New Plays in Manhattan

Patience. Nothing could more emphatically demonstrate the excellence of the works of Gilbert and Sullivan than the malleable resistance which they offer to amateur performers. When last week the Play-Arts Guild, a Baltimore organization, ventured to put Patience on Broadway it was not unnaturally anticipated as a case of murder for no profit. Yet the old operetta retained its airy, foolish charm. The girls of the chorus, it must be confessed, were pretty though perhaps not artful dodgers; and if the principals were at times too violent, their merry unconsciousness of this fact, fitting the good-humored mood of the piece, did much to allay the defect.

The purpose of Patience, as Savoyards are aware, was to discourage with flippancies the petaled estheticism of the silly '70s. This it did by jibing at one "Reginald Bunthorne, a fleshly poet," who is pursued by twenty rapturous maidens. Patience, a simple country lass, was impersonated by Mary Bokee, ably enough, while the difficult buffoonery of the ridiculous poet was subjected to the often exceedingly apt and always enthusiastic interpretation of Donald Kirkley, a one-time journalist. The frivolous Baltimoreans did little to endanger the laurels of adroit Producer Winthrop Ames; on the other hand, their performance did little to justify gloomy anticipations and only the most frenzied Savoyards were heard to complain of the way in which the chorus yodeled: "Twenty love-sick maidens we, love-sick all against our will, twenty years hence we will be twenty love-sick maidens still."

Say When. Long ago it became obvious that the Mayor of New York City, James John Walker, was one of the required ingredients of any Manhattan musical show. Usually, as impersonated by one of his many imitators, the Mayor would appear in the last act, a deus ex machina, to solve the transitory problems of the plot. When he attended the show there would be a bridling invitation from the management and the dignitary would clamber readily from his seat in the front row to be himself upon the stage. The producers of Say When had more ambitious plans for the chief municipal executive. Reflecting that he had long ago written a now famous chanson, "Will You Love Me in December as You Do in May," they urged him to whip his talents once more and write the words of a song for Say When. This the Mayor did. These are the words:

Sing Cheerio! Cheerio!

Come on, let us smile.

Give joy a trial.

Cheerio! Cheerio!

You'll find smiling's worth while.

In addition to the Mayor, the producers

(Elizabeth Marbury & Carl Reed) found

other celebrities to help them add notes'

and grace notes to the stage play called Love in a Mist. Marc Connelly had at one time or another something to do with the lines, although the author was billed simply as Calvin Brown. Alison Skipworth had several good lines to say and a laughable scene in which she impersonated a dowager puffing nicotine for testimonial purposes. The plot concerned nothing so much as Henry Busse, who led the orchestra and emerged from the pit on several occasions, swaying and blowing a sharp instrument. With all this paraphernalia the entertain ment, billed as an intimate musical com edy, should certainly have panicked the audience. It did so only once when a young colored girl called Cora La Redd became galvanized with electricity in full view of the audience and to the barely concealed chagrin of white actors and actresses who were forced to grin while the Negress bowed.