The Theater: One, Two, Three–Go

To G.I.s, a wintry, curfewed Paris seemed much gayer last week: up near the Arc de Triomphe a Stage Door Canteen —or Cabaret des Troupes Alliées—had opened and was going full blast. Inside a day or two, in fact, it was frantically yelling for more hostesses, and the orchestra, plagued by boys who wanted to dance every second, was already dying on its derrières.

The Canteen’s gala opening had been more Irish than French—it lasted three nights. The first night, a sort of benefit running to diamonds rather than dog tags, was the biggest social event in Paris since the liberation. In a whirl of color, General Joseph-Pierre Koenig, the British Ambassador and Lady Diana Duff Cooper, Prince Achille Murat. Lucien Lelong and a host of other celebrities drank champagne at $30 a bottle, netted the Canteen almost $10,000.

Heroine of the second night—for specially invited G.I.s of the Allied nations—was Marlene Dietrich, who came from the front, sang in her sultry contralto, danced with a delirious private, and was virtually torn to pieces trying to get to her dressing room.

The third night was the real opening: first come, first served. At 8 p.m., two hours after the doors opened, a thousand men stood in line outside, while inside the band blared, the French hostesses valiantly attempted English, even more valiantly attempted jive, looked relieved when they lighted on a Frenchman.

The big special show opened with Noel Coward, who got royally booed by the boys from Brooklyn, then conquered even them with Mad Dogs and Englishmen. But it was greying, ingratiating Maurice Chevalier, with his bawdy wisecracks and old U.S. song hits, who pulled the roof down. When the band struck up the same exit-tune the Canteen plays in Manhattan —Good Night, Sweetheart—the boys balked at leaving. They had finally found just what they wanted—something both redolent of Paris and reminiscent of home.