Floyd Dell,
The Censor's Triumph
“ So in the movies Oswald wriggles across the flour, making faces, toward the bottle of rat- poison, while his mother and the pastor are hurrying —up lull and down dale, of course—to save him, Finding the dead body, his mother swoons in the good man’s comforting arms, pitied—and respected— by everybody.All the harm, the fever of thought, of doubt, of inquiry which Ibsen’s play might set up in impressionable minds, is thus eliminated. The husk is preserved, and those who have seen it will think they have seen Ibsen’s “Ghosts,” as advertised outside, Thus is art robbed of its sting. ”
