A novelist works alone, Graham Greene once remarked, when recounting candidly as ever why he took a respite, at times, from writing his renowned novels - both serious works laced with humour and "entertainments" laced with darkness - by writing for the stage. For an author, who prized his solitude as essential for his craft, this flippant but yearning need for companionship and creative camaraderie feels bemusing yet touchingly human. Here was a writer not merely seeking accolade as a playwright of an older, finer tradition but one who was indulging the manic facet of his mood to the hilt, pursuing a way of escape from the inevitable shadow of disillusionment that crept up even on the edges of his treasured privacy.
It is therefore only expected to appreciate the eight eclectic plays in this collection as brilliantly executed experiments and escapades of form, genre and milieu for Greene; what is more surprising however is how utterly original and uniformly imaginative these skilfully crafted plays turn out to be. For too long have people narrowed their conception of Greeneland, as the milieu of this author's works is known, into a familiar, if no less compelling landscape - the vulture-blown border town, the despairing fugitive, the hard-hearted lawman and the solace of drink - but even more recognizable than this scene is the relentlessly probing search for God, the tragi-comic deconstruction of love and lust, the rich capacity for hilarity and compassion and an unquenchable thirst for adventure and intrigue. The eight plays in this book contain all these themes, either blended together seamlessly or delving on each at a time.
"The Living Room", the first play in this collection, is a skilfully staged interplay of opposites - a family of aging people and an outsider who threatens to upset their carefully maintained system of fear and belief, building up to a tersely comic and ultimately tragic story of a young girl torn between a past hinting at death and a future hinting at disappointment. The titular room, itself not a living room in actuality but improvised to be so, becomes a quietly simmering battlefield between free will and inevitability, the old and the new, the years of disillusionment and the thin promise of illicit love and even God and an act of defiance to his existence.
"The Potting Shed", again compellingly staged, begins with a father on his deathbed and ends with a cathartic revelation. It carries the resonant echoes of both "Under The Garden"(in its protagonist trying to verify the truth of a childhood incident that has formed his character) and, unexpectedly, "The End Of The Affair", in its tragic twist of a self-destructive bargain made with God. Greene addresses these familiar but profound themes skilfully and brews them into a poignant story of a misunderstood man trying to reconcile himself to his past.
"The Complaisant Lover" presents a Greene in a sardonic mood - a quick-footed comedy of the titular "other man" who tries to escape his role by trying to break the marriage of his lover, but her husband, an impish master of practical jokes, still has the last laugh. Melancholy and mirth rub shoulders together effortlessly, paving the way for a perfectly bittersweet climax.
"Carving A Statue" marks the point however when Greene sets out daringly to experiment with the very rules of drama. The three-act, with each scene as an act, play is the story of a sculptor possessed of a daemon and his vulnerable son, driven to end of his despair. It is alternatively bizarre and tragic, morbidly hilarious and pathetic and it builds to a shocking end as the sculptor, hellbent on his ambition to carve God, transforms from a distracted, indifferent artist to a devilish and decadent guardian who single-handedly or unwittingly destroys whatever hope of happiness or escape his doomed son has. It is audacious, absurd, potentially scandalous and utterly the work of a genius.
The other four plays in the collection are extremely enjoyable "entertainments", though no less incisive or profound than the more serious plays in the same. In these, Greene has his tongue firmly in his cheek and a wink of wicked wit in his eyes. "The Return of A.J Raffles", a rollicking ode to the Edwardian capers of E.W Hornung, successfully and gleefully brings to life the genre with all its drollery and wit as the gentleman thief and hero of the Ashes (and the Boer War too) returns for one more innings only to thwarted by a colourful and cantankerous cast of characters. The dialogue is brilliantly cheeky, the shenanigans are a hoot and Greene even teases out the homosexuality latent in the genre in unexpected ways.
Though written in 1939, "The Great Jowett" is a sprightly little radio play, chronicling in gently irreverent fashion a memoir of Benjamin Jowett and his struggle with his Fellows to become the Master of Balliol (Swinburne and Arnold pop up in memorable cameos) and his own idiosyncratic and quixotic views and opinions in old age. This play demonstrates Greene's understanding of the technique of radio drama, of ingenious aural cues and transitions to take the story ahead and switch from one scene to another effortlessly to portray an entire person crisply and elegantly.
"Yes and No", while short, is a bitterly hilarious satire on modern drama, pitting a pretentious and garrulous play director against the actor for a minor role whose only responses to the former's relentless questions are the said syllables. In the last play, "For Whom The Bell Chimes?", Greene goes out fully on a limb, churning out an outrageous lark of mistaken identities, confidence tricks, seedy murder and even kitchen-sink satire served with a thick sauce of macabre comedy. This three-act play is crammed with horror and hilarity served by a master storyteller in a blistering, brilliant fashion.
What Greene accomplished with these plays is something unique yet reassuringly familiar in its brilliance. There are all those skills of believable characterization and crisp storytelling that had always been his most recognizable strengths. The dramatis personae of these plays too are fleshed out so convincingly that we believe all their incongruities and eccentricities and discover real people of flesh and blood, of flaws and virtues, in them. The dialogue is typically punchy and crackling with empathy and wit. And his grasp of both light-hearted frivolity and complex subjects is ever so admirable. But these plays, being ingeniously executed experiments of form, also reveal his inexhaustible reserve of imagination, a gift for comedy that even rivals that of his peer Evelyn Waugh and a courage to render the implausible as convincing - qualities that distinguish him as truly the most consistently original and thrilling storyteller of the twentieth century.