In his book of critical theory, The Decline of Pleasure, Walter Kerr advocated a return to theater-going just for the fun of it. Somewhere after World War I, it became fashionable to extol things Russian, say Stanislavski or Maxim Gorgy. Art seemed to exclude the notion of entertainment. You went to the theater to learn what the world was really like. At the same time, the bread and butter farces that attracted large audiences and paid production costs were denigrated with the condescending title, Commercial.

Charlie's Aunt is one of those plays you will never find in a University anthology. It makes no sense in the classroom and only comes to life on a stage before an audience. Its reason for existence is to make audiences laugh. A play, of course, is not strictly speaking a work of literature. It might better be called a blueprint that needs a construction team to bring it to life. You wouldn't , for example, hand a symphony score to a music lover and say read it and enjoy. If a playwright meant his script to be a work of literature, he needn't worry about entrance and exit symbols, always being concerned about the time it will take an actor to change his costume before his next entrance. It is in short, a craft, which is pointed out in the spelling of the word playwright.

Charlie's Aunt was first performed in the 1880's in London, and it has been produced continually throughout the English-speaking theatrical world since it first saw stage light. And that is the important thing to remember when you watch the play; it is only alive on the playhouse stage. It is a sunny picture of College life, youthful exuberance, flirtation in familiar and pastoral surroundings. There isn't any theme or subtext to be ferreted out by the enterprising doctoral student. What you see, is what you get. Mistaken identity, boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl, and everybody lives happily ever after.

Walter Kerr, I think, would approve of Charlie's Aunt. To give you pleasure is the whole point of the evening. So , in our own small way, we are arresting the decline, if indeed there be one, of fun in playhouse fare. We are only asking that you let us entertain you, which, from a performance point of view, may not be as easy as it looks.

All the best,

Jim McGlone