Old Play in Manhattan, Oct. 21, 1946

Cyrano de Bergerac (translated from the French of Edmond Rostand by Brian Hooker; produced by Jose Ferrer) drops in on each new generation—Walter Hampden accompanied it in the ’20s—as a reminder that high romance once lived in the world, or at any rate in the theater. Brightly tricked out, Cyrano is always welcome, for it offers playgoers the satisfaction of witnessing a “classic” and at the same time reveling in shameless sentiment, noble gestures and high theatrical hokum.

It was smartly tricked out last week. No production can keep Cyrano from seeming far too long, or press out all its wrinkles. But last week’s production was robust and properly flamboyant; its duel, for instance, looked like a real duel. And its Cyrano — who is after all the whole show — was a good Cyrano. Jose Ferrer (who has ranged on Broadway from a hilarious Charley’s “aunt” to an impressive lago) caught the human being in Cyrano as well as the ham. As the monstrous-nosed, self-sacrificing lover who eloquently poured out his feeling for the beautiful Roxane in another man’s behalf, Actor ( Ferrer was often not romantic enough. But as the hot-blooded, proud-plumed Gascon who overworked his sword, he had the right brag and strut; he polished the wit and dug out the humor in this cleverest of swaggerers. Best of all, he suggested that self-dramatizing streak in Cyrano that gives a wry pleasure to his frustrations — and that gives the play its gill of psychology as well as its hogshead of sentiment.