iene Kakadu
9.3. Der
K k. en nenene enen
box 15/3
stuvern in Paris.
Time: July 14, 1780.
The two plays produced by Norman MeKinnel.
The programme presented last nighit by
Mesers. Norman Mekinnel and Frederick
Whelen is more estimable than most that have
been produced this scason. But one fears that
it would better serve the Incorporated Stage
Society, of which Mr. Whelen has for years beon
n shining liglee, chan à managoment that looks
for support to tho general public. First Anton
Dressler and Gertrude Rolffs sing jointly or
severally half a dozen songs. Now, excellent
artists as they are, they are handicapped by
their foreign accent, by what sound to be in¬
different English words, and by their gaiety
being just a trifle heavy-handed. Their efforts
were well received; more than that one cannot
say. Then follows“ Between Sunset and
Tawn,'' a play in the curious form of four
scenes—they are really short acts—by, as faras
is known, a now author. Liz, a pretty
and civil-spoken young woman, is married
to Bill Higgins, who presumably has some
lowly occupation in which nothing short of
delirium tremens is regarded as a disqualifica¬
tion. When Choronglüg drunk he knocks har
about, and she has got tired of it. So she comes
t###% doss-house kept by Jim Harris, a large,
morose, blasphemous creature, who has had
nothing to do with girls. He has, however, his
good points. He knows Bill to be a blackguard,
pities and, later, loves Liz, whom he addresses in
langnage that one would have thought rather
beyond his means. When Bill comes to drag
Liz back to her singularly neatly-kept home he
is twice or thrice knocked doyn by Ju, and re¬
tires discomfited and with the seeds of a suspicion
that there is something on between Liz and Jim.
On Jim’s proposing to Liz that they
should retire to the country together she,
after some uncertainty, decides to return to her
husband. She does, and there is another scene.
Maddened by drink, he accuses his wife of having
in Jim a lover. She denies, somewhat unneces¬
sarily perhaps, that Jim has ever expressed any
affection for her. He orders her out of the house,
and when she has gone proceeds to smash the
chimney ornaments. She returns to the doss¬
house, and it seems that Nature will take her
course and that she and Jim will live together
in the country, when Jim suddenly murders her.
From his incoherent ramblings about this point
one is driven to conclude that Jim is a mental
case, a fact of which one had detected no pre¬
vions indication. Some will call the play strong;
others will prefer to call it violent; but few will
be convinced by the upshot. The author had a
choice of several probable murders, but this
murder is a rank oatsider. There are some neat
strokes of dialogue and characterisation, but
the play is morbid, squalid, and depressing—
the verv thing for some of our societies, but
hardly likely to appeal to the masses. It is
admirably acted all round, and especially by
Mr. Norman MeKinnel as Jim, Miss May
Blayney, a sincere, sensitive, and most sympa¬
thetio Liz, and Miss Ethel Marryat, most
amusing as a lugubrious and inquisitive
neighbour.
The Green Cockatoo?’ was produced a couple
of years ago by the Incorporated Stage Society,
when it was fully noticed. It is scarcely the
play to dispel the gloom already imposed. The
idea is of the simplest and most familiar kind.
On the night of tho fall of the Bastille. certain
aristocrats visit a cellur to witness a perform¬
ance given by an awkward squad ofactorsthrown
out of work at the regular theatre. Henri, the
chief tragedian, has the day before married
Léocadie, a le#ing lady, who numbers among
her innumerable lovers an aristocrat, the Duc
de Cadignan, as one thinks, though one can be
sure of nothing in the hubbub of the Revolu¬
tion. Henri, an ill-conditioned, scowling person
deseribes how he has murdered his rival and
they all applaud. Then the rival appears in his
usual health and Henri mnurders him in earnest.
The story, however, occupies only a few minutes;
the rest of the hour or so is devoted to loenl
colour. No doubt one gete an impression of the
noise, the confusion, and the diablemeof the
day, but one feels the sound and fury areout of
all proportion to the dramatio signiticance. It
also is admirably acted and also was well re¬
ceived. But one fears that the fare will prove a
little too strong or a littl; too violent for the
average playgoer.
7
9.3. Der
K k. en nenene enen
box 15/3
stuvern in Paris.
Time: July 14, 1780.
The two plays produced by Norman MeKinnel.
The programme presented last nighit by
Mesers. Norman Mekinnel and Frederick
Whelen is more estimable than most that have
been produced this scason. But one fears that
it would better serve the Incorporated Stage
Society, of which Mr. Whelen has for years beon
n shining liglee, chan à managoment that looks
for support to tho general public. First Anton
Dressler and Gertrude Rolffs sing jointly or
severally half a dozen songs. Now, excellent
artists as they are, they are handicapped by
their foreign accent, by what sound to be in¬
different English words, and by their gaiety
being just a trifle heavy-handed. Their efforts
were well received; more than that one cannot
say. Then follows“ Between Sunset and
Tawn,'' a play in the curious form of four
scenes—they are really short acts—by, as faras
is known, a now author. Liz, a pretty
and civil-spoken young woman, is married
to Bill Higgins, who presumably has some
lowly occupation in which nothing short of
delirium tremens is regarded as a disqualifica¬
tion. When Choronglüg drunk he knocks har
about, and she has got tired of it. So she comes
t###% doss-house kept by Jim Harris, a large,
morose, blasphemous creature, who has had
nothing to do with girls. He has, however, his
good points. He knows Bill to be a blackguard,
pities and, later, loves Liz, whom he addresses in
langnage that one would have thought rather
beyond his means. When Bill comes to drag
Liz back to her singularly neatly-kept home he
is twice or thrice knocked doyn by Ju, and re¬
tires discomfited and with the seeds of a suspicion
that there is something on between Liz and Jim.
On Jim’s proposing to Liz that they
should retire to the country together she,
after some uncertainty, decides to return to her
husband. She does, and there is another scene.
Maddened by drink, he accuses his wife of having
in Jim a lover. She denies, somewhat unneces¬
sarily perhaps, that Jim has ever expressed any
affection for her. He orders her out of the house,
and when she has gone proceeds to smash the
chimney ornaments. She returns to the doss¬
house, and it seems that Nature will take her
course and that she and Jim will live together
in the country, when Jim suddenly murders her.
From his incoherent ramblings about this point
one is driven to conclude that Jim is a mental
case, a fact of which one had detected no pre¬
vions indication. Some will call the play strong;
others will prefer to call it violent; but few will
be convinced by the upshot. The author had a
choice of several probable murders, but this
murder is a rank oatsider. There are some neat
strokes of dialogue and characterisation, but
the play is morbid, squalid, and depressing—
the verv thing for some of our societies, but
hardly likely to appeal to the masses. It is
admirably acted all round, and especially by
Mr. Norman MeKinnel as Jim, Miss May
Blayney, a sincere, sensitive, and most sympa¬
thetio Liz, and Miss Ethel Marryat, most
amusing as a lugubrious and inquisitive
neighbour.
The Green Cockatoo?’ was produced a couple
of years ago by the Incorporated Stage Society,
when it was fully noticed. It is scarcely the
play to dispel the gloom already imposed. The
idea is of the simplest and most familiar kind.
On the night of tho fall of the Bastille. certain
aristocrats visit a cellur to witness a perform¬
ance given by an awkward squad ofactorsthrown
out of work at the regular theatre. Henri, the
chief tragedian, has the day before married
Léocadie, a le#ing lady, who numbers among
her innumerable lovers an aristocrat, the Duc
de Cadignan, as one thinks, though one can be
sure of nothing in the hubbub of the Revolu¬
tion. Henri, an ill-conditioned, scowling person
deseribes how he has murdered his rival and
they all applaud. Then the rival appears in his
usual health and Henri mnurders him in earnest.
The story, however, occupies only a few minutes;
the rest of the hour or so is devoted to loenl
colour. No doubt one gete an impression of the
noise, the confusion, and the diablemeof the
day, but one feels the sound and fury areout of
all proportion to the dramatio signiticance. It
also is admirably acted and also was well re¬
ceived. But one fears that the fare will prove a
little too strong or a littl; too violent for the
average playgoer.
7