Word: mimics
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Doctor Rhythm (Paramount), which enjoys the services of Crooner Bing Crosby, British Mimic Beatrice Lillie, and a rare collection of cinemerry-andrews, is a tittery tuning-up of 0. Henry's fable, The Badge of Policeman O'Roon. At its best when Comedian Crosby is singing his two hit songs, On the Sentimental Side and My Heart Is Taking Lessons, it also puts a good foot forward with a breathless gypsy dance. But whether Actress Lillie's brand of humor is obvious enough for cinema tastes is an open question which Doctor Rhythm leaves still unanswered...
Since 1930 the director of London's illustrious Tate Gallery has been bright-eyed, snowy-haired James Bolivar Manson, a cherubic oldster whose talents as a mimic are highly prized among his friends. As director of the Tate, Mr. Manson built up its modern collection but has shown something less than a devouring interest in the minutiae of modern art. Last year the French painter. Maurice Utrillo, ten years a sober man, brought a libel suit against him and the gallery (TIME, Jan. 18. 1937) and last month won a public apology for having been listed in a Tate...
Playing at Washington's Capitol Theater, famed good-looking Mimic Sheila Barrett included in her repertoire the well-known caricature of a virtuous Southern girl starting out for a big night in Manhattan, winding up drunk in a night club. After Miss Barrett had played the bit for five days, a lady member of the Georgian Society protested that the impersonation was "not a true picture of Southern women." Miss Barrett was promptly ordered to remove the bit from her act. She agreed: "I'm here to entertain people, not embarrass them...
Jessie Matthews does her scampering best throughout this gallimaufry, manages to appear at times an appealing if toothy bit of cockney femininity. What gives Gangway a slightly embarrassing quality is the earnest brightness with which its British characters mimic American parts of speech. Though they are almost letter-perfect and have obviously been coached within an inch of their larynx, their "yeahs" and "flatfoots" and "old battle-axes" induce on the U. S. ear the same faint note of horror as a child's unmeaning blasphemy or an innocent lady's use of an unprintable word...
...poet at work on one of the curious monuments of our times, giving it that inner meaning without which nothing is worth anything. Indeed, it is this reviewer's opinion that Mr. Parson poem ought to be exhibited along with the glass flowers themselves; that every viewer of these "mimic plants" ought to read this poem as he stares in curious fascination at them. For Mr. Parson has symbolized them, has defined them as the idle curiosity they really are, their verisimilitude to nature only proving their inadequacy as flowers...