The Theatre [.' MAJOR BARBARA." BY BERNARD SHAW. AT WYNDHAM'S
THEATRE. " RED RUST." BY V. M. Kr:tenor: AND A. V. OUSPENSKY. AT THE LITTLE THEATRE.] BEFORE revisiting Major Barbara, after nearly a quarter of a century, I abstained deliberately, but with some difficulty, from re-reading the celebrated Preface—the Preface which (some say) is always the best part of a Shaw play, and which is often hardly distinguishable, in technique, from the drama- tized discussion that follows it. But there is no escaping the preacher, once you've joined the congregation ! With the programme was included a sermon ; and, having paid sixpence for this, I got my money's worth by reading it. I gather from it that Mr.. Shaw thinks that Major Barbara has " dated " very little.
It hasn't dated, because, mainly, the abuses it illustrates are still with us. When we all get £200 a year, then poor Major Barbara will die; just as Gulliver's Travels and Candide may be unreadable (Mr. Shaw suggests) when their subject- matter becomes obsolete. And you can imagine Shakespeare writing a note for the revival of Macbeth :- "Since this play was first performed, I regret to say that border-raids, civil wars, and murders in Scotch castles have become less common, and, therefore, I am a little ashamed of my obsolescent tragedy. But, after all, people still maunder like Macbeth, instead of joining the L.C.C. So let it go at that."
There is a distinction to be marked. Shakespeare banked on the incorrigibility of the human heart, not on the indes- tructibility of feudal fortresses. Macbeth has survived his castle. Mr. Shaw relies on the imbecility of institutions. When they improve, he bows himself off the stage. Inveterate reformer ! But he will have plenty of time. We rebuild as the tortoise walks, imperceptibly ; and £200 a year for all isn't in anybody's programme for this summer's election.
For the rest, that admirable second act has not aged— one must agree with the author there. It exhibits, with exquisite humour, the phenomenon of sudden conversion or :` change of heart " : a process of inner convulsion that has
always interested Mr. Shaw since he first read Bunyan ; a phenomenon, however, that at moments collides with his conviction that human hearts will be changed when poverty is abolished. Here we get the excellent scenes where Snobby Price pretends to be converted, where Bill Walker (a first-class performance by Mr. Gordon Harker) tries to still the inner convulsion by bringing the price of his conscience to the Salvation Army shelter, while old Rummy Nffichens (again perfection of acting by Miss Clare Greet) lets Snobby pinch that price (or part of it) to avenge herself for the assault of Bill upon her withered face. We enjoy being left to guess at the moral while we laugh or tremble at the action. Before this, and afterwards, the mere preacher triumphs ; and while Lady Britomart (act one) expounds her social view to her son, who, with Mr. Eric Portman to show him, is still the languid undating youth of all ages, and while (Act three, scene two) Andrew Undershaft, the superman munition-maker, booms on in " vague Nietzschean cacklings," one's sympathies go to the silent whom Mr. Shaw never troubles to remove from the scene. During the last sermon (Undershaft's) there are five of the dumb-oppressed on the stage, three of them on stone supports, one of them in patent leather shoes (which hurt when one is bored), and another. Lady Britomart, on a sort of basket, I think. But Lady Britomart has had her jaw, and it's her turn to listen. And I must say that each repre- sentative character gets his or her chance in time and in turn.
Some of them overdo it—Undershaft principally. There's no stopping him. And I found his views more tiresome than I did twenty-four years ago, first, because views rarely bear repetition, next, because Undershaft hasdated. He was shown up in the War. He wasn't ready with tanks. The imbecile Cholly " Lomax also belongs to a period. He is Trollopian, and resembles the " Dolly ' of The Way We Live Now. Miss Sybil Thorndike, as Barbara, has great difficulty in making us believe that the good girl would have collapsed because she sees her beloved Army taking cheques from those who ought to have known better than to have made the money which keeps " charities " going. Was Barbara such a booby ? Then she too must die. While we wait for £200 a year all round, we know that we must extract all we can (even if it's only " dope " money) from those with £200 a minute.
The Bolshevist drama at the Little Theatre is not in essence a very new or a very interesting play. It is a very interesting production. Apparently the old human nature argument is, again, its theme. For here, in these spare scenes, so cleverly kept in a dreary monotone, everybody is " equal." We are now all communists. And the ' rust," presumably, is the vulgar passion and vanity that creep in to make, say, r20 o so useless to everybody after all ! The rust is spread, par- ticularly, by the vociferating Constantine Terekhine (Mr. Ion Swinley), who would be Don Juan and bully under any conceivable regime. His adventure is mere melodrama, but the setting and display of Bolshevist manners give originality to the whole play. Red Rust is well worth a visit.
RICHARD JENNINGS.
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