Fred Wemyss

I had the day off yesterday and, after dreading oncoming twilight, I got on the phone and ordered a ticket to the eight o'clock performance of JOURNEY'S END. I hopped on the LIRR, got out at Penn Station, walked a block to Stage Door Deli, ordered the Stage Door Sandwich (corned beef, pastrami and roast beef on rye) followed it with some cherry pie and walked to 111 West 44th, address of the Belasco Theater and picked up my ticket. It was for a balcony seat. I walked to the outdoor entrance, which is the only one leading to the balcony and the ticket-taker told me the balcony was closed, so I could sit in the mezzanine. Not bad for thirty-six bucks!
This play was what I expected: a powerhouse.
It was originally staged in 1929. It's about stiff-upper-lip British officers in a trench in the Great War (Dub-a-yuh Dub-a-yuh One) and, for all the repressed emotion in the dialogue, the nuanced acting strikes every human chord.
I've seen plays I liked better. (August Wilson's JITNEY is the most moving thing I've ever seen.) I've seen more profound plays. (THE GLASS MENAGERIE, for example.) But JOURNEY'S END may be the most noble play I've ever seen. How many Broadway shows can you call noble? One. This one.
JOURNEY'S END came to Broadway without bally-hoo. None of the large magazine spreads HISTORY BOYS got in advance. No big-ass American stars.
Just the right play at the right time for a public clamoring for depth.