New Plays

The Saint. Stark Young (of The New York Times) is a critic of the Theatre whose penetrating observation has long been a tonic to our stage. Much to the distress of his admirers, he has attempted to embody the rules and measure of his wisdom in the heart and beauty of a play. Mr. Young has built up the fabric of a well-made drama; he has strengthened it with a fancy thread of beauty; and he has wholly failed to fill it with the air of sound reality.

His hero deserts the priesthood for the stage. It is the shabby stage of Tip Thompson's variety show on the Texas border. In its centre is Marietta, gir! of his seminar}' village. She deserts his studious quietness for the more flagrant physical attractions of Dedaux, the Knife Thrower. "The Saint" has lost his girl and lost his God.

Leo Carillo impersonated "The Saint" with stretches of good acting and lapses that were not so good. The best performance was contributed by the old woman who trained pigeons--Maria Ouspenskaya, late of the Moscow Art group.

The New York Times--"A play of lofty aim. . . . Moments of beauty ... it came to life only in flashes." Percy Hammond--"Neither art nor entertainment."

The Crime in the Whistler Room gallantly attempted to be introspective and exceedingly modern and succeeded in being dull. It is the opening production of the season by the group of young and thoroughly intelligent persos of whom Kenneth MacGowan, Robert Edmund Jones and Eugene O'Neill are the leaders. Unhappily, they selected as a starter a complex and over-worded play.

The crime is a spiritual slaughter of a highly charged barbarian who is being educated in the current unworldliness of a wealthy home. She seeks solace from the daily burden of propriety with a drink-dishevelled author. Then she dreams. She dreams in a modernistic manner, reminiscent of the weird episodes in The Adding Machine.

She dreams in a modernistic manner, reminiscent of the weird episodes in The Adding Machine. She dreams in terms of revolt against her cloister of convention. She dreams that she has fought her way free. She wakes up.

None of the acting is very good and none of it very bad. Most of it is accounted for by Mary Blair, E. J. Ballantine and Edgar Stehli.

The play will prompt in lowbrows the gnawing of baffled discontent. They will want to know what it is all about. The so-called intellegenzia will find in it flashes of finesse and faithful beauty. The rest is rain and thunder of a very cloudy evening.

Alexander Woolcott--"A dauntless production . . . which will probably remain at best in the limbo reserved for distinguished aspirations."

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Alan Dale --"Stout men, stout women, thin men, thin women, ushers, hangers-on-- everybody laughed."

Bide Dudley-- "He could tell that old poke about the chicken crossing the road and take six encores and three bows on it. That's how funny Ed Wynn is."

Percy Hammond -- "The most efficient executive in current tomfollery."

The Fake. Frederick Lonsdale is known locally for neat and witty social comedy (Spring Cleaning; Aren't We All?); A. H. Woods for bedrooms; and Godfrey Tearle because he is brother, to Conway, famd cinema actor. Together these three have rolled up a murder in a plain wrapper and presented it to the public. When the wrappings were ripped off the opening night, the public gratitude was only soso.

A pretty and accomplished young lady (Frieda Inescort), who is continually referred to as "that superlative creature," is married to a drink and dope addict. Her strong, silent friend (Tearle) takes the addict down to the seashore and kills him with a heroin and whisky cocktail. Returning, he vilifies the lady's father who has made the match and watched it smoulder because of his own ambitions toward the peerage. The girl falls, as planned, into the arms of a more agreeable matrimonial prospect.

The narrative argues that the murder is admissible because the strong, silent one had no selfish motive. The fake is the father. As played by the suavely English Mr. Tearle and by Orlando Daly, these parts protrude above the pleasant capabilities of a British cast.

Percy Hammond--"It you believe in noble assassinations, you will be especially attracted."

The Red Falcon. Jekyll and Hyde in the luxurious suitings of 16th Century Sicily are here revived for your attention. In the heart of a young priest burns the conflicting fires of piety and pillage. The latter he has inherited from a bandit father who has seduced a certain Mother Superior; the former, from that same Mother's upbringing.

Needless to say, the bandit urge predominates; and he leads in revolt a band of peasants against his crafty uncle, who has killed his father. Finally, a Trappist monastery--and the rest is silence.

To infuse blood into the purple veins of this invention McKay Morris was engaged. One of the better U. S. actors, he dealt in satisfying manner with the contradictory romance of his Red Falcon.

Percy Hammond -- "A pretentious narrative, verging at times on the ridiculous."

Quinn Martin--"If you ask me quick . . . I should say this is not a very good drama."

The Farmer's Wife. Eden Phillpotts takes you casually by the hand and bids you meet Samuel Sweetland of Devonshire. He bids you meet Mr. Sweetland in that interesting period of later life when he is seeking a wife. He introduces you in passing to the several single ladies of Mr. Sweetland's acquaintance who he believes will promote his placid happiness. For reasons that seem neither good nor sufficient, these ladies one by one give Mr. Sweetland what is vulgarly described as "the air." In the end, Mr. Sweetland's comely housekeeper gives him her promise true.

Mr. and Mrs. Coburn are chiefly concerned as Mr. and the prospective Mrs. Sweetland. They play with an unerring touch for quiet comedy. Summoned to their assistance is a large assembly of deft and balanced capabilities.

The play will not interest the jaded theatregoer who is out for blood. Neither will it amuse the earnest seeker after incontinence, sordid or suave. It has, however, a quality of ease and atmospheric entertainment that commends it amiably to attention.

Percy Hammond--"I had a comfortable time at The Farmer's Wife. Almost every character delighted me."

Alan Dale--"Rattling entertainment for those whose ideas of rattle are not concerned with doors and bedsteads."