This, then, is the state of the New York stage at this moment. Meanwhile, film fans see life on the screen through the eyes of little Rollo while, just around the corner, six young women are in the act of taking off their pink envelope thing-ums while an appreciative audience applauds. Not, of course, that we’re for censorship anywhere. But the New York stage producer seems to be able to get away with anything.
It is making it awfully hard for the musical comedy producer. Years ago he reached a certain limit in bare revelations and now the drama comes along and wins away the tired business man. Of course, the musical comedy maker isn’t giving up without a fight. Now and then he has an inspiration, as when, in the new Greenwich Village Follies, he reveals a lady to personify Art dressed exclusively in three golden leaves, each placed with fine discernment and discretion.
The next step on the New York stage will probably come when the musical comedy producer raises—or lowers—his limit. Despite our youth, we can recall—vividly—when he made the step from tights and stockings to bare legs, the only thing left is for him to ape the Parisian producer and have costumes stop their upward trend at the waist. We shall see, we shall see!
* * *
Hibrow Column
Speaking about high-brow poetry, we have from the Saturday Evening Post (page 26, October 15th), real classy lyrics on how to eat or drink something. The poem isn’t quite clear as to whether Mr. Bloodgood was eating a rotten apple or merely taking a shot of moonshine, but anyway, it’s high-brow stuff—
I love the loathsome!
Delicious half-ripe rottenness.
I dream deliciously
As it slips