1923

THE DRAMA OF TO-DAY

IN all ages the drama has played an important part in the life of civilised nations, and has been a great factor in the education and amusement, not to say uplifting, of the minds of the people. In no country has this been more marked than in our own land, which produced the greatest dramatist of all time as well as many others of more than ordinary character and importance. For centuries London has been the Mecca of dramatic art, to which all eyes turned and where stage ambition found its final goal. Can such a distinction be claimed for London to-day? I say most emphatically, No. Eighteen or twenty theatres playing inane musical productions, England's great poet dramatist represented only in a theatre slightly out of the beaten track at modest prices, and not a new play, or even a revival, on the London stage which will be remembered in twelve months' time-this is a terrible record, but who can deny its truth? Now, why is this? What is the cause? So many opinions are expressed from time to time, written by people on the outside who appear to know very little about it, that perhaps a few views of one who has been in the forefront of the battle, in a leading capacity, for more than half a century may be deemed interesting; at all events, they have been carefully considered.

The first terribly deterrent influence at work is the abnormal profit rentals of theatres, which are out of all reason. Theatres of which the original lease would represent 1ool. or at the most 120l. are now let for 350l. and 400l. and 450l. a week, and a series of amiable gentlemen pass on the leases from one to another at a large profit and sit on their office chairs, doing nothing and making handsome incomes thereby. And this evil is greatly accentuated when, as is at present the case, some of them are in occupation of two, three, and even four theatres. The effect of this is twofold. To the producing manager it means that a play which is not a great success at first, but shows some signs of life and might be nursed into a success under fair conditions, is crushed by the prohibitive rental of the theatre, and is taken off before the public has learned even what it is about, and so theatres open and shut every three or four weeks as if automatically. To the actor the

effect is equally, or even more, disastrous. When he is offered an engagement in a new play and asks his ordinary salary, he is met by the statement that the manager is unable to afford that amount on account of the enormous rent he has to pay.' The actor either refuses to reduce his terms, and joins the ranks of the unemployed,' or reduces his terms to a point which leaves him little surplus over his expenses during the almost inevitable short run, when he will be unemployed anyway. And so thousands of artists of pride and ability are reduced to poverty, often to the verge of starvation.

The point which is incomprehensible to a thinker is the attitude of the Government in this matter. Is not this rent profiteering in its baldest and most rapacious sense? The law will not allow more than 40 per cent. profit on small houses over pre-war rents. Yet here are rents increased 200 per cent., 300 per cent. and 400 per cent. in some cases, to the ruin of a large body of loyal and law-abiding citizens; and a benign Government, with its tongue in its cheek, looks on with placid indifference. Is there no one in Parliament, or no section of its members, who will bring this matter forward and never cease to agitate until this glaring wrong is redressed?

The second serious cause of the slump in theatrical business must, I think, be laid to the charge of the dramatic Press. Let me hasten to say that I have no personal grievance against these gentlemen individually or collectively. During the fifty odd years I have been before the public I have received all the consideration my efforts have merited-perhaps more but I am confident that many of the dramatic critics are on the wrong tack,' and the constant use or abuse of the term ' theatrical' has done, and is doing, incalculable harm in misleading the dramatists of to-day as to the wishes and requirements of the paying public.

What, I ask, is the meaning of the word 'theatre' if it is not a place for a theatrical entertainment? Assuredly the theatre is not the place for a sermon, a clinical lecture, a sex problem, or an argument on any phase of sociology. The theatre is a place for entertainment and amusement where the paying public at the end of its day's work may find education in some cases, but mainly relaxation from the humdrum of its daily toil in poetry, romance, pathos, honest fun or tender sentiment, etc., etc., just as we read a Stanley Weyman novel! We know the story never did, and never could, happen, but for the time we find our pulse quickening and our surroundings forgotten (whatever they may be) in the interest of the world the novelist has created for us. And so it is, or should be, with the theatre. And yet the dramatist has only to write, and the manager produce, a play with any of the before-mentioned characteristics when up rises a large section of

the dramatic critics with the flippant criticism, 'The play is entirely theatrical.' Let me call the attention of these gentlemen politely, but with all the emphasis at my command, to the fact that nine-tenths-I believe I might say ninety-nine hundredthsof the plays which have held the stage and which are remembered, which have pleased the paying public, made money for the manager, and provided salaries for actors out of which they could live comfortably and bring their families up respectably, have been theatrical plays. What are all Boucicault's dramas, Sardou's plays, Robertson's comedies, Tom Taylor's plays,

Bulwer Lytton's plays, etc.? All theatrical, written for theatrical effect and never failing to get it. I never saw an audience more moved in my life than when I was playing 'Beauseant' to Mrs. Kendal's' Pauline' in The Lady of Lyons—the most theatrical play ever written, and almost the best for stage effect, if the artists know how to play it as Mrs. Kendal did. Moreover, I would like to point out that since the Great War and in the days of our glorious (?) peace life with a large proportion of the population is pretty sordid, dull and drab-very strenuous and far from amusing—and therefore any play which is true to life as it exists to-day is liable to be sordid, dull and drab too, and most certainly not entertaining enough to be worth paying a big price for seats to witness. I don't believe that people want to pay to see in the evening anything like a representation of what has worried them all day, and I venture to think that the foremost dramatist of to-day (Sir Arthur Pinero himself) was more successful and made a greater appeal to his public in his earlier plays, written of and for the theatre, than in his more recent examples of what the modern writers elect to call 'high-brow ' work. I am afraid I shall outrage the susceptibilities of some of these gentlemen when I say I have never known a manager start out to educate the public who did not find himself brought up with a round turn against a 'snag' of formidable proportions. No, gentlemen, gauge the public taste and cater for it, even guide it slightly (without asserting the fact), but never, never attempt to direct it, or you will inevitably fail, as everyone has done before you who has adopted that tone or principle.

The third big reason I notice to account for the present lack of interest in the drama lies entirely with my own side of the curtain, and it is the terrible lack of colour in a large number of performances, and the dreadfully faulty and slipshod elocution of the modern school of actors. Where do they learn? And who teaches them? The art of acting is not to be natural, because that is nearly always entirely ineffective. The actor's art is to act, but to conceal the effort so effectively as to appear natural-a very different thing! Ars est celare artem.' Very

few young people of to-day are interesting enough to be worth paying to see either on the stage or off, so where is the inducement if they are going to be their natural selves? As for elocution, it appears to be 'as dead as the dodo.' The secret of being heard on the stage is not loudness; far from it! It is, when properly taught and learned, the secret of the proper relationship of the vowels and consonants and the art of accentuating the syllables so that they leave the tongue properly rounded and reach the audience cleanly cut and defined (and withal without pedantry), and it is a bare statement of fact to say that one never goes to a theatre nowadays without hearing someone in the audience say: 'What did he [or she] say?' Nothing is more irritating to anyone who has paid to hear as well as see. Within the last month I witnessed the performance of a most beautiful young lady, and I can honestly say I did not catch two-thirds of what she said in the entire play. The principal cause of much of this incompetence of speech and action is the prevailing habit amongst managers and authors of choosing artists as types without any regard to ability. Young people are pushed on the stage from academies and society circles because they look a part, and when the influence that placed them there is no longer behind them they remain on the stage, very many of them helpless and hopeless, to swell the army of unfortunates who have woefully mistaken a taste for a talent. This is even more noticeable in touring companies. Young people are selected for parts because of their resemblance to the London originals; in most instances they are paid very modest terms according to their modest worth; they watch and photograph (mentally) the London performances, and they go out in the provinces and play the play without colour and without the inspiration of the originals.

I have mentioned three of the principal causes which (with other minor ones) have steadily weaned the public away from the 'theatre habit,' and I venture to assert that it is not to be wondered at. Why should a man pay inflated prices for himself, and perhaps his family, to witness a drab play, lacking in interest, when he can spend two or three pleasant hours at the cinema for one-third of the amount of money? Theatre managers are often heard to grumble at the opposition of the picture theatres and broadcasting ventures, but I contend that they have been playing into the hands of the two latter enterprises for a long time by the lack of character in the entertainments they have themselves provided. And if I am right as regards London, my argument applies still more strongly to the provincial cities and

towns.

To draw to a conclusion, it may be asked, When will the dear

old drama (that many of us have loved and practised for the best part of a lifetime) see its wholesome days again' ? The

answer is:

1. When the purely commercial, speculative (not to say gambling) manager, who has very little knowledge of the drama and even less sympathy with its professors, has reached or neared the elimination stage, even if it be by way of Carey Street.

2. When enormous profit rentals have been abolished or reduced to something like reasonable proportions, even if it be by Government intervention.

3. When dramatists write plays that are exhilarating, ennobling or entertaining (even if theatrical ') without heeding false doctrines by gentlemen who are not in touch with the wishes and requirements of the great paying public.

4. When such plays are produced and stage-managed by men of experience and knowledge of the stage as opposed to those who fancy that such ability is inborn or a gift from heaven.

5. When actors and actresses by clear-cut speaking, articulation and enunciation of the English language let the audience hear what they say, which is the just due of those who have paid for their seats.

6. When the oppressive entertainment tax is abolished or much modified and the public has the same facilities to purchase light refreshments in a theatre as are prevalent outside. (The present regulations are simply silly.)

Finally, I may say that I am solidly convinced that the first manager who presents a really fine play will make a colossal fortune. Everything I notice goes to show me that a very large section of the London public is waiting open-mouthed for such an event -something which it can truly admire-and the same applies to the public outside London, in the United States and Canada, the Colonies and all foreign countries. Everywhere such a play would be hailed with delight. As much now as in Shakespeare's own day, the play's the thing,' and the production of a great or good one' is a consummation devoutly to be wished.'

J. H. BARNES.