"THE MEDAL AND THE MAID"
By Owen Hall.
Produced at The Broadway New York.
"The Medal and the Maid," which was produced last night at the Broadway, is an English, musical comedy, graceful and refined, after the manner of its kind. It has been Americanized in the part of James T. Powers, and it gave unmistakable signs of pleasing its audience in general, and delighting it in spots. The book is by Owen Hall, author of "Florodora" and "The Silver Slipper," and the music is by Sydney Jones, composer of "San Toy" and "The Geisha"; and it may fairly be pronounced not unworthy of its authors. It is said to have been vastly popular in England. One song certainly roused the house last night to a high pitch of enthusiasm - but more of that anon.
If there are those among us who have tired somewhat of musical comedy that assaults the eardrum and the midriff they will find the present play, with its syrupy music and its smooth wit as grateful and comforting as a cup of English chocolate. It is quite possible to relish it thoroughly from end to end without once offending against the Chesterfieldian precept that bars laughter.
Mr. Powers's face is as amazing as ever in its Sphinx-like gravity, and the batting
of the eyelids, the flicker of smiles, in the corners of his mouth, which breaks the stony passivity into the grotesqueness of a gargoyle, is as deliciously irresistible. His dancing is the froth of levity and ease. It is not a great part he plays, not one that differs from a dozen of its predecessors, but it is a good Powers part, played in the best Powers vein, and that is about the best thing of its kind!
Miss Ruth Vincent, who created the leading part of Merva at the lyric in London, is the sole importation in the cast and was received with courteous enthusiasm. She is not a battery of wireless magnetism, resembling somewhat one's idea of the seventh daughter of a country curate whose looks and ambitions are far above her fate and who has therefore taken to the stage. Her voice is quite full enough, and of pure tone. She sings with both ease und taste, and dances gracefully. Her great charms are simplicity and innate refinement.
The first act discloses a pretty scene outside a girls' school at Cannes, with a glimpse of the Mediterranean in the distance. The schoolgirls and local flower girls made up the chorus. One of the best of Mr. Powers's songs is apropos of the giving of the school prizes - it Is a very modern school, and teaches a brand of worldly wisdom that lends itself to neatly satirical topics set to light, fantastic music. Then there is a pretty song, led by the schoolmistress (Jeanette Lowrey,) relating how the marks of conduct are registered in frills upon the petticoats of ten pupils. The most worldly, pupil displays ten frills. On the same basis of reckoning the first act as a whole would be awarded frills not to exceed half a dozen.
It is not till the second act that there is a real ten frill song. The scene is among the antique ruins of the Grecian island of Karagovina - a truly beautiful picture - and for some inscrutible reason Emma Carus leads on a chorus of young ladies in gray combination bloomers and hoods, who quaintly dance, sing, squat, jump, and roll over on the stage in imitation of chimpanzees. The faces in the gray hoods were so charming, and the monkeyshines so absurd that the house rose. On the recalls Miss Carus repeated the song, "Zanzibar" until the house whistled it to a man - or, at least, to a boy. But the real hit was made by the monkey chorus, and that is what the subsequent houses will go to see.
Cyril Scott played in his familiar manner the part of an English Lieutenant. Stanley H. Forde was massive and huge, with his big form and his big voice, as a leader of Greek brigands. His costume was the limit of splendor. Cecil Engelheart and Edna McClure were also prominently cast.
The New York Times - 12th January, 1904
