New Plays

Mayflowers. Some seasons back. Arthur Richman wrote a comedy called Not So Long Ago, and it had a moderate success with Eva Le Gallienne in the lead. It was recently made into a motion picture which was played by Betty Bronson (TIME, Aug. 3, CINEMA). The final stage has come, comedy has been set to music. Ivy Sawyer sings and dances the part.

There is a certain charm about the curious costumes our grandmothers wore. They are also slightly ludicrous. Therefore the costumes in this entertainment fill a double role and help a lot. They are pleasant to look at and easy for the comedian to jest about. Beyond these costumes the piece is a trifle routine. The music, the jokes and the romance seem to reminisce too much.

Miss Sawyer and Joseph Santley are pleasant

Me. A strange play of traded identity has appeared and will probably disappear rapidly. It is not what is technically known as "good theatre." It is not very well played. All of which is a misfortune, for the play had excellent possibilities. A healthy tramp kills a wealthy hermit and steals his soul. He thereupon falls in love with the girl the dead man loved.

A Lady's Virtue. Rachel Crothers is a capable workman in the theatre. No play of hers can be bad, yet none has been exceptionally good. This last attempt is probably better than most.

A small-town wife, tired of her husband, is the central character. The husband is equally weary. There appears the inevitable third angle to the triangle in the person of a beautiful, accomplished and slightly shopworn opera singer. Singer and husband fall on each other's neck. After some exceedingly interesting internal conflict the wife decides that she is not so tired as she thought. The husband wakes up with equal abruptness and peace is made. The opera singer--much the wisest and most worthy figure--is left in somewhat lonely splendor.

Mary Nash and Florence Nash play the diva and the wife respectively. These sisters are appearing together as stars for the first time. Both contribute exceedingly accurate and attractive portrayals.

The Deacon. A benign and silver haired old sinner has been made the hero of this play. As played to perfection by Berton Churchill he will unquestionably be much loved of the masses. You understand, of course, he is not really and forever wicked.

He appears in a small town; cheats most of the good citizens out of their money; restores devotion to the hearts of parted lovers. The play is completely given over to him, much as Lightnin' was given over to Bill Jones. The plays are not dissimilar. The Deacon is probably not so important as its prototype, but a very fair echo no less. Young Blood. You would think, would you not? that plays about the younger generation were about over with. But they are not. Here are such a shrewd and forward-looking a dramatist as James Forbes and such excellent performers as Helen Hayes, Norman Trevor, Eric Dressier and Florence Eldridge going over the whole thing again.

This time it is a young boy that goes wrong. He is fired from college, takes to drink, involves himself with a designing chambermaid--all because his father spent too much time at the office and not enough at his offspring's elbow making friends. The father gets himself badly denounced by the flimsy youngster, who thereupon manages to pick himself up and fall in love with the proper girl.

This girl is played by Helen Hayes. She is probably our most consistent flapper. And yet somehow you wonder how she can go on like that night after night talking synthetic slang and just being her very nice self. Katharine Cornell should trade her one of her tragedies.

Androcles and the Lion and The Man of Destiny. The Theatre Guild has proceeded to the second bill in its promised Shaw cycle. They have taken the early satire on Napoleon (The Man of Destiny) and entrusted it to Tom Powers and Clare Eames. Neither the play nor the players seem up to the mark of Mr. Shaw and the Guild.

Androcles, however, is a genuine triumph. Henry Travers, veteran of many a Guild production, plays the lead amazingly amusingly. Miss Eames and Mr. Powers redeem themselves with excellent performances, and an actor named Edward G. Robinson is immensely satisfactory as Caesar.

The play, if you have not read it, is a satire on martyrdom. It is all about Christians being thrown to the lions of the Roman colosseum. It is probably one of the most impudent documents ever composed about Christianity. It is not for churchgoers without a sense of humor. Paid. Whether or not you should steal money which you know you can repay and which in your hands will do the world and yourself great benefit is the problem of this adventure. The answer is, of course, Yes.

The playwright arrives at this affirmative through the process of presenting a starving inventor who suddenly sees a chance to finance his brain-child and make many millions. The whole is rather elementary, rather energetically played, and quite unimportant.