Ten Minute Alibi (by Anthony Armstrong; Crosby Gaige & Lee Shubert, producers). London has been excited about this play for the past ten months, and no wonder. Less ghoulish than Rope's End, as cleverly constructed as A. A. Milne's classic thriller The Perfect Alibi, Playwright Armstrong's piece leaps nimbly over all the stenciled pitfalls which ensnare such pedestrian efforts as Keeper of the Keys (see p. 30).
An unprincipled villain named Sevilla (Stiano Braggiotti) is about to lure away to Paris Betty Findon (Daphne Warren Wilson), an impressionable young woman who does not know the horrid fate which awaits her in South America. Her childhood sweetheart, Colin Derwent (Bramwell Fletcher, a capable young Englishman returned to Broadway from Hollywood), can save her only by murdering Sevilla. A barrister, young Derwent has to use all the tricks his quick mind can provide to save himself from the gallows.
First he dreams the perfect murder. But when he puts it into execution he finds circumstances altered. His hand trembles. Sevilla's servant has not been sent away as Derwent had planned, but is waiting in the pantry for his apprehensive master's signal. Worse, the girl, too, is in the house. The results of Derwent's manipulations with a wall clock may puzzle you, but if you think it over a while you will find that Playwright Armstrong has played fair. Cleverest twist to the whole bag of theatrical tricks occurs when Derwent saves himself from detection by impulsively blurting the only truthful statement he makes during the police inquiry.
Let 'em Eat Cake (music & lyrics by George & Ira Gershwin respectively; book by George S. Kaufman & Morrie Ryskind; Sam Harris, producer). When the opening scene of this musicomedy began with the familiar martial strains of "Wintergreen for President," Manhattan first-nighters applauded happily. They recalled what a fine show Of Thee I Sing had been, leaned back in their seats to enjoy its sequel. But when the curtain fell on Let 'em Eat Cake there was an embarrassing dearth of applause. Critics and spectators went out grumbling that the nation's great musicomedy quadrivirate had lain down on their job, had served up a poorly warmed-over dish. If Let 'em Eat Cake was to repeat its predecessor's two-year run, its authors would have to do some fast and effective overhauling.
When Of Thee I Sing was produced, a Presidential election loomed. The show's political jibes were more sharply pointed with every edition of the newspapers. Let 'em Eat Cake concerns itself with a revolution and a dictatorship. Perhaps Messrs. Kaufman & Ryskind could have been more amusing had they chosen to square off at President Roosevelt and the NRA. Instead, their libretto wanders dreamily away into demented unreality.
President Wintergreen (William Gaxton) is on the verge of being defeated for reelection. To no avail do his constituents parade with posters proclaiming: HE KEPT US OUT OF WORK, WINTERGREEN WANTS WINTERGREEN, MRS. WINTERGREEN WANTS WINTERGREEN, WINTERGREEN WANTS MRS. WINTERGREEN. His opponent's adherents advertise: JOHN P. TWEEDLEDEE IS A MOOSE, TWEEDLEDEE IS AN ELK, TWEEDLEDEE IS A HORSE'S NECK.