The Cavalier daily :: Wednesday, December 2, 1970 :: University of Virginia Library

NEW YORK - Thus far, this
Broadway season is proving to be a
bit different from most in that
there have been more apparent box
office hits than failures. Below is a
summary of four of the new shows
which seem to be settling into
comfortable runs.

"Conduct Unbecoming"

Barry England's "Conduct
Unbecoming," which has been
imported from London, concerns
two young men who enlist in the
Indian Army in the late nineteenth
century. Drake, eager to pursue a
career in the military, takes a
serious outlook on his new life
while Millington, the son of a
former general, jokes and jests and
tries to get himself discharged in
any way possible. Then, a charge is
laid against Millington, a charge
that he attacked an attractive
widow in the bushes one night.
With Drake as his defense counsel,
he is quietly brought before a
kangaroo court made up of other
officers, who seem more interested
in convicting the chap than in
uncovering the truth.

After a relatively slow-moving
first act, this evolves into an
absorbing whodunit once the trial
begins and perhaps even a bit more
once Mr. England brings the
morality of the regiment into
question. The only disappointment
is in the play's resolution which,
though psychologically plausible I
suppose, unfortunately raises as
many questions as it answers and
seems just a trifle contrived.

Mr. England's writing is
occasionally cliched and his plot
structure isn't as air-light as it
should be, but he has a flair for
characterization and a knack for
building tension. Add to this the
smart direction of Val May and a
strong cast, splendidly headed by
Jeremy Clyde as Millington and
Paul Jones as Drake, and the result
is a rather intriguing entertainment.

"Bob & Ray - The Two & Only"

Another pleasing entry, this one
on the light side, is "Bob and
Ray - The Two and Only," in which
Bob Elliott and Ray Goulding
display the magnetic personalities
which have made them radio
favorites for years. The revue,
which director Joseph Hardy has
adroitly staged against a cluttered
attic setting, affectionately satirizes
the broadcast media.

The two men assume many
different identities for a succession
of interviews and create characters
such as Wally Ballou, an inept
man-on-the-street interviewer; Gabe
Preston, a luckless news
correspondent; David Chetley, a
commentator with a William
Buckley vocabulary; and the
president of the STOA (The Slow
Talkers of America), to name but a
few.

It's a very short show, but while
it lasts it is quite ingratiating. I
doubt if you'll feel short-changed,
for the material is often humorous
and Bob and Ray are thoroughly
likeable fellows who make for good
company.

"The Rothschilds"

The season's first musical, "The
Rothschilds," chronicles that
celebrated family's rise from the
ghetto of Frankfort to a position of
financial power and influence
throughout Europe. This story of
an oppressed yet ambitious Jew and
his five sons has a built-in ethnic
drawing power on Broadway which
will add months to its run, but it
also has an insurmountable built-in
railing in that we are never able to
really care about all except maybe
one of the characters.

Trying to pinpoint precisely
where an unsatisfying musical went
wrong is always tricky business, but
I think in this case the primary
cause of death can be traced to the
fact that composer Jerry Bock and
lyricist Sheldon Harnick have
written too many expository songs
and too few which convey and
heighten the emotions of the
principal characters. In any event,
the score is fairly insipid, and most
of it is easily forgettable. As for
Sherman Yellen's book, it has a
considerable number of laughs, but
seems in need of more, well,
personality.

As Mayer Rothschild, a cross
between an honest Fagin and a
megalomaniacal Tevye. Hal Linden
radiates much warmth and cultured
talent, and he has the good fortune
to have the show's only distinctive
songs, "One Room" (which he sings
with his wife, convincingly played
by Leila Martin) and "In My Own
Lifetime." Paul Hecht turns in a
fine performance as son Nathan
(the only son focused on to any
significant extent and awkwardly at
that) and Keene Curtis does well in
his four important roles.

John Bury's costumes are
stunning and Michael Kidd's staging
is often impressive. But, unless it
was extensively re-written, I don't
think "The Rothschilds" could get
off the ground even if NASA put it
atop the Saturn 5.

"Home"

There is no danger in a critic's
turning thumbs down on a piece of
theatre such as "The Rothschilds."
Yet there is definitely a personal
danger incurred when he
rejects a serious drama which
has been hailed by fellow critics on
both sides of the Atlantic, for
immediately cries of "shallow
mind" and "pseudo-intellect" are
heard from those studious people
who would like to make you think
that symbols are everything and
that deep insights into the human
condition automatically make a
play great.

Well, I have always maintained
that no matter what other qualities
a play may have, it must first be
interesting or entertaining if it is to
succeed. I am firm in that belief
and I shall always write my true
impressions and I found David
Storey's "Home" to be a total bore
in spite of the triumphant
performances of John Gielgud and
Ralph Richardson. Mr. Storey's
style of writing is comparable to
that of Samuel Beckett - short
thoughts, abrupt stops, many pauses
- whose style has never been
particularly to my liking.

"Home" is about two men and
two women (there is a third man,
but his is a very minor role) who
talk to each other, reminisce about
their empty pasts, and try to find a
little pleasure in their daily
routines. They are, we are slowly
made aware, patients at a mental
institution.

Sirs Gielgud and Richardson are
nothing short of great and their
female counterparts, Dandy Nichols
and Mona Washbourne, are almost
their equals. Still, the play, which
has been well directed by Lindsay
Anderson, isn't worthy of them. I
should make it clear that my
objections stem primarily from my
disenchantment with this type of
theater in general. I am sure
"Home" is a philosophically astute
work, yet it is intolerably dull and
therefore, by my standards, a
theatrical dud.