Obits and plaudits for a season which hatched Joe Egg, ""no better play in 1968"" and for the most part ""moved from a logical theatre into a phenomological one."" Temperate and thoughtful as usual, Mr. Kerr is best when discussing the nuances of say, pressure chamber Pinter, the ""mindless fear,"" the necessary ""involvement in what is going on now."" But on the whole he seems a bit bemused. . . this is genial conversation rather than superior criticism--""I poor overbusy soul, have been corrupted by the ingenuity of men who have fooled me and I am, no doubt and good riddance, a lost cause."" His general attack is launched at the loss of words-manship rather than increased banality. He has little use for the theatricality of a Peter Brook or a Joan Littlewood. He finds Murray Schisgal ""one step ahead of the avant garde."" This is a lesser sequel to his Tragedy and Comedy but then ""My problem is that I'm not divine""; perhaps it's simply a question of not enough inspiration.