The Stranger (by Leslie Reade; produced by Shepard Traube) is Producer Traube’s first Broadway show since he vaulted to prominence with Angel Street. Like Angel Street, it is a thriller laid in Victorian London. Unlike Angel Street, it is sadly lacking in thrills.
The scene is a workers’ club in a slum rife with Jack-the-Ripper murders; the stranger is an egotistical, foreign-born young cobbler (Eduard Franz) who is suspected of committing them. But from the outset he is made to seem so guilty that you never for a second doubt his innocence. Hence there is little suspense. With all the murders occurring off stage, there is even less excitement. And for all the flaring gaslight, there is no disturbing atmosphere. The play’s long suit, indeed, is talk. But the orating of the workers, the gabbling of an old crone, the fancy spouting of the stranger are seldom pertinent and never provocative.
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