House of Flowers (book by Truman Capote; music by Harold Arlen; lyrics by Capote and Arlen) has a good deal of what its title evokes. Out of a West Indian yarn of high-toned rival bordellos, of Mardi gras and cockfights and voodoo worship, spill brilliant color, exotic fragrance and tropical profusion. To be sure, the very things that give House of Flowers its charm and freshness also tend, after a while, to drain them away. For flowers wilt, and scent induces drowsiness.
But beyond the fine single things it boasts—the Negro dancing and Oliver Messel's wonderful sets and costumes—House of Flowers is...
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