First Nights

Pasteur.--In France there is a powerful dramatic situation comprised in seven letters. Say " Pasteur " to a Frenchman and he will be in a state of uncontrollable excitement for some minutes thereafter. The life of Pasteur is studied in the lower schools, prayers for Pasteur rise from every church, statues to Pasteur block the traffic. So Sacha Guitry, the voluminous, had a long head start on public approval.

M. Guitry also did his work well. He made no effort at theatrics. He devoted his attention simply to taking the enormously dramatic life of his subject, proportioning it justly, and letting it go its own exciting way in the theatre. The play is divided into five episodes. The two most conspicuous are that wherein Pasteur addresses the reactionary Academy of Medicine--heckling members of which are planted here and there amongst the audience--and that in which he effects the first cure for hydrophobia on a young boy.

Henry Miller adequately gives a Pasteur who is a scientist to his finger tips and bristling with loving kindness.

Percy Hammond: "... a sentimental tribute . . . and a feat in acting."

Alexander Woollcott: ". . . an interesting play."

Heywood Broun: ". . . an amazingly bad play."

Go-Go.--If the whirlwind casts of Lisa and Shuffle Along were caught, white-washed and turned loose again, they might give some idea of the pace of Go-Go. No white chorus ever went quite so fast before. There is a blare of trombones, a rattle of traps, a shriek of voices. For a while the audience holds its hand to its fevered brow, blinks agitatedly a few times, watches a few scenes fly by, shudders at a few clearly indicated jokes, and then it all seems to be over. The pace is terrifying.

There is also, apparently, a plot. Happily it is inconspicuous. There is something about twin sisters and the man who was engaged to at least one of them.

Miss Vernille, a flexible young lady, gets herself apparently inextricably tangled up from time to time; then unwinds herself and seems to be as good as new. The rest of the cast is comparatively normal and adequate.

Barnum Was Right.--Everything is explained when it is learned that John Meehan, who helped write and stage the play, used to be a director with George M. Cohan. The shrewd touch of that nasal genius is everywhere conspicuous. The twin wraiths of Seven Keys to Baldpate and The Tavern wander spectrally amongst the audience.

Donald Brian, as a tavern-keeper and a little something besides, conceives a publicity coup. He officially denies the presence of hidden treasure about the place. The result is that the tavern is crammed with doubloon-seekers in no time at all. The whole building and grounds surrounding it are torn limb from limb by industrious axes, hammers, and TNT.

The upshot is predictable. The mythical treasure is not found, but the real one, hidden by a Latin jewel robber, is finally stumbled upon.

The most notable treasure involved is the performance of Denman Maley, hired man, the absence of whose intelligence furnishes any amount of boisterous delight.