Another Treat for Dwellers in Radio-Land

An Innovation—Theatrical Premiére is at Last Broadcasted From Broadway

PATRICIA COLLINGE

"THIS is Station W. O. O. F. broadcasting from the Rhinelander Theatre, New York City, New York. You are about to listen to an account of the prem—the —er—I should say the first performance of Now You Tell One, a comedy from the Swedish by Ole Olesen, adapted by Mr. Guy Bolton from the French translation by Pierre Verdun. Presented by Mr. Issac Ingraham. Starring Miss Lucy Linden, with Mr. George Spelvin and including Miss Alice Anson, supported by an inevitable Ingraham cast. Mr. Graham Grahame announcing. Station W. O. O. F. broadcasting from the Rhinelander Theatre, New York City, N. Y. . . . please stand by."

"Good evening everybody, this is old Uncle Graham Grahame talking, and this evening I am going to try and describe to you something of what is going on in this beautiful theatre. The curtain has been playfully advertised to rise at 8:20 sharp, it is now 8.40—and while the lobby is jammed with arriving celebrities, very few people have gone to their seats. Everyone is waiting to see everyone else. Do you hear that murmur? Heywood Broun has just entered—followed by Charles Hanson Towne —Mr. Broun is wearing a large fur coat— and Mr. Towne has just said something about a wayward bruin—I don't quite see the point as the coat is coon skin, not bear skin—. However, several people have laughed.

"DID you notice that sudden hush? Four ladies have entered wearing ermine coats followed by seven ladies also wearing ermine coats—And there is ... . wait a moment .... There is such a crowd around him I can't quite be sure .... yes, it is ... . Mr. Gene Markey .... The noise that you hear now is that of programs being turned to check up on his faultless attire in 'What the well dressed man shall wear'.

"It is now 8:45 and the auditorium is beginning to fill. People are walking up and down the aisles exchanging greetings—Pretty soon the curtain will rise and then they will try to find their seats in the dark: That is a great deal of fun for everybody, and while some will get in the wrong seats they will all be adjusted more or less permanently along about the middle of the first act, and will be settled down by intermission—then they will get up and do it all over again. But that's just part of the fun of first nights, and everyone will be quite happy —with the possible exception of the man who belongs in seat 1, row A, and who is unaccountably, but firmly wedged in seat 24, row Q. Just a moment .... please .... there's Margalo Gilmore .... and now Alexander Woollcott has taken his scat and all the young actresses in the adjacent five rows are trying to look like Mrs. Fiske. The lovely Peggy Wood has just entered the theatre escorted by her husband. She stops to introduce him to a lady who immediately greets him as Mr. Wood. Mr. Weaver is now leaning against a post muttering dark things about casting the first Lucy Stone. But the lights are dimming. It is now 8:50 and the curtain is up. That noise that you hear is the banging of seats and the rushing in of the last stragglers from the lobby. That hum is not static. It is just the light-hearted chatter of theatre parties sorting themselves out, and for the present I can hear nothing of what is being said on the stage.

"I have no clue, as yet, as to what kind of play it is. The scene is not laid in a library, so it can't be a mystery play; nor is it a garden set, so it can't be a romance. There is no preparation for any sort of a meal, so it probably is not a play of realism. It is just a vaguely familiar sort of sitting room, but there is not a scrap of chintz about, so it is clearly not an English comedy. Well, well, we must just be patient for a moment. That scenery is familiar—it cannot be the old last act of Momma Left Poppa—and yet—just a moment, folks. The usher says it is not, but it is the old third act set of Bigamists All, Mrs. Ingraham's last farce, now playing with the original cast and scenery in Chicago. Well, well, well—this is an adaptation all right. The bursts of applause that you have heard are the receptions accorded the various actors .... so far I have counted eight lines and four receptions. But the Star has made her entrance. I will let you listen to the applause for a moment. . . . According to the various comments arotind me she' is looking perfectly marvelous—much older—ten years younger—her clothes are beautiful—rather extreme—most unbecoming—she never looked better in her life. The applause continues which she acknowledges cheerfully and wholeheartedly—even going so far as to throw a kiss —and shake a roguish but admonishing finger at her too-enthusiastic supporters. This however docs not discourage the ushers who continue to clap as loudly as before. . . . But now the reception has abated—and the play seems to be getting under wav—it is undoubtedly a translation from the French—as all the male characters are addressed as "Monsieur". There seems to be some slight difference of opinion among the actors as to how "Monsieur" should be pronounced. There is, I am told, a GetTogether movement now being organized to alleviate that particular difficulty on the American stage. I might say here, that it is a very worthy object and deserving of your support.

SLIGHT diversion has been created .... some kind hearted people rather than disturb others by their late arrival had gathered in the back of the theatre—but have been unsuccessful in their attempts to remain there. The usher insists on seating them. This, folks, is great fun for the usher. The fact that everything is now quiet, and a particularly interesting scene in the play has been reached, will only add to her pleasure. Her march down the aisle, followed by the party, will be that much more effective, especially as it is a large party, and she has that many seats to bang. If she can only find the seats occupied, and has to rout out the intruders, and install the rightful owners—distracting everyone in the theatre and shattering the morale of the actors—her evening will have been complete.

"I can now begin to tell you something about the play. It seems that this girl wants a divorce—but her husband according to the will of a rich and deceased aunt, loses all his money if he is divorced within a year after his marriage—his aunt was not divorced and seemed to have had a grudge against it. It is a little hard to follow the story .... please stand by a moment. ..... Oh yes .... this is the idea. The husband and wife are arranging to be divorced quietly but to continue to appear as man and wife so that the husband can keep his money .... it's getting a little more complicated . . . . yes .... that's what I thought .... well, well, I'll be—I should say .... please stand by. . . . There! That's the end of the first act. If you listen carefully you can hear the audience as they go out to smoke. I will try and tell you what they are saying as they go by .... it is a beautiful play badly acted .... the actors are marvelous but they have no material . . . .Miss Linderi is lovely but the part is too much for her .... Miss Linden is lovely but of course its an actor-proof part ... Mr. Spelvin is not the type .... Mr. Spqlvin is a brilliant piece of casting .... the whole thing is terrible but the production is gorgeous .... it's too bad that such a good play has been given such a poor setting .... and so forth . . . . F. P. A. has just passed .... someone asked him what he thinks of it—and I believe he said 'It must have been two other fellows' but I can't have heard. The two actresses who originally rehearsed the star part have stopped to tell each other that Miss Linden is lovely but—. They are getting very friendly about it, and are promising to call each other up—soon. Charlie Towne is in the foyer showing Helen Hayes how Mrs. Fiske would have played the last scene. Oh! Did you hear that shriek of anguish? Someone asked Robert Benchley if Abie's Irish Rose was still running.

THE intermission is now over, and the second act is. on. This is laid in Amy's bedroom .... er ... . yes .... in Amy's bedroom—and Amy is divorced .... and now it appears that she has re-married secretly .... but is still pretending to be the wife of her first husband .... they arc at a house party .... and both her husbands are there—and .... and .... just a moment, folks .... her first husband has been allotted the same room .... and she is trying to conceal her second husband .... and .... and .... please stand by—the first husband is begging her to return to him .... and .... just a moment .... just a moment .... (strange voice) Station W. O. O. F. talking .... We arc broadcasting from the Rhinelander Theatre, New York, N. Y. Unfortunately owing to the extreme warmth of the —er—theatre—our announcer Mr. Grahame fainted away and has had to be removed to a cooler and quieter place. However, if you will tune in again at 10:50 he hopes to be sufficiently recovered to give you the final reports on the play Now You Tell One.

10:50 .... "Well, folks—here I am again, I'm sorry that your old uncle Graham passed out on you, but honestly that bed-room scene was so ... . the play is over and everyone. is going home .... at least leaving the theatre. There were eighteen curtain calls after the second act and three speeches, but the verdict seems to be that the play is a failure—that is, according to the remarks I have overheard from the throng of people who were crowding back stage to congratulate the actors. But that second act—I can only say go and see it yourself .... the theatre is dark and even the author has gone home, so good-night folks .... — good-night.

(Continued on page 76)

(Continued from page 38)

.... This is station W. O. O. F. broadcasting from the Rhinelander Theatre, New York City, N. Y. You have just been listening to Mr. Graham Grahame describing the first performance of the new comedy Now You Tell One. Tomorrow night Mr. Grahame will describe the first performance of The Confederate Soldier by George Kaufman and Marc Connelly—broadcasting from the Algonquin Theatre, New York City, N. Y.