Three playwrightsan English poet, a French ex-convict, an American scarcely out of collegeare giving off-Broadway audiences more philosophy (both weird and traditional), more wit and more theatricality than can be heard or seen in Broadway's most wretched season.
The Death of Satan. As the curtain went up last week on Poet Ronald Duncan's play, three comfortable chaps were reading newspapers in a club in Hell. One by one they revealed their faces: Shaw, Wilde, Byron. Happy shades, they play poker for their professional reputations ("I'll wager Mrs. Warren's Profession""I'll raise you Childe Harolde") and tolerate Satan, dressed as a clergyman, as...
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