BRAVING the hazards of the times, two companies north of the river are producing plays worthy of the hest traditions in the Repertory Theatre.
In autumn, 1941. The Intimate (Painters Green) opened its doors. Uncertainty cast over the future, a gloom that was dispelled by the perseverance of the players and a resolute group of theatre-lovers. This group had soon swelled into a full-blown faithful audience. The company has prospered ever since.
Last week they entertained us to a commendable performance of Cottage to Let. No player shone, but team-work was good.
AT Hampstead, under new management and the inspiring production of Tom Clarkson (formerly of Bell Theatre, Perth), Everyman Theatre has risen also to vindicate the
live and legitimate theatre. It is not yet steady on its feet. The struggle for recognition in these days of high costs and generally low tastes makes arduous and dangerous business.
Unfou tunately puhlieity was rather poorly handled at the start. so that attendances thus Far have been small. Hay Fever played to half-empty houses for a fortnight. A definite strain must have been imposed on the actois by the very hollowness of their voices in the deserted auditorium. They are to be praised for their skilful interpretation of Coward's crazy domestic farce as for their control and unshaken enthusiasm.
We thrilled, last Saturday night, to the grim ultra-lealism of Max Catto's They Walk Alone. A. P. B.