New Plays in Manhattan

The Male Animal (by James Thurber & Elliott Nugent; produced by Herman Shumlin) provides Broadway--in a season rich only in comedy--with another comedy hit. A frail, rachitic tyke of a play, with barely enough clothes to cover it, The Male Animal manages to captivate by its impish tongue and winning smile. It resembles a dinner party where there isn't nearly enough food but where the conversation is so amusing that nobody minds.

James Thurber, famous for illustrating The War Between the Sexes with his runaway pencil, has carried the combat to the stage. The Male Animal tells of a young English professor (Elliott Nugent) who has all the trouble that Thurber thinks the male animal is born to. The prof gets branded a Red for wanting to read one of Vanzetti's letters to his class. He gets all tangled up with his wife when an old sweetheart of hers comes to town for a football game. A Milquetoast by nature, the professor quaffs too much of the cup that emboldens, and in a hilarious drunk scene decides to hold his mate as bull elephants, swans, land crabs do -- by fighting for her. He does hold her, but not with his fists; it turns out that the old beau's interest is only pigskin deep.

The Male Animal serves up its bit of plot successively as roast turkey, creamed turkey, turkey hash, scraps, soup, and bones for the dog. Fortunately, Play wright Thurber's insane, melancholy slant on life fills the play with fresh and free-flowing laughter. Frustration is leavened into nonsense, indignation is alkalized by good nature. Admirably cast and directed by Producer Shumlin, The Male Animal is a gay evening in the theatre in spite of being no play at all.

John Henry (by Roark Bradford; music by Jacques Wolfe; produced by Sam Byrd) took Paul Robeson back to Broadway after nearly eight years. The stage seemed set for a great return. The play was by the man whose stories had inspired The Green Pastures. Robeson's role was magnificently suited to him--that of huge John Henry, the legendary strong man, the Negro Paul Bunyan, of the Black River country.

But though Robeson was still a superb figure of a man with a deep and thrilling voice, John Henry proved an elaborate bore. A rambling, rag-picaresque tale of a black giant toting 800-lb. bales of cotton, laying rails with his bare hands, groaning with woman trouble and at last crashing down while trying to perform a Black River Labor of Hercules, the play never achieved either dramatic excitement or heroic force.

John Henry performed his feats as though they were vaudeville acts. The music rose & fell, ebbed & flowed, without seeming to come from the hearts of the black people who sang it. Crowds moved sheeplike about the stage as though at the bidding of a traffic cop. Even Robeson could not save the situation. He could not carry on his back 800 pounds of bad play.

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