A somewhat cestatic review of "South Pacific" appeared in these columns last Wednesday, and over since this department has been asked, about 37 times a day, if the show is "really that good." The answer is, "No; it only seems to be."

This is not a facetious answer. Take the "No" part of it first. "South Pacific" is not "really that good" because like all shows, it is not perfect. For one thing, Oscar Hammerstein II has succumbed to a fit of moralizing for a few minutes in the second act, and although it is only a passing fit, one that is practically flippant compared with the attack that laid "Allegro" low, it is nonetheless a blotch, a mar, a flaw. And the song that does most of the moralizing, called "You've Got To Be Taught"--the full line is "You've got to be taught to hate"--is as unnecessary as it is didactic. It simply repeats in italics an idea that has already been made in a succinct and non-moralistic way by the events of the story.

For another thing, when Lt. Joseph Cable sings "Younger Than Springtime" to the native girl Liat, the show becomes momentarily ordinary. The song is pretty enough--Bing Crosby and others will probably let us hear a great deal of it during the next few months--but it seems to exist chiefly because of its prettiness. The romance between Cable and Liat, which is handled quite remarkably up to the moment Cable begins to sing, loses a lot of its intensity by being interrupted for such a number. Perhaps the fault is more the singer's than the song's; William Tabbert does little more than put the right words onto the right notes. Or perhaps any song would be weak in that particular scene. At any rate, something is wrong with "Younger Than Springtime" as it is set up in "South Pacific."

But these objections are nothing against the impact of the total show. There is so much beauty in "South Pacific," so much humor, so many convincing characters, so many honest scenes, and such a solid story, that even if it isn't perfect, it seems to be. You can poke around and find faults easily enough; but the show affects you so that you don't feel like doing it. In other words, "South Pacific" adds up to a great evening in the theater.

On top of that, it adds up to a unique evening. For it is not a musical as musicals have come to be known. Not quite everything works out joyfully in the end. Its songs are not superimposed more or less meaningless on its story; they seem to be what the characters would sing if they ever happened to burst into song. Its comedy characters are not simply eccentrics. Its here is not a Jack Armstrong who has taken singing lessons. Its cast is not just a collection of handsome people; almost everyone can act. It has no ballet. And it has no elaborate finales; both acts end with scenes between the two principals.

You have already heard more than enough about most of its other virtues, so there is nothing left to say. Except that somehow, the name of Joshua Logan has not yet got into this. As co-author with Hammerstein of the book, and as director of the entire show, musical numbers and all, Logan is surely responsible for a good number of "South Pacific's" qualities.

And now there definitely is nothing left to say; except that somebody just walked in and wanted to know if Mary Martin was really that good. The answer is, "Yes."