When the HDC wheeled Monty. Woolley onto the stage last night, it ended a series of artistic experiments and popular failures. By giving up on experimental drama and producing "The Man Who Came to Dinner," the club has turned out a tremendously amusing show. It isn't art, but there are lots of laughs.

The piece itself would be difficult to spoil. Kaufman and Hart's lampooning of Alexander Woolcott and a few of his friends is full of full-step jokes, slapstick, and broad humor. The cast that Directors Miller and Seaver have put around Woolley is adequate in all parts, really capable in only a few; but it played last night to the best of its abilities, muffed no lines, and kept the play going when The Man was offstage.

There is very little that one can really say about Woolley's performance. He knows the part well-obviously, since he is the inventor of it, he plays it beautifully and with perfect shading--he ought to, for he had played it long enough. without him to play Sheridan Whiteside, it would have been complete lunacy for the HDC to attempt a production of this play. No matter how many productions of this perennial favorite you may have seen, when Woolley emits his first line, you know that the right man is in the wheelchair.

The most consistent good support came from the female players. Gail Winslow as Maggie Cutler and Pola Chasman as Lorraine Sheldon were the most able, a happy chance considering the amount of plot and dialogue that depends on them. Barbara Nathan as an adoring, breathless, and retired Lizzy Borden, makes more of her short part than anyone else in the east. She is genteel and delicately loony with the greatest charm.

The only man who spoiled his part was Paul Sparer as Bert Jefferson, the young editor and romantic lead. He never was able to act with the conviction of the others on stage. Peter Dibble's Dr. Bradley, John Mannick's Mr. Stanley, and David Bowen's Beverly Carlton were all capable, though not inspired performances. Bob Cipes as Banjo made the most of the action and the least, of his lines--but they're very funny lines, and it didn't matter much.

To quibble with acting, in this case, is not to question the success of the play. There probably will be people who don't think This Sort of Thing should be put on by a Harvard dramatic group. They are wrong; this Kaufman and Hart is as good theater as Giradoux and as some Shakespeare. The HDC has a fine show this fortnight.