The Theater: Old Favorite in Manhattan

An Evening with Beatrice Lillie is something that large numbers of people must have long and devoutly sighed for. As the funniest comedienne alive, Bea has been providing delightful memories for 30 years—from as far back as her Chariot's Revue "patriotic" number ("March with me ... march, march, April, May and June"). That military triumph, like some of Bea's others, is much too elaborate for the present intimate doings, where—except for Reginald Gardiner with his clever imitations—the Lillie virtually goes it alone. The evening is strewn with things that she alone can do.

Yet it is no more than discreetly hilarious: Bea often couldn't be funnier, but most assuredly her material could.

Lillie's leading characteristic—her cool, impeccably groomed air—is actually a very misleading one. For it suggests a drawing-room satirist of manners; then, with a sudden vocal or facial or bodily twist, she achieves something thoroughly low or superbly insane. This elegance punctuated with epilepsy can create effects as uproarious as they are unique.

The current Lillie evening has many fine, authentic Lillie moments. But much of the material—skit or song, new or old, even as famous as Three Little Fishies—is either not very good in itself or not what Bea can do best. In the past, she has been most glorious upsetting full-stage apple carts, playing hob with vast production numbers; the atmosphere here dwindles, in more ways than one, to that of a nightclub. Bea's gifts at times seem almost as wasted as they are wonderful.