Aleksandr Borodin's first musical since Prince Igor hit the boards in 1890 is an entertaining show, in spite of some remarkably shoddy ingredients. Unlike Igor, Kismet's big assist comes from Minsky rather than Rimsky. With the vigorous cootch dance that shocked Elinor Hughes on opening night, bare-tummied slave girls paraded "for sale or for rent," and a number of jokes like, "Call me in the harem; I'll be lying down there," Kismet is often indistinguishable from Harem Nights at the Old Howard. Further debits are abominable lyrics ("We'll coo adicu without undue ado"), a script short on humor of any kind, and except for a rather striking bridal procession, elementary and often drab settings by Lemuel Ayers.

What raises Kismet above the standard of an old Maria Montez movie are the engaging performances of a cast which refuses to take any of the show's claptrap seriously. Well-rehearsed after a West Coast run of two months, the company gambols through Kismet with good-natured case. Even the gauze-pantalooned houris in the chorus seem pleasantly aware of how silly they look and make the bad moments of the show so hilariously poor that you can't complain. On the other hand, thanks primarily to Alfred Drake, Kismet's good moments are very enjoyable indeed. In Otis Skinner's old role of the resourceful beggar who marries off his daughter to the Caliph, Drake is even more personable than he was in Kiss Mc Kate. Drake is onstage almost continuously, and his jaunty gusto as he revels in the foolishness of the script sets the tone and pace of the whole production. With a sturdy baritone and superb diction, Drake gives his songs far better treatment than they deserve, projecting all too clearly some atrocities in the lyrics, but making a number like "Gesticulate" seem quite imaginative.

With the exception of Glenn Burris, the Caliph, the other performers match Drake's buoyancy very well. Henry Calvin plays the Wazir of Police with a cheerful ghoulishness reminiscent of Fancourt's Mikado. In "Was I Wazir," with an accompaniment wisely lifted from Wonderful Town rather than In Central Asia,Calvin has one of the best bits in the show. Joan Diener, as the Wazir's crrant wife, is sultry and sarcastic, with a figure to please even the most myopic in the second balcony. With comic relish, she joins Drake in the slaughter of a smutty little horror called "Oasis of Delightful Imaginings" ("The breeze that cools the dunes there has an opposite effect on the pantaloons there."). Doretta Morrow is piquant as Kismet's sole ingenue, particularly in "Stranger in Paradise," the most successful hybrid of Borodin and Tin Pan Alley.

Though far less fortunate than the plunder of Gricg a few years back, the raid on Borodin produces a few trophics. At worst, there are atmospheric interludes of Hollywood Baghdad music, which permit the "Princesses of Ababu" to cavort around a palace pool obviously built in manual training class. At best, there are agreeable melodies to be ruined by the lyrics, and two lively numbers, "He's In Love" and the first act Finale. In any case, the music helps Kismet to whirl with amiable vulgarity through thirteen scenes, and the New York businessman will probably find the show a god-send for entertaining a Big Account.