

		Damon Runyon's old story, "The Lemon Drop Kid," which, was about a race 
		track tipster who leaped from the frying-pan into the fire, has been 
		given a pretty thorough shakedown under the capable hands of Bob Hope in 
		the slapstick farce of the same title that came to the Paramount 
		yesterday. The consequent entertainment, populated throughout by Mr. 
		Hope, may be a far cry from Mr. Runyon's story, but it's a close howl to 
		good, fast, gag-packed fun.
		
		
Indeed, 
		it has come to be expected that anything played by Mr. Hope is not safe 
		from utter mutilation by him and the boys who write his stuff. That 
		which is known as "Runyon flavor" in the characters of his famous guys 
		and dolls is as vulnerable to Mr. Hope's burlesquing as is a gentle 
		tweak on the nose. So let it be understood that the current "Lemon Drop 
		Kid," which previously was filmed some seventeen years back, is strictly 
		a rough-house with Hope.
		As such, it touches in passing upon the troubles of a hapless race 
		track tout who makes the mistake of touting a big-shot's doll onto a 
		heavy-losing dog. And for this slight miscalculation he is ordered to 
		get up ten grand by Christmas Day in the morning, or submit to a bit of 
		abuse. How the Kid works up a racket inspired by a charity-collecting 
		Santa Claus and runs into dutch with a mobster is what you might call 
		the traffic of the tale.
		For Mr. Hope's convenience, Edmund Hartmann and Robert O'Brien, with 
		a dialogue assist from Irving Elinson, have contrived such burlèsque 
		stunts as getting dressed in a Santa Claus costume and making up like a 
		60-year-old doll. They also have provided the hero with two or three 
		hundred gags, with which Mr. Hope, a practiced handler, knows precisely 
		what to do. Jay Livingston and Roy Evans also have written a couple of 
		songs, the popular "Silver Bells" included, which Mr. Hope and Marilyn 
		Maxwell sing.
		Miss Maxwell's connection with the fable is as a soft-hearted 
		show-girl type who tags along benignly after the fast-moving, 
		fast-talking Kid. Jane Darwell is also among the participants as an 
		ancient Broadway doll for the benefit of whom, presumably, the Kid 
		starts his so-called charity.
		William Frawley and J. C. Flippen are a couple of the several 
		grotesque mugs who assist in the madcap conniving, and Lloyd Nolan and 
		Fred Clark are the thugs. All of them act as straight accessories to Mr. 
		Hope's eccentric show under the snappy direction of Sidney Lanfield. But 
		it is all Mr. Hope, on the nose.