pianos, telephones, everything of this nature, as well as of all
hand-props, such as bric-a-brac, books, flowers, fruit, food for stage
banquets, table silver and china, everything in fact that the play
requires--even to a prop baby or any animals required. It is his duty
to see that all props are in place for each act, ready to the hand of
each player as the action calls for them.
There is also an Assistant Property Man, who has charge of the
clearers, the men who set the "props" and clear off the trappings
after each act, preparatory to setting the scene for the act
following. At the close of the last act of the play the stage is
again cleared, both of props and scenery, to permit unobstructed
passageway. This is a state requirement, enacted as a fire-prevention
measure.
The Chief Electrician operates the switchboard and is the custodian of
all lights on the stage; that is, of all portable lamps, of all that
actually light. A lamp that is merely a prop or a decoration and not
used to yield light is under the control of props and no electrician
will touch it. The Assistant Electrician has the responsibility of all
lamps in the theatre other than those on the stage.
Nobody ever touches a light in the theatre. A call goes out for the
electrician if anything goes wrong with a light anywhere. Nobody ever
shifts or moves any part of the scenery except the stage carpenter or
the crew under him. None but props ever places a piece of furniture on
the stage. If you want a chair moved half an inch you must call the
property man to do it, otherwise the several unions involved will
immediately and without any question stage a drama of their own that
is not down on the bills; one that may really turn out to be next door
to a tragedy, since the penalty for failing to observe union
requirements would undoubtedly be to stop the performance, walk off
the stage and fine the stage-hand who was guilty of over-stepping the
bounds $100.00 and ban him from the union.
Every musical production has its wardrobe mistress, and sometimes, if
large enough, her assistant, both good seamstresses. The dressing room
assigned to them is called the wardrobe. All costumes are in the care
and charge of the wardrobe mistress. She alters and keeps them in
repair, and sends out to be pressed or cleaned when occasion demands.
The wardrobe women also have a union.
The Company Manager represents the owner of the show and controls the
"front of the house." He has nothing whatever to do with matters back
of the curtain line, which are strictly within the province of the
producer or stage manager. He has enough cares and important duties of
his own without going back stage to find more to add to them.
Moreover, any effort on his part to dictate to the producing end would
cause an immediate rupture. He knows that, and attends strictly to his
own affairs. Probably in no other craft, trade or profession is the
line so carefully drawn between the business end and the producing end
as in the show business. It is the Company Manager who is the
custodian of the funds, handles all the finances and acts as
paymaster. He maintains a close supervision over the sale of tickets
sold at each performance and with the aid of the resident house
manager and house treasurer "counts up" the tickets directly after the
sale has stopped for each performance, usually after the curtain goes
up on the second act. He makes up the payroll at the end of every week
and pays the company on Saturdays during either the matinee or evening
performance, as is required by the standard theatrical contracts.
The Company Manager is the watch dog of the show from "front." The box
office receipts tell him a story that he must heed, and he is quick to
catch its warning. There comes a time when even the most successful
play must be withdrawn from the stage or continue at a financial loss.
He is a wise company manager who can correctly determine the exact
point to call a halt and terminate a run for the best interests of the
owner and all others concerned. And it is because he can do this that
he holds the important position that he does. He is almost invariably
an experienced showman. Furthermore, his multiple duties require him
to be a diplomat if he would maintain his standing for preeminence.
When the company travels, he arranges the transportation, provides
rail or other transportation, supervises and controls everything
connected with the entire trip. He is held financially responsible,
and signs many contracts. The Company Manager handles everything
connected with money and transportation and is an important cog in the
wheels of things theatrical.
There is a press representative connected with the show who finds
plenty to do in attending to all newspaper advertising and advance
writeups, publicity, photographs, billboard posters, photograph lobby
frames and other display matter, as well as all other printing,
including the newspaper ads and the distribution of printed matter.
The fixing of the prices for tickets, which is most important, is
usually his duty, provided he is a shrewd showman. The Press
Representative, or Director of Publicity, or "Agent" as he is known
professionally, is generally found about two weeks in advance of the
company arranging every detail to anticipate a successful opening or
presentation in each city, or "stand," as it is called.
So much for the personnel of the show's management and working crew.
Now we will say our company has just arrived in town and taken over
the theatre in which it is to appear for an engagement.
It finds at the theatre a resident house manager, a resident house
treasurer, in charge of the local box office, and his assistant
treasurer, who acts at times as relief for his chief, opens the box
office in the morning, and sells the gallery tickets at show time.
There is a house music director, a permanent chief usher and the other
ushers, front ticket takers, an advertising agent, bill poster, a
day and night stage door tender, who are usually watchmen, who are
custodians of the building, besides the janitor and cleaners.
[Illustration: RAY DOOLEY]
There is no conflicting of authority by reason of the arrival of our
show upon the scene. It is understood by all hands that the show staff
takes precedence of the house staff, and all work together for the
general good, to put over a perfect and complete performance and get
the public's patronage and approval.
One thing you will do well to remember if you ever become a member of
any theatrical business or mechanical staff:
If you have occasion to purchase anything for the show or theatre at
any time, be sure to get the company's stage manager's OK, or order or
voucher of some kind in advance. It is an invariable rule of the craft
that any purchase of over five cents made without this formal sanction
will not be paid by the management, but will be considered as a
donation--however involuntary--on your part.
There is one very important man behind the curtain at every
performance on every stage, whose rule is arbitrary and absolute, and
who is not on the company payroll. This is the house fireman, a city
officer, with the power of the city and state behind him. The fire
regulations are posted in plain sight on every stage. "No smoking" is
one peremptory order that admits of no violation. Woe unto the actor
or actress, principal or chorus girl, who tries to sneak a smoke in a
dressing room, if found out! The fireman is using his nose as well as
his eyes, and the familiar odor of a surreptitious cigarette will lead
him straight to the culprit. Mr. Fireman is authorized by law to enter
any dressing room under such circumstances, and no matter what the
state of your toilet, he will exercise his authority, enter your
room--and remove you forthwith. Fine or imprisonment, or both, are the
legal penalties for violation of the no smoking law, and for using a
flame or canned fuel, in most theatres. Principals have before now
been taken off the stage in the midst of a performance and landed in
jail, necessitating the dismissal of the audience. It is a mighty
important man who can do a thing like that, and consequently the
fireman commands the profoundest respect of every member of every
company, from the chief all the way down the line.
No man is ever employed back of the curtain line in any first class
theatre who is not known to be of good character. Those who are old in
the theatrical business know this fact. If you harbor any other idea
of these men, get it right out of your mind. Every theatre manager
today demands that his employees be qualified in respect to character
as well as in ability.
Now that I have taken you back of the curtain line and out into the
front office and shown you just how the wheels go 'round that make the
show go, you have become aware that there is something more in the
theatre business than a mere group of good actors and singers and
dancers doing their best to please you up on the stage. The more the
machinery of the stage is kept out of sight, the better the management
and the greater the satisfaction, both to the folks behind the curtain
and the audience out front. Your attention should not be distracted
from the play, the opera, the spectacle, by the intrusion of any noise
or the appearance of anything or anyone not concerned with the actual
presentation. The drop curtain or the tableau curtain should move
silently and without revealing the human agents that manipulate them.
Scenes and sets should be made in silence and out of view of the
spectators. No person should ever be in evidence on the stage, not
even momentarily, save only the actors, whose presence you expect and
welcome. Otherwise the illusion is interrupted, perhaps destroyed--and
ours is an art where illusion holds a major place in imparting
pleasure. Such an extraneous element would also break the continuity.
It is not tolerated in the best houses.
So you see there is a definite reason why the "men behind the guns" in
the battery of the stage are out of sight and so, often, out of mind.
The hard work of the producer and his faithful subordinates is shown
only in the superior attainments of his troupe and the ensemble as
presented to your vision. They, themselves, the men who finance,
prepare, rehearse and drill the show into shape, are seldom in
evidence--never on the stage.
[Illustration: NW]
PROFESSIONAL COACHING AND PRODUCING FOR AMATEUR ENTERTAINMENTS
[Illustration]
I am often called upon to "put on" an amateur show, and the call is
not confined to New York alone, but extends to many far distant
cities. These are usually community or social affairs, charity
organizations, college shows, or entertainments by the employees of
some large establishment. Once I have put a show across for these
lovers of theatrical activities, the habit of continuing the plan of
giving a show seems to have become established, for with many cities
and clubs and associations the call continues year after year, an
annual or periodical production under my direction being demanded.
This indicates that I have been successful in directing the
non-professional in a theatrical way, and I am sure it is so, for I
have handled the whole situation and the "company" just as I would if
they were going on the professional stage, taken personal charge of
everything, coached principals and subordinates, put the show across,
and been on hand to see the results.
Spread here before you is the story of just how I organize, coach,
develop and handle an amateur company in a musical comedy or revue
performance to occupy a full evening's time on a theatre stage; from
the first "call" of an untrained troupe of inexperienced actors to
the final curtain of the actual, completed performance.
[Illustration: MOONLIGHT BALLET, FOLLIES OF 1923]
First of all, I make a call for anyone and everyone who would like to
take part in the entertainment. This call is usually made in a hall,
sometimes in the ballroom of a hotel, but usually in a large hall
where there is a good floor and a piano. I always have a pianist in
attendance.
I take the people who are going to take part in the ensemble first and
arrange them according to their height, always having the shortest
person to my left. Sometimes a great many people will try out for a
thing of this kind. I have had as many as three and four hundred at
many of the calls, and possibly more than that. I have always arranged
them, as I say, from my left according to their height.
Then I get them to stand in a huge semi-circle before me, as large a
semi-circle as the hall will permit, and if I have too many for that
one semi-circle, I put the others behind them into other semi-circles.
I begin by placing my first semi-circle shoulder to shoulder. I watch
their shoulder heights and their head-lines all the way along the
semi-circle. The semi-circle will begin at my left, cover the whole
side of the hall--whichever is the longest side--and the end of the
semi-circle will be at my extreme right. I have my table and chair in
the center, but near the wall opposite this semi-circle. The pianist I
usually have on my left-hand side, if it is convenient. He must have
his piano turned in such a position that by looking slightly over his
shoulder he can see me as well as the group.
I number the entire group, beginning with number one and running
consecutively from my left as far as they will go. Then they are
required to sit down in the same order. Each person must have a seat
and they occupy the same seat at each call, after the elimination
process. Before I do anything else I have their names taken, with
addresses and telephone numbers; the first and last names directly
opposite the number that I have given them. Then they stand up and I
arrange them in straight lines across. Sometimes I will have eight in
a line across, and I may have six lines of eight to begin with;
sometimes eight lines of ten, and perhaps as many as twelve in a line,
all depending on the shape and size of the hall.
After they have been arranged in perfectly straight lines one directly
behind the other, the next thing I do is to teach them the eight
different directions, which are so important. Let me recall them to
you: (1) left oblique, (2) left, (3) left oblique back, (4) back, (5)
right oblique back, (6) right, (7) right oblique, and (8) front. They
are taken through these directions until I am sure they understand
them thoroughly. Then I divide the foot into four different parts,
just as I do in my courses: the toe (the end of the shoe), the ball
(the half-sole), the heel, and the flat. I always make them stand with
their knees together, their heels together, the left toe pointed to
left oblique, the right toe pointed to right oblique, hands down at
their sides, the weight equally distributed between the two feet,
heads up, and looking straight front on a line with their eyes. I
insist upon their standing this way. Every time they come to their
places on the floor during rehearsal, I remind them of it.
Now, I begin to show them simple movements in order to get them to
shift their weight easily and to give them confidence. First the
hopping step. When they do this I can immediately tell just how far
they can go in my dancing--by giving them what I call the hopping
test. They hop on the ball of the left foot eight times and they
repeat that eight more times, on the ball of the right foot to a 4/4
tempo. Then they hop on the ball of the left foot for eight counts,
and alternately for eight on the right foot, through a number of
refrains or popular choruses. I caution them to be careful about
bending the knee when they land the weight of the body on the floor,
because many of them have never danced before in their lives. They
know nothing about it, but by bending their knee they make a cushion
for their weight, and they must land on the ball of the foot, not on
the heels.
After I try them out doing that, I put them in a circular formation,
where everybody can see me, for I stand in the middle of the ring. I
turn them toward the left hand, and I start them around in a circle on
the hopping steps; left hop, right hop, left, 2, 3, 4; right hop, left
hop, right 2, 3, 4; alternately through, in time with the music of a
popular 4/4 tune. This test has never failed with me. I can
immediately find the clumsy, awkward ones and select the apt ones.
This, of course, I do in my mind, making mental notes of their
numbers. After I get them back in a straight line at the end of the
hall I call out the numbers of those who have qualified, but I do not
hurry to do this because many times they are nervous at a first
tryout. So I encourage them as much as I dare to. One has to be
tactful at such times. But right away you can find your awkward people
and also those who have a natural grace. I can pick them out
immediately.
They move around in a circle. Many times I will stop them and divide
them into smaller groups, all the time noting the ones that get it and
the ones that don't. I will get to know number 1. I will watch her or
him, and I will say to myself, 1, 3, 5, 8, 9, 14, 16 and 18 have it;
the rest haven't. Then I ask them to sit down. I can find out just
about the way they are going to do my work from this little tryout. I
never individualize my criticism.
The main idea is to find out the ones who are interested. There are
always some people who come to these calls who are out for a lark, and
they must be eliminated at the first call. After the hopping test I am
able to pretty well decide just which ones are going to get the
ensemble work--and very often you will find some splendid natural
dancer in a group like this.
Then I have another little test that I use in a 2-4 movement. Two hops
on the left, two hops on the right, two on the left and two on the
right. Get them to do that to a 2-4 tempo.
After I determine in my own mind those who are most apt, I ask the
members present if they have ever done anything in the way of any
individual stunt, either a dance or a song, or if they ever played a
part in amateur theatricals. Usually a few will stand up, and I bring
them around my table one at a time to get an idea of what they have
done. I get them to write down their names and addresses and exactly
what they have done or what they think they can do, gradually getting
the whole thing on paper. In this way I am getting all of the
available talent organized.
In the meantime I am watching the members of the ensemble. I am trying
them out in some of the simple routines. I gradually work them into it
before they realize it. I get them all enthused about it, and through
long experience I am able to tell which group is going to be what I
call my dancing girls or boys. They will be the smallest ones, five
foot one, five foot two, three and four. Then I pick out those who are
a little slow in picking up the steps, and they will be the "mediums,"
the sort of "in between" ones. Then I pick out the very best type of
show girl, usually the taller girls, who can't move as fast as the
smaller girls, but who have grace and good figures, and who are good
looking. Until I have the three final groups, of course, I make all
the members of the ensemble dance. The show-girl will be more
dignified perhaps, with a stately bearing. Naturally I pick out the
girls who have natural aptitude to do my work properly and make them
the real dancers. I have eight, twelve or sixteen of these in a set,
never any more. Then the others who don't dance quite so well will be
the mediums, and then the show-girls who can stand in the back of the
stage, or at the corners, and dress the stage or do "parade numbers,"
or walking numbers. After I get these sets worked out I give them
their next call and take the principals in hand.
Then I have copies of the manuscript, and usually carry along three
sets of the parts. If it is a play, I have the play completely read.
If it is a revue, I have all of the skits and numbers with me.
I have the principals come in and sit down in a semi-circle before me
while I seat myself behind the table on which I keep my papers and the
brief case in which I carry the "scripts," parts, etc., and we have a
meeting similar to the meeting that was held with the ensemble. The
pianist is there, and they bring along their songs. Whoever is going
to be the stage manager of the company is also there. He is usually
one of my coaches that I carry with me. The local casting director and
usually the president or chairman, also sit at the table at the left
side of me, with my own assistant (the "coach") at my right.
Now, those who want to read parts for me are put at one side into one
group; that is, those who wish to try to handle important parts in the
dialogue. Then I place another group together which expects to do solo
dancing--at the other side. They are called principal dancers. Then I
make a separate group of those who expect to sing, or to do any sort
of a musical specialty, or any kind of a "stunt" that might be
included in the show. I have had the greatest variety of specialties
in a show. I have had them do magic, burlesque magic, play ukuleles,
and all sorts of stunts which I have placed effectively in a show. We
had a man in the Princeton show who did a little trick with a
cigarette that was a scream. I saw him standing around, and I asked
him if he could do a specialty. "I don't think so," he said. He was
smoking a cigarette at the time, and he said "This is the only thing I
can do." He took the cigarette from his mouth, broke it in two, lit
both ends of it, and he was smoking with both ends of the cigarette
sticking out of his mouth. Then he put another cigarette in his mouth
and did the same, and finally he lit the third cigarette without using
his fingers but from the other butts in his mouth. Well, I had him do
this stunt in the second act, in a proper spot, and it stopped the
show every performance. Some of those connected with the show told me
before the show that they didn't think what he was doing was going to
get over, but I told them in as nice a way as I could to mind their
own business, as I always do, and I put this "bit" in. I put a
50-ampere spotlight (very strong) on his face, and he did just this
little trick beautifully. Well, there was more talk about that than
anything else in the whole show. It had commercial value and it helped
the box office. People went especially to see him do it. We had stunts
there that had been planned for a year, and they didn't get as much
favorable comment as this one little trick did. Of course, it was
properly fitted in, cued in, as we call it, just as everything else
has to be in the right spot.
[Illustration: WILL ROGERS]
I only point this out to you to tell you that sometimes in arranging
your recitals or shows--whatever you may call them--you will find a
lot of talent which you would otherwise overlook unless you go about
it the thorough way that I do. I do the same with a professional
organization, because after all I am a builder of entertainments and I
must know entertainment values in order to make a success of my
business. I must be able to recognize and fully realize talent when it
is present. You must have a lot of patience to do this work. Some
people are able to do lots of things that will prove entertaining.
After all, what you are concocting is an entertainment. You should
always aim to present something different, something original or novel
that will surprise and amuse your audience, not the hackneyed old
stunts that everyone has seen time and again.
After I get them divided into groups and get their names down, I go
through the tests for principals. I will always hear the songs first;
but before you hear them sing they have to put down on paper what they
have ever done before, how much training they have had, and so on.
Then they go over to the piano and sing. But I usually try to be
tactful and let amateur singers tryout for me with no one listening,
to spare them embarrassment. From the piano they come up to the table
and sit down before me. As they are sitting before me, I note their
appearance. I engage them in conversation. I note their teeth,
mannerisms and personalities, incidentally classifying them in my mind
and casting them in my mind's eye. If they are in any way possible and
I feel that they should be given a chance, I make a note of it and the
songs I want them to try.