H 12 GOODWIN'S WEEKLY
M "DRAMA
m THE WHINE OF A BARNSTORMER AND
B, MANAGER PYPER'S OUTRAGED FEELINGS.
V Theatregoers who haven't forgotten the ap-
ft pearance at the Salt Lake Theatre a few weeks
H ago of Mr. Wright Lorimer, in "The Shepherd
H King," will scarcely need be reminded that it
H was because of the review of the play which
m , appeared in GOOOWIN'S WEEKLY, in which it
H j was stated the play was worthless and tiresome
H and poorly presented, that Manager Pyper of the
H Theatre found himself unable to express his in-
H dignation in words forcible enough to re-
H lieve the pressure on his outraged feelings and
H therefore withdrew from this, journal the adver-
VAHj Using patronage and courtesies of the Theatre.
EHh At the time, Mr. Pyper stated "The Shepherd
H King" merited no such roast ins it received in
H' tliese columns and that the show was considered
H and should be treated as a high class attraction.
H While perfectly willing to let our judgment of
H the Shepherd thing stand for itself and by itself,
H it seems this journal was hardly the first to pick
H the show as a ringer from the kerosene circuit
Hj wjiich the K. & E. syndicate by dint of unlimited
Hj circus advertising was offering a good natured
H public at high class prices.
H A week before his Salt Lake engagement, Mr.
H Lorimer appeared in San Francisco where, un-
Hl like Salt Lake, the dramatic reviewers of the
B leading daily papers are permitted by the ad-
V vertising departments of their journals to print
R an honest criticism now and then. It was a chill,
H grey dawn for the Lorimer youngster and his
H show when he got hold of the San Francisco pa-
H pers the morning after his opening night there
H and what ho read so peeved the erstwhile shep-
H herd that he couldn't resist a few remarks the
H last night of his engagement on the lack of ap-
H preciation of true art among 'Frisco playgoers,
B following which the editor of San Francisco Town
H Talk paid the spear bearer his respects in the
M following paragraph:
M Another actor-r has discovered that San Fran-
M cisco is a jay town. Wright Lorimer is his name.
j He is the pet of one-night stands from the heart
H, of the Middle West to the sundown rim of this
Hj glorious continent. Mr. Lorimer came to San
M ' Francisco to introduce to us what he calls "a
H1 play with an uplift," a play entitled "The Shep-
M herd. King." This play was received with great
B enthusiasm everywhere within the circumference
M of the Chautauqua Circle, but here in San Fran-
H ' cisqo where there is not much of the sweetness
H and but faint flickers of the light that Matthew
M f Arnold deemed essential to a high civilization,
H "The Shepherd King" excited not half the in-
M terest that has been excited from time to time by
H kings of the turf and kings of the opium ring and
B kings of the tenderloin and other monarchs in-
M digenous to the home of democracy and popular
M at prices ranging from ten to iifty cents. Mr.
M Lorimer, I suspect, made the mistake of putting
m too high an appraisement on his royal puppet.
M I "The Shepherd King" was not seen for less than
H ' a quarter and the highest priced seats were $1.50.
m i Theatregoers balked, and Mr. Lorimer sulked and
WA waxed indignant, and on the last night of the
H show, after disposing of the big Philistine, the
K actor, quitting the role of Shepherd King ap-
V peared before the audience in his own propria
H. persona and ch.'ded the people of San Francisco
H on their lack of taste and their abominable pre-
Hu judice against plays that uplift. Now as I have
Hm never seen Mr. Lorlmer's play I am not com-
H ' petent to judge whether the actor wn justified
H in censuring us for failing to overflow the theatre
H I and put money in his purse, but I will suggest
H that perhaps the reason of my failure go to the
H , show was the same that deterred otheis. My
H reason was that Mr. Lorimer placarded the town
H with bills which set forth the dictum of one Wil-
BMBL
liam J. Bryan to the effect that "No greater play
than 'The Sheherd King" had been written since
'Ben Hur.'" From these bills I mow nvo in
ferences; first, that Mr. L6rimer regarded Mr.
Bryan as a competent dramatic critic; secondly,
that he regarded "Ben Ilur" as a great" play.
Everybody who knows anything about drama
knows that "Bon Hur" was one of the worst
pieces of claptrap that was over put on the stage.
Knowing something about the drama I concluded
that Mr. Lorimer who believes that no higher
praise could be given to his play than to compare
it with "Ben Hur," was peddling through the
country something that was hardly worth while.
In all the circumstances of the matter it is In
tensely amusing to hear of this barnstormer set
ting himself up as an apostle of culture.
"THE ROUND UP."
By Mr. Edmund Day, who neglects the little
matter of giving Harry Clay Blaney and Al
Woods, "The Virginian," "Heir to the Hoorah,"
"Arizona," and "Whispering Smith" credit for
stage effects, scenes, characters, and most of the
lines of the play.
Not that we hold Mr. Day entirely responsible,
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Fanny Usher at the Orpheum NextWeek
however, for if former Manager Archie Cox of
the Grand did not collaborate with him, the two
must be among those who occasionally enjoy a
set of soul dreams or open soul disclosures, with
the result that one plagarizes the thought waves
of the other. For it was Archie Cox who, in the
halycon days of good old thrillers at the Grand,
had a crew of twenty-two huskies with repeating
Winchesters as the regular support of his stock
companies. Day goes him fifty per cent better,
however, in "The Round Up," and supports Mr.
Arbuckle with a machine gun and all the repeat
ers and pistols he can find room for between the
footlights and the back drop.
"The Round Up" could have been little more
in the mind of its creative genius than a sad,
sweet dream of dirt, dead things, alkali and the
testing room of a gun manufacturing plant, when
Mr. Arbuckle was picked for the characterization
of Slim Hoover, sheriff. In dexterity of move
ment, despite his embonipoint and his ability to
roll a cigarette with one hand, Mr. Arbuckle's ar
tistry is of the highest order. His support from
the machine gun and four bucking bronchos is
admirable, while several near cowmen and a
dozen or two stage cowboys mingle as effectively
as oil and water.
The story opens with Jack Payson, owner of
the Sweetwater ranch, engaged to marry Echo
Allen, whom the program vouches for as a girl
of the southwest. You can tell by Echo's appear
ance when she first comes in, that cooking for
papa's cowmen isn't the only tragedy in her life
by a long shot, and already you have guessed
that Jack Payson is going to do somebody dirt
before the night's over. The store clothes he
wears show you right away what a low-down pup i
he can be when he sets his course for it. As
soon as Echo lets go the information that she
was engaged to marry Dick Lane a couple of
years before and that nobody has heard from
Dick since he went out into the desert to find a
gold mine, it begins to look as though there
might be trouble. The author seems to realize,
however, that it is best to relieve the tension a
little at this point and get some of the cowboys
onto the stage who have been standing 'around
blocking up the wings. You know they are
cowboys, because all wear guns and chaps.
The boys yell and whoop around for a while
and begin to get tanked up, while Jack and Echo
do the repressed heavies over in a corner of the
ranch yard.
It works around until late in the afternoon
and the time of the wedding, when there sham
bles in a trampy-looklng fellow with two months'
growth of beard on his face, who walks up to
Payson and says:
"Hello, Jack. Glad to see me, arn't you.
Did you give that letter to Echo? Here's the
three thousand dollars you loaned me, old man.
Now you can pay off the mortgage on your ranch."
You have a pretty fair amount of respect for
Dick up to this time, knowing that he's put in
two years hot-footing it around a desert trying
to find a gold mine and then laying up in a hos
pital with a splinter of his skull pressing on his
brain in the wrong place; but when Jack hands
out the talk about how the shock of Dick's com
ing will probably prove fatal to Echo, and that
he had better keep out of sight for awhile, you'd
think that instead of moping around in a corner
ol the garden waiting for Jack to do his mis
sionary work, he'd quit acting like an onion and
take a long chance on Echo dying of joy and
scratching her face all up on that two months'
growth of stubble by seeing her first himself.
Meanwhile Jack is going a mile a minute. He
gets Echo's papa out in the yard and tells him ,
that daughter's happiness depends on his stand
ing guard at the front door and letting no one
pass until the sky pilot has fixed things for Echo
and himself. Over in a corner of the garden
Dick hears a wedding march twanged on the
strings of a couple of guitars, and does the hur
dles getting around to the front door, where papa
lays his hand gently on the butt of his .44 and
orders the stranger begone. "Don't you know
me, Uncle Jim?" says Dick, through the stubble.
"I don't," says Uncle Jim, "and I ain't your Undo
Jim."
"I'm Dick," says he of the stubby beard.
"You're hell," says Uncle Jim. Dick damns every
body and everything and says he'll go back to
the- desert. It's really his inning, but he
isn't wise, for as soon as he's gone and Jack
and Echo are settled, a couple of regular cut
throats insist on asking Jack where he got the
three thousand dollars to pay off the mortgage
on his ranch with, intimating that they'd like to )
know whether or not there is any connection be-
tween his sudden possession of that much money
and the robbery and killing of- a trader. Then