The Crimson Playgoer

"Tovarich" is a delicious mixture of first-rate humor and first-rate drama. The situation of the old Russian aristocracy reduced to romantic humility is saved from triteness by the simple addition of four billion francs, entrusted by the old tsar to the Grand Duchess Tatiana Petrovna and her consort, Prince Mikail Alexandrovitch Ouratieff, to be delivered to the new tsar whenever he should ascend the imperial throne.

In these two charmingly mad Russians, therefore, there must be combined with the resourcefulness of living on no income, the fortitude to leave untouched the largest account in the Bank of France.

Before they get jobs, the Grand Duchess and the Prince not only use the subtle wiles of conferring lofty titles on their landlords, but are also driven to a little plain theft. When they learn that the French government, highly solicitous of such unusual guests, has been having the grocers look the other way while Her Highness lifts a few artichokes, they are righteously enraged at the mean deception practiced upon them.

Then they get jobs as butler and maid, signing their own references, and each enslaves in the bonds of love the members of the family of the opposite sex. All is exceedingly merry until Commissar Gorotchenko appears. He has been immoderately unkind to both of them, and they pelt him with clever invective when he interviews them in the kitchen.

When, however, he asks for the four billion to save Russian oil fields from the English, Dutch, French, and Americans, and argues that since the Tsar was Russia's the Tsar is not dead, he is granted his request. As he leaves, the Grand Dutchess shouts at him "Tovarich", which is Russian for comrade.

All very simple-minded, but none the less effective what with its thick coat of humor and its exuberant heroic pair, who find life "so beautiful and so sad."

Marta Abba, the Grand Dutchess, although an Italian actress, speaks English with a thrilling Russian accent. She has all the fervor that the part requires, and her sudden shifts from the sublime to the petty are brilliant.

Rudolf Forster, an Austrian, makes his accent sound just like Miss Abba's, and he is just as splendid in his mad Russian gusto, although he shows the restraint befitting a prince consort. Equal praise is due the rest of the cast, as well as Robert Sherwood, who did the translation from the French of Jacques Deval.