The Theatre: New Plays in Manhattan: Feb. 10, 1936

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Ziegfeld Follies of 1936 (Brothers Shubert, Producers) falls comfortably into the mold of its 24 predecessors. None of its comedy is funny enough to make anyone wear himself out laughing. On the other hand, Vincente Minnelli's diverting surrealist decor, the arts of a half-dozen stars and the blandishments of 48 show girls are likely to keep most spectators from going to sleep. Only if he expects Josephine Baker to be something out of the ordinary will a ticket holder be actually disappointed by this year's Follies.

Josephine Baker is a St. Louis wash woman's daughter who stepped out of a Negro burlesque show into a life of adulation and luxury in Paris during the booming 1920's. In sex appeal to jaded Europeans of the jazz-loving type, a Negro wench always has a head start. The particular tawny tint of tall and stringy Josephine Baker's bare skin stirred French pulses. But to Manhattan theatre-goers last week she was just a slightly buck-toothed young Negro woman whose fig ure might be matched in any night club show, whose dancing & singing could be topped practically anywhere outside France.

With Fannie Brice, on the other hand, there is practically never cause for com plaint. Her tidbit in this show is her impersonation of a solemn Jewish dancer interpreting "Rewolt" and "de Messes." Plump, ingratiating Comedian Bob Hope (Roberta) is given an amusing song to sing hopelessly to comely Eve Arden (Parade). Vernon Duke wrote the tune; Ira Gershwin the lyric:

The Himalaya Mountains I climb. I'm written up in FORTUNE and TIME. . . . I'm asked to every State ball, But I'm just behind the eight-ball with you. Call It a Day (by Dodie Smith; Theatre Guild, producer) combines all the good things from a generation of British domestic comedies, beautifully packaged in a tip-top production by the Theatre Guild. What it lacks in novelty, it more than makes up in size (nine scenes) and wholesomeness. From the innocent affair between the Hilton's dog and the neighbor's bitch to the momentary missteps of Dorothy and Roger Hilton themselves, Call It a Day is never in any real danger of losing its virtue.

A sudden burst of unseasonably fine London weather is responsible for setting the Hiltons, their two daughters, son, maid and terrier on a frolic for 16 lively hours. Forsythia and iris are blooming, and to love all hearts turn lightly save that of the Hilton's cleaning woman who ominously declares: "The first spring day Is in the devil's pay"

The uncontrollable passion of young Ann (Jeanne Dante) is for nothing more dangerous than the poems and paintings of the late Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Daughter Catherine (Florence Williams) is more painfully enmeshed in a hopeless crush on a scrupulously disinterested portrait painter (Glenn Anders). Callow Martin, one of those slightly ratty British youths with a wild craving for motor cars, just misses a homosexual imbroglio by falling for the girl next door and her roadster. Even Mrs. Hilton (Gladys Cooper), sensible matron that she is, entertains a fleeting fancy for a returned rubber planter. And, most unexpectedly of all, Roger Hilton (Philip Merivale), a financier impeccable of manner and noble of mien, has a weak moment with a flashy actress. By midnight, however, the devil has been safely sent packing.