Simple Simon is the newest enterprise of Florenz (Follies) Ziegfeld. It sets a record for decorum exceeding even that of the latest Fred Stone revel (TIME, Feb. 24), probably not equalled since the belles of another generation swished their skirts naughtily in the direction of bald heads' row. Its dialog scarcely even alludes to any difference between the sexes and whenever any of its chorines appears in tights she is so drenched in colored lights, so safely enrapt in fantasy, that she might as well be wearing a mackintosh.
Ed Wynn is the featured jester: he who is plump and lisping, who wears horn glasses and exhibits inventions. This year he has fashioned a nightdress guaranteed not to become uncomfortably entwined about the body — it is truncated under the arms. As a Coney Island shop-owner who falls asleep and dreams of Fairyland, he wanders into enchanted woods. "I love the woods," he continually explains. There he is troubled by large and grotesque faces, by a contortionistic frog. He tells a story of a carrier pigeon whose wings were injured but who still managed to reach his destination. "Gee," he exclaims, "were his feet sore!"
Harriet Hoctor, one of the few musi- comedy dancers who is still billed as premiere danseuse, justifies the title by leading the chorus, all attired in crimson riding habits, through a maze of green hurdles. And there is Ruth Etting, a pensive blonde who sings one of the best tunes Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart ever wrote — "I Still Believe You.'' Children will hugely enjoy Simple Simon; their elders may profitably join them.
Ed Wynn (Edwin Leopold) lives with his wife and child in Great Neck, L. I. The son of a Philadelphia milliner, he acted as a boy in a barnstorming troupe. His father had other ideas, sent him to the University of Pennsylvania, then out on the road to sell hats. But the son revolted, became a low-comedy vaudevillian, remained one for eleven years. In 1914 he was given a part in the Ziegfeld Follies. Other Wynn appearances were in The Perfect Fool, Grab Bag, Manhattan Mary.
Those We Love. If the prevalence of a dramatic theme is any indication of the mores of the general public, then the U. S. must be full of married couples who are trying to decide whether occasional infidelities, particularly the husband's, affect what they refer to as their love. George Abbot and S. K. Lauren have written a suburban drama, in which the former appears, about a novelist who goes to a hotel with a discontented matron Awhile his wife is out of town. He is duly repentant and places no great significance on his sexual tangent. The wife is rather distraught and decides upon a separation, even though it means unpleasantness for their young son who has been home from preparatory school while the adultery was being exposed. But when matters are explained to the boy he professes a tolerant love for his father, which stimulates the wife to do the same.
Because it suggests how completely disagreeable the results of man's illicit motions toward pleasure are apt to be, this play is more persuasive than the outline would indicate. George Abbot presents an effortless, natural portrait of the casual Westchester man-of-letters. Edwin Phillips, as the son, is that great dramatic rarity —an accomplished, likeable adolescent.