New Plays in Manhattan

A Bell for Adano (adapted by Paul Osborn from John Kersey's novel; produced by Leland Hayward) keeps its tone but not its resonance when rung in the theater. Although Playwright Osborn has been resourceful in retelling the John Hersey story and scrupulous about preserving its spirit, the result is a nice play rather than a notable one. The picture it presents is not quite dramatic enough, the presentation a little on the bumpy side.

The well-known story of earnest, hu mane AMG Major Joppolo, who made democracy work in Fascist-ridden Adano, and of bullying General Marvin who bounced him for defying the General's undemocratic orders, is a timely parable, limited in its black-&-white simplicity but illuminating. The play has all the book's affirmation, but not enough of its anger--for one thing, because General Marvin is nothing more than a first-act offstage below and never becomes a visible antagonist. Squeezing the whole life of the Sicilian town into Joppolo's office also carries penalties: some things have to be told about rather than shown; so many characters are involved that the many short scenes become jerky at times; and the role of the girl Tina (Margo) is both poorly defined and clumsily thrust into the business atmosphere of Joppolo's office.

But if the play sometimes stutters, it is nevertheless humorous, touching and life-like at other times--thanks, in part, to some of the well-played minor characters, who are like blobs of fiery Latin color, relieving the sober grey of Fredric March's honest portrayal of Joppolo.

Hand in Glove (adapted from Gerald Savory's novel Hughie Roddis by the author and Charles K. Freeman; produced by Arthur Edison) commits many crimes but not the fatal one of dullness. A grim pathological thriller, it has a double focus on a young sex psychopath who murders young girls, and on an idiot boy whom the murderer tries to frame.

No mystery, the play's suspense lies partly in the killer's make-up and machinations, partly in a Scotland Yarder's careful detective work. Unfortunately the two parts do not cooperate over well. As a study in detection, Hand in Glove lacks the right cat-&-mouse touch because the criminal's guilt-edged behavior lets the cat too quickly out of the bag. As a study of twisted personalities, it lacks the depth that would make the killer terrifying, lacks the intensity that would make the imbecile a final agent of horror. Instead, the boy is merely unpleasant, and the whole play dangles uneasily between the stock and the stark. But it dangles with a certain crude fascination.

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