Life — January 27, 1927 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

Obiter Dicta FE must come to some arrangement with the \ V theatrical managers whereby they will agree to keep their new shows running at least long enough for us to have something to write about on this page. So swift has been the mortality among fledgling dramas of late that a summary of productions mentioned in this department has that incredible, unfamiliar look of a list of sketches for amateur production issued by the Walter Baker Company. We have even been accused of making up some of the names ourself, just to make people think that we have been very busy going to the theatre. We would never have made up the name “Ballyhoo,” even to be funny, and yet there is small chance of con- vincing any one outside that lucky first-night audience that such a play was actually presented here several weeks ago. We are sorry that it left so soon. It would have made nice reviewing. { AS is usual when a mind as keen and active as ours is left coasting along with no material to work on, certain minor matters which have escaped its attention before come in for more detailed consideration. We hate to be disagreeable but really something ought to be said about our new theatres which are being built. They are just god-awful. There was a period in theatre construction when it looked as if a little beauty were creeping into the thing. The Morosco, the Music Box, the Booth, the Cort and the Plymouth, all are very soothing to sit in, even if the play is bad. But that was evidently just a false dawn. For the new theatres which have been popping up by the dozen recently all seem to have reverted to the golden- kidney school of decoration in which great gilt blobs and conventionalized glands spread themselves around the proscenium and threaten to pull the whole edifice in on itself and its patrons. A great deal of red curtaining goes on, too, It is all very discouraging. WOE EA HIE. latest of these temples to Art is the Royale ‘Theatre, which shelters a musical comedy called y.” in which Sam Bernard does battle with his collar, According to a program note the Royale Theatre is “modern Spanish in character.” The general color scheme is in cardinal red, orange and gold. The general effect is such that a mechanical piano would complete the illusion, Also according to the program note, “there is a novel ventilating system which admits warmed fresh air in winter and cooled fresh air in summer.” By an odd mix-up in signals, the summer system went into effect on the opening night (January 11), with the result that great refreshing gusts of ocean air swept through the auditorium, carrying programs and the lighter ar- ticles of headwear before them. When rescued by a faithful St. Bernard this reviewer was just beginning to drop off into that fatal stupor which precedes solidifica- tion. ‘There is perhaps an explanation of this shift in venti- lating in another note which says that “the Royale ushers are students from New York schools of higher learning «.-who have undergone training in the Chanin School for Ushers.” ANP: while we are on this subject, some day a theatre is going to be built which will permit patrons to go out to the lobby between the acts without having to engage in hand-to-hand combat in the narrow passage- way behind the seats. The Royale sit has been constructed on the familiar “neck bottle” theory of audience cramping, whereby a row of five people is put through a space large enough for two. This also makes it nice at the end of the intermission, for, after the curtain has gone up on the second act, there can be heard from the rear the crushing of bones and the cries of the small women trying to get back to their seats. We have no intention of picking on the Royale Theatre in particular. It is just typical of a trend in theatre construction which threatens to destroy the very fabric of our civilization. EHESGC CC® HE show called “Piggy,” mentioned above as the lucky occupant of this new theatre, may have suf- fered in our estimation from the fact that the cords in the back of our neck were being subjected to the “novel ventilating system,” but it seemed pretty punk to us. A nice production and an expert and personable chorus were its chief assets. And, in the face of the not- inconsiderable excitement over Fred Stone's daughter (from which we ‘do not dissent, mind you), we should like to note the fact that Dave Montgomery's daughter can dance, too. Robert Benchley. comicbooks.com