By ROBERT COLEMAN

With the theatre suffering from a case of pernicious anemia, Dr. Eugene O’Neill has after a 12-year absence, left retirement last evening to give it a stimulating, revivifying shot in the arm called “The Iceman Cometh”.

O’Neill’s Iceman is a sort of Janus, one side being a peripatetic philanderer and the other death.  He argues that most men live on illusion, on dreams of a brighter tomorrow, and when their illusions are shattered death arrives.

“The Iceman Cometh” is set in Harry’s bar, circa 1912.  Between Greenwich Village and the Hudson, it is a refuge for bums, tarts, radicals, adventurers and seamen.  Harry, the host, does not press the guests when they get behind with the rent and he’s fairly generous with his red-eye.

The annual even to which the regulars look forward is the coming of Hickey, a hardware salesman, for a toot.  He always brings a big bankroll and the drinks are on him while the dough lasts.  But Hickey’s last visit proves disturbing.

He offers drinks to those who want ‘em, but won’t touch the stuff himself.  He’s found peace and doesn’t need it any longer.  And he tries to help his cronies find peace by shedding their illusions by facing tomorrow today.  All because he has murdered his wife to destroy her illusions that he will turn out a decent husband if she waits long enough.

After nerve-wracking experiences with Hickey’s panacea, most of the bums go back to their illusions and Harry’s lousy booze, but the Iceman gets a couple who can’t recapture the ability to dream.

The Theatre Guild has given the fascinating O’Neill script a fine production.  The cast includes James Barton, Dudley Digges, Nicholas Joy, Car Benton Reid, Morton L. Stevens, Tom Pedi, Al McGranary, E. G. Marshall, John Marriott, Frank Twedell, Russell Collins, Paul Crabtree, Leo Chalzell, Joe Marr, Ruth Gilbert, Jeanne Cagney and Marcella Markham.

They are perfect types and give such perfect performances under Eddie Dowling’s direction that it smacks of the ungracious to single out individuals for special salutes.

Robert Edmond Jones has contributed a setting so real that it fairly reeks of raw alcohol, perspiration, grime and cheap perfume.

“The Iceman Cometh” is a lengthy play.  In four acts, it is given at matinee and evening performances.  It is like seeing “The Deluge,” “The Wild Duck,” “The Time of Your life” and reading Gautier’s treatise on Bovaryism in two sitting.  You really get your money’s worth.

It’s great to have O’Neill back with us.  He loves theatre as much as he loves life.  He is theatre at its finest.  And though he is often garrulous – like life – and has an aversion for the editor’s pencil, he is continuously absorbing.

Take our advice.  Rush to the Martin Beck immediately.  “The Iceman Cometh” will be a terrific hit, the “top ticket” at the brokers.  Get your pasteboards now – or else.