i'Aroinv 4b„„ UNDERSTAND why the London critics were so cool
4b„„ UNDERSTAND why the London critics were so cool 13::_"' Peter Ustinov's The Empty Chair, which I saw at the i4'ss1.01 Old Vic. It has some characteristic Ustinovian fail- t ls contrived, and full of blather. But the contrivance heard, good theatre; and blather the like of this we have not only mores the pity, since the days of Shaw. I would have 1)0 e serious criticism. Mr. Ustinov allows the little nigger Pierre' of the French Revolution, Hebert, Danton and Robes- re' to bind themselves in the cords of their own arrogance, and to depart via the tumbril, at the rate of one per act. But there are four acts : in the last we are left with the Terror's survivors; and though these men may have been food for interval rumination ('Collot d'Herbois? Wasn't he the one who . . .?') they cannot quite hold the stage. A better idea, perhaps, would have been to have a more deliberately anti- climatical epilogue on the St. Joan pattern. Still, by this time the audience (a full house : Bristol paid no attention to London carpings) were on the play's side; mildly regretful, rather than resentful, at the comparative let-down. I am certain that The Empty Chair: could be a money-spinner in the West End, provided it is given a suitable cast. The parts are so eminently actable that they cry out for virtuoso performers who can be watched with delight even by those in whom the play fails to suspend disbelief.
Previous page
