Magnificent Obsession

By T.E.K.

THE ROYAL FAMILY

by GEORGE S. KAUFMAN and EDNA FERBER

This vintage comedy tells us what we always want to be retold about theater folk: they are an unpredictable, incestuously inbred and insidiously attractive breed whose only natural habitat is the stage, whether they are on it or off.

That is what The Royal Family, one of the smash hits of 1927, is all about, and it is being given a grand, ebullient revival at Manhattan's Helen Hayes Theater. The Royal Family is graced with performances that are almost too good to be true. The settings (Oliver Smith) are right, the costumes (Ann Roth) are right, and Ellis Rabb's direction hits just the right pitch of flamboyant extraversion that constitutes the temper of the play.

The royal clan derives from the Barrymores, with echoes of the Drews. The grande dame who wields the scepter in this kingdom is Fanny Cavendish (Eva Le Gallienne), an ailing titaness of the footlights with the tongue of an asp and a heart of melting butter. But pandemonium is really the ruler of the realm.

Fanny's son Tony (George Grizzard) preens like a lion before his own mirror, but process servers from Hollywood are nipping at his Achilles' heels.

Daughter Julie (Rosemary Harris) and Granddaughter Gwen (Mary Layne) have dabbled in or are toying with an actress's favorite form of early retirement -- marriage. Harris, of course, is one of the most impeccable comediennes of the English-speaking stage and has the kind of exquisite timing that might make a Swiss watch blush.

There is an earnest, greedy producer, Oscar (Sam Levene), with a treacherous streak of total affection for the Cavendishes. And that's not the end of it, by half. In 1927 they did not have to count the cast. A Royal Family is a love letter to the theater and those who, contrary to all sound reason, persist in loving it.

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