New Plays

Puzzles of 1925. It is herewith advanced as a possible topic for debate that, of all the prominent entertainers, Elsie Janis is surest of herself. One could forgive her this if she were surer of her show. She knows that she is good; if she knew how bad her helpers were, she might arrange for alterations.

First, she should alter the stuff that Jimmy Hussey has to do. Thin and strikingly Semitic for an Irish youth (which he really is), he has a way of making you laugh. His present lines and lyrics prove his skill; you laugh anyway. Cortez and Peggy dance, and have danced better. There is a jazz band that plays long and loudly. Two or three seasons ago, this was a good novelty.

Miss Janis spiked her own most powerful gun on the opening evening by omitting imitations. This seemed bad showmanship. Everyone expects imitations of Elsie Janis. Some one must have told her, "Be yourself, Elsie; beware of imitations." Consequently, she sang in American, English and French; danced a bit and wore male evening clothes.

Elsie to the contrary, Pussies makes a pretty meagre evening.

The Undercurrent. Harry Beresford will be remembered in many cities as the incomparable "Old Soak." He will be remembered in Manhattan, very briefly no doubt, as the redeeming feature of a ragged entertainment called The Undercurrent. He plays the part of an irascible old mine owner who won't increase his miners' wages, refuses to let his daughter marry the man she loves. A little past the middle of the play, he is hit on the head in a taxi smash. He suddenly changes places-- mentally--with the miners and the girl. Coming out of this strange cerebral revolution, his nature shifts. The miners get their money and the girl her man. The play is not recommended.

Don't Bother Mother. Rather a good title, this. Rather a good cast, too, was assembled. Decidedly a terrible show, the audience thought. In plot, it was one of those domestic comedies. The appearance was for special matinees. The idea was to establish it in an evening theatre if it made a hit.

She Had to Know. Behind this somewhat enigmatic nameplate stands the structure of a highly entertaining comedy. Within the structure, stands a delightful personality--Grace George, vigorously assisted by the staccato Bruce McRae. Taken as a whole property, She Had to Know is one of the most attractive of current theatrical investments.

The play, too, should be fashionable. It is possible to miss the first act completely and enjoy the rest. In fact, this course may be recommended. For, through this first act, the lovely heroine is finding out that so pure has been her life that men are not attracted to her physically. When this is firmly fixed in her mind, the amusement opens. She naturally has to disprove the theory. She is unexpectedly kissed in the course of her experiments; unexpectedly her husband sees the kiss. Trouble.

Although Miss George's performance is one of the most expertly irresistible of the season, almost an equal credit must go to Bruce McRae. He is, perhaps, the champion leading male of our theatre. Never did his intensive enthusiasm, his rapidity of speech and his pleasant personality better fit a role.

Episode. Gilbert Emery is a tall individual whose clothes and accent flap about in a manner broadly British. His real name is Emery Pottle and he attended Amherst College. Later, he was a teacher, wrote short stories. There followed War pages--pages bright for him--and finally peace. His stories did not sell. One day Jane Cowl wondered if he ever had been an actor. No, but he'd try it. And he did--with indifferent success. Presently, Mr. Emery turned his hand to playwriting. Writer of The Hero and Tarnish, actor in other plays, he has finally consolidated. With some regret, it must be stated, neither his best acting nor his best writing have gone into Episode.

He set three people on the stage-- husband, wife, lover. He caused the husband to discover the truth of the triangle. He favored the wife with a justification. He made both the men look rather foolish. He had the sound sincerity to make the wife turn them both down.

The justification is not novel. Her husband was older and very rich. He had forgotten all his poetry.

Mr. Emery played the lover with snatches of success and patches of poverty. The same inconsistency of performance marred the husband in the hands of William Courtleigh, Kathlene Macdonnell made of the lady all that a playwright could expect.

Not the least interesting feature of the entertainment was its technical construction. With the unities of time, place and action perfectly preserved, it would have appealed to the Greeks. Whether it will appeal to the Poles, the Germans, the Jews and the Turks--in short, the Americans--is problematical.