New Plays in Manhattan

Come What May (by Richard F. Flournoy; Hal Skelly, producer). In 1896 Chet Harrison was full of plans. He and Eve would go to Yellowstone Park for their honeymoon, build a house of their own. Possibly he would get that better-paying job as typesetter for the New Orleans Picayune. The Yellowstone Park trip is given up when Eve's father is killed in a buggy accident. They go to live in her mother's house. Patient, cheerful Chet is only too glad to forsake the Picayune job because he wants to be on hand when Eve has her baby. The Maine is blown up, the band plays "Stars & Stripes Forever" and Chet goes off to the Spanish War in the blue pants and campaign hat of his militia company. Nine years later Chet loses his job and his insurance in the 1907 panic. He does not complain when his thankless, drunken brother-in-law leaves the little family flat for a discreditable marriage. Ten years later Chet and Eve's son, a promising youngster with artistic talent, goes off to his war. Eve is knitting an olive drab sweater behind a window with a service flag when the telegram comes from the War Department. . . . Back under the old pergola from which they started so hopefully 32 years before, childless, grey-haired Eve and Chet still have plans. The house they were going to build will be built for their nephew. They are unaware that the nephew is about to leave for New York to seek his fortune. There are other things of which they are unaware. "This country is sound and sane" says Chet, contentedly thinking about his $10,000 in the bank. "We're on the road to permanent peace and prosperity." The year is 1928.

Amiable Hal Skelly, whose deftness at gracefully growing old on the stage was demonstrated in Melody, leaves little to be desired in his role of undefeated Chet. As his wife, Mary Philips (Both Your Houses) has established even more securely her reputation as one of the finest young actresses on the U. S. boards.

For the past two seasons a U. S. Cavalcade has been agitated. Mr. Flournoy's drama may lack the bugle blast of Empire, but it is a tender record of an enduring, decent people.

Invitation to a Murder (by Rufus King; Ben Stein, producer). Never a Dashiell Hammett when he was writing his murder tales. Playwright King's dialog is bookish, lifeless, unconvincing. But he has a knack of conveying a sense of horror ; in one Invitation to a Murder scene a rich and powerful California lady lies in a deathlike trance, shrouded, while the grisly organ music of her funeral fills her mansion. Lorinda Channing (Gale Sondergaard) feigns death with the aid of a struggling physician (Walter Abel) to trap a relative who has been trying to poison her. Returning from the tomb, she personally executes her would-be assassin, neatly shifts the blame to another. Between waves of goose-pimples, audiences have spells of apprehension lest good old Walter Abel get himself hanged for a deed he did not do.

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