Re-Enter Mr. Dickens

Last season and this, made up to the last whisker like Charles Dickens, British Playwright Emlyn (Night Must Fall) Williams has successfully read from the master's works in 43 U.S. cities. Still whiskered and white-tied, Williams was back on Broadway last week. On certain evenings, he repeats last season's bill; on others, he offers a one-man Bleak House.

Bleak House is cut to a 25th of its length; unabridged, says Williams, it would take more than 60 hours to perform. The present arrangement is clearly preferable and often pleasant. As sheer virtuosity, Williams' impersonation of 36 characters, his skill as a vocal quick-change artist, is exceptional. As theatrical entertainment, the sayings and doings of such comic creations as Mrs. Jellyby and Mrs. Pardiggle and Harold Skimpole are often great fun. And for the evening as a whole, Williams provides at least a loose rubber band of a story.

The main trouble with it all is that it's no longer Bleak House. Its story might just squeak through as something called Lady Dedlock's Secret, though even the book's main plot gets misted over, besides being by now almost too stagy for the stage. And though the drastic cutting at times has its points--it largely silences sweet, virtuous-Esther Summerson, that English cousin of Elsie Dinsmore--it far oftener has its penalties. All but vanished are the things that really make Bleak House notable--its satire on the Court of Chancery, its vast, varied, odd-lighted picture of London. An imposing novel and a great portrait gallery have become an agreeable scrapbook and an amusing one-man show.

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