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Rh The new growth, the young school, what is called dramatic expressionism, has as a theory aroused a great deal of discussion or has discussed itself a great deal; from the standpoint of production it has been greatly disappointing. Still a few names from this sphere have gained an international reputation, although without having touched the heart of their own people. In foreign countries one knows of the social theatrics of Georg Kaiser, the penetrating satires of the bourgeoisie by Carl Sternheim, whose talent for comedies criticising his times is undeniable, but is absolutely without warmth. There is much more heart and feeling in Ernst Toller who, since he was a leader of the Munich communists of 1919, has been languishing for some years in a Bavarian prison. Yet unfortunately his artistry falls greatly short of his humanity; and his drama, Die Maschinenstürmer, which received demonstrative applause in Berlin, is a very weak imitation of The Weavers.

By a piece of daring—which one may, by the way, construe differently—Arnold Bronnen aroused tremendous respect from the youngest generation with his drama, Vatermord (Patricide) a crass and gloomy work which represents stylistically a kind of neo-naturalism, and in which all offences from incest through homosexuality to the dereliction mentioned in the title keep a solemn tryst. Similarly, there is much storming and stressing in the dramas of young Bert Brecht, whose first play, Trommeln in der Nacht, the bitter story of a soldier returning from the war, has two good acts, but then falls flat. Munich's state theatre, Das Residenztheater, felt called upon to accept his second play, Dickicht, although with all its ability it was inferior to the first from the standpoint of artistic discipline and intellectual fineness. The popular conservativism of Munich was on its guard. It will not stand for any Bolshevist art. At the second or third performance it entered protest, and this in the form of gas bombs. Frightful fumes suddenly filled the theatre. The public wept bitterly; yet not through emotion, but because the expanding gases had a strongly sympathetic effect on their tear ducts. The theatre had to be aired, and ushers appeared with ozone sprayers to purify the atmosphere. It was half an hour before the public could return to their seats in the parquet and the boxes in order to hear the piece to an end, although still crying from purely physical reasons That also is Munich. And with this cataclysm I shall close my present letter.