Music: Comic Dancer

Fifteen years ago in Zurich a spindly, pint-sized girl of 17 marched onto the stage of the old Schanspielhaus and solemnly pretended to be an unfolding flower, a crow hopping in the fields, a shackled slave fighting fate. The girl had no claim to beauty. Nor had she been trained as a dancer. But the audience was polite because her father was editor of the Neue Zurcher Zeitung and had indulgently hired the hall. After that Trudi Schoop would probably have remained forever unknown if she had not undertaken one day to portray a tree in a storm for the benefit of her family. Such hysterical laughter greeted her effort that she decided that she must be comic, proceeded to improvise comical dances, assemble a troupe which has lately become the talk of Europe.

In Manhattan last week Trudi Schoop and her 22 dancers began their first U. S. tour, which will take them through the Midwest to the Pacific Coast. Her first ballet was called Want Ads. Curtain went up on a motley crowd rustling through newspapers. When a young girl was jilted, she mounted a platform, intoned "For sale: brand new wedding gown, never been worn." More amusing was the scene wherein a chorus director was driven to distraction by a particularly inept performer who subsequently advertised herself as a "well trained, highly musical danseuse, accidentally still disengaged." Trudi Schoop appeared first as a blowzy-looking singer in a tawdry cabaret. She gesticulated and grimaced wildly until finally she was shot. The advertisement: "Wanted immediately: leading chanteuse for first-class establishment."

The evening's second ballet was supposed to exhibit the Schoop comedy at its best. An innocent youth, Fridolin, reluctantly leaves his mother, ventures out into the world where his trials are many. He encounters seductive women, blustering athletes, religious fanatics, gets involved in a marriage and a host of bothersome in-laws, deserts them all with a shrug to find some other life. Throughout the many scenes Trudi Schoop was the picture of bewilderment, a small pathetic figure in a black sleeveless tunic, an absurd clerical hat. Her pantomime was always effective. She danced occasionally but she was just as communicative standing still. She spoke with her eyes, her wide childish grin, her expressive hands. European critics have likened her to Charlie Chaplin and the great Swiss Clown Crock. Though the comparison scarcely seemed warranted last week, she did prove herself a rare entertainer.