Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1924)

70 On the New York Stage "The Flame of Love." This is one of the most colorful and interesting of those Chinese tragedies which always spring up at least once in every season. Unfortunately, it is so long and involved that its really poetic idea gets lost in the plot. It is based on the legend of Si-Ling, who spins a silk robe in which to receive her lover but who finds him unfaithful. Her tears fall in the magic weave of the silk, which bursts into flame, consuming the unhappy goddess. From this legend a play of ancient Canfu has been developed. It has fire and imagination behind it but it moves with true Oriental slowness and its motives are not always clear. Still, there is enough of beauty in it to give the authors, Maurice Samuels and Malcolm La Prade, the credit of an artistic effort, beautifully performed. "The Dust Heap." There is a certain sort of melodrama that has lost its hold on the legitimate stage. This is the sort of thing that combines all the old thrillers with a few extra shocks on the white-slave traffic. "The Dust Heap," had every kick in it known to the ten, twentyand-thirty days, and yet it lasted for one scant week on Broadway. Its scene was in the wild Yukon, it had a beautiful and persecuted heroine and it is galloped all over by the Royal Mounted Police. And yet it failed. The answer may be that the audiences have become fussy about their Yukon melodrama. They do these things so much better in the movies with all the scenery of the world to set them in. "God's Chillun." This was one of the most discussed plays of the year earlier in the season. It was written by Eugene O'Neill and deals with the marriage of a white girl to a negro. When its theme became known, there was a howl of frightened rage from people who had decided that the play was propaganda for miscegenation and would start race riots all over the country. To these alarmists the only answer was "Read the play," which was published long before its production in the American Mercury. But of course they wouldn't — they just kept on viewing with alarm until the mayor was so agitated that he refused permits to the children who were to play in the first scene. When "God's Chillun" finally opened it was revealed as so far from immoral as to be a little dull. And, far from urging marriages between the black race and the white, it is one dreary picture of the tragedy of such a union. So the "race riots" ended in a little mild applause for a play which has its true moments of pathos but which is certainly not one of O'Neill's best. It was beautifully played by Mary Blair as the white girl and by Paul Robeson, a genuine and moving negro actor. "The Melody Man " Lew Fields arrives again as the old German music master. This time he is struggling against the noise and confusion of "tin-pan alley" or the Broadway music shops. He has written a wonderful sonata which a song plugger has turned into a "mammy" jazz record — and hence the tragedy. There is an excellent idea here which somehow didn't quite come off. There are, however, real flashes of wit and pathos in the thing and a few genuine side lights on the vaudeville and burlesque world in New York. Its author was announced as "Richard Lorenz," but, as no one could trace his identity, the legend grew up that this was the pen name of three young playwrights, one of whom was Lew Fields' own son. Whoever the author, or authors were, they certainly found an interesting basis for a play but lacked the technique to mold it into shape. Whatever is good in the piece has been brought out to its full by Lew Fields' old-time magic. "Garden of Weeds." "White Cargo" was so interesting that this second play by Leon Gordon was awaited with interest. It proved to be a flat disappointment. It is the old theme called "Should a Wife Tell?" in the movies and developed without any attempt at originality. The chorus girl becomes a respectable married woman and worries through three very long acts for fear her husband will discover an old lover. He does, but your onlv reaction as the curtain goes down is "What of it?" The only distinctive actress in the cast was Lilyan Tashman as a Broadway gold digger. "Catskill Dutch." This was an uncommonly interesting sketch of the Dutch community. Like "Hell-bent fer Heaven," it dealt with religious intolerance and its effect on the innocent bystanders. But unlike that masterpiece, it won no prize as the best play of the year. It didn't even win the prize of a fair run on Broadway, for it was closed suddenly almost within the week before it had time to get its breath. Personally, I think it should have been given a chance to live, but there is no arguing with a Broadway box office. Frank McGlynn, Louis Wolheim. Ann Davis, and Minnie Dupree all did excellent work in the cast. Two Revivals. "Leah Kleschna," which is the great-granddaddy of crook melodramas, has been dragged down from the shelf by William Brady. It had a most impressive cast ; Arnold Daly, Lowell Sherman, Jose Ruben, William Faversham and Helen Gahagan were a few of the names. But even this impressive list could not put new fire into the weary old situations. It is interesting, however, to watch at firsthand the source from which all our later crook plays have come. "The Kreutzer Sonata" has not only old-time playwriting but old-time acting — altogether a thorough revival. Bertha Kalich came back in the Yiddish play which was one of her early successes. Through its turbulent scenes, Mme. Kalich acted in the deep, booming manner of the old-school heavy melodrama. It v/as noisy but not very moving. All this makes you realize how recent it is since the new movement in the theater has brought to the actors any semblance of decent restraint. Usually, at this time of year, the more important theaters are sternly boarded up and their interests are transferred to the roof gardens and the amusement parks. But, this season, every play that is in with any promise is holding on grimly in a state of breathless suspense. The reason, of course, is the gold mine which they hope to ftnd in the visiting firemen, buyers, and delegates who will flock to the Democratic convention. Their hopes are seriously complicated by the struggle between the Actor's Equity Association and the standpat managers who remain outside. Just at the moment there is much bitterness, a few injunctions and several threats to close the theaters of the outsiders in another strike. The stand-pat shows include some of the greatest hits of the season — including the phenomenally successful "Rain" — and I am Pollyana enough to believe that they will all kiss and be friends rather than lose the huge receipts which the convention is sure to bring them. By the time this article is out, we hope to see sweetness and light restored to Broadway.