During the 1920's China was undergoing great political and social change. The Republican government under the leadership of Sun Yat-sen struggled against warlord factions and watched the birth of the Communist Party of China (1921). It was a time of turmoil and unrest, as newspapers headlined frightening incidents of murder, banditry, illegal taxation, military skirmishes and plundering. Added to China's problems was the recent appearance on her rivers of boat patrols by foreign governments who vowed to protect their commercial interests at any cost. That presence was an embarrassing, even an insulting situation. Finally, on the eve of 1924, Sun Yat-sen announced that China would look toward Russia for help. China would turn away from the West—particularly Britain, America, France and Germany, all of whom had participated in the division of China into foreign legations and treaty ports after the Opium War (1840–42) and had enjoyed great economic advantages as a consequence.

In the Age of Enlightenment, prominent critics and theorists called for an innovative program that would significantly affect the nature, status and future of the German theatre. Johann Elias Schlegel in 1747, Christian Fürchtegott Gellert in 1751, Johann Friedrich Löwen in 1766 and Gotthold Ephriam Lessing in 1767 variously urged the creation of permanent national theatres with resident artists on established salaries, subsidized by the wealthy or by the state. To those working in the uncertain world of semiprofessional companies, criss-crossing central Europe in search of friendly cities or courts with paying audiences, it was a logical idea. Remarkably, it came to be accepted and realized, first in Vienna, then in Mannheim, Weimar, Frankfurt am Main, Berlin, all the major capitals and cities of the fragmented German states. It was an important advance, not only for the sake of the German theatre, but also for its performers because they were accorded the status of Beamten, or civil servants, in these new state theatres. Yet the Beamten classification allowed for an action unforeseen by Schlegel, Gellert, Löwen or Lessing: a hostile government could punish segments of its civil service it deemed offensive by forcing retirement.

Firmin Gémier rose to the top rank of twentieth century French actors with a versatile talent that led to simultaneous success in the bourgeois commercial theatres of the boulevards, the elite independent theatres of the back streets, and the tawdry working class theatres of the suburbs. His historical reputation rests on his early career with Antoine's Théâtre-libre, and later accomplishments such as founding the Théâtre National Populaire, creating the role of Père Ubu, and tutoring Gaston Baty and Charles Dullin. Still, Gémier's work is seldom discussed and it is too easy to forget the major role he played in advocating the democratization of French theatre, a role he was uniquely suited to play given his eclecticism and willingness to popularize the Théâtre-libre style. He took middle ground between the elitism of Antoine and the commercialism of Sasha Guitry and encouraged later generations of theatre artists to actively seek an ever-widening audience.

In 1837 William Leggett, one of the foremost American politicans and journalists of the 1830s and 1840s, wrote of Homer and Shakespeare: Walt Whitman, who certainly revered Shakespeare and frequently acknowledged Shakespeare's influence, also regarded his work as “poisonous to the idea of the pride and dignity of the common people, the life-blood of democracy.” Whitman's and Leggett's pronouncements are typical of the simultaneous admiration and disapproval with which many other democrats in an emerging American culture approached Shakespeare in the nineteenth century.

In the papers of Sir Robert Walpole now deposited in the Cambridge University Library, there is an information prepared in 1724 by the office of the Attorney General for the prosecution of a number of players at the Court of King's Bench. This document provides insights not only into the climate of theatrical censorship at the time but also into the nature of the dramatic presentations at London street fairs such as this one at Bartholomew Fair in Smithfield. The actors and actresses involved were for the most part well-known professionals on the London stage. The offending dramatic vehicle, heretofore known only by its title as advertised in the periodical press, was a short comedy or droll called “The Prodigal Son,” based on the familiar parable in Luke's gospel (15: 11–32).

The Baltimore Company of Comedians which had performed openly and successfully in Maryland since 1782 attempted to gain a foothold in the traditionally hostile state of Pennsylvania in November, 1783. The troupe's manager, Dennis Ryan, petitioned the Pennsylvania legislature to rescind its statute prohibiting plays. When his petition was denied, he produced three evenings' entertainment through the use of a clever subterfuge: The Temple of Apollo, a play and pantomime disguised as a concert, reading, and dance. Although Ryan's ruse was clever, it was not wholly successful: he and his actors had to take precipitous leave of Philadelphia when a riot swept through the house during the last of their three scheduled performances and alerted the sheriff to their activities. Nevertheless, Ryan was the first actor-manager to attempt to evade post-revolutionary legislative opposition to theatre by making plays appear non-theatrical.