Word: unreal
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...permeate the facts of his life, and the lives of his followers, were in some measure caught by Sudermann. The Repertory version catches even less of that spirit. Melo-drama vies with the ridiculous, approaching farce, where only dignity and religious feeling were intended. The mania for making the unreal appear real, for putting Hamlet in plus fours, can amuse but hardly impress. Perhaps there were wise-cracking merchants in Israel but we can't believe they had Irish-Mayfair-Swedish brogues...
...physics, mathematics and biology; all psychology?even behaviorism, from which the "psyche" is removed?since it has yet to demonstrate its actuality in a finite universe; all shrewd, unassailable Axioms, Methods, Customs, Creative Intellects, magazine articles and learned treatises on Education; all economic theory, which must presuppose an unreal Economic Man to operate; all Law, which is based upon fictitious "rights" and "justice"; all peace proposals, unctuous or bellicose; all "international thought...
...Blind Goddess" stands well above the average. Judged by the standards Mr. Train sets himself in some chapters, the story is a disappointment. It seems that the love of women ruins books as well as men. But the people who have become accustomed to the concluding closeups of unreal worlds are not disappointed. For the last paragraph submerges with lotus-like caresses any surviving trace of thought-provoking material...
...careless and a mite dull. His people are a rich Australian who marries the Governor's daughter-and their many relations. It is the kind of book in which plot matters not a whit and conversation, behavior and obiter dicta are everything. The first is stilted, the second unreal-having breakfasted, these upper-class Brit-ishers "wiped their lips and put down their napkins and blew their noses"-and the third consists largely in sudden aimless excursions into geology, botany, anthropology, astronomy...
With the romantic final curtain of Somerset Vaughan's Circle, which is at the Repertory this week, still impressed upon my visual memory, one might suppose my taste for the unreal and for drawing-room comedies would be sated. But at 10 o'clock this morning I shall be found in a far corner of Sever 11 ready to regale myself with Professor Hackett's account of Maximillian's flasco in Mexico. Of all the exotic, unreal, opera bouffe situations this is my favorite...