Had there been a little more relief or a more robust humour in Austin Strong's version of "Rip Van Winkle," it would have been one of the greatest successes of the season. We followed Rip, on his return from prison, up to the forests and wildernesses of the Strange Mountains, there to see him condemned by the uncanny inhabitants to a sleep of fifty years. We next saw him awake from his slumbers beneath the roots of an old oak tree and return to the village in the Kaatskill Mountains, there to find, amid the fresh faces of the villagers the sweetheart of his younger days, grown old with waiting and grey with sorrow.
But we didn't see enough of Rip before he went away into the mountains. We could have done with a lot more of that beautifully human Rip, the favourite of the village, in spite of his wild, drunken life. And we should have preferred an ending less sad than it was. If we had left the theatre with a feeling of gladness rather than pity, we should have been better pleased.
So much for the play. As for the acting, I can only say that Mr. Cyril Maude gave one of the most interesting and consistent studies I have ever seen on the stage. Apart from the story, Rip van Winkle is worth seeing for himself alone. Nothing couid be more fascinating than to watch Rip's awakening. There wasn't a movement that was out of tune, not a glance that was unnecessary, not an action that could not have been associated with a feeble old man whose joints were stiff with age and whose muscles were cramped for want of use. It was great!
Miss Margery Maude played her part with peculiar sweetness. She is a charming little actress, dainty, earnest, and unaffected. Miss Winifred Emery had only a small part, but a telling one. She gave a touching rendering of an old lady in whose soul the bitterness of time was powerless to destroy the sweetness, and many eyes were moist while she was on the stage.
As a spectacle, "Rip Van Winkle" need take its hat off to nothing. How Mr. Maude got such effects and such an exquisite setting is a source of wonderment to me. It was a beautiful production, a feast of delicate colouring; an artistic triumph. The beautiful setting of the play seemed to bubble over into the proscenium. The pillars at the side of the stage were transformed into fine old trees, the foliage of which stretched away up to the ceiling of the theatre, while the orchestra rail took the guise of a rustic fence. The regular curtain gave place to a new one, painted to represent an enticing forest, and the general effect was to carry the mind away from the busy Northumberland Avenue and the taxi-covered Embankment to the land of enchantment, of singing birds, gnomes and fairies.
The Playgoer and Society Illustrated, Volume 5, No. 25.