'Your Cat Is Dead' is shapeless,

By William Glover NEW YORK (4) An unhappy actor meets a homosexual burglar in "P.S. Your Cat Is Dead!,” a crummy play of possible interest only to other unhappy performers and gays.

Shapeless and smutty in word and action, the item. is at Broadway's Golden Theater. There was quite a turnout of male couples at the preview. They appeared to be having a whopping good time.

James Kirkwood, an actor turned novelist, clearly is still an appren-

tice at drama. Director Vivian Matalon luckily has two fine performers at this beck, but hasn't called upon them for more than intensity as a substitute for believability.

Keir Dullea impersonates a player who on this New Year's Eve has lost two jobs, his girlfriend and his ailing cat.

Down through a frosted skylight of his Greenwich Village pad drops Tony Musante when no one is looking. The intruder is soon discovered and the plot takes off into a fairyland of complications. The

garbage play

dialog is steadfastly puerstretch the play out for al-

ile and rancid.

Musante spends most of the affair tied up atop a center-stage contraption which is purportedly a kitchen sink, his bare buttocks a cynosure of possibel titillation for groundlings and gallery.

As he works the theme around to swinging existence, Musante delivers to straitlaced Dullea the evening's theme:

"Queer? Who cares that's old-fashioned.' Later he admonishes: "You're really from the old world." Then he lights up a sure-enough joint, if odor means anything.

On a previous raid the rugged epicene had stolen a manuscript upon which the actor was working. That, plus many other complications not lacking in sadistic touches which needn't be gone into,

appear during the show, most three hours. At the but none will look back on end the pair is involved in it as a career highlight. apparently "P.S. Your Cat Is nocturnal companionship. Dead!" is also a theatrical Five other performers corpse.

permanent

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