Theatrical Activity in Paris — 1 — The Play "Tea and Sympathy"

Eagerly we had been awaiting the return of our friend Najla Aqrawi to writing for The Woman's Voice, after we had tasted and savored, in last year's issues, the flavor of her fine talks. Here she is today, after months of silence, writing to us from the capital of France a series on "Theatrical Activity in Paris." Mrs. Aqrawi's talk of the theater is no dilettante's intrusion; it is the talk of a specialist of discriminating taste, whose eye is ever on the development and growth of this art.

In early October the Parisian theater returns to its activity and vitality after the three summer months, when most theaters close their doors and the community of actors deserts the capital in search of rest and travel. The current season is perhaps among the richest Paris has known in these recent years since the Great War, for at present there are seventy-two plays being performed in fifty-seven theaters — this if we except the opera, the night spots, and the cabarets of every kind. Among these plays are some adapted from Russian literature, such as Chekhov's "Ivanov"; some translated from English, such as Bernard Shaw's "Mrs. Warren's Profession"; some from the very heart of classical French literature, such as Molière's "Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme," or from modern French literature, such as "The Woman" by the contemporary writer Armand Salacrou, or Montherlant's "Port-Royal." This season the American plays have multiplied — by the writers Faulkner, Tennessee Williams, and Robert Anderson.

In this first installment of my series I shall today offer the readers of The Woman's Voice a description of the play "Tea and Sympathy" (Thé et Sympathie) by the American writer Robert Anderson, as I saw it last week at the Théâtre de Paris, with the famous screen actress Ingrid Bergman in the leading role.

The events of the play take place in an American boys' college in the New England region. The ideal student at this college, as the author draws him for us, is usually tall of stature and brawny of forearm; he is good at sports and aspires to captain the football or baseball team; he is sociable, always on the move and mixing with others, natural in his conduct, inclined to the company of girls, and boastful of his various amorous adventures. The college is ruled by an atmosphere of superficial education which aims, as a rule, at raising a generation sound in body and mind, practical in bent, and merry, with something of the natural noisiness of youth and their agreeable freedom.

The student Tom stands apart from the rest of his comrades in being small of body and quiet of temper; he lives withdrawn into himself, delighting in listening to classical music instead of the usual "jazz," and in reading idealistic poetry instead of talking of boyish adventures or bragging of athletic prowess.

So his comrades look at him with astonishment and puzzlement, because he does not share their tastes and inclinations, and they pelt him with their biting, cruel mockery. Between Tom and the teacher Harris a pure friendship grows, out of the harmony of their artistic leanings; and one day one of the students comes upon them swimming by themselves in the sea, and imagines there is an unwholesome relation between them. The rumor flies among students and teachers; tongues repeat it and everyone believes it as if it were established fact. It reaches the dean's ear; he summons the teacher Harris and expels him from the college, and Tom becomes a target of contempt and derision. Tom tries to justify his position, but no one believes him; their argument is that his odd behavior proves beyond doubt the oddity of his nature. Tom asks in pain: And what is odd about my behavior? His friend Al answers him: Your love of classical music, your long hair, your unusual walk, your leaning toward solitude, and so on.

As for Tom's isolation from the rest of his comrades, it had other causes which Tom refuses to reveal: his infatuation with the young and beautiful Laura (Ingrid Bergman), the wife of one of his teachers. Laura senses his passion for her, and she knows with certainty that Tom's slender body and idealistic imagination conceal a manhood beyond reproach, and a great heart that scorns display and boasting. So she steps forward to defend him, and tries first to convince her husband of Tom's innocence and normality; but her husband forbids her to meddle in what does not concern her, and declares to her that the administration has decided to expel Tom, and there is no reversing it... Laura herself feels a passion for that solitary youth, and resolves to prove to the world, to Tom, and to herself that he is a man in every sense of the word. She confesses her love to Tom, who falls into her arms in burning ardor, while from Laura's eyes shines the light of reassurance, love, and victory; and she lifts Tom out of the perilous pit of despair into which the cruelty of an unjust society had flung him.

From the foregoing it is clear that the writer wished to treat two important subjects in his play: the first ancient, rooted in human souls ever since society was first known — the tragedy of man's injustice to his fellow man, and his sacrifice of the individual who does not keep to the general level of the crowd in its notions and habits. The second concerns American education in particular: a criticism of that superficial education which sometimes prevails in certain modern American colleges.

"Tea and Sympathy" was performed on "Broadway" in New York in 1953, and in it the author's power of theatrical creation and literary invention shone forth. The play made its world tour before reaching Paris, where the Théâtre de Paris adopted it in French; and it met with dazzling success from its first night.

There is no doubt that the greater part of this success is owed to Ingrid Bergman's taking the leading role. This well-known actress has accustomed us to her greatness on the screen; but whoever sees her on the stage touches her singular genius, and understands that her artistic power goes beyond the scope of the cinema and its methods, and the veneer of glamour which the cinema habitually casts over its shining stars.

On the stage Ingrid appears beautiful, poised, and simple; a luminous smile adorns her face; her voice has an enchanting ring; she imposes herself by a deep spiritual force that flows from the depths of her soul and traces itself on the features of her radiant face and on her trained, unconstrained movements. And she has a daring that no daring surpasses, for she stands on a Paris stage acting in French — a language she has known but a short time — pronouncing it with a plainly foreign accent, and comes out of the battle victorious, acclaimed by the great French critics — those men who are as jealous for their language as for their precious souls. "Jean-Jacques Gautier" says of her: "She is a great lady who has conquered us, despite her accent, by a hidden mastery, an effective sensibility, and an extraordinary greatness."

The well-known actor Jean-Loup Philippe plays the part of Tom, and he does not fade before Ingrid's greatness, but holds his ground by his effective personality and his polished art, with calm, poise, and sensibility. Jean Mercure and François Cateau collaborate on the stage setting, which is one and the same through the play's three acts — the reception room in Laura's house, where "tea and sympathy" are offered to the students of the college, and Tom's room, where he retires with his books, his music, and his dreams. Thus the play comes out a complete work of art, moving in its apparent simplicity and in the depth of its quiet revolt.