New Musical in Manhattan

Louisiana Purchase (music & lyrics by Irving Berlin; produced by B. G. De Sylva) was the first show in at least three years to charge $8.80 on opening night. In return it offered a rich program:, Irving Berlin music, a Morrie Ryskind book, Balanchine ballets, such headliners as Vera Zorina, Victor Moore, Billy Gaxton, Irene Bordoni. Good they all were, but at $7.70 or even $6.60 their efforts would not have come under the head of sweated labor.

The show kids skulduggery in Louisiana during the years of the Kingfish, and tells of befuddled, unworldly Senator Oliver P. Loganberry of New Hampshire (Victor Moore), who goes to New Orleans to conduct a political investigation. As Loganberry has his eye on the White House, the Louisiana bad boys, as a way of silencing him, try to catch him off base with women. The Senator outwits them, but is finally brought to heel with a picket line, which the politicos insist "no Presidential aspirant will ever cross."

Louisiana Purchase is a good musicomedy--smooth, spirited, tuneful. It does not, however, represent most of its contributors at their peak. Some of Berlin's music, especially the title song and It's a Lovely Day Tomorrow, is thoroughly attractive, and some of his lyrics are amusing; but Louisiana Purchase does not show the dazzling Berlin of As Thousands Cheer. Ryskind's book is lively enough, but as political satire it is miles below Of Thee I Sing. Balanchine's ballets are skillful but not startling.

Zorina of the marvelous figure can still dance, and Irene Bordoni can still wink, but next to Victor Moore, the most ingratiating performer is dark, magnetic Newcomer Carol Bruce, who knows how to put a song and herself over at the same time. Victor Moore, of course, is one of those things like Strauss waltzes and wire-haired terrier puppies that only a confirmed sourpuss could dislike. His Senator Loganberry takes rank with his Ambassador Goodhue and his Vice President Throttlebottom. A dazed, roly-poly babe-in-the-wood, he is probably surprised that he casts a reflection in a mirror. He has never been better than when, dressed as a fat Roman Senator for the Mardi Gras, he wails helplessly:

What chance have I with love?

Look what it did to Samson,

Till he lost his hair he was brave;

If a haircut could weaken Samson,

They could murder me with a shave.

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