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THE MOVING FINGER WRITES

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

The Copley Theatre is closing. The talking movie has made a stock company impractical. This may be a minor incident in the life of the theatre and it may be the hand writing on the wall. Some years ago the Copley was forced to discard the plays of Shaw, Molnar, and other of the contemporary immortals, because Boston was uninterested. The company then turned to mystery plays and trivial fantasies in an attempt to conform with local dramatic appreciation. For a time it seemed that the venture would succeed. But that, too, has failed.

It has been increasingly difficult for the theatre world to maintain itself since the advent of the talking movie. The coming of other vicarious amusements has made its problem more complex. The public was beginning to for get it. Boston audiences have never been particularly enthusiastic or acute. There are only a handful who prefer the legitimate parent to the illegitimate son. The ruck are either too dull to fathom the sensible, or too untutored to follow the trivial.

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