after. In short, if it is to be readily devoured it must consist of the usual pap with a little pep thrown in, so that the swallower may be at least semi- conscious at the time.” “What an unpleasant, medical way of looking at it! But I thought you said it was the censor who stopped the play, and not the public.” “Quite so—after the public had howled and the critics, those professional yawpists, had raised a still greater to-do. You see, the censor, or police authority or whoever it is, is like a family physican. Hi duty is to see that the tummy isn’t overtaxed or poisoned. If anything is fed to the public that upsets it, there is always a yell of pain, and the censor forbids the offending delicacy or indelica Usually, however, there is no need of calling in this Lord High Regulator, as the tummy is its own chooser and avoids anything out of the ordinary. It knows what it li ‘The Deluge,’ a splendid play, was too strong and bitter for it; ‘The Pipes of Pan’ was so de cate and unsubstantial that it didn’t seem to fill the maw; ‘The ‘Torches’ and ‘L’Elevation’ had the disturbing unfamiliarity of foreign fare; ‘Youth’ was queer and unsettling; ‘The Madonna of the Fu- ture’ left a dark-brown taste Gradually, in the course of time, the character of this tummy’s appetite changes. There is now less craving for undiluted sugar than there used to be. More spice is favored. The Washington Square Players find a welcome among a limited number of people for their dramatic Welsh rarebits; and even raw truth like ‘Karen’ has its staunch gourmets. In short, since ‘Mrs. Warren’s Profession’ was first served up years ago, causing the famous attack of colic, the lining of the public’s tummy has hardened, and digestion is more robust. Eventually it will be considered strong enough for adult food. Now, what is needed—in view of the tolerance of such stuff as ‘Flo Flo’—is a dramatic Dr. Wiley.” ‘Yes, the ‘Madonna’ was horrid. I only went to see it because I'd heard so much about it. Clever, though, ina way. Some of the dreadful lines were really—well, you couldn’t help laughing at them— even if they weren’t wholesome for the public, as you would say.”” She sighed. ‘The wholesome things are never piquant enough!” “Not for your sophisticated palate, I fear.” “Now, Doctor!” . “You can afford indigestible tidbits—they are genteel and ex- Margaret Anglin ing Greck . ‘ e iragaty that oem cohen dallying wi meve clusive and that sort of thing—but the dear public must have only English comedy, such as “Billetrd,” she ine what is most propitious for the harmony of its interior.” stincticely wears an Athenian kimono.