Old Play and New

The Sea Gull (by Anton Chekhov; produced by The Theatre Guild Inc.). One of the things important actors can do is to get a hearing for important plays. When Chekhov's Sea Gull was revived last week with Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne in the cast, it instantly became news as well as art.

Not Chekhov's best play, The Sea Gull ranks well below his incomparable Cherry Orchard, his moving Three Sisters. The people it treats of are fibreless, end-stopped artistic folk. Self-pitying, middle-aged Actress Irina (Lynn Fontanne) shrugs, screams, clutches tight the second-rate novelist, Trigorin (Alfred Lunt). Irina's son Constantine (Richard Whorf) writes advanced plays, loves the ingenuous, stage-struck Nina (Uta Hagen), who in turn idolizes Trigorin. Nina is the sea gull-- the fluttering bird whom Trigorin ruins out of thoughtless pleasure, condemning her to the life of a third-rate actress, driving Constantine to suicide.

Many critics call the turn by glibly referring to The Sea Gull as a tragedy of frustration. But the play is tragicomedy, impaling human foibles as well as hearts. Tender but ruthless, The Sea Gull smiles upon the too-utterly-utter side of the artistic temperament, reflects the conflict between two incompatible generations. It exposes Trigorin's rueful egotism: "On my tombstone," says Trigorin, "they will say: Here lies Trigorin, who was a good writer, but not so good a one as Turgenev." It exposes Nina's swimming-eyed romanticism. Chekhov suggested, though Actor Lunt has not heeded him, that Trigorin should not be dapper or handsome, should wear torn shoes. Chekhov's point was subtle: to a girl like Nina, the more down-at-the-heel Trigorin is, the more exciting he will seem.

Throughout The Sea Gull sounds a deeper note also, telling of human growth and decline. The shallow Trigorin and the histrionic Irina end up playing lotto. But Nina grows, as one superb device reveals: in Act I, performing in a play of Constantine's she speaks his highfalutin but charged lines mechanically; in Act IV she repeats them, makes them live. It is in delimiting his characters without disfiguring them, in acknowledging their souls but questioning their perspective that Chekhov gives to The Sea Gull a kind of ember like glow.

Little of that glow shines through the present production. Critic Stark Young's new acting version is natural and charming, but last week's performance showed only a series of moods--that time-honored way of passing the buck about the dark, difficult Russian soul. Actor Lunt performed admirably as Trigorin, Actress Fontanne badly as Irina. She made the Russian woman a ham actress in a farce, displayed a rather alarming affinity for the role.

You Never Know (by Cole Porter; produced by John Shubert). Originally boomed for a spring opening on Broadway. You Never Know has elected to cash in on road business till summer, not go to Manhattan till fall. With Cole Porter music, a P. G. Wodehouse plot, Clifton Webb's versatility, Lupe Velez' high spirits, Libby Holman's low register, You Never Know has sex & sophistication, somewhat less breath & bounce. Riding high are Velez and Webb as a manservant and lady's maid who doll up in their employers' togs. Libby Holman, featured in the billing, is slighted in the show.

Not equal to the Cole Porter high of Anything Goes, You Never Know may be slicked up enough by fall to run it a close second on Broadway. Best songs at present: From Alpha to Omega, a catalogue of compliments in the style of You're the Top; You Never Know, in the usual sultry, husky Holmanner. Best revue bit: Actress Velez skipping brightly about as Katharine Hepburn, Gloria Swanson, Simone Simon, Shirley Temple in turn.

In each town where You Never Know has so far played Actress Velez, conducting a "happiness campaign," has presented $50 to charity. Presentation is uniformly in front of a camera. In Washington last fortnight, actress and cameraman were ready, but the matron of Friendship House, the charity organization selected, balked. Said she: "Publicity? We couldn't have that!" Said Donor Velez before stalking off irately: "Me geeve my good money in a clothes closet? Nuts!"

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