The Theatre: New Plays: Dec. 28, 1925

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Lyslstrata. The much-discussed Moscow Art Theatre Musical Studio has finally arrived. In case you have not been a party to the discussion, let it be noted that this troupe is a musical offshoot of the Moscow Art Theatre with which Morris Gest some seasons back showed our confident citizens what time, brains and artistry could do for certain phases of theatrical production. There was only one moot point on the opening night; that was just where the musical feature came in. There were trumpets and a good supply of choral singing, but the play was in no sense an opera, light or otherwise. It is said that subsequent productions will depend more fully on voice and orchestra.

Lysistrata is of course Aristophanes' ancient comedy of feminism. The Russians have chosen to exhibit an extremely rowdy and briskly amusing version. If the police commissioner could understand it there would certainly be difficulties. But he cannot nor can much of the population, and what does anybody care about the morals of anyone so obviously peculiar as to speak Russian?

Acting, make-up and particularly mass effects are presented with the uncanny force and fidelity for which this group is famous. For those who enjoyed the Moscow Art Theatre this production is decidedly a necessity.

The Wise-Crackers. Gilbert Seldes, self-appointed arbiter of the stage, the screen and literature, has abruptly dropped his defense and written a play. He did more than drop his defense; he tied his hands behind his back. For his play is one of the most astoundingly inefficient that the oldest inhabitant can recall from the pen of a presumably intelligent person.

The play was courageous at least. The author deliberately attacked the shrewd, irreverent group that eats luncheon at the Algonquin Hotel, Manhattan, jests bitterly at life and works. Mr. Seldes, though much in their line of work, has never been a member of the group. When he set out to write an impression of their home life and their hilarity, he put his head squarely in the lion's mouth. Whereupon the lion on the opening night roared happily and closed his jaws.

The hero was the wittiest man in Manhattan. His wife left him because he was so witty that he never had time to be serious. All of which fell pretty fiat, as Mr. Seldes neglected to supply him with one real witticism during the evening.

Chivalry. The theatrical season suffered another rousing thump on the back when this old-time melodrama landed. It is one of those things about a poor girl who had no chance and ended up by shooting the wicked old employer who introduced her to a life of shameful indolence.

This play however differs sharply in one prominent particular. It is proved that the employer was really a good sort after all (a bit weak, to be sure), and the girl a nasty little schemer. All this comes out in the final courtroom scene where the girl is acquitted by the kindly male jury only to have her attorney (after the verdict was carefully won) turn on them and tell the truth.

Violet Heming played the girl with burning emphasis, and Edmund Breese, staunch veteran, the lawyer.

So That's That lasted only four performances. So that's that.