The five Dionne sisters are starring in their first feature picture, "The Country Doctor", the Metropolitan this week. All who are fond of watching bits of infancy, and seeing quintuple at that, will be delighted to hear that there is plenty of the Dionne petites frolicking about their luxurious nursery, registering all sorts of emotions to anyone with a sympathetic imagination, and knocking over miniature chairs when told to be little ladies. The gruff brat-baiters, on the other hand, will find plenty of diversion in the career of Jean Hersholt, playing the staunch country doctor.

A callow youth is scarcely a judge in such matters, but to the Moviegoer the young Dionnes look like handsome lassies. Your intellectual friends may excoriate with supercilious scorn the softheaded sentimentality of a public that will go wild over the product of an extraordinary accouchement. But have another look at the babes before you snoor. Besides the appeal of their tiny smiles, there is an unquestionable charm in their fivences.

There is a long and arduous preparation for the entrance of the five. It is conducted by Joan Hersholt, giving us a Dr. Dafoe who struggles valiantly and gently for human life in every emergency, but can't remember to take the price tags off his clothes or buy his license to practice. What he needs above all is a hospital for his trusting charges, and it is the miraculous birth that comes as a providential means of answering his prayer. There are surly villians, too, and problems of love, but are automatically overthrown and solved, respectively, in the doctor's hour of triumph. Then the quins frisk about for a while, and the picture draws to a happy close.

On the stage is "La Fiesta", with Spain in its name, its scenery, a singer, and some voluptuous Dancing Senoritas. Somehow Regis Toomy fits into this, and he is entertaining for a while. But Eddie Cantor's Mad Russian is as maddening as his boss, and makes one forget how agreeably short the vaudeville really is.