"Red Hair", the offering which opened yesterday at the Metropolitan, had as its first shot a color photo of Clara Bow feeding fish to a tired pelican. The point wasn't wholly clear to us at the moment, but just a little more of Clara Bow made the allegory oh, so clear. Elinor Glyn wrote it, Clara Bow acts in it, and there you are. Bubbles McCoy (and you can go ahead and guess who in Hollywood would play a part with a name like that) has an opportunity to do plenty of the familiar pouting, and the unintimate undressing that has made her so--well, that has made her. She twinkled at a dear old roue and the lady that is always nearby said: "She's got an idea." We didn't look quick enough, maybe.

The innocuous Mr. Rodemich with flow of good humor and bursting jazz of brass was on hand; in fact, he introduced one of those silent tramps as "possibly the most imitative of pantomime artists". There were views of mountain Formosa, with our old friend the leafy branch waving from the right, to make it real and make you forget that the same branch was held in the same position in the Caucasus a month ago. The Wainwright Sisters sang in the Duncanesque manner and "Mephistophele" made a pleasant enough operatic tableau. But for a general opinion one is obliged to rely again on the lady behind, who clucked at the nonchalant and almost naked Formosan headhunter, saying, "We'd look like that too, if we didn't get any attention."