Shubert Alley Cat

Whenever a good revival comes along, the tendency is to say automatically that the play demonstrates its timelessness. It might be equally true to say that it shows the timelessness of the audience. A revival is a form of folklore. It testifies to a character or a quality in a play for which people have a deep-down relish, even though decades may have gone by since the play was originally produced. Room Service is 33 years old, and it revolves around just such a folklorish figure, the shoestring Broadway producer. Gordon Miller (Ron Leibman) is part wind machine, part mongoose, part Machiavelli and part mad.

He has managed to lodge and rehearse a 19-member cast in the White Way Hotel, where his brother-in-law is the hotel manager. Miller's line of credit consists of exactly 67-c- cash (in the playwright's pocket) and $1,200 in unpaid hotel bills. Suddenly a dragon of a hotel inspector is breathing fire down everyone's neck. Fortuitously, a backer appears. At one of many crucial and hilarious moments, Miller, with no ink in his pen, frantically tries to pierce his wrist and draw blood so that the angel can sign the contract. From then on, Miller merely sweats blood through one farcical contretemps after another until his production finally becomes a smash hit.

Ron Leibman is a manic delight in the key role, twitching mutely when in despair, brassily egomaniacal in victory, and forever sniffing the theatrical climate like a raunchy Shubert Alley cat. The rest of the cast play lesser roles with no less finesse, and pace-setting Director Harold Stone leaves no comic corner unturned.

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