What is the difference between an English and an American audience?
That is a question which has frequently been put to me, and which I
have always found it difficult to answer. The points of dissimilarity
are simply those arising from people of a common origin living under
conditions often widely different. It is, therefore, only possible for
me to indicate such traits in the bearing of the American playgoer as
have come under my own personal notice, and impressed me with a sense
of unfamiliarity.
Every American town, great or small, has—I believe, without
exception—its theatre and its church, and when a new town is about to
be built, the sites for a place of amusement and a place of worship are
invariably those first selected. As an instance, take Pullman, which
lies some sixteen miles from Chicago, pleasantly situated on the banks
of the Calumet Lake. The original design of this little city, which is
almost ideal in its organization, and has the enviable reputation of
being absolutely perfect in its sanitation, was conceived on the lines
just mentioned. Denver City, which is a growth almost abnormal even in
an age and country of abnormal progress, has a theatre, which is said
to be one of the finest in America. Boston, with its old civilization,
boasts seventeen theatres, or buildings in which plays are given; New
York possesses no less than twenty-eight regular theatres, besides a
host of smaller ones; and Chicago, whose very foundations are younger
than the beards of some men of thirty, has, according to a printed
list, over twenty theatres, all of which seem to flourish. The number
of theatres in America and the influence they exercise constitute
important elements in the national life. This great multiplication of
dramatic possibilities renders it necessary to take a very wide and
general view, if one wishes to get a distinct impression as to how
audiences here differ from those at home. So at least it must seem to a
player, who can only find comparison possible when points of difference
suggest themselves. For a proper understanding of such difference in
audiences, we must ascertain wherein consist the differences of the
theatres which they frequent, both in architectural construction,
social arrangement, and that habit of management which is a natural
growth.
By the enactments of the various States regulating the structure and
conduct of places of amusement, full provision for the comfort and
safety of the audience is insisted on. It is directed that the back
of the auditorium should open by adequate doors directly upon the main
passage or vestibule, and that through the centre of the floor should
run an aisle right down to the orchestra rail. Thus the floor of the
house is easy of access and exit, is generally of large expanse, and
capable of containing half, or more than half, of the entire audience.
It is usually divided into two parts—the orchestra or parquet, and the
orchestra or parquet circle—the latter being a zone running around the
former and covered by the projection of the first gallery. The floor
of an American theatre is, as a rule, on a more inclined plane than is
customary in English theatres, and there is a good view of the stage
from every part. Outside the parquet circle, and within the inner wall
of the building, is usually a wide passage where many persons can
stand. Thus in most houses there is a great elasticity in the holding
power, which at times adds not a little to the managerial success.
I cannot but think that in several respects we have much to learn
from our American cousins in the construction and arrangement of the
auditorium of the theatre; on the other hand, they might study with
advantage our equipment behind the proscenium.
It is perhaps due to the sentiment and tradition of personal equality
in the nation, that the entire stream often turns to one portion of
the house, in a way somewhat odd to those accustomed as we are in
England to the separating force of social grades. To the great majority
of persons, only one part of the theatre is eminently eligible, and
other portions are mainly sought when the floor is occupied. The very
willingness with which the public acquiesce in certain discomforts
or annoyances attendant on visiting the theatre, would seem to
show that the drama is an integral portion of their daily life. It
cannot be denied by any one cognizant of the working of American
theatres that there are certain facts or customs which must discount
enjoyment. Before a visitor is in a position to settle comfortably
to the reception of a play, he must, as a rule, experience many
inconveniences. In the first place he has in some States to submit to
the exactions of the ticket speculator or “scalper,” who, through
defective State laws, is generally able to buy tickets in bulk, and
to retail them at an exorbitant rate. I have known of instances where
tickets of the full value of three dollars were paid for by the public
at the average rate of ten or twelve dollars. Then, through the high
price of labor, which in most American institutions causes employers
to so dispose of their forces as to minimize service, the attendance
in the front of the house is, I am told, often inadequate. Were it not
for the orderly disposition and habit of the public, trained by the
custom of equal rights to stand, and move _en queue_, it would not be
possible to admit and seat the audience in the interval between the
opening of the doors and the commencement of the performance. Thus the
public are somewhat “hustled,” and from one cause or another too often
reach their seats after having endured much annoyance with a patient
submission which speaks volumes for their law-abiding nature; but which
must sorely disturb that reposeful spirit which the actor may consider
essential to a due enjoyment of the play.
Once in his seat the American playgoer does not, as a rule, leave it
until the performance is at an end. The percentage of persons who
move about during the _entr’acte_ is, when compared with that in
England, exceedingly small, and sinks into complete insignificance when
contrasted with the exodus to the _foyer_ customary in continental
theatres. In the equipment of the American theatre there is one
omission which will surprise us at home—that of the bar, or refreshment
room. In not a single theatre that I can call to mind in America have
I found provision made for drinking. It is not by any means that the
average playgoer is a teetotaler, but that, if he wishes or needs to
drink during the evening, he does it as he does during the hours of
his working life, and not as a necessary concomitant to the enjoyment
of his leisure hours. Two other things are noticeable: first, that the
audiences are sometimes very unpunctual, and to suit the audiences
the managers sometimes delay beginning. The audience depend on this
delay, and the consequence frequently is, that a first act is entirely
disturbed by their entry; secondly, that, after the play, it is a
custom, in a degree unknown in any European capital, to adjourn to
various restaurants for supper.
As the audience _en bloc_ remain seated, so the length of the
performance must be taken into account by managers; and commonly
two hours and a half is considered the maximum length to which a
performance should run, though I must say that we have at times
sinned by keeping our audiences seated until eleven o’clock, and it
has been even later. Of course in this branch of the subject must be
also considered the difficulty of reaching their homes experienced by
audiences in cities whose liberal arrangements of space, and absence
of cheap cabs, renders necessary a due regard to time. In matter of
duration, however, the audience is not to be trifled with or imposed
on. I have heard of a case in a city of Colorado where the manager of
a travelling company, on the last night of an engagement, in order to
catch a through train, hurried the ordinary performance of his play
into an hour and a half. When next the company were coming to the city
they were met _en route_, some fifty miles out, by the sheriff, who
warned them to pass on by some other way, as their coming was awaited
by a large section of the able-bodied male population armed with shot
guns. The company did not, I am informed, on that occasion visit the
city. I may here mention that in America the dramatic season lasts
about eight months—from the beginning of the “fall” in September till
the hot weather commences in April. During this period the theatres are
kept busy, as there are performances on the evenings of every week day,
and in the South and West on Sunday evening also, whilst matinées are
given every Saturday, and in a large number of cases every Wednesday.
In certain places even the afternoon of Sunday sees a performance.
It is a fact, somewhat amusing at first, that in nearly all towns of
comparatively minor importance the theatre is known as the Opera House.
I have dwelt on the external condition of the American audiences in
order to explain the condition antecedent to the actor’s appearance.
The differences between various audiences are so minute that some such
insight seems necessary to enable one to recognise and understand them.
An actor in the ordinary course of his work can only partially at best
realise such differences as there may be, much less attempt to state
them explicitly. His first experience before a strange audience is the
discovery whether or not he is _en rapport_ with them. This, however,
he can most surely feel, though he cannot always give a reason for the
feeling. As there is, in the occurrences of daily life, a conveyance
other than by words of meaning, of sentiment, or of understanding
between different individuals, so there is a carriage of mutual
understanding or reciprocity of sentiment between the stage and the
auditorium. The emotion which an actor may feel, or which his art may
empower him successfully to simulate, can be conveyed over the floats
in some way which neither actor nor audience may be able to explain;
and the reciprocation of such emotion can be as surely manifested by
the audience by more subtle and unconscious ways than overt applause or
otherwise. It must be remembered that the opportunities which I have
had of observing audiences have been almost entirely from my own stage.
Little facility of wider observation is afforded to a man who plays
seven performances each week and fills up most of the blank mornings
with rehearsal or travel. I only put forward what I feel or believe.
Such belief is based on the opportunities I have had of observation or
of following out the experience of others.
The dominant characteristic of the American audience seems to be
impartiality. They do not sit in judgment, resenting as positive
offences lack of power to convey meanings or divergence of
interpretation of particular character or scene. I understand that
when they do not like a performance they simply go away, so that at
the close of the evening the silence of a deserted house gives to the
management a verdict more potent than audible condemnation. This does
not apply to questions of morals, which can be, and are, as quickly
judged here as elsewhere. On this subject I give entirely the evidence
of others, for it has been my good fortune to see our audiences seated
till the final falling of the curtain. Again, there is a kindly
feeling on the part of the audience towards the actor as an individual,
especially if he be not a complete stranger, which is, I presume,
a part of that recognition of individuality which is so striking a
characteristic in American life and customs. Many an actor draws
habitually a portion of his audience, not in consequence of artistic
merit, not from capacity to arouse or excite emotion, but simply
because there is something in his personality which they like. This
spirit forcibly reminds me of the story told of the manager of one of
the old “Circuits,” who gave as a reason for the continued engagement
of an impossibly bad actor, that “he was kind to his mother.” The
thorough enjoyment of the audience is another point to be noticed. Not
only are they quick to understand and appreciate, but there seems to be
a genuine pleasure in the expression of approval. American audiences
are not surpassed in quickness and completeness of comprehension by any
that I have yet seen, and no actor need fear to make his strongest or
his most subtle effort, for such is sure to receive instant and full
acknowledgment at their hands.
There is little more than this to be said of the American audience.
But short though the record is, the impression upon the player himself
is profound and abiding. To describe what one sees and hears over the
footlights is infinitely easier than to convey an idea of the mental
disposition and feeling of the spectators. The house is ample and
comfortable, and the audience is well-disposed to be pleased. Ladies
and gentlemen alike are mostly in morning dress, distinguished in
appearance, and guided in every respect by a refined decorum. The
sight is generally picturesque. Even in winter flowers abound, and the
majority of ladies have bouquets either carried in the hand or fastened
on the shoulder or corsage. At matinée performances especially, where
the larger proportion of the audience is composed of ladies, the
effect is not less pleasing to the olfactory senses than to the eye.
Courteous, patient, enthusiastic, the American audience is worthy of
any effort which the actor can make on its behalf, and he who has had
experience of them would be an untrustworthy chronicler if he failed,
or even hesitated, to bear witness to their intelligence, their taste
and their generosity.—_Fortnightly Review._