New Theatre Workshop

Two one-act plays, by Harvey White and Deric Washburn, received an enthusiastic reception yesterday from a sizable mob of theatrical types and other mortals. Neither meaningless nor messianic, the two pieces display humor, occasional wit and much technical skill, and under the aegis of the Harvard Dramatic Club, they were well and speedily performed. Anyone who has a special interest in local dramatics should not fail to see them a repeat performance, today at 2:30 p.m.

White's The Cage, set in an extravagantly funny frame of tangled step-ladders and window-casings, concerns an encounter between a stranger and the residents of a thoroughly inhabited apartment house. The stranger has assumed responsibility for the continued existence of a squirrel, who has a careless habit of jumping off the apartment roof--always into the stranger's arms.

While waiting for the squirrel's next leap, the stranger becomes involved in a moralistic debate with the apartment denizens. He claims he always does what he likes; yet as the play develops, he emerges as the altruist responsible for the welfare of all living things. The squabbling and moody apartment dwellers serve as a foil to his Christianity. When through the (perhaps) jealousy, or pique, of one of them, the squirrel plunges to his death, the Christian exits to bury his prey, and the denizens resume their static gaze heavenward, half expecting to see a new squirrel take a tumble. If they experience a realization, it is a passive one.

In the long talk session leading to the squirrel's leap, White rather clearly delineates the opposing points of view: passivity vs. action, selfishness vs. altruism, irresponsibility vs. concern. And he does it quickly and lightly so his meaning is never a burden.

Under Duane Murner, who serves as both director and producer for the two plays--and serves very ably, too--an unevenly talented cast gives an energetic and convincing performance. Tom Griffin, in the role of the stranger, appears somewhat nervous; maybe he's supposed to be--I guess we all would, in that kind of company. Jim Swan, one of the College's most assured actors, leads the denizen crew with a misguided righteousness that very nicely constructs the mood for the rest. They are: Robert Schwartz, Richard Dozier, George de Menil, Travis Linn and Richard Fisher--with a special hello to Mr. Dozier. John Grace constructed the set; if he designed it, as well (the program doesn't say), he must be a very imaginative fellow.

Washburn's Hundred Dollar Rats depends largely upon characterization. Through repetitive statements that indicate they are perchance victims of some sort of mental imbalance his characters are carefully and knowingly sketched. Jack Houseman ("It's all the same--what does it matter") is very wealthy, very sick, and a collector of hideous Victorian furniture and bric-a-brac. His wife, Whiffy ("It's crazy! It's crazy!) doesn't really believe in collecting things, yet collects match covers avidly, wants to sell Jack's Victoriana for money, yet is terribly bored with money.

But not only Jack likes Victoriana. Of similar affections are rats, for whom Jack has no affection. Indeed, he has a mania, one might say. Where Jack's mania takes him is hard to tell. When at last an exterminator succeeds in catching a few rats, the rats start killing themselves off by eating gold leaf, becoming $100 rats.

The curtain falls with Jack, whose avarice is never really very convincing, staring wistfully at the bodies of $100 rats. If he has learned anything much, it is that one good way to kill rats is to feed them gold leaf. (Incidentally, there's lots of gold leaf available in Adams House, if any local, aspiring $100 rats are interested.)

Washburn's characters are solidly amusing. In the part of Jack, Richard Dozier performs with gusto and vehemence. And Mikel Lambert, in her farewell to the Harvard stage, draws a neat little caricature as his hollowing wife. Other sketches are by Swan, Schwartz, and Griffin, again, and by Linda Gerstenfeld.