A tramp could make a success with a modern play with half this much in its favor!
On the other hand take the modern play. You know the atmosphere. You live in it. None is created. It is just there. Consequently the critics wail the lack of it! The costumes are simply the dull prosaic garments of the day. There isn't any novelty to be found there. The language is understandable—perilous fault! The fun is provoked by well-known, legitimate methods and is accordingly "stupid." The comedian is a human being—and "tiresome" therefore!
Mind you, dear reader, I would not be of those who wail about the decline of the drama and the ascendency of the movies. But I can't escape the facts. And here is another angle of the situation which perhaps is too often overlooked.
There is no question that the actor of to-day is living in a more agreeable environment than his brother of a hundred years ago. He is accepted now socially. He was a gypsy then. His opportunity to annex a large share of the world's goods is larger to-day than ever it was. Yet in his artistic life he is less fortunate than his confreres of even twenty-five years ago.
Why?
Simply because we have lifted the curtain, let loose the secrets of our little house, discussed our art with the gambler and the janitor!
It is a difficult job to convince a friend with whom you're dining that you are capable of playing Hamlet. He can't disassociate you from the evening clothes you wear!
Abroad the man and the actor are separate beings. Here, through our own fault, we are always ourselves.
And so it must continue to be until the old back door keeper is reinstated, the green room refurbished and—the curtain dropped! Let the janitor be silenced and the stage door barred and securely fastened! Then and not until then may we hope to attain truly artistic results.