New Plays in Manhattan

Black Limelight (by Gordon Sherry; Busbar & Tuerk, producers). The villain of Black Limelight suffers from "nyctalopia." This medical term actually means an eyesight defect resulting in poor vision at night, but for the purposes of Author Gordon Sherry (a pseudonym) it refers to eyes which can see well in the dark but must be protected by thick glasses from the light of day. The monster's homicidal mania leaps up at the time of the full moon. Working in the dark, he takes off his glasses, puts on gloves, chokes the victim to death, cuts her up with artistic pride, removes her eyes. He is exposed at last by an heroic and implausibly clever woman who turns an electric torch into his unprotected eyes while he is preparing for his favorite pastime.

Black Limelight spins along smoothly enough for two acts, bogs down at the denouement, is saved on total rating by the abilities of George Curzon (lately the Parnell of Parnell), Winifred Lenihan and Alexander Kirkland.

Matrimony Pfd. (adapted by James Forbes and Grace George from the French of Louis Verneuil; William A. Brady, producer) is a diverting exercise in marital and premarital geometry, involving nothing so elementary as the triangle. Linda Lessing (Miss George) is an aging, easy-going lady who feels it is time she married, having had three lovers and a son, now grown, whom she was able to send to a good school because two possible fathers claimed his paternity, thus making him "almost legitimate." She is about to marry Victor Martinet (A. E. Matthews) who is aware of her past but wishes she would not talk about it so much. On the eve of the ceremony Victor is bowled over by a baroness. Dutiful Son Robert (Rex O'Malley), a doctor, saves the situation by seducing the baroness, to the consternation of his prim and jealous wife (Sylvia Field), who thought he had simply gone to Paris to deliver a baby.

As entertainment this frothy farce owes much to the talents of its cast, especially to those of Actor A. (for Alfred) E. (for Edward) Matthews, who talks through his teeth with a bland and preoccupied complacence unique on the Anglo-U. S. stage, who can read a line like "God, man, haven't you any tect?" as if it were a minute masterpiece of wit, and who is reported to be so dissatisfied with the work of Manhattan laundries that he sends his soiled linen home every week to England.

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