Judge — November 16, 1918 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

] 1 = NOG: EEE Spice Imports: O the average Amer- ican theatregoer French is the synonym for frisky. countless fly farces, indifferently adapted from French originals, have created a rather one-sided impression of the Paris stage. No national drama could subsist entirely on naughtiness. When foreigners come among us, what are the first words of our language that they pick up? “T love you,” bits of slang, ran- dom cuss words. When they proudly enunciate to us these verbal trophies, we grin; but when we are the strangers, in somebody else’s country, our acquisitions are just as absurd Many a good play is non- transportable. Take ‘Light- nin’; would that appeal to audiences in Paris or Peking? No. In the first place the scenes are laid in and near Reno which means much to people in America, but would mean noth- ing to people on the Continent. Old Bill Jones is a G. A. R. vet- eran, drawing a pension—also Greek to foreigners. His lingo is deliciously local. So are the divorce - huntresses and court- John W. room worthies. If this play reclaimed were adapted so as to be under- “ nlf standable in Europe, it would have to be entirely rewritten and its individuality, the very breath of life in it, would be gone. But “Baby Mine,” the perfect example of skittish farce, celebrated its prosperity here by moving to Paris, where it was cherished long and joyously. Conversely, some of the substantial dramas of France, dealing forcefully with modern conditions, have been failures when presented in New York. Audiences are not engrossed by problems that seem foreign to them. The man in the orchestra seat must be able to imagine himself in the place of the man on the stage. But sex and delicate deviltry are little hampered by barriers of language. Coquetry requires no dictionary. (Ask any returned Yank.) Hence imported farces. It is a pity, though, that the adapters of these farces for the American public have not stuck to their dic- tionaries and given us fairly direct translations, instead of botching the job by turning out hodge-podges that are neither French nor American. In this brutal trans- forming process the nuances of meaning suffer as badly as did Monsieur Clémenceau’s famous nuances in the interviews of the Hon. Jim Ham Lew That which was subtle in the original farce be- comes crude; that which was wittily daring becomes vulgarly raw. By Lawton Mackall The sprightliest frisky com- edy which has come over in a long time is “Sleeping Part- ners,” in which H. B. Warner and Irene Bordoni are now play- ing. It is a droll frippery of the Boulevards, with its gaiety un- broken in transport. The plot is altogether fresh. He—none of the characters has names—a debonair young Lothario who has long hovered attendance on Her, the beauteous wife of a boob with a beard, at last per- suades her to come to his flat for a sentimental téte-d-téte. She comes, he is thrilled and expects to conquer. But, alas, when he kisses her she faints from fright; and he, rushing to administer spirits of ammonia, by mistake administers spirits of Morpheus in the shape of a sleeping potion. His charmer returns to her senses only for a brief visit, being rap- idly overcome by drowsiness. To his dismay she lies there upon his sofa as placidly unconscious of his existence as though she were a marble river goddess reclining on a fountain. “I’ve waited for eighteen months to be her lover,” he cries, “and now I'm only a night watchman!” And so to forget it all he a dose himself. Such a farce appeals in New York as it would in Siberia or South Africa. But France has produced hosts of plays of a more solid sort which deserve our acquaintance, even though they may be more thought-commanding and imagination-stretch- ing than our Broadway time-killers. Over there people read the plays of the year as well as see them. The result is that when dramatists are writing to interest people not only in orchestra seats but also in home libraries, they employ more pains and brains. French plays of this higher type are at last being pre- sented in New York to a small but ever-increasing circle of persons interested by {acaues Copeau and his com- pany at the Théatre du Vieux Colombier. This play- house opened last year under many disadvantages, and without sufficient preparation—most of the male mem- bers coming straight from the trenches. This year they show greater finish and smoothnes: They have given us a keen production of realistic dramas by Bernstein and Brieux, and a delightfully colorful one of Beaumarchais’s eighteenth century comedy “Le Mariage de Figaro.” But one could wish that, as these players are making their appeal to the American public, they would not gear their French quite so high. bachelor in that he is be tranger comicbooks.com