BITTER PLAY

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 625, 30 March 1929, Page 20

BITTER PLAY

“Craig’s Wife” a Study in Psychology TERRIFIC ACTING “Craig’s Wife,” the American Pulitzer Prize play by George Kelly, produced recently at the little Fortune Theatre, London, is a study in feminine psychology. Incidentally, it provided Phyllis Neilson-Terry with what must be one of the longest and most exacting parts in any modern play. Mrs. Craig has married to get a home, and, now that she has it, the home has become an obsession with her. Her other obsession is Respectability, and it is through this that her poor, weak husband finally has his eyes opened. A double murder is committed at a house where he has been playing cards overnight; he knows nothing of it till he reads the news, but he realises that his wife would prefer anything rather than that he should speak up and say what he knows of the affair. And so she lies and plots and bullies and cajoles until not only Mr. Craig, but all her friends drop away, and she is left alone, tragically alone in the Home for which she has played so high. She is indeed an abominable woman, and Miss Neilson-Terry makes a terrific figure of her. You cannot help hating her. Every word she utters is a veiled sneer; there is venom even in her smiles, says the “Daily Mail’s” dramatic critic. Brian Afterne is admirable as the trusting but finally rebellious Craig. The pace he and Miss Neilson-Terry got into their long scenes together was astonishing. Speed is invaluable in this kind of play. The murder is an unfortunate piece of stagecraft. The news of it comes early in the very long first act, and anyone who does not know the play of course assumes that the husband is implicated; indeed, I imagine most people thought they were in for a “thriller.” The play is an interesting piece of work, but it is so bitter. But it was pleasant to welcome Miss Neilson-Terry back again. ■ She is a brilliantly talented actress who has been away too long.

Here’s a novelty—a story for Sir Harry Lauder, not against him. He and his company were appearing in the Grand Opera House, Wellington. A matinee performance was to be given in Masterton, the company returing to Wellington in the evening. The advance man, when in Masterton, had been approached by a young man who stated that his mother, who was bedridden, came from the same town as Sir Harry (Arbroath), that she had heard him as a youth, and wistfully wished she could hear him again. The manager took the name and address, which he conveyed to Sir Harry with the old lady’s wish. On the company’s arrival at Masterton, the members rushed off to have lunch before the performance, but Sir Harry directed his taxidriver to the home of the invalid, where he remained talking of the old days in Arbroath, and singing the old songs of bonny Scotland until it was time to "make up.” “Have you had your lunch?” said the manager when he arrived at the theatre. “Aye,” said the comedian, “I’ve had a regular feast.” * * * It has been an open secret for long that Stephanie Deste was consumed with a longing to play “Salome,” says an Australian exchange. Recently in a small studio in Melbourne she introduced to a small audience Wilde’s dramatic version of the Judean princess’s infatuation for the unlucky prophet. The theme is a bit morbid, but Miss Deste, swathed in a black and orange garment, got well inside Wilde’s picture of the sinuous, exotic dancer, and the voice, which in golden ; tones wooed, pleaded and cursed, fin- [ ally dying away in a reed-like sound as the guards crushed out her life, had a characteristically Eastern cadence. Herbert Browne chanted the lines of John the Baptist, C. Crane was Herod, and Reggie Newson scored as the young officer. Miss Deste was in Auckland with "Rose Marie.”