We have no idea why Francis Burnand thought the theatre-going public would enjoy his new production. "The Rag-picker, or the Emporer's New Clothes," is one of the most unpleasant, cloying, artificial, and baffling operettas ever to be produced. To call it provacotive would be inaccurate; it has an ambition to provoke, but it fails.

This new operetta is an attempt by Mr. Burnand to adapt one of his political essays for the stage. Mr. Burnand has enjoyed no small success as a writer of satirical essays for numerous publications, and has enjoyed more than modest success transforming novels, with the help of certain talented collaborators, into comic operas. It is possible, therefore, to understand why he decided to bring his two disparate arenas of past success into conjunction. Alas, the attempt was, at best, ill-advised.

This production does not scrape the bottom of the barrel. It is not below the bottom of the barrel. It does not even deserve to be mentioned in the same sentences as barrels.

After five disasterous performances (during which it is rumoured the orchestra members carried stones in their pockets in the eventuality that they would have to defend themselves from the incense audience), Mr. Burnand decided to make radical changes to the production. The new production, debutting Monday evening, was decidedly not an improvement.

We do not presume to venture a guess as to why Mr. Burnand chose to replace his previously adequate, if unfortunate, orchestral conductor with a boisterous cabaret performer whose act is more appropriate to the bawdy music hall. Neither do we attempt to explain his decision to wedge a wedding scene into the beginning of a tale which had previously been described as a 'scathing political satire.'

We do, however, question the faculties of a previously well-informed political writer who decided to tell the story of the new French Empire with Spanish Gypsies and Flamenco dancers. It is as if the playwright has forgotten the difference between France and Spain.

We are further puzzled by the inconsistency of costumes. Several of the dancers in the aforementioned opening Gypsy number appear on stage in clothing that would not look out of place on the street outside the theatre in the day time. As to the significance of the strange make-up applied to the lead singer, an unidentified understudy, we can only conjecture that perhaps the success in the previous decade of the so-called Théâtre des Vampires in Paris was the inspiration. However, given the rather frivolous, yet somehow menacing, flavour of the opening number, it seems unlikely.

"The Rag-picker" is one of the worst operettas ever created, though it is not created by a bad writer. We trust that it represents some sort of lapse from which Mr. Burnand will recover--possibly sooner than we will.

In fairness, we were not able to watch the entire performance. Shortly after several members of the audience began hurling vegetables at the performers, smoke was seen coming from the wings, and a shout of "fire!" sent the audience fleeing the theatre. The fire was the only portion of the performance of which we approve.

Editor's note: Mr. Casimir Bialystok, manager of the Royal Gallery of Illustration, has announced that the remaining performances of "The Rag-picker" have been cancelled. Mr. Bialystok hopes to debut a new operetta by William Gilbert and Thomas Reed, "Our Island Home," has soon as the inspectors from the Metropolitan Firefighting Brigade pronounce the building safe.

Proceed to Perhaps some sort of nightmare

Or, proceed to Too surprised for words

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