THE CRIMSON PLAYGOER

Once upon a time a very brilliant young men or woman wrote a scenario on the life of human beings who were cooped up in a very interesting sort of existence, i.e. backstage momentum. Tap dancers, squawky voices, the show must go on; songs and pasty-faced adolescents, the show must go on; it must go on.

"Footlight Parade" seems to suffer from a comparison with "Forty Second Street," or the golddigger balderdash. The plot is thin, the songs are only fair. Ruby Keeler, Joan Blondell, and James Cagney are adequate in their parts. But they show a superior attitude to all the implausible nonsense: It is not in good taste, nor is it just to the public if great artists are insincere. What deserve praise are the photography and the ensemble dances on such a large scale that, were he living, Ziegfeld would feel like a cheapskate if he saw them.

The accompanying feature at the University is "Saturday's Millions"; I can say little in its favor. If you wish to learn how a western football team is managed--according to Hollywood--you will enjoy wishy-washy "Saturday's Millions." Robert Young does his best to convince you that football is commercialized, lowbrow, not worth it all, and then after the last big game he changes his mind. One thing I can say is that Hollywood tries to fool you. A young night-club hostess tells the great football start that she is in trouble. Do not be deluded; she merely has a husband.