Play

"ADOLF—or Little by Little"
Take Back Your Freedom
I AM apparently not succeeding in
resisting the temptation to give Winifred Holtby's play, Take Back Your Freedom, the sub-title of "Adolf or Little by Little." We are introduced here to a brilliant Oxford don, Dr. Arnold Clayton (Frank Allenby), who has achieved through his academic expertise in economics the political office of Under-Secretary of State for Trade and Industry. Fed up with the politicians' ramp he lets himself go one evening in an important Liverpool speech to the consternation of his colleagues and those who hang on to them. Resignation is inevitable, but he cannot face again the equally appalling frustrations of Oxford life.
It is in this mood that he is persuaded by his admirers to fight the by-election and found a new party, the British Planning Party.
His mother (Beatrice Wilson), who has brought him up on statistics and blue-books instead of bread and milk, is the most ardent of his supporters in the new venture. His life-long friend, Major Richard Lawrcnce (Martin Walker), is in it with him.
'UNFORTUNATELY he did not teckon `-) with mother fixation and other psychological aberrations which, according to the author, explain the purple path of dictators. Mother fixation in this case meant that the good man was all the time unconsciously seeking to get free of his mother's apronstrings, an endeavour which ultimately led him a career of first-class political ganster. ism and a bloody death at the hands of his own mother.
One is presunnihir supposed to infer the appalling power of women—for good or iii. according to how it is used. At one point the dictator narrowly escapes assassination at the hands of a female journalist who has been forced back into her home by new legislation (along the lines Captain Curd would advocate). I suppose the moral is that women are apt to make a better job of a Tabouis career than instilling 'isms into their qjfspring. And if this is a defence of feminism I do not think it a very good one.
ACTUALLY the author has never succeeded in weaving together her two themes: the story of a good dictator's downward path and the private mental life of Dr. Arnold Clayton.
I enjoyed the first, simple and obvious as it was, because it remained a live story, most cleverly illustrated by Frank Allenby, who convincingly portrayed the succession of phases from honest reformer to insane egosim.
The psychological part, apart from its crudity, never came off despite the valiant efforts of Beatrice Wilson and Martin Walker. Winifred Holtby would have done better had she tried to work all this out in the intimacy of Mrs. Clayton's drawingroom, leaving us to infer the public career with its paraphernalia of grey shirts, etc. But the latter is certainly fun, and should carry the play to some success if it is taken to the West End.
The acting throughout was first-class, and, apart front the leading players mentioned above, I must mention two delightful little studies, Hugh Miller as the Jewish Press lord and George Hagan as a hideous pansyesque Fascist community-song leader.
Neighbourhood
Once a Crook
APART from a few good lines, and one
almost original character, Hallelujah Harry (Richard Bird), this play makes no effort to be anything but irreproachably conventional.
From the first scene in the Scotland Yard Inspector's room (with public school groups on the wall) to the final twist, so simple when it's all explained. we sec a continual panorama of familiar and amiable cliches.
Gordon Harker is Charlie Hopkins, the reformed crook, whose respectable life as a
pub-keeper is threatened by the Duke (William Holland), a revengeful former associate. The latter tries to embroil Charlie's son (Patrick Parsons) in crime with the help of a seductive blonde
Fotelle (Anna Konstan). The Duke eventually arranges that Charlie is found by the police beside Fotelle's body, holding the gun which has shot her. The rest of the play is disentanglement of the simplest kind. Everyone who appears is an old friend, including even the Hendon graduate, a coy Watson in a mauve suit, attending the Inspector.
Gordon Harker is beyond criticism, Richard Bird is magnificent, and the play can generally be recommended as a satisfying escape.
W. S. G. Aldwych.
The Body Was Well Nourished
TIIL Body Was Well Nourished, by Frank Launder and Sidney Gilliat, is a comedy thriller. Launder wanted to thrill us and Gilliat wanted to make us laugh or vice-ver.su—it doesn't matter anyway because if (intim succeeded Launder couldn't, and if Launder did Gilliat shouldn't.
Neither did, so that is that. Even Diana Churchill rushing round the stage in wrap, undies, or dressed, couldn't relieve the tedium of an audience that didn't know whether it had got to laugh or be thrilled.
Not even a war can excuse this latest insult to the intelligence or pocket of the theatre-goer, But, truth M tell, the cast did all in their power to relieve a bad play, and if acting or over-acting could have saved this comedy thriller they would have done it.
Barry K. Barnes, the salesman detective, seemed to suffer most from the double purpose of the piece and woefully exaggerated. The corpse had the best of it — but she wasn't particularly well nourished.
Lyric