The Iceman, after two postponements of opening nights, Cometh indeed. He was worth waiting for.

The current production is the work of an augmented version of the Charles Street Players, who did various things across the river last spring. The players now have a larger theater--tucked behind the Hotel Bradford, not far from the Shubert--and a conspicuously larger budget.

Their first offering is, as everyone knows, no good at all. Iceman is elephantine, it is sententious, it is infinitely repetitious and mawkishly obvious. It consists mostly of faithfully recorded drunken blithering, interspersed with two-bit philosophy. But, to the eternal embarrassment of dramatic theorists, the play is great without being good. Like the whiskey that is inflicted on the characters, Iceman demands that we take in a great deal of water and sludge in order to get a little of the real stuff.

The entire action takes place in that part of the bottom of the barrel in which Harry Hope has set up his bar. The tormented residents of the bar cannot--we are told some dozen times--sink any lower. Each of them possesses nothing but a cherished, vain dream and the expectation of the semi-annual binge financed by the generous Hickey.

But Hickey comes bearing a new gospel--"beat the game of life" by trying to attain the consoling dream. Failure is sure, but the dream will lose its haunting power; failure will bring an end to torment and a perfect peace. The barflies find, however, that to abandon the dream is to die, and that Hickey's peace is the peace of death. The only way to play the game of life is against the usual, heavy odds. Harry Hope and his friends decide that Hickey is mad, and go back to the old life of torment and bad whiskey.

This grim thesis is bludgeoned home with endless repetition; only a first-rate actor can make each of these repetitions count. Happily enough, this production boasts several first-rate actors, most of them in leading roles.

Edward Finnegan's Harry Hope is perfect; Judge Springer's Hickey--which is an even more difficult role--is very close to perfect. Edward Zang (Willie), Ralf Coleman (Joe) and Michael Lilenthal (Hugo) begin well and get better as they go along.

John Heffernan's portrayal of Larry, Hickey's foil, was more than adequate, although he did curious things with his face in moments of crisis. He and his crony Nick Smith (Don Parrit) were often hard to hear. The other half-dozen inmates were generally convincing, except Robert Foley's Jimmy.

The only weak spot in the cast is the trio of whores. Olympia Dukasis, the most important of them, is better than her colleagues, but no one of them twitters through her part with much distinction.

Director Michael Murray had a hand in the Circle-in-the-Square production of Iceman, which may be a clue to the excellence of this one. He manipulates his forces and his protruding stage with great dexterity, especially in the ensemble parts of the last act.

After opening night, the management--bless its heart--provided free drinks for all. Subsequent audiences will presumably have to provide their own. After four hours of first-rate O'Neill, they will need them.