Lady at the Wheel. (Lyric, Hammersmith.)
FROM the long list of credits (`Hostmaster syphon by Sparklets, Mr. Gilmore's spectacles by Scrivens of Regent Street . . .') one name is unaccountably withheld : music and lyrics by courtesy of Cole Porter: That some of the tunes are catchy enough, some of the lyrics clever enough, to save this second-hand reach-me-down of a musical comedy from utter banality is a tribute to Porter; varia- tions on 'You're the Top' idea—`you're my Eiffel Tower, my Eisenhower'—are the chief interest in an evening otherwise remarkable only for the energy and agility of the chorus. The male half are kept in a constant state of mobile catalepsy, and the female half, not to be outdone, act so hard that it is difficult to concentrate on what the principals are doing, through the pouting and posturing and methodising going on all around them. The puzzle is that The Wheel keeps turning; perhaps because the cast are enjoying themselves, and something of their gaiety is transmitted to the audience.
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