Word: anouilh
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Ring Round the Moon (translated from the French of Jean Anouilh by Christopher Fry; produced by Gilbert Miller) is as French as a duel in the Bois, and as airy and evanescent as skywriting. A "charade with music," it assembles a fashionable group for a ball at a chateau where not only the guests, but their words, their wit, their desires, their very frustrations are expected to dance. With its adroit Christopher Fry translation, evocative Poulenc music, elegant Dufy curtain scrawls, charming 1912 Castillo costumes, Ring Round the Moon comes in the most inviting of envelopes-which proves a little...
...them had seen his A Phoenix Too Frequent (whose wry brilliance had been dulled by a second-rate production). This season, a lot more of them will see a lot more of him. In addition to The Lady, Broadway will see Fry's translation of Jean Anouilh's charming French fairy-tale farce, Ring Round the Moon, which opens next week, and some time soon Sir Laurence Olivier will present Fry's Venus Observed...
Since "Ring Round the Moon" was written by the distinguished French playwright Jean Anouilh and translated by the distinguished English playwright Christopher Fry, it is only logical to suppose that it would be a completely satisfying play. The theatre, however, often peversely delights in confounding logic. "Ring Round the Moon" has more brilliant scenes, wittier dialogue, and greater thought than most plays, but there is something lacking...
...Ring Round the Moon" contains a number of brilliant scenes, but they are dragged down by uninspired writing in other places. It is hard to say whether the fault is Anouilh's or Fry's; perhaps, since the play is a London success, the "fault" is merely the difference of taste on this side of the Atlantic. Gilbert Miller has provided an uncommonly beautiful production. Georges Wakevitch's garden setting is handsome; Raymond Sovey's lighting makes it respond fully to the action. Raoul Dufy has contributed six "mood" curtains, and Francis Poulene has contemplated the play with background music...
...Broadway, spring all too often wears a wintry look, and April is the crudest month indeed. Last week two plays, one French and one American, struggled to outdo each other in making their characters and their audiences groan. As the work of French Playwright Jean Anouilh (Antigone), Cry of the Peacock proved the more surprising debacle. Anouilh's indictment of Love began as frivolously as Molnar and wound up as savagely as Strindberg. With notable help from the production, the play messed up every mood it attempted, and, despite brief glimpses of something better, proved dated, hollow, inept. Bitterly...