Love for Love

Love for Love, a comedy written by Mr. Congreve, is now being produced at the Loeb by Messrs. Vachon, Chapman, Soule and Warburg and by Mrs. Liepmann. They have no first names, or at least the program, a self-consciously cute tribute to Restoration taste, omits them. Unamused but undaunted, I am able to report to you that the Messrs. and the Mrs. have designed and constructed the most pleasing theatrical evening on the main stage this year.

The comedy written by Mr. Congreve is, to be sure, a play of tesserae: nostalgic, constant lovers and great, howling boobies follow each other across the stage with disconcerting briskness, like the well-oiled clockwork figures in the bell tower of some provincial Rathaus. But Mr. Chapman, to revert to the first clever and devastating simile, has fitted all the pieces together with skill and patience, and his Love for Love, consequently, has a coherence and a unity that Mr. Congreve's own play, in cold print, does not.

Much of this coherence would not, it is true, have been achieved without the active efforts of the very articulate group of principals that Mr. Chapman has been able to assemble. Mr. Haskell, the Valentino (and the Alceste of George Hamlin's Misanthrope this summer), displays an admirable versatility simply by appearing in his part. But he is more than versatile: his Valentino is a first-rate blend of the faithful and the faltering, the amused and the bemused. Miss Stearns, the Angelica, has a bit of a squint, but it is not distracting--indeed, it transforms her seeming aloofness into something serene and untroubled.

In the booby roles, Mr. Chapman has been most fortunate. Mr. Lyons (Donald, is it not?) has been great before, but as the astrologically minded Foresight he has a chance to overact to perfection. This ancient of days has a small and ugly beard which just horizontally from his chin, a tottering gait, and a bottomless stock of half-completed, fluttering and totally impotent hand gestures. To which is added an unpredictable voice that shouts its superstitions in a surprising variety of registers. Mr. Abbott, actor, director, and critic, is Sir Sampson Legend, Valentino's Squire Western of a father. Occasionally he seems to slip from gruffness into his accustomed wearied and mannered style, but for the most part his Legend is every bit the landed Tory blockhead.

The female comics are a Miss Milgrim and a Miss Vogel, who play Mrs. Frail, a fashionable lady of little virtue and less money, and Miss Prue, Angelica's country cousin. The one is bright and fatigued; and the other, buxom and spirited, sports a North Country accent that would warm the cold heart of Albert Ramsbottom's dad.

Valentino's two friends, Scandal the misanthrope and Tattle the fop, are presented by Messrs. Rawson and Schmidt. Mr. Rawson has been dressed up to look like the Merry Monarch, but he sounds like Chris Rawson, which is somehow wrong. Mr. Schmidt postures very fastidiously.

Despite all this excellence, the major credit must still redound to Mr. Chapman, and his associates the Messrs. and the Mrs. Mr. Soule has never created a more serviceably elegant set, Mrs. Liepmann more gorgeous costumes, or Mr. Warburg more tasteful lighting. And certainly Mr. Chapman has never before come up with so spirited or so captivating a show. Love for Love gives you worth for your money.