DRAMATIC NOTES OF THE FUTURE
[A little cheild is the hero of Everybody's Secret; the curtain rises upon four little cheildren in Her Own Way; there are cheildren of various ages in Alice-Sit-by-the-fire.]
Mr. Barrie's new play, The Admirable Crèche, will be presented to-morrow. We understand that there is a pretty scene in the third act in which several grown-ups are discovered smoking cigars. It may confidently be predicted that all the world will rush to the "Duke of York's" to see this novelty. The Admirable Crèche will be preceded at 8.30 by Bassinette—A Plea for a Numerous Family, a one-act play by Theodore Roosevelt and Louis N. Parker.
Little Baby Wilkins is making quite a name with her wonderful rendering of "Perdita" in the Haymarket version of A Winter's Tale. As soon as actor-manager Wilkins realised the necessity of cutting the last two acts (in which "Perdita" is grown up) the play was bound to succeed. By the way, Mr. E. H. Cooper's new book, "Perditas I have Known," is announced.
Frankly, we are disappointed in Mr. Pinero's new play, Little Arthur, produced at Wyndham's last week. It treated of the old old theme—the love of the hero for his nurse. To be quite plain, this stale triangle, mother—son—nurse, is beginning to bore us. Are there no other themes in every-day life which Mr. Pinero might take? Could he not, for instance, give us an analysis of the mind of a young genius torn between the necessity for teething and the desire to edit a great daily? Duty calls him both ways: his duty to himself and his duty to the public. Imagine a Wilkins in such a scene!
The popular editor of the "Nursery," whose unrivalled knowledge of children causes him to be referred to everywhere as our greatest playwright, is a little at sea in his latest play, Rattles. In the first act he rashly introduces (though by this time he should know his own limitations) two grown-ups at lunch—Mr. Jones the father, and Dr. Brown, who discuss Johnny's cough. Now we would point out to Mr. Crouper that men of their age would be unlikely to have milk for lunch; and that they would not say "Yeth, pleath"—unless of Hebraic origin, and Mr. Crouper does not say so anywhere. Mr. Crouper must try and see something of grown-ups before he writes a play of this kind again.
We regret to announce that Cecil Tomkins, doyen of actor-managers, is down again with mumps.
