New Plays in Manhattan

Ballyhoo. For the first time a musicomedy has been based on the somewhat amusing Bunion Derbies (1928 and 1929) of Promoter C. C. Pyle. In Ballyhoo the promoter of the transcontinental footrace is Q. Q. Quale (William Claude Duganfield, better known as W. C. Fields). Funnyman Fields exhibits a rich form of comedy which appeals freshly because his foibles and frustrations are the sort that take place in life, never in the theatre. As may be expected, Mr.

Fields' marathon is not a happy one financially and his troubles are many. As in the past, he is pestered by a cantankerous customer who comes into his drugstore to buy a stamp; and he has difficulties with a small automobile (an Austin this time). Assisting Mr. Fields is that extraordinary Gourmand Chaz Chase, who smokes and eats a cigar, then a bunch of carnations, then half a dozen packets of matches, after which he licks his fingertips with relish.

The rest of the show is average good. Best musical numbers: "Throw It Out The Window," "I'm One of God's Children." Memorable in the entertainment is the appearance of Funnyman Fields as the director of a cinema company who can Progress no farther with his film than the infinite taking and retaking of a game of Kelly pool. "You can't play Kelly pool?" he finally exclaims. "And you call yourself an actor!"

Whereupon he seizes a cue, proceeds to bounce balls into his hip Pocket and top hat.

Inspector General. The smalltown bureaucrats of Russia 94 years ago were infuriated and alarmed when a play called Kevizor was produced in their country to expose "all that was bad in Russia." Playwright Nicolai Vasilievich Gogol died in Moscow 16 years later after further distinguishing himself with the great novel Mertvuiya Dushi (Dead Souls), and after exhausting himself on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Producer Jed Harris revived Revizor under its English title last week because its theme, Graft, is still notoriously alive in the U. S., whatever may have become of it among the enlightened Soviets. The play soon closed, but Manhattanites had to look no further afield than their own judiciary and police department (TIME, Aug. 25, Dec. 29) to discover a parallel to Gogol's situation: A foppish pipsqueak from St. Petersburg, stranded penniless at a village inn, was mistaken for a tsarist inspector whose coming has been announced and for whom the rascally village officials--mayor, judge, postmaster, et al.--were ready with servile bribes. Facile young Romney Brent made an almost too convincing pipsqueak; pretty Dorothy Gish's part (her second off the screen) was only a small one--the naive daughter of the braggart mayor and his cheap wife. The total effect of the cast was better than any of its parts--a gallery of wretched pantaloons topped off just before the last curtain by the towering, sinister figure of the real inspector general. A few hours before the opening performance, 325-lb. Actor Julian Winter, 39, fought off his wife and father, pushed himself out of an eighth-story window, plunged to his death (just missing Dancer Clifton Webb's chauffeur) because he was afraid he would not be a success as Gogol's ill-smelling hospital commissioner.

Purity relates the very miserable story of an old Parisian scrubwoman who runs across a starved young man in a park, takes him to her pension, supports him. When she discovers that her guest is spending her hard-earned money on a mistress, the old woman's affections change from maternal to something a good deal more fleshly. In despair she is about to fling herself into the Seine when a drunken old neighbor talks her out of it, even persuades her to continue supporting the youth and his girl in the interest of young love. Florence Reed (The Shanghai Gesture) takes the part of the scrubwoman with energy but no great distinction.

The Truth Game is agreeable entertainment. It was written by Ivor Novello, who has saved a nice part for himself: that of a penniless young man who resolves to marry his deceased relative's wife so that he may enjoy part of the money which he feels should have reverted to him.

As may be expected, he falls in love with the lady (Phoebe Foster) herself. She too is smitten. But when she finds out his original intentions her not unnatural reaction necessitates one more act to bring the two lovers to gether. There are some extraneous subplots which engage the services of Billie Burke (Mrs. Florenz Ziegfeld), still charming and chipper, and large, homely Viola Tree. Miss Tree's awkward bulk supplies the play with its broader comedy, elicits a good deal of somewhat unpleasantly derisive laughter. The Truth Game is not completely without merit, may be classed as a standard, second-flight comedy.

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