New Musical in Manhattan

Shangri-La (based on James Hilton's novel Lost Horizon; music by Harry Warren; book and lyrics by James Hilton, Jerome Lawrence and Robert E. Lee) is not what it was under Hilton management. It was obviously tempting to make a musical of James Hilton's famous story about plane-wrecked Occidentals discovering an Asian Utopia where life is serene, desires are moderate, people mellow. But there is possibly something more than just comic about using a Broadway musical to portray serenity and moderation. There is something truly misguided: a Broadway musical is one of the very few places where a controlled frenzy and a tasteful immoderacy seem in order.

Visually there can be no complaints about Shangri-La. Peter Larkin's sets have beauty, atmosphere, even--by musicome-dy standards--moderation; and Irene Sharaff offers charmingly exotic and ceremonial costumes. But what is most impressive about the evening could be almost as well conveyed in a stereopticon show. Harry Warren's music is commonplace. What action there is, however momentarily piquant, soon languishes. Hard though the show tries to be cheerful, philosophy is always breaking in, and no sooner does philosophy take its ease than show business bangs loudly on the door. For all Shirley Yamaguchi's sweet reedy singing, and the libretto's thoughtful and pretty words, Utopia seems freshened up by a touch of vulgar Broadway speed or a bit of Harold Langri-la. Lang and Joan

Holloway get in some lively dancing, and Comedienne Alice Ghostley throws out some wonderfully mad looks.

But then serenity--in some translations called sluggishness--reasserts itself: the High Lama prates mellowly of Shangri-La's past, Dennis King stands around expertly at a loss, and the desire for controlled frenzy mounts.

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