(And speaking of Miss Otis-Skinner, I want to interrupt these thoughts a moment to tell one of my favorite "fairy" stories. Naturally it's true. When Miss, Skinner was appearing as Mrs. Erlynne in the 1950 production of LADY WINDERMERE'S FAN, a friend of mine-a dignified lady of 60 who teaches in an Eastern college -was invited to see the play by one of her students, a dewily-pretty young fellow of 20 or so, and more than passably sa-wish! Those who saw this play will remember it for its lavish, Cecil Beaton costuming and decor which apparently left even Broadway agog for a while. During the last act, when Mrs. Erlynne enters to persuade Lady Windermere to leave the bachelor's quarters before she is "ruined for life," both ladies. wore evening cloaks which must be considered the ultimate in dream attire for every male transvestite that ever lived-long, embroidered, velvet Creations that fell in fabulous folds from the shoulders of the ladies to stretch into trains of at least full five fathoms clear across the stage. Thinking to be amusing, my friend, the lady professor of 60, leaned close to her young escort, who was gazing raptly at the splendor before him, and whispered, "Now, that's just the kind of cloak I need to wear to class on rainy mornings!" And, completely spellbound, starry-eyed, and oblivious to all but the stage before him, the young man whispered back with, tender confidence, "You and me too, Maryl You and me tool" Needless to say, my friend's name is Ruth, not Mary.)

But back to the great actresses of our time, to my way of thinking, the first star of our present American stage is Judith Anderson. And as one might expect, I should think that here is the one woman who could portray a convincing Bernhart-if she would consent to` do so-in spite

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of Hollywood's techniques, goals and standards. I was lucky enough to see Miss Anderson's MEDEA both in New York and on the road, and af equal importance, her Clytemnestrain the extraordinarily fine ANTA production of Jeffer's TOWER BEYOND TRAGEDY a few seasons later. I saw her as the queen in Hamlet in the thirties, but I did not see her Lady Macbeth, though I've been assured is was equally outstanding.

Now, imagine my anticipation upon learning that Miss Anderson is to star as Hamlet during the coming season. Passing over the inevitable. gossip, scandal, innuendo and newsprint that is sure to result when any woman dares aspire to the role that is considered the apex of every male actor's career, the mere probability of a great star and a great role uniting (possibly to form a memorable eclipse) is enough to assure my presence in New York at least one night this winter.

No matter what this character is to others, it has always seemed that Hamlet should be particularly dear to the invert's heart. At one time the play was a kind of New Testament to me, and during my "days of disGovery" I remember that I memorized long passages from it, the quoting of which gave me a sense of peace not unlike the comfort that some people draw from reading the Bibleand that isn't as sacreligious as it may sound on the surface. So many passages in the play seem almost to have been written for us and I am not thinking only of the soliloquies, though Heaven knows all of us have spent more time "being or not being" and wishing that this flesh would melt than is good for us. Who, better than the male invert, could tell a group of actors how to play their parts with such precision and enthusiasm? Or manufacture comparable venom for a foster father? Or chastise

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an unfaithful mother? Or reject the proffered tenderness of a young girl with the advice to enter, a hunnery? Or feel such closeness for Horatio? From this distance it seems to me that Miss Anderson's Hamlet will either stand as an unique monument to a great role, or fail completely. I cannot conceive it being just another run of the mill performance; and having followed her career so closely for 20 years, I'm giving odds that she will make theatre history Sarah Bernhardt appeared with great acclaim not only as Hamlet, but also as Romeo, as well as Pelleas to Mrs. Patrick Campbell's Melisande. Perhaps a part of my loss in never having seen one great actress is about to be restored in seeing another duplicate one of her greatest triumphs. Certainly Miss Anderson's evening will be worth the trip to New York.

And now, before bringing all this to a close, I want to raise a question that I hope won't strike too many as being completely facetious, So long as the sexes are swapping roles, not only in the theatre but apparently everywhere else, why not a male Juliet in the next five years? (And this suggestion wasn't as laughable to Sixteenth Century ears as it may be to ours. After all, Elizabethan drama was usually cast entirely for the male sex-and maybe they knew something along those lines that we've forgotten in 400 years) ·

As I understand it, the trouble in casting Juliet is that when, an actress is mature enough to handle the role she's too old to pass aș a thirteen year old girl.

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But what of, say, an effeminate, 21 year old boy? (And, of course, he'd have to be at least 21.) Maný such youngsters have learned the basics of acting at that age, and would seem more qualified to handle the part if given adequate direction. In spite of the shrieks of merriment and the thunderings of moral wrath it would cause, I'd like to see the experiment tried on a serious scale.

For the record, (though I won't give names and dates,) I have seen .such a performance. It wasn't a burlesque and it wasn't one of those college butcheries. And to my surprise, it wasn't bad.

Off stage this "Juliet" owned the town's best liquor store, the front of which was filled with flowering plants which she 'watered every morning with the daintiest little copper can ANY of you can imagine. But I must admit that if I hadn't known this, nary a smile would have crossed my lips when Romeo, (who happened to be a notorious refugee from the Alcoholics Anonymous local chapter,) declared; "I am no pilot; yet were thou as far As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea,

I would adventure for such merchandise."

After all, so much depends on the view one takes of these things and one's background for observation. But, if background is experience, and experience grows with experiment, then is the vision of a Juliet from Finocchio's more difficult to see than a Hamlet from the Distaff side of Actor's Equity?

Editor's Note: A sex turnabout in casting for the 1956 version of Leonard Sellman's NEW FACES is described in the article following.

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