Shaw Play Bitterly Assailed

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 846, 14 December 1929, Page 31

Shaw Play Bitterly Assailed

Hannen Swaffer Writes | of “The Apple Cart” work; of an old man Hannen Swaffer is a virulent dramatic critic whose face was recently smacked by a London actress who did not appreciate his comment. In his article, reprinted from the “Bystander,” Swaffer attacks Bernard Shaw, and his latest play, ‘'The Apple Cart,” which was recently produced at Malvern, England. If you are producing a play by a former dramatic genius, who is now footling around making an ass of himself, never allow the first performance to take place three hours away from London. I venture to state, quite seriously, that had “The Apple Cart” been produced in London instead of Malvern, most of the notices would have been flattering eulogies. But, alas for Bernard Shaw, the critics came back in a train together for a three hours’ journey. Then they had a whole day in which to write the stuff. Usually dramatic critics are afraid of great names. When a play is produced late at night, they are scared to death if a prominent name is on the programme. But this time they talked it all over coming back, and so even the stupidist ones changed their absence of minds before London was reached. “Marvellous!” said the alleged critic of an enormous circulation when the curtain fell. He did not say so in the paper. “Exquisite!” remarked the critic of a picture paper. He did not say so in print. Some of them started saying “Wonderful!” By the time they reached London, they had heard so much truth from firm blokes like myself that when he i-ead the notices Sir Barry Jackson must have had a shock. It is strange to believe, but two or three violent-minded men can change the whole course of the Press. Ridiculous Behaviour Shaw’s behaviour at Malvern seems to have been ridiculous. At the opening of the Shaw exhibition at the public library, be said that Elgar was a greater man than he was, -which was a futile remark. When the critics turned up later, he got as nervous as Cochrau would have done in the same circumstances. Then he was photographed with “Miss America,” who rushed down to Malvern to push her nothingness into the limelight. It was kindly of Shaw to let Sir Barry Jackson stage the play—at least it seemed kindly until we saw it. The newly-built theatre had not been doing too well. They suggested running a Tehekov season with Philip Ridgeway. Then came the much-boomed Shaw season. Barry Jackson, who hitherto has been wasting his money on doing nothing serious in London, had conceived the admirable idea of turning Malvern into a festival town. It is a beautiful spot. It is a tine theatre. Malvern might become a sort of Bayreuth. Well, in a few days, when rehearsals began, Shaw became a local god. The very quiet ultra-respectable people of Malvern watched him everywhere he went. They would even have liked to follow him when he dragged Barry Jackson over the hills, jumping over brooks, springing on rocks, behaving like an antelope or an elderly faun, and making Jackson quite windy. “The Apple Cart” Disarmaments, world pacts, Customs unions, talkies at the Folies Bergeres, Lord Beaverbrook going to Russia, au ex-policeman as court official at the Royal Garden Party—things like this happen in swift-mov-ing sequences; and yet all that Shaw can do, in forecasting events in 1960, is to have twice as many women cabinet ministers as there are now, and an American Ambassador dressed as Uncle Sam! I do not want to be hard on Shaw. It is unkind to hit a man when he is down. It is easy to jeer at age. Besides, I have always been a Clown and it is only recently that Shaw has become a Pantaloon! Still, I would be ashamed, if I were a young dramatist of 19 who had seen “The Desert Song” at Wigan and the Houston Sisters at Wood Green, had read a “Morning Post” leading article, and that was all, if I could not put more wit and more brain into my first effort at stage construction. After all, it needs no technique to flop about all over the stage, to do such silly things as let your Cabinet Ministers walk out at the end, one by one, in a silly procession, so that you know the poor blighters have got to do it, one after the other, and without a word of humour to say. “Bad Theatre” Such “bad theatre” is incredible. I yawned during the first act of “The Apple Cart.” Half an hour afterward I nearly went to sleep. The King and his Cabinet did a lot of silly talking, and the Cabinet called each other “Bill” and “Joe,” and one of the women Ministers whistled and threatened, every now and then, to sing a comic song. In the second act, the King went to see his mistress and they fell on the floor together, just like that pitiful incident in "Sirocco.” Then, in the third act, the King and his Cabinet started talking all over again, and that is all that happened. Not one line of wit. Not one beautiful thought. Not one novelty of invention. That is the truth about “The Apple Cart.” If I were to write an article as dull as that, I should get the sack. No; I should sack myself before I sent it in. Even the actors must have known it, for most of them were dreadful. They looked ill at ease. Shaw should have seen the first performance of “Saint Joan” and then retired from the business of a dramatist. After all, he had written them the greatest play that has been written during our lifetime. His epilogue, with its unspoken plea for the martyrs of today, was sublime satire. When he had finished that, Shaw should have written “Finis” to his career and then awaited the plaudits of posterity. He does not know that he is an old man.