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Show 1 1 Show Stealing: Show stealing is the grandest kind of larceny. No punishment and no penalty, as a rule, and sometimes a great press, and a mark in history, his-tory, is the gamble. Boston audiences audi-ences witnessing the opening night of "Lady in the Dark" caught a scene-stealing play that nearly closed out Danny Kaye. A double play miraculously saved the day. Known only to the Borschtelligent-sia, Borschtelligent-sia, Kaye went on In his solo spot, "Tchaikowsky," and brought down the house with his feat of enunciating enunciat-ing the names of 56 Russian composers com-posers in 40 seconds. . . . Legend is that Ira Gershwin, show's lyricist, went out for a smoke and came back to find the patrons still howling. howl-ing. . . . Meanwhile, in her dressing room, star Gertie Lawrence waited nd burned. Danny Kaye himself recently had a chance to learn what it feels like to have your thunder stolen, if only for a clappaudl-ence clappaudl-ence or two. As Mr. Goldwyn's star moneymaker, Danny has been consistently partnered with frabjous Virginia Mayo. Ginny was a docile enough playmate while they romped through "Wonder Man," "Kid From Brooklyn," and "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty." But after a change of pace as the petulant floozie in "The Best Years of Our Lives," Virginia's been feeling feel-ing her oats. In their last picture pic-ture for Goldwyn, "A Song Is Born," she challenges Danny at his own game. Makes good, too. And how does Mr. K. like it? But for every yarn like this there are a dozen involving dirty dealing. Frixample, the two femme stars sharing marquee billing. They upstaged up-staged each other with such monotony mo-notony the end of the run found them both literally with their backs to the wall of the set. Even the best of them are not above this tricky-business. . . . W. C. Fields was highlighting his celebrated cele-brated pool table act In an early Ziegfeld Follies. The bibulous Fields almost resolved to swear off the stuff when the act that had served him for 10 years started backfiring. The yaks came in the wrong places or not at all. In a cold fury, he looked under the pool table for the cause of it all. . . . Ed Wynn lay there, mugging" like a Perfect Fool. For several weeks thereafter. Fields went on without Wynn. Next time Wynn crept into the act, Fields let him have it across the noggin with the billiard cue. The audience loved it, and Wynn was a two-time winner. win-ner. One of the funniest bits of business busi-ness ever worked out was hit upon to counter another player's scene-stealing. Gravedlgger No. 1 in a certain production of "Hamlet" used to divert the audience's au-dience's attention from the sore-headed sore-headed Dane by peeling off a coat with every speech of Hamlet's. Ham-let's. He wore six coats. . . . One night his customary business brought double laughs, a loader one following each chortle for doffing a coat. ... He wasn't having eoho trouble. The second gravedigger was putting on the coats as fast as he took them off! Scene stealing can be legitimate. Maude Adams was just a sweet leading lady to matinee idol John Drew (the distaff strain of the Bar-rymores) Bar-rymores) in "The Masked Ball." But when the sweet leading lady finished her big drunk scene, the audience au-dience stood up and cheered. . . . Helen Hayes was a little-publicized child actress until she had William Gillette for a stage daddy in Bar-rie's Bar-rie's "Dear Brutus." The whimsical, romantic part gave her the opportunity oppor-tunity she needed to capture the public's heart. . . . Veterans Janet Beecher and Alan Pollock found themselves bypassed by critics for their prosaic romance in "Bill of Divorcement." And newcomer Katharine Kath-arine Cornel was touted to the skies for her playing of the brooding, hysterical Sidney. Lawrence Tibbett had his day of glory, coming from a long succession of minor operatic roles to steal "Falstaff" right out from under the wig of the mighty Scotti, who had bucked the greatest sing-stealer of them all, Caruso. . . . And who can forget the wonder and the excitement ex-citement of starry-eyed Mary Martin, for the first time in her life on Broadway In "Leave It to Me," singing "My Hart Belongs Be-longs to Daddy"? And here's a comic opera vignette lifted from, of all things, the funeral procession of King George V. A certain royal roue was obliged to march but unsteady from wassail His masseur was detailed to march in his wake and rescue the royal presence if it seemed in danger of collapsing. High spot of the parade was the handsome brawny Swede, strutting among the crowned heads in a dazzling borrowed Hussar's uni form. |