It contains the same procession of
specialty-mongers, the same cacophony of rag-time, the same gangway out
into the audience which refreshes tired business men with a thrilling,
worm's-eye view of dancing girls' knees _au naturel_. And up and down
this straight and narrow pathway of the chorus there is the customary
parade of the same haughty beauties of Broadway. Only in one item is
there a deviation from the usual formula: the costumes. For several
years past, the revues at this theater (the Columbian) have been
caparisoned with the decadent colors and bizarre designs of the exotic
Mr. Grenville Melton. I knew there had been a change for the better as
soon as I saw the first number, for these dresses have the stimulating
quality of a healthy and vigorous imagination, as well as a vivid
decorative value. They are exceedingly smart, of course, or else they
would never do for a Broadway revue, but they are also alive, while
those of Mr. Melton were invariably sickly. Curiously enough, the name
of the new costume designer has a special interest for Chicago.
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