THE NEW SENSATION-DRAMA.
T"playwrights of London are sorely puzzled. They see by the sue_ cess of the Colkeit Bawls that some sort of sensation-drama is the attraction, but they cannot imagine what sort. They cannot conceive why if one combination of brilliant scenes, startling incidents, and sparkling dialogue should bring to a theatre fortune, another combi- nation of equally good materials should not at least secure decently filled benches. Here, however, is the Octoroon, which, written by the author of the Colleen Baum, produced at the same theatre, acted by the same company, with scenes as striking, and dialogue quite as telling, is still an acknowledged failure. They are fairly nonplussed, and inclined to fall back on the lazy theory that success or failure depends on chance medley, and that the only course is to go on making experiments in hope of a "hit" by accident. Mr. Bouci- cault himself, with all his ability, is as much taken aback as the rest, and inclines to the not very humble theory that because his slave story does not succeed the British public has ceased to hate slavery. We venture to differ with the playwrights and Mr. Boucicault, and propose by a short account, not so much of the Octoroon as of the reception accorded on its first night, to see if there be not some rules, principles as definite as those which regulate tragedy, which must be attended to by any one who hopes to bring out a successful melodrama.
In the first place, it is, we think, proved that the writer of the sensa- tion-drama appeals to quite a new class of play-goers, to people who, though educated, want to be amused without the trouble of too much thought. It was not the gallery which paid for the Colleen Bawn ; neither was it the critics who wrote that performance intuits extra- ordinary popularity. It simply suited the class who, while cultivated enough to appreciate subtle dialogue, keen wit, or deep pathos, are too much worked in the daytime to want fresh thought in the evening ; who ask, in fact, to be entertained, and not, as they once did, to be instructed. A play which combines a natural plot, funny dialogue, and one or two really striking spectacles, is exactly the thing for them, and they thronged to the Colleen Bows. Jules Jinni and some English critics say the attraction is only "the. header," but the sarcasm is just as untrue as most ill-natured and clever sayings are. The visitors like .Miles'a quaint fun, and Eily's pretty face and perfect acting, the " make-up" of the old priest, and the general completeness of the miss en scene, just as well at the "header," and do not go away when that scene is done, as they would if Jules Janin were right. The play fulfils all the conditions of a play of its class, which, though not calculated in any degree to improve the stage, and, almost beyond the pale of artistic criticism; is still one which provides that almost unattainable luxury, an hour's respite from daily life.
To please such a class of visitors, a sensation-drama must, we conceive, be pleasant, intelligible, and sufficiently clever not to. annoy men who, though for the moment too lazy to appre. ciate thought, cannot get rid of a taste annoyed by the least imperfection. Let us see how far the Octoroon fulfilled the required conditions. It is certainly clever enough. From beginning to end we are living in the South, among the scenery and—what most managers forget—the houses of the tropics, which are not, we beg to inform the scene-painters of London, usually cCnspicaons for square glass windows. The people dress, act, and talk very much as Southern Americans really do act and talk, and the author neither offends us by exaggerating their brutality or concealing their contempt for a touch of colour. The plot is interesting enough, being the old and frequent story of a nearly white girl who fancied herself free, but was sold beeaase her father, in.signing the deed, had forgotten a mortgage over his slaves, and slew herself to escape the advances of her purchaser. Many of the scenes were admirable ; during the slave sale the audience actually shared the fictitious excitement of the bidders, the suspense was almost painful, and the curtain descended upon the third act amidst a roar of applause. The photograph scene, where a photographic camera, neglected for a moment, reveals a murder by recording the act, was as effective as so improbable an incident could be, and the acting throughout was admirable. Mrs. Boucicault acts Zoe as well as Eily, and with more pathos, her only defect being that she is a little too lady-like for any girl brought up among slaves. Mr. Boucicault, as Sakes Scudder, the gOod Yankee, was excellent (after he got rid of the Irish brogue, which for ten minutes adhered to Miles, and had the oddest effect). His monologues, which are far too few, kept the house in a roar, and throughout there was no sense of weariness. And yet the piece failed.
Then as to intelligibility. The house understood the scene and the characters, with one exception, quite well enough. The only blot is the Indian, who required a great deal too mach reflection. Uutravelled Englishmen never think of an Indian except as a Mohican—a red forest warrior with eagle feathers—and could not recognize without an effort the semi-domestic, drunken Comanche, as ignorant as a dog, yet starting into a warrior to avenge his playmate. They thought him almost comic, and were ivied by the constant jar between their imagi- nation and the representation, which they had yet read enough to know to be quite correct. For the rest, they understood the piece easily, and one or two subtle points—such as the sudden dispersion of a mob engaged in a Lynch trial on the appearance of a lady, and Salem Scudder's stamp-oratory—were thoroughly appreciated. And yet the piece failed.
The simple truth is, it is not a pleasant piece. The audience, deceived by the playbill, had expected a happy ending, and law defied by a quibble, and the suicide of the Octoroon simply annoyed and disgusted them. They did not expect a tragedy, and did not want one. Mr. Boucicault says in a letter to the Times: "The audience hailed with every mark of enthusiasm the sunny views of negro life; they were pleased with the happy relations existing be- tween the slaves and the family of which they were dependents ; they enjoyed the heartiness with which these slaves were sold, and cheered the planters who bought them. But, when the Octoroon girl was purchased by the ruffianly overseer to become his paramour, her suicide to preserve her purity provoked no sympathy whatever."
That reads well enough, but he has forgotten his own play. There is no reason of the kind assigned for the suicide. Not to mention that the audience know all the while that the sale is stopped, and Zoe quite safe, Mr. Boacicault, in his zeal for propriety, has made McCloskey offer her twrriage. Her purity was in no danger that the audience cola realize, and accordingly they thought the suicide a cowardly bit of blundering, and the applause, so vehement after the firsYthree acts, died away in the fifth. The scene might tell on the French stage, but to ask an English audience to be excited because a coloured girl kills herself to avoid marriage with a disagreeable rich man, is a blunder Mr. Boucicault ought not to have committed. We are quite aware that his thoughtinvolved a danger of a different kind, but the sort of audience which likes clever melodrama will not think out his plays for him. The piece failed solely for want of pleasant- ness. If Mr. Boucicault had followed the natural course of the story, left McCloskey to perish is the flames, and then started the new dif- ficulty—the legal bar between a white and an Octoroon—to be over- come as the story suggests, by mixing the blood of their arms, he would, we feel satisfied, have gained for the Octoroon a run which would have made it an appreciable political blow to the South.
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