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Selected Reviews from the Acting Career of Anna Cora Mowatt
The
following are excerpts from reviews that go into detail in their
attempts to describe the acting style of Anna Cora Mowatt at different
points of her career: "Mrs. Mowatt" -- Boston Daily Bee, 1852 Mrs. Mowatt is a rising star. She is a glorious one. And what is better is all American. She is today, in many respects, the queen of
the American stage. She is almost great. She has not gained, by any
means, the highest histrionic reaches, for the time she has been on the stage
would hardly permit that. Taking Mrs.
Siddons as a standard, she has yet a great ways to go on the ladder of attainment
and fame. But in comparison with those
who have shone lustrously in stage firmament since, we place Mrs. Mowatt up
among them with entire confidence. We
very well know that strict comparison would rather elevate than depress her
reputation and powers. Take her Ion, and
Parthenia. We are quite willing to risk
our mental head in saying that they are as fine touches of acting; as full of
fresh nature and natural art; as have been seen on any stage for half a
century. In them melts and sinks Mrs. Mowatt
the woman; and we see and feel only the noble boy, and the beautiful maiden –
patriotism, devotion; -- duty, affection, religion. We will give a reason or two for the faith that is
in us. And first, because she has a
strong personality. She has a mold, a
spirit, a vitality for every character.
You never witness the same person in two personations. You cannot see on a Monday night what she
will play clear through the week, as is the case with many starlings. She has a conception for every part, and it
never runs into, or interferes with others.
Her Blanche is never taken for Ion; nor would it be if it were in an
alien dress. Whatever Mrs. Mowatt is
engaged in, she is there and nowhere else.
A close watching will note this; will note a most thorough
intenseness. She has, in short, a great
personality. You see it in her eye – it
sparkles out. You see it in her lip – it
leaps off. You see it in her whole frame
– it moves and urges like passion. This
is personality – the grand substratum of greatness in anything; and above all
of stage greatness. Then she studies
her characters. She studies them clear
through the mere garb and show of words, back and down to their meaning; down
among the vitalities. Hence we see she
is always true to the author. It is this
– the force of this quality – its nervous, constant, intense action – that has
made her an author, and produced Armand; one of the best plays, as true as
gospel, that has been written for many years.
We have never witnessed a person who conceives and measures a character
better than Mrs. Mowatt; and this comes of intense study. Those who talk of hitting upon great points; striking lights out of darkness;
tumbling as it were upon extraordinary beauties, should analyze this lady’s
unfolding a character. They will see her
mind blended and penetrated with every word she utters; and every word has its
meaning. One very prominent reason why
we have no more and better actresses and actors in our time is that the stage
is not studied thoroughly
enough. It is this which has carried
Mrs. Mowatt over the heads of those who affect twice her powers, and who nature
has gifted quite as profusely. Undoubtedly, Mrs. Mowatt’s personal appearance is
very much in her favor, for a countenance blooming with so much intellect,
beauty, humanity could not but attract all eyes; but a mere face is nothing
without power, passion, intellect in action behind it. So is the case of this lady. Physiognomy come in to finish and top her
fine powers; not as a lever to them. – People soon cloy of prettiness; and
personal beauty very soon goes a begging, if it stands on nothing. Mrs. Mowatt feels rather than acts in her
impersonations. To act simply, is to go
through a part as a machine. Hence the
grand quality of magnetism seems to go out from her. She takes an audience almost to a certainty,
and keeps them, so real is the power of feeling. – Identifying herself;
knowing, thinking, seeing, feeling nothing but that it is within her, she
makes, to a great degree, her audience feel like-wise. This is reckoned among the very first qualities
of fine acting. And this is found a
dominant element in all she attempts. Her powers do not indeed range into characters like Lady Macbeth or Queen Elizabeth, in the stately or solemn walks of tragedy; but it must not be forgotten that it requires nearly or quite as much power and compass of intellect to delineate the more subdued but not less deeper passion of our nature. She is at present physically incapable of giving adequate effect to the movings of the human frame in their volcanic attitudes; nor is it to be regretted, since they would lift her out of that circle of personations with which she is identifying herself, and which alone can perpetually have a response in the general heart. The terrific, whether in nature, intellect, art, humanity can, never have but an occasional hold on the mind. A summer made up of thunder and lightning, would be anything but a summer we like. It would require columns to discuss Mrs. Mowatt’s merits; which we have not at our elbow at present. We, however, unhesitatingly pronounce her as one of the first of living actresses; and not far behind any that are dead.1
Mowatt as Pauline -- American Review, 1847 In the most important intellectual requisite of acting,
we therefore think Mrs. Mowatt to be pre-eminently gifted; and from the extreme
ductility of her imagination, she is capable of indefinite improvement in her
profession, and of embodying, eventually, almost all varieties of
character. To this great mental
advantage she joins the singular advantages of person. Her form is slight, graceful, and flexible,
and her face fine and pure, with that strangeness in the expression which Bacon
deemed essential to all beauty. In
personal appearance she is altogether the most ideal-looking woman we ever saw
on the stage. One of her most pleasing and popular personations is
Pauline, in Bulwer’s Lady of Lyons. In this we do not think she has even a
rival. No actress that we have ever
seen, English or American, approaches her in this character. Her conception of it is fresh and original,
and in its embodiment she supplies even the deficiencies of the author, who is
not much skilled in characterization.
Though we, by no means, think that her Pauline is a fair measure of her
powers, her representation of the part more than exhausts its whole capacity of
effectiveness. She has seized, with the
intuitive quickness of imagination, what Bulwer aimed to produce in the
delineation of Pauline, and converted his intention into a living, breathing
reality. In the third, fourth, and fifth
acts of the play, her action is characterized by great force, refinement and
variety. In the expression of that confusion
of the mind and motives produce by a conflict of antagonist passions, each
maddening the brain and tugging at the heart-strings, her whole action is
masterly and original. – Scorn, contempt, love, hatred, shame, fear, hope,
pride, humility, despair, meet and part, and trace each other in tumultuous
succession; every emotion as it sweeps abruptly across her heart, mirrored in
her face, speaking in the gesture – giving significance to every movement of
her frame. The whole personation,
commencing with the vain, proud, romantic girl – conducting her through shame
and mortification to the very verge of despair and death – her heart, after its
first mad burst of rage, becoming the more beautiful and noble, the more it is
crushed, and finally ending, after her long ordeal of sorrow, in happiness and
love – is more powerful and effective.
The character, as Mrs. Mowatt performs it, gives considerable play to a
variety of emotions, ranging from the most graceful sentiment of deep passion,
and also full of ravishing beauties. In
the second act, she displays that singular power of expression insight in the
world of imagination, which, in its various modifications by circumstances and
character, lends a charm to all her personations. When Claude describes his imaginary gardens
by the Lake of Como, she sees them as realities before her eyes – is blind to
everything else; her face has that fine indefiniteness of look which represents
the triumph of the sensuous imagination over the sense – the bloom and
fragrance of the flowers, and the musical gush of the waterfalls, are the only
objects before her mind -- and her whole soul seems absorbed in a soft and
delicious dream. The effect is most
exquisite, and it is so perfect that its meaning cannot but flash on the
dullest and least imaginative auditor.2
“The American and English Actress” – The Knickerbocker, 1847 I had frequently heard Mrs. Mowatt spoken of, in the
emphatic phraseology of her western admirers, as a ‘tall actress,’ a ‘screamer,’
one who could do ‘nothing else’ but act.
I set all this down as a specimen of American gaconade and exaggeration;
for the same journals that praised her performances imparted the information
that she had been only sixteen months upon the stage; during all which time she
had played ‘star engagements’ only. It is true that all this while she had
sustained herself with brilliant success against the Keans in the same line of
plays; but I had learned to distrust a public who could receive Mr. ------ as a
‘great actor,’ Heaven save the mark! I did not know how far a native American
feeling might have operated in her favor; for Mrs. Mowatt is a full-blooded native,
being a great grand-daughter of one of those old rebels who signed the
Declaration of Independence; one Lewis, of New York. I supposed therefore that
there might be some national pride mingled with an affected admiration of her
qualities as an actress; although, as a general rule, the Americans disdain
everything in the way of acting that has not had a foreign stamp. It was with these vague presentiments that I took my seat in
the parquette of the Howard Theatre, or as it is absurdly called, Athenæum, to
witness the first appearance of Mrs. Mowatt in Juliet. The house, which is a
remarkably elegant one, was crowded in every part. What was my surprise, when the representative
of Juliet came on, to see, instead of a “tall actress,” a young, delicate,
fair-haired creature, just the height of the Medicean Venus, slim, but
well-portioned, and with a face which many would call “strangely beautiful,”
while others would admit the strangeness but dispute the beauty. Her features are of a cast admirably fitted
for the stage. The face forms a
beautiful oval; the eyes are blue but capable of great animation; the mouth and
teeth are faultless; complexion clear and radiant; the nose Wellingtonian and
prominent, but feminine and in good keeping with the rest of her
countenance As she moved across the
boards I was struck with the exquisite ease and grace of her carriage. You at once see the lady, and are
pre-possessed in her favor. So far so good. But her voice-— with a form so light and
ethereal, can the vocal powers be such as to qualify her for a tragic actress? “Madam,
I am here! - what is your will?” are her words on entering. Yes, it is a sweet
voice; full-toned, clear and melodious ; but will it be adequate to the terrible
trials to which, as the tragic pathos of the scene proceeds, it must be
subjected? “Go ask his name; if he be
married “Thou
know'st the mask of night is on my face, Her elocution was most admirable throughout this speech.
There was an expressive mingling of archness and tenderness in her tones; of
diffidence and boldness, wonderfully significant of maiden bashfulness
overpowered by maiden love. This must be a woman of genius,' I began to say to
myself. “My
bounty is as boundless as the sea, “What
if this mixture do not work at all? “Or if I wake, shall I not be
distraught, Here Mrs. Mowatt, striking her fist against her head, as if
the phantasm had become a fact, fell prostrate, apparently overcome by the
crowd of appalling images. The audience broke forth into one loud, prolonged
peal of applause. And well did she deserve such a tribute to the excellence of
the personation. It showed genius ; genius of the highest order; spontaneous,
original, irrepressible; not the result of imitation; of seeing what other
great actresses did in the same scene; of a long experience in stage effects;
but an outburst of feeling; a genuine
exaltation of the imaginative faculty ; sparks from that flame which glowed in
the heart of Shakespeare while he wrote. Juliet's dying scene was portrayed with the vividness and intensity
which had characterized all the other tragic passages of the play; and the
curtain fell amid expressions of applause as hearty as any it had ever been my
lot to hear elicited at a theatre. The young actress (for to look at her you
would not suppose she was more than eighteen, although I believe she is on the
windy side of twenty-five,) was called before the curtain with the utmost enthusiasm,
and greeted with unanimous cries of ‘Bravo!' and a general waving of
handkerchiefs.
Nothing could be more opposite than the styles of Mrs.
Mowatt and Mrs. Kean. The one has seen no models of consequence, except the
French Rachel; has been less than two years upon the stage, and is guided in
her personations solely by her own impulsive genius and unerring good taste.
The newspaper accounts say that from a child, though entirely aloof from theatrical
influences and connections, she seemed to have an inborn passion for dramatic
representations and recitations. If ever a person was impelled by spontaneous predilections
and natural qualifications to a vocation, it was she. With regard to Mrs. Kean,
it is a matter of dramatic biography, that as Miss Ellen Tree, she made her debut
upon the London boards in 1823, being then in her eighteenth year, under the
auspices of her sister Maria, who was very distinguished in her profession.
Ellen, though she has never attained an equal rank, has always been regarded as
a pleasing and interesting actress; and the production of Ion, that beautiful
poem, but most indifferent play, lifted her to the top-wave of success, on
which she was borne to this country, where her theatrical career was a very
prosperous one. But, a great actress she
never was and never will be. She lacks the vivida
vis of genius. She is an instance, like Charles Kemble, of the effects of
thorough drilling and long-continued practice in the absence of superior abilities.
Charles used to be hissed at one time; and Ellen, after her third night at
Drury-Lane, played to empty benches. But by dint of study and attention, added
to frequent opportunities of seeing the best models of acting, male and female,
and a long apprenticeship, Mrs. Kean When combinations of this kind are skillfully brought
together, the result is often the same as where genius itself presides over the
performance. We have known a dull man to recite a passage in imitation of Kean
as well as Kean could do it himself. But in scenes of intense passion, we must
have something more than mechanical tricks and mere mimicry. The actor must
himself feel if he would make his audience feel. Any jury of critics would, I
think, have conceded that the Mrs. Huller of Mrs. Mowatt last week was far
superior to that of Mrs. Kean the night after. In the last scene of the play of
“The Stranger,” it will be remembered that the domestic distress rises to a
most painful pitch. A wife, who in a moment of delusion, misapprehension and weakness,
has deserted her husband for a villain, accidentally encounters, after years of
solitary penitence and suffering, the man she has injured. The anguish on both
sides is poignant and natural. But how is it typified by Mrs. Kean? By
perpetual sobs and applications of her handkerchief to her eyes. She is
evidently striving by mechanical signs and sounds to convey to her audience an
expression of the passion of grief. Far different and more impressive is Mrs. Mowatt's acting in
this scene. Her sorrow is all the mightier because you see that it is suppressed.
Her penitence has that dignity, that she has no wish to work upon her husband's
feelings by hysterical displays of sentimental sorrow. But the outburst of genuine
grief comes at last, all the more irresistible because it has been pent up; and
when she flings herself at his feet, with the prayer that he will let her see her
children, she reaches the climax of a representation, which, in beauty, chastity
and tragic effect, I have never seen equaled. There are occasional crudities in
the performances of Mrs. Mowatt. If a passage does not suit her taste she is apt
to slur it, while Mrs. Kean would have given it an importance which it might
not intrinsically possess. Herein Mrs. M. shows a lack of training, if not of
discretion. A performer had better cut a passage at once, rather than do it
injustice in the delivery. But in scenes of high passion and tragic intensity,
Mrs. Mowatt shows a reach of genius which her more experienced rival does not
possess. The latter used to play ‘Jane Shore,' but her success in it was very
indifferent. It is said to be Mrs. Mowatt's greatest personation, after Juliet;
and the character is one requiring in an eminent degree those quick sympathies
and that imaginative power for which she deservedly has credit. In ‘Ion' I do
not believe that Mrs. Mowatt could ever attain the excellence of Mrs. Kean.
There is little genuine passion in the character. It is cold and statue-like,
not combustible like Juliet. It requires the well-drilled artist to deal with
such a part; for all the effects of which it is capable are of the head rather
than the heart. The personal qualifications of these actresses may, perhaps,
be balanced against each other, -- Mrs. Mowatt has the stronger and sweeter
voice, but her figure conveys the idea of fragility; an objection which cannot
be argued against that of Mrs. Kean. Both are exceedingly lady-like and easy
upon the stage; but with Mrs. Kean every movement seems to be studied and
pre-arranged; with Mrs. Mowatt it is as natural as the stooping of a bird. The self-possession of the latter is indeed
very remarkable. She always seems on the
most amicable terms with her audience, as if she had that “perfect love,” which
the Scriptures describe as “casting out fear.”
She does not appear to dream that there are beings in the world as
carping critics and malicious spectators.
All her hearers are, in her estimation, her indulgent friends; and she
takes liberties with them with a grace that is irresistible. It is creditable to the American public, that
while they have showered their dollars upon the Keans, they have at the same
time shown so thorough an appreciation of their own charming and gifted
actress. May we see her soon in England! Of her success there can be no doubt.
In London an ounce of genius will outweigh a ton of talent. It may seem a matter of surprise that Mrs. Mowatt should have attained the rank she holds after so limited a practice of her art. But the mystery is solved when we are told, that from an early age she has been devoted to “private theatricals' and social recitations. Undoubtedly a large portion of the confidence she exhibits springs from this cause. Her consummate grace and ease upon the stage she brings from the society at home, and in Europe, to which she has been accustomed. She had nothing to learn to qualify her to play the lady. Above all, she loves her profession, and pursues it with an ardor and an enthusiasm that surmounts all its obstacles and blunts all its thorns. She has acted down, by her indomitable perseverance, all prognostications of failure. Her improvement has been rapid and constant; and if her physical strength continues, her friends may justly expect from her the greatest triumphs of which the histrionic art is capable.3
“Theatre -- Ion” -- The Louisville Daily Journal, 1852. Tonight we are again to have Mrs. Mowatt in the character of
Ion, in which she and Mrs. Charles Kean shine almost alone. A critic remarks that though Mrs. Mowatt is
not superior to Mrs. Kean in mechanical gesture and attitude, she transcends
her in all which relates to the essential vitality and meaning of the part. In our experience of Mrs. Mowatt’s acting, we
notice that on no two occaions does she perform alike, and the more ideal the
character, the more wide the difference.
She acts from no mental stereotype; her prolific genius at each
impersonation creates new forms of expression, and with her Ion, as with a
flying dove in the sun, its white gleams ever change. After a perusal of Mrs. Mowatt’s life, a
biography marked with strongest fortitude and sacrifice, we feel that in Ion
she acts out her heroic self, grandly rendering the ideal, by richly revealing
the real.4
Notes --
1. “Mrs.
Mowatt.” Boston Daily Bee. March 2, 1852. Page 1, col. 1.
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O
has attained that pitch of art, where the
effects of genius are often produced, even if genius itself does not produce them.
She trusts rather to recollection than to impulse for guidance in portraying an
emotion or indicating a passion. She borrows this grace from one performer, and
that from another; remembers how this actress sobbed and wept, and how that
produced an effect by a pause or a look.
