John Adams High School - Clipper Yearbook (Ozone Park, NY)

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I2 u-sy, Ali Y u-mius.s-u manuals. J has sd gush At rehearsals of his plays he is silent, and like Eugene O'Neill he sits in the last row of the orchestra and doesn't say a word. If, at the conclusion, someone asks him to com- ment he is not fussy nor temperamen- tal. If he wants something in the play changed, he merely sits down and rewrites that part of the play. The first time Anderson spoke of doing a play pointing a finger at the government occurred when he made out his income tax report and had to give much of the money he made from his successful Elizubefla, the AQIIUHII. Anderson has been one of Broad- way's outstanding playrights, yet like all others, Eugene O'Neil, George Kelly, Sidney Howard, and Philip Barry, he seldom frequents the Main Stem. Of all the plays he has written, the one he considers the best is his first Wfbfle Dererl, which was a fail- ure. He likes to write poetry and has had five volumes of poetry pub- lished called You Wino Gaz-'e D1'eum.r. Undoubtedly most readers know the story of Mary of Scotland. It is pri- marily for that reason that I mention it. I would consider it Anderson's best play, because it can give us a deeper understanding of Anderson and his writings with some tangible material at hand. I chanced upon a paragraph by Mr. joseph Wood Krutch which said, When Maxwell Anderson decided to write a play about Mary Stuart he must have been faced by a pair of simple alternatives. Whatever view he decided to take of her moral chiricter he still had to choose whether he would regard her primar- .Bun ily rs 1 womrn who happened to be 1 queen or primarily as a queen who lf -5 4 i 'ECQL 1 f -22? 1' . . h ,fx-'X ..,i - ...uc , Q, XF 3 list - A i X 1 gud- IU it ix -fx' it . . ,. X 'Y x ' I 2' , l us...-...vkus I' ia l f 4' 1' - ffl ldllif, 'K 3-1. ., V, A 1 V' ' ' ' .rw x- 4, . . 4- 'lx ,ext ll' 4 I ' ' as-.15. 2.1-r. as V xp ,V , ,A .x'ii!1i' . . H ,V fi' Jff ll' ' il li GH '53 li lx 14. , 1 ' N i . xx ,p ' - ,. iffvl. ' N rx r-Wwxiglk , J - . '- .l'-Wlf ffl fri ' , t iw, i-.Q N N s happened to be a woman, and once that choice was made the whole char- acter of the drama was determined. For good, or for evil, he chose the first alternative, and 'Mary of Scot- land' becomes, therefore, the roman- tic tragedy of a woman who loved and lost. In the background we can see many other historical characters, among them Elizabeth, Bothwell and Knox. We find that Mary had made the mistake of refusing love when it was offered, but above all that she was innocent of any and all crimes charged against her. The story of her various intrigues and of her indiffer- ence to the fate of her people was a fallacy, so Anderson believes, or to be more specific, writes. The one mis- take Mary made was to marry Darn- ley, whom she did not love, and to refuse the aid of Bothwell who could have saved her. I marry him solely for his blood, or something to that effect was Mary's excuse for marry- ing Darnley. After that event we feel that Mary is doomed, for no wisdom, fortitude or even the dynam- ic Bothwell could save her. We know that Aristotle believed that only kings and queens could have personal stories worth telling and that Shakespeares contemporaries had at least the feeling that regal robes were the only fitting garments of a heroic character. We have long re- linquished that point of view, but it is upon this that Anderson counts so heavily. Thus it is that Mary of Smtltnzd is not really a modern play. It must be said, however, that Mr. Anderson's achievements have raised the level of America's dramatic art and have endeared him to the Amer- ican theatre-going public.

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Maxwell Anderson QESTHETIC beauty is immortal! Michaelangelo's fresco, The Last judgment, is one of the most magnificent pictures, both in conception and execution the world has ever seen. It will never die. Milton, Shakespeare, Wagner, Bee- thoven, Van Gogh, Rembrandt and their works will live through eternity. Tut, tut! How we go on! However, let us not concern our- selves with the ancient Florentine School, Elizabethan drama, or with aestheticism of the past. Our con- cern directs itself toward a contem- porary playwright, Maxwell Ander- son and his plays. Perhaps it was an inherent quality that prompted Mr. Anderson to write a satire on corrupt political machines. This quality if inherent stands him in good stead for Both Your Houses was a Pulitzer prize win- ner. Mr. Atkinson says Both as a play and a performance 'Both Your Houses' is real and stimulating. Al- though it is propaganda, it asks no quarter from the complacent playgo- er. Realizing the burden of proof is upon him, Mr. Anderson has worked his material into robust dra- matic style. In this three act play, depicting the appropriations commit- tee in the act of fattening the pork barrel and cheerfully swindling the country, he is circumstantial enough to show how such things are done in the ordinary course of human frail- ties, and he is prophet enough to shout that the day of complacent piracy in politics is drawing to a close. Let us again return to Anderson. We find that before he turned play- NI'l.l.lM WVHVHSV wright, he was a newspaper man, and wrote his first play, White Desert, while an editorial writer on the old New York l-World. As a playwriter Mr. Anderson is workmanlike and discerning. His dialogue in the vernacular has a humorous tang and a rare vividness. In his characters, Mr. Anderson re- veals himself as a man who knows people and relishes both their weak- nesses and aspirations. Anderson is vehement, but a level-headed enemy of evil, he is poet enough to write Elizabeth the Queen, propagandist enough to collaborate in Gods of the Lightning' 'and What Price Glory ? and to realize and report the poorer qualities of his fellow men. Born on December 15, 1888, Max- well Anderson has grown to six feet and 200 pounds. He has a crop of wavy brown hair, which true to cus- tom, always looks as if it needed a combing. He doesn't do much talking and has never been interviewed. He be- lieves all one should know about him is in his plays.

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'I' NICQOLAIS by the seventh h o u r Y Ivan, Zimkov, Rodya, Za- kim. All to Nicolai's! Wfhispers ll o a t i n g through Moscow fell on the ears of Pavel Alexandrovitch, hurry- ing home to his wife, Tanya, and his son, Nicolas. His brows were knotted in a frown and he walked, eyes down in deep thought, right up to his door. The seventh hour, enth, he called, we for the Tsar. Tanya, a slight woman in a shabby but clean dress, looked at Paval, frightened anxiety in her eyes. Wl1y must you go, Paval? You have a son. A son? Pavel patted Nicolas on the head. Be proud Nicolas. I, Pavel, your father will drive out Napoleon. He nodded his head slowly, ab- sent-mindedly, as if to assure himself of his success. A task in which the Russian troops, preceded by the mighty armies of Furope had failed. Napoleon was a man who would not scruple to use any means so long as he gained his end, he didn't know the word impossible a word that exists only in the dictionary of fools. Austria, Spain, Prussia, had felt the heels of his sure-footed grenadiers and the weight of their swords. Now he staked his fortunes on his Grande Aimee' and had hurled it against Russia. Tanya, sev- strike a blow Smolensk, Borodino, now Moscow had bowed to a tempest which sur- IRVING FINK Torch Over Moscow passed even the forces in the gales of the Russian winter. So the French entered Moscow, a city where soli- tude reigned almost unbroken. Rus- sian troops, ofhcial, nobles, merchants. and the great mass of people were gone. A few fanatics, clinging to the tra- dition that the Kremlin was impreg- nable, idly sought to defend it. Mad-men and those who had a duty had remained. Those who were driven mad by the sound of the invaders foot crunching upon Russian snow, trampling on Russian life. Men who sought to strike the last blow to pay for the pain caused by the bleeding wound inflicted upon them. Men, such as Pavel! Men upon whom Russia could count to wipe out the stain of shame and blood. Nicolas looked into his father's eyes innocently, Alone, Father? Wfill you do it alone? PaveI's face sob- ered. I-Ie grasped his son's shoulder. No, Nicolas, Russia drives out Napoleon. I but do my part. How will you do it, Father? Pavel shrugged. How it shall be done-but here, Tanya, take him.