Note
I want to say a few words about the technique of this play. I have not hesitated to allow two scenes existing only in the minds of some of the characters to take their place on the stage. It is my belief that the dramatic principles inculcated by all writers on the theatre have only a narrow, logical foundation and that like the rules of harmony and musical form with which unmusical professors have always tried to throttle creative musicians, they are aesthetically worthless. I also wish to add that actors must not think that the art of acting—unlike every other art—has already reached perfection. I prophesy that ranges of expression will be developed of which the present-day European or American actor has no conception—although, as with many new things, the first beginnings of this new art may be traced back in the past, as far as the fifteenth century in Japan and, probably, further elsewhere. The actor who is not prepared to cope with the difficulty of suggesting the various states of consciousness depicted in this play—the dream, the sub-conscious memory, the imagination—is unworthy of his art. This applies equally to the producer.
For the rest I hope no one will be so foolish as to say this play is badly constructed. It may be a bad play, but it is certainly not constructed according to the rules laid down by dramatic critics.