Evening star., 1934-11-13


formal fashion.
This is not the Eugene ONeill that
we know" said they, as they watched
Nat Miller, one of the incest charac-
ters that has ever been drawn on the
stage, sit beside a table in his Con-
necticut home, reading Omar Khay-
yam, in white socks and slippers and
making wry faces at the thought
that he was going to have to bawl out
his son for having gotten "soused" in
o public house.
NO" said they again, as the cur
tain came down on a sentimental and
nostalgia warmth rarely viewed in
former ONeill "somthing's
wrong with the man-hes going soft
on U.S."
Mr.. ONeill may have gone soft and
sentimental. but the results are
strangely satisfying. While "Ah, Will
derneSs," which opened last night at
the National may not be the play by
which people will judge him in the fu-
ture, it is for the moment the least
harmful of his many works, and one
which may be thoroughly enjoyed if
the audience is prepared beforehand.
Last night the two ladies ahead of
us were afraid that Mr.. O'Neill was
going to talk too much. They were
afraid, in that brilliant scene where
George NJ. Cohan gives his son
fatherly sermon, that O'Neiu would
say as much and say it as frankly as
he had done in Mourning Becomes
Electra" blanching the cheek of many
Hfy11 rot Oh
her crimes in silence than have them
dished up behind the footlights. And
they were then disappointed that he
hadn't said more, not realizing that
an author of MIR. O'Neills standing
would never overstep the bounds of
decency in play which relies for its
effects on honesty of thought and ac-
curacy of detail.
They forgot, in other words, that
SAh, Wilderness is at least partly
photographed.
X X X
IF, WHEN ONeill was writing "Ah,
Wilderness" he was coming phrases
out of his own family album and
snatching random reflections out of
an averagely difficult past, he also
had George M. Cohan in the back of
his mind as the man who would play
Nat Miller, then it is easy to under
stand one of the real miracles of the
present theater. Because, without Mr..
Cohan, it is possible that this comedy
might fall with thud on its ear. Not
that it is insignificant. but that Mr.
Cohan shakes out its sails, gives 1t mo-
mentum and carries 1t into such
sublime seas as may at first have
seemed pleasantly strange, even to
the author.
Mr.. Cohan's characterization of Nat
Miller is probably the finest portrait
on the American stage today. 1t Is
friendly, it is gentle, it is sly-but,
above all else, it is a man such as
you and I have seen many times in
homes that still may be called homes.
Having seen Will Rogers do the same
role-and do it very well at that-it
is even more our opinion that Mr.
Cohan's Interpretation is the finest
that may be had, and that unlike Mr.
Rogers, who made Nat Miller a kindly
Will Rogers, he plays the role for all
1t Is worth, taking himself out of
himself with a will that should tickle
the fancy of any sane drama goer.
X
Mr.. CoHAN'S expert performance
as the owner of the Evening
Globe and more particularly as the
father Of boy who is progressing
through normal if violent growing
pains. is not, however, the only source
of delight in Mr.. ONeill's Booth Tar
kington play. There are others who
are keenly alive to its subtleties, di-
Vlding their joys and sorrows with
almost the same skill that they did
In New York and making the play one
OF the most pleasant that the local
American Theater Society will have
the fortune to present this season.
These ipclude Jean Adair. who
grows and grows and grows in warmth