Broadway knows both Clifford Goldsmith and George Abbot as sure-fire when it comes to drawing in the crowds. Goldsmith does not waste his time writing unsuccessful plays, and Abbot, makes a living out of the money he puts into the theatre. It is therefore a somewhat sorry shock to seee "Mr. Cooper's left Hand."

It begins to appear that we shall never be rid of the adolescent problem in American society. From the immensely funny "Brother Rat" to "Mr. Cooper's Left Hand," almost every possible joke about the teen-age boy or girl has been invented or exhumed. The wear and tear on such plots and gag-situations has been beyond belief, but the new show at the Wilbur shows the-horrible position in a new light.

It has never been apparent why such shows as "Kiss and Tell," "Janie," and "Junior Miss" have been considered at all funny. As James Agee pointed out in a different vein, they are interesting in the same way that a slide of cancer tissue would be interesting. To all but the most hardened optimists, the uncanny accuracy of these shows would appear to signal, with the maturity of the children depicted, the final blow-up of middle-class society. But still they keep coming.

Whatever laughs arise in the darkened Wilbur spring from the wondrous dead-pan of Stuart Erwin, who is the father. Other people walk around the stage as the plot thickens, but he is the only one even mildly out of type. If this is the best George Abbot, one of the best producers around, can do in the way of entertainment, one can see why the Broadway critics are predicting the slow death of the legitimate theater. In silent moments at the Wilbur, one can almost hear the final, choking rattle. pro