Irish Screen Arts Ltd gets film rights to writings, S 12, 18:5;
He advises Children's World Theater to present plays with adult themes, S 24, 20:4
9/24/47 George Bernard Shaw has passed on some advice to the Children's World Theater, Inc., which opens its season on Nov 1 at the Barbizon-Plaza Theater with "Jack and the Beanstalk." Incorporated four months ago, the group recently wrote Mr Shaw of their plans, and asked him for a statement regarding plays and theater for children. Mr Shaw responded in his own handwriting on his famous postcard, as follows:
"When I was a child I could not endure stuff written down to children. I devoured 'Pilgrims' Progress,' 'Gulliver,' 'Robinson Crusoe,' 'Arabian Nights,' 'Grimm's Tales,' Hans Andersen,' and the Bible narratives, all written for adults. My play for children is Androcles and the Lion. It is also a play for adults. Barrie's 'Peter Pan,' written throughout down to supposed child capacity, is in that respect a failure. For children there must always be passages of adult depth or deeper. A theater for children should never forget this."
Marks 91 birthday; por; answer to photo request illus, Jl 25, 15:2;
Birthday observance, Jl 27, 24:1;
Comment on protest against BBC broadcast of bullfight,Ag 17, II, 7:7;
With M Evans, illus, Ag 17, VI, 10:1;
Refuses to record radio introduction of play, Man of Destiny, S 8, 42:2;
9/8/47 George Bernard Shaw's traditional disdain for assuming extra chores in behalf of the theater apparently also extends to radio. Miss Lilian Supove, director of special events for WNYC, returning by air from London yesterday, reported that she had asked Mr Shaw to make a special recording by way of introducing the BBC's production of his play, The Man of Destiny to American audiences some weeks hence. The following is the reply which she received:
"Quite out of the question. I am too old; and The Man of Destiny needs no introduction. The announcer can read the printed directions with which the play begins in the book if he likes; but this is the utmost that I will sanction.
July 25, 1947
Denounces BBC bullfight broadcast, Jl 22, 30:2
(Daily
Telegraph, 22 July 1947)
7/25/47 George Bernard Shaw today demanded a public inquiry into the "mental condition" of the British Broadcasting Corporation because it had broadcast a description of a bullfight. In a letter to the editor of The Daily Telegraph he wrote: "In a bullfight an innocent animal is driven into an arena, where it is goaded, tormented and infuriated until it is exhausted, in which pitiable condition it is murdered by a swordsman splendidly attired, giving himself the airs of triumphing in a fair fight with a dangerous bull.
"In my early days England was proud of having abolished bearbaiting and all such savageries, and made bullfighting a national reproach to Spain. But now!"
Urges use of phonetic Eng, messages to Parliament and Irish Dail, My 10, 15:5
5/10/47 George Bernard Shaw issued a manifesto tonight to the British House of Commons, the House of Lords and the Irish Dail advocating the adoption of phonetic spelling, which, he claims, would mean "a labor saving of two months of working days per scribe every year." Mr Shaw urged that children should be allowed and encouraged to write and spell "phonetically just as they speak." "Freedom of spelling should be one of our slogans," he added.
Suggesting that pidgin English might become the international language of the future, Mr Shaw said, "a thousand words of phonetically spelt basic English, with a positive and negative of okay, and no can, will make business easy between all nations without declensions, genders, tenses, conjugations or what we call scholarship."
Back to Article IndexUSSR issues birthday anniv ed, Ap 19, 13:5
4/19/47 A Reuters dispatch from Moscow says that an edition of 100,000 copies of the works of George Bernard Shaw has been published there in honor of his ninetieth birthday.
Names uncompleted play, Piffle; comments, Mr 27, 39:1
3/27/47 GBS "provisionally" named his uncompleted play "Piffle" today and suggested that he did not think much of it. "It is a sort of super-unfinished symphony. I shall leave it to some future Bernard Shaw to finish. Provisionally you may call it "Piffle."
He hoped that the play would be performed at next years Malvern Festival, "unless I burn it first. It is not a very great production. People must not expect another St. Joan."
L Lagner feature article on int; views at 90 discussed; illus, F 16, VI, p11
2/16/47 As Theresa Helburn and I settled down in our car and drove through the winding roads which take you out of the London suburbs until you reach the Great North Road, we studied the printed direction which Bernard Shaw himself had written, showing us how to reach his home in Ayot St Lawrence. Only a playwright could have written such directions, and only a stage manager could have followed them.
Driving through the snow we read: "The lane twists about and rises and dips and rises again. At the top of the second rise, bear left into the village of Ayot St Lawrence. Drive through it past the ruined church; and at the end, where the road divides, Bernard Shaw's gate is facing you in the angle." Our chauffeur was no stage manager, and it is not surprising that we got lost several times in the snow. We finally arrived at the ruins of the church and descended from our car at Bernard Shaw's gate, fully expecting to meet the ruins of a playwright.
As we had driven toward the Elizabethan village of Ayot St Lawrence, my memory had strayed back to the first time I ever say Bernard Shaw, when I was a boy of 15. A friend had given me a ticket for a Shaw lecture at the Fabian Society, in London, intriguingly titled "The Position of the Artist Under Socialism." Shaw, tall and masterly, aflame with his red beard and his subject, made a profound impression on me. The position of the musician, author or actor under socialism, according to Shaw, would be that of a capitalist millionaire. "My income as a state dramatist," said Shaw, "would be enormous!" 'And serve you right!' cried someone in the audience.
Well, here I was in England in 1947, and if England was not exactly under socialism, at least socialism was well on its way, and here was Bernard Shaw enjoying the income of a capitalist millionaire. It would be interesting to see what had happended to him.
I remembered the first time I ever talked to Shaw. Ths was in the winter of 1921, at the time when the Theater Guild was producing Heartbreak House in New York. I was calling to obtain a contract on the rest of his plays. I remembered how scared I was of meeting him, and how my fears were increased as I walked up the stairs to the entrance of his apartment at 10 Adelphi Terrace. A low fan-shaped grille of sharp iron spikes separated the staircase landing from the lower floor of the building, and I speculated on how a precipitous retreat might result in one's being impaled on the formidable barricade.
After I was shown into the study, a comfortable Georgian room crowded with photographs and busts of Shaw, I waited a few minutes and "the genius," as Mrs Shaw used to call him, came in. At this time he was about 65 - lean and erect, looking rather like an attenuated Father Christmas on a hunger-strike, but minus the red cloak and the bell. His face was pink and red, his beard snow-white and fluffy, and as he talked his manner was cheerful and sprightly and his eyes twinkled. "You don't need a contract for Back To Methuselah," he said. "It isn't likely any other lunatic will want to produce it."
'How will he look now?' I asked myself as we passed the ruined church.
We walked through the snow to the porch of Shaw's red-brick house, and the door was opened by a bored-looking housekeeper, who had doubtless let in countless inquisitive callers during the last twenty years. She showed us into a comfortable little room with four large chairs drawn up in front of a coal fire. The room was decorated in what might be called the best miscellaneous manner; there was a good deal of bric-a-brac, a model of a small breakfront desk, and a Chinese scroll of the wall.
'No doubt a dramatic criticism of one of his plays in Chinese,' said Terry. She and I sat in front of the fire, and thawed out until GBS appeared. He was no longer the erect, handsome white-bearded figure I had once known, but resembled a Chinese philosopher carved out of yellowing ivory, for his hair was streaked with yellow and his beard was shorter and irregular, as though he had bitten it off somewhat around the edges.
I thought of Jacques' speech on the Seven Ages of Man in Shakespear's As You Like It. At 65 Shaw had resemble 'the justice with eyes severe and beard of formal cut, full of wise saws and modern instances.' As a vegetarian, however, he was lacking 'the fat round belly with good capon lin'd.' No lining of good vegetables, no matter how filling, can never approach the effect of a lining of good capon.
'How are you feeling?' I asked. "My legs are letting me down," he said, "but otherwise I am perfectly well." He seated himself in the large armchair at the side of the comforting fire. Shaw put us at ease by discussing the English weather. Terry mentioned that she was going to Edinburgh with S N Behrman's play 'Jane' and that she dreaded the cold. "You should go a lot further north to the Orkneys," said GBS, allowing his imagination to run riot. "You will find a subtropical climate there due to the Gulf Stream which will astonish you," and he described a kind of island paradise where the winter warmth is so great that large fuschia trees grow and bloom outdoors.
'What are you doing these days?' asked Terry. "I am being quite busy," said GBS. "First of all I am writing a new play for the Malvern Festival. There will be some plot and a good deal of conversation. After I had finished writing the play, I found that several of the things I had written had already appeared in some of my other plays. You know," he said, as though he was quite surprised at the fact, "it's rather hard to get new ideas at 90. I rewrote the play and took out everything I had said before and now it's in fine shape."
I asked GBS what he thought of the theater in England under socialism. "Dear me," he said. "We haven't socialism in this country - merely trades unionism. Most of the trades unionists don't know what socialism is. On the other hand, it's a good deal better than what you have in the States. The average American has the mentality of the village blacksmith. He knows what is going on in his own community, but hardly anything about the rest of the world. In my opinion Henry Wallace is the only man in the United States who really understands world affairs."
I told him I thought James Byrnes had done a good job with the United Nations.
"No," said GBS, "Byrnes wasn't big enough." He hoped Henry Wallace would run for President on the Democratic ticket, even if he couldn't be elected. It would be good to have world issues debated on Wallace's level during the next Presidential campaign.
Matters turned from politics to the theater. Terry told about our recent production of The Iceman Cometh by Eugene O'Neill. "What sort of fellow is this O'Neill?" asked Shaw. I said that O'Neill was very pessimistic about the future of the world, in a optimistic sort of way. "And no wonder," said GBS very cheerfully, "and if it's going to its destruction, I shouldn't worry over it. Providence will simply add mankind to the other discarded experiments - like ants and fish - and some new creature will take his place. Tell O'Neill for me that there is really nothing for him to worry about."
Shaw didn't think it mattered much whether everybody shared the secret of the atomic bomb. "One thing ought to be self-evident to everybody," he said. "None of the people throughout the world want to destroy themselves. Indeed," he said, "from one point of view it's too bad the Japanese didn't appeal to the conscience of the world after the atom bombs were first used at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I thing the conscience of the world would have stopped the United States from using any more of these bombs, just as the conscience of the world stopped the use of poison gas."
About this time the housekeeper, no longer bored, entered with a tea tray and an assortment of cakes. Terry presided over the pouring, and offered GBS a cup of tea. 'No tea for Mr Shaw,' said the housekeeper sharply. "Mr Shaw drinks this.' And she handed him a glass of greenish-looking fluid which smelled like stewed acorn juice, and which may have been beef tea or the elixir of life, for all I knew.
Glass in hand, Shaw smiled benignly at us, and sipped his juice from time to time. "How is the theater in America?" he asked. We told him our problems, and how the mounting costs were making it increasingly difficult to take chances by way of experimental or non-commercial productions. "I see," he said. "You are caught between the cruel landlord and the relentless playwright."
As we had hoped to persuade GBS that his royalties, which are the highest in the world, ought to be reduced somewhat, I winced at the way he pronounced the word "relentless."
'The theater is not merely up against the landlord and the relentless author, but every other cost as well,' said Terry. "I agree with you," said GBS, and for a moment I thought, 'Aha, being a capitalist millionaire has taught him something.' "The actors are overpaid!" he said, and it's entirely unnecessary. They would all be willing to work for less."
And he cited the case of Miss Gertrude Kingston, who had to ask a West End manager for £40 a week, in order that she might get a good dressing room, for they had a way of putting the inexpensive actors on the upper floors. However, she was willing to work for a third of that amount for Shaw with Vedrenne and Barker because she was on a yearly contract and could count on work all the year round. "Until you get the theater on that basis, you'll have to overpay," he added.
'What about overpaying the authors?' I asked. He smiled. "As for myself, I am now a classic. Of course I have to have my royalties, but if the royalty is only nine pence, why, I touch my hat and say, 'Thank you.'" 'How can anyone put on one of your plays and pay only nine pence royalty?' Terry asked. "Oh, some village amateur dramatic group," he replied. "They do all the classics now, including me."
We expounded the theory that since it costs at least $15,000 a week to operate one of Shaw's plays, his royalty of 15 per cent of the receipts was too high. "I'll make you a new proposition," said GBS. "I'll give you my plays royalty free up to $15,000." Our faces lit up happily, but only momentarily. "Any receipts over that, I'll take half - and of course," he added, "you'll have to play in a very large theater." A rough calculation showed that GBS would gain considerably more on this basis than before, so we said, 'No, thank you, Mr Shaw. We'd rather pay the 15 per cent.' As a capitalist millionaire GBS hasn't changed so very much, I thought.
We discussed Gabriel Pascal, who is making the Shaw plays into motion pictures. "How did you like Caesar and Cleopatra?" he asked, and then added, the old twinkle coming into his eyes, "It shows you what a good play I wrote, and, of course, it teaches you a great deal about Roman history." I remarked that I had recently had a long conversation with Pascal on the subject of our doing Shaw's plays on the stage, after which they could be transferred to the screen. "I don't see how you could have a long conversation with him," said GBS. "Pascal talked, while you listened. That's what always happens with me. He's arranging to produce my pictures in Ireland now. As soon as the news was announced, I was inundated with requests from beautiful Irish girls to play the part of St Joan. They seem to think the only qualification they need is to be beautiful and Irish."
GBS was pleased with Ingrid Bergman's success in Joan of Lorraine in New York, and we reminisced on some of the other St Joans. He named a continental actress (who shall here be nameless) and said of her, "I never liked her in the part of Joan in my play. She made the audience weep, but for all the wrong reasons. She played St Joan like a servant girl who has to go to jail for three months for stealing milk for her illegitimate child. Now that is a tragic situation, I admit, but it is definitely not St Joan!"
And speaking of this lady's success, Shaw quoted another playwright as saying, "Her great acclaim in the part was due to the fact that her every gesture and intonation was directly contrary to the spirit and intention of the author!"
We talked happily of many more things until it was time to leave. 'We'll be back here soon with Oklahoma!' said Terry cheerfully, as we put on our coats, 'and then you'll have to come to see it.' "No," GBS said rather sadly, "I'm afraid I won't. I've lost all interest in the theater, and I'm not much interested in anything else either."
He insisted on coming out to see us off. The snow was all around us as he stood in the door, and the light falling on his bare old head played tricks with his hair, weaving a halo around it and giving his face a translucent, almost saintly, quality. 'I'm afraid you'll take cold,' I called. "Nonsense," he said as he stood there, a friendly smile on his face. "Thanks for coming," and he waved good-by, smiling his charming smile.
On our way back Therese said she thought he must lead a lonely life so far out in the country. I said I didn't think so, that I felt the key to his character was found in a line in Man and Superman: "There are no passions so strong as the passions of the mind,” I thought that GBS had indulged this passion all his life; that, as he grew older, he had even more chance to indulge it, and that with it he would never be lonely. He showed no symptoms of tiring, although our visit lasted nearly two hours. As we left, he was as fresh as a daisy. We expect to visit him again when he reaches the age of 100.
Progress of new play noted, Ja 18, 10:4
Back to Article IndexHails Harvard Univ Veterans Theater Workshop plans to present play St Joan, F 7, 4:3;
2/7/47 George Bernard Shaw replies today to a cable from the Harvard Veterans Theater Workshop request for permission to use his play St Joan, said: "Delighted to hear St Joan is being done at Harvard. Have always wanted to see Joan played by a male."
2 plays will be made into films through Artists Alliance and G Pascal pact, F 5, 29:2;
Says he is extinct in reply to solicitations that he join move for amnesty of Irish pol prisoners, Ja 4, 10:1
1/4/47 According to George Bernard Shaw, George Bernard Shaw is extinct. The 90-year-old oracle, replying to a request from Foin O'Mahoney, a Cork lawyer, to support a move for an amnesty for Irish Political prisoners still in British jails: "It's a waste of time and energy sending an appeal to an old man of 90 who has retired from political life and whose name cannot add any weight to your own. Strike me off the list as "extinct."