Hollywood has scaled Olympus, the impossible has been attained--gentlemen, for the first time in cinema history a child actor has appeared who is wholly natural, who does not simper, who is not affected, who is genuinely likeable, and who is really amusing. Journey to the Met this week, if examinations possibly permit, if only to revive a rapidly vanishing belief in miracles.
Shirely Temple, and God only knows where they found such a wonder, is just the kind of five year-old you would want for a sister if you bad to have one, and the present rovlower can think of no higher compliment. The poise of the child is truly beyond belief, and must be seen to be appreciated.
The plot is not too original, but is hardly noticed. The little gal falls into the hands of shady racing characters and by her juvenile winsomeness reforms even the most hardened of the toughs. As the chief male character, Adolphe Menjou is satisfactory, and Charles Bickford is his usual self as Big Stove, the head of the guys.
The stage show in like all Metropolitan stage shows with an elaborate and over-Iengthy ballet and song business, followed by Fabien Sevitsky and his merry men, booming away in "Scheherazade."
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