ABSTRACT
Mr. George Calderon (whose translations of ‘The Seagull’ and of ‘The Cherry Orchard’ were reviewed at length in the ‘Literary Supplement’ on their publication a few weeks ago) did not deliver at the Little Theatre last night the short lecture on Chekhov's method which the programme promised. Perhaps it was as well. Mr. Calderon is, justly, a firm admirer of Chekhov's work, and he might have raised hopes which the performance could not satisfy. Mr. Maurice Elvey, with his Adelphi Play Society, is another enthusiast, and an enthusiast who has already done some admirable work. We commend him for showing us ‘The Seagull’; we commend nearly all the actors and actresses in the cast for their performances - and yet we cannot commend the production as a whole. In a single ‘special’ performance one ought not to expect the very highest finish; and yet the very highest finish is just what Chekhov demands. For he is not concerned to tell us a story of one, two, or three people which starts, develops and ends - something simple, which can be played by a two-three stars only moderately supported. He is concerned to show us a family, a social class, a nation. In ‘The Seagull’ the beginning is no less important than the end, and the smallest character is no less important than the largest. . . . The acting necessary for this kind of work is acting which can show the minutest shade of these shifting, vibrating tones, which together makes the only whole there is; and that means acting not only good in itself but woven together with the finest art. So certain first-rate performances, like a scene of Miss Gertrude Kingston's with Mr. Maurice Elvey - the emotional actress devoting all her resources of her art to the subjugation of her rebellious lover - or Mr. Elvey's description, in the character of Trigorin, of what it feels like to be a famous writer, or Miss Mary MacKenzie's performance all through, could not make the play as a whole nearly as ingeresting as it should have been. And the scenery was not well managed. The whole effect of the first act was spoiled by the misplacing of the little stage on which poor Constantine's ‘decadent’ little play was acted, to the immense amusement of his hearty Philistine mother. Where was that all-important lake?
