Of the many types of musical comedy, ranging from the regal romance, laden with sobs, wishy-washy waltzes, and heavy footed comedians, through the blonde-chorused extravaganza with its endless array of stars, to the so-called "intimate" type, the last named is usually more dependable. Some pleasant tunes, a voice or two, a bit of fun, and a few good dancers, strung together on a thread of a plot, can fill an evening very happily. If the plot is stretched to an extreme fineness, almost all individuality removed from the music, and the good voice or two done away with, very little seems to remain. Yet on such a frail basis is built "Judy", which came to the Hollis Monday night, en route for New York, and a thoroughly entertaining evening it affords.

"Judy" is the most intimate of intimate musical comedies, the last word in informality. For a large part of the play, plot is disregarded, and everyone on the stage proceeds to have a good time. So does everyone in the audience. There is no attempt made at ostentation--absolute lack of fuss or pretense of any kind is one of the show's chief charms We are all so accustomed to the professional air in musical comedy, where the audience is patronized and made to feel it will get its money's worth and no more, that the unstudied informality and zest of "Judy" is refreshing.

Above all, though, the show is fast. Everyone dances: almost all of them competently, some well--at least one; Edward Allen, in a Buster West sort of tumble, superbly. At the rise of the curtain the play achieves a headlong velocity which it strives to keep up all evening for the most part with good success. This swift tempo is largely due to the chorus, the "Twelve Judy Joyous Joy Walkers", very rightly headlined. Almost everyone of the dozen, besides doing splits, turning cartwheels, and kicking head-high, does a specialty of some sort. Together they frisk and float about the stage with a joyful zest and verve, doing more than their share of the work. Moreover, they do it as if it were play.

Mere mention that a song called "Cinderella" occurs in the first act, will explain the plot sufficiently. "Wear Your Sunday Smile" and the title song "Judy", pleasant and innocuous, are the songs sold at the door. As for the cast, Patti Harrold, dainty and unstudied, makes a charming heroine; Robert Armstrong, obviously out of place in musical comedy, a not-so-good hero. George Meeker, Edward Allen, and Frank Beaston, as Tom, Dick, and Harry, furnish the bulk of the humor, which depends more on their own antics than the rather weak book. Mr. Beaston especially stands out.

The evening's brightest spot is the song and dance concerning the days "When Gentlemen Wore Whiskers and Ladies Grew Old." The men with beard-swathed faces, the girls with wasp waists and bustles, do a burlesque which is positively classic. It alone would be worth the price of admission and the sacrifice of an evening's time, even if "Judy" were no good. Fortunately, however, because of its refreshing informality and its speed, "Judy" is good.