Pin THE DRAMATIST

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 312, 24 March 1928, Page 22

Pin THE DRAMATIST

LIFE OF MANY TRIALS ST. JOHN IRVINE'S PLEA j A -week or two ago I sat at dinner i next to an attractive girl who, it turned | out, was an actress. When I discovered this fact I put on a paternal . manner, and began in a condescending way to be kind to the young thing. I said, “Have I ever seen you act?” “Yes," she replied, “once!” “'Was I nice to you?” I next inquired. “You called me a hulking female," she answered. I thereupon choked, writes St. John Irvine in “The Observer.” 'What appeared likely to be a ghastly evening for me, however, was turned into a very pleasant one by her good humour, and she told me of the great difficulty a young actor or actress has in getting either employment or variety of experience. Managers, she said, are mad on what they, call “types.” They have an almost invincible prejudice against players who have learned how to act in repertory or Shakespearean companies. They refuse to read newspaper cuttings. “ \Yf:a Ldo they do when they engage a player for a part?” I asked. “Oh, they look at you,” she said, “and say, .‘You’re a type!’ or ‘You’re not a type!”’ “What does that mean?” I continued. on earth,” she replied, “but they think it means a lot!” I came away from the party wonder - ing once more on the incomprehensible character of some of our managers. lam not acquainted with many of them—most of them, indeed, I do not know even by sight—but the few with whom I am acquainted seem to me to be very able and intelligent men, and I like to think that I attract to me only those managers who are men of _ mind and that I utterly repel the drivellers. On my arrival at my home I found among my letters one from a well-known author who has written plays. She is a distinguished woman, and her name, if I were to reveal it, would be greeted with respect. The following is an extract from her letter:

. . . But the reason why I am suddenly constrained to write to you is because I wish you would write an article, without mentioning me in any way at all, about the treatment of dramatists . . . Last month I was talking- to a man who made thousands out of two of his plays, literally thousands, but he can’t get any of the four others he has written put on. . . . And everyone seems to me to be in the same predicament with the" exception of a popular half-a-dozen. ... She then describes some of her experiences in attempting to secure production of her plays, and continues as follows: If I write to a manager about them (her own plays) I am told that he is full up for the next two years or else he wants financial aid. Yet we are told that good plays are not to be had. They won’t read them. I think there is a prejudice against women and against any dramatist, say, with three exceptions, who is not young. But this cannot be the only , case. Just now I think the public is in a nasty humour and cares only for nasty plays or crook plays. Still, there are exceptions. Look at “Marigold,” which went round the town! . .

I do not entirely agree with my correspondent. Her suspicion that there is a prejudice against women dramatists seems to me to be unfounded. Some managers certainly read the manuscripts that are sent to them, or employ a “reader” to do so. They are scarcely to be blamed for not producing plays of fine # quality when “the public is in a nasty humour.” The cost of production is too heavy for a manager to indulge in altruism or philanthropy or idealistic endeavours, and, although I should like to see a different sort of person in control of some of Qur theatres and have very little use for the ex-lard merchants and marine store dealers who are now posing as arbiters of the drama, I cannot deny that they follow the fashion instead of setting it. Theatre a Huckster’s Stall

The numskull business men, who conduct a theatre as if it were a huckster’s stall, measure a play’s worth solely by the amount of money which it makes for them. A good play, in their opinion, is one which earns a lot of money; a bad play is one which does not earn a lot of money. Heaven will deal with these persons in due course. We need not, therefore, unduly perturb ourselves about their existence. What is disturbing about this business of the theatre is that its disappointments and delays discourage authors from attempting to write plays at all. On more than one occasion managers have speculated on the singular fact that the number of really able novelists in England is so much greater than the number of really able dramatists. This disparity between the two groups of writers is not wholly accounted for by the fact that the

craft of the play is harder to learn than the craft of the novel. It is it is for the dramatist to get his play performed. The former, if he possesses any ability at all, can hope to find a publisher for his book. He may not make much money out of it, but he will make some. At all events, he will secure publication and some satisfaction for his pride. His work may be said to be ended when he has finished writing his story. It certainly is finished in comparison with the work of the dramatist, whose labour begins after he has written his play. His difficulty is not to write the play, but to get it produced. Novel v. Drama My readers will not, I trust, accuse me of self-advertisement if I illustrate my argument from my own experience. About 14 years ago, I wrote a play called “John Fergusson.” Seven years after it was written it was performed in London. That is my experience as a dramatist. Compare it with my experience as a novelist. I finished a novel, called “The Wayward Man,” at the beginning of last July. I corrected the proofs of it in August, and it was published in Great Britain and in America in October! Inquire now of yourself whether it is surprising that authors devote their talents to other forms of writing than the drama, especially as they know that the average publisher is the superior in culture and intelligence of the average theatre-manager. An author ought, perhaps, to be noble and to think only of his art; but, even if he were willing to think only of his art, and if his landlord and his butcher and his baker and his grocer were willing to think only of it, too, there would still be in him the intense desire mainly, in my opinion, the result of the fact that it is far easier for a novelist to get his novel published than

to receive recognition for his art; ai.d, if he cannot hope for reasonably swift recognition in the theatre, he will certainly turn his attention to other forms of writing in which the reward 15 prompter. A better illustration can be drawn from the experience of Mr. Eden Phillpotts, whose play, “The Farmers Wife,” was performed 12 years after it was written and had been declined by almost every manager in London. Those experiences are common in the theatre. A dramatist, unless he is one of the exceptionally lucky persons, does not expect to get a play performed immediately it is written. He knows that several years may pass before ft is produced. Many Plays Stored I do not suppose there is an established dramatist in London, with the exception of Mr. Bernard Shaw, who has not got at least one play ready for performance at this moment. In a healthy threatre each of these dramatists would feel assured that his play would be produced within a brief period, but scarcely any of them have that assurance, which is why so many of the old hands urge the apprentice author to write anything but plays. It if a small matter, in comparison with tbs trouble I have just described, but ao other author, when his work has failed to please the public, is grossly i* suited. Your novelist is not sun* 1 moned to the public library, and com* pelled to listen while angry readers yell “Rotten!” at him. The rewards of dramatic -authorship can be vers. great, but the humiliations and disappointments can be—and too often are—as great, if not actually greater; and we have no right to comply thlat authors of repute hurry past tM stage door, when we know tr.a scarcely am* attempt is made to duce them to enter it.