It is perhaps the maddest, most riotous comedy of the last generation which is currently rollicking across the screen of the University Theatre under the title "Bringing Up Baby." It concerns leopards, prehistoric bones, big game hunters, a cartload of hens and ducks, and a singularly unaccomodating little wire-haired terrier called "George." It shows Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant wandering in and about golf courses, forests, and a Connecticut jail in search of "Baby"--the young leopard, and vaguely hoping to recover Mr. Grant's most precious possession: the intercostal clavicle of a prehistoric brontosaurus. It enlists the services of such tried-and-true comedians as Charlie Ruggles, Walter Catlett, and May Robson, and includes every conceivable sort of comedy from the broadest slapstick to the subtlest incongruity. Largely through the efforts of Miss Hepburn, who has discovered a delightful flair for this sort of thing, but also through the cleverness of Mr. Grant, who plays the constantly thwarted zoologist to perfection, it succeeds in keeping the audience in an uproar for a solid hour and a half--which is certainly the highest recommendation one can possibly give this sort of film.

Happily enough, the co-feature, "Mannequin," is also good. Joan Crawford, cast to type as a hard-working tenement girl, and Spencer Tracy, a human, two-fisted boss of the waterfront, set out to prove the highly dubious proposition that a girl, madly in love with one man, can marry another for money and then proceed to forges the first in favor of the second. One has the impression that the authors changed their minds several times in the course of writing the story; but it does have the great virtue of novelty, and, in addition, provides opportunity for a high type of dramatic acting, and succeeds on this account.