Judge — August 9, 1919 — page 24: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Draws by HWemsan Pacsren T this season of the year, when the deni- zens of the metrop- olis feel the call of feds and By pastoral purlieus and Village Revels stil Lawton Mackaut army of nondescript hussies, gaudily gotten up, but gawky Better a few soft-colored hangings for scenery, than no end of garish imitations of Urban. Better the gentle peaceful hamlets far from the marts of trade and the muss of social stuffiness, it is pleasing to visit New York’s own village and there witness the sports of the jocund bohemian rustics. For, Greenwich Vi less than West Forty-second Street, has its ‘ But not with Flo Ziegfeld’s approval. That imp ario of Luscious Lookers, whose annual carnivals of comeliness have this year reached the mystic number thirteen, feels very strongly that the appellation “ Fol- lies” belongs only to something which happens at the New Amsterdam Theater, and that the quaint folk of Bohemia aren't supposed to meddle with such matters. Village Nights” would have been permi sible—for even the humblest peasantry have “nights ireenwich but “Follies” was far too good for them. Indee Oliver Goldsmith were alive today and ventured spring his line: When lovely w Mr. Ziegfeld’s lawyers would undoubtedly have erved an injunction with- in twenty-four hours, or- dering the poet to substi- tute the word “gaiety” or “scandal.” But the Villagers, in the free and easy manner of bohemians, used the word “Nights” only as a temporary blind, _drop- ping it after the first five or six postponements of their frivol, and recklessly opened with the taboo title, and the ‘“Green- wich Village Follies” were a success before anyone could squelch them. The charm of the ex- lighting that enhances the illusion of beauty than the brutally thrown spotlight that transforms a handsome minx into a blue-white victim of the play. Amenity first! Some of the stage pictures are as choice as any we have seen since those of “The Jest” and “Bonds of The bedroom travesty scene is a triumph of daintiness—the exquisitely canopied bed, topped by a single wondrous white plume—so that the travesty appears delicious and piquante when, in a different atmosphere, it might easily be anything but. In contrast to the customary “Oriental” spectacle consisting of a tawdry array of she-oafs bedizened with Siegel & Cooper draperies, the Java scene is quite a vision. The girls and their costumes supplement each other delectably. And what a feast of color! To add a touch of liveliness to the ensemble—for, if the truth must be told, the fair Java-kneeses are too absorbed in avoiding tripping over their rod-weighted trains, to take life casually—a wiry young person named Ada Forman, nut-browned for the occasion, cavorts like a petite Roshanara. The stage picture that goes with the song about somebody’s love being “as deep as a cameo”—pro- found passion that—serves asa demur interlude amid luxuriance, the players in white minueting against a background of pink. But a place aux dames policy should not exclude wit. James Watts, decked out in various feminine get- ups, does hilarious antics, Interest.” hibit lies in its freedom from lugged-in elaborate- Phe ty Lewis-Surmn ness Better a small Nece chorus of queens than an but about the only clever linesare supplied by Bobby Mari. Edwards from his own Follies.” private stock. comicbooks.com