Judge — November 29, 1924 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

—S = (ea —— ee amount of heat. O’Neill Steams Into Port (Continued from page 11 Il NV peove Smione’s _ histrionic +"* genius has never been such as to cause me to rush hatless out of the theater where she was playing and hug the nearest gendarme in an ec- stasy of delight. Indeed, I may go so far as to say that the madame has generally left this old cynic pretty cold. Her talents, so loftily praised by French critics, have never been clearly discernible to me, and my oculist assures me that my eyes art in very good shape. Nevertheless, | went around to the Henry Miller Theater the other night and got something of a shock. For there ou the stage was La Simone surprising a whole lot of us hy giving a really skillful and spirited performance of that ancient S daddle, “Madame Sans-Ger such things happen every now and then. No sooner has the reviewer written his fifly thousandth word, proving beyond all question of doubt that this or that actor or actress ought to be poisoned instanter than the actor or actress goes and spoils it all by doing himself or herself proud. T think that it is high time the re Viewers got together and did some- thing about it. Such things are very embarrassing. They ought to be stopped. Design for a fireplace guaranteed to give forth a satisfactory Il T 18 generally said that the critic who shouts a thing at the top of his voice and with a great air of cocksuredness more often than not is mistaken. Not long ago, conducting myself in this objectionable and de- plorable manner, I said that the M. Basil Dean, the English producer who was imported to put on James Flecker’s “Hassan,” was, so far as I could make out after a survey of a number of his productions, a de- cidedly sour professor. IT have just seen the M. Dean's production of “Peter Pan” at the Knickerbocker Theater and I now want to apologize to the editor of JupGE, to my readers, and to the M. Dean himself. What I said of the latter should have been said in a voice twice as loud as the one I employed and with an air of cocksuredness that would make the air in the Subway smell, in compurison, like that of Cope Cod. For if ever a beautiful play has had a rose and a couple of cauliflower pinned on it by an unimaginative and heavy-handed producer, step up to this stage job of the Barrie classic aud take a look at it. It is all very well to blame little Miss Marilyn Miller for not being quite a Maude Adams in certain respects, but Maude Adams herself would have had a tough time of it with anything like Dean’s production fingering its nose at her. [trust that this doesn’t seem to be mere un- gentlemanly abuse of Mr. Dean. It is nothing of the kind. It is not abuse, but criticism that gets rid of all embroidery and gets right down to tacks. He has made a sad botch of one of the most lovely of modern plays. If you doubt it, if you think that this may, after all, be the opinion of but one man, put on your hat and investigate for yourself. The odds that you will agree with me are ex- actly 100 to 1. sae A famous dress designer thinks out his finest creations at night, when he can't sleep. The bills husbands have to pay for them are said to have the London Opinion Netcusor—Your nephew seems to be a well-bred little pup. “Yes, but I can’t break him of the habit of pointing.” a comicbooks.com