Rice and Elmer, both in comedy make-up, monkeyed around on triple bars and a trampoline, sometimes getting a laugh in their routine, but depending altogether on an exceptional comedy finish, each man getting into the other man’s arms to do a semi tumble, each man taking his turn to be on his legs, while the other man’s feet were up in the air.
Frank Dobson closed with his sirens, taking the legitimate hit of the bill with ease, heading a flashy ensemble punctuated by speed and the sort of laugh that tasted like duck soup to the bargain hunters.
Lyons and Yosco found the time of day, the sort of day, and whatever other individual elements were on tap, to be just what they wanted. These cagey showmen belted it over for deep laugh and stout handclaps.
Toney Grey and Co. presented a crude form of the old minstrel afterpiece. “Dr. Bones,” woefully overacted. The girl proved weak and, though there were laughs on hoakum, even this hoak-craving audience didn’t enthuse.
It is a skatey thing for comedy, one of them playing a student skater. There were good falls and laughs, The finish was a whizz, there being a pirouette on skates that drew an ovation. Nora Norine, second. Nora is a local favorite, with a fine Irish thrush voice. She trilled through a routine of new and fresh sounding songs, assisted by a pianist (Rex Moore) and hit hard with an Oriental number, Her close, a character gem, came as an encore that whistled past all that had come before, taking her off happy and hitful.
Kirby, Quinn and Anger registered from the tape in their eccentric, laughable travesty and run of falls, low comedy and flip repartee. Their Egyptian burlesque was a howl. Five bows and encore for this three, with the woman breathlessly holding the scorching pace set by the male comics.
Albertina Rasch showed an improved dance routine, with more speed than marked her last season’s arrangement. A storm effect attended her creation, “After the Storm,” a Hungarian conception. The effect might be slowed down a few notches, The act went creditably.
Joseph M. and Mellie I. Norcross claiming combined age of 144 years, did the dances of yesteryear. There was no shimmying, but the dancing was pretty and put some of the nowadays wiggles to shame. Could have held a harder spot.
Valeska Suratt, the recurrent manifestation, looking like two-year-old and playing with that lithe vigor which attended her when she was a singer, when she was a dancer, when she became a film star and when she is, as now, a dramatic actress. Suratt spells vigor, fibre [sic] and animation, and she decks this with rare taste in dress, colorings, atmosphere, settings and detail – everything about her and the playlet, “Scarlet,” is daring, vibrant and positive. There is nothing manby pamby in anything attending it. The star and the material have at times perhaps been criticized, as all things human are, but no one ever said they lacked red blood.
Supported by an acting cast, with no posers, every one giving an account of the part assigned, “Scarlett” stood up for Miss Suratt at least as powerfully as it did last season. It took hearty laughs, was interspersed with applause, and at the finish drew seven honest curtains. The matinee was packed as a tribute to Miss Suratt’s drawing power, though it was the week before Christmas week and the unseasonable heavens sent splashing rain.
Following such a show, McDermott might have been up against it. But he bobbed in when the crowd was expecting another Tucker bow, and before the mob knew he was on he had ‘em. It took masterly maneuvering, because half the gang was on the edges of the chairs. They settled back and McDermott, legitimate successor to Nat Wills, made them howl with his trampisms, then goaled them with his opera voice and his characterizations, a bang hit.
