THE THEATERS

"This Year of Grace," a regue by Noel Coward, presented at the Selwyn Theater under the direction of Arch Selwyn, with a cast containing the author, composer and Miss Beatrice Lillie.

AS THE author and composer of "This Year of Grace" Mr. Noel Coward last night was a benefaction. His songs and satires were of an upper class, ranging from competent to superlative, and the fleet manner in which they sped along made Mr. Cochran's London revue one of the merriest, of its closet type. Mr. Coward was not, however, so brilliant as a musical comedian. Unendowed with the impish attributes of a clown, his efforts were slightly laborious, and he sang in a weedy voice and danced with small facility. But when he grew dramatic in a tragic number reminiscent of his famous "Poor Little Rich Girl" he stirred his audience to transports similar to those he used to arouse in "The Vortex." Entitled "Dance, Little Lady," it was quite a grisly warning to the black-bottomers.

as the summit of the burlesque achievements of the autumn of 1928.

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"This Year of Grace" is a plain spectacle, not to be compared to the Broadway durbars of Mr. White and Mr. Carroll, and plumes and rosettes are absent from what Mr. Woollcott used to term the decor. Except for the miraculous waltzing of Mr. George Fontana and Miss Marjorie Moss, it is, in the matter if beauty, no great shakes, as Mr. St. John Ervine would call it. Mr. Walkley once said of Pavlowa that she was not like flame and wind, but that flame and wind were like her. I wish I had time to think of something equally classic to remark about the dancing of Miss Moss. But, as the foreman of the pressroom, has just reminded me. I am not, at present, writing for "The Atlantic Monthly," and I shall have to postpone a record of my enjoyment of Miss Moss's iridescent and bubble dancing until some time in the hereafter.

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"This Year of Grace" is a plain spectacle, not to be compared to the Broadway durbars of Mr. White and Mr. Carroll, and plumes and rosettes are absent from what Mr. Woollcott used to term the decor. Except for the miraculous waltzing of Mr. George Fontana and Miss Marjorie Moss, it is, in the matter if beauty, no great shakes, as Mr. St. John Ervine would call it. Mr. Walkley once said of Pavlowa that she was not like flame and wind, but that flame and wind were like her. I wish I had time to think of something equally classic to remark about the dancing of Miss Moss. But, as the foreman of the pressroom, has just reminded me. I am not, at present, writing for "The Atlantic Monthly," and I shall have to postpone a record of my enjoyment of Miss Moss's iridescent and bubble dancing until some time in the hereafter.