New Plays

Pride. The French, one remembers, are a gay and polite people, fond of dancing and light wines. Perhaps if they saw more of the English and American plays that are written about them they would be neither so polite nor so gay. At any rate, in most American drama, the French male character who is old enough to have a crepe-beard has, in general, the choice between just two roles. He is always noble, and if he does not display his noblesse oblige by pursuing the chaste young heroine around and around the room with the scarlet curtains, he devotes himself to lamenting the vanished glories of his ancestral chateau.

The Duc de Valmont, in Pride, by Thompson Buchanan, is of the latter or " Zem were ze grand old days " variety. His past was bright mauve --his manners impeccable--as Kipling puts it, " He was wild and he was woolly, and his pride was inordinate." Moreover, he and the Duchess, ex-Susie Potter of Chicago, had been separated since the latter's accouchement, 20 years ago. She loved him--but he was a roue--oh such a roue!--so she took her millions and their daughter (his little daughtaire 'e 'ad not seen 'ardly at all) and came to America, intent upon marrying daughter to a nice, clean-cut, young American millionaire, sans blue blood or indiscriminately amorous proclivities.

Well, that was all right, but what did the Duc do but turn up, broke, at the very hotel where everybody else in the cast was stopping, and start earning an honest living there as a waiter under the name of Henri Dupont? And what did little daughter do but feel strangely drawn at once to the elegant waiter who reminded her so of the papa she loved? And then, of course, there were two more acts, all full of complications. The Duc lied about himself like a French gentleman, and said he wasn't the Duc--and the millionaire's relatives cried: " Aha, our boy must not marry the child of a waiter, Duc though he be! "--and there were scenes and lalas and all sorts of complications--and everything was about to come out on the front page of The Journal. Till the happy ending arrived, and the angel child joined her parents' hands with " You mus' each be good to ze othaire" and the young millionaire kissed papa on both cheeks and everything was jake.

This old-fashioned dramatic rocking-chair is creaky, conventional and labored, though some of its upholstery is not ineffective. Hilda Spong, Juliette Day and Fred Tiden, in particular, do their best with it--but they cannot succeed in galvanizing the body more than momentarily. The French accents employed by the cast vary from the Swiss to the purely Chicagoan. The critics in general have received it tepidly-- what praise they have accorded being rather for the work of individual actors than for the piece itself.

My Aunt from Ypsilanti. While obviously aimed at the warm weather trade and that of the country cousins who just must see one of those typically wicked New York plays before they return to Sauk Center, this adaptation by Henry Baron from the French of Paul Gavault succeeds merely in dusting off a few of the ancient properties of conventional French farce a little more obviously than usual. True, Justice Ford would probably never allow his unmarried daughter to witness it--but, this time, his ukase would spare the young lady a dull evening. There's an act in Greenwich Village--and another in one of those old Virginia homes--and a model who pretends to be somebody's wife when she isn't --and--oh well, what's the use? Those who haven't seen about the same thing a dozen times before are to be congratulated.

Percy Hammond: ..." a woeful bore."

John Corbin: ..." For the most part the play seemed as dull as its morals are merry."

The Inspector General. In 1836, when first produced, this play of Gogol's, we understand, was considered a rather daringly satiric expose of the foibles of Russian officialdom. But its humor seems to have gone flat with the passage of years and its satire is no longer telling--or so it appeared from the present production. The plot is simple enough--it concerns a well-dressed, penniless scapegrace from St. Petersburg who is mistaken by the local grafters of a provincial town for the inspector general come to muckrake the community. They propitiate him with food, wine, money and the hand of the governor's daughter--and he makes his escape just before the real inspector general arrives.

That's all, and--in spite of the horribly conscientious farcing of the supporting cast--it isn't the least bit funny, except for the briefest moments. Maurice Swartz struggles like Laocoon himself to impart a semblance of humor--but unsuccessfully.

Heywood Broun: . . . "a feeble farce."

Anita Block: . . . " if it must be played, then let us hope only by Russians."

The Best Plays

These are the plays which in the light of metropolitan criticism seem most important:

RAIN--The reaction of a woman of the San Francisco streets to the ruthless Christianity of a South Sea missionary. Jeanne Eagels plays the San Francisco woman with mordant effectiveness.

SEVENTH HEAVEN--Academically a meager drama. Apache atmosphere, a strong cast, a flashing second act climax have made it universally popular. Helen Menken is a downtrodden courtesan to whom the war brings courage and " a very remarkable fellow."

MERTON OF THE MOVIES--Glenn Hunter brilliantly entertaining as the unsuspecting yokel youth who conquered Hollywood with comedy.

THE DEVIL'S DISCIPLE--Shaw's melodrama of the American Revolution adds another link to the Theatre Guild's successful chain. Roland Young's portrait of General Burgoyne is one of the great bits of the season.

POLLY PREFERRED--Inconsequential but vastly comic satire on the manner of making a female movie star.

YOU AND I--A thoughtful theme intensified by glittering high comedy dialogue. Perfectly played by H. B. Warner and the smartest cast in town.

ZANDER THE GREAT--Shrewd mixture of comedy and melodrama on an Arizona ranch. Alice Brady cast in the first play worthy of her talents.

PEER GYNT--A play which Ibsen never meant for the stage made beautiful and effectively intelligible by the Theatre Guild. Joseph Schildkraut is the dreaming boaster of the title role.

THE MOSVCOW ART THEATRE--The Russian Artists returning May 21 for a final fortnight in America. Conceded to be the finest dramatic troupe in the world. Repertory.

ROMEO AND JULIET--A production rich in the extreme youth of Jane Cowl's Juliet. The last of the season's Shakespeare; also the best.

THE LAST WARNING--A bag of ghastly tricks in a " deserted" theatre. All those will thrill who have not thrilled before, and those who thrilled before will thrill again.

The leading musical comedies: Ziegfeld Follies, Jack and Jill, Wildflower, Music Box.