Abstract
‘Miracle in the Gorbals’ unquestionably ‘knocks’ one. A single performance causes a deep dent in one's artistic consciousness and memory. In violent revolt against modern civilization, the ballet gives a vivid picture of the horrors of hooliganism lit up by a peculiarly livid lamp of idealism in the person of the Stranger. Glasgow at its worst will have none of him and his miracles, and after tasting blood intends to go on in the same way with its knife-fiends and prostitution. We are not left with any hope, only with horror: the criticism of human nature is not relieved by any faith in the benefits or comforts of religion or even philosophy. Or is one meant to find a faint spark of hope for the future in the women and the old man left on stage as the curtain falls? To me the futility of the death is the tragedy itself.
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