I have been asked a rather complex question: Why is it that in the production of a period play the costumes, though definitely in period, nevertheless seem dated to the time of the play’s presentation'?

At an early theatre visit of mine when seeing a classical revival, my father was deeply disturbed by the costume and hairstyle of the heroine, which did not tally with his recollection of the part seen about twenty years before that date. To me it seemed a wholly satisfying effect and in its design genuine period. Looking back now – twenty-five years later – I realise that the costume and hairstyle had the unmistakable flavour of the 1920s.

This, then, is a question which only arises in retrospect. At the time of seeing a play we may be quite conscious of the effects the designer intended and of his particular style, yet convinced that they are true to the period presented. It is only many years later that there seems to be a certain relationship between, say, Cecil Beaton’s costumery for a Wilde production and the same year’s autumn collection by Christian Dior. And – I would like to add – it is this very relationship which pleases us – subconsciously – at the moment.

Though this seems very flippant and perhaps just a statement, a look at a photograph of any actress about the beginning of the century, wearing what was believed to be a period costume, will bear out my point. Similarly, no Rosalind or Viola has ever been as boyish as in the 1920s.

Let me be explicit: I am referring to the costume as such and not to the style chosen for a revival. Illustration: Anthony Quayle’s production of Antony and Cleopatra in 1947 seemed a weird mixture of styles in costumes. I am not questioning here its choice; when chosen 1 am contemplating its design.

At first sight one may be tempted to find an easy answer in the choice of new materials; on the successful side Lynn Fontanne’s Greek silk jersey garments for her pre-war presentation of Amphitryon 38; on the unsuccessful side The Questors’ attempt to clothe Poseidon, the Prologue in The Trojan Women, in plastic material; but the answer remains unsatisfactory. There are always rich companies investing in beautiful materials and able artists who can turn drab cottons into gorgeous silks.

No, the answer must be found elsewhere.

Obviously it cannot be found in the artist’s vision alone, but it must be part of the artist’s vision as well as the audience’s. I should think it is a kind of – what I should like to call – period taste, an answer to the period’s aesthetic visual demands.

That there is such a thing has been abundantly shown by the art historian’s research in period vision, which has established that by studying the conception of a picture alone, and not its costumes or architectural hints, one is able to place it in its right period; that, therefore, any artist, however great, is subject to his period and its currents.

How much more is the less ambitious art of theatrical costume design subject to this poignant though ephemeral influence!

(1949)