MAROUF
ACT 3
By ERNEST GROS
stage itself is an entirely distinct matter from the lighting of the scenery, and that the color, intensity and diffusion must be kept entirely independent the one from the other in order to make possible a proper accenting of the salient points and a massing of light and shade in such a way as to give contrast, tone and mystery to the composition. If the conductor of an orchestra had no better control over the units with which he produces his effects than the man at the switchboard of the average theater, the audience would leave in disgust, and yet stage lighting in itself is not a complicated problem, but is made so simply by over-elaboration of paraphernalia and lack of the imagination by which it could be simplified. The newest methods of lighting can be credited with some extraordinary effects, but they, like the more extreme examples of modernist painting, are effects of gorgeous color, crude splendor, suitable only for productions of a spectacular character.
We are living in wondrous times. One by one the principles and traditions that have governed and inspired the entire development of the fine arts through thousands of years have been light-heartedly consigned to the scrap heap by the prophets of a new dispensation. At last the amateur has come into his own. At last a generation has arisen capa
ble of appraising the hampering effect of knowledge upon genius. At last we see the cart complacently drawing the horse and the tail triumphantly wagging the dog. Since this phenomenon is observable in all the arts, it is but natural that the theater, which includes most of them, should develop these symptoms in an intensified form. In this connection I quote a few brief passages from a paper by the retiring president of the Drama League of America, recently published in the Journal of the American Institute of Architects: “The modern mind has been sharpened to the keenest scrutiny, even to a settled suspicion of everything that is old and established.” . . . “Surely, in the creation of a new modernized theater responding in all ways to the spirit of the new drama and the new art generally, is a stimulating challenge for the architect.” , . , “Soon surely there must be an outward visible sign of this dramatic renaissance in a new type of theater—a new body that shall be worthy of the new soul which is being born amidst all the throes of these tragic times—a new birth of art which is to signalize the larger gestation of a more humane civilization.”
There is a splendid field of useful service open to such an organization as the Drama League of America, but the worthy desire to be modern, progressive and independent requires for its steadying
ACT 3
By ERNEST GROS
stage itself is an entirely distinct matter from the lighting of the scenery, and that the color, intensity and diffusion must be kept entirely independent the one from the other in order to make possible a proper accenting of the salient points and a massing of light and shade in such a way as to give contrast, tone and mystery to the composition. If the conductor of an orchestra had no better control over the units with which he produces his effects than the man at the switchboard of the average theater, the audience would leave in disgust, and yet stage lighting in itself is not a complicated problem, but is made so simply by over-elaboration of paraphernalia and lack of the imagination by which it could be simplified. The newest methods of lighting can be credited with some extraordinary effects, but they, like the more extreme examples of modernist painting, are effects of gorgeous color, crude splendor, suitable only for productions of a spectacular character.
We are living in wondrous times. One by one the principles and traditions that have governed and inspired the entire development of the fine arts through thousands of years have been light-heartedly consigned to the scrap heap by the prophets of a new dispensation. At last the amateur has come into his own. At last a generation has arisen capa
ble of appraising the hampering effect of knowledge upon genius. At last we see the cart complacently drawing the horse and the tail triumphantly wagging the dog. Since this phenomenon is observable in all the arts, it is but natural that the theater, which includes most of them, should develop these symptoms in an intensified form. In this connection I quote a few brief passages from a paper by the retiring president of the Drama League of America, recently published in the Journal of the American Institute of Architects: “The modern mind has been sharpened to the keenest scrutiny, even to a settled suspicion of everything that is old and established.” . . . “Surely, in the creation of a new modernized theater responding in all ways to the spirit of the new drama and the new art generally, is a stimulating challenge for the architect.” , . , “Soon surely there must be an outward visible sign of this dramatic renaissance in a new type of theater—a new body that shall be worthy of the new soul which is being born amidst all the throes of these tragic times—a new birth of art which is to signalize the larger gestation of a more humane civilization.”
There is a splendid field of useful service open to such an organization as the Drama League of America, but the worthy desire to be modern, progressive and independent requires for its steadying