New Plays In Manhattan

Roar China! Last year the scholarly Theatre Guild went somewhat pinko when it produced Red Rust, an explanation of and a bald piece of propaganda for the social system in U. S. S. R. The Guild's pinko presentation this year is good Soviet drama, but it is not chiefly concerned with boosting Communism. It is. rather, a majestic piece of stagecraftsmanship which takes as its text the exploitation of helpless, sprawling China by a red-faced British Imperialism, aided and abetted by a sour-faced U. S. Protestantism. Roar China! was written for the famed Meierhold Theatre in Moscow by S. M. Tretyakov, poet, dramatist, photographer, co-editor of Lev (literary monthly).

The incident upon which the play is based is supposedly actual. Tretyakov, traveling in China at the time, learned of it, and signalized the tragedy in verse. Four years ago the poem was made into a play.

The story: a boatman of Wan Hsien becomes embroiled in an argument with an overbearing American who, during the altercation, falls off the quay, is drowned. Lying in the harbor is H. M. S. Europa, whose commander, immediately upon hearing of the accident, declares that a white man has been murdered and demands as restitution a fitting funeral, indemnity, the lives of two members of the boatman's guild. If he is not given satisfaction he will destroy the town. As he threatens, his great grey fortress slides forward and the hard mouths of his guns glower down upon the frightened little sampans below. Terrified, the boatmen draw lots, look on while two of their comrades are strangled. Suddenly one agonized voice cries, "Why are we persecuted?"

"Because you are Chinese and workers!" is the answer. A general melee ensues; machine-guns and revolvers crackle, darkness and confusion bring the final curtain.

In Roar-China! liberal-minded spectators should find little direct Soviet proselytizing to annoy them. Any spectator will probably be moved by the scenic grandeur, the bold theatrics of the production. To Director Herbert Biberman goes praise for capable direction, for assembling and managing his mob of 67 Chinese, 15 Occidentals. And Lee Simonson's setting which uses real water, real boats, almost a real battleship, is noteworthy in itself.

The Man in Possession relates the adventures of a Cantabridgian (Leslie Banks) who has squandered a good deal more money than he should have, gone about with low companions, and as a final piece of folly undertaken to sell an automobile on which he still owed payment. This commercial venture lands the young man in the workhouse for a spell and when he comes home, in Act I, instead of being invited to share the fatted calf, he is offered a small sum of money if he will forever absent himself from England.

Not fancying the life of a "remittance man'' in the colonies, Mr. Banks decides to stay at home, is told to leave the house.

Meantime his dull brother has gotten himself engaged to a very lovely lady (Isabel Jeans), believing her to be wealthy. Likewise, she has consented to marry him on the assumption that he is rich, will be able to pay her debts, which are so pressing that a sheriff's officer is about to be placed in her home to watch her property, pending payment of a bill. The officer appointed is none other than Mr. Banks, who promptly falls in love with Miss Jeans. In making himself generally agreeable around the house he consents to become the footman and in this capacity he is able to despatch all Miss Jeans' former admirers, including his brother. In the end the two adventurers leave England together on money that Mr. Banks has been able to procure from his family, he marries the lady although he realizes that she has been "in seduced circumstances."

Both principals play their parts with breezy British efficiency, leaning perhaps a trifle too heavily on the sexy angle. Svelte Miss Jeans has undeniable charm, undulates across a stage with the grace of a super-Ina Claire. A nice little piece of character acting is done by David Keir, the birdlike little Scotch bailiff.

On The Spot. Those acquainted with the deeds of Edgar Wallace have ceased to be surprised at any news about that prodigiously prolific British fictioneer. In England his books sell as well as the Holy Bible, he has written 41 thriller-novels, eight thriller-plays, runs a daily column about racehorses, another about the theatre. Last year incredible Mr. Wallace visited two days in Chicago, part of which time he spent with the city's police force. It took him another two days to whip into shape a play about Chicago gangsters and the outcome is On The Spot. Under such circumstances any play which might have resulted would have been creditable. Characteristically, the Wallace play is amusing, scary, good.

Principal scene is a gloriously ecclesiastical penthouse on Michigan Boulevard, with an organ, elaborate Florentine murals, a good view of the Tribune Tower. There Tony Perrelli (able Crane Wilbur, Rinaldi of A Farewell To Arms) directs his widespread and nefarious interests--bootlegging, brothel-keeping, murdering. Super-Gangster Perrelli's weakness being women, his fate finally overtakes him when one of his paramours (Chinese Anna May Wong) commits suicide in his living room.

There is not a great deal of novelty in On The Spot for confirmed readers of Wallace thrillers. Behind the play's action is the familiar background of gunmen and wops who have with Wallace bled. But the melodrama is well put together and a high grade of humor prevails throughout. Sample: one Perrelli henchman, taking orders to supply a $5,000 floral display for the obsequies of a late colleague, remarks, "It would pay us to grow our own flowers."

The Noble Experiment, didactic and bad-tempered, sets out to prove that the U. S. in general and Michigan in particular are on the brink of ruin as a result of viciousness engendered by the 18th Amendment. It is the story of how Alexa Jovanovitch (Gordon Richards), dubiously billed as a onetime Oxford student, finds himself in a steelworkers' camp, soon betters his condition. He becomes successively a speakeasy operator, a bigtime bootlegger, a power in the State. When shot, his delphic dying words are: "Tell my countrymen that this country has bathtubs for men's bodies, but no bathtubs for men's souls." The Noble Experiment is another attempt to overdramatize the hoodlum, the racketeer.

The Last Enemy. If this play had been washed ashore in a bottle instead of brought from London by the Shuberts as another of their series of mediocre English attractions, there might be some reason for its presentation. It contains two elements: natural and supernatural. Two British Antarctic explorers reach the lower steps of Paradise, having frozen to death on their expedition. Vaguely the audience is made aware that they have children somewhere on earth by their celestial affinities, that they are permitted to help these children when necessary. One explorer intervenes just as his daughter is about to be seduced by the young man to whom she is later happily married, the other comforts his dying son on a French battlefield, escorts him back to Heaven. Neither part of the play would stand by itself, and as neither is woven sufficiently close to the other the entire dramatic fabric collapses.

Puppet Show. All the action in Puppet Show took place in an author's study. The author himself was to be seen at one side of the stage and the people about whom he was writing acted out their parts before him. A onetime streetwalker married a bondsalesman who became unfaithful to her. Try as he might, the author could not keep the irate lady from shooting her husband. Nor did his pleadings prevent his character from shooting herself when brought to trial. The entire performance was hopelessly self-conscious and absurd.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.