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the bombing of London, we have had a series of films and plays in which the dressingup has been merely incidental. We have realized that in costume plays, if the interest and sincerity of the characters ebb ever so little, one is left with something pretty to look at and little else — and mere prettiness is out of date. Turgenev's three sisters was perhaps the greatest step forward, followed, not so very long after, by a month in the country. They were costume plays by accident. What matter what kind of clothes the characters wore if their misery was so poignant that "as they reached out for happiness they could not close their hands on it"?
There was also the sincerity of Michael Redgrave who lived in his play, uncle harry — when alerts and the sound of bombs were heard outside it was not the costumes that made one forget them but the people in the play. Some of the best costume films, however, were even sincerer than the plays. Robert Morley, memorable as he was in the play the first gentleman, was inclined to "act" the Prince Regent; while Claude Rains, in a film in London at the same time, was Mr. Skeffington, not a performance.
Classics if overdressed tend to produce self-consciousness, the school for scandal, the rivals, Congreve's love for love sometimes become a mere mixture of pageant and affectations. It is a pity we cannot see them as new plays. Even Emlyn Williams could hardly have imparted so much simple sincerity into the corn is green if it had been labelled as a great classic.
Often in quite minor costume plays and films we have little masterpieces, the Victorian romances fanny by gaslight and the valley of decision, were appreciated for their own merits, and not for their dresses or period effects. Happily it is comparatively rare for a film or a play to be produced merely because its costumes are thought quaint. Walt Disney has satisfied our desire for the quaint to the full and in a delightfully naive way. When the quaint is a mere intruder it almost inevitably fails, Lillo's eighteenth-century fatal curiosity faltered badly, when the parents murdered their own son we smiled self-consciously not sure if we were shocked or bored, or vaguely amused. We may not know whether it was meant as a joke or not when it was first produced but at the Arts quaint costume was not enough and we were left in a state of bored confusion.
To-day the reception of mere costume plays is as doubtful in the provinces as in London. On the crest of the wave of the Edwardian delight in costume Fred Terry and Julia Neilson "acted" and dressed up for all they were worth and both had a great following in the provinces. But in their day the provinces were usually merely the provinces, not places where plays for London were tried out.
It is probable that to-day the provinces are even more critical than London of plays that depend on the success of their dresses — even modern dresses. After seeing an up-to-date film or play would the ladies of Manchester imitate the twirl of a modern Marie Tempest's parasol or the men copy the appearance or the gestures of a perfectly tailored Charles Hawtrey or Gerald du Maurier? Such affected naturalness would probably only produce a tolerant smile.