Stage: James Earl Jones as Robeson

THE INTENTION WAS to bring the life of Paul Robeson to the stage. he stage of the LuntFontanne heater is very wide, but last night it rarely seemed like more than a podium.

James Earl Jones is a commanding, and where possible a transforming presence in “Paul Robeson.” which opened last night. But the one‐character play devised by Phillip Hayes Dean out of the life of the singer, actor and political activist, defies transformation.

Rarely does it achieve a dramatic texture. For most of its considerable length—it was necessary because of deadlines to leave some minutes betore the end—it is essentially an acted‐out narrative; a kind of travelogue through Mr. Robeson's biography.

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Few lives. even few prominent lives, lend themselves to the format of a dramatic monologue. Mr. Robeson was mighty singer and an actor of some force; and he suffered considerably for his leftwing views. But the play is unable to use the singing—Mr. Jones is an indifferent singer and his songs do not accomplish much—and it has only brief glimpses of the actor. These, of course, Mr. Jones does very well.

As for the suffering and the radicalization of a man who could have settled for a perfectly comfortable success; Mr. Dean has not solved the problem of making them dramatically alive. We see the protagonist witnessing the events of history rather than living them. He plays with a Jewish child in Germany and hears about her disappearance, later, under the Nazis.

He stands on a Berlin platform and has an uncomfortable face‐off with some storm troopers. He goes to the Soviet Union and reports being heartened by the sight of a proletarian, nonracialist society. He hears about the death of Garcia Lorca, and tells of being given a medal for singing for the Republicans in Spain.

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This all seems third‐hand. We have not been shown the unique human character of the man sufficiently to be able to sense what is happening to him, as he trudges through history like a left‐wing March of Time. His scholarship is alluded to, but there is little he says that shows us the mind of thinker, or even the heart of a hero.

Even those scene? that recount more direct personal involvement seem flat. He faces down violent hecklers in Peekskill after he has been denounced as a Communist; but a single man onstage trying to impersonate, a riot an unhappy role for an actor.’

A number of prominent black artists have drawn up or signed a protest over “Paul Robeson.”

In essence, their protest accuses the play of trivializing Mr. Robeon, and of distorting his seriousness for the sake of dramatic action or comic relief.

This does not seem to be precisely the problem. What has happened is that it is only in the earlier stages of Mr. Robeson's life that the playwright has exercised his dramatic energies. There is some life and bounce in the scenes of his college and football days, his brief attempt at being a lawyer, his marriage and his start as an amateur singer.

There is plenty of seriousness in the last two‐thirds or so. But since is not much more than a recital, it does not register very much, except as an excessive passage of time.

The very best part of the play, in fact, comes in the first half‐hour or so. Mr. Jones's great force adjusts it

Dramatic Monologue

PAUL ROBESON, a new play by Phillip Haves Dean. Directed be Lloyd Richards; original staging Charles Neirm Reilly; scenery desmned by H. R. Pongexter; lighting design by Ian Caider??; costume design by Noel Taylor. Presented by Dan Gregory. At the Lunt‐Fontanne Theater, 205 West 46st Street.

self with a wry and comic twist to the early discriminations at Rutgers.

There are sharp and revealing lines. After the grudging admissions procedure he comforts himself by recalling Booker T. Washington and his entry into education. The principal, a white women, gave him a pail and a mop. He scrubbed with passion. “Since she was a good Christian, she knew how to look for dirt,” and her approval ensured his further studies.

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Told at the student cafeteria that no colored food is served, he meticulously selects chicken (white meat), mashed potatoes, cauliflower, vanilla ice‐cream and salt (no pepper).

“If you are thinking of dining at Rutgers,” Mr. Jones comments gravely, “I cannot recommend the white food.”

Mr. Jones plays lightly in going through these early years, but it is lightness covering a large and powerful passion. We are totally aware of as he conceals it with a sardonic manner, and even a touch of buffoonery. Whether this was Robeson's style—the protesters claim it was not—it is effective.

When the actor begins to loose his rage and indignation he continues to be very fine. But he has to use his power or propel material that keeps disintegrating. As the evening proceeded he seemed to flag, and it was understandable.

Throughout the play Mr. Jones is accompanied by Burt Wallace, who plays some of Robeson's songs on the piano. Occasionally Mr. Wallace sings in a high, expressive voice. Mr. Jones's own singing displays a deep voice, a powerful voice, but not a singing voice. With those songs that can, in effect, be spoken, his actor's skill brings him through. With the sustained lyrical impulse of “Were You There When They Crucified My Lord,” he conveys feeling but not music.