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Mr. Hatfield's offer of the University Theatre for the production of the "Strange Interlude" should win him the sympathy of a large majority of his hitherto moving-picture-going public. Better plays have been written than Eugene O'Neil's Pulitzer Prize Play, but it is hardly surprising that such unreasonable and bigoted pseudo-puritanism on the part of Boston authorities should be met by widespread resentment, manifested not only by indignant letters and editorials in the press, but by such practical offers as Mr. Hat-field's.
It has become so tiresome to reproach Boston for its constant repression of creative work, that we are beginning to surrender in despair. For a long while we have tried to argue that Boston was not as bad as it seemed in the public press, but developments of recent months inevitably lead us to the hypothesis that not only is Boston as bad as painted, but unpleasantly worse.
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