Faust. Wrapped with the finest trappings of the Theatre Guild and propelled by delicious off-stage airs, Goethe's masterpiece was revealed to Manhattan theatregoers as a tedious, mouthy drama several acts too long. There were moments when it was possible to believe in Mephistopheles, as played by Dudley Digges, an urbane and prowling devil; but his villainies were those of a barroom miscreant, his sacrilegious witticisms those of a sophomore, and it was impossible to get excited about the events which led up to the doctor's tragedy.
Faust (George Gaul) was seen early in the evening, moaning his discontent. Though often he voiced the assurance that he was thinking profound thoughts, his bombastic manner of doing so made you think he was lying. His intellectual hauteur had grown somewhat to resemble Gene Tunney's when finally the devil appeared with promises of pleasure. In the first moment of action on the stage and one in which for an instant the enchantments of the underworld seemed real, Faust wrapped his cloak around him and flew with his companion through the dark air in search of gaudy cities and delight.
The second act, due to the exquisite awkwardness and charm of Helen Chandler, seemed convincing and almost sufficiently beautiful to be exciting. Faust, having regained his youth, met Margaret and loved her despite the fact that he had made a bargain for his soul. First he sent his devil carrying presents to her, then he seduced her and finally killed her brother who attempted, idiotically enough, to defend his sister's honor. Faust dared to return later to Margaret, but, infected with diabolical and tragic cowardice, he did not dare to stay.
It was very painful to observe that Lee Simonson's settings, in which a pointed arch at the back of the stage became a frame for pictures of the sky or country, and Wolfgang Zeller's curious songs, were far superior to the play itself. Possibly this was due to the dull fervors of translation; but the only epigram which Mephistopheles achieved, though he was forever trying, was this: "He died like a good Christian for he had much to repent."
The Little Accident. When faced with the problem of making a play out of Floyd Dell's The Unmarried Father, Novelist Dell and Playwright Thomas Mitchell realized that it would be necessary to change the name of the book. The Little Accident was their idea of an improvement; but, having contributed this, they kept their fingers out of the butter and effected a thoroughly charming comedy.
Skeleton plot: a college youth, on the eve of marriage, is informed that one of his old extra-campus acquaintances has given birth to a child of which he is the father. He therefore proposes marriage to the brat's mother who impudently refuses, preferring to study art in Paris. The youth discovers his child in a foundling hospital and steals it; he is pursued by the daughter of a boardinghouse keeper and also by his fiancee. Too soon, it seemed to the audience, weary of their company, Norman Overbeck made amends with his original flame and they were wed.