Word: cowardly
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Lloyd's of London rates have for many years been taken as perfectly sound indications of what horse would win the Cesarewitch stakes, what the weather would be like on Boxing Day, how long Noel Coward's latest would run, whether or not Adolf Hitler would strike. Last week Lloyd's offered a brand new type of insurance: against death or injuries inflicted on the King's civilian subjects by the King's military enemies. Rate for this air-raid insurance: ?1 of premium for every ?100 of insurance. Rate for London is the same...
...play is rich in more than one kind of name-calling. Before the wheelchair genuflect the world's great. "Gertrude Stein" phones from Paris. "Admiral Byrd" sends penguins, "William Beebe" an octopus. "Harpo Marx" arrives for a cyclonic visit. "Noel Coward" whizzes by, stopping long enough to play a "new song" of his, a howling burlesque all about...
With London's West End all taped up, most of England's best talent is on tour. No important actor has yet gone to the Front, though many important ones are subject to call. Noel Coward, who last year visited the Mediterranean Fleet, "investigating the film tastes of seamen," now works for the Admiralty...
...coffins were offered in payment. A pig traded in the first year for a season ticket produced a litter the second year and started a profitable little sideline in hams. Today, as in the beginning, neither actors nor playwrights receive any cash. To such playwrights as Robert Sherwood, Noel Coward, Maxwell Anderson and Vegetarian George Bernard Shaw have gone hams for royalties. Shaw refused his, demanded spinach instead. Among dozens of productions, most unusual is a hillbilly version of Romeo and Juliet, with the feuding Montagues and Capulets looking more like Hatfields and McCoys. To Porterfield, the highest compliment...
Lately, Author MacDonnell has gained notice for himself (and bank) by a blank-verse stand against isolation: "For twelve months past we have called Great Britain coward, traitor, dolt, because she did not jump into a war. We chalked her down a third-rate power, we pilloried appeasement, we covered her with lavish scorn-too old and dead to fight; and when at last she draws the sword, we turn our backs...