KING’S THEATRE

Dominion, Volume 35, Issue 50, 22 November 1941, Page 12

KING’S THEATRE

Once again Hollywood has rung the •bell with a piece of anti-Nazi, pro-British propaganda, that must call forth all the praise that was lavished ou “So Ends Our Night,” in these columns a fortnight ago. “Mau Hunt,” which opened al the King’s Theatre yesterday for what deserves to be a lengthy season, falls into a slightly different category in that it is more physically exciting, less psychological and attaining its drama by more direct methods. The title is a pity and makes this excellent show sound rather like any old film any old day of the week. Actually it is one of the best pictures of its kind since “Foreign Correspondent,’’ and there are many shots, particularly the oue where the little Limehouse drab returns to her room to find the Gestapo agents waiting, that were pure Alfred Hitchcock. “Man Hpot” is concerned with a famous big game hunter, brother of an English lord, who had been sent to Berchtesgaden in the mercifully dead days of appeasement, who goes to Germany and takes a pot shot at the Fuehrer—-"that strutting little fool who tries to play God.” He is caught, but promised his freedom if he will sign a confession that the British Government had sent him co Germany to assassinate Hitler. In the first place he had not intended to kill the pest, but—it looked so easy from the craggy height above Berchtesgaden—after a moment’s thought he decided he would. But he was a split second late with the second shot, and the guards caught him instead. Naturally, being a gentleman and a sportsman, he refuses to sign the “confession,” and is thoroughly beaten up by some of Hitler’s little playmates. Finally he is thrown over a cilff for dead. But England's aristrocacy is made of tough stuff, and he eludes bloodhounds and stalkers and gets aboard a Danish boat bound for Loudon. All of which is unpleasantly awkward for the German Government if he should tell his story too well and too widely in influential British circles. So he is trailed and shadowed unceasingly till he is finally run to earth in a cave in Dorset. And here occurs the line that made yesterday’s audiences at rhe King’s sit up in surprise. Still being goaded to sign the confession, he explodes : “I did not intend to kill your bloody Fuehrer!”

Walter Pidgeon is outstanding as Prentice, the man-hunter. Here is the real Pidgeon—a polished actor with enough virile looks and depth of acting to carry a part that might easily have been morbidly fantastic, even ludicrous. He makes it one of the greatest performances of the year in a picture that is equally outstanding. George Sanders, looking like a more human version of Erich vou Stroheim, is excellent as the German chief, and Joan Bennett gives a warm and human portrayal of a little girl from the slums of London.

Story is strong, acting outstanding, photography magnificent—THE show of the week in Wellington.