Though of course (explained Tertius, to whom any company that he was managing, whether it was Sally Rand or the Lunts, was more important than the conquest of Europe and almost as important as the circuses that were his real boyhood love), each of the others was also of international importance, because Carl Frazee was a young genius, and Ted Gronitz, with his radio audience, remarkably like the President.
As she dressed, sleepily and by no means with a Sladesbury neatness, Bethel cried to the dozing Iris, 'Come on; we're due in Andy's apartment, to hear the death sentence.'
'E-uu-uu-uu-uu! I'm so sleepy. You skip along. I'm going to Zed's room, to read the reviews with him and Jeff Hoy and Tony Murphy,' yawned Iris.
In her voice there was to Bethel the sound of conspiracy.
Since when had Iris become so intimate with Geoffrey Hoy--Benvolio--that glass-haired, courteous, competent incognito-minded actor? With Antonio Murphy, that surly comedian?
Bethel felt troubled and incompetent as she trailed up to Andy's rooms, and to a litter of dressing-gowns, coffee, Mrs. Boyle, brocade mules, shaving lather, marmalade, proofs of advertisements, Wyndham Nooks talking about himself, Charlotte Levison insisting on lending the latest copy of the New Masses to Hugh Challis, sweaters and orange juice. Andy was, rather astonishingly, already dressed, fresh-looking in grey flannel; he beamed at her like one who rode the world, and began reading from the papers that a bellboy was bringing in as she arrived.
Mr Carl Frazee in the Belluca Evening News:
Will Shakespeare, who is, I understand, a country boy from Stratford, is the most promising young playwright in the theatre to-day. More plays by him are being seen on Broadway and out here, where the tall corn grows, than by Clifford Odets or Sidney Kingsley. And to the most important of Will's recent successes, to the Gielgud and Evans Hamlets, Orson Welles's Julius Caesar, and the little Globe Theatre at the Chicago World's Fair, and if you missed that you missed something good, must now be distinctly added the highly meritorious Andrew Deacon version of Romeo and Juliet in modern clothes, starring Mrs. Lumley Boyle, which honoured Belluca and honoured the renascent theatre in America, last evening, by holding its world premiere here, at our historic American Theatre, which in past days has seen so much of beauty and eloquence.
Belluca may well be proud of this recognition of its position as a first-class theatre town, and we welcome Mr. Deacon and Mrs. Boyle not only because of the favour to our home town but because they are putting out beyond any question an absolutely first-class show and stirring entertainment.
. . . magic of Mrs. Boyle who must certainly be only sixteen no matter what the reference books say . . . Deacon a charming and romantic Romeo bringing the sad old tale to an exciting rebirth and showing himself a fine actor . . . comedy well stressed in the characters of Peter and the Nurse by . . . first moment of shock you were glad to have them in recognizable latter-day clothes instead of the conventional tights, and as for the excellent scenery it is enough to say . . . in two girls Bethel Merriday and Iris Pentire, found real treasures from whom much will be heard in the future. Miss Merriday gave the prologue and epilogue in such a fresh, winning young voice. . . .
'That young man writes with a hoe,' said Mrs. Boyle.
'Ye'es, but he does like us,' said Andy.
'Means money in the box office,' said Tertius Tully, who had come in with the advance proof from the Herald.
Mr. Ted Gronitz, in the Daily Republican:
RIALTO RIPPLES
Rating:
No stars.
Mr. Shakespeare may not have turned over in his cement coffin yestdy eveng, but he certainly didn't feel so hot.
We're supposed to be all hot & bothered by gt honour bestowed on our poor hick bible-belt bivouac by having sure-nuff Bwy show open here, but your column reports we better still count on our watch-export & baseball record for Belluca's rep.
The bard's Romeo & Juliet was pulled off in soup & fish last night, at the American Theatre. Results: no hits, no runs, plenty errors.
Hokum in ice-cream pants looks just like hokum in the pink union suits that's the ham's idea of what they used to wear back in Queen Liz's England.
Mrs. Boyle, from dear ole Lunnon--quit now, I didn't say anything about her having known Queen Liz personally--is a pretty good Model T Juliet. Deacon, though this column will report that personally and at the bar he is a good guy, reads Romeo like he did back in freshman year in Yale.
The other boys and girls will be happier when they get back to the shoestore and the tea shoppe.
Except for a new Thesp named Zed Wintergeist, who is a wiz, and plays Mercutio like Hellzapoppin instead of like a Vassar daisy chain.
'Aurelia, with what sort of implement did you say the other young gentleman wrote?' said Hugh Challis to Mrs. Boyle.
'Shut up,' said Mrs. Boyle.
'That hurt--that hurt plenty,' said Andy.
Charlotte looked as though she were crying inside her eyes. Bethel was unable to be so restrained. Mahala and Lyle Johnson simultaneously said, 'The son--of--a--'
'But here! This one is swell,' said Tertius Tully, as he handed the proof sheet to Andy.
Professor Stanley Thrush (B.A., St. Stephen's College, Ph.D., University of Michigan), in the Morning Herald:
With an apprehension due less, perhaps, to conservatism in belles-lettres than to past observations of a too frequent confusion of artistic innovation with technical slovenliness, the more literate acolytes of the drama edged into the American Theatre, last evening, stoutly prepared for catastrophe in the spectacle of a presentation--announced as the first ever beheld--of Romeo and Juliet in contemporary costume. Their delight was, perhaps, the keener when they encountered a sound and beautiful production of the great romance . . . Mr. Deacon played Romeo not only as a gifted mime but as a gentleman . . . Boyle a lovely Juliet in the tradition of Julia Marlowe . . . studied naivety of Miss Merriday, our Prologue, with her eagerness and charm, gave a promise of an evening of youth and sentiment which was generously fulfilled. The only player to be gently castigated is a Mr. Zed Wintergeist, who doubtless means well but who depends less on subtlety than on brawling and blather and who made it grossly evident that he felt superior to the manly, graceful and sincere bearing of Mr. Andrew Deacon. In a word, we shall certainly go to this show again this week while we have the chance.
Andy kissed Mrs. Boyle, Mahala and Bethel.
Lyle Johnson kissed Charlotte and Vera Cross.
Doc Keezer kissed Bethel.
Bethel said, 'Shan't I phone down and order some waffles?' and everybody, amazed, cried, 'Oh yes, that would be a wonderful idea.'
Andy said, 'I hope Zed never sees Thrush's slam,' and Bethel loved him for his generosity. But he exploded then: 'No, I hope he does see it--plenty. It'll be good for that young man!' And so Bethel loved him for his attacks of humanness.
The house was nearly sold out every night that week, at both matinées there were 'standees', and the company felt virtuous and powerful. They stayed for half an hour after the play on Wednesday evening, sitting on prop trunks and segments of stairways and on the floor, while Adrian Satori, who for two days had been giving to all of them little copperplate last notes of criticism, said good-bye: