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THE THEATRE OF TOMORROW

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

Proposhals for a National Theatre, a permanent home for standard drama in America, are again before the critical public. The scheme for a New York facsimile of the Theatre Francaise has been a pet ideal with high-minded producers and theatre people for a generation. Some years ago it came to a disappointing fruition in New York's Century Theatre, where shortsightedness, or perhaps too much farsightedness, made it a failure before it had begun. Now a definite plan seems again to be shaping, under encouraging auspices: but as yet no word has been spoken that makes Augustus Thomas's latest project any more certain of success than its predecessor. The public waits eagerly for confirmation of rumors, and for some tangible action as a pledge of success.

Meanwhile, Boston is having a taste of what such a theatre would be able to do. Walter Hampden, at the Opera House this week and next, is without doubt the greatest patron in America of Genuine repertoire. His program includes both "classic" and modern plays of the best sort; his experimenting with occasional plays that are not as generally popular as they should be, is one of the particular opportunities of such a theatre; and his whole method of procedure, with a company of trained and versatile actors, and an intelligent producing force, is in the right line. Supporting his venture himself, and without much hope of profit, he is necessarily limited in range; but his artistic results are evidence of what could be done with a semi-endowed organization functioning on a large scale.

The uncertain element in any such enterprise--and the one most frequently overlooked--is the audience; yet that in the end determines success or failure. If Boston's apathy toward Mr. Hampden's truly inspiring work may be taken as witness, there seems no reason to suppose that the public wants a National Repertory Theatre. There are always the few, awake to opportunity, who see and enjoy such productions as Hampden's repeatedly; but those few are not enough to make great art popular art, and unless it is popular as well as great, the National Theatre will fail. But perhaps New York is different--or perhaps Boston is only sleeping off its holiday exertions.

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