Barnes, who differs from most monologists in that his talk is intelligent and ironical rather than absurd and punny [sic], seemed to find the center of gravity with this vast mob of reputed lowbrows. His my-wife’s-first-husband-John stuff, with which he is familiarly identified, got screams. He likewise encored.
Ned Norworth, who was with his company refused to play No. 2 at the Majestic, had no trouble in proving his worth. He clowned and cut up to the enjoyment of the audience. “Fixing the Furnace,” which has been seen in every small house around here, was new to the State-Lakers and did fairly well.
Kenney and Hollis from the parting of the curtains start begging for applause, and have made an entire routine out of appealing to the audience. They were a stony-hearted bunch on the other side, though, and refused to loosen up. Either that or they remembered this turn from last season, when they were doing the very same sympathy thing, They had a tendency to slow up the entire bill, but luckily the following Kitty Doner, who immediately picked up the running and ran away with all honors.
Elizabeth Nelson and the Barry Boys held the next spot with ease. The act opens in “one,” with one of the men doing blackface, the other straight, with a couple of bright lines, the comic singing in a very good voice. The act goes into “one and one-half,” where it picks up speed. Miss Barry does excellent tumbling and back-bending stunts. She also makes several striking changes. The act cleaned up without an effort, and could have held a later spot.
Trixie Friganza, who had the honor of opening this theatre, had the pleasure of having the audience remembering her well. She received an ovation on her entrance, and every one of her numbers and points got hearty acclaim.
Grant Gardner, billed as Mons. Grant Gardner, has about a minute of mysterious music, with lights changing, leading one to believe almost anything, making his appearance from the opposite side of the spot in grotesque blackface make-up. He explains the psychology of laughter, telling a few humorous stories, topped off with eccentric dance, and for an encore plays a peculiar cornet.
Princess Radjah and Co. followed, and danced her way around the audience and into their hearts, making way for Frank Gaby, who stopped the show. He opens as a photographer and gets a lot of comedy out of this bit, also impersonating an English lord and doing his specialty, the ventriloquial bit. His accomplished mannerisms of putting this original stuff over proves him a showman of high grade.
De Burns Trio closed, a chubby woman with a beautiful face and very curved lines (in a silk shirtwaist, very tight velvet knickers and white hose) and two men, seemingly brothers; rings and strong work, the woman lifting both men and carrying them off for a finish. This is an acceptable small time closing act, but should knit their tricks together more closely and eliminate gapping waits between stunts.
Archie Foulk, single, next. Foulk has worked in numerous acts hereabouts. He has good appearance and is a pretty good actor. In his single he does stories, songs and dances. There is plenty of room in acts for his type of players. He should get a partner, one with a script preferred.
The next was a tragic thing. It was carded as the Gordon-Russell Trio, ringing up in a purple spot with garish second-hand drapes spotted with profile parrots and a man in what may have been a costume singing what might have been a song. At the right stood a lady with a rose in her teeth, a la Suratt. The first look was the tip-off. It was one of those home-made acts, staged by the family piano teacher. The man blew and the lady did an operatic number, every gesture denoting the novice. Either through nervousness or lack of range, she muffed the entire lower half of the register. On romped another girl, probably her sister, in a Spanish dance which proved she belonged with the act. The bender, though, came when the man returned in a Tuxedo outfit with tan shoes, and rendered a lyric, also rended [sic] it. That brought the second girl back for a toe dance so outlandishly awkward that even the unlettered hot polloi laughed.