THE TROUBLE WITH HARRY
By
A British importation which must have wafted over by itself -- so slight is it. But for what should have been a waltz macabre and which is instead a gay quadrille, this blankfaced account of murder, tolerated and accepted by the inhabitants of Sparrowswick Heath, has its moments of giddy good humor. The body -- which is found more than once and buried several times over -- turns out to be Harry, mourned by none; his killer is liked by all so his disappearance is mutually agreed on. It is the interruptions, the ridiculous non-sequiturs, the absence of any reality which makes this more fun than games.