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SCREENLAND
Reginald Owen, excellent actor of stage and screen, is seen on Broadway right now in "Child of Manhattan," which is first producing venture of Peggy Fears, ex-Follies beauty.
Dorothy Hall, known to screen audiences, plays the blonde cabaret girl who married a millionaire in "Child of Manhattan." This play -is headed for Hollywood , says DeCasseres.
The Stage in Review
By Benjamin DeCasseres
"Hot-Cha!"
IUPE VELEZ, Bert Lahr, aided and abetted by the handsome Buddy Rogers, yanked the new Ziegj f eld show out of w hat might have been a fizzle from the standpoint of music and libretto, which are old-fashioned and commonplace. But, anyhow, the Signor Ziggy must be admired for not evolving with the rest of the musical comedy tribe into satire. He now belongs to the old aristocracy and he cannot be bolsheviked.
It's all in Mexico, where the chili bean, daggers, guitars, tangos and revolutions grow on every rubberplant. And here the beautiful, dainty, arch Lupe, in her hashing robes, shone in all her pulchritudinous glory. She is a good little comedienne, too.
Bert Lahr, with his mixed-pickles face, his cock-eyes, his tongue-tied hot-air. set the house in gay roars as a matador who not only tossed but threw the bull. Some of his antics and jokes need manicuring and scrubbing, but he is a great clown.
Lynne Overman and Marjorie White helped out. Veloz, Yolanda, and the De Marcos did some beautiful dancing. Scenically. it is a Ziggy Grade A production with the help of Monsieur Urban. The book is by Messrs. Lew Brown, Ray Henderson and Mark Hellinger.
"Child of Manhattan."
In nineteen scenes, this play by Preston Sturges portravs to us a "gal" who rose from unbelievable cabaret
innocence and ignorance to be the cutie-wife of one of New York's exclusive millionaires.
She has a baby, too. It dies. Gets a Mex. divorce and then — on and on this endless thing goes through tears and laughter and more tears and moonlight until the curtain descends on the champion trick-cabinet play of the season.
It is not without its smart wise-cracks, and also some unnecessary girl-whispering. What it all means is plain enough — "we are selling this to Hollywood."' Peggy Eears, Mr. Sirovich's friend, produced it for Monsieur Sturges.
Reginald Owen, Dorothy Hall and others disported themselves. And isn't the public about fed up on this cabaret stuff?
Night Over Taos.
Maxwell Anderson, one of our better dramatists, went American-historical in his new play, "Night Over Taos/' It is really an old-fashioned costume picture transposed to the stage.
It is laid in Taos, New Mexico, in 1849, where Pablo Montoyo with his old feudal ideas makes his last stand against We Democrats from the U.S.A. Pablo picks his women, executes a son who betrayed him and intends to bump off another son for necking his own little girl when his conscience persuades him to drink poison. I was glad.
It is nothing but good old rant and fustian. It is as hollow as the Hollywood Music Bowl. All this matter