New Revue on Broadway

A Thurber Carnival is a one-mind show, an animated anthology of pen-and-pencil work by the most splendidly mad of modern humorists. The thought of such a show, however alluring, must cause qualms: Can a world, neither flesh, fish nor fowl and at the same time quite palpably all three, remain vaultingly alive within theater walls, seem superbly demented in three sober dimensions? It turns out that to a notable degree, it can. For one thing, there is much of Thurber that snugly fits a kind of intimate revue. The Unicorn in the Garden and If Grant Had Been Drinking at Appomattox are made-to-order blackout skits; The Night the Bed Fell is a natural recitation piece; Walter Mitty's secret visions make fine capsule dramas. Other bits of Thurber enhance an intimate revue by extending its horizons without violating its spirit. Finally, blown-up Thurber drawings serve the show equally well as sources of its comedy or as members of its cast.

With nine pleasant human actors to boot, sympathetic Burgess Meredith staging, and an uncluttered stage, Thurber can shoot straight at the audience. Out of his imagination has come a glorious and instructive world in which everyone is to some extent out of his mind. The demonstration begins at once, with four dancing couples stopping to fling out such remarks as: "She said he proposed something on their wedding night her own brother wouldn't have suggested." The demonstration continues with a round of well-known Thurber fables, and with a dry-mannered Tom Ewell as a TV pet counselor, and an amusing Paul Ford having trouble in one skit getting rid of a mermaid and in another getting rid of his wife (Peggy Cass), and then with both men tipsily shopping in Fifth Avenue's tonier shops. Or people rewrite poems for an anthology that is to be uncompromisingly cheerful:

"We're in port!" the Captain shouted As he staggered down the stairs.

What the Carnival proves is that Thurber can be as funny when spoken as when read. There are sketches in it that sag considerably, and ideas that splutter. But its low points are not unlike those in any better-grade intimate revue. What is vastly more important is that its high points--and they are many--are uniquely wonderful.

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