Life — November 2, 1922 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

Hearts and Flowers HE chief reason for this department's campaign against sentimentality is our tendency to be senti- mental on the slightest occasion. We have to fight it, or we would constantly find ourself being dragged sobbing around the walls of the city by every play that contained a pair of baby’s shoes or the sound of off-stage waltz music. Thus if we snarl loud enough at sentimentality, perhaps people won’t hear us snifiling. We are able to fight this awful weakness only when a sentimental play is badly done. (And, thank Heaven, they usually are both badly written and badly acted.) Let an excellent piece of work come along, however, involving any pressure on the heart-strings at all, and we are among the first group of middle-aged ladies to be carried out feet first. BER RS HEN we heard, therefore, that Tom Nesbitt was to be in “The Faithful Heart” we were apprehen- e. For it was Tom Nesbitt and Ruth Chatterton in “Mary Rose” who plunged us into such a state of emo- tion that we bumped our forehead on the seat in front and raised quite an ugly lump. And when we attended Mr. Monckton Hoffe’s play and found that, in addition to Tom Nesbitt, there was Flora Sheffield and a practically perfect English cast (did you ever notice that most English casts are practi- cally perfect?) we knew that the game was up. “The Faithful Heart” is probably just as arrant sen- timentality at bottom as “Wild Oats Lane,” but it is writ- ten with a feeling for the intelligence as well as the susceptibilities of the audience, and acted with a delicacy and repression which makes it impossible for this re- viewer to get anywhere near a reliable perspective on it. When we report that we cried savagely at the final cur- tain, which comes down on an empty room with an old music box tinkling and the sound of the whistle of the departing boat in the distance, then you may know just what kind of goof we are and read the notices on this page accordingly. HE Theatre Guild seems to be the only producing agency in town with the ability to select plays which have novelty and dramatic value, and which, at the same time, give a thought to some of the Bigger and Deeper Things of Life. And, oddly enough, the Theatre Guild makes money. Certainly no ardent supporter of “The Bat” or “The Monster” could ask for a more devastating chill than that which sweeps up and down your back in the third act of “R. U. R.,” the first offering of the Guild’s new season. “R. U. R.” stands for “Rossum’s Universal Robots,” the trade name for the fabricated men and women made by Old Man Rossum and his son and the organization which they built up around them. The robots look like men and women except for a cer tain rather horrible sameness and a gigantic appearance around the chest and arms. They were intended to do the work of the world, leaving humans free to devote themselves to culture and other luxuries. Then someone thought of using them to fight wars. They were turned out by the millions, and all went well until one of the scientists in charge of the production decided to experi- ment a little and make them a bit more like human be- ings. The result was a revolt of the robots of the world and the almost complete extermination of the human race. The scene in which the last half-dozen humans are wait- ing in the house surrounded by thousands of quietly ap- proaching robots, is terrific. And when one of the scientists, peering out through the barricade, says with a shudder: “We shouldn’t have made their faces ali alike,” the effect is hardly to be borne. Like most of the good plays which the Guild has put on, there is perhaps a little too much talk now and then, but it is excellent talk, and well talked by a cast led by Basil Sydney and Kathlene MacDonell. The symbolism of the story is obvious and, in the present depleted ccn- dition of the world, accepted by practically everyone as true. Five years ago the Vigilantes would have run the play out of town, and, when next we want to go to war, the members of the Theatre Guild will probably be watch- ed by Military Intelligence officers for having produced anti-war propaganda in 1922. SECOND viewing of “The Torch Bearers” convin- ces us that it is one of the most delightfully written plays we have seen for many seasons. And we regret not having said in the first place how superb Allison Skipworth is as the lady director of the amateur theatri- cals. She is the one who says, in discussing the unfor- tunate loss of one-half of Mr. Tzwiller’s mustache during his big scene: “Well, there is simply no excuse for it. He has been here at the hall since four o’clock this after- noon.” RGLB: The wander Bast an emo! didn’t | The Review The later. The » viewed The ed late Loys good J Mal and th ing St The until On second Rose edy 0 Abi spirit The Claire about Ba Frenc With Ca; dinge burle tion P; Perl BS comicbooks.com