New Plays in Manhattan

The Traitor. Should a post-War actor be given the part of a doddering, wicked old banker who alternately prides himself on his previous cozenages, commends himself to his Maker and deliciously recalls former amours, he would probably perform with modern restraint, permitting the audience only an occasional glimpse of his inward turmoil. But really to do justice to the character, oldtime theatregoers think the gusto of an oldtime actor is required. In The Traitor, such a part is that of Banker Huddlestone, and such an actor is Fuller Hellish, 65. For the past half-century Actor Mellish has played enough engagements to occupy three columns in the theatrical Who's Who. Banker Huddlestone, who learned as a young man to examine Bibles carefully ''because people have a way of concealing banknotes between the leaves," having absconded with a despatch box crammed with money after his bank failed, must flee London. Abetting him is Lord Northmour (Charles Penman), a characteristic young Scottish product of Stevenson, whose moods fluctuate between violent fits of rage and bitter cynicism. Unfortunately for all concerned, Banker Huddlestone was entrusted with funds of the Carbonari, a cabal which, in the last century, was trying to liberate Italy. Cornered in Lord Northmour's lonely cottage, surrounded by treacherous quicksands -- links -- on the coast of Scotland, it develops that the price of rescue is Banker Huddlestone's blonde and comely daughter. To those who like a good tale of adventure, the barricading of windows, the issuance of arms to all hands, the grim preparations for defense bring a feeling of delight. It is as though the audience itself was also in the game, playing at being besieged. The Carbonari arrive, of course, and cannot be wheedled with money. They want the blood of an Englishman, Banker Huddlestone. And Banker Huddlestone's daughter does not want to marry Northmour, but Northmours gallant friend Cassilis. In the end, the Italians and the daughter of the leather-faced, dissolute old banker all get their wish. Courtesan. A boon to playwrights is the telephone. Without it, they would be hard put to concoct plays in which less than three characters appear. Like last season's duolog Jealousy (TIME, Nov. 5, 1928), the efficacy of Courtesan, which has but one character, depends largely upon Alexander Graham Bell's most useful invention, used more than 20 times during the three acts. The life story of Alice Trevor (Elsa Shelley), onetime showgirl, kept woman, entails nine other people. To keep Alice talking, Playwright Irving Kaye Davis-- who wrote Diana, based upon the life & times of the late Danseuse Isadora Duncan--depends upon her natural inclination for conversing with herself, to pictures of her mother and friends, to servants who never appear or reply. Thus the audience is made aware that Arthur Blandick Ross, one of "the 400," whom she expects eventually to marry, has allowed her to be insulted at a reception at which he was to introduce her to his "elite" friends. So distraught is Alice that forgetting her husband has come to town and left her six-year-old son in her bedroom, she makes an assignation with the pianist on the floor below, hoping to convince him that she is a good girl at heart.

In Act III audiences almost forget that they are witnessing a clever tour de force and dramatic illusion dominates. Rikolnikoff proves to be "just like the rest" and Alice stabs him, unhappily forgetting to remove her scarf from his chambers. Her husband informs her that he has remarried. The telephone conversations become more frenzied and the pace quickens to the hotel detective's hammering on the door. Climax is reached when she eschews an extremely poisonous snake (which she keeps, oddly enough, in her boudoir) -- thereby relieving it of all reason for its presence -- and hurls herself down 18 floors to the street.

Actress Shelley is one of a family of Russian musicians. Her uncle is professor of the violin at the Leningrad Conservatory. Schooled in Manhattan, she attended Columbia, at one time studied to become a physician. Her first legitimate part was with Ethel Barrymore in The Lady of the Camelias in 1918. The following year she toured with Walter Hampden as "Juliet," later appearing in the Theatre Guild's Power of Darkness and Peer Gynt. She likes to climb mountains, drive horses, eat spinach "because it reminds her of the country and gardens." Audiences watching her are reminded of Actress Claudette Colbert (TIME, April 28). Because she is an admirer of Poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, and because of the vulgar significance which attaches itself to the word "broad," two years ago she changed her name, which had been Bertha Broad. Critics thought her performance in Courtesan a trifle vociferous but capable.

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