The daily worker. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1924-1958, 1926-04-10
BY MICHAEL GOLD.


is not little Johnny Weaver" chorus
girl of the arts, flirting skittishly with
the emotions; he is a man.
Everything he says seems as sim
cere as the raving Of a gangster under
the third degree, or a truck driver
having his legs amputated after an
accident. O'Neill suffers real pain; he
has made art out of this pain.
One respects this man; he has never
sold out. One respects honesty that
wears for ten years in America; it is
rarer than black pearls. This is
nation of intellectual prostitutes; most
young rebels at thirty become some
body's hired brain; the cities are full
Of slick, bored, purchasable sophisti-
Gates. Menckenism and the disiIlu
sionment Of the war have ruined
whole generations. But O'Neill has
endured.
The Drift Of Mysticism.
TINE American intellectual has come
4 to the impasse where he believes
in nothing-nothing except making a
comfortable living. He SCOTS as Bah
bits; but he himself is deeper sunk
in dollarism than the innocent, crude
Rabbit.
Many have accepted this state in
the mood of the lady who took the
"easiest way"-''there seemed to be
no other" she cried between a sneer
and sob.
But the best OF the younger intel
lectuals are trying to fight a way out
They know that in Menckenism, or
sneering, or posing as rake, a super
man, a boulevardier, and a wise
cracker, there is no more solid nour-
ishment than in cream-puffs and syn
thetic gin. The mind cannot live by
froth, by negation alone. 1t must feel
that life is moving somewhere.
But life, in the United States, is
only moving toward great, Grass,
loud, selfish, luxurious machine-plu-
tocracy. We are building bourgeois
empire thatswill smother the world.
And so the intelIectuals swing to
the opposite extreme and become mys-
tics. If there are no answers in life
they grope forward into eternity.
Eugene O'Neill, because he's so bitter
ly honest, seems to be one OF those
headed in the direction of mysticism.
So are John Howard Lawson and other
young writer's. There is a strong ten
dency toward that on the stage and in
books. This is alone real and it fights
us with weapons of reality. To fight
it back with shadows and vague SYM
bols is to throw the battle entirely
into its hands.
The Great God Brown.
ONEILL'S newest play is built on a
~ solid theme-the conflict between
the creative and the acquisitive values
in life. He handles his theme nobly,
and with his undimmed dramatic
genius. In form the play is expert
mental; this man never rests on his
laurels, he is always pressing forward
into virgin places, pioneer. He ex-
periments with masks in this play.
There are two men and a woman, and
they show each other only the masks
all of US wear. One made is an art
list; the other is the Great God Brown,
the type-symbol OF American pusher,
go-getter, exploiter, the sterile money
grabber who sneers at the artist, yet
envies him his rich treasures Of the
mind.
The conflict between creator and
exploiter, presented in power scenes,
reaches its climax when the artist
dies of despair, and the American sue
cess steals his mask in order to DOS
sess the woman both have loved. But
the deception proves a failure; Brown
is still sterile under the stolen mask.
The play is capable of many inter-
pretations, and it is true, also, as the
latest of our New York stage critics
have declared, that its symbolism be-
comes confusing at times. What is
clear is O'Neilrs burning hatred of
dollar-delirium.