New Plays

White Desert. A primitive tragedy of jealousy on a lonely North Dakota farm condensed into four acts and five characters makes doubtful entertainment. At the end the theatregoer finds himself gazing on a corpse, two people desperate from unhappiness, another a trifle crazy, a fifth-- very old. The theatregoer is inclined to wonder if life is like that and whether a nifty here and there would not have helped. As a matter of fact the author, with a relentless logic, has shown that life under the circumstances could not possibly have been otherwise. Though he has created an artistic cross-section of stark bitterness, he is too pessimistic, too penetrating, to be widely popular. Possibly thereby he proves his tragedy is true.

John Corbin: "The actors, one and all, creep snugly into the skins of their parts and live there."

Percy Hammond: "An interesting, faithful and well acted tragedy."

For All of Us. William Hodge, like William Jennings Bryan, has a faithful following. Both are good actors; both deal exclusively in sweetness and light; both are harrowingly obvious. Hodge has succeeded where Bryan failed because he is shrewd enough to dress his platitudes for the theatre and label them "amusement."

In his current play he has the part of an Irish ditchdigger who cures by homemade homilies paralysis in a wealthy banker. This artless theme will undoubtedly stir the heart strings and purse strings of thousands. To the faintly intelligent it will be incredibly banal. One almost expects Mr. Hodge to rush from the stage after the final curtain, shake each individual visitor by the hand and kiss good-bye the little girls in pigtails.

The Shame Woman. Lulu Vollmer (author of Sun Up) has come forward with her second study of Carolina mountain types. The brilliant promise of her first play is only sluggishly sustained. The Shame Woman deals with the seduction of two girls by the same man at an interval of 20 years. In each of the villain's words critics detected the echoes of "10-20-30" melodrama. The production was chiefly notable for the excellent performance of Florence Rittenhouse in the title part.

Percy Hammond: "Periods of inertia."

The Dancers. The progress of the two women chiefly concerned herein is much like that of a mountain cable railway. One starts at the peak and slips downward; along the adjoining track the other climbs steadily to the top. The motive power is a man's love. Both are dancers; the first of the type usually called "nice," whose blood is burned with ragtime rhythms; the second, a cabaret performer. A London flat, a Canadian barroom, a bridal suite at the Savoy, and a music hall dressing room in Paris are the successive backgrounds. Romance is omnipresent.

Richard Bennett makes a stable but never startling hero. Kathlene Mac- Donell is rather better as the cabaret performer. Florence Eldridge, rather monotonously emotional at first, comes sharply to life when her time comes to die. Nothing in her life becomes her like the leaving it.

Heywood Broun: "Amply excellent to move us sometimes and to entertain us much."

Percy Hammond: "First-class, old time, British Melodrama, done in a smart new-fashioned way."

Ginger. Productions like this incubate and hatch the musical comedy population. Little Everest Smudge, aged 13, watches from the top gallery. Hope surges to his heart. "I'll go on the stage," he whispers to himself. "I could do better than that. God knows I couldn't do worse."

The Grand Guignol.* Manhattan had steeled itself too sternly against the advent of this reign of terror. The horrors failed to horrify. Accordingly those who came to cringe remained to scoff, and the opening was declared just another one of those things.

It is possible that the debut program was deliberately temperate in deference to the inexperience of American audiences in theatrical terrorism. Frantic screeds from the offices of the promoters asseverated that the true spine shatterings would begin with the second week's bill. Mild scepticism greeted these promises. The cynical theatrical population dared the visitors to rearrange its smooth marcel into a prickly pompadour.

Yet the Grand Guignol occupies a unique niche in the theatrical world; faithful followers of the drama can hardly omit it from their agenda and retain the while their self-respect. For the casual amusement seeker the entertainment is only mildly recommended. Particularly if his linguistic equipment is limited to "oui" and "Zelli."

Percy Hammond: "Rather respectable and not particularly flesh creeping."

John Corbin: "The protagonists roar very gently."

Ziegfeld Follies. The very first night of their life the new Follies carried on until after 2 a. m. Mr. Ziegfeld threw all his beautiful battalions, all his comics, all his scenery, all his singers into the initial attack. After five hours of combat there were casualties. Sufficient members survived to form the nucleus for another of the greatest shows on earth. On the general staff this season are Fanny Brice, Edna Leedom, Hap Ward, Harland Dixon, Bert and Betty Wheeler, Brooke Johns, Paul Whiteman. Though with the possible exception of Miss Brice and Mr. Whiteman none of them have attained Who's Who, they are extraordinarily entertaining. The chorus, with the most extensive personnel in history, seems again to have that fatal gift of beauty which is as Lethe to Manhattan and wandering millions from the outlying villages.

The New York Times: "It will be a great Follies when it is cut down to fit a theatre."

Alexander Woollcott: "Florenz Ziegfeld has done it again."

* The Grand Guignol is a French repertory company operating normally in a converted church at the end of the Rue Chaptal, Paris. They specialize in farce and bizarre tragedy.