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By George lean Nathan
Deccrati ons by 'sNyn?t
and one given to an honest, unaffected practice of his craft. But affectation has taken its price, as affectation does always, and has kept Belasco from his place at the head of the line. Younger men, men who loved the theatre and the drama more than they loved themselves, who cared no whit for their pictures in the papers and no whit to be the guest of honor at hotel banquets, have taken from his hands, by the exercise of sheer sincerity and a lust for inviolate dramatic beauty, the reins of artistic leadership. And all the while Belasco might have taken them for himself had his mind been first on drama and last on the cheap esteem of jitney biographers, Chambers of Commerce, newspaper interviewers and Congressmen from the Third District. As I say, when one sees so admirable a presentation as
that does not care for contemptuously. The that the mystery stor amusement, and a certa
%Says Mr. Nathan
Pelleas and Melisande is an evening for Jane Cowl but not for Maeterlinck.
The Lady is flapdoodle; vintage of 1890, a tournament of venerable hokums.
Laugh, Clown, Laugh! one thinks
The Talking Parrot gets the custard pie as the worst play of a long time.
back all the more and regrets all the more. A great producing talent has dissipated itself upon petty manuscripts and pettier poses. But enough of regrets. Forget them and
go see this latest Belasco exhibition. It is superbly well done.
Lionel Barrymore, Ian Keith, Sidney Toler and Irene Fenwick head the thoroughly competent presenting company.
One Kiss is a cleaned up Parisian farce with much of its original flavor.
The mystery story su tized with any degree patrons chiefly from tl
III
The mystery story is a form of diversion that appeals to highly intelligent men and to morons. It jumps the wide gulf on the pole of rational paradox. It is the middle mind alone
the mystery tale and that sneers at it greatest scientist living has declared y provides his favorite form of light tin manufacturer of an article that took William Jennings Bryan's place as the chief source of American jokes has made the same declaration. Between the right wing of intelligence and the left wing of ignorance we find the vast layer of humanity that is neither too highly educated nor too under-educated properly to relish the mystery story. In this layer we observe the class that affects keenly to enjoy dialectics in the theatre, that goes into idiotic raptures over the tremendous genius of some moving picture comedian, that professes to be warmed by the tonal monkeyshines of Sc-hoenberg, and that stands in open-mouthed awe every other Tuesday when an art gallery displays the latest importation of modern art from Tzpzyzp, Hungary, or Kvalzvalokovitch, Russia.
cceeds in the theatre, when it is dramaof skill, because the theatre culls its be intelligentsia and the half-wits, the latter, of course, being in the overwhelming majority. The middle mind has small use for the theatre save, as I have said, when the stage is given over to profound boredoms masquerading as drama. The latest mystery play to come this way is In the Next Room, a dramatization of a novel of Burton Stevenson's by F,Ieanor Robson and [Continued on page 84]
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