Not that it has ever failed to give one one's money's worth, but this week the Metropolitan gives interest--huge interest--in that Cupid-like "Barnum of Bandland," the rotund Paul Whiteman. But it has long been our opinion that Paul not only possesses his share of avoirdupois but also a proportionate amount or that something known as "it." To say the least, he and his music fill the mammoth Met stage as it has never been filled before with beats and throbs and sobs of soulful syncopation. In fact, Paul, surrounded by a more admirable bevy of beauties, more satisfactory dancers, and more lavish scenes than the Met ever has had, is King Jazz in a musical paradise--no less.

The film is also well adapted to the revue. One is thankful that he can turn to the refreshing scenery of the Ozarks after the dazzling artificiality of the stage programme. Harold Bell Wright's "Shepherd of the Hills" is much better in film form than as a novel, because it reveals the heart of the Arkansas-Missouri Ozarks in all their beauty, picturesqueness, and wildness. In a glorious setting we have a typical elemental drama of emotion among the Arkansas mountain folk. Feuds, stills, stark love, stark hate, stark death, are all mixed in best First National style. The conglomeration, however, is successful and the film deserves to be shown in the same theatre at which Paul Whiteman and his kingly entourage plays "Rhapsody in Blue."