"MARY ROSE."
OF course nobody could possibly suspect Sir JAMES BARRIE of plagiarising
(save from himself), yet it will explain something of the atmosphere of
_Mary Rose_ if I say that it is a story with such a theme as that
admirable ghostmonger, the Provost of Eton, would whole-heartedly
approve--thrilling, sinister, inconclusive--with (shall I say?) just a
dash of Sir ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE in his other-worldly mood to bring it
well into the movement. Naturally the variations are sheer BARRIE and of
the most adroit.
[Illustration: THE BOY WHO WOULD GROW UP FASTER THAN HIS
MOTHER.
_Mary Rose_ . . . MISS FAY COMPTON.
_Harry_ . . . . MR. ROBERT LORAINE.]
_Mary Rose_ is in fact a girl who couldn't grow up, because whenever she
visited a little mystery island in the Outer Hebrides "they" who lived
in a "lovely, lovely, lovely" vague world beyond these voices would call
her vaguely (to Mr. NORMAN O'NEILL'S charming music), and she would as
vaguely return with no memory of what had passed and no change in her
physical condition. This didn't matter so much when, as a mere child,
she disappeared for thirty days; but when, mother of an incomparable
heir of two, she was rapt away in the middle of a picnic for twenty-five
years, and returned to find a husband, mother and father inexplicably
old and changed, and dreadfully silent about her babe--well, you see for
yourself how hopeless everything was. As if there were not enough real
tragedy in the world and it were necessary to invent!
I don't think it fair to tell you any more. You shouldn't suffer these
thrills at second-hand. But I can say that, in spite of making it a
point of professional honour to try to keep a warm spine and check the
unbidden tear from trickling down my nose (which makes you look such an
ass before a cynical colleague during the intervals), I was beaten in
both attempts. The "effects" were astonishingly well contrived by both
author and producer (Mr. HOLMAN CLARK). You were not let down at the
supreme moment by a hurried shuffle of dimly seen forms or the click of
an electrician's gear suggesting too solid flesh. The house was in a
queer way stunned by the poignancy of the last scene between the young
ghost-mother and the long-sought unrecognised son, and had to shake
itself before it could reward with due applause the fine playing of as
perfect a cast as I have seen for a long time. There's no manner of
doubt that Sir JAMES "got it over" (as they say) all right.
Miss FAY COMPTON makes astonishing strides. Her _Mary Rose_ had adorable
shy movements, caresses, intonations, wistfulnesses. These were traits
of _Mary Rose_, not tricks of Miss COMPTON. And they escaped
monotony--supreme achievement in the difficult circumstances. Mr. ROBERT
LORAINE in the doubled _roles_ of _Mary Rose's_ husband and son, showed
a very fine skill in his differentiation of the husband's character in
three phases of time and development, and of the son's, with its family
likeness and individual variation. Mr. ERNEST THESIGER, who seems to
touch nothing he does not adorn, gave a fine rendering of as charming a
character as ever came out of the BARRIE box--the superstitious,
learned, courteous crofter's son, student of Aberdeen University,
temporary boatman and (later) minister. He did his best incidentally, by
rowing away without casting off, to corroborate the local legend that
the queer little island sometimes disappeared. Miss MARY JERROLD was
just the perfect BARRIE mother (of _Mary Rose_). Mr. ARTHUR WHITBY'S
parson, Mr. NORMAN FORBES' squire, Miss JEAN CADELL'S housekeeper, left
no chinks in their armour for a critic's spleenful arrow.