BENCHLEY AT THE THEATRE It was the Golden Age of Broadway. Sandwiched between the two wars that would end all war, the American theater briefly blossomed into a thousand different colors, giving the world such immortals as Eugene O'Neill, the Barrymores, Lillian Hellman, George S. Kaufman, Fred Astaire, Helen Hayes, George M. Cohan, the Gershwins, Orson Welles, the Marx Brothers, and many more. Amid all this hubbub was Robert Benchley, famed humorist, actor, and boulevardier.

Known mostly for his urbane and often puckish essays, Benchley was also an ardent observer of the stage, first for the old Life magazine and then for the New Yorker. He wrote nearly a thousand reviews during his 20-year tenure as one of Broadway's leading theater critics. Those culled by Ipswich Press for Benchley at the Theatre represent Benchley at his wittiest and most revealing.

This garland of hitherto uncollected pieces touches on the great, the near-great, and some deservedly forgotten (but nonetheless intriguing) plays and actors of the twenties and thirties. For Benchley aficionados the book is a rare treat--the first new collection of the master's work in nearly 40 years. For both amateur and professional students of the theater, it's a chance to share an aisle seat with one of Broadway's most discerning critics. And if you are none of the above, no matter. If you love informed, literate, brisk writing, Benchley at the Theatre will be a welcome respite from the Siskel and Ebert school of criticism.

A night at the theater with Benchley is never dull, chock-full as it is with pithy asides, New England common sense, and occasional eruptions of pure Dada. Benchley deflates some enduring and cherished myths: "[Katherine Hepburn] is not a great actress, but one with a certain distinction which, with training, might possibly take the place of great acting in an emergency."

He reaffirms modern critical hindsight: "Orson Welles and his Mercury Theater Group...give ["Julius Caesar"] a reality which I think might fool the Bard himself." He measures the erudition on his side of the proscenium: "It has been estimated that the average powers of discrimination in a matinee audience would not quite fill a demitasse." And he disabuses the reader who expects High Criticism: "Sometimes the symbolism was so strong that it didn't seem as if it could be borne any longer. In fact, several people had to leave early. Others covered their eyes with their hands and had to be roused when the thing was over."

If you suffered through Shakespeare as a student, you have an ally in Benchley. The Great White Way of the twenties and thirties was paved with countless Shakespeare revivals, and Benchley, never a great fan of the Immortal Bard, took a dim view of the proceedings. Opined Benchley: "We remember seeing Booth at the age of four (when we were four; Booth was naturally older) and the memory of that performance has lingered with us ever since. After it we were taken to Maillard's and had our first chicken salad. Those were the days!"

Though Benchley bared his critical teeth when offenses on either side of the footlights were committed, he was quick to forgive and even quicker to reassess the professional cynicism that comes with the job of critic. On a jaunt to a P. T. Barnum circus with his son, Benchley notes that the "scales of sophistication are struck from your eyes," concluding that the experience, aided by the marveling of his five-year-old companion, helps "keep you in your place."

In short, Benchley at the Theatre is acute, devastating, and entertaining criticism, a model that Brendan Gill, Robert Brustein, and others would do well to emulate. --Robert Luhn

If you're looking for nasty, biting humor, don't look here. Mr. Benchley's charm lay in his--dare I say--kinder and gentler humor. Unlike his colleague Mrs. Parker, he never insulted or hurt people; he made fun of himself and examined foibles we all share. What a sweet, funny man, and what a wonderful collection of his works.

This book offers an array of emotions and feelings in a quirky little package. From the first time I picked up this book from the spare bedroom at my grandparents' old home, I knew I'd found a rare jem of a book. As my brother told me I was "a monster of a girl," a kept reading and reading until Sherman, the fiend of the Sea, chased me to the lake. These are the kind of feelings that this book brings out in people. From its terse discussion on the history of Budapest, to its harsh realization that there really were more than two composers named "Mozart," I believe all will find this an enjoyable experience!

I have an old Penguin paperback which I constantly carry in my purse. Benchley has been my lunch companion on numerous occasions, and he never fails to please. One of the greatest humorists America has ever produced, in the same league with Mark Twain and James Thurber.

This is fun at its best! It is a pity that Benchley is not read more widely. This book takes us to extremes : it is crazy and "farfelu". You cannot get tired of it.

If you like Robert Benchley, you won't be disappointed by these 39 short stories which had never been anthologized before. If you don't know Benchley, you're in for a fun read, as Mr. B. shares his wistful memories (candy stores don't seem the same anymore; bicycles are due for a comeback); wishful thinking (why fog makes English racing a mockery, how to improve taxi service in the city); and pet peeves (why people spend so much time waiting in line, why modern children's books are so dull). Many of today's humorists owe a great deal to Robert Benchley's witty, slice-of-life style. The illustrations, typical of the '20s, are by Peter Arno and Adam John Barth, among others.

Like its cousin the comedic film the humorous essay rarely wins critical acclaim. Tragedy gets the Oscar, comedy a pat on the back. In the literary domain too tears of sorrow are more esteemed than tears of laughter.

Heaven save us from a world all somber. Give us more writers like Robert Benchley. BENCHLEY: LOST AND FOUND is an anthology of essays that details the plight of a modern everyday man pitted against social expectations and malicious devices.

"For a nation which has an almost evil reputation for bustle, bustle, bustle, and rush, rush, rush, we spend an enormous amount of time standing around in line in front of windows, just waiting." This is Benchley on people waiting for service. Benchley on gaining weight: "So many simple little actions have been recently discovered to be fattening, there is hardly any move we can make, voluntary or involuntary, which does not put on weight for us." And where political conventions are concerned: " . . . every four years a mysterious list of names appears in the papers, names of people who claim to be 'delegates', seemingly empowered to go to the conventions, eat nuts, and vote for candidates for the Presidency." Although the essays were written in the 1930's, the topics are surprisingly apropos to our time. All writing is contemporary in execution but good writing is timeless in application.

Humorous essays are deceptive in that they look casual. That glib approach doesn't come easy as Benchley has attested. His pieces were revised several times to achieve the flippant tone they are noted for. The reader benefits from his care.

What might be considered a defect in this collection is the lack of a biographical preface. Perhaps the editors believed the essays themselves sufficed in that regard. In truth, Benchley was not quite the hapless persona depicted in his essays. He earned a livelihood as a dramatic critic for several leading magazines as well as stared in short comic films. He raised several boys (his great grandson Peter Benchley wrote JAWS). He hobnobbed with notable literary and cinematic figures of his day.

It is perhaps too much to hope for to expect persons of violent temper would read these droll essays. These days of road rage and random shootings in fast food restaurants need an epidemic of Benchley's attitude toward the flaws of man and machine. Men and women then might be less likely to go berserk because of inconvenience.