Full Stage (Special Set). “Oh, Papa.” Barring a very visible, and in this instance unnecessary slowness at the start, “Oh, Papa,” is a condensed version of “When Claudia Smiles,” a former musical play, made over for vaudeville by Channing Pollock and Ren Wolf, looks suitable for Miss Ring’s vaudeville invasion. The scene shows a room in Claudia’s (Miss Ring) apartment. Her maid (Nellie Filmore) is very active when Johnny Rogers (Alfred Fisher), divorced husband of Claudia, arrives. A few minutes of conversation reveals much of the plot, after which Roger exits to allow Mr. Brook (Fred W. Strong) an opportunity to explain his connection. Frederick Walker (Chas. J. Winniger) comes next, completing the cast, a small bit being played by Jas. Duddy in the opening. Claudia, a musical comedy star is in love with her ex-husband, but takes delight in coddling the two “old boys,” married millionaires. A complication is nearly handled by Claudia’s “Oh, Papa” line, when the two old men unexpectedly meet and take each other for the girl’s dad. The finale shows the return of Rogers and the cheerless exit of the two old “chasers.” Two numbers are employed in the piece proper, “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary” and “Dear Old Pet.” The former went exceptionally well. Winniger in a sort of polite German role monopolizes the comedy with a good characterization and makes an excellent foil for the star. Miss Filmore as the colored maid provided some contrast for Miss Ring’s appearance, filling in to satisfaction. Strong fits the type his role calls for and stops at that. Fisher had little to do, but did well enough. With the skit over, Miss Ring appeared in “one,” for some reason or other, to continue with songs with which she has become familiar in the past. This section could be comfortably shelved, except in cases where an encore is essential. And the opening should be penciled enough to allow for a brief introduction of the plot although the costume changes should remain for the benefit of the women. Until Winninger’s entrance, the cast must depend upon light comedy, and light comedy in vaudeville is more luscious in small chunks. Miss Ring, as was expected, scored an individual hit, with her principal comic running a close second. With the necessary alteration “Oh, Papa” will fill all vaudeville wants.
9 Mins.; One. Charlotte Leslay is billed as being able to sing higher than Mme. Tetrazini. Well, Arthur Hammerstein should know but as far as big time vaudeville is concerned, who cares? The young woman has a soprano voice of some range, but it is not a voice of any timbre or quality. The singer spoils whatever chance she may have had with such billing by opening with a rag. Her second number is also popular, a ballad following. At the finish she sang “Falling in Love with Someone” and “My Hero.” The latter is, without doubt, the American flag to all sopranos and tenors. Miss Leslay is a lyric soprano, and as long as she clings to operatic billing, might better confine her repertoire to classical and semi-classical material. With an evening gown of dark material and a new selection of songs she should be a neat little single on small time.
11 Mins.; One. A difference between “putting ‘em over” and “pulling ‘em in.” this was proven at Hammerstein’s Monday night. Those who made the test were Hank Gowdy, the premier swatter of the World’s Baseball Champions, and his side partner, the pitching marvel, Dick Rudolph. The team was engaged for Hammerstein’s for the week at a big figure as a box office drawing card, but judging from the house, they are failures in this particular. Rube Marquard, who sat with his wife, Blossom Seeley, in the fifth row, who must have gloried in the fact that he knew just what his confreres were passing through; however, this noted vaudevillian was there with the “Iron Hand” where it came to applause for the newcomers. The turn was introduced by the “Only Loey” who turned loose his ready wit on the audience in an introductory speech. He stated that when the battery was hired for vaudeville they confessed that they couldn’t do a thing on stage so Loney framed the act for them. It consisted of Gowdy showing signals used by him in coaching pitchers, and an explanation by Rudolph of the various style he pitched in the Series. He then warmed up and lobbed over a few to Gowdy, which ended their part of the entertainment. The audience was generous in its applause for the stars of the diamond and gave them enough to warrant a couple of bows, which they took good naturedly.
16 Mins.; Five. (Interior). “Brother Fans” Tom Lewis is presented by Jos. Hart in “Brother Fans,” a comedy drama that is almost a farce in idea, but saved from disaster by Mr. Lewis and his co-players. At the Palace Monday evening, Mr. Lewis, probably to oblige the stage management, did a bit in “one” following the finale of the sketch. Time was needed to strike the set for the full stage dancing act following. Mr. Lewis’ monolog of broken-up dialog in this after-portion made a hit the sketch scored a Lewis-riot, for he actually stopped the show. After the lights had been flashed for the Brown-Dolly turn, the continued applause forced Mr. Lewis to return, and gauging from the reception he personally received, Tom Lewis as a “single” would be equal to the full value he and his company may have, if not more. The playlet tells of the excitement caused among Americans abroad by a baseball game played in London between the round-the-world Giants an White Sox. Lewis invited a couple of fans, met at the game, to a private dinner in the evening. One is a consumptive who came from Algiers solely to see the game. The other is the London correspondent for the Associated Press. The newspaper man recognizes the invalid as the defaulter from America. The A.P. man insists he will turn the criminal over to Scotland Yard. With a few meller tricks, the correspondent phones the detective bureau. Lewis intervenes for the consumptive, balks the detective when he arrives, and arranges to send the invalid back to Algiers, because “he is the greatest fan in the world,” and took a chance on his life and liberty to see one more ball game. During the little meal they are having and previous to the disclosure, a film shows scenes of a baseball diamond, as Lewis “recalls” to his companions the Polo Grounds. A phonograph also echoes part of a game. Some lines in the piece bring laughter, and many more lines which should be there (since Mr. Lewis so easily handles dialog of a certain character) are missing. At the opening when the talk becomes twisted over “Tell her that you saw me” and so on, it is remindful of a section of one of the Conroy and Lamire blackface sketches. But Mr. Lewis can put “Brother Fans” over, with all of its many shortcomings. He has a good company in support.
15 Mins.; One. This trio look as if they were from some quartet. They have the sameness characteristic of all male acts. Two of the boys sing straight, with the little fat chap doing a Scotch number that is a trifle long, but otherwise all right. A good singing aggregation of popular songs for the small time.
One. The Sharrocks are mind-readers, mental telegraphists or any term that may be preferred to describe the people who can apparently read each other’s minds. Not since the ays of The Zancigs have a mind-reading couple played New York who could eclipse the Zancigs memory until the Sharrocks showed at the Palace this week. The Zancigs were remarkable, for their rapidly and correctness – the Sharrocks are wonderful in the same ways. The Sharrocks had to overcome the handicap of the “No.2” position on a long bill that called for the removal of the Weekly Review to the closing position. They did it. Owing to the composition of the program, The Sharrocks were unavoidably placed there, but closing the first half is their spot on any bill, if not placed in the second half. The turn has a sketch opening in “one,” a faking gypsy fortune telling tent, with the man the spieler and the woman the worker. The turn contains comedy throughout, with a solid laughing finish. Following some talk at the opening, Mr. Sharrock goes into the audience, Mrs. Sharrock remaining blindfolded upon the stage. Sharrock moves quickly up and down the aisles. Mrs. Sharrock calling out a mass of articles he touches or looks at. This has not been uncommon among mind-readers, but it’s the way this couple work. Even the wise ones are more mystified than any others ever caused them to be. Tuesday night in the extreme rear orchestra seat a spectacles auditor handed Mr. Sharrock something. Even the operator had to ask what it was. Mrs. Sharrock, 100 feet or more away, on the stage, could not possible have heard the remark, but almost more than man could answer, Mrs. Sharrock had called out “A clinical thermometer.” The suggestion of a plant for this is very remote. Hardly anyone seated could see it, excepting a few standing near, and at the time Sharrock was on the rush to the left-hand orchestra aisle, from the center one he had just finished. If in concentration or anything they have evolved in system or otherwise, to cue or tell, either one of them ever thought of a clinical thermometer, they must be marvels of record ingenuity. Returning to the stage, Mr. Sharrock drops down his gypsy tent, and they prepare to depart. Mrs. Sharrock berates him for going through a crowd like that and coming back empty handed. He replies, as they exit, that he went through right, showing eight or ten gold watches on chains as his booty. The Sharrocks make an excellent vaudeville number that can’t possibly fail.
17 Mins.; Full Stage (Special Set). “Twenty Odd Years” Taking an every-day incident for the basis of his text, Tom Barry tacked the title of “Twenty Odd Years” on this little comedy playlet, contributed a classy little routine of conversation and situations and handed it to Harry Beresford who provided a capable cast, a splendid background and the combined result is one of the prettiest little plays in present-day vaudeville. The theme is of two old men who quailed twenty years ago. One is rich, the other comfortable fixed but not overburdened with worldly goods. The latter’s niece loves the other’s son. The scene is the home of the girl, an exterior with a set cottage in the background, provided with practical fixtures, doors, shutters, windows, etc. The story revolves around the courtship with the points built on a light comedy structure, the finale bringing an adjustment. It might be well to have two elders meet in view of the audience, since it would but require a change for the gardener (Vincent Seaville) and would not necessitate any surplus dialog. Beresford plays “Nunky,” the girl’s uncle. His portrayal of the moody, but lovable old gentleman was decidedly artistic, many of the laughs arising from his impromptu actions and peculiar delivery. Frederick Howard is a likeable juvenile, carefully instructed in this instance and passable in all departments. Isabell Mendosa is of that rare type of dramatic ingenue with a clear enunciation, yet girlish appearance, and fits her portion like a glove. Opposite Howard she scored an individual hit and did wonders in the uplift. The production and general equipment is also worthy of individual comment and comes close to a class of its own, considering the size and nature of the vehicle. “Twenty Odd Years” should go on for a long time.
37 Mins.; One, Three and Full Stage. With three special scenes and a cast of nine characters, one or two of which are unimportant through necessary (and probably filled by supers), “Any Night,” one of the series of sensational short sketches shown at the Princess Theatre, is at Hammerstein’s. It’s a tale of the underworld, in this instance a possibility well knitted together into a rather importable chain, but nevertheless a possibility, and because of this, the more interesting. The cast embraces among its more important types a street walker, openly and rather baldly referred to as a “hustler,” a policeman of the brand that flourished before the Whiteman regime, a “respectable souse” and a pair of sinning youngsters. A hotel clerk, porter and a pedestrian and fireman also assisted, the two latter undoubtedly doubling, although evidencing some activity behind the scenes. The opening shows a street before a drop depicting a Raines Law hotel. The policeman and “hustler” discuss conditions, the former showing an unusual interest in the latter’s welfare. The conversation disclosed the fact that tuberculosis has been added to the girl’s lot. A comedy vein runs through her light reference to the inevitable end. The young man follows on, luring Miss Innocence to her first misstep. Then comes to “hustler’s” first “client,” the souse. The quartet enter the hotel, the interior of which comes in the second scene. The process of registering brings more comedy to the surface. The third and final scene is the bedroom occupied by the souse and his “wife,” the finale coming with a fire which threatens the building, the firemen’s arrival and their accompanying clatter and noise. The elderly souse and Miss Innocence come face to face in the excitement, and being father and child, both realizing their sin, etc., remain to perish in the flames. The “raw” situation occurs with the opening and its ensuring dialog in which the social problem is openly discussed and pictured, possibly a bit strong, although the producers evidently infer that the moral lesson contained in the theme proper atones for whatever violation of decency takes place during the action of the piece. Helen Hilton as the street walker was quite good. James Edwards as the policeman was a bit too refined in action and speech for a copper with the experience his arms stripes designated. Lorin J. Howard as the drunk was acceptable in that section of his duty, though overdoing, but his dramatic period was lost through inferior handling. Howard handled a climax much as he would a comedy point, and because of this the finale suffered and was only lifted through the timely arrival of the scenic illusion at the end of showing the fire. And in this blaze there was considerably more smoke than fire. But regardless of the existing minor faults, “Any Night” is a good feature for Hammerstein’s, where plays of this calibre can hold up. As a standard vaudeville attraction, it’s impossible. It closed the Hammerstein’s program.
10 Mins.; Full Stage. E. Rousby in his production, “The Edge of the World,” gives a convincing demonstration of the evolution of light and colour projection. In place of the stereotyped stationary views accompanied by a study in near-nude femininity, Rousby offers a combination of moving colors before which a gyrating danseuse cavorts in spring-like garments, her cavorting running a lengthy second to the scenic portion of the piece. The opening shows what is supposed to be the edge of the world where the passion of color lies exhausted after the day’s labor (from the program argument). Soon the ocean, or what looks very much like it, floats into view with a rhythmic movement to be later replaced by the action of the many colors, blending together into a picturesque scenic effect. Meanwhile the danseuse (Violet Hope) keeps busy, skipping here and there to the soft strains of specially composed orchestration. The turn comprises novelty in ever sense of the world, the color scheme being especially well worked out. It’s a big improvement over the former brand of scenic art and since it held a capacity audience to the finish in closing spot at the Colonial it looks like a promising possibility.
“The Society Buds” 44 Mins.; Full Stage (Special Set). Forty-four minutes is too long for a big time vaudeville musical comedy sketch, even though a Jesse Lasky production with the popular Clark and Bergman starred. That is the only trouble just now with the act. If reduced to a reasonable time limit, this Lasky number should rank with his “Trained Nurses” which did so well for a couple of seasons, with the same couple leading. William Le Baron wrote the book and lyrics, with music by Robert Hood Bowers. Frank Smithson staged the piece. Two songs are interpolated by the principals, written by Irving Berlin. Eight chorus girls and a musical director are there. A logical story is carried to the finale. Henry Bergman as a chauffeur in love and Miss Clark as a main in the same family, impersonate their employers (who are professional dancers) to entertain a party of society buds that evening, teaching them to dance receiving $5,000 for it. The attempts of two butlers (Clifford Robertson and Vincent Erne) to steal the money furnish the grounds for the comedy and the repeated entrances and exits of the pair. One number, “Society Buds’ Day,” led by Miss Clark, is made into an extensive affair, a sort of illustrated picture series of the choristers who have an opportunity in it. This is very well put on. “My Idea of Paradise (Berlin) is a pretty song. The other Berlin number was “I Love to Quarrel with You” (used Tuesday night in place of the programed “Furnishing Up a Home for Two”). “The Chained Ankel Glide” (Bowers) afforded a chance for a neat little bit of business and satire on the prevailing short skirt. It was done by Mr. Bergman and the girls. Messrs Robertson and Erne tall and short respectively, had “It’s Really Too Absurd” for a duet number, with a dance, and from this point onward the two dancing, as the act is at present routine, is the biggest factor in it including the dances by Miss Clark and Mr. Bergman collectively and individually. The two comedians brought several laughs, and the two principals did the same, securing most of the latter with repartee, using some sure-fires such as “the first national bank.” Miss Clark looked daintily pretty and her personality left an impression. Mr. Bergman handled himself and his material as usual, excellently. The act is costumed in the Lasky prodigal manner. Until properly condensed no one concerned in the turn will know just where they are at expecting that there is enough “meat” to it. And four Class A principals. Jane Quirk conducted the orchestra.
