O. O. McIntyre // On a stage about as large as a dining room table, I saw a Dadasistic opera the other night. The performance began at 2 a.m. and was brought from—wait let me see the program—Vienna. This Dada stuff is as far over my head as the Woolworth building towers above Shorty Broadway’s Pet Messenger. The scenery was on rolls and when a new scene was wanted, Johnny turned the crank. It looked as though a couple of drunken painters had a fight with their buckets. But my how the audience applauded—especially Ethel Barrymore.
The play opened with a trick Pagliacco swept by a passionate love. He ran around in his nightshirt and spied a sizzling blonde who had a mole on her shoulder. Evidently, the mole got him for when he saw it he had an epileptic seizure. Then came a dompteuse song with the star as the dompteuse. Of course you know what dompteuse is. You don’t? And so many nights schools. Well, anyway, she dumped a couple of tuses and that was about all there was to that. Johnny turned the crank and they slipped into a Chinese romance. A loot rang out and two girls wearing false faces that covered their body appeared. Then came the groom and the ceremony was performed.
Going out, Everett Shinn asked me, “Did you get it?” “No, but I will when I get home,” I replied. It was 4 a.m. and I promise to be home at midnight.
Syndicated column, Dec. 28, 1922