In an effort to bring the "finer things in life" to such provinces as Chickasha, Okla., and Herkimer, N.Y., moviemakers have turned in recent years to the extravaganza bulging with classical music and them what plays it. One now touring the outlying districts and only just returned to Boston "at popular prices" is "Carnegie Hall." It has everything! Really it has.

It has the New York Philharmonic Symphony Orchestra conducted by Stokowski, Rodzinski, Walter, and Damrosch--at different times, of course. It has Heifetz, Rubenstein, Pinza, Piatigorsky, and other artists. It has Vaughn Monroe and Harry James. It has an insipid plot that runs contrapuntal to Beethoven's "Fifth" and Tehaikovsky's "Piano Concerto"--you know ... "Tonight we love ... la, la, la, etc ..."

Yes, it has all the oldies--classical "standards," if you wish. The thing's glutted with them. But the plot--ah, the plot--it keeps gooing in. Marsha Hunt maudles the part of the mother who plans a concert pianist's career for her son, Tony. Miraculous point of the picture is the maintenance of Miss Hunt's girlish appearance throughout Tony's growth to manhood. Only when dewy-eyed Miss Hunt hears Tony break from Bach into jazz does a great gob of cornstarch fall on her hair and remain from that day forward.

Working on the theory that if classical stuff doesn't get them, the popular surely will, whoever should be held responsible has also injected the manly voice of Vaughn Monroe backed by an orchestra he leads. But more popular still should be the finale when dewy-eyed, earnstarched-haired Miss Hunt sits in Carnegie Hall listening lachrymosely to Tony lead his own composition which features the caterwaul of Harry James' trumpet. It has everything!