Life, 1926-12-30 · page 21 of 37
Life — December 30, 1926 — page 21: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page is a theatrical review column discussing Broadway productions. The critic confesses to poor judgment reviewing "The Constant Nymph," admitting he was emotionally swayed rather than critically rigorous—falling asleep during performances, sympathizing with actors facing a cold opening-night audience, and later discovering the production had significant directorial and casting flaws he'd overlooked. The column also notes confusion about the Theatre Guild's scheduling of "Ned McCobb's Daughter" and "The Silver Cord" in alternating weeks rather than the three-week run initially reported. The critic acknowledges his own error here too. The tone is self-deprecating humor about theatrical criticism's subjectivity—how personal sentiment and circumstances cloud professional judgment. The numbered heading "Good-by 1927! Hello 1926!" is unclear without fuller context, though it appears ironic given the review's focus on recent 1926-1927 productions.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Good-by 1927! Hello 1926! cations for being a dramatic critic UR qualifi indeed we ever had any, are rapidly melting away under the depleting warmth of a senile las- We sometimes sit all the way through a play quite oblivious of the fact that we are supposed to be reviewing it, forgetting to look for flaws in construction or for oafish direction, making no mental notes to be turned later into copy, and in general behaving ourself like a paying patron, At times we even doze gently This must have been our frame of mind during “The Constant Nymph,” for we sat beaming and crying, beam- and erying, through what we discovered later, from people who know what's what, was a terrific jumble of vad direction, unintelligent casting and clumsy writing. Ve did just what an author hopes his lay-auditors will io, which is to supply emotional oakum to fill in the chinks he has left, and, in this case, we carried over our enthusiasm for the book and blended it in with the scenes in the play until we were all aglow, and had we written our review immediately, we should have given the thing unqualified and feverish endorsement. | . | PROG Wt RaW situde. ing N looking back on it, we see that we were very in- judicial. There are many inexcusable gaucheries in Basil Dean's direc n, but we didn’t seem to mind them at the time. Glenn Anders is probably not an ideal | Lewis Dodd, but we liked him enormously. (As a mat- | er of fact, through one of those unaccountable vagaries of imagination, our own mental picture of Lewis Dodd throughout the book had been an idealized image of Sinclair Lewis, an even more fantastic choice than Mr. Anders.) We admit all the things that are said about “The Constant Nymph,” including the fact that. great tretches of it are inaudible, but we were both amused nd moved by it and might as well admit it. On one point every one seems to be agreed. Miss 3eatrice Thomson, the young lady imported from England to play T'essa, is heart-breakingly good. eo ; PERHAPS one reason why we worked so hard on the side of the actors in “The Constant Nymph” and overlooked so many flaws was that, for the first half-hour on the opening night, the audience was one of the coldest ever assembled this side of Behring Straits. All the old actor blood in us immediately pounded through our system in dogged defense of the unfortunate group on the stage. We pulled with them from the fastnesses of the very remote seats accorded us by the management (one really can't be of much help 'way back in M-9 and 11) and fought the fight against the frigid first-nighters with as much nervousness as if we had been cold in grease-paint on the stage. For in all the world there is no more uneven contest than that of a cast against the impenetrable glacier out front, nor one so little depend- ent on the merits of the opposing parties. NO’. S is so often the when we are particularly acid in our condemnation of something, it turns out that we misunderstood the thing in tle first place. We were e bitter last week about the Theatre Guild's taking ‘d McCobb’s Daughter” for three weeks just as it had established itself as one of the best plays in town. Well, it turns out that ‘Ned McCobb’s Daughter” and “The Silver Cord” are going to run alternate weeks and where we ever got anything about three weeks nobody seems to know. But, even at that, this repertory business, while fine from a theoretical point of view, is confusing to the general public and especially to this department. Just as one show gets to going well, it is snatched off and another substituted for it. If you hear that “The Broken Banister” is a good show and get your mind all made up to see it Thursday night, only to be told that ‘y are playing “John Gunnison’s Grandpa” this week, but that nert week you can see “The Broken Banister” (exeept on Tuesday and Friday nights and Wednesday matinee, when they are doing “Limping”), you are quite likely to say to hell with the whole thing and go to the movies. And if you happen to be tr, of dramatic events two wee but this department is. has any trouble anyway. ing to make up a calendar ahead—oh, well, nobody Nobody but this department ND now along comes Anne Nichols, who four and a half years ago placed the gypsy’s curse on us with ’ and sponsors another play called “Howdy King!” It is a sterling comedy, full of honest fun and deep insight into human nature, and kept us laughing from start to finish, You don’t catch us again, Miss Nichols. Robert Benchley. comicbooks.com