'° La Mauvaise Conduite." Comedic en trois actes de Jean
Variot, d'apres Plaute. Presented by La Compagnie Des Quinze. At the New Theatre. " D'apaks PLAUTE " . . . M. Variot, the author of La Mau- vaise Conduile, takes us back without apology to the nursery of the drama. Covered with birthmarks and confusion, his characters mistake each other's identity : are preposterously pulled, preposterously humiliated, triumph preposterously. They are no dabblers in comedy ; they fall into folly as into a water-butt. But they do not wink as they flounder. They are feverishly, pathetically anxious to regain the dry world of sense. What is buffoonery for us is agony for them ; and is therefore very good buffoonery. M. Variot and the Compagnie Des Quinze scrupulously observe the difficult etiquette which should govern adult behaviour in a nursery. There is no condescension in their manner, no playing down. They are natives, not visitors, in Cockaigne.
" Double, double," significantly observed the Witches, " toil and trouble." The worst of basing your plot on mis- taken identity is that, however easy it is for your characters to be mistaken, it is extraordinarily difficult for them to appear identical. An actor who presents an exact realistic replica of another actor undermines the illusion he creates, because our minds are distracted by extraneous wonder at his achievement ; and, conversely, an actor who is nothing like a duplicate of his double creates no illusion. The Compagnie Des Quinze solve the problem with masks. The inability of their friends to tell Sosicles from Menechnie does not surprise or irritate us. True, we ourselves have noticed that the former flaunts a chest while the latter deprecates a paunch. But at close range, we feel, such details must wait their turn to be remarked ; and it will be a long time before observation is sated on such noses, and such bowler hats, as make the two men one.
The French players have not exchanged the fetters of realism for the strait-waistcoat of a style. Stylized their production is, but in a slapdash, happy-go-lucky way which exempts it from self-consciousness. Their acting is too strong, too healthy, and too natural a. growth to be moulded to a manner. M. Boverio makes a delicate prowling ruffian of Sosicles, and reappears, miraculously Protean, to twitter ineptitudes as the Doctor. M. Villard as Menechme and Cadavaski as Erotic stand high in a team without a tail. If the structure of the play becomes, towards the end, top-heavy with complications, there is enough wit in the dialogue and enough: spirit.in.the antics which, embroider it to keep _us always on the edge of laughter.
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One nal and rather te,chnical word of praise H you-want to see 4` timing " (that all-important quality in the theatre) brought to perfection, go and watch the French players. Watch, for instance, the encounter of Sosieles and Meneehme, the recognition by each of his double in the other. There are no words, no actions of importance. Circling stiff-legged and suspicious, like dogs, the two grotesques investigate each other. In the small tentative movements of their minds and bodies each complements the other exactly. Suspense is increased, dies down, is increased again. They toss the attention of the audience deftly between them, like an invisible ball. Comedy is spun out of nothing, and without recourse to over-emphasis. That is the way to act.
PETER FI.Emmo.
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