"Countess Maritza" is about as lucid a reason for incessant warfare in the Balkans as has been discovered in many moons. Any 100 percent Balkan state which sees itself portrayed as the anonymous one in this piece does cannot but go home thoroughly determined to rearrange the map's bit.

If there had not been so many, many operettas like this one in the past months, it is quite conceivable that "Countess Maritza" might be called a hit. It may be one anyhow. But somehow the fad for gypsies and Hungarian chateaus has passed on.

If there were one redeeming feature, if would be pleasant enough to say that here is a moderately entertaining, musical play. But in honesty one must confess that even this one consolation is absent. The costumes are colorful, but that in itself goes but a short way; the music is innocuous, and only one tune, "Play Gypsics", at all demands attention. It has been and gone in popular fancy having had its hey-day a year ago.

But miserable indeed are the attempts at humor. Most musical plays try hard to coax a laugh, usually failing utterly. Here the coaxing is incessant and the results beggar description. If you get a good laugh you get your money back.

The impression thus far obtained is no doubt that the Shubert is no place for a sane man. Far be it from this reviewer to be so dogmatic as that. There are undoubtedly those who will think "Countess Maritza" is just great, but to the intelligent part of the population, that part at any rate which has been to an operetta, say, just once before, let these words be a warning